Editorials
Clea DuVall: The Unsung Queer Icon of 90s and 00s Horror
Some people may find themselves tragically unaware of who Clea DuVall is. Even those who don’t know her name most certainly know her face. Clea DuVall is the alternative queer icon of the 90s and 00s you’ve seen in many movies and shows.
Coming Out in a Closeted Era
However, despite becoming a queer icon early on in her career with memorable roles in But I’m a Cheerleader and The Faculty, it wasn’t until 2016 that Clea DuVall officially came out to the public. Clea DuVall explained that to those closest to her, she came out as a lesbian at sixteen. As far as society at large was concerned, though, she told The Independent:
“I was very closeted and very afraid of people finding out I was gay […] It was the nineties; there was no conversation about sexuality – you were just not going to talk about it.”
She went on to tell The Independent that the release of cult favorite coming-of-age lesbian flick But I’m a Cheerleader was difficult since she was still in the closet at the time:
“It was dangerous for me […] It was such a scary time. Once it came out and we started the press cycle for it, I remember feeling like, ‘Oh shit, I need to hide, I need to stop.’”
The Struggle of Queer Identity
Clea DuVall’s anxiety about how society would react is the sad reality for many who live outside of heteronormative sexuality. How many remain in the shadows, not just because it’s no one else’s business, but because we’re afraid of how people will react?
I came out as bisexual as a teenager, although these days, if I had to label it, I’d consider myself pan (though 92% of the people in my life don’t know it). I am happily married, so frequently, I feel my sexuality is irrelevant – you won’t hear me talk about it often. However, Clea DuVall meant a lot to me in those years before and while I was coming out, feeling weird and isolated from everyone else.
A Beacon for the Queer Community
Even before publicly claiming her queerness, Clea DuVall was a queer icon and a reminder to those of us in the shadows that we weren’t alone. Given Clea DuVall’s significant importance to me, and so many others, it seems the perfect time to reflect on a few of her major roles in horror that gave queer representation and girl power, painting a landscape of the times.
The Faculty: Missed Opportunity for Lesbian Representation
When people think Clea DuVall in horror, the first thing that comes to mind tends to be The Faculty, where a team of teenagers tees off against a parasitic alien race controlling their teachers’ bodies. If anyone wants a snapshot of the 90s gothic grunge, look no further than Clea DuVall’s role as Stokely in this film.
Stokely captured just about everything that makes Clea DuVall’s characters so magnetic. She is clever, with a tough exterior, a sensitive side, and the ability to do what needs to be done. In another layer of depth, Stokely is a lesbian and is relentlessly bullied for it.
A Disappointing Twist
However, the movie quickly shoots itself in the foot by having Stokely proclaim at the end that she made up being a lesbian just to stir the pot, and she ends up with a male jock hero. Oh, the severity of the cringe.
While there are some obvious nods to the 80’s hit The Breakfast Club with this ending (as the “Basket Case” ends up with the jock, this time not totally transforming herself at least), the film missed an opportunity to follow through on lesbian representation.
Instead, it instituted more problematic stereotypes (such as people not being taken seriously about their sexual orientation, for starters.)
The 90s Cultural Context
I understand that being bisexual wasn’t regularly recognized in the mainstream in the nineties but come on. She could have at least been bi. It’s as if the film toys with the idea of introducing an iconic lesbian horror character but then changes their minds right at the end. That moment is a dark mark on what is otherwise a fun alien invasion horror movie.
Unfortunately, given the climate of the times, had the film followed through on the representation, Clea DuVall’s initial fears during But I’m a Cheerleader could have been realized. After all, The Faculty had a bigger budget, bigger studio, and bigger stars than But I’m a Cheerleader had. Logistically, more eyes were going to be on it. So many eyes might attract the powerful, hateful sort, or it could have made her uncomfortable. Then perhaps we wouldn’t have gotten Clea DuVall in the many roles that followed. Maybe we can think of it as a career-saving loophole to give us a lesbian character with a pacifier for the backlash. A necessary evil to ensure we’d see her in the catalog of productions that followed.
Girl Power in Ghosts of Mars
This sci-fi horror film by John Carpenter saw DuVall in a role that perfectly matched the energy we have come to expect from her characters. Her hard, masculine edge and simultaneous soft, caring femininity made her a perfect fit for the role of Bashira Kincaid, the rookie Mars Police Force officer who helps fight off the army of Mars’ undead.
Feminine Strength in Sci-Fi Horror
Ghosts of Mars is brimming with powerful feminine energy, as the film that also stars Jason Statham and Ice Cube sees Natasha Henstridge take the leading role as Lieutenant Melanie Ballard. She leads the squadron that sees herself and Bashira standing on the front lines against some pretty formidable alien spirits.
The film was the perfect vehicle for Clea DuVall’s all-encapsulating energy, which we’d already witnessed in another movie two years prior.
Everything at Once in Girl, Interrupted
Maybe it’s a leap to cover this role in depth for a horror blog, but the film’s dark tones and moments that stick with you forever make it worth mentioning. We got to see Clea DuVall in the role of Georgina, the patient of a 1960s mental institution, who had a childlike innocence and a penchant for pathological lying (or “Pseudologia fantastica.”)
Girl, Interrupted is another film packed with feminine energy, as the few male roles only exist as tools for the female characters. Interestingly, both girl power films also deal heavily with autonomy. Ghosts of Mars sees bodies being taken over by spirits and an innocent man being held prisoner, while Girl, Interrupted has heavy themes of freedom and imprisonment of both the mind and body.
The Duality of Georgina
The film highlighted Clea DuVall’s ability to tap into her softer side terrifyingly. Georgina wasn’t frightening because her dad was a member of the CIA and could have us all dead in minutes; Georgina haunts us because she exists in the juxtaposition of innocence and deceit. It is an excellent role for Clea DuVall because she can portray this middle ground seamlessly. Many of her parts have this ambivalent nature because whether it be feminine/masculine, strong/weak, outgoing/shy, Clea DuVall can and has been all of it at once. Giving her a role in an insane asylum allowed her to let her contradictory performance shine.
But, speaking of insane asylums…
The Real Horror in American Horror Story: Asylum
Though it was brief, Clea DuVall’s role as Wendy Peyser, the secret girlfriend of Lana Winters, is unforgettable.
Wendy is a pillar of her 1960s idyllic Massachusetts community, working as a schoolteacher. However, she harbors a dark secret that could cost her everything. You see, she is a lesbian in a loving relationship with reporter Lana Winters. Oh, the Floridian horror!
So, when Lana Winters finds out too much about the Briarcliffe Asylum, this relationship is used against Wendy to convince her to lock her girlfriend away in that asylum. Threatened with exposure, mindful of losing her job and her reputation, Wendy agrees. It’s a treacherous act for whom the broken system is to blame.
Commentary on Queer Struggles
It highlighted the intolerance of the times and the things that people were subjected to “keep the gay away.” (As if anyone who’s seen it could forget Lana Winters’ conversion therapy.)
The role makes an important commentary on how heavy the secret burden of one’s sexuality can be for fear of society’s blowback.
While these events were set in the fifties, Wendy Peyser’s plight isn’t so different from the plights of many today. “Don’t say gay” is the way in the state of Florida now, and the fifties suddenly don’t feel so long ago.
Clea DuVall’s Lasting Impact
This overarching theme of American Horror Story: Asylum echoed the plights, not only of Clea DuVall’s own but many in the LGBTQ+ community. Clea DuVall explained to Insider:
“Coming out is not an easy thing to do no matter who you are, no matter where you come from. We all have the opportunity to reach the other side and […] still deserve to be loved, and deserve to be accepted…”
“Wherever you are in that process, be nice to yourself. Like you’re going through something that is not gonna last forever, and you need to love yourself through it.”
A Voice for the LGBTQ+ Community
Clea DuVall is an underrated horror queer icon. Her appearances in horror tend to coincide with an important commentary about the plights and experiences of those in the queer community. Her role in The Faculty serves as a reflection of the times where to be a lesbian could cost one their job. Her involvement in Ghosts of Mars and Girl, Interrupted served us girl power at its finest while simultaneously delving into autonomy. Then, her appearance in American Horror Story: Asylum echoes the same resonance that The Faculty left behind. If you don’t know her name, you should.
May the woman of the hour receive the recognition she deserves. Let us know your favorite Clea DuVall role in the comments!
The United States spent most of this year celebrating its 250th anniversary. There have been parades, fireworks, and endless reminders of what the nation wants us to think are its founding ideals. Yet anniversaries are as much about what we choose to remember as they are about what we choose to forget. There is another anniversary this year. Five years ago this month, Candyman was released. The fact that both that film and America are sharing an anniversary this year may have been an accident, but that makes it no less significant.
Released amid another national reckoning over race, Nia DaCosta’s film asks a question that every celebration of America ought to confront: Is it possible to commemorate this nation without fully reckoning with the violence woven into its history? More than a sequel to a horror classic, Candyman is a meditation on the ghosts that haunt America because it has never fully reckoned with the past that created them.
How the Original Candyman Confronted America’s Racial History
The original Candyman understood this. Released in 1992 and set in the almost post-apocalyptic urban decay that was Chicago’s Cabrini-Green housing projects, Bernard Rose’s film arrived only months after the L.A. Race Riots, a moment when this country was coming to terms with the way the country’s relationship with Black folks was shaped by decades of segregation and racism.
Most audiences saw a supernatural slasher about a hook-handed killer summoned by saying his name five times into a mirror. But beneath the horror was a far more unsettling story. Candyman was about the lingering consequences of America’s racial history and the way white America has sometimes turned Black suffering into myth instead of confronting the systems that produced it.
The film’s true horror was never simply Candyman. It was the realization that monsters can be born from histories a nation refuses to face. That is exactly where the 2021 film expands the original’s vision.
Nia DaCosta’s Candyman Turns One Ghost Into Many
Bernard Rose’s Candyman explored the legacy of a single act of racist terror. Nia DaCosta’s film argues that the tragedy wasn’t confined to Daniel Robitaille, the man who became the monster. The 2021 film posits that Candyman is not one man but many.
Daniel Robitaille was lynched for loving a white woman. Sherman Fields takes on the mantle of the supernatural slasher because he was beaten to death by police after being falsely accused of harming a child. Anthony McCoy ultimately becomes part of the same legend. Their stories span generations, but they are connected by a nation that repeatedly produces the same injustice under different names at different points in history. The genius of the sequel is that it transforms Candyman from an individual ghost into a symbol of America’s recurring racial violence.
Candyman Shows How History Repeats Itself
History, the film suggests, is not something that happened once. It is something that keeps happening. That is why Candyman is one of my favorite films to teach in my Film and Philosophy course.
Students walk into class expecting a horror movie. They leave wrestling with questions about history, memory, and justice. We spend little time talking about jump scares or gore. (Because, let’s be honest, there is not much of that in the film.) Instead, we ask why some histories become legends while others are forgotten, what societies owe their victims, and whether a nation can ever move forward without honestly confronting the violence that shaped it.
The Horror of Remembering What America Wants to Forget
A good horror film reveals what we fear. What makes Candyman great is how it reveals what we would rather not remember. That is what haunted me the first time I saw it, long after the credits had rolled.
Five years after its release, Candyman remains one of the most unsettling movies in recent years because the history it confronts is not safely behind us. The original film understood that America’s racial violence could not simply be buried, while the 2021 film showed how easily that violence can be reproduced across generations.
Its Unquestionable Legacy in Horror
As America celebrates 250 years, Candyman reminds us that commemorating the nation’s founding requires remembering all this country’s history, including the parts that make the celebration uncomfortable.
We cannot exorcise a ghost by refusing to acknowledge why it exists. Perhaps that is the film’s most important lesson. The past does not haunt us because we remember it. It haunts us because we don’t.
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?
