Confessions of a Transylvanian (7 page)

Doc directed Steve, me and a few other peon Transylvanian-types where to place the set pieces, the props, the various accoutrements that the actors would need for the show, while he consulted with Donny on who would be playing what roles that night.

Most of the cast stayed the same from week to week (the principals) but some of the minor roles were sort of pick-up parts. Ralph Hapschatt, Betty Monroe, the wedding photographer, the American Gothic couple in the “Dammit Janet” number...the actors who played these parts changed almost weekly, depending on who was there to do it. Doc checked the list and delivered the props to the appropriate person or area. Every piece that we had wheeled in, it appeared, had its own set place and it was made very clear to us that a heavy price would be paid if a prop or costume was not where it was expected to be.

Finally, Doc said, “You boys better get ready.” His checklist was complete and it was time for Steve and me to suit up.

“Okay,” said Steve. He looked at me and I shrugged my shoulders. He did
n’
t seem to want to ask, so I did: “Do we change in here?”

Do
c’
s eyebrows shot up. “No, no. Use the bathroom in the lobby. But listen, use the
girl
s’
room, okay? Ther
e’
s a big makeup mirror in there. The me
n’
s room is no good.”

Steve and I traded a look, decided not to say, “Could you repeat that?” and, instead, headed off to get changed.

Now, I do
n’
t know about you but, until Doc had suggested I give it a try, I had never set foot inside a ladie
s’
restroom. I mean, why would I, right? We all know our rightful places in the world and mine, clearly, was across the hall. In the
me
n’
s room
. Yet there I found myself, standing outside the door of the ladies room in the lobby with my newest, bestest friend Steve, entirely unsure of whether or not to actually go in.

For one thing, we knew there was the possibility that Doc was having a laugh at our expense. Maybe this was some kind of Rocky hazing, Do
c’
s hilarious play-a-joke-on-the-rookies gag. “Hey, I got the newbies to go change in the wome
n’
s toilet!”

Har-de-fucki
n’
-har-har.

So we stood there for a few minutes, looking completely moronic, until at last one of the older guys from the show, a guy I had
n’
t met yet, came out of the theater, walked straight across the lobby and, as naturally as you please, walked right into the ladie
s’
room without a second thought.

That was all the prompting we needed. Steve and I followed him in as casually as if we were walking into an elevator.

An elevator full of half-naked teenage girls, that is.

Her
e’
s a tip: When you walk into a room and find yourself surrounded by a gaggle of young ladies yo
u’
ve never met before standing around in their underwear, the best thing you can do is to remain
cool
. Try to act as if this is a commonplace occurrence in your life. In fact, reacting
in any way
is something you want to avoid altogether. Any slight reaction, no matter how small, will not go unnoticed.

To our credit, Steve and I managed not to point or stare or say, “Holy shit, I can totally see your boobs,” or anything
untoward
. We just went about our business getting ready for the show and completely ignored the fleshy, undulating surroundings in which we suddenly found ourselves. We just did our best to tune it out.

Well, I mean...not
completely
. But we did pretty well, considering.

One of the things that Donny had
n’
t mentioned to me about appearing as a Transylvanian (and something I probably should have figured out for myself) is that every one of them is expected to appear in whiteface, along with lipstick and eyeliner to accentuate the features. Due to his omission of this fact, I had, therefore, committed a minor Rocky
faux pas
by not showing up with the proper makeup.

Fortunately, there was plenty of extra to go around (Steve had brought his own and was nice enough to offer it) and pretty soon—after some careful application—I had the Transylvanian greasepaint in place. The result was that you basically appeared as if you were an actor from the silent film era. Mack Sennett would have been proud. And while the look itself is
n’
t all that attractive up close, i
t’
s effective as hell once yo
u’
re on stage.

As we went about the business of applying the face paint, Steve and I slowly realized that there was a backstage patter going on that was well worth a listen. The nonstop back-and-forth of the cast was hard to ignore.

“I about wrenched my fucki
n’
neck on that twirl last week. Donn
y’
s gotta learn to slow the hell down.” This from one of the girls that did the opening “Science Fiction” number in front of the screen. I think she also doubled as Columbia, but I could
n’
t be sure. Her voice had a slight New York twang to it, but running across a New York accent in South Florida is more common than finding sand in your crotch after a trip to the beach.

“So talk to him. Do
n’
t just bitch about it.” This came from her top-of-the-show partner, whom I recognized as the girl who also played Magenta. There was no mistaking her.

Both of these girls had different versions of the same basic persona: tough as nails and completely unapproachable.

I was content just to listen.

Next to them was the guy who played Frank-N-Furter and he was applying his makeup the way DaVinci must have painted the Mona Lisa. Sllooowly. Carefully. Like he had all year. (He had a later entrance than most of the cast and could get away with taking his time.) And his patience was paying off. Fran
k’
s makeup is, until the finale, sharp, clean and perfect, and watching him carefully etch it onto his face was mesmerizing. When he was done, this guy was going to look amazing.

He added his two cents to the conversation. “Someon
e’
s got to tell Jackie to change her panties before the show if sh
e’
s going to fuck Barry on the way here. By the time we get to the bedroom scene i
t’
s like a goddamn fish market down there.”

Everyone laughed. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Did they always talk like this?

Next to “Frank” (I did
n’
t know anyon
e’
s names yet) was the guy getting ready to play Riff Raff. Silent, but no less intent at putting on his makeup, he exuded the kind of calm coolness that comes from both (a) not giving a shit about the drama swirling around him and (b) secretly really giving a shit but hiding it really well.

He was tall—almost a head taller than anyone else in the room—but rail thin. He had enormous eyes and an equally huge nose that he was accentuating with some brown blush. When he was done with the makeup, he reached over and pulled a bald-cap wig from this little mannequin head on the counter and slipped it onto his head. He centered it on his cranium, arranged the wisps of hair and in less than a minute,
voila
, he was Riff Raff.

I hoped these people did
n’
t mind that I was eyeballing them so shamelessly but, the truth is, I might as well have been invisible. This was the locker room before the big game and they had better things to do than worry about the towel boy.

Finally, word drifted in that they were going to open up the house to the audience. Steve and I, now suited up, drifted back toward the theater.

As we passed through the lobby I saw the line outside. It looked like a good crowd.
I’
m not much at estimating these things, but it appeared to be easily a couple hundred people. The manager of the theater got the high sign from Doc that we were ready and the gates were opened.

As we walked into the theater, I heard the words, “
Check! Check! This is a fucking sound check!
” boom over the speakers and saw this tough-looking, bearded Italian guy standing at the front of the house with a big microphone stand, testing the equipment. The pre-show was about to start.

In groups of twos and threes, the audience members slowly made their way into the theater and down the aisles. As they entered they were greeted by their host—who introduced himself as Tony—calling out to everyone as they entered the auditorium, “
Welcome to
'
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
,'
ladies and gentlemen! Have a seat anywhere! W
e’
ll get to you in just a minute!
” He wore a dark suit, a red ascot and a no-nonsense expression. “
Sit the fuck down, I said! W
e’
ve got a lot to do and very little time to do it in!
”

The seating area filled up fast. Some of the patrons, though not many, were dressed up in character costumes. I saw a Magenta (sexy maid) and a Columbia (though she appeared to have gotten the costume wrong) and there was one brave guy in a Frank-N-Furter bustier and face makeup, but the poor guy looked like he had applied the makeup with a spatula.

The rest of the crowd was a real demographic mix. There did
n’
t appear to be a specific Rocky “type” in the audience; they came in all shapes and sizes. Some were young, some old; some cute, a few scary; a couple that were big and fat and a few who were sexy as hell. And they just kept coming.

Tony, for his part, was whipping up the crowd.

“
Gimme an R!
”

The crowd roared back “
R!
”

“
Gimme an O!
”

“
O!
”

“
Gimme a C!
”

“
C!
”

“
Gimme a K!
”

“
K!
”

“
Gimme a Y!
”

“
Y!
”

“
Wha
t’
s that spell?
”

“
Rocky!
”

“
I ca
n’
t hear you!
”
Tony bellowed
.

“
ROCKY!
”

“
WHAT?!?!
”

“
ROCKY!!!!
” Now they were howling. Tony looked unimpressed. That was his job. The audience had to
earn
his respect.

In addition to revving the assembled patrons into a frenzy before the show began, Tony clearly had a set list of things he needed to run through, including some rules (which seemed very important) and a few announcements. One such announcement was that a young lady would be walking among the crowd soliciting donations for the cast.

“We might do this shit for free, but it does
n’
t mean it do
n’
t cost nothing,” Tony informed the audience. “So if you can spare a couple of bucks to keep the props and costumes looking good, w
e’
d appreciate it. Hell, Jackie might just show you her tits if yo
u’
re lucky.”

“Fuck you, Tony!” yelled the girl from across the theater who was, presumably, Jackie.

“Sorry, my fault,” Tony yelled back. “The tits cost you five.”

“Yo
u’
re goddamn right!”

The rules of the house, which Tony took pains to impart, were pretty straightforward. You could throw stuff, but nothing dangerous. Stay out of the aisles when people are running around the theater in costume (this happened a couple times during the show). And if you get a little wet or hit by a piece of toast or something, try not to be a big pussy about it.

Then, as he seemed to near the end of his spiel, Tony asked, very casually, “Say, is anybody here for the first time?”

A few hands, maybe twenty or so, shot up. Why not? What did they know?

Ton
y’
s eyes suddenly burned red as he leaped into action. He jabbed a finger at the Transylvanians and hollered, “
Go get
‘
em, girls! Bring me those goddamn virgins right this fucking second!
”

Three or four cast members, all ladies, swarmed into the crowd and plucked the first-timers out of their chairs, dragging them to the front of the theater. (This had happened to me the previous week and I had
loved
it.) Most of the patrons being pulled onto the stage seemed perfectly happy to come, as this ritual was either expected or seemed harmless. Tony had them all line up in front of the crowd.

“Le
t’
s hear it for our virgins, ladies and gentlemen, are
n’
t they great?”

The crowd went wild.

The method of deflowering virgins at Rocky shows varies from cast to cast. Some are more daring than others in what they demand of their virgins but, at the Deerfield show, the ceremony was pretty tame. The participants had to pledge their undying fealty to the Rocky show, of course. They were given a rudimentary Time Warp lesson. Ceremonial paddlings were threatened, but never administered. Finally, they had to swear not to reveal anything about the show to their virgin friends. All told, it was nothing more than a semi-formal “Welcome to Rocky, get ready to enjoy yourselves” kind of thing.