Horror’s queerness has always been tied to the other. Whether we’re talking about literal monsters, as in the case of Bride of Frankenstein, or the queer-coded nature of Hays Code-era films like Cat People一or even decades-later queer vehicles Dr. Jekyll & Sister Hyde and Sleepaway Camp一there’s always been a queer pulse throbbing inside horror storytelling.
In recent years, the ability to tell LGBTQ+ tales and the boldness with which you could play around in that sandbox has shifted tremendously. Within the last 20 years, the horror lens has refocused on allowing actual unapologetically queer stories to be told, from 2004’s Hellbent to more recent fare like Freaky and The Perfection. Thankfully, we also live in a world where So Vam and Children of Sin can exist, two of last year’s most surprising releases that relish in queerness while deconstructing unchecked homophobia and religious trauma. In both, it’s about finding community and standing against a society that would no sooner see you dead.
I grew up in a typical Christian household一you know, the fire & brimstone type. I was told I was going to burn in hell everyday of my life. I knew I was queer long before I had the words to properly define it. But I suppressed my identity so I could win over the love and mercy of an unknowable god. It would be decades before I could relinquish some of that trauma, and truth be told, I’m still working through some issues in therapy. That’s why Christopher Wesley Moore’s Children of Sin hits me as hard as it does. The low budget feature wades into one family’s religious dysfunction and follows two teens, Jackson (Lewis Hines) and Emma (Meredith Mohler), as they navigate a strict belief system and find themselves sent to a religious retreat.
Their abusive step-father Robbie (Jeff Buchwald) preaches from his holier-than-thou pulpit about the sanctity of traditional family values and abstaining from sex. He’s not a preacher by trade, but he is a mouthpiece for the sort of vitriol we’ve witnessed over the last six years in certain corners of the internet and at various political rallies around the country. Jackson and Emma’s mother Tammy (Keni Bounds) cares deeply about her kids (or so we think) but keeps her lips closed on all religious matters, an act of pure complicity. While she watches her children be berated and ridiculed for simply existing, Tammy contends with her desperation for independence while playing the dutiful, soon-to-be wife.
‘Children of Sin’
Jackson suppresses his queerness with prayer and tuning into radical evangelical TV. He’s been conditioned to believe who he is is a “sin,” so much so that he exhibits Stockholm syndrome towards Robbie. Emma couldn’t care less, and justly so. Robbie is not only verbally abusive but sexually assaults her, resulting in pregnancy. Jackson and Emma become sucked into the evangelical establishment, unable to escape or call for help. When they’re sent away to a religious retreat for three days, they are forced to confront modern religion and the stranglehold it has over their everyday lives.
Jo-Ann Robinson plays Mary Esther, who acts as retreat leader and house mother. She’s an austere figure and treats the residents with a cruel, unwavering hand. Robinson oscillates between a cheery, fake disposition and completely unhinged, in a Strait-Jacket sort of way. Mary Esther believes in strict discipline一using emotional, physical, and psychological tactics to break down the young teens’ defenses. She operates on a strike system: three strikes and you’re dead. The basement works as solitary confinement, where Mary Esther slowly tortures until they beg for forgiveness or murders them when they don’t. But in truth, no one gets out of the retreat alive. Parents dump their unwanted children and leave them to be lambs to the slaughter.
Mary Esther holds her counselors to the same rules. Hank (Moore) and Joel (Jacob Thomas) are previous residents, having made it through the program and prayed the gay away. Well, sort of. Hank spends his free time hooking up with the groundskeeper, with Joel playing the part but barely treading water. He has too big of a heart to really go through with Mary Esther’s disturbing punishments. In one of the film’s most uncomfortable scenes, Mary Esther holds a fashion show in which the young girls are given makeovers and she instructs Jackson to gaze upon a young girl’s body and “take it out.” Hank intervenes and confronts Mary Esther, who eventually dismisses the residents.
Throughout the rest of the film, Mary Esther goes on a murderous rampage, picking off the residents and counselors one by one. Jackson and Emma stand alone, and metaphorically speaking, they learn they must kill the part of themselves that told them they were unworthy of love and compassion. To live the happy life they truly deserve, they are forced to murder Mary Esther, who doesn’t go down easily, and soon after Robbie and their own mother. There’s no escaping what they have to do; that’s traumatic in and of itself. But it’s a cathartic act. They find liberation in the killing. And they come to understand the level of sheer determination and will to live needed to survive in the world.
‘So Vam’
In So Vam, Kurt (Xai) follows a similar journey. Instead of a throwback slasher, the film (directed by Alice Maio Mackay) uses vampire lore to impart its empowering messaging. “I listen to the song of dream,” Kurt muses over the introductory voiceover. He has ambitions to become a drag queen one day, but a world shrouded in hate may be an unconquerable hurtle. Early on, Kurt is a victim of a hate crime, as bigots pulverize him in the streets and tell him to kill himself. In the knick of time, vampiric icon April (Grace Hyland) arrives and delivers the epic line, “Sup cunts?” before attacking the group.
During a night out on the town, Kurt runs into a vampire named Landon, a seductive and creepy older gentleman, who entices Kurt into taking a joy ride and going out for a drink. He has far more sinister intentions, however, and ends up biting him. Landon leaves him for dead, but he doesn’t finish the job. Kurt morphs into a vampire himself. He’s terrified of what this means for his existence, yet April takes him under her wing and consoles him, encouraging him to find freedom within such an immense transformation.
Kurt’s new-found bloodthirsty nature draws parallels to the queer experience. In order to understand oneself, shedding your former self is necessary, severing ties with old ways of thinking and societal constraints on identity and sexuality. In an age when LGBTQ+ people are being killed for simply existing, So Vam presents both the terrible, inescapable reality and the ways by which we discover community through shared trauma and fear. When attending a drag show over the summer, I felt warmth radiating from the crowd, and I knew I was in the right place. Kurt finds that same energy within his totally queer vampire posse.
‘So Vam’
“When did you get so tough?” Kurt’s BFF Katie (Erin Paterson) asks. Kurt takes a beat before responding, “I guess I always was.” Between attacking gay conversaion camp counselors and other avenues of hunting, Kurt finds love in Andy (Tumelo Nthupi). Even though he stands in the shadow of his older brother, a homophobic meathead, he’s been reborn in his life in such a way that it ultimately doesn’t matter. What matters most is his love for himself and the chosen family he’s gathered. So Vam ends with Kurt strutting onstage at Club Nocturn, performing his first-ever drag show as Fangsy Fucker. The world of drag plays an important part of the film, particularly as it relates to community and taking back power. In the spirit of Death Drop Gorgeous, another indie delight, drag is about expression and identity.
“That stage is yours, so is the world. So rule it honey,” Kurt encourages in another voiceover. So Vam concludes with this apt reminder to take up space. With cis people controlling the world, such films impress upon queer viewers that we are worthy to be loved and to love freely. It should never cost blood to exist. As devastating as reality can be, film is a safe haven. For 90 minutes or so, we can escape into a campy good time and see ourselves reflected back. That is invaluable. Both So Vam and Children of Sin have vitals things to say about the queer experience and the pain we must endure on a daily basis一but the characters rise victorious. And so can we.
Children of Sin and So Vam are vastly different in tone and style and equally important fixtures in the rising tides of LGBTQ+ filmmakers. Society might often feel dark, cold, and lonely, but it’s creatives like Christopher Wesley Moore and Alice Maio Mackay that are shining beacons and bring hope, community, and compassion to the world. We are lucky to have them and their stories. Here’s to more queer people making queer stories and taking over the world in the process. It’s about damn time.
Double Trouble is a recurring column that pairs up two horror films, past or present, based on theme, style, or story.
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