Editorials
Killer Comedy: The Mismatched Appeal of Comedians in Horror
As someone who became an avid follower of the Saw franchise during its reign as kings of horror in the mid-to-late 2000s, there was a little mental whiplash at the news of Spiral, the latest entry in the ever-expanding world of the Jigsaw killer, casting two A-list names to lead the charge. One of those names is not only an active executive producer of the film in his own right, but his rise to fame came through establishing himself as one of the world’s most successful and popular comedians.
That man is Chris Rock, one of the undisputed kings of comedy who made a name for himself not just with his HBO specials, but through his work in film, namely the Madagascar franchise. Known for his iconic energy and recognizable high-pitched voice aggressively commanding the audience to pay attention to his every word, Rock is just about the last person I would expect to not only headline but produce an entry into Saw, mostly known for its elaborate, blood-soaked traps perpetrated by an unknown assailant communicating through a clown-faced doll.
It’s a decision that has been met with some skepticism online, questioning how an actor primarily known for comedy could believably lead an entry in the Saw universe without bringing attention to it. Truthfully, there’s no real way to avoid it in Rock’s case. Whenever people see Chris Rock, comedy comes into mind and it’s almost impossible to not have that in mind while watching Spiral. But within the doubt of Rock proving his worth in horror is a trend bewildering yet intriguing enough to warrant a discussion of the genre’s capabilities.
The trend is the very idea of comedians in horror in the first place. Horror is a genre that has defined itself as a place for audiences to confront their worst fears or even to ponder questions we might have deeply suppressed in an attempt to protect our idealistic existence. The best horror challenges our preconceived notions on a variety of personal and world topics, having the ability to also take an extra step by playing around with film techniques to achieve this goal.
The best horror can also transcend genre to become a unique entity that manages to unnerve us no matter how much we try to understand it. It’s why projects like Hereditary, Audition, Scream, The Exorcist, and countless other horror titles have stood the test of time. In a sense, these movies do not restrict themselves to being “just” a horror movie. The genre is at its most visceral when it invades an aspect of our lives that we didn’t believe could be tainted by a type of horror we’ve tried protecting ourselves from.
Audition and Scream have extra relevance in this particular conversation for their ability to mix a lighter tone with a dark underbelly that helps them carve their respective spots in the genre. Scream is a horror movie for armchair horror fans, playing on slasher tropes and containing next-level self-awareness on the genre’s inner workings, making us feel closer to the protagonists than we would with a by-the-books slasher. It’s that strengthened bond that makes their eventual deaths feel all the more painful to witness; it’s as if we’re watching one of our movie night buddies get slaughtered in cold blood.
Audition subverts in a different way, playing with the set-up of an emotional romantic drama and then flipping everything on its head when the love interest is actually a stone-cold killer. Time is spent developing a widow who has grown lonely and a single father’s attempt to get back in the dating game through an act of deceit masked as an audition for a fake movie. The set-up implies a quirky romance dramedy before hitting us with a harrowing tale of abuse and its far-reaching effects into adulthood.
These two examples extend horror beyond its genre trappings to capture a new sense of fear and dread that we wouldn’t feel in a set-up that “prepares” for us to experience a horror story. Accessible as these films may be, there’s a healthy dose of taboo in crafting horror around concepts that we wouldn’t want horror to have anything to do with. Once it enters territory we deem “too much” for horror, an opportunity is presented to create something truly horrifying.
Now let’s talk about comedy.
Jim Carrey in ‘The Number 23’
Comedy, much like horror, is far more versatile than we give it credit for. It’s often seen as the type of art armed with the sole purpose of making the consumer laugh at a joke, humorous observation of life, etc. It’s what we look for in stand-up comedy, right? Comedians stand on stage and riff on a variety of topics, sometimes inching close to home for us, and we form a bond – an idea of our preferred comedian providing a safe haven for us.
It’s primarily why comedians straying away from that safe haven and stepping outside of their – and by extension, our – comfort zone can sometimes be met with a mixed reception. Audiences generally have a rough time accepting a face of comedy being lit in an unfavorable or grim light. Drama is slightly more palatable on account of the stories being grounded in a firm place in reality for the most part. But a shift to horror can be overwhelming for audiences hesitant to make the jump.
Chris Rock’s decision to lead Spiral is only the latest example of this trend, one that has been around since the usually comedic Tim Curry opted to sit in a make-up chair and transform into the infamous killer clown Pennywise for the It miniseries in 1990. Curry’s legendary performance helped establish him as one of the most frightening, yet engaging actors of his time and it all came with a performance that was still considered somewhat against-type for him.
The concept of a comedic actor playing a demented clown may not sound like a huge leap for audiences to comprehend, but the terror of a dancing clown secretly being a child murderer – raising a direct comparison to John Wayne Gacy – plays into the idea of horror thriving in the world of taboo. Casting a comedic actor for this only adds an extra layer of realism that digs into our psyche whether we like it or not.
Comedians like Jim Carrey and Robin Williams have often been praised for the smiles they’ve put on our faces over the years, so seeing them take up roles that veer closer to horror and psychological thrillers just feels…off. Carrey’s frenetic comedy style is an ace in the hole for strict comedies, but that same style can turn around and make us feel uncomfortable in something like The Cable Guy. We see Jim Carrey the way we normally see him, but the context now switches to his behavior being indicative of a larger personal problem that can become deadly before we realize it.
The late Robin Williams was no stranger to serious roles even in the late 80s and 90s, going back-and-forth between his fast-paced improvisational style and a sweet sincerity that garnered him millions of fans around the world. When we see that same man stalk a family in One Hour Photo, the level of terror exceeds the same idea if it were performed by an actor we are used to seeing in these roles. Against-type casting has been a thing in Hollywood for ages, but a comedian switching gears in this manner always feels as though we’re seeing it for the first time.
But however odd it may be, this trend manages to succeed in its job of surprising audiences more often than not. Even critically mixed performances such as Vince Vaughn in Psycho ’98 or Jim Carrey dabbling in horror a decade after The Cable Guy with The Number 23 feel like spirited attempts at playing with the minds of the audience in a horror setting. We may not hold all of these performances in equally high regard, but their mere existence still work as good jumping-off points for times when horror tried to get under our skin through the art of against-type casting.
We have even seen a prominent example of this win an Oscar in the case of Jordan Peele’s creation of Get Out. We had long known Peele as the comedic actor from madTV who rose to prominence with Keegan Michael-Key in Key & Peele. So a genuine horror effort felt off-putting, especially with a trailer that seemed to imply a healthy mix of horror and comedy. Peele does provide a handful of laughs here, but the comfort we got from his work in sketch comedy was replaced with a scathing horror satire that felt as though it came out of nowhere.
But it didn’t. The point is that none of this pops up out of nowhere. Comedians surprising audiences with darker and dramatic roles isn’t a new phenomenon by any means and Chris Rock’s contribution to the Saw series isn’t breaking new ground. But it’s still noteworthy enough to make headlines whenever it does happen. Skepticism aside, there is excitement to be had over what Chris Rock could potentially bring to a serious horror franchise.
Furthermore, comedians dabbling in horror may never feel commonplace in mainstream horror, but the shock factor in seeing them step into new territory is a cursed blessing. Horror has already been labeled as an outcast of Hollywood in spite of its immense profit margins, but witnessing the unlikeliest of celebrities embracing the genre is the inclusive spirit that comes (or rather should come) with such a twisted world.
Robin Williams in ‘One Hour Photo’
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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