‘An over the hill rebel of the 68er movement, who wants to live a life of carefree fun, but is ultimately defeated by the tragic inevitability of destiny’ is how a not entirely accurate booklet note describes Falstaff as played by Michael Volle in Mario Martone’s Berlin production, conducted by Daniel Barenboim and recorded during its opening run at the Staatsoper in 2018. Film director Martone has hauled the opera into the present and seemingly relocated it from Windsor to Berlin itself. Volle’s seedy Falstaff, played without the usual padding, is an ageing hippy, hanging out in a bar in one of the city’s graffitied courtyards. The affluent Fords, meanwhile, inhabit a squeaky-clean town house in a gated community, complete with a swimming pool around which the Merry Wives sit sunning themselves, and into which Francesco Demuro’s Fenton gets pushed at one point.

Whether the transposition and the directorial glosses that come with it suit the work is questionable. Martone suggests that Falstaff and Daniela Barcellona’s Quickly have been lovers, and may still be. It’s also all a bit druggy. Falstaff rolls a joint during his Honour Monologue, and in Act 3 we also find Alfredo Daza’s Ford scoring dope in the Garter Inn and Barbara Frittoli’s Alice smoking it later on in the final scene. Windsor Forest, meanwhile, has become a trendy fetish-wear and bondage club where various leather- and rubber-clad sexual configurations are taking place, and flagellants parade during the mock-religious ensemble that urges Falstaff’s repentance.

Such incongruities result in the tone faltering on occasion. Martone can be cynical, where Verdi is bittersweet. Reimagining the drama in terms of the clash between the values of Berlin’s ’60s counterculture and those of the post-unification bourgeoisie means that Verdi’s emphasis on Falstaff’s aristocratic posturing loses much of its force. And we don’t, I’m afraid, get any indication of a man ‘ultimately defeated by the tragic inevitability of destiny’. Far from it, in fact: after Volle has hurled ‘Tutti gabbati’ at the audience with a roguish grin, he exits triumphantly with Quickly and Katharina Kammerloher’s Meg, one on each arm.

Yet despite the staging’s inconsistencies, there’s much to enjoy, in particular Volle’s central performance, superbly acted and sung, though some might want a bit more generosity in the tone. Remarkably attractive, he entirely convinces as a man determined to grow old disgracefully, and we really do believe him when he sings of his glamorous youth in ‘Quand’ ero paggio del Duca di Norfolk’. The rest of the cast can at times be uneven. Frittoli’s voice doesn’t always soar as easily as it might. Barcellona sounds terrific – she’s wonderfully suggestive at times – while Kammerloher makes an excellent, spirited Meg. Daza’s not-so-principled Ford does fine things with his Jealousy Monologue, while Demuro and Nadine Sierra’s Nannetta sound lovely together: his Act 3 sonnet, sung leaning against the proscenium before the erotic writhing starts, is exquisite. In the pit, meanwhile, Barenboim is magisterial, occasionally adopting slow tempos in ways that recall Karajan’s second recording (Philips, 2/81) and unleashing real storms when Daza’s Ford gets dangerous. Elsewhere, though, everything is gracious, elegant, witty and beautiful, and the playing is simply faultless. It’s worth hearing, though you may not always like what you see.