Rocky Horror Show
Rocky Horror Show, Star Theatre, Star City Casino, Pyrmont; February 12-March 30; Phone: 1300 795 267 or www.ticketmaster.com.au
There have been countless Rockys since Richard O'Brien and Jim Sharman first devised it 30+ years ago in London: it's an oddly enduring work: ramshackle, silly and totally adored by millions of Rocky cultists around the world. It tells of the slide to lubricious perdition of two innocents (Brad and Janet) when a handy puncture on a stormy night delivers them to the evil Transylvanian Trany Frank'n'Furter's castle and a night from which their virginity and heterosexuality will never recover.
By and large, the assumption is that what was shocking then is not shocking now, but that depends. Watching it again in 2008 Sydney is a curious experience. The worlds of Sydney and London then were very different: London was in the dying throes of its Swinging period and diving headlong into grungy punk, while Sydney closed down at midday on Saturday and went to sleep until Monday morning.
Puberty Blues (the 1979 book by Gabrielle Carey and Kathy Lette, not the later movie) signaled an awakening but also highlighted the yawning chasm between Cronulla beach culture and the Punk end of the Kings Road. And that chasm is still apparent, or has been reincarnated, in this Rocky. The general public might not be shocked, per se, by the idea of a transexual preying on two nice young people of either sex, but you only have to think about the angst suffered by the production team behind the stage version of Priscilla to stop and think for a minute.
There was much debate, before the show left Sydney as to whether Melbourne would accept a big pink bus with "F**k off Faggots" splashed across its side. One might figure that sophistication and progress may only be as deep as a layer of pancake foundation after all: the theme of the 30th Mardi Gras parade in Sydney on March 1 was the increasing and unchecked violence and discrimination against gays and lesbians. Plus ca change.
Back to Rocky and first things first. Director Gale Edwards has done a characteristically brilliant job of realising the campy old show. This Rocky Horror is the kind of sweeping, swirling, wittily-detailed but big-picture production at which she excels (think JC Superstar through The Boy From Oz to Sweeney Todd). It's flashy and spectacular, but also a model of economy: one set, roll-on, roll-off bits and pieces, a couple of drop-down backcloths and that's it. It means the pace can be non-stop, the performers are the focus and what's lacking in characterisation - they are cartoons after all - is made up for by the cast's energetic, total-conviction immersion in their roles and make up.
Similarly, Julie Lynch has had a lot of fun - and seemingly a fair whack of the budget - on the costumes: fishnets, wigs and bustiers-au go go, as well as some shrewd character study outfits, for Riff-Raff and Magenta, in particular. Which brings us to the cast.
As Riff-Raff and Magenta, Paul Capsis and Tamsin Carroll are a gift in the roles of these unholy siblings. The two are totally scintillating and the frisson of risk that surrounds them is delicious. The rest of the company is also first rate. Sharon Millerchip is a dazzling Columbia, Michael Cormick's Eddie is the real grungy deal, John Waters is a world-weary Narrator, while Andrew Bevis and Kellie Rode as Brad and Janet are the perfectly formed clean cut college kids who find themselves blinking myopically in deepest Transylvania.
As Rocky - Frank'n'Furter's greatest creation - Simon Farrow not only looks like the Greek god of the gym, he can also sing, dance and the way he deals with his codpiece suggests he not only knows about irony but also doesn't mind looking very silly too. In a sixpack spunkrat sort of way, of course.
And that brings us finally to Frank'n'Furter himself and what is, for me, the vague disappointment at the centre of an otherwise terrific night out. As the gender-bending, narcissistic Transylvanian, iOTA is big, beautiful and bold. He can sing and he can act, he can dance and prance in outrageous platform stilettoes and he and his many dribbling fans clearly think he is Frank to a tee. But I don't. He is too sleek, too clean, too smug, too knowingly nice. Frank needs to revel in the dark side, believe in the dark side, not just waggle his tongue and crotch and bat his eyelashes. iOTA is like one of those Hollywood stars who only plays heroes or heroines - Sandra Dee, Annette Funicello - when Frank must have a backbone of pure Barbara Stanwyck.
The first Frank was Tim Curry and on stage he was howlingly dangerous and not a bit concerned about niceness. Reg Livermore was Australia's answer and he based his Frank on Bette Davis (!). Actually, the last word on the role should go to Reg because it couldn't be better advice, nor highlight more clearly why there is a pastel hole in the heart of the current Horror:
"My advice to any prospective Frank is this: if you're remotely concerned about whether the audience thinks you're really like that, if you care at all what an audience thinks about you personally, you'd be well advised to take off the corset and head home. Frank is like that; he's worse, and must be played that way. Frank is the fearless embodiment of all that's unspeakable, let alone the unnatural; his antics encourage many laughs, but first and foremost he presents real and terrible threat. Never forget, the audience must be wary of him, they should never take their eyes off him, and if they do it's at their peril."
Mind you, Reg also adds: "Some years after I'd quit the show, I finally succumbed and saw the movie version; I was shocked and surprised to observe how beautiful Tim Curry was. Nobody ever told me Frank 'n' Furter was supposed to be attractive!"
Which just goes to show that Bette and Barbara would still be cast as the bad girls and get their fatal come-uppance in the end: to be played on stage by iOTA. Unless he eventually figures out that badness is more than skin-deep and a valid career choice.
