The admirable new production of The Winter’s Tale at Stratford’s Courtyard Theatre marks the debut of a 44-strong Royal Shakespeare Company ensemble which over the next two-and-a-half years is to stage 14 classical and contemporary plays. Judging by the work on display here, a rewarding and entertaining journey lies ahead.

The acting is of a high quality, its tone set by an exceptionally fine performance from Greg Hicks (pictured) in the difficult role of the Sicilian king Leontes whose accusations of infidelity against his blameless wife Hermione (Kelly Hunter) are the cause of much grief. For once, these are not presented as the jealous outburst of a madman – the easy option, widely adopted for the part – but as the product of a sound mind that has simply misinterpreted what his eyes have witnessed.

The likelihood of such misunderstanding is increased by the jolly, rather roguish demeanour of his imaginary rival, the Bohemian king Polixenes (Darrell D’Silva). If Hermione had indeed become a “bed swerver” and “slippery” – the word spat out by Hicks after a pause of very daring length – then it might, you feel, have been with just such a man.

Ms Hunter’s Hermione, for her part, remains calm in the face of the accusations until, goaded too far, she builds to a fury of righteous indignation and her demand: “Apollo be my judge!”.

This is a good-looking production, with sombre late Victorian costumes, effective lighting (Jon Clark) and an eye-grabbing set (Jon Bausor) dominated by two towering book cases. Their collapse, in a deluge of embossed volumes and fluttering sheets of paper, reflects the disintegration of Leontes following the death of his young son Mamillius (given a more prominent than usual role here and well played on the press night by Alfie Jones) and the supposed death of his wife.

The debris of paper goes on to form an unlikely background for the scenes in Bohemia as well as supplying the material for the clothes worn by the rustic revellers during a raunchy, dildo-thrusting, fertility dance there.

“Is it not too far gone?” shouts Polixenes in seeming response to its indecencies. What he is actually referring too, of course, is the love affair between his son Florizel (Tunji Kasim) and the presumed peasant’s child Perdita – in fact Leontes’ abandoned-to-die baby daughter who 16 years later has grown to be a very comely young lady indeed.

Not a very royal one, though, it has to be said, as presented with a jarring and hard-to-understand Scottish accent by Samantha Young. How Perdita came by this, incidentally, is something of a mystery, since her shepherd rescuers, the younger one at least (Gruffudd Jones), speaks broad Welsh. Director David Farr is making a point here, I suppose, but I am unsure what it is.

A relishable performance by Brian Doherty as the incorrigible rogue Autolycus helps keep the production on course, however, and makes a major contribution to a very satisfying, ultimately uplifting, evening.

Performances continue until October 3 (tel. 0844 800 1110, www.rsc.org.uk).