NOBODY does it like Yannis Kokkos. The great Greek designer/ director, the softest and most scrupulous voice in the business, has already produced unforgettable work for Scottish Opera. Every element in the company's new production of Tchaikovsky's tragic and compelling Queen of Spades, which opened last night, bears the Kokkos fingerprint.

Predominantly black and white, with a million shades of darkness offered by Patrice Trottier's lighting, Kokkos has set the opera on a single platform, a vast, geometric floor stretched diagonally across the stage, effortlessly housing the largest and the most intimate scenes, and with peripheral action taking place beyond its pillars.

But it's the way the man directs it: nobody sets a peopled scene, whether a small group, a large crowd, or, indeed, a single figure, so precisely, so exquisitely. It's undemonstrative and its results resemble a gentle organic sculpture. And, far from being underproduced, such a framework provides enormous focus for the characters and the music.

And what characters, what music, in this opera, shot through - aside from its pastiche moments - with some of Tchaikovsky's blackest, most intense writing. The central focus - directed with understatement - is Hermann, from his first appearance pale, brooding, obsessively reflective and solitary: a real Outsider, grippingly portrayed by the Ukranian tenor with an armour-plated voice, Vladimir Kuzmenko.

The casting is riveting, with a stream of Scottish Opera debuts: Elmira Magomedova Veda a rich and creamy Lisa (though exactly why she is swept away by Hermann is not entirely convincing), Alexander Poliakovs's robust and sonorous Tomsky, and Jadwiga Rappe's mesmeric, spectral Countess. Where on earth did Scottish Opera find them all, along with the strong supporting cast?

Some first-class playing by the orchestra under Richard Armstrong, and a final hymn from the Scottish Opera chorus that will break your heart.