DVD’s second Ring cycle deserves a warm welcome, however qualified. None of the four video-recorded versions (five, counting the hard-to-find Aarhus production) can be called ideal; but the Met cycle has plenty of strong points. It’s the only one Wagner would have recognised – no small consideration. It’s frequently assumed these days that he chose myth primarily to convey political allegory, but this is misleading. Myth inspired Wagner as directly as it did, say, Sibelius; and producers who ignore or mock this, like Patrice Chéreau on Pierre Boulez’s rival set, miss a vital dimension.

Here, Otto Schenk and designer Gunther Schneider-Siemssen preserve the Romantic imagery, often beautifully, as Brian Large’s cameras reveal; but unimaginatively, with too many tired compromises. Some, such as the Rhinemaidens’ non-swimming contortions and the feeble dragon, are embarrassing, and the costumes often look poor on screen. Individual performances, too, sometimes don’t fit into a satisfactory ensemble.

This set can also claim musical superiority; but again, not conclusively. Boulez mistakes speed for energy, drying out the richness of the score; Levine, with the magnificent Met orchestra, tends to wallow in it, especially in a disappointing Rheingold. Matters improve from Walküre onward, but he is prone to sudden wheelspinning accelerations, sometimes wrongfooting his singers. Boulez remains invisible at Bayreuth; Levine is too much with us, to the detriment of atmosphere. Nevertheless, his monumental approach does bring out The Ring’s sheer beauty and grandeur, where Boulez simply seems glib.

Levine’s cast is superior, too, although the pivotal roles are the closest. Both Brünnhildes are splendid, spirited and deeply moving, but Boulez’s Gwyneth Jones has the fuller voice; Hildegard Behrens, lithe and nervy, must force an essentially lyric instrument – quite successfully, but the effort shows. James Morris, aspiring to be a bel canto Wotan, has a richer voice than Boulez’s Donald MacIntyre, but his diction and his acting are less incisive – partly the producer’s fault in Rheingold; he improves thereafter. Siegfried Jerusalem, though, eclipses Boulez’s inadequate Manfred Jung. More lyrical and vocally more heroic, he is a finer musician, less liable to strain and distort the line, and an impressive stage figure.

Jerusalem’s surprisingly characterful Loge, despite his galia melon headgear, is probably the best thing in Rheingold. It’s rewarding to hear the ‘Narration’ in this kind of voice. Otherwise this is lacklustre. A superb Rhinemaiden trio is left earthbound, writhing unconvincingly round Ekkehard Wlaschiha’s buffoonish Alberich, short on menace until the final curse. Christa Ludwig’s once definitive Fricka looks and sounds tired. She strikes no sparks with a vague, ill-focused Morris, given little characterisation beyond slow-motion spear-waving. Levine’s tempi in Rheingold rival those of Reginald Goodall, but without his structure and pacing; the Giants’ entrance is marked molto pesante, not funereal. They, the Rhinemaidens and the lesser gods – especially Birgitta Svendén’s keen-voiced Erda – outclass their betters.

Levine handles Walküre more successfully. Act 1, though, is not a success. Gary Lakes’ massive but rather lean-toned Siegmund is ill-matched with Jessye Norman, whose vocally searing Sieglinde is subverted by her grande dame manner and stately gait, robbing the love scenes of any real involvement. Together they dwarf Kurt Moll’s suitably doltish Hunding. Behrens, however, injects Act 2 with life, and though Ludwig’s Fricka still sounds tired, Morris begins to make an impact, singing rather than declaiming the Narration. With a ringingly athletic Valkyrie band, Levine rushes the Ride, but brings the act to a moving Farewell.

Siegfried is visually and musically the best, with Levine at his liveliest, and a Romantic forest out of Altdorfer or von Schwind. Jerusalem’s ardent hero may lack Heldentenor heft, and suffer some constraint at the top, but he carries off the forging and lyrical scenes with credit. The Wanderer often suits basses’ range and personae, and Morris’s commanding, world-weary god dominates Zednik’s veteran Mime (mercifully not Chéreau’s cute victim), Wlaschiha’s now mordant Alberich; and Svendén’s eerie Erda. Levine’s protracted ‘Awakening’ stretches Behrens, but she and Jerusalem infuse the love duet with appealing life.

Levine’s expansiveness suits Götterdämmerung, which opens with a powerful trio of Norns and a radiant Dawn duet. Chez Gibichung, though, the temperature drops, with Anthony Raffell (a fine Wotan) a miscast, bumbling Gunther, and Gutrune sadly unseductive. Matti Salminen’s brutish Hagen, though richly sung, lacks the essential supernatural undertones. Ludwig is much better as Waltraute, but Jerusalem and especially Behrens carry the performance with involving intensity. The Immolation strains her voice, but remains satisfyingly cathartic, aided by appropriate stage spectacle, though Valhalla’s downfall is disappointing.

All told, while this set may be less stimulating than the Boulez, it is also less distracting – without, as an eminent colleague once remarked, someone forever shouting in your ear. As well as the original digital stereo, remixed surround-sound tracks quite convincingly evoke extra ambiance and detail. The image also remasters well, although you may want to turn up the colour.

Barenboim’s set would offer finer conducting, a comparable cast – including Jerusalem in freer voice, but played Hitlerjugend style – and Harry Kupfer’s politicised staging, which, for all its hi-tech ugliness, makes more of Wagner’s directions. Until it reaches DVD, though, this remains the best; and many may still prefer it.