It was almost 30 years after its premiere in 1921 that Janacek's most dramatic opera enjoyed its first performance in this country. But it has since become by far his most popular here. We clamber on to a winner when we finally recognise it.

Tim Albery's new production of Katya has all the right ingredients, both theatrical and musical. Here is a director in complete and intelligent control.

Decor and lighting are pivotal. Hildegard Bechtler's settings - right where they should be, in a mid-19th century small town on the banks of the Volga - are cleverly two-dimensional, reflecting the oppressiveness of a rigid, introverted society. Costumes are black or deeply autumnal. And only Katya is hatless almost throughout.

Peter Mumford's lighting is a strong ally too: darkly menacing, but not to the point of obscurity, for everyone except Katya. Only his effects for the storm might have been stronger. But sets and lighting together throw Katya herself into relief, turning all around her into mere ciphers.

Giselle Allen maximises these advantages in her telling portrait of the guilt-ridden heroine. We share her pain in the ebb and flow of her tortuous emotions. Sometimes she sings too much, where something closer to speech would have produced cleaner diction. But she is well inside the role and her soprano has the stamina to sustain it.

Sally Burgess is not quite the mother-in-law from hell that we often see as Kabanicha. She is too youthful for that. When the boorish Dikoy becomes her lap-dog, she fondles him almost lovingly. But her mezzo is subtly vicious while dominating her son and grinding down Katya.

The men are all victims of her matriarchy. John Graham Hall's repressed, spineless Tichon, taking regular gulps of Dutch courage, is right on target, while Peter Wedd's hot-blooded Boris, nicely focused, turns to so much hot air when Katya needs him most. In such a setting, Ashley Catling's Vanya can only keep up a happy-go-lucky front; Wendy Dawn Thompson's sprightly Varvara keeps his passions burning.

Richard Farnes's orchestra contributes brilliantly to the drama: swirling violins, snarling brass, vivid percussion. The haunting high bassoon as Katya and Boris fall apart seems to epitomise this tragedy exactly. A winner indeed.


* Further Leeds performances on April 28 & 30, and May 18. Box office 0870 122 4362. Then touring to Nottingham, Newcastle and Salford.