For decades, horror films have held a stigma for poor cinema. They have been accused of being gory and violent with little emphasis on story. They are depicted as nonsensical popcorn entertainment and, to some, cross the border into offensive. One could easily look at a horror film and analyze it as racist (the black man always dies first), homophobic (where are the gay characters?), and most off all, anti-feminist (women in terror). I would like to argue the fact that horror films are among the most feminist structures in cinema. Currently in theaters is the French body-horror thriller Raw, the story of a young vegetarian woman entering her freshman year of veterinary school and ultimately becoming a cannibal. At face value, this seems like a simple excuse to mock vegetarianism while simultaneously stimulating a gore-hound’s appetite. I won’t go into great depth, as this is not a review for Raw, but will state that this is the type of film that elevates itself above the material. The story touches on themes such as body image, rape-culture, and, ultimately, blossoming into womanhood, with an emphasis on female empowerment that would shock any casual filmgoer. This may be surprising, but Raw is not the first horror film to touch on such themes, but is just the latest in a history that spans to the beginning of cinema.
The history of horror films dates back to 1911 when a silent adaptation of Victor Hugo’s classic novel, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, was released to theaters. One may ask multiple questions, starting with “how does Hunchback qualify as a horror film?” and ends with “what does this have to do with feminism?” To answer the first question, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, is often construed as the first “body-horror” story. Body-horror films range from John Carpenter’s The Thing to pretty much anything David Cronenberg has produced in his long career, with emphasis on deformation and transformation. This, in and of itself, could answer the latter question posed, as one of the greatest struggles of the female psyche is body image and ownership, which would support the metaphor of any body-horror tale.
However, I will go one step further and answer a question with a question. Who is the hero of The Hunchback of Notre Dame? Easily, one would point to Quasimodo as the hero of this story. He is the victim who struggles and succeeds in his journey in the end. However, I argue that the true hero of this work of literature is Esmerelda, the gypsy who goes beyond expectations of her character, is the first to support the outcast Quasimodo, and ultimately sacrifices her life for his protection. It is all the more impactful that we have such a strong and powerful female character in a work of literature that is over a century old, and this message is still carried to the original film. Esmerelda is not a victim, she is a hero. And this is a message that has been carried throughout horror film history ever since.
The next major milestone in horror cinema history is Alfred Hitchock’s Psycho, a film that does not just give its audience one, but two strong female protagonists. Once again, Norman Bates would be the go-to protagonist of this story, but to break it down in literary terms, he is not the character that grows or changes. He is the foil, he is the antagonist. To better understand, I will break down Psycho, as it technically is, into two parts: the Marion Crane half and the Lila Crane half.
From the opening, we are introduced to Marion Crane, a secretary/assistant for a bank. She is pretty, young, ambitious, and, unfortunately, also in love with a man in the midst of a divorce. Her boyfriend, Sam Loomis, loves her but must keep his relationship under wraps as it may cause a financial strain on his divorce and their developing relationship. When a financial opportunity comes her way, Marion takes advantage, risking her job and life, to bring security to both her and her male counterpart. This all comes to a head when she meets her demise at the notorious Bates Motel after she has a change of heart and decides to turn herself in and return the money she has come into. Marion does not owe any of her decision making to any of the men in her life. These are her decisions, these are her choices, just as much as it is for her to change her mind.
The second half of the story is seen through the point of view of her sister Lila, who has taken upon herself to investigate her sister’s disappearance. She, of her own volition, recruits Marion’s boyfriend Sam and tracks her sister’s movements to the Bates Motel. While digging into the story, she is the character who makes the revelation that something is being hidden, that her sister may be in more trouble than is played out. When push comes to shove it is Lila, not Sam, who puts herself at risk and enters the basement to discover the horrible truth and surprise revelation of the shock ending. Again, Lila is a woman of power, even when she is told to stay put and safe, she pushes forward, risking safety for answers that she needs and deserves.
Hitchcock has always been a purveyor of the female protagonist, and has always given his female characters more to work with than the expectation of the era. Just look at his classic Rear Window to see Grace Kelly as a woman not just beautiful, but in charge of her life, her future, and her sexuality.
But we do not stop at Hitchcock. Thanks in great part to this man and his genius, Psycho paved the way for the modern slasher film, a subgenre notorious (incorrectly) for the victimization of women. At first glance, this would seem like the ultimate woman-in-peril genre, but there is a phrase coined in the horror community that is still impactful, with good reason, today: The Final Girl. This is a phrase referring to the final survivor of most horror/slasher films, and with good reason. It is this girl that is the hero of our story. She challenges the status quo, she has the odds against her. She is expected to be weak, but outlasts her male counterparts. She is the woman with the brains and strength to take on the murderous villain placed before her. This is the ultimate battle of woman vs. man, as seen through the phallic symbology of knives, axes, and in one case, a drill (Slumber Party Massacre).
John Carpenter’s Halloween is seen as the birth of this genre, giving us not only one of the most notorious horror villains, but heroines as well. Lori Strode is just as infamous in the horror community as Michael Meyers. She is a character that we are shown to be innocent, weak, virginal, every expectation for women of the time. Her role is as a caretaker for children, she cooks, she cleans, she wants the attention of a boy at school. The cleverness of Halloween, is how it decides to spin this trope on its head. As with most urban legends, the message is for women to mind their children and not be promiscuous, which causes the demise of the other characters in the film. They abandon they’re womanly duties and expectations and are punished for it. When Lori takes the initiative to investigate the suspicious events of the night and leaves her wards for a night to investigate, she has put herself on display to be punished. But she proceeds and she succeeds in her battle with the male villain. It’s as if to say, “I am more than the one dimension you have created of me and I can be both nurturer and hunter. I am a lover and a fighter and I do not need a man to fight my battles.” And to varying degrees, this message has carried on up through the nineties with Wes Craven’s Scream and most recently with David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows, both of which homage heavily their predecessor.
This trend has continued to grow in many ways. In the nineties we were given the menstrual/werewolf coming-of-age film Ginger Snaps and in the 2000s the claustrophobic cave-dweller The Descent. Both of these films focus on the strength of women in different ways. Ginger Snaps focuses on the burgeoning sexuality of a girl as it ties to her lycanthropy and the journey of her sister to save her from becoming what is expected of her. The Descent places emphasis on the literal strength and power of women and the ability to defy expectations and conventions. Both of these films even go a step-further by being some of the best examples of meeting the Bechdel test to be put to celluloid.
I could go on for days listing the horror films that tackle this subject matter, but I think it is best to explore them for yourself. Female heroes are no stranger to the horror genre and are more so a staple. From the title character of Stephen King’s Carrie, to Alien’s Ellen Ripley (a role originally written as male) to Scream’s Sidney Prescott, to, most recently, “Stranger Things” Joyce Byers, the strong female character is everywhere in the horror genre. We love them, we root for them, and we admire them. In a genre heavily supported by men, ultimately, the only shock of a feminist horror film is that most of them are, and that surprise is the scariest thing of all.
