RUDOLF NUREYEV has been a highly photogenic figure during his career, both onstage and off: from the filmed ballet, Romco and Juliet, to the television tape of The Sleeping Beauty ballet; from his early exploits in Haight-Ashbury, to tales of his explosive temperament--most recently one about his slapping a clumsy ballerina in the face during a performance. Rudolf Nureyev: I Am a Dancer, is the most comprehensive footage on the man and his work to date, but the film offers little insight into its subject's flamboyant personality. Instead, it tiptoes around the man as though too much pressure would make him burst, and reduces his art to the equivalent of a television variety show.

The film consists of segments from four of the Royal Ballet's repertoire, each a pas de deux featuring Nureyev and ballerina. La Sylphide, with Carla Fracci and The Sleeping Beauty, with Lynn Seymour, are both classical works. Field Figures, with Deanne Bergsma, choreographed by Glen Tetley, is a modern ballet. And Marguerite and Armand, with Dame Margot Fonteyn, choreographed by Sir Frederick Ashton especially for the pair, is based on Dumas's story of Mme. Recamier, the courtesan immortalized by Garbo in Camille. Ashton calls his ballet an "evocation poetique," but it is more like sentimental prose. The other pieces are adequate, but hardly thrilling. The biggest problem with using bits of complete works is that the audience stands a good chance of being bored, since there is no development of character or movement to watch, only isolated dancing. Even the most enthusiastic devotee has limits to his attention span, and I noticed that a good portion of the audience was yawning during the last segment.

The pieces of formal works are strung together by clips of Nureyev rehearsing, Nureyev exercising, Nureyev resting, Nureyev breathing. And the entire movie is narrated with Nureyev and Fonteyn's words interspliced) by Briton Bryan Forbes, intoning as though he were touring Stonehenge, from a script with such penetrating insights as, "dancing is very difficult, you know", or "this is a dancer's dressing room; no frills, just four bare walls..."

AS FAR AS Nureyev's personality goes, it's the same old story about how hard-working and attentive he is, how eager to innovate, how much the heart-throb of the ballet world in shots of his ogling fans, almost all of them are teeny-boppers or middle-aged women). Fonteyn begs the question of Nureyev's temper: "superficially he might seem to have some bad sides, but I don't think they're important." I can understand that the makers of the film might have been hesitant to pry uninvited into Nureyev's private affairs: if his reputation is at all based in fact, he might not be averse to stuffing the camera down their throats. It's not so much what we don't see that is frustrating, it's the superficiality of what we do.

Ballet is a highly artificial art here are people, wearing tights and tu-tus, dancing the story of something like a princess in an enchanted forest), and it needs the artificial atmosphere and remove of the proscenium stage for the audience to be able to suspend its disbelief. In this film, the ballet segments have been made in a studio eliminating the authentic sense of baliet as it is performed in front of a live audience), and the camera is placed so close to the dancers that any illusion of reality is lost. As a result, in La Sylphide about a Scottish lord who falls in love with a wood nymph), as the camera glides coyly behind a plastic bush and peers out at Nureyev in white lipstick and kilt, nostrils flaring, the effect is more like a parody of Brigadoon than serious, classical ballet. In The Sleeping Beauty, it is grossly unfair to Lynn Seymour that the camera is close enough todistract the audience's attention from her accomplished performance tothe fact that she is not very attractive. A good deal of this segment is also filmed from somewhere above the level of the dancers, an angle from which only Busby Berkeley choreographed his dances to be viewed.

As if it is enough that the audience is practically sitting in the performers' laps, the unified effect of dancing bodies is constantly being interrupted by close-ups of bits of anatomy--a thigh or a wrist, even a set of armpits. And, for a touch of glamor, there are artistic effects, like Nureyev divided into six images, all kicking each other in the head. This kind of overbearing camerawork is an insult tothe efforts of the performers and to the intelligence of the audience.

THE FILM records some great dancing despite itself, which is hardly surprising since the cameras are focused on some of the best dancers now active. It is wonderful to watch Nureyev exercising: the control in his legs and his amazing, back-breaking discipline. The Field Figures segment is fairly successful, partly because modern ballet, like modern dance, depends more on physical relationships than on theatrical effects and can therefore stand the closeness of the camera, and also because Bergsma is a fascinating dancer. She has legs which rival Nureyev's, in their own special way. And, of course, he and Fonteyn together are unbeatable. One of the good aspects of this film is that it is possible tosee how much better Nureyev performs, how much he comes out of himself when he is dancing with Fonteyn than when he is with anyone else. He would never dare slap her. Speaking of their partnership in the film, Nureyev says, "If there is no trust and understanding between you and your partner, it doesn't matter how well you dance." Fonteyn is now in her middle fifties, and her imminent retirement will surely be a great loss to Nureyev's career and to dance audiences.

There are some great moments--watching Nureyev is always rewarding--and for those who are willing to eat bread when they should be getting cake the film is worth seeing. But one of the great potentials of film is that it can record performances in the other arts, relaying the talents of an artist to those unable to attend live performances, and preserving them for posterity. It is hardly too much to ask that a film about Rudolf Nureyev preserve the dignity of his talents and some semblance of the authentic experience of ballet.