A ‘Giselle’ Full of Heart and Soul

When virtuoso dancers reach their mid-30s, they either become a different kind of artist or watch the inevitable decline of their technical powers and the increase in injuries relegate them to the past tense. Their prowess once represented a passport, but as they begin to sense its unwritten expiration date, new resources emerge.

Trained as a gymnast, French ballerina Sylvie Guillem has always been famed for such bravura feats as extensions so high and close to her face that she could touch her kneecap to her ear. But suddenly, about the time she turned 35, she began dancing roles she’d previously scorned (Ashton’s sentimental “Marguerite and Armand,” for instance) and started giving interviews about the importance of emotion in ballet.

Moreover, in 1998 she staged a production of “Giselle” as a corrective to all the pointlessly picturesque, by-the-numbers versions on world stages--a production that received its U.S. premiere on Friday at the Orange County Performing Arts Center with Guillem in the title role.

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Although her limited acting abilities made her performance disappointing, the recently redesigned production proved far superior to the new, insufferably mannered Bolshoi Ballet “Giselle” (danced in New York last summer) or the overproduced, dramatically clueless San Francisco Ballet edition (danced in Costa Mesa two years ago).

No, this is not a radical transformation a la Mats Ek, Matthew Bourne or Angelin Preljocaj. Yes, it falls into major traps of its own making. But it believes in the story and characters--though definitely not in Romantic style--and works with diligence to make the ballet a living experience rather than merely a star vehicle.

Best of all, it boasts the accomplished and unfailingly passionate dancers of the Teatro alla Scala Ballet of Milan giving enormous vibrancy to the host of new characters and situations that Guillem has introduced in Act 1.

She originally conceived this “Giselle” as a film and it maintains a cinematic fluidity, starting with the prelude--when we glimpse Albrecht back at his castle--and most of all capitalizing whenever possible on a revolving set by Paul Brown that suggests different outdoor locations and eventually divides to form a spacious interior.

Guillem obviously believes that it takes a village to raise a Giselle, but her interest in the town drunk, the village idiot and others sometimes eclipses the central love story. Elsewhere, however, she manages to invent ways to reinforce central issues in the ballet that have grown dim with time.

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Giselle’s mother, for example, traditionally performs a mime-passage warning her daughter about the Wilis, dead virgins who dance men to death. But modern audiences often find the mime incomprehensible, so it is frequently cut. Guillem includes it, but has the townspeople mock it as a superstition. Their mockery extends to a woman donning a sheet and pretending to be a ghost: much clearer than the mime in outlining what the Wilis represent.

But in this quasi-cinematic “Giselle,” Adolphe Adam’s score doesn’t always reinforce the action as soundtrack music should, but often clashes with Guillem’s innovations. Moreover, her restless tinkering with steps--like the relentlessly revolving set--can seem arbitrary and overliteral.

If Act 1 is crowded, bustling and horizontal in design, Act 2 is spare, minimalist, vertical, with boulders rising from the floor to hover above the bare trees. No grave, no lilies, no village or court bystanders and no tutus.

Instead, the 24 fine La Scala Wilis wear ankle-length wedding dresses (each one different) of thick fabric--a serious miscalculation of Brown’s, because the linear emphasis of ballet is blunted in such attire and the dancers no longer look like phantoms but models from some bride magazine off on a midnight shoot.

Guillem’s best ideas here involve using Myrta to animate the Wilis and direct their strategies for killing Albrecht and Hilarion, plus continually reinforcing Giselle’s determination to save Albrecht’s life by dancing in his stead.

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Again, she can grow overliteral (the silly huddle when the Wilis regroup in reaction to Giselle’s defiance or the distracting smoke effects that come just when Albrecht’s salvation is assured), but few stagings convey the drama of “Giselle” this powerfully.

Neither in her new choreography nor her performance Friday did Guillem contrast the living Giselle of Act 1 with the dead Giselle of Act 2. Her technique looked secure, but she never commanded any distinctive quality of movement to compensate for numb acting. Indeed, she mostly marked her way through the Mad Scene, letting the music wash over her, and the emotion in her reunion with Albrecht in Act 2 can be largely credited to the eloquence of Massimo Murru (replacing the injured Laurent Hilaire).

Even in the updated shirt-sleeves-and-suspenders peasant clothes of this version, Murru exuded nobility and danced with great ardor and authority at all times.

As his rival, Hilarion, corps member Andrea Volpintesta suggested an Albrecht in the making with his strong technique and distinctive personality. In Guillem’s version, many of Myrta’s solos are shared, but before and after she assumed her customary prominence, the role found a capable interpreter in Beatrice Carbone.

The rough, sunny Antonio Sutera and the fresh, refined Deborah Gismondi performed the Peasant pas de deux, a traditional interpolation (music by Burgmuller) that Guillem includes with revised choreography. David Garforth, who collaborated with Guillem on the musical edition, ably conducted the Pacific Symphony.