The last time English National Ballet’s Giselle saw light of day at the Coliseum was in 2017. This year’s run, dedicated to the memory of Dame Beryl Grey (1927–2022), who commissioned it from Mary Skeaping (1902–1984) in 1971 for the company, then London Festival Ballet, deserves to be seen more often.
The audience—the auditorium quite full on the ballet’s sixth night (out of thirteen)—is very appreciative. Too appreciative at times for me: the applause breaking the spell of the moment and my total absorption.
COVID put paid to first night for me. Tonight was to have been the same cast, but inevitably there are cast changes, namely Albrecht, not that its equilibrium is shaken. First night lead couple were first soloist Katja Khaniukova as Giselle and lead principal Aitor Arrieta—tonight he is replaced by lead principal Francesco Gabriele Frola—both men, of similar build and height, are debuting in the role.
Frola and Khaniukova make a lovely young couple, not sophisticated, not stars sent in to dazzle with their technique, but an honest characterisation of shy first love. Their rapport feels genuine. And his fiancée Bathilde (Laura Hussey) seems an understanding soul, not haughty as often portrayed.
Skeaping’s research and restoration strips Giselle of accrued barnacles, accoutrements and embellishments almost right back to the 1841 original, its storyline created for Carlotta Grisi by Théophile Gautier, who was rather taken with her. As he was by Victor Hugo’s Les Fantômes and Heinrich Heine’s Wilis... all very much of its Romantic era. Adolphe Adam, apparently, wrote the score in three months. It was a huge success in Paris.
Inevitably, its shine came off later, until Petipa introduced it to Russia, and the likes of Pavlova, Karsavina and Nijinsky gave it new life. Many versions have been created, but Skeaping’s, with help from Karsavina, brings back mime and some clarity. For instance, the custom of hanging a wine jug over the cottage where wine can be tasted at the end of the harvest season makes sense of why the nobility visit Giselle’s home in particular.
It’s these little touches that add charm to a sad tale. Giselle does not kill herself with Albrecht’s sword as has become usual, but dies of a broken heart. Albrecht falls on his knees in true contrition, till he is whisked away by his squire. Some protective noble privileges remain, but he seems less of an entitled aristocrat than a young chap smitten by a sweet naïve girl. And both Frola and Khaniukova fit that bill exactly.
There are no entrechats six in the second act when Albrecht is danced to supposed death by the Wilis. Frola is not overstretched. I once saw Sergei Polunin do twenty-seven, which rather stopped the action. Here it flows.
Khaniukova excels in the demanding second act. Still a gentle simple soul, her pleading for his life before an implacable Myrtha Queen of the Wilis (Alison McWhinney majestic) is tender. He sees her with his mind’s eye; we see them pass each other unknowingly. Then hope overcomes grief and they meet physically in tender pas de deux.
The Wilis, not in ghostly white but the palest of green as befits woodland wisps, are quite a force led by the queen and her two helpers, Zulma and Moyna, respectively Minju Kang and Chloe Keneally, both magnificent. The bell tolls midnight and they terrorise the male villagers out in the woods. Twenty-one Wilis fill the stage, quite a sight.
Gamekeeper Hilarion (Fabian Reimair) is swiftly dispatched. This I have never understood. He loves Giselle truly, madly, deeply. He has not jilted her at the altar (the Wilis are girls in that predicament), so why must he die? Yet he is the catalyst for the catastrophe. He exposes Albrecht, he is jealous. For this he must die and deceiver Albrecht live? Ah, these Romantics.
David Walker’s design, sunny village and gloomy wood and David Mohr’s lighting (recreated from the original by Charles Bristowe) are splendidly evocative. Gavin Sutherland is guest conductor tonight, and Adam’s music has never sounded so emotional and stirring.
When Albrecht enters the woodland grove in search of Giselle’s tomb—with white lilies in his arms and a vast cloak enfolding him—I challenge you not to feel a thrilling tingle down your spines—the music demands it.
Giselle, a drama of two parts—and it’s always the second that captivates most—is spellbinding. The first sunny act with its peasant dances turns dark, setting the backstory to the poetic display of love and heartache. Each cast brings their own personalities to the characterisation. Frola’s Albrecht and Khaniukova’s Giselle seem on the cusp of life, like Romeo and Juliet.