THE CAR MAN, CURVE

From the very start Matthew Bourne’s The Car Man grabs your attention. There’s no curtain to be raised, the stage is busy as we take our seats. In Harmony, population 375, mechanics tinker with engines, tables are wiped at Dino’s diner. People go about their daily lives beneath a towering billboard. The stage is already alive with stories before a single step of the drama has unfolded.

First performed more than 25 years ago, the production has lost none of its power. As with many of Matthew Bourne’s New Adventures productions, the story takes inspiration from a classic source. James M Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice provides the framework for a dark film noir tale of lust, betrayal, murder and revenge. Yet The Car Man is also very much a reimagining of Carmen, driven by Bizet’s music and Bourne’s distinctive theatrical style.

Terry Davies’ orchestration of Bizet’s score feels rich, layered and cinematic. Familiar melodies emerge in unexpected ways, underscoring the drama while heightening the simmering tension that runs throughout the production.

Lez Brotherston’s set and costume design perfectly evokes small-town America in the 1960s. You can almost feel the heat rising from the garage forecourt, flies buzzing around. The stage teems with life, with small interactions constantly unfolding around the central action. Your eye is repeatedly drawn to new details as stories play out across the stage, creating a world that feels fully inhabited.

Bourne’s choreography remains instantly recognisable. There is a pulsating energy that rarely allows the action to pause, while moments of humour sit comfortably alongside scenes of passion and violence. Sensual and unapologetically homoerotic sequences feel as bold and provocative today as they did when the production first premiered.

Ashley Shaw brings smouldering intensity to Lana, trapped in a loveless marriage and desperate for escape. Harrison Dowzell is magnetic as Luca, the drifter whose arrival in Harmony sets the entire town on a collision course with tragedy.

Alan Vincent, who originated the role of Luca in 2000, now plays Lana’s abusive husband Dino. He brings both menace and dark humour to the role, particularly in the later scenes where Dino haunts Luca’s conscience. There is a pleasing sense of theatrical circularity in seeing Vincent return to the production in such a pivotal role.

It’s the young couple caught in Lana and Luca’s wake who leave perhaps the strongest impression. Anna-Maria De Freitas’ Rita and Leonardo McCorkindale’s Angelo bring warmth, innocence and genuine tenderness to the stage. Their early scenes together provide a welcome contrast to the darker passions surrounding them, making their suffering all the more heartbreaking.

McCorkindale is particularly impressive in the County Jailhouse sequence, dancing with a raw emotional intensity that makes Angelo’s anguish impossible to ignore.

Humour is never far away, and the versatility of the ensemble shines throughout. The club scenes provide moments of welcome comic relief, although the undercurrents of violence, jealousy and desire never fully disappear.

The Car Man arrives at Curve with all the energy, passion and theatrical flair that have made it one of Matthew Bourne’s most enduring productions. Its themes may be dark, but the storytelling is gripping, the performances exceptional and the staging richly detailed. More than two decades after I first saw its premiere, it remains fresh, provocative and utterly compelling. Whether you’re a devoted dance fan or simply enjoy powerful theatre, this is a production that deserves to be seen. Judging by the standing ovation at Curve, the audience certainly agreed.