Editorials
Mean Ghouls: When Does Queer Horror Get To Sit At The Table?
The intersection of queerness and horror has been fervently dissected these last few years, and now the junction feels more like dated gospel than innovative speculation. The “why’s” may range from otherness to villain empathy, but it is, without a doubt, a genre that resonates with us. Today, the horror genre remains a vehicle for queer filmmakers to share their stories through metaphor, subtext, or even having the Final Girls be trans women.
Horror has always been queer, but the rise of indie, queer horror is in full effect as LGBTQ+ directors like Alice Maio Mackay (So Vam, T Blockers) and Robbie Banfitch (The Outwaters) are getting just as much notoriety as an expensive “requel to the sequel” franchise installment. Yet despite ubiquitous queer appreciation for the genre, a significant faction of LGBTQ+ film festivals, particularly the ones that come to mind when you read “LGBTQ+ film festival” seems to maintain an antiquated view of the genre; that is, horror is still smut, sub-par art not to be taken seriously or considered for their elite programming. Across the 2022 programming for the top 3 LGBTQ+ film festivals in the country, a total of 3 horror features were showcased.
Note: I spoke with a handful of queer filmmakers for this article. To protect people’s identities and careers, their names have been removed.
Challenges for Queer Horror Filmmakers at LGBTQ+ Festivals
“I got a letter back from a [programmer] who said my film ‘was not a good representation of the queer community,” says a filmmaker, who submitted her “lesbian cannibal” film to a major queer festival on the west coast. She was invited by a friend in programming and a former mentor on the festival’s board. “It’s a genre film! It’s supposed to be scary, campy, and transgressive. But they didn’t get it. My film was too unsafe…for them.” What is a “good representation” of the queer community, and who gets to decide that? The mainstreaming of queer stories tends to circumvent the unappealing, often flawed, yet honest sides of queer existence for safe and palatable representation. These festivals champion diversity and inclusivity. Their mission statements claim to uplift unique, queer stories. But seemingly, only the stories they deem acceptable representation.
Horror Community Embraces Queer Filmmakers
Strangely enough, in a genre that often appeals to an incel or two, the horror community has carved out space for queer stories. Some of the most popular titles on Shudder are queer horror and genre fests that dedicate entire nights to LGBTQ+ content. “I made a queer horror short…I assumed it’d probably not do well in horror festivals, but to my surprise, [they] embraced it a lot,” said another queer filmmaker I spoke to. “And basically radio silence from queer fests, except one…they were the only queer festival we ever got into despite most of my festival budget going to queer fest submissions.”
The festival fees add up quickly; $30 here, $80 there, and before you know it, you’ve spent $500 applying to less than 10 festivals, which is a significant amount of money for an indie filmmaker. “Learned my lesson,” he tells me, “not going to spend on queer fest submissions when I have my next genre short.”
Gatekeeping and Public Ridicule in Queer Film Festivals
The bias queer festivals have against the genre has at times escalated beyond the simple rejection to outright public ridicule. It’s not enough to simply deny a horror movie from their lineup; programmers from elite queer festivals seem to have a vendetta against watching horror at all. All too common are the stories that after submitting projects and paying the festival fees, programmers seem to take liberties with degrading the work of queer horror filmmakers on social media platforms.
The Weaponization of Letterbox to Gatekeep
“Mostly middle school filmmaking,” was our first official review from a film school alumni working for an LGBTQ+ festival. We predicted Death Drop Gorgeous would be too DIY for many folks, but our excitement to share it with the world was quickly slashed down. The mistreatment didn’t end there, unfortunately. Four other programmers from major queer film festivals we applied to took to their Letterboxd accounts to let us know how much they despised the film. Of note: not once have we, as a filmmaking collective, experienced this with programmers of genre fests.
Shared Experiences of Queer Horror Filmmakers
This experience isn’t unique to us. Several other queer horror filmmakers I spoke with shared similar stories. “It seemed like they were going out of their way to be malicious,” one filmmaker, who had his horror movie degraded by a festival programmer, told me. “I didn’t pay an $80 submission fee to have some NYU alum write a scathing review on his Letterboxd account, you know?”
These festivals are the gatekeepers of what and how LGBTQ+ content reaches the masses. Not having the funds for marketing meant we reached out to publications about Death Drop Gorgeous, hoping to get the word out. One popular gay publication told us to get back to them if we got into a “big gay festival” despite having screened and won awards at other festivals at the time. As we’ve begun our submission period for our sophomore effort, Saint Drogo, not much has changed in the three years we’ve been away. We were solicited for a screener for the film, only for a programmer of that fest to take to, you guessed it, Letterboxd to rate it poorly.
A Rampant Regina George Syndrome
The Role of Programmers in Shaping Queer Narratives
As someone who has served on a jury for a film festival, in addition to volunteering as a programmer/screener for another, there is a degree of privacy that comes with this role. You have the privilege of viewing a film before anyone else, sometimes before it’s entirely complete. As a programmer, even if you do not like the movie, you still treat the project with respect, and do not take this responsibility as an opportunity to be the first to berate it. While a handful of underground queer festivals are committed to genre-bending, all-inclusive programming, they don’t get nearly enough recognition as the elite LGBTQ+ festivals of New York City, Los Angeles, or San Francisco.
I know what you’re thinking: “Gays being mean? Water is wet, Mike.” And to that, I say: why the fuck are we so resigned to cruelty being the standard? Horror has been, and even more so now, a vehicle in which queer filmmakers share their experiences. It is just as valid a medium as other genres of LGBTQ+ film and should be treated as such. By excluding horror, these festivals exclude significant portions of our community, silencing queer storytellers that have gravitated toward the genre to share their compelling truths. The suppression of queer art is already in full effect by conservative governments.
We cannot continue to segment our own with classist standards of what queer filmmaking “should” be or “should” look like. Also, this Regina George Syndrome these programmers act out doesn’t serve us; classism only further divides, and given the prevalence of very real horrors against the LGBTQ+ community, further internal alienation will only make us an easier target.
The Universal Appeal of Queer Horror Stories
There’s this movie about an aging drag queen and a black gay man both trying to combat ageism and racism within their community as they struggle to sustain income. Both are pushed to the fringes, treated as outcasts, and driven to take extreme measures to find security. I’m certain that the feeling of being an outsider is a universal experience for queer folks. This is the plot of Death Drop Gorgeous, sans horror elements. This is “middle school filmmaking,” unworthy of acceptance but free reign to ruin because we chose horror as a mode to entertain with our themes of otherness. It’s time elite queer festivals and classist programmers recognize that horror has depth under all its blood, and truly, where’s the fun in that plot without a little penis going through a meat grinder?
People hate It: Chapter Two. Unlike many horror sequels or poorly reviewed releases that gain popularity in time, the film has seemingly gained more notoriety. Maybe it’s the occasionally goofy CGI, the heavy comedy, or just how overstuffed it is, but everyone is really down and out on it. Still, though, I will defend this movie like a member of the Losers Club defending their Ka-Tet (deep-cut King reference for you constant readers).
But why, though? Objectively, the movie can feel overstuffed. The CGI is a little goofy. Well, despite all this, I believe It: Chapter Two captures the pure essence of the book. It captures the heart, the terror, and metaphors about small town America excellently…even better than the first one.
It: Chapter Two Is the Ultimate Stephen King Movie
Listen…I am a simple man. If you have this much pure Stephen King energy in a movie, I am going to love it. Why King fans did not grasp onto this movie, I do not know, because it is probably the most “Stephen King” Stephen King movie ever.
We have the small, Maine town and characters from the book, yes, but also a fantastic cameo from the big man himself. Seriously, this movie is like Avengers: Endgame for constant readers (even though Castle Rock is technically more of a crossover). The movie has the heart, small-town summer feeling, and aesthetics for a King film to the max. Whether that is a positive or negative depends on the viewer, but constant readers can relish in how set the movie is on capturing King’s Americana.
It: Chapter Two Understands the Stephen King Novel
Yes, the movie is sillier than the first installment. It’s technically less proficient and cleaner than its predecessor. Still, this movie just generally captures both the message and energy of the book. Don’t get me wrong, It (2017) is excellent in that it feels like a haunted house walkthrough. There are lots of different entities Pennywise dresses up as to attack. It’s colorful, fun…but it takes a lot of liberties. This is fine, but It: Chapter 2 painstakingly portrays the deeper undercurrents and plot beats of the novel.
The Horror Beneath It: Chapter Two
It has always been a story about the darkness behind America’s suburban facade. Behind all of the killer clown and creature feature/cosmic fun, it is about how America’s past will always linger, and is always darker than any fictional entity. It: Chapter 2 does not shy away from its portrayal of bigotry, or its bigger messages about racism and America’s past. The first one has elements of it, but really, Chapter 2 feels like it peels back the kid’s-on-bikes stuff to get to the nitty-gritty of the story.
Additionally, the movie gets the casting down perfectly. Not saying It did not have some of the best child performances ever, but finding not only worthy adult counterparts, but book-accurate players would have to be an arduous task. Huge shout-out to the casting team for absolutely nailing this.
Bill Skarsgård Makes Pennywise Even Scarier
The whole cast blows this movie out of the water, but Pennywise in this one steals the show. Skarsgard is rarely anything less than excellent, but he gets his true horror laurel here. He plays the role as sinister as possible, landing some humor but never letting it weigh down the fear factor.
He is a force to be reckoned with. When making something like a killer clown movie in contemporary times, you have to be really careful not to make it just straight-up silly. Art the Clown is, of course, pure nightmare-fuel, but when approaching the horror big top, it can unintentionally end up feeling like a mismarketed Goosebumps episode.
This, though, is not a case like that. Pennywise is nightmarish in this. His voice is more sinister, and he reads as a predatory cosmic entity, and not just another slasher villain. Fun and frightening, Pennywise pulls no punches in bringing the horror in Chapter 2.
It’s not unreasonable to think most American horror fans can probably name only one Mexican horror filmmaker: Guillermo del Toro. Given how many fantastic films he’s made and how successful so many of them have been, it’s easy to see how he became a household name, but he’s far from the only Mexican filmmaker with a taste for the macabre. Rubén Galindo Jr. may be a major telenovela producer now, but in the 1980s he wrote and directed independent genre films in Mexico that likely influenced the kind of filmmaker del Toro would become. Galindo Jr. isn’t some obscure figure in Mexican entertainment, but he’s also not as widely known as he should be in horror circles, despite having many of his genre films available from Vinegar Syndrome.
In celebration of Latin Heritage Month, I wanted to shed a light on Galindo Jr.’s films not just because they are a lot of fun, but also because of how underseen they still are. Galindo Jr.’s early films mark a complete departure from the work he does now, so much so that you’d think it’s different people, but his early career genre films were important and part of a familial legacy of both the Galindos and the Cardonas (the royal families of Mexican genre films).
The Galindo Family Legacy in Mexican Horror
Rubén Galindo Jr., as his name suggests, is the son of Mexican filmmaker Rubén Galindo Aguilar. He first entered the film industry as an actor, but joined his family’s production studio to take on a myriad of roles like set designer, accountant, purchasing manager, and more. His directorial debut in 1969 was for a comedy, Un Amante Anda Suelto, and was the first of 47 films he would direct. While his focus wasn’t explicitly horror, he did direct a couple of films starring Luchador and actor Santo, as well as many Mexican westerns before focusing more on distribution in the 1980s. Coincidentally, around the time his young son, Galindo Jr., would begin his own filmmaking career.
Rubén Galindo Jr.’s Journey Into Mexican Genre Cinema
Galindo Jr. began his filmmaking career by leaving his hometown of Mexico City to attend UCLA, only to return to CDMX in 1983 after graduating with a degree in Film and Television Arts & Sciences. His first film, Cementerio Del Terror, was a huge hit despite being a modest production, and it was the first of many independent horror films Galindo Jr. would take on. While his legacy won’t be built upon the work he did in genre, it certainly started there and evolved beyond the underground and into the mainstream over time.
Cementerio Del Terror (1985): Rubén Galindo Jr.’s Horror Debut
Galindo Jr.’s first film is by far one of his most uneven, but in the same vein, also one of the most entertaining. It starts like so many great horror flicks do: on Halloween, as a group of kids decides to steal a body from the morgue, only to disrupt the ghoulish ghost of a serial killer. While graverobbing isn’t exactly the kind of thing many do for fun, this particular endeavor is in service of a satanic ritual that will go awry, thus leading to all kinds of bloodshed and demonic appearances. There’s a sub-plot involving some premonitions of the killer returning from the dead that go ignored, reasonably so, and where things land is your standard house/cemetery of horrors where the kids are met with all kinds of devious and dastardly demons.
The Horror Influences Behind Cementerio del Terror
With a reported budget of 45-65 million pesos (roughly $275,000-$540,000 US dollars), filming started in 1984, and Galindo Jr. was able to wrangle in well-known Mexican actor Hugo Stiglitz to star in the production. The film was a huge success for Galindo Jr., even if it wasn’t well-received by critics at the time. Galindo Jr.’s influences are apparent in terms of both content and style, as he clearly draws inspiration from John Carpenter’s Halloween and Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead. There’s also a heavy helping of Romero’s Night of the Living Dead, even if the ghouls at play here aren’t the zombified kind. It’s truly a smorgasbord kind of horror film that never fully commits to one idea, but knows how to weave them together well enough to be entertaining.
The practical effects may seem ropey by today’s standards, but context and time would dictate that these are quite good considering the circumstances and how much of a trailblazer Galindo Jr. was for making this kind of film at this time in Mexico.
Time has been far kinder to this film than critics were, as it averages a 3.0 on Letterboxd and is the recipient of a now sold-out edition from Vinegar Syndrome. In terms of ranking, this is probably B-Tier for Galindo Jr., which is impressive for a debut feature regardless!
Dimensiones Ocultas (Don’t Panic) and Its Influence
Perhaps the best-known of Galindo Jr.’s early genre films, Don’t Panic is without a doubt his best horror effort, and his most derivative. If Cementerio del Terror was riffing on two horror classics, Dimensiones Ocultas riffs on another. This time, it’s Wes Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street. Following very similar story beats, we follow Michael, who, on his 17th birthday, uses a Ouija board with his friends and accidentally unleashes a demon. This demon isn’t your ordinary run-of-the-mill possession type; no, this demon haunts you in your dreams! Michael sees these murders before they happen and tries to warn his friends, to no avail.
Why Don’t Panic Remains a Mexican Horror Cult Favorite
There’s a lot to love about Dimensiones Ocultas, and it’s not hard to see why it has become Galindo Jr.’s most notable genre film. From the strange kid-print adult-sized pajamas that Michael wears to the incoherent plotting, it’s not a film that’s going to appeal to those who prefer tight technical filmmaking and single-threaded plot lines. The characters are hard to take seriously, in part because so many of the voices are dubbed, and if this all sounds like reasons not to like this film, you’re sorely mistaken.
The Elm Street influence is endearing in how sloppily it is transcribed here, but it’s also distinct enough to not feel like a complete rip-off. The demon, Virgil, doesn’t really look like Freddy, but if you squint your eyes after a few drinks, you’d probably not be able to tell the difference. The death scenes are creative and at the same time comedic, so it’s not a film that is easy to take seriously, which is a good thing.
While there are no budgetary numbers that are verifiable, Dimensiones Ocultas shows more ambition in terms of effects and ideas than Cementerio, while not really showing much evolution in terms of screenwriting. Galindo Jr. does have better command of the pacing here, and this too has received the amazing Vinegar Syndrome treatment like Cementerio, but is also sadly out of print. A-Tier Galindo Jr.
Ladrones de Tumbas (1989) A Unique Mexican Slasher
Shortly after Dimensiones Ocultas, Galindo Jr. was back at it, directing his third horror feature, Ladrones de Tumbas. Learning a bit from both of his former features, Ladrones feels far more consistent both in terms of plotting and execution. It does tread familiar ground that harkens back to Cementerio, as a group of teenage treasure hunters unknowingly awaken a malevolent entity hell-bent (literally) on bringing forth the spawn of Satan. The spirit systematically takes out the teens one by one in clever, slasher-centric ways, and while it does feel familiar, it’s never repeating the same stuff seen in earlier Galindo Jr. joints. The effects feel far more accomplished, and the story is much easier to follow, all things considered.
The Forgotten History of Mexican Horror Filmmakers
There’s even less information about this film’s production out there, which is more of a reminder that there is still a woeful lack of study around Mexican horror filmmakers that has penetrated the mainstream. Even in preparing for this article, it’s quite difficult to find trusted sources- hell, any sources besides Wikipedia and IMDb. What we do know happens after Ladrones is that Galindo Jr. would begin his distinction from horror and start making his way West to more dramatic and widely accepted fare. There is one more film that Galindo Jr. would helm for horror, possibly two if you consider Resucitaré Para Matarlos in 1991, before making his big pivot. And you guessed it: the Vinegar Syndrome release of Ladrones is very much out of print. S-Tier Galindo Jr.
Mutantes Del Año 2000 (1992) Rubén Galindo Jr.’s Sci-Fi Horror Experiment
Mutantes del Año 2000 is easily the worst of Galindo Jr.’s genre efforts, and it’s largely because it’s kind of a silly premise. It’s a story about a teacher going through an ugly divorce during a time in the future where pollution is so bad that everyone wears gas masks, and an ex-husband who has been dumping nuclear waste behind the house, mutating the local rodent population. When a giant mutated rat enters the home, the teacher must fight it to stay alive while she’s warding off both the rat and her ex, who wants to keep his nuclear secret. It’s absurd, and it almost feels like Galindo Jr.’s first foray into the more dramatic side of storytelling.
Not only is this one a bit of a slog to get through, but it also loses some of the fun and charm that Galindo Jr.’s previous films exhibited. While the story is a bit more concise and clear, a positive, the delivery leaves a lot to be desired, even if the world-building is somewhat interesting. It’s hard to know, at least without further research or speaking to Galindo Jr. directly, what caused him to fall out of love with genre, but his lack of conviction is apparent here. You can’t fault someone for wanting a change, but I would be remiss not to wonder what it would’ve been like if Galindo Jr. kept refining his abilities for the sake of scares.
Why Rubén Galindo Jr.’s Mexican Horror Films Deserve More Attention
One of the most challenging parts of writing this kind of article is not having enough sources to tell a fully holistic story. Part of this is due to time, as one can only watch so many special features in such a time, but also that there simply aren’t as many primary sources for Mexican horror history and the filmmakers that contributed to it. The fact that so many can’t name more than one Mexican filmmaker says a lot about the lack of information out there, and so if you’re a filmmaker seeking a new topic for a genre documentary, consider Mexican horror. Not only is it fertile ground, but it’s also got a lineage of talent that is still alive to talk about what it was like, something we are reminded of weekly as announcements of deceased horror stars come across our news feeds.
Rubén Galindo Jr. is just one of many who have made their mark on horror in Mexico, and selfishly, I would love to know more about this than what is available. Running a website and working full-time doesn’t leave a lot of time for much else, but it’s important to both remember and celebrate the legacies of those who came before as trailblazers who are just as worthy of our praise as those who become household names.
For more of Matt Orozco’s work, along with many other great horror articles, head on over to Macabre Daily!
