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
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!
Legacy sequels are not a new invention in the horror genre. The 2020s have seen several horror legacy sequels keeping the same name as their predecessors and retconning the canon to revitalize the franchise for a new generation of movie-goers. We have seen this with the Halloween, Scream, Candyman, and Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchises. All of which kept the movie title of the original installment (minus the 2022 TCM movie, which dropped “The” and made “chainsaw” one word again) and removed nearly all installments after the first from the canon (minus Scream 2022, which is a continuation of Scream 4).
Slasher fanatics are getting a new legacy sequel with the fourth installment of I Know What You Did Last Summer (IKWYDLS) hitting theaters this July. So far, we know that there will be legacy cast members returning, and it is expected to be a direct sequel to I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, according to Variety. Based on its horror franchise cohorts, here are my predictions for the new IKWYDLS movie.
Spoilers ahead for Halloween (2018), Candyman (2021), Scream (2022), and Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2022).
Legacy Cast Turned Harbingers
Legacy cast members are not being hunted down yet again, but they now offer knowledge and a warning to the new class of fresh meat. The previous survivors and final girls now evolve to a different horror movie trope: the harbingers.
We see this in a few movies. Laurie Strode warns her family in Halloween 2018. Dewey accurately predicts the killer to be Amber and Richie in Scream 2022. Anne-Marie discourages her son, Anthony, from uttering the word “Candyman” and reveals that the hooked-handed legend is the real danger in Nia DaCosta’s Candyman (2021).
The first trailer for the new IKWYDLS shows Ray urging officials in a town hall to take the events seriously. In the second trailer, Julie shares her final girl advice not to be a passive victim and identify possible motives to narrow down who the new deadly fisherman is. I am looking forward to seeing a seasoned Freddie Prinze Jr and Jennifer Love Hewitt reprise their roles and hopefully be engaging harbingers.
Previous Final Girl Becomes The Real Danger
In their role as a harbinger, the legacy final girl is back for blood. This is extensively shown in Halloween 2018 as Laurie Strode is now a firearms specialist and has designed her home to be a trap for Michael Myers. The sequence of her hunting for Michael in her house in the third act is unforgettable and bad ass. Sidney Prescott (and Gale Weathers) spoil Ghostface’s plan in Scream 2022 simply by showing up to the murder party.
Yes, Ghostface did want Sidney there, but they were very unprepared for how tactical she would be and not take the bait on tricks that a new slasher survivor would. Sidney was fine with shooting first and asking questions later!
Sally Hardesty (played by Owlen Fouere) makes her first return to the TCM franchise in the Netflix 2022 Texas Chainsaw Massacre legacy sequel. She has been trying to track down Leatherface and his family for decades, and finally gets her chance for revenge. An interesting take on what she has been up to for the past nearly 50 years.
Julie and Ray could be the power couple that the new survivors need. After all, they did evade and clumsily defeat Ben Willis in the 1997 movie. They made up for the clumsy execution with a more impressive effort in I Still Know What You Did Last Summer by Ray traveling to an island to fist fight the father-son duo while Julie unloaded a revolver into Ben Willis.
Both demonstrating they have learned from their first encounter with a murder and not taking second chances. I do not expect them to play the wait-and-see approach in the new movie.
The Legacy Death
What keeps horror hounds coming back to slasher franchises are the kills. Fans of slasher flicks want to see their beloved Michael Myers or Leatherface hack away at the youths who break horror movie rules. However, the shock and surprise come from meaningful deaths, and this does lead to fan favorites getting the axe (or chainsaw).
Dewey loses his plot armor in Scream 2022 as Ghostface recognizes, in a meta way, the importance of his death by saying “It’s an honor” as his corpse hits the floor. Sally finally finds her prey, only to receive a chainsaw in the abdomen and to be yeeted into a pile of garbage (I’m still salty about this). In Candyman, while he may not be considered part of the “legacy cast”, Anthony McCoy is still an important returning character. He meets his demise after William Burke saws off his hand, and the Chicago police later slay Anthony in a poignant scene. These deaths make the audience feel the gravity of the situation and fear what is now possible for the new cast.
I Still Know What You Did Last Summer left us with three possible legacy characters returning: Julie, Ray, and Karla (played by Brandy). Trailers have not revealed a Brandy cameo, but it is not out of the question for her to return as the sacrificial legacy death. I personally believe there is a bigger chance for Ray to meet his end, similar to Dewey. While all filmmakers hope for audiences to fall in love with their new characters, any financial success will likely warrant a sequel that will need to feature Jennifer Love Hewitt to keep the slasher fans excited. Fingers crossed that Julie makes it out of her third run-in with the vengeful fisherman.
I Know What You Did Last Summer hits theaters July 18, and I’ll eagerly be seated to see what trends this new addition has to offer to the slasher legacy sequel canon.
A young person, raised by a scientist and seemingly simple minded by design, discovers their inner hedonist. In their quest for pleasure, they leave their home and embark on misadventures involving sex, sugar, an abusive relationship, and various enlightenments, all before returning home to confront their past so that they may move towards their future. This is the streamlined arc for both Poor Things protagonist Bella Baxter and myself. When I saw Poor Things in theaters in January 2024, the only things I knew about the film were that Yorgos Lanthimos directed it and that the cast included Emma Stone, Ramy Youssef, and Willem Dafoe.
You can imagine my surprise when I not only felt the impact of Bella’s arc, but also felt seen and even empowered in a way that I rarely do as a queer disabled man.
Discovering Bella Baxter in Poor Things
Bella, an adult woman who exhibits childlike behavior, is under the care of scientist Godwin Baxter, who has taken on the role of her father figure. Conversations with his student Max reveals that Bella’s body is the resurrected corpse of a woman that Godwin discovered, while her brain had originally belonged to the child the woman had been pregnant with. It’s important to note that Godwin didn’t know the circumstances of the woman’s death before he pulled off this macabre miracle. More on that later.
Bella eventually has her first sexual experience through masturbation, is instantly hooked on the gratification she feels, and tries to achieve constant satisfaction proclaiming “Bella discover happy when she want.”. Those around her, such as Max and Godwin’s maid Prim, are less than elated about Bella’s newfound desires, but Bella shamelessly persists. Godwin, in response, decides to try to arrange a marriage between Bella and Max, with the condition that the pair live with him for the rest of his days. While Max agrees, Bella ultimately decides to leave their home in London to embark on a whirlwind affair with Godwin’s lawyer, Duncan Wedderburn. Duncan, enticed by the contradicting nature of Bella’s innocence and sexual hedonism, pursues and woos her with promises of worldliness and sex.
Subverting Disability Stereotypes
One of the most common stereotypes in media around disabled people is the belief that their disabilities render them either asexual or unable to obtain any type of sexual gratification at all. When one reads Bella as disabled-coded, as I do, she becomes one of the strongest subversions of the “disabled equals asexual” trope seen in recent, mainstream film history. A disabled-coded reading also makes Bella’s hypersexuality much less problematic than it would be if the character was only analyzed at a surface level. The juxtaposition of disability and hypersexuality is an aspect of Bella’s character that I greatly identify with.
In early childhood, I was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, and as an adult, I also tend to chase this type of gratification for the sake of leisurely pleasure or even as a way to cope with stress. With Duncan, Bella travels first to Lisbon, Portugal, where the two spend their time together having sex and eating exotic foods and sweets. Bella’s constant craving for more pleasure proves to be too much for Duncan, who grows to resent her as he is unable to keep up.
His resentment is compounded by Bella’s social ineptitude, as she repeatedly embarrasses him with several faux pas during a dinner party at their hotel. For example, after taking an extra moment to understand her female dinner mate’s sex joke, Bella makes a comment about the taste of Duncan’s penis. When Duncan reprimands her and restricts her to a few choice phrases, she describes the death of her dining companion’s relative as “delightful”; she later interrupts the dinner banter because she wants to “punch [a] baby” that’s annoying her.
Bella’s Misadventures with Duncan Wedderburn
Bella’s unfiltered comments and inappropriate responses are painfully reminiscent of my own past social failings, from remarks about my former partner’s genitals, to intrusive questions about the suicide of a classmate’s uncle, and finally to vocalized violent inclinations towards small, annoying children. Thankfully, like Bella, I was stopped before any harm could come to the younglings.
Despite their growing tensions, Bella and Duncan stay together, even as Bella goes on to binge alcohol and have sexual encounters with other men. Duncan eventually lures her out of Lisbon with a cruise to Athens, Greece. Bella is quite displeased with this change until she befriends two fellow patrons, Martha and Harry, who open her eyes to pursuits beyond her hedonism, and introduce her to philosophy and literature, irking Duncan.
Bella’s Intellectual and Emotional Growth in Poor Things
Bella embraces the intellectual stimulation presented to her, leading to a debate with Harry over humanity’s potential for cruelty in which Bella argues that humankind is not inherently cruel. Harry retaliates when the cruise docks by showing her the conditions that poor people must endure. Bella gives her and Duncan’s money to members of the ship’s crew with the (ultimately ignored) instruction to distribute it to the poor. The rash decision results in Bella and Duncan being left to fend for themselves in Paris. Bella, to Duncan’s outrage, finds work in a local brothel, a job that she views as merely a means to an end. She ends their relationship and gives him money to return to London. Bella continues life as a sex worker, taking on many lovers in the process, including a fellow sex worker named Antoinette.
The trajectory of Bella and Duncan’s relationship evokes a situationship I had years ago with an older man that would prove to be formative. Like Duncan, he presented himself as a mature man of many sexual interests that he would help me dip my toes into. And, like Duncan, he seemed to be attracted to me only when I was entirely compliant with his whims, and had an issue with me having friends and connections outside of him. I, like Bella, also managed to have a much larger libido than the supposedly adventurous gentleman, which amplified the tension as I was always wanting more. Finally, after ending this affair, I, like Bella, learned an important lesson or two and threw myself into my personal development and goals.
Returning Home and Facing the Past
Bella’s story eventually sees her return to London. She learns the truth about her origins and reconciles with Godwin, whose health is failing. She also meets Felicity—a “new Bella” that Godwin and Max created. This is a subplot that deeply resonates with me, specifically Godwin and Max’s treatment of Felicity in comparison to their treatment of Bella. Godwin doted on Bella and Max fell for her, whereas the pair grew frustrated with Felicity and essentially abandoned her to be cared for solely by Prim. It’s easy to view Bella and Felicity as higher and lower-functioning disabled people, with Bella as the preferable one because she can mask her symptoms better than Felicity can.
Several times, I have been in Bella’s position of being a preferable disabled person to interact with compared to others because of my higher functioning and less obvious presentation. I’ve even experienced this dynamic in my childhood with my sister having ADD and ADHD, which was deemed more draining for our parents compared to my own diagnosis. It’s been a journey to overcome the internalized ableism that these experiences created, but it’s one that I’m glad I’ve embarked on. Among other things, it makes Bella rightfully directing the disdain she has for Felicity towards Godwin and Max so much more satisfying, even if she does offer both men forgiveness.
Uncovering Bella’s Tragic Origins
In London, Bella learns that her body, pre-reanimation, had belonged to a sadistic woman named Victoria Blessington, who, along with her husband Alfie, abused their servants. Alfie informs Bella that Victoria died by suicide, likely due to her hatred of her unborn child, which she referred to as “the monster.” Alfie plots to imprison Bella and subject her to female genital mutilation. Bella ultimately escapes and takes Alfie back to Godwin’s home, where she performs her own surgery—one in which she replaces Alfie’s brain with a goat’s.
Although Godwin dies shortly after Bella’s return, Bella remains ever the optimist and becomes a scientist, following in Godwin’s footsteps. She builds a life with her chosen family, including Max and Antoinette as her partners, Felicity as her surrogate sister, and Prim and Alfie as her servant and pet, respectively. The film’s ending is not the traditional “Good For Her (™)” conclusion we tend to see, but rather a “Good For Bella” ending that empowers her, as a person, uniquely.
Bella Baxter’s Queer and Polyamorous Awakening
The conclusion of Poor Things brings home my feelings of kinship with Bella in two ways. The first being her completed arc from the cruel and hateful Victoria to the joyful and sincere Bella. When I was younger, I was definitely more Victoria than Bella; my younger self was a bully who enjoyed using my sharp tongue to bring others down as hard as I could. It was a lot of work to become a better person, one that I struggle to maintain from time to time. Like Bella, I have found kindness to be more rewarding than cruelty and wish to believe in the inherent joy in humanity.
The other way this conclusion resonates with me is through our—Bella’s and my own— late queer awakenings. For over half of the film, we have no indication that Bella is queer besides the likely unintentional hint of Bella rejecting Godwin and Max’s heteronormative ideals of marriage. We don’t see anything concrete until the montage of her sexual escapades in Paris, concluding with her and Antoinette having sex. It awakens Bella’s queerness in her adulthood to the point where she ends up in a throuple with Antoinette and Max, revealing that Bella is both queer and polyamorous. Similarly, I did not have my queer awakening until I was twenty, and I had my awakening as polyamorous only last year. Bella is a fictional character, but it is comforting to know that it is possible for others to have those awakenings occur later in life.
Embracing My Disabled and Queer Identity
When I look back at Poor Things, I see it as a messy and polarizing film by design. The questions of whether we should be offended, intrigued, or feel something else entirely regarding the plot of a woman being reanimated with her baby’s brain in place of her own and eventually embarking on a quest of hedonism are valid ones that do warrant discourse. I don’t resent those who are outraged by the film and detest the film’s critical success.
However, I can’t find myself outraged, especially when the film’s protagonist’s experiences mirror my own, with Bella becoming a comfort character to me as a result. In the time since my initial viewing of Poor Things, I have found so much more pride in being disabled and queer that I keep surprising myself. I used to be embarrassed to discuss my disability in any detail, because I feared that I would be treated differently or viewed as merely trying to excuse my own faults with my neurodivergence.
On the contrary, those who care about me now understand me better, and I have a film that I can point to for them to have a glimpse into my lived experience. I’ve even become more proud of my queerness to the point of going to my first Pride celebration last summer, as well as having an awakening in regards to my polyamory. I cannot begrudge a film like Poor Things for its messiness when it has empowered me so much in the way that it ultimately empowers its protagonist.
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