Matthew Bourne’s The Car Man takes the music and passion of Carmen and drops it into Harmony, a hot, dusty 1950s American town centred around a garage and diner.

There is no spoken dialogue, so attraction, jealousy, humour, tenderness, fear and violence are all communicated through movement, mime and music.
What surprised me was how quickly that stopped feeling unusual.
Before the production had even properly started, Harmony was already alive.

As we took our seats, mechanics were working, people were leaning on cars, girls were flirting, lads were squaring up and couples were forming and separating.

The battered garage, diner, denim, vests and full skirts gave an immediate Grease/West Side Story feel, but this was a much rougher, hotter version.

At times the whole town seemed slowed down by the heat and, with a population of only 375, it felt wonderfully claustrophobic — everyone knew everyone, everyone was watching and there really was nowhere to hide.
The ensemble were superb at creating that world, with a raw energy that made Harmony feel properly lived-in from the outset.

There was so much happening across the stage that I genuinely didn’t know where to look, yet nobody ever felt like a dancer waiting for their next cue.

They were working, flirting, watching, provoking and reacting, so Harmony felt properly lived-in from the outset.

The smaller character parts add to that sense of a real town too, with Chad and “Hot” Rod among those who give Harmony its own little personalities beyond the central relationships.

It was obvious from the start that this was a macho, do-or-die world where softness is treated as weakness and anyone vulnerable quickly becomes a target.
There are lighter moments too, and the humour bubbles up naturally without ever breaking the mood.

One brief shower scene in particular got a definite ripple of amusement through the audience.
Then the music starts to build and Harrison Dowzell’s Luca arrives.

Cool, exuding inner confidence, and with a slight James Dean quality, he immediately changes the atmosphere.

He has exactly the swagger the role needs, but as the evening develops, we also begin to see there is far more going on beneath the surface.
And yes, I did spend quite a lot of time wondering how on earth anyone dances like this in jeans.
Lez Brotherston’s set and costumes were among my favourite elements. The denim, work shirts, vests, fitted dresses and full skirts make everyone look as though they genuinely belong in this dusty garage town, which somehow makes the physicality even more impressive.

The dancers twist, lift, fight and throw themselves around in clothes that look completely ordinary.
What struck me most was how quickly the movement stopped feeling like “dance” and became simply another way of understanding the characters.

A look, pause, change in posture, hand pulled away or someone watching from across the stage was often enough.
Ashley Shaw’s Lana is vibrant, flirtatious and larger than life, while Dowzell’s Luca has a cool, dangerous self-assurance that immediately draws her in.

Their first moments together are a brilliant game of cat-and-mouse — with her teasing, ignoring and pretending not to care, and him

seemingly oblivious — until the look.

The scene literally stands still.

It is a tiny moment, but suddenly the whole relationship clicks into place.

You know exactly what they are feeling and there is really only one way this is going to go.
Their first intimate encounter is beautifully conveyed.

The movement carries all the passion between them — intense, physical and sexy — but somehow it never feels awkward to watch.

You know exactly what is happening without it ever becoming gratuitous.

As the story progresses,Shaw also brings a colder edge to Lana; I increasingly felt that she was ultimately out for herself.

In complete contrast, Leonardo McCorkindale’s Angelo and Anna-Maria de Freitas’ Rita have a gentleness that immediately sets them apart from the harder world around them.

Even their predominantly white costumes seem to underline that softness.

Angelo never feels weak, simply gentler than the people around him, while Rita has a quiet strength and instinct to protect him.
Their first dance together was the standout moment of the evening for both my husband Geoff and me.

The music and movement conveyed so brilliantly the tenderness, sadness, confusion and affection, and we both found ourselves feeling emotional.

They really did feel like the soft ones in a hard world.
One of my other favourite moments was Luca teaching Angelo to box.

It begins as something very masculine and physical, then gradually becomes tender, and the shift happens so naturally that you barely notice the point at which the mood changes.

It is one of the clearest examples of the brilliance of the storytelling working completely without words.

Adam Galbraith’s Dino establishes his authority almost instantly.

Even a casual pat on Lana’s bottom feels more possessive than affectionate, and the way he prowls around the diner checking everyone is working makes it very clear that, in his mind, the place — and everyone in it - belongs to him.

We also loved the way the stage is used to let different scenes and emotions exist at the same time.

More than once, one relationship unfolds in the foreground while another remains quietly present elsewhere.

At one point, Lana and Angelo seem to carry their separate feelings for Luca in parallel, showing us two completely different kinds of longing.

The music sounded huge in the Hippodrome and really drove everything forward.Rodion Shchedrin’s Carmen Suite, with Terry Davies’ additional music and orchestration, could feel playful and sexy one minute, then suddenly dark and ominous the next.