IT’S STRANGE that such a basically fine performance can leave so many question marks, but that is perhaps the peculiarity of Madama Butterfly. Puccini’s shabby little shogun shocker contains some of the composer’s greatest music, yet it is put to such shallow, manipulative ends that anyone who likes their opera to be more than a high-class musical is likely to come away feeling unsatisfied. At least the Royal Opera’s latest revival is musically rewarding, and boasts one of today’s leading interpreters of the title role, but the picture-book production shows little willingness to tackle the problem.

Nobody could claim that this tale of the American sailor Pinkerton and his abandoned child bride is a good candidate for updating; transferring the action to Vietnam or making Pinkerton a sex tourist would simply be crass. But this 2003 staging by Patrice Caurier and Moshe Leiser asks no questions, with the result that Agostino Cavalca’s rich costumes resemble something out of a super-budget Mikado. It doesn’t bear comparison with two of the finest Puccini productions around, Christopher Alden’s stagings of Tosca and Turandot, which are critical in the best sense.

Christian Fenouillat’s minimalist set, dominated by sliding white screens and blossom motifs, is elegant in a postmodern way, but there is nothing postmodern about the parade of Japanese posing on stage. In an age where thoughtless blacking-up is fortunately a thing of the past, other stereotyping should be equally unwelcome: the world has moved on since the premiere of Butterfly 101 years ago, at the time of the Russo-Japanese War and when Italy’s colonial experience extended little beyond Eritrea.

That said, this show is absolutely worth catching for Cristina Gallardo-Domas, who sings Butterfly until a change of cast in mid-April. Her portrayal has heartbreaking intensity, and is all the more poignant for her vocal and physical delicacy.

She floats exquisite lines, but has the power and glowing tone to ride the orchestra. Which is good, because Daniel Oren conducts a full-blooded performance; the vigour of his opening sets the mood for some highly idiomatic music-making.

Stephen O’Mara comes to the rescue again: having saved an ENO Siegfried late last year, he replaces an ailing Marco Berti at the first two performances and attempts to bring some subtlety to the cad Pinkerton, but pushes his tenor hard. Zeljko Lucic makes a sympathetic Covent Garden debut as Sharpless, Christine Rice is a warm and wise Suzuki, while Alasdair Elliott and Katie Van Kooten stand out for their cameos.