Der Rosenkavalier, English National Opera

As in sex, so it is in music: there’s a lot riding on the climax. The celebrated third act trio of Der Rosenkavalier is arguably the most famous orgasm in music – dear reader, can you name a better one? – but time it wrongly and you’ll regret it. There is, however, absolutely nothing regrettable about this A-list cast in the hands of director David McVicar and conductor Edward Gardner. Theirs is the most assured, most riveting Rosenkavalier in this country for years.

Lush, plush and dangerous to know though Strauss’s score is, many directors shy away from the opera for the simple reason that there’s nothing you can “do” with it. Hofmannstahl’s libretto is too inextricably linked to a Viennese period, its class and demeanour, to be shifted radically in order to illustrate a directorial conceit. Indeed, few operas outside Mozart have more convincing and crucial dramatic detail in both music and text so all you have to do is follow the instructions and do it well – which is considerably easier said than done.

Paradoxically, the precision of the writing can be a stumbling block. Aside from native/fluent German speakers, too many singers faced with a libretto this wordy wind up delivering generalisations that merely serve to underline the opera’s longueurs. But McVicar’s mining of the relationships and this cast’s punctilious performances make an ideal case for opera in translation. These singing actors make you realise there’s far more to this opera than can be fitted on to a highlights disc.

As the Marschallin sings just before the trio, “There is no woman that can escape this fate.” That inexorable working of time on lovers, the opera’s governing idea, is dramatised in three acts covering the action of two days which see Sarah Connolly’s coltish Octavian’s shifting allegiance from Amanda Roocroft’s watchful Marschallin to Sophie Bevan’s vivid Sophie (pictured above right with Connolly). They’re assisted by McVicar’s own set design (pictured below) which although considerably less extravagant than most productions, does a surprising amount of thematic work. The same room, differently dressed for each of the three addresses, acts as a kind of calm, cyclical backdrop with the final lovers mirroring those of the opening. The idea is even expressed in the wigs: Sophie’s hairstyle is a blonder, crucially younger, version of the Marschallin’s.

Roocroft doesn’t have the supposedly “ideal” creamy Straussian soprano tone but she makes up for that with the depth of her characterisation. Her quiet, first act reflections on how she too was young once are tinged with exquisite resignation. She also plays her character’s necessary high status effortlessly. Keeping her vocal power in check means that the dramatic moments that really demand it – the dismissal of Ochs ­– really land. Roocroft also savours her character’s lust. In the opening bed scene, momentarily distracted by sounds from outside, Octavian sits up and looks out of the window, only to have Roocroft yank his head back into her lap for matters more urgent.

A tiny moment like that is indicative of the constant shifts in power that McVicar opens up in the minutely calibrated tensions not only between the Marschallin and Octavian but between Octavian and Sophie. In the latter role, Bevan makes an outstanding debut. Never pert, she’s vivacious and excitable and her performance is thrillingly grounded by a vocal richness and power wholly unexpected in a role usually sung by a silvery high soubrette. Her command instantly suggests her not only as a Susannah-in-waiting, but a Countess.