Review: The Rocky Horror Show (Sunderland Empire)
By Alex Roy
If you have noticed an influx of corsets and fishnets in Sunderland this week, that can only mean one thing: the grand return of The Rocky Horror Show to the Sunderland Empire. Almost a year on from its last North-East visit (having graced Newcastle Theatre Royal last January) Richard O’Brien’s cult classic has come back with its signature blend of camp excess and joyful irreverence very much intact.
For the uninitiated, The Rocky Horror Show’s plot is famously secondary to its anarchic pleasure. Newly engaged Brad Majors and Janet Weiss find themselves stranded in a storm, their broken-down car (and the guiding lights of the audience in Over at the Frankenstein Place) leading them to a nearby mansion. Seeking nothing more than a phone and each other, they are instead plunged into a world of aliens, sexual transgression, floor-shows and synthetic men. It makes little sense, but deliberately so; the silliness and rich queer history surrounding the piece more than compensate for any narrative nonchalance.
As I preface any Rocky Horror review with, I hold a deep-seated affection for this show. It has shaped much of my time at Durham, forming the subject of my undergraduate dissertation. Approaching this production then, I am less interested in assessing the musical conceptually – Rocky Horror will be a constant love of mine – than in considering how seamlessly the 2025–2026 touring cast have assimilated into its gloriously whacky world.
A queer, female Narrator felt not only welcome but revelatory, and Clune anchored the evening with confidence and warmth
Part of the show’s enduring appeal, beyond its dense history and nostalgic pull, is that each performance is unique by design. Framed by the Narrator, this iteration found its anchor in Jackie Clune, whose charm proved utterly irresistible. Her delivery ensured the evening felt personal, riotously funny, and unmistakably tethered to Sunderland. Clune’s wit was razor-sharp, bouncing back from callbacks with impressive ease; a highlight came when a chorus of “life is an illusion” (from myself included) was met with the rejoinder, “you’re all from Durham;” this evoked roaring laughter. Her embrace of the show’s queerness was equally assured – her reimagining of MAGA as “Make America Gay Again” landed with glee. A queer, female Narrator felt not only welcome but revelatory, and Clune anchored the evening with confidence and warmth.
The production’s expected technical grandeur prevailed. Nick Richings’ lighting design is particularly adept at foreshadowing fate: the spotlighting of Frank N. Furter during Sweet Transvestite is reminiscent of tractor beams, a clever visual nod to Frank’s extraterrestrial identity. Complementing this, Gareth Owen’s sound design impresses through its precision; even the enhanced crack of whips adds texture and theatrical heft.
The band breathe life into the score’s remarkable versatility, weaving seamlessly between numbers
The band breathe life into the score’s remarkable versatility, weaving seamlessly between numbers. From the rock inflections of Hot Patootie to the melancholic tones of Once in a While, the musicians navigate the shifts with flair: Ollie Boorman’s drums driving the energy, alongside Dan Humphreys on bass, Luke Beirne on guitar and Dave Webb on reeds, under the assured musical direction of Adam Smith. Seeing the band elevated above the stage remains an enduring pleasure.
Performance-wise, the cast feel true to the show’s essence. Stephen Webb’s return to Frank N. Furter is a standout: emotionally expansive and unexpectedly endearing, lending real poignancy to his eventual downfall. His buoyant introduction of Rocky and spirited background flaunting in The Sword of Damocles provoked infectious excitement. It was also a delight to welcome back Morgan Jackson as Rocky; his physical agility and distinctive take on the role continue to impress.
Assuming the roles of Brad and Janet are James Bisp and Haley Flaherty, who share a compelling chemistry. Their vocal choices, particularly in Damn It, Janet and Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me, felt fresh while remaining faithful to the score.
Columbia – long a personal favourite – shines in this iteration, her character invigorated through Christopher Luscombe’s direction. Daisy Steere attacks the role with boundless energy, especially in the lead-up to Rose Tint My World and the floor show. Her execution of Nathan M. Wright’s choreography is precise and exuberant, capturing the personable Columbia audiences adore; her tap dance break in Time Warp in particular was spectacular.
The ensemble deliver in abundance. Notable mentions go to Laura Bird’s Magenta and Usherette, and Ryan Carter-Wilson’s angular Riff Raff. Edward Bullingham brings fresh energy to Dr. Scott, while Eddie’s Teddy remains a raucous joy.
In all, despite an initial hesitation from the Sunderland Empire audience to fully lean into the callbacks (or at least was the case in the dress circle!) the production proves as impeccable as ever. Cast and creatives alike deliver a night of theatre that revels in excess, celebrates queerness, and invites audiences to give themselves over entirely to the madness.
Image credit – Image provided by the Sunderland Empire Theatre.
