It’s just a jump to the left. And then a step to the right.

Put your hands… over your mouths!

“You will not be seeing a film, but a live theatrical performance,” goes a lecturing preshow message at the revival of “The Rocky Horror Show,” which opened Thursday night at Studio 54.

The rather patronizing announcement works, and the sexily performed, well-sung production from “Oh, Mary!” director Sam Pinkleton for the most part reverts back to the 1973 musical’s quieter origins before superfans in fishnets began shouting back at the screen and throwing rice at midnight movie screenings down in the Village.

Callouts are not strictly prohibited on Broadway. There are still a few. At the performance I attended, a dusting of ticketbuyers yelled “slut!” at Janet Weiss (Stephanie Hsu) and “assh–e!” at Brad Majors (Andrew Durand). The narrator, played by Rachel Dratch, absorbs some more, although they were at times so timidly expressed that Dratch had to ask the solo screamers to repeat themselves. During “Science Fiction, Double Feature,” in shame I silently mouthed, “What the f–k’s a triffid?” for fear of being put in time out.

By intermission, the audience interaction is pretty much over.

I dwell on this for a few reasons. Most apparently, the production’s indecisiveness on the rules regarding a 50-year-old global tradition that organically began right here in New York is awkward, and ticketbuyers should not be feeling wobbly at a show that preaches “give yourself over to absolute pleasure.”

Do it or don’t do it.

But if you don’t, brace yourself for an inevitable energy dip. While composer, writer and original Riff Raff Richard O’Brien never intended for his sci-fi horror rock musical to be mocked by costumed attendees in unison, the show also wasn’t designed to be in a 1,000-seat Broadway theater either. It started out decidedly subversive — playing London and LA rock clubs, abandoned cinemas and tiny theaters.

Trying to size up, it proved a bad fit during its first go-around on the Great White Way in 1975, and closed a flop after 45 performances. As Jim Sharman, the director of the original production and the cult-classic movie, told me last year, “It only faltered once, when it went mainstream, on Broadway.”

There’s a lesson in that: It’s wise to embrace what “Rocky Horror” is, or, in the case of the fans’ orgiastic outbursts, what it wondrously has become.

Still, there’s much to like, even adore, in Pinkleton’s revival — from its Fritz Lang-y metallic manikins to a dark and seductive castle set that feels ripped from a Jim Steinman music video to two knockout performances from Luke Evans as Dr. Frank-N-Furter and Hsu as Janet. Yet when the plot practically disappears midway through Act 2, and the crowd’s lips are zipped, you just crave something more, more, more.

You can’t do better than “SNL” alum Dratch as the Narrator. A pompous hoot, she turns the Narrator into Professor Downer and takes us on the strange journey of engaged young lovebirds Brad and Janet.

Durand and Hsu make the ideal pair of sexually naive Goody Two-shoes that scamper into Dr. Frank’s spooky manse to use the phone after their car breaks down only to wind up in sex ed. class. If you saw Durand in “Shucked” or “Dead Outlaw,” you know he’s born to be Brad.

Clutching their pearls before removing their clothes, B and J are greeted with “The Time Warp” by butler Riff Raff, who Amber Gray plays as a gremlin, and his weird sister Magenta (Juliette Lewis with a possessed vibe that’s refreshingly un-Broadway).

In an especially wishy-washy moment of pseudo-involvement, two audience members go onstage to do the pelvic thrust while the other 998 remain politely seated.

We’re rocked back awake when that sweet transvestite from Transylvania bursts in in the spectacular form of Evans.

To be frank, he’s a fantastic Frank. The Welsh actor has Tim Curry’s easy lasciviousness and chesty voice, but he’s not so sinister — he’s more mischievous and playful as he gets buttoned-up Brad and Janet to do some exploring. Evans’ his-and-her seduction scenes with Hsu and Durand are the liveliest parts of this “Rocky Horror,” and whenever Evans struts onstage, you can’t take your eyes off him.

Of course he vies for our peepers’ attention with Josh Rivera as Frank’s manly monster Rocky. It’s nice to see that Rivera isn’t the usual International Male type that so often plays the hunk-enstein, and he does well with that 1950s pastiche toe-tapper “The Sword of Damocles.”

Eddie, the rebel delivery boy, is a rocky ride for anybody. When Meatloaf is the Eddie of record, his godlike range is a tough act to follow. Harvey Guillén, by contrast, isn’t much of a vocal powerhouse on “Hot Patootie, Bless My Soul” and it’s a fleeting diversion. He improves, however, when he switches into Dr. Scott after poor Eddie is sawed to pieces.

But, dammit Janet, what a total wow Hsu is. The “Everything Everywhere All At Once” actress’ descent from virtuous to vixen is more fun and full-out than I’ve ever seen it. And her “Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me” vibrates with vivacity. She’s naughty, nice and nuclear.

Also Hsu, thank Frank, finally reacts shocked and offended when the crowd calls her a “slut!” The super funny reaction comes as a big relief in the uncertain room and offers an enticing glimpse of what might have been.