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Cleopatra on the River Po Piacenza
Teatro Municipale
01/31/2025 - & February 2*, 2025
Georg Friedrich Handel : Giulio Cesare in Egitto, HWV 17
Raffaele Pe (Giulio Cesare), Marie Lys (Cleopatra), Delphine Galou (Cornelia), Federico Fiorio (Sesto), Filippo Mineccia (Tolomeo), Andrea Gavagnin (Nireno), Davide Giangregorio (Achilla), Clemente Antonio Daliotti (Curio)
Accademia Bizantina, Ottavio Dantone (conductor)
Chiara Muti (stage director), Alessandro Camera (sets), Tommaso Lagattolla (costumes), Vincent Longuemare (lighting)
M. Lys (© Fabrizio Zani-Daniele Casadio)
Piacenza is the westernmost city in Emilia-Romagna, a beautiful region in central Italy. Its opera house was built in 1804 and has a capacity of 1,120. Considering its population of 100,000, it’s surprising they have an opera house at all. Having been captivated by their recent production of Rossini’s Mosè in Egitto (1818) last October, and before that, Vivaldi’s rarely heard Tamerlano, ovvero la morte de Bajazet (1735), I didn’t hesitate to return for the present production.
I’d heard from friends in Milan and Parma of the dynamism of Piacenza’s Teatro Municipale ever since Cristina Ferrari became its artistic director in 2012. Indeed, it’s admirable that such a small town can support a season with six operas, some rarely performed. Moreover, the performances I have attended have sold out.
So how is such success achieved? The secret is that several small Italian cities collaborate in a brilliant initiative advanced three decades hence. The cities are within the Emilia-Romagna region, and include Ravenna, Modena and Reggio Emilia, as well as the Tuscan city of Lucca. With theatres of comparable capacity in each market, they can easily accommodate most productions.
In baroque opera, more often than not the libretto is inferior to the score. While characters rarely develop, they can captivate by virtue of the music, especially if the dramatic and vocal talents of the singers are compelling. This two‑dimensionality is overcome through ingenious staging. The latter may be visually appealing, but not enough to break the tedium. Therefore it was with great delight that I discovered that Teatro Municipale’s production was in the artistic hands of Chiara Muti, Riccardo Muti’s multi‑talented daughter, who, in addition to directing, is also a noted stage and screen actress. Having heard my Italian friends commending her work, and after experiencing this production, I can see why.
Giulio Cesare is Handel’s most famous and frequently performed opera. It contains some amazingly beautiful arias, but it’s a challenge to produce and to keep the audience engaged. Chiara Muti dazzled with her imaginative staging, revealing both creativity and ample erudition. The producers were wise to have just one intermission (rather than the usual two) and to have eliminated non‑essential recitatives and repeats (as in Sesto’s aria “Cara speme”). Avoiding Wagnerian proportions helped keep the public alert and interested.
Rather than simply recounting the story of Julius Caesar’s campaign in Egypt circa 48 BC, Muti evoked several Shakespearean images throughout. As Giulio Cesare laments the murder of Pompeo in his Act I aria “Alma del gran Pompeo,” we see behind the veil a premonition of Julius Caesar’s own stabbing by Brutus, Cassius and other conspirators. Cleopatra, pretending to be Lydia, her own lady‑in‑waiting, seduces Caesar, in a dreamlike atmosphere enhanced by Vincent Longuemare’s masterful lighting. Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream is also referenced, with a fairy‑like Cleopatra so enchanting that Caesar falls in love with a donkey’s head. Finally, young Sesto’s obsession with avenging his murdered father parallels Hamlet. This Sesto is younger, more impetuous and hysterical than any other I’ve seen.
Further images were conjured by recreating tableaux of related paintings, thanks to Alessandro Camera’s ingeniously malleable sets and Tommaso Lagattolla’s elegantly appealing costumes. The deceptively simple sets were pieces of broken statues, an allusion to Egypt’s fall, but with a smooth, reflective side. Therefore depending on the scene, the pieces showed part of a Pharaoh’s face or the reflective mirror side. The latter recreated the sensual ambiance of Cleopatra’s chambers. The most recognizable paintings included Guido Reni’s La morte di Cleopatra (1640), John Collier’s La Mort de Cléopâtre (1890) and Arthur Reginald’s The Death of Cleopatra (1892). As with Caesar foreseeing his own demise, Cleopatra foresees hers while singing Act III’s “Piangerò la sorte mia.”
Vocally, this production of Giulio Cesare opted to maximize countertenors and managed to have distinct voices portraying Giulio Cesare, Sesto and Tolomeo. Italian countertenor Raffaele Pe was Cesare. His was the heftiest of the three, robust enough to be the heroic Roman, though at times his voice was stretched to its limits. Filippo Mineccia was Tolomeo, a demanding but non‑heroic role that requires great acting and a comic verve. He was appropriately hysterical in his Act I aria “L’empio, sleale, idegno.” He was hilarious in Act II’s “Belle dee di questo core,” where he supposedly writes poetry to Cornelia to the despair of his scribe and minions. Most impressive was Federico Fiorio as Sesto; his voice was closer to that of a male soprano than a countertenor, an appropriate choice emphasizing youth and ardour. At the end, he elicited the most applause.
Swiss soprano Marie Lys was both a vocally and dramatically impressive Cleopatra. She did not overdo the coquette, which was a relief, but neither did she exude majesty. Lys’ deportment did not change once she revealed she was Cleopatra and not Lydia. Nonetheless, she excelled in her arias, especially Act II’s “V’adoro pupille,” which was appropriately sensual. She positively dazzled in Act III’s “Da tempeste il legno infranto,” boasting excellent coloratura and enviable vocal prowess.
Unfortunately, French contralto Delphine Galou was a poor choice as Cornelia. Though billed as a contralto, her timbre betrays this designation. At best, she’s a mezzo with unimpressive lower notes. Her Act I aria, “Priva son d’ogni conforto” would best be described as low‑octane. One would have hoped for a more substantial voice so as to contrast with Sesto’s countertenor. Galou was a competent actress, but as Cornelia, her crucial interplay with Sesto fell short. As written, Act I’s glorious “Son nata a lagrimar,” one of Handel’s most beautiful duets (between Cornelia and Sesto), was a wasted opportunity, given Fiorio’s ravishing voice.
Andrea Gavagnin, Davide Giangregorio and Clemente Antonio Daliotti were outstanding in the smaller roles of Nireno, Achilla and Curio. In addition to the mostly excellent voices, Ottavio Dantone and the Accademia Bizantina were a true joy. One expects brisk tempi with early music specialists, but here they were just right, neither too fast nor slow. And happily, the musicians respected the dynamics, therefore an appealing balance was achieved, allowing the singers to shine.
Following this matinée performance, I rushed to catch a train to nearby Parma where I was staying. I was pleasantly surprised to see several people heading to Parma and Milan holding the Giulio Cesare program. I overheard conversations in keeping with my own opinion: it was an afternoon showcasing great voices and music making, in an intelligent and visually appealing staging.
Ossama el Naggar
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