The Ballet Russe - a touring company that has seen more transformations than David Bowie - is credited with bringing dance to the masses.

It had its origins in turn-of-the-century Paris when Russian impresario Serge Diaghilev founded his legendary company and it faced the final curtain in Brooklyn in 1962.

Along the way, it survived bitter power struggles (at one stage two Ballet Russes toured the world), hired the artists Henri Matisse and Salvador Dali to design costumes and weathered dictatorial choreographers (one insisted on wearing white gloves because she "didn't want to touch the bodies of sweating girls.")

Dayna Goldfine and Dan Geller's splendidly researched documentary neatly wraps up the company's labyrinthine evolution but where it scores is the wealth of juicy gossip served up by the surviving members.

Olympic gold medallist Mia Slavenska, a self-regarding tour-de-force decked out by a particularly outre curtain shop, maintains her influence pervaded everywhere and no man could resist her.

Scouse-born Frederic Franklin formed one of ballet's legendary partnerships with prima donna-to-end-them-all Alexandra Danilova and provides the film with a wry eye cast over the company's hysterical comings and goings.

At one stage they all crammed aboard a special train and rattled across America, performing shows in backwaters such as St Louis to acclaim from audiences who didn't know the difference between a tutu and a pirouette.

They were also the first company to permanently hire a black dancer - Raven Wilkinson - who attracted the attentions of the Klan at shows in the southern states and was eventually forced out by racism.

Wakefield Poole quit the Ballet Russe corps to make critically acclaimed gay porn films while Yvonne Craig went on to star as Batgirl in the hilariously camp TV series.

Geller and Goldfine augment these dazzling stories with some terrific footage showing dancers in the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo in all their flickering black-and-white glory.

Don't for one minute imagine this is a dry and dusty disinterment of a faded legend. All human life really is here. As one ageing dancer put it: "What else could I do - sell books, sell fruit?"

Tim Evans