Editorials
‘Doctor Sleep’ and the Power of Found Family
“It seems to me you grew up fine son. But you still owe a debt. Pay it.” These are the final words of Dick Halloran, as portrayed by Carl Lumbly in the 2019 film Doctor Sleep. The “last dream” Dan has of his most trusted mentor always seemed the film’s most striking line. It’s a sharp, pointed statement, a thesis in my eyes of what King’s story says at large about family.
Exploring Doctor Sleep’s Theme of Family and Trauma
Beyond the technical attention to detail in the film, Mike Flanagan’s adaptation of Doctor Sleep has an incredible amount of heart. It may be King’s most human story since The Talisman, and it follows up the tragedy that was Kubrick’s The Shining with a film that is thrilling, horrifying, and ultimately filled with love. Because it’s truly a story about refusing to shut out the past and learning to accept trauma. Not only for yourself, but for the good of your family, wherever that family comes from.
The horror it evokes is not often the horror of inhuman monsters; the true horror of Doctor Sleep is that of people incapable of accepting the horrible things that have happened to them, incapable of accepting the pain of life. Doctor Sleep juxtaposes two ways of how a found family is made, and shows how one is unmade by a refusal to face its problems. The greatest evil in the film is of being incapable of building community and growing, but still masquerading as “family”. And the greatest beauty it has to offer is the beauty of accepting your trauma for the good of the ones you love.
The Flawed Philosophy of the True Knot
Despite carrying the outward appearance of a happy found family, the True Knot are really only one in the loosest of terms. A group of extremely long-lived psychic vampires, the source of their “immortality” is appalling: they consume the shine of children through torturing and eating their victims’ spirits alive. They travel in a caravan of vehicles, though still frozen in time. Hopping from place to place, they assimilate whoever is useful to the group, promising them whatever they’d like. They skulk languidly, to beaches and campsites, wandering without care until it’s time to feast again.
The True Knot as a Corrupted Found Family Structure
They are the quintessential image of a family on vacation, an eternal vacation, phased out of the pains of the real world. They live not only by the hunt for those with shine, but by a lie of unending comfort and happiness. This is why, fundamentally, the philosophy of the True Knot is broken. The True Knot are incapable of willingly struggling, of building something difficult. They cannot build a self-sustaining, long-lasting community, behaving more like a lackadaisical militia with shared goals.
They move around acting as if they owe nothing to anyone, taking and taking without ever giving or creating. They never have to unpack their traumas; they never have to listen to the advice of others; the latter is one of the key reasons that almost all of True Knot’s members die in Dan’s ambush at all. Rose does underestimate Dan and Abra despite Crow Daddy’s warnings. Everyone outside the group is labeled a “rube”, and that hubris is an intrinsic blind spot that ends in a bloodbath.
The Macabre Impermanence of the True Knot’s Existence
It’s no coincidence that their violent deaths, termed “cycling”, leave nothing but smoke behind; they’re transparent, there is no substance left of them, their potential for growth and true life traded away for something wasted and wispy. In a particularly haunting moment in the film, the centuries old Grandpa Flick begins to cycle and admits that after all he’s done, he is still truly afraid to die. Rose immediately cuts him off, eulogizing his strength and legend, denying the reality of Flick’s fear so as to not break the illusion. She’s acutely aware that none of them can handle that fear, so they simply opt not to.
Flick cycles into nothingness, the little steam that’s left behind in his wake is eaten up by the remaining members of the True Knot. There’s a macabre impermanence that none of them are able to face, and every time one of them dies, they die in a way that reminds them of how ephemeral their lives are. But there’s no time to reflect, because there was never enough time to reflect under the philosophy of the True Knot.
How the True Knot’s Ideology Dooms Them
Their attitude, that inability to accept fear and pain, to grow and communicate, is the reason they’ve doomed themselves long before Dan and Abra come into the picture.
There is no better example of a victim of the True Knot’s mentality, of their quest to shut out communication and ignore their problems, than the tragedy of Snakebite Andi.
Snakebite Andi: A Mirror to Dan Torrance’s Struggle
Despite how different they are on the surface, both King and Flanagan take great pains to contrast Andi and Dan: both start off as profoundly broken people with the shine, even utilizing similar abilities. Both are stuck in the past, gripped by their traumas of domestic abuse and looking for some way to numb the pain. Both are taken in by others who seemingly want them to heal, and both end up dying to protect what they love; they both even die smiling. But what they really end up as are two different sides of the same coin: Andi, who lets her past pain consume her, and Dan, who accepts the pain as part of the journey and learns to accept it for Abra.
Andi’s intentions and how she uses her shine are noble, and her actions are justified: she leaves a mark on vile, abusive men, forcing them to reveal who they really are and branding them as predators to protect other girls. But it’s important to also acknowledge that as cathartic as it is to watch her do this, she ultimately is still self-medicating with her vigilantism, the same way Dan does with his alcohol. She is a child only a little older than Abra when she joins the True Knot, and it’s insinuated heavily throughout the film (and stated outright in the novel) that she is a CSA survivor who was abused by her father.
How Rose the Hat Exploits Trauma to Build False Loyalty
She’s lured into becoming a member of the True Knot because Rose preys on her greatest desire: silencing that feeling of shame inside of her over the abuse she’s suffered. Rather than taking the time to explain why there’s nothing shameful about what’s happened to her, that she is not lesser for her troubles, Rose tells her she can shut out that pain and escape it if she simply becomes one of them.
Andi’s arc is one of denying her trauma to try and remain eternally strong and untouchable, to be the predator rather than the prey, even if it hurts other children. She’s deeply hurt, but her supposed mentor is no Dick Halloran. Rose doesn’t give her the mental and emotional tools to work past the pain the way Dick gives Dan the lockboxes and guidance he needs. Instead, she chooses to bottle up her fear and her anger, to suppress her rage and her suffering.
Andi’s Tragic End as a Result of Emotional Suppression
And in the end, she’s literally blinded by that rage; shot by Billy Freeman as she gloats over Danny, and that lie Rose sells her ends up killing her. Andi’s heartbreaking death is a final scream of indignation into the void, projecting all her worst fears and anger onto a stranger, thinking she’s gotten the upper hand by never accepting that pain and fear.
Dan on the other hand, how he lives and how he dies, is the essence of what a real found family should do for you: help you accept the pain, and prevent it from harming the ones you love, so that they can grow and protect others themselves.
Dan Torrance’s Powers and the Compassion Behind Them
Both Dan and Andi have incredibly strong powers of suggestion, but how they function is radically different. Among Dan’s many shining tricks is one similar to Andi’s ability to “push” people into action or into a pattern of memory. However, Dan’s “push” is used differently. Andi forces people to remember the horrible things they’ve done, a reflection of her own fears and sense of shame. But Dan uses it to reassure those dying in the hospice by connecting them to memories of their family.
It’s a great irony then that in the most emotionally crushing scene of the movie, Dan’s confrontation with Jack’s ghost, that he cannot get Jack to connect to the memories. His abilities are worthless in this moment. Jack Torrance, under the guise of being the Overlook bartender Lloyd, has turned his back on the truth of what happened to his family; he lives in an illusory reality, a lie that the alcohol he drinks to forget is a perfect “eraser” on the blackboard that is his mind.
Jack Torrance as a Cautionary Parallel to the True Knot
Jack Torrance was a man whose anger issues, his insecurity and inability to provide for his family, and his own history of being abused by his father Mark, were never confronted. He stewed in the suffering, sat in a comfortable lie that he could avoid dealing with his problems, that he could use the alcohol to isolate and disconnect from his family rather than embrace them. He was sold on the same lie Rose sells the True Knot, and it’s most evident in what they both want: more time. Jack’s speech sounds similar to the speech Rose gives Andi about her youth, emphasizing a desire to retreat into comfort:
“A man tries. He provides. But he’s surrounded by mouths. That eat, and scream, and cry, and nag. So, he asks for one thing, just one thing for him. […] to take the sting out of those days of the mouths, eating, and eating, and eating everything he makes, everything he has. […] Those mouths eat time. They eat your days on Earth. They just gobble them up. It’s enough to make a man sick. And this… is the medicine.”
Dan’s Breaking of the Torrance Cycle in Doctor Sleep
Even as a spirit with all the time in the world, the same as Rose who can stretch years into centuries, Jack can never move on. There’s not enough time, and there never will be when you don’t want to face reality. He’s so angry with Dan trying to show him the truth that he tries to drag his son down to his level, goading him to relapse, to block out the pain.
But it fails, because of the family and the purpose Dan finds with Dick, Billy, and Abra. It’s Abra’s call that pulls him away from Jack, and it’s Abra’s voice that frees him from the influence of the Overlook long enough to save her.
Dan, Abra, the Worthwhile Pain of Human Connection in Doctor Sleep
Despite all that’s happened to him, despite all of his doubts and self-hatred and fear, despite being literally possessed by the physical embodiments of all his childhood trauma, it’s this found family that teaches Dan to face his problems. He takes those painful memories and fears as a part of himself, so that Abra isn’t burdened by them.
He loses a friend along the way, he sacrifices himself, and ultimately, Dan pays the debt Dick was talking about: he protects and saves Abra from Rose, and then from the spirits that haunted him. In his death, destroying the Overlook, he saves countless others who might have fallen victim to the dark push of the hotel. He ends the cycle of escapism that began with his father, finally able to look his mother in the eyes in a way he never could in life.
Doctor Sleep as a Testament to Pain, Connection, and Hope
At its core, Doctor Sleep is a story about how fostering true found family is not a painless experience. It isn’t a joyride. Often it starts from a place of true hopelessness. And it can’t be done without self-actualization, self-acceptance, and the willingness to sacrifice for others. The pain of human connection, the risk of being hurt or failing or losing loved ones close to you, is ever present. There is no lie that will help you escape that.
But that pain is worthwhile. It helps you connect and speak to others on a deeper level. There is no perfect eraser for the anguish of life, but with the right people to guide you, to pull you out of the mires of suffering, that anguish can become something beautiful. It can become a lesson. A shield, passed from person to person. An indelible memory of love despite it all, shining even in the darkest of places.
Why Doctor Sleep’s Message Endures
Doctor Sleep shows us that there is no such thing as too far gone if you carry your family with you. If you carry them with you, in memory and in spirit, what Abra says rings true: we go on after, regardless of what has happened to us.
My first feature film, Death Drop Gorgeous, was often described as its own disturbed piece of queer cult cinema due to its over-the-top camp, practical special effects, and radical nature. As a film inspired by John Waters, we wore this descriptor as a badge of honor. Over the years, it has gained a small fanbase and occasionally pops up on lists of overlooked queer horror flicks around Pride month and Halloween.
The Streaming Era and the Myth of Monoculture
My co-director of our drag queen slasher sent me a status update, ostensibly to rile up the group chat. A former programmer of a major LGBTQ+ film festival (I swear, this detail is simply a coincidence and not an extension of my last article) declared that in our modern era, “cult classic” status is “untenable,” and that monoculture no longer exists. Thus, cult classics can no longer counter-culture the mono. The abundance of streaming services, he said, allows for specific curation to one’s tastes and the content they seek. He also asserted that media today that is designed to be a cult classic, feels soulless and vapid.
Shots fired!
Can Cult Cinema Exist Without Monoculture?
We had a lengthy discussion as collaborators about these points. Is there no monoculture to rally against? Are there no codes and standards to break and deviate from? Are there no transgressions left to undertake? Do streaming services fully encompass everyone’s tastes? Maybe I am biased. Maybe my debut feature is soulless and vapid!
I’ve been considering the landscape. True, there are so many options at our streaming fingertips, how could we experience a monoculture? But to think a cult classic only exists as counter-culture, or solely as a rally against the norm, is to have a narrow understanding of what cult cinema is and how it gains its status. The cult classic is not dead. It still rises from its grave and walks amongst the living.
What Defines a Cult Classic? And Who Cares About Cult Cinema?
The term “cult classic” generally refers to media – often movies, but sometimes television shows or books – that upon its debut, was unsuccessful or undervalued, but over time developed a devout fanbase that enjoys it, either ironically or sincerely. The media is often niche and low budget, and sometimes progressive for the cultural moment in which it was released.
Some well-known cult films include The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994), Showgirls (1995), Re-Animator (1985), Jennifer’s Body (2009), and my personal favorite, Heathers (1989). Quoting dialogue, midnight showings, and fans developing ritualistic traditions around the movie are often other ways films receive cult status (think The Rocky Horror Picture Show).
Cult Cinema as Queer Refuge and Rebellion
Celebration of cult classics has long been a way for cinephiles and casual viewers alike to push against the rigid standards of what film critics deem “cinema.” These films can be immoral, depraved, or simply entertaining in ways that counter mainstream conventions. Cult classics have often been significant for underrepresented communities seeking comfort or reflection. Endless amounts of explicitly queer cinema were lambasted by critics of their time. The Doom Generation (1995) by Gregg Araki and John Waters’ Pink Flamingos (1972) were both famously given zero stars by Roger Ebert. Now both can be viewed on the Criterion Channel, and both directors are considered pioneers of gay cinema.
Cult films are often low-budget, providing a sense of belonging for viewers, and are sometimes seen as guilty pleasures. Cult cinema was, and continues to be, particularly important for queer folks in finding community.
But can there be a new Waters or Araki in this current landscape?
What becomes clear when looking at these examples is that cult status rarely forms in a vacuum. It emerges from a combination of cultural neglect, community need, and the slow bloom of recognition. Even in their time, cult films thrived because they filled a void, often one left by mainstream films’ lack of imagination or refusal to engage marginalized perspectives. If anything, today’s fractured media landscape creates even more of those voids, and therefore more opportunities for unexpected or outsider works to grab hold of their own fiercely loyal audiences.
The Death of Monoculture and the Rise of Streaming
We do not all experience culture the same way. With the freedom of personalization and algorithmic curation, not just in film but in music and television, there are fewer shared mass cultural moments we all gather around to discuss. The ones that do occur (think Barbenheimer) may always pale in comparison to the cultural dominance of moments that occurred before the social media boom. We might never again experience the mass hysteria of, say, Michael Jackson’s Thriller.
For example, our most successful musician today is listened to primarily by her fanbase. We can skip her songs and avoid her albums even if they are suggested on our streaming platforms, no matter how many weeks she’s been at number one.
Was Monoculture Ever Real?
But did we ever experience culture the same? Some argue that the idea of monoculture is a myth. Steve Hayden writes:
“Our monoculture was an illusion created by a flawed, closed-circuit system; even though we ought to know better, we’re still buying into that illusion, because we sometimes feel overwhelmed by our choices and lack of consensus. We think back to the things we used to love, and how it seemed that the whole world, or at least people we knew personally, loved the same thing. Maybe it wasn’t better then, but it seemed simpler, and for now that’s good enough.”
The mainstream still exists. Cultural moments still occur that we cannot escape and cannot always understand the appreciation for. There are fads and trends we may not recognize now but will romanticize later, just as we do with trends from as recently as 2010. But I’d argue there never was monoculture in the same way America was never “great.” There was never a time we all watched the same things and sang Madonna songs around the campfire; there were simply fewer accessible avenues to explore other options.
Indie Film Distribution in the Age of Streaming
Additionally, music streaming is not the same as film streaming. As my filmmaking collective moves through self-distributing our second film, we have found it is increasingly difficult for indie, small-budget, and DIY filmmakers to get on major platforms. We are required to have an aggregator or a distribution company. I cannot simply throw Saint Drogo onto Netflix or even Shudder. Amazon Prime has recently made it impossible to self-distribute unless you were grandfathered in. Accessibility is still limited, particularly for those with grassroots and shoestring budgets, even with the abundance of services.
I don’t know that anyone ever deliberately intends on making a cult classic. Pink Flamingos was released in the middle of the Gay Liberation movement, starring Divine, an openly gay drag queen who famously says, “Condone first-degree murder! Advocate cannibalism! Eat shit! Filth are my politics, filth is my life!”
All comedy is political. Of course, Waters was intentional with the depravity he filmed; it was a conscious response to the political climate of the time. So if responding to the current state of the world makes a cult classic, I think we can agree there is still plenty to protest.
There Is No Single Formula for Cult Cinema
Looking back at other cult classics, both recent and older, not all had the same intentional vehicle of crass humor and anarchy. Some didn’t know they would reach this status – a very “so bad, it’s good” result (i.e., Showgirls). And while cult classics naturally exist outside the mainstream, some very much intended to be in that stream first!
All of this is to say: there is no monolith for cult cinema. Some have deliberate, rebellious intentions. Some think they are creating high-concept art when in reality they’re making camp. But it takes time to recognize what will reach cult status. It’s not overnight, even if a film seems like it has the perfect recipe. Furthermore, there are still plenty of conventions to push back against; there are plenty of queer cinema conventions upheld by dogmatic LGBTQ+ film festivals.
Midnight Movies vs. Digital Fandom
What has changed is the way we consume media. The way we view a cult classic might not be solely relegated to midnight showings. Although, at my current place of employment, any time The Rocky Horror Picture Show screens, it’s consistently sold out. Nowadays, we may find that engagement with cult cinema and its fanbase digitally, on social media, rather than in indie cinemas. But if these sold-out screenings are any indication, people are not ready to give up the theater experience of being in a room with die-hard fans they find a kinship with.
In fact, digital fandom has begun creating its own equivalents to the midnight-movie ritual. Think of meme cycles that resurrect forgotten films, TikTok edits that reframe a scene as iconic, or Discord servers built entirely around niche subgenres. These forms of engagement might not involve rice bags and fishnets in a theater, but they mirror the same spirit of communal celebration, shared language, and collective inside jokes that defined cult communities of past decades. Furthermore, accessibility to a film does not diminish its cult status. You may be able to stream Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-N-Furter from the comfort of your couch, but that doesn’t make it any less cult.
The Case for Bottoms
I think a recent film that will gain cult status in time is Bottoms. In fact, it was introduced to the audience at a screening I attended as “the new Heathers.” Its elements of absurdity, queer representation, and subversion are perfect examples of the spirit of cult cinema. And you will not tell me that Bottoms was soulless and vapid.
For queer communities, cult cinema has never been just entertainment; it has operated as a kind of cultural memory, a place to archive our identities, desires, rebellions, and inside jokes long before RuPaul made them her catchphrases repeated ad nauseam. These films became coded meeting grounds where queer viewers could see exaggerated, defiant, or transgressive versions of themselves reflected back, if not realistically, then at least recognizably. Even when the world outside refused to legitimize queer existence, cult films documented our sensibilities, our humor, our rage, and our resilience. In this way, cult cinema has served as both refuge and record, preserving parts of queer life that might otherwise have been erased or dismissed.
Cult Cinema Is Forever
While inspired by John Waters, with Death Drop Gorgeous, we didn’t intentionally seek the status of cult classic. We just had no money and wanted to make a horror movie with drag queens. As long as there continue to be DIY, low-budget, queer filmmakers shooting their movies without permits, the conventions of cinema will continue to be subverted.
As long as queer people need refuge through media, cult cinema will live on.
Most of my early happy memories are of being released by my mother, free to wander the video store. I was at my happiest roaming the aisles when it was my turn, but I always walked a little faster going through the horror section, as this was before my love affair with the genre started. There was one VHS cover that particularly scared me, so I always avoided making eye contact with the sinister face on the front of Child’s Play.
A Video Store Recommendation That Changed Everything
Many years later, as I would return to the video store on my own as a teen, I was on a mission to watch as many horror movies as possible. I was also a closeted queer teen harboring a massive crush on the girl who worked the counter, who happened to like horror, and I took any chance I could to talk to her. One night, feeling brave and definitely not overwhelmed by gay feelings, I worked up the courage to ask for her any recommendations.
“Hey! I have a three-day weekend coming up, and was wondering if you had any suggestions for some movies I can just dive into all weekend. Horror preferred.”
“Do you like slashers?”
“Love them! Michael, Jason, Freddie. The classics.”
“Well, and of course Chucky.”
“The talking doll?”
Her eyes widened, and she walked around from the counter, making me realize I had never seen her from the waist down before. She grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the horror section.
“Your homework for the weekend is to watch Child’s Play 1 through 5. The first three are great, but Bride of Chucky is really where it’s at. You’ll see what I mean when you get there. If you make it to Seed of Chucky, we’ll talk.”
With a wink, she left me to do my homework assignment, and of course, I wanted to be a good student, so I picked up the DVDs, grabbed some Whoppers and a popcorn, and went home to study.
Discovering the Child’s Play Franchise as a Queer Teen
Child’s Play was instantly a hit for me. Maybe it was my childhood fear of Chucky, or maybe it was Don Mancini’s anticapitalist take on a killer in the form of something much smaller and cuter than the hulking slashers I was accustomed to, but I had to see how they would bring back my new favorite guy. While I have love and affection for 2 and 3 (I later named my cat Kyle after Andy’s foster sister), I rushed my first watch because I wanted to get to Bride of Chucky to see exactly what Video Store Girl was talking about.
Bride of Chucky was like Dorothy going from sepia to full-spectrum color for me. Having seen Bound at a very formative time for me, Jennifer Tilly was worshipped as queer royalty in my heart. She was instantly magnetic as Tiffany Valentine. The sheer camp of it all, combined with the fact that it had one of the first gay characters I’ve ever seen that was just a “normal” gay person, captured my heart. I dreaded the death David would face for the horrible crime of being a gay man on screen, but to my surprise and delight, he wasn’t punished for it. He was dispatched in the same gruesome manner as any of Chucky and Tiffany’s other villains.
Seed of Chucky and the First Time I Felt Seen
I was excited to get to Seed of Chucky, both because by this point I had fallen in love with the franchise, but also because I wanted to do a good job and impress Video Store Girl. What I didn’t expect was to have my core shattered in a way that I couldn’t fully express until I was an adult. Seed of Chucky is about a doll, first named Shitface by a cruel ventriloquist, that realizes Chucky and Tiffany may be their parents. Throughout most of the movie, Chucky and Tiffany argue over the gender of their child, whom they named Glen/Glenda. The name itself is a reference to the classic Ed Wood movie about a character that we would now likely call genderfluid, who likes to wear men’s and women’s clothing. At the end of the film, it’s clear that for Glen/Glenda, they are two souls inhabiting one body.
“Sometimes I feel like a boy. Sometimes I feel like a girl. Can’t I be both?”
Those words felt like someone was skipping rocks across my heart. It felt like a secret I wasn’t supposed to know, but it was the answer to a question I had never thought to ask. Gender fluidity wasn’t something that was discussed in my conservative home of Orange County. Did Video Store Girl see something in me that I wasn’t hiding as well as I could be? I loved my weekend watching the Child’s Play franchise, but I asked my mom to return the movies for me, as I couldn’t face someone who had seen me so clearly just yet.
Rewatching Seed of Chucky as an Adult
Seed of Chucky, a script that had been rejected by Universal for being “too gay” came to me again as an adult upon rewatch. Where I had found questions, I could not find the answer to in Glen/Glenda, I found acceptance through an unlikely character: Chucky. It’s in Seed of Chucky that our main character, Chucky, gives up the ghost and decides, for once and all, that he no longer wishes to be human. He loves himself exactly as he is for the form he chose for himself, a doll. If a psychopathic killer doll could love himself exactly as he was in a body that he chose to present himself in, why couldn’t I?
Don Mancini and Queer Voices in Horror
One of the best parts of having the same writer at the helm for every entry into the same franchise is that, unlike other typical slasher villains, Chucky gets to experience character development and growth. And because Don Mancini himself is gay, his voice behind the experience has been an authentic beacon of hope for queer audiences. “It has really been nice for me, again, as a gay man, to have a lot of gay, queer, and trans fans say that movie meant a lot to them, and that those characters meant a lot to them as queer kids.” He says in an article by Rue Morgue.
Why Chucky Remains a Queer Icon
One of my greatest joys was watching all three seasons of the cancelled too soon series, Chucky. Jake (Zacary Arthur), the show’s new gay protagonist, goes from clashing with his homophobic father (who is quickly dispatched by Chucky) to his first love and found family. Chucky with his own found family in Tiffany, G.G. (formerly Glen/Glenda), Caroline, and Wendell (John Waters). While the show has ended, I hope this won’t be the last we see of him, and I’m excited to see where Don Mancini takes the character for future queer audiences. One standout moment from the series is when Jake sits with Chucky and talks about G.G.
“You know, I have a queer kid…genderfluid”
“And you’re cool with it?”
“I’m not a monster Jake.”
If a killer doll could love his genderfluid child, I expect nothing less from the rest of society. Growing up feeling the way I felt about my gender and sexuality, I didn’t have peers to rely on to learn about myself.
But what I did have was Chucky. My friend til’ the end.
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