Few shows can claim to be less a performance and more a collective ritual. But, five decades on from its debut, The Rocky Horror Show continues to function as a rollicking, riotously communal night out, and Trafalgar Theatre’s latest production leans confidently into this strength.

It gets that Richard O’Brien’s cult musical institution isn’t simply watched; it’s activated. For many, the script is secondary to the shared experience, and this Christopher Luscombe-directed retelling wisely understands this, allowing space for chaos without losing control.

Freshly engaged sweethearts Brad (James Bisp) and Janet (Haley Flaherty) find themselves stranded on a stormy night when a breakdown leads them to a remote castle, home to the transvestite alien scientist Dr Frank-N-Furter (former Hit Parade sweetheart Jason Donovan). What begins as a plea for help quickly descends into a night of sexual awakening, mad science and anarchic indulgence, as Frank unveils his latest creation, the muscle-bound Rocky (Morgan Jackson), and gleefully dismantles the couple’s buttoned-up morality. As the party spirals, loyalties fracture, desires surface, and the night tilts from camp comedy into sci-fi chaos, paranoia and murder.

Donovan’s approach to Frank proves shrewdly distinct. Rather than attempting to ape Tim Curry’s seminal movie performance, he carves out a version that is darker and more grotesque. There’s something knowingly gruesome about his take – less cabaret vamp, more mad scientist unravelling. While his diction can occasionally muddy the lyric clarity, the characterisation itself avoids mimicry and earns its own stiletto heel on the stage.

The most radical character retelling is that of Jackson’s Rocky, who uses his athleticism and obvious vocal chops to morph the moribund lunk of some of the previous readings into something far showier and more exuberant.

The production’s standout performance comes from Jackie Clune as the Narrator. Her quick-witted ad-libbing and fearless engagement with the audience provide the production with its sharpest edge, effortlessly steering the mayhem while amplifying it. She remains the show’s most reliable anchor and its most consistently funny presence.

Across the ensemble, the dancing is more enthusiastic than polished, but that works in the show’s favour. Precision would feel almost beside the point here. What matters is spirit, and the main cast attack the choreography with infectious gusto. Camp, after all, thrives on excess rather than finesse. The main players deliver pretty much note-perfect performances, understanding exactly the kind of show they’re in.

There are also some freshly ribald touches to the staging, particularly in Frank’s seduction of Brad and Janet, which lands as one of the show’s comic highlights.

Technically, the production is impressive throughout, with particular plaudits due to Nick Richings’s lighting design, which adds texture and theatrical punch throughout.

What perhaps stands out most, watching Rocky Horror now, is just how structurally lopsided it remains. The first half delivers pure, anarchic pleasure (buoyed by indestructible numbers like ‘The Time Warp’ and ‘Sweet Transvestite’). The second veers into rock-opera territory, showcasing the cast’s vocal ability but losing momentum and ending on a notably downbeat note. Clearly recognising this imbalance, the audience is sent home with exuberant reprises of its signature tunes, ensuring that final impression is one of release rather than reflection.

As ever, The Rocky Horror Show may not be perfect. But as a communal, gloriously unruly experience, it still knows exactly how to misbehave … while gleefully encouraging its audience to join it.