For some, branding a production ‘accessible’ could seem vaguely euphemistic. Doubly so when you are dealing with an enduring colossus such as Swan Lake. Perhaps only Tchaikovsky’s other tentpole, The Nutcracker, can boast such cultural permeation and name pedigree alone.

And yet, remarkably some three decades on from its debut, Matthew Bourne’s celebrated reimagining of Lake returns and feels as fresh, contemporary and, yes, accessible, and ever.

It’s a production mostly unchanged from previous incarnations, with a handful of aesthetic tweaks, technical flourishes and injections of colour and modernity here and there.

But if it ain’t broke…

The core of the classic fable is mostly intact, but Bourne’s decision to focus on an emotionally starved young prince and his dutiful, detached mother is immediately engaging and relatable. In the performance reviewed, Stephen Murray was disarmingly earnest as a conflicted, yearning yet hopeful Prince. Perfectly bandying between being tremulous and uncertain in his moments of rejection and despair to majestic, bold and bounding as waves of jubilance and discovery pulse through him, Murray continues to be a jewell in the crown of Bourne’s New Adventures. It’s a riveting and emotional performance around which the flights of fancy and even some sinister undercurrents can flow.

Bourne introduces rigidity and monochromatic uniformity to the early scenes of royal engagements and formal celebration. Lez Brotherston’s imposing, staging is imperious in its verticality and oversized adornments. Murray’s likability and flashes of boyish energy shine through all of this pomp and grandeur, making Ashley Shaw’s majestic yet austere Queen a neat foil. And, as with several characters here, Bourne infuses depth and dimension into his female supporting cast. Shaw’s Queen may seem stony, yet so too is she seductive and voracious in her pursuit of carnal affections. Bryony Wood’s girlfriend, first introduced as light hearted comic relief, arriving like a cross between Essex girl and Ariana Grande’s Glinda the Good, eventually blossoms into a much more layered and genuinely empathetic figure.

“a masterclass in using movement, blocking and placement to fill every inch of the production with something to watch and learn…:”

It’s sometimes tucked away in the corners of the set or even the depths of upstage where Bourne infuses his characters with neat storytelling and character beats of their own. Watch as Wood’s girlfriend clumsily juggles with a tray of shots even as the majority of the stage is occupied with a dazzling, stomping ball. Never busy yet always intricate, this is a masterclass in using movement, blocking and placement to fill every inch of the production with something to watch and learn about these characters and their place in the narrative.

On the subject of movement, Bourne’s decision to contemporise Lake brings with it a slew of interesting set pieces and infusions of dance. From a seedy burlesque bar which offers up a melange of disco, swing and jazz choreo, through to the fiery, pulse-racing flamenco of the royal ball, right down to peppering his Dance of the Cygnets with foot-stomping, boisterous juvenility, every sequence has an identity and essence all of its own. It remains a colourful, characterful and utterly intoxicating blending of Tchaikovsky’s timeless music with a creative who can tell a story and convey emotion through dance and performance in a distinct, confident and accessible way that few can compare to.

Which brings us to the swans. Groundbreaking in the nineties for its gender-swapping of ‘Odette’ and placing a same-sex dynamic so front and centre, Bourne’s greatest flourish is still here, in the titular set piece. Its Act II showcases an all-man flock of swans, who beautifully switch between animalistic temperance and beguiling grace. It is where Bourne’s Lake goes full ballet, yet coursing with an identity and virility all of its own.

Nowhere is this more evident than in Jackson Fisch’s bewitching turn as the Swan/Stranger. The plaudits given to the impressive company are exemplified in his blistering turn, a heady mix of muscular authority and effortless grace as the Swan, and raw magnetism and machismo as the enigmatic stranger. Fisch is an entrancing watch throughout, and the moments where he and Murray connect – physically and emotionally – crackle with raw passion and earnestness.

As prefaced, some may argue that making the likes of Swan Lake ‘accessible’, or going anywhere near modernising it, as being akin to sacrilege or the dumbing down of classic art. That Bourne’s wonderful treatment of the subject matter is celebrating three decades of acclaim and sold out audiences is testimony to the hogwashery of such nonsense.

A bold, bewitching fusion of classic and contemporary, and a seminal offering from a master of his art form, even thirty years on, Bourne’s Swan Lake soars, captivates and even occasionally terrifies. For fans of dance, of ballet and of absorbing storytelling on stage, let the spectacle and majesty here take wing. It’s an evening of theatrical magic to which few can compare.