Horror as a genre is one of the most divisive points of conversation between moviegoers. While many can appreciate horror films for their technical expertise and thematic explorations, plenty of others are simply unable to stomach what’s on screen. To their defense, sitting down to watch a Cronenberg flick isn’t quite as easy as watching the latest A24 coming-of-age drama, but this in no way makes either experience more valuable than the other.
Body horror is a subgenre of horror that focuses specifically on sensations relating to the human body, garnering visceral reactions from audiences.Body horror has found a home amongst queer audiences, elevating the genre from a niche subcategory to the mainstream.
Why the queers? It’s simple. For pretty much every body horror film, there’s a queer reading of it. More specifically, a trans reading. The simple act of making a film related to being trapped in a body, changing in a way that they are horrified by? Honey, that’s the trans experience. This isn’t just something that people theorise, no—masters of the form, namely David Cronenberg (The Fly, Videodrome), have been outspoken in their respect to the trans community, even going as far as to compare the lived experience of trans folk to an artform in of itself:
“‘Body is reality. I want to change my reality. That means I have to change my body.’ And they’re being very brave and they’re investing a lot in these changes, especially these ones that are not reversible, which most of them aren’t. I say, go ahead. This is an artist giving their all to their art.”
(David Cronenberg, when asked about his film Crimes Of The Future (2022) and its relation to the “transgender movement.”)
Cronenberg’s infamous Videodrome (1983) was panned by audiences at a test screening, with people filling out their feedback forms simply saying ‘SUCKED’ and asserting that they simply ‘fail to understand what releasing such a film to the public would achieve,’ as many people believed that this would be a film with no audience.
Nowadays, I am one of many that considers Videodrome a masterpiece, exploring the relationship between body, technology, addiction, and the horror of transformation.This begs the question: why? Why was it panned so heavily? With all of its technical accomplishments and thematic exploration, why couldn’t audiences open their minds and try to understand what Cronenberg was trying to achieve?
It can boiled down to something as simple as what was written on the feedback form, and no, I’m not referring to ‘SUCKED’—I’m referring to the fact that audiences simply did not understand that body horror could resonate with queer audiences who don’t have a positive relationship with their own bodies. Transformation and growing up are terrifying things.This truth is echoed by the film’s protagonist, Max Renn, whose first instinct when he finds a growth in his chest is to point a gun at it (I won’t get more specific at risk of spoiling it.You should really watch Videodrome! Or I’ll point a gun at you.)
So, where do we find body horror nowadays? Well, thanks to a developed understanding and acceptance of the LGBTQIA+ community, and the promotion of media literacy amongst younger audiences,queer people have found body horror to be one of the best ways to depict the innate horror of having a body. Now that we see more media featuring trans characters (albeit, not nearly enough), it’s not uncommon to receive a body horror film that centers on transness. Critically acclaimed Palme D’or winner Titane (2021), is a body horror film that relates directly to the queer experience.
Thematically, Videodrome and Titane are not too dissimilar at all. In fact, a lot of the things audiences originally despised in Videodrome are dialed up to an 11 in Titane, and seemingly a main reason for audience's enjoyment. This is a clear indicator of audiences wanting to see more queer body horror stories. It feels the rawness of queer themes are tailor made to be explored as graphically as the body horror genre encourages. Because the truth of the matter is being queer is not always pretty, and pretending it is does no favours to anyone. Sometimes, you feel disgusting, like a monster, transforming into something with no control.Seeing this depicted so viscerally is therapeutic for audiences.
Where does body horror go from here? Simply put, it goes up. Last year, we received The Substance (2024), which I think just about everyone saw (and trust me, there are PLENTY of fantastic queer readings of the film). It became a cultural and critical phenomenon,being nominated in several categories at the 97th Annual Academy Awards and receiving praise for its (insanely queer-sounding) score, disturbingly beautiful performances, and impressively disgusting practical effects.
Body horror is here to stay, because audiences are hungry for more.
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