Getting the Willis

FAIRY tales live on in the Boston Ballet's current production of Giselle. Set in a small country village bursting with perky, good-natured peasants, we seem to have entered the realm of the idyllic, bucolic life. All is merry for a time, while the villagers laugh, socialize and celebrate the harvest. But unfortunately this story is not fated to have the traditional "and they all lived happily ever after" ending. Instead, the village is transposed into a gloomy woodland scene inhabited by ghostly, spiteful women. A nightmare replaces the fairy tale.

Giselle is a shamelessly romantic ballet, taking place in that fictional world where sincere courtship's take only a few minutes to complete. Twentieth century skepticism is out of place here. The ballet can seem shallow, but only if one expects realism. The Boston Ballet has difficulty suspending belief in this fictional world for most of the first act. Rhythmically, the village scene is halting and awkward, reminding us that this is not reality. Even the company's admirable technique does not hide this major flaw.

But while the first act is uninspired, the second is wonderfully haunting and mystical. The woodland of willis becomes real and for the first time we truly enter the world of the fairy tale.

Giselle, a young girl with a weak heart, has two flaws that ultimately overstrain her fragile organ. She can neither resist dancing nor the attentions of Count Albrecht, a nobleman disguised in peasant garb. While her insistence on dancing threatens her health, Giselle is finally overcome after learning her lover's true identity. As it turns out, he is not only a count, but he is betrothed to another woman. Appropriately, Giselle goes mad and dies of a broken heart.

In this land of make believe, women who die of unrequited love are doomed to haunt the woods as willis. These unforgiving ghosts flit about from midnight until dawn condemning any man they see to death by continuous dancing. Giselle enters these formidable ranks, but breaks the rules by protecting Albrecht from the willi's wrath. This act of bravery and generosity saves her lover and brings her the reward of eternal peace in the grave.

ELAINE Bauer gives the role of Giselle a touching vulnerability and modesty. She is childishly attracted to her lordly, ardent lover--alternately fearfully pulling out of his embrace or melting gently into a kiss. The poignant intensity of her performance comes from just this guileless quality. Bauer is not afraid to display Giselle's uncertainty, her human side. This heightens the sense of the tragedy of her death.

Simplicity is at the root of both Bauer's acting and her dancing. No gesture is ever blatant or coarse. Her art consists of purity of expression. Every movement is delicate and controlled, a study in effortless precision. These qualities are particularly suited to Giselle as a willi.

Bauer comes into her element in the second act. Part of the magic comes from a careful economy of movement. By perfecting antique, elongated shapes, Bauer gives the illusion of being supported by thin air. The absence of superfluous gestures suspends this illusion even further. With light, fluttering footwork and muted, delicate poses, Bauer surrenders her soul to the supernatural world of the willis.

Frank Augustyn, a recent Canadian acquisition to the company, provides a striking contrast to Bauer in his role as Albrecht. While her dramatic style is self-contained and introverted, his is up front and almost modern. Few of his gestures come from the established balletic tradition; they are more everyday expressions that seem somewhat out of place in Giselle's old-fashioned setting. This, however, is only a minor annoyance. Augustyn is a natural, easy dancer. He moves with suppleness and unstudied certainty. Even though some of his acting may be jarring, this never occurs during his dancing.

As Myrta, Queen of the willis, Marie-Christine Mouis is a powerful, ruthless tyrant. She has at her command the entire corps de ballet, a force whose threat stems from their anonymity. The willis are terrifying in their immobility, their lack of individuality and their lack of pity. The corps does admirably with the almost impossible task of moving as one. They transform a group of 16 women into a single deathly, supernatural unit.

Mouis' first entrance as Myrta consists simply of a diagonal of tiny steps on pointe. Shrouded in a white veil, she gently skims the floor, an ethereal, cold-blooded creature. From that moment Mouis begins her reign of terror against all unwitting men. In contrast to Bauer's interpretation of the willi as a fragile being, Mouis infuses her role with a startling vitality that surprisingly is not misplaced. Mouis' exhibition of strength and her direct attack of the steps lends credibility to Myrta's forceful and unforgiving character; her interpretation makes the Queen mature not naive.

AS AN added bonus, the Boston Ballet also presents George Balanchine's Allegro Brilliante as the first part of its program. Constructed on a theme of cadences, the ballet requires both precision and musicality of its dancers. While the corps looks ragged at times, the principal dancers, Mouis and Donn Edwards, excel. Edwards, technically correct and understated in his dancing, unfortunately is overpowered by his partner. Mouis, with a lovely natural line, displays accuracy combined with a sensuous, playful air. While the others dance on the beat, Mouis, presenting an expressive carriage and port de bras, interprets the music and dances with it. The only dancer sure enough in her performance, Mouis surpasses mere execution.

Allegro Brilliante and Giselle both portray relationships between a man and a woman. In Giselle the story follows the age-old theme of a shy, young girl meeting the impetuous, passionate boy. Balanchine abstracts this theme in Allegro Brilliante. The paradigm of love is no longer a tender glance or a sweet embrace, but a pas de deux--the balletic interpretation of the partnership between the sexes.