Rambert Dance Company, Sadler's Wells, review Rambert aren't holding back in their first London run of this season, in either the performances or the programming. This new, 140-minute, four-piece bill embraces serenely romantic lyricism (Paul Taylor's Roses), balletic surrealism (Richard Alston's Dutiful Ducks), animalistic athleticism (Sounddance, by Merce Cunningham), and, at the very start, a brand-new whistlestop tour through human emotions, Labyrinth of Love. This last dance, by Marguerite Donlon, is in fact the only disappointment of the evening, even if it is far from terrible. Set to seven varied musical settings of poems by or about women across the millennia, it's built on a Wayne McGregorish palette of moves (how often does one find oneself saying that?), charged, hyper-extensive, and certainly showing off Rambert's dancers off at their lithest. It also has several fine little passages - I particularly enjoy the four boys popping up at the rear of the stage, first like mushrooms, then like a waterfall. But the constant, pin-sharp projections distract more than they help, the piece makes its point after 25 minutes (yet lasts 40), and Michael Daugherty's score, for an onstage and very much involved soprano, is a major stumbling-block in terms of emotional engagement. Still, it is nothing if not a contrast to what follows it. For Roses (1985) also explores romantic territory. But, where Labyrinth feels angular and restless, this is full of softness and stillness, with four of the five couples often simply reclining on stage while a fifth dances. It is also constructed entirely and beguilingly out of circles: in the round carriage of the arms, the ensemble formations, and the mutual support of the couples" tumbles. Perfectly channelling Wagner's Siegfried Idyll - a billet doux like no other - it seems to show relationships as they should be, yet still finds a surprise, even more idealistic gear (with a sixth couple) in the closing minutes. A relative newcomer to Rambert's rep, it deserves to stay there for good. The bill wraps with those two heady blasts of mid-Seventies avant-gardery. Performed with quicksilver poise by Dane Hurst, Dutiful Ducks is over in a flash, yet reveals how very musical Alston is even when setting steps to verbal nonsense ("Beautiful dutiful ducks" indeed!). It also serves as a perfect amuse-bouche for Sounddance. Pop, whirr, whoop, gurgle, snap, crackle and pop goes the rainforest electronica of David Tudor's score, as 10 dancers erupt through a wittily ridiculous curtain and hop, scurry and corkscrew zoologically into and out of formation. Often, they even appear - thanks to both Cunningham's and the dancers" brilliance - to melt into one another. Eventually, after exactly the right amount of time, they disappear the way they came. Maybe they're stars being born and destroyed. Maybe they're beasts in a jungle or amoebas in a petri-dish. Or maybe, heaven forfend, they're just dancers. We'll never know - and quite right, too.