Vampira and Elvira were not friends. Maila Nurmi, known primarily as Vampira, the original horror hostess of the 1950s, was a complicated, enigmatic, and profound woman. Amid 1950s-era misogyny, Vampira miraculously emerged among the smiling white housewives that plastered homemaking magazines and the objectified, doe-eyed young women in gentlemen’s magazines such as Playboy. Nurmi used these harmful images to her advantage, luring ogling men with her sleek black dress and come-hither voice, then subjecting them to her dominatrix attitude and piercing scream. Not to mention, B horror movies! “The shock value of Vampira,” explains W. Scott Poole in his book Vampira: Dark Goddess of Horror (2014), “came from her refusal to submit to the male gaze. She wanted to attack it instead […]. Vampira represented both homage and satire of the pin-up tradition. Cheesecake came with a heavy dose of gothic morbidity and transformed the sexual politics and imagery of mid-century America into a sandbox she could play in.” Nurmi’s albeit-brief success as a late-night horror hostess on The Vampira Show in the 1950s paved the way for her predecessor, Cassandra Peterson.

Peterson, known worldwide as the seductive and hilarious Elvira, modeled her Valley Goth Girl horror hostess character after Nurmi’s sexy macabre creation decades earlier. Studio executives advocated this aesthetic decision after Peterson tried first to have her character be more of an homage to the late Sharon Tate. Unfortunately, Nurmi did not appreciate the executives’ directive decision and took Elvira’s eventual stardom as a slap in the face. Despite Peterson’s consistent admiration for Nurmi’s Vampira, Nurmi would never accept Elvira as anything but a knockoff. However, the women had more similarities than Nurmi may have understood. Not only did both women share a seemingly spiritual bond with Elvis Presley, having both met and shared intimate conversations with the icon nearly a decade apart in Las Vegas, but they have both advocated for the marginalized and have clear connections to the queer community throughout their careers and personal lives. Camp and transgressive sexuality play a central role in their legacies as mistresses of the dark.

Peterson came out publicly as queer in her recent bestselling memoir Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark (2021) after decades of being titillation for male horror fans (of which she lost many after her coming out). Throughout her life, Nurmi interacted with queerness through comics, friendships, and politics. Though we may never know for sure if her queer connections go beyond the platonic and salutatory, we do know that based on her life story, particularly as it is portrayed in Poole’s 2014 book as well as filmmaker R.H. Greene’s 2012 documentary Vampira & Me, she was an ally who inspired countless queer folks to be their authentic, creepy, campy selves. Critics and normals be damned.

From a young age, Maila was unafraid to explore the boundaries of gender expression, particularly in comics and in the theater. Her favorite comic strip, Milton Caniff’s Terry & the Pirates, which debuted in 1934, offered sci-fi adventure mixed with subversion. Her obsession with the villainous character of The Dragon Lady, a Chinese pirate queen, followed her throughout her life and helped to develop her ethos as a performer. The strip “offered transgressive visions of women and sexuality,” and by 1940, Caniff introduced Sanjak, a villain whose character is named after a Greek island near Lesbos. “Caniff,” explains Poole, “portrayed Sanjak as a French woman who cross-dresses by wearing a men’s uniform and had a monocle…”. Maila would also cross-dress in her high school Rhythm Club performances; one yearbook photo shows her as a vaudevillian “Chaplin-esque looking sailor.”

After graduation, Maila set her sights on New York City’s beatnik enclave of Greenwich Village. There, she associated herself with like-minded dreamers, poets, and activists. One such connection was Harry Hay, the gay communist organizer and founder of the Mattachine Society in 1950. This would not be the only time she associated herself with known queer figureheads and creatives. For instance, Maila debuted the rough draft for Vampira at Lester Horton’s Bal Caribe Halloween extravaganza. “The Bal Caribe,” Poole states, “represented the most outré gathering in 1950s Hollywood that brought together the city’s gay elite, political radicals, and a hefty portion of campy glamour. Horton had long been part of Hollywood’s gay scene.” Maila would go on to win Best Costume – Vampira found her first audience.

As her infamy grew with The Vampira Show (1954-1955), she met her “soulmate,” James Dean. Dean, the up-and-coming enigmatic young actor who lit Hollywood ablaze, was the subject of several rumors linking him to queer Hollywood and romantically to Maila, though the infatuation appears to have been one-sided. Dean himself was bisexual, though he never came out publicly. Another closeted Hollywood fixture, Liberace, paled around with Nurmi in Las Vegas in 1956. She joined his flamboyant nightclub act as the “local TV glamour ghoul” though her true role remains unclear. According to Nurmi, at one of Liberace’s performances, an audience member yelled “Liberace is a f**!” Nurmi spat on the heckler.

As Vampira/Maila’s star power was being extinguished thanks to the sudden cancelation of The Vampira Show, Maila was approached by B-movie director Ed Wood to star in his low-budget sci-fi alien zombie flick Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959). At this point in his personal life, Wood was known to be a cross-dresser, as alluded to in his semi-autobiographical gender horror flick Glen or Glenda (1953). While Maila in later interviews lambasted Wood’s ability to write dialogue, she accepted the role in Plan 9 for $200 due to financial troubles, which would follow her until she died in 2008.

In 1980, following a long drought in her acting career, executives at the cable network KHJ-TV wanted to revamp the horror hostess for a new generation. They approached Nurmi, though they intended to cast someone much younger. Nurmi initially agreed to the project to help find and train a new Vampira. However, she quickly grew disillusioned by the deal after the network supposedly rejected her idea of having either BIPOC actresses Lola Falana or Martine Beswick as the hostess. After Groundlings alum Cassandra Peterson was signed on, and the producers decided she would dress similarly to Vampira, Nurmi felt cheated. She would go on to sue both Peterson and the producers, but she couldn’t follow through in part due to a lack of funds. “The inventor is rarely honored for anything,” stated Nurmi in Greene’s documentary (2012). “I pity those people,” meaning, the copycats, most likely referring to Peterson. In her autobiography, Peterson describes the situation as unfortunate. Elvira became the most popular horror hostess of the genre, but Peterson insisted she did not mean to insult Nurmi with her spin on Vampira’s original look. It was in the meetings with KHJ-TV executives that Peterson first heard of Vampira, and until then, thought Vampira was just a generic name for a female vampire.

                                     Lola Falana                                                                      Martine Beswick

It is interesting how many closeted (and open) queer people Maila Nurmi attracted during her fame. Whether it be her camp sensibilities; her willingness to openly scoff at and reject social norms and gender roles; or her dedication to her role as Vampira, the spookiest, sexiest woman in town; queers felt comfortable in her presence in the hostile environment of 1950s America. Maila’s entire persona and dedication to performance art inspired countless drag looks for decades, including Peterson’s Elvira, a character beloved by the queer community. One can posit that, under less professional circumstances, Cassandra and Maila might have been friends or at least acquaintances, should the drama between the two creatives and the selfish actions of studio executives never occurred.

History doesn’t repeat: it rhymes. Peterson’s campy Valley Girl/Goth Royalty Elvira was an ode to Nurmi’s satirical Beat Generation ghoul Vampira. Likewise, Charles Addams’s subversive matriarch, The Ghoul/Morticia, inspired Vampira. Each was a variation of the other, all transgressive in their respective periods. “American culture had become a subversive burlesque,” writes Poole, “a sideshow with a sense that performing cultural identity always means some level of love and theft.”

Maila Nurmi personifies the power one can wield when being their own eccentric and kooky self. It is no wonder that queer people felt comfortable around her and continue to be inspired by what Vampira stands for. Vampira, for many, was a barren temptress who cared not about your opinions or classifications. It didn’t matter the social mores or gender roles of the period: when Vampira appeared on screen in the L.A. area, she tore up the rulebook and refused to compromise on her art, even when starving and penniless. Queers were transfixed by her one or two years of fame. They, as well as punks and goths, stood by her as her career took a downturn, bringing her food and gigs in her later years. These groups continue to conjure the ghoul goddess through drag. Maila Nurmi will always be a dark icon of the weirdos; her impact is not lost on us queers.

Check out R.H. Greene’s documentary Vampira & Me (2012) on Tubi!

Scott Poole’s book Vampira: Dark Goddess of Horror (2014) is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Soft Skull Press.

Cassandra Peterson’s Yours Curelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark (2021) is available wherever books are sold.