A young person, raised by a scientist and seemingly simple minded by design, discovers their inner hedonist. In their quest for pleasure, they leave their home and embark on misadventures involving sex, sugar, an abusive relationship, and various enlightenments, all before returning home to confront their past so that they may move towards their future. This is the streamlined arc for both Poor Things protagonist Bella Baxter and myself. When I saw Poor Things in theaters in January 2024, the only things I knew about the film were that Yorgos Lanthimos directed it and that the cast included Emma Stone, Ramy Youssef, and Willem Dafoe.

You can imagine my surprise when I not only felt the impact of Bella’s arc, but also felt seen and even empowered in a way that I rarely do as a queer disabled man.

Discovering Bella Baxter in Poor Things

Bella, an adult woman who exhibits childlike behavior, is under the care of scientist Godwin Baxter, who has taken on the role of her father figure. Conversations with his student Max reveals that Bella’s body is the resurrected corpse of a woman that Godwin discovered, while her brain had originally belonged to the child the woman had been pregnant with. It’s important to note that Godwin didn’t know the circumstances of the woman’s death before he pulled off this macabre miracle. More on that later.

Bella eventually has her first sexual experience through masturbation, is instantly hooked on the gratification she feels, and tries to achieve constant satisfaction proclaiming “Bella discover happy when she want.”. Those around her, such as Max and Godwin’s maid Prim, are less than elated about Bella’s newfound desires, but Bella shamelessly persists. Godwin, in response, decides to try to arrange a marriage between Bella and Max, with the condition that the pair live with him for the rest of his days. While Max agrees, Bella ultimately decides to leave their home in London to embark on a whirlwind affair with Godwin’s lawyer, Duncan Wedderburn. Duncan, enticed by the contradicting nature of Bella’s innocence and sexual hedonism, pursues and woos her with promises of worldliness and sex.

Subverting Disability Stereotypes

One of the most common stereotypes in media around disabled people is the belief that their disabilities render them either asexual or unable to obtain any type of sexual gratification at all. When one reads Bella as disabled-coded, as I do, she becomes one of the strongest subversions of the “disabled equals asexual” trope seen in recent, mainstream film history. A disabled-coded reading also makes Bella’s hypersexuality much less problematic than it would be if the character was only analyzed at a surface level. The juxtaposition of disability and hypersexuality is an aspect of Bella’s character that I greatly identify with.

In early childhood, I was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, and as an adult, I also tend to chase this type of gratification for the sake of leisurely pleasure or even as a way to cope with stress. With Duncan, Bella travels first to Lisbon, Portugal, where the two spend their time together having sex and eating exotic foods and sweets. Bella’s constant craving for more pleasure proves to be too much for Duncan, who grows to resent her as he is unable to keep up.

His resentment is compounded by Bella’s social ineptitude, as she repeatedly embarrasses him with several faux pas during a dinner party at their hotel. For example, after taking an extra moment to understand her female dinner mate’s sex joke, Bella makes a comment about the taste of Duncan’s penis. When Duncan reprimands her and restricts her to a few choice phrases, she describes the death of her dining companion’s relative as “delightful”; she later interrupts the dinner banter because she wants to “punch [a] baby” that’s annoying her.

Bella’s Misadventures with Duncan Wedderburn

Bella’s unfiltered comments and inappropriate responses are painfully reminiscent of my own past social failings, from remarks about my former partner’s genitals, to intrusive questions about the suicide of a classmate’s uncle, and finally to vocalized violent inclinations towards small, annoying children. Thankfully, like Bella, I was stopped before any harm could come to the younglings.

Despite their growing tensions, Bella and Duncan stay together, even as Bella goes on to binge alcohol and have sexual encounters with other men. Duncan eventually lures her out of Lisbon with a cruise to Athens, Greece. Bella is quite displeased with this change until she befriends two fellow patrons, Martha and Harry, who open her eyes to pursuits beyond her hedonism, and introduce her to philosophy and literature, irking Duncan.

Bella’s Intellectual and Emotional Growth in Poor Things

Bella embraces the intellectual stimulation presented to her, leading to a debate with Harry over humanity’s potential for cruelty in which Bella argues that humankind is not inherently cruel. Harry retaliates when the cruise docks by showing her the conditions that poor people must endure. Bella gives her and Duncan’s money to members of the ship’s crew with the (ultimately ignored) instruction to distribute it to the poor. The rash decision results in Bella and Duncan being left to fend for themselves in Paris. Bella, to Duncan’s outrage, finds work in a local brothel, a job that she views as merely a means to an end. She ends their relationship and gives him money to return to London. Bella continues life as a sex worker, taking on many lovers in the process, including a fellow sex worker named Antoinette. 

The trajectory of Bella and Duncan’s relationship evokes a situationship I had years ago with an older man that would prove to be formative. Like Duncan, he presented himself as a mature man of many sexual interests that he would help me dip my toes into. And, like Duncan, he seemed to be attracted to me only when I was entirely compliant with his whims, and had an issue with me having friends and connections outside of him. I, like Bella, also managed to have a much larger libido than the supposedly adventurous gentleman, which amplified the tension as I was always wanting more.  Finally, after ending this affair, I, like Bella, learned an important lesson or two and threw myself into my personal development and goals.

Returning Home and Facing the Past

Bella’s story eventually sees her return to London. She learns the truth about her origins and reconciles with Godwin, whose health is failing. She also meets Felicity—a “new Bella” that Godwin and Max created. This is a subplot that deeply resonates with me, specifically Godwin and Max’s treatment of Felicity in comparison to their treatment of Bella. Godwin doted on Bella and Max fell for her, whereas the pair grew frustrated with Felicity and essentially abandoned her to be cared for solely by Prim. It’s easy to view Bella and Felicity as higher and lower-functioning disabled people, with Bella as the preferable one because she can mask her symptoms better than Felicity can.

Several times, I have been in Bella’s position of being a preferable disabled person to interact with compared to others because of my higher functioning and less obvious presentation. I’ve even experienced this dynamic in my childhood with my sister having ADD and ADHD, which was deemed more draining for our parents compared to my own diagnosis. It’s been a journey to overcome the internalized ableism that these experiences created, but it’s one that I’m glad I’ve embarked on. Among other things, it makes Bella rightfully directing the disdain she has for Felicity towards Godwin and Max so much more satisfying, even if she does offer both men forgiveness. 

Uncovering Bella’s Tragic Origins

In London, Bella learns that her body, pre-reanimation, had belonged to a sadistic woman named Victoria Blessington, who, along with her husband Alfie, abused their servants. Alfie informs Bella that Victoria died by suicide, likely due to her hatred of her unborn child, which she referred to as “the monster.” Alfie plots to imprison Bella and subject her to female genital mutilation. Bella ultimately escapes and takes Alfie back to Godwin’s home, where she performs her own surgery—one in which she replaces Alfie’s brain with a goat’s.

Although Godwin dies shortly after Bella’s return, Bella remains ever the optimist and becomes a scientist, following in Godwin’s footsteps. She builds a life with her chosen family, including Max and Antoinette as her partners, Felicity as her surrogate sister, and Prim and Alfie as her servant and pet, respectively. The film’s ending is not the traditional “Good For Her (™)” conclusion we tend to see, but rather a “Good For Bella” ending that empowers her, as a person, uniquely.

Bella Baxter’s Queer and Polyamorous Awakening

The conclusion of Poor Things brings home my feelings of kinship with Bella in two ways. The first being her completed arc from the cruel and hateful Victoria to the joyful and sincere Bella. When I was younger, I was definitely more Victoria than Bella; my younger self was a bully who enjoyed using my sharp tongue to bring others down as hard as I could. It was a lot of work to become a better person, one that I struggle to maintain from time to time. Like Bella, I have found kindness to be more rewarding than cruelty and wish to believe in the inherent joy in humanity.

The other way this conclusion resonates with me is through our—Bella’s and my own— late queer awakenings. For over half of the film, we have no indication that Bella is queer besides the likely unintentional hint of Bella rejecting Godwin and Max’s heteronormative ideals of marriage. We don’t see anything concrete until the montage of her sexual escapades in Paris, concluding with her and Antoinette having sex. It awakens Bella’s queerness in her adulthood to the point where she ends up in a throuple with Antoinette and Max, revealing that Bella is both queer and polyamorous. Similarly, I did not have my queer awakening until I was twenty, and I had my awakening as polyamorous only last year. Bella is a fictional character, but it is comforting to know that it is possible for others to have those awakenings occur later in life.

Embracing My Disabled and Queer Identity

When I look back at Poor Things, I see it as a messy and polarizing film by design. The questions of whether we should be offended, intrigued, or feel something else entirely regarding the plot of a woman being reanimated with her baby’s brain in place of her own and eventually embarking on a quest of hedonism are valid ones that do warrant discourse. I don’t resent those who are outraged by the film and detest the film’s critical success.

However, I can’t find myself outraged, especially when the film’s protagonist’s experiences mirror my own, with Bella becoming a comfort character to me as a result. In the time since my initial viewing of Poor Things, I have found so much more pride in being disabled and queer that I keep surprising myself. I used to be embarrassed to discuss my disability in any detail, because I feared that I would be treated differently or viewed as merely trying to excuse my own faults with my neurodivergence.

On the contrary, those who care about me now understand me better, and I have a film that I can point to for them to have a glimpse into my lived experience. I’ve even become more proud of my queerness to the point of going to my first Pride celebration last summer, as well as having an awakening in regards to my polyamory. I cannot begrudge a film like Poor Things for its messiness when it has empowered me so much in the way that it ultimately empowers its protagonist. 

The Dissonance of Queer Horror Fandom

That being said, to enjoy the genre, Queer horror fans face significant dissonance in embracing these films. While finding great pleasure and connection in the genre, Queer fans simultaneously find themselves faced with many moments of casual cruelty and bigotry in a genre that also revels in an often toxic male gaze and slings homophobic slurs about with little thought to the collateral damage the viewing audience might experience.

Take Ronny Yu’s Freddy vs. Jason (2003) as an example. Most Queer horror fans will know the infamous scene in question. Kia (played with iconic early aughts flair by Kelly Rowland) confronts Krueger and draws his attention to her in a moment of heroic friendship to allow her friends to reach safety. She taunts him, asking, “What kind of a faggot runs around in a Christmas sweater.” A character who simultaneously embodies much of the strength, style, and charisma that many a Queer fan would embrace chooses to use our identity as a form of attack. Do we applaud her bravery? Do we cheer for her death to punish her casual homophobia? Can we do both? Such is the dilemma of the Queer horror fan.

Butcher, Baker, Nightmare Maker: A Troubling First Glance

At first glance, William Asher’s film Butcher, Baker, Nightmare Maker (1981) checks the boxes on all the trademarks of insensitive, bordering upon cruel, portrayals of the gay identity we might expect from film in the early 1980s. The gay couple featured in the film faces a tragic end. One partner, Phil, is brutally murdered and framed as a sexual predator. Of course, he is the first death in the film, a fate so often reserved for such tokenized cast members. His grieving partner, Tom, is forced out of his job at the local high school and also accused of sexual perversion.

One of the film’s main characters is Joe Carlson, a proudly homophobic police detective who drops frequent gay slurs and equates homosexuality with sexual predation. The main love interests in the film are our protagonist, Billy, and his girlfriend, Julia. They represent the quintessential heteronormative love story. Blonde hair and blue eyes. Innocent and in love. Everything society suggests we might wish for our youth.

As a gay viewer, it is challenging, but not surprising, to watch such content in film. However, ambivalence moves in both directions. A film that on its surface appears supportive can cause harm. And in the case of Asher’s film, could a story that at first glance appears so wantonly cruel to the community actually be the most affirming gay horror film you’ve never seen?

Deliberate Inclusion of Queer Themes

What is intriguing about Butcher, Baker, Nightmare Maker is that the Queer subplot could have easily been excised from the film with very little impact to the plot. A psychosexual horror film exploring the incestuous obsession of an aunt toward her young nephew and the murderous lengths she will go to to keep him in her life provides more than enough fodder to carry a feature-length film. The inclusion of Billy’s mentor and coach, Tom Landers, his secret relationship with partner Phil Brody, and Detective Carlson’s obsession with linking Billy to the murder as a way of covering up an imagined love triangle is, on first watch, jarring. Queer characters and plots were still very rare in 1981.

This was an interesting historical period of time that existed after the fight for freedom, represented by the Stonewall riots of 1969, and before the AIDS epidemic, which was just beginning to be reported in the summer months of 1981. Significant strides had been made to fight for basic human rights of the LGBTQIA+ community, but they were still very much marginalized and invisible, particularly in media representation.

Filmmakers’ Empathy for Marginalized Communities

The writer’s and director’s choice to include an explicitly gay subplot was clearly deliberate. And that makes more sense considering the background of the staff who brought this film to life. While no one involved in the creation of this film appears to have been openly Queer, their personal backgrounds make it clear how they could have empathized with, and been supporters of, such marginalized communities.

Co-writer Stephen Breimer was adopted and openly discussed his interest in using this film to explore the ambivalence that comes with not knowing one’s biological roots. And two of director William Asher’s most well-known works beyond this movie were the sitcoms I Love Lucy and Bewitched. Two properties that, while not explicitly Queer, have long enjoyed a deep connection to these communities who see themselves reflected in the strong women who defy the norms of society and the patriarchy. The filmmakers clearly held the Queer community in high esteem.

Found Family and Queer Intimacy

LGBTQIA+ audiences will also connect with the themes of found family and surrogate parental figures which are deeply present in this film. Particularly in Billy’s relationship with his basketball coach, Tom Landers. There is deep love and intimacy in their relationship, but it is never sexualized or suggested to be improper. In the film’s bloody climax, his coach is the first phone call Billy makes. Tearfully, he tells his coach: “I need your help.” Any parent will recognize the love and trust implicit in this phone call and Coach Landers’ immediate willingness to come to his aid.

Landers’ willingness to support Billy throughout the film is frequently reminiscent of the caregiving that a parent (biological, adoptive, or otherwise) would provide. He encourages Billy’s journey to seek a basketball scholarship. He resigns from his coaching job rather than drag his students, Billy included, further into the personal drama perpetuated by the homophobic police force. And in an act of painful personal sacrifice that only a parent could understand, he even provides evidence to the police in an effort to corroborate the story that his lover may have attempted to rape Aunt Cheryl.

There is clearly no truth to this story, but Coach Landers is willing to sit with the pain of tarnishing the name of his life partner and their relationship if it means a chance to help Billy escape this situation unscathed and go on to live his life fully.

Subverting Heteronormative Expectations

The comparison of Coach Landers’ support of Billy is juxtaposed frequently with the more heteronormative parental figures that surround him. His Aunt Cheryl most obviously. On paper, she should represent the loving mother figure that society suggests all young boys need. However, the film wastes no time demonstrating the darkness behind her “love” of Billy. The first scene they share depicts Billy as a three-year-old boy sobbing uncontrollably in her arms. And flashes forward fourteen years to show her waking him up for school. She uncomfortably purrs into his ears and draws her nails seductively along his back. She later drugs Billy. With milk of all beverages, the ultimate symbol of a mother’s love. At no point does the film suggest that this heteronormative family system is healthy or in Billy’s best interests.

The final frame of the film instead leaves him in the presence of his gay coach, a man who has been labeled as a deviant, predator, and sick man but who has shown himself to be anything but. A brief scene in which their neighbors are shown comforting them in the aftermath of the first murder also highlights the insufficiency of the heteronormative family in supporting Billy. “Maybe you should go with him,” his neighbor says to her husband when Billy steps outside to get some air and try to process the shocking murder that has occurred in his home. “No. I don’t think I better,” he responds. Choosing instead to sit in quiet discomfort as this young boy suffers.

Again, the heteronormative family fails to provide the care and compassion which Coach Landers is able to give so instinctively.

Detective Carlson’s Harmful Antagonism

Detective Joe Carlson is the other potential caregiver presented to Billy in this narrative. Similarly to Aunt Cheryl, not only does Detective Carlson fail to provide any support to Billy, but he actively causes harm to all those around him. This is highlighted in a scene where he stops by the family home to question Billy on the murder. Billy is playing basketball in the driveway, and Detective Carlson takes the ball and plays with him briefly, even offering some pointers on how to shoot a better free-throw.

But this scene is played with no sense of parental caring. Instead, Detective Carlson mocks Billy and weaponizes his coach’s homosexuality against him. Throughout the film, Detective Carlson uses gay slurs to refer to Billy, Tom Landers, and Phil Brody. While the language is uncomfortable, a Queer audience can always detect the intention behind the use of such language. In the aforementioned Freddy vs. Jason, Kia’s use of the word “faggot” feels cruel and unnecessary. And the filmmakers confuse the messaging further by positioning her as a hero in that moment. In Butcher, Baker, Nightmare Maker, there is no ambivalence in how we are meant to view the use of such language from Detective Carlson and Aunt Cheryl.

They are the clear villains of the film, and their language is clearly used to tell the viewing audience how misguided they are in their understanding of what it means to be a gay man.

Redefining the Real Monster

In a particularly interesting element of this film, the creators chose to extend the ending beyond Billy’s victory over his murderous aunt. In a typical slasher film, the movie would have ended with her death, as Billy grapples with the trauma of having impaled her upon a fire poker in his fight for safety. But the film continues and brings Detective Carlson back onto the scene where it becomes clear that he, rather than Aunt Cheryl, is the film’s true monster.

It’s the homophobic detective who Billy must kill to end the story. And notably, he does so with the help of Coach Landers rather than his girlfriend, who only arrives on the scene after the villain’s death. This storytelling subversion tells viewers who the filmmakers see as the true antagonist of their story and who are the sympathetic heroes.

A Tender Portrayal of Queer Grief

The generous lens this film grants to its gay characters is evidenced no more clearly than in the scene in which Detective Carlson first confronts Coach Landers with his knowledge that he and Phil were lovers. He points out their matching rings and takes glee in pointing out Tom’s inability to openly express his grief or even receive his lover’s personal belongings without outing himself. 

A lesser film would not have included such a scene at all or may have played it simply as a plot twist to shock the viewers. Asher instead directs the scene in such a way that the camera lingers upon Coach Landers, allowing the actor (Steve Eastin) to portray this man’s grief in a way that is understated but powerful and as loving as it is tragic.

A Multifaceted Queer Horror Classic

It is a small but powerful moment in a film that might otherwise be written off as a campy and forgettable eighties popcorn flick. And it is exactly this balance in the film which makes it an essential entry in the canon of Queer cinema. As is the beauty of many horror films, it can be enjoyed on multiple levels.

Choose to tune in for Aunt Cheryl’s scenery-chewing spiral into murderous rage, portrayed to perfection by Susan Tyrrell exuding “Baby Jane” energy in a way that only a Queer audience could fully appreciate. Or choose to peek beneath the surface and find a surprisingly poignant and intimate depiction of the challenges of existing as a gay man in a society that will not accept you.

And the power of found family in helping us all navigate the dangers of our world and coming out the other side stronger than before.