Mozart's operas have a habit of surviving everything a modern director can do to alter their appearance.

Martin Lloyd-Evans believes that Don Giovanni resembles The Marriage of Figaro in showing that 'revolution was afoot' as the hoi-polloi subverted the authority of their elders and betters. Possibly. But to suggest that today's erosion of the authority of journalists, bankers and politicians presages a revolution of 18th century proportions is just whistling in the wind.

For MWO on tour he sets Don Giovanni in a sleazy modern city. His Don (Njabulo Madlala) is a randy urban slicker, who ends up accusing those around him of being no better than they ought to be. Yet his fall will cause only minor ripples because he represents no-one but himself. He's more opportunist lowlife than immoveable highborn. One is unsure, too, about the identity of Donna Anna (Catrin Aur) and her father, the Commendatore (Keel Watson), as they emerge, like much else, on a set by Bridget Kimak consisting of three luridly-lit stalls. The Commendatore, after his murder, also appears mysteriously as a cleric and a police spokesman.

The cast occupies a narrow downstage area, which at least allows the principals to hold forth with splendid immediacy and make the most of Amanda Holden's racy English translation of the libretto. The singing is committed, clear and characterful from a cast that also includes Wyn Pencarreg (Leporello), Helen Sherman (Elvira), John-Colyn Gyeantey (Ottavio) William Robert Allenby (Masetto) and Anna Patalong (Zerlina). Nicholas Cleobury conducts as well as playing for the recitatives, though the small orchestra has its work cut out in dealing with some big vocal presences.

What must be said is that this is another MWO show demonstrating the highest production values. As a visual experience, and allowing for this particular director's take and the circumscription imposed by touring to a variety of small theatres, it's at best ingenious if at worst concentratedly cluttered. Mr Lloyd-Evans's decision to make everyone culpable - and they are, in a sense - is a theatrical way of dealing with an ending that even in the original is slightly gauche. But Don Giovanni and its inspiring antecedent story offers the chance to make a powerful statement about the relationship between predatory men and, well, ambivalent women. The women probably deny playing any collusive part in the Don's amorous adventures (actually they're not amorous: he's a rapist) but if a director can change an opera's appearance he can surely change it's emphasis.

The difficulty of mounting a production for today's more sophisticated and sensitive audiences is in squaring the seriousness of the theme with the comedy of its enactment. The Don's original descent into hellfire remains the most potent image of punishment and retribution, whatever way contemporary society would choose administer them. In this production, he's apparently nailed to a cross. Make of that, and other features, what you will.