Horror is Queer
‘Queer’ is a fascinating word. It lives in the murky in-between world of language where context is everything. To some it is a compliment. To others an insult. It can be empowering or painful depending upon the speaker. One day it's found in an academic journal. The next day it’s found scrawled cruelly across a locker at school.
I have been called many things in my life: Odd. Strange. Weird. Eccentric. Trace these words far enough back in the thesaurus and you’ll find one word to stand in for them all. ‘Queer’.
One of my favorite things about the word is that it so effectively describes two of my most enduring traits: My sexuality and horror fandom. My younger self never would have imagined drawing a line between these two areas. In a world that saw little representation of the Queer community in the media, there was even less representation within the horror community. How could there be any connective tissue between my identity as a gay man and a genre whose camera was so eager to linger upon the naked bodies of its female leads. Surely my interest in horror was in spite of such heteronormative themes, not because of them.
However as my interest in the genre has grown I’ve exposed myself to more critical and academic analysis over the years through my favorite writers, reviewers and podcasters. And a certain phrase has recurred again and again. Horror is Queer.
They may seem strange bedfellows, but consider the true meaning of the word: Queer describes things which differ from what is usual or normal. The thematic ties are plain to see, with both communities existing around the borders of what is considered typical or traditional.
The minority status of both is reflected in the statistics. The website Statista estimated that horror movies accounted for 10% of the box office share in the United States and Canada in 2024. This is mirrored by Gallup polls reporting that 9.3% of US citizens identified as LGBTQI+ in 2024. Coincidental as these numbers may be they draw an interesting parallel about the place each community holds in our larger society.
Morally our society directs similar views toward the Queer and horror community. While widespread acceptance of both is more mainstream than ever they both remain misunderstood and oft maligned groups in everyday America. There are many parallels to be drawn between the stigma experienced coming out as a Queer individual and being open about one’s love of horror.
Consider my father’s response that late night in 2004 when I first told him I was gay. A long pause. An uncomfortable break in eye contact. “I wish you hadn’t told me that,” he said, before walking out of the room. It’s not dissimilar from the sidelong look he offered me the first time he walked into the TV room to briefly watch an episode of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ over my shoulder. “This is weird," he commented before quickly returning to his Red Sox game and Coors Light in the other room. The scenes couldn’t be more different. But the red hot shame that burned through my body in each moment felt very familiar.
(I should take a moment here to note that my father evolved a great deal from 2004 until his death in 2020. He proudly stood with me at my wedding in 2016 and was a loving and passionate father-in-law and “Grampy” to my husband and son.)
At a recent event in Philadelphia put on by Justin Mendoza, a local therapist and fellow horror fan, a panel of horror fans, drag queens, journalists and mental health professionals discussed the link between horror and the Queer community. Joining in the discussion I shared a spontaneous observation which I had never quite put into words before. Being a horror fan was my first experiment in being different. It laid the foundation for me to be weird. And not just to experience it, but to revel in it. I learned to feel pride for my horror fandom long before I discovered pride in my sexuality. But I have come to strongly believe that the former laid the foundation for the latter.
My experience is uniquely personal, but the link between Queerness and horror fandom is widely acknowledged in our community and is being continually explored in a variety of mediums. ‘It Came From the Closet’ (2022) is a fascinating tome edited by Joe Vallese who collected reflections on the horror genre from a diverse group of LGBTQI+ writers. It will open your eyes to the Queerness of horror in ways both familiar and surprising. Consider ‘The Exorcist’ (1973) as a film exploring how “polite” society responds to a young girl who eschews traditional gender roles through the lens of demonic possession. Or ‘The Birds’ (1963) as a fascinating window into the beauty and tragedy of unrequited love between two women who dare not act on their desires.
Heather Petrocelli recently published the preeminent academic text ‘Queer for Fear’ (2023), sharing the results of (to my knowledge) the largest empirical study ever conducted on the horror viewing habits of Queer individuals. Ever wondered why LGBTQI+ individuals relate so powerfully to the metaphor of the werewolf; Human by day, engaged in continuous battle to tame the monstrous beast within them? Or why so many Queer men connect with the archetype of the Final Girl; So often dismissed for their femininity (weakness?) only to prove themselves the strongest of all through their will to survive? Heather’s studies seek to explore these questions along with so many others.
A brief search through your podcast app of choice will find a veritable feast of Queer voices to choose from, all exploring their own unique fascination with the horror world. Horror Queers, The Lady Killers, Midnight Mass, Bloodhaus, Fear Coded, Dark Night of the Podcast and Scared Gay to name just a few. They feature diverse individuals diving deep into the darkness of horror from a powerfully Queer perspective.
Once glimpsed, the connections between horror and our Queer experiences are legion. Consider the current onslaught of so-called “bathroom bills” being proposed by bigoted lawmakers across our country claiming that Trans women are infiltrating public restrooms to victimize children. Or the witch hunts led against the gay community by Anita Bryant in the 70s; Accusing gay teachers of inflicting abuse upon students. We are a community whose past and present is regularly characterized by being othered, maligned and viewed as predators. It is no wonder that we see ourselves reflected in the dark mirror of horror, sometimes empathizing as much with the monsters as with the heroes.
Horror too is one of the few genres that isn’t afraid to face darkness, pain and fear head on. Taken at face value, the gore, violence and depravity depicted in these films can be uncomfortable. But there can also be catharsis and validation in a genre that isn’t beholden to a narrative in which we always find our happy ending. The world is not always kind to the Queer community and we can find solace in films that are willing to sit in discomfort with us. Horror doesn’t condescend to us. It acknowledges our pain directly.
As time marches on and the genre evolves we are seeing Queer depiction in horror evolve as well. Subtext has become text as horror media has seen greater sexual and gender diversity represented within the industry. Chucky now has a genderfluid child. Elvira came out of the closet. Drag queens are fighting off hordes of vampires in ‘Slay’ (2024). Trans folx are getting in on the fun of art house body-horror in ‘I Saw the TV Glow’ (2024). And gay porn stars are smuggling parasitic bugs across the border in ‘Swallowed’ (2022).
It’s tempting to say that horror has never been so Queer. But those of us who have known where to look understand that it always was Queer. Horror and the Queer community may make an odd couple. But as with many powerful pairings, the strangeness of the duo is really what makes the dark magic of their relationship work.
Media & Notes:
Film:
Friedkin, William. (1973). The Exorcist.
Garrard, Jem. (2024). Slay.
Hitchcock, Alfred. (1963). The Birds.
Schoenbrun, Jane. (2024). I Saw the TV Glow.
Smith, Carter. (2022). Swallowed.
Writing:
Vallesse, Joe. (2022). It Came From the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror.
Petrocelli, Heather. (2023). Queer for Fear: Horror Film and the Queer Spectator.
Podcasts: