Confessions of a Transylvanian (31 page)

Riff, at the end of this brief contribution to the number, then shrinks down and out of sight in the window. On our stage (lacking said window), all you had to do was slowly drop to your knees, at which point Tom would fade the light on you and shift it back to Janet and Brad.

After which, of course, the
exit
applause would occur.

Every night.

Playing Riff was, needless to say, an embarrassment of riches.

And it really would have sucked if I had fainted instead.

Things move pretty quickly after that, but I knew just where to go. Without the benefit of illumination, I gracefully loped down the ramp and readied myself for the entrance-to-the-castle scene. I had watched Kenny do the blocking dozens of times. I had practiced it, alone, in my bedroom at home. And with my first entrance behind me, my nerves were no longer jangled and raw. I suddenly had confidence and possessed the certainty that I could pull this whole thing off without a hitch.

I was ready. I was sure of it.

The next scene began outside the castle. The light hit Janet (Tracey) and Brad (Ron). They chat for a moment, ring the bell and then...the door creaks open and Riff leans out.

And the crowd yells: “Say hello, Riff!”

I creaked the imaginary door open. I leaned out. The crowd yelled their line. And in perfect sync with Riff on the screen, I greeted the new guests:

“Hello.”

More cheers. Riff knows how to please a crowd.

Brad and Janet make their introductions. Riff shows little interest. Brad mentions his desire to use the phone, at which point Riff feels the need to point out to them that they are wet. A bit confused by this response (they have been walking through a rainstorm, after all), Brad and Janet simply agree with his assessment. What more can they do?

Then a flash of lightning reveals a number of motorcycles parked at the entrance to the castle, something Riff clearly did
n’
t want them to see. He quickly invites the guests indoors. They agree.

Ron and Tracey “entered” the castle and the beam of light followed them.

Now, at the Ultravision, we had a cool little moment here. See, in the film, Brad and Janet have a little private conversation, which Riff interrupts by banging the front door shut. On our stage, Kenny would meander over to the big EXIT door of the theater, push it slightly open and then, along with Riff, bang it shut, causing every audience member in the first few rows of seats to leap right out of their skin.

I sidled over to the door and eased it open. I waited patiently a few seconds and then, when my cue arrived, I jerked the door shut with a resounding boom. The first three rows of patrons jumped a mile. Excellent.

Squeezing between them, I beckoned Ron and Tracey to follow me.

We were now mere seconds away from the Time Warp. And things could not be going better.

Janet, hearing noises coming from the next room, asks Riff if the
y’
re having a party. This stops Riff in his tracks. He turns to her slowly and announces that they have arrived on a very special night. It is, he informs them, one of the maste
r’
s affairs. She tries to be polite. “Lucky him,” she says.

Then, out of nowhere, Magenta appears in all her maidenly glory. She cries out, to Jane
t’
s apparent discomfort, “Yo
u’
re lucky! H
e’
s lucky!
I’
m lucky! W
e’
re all lucky!”

Bang on cue, as she had so many times before, Andrea appeared from out of nowhere and delivered the line exactly as Patricia Quinn served it up in the film.

And at this point, I am sorry to relate, things began to go just a tiny bit haywire.

But just the tiniest, tiniest bit.

First, it is important you know that Magenta, being a maid, is carrying a feather duster at this point in the film (not one of those short, typical dusters—the long, thin ones that look like giant pipe cleaners). And when she is done with her initial jack-in-the-box line, she tosses the aforesaid feather duster to Riff Raff who snatches it out of the air.

As the opening strains of “The Time Warp” begin, Riff approaches an upright coffin and flicks the feather duster over it (presumably “dusting” it) as he sings the first few lines of the song.

Simple enough, right?

So Andrea, as she is supposed to do, flipped me the feather duster. Never having practiced catching it, I reached out nervously and was stunned to find that I had actually plucked it out of the air, exactly the way Riff did in the movie. Hey! Not too shabby!

I walked over to the coffin, my new prop in hand, and I “dusted” it in perfect unison with my on-screen partner. And I started to sing the beloved anthem of Rocky lovers everywhere.

There I was, at last. I was singing “The Time Warp.” On stage. At the Rocky Horror show. And the entire experience was full to the brim with awesomeness.

That, friends, was the good news.

The bad news: I had no freaki
n’
idea what to do with the goddamn feather duster.

I knew, deep down, that Riff drops it at some point. But I did
n’
t know when. And I did
n’
t know where. And I did
n’
t know how. So, for reasons that have been forever lost in the mists of time...I kept it in my hand.

For what seemed like
forever
.

In my defense: When I had practiced the damn number at home, I never had any props. I never had any
scene partners
. I never had any
guidance
. It was just
me
.

Me without, let me make clear:

A fucking
feather
fucking
duster
.

And it just
would
n’
t go away
. It seemed stuck to my hand. Like it was stapled on. I could
n’
t drop it. Impossible. I could
n’
t get
rid
of it. How could I? It had, in just a few seconds, become a part of me, an appendage, an extension of myself. It was like a prosthetic hand that could...you know...
dust
things.

At first, Andrea did
n’
t notice it at all. After all, I was doing the rest of the blocking just fine. And the crazed look of panic in my eyes must have been pretty well hidden. Her lack of alarm allowed me to briefly believe that I might actually pull this off and that later, when things quieted down, I would figure out a way to ditch the stupid thing.

And that plan might have worked. However:

There is a second, a moment, just before Riff and Magenta burst into the room full of Transylvanians, when the two of them engage in a little bit of stage business that we in the Rocky business call…

…Elbow Sex.

To the uninitiated, this is doubtless an odd expression. Allow me to explain:

In the film, on a number of occasions, Riff Raff and Magenta square off (sometimes very quickly, sometimes with wonderfully agonizing sexual slowness) and perform a peculiar ritual. They face each other, splay their hands flat in the air at chest level and move their fingers toward their respective partner. When the fingers touch, the hands curve upwards, so that each part of the arm—the hand, the wrist, the forearm, all the way up to the elbow—touch briefly and release.

The fact that Riff and Magenta are brother and sister adds an element of undeniable creepiness to the whole thing, but who are we to judge?

The first of these Elbow Sex rituals happens very early in “The Time Warp” and zips by very quickly, just as Riff and Magenta sing the line, “And the void would be calling.” They run at each other, enjoy a very brief bout of Elbow Sex, then bang open the doors to reveal the Transylvanian partygoers, all set to dance.

I knew my cue, I moved toward Andrea, I delivered the line and I engaged in my first-ever, on-stage Elbow Sex.

And to my indescribable shock and horror, I soundly batted Andrea in the head with the feather duster.

Maybe no one else heard it. But I did. It made a sound like this:

THWOCK.

Do you know it what feels like to hear a THWOCK in the pitch-blackness of a movie theater and know, with a gathering sickness, that you just inadvertently clocked your new scene partner in the head with a prop that you never in a million years should have been holding in the first place?

In case you do
n’
t, her
e’
s what it feels like: It feels like instant death.

Your heart stops, your skin goes cold and you freeze stock-still, as if in the grips of rigor mortis. You are, for that brief second or two, stone-cold dead.

And then, horribly, life goes on and you have to face what you did.

In the millisecond after I gave Andrea a good old-fashioned thwocking, I fully anticipated that her reaction would be to whip around, reach into my chest, pull out my still-beating heart and show it to me just to teach me a good lesson.

Or perhaps she would snatch the feather duster out of my hand and return the favor, neatly cleaving my head from my shoulders with a thwock of her own.

I did
n’
t know what was going to happen. I only knew it was going to be
bad
.

“
What the fuck was that
?” she managed in a low voice, shaking her rattled noggin.

“
I’
m sorry
,” I whispered back urgently. “
It was the feather duster. I did
n’
t know when to drop it and I...
”

“
Get rid of it!
”

“
What?
”

“
Get. Rid. Of. It.
”

“
Where?
”

Out of the dark, I felt her iron grip on my arm as she found my hand, located the offending household cleaning implement, wrenched it out of my grip and flung it behind her.

The horrible thing was finally gone. I was free.

This entire exchange took place in the time it takes for the Transylvanians to sing. “Le
t’
s do the Time Warp again!” twice and for the Criminologist to begin his recounting of the Time War
p’
s dance steps by intoning, “I
t’
s just a jump to the left.”

By that time, especially if yo
u’
re playing Riff and Magenta, you better be goddamn good and ready to jump to the motherfucking left.

And now that Andrea had thankfully and efficiently jettisoned the unholy and unspeakable object...

...we were.

I
t’
s an odd sensation, actually performing in the Rocky show. This is true for many reasons, but the primary cause of this uneasy feeling is the constant awareness of so many different bits of stimuli that are vying all at once for your concentration and attention.

First, of course, there is the movie screen and your characte
r’
s movements upon it. It goes without saying that your primary duty is to mimic your counterpart as closely as possible. Fair enough.

But apart from that, there is the actual blocking of the show within the movie theater itself. The space where you are performing is obviously not going to be the same shape and size as Frank-N-Furte
r’
s on-screen castle, so it is incumbent on the cast members, the cast manager and, when you have one, the cast director to decide where the different scenes will be placed within the theater and where certain actions can or cannot be performed.

Fran
k’
s entrance, for example, has to be predetermined as being on one side of the theater or the other long before the show begins. After all, Brad and Janet need to approach this area walking
backward
so it is essential that this spot be known specifically to all parties involved. Once agreed upon, Frank must
never
be placed anywhere else in the theater for his entrance unless specifically agreed upon.

In a similar vein, the Criminologist
must
pop up for his scenes from the same, exact spot (down in front, just to the right of center) every single time. No exceptions. And when Riff Raff appears on the monitor, interrupting Bra
d’
s blow job in the bedroom scene, he needs to be placed not eleven, not nine, but
ten seats
from the aisle. This is
imperative
.