Since its première in Paris in 1841, Giselle has weathered a bumpy ride. For St Petersburg in 1884, Petipa gave Coralli and Perrot’s original choreography the once-over and Fokine grafted on further innovations when Diaghilev brought the ballet to London in 1911. Despite casts led by Pavlova, Karsavina and Nijinsky, it bombed here with critics and audiences, who considered its archetypal Victorian plot of the innocent village maiden betrayed by the local squire prissy and musty. Only a generation later, when the likes of Markova and Ulanova assumed the title role, did the scenario’s mythic simplicity find new life, albeit in versions that departed quite radically from the primary text.
At least there were human musicians in the pit and not just some speakers broadcasting a recording
First seen in 1971, Mary Skeaping’s production shines on as one of the few jewels remaining in English National Ballet’s sadly denuded crown (a more enlightened Arts Council would be helping the company broaden its dismally narrow repertory). Deleting many of the inauthentic accretions, Skeaping restored what can be recovered of the mimed episodes created in 1841, reordered the sequence of the first act, and bolstered Adam’s likable score with tinkles by Minkus and Bürgmuller, as well as introducing an incongruously galumphing fugal passage into the spirit world of the second act. Not everyone approves, but the dramatic situation is clearly and sensitively delineated and David Walker’s pastoral designs remain warmly attractive. If only the lighting for the spectral nocturnal apparitions could be made more subtle.
This year will mark the retirement from the stage of Erina Takahashi, a stalwart of ENB since she joined the company in 1996. Honesty compels me ungallantly to note that at this late point of her career she looks a little too old to impersonate Giselle the teenage ingénue and perhaps she overplays the winsome simpering in consequence. Nor can she now command much in the way of a jump. But once she lets her hair down for the girl’s collapse into madness, her interpretation took fire and she sailed with delicately nuanced grace through her transformation into a disembodied wraith. It’s good news that she will continue with ENB as a coach: I am sure she has much to offer.
Her seducer Albrecht was Francesco Gabriele Frola. Wow, what a fabulous dancer he is – and that inane gasp is provoked not only by his dazzlingly virtuosic triple tours en l’air that I have never seen bettered but also a legato and bounce that never seems strained or willed. His characterisation is unaffected without being bland, and he’s an attentive partner, even if he and Takahashi don’t palpably strike erotic sparks off each other. I just hope ENB can give him enough to do and keep hold of him.
As Myrtha, Queen of the vengeful Wilis, Precious Adams moved with liquid elegance, wanting only in a dash more authority and menace. Fabien Reimair made a strong fist of poor old scorned Hilarion, and Noam Durand excelled in the peasant pas de deux. The corps was beautifully drilled in both the bucolic merry-making of the first act and the spooky enchantments of the second. The orchestra under Gavin Sutherland bashed its way enthusiastically through Adam’s oom-pahs: at least there were actual human musicians in the pit and not just some speakers broadcasting a recording. Overall, a very creditable performance.
Owing to the exigencies of deadlines, I was unable to review ENB’s new production of The Nutcracker before Christmas, and now that festivities are only a dim distant memory, I will wait until it comes round again next December before I review it at length. Enough at the moment to register a spectacular crowd-pleaser that will get up the noses of purists and charm just about everyone else.
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