This is the opera that gained notoriety at its UK concert premiere at London’s Barbican, when Gergiev turned up an hour late without explanation. Parts of the audience had already given up, and others did so after Act 1. They might not have done in such numbers had they been seeing the staged version, filmed here from the Mariinsky Theatre in July 2013. Costumes, lighting and sets are all a delight to behold, and they beautifully complement Shchedrin’s ear-tickling orchestration (which the London critics praised, whatever their other reservations). The appearance of glamorous female chorus-members in cut-away Grenadier Guards outfits should have been enough on its own to keep most of the audience in their seats.

To explain: on a visit to England, Tsar Alexander I is enchanted by the workmanship in a miniature clockwork steel flea presented to him as a gift. His successor Nicholas I commissions a Russian artisan (the Left-Hander) to show that Russians can outdo such feats, which the artisan does by fixing microscopic signed horseshoes to the flea. The Left-Hander is sent to England to study the country’s technical accomplishments but on his return his advice is ignored, and he is mistreated and left to die.

This tale, richer in allegory concerning Russian identity than any short summary can convey, is a gift to a composer such as Shchedrin with a lifelong interest in both affirming and critiquing his native culture, and whose musical idiom has been honed over decades to those ends. Because his musical characterisation evokes both of Shostakovich’s operas (the grotesquerie of The Nose and the tragic-satirical mix of The Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk), not to mention the mechanical vs human dichotomy of Rimsky-Korsakov’s The Golden Cockerel and Stravinsky’s The Nightingale, it risks invidious comparisons, from which it emerges with credit, but not entirely unscathed, since Shchedrin’s invention flags over some quite lengthy periods.

The Left-Hander certainly remains a must-know piece for anyone interested in 21st-century Russian opera. Given the quality of performances in this handsome production (tenor Andrei Popov in the title-role and coloratura soprano Kristina Alieva as the Flea are outstanding), there would seem to be every reason for the specialist collector to invest.

There are drawbacks, however. As is standard for this label, the booklet fawns over the achievements of Shchedrin and Gergiev while being short on information about the work itself or its adaptation. Unlike the CD equivalent (6/15), there is no libretto or translation – not even a synopsis. Of course there are subtitles. But anyone not already acquainted with Leskov’s folk-tale may find it hard to make sense of the proceedings. Nor will they be able to evaluate Shchedrin’s adaptations, in particular his grafting-on of a sentimental-religious ending as a substitute for Leskov’s allegory of the replacement of artisans by machines; this (assuming it is not itself meant ironically) may be as disturbing to some listeners as it is appealing to others. Given the expense evidently lavished on the production itself, it is deplorable that the purchaser of the Blu-ray/DVD should be left so short-changed.