THE RECESSION was bound to bite eventually. And how. You could be forgiven for thinking you have strayed into the wrong theatre: this new production is more film than opera.

It is the joint brainchild of Ran Arthur Braun and Rob Kearley. But the figure who pervasively dominates the spectacle is video artist Lillevan. Presumably he is only doing what he was told, which is to screen three hours of projections onto every corner of the stage.

There are two shows going on simultaneously, with little relationship between them. As Faust sings of sunshine irradiating the corn and birds in the blue sky, we are plunged among the skyscrapers of downtown Manhattan, complete with stock market ticker-tape and huge puddles, amid clouds and flames for good measure.

There are also enormous close-ups of Faust, Méphistophélès and Marguerite. Doubtless it is all deeply Freudian. But under bombardment from so many disparate images, it is hard to find time to figure them out.

The few props (designed by Braun) include three large white boxes: one becomes a home for Faust’s heart, surgically removed when he is given a makeover, another yields jewels. Periodically, they provide a podium for an aria. Otherwise we have a variety of hanging panels which shift constantly.

Attempts are made to inject relevance. The chorus sports mobiles, Blackberries and iPads from the off. Valentin is a presidential candidate whose supporters brandish anti-abortion placards, accusing Marguerite of infanticide.

They also carry party manifestos with crosses on the back, used to repel Méphistophélès. On return from the campaign ‘war’, they wear bright yellow and orange baseball caps that complement their already garish costumes, hardly an electoral turn-on.

Somewhere among this mêlée is an opera trying to be noticed. Peter Auty’s Faust keeps up a relentless, if not always subtle, flow of enthusiasm for the chase, while also conveying a sense of ultimate doom.

Juanita Lascarro’s light soprano is at its most effective in Marguerite’s tenderer moments. James Creswell sings a firm enough Méphistophélès, but tends to the jocular over the satanic. Marcin Bronikowski’s political Valentin holds the media spotlight well, while Sarah Pring’s witty Marthe is teasing in her by-play with the devil.

Stuart Stratford keeps a cool head in the heat of the fray, encouraging his orchestra to make the most of its more martial opportunities. Admirably, too, the chorus throw themselves heart and soul into this unconvincing scenario. But when the budget is this tight, you have to wonder whether a concert performance might do the job better.

Further performances October 23, 25, 31, November 3, then on tour. www.operanorth.co.uk