David McVicar's production of Manon takes a more than usually harsh view of the story, too often softened by Rococo prettiness. Here, everything and everybody is for sale, and behind the façade of 18th-century Paris lurks a world of corruption, disease and perversion. It is thrilling, sometimes even slightly shocking, and throughout the direction of the cast is faultless: every scene bears re-viewing for the amount of detail and dramatic energy that is released.

It is unlikely that Natalie Dessay will ever give a greater performance than this. First glimpsed as a gawky schoolgirl, wearing a travelling-coat two sizes too large, she grows into a coquettish lover, then a manipulative, avaricious courtesan before our eyes. Her singing of each of the great arias is equally fascinating, with delicate embellishments at such moments as “Profitons de la jeunesse”, and a really touching “Adieu, notre petite table”, ending up lying in a foetal position on top of the table. The scene in which she and Rolando Villazón size each other up before speaking is exquisitely managed (in a bonus track we see them rehearsing this with McVicar).

Villazón makes a passionate hero. His interpretation is much more extrovert than Dessay's, and there are several moments when I would have wished him to sing yet more softly. This is considerably more subtle, though, than his reading of the same part in the modern-dress production in Berlin last year. Manuel Lanza makes a seductive, sleazy Lescaut, and Francisco Vas is sinister rather than just amusing as the vengeful Guillot. Although his demeanour is suitably dignified as Des Grieux père, Samuel Ramey's voice now has such a perilous wobble that “Epouse quelque brave fille” is rather painful, in the wrong way.

Tanya McCallin's set - a steep amphitheatre from which extras watch the action played out centre-stage - complements her costumes, inspired by the paintings of Chardin rather than the usual sugary Fragonard. The choreography of Michael Keegan-Dolan reaches its height in the elaborate hunting ballet in the Cours-La-Reine scene, one of Massenet's happiest bits of Baroque pastiche. I cannot imagine that we will see another Manon to equal this for a long time: highly recommended.