By Lisabet Sarai
Do
you think I’m twisted? A polymorphously-perverse seeker of erotic
thrills, fascinated by novel and forbidden conjunctions of
continuously fluid gender? Do you ever wonder why my characters have
so few limits, why they’re always open to sexual experimentation,
why they usually allow their salacious fantasies free rein?
Blame
it on Dr. Frank N. Furter.
I
was twenty four or twenty five years old, a relentlessly
over-achieving grad student, when I first saw The
Rocky Horror Picture Show. The first night, I went with my
then-boyfriend and his best friend. We returned the night after that,
with more friends. When we shelled out a dollar fifty for the third
night in a row, to watch Tim Curry purse his painted lips and prance
around the screen and to participate in the audience rituals that had
grown up around the film, I knew I was hooked.
Let’s
do the time warp again...
Swim
the warm waters of sins of the flesh...
Don’t
dream it. Be it.
For
those of you too young to remember, The Rocky Horror Picture is a
musical, originally a play, then a cult classic movie released in
1975, that parodies the science fiction and horror films of the
thirties and later. It’s clever and funny, irreverent and
outrageous, occasionally touching. What resonated most for me,
though, were its sexual themes.
The
plot follows a newly engaged, virginal couple, Janet and Brad,
apparently not long out of high school, who suffer a flat tire on a
lonely back road in the Midwest. Through the streaming rain of the
dark November night, they glimpse the lights of a Gothic-style
mansion which turns out to be inhabited by transvestite
mad scientist Dr. Frank N. Furter (Tim Curry) and his peculiar compatriots.
Invited in, Brad and Janet are soon enmeshed in Frank’s schemes to
create a horny male body builder (Rocky) for his own entertainment
(“he’s good for relieving my tension”).
Frank
is deliciously androgynous (“I’m not much of a man/by the light
of day/but by night I’m one hell of a lover.”) In separate
scenes, he seduces both Brad and Janet, who react in very different
ways. Brad retreats into terrified infantilism (“Help me, Mommy!”),
while Janet embraces her new-found sexual confidence.
The
game has been disbanded.
My
mind has been expanded.
It’s
a gas that Frankie’s landed.
His
lust is so sincere.
Frank
turns out to be an alien from the planet Transsexual in the galaxy
Transylvania. His minions revolt, killing him and his Creature,
ejecting the human couple, and blasting off in the
mansion-cum-spaceship for their home planet. The ending is actually
very dark (unlike most of the horror flicks on which Rocky Horror is
based). Brad and Janet are left crawling in the dirt; it’s not
clear what will happen to them, but one suspects they’ll never be
the same.
I
really don’t know why this film had such a strong effect on me, but
I can’t deny that it did. I found Brad’s and Janet’s sexual
initiations incredibly erotic.
Brad
(alarmed): I’ve never....
Frank:
Yes... But isn’t it nice?
Despite
the camp accent and exaggerated make-up, Tim Curry manages to be sexy
in his corset, garter belt and high heels. I didn’t find it
difficult to believe he’d be “one hell of a lover”. In some
sense, he’s the villain, but I couldn’t help but appreciate his
“sincere lust”.
Erotic
nightmares beyond any measure
And
sensual daydreams to treasure forever.
I
strongly identified with Janet. My own sexuality was blossoming at
that point. I was in a supposedly monogamous relationship with my
boyfriend, but often found myself attracted to other men, and women,
in my circle. I was constantly aroused. (Honestly, I don’t know how
I managed to finish my PhD.) Within a year or so after first seeing
Rocky Horror, my boyfriend and I had broken up and I’d entered what
I sometimes call my “sex goddess phase”, when I had many lovers
and indulged in many experiments.
I
think the gender-fluid themes in the movie had a special impact. I
hadn’t had any same-sex experiences at that point, but I knew I
desired women as well as men. Rocky Horror thoroughly blurs gender
lines in a way that felt comfortable and right to me.
I
don’t know how many times I’ve seen the film (though I have not
watched it for a while). I do know the entire score by heart. And I
know Frank has left his mark on many of my stories.
Speaking
of stories, in recent years I’ve thought about writing one
featuring Janet. I’ve never done any fan fiction, and strictly
speaking I don’t think this would qualify, but I’d love to
explore what her life was like after that fateful night in the
mansion. Having been touched by alien lust, would she ever be able to
find satisfaction? Would she wander the world, burning through
partners, perhaps kindling in them the same unquenchable longing she
feels herself?
I
have too many other projects on my plate to work on this idea right
now, but here’s a flasher to give you a taste of my imaginings.
Floor
Show
By
Lisabet Sarai
Another
city. Another bar. Another crowd of beautiful young people, ripe for
the picking. She crosses one shapely leg over the other, baring some
thigh above her seamed hold-ups (the classic look, still). That cute
couple in the corner —her mouth waters. He resembles Brad, though.
Better find someone else.
She’s
sixty but looks thirty, thanks to that night’s immersion in alien
lust—the night that corrupted her, defined her, sent her off on
this endless quest through the party capitals of the world.
The
band plays timeless rock from her youth. Kids gyrate to the beat,
randiness palpable. The atmosphere crackles with sexual energy. She
could have any of them. Though she yearns, premonitions of
disappointment hold her back.
“Let’s
dance.” The girl—or is it a boy?—extends a hand. Lightning
bridges the gap to Janet’s fingers. Wild black curls, exaggerated
make-up, scarlet lips made for kisses. The brazen creature pulls her
into a lewd embrace on the dance floor. Soft breasts, hardness
below—Janet melts, eager, hopeful.
“Where...?”
she gasps, humping his (her?) leg.
Red,
red mouth. White teeth. Clever fingers opening her, freeing her,
turning her inside out. At last.
“If
I told you, baby, you wouldn’t believe me.”
*
* * *
With
a bit of a mind flip
You’re
into the time slip,
And
nothing
Will
ever be the same...
Janet
and me—both changed forever.
