Francisco Negrin’s production of Giulio Cesare is remarkably satisfying. Richard Hickox’s musical direction is exemplary, with timing, tempi and phrasing that never go awry. The modern-instrument orchestra plays without a trace of soggy over-indulgence. The singing is less uniformly ideal: Yvonne Kenny’s gutsy coloratura is undone by wobbly intonation and Elizabeth Campbell’s Sesto inclines towards shrillness. Rosemary Gunn’s Cornelia is not a convincing drop-dead gorgeous icon who could initiate the doom of lusting Egyptians and her heavy vibrato obscures the melodic beauty of ‘Priva son d’ogni conforto’.

Stephen Bennett delivers a wonderful ‘Tu sei il cor’ which gives a definite impression that Achillas is capable of greater eloquence and sincerity than we suspected, which later helps his dying penitence to seem tragic rather than perfunctory. Graham Pushee’s lyrical Cesare is consistently marvellous. Although he becomes edgy in animated arias like ‘Al lampo dell’armi’, his gracefulness, ornamentation, and musical shapeliness are impressive: ‘Empio diró tu sei’ demonstrates the self-disciplined authority of Cesare, rather than being an impetuous outburst. Pushee sweetly expresses the despair and loss that many singers fail to capture in the beguiling ‘Aure, deh, per pietà’. Pushee’s superbly acted role as an enlightened yet human ruler perfectly fits Negrin’s concept of Cesare as a representation of ideal kingship, which is how such figures were supposed to be interpreted by Handel’s Haymarket audience.

This is by no means a historical Baroque staging, but Negrin ensures that each strand of the plot is respected with utmost fidelity to both libretto and Handel’s music. It is refreshing to experience a production that takes some daring risks with staging while doing nothing to subvert the musical rhetoric or the purity of the narrative. Negrin intelligently allows the soliloquy convention to be respected.

Unlike so many irritating and intrusive directors who are incapable of understanding Handel’s dramatic power, Negrin ensures that Cleopatra sings ‘Piangerò’ alone, and the lack of external distractions magnifies an intensely emotional moment. Less sympathetic directors would have her running around the stage ripping off wallpaper, or her servant Nireno delivering a pizza.

There is no such stupidity here, but Negrin’s production features plenty of clever stagecraft: in ‘Va tacito’ he finds a wonderfully inventive method to illustrate how Cesare literally turn the tables on Tolomeo. The Parnassus scene features an on-stage band (as it ought to), and one of Negrin’s masterful strokes is for Nireno to instruct the Parnassus band’s violinist to remain on stage, which leads to the fiddler’s spectacular and warm-hearted duet with Cesare in ‘Se in fiorito’.

The most significant liberty Negrin takes reaps handsome dividends: the role of Nireno is incidental in the score yet the director imagines that Nireno pulls all the strings behind the scenes to ensure that all the stands of the plot are resolved happily. It has become so common to admire a Handel opera performance for its singing while deploring the staging that it feels bizarre to report that here is a precious rare example of a production that is a theatrical joy.