When news broke on August 26 that actor Tim Curry had died, the San Francisco non-profit The Bawdy Caste knew it had to do something it had rarely done in thirty years of hosting midnight screenings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show: It added a 7:30 p.m. show for its Saturday night screening at the Balboa Theater.
“It’s gonna be a little bit of a weird night,” said Lexi Martin, a TBC crew member of 15 years who had only a few minutes for a pre-show interview. “It was gonna be extra exhausting either way, but the community wants it, so we’re to give it to ‘em.”
Curry made his film debut in the 1975 film adaptation of The Rocky Horror Show, the long-running British musical stage production. As the hedonistic mad scientist Dr. Frank-N-Furter, Curry seduced and corrupted a couple of squares, played by Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon, who find themselves in a mansion full of strangers one dark and stormy night.
Curry’s gender-bending, full-body commitment to Frank, and the actor’s ability to effortlessly strut and run in high heels, inspired a generation of viewers to show up to midnight screenings dressed in their own fishnets and vampy hair and makeup. As tributes to Curry rolled in from around the world, it made perfect sense that fans in San Francisco would want to pay tribute.
Before the screening, the lobby of the century-old movie house was a blur of action: Props were unpacked, costumes were squeezed into, and makeup was expertly applied. Lots of makeup. Across from the concession, an altar to Curry was erected. It featured a bed of flowers and two framed photos of the actor in his Frank drag alongside a more recent headshot.
Later, attendees were encouraged to write condolences on poker cards — a regular tossed-about prop during Rocky Horror screenings — and leave them in a basket on the altar.
As the crowd (many of whom were in costume) milled about, people reminisced about Curry’s many roles during his long and wildly varied career that comprised a whopping 243 completed credits and included Wadsworth in Clue: The Movie (1985), Long John Silver in Muppet Treasure Island (1996), and Sir Nigel on the cartoon series The Wild Thornberrys.
Though Curry was sometimes criticized for hamming up his every role, his performances clearly left lasting impressions. Cabaret performer Kat Robichaud, who was dressed for the screening in full Frank-N-Furter accoutrement, called the actor’s over-the-top delivery “a superpower.”
“He was the king of camp,” Robichaud said. “He had such a devoted fanbase. You don't get that from being demure. You get it from standing out and being unapologetic and being louder than life.”
Robichaud is hostess and co-founder of San Francisco’s Misfit Cabaret, a troupe that wears its Rocky Horror influence on its sequined sleeves. Like others gathered at the Balboa, she found the film at a young age and credits it with helping her feel seen. Decades after its release, Rocky Horror remains an important touchstone for queer youth who see a form of liberation in Curry’s unabashed performance.
Of course, that doesn’t mean Frank was an ideal role model.
“Well, he shouldn’t have killed his boyfriend!” Robichaud said with a laugh. “But that has nothing to do with him wearing fishnets and pearls. Maybe if I saw the movie for the first time today, I might be like ‘Hey, everyone, he killed someone.’ But looking fabulous? That’s not a crime.”
It was well after 8 p.m. when the final audience members found their seats. TBC members drew smiley faces on patrons’ hands with red Sharpies, so as to easily leave and return to the screening. More than half of the attendees had a large red “v” drawn on their face with lipstick, identifying them as “virgins” who were seeing Rocky Horror for the very first time. During the pre-show, they were asked to stand and take the long-winded vow to spread the word about the cult classic to anyone and everyone they met.
The virgins were also the ones trying to keep up with the madcap participation of the veterans surrounding them, who threw toilet paper or set off party poppers at perfectly timed moments.
The newbies were also the ones who seemed to laugh loudest at every raunchy joke, and at every time a character said “Brad Majors” and “Janet Weiss” and the audience added “Asshole!” and “Slut!”
By the time Frank sang his final ballads “Don’t Dream It, Be It” and “I’m Going Home,” the giddiness had given way to quiet expressions of affection. The wild, larger-than-life performer behind Frank and so many other roles was gone, and the world is just a little duller for it.
For so many decades, The Rocky Horror Picture Show has given queer folks, theater kids, outcasts, and everyone in between a place where they don’t feel all alone, at least once a week at the late night double feature picture show.
By the time the credits rolled, TBC was already gearing up for the midnight show when they’d do it all — including the Time Warp — again.
“The community is still here,” said TBC’s Martin, a trans woman herself. “What is usually a slow show for us has turned into two sold-out shows tonight, and I think that that speaks the loudest.”
