Tim Curry

In the Public Domain: Tim Curry in a 1979 A&M photo promoting his second album Fearless.

It was with a sense of loss that I learned of the passing of Tim Curry. To the world, he was the unforgettable Dr. Frank-N-Furter, the sinister Pennywise, or the bumbling concierge from Home Alone 2. But to me, and a small group of others at the University of Birmingham, he was simply a fellow student, a remarkably talented member of the Guild Theatre Group whose star quality was undeniable even then.

My time studying at the University of Birmingham in the late 1960s coincided with Tim's, where he was pursuing a joint honours degree in English and Drama. I didn't know him well on a personal level, but our paths crossed frequently through the Guild Theatre Group, which was an important part of my own university life. He was a constant presence in its many productions, a dedicated and formidable performer who seemed to inhabit every role he played with a complete and captivating commitment.

What I remember most vividly was his voice. It was a remarkable instrument, a sonorous baritone that he wielded with incredible skill, whether in a straight play or an opera. It was a voice that commanded attention. But one production stands out more than any other in my memory: Bertolt Brecht's Life of Galileo. Tim was cast as the Cardinal Inquisitor. I can still picture him now: a figure of such chilling malevolence. His performance was terrifyingly good. In one particular scene, he had to circle the chained Galileo on stage, and he did so with a slow, deliberate pace. The sound of his heels clicking ominously on the stage floor created a sense of dread that was both theatrical and deeply real. It was a masterclass in menace, a performance so powerful that you couldn't take your eyes off him.

Watching him then, you could tell he was destined for great things. There was a professional sheen to his work, an intensity and focus that seemed a cut above the usual amateur production. That promise, that clear potential for a life on the stage, was the talk of the group. He had "it," that indefinable quality that marks a future star.

And of course, that prophecy was soon fulfilled. After university, he secured a part in the London production of the rock musical Hair, a crucial stepping stone. It was there he met Richard O'Brien, and the rest, as they say, is history. His role in The Rocky Horror Show was the vehicle that secured his future as a professional actor, transforming him into a global icon. But for me, and for those who were lucky enough to see him in those early days at Birmingham, it wasn't a surprise. We had already seen a glimpse of the singular talent the world was about to discover.