Wow, those New York opera critics are a right bunch of grumble-bums, at least if this superb production of Rigoletto is anything togo by. Sure, the Met’s staging earlier this year wasn’t universally panned, but a viewing o the DVD suggests a world-class theatrical spectacle that didn’t deserve its mealy mouthed treatment from some who seem to have taken umbrage that director Michael Mayer came from Broadway and set the whole thing in 1960s Las Vegas.

It’s a brilliant concept that actually has you laughing out loud early on, as the Duke (the ever so charming Piotr Beczała) sings Questo a quella in a Rat-Pack style white jacket, crooner’s microphone in hand, and surrounded by showgirls waving their, um, feathers. But then when the tragedy strikes, designer Christine Jones’ casino set with its brilliant elevator exit never imposes, making this a production that compels you to become emotionally engaged in one of the most pathos-ridden final acts that Verdi ever composed, even when the corpse is revealed inside the boot of a Cadillac.

The casting’s the key. Želko Lucˇic´ as the eponymous tragic jester who loses his daughter through a terrible twist of fate was criticised for being wooden in the theatre, but on DVD he becomes much more nuanced, a misguided father of real gravitas and feeling, with a truly wonderful voice. As his doomed daughter Gilda, Diana Damrau is simply magnificent. Hers is a bigger, darker tone than many Gildas have, but just listen to her Caro nome and try to stop the hairs standing up on the back of your neck.

The real show-stopper though is the Slovakian bass Stefan Kocán as the sinister assassin Sparafucile, an exemplary performance offering all the necessary characterisation as he meets Rigoletto in a sleazy bar to tout for some nasty-business, and sung in a bass where the long low notes are so compelling that they result in spontaneous audience cheering.

Great though it is, there remain some unfortunate lapses, including when poor Robert Pomakov’s Monterone wanders incongruously into the gaming room wearing Arab sheikh regalia, which is then mocked with little regard for cultural sensitivities.

And the production could survive just as well without the gratuitous pole-dancing at the top of Act Three, and the subtitles where women are ‘dolls’ and are addressed as ‘Baby’. For all that, though, this controversial production probes the soul of this dark drama and makes it both hard to look away and a pleasure to hear.