QUEERING THE HORROR GENRE

QUEERING THE HORROR

GENRE

Words by Caitlin Battye (she/her)

When thinking of the horror genre, many people conflate it with a sense of hyper (and often toxic) masculinity and heteronormativity. Images spring to mind of heterosexual teenagers being slain in gratuitous ways - almost as gratuitous as the lingering shots of the female form, often naked and objectified in a way the male characters are not. However, horror is a remarkably diverse genre with a remarkably queer history. In fact, I would go as far as to say that horror is quite possibly the queerest genre for its ability to delve into the anxieties of the queer experience, and the anxieties and biases the patriarchal heteronormative society holds towards our community.

Horror when done right reflects the fears of its author and of society at large. Queer anxieties specifically are deeply embedded within many of the most classic pieces of the genre. Bram Stoker’s Dracula is a prime example, with many people remarking on its barely-subtextual eroticism and display of sexual repression and desire in Victorian times. Bram Stoker himself was likely a queer man - indeed, his letters to poet Walt Whitman certainly indicate so. These letters contained passages such as:

“How sweet a thing it is for a strong healthy man with a woman’s eye and a child’s wishes to feel that he can speak to a man who can be if he wishes father, and brother and wife to his soul. I don’t think you will laugh, Walt Whitman, nor despise me, but at all events I thank you for all the love and sympathy you have given me in common with my kind.”

And:

“I only hope that we may sometimes meet and I shall be able perhaps to say what I cannot write.”

Stoker was also close friends with known queer Oscar Wilde - a friendship that Stoker seems to have attempted to keep hidden, refusing to mention his friendship with one of the most famous literary figures of the time, even in a 12 page document listing his most famous acquaintances.

Dracula tells the tale of a young heterosexual engaged man who travels away from his fiance for business to stay in the home of an older, strangely seductive man. Dracula “leans over” Jonathan Harker, strokes him until he passes out and awakes with his clothes folded beside him. Jonathan finds salvation in fleeing back to England, to his fiance Mina and teaming up with a group of men to purge Dracula from this earth, signifying a return to the heterosexual norm in a way Bram Stoker seems to have similarly craved.

Queer readings of classic horror media continue on to the big screen with the Universal Monster movies of the 1930s. Frankenstein and its sequel Bride of Frankenstein were both directed by James Whale, a British director who was openly gay throughout his career spanning across the 1920s and 1930s. Whale’s films present the audience with a monster who is undeniably sympathetic, an outsider for no reason other than how he was born. Queer audiences latched onto the Universal Monsters for this sympathetic look at the monster as an outsider shirked by society, as well as their underlying themes of sexual repression. Bride of Frankenstein is especially queer, with the effeminate Pretorius clearly in love with Henry Frankenstein, interrupting the consummation of Victor’s marriage to posit they partner up to create life together - removing the need for a woman in creating life, and acting as same-sex parents in a way.

Dracula’s Daughter, released in 1936, was similarly queer. The film is an early adaptation of J Sheridan Le Fanu’s also extremely-queer novella Carmilla, which predated Dracula by a quarter of a century. Countess Marya Zaleska, the titular daughter of Dracula, longs to be freed from her bloodlust and to live a ‘normal’ life. Marya is a character tortured by her desires and unendingly ashamed of herself in her quest to conquer her innate nature. She is coached by a man, Dr Jeffrey Garth, who is the perfect patriarchal heteronormative archetype in her attempts to overcome her urges, and she is seen drawn to women victims in undeniably seductive scenes.

Throughout this period, the Hays Code was in full effect. The Hays Code was a selfimposed set of industry guidelines which set a moral standard for the films that could and could not be made. Films were not allowed to depict “perverse” subjects such as homosexuality, and if they were depicted the homosexual agent must be punished by the end of the film. As such, the depiction of queerness in these films was subtextual but still apparent. It is why the queerest characters were the monsters who would inevitably meet their end, and it is the sympathetic portrayal of these monsters that has endeared them to queer audiences for nearly a century.

In a post-Hays Hollywood, homosexuality was able to be depicted more explicitly. We saw a surge of explicitly queer content, however most of it still defaulted to depicting its queer characters as villains whose transgressions would inevitably be punished, oftentimes without the sympathy present in earlier films. The Lesbian Vampire subgenre, booming in the 1970s, is a prime example of queerness allowed to exist in the genre on screen, albeit in a manner designed primarily to titilate a heterosexual male audience. In the bulk of these films, the lesbian vampire preys on a woman in a heterosexual relationship, and it is the heterosexual relationship that is fighting to triumph. Out of the films in this subgenre, Daughters of Darkness, The Vampire Lovers, and Blood-Splattered Bride are some of the most well-known, each with varying successes and failures in their depictions of queerness.

As queerness in the horror genre was becoming louder and more noticeable, it began seeping into other subgenres, including the ordinarily heteronormative slasher genre. Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge is a sharp deviation away from the original film - which originally led to it being lambasted before being recognised as a cult classic in recent years. In the film, Jesse is possessed by Freddy Krueger. Jesse’s body is being taken over by an evil inside of him that is trying to break free. Jesse’s attempts to sleep with his heterosexual girlfriend are thwarted by the internal presence of Freddy, there are leather-clad men in bars and homoerotic shower scenes with supernatural towel whipping. The film is so incredibly queer

that it flopped at the box office and ended the career of its lead gay actor, but has since been revived as a prime example of camp gay horror that many gay men have found themselves relating to.

In recent years, we have seen queer creators, characters and stories explode within the horror genre. NBC’s Hannibal was created by a gay man, and focused on the homoerotic relationship between Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. Jennifer’s Body explored rape culture and the (quite literal) demonisation of female sexuality through the female gaze. Netflix’s Fear Street trilogy explores the long-lasting generational impacts of queerphobia and patriarchy in a heavily religious society. Spiral examines the sinister homophobia still present in everyday suburbia for queer couples, especially queer people of colour. Knife+Heart looks at the discrimination queer people face when it comes to law enforcement taking crimes against our community seriously. Iranian vampire spaghetti western A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night explores feminist and queer subversions of the patriarchy. Netflix series Haunting of Bly Manor explores the overcoming of trauma and the simultaneous power and horror of memory, centered around a queer gothic romance.

The horror genre is a complex one with a history as long as the history of media itself. It also has a strong queer history, one which the queer community has latched onto. It is this history of queerness in the genre and the boldness of previous storytellers that has paved the way for the storytellers of today to use queerness in horror to shed light upon the injustices and anxieties that plague the queer community.