'Ladies and gentlemen, would those holding ticket numbers 200 to 249 please assemble to the right." No, not a delightful early morning departure from Heathrow, with cattle class passengers being shuffled into line. This was a most unusual Oxford Philomusica concert, held at the BMW plant in Cowley.

First to the cinema. A screen had been installed in the cavernous, ex-Pressed Steel building sometimes used for Creation Theatre productions. In front of the screen, the entire Oxford Philomusica had assembled, complete with considerably extended percussion section. The orchestra was to play Charles Chaplin's own score to his anachronistic film Modern Times - anachronistic because this largely silent film was released in 1936, well after sound had become universal.

Modern Times marks the final appearance of the Little Tramp the bowler-hatted, cane-carrying character that brought Chaplin worldwide fame (incidentally, it was great to see that one member of the audience was wearing a miniature bowler, perched at a jaunty angle above her curls). As always, there are many indignities and adversities for the oppressed Little Tramp to overcome. He is set to work on a production line, endlessly hammering bolts into steel plates. Huge bullies tower over him, the foreman on one side, a co-worker on the other. Later jobs include shipyard labourer (where Chaplin accidentally causes the premature launch of a mammoth vessel), and night watchman at a posh department store. This job provides scope for demure nocturnal frolics in the bedding department with Paulette Goddard, for several years Chaplin's real-life partner.

The musical score to Modern Times reached the printed page courtesy of a tortuous process. As the Philomusica's performance made clear, Chaplin had a fine sense of rhythm and atmosphere. But he couldn't read or write a note of music, so he engaged squads of arrangers and orchestrators (led on this film by Edward Powell and David Raksin), who had to work to Chaplin's exacting standards. Under the highly experienced guidance of conductor Carl Davis (pictured above), the Philomusica took to the score (as restored in 2000 by Timothy Brock) like ducks to water, with swirling strings for the romantic numbers, and staccato percussion playing for the production line sequences.

Then it was time for the theme of the evening to be (if you will pardon the expression) hammered home. Sorted into our ticket-numbered groups, we were off to visit the Mini production line itself - a very different affair compared to the labour-intensive, inhuman sweatshop endured by the Little Tramp. In 2008, workers are called 'associates', our excellent guide Rebecca Baxter told us. On the walls were pictures of associates who had suggested timesaving improvements. All around, huge robots, their arms looking like gleaming mobile sculptures, did the heavy work as they moved body panels and engines into position. But, Charles Chaplin would surely have been delighted to note, you can't beat a human being for checking when a body panel doesn't feel quite right, or for dealing with an engine that refuses to start as a car leaves the production line.