From April 4, 1990. When there were fewer people and less horror. – JDW
Give yourself over to absolute pleasure.
Swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh –
erotic nightmares beyond any measure,
and sensual daydreams to treasure forever.
Can’t you just see it?
Don’t dream it, be it. – Dr. Frank-N-Furter
I have to admit I am feeling a bit invaded by this DECENNIAL CENSUS.
As you doubtlessly recall from parochial school, that’s a Latin expression meaning… You Can Trust Us. We’re Your Government.
Who are they kidding?
“The answers will be kept confidential.” For seventy-two (72) years. That’s just not long enough.
They couldn’t keep the Pentagon Papers out of the New York Times.
Besides, these are the last guys I’d want knowing anything about me. The last. They’ll just have to be satisfied with the fingerprints, blood type and my financial records for the last twenty (20) years. All already in the government’s possession. Must be noted.
And the questions they ask. What’s your name? Frankly, I’d just as soon maintain an anonymous relationship with the Feds.
Sex? Less often as the years go by.
Age and year of birth? Careful. This is a trick – the numbers should correspond.
Marital status? In the doghouse.
Now, none of these intrusive questions has any connection to determining how many representatives Oregon will have in Congress. That’s fine. Neither do my answers.
This is one divorced twenty-nine-year-old female Guamanian who will not be fooled.
Unless it’s by the instructions.
Obviously developed for the semi-cretinous by a like-minded special task force of bureaucrats, they manage nonetheless to be, oh, the surprise, not entirely helpful. For example. No. 6. “FOLD the form the way it was sent to you.”
Call me crazy, but when I opened it, I didn’t pay any attention. C’mon. Really. Who thinks like that?
Finally, I just took a wild ass guess and put the return address on the outside.
Enough about that.
I finally made it to the Clinton Street Theatre on a recent Saturday to catch the midnight cult classic, THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW.
And, I must say, I’m glad these people have a place to go on weekends.
Based on a 1975 play – didn’t last a month on Broadway – this original Rocky is an outrageously kinky horror-movie spoof starring a transvestite bisexual.
It’s a rock musical about a straight couple (Brad and Janet) who find themselves stranded in a large, dark, old, sinister Victorian mansion in an isolated area of Transylvania.
The central character, one Frank N. Furter, possesses a baritone voice and wears black lip gloss, as well as a black corset with fish-net stockings.
And a pearl necklace for that special touch. You get the picture.
The audience consists largely of extroverts on an overnight pass from the Happy Farm. Then there is The Clinton Street Cabaret. The cast, as they’re called, is sixteen (16) active members who portray the performers on the stage. Like Diana Ross, when they’re singing in the movie, they’re singing on stage. Every song, every scene, every costume is mimicked.
Cabaret members don’t simply play the role, they play the role and the actor in the film playing the role.
Meanwhile, there’s another entity, the folks in the seats. Anything but passive observers.
Remember, this is a cult, and they are the congregation. So, throughout the movie, the regulars are shouting practiced dialogue at the screen, anticipating one line, following up on the next.
And they throw things during the movie. Rice showers down during the wedding scene, water is sprayed during a rainstorm. (Always bring a newspaper.)
Count also on being pelted by confetti, playing cards and hot dogs.
Toast, too. Because an actor proposes one in the movie. Get it? That’s how these people think.
When someone exclaims, “Great Scott!,” rolls of toilet tissue are hurled. You know, like a company named Scott make it.
I suggested to the director – she says it’s a liberal term – that this might be stretching it. “Any excuse to throw T.P. is a good one, she explained.
Whatever works.
Karin Schulz concedes the Cabaret might have more globally responsible things to do with their time, but little that is more enjoyable.
Besides, they’re good. Real good.
“We’re not just a Rocky Horror troupe,” Karin offered. “That’s our main focus. But we’re performers, and we think we can do whatever we want to do.”
She pauses and laughs. “We hope.”
“We wanted to bring our performances up to a professional theater level.” (Pauses.) “Well, amateur level.” (Pause.) “Theater, at least.”
It’s damn good theater, too, if I’m any judge of how much fun you can have in this town for three dollars ($3) from midnight to 2 a.m.
“It’s not just the movie, it’s not just the audience, it’s not just the Cabaret,” Karin says. “It’s the whole thing. It’s the Rocky Horror experience.”
Exactly.
If you’ve never been before, make sure to let everybody know it’s your first time.