English National Opera already has – had? – a truly classic version of Verdi’s opera in its wardrobe, that directed by Jonathan Miller and his genius decision to give it a Mafia spin. But things, of course, move on. Now, here is Christopher Alden’s take. Not that ENO has rushed to stage it, for it was first seen in Chicago in 2000. It is, unfortunately, a poor second to Miller’s production and less than convincing. Indeed it is neither controversial nor illuminating, but rather bland and limited. Alden sets the whole in a well-appointed room of a Victorian gentlemen’s club, with wood-panelling and the sumptuous like to give a well-to-do and cloistered feel. The trouble is, that is the set, a one-off all-purpose affair which serves for any scene, setting and circumstance; there is little variety, and when there is it seems stock or added-on.

Musically things are better, although Graeme Jenkins’s conducting is inconsistent; theatrically thrilling at times, but plodding if singer-friendly for slower numbers. The ENO Orchestra plays well for him, though, and the chorus is consistently excellent. Of course, Rigoletto is sung in English. James Fenton’s translation works well enough, save for some moments of infelicity, but what is lost is an Italianate passion and some moments that sound as if taken from Gilbert & Sullivan – fine in itself – but this is Verdi not G&S. One chorus had me smiling; a knees-bend, evening-all number that felt as musically foreign as the text is, now, erudite.

Of the singers, Barry Banks never quite found the Duke’s amorous cynicism and his voice didn't’t always expand as it needs. Vocally and histrionically, this is an under-played portrayal. Quinn Kelsey took the title-role with growing aplomb to become nerve-tinglingly anguished, saving his powerful voice for the final tragic denouement. It’s a big performance. As his daughter, Gilda, Anna Christy stole the show with her lovely and poised singing – remarkable control at times and a truly bel canto voice – although the impetuous side of her character was somewhat under a shadow. As the assassin Sparafucile (also a voyeur when the Duke has it off with his sister, Maddalena), Matthew Rose was chillingly impassive as the another-day, another-death murderer.

So, mixed feelings, and quite what the exchanges between father and daughter are all about during some quite lengthy scene changes is anybody’s guess – I shall keep mum on my thoughts – although the thunder before the final act was unfortunate given the weather outside! With the hung Monterone left to swing before our very eyes, and quite a lot of sweeping-up to be done between acts, this is a partly-memorable Rigoletto, if not always for the right or fathomable reasons. There were a few laughs near me. I wonder if Mr Alden has allowed for such a response. It only remains to mention Diana Montague’s haughty, no-nonsense Giovanna and some well-made sets and lighting from, respectively, Michael Levine and Duane Schuler.