Handel’s mid-1720s sequence of three of his greatest operas, Giulio Cesare, Tamerlano and Rodelinda is a pinnacle of his achievement. Handel opera scholar Winton Dean observes “Rodelinda was the third major masterpiece produced by Handel in less than twelve months, an achievement without parallel in the history of opera.” After a 1736 production it was unseen until 1920, when it led the revival of Handel operas in the 20th century. The calibre of the score, many fine numbers and no duds, and the skilful characterisation have ensured its frequent revival around Europe.
The plot though is a complex one, but this Garsington Opera production kept things clear enough, even for those innocent audience members who just turn up and read the surtitles and expect to know who is who, whether or not in disguise, and why they say and do things they subsequently disown or reverse. There is some repetition: King Bertarido reportedly dies twice, but that gives his grieving Queen Rodelinda extra opportunities for the most eloquent lamentations and joyful reunions. Of course it is an opera seria, so a long evening mostly of solo da capo arias, almost all for high voice. But we do eventually hear a fine duet and there is one bass role. Garsington’s text sounded quite a full one for a Handel work, and yet there were no longeurs.
The musical performance was very strong, with several cast members who had sung their roles elsewhere. The title role was taken by Lucy Crowe, who was outstanding. Her singing was lovely throughout her often demanding part, and she acted convincingly, whether enraged, despairing or exulting. She provided the solid centre of moral rectitude and marital fidelity, around which some others vacillated, confused about their feelings and motivations as they schemed for their own advancement. Crowe has a stage presence that compels attention even when she is listening to another’s singing. Her Siciliano “Ritorni, o caro e dolce mio tesoro”, yearning for her beloved husband’s return, was perhaps the most sparkling of the gems her part contains.
But no less impressive was her ravishing duet with her husband Bertarido, countertenor Tim Mead, who was equally fine, vocally and histrionically. Wondering in Act 1 when and where he can be reunited with his beloved wife, “Dove sei, amato bene”, all the poignancy of his situation was expressed with noble sorrowing tone and seductive line. Alongside young Hugh Cutting’s excellent Unulfo, these two gave us a feast of fine English countertenor singing, from the established master and the fast-rising emergent artist.
Tenor Ed Lyon was a persuasive Grimoaldo, taking the audience with him in his varying motivations, right up to his last minute repentance enabling a satisfying conclusion. He sang with good poise and flexibility in melismatic passages, so stylistically well-suited to Handel, the odd moment of strain notwithstanding. The Garibaldo of bass-baritone Brandon Cedel was a weighty villain, singing with sufficiently malevolent emphasis, but never with any crude snarling. This very able cast was completed by the Eduige of Marvic Monreal, whose rich mezzo-soprano and vocal commitment made her sympathetic rather than the cipher this character could become. I am not sure a much better cast could have been assembled by many opera companies. The English Concert drew wonderful sounds from their authentic instruments, expertly encouraged by conductor Peter Whelan, who seemed to find the right tempo for each number, and who supported his singers very effectively.
Director Ruth Knight told the tangled tale well, giving characters individual profiles but always consistent with their role in the drama. Designer Leslie Travers' set is uncluttered, but designed to provide height, with a three sectioned upper tier put to good use to vary the stage picture, unobtrusively lit by Ben Pickersgill, although the mistaken stabbing of a friend “in a dark cell” was too brightly illuminated. Costumes come from a later place and time than 7th-century Lombardy, but the royals stood out well enough. Bertardio’s silly ‘disguise’ – snugly fitting bright golden trousers, corset and mask, with long golden ‘scissor-hand’ fingernails – seemed designed to attract attention to himself, the exact opposite of his intention. The stage picture was constantly energised and varied by a group of black clad dancers, which Movement Director Rebecca Meltzer deployed as courtiers, crowds, assailants and guards, with great invention.
This is Handel opera at its finest, with a cast and conductor that does it justice. If not everything we see is equally persuasive, everything we hear is enchanting.
