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!
This article contains spoilers for the film Green Room (2016)
In April, a 40 foot tall mural went up on the side of a building of a gay club in downtown Providence. It featured slain Ukrainian refugee Iryna Zarutska and was in the process of being installed by a local artist. The mural was part of an extensive “curation” project all across the United States, featuring this woman’s image, funded by alt-right leaders such as Elon Musk, Eoghan McCabe, and Andrew Tate. Suddenly, they do care about immigrants – if you’re the white kind.
Zarutska became a symbol for conservatives nationally when the video of her stabbing on public transportation in Charlotte, North Carolina, was released. Her assailant, Decarlos Brown Jr., who had a long criminal record and documented but untreated mental health issues, is a black man. Trump called for the immediate death penalty for him. Zarutska, as a result, became an opportunity for the far right to weaponize her tragedy, using her image as a racist dog whistle. Notably, North Carolina passed a law “in her honor” that shortens the timeline for capital punishment appeals and removes restrictions on the use of electrocution and lethal gas.
Providence, however, pushed back. Community members protested the mural. The club owners requested its removal. Mayor Brett Smiley condemned the project after its political backing became clear. In the end, it was decommissioned. The backlash, however, quickly attracted national attention and with it, right-wing outrage. Days later, a white nationalist group had a photo-op in front of the unfinished mural – in broad daylight. That’s right, this mural inspired neo-nazis to take selfies in front of a gay bar in Providence.
Why Green Room Feels More Relevant Than Ever
White supremacist movements have become increasingly visible and emboldened in the United States, encouraged by mainstream political rhetoric. These men infiltrate our communities and subcultures, using intimidation and spectacle to spread fear. Green Room confronts that reality head-on, portraying neo-Nazis not as caricatures, but as organized, violent, and disturbingly common. Nearly a decade later, Jeremy Saulnier’s claustrophobic thriller feels more relevant than ever, not only for its depiction of fascist violence, but for its understanding of how young men are drawn into these movements in the first place.
Green Room is a nail-biting, contained setting horror-thriller set in the Pacific Northwest. The Ain’t Rights, a small punk band played by Alia Shawkat, Joe Cole, Callum Turner, and the late, great Anton Yelchin, struggling to make even their gas money back while performing, are arranged to play a show, unknowingly, at a bar in the woods run by skinheads. They open for a neo-nazi band, taunting the crowd with a cover of the Dead Kennedys’ “Nazi Punks Fuck Off.” Tensions escalate even further, however, when Yelchin’s character sees a dead woman, stabbed to death in the green room by one of the skin-heads playing the venue. This leads to an all-night fight for survival for the band, as they try to make it out of the venue alive.
A majority of the film involves a siege between the band, barricaded in the green room, and the skinhead leader Darcy, played menacingly by Sir Patrick Stewart, outside it with his army of neo-Nazis. As the reality of the situation escalates, and the negotiations go awry with Darcy and co., the band slowly realizes there is no reasoning with these men; they cannot be trusted. Soon these punks must use whatever items they have in the green room as a means to fight off the well-armed skinheads.
Jeremy Saulnier’s Neo-Nazis Are Terrifyingly Real
What makes Green Room’s portrayal of these Neo-Nazis all the more grounded and terrifying is that Saulnier portrays the group as organized, calculated, and incredibly dangerous. He avoids creating caricatures; they aren’t seen marching, nor is their ideology discussed through a spoon-feeding Netflix algorithm type of way. Of course, there are hints of their bigotry through lines of dialogue, but their terror is shown rather than explained.
Sir Patrick Stewart depicts Darcy as an organized, even-keeled businessman, using violence as a necessary means to clean up the situation (aka dispose of all the band members and make it appear like a trespassing gone awry.) He is deliberate, calm, and premeditated, as he uses his dedicated and loyal soldiers to reach his goals and maintain control.
The History of Nazi Punk and Hate Core Music
Hate Core or Nazi Punk is a hateful and bigoted subgenre of punk music that emerged in the 1970s in the United Kingdom and eventually made its way over to the United States in the 1980s. While skin-heads originally began as an English working-class movement, it eventually segmented and became co-opted by white nationalists.
Early punk music often used symbols as shock value. Some would wear swastika arm-bands, and others might wear a hammer and sickle, using transgressive imagery to lean into the nihilism or anarchy of the music. By the 1980s, however, a division was apparent, and Nazi punks began using hardcore and punk music as a means to spread far-right ideologies and recruit listeners. While punk music thematically is predominantly anti-fascist, Hate Core uses the intensity, nihilism, and aggression of punk as a tool for fascist propaganda.
The contradiction is baffling. Nazi punks align themselves with music rife with anti-establishment themes, while also clinging to their conformity and blind obedience to their leaders. We see this in the film, as skinheads mosh to the Ain’t Rights in one scene, and obey Darcy’s every command in the next.
Green Room and the Recruitment of Young Men Into Extremism
Scholar Kevin Grether writes in “Heavy and Hateful: Growth of White Supremacy and Neo-Nazism in Skinhead Punk and Black Metal”: “Although [skin-head punk was not] explicitly political at its inception, fascist actors within them were able to take advantage of the social and economic situations of their peers in order to recruit them to their political cause. For skinheads, this was done primarily by Ian Stuart Donaldson and his connections with the National Front, who used their social and economic influence within the subculture (such as ownership of venues) to press party recruitment.”
Green Room does an exceptional job of demonstrating the recruitment of young men by these hate groups and their exploitation of them as a result. It is apparent that Darcy does not seem to care about the music that is played at his bar, but he understands it as a tool to lure more young men to his cause. (We later learn that the venue is a front for a heroin production lab.)
We witness two young recruits non-lethally stab one another and be detained in order to throw off the police from the current situation with the band. These young men do this without hesitation, sacrificing themselves in hopes of Darcy’s approval. Later, we witness two frightened young men, clumsily entering the green room as ordered by leadership to finish off whoever is left of the band.
At all costs, they want to please their leader, Darcy. In an interview from 2016, Saulnier notes, “you gotta ask, not only what are [they] fighting for but who are [they] fighting for? Because it seems to be that these young skinheads…aren’t really benefiting from this battle.”
The Modern Manosphere and the Appeal of Extremist Masculinity
Similar tactics of recruitment are currently prevalent in the new, rising “manosphere”, as more young men gravitate toward internet personas and politicians that espouse a kind of masculinity rooted in misogyny, racism, and homophobia. These men prey on the male loneliness epidemic, which is a sharp increase in reported isolation, lack of close friendships, and social disconnection among men in the United States. This manosphere normalizes gender-based violence, racism, and other extremist, bigoted ideologies, united under the belief that men are victims of social change.
These movements create a false sense of community for men, rooted in antagonism, that only really serves those in leadership (like the fictional Darcy or the very real Andrew Tate.) As a result, these movements create further division and danger for us all, while a few men at the top reap the benefits. As the language of these movements permeates mainstream culture and seeps into online forums and media, it is important for us to not only understand why they appeal to young men, but also how to intervene.
Green Room’s Ending and the Fragility of Fascist Power
At the end of Green Room, Yelchin’s character Pat has Darcy at gunpoint. He says to him, “It’s funny. You were so scary at night.” In an almost anti-climax, Darcy turns his back to Pat and power walks away in cowardice. Pat and other lone-survivor Amber shoot him in the back, killing him.
As I initially looked at the photo of the white nationalists posing in front of that unfinished mural in Providence, the image inspired the same fear Saulnier captures so well: organized hatred displayed openly and without shame. But then, I noticed the masks. I noticed how few of them there are. Like Darcy, their power depends on spectacle, numbers, and intimidation. Strip that away, and what remains are just frightened men desperately clinging to power.
That does not make them harmless; it makes them perceivable and interruptible. As Saulnier depicts the inner operations of a neo-Nazi group, he shows us how hatred can be furthered and codified. It is imperative that we remember that operation in order to undo it. If these movements recruit through isolation, fear, and false belonging, then resistance cannot rely solely on condemnation. It also requires intervention. Stronger community structures and programs that teach healthier models of masculinity, and spaces where young men can find identity without bigotry are critical.
Why Green Room Still Resonates 10 Years Later
On its 10 year anniversary, Green Room remains terrifying because it recognizes fascism not as parodically evil, but as something tragically ordinary. It also remains incredibly pertinent as we look at the current rise of alt-right and fascist movements and try to understand how such hatred can become so pervasive.
Things instantly got complicated when I sat down to think about the 10 scariest horror movie cars. When the topic comes up, a bunch of movies leap to mind. But what makes a car scary? Is it how it looks? What it does? What happens inside it? I already knew I wanted to limit the number of “killer car” movies. It wouldn’t be interesting if this was just a numbing list of obvious titles like Christine and The Car. However, as I sifted through horror history for the best examples, I realized I had to do something drastic.
Top 10 Scariest Horror Movie Cars
So this is actually more like two interwoven Top 5 lists. I’ll be swapping between two themes. The first is “Scary on the Inside,” AKA cars you wouldn’t want to be stuck in. Then there’s “Scary on the Outside.” You know, cars that you wouldn’t want to see pull up behind you in a dark parking lot. These are incredibly different, but equally vital vibes. Without any further ado, let’s put the pedal to the metal and get going.
#10 INSIDE: The Luxury SUV, Locked (2025)
Locked is the third international remake of the 2019 Argentinian film 4×4. Consider this entry a nod to all four movies, because woof. The story follows a luxury SUV becoming a battleground when a petty thief gets locked inside. And then subsequently tortured by an even pettier Jigsaw-esque sadist with a remote control and a score to settle. No fun! I mean, I have a hard enough time sitting through a car ride when the radio is too loud.
#9 OUTSIDE: The Grabber’s Van, The Black Phone (2022)
The ultimate nightmare for any suburban kid is the windowless white van. But the Grabber’s got a flair for aesthetically maxing out the creepiness of whatever he does. So this black, magician-themed van driven by a masked, behatted kidnapper in The Black Phone is somehow even worse.
#8 INSIDE: Amelia’s Car, The Babadook (2014)
The Babadook is famously a movie about how tough it is to deal with grief and single parenthood simultaneously. Never do those twin tasks feel more crushing than during Noah’s backseat meltdown. Screaming, crying, kicking, all while his mother is trying not to drive the car straight into a tree. I’d rather fling myself directly into the Babadook’s loving arms than be riding shotgun in that moment.
#7 OUTSIDE: The Highway Trucks, Pet Sematary (1989)
Those trucks constantly barreling down the highway that borders the Creed family’s lawn might be Stephen King’s most alarming creations.
#6 INSIDE: The Monster-Safe Car, Bird Box (2018)
I’ve gone on record about how Bird Box seems to affect me more than the average viewer. However, who could possibly bear having to drive down a street full of unknown obstacles with completely blacked-out windows? Knowing that if you break down, you’ll have to fumble blindfolded through those same obstacles to find safety? Those “see me and die” monsters sure make running errands inconvenient. And terrifying.
#5 OUTSIDE: The Truck, Duel (1971)
Of all the “killer car/driver” road thriller movies, Steven Spielberg’s Duel remains the high-water mark. Much of this is spurred by the design of the tanker truck chasing Dennis Weaver through the desert. It is impossibly large and bestial, with windows so grimy and opaque that you’re half certain it’s driving itself.
#4 INSIDE: The Cop Car, Scream 2 (1997)
The fact that the back doors of cop cars can’t be opened from the inside is sinister enough. Put a potentially-not-as-knocked-out-as-he-seems Ghostface in the front seat, and that’s one car I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.
#3 OUTSIDE: The TSA Car, Get Out (2017)
Thankfully, Rod’s car at the end of Get Out is only scary at first. But I’ll never forget the audience’s collective held breath when those lights flashed on Chris’ face at the end. The thing that’s scary about this one is that it could have been a cop car. In Chris’ situation, the only thing worse than a Ghostface in the front seat would be an actual cop.
#2 INSIDE: Stuntman Mike’s Car, Death Proof (2007)
When you’re being targeted by a serial killer, you’re going to have a bad day no matter what. But there’s something even more potent and scary about Stuntman Mike’s M.O. Killing passengers by crashing his car (which is only safe for the driver) is violent in an especially reckless manner. It’s completely uncontrollable, and even more alarming for it. There’s nowhere to run, after all.
#1 OUTSIDE: The Log Truck, Final Destination 2 (2003)
This movie opens with minutes and minutes of outrageous, bloody highway pileup mayhem. However, whenever you bring up Final Destination 2, the first thing that springs to anyone’s mind is the log truck. The Final Destination franchise has always banked on getting under your skin by embracing relatable fears. It’s a cinematic phobia that taps into something undeniably real, and there ain’t nothing scarier than reality!
INSIDE Honorable Mentions: Spree (2020), Cujo (1983)
OUTSIDE Honorable Mentions: Joy Ride (2001), Maximum Overdrive (1986), The Hearse (1980), The Car (1977), Christine (1983)
