When ballet master Filippo Taglioni fussed with his daughter Marie’s unusually long arms in the early 18th century, little did he know (or maybe he did) that she would come to define the lithesome movements associated with Romantic ballet. She manifested an ethereal presence onstage, matched only by the earthbound point work of that other prima ballerina of the day, Fanny Elssler. Both styles come together in “Giselle,” the oldest ballet still performed regularly today, which returned on Monday evening to American Ballet Theatre.

In the timber-framed Rhineland, the story juxtaposes the cheery peasant dances of a harvest festival with a somber ballet blanc in the surrounding forest, where the veiled ghosts of wispy maidens convene inside an enchanted clearing once the sun goes down. Having died before they were married, they re-enact their courtship in nightly passions, forcing unsuspecting suitors to dance until their death.

Adolphe Adams’s score heightens the contrast with an abundant use of leitmotif, reintroducing musical themes with specific characters and situations. And so the chirpy three note melody of Giselle’s (Julie Kent) lovestruck encounter with the visiting peasant Loys (Julio Bocca) returns later during her mad scene, prompted by the discovery that he is really Count Albrecht in disguise, already engaged to be married to Princess Bathilde (Jennifer Alexander).

A nervous scale played frantically on the high strings hints at what is to come when Giselle tempts fate with her fondness for dancing in her opening solo. She rocks excitedly back and forth in the air, surrounded by an ensemble of full-skirted grape gatherers. In the background a foreshortened castle stands atop a hill decked with vineyards in the cinematic sweep of Gianni Quaranta’s set design (this production was originally created for Cannon Films’ “Dancers”).

But the masquerade goes both ways. For just as Count Albrecht disguises himself as a commoner in his action and his clothes, Giselle is crowned by the villagers with a fruit garland and a staff of cuttings. She is even lifted into the harvest wagon as if it were a Queen’s carriage.

In the “Peasant Pas de Deux,” Xiomara Reyes had the quaintness of a garden dwarf, her carriage remaining as solid as enamel in her pirouettes and bright steps. She advertises in her phrasing an exactitude that is always backed with strength. Similarly, her partner Herman Cornejo is statuesque in his elevations, landing squarely on one knee after multiple assemble turns.

The waltz and folk rounds are interrupted only by a royal hunt moving through the village. Once Giselle learns of the truth of Loys’s identity, she enters a deranged state, slowly loosening her hair to the shrieking violins and rumbling double bass and repeating steps with an absent expression from her earlier “Scene d’Amour,” before she dies of heartbreak and Albrecht’s sword.

Ms. Kent was slightly quelled in her performance as the scorned girl. But that reserve strengthens her performance as a jilted ghost, leaning toward Albrecht in prayerful disquiet. Her deep arabesque penchee shows nobility of feeling. As Albrecht contemplates his grievous error, she repeats the gesture as a sign of forgiveness, supporting herself on his shoulders as he kneels with his back to her.

Giselle is now a novice among the haunted Wilies. The leader of the Wilies, Myrta (Gillian Murphy), projects an extended line from one world to the next with clarity and ease, gripping the rosemary wand of remembrance; she hops unsupported en promenade. A trill on the harp introduces her demonic side, leaping in coupe jetes and sweeping bell kicks to a brassy march.

In the two soloist roles as Moyna and Zulma, Michele Wiles and Veronika Part led the corps in a shifting arabesque voyage. For her number, Ms. Part hunkered her shoulders forward, tossing out an elongated leg to complete wide-ranging rotations. Ms. Wiles, on the other hand, moved with a staunch acceptance of her fate, maintaining a resilient torso as she moved downstage with quick paced batterie.

As a corps they moved in concert, holding both arms forward like banners in a compelling portrait of yearning. The port de bras is repeated with heartbreaking insistence by Giselle as she dances for the last time with Albrecht in their “Grand Pas de Deux.” But it also resembles a bitter command when the Wilies line up in a diagonal formation. They point infinitely into the wood as first the huntsman Hilarion and then Albrecht dance themselves to exhaustion.

A gung-ho and then withering Gennadi Saveliev played Hilarion, completing each combination with silent pleas for mercy. Mr. Bocca was too cavalier to be anything but a scapegrace as Loys, leering over Giselle’s shoulder as she pulls the petals off the daisy in a game of “He loves me; he loves me not.” Although he is equally one-sided in his characterization of the remorseful suitor, he exhibited remarkable stamina in his bravura leaps.

Only the seasoned lighting design of Jennifer Tipton’s sunrise saves Albrecht’s life. The Wilies are spirited away, while a glow warms the imaginary hinterland. Rife with superstition and the supernatural, it resembles the morally erratic province where the Brothers Grimm collected their old wives’ tales. Between night and day, folk dances and weightless “bird” lifts, the village gingerbread houses and a seething Guignol of lederhosen-high stage fog, there is still something for everybody in this ballet-fantastique.

Until July 16 (Lincoln Center, 212-362-6000).