Even when the San Francisco Ballet counted as a New York City Ballet satellite, its Balanchine paled beside that of the mothership. (Of course it did.) And since the former English National Ballet director Tamara Rojo assumed the helm, in 2023, the “Father of American Ballet,” as they’re calling Balanchine (he’s more like the whole family) is a rare sight on the S.F.B. boards. The issue, then, is whether quasi-clueless Balanchine is better than none. On the one hand, the Mariinsky’s pellucid classicists have dug around for story treasure in the plotless Jewels without spoiling the fun. On the other hand, the Paris Opera dancers, with their retarded tempos and stingy hips, can make a person miserable. Plus, this program is poorly curated. It begins with the perfect closer, “Diamonds,” which runs the course from tragedy to 19th-century ballroom pomp; it then proceeds to Serenade, another, better, tragedy in the same Balanchine–Tchaikovsky vein. The pairing is awkward. The evening concludes with the cheekily patriotic Stars and Stripes when no one is feeling jolly about the state of our Union. Come for Serenade. Even indifferently performed, this oceanic marvel is enough ballet for a lifetime. —Apollinaire Scherr