Give Yourself Over to Absolute Pleasure.

Anti — Say it! — pation!

The way you beat the other girls — With a whip!

A toast! — Cue the mass tossing of bread slices.

For better or worse, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which celebrates its 50th anniversary this month, isn’t remembered for being a fun movie (which it is) or for having a great soundtrack (which it does). It’s heralded because of all that audience participation. People don’t just watch the movie. They immerse themselves in it, dressing up in costume, throwing out lines (“callbacks”) in anticipation of, or an answer to, the film’s dialogue, throwing designated props at specific moments (e.g. tossing rice during the wedding scene), and acting out the film in front of the screen as part of a “shadowcast.”

That element is so much a part of today’s Rocky Horror experience, you’ll find fans online saying there’s no point in even seeing the film if there isn’t any audience participation. But I am so grateful I first got to experience Rocky Horror as an actual movie and not a participatory event. It was Halloween night at Washington State University in Pullman, Washington, in 1977, which meant the audience was livelier (and more inebriated) than usual, but nothing beyond that. One could simply enjoy this reworking of The Old Dark House (innocent young couple forced the spend the night in a spooky mansion with, shall we say, “unusual” inhabitants), spiced up with generous helpings of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll, on its own merits.

There’s no shortage of colorful characters in the film: the creepy hunchbacked butler Riff Raff (Richard O’Brien, Rocky Horror’s creator) and his incestuously-minded sister Magenta (Patricia Quinn); Eddie (Meat Loaf), the motorcycle riding ne’er-do-well who’s able to rock out to one song before his untimely demise; Columbia (Nell Campbell), the sequined, tap-dancing member of the entourage; and the virginal Brad and Janet (Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon), the cartoonishly straight (in every sense of the word) couple right out of the 1950s. But Rocky Horror primarily belongs to one character, and one character alone, that sweet transvestite from the planet of Transexual (in the galaxy of Transylvania), Dr. Frank-N-Furter, divinely immortalized on screen by Tim Curry.

It was the sexual aspect of Rocky Horror that was considered especially transgressive when the film was first released. There weren’t many bisexual mad scientists wearing corsets, fishnet stockings, and platform heels in 1970s movies. Especially not men!

The flip side was the realization (uncomfortable to some) of how sexy that could be. Frank is the film’s centerpiece, and Curry glories in his debut role; it’s unlikely Rocky Horror would’ve become such a mainstay without his performance. He hits just the right note of charm and malevolence, seductive one minute and coming at you with a pick axe the next. It’s key to Frank’s character; the confidence and joy co-existing alongside an ever-present sense of danger. And it’s a balancing act that Curry carries off to perfection.

Overall, Rocky Horror is a celebration of sensuality. As Frank says when he seduces Janet and Brad in turn, “There’s no crime in giving yourself over to pleasure.” It’s not exploitative; even the underwater orgy during the “Don’t Dream It, Be It” number (the Rocky Horror credo), is more playful than erotic. There’s an inclusiveness that invites everybody to join the party; you’re supposed to be having fun.

Even so, it’s often overlooked that this apparently licentious movie musical has a rather censorious ending. Riff Raff kills Frank, along with Rocky (Peter Hinwood), Frank’s boy toy creation, in a jealous rage. The castle then blasts off for its home planet, leaving Brad and Janet bleeding and regretful in the wreckage. It seems to impart a contradictory message, that absolute pleasure inevitably leads to absolute destruction. Or perhaps, as in those classic films of yore, the bad guy always has to pay the price in the end. And Frank, for all his charm, is still the bad guy.

Rocky Horror had started life as a successful stage show in London in 1973, and generated much acclaim when it debuted in Los Angeles in 1974 (Curry starred in both productions). O’Brien had brought an early treatment of a show called “They Came From Denton High,” to Jim Sharman in 1972 and they had whipped it into a high camp delight for the stage before handing it off to Sharman to direct on celluloid.

The film was expected to emulate the stage show, riding the anti-(say it!)-pated wave of success that would surely follow when Rocky Horror opened on Broadway on March 10, 1975. But the show tanked, closing on April 5. And initially it seemed that the film was destined for the same fate; it had its global premier on August 14, 1975, at the Rialto Theatre in London before its United States premier in Los Angeles on September 26, 1975. It received mixed reviews, was never given a wide release, and failed to earn back its $1.4 million budget. Officially, The Rocky Horror Picture Show was a flop.

Then, as detailed in Rocky Horror fan club president Sal Piro’s book, Creatures of the Night: The Rocky Horror Picture Show Experience, came the entry of 20th Century Fox exec Tim Deegan, who was determined to give the film new life. He secured an open run for Rocky Horror as a midnighter at the Waverly Theater in New York City, and, in the best horror film tradition, the monster rose from his grave. Audiences were more prone to losing their inhibitions post-midnight, and general hooting and hollering eventually gave way to more pointed commentary. Piro’s book cites kindergarten teacher Louis Farese as the first person to shout out a callback, an early comment being “Buy an umbrella, you cheap bitch!” when Janet is shown walking through the rain holding a newspaper over her head. Okay, not the pithiest of witticisms. But it was enough to get the ball rolling. (In his upcoming memoir, Tim Curry writes that Angie Bowie may have done the first callback during the show’s London run, shouting “Don’t do it!” before Riff Raff guns down Frank).

From there, things escalated to their current state. Rocky Horror became the ultimate fusion of creation and consumer — why watch the movie when you ARE the entertainment? And thus have the faithful returned decade after decade to partake in the ritual. Which begs the question of: why? There’s been much speculation over the years, but I think one of the key factors has been overlooked simply because it’s so obvious: repetition. Theaters that showed midnight movies generally rotated them, screening a different film each weekend. But having Rocky Horror play at a local theater week after week after month after year, meant there was a guaranteed party every Friday and Saturday, and a regular audience for the film was able to grow.

Those regulars became a community. And Rocky Horror’s spirit of inclusiveness made that community a supportive one. A Rocky Horror screening was a safe space to explore one’s sexual and gender identity, another element that contributed to its longevity. As one commenter put it on reddit, “When I was a teenager, it was the only place I could safely run around in women’s clothing in a public setting. It will always have a place in my heart for that reason alone.” In Curry’s memoir, he writes that Rocky Horror offered its acolytes a tantalizing look at “A world of permission.” “I sincerely hope it continues liberating people to be themselves,” he continues. “May they continue to give themselves over to absolute pleasure for the next half century and beyond.”

In the forthcoming documentary, Strange Journey: The Story of Rocky Horror, Linus O’Brien, son of creator Richard. explores the creation and cultural impact of The Rocky Horror Picture Show: its origins, its journey from stage to screen, and its enduring legacy as a cult phenomenon.

Five decades on The Rocky Horror Picture Show still hits that sweet spot: a rock musical with a terrific soundtrack; a sex comedy that’s actually sexy and a comedy; a story that starts off fairly conventionally then swiftly offers a delightful tweaking of gender norms; and a movie that extends an invitation to throw yourself into giddy exhibitionism.

Let’s do the Time Warp. Again.