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In ‘Rocky Horror,’ Luke Evans Finds His Ballad of Sexual Liberation

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In ‘Rocky Horror,’ Luke Evans Finds His Ballad of Sexual Liberation

There’s a Hollywood action star, standing in silhouette at the top of a creepy manor’s staircase, dressed in a corset and jockstrap, thighs fitted into fishnets and hair secured under a wig that could have been scalped from Charli XCX.

“I’m just a sweet transvestite,” the action star, Luke Evans, croons, suggestively caressing his nipples. “From Transsexual, Transylvania.”

Evans, 47, has taken on the role of Dr. Frank-N-Furter in “The Rocky Horror Show” on Broadway, which opened last month at Studio 54. He has lost almost 20 pounds since performances began at the end of March, he said, and he relies on a small can of oxygen to power through a production in which he barely leaves the stage. Every night, he grabs his blond dachshund, Lala, who waits in his dressing room, and returns to a rented apartment in Manhattan’s Chelsea neighborhood, covered in glitter. At one point, after Evans discovered glitter in her poop, Lala took a brief intermission from the theater.

“It’s mental,” Evans said of the demands of a Broadway show. He has been giving eight high-octane performances a week as a mad scientist who sees himself as a prophet of sexual liberation. It is a role made famous by Tim Curry in the 1975 film version. (Curry also performed in the original production in London in 1973, and the show’s subsequent runs in Los Angeles and New York.) About a week into joining the Broadway production of “Moulin Rouge! The Musical,” the rapper Megan Thee Stallion was hospitalized in March for exhaustion.

But the physical strain of running across the stage in patent leather boots with five-inch heels has garnered him a Tony nomination for best performance by a lead actor in a musical. It may also do wonders for how the world sees Evans. For the past two decades, Hollywood has frequently cast him as an action hero. “I was somebody who could drive a bus, or build a wall, or kill a dragon,” he said.

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Well, it was a little more glamorous than that: He has starred in billion-dollar global blockbusters including the “Fast & Furious” franchise and “The Hobbit.” But it is no less confining for an actor who thinks he might have something more to offer audiences than pistol whips and fisticuffs.

“My career started at a breakneck speed,” Evans told me one morning on the patio of his Chelsea hotel as Lala gently snored in his lap. “For about eight years, I felt like I didn’t breathe.”

The marathon began in 2010 when Evans began the transition from a career on the London stage to one in Hollywood as a dependable Adonis. He played the sun god Apollo in a campy 2010 remake of “Clash of the Titans,” and within the next four years, he earned a promotion in the Greek pantheon (playing Zeus in “The Immortals”), drove expensive cars (playing the villainous Owen Shaw in the “Fast & Furious” series), learned archery (playing Bard the Bowman in “The Hobbit” movie trilogy), and became a vampire (playing the title character in “Dracula Untold”). His career seemed to be hitting a peak in 2017 when he received positive reviews as the meathead Gaston in the live-action remake of Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast.”

These days, Evans is looking ahead to the next 10 years. He has released music, built a clothing brand with his boyfriend, Fran Tomas, and developed properties across Europe, including in the places where he splits his time, Lisbon and Ibiza. He talks often about refusing to dwell on the past, but the past certainly informs his decisions.

Becoming famous in his early 30s left him feeling that he had limited time to make his mark in Hollywood. “This business is all about objectivity,” Evans said. But even as his star ascended, he was looking over his shoulder at the younger stars of the “Twilight” films.

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“They were porcelain and perfect. They glowed,” the actor said. “I would never have been cast. Maybe as some haggard, old half-wolf.”

Even a decade later, nobody would describe Evans as haggard. The director of the “Rocky Horror” revival, Sam Pinkleton, prefers to think of him as a “shape-shifter.”

“He contains multitudes,” Pinkleton said. “One of those is a giant dude who can kick your ass, and the next minute he is kitty-cat purr.”

“I remember Luke talking a lot about how he wanted to transform with this role,” the director added, saying that Evans was considered for the part early in the casting process. “He realized that he could do things with this role that he was never allowed to do.”

Evans now has a chance to redefine himself in portraying Frank-N-Furter. And knowing more about his back story is likely to enrich the performance that audiences see onstage.

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In his 2024 memoir, “Boy From the Valleys: My Unexpected Journey,” Evans describes being born in Wales on Easter Sunday and being raised a Jehovah’s Witness. His father was a bricklayer and his mother a homemaker; the family lived in a working-class neighborhood. Because of the strictures of the family’s religion, Evans was frequently bullied as a youngster and often felt excluded from typical childhood pleasures: Jehovah’s Witnesses do not celebrate Christmas or birthdays, so there was no singing carols or going to birthday parties for Evans. He described himself as having been exceedingly thin at the time, and struggling with his sexuality.

“Looking back, I didn’t stand a chance,” he wrote.

But in his memoir, Evans is reluctant to blame others for his own hardships. One of the rare exceptions is discussing a neighbor, whom he blames for the death of one of his childhood cats, Tigger. It appeared to have been shot with a lead pellet. “Anyway, I own his house now,” Evans wrote. “And any animal can come and go as they please.” (Evans told me he bought it as a rental property to provide extra income for his parents.)

At 16, Evans left home and started dating an older man. He eventually moved to London with a boyfriend who encouraged him to pursue a career in theater and he went on to build a successful résumé in the West End through the 2000s, starring in productions like “Taboo,” “Avenue Q” and “Rent.” His parents gradually accepted his sexuality, though that came at the cost of being shunned by their community of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

“It took a long time, a lot of conversations and a lot of patience from both sides for us to understand we were on different journeys,” Evans said. “It was not easy because the religion wanted my parents to cut me off, to have nothing to do with me.”

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He does not believe in God anymore. “It was something I believe was created by man, and, over centuries, it became a way to control the masses.” But about five years ago, he did get a tattoo on his left thigh. You can see just a glimmer of it through his fishnets in “Rocky Horror.” It’s a quote from Corinthians: “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” For Evans, it’s the story of how, in his family, love won over everything else.

Questions about his sexuality came up during the height of his movie career. “I wasn’t hiding, even then,” Evans told me, acknowledging that he may have lost roles because he refused to hide. “I had to do it,” he explained. “I had to walk so that the future generations of gay actors could run.”

“I play straight more than I play gay,” he said. “Why the hell not? I’m acting. I can do anything.”

Evans prefers to think of himself as someone who drives toward the future without dwelling much on the past. It’s a trait that he recognizes in Frank-N-Furter, who hurtles dangerously toward a utopian vision of “absolute pleasure.”

“The past is important, of course, but you can’t read too much into the past,” Evans told me.

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“People keep trying,” I said.

“But the present and the future is something you can have a say in, if you so choose,” the actor said.

“Is that a survivor’s mentality?” I asked.

“Possibly,” Evans laughed. “When I was younger and I had to leave home, I had to stop thinking about my past, because my past didn’t want to have anything to do with me. In fact, my past sort of stopped when I left home and left the religion. I lost everyone, all my friends.”

A similar psychology runs through the actor’s performance as Frank-N-Furter, a drag queen’s answer to Victor Frankenstein — if the good doctor had a penchant for sleeping with his monsters.

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“There is joy but also danger in Frank,” Evans explained, “because he is a speeding train.”

If the Jehovah’s Witnesses demanded a life of invisibility, and Hollywood demanded a life of rigid masculinity, then Broadway was offering Evans a path to total exposure. It was as Frank-N-Furter says: “Don’t dream it. Be it.”

By the time Evans reaches the show’s hedonistic peak, the parallels between the actor and the character become impossible to ignore. There is a joy in seeing Evans — once a boy who could not celebrate his own birthday — now presiding over the birth of Rocky, the musical’s golden Adonis. He embodies the doctor’s lustful jinx as a man making up for lost time, delivering a version of the character whose occasional glimmers of warmth are singed with rage and regret — two emotions that Evans has spent decades trying to evade in his own life.

“There is a menace to him,” Evans observed of his character, “that sits just under the surface of glamour and charisma. But there is also something very naughty, powerful and subversive.”

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Can You Match the Places These Authors Lived With Settings in Their Books?

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Can You Match the Places These Authors Lived With Settings in Their Books?

A strong sense of place can deeply influence a story, and in some cases, the setting can even feel like a character itself. This week’s literary geography quiz highlights places where authors were born (or lived) that later became locations in their books. To play, just make your selection in the multiple-choice list and the correct answer will be revealed. At the end of the quiz, you’ll find links to the works if you’d like to do further reading.

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Book Review: ‘America, U.S.A.,’ by Eddie S. Glaude Jr.

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Book Review: ‘America, U.S.A.,’ by Eddie S. Glaude Jr.

AMERICA, U.S.A.: How Race Shadows the Nation’s Anniversaries, by Eddie S. Glaude Jr.


For those of us in the national memory-keeping business, anniversaries hold near-totemic power. Satisfyingly round units of time, ideally bearing fancy, Latin-derived names, serve as the overburdened pegs on which to hang think pieces and museum exhibits, revisionist documentaries and maudlin public ceremonies. The arbitrary nature of such occasions is precisely what gives them their charge, inviting us to set aside complacency and submit to a comprehensive check-in.

In his new book, “America, U.S.A.,” Eddie S. Glaude Jr. presents an intriguing variation on the genre, seeing the country’s 250th birthday as an anniversary of anniversaries: 50 years since the malaise-ridden, schlock-heavy Bicentennial. A century since the subdued Prohibition-era Sesquicentennial. A century and a half since telegraphed reports of George Armstrong Custer’s defeat by the Lakota and Cheyenne at Little Bighorn rudely interrupted the Gilded Age Republic’s 100th birthday party.

If an anniversary offers a snapshot of a moment, the core of Glaude’s book is an old-timey photo album, a collection of notable episodes from earlier national reckonings, long-ago glances in the mirror. An estimable scholar of Black history, politics and religion at Princeton — best known for “Begin Again,” his 2020 meditation on James Baldwin’s relevance for our times — Glaude focuses, as his subtitle puts it, on “how race shadows the nation’s anniversaries.”

Such celebrations, he contends, have never really been the moments for honest self-reflection they are often advertised to be. Instead, the nation usually shatters the mirror, refusing to accept what it prefers not to see. “American anniversaries are often moments to turn a blind eye to the evils of the past and the present,” Glaude writes, “to suppress the fact of America’s divided soul.”

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It’s a clever concept, and, needless to say, perfectly timed. Last year, Glaude notes, the Trump administration executed a hostile takeover of the government’s studiously bipartisan 250th anniversary planning. It is now preparing a program that is certain to conceal more than it reveals about the country ostensibly being celebrated.

Glaude, in no mood for celebration, argues that such omissions and evasions also defined commemorations in the past. In 1875, Frederick Douglass predicted “one grand Centennial hosannah of peace and good will to all the white race of this country.” He was right: The nation reached 100 years old at a crucial moment in the post-Civil War fight over racial equality, with white Northerners ready to give up on Southern Reconstruction. The occasion would help the once-warring sections to reunite around a shared commitment to white supremacy. On May 10, 1876, at the opening of the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, the police tried to bar Douglass from the grandstand, until a white politician vouched for him.

The 150th anniversary came soon after a resurgent Ku Klux Klan successfully pushed for a restrictive immigration law aimed at keeping America a “Nordic” nation. At the lavishly funded, lightly attended celebrations in Philadelphia, Black veterans of World War I were excluded from marching in the opening parade. A writer with The Associated Negro Press wondered “what was in the breast of those black men who fought to make America safe for Democracy and on Monday stood on the sidelines, forgotten, as the Nordic strode by in all his vain pride.”

By 1976, when the nation marked its Bicentennial, the violence of the ’60s had destroyed any semblance of consensus. Vietnam and Watergate had eroded trust in the government. The commission initially tasked with organizing the anniversary was disbanded amid reports of corruption. Corporations filled the vacuum, Glaude explains, with “star-spangled whoopee cushions; patriotic toilet seats; Liberty hamburgers; red, white and blue beer cans.” The author, around 8 years old at the time, dimly remembers donning a pair of tricolor trousers.

A half-century later, Glaude is refreshingly honest about the depths of his despair. “I do not love America, and never have, especially now,” he writes in one of the more startling opening sentences I’ve read in some time. He dismisses this year’s Semiquincentennial as reaching back “to a storybook America that requires either the banishment of Black people from view or the reduction of our role in the country’s history, so as to affirm America’s ongoing quest to be a more perfect union.”

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Undoubtedly true. But Trump doesn’t own the country, at least not yet, nor the 250th anniversary of one of the most radically liberatory and confusingly contradictory events in world history — an inspiration, as Glaude shows, even to critical observers of the American experiment, like Douglass. Far from the revanchist MAGA-palooza in Washington, I suspect this summer’s unasked-for invitation to national soul-searching may surprise us yet.

Despite his despair, Glaude concludes that “the past still offers resources for us to freedom-dream.” So, too, does this book.


AMERICA, U.S.A.: How Race Shadows the Nation’s Anniversaries | By Eddie S. Glaude Jr. | Crown | 270 pp. | $31

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Summer’s Best Beach Reads

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Summer’s Best Beach Reads

Moore is a dependable ingredient in any summer reading soufflé. Her airy novels accomplish what they came to do: entertain and transport, without the pyrotechnics of, say, books that eschew quotation marks. In “Down With the Shipmans,” three sisters, laden with baggage, converge on their late mother’s beach cottage, only to learn that their father and his much younger wife are planning to sell the place.

The stakes are high, the drama is juicy and the views are sublime. Moore even provides two beach dogs — Leo (an unruly pit bull mix) and Cinnamon (“golden retriever, red bandanna, long pink tongue”) — to keep things lively. (Comes out June 2)

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