The Beggars’ Opera may seem a supremely English work in origin, but Jon Burton and Robert Carsen have updated it with panache for Théâtre des Bouffes du Nord. It’s a lively production, with a set comprising a wall of cardboard boxes, representing Peachum’s import-export business – the export part being ‘luxury pre-loved items’ - moved around later to provide tables, chairs, bar furniture.

After a blaring siren and a right rammy onstage, Robert Burt emerges as a smug, self-satisfied Peachum, horrified to discover his daughter has actually MARRIED her boyfriend Macheath, the head of a lucrative criminal gang. Marriage goes totally against his motto – What’s in it for me – which he has already spelt out to his audience. The only remedy for this appalling state of affairs is to get Macheath arrested, condemned and executed, then Polly will be a rich widow, an outcome with which Polly’s mother agrees. Mrs Peachum’s exasperation both with Peachum and Polly allows scope for Beverley Klein’s inner diva to break forth.

If a character is meant to be a babe-magnet, it helps if he actually looks like one. Benjamin Purkiss is a floppy-haired Macheath, in jeans and leather jacket, singing nonchalantly of  - and to - the loves in his life, yet as braggart as they come celebrating or planning with his gang. They are a lively bunch themselves, snorting cocaine, knocking back shorts, and dancing acrobatically. Similarly, the whores pleasuring Macheath at the time of his arrest are high-kicking damsels.

Lockit (Kraig Thornber) is in charge of the jail, where Macheath is manacled and chained, and a noose hangs ominously in sight. Lockit is in it with Peachum – there’s a lovely exchange when they check their phones and see their profits on Royal Wedding scams – and Macheath’s fate seems certain. Lockit’s daughter Lucy, however, is another girlfriend and pregnant, and manages to get the keys to release him.

Kate Batter as Polly and Olivia Brereton as her love-rival Lucy Lockit sing sweetly – their girly tête-à-tête after Macheath is sprung from jail, in which Lucy tries to poison Polly, is smartly done.  His freedom does not last long, and he is re-arrested. This time there is no escape – only, the posh toff MP member of the gang arrives at the last minute to announce the government has fallen, and they are now in control, with the various gang members and girlfriends becoming Secretaries of State.

The cast is drawn from music theatre rather than opera, and are mic’d up.  The musicians are provided by Les Arts Florissants, conducted from the harpsichord by Florian Carré. They start onstage, with the rest of the cast, and collect their instruments from the cardboard boxes before taking their place at the side of the stage. They join the others on the stage for the curtain calls. In between, they play with elegance.

The team – Carsen, William Christie, James Brandily (set), Petra Reinhardt (costumes) and Rebecca Howell (choreography) – have put together a high-energy show which remains true to John Gay’s original satire.