Ever seen a bottled balle-rina? A white-tutued dancer squatting pensively or contorting determinedly inside a custom-built glass jar – an installation by the Clod Ensemble – was just one of the attractions in the busy foyers of Sadler’s Wells for its Sampled weekend, along with interactive video games, a 3-D performance and DJs. In the daytime, there were workshops for beginners in a variety of dance forms; then the evening shows on the main stage brought “tasters” of the range of dance that the Wells, our most prolific and eclectic showcase theatre, regularly programmes throughout the year. At £10 a seat, or half that in the prom space, you couldn’t grumble.

Or perhaps you could a bit about this year’s selection: not, in sum, as exciting as last year’s original. The hip-hop guru Jonzi D, a Wells favourite for his annual Breakin’ Convention festivals, compered with his usual enthusiastic bonhomie, but his chats with the audience (“Know what I mean?”) can be wearing: “Make some noise, some more noise for...” If the public want to applaud, they will – and do. The idea behind Sampled is that you can test the waters. You may come with a preference for ballet and find that flamenco or street dance grabs you. Or not. But to judge by the response, last year and last Sunday, the audience were enjoying everything on offer.

The flamenco star Maria Pages led off with some forceful solos. First serpentine in a purple dress, intense of face with hair flowing, she gave eloquent vent to pent-up emotions, arms a-curling. While her musicians played and oléd each other, she made a quick change into a red gown. With hair now plaited, and in dramatic lighting that kept her half in shade, she flounced and rattled with intricate footwork. She exited with big stamping strides, like a vengeful goddess.

Contemporary dance was represented, in the Sunday lineup, with an extract from In Your Rooms by the young choreographer Hofesh Shechter, whose work has been encouraged in a “fast-tracking” project. It opened with some narration about the cosmos, structure and chaos, and proceeded in mechanistic style to a pounding rhythm, with punching fists, shaking legs and tight tribal groups – done in segments in and out of darkness. Visceral, but mystifying.

The late Marcel Marceau’s Bip never having been my cup of tea, I feared the French mime-clown-dancer Salah’s solo, Dream of Gluby, might be tarred with the same brush. But he captivated me, and everybody, with his virtuoso performance. He speaks in a tiny, squeaky voice, interspersed with clucks and twitters, while moving his limbs and head in independent rhythms – a different sound for each clever dislocation. He sinks in a backbend until his body is folded (in reverse) on the floor, then rises as if pulled by an invisible string.

He ends his extraordinary contortions with equal fluidity in boogaloo moves, locking or popping – whichever. Bravo.

For classical ballet, we had the Royal Ballet’s lovely Alina Cojocaru with a guest partner, Nehemiah Kish, from the National Ballet of Canada, in Christopher Wheeldon’s Prokofiev Pas de Deux – dreamy, lyrical, liquid fluency, though, with its arbitrary-looking exits and entrances, an oddly constructed piece. When the musical tape conked out towards the end, they blithely completed the dance in silence. Jonzi D called this “a brilliant example of human excellence over technical frailty”.

Jonzi’s own dance form was not best represented by the London hip-hop troupe Boy Blue Entertainment, in an extract from their show Pied Piper – updated from Hamelin to the streets of Stratford, east London, our compere told us. I discerned no relevance to the story in these aimless-looking shenanigans, which included dark figures in fluorescent white gloves, gyrating women in bras and tight cycling shorts, and men doing their speciality tricks (clever though these are) of hopping on hands, backflips, headstands and knitting legs in the air.

The finale act, however, was a sure-fire success, as anyone who saw the Ballet Boyz in this duet, Yumba vs Nonino, on the South Bank last year knew that it would be. The witty choreography, by Craig Revel Horwood (of Strictly Come Dancing), to music by Osvaldo Pugliese and Astor Piaz-zolla, engages the Boyz – the incomparable duo of Michael Nunn and William Trevitt – in a closely locked tango of deadpan machismo and rivalry, a slap in the face or a quick bout of fisticuffs woven into the immaculately timed inter-leg slicings and spectacular high lifts. This was great to go home on.

Rambert Dance Company’s track record in encouraging new choreographers within its ranks goes back to the very start, with Frederick Ashton. It continues with annual tryouts such as last week’s Season of New Choreography, two programmes totalling nine pieces created by 10 of the dancers in just three weeks.

The opener, at The Place, included two of the women, Clara Barbera and Patricia Okenwa, dancing their own urgent solos in dialogue with on-stage musicians. A trio dance by Malgorzata Dzierzon had amusing catlike moves to a poem by Poe. Kyril Burlov’s piece was about drugs and dreams, while Renaud Wiser took the theme of the individual struggling against the possessive group with an eerie use of masks.

These first-go opportunities are invaluable for young artists to learn how to make their own dances, as well as perform other people’s. Could I just put in a plea to their mentors to dis-courage the pervading practice of dim lighting?

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