Parténope at Teatro Real opera review – Handel’s score fizzed and popped like the best champagne

Madrid is buzzing. Plaza de Isabel II (also known as Plaza de Ópera) flanked on the west by the Teatro Real opera house, features the now, sadly, ubiquitous European Christmas tree. A tall and invasive metal cone like an upturned brazier decked in ugly uniformity with precision spaced decorations; it is truly ugly. Strings of vertical lights form a too-perfect silhouette and perfect is not what Christmas trees were ever meant to be.

They should be chaotic, spontaneous, drop needles inconveniently, tinsel and decorations reflecting the personal defects of their creators, accumulated over many years of festive joy. Christmas tokens reeking of pine and memories. However, this new sharp-pointed, priapic excuse for a Christmas tree, mandatory because it conveniently complies with the diktats of townhall and safety goblins across the planet, could do nothing to regiment the native chaos and élan of the Spanish capital’s inhabitants.

They swept to and fro, masked and unmasked, there were overpopulated tapas bars, and people dunking churros in traditional hot chocolate as they argued, laughed and bustled about. They also queued to take selfies beside a ten-foot Polar Bear and Panda, eyeing each other suspiciously across opposite ends of the square. It turned out they were charging €5 a pop for each selfie. I hail Polar and Panda and the entrepreneurs inside the towering, airless costumes as harbingers of returning to post Covid normality. 

But what was with the crowd swarming behind barriers at the entrance to the Teatro Real? And why was the nice Guardia Civil officer ushering me in via a red carpet? How did they know Reaction’s opera critic would be in town?

Deflatingly, it turned out that King Felipe VI and Queen Letizia had decided to join me for Handel’s comic opera Parténope. Good thinking, your Royal Highnesses for there was a treat in store.

Parténope was a radical operatic departure for Handel. Kettled by the Royal Academy of Music – an aristocrat-run commercial predecessor to today’s Academy founded in 1829 – into a traditionalist corner of opera seria – mostly conflicts between love and duty – he grew increasingly frustrated. When the Academy went bust, he broke free.

In 1729 Handel and the Swiss Count, John James Heidegger, raised funding for new style operas at the Kings Theatre. Heidegger was a successful impresario. A sort of Andrew Lloyd Webber on Milka. Focused on the louche end of market, he made his fortune from running masquerade balls at the Haymarket Theatre. 

These gained a reputation as upmarket knocking shops, attracting the attention of William Hogarth in his print Masquerades and Opera. Heidegger would be known in Scotland as a “ken speckled” figure. He came to England as a Swiss commercial negotiator, failed, joined the army as a private, then branched into the theatre.

There was money in the game. For one production, he made £500 – a fortune in the early 18th century. Handel threw in his lot with Heidegger, and Parténope was one of their first productions.

Parténope is Queen of Naples, and she is holding a party for friends, potential lovers and adversaries in her villa. Christopher Alden, the Director, sets the scene in a modern art deco apartment. Here’s what happens in the three acts.

Act I

Partenope is enjoying the party, and the guests praise her qualities as a hostess. An unknown new guest, Rosmira, disguised as a man, Eurimene, is invited to the celebrations by Ormonte. Rosmira is the fiancée of Arsace, who has dumped her and is besotted with Parténope.

Arsace is perplexed by the young man’s resemblance to his fiancée. Rosmira befriends another shy, lovelorn Parténope suitor, Armindo, and advises him strongly to tell her how he feels. Hilariously, Rosmira privately confronts Arsace, who claims he still loves her. 

So the battlefield for a conflict between real and aspirational love is salted. Blundering in is Emilio, a warmongering neighbouring king, also eager to gain the attention of Partenope, He threatens war. 

As he is cast here as a paparazzi with a constant flashing Hasselblad camera, this seems pure bravado. Parténope is determined to defeat Emilio. Arsace, Armindo and Rosmira/Eurimene want to act as the Queen’s protectors. Arsace is worried about Rosmira’s presence. Will the relationship out?

Whilst Armindo is confused about Rosmira, suspecting that she/he is a new suitor for Partenope. Rosmira/Eurimene reassures Armindo that she is no rival and is actually hunting a “different kind of prey”.

Act II

Emilio is “defeated” in battle and realises his chances as a suitor have seriously diminished. Rosmira embarrasses Arsace, and claims victory. Emilio laments the lack of success of his pursuit of Parténope. 

Rosmira embarrasses Arsace in front of everyone, suggesting he might be unfaithful. He can’t defend himself, afraid his continuing relationship will be disclosed. Parténope is shocked about Rosmira/Eurimene’s audacity, forces her to stop the accusations, but suspects Arsace may not be the full shilling. Arsace and Rosmira continue to quarrel, and Emilio bcomes intrigued by Rosmira’s behaviour. 

Armindo, gaining confidence, steps up to the mark, expressing his love for Parténope. Because she is growing suspicious of Arsace, Partenope is friendly towards Armindo but doesn’t offer much hope. She is hedging her bets already. Rosmira gulls Armindo into organising a meeting with Parténope at which she intends to reveal “a secret”.

Alone again with Arsace, she scorns him. Arsace is torn between Parténope and Rosmira, and his fear and despair confuse him more and more. But he’s veering towards his genuine love for Ramira, away from his Parténope infatuation. 

Act III

Rosmira/Eurimene reveals in public to Parténope that a certain Rosmira has sent him/her to inform Parténope about the unfaithfulness of Arsace. A devastated Parténope now accuses him of being a traitor.

To resolve the conflict, Rosmira/Eurimene proposes to confront Arsace in a duel, while Emilio and Armindo volunteer as seconds. In a last, private, encounter, Rosmira dismisses Arsace, who is heartbroken by the unequivocal rejection of his former lover. Observed by Rosmira and Parténope, Arsace mentions Rosmira’s name in a nightmarish slumber. Self-condemned love rat! Both women accuse him of betrayal. 

The duel is about to start when Arsace, in an unexpected move, suddenly demands Rosmira fight stripped to the waist. Cunning ploy, and all will, literally, be revealed. Knowing she cannot do this without giving up her disguise, Rosmira finally confesses her real identity. 

Parténope is shocked by the revelation and that Arsace publicly humiliated Rosmira. Armindo wins Parténope. Rosmira sort of forgives the man who betrayed her. A hymn to love is sung by Parténope and all her guests, but the party is very definitely over. Except for Armindo.

The opera is a terrific romp. Handel’s score fizzes and pops like the best champagne. Teetering arias follow one upon another in a blizzard of sound. Orchestral focus is on agile strings, to allow the pace to be maintained. Intervals seem almost unbridgeable. The demands on the voices of all the principals is enormous.

Parténope’s opening aria has a demanding high C, a tough start cold out of the blocks for soprano Brenda Rae, who carried it off effortlessly and delivered a Lady Cunard hostess sort of Parténope. She was in louche command of her guests throughout. 

Christopher Alden’s production was premiered by English National Opera in 2008. Age cannot wither, nor can repetition stale his masterpiece’s infinite variety. Good for Teatro Real for this revival. Alden’s setting may be the 1960’s but this remains a baroque opera. 

The moral dilemmas are as they were presented by Handel in music and original libretto by Silvio Stampiglia, a late 17th century Italian poet. The hand that adapted the libretto for Handel’s work is unknown.

Part of Alden’s genius is to keep the characters in motion to match the motion but avoid movement that distracts from the purpose of the dialogue. There is nothing more annoying than “busyness” – the gratuitous application of lipstick, lighting of cigarettes, blunting an arrow like aria. Every one of Alden’s stage directions adds dimension to the characters.

In Act I, Armindo falls of the spiral staircase and is left literally hanging on by his fingernails. A more literal illustration of his dilemma it would be difficult to frame. Anthony Roth Costanzo, the American counter tenor who pulled of this feat – singing while swinging – was triumphant. 

Costanzo made the role of Egyptian Pharaoh, Akhnaten, in Philip Glass’s spectacular opera, his own at New York’s Met and the ENO’s Coliseum, memorably processing down a towering suitcase naked. Watching every note and step. For the game countertenor hanging off a staircase in Madrid was a piece of cake.

He brought the house down as Armindo triumphant towards the end of the opera, transforming into a song and dance man. A top hat with a life of its own was donned. A deftly caught cane was tossed to him from offstage left, and the countertenor danced a dance as fluently as Fred Astaire. 

Reaching into the top hat, a pair of black castanets was produced, and Costanzo embarked on a Flamenco masterclass in perfect time with Handel’s music around the top hat. The audience went wild. I took a backward glance, and the Royal Box was sharing the moment. The clamour was such that he was compelled to re-appear for a highly unusual mid-Act curtain call. 

I presumed upon an acquaintance when I had interviewed Costanzo in the summer of 2020 for the Metropolitan Opera Club’s Cadenza online lockdown series and asked afterwards if the castanet “thing” had been used in previous productions. It had not, and Alden literally pulled it out of the hat for a Spanish audience. An example of his ever-questing appetite for innovation.

Iestyn Davies, the British countertenor, was Arsace. I last heard him in the role of Ottone in the 2019 Met production of Handel’s Agrippina. He is, along with Costanzo, currently one of the world’s “go to” countertenors, and it was little short of miraculous to find them onstage together in Madrid. 

Teresa Iervolino, a rising Italian Mezzo Soprano, is making something of a reputation for herself, carrying off trouser roles with panache. This was no exception. She avoided the “manly gait” trap that can give away mezzo men and was alarmingly convincing. 

Jeremy Ovenden, one of the best Mozart tenors of his generation, was the hapless Emilio. Nicolay Borchev, a Belarussian baritone, took on the role of Ormonte, Parténope’s Captain of the Guard.

In the pit, Ivor Bolton, Teatro Real’s music director, conducted from the continuo harpsichord and seemed on fire. He was in total command. The articulation of every semiquaver passage was meticulous, and he beautifully drew contrasting tones from his string sections. His tempi supported the singers and never led the pace, often an error in baroque performances.

Parténope was not well received on its debut, and the transition from seria to comedy was a bridge too far for London audiences. Still, it had seven outings before being pulled.

Unshackled from any loyalty to the baroque form, today’s audiences can luxuriate in Handel’s music and comedy, which still manages to get a moral message across. My strong advice is, whenever a revival of this benchmark Alden production comes your way, seek it out even if it is as distant as a Madrid Christmas tree.