Birmingham Royal Ballet likes to sell its triple-bill programmes under a catchy overall title, and the latest — which opened at the Birmingham Hippodrome — is Quantum Leaps. The title of the world-premiere piece is E=mc2. David Bintley, as choreographer, and the composer Matthew Hindson have taken Einstein’s equation for his theory of relativity as their starting point.

The first section of this piece, Energy, bursts on us with tremendous excitement, as, against a monochrome decor of smoky clouds, a huge cast in black comes into light as a primeval pulsing organism; then limbs shoot out sideways like sparks or flashes, fingers flickering and trickling in a motif of cascades. Elisha Willis and Joseph Caley are the featured couple; the choreography is fascinating in its kinetic complexity. As Hindson’s music builds to blaring bombast, however, it’s clear that he has had a thorough soaking in Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring — a ballet Bintley has never tackled, though you might say he has laid the groundwork here.

Mass, which follows, has eerie, tinkly music, a slow and more sculptural structure. Although I see Bintley’s “point” in the episode named Manhattan Project — ie, the atom bomb — I was not persuaded of the need to include it. Against a rectangle of vivid red light, a white-faced and robed geisha (Samara Downs) twirls a scarlet fan; then, suddenly, we have the thunderous explosion, an almighty din of crackles and fallout that, it seems, shakes the theatre walls.

Celeritas2 (the “c” of the equation being the speed of light) sets Carol-Anne Millar and Alexander Campbell with ensemble jigging, skipping and counter-crossing, nonstop, against an array of yellow light spots. This is all joy.

Mixed feelings about Garry Stewart’s nearly new work for BRB, The Centre and Its Opposite. Huey Benjamin’s thumpy music acts like a chain saw. Tubular lights flash on three walls, and on a ceiling rack that descends to pin dancers under it, like a grille. Fast, jagged movements and purposeful marchings carry a strong flavour of William Forsythe’s procedures — but the fierce high energy is equally characteristic of Stewart, and the dancers — headed by Dusty Button, legs spearing to 180 degrees in vertical splits — are thrilling.

Powder, by Stewart’s fellow Australian Stanton Welch, has been revived as the programme-opener. The cast, in underwear, rush and jump in front of trompe l’oeil classical architecture, form curious, quirky knots or move like auto­mata. Nothing if not enigmatic, the piece sits uneasily on the sublim­ities of Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto. But this triple bill as a whole shows off the company’s splendid strength in performance, as well as a good deal of their physiques.

English National Ballet is touring Giselle for the autumn, but this time the director, Wayne Eagling, has reverted to the old practice of prefacing this classic two-acter with a separate short piece; hence Men Y Men, his own creation, set to orchestrated piano preludes by Rachmaninov.

As the title suggests, the nine dancers are all male, Eagling’s aim being to keep the men “busy and fit” when they are less prominent in Giselle. Bare-chested, with black trousers against a black set, they leap and surge and spin, but also partner in pairs in various striking moves. It’s exhilarating and in parts intriguing, but the device of a procession in measured steps across the stage (like a continuous loop) is overused. A slight feeling of haphazardness will probably be ironed out as the piece settles in.

ENB dance Giselle immaculately in Mary Skeaping’s venerable production, which, like David Walker’s lovely designs, is faithful to “period” atmosphere. Elena Glurdjidze’s Giselle is very fine: beautiful dancing (with Arionel Vargas her elegant Albrecht) and a sensitive, subtle characterisation, her mad scene conveying so much, and indeed frightening.

Daniel Jones’s lovelorn Hilarion convinces; Begoña Cao’s aristocratic fiancée, Bathilde, is appealingly warm. Laura Hussey’s Berthe (Giselle’s mother) is touchingly caught between pride in her daughter’s dancing and dire foreboding. And Jenna Lee is Myrtha, the Wili Queen: her imperious eyes gloat at having a new recruit in Giselle and the prospect of men to dance to death. As she lunges over Albrecht in his final collapse, it’s as if she were saying “Gotcha” — but, of course, he is saved by the bell.

Editor's choice

• The super cool Vampire Weekend
• Streep and Baldwin get complicated
• Guy Ritchie on Sherlock Holmes