By Giuseppe Verdi. A Vancouver Opera production. At the Queen Elizabeth Theatre on Saturday, March 7. Remaining performances March 12, 14, and 17

It’s not often you associate opera with cage matches, but that’s exactly the first impression the brash, metallic Rigoletto set makes. The steel-mesh walls enclosing a raked stage, all on loan from Calgary Opera, seem more like the location for a Mickey Rourke comeback movie than for a classic Giuseppe Verdi tragedy.

But director Glynis Leyshon and designer Bretta Gerecke’s bold departure from the world of lush Renaissance courts pays off—helped in huge part by emotionally wrenching performances from its two world-class leads. In their hands, Rigoletto becomes more existential than melodramatic. Aside from a few clumsy exits and entrances when the tinny clang of its pulley-raised doors brings to mind a foul ball hitting chainlink, the set is deeply symbolic and brutally surreal.

The outer “prison” stands for the Duke of Mantua’s authoritarian rule over his court. Inside it, for several scenes, sits Gilda’s small, silver-barred cage—instead of the traditional garden her father, the court jester Rigoletto, keeps her locked in to protect her virtue. Around her float creepy, white Pierrot figures, ghostly guardians in life’s macabre carnival.

Above, the flies are left open to emphasize the artifice of theatre; beneath, the stage is raised on metal posts, allowing characters to emerge from and disappear into its murky depths.

In the famous story, based on a play by Victor Hugo, Rigoletto mocks a dishonoured courtier, who then throws a curse upon the jester. Because he’s so hated, and so bent on bloody revenge, Rigoletto ends up losing the daughter he lives to protect. Two standout scenes show how well the risky staging works. In one, the randy Duke secretly visits Gilda, and her “jail” is transformed, through the hope of love: stars suddenly twinkle through the mesh and a giant, papier-mí¢ché crescent moon (straight off the set of a commedia dell’arte travelling show) descends from the ceiling. In the third act, Gilda sits under a skeletal tree, peering down through a trap door at the Duke in horror, as he tries to seduce the vixen Maddalena; later, as she runs to sacrifice herself and save the Duke, it’s like she’s throwing herself into the depths of hell.

The stark set allows you to focus on the characters, who are much more richly conflicted than many of opera’s usual good guys and bad guys. Donnie Ray Albert’s hunchbacked Rigoletto nails the man’s mean-spiritedness, while bringing a rare believability to his fatherly love. His emotional range is aided by a baritone of unusual dimension. Rising star Eglise Gutierrez is the full package, with the acting depth to make Gilda more than a gullible girl, and she has the voice of an angel: the high notes of “Caro nome” are as clear as a harp string’s, and her lower register shows surprising warmth. Their duets are to die for.

Among the supporting cast, Kirk Eichelberger’s Sparafucile is deliciously sinister, and Norine Burgess’s Maddalena brings vulnerability to the tarty temptress. Bruce Sledge’s Duke of Mantua sings the opera’s hit, “La donna é mobile”, with mellifluous ease, but his philandering good ol’ boy lacks the complexity of the two leads.

In all, traditionalists may not care for VO’s foray into heavy metal, but for those who want to see bold new life pumped into a classic, this is one cage match worth catching.