Heaviest Tea Mayor, Page 293 + 294.

I hate The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I never, ever liked it.

I don't like the songs -- face facts, they are all essentially the same tune, over and over again. I don't like the characters, except for Barry Bostwick as Brad, who, contrary to what the audience screams, is the only cast member who is NOT an asshole. I can't stand the story, what little there is of it, as it decays into the sort of high-school musical dreamland one can find oneself in if one has sucked down too much amyl nitrate.

And I can't stand the audience.

On Halloween, and on regular weekend midnight shows throughout the year, the local Rocky Horror fan club gets together at the Riverview Theater to watch the same movie and make the same jokes about it, week after week. Deviation is not tolerated, unless it's initiated by one of the club's cool inner circle. The same jokes, sketches, interjections, always. I haven't seen so much precision rote behavior since Triumph Of The Will.

Here is an example of a film that was bad to begin with, and now two decades later people band together to celebrate its badness, but they do it badly.

For reasons only God could explain, people have been doing this, repeatedly, for over twenty-five years.

What began as an interesting midnight movie exercise in excessive camp has become a haven for witless followers, a sort of church for dumbshits.