Editorials
“Are You Even a Horror Fan?” On Toxic Fandom and Gatekeeping in the World of Horror
Fandom can be a funny thing. People become very protective of the things they love. As horror fans, most of us have likely had to defend our love of the genre a time or two…hundred, which can cause some jading over time. This is perfectly understandable considering the deep chords that horror has the ability to strike in each of us. Our passions are stirred by anything that appears to question or threaten the genre we love. Passion is not the problem. The problem is taking that passion to a place of exclusion for the sake of preserving some sort of “purity” in horror fandom.
So, what is a horror fan? What does a fan look like? Is there an ultimate expression of horror fandom? Horror is a big tent capable of housing a vast fan base and a massive variety of people. Collectors, cosplayers, and convention die-hards. Deep cut devotees, indie darlings, and those who only check out the big franchises. Edgelords, scaredy-cats, and everything in between. I count my own horror fandom as beginning before I could even see a horror film. I’m old enough to remember a time when the VCR was a fairly expensive luxury. But, in the years before my family owned one, I discovered and became obsessed with the Universal Monsters through library books. When I was about four, my mom bought me a Famous Monsters activity book, which I still own. When we finally did get a VCR, one of the very first movies I watched on it was the 1931 Frankenstein… and my fandom was cemented.
Truly, there is no one way to love horror. That is obvious, right? But if that is the case, why do gatekeepers so often come out of the woodwork? Of course, most fans are wonderful, compassionate, and welcoming people who form a diverse community of misfits. There are two kinds of fandom, however, that concern me. One is largely an annoyance while the other has proven to have a profound impact on movies and the creators behind them.
The first, the annoyance, are what could be called exclusionists or gatekeepers. These are the ones that try to prove their credibility by showing up in Twitter mentions to tell people they’re stupid for liking a particular movie or weak for finding a film (almost any film it seems) scary or disturbing. Recently, a video rife with misguided vitriol and laughable inaccuracies attacking a person who expressed how frightening a particular film was to them went viral. It was intended to be the first in a series called “You’re Not a Horror Fan.” I don’t intent to rub salt in the wound of that particular exchange (okay, maybe a little salt is warranted), but needless to say, the poster of that particular video was dragged over the coals. The problem with the video was not the passion behind it but the gatekeeping mentality; the “you’re not a real horror fan unless” of it all.
It is important to keep in mind that these guys (and yes, it is almost always guys) are relatively harmless. As aggravating as they can be, they have no real power. They can buzz around our ears and the internet all they want, but they can’t do anything to actually exclude anyone from the horror community. All they can do is buzz, not actually sting. Most of the time they just hang out in their corner of the tent and whine to each other. Have at it, bros, just don’t be surprised when most refuse to listen as we head to our dark web suppliers for copies of Cannibal Holocaust (or we can just go find it on Amazon).
Far more dangerous are the Annie Wilkeses of this world. When Stephen King created this iconic character, he may have had other things in mind, but she has become an apt metaphor of modern toxic fandom. Now, no one is saying that these “number one fans” are literally kidnapping creators, strapping them to beds, and forcing them to make art that conforms to their liking. There is a real-world version of this, however, that has become all too apparent over the past several years. Fan backlash has had an extremely powerful effect on the ways some movie franchises have been produced going forward. The biggest examples are the #ReleasetheSyderCut movement, the fallout after Rian Johnson’s The Last Jedi, and most closely related to the horror world, the controversy over Paul Feig’s Ghostbusters reboot.
Each of these situations pressured studio executives to change course. In the case of Justice League, the film, reworked and finished by Joss Whedon after tragedy compelled Zack Snyder to leave the project, was considered a critical and financial disappointment. In the past, that would have been that and life would have gone on. The fan-led hashtag campaign, however, eventually encouraged Warner Brothers to sink a great deal of money into allowing Snyder to complete his original vision, an unusual gamble which paid off. I don’t begrudge a filmmaker being given the chance to complete their film, but I was disturbed by the way it came about. Ultimately, rather than appeasing fans it emboldened them to start a new #RestoretheSnyderverse campaign.
Both Ghostbusters (2016) and The Last Jedi were praised by critics and performed well at the worldwide box office. It was the backlash by a particularly vocal element of the fanbases of these franchises, however, that caused huge fallouts for both at the studio level. At Lucasfilm, the original directors of both Solo and the final installment of the Skywalker Saga were replaced with “safer” bets, likely leading to far more bland results in both cases. Also, a planned new trilogy created by The Last Jedi director Rian Johnson was quietly cancelled. Ghostbusters made over $229 million worldwide, but was considered a failure, partly because of the fan backlash (plus that massive budget). Sequel plans to this reimagining were scrapped in favor of a second sequel to the original film, the just-released Ghostbusters: Afterlife. In the cases mentioned here, these filmmakers have generally landed on their feet, but what happens to the new or diverse voice who has not yet gained Hollywood clout and is silenced for good by fan backlash?
I have been very vocal in various places about my concern over creators being shackled and forced to bend to the demands of the fanbase. I feel the final result of this sort of “filmmaking by committee” or fan consensus almost always results in underwhelming, bland movies. We love these IPs because the originals were daring, often breakthroughs, in film. George Lucas’s Star Wars changed the face of cinema because it was different from anything else around at the time. Horror-comedy was never the same after the fierce originality of the original Ghostbusters. Yes, of course we want to experience that lightning in a bottle effect again, but it simply will not happen under the kinds of circumstances that have been created.
Luckily, horror has been largely untouched by this kind of fandom up to this point, but I fear it could happen at any moment. I plead with fellow horror fans that we resist the urge. Ultimately it only benefits movie fans when filmmakers are given the freedom to try something new. Sometimes it connects, sometimes it doesn’t, but occasionally it’s a home run. Innovative filmmakers need to be given the space and opportunity to take those wild swings. When they do, we all end up winning.
So, back to my original question, are you really even a horror fan? The term fan is, of course, derived from the word fanatic, implying a deep love for something. Ironically, the litmus test for true fandom in recent years seems to have evolved (or devolved) into how much you hate something. Maybe it’s time that we turn that around again, that we express our love for the genre in whatever way we see fit. Better yet, forget about keeping fandom “pure” and let others express it how they see fit as well. That is what I mean by this big tent community of horror fans. So, whether you fall asleep watching A Serbian Film or hide your eyes during the clown scene in Poltergeist, the criterion for horror fandom is simple and only requires answering one question: do you love horror? Whatever form your expression of that love takes, if the answer is “yes,” then you are a horror fan.
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.
You must be logged in to post a comment.