Matthew Bourne's The Midnight Bell -utterly intoxicating

★★★★

The programme of Matthew Bourne's The Midnight Bell is the only place to find the names of the characters we become familiar with in the show.

The Midnight Bell performed by New Adventures, photo by Johan Persson

A roll call of entire people, with hopes, dreams, and desires, reduced to short descriptions: a young prostitute, a lonely spinster, a waiter, a cad.

Playing dangerous games of cat and mouse, entangled in the deepest throes of passion, Bourne's choreography toys with power and control. They chase one another, eat out of each other's hands, and sit like puppets on knees.

Inspired by the observational work of the great Patrick Hamilton, and set in the smoky streets of Soho at nightfall (Paule Constable's lighting is seductive), strangers become lovers, enemies, and strangers once more, shadows dancing under streetlight.

Bourne is suggestive in his choreography and direction, filling the stage with potential and promiscuity, teasing the eye. Sequences of playful, hopeful sexual acts take place beside rituals, battles, and regrets. Some couples, like Frank (Andrew Monaghan) and Albert (Liam Mower) are absolutely magnetic, craving the touch of even a finger tip while being denied the chance to do so in public, while Cordelia Braithwaite's Netta is the only woman to metaphorically and literally wear the trousers, her cool, confidence alluring.

Underpinned by Terry Davies' original music; charming, soaring and romantic, we get lost in the promise of the pub, the freedom of the private members club, the constraints of a single bed in a side street hotel, and the escapism of the cinema. The regulars, the very formation of these locations, elegantly carry in the set pieces, chairs, tables, crockery, and hand-operate the rig system, bringing in frosted windows and neon-lit signs that complete Lez Brotherston's stylish design. Props to Brotherson's gorgeous costumes, too - three-piece suits and slip dresses, the toast of Fitzrovia.

Every so often, somebody would step into a spotlight and lip sync to a crackly gramophone of 1930s love songs. A delightful piece of storytelling that mixes like tonic to the subtle sound design (Paul Groothuis) of life continuing to pass by; birds tweeting, trains rushing by, and the footsteps in the dark.

If act one is the night out, then act two is the morning after, when the whiskey has soured the taste in your mouth and your brain feels foggy. A previously smitten barmaid (Hannah Kremer) becomes claustrophobic dressed down in brown, holding her hands protectively over her chest, a blonde-curled prostitute (Ashley Shaw) reveals her bruises and smudged make-up, and a womanising charismatic thief  (Glenn Graham) gets his just dessert.

It's utterly intoxicating.