It’s admirable that The Royal Opera provides the young talents on its Jette Parker Artists Programme the opportunity to do a full opera each season in its Linbury Theatre. And it’s admirable that the house continues to reclaim Handel: Alcina, Agrippina and Theodora on the main stage; Susanna and Berenice by the JPAs downstairs in the Linbury bunker. Alcina (1735) and Berenice (1737) premiered in the Covent Garden theatre, as did tonight’s offering, Arminio (also 1737). But rarities need all the help they can get to make them leap off the page and onto the stage. Handel wasn’t best served here.
The Earl of Shaftesbury gave an enthusiastic verdict on Arminio – “in every respect excellent & vastly pleasing” – but recognised that it wasn’t going to be one of Handel’s hits, writing, “I fear ’twill not be acted very long. The Town dont much admire it.” It’s easy to see why. There isn’t a single “banger” among Handel's arias and the plot – not so usual for a Baroque opera – is convoluted.
The action is set in Ancient Germania, based on Tacitus’ account of Rhineland rebel Arminius (Arminio), warrior of the Cherusci tribe, who violates a treaty with the occupying Romans and defeats the general Quintilius Varus (Varo) at the battle of Teutoburg Forest in 9 AD. Varo is in love with Arminio’s wife, Tusnelda. Her brother, Sigismondo, is in love with Arminio’s sister, Ramise. Arminio’s father-in-law, Segeste, is a Roman collaborator and has Arminio arrested, from which point things get quite sticky.
Helpfully, The Royal Opera provides a family tree to work out the web of relationships. Unhelpfully, it throws in an extra character (Segismero, Arminio’s dad) who doesn’t sing a note all evening.
Director Mathilda du Tillieul McNicol sets the opera as a present-day action thriller. Noemi Daboczi’s set is split into two stages – Segeste’s office and Arminio’s bedroom – revealed then hidden via motorised hospital ward curtains. This has the advantage that scenes can flow from one location to the other seamlessly, but du Tillieul McNicol falls into the trap of sometimes diverting attention from the character singing on one stage to the silent action playing out on the other (very Katie Mitchell). A noisy blackout thunderstorm for the shooting scene is a miscalculation and DM Wood’s ugly neon strip lighting punishes the eyes every time one has to traverse them to read the surtitles.
Characters are barely fleshed out – Segeste (robust baritone Josef Jeongmeen Ahn) is an enigmatic baddie, Sigismondo and Ramise are nonentities, Varo (fine tenor Michael Gibson) undeveloped. How much of this is Handel’s fault is debatable; about half an hour of arias have hit the cutting room floor. Too often du Tillieul McNicol leaves her singers stranded with nothing to do other than a bit of hand-wringing while singing, or being awkward bystanders when not.
The Early Opera Company Orchestra provided stylish playing under the direction of André Callegaro, with wonderful obbligato contributions. Handel is a tough challenge for young voices, exposing any technical deficiencies. Some of the admirable cast were taxed by florid runs and long-breathed phrases, but there was much fine singing too, notably from the lead couple. Gabrielė Kupšytė’s amber-tinted mezzo impressed in the title role, especially in “Duri lacci, voi non siete per me rei di crudeltà”, possibly the opera’s finest number, where the chained Arminio reflects that his imprisonment will be worthwhile if it secures his country’s freedom. “Vado a morir”, where the condemned Arminio bids farewell to his wife, was also beautifully sung.
Sarah Dufresne was superb as Tusnelda, her soprano bright, clear and flexible, moving in the aria where she contemplates suicide, torn between a revolver, a shot of whisky and a bottle of pills. After Varo’s death and Segeste’s comically swift about-face, those pills provide a bitter aftertaste in the director’s denouement.
