‘Rocky Horror’ Turns 50: The Midnight Movie That Never Died
It was 10 p.m. at the Nuart Theatre in West Los Angeles, and Kayla Discoe-Creveling was on the lookout for “virgins.”
“We have a little tradition in Rocky Horror where we mark our virgins with a big old V,” she explained.
In The Rocky Horror Picture Show community, a “virgin” is anyone attending for the first time.
“We love consent,” Discoe-Creveling added with a grin. “Cheek, forehead, or chest?”
A young woman chose the forehead, and Discoe-Creveling drew a large “V” with a red lipstick flourish.
That playful ritual — along with its campy charm, costumes, and sense of belonging — has kept The Rocky Horror Picture Show alive for half a century. Since its 1975 U.S. premiere, the cult classic has drawn generations of fans to weekly midnight screenings worldwide. It’s not just about fishnets, flashlights, and callbacks — it’s about community.
“It’s exotic, erotic, and neurotic,” said Barry Bostwick, who played the clean-cut Brad Majors. “It’s got some of the best rock and roll ever put into a musical.”
The film opens with Brad proposing to his fiancée Janet (Susan Sarandon). When their car breaks down in a storm, they stumble into a gothic mansion ruled by Dr. Frank-N-Furter (Tim Curry) — a mad scientist, alien, and self-proclaimed “sweet transvestite from Transsexual, Transylvania.”
“When Tim Curry, as Frank-N-Furter, comes down that elevator — the sparkly shoe, the lips, everything — suddenly I realized the world was a lot bigger and a lot weirder than I had ever known,” said Margot Atwell, editor of Absolute Pleasure: Queer Reflections on Rocky Horror.
“Rocky Horror was my first experience with queer joy on a screen,” Atwell said.
Curry himself once described his character’s flamboyant wardrobe in a 2005 interview: “Never think about it as drag, because it’s not. It’s just what people wear in Transylvania. Just get over it.”
Over the years, the film has faced criticism for using outdated terms like “transvestite” and “transsexual,” and for depictions of coercion and misogyny.
“Do those mean there’s nothing we can gain?” Atwell asked. “No — we can still take forward the parts full of joy, community, and connection.”
That spirit of connection built an enduring subculture. Midnight screenings in the 1970s became a refuge for outsiders, a place where people could be themselves without judgment.
One of those people was Sal Piro, who attended a 1976 screening at New York’s Waverly Theatre and went on to found the official Rocky Horror fan club, which he led until his passing in 2023.
His sister, Lillias Piro, recalled being 13 when Sal brought her to the show. Someone shouted a joke at the screen, and the whole theater exploded with laughter.
“My brother thought, ‘Let’s come back next week and make our own lines,’” she said.
That audience participation evolved into elaborate “shadow casts,” with costumed fans performing live in front of the screen. Their improvisations and call-and-response jokes became a language of their own — one still growing to this day.
“In a very prudish society, being proudly half-naked is a statement,” said Austin Fresh, who has played Frank-N-Furter more than 500 times with the L.A. cast Sins of the Flesh. “And I didn’t get all these lovely tattoos to not show them off.”
Fresh says Rocky Horror endures because it’s a safe space for people discovering who they are.
“It’s so heartening to watch the same stories of self-discovery and gender expression unfold again and again as new people find Rocky Horror.”
In a time when LGBTQ+ rights are under renewed attack, Atwell said these performances matter more than ever.
“These are places where people can gather in person and have the kinds of conversations being censored or shut down online.”
Today, The Rocky Horror Picture Show still screens at midnight in more than 200 theaters across the United States. Fans are celebrating the 50th anniversary with special events, live performances, and a new documentary, Strange Journey, released this week.
For Bostwick, the appeal is simple.
“Brad says in the movie, ‘It’s just a party, Janet,’” he said. “That’s what’s happening every Friday and Saturday night around the world — it’s just a party.”
And for everyone who’s ever felt like an outsider, that party carries a timeless message — sung by Frank-N-Furter himself:
“Don’t dream it — be it.”