NO ONE expects a straightforward Carmen these days. So Daniel Kramer’s capacity to shock in his new production for Leeds is probably limited: we (may) have seen it all before. Audiences have grown thick skins.

Let’s start with the setting. The ambience is more American than Spanish, as the local constabulary’s night shift gets frisky, tossing around beach balls as it prepares to come off duty.

Shouting over the top of the prelude – it’s only music after all, albeit containing the work’s three most important themes – they frolic under signs proclaiming parking restrictions for ‘Seville’ (New York?) and “All solicitors must register at police station”, in a show where the spoken dialogue is in the original French. No, I can’t make sense of it either.

The dayshift marches on, all khaki shorts and Mountie hats, including Corporal José, looking like an overgrown Boy Scout. The sweaty cigarette-girls can be forgiven for showing no interest in such specimens of manhood. What can Carmen see in José?

Things improve in Act 2. Lillas Pastia’s has never been so lively. The atmosphere is more like a New Year’s fancy dress party. There is no rhyme or reason to the costumes (Gabrielle Dalton), though cheerleading outfits seem to be prominent. There is so much action it is hard to know where to focus.

So to the mountains of Act 3. No rocks here, though, only bare trees; no chorus either since random cuts have been made (“to streamline the drama” and keep it “untarnished by stale and over-familiar solutions”). Act 4 is similarly abridged.

Within this melée of patronising inconsistencies, there are some good performances. Heather Shipp’s is an unusual Carmen, in not being overtly flirtatious. She is a free spirit, but thoughtful, which makes her air of mystery the more attractive. When she connects to her chest resonance later on, projection markedly improves.

Peter Auty’s José makes a clever transition from mummy’s boy, failing to respond even to a briefly bare-bosomed Carmen, to short-fused, destructive infatuation. The character is all of a piece, as is his singing: a persuasive portrait.

Kostas Smoriginas brings a firm, well-centred baritone to his Escamillo. A macho figure keen to sport his six-pack, he becomes something of a patsy, beaten to the punch by José. His eventual success with Carmen is not easy to justify here.

Anne Sophie Duprels is an unconvincing Micaela, handicapped by an awful wig and overdone eye make-up. Andreas Delfs too rarely ignites a real spark in the orchestra. Much of the evening is enjoyable, no more, but it is presumptuous in its deviations. Bizet knew best.

• Further performances until March 5. Tickets: 0844 848206