Yeah, I miss him.

I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) last night at the SBIFF Film Center, and I knew from the get-go this wasn’t go to be a regular After Hours screening. The staff were doing bag checks to see if anybody had any bags of rice they would like to throw at the screen. People were dressed in gender-bending dress, with various shades of red lipstick and campy black eyeliner. The entire theater was almost full by the time I sat down.

All for Tim Curry.

Just over a week ago, we lost the venerable character actor at the age of 80, just a day after Dolly Parton died. As guilty as I feel for saying this, Curry’s death hit me harder than Parton’s. It’s not that I disliked Dolly, I’m just not a country person. But since I read his memoir Vagabond earlier this year, I started to reevaluate who he was as an actor.

The minute Curry’s name showed up onscreen, everybody cheered, and even more so when his character, Dr. Frank’n’Furter, appeared in that elevator with the glamorous makeup. Every moment he was onscreen felt like we would be watching him for the final time. In a way, we were. This would be the first time we would be watching Rocky Horror without Tim Curry being around to thank him for putting this brilliance for us all to see year after year.

I don’t think character actors get enough appreciation for what they do. Every actor wants to have a role with substantial meat to it, and while character actors may be relegated to supporting roles, Curry was one of the few that turned his glorious campy characters into his own thing. Dr. Frank-n-Furter is a classic example of this. At first, he’s a seductive transsexual transvestite from Transylvania, obsessed with creating his perfect specimen to lust over. Then he brutally murders his ex-lover Eddie with an axe, shocking everyone. After seducing Brad and Janet and forcing them to his will, he’s effectively become a villain. Yet throughout the film, you can’t help but root for him.

This comes to a head in “I’m Going Home,” where the makeup is falling apart and Frank is as vulnerable as ever. He’s not the braggadocious bisexual mad scientist we saw in the first half of the film. He’s begging, lamenting at how misunderstood he is and how he wants to go home. That, right there, is what makes Frank click. He’s more than a one-note villain. He’s someone who’s need for control alienated everyone around him, and all he has for companions are those he can beat into submission. Now, he’s got no one, and there’s no one but himself to blame.

Tim Curry understood the pain that outsiders feel. No matter how jarring they may be to others and to mainstream society, all outsiders really want is to be accepted for who they are, warts and all. Another role of his I want to highlight is Clue, where he also plays the role of an outsider in a more understated, yet highly comedic way. As the witty butler Wadsworth, Curry spins a yarn worth miles between each character in the film, exchanging snarky quips as the bodies start piling up. But in one speech he gives early in the film, his reveal that his wife took her own life after her leftist past was exposed is quite heartbreaking. Given the time period in which Clue is set, it gives an interesting emotional spin on this character that would normally be one-note.

Clue is first and foremost a murder-mystery, but it’s also about blackmail and the desperate lengths people will go to towards protecting their own secrets at the risk of ruining their own lives. The rest of the guilty party may be well-off and stand to be recover after making a killing, but Wadsworth’s status as an outsider gives him a level of power to drive these people insane over the course of several hours. He might technically be the help, but he’s also the only one holding the party together. Which provides for some great moments of comedy.

But really, when I think of Tim Curry, I think of someone who really understood that sometimes you have to eschew naturalist acting to get to the heart of what makes someone tic. We can’t all be Marlon Brando. Sometimes there’s got to be the eccentric ones of the group who remind us that being loud and proud and unashamed about who you are is what the world a more interesting place. When Dr. Frank n Furter says “Don’t dream it, be it” in Rocky Horror, we all took it in our hearts when we left the theater. “I’m Going Home” felt like the last time we would be able to talk with Tim Curry. He wasn’t just an actor, but someone who reminded us of times when we could let our hair down. That’s what made him truly special.

Fly high, Tim. You’re finally home.