Whether the public wants to see any more wannabe presidents or prime ministers-in-waiting cavorting around on stage is a moot point. But in case anybody thinks that devious tricks, cynical deals and meaningless soundbites are recent inventions, here is Opera North with a timely new staging of George and Ira Gershwin's 1931 satire on American presidential elections.

It's a fun evening, though not quite as fun, sharp or spectacular as it might have been. Gershwin's score is never less than pleasing, but doesn't exactly bristle with famous tunes. And in Caroline Gawn's competent but frugal production, aspects that would have wowed Broadway in 1931 - such as lines of leggy chorus girls, dazzling choreography or lavish reconstructions of the White House and Capitol Hill - are missing too.

But the quick-fire repartee and farcical twists still produce plenty of laughs. When William Dazeley's perma-grin President John P. Wintergreen faces impeachment someone asks him why he doesn't give an uplifting speech to restore the nation's confidence. “As President you generally only make a speech if you want the stock market to crash,” he replies. That brings the house down.

The plot is so daft that it could almost be true. To boost their man's waning position in the polls, Wintergreen's dodgy cronies advise him to fight the forthcoming election on the one-word slogan “love”. (Why not? It's no less banal than “change”.) So a nationwide beauty contest is arranged to select a suitable wife whom he will woo throughout the campaign, thus winning the hearts of the nation.

Unfortunately, Wintergreen falls for a secretary who isn't in the contest (Bibi Heal, apple-pie sincere). Or rather, for her corn muffins. Whereupon the furious winner (Heather Shipp's gloriously pouty Diana Devereaux) sues him for breach of promise. To make matters worse, up pops the French Ambassador (Richard Suart, wafting clouds of outrageous franglais) to point out that, since Devereaux is the illegitimate daughter of an illegitimate son of an illegitimate nephew of Napoleon, his nation is preparing to go to war with the US over her public humiliation.

There's much more: a humming chorus of snoozing senators, a barbershop number for Supreme Court judges and an extended impeachment ensemble straight out of Gilbert and Sullivan (whom both Gershwins revered). It's all conducted with suitable pizzazz by Mark Dorrell and hurled out by a seasoned cast of actors and singers, of whom Steven Beard's camp Vice-President and Rob Edwards's scheming Secretary of State are outstanding. The trouble is, the real thing could be even more bizarre than this parody.

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