Don't Dream It, Be It

Painting by Don Biggs, via Etsy

I’m going to kick off this post by proclaiming my love and admiration for Dolly Parton, who also passed in recent days — she was a towering figure, and an exemplar of the (all-to-rare) compassionate and generous celebrity who practiced exactly what she preached: love and respect for all, and unstinting support for the marginalized and underprivileged. If every famous person was like her, this world would be an infinitely better place.

But for me, it was the recent death of Tim Curry that dealt the most devastating emotional blow. Although he wasn’t quite the international superstar and beloved icon that Parton was, for a certain strain of iconoclastic artistic misfit (raises hand timidly) he was a foundational figure, and one of the earliest onscreen representations of just how weird and wonderful life could be.

As a kid growing up in Coconut Grove, Florida, I first became aware of The Rocky Horror Picture Show walking past the groovy Grove Cinema, which was one of the first theaters in the country to start showing it in regular midnight rotation. The Grove latched onto the odd British cult flick early, and helped to create and nurture the wild interactive culture that sprang up around it. 

Although I was too young to attend when it first debuted, I remember being mildly obsessed with the ruby red lip-biting logo on the poster, and imagined all sorts of decadent things that might be happening behind those mysterious theater doors.

The Grove Cinema in the 70s

I ended up moving to Charlottesville, Virginia before I ever made it to a midnight screening at The Grove, but by pure happenstance I fell in with a Unitarian youth group (LRY forever!) that was overflowing with Rocky Horror fans. And so, during a wild group trip to Richmond, I both managed to snag a Rocky Horror picture disc from a local record store and attend my first midnight screening at the fabled Biograph Theatre.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show vinyl that I still proudly own to this day.

I don’t want to exaggerate and say that the experience was life-altering, but it definitely marked a turning point in my emotional, creative, and sexual development that continues to resonate to this day.

I was enchanted by the film — and the ecstatic audience reaction — from the very first notes of “Science Fiction/Double Feature”, but it was the dramatic entrance of Tim Curry as the dazzling Dr. Frank-N-Furter that truly blew my mind. Curry’s portrayal is, hands down, one of the most iconic in modern cinema. His fantastically expressive face, lithesome strutting, and outrageous torn-fishnets-and-leather-corset costume made the deepest impression possible on my malleable young mind.

And that voice! Curry’s singing doesn’t get as many accolades as his versatile acting range, but to my ears his resonant baritone and offbeat phrasing were among the best around, especially in outsized theatrical roles. (In fact, I was such a fan of his performance that I immediately ran out and bought his solo album Fearless, wearing out the grooves on cheeky club anthems like Paradise Garage.)

I did eventually get multiple chances to experience Rocky Horror at The Grove, and while I never became a full-blown performing superfan (I could never pull off those glorious fishnets, for one), the hours I spent yelling and cheering and throwing toilet paper at the screen were among the happiest moments I’ve ever spent in a theater. It made me realize that art is a two-way street, and that weird little films made by and for outsiders could — paradoxically — create a greater sense of community than a mainstream blockbuster ever could.

From that moment on I had a simple rule: if I saw Tim Curry’s name attached to a project, I would consume it immediately. And you know what? The man rarely, if ever, let me down. From his turn as a smooth-voiced rock radio philosopher in Allan Moyle’s punky 80s classic Times Square, to his scene-stealing character work in big-budget Hollywood productions like Annie and Clue, to his genuinely frightening portrayal of demons like Darkness (Ridley Scott’s Legend) and Pennywise the clown (Stephen King’s It miniseries), he was invariably the highlight of everything he appeared in. Hell, even his later voice work for animated films and video games was so gloriously unhinged that it’s still celebrated in side-splitting memes to this day.

Even after he suffered a debilitating stroke in 2012, his vibrant personality still shone brightly in everything he did. His terrifying turn as Auntie Whispers in Over the Garden Wall, for instance, is a master class in creepy, understated menace. And just take a look at this delightful Rocky Horror cast reunion from last year, and you’ll see a man as witty and mischievous as ever, surrounded by dear friends whose affection and admiration couldn’t be more clear.

So here’s to you, Mr. Curry, you magnificent force of nature. I’ll never forget the moment that you strutted onscreen and changed the creative trajectory of my life. Bless you for all of the joy and exhilaration that you brought me (and so many other misfits and oddballs) over the years — an entire generation of artists and free thinkers owes you a monumental debt of gratitude. 

As Dr. Frank-N-Furter would say: Enchanté — the pleasure was all mine.