PopHorror Let's Get Scared
It’s the scariest moment in the movie, and you make a joke. The audience relaxes and the monster waits for another opportunity to strike, scare, and wreak havoc.
This is what it means to be Richie Tozier, a member of the Loser’s Club from Stephen King’s novel IT. In the 2017 film reimagining of the book, Richie is played by Finn Wolfhard, while in the 1990 TV miniseries, Richie was brought to life by a young Seth Green. I didn’t see either screen adaptation until later in life, but I read King’s novel when I was eleven and I can say, without a doubt, that Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier changed my life.
The bespeckled, wisecracking member of the Losers’ Club, Richie is constantly joking and doing voices against the bleeding dark backdrop of Derry, Maine. Before Richie Tozier, kids in books were always plucky and bright and brave – a parent’s perfect child and a kid’s best friend – the ways I never was as a kid. When It begins its newest bloody tirade by murdering Georgie Denbrough, Richie reacts differently than everyone else.
Rather than freak out or get angry, Richie Tozier jokes. This is his way to deal with the demon in Derry. This is his way to deal with the predator in his hometown. And this is the way I learned to deal with mine. I had a Pennywise growing up, but he wasn’t a demonic clown. He was my best friend. Without getting too personal with you, PopHorror readers, I was molested. I was nine and he was thirteen and it messed me up for life. A couple years later, when I read Stephen King’s book, I met a character I immediately understood as a brother in broken childhood. And Richie had a weapon against It that I hadn’t discovered yet: humor and funny voices.
It could be argued that I was way too young to read a book with orgies, domestic violence, child murder and AIDS jokes in it, but I was a special kind of kid. I needed that book, regardless of my age. Richie couldn’t handle the hurt in his life, so he dove headfirst into jokes. In Andrés Muschietti’s film, Richie frantically spouts tasteless joke after tasteless joke, because he’s afraid. When he jokes, his friends relax and audiences do, too. In the 1990s miniseries, Richie spoke with everything from British accents to Irish accents, any voice but the quivering, fear-filled child’s voice born in his own throat.
In a story where the villain is a clown, Richie alone is brave enough to become a clown himself.
As an adult, I still try to learn new voices and impressions. I find myself watching celebrity’s speeches and interviews trying to find their voices. I embarrassed myself in front of my Australian neighbors by doing an Australian accent with them. I have a gift for it, a gift that developed in the years after my family moved from the old neighborhood and away from the boy who molested me. I was technically safe, but I still felt the need to hide in other people’s voices. Like adult Richie in the novel and miniseries (and hopefully, the upcoming Muschietti sequel as well), I was still coping with trauma in the only way I knew how.
In the miniseries, the Losers’ Club reunites as adults in a Chinese restaurant, and there’s a moment where the adult Richie (played by comedian and magician Harry Anderson) walks in and runs away before anyone can see him. He hides in the bathroom and wills himself into good humor. He feels the chill of the old neighborhood that ran a sharp claw down his childhood. He fights back the way jokers do. In a story where the villain is a clown, Richie alone is brave enough to become a clown himself.
When he walks back into the room to greet his friends, this is a Richie impervious to fear. This is a Richie Tozier wearing the armor that protects him. That armor protected me, too. In the most recent film, Finn Wolfhard’s Ritalin-dusted portrayal of Richie steals the film. Most of his jokes get grateful laughter from the audience and his friends. Some of his jokes are met with groans and eyerolls. That, honestly, speaks most poignantly to the kinship I feel with the character. It’s not about being entertaining. It’s not about being funny to his friends and movie audiences. It’s about being funnier than the fear.
Seeing Wolfhard’s shivering, frenetic performance in the new IT was like going right back to my friend’s room years ago. He was scared, it was dark, and a monster was hungry for his innocence. Wolfhard’s Richie didn’t scream or cry or set his jaw in grim, heroic determination. He laughed nervously and told one more joke about Eddie’s mom. I watched a boy, just like I was, band together with friends I didn’t have at the time. When they ganged up and killed the monster in their neighborhood, it was like a little piece of me was with them. Richie clobbered that clown, and I got to vicariously strike out at my abuser from so long ago.
It’s easy to admire other members of the Losers’ Club. Bill faces the monster that murdered his brother and conquers a speech impediment. Beverly escapes her violent and abusive home life. Eddie triumphs over the ravages of Munchausen Syndrome by proxy. Ben and Mike discover the heroism of study, libraries, and intellect. They are serious heroes in their own rights. For this writer, who left behind a Derry of his own and still practices voices in the mirror to make the hardest parts of life easier to deal with, Richie Tozier is the greatest hero of all.
