The popular belief, reinforced by the #MeToo movement, is that opera is unkind to women. Operatic heroines usually die at the end, whether murder, suicide or ‘natural causes’, Puccini’s heroines being a case in point. Is Tosca a victim, or does she have agency? Would it be heretical to flip the argument?

Tosca is tiresome, silly, and gullible. Take away her petulance and jealousy in Act One which takes up valuable time, and Angelotti would have escaped, Cavaradossi would not have been tortured and executed. Really, it’s Cavaradossi who is the victim here.

Giselle Allen’s performance as Tosca in Opera North’s revival (directed by Edward Dick) of the 2018 production is so good, so convincing, that every time she was on stage in Act One I found her profoundly irritating. Mykhailo Malafi’s Cavaradossi clearly finds her more than a tad annoying too – the way she perches on the painting, turns his work-light on herself, all Me-Me-Me.

Robert Hayward is excellent as Scarpia, dominating the stage with his presence not least in the Te Deum at the end of Act One, where Lee Curran’s lighting enhances Scarpia’s self-satisfaction. When manipulating Tosca, his tone changes to a charming sweetness which eschews any whiff of smarminess. With flattery, he plays her like a fish and, predictably, she rises to the bait; what follows is the inevitable consequence of her own actions and craving for adulation.

The production is set in modern times; The torture of Cavaradossi is streamed so Scarpia can show it to Tosca on his laptop - which raises the question: with that potential for surveillance, how come they don’t know which is Cavaradossi’s villa? The portrait of the Madonna is a panel to slot into a central dome. In Act Two, the dome is aslant over Scarpia’s bed, in Act Three, on its rim, where the shepherd  (Bella Blood) sits in its cupola to sing the aubade. Finally, brightly lit from behind, it contains the cruciform silhouette of Tosca, as she falls backwards to her death.

Allen’s singing of Vissi d’arte would be heart-rending were it not yet more Me-Me-Me from Tosca. Malafi’s big numbers, too, are well done. Clearly, he is a man who never intended to get involved in politics, content to be a painter and help out a fellow in need, and E lucevan le stelle is an outpouring of genuine emotion.

As the bumbling Sacristan, Matthew Stiff mutters away and inadvertently shops Cavaradossi to Scarpia in his thoughtless chatter – careless talk costs lives, after all. The invasion of gleeful schoolchildren is quite beyond his control. The Act One finale, with its procession and crowd of worshippers is effectively choreographed by Maxime Braham.

The orchestra, conducted by Garry Walker, is in perfect balance with the stage. In purely instrumental passages, such as Scarpia’s death scene, the music and Allen’s movements, as she realises what she has done, then sets out the candles at his head, are seamless; the poignancy is palpable.