In real life, Jonathan Miller points out, people don’t play to the gallery when the end comes: they are too preoccupied with the business of dying. The good doctor may know how people die but does he know how to jerk a tear duct? And how true to life should death and passion on the stage be?

His La Bohème is strong on psychological detail — the insecure, withdrawn poet Rodolfo doesn’t swagger about the stage and is almost afraid to touch his beloved Mimi — but that level of realism threatens to drain the production of theatricality.

One might argue that he is trusting in the music but the emotional power of Puccini’s greatest works lie in the fusion of music and drama elements. The would-be young artists are not, in Miller’s conception, as impoverished as they make out. They are the gilded youth, enjoying their bohemian fling, play-acting until the time comes to take up their real professions. It’s plausible, especially when relocated to the Paris of the 1930s with Isabella Bywater’s sets and Jean Kalman’s stylishly monochrome lighting, inspired by Brassaï photographs and period films.

A strong cast does its best to deliver. Alfie Boe’s lightish yet exhilarating tone is of a piece with his sensitive characterisation, while Melody Moore’s relatively self-assured persona is matched by her forthright, appealing timbre. Roland Wood contributes an eloquently phrased Marcello and Pauls Putnins and David Stout complete the bohemian quartet. Hanan Alattar is suitably soubrettish as Musetta and the roles of Benoit and Alcindoro are well sung and amusingly acted by Simon Butteriss and Richard Angas.

Miguel Harth-Bedoya, draws a superb account of the score from the ENO orchestra: passionate yet supple, evoking the crackle of fire in the garret one minute and the stirrings of love the next. Amanda Holden’s skilful translation is projected with clarity by all concerned.
Until 8 March (0871 911 0200)