Editorials
Hot Pink Horror and the Color of Feminine Rage [1989 Week]
Presented by Lisa Frankenstein, 1989 Week is dialing the clock back to the crossroads year for the genre with a full week of features that dig six feet under into the year. Today, Jenn Adams puts a candy-colored lens over the hot pink horror sub-genre.
The color most associated with the horror genre is undoubtedly red. Not only the hue of blood and anger, it’s also the shade of the iconic devil – a masculine figure said to be the source of all evil. But in recent years a new color has emerged to evoke a different kind of rage. Hot pink has become the new tone of female-centered horror. An effeminate variation of blood red, this electric hue combines the strawberry tones of wholesome girlhood with the electric fires of female empowerment.
Zelda Williams uses this color to her advantage in her horror comedy Lisa Frankenstein. Quiet and reserved, Lisa (Kathryn Newton) is still trying to adjust to life at a new high school when a freak lightning storm resurrects the dreamy corpse who’s grave she’s been tending. Hiding the Creature (Cole Sprouse) in her bright pink bedroom, Lisa begins to restore his decaying body with a sewing kit and a hot pink tanning bed. Williams bathes the film in rosy hues, evoking the girly pop iconography of the late ’80s.
Lisa Frankenstein may perfect the use of hot pink horror, but Williams is not the first filmmaker to play in a magenta sandbox. Each of the following five films display this empowering color as a unique metaphor for feminine strength.
Jennifer’s Body
Fifteen years before Diablo Cody created Lisa and her Creature, she wrote the hot pink horror classic Jennifer’s Body. Directed by Karyn Kusama, Jennifer (Megan Fox) is a gorgeous cheerleader who morphs into a boy-eating monster after surviving ritual sacrifice at the hands of an evil boy band.
The film’s most enduring image is of Jennifer – full after gorging herself on a clueless football player – sauntering down a high school hall in petal pink earrings, and a hoodie covered with cherry red hearts. Everyone else fades into the background as Jennifer approaches, electrifying the world with her feminine glow. After a lifetime of designing her appearance to appeal to men, she has become the predator – the boys who once judged her are now her prey.
Kusama uses the color to evoke female power in the film’s climax as well. With the bodies beginning to stack up, Jennifer’s best friend Needy (Amanda Seyfried) decides that something must be done to stop this insatiable lady killer. She dons a magenta, ’80s-inspired dress and sets off to find Jennifer at prom before she can devour any more unsuspecting boys. Needy also strikes a devastating blow with a can of pink pepper spray, the physical manifestation of a woman’s protective rage.
The Loved Ones
Jennifer may be a powerful predator, but she’s nothing compared to the sadistic Lola (Robin McLeavy) in Sean Byrne’s 2009 shocker The Loved Ones. This awkward loner loves all things girly and spends her days drawing hearts in her yearbook around the face of her latest crush. With the school dance approaching, Lola takes a chance and asks out Brent (Xavier Samuel), a popular classmate with problems of his own. He politely declines, but Lola unleashes her hidden rage and sends her Daddy (John Brumpton) to punish Brent for this rejection. They kidnap the poor teen and force him to attend a private dance set in the living room of their remote house.
Dressed in a pink satin dress, Lola brutally tortures Brent and prepares to turn her “prince” into a zombified “frog.” We learn that Brent is merely the latest in a long line of suitors Lola has targeted with her malevolent love. Demanding to be treated like a princess, she uses her femininity as a vicious weapon and destroys any man who refuses to submit. The film’s iconic posters feature Lola in her pink dress and paper crown pointing an electric drill at the camera, a disturbing portrait of female fury.
The Neon Demon
Nicolas Winding Refn uses hot pink to symbolize a different kind of female aggression in The Neon Demon, a striking film about the cannibalistic world of L.A. modeling. Refn introduces us to a young ingénue named Jesse (Elle Fanning) lying motionless on a couch in an electric blue dress covered in bright red blood. Despite this gruesome styling, she wears flamingo pink makeup on her eyes and lips, subtly hinting at her desire to succeed in this shallow world. The disturbing tableau pans out to reveal pink neon lights surrounding the set, as if poised to consume the naive young model. At an industry party two older women verbally tear her down in a bathroom lit with magenta light and she’s signed by a duplicitous agent wearing a striking fuchsia pantsuit.
Jesse quickly learns that it’s every woman for herself in this cut-throat industry. The pastel pinks and soft muslin whites of her own wardrobe slowly morph into more striking and severe garments as she begins to unleash her inner strength. While preparing to close a high profile fashion show, she catches a glimpse of her sinister alter-ego in the geometrical mirrors and finds herself reborn on the runway’s scorching raspberry lights. Having fully embraced her power and potential, she later stands in a strawberry robe and covers her face with bright pink glitter. With her competitors waiting with baited breath, Jessie finds herself fully immersed in the cruel world of hot pink artifice – for better or worse.
M.F.A.
Rape-revenge films have never been known for their subtlety. Though opinions vary wildly, many have accused older subgenre entries of exploiting sexual assault and capitolizing on a crime far too common in the real world. However, a new wave of filmmakers are attempting to reclaim the narrative by telling this horrific story through a female lens. Natalia Leite’s 2017 film M.F.A. tackles campus rape from an informed perspective with a moving script written by co-star Leah McKendrick. Noelle (Francesca Eastwood) is a college co-ed struggling to earn a graduate degree in visual art when she’s assaulted by a popular member of her studio. When her school’s administration cares more about sweeping this violent crime under the rug, Noelle takes matters into her own hands in an unplanned confrontation that leads to her attacker’s accidental death.
Stunned by a newfound feeling of power, Noelle embarks on a mission of revenge and seeks out other campus rapists who escaped prosecution. In a pivotal sequence, she dons a hot pink wig and crashes a fraternity party hell-bent on tracking down the perpetrators of a brutal gang rape. Noelle lures her target into her trap with this enticing mix of seduction and strength. Once she has him alone, she pounces and makes him pay a brutal price for the pain he has caused other women. Like a superhuman vigilante, Noelle uses this bright pink color as a powerful disguise allowing her to hide her own pain and demand the justice she’s been denied.
Revenge
Coralie Fargeat’s Revenge is a more fantastical examination of the rape-revenge subgenre connected to M.F.A. with a hot pink thread. When Jen (Matilda Anna Ingrid Lutz), a gorgeous if naive socialite on a weekend getaway with her rich boyfriend Richard (Kevin Janssens), climbs out of a helicopter in the opening scene she embodies the bubblegum innocence of a young woman in love. Unfortunately, Richard’s two associates show up unannounced and one of these brutish men sexually assaults her while his boss’s back is turned. Loving boyfriend that he is, Richard decides to handle the matter by pushing Jen off a cliff.
Having survived this horrific attack, Jen crawls into a nearby cave and tends to her wounds. She emerges transformed and becomes a warrior determined to punish these despicable men. Now a fearsome predator dressed in black, Jen looks nothing like the carefree young woman who first arrived at the desert bungalow. But despite this dramatic transformation, she never removes her pink star earrings. Jen may pick up the weapons of the men who are hunting her, but she holds onto the essence of who she is. This signature accessory becomes a symbol of female strength and a powerful reminder of who she will be on the other side of revenge.
Fargeat’s film is no doubt a harrowing watch, but it perfectly encapsulates the power of hot pink horror. Women do not have to adopt a masculine persona to find our own strength and we don’t have to lose track of what makes us uniquely identify as female. It’s called hot pink for a reason. Not only does the color imply the unique traits of a girlish joy, it also burns with the electric fire of our feminine rage.
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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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