When discussing what exactly makes Rocky Horror Picture Show a cult classic, several points come to mind: it was a box office bust, met with critique and confusion en masse, that eventually found its audience in Manhattan’s midnight movie scene. First at the Waverly Theater, then in neighboring counties, it slowly attracted more and more crowds of Riff Raffs and Magentas (the film’s alien-servant-siblings), straight-laced Brads and Janets, and, of course, Frank-N-Furters in full-faced glam who shouted back at the screen. Soon enough, devotees with an affinity for wayward, so-bad-its-good charm took to the stage and made a routine out of the debauched sing-a-long, or so the legend goes.
Few films have achieved near-spiritual status and even fewer can say they’re the longest-running theatrical release of all time. But Rocky Horror checks all those boxes — however messily — that, to consider it a film, let alone a cult classic film, seems an understatement. But now, 50 years since its initial theatrical release, the phenomenon and universe time warping all around it continues drawing in new generations of fans, freaks, baby gays, and first time attendees, often marked virgins with a lipsticked “V” to the forehead upon arrival. It’s a tradition so far from traditional, a rite of passage that, to some, feels profane, but to so many others is scripture.
“Lots of modern fandoms have cult followings, but Rocky is very unique in that it’s 50 years old. But that’s what people crave: they want that connection, that feeling of being a fan and being a part of a community that comes from a piece of media,” University of Georgia college student Valor Lekas, 19, tells Teen Vogue. The sophomore was first introduced to the film at just nine years old, all thanks to their father who used to attend shadow cast showings while he was in college. In full-circle nature, Lekas is now in their own university’s long-standing student production, much to their family’s thrill.
To Lekas, Rocky Horror finds that perfectly imperfect blend of cinema and theater, and its appeal lies in an absolute destruction of any sort of fourth wall. In the movie, characters such as Dr. Everett V. Scott, the UFO-inspecting government official, often address the audience, which is only amplified in the call-and-repeat of shadow performances. After all, the movie’s earliest iteration was The Rocky Horror Show, a musical staged by the film’s director (and original Riff Raff) Richard O’Brien in London circa 1973, just two years before the picture show came to be.
Whether fate or predisposition, Rocky Horror’s roots are in live performance, as it finds its very charm and spirit in continual reinvention. The watcher is part-performer; the spectacle, the spectator; and what transpires onstage never stays there. Whether on the screen or in the spotlight, power reversals are everywhere: as attendees dance the time warp and don party hats in celebration of Rocky’s birthdate, and as Frank-N-Furter deceptively seduces Janet, then Brad into digression. The very nature of film is spun around and cracked open, and through those cracks of logic comes the creative liberty to stitch them back up as one sees fit.
“It just exists as DIY and that is all it ever has been, from the movie, to every shadow cast and every midnight screening,” says Anna Campbell, 29, founding member of queer zine Dykes and Dolls. According to the topsy-turvy world of Rocky Horror, everyone’s a weirdo alien and normalcy is seemingly the scariest thing one might be. It’s a carnival that all are invited to attend, if they dare.
Performer Malea Kimberly’s, 24, first taste of Transylvania came in the form of The Rocky Horror Glee Show, but what really sold them was a shadow performance they saw as a teen in their hometown, with a body-diverse cast the movie lacks. “They were queer, flamboyant, and strange,” Kimberly recalls. “I’m high femme and didn’t realize that [then], but this castle, where everybody looks really freaky and dances, that’s where I wanted to be.”
Kimberly, who directed their first Rocky Horror production this season alongside Campbell, gave it their own spin with an all-transgender cast of friends and familiar faces from their scene in Brooklyn. “It’s not something that can be turned into a clean-cut, PC-updated version. It is as it stands, and the only thing you can do is get as freaky as possible with it,” they add, noting where the film’s reboot and spinoffs fall flat were their attempts at sanitizing and making it make sense. In Rocky Horror, nothing is too precious, and most everything is up for interpretation.
It is that wide-range of interpretations, however, that may leave others uneased — and understandably so. For Malea’s producer (and star Frank-N-Furter) Jer Wenick, 24, her first watch was full of fear and apprehension. “I was like, ‘Frank is scary. Nothing about this feels like it's for me.’ As I sort of moved [from] those views when I was younger and came into myself as a trans person, I was able to return to Rocky Horror when Malea brought it to me,” she continues, stressing just how important it is for fans to continue creating new ways of translating the original film to reflect contemporary experiences of queerness, while still keeping in its initial do-it-yourself spirit. “Transsexual, Transylvania for me is me in my living room watching The Summer I Turned Pretty,” the comedian adds with a smile.
“It really is so deeply entwined with the struggles queer people were facing 50 years ago, and a lot of those things are feeling relevant right now,” Kimberly elaborates. She likens Rocky Horror to a sort of queer Bible, a modern-day Shakespearean tale that lives on through devotees who care enough to keep it breathing and transforming.
“The ways the queer community has truly embraced this movie has changed how it would be seen in isolation. I don’t even think you can talk about Rocky as just a film without the shadow cast and midnight showings,” Lekas says, certainly speaking from experience. The production was the first activity they got involved with on campus as a freshman, and now, one year later, they couldn’t imagine their college experience without it as an anchor. “It’s really been this queer community I never had growing up.”
Whether at a midnight floor show, shadow performance, or some future reimagining, there’s value in embracing a bit of nonsense, so we may do the time warp again, again, and always forward.
