It is a reflection of the ways of the world that in Christopher Alden's production of Turandot the explicit references to a totalitarian state are no less resonant now than they were 10 years ago, when the production was new. The mug shots of countless victims - Princess Turandot's would-be suitors - arrayed on the walls are immediately arresting but, as the expressions of hope, resignation and defiance continue to stare out at the audience, their impact never lessens. Amnesty would do well in an exit-collection.

Alden has returned to tighten the screws on this revival and he could not have wished for a more imperious Turandot than that of Francesca Patanè. She barely needs a high executioner, her voice alone could freeze a man at five paces, but the glacial looks, together with more than a touch of Callas in demeanour and tone, all add to a fearsome presence on Paul Steinberg's suitably stark set. This is light years away from the traditional trappings of ancient Peking: a curved and corrugated citadel whose only adornment is the massive gong on which Prince Calaf beats out his challenge, just one of the explosive moments of the score that conductor Julian Smith handles so well. The same logic pertains when counsellors Ping, Pang and Pong burst on to the monochromatic stage dressed respectively in green, yellow and blue, their graduated height and size every bit as ridiculous as Puccini intended, but their music expressively realised.

Tenor Rafael Rojas, a disappointing Don José last season, redeems himself as a Calaf of dignity and bearing, with a Nessun Dorma to match. His confrontation with Turandot has real steel, even if their last duet has less fire than Puccini planned. With chorus, orchestra and soloists giving their all, it is intriguing to contemplate how Alden's striking concept might be adapted to the ending conceived by Luciano Berio. Meanwhile, Alfano's ending more than passes muster.

· At the New Theatre (029-2087 8889) on Friday and October 1. Then touring