Two notes
Rodney Milnes
Julius Caesar (Coliseum) Welsh National Opera (Dominion) The English National Opera's first (and I piously hope not last) stab at a Handel opera is an occasion for great rejoicing. So much about it is so triumphantly right that the few problems — all of them easily solvable — fade fast. First and foremost, the singing is magnificent but that, with a cast tactfully headed in alphabetical order by Janet Baker, Della Jones, Valerie Masterson and Sarah Walker, was predictable. There was one sustained note in Dame Janet's 'From the perils of the deep' (Brian Trowell's translation is excellent) that simply — simply? — in the way she started it, what she did with it, and how she came off it, spoke volumes about her extraordinary artistry and Handel's genius. Miss Masterson's assurance grew as the evening progressed; by the last act you could scarcely believe some of the technical feats she was accomplishing. What made this all the more satisfying was that the vocal wizardry was put to dramatic purpose. Handel arranged his hurdles cannily in order to give each race/act/opera a logical shape; the excitement builds, with the da-capo decorations playing a significant part. Although some of the cadenzas and embellishments here might have sounded better in Donizetti (lots of outraged grunts from distinguished Handelians roond 'n aboot) they both exploited each individual artist's accomplishments and generated that sense of growing exhilaration so essential in any performance of opera seria. Just as satisfying was the way that John Copley found a dramatic style for the piece. The movement of the principals was stately and grand without being merely flamboyant or precious. Miss Walker's dignified Cornelia was especially successful in this respect and Dame Janet perfectly credible as the grey-templed conquering hero. The disposition of extras gave the piece visual grandeur and a convincing dramatic shape; a 20thcentury audience was made to care about situations that can on the surface seem ridiculous. Even Gotz Friedrich himself might be compelled to admire the tension created in the horn aria 'How silently, how slyly'.
All of which made the one blot on the evening all the more incomprehensible: this was the lowering of a drop in the middle of arias, which invites an audience to switch off and which even failed to ensure — presum ably the intention—the instant scene changes also essential to opera seria. Neither sets nor costumes were helpful. It is partly wisdom after the event, but surely the success of Caesar could have been forseen; a permanent 18th-century-style setting based on periacti would make it all the easier to mount instant forays into the other half-dozen or so Handel masterpieces which we are now longing to see at the Coliseum.
The work had, of course, to be cut. It was sad that after a commendably full first-act exposition we lost track of some of the characters, Cornelia and Sextus especially, who had been established. But at least Sir Charles Mackerras insisted on performing most of the surviving arias complete, and his conducting was ideally virile and expressive. Perhaps one day there could be a gala performance of the whole 1724 version, starting at tea-time. We do that for Wagner. Why not Handel?
The Welsh National's London season was a qualified triumph, the qualifications caused by the dubious adaptability to opera of the Dominion cinema. There is no pit, and although it was nice to have the superb quality of the pompany's orchestra confirmed, this was too often at the expense of what was happening on stage. The Makropoulos Case and Tristan suffered particularly, though both were magisterially conducted (by Richard Armstrong and Reginald Goodall respectively), Mr Armstrong's subtle way with Verdi's accompaniment figures in Emani was indeed beguiling, but that was not perhaps the lasting impression the composer wanted his audience to take away with them. The singers sounded curiously muted. There was some booing for Goren Jiirvefelt's Magic Flute, but his production remains the most intelligently conceived (though not necessarily the most entertaining) interpretation of the work I have encountered.
The highlight of the week was undoubtedly the Butterfly, against which I overreacted when it was new. I still think Joachim Herz hammers his colonialist message home a little too forcibly (if only that wretched letter-film could be quietly lost on the way back to Cardiff) but his direction, Julian Smith's luminous conducting and the stunning interpretation of the title-role by Magdalena Falewicz meant that for once Puccini could be taken on the same intellectual level as J anacek, Mozart, Wagner and Verdi. The raised set resulted in the best pit/stage balance of the week.
Elisabeth SOderstrom suffered from the worst balance, though her total performance was as shattering as ever. Felicity Lou's Pamina was another interpretation to treasure, and the musical Canadian/Dutch baritone, Cornelis Opthof, made a welcome return to London as Carlo in Ernani. The Goodall Tristan was more measured in tread though no less erotic than when new in Cardiff, and Linda Esther Grey's Isolde as ewigweibliche and musical as ever. Her final F-sharp, like Dame Janet's note in Caesar, pierced the very heart.
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