Just Guyton

I think I knew Tim Curry long before I actually knew Tim Curry.

I was probably around ten or twelve when I first saw Clue and Legend. I didn’t realize at the time that Wadsworth—the frantic, funny butler running around a mansion trying to solve a murder—and Darkness, the enormous red demon with those magnificent horns, were played by the same man.

Honestly, how was I supposed to know?

They didn’t look alike. They didn’t act alike. They didn’t feel alike.

To me, they were simply two completely different characters in two completely different movies.

It wasn’t until I got older that I started connecting the dots and realizing just how many times Tim Curry had already wandered through my childhood without me knowing it.

And then there was Pennywise.

I was already deathly afraid of clowns, so It wasn’t exactly helpful.

Darkness? Fine.

Giant red demon with enormous horns? No problem.

Tim Curry puts on clown makeup?

Absolutely not.

Apparently I didn’t need to overcome my fear of clowns. I needed Tim Curry to provide supporting evidence that I’d been right about them all along.

Then, when I was seventeen, I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show for the first time.

And my reaction was pretty much:

Oh my God, I love this.

Followed immediately by:

What am I watching?

I was intrigued. Fascinated. Completely in awe.

I’ve always loved musicals, but this was unlike any musical I’d ever seen. It was strange and theatrical and funny and outrageous—and right in the middle of all of it was Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-N-Furter.

He didn’t simply play that character.

He owned him.

Every look. Every movement. Every ridiculous, wonderful moment of it.

I couldn’t look away.

And somewhere along the way, I learned how to do the Time Warp.

Because apparently watching the movie wasn’t enough. I needed choreography.

Decades later, I still know it.

Some information leaves your brain because apparently you need that space for important adult things like passwords and remembering why you walked into the kitchen.

The Time Warp?

Permanent storage.

As I got older, I began realizing something else about Tim Curry. All those characters I’d grown up watching—the ones who made me laugh, fascinated me, and occasionally scared the absolute hell out of me—were coming from the same person.

That’s what I loved most about him.

His variety.

He could disappear into a character so completely that when I was a kid, I genuinely didn’t know I was watching the same actor.

Wadsworth made me laugh.

Darkness fascinated me.

Pennywise terrified me.

Frank-N-Furter captivated me.

One actor.

Four completely different reactions.

And yesterday, when I heard that Tim Curry had passed away, it made me genuinely sad.

Celebrity deaths can be strange that way.

You don’t know these people. They don’t know you. And yet somehow they’ve been there.

They’re tucked into childhood afternoons and teenage discoveries. They’re attached to movies you watched over and over, jokes you still remember, things that frightened you, and moments that became part of who you were.

Sometimes you don’t realize how long an artist has been traveling through your life until you have to say goodbye to them.

Tim Curry had been wandering through mine since I was about ten years old.

I just didn’t know his name yet.

So today, I don’t really want to be sad.

I’d rather remember the little girl watching Clue.

I’d rather remember being completely unfazed by Darkness but absolutely unwilling to trust a clown.

I’d rather remember being seventeen, staring at Frank-N-Furter and thinking:

Oh my God, I love this.

But what am I watching?

And I’d rather remember that all these years later, I can still do the Time Warp.

Some people leave behind performances.

Some leave behind characters.

And every once in a while, someone leaves behind so many wonderfully different versions of themselves that it feels like you’ve lost several old friends at once.

Thank you for the laughs, the fascination, the fear, the music, and the wonderfully weird memories, Tim.

And if we’re going to remember him…

I think we all know what time it is.

Let’s do the Time Warp again.

— GUYTON