Basil Twist, the experimental puppeteer, is always conscious of his roots. The fellow who blew onto the scene with “Symphonie Fantastique,” convincing everybody that wafting a flag through water was the expressionistic way forward, has been doing his share of looking backward. In “Dogugaeshi” at the Japan Society last season, he revived an ancient Japanese screen technique, making a puppet stage into a kaleidoscope. Now he’s backpedaled all the way to marionettes – at this rate, soon we’ll have to look out for his work with socks.

But no one can go retro like Mr. Twist. When Gotham Chamber Opera director Neal Goren discovered Ottorino Respighi’s puppet opera from 1922, he asked Mr. Twist to direct. The resulting “La Bella Dormente Nel Bosco” (“The Sleeping Beauty in the Woods”), a quickie three-act version of the Perrault fairy tale, will enhance the director’s already stellar reputation.

Though the first two acts seem much in keeping with a 19th-century sensibility, the second takes a brisk leap forward into the 20th. Our titular heroine does, after all, slumber away an entire century, so Respighi lets her awake to the strains of a fox-trot. Sweet little musical quotations from our century weave in and out of the more conventionally operatic swoops, and Mr. Goren needed a director who could match the piece’s balancing act.

Mr. Twist renders the blend of centuries with ease. In fact, it seems as though he barely breaks a sweat. Despite an enormously complex cast of life-size puppets that interact with their human singers throughout the evening, you still feel his imagination reined in by the piece’s slightness. Everything is charming and delightful, and Respighi and Mr. Twist share a dry humor. But Mr. Twist has set himself a terribly high bar. We now look to him for something more than spectacle; we know he can do splendor as well.

The Gotham Chamber Opera, though, is shown off to perfection. Under Mr. Goren’s direction, the orchestra luxuriates in Respighi’s illustrative music. Much as his “Fountains of Rome” seems to paint a picture in the air, this score gives us the “bosco” for the “bella” to sleep in. Trilling with birdcalls, hissing with cats, even croaking and bouncing like a chorus of frogs, the orchestra seems to be part underscore, part foley artist. Magic, like the fall of fairy dust or the casting of a spell, accompanies excited piano arpeggios, and the triumph of love swells out of the pit in an orgy of strings.

Olga Makarina, performing as a nightingale again (she sang “Le Rossignol” at the Met), sets a clear, sweet tone for the evening. She and the others who sing individual roles stand onstage in velvet choir robes while their puppet alter egos perform around them. In a way, each character exists in three areas – as a detailed puppet that flies, crawls, or dances, as the singer, and as the entirely visible team of puppeteers. Since we can watch the catwalk above the stage, we can see that it takes three people to operate an evil fairy – she has a person dedicated to each 6-footwide wing – but only one to play a cacophony of frogs.

Opera singers sometimes get a hard time for their acting, but here, with the duties shared out, we can see clearly how spectacularly expressive they are. Patricia Risley practically preens when she sings as a cat, and Daniel Sutin has a hilarious time as a randy woodcutter. It’s a privilege just to hear the Prince (Eduardo Valdes) and Princess (Nicole Heaston) at such close quarters.

Mr. Twist wrings every last drop of delight out of the evening, enlarging each aspect of this traditionally tiny medium. One dancing spinning-wheel turns into a host; a spider left alone for a century grows to the size of a Pinto. Adults burst into applause and laughter at a mangy cat puppet or a guitar strumming jester. “La Bella Dormente” isn’t just appropriate for children; it turns the clock back for those who aren’t.

The climax, when it comes, is a virtuosic mix of marionette and human, quite literally cutting loose the puppet protagonists. Yet while the ending hits an astonishing technical height, we know Mr. Twist holds something in reserve. Throughout, we’ve seen tableaus more worthy of him: We could have safely watched his odd “Dance of the Roses” for far longer than its five allotted minutes, and he can do simple, haunting choreography with points of light alone. Respighi’s insistence on conventional and sugary motifs (the loveliness of spring!) tweak Mr. Twist’s own strings, tugging him back to prettiness rather than real beauty.

Until July 16 (Lincoln Center, 212-258-9999).