What happens when a cult musical turns 35?

"Rocky Horror Show," the production at Manoa Valley Theatre directed by Jerry Tracy, suggests three outcomes:

a. It becomes a formalized ritual.

b. It turns into a self-parody.

c. It grapples to bring new life in the same way that worthies like "Oedipus" and "Hamlet" have been resurrected over hundreds of years.

The original rock 'n' roll musical by Richard O'Brien has grown from its beginnings in a tiny London theater into a film, multiple and international cast recordings, and a favorite revival for theaters everywhere. Repeat audiences almost immediately began to participate in the stage action, "calling back" comments in response to favorite lines and bringing in their own props to underscore the action. But as much fun as that is, it leads to safety concerns and leaves behind a mess.

The MVT production regulates and suggests the appropriate spontaneity. Appropriate "call-backs" — most not printable here — are published in the program and manageable props (confetti, glow sticks, toilet paper) are supplied by the theater. Bold print warns that throwing items at the stage could result in the show being stopped, in the same contradictory way that a 3-year-old is encouraged to have fun but forbidden to run with scissors.

It's interesting to see how a show that is built on parody can quickly begin to satirize itself. Take away its surprise value and "Rocky Horror" becomes its own quirky franchise. Most of the performers are simultaneously inside and outside of their outrageous characters, both playing them and commenting on them. Understandably, when the lead role is that of a transsexual, deranged, otherworldly dominatrix — one tends to approach all the parts with a jackhammer.

But "Rocky Horror Show" has to stand on its own two dramatic feet — supported by four-inch heels. And director Tracy has a fine appreciation for the absurdly ridiculous and the apolitically incorrect. Holding back on any front would be deadly, and his cast is uniformly "way out there," making thin ice look like a stroll through the park.

Tony Young attacks the role of Frank N. Furter looking like an acid-induced blending of Barbra Streisand and Ethel Merman poured into the same fishnet stockings and leather bustier. Young is host and ringmaster to a castle full of guests and henchmen where the action plays out like a game of sexual Twister.

Mike Dupre and Sophia Nelson are the innocent high-schoolers who are brought into the mix by a flat tire on a dark and stormy night, and spend most of the show in their underwear. The cunning character twist is that when they discover the bedrooms, neither remains as straight-laced as they initially seem.

John Tolentino is the Rocky in the title, a muscled and dim-witted creation put together in the laboratory for Frank N. Furter's nefarious purposes, and Greg Howell is the increasingly tipsy and "boring" narrator.

The only character surprise is James Sigmon, playing Riff Raff as a crazed rocker instead of a hunchbacked flunky.

The set, by M.J. Matsushita, is an Elizabethan-inspired modified thrust of spider-webby stairs and railings, with the band on the upper level and the audience filling the groundlings space. The result is an explosion of space, but some poor sight lines.

Karen Wolfe's costumes and Greg Howell's wigs and make-up are appropriately outrageous, and Melina Lillios' musical direction gives the right punch to the music and lyrics.

So if you want to do the "Time Warp" again, release your inner imp under controlled conditions, or simply find out what the noise is all about, make the trip to Manoa Valley Theatre, where "Rocky Horror Show" was extended for two weeks even before it opened.

Joseph T. Rozmiarek has been reviewing theater performances in Hawai'i since 1973.