The Car Man - Matthew Bourne's dance thriller is taken up a gear

★★★★★

It’s back. And it has been taken up a gear.

Matthew Bourne's The Car Man, photo by Johan Persson

Matthew Bourne’s take on Bizet’s classic opera is as thrilling as ever. If you find it sexy when a man holds your head rest while he skillfully reverses a car, you’re bound to find this a real ride.

When an attractive stranger arrives in Harmony, a small town where its centre is a diner and a garage, he leads the locals astray. Like peacocks on parade, they strut with promiscuity; their mating dances all thrusted hips and slapped thighs with gorgeous pointed toes. Seeds of desire are pitted deep into the core, with even the dirty rags becoming suggestive. Chris Davey's lighting isn’t the only thing on heat. The company dance in the golden hour, exerting primal cries of joy: A well-oiled machine moving in tandem, passing cigarettes between lips.

They prowl multi-story Lez Brotherson’s set, stealing moments behind steamy windows and in backseats of cars. Here, the grease and sweat just add an extra sheen. But secrets don’t stay that way for long. Under nightfall, summer dresses are stripped off to pointed bras. Afterwards, Lana’s (a bewitching Ashley Shaw) dress is stained red with sin. Act two is then plunged into darkness, lit only by seedy neon as the town feels the chill of winter and unrest following a tragedy.

Bizet’s dazzling, beguiling score is at home here in middle America but lifted by Bourne’s continental inspiration - Italian styling, Spanish flamenco skirts and Celtic line kicks. The dark romance is heightened by the addition of strings and percussion by Terry Davies and Rodion Shchedrin's Carmen Suite. You feel the sweat and claustrophobia of summer's relentless heat, the despair of love triangles, and of all-consuming guilt. Brawls are just as intimate as love, with taunting and teasing indistinguishable and blood is smothered into shirts and sprays the walls.

But Bourne hasn’t sacrificed any cheekiness or humour. Paul Groothuis' sound design is joyous, allowing the company to captivate with a flutter of eyelash or nod of the head. Anna-Maria De Freitas's delictae Rita is naively sweet, Leonardo McCorkindale's Angelo wild-eyed with wonder then fury, and Harrison Dowzell's Luca a real greaser. A;; are astonishing in their strength and charisma.

It is so captivating, I didn’t even finish my wine. The Car Man will never be topped.