You never forget your first time at The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

For me, it was a chilly October night in 2019. I was a junior in college, and I didn’t have any friends who would want to travel an hour and a half with me to experience the film. So, I took myself to Row House Cinema in Lawrenceville, where I nearly had a panic attack parallel parking on a side street.

Once I entered the theater, I was asked the all-important question: had I seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show in a theater, with a shadowcast? At that point in my life, I had only seen the film on my laptop in my dorm room. So, I answered honestly and was rewarded with a big “V” on my forehead in lipstick. V for “virgin,” of course.

After the opening ceremonies, the theater lights darkened, the 20th Century Fox fanfare blared, as the experienced audience members around me recited the opening lines of what would be some of the noisiest 90 minutes I had ever experienced in a movie theater.

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away….

God said, “Let there be lips!”

And there were lips.

And they were big, red, and juicy

And they could sing

Sing to us, o lips!

I walked out of that theater as a new convert to the spiritual practice of Rocky Horror. Three years later, I strutted into the basement of the Hollywood Theater wearing a glittery jumpsuit under a trench coat to audition for the Junior Chamber of Commerce Players (the JCCP), and I became one of the actors I’d watched in front of the screen.

The Creation of A Ritual

Like many religions practiced today, the ritual of Rocky Horror has been passed down for generations since its release 50 years ago, in 1975. By all accounts, the film was a flop, despite being an adaptation of a successful stage show, until it reached the midnight movie circuit. Audience members started showing up in costume as the characters, then timed callbacks in conversation with what was happening on screen, and finally evolved into what is now known as shadowcasting, where actors perform in front of the screen and reenact what is happening behind them.

With all its glittery, glam-rock, gender-bending finery, it was a radical film for the time. In 1973, only 2 years before the release of Rocky Horror, the American Psychiatric Association reversed its classification of homosexuality as a mental illness. It would be 28 years before the last anti-sodomy laws in the United States would be overturned. Those darkened rooms of independent theaters were some of the only places queer people, especially queer youth, could express themselves freely among their peers.

The experience of attending a shadowcast performance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a secular, but no less sacred, queer ritual. There is a sort of magic with every screening and performance of this musical sci-fi cult classic. It brings people of different backgrounds, gender identities, and sexualities together in the same dark theater, some donning fishnets and lingerie or movie cosplays, others in jeans and T-shirts. There is even a priest, or in this case, the Master of Ceremonies, who guides the audience through the opening rituals, including the rules and the virgin sacrifice — I mean, games.

Hell, the church of Rocky Horror has its own religious garb—forgoing long robes for fishnet stockings and corsets. For a lot of folks (myself included) who didn’t feel welcome in the religion they grew up in, this is where they can lay their problems at the altar of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, where they aren’t judged for who they are or who they love or how they live their lives.

In this theater, no matter where we came from, we are all weirdos. From my understanding of spiritual practices, a ritual comprises 4 key elements: the tools, the words, the intent, and the community, and here is my argument for considering this “bad” movie a spiritual practice of its own.

The Tools

A lot of religions and magic practitioners use candles or incense, and in the earlier days of Rocky Horror screenings, audiences would hold up lighters during “There’s a Light (Over At The Frankenstein Place).” Nowadays, open flames in a theater are a safety hazard (open flamers are encouraged, though!). There is also the practice of using oil to anoint yourself or the other materials you are working with to prepare for the ceremony ahead. Newcomers to Rocky, known as virgins, are anointed with a “V” on their forehead or hand in bright red lipstick. Glitter is also an acceptable way to anoint yourself. Instead of tarot cards or grimoires, audience members purchase prop bags filled with materials like toilet paper, noisemakers, party hats, glowsticks, latex gloves, and playing cards, with a cue card stapled to the bag labeled for each moment to toss into the air or wear.

Nothing compares to watching a 300-person theater erupt in white streams of toilet paper thrown overhead when Brad says, “GREAT SCOTT!” onscreen. 

The Words

There are two sacred texts in the religion of Rocky Horror: the movie’s script and lyrics, and the callbacks, or callouts, as they’re called in some areas. Instead of “peace be with you” and “and also with you,” it’s “asshole!” and “slut!” at the mentions of Brad Majors and Janet Weiss.

Callbacks even vary by cast and by region. For instance, in the song “Toucha Toucha Toucha Touch Me,” when Janet sings “I was feeling done in/ Couldn’t win,” you yell back “LIKE THE FUCKING STEELERS/PENGUINS/PIRATES” (depending on what sport season we’re in).

It takes multiple shadowcast screenings of Rocky Horror to memorize some of the callbacks, just like coming back to church every Sunday. But virgins shouldn’t be discouraged—even if you don’t know the callbacks, sing along if you know the words to the songs! Quote along if you know the lines! It’s one of the only times that it’s socially acceptable to yell and throw things during a movie; enjoy it!

The only way to be truly blasphemous during a Rocky Horror screening is to yell bigoted things or Nazi slogans at the screen or the actors. That isn’t welcome and goes against the safe space that this experience is supposed to be. You will be removed.

The Intent

The intent behind all of the glitter and the shouting and the dancing is as simple as five little words.

Don’t dream it, be it.

Even when you leave this theater. Even when you take off the fishnets and the glitter. Even when you pick up the popcorn and cardboard pieces of toast off the floor. If you leave the theater wanting to try something new that scares you (like joining a Rocky Horror shadowcast) or wanting to explore a new side of yourself, then we have done our jobs in this ritual.

The Community

It’s quite literally in the words “cult classic.”

Magic is even more powerful with a coven or congregation, and the movie wouldn’t still be in the public zeitgeist without the people who clung to the message of this movie, much like that satin on Fay Wray’s thigh, and carried it on for decades to come.

My family went to church every Sunday growing up, and I would look up into the pensive eyes of the giant copper-green statue of Jesus and wonder why I wasn’t feeling the same way as everyone else in the pews around me.

Now, I spend most of my Saturday nights yelling profanities in lingerie and lip-syncing the words of a movie I have seen way too many times. When I’m not onstage, I like to watch the audience watch the show. Sometimes when I look into the crowd, I can see that young, lonely, queer adult I was nearly 10 years ago sitting there, and I watch them come alive as they get swept up in the campy queer joy that is what Rocky Horror is all about.

Amongst the congregation of Pittsburgh misfits and weirdos, I know I’m exactly where I need to be.

If you want to partake in this sacred queer ritual, come to Rowhouse Hollywood to see Pittsburgh’s official Rocky Horror shadowcast, the Junior Chamber of Commerce Players, where the ritual of Rocky Horror is performed year-round, not just during Halloween season.