At every turn in Matthew Bourne’s The Car Man, references to other stories pop up. There are the murderous sexual shenanigans of The Postman Always Rings Twice, a squad of Italian-American punks who could hold their own on the mean streets of West Side Story, a duelling cars scene from Rebel Without a Cause, even hints of Puccini’s Il tabarro. What it definitely isn’t, and deliberately so, is a representation of Bizet’s Carmen, while grounded in its superb music.

It’s a sobering thought that had Marianela Nuñez joined the Paris Opéra Ballet at 16 instead of the Royal Ballet, she would have been compulsorily retired by now, thanks to the French company’s pension policy.

The air is thick with theatrical smog… then comes prolonged darkness. Gradually, a dull glimmer of warm light reveals a tangle of limbs moving slowly like the coils of a giant serpent undulating in deep water.  As the light slowly increases, a cluster of beings emerges from the gloom moving in oily undulations like tormented souls roiling in the depths of hell.

A voice at the start of dancer Aakash Odedra’s performance speaks out of the darkness about the Sufi myth behind what we are going to see, one of a caged bulbul — a nightingale — yearning to be merged with the divine and singing for its freedom in ever more beautiful ways. In this, the voice says, the bulbul represents the artist’s quest for perfection, always refining his work until death brings a sense of freedom and transcendence.

Rambert is celebrating its first 100 years with a triple bill that emphasises the youthful vitality of the company. “We’re 100, and we’re just getting started,” they enthusiastically declare. “The next century starts here.”
 
Like many of the best things in Britain, our first dance company was set up by an immigrant – a Polish woman dedicated both to dancing and promoting others. On leaving Diaghilev’s Ballet Russes where she’d danced with Nijinsky, Marie Rambert came to this country in 1914.

The finale of the Royal Ballet’s 2025-26 programming is an extraordinary sight. At the curtain call for Salle de danse, a world premiere from Sol León and Paul Lightfoot, there are so many dancers taking a bow that they have to take turns to come forward, in two different rows, each as wide as the stage. That’s before the conductor and creatives join them.

South Korea’s soft power isn’t restricted to K-pop and K-drama. The latest Festival of Korean Dance, hosted by venues around the UK, is a demonstration that its contemporary dance scene is impressive too.

Now in its ninth iteration, this year I caught two of the festival’s programmes, one indie, the other by the Korea National Contemporary Dance Company, who presented a piece on a double bill that was so good, I returned the next night to catch it again.

Former Royal Ballet principal Federico Bonelli has brought his Northern Ballet company south in the latest of its trademark narrative ballets. His dancers are a huge credit to him, but I wish they were appearing in a more challenging piece.

Contrast and variety are as vital in a three-ballet programme as in a well-built sandwich. Typically that might include textural interest, a spicy element and something substantial in the middle. Alchemies, the Royal Ballet’s latest triple bill, ignored that time-tested formula with the result that not one of the three works by Wayne McGregor registered as strongly as it should.

We are bowled over! 

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