The Rocky Horror Picture Show

The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a film that defies being categorized into any genre other than its own. Some have tried to stick it in the so-bad-it's-good genre, which still doesn't do it justice as Plan 9 from Outer Space and The Room really don't belong next to the film that introduced generations to The Time Warp. Rocky is a film, perhaps a concept that is awesome despite it being bad, and I really can't think of another film which fits that description.

After the continuous showings for the past four decades Rocky Horror still manages to evade any real scrutiny. People love it or dismiss it. There's no kind-of-being-okay with it. And curiously, I have never come across a straight up review of the film as it stands; critics always seem to focus on the experience of the event as opposed to the quality. Perhaps it's honestly impossible to review the film the way one would examine something like Moulin Rouge, but that doesn't mean it's not worth a shot.

So I'm going to enter at my own risk, but there are a few ground rules. First, I'm not reviewing the audience participation element; for this review Rocky Horror is just a movie. Second, I'm treating it from the perspective of someone who hasn't already grown attached to any particular elements. Meaning, there may be iconic moments that just don't work for the film. And finally, I'm assuming there is in fact a solid story that wanted to be told, but the film kind of wandered away from it at some point.


Here then is The Rocky Horror Picture Show.


So we open with the original ASMR video, where Patricia Quinn lip-syncs for Richard O'Brien; and it's worth mentioning that Quinn has the single most perfect gum-line in cinematic history. O'Brien (if you actually need me to tell you this) wrote the stage version and co-wrote the music and the screenplay, so it's fair to say this is his baby. O'Brien also describes himself as transgender, and I think it's fair to say that has an effect on the development of Rocky.

You know the words. Science Fiction/Double Feature; it accurately sets the mood for what's to come. Now let me say here at the opening credits that Rocky Horror has the inherent problem of trying to be too many things all at once. There really are a lot of great ideas at play and an awesome soundtrack. And how many musicals open with a listing of the things that inspired them? When Rocky Horror is serving as an homage to these B-movies (or at times a parody of them) it truly is wonderful. But as we'll soon see, it also tends to unintentionally mirror the basic flaws of said films as well. You know, like, falling apart and all that.

And we open into the classic Dammit Janet scene, which is priceless. Both Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon are at their comedic finest in these roles, playing the naïve young lovers Brad and Janet. It's the typical silly love story and their exaggerated performances have more chemistry than most credible fictional couples.

But the layer that really pushes things into artistry are the zombie-like performances from O'Brien, Quinn and Little Nell (and briefly Tim Curry) in the background. The unsubtle use of the coffin gives us a clear foreshadowing that true love isn't going to triumph in this one.

And then we cut to our first noticeable problem, the criminologist (whatever that is). Charles Gray is a fine actor, and perhaps with some better lines this character might actually be useful. But the truth is, every time he appears on screen and a song isn't happening, the pace drops down to impulse power. To make matters worse, he's not telling us anything that we can't already figure out just by watching the action on the screen. Maybe this character and Dr. Scott could have been combined? I don't know. Let's move on.

We're back with Brad and Janet. The car breaks down, they need help, and There's a Light (Over at the Frankenstein Place). You know, I love this concept; the light in the darkness turns out to be the last place they should be going. But they don't know that. They're moths to the flame.

In the stage version, Brad has a verse in the song, and it's really a pity it got cut. Not that it actually brings anything to the proceedings, but this is such a beautiful song I don't want it to end.

And we get our first look at Riff Raff; O'Brien again, this time as an arguably handsome version of Nosferatu. And now is a good time to mention the character lineup in this film. As many times as the script drops the ball on consistently motivating them along, the characters really resonate. I'm confident I could direct a community theater production of Gigi and tell one of the actors "Give me less Riff Raff and more Columbia" and they'd know exactly what I meant (if they planned on acting in my town again).

So we're inside the mansion now which is hosting the social gathering that you wish BDSM parties would be, with Riff Raff doing his best Marty Feldman and Patricia Quinn playing multiple Helena Bonham Carter's as Magenta. We find out in the deus ex machina that they are both aliens, which is reflected in the great performances from both actors. Riff and Madge are complete mysteries to the audience. We never get inside their heads. As such, there are quite a few lingering questions about Transsexual, Transylvania which are honestly best left to our imaginations. What we really need to know is that they're both posing as human and only moderately pulling the disguises off.

Then we do The Time Warp.

What the hell is The Time Warp?

Apart from being the welcomed showstopper, what is this song actually about? It doesn't seem to have anything to do with warping through time like you'd expect, but rather achieving a state of time stopping altogether. Freud would probably suggest that we're talking about an orgasm, and Frank would certainly agree with him. But I tend to think Riff and Madge are talking about a transcendence beyond the physical; the classic death of the flesh, rebirth of the spirit.

And this may be the central conflict with Frank. He's become too addicted to pleasures of the flesh to ever move on to something greater. Riff Raff and Magenta may be evil, and they may not. We don't really know. But neither of them seems to be ruled by ego the way Frank is. They appear quite happy with the party without needed the attention to be on them.

Well before Frank comes down the elevator, let's go back to Brad and Janet (since this is practically the last time the story is about them). Both characters are headed into darkness, but it's interesting that they almost get there opposite each other. Janet is frightened during The Time Warp but Brad's curiosity is peaked. Janet starts succumbing to Frank's charisma and Brad becomes cross. By the time we get to Rose Tint My World they're on opposing extremes. Brad is practically in the fetal position while Janet is one step away from becoming Frank.

Let's bring out the diva now. We've made it to Sweet Transvestite with only minor quibbles, and Dr. Frank N. Furter (the N is for nothing) is larger than the screen itself. Frank isn't just an iconic character, he's archetypal, like the Joker. There's a likable simplicity to him. He's not about anything as complicated as world domination or wealth. He just views everything and everyone as a tool for which to pleasure himself. He's ready to own the movie itself.

And here is our first MAJOR problem: the movie lets him. It's been Bard and Janet's story up until now, but from here on out it's Frank's story. A lot of people who have seen this movie hundreds of times forget that Frank is the villain of the piece, and it's understandable why.

For some reason, in theater you have a bit more flexibility with swapping around the point of view, but in film you really have to decide up front whose story it is (or what concept you're going to maypole around). This was the problem with Frozen and some of the later Pixar films, and Rocky Horror falls victim to it. Yeah, Brad and Janet are becoming Frank's puppets, but you still have to tell it from their POV, not his.

The film starts to get a little shaky in the next scene with the birth of Rocky. That whole Frankenstein sequence feels like it goes on for twice the length it needs to, and then we have The Sword of Damocles, our first truly weak song (it's telling that it didn't make in onto the soundtrack).

There was potential for an interesting character in Rocky, but the film never realizes it. Imagine being born into the life of a sex slave to Frank. What would you be feeling? And wouldn't it have been nice if Rocky had actually flown off the handle at Frank? Come to think of it, Rocky doesn't actually do anything in the story. And there's the second problem. Our title character will die at the end of the film and we don't care. Brad and Janet will be conquered by darkness and we don't care. You know why we don't care? Because none of them put up any kind of fight. If they don't care enough about themselves, why should we sympathize with them?

But you know who does? Columbia. She stands up for herself. It's not much of a fight, but it's there, and people walk away from the movie feeling something over her (completely pointless) death. Columbia is Frank's Harley Quinn. She was a human who wanted to be one of the Transvestites, and for the most part they accepted her. I got the sense that if Brad and/or Janet had ever gone to her for help she would have let them escape, if for no other reason than they just weren't cut out for the life she had.

Every decade or so, Hollywood threatens to remake Rocky. If they ever follow through and get Gus Van Sant onboard, it might be a unique approach to tell the story from Columbia's point of view. In addition to bridging the gap between the humans and aliens, there is this whole back story with Eddie that the film has decided is none of our damn business.

Meatloaf arrives out of nowhere, knocks his song out of the park, and dies horribly.

And this, friends, is where the movie derails.

Maybe not entirely, but it certainly has a few wheels dragging. Eddie's death doesn't have the impact on Brad and Janet that it should, and Rocky is way too forgiving. The film never truly recovers, or even seems to be trying to. The ridiculous moments that happen in the second half (Dr. Scott's convoluted wheelchair ride, the intentionally bad dialogue, etc.) are just not as much fun anymore, bordering on tedious.

It also doesn't help that the unconventional conventionalists leave, because they take a certain energy with them. In act two, the dialogue becomes stilted. Brad and Janet stop reacting to things realistically, just hitting the random marks the story requires them to. It's really up to the songs to keep us interested, and nearly all of them add a needed shot of espresso to the proceedings; Planet Schmanet Janet being the embarrassing exception.

I'm going to skim a little, because this really is the boring section of the film. Here's a few things worth pointing out. Dr. Scott's introduction into the fold does more harm than good. He overly complicates a story that has too many variables already. It feels like every one of his lines is exposition, a ship that sailed in the first act. The implication that he's a defected Nazi scientist is an element you really can't just toss into the story and expect it to mean something.

We really needed the song Eddie earlier, you know, before we met Eddie and saw his blood on the floor. Although, fun fact: Eddie is the only song in the film that features all ten of the main cast. At least the dinner scene wasn't quite as angst ridden as the one in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Brad had a solo that got cut. I don't think Once in a While is a particularly great song, and the pace of the movie has stalled so much already it was best left out. But it has always bothered me that Janet got her own song and Brad didn't. Oh well. I was two when the movie was being filmed. Nobody cared what I thought.

Peter Hinwood takes a lot of flack for his performance as Rocky, and I'm not convinced it's deserved. I don't think he's bad as the character so much as he doesn't have anything to do. His acting is limited to facial expressions, and he actually does manage to convey innocence. In college I played Marvin in our production of Marvin's Room; I laid in a bed half an hour before the show started until curtain call and fell asleep onstage opening night. I sympathize with anyone cast as a title character who also happens to be a set piece.

Let's move on to Rose Tint My World. This is a sequence perfect for theater, where the stage literally becomes a stage. Translated in to film? On paper this must have looked like a terrible idea, but the execution of it is damn near flawless. The climax of a musical typically needs to be one of spectacle, but for Rocky Horror, the complete opposite just...works. Spectacle is for the audience. Frank isn't the audience, he's the performer. Everything else can be half-assed as long as the spotlight is on him.

And man, this music is great. Barry Bostwick in particular gives me chills. That high note he hits is the musical equivalent of a terrified scream. It's the most freaking awesome thing in this scene (and yes, I'm aware of Little Nell Campbell's nipples). My wife and I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Bostwick at DragonCon one year, and he had such a warm personality. Most of the men I've known who can dance in heels have a bit of a chip on their shoulder, but Barry Bostwick couldn't have been nicer. I know he hasn't had Susan Sarandon's career, but he has had a career, and I'm very happy for him.

"Don't dream it, be it," is a really positive mantra. It's so easy to forget how much Frank is corrupting it. I think most Rocky Horror fans attach so strongly with what Frank is saying they forget to ask is what he's doing really matches up. In a way it does, because his dreams are purely narcissistic ones. When you're that into yourself you don't have to struggle to make your dreams a reality, you have to shut reality out. I think we've all known people like that. Do we actually want to connect with those people? Or do we secretly wish someone would kick the door open and shoot them with a Doesn't-Matter-Gun?

You have to love the way Frank's explanation winds up explaining nothing (I mean it. You HAVE to. Don't give me that!). The guy can't even plead for his own life without delusions of grandeur. In the stage version, Frank faces down his death with a bitter strength, but here he runs like a coward, and it's a much more effective choice.

Unfortunately that sticks Columbia with the most stupid, pointless death imaginable. On stage, Columbia jumps between Riff Raff and Frank, taking the first laser blast. The dialogue between them as she dies is something along the lines of "You did that for me?" "Yes." "Stupid bitch." And that really keeps Frank's uncaring nature in the forefront. Here, there is literally no reason for Riff Raff to kill Columbia and let the others go. And I know some people will say "She screamed and startled him," and I don't accept that. The scream served no purpose at that moment. Riff knew she was there. It was a poorly thought out choice on director Jim Sharman's part. Therefore, Columbia lives by forfeit. I expect to see memes going viral before November.

Dear God, how long have I been writing this review? Okay, one final stop. The reason The Rocky Horror Picture Show is so endearing to people is because they find something, in all the makeup and madness and hodgepodge of characters, something that they connect with on a deeply personal level. For me, it's the song Super Heroes. I don't know why the song gets trimmed for the American version. Maybe the editors themselves were ready for the movie to end. But Super Heroes honestly stands in all of its glory just from the soundtrack.

So you've read this whole flipping review and you've probably gotten a sense of who I am as a person; what I hone in on, how I interpret the world. Hopefully you find me as reasonably funny as I think I am. The sarcasm that permeates all of my blogs is the most consistent way I can connect with the world, and that's due to the depression I've lived with since childhood.

If you haven't experienced depression yourself but are close to someone who does, it might be a little difficult to understand what it is they're feeling on a regular basis. I submit, depression feels like this song. It's that sense of the party having ended, we're disconnected, in darkness, and insignificant. And that sense doesn't truly ever go away no matter how many people love you. I can honestly not think of a better song that embodies depression better than Super Heroes.

I'm sorry if that's a downer of an ending for the review, but Rocky Horror is a movie with a downer of an ending; it only seems appropriate. For whatever it's worth, I think it also sums up why I feel such an attachment to Halloween, and maybe why others do too. Maybe it's because we're the types who are always trying to find ourselves, to figure out who we are, to learn something about ourselves.

And sometimes the best way to learn who you are is by trying on a mask or costume and seeing the world as someone who you're not.

Everyone have a wonderful Halloween.