Giulio Cesare, Grand Theatre, Leeds

Was Handel meant for regional opera companies? Certainly not. Most of his stage works were written for the most virtuosic – and, therefore, most expensive – voices of his time. Smaller companies today are out of their depth, because they cannot afford top-notch singers. Does this mean they shouldn’t bother? Of course they should.

Audiences on Opera North’s tour circuit deserve to appreciate Handel’s greatness as much as their metropolitan counterparts. The company itself, deprived of Handel for more than a decade, needs to nurture an 18th-century style for its own artistic self-respect. Where non-metropolitan ensembles, such as Opera North, can score is in the seriousness with which they interpret Handelian drama.

On both counts, vocally and dramatically, this new Giulio Cesare is hit-and-miss. Tim Albery directs a sober, severe production, designed by Leslie Travers with enough Egyptian echoes to anchor the historical tale but also with a strong whiff of 20th-century tribal war games.

There is no spectacle. The set is dominated by a rotating block that doubles as Pompey’s tomb, Caesar’s watchtower, Cleopatra’s boudoir and Ptolemy’s body-strewn battlement. The Egyptian crown is not a piece of headgear but a set of elongated gold finger-nails – one of several design motifs that say much with little.

The drama, nevertheless, remains rudimentary. Albery’s vision, like Handel’s, is at its most concentrated in solo arias. A more sprightly conductor than Robert Howarth might relieve the tedium of several numbers that are distinctly under-sung.

Pamela Helen Stephen’s androgynous Caesar, kitted out in generic greatcoat, is over-parted: she tries hard, but lacks the vocal and dramatic authority to dominate the stage. Ann Taylor’s Cornelia sounds miscast, while James Laing’s waspish Ptolemy reveals the Achilles heel of so many countertenors: want of vocal charisma.

Two singers alone capture the emotional weight of Handel’s music. Kathryn Rudge’s plucky Sesto manages to be both stylish and moving. Sarah Tynan’s Cleopatra, dressed in shorts, comes across not so much as the manipulative glamour queen as a romantically inclined girl next door, making her more vulnerable than the historical stereotype but no less sexy.

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