The Rocky Horror Show

The Rocky Horror Show feels like the kind of production you should be watching at 10pm on a Friday, while giggly and sufficiently sauced. Watching the romp through alien-induced sexual liberation during the early evening on a weeknight feels odd, almost stale. Its subversive elements seem too tame now in our age of raunch culture, which isn’t helped by a gyrating, lip-syncing crowd, all too familiar with when the next fellatio joke will cum.

You can’t question the songs or the writing: The Rocky Horror Show is a classic for a reason. You definitely can’t question the star power of Craig McLachlan, who struts across the sparse stage, breaking the fourth wall with a wink and a nudge. In Frank N Furter’s fishnets McLachlan appears comfortable; he plays the crowd, lifting this production from B-grade community theatre fair to something closer to deserving off its accolades. He and Kristian Lavercombe as Riff Raff have the most fun: they bring vitality their roles and they clearly love the text. Which is why it’s a shame that the rest of the casting mostly fell flat; there were off-notes, uncomfortable movements, almost a sense of shyness. The concluding Time Warp/Sweet Transvestite reprise was the most wild and fun, the cast letting finally loose.