This ballet crackles with personality and activity, but there are also delicate moments of stillness that are unusual to see from this typically full-throttle company. At times, the corps is sculpted into iconic romantic-era poses, coquettishly tilted at the waist. A wonderful tableau of suppressed vitality greets Swanilda when she barges into Coppelius’s workshop to find a wizard, Pierrot and other life-size dolls whose quietness is especially poignant next to the ballerina’s pizazz.

This new staging of “Coppelia,” by Sergei Vikharev, premiered in 2009, based on how Marius Petipa and Enrico Cecchetti retooled the original French version (by Arthur Saint-Leon) for Russian dancers. Seen here for the first time in this country, it’s an extraordinary achievement, full of color and life and the feeling of something newly minted. Everything about it seems fresh, from the shimmering Delibes score to the dancers’ energy — you want to stomp along with their mazurka — and the crisp fabrics of the folkloric costumes, inspired by the festive attire of what was known as Galicia, a region overlapping Poland and Ukraine.

The folk dances, which are among the highlights of this ballet, take on a stirring significance at the end, when the villagers form a double ring to encircle the newly married Swanilda and Franz, spinning around them in a communal embrace. It’s a thrilling vision of the life force that old Coppelius searched for in vain, hoping to spark artificially, and which Swanilda possesses in spades. Here is the eternal dance, whirling everyone into order.

The vibrant colors that fill the Opera House stage echo the theme of freedom that boils through the ballet. The body was liberated in “Coppelia” as never before, as ballerinas gained speed and strength in the latter part of the 19th century. With her light jumps, bright footwork and swift changes of direction, Kaptsova’s Swanilda is rarely still, and the power and agility of her precise, tireless legs mark her as a free spirit.

She is no Giselle, undone by rejection. Swanilda ropes her gal pals into storming Coppelius’s house and confronting her rival. It turns out the heartbreaker is just a pretty doll, one of many Coppelius has created. In fact, in a plot twist that reveals “Coppelia’s” kinship with Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein,” written several decades earlier, Coppelius attempts to bring the doll — his child, his Coppelia — to life. For this, he has drugged Franz and plans to siphon off his spirit. Crafty Swanilda slips into Coppelia’s clothes, confuses the old man, trashes his workshop, rescues Franz — and wins the adoration of the entire village.