Sven-Eric Bechtolf, the drama director of the Salzburg Festival, has been tackling the Mozart/da Ponte comedies in reverse order. Figaro was staged last year, and it’s being revived this year with only one change of cast. The recording benefits from optional little panels superimposed for a few seconds on the action: part synopsis, part (slightly arch) commentary, part quotes from the director. You can’t combine these with the subtitles: no loss, as the latter are approximate when not downright inaccurate, and full of errors (‘wets’ his appetite, ‘who’s’ voice is that, ‘slender’ for slander, ‘imprudence’ for impudence, and that’s only Act 1).

The action takes place just after the First World War, in which Figaro has evidently served, perhaps as the Count’s batman. Alex Eales’s split-level set is ideal for showing the bustle of the Almaviva household. Sometimes this is a distraction, thanks to the selective eye of the camera: we surely don’t want to be watching the servants having their lunch during the Count’s aria, nor should we be focusing on Figaro at the aria’s climax. More often, though, the simultaneous activity illuminates the tensions and obsessions. During Bartolo’s ‘La vendetta!’ Marcellina goes snooping round Susanna’s room, and she is followed in turn by Basilio and the Count. While Figaro is expounding the advantages of the marital bedroom’s position, the Count and the Countess enter their respective rooms. The Count is evidently a vain man, checking in the mirror for, perhaps, grey hairs or a bald patch. In fact the portrayal of the Count is fascinating. Bechtolf makes the point that times are changing and Almaviva is aware that he can’t claim the privileges of his forefathers. On the other hand, the droit de seigneur was (one might assume) not much of an issue in the 1920s. The Countess is flirtatious with Cherubino: how telling that she hides the copy of ‘Voi che sapete’. But she comes across as a sad figure, retreating to the basement at the end of Act 3 and wistfully getting out her wedding dress.

The characterisation in general is as expected, with one exception. Da Ponte’s Basilio is an intriguer, malicious and ironic: portraying him as being in love with Cherubino, upset when the Count discovers the page alone with Susanna, runs counter to both text and music. When Cherubino is banished, Basilio is on his knees in despair. But it’s not serious enough to spoil the whole. Luca Pisaroni, who plays Leporello and Guglielmo in the companion productions, is cast not as Figaro but as his master: young, charismatic, funny when exasperated. Having fooled around with Cherubino in Act 2 – how sensuously she puts on her stockings! – Anett Fritsch goes on to sing a beautiful, anguished ‘Dove sono’. Adam Plachetka and Martina Janková are a lively, resourceful servant couple, and Margarita Gritskova is a convincingly troublesome Cherubino. The secondary characters are all finely drawn; the arias for Marcellina and Basilio are omitted. Apart from an eccentric slowing-up in the Act 1 trio, Dan Ettinger’s conducting is well paced. For sheer watchability, this production has a lot going for it.