Editorials
Queer the Walking Dead: The Rise of the “Gay Zombie” Subgenre
Why Do Queer People Resonate with the Zombie?
For a queer audience, the liminal state (defined by the dictionary as “the quality of being between two stages or places”) is our ability to see, internalize, and comprehend both sides of what a zombie movie has to offer.
“The particular thing that a zombie has in liminality is that they literally are us.” says Petrocelli, adding that “zombies, as liminal monsters, are as close as you can get to who we are.” After all, what is a zombie other than a human standing just on the other side of death? Whereas many other monsters of fiction have a supernatural transition of sorts, a keystone of zombie lore centers on the idea of how quickly zombies can go to people we know and love…to other. In that respect, there’s an aspect of zombie cinema that allows audiences to have a broader point of view in relation to the monster.
The curious thing about making a film within a subgenre you’ve been watching your entire life is that suddenly, and without warning, you start to look at it in a multitude of vastly different ways. When setting out alongside my intrepid cast & crew to shoot our forthcoming feature film, There’s a Zombie Outside, we knew we were approaching the tropes of the living dead a little bit sideways. For one thing, in comparison to the oft-expected shambling hordes, our movie only had one zombie… and it also happened to be deeply and unapologetically queer.
THERE’S A ZOMBIE OUTSIDE
Exploring the Gay Zombie Trope
Utilizing our titular creature to explore notions of “queer listlessness,” as well as our tenuous relationship with art, I became deeply aware that I was asking audiences to meet us somewhere slightly different than the expected farmhouse with survivors trapped inside.
Yet, as I continued to survey the landscape of time-honored zombie tropes, I couldn’t help but notice that for every film adhering to convention, there were exceptional outliers. Movies with titles like 1995’s La Cage Aux Zombies, 2009’s George: A Zombie Intervention, and 2011’s Remington and the Curse of the Zombadings all explored risen-from-the-grave identity politics or presented flamboyant flesh-eating farce with flair.
Such films, and numerous others, provide evidence of an undeniable interest in zombies on the part of queer filmmakers and viewers alike. Interestingly, among creators, there’s a notable preponderance of gay-identifying men who gravitate to the subject matter. Yet, in most cases, beyond the tacit agreement of the living dead as tool for commentary, these individuals seem all too willing to take their flesh-eaters into a multitude of varying directions that their straight counterparts dare not tread.
In many ways, the unique divergence of the queer zombie has effectively allowed it to “come out of the coffin” as its own subgenre.
However, like the pop culture redefining reanimated corpses that came before them, there’s more to this splintered classification than mere surface-level assignation.
Otto; or, Up with Dead People (2008)
The Queerification of the Zombie
With Night of the Living Dead, George Romero and John A. Russo undeniably reconstructed how we culturally think of zombies. The “Romero Zombie,” as it would come to be known, became the propulsion point forward for nearly all living dead media that would follow. Indeed, so much of the “mainstream” zombie subgenre strives to emulate the tropes of what Romero put forth, modern audiences unwaveringly accept this blueprint as how such movies are done.
Yet, for Bruce LaBruce, award-winning filmmaker of Otto; or, Up with Dead People and L.A. Zombie, there’s a crucial element to Romero’s work that many modern filmmakers overlook.
“Romero made the political zombie,” says LaBruce, “which is one thing people don’t do so much when they’re emulating him. Night of the Living Dead has a Black lead that is shot by the police because they think he’s a zombie…or maybe they don’t. It’s a total political allegory. Romero’s subsequent films are a critique of consumer capitalism. There’s a lot of class and race representation in his work. I think it’s too bad that more people don’t emulate those aspects of his filmmaking.”
…and while it’s true that many modern mainstream zombie films may eschew that sense of allegory, the truth remains that queer artists are often political simply by virtue of existence.
For Chris Diani, filmmaker of Creatures from the Pink Lagoon, the plight of zombie movie protagonists reflects this circumstance.
“To a gay man, the basic set-up of every zombie movie is frighteningly familiar: A group of scrappy underdogs has to use empathy, intellect, wit, and resilience to face off against brainless, shambling slobs dressed in last year’s fashions,” Diani says. “What is that, if not a monster movie version of queers clashing with rabid right-wing protesters at Pride?”
It’s a point that Dr. Heather O. Petrocelli, author of Queer for Fear: Horror Film and the Queer Spectator, seems to reiterate.
“Even in this era of increased acceptance for queer people, we’re living in a liminal state of precarity,” says Petrocelli. “The most recent backlash shows us that it’s not just three steps forward…and then three more steps forward. You can get your ass knocked back. Progress is not a linear track.”
All things undead body politic considered, in many ways, it’s Petrocelli’s inference of liminality wherein the notion of a separate queer zombie subgenre really begins to take shape.
L.A. Zombie (2010)
Why Do Queer People Resonate with the Zombie?
For a queer audience, the liminal state (defined by the dictionary as “the quality of being between two stages or places”) is our ability to see, internalize, and comprehend both sides of what a zombie movie has to offer.
“The particular thing that a zombie has in liminality is that they literally are us.” says Petrocelli, adding that “zombies, as liminal monsters, are as close as you can get to who we are.”
After all, what is a zombie other than a human standing just on the other side of death? Whereas many other monsters of fiction have a supernatural transition of sorts, a keystone of zombie lore centers on the idea of how quickly zombies can go to people we know and love…to other.
In that respect, there’s an aspect of zombie cinema that allows audiences to have a broader point of view in relation to the monster.
“Zombie films flip focus,” says Petrocelli. “You can identify with the zombie or, depending on the movie, you can identify with the person who has the animated masses coming for them. That’s the point of liminality – you don’t have a foothold on either side of the threshold.”
For Bruce LaBruce, the idea of seeing things from the perspective of the ostracized living dead could certainly lend itself to the appeal.
“The disenfranchisement and outsiderness of queers is all very conducive to the zombie trope,” he says, further adding that while other monsters may have gotten a queer read much sooner, there’s something particularly interesting about the zombie’s gay revolution.
“The vampire mythology really tied into ideas of the sexual predator, so of course it was aligned with a gay subtext or they were presented as bisexual. But to transpose that onto the zombie myth is a bit more of a leap, in a way,” says LaBruce. “It’s not so sexy on the surface. The monster is much more of a deadened creature. There’s a bit of necessary necromantic element when you sexualize a zombie…but it’s still kind of the romantic idea of a disenfranchised character who doesn’t fit in.”
George’s Intervention (2009)
Using Monsters to Explore the Monstrous
Explorations of otherness via the monstrous aside, for a creature so closely tied in lore to contagion, there’s undeniably another aspect that those examining the queer community’s connection to zombie narratives can’t deny.
“The rise of pandemics in modern culture definitely had an influence on the zombie in film,” says Dr. Heather Petrocelli.
“It’s not difficult to make the connection between AIDS and zombies,” says Bruce LaBruce. “The fact that gays became pathologized because of AIDS and treated sort of like monsters – it’s a body withering disease where the ravages were so extreme that people were turned into almost living corpses.”
It’s well-documented that many queer creatives channeled their rage and grief over the seismic loss of the AIDS epidemic into art, and for those working within the horror genre, it should come as no surprise that such emotions were filtered through a dark lens of the fantastic. The monsters became symbolic of monstrous circumstances and stories of survivors in the face of overwhelming death became all the more poignant.
Yet, there is often such focus on this particular chapter of history and how it is channeled through the lens of horror that some critics overlook the crucial element of empowerment and escapism retreating into monster stories can provide.
Speaking on this distinction, Chris Diani illustrates how, ultimately, versatility is key.
“It’s the way zombie narratives can be stretched to address countless other struggles faced by the queer community that makes them so attractive to gay filmmakers,” Diani says. “A gay zombie film can be an AIDS allegory, an anti-capitalistic screed, a glimpse at the outsider experience, or a campy takedown of cruising culture. With all these takes and more to explore, it’s not surprising to see the enduring appeal of zombie films to queer horror fans.”
Perhaps nothing highlights Diani’s point regarding this burgeoning subgenre’s flexibility more than filmmaker Michael Simon’s aptly titled Gay Zombie, which focuses primarily on a topic often unexpected in flesh-eating stories: Love.
“When I made Gay Zombie, I thought it would be hilarious and meaningful that the lead character only felt comfortable coming out after becoming a zombie – much more than in his waking life,” says Simon.
…and, although there’s plenty of blood and guts, Michael Simon asserts that his vision of the living dead is less about monstrosity, and more about self-acceptance.
Remington and the Curse of the Zombadings (2011)
Can the Zombie Be Empowering?
“In the simplest of terms – [the message] is that it’s never too late to find love and be yourself. And to be comfortable with yourself,” says Simon.
In so many ways, this is what sets the queer zombie subgenre apart – the idea that we can rise up from the earth and be so much more. To be queer in this world is to always be in transition, to be both the perceived monster and that which must survive the night.
To be the other. To be the lover. To be the revolution.
Yes, George Romero set the mold. His vision used monsters to buck the system…and remind us that sometimes the system is the monster that needs bucking.
But to be queer is to know that we don’t have to shamble forward aimlessly. We can deviate.
Whether Night, Dawn, or Day. We can live. Kinda.
…and for any naysayers who think that the queer zombie’s ability to represent so much more than mere monster lessens its bite, allow me to leave you with this parting thought from Michael Simon, who says,
“Zombies, like gays, will eat your ass before they take shit from anyone!”
***
Be sure to keep an eye on Michael Varrati’s next movie, THERE’S A ZOMBIE OUTSIDE, which will be hitting the film festival circuit soon, and looks incredible!
“It seems to me you grew up fine son. But you still owe a debt. Pay it.” These are the final words of Dick Halloran, as portrayed by Carl Lumbly in the 2019 film Doctor Sleep. The “last dream” Dan has of his most trusted mentor always seemed the film’s most striking line. It’s a sharp, pointed statement, a thesis in my eyes of what King’s story says at large about family.
Exploring Doctor Sleep’s Theme of Family and Trauma
Beyond the technical attention to detail in the film, Mike Flanagan’s adaptation of Doctor Sleep has an incredible amount of heart. It may be King’s most human story since The Talisman, and it follows up the tragedy that was Kubrick’s The Shining with a film that is thrilling, horrifying, and ultimately filled with love. Because it’s truly a story about refusing to shut out the past and learning to accept trauma. Not only for yourself, but for the good of your family, wherever that family comes from.
The horror it evokes is not often the horror of inhuman monsters; the true horror of Doctor Sleep is that of people incapable of accepting the horrible things that have happened to them, incapable of accepting the pain of life. Doctor Sleep juxtaposes two ways of how a found family is made, and shows how one is unmade by a refusal to face its problems. The greatest evil in the film is of being incapable of building community and growing, but still masquerading as “family”. And the greatest beauty it has to offer is the beauty of accepting your trauma for the good of the ones you love.
The Flawed Philosophy of the True Knot
Despite carrying the outward appearance of a happy found family, the True Knot are really only one in the loosest of terms. A group of extremely long-lived psychic vampires, the source of their “immortality” is appalling: they consume the shine of children through torturing and eating their victims’ spirits alive. They travel in a caravan of vehicles, though still frozen in time. Hopping from place to place, they assimilate whoever is useful to the group, promising them whatever they’d like. They skulk languidly, to beaches and campsites, wandering without care until it’s time to feast again.
The True Knot as a Corrupted Found Family Structure
They are the quintessential image of a family on vacation, an eternal vacation, phased out of the pains of the real world. They live not only by the hunt for those with shine, but by a lie of unending comfort and happiness. This is why, fundamentally, the philosophy of the True Knot is broken. The True Knot are incapable of willingly struggling, of building something difficult. They cannot build a self-sustaining, long-lasting community, behaving more like a lackadaisical militia with shared goals.
They move around acting as if they owe nothing to anyone, taking and taking without ever giving or creating. They never have to unpack their traumas; they never have to listen to the advice of others; the latter is one of the key reasons that almost all of True Knot’s members die in Dan’s ambush at all. Rose does underestimate Dan and Abra despite Crow Daddy’s warnings. Everyone outside the group is labeled a “rube”, and that hubris is an intrinsic blind spot that ends in a bloodbath.
The Macabre Impermanence of the True Knot’s Existence
It’s no coincidence that their violent deaths, termed “cycling”, leave nothing but smoke behind; they’re transparent, there is no substance left of them, their potential for growth and true life traded away for something wasted and wispy. In a particularly haunting moment in the film, the centuries old Grandpa Flick begins to cycle and admits that after all he’s done, he is still truly afraid to die. Rose immediately cuts him off, eulogizing his strength and legend, denying the reality of Flick’s fear so as to not break the illusion. She’s acutely aware that none of them can handle that fear, so they simply opt not to.
Flick cycles into nothingness, the little steam that’s left behind in his wake is eaten up by the remaining members of the True Knot. There’s a macabre impermanence that none of them are able to face, and every time one of them dies, they die in a way that reminds them of how ephemeral their lives are. But there’s no time to reflect, because there was never enough time to reflect under the philosophy of the True Knot.
How the True Knot’s Ideology Dooms Them
Their attitude, that inability to accept fear and pain, to grow and communicate, is the reason they’ve doomed themselves long before Dan and Abra come into the picture.
There is no better example of a victim of the True Knot’s mentality, of their quest to shut out communication and ignore their problems, than the tragedy of Snakebite Andi.
Snakebite Andi: A Mirror to Dan Torrance’s Struggle
Despite how different they are on the surface, both King and Flanagan take great pains to contrast Andi and Dan: both start off as profoundly broken people with the shine, even utilizing similar abilities. Both are stuck in the past, gripped by their traumas of domestic abuse and looking for some way to numb the pain. Both are taken in by others who seemingly want them to heal, and both end up dying to protect what they love; they both even die smiling. But what they really end up as are two different sides of the same coin: Andi, who lets her past pain consume her, and Dan, who accepts the pain as part of the journey and learns to accept it for Abra.
Andi’s intentions and how she uses her shine are noble, and her actions are justified: she leaves a mark on vile, abusive men, forcing them to reveal who they really are and branding them as predators to protect other girls. But it’s important to also acknowledge that as cathartic as it is to watch her do this, she ultimately is still self-medicating with her vigilantism, the same way Dan does with his alcohol. She is a child only a little older than Abra when she joins the True Knot, and it’s insinuated heavily throughout the film (and stated outright in the novel) that she is a CSA survivor who was abused by her father.
How Rose the Hat Exploits Trauma to Build False Loyalty
She’s lured into becoming a member of the True Knot because Rose preys on her greatest desire: silencing that feeling of shame inside of her over the abuse she’s suffered. Rather than taking the time to explain why there’s nothing shameful about what’s happened to her, that she is not lesser for her troubles, Rose tells her she can shut out that pain and escape it if she simply becomes one of them.
Andi’s arc is one of denying her trauma to try and remain eternally strong and untouchable, to be the predator rather than the prey, even if it hurts other children. She’s deeply hurt, but her supposed mentor is no Dick Halloran. Rose doesn’t give her the mental and emotional tools to work past the pain the way Dick gives Dan the lockboxes and guidance he needs. Instead, she chooses to bottle up her fear and her anger, to suppress her rage and her suffering.
Andi’s Tragic End as a Result of Emotional Suppression
And in the end, she’s literally blinded by that rage; shot by Billy Freeman as she gloats over Danny, and that lie Rose sells her ends up killing her. Andi’s heartbreaking death is a final scream of indignation into the void, projecting all her worst fears and anger onto a stranger, thinking she’s gotten the upper hand by never accepting that pain and fear.
Dan on the other hand, how he lives and how he dies, is the essence of what a real found family should do for you: help you accept the pain, and prevent it from harming the ones you love, so that they can grow and protect others themselves.
Dan Torrance’s Powers and the Compassion Behind Them
Both Dan and Andi have incredibly strong powers of suggestion, but how they function is radically different. Among Dan’s many shining tricks is one similar to Andi’s ability to “push” people into action or into a pattern of memory. However, Dan’s “push” is used differently. Andi forces people to remember the horrible things they’ve done, a reflection of her own fears and sense of shame. But Dan uses it to reassure those dying in the hospice by connecting them to memories of their family.
It’s a great irony then that in the most emotionally crushing scene of the movie, Dan’s confrontation with Jack’s ghost, that he cannot get Jack to connect to the memories. His abilities are worthless in this moment. Jack Torrance, under the guise of being the Overlook bartender Lloyd, has turned his back on the truth of what happened to his family; he lives in an illusory reality, a lie that the alcohol he drinks to forget is a perfect “eraser” on the blackboard that is his mind.
Jack Torrance as a Cautionary Parallel to the True Knot
Jack Torrance was a man whose anger issues, his insecurity and inability to provide for his family, and his own history of being abused by his father Mark, were never confronted. He stewed in the suffering, sat in a comfortable lie that he could avoid dealing with his problems, that he could use the alcohol to isolate and disconnect from his family rather than embrace them. He was sold on the same lie Rose sells the True Knot, and it’s most evident in what they both want: more time. Jack’s speech sounds similar to the speech Rose gives Andi about her youth, emphasizing a desire to retreat into comfort:
“A man tries. He provides. But he’s surrounded by mouths. That eat, and scream, and cry, and nag. So, he asks for one thing, just one thing for him. […] to take the sting out of those days of the mouths, eating, and eating, and eating everything he makes, everything he has. […] Those mouths eat time. They eat your days on Earth. They just gobble them up. It’s enough to make a man sick. And this… is the medicine.”
Dan’s Breaking of the Torrance Cycle in Doctor Sleep
Even as a spirit with all the time in the world, the same as Rose who can stretch years into centuries, Jack can never move on. There’s not enough time, and there never will be when you don’t want to face reality. He’s so angry with Dan trying to show him the truth that he tries to drag his son down to his level, goading him to relapse, to block out the pain.
But it fails, because of the family and the purpose Dan finds with Dick, Billy, and Abra. It’s Abra’s call that pulls him away from Jack, and it’s Abra’s voice that frees him from the influence of the Overlook long enough to save her.
Dan, Abra, the Worthwhile Pain of Human Connection in Doctor Sleep
Despite all that’s happened to him, despite all of his doubts and self-hatred and fear, despite being literally possessed by the physical embodiments of all his childhood trauma, it’s this found family that teaches Dan to face his problems. He takes those painful memories and fears as a part of himself, so that Abra isn’t burdened by them.
He loses a friend along the way, he sacrifices himself, and ultimately, Dan pays the debt Dick was talking about: he protects and saves Abra from Rose, and then from the spirits that haunted him. In his death, destroying the Overlook, he saves countless others who might have fallen victim to the dark push of the hotel. He ends the cycle of escapism that began with his father, finally able to look his mother in the eyes in a way he never could in life.
Doctor Sleep as a Testament to Pain, Connection, and Hope
At its core, Doctor Sleep is a story about how fostering true found family is not a painless experience. It isn’t a joyride. Often it starts from a place of true hopelessness. And it can’t be done without self-actualization, self-acceptance, and the willingness to sacrifice for others. The pain of human connection, the risk of being hurt or failing or losing loved ones close to you, is ever present. There is no lie that will help you escape that.
But that pain is worthwhile. It helps you connect and speak to others on a deeper level. There is no perfect eraser for the anguish of life, but with the right people to guide you, to pull you out of the mires of suffering, that anguish can become something beautiful. It can become a lesson. A shield, passed from person to person. An indelible memory of love despite it all, shining even in the darkest of places.
Why Doctor Sleep’s Message Endures
Doctor Sleep shows us that there is no such thing as too far gone if you carry your family with you. If you carry them with you, in memory and in spirit, what Abra says rings true: we go on after, regardless of what has happened to us.
A new season of Stranger Things is upon us, and unfortunately, that always brings some baggage with it. As someone who has watched the show since it premiered on Netflix in 2016, I have witnessed the highs, lows, and questionable moments in real time. I have also seen this show unwittingly bring out the worst in its fandom. While I have many thoughts about all the problematic noise that surrounds the series, I am here with a very specific gripe today. I am not going to hold your hand when I say Billy Hargrove (Dacre Montgomery) is a racist. However, I will unpack some of the reasons I think it’s interesting that this fanbase (and some of the actors in this ridiculously large cast that should have been trimmed seasons ago) refuse to state the obvious.
Billy Hargrove Never Hides It
I get it. Billy Hargrove is hot when we first meet him in season 2. He looks like the typical ’80s heartthrob made famous by hotties of that bygone era. He could’ve easily been another Brat Pack actor next to Emilio Estevez, Rob Lowe, and Judd Nelson. However, all of that goes out of the window when we see how he abuses his step-sister, Max (Sadie Sink). We soon discover the bad boy image is not an act but simply one layer of this sociopath. Things quickly escalate in this season of Stranger Things, and Billy becomes the racist that Lucas (Caleb McLaughlin) will have to face this time out.
While the rest of his supposed friends are battling supernatural evils, Lucas always ends up the target of local racists. I have given up on his sidequests being something less targeted, or for anyone but his little sister Erica (Priah Ferguson) to ever stick up for him. The squad will battle Vecna, but Lucas will have to fend off some version of Mike Pence as a child.
Remember Script Analysis?
Anyways, the Duffer Brothers make it very obvious that Billy is an awful human. He even tells Max, “There are certain types of people in this world that you stay away from, and that kid, Max, that kid is one of them. You stay away from him, you hear me? Stay away.” This is before he decides to start taking a more hands-on approach with Lucas, much like he does with Max. However, too many fans like to paint the narrative that Billy isn’t a racist sociopath. They need him to be misunderstood, even broken, and would like to blame his abusive dad for the trauma he inflicts on his sister and one of the very few Black kids in town. As if all abused kids go on to be MAGA, and that pipeline is to blame for where we are now.
This isn’t helped by the actor also trying to get his character off the hook. His co-star’s comments on his acting being purposely misinterpreted is also another issue with this conversation. You can complement the complexities of a performance without excusing the character’s behavior. After all, villains can make for compelling TV when utilized correctly. Many viewers who want to romanticize this monster might not realize what they are doing. However, I cannot help but see it because I live in a world that loves to rewrite the facts.
Have You Watched the News?
Billy is much like all the other white guys who do horrendous things. Isms beget isms. Which is why when we see him level up from abusing Max to saying all of the racist parts aloud, I was not surprised. I was also not surprised at how much of the Stranger Things fandom is okay with him beating up on children. Society hates women and will always find a reason to justify racism. So, people can forgive and downplay what Billy does. That’s why many fans were happy to see him make his guest appearance in season 4. Meanwhile, the rest of us are being reminded that the internet, and this fandom specifically, are overwhelmingly white places.
A Tale of Two Actors
To counter Stranger Things fans’ love of Billy the Racist, let us look at how Dacre Montgomery gets treated compared to Caleb McLaughlin. McLaughlin is a member of the main cast and has been with the show since day one. However, his lines at cons are considerably emptier than his white counterparts. In the beginning, people pretended it wasn’t anti-Blackness. White fans claimed they didn’t like him because his character was mean to Eleven in the first season. I could write another essay on how he wasn’t mean, and even if he was, actors are not their characters. However, it doesn’t matter because we all know racism is the reason.
Meanwhile, Montgomery does very well. All of the people yelling about his character being misunderstood make their way to his table like he’s giving away money. How many times did we watch Billy abuse Max in various ways? How many times did we watch him abuse Lucas and escalate it to the point that only the most dense among us could miss the obvious racism on display? Yet, people still want those pictures and autographs. Coincidence?
Why This Bugs Me
As someone who cannot quit this show, I have been very vocal about my issues with Stranger Things. The refusal to kill any of the way too large main cast remains one of my biggest pet peeves. The Duffer Brothers having a hard time understanding that writing a period piece doesn’t necessarily mean you are writing for the audience of that era is also a bone of contention. Specifically, when Jonathan Byers (Charlie Heaton) took photos of Nancy (Natalia Dyer) undressing without her knowledge. In today’s context, we understand that it is assault and a severe invasion of privacy and no longer let that slide.
I am also salty about how every racist who is an aspiring Fox News reporter in Hawkins, Indiana, finds Lucas each season. Which is why it is so wild that I think the biggest issue with Billy Hargrove is how many fans of the show receive him.
What It Says About Society
I think Billy could’ve been written with a little more subtlety. I am also again very tired of Lucas’ storyline always being about racism and attempted hate crimes. Why can’t he have magical fights in The Upsidedown like everyone else? Yet, what really salts my tines is the internet’s willingness to overlook bigotry and excuse hatred. It’s extra triggering as I am trying to survive this second Trump term. I watched this country fail as fools tweeted, “all the candidates are the same.” White feminism allowed hateful relatives a seat at the holiday tables after voting away the few rights most of us had. Meanwhile, Judy wanted to wear a blue bracelet to let you know she cares. However, she doesn’t care enough to be serious about any actual activism. The Stranger Things fandom is unsurprisingly a mirror of society.
The same people who look at white male terrorists and blame the girls who wouldn’t go to prom with them. Or the ones who think the Black victims of police brutality might be to blame for the cop’s reaction. Those are the people who don’t understand that Billy is a raging racist. I think this is one Stranger Things character that the Duffers might have put the most thought behind. It’s a shame the toxic fandom surrounding the show swallowed him up and learned nothing.
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