Creating a satisfying production of a Handel opera is always a difficult nut to crack for directors. For a start, there's the 'star turn' of aria after aria beloved of eighteenth-century audiences which goes against the natural arc of a modern narrative. Add to this, the economic necessity of eliminating choruses and ballets and it’s a real challenge. Yes, the music is fantastic with virtuoso singing and baroque ornamentation – but to assemble all of this into a plausible dramatic whole for contemporary audiences takes a lot of thought. Opera Theatre Company's latest production of Alcina rises to this challenge for the most part – particularly in laying bare the emotional subtext of this story concerning the temptress of the title and her mysterious island. Alcina has entranced many lovers and the ones she is finished with have been turned to stone or indeed monsters. The plot – which concerns itself with Bradamante's efforts to get her boyfriend back from the clutches of this all-powerful sorceress - needs to evoke an emotional resonance with its audience, otherwise it risks becoming a curio. Anilese Miskimmon's thoughtful direction and impeccable casting ensures that as an audience, we connect with the fluctuating relationships that are part of the human experience.

All the other elements that contributed to this success were musical, and from the outset, the dry acoustic of the Mermaid Arts Centre (with orchestra pit) actually helped the cut-glass clarity of the cast's enunciation of Amanda Holden's unobtrusive colloquial libretto. This allowed us, the audience, to match the torrent of words to Handel's spot-on musical illustrations of lost love, regret, outrage and revenge. In other words – we could relax, because we could make out the words and follow the plot. Musical Director Christian Curnyn's tempi were just right and providing continuo (on a real harpsichord) kept him organically connected to the eight piece period orchestra, which seemed to breathe as one with each soloist. The level of phrasing, dynamics, and stylistic nuances was perfect from singer and instrumentalist alike. There were beautifully phrased obligatos from Catherine Martin's lead violin and Tim Smedley's cello to name but two. Stephen Wallace's Ruggiero was counter-tenor heaven, handling some massive show pieces with great expertise - ranging from the grand standing 'Deep in the Forest' where he vows to fight like a lion to the exquisite and nuanced sense of loss in 'Where is my affection?' - where there was a spine tingling return to the main section of the aria with a barely whispered, single note. Oddly enough, easily the most human character was the witch Morgana. Jane Harrington gave this part a likeable sort of 'also-ran' feeling as she was besotted with and rejected by various lovers, and one of her show pieces 'Believe I Suffer' was full of potency and anxiety. Ed Lyon, as Oronte – a whiskey sodden lover of the aforementioned Morgana – also had some fine moments particularly with 'You are crazy to love a Lady' where he expressed his disillusioned state about all things romantic between nips from a hip flask and plumes of cigarette smoke. Doreen Curran as Bradamante also provided a nice understated dignity amid the comings and goings – while Julian Hubbard was solid as a loyal male friend, confusingly known as Melissa.

Anilese Miskimmon's thoughtful direction and impeccable casting ensures that we connect with the fluctuating relationships that are part of the human experience.

Dramatically, however, the impact of the piece was seriously impeded by Nicky Shaw's High Edwardian design. Our magical island here was a large a cube of formal Seurat-like trees which opened out to become a drawing room in later acts. There was a logic to the strictures of period dress as sublimated inner longings and desires – Ruggiero, one of Alcina's ensnared lovers, languishing in a huge dressing gown worked well – but the logic didn't seem to follow through, particularly in the case of Morgana (a witch) with her twin set and pearls and Oronte, always in his formal tails and highly polished shoes looked anything but a jaded lover. It was as if director and designers were working from two different briefs. The explicit physical clinching and straddling between various lovers looked cumbersome and faintly ridiculous in their full Edwardian regalia. Above all, however, Sinead Campbell Wallace's title performance, while musically spectacular, was impeded by this conceit - especially so in the second act, where, standing on a mahogany hall table, she looked like a socialite in the middle of a slightly naughty party game rather than the great temptress once more unleashing her powers. Even the ever-evolving cube finally ‘entombing’ an ailing Alcina didn't really justify all that had gone before.

But that’s a small reservation when set against the fluidity of the music, the well paced scenes, and the total realisation of each part which combined to deliver a fantastic evening of entertainment. Tax-payers’ and sponsors’ money very well spent.

John White is a musician, theatre director, and drama workshop facilitator.