Blazing tribute to a visionary

Boris Godunov stands as an epic lament for the soul of the Russian people. Chronicle, history, pageant and elegy, it charts the guilt-ridden reign of Tsar Boris, who earned his crown through infanticide and is destroyed by the memory of his crime. Tarkovsky's production for Covent Garden, made 20 years ago, still remains a definitive reading of this raw, revolutionary, majestic work.

The Russian film-maker directed only one opera before his early death in 1986. It stands as a blazing, perceptive testament, still valid and true despite its inevitably dated visual style. Tiers of arcades around a central arch provide effective areas for the vast and ardent chorus. The earth tones of costumes and set (by Nicolas Dvigoubsky) are shockingly interrupted by the red-robed Boyars, who splash in like fresh blood.

Irina Brown, assistant to Tarkovsy in the original production, has directed this revival, which boasts a starry, largely Russian cast headed by the Kirov's celebrated mezzo, Olga Borodina. Her icy attitude and golden, granular voice made a perfect combination for ambitious Marina.

Sergei Larin, the Pretender Dmitry, had lost his voice, so the part was sung from the pit by another top Russian tenor, Vladimir Galuzin. Sergei Leiferkus's coldly manipulative Rangoni, Hubert Delamboye's treacherous, supercilious Shuisky and Vladimir Matorin's rasping, clownish Varlaam stood out among a fine cast too numerous to list.

Semyon Bychkov, conducting, began perilously slowly. In a work already daringly inchoate in its use of silence, its bare, dark-hued scoring, its scenes which die away as if on a half-breath, this did not bode well. The scene in which Pimen, the monk (Vladimir Vaneev), intones the history of Russia began to feel dangerously as if it was happening in real time.

But the pace picked up and flew by, with the orchestra - especially prominent violas - excelling.

Central to this impressive performance was John Tomlinson's towering Boris. His wild-eyed stillness in the moments of madness, the torment, guilt, tenderness and violence, were harrowing to witness.

In David Lloyd-Jones's edition, now regarded as a standard version incorporating most of the music Mussorgsky left, the work ends not with Boris's death but with the Simpleton - a pure-voiced Toby Spence - weeping for the soul of his homeland. It is a bitter end to one of Russia's greatest masterpieces.

Boris Godunov