The Faust legend has been variously interpreted as a metaphor for the artist's sacrifice of integrity for the sake of creativity, and as emblematic of a hedonistic society sliding towards disaster. David McVicar's new production of Gounod's opera takes both ideas as its starting point, linking the work to its composer's biography and relocating it to the final days of the decadent Second Empire, and its subsequent collapse in the Franco-Prussian war.

Throughout his life, Gounod was torn between the theatre and the priesthood. Charles Edwards' sets are consequently dominated by models of a box from the Paris Opéra and the organ loft of Notre Dame, and we first find Roberto Alagna's Faust, dressed as the ageing composer, dithering between the two. Bryn Terfel's Mephistopheles is part demon, part stage manager, restoring Faust's lost youth in front of a tatty dressing-room mirror.

What follows begins wittily enough as a tour through Second Empire culture. A crucifix turns into a Baudelairean altar of evil as Mephistopheles conjures wine from Christ's stigmata. Angela Gheorghiu's Marguérite proves to be Manet's famous Follies Bergères barmaid, whom Faust seduces in a Zola-esque garret, while Della Jones's Marthe plies Mephistopheles with absinthe in the street.

It gets nasty, however. Faust declines into opium addiction as the shattered bodies of Franco-Prussian war casualties fill the stage. The Walpurgisnacht scene, over which Terfel presides in drag, begins as a parody of Giselle, but rapidly disintegrates into an orgy of sadism and rape.

The performances are excellent. Terfel sings with panache and Gheorghiu, unlike most Marguérites, is capable of encompassing both the lyricism of the love scenes and the horror of her subsequent descent into insanity. The real revelation, however, is Alagna, who gives the performance of a lifetime, physically daring - he celebrates Faust's new-found youth by cartwheeling round the stage - and vocally and dramatically responsive to every psychological shift. Only Antonio Pappano's overly Italianate conducting disappoints. Funny, erotic and disturbing by turns, Faust makes for a compelling evening.

· Until June 27. Box office: 020-7304-4000.