An Original Giselle

We ballet fans grow irrationally attached to the productions of the classics we grow up with—taking in a different “Swan Lake” or “Giselle” from the one we know can make us feel like sensitive children refusing to eat the non-Kraft-brand mac ‘n cheese. When I first watched Pacific Northwest Ballet’s “Giselle” three years ago, every difference made me persnickety: Why are random buffoons running around the Wilis’ forest in Act Two? What do you mean Albrecht turns from Giselle’s grave and goes right back to his fiancée Bathilde?! But upon second encounter, thanks to PNB’s digital release of an April performance with Elizabeth Murphy and Christopher D’Ariano, I’ve begun to develop a fond taste for this staging.

Performance

Pacific Northwest Ballet: “Giselle” by Peter Boal

Place

Digital stream of performance in McCaw Hall, Seattle, captured live April 2026

Words

Rachel Howard

Elizabeth Murphy and Christopher D’Ariano in Peter Boal’s “Giselle.” Photograph by Angela Sterling

Premiered in 2011, PNB’s “Giselle” is fascinating because of the way its historical sources are laid bare. Comparing it to other “Giselles” is bit like looking at X-rays of old masters’ paintings to glimpse the revisions beneath the top layer of varnish. (Oh, there used to be a dog on the floor in that Vermeer!) To take us closer to the original, historians Doug Fullington and Marian Smith worked with three sources: A violin and cello score annotated to indicate the ballet’s actions, created a year after “Giselle’s” 1841 premiere; a detailed staging manual written by the ballet master Henri Justamant in the 1860s (which resurfaced just a few decades ago in a German flea market); and of course the Stepanov notation, recorded around the turn of the twentieth century and brought west by Nicholas Sergeyev (the foundation of the Royal Ballet and Paris Opera Ballet’s mid-twentieth century productions, with the original choreography by Jean Coralli and Jules Perrot adapted by Petipa). Fullington blocked in the dancer formations and steps; Smith translated the mime instructions; and PNB artistic director Peter Boal brought it all together, filling in choreography as needed.

Upon first seeing this production in 2023, I was most startled by the difference in the title character: When the Act One action plays out as indicated in the Justamant staging manual, Giselle is saucier than the delicate girl we usually encounter today, downright assertive and definitely not shy. During this viewing, particularly with Murphy acting the mime with such ease, I appreciated the healthy vigor of her character, while still getting caught up on some dramaturgical issues. Take, for instance, Giselle’s first encounter with the Duke-in-disguise-as-a-peasant (in this production, he’s actually called Albert). Giselle backs into our rapscallion lover boy sight unseen, turns around, and without any discernible chain of emotional reactions, is instantly smitten. Has she already met him, and I missed that in the synopsis? I felt cheated of seeing her vulnerability, that deep flash of fear even the boldest among us have experienced upon deciding, “Yes, this person. I’m going to fall for him.”

Familiarity with a production breeds acceptance, however. When we know the story so well—girl learns her beloved is already engaged, dies, becomes one of the forest spirits who dance men to death—we learn to fill in the missing story beats with our imaginations. And so, with this viewing of PNB’s “Giselle” I let that meet-cute moment glitch go, and instead became keenly interested in this staging’s musicality, the way the mime is so precisely built into Adolph Adam’s score. Giselle even does a kind of sign language to the audience that she’s about to die, right before she collapses. (Somehow Murphy made this look perfectly natural.) Another favorite touch: In the big Act One ensemble dance, the peasants’ claps align with the music in such a way that you realize Adam must have written that action in. It all stirs a fresh astonishment that this ballet we’ve been watching for nearly 200 years was originally written, scored, and choreographed within the space of a few months, and appreciation for the miracle of its wholeness.

Elizabeth Murphy and Christopher D’Ariano in Peter Boal’s “Giselle.” Photograph by Angela Sterling

But while those fascinations leave us with grist for the intellect, let’s be honest: The reason we really watch “Giselle” is for the opportunity to see today’s dancers reach new heights.

In this performance, the news was definitely Christopher D’Ariano, promoted to principal just last year, and debuting as Albrecht. He was wonderful in the first act, an attentive partner, creating the image of a casually charismatic love interest with his subtle facial reactions. (He reminded me of a boy-band member who hooks fans with that tiny but perfectly timed eyebrow-raise.) D’Ariano’s second act, when he is nearly danced to death by those Wilis, was something else, however: Tremendous. Fluttery entrechats to sigh over, the legs so turned out, the feet so fast, everything lush, springy, and clean. If there is any room for improvement, it would be that he could let his Albrecht could become, by the end, more raggedly desperate.

Elizabeth Murphy, by contrast, did her best work in Act One, with footwork legible as fine etching. Her petit allegro dancing was so musical and fine that it came as a surprise in Act Two when Giselle’s famous adagio really did not suit her—she struggled to create a legato quality and the lyricism seemed missing. Maybe more coaching was needed to carry off certain effects? Her ballon was lovely in those jumping passages when Giselle seems to be batted about by the wind, but in other moments—as when Albrecht holds her waist through that rhythmic series of arabesque hops—the mechanics of the passage felt too exposed, and I wondered if Murphy knew what kind of illusion she was aiming to create.

In this cast, the debuts definitely had it. Melisa Guilliams, still in the corps, unleashed a dramatically risky and highly original Wili Queen Myrtha, her arms flicking out from those arabesque jumps sharp as knives. Guilliams was unafraid to capture Myrtha’s sheer weirdness—in her stiff drive, those arms held so firmly in high fifth as the legs carry on doing steps that are usually soft and sweet, Myrtha is a person pathologically possessed. To pull off an interpretation with this degree of aggression but not the slightest campiness is a marvel. Surely it helped that one of the all-time-great Myrthas, Carrie Imler, came back to coach.

Melissa Guilliams in Peter Boal’s “Giselle.” Photograph by Angela Sterling

The smaller roles also offered great rewards. Ashton Edwards was transfixing as one of the two main Wilis, head tracing elegant arcs in beautiful jumping renversés. In the Act One peasant pas de deux, the technically prodigious Clara Ruf Maldonado nearly stole the show, a little firefly of musicality through this version’s odd passages of unison skittering sidesteps. (Kuu Sakuragi perfectly matched her in size and lightness.) And as Hilarion—the unfairly maligned gameskeeper who loves Giselle and exposes the Duke’s deception—Dammiel Cruz-Garrudo was excellently cast, righteous anger shining from his eyes.

Truth be told, I’m still bothered by this “Giselle’s” ending, in which Albrecht receives Giselle’s absolution but gets to keep his high class fiancée, too. Nonetheless, I’ve come to appreciate that rub. PNB could have staged a generic “Giselle” designed to fulfill the broadest box-office-driven expectations. Instead, Boal, Fullington, and Smith have lovingly invested in a spectacle that is equally thoughtful and thought-provoking. Perhaps this production will even, one day, become a favorite.

Rachel Howard

Rachel Howard is the former lead dance critic of the San Francisco Chronicle. Her dance writing has also appeared in the New York Times, the Hudson Review, Ballet Review, San Francisco Magazine and Dance Magazine.

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