The Cult of ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’: How a Midnight Madness Became a Cultural Revolution
By Natalie McCarty
“Don’t dream it, be it.”
Nearly five decades after its release, The Rocky Horror Picture Show continues to draw audiences into its bizarre, glittering world of gender-bending madness, sexual liberation, and–at its heart–true campiness. What started as a modest musical in 1973, then a flop of a film in 1975, has transformed into a midnight movie phenomenon—a cultural rite of passage for (affectionately) freaks everywhere. But beyond the fishnets, cherry red lipstick, and the iconic cry of “Let’s do the Time Warp again,” Rocky Horror remains a beacon of radical self-expression.
In the dim glow of the movie theater, among a cast of devoted fans throwing rice, dancing in the aisles, and shouting back at the screen, something extraordinary happens. The Rocky Horror Picture Show isn’t just a film; it’s a shared experience that invites—and demands—participation. For many, it’s the first time they’ve been in a space where breaking the rules is not only allowed but celebrated. And in a world that’s often rigid with expectations of who we’re supposed to be, Rocky Horror feels like a liberation.
Released in 1975, the film was an immediate oddity with the kind of irreverence and flamboyance that didn’t seem to fit anywhere in mainstream cinema. But that was its charm—Rocky Horror wasn’t trying to fit in. It was celebrating what it meant to stand out. Directed by Jim Sharman and adapted from the stage musical by Richard O’Brien, the film tells the absurdly delightful tale of a straight-laced couple, Brad and Janet, who stumble upon the lair of Dr. Frank-N-Furter, a "sweet transvestite" from Transsexual, Transylvania. What follows is a parade of sexual liberation, mad science, and chaotic musical numbers.
At its heart, Rocky Horror is a love letter to the art of camp. The campiness isn’t just a layer of the film—it’s the essence of it. The costumes, designed by Sue Blane, were dripping with glitter, fishnets, and leather, subverting any notion of traditional masculinity and femininity. The set design was a visual feast, a kaleidoscope of sci-fi tropes, Gothic decadence, and pure chaos. Every detail was about pushing boundaries and embracing the weird, the grotesque, and the over-the-top.
But what makes Rocky Horror truly timeless is its ability to bring audiences into the joke. It’s as if the film is winking at you, inviting you to participate in its madness rather than just observe it. The interactive nature of the midnight screenings, with fans yelling lines, throwing props, and dressing up as their favorite characters, transformed Rocky Horror into an experience more than just a film. It became a communal ritual, where the strange and wonderful could gather and express themselves freely–whether it’s in a dingy, beat-up movie theater in New York with dirty red velvet seats or at an outdoor amphitheater in Ohio.
The music, too, is a huge part of what makes Rocky Horror so magnetic. Every song pulses with infectious energy, from the rebellious "Sweet Transvestite" to the anthemic "Time Warp," the soundtrack has become as iconic as the film itself, a staple of Glee (of course), theater singalongs, and karaoke bars alike. It's theatrical, overblown, and utterly irresistible.
In a way, Rocky Horror is a celebration of everything that traditional cinema isn’t. It’s messy, gaudy, and completely unafraid to be ridiculous: it’s CAMP! Its refusal to be taken seriously is exactly what makes it so enduring.
And even now, nearly five decades later, The Rocky Horror Picture Show continues to defy conventions. Its brand of unapologetic weirdness has seeped into the cultural consciousness, influencing everything from fashion to music videos to drag shows. It stands as a reminder that sometimes, the greatest works of art are the ones that push the boundaries rather than toe the line.