đ 31 Days of Halloween â Day 29 đ
The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975)
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Rewatched 29 Oct 2025
I get it. I really do. The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a cultural event, not just a movie. People dress up, shout at the screen, and have fun. Thatâs fine. But as a film? Iâm with Roger Ebert: itâs more fun to be at Rocky Horror than to watch Rocky Horror.
Yes, the songs are good and Tim Curry is fun, maybe even brilliant. You can absolutely see why this launched his career; heâs the filmâs entire gravitational center. But hereâs the thing: take away the audience participation, take away Curry, and youâre left with something that has all the structural discipline of a porno. Characters exist only to set up non-explicit sex scenes, the songs take the place of the thrusting, and the so-called âplotâ is just the writer putting his kinks on the screen like he's writing a shopping list.
Sure, it's a parody but even parodies need a pulse. This is my main issue with Young Frankenstein too. Itâs a collection of sometimes clever, often boring bits, with no actual story holding them together. Same deal here, except instead of gags, we get pansexual musical numbers and a papier-mâchĂŠ Frankenstein monster who might as well have âobjectified metaphorâ tattooed on his pecs. Rocky Horror isnât a narrative; itâs a mixtape of somebodyâs unfiltered libido.
As bizarre as this comparison may sound, Rocky Horror feels like a dry run for what Guillermo del Toro does: using adaptations of other peopleâs horror characters as a vehicle to express his own sexuality. Sure, del Toroâs kinks may be different from those of Richard OâBrien. He fetishizes Hellboy, the Gill Man, and Frankensteinâs monster as âmisunderstood romantic othersâ who always wind up fucking a supermodel who âsees beauty in strangeness.â Yet Del Toro, for all his own fetishistic tendencies, at least pretends to build a story around them. His films have arcs, even when they feel like heâs just filming himself thumbing through Famous Monsters of Filmland with one hand. In The Shape of Water (as much as I hate it), the woman falls for the creature because the story builds to that. In Rocky Horror, everyone just falls into bed because the writer wants to, and weâre supposed to call it subversive.
Thatâs ultimately the problem. Richard OâBrien isnât telling a story, heâs working through his kinks on camera. And hey, good for him! Thatâs art, in its own way. But even if you happen to share his turn-ons, itâs not especially interesting unless youâre watching it alone, with the door locked, the blinds drawn, and your laptop plugged in.
So yeah, the songs slap, the costumes rule, and Tim Curry is untouchable. But take away the music and the midnight screenings, and youâve got a movie thatâs about as compelling as watching someone elseâs browser history performed on stage.
