The Rocky Horror Picture Show is celebrating its 50th anniversary (well, give or take — it actually opened in 1975), and like an ageing glam-rock band that still insists the leather trousers fit, it’s on tour with a handful of original cast members. Last night, the travelling circus rolled into the Dominion Theatre to strut, shimmy, ĺand generally misbehave.
The Dominion’s lobby resembled the world’s most enthusiastic fancy-dress party. One of the long-standing traditions of Rocky Horror screenings — dating back to those now-legendary midnight showings in New York that transformed a box-office flop into a full-blown cult — is that the audience dresses up. Fishnet tights and bustiers were practically the evening’s formal wear. There were waitress uniforms, tail-coats and one extraordinarily committed gentleman wearing nothing but tiny gold lamé briefs, who must have caused a stir on the tube. Everyone was handed a paper “prop bag” on the way in containing a newspaper, rubber glove, glow stick, party blower and a glittery party hat, all destined to be deployed at key moments in the film.
Inside the auditorium, proceedings began with a warm-up from a charmless, relentlessly enthusiastic American whose name I missed. While he succeeded in getting the crowd going (not exactly a Herculean task with this audience), he also had the faintly exhausting air of a man who believes every joke deserves a standing ovation. He then introduced the evening’s special guests for a Q&A: Nell Campbell (Columbia), Patricia Quinn (Magenta) and Barry Bostwick (Brad), joined — for this performance only — by Peter Hinwood, the original Rocky.
The conversation was swiftly commandeered by Quinn, who delivered a string of very funny stories about how she was cast and how her lips came to star in the film’s famously disembodied opening. Bostwick and Campbell gamely attempted to contribute but rarely managed to finish a sentence. Hinwood — who, as he freely admits, was cast more for his physique than his acting ability — looked about as comfortable on stage as he did flexing his muscles on film five decades ago.
After the cast departed, the movie finally began. Or rather, the experience began. Because what makes a screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show unique is the “shadow cast”: volunteer performers who dress as the characters and act out the entire movie in front of the screen, complete with props and painstakingly accurate costumes. If you actually came to watch the film, you are — to put it mildly — in the wrong place.
In this case it mattered even less because, despite the film’s new 4K remaster, it was projected on a surprisingly small screen for a theatre the size of the Dominion. Between that and the actors performing in front of it, the movie itself was occasionally reduced to background décor. Our indefatigable American host periodically reappeared brandishing a large inflatable penis, which he waved enthusiastically in front of the screen for reasons that were only funny to him. The film itself may be rude and lewd, but it isn’t especially crude; the prop felt totally unnecessary.
And then — for reasons unknown— the interval arrived halfway through the film rather than after the Q&A. By that point, however, the audience was so deep into glow sticks, party blowers and general hysteria that structural logic had long since left the building.
Is The Rocky Horror Picture Show a good film? Probably not. Has it aged well? Also probably not. What it is is a gloriously daft, gloriously communal night out — part theatre, part karaoke, part fancy-dress party and entirely impossible not to have fun.
So if it sounds like your sort of evening, channel your inner Riff Raff, Magenta or Rocky and pull on those fishnets (or if you’re feeling brave, the gold lamé briefs). Then take a step to the right, a step to the left and let’s do the Time Warp again.
Reviewed by Alan Fitter.
Four Stars
Theatre, Art and Film Reviews 
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