Every Halloween, The Rocky Horror Picture Show is on T.V. When I was little, my parents would watch it, but I, my hands sticky with sugar from the night’s haul, was not allowed. Until one year, I was allowed! I was in middle school and finally old enough for the alien-transvestite debauchery that has audiences across the world, still, enamored of Rocky. The music! The costumes! The salacious story! I loved it.
In high school, I went to a midnight showing at the Landmark Nuart Theater in West L.A. In college, my now husband and I tried to attend a theater program performance, but we hadn’t planned ahead and had no tickets, and were denied entrance to the sold-out show, even dressed up as we were (yes, I got him into an outfit; no, I won’t post the picture here – let’s just say there were fishnets and feathers involved).
I haven’t yet been to another Rocky show, though I have the movie on DVD and the soundtrack on my IPod (it makes for great background music at work!). The AMC theater right in Harvard Square does a midnight showing with a live cast every Saturday night, however, which seems very promising as a future outing for me and some friends, someday.
Today, you’ll have to be content with what I found in the line.
Yes, the line. Rocky is such a cult favorite that attendees line up outside the theater at least an hour before a performance. One such Saturday night a while ago, I was out in Harvard Square, and courageous after a glass of wine, decided to check out said line to see if there was any fodder for my weekly PAW for my documentary class.
Most of the line was pretty tame, at least in comparison to the L.A. line of my high school days. There weren’t any men in bustiers or spike heels (there were some women, but that’s nothing new!). No big wigs or thigh-high stockings. I was starting to think I’d come by on an off night, but then I saw her.
The bravest, most naked Rocky-goer I’d ever seen.
Energized by the wine I’d imbibed (and it really was only one glass – sometimes it doesn’t take much …), I approached her in line and told her she looked fabulous, I was taking a photography class, and would she mind if I took her picture? People don’t dress up (or fail to get dressed) because they want to avoid attention, so she said yes. I pulled her over to the colorful mural of Charlie and Marilyn and friends, and snapped away.
We exchanged emails so that I could send her the eight shots I got. She was delighted with them and reported that she was invited to join the cast that night (are you surprised?).
If there’s one thing the documentary photo class taught me, it was to be brave. Without the impetus of the course, I never would have had the guts to go up to her, and then we’d all be deprived of this post altogether!!!
And so, this is the unofficial, unintentional start to my boudoir photography career, friends. You saw it here first.