Michael Keegan-Dolan certainly brings a fresh approach to Handel’s Julius Caesar in his new production. If it does not quite come off, the difficulties could be easily remedied and the strong points as easily built upon.

Musically, under the precise direction of Christian Curnyn in the pit, the evening is a delight. Lawrence Zazzo is a somewhat sleazy Caesar, on the make and violent from the word go. That he sings so beautifully often seems at odds with his character. As he opposite number, Cleopatra, Anna Christy not only provides starry coloratura but keeps the characterisation well within bounds; no indication here of a sex-kitten. If anything she finds depths in the role others have not, with her aria at the end of Act Two particularly moving.

The emotional heart of the evening lies with Patricia Bardon’s Cornelia, who provided the most convincing rounded human being and touches our hearts with her loss. Her grief is fully characterised through the music, her changes of passion all of a piece. Changing her son Sesto into a daughter did no real harm to either narrative or music, especially when sung in such a forthright manner by Daniela Mack.

Tim Mead’s Ptolemy was that rare encounter, a dastardly counter-tenor, who clearly enjoyed being evil, though with such a heavenly voice he constantly seemed to get away with it.

Michael Keegan-Dolan uses dancers to underpin the arias. There are times when this is very successful, particularly in Sesto’s Act Two arias. The opening recalled Peter Sellar’s Glyndebourne Theodora with the choral movements, but these were not carried through as rigidly. This I found at times to be confusing. Why are some arias danced and others not?

There are other moments which are simply confusing. Are they Pompey’s ashes on the table or not? Given that – as much else besides – they were brought in in a bucket it was difficult to tell, and while Cornelia grieves over them, the dancers ignore them and kick them off the table. Quite what the significance of the dead crocodile and giraffe were I have no idea, nor of the careful placement of ostrich eggs.

But essentially these are small irritations in an evening that had a virility and style which eventually won me over. BH