There’s no denying the star attraction of Philipp Stölzl’s new Rigoletto for the Bregenz Festival: his €8 million set. Of the 30 press photos released last summer, 27 were of the 14 metre-high clown’s head that forms the centre of the lakeside stage along with two giant hands, one grasping a balloon. This clown’s head is versatile – it bobs, tilts and pivots, its mouth opens, its eyes blink and stare, its eyeballs roll around. It’s an impressive construction but not a little freaky; coulrophobics beware.

The clown represents Rigoletto himself, of course, the Duke of Mantua’s caustic jester. He lives with his secret daughter, Gilda, hiding her within one of the clown’s hands. The Duke is a lascivious ringmaster, his court a travelling circus including jugglers, acrobats and apes as bellboys. Sparafucile and Maddalena are a knife-throwing double act. Singers clamber all over the clown: the duke reclines in a hammock resting on its brow, Gilda – her long lashes making her appear like a doll – sings ‘Caro nome’ from high up in the hot-air balloon … a symbol of freedom? In Act 2, Rigoletto carries a balloon around with him which Marullo snips to release during the jester’s heartfelt ‘Cortigiani’. Hope flies off into the night. During his vendetta duet with Gilda, Rigoletto dons comedy ‘big hands’ and knocks giant heads off ‘Duca’ ringmasters, a miscalculation prompting flashbacks to television’s Jeux sans frontières. A tremendous storm is whipped up in Act 3 (this was a clear night, but Bregenz often provides its own precipitation!).

It’s perhaps inevitable that in an open-air venue such as Bregenz – essentially arena opera with an audience of 7000 – the emphasis has to be on a spectacular production. But it would be wrong to overshadow the singers here, who do an amazing job under such physically demanding conditions. Vladimir Stoyanov is excellent as Rigoletto, his oaky baritone not unlike the great Leo Nucci, who sang this role over 500 times. The camera picks up nuances in Stoyanov’s acting that wouldn’t have been visible to the audience. Mélissa Petit sings well as Gilda, spinning a fine coloratura considering her highwire physical – as well as vocal – situation. She’s especially affecting in her death scene (when her double floats off in the balloon). Stephen Costello sings the Duke stylishly, even if he isn’t a very charismatic seducer. Miklós Sebestyén is a suitably sinister Sparafucile and Katrin Wundsam a juicy Maddalena.

I’m not sure how the amplified voices sounded in the venue but here on film they are caught very well, not appearing too artificial. Enrique Mazzola and the Wiener Symphoniker, beamed in from the nearby festival hall in a feat of incredible coordination, provide buoyant support at sprightly tempos. A most enjoyable production and performance, even if clowns do give you the heebie-jeebies.