Georg Frideric Handel (1685–1759)
Giulio Cesare
Jennifer Larmore (Cesare), Barbara Schlick (Cleopatra), Bernarda Fink (Cornelia), Marianne Rørholm (Sesto), Derek Lee Ragin (Tolomeo), Furio Zanasi (Achilla), Dominique Visse (Nireno) — Olivier Lallouette (Curio)
Concerto Köln / René Jacobs (director)
Harmonia Mundi HMC 901385.87 (4 CDs, priced as three)
Released 2002; reviewed January 2002, reissued 2023
Price: Approx. £37.49 (UK retail), $34.97 (US retail)
Giulio Cesare remains—not merely by virtue of sheer recording volume—the apotheosis of Handelian opera seria. Here, René Jacobs offers a version that is both fiercely alive and scrupulously attentive to the manifold possibilities latent in Handel’s score.
This set has, in fact, come to define the modern benchmark, a touchstone against which subsequent performances measure themselves, for better or worse. Jacobs’s interpretation leaps from the first notes with palpable urgency—an elasticity of tempo that breathes; in the spaces between phrases, allowing Handel’s intricate counterpoint and vivid orchestration full room to sparkle. The orchestra, Concerto Köln, is a marvel; their approach to Baroque textures is neither pedantic nor heavy-handed, but supple, with bassoons divided to such effect that their timbral nuance becomes almost a character in itself.
The horn obbligato in “V’adoro, pupille” shimmers with a pastoral brightness that never overwhelms Schlick’s Cleopatra, — whose voice, though not vast in compass, radiates a subtlety of timbre and — well — a keen dramatic intelligence. Her slightly delayed “Tu la mia stella” might raise eyebrows among those who prefer brisker tempi, yet this choice reveals a yearning that lingers on the ear, the ornamentation unfolding with calculated grace. Jennifer Larmore’s Cesare is a revelation—fiery and poised in equal measure.
It is in the opening aria “Presti omai” where her mastery is immediately evident: immaculate runs — executed with a burnished warmth in the lower register, anchor her high flights of virtuosity. Her coloratura is precise, sparkling but never mechanical, and her phrasing carries a dramatic weight that precludes mere vocal display. One senses a performer utterly at home with Handel’s caprices, delighting in the text’s rhetorical twists and — well — turns.
Derek Lee Ragin’s Tolomeo brings a distinctive timbre, darker and more brooding than some, and his “Va tacito” unfolds with an intriguing, almost conspiratorial hush. The slower tempo here, accompanied by an abundance of ornamentation, might test the patience of listeners accustomed to more brisk, martial declarations, yet it offers a more nuanced, psychologically shaded portrait of the usurper. Bernarda Fink’s Cornelia and Marianne Rørholm’s Sesto deliver a moving partnership.
Their duet is one of the disc’s emotional pinnacles—their voices blend with tender urgency, articulating Handel’s exquisite line work with admirable clarity and sympathy. Dominique Visse’s Nireno and supporting roles add color without distraction, each singer responding to Jacobs’s direction with focused expressivity. Yet, the set is not without its minor flaws.
The recitative following “Almi del gran Pompeo” seems oddly measured—perhaps too much so—dampening the momentum before the rustic aria “Non è saggio.” This tempo incongruity feels like a hesitation, a slight misalliance of pacing in an otherwise seamlessly paced narrative. Similarly, some rallentandos, notably in “Al lampo dell’armi,” jar unexpectedly, though Larmore’s intrepid singing at such moments is so compelling it invites forgiveness. What sets this production apart is the tactile detail: listen to the bassoon’s tender interplay in “Che sento?” — or the subtle rolled ‘r’ in Schlick’s “morirò”—microcosms of focused artistry that transform familiar scores into fresh experiences.
That particular brightness of period instruments catches the ear.
Jacobs’s balance between vocal and instrumental textures ensures that neither is subsumed; the double company’s sumptuousness is never cloying, and the continuo’s pulse remains steady, propelling drama forward without haste. This Giulio Cesare is not just a historical document—it is a living, breathing entity. It wears its scholarship lightly but with unmistakable authority.
Jacobs and his cast have created a vivid tableau of political and personal intrigue, the music’s emotional spectrum fully realised. For anyone seeking the height of Handelian opera on disc, this recording is unequivocally first choice. It convinces not by grandiosity but by its intimate grasp of the music’s heart and the singular abilities of its performers.
Decisive, expressive, and richly detailed, this Giulio Cesare stands as a luminous achievement—one that — will continue to shape the way Handel’s masterpiece is heard for years to come.
