I must have seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show a hundred times when I was in high school. It became a weekend ritual. Almost a requirement. Every Saturday night, I would find myself back on Philadelphia's notorious South Street. I'd stop at Frank's for a giant slice of pizza. I'd browse the slightly risque greeting cards at Paper Moon. I'd buy a couple of little buttons from the display case at Zipperhead (yep, the same one immortalized in that song by The Dead Milkmen) and I'd contemplate buying a pair of those cool pants with the silver studs and black straps at Skinz. Before I knew it, it was time to queue up for the midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show at the TLA Cinema.
I'd usually go with someone different every week. Sometimes it would be a date. (If it was a first date, a second date was iffy.) Sometimes, I'd go with a group of friends. One time, I took my mom. (My mom was a "Cool Mom" decades before Mean Girls introduced the term.)
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| For required viewing. |
A viewing of the
Rocky Horror Picture Show was an event — an event that needed some preparation. There was the little bag of props — toast, rice, newspapers, a Bic lighter — all to be brandished at various times (triggered by key prompts) throughout the course of the film's 98-minute run time. In addition, there was an unwritten script of comments and retorts to be yelled out in unison, again, based on the utterance of certain lines of dialogue or actions on the screen. It was fun hearing a handful of new lines each week, mixed in with the old tried-and-true favorites. I am proud to say that I came up with a few myself and I heard them repeated at subsequent viewings. If you watch the movie
without the renowned audience participation, there seems to be something
missing. It's as though the long pauses between lines of dialogue are just
begging to be filled with snarky comments.
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Slowly, slowly...
it's too nice a job to rush. |
I loved everything about going to see the
Rocky Horror Picture Show — the campy story, the raucous songs and, of course, the audience participation. I even developed a tiny crush on the adorable Little Nell and her characterization of the sassy "Columbia." Well, I loved
almost everything. In all honesty, I
hated the little acting troupe that stood at the front of the theater, just under the screen, and mimicked the filmed action taking place just above their heads. I didn't mind (and actually appreciated) the attendees who fashioned their own homemade costumes of their favorite
Rocky Horror characters. I marveled at the accuracy of the costumes, created from memory in the days long before the internet. But I
didn't like the distraction of their little simultaneous performance while I was trying to watch the movie. Yeah, yeah. I know. I am in the minority. I know that most people in my age group — the
first wave of
Rocky Horror fans —
liked the costumed performers. I actually
knew a couple of the "performers" who worked the midnight shows at the TLA. I went to school with them. Some of their costumes were great. The guy who portrayed "Frank-N-Furter" was uncanny. I just didn't like that it was going on while the movie was running. I'd rather it was done
pre-show or
post-show, not
during show.
I had not seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show in many, many years. However, I remedied that situation just today. In celebration of the film's 50th anniversary (How can that possibly be?), the good folks at Disney, the current keepers of the 20th Century Fox catalog, released an updated, remastered 4K version of the Rocky Horror Picture Show on their premium streaming service. From the moment those familiar lips graced my flat-screen TV, I was instantly transported back to the TLA and it was midnight — despite the sun shining brightly through my den windows. But, here I was - talking back to the television. I was reciting witty comebacks that haven't crossed my brain in years. I was singing along with those memorable songs. I was pantomiming tossing toast in the air and dealing out cards. It was like riding a bike.
Or... like a jump to the left.
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