‘Mefistofele’: The Devil Goes Camping : S.F. Opera’s rendering of the eternally profound conflicts of Goethe’s ‘Faust’ dares to take chances and, for better or worse, tries to make the audience think.

All the world’s a stage, and much of what transpires on that stage is grotesquely funny. Also ribald, symbolic, colorful, picturesque, outrageous, clever, poignant and gimmicky.

That’s the essential premise of Arrigo Boito’s mighty “Mefistofele” as staged by the naughty Canadian Wunderkind Robert Carsen for the San Francisco Opera.

The concept may be a bit primitive for a work that tries to take the eternally profound conflicts of Goethe’s “Faust” seriously. The concept may trivialize, even parody, the romantic fervor of Boito’s score. The concept may be oversold as a stage-within-the-stage and show-within-the-show harboring frenzied burlesque figures, masked deities, raunchy revelers in sort-of-modern dress (and undress), an apple-orchard encased on an off-kilter merry-go-round and, always at the center, a good-humored two-bit villain with an ever-changing wardrobe who deals in cheap magic tricks.

The concept may seem forced, sometimes even perverse, and its application can border on the arbitrary. But--a very big but at the War Memorial Opera House these days--one must be grateful for one huge favor: This “Mefistofele” does have a style of its own, a consistent look, a distinctive tone.

It has ideas, possibly too many. It dares to take chances and, for better or worse, it tries to make the audience think.

One can’t say things like that for most of the safe and somnolent singing-pageants currently on display here. Together with his inspired designer, Michael Levine, Carsen has created a lavish, big-league production that takes nothing for granted on either side of the false-Baroque proscenium.

When it was new five years ago, sight tended to obliterate sound. Now, with Peter McClintock serving as the directorial sorcerer’s faithful apprentice, with a stronger conductor and a mostly different cast, the proper balances of power are nearly restored.

The crucial holdover from the class of ’89 is Samuel Ramey, who still revels in the inherent hocus-pocus maneuvers, still sings with a generously plangent basso, still snarls with gusto, still compels matinee-idol attention at all times, and still bares his trademark chest for no apparent reason beyond hairy exhibitionism. Although he cannot make the sentimental fossils out front forget Giulio Neri, much less Norman Treigle, he certainly gives the devil his luxuriant due.

Richard Margison, the burly Canadian cast as Faust for the first time in his extraordinarily promising career, brings ringing, golden tone to the challenge, not to mention musical sensitivity and dramatic acumen. He plays the old Faust like Emil Jannings in “The Blue Angel”--not a bad model--and adds a nice touch of self-mockery to his youthful reincarnation. He even submits to the indignity of Carsen’s Peter Pan flying act at the end of the transformation scene with good cheer. At last, another tenor. . . .

Aprile Millo, the Margherita, has encountered some unfortunate vocal problems lately, and not all of them seemed to be solved on this occasion. Nevertheless, she sang carefully at worst, with genuine luster at best, really savored the pathos of the death scene and, whether giddy or tragic, followed Carsen’s directions with affecting dedication.

Carol Neblett, who had undertaken both Margherita and Elena in the celebrated New York City Opera production of 1969, contented herself with the duties of the Trojan siren on this occasion. Although her vibrant soprano betrayed a few signs of stress, she still exuded ample allure, both physical and vocal.

The strong supporting cast included Judith Christin as an endearingly silly Marta, Joseph Frank as an incisively earnest Wagner and Elizabeth Bishop as an engagingly mellifluous Pantalis.

The so-called serious ballet, now entrusted to Victoria Morgan, executed its cliches deftly. The mass scenes were monopolized, however, by the lusty choristers and extras who often bared all (nudity more simulated than stimulated) in quest of dramatic mock-verity.

The guiding force, and abiding voice of sanity, emanated from the podium. Julius Rudel, a late replacement for the ailing Antonio Pappano and a “Mefistofele” specialist since 1969, conducted with equal concern for Boito’s delicately calibrated agitation and all-encompassing grandeur. The heroic climaxes were brilliantly gauged, and getting there--with leisurely breadth and telling nuance--was more than half the fun.

Even when high camp dominated the stage, the maestro supported high art in the pit.

* “Mefistofele” presented by the San Francisco Opera, 301 Van Ness Ave. Remaining performances Monday at 8 p.m., Nov. 27 at 2, Nov. 30 at 7:30, Dec. 3, 6 and 9 at 8. Patricia Racette sings Margherita the last three nights. Tickets $8 (standing room) to $120. (415) 864-3330.