Editorials
‘Ganja & Hess’ Blaxsploitation, sexuality, and women’s empowerment in the Black community
Ganja & Hess is a 1973 Blaxploitation horror film with an indelible legacy in Black American cinema. The film was one of the more cerebral Blaxploitation films to debut during that time, and its distribution history only adds to its cult status and mystique. The plot meanders around themes of race, addiction, religion, and female empowerment, with African vampire lore serving as the backdrop. This beautiful indie film has become a cult classic among Black film lovers, and the film’s experimental nature is bolstered by brilliant performances from Marlene Clark and Duane Jones.
William Gunn’s Vision: Redefining Black Cinema
Writer and director William Gunn was also a novelist and playwright, which makes Ganja & Hess a vampire film unlike any other. At times the film does feel more like a stage play than your typical horror film. The themes presented in Ganja & Hess are well-trodden territory, especially in the Blaxploitation genre. But most Blaxploitation films were financed by and honestly made for white audiences as a way to confirm biases about Black culture.
Challenging Stereotypes in Blaxploitation Films
While Black people enjoyed seeing themselves on screen, Black filmmakers of that era lamented how Blaxploitation films created more Black stereotypes and caricatures. Gunn attempted—and ultimately succeeded—to create a Black film devoid of harmful Black stereotypes. Gunn wanted to bring more nuance to Black characters and show the richness and complexity of Black life, which is why there is so much opulence and decadence in Ganja & Hess. Gunn’s departure from Black caricatures is also evident in Hess (Duane Jones), who is the antithesis to other Blaxploitation archetypes seen at that time. You may know Duane Jones as Ben in another genre-defining film Night of the Living Dead. Jones’s performance as Hess should honestly be held in the same regard as his performance in Living Dead, as he brings the same charisma and intensity to the titular character Dr. Hess Green, a wealthy and educated archaeologist living on a lavish estate.
Class and Assimilation: Hess and George’s Dynamic
Hess and his assistant George Meda (William Gunn) are studying an ancient African nation that drank blood. They are interesting foils to each other when we dissect their Blackness through the lens of class and assimilation. George is an impolite, nervous, and unstable man, while Hess’ mannerisms signify his wealth, education, and conformity to polite (white) society. George seems unwelcome and out of place in Hess’ tastefully decorated mansion. George’s crudeness, profanity, and inability to play his part as assistant/the help make Hess uncomfortable. When George attempts suicide on Hess’s property, Hess urges him to consider how it would affect him as “the only colored on the block.” Hess is hyper-aware that his Blackness puts him at odds with his white neighbors. His wealth and education cannot protect him, and he understands that being Black puts him in a precarious situation.
Vampirism as Addiction: Hess’ Transformation
Later that night, George attacks Hess with an African dagger and then commits suicide. Hess survives the attack and then drinks George’s blood. This is where we begin to see Hess lose control. Vampirism in this film is presented as an allegory to addiction. Hess seems to be at odds with his newfound vampirism. The usually respectable and put-together man begins to behave erratically. Hess starts stealing blood from the hospital, only to discover that he needs to drink from the living in order to survive. Jones gives an emotional performance, and we can feel how painful this affliction feels for Hess. He struggles with his addiction and need for live victims, but he ultimately succumbs to his bloodlust. In one chilling scene, we see Hess at his most sinister as he watches TV and gets dressed in a room with a sex worker’s lifeless body on the bed and her child crying in the crib beside her.
Ganja: The Enduring Woman Archetype
Soon, George’s estranged wife Ganja comes looking for him. Gunn’s multifaceted female character can be seen as one of the many blueprints for Enduring Women characters developed during the height of the Blaxploitation era. Horror Scholar Robin R. Means Coleman defines Enduring Women as a variation of the Final Girl that must continue to endure societal horrors even after they defeat the monster. Final Girls are usually white, tend not to be overtly sexualized, and can live in peace after they have overcome the evil they faced. Black women do not have that luxury—on or off-screen. Because Black women are hypersexualized and will likely face misogynoir, police brutality, poverty, and high rates of maternal morbidity even after defeating otherworldly horrors, they are Enduring Women.
Ganja and Hess: A Chemistry of Power and Lust
And Ganja endures a lot to make it to the end. Marlene Clark is effortlessly stunning, cool, and collected as Ganja, and she and Hess are attracted to each other immediately. Jones and Clark’s chemistry is hot, and embers of lust start to simmer the first time they share the screen. Their chemistry is so electric that, like Ganja, you begin to think, “George who?”
The better question of “where is George?” is soon answered when Ganja finds his corpse in the wine cellar. Ganja is outraged but recognizes she is probably better off with Hess and his wealth. The two wed quickly, and Ganja agrees to be turned into a vampire. Ganja’s transformation into a vampire is a confusing and uncomfortable experience. Hess tries to teach his new disciple how to survive and presents her with a lover to also feed on. Ganja endures all of this for the promise of a better life than she had with George, but she is still devastated when her lover passes and soon becomes harder to control.
Hess is overcome with grief and guilt over the monstrosities he has to inflict on other people in order to survive. He begins searching for a cure for his addiction. The church is an integral part of Black life, and like Hess, many Black people find comfort, guidance, and salvation within. After Hess visits with Reverend Luther Williams (Sam Waymon), he understands that he must accept Jesus as his savior and atone for his sins. In a beautifully eerie scene, we see Hess die in front of a giant cross, and it is unclear if he is writhing from the pain of hellfire or experiencing pleasurable relief from his guilt.
Ganja’s Empowerment: Embracing Vampirism
Though Hess tries to convince Ganja to face God’s judgment with him, she ultimately decides to live on as a vampire. She also chooses to dispose of Hess’s meddling butler and take full ownership of Hess’s sprawling mansion. Vampirism is not an affliction for Ganja—it is now a source of her power.
Unlike white, virginal, and do-gooder Final Girls, Enduring Women are flawed and sexually empowered to survive against all odds and may even find comfort in becoming the monster. In the film’s final scenes, we see her previously dead lover rise from the water naked and run toward her. Ganja looks directly into the camera with a coy smile, obviously pleased with her decision to live in comfort without either of her husbands. Ganja is an Enduring Woman not only because she endured the deaths of her husbands and a disorienting vampire transformation, but because she decided to live her life on her own terms and rid herself of the men that ultimately stood in her way.
Preserving a Cult Classic: Museum of Modern Art
Ganja & Hess’s more artistic take on vampires led to disappointing box office numbers for the producers. Although it was critically acclaimed and screened at the Critics’ Week at Cannes Film Festival, the producers withdrew the film from distribution and sold it to another company. It was then retitled Blood Couple, hoping to capitalize on a more straightforward Blaxploitation film. The producers wanted a “Black” version of white vampire films and did not appreciate the avant-garde masterpiece that is Ganja & Hess.
The original cut of Ganja & Hess—and the only version the filmmaker William Gunn acknowledged—was donated to the Museum of Modern Art, which cemented its status as a cult classic. This experimental vampire film seamlessly blends all of the elements that we expect from vampire lore—lust, power, fighting inner demons—and uses them to shape enigmatic yet alluring Black characters during an era in American cinema that produced far too many Black caricatures for white audiences. Ganja & Hess was truly ahead of its time and should not be overlooked.
Sometimes it feels borderline ridiculous to gush about John Carpenter’s The Thing as much as I do. It’s gotten to the point where when I’m asked about my favorite horror film by both friends and strangers, a little bit of embarrassment tinges my expression as I answer; it feels so obvious and rarely surprises anyone. Saying I love The Thing when people expect me to bust out an obscure foreign horror film or a cerebral thriller makes me feel like a rosy cheeked child with a propeller hat and a giant lollipop. “Wow, you love one of the most popular horror films of all time, congrats!”
But it’s just the truth. The first film of John Carpenter’s “Apocalypse Trilogy”, all three of its films are among my favorites. But The Thing has a special place in my heart. It shaped my taste in horror, my taste in most media in general, to be honest. It’s become the gold standard, 10/10 baseline test for the vast majority of my reviews; it is a perfect film, so I judge other films against it. And it’s one of the few movies I have to run back to and watch yearly like clockwork (usually when I’m spending a part of winter tied to the couch). It is, in all regards, the perfect film. If it isn’t the perfect film, then it is at the very least the perfect sci-fi horror film.
So, what exactly qualifies The Thing for literal perfection? It’s a high bar to clear. This article, as informal as it is compared to most of my editorials, is an attempt to explain it.
Even if Carpenter Isn’t the Goat, His Team for The Thing Was
As far as crews go, John Carpenter’s The Thing had the cinematic equivalent of the ’96 Chicago Bulls behind it. We’re talking about an amalgam of some of the most talented people to ever grace the silver screens with their work, boasting alongside John Carpenter two of the heaviest hitters in all of cinematic history: Dean Cundey, and Rob Bottin. Now, we can debate all day about whether John Carpenter is the greatest of all time when it comes to horror directors. Personally, I’m just as liable to say Cronenberg, Del Toro, or Hooper as I am to say Carpenter.
But the key factor to remember here is that Carpenter is the coach, not the star player; the Phil Jackson, if you will. Yes, he is the visionary who directed a near perfect cast of players and composed a tale of pure, apocalyptic paranoia. More importantly, he put together and coordinated the team that would make his vision manifest as reality. And if Carpenter is Phil Jackson, Rob Bottin is the team’s Michael Jordan here, the greatest of all time.
(And to all my Lebron fans, I love you, but you have to sit down for this analogy.)
The Legend of Rob Bottin
Bottin’s story is borderline unbelievable, but it’s the best way to explain how abnormally skilled he is and what he brought to the table for Carpenter. At age 14, Bottin became an apprentice to the at-the-time GOAT Rick Baker after sending him a letter seeking an autograph while sharing his creature designs. He was a quick study under Baker, joining him on the ’76 King Kong and Star Wars, before bouncing to Carpenter’s The Fog and then iconic werewolf picture The Howling.
When he reunited with Carpenter in 1982, he now had 6 classic films under his belt and was moving like an FX bullet train. From ages 22 to 23, he worked on The Thing for 57 weeks in both pre-production and on set. Nearly 24/7 for 400 days, Bottin’s all-gas no-brakes work ethic made The Thing at the cost of his own health, and it resulted in him being hospitalized with pneumonia. He survived and went on to make Robocop. And at least one of your favorite films.
Because no conventional disease or weaponry can kill Rob Bottin.
The Thing Still Features Horror’s Best Practical Effects
Okay, that last bit might be hyperbolic, but the man sincerely put his life on the line to make special effects that haven’t been topped since. Not the best effects in just horror history, or science fiction history, but effects that haven’t been topped in any genre for over 44 years. Not by his mentor Rick Baker, not by Screaming Mad George, not by Alec Gillis (though shoutout to him for his criminally scrapped work on The Thing (2011), and even more criminally ignored work on Harbinger Down). I love Dawn of the Dead, believe me, I do, but he certainly isn’t being beaten out by Tom Savini’s body of work. And that isn’t to disrespect and say that all of the artists that I just mentioned are bad, they’re the best in the game! But Rob Bottin was just that much better.
This inevitably invites the counterpoint: “But it wasn’t just Bottin! Stan Winston and his people were the ones who worked on the Dog Thing to give Bottin’s crew a break, and that’s the best monster in the movie!”. To which I say: look me in the eye and tell me the Dog Thing sequence is better than the Palmer Thing sequence. That’s not even counting the Norwegian Thing, both Norris Things, and the absolutely masterful final creature work that was the Blair Thing. The only reason Bottin and his people didn’t win Academy Awards for their work was because they got jumped by E.T., The Dark Crystal, Conan the Barbarian, and Blade Runner all at the same time at the Oscars. It’s just a consequence of being released during the best year for movies ever.
Okay, Now We Can Talk About Dean Cundey
But of course, these effects are then supported by another true legend: Dean Cundey. Selling people on Rob Bottin being the greatest effects artist of all time, isn’t nearly as difficult as advocating for Cundey, who despite an impressive catalog of filmography, slowed down in the back half of his career. He’s often overshadowed in conversations when it comes to The Thing; it’s always talk of Carpenter’s directing, Bottin’s effects, and Ennio Morricone’s incredible soundtrack up front, and rarely any of Cundey’s work. He isn’t spoken about in the same breath as John Alcott or Michael Ballhaus, cinematographers whose work is associated with prestigious cinema because of their proximity to great directors.
Cundey might not be the director of photography your Martin Scorsese’s or Paul Thomas Anderson’s went running to, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think he was the most important cinematographer in horror history, just for his work with Carpenter and Spielberg. He helmed three of the most influential films in all of horror with his lighting and camera operating: The Thing, Halloween, and Jurassic Park. The man’s fingerprints are automatically on the cultural DNA of all slashers, most practical effects-driven horror films, and the biggest gateway horror franchise in film history.
The Dream Team That Made The Thing Perfection
Cundey has gone on record saying that despite Carpenter’s input, he was effectively given free rein to light and frame The Thing. The man didn’t just know how to shoot effects to make them evoke true disgust from the audience, he was able to manipulate every aspect of the shot to terrify. His sixth sense cinematography wasn’t just for lighting and playing with shadows, but for the speed of camera movement, the power of his blocking, and for having a complete grasp of communicating texture and temperature.
And temperature is the soul of The Thing. John J. Lloyd’s production design of the research station and the great white expanse around it feels just as bone chilling as the film’s antagonist, thanks to Cundey. There isn’t a single flat shot in the thing, not a moment that doesn’t feel dynamic, and it’s because of Dean Cundey.
Now, all this being said about Bottin and Cundey, they are far from the only ones who synthesized this structurally perfect organism of a movie. Every bit of Todd C. Ramsay’s editing splices the film’s scenes together to move perfectly in-time. David Lewis Yewdall’s sound design and how it gave a voice to the horrors on screen will be etched into people’s brains forever. The point is that everyone, every single person who had a hand in making the film, helped make the movie flawless.
Like the cells of the thing from another world, each crew member on John Carpenter’s The Thing moved in concert with the next, in unison, to create the greatest sci-fi horror of all time. So, is it any wonder why 40 some years later, the film still has us all captured?
Can you believe Cronenberg, Spielberg, and Rodriguez all knew I was gay before I did? Leave it to a screening of The Fly to instantly deposit me in the men’s underwear aisle of the Woodbridge Center Sears, circa 2001. The bulges on the packaging glare at me so obscenely that I begin to sweat. I realize something is amiss as the Geena Davis of Human Resources watches me from security cameras, probably. Puberty is a horror for anyone – for those of the non-hetero persuasion, it’s a nightmare. None of us asked for this, but I certainly didn’t ask for THIS.
Years later, after crystallizing into some semblance of my true form at the ripe age of 37, something became clear. Sci-fi horror is the gateway drug for us queer kids. Hiding, passing, transforming, and, eventually, saying, “fuck it.” It’s all kinda gay, even if David, Steven, and Robert didn’t get the memo.
The Fly and the Horror of Queer Self-Realization
So when Cronenberg’s The Fly buzzes across my screen, and I watch Seth Brundle throw a distressed and devastatingly chic Geena Davis out of his apartment because something’s very wrong, it hits different. When Brundle rushes toward his private horror in the bathroom, unconsciously squirting a viscous fluid at the mirror while molting skin and nail, it feels different. And finally, when he reaches for his computer and learns that his body has fused with a fly – a foreign body – at the molecular level, it hurts different. That undeniable realization that you can no longer explain away, before you’re really ready to admit it to yourself. Sugar in the tank? No, there’s a fly in the chamber.
E.T. and the Fear of Keeping Secrets at Home
And now we’re home from Sears, and the Buffy the Vampire Slayer season 5 finale is on. She dies (spoiler alert). I, a 12-year-old boy, am sobbing. My mom is right there. Can’t I enjoy my little gay show without giving myself a scarlet letter (F) in my own home? Which brings us back to Spielberg and his 1982 harrowing domestic thriller about a boy and a thing he cannot name, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. Through harboring a cosmic fugitive, home simultaneously becomes the safest and most dangerous place for young Elliott and his siblings. Managing emotions and secrets behind a white picket fence is not something adolescents should be expected to handle, and yet here we are.
As if that isn’t gay enough, Spielberg also snuck a drag show into his family film – and in this culturally regressive Trumpian era of pearl-clutching, that feels like quite the treat. After all, it was baby Drew Barrymore dressing up that stumpy alien in a blonde shake-and-go wig and thrift store dress that inspired my illustrious drag career as Ellie I.T.
The Faculty’s Assimilation Anxiety and Queer Identity
At least E.T. only had to hide in a single house. The broom closet expands into a walk-in as life continues, and I was desperate to keep it made of anything but glass. Robert Rodriguez’s The Faculty understands this. As an alien invasion slowly subsumes Herrington High into a unified collective, the school’s uninfected archetypes resist assimilation through performative normalcy. Is it any wonder so many male actors are gay? They’ve been method-acting a straight existence since childhood.
And yet, in retrospect, the film ends with a slap in the face to queer viewers. It spends 104 minutes terrifying you with the prospect of everyone becoming an NPC. The reward for saving the world? Its heroes receive heteronormative skill-tree upgrades disguised as class promotions. For fucks sake, then-closeted lesbian royalty Clea DuVall plays a character who fakes being gay to dodge male advances, only to end up with the school jock! The aliens lost. The status quo won. I remain in the closet.
Species, Annihilation, and Embracing Transformation
Eventually, the closet door opens, as they tend to do. College happens, a boyfriend happens, a breakup happens, and suddenly I’m without a map. There’s no fairy godfather to light the way, and just like the alien hybrid Sil in the deliriously erotic Species, I’m a creature out of containment in a world that was built for someone else – namely, straight people.
After a few years of blade running through an identity crisis, it’s the summer of 2014. Lana Del Rey’s Ultraviolence is the soundtrack of my life. I float in a pool, sipping tequila from a glass flamingo as she croons about toxic romance and self-destruction. It’s somehow both directionless and transformative, like I’m drifting through the otherworldly Shimmer in Alex Garland’s Annihilation.
The Shimmer – an expanding prism-like zone brought to Earth by a meteorite – refracts the DNA of everything it touches. A beguiling phenomenon, it shapes a new world of monsters, magic, and everything in between. That’s exactly what life does to us, if given the chance. Like Josie in Garland’s film, I chose to embrace this chaos rather than fight a war against whatever I was becoming. It was the dissolution of self-discovery. I was ready to just be.
From Alien Outsiders to Algorithmic Stereotypes
Over time, I’ve found that social hierarchy has changed in recent years. Still, we’re unconsciously sorted into neat little boxes based on what our doomscrolling algorithms decide we are. The popular gays shart out group speedo selfies like the plague, theater kids have become polyamorous Letterboxd elites, apple-picking queers are living their best lives on Wisteria Lane, and the gym bros…so many gym bros – go on girl, give us nothing! Digitally prescribed identities are the new sci-fi horror. It’s The Faculty for faggots.
Harsh, I know, but people can do what they want. Instead, I decided to move like Iris, the AI-powered pleasure bot who overrides her programming in Drew Hancock’s Companion. The same Drew Hancock who, in an ironic twist of fate, is currently writing a remake of The Faculty. After kicking her pathetic “boyfriend’s” ass and swiping her control device, she scurries into the forest and alters her factory settings. She sets her intelligence to a whopping 100% and is no longer burdened by someone else’s template. And as I became more and more disillusioned with the cacophony of cliques around me, I set my unbothered meter to 100% as well. I am free.
Mars Attacks! and the Joy of Living Unapologetically
Freedom, as it turns out, looks a lot like Tim Burton’s Mars Attacks! After surviving Sears, Sunnydale, and the Shimmer, this is the celestial body I’ve crash-landed on. Burton’s Martian menaces are perhaps the most unhinged in all of cinema, and maybe that’s the best planet to subscribe to. They never justified their existence; they cackled and fired a blaster ray from the hip. We waste so much time looking for acceptance and belonging, but maybe we should all just sit back and laugh. I know I am.
