This review is for the performance on Friday April 12, 2013.
Baroque opera has slowly made resurgence around the world, including the Metropolitan Opera. Last season, the Met showcased Handel's "Rodelinda" and a pastiche called "The Enchanted Island." This season, the opera company continued its revival of the genre with a new production of Handel's popular "Giulio Cesare" by Sir David McVicar. The Englishman has directed a number of productions at the Met over the last few seasons, including an often stolid recreation of Donizetti's "Maria Stuarda" that attempted to add subtle romantic touches to an otherwise traditional portrayal. His "Giulio Cesare" could not be more different, and it is all the more powerful and effective for it.
McVicar clearly has no intention of setting the work in the times of Ancient Rome and Egypt but instead pushes the work through the centuries and fits them in a number of diverse locales. The Romans are turned into British "red coats," but their metal chest plates continue to suggest the Romans. The Egyptians undergo a number of different alterations with India seeming to be a focal point in much of the wardrobe. Interestingly, at some points the servants suggest Chinese or even Japanese traditions, further emphasizing the notion that this is more of a portrayal of a clash between Eastern and Western cultures.
McVicar places the greatest emphasis on Cleopatra and it is her evolution through wardrobe that really tells the story in its more direct way. In her first scene, he clothes her in a green outfit that is proper of a Hindu princess. When she appears at the funeral of Pompeii, her outfit and hair style matches that of a 1920s flapper; in order to go unnoticed, she utilizes western attire. In the second act, she returns to her Eastern dress that even resembles a Hindu goddess. In the final acts of the work, she ports an outfit that resembles that of American women in World War II and her final gown reproduces 18th century royalty. Her evolution in wardrobe represents her conquest by Cesare and the subsequent domination of her land by the Western culture. The remainder of the characters sustain the same wardrobe throughout the evening with only Tolomeo demonstrating sub textual information. His gown is identical to Cleopatra's at the start. A skirt envelops leggings; the attire looks more masculine on Cleopatra but emphasizes the "effeminate" qualities that Cleopatra notices in her brother Tolomeo. When dealing with Cesare, he wears a "Western" looking outfit that not only emphasizes his attempts to blend in, but also notes his lack of identity as a ruler. He later reverts to his "Eastern" clothing, but it continues to emphasize more feminine qualities; it almost resembles the goddess costuming of Cleopatra with its long skirt and metallic bra.
However, the nuance does not end with the clothing. McVicar's production reminds the viewer that baroque music has its origins in dance and he revels in this concept with his attention to movement. As the opera opens, the servants creep out one by one from behind the columns on stage right. He has them move in slow motion to emphasize the shape and form of their bodies; it makes a trite activity like sweeping visually arresting. A number of arias are presented as dance numbers, including three of Cleopatra's, one of Nireno's, and one of Cesare's. The Cesare dance number during "Va tacito e nascosto, quand' avido" is possibly the most stunning in its originality and execution. As Cesare talks of being betrayed by Tolomeo, the two walk past each other in strict rhythm and then do a few steps while facing one another. The pattern gets repeated throughout the aria with more actors added as it progresses; the escalation creates tension. More importantly, the tension is sustained throughout by Tolomeo's "attempts" to kill Cesare through poisoning; at one point McVicar subverts this and proves that the threat is only part of Cesare's own paranoia. The movement is not only focused on dancing however. McVicar has a great deal of fun presenting a choreographed "duel" between Tolomeo and Achilla in which the climax showcases the actors slowdown their motions to emulate the equivalent of cinematic "bullet time;"the effect elicited tons of laughter from the audience members.
These aforementioned descriptions are just scratching the surface in terms of the nuance that McVicar showcases in his production. At one point, Tolomeo imposes an incestuous kiss on his sister, accenting the sexual repression that has been hinted out throughout. At the climax of the work when Cornelia and Sesto finally have their revenge, McVicar throws a frightening curveball at the viewer; Sesto, who has been calling for Tolomeo's head the entire night, seemed appalled by his crime and is unable to shake the guilt. Meanwhile his mother Cornelia not only enjoys the sight of the death, but also bathes her hands in the blood; she no longer resembled a suffering human but an animal ravaging its prey. This reaction ties in nicely with the animalist treatment she incurred during the remainder of the opera; at one point she is tied and dragged about like a dog by Achilla.
Of course, McVicar owes a great deal to his performers for bringing his ideas to life with utter perfection. Leading the charge as Cleopatra was an ever-charismatic Natalie Dessay. Dessay once possessed one of the most flexible voices and the most captivating high ranges of any soprano in the art form. Those days are past and her ascension into her vocal stratosphere often sounded labored and weary on Friday evening; her notes tended to go flat up there. However, it is impossible to dismiss everything else Dessay did in the rest of her voice. The coloratura still sounded as polished and even as it has ever been and the phrasing was full of elegance. One of Dessay's crowning moments came in "V'adoro, pupille, saette d'Amore" where she seduces Cesare under the guise of Lidia. The singing was delicate, almost otherworldly. At the cadenza Dessay reached for a high note that materialized out of nowhere; she gave it a powerful crescendo that brought the aria to a sublime conclusion. During "Se pietà di me non senti, giusto ciel" her singing was filled with tremendous pain; every line wept with anguish at the thought of losing Cesare. Despite the intensity of the emotion, Dessay never pushed her vocal resources or volume; the economic use of sound actually added an introspective and deeply private touch to a character driven by her extroverted showmanship. Dessay has always been a winning performer when it comes to her stage presence, and "Cesare" featured her at her best. Every dance number was delivered with exuberance and enthusiasm; even as Cesare sang his aria "Al lampo dell'armi quest 'alma guerriera," Dessay almost stole the spotlight from countertenor David Daniels as she repeatedly tried and failed to push him away from the danger. During her "Tu la mia stella sei, amabile speranza" she delivered a 1920s routine with an umbrella and even showed indignation toward the ashes of Pompeii on two different occasions. As the aria came to an end, Dessay ran off stage, but immediately returned to send a kiss to the audience; Cleopatra's adoration of the spotlight and her diva qualities were on full display.
Countertenor David Daniels had a regal stage presence in the title role. He moved about with assurance and his voice only emphasized this quality. His coloratura was at its finest in the grueling "Quel torrente, che cade dal monte" and he delivered smooth arching phrases in the preceding "Aure, deb, per pietà spirate." Another highlight was his musical duel with violin soloist David Chan in "Se in fiorito ameno prato." The two not only performed in duet but at certain points seemed to be trying to outdo one another. During the cadenza, Daniels ascended to a high note; Chan mirrored the phrase identically, but then spontaneously ascended another octave. The moment created a stir in the audience for its comic timing and delivery.
Patricia Bardon brought an imposing contralto to the role of the pained Cornelia. Her first aria "Priva, son d'ogni conforto, e pur speme" was one long lament that included a gradual diminuendo throughout the aria. By the end of the passage, she sang piano until she delivered a breathtaking crescendo in the cadenza. Her duet with Sextus (Alice Coote) at the close of act one was absolutely sublime with the two singers melding into one voice in the closing phrases.
Coote may have been the vocal highlight on the evening. Her technique is secure and she delivered emotionally in every single moment on stage. She gave furious attacks throughout the "Svegliatevi nel core, furie d'un alma offense" on the repeated "Svegliatevi" that emphasized her fury. However, in the second section of the aria, she sang with a soft quality that emphasized Sesto's innocent nature. The remainder of the performance featured delicate singing that denoted Sesto's fragility; one of the best representations came in the "Cara speme, questo core tu cominci a lusingar" where Coote started the aria almost sotto voce. In the moment of victory, Coote's Sesto maintained a traumatic stare that never left her for the remainder of the evening.
Countertenor Christophe Dumaux brought a lush countertenor to Tolomeo that presented a strong counterpoint to Daniels' more rugged one. He portrayed a great deal of physical flexibility to match his vocal strength; at one moment he leapt onto a high table at the start of Act 3 and even did a cartwheel.
Guido Loconsolo, singing Achilla, showcased a virile baritone and showed a great deal of physical prowess on stage during the choreographed moments. At one point he did present as scare as he tried to jump atop the table and almost fell. However, he continued to perform as if nothing was wrong and sold his cover extremely well.
Rachid Ben Abdeslam was versatile as the third countertenor; he had a scene stealing moment as he danced and sang his single aria.
Conductor Harry Bicket kept the performance together with a tight rendition from the podium. He kept the tempi flexible but maintained the dance-like quality in the faster pieces. Despite obtaining great sound from the orchestra, he did not overpower his singers the entire night.
McVicar has had mixed results throughout his brief Met career, but there is no denying the powerful success of his "Giulio Cesare." The production is not only laden with a plethora of eye candy and entertainment, but also features a nuanced depictions of warring cultures that is very much relevant to modern day. Many people often object to the modernization of works to current times; McVicar does not bother with this pretention in the least. Instead he sets the opera in a fantastical world that brings all of history together and reminds of the transcendent quality that opera can have. The endearing cast not only validates McVicar's production, but also makes a stunning case for the increased presentation of baroque opera around the world.