by Leigh Witchel
[Added – July 13, 2019
I had known about this for a few weeks, but it wasn’t until I spoke to a colleague in England that I could confirm that I had gotten two plot points seriously wrong.
It is not Albrecht who holds Giselle at the end of Act 1 but Hilarion. He had killed Giselle. His attack on her in Act 2 was not a rape, but a re-enactment of his murder of her by strangling.
Ouch. This is the first time in more than 30 years that I can remember this happening. I’m embarrassed and puzzled that I could have been that off. As is my habit, I watched the work cold, reading no advance materials. I do that as a test to see if the narrative is clearly told.
I saw the performance twice, with two separate casts, taking pages of notes. After writing, I read the synopsis in the program and all accompanying materials (which totaled several pages), to fact check. None of which mentioned this major departure from the usual narrative at all, and Giselle’s death is deliberately obscured by the corps. Usually, Giselle dies either as a suicide or from heart failure, and Giselle’s mother would be holding her. Giselle’s mother had been cut from the libretto, and since in a few productions, Albrecht will make his way to Giselle’s body and be in the Act 1 tableau, that’s the interpretation I pieced together.
It makes me an unreliable viewer of the ballet, and I apologize to the reader.
That said, this information doesn’t change my assessment of the work, and especially my objections to it, which included that the story was told unclearly, and also that Albrecht and Hilarion were difficult to tell apart as they were costumed similarly in dim lighting. However, I would have hoped the difficulty of following the narrative would not have been demonstrated quite so clearly.
Knowing now that Hilarion murders Giselle, I add that decision by Khan and Little diminishes Albrecht even further, making him almost unnecessary to the ballet. The only thing he’s done in this version is deserted Giselle at a crucial moment. Going to my main point, which that Giselle is a love story, not a political tract, that eliminated one of the main pillars of the ballet (Albrecht’s redemption) and raised more questions than it answers. – LAW]
Take away the steps. Richterize the score. If you do, what’s left of “Giselle?” At its heart, Giselle and Albrecht. That’s kept the ballet alive since 1841. Even as it has changed over time, the work stayed the story of two lovers: a woman of extraordinary courage, and a flawed man who was redeemed through her forgiveness and his repentance.
For all its ingenuity, that’s where Akram Khan’s version of the ballet went wrong. He tried to remake “Giselle” as a socioeconomic parable and it isn’t. It’s a love story.
This production for English National Ballet, first done in 2016, is a full-on rethinking of the traditional ballet. The music, composed by Vincenzo Lamagna, used snippets of the original score, sometimes samples distorted and reverberated, sometimes instrumental lines presented in isolation. Other sections were industrial noises. It opened with a low rumble like the boum of the Marabar Caves, a heavy-handed effect that set the tone.
The production’s concept is as didactic as the traditional version verges on being too light. We were not in some pretty-pretty village with happy peasants. The setting had no natural features at all, just a cement wall with handprints on it, like those of the doomed children in “The Blair Witch Project.”
There were both a précis and an essay about globalization and inequality in the program that sounded all the politically aware notes for a modernization of a 19th century tale. According to the libretto, by dramaturge Ruth Little, Giselle was now part of a community of migrant garment factory workers, the Outcasts, who were unemployed due to the closing of the plant. It was one detail among many that didn’t make it from the libretto to the stage. The most serious was one the libretto kept from the original: that Albrecht was a wealthy landowner in disguise. All the details that told you this were gone.
For a work using a dramaturge, an awful lot of Ballet Narration 101 got flubbed, such as making sure to identify the characters as quickly as possible. The Outcasts were all costumed similarly – women in light shifts, men in shirts and pants. Their outfits looked as if they had been laundered a hundred times and the dirt no longer came out. Hilarion and Albrecht were dressed alike and there was no mime or acting, just dance punctuated with confrontations. You weren’t sure which one was which for too long until Giselle’s reaction to them finally made it clear.
Khan and Little posit the jobless Outcasts as unable to do more than provide entertainment to the wealthy Landlords. Giselle led the women in beats and slides to pounding music; Albrecht led the men in leaps and jumps. The cast rumbled back and forth as Giselle and four friends turned in the front. The monolithic force of the unison dances made “Giselle” look like “Spartacus.”
As with the music, the references to the traditional version – and classical ballet – were fleeting samples. The pinwheel from Act 1 that Giselle and Albrecht race through to find one another showed up right before the stage glowed with an eerie fluorescence. Albrecht searched for Giselle among the women without being able to find her. That souvenir from “Swan Lake” didn’t work well here: Albrecht had just been rushing around with her and now he couldn’t find her in a game of hide and seek? Not a good look.
Even a traditional “Giselle” can seem ridiculous without great leads to make a case for it. This version worked better with stars as well. Tamara Rojo is a star. She filled in a lot of the blanks; that’s what stars do. Albrecht and Giselle’s Act 1 love duet began as she fit her own hands in the inky handprints. Even not facing us, she spoke with her hands and back. There’s so much information we need that Little and Khan omitted on stage: Who Albrecht is or how he is leading a double life. But Rojo made it clear that she was madly in love with this man just by how she looked at him. Her passion forged a link back to the real story. Lamagna created the duet out of a sampling of the original pas d’action; at its climax, Albrecht lifted Giselle to fit into the highest handprint.
A klaxon sounded. The Outcasts returned, but not for work. The wall tilted downwards, revealing the Landlords in caricatured costumes of the wealthy for different eras. This was another tradeoff of clarity for effect, especially as the main Landlord (who would usually be the Duke of Courland in a traditional version) wasn’t dressed as a 19th century industrialist, but still as a medieval feudal lord. Someone probably wanted to make the point that that the rich will always be with us, but it looked more like an episode of Dr. Who, or The Muppets: Evil time-traveling Landlords from SPAAAAAAACE!
In this version, Hilarion was termed a “fixer,” who bridged between the community and the Landlords. He tried to make Giselle bow to the nobility. She refused; he forced everyone else to bow. “Giselle” as “Spartacus” again. Rojo handled the moment better than Little and Khan, because she knew what could be conveyed in dance and mime. She made her contempt of Hilarion clear, and when she returned a glove Bathilde offered her, it was a moment of inherent nobility. Hilarion forced the men to dance, and then the men and women danced with hands like antlers: animals trained for the amusement of the ruling class.
Clarity was the biggest issue in this production, both in the dramaturgy and the dancing. We didn’t understand Albrecht’s duplicity, and it wasn’t clear that Hilarion knew about it either. There was no way in this staging for even a good actor to clear that up. Khan also kept dancing at the center and important plot points at the sides. Giselle and Albrecht ran into Bathilde while four men were dancing. You didn’t see it happen until it was gone. After that, Giselle disappeared back into the group for the next dance. This “Giselle” had issues with the idea of a star, but this story doesn’t work without one.
Again, a strong stage presence helped. Jeffrey Cirio blasted into the part of Hilarion, rocketing skywards in wide beats. Hilarion danced a barrage of steps in the opening – Cirio attacked them and turned them into a manifestation of anger and frenzy. It made him more compelling and visible. He sold the role through an intense physical presence.
Isaac Hernández was more reactive as Albrecht and the role seemed more opaque even as Rojo and Cirio were connecting the dots. Cirio and Hernández fought like bullfighters and the moment of intense physicality gave them something to sell. But the Landlord walked to center and – it was hard to tell depending on the angle of viewing – did he kiss Albrecht or did he just sniff him? Jokes aside, why? There was no setup in this staging to give Albrecht any connection to these people: There was no Wilfrid, no house opposite, no opening scene where Albrecht dons his disguise, no sense of Albrecht lying or being from a wealthier background. Who is this guy?
In this version, Giselle told Albrecht she was pregnant, but he was pressured to abandon her, with Bathilde claiming him in slow-motion. His betrayal was less his own making and more something he was forced to do against his will like a mechanical doll. Yet without Albrecht having some hand in his own mistake, he was just a rat in a maze. By enlarging the sociopolitical forces in the tale, it actually made the ballet smaller.
Bathilde guided Albrecht off while Giselle headed into a solo that was less a mad scene and more self-immolation. The lament referenced the traditional staging: Giselle’s arms snapped in and out of a Wili pose, or her hand fluttered violently indicating a wing. But it referenced other death scenes more: Giselle’s head stayed tilted to the side like the Chosen One in “The Rite of Spring.” Another aspect Rojo made clear – she rocked an imaginary baby before racing through the women and pushing at their stomachs, as if she were aborting or wishing them barrenness in her frenzy.
The cast massed as the music became deafening, then silence and they dispersed: Albrecht was cradling Giselle’s lifeless body. Given his betrayal of her shortly before, this made little sense, but this production assumes you either know “Giselle” so well you can ignore the plot inconsistencies or you don’t know it at all and don’t care what’s inconsistent. To noises of surf from a nonexistent sea, the back wall revolved as the stage plunged to darkness.
Even in traditional versions, Act 2 is why we buy the ticket. Act 1 often has to be saved by the leads, and in this version as well, Act 2 made up a lot of ground with theatrical thunderclaps. Where Khan and Little hit showed as clearly where they missed.
A platform high up on the stage suggested that Albrecht, standing onstage with his back to us with the Landlords arrayed behind him, was now in an underworld like Orpheus’. He pointed to the Landlord in accusation and veered into a big dance solo, but he was blaming others for what in the canonical version would have been his own doing. Perhaps that’s the way of the world but it doesn’t make a hero. It lessens Albrecht’s ability to redeem himself when, to quote Mungo in “Blazing Saddles,” he is just a “pawn in game of life.”
When the Wilis entered the ballet dumped all of its socioeconomic conceits and became about these people on this stage. And that’s when it finally started to work.
The Wilis’ dance was what the rest of the production could have been: an actual rethinking of “Giselle.” In the most singular moment in the production, Myrtha (Stina Quagebeur), on pointe, bourréed to center stage dragging the lifeless body of Giselle. Breathing heavily as if to resuscitate her, Myrtha revived Giselle. This was the first time we heard a section of the traditional Adam score almost unadulterated, and it was the first time where not only were our expectations upended, but we were forced to reassess the original.
Rojo got up and wandered to the music, which again became distorted and crackling. Two Wilis (an echo of Moyna and Zulma) brought Myrtha a long, slim pole. Myrtha pushed at Giselle’s womb, then took the pole and put it in Giselle’s mouth. The staff still in her mouth, Giselle danced an unsteady solo; Rojo’s star power added clarity again.
Khan treated pointe work as if he knew nothing about it but the stereotype of being on tiptoe. Almost the only step the women did was bourrée. Yet that stereotype worked: the limited, insistent repetition pushed the strangeness of the piece.
All the women entered with poles; a factory whistle and clanking noises replaced the music with a repeated, driving sound like a forge. As effective as the score was at this point, the music sounded so doctored and augmented it made you wonder why they bothered playing it live. Myrtha slammed her pole down as the women massed and crossed. Myrtha handed Giselle a pole, and the women all piled their staffs on Giselle’s back. She shrugged them off, letting them fall.
From the Wilis on, Act 2 was a worthy remake of the ballet because it dug down to its essence. Change the music if you want, change the steps if you must, but the goal is to illuminate – and advocate – for the heart of the work, and finally the production found an analogue to the spectral, mournful vengeance of the original.
There were still some misfires. Hilarion climbed down the wall to violate the women’s space and things went from bad to worse. The Wilis did the famous traveling arabesques, the most iconic moment from the original, but it looked more like an obligatory had-to-put-it-in-somewhere quote than an integrated reference.
Hilarion cringed and when Giselle slammed into him, a hug turned into rape. It made the point, but it didn’t make sense. Not because the character wasn’t potentially violent or that sort of violence against women isn’t real, but Hilarion was surrounded, in danger and very aware of this. Just because something can happen doesn’t mean it should happen onstage. It was asking us to believe, in a production that had to cohere logically, that he was not just violent but stupid to Darwin Award level.
Myrtha pushed Giselle away with a metaphoric “hold my purse” and turned on him. A hissing noise, and suddenly the Wilis hammered their sticks repeatedly into the ground and the stage rumbled with the deafening pounding of an infernal machine. The women slammed and pulled with their wands as if they were eviscerating Hilarion, drawing out entrails and cutting them: “The Cage,” only now with extra added rape! Myrtha came to Hilarion slowly with her stick. WHAM. She pounded and he fell over. He tried to climb away – no dice. Logically arrived at or not, Hilarion’s downfall was one of the best moments in the production, referencing and amplifying the original, even improving on it. The sticks and pounding gave a murderous ferocity to the scene without any actual violence needed. As in the original the women took him off, presumably to his death, just as Albrecht entered.
Albrecht tried to reach Giselle, but Myrtha blocked him and handed Giselle her staff. Giselle started to strike a blow but couldn’t bring herself to do it. He did not resist. For the first time, Khan had given Albrecht choreography where he could show his character. Myrtha tried to force Giselle into striking. She resisted and Myrtha backed away, yet threatened at the same time.
Lamagna stripped the original score’s Act 2 pas de deux down to its cello line only. It sounded like a Bach suite. Giselle took Albrecht’s hand and put it on her cheek. The violins added in to the soundscape. Albrecht tried to embrace Giselle, but she pushed him away. He lay down. She walked on top of him, but reached down for him. He got up and scooped her into his arms. He put her down and got on his knees before her. Khan made what we had been waiting for: a reconciliation.
Myrtha threatened to strike a killing blow, but Giselle took the stick from her. She placed it, womb to womb, between them, as if impaling both of them. As all three people onstage opened their palms in a symbol of acceptance and forgiveness, the women backed off into the shadows. Now alone in front of the wall, Albrecht pushed against it as the Outcast men did at the opening. The lights faded on an unresolved chord.
Class warfare is certainly the background of “Giselle.” For librettist Théophile Gautier, it was a plot mechanism to force Albrecht and Giselle’s relationship to be impossible. But class warfare is not the subject. When you hack at the love story at the heart of “Giselle,” you’re left with very little. At some point, you have to make a choice between your thesis and your source material.
You also need to choose your medium. Without words to precisely express complex ideas, ballet does moods and emotions. It doesn’t do economic theory. When you attempt to use dance as a vehicle for social justice, the best it can muster is an emotional response – propaganda. That can be incredible – see “The Green Table” as Exhibit A. But otherwise, telling us that class inequality is bad is as meaningful and provocative as a freshman college essay. You don’t get points in dancemaking for being politically aware. You get them for making people think. Easy-Bake politics added nothing new to the discussion.
The best parts of this “Giselle” were when it dropped its intellectual conceits and focused on the kernel of the story. That’s why “Giselle” has lived on long after other ballets died. What endures about “Giselle” is not that Albrecht was wealthy and screwed Giselle over, but that he actually loved her.
copyright © 2019 by Leigh Witchel
“Akram’s Khan’s Giselle” – English National Ballet
Harris Theater, Chicago, IL
March 2, 2019
Cover: English National Ballet in “Akram Khan’s Giselle.” Photo © Kyle Flubacker.
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