Scott Mullins struts into the Beach Theatre wearing black lace full-body lingerie, complete with fishnet stockings and a floor-length velvet cape. He doesn’t draw so much as a second glance from chatting theater patrons.
The door handler greets him without blinking and motions him toward the front of the theater.
Mullins, 42, strides down the red-carpeted aisle, steady in his sequined 6-inch platforms. Once backstage, he takes in the energy of audience members, who are already humming, rocking and tapping their feet. The musical inebriation about to ensue has already taken its willing victims captive.
When his cue arrives, the black feathered curtain parts. An ear-wrenching exclamation arises from the audience.
“The Rocky Horror Picture Show” is reborn once again.
Mullins has been here every Saturday, in his cape and high heels, for seven years. The small theater on 315 Corey Ave. in St. Pete Beach, Fla., is home to a weekly live showing of the movie and its hordes of followers.
“Rocky Horror,” in its 34th year of production, has grossed more than $139 million nationally at the box office. That’s small change compared with “Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End,” which grossed $142 million in its opening weekend this summer.
But after a disastrous screen debut in 1975, “Rocky Horror” has endured to become one of the longest-running films in history.
And, as with many “Rocky Horror” shows across the country, at this intimate theater on St. Pete Beach it’s become so much more.
Flashback to September 1975. “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” movie premieres in Los Angeles at the Westwood Theater among the glitz and glamour of the Hollywood spotlight. The show had started as a stage musical in London 18 months earlier to rave reviews. It was equally popular in Los Angeles. But when it moved to Broadway, the New York critics slammed it so badly that it was pulled off the stage after 45 days.
The movie follows a straight-arrow couple, Brad and Janet, on a sexually ambiguous journey trough the world of the crazed Dr. Frank-N-Furter, “a sweet Transvestite from Transsexual Transylvania.” The actors sing their way through conflict and calamity. Dr. Furter captures and brainwashes Brad and Janet, but both are saved by an unlikely plot twist.
Though the cast included future stars Susan Sarandon and Tim Curry, it made barely $22,000 during its opening weekend, and was snatched off marquees across the country.
Then something happened. A 20th Century Fox executive showed the film at a “worst movies” festival at the Waverly Theater in New York the following spring, where it struck a chord. “Rocky Horror” was soon stapled into Halloween pop culture, riding the crest of the sexual revolution and the gay rights movement. By 1977, the flop that was “Rocky Horror” was on its way to becoming an American cult classic, and a household name.
Mock casts across the country formed, and a 3-D participatory show was created. Fans dress as the characters, and perform their parts on stage as the movie plays on the screen behind them. Audience members come to the show armed with props, such as rice and toast, to throw during certain scenes, and shout along with the movie.
Hard-core fans have even created a gag script where they make small quips before and after most of the lines in the movie.
And one mustn’t forget the Time Warp. The simple phrase “It’s just a jump to the left” sends “Rocky Horror” audiences into a frenzy like no other. Legions of “Rocky” enthusiasts have pelvic-thrust their way into history books.
Thirty years after its flop–of–a release, the Library of Congress’ National Film Preservation Board added the movie to the National Film Registry.
Flash forward to Tampa, Fla., in June 2007. It’s 9:30 p.m. on a Saturday. Scott Mullins, an electrician in his day life, stands in his small peach-colored bathroom applying black eye shadow over stark white foundation. He paints his eyelashes with white mascara and pencils in his eyebrows.
This has become a Saturday night ritual for Mullins, who is in his 21st year of playing the infamous Frank-N-Furter at theaters around the region.
“I remember being dragged by a friend to a show in 1986 and afterwards she asked me if she could do my makeup,” Mullins says.
He wears a “Rocky Horror” T-shirt and black boxers with KISS in orange and red letters across the back. He pins back his long bushy black hair as he tells the story. “We were hanging out with the cast at Denny’s and they asked me to play Frank the next week.”
He’s been Dr. Furter every weekend since, performing first at General Cinemas in Tampa’s University Mall, reaching the height of his notoriety nine years later at the Tampa Theatre and finally settling at the Beach Theatre. He’s met four of the movie’s original cast members and has played Dr. Furter more than 5,000 times in at least 25 different theaters.
In its run at the Tampa Theatre, as part of the Larger then Life acting troupe, “Rocky Horror” was performed to sell-out audiences of 1,500 every Halloween. The run in Tampa was deemed the largest Rocky Horror audience in history at last year’s National Rocky Horror Convention in Chicago. Mullins considers those the good old days.
The Tampa Theatre expanded its facilities in 2005 for a mainstream audience and dropped the “Rocky Horror” act.
“We had heard of a cast performing at the Beach Theatre so we went to check them out and frankly, they sucked,” Mullins says. That was in 2000, after the Tampa cast switched to only a Halloween showing. “So we showed the managers what we could do and they hired us on the spot. We’ve been there ever since.”
The Beach Theatre has been a fixture in St. Pete Beach since 1939 and is one of the last small mom-and-pop theaters in the Tampa Bay area. Mullins and a long-time “Rocky” cast-mate, Ed Schneider, brought a portion of their cast from Tampa and soon after their first show they were packing the theater every Saturday.
“This is the best theater I’ve done ‘Rocky’ at,” says Schneider, 28, who has been with a “Rocky Horror” cast for 10 years at six different theaters. He is now the director of the Beach Theatre cast.
The theater was recently purchased by famed screenplay writer Michael France (“Cliffhanger,” “Golden-Eye,” “The Hulk,” “Fantastic Four”) when the show was flailing financially. Schneider said that France has assured him that “Rocky Horror” will always have a home there.
“It gives us a charge because we know we’re kind of helping to keep this place open. We’re as much a part of this theater as the employees,” Schneider says.
Back on Corey Avenue on Saturday night, a line forms down the Beach Theatre sidewalk as early as 10:30 for the midnight showing. The Mohawk and black-clothed crowd is joined by senior citizens, soccer moms and tourists. Many wear elaborate costumes mimicking characters from the film.
Schneider and Mullins attribute the “Rocky Horror” longevity to the hyper-crazed, accepting atmosphere the movie has created.
“In the simplest terms it’s the people,” Schneider says. “This is the place where you see the star of the football team and the president of the chess club.”
Part of this “Rocky Horror” ritual is the initiation of “Rocky Horror” “virgins” before each show. People who have never seen a live performance are called to the front of the stage and must perform some embarrassing act before being deemed worthy to join the “Rocky” audience.
“Toady our virgins will be doing the Transvestite Relay Race,” Schneider yells into the microphone. “Count it down: one, two, three, go.”
The “virgins” are paired off male/female and begin stripping to their underwear and switching clothes in a frenzy. The winners raise their hands triumphantly and Schneider proclaims them “devirginized.”
“It’s the experience of the show that keeps you coming back,” he says. “And you never know what’s going to happen. In 10 years I’ve never had the same show twice.”
The 40-member cast ranges in age from 16 to 43, including those who have been a part of the show from 20 years to two months. A second generation of “Rocky Horror” fanatics is starting to evolve.
“My dad was in ‘Rocky’ in high school. I’ve grown up on the movie and have always wanted to be on a cast,” says Julia Golemon, 18, who plays Magenta, maid to Dr. Frank-N-Furter. “The first time I saw the show was when I was, like, 4.”
John “Cookie” Kochen, 20, props manager and cast member since 2004, says that like Mullins a friend dragged him to his first show.
“I had such a blast and had to get involved,” he says. “I got hooked and have been here ever since.”
The ‘Rocky’ audience at the Beach Theatre now averages 140 each week, and reaches 200 on some nights.
After the crowd makes its way into the theater, Mullins joins Kochen and the props crew, which scurries to set the stage in time for the performance. In their haste, a spot light is dropped on Mullins’ hand, spraining two of his fingers.
But the drag show must go on. Mullins gamely performs the first few scenes. But the pain refuses to relent, and he reluctantly abandons the stage.
In grand “Rocky Horror” fashion, an understudy steps in, not missing a line. The film’s following, 34 years in the making, has provided a host of well-prepared replacements, keeping a cult classic alive.
