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When your show is scheduled, as published in your programme and on your website, to finish at 20:05 but Act 3 doesn’t begin until 20:00, you have a problem. At Glyndebourne, the problem is that director Cal McCrystal has stuffed Franz Lehár’s operetta The Merry Widow with so much extra dialogue that it often reduces the music to secondary importance.

The work is presented in English – definitely a good idea – in a witty new translation by Stephen Plaice and Marcia Bellamy. The staging stars Glyndebourne’s chatelaine, soprano Danielle de Niese, as the glamorous Hanna Glawari, the widow whose wealth Baron Zeta, the Pontevedrian ambassador to Paris, desperately wants to keep within their tax haven principality by finding a suitably Pontevedrian husband.

First off, it looks fabulous. Gary McCann has given the show an opulent Broadway look – a grand staircase, chandeliers, false proscenium arches galore, glamorous costumes. There are on-stage musicians – mandolins, guitar, tambourine – to accompany Hanna’s Vilja-Lied and six high-kicking dancers perform the cancan at Maxim’s, choreographed by Carrie-Anne Ingrouille. All is stunningly lit by Ben Cracknell. It looks expensive.

Hanna Glawari (Danielle de Niese) | Photographer: Tristram Kenton

It sounds expensive too. John Wilson is an absolute master of this repertoire and he drew a performance from the London Philharmonic Orchestra that was both polished and echt-Viennese. The first appearance of the famous waltz, accompanied by off-stage humming from the chorus, was suitably swoon-inducing.

McCrystal clearly had a ball preparing his staging and has thrown in visual gags by the bucketload: a portrait of the Prince of Pontevedro – completely with swivelling eyes – is clearly Glyndebourne’s laird, Gus Christie; Danilo makes his entrance by tumbling down the staircase; a blow-up doll substitutes for Valencienne in her summer house romp with Camille; a waiter serves a tower of Ferrero Rocher at Baron Zeta’s reception, enabling the inevitable line, 'Ah, Mr Ambassador, you are spoiling us.'

To these, he adds cut glass English and cod French accents, a Two Ronnies catchphrase, and a double entendre about wagging tongues and French oral lessons that sailed over the heads of most of those around me. There’s room for more subtlety. It is, as Parisians would say, 'too much'.

Hanna Glawari (Danielle de Niese) with dancers | Photographer: Tristram Kenton

Many of the jokes come courtesy of Tom Edden’s Njegus, a minor spoken role, but used here as a warm-up comedian whose lengthy interjections break the fourth wall. Take out most of the Njegus padding and the show may have run to schedule. Remove the Act 2 gag of encoring a song-and-dance number twice (repeated needlessly in Act 3) and we’d have been done and dusted even sooner.

The performances are strong. Even though Danielle de Niese has to snatch at some top notes, she is an artful performer, tripping the light fantastic with the best of them. She loves the stage and the stage loves her. Her charisma is matched by Germán Olvera’s stylish Danilo. The Mexican baritone oozes charm and is immediately likeable. His chemistry with de Niese’s Hanna is entirely believable.

The relationship between Valencienne and her paramour Camille de Rosillon is, alas, played entirely for laughs, which is a shame because Soraya Mafi and Michael McDermott sing their roles beautifully. A shame too that Mafi is denied Valencienne’s number as a grisette in Act 3, which is appropriated by de Niese (who sings and dances with her trademark high energy).

There are other lovely cameos from the huge ensemble, but the finest comes from Sir Thomas Allen, 79 years old and counting, who invests Baron Zita with both wit and pathos, his diction and projection an example to the rest of the cast, and delivering his one-liners with that characteristic twinkle in the eye. 

The Merry Widow is at Glyndebourne Festival Opera until 28 July | Tickets are available here