Opera Philadelphia took a giant leap with its production of Verdi’s sprawling masterpiece. Its repertoire has tended towards innovative productions of intimate contemporary operas. You wouldn’t expect this modest-sized company to undertake a massive classic like Verdi’s Don Carlo, which needs six top-quality singers and specifies six scenic changes. Yet general manager David Devan took the risk.

This is Verdi’s most Shakespearian opera. Although based on a drama by Schiller, not Shakespeare, Don Carlo presents a conflict between private anguish and public responsibility such as often dramatized by the Bard of Avon. Like many of Shakespeare’s history plays, the narrative depicts a monarchy in crisis and spans continents and time frames.

Philip II was the autocratic ruler of a vast empire and currently is putting down a rebellion in Flanders. Philip’s son Carlo and Carlo’s friend Rodrigo want to gain freedom for the Flemish people. To add to the drama, Carlo is still in love with Elisabetta, daughter of the king of France, to whom he was engaged before Philip decided to wed the young woman himself.

The king is so terrified of Carlo’s radical politics that he considers having his son executed and asks the Grand Inquisitor if he will be absolved of blame. The priest says that lives must be sacrificed for the greater good; after all, God sacrificed His own son.

This despot is a fascinating character because he reveals personal vulnerability and --- for one fleeting moment --- grudging respect for Rodrigo’s humanitarian agenda. Above all, he discloses his impotence in the face of the Church’s implacable chief vicar. It’s compelling to see the tyrant quaking before a greater power.

Because of its budget limitations, the company chose to use a single-unit set. Instead of replicating royal gardens, a cathedral, a prison, a graveyard and other specifics, designer Andrew Lieberman presented one set that conceptually represented 16th-century Spain. This provided the ability to make transitions quickly and seamlessly, thus reducing the opera’s length and accelerating its flow. That’s a significant achievement for this monumental work.

To no one’s surprise, this production did not include Verdi’s original first act set in the forest of Fontainebleau which many companies (and many recordings) eliminate to save time and money.

The set was inspired by the repetitive architectural scheme of El Escorial, built near Madrid by King Philip II in 1584. Escorial was simultaneously a monastery and a royal palace, representing the duality of church and state. On this stage its walls were a burnished coppery gold and its windows were black rectangles that seemed like grave slabs in the floor of a church. The cupola in the distance was a silvery ivory color — a symbol of hope and escape.

After the Inquisition’s immolation of heretics, we saw that the fires apparently burned away the palace’s cupola, leaving its charred black edges and a pile of grey ash. Burnings at the stake never actually spread to the palace; this is an allegorical comment on how the Inquisition tarnished the reputation of Spain. (While killing thousands, Phillip also built libraries and commissioned fine art.)

For his monologue about how he cannot sleep, instead of being in his bedroom or his study, King Philip sat in a bleak landscape that resembled the desert that Rodrigo described Spain as being in his first meeting with the King.

The concept may have been over-intellectualized. Still, I’d rather see that than a flashy but illogical reinterpretation. Some attendees may have been bored by the set and the severe grey and black costumes. Such a wardrobe was accurate for the time and place (conservative Catholic Spain during the Inquisition) but most opera-goers do prefer to see glamorous and colorful gowns.

At least one scene was a dramatic achievement: the Auto da Fe where we saw the victims undress and have hoods placed over their heads in preparation for their incineration, recalling the Holocaust.

Dimitri Pittas in the title role was fresh-voiced, idealistic, passionate. Eric Owens sang Philip for the first time anywhere and brought out his character’s human qualities, creating effective vocal contrasts between soft introspection and resonant power. Morris Robinson used his imposing height and deep bass voice in a superb embodiment of the Inquisitor. Troy Cook as Rodrigo lacked weight in the lowest part of his voice but more than made up for that with the beautiful legato of his middle and upper range, especially in his haunting death scene.

Leah Crocetto, a young soprano from Michigan, was very impressive as Elisabetta with fine-spun Verdian phrasing, melting pianissimi and a perfectly-placed high C at the finale. Her “Tu che la vanita” justifiably brought the house down. Michelle DeYoung, owner of one of the world’s most gorgeous mezzo voices, made a resplendent Princess Eboli who lusted for Carlo while sleeping with the king. An interesting directorial touch was having Eboli stroke Philip, trying to lure him to bed while the queen presumably was in the very next room. This was done, ironically, during the orchestral introduction to the king’s great aria about how no one loves him.

Conductor Corrado Rovaris did a fine job shaping the score and the local orchestra and chorus sounded better than I’ve ever heard them. Seeing them at the end of an extended run was probably beneficial. (I waited to review the production until the last performance because cast members had vocal indispositions earlier.)

Having previously shown its nimbleness with contemporary pieces, OperaPhilly now has demonstrated that it can stage world-class productions of mainsteam classics.