By now, it’s pretty much common knowledge that not only have queer people always led the horror genre, but have also always had a spotlight on-screen. Of course, for decades, cinematic queerness (across all genres) had to be hidden in innuendo and subtext. Because of the Motion Picture Production Code, better known as the Hays Code, the depiction of “sexual perversion” (read: homosexuality) was prohibited. The Hays Code also mandated that immorality and criminal activity was to be punished by the end of the film, leaving queer-coded characters often relegated to the roles of villains who meet unenviable ends.
Despite the rigid guidelines of the Hays Code, which was active from 1934 to 1968, the horror genre has hosted a bevy of intriguing queer characters. While some of these characters were obviously (although not outright stated) part of the LGBTQ community, others were more of a wink and nudge to queer audience members who would pick up on certain subtleties and nuances that their straight friends would not.
Admittedly, queer representation in horror has been a mixed bag, especially in the case of queer women. Still, so many of us hold a special place in our hearts for these films, even when the queer characters are portrayed in a negative light.
Or, perhaps we love them because of their villainous status.
For a deep dive on lesbians in horror check out Sapphic Scares!
The Iconic Mrs. Danvers
The 1940 film adaptation of Daphne du Maurier’s novel Rebecca features one of the most famous lesbian villains in horror of all time. Mrs. Danvers (played by Judith Anderson) is introduced when the film’s protagonist, the second Mrs. de Winter (played by Joan Fontaine), moves into the lavish Manderley estate after marrying the charismatic Maxim de Winter. The first Mrs. de Winter, Rebecca, had died a few years earlier, leaving behind a grieving Maxim—and a devastated Mrs. Danvers.
The head housekeeper of Manderley, Mrs. Danvers was, and still is, infatuated and obsessed with Rebecca. She immediately hates the second Mrs. de Winter, believing she’s been brought in to replace her. Mrs. Danvers torments the second Mrs. de Winter relentlessly, pointing out all the ways she falls short of Rebecca’s elegance and beauty. In a famous scene, Mrs. Danvers shows the second Mrs. de Winter Rebecca’s clothing, making a point to emphasize the sheerness of a negligée. “Have you ever seen anything so delicate?” She asks.
The second Mrs. de Winter may be the protagonist of Rebecca, but it’s Mrs. Danvers, often described as the embodiment of the “predatory lesbian” trope, who has become a cultural icon. She’s a woman who harbors an obsessive love for not only her employer, but her female employer. Her married female employer who, before her untimely death, enjoyed adultery and sexy lingerie. Every line of dialogue Mrs. Danvers speaks invites discourse and fan theories: Was her love for Rebecca unrequited? Or is there a reason as to why she’s so well-acquainted with her intimate garments? We know that Rebecca wasn’t one for monogamy—perhaps she was not bound by heterosexuality either.
We Love a Predatory Lesbian
Three decades after Rebecca was released, another horror film with a “predatory lesbian” character hit cinemas, this time with the predatory aspect being literal: Stephanie Rothman’s film The Velvet Vampire. In this 1971 cult classic, the elegant and wealthy vampire Diane LeFanu (played by Celeste Yarnall) lures married couple Susan (Sherry Miles) and Lee (Micheal Blodgett) to her home in a California desert. There, Diane seduces both of them.
The Velvet Vampire came out only three years after the Hays Code was lifted. Thus, the film was able to depict its Sapphic characters in its lurid and glorious entirety. In terms of cinematic representation of queer women, Diane is an absolute gift. She’s neither a hero nor victim; she’s an unapologetically bloodthirsty monster. She’s captivating to watch because she’s a villain and having a great time ruining her targets’ lives. Best of all, her downfall isn’t the result of her sexuality—it’s because of her little hobby of murder and blood-drinking.
Over the past decade, we’ve gotten even more notable Sapphic slayers whose sexuality isn’t the thing that makes them monstrous. In 2014, the Rosemary’s Baby-esque film Lyle, written and directed by Stewart Thorndike, gave us June (played by Ingrid Jungermann), a creative type who makes a deal with a demon to ensure a successful career, using her children, and by extension her wife Leah (played by Gaby Hoffman), as bargaining chips.
Released in 2018, What Keeps You Alive (written and directed by Colin Minihan) presents the story of Jackie (played by Hannah Emily Anderson) and Jules (played by Brittany Allen), another lesbian married couple. It’s an edge-of-your-seat classic tale about killing your spouse for the insurance money, with the added bonus of a “black widow” reveal. Antagonist Jackie is a morbidly fascinating self-admitted psychopath who never loved Jules—because she can’t love at all—and has gotten horrifically proficient at concealing her murderous nature.
The Perfection (written and directed by Richard Shepard) gives us another violent and calculating queer woman—but there’s another angle that makes her stand out. Charlotte (played by Allison Williams) is a former musical prodigy who attended a prestigious academy before dropping out to care for her sick mother. Years later, she meets and connects with Lizzie (played by Logan Browning), a fellow cellist who seems to have replaced her at the school. After a night of clubbing and hooking up, Charlotte slips Lizzie a drug that makes her hallucinate…and then manipulates her into amputating her own arm. It’s extreme, but Charlotte isn’t exactly the villain of the film. It’s later revealed that she was trying to protect Lizzie from falling prey to the same sex cult that had abused her. Before that twist, though, Charlotte lands in the ranks of Sapphic villains we love to watch.
But why do we love to watch them? Queer representation—specifically good representation—in media has been a topic of conversation for years. But “good” representation doesn’t need to mean that the character is a good person. Good, complex character development encompasses heroes, villains, and everyone in between. Let’s be real: antagonists are often more compelling than the “good guys,” and there’s just something particularly thrilling about queer women who get to be wicked—especially when their sexuality isn’t a factor in that.