PRINTESSAY: A Rocky Horror Picture Show virgin
A first time trip to Transsexual in the galaxy of Transylvania
Katy Bergen
Katy is a junior from Linwood, New Jersey studying print and digital news. She once saw Tim Curry perform in Spamalot on Broadway.
November 2, 2010 | 12:53 p.m. CST
A man in fishnets rubs his crotch against my shoulder. The crowd surrounding me cheers and laughs. I smile, too — it’s not the strangest thing that has happened to me tonight.
The gyrating man is the host of a Halloween viewing of the cult movie The Rocky Horror Picture Show at The Blue Note. His antics are part of the film’s pre-show. A huge red "V” written in lipstick marks my forehead. The mark is from the ghoulish-looking ticket person who others refer to as Riff Raff — an alien character from the flick.
Related ArticlesThe “V” is for “virgin,” and though I have seen the film once before from the safety of my living room, I have yet to experience the interactive show.
But I’m glad my status as a Rocky Horror amateur is marked from the beginning.
Others aren’t so lucky. As the audience waits for the film to begin, I hear shouts of “Virgins, virgins” and look up to see a crowd of Rocky Horror pros pointing out a group of confused-looking souls. Riff Raff comes running with her lipstick.
It’s a curious word — virgin, I think. It implies a sense of exclusivity that seems odd to apply to a film or show, as if experiencing the show is an event that will change you forever. As the pre-show continues, I start to wonder if it will.
A woman dressed only in a white bra and white underwear pulled up to just below her belly button stands before the crowd as the master of ceremonies sprays silly string over her breasts and bare stomach.
The antic is meant to be inappropriate but doesn’t feel uncomfortable as a preface to a film about sexual liberation. For a second, I want to be that woman, not because of the attention she is receiving, but because she looks comfortable.
The woman, who is dressed as Susan Sarandon’s prudish character Janet, is not the only one in costume. The audience wears French maid outfits, top hats, fishnets, gold Speedos, bright wigs and leather jackets — all to represent characters from the movie.
Most of these characters, I recall as the film progresses, are singing aliens, hailing from the planet Transsexual in the galaxy of Transylvania.
In the film, Dr. Frank-N-Furter, a singing transvestite alien who is also a scientist trying to create the perfect lover, forces a straight-laced couple to dabble in sexual experimentation. By the end of the movie, the couple likes it.
I quickly learn why the late ’70s midnight movie is considered an interactive film. The MC encourages the crowd to dance, sing, shout obscenities and throw things in response to the movie.
Audience members throw rice up in the sky during the opening wedding scene. A sea of black and white forms as the crowd holds newspapers over their head during the film’s rainstorm. When Sarandon appears on screen, the audience roars, “Slut!”
I don’t know all the lines to shout. I don’t understand all the gestures. I don’t have all the props. Still, the odd behavior of the non-virgins fascinates me. As the audience spills into the aisles and the front of the venue to dance to the “Time Warp,” the signature number of the singing aliens, I jump up with them.
Not everyone knows what they are doing. Some showcase the specific moves described by the song lyrics. Others just move to the music. Some, like me, do a little bit of both.
The varying levels of expertise frustrate a man in a Frank-N-Furter costume. His constant shouts throughout the film rival only the master of ceremonies; he is well-versed in the various quips of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
“I’m surrounded by virgins,” he screams as he alone stands to acknowledge the entrance of a queen on screen.
But no audience member can distract me from actor Tim Curry as Frank-N-Furter.
He sings things such as,
“Give yourself over to absolute pleasure. Swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh — erotic nightmares beyond any measure, and sensual daydreams to treasure forever. Can't you just see it? Don't dream it, be it.”
I look at my bearded boyfriend in his jeans and T-shirt beside me and wonder why I find myself oddly attracted to Curry’s sexually indulgent and pansexual character.
His chest pops out of a black corset. A tattoo marks his right bicep. His garter-clad legs are shapely, but muscular. He wears black, sparkly heels. He struts and sings with an enticing confidence. His voice is surprisingly deep.
He is a study of contrast — a beautiful specimen of the masculine and the feminine. I am relieved when a friend taps me on the shoulder to whisper that she too, finds him oddly... sexy.
As I exit the venue, I am slightly awed by my introduction to this celebrated celebration of sexual exploration. I start to wonder what it is about the movie that continues to strike something in people.
We are not children of the ’70s. We did not see the original British musical play. We did not witness the musical’s transformation to film. We did not watch the film in dark theaters with bands of midnight viewers who turned the film into the cult classic sex-fest that it is today.
But perhaps the come-as-you-are theme the show exudes resonates with any audience. After all, The Rocky Horror Picture Show suggests that a world where a man feels alive in heels or a woman feels comfortable in her underwear is normal. It suggests that a world where a person can love both men and women is possible. It suggests that a world where a college junior finds an alien transvestite sexy is okay.
I’m not sure if this revelation is life-changing. But next time I see The Rocky Horror Picture Show, I know I’ll bring a bag of rice and a newspaper. I might even dress up.
