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Posted on June 12, 2020

The Constructed Masculinity of Evil Dead’s Ash

Even the squarest heterosexual knows about drag queens by now. They may even know how theorists like Judith Butler have used drag queens to talk about the constructedness and performativity of gender. Though drag kings receive less attention, their satiric power is even more pointed. As theorist Jack Halberstam argues, “kinging reads dominant male masculinity and explodes its effects through exaggeration, parody, and earnest mimicry.”[1] Drag kings use their craft and a healthy dose of humor to critique mainstream masculinity. Just as drag queens’ camp can be found outside of drag, so too do the motifs of drag king comedy show up in the mainstream. Halberstam points to the Austin Powers movies. In horror, where the usual performances of male heroism are futile at best, the male heroes who do appear come with a healthy dose of tongue-in-cheek humor. There’s no better example than Ash Williams from the Evil Dead franchise, with his boomstick, his chainsaw, and his groovy swagger.

Posted on March 28, 2020

Blacula (1972): Flawed But Important

Guest Post

Blacula (William Crain, 1972) is an interestingly complicated watch; unlike many films at the time, Blacula was the product of a black director and was born out of and into the 1970s political terrain and within the explosion of “blaxploitation” as a subgenre. Blacula is arguably a pioneer of black horror, which might be thought of as the reinvention of the genre “from the vantage point of Blackness.”[i] More particularly, Robin Means Coleman offers that “in ‘black horror’ specifically, mainstream or White monsters, such as Dracula or Frankenstein’s the Monster, were purposefully transformed into ‘agents’ of Black power.”[ii] Due to the lack of representation of blackness with the film industry at the time, one can hardly refute the impact Blacula had on the audience and the industry, setting a “gold standard,” as Means Coleman puts it.[iii] I want to argue, though, that in spite of Blacula’s attempts to interrogate racism and embody black pride, ultimately, the film articulates a very limited definition of blackness, presenting the dichotomy of an African identity that is primitive and brutish and an African American identity that is respectable and professional. Both depictions of blackness are masculine and predicated on the violent reinforcement of stereotypes and the maintenance of hierarchy.

Posted on March 6, 2020

Beneath Us & Immigration Horror

Guest Post

Much like Jordan Peele’s Us, Max Pachman’s deliberately provocative debut feature Beneath Us presents the viewer with the subaltern- the dispossessed, those without power or a voice and forces us to question who we identify with. The title functions both literally and metaphorically. Four undocumented immigrants, Hector, Alejandro, Homero and Memo (Roberto Sanchez, Rigo Sanchez, Nicholas Gonzalez and Josue Aguirre) are hired by a rich couple, Liz and Ben Rhodes (Lynn Collins and James Tupper) as construction workers on their palatial home. What seems a comfortable job paid in cash soon turns nightmarish as they are treated like slaves at gunpoint, beaten, humiliated and forced to beg for their lives alongside being imprisoned underground. Then the tables appear to turn. Read more

Posted on February 23, 2020

Religion and Sex in The Lighthouse & The Witch

Guest Post

Horror understands that what is most desired is the same as what is most feared. Scholars of religion often overlook this while the makers of horror films bank on it. Consider the critically acclaimed oeuvre of Robert Eggers, both his 2015 film, The Witch, and his more recent The Lighthouse (2019).

If you’ve ever been isolated from other people—say, in solitary confinement, or even in a room with a medical device so dangerous that the operators have to leave while you’re left alone with its buzzing and clanging—you will understand The Lighthouse. Horror has long recognized the psychological power of isolation. Ripley and crew aboard the Nostromo, Wendy, Danny and Jack at the Overlook, a handful of scientists at an Antarctic research base, the list could go on and on. Showcasing Roger Eggers’ trademark verisimilitude, The Lighthouse traps two wickies—lighthouse keepers—both with secrets, far from the reach of the rest of civilization. They’re trapped between a deity and sexuality. Read more

Posted on January 25, 2020

Stephen King’s Endings and the Case for Sentimental Horror

Guest Post

From online discussion boards to quips in the 2019 film adaptation, It Chapter Two, there’s one truism Stephen King fans and critics alike have long accepted: King can’t stick a landing. But I’ve always found the ending of his massive coming-of-age horror classic, It, fitting and, dare I say, satisfying. Trying to tease out why the ending works for me—why I believe it rings true with the rest of the novel and is not simply the tacked-on excuse of a writer out of ideas—became a minor obsession that finally culminated in this essay.

The ending is as follows: In 1950’s America, seven children defeat It, the primordial shapeshifter that most often appears in the guise of Pennywise the Dancing Clown. Grown up, the protagonists realize that It survived, forcing them to face off against the monster once more. After an apocalyptic struggle, they finally destroy It through the power of their friendship. Fairly standard, but the reviews and articles claiming that the ending is pat, predictable, and void of complexity beg to differ. The headline of a review in Vulture more or less sums up these feelings with the claim that “A Sentimental It Chapter Two Needed More Pennywise.”[i] Read more