Stepmothers, generally speaking, have had a bad press in Western culture, variously portrayed as wicked, spiteful and vindictive. The Kostelnička, stepmother of Jenůfa, in the Scottish Opera-Danish National Opera co-production of Janáček’s eponymous opera, is an exception. Whereas sometimes Kostelnička is played as a religious fanatic, Kathryn Harries has turned to religion as a consolation and her actions are undertaken for (misdirected) love of her step-daughter.

Harries dominates her scenes; severe in navy, she calls out the dashing Števa for his drunkenness and forbids Jenůfa to marry him until he has laid off alcohol for a year.  Later, after Jenůfa has given birth to Števa’s son, Kostelnička summons him to the house in the hope he will do the honourable thing. He doesn’t, of course, but Harries’ vibrato as she pleads with him conveys her desperation far better than histrionics could.  Her resulting breakdown is similarly understated and all the more effective.

Laca sometimes comes across as a creepy stalker – but not here, in Peter Wedd’s portrayal as sober and faithful, with one moment of madness to regret for the rest of his life. He is occasionally overwhelmed by the orchestra in the high emotion of Act 3, but his is a solid performance in the best sense.

Sam Furness is dashing and drunken and full of himself as Števa; easy to see how Jenůfa falls for him in a big way, but also why he rejects her once her looks are damaged. Ultimately, he is the loser in the tale – his fiancée Karolka, a deliciously flirtatious Rosalind Coad, venomously calls off the engagement when she learns the depths of his shallow selfishness.

As for Jenůfa, Lee Bisset is mindful that this is a simple – if educated – peasant girl, and sings simply and elegantly, saving the intensity for when it really matters – the loss of the baby in Act 2, when she slowly curls into a foetal position of pain, and the finding of the infant corpse in Act 3. While the Kostelnička is out of the house, Bisset’s prayer for the baby’s future is like a duet with the violin.

All takes place in Nicky Shaw’s super-realistic set – outside the white-painted, stone-built house in Act 1, inside for Acts 2 and 3. Mark Jonathan has carefully placed candles in Act 2 which amplify the realism and, in turn, the ordinariness of the people affected.  The ‘what will people think’ undertone of the story is underlined by the way Kally Lloyd-Jones and director Annilese Miskimmon has the villagers passing through the house, bringing out (and returning) the piano and generally making themselves at home, at will.  The chorus have plenty work to do and do it well.

In the pit, the insistent xylophone conveys an air of menace. Stuart Stratford  and the orchestra keep the impetus of the music going towards the climax in Act 3, when Kostelnička leaves with the Mayor. Then the silence, and the coda when Laca and Jenůfa pick up their lives and their future.