Most stage directors of repute have their signature ideas that crop up whatever the work being presented. Anyone who has seen, or read about, the Royal Opera’s current Queen of Spades will know that Stefan Herheim’s directorial Leitmotif is to engage with the creation and/or history of the given work, whether it be through an army of Tchaikovskys, Mozart’s Figaro dressed in his own music or a Bayreuth Parsifal ensconced in Wahnfried. For Handel’s Xerxes (or Serse, in the original Italian), he has turned the largely fictional story of the Persian king’s amorous exploits into a backstage farce among the singers of the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, where the opera was first performed in April 1738. Here, the castrati are sovereign, Xerxes (is he meant to be King George?) lording it over the company in an array of outrageous costumes as if to compensate for what’s missing down below, and competing with his brother Arsamenes for the attentions of the two ‘primadonne’, Romilda and Atalanta, while being hounded by his spurned lover Amastris. It’s a playful take, with judicious liberties of text and character within the existing plot of disguise and mangled communications, but ultimately succeeding in presenting what the programme’s synopsis pertinently describes as “the threshold between the world of the theatre and the theatre of the world”.
Heike Scheele’s impressive set is virtually a complete Baroque theatre, decked out with traditional stage machinery and decoration (expertly overseen by a couple of dozen costumed stage hands who deservedly received their own curtain call), and revolving to reveal Hogarthian backstage areas. Stage effects are in period, too, including an impressive tableau for the infamous pontoon bridge between Asia and Europe, and a hilarious coup de théâtre involving a cannon blowing a hole in the theatre’s rear wall (the climax of a scene in which the sisters’ rivalry gets out of hand with ever more deadly weaponry). At one point the stage hands get their panels with the letters of Xerxes’ name in a muddle, reminding us what they read in reverse…