Gender and Contemporary Horror in Television

Steven Gerrard, Samantha Holland, Robert Shail, Steven Gerrard, Samantha Holland, Robert Shail

• Publisher: Emerald Publishing Limited
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN:
  9781787691049
• eBook ISBN:
  9781787691056
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Gender Studies
• Index: Social Sciences

The successful return of horror to our television screens in the post-millennial years, and across a multi-media range of platforms, demonstrates that this previously moribund genre is once again vibrant, challenging and long-lasting. The traditional TV audience of the past would have watched very few horror TV shows, because not many were made. But that has changed. Programme makers have tapped into their public's insatiable need - in these days of terrorism, violence and mayhem - to provide programmes that have high production values, engaging storylines, and plenty of frights and gore.  

Horror TV offers a safety-valve for its audience, one that enables them to enter into it from the safety of their armchairs. The era of instant access, streaming, downloading and binge-watching whole seasons over a weekend, where fandom has blossomed into a cultural force, clearly shows horror as a vital part of today's TV scheduling.

This edited collection investigates the rising popularity of horror-television through deconstructing the gender roles within them via series of case studies including such programmes as Hannibal, American Horror Story, The Walking Dead, Penny Dreadful, Supernatural, The Exorcist and Bates Motel. By using a series of case studies and employing theoretical modes of close analysis, each chapter demonstrates how and why these TV shows are important in reflecting the changing gender roles within modern society.

PART I
THE MONSTROUS FEMININE

Chapter 1

‘She’s That Kind of a Woman’: Tracing the Gender and Sexual Politics of the Female Vampire via The Hunger and American Horror Story: Hotel

Chloe Benson

Abstract

This chapter seeks to compare and contrast two compelling portrayals of the bisexual or ‘gender-blind’ vampire: The Hunger (1983) and American Horror Story: Hotel (2015). These texts present a number of notable differences. They were released over 30 years apart and they also diverge markedly in form: Hotel is a 12-episode television serial, whilst The Hunger is a tight 97-minute-feature film. Whilst these differences highlight shifts in the format of horror more broadly, they also facilitate the reflection on whether the portrayal of the bisexual vampire has dramatically shifted alongside these changes. Such a reflection is ripe with potential given that in addition to their differences, both texts also share significant aesthetic and narrative similarities. Both Hotel and The Hunger foreground performativity and feature female protagonists who defy heteronormative understandings of gender and sexuality. Undoubtedly, Hotel can be read as an aesthetic homage to The Hunger. However, whether Hotel also echoes some of the more conservative aspects of the earlier film’s politics is a more complex question. Focusing on the ways that these female vampire protagonists, as well as a selection of their lovers and victims, are gendered, this chapter will illuminate a number of developments and lingering issues in the ways that horror depicts (or circumvents) complex facets of the relationship between bisexuality and gender.

Keywords: Bisexual; gender; sexuality; horror; vampire; abject

This chapter seeks to compare and contrast two compelling portrayals of the bisexual, or gender-blind vampire: The Hunger (1983) and American Horror Story: Hotel (2015). The Hunger and Hotel present a number of notable differences; they were released over 30 years apart and they also diverge markedly in form: Hotel is a 12-episode television serial, whilst The Hunger is a tight 97-minute feature film. Whilst these differences highlight shifts in the format of horror more broadly, they also facilitate reflection on whether the portrayal of the bisexual vampire has dramatically shifted alongside these changes. Such a reflection is ripe with potential given that in addition to their differences, both texts also share significant aesthetic and narrative similarities. Both Hotel and The Hunger feature female protagonists who defy heteronormative understandings of gender and sexuality. Hotel can be read as an aesthetic homage to The Hunger. However, whether Hotel also echoes some of the more conservative aspects of the earlier film’s politics is a more complex question. Focusing on these female vampire protagonists, as well as a selection of their lovers and victims, this chapter aims to illuminate a number of developments and lingering issues in the ways that horror depicts the sexuality and maternal qualities of its female vampires.

1.1. Gender, Sexuality and the Female Vampire

Gender has long held a pervasive impact on the characterization of the vampire and its relationship(s) with human beings (Auerbach, 1995). Emphasizing the significance of the ways our monsters are gendered, Barbara Creed (1993) distinguishes between male monsters and what she terms the ‘monstrous feminine’. The monstrous feminine, ‘as constructed within/by a patriarchal and phallocentric ideology’ explains Creed (1993, p. 2), ‘is related intimately to the problem of sexual difference and castration’. The female vampire, more specifically, ‘is monstrous – and also attractive – precisely because she […] threaten[s] to undermine the formal and highly symbolic relations of men and women essential to the continuation of patriarchal society’ (Creed, 1993, p. 61). This monstrous female figure penetrates the flesh of her victims, bringing forth blood and its menstrual connotations, whilst also transgressing sexual morés and destabilizing the division between life and death (Creed, 1993, pp. 61–62), as well as normative and queer desires. Accordingly, Creed (1993) argues that, in her undermining of the symbolic order, the female vampire embodies the abject.

As a liminal and disruptive figure, the vampire also attracts substantial critical attention within queer scholarship. Palmer (2016) observes that the female vampire’s status as persecuted outsider and her ability to shape-shift makes her a figure of identification for some queer audiences, who themselves must navigate unsafe contexts from a marginalized position. Beyond this identification, the vampire’s eroticization of unconventional encounters further signals her queer tastes. Through the exchange of blood, the vampire demonstrates a mode of eroticism that disavows the sexual organs and, in many cases, gender altogether. Sue-Ellen Case (2000, pp. 204–208) describes the vampire as ‘queer in its lesbian mode’, because ‘her bite pierces platonic metaphysics and subject/object positions’. Although female vampire texts proliferated on screen throughout the twentieth century, becoming more and more sexually explicit, Case (2000) argues that their literalness lacks the power of earlier tales. The explicit sexual encounters between women that are depicted in Hotel and The Hunger may at first seem inherently queer and transgressive, but feminist and lesbian scholarship illuminate the complex representational politics at play in these screen texts (Auerbach, 1995; Case, 2000; Creed, 1993; Zimmerman, 1981).

Miriam in The Hunger and The Countess of Hotel can be linked to early literary vampires like Carmilla, as well as the longer tradition of lesbian vampire theory. However, they also strike compelling parallels with broader characterizations of female bisexuality on screen. For instance, analysing The Hunger, Jo Eadie (1997) aligns Miriam with Catherine Trammel of Basic Instinct (Paul Verhoeven, 1992) and Lane from Alison Maclean’s 1990 film Crush. All three women, he explains, are ‘unconfined figures’ in their respective texts, who attempt to fit in unnoticed but ultimately cause disruption (Eadie, 1997, pp. 155–156). For Eadie (1997, p. 142):

the presence of a bisexual figure in film is an indicator that a cultural tension is being broached, whose contours the bisexual enables the audience to negotiate, and whose dangers the bisexual always embodies. As an outsider s/he is the one who is seen as going beyond the limits, and who thereby serves to teach a lesson about what those limits are […] [I]t is not their bisexuality in itself that is significant, but rather those concerns which their bisexuality stands for.

Marjorie Garber (2000, p. 98) makes similar observations of the vampire; whilst vampires of the twentieth century have often been depicted as sexually voracious heterosexual women, homosexuals, bisexuals and racial others, they have ‘insistently incarnated the fears and desires of the times’. This chapter does not seek to evaluate whether Hotel or The Hunger offers positive or negative portrayals of the female vampire, but endeavours to trace the meanings and uses of this bisexual figure in horror. The Hunger and Hotel provide a compelling pairing for this exercise because they exhibit striking similarities as well as telling differences, including distinct contexts of production. In the light of Eadie’s (1997) assertion that the textual meanings and uses of bisexuality reflect cultural tensions and Auerbach’s (1995, p. 5) argument that the vampire’s appeal is ‘dramatically generational’, Hotel offers a telling opportunity to assess the ways that the bisexual vampire trope has changed.

1.2. Timely and Timeless: Miriam and The Countess

Released in 1983, The Hunger is an adaptation of Whitley Strieber’s 1981 novel of the same title. Miriam, ‘the affluent Carmilla of the 1980s’ (Auerbach, 1995, p. 57), is marked by her literary forebears as well as the glamourous aesthetic and competitive economic politics of her epoch. ‘The Hunger deliberately sets out to update the vampire movie’ (Creed, 1993, p. 68) and its divergences from tradition reflect its context:

Miriam is far from timeless. She epitomizes glamour of the 1980s, subordinating history to seductive objects: jewellery, furniture, lavish houses in glamorous cities, leather clothes. Responding to the success stories of her consuming decade, Miriam lives through her things. She kills, not with her teeth, but with her jewellery […] She preserves her desiccated former lovers […] as carefully as she does her paintings. These things, along with the music and the cityscapes over which she presides, make us envy Miriam’s accoutrements instead of her immortality. (Auerbach, 1995, pp. 57–58)

The film’s ending reiterates this obsession with materialism and competitiveness. After Sarah attempts suicide, Miriam attempts to move her body into storage but suddenly the decrepit figures of her former lovers emerge from their coffins, plummeting Miriam over the edge of the balcony where she hits the ground and loses her youthful vitality. In a later scene that depicts Sarah staring out over the cityscape in a luxe apartment of her own, Miriam’s screams emerge from a stored coffin. Eadie observes a level of ambivalence in the film’s relationship to appetite and hunger in this ending; whilst the insatiable Miriam is overthrown, punished for her admonishment of limits, Sarah, also a bisexual vampire, is restored as Miriam’s stand-in (Eadie, 1997, p. 153). Yet, this ambivalence is curtailed by Auerbach’s (1995, p. 59) reading of the conclusion, which highlights that Sarah’s triumph reflects ‘the competitive business ethos that reigned over America in the 1980s. There is room for only one at the top’. The impact of AIDS also bears noting in any consideration of the film’s context. In 1983, documentation of AIDS-type cases was limited, but ‘Media representations of AIDS […] and our filtered knowledge of the emergence and exponential growth in the 1980s of an epidemic that attacked and killed the young, the beautiful, the daringly promiscuous […] through their sexual practices – make it extremely difficult to read a vampire film like The Hunger without reference to AIDS’ and its associated homophobia (Nixon, 1997, p. 120).

Premiering in October 2015, Hotel occupies a distinctly different sociocultural terrain than Scott’s film. In 2015, three decades after the advent of the AIDS epidemic, the use of Truvada for PrEP was on the rise (Highleymen, 2017) and following a Supreme Court Ruling, marriage equality was achieved universally across all American States. In addition to the cultural gains made towards LGBTQ rights in the US throughout 2015, Hotel was also preceded by the hype of the first four instalments of American Horror Story (AHS) and its reputation for taboo-breaking and transgression. Since its premiere in 2011, AHS has attracted both criticism and a cult following. The premiere episode of Hotel, (‘Checking in’), secured the second highest ratings record for the FX network at the time, beaten only by the premiere of the fourth season of the series, Freak Show (Kissell, 2015). But ‘Checking in’ also drew controversy, most ardently for its depiction of a young male heroin user being raped by a monster wearing a drill as a strap-on sexual device. Richard Lawson (2015) described AHS as ‘garbage’ in his review of the episode, criticizing the homophobia implicit in its portrayal of rape. Lamenting that a ‘sordid, wicked, gay, horror anthology series’ would be ‘great’, Lawson (2015) argues that ‘What we have instead is a show where Ryan Murphy can indulge his fantasies about hairless, pouting pretty boys, while punishing or otherwise marginalizing limp-wristers and cross-dressers’.

Writing on Murder House, AHS’ first season, Tosha Taylor (2012) raises comparable, albeit less explicit, concerns about the series’ treatment of gender and sexuality. Taylor’s (2012) analysis predates later seasons of AHS, but he identifies a number of issues and thematic concerns that have become hallmarks of the series as a whole. Whilst AHS depicts external and supernatural horrors like ghosts, witches and vampires, ‘its horror revolves around more domestic and realistic concerns – infidelity, rape and perceived sexual deviance’ (Taylor, 2012, p. 136). For Taylor (2012, p. 149), the series’ first season ‘attempt[s] a progressive discussion [of these issues] but remains problematic’. Whilst AHS is commonly celebrated by critics for its taboo-busting, the series’ treatment of gender and sexuality is complex.

This complexity and tension is reflected in the characterization of The Countess and the series’ exploration of her desire and aggression. Despite their contextual differences, both Miriam (Catherine Deneuve) and The Countess (Lady Gaga) share a number of paradigmatic sexual and gender qualities that illuminate some of the ways that Hotel constrains bisexual possibility in gendered ways, as well as the enduring anxieties embodied by the monstrous feminine. Part of the pair’s similarities stem from the fact that Hotel is a direct homage to The Hunger, openly weaving aspects of the cult film into its rich tapestry.

Murphy’s ode to Scott’s film is most explicit in the sequence introducing The Countess. In ‘Checking In’, The Countess and her lover, Donovan (Matt Bomer), first appear on screen as they ready themselves for a night out. The appearance of Lady Gaga was hotly anticipated in the lead up to the series premiere and the introductory sequence’s visual style further tantalizes viewers by mimicking the fragmentary cinematography and editing of The Hunger. The Hotel sequence commences with a needle being carefully placed upon a record, ushering in the propulsive beat of the song ‘Tear You Apart’ by She Wants Revenge. This synth rock sound parallels The Hunger’s use of a Bauhaus track in its opening sequence and reflects the early 1980s aesthetic influencing both texts. As the camera pans out from the spinning record, it reveals a bright pink neon sign: ‘Why are we not having sex right now?’ The erotic introduction of The Countess that follows is fetishistic, offering viewers fragmentary glimpses of her via close up. She applies red lipstick and runs her hand down her jewelled bodice sensually. Her lover Donovan’s back is shown as he stands up in a steamy bath tub. In quick succession, a series of close ups show him applying eye liner, donning a ring, polishing his shoes and tightening The Countess into a corset. After snorting cocaine, the pair leave their home.

Viewers get their first unimpeded look at the pair as they walk arm in arm through a shadowy cemetery and sit down at an outdoor screening. Just as Miriam and John (David Bowie) ooze style in their dark coats and chic sunglasses as they wander through a New York club, Donovan (Matt Bomer) and The Countess are fashion-forward and sleek. The Countess is draped in diamonds and a bright red overcoat that lends her look a more timeless, classic quality than Donovan or the vampires of The Hunger, but her blonde hair and black pillbox hat strike parallels with Miriam’s distinctive style. Whilst Miriam and John target their prey at a Bauhaus show, Donovan and The Countess seek company at an outdoor screening of Nosferatu (1922). The Hunger places its vampires in a hip, urban centre from the outset, whereas Hotel contrasts its vampiric couple with their antecedents by alluding to more traditional vampire lore. As the pair sit in a graveyard exchanging gazes with a younger couple, Nosferatu’s Count Orlok flickers across the screen. The threat of violence and disease that will be associated with vampires throughout the season is ever-present here, the imagery of Nosferatu serving a similar function to the caged monkeys spliced throughout Miriam and John’s hunt in The Hunger. When John and Miriam attract the attention of a couple and leave the club, the sequence’s editing becomes even more rapid and disjointed. The action cuts between Miriam and John’s flirtations, the Bauhaus performance, and a caged monkey who we later learn is being held at a medical research facility. This cross-cutting and emphasis on shadow and juxtaposition emphasizes the film’s interest in trappings and disease.

The breaching of boundaries is thematically central to the opening sequence of The Hunger but the sex that follows Miriam and John’s seduction of a young couple is notably heteronormative until it meets it violent clima...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Introduction
• Part I: The Monstrous Feminine
• Part II: The Monstrous Masculine
• Part III: The Monstrous Other
• Select Bibliography
• Select Filmography
• Index