“Ooh! My corset’s coming out.” The cheeky comment by a woman in the circle’s exit crush reminded me just how much you can cram into a small space! The Civic Theatre is an equally superb example; an extraordinary collection of decorous nooks like the Boro Bodur and the Elephant Bars where relief and refreshments are easily obtained and quiet conversations possible. Such a civilized and enjoyable venue, with its great auditorium acoustics under a high, starry vault amid the Arabian Nights pillars and fantasy beasts is the perfect place to enjoy iconic productions Iike Phantom of The Opera, and tonight’s opening of The Rocky Horror Show, which has its own Phantoms prowling on stage.

This word “iconic” presents us with a problem, however. Tim Curry in 1973 created the pivotal persona of Frank-n-Furter in the movie and the original stage version that I saw many times in the Kings Road Theatre (Chelsea, London). This Shakespearean actor is inimitable, so the danger of considering subsequent “skins” for the character, by comparison, has to be avoided. The other “iconic” pivot is the Gollum-like Riff-Raff, originally played indelibly, and originated in his own creation by Hamilton-born author Richard O’Brien. Described by promoter Stuart Macpherson in my 1978 programme as “balding, spider-like”, he is, in reality, an urbane, intelligent man of deep convictions, as confirmed in my conversation with him after the show and in his media interviews over the years. He was called on-stage at the end of opening night, and gave a gracious and meaningful epilogue before joining the cast for a final fling.

In the principal role, Stephen Webb gives us a fluid Frank-n-Furter with oodles of energy and a lashing of irony, but with less campiness than the movie, partly because of a strangely mid-Atlantic accent; somehow the British one seems to work best. The bathos of ‘I’m Going Home’ also lets him show off a singing voice with delicacy and texture. The character has, of course, been played in many different ways, not aways male and certainly not of the same trim silhouette of Tim Curry.

The Narrator is much more than the role title suggests, with Kristian Lavercombe’s thousands of performances in the musical across many characters, including Frank, bestowing him with a confident ease that allow him to deal with the expected audience interjections (now a normal part of the show) and to contemporise his script with tongue-in-cheek unflattering but well-received references to Ponsonby and Brian Tamaki. The ironic (iconic?) gravitas of the late Charles Gray is surpassed by Mr Lavercome’s assured audience management.

Riff-Raff is brought to us by Ryan Carter-Wilson who is nimble, but perhaps without quite the air of menace that O’Brien brought to the role. It is a character relying more on a sense of theatre and timing than on singing accomplishment, a model into which he fits well.

Brad Majors, one of the Denton “kids” and fiancée of Janet Weiss, is played by James Crisp who demonstrates his prolific West End musical creds which include Raoul in Phantom, when he takes his solo number “Once in a While”. The lyrics “after the night there’s a brand new day” remind us that the show is not really an obituary for humanity but a more optimistic light shining from the Frankenstein place; in even our velvet darkness there are shining stars.

Back on the King’s Road, Julie Covington was Janet Weiss, Nell Campbell (Little Nell) created Columbia and Birmingham-born Rayner Bourton rippled as Rocky (he was to go on to direct touring productions of the show). This Columbia is Daisy Steere, who gives a great tantrum before saying hello to oblivion.

Morgan Jackson is our Rocky, and his youthful good looks and physique, that have seen him in roles such as Jack (and the Beanstalk) and UK productions of Peter Pan, fit him perfectly for The Creature. Not just a pretty face, with biceps that glisten and gleam, he also has great singing chops.

This imported, touring show, in the words of one of the original London cast with whom I spoke later, “has been Las Vegas-ed”. More than that, at the hands of its director of some two decades, Christopher Luscombe, it has now been rocked up to become just as impactful as the original was when it flashed into being in London.

From the impact of the first wall of sound to the final ‘Time Warp’ reprise, the pounding beats and palpable energy of the six-piece tight rock band explode through the theatre, driven by Muppet-like drummer Harry Bent on full power. From our seat in the circle, the backing band overcame the vocal talents of the cast even when a full chorus was on stage. (I believe this has since been addressed.)

However, from the blond Bronx-voiced usherette who opens our show (Laura Bird) to the celebratory dance-along finale, this is a night to give yourself over to absolute pleasure, to enjoy the faithfully staged magic of lyrics and lurex that are now a multi- generational celebration of hot patootie rock and roll, crazy imagination and a haunting echo of a people who are perhaps more lost in time and in meaning that the prophet O’Brien could ever have imagined when he bound his future fears in a corset and let them loose on the gratification-seeking world of the seventies.

The almost-sequel (not overly successful) was titled Shock Treatment, and while the original might have electrified the conservative elements back in the seventies, this touring show is a faithful and thoroughly professional staging of which, one suspects, its delicate, satin-draped creator might be rather proud. I was sad to get out of this trap before decadence sapped my will, but the temptation to plunge in again will remain with me, as it has done now for many tens of thousands of fans, for over half a century.

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