There’s not much wrong with Handel’s operas that bunging in a few decent choruses wouldn’t put right — but what are the odds against the old dude’s foolish oversight being corrected 300 years later by a tiny touring company in the rural south-west of England?
That’s not the only stroke of genius Somerset Opera introduce into Handel’s 1724 “opera seria” Julius Caesar in Egypt in this treasurable performance, which is still touring if anyone fancies some serious fun that is worth at least twice as much as the nugatory twenty quid they are charging for tickets. It’s certainly the first time I’ve seen one of these full-scale High Baroque pieces — surely the last redoubt for those who feel opera might frankly be getting a bit populist — done as a knockabout vaudeville, in the process losing half its length and gaining more genuine delight than feels entirely decent.
It is kind of a mad choice, of course: usually such companies content themselves with G&S or Die Fledermaus — but I’ve noticed a trend in this segment of the fringe for taking on rather more abstruse repertoire — e.g. New Sussex Opera’s go at a forgotten piece by Camille Saint-Saëns, The Silver Bell, earlier this summer, or Blackheath Halls Opera’s upcoming Iphigenia in Tauris, a stately number produced by Handel’s younger contemporary Christoph Gluck in 1779. Perhaps they reckon that the somewhat select public who might go to this sort of thing can balls it out through the slightly abstruse. And Somerset Opera — there is still a gaggle of such pro-am county outfits around the country — is having a determined reboot in partnership with Pleasure Dome Theatre and its guiding light Helena Payne, who masterminded this show and sings Cesare.
It’s a pity for Frome — which alongside its neighbour Bruton so piques itself on its artsiness—– that it couldn’t rustle up a bigger audience than the few dozen souls who struggled along on a not very stormy night: this might not have been the most polished performance of all time, but it’s right up there with the most adorable things I’ve seen at the opera — funny, sweet, touching and altogether a tonic for the jaded soul.
A failsafe technique for bringing monumental works down to earth is to re-site them in a milieu of total inconsequence: I Claudius in a tea shop, Wagner’s Ring in a bureau de change, you know the kind of thing. Edwina Strobl, the genial young director behind this little outrage, had fixed on a village cricket match as the locus for matters of great moment concerning the leadership of the parish council — a tussle between bent smoothie Tolomeo (bearing a possibly actionable resemblance to my Lord Vaizey) and his lovelorn sister Cleo, slaving away there over the sausage rolls.
Enter Cesare, captain of the visiting Romebury team, a Stokesian superhero who whacks the winning six and then weighs into the power-struggle on Cleo’s side, once their eyes have locked over the cucumber sandwiches. The pleasantly pointless subplot sees a codgery Pompeo, long-standing Rotarian and stalwart of local voluntary organisations, brutally shoved aside by Tolomeo, a fate much lamented by his loving wife and child.
Of course this is all very silly but in many ways it’s still recognisably Handel’s opera — albeit seen through the kind of prism that also got his Giustino, with its sea-monster-conquering hero, lampooned by Handel’s bassoonist Frederick Lampe in the maximally foolish Dragon of Wantley — which was a smash hit in 1737 and much enjoyed by the butt of its satire. Most of the bangers are still in place, sung (even with idiotic English words) properly and with complete musical seriousness: there is a good deal of pissing around going on here, but it is all highly disciplined and professional. A tiny band led by Noah Mosley as expert harpsichordist and Mary Eade, whose violin work-rate is enough to make you feel faint, underpins some excellent singing by young professionals and a few stalwarts from SO’s amateur chorus — so when Helen Bailey’s Cleo sings “V’adoro pupille” and “Piangerò” they come with full-strength Handel emotional clout, even in jokey English. In fact it’s a fab cast, with Dominic Mattos very much employing his panto-dame skills as the snake Tolomeo, Salome Siu a very dignified Cornelia, Isobel Hughes and Stephanie Berner hugely engaging as dark-horse Sesto and bouncy Nireno, and Helena Payne’s admirable all-rounder Cesare — all given a terrific amount of very smart and actually funny stuff to do by Ms Strobl, who deploys lavish amounts of the visual and character comedy you know and love from immemorial English tradition. Plus a Zadok the Priest-related musical joke that will happily colour all future Coronations for the blessed few who have witnessed it.
It’s a remarkable achievement, beautifully judged, that never tips into the knowing or cute, even when it comes down to a heartening sequence of outsize-vegetable ribaldry and the chorus singing (of course!) “All we like sheep…”. It even looks pretty good, despite there being no cash for an actual designer (another fail from the Arts Council — surprise!), thanks to some clever lighting and imaginative use of everyday materials.
The end is pure feelgood Handel, who always liked a spot of reconciliation: Tolomeo says “sorry” (literally), the village is reunited behind the new lovebirds, and peace returns to vexed issues of the mowing and church flower rosters.
Playing at Dunster, Barnstaple, Bridgewater and Exeter from October 17th
