Luke Evans and Hollywood Rebels Ignite Rocky Horror’s Studio 54 Comeback

Olivia Bennett, 1/30/2026Rocky Horror is back on Broadway at Studio 54, featuring Luke Evans as Dr. Frank-N-Furter. This revival promises a dazzling ensemble cast, irreverent direction, and a chaotic celebration of tradition and absurdity. Don't miss this limited engagement from March 26 to June 21—join the Time Warp!

The announcement brought a shiver of unfiltered glee across both theater folk and those who still stash fishnets in their nightstand. Roundabout Theatre Company has gathered a rollicking cast—truly, the kind of ensemble that would inspire even the most jaded Broadway veteran to search for fresh glitter. Front and sashaying center: Luke Evans, at long last on the Great White Way, channeling Dr. Frank-N-Furter with a mix of carnality and commander-in-chief eyeliner. Few men could waltz past Liza Minnelli’s ghost in this space and not be found wanting; one suspects Evans will manage just fine.

The supporting players are hardly less opulent. Rachel Dratch (yes, that Dratch) will serve as narrator—her reputation for skewering the obvious hints she might provide a level of meta-wit befitting both the occasion and the crowd. And then there’s Harvey Guillén, already a darling for his transformative roles, slated to twist from Eddie to Dr. Scott with—well, it’s tempting to say reckless abandon, but the man is too gifted for mere chaos. Juliette Lewis, who probably still has concert-stage bruises from her own wild youth, takes up Magenta. Meanwhile, Michaela Jaé Rodriguez, incandescent on screen and destined to smolder on stage, pulls on Columbia’s tap shoes. For the traditionalists, the casting of Andrew Durand and Stephanie Hsu as Brad and Janet should soothe any nerves—though, in truth, there may not be any unsoothed nerves at a Rocky Horror revival. Amber Gray as Riff Raff promises a haunted house party with attitude.

If the anticipation was frothy before, it’s verging on undignified now.

Studio 54 isn't just a venue; it's an accomplice, the sort of place where legends once floated across starburst lighting and never really landed. The pairing seems eerily apt. Here, Broadway’s glitter merges with disco’s shadow—both worlds riotous and almost ceremonial in their ritual. One can almost sense Andy Warhol at the back bar, raising a glass to the collision of pop art and high camp.

This production hardly plans to rest on the laurels of its cult status. Sam Pinkleton, who scored a Tony for his direction of the deliciously irreverent Oh, Mary!, leads the creative charge, paired up with choreographer Ani Taj. Pinkleton brings a knack for loud, chaotic grace—the good kind. The design team looks to be casting a spell that’s more incantation than imitation: Kris Kukul (music supervision), “dots” on set detail (as cryptic as their moniker), David I. Reynoso’s costumes set for maximum perversion, Jane Cox’s lighting rigged to tease and reveal, and sonic and makeup wizards Brian Ronan, Alberto "Albee" Alvarado, and Sterling Tull rounding out the visual carnival. Each element in place to make sure that, come opening night, it’s less “polished Broadway fare” and more “joyous, lawless jolt.”

The story, for those who need the memory jogged (or are just emerging from a very long sleep), follows the misadventures of Brad and Janet, whose primness is no match for Dr. Frank-N-Furter’s glitzy netherworld. It’s a night that transforms them—depending on your outlook—utterly or just for fun. Toast will be thrown, someone will shriek “Dammit, Janet,” and possibly a new fan or two of absurdity will be inducted.

What’s intriguing, perhaps, is the way this particular time warp feels right at home in a broader pop culture tapestry. As 2025’s awards season preens—with Cher, Tina Knowles, and Reese Witherspoon among those trading silver screens for audiobook stardom—Broadway seems to be luring back the screen royalty. A circular migration. One moment you’re holding an Audie nomination, the next you’re hip-swiveling under a disco ball and trading staccato syllables with a crowd in hospital gowns.

There’s no room for apathy here—the production is an 11-week flash, from March 26 to June 21, and odds are good you’ll catch both diehards and the merely intrigued elbowing into ticket lines. It’s less a revival, in that sense, than an excitable reunion—like the universe winking at itself. Of course, people never really gave up the Time Warp, let alone the sequins.

Come to think of it, some traditions—especially those soaked in neon and irreverence—deserve to be passed on, decade to decade, one midnight toast at a time. Broadway’s best moments have rarely apologized for their excess; Rocky Horror certainly won’t start now.

Some things in show business simply don’t know when to rest—thank heaven for that. The Rocky Horror Show, by all evidence, has decided that aging gracefully means arriving back on Broadway after a 25-year pause, strutted straight into the historic, shadowy embrace of Studio 54. If Studio 54’s walls could talk, they’d probably sing, cackle, and maybe share a caustic review or two—because this year, the Tim Curry-shaped silhouette haunting its rafters isn't just memory. It’s a full-throated, rhinestone-bedecked rebellion.The announcement brought a shiver of unfiltered glee across both theater folk and those who still stash fishnets in their nightstand. Roundabout Theatre Company has gathered a rollicking cast—truly, the kind of ensemble that would inspire even the most jaded Broadway veteran to search for fresh glitter. Front and sashaying center: Luke Evans, at long last on the Great White Way, channeling Dr. Frank-N-Furter with a mix of carnality and commander-in-chief eyeliner. Few men could waltz past Liza Minnelli’s ghost in this space and not be found wanting; one suspects Evans will manage just fine.The supporting players are hardly less opulent. Rachel Dratch (yes, that Dratch) will serve as narrator—her reputation for skewering the obvious hints she might provide a level of meta-wit befitting both the occasion and the crowd. And then there’s Harvey Guillén, already a darling for his transformative roles, slated to twist from Eddie to Dr. Scott with—well, it’s tempting to say reckless abandon, but the man is too gifted for mere chaos. Juliette Lewis, who probably still has concert-stage bruises from her own wild youth, takes up Magenta. Meanwhile, Michaela Jaé Rodriguez, incandescent on screen and destined to smolder on stage, pulls on Columbia’s tap shoes. For the traditionalists, the casting of Andrew Durand and Stephanie Hsu as Brad and Janet should soothe any nerves—though, in truth, there may not be any unsoothed nerves at a Rocky Horror revival. Amber Gray as Riff Raff promises a haunted house party with attitude.If the anticipation was frothy before, it’s verging on undignified now.Studio 54 isn't just a venue; it's an accomplice, the sort of place where legends once floated across starburst lighting and never really landed. The pairing seems eerily apt. Here, Broadway’s glitter merges with disco’s shadow—both worlds riotous and almost ceremonial in their ritual. One can almost sense Andy Warhol at the back bar, raising a glass to the collision of pop art and high camp.This production hardly plans to rest on the laurels of its cult status. Sam Pinkleton, who scored a Tony for his direction of the deliciously irreverent Oh, Mary!, leads the creative charge, paired up with choreographer Ani Taj. Pinkleton brings a knack for loud, chaotic grace—the good kind. The design team looks to be casting a spell that’s more incantation than imitation: Kris Kukul (music supervision), “dots” on set detail (as cryptic as their moniker), David I. Reynoso’s costumes set for maximum perversion, Jane Cox’s lighting rigged to tease and reveal, and sonic and makeup wizards Brian Ronan, Alberto "Albee" Alvarado, and Sterling Tull rounding out the visual carnival. Each element in place to make sure that, come opening night, it’s less “polished Broadway fare” and more “joyous, lawless jolt.”The story, for those who need the memory jogged (or are just emerging from a very long sleep), follows the misadventures of Brad and Janet, whose primness is no match for Dr. Frank-N-Furter’s glitzy netherworld. It’s a night that transforms them—depending on your outlook—utterly or just for fun. Toast will be thrown, someone will shriek “Dammit, Janet,” and possibly a new fan or two of absurdity will be inducted.What’s intriguing, perhaps, is the way this particular time warp feels right at home in a broader pop culture tapestry. As 2025’s awards season preens—with Cher, Tina Knowles, and Reese Witherspoon among those trading silver screens for audiobook stardom—Broadway seems to be luring back the screen royalty. A circular migration. One moment you’re holding an Audie nomination, the next you’re hip-swiveling under a disco ball and trading staccato syllables with a crowd in hospital gowns.There’s no room for apathy here—the production is an 11-week flash, from March 26 to June 21, and odds are good you’ll catch both diehards and the merely intrigued elbowing into ticket lines. It’s less a revival, in that sense, than an excitable reunion—like the universe winking at itself. Of course, people never really gave up the Time Warp, let alone the sequins.Come to think of it, some traditions—especially those soaked in neon and irreverence—deserve to be passed on, decade to decade, one midnight toast at a time. Broadway’s best moments have rarely apologized for their excess; Rocky Horror certainly won’t start now.