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.