Editorials
Excavating Queer Representation in ‘Tammy and the T-Rex’
Before the COVID-19 pandemic paused the film industry, queer horror was gathering momentum. Knife+Heart (Yann Gonzalez, 2018), Lizzie (Craig William Macneill, 2018) and Scream, Queen! My Nightmare on Elm Street (Roman Chimienti, Tyler Jensen, 2019) garnered accolades, and out actors were portraying out characters in mainstream Horror films and TV shows helmed by out directors. This hasn’t always been the case. Growing up, it was sometimes difficult reconciling my queerness with my passion for horror cinema when LGBTQ+ characters and references were typically excluded, coded or relegated to ridicule.
To alleviate anxiety and combat cabin fever during quarantine, I have been turning to silly, schlocky, so-bad-they’re-good horror films. This craving for comfort viewing led to Tammy and the T-Rex (Stewart Raffill, 1994), the only teen love story where the obstacle for the star-crossed couple is not disapproving parents or opposing cafeteria cliques, but a mad scientist transplanting the boyfriend’s brain into an animatronic Tyrannosaurus rex. A mashup of midnight movie genres including gross-out comedy and science fiction, Tammy and the T-Rex earns its horror badge of honour with the restored gore in Vinegar Syndrome’s 2019 “Gore Cut,” now streaming on Shudder. Much has been written about how this preposterous film came to be, but its uncharacteristically progressive queer positivity has been generally unacknowledged or misconstrued. And its overlooked queer character Byron (Theo Forsett) deserves to be crowned a queer horror icon.
From the opening credits where the title incorrectly reads Tanny & the Teenage T-Rex, and Tanny…er, Tammy (Denise Richards), performs a cheerleading routine set to a rock song written from the perspective of a love-struck dinosaur, Tammy and T-Rex is established as a campy trashterpeice. Then hunky jock Michael (Paul Walker) struts on screen wearing white football pants and a crop top, a costuming choice almost as considerate of gay viewers as James Brolin’s tighty-whities in The Amityville Horror (Stuart Rosenberg, 1979). And yes, it is okay to appreciate Walker’s chiseled physique. Twenty-one years old when the film was made, he rather unconvincingly portrays a high school student. Only five minutes after his stirring introduction, Michael confronts Tammy’s punk ex, Billy (George Pilgrim), resulting in one of the most bizarre fight scenes of all time. Described by the police upon arrival as, “one of them testicular standoffs,” Michael and Billy violently grip each other’s testicles and squeeze, refusing to let go as a crowd of overzealous teens cheers on. But Michael’s washboard abs-baring wardrobe and ball busting, homoerotic horseplay are not the only notable elements for queer horror fans. It is the character Byron and the film’s treatment of him that are significant and misunderstood.
Ostensibly fulfilling the sidekick role, Byron is more than just the female protagonist’s best friend. He is out, proud and (spoiler alert) doesn’t even get killed off like the comparable character Adrien (Rabah Nait Oufella) in Raw (Julia Ducournau, 2016)! Far from subtextual or coded, Byron’s queerness is explicitly declared by his first line, “work it, girl,” exclaimed as he sashays across the screen. A rare and refreshing queer character is announced; one who is not coming to terms with his sexuality or struggling with self-acceptance but is comfortably and unapologetically himself. Byron is vivacious, fierce and fabulous. Yet much of the writing about him is exaggerated and disparaging. Culture Crypt suggests Byron “could only be more flamboyant if he were played by Harvey Fierstein in drag,” Collider calls him “a blinding constellation of every ‘gay best friend’ trope ever created,” Cinema Sangha brands him “the impossibly swishy best friend,” and Cinema Crazed claims he is “hard to watch.” Tinged with homophobia and anti-effeminacy prejudice, these descriptions are inaccurate and denigrating. Byron does not ascribe to antiquated ideals of masculinity, nor does he adhere to restrictive, #masc4masc (straight-acting) gay male standards and this should be celebrated, not derided.
Countering the tired trope of the lecherous, perverted queer, Byron is amusingly complimentary of Michael rather than predatory. Defying the Sissy Villain trope, Byron is heroic. And he is not a one note character, as suggested by other writers. When Byron tries to explain Tammy’s relationship with Billy to Michael, he frankly confesses, “she made a mistake. Believe me, we all do.” A more complex backstory or romantic history is hinted at, adding another dimension to the character I wish was further developed. Sure, a storyline where Byron pursues his own partner would be nice, but there just might not be room in a film that already includes a mad scientist subplot, a gruesome lobotomy, two decapitations, two eviscerations and a scene where a mechanical T-Rex calls his girlfriend from a payphone. Byron contributes to the film’s comedic relief with the funniest quips and best one-liners: “hang on to your boobs girl, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride” and “you don’t gallop off into the sunset on a dinosaur and don’t create a stir,” but he also sincerely expresses the sentimentality at the heart of Tammy and the T-Rex, stating, “time heals all wounds; you’ll live to love again” and “don’t give up; remember, true love never fails, honey.”
Subverting the GBF (Gay Best Friend) trope, described by i-D as “often used to identify white, cis, gay, men who perform various supplementary roles to a straight white female protagonist,” Byron is black. This does not simply make him the “ultimate marginalized sidekick” as condescendingly labelled by Cinema Sangha, or “an outrageous gay teen presumably modelled on RuPaul” (The Independent). I agree with one of the only other positive online mentions of Byron from Gayly Dreadful: he is “a POC queer character who…has agency through the film.” Bryon is active, brave and loyal. When the possessive Billy makes another appearance, Byron refuses to leave Tammy’s side and threatens to scratch out the eyes of Billy’s henchman. The relationship between Byron and Tammy is not the superficial straight girl/gay bestie cliché — they have serious shit to worry about like grave robbing, brain swapping and a rampaging mechanical dinosaur! Their dynamic is the most believable and entertaining component of the film and my favourite scenes showcase the chemistry between Forsett and Richards.
During Michael’s funeral, their rapport is on full display. As Michael’s alcoholic uncle drunkenly rambles the eulogy, Tammy and Byron share smirks, eyerolls and elbow jabs. After the mourners depart, the pair attempts to steal Michael’s corpse to return his brain. Upon opening the coffin, Michael’s body is discovered to be inconveniently rotting and infested with maggots and rats, allowing for some slapstick humour and Byron’s hilarious commentary: “maybe we should get some bugspray or something” and “I’m definitely gonna get cremated.”
The hunt to find a replacement body for Michael’s brain leads Byron and Tammy to the morgue where they peruse the selection of cadavers like they are shopping for accessories at the mall. “Cholesterol city! The worms and the maggots are gonna have a field day with this guy,” exclaims Byron about an overweight male. Unzipping a body bag and revealing a female, Tammy says, “I don’t want a girl” and Byron jokes, “well, neither do I.” Referring to her breasts, he also comments he “could have used those [himself].” Regarding older corpses, Bryon remarks, “dead is as old as you’re gonna get, honey!” Unable to make a decision, Byron and Tammy model bodies for the T-Rex through the window. Here Forsett’s comedic timing and flair for physical comedy are highlighted. Regarding a well-hung corpse, Byron, states, “he’s short, but he’s big. Know what I mean Mike?” In an attempt to sell the female cadaver as an option, Byron asserts, “we can be like three sisters!” Hamming it up, Forsett’s performance style is in sync with the rest of the actors, except for Richards, earnestly serving her best damsel in (dino) distress. Byron is always in on the joke and we laugh along with him, not at him.
The film’s treatment of Byron has also been misinterpreted and misrepresented. I do not read Tammy and the T-Rex as homophobic. The main characters accept Byron. To Tammy, he is not merely the GBF, providing fashion tips, gossip or relationship advice — though he can be counted on to produce a “Kamikaze with a vodka chaser” if needed. When Byron first meets Michael, the hot, popular dude that in most teen films would be discriminatory or hostile, Michael is neither. He is sweet and polite. After Byron exits this encounter, Tammy asks Michael if he already knew Byron. When Michael responds, “yeah, I think everyone knows Byron,” it is without malice, accompanied by a charismatic giggle. Michael is not making fun of Byron; he is stating the obvious. Byron has a big personality and his manner of dress is ostentatious. He stands out but is not otherized. Even hellbent on revenge post brain transplant, Michael (as the T-Rex) treats Byron respectfully. After trampling other partygoers and tearing limbs off members of Billy’s gang, the T-Rex carefully picks Byron up from the ground and dusts his shoulder off.
For many of the supporting players, Byron’s sexual orientation is similarly a non-issue. A nurse disinterestedly accepts his compliment of her golden, claw-like nails while Byron’s sheriff father is protective of him and warmly comforting after Michael’s death. Billy’s goons even insult Byron with the same generic expletives they use for everyone else. Inclusion!
Contrary to incorrect reports that multiple “f” slurs are slung at Byron (Cinapse, /Film), there is only one occurrence when the word comes up in Tammy and the T-Rex and it isn’t even fully uttered — the character stops himself from blurting it out. This usage is drastically different from the infamous hurling of the slur in Freddy vs. Jason (Ronny Yu, 2003). It is undeniably offensive that a likeable (up until this point), central character played by Kelly Rowland uses the term to demean and emasculate Freddy Krueger in that film, and the audience is still meant to side with her. As Uproxx stresses, “it is lobbed in an effort to diminish his power, just as it has been against LGBT individuals throughout history.” The word is alluded to in Tammy and the T-Rex for a distinctly different purpose.
The character who almost uses the “f” slur is one half of the yokel Deputy duo Norville (George ‘Buck’ Flower) and Neville (Ken Carpenter). Inept and ignorant, they are repellent caricatures as they munch popcorn while investigating a gory massacre and crack misogynistic jokes. They are not respected by any of the other characters and Byron justifiably calls Neville a pervert. When Norville almost uses the “f” word or when Neville says, “don’t drop anything. Don’t bend over,” as they pass Byron, the audience isn’t meant to laugh along with their immature snickering. This is where many critics have missed the point. Though weak and juvenile, these snippets of dialogue are attempts to illustrate the bigotry and idiocy of Norville and Neville, setting them up as antagonists. We are never meant to side with them and at least some audiences have picked up on this. RogerEbert.com reports that during a 2019 screening of the film at Chicago’s Cinepocalypse, the audience, “rightfully booed the homophobic jokes involving the best friend character that were dated even back in 1994…” As Norville and Neville are the film’s only intolerant characters, Tammy and the T-Rex seems to suggest their prehistoric views and values should be extinct.
Absent from lists of the Best Queer Horror Characters (HorrorBuzz, GCN, Syfy Wire), Byron deserves to be embraced as a queer horror icon. The mere presence of this character is valuable in terms of queer visibility but the film’s positive treatment of him makes Tammy and the T-Rex worthy of excavation this Pride Month. More queer representation in horror cinema is needed and I am hopeful the queer horror momentum continues when we press play on the film industry post-pandemic.
Editorials
Larry Cohen’s ‘It’s Alive’ Still Towers Over a 2009 Remake That Maybe Should’ve Stayed Unborn
When I write about remakes, I often bring up the word “justification.” What’s the impetus for the remake’s existence? Reinventing icons for a new generation, or benefiting from a few decades’ worth of special effects advancements? Often, there’s a reason that you can acknowledge and say, “Alright, I see what you’re going for.” That holds in Josef Rusnak’s It’s Alive, which tries to reinvent Larry Cohen’s mutant baby B-movie of the same name in what I consider the worst possible way.
I didn’t say it had to be a GOOD reason.
I’ll start with Cohen’s own reaction to Rusnak’s 2009 update: “It’s a terrible picture. It’s just beyond awful … I would advise anybody who likes my film to cross the street and avoid seeing the new enchilada.” A blunt take, but I agree. Rusnak justifies his remake by diverting drastically from Cohen’s exploitation-y flick about a newborn monster killinPreview (opens in a new tab)g Los Angeles residents, but it’s such a bafflingly weak reimagining. Cohen remains faithful to tenets of creature features while tugging at our hearts with commentaries about parents caught between morality and adoration, whereas Rusnak asks, “What if we punished a mother for trying to have an abortion?”
As Cohen says, cross the damn street.
The Approach
It’s Alive (2009) is one of those women-focused horror projects that make you scoff, derogatorily, “This was written and directed by dudes, wasn’t it?” Cohen’s original screenplay isn’t airtight, yet it does well to respect Sharon Farrell‘s “shaken mother of a monster,” Lenore Davis. Paul Sopocy and James Portolese, on the other hand, pen a screenplay that reductively focuses on Lenore protecting her bitey offspring, with a bent-out-of-shape abortion subplot thrown in. That’s not to say Cohen’s Lenore doesn’t display the same protective maternal instincts, but Rusnak plays in a sandbox of lame-duck tropes, dooming Lenore for the supposed sin of a mother’s love.
Teenage party-girl turned actress Bijou Phillips stars as Lenore Harker, a New Mexico college student who quits to live with her architect boyfriend, Frank (James Murray), and raise their incoming baby. She’s ditching pizza nights and girl talk with bestie Marnie (Ty Glaser), moving into the Albuquerque woods, where Frank has a secluded homestead with brother Chris (Raphaël Coleman), who is wheelchair dependent. Lenore goes in for a pregnancy checkup, where she learns her unborn child has doubled in size, requiring a cesarean section birth. So the surgical team opens her up and extracts “Daniel,” only to be murdered by the newborn, found resting on Lenore’s stomach, taking a post-slaughter rest.
The immediate deviation is how Daniel is found nuzzling Lenore in the hospital, and doesn’t look “freakish” at first glance. Daniel comes home with Lenore and Frank, setting up the happy lil’ family dynamic. It’s no longer a conspiratorial hunt-and-hide scenario; the “home sweet hell” take on Cohen’s original. Which, frustratingly, dissolves the core suspense that Cohen achieves. For Daniel to kill, victims have to come knocking on Lenore’s door, which becomes a repetitive cycle of visitors and hidden bodies that remove any excitement and surprises.
Does It Work?
Rusnak earns points for trying something new. Remakes have historically been less willing to put unique spins on existing stories (see: Cabin Fever). But there’s also a question of retaining the essence of the source material. Why remake a movie if you’re going to spin so far from the original that you don’t even need to use the title? It’s the Child’s Play of it all. If you wanted to make a killer AI toy movie, why use the Child’s Play legacy to do so (outside of market familiarity)?
It’s Alive doesn’t fully abandon Cohen’s ideas, but it does feel thinner than expected. There have been plenty of killer baby movies since It’s Alive—Cohen hardly has the concept trademarked. What’s fun about Cohen’s It’s Alive is how Frank chases his mutant kin around Los Angeles, eventually into the sewer system, culminating in the Los Angeles (drained) river. Rusnak directs what’s essentially a one-location thriller that minimizes the scope to meet not only its lower budget, but lesser ambitions. Where Cohen pushes farther, Rusnak pulls back, losing the idiosyncratic quirks of Cohen’s superior It’s Alive.
There’s nothing wrong with a good chamber piece, but the psychological torments Sopocy and Portolese opt for are soft as fresh-out-the-bag marshmallows. So much of the film hinges on Lenore’s cover-up tactics when she realizes her wee one is a maneater, which becomes one-note in the process. Frank wanders around, ignoring red flags, and Chris is removed from the picture for a small bit to keep the massacre going. In both films, Lenore has trouble turning against her child—but Cohen is much more thoughtful about Lenore’s state through it all. Rusnak’s direction is short-sighted, rudimentary, and flat, as it has nothing interesting to say about the fears of parenthood that drive Phillips’ Lenore to nurture the vengeful child she once wanted to terminate.
The Result
In It’s Alive (1974), Cohen makes a point of referencing Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, as John P. Ryan’s Frank recalls having the epiphany that Dr. Frankenstein is the villain, not his creation. It’s what drives Cohen’s screenplay, as we learn how the doctors tried to kill the original baby, since its deformities made it look like a melon-headed, fang-toothed freakshow. There’s none of that in Rusnak’s remake, which diminishes the creature’s origins and motives to anger. It’s an uninteresting modification because the point of Cohen’s picture is to question what makes a monster, and how its creators process their hand in the chaos. Rusnak’s not interested in such explorations, except when the screenplay shoehorns what foolishly appears as an anti-abortion undertone when we learn about Lenore’s sketchy internet baby-be-gone pills.
Even worse, the technical merits of Rusnak’s It’s Alive are unfortunate. Credit to the original’s cast, because Ryan and Farrell bring dramatic acting chops that accentuate their film’s tragedy; a legitimate heartbreaker. None of Rusnak’s cast are hitting on such a high caliber of talent, especially since there’s nothing meaty about Sopocy and Portolese’s character designs. It’s very Horror 101: ignore the obvious, act gobsmacked when the obvious happens, and bring it home. Phillips has been better in films like Bully and Hostel: Part II (maybe even The Wizard of Gore), while Murray is your average 2000s straight-to-video throwaway boyfriend. The rest of the supporting cast, sadly, barely even register.
There’s a charm to Cohen’s monster SFX, whipped up by Rick Baker—but also an opportunity. Cohen decided to use this three-mirror-blur vision, seeing through the baby’s eyes to show the beast as little as possible. If Rusnak wanted to make a stronger impact, he could have gone all-in on Daniel’s appearance to say, “Hey, at least we developed a rad creature!” But, alas, Rusnak might show even less of Daniel. When he does appear in the basement, or leap out of a trash can in the film’s climactic finale, it’s CG augmentation that distorts a puppet reportedly crafted by SFX superstar Tony Gardner. Cohen accomplishes infinitely more by putting his then-girlfriend Elaine Parkyn in a full-head monster mask, a pair of pointed gloves, and a partial body suit that benefit from optical tricks—because practical always wins.
The Lesson
It’s not hard to wonder why Millennium Films lost faith in Rusnak’s It’s Alive and opted for no theatrical release. In a time when horror remakes were all the rage, Millennium buried It’s Alive so deep that it’s not even watchable or rentable on streaming (ain’t even worth Tubi). No hyperbole, this remake stinks with the stinkiest of ’em. It’s slight on innovation, filled with awful genre generics, and is a slap in the face to what Cohen accomplished. There’s something so fresh about a killer baby flick that focuses on the suit-and-tie-wearing father, who is forced to challenge the stern, macho gender roles of the 70s, and something so disappointing about a 2000s horror movie that falls right back into outdated mindsets.
So what did we learn?
- Yes, for the hundredth time, some of those 2000s horror remakes are as bad as the haters made them all out to be.
- Ex-David Lee Roth, Ozzy Osbourne, and Alice Cooper bassist Todd Jensen plays Lenore’s doctor for some reason (which I wouldn’t have known without the internet).
- You can appreciate a remake for trying something different, but you can also detest a remake for how poorly it does something different.
- Why does Daniel look like a baby shark (doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo)?
Watching both It’s Alive flicks back-to-back gave me whiplash. When John P. Ryan (as Frank) confronts his cowering, terrified child-monster in the bowels of Los Angeles, I nearly shed a tear. That whole scene really, as Ryan realizes he’s become the Dr. Frankenstein of sorts, and his miserable, deformed boy craves his father’s affection in a time of need. Then you have Rusnak’s film, which brutally kills the pro-abortion character, insinuates Lenore is being punished for trying to abort Daniel early in the pregnancy, and deserves to die with her demon spawn engulfed by the worst CG flames this side of Birdemic: Shock and Terror. I just … kudos to Cohen for richly developing a sci-fi curio with a tremendous sense of emotional understanding, and nothing but thumbs down for Rusnak’s remake, which comes off as plenty boneheaded and hella halfhearted in the process.
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