For an opera considerably off the beaten track, Platée has done rather well on disc. The recording of a famous production in 1956 at Aix-en-Provence under Hans Rosbaud has been reissued on EMI Classics (though not I think generally available in the UK), and Marc Minkowski’s fuller version appeared on Erato (9/90). Now Minkowski is in charge of a staged version that both delights and irritates, fortunately not in equal measure.Plateé, described as a ‘ballet bouffon’, is a far cry from Rameau’s classical tragedies such as Hippolyte et Aricie or Castor et Pollux. In the Prologue, Momus and others decide to mock both gods and mortals by recounting the tale of how Jupiter cured Juno of her jealousy. In the opera itself, Jupiter woos Platée, a marsh nymph. Juno appears at the critical moment only to be immediately mollified when she sees how ugly her supposed rival is, and the humiliated Platée returns to her swamp.

To 21st-century sensibilities this could seem distasteful or even cruel, as with the similar gulling of Donizetti’s Don Pasquale or Richard Strauss’s Morosus, but the sheer absurdity of the situation enables the audience to laugh with a clear conscience. Moreover, Platée is played by a man in drag. In the Rosbaud recording, the role was taken by Michel Sénéchal, amazingly still appearing today in character parts at the age of 77. His natural successor is probably Jean-Paul Fouchécourt, who was in the original cast of this production. Here, however, promoted from Thespis, is Paul Agnew.

To anyone familiar with Agnew’s rather grave persona in French Baroque opera, his hilarious performance will come as a revelation. His facial expressions, in particular, are a joy to behold. Grinning maniacally on her first appearance, Platée reacts with petulance when Cithéron, whom she is pursuing, offers her no more than respect, and puffs herself up with pride when informed of Jupiter’s imminent arrival. Whether Platée is flirtatious, perplexed or nervous, Agnew puts her emotions across in comic acting of the highest order.

There is no great harm in dressing Platée as a frog rather than a nymph; the other characters are in modern dress. Vincent le Texier lacks the authority to make a convincing Jupiter, but Mercury and Cithéron are played with practised ease by Yann Beuron and Laurent Naouri who also, like Agnew, sing with grace and style.The main part written for a real woman, so to speak, is the personification of Folly who, having stolen Apollo’s lyre, entertains the company with an account of Apollo’s love for Daphne. The story never really goes anywhere, but Rameau takes the opportunity of enjoying himself at the expense of Italian opera in a very funny air full of pointless coloratura. Clothed in sheets of music, with a curly white wig, Mireille Delunsch sings it with great élan.

The Prologue, entitled ‘The birth of comedy’, is set here in the auditorium of a theatre, the members of the chorus being ushered into their steeply raked seats. It includes a beguiling arietta for Thespis that shares, perhaps coincidentally, a cadential phrase with Platée’s equally charming entrance number. There is much business with an actor playing a frog, who returns in Act 3 to meddle in the orchestra pit. This is quite good fun. The irritation comes from the hopping and skipping that passes for modern dance in the divertissements, culminating in one of the men being handbagged by a succession of women.

The orchestra and chorus are excellent, relishing all the farmyard noises that Rameau requires of them, from braying to croaking. Among the few serious moments is an air for Clarine with a solo oboe, magically performed by Valérie Gabail and Patrick Beaugiraud. Marc Minkowski is perhaps too spiky in Platée’s ‘Que ce séjour est agréable!’, but otherwise conducts to perfection. The virtues far outweigh the defects: for Paul Agnew above all, this is a performance to treasure.