Fifty years ago, The Rocky Horror Picture Show began as a subversive midnight curiosity. Today, it stands as a cultural landmark - a defiant, and certainly controversial, celebration of gender fluidity and self-expression. My latest 1:12 scale scratch-built miniature, The Orpheum Theater, is my tribute to my favorite campy cult classic.

About the Build

The Orpheum is an old brick movie palace, its façade glowing with lighted marquee signs announcing midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Black, dark red, and gold accents, along with an Art Deco flair, recall the glamour of vintage theaters. But look closer, the brick walls are alive with protest posters, graffiti, and political art. These aren’t just visual details; they’re deliberate echoes of the activism and resistance that Rocky Horror has inspired for generations.

Turning the theater around reveals the lobby: a lush red, gold, and black Art Deco space with a fully stocked concessions stand (popcorn, candy, soda) and a velvet armchair crowned by a red lips-shaped pillow. A life-size standee of Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-N-Furter invites photo ops for movie-goers, while a small table sells Audience Participation kits filled with every delightfully chaotic prop a Rocky Horror veteran could want - toilet paper, playing cards, flashlights, squirt guns, toast, newspapers, and more.

Why Rocky Horror?

I’ve been drawn to The Rocky Horror Picture Show since my early teens. Its music, its message, and its unabashed eccentricity struck a chord with me as a classically trained pianist, violinist, and choral singer with a deep love of the stage.

In the early 2000s, I had the chance to see The Rocky Horror Show on Broadway at The Circle in the Square Theatre with my parents. That night - with an all-star cast that included Dick Cavett, Luke Perry, Aiko Nakasone, Kristen Lee Kelly, Sebastian LaCause, Ana Gasteyer, Lea DeLaria, Raul Esparza, and Jonathan Sharp - was life-changing.

Around that same time, many of my closest friends were part of the LGBTQ community. Some were out and proud, while others didn’t feel safe enough to share labels or identities. I’m old enough to remember when “gay” was regularly used as a slur among my peers. I didn’t think of myself as an “ally.” I simply loved my friends and wanted to understand them better.

Although some will argue that Rocky Horror’s queer representation is problematic (and I understand that perspective), for me, the themes of “otherness” and the community that formed around viewing the film gave me a way to connect more deeply with those who didn’t have my privilege of living as a straight white girl in Florida in the early 2000s. It was more than entertainment. It was a bridge, a celebration of difference, and a joyful invitation to live authentically.

Cultural and Historical Context

When Rocky Horror premiered in 1975, queer representation was rare and risky. Homosexuality had only recently been decriminalized in the UK, and in the U.S. it remained taboo. The film’s midnight screenings became sanctuaries, places where queer and gender-nonconforming people could celebrate themselves, find community, and experiment with identity without fear of judgment.

Its legendary audience participation transformed screenings into interactive performances, creating space for radical self-expression and belonging. The mantra “Don’t dream it, be it” became a rallying cry for anyone living outside the margins.

Today, in an era where transgender rights and queer expression face renewed political attacks, Rocky Horror’s legacy is more relevant than ever. My decision to include political protest art and graffiti on The Orpheum’s exterior reflects this, a visual reminder that art has always been an act of resistance.

A Love Letter in Miniature

The Orpheum is more than just a miniature to me. It’s a personal thank-you to a work of art that changed me. It’s a celebration of Rocky Horror’s place in both queer history and pop culture. And it’s a reminder that we all still need spaces, real or imagined, where being “too much” is exactly enough.