“Don’t dream it, be it.”

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🎧 Origins of a Cult Classic

I was first introduced to The Rocky Horror Picture Show in late elementary or early middle school—on a school bus, of all places. We were on a field trip, and one of my classmates had a portable DVD player (the true relic of early-2000s luxury). He sat there with his headphones in, watching this bizarre, glitter-soaked movie and singing along to every single word. I had no idea what I was witnessing—just that it felt electric. Dangerous. Like rebellion wrapped in eyeliner.

That spark never left. Tim Curry became one of my favorite actors—not just because of Rocky Horror, but because of how fully he inhabited every role he touched. Whether it was Frank-N-Furter, Pennywise, or Long John Silver, he always managed to toe the line between theatrical and transcendent. He didn’t just perform; he commanded.

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🩸 The Gospel According to Glitter

Some movies entertain. This one initiates. The Rocky Horror Picture Show isn’t a film—it’s a ritual. The kind of sacred chaos that happens when repression finally snaps its corset strings. It opens on a storm and never stops raining rebellion.

The first time you see it, you don’t watch—you absorb. Somewhere between the rice and the shouting, you start to feel baptized. The boundaries blur: audience becomes cast, shame becomes choreography. You’re no longer a spectator; you’re part of the spell.

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💄 Desire, Dressed in Fishnets

Tim Curry’s Dr. Frank-N-Furter doesn’t just strut—he reigns, rhinestones and all. Every glance is permission. Every lyric a dare to love yourself harder, louder, stranger. Beneath the camp, there’s a raw ache: the yearning to exist without apology.

Janet and Brad begin as archetypes of innocence, but the castle cracks them open. What emerges isn’t corruption—it’s discovery. Liberation looks a lot like losing control on purpose.

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🪞 When the Curtain Becomes a Mirror

Rocky Horror has lived longer than most “serious” films because it understands something quietly profound: people don’t go to the theatre for perfection. They go to be seen in the dark. To sit beside strangers who understand that weird is holy and transformation doesn’t always need a plot.

There’s a reason the castle feels familiar—it’s the same one used in The Brides of Dracula. Gothic bones repurposed for glitter rebellion. Resurrection in architectural form.

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💋 The Eternal Midnight

Nearly fifty years later, the rice still flies. The fishnets still fit. Every time the opening lips appear, it’s another invocation: come as you are, but louder.

That’s the real magic of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It doesn’t just break the fourth wall—it seduces it. And in doing so, it reminds us that maybe the truest kind of freedom isn’t becoming someone new—it’s remembering who you were before the world told you to behave.

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🎬 Rocky Horror at the Eaton Theatre

When Disney bought Fox, and Fox owned Rocky Horror Picture Show, most of us assumed that was the end of small-town screenings. Disney isn’t exactly known for flexibility when it comes to licensing cult chaos around the holidays.

But then—a miracle. They gave independent theaters permission to show it, and everyone jumped at the chance…including us. We were so excited. We put together goodie bags for guests, but we may have gone a little overboard. There were too many props, too much enthusiasm, and definitely not enough space in the bags. So we did what any theatrical family would do—we improvised. Our “bags” became leftover collectible Beetlejuice popcorn buckets.

The first night fell on Halloween. I couldn’t attend, but my mom called afterward saying it went beautifully. She had everyone up and dancing, shouting the callbacks, living their best fishnet lives. Attendance was small—about twenty people—but every single one of them left glowing.

The second night doubled in size, and Mom was ready for it. Once again, I couldn’t be there (same reason as the night before), but I could feel the energy through her excitement.

Next year, though? I’m there. Full chaos costume. Lipstick, corset, and all. We’re hoping it becomes an annual tradition—bigger, louder, glitterier every year. Maybe even with a shadow cast someday.

Because Rocky Horror doesn’t just belong in movie history—it belongs on our stage.