Is Clive Barkerâ€˜s â€˜Nightbreedâ€™ A â€œGay Horror Fantasy Epicâ€?

Had you heard of Nightbreed before today? I had — only because I watched it for the first time yesterday at the behest of Decider's esteemed Editor-in-Chief, Mark Graham, who simply told me, "You've gotta watch this crazy movie." Written and directed by Clive Barker (who wrote and directed Hellraiser), Nightbreed has what you'd expect from a B-movie directed by the horror master and released in 1990: it's gruesome, a little nonsensical, and campy as hell — especially with more sophisticated eyes in 2015, a time when rubbery prosthetics are eschewed for big-budget CGI effects. But I was compelled to watch the film not because of what it was about (and, really, I can't go much into detail about that because I'm still a little confused), but more about the subtext of the film, which some critics have described as being pretty openly gay.

All great horror films are about something beyond the terror that lies on the surface, and most films of the genre truly succeed when they delve into psychological realms. Think The Exorcist and Rosemary's Baby are just about the Devil's evil doings on Earth? Think again: the former says a lot about the scary, unforeseen effects of puberty and maturation, and the latter applies the same plot device to explore similar themes around pregnancy and motherhood.

To hear that Chilean filmmaker Alejandro Jodorosky, who has developed his own cult following, offer praise to the otherwise critically disparaged Nightbreed simply for its thematic elements — calling it "the first truly gay horror fantasy epic" — was a bit surprising, and, at the same time not at all. Clive Barker is openly gay, and he wouldn't be the first director to explore the societal views of homosexuality through the horror genre, as A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy's Revenge did just that, albeit ridiculously, five years earlier. Though Jodorosky's queer reading of the film is based mostly on what he sees as "the unconsummated relationship between doctor and patient," which, after watching, is only the tip of the iceberg and, I'd argue, a red herring.

Now is when I attempt to parse this silly movie's plot for you: Aaron Boone (played by Craig Shaffer, who is the poor man's Josh Brolin none of us knew we needed) is called in by his former psychiatrist, Dr. Phillip K. Decker (played by filmmaker David Cronenberg), who perhaps too easily convinces Boone that he is a serial killer responsible for a string of murders eerily similar to dreams that Boone described in therapy. Decker, however, is the real serial killer, but he still manages to trick Boone into taking responsibility, and also gives him LSD disguised as lithium. After a minor freakout and narrowly avoiding being hit by a truck, Boone winds up in a hospital in the same room as a nutty guy who mutters over and over about Midian — a fantasy world that exists in Boone's dreams. The man, named Narcisse, tells Boone he is desperate to go to Midian where he belongs (which is, in fact, a real place), and begins to tear off his own face (as one does). Boone manages to escape the hospital and head to Midian based on Narcisse's directions.

Boone arrives in Midian, and is soon attacked by two monsters just before he's outnumbered by the police and his evil shrink Decker, who tells the cops he has a gun. The cops shoot Boone, and he's taken to the morgue where he awakens thanks to the supernatural effects of a monster bite. He breaks loose and heads back to Midian where he encounters a much friendlier group of monsters who welcome him into their underground society. Meanwhile, Boone's girlfriend Lori investigates his disappearance, and heads to Midian where she encounters a friendly (and not-so-terrifying) monster named Rachel, who tells Lori about her kind. Called the Nightbreed, the residents of Midian are a group of creatures who took shelter underground after being hunted and eradicated by humans for centuries.

To make a long story short, there's an epic battle between the humans, led by the murderous Decker (and featuring a drunken priest named Ashberry, who makes claims of an imminent apocalypse at the hand of the Nightbreed), and the monsters, led by Boone. It is, naturally, wild, violent, and inventive, and the Nightbreed succeed thanks to the release of a feral clan of creatures who had been locked away below Midian by the leaders of the Nightbreed. Oh, and there's also the Nightbreed god, a scary guy named Baphomet who destroys Midian at the battle's end and instructs Boone to find a new home for the Nightbreed, as a prophecy foretold he would join and eventually lead them.

Okay, yeah, all of that happens. So where's the gay stuff?

Early in the film, there's a teasing scene between Boone and Decker: the doctor calls his patient, who is fresh from a steamy shower and, of course, half-naked, and tells him that he desperately needs to come visit his office. And when Boone does arrive the next day, boasting a stiff leather jacket, there's a lot of close-talking. But I don't buy that as textual proof of "the unconsummated relationship between doctor and patient," as Jordorosky puts it. If anything, it's based on Cronenberg's creepy Canadian way of talking with a very monotone, soft voice. Of course you'd have to get close to a patient for him to understand you! (No offense to any creepy Canadians who may take umbrage with my assumptions that you're all like David Cronenberg's serial killer psychiatrist in Nightbreed. I'm sure most of you are great, if soft-spoken.)

But that's not to say there isn't a lot of queer subtext in the film, even if it's not about dudes having sex with each other (I know, I know — there's actually a lot more to gay culture than fuckin'!), which is blatantly seen in the Nightbreed's culture. Now, I'll venture delicately into a queer reading of Nightbreed, as I'm about to argue that a group of scary, blood-thirsty monsters are stand-ins for queer people, but go with me for a bit. While there are many marginalized groups in all societies, those who are not discriminated because of their ethnic backgrounds are at a particular disadvantage when it comes to establishing safe, like-minded communities. That's why it's difficult to come out as queer if there's no one else around you who shares that visible experience, and that's why queer culture is so varied — it has been established through years as a safety net of sorts for those who have been pushed outside of their so-called normal societies.

Because normalcy is subjective and based solely on how the majority defines it, it's important to establish mini-societies and cultures with people like you. Which is what the Nightbreed did in Midian: they created a safe zone where they could work, build, and live together without the threat of destruction by human hands who, per usual, feared them because they were different. They are a peaceful tribe with their own laws and rules; they cannot co-exist with humanity, so they live separately. Plenty of humans living in Midian's surrounding areas know about them, and even Lori is able to express some empathy for their plight once she learns of their existence and the violent history of their marginalization.

As for Boone and Decker, they are both monsters in their own way. Boone is somehow meant to become a Nightbreed based on their own cosmic prophecy, whereas Decker, who is a figurative monster in that he's actually a serial killer, is not destined to be one of the supernatural creatures as he is, despite his brutal nature, just human. That's the interesting point that Barker asserts with his film: "monster" is a relative term, and a monstrous appearance doesn't necessarily exhibit a monstrous inner life.

Of course, the notion that appearances aren't always what they seem is a pretty obvious theme, but Barker effectively balances the do-gooder message with some actually creepy imagery — sometimes subtle, sometimes over-the-top and funny. I wouldn't say that I'd be drawn to Nightbreed if it weren't for this assignment, but it was a pretty entertaining film that had everything I could hope for: an intriguing, if complicated, plot, some Beetlejuice-esque monster effects (but much more R-rated), and highly dramatic (and, in turn, incredibly campy) sequences. With the added bonus of the queer subtext to provide an interesting spin on the horror genre, I'd say the film is worth watching for those looking for an early '90s relic that is both unsettling and hilarious.

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