Festival Theatre 3/11/26
New Adventures
Director and choreographer Matthew Bourne
Smouldering passion; raw sexual magnetism; full frontal male nudity: these are not phrases frequently used in the Edinburgh Music Review (I checked). Nobody creates dance like Matthew Bourne: ‘The Car Man’ is in town.
As he did in ‘The Red Shoes’, his later homage to ballet, Bourne took inspiration for ‘The Car Man’ (first staged in 2000) from a film: ’The Postman Always Rings Twice’, directed in 1981 by Bob Rafelson and starring Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange. The film was based on a steamy 1934 novel of the same name by James M. Cain. Cain would have approved of Bourne’s re-creation: he trained as an opera singer before becoming a writer, and himself used the plot of Georges Bizet’s 1875 opera ‘Carmen’ in his 1937 novel ‘Serenade’. ‘The Car Man’ shares themes of fatal obsession and inescapable tragedy with ‘Carmen’ and ‘The Postman Always Rings Twice’.
Like ‘The Red Shoes’, there are layers upon layers in this work. The story is set in 1950s America and unfolds in the misnamed Southern town of Harmony, where mysterious stranger Luca (Will Bozier) arrives. At first he dances and flirts energetically with men and women indiscriminately, then he encounters Lana (Cordelia Braithwaite), the bored wife of garage owner Dino (Alan Vincent, who originated the role of Luca 26 years ago). It’s lust at first sight, but Luca doesn’t stop at Lana: he rescues the young Angelo (local Edinburgh dancer Leonardo McCorkindale) from being bullied by the brutish mechanics, whereupon Angelo also succumbs to his charms. The sweltering heat of the summer night causes deep passions to explode in a violent orgy: a long, hot night for all, with plenty of lingering looks; louche, languorous movements; and frenzied coupling. Dino returns, Lana instigates his murder, helped by Luca, and she frames Angelo.
In Act 2 the guilty lovers are living it up in a louche dive, Le Beat Route, with interludes from black clad mimes staging a Happening. The occasional glints of comedy only serve to highlight the tragic arc of the story. Lana is unconcernedly enjoying her freedom, but Luca is tormented by guilt, as the dead Dino joins him in a macabre pas de deux. The focus then shifts to the back of the stage, where Angelo is in prison, dancing an anguished solo of despair. Killing a guard who has brutalised him, he returns to Harmony to wreak revenge on his betrayers.
Back to the now closed garage, where a brutal Fight Night with synchronised brawling is taking place. Angelo appears, and the tragedy reaches its inevitable and bloody climax. The town of Harmony outwardly returns to normal, but it (and everyone in it) has been changed forever by the Car Man.
The (recorded) soundscape has many layers as well, and is utterly fascinating. The primary source is ‘Carmen Suite’, a 1967 ballet score by Rodion Shchedrin which adapted the score of Bizet's ‘Carmen’. Shchedrin stripped Bizet’s lush orchestral music back to basics: strong, immediately recognisable melodies scored for strings with the addition of a huge percussion section (5 percussionists playing 47 different instruments). This gives a hugely rhythmic, tense, mechanistic sound. In addition composer Terry Davies has created interwoven jazz, electric, and acoustic sections to solder to ‘Carmen Suite’ and create a soundtrack to ‘The Car Man’, adding intense, jarring elements of brutality and suspense which underscore the doomed passion on stage.
The choreography is bold, mixing traditional ballet movements with muscular athleticism and acrobatics: dancing, leaping, and stomping. There’s a lot of plot and characterisation here, all portrayed in dance, attitude, and music. The cinematic depth and layers of the story are mirrored on stage, as different strands of the story play out simultaneously. Designer Lez Brotherston sets the story in a shadowy 1950s American garage and diner complete with discarded tyres, cars with their hoods up, and a gritty, oily atmosphere; and evocative 1950s costumes (flimsy summer dresses for the women and white vest tops, jeans, and smears of oil for the men). Cinematic lighting by Chris Davey and perfectly judged sound by Paul Groothuis complete the brooding, intense atmosphere of this explosive production.
The 17 peerless dancers received a rapturous reception from the enthusiastic audience. I have never smoked, but after leaving the Festival Theatre I felt an unaccountable longing for a cigarette. How was it for me? Amazing!
https://www.new-adventures.net/
Photo credit: Johan Persson
