When Laurence Olivier played Othello he studied the mannerisms of Sammy Davis Jr to give the noble Moor what he called “negritude”. Not everyone was impressed. Those days are long gone. In a spirit of liberal optimism we might hope that we can sidestep the question of Othello’s colour or race entirely. Yet it indelibly shapes text and action, whether in Shakespeare or in the shorn libretto version for Verdi’s penultimate opera nearly 300 years later.

Our own multicultural times may be closer to the Venetian-Ottoman melting pot of the play, but our sensibilities are entirely different. The issue, with all its unanswerable variables, is as alive as ever. Verdi, significantly, does not give his Moor any distinctive stylistic music to sing to set him apart (as Mozart or Rossini did with their “exotics”). Yet he codenamed the work “Chocolate” or “African”, which gives pause for thought.

The American director David Alden, marking 30 years of creatively rebellious association with English National Opera, fudges it in his new production of Otello. Stuart Skelton, vocally golden in the title role, was not so much blacked up as blonded down. He wore a brown wig over his fair curls, facial hair tinted to match. You might not realise if you were not already familiar with this top-flight Australian, now one of the world’s leading heldentenors and a superb Grimes in a production for ENO also by Alden. It was an odd compromise which, with the old brass-buttoned greatcoat, made Skelton look like Britten’s fisherman all over again.

Designed by Jon Morrell and updated to the 1920s, the production takes place in an ambiguous and barren space, now public, now private, inside or out, with distressed walls and side recesses for eavesdropping. It looks good but is all rather too smooth, and gives no certainty or detail about this Cypriot garrison setting. There are few props. There must be a chair because Otello throws one. Desdemona – Leah Crocetto making a vocally admirable if dramatically slightly inflexible debut – has a handkerchief but no bed. She dies not smothered but strangled, a painfully vivid murder made ordinary.

At the beginning, a star and crescent flag is shredded, depicting the spoils of war. That action means something potent. Yet when handsome Cassio (a lyrical Allan Clayton) throws darts at an icon of the Madonna and Child the gesture, far from being equally emblematic, is merely sordid and unbelievable. Despite Skelton’s blistering performance, his Otello remains puzzling. This man at the height of his power and authority is allowed no time to show his nobility – the very quality that made Desdemona love him. Iago, villainously delivered with the wisdom of experience by Jonathan Summers, barely gets the word “jealousy” out of his mouth before the Moor is panting and panicking and shuddering, already out of control.

If there were reservations about the production, Edward Gardner and the orchestra and chorus – underused, but singing well – made this an evening of musical riches worth treasuring. The ENO woodwind, in heavy demand throughout this work, brought colour and unease. This is Gardner’s last season. However good his successor – and hopes are high for Mark Wigglesworth – Gardner will be missed. Enjoy him. He makes the orchestra sing. Otello continues in repertory until 17 October.

Rigoletto, premiered at La Fenice, Venice in 1851, dates from mid-career – Verdi’s 17th opera – but is the true prelude to the mature operas including Don Carlo and Falstaff as well as Otello. This telling of Victor Hugo’s Le roi s’amuse is perfect for the opera-going novice: an urgent, simple story, hummable music and a quick, tragic ending. David McVicar’s murky staging, first seen in 2001, has grown no more illuminating. Michael Vale’s single, cumbersome set, on a slow revolve, obscures the storytelling and on first night slowed up the action.

The reason to go is Simon Keenlyside, singing the title role for the first time at the Royal Opera. Still where others flail, agile where some might stagger, Keenlyside can act anyone else off the stage. For once you sympathise with Hugo’s hunchback. Saimir Pirgu’s Duke, with too much cloak shuffling but ringing top notes, Aleksandra Kurzak’s ardent if over-robust Gilda and Brindley Sherratt’s Sparafucile all stand out in this first of two casts. Conductor Marizio Benini opted for a measured tempo, perhaps too slow for some, but drew urgent, finely detailed playing from the ROH orchestra.

Reversing further back through Verdi’s career, Macbeth (1847) was given a makeover by the South African director Brett Bailey and his company, Third World Bunfight. The composer Fabrizio Cassol had completely rearranged and chopped the original. A chorus of seven South African singers and an ensemble of 12 musicians (the No Borders Orchestra from the former Yugoslavia), conducted by Premil Petrovic, gave new aural colour to the score, but it remained recognisably Verdian. With simple staging and video animation and a new story, Shakespeare’s Scotland became the heart of Africa, specifically the Democratic Republic of Congo.

The backdrop was ethnic tension in the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide of 1994. The language was juicy, the singing vibrant and heartfelt. Nobulumko Mngxekeza’s Lady Macbeth shone as the vile power behind the throne, with Owen Metsileng’s brilliant, boorish Macbeth bringing to mind Idi Amin in the film The Last King of Scotland. The great chorus Patria oppressa, even in its scaled-down version, caught a mood that, in this week of all weeks, will have been lost on no one.

Star ratings (out of 5)
Otello ****
Rigoletto ***
Macbeth ****