So much of this new Bayreuth Flying Dutchman has such confidence and authority – singing, conducting, abstract video imagery – that one starts to anticipate a landmark production. Ultimately, such hopes are dashed. But, until then, one revels in Christian Thielemann’s masterly handling of the Overture’s tempo modifications and, thereafter, the lustrous sonorities that support the singers in this single-act version of the opera. Visually, the tone is set by slow-oozing video imagery during the Overture, similar to a Rorschach ink-blot test, alternately running down from the top or rising from the bottom (like a growing forest), suggesting disparate worlds attempting to intersect. The endless spatial perspective offered by video animation suggests the eternity in which the Dutchman lives.

Variations on the ink imagery carry over into facial birthmarks among the ghost-ship’s crew. Samuel Youn’s Dutchman, for one, has one side of his head shaved to reveal his modern marks of Cain. Early on, he slashes his wrists but no blood comes; a powerful image. In contrast, Daland and his sailors are dressed like grey-suited corporate types returning from a shopping trip. Ricarda Merbeth’s Senta is taller and looks older than Youn, underscoring the vastly different worlds they come from. The money, materialism and career achievement of her world have no meaning or practical use for him. He even turns down a latte – contrasting the Dutchman’s dark, desperate world with the merchant-class complaisance he’s attempting to navigate for his own redemption.

The production starts going wrong when Senta’s factory is updated to a packing warehouse for electric fans. I suppose their circular function is supported by the spinning chorus of the girls working there. Thereafter, this mediocre idea is taken too far, too long – Daland’s crew all but worship a large diagram of the fans while Benjamin Bruns’s Steersman is parading around like some grinning fool at a corporate rah-rah session.

Other vague, distracting images: a rough effigy of the Dutchman looks like a mannequin salvaged from a toxic waste dump, while Senta periodically dons black wings. But the eternal logistical problems of Senta jumping into the sea as the Dutchman’s ship departs is handled brilliantly: she stabs herself and both suffer the same wound – plus the deliverance that comes with it.

Musically, this performance is on such a high level that, if released in an audio-only format, it would be among the best live recordings out there. Youn is a particular revelation, with bass qualities to establish the character’s emotional weight but also effective baritonal colours that convey anguish with great specificity. Merbeth’s Senta sounds more like Brünnhilde, though one has to be grateful to hear the role sung with such conviction and accuracy. Tomislav Mužek’s Erik is a solid, beefy tenor – perfect for the role – while Franz Josef Selig is an effective Daland, and Bruns’s Steersman, despite his obnoxious stage business, is beautifully sung.