Matthew Bourne’s The Car Man Will Rev Your Engine

Jonathan Ollivier smoulders as "the car man," photo courtesy of Chronicle Live

             Whenever a production of Matthew Bourne’s comes to London, you can be sure that I’ll be there with bells on. This time around, I attended a performance of The Car Man for its short one week run at New Wimbledon Theatre. For my previous reviews (always bound to be glowing) of Bourne’s work, you can read about Swan Lake here and Edward Scissorhands here. Georges Bizet’s opera Carmen is having a bit of a moment, as I mentioned in my previous post about Carmen Disruption at the Almeida Theatre (find it here if you would like a brief overview of Carmen’s storyline).

New Wimbledon Theatre

             To begin with, Carmen is already a very sexually charged opera. When you pair that with Bourne’s sexually charged choreography in what he proclaims is a “dance thriller,” magic happens. Take the original Spanish cigarette factory and turn the set into an American 196os neon-lit garage-diner called Dino’s. Add in the famous scores that have been arranged by Terry Davies. What you’re left with is a testosterone-fuelled vision of the tale involving sweat, sacrifice, and of course, lots of sex.

Man wanted very much indeed...photo courtesy of Johan Persson

             A giant sign with imposing letters welcomed the audience to the small Italian-American town of Harmony, population 365. Just like the idealistic-sounding Pleasantville, Harmony is also the actual name of several locations in the United States. For the purpose of the performance, the sufficiently deceptive and clearly ironic name choice inferred the calm before the very big storm.

             When an incredibly masculine and muscular newcomer called Luca (played by hunky Jonathan Ollivier) arrived, he shook things up in ways he couldn’t have possibly imagined. Ollivier was precisely the dominating male lead The Car Man called for. He was equal parts brawny and believable, supported by a stellar cast and set design by Lez Brotherston. A car positioned on the left hand of the stage was the perfect prop for the dancers to slide all over or use for a quick sex romp.

Lana, one-third of the love triangle, photo courtesy of Chronicle Live

             The modern twist unexpectedly showed itself by way of bisexuality, or perhaps what we could call curiosity. Either way, the handsome stranger not only began to toy with the heart of a woman (Lana, Dino’s wife), but also of a man (Angelo, a bullied hired help). This made Luca the ultimate lusted-after individual, appealing to both sexes, each blissfully unaware of the tangled web “the car man” was beginning to weave.

Angelo faces off against Lana for Luca's affections, photo courtesy of Chronicle Live

             The Car Man was the most erotic of Bourne’s productions that I have seen to date. My mouth was on the verge of being agape for its entirety, but my eyes certainly compensated by staying wide open. My friend and I nudged each other and giggled like schoolgirls during the shower scene, where the macho car mechanics stripped down to nothing but a towel, hiding their modesty (just about) by a strategically placed horizontal bar.

No caption necessary *ahem,* photo courtesy of Johan Persson

             The dancing was raunchy and steamy as the dancers’ bodies were slick with perspiration. Mimicking sexual positions, there was no shortage of gyrating or thrusting and occasional nudity. The greasy garage men in their oil-stained wife beaters chased after the women who provocatively teased them. The energy reverberating from the stage pulsated intensely as audience members most likely fell into one of two categories: squirming in their seat or becoming a bit hot under the collar.

It's getting hot in here...photo courtesy of Chronicle Live

             The plot thickened when the devilishly good-looking Luca and the female object of his desire were fooling around and her brutish husband Dino (played by Alan Vincent, the original “car man”) returned. One thing led to another and Dino was killed. When the police arrived, Luca’s male lover seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. In a flurry of confusion and cunning quick thinking on the part of Lana, the innocent Angelo was dragged away by police, leaving the guilty two to live happily ever after…

Lana's husband Dino (Alan Vincent, the original "car man") catches her in the act with Luca, photo courtesy of Johan Persson

             …or not. The saying goes “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” but in this case we would need to replace the woman with a man. Revenge is a dish best served cold and the pair who escaped their fate would soon receive their comeuppance after Angelo’s jailbreak. If you know the story, then you know that it ends with a very literal bang. I’ll leave it up to you to find out who in the love triangle receives the brunt of the blow.

In Angelo's case, "Hell hath no fury like a man scorned,"  photo courtesy of  Johan Persson

             Although The Car Man does mirror Carmen, Carmen ultimately gave birth to the car man. The Car Man stands completely on its own and brings something new to the Carmen circuit. Whether Luca, Lana, or Angelo represents Carmen is up to individual interpretation, but Bourne did not intend to capture another Carmen. He instead created a car man and beautifully at that. Bourne loves to push the boundaries and The Car Man certainly surpassed my expectations, quickly securing itself a top spot alongside my other favorite of his, Swan Lake.

             As the reworked performance came to its dramatic close, the same Harmony sign from before made another appearance, cheerily prompting us to “come again soon.” To Harmony? Perhaps not, but to Bourne’s productions? Always.

 The Car Man's stellar cast, photo courtesy of Johan Persson

             The Car Man is coming to London’s Sadler’s Wells starting July 14^th until August 9^th. Book here now to avoid disappointment.

             [Author’s Note: On August 9th, before he was due to give his last performance as Luca in The Car Man, Jonathan Ollivier was tragically killed in a road accident. I was truly heartbroken to hear this news, especially having witnessed him perform so beautifully on stage. My thoughts are with Ollivier's family and the dancing community, who have suffered a monumental loss of an unforgettable talent.]

Have You Heard About the Mexican in a Sex Shop?

             I am currently on my summer vacation from university and visiting my parents where they live in Germany (hence my lack of posts). The beauty of this is that I am only about an hour and a half plane ride away from London. Spontaneously one weekday, I decided to plan a quick three-day stopover back to the big city with my friend. I really was missing it and I guess I just couldn’t stay away for too long, so a whirlwind trip was just what I needed. I threw some clothes in a suitcase, and jetted off to London, where my friend and I would prove to have a couple of very jam-packed days.

             Now, I don’t want the title of this particular post to put you off from reading. I am by no means going to start waxing lyrical about my adventures in an actual, literal sex shop. To be frank, that would just be tasteless and lewd. I am, however, going to be introducing you to another one of London’s hideaway locations, which exists right in the heart of Soho.

             The problem with secret places is that when you don’t know where you’re going, it’s actually very difficult to ask for directions, as you can imagine. My friend and I also had another hurdle to overcome: a lack of technology. As soon as we landed in London, my phone conveniently decided to stop working, taking its GPS capabilities with it. Luckily, we had maps that had been printed off in Germany prior to our departure. We also split the cost of the hotel WiFi here and there if we were in desperate need of Internet access.

             I joked with my friend that our social skills were really going to be put to the test during this trip, because without a phone coddling us, we really were on our own. I actually really recommend taking a day or two to see what life would be like without your phone, because it’s an enriching experience to say the least. You’re forced to hone in on your surroundings and pay attention at heightened levels. What was infuriating about our quest to the sex shop was that it was supposed to be located three minutes from the Leicester Square tube station, and we simply could not find it. Perhaps problematic was also the thought that we would have to ask people how to find our way to, well, a sex shop.

             I started pouncing on unassuming pedestrians, who inevitably turned out to be tourists themselves, and just as clueless as us. I then started prowling the area for anyone with a smart phone, batting my eyelashes so I could reach my long lost friend, Google Maps. Eventually, we stumbled across a pub, where two very obliging men attempted to help us, but to no avail. The one with a very pronounced Liverpool accent asked a pub staff member, and we finally struck lucky. A London local emerged from his workspace and directed us in the right direction, with just 10 minutes left to spare before our reservation time!

             Have you twigged it yet? Yes, my friend and I were going to be dining at a Mexican restaurant called La Bodega Negra, under the guise of a sex shop! As I stood outside snapping photographs, onlookers must have deemed me odd or creepy, or both. After all, staring us right in the face were neon lights glowing with the promise of “Adult Video” and “Peep Show.” There my friend and I were, happy-go-lucky, and entering in the side door advertising “private dance downstairs.” As soon as the door closed behind us, I had a moment of horror, because I thought I had actually entered a genuine sex shop. To my left stood a mannequin draped in slick leather bondage gear, while two men seemed to appear out of darkness and ask us if we were okay. With a decent amount of trepidation, I phrased what should be a statement as a question, “We have a reservation at 6?” Luckily, they took my bait and seemed to know what I was talking about, so my friend and I had finally arrived, our bellies fully rumbling by this point.

             We followed a giant red lit-up arrow and approached the cellar-style restaurant to be greeted by extremely accommodating staff. A certain warmth emanated from the restaurant and candles flickered as the only source of light in the dim, intimate setting. In direct contrast to the catacomb-reminiscent underground, modern music like rap blared overhead. This was one trendy space indeed, as we would soon come to discover as more patrons filed in throughout the evening.

             The only indication that we had entered through a “sex shop” existed in a raunchy wall decoration behind me with fishnet tights flying everywhere. All other evidence seemed to float away to make room for the spacious and romantic interior. The staff was very attentive and friendly, asking whether we needed anything explained on the menu. If you are not a well-versed Mexican food aficionado, then I suggest you take them up on their offer! My friend and I had perused the menu online back at the hotel, resorting to Google to look up some of the main dishes offered. La Bodega Negra does not mess around with their Mexican food! After much hemming and hawing, we decided on the beef tacos (playing it safe, I know).

             Our dainty tacos were presented on a stand made specifically for that purpose. We dug in while we watched the table next to us feast on the many other variations of tacos in rounds. With our order, my friend and I received two tacos each, but you can be much more adventurous than us and take your pick from a variety of other options (an octopus and chorizo skewer, spicy yellow fin tuna, or the Quesadilla Rustica, just to name a few). The tacos were bite-sized, filled with succulent beef and just enough vegetables to eat without embarrassing yourself.

             Afterwards, I had to indulge in their decadently creamy tiramisu. It came presented in a covered glass jar with the restaurant’s logo (a demonic scorpion-like creature) on top, laced with coffee traces and adorned with crumbled amaretto biscuits. Bliss.

             For a less menacing outer appearance, La Bodega Negra also has a café and bar located just around the other side of the “sex shop” that serves lunch and dinner Mexican-style. Unlike its counterpart, the café/bar proudly displays its name amid a teal décor.  

             For La Bodega Negra’s full menu, visit their website here. I’m a big fan of secret London, and it never fails to boggle my mind that in a city teeming with people, London still manages to surprise me with its less well-known haunts. I’m not going to give you any hints on how to reach the restaurant, but rather, my task to you is this: try and find this aptly hid and undeniably unique culinary marvel without technology, just like we did! Ask people, use a map, look at the signposts and road names. London is a lot more beautiful when viewed outside the screen of a smart phone, so look up and look alive! When you reach your destination, believe me, victory will taste all that much sweeter.

The 1975 Are Anything But Borderline

             Nothing beats a case of the Monday blues better than attending a gig in central London, and on February 18th, that is exactly what I did. Forgetting about schoolwork for the night, I travelled to a venue called The Borderline to see my favorite band, The 1975, play live. The 1975 originally hail from Manchester and their three EPs, Facedown, Sex, and Music For Cars, have been making waves. They have a debut album set to release in the summer. The band consists of Matthew Healy on vocals and guitar, Adam Hann on guitar, George Daniel on drums, and Ross MacDonald on bass. This up-and-coming quartet boasts an ambient, electric sound with dark yet relatable song lyrics. They manage to capture a variety of genres in their songs and this inability to put them into a box begs us to ask the question, who are The 1975? 

             The Borderline is situated relatively close to Tottenham Court Road tube station, but it can be tricky to find because of its hidden away location. After consulting my phone’s GPS and wandering around various side streets, I managed to reach the right place. Arriving early, but not too early, to a gig is key. I was able to snag a standing position at the very front of the stage because I claimed my spot almost instantly. People watching is always a fun way to pass the time as well, and from what I gathered, the scene that night seemed to be mostly indie. The venue was cozy and inviting and instead of the typical rap overhead, lesser-known bands blared from the speakers. Opening act Pixel Fix were a good filler while waiting for The 1975, but their songs all dragged on for too long and I couldn’t tell where one song ended and the next song began. However, regardless of whether or not they were my personal taste, it was refreshing to see a worthy act get their chance in the limelight.  

             As soon as The 1975’s leopard print drum set was being assembled, a hush fell over the crowd and everyone inched closer to the stage. The 1975’s set list consisted of about 11 songs, which left all of us wanting more, but gave us the chance to rightfully savor and digest each individual song. Healy’s stage presence was dynamic. He was “dressed in black from head to toe” (lyrics from The 1975’s song, “Chocolate”) in an outfit that looked haphazardly put together, but painfully cool anyway. Not only was Healy mesmerizing to watch, but he also engaged the crowd and humbly thanked all of us for attending. Strobe lights, energetic guitar solos, pounding bass, and a sold-out show led to an atmospheric night. While a drunken middle-aged woman from the crowd yelled that she loved Healy, Healy wryly replied, “If you love me so much, give me your beer,” to which she naturally complied. One of the highlights of the night was when Healy hopped on top of Daniel’s drums, continuing to play his guitar during this balancing act. Healy ended the set by slamming his guitar down on the stage and walking off as the lights dimmed. Rock star potential? I think so.  

             The 1975 are an undeniably talented live act and their rapport with their fans is nothing short of impressive. Healy stuck around after the gig at their merchandise stall, signing autographs, taking photos, and joking with fans. He maintained a laid-back composure despite the recent publicity of The 1975, which was refreshing to witness. The 1975 have just finished touring the United States for the first time and will return to the United Kingdom in May. This probably goes without saying, but I have already booked my tickets (plural) for their return.   

             Check out The 1975’s website here.

With Matthew Healy, The 1975's frontman