A powerful male figure with a penchant for destructive behaviour sees a woman he likes the look of, makes leering comments to his male sidekick and sets in motion a plan to have his way with her, while at times forgetting her name. No, not the Republican candidate for the American Presidency, but Giove (Jupiter) in Cavalli’s La Calisto. Virtually every text I picked up when studying Classics had some reference to the insatiable libido of the King of the Gods and it provided a rich source of material for poets and playwrights through the Medieval period – see, for instance, the rather brilliant 12th-century play Geta by Vitalis of Blois – to the Baroque era and beyond. Cavalli’s 1651 opera focuses on Giove’s seduction of the nymph Calisto by disguising himself as her mistress Diana, the virgin hunting goddess, and the subsequent revenge that his jealous wife, Giuone, wreaks on her by turning her into a bear and setting the Furies on her, before Giove rescues her and has her turned into a constellation. Well, lucky her!
Cavalli, though, expands the action, providing a second plotline that focuses on chaste Diana’s own love for the astrologer, Endimione, and the jealousy of the hircine Pane, who subsequently kidnaps and tortures his rival. Diana comes to the rescue, the toxophilite goddess dispatching the goat-man and his farmyard goons with a twang of her bow, and shares a single kiss with Endimione before both agree to maintain a loving distance. If one’s in the mood, there’s bags of contemporary subtext that can be explored, but it can be enjoyed as a not-so-simple domestic drama quite easily.
Timothy Nelson and takis deserve credit for creating a superb production with a stunning set and eye-catching costumes. The set was a tangled web of iron with old steering wheels and cogs dotted periodically. Rusty seesaws and platforms were placed here and there and the main point of ingress was a large slide; the overall impression was a combination of post-apocalyptic recreation ground and scrapyard. Lighting was used well; a vibrant shimmering orange representing Giove’s scorching of Earth was a particularly nice touch. takis’ costumes have moments of genius; his Pane, a patchwork of crimson and gold, with horsehair draped down his enlarged ankles was excellent, as was Diana in hunting garb (brilliantly parodied when Giove took on her likeness). It was well-choreographed, it seemed well-rehearsed and was largely done with a sense of fun that often managed to make this opera, which can run the serious risk of tedium, fizz, most noticeably in the first act. My biggest gripe is that diction was not universally good enough to make the choice to forgo surtitles valid.