An access-all-areas documentary brings new life to the infamous New York nightclub.

“It was like an adult amusement park,” says a contributor to a new documentary about the late 1970s New York nightclub, Studio 54. “They had a real sense of what people – adults – wanted.”

Even if the talking head in question, the photographer Mr Bill Bernstein, didn’t put a deliberate emphasis on the word “adult”, it is not difficult to comprehend what he means. Many global nightspots from Berghain and Trade to The Haçienda and Space have thrived on the notoriety of their adult-only activities. But none are more mythologised as Mr Steve Rubell and Mr Ian Schrager’s Manhattan club that they ran, and then ran spectacularly into the ground, over 33 glorious months from 1977 until 1980.

A once-in-a-lifetime blend of celebrity, gay and disco cultures, sex, drugs, inclusivity and exclusivity, Studio 54’s legend has been well aired in news features, an exquisitely camp 1998 cinematic dramatization and a Rizzoli coffee table book on the matter, curated by Mr Schrager. So it is understandable to feel a little fatigued. But Mr Matt Tyrnauer’s new documentary reopens the doors to 254 54th Street and its secrets in spectacular, revelatory fashion to the sound of Sylvester’s “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)”.

Music was crucial to Studio 54’s success: disco was the preserve of black and gay clubs until Mr Rubell and Mr Schrager decided to give it a grander stage. They employed Broadway architects and lighting designers to turn nightclubbing into theatre; Mr Rubell drew up a guest list that put celebrity in the room with Manhattan’s nighttime outliers – drag queens, voguers and self-anointed freak shows. The plan: to blend the beautiful with the bizarre.

Not everyone was invited to the party, a frustration that became part of Studio 54’s legend. Mr Tyrnauer, who previously directed the riotous Valentino: The Last Emperor documentary, addresses this in the film. His main interviewee, club co-owner Mr Schrager, says, “Anyone who was allowed in, was totally free inside”. Outside was a different matter, where Mr Rubell policed the dress code of would-be attendees. Polyester shirts and gold chains were absolute no-no’s for men standing in line. Once in, the policy was anything goes: busboys in short shorts, celebrities in tuxedos, Mr Truman Capote in his bathrobe and slippers engraved with his initials. Mr Rubell often wore an oversized quilted jacket that he stashed cash and drugs inside.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Studio 54 was not without its illicit elements. Mr Rubell pushed Quaaludes on his customers to ensure everyone had a great time. “The amount of drugs was just profound,” says the late businessman’s brother, Mr Don Rubell, in the film. “And they were all uppers, no one was on a downer.” Mr Rubell and Mr Schrager’s bookkeeping included a column recording “party favours”, the drugs for important customers.

Sex was also not in short supply at Studio. Post the contraceptive pill and pre-AIDS, slap-bang in the centre of sleazy Midtown, the club invited its clientele to be sexually free, beds included. Mattresses were provided in the basement; balconies and bathrooms were darkly lit to spare blushes. As Studio 54’s architect, Mr Scott Bromley admits that the club’s main balcony was covered in wipe-clean rubber to maintain its function as “a sex pit”.

No one was easily embarrassed in Studio 54; except when it came to talking money. The owners were eventually done for tax evasion, and sold the venue while doing time for their crime in 1980. The brevity of Studio 54’s reign helped secure its mythic status, as much as its strange alchemy of celebrity, sex, drugs and disco. Whatever made it magic, nightlife has not seen anything like it since.

Studio 54 is in cinemas from 15 June