Queens of the Dead
Writers: Tina Romero, Erin Judge
Director: Tina Romero
Starring: Katy O'Brian, Jaquel Spivey, Riki Lindhome, Jack Haven, Cheyenne Jackson
I'm a big believer in sincerity when it comes to horror films. That doesn't mean there's no place for irony, but generally speaking the best way to get your views to connect to the fears and joys, the highs and lows, of your narrative is to get them to believe that you believe in it. If it's all done with detachment, with cynicism, with cold calculus, the connection only runs so deep.
There is nothing cold about Queens of the Dead, the new zombie horror-comedy from Tina Romero, daughter of legendary Night of the Living Dead filmmaker George A. Romero. It would have been easy for the younger Romero to lean hard into irony for this meditation on her family's horror legacy, to deconstruct or even mock the subgenre her father codified. After all, everyone else has at this point.
But just as George Romero used his zombies as a vehicle for social commentary and studies of human behavior, so too does Tina Romero. Far from a parody or an ironic deconstruction of a horror legacy, this is an original, smart, often joyous horror romp about how queer people survive in a self-cannibalizing society, and it's one of the best horror movies of the year.
It's Easter, and drag club DJ and promoter Dre (Katy O'Brian) is just trying to keep her next big party from imploding. Her dancers are ghosting her, her headliner is bailing, and her employee Kelsey (Jack Haven), while good-natured, isn't much help. Dre's only real hope might come in the form of Sam (Jaquel Spivey), a drag performer sidelined by stage fright who could be primed for a comeback if he and Dre can mend fences after a falling out.
There are bigger problems, of course, and it's not just that Dre's attempts to keep her career afloat while also starting a family with her wife Lizzy (Riki Lindhome) are hitting a wall. It turns out that this particular resurrection-themed holiday is about to get an infusion of…well, actual resurrection, as the bodies of the recently dead come back to life and try to devour the living. With no one to help them but themselves, Dre and her friends must fight to survive the night, and build the life they want even if the world comes down around their ears.
"Zombie apocalypse unfolds in a drag club" is, pardon me for a second, a fucking incredible premise for a movie. Just, full-stop, you tell me that's what I'm about to see and I'm already half in the bag. But it's what Romero and her incredible cast, which also includes scene-stealing turns from Margaret Cho, Tomas Matos, and Dominique Jackson, do next that makes Queens of the Dead something truly special.
It is never for a second lost on Romero and the rest of this cast and crew that they are making a film about queer survival at a time when queer survival feels deeply, profoundly threatened by everything happening in the United States. Dre's drag show in Brooklyn has always aspired to be a haven, an oasis for the local queer community. When zombies descend on the place, it becomes even more important that Dre keep her community safe, differences and disputes aside. The metaphor, just like the metaphors for racism and consumer culture and the military industrial complex in George Romero's films, is both loud and remarkably clear. Throw in zombies who are somehow still addicted to their phones, and it gets even more relevant.
But Queens of the Dead goes even further in its examination of queer culture at a time when rabid hordes of monsters seem ready to rip it to shreds. What use is keeping your community alive if there is no joy, no love, no sense of bonding, compassion, and continuity? What does it all mean if you can't thrive as well as survive? These are the questions that infuse Queens of the Dead with its humor, its heart, and its deeply rooted sense of joy. I know I've used that word several times already to describe this film, but whether it's drag queens roasting each other in a dressing room or action-minded lesbians descending on the club with weapons in hand, Queens of the Dead simply never forgets that joy is not just a viable ingredient in survival, but perhaps the entire point.
Tina Romero's film, for all its undead horrors and wild witticisms, emerges in the world at exactly the right time, setting exactly the right tone, and carrying on the Romero family legacy in ways that both honors the past and sets the stage for the future. Horror has always been for the weirdos, the outsiders, the ostracized and excluded, which is why horror has also always been queer. In Queens of the Dead, we see these outsiders, queer people in a world that wants them dead, daring not just to protect their community, but to revel in their strength, with a sincere belief that it really can change the world. They're right, and once you've seen the film you'll believe it too.
Queens of the Dead is in theaters now.
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