Rocky horror’s faded shine: a broadway revival falls flat

Richard O’Brien’s The Rocky Horror Show, a gloriously campy offspring of sci-fi and horror flicks, has stubbornly clung to life for decades. Yet, its 1975 film—a record-breaking theatrical run—has largely eclipsed the original stage production’s legacy, cementing a particular, arguably definitive, interpretation.

A stage show stuck in second gear

The recent Broadway revival, brimming with starry talent including Luke Evans as Frank-n-Furter and Stephanie Hsu as Janet, arrives with considerable buzz. However, the experience itself proved disappointingly muted. My recent viewing at Studio 54 felt less like a joyous transport and more like a weary revisiting of a well-worn memory.

The production’s announcement was, frankly, overblown, fueled by the assembled cast’s star power. West End veteran Evans tackles the iconic role – previously brought to life by Tim Curry – while Hsu embodies the film’s Sarandon-played Janet. Juliette Lewis rounds out the ensemble as Magenta, and Rachel Dratch provides delightfully cynical commentary as the Narrator. Adding to the excitement was the involvement of Sam Pinkleton, whose recent work on Oh, Mary! showcased a knack for crafting enduring Broadway hits.

Stepping into the theatre, one is immediately assaulted by a deluge of lurid lighting and a chaotic jumble of kitsch. The anticipation, initially palpable, quickly dissolved. Lewis’s opening rendition of ‘Science Fiction Double Feature’ offered a charming, if slightly unsteady, start. Evans and Andrew Durand, portraying Brad, managed to propel the plot – a deliberately meandering affair – with a winning earnestness, while Pinkleton’s stagecraft—hand projections, miniature Frank-n-Furter mansions—effectively communicated the show's inherent silliness.

But the initial momentum quickly decayed. Pinkleton’s sharpness, so evident in Oh, Mary!, was conspicuously absent. The production felt aimless, shuffling across the stage with a frustrating lack of urgency. It’s a costly night at the theatre; one expects greater precision, a more relentless pursuit of the audience’s attention. The film’s assuredness—a cornerstone of the production—was noticeably lacking, replaced by a blurry, increasingly abstract staging.

Scattered highlights punctuated the lackluster performance. Evans, burdened by a truly awful wig, delivered a surprisingly strong rendition of ‘I’m Going Home’, channeling a wonderfully flamboyant Elton John. Dratch, as the Narrator, reliably provided comedic relief, playfully engaging with the audience's shouted responses – a common occurrence at any film screening. However, the comedy waned considerably after that. Harvey Guillén as Eddie was largely inaudible during the frantic chaos of ‘Hot Patootie’, and Guillén’s subsequent performance as Dr. Scott proved similarly underwhelming, swallowed by Pinkleton’s increasingly convoluted plotting. It became clear that the cast and crew, while possessing a clear understanding of the material, struggled to effectively communicate that understanding to the audience – a disconcerting lapse of connection.

The audience, predictably, was filled with devotees, many of whom actively participated in the show’s improvisational elements. Yet, even seasoned fans seemed disoriented, including a family of three who deserted the performance midway through act two. A theater charging hundreds of dollars per ticket demands a far more lucid presentation than Pinkleton ultimately provided; a truly successful Rocky Horror revival should serve as a genuine gateway for new fans, not merely a nostalgic echo of past nights at the movies. Ultimately, the revival’s failure speaks to a fundamental misjudgment: the show needs to be leaner, bolder, and utterly obsessed with capturing the audience’s attention, not simply replicating a familiar experience.