Pay your local hobo a tenner to croon Nessun Dorma and you’ll have a Beggar’s Opera more coherent and gratifyingly shorter than this offering.

John Gay’s satirical ballad opera of 1728 tells the story of Captain Macheath, the bandit brought to book by the equally villainous fathers of his two far-from-innocent wives. Director Justin Way’s pedestrian concept is to shift Gay’s collection of vagabonds and sluts to modern-day Soho. But he serves up unconvincing caricatures: strippers who can’t slink and weedy thugs with no swagger.

For this being a play with music, the privilege of hearing opera artists sing is counterbalanced by the torture of watching them act: cod accents, rustic blocking and mugging to make your G&S-crazed uncle blush are not in short supply.
Neither, on the flip side, is fine musicianship.

There’s a smooth macho urgency to Tom Randall’s Macheath. Sarah Fox sings with a sweetness that belies her grotesque performance as Lucy Lockit.

Musicians from the City of London Sinfonia under Christian Curnyn (Richard Hickox was to conduct before his death in November) give a delicate rendering of Benjamin Britten’s 1948 reworked score.

Sadly, there’s a lot more time spent on words than notes. And as antiquated dialogue persistently bests the performers, the moments of sublime melody are haunted by the imminent return to confusingly spoken prose.

The play has a conclusion, where Macheath is reprieved at the request of the audience. Last night, when the time came to call out, few obliged.
Until 31 January (www.roh.org.uk).