There are two reasons the rising Russian superstar Evgeny Nikitin should not sing Don Giovanni. One is his obfuscated, typically Slav diction in Italian, the other the difficulty his impressive voice has in spinning exposed Mozartian line. Both defects would disqualify him on a recording but, in the magical world of live opera, Nikitin's animal magnetism helps us understand what the fuss is all about.

Like Bryn Terfel (Paris Opera, 1999), his Don is a loutish aristo rather than an elegant rake but even Terfel would be hard put to match his confidence. Nikitin owns the stage, gripping the Commendatore's jugular before finishing him off with a dagger, or spinning back from the footlights and landing, miraculously, on a chair. Now 32, he may only be passing through Mozart on his way to beefier roles in Mussorgsky and Wagner, but his Don has admirable energy and brute force.

Frédéric Bélier-Garcia,a theatre director tackling his first opera, understandably concentrates on gesture and footwork and does it with flair. Jacques Gabel's sets are coolly sophisticated in the classic French tradition.

The singing is exquisitely tasteful too, with an Elvira (Cellia Costea) who puts some personality into her vocalising and a class act Donna Anna (Pamela Armstrong) with heavenly top notes. Oren Gradus is an ebullient Leporello, Yann Beuron's Ottavio is consistently elegant and Stéphanie d'Oustrac's radiant Zerlina is marred only by mangled words.

Kenneth Montgomery has worked a small miracle by getting a much reduced house orchestra to sound like a disciplined baroque band but, curiously, his conducting has little bite or dynamic contrast. Five minutes after curtain up, there has been one attempted rape and one murder, so the overture should set the dramatic mood. Instead, Montgomery appears to be doing a bit of light dusting, and he stays that way for much of the evening.

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