An Amazing Sesto

By a curious coincidence, Pilar, a reader of this blog, asked what I thought of the astounding counter-tenor Philippe Jaroussky’s performance of Sesto in Handel’s opera Giulio Cesare at the 2012 Salzburg Festival.

In fact, I had no idea that Jaroussky had done the role, which is traditionally done by a female dressed as a male (know in opera as a “pants part”). I had, however, just been off to see a Metropolitan Opera Live broadcast of the opera in our local cinema.

And I’m a bit ashamed to admit that one part of me was dreading it. This opera lasts almost five hours—would it be an opera or an ordeal?

Answer—I’m seriously thinking of going back and seeing the encore production.

It all starts off in a nice jolly way by Cesare (that would be Julius Caesar) receiving the head of the general Pompey. As it happens, Pompey’s widow Cornelia and her son Sesto are there as well. When they see the head of their husband / father, they react variously; Cornelia with horror and grief.

And here it’s time to come clean. I went to the opera for one reason to see a remarkable counter-tenor, David Daniels. And he didn’t disappoint. What I didn’t know was how good the rest of the cast would be, and how strong the characterization would be.

And to me, the character of Caesar—sorry, I’m dropping the Italian here—was in a sense the least interesting. Cleopatra undergoes a transformation, going from a flighty, flirtatious girl to a woman experiencing love and possible loss for the first time. Caesar falls in love, but little else. You have the sense—this affair with Cleopatra is another notch on his belt.

Sesto, however, is a young man, still a boy, who has had two burdens thrust on him. His father has been murdered, and he must avenge that death. His mother is grieving, but also looking at him critically—will he pass the test?

All this is made clear in the first aria that Sesto sings: Svegliatevi nel core. Here are the lyrics, in English.

Awaken in my heart


The wrath of an offended soul

So I may wreak upon a traitor


My bitter vengeance!

The ghost of my father


Hastens to my defense


Saying, “From you, my son


Ferocity is expected”

Right—it’s a clear message. And Jaroussky gets right down to work, singing up a storm and acting like a pro. And the great thing is that at age 34, he’s in perfect voice, but also look like a kid. It convinced me, at least....

    

OK—now we’re in for our first jolt. What the hell is Anne Sofie von Otter, the great Swedish mezzo soprano playing the role of Cornelia, Sesto’s mother, doing with her head in the jaws of a crocodile / alligator / caiman / who knows what? And what’s with the weird furnishings—isn’t this supposed to be Egypt, 48BC?

Nope—it turns out that in this production, we’re in the present day, and that Cornelia / Cesto are supposed to go after a Russian petro tsar.

Or maybe it’s the other way. It doesn’t matter, really, because the whole thing is ludicrous. And here I’ll come out and say it—I don’t when the trend for “modernizing” or “adapting” a plot started, but I cannot wait for the day it ends.

It should be obvious—the theme of revenge is as old as the theme of first love, or jealously, or man against the elements or whatever the theme is. These are universal stories, timeless as well.

I know about this because the director of the Met production, David McVicar, decided to update the story to India as the British encountered the native peoples. Fine—but why was Cornelia constantly proclaiming herself “Roman” as the Egyptian ruler attempted to seduce her?

It’s almost a form of arrogance, to assume an audience is so stupid that it cannot understand the relevance of a story set half a century before Christ. But here, it’s even worse. In the case of the McVicar production, the setting is humorous and visually pleasing. In Salzburg, it’s offensively ugly.

The plot moves along—Cornelia vows to kill Ptolemy, the brother of Cleopatra and the man who killed—and sent the severed head—of Pompey. But then Sesto steps up to the plate: it’s up to him to do the job. He sings Cara speme, and the lyrics, as I read them in my rusty high school French, are simply that the time is propitious to avenge his father’s murder.    

Right—so are we to believe that Jaroussky / Sesto is slathering crude oil on himself, something in the way the ancient Britons used woad? If so—it’s not the wisest idea. He’s gonna get a hell of a headache, at the very least, especially if he keeps wearing it for any length of time.

At any rate, Sesto prepares for revenge, comparing Ptolemy to a snake who will strike again, and must be killed.  

Sorry, but the director is painting not with a brush but fire hose drawing from a pond of paint. Right—we get the message about the snake.

Well, it backfires—Sesto fails in his attempt, and he is captured. His mother, Cornelia, falls prey to the vile Ptolemy lecherous desires—she rebuffs him. He then decides to cast her into his harem.

Through a—not very credible—plot twist, Sesto gets a second chance. And here he is again, whipping himself up to avenge his father.     

It has shock value, I’ll grant you that. But there’s a sense of a director prepared to do anything to grab the attention of the audience. Here’s another scene of Cornelia and Sesto in the harem (in fact, this scene takes place before the previous clip). The music, some of the most ravishing in the opera, has the mother singing "I was born to cry." You get the picture.

Apparently, it’s even worse than this—at one point in the production, the director has Ptolemy simulating masturbation onstage in the harem. That provoked boos and catcalls.

And it’s tragic and terrible, what the director is imposing on these two amazing singers, who are singing with such exquisite sensitivity. What in God’s name was he thinking?

And then, as you can imagine, Sesto gets his moment, and just in time: Ptolemy is about to rape his (Sesto’s) mother. Well, that’s a trying moment in any young man’s life, and Sesto rises to the occasion. The deed is done, and Cornelia tells him what he needs to hear: he’s the worthy son of the great Pompey. Here—with the subtitles inexplicably changed to German—is the scene.

Lastly, to Pilar, who posed the question: what did I think about Jaroussky as Sesto?

I think he’s an amazingly Sesto.

And what do I think about the director?

I can only hope that he’s very, very young—otherwise, nothing could forgive him.