That Strauss could write Capriccio – his and Clemens Krauss’s Konversationsstück on and about the nature of opera and artistic creation – during the Second World War is often seen as evidence of his naively escapist worldview. For Jens-Daniel Herzog, the director of this lockdown production of the work at the Semperoper Dresden, that is too simplistic an argument: precisely during times of such unimaginable turmoil, he suggested in interviews at the time, does the ‘unimportant’ become important.

The ways in which this view manifests itself in his handsome production are not immediately obvious, however. It’s set at the time of composition and Flamand seems to be a soldier on leave, but otherwise we get little hint of the horrors of war. And while Sibylle Gädeke’s costumes are of the period, the opera’s metatheatricality still allows for plenty of Rococo frou-frou when required: the Countess’s final scene sees her in a grand period frock.

Herzog’s main intervention is to stage a brief preamble during the opening Sextet in which we see an elderly Olivier and Flamand – their aesthetic debate clearly still not resolved – observe the Countess through a window as she relives her halcyon days on TV. In a moving moment at the end of the final scene, the Countess then faces up to her older self briefly, handing her the Capriccio score that she’s been holding. It’s as thought-provoking or questioning a production as one might have imagined, then, but one that is effective and which is happy to let parole and musica speak for themselves.

Musically we’re in safe hands with Christian Thielemann and his wonderful Dresden orchestra. He conducts lovingly but never indulgently – the Moonlight music is exquisite in its unexpected delicacy – giving the big lyrical moments their due but keeping the conversation flowing well. He has a fine cast, too, built on the firm foundation of several members of the Dresden ensemble. Georg Zeppenfeld is outstanding as a somewhat perplexed La Roche, and the superb baritone Christoph Pohl makes a suitably bluff and self-centred Count. Christa Mayer isn’t perhaps a natural fit as Clairon but sings well enough.

As the Countess, Camilla Nylund adds another Strauss heroine to her portrayals available on disc, and it’s a fine performance indeed: aristocratic but playful and human, with the voice’s mixture of creamy timbre and dramatic intensity helping her to create a character both affecting and engaging. As the two creative artists vying for her affection, Daniel Behle and Nikolay Borchev are well matched, the tenor ardent and optimistic, the baritone mellifluous but somewhat more resigned.

All in all it’s a fine achievement, and probably now the leading recommendation for a modern film of this opera. It’s a shame that Arthaus gives us just a flimsy piece of paper instead of a booklet but otherwise this is a welcome release that can be heartily recommended.