Julie Kent has recently become artistic director at The Washington Ballet, and apart from the 40th anniversary celebration back in September, this Giselle is, properly speaking, her opening offering. The company she has inherited has been formed by the charismatic Septime Webre for the last 17 years into a spirited and energetic troupe. What she will bring out remains to be seen in full, but the performance of Giselle bodes well for the company’s continued development. Before the curtain went up, the former American Ballet Theatre described how the ballet was a joy to dance for her, and how her interpretation here was a distillation of all the Giselles she and Victor Barbee, the Associate Artistic Director, had worked in over the years.
What came to the fore again and again in the production was a sensitivity to narrative details; there was lots of expressive mime conveying the two different social worlds which collide, happily then tragically, in the flirtation of Count Albrecht and the peasant maiden, Giselle: blown kisses behind Mama Berthe’s back, the details of the daisy flower game ‘He loves me, he loves me not’. When Giselle, during her fit of madness stared out beyond the audience with unseeing eyes, Albrecht, bewildered but all anxious sympathy immediately turned to look where she was looking – a small detail that could well have been overlooked, but the fact that it and many others were included, was a mark of choreographical finesse.
Maki Onuki made for a lovely Giselle. Her superb turn-out lends her poses high definition, and her natural lightness of movement – in particular one dazzling sequence of turns with a final rubato – was fitting in the evocation of the light-footed, fleeting figure of Giselle. Her crucial transitional scene of insanity followed by her sudden death was quite brilliantly evoked. Face trembling, her eyes wide with fright, her frolicsome movements now disjointed, unsure which way to turn, she became the real figure of pathos she is meant to be. Her entry into the Wilis sisterhood in Act II took up from where she left off: her series of turns on demi-pointe chanelled something of the energy gained through her madness. Extra credit to her because her foot had caught in one of the graveside flowers, and that was spun around as she turned too. The audience was transfixed but it did not give her a moment’s pause, it would seem: brava. In her pardon-seeking solo, there wasn’t quite a sense of absolute repose in those immensely difficult développés; by contrast, she did a stunning series of jumps, so light and so high, no mean feat towards the end of two fiercely demanding Acts.