Carmen has a long history on film, from the early silent days when Régina Badet, prima ballerina of the Opéra-Comique, starred in a condensed version. Over the years she was succeeded by such stars as Theda Bara, Geraldine Farrar, Pola Negri, Raquel Meller, Rita Hayworth and Viviane Romance. There are already several DVD Carmens around, including Covent Garden and Earls Court performances with Maria Ewing, Agnes Baltsa at the Met, and the Rosi film with Julia Migenes. Among other video Carmens is the 1966 Salzburg Karajan production with Grace Bumbry (Philips, 10/96), which also appeared on laserdisc.

David McVicar’s Glyndebourne production is full of detail that transfers well to the small screen, but the generally gloomy mood is relentless, and the overtones of violence exaggerated. In the opening scene, the children beat out the time of their march with pieces of wood against the fence of the barracks – very irritating. The duet between Micaëla, the excellent Lisa Milne, and Hans Voschezang as Moralès has a sort of predatory tension that seems inappropriate. If everything light-hearted is banished from the start, the wonderful way Bizet gradually darkens the score is obscured.

Anne Sofie von Otter achieves a new record by singing the ‘Habanera’ with a cigar clenched between her teeth. Throughout Acts 1 and 2, her gestures are blatantly sexual, but mocking. Her Carmen is neurotic and aggressive; it’s difficult to imagine what the men all see in her when she behaves like this. Her singing and diction, as always, are full of expressive nuances. But one misses the sense of the character progressing: she’s as gloomy at the end of Act 2 as she is in Act 4. When Don José kisses her at the exuberant cry of ‘la liberté!’, she turns away in disgust.

Marcus Haddock is rather stiff and dull to begin with, but as the performance progresses he gets much better, and is really in command of the stage for the knife fight with Escamillo, and the confrontation with Micaëla at the end of Act 3. Laurent Naouri’s toreador is the most complete portrayal: aided by the 1880s costumes and skilful photography, he makes much more of this part than many I have seen. Mary Hegarty and Christine Rice are an unusually sympathetic Frasquita and Mercédès, and Anthony Wise provides a dapper character-study of Lillas Pastia.

Philippe Jordan conducts with evident relish and consideration, especially for von Otter, who has to sing much of the Act 2 duet lying down. It’s obvious at every moment that this is a production created and rehearsed with all the Glyndebourne finesse and care for ensemble, but it’s not one that I can imagine wishing to view very often.