OPERA / Giving it the kiss of life: Edward Seckerson on the latest revival of Andrei Serban's 10-year-old Turandot at the Royal Opera

Ten years is a long time in the life of any opera production. Revival fatigue sets in. By last season, Andrei Serban's 1984 staging of Puccini's Turandot was beginning to display all the symptoms. The 'Nessun dorma' factor kept it alive at the box-office, but in every other respect it was, quite literally, going through the motions. And there were a lot of motions to go through. On Monday night - another opening, another season - it looked and felt and sounded like another show. The original show. You could see once more what all the fuss had been about. A revival, not an exhumation.

It looks like an easy show in which to recycle star principals (there are three ice princesses during this run of performances): don the costumes, do the moves, and the rituals look after themselves. But it doesn't work like that. And here's the proof. Revival director Jeremy Sutcliffe looks like he's had time to integrate and motivate his ensemble; Ann Whitley has done likewise with Kate Flatt's choreography. It's as much her show as Serban's. The juxtaposition of beauty and bestiality is the key: a love affair with death. Masked dancers gracefully lead out the executioner; a sensuous slow motion plays against Puccini's brazen climaxes. One dancer out of step and the spell is broken. And when the spell is broken, the staging looks like so much window dressing. What a marvellous image that is at the close of Act 1: Calaf's head framed in a circle of gleaming knives. It's been a while since it carried any conviction.

And what a difference a conductor makes. Daniele Gatti electrified this revival. Such sweep. Big rubatos, heady textures, and all the time in the world to take in those mystical stillnesses. And Puccini's richer and more radical harmonic vocabulary came through the surface sheen: rarely can the score have sounded so much a product of the 1920s. But there was heart, too. When Gatti's Turandot, Sharon Sweet, assailed the heights of 'In questa reggia' her sumptuous vocal portamenti were thrillingly echoed in the violins - great swooning slides, almost indecently ripe.

As indeed was Sweet's voice. The role plainly holds no vocal problems for her: at no point, under no amount of pressure, does the voice lose its quality. No thinning out, even on top Cs. And she isn't just about the big notes, either. I've a feeling that time will find more light and shade, but there were many lovely moments - none lovelier than the heartening swell of her final revelation: 'His name is Love.'

The other outstanding debut was the tiny Liu of Elizabeth Norberg-Schulz - a touching singer whose small but vibrant voice carries through its intensity. She's yet to find the breath to float the eternal B flat at the close of 'Signore, ascolta', but she doesn't sing a phrase that doesn't mean something. Giuseppe Giacomini's Calaf was of more familiar stock, but sporting his decently dark, grainy sound, and Simon Keenlyside's Ping was affecting in his nostalgic lament for the old China. A silk screen landscape unfurls across the stage as if by magic. And then you see the reverse side, and the people carrying it. Another broken illusion. Another nice touch. What a start to the season.

Royal Opera House, London WC2 (071-304 4000) to 5 Nov