The Midnight Bell is a haunting dance of love, loss, and longing
Nobody can deny the genius that Matthew Bourne is in terms of choreography. But where he truly shines is in making poignant art into a well-rounded package that can be consumed by the masses – and suddenly, all the intricate choreography and music seem to create the most “hip,” trendy expression, a story with a hook so strong that nobody can resist. And in the countless shows I have seen, it never happened to me not to hear a pin drop from the audience. Nobody said anything for the duration of the first act of The Midnight Bell at the Lowry.
The Midnight Bell presents lonely hearts yearning for connection, inspired by the novelist Patrick Hamilton – the opposite, you may say, of Noël Coward, who showcased only the wit and high class of the 1930s. Hamilton gave us the grit, the shadows, and the overlooked – and Bourne made that darkness dance with nuance and empathy.
George Harvey Bone, a man gripped by schizophrenia and lost in the fog of his mind, stands out as one of the most chilling figures. Drawn from Hamilton’s Hangover Square, he drifts between eerie quietness and violent fantasy, obsessed with a woman who eludes him. Then there are the two men navigating a cautious, coded romance—furtive, tender, and deeply moving in its subtlety.
From darkness, we shift to heartbreak and delusion: a cheerful barman with a puppy-like devotion to a sex worker—his affection clearly earnest, hers transactional and tinged with melancholy. This autobiographical thread echoes Hamilton’s own doomed entanglements. There’s also the spinster, stiff with restraint, who begins to thaw under the attention of a smooth-talking cad—only to have her hope and purse quietly taken. And finally, a young barmaid, wide-eyed and polite to a fault, unable to fend off the clingy affections of a lonely patron.
The show features contrasting and complex characters. You never quite know if they are awake, tipsy, or entirely “gin-soaked.” Their stories explore shifting attitudes to class and culture through six interconnected narratives – unrequited, one-sided, exploitative, even violent.
The music, composed by Terry Davies, is a contemporary score, not a pastiche of 1930s tunes, which gives the piece a fresh, grounded mood.
The movement is very fluid, with a cast that uses their physicality to create powerful, believable stories. It is significant and insignificant at the same time. I almost believed it was real – the only thing that took me out of the world built by the company was the small glasses, which didn’t resemble the kind you’d expect to find in a proper English pub.
The dance is incredibly expressive. Each character has a distinct body language. If in a traditional theatre piece you can tell who’s in the ensemble by the end of the first half of an act, The Midnight Bell only needed about three full songs to make every role, every movement, and every intention perfectly clear.