Thwarted pathos
Giannandrea Poesio
Giselle is arguably one of the most revisited classics of the 19th-century repertoire. The story of the peasant girl who becomes a vengeful spirit because of her compulsive passion for dancing, and the eternal theme of love beyond death, have often — if not too often — titillated the fantasy of many in the dance profession. We have seen the modern/postmodern barefoot Giselle, who ends up in an asylum; the Nazi and the Creole ones, set respectively in a concentration camp and in the Louisiana Bayous; the roaring 1920s version; the Pre-Raphaelite reading; and even the post-postmodern one, danced in its entirety by a barefooted and barebreasted solo female performer.
Regardless of their wackiness or geniality, each of these versions stands out for its thematic, choreographic and stylistic unity, something that cannot be said of Sylvie Guillem's new adaptation of the 1841 ballet. Dramatically unfocused and choreographically flawed. Guillem's version is neither brave nor truly radical, resulting in an unimpressive hybrid in which newish yet predictable solutions alternate with quotations from the standard text.
None of the choreographic sequences is remarkable or unforgettable, and the combination of pure balletic classicism with trite pseudo-choreographic realism soon becomes tiresome. It is also clear that the choreographer/interpreter has carefully tailored the title role to suit Guillem's known abilities, for she does not spare us any of her six o'clock legs and breathtaking circuslike balances. Unfortunately, such a gratuitous display of virtuosity detracts greatly from the dramatic depths of the main character. Guillem has never been a credible traditional Giselle, and remains completely unconvincing in her own reading of the ballet. Hers is the coldest, least emotion-stirring Giselle I have seen in some 35 years of Giselle-going. Unlike most of the other members of the cast, who are busily engaged in all sorts of distracting and stereotypical characterisations — the flirt, the village idiot, etc. — Guillem sails through the two acts of the dramatic ballet as if it were a plotless one.
Alas, the old storyline is one of the few things that has not been altered in this production, and still begs desperately for some kind of convincing acting and interpretation. But lack of dramatic depth seems to be the key feature of all the important female characters in this production. Myrtha, the queen of the vengeful Wilis, is neither the butch virago one sees so frequently these days, nor the quintessential seductress originally conceived by the fertile minds of librettists Teophile Gautier and Vernoy de Saint Georges. Deprived of some of her most significant solo moments, she becomes nothing more than an insignificant secondary character. So does Princess Bathilde, a two-dimensional, walk-by rich bitch, whose only active participation in the plot is to sport a nice little number straight out of the most exclusive Milanese boutique. Men, on the contrary, tend to overact in this production, even though I am not sure whether their overwhelming gesticulation is part of the new choreographic text or stems from the innate gesturing of us Italians, given that the rest of the company was from my homeland.
Such dramatic unevenness is not helped much by the sets either. Spectacular as they might be, the million-dollar revolving wall in Act I and the Spielbergesque enchanted forest of Act II make little sense and create some rather silly dramatic situations. The opening split scene, with the gamekeeper Hilarion finishing a wreath for his beloved on one side and the noble Albrecht quarrelling with his squire under an improbable chandelier on the other, is totally superfluous. Robbed of his usual abode, the disguised Albrecht is forced to
hide his sword and cape behind some oddly placed rocks in what appears to be the village main street in the first act, where they are found by his rival, who obviously likes to leave no stone unturned. Later on, the rocks of the enchanted forest levitate, in the best ET tradition, to make room for the dancing Wilis, clad in all sorts of preposterous designer wedding gowns. The rocks then descend again, most ridiculously, at the end of the ballet, thwarting any pathos there might have been.
The sole positive aspect of this nonsensical and boring performance is that it has given us the chance to appreciate La Scala Ballet Company, in which the artistic and technical qualities of its members shine even amid such mediocre choreography. Let's hope it will be back soon with something else.
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