More than half a century after a fishnet-clad alien first strutted across a London stage, Richard O’Brien still sounds amused by it all.
“Hello MK from Seattle,” he says, greeting me with an easy warmth that feels both intimate and theatrical. It’s the voice of a storyteller who never expected to change culture—only to entertain for a few weeks. And yet, The Rocky Horror Show—and its cinematic counterpart, The Rocky Horror Picture Show—did exactly that.
The new documentary, Strange Journey: The Story of Rocky Horror, captures that unlikely trajectory: a scrappy fringe production that became a global cult ritual, a box office disappointment that found immortality at midnight screenings, and, perhaps most importantly, a haven for generations of outsiders. But talking to O’Brien, it becomes clear that the story of Rocky Horror is inseparable from the story of identity, rebellion, and the slow, uneven march toward self-expression.
Before the Glitter: A Monochrome World
To understand Rocky Horror, O’Brien takes us back—to a time before glam, before liberation, before technicolor.
Born in England and raised partly in New Zealand, he describes his early life as a study in contrasts. England in the 1950s, he recalls, was rigidly stratified, governed by an invisible but ever-present class system.
“I can’t begin to tell young people today exactly what that was like,” he says. “It colored every interaction… how you spoke, your accent, your clothes gave you away.”
When his family moved to New Zealand, the shift was profound.
“To be living in a class-free society… was delightful,” he says.
But freedom was relative. Even in a more egalitarian environment, queerness remained hidden, pushed into isolation. “Gay men had to hide… they were very lonely people,” he reflects, acknowledging a quiet pain that would later find expression in his work.
When O’Brien returned to England in the 1960s, the country was still “monochromatic”—socially, culturally, emotionally. But change was coming fast.
“In 1967, England turned technicolor,” he says, describing the explosion of music, fashion, and counterculture that redefined British identity.
The Beatles and Rolling Stones shattered class barriers. Glam rock blurred gender lines. For O’Brien, it opened a door.
“It gave me an opportunity to go out dressed as girly as I liked… I wasn’t dressed as a girl. I was just a glam rocker.”
That distinction—playful, subversive, liberating—would become the foundation of Rocky Horror.
A Happy Accident in Fishnets
The origin story of The Rocky Horror Show is almost absurdly humble. No grand ambition. No calculated rebellion.
“We thought we were going to have three weeks fun,” O’Brien says.
That was it. A small upstairs theater. Sixty-two seats. A group of collaborators chasing joy, not legacy.
And yet, those three weeks stretched into five. Then a move to a new venue. Then another. The show grew organically, fueled by word of mouth and a kind of electric unpredictability. Songs were added. Roles were recast. Energy built.
What’s striking, in retrospect, is how little control anyone had—and how much that lack of control allowed the show to become something alive.
There was no formula to follow because there was no formula yet.
From Stage to Screen—and Into the Cold
When Rocky Horror made the leap to film in 1975, the transition was anything but glamorous. The now-iconic movie—filled with glitter, corsets, and theatrical excess—was shot under decidedly less fabulous conditions.
“It was the coldest time of the year,” O’Brien recalls. “Studios and soundstages are always freezing… you can’t have heating on.”
Actors shivered through scenes that would later feel feverishly alive. Water sequences were far from comfortable. Illness spread through the cast—Susan Sarandon famously fell sick during production—but the work pushed forward.
And despite the challenges, the film achieved something rare: it came in on time and on budget.
At the time, though, success seemed uncertain. The movie didn’t immediately resonate with mainstream audiences. It could have faded into obscurity.
Instead, it mutated.
The Midnight Resurrection
What Strange Journey captures so vividly is the film’s second life—the one that truly mattered.
Midnight screenings began to attract a different kind of audience. Not passive viewers, but participants. Fans dressed up, shouted lines back at the screen, turned cinema into ritual.
The experience became communal, anarchic, joyful.
And crucially, it became safe.
For queer audiences, for outsiders, for anyone who felt out of step with the world around them, Rocky Horror offered something rare: a place to exist without judgment.
“It’s a rainbow event now,” O’Brien says. “It brings people together into a place of safety… where they know they will never get any bad vibes.”
That sense of belonging is not incidental—it’s the heart of the phenomenon. The film didn’t just entertain; it created community.
Defiance in the Present Moment
Watching Strange Journey today, it’s impossible not to feel the weight of the present pressing against the past. The documentary doesn’t just celebrate a cultural artifact—it reframes it.
Because Rocky Horror is no longer just a relic of 1970s counterculture. It’s a living, breathing statement.
O’Brien is candid about why that matters now.
“We need that more than ever,” he says, pointing to rising cultural and political forces that seek to impose conformity or shame.
His frustration is palpable when discussing attempts to limit identity or self-expression. For him, the idea that anyone should feel ashamed for who they are is not just outdated—it’s offensive.
“How dare they?” he says.
And yet, rather than retreat into nostalgia, O’Brien frames Rocky Horror as an antidote—a joyful act of resistance.
“It’s how we should be looking at the world… we’re all in this together.”
Legacy Without Ownership
For a creator whose work has become so deeply embedded in culture, O’Brien maintains a striking lack of possessiveness.
When asked what he hopes audiences take away from Strange Journey, he shrugs off the question.
“I don’t have any expectations,” he says. “You do what you do and then move on.”
There’s something fitting about that. Rocky Horror has never belonged solely to its creator—it belongs to the people who show up, dress up, sing along, and make it their own.
What O’Brien does hope, simply, is that people leave with lighter hearts.
“If people enjoy it… that’s enough.”
The Enduring Invitation
More than fifty years on, Rocky Horror remains a contradiction: outrageous yet comforting, chaotic yet communal, deeply personal yet universally resonant.
Its message hasn’t softened with time—it’s sharpened.
In a world that still struggles with difference, still debates identity, still resists change, the film’s central invitation feels as radical as ever:
To reject shame.
To embrace joy.
To step into the spotlight, however imperfectly.
And, as Dr. Frank-N-Furter famously commands:
Don’t dream it. Be it.
Strange Journey: The Story of Rocky Horror will be screened in Seattle the Tasveer Film Center in Columbia City on Thurs, 4/23 at 7:30p. For tix, click here. Strange Journey: The Story of Rocky Horror(2025, US, English)
On 4/24 -30 at Regal Fox Tower in Portland, OR Strange Journey: The Story of Rocky Horror Movie Tickets and Showtimes Near Me | Regal
On 4/24 to May 4 at the AMC Mercado in San Francisco, CA.
