My love of horror came from my father.
He was the one who took me to see Friday the 13th, Dial M for Murder, Halloween, Night of the Living Dead, The Birds, The Exorcist, The Shining, and anything by Alfred Hitchcock. I would sit in the theater trying to cover my eyes, and my father would pull my hands down and tell me, “You should be scared of people in real life, not fictional characters.”
Meanwhile, this man would be sitting beside me, laughing his butt off at the movie.
“Look at this MF trying to run. You gonna die anyway.”
And then I would start laughing too.
That is one of the reasons I laugh during horror movies to this day.
One day he mentioned Tim Curry, and I asked, “Who’s that?”
My father looked at me like I had completely lost my mind.
“Are you serious? He’s Pennywise! If you love Pennywise as much as you do, you should know this.”
Then he said something that stuck with me:
“Why do you think we don’t leave the theater until all the credits roll? You should be reading those names.”
A lightbulb went off in my head.
From that day forward, I started paying attention to the names behind the characters I loved. And to this day, I stay in the theater until the very last credit rolls. If I’m watching a movie at home, the same rule applies.
Then I watched The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
That was it.
Tim Curry was no longer just Pennywise to me. I became a Tim Curry fan. If Tim Curry was in a movie, I was watching it. I started recognizing that voice, that presence, that charisma, and the incredible range of the man behind the characters.
So hearing of his passing hits a little differently because somehow, tucked inside my memories of Tim Curry and Pennywise, there are memories of my father sitting beside me in a dark movie theater, laughing while everybody else was scared.
My father taught me to love horror.
He also taught me to pay attention to the people behind the characters I loved.
And Tim Curry gave me plenty of characters to love.
Rest well, Tim Curry. Thank you for the scares, the laughter, the unforgettable performances, and for unknowingly being part of some very precious memories between a daughter and her father.
– Orsayor L. Simmons
