Rocky Horror Show leaves Nottingham howling with delight
Nothing says theatrical release from the mundane like stepping into the Royal Concert Hall last week and discovering you’re not just an audience member, you’re a costumed co-conspirator in the gloriously camp universe of Frank N Furter. The fringe roots of the show sparkle in its 2025 incarnation, and this production doesn’t hold back.
Jason Donovan’s return as Frank N Furter after 25 years is a masterstroke. He radiates world weary seduction in every corseted stride and arch of the eyebrow, leaving us all deliciously unsettled. Alongside him, Connor Carson and Lauren Chia bring crisp charm as the squeaky clean couple thrown headlong into chaos.
On this particular night, Morgan Jackson’s role was taken over by Arthur Janes, who slipped into Rocky with such composure and flair that he earned applause usually reserved for seasoned company members.
Nathan Caton as the narrator doesn’t simply guide the action, he thrives on it. With razor sharp wit rooted in his stand up pedigree, he met every heckle with a perfectly timed, cutting put down that had the audience cheering and roaring. His unscripted responses felt both effortless and inspired, and they truly powered the show’s electric atmosphere.
Riff Raff, portrayed this time by Job Greuter, was a revelation of intensity and precision. Every movement, whether perched in the shadows or leaning into a chilling line, radiated an unnerving calm that only amplified his comic timing. He mined those small physical beats, an elbow, a raised eyebrow, a deliberate pause, for maximum effect. Greuter only needed the flicker of a glance to turn a moment into comedic gold. Watching him was mesmerising; he felt as if he haunted the edges of the stage, a silent ringmaster perfectly in sync with the mayhem.
The staging leans into its 1970s sci fi roots with cartoon cut out castles, smoky haze, and that gloriously upright, silky pink bed, a piece of perfect Rocky Horror iconography. When “The Time Warp” finally surged through the auditorium, the audience rose as one, hands on hips, pelvic thrusts in full swing, and we surrendered to one of the most gloriously ridiculous dancing ovations of recent memory.
This is camp refashioned as performance art. Subtle? No. Utterly delightful? Absolutely. For anyone craving an evening of unashamed frivolity, theatrical pandemonium, and that rare kind of solidarity only Rocky Horror can summon, this is your time to shine.
