She’s still a wild and an untamed thing.
Like a regular visit from your favourite aunt, Rocky Horror rocks up once more at the Grand Theatre Wolverhampton to holler, heckle and howl, to shout, shimmy and shock, to dazzle, disturb and delight. Since it burst on the fringe scene fifty-three earth years ago it has transcended taste and tact with an ebullient effusion of mad-cap antics and a full-bodied burst of good old rock and roll to deploy a tale both carnal and comic with just a hint of poignancy running through its tainted veins. Like a mad scientist pondering the morality of his unnatural endeavours, I wonder if Richard O’Brien quite thought what he was unleashing on an unsuspecting world when he sharpened his quill and wrote “Michael Rennie was ill the day the earth stood still…” and every ensuring dirty ditty and sensuous song. Just as those life-forms evolve in the films he attempts to parody, The Rocky Horror Show has grown, transformed, transmogrified and metamorphosed into a thousand and one interpretations, perhaps more than any other show and each time gives us a fast blast of extraterrestrial excitement with alien aplomb. Doctor Frank N. Furter wants a man (with blonde hair and a tan) so grows his own without reckoning on the inadvertent interference of those virginal innocents, Brad and Janet.
Stephen Webb grabs his character by the throat and gives Frank N.Furter a refreshingly gutsy interpretation balanced perfectly by Jackie Clunes’ somewhat demure yet filthy narrator. James Bisp and Haley Flaherty skip deftly through their roles as Brad and Janet. Riff Raff is well-handled by understudy Jesse Chidera. Daisy Steer, Laura Bird, Edward Bellingham, and Beth Perrins complete the family – leaving the well-toned muscles of Morgan Jackson to speak for themselves, which they do – in abundance. Gareth Owens sound is superb and brings out the best in Adam Smith’s stunning band.
Despite a small and muted audience, the show still earns its spurs and splendidly allows us to give ourselves over to almost pleasure. But the real and total plaudits must be laid at the high heels of the goddess and progenitor of this divine and decadent creature, Richard O’Brien, who doubtless has earned his keep a thousand times over in royalties. His wild and untamed thing is a gift to every dropout, a present to every misfit and an offering to every bohemian, dissenter, freak, oddball and weirdo looking for a place to belong. You’ve found it – and you are welcome with open arms.
“And crawling on the planet’s face, some insects called the human race. Lost in time and lost in space and meaning….”
Reviewer: Peter Kinnock
Reviewed: 13th April 2026
North West End UK Rating:
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