This performance‚ though originally filmed by Clouzot at La Scala in 1967‚ first appeared on Laserdisc (remember that format?) only 11 years ago when I received it with a deal of enthusiasm. Its transfer to DVD is very welcome‚ though I have to say that in terms of picture quality (a bit hazy) and sound (restricted in range) it is beginning to show its age. The interpretation itself remains electrifying‚ easily Karajan’s most successful reading in any medium. That is largely because he had here Italian‚ rather than Austro­German forces‚ and because – for some reason – he conducts the work more tautly‚ closer to Verdi’s metronome markings than on any of his audio versions. From start to finish the work moves in a single arc of musical cohesion and emotional tension‚ with the Italian chorus and orchestra singing and playing their hearts out for their distinguished conductor. The former’s timbre has an Italian depth and bite only native singers seem able to provide and the strings truly sing their music. Then today you simply could not equal the vocal splendour and technical command of the superbly accomplished soloists. Leontyne Price‚ then at the peak of her powers‚ sings with a confidence tempered by feeling that is truly amazing‚ rising to histrionic heights in ‘Libera me’; and Cossotto is only a mite behind her in both respects‚ her chest register and high notes astonishingly rich. It is odd that both women have their parts by heart while the men remain attached to their scores. Indeed the slightly reticent‚ youthful Pavarotti is hardly recognisable as his later‚ effusive incarnation. He sings with the fidelity of line and tone‚ an ease of projection that marked all his early work. Ghiaurov is a bass soloist to die for‚ both in terms of his Rolls­Royce of a voice and the tremendous authority and emotional force he gives his part. Clouzot’s role in the proceedings now seems a trifle arbitrary‚ especially his over­concentration on Karajan: often when we want to see the singers the cameras are focused on the conductor (maybe Karajan demanded that attention) and the restless camera­work sometimes leaves one sorry that there wasn’t an audience present to restrict the movement. Then there is a horribly abrupt end to the whole film. Still‚ as a historic document of what a great performance of this work in the mid­20th century could be like‚ this is invaluable‚ quite apart from its musical virtues. All the same‚ I am hoping that Pappano’s even more heartfelt‚ Toscanini­like account of the score (warmer than Karajan’s) given in London for the Verdi centenary and shown on television‚ may be preserved on DVD.