Each month in Horror Queers, Joe and Trace tackle a horror film with LGBTQ+ themes, a high camp quotient or both. For lifelong queer horror fans like us, there’s as much value in serious discussions about representation as there is in reading a ridiculously silly/fun horror film with a YAS KWEEN mentality. Just know that at no point will we be getting Babashook.
***SPOILERS for Night of the Creeps to follow.***
Synopsis: An amalgamation of ‘50s alien invasion films, B-movies, slashers and zombie movies, Night of the Creeps sees alien brain parasites turning humans into zombies. Caught in the middle of the invasion is Chris (Jason Lively) who, with the help of his best friend J.C. (Steve Marshall), is trying to pledge the Beta Epsilon fraternity in order to impress sorority girl Cynthia (Jill Whitlow).
Queer Aspect: J.C. is Chris’ Gay Best Friend!
Trace
Well Joe, are you prepared to piss off a ton of people who are bound to suggest that there can’t possibly be a queer reading of Fred Dekker’s cult classic Night of the Creeps? Because I’m steeling myself for the angry comments. It’s totally there, though! It may not be explicit, but there’s definitely an implied queer reading to be made in the film. I’d love to talk to Dekker about it to see if it was intentional, or if it’s just something fellow horror writers came up with years later, but since that’s not in the cards we’ll just have to discuss it amongst ourselves. And dear readers, lest you think we are saying “J.C. is 100% queer and there is no other way to see it,” rest assured that that is not the case. Before we get to J.C. though, let’s go over some facts.
Though Night of the Creeps did earn mostly positive reviews, that didn’t translate to a commercial success. Released by TriStar Pictures on August 22, 1986, the film was a box office flop, earning a meager $591,366 domestically. It was only released in 70 theaters, so that gross isn’t too surprising, but it did doom the film to fall into obscurity until a small, but loyal fan base could develop. Night of the Creeps is now one of the most sought-after cult films of the ‘80s, which is probably why Shout! Factory is releasing a brand new Blu-Ray next month (where’s my Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II Blu-Ray, guys???).
It’s not difficult to see what attracted people to the film. It’s a fun, kooky and gory love letter to several different sub-genres of horror (it’s no coincidence that the last names of all the characters also happen to be the last names of famous horror directors). There isn’t a single second in this film that doesn’t include a sly wink to the audience.
Written and directed by Fred Dekker, who would go on to direct The Monster Squad the following year and co-write last year’s controversial The Predator with frequent collaborator Shane Black (who appears in an uncredited role as a police officer in Creeps), the film works for viewers whether they’ve seen the film’s it’s referencing or not. I mostly fall into the latter group, but anyone watching the film will be able to tell that Dekker knows his shit and that he (and everyone else involved) is having fun. That sense of fun translates to screen perfectly, which makes the film’s flaws even more forgivable. Such flaws could be the result of the fact that Dekker wrote the script in a week, but who knows?
Now, on to the gay stuff: I confess that I didn’t pick up on any subtext (intentional or not) during my viewing. Admittedly, it was my first time seeing the film so I’ll blame that on my focus being on absorbing everything that was going on (Night of the Creeps is a simplistic movie, but it’s stuffed to the gills with Easter eggs, homages and other little details). Upon doing some research, I’m kind of shocked I didn’t detect J.C.’s queerness sooner. I mean, J.C. flat out tells Chris that he loves him, and that isn’t the only example of the subtextual homoeroticism conveyed between the two. As the two sit on beds opposite each other, J.C. explains to Chris why he’s so intent on helping him date Cynthia:
“I bust my ass to help you and you get chickenshit again. And I push and I push and I don’t give up. And why? You don’t even know. You don’t even care. Because it’s important to me that you’re happy. Is that so crazy?”
Can this be seen as J.C. just being a good friend to Chris? Absolutely. But he also falls into the trope of the gay best friend typically seen in romantic comedies: a nonsexual character with no priorities other than to worry about his best friend’s romantic life and to make funny quips. J.C. more than satisfies these criteria, but the difference between him and many of the other one-dimensional G.B.F.s is that we really do grow to care about him, which makes his eventual death all the more upsetting. Also of note is the fact that J.C. is the only character in the film who has some sense of self after the slugs get into his brain. Could this say something about the higher state of being queer? Probably not, but far be it from me to prevent someone from looking at it that way.
The issue with the J.C. character, however, is that he is doomed to die from the start (you can’t have both of your male protagonists make it to the end, can you?), which also forces the film to embody the “bury your gays” trope. Sure, he gets to warn Chris about the slugs and provide a vital piece of information about their weakness (off camera), but he takes no part in the climax of the film and we don’t even get to witness his death, which I’m assuming was a suicide (the film doesn’t make it particularly clear).
Joe, this was not your first time watching Night of the Creeps. Did you enjoy it more or less on a rewatch? What are your thoughts on the J.C. character? And why are movies about evil slugs (Slither, Shivers, and this), destined to be box office bombs? Are they just too gross for audiences? I didn’t even get to discuss Cynthia, whom I find to be an excellent final girl.
Joe
This was emphatically not my first time watching Night of the Creeps (though I’ll confess that I can’t recall how or when I stumbled upon this amazing little gem). Night of the Creeps is actually one of my “go to” horror films for screening parties with my non-horror fans because it has juuuust the right amount of camp and scares to simultaneously appeal to fans of the genre, as well as scaredy cats who can barely handle a jump scare.
After all of these years I unabashedly still love this film. It’s a great mix of wit, character work, genre-blending and, perhaps most importantly, it has a great sense of timing and pacing. This is a movie with a runtime of less than 88 minutes and, following an introductory black and white opening prologue set in 1959, the shit pretty much immediately hits the fan in 1986 and the film barely slows down again until the credits roll.
Perhaps this is a good time to reference that there are a few different versions of the film floating around (see also: last month’s column on Nightbreed). One reason that we selected the film in advance of its forthcoming Scream! Factory release is because that Blu release includes both versions of the film: the Theatrical Cut and the Director’s Cut.
On the surface the difference in runtime is negligible (approximately 100 seconds), but the reality is that the two cuts feature radically different endings that completely change the viewing experience:
- In the Theatrical Cut, once the sorority house is blown up and Chris and Cynthia share a kiss, the dog who infected all of the boys on the bus trots up. Cynthia bends down to pet it and a slug shoots out of the dog’s mouth into hers (presumably infecting/killing her).
- In the Director’s Cut, it is revealed (unbeknownst to everyone) that Detective Cameron’s infected corpse survived the sorority explosion. He stumbles out onto the street and falls down; his head splits open and slugs scurry into the street and nearby cemetery as the alien spaceship from the opening sequence flies away into the night sky.
To jump straight into your inquiry about Cynthia, Trace, the Theatrical Cut essentially confirms that the story has no happy ending (which as we’ve frequently discussed is the equivalent of a box office kiss of death). To have gone through all of this and lost J.C., Detective Carpenter and Cynthia? Woof – what a downer ending to walk out of theatres with back in ‘86.
The Director’s Cut, on the other hand, offers a more traditionally happy ending for the new couple, while simultaneously leaving the door open for a sequel (in addition to infecting a bunch of corpses, the presence of the ship teases that Earth will continue to be manipulated by the aliens). It’s definitely less of a satisfying end if you’re a fan of Atkins’ grizzled film noir detective, but considering how much the film acts as a heteronormative romcom about Chris and Cynthia’s unorthodox prom courtship, it’s easy to see why Dekker would have opted for the longer cut that doesn’t kill off his female protagonist. I definitely prefer this ending myself; Cynthia’s handling of herself with that flamethrower (evocative, of course, of a certain Alien badass) is certifiably kick-ass and that girl deserves to kiss the geek.
Circling back around to J.C., I’ll confess that I, too, overlooked a queer reading of his character the first few times I screened the film. And I think that’s completely intentional! It’s a testament to Dekker’s amazing screenplay that queer audiences can easily read (or not read) J.C.’s less-than-straight love for Chris.
Also, for the second month in a row, you’ve opted for the less obvious queer signifier! I can’t believe you went with the easily dismissed declaration of love when there’s an entire exchange about Chris fucking J.C. and how much J.C. would like it!
For ’80s audiences who needed to believe that they were just watching a homage-filled zombie flick, however, it’s entirely possible to read J.C. as little more than the wisecracking best friend to Chris’ hero. In this way, J.C.’s role is quietly revolutionary simply because he is so normal; he’s not the kind of fan-service, in your face, “yaaas queen” caricature that we see in later horror entries that desperately try to shoehorn a queer character in simply to fill out the diversity/inclusivity quotient.
I truly love that J.C. is an under-the-radar queer character whose sexuality simply is. Would I would have preferred to see him survive to live another day along with Chris and Cynthia (à la Kevin J. O’Connor’s queer-coded Joey in Deep Rising)? Absolutely! But if that’s not in the cards, I do love that J.C. is the only character in Night of the Creeps who gets a truly emotional send-off. His tape recorded deathbed confession, which I would argue negates the need to actually see his suicide, effectively stops the film dead so that Chris can grieve for his absent bestie (and, obviously, collect some much needed info on how to stop the slug plague).
I’ve run out of space without tackling your question about the box office poison potential of these kinds of films, Trace, though I have some thoughts. I’m curious to read yours, however; you show me yours and then I’ll show you mine. Also: what did you think of Cynthia’s douchey frat boyfriend Brad, whom I affectionately refer to as Albino Vampire? And finally, how surprised were you at the black and white opening? I confess that I always forget that the film begins that way!
Trace
Apologies, Joe. I think I missed that entire exchange between Chris and J.C.! I assume that you’re referring to this, which takes place immediately after the quote I mentioned above:
J.C.: “If you take it seriously you just get depressed all the time like you are so fuck you!”
Chris: “Yeah, well, fuck you too.”
J.C.: “You’d try it.”
Chris: “You’d let me.”
J.C.: “You’d want me to.”
Chris: “You wish.”
Then yeah, okay. That’s a bit queer-coded. Whether or not Dekker intended for J.C. to be read this way is entirely up to the viewer, but I assume that he didn’t write J.C. as queer. This reading is surely a more recent development amongst its fanbase, right? If we do read J.C. as queer, then the fact that his sexuality plays no part whatsoever in his character is refreshing (not that I would expect any serious devotion of time to his sexuality in a movie in 1986, but still). That being said, if Dekker’s intention was for J.C. to be gay, do you not feel a bit cheated that that part of his identity wasn’t given more focus? Again, it’s 1986, but one can dream.
Allow me to play Devil’s advocate for a moment to discuss the inherent contradiction in what we as a queer audience want from our queer characters. We simultaneously want our queerness to be “normalized” to the point where it’s not a big deal if it’s part of a character’s identity (meaning: it’s not their sole personality trait), yet we also want the appropriate amount of attention given to that aspect of a character. While a character’s queerness doesn’t define them, it does play a part in shaping who they are (and anyone who says otherwise clearly hasn’t grown up being tormented for being different). Add to that the importance of accurate representation (something the aforementioned GBF trope almost always screws up), and it’s easy to see just why so many straight screenwriters get it wrong. There’s so much to take into account, and it’s their responsibility to get it right. But what is “right” is different to everyone.
To use an oft-quoted phrase: write what you know. This is why it’s so important to have queer people telling queer stories, and why I get so frustrated when a commenter asks us why it matters if a director or a screenwriter is queer or not. This opens up a whole other can of worms: should queer characters only be written by queer people? Should straight characters only be written by straight people? That’s not what I’m saying at all, but I do think research needs to be done if you’re writing what you don’t know, and that is where so many people get it wrong.
Joe, I notice that you avoided my remarks about J.C.’s death being a part of the “bury your gays” trope. You could even say that he is fridged; the term is traditionally used for female characters, but it applies perfectly to J.C. in that his death is intended to move Chris’ arc forward (it gets him angry enough to take action and also feeds him the knowledge that the slugs are weak to fire). This is why he’s the only character to get the truly emotional send-off. I do think that Night of the Creeps is too fun for there to be any malicious intent, but arguments about the mishandling of the J.C. character do hold water.
Hoo boy, that was a bit of a serious tangent, wasn’t it? Let’s move on to lighter fare. Based on your descriptions of both versions of the film, I have to agree with you that the Director’s Cut is more satisfying on a narrative level. Night of the Creeps has a bit of a mean streak, but it’s not cruel. Ending the film with Cynthia’s death would have felt cruel, so I can only imagine what the few people who caught the film in theaters walked out thinking.
As for the mainstream public’s aversion to slug horror, my sneaking suspicion is that it has to do with the fact that they all involve elements of comedy (even Shivers, which is the most straightforward horror film of the bunch, has some dark comedy infused into its DNA). My passion for defending the horror-comedy (or comedy-horror, whichever term you prefer) dates back to the very first article I wrote for BD back in 2014 (heads up: it’s the work of a novice writer).
Horror-comedy is a difficult sell for anyone other than die-hard horror fans, and even then it’s iffy. We have seen plenty of our readers criticize films like Us and Get Out for their use of comedy during tense scenes. Those may be poor examples, though, particularly Us, which was marketed strictly as a horror film so the comedic elements were unexpected. Films like Night of the Creeps and Slither are explicitly marketed as horror-comedies. So what is it about that particular sub-genre that turns off “regular” moviegoers? One can only assume it’s that some people can’t reconcile the mixture of death and destruction with light-hearted comedy.
Joe, I haven’t addressed your question about the black-and-white opening, but, in short, I liked it! I also realize that it seems like I’m coming down on the film and Dekker, but I’m really not! I enjoyed Night of the Creeps a ton and think Dekker crafted something insanely fun. I’m merely trying to voice different perspectives that people might have when diving into a queer reading of the film.
Anyway, I know you had issues with The Predator, so what do you think Dekker gets right with Night of the Creeps that he doesn’t in The Predator?
Joe
I certainly did have issues with The Predator! Mostly I found that film struggled mightily to balance its humour (which is subpar and borders on offensive, particularly in its treatment of Thomas Jane’s Tourette’s) with its action (which is good for the most part, albeit with some truly terrible editing near the end).
What Dekker struggles with in The Predator is executed nearly perfectly in Night of the Creeps. It has endlessly quotable dialogue, hamfisted effects that render the film endearing, a good amount of gore/mayhem and a bunch of great characters (Atkins’ gruff and grumpy cigar-chomping detective is just everything). It’s honestly one of my favourite films of the ’80s!
Now, that’s not to say that Night of the Creeps doesn’t have issues. As we’ve discovered doing these posts and the podcast, it can be tricky to revisit films, especially beloved films, of the past because the world has evolved and certain things aren’t acceptable anymore (arguably that’s usually for the best). In that regard, the issues you raise about J.C. getting fridged and the way that his death exists primarily to motivate the straight protagonist’s journey absolutely do suck.
Would I have loved for the film to keep J.C. around, or to even have a character like him as the protagonist? Yes, obviously. Was that going to happen at a time when AIDS was more or less synonymous with gay sex? Or when positive representation wasn’t a thing and the best LGBTQ+ audiences could hope for was a character that wasn’t dying or a stereotypical villain? Given the circumstances, J.C. is the absolute best you could hope for from a gay character in a late ’80s film.
From a 2019 perspective, though, yeah…we should want more. This is why it is so frustrating when screenwriters – gay, straight, bi or whatever – define these characters entirely by their sexual orientation as though they have no other qualities or toss in a casual “He’s gay” or “She just broke up with her girlfriend” and call it a day. You’re absolutely right that it’s a deft balancing act, but I would argue that you can tell the difference when the characters are well-written and well-rounded.
Ugh, now I’ve fallen into a serious tangent black hole!
Know what I really want more of? Weird albino frat boys! And mouthy cops! And girls with flame throwers! In all honesty, if we’re talking about the historical legacy of Night of the Creeps, I think one of the most obvious reasons why it is such a beloved film is because it is such a fun mix’n’match of horror genres and characters. I love that Dekker has seemingly taken all of the things that he loves about horror, thrown them into a blender and hit pulse.
It’s crazy to me that an oddball horror comedy like Gremlins stormed the box office only two years earlier to the tune of $148M while Night of the Creeps crashed and burned. Obviously, Gremlins had the support of powerful people like Kathleen Kennedy and Steven Spielberg, but it is odd how poorly some horror comedies tend to perform (especially the ones that deal with parasitic worms).
I suppose we shouldn’t be that surprised when horror comedies – already a hard sell – are made even more challenging to sell courtesy of the uncomfortable sexual connotations of slugs that work their way into the body in penetrative, oral fashion. I mean, the harsh reality of Night of the Creeps (and Shivers and Slither) is that it is a film about a bunch of folks getting face-raped and then turning into horrible somnambulist monsters. It’s not the most feel-good subject for a horror film and it doesn’t have the “high art” seriousness/prestige of Alien to make it more palatable.
Still, I challenge audiences who haven’t yet checked out Night of the Creeps to resist the charm of that black and white opening ode to 50s sci-fi and beach blanket films. Or to avoid swooning at Atkins’ film noir-inspired gumshoe who is just so sick of this shit. Or to refrain from applauding when Chris and Cynthia begin lighting up and shooting down the school’s population of fraternity brothers. You won’t be able to! The film is just too damn delightful!
Whether or not Dekker knew how progressive he was when he created iconic queer character J.C. is definitely up for debate, but the writer/director sure as hell understood the love letter that he was making. And any film that treats our beloved genre with that much respect and admiration is a winner in my books.
Next time on Horror Queers: it’s lights! Camera! Fashion! as we go blind with Faye Dunaway and The Eyes of Laura Mars.
Night of the Creeps is available to stream for $3.99 on Amazon. And don’t forget to catch up on our previous Horror Queers articles here or check out our podcast page here.
