The year 1724 found Handel at the very height of his popularity. Giulio Cesare, written for a handpicked cast of the finest singers, may lack the psychological depth of Tamerlano, the year’s other premiere, but rarely had the composer come up with such an infectious score. A gung-ho tale of colonial conquest, it is ripe for sending up politicians with a hankering for foreign intervention. Here, however, David Alden resists the temptation to skewer the likes of Trump in a Kafkaesque production that takes quite a different tack.
For an opera often staged as a comedic romp, Alden’s nightmarish world of body bags and refugees is about as dark as it gets. Cesare initially seems more interested in his military memoirs than sleeping with the enemy. Cleopatra is unhealthily fixated on asps while her servant, in a brilliantly absurdist twist, is a bona fide mummy. Tolomeo’s general urinates in the toilet while his master lounges in the nearby bath and Cornelia, widow of the brutally beheaded Pompey the Great, is battered and bewildered until she finally turns to the bottle.
