One of the most eagerly awaited productions of the 2019‑20 season at Covent Garden was this Fidelio, with Antonio Pappano conducting a cast led by Lise Davidsen and Jonas Kaufmann. It also proved to be the last production of the season: the Royal Opera House closed its doors on March 16, 2020, just three days after this performance was filmed, and a week after theatres across mainland Europe had already closed. By that time, too, Jonas Kaufmann had withdrawn, replaced by the British tenor David Butt Philip.

It’s a moving document in many ways, and the conductor’s half-joking elbow bumps with his front-desk players after the final chord speak volumes – how little we knew! German director Tobias Kratzer’s production received mixed reviews, and I was left unconvinced when I saw it in the theatre. With a second viewing on screen, though, it proves more effective and coherent, with Rhodri Huw’s video direction revealing a great deal of telling detail.

The kernel of the director’s approach is contained in a brief introduction to his synopsis (the only text included in Opus Arte’s somewhat measly booklet). ‘Act 1 is a historical melodrama on freedom and love in the post-Revolutionary era’, he writes. ‘Act 2 is a political essay on the responsibility of the individual in the face of a silent majority, a musical plea for active empathy.’ As such, the first half has a distinctly traditional feel, even if its detailed period costumes and set (Rocco’s house cleverly sliding in and out from stage right) are complemented by several graphically sadistic touches and additions to the dialogue.

The second act marks a big aesthetic shift: Florestan is shown tied to a large rock in the middle of a grand room. He is surrounded by initially impassive, quizzical onlookers in smart modern dress. As the act progresses, their involvement grows, their reactions projected upon a back wall. They end up staging their own revolution and then, in the final chorus, addressing the audience, challenging them also to act. This shift is jarring, undoubtedly, but also helps to humanise a plot that can too often seem dramatically abstract, historically distant, or both.

And Kratzer succeeds better than many in linking the work’s two sides, not least by making Marzelline (Amanda Forsythe) and Jaquino (Robin Tritschler) much more than mere cyphers. They are both ruthlessly mocked in Act 1 by a gang of guards for feelings that are shown to have an unusual depth. Indeed, Marzelline’s realisation about Fidelio seems to radicalise her into political action: she shoots Don Pizarro after apparently having delivered the famous trumpet call herself (Forsythe is superb here at conveying both the character’s pain and her newfound strength).

There’s still plenty of focus on the main characters, though, not least with Davidsen’s wonderful Leonore, touchingly acted and superbly sung, her voice sounding gloriously rich and youthful both at full power and in moments of tenderness. It’s a magnificent performance. Butt Philip is outstanding, too. His Florestan is technically supreme, his tenor firm and controlled, albeit without Kaufmann’s colouristic range. Simon Neal is a paragon of hollow-eyed malevolence as Pizarro, Georg Zeppenfeld a classy Rocco, with no mean sense of comic timing.

Pappano conducts with fierce conviction and, when required, melting lyricism, while the playing of the Royal Opera House Orchestra is superb, especially the strings. For a musically excellent Fidelio married to a thought-provoking, challenging production, this can be safely recommended.