Händel - Giulio Cesare

Théâtre des Champs Elysées, Paris, Wednesday May 11 2022.

Conductor: Philippe Jaroussky. Production: Damiano Michieletto. Choreography: Thomas Wilhelm. Sets: Paolo Fantin. Costumes: Agostino Cavalca. Lighting: Alessandro Carletti. Giulio Cesare: Gaëlle Arquez. Cleopatra: Sabine Devieilhe. Sesto: Franco Fagioli. Cornelia: Lucile Richardot. Tolomeo: Carlo Vistoli. Achilla: Francesco Salvadori. Nireno: Paul-Antoine Bénos-Djian. Curio: Adrien Fournaison. Ensemble Artaserse.

Photos: Vincent Pontet

I no longer have a subscription at the TCE, having decided, after several years there, it hadn't been good value for money. But an opera expert I know said he thought the cast of this Giulio Cesare was 'intriguing' and a friend who's a Händel fan wanted to see it, so along I went with him.

I guess what was 'intriguing' about it was the mix of vocal stars with others already marked out as promising, and Jaroussky conducting a staged opera for the first time from the pit. The hit of the evening, based on the volume of applause, was obviously Sabine Devieilhe, and her performance will hardly need describing to anyone already familiar with her on stage: an undeniably lightweight Cleopatra, absolutely beautiful legato lines, searingly sweet top notes... but a relative lack of dramatic engagement and, in this case, some extraordinary but stylistically dubious suraigus tossed in effortlessly, as if on a whim or, at one stage literally, to point up a giggle.

Franco Fagioli, though unrecognisable in a wig, was similarly predictable in sound. I personally prefer the more lyrical passages in the middle range to his showier runs and petulant-sounding top notes, which to me, if to nobody else, have something of a 'stunt' about them. As, in this production (more of which later), Sesto is a bit of a wimp, it might have made more sense for Fagioli to take on Tolomeo and leave Sesto to Carlo Vistoli, who I found unconvincing and somehow pallid in the more vicious part. I also found the way, in descending runs, Vistoli came to earth with a honking, baritonal thud disturbing, though I see one professional critic saw it as a deliberate way of marking the character's ambiguity.

I can see why, with Devieilhe doing her thing and Fagioli his, another professional wrote that they and the other main protagonists were singing 'in different directions'. To me there was no sense of hearing a balanced vocal team working as one: it was more or less each to his own. Lucile Richardot was perhaps dramatically the most committed. Her voice, it occurred to me, might (to use a UK term) be a 'Marmite' one, i.e. one people either love or hate. She has a dark and plangent, 'wounded' sort of timbre with a masculine edge to it - so, ironically, in the duo she formed with Fagioli, hers was the more virile sound. Of the three countertenors, my personal vote (this weekend Ukraine won Eurovision) went to Paul-Antoine Bénos-Djian, who was already very promising when I heard him in Theodora, also at the TCE, and here was still more assured. A pity we didn't hear more of him and less of... er... Also, Francesco Salvadori was a first-rate Achilla, resounding and clear.

As Caesar, Gaëlle Arquez sang irreproachably, with a firm, warm, bronze timbre, but the production undermined her character by making him a victim of fate from the outset. As a result, (s)he lacked authority - indeed any distinct personality or sense of agency.

Jaroussky's conducting was balanced and 'moderate' in feel, though he was capable of some zippy tempi when the opportunity arose. He coaxed some interesting nuances out of the orchestra, but overall I'd say his approach was largely 'sage' (in the French sense of quietly well-behaved) and perhaps lacking in incisiveness, more attentive than thrilling. I found some of the cuts (though the evening was long) frustrating. There were occasional slips when accompanying recitatives, the principal horn might have wished he'd had some valves for 'Va tacito', and there was a very odd violin obbligato meltdown at one point, but perhaps these were just opening-night mishaps (contrary to my usual policy, I was there for the premiere). 

Reviews of Damiano Michieletto's production have been... contrasting. It was booed loud and long, but almost immediately, on a French forum, was described as a 'Superb production of rare intelligence, with very precise directing and splendid images.... an immense spectacle,' and one report I read said the Paris audience was just stupid, and hoped it might get a more intelligent reception in the provinces. I didn't boo, but I didn't clap either, having quite soon found it simply unremarkable and uninteresting.

Unremarkable except in one respect. Productions of Händel have tended to become arch and tongue-in-cheek; this was, I think, the first time in forty years I've seen one that took Giulio Cesare so seriously. In fact, unless I'm mistaken, the director actually snipped some of the humour out of the libretto - I didn't hear Cleopatra tell Caesar that, as he seemed to like her less awake, she'd go to sleep again, but perhaps I blinked and missed it...

There are two basic sets. Before the interval there's a white trapeze-shaped space surrounded by a translucid ledge lit from beneath. The rear and right-hand walls rise to reveal a dark platform behind. The singers basically wear 30s gear (the manservants, including Nireno, in smartly-cut tails, Sextus got up in white for cricket or tennis, his mum in a dark, primly-tailored suit), and the classical references are acted out either naked (the Fates) or in togas behind. After the break, the white trapezium has gone and the left of the stage is a tangle of red ropes, some stretching across to the right.

Michieletto's Caesar is marked for a tragic end from the very outset: during the overture, we see him trying and failing to tear away from the red threads of destiny. From then on, he mostly stumbles through the action in a daze. As in a Warlikowski production, Cleopatra's changes of character are marked by changes of wig and costume - even, just like Warlikowski's Emilia Marty riding forth in King Kong's palm, Rita Hayworth's red hair and green dress from Gilda.

Symbol is piled on symbol. The box bearing Pompey's head oozes dark, viscous blood, leaving a permanent pool of it on the floor throughout the first half (when blood was called for, there were lashings of it; this might, I thought, explain why the audience chuckled when Sesto shot Tolomeo bloodlessly in the back; unless the chuckle was just for the feeble crack of the gun). We see the fates cutting Pompey's thread. He haunts his son and strips naked so Sextus can wear his clothes, an olive tree marks his grave and his ghost is showered in ashes, Cleopatra dons an animal skull handed to her by the fates, the sands of time slip through fingers, the red threads tighten, the backdrop becomes a mirror, Caesar is haunted by the ghosts of empires past and senators stab at him through a translucent polythene curtain (more chuckles).

There's no happy end: Sesto is miffed when Caesar hands the regalia to Cleopatra, not him, and turns aside; Cleopatra is seized with remorse, 'Da tempeste' becomes a mad scene and she takes up her throne stiff and panting, tightly bound in a Hollywood-style gold dress; the Ides of March come early, and the senate closes in on Caesar.

This all looks quite intelligent and plausible in writing. But for me, the production failed to bring it convincingly to life, the action remained stiff and artificial, the characters shallow and distant, and the ponderous accumulation of obvious symbols was wearisome. It might have been booed less if the tattered polythene curtain hadn't fallen on the singers as they took their bows, an unfortunate accident, though nobody was physically hurt. Perhaps as the show travels it will improve. In any case, we'll all have a chance to find out, as it will be televised soon, and no doubt end up freely available on YouTube.