SCIENCE FICTION, DOUBLE FEATURE By Richard Andreoli Let’s do the time warp again! Let’s do the time warp again! It’s just a jump to the left… This is “The Time Warp!” — the group-dance song that was played at school proms and roller rinks across the country was one of the anthems in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Released in 1975 and based on the stage musical, this B-movie parody follows the adventures of Brad Majors and Janet Weiss, a young, ordinary, healthy couple played by Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon. One night they leave their hometown of Denton, Ohio, and run into some trouble. EXT. – DARK ROAD, RAINING – NIGHT AN EXPLOSION as the tire of Brad and Janet’s car blows out. JANET (panicked) What was that bang?! BRAD We must have a blow out!… Didn’t we pass a castle back down the road a few miles? Maybe they have a telephone I could use. JANET I’m coming with you. Besides, darling, the owner of that phone may be a beautiful woman and you might never come back again. Well, the owner of that phone isn’t a beautiful woman, but rather a sweet transvestite from Transsexual Transylvania, played by Tim Curry. All it took was a campy plot and a score of rocking songs, and suddenly midnight movie screenings start popping up across the country. Die-hard fans dressed in character, sang along, and danced in the aisles. But Rocky Horror was more than just some performance art piece because the audience was as important to the evening’s entertainment as the film itself. And yes, I’d been a part of that magic. I’d held up my lighter during the song “There’s A Light” and shot my water pistol when it was raining on-screen. I even performed the Barry Bostwick role during screenings — and I say “performed” because none of the live cast ever actually acted during the film. We simply mimicked our characters’ on-screen actions. And I did all this at the Ken Cinema’s weekly screenings of Rocky Horror in San Diego, where some motivated individual in our group had decided to reunite us after 10 years. I explained all this to my current circle of friends — all of whom have seen the movie — and they acknowledged that, yes, it would be a hoot to watch a group of 30- to 40-somethings jiggling around in their underwear and mimicking the motions of… Janet? Dr. Scott! Janet! Brad! Rocky! Ugh! …and this would spawn hours of small talk for future dinner parties. But they couldn’t fathom why on God’s green earth I was so excited about spending a weekend with the lost, disenfranchised youth of San Diego that I grew up with. Well, these friends might have seen Rocky Horror, but I soon realized that they definitely didn’t get it. I’m not exactly sure why this is, but those of us at Rocky struggled with more than just the usual coming-of-age dilemmas that plagued everyone else. It was the early ‘80s, and some of us exploring sexual freedoms we never thought possible in our highly academic lives—admittedly, many of us were nerds. Others in my group were discovering personal philosophies for the first time, entertaining feminist theories, or investigating alternative religions like Wicca, and discovering how that impacted their spirituality. These radical journeys made many of us feel like the class freaks that everyone had condemned us to be, and nothing in our lives seemed to hold any stability. Nothing, that is, except for Rocky Horror. Because when you were “in” at Rocky, whether it be as a “cast member” or simply as a bemused observer in the audience, you were suddenly more important than you could ever hope to be in the normal world. You knew what to yell and when to yell it at the screen. You knew the songs, the dances, the choreography, and you knew belonged in a world that the “normal” kids thought was different, alternative, even cutting edge in some cases. Suddenly you were on the inside looking out, rather than on the outside looking in. And it was this sense of belonging, of importance, of a ritualized normalcy amidst the everyday insanity that gave each of us the strength to face those internal struggles. That’s such a valuable gift — something that people who never “got” Rocky never got to experience. You know, now that I’m older I can freely admit that in many ways I was lost during those years, but at least I always knew how to find my way home: Fridays and Saturdays, midnight, Rocky Horror at the Ken theater.
For many in San Diego, "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" at The Ken Cinema will always be something special to remember. The recent news that Landmark Theatres will be ending its long run at The Ken Cinema on April 27 has prompted many people to reminisce about their personal connection to the San Diego icon.
"The Rocky Horror Picture Show" is Jim Sharman's 1975 film adaptation of the musical stage production conceived by Richard O'Brien. This musical comedy horror film pays outlandish tribute to science fiction and B horror movies. It famously stars Tim Curry as the sweet transvestite Dr. Frankenfooter, and Susan Sarandon and Barry Bostwick as an innocent young couple. The film became a fixture on the midnight movie circuit, defining cult film for a generation. Its passionate fans created rituals to go along with the film. It started simple (holding up a lighter, throwing toast) and grew to the elaborate shadow cast productions you can find even today (Crazed Imaginations will host the last midnight screening of "Rocky Horror" at The Ken). It spawned a sequel, "Shock Treatment," but that film never caught on with the same fire as "Rocky."
Back in 2002, fans of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" decided to hold a reunion at The Ken Cinema. That prompted Richard Andreoli to approach me and ask me to produce this radio feature about what "Rocky Horror" meant to him. This essay also appears in the book "Mondo Homo."
SCIENCE FICTION, DOUBLE FEATURE
By Richard Andreoli
Let’s do the time warp again!
Let’s do the time warp again!
It’s just a jump to the left…
Ah yes, “The Time Warp!” — the group-dance song that was played at school proms and roller rinks across the country was one of the anthems in "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." Released in 1975 and based on the stage musical, this B-movie parody follows the adventures of Brad Majors and Janet Weiss, a young, ordinary, healthy couple played by Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon. One night they leave their hometown of Denton, Ohio, and run into some trouble.
JANET: (panicked) "What was that bang?!"
BRAD: "We must have a blow out!… Didn’t we pass a castle back down the road a few miles? Maybe they have a telephone I could use. "
JANET: "I’m coming with you. Besides, darling, the owner of that phone may be a beautiful woman and you might never come back again."
Well, the owner of that phone isn’t a beautiful woman, but rather a sweet transvestite from Transsexual Transylvania, played by Tim Curry. All it took was a campy plot and a score of rocking songs, and suddenly midnight movie screenings start popping up across the country. Die-hard fans dressed in character, sang along, and danced in the aisles.
But "Rocky Horror" was more than just some performance art piece because the audience was as important to the evening’s entertainment as the film itself. And yes, I’d been a part of that magic. I’d held up my lighter during the song “There’s A Light” and shot my water pistol when it was raining on-screen. I even performed the Barry Bostwick role during screenings — and I say “performed” because none of the live cast ever actually acted during the film. We simply mimicked our characters’ on-screen actions. And I did all this at The Ken Cinema’s weekly screenings of "Rocky Horror" in San Diego, where some motivated individual in our group had decided to reunite us after 10 years.
I explained all this to my current circle of friends — all of whom have seen the movie — and they acknowledged that, yes, it would be a hoot to watch a group of 30- to 40-somethings jiggling around in their underwear and mimicking the motions of…
"Janet?... Dr. Scott!... Janet!... Brad!... Rocky! Ugh!"
…and this would spawn hours of small talk for future dinner parties. But they couldn’t fathom why on God’s green earth I was so excited about spending a weekend with the lost, disenfranchised youth of San Diego that I grew up with. Well, these friends might have seen "Rocky Horror," but I soon realized that they definitely didn’t get it.
I’m not exactly sure why this is, but those of us at "Rocky" struggled with more than just the usual coming-of-age dilemmas that plagued everyone else.
It was the early ‘80s, and some of us exploring sexual freedoms we never thought possible in our highly academic lives — admittedly, many of us were nerds. Others in my group were discovering personal philosophies for the first time, entertaining feminist theories, or investigating alternative religions like Wicca, and discovering how that impacted their spirituality. These radical journeys made many of us feel like the class freaks that everyone had condemned us to be, and nothing in our lives seemed to hold any stability. Nothing, that is, except for "Rocky Horror."
Because when you were “in” at "Rocky," whether it be as a “cast member” or simply as a bemused observer in the audience, you were suddenly more important than you could ever hope to be in the normal world. You knew what to yell and when to yell it at the screen. You knew the songs, the dances, the choreography, and you knew belonged in a world that the “normal” kids thought was different, alternative, even cutting edge in some cases. Suddenly you were on the inside looking out, rather than on the outside looking in. And it was this sense of belonging, of importance, of a ritualized normalcy amidst the everyday insanity that gave each of us the strength to face those internal struggles. That’s such a valuable gift — something that people who never “got” "Rocky" never got to experience.
You know, now that I’m older I can freely admit that in many ways I was lost during those years, but at least I always knew how to find my way home: Fridays and Saturdays, midnight, "Rocky Horror" at The Ken theater.
