Bajazet, Royal Opera House, review: Vivaldi finally arrives at Covent Garden – with S&M in a dungeon

For probably the first time in its history, the Royal Opera House had two Baroque works playing simultaneously on the same night: Handel's Theodora up on the main stage and Vivaldi's Bajazet downstairs in the Linbury Theatre, in a debuting co-production with Irish National Opera. If this might have been expected to stoke rivalries – not between composers but between their fans – the mood was more one of an exciting celebration of Baroque opera.

It's true that Handelians still tend to sneer at Vivaldi, in particular disparaging his plots. Though no other composer ever caught the glitter of La Serenissima quite so alluringly, the dismissal of Vivaldi by Stravinsky as “a dull fellow who could compose the same form so many times over” has persisted. Vivaldi in Bajazet may have been setting himself up for unfavourable comparison with Handel, who tackled the same subject in Tamerlano, but this performance by INO makes a strong case for the Venetian composer. Incredibly, this is the first time a Vivaldi opera has been staged at Covent Garden: a red-letter night for the Red Priest.

Well, for Vivaldi and others. Following common Baroque practice, Bajazet (Verona, 1735) is what's known as a pasticcio, and Vivaldi mixes his own music with recyclings from fellow composers. Showing striking partisanship, Vivaldi himself supplied the music for the good guys, and channelled pieces from the rival Neapolitan school for the baddies.

But the final balance sheet sees the haughty princess Irene get the two biggest showstoppers. The florid “Quel guerriero in campo armato” comes from Idaspe by Riccardo Broschi (brother of the celebrated castrato Farinelli), and was delivered here in imperious style by Claire Booth with spitfire coloratura, a tour de force of Baroque yodelling to bring down the Act 1 curtain. Booth also supplies despairing intensity in the famous “Sposa, son dispreszzata”, actually from Geminiano Giacomelli's Merope.

Irene's place in the complicated plot is as the intended bride of Tamerlano, the fearsome Turco-Mongolian conqueror (known to history as Timur) who overthrew the Ottoman dynasty of Bajazet (Bayezid) in 1402. She arrives to find a politically motivated triangle involving Bajazet's daughter Asteria, who is in love with Tamerlano's Greek ally Andronico but has caught the eye of Tamerlano himself.

Tamerlano's historical reputation for violence is not shirked in Adele Thomas's production, which portrays him as a wounded psychopath whose recreations are morphine and S&M fetishism, with plenty of crotch grabbing — of friend and foe, male and female, but mostly his own. James Laing delivers a compelling performance; his countertenor does not make an especially nice noise, but Tamerlano is not a nice guy.

The compact staging, which started its tour in Ireland in mid January, looks stark yet handsome in Molly O'Cathain design, dominated by the gilded dungeon with its giant hook hanging from the ceiling, to which the imprisoned Bajazet is harnessed. The walls take a hammering, and the fight director Kev McCurdy is probably one of the busiest in the production team.

Gianluca Margheri brings a powerful bass-baritone to the title role, and Niamh O'Sullivan a warm mezzo to Asteria, never hiding her contempt for her persecutors. The countertenor Eric Jurenas is all buttoned-up as Andronico, and Aoife Miskelly supplies a burnished soprano as his confidant Idaspe. Directing the Irish Baroque Orchestra from the harpsichord, the buoyant Peter Whelan is the evening's driving force.

Until February 12. Tickets: 020 7304 4000; roh.org.uk