Introduction
The intersection of faith and fear has long been a driving force in my theology. It haunts my deepest, most intimate thoughts. Why are humans so prone to fear? Why do we fear irrational things, like sharks in a swimming pool or clowns in a sewer? Welcome to my analysis of faith, fear, and Pennywise in IT.
I wrestled with this as a child, specifically regarding that silly but overwhelmingly common fear: Coulrophobia (fear of clowns).
But not just any clown. If you think of an evil clown, you’re likely picturing a specific rogue’s gallery: The Joker, Art the Clown, or perhaps real-life monsters like John Wayne Gacy. But my fear as a child was none of these, nor was it Bozo. It was Pennywise.
Yes, this article is an analysis of why I still consider the 1990 Stephen King’s IT superior to the modern remakes. I will admit, the Welcome to Derry era does everything right that the original got wrong. It has stellar acting. It has a strong script. The special effects have come a long way (though I will argue later, this is not always a pro).
And I will say this: Bill Skarsgård kills it. If they could just let the man act without using him to show off millions of dollars in CGI, I might be inclined to view the remakes as more effective.
But I remain unconvinced. If you think Skarsgård’s Pennywise is more terrifying than Tim Curry’s, by all means, present your case. I cannot tell you that you are wrong. But I want you to understand what it is about the “Cheesy Pennywise” that keeps us coming back, and how that relates to our daily spiritual struggle.
The Aesthetics of Evil: Monster vs. Mimic
We are conditioned to believe evil has an ugly appearance. How many of us were raised with the idea of Satan being “beautiful”? Very few. Most of us grew up with the cartoon theology of the Devil as a tall, red-haired goat man holding a pitchfork.
Anyone who studies theology will tell you this is false.
Enter my issue with the latest IT universe. While It (2017) and Welcome to Derry have improved on the pacing and production of the 1990 miniseries, the clown is simply not scary. I do not care how many teeth you give it. I don’t care how much you edit the actor’s naturally creepy face. The problem is foundational.
Let’s look at a case study: The Annabelle Doll.
The Conjuring franchise is the most profitable horror series in history, allegedly based on “real life” accounts by Ed and Lorraine Warren. But look at the difference between the reality and the movie.
- The Movie Doll: Cracked porcelain, sunken eyes, and a malicious smirk. It screams, “I am a monster.” It signals overt malice. Why would anyone keep this in their house? They wouldn’t.
- The Real Doll: A classic Raggedy Ann. Plush, button eyes, red yarn hair. It screams innocence. It invites you to hold it.
The reason the original Annabelle doll, and Tim Curry’s Pennywise, traumatized an entire generation is because they rely on cognitive dissonance.
True horror isn’t a monster making faces at you. True horror is when something you know, love, and trust, like a toy or a circus clown, betrays you. The modern Pennywise looks like a predator from the first frame. Tim Curry’s Pennywise looks like a guy who could work your kid’s birthday party. That proximity to “normal” is what makes the bite so much worse.
The VeggieTales Defense
Here I would like to coin a new phrase. I present, to the jury: The VeggieTales Defense. Let me explain what I mean:
The VeggieTales Defense: A strategy of spiritual formation wherein a subject is aggressively insulated from concepts of evil, violence, and chaos through the exclusive consumption of sanitized, anthropomorphic morality tales. The defense argues that if a child never sees a monster, the monster cannot hurt them.
The logic is as follows:
- The world is scary.
- God is bigger than the Boogie Man (cf. Junior Asparagus vs. Frankencelery).
- Therefore, if we simply sing songs about how God is bigger, the Boogie Man effectively ceases to exist as a threat.
- Consequently, the child requires no armor and no grim reality check. They only need a cucumber with a cape and plungers for ears.
This is my exaggerated way of describing the “Christian Bubble.” But the defense collapses the moment the child is exposed to genuine malice.
Because my introduction to “evil” was a tall celery stalk named Frank who eventually apologizes to Junior, I had zero immunological defense against an interdimensional entity that feeds on fear. The VeggieTales Defense does not protect the child; it marinates them. As Pennywise says in Welcome to Derry, it’s a way of “salting the meat.”
I remember finding the IT DVD hidden in my brother’s room. Just seeing the cover, the seemingly innocent yet obviously sinister clown with meaty monster hands, unlocked a new level of fear. Better yet for the purposes of this article may be a specific scene that traumatized me. In the second part, when the adults are back in Derry, Pennywise appears to one in a graveyard. Pennywise is digging a grave while taunting the Loser sitting alone in the cemetery. Cemeteries have always held a sort of unique aura. But a clown asking you to pick a grave, while sneering at you with such a vicious smile?
As one who watched mostly depictions of Israelite vegetables fighting a giant pickle, the original IT was terrifying. It was a different time. Practical effects were not what they are today. And for it’s time? Or as a miniseries airing on television during the Reagan-Bush years? Tbat grounded, gritty reality was petrifying.
Faith, Fear, and the Soundtrack of Survival
There is a theme in IT that always resonated with me: Faith versus Fear.
When Pennywise terrified me, my safety was found in the sheltering nature of my childhood faith. But strangely, the antidote wasn’t a hymn. It was Skillet’s song, “Collide.”
I always felt safety in that song for some irrational reason. As a theologian, I think I finally understand why. The song served as a sort of coming-of-age zeitgeist, if you will. As a middle-schooler in a conservative home, sheltered from fictional monsters, I was standing at the intersection of childhood innocence and adult reality.
- The Fiction: Pennywise the Clown.
- The Reality: The cancer that took my mother. My own battles with mental health.
Suffering is the ultimate monster. These things cannot be captured in a PureFlix film, because Christian media often wants you to believe Jesus will dispel all monsters instantly. But in the real world, the monsters stay in the room even when you turn on the lights.
“Collide” is about the friction between fear and faith. It acknowledges that the fear is real (“There’s something deep inside…”) but that resilience is possible. In IT, the “faith” component is replaced by the Losers Club: the power of friendship and shared trauma.
Conclusion: The Power of Authentic Terror
The 1990 miniseries is, admittedly, a cheesefest. It has lame practical effects and a sometimes horrid script. But amidst the silliness, there is an infectious evil.
Tim Curry’s Pennywise stands as the better picture of spiritual warfare. He reminds us that the things we should fear often look friendly, not where you can detect their intentions a mile away.
The modern movies are fun, loud, and visually stunning. IT (2017) is, indeed, one of the greatest horror remakes and adaptations ever. But I’ll take (or avoid at all costs) Tim Curry’s Pennywise any day. Because he knows the truth that most eventually learn: Evil is scariest when it looks charming.
If you haven’t yet, check out the new series IT: Welcome to Derry. As much as I wish they would lay off the CGI and forced Conjuring-style atmosphere, it is quite entertaining. And, while not saying much, it is a tremendous improvement on It Chapter Two.