‘Rocky Horror’ given a Baltimore twist

By Luke Parker
Baltimore Watchdog Staff Writer

On the night of the final dress rehearsal, director Earl O. Melvin watched over the stage with both a critical scowl and a youthful playfulness. Throughout the night he had repositioned the scarcely dressed cast with pinpoint precision. But like the few other non-performers in the room, he also followed along with the story and was more than happy to laugh at his own jokes.

“It’s just funny in itself seeing this Black cast acting these characters out,” Melvin said. “And I want people to see us–African Americans in Baltimore–do something else.”

The next day, the flamboyant fanfare of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” blasted from the chandelier-shaking amplifiers situated throughout the Baltimore Soundstage. Wrapped around the venue with overflow viewers dancing in the back, the audience interjected on cue as the cult film played out on the screen–and Melvin’s spunky Black cast recreated it underneath.

“Chocolate Covered Rocky Horror” has drawn cheers, beers, and slices of toast from crowds since 2015. These “one-night stands” serve to celebrate Black art, Black sexuality, Black pride and most importantly, Black productivity.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like this before,” said Mike Gamsby, a New Jersey native who’s been part of the “Rocky Horror” family for over two decades as both a fan and a performer. He’s proud to admit that he’s seen the show over two thousand times though “Chocolate Covered” was his first with a Black cast. “The attitude…was very pronounced.”

That bulging attitude is exactly what Melvin wanted his audience to bask in. His neon-clad performers imitated oral sex, turned up the tempo of the dancing and greatly exaggerated the acrobatics for the show.

“This is for those who were told they weren’t enough based on them being into other things,” Melvin, a member of the LGBT community, said. “But I want other people to come and appreciate the art of performance, Black beauty and Black sexuality across the board.”

Audiences have pleasured themselves playing along with “Rocky Horror” for decades, dressing up in fishnet stockings, proudly labeling themselves as “whores” and coordinating callouts to the script for what can only be described as an interactive experience.

Combined with the centerfold chaos of the story and the “gospel undertones in the music,” this fancy-free culture is what first reeled Melvin in.

But a tough task awaited him: Melvin wanted to find a way to make one of the most different stories ever told even more different.

“I was looking for ways to make the story more relatable to the African-American experience,” he said. “And then I’m just like, ‘what if we just did this all Black shadowcast and really brought out the sensuality and the soulfulness of the show?’”

It took him a year to pull the production together, most of which he confessed was spent finding other Black people who knew what “Rocky Horror” was.

The initial performances in Washington D.C. were a huge hit.

As a Maryland native from the Old East Baltimore Historic District, it wasn’t until Melvin returned home in 2017 that his production’s purpose could fully take shape.

“We have to put our resources back,” Melvin said. “We do ourselves a great disservice by not coming back and not being the light in the darkness. This truly is a great city. We just have to get some more light in it.”

At a young age Melvin “wasn’t necessarily about the surroundings” nor did he appreciate the expectations placed on young Black men. He was bullied in elementary school for not “going with the flow” and refusing to deal drugs.

“I found myself pushing all of that away,” Melvin said. “When we’re young we’re so open and so fickle and I saw that a lot. No one really seemed to stand on anything or for anything.”

As for why Melvin decided to stand on “Rocky Horror,” the production has never been an agent of subtlety. And it certainly isn’t for everybody.

Even at the Soundstage, there were several firstcomers who grew frustrated with the audience’s constant interjections and screen-blocking dances.

Shortly after one group of men got into a screaming bout with a group of enthusiastic “whores” mid-performance and learned that their energetic interactions were not only commended but encouraged, several audience members left–without a refund.

But those who stayed and gave themselves over to absolute pleasure witnessed something wholly individual.

Not even Alila Cornelius, a longtime “Rocky Horror” fanatic who bought a Greyhound ticket from Philadelphia at the suggestion of her ex, had experienced the show like this.

“The shadowcast is always white,” she said, describing the alleviation of her discomfort in the “Rocky Horror” fandom. “I almost dressed up tonight and bailed out of it. But now I’m like, ‘damn, I should’ve dressed up!’”

Fans from out of town weren’t the only ones to resonate with the production. Melvin made sure of that. As his Dr. Frank-N-Furter mixed together the ingredients to create his perfect man, he did so with a pinch of Domino Sugar – also known as a dash of Baltimore spirit.

And while the cast conducted their curtain call amid waves of applause and laughter, they shot up from their bows with their right fists raised high in the air.