Science Fiction Film and Television

As a queer horror enthusiast, I am often asked what it is that so often attracts queer people to the genre. My response is that horror films are generally where queer people can artistically locate their non-heteronormative differences for the first time. As a community that has been consistently and persistently repudiated by society, the vilification that we face makes us feel like monsters. It’s hard to feel afraid of the proverbial bogeyman in the closet when we are already occupying that space. The idea of an elusive evil lurking in the shadows doesn’t have the same effect on queer people when we are the ones who have been oppressed to lurk in the shadows. Horror, then, becomes the place where we get to see ourselves strike back. When characters like Leatherface, Jason, or the Creature from the Black Lagoon terrorize the young, beautiful, heteronormative individuals encroaching on their territories, we understand the outcasted villains’ reflexes to defend themselves against the invaders who represent the hegemony they’ve been cast out from. When we see Chucky rabidly hunt down a victim into whose body he can transfer his own trapped soul, we commiserate with the desire to occupy a body that isn’t the one we’re in – a body that feels more comfortable, more “normal.”

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror pays homage to these and other of horror’s most iconic titans in ways that metamorphose them from mere queer ciphers to genuine queer mascots. A collection comprised of a veritable Who’s Who of some of today’s most exciting and dynamic writers, it’s a fabulous symposium in which each author offers up their own unique connections to the monsters and villains that terrorized, delighted, and even helped inform their own queer lives. The collection is, as the editor Joe Vallese succinctly says, “a collection of eclectic memoirs that use horror as the lens through which the writers consider and reflect upon queer identity, and vice versa.” Assembled in multiple parts, each section feels like a new chapter in one of your favorite horror franchises; though the cast, obstacles, and ideas may change, they nonetheless hold true to the main throughline that gives the collection its identity. The relatability of the collection’s many voices is perhaps the book’s most salient characteristic. Despite the light murmurs of a murderer’s row of graduate seminar theorists, such as Lacan, Freud, and Sedgwick, the text itself is largely devoid of abstruse theory and arcane cinephile trivia; as a [End Page 145] result, It Came from the Closet, with its indulgence of erudite, trenchant, and easily digestible philosophies on the intersections of queerness and horror, is an easy fit in both personal at-home libraries and university syllabuses.

The catacomb of ideas – the library of souls – contained within Vallese’s collection is what makes the text so exciting to read. Each new essay feels like you’re taking a beloved, worn-out VHS copy of your favorite horror film off the shelf, popping it into your VCR, and finding a new detail in it that you completely missed in your hundreds of prior viewings. Then, without even taking the time to be kind and rewind the tape back, you eagerly pop in the next tape from your sacred library to see what other new discoveries wait to be found. And, like the horror section at your favorite bygone video store, It Came from the Closet has something for everyone. Essays on staple films like The Exorcist (1973), Jaws (1975), and The Birds (1963) offer fresh takes on some of the canon’s most cherished entries, while reflections on more contemporary films like Hereditary (2018), Us (2019), and Nia DaCosta’s reimagining of Candyman (2021) satisfy the sweet tooth of those looking for something more modern to go with their movie theater candy. And for those who like horror more off the...