You knew this was no ordinary opera when, in his opening moments, lead baritone Jeremy Huw Williams summoned all his grandiloquence to sing of a pimple on his nose.

And you knew events had passed squarely into the realm of insanity when, in Act II, the appearance of said nose, now human-sized, dressed in plumed hat and cape and firing a pistol, was experienced as a return to dramatic order.

Based on a Gogol short story and composed by a young Shostakovich eager to flout convention, The Nose is an opera so funny that it actually contains moments of scored laughter.

From the mobile of disembodied limbs (the surrealism enhanced when one floating thigh caught on the lighting rig) to the sign reading "there now follows an interlude of despair", this revived production by The Opera Group packed in moments of witty invention that made you glow with delight.

Within an asymmetric cage flecked with mirrors, we witnessed the wildly comic yet strangely tragic story of Kovalyov, a vain collegiate assessor who wakes one morning to discover that his nose is missing.

In an atmosphere of political paranoia and routine bribery, he is unsuccessful in soliciting official assistance. And when his nose is spotted parading about town in the uniform of a higher-ranking official, this seasoned visitor of ladies becomes a laughing stock.

Whether Kovalyov is awake, asleep or drunk on the barber's aftershave, The Nose is all about status anxiety. And The Opera Group took this as their cue for some exuberant visual humour.

The Doctor, for instance, took inspiration from John Cleese's Ministry Of Silly Walks in order to manoeuvre his giant top hat through the skew-whiff set door.

Also played brilliantly by bass Simon Wilding, the newspaper clerk sat at a desk so tall he was connected to his business only by a step-ladder and a bucket on a string.

In keeping with the Punch-like District Inspector's grotesque falsetto and Kovalyov's frantic refrain of "my noz my noz my noz!", Shostakovich's score combined fatuous, flatulent military music with the sort of joyfully discordant piping that used to herald Noggin The Nog.

With only its white-gloved hands for expression, the nose itself was straight out of Dr Seuss. But for some bizarre reason I couldn't stop thinking of Eric Cantona's film cameo in Elizabeth.

Never mind a runaway conk, put anyone with an inflated sense of self-importance in tunic and tights and you've got quality entertainment.

Intellectually engaging and historically resonant, at core this production understands the basic Russian lesson that nothing is more absurd than pomposity. Unfortunately this was lost on the Theatre Royal's twin-set and pearls brigade, many of whom fled during the interval.