This performance from 2017 is a re creation of the famous production first seen at the Salzburg Festival in 1965. It was mounted to mark the 20th anniversary of the death of its director, Giorgio Strehler. That first production featured a cast led by Fritz Wunderlich, Anneliese Rothenberger and Fernando Corena. A television recording of the 1967 revival was issued on DVD: there the leading singers are Luigi Alva and Ingeborg Hallstein, with Corena, Reri Grist and Gerhard Unger repeating their roles. The conductor at Salzburg was Zubin Mehta, with the Vienna Philharmonic; and here he is again, half a century later, this time at La Scala, Milan.

The designer was Luciano Damiano, whose death in 2007 is also commemorated. One set covers the entire action: a view of the sea and the occasional passing ship, with domes alternating with arches to left and right. The costumes for the Europeans are of period elegance, Belmonte sporting a three-cornered hat; Osmin has baggy trousers and an enormous turban. The USP of the production is the lighting, the characters often shown in silhouette. There is no consistency about this, the change from light to dark and back often taking place in the course of an aria; but the effect is striking, especially when the characters are motionless. It does mean, of course, that the facial expressions are invisible: a pity when, for instance, the music tells us that Blonde takes her cue from her mistress when the women forgive the men for doubting their chastity.

The production, as revived by Mattia Testi, has its irritations. Konstanze’s great aria of defiance, ‘Martern aller Arten’, should be hurled at Pasha Selim; but the curtains close for the long introduction (the camera focusing on the orchestra) and, when they reopen, Konstanze is alone. And the dreadful custom of singers bowing after their arias – or, worse, exiting and reentering to bow – should have been dispensed with. But Strehler/Testi handles the balance between the comic and the serious so astutely that negative reactions seem unimportant. The scene where Pedrillo gets Osmin drunk is genuinely amusing, with no concessions to political correctness. Konstanze is by turns despairing and resolute: it’s all in the music, but Lenneke Ruiten’s superb performance – touchingly acted, fluently sung – makes you both believe and care.

Zubin Mehta takes ‘O wie ängstlich’ quite slowly, allowing Mauro Peter time to articulate the florid passages clearly; Peter also makes a good fist of the tricky arpeggios in ‘Ich baue ganz’. ‘Wenn der Freude Tränen fliessen’ is, sensibly, omitted: it holds up the action when Belmonte and Konstanze should be falling into each other’s arms. The Blonde and Pedrillo are excellent. Sabine Devieilhe soars effortlessly into the musical stratosphere before giving Osmin a hard time in the spoken dialogue, while Maximilian Schmitt is quite unfazed by starting his ‘Romanze’ with the wrong line.

Tobias Kehrer repeats his Osmin from the recent Glyndebourne version (Opus Arte, 8/16): here he looks more convincing and his resonant bass sounds even better. Strehler/Testi underplays the dangerous side of his character, but Kehrer does not disappoint in his ‘O, wie will ich triumphieren’. Cornelius Obonya is a passionate Selim, prone to anger even when forgiving and releasing his captives. (His humorous remark to Osmin about Blonde’s dangerously sharp nails is omitted.) You might not associate Mehta, or indeed La Scala, with Mozart, but the pacing – deliberate in the Act 2 finale as well as in ‘O wie ängstlich’ – seems just right, and the playing is splendid. The balance is good, too: you can really hear the obbligato instruments in ‘Martern aller Arten’ and the woodwind in what the late Stanley Sadie called the delectable scoring of ‘Ich baue ganz’. Ignore the odd remarks about Osmin in the booklet note, tolerate the subtitles’ occasionally loose translation of the libretto: this is a delight.