The Enduring Appeal of Giselle

Why does “Giselle,” a ballet that premiered in 1841, still captivate audiences today? At first glance, the story feels outdated: a peasant girl, Giselle, is deceived by the nobleman Albrecht and dies of heartbreak. She is fragile, he is unfaithful, and by the ballet’s end, forgiveness is granted. But beneath this seemingly straightforward plot lies something far more layered. Nowhere is the expressive power of choreography–its capacity for ambiguity and nuance–more fully realized than in the role of Giselle herself. Her movements transcend the image of a betrayed lover, hinting at something deeper and more elusive.

Performance

National Ballet of Japan: “Giselle”

Place

Royal Opera House, London, UK, July 2025

Words

Phoebe Roberts

Saho Shibayama and Shogo Hayami in “Giselle” by the National Ballet of Japan. Photograph by Foteini Christofilopoulou

What ultimately emerges is the story of her dance: its intensity, its madness, and its haunting ambivalence. It is this complexity that continues to make “Giselle” so compelling nearly two centuries after its premiere, and why generations of audiences return to it again and again. Making their UK debut at the Royal Opera House, the National Ballet of Japan presented artistic director Miyako Yoshida’s interpretation of this classic, offering yet another lens through which to view its timeless power. Throughout, a pristine corps de ballet, radiant soloists, and emotionally resonant principals made a persuasive case for why “Giselle” endures.

As Giselle, Saho Shibayama embodied the role’s delicacy, her Romantic port de bras all softness and fluidity. In her Act I solo, she melted into deep renversés and held balances with control. The final manège lacked the propulsion needed to convey Giselle’s youthful excitement, but she finished in such an ecstatic balance, lifted upward as if drawn toward the heavens, that it nearly made up for it. More than her dancing, however, she shone in the quieter moments: seated beside Albrecht, her spine seemed to quiver with anticipation; when their eyes met for the first time, her expression flickered between curiosity and awe.

Shogo Hayami as Albrecht, the nobleman disguised as a villager to win Giselle’s love, and Takuro Watanabe as Hilarion, the local suitor who suspects Albrecht’s deception, were most compelling in moments of direct conflict. Whether fighting or hurling blame at one another for Giselle’s downfall, their encounters crackled with intensity. For perhaps the first time, I found myself questioning the nature of Hilarion’s relationship to Albrecht; jealousy and desire seemed to blur, creating a charged and unexpected tension.

Shogo Hayami in “Giselle” by the National Ballet of Japan. Photograph by Foteini Christofilopoulou

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Saho Shibayama in “Giselle” by the National Ballet of Japan. Photograph by Foteini Christofilopoulou

In the Peasant pas de deux, Moeko Iino and Ren Ishiyama captured the brightness and buoyancy of Adolphe Adam’s score. If Iino occasionally fell out of a supported pirouette, it was no problem: she simply rolled down through her shoe as naturally as if the choreography had demanded it. The mad scene, in which Giselle learns of Albrecht’s betrothal to another woman and descends into psychological collapse, was handled with restraint by Shibayama. Rather than spiraling quickly, her madness crept in gradually, a quiet horror spreading across her face. It was an understated, chilling unravelling.

In Act II, the stage was scattered with crosses marking the many women who, like Giselle, died of broken hearts. The wilis, spirits of those betrayed women who now exact revenge on any man who enters their realm, were danced with eerie precision and force by the corps de ballet, led by Suzu Yamamoto as a commanding Myrtha. Yet in this production, some of the emotional richness that makes the second act so haunting felt muted. Instead of shielding Albrecht from the wilis with the usual outstretched arms, Giselle embraced him like an old friend. It was a tender moment, though slightly out of place.

Giselle might forgive, but she’s no longer the girl she once was, and her coming into power as a willi herself is what makes the second act so interesting. As much as Giselle attempts to save Albrecht from the willis, she is also acting out a new, less recognizable impulse: to kill. When she leaves his side to go center-stage for her adagio, she is doing it as much to spare him from their dance as she is to draw him into her own. Similarly, when she bids him rise near the ballet’s end, her intent remains murky—is she saving him, or urging him toward death?

Saho Shibayama and Shogo Hayami in “Giselle” by the National Ballet of Japan. Photograph by Foteini Christofilopoulou

On Saturday, this tension faltered slightly. Shibayama struggled with balance in the adagio, briefly disrupting the illusion of otherworldly control. When Albrecht returned for their final duet, those earlier stumbles seemed to deepen their relationship: he appeared to steady her in death, just as he had failed to do in life. Still, Giselle is supposed to be gaining power throughout the second act, while Albrecht steadily loses his. This dynamic was further thwarted by Hayami’s powerhouse dancing, which increased in both attack and impressiveness as the ballet went on.

In his solo, he unleashed a series of cabrioles so high they drew an audible reaction from the audience. In the coda, his entrechat sixes showed no signs of fatigue, increasing in height and sharpness with each repetition. It was an impressive display of virtuosity, though at times he seemed almost too eager to dance for Myrtha–the very figure condemning him to death. When he finally collapsed, as Albrecht does near the ballet’s end, it was hard to believe he wouldn’t get up and keep going.

If some of the complexity of “Giselle” was softened in this interpretation, that’s okay. “Giselle” endures not because it offers a single, definitive meaning, but because it invites so many. It reminds us that when we watch dance, we’re witnessing many things at once: a body struggling against itself, its place in the world, and its effort to express what language cannot. The dancers of the National Ballet of Japan captured this beautifully, and I hope they return to the UK again.

Phoebe Roberts

Phoebe Roberts is originally from New York where she trained with American Ballet Theatre and Leslie Browne. She danced with Béjart Ballet Lausanne before studying Russian at the University of St. Andrews, Scotland. She is currently pursuing a master’s in Gender Studies at the University of Cambridge. Her writing has previously appeared in the Los Angeles Review of Books, The Good Press, Glasgow, and Spectra Poets.

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