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Ariodante and Ginevra | Photo: Agathe Poupeney | OnP

Director Robert Carsen has form with Handel. From 2011’s often-revived Rinaldo for Glyndebourne, and Paris’s Alcina, to Semele in Zurich, he can be relied upon for an unpredictable and engaging reading, and so it was here.

This time he’s tied Ariosto’s tale of the Scottish princess who’s falsely accused of betraying her lover to our own Royal family, a nice idea, even if the connections aren’t obvious until the final chorus, sung amidst a display of regal waxworks.

The staging is better than the concept. Luis Carvalho’s fantasy Balmoral settings moved between Ginevra’s bedroom, which will fill with nightmare dancers, to her father’s office, and a massive green-painted castle room. In a recurring chase theme, stags peered in through open doors. Later their heads adorned the walls. Hunters become hunted as swarms of paparazzi follow the family like midges. In a most effective move, Handel’s big set piece arias are sung in front of a plain green wall, focusing the audience’s attention completely.

Ginevra and Polinessi | Photo: Agathe Poupeney | OnP

Characters were finely acted, with admirable coloratura throughout. Emily D’Angelo’s androgynous Ariodante was a creature of youthful extremes, striding straightbacked around the stage with boyish energy, and lying curled in darkness in an unusually slow and very affecting Scherza Infida, as he passed between pain and anger.

Christophe Dumaux’s Polinesso was genuinely nasty underneath the carefully curated naughty boy charm. Matthew Brook’s weary King of Scotland is desperate to pass the crown on. The battle between paternal affection and regal dignity compensated for some insecurities at the bottom of his range. The cream of a fine crop was Olga Kulchynska. She threw herself into the role, her silky voice rich with latent sensuality, as she develops from a teenager happily picnicking with her adored father and fiancé to a woman defending her honour, then giving way to despair in 'Il mio crudele martoro'.

Directed by Harry Bicket, The English Concert were their customary lively, stylish selves, even if they occasionally threatened to overpower the singers. A word of praise, too, for choreographer Nicolas Paul who turned Handel’s ballet music into splendid Scottish dances.