There are three reasons why The Rocky Horror Show, currently playing at the Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center, is such a delightful and satisfying frolic: Heather Krueger, Jesse Luttrell and Hayden Milanes. These gifted performers understand everything about Richard O'Brien's much-reprised musical, from its ostentatious self-parody to its joyous celebration of modern-day gender-bending.
Not that these are the only effective actors: In fact, just about everyone in this busy escapade does a first-rate job of singing and strutting on the Jaeb Playhouse stage, and there's not a character who's not exaggerated to good effect. But Krueger as innocent Janet, Luttrell as wicked Frank N. Furter and Milanes as sex-robot Rocky live their roles so completely, they leave the world of mere performance to become something like Platonic Forms. Can you imagine a sweeter, more naïve girl than Janet or a more brazen transvestite than supersexed Frankie? And what about beefcake-come-alive Rocky, a model of almost inconceivable brainlessness, all object and no subject? This may be the 300th Rocky Horror Show in recent years, but it's so elemental as to seem the prototype of all others. Author, composer and lyricist O'Brien could hardly be better served.
The story Rocky tells is based on that familiar nightmare involving ordinary people who unknowingly wander into a houseful of ghouls. Janet and Brad (Michael Indeglio) are geek sweethearts whose car has a blowout one stormy night in an unfamiliar part of town. A mysterious mansion is nearby, and when they ask to use the phone, a freakish butler named Riff-Raff (Dean Maroulakos) insists that they come inside. There they're treated to a spectacle of vampirish houseguests (singing the show's signature anthem, "Time Warp") and are finally introduced to the master of the house, mad scientist and transvestite Frank N. Furter. His henchwomen strip Brad and Janet down to their underclothes, give them flimsy smocks to wear and then prepare for the event of the century: the biochemical creation of Rocky, a muscular oaf in black briefs. But to possess Rocky is not enough for the insatiable Frank: he wants Janet, and Brad too. Can they ever escape back to their small-town world and simple dreams? And will Janet ever find a comeback to Frank's great putdown, "Planet Shmanet, Janet"?
The show is loud, impudently sexual, and, as costumed by Rick Criswell, a Halloween treat. Backing up the singing and the swaggering are a dozen or so "phantoms" scantily clad in black, and Frank N. Furter seems to have applied his makeup with a paint roller. Locations are suggested with movie footage projected on a small circular screen against the backdrop, and what isn't obvious in the dialogue is narrated by Criswell (he's also co-director with Karla Hartley) in drag. The set, designed by Hartley, is mostly a bare stage, but among the comedic props are a large electronic machine right out of 1950s science fiction, some beds stood on end, and a silly-looking laser weapon. Not content to be credited with the direction, set and video design, Hartley also appears as Dr. Scott, the wheelchair-bound former science teacher now at work for the U.S. government. There's even an orgy as Frank N. Furter, like a Transylvanian Tony Robbins, sings "Don't dream it, be it." The music, by a live band up on mezzanine level, is raucous, good and loud.
As I remember the show, one image in particular returns to me: Milanes, as the creature Rocky, seemingly striving with all his might to communicate his vast, monumental mindlessness. Never before have I seen an actor work so hard to appear one-dimensional. And it's absolutely right for this celebration of the superficial, the stereotypical and the just plain silly. This Rocky Horror Show gets every joke. And all it asks of us spectators is that we share in its shameless humor.
Gypsy carries on. It's still not too late to see Guillermo Reyes' Man on the Verge of a His-Panic Breakdown at Ybor City's Ritz Theatre and Street Car Charlie's restaurant. The Gypsy Productions offering is about Latino men dealing with the transcultural shock of race and gender identity. It plays till November 1; call 727-644-7077 for reservations.
This article appears in Oct 22-28, 2008.