In this reworked version of her own work as well as manifestations in opera and dance of this 1845 French classic, Dada Masilo takes a generally politely veiled tale of sexual violence and manipulation, and splits its seams wide.

So, what you get might not be what you anticipate.

In previous years, Masilo has been referred to as impish in these pages. The role she adopts in Carmen fleshes her into something irrevocably more terrible and sophisticated.

In many respects, this role tops that which she embodied in PJ Sabbagha's Macbeth two years ago. This Carmen is more heartless than Lady Macbeth – she can kill, she can tease, she can break men with the flick of an eyelash, the thrust of her body or the flexing of her wrists.

She's tempestuous, bold and flamboyant, and she snatches audience attention with characteristic urgency, whether her presence is evoked only by a rose, whether she stands quietly on the outside of a dancing throng or moves as though she has mercury in her veins, you cannot pull your eyes from her.

In the couple of scenes where she is absent, you feel yourself able to breathe again, but your pulse will not settle, nor your tears relent.

Expectations defied

For an audience who may be anticipating a pretty ballet, the taking apart of Carmen and turning its sexuality, its violence, its toying with the horrors and traditions of the sport and game of bull-fighting inside out, are complex.

Not all audience members might know the original tale with as much fluidity as they might have known Romeo and Juliet or Macbeth for instance; the result is that the subtle and outrageous shifts in narrative become lost.

Masilo is, however, not an artist who panders to the whims or expectations of her audience; the result is a manifestation of this bad Gypsy girl who is immoral and amoral and lacks the scruples that good girls are raised with.

The work stands its ground with the same dignity as any dance or operatic interpretation.

In her growing repertoire, so far, Masilo twists and folds music around her work, offering a satisfying blend of accompaniment to her choreography. In Carmen, this is no different, only the musical palette is restricted to three "hues": that of Georges Bizet, Rodion Shchedrin and Arvo Pärt.

Refined technique

Similarly, her choreographic palette embraces that of flamenco with beauty but not obviousness. The effect of this is that, by and large, we lose Masilo's characteristic mosquitolike skittering movements. Instead, we see more sophisticated, broader movement, with Masilo shifting her choreographic grammar.

Masilo partners herself with Gustin Makgeledisa in the role of José, a brutally fine dancer, who festival goers would have seen in the role of Capulet in Masilo's Romeo and Juliet last year.

He's convincing in this role, irrevocably pushed and pulled as he is into his inevitable and terrible demise by Carmen, her rival (Carlynn Williams), the predictions of the Fortune Teller (Vishanthi Arumugam).

Thankfully, Masilo has dispensed with the simpering purple dresses, which were part of an earlier manifestation of this work. Here we see her in an ox-blood red dress which filters viscerally into the cut and thrust of the tale, as it should.

A scene toward the end of the work lacks the magnetic magic with which it begins and leaps forward with drama, horror and madness. This affects the momentum and pace of the unfolding piece, a little. And all too soon, it is over.