Playwright: book, music and lyrics by Richard O'Brien
At: Chicago Center For The Performing Arts, 777 N. Green St.
Phone: (312) 327-2000; $35-$45
Runs through: Nov. 30
Leave the toast, the rice and the smartass comments at home. The Rocky Horror Show has now entered the annals of Nostalgic Naughtiness. As with such vintage shockers as Hair, Tommy, and Jesus Christ Superstar, its present incarnations are rooted, not in youthful rebellion, but in secure celebration. Its disciples are nowadays a generation comfortably middle-aged, who attribute much of their spiritual growth to Richard O'Brien's liberating message of self-fulfillment.
Anthony J. and Joseph Tomaska, producers of the long-running Tony 'N' Tina's Wedding, are adept at reconstructing memories of How We Wish It Had Been, and deliver a show as luxuriously extravagant as money and unlimited credit at American Science & Surplus can buy: Body-mike amplification so we hear every word of the intricate vocal arrangements. A spacious two-level set (looking no more like Medieval Times than can be helped) with room onstage for a 5-piece band. Rainbow-hued swivel-spotlights swooping like bats into the corners of the room. A wardrobe based, not on faux-tawdry retrogoth chic as in the original production, but multitextured LED-studded space-age ensembles to make Cher envious.
The show's budget also allows them to hire Marc Robin and John Hiltebrand, veteran directors who keep the action crisp and fast-paced, even managing to inject some full-cast dance numbers. Much-publicized ringer Mancow Muller was AWOL on opening night—Rob Rahn capably assuming the role of The Narrator in addition to his own as a younger, tenor-voiced Dr. Scott. But guest-star power was forthcoming in abundance from cabaret chanteuse Amy Armstrong, cross-gender cast as doomed biker Eddie, with Karla L Beard's pint-sized Columbia rendering them a charming moose-and-squirrel duo.
Curt Dale Clark and Roberta Duchak's Brad and Janet are more assertive in 2003 (their real-life counterparts comprise a major portion of the audience, after all), as is Michael Witwer's Rocky. And strutting proudly in five-inch heeled boots, cobweb-fragile chain mail and enough rhinestones to sink the Sonic Osculator, Scott Alan Jones' ambisexual Dr. Frank leads his coven of athletic odalisques in cozying up to lucky playgoers.
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