The spirit of Akram Khan’s Giselle, danced with vehemence and vulnerability by English National Ballet, resonates like never before in our troubled times.
Attending a performance of this landmark production is an experience – an immersive and internal experience. Created for the company in 2016, Kahn’s Giselle is imbued with inventiveness (this is a daring, dystopian dance-drama like no other), integrity (in the way themes are transposed from the nineteenth-century Romantic-era classic to this reimagining) and impressiveness (the level of commitment from the dancers, whose embodiment makes the work a formidable entity, is outstanding). You can’t just watch it. You exist inside it, breathe it in, let it get under your skin.
This latest revival, the first at the London Coliseum, provides the visceral thrill of being devastated, disturbed and astonished by what you are witness to in the moment, while shielded from life outside the performance. But it is devised and danced with gritty – at times, draining – substance, deepening your engagement with the idiosyncratic movement and its message when real-life matters return to your mind after the performance. Dancing dangerously on the edge of both instinct and intellect, it appeals to our need to be simultaneously enraptured by what we see, enthralled by what we feel and empowered by the impact we perceive it having on us.
Khan’s vision – realised through a fusion of ballet, kathak (classical Indian dance) and contemporary techniques – focuses on the dark undercurrents from the 1841 original. The story of love, inequality, betrayal, death and ghosts is relocated from a colourful medieval village, inhabited by peasants harvesting and aristocrats hunting, to an indistinct, industrial landscape.
The house lights go down; the audience squares up to an imposing wall. The air is heavy with a sense of foreboding. Eerie shadows rise and fall. Earthbound bodies push and pull. We have skipped the sanctuary of sunny rustic charm and stumbled straight into the shady wilderness of supernatural chill. Unfortunately, of course, the gloom and doom the characters in Act One are navigating is their dismal reality.
Inspired by the marginalisation of people seeking security in places increasingly inaccessible to them behind literal and metaphorical walls, Khan’s narrative follows a community of migrant workers. The garment factory they were working in has closed and they are stuck in the hopeless here and now. Exploited and exiled, they are well and truly ‘Outcasts’. Their dusty handprints are scattered over the surface of the wall. These marks may be representative of not only their collective struggle to surpass divisive social and economic barriers, but also their individual insignificance to society – they are each just another brick in the wall. Their oppressors, the elite ‘Landlords’, are revealed in a startling blaze of light when the wall languorously tilts and turns.
Giselle is still a poor girl who is wooed by a rich guy disguised as a poor guy (Albrecht) and admired by a poor guy who incessantly intervenes (Hilarion). Her developing relationship with Albrecht murkily ripples into our consciousness through the swirl of folksy momentum generated by the rootless, faceless migrant community. Hilarion (a controlling middleman allegedly brokering deals for the workers) stealthily crosses the boundary between the two worlds of poverty and privilege, disingenuously doing whatever benefits him. Albrecht’s deceit is still exposed; poignantly, Giselle recognises her own handiwork in the elaborate dress his betrothed, Bathilde, wears.
The betrayal is, as per the original, so profound that Giselle loses her mind and her life. A frantic solo of intense anger and frustration expresses her inner turmoil, while also riling up the entire community of workers. They all, slowly, go collectively mad. What was a personal shock for Giselle is a public humiliation for the community and a patent reinforcement of the power imbalance between the outcasts and the landlords. This ruthless revelation of systemic exploitation is the bridge to a haunted factory in Act Two. Here, fledgling phantom Giselle is prodded into line to stand in solidarity with a vengeful sisterhood of women intent on punishing those who worked them to death.
These warriors, the Wilis, are perhaps the fiercest ballerinas imaginable. The use of pointe work for these beings conveys an ethereal menace that distinguishes them from the humans. Their ghostly resolve to seek revenge from beyond the grave is matched by their unwavering dancerly strength – they spend a lifetime up on their toes. Briskly bouréeing en pointe with percussive precision, they wield long sticks, reminiscent of giant sewing needles. Their hair is loose and unkempt. They terrify and transfix.
The Wilis are demonic by nature, but the entire company is possessed. The dancers are fully engaged physically and emotionally, which provides steady interest to balance out the abstract nuances of the work. In the first cast, seen on press night, Emily Suzuki is a believable Giselle; sinuously moving through the full gamut of human emotions. She is gentle, inquisitive, courageous, loving, rebellious, confrontational, conflicted, forgiving. James Streeter is a determined Albrecht. Ken Saruhashi is a devious Hilarion – with a dash of panache. Emma Hawes stands tall as Myrtha, Queen of the Wilis, relentless in her gliding and goading.
Atmosphere matters, so tension engulfs every moment. The ominously booming electro-orchestral soundscape by Vincenzo Lamagna reverberates and pulsates, shaking the ground underfoot. At times the volume and vigour are deafening – even the silences scream. The simple, drab outfits worn by the downtrodden labourers are juxtaposed against the restrictive haute couture modelled by the rich upper class. This disparity in attire mirrors the movement (the workers frolic while the wealthy are frequently fixed in place). Notably, none of the overdressed overlords could ever be described as looking content – money can’t buy happiness.
The storytelling sometimes stalls. The audience seems to be abandoned to rely on existing knowledge of the original Giselle, as well as the synopsis for this production. Still, the force with which the power and pain hits is undeniable.
In your bleakest moments, you might believe that, like the used-and-abused workers and the sort-of-liberated Albrecht, left alone in a limbo of his own making, we are all condemned to a fate worse than death: life. Khan gives form to this madness tenderly, mysteriously and brutally. Everything comes together to stir up anger towards those in power, on behalf of those who feel powerless. The pervasive suffering and persuasive spirit in this production is strangely, beautifully, satisfying.
Running time: Approximately 1 hour 55 minutes, including one interval.
Age guidance: 10+
*Production photography by Photography by ASH.
English National Ballet in Akram Khan’s Giselle continues at the London Coliseum until Sunday 18 January 2026. Visit the English National Ballet website for more information on upcoming performances.
This review is also featured on London Unattached.
Georgina Butler is an editor, a dance writer and a ballet teacher.
