Premiered as long ago as 2004 (although telecast, then pirated, quite early in its life), this production was one of the first successes of the then new Antonio Pappano Covent Garden regime. It followed up a noted earlier staging by Ian Judge for Opera North/English National Opera in paving the way for a rehabilitation in this country of an opera that was once an obsessive favourite but subsequently neglected to the point of extinction from the repertoire.

McVicar’s production is basically straight Gounod and Barbier/Carré, although re-situated in time by its three designers in Second Empire Paris, contemporary to the work’s creation. Charles Edwards’s settings play off a literal visual contrast between the church (a giant organ console) and domestic
(dis)comforts that govern Faust’s and Marguerite’s worlds. No more attempt is made to reference the intellectual conceits of Goethe’s original play than are touched on by the libretto. Visual effects are everything in the recreative photographic accuracy of Brigitte Reiffenstuel’s costumes and Paule Constable’s lighting. This is not an intellectual approach to the piece but the mixture of the sordid and the glamorous that we see on stage matches the faded grandeur of Gounod’s setting to a T.

It’s well acted, played and sung too. Ettinger’s conducting is apt company for the visual approach. He is not afraid either to be Wagnerian-ly weighty (in the church scene – here placed in Act 4 – or the Tannhäuser-like redemption ending) or to miss the lightening flavour of opéra comique in intentionally showboating moments like the Soldiers’ Chorus. Michael Fabiano’s commitment towards portraying the old Faust is a little too shaky and neurotic but is fluent and mellifluous as the young lover. Irina Lungu is a serious Marguerite with a good top, and both clear and disturbing when identifying Faust and Méphistophélès as her soul’s enemies in the prison scene. Erwin Schrott is a compellingly unhackneyed baritonal master of ceremonies who tracks a clear portrait of decline at the end, climaxing in a hysterically funny acknowledgement that God (appearing of course from the organ loft) has won this particular round. Degout and Fontanals-Simmons make much of the Valentin/Siébel subplot, again without overdoing it.

Chorus and dancers provide atmosphere and use space without turning the whole show suddenly into a more serious version of Les Misérables. They, and revival director Bruno Ravella, contribute solidly to the kit of a package that seems well suited to recurringly scheduled ‘big house’ performances.