The original production set it in front of a hulking 19th-century factory, stressing the dehumanizing effects of the Industrial Revolution. The one that opened last night at the O'Neill Theater seems to be set in a Victorian nuthouse.

I say "seems" because, in this version, directed and designed by John Doyle, much is fuzzy.

Early on, for example, white-coated attendants release Toby, an innocent waif, from a straitjacket, as if to make it easier for him to narrate the grisly proceedings.

Toby's master, a barber named Pirelli, was the first victim of Sweeney Todd, the outrageously wronged barber who wants to take his revenge on all of London.

So, rather than chuck Pirelli's corpse into the river, Todd and his neighbor, the baker Mrs. Lovett, bake him into a pie. Todd then provides Lovett with a constant supply of meat for her newly thriving business.

At the end of the show, Toby is put back into a straitjacket, which leaves us to wonder if he has been remembering what happened or if it was just a madman's nightmare.

What was originally intended as an indictment of human barbarism has been repackaged as a surreal fantasy.

There is no orchestra - instead, all the actors play instruments, suggesting that we are watching a kind of play therapy in which the inmates are acting out Toby's ravings, which further trivializes everything.

The virtue of the severely reduced musical forces is that the brilliant lyrics have never been easier to understand.

The disadvantage is that the score lacks sweep. At times the accompaniment, with its clarinets and muted trumpets, has an oddly klezmer-like sound.

Much of the action is symbolic - a big black coffin is ceremonially opened and closed, Sweeney cuddles a little white coffin. Although Mrs. Lovett constantly pours blood from one pail to another, the overall effect is bloodless.

There is no tension between the savage irony of the story and the macabre beauty of the music. It's all on one monotonous level.

Michael Cerveris brings a sensuality to Sweeney, and his voice is full of genuine anguish. Especially in the first-act finale with Patti LuPone, who plays Mrs. Lovett, we see that revenge and murder have their lustful side.

LuPone repeats the delicious - given the theme, I use the word advisedly - interpretation she first did in a concert version with the New York Philharmonic five years ago. Her offhandedly sardonic readings drive home every cutting moment.

Manoel Felciano is marvelous as Toby, and Mark Jacoby captures all the ugliness of the villain. Benjamin Magnuson and Lauren Molina have an odd hysteria as young lovers.

Having the actors serve as the band (LuPone gets comic effects out of her tuba) enhances the sense of this production as clever, innovative but gimmicky.