In this recent production from Barcelona’s lavish Gran Teatre del Liceu, stage director Gilbert Deflo uses the emblem of mirrors from the image-laden Palazzo Ducale in Mantua where Monteverdi’s Orfeo may or may not have been premièred in 1607. The concept of using mirrors as a reflective element – particularly when presenting Orfeo’s predicament – is a powerful one but it also draws on a kind of Alice in Wonderland ideal of stepping into another world.

Purists will rightly claim that no mirrors existed in the Hall in Monteverdi’s time, but there is much else of authentic cultural relevance to inspire Jordi Savall and Deflo and his team towards the spirit of the age. Not least, one revels in the splendid luxuriance of this opulent production with its unashamedly Arcadian and mythological clichés. For such an intimate ‘favola in musica’, as the composer called it, Savall’s musical concept carries something of a prescient grand Venetian sound world, rather than the intimate ideal of reservata: no expense spared in size or disposition of Le Concert des Nations as theorbos line up like cranes on a skyline. So far so good. It becomes less clear whether Orfeo or Savall is the demi-god when the latter appears as Monteverdi in a grand entrance with gown flowing.

As it happens, the main flaw of this production is that Orfeo has no personality. Furio Zanasi (as my listening companion remarked, ‘anything but Furio’) is a reliable singer whose flexibility and technical assurance is admirably conveyed in the famous passaggi of ‘Possente spirito’ and a sustained tonal focus which lasts into the demands of Act 5. His portrayal reminds me of the deliberate attempt, in some productions, to portray Aeneas in Purcell’s opera as emotionally dysfunctional and morally fibreless. In fact, when stirred in Act 4 by the ferryman’s border speech, we see a physical dimension to an otherwise static and mono-dimensional performance. Looking either wan and pathetic with a Diana-ish tilted head, or just mildly inconvenienced by Euridice’s departure to the basement floor, is not good enough.

The best performance by a country mile comes from Sara Mingardo, a committed and finely- drawn mezzo whose Messenger is genuinely moving amid the stilted exchanges elsewhere. She has a vocal and dramatic presence which allows others to dig deep, especially the fluent Cécile van de Sant as Hope (Speranza) and the hilarious – I presume comedy was intended – older couple, Pluto and Proserpina, who deliberate on Euridice’s fate in true panto style.

Gerd Türk’s Shepherd is utterly satisfying, though the contingent from the Savall family are more variable. Montserrat Figueras, as La Musica, gives the impression of a dreamy traffic warden, arms forming random directorial patterns, and the young Euridice, a voice with some potential, seems a touch over-awed and rather comically appears in Hades with a miner’s lamp on her head before, fatally, Orfeo turns round and all bets are off. There is some fun to be had with this production and the colourful instrumental performances are truly buoyant under the authoritative direction of Savall. Atmospheric in places, though I’m not certain I could wade through Orfeo’s flaccid account again.