McVicar's production probes deep into Mozart's masterpiece, correctly identifying the work's vital themes and bringing them out with crystal clarity and a good deal of wit. The opera is updated to 1830s post-revolution France; the chateau that holds the action is grand and clean-cut, but showing signs of neglect; the conflict between servants and masters is precisely elucidated in the characterful and accommodating setting. Sex is abundant, McVicar interlacing Mozart's tightly constructed web of relationships and intrigue with subtle, implicitly stated threads of sexuality. The action never seems overtly busy, but the chateau bustles with activity. It's exhilarating to watch, and the neatly choreographed buzz of stage movement provides both a blueprint and an oil painting of a society in gradual decline, its peoples happy to ride the wave down, enjoying themselves as they go, though ostensibly still existing under the rule of autocracy.

In Act IV, Mozart transports his action outdoors, from the constructed to the natural, in order that reconciliation between factors - men and women, masters and servants - can occur unrestricted, in all-seeing, all-forgiving nature. McVicar is ambiguous in his treatment of this last, vital act, trees and falling leaves present, but also furniture from the house: a writing desk, chairs knocked over. The result is messy and visually chaotic, suggesting both the in and the out, but very possibly this was the director's intention. Now, it is not so much that the characters must leave the old, failing order, by stepping from it, but that the order must be reduced to chaos - destroyed, laid bare to the elements - for forward progress to occur. If this is the director's intention, I rather wish that the effect had been achieved in an aesthetically neater manner. The sharp contrast between the handsome bare sets of the first three acts and Act IV's dark, object-strewn mess may make sense thematically, but visually, the result can be bathetic.

It is to the great credit of the vocal soloists, though, that tension is always maintained and that the pace stays bracing (an admirable feat, given that Act IV's 'cut' arias are reinserted). Top dog here is Gerald Finley, whose Count oozes suave, sadistic sexuality, as well as an aura of ominous, imposing power; the role could hardly be sung better either, Finley becoming tired near the opera's conclusion, but throughout producing a ringing, powerful and beautifully moulded sound. His Countess, Dorothea Röschmann, provides intense, focused vocal delivery, despite some occasional struggles in coloratura. Visually, the artist can look momentarily out of her depth, but she acts her heart out, easily winning one's sympathy and respect.

Rinat Shaham is an ebullient Cherubino; Philip Langridge is not in great voice, but his creepy Basilio provides endless humour and menace. Our Figaro and Susanna are Erwin Schrott and Miah Persson. Schrott delights in the character of Figaro, and is in rich, expressive voice throughout, even if one yearns, at times, for slightly more discipline in his singing. Persson, meanwhile, is not the most petite or characterful of Susannas, but her ravishing physical beauty, gloriously pure vocal delivery and feisty characterisation are to be reckoned with. The entire cast interacts brilliantly: there is, indeed, not one weak link, the evenly spread, dramatically convincing singing and acting vigorously illuminating this society's complex power struggles. Down below, Antonio Pappano conducts a light, bright and sparkling interpretation of Mozart's transcendental score.

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