The Midnight Bell highlights Matthew Bourne’s skills as a storyteller as much, if not more, than as a choreographer. It is far more than a direct adaptation of the trilogy of semi-autobiographical novels by Patrick Hamilton, from which the title is taken, and draws in characters from the author’s other works and an original same-sex couple by Bourne. If Bourne had not been so scrupulously honest, he might have got away with calling The Midnight Bell an entirely original work.
The attitude towards love in The Midnight Bell is complex rather than jaundiced, which gives the dance a challenging structure. It opens with the large cast shown in a variety of unhappy relationships and works backwards to demonstrate how these arose. In the late 1930s, the lives of the characters intersect at The Midnight Bell public house, where they knock back more alcohol than at the average press junket. But Matthew Bourne’s stylised choreography makes clear they are all performing or, to put it another way, pretending. There is a constant tension, a fear of secrets being found out. This occasionally gives rise to comedic situations, anxious to conceal their relationship in the censorious 1930s, the dance between gay couple Albert (Liam Mower) and Frank (Andy Monaghan) is jerky, regularly breaking off as they look over their shoulders in fear of discovery.
The Midnight Bell is a collection of short, interconnected stories. Waiter Bob (endearingly optimistic but somewhat clueless Dominic North) does not notice the signs of attraction from barmaid Ella (Hannah Kremer), who copes with rejection by starting a relationship with the much older Mr Eccles (Danny Reubens). Bob in turn is infatuated with sex worker Jenny (Ashley Shaw), whose interest is purely transactional—at one point, Shaw literally walks all over North. Lonely spinster Miss Roach (an intense Michela Meazza) agrees to a one-night stand with caddish Ernest Gorse (Glenn Graham), not realising he has stolen money from her purse. George Harvey Bone (Alan Vincent) has epilepsy and seems isolated among the pub regulars. He is prone to fantasising about rough sex, specifically strangulation, with Netta (Cordelia Braithwaite) and may be in danger of moving towards the real thing.
Bourne’s choreography works contrary to traditional standards. Rather than work together, the dancers are constantly striving to find other partners. Whereas dance usually serves to demonstrate passion, even consummation, here it reflects conflict and aversion. Hannah Kremer’s stiff-jointed duet with Danny Reubens suggests revulsion, a desperate need to escape his embrace.
There is a constant contrast between romance and reality, particularly Alan Vincent’s tormented Bone, who becomes incapable of separating fact from fantasy. Terry Davies’s simple, repetitive piano score brings to mind the eerie theme from The Exorcist. Instead of monologues, the characters express themselves verbally by miming 1930s songs, which sometimes serve an ironic purpose—"The Man I Love"plays as background to a tentative gay love affair. More often, however, the songs underline a loss of, if not innocence, then wilful self-delusion; "The Nearness of You"is sung over a particularly squalid one-night stand.
Lez Brotherston’s designs suggest, rather than literally show, Soho. Instead of a cluttered set, which might interfere with the dancing, the setting is suggested by neon signs or the top of a telephone box or a rooftop. After becoming accustomed to seeing the characters in the dark pub, a sudden shift to a bright and clean Lyons’s tea shop is a sharp surprise. There is fine attention to detail—sex worker Jenny has visible bruises and the patrons of a cinema all smoke like chimneys.
It is very impressive that Bourne not only manages to pull together the threads of the sprawling storyline in a satisfying manner but also to deliver the unexpected revelation of Frank’s guilty secret, which I did not see coming.
Both challenging and moving, The Midnight Bell shows vibrantly what can be achieved in dance.