Fear of Death, Fear of Sex: How Hellraiser (1987) Reflected the Tragedy of a Queer Generation

Even today, the AID’s epidemic of the 1980’s remains a dark and sombre topic for queer people the world over. At a time when sex between men was made abject, and governments used the disease to push for intrinsically homophobic legislation, director Clive Barker paired horror's recurring theme of sex-based fear with the tragedies of a queer generation.

The fear of sex, or the demonization of the sexually promiscuous, is a common and sometimes controversial trope within the horror genre. Many horror directors would argue that their films do not create such a narrative. Though I would argue that this viewpoint is somewhat reductionist, the evidence is certainly there – think of the number of horror films where sexually promiscuous teenagers are brutally murdered (often women killed by hulking, emasculated men) whilst the sole virgin survives. Think of the use of phallic murder weapons such as knives and chainsaws, or perhaps even the entire rape-revenge sub-genre that came to prominence in the 1970’s. If horror reflects the ills in society, and the killers a personification of the dangers of dismantling our own social repression, then there is a clear message that sex is dangerous, immoral and worthy of harsh and brutal punishment.

This recurring trope of the dangers of non-traditional (read non monogamous, heterosexual, for procreation only and happening within the context of a legal marriage) sex parallels one of the most prominent global tragedies of the 20^th Century – the AID’s epidemic. Perhaps many today would underestimate the sheer level of hysteria characteristic of the AID’s epidemic during the 1980’s. But for us queer people, even those who never experienced it, it has become an intrinsic part of our cultural DNA. For it was us queer people (especially homosexual men) who were scapegoated for the disease. We have seen the newspaper articles, referring to AID’S as ‘gay cancer’, or calling for us to be segregated. We hear stories of our clubs and bars being closed, and of whole communities dying. And we know, as all queer people know, that no concerted effort was made to halt the spread of the disease until those outside of our queer community started dying. It has become a focal point of so much queer activism, not only because of the sheer number of people we have lost, but because it highlighted the underlying homo/sexphobia within our systems of governance. If horror is designed to reflect the problems of an age, then the presence of AID’s should be felt throughout late 80’s horror. And in 1987, openly gay director and writer Clive Barker released the defining, if morally ambiguous, parable of the disease in Hellraiser. But how does Hellraiser stand up today as a commentary on the disease, and can a horror film provide a suitably sympathetic response to one of our communities’ greatest tragedies?  

Hellraiser is a British supernatural body-horror film released in 1987. It tells the story of Frank, a sexual deviant who is dragged into a world of sado-masochistic torture by the demonic Cenobites. He uses his sister in law Julia, whom he had an affair with, to bring him victims to be drained of blood so he can regain his physical form, whilst the Cenobites hunt him down. As this brief description alone may suggest, a fear of sex, or the dangers of sex, is the through line throughout Hellraiser that cements its status as an AIDS parable. Interestingly, though the Cenobites – sadomasochistic creatures who drag humans into a world of sexualised torture – are commonly believed to be the films antagonist, they don’t show up until the films third act. However, they are most certainly the films most enduring and horrific images – beings of gnarled and twisted flesh, innards exposed, eyes sewn shut and all traces of humanity removed (incidentally, even with the AID’s parable removed, Pinhead, the head Cenobite, could carry the films reputation as a cult queer classic all on his own – with his catchphrases, comebacks and signature look, he achieves a level of queerness that places him somewhere between demonic villain and drag act). The Cenobites reflect the dehumanisation of people – especially queer people at this time – who engaged in non-traditionally accepted forms of sexual relations, a viewpoint compounded by the spread of AID’s in the 1980’s.

The headlines common at this time – referring to the disease as a ‘gay cancer’ or calling for gay men to be segregated from the rest of society. Certainly, legislation was brought in that disproportionately effected queer people, under the guise of AID’s prevention schemes. Effectively, sexual activity between men – of course, a conscientious activity in any country ruled by the doctrine of most of the world’s top organised religions – was made abject, and gay men were the victims of an intense social abjection. The Cenobites, as celebrators of extreme sex and the hunt for ultimate pleasure – are made horrifying, grotesque, genderless beings. The fact they are (largely) genderless is significant – in their pursuit of non-traditional pleasures, they have removed themselves from the framework of a ‘functioning’ heterosexist society. As with all horror movie villains, this adds a level of relatability for an outsider audience. And similarly, queer people, perhaps already in a sense freed by having their identity perceives as an ‘alternative sexuality’, are more willing to explore the further experiences of pleasure, especially sexually. This correlates closely to the mass condemning of gay male sex clubs and saunas across the Western world at the dawn of the epidemic, as these bars where scapegoated as ‘breeding grounds’ for the disease. It is this sort of dehumanised language that suggests the Cenobites propensity for S&M imagery – there chosen forms of pleasure removes them from contemporary society, making them dangerous and otherworldly – paralleling the recasting of the gay man as ‘the Other’ in the Western press.  The demonization of gay sex is a thorny issue that I may need to tackle properly in another essay. However, there is a line to be drawn between the demonstration of sex and the AID’s epidemic escalating to such a devastating level – without a lack of sufficient sexual education (and with the limited sexual education available at this time being based in avoiding pregnancy, not STI’s), queer people were not suitably educated on the importance – and possible risks – of unprotected sex. This societal fear of sex resulted directly in the deaths of millions, purely because safe sex between queer people was never given the same credence as it was in heterosexual society. In this sense, he Cenobite’s image as the sex/death complex made concrete is gifted another level of possible meaning.

The presence of Frank as the films central antagonist casts doubt over where Barker’s sympathies lied in relation to AID’s hysteria. Firstly, Frank requires the blood of his victims in order to restore himself. Blood is a reoccurring theme in Hellraiser – both for it’s restorative and debilitative powers. The hysteria around AID’s was focused very much on the idea of transmission of bodily fluids (though poor education means that, even today, only 45% of the population are fully educated on how HIV can be transmitted), and in 1980 all ‘MSM’ (men who have sex with men) were banned indefinitely from donating blood. This legislation has come under heavy criticism for its blatant homophobic basis, as all other infections transferable through blood are screened out. In Hellraiser, blood is used repeatedly as a means of bringing evil and suffering into the world - it is the transferal of blood that aids in Frank being resurrected, in Frank recovering his physical form in the human world, and it is the food he uses to sustain himself. In addition to this, Frank feasts exclusively on the blood of sexually frustrated, heterosexual men. Part of the hysteria surrounding AID’s during this initial stage of the epidemic was centred on it crossing over and outside of queer communities. Couple this with the common trope of queer men being sexual predators, and Frank suddenly becomes a very negative parable for gay men at this time. He uses his heterosexual lover to draw unsuspecting men to their doom, so he can consume their bodies and – literally – drain them of their blood. And as he does so, Julia is progressively less able to engage in more traditionally accepted (lights off, nighties on, married couple fun) forms of sexual activity as Frank, bloodied and slaughtering rats, stands menacingly over her bed. It is a frightening comparison to draw in a film that is commonly credited as a queer horror staple, wherein the queer parable in the film is consistently shown to debilitate or destroy the sexually adventurous heterosexual through consumption and tainting of blood.

Thus far, the image depicted is not what one would call flattering. The Cenobites become a symbol of sexual delinquency, the 'Othering' that comes with exploring alternative sexuality. And Frank, another sexual deviant and vampiric ghoul who drains (‘taints’) the blood of deceived heterosexual men. In either case, no strong point is made to clear the name of queer men, and their portrayal is problematic and dehumanising. However, though this reading of the film is understandable, I would suggest that these villains reflect not queer men living with HIV and AID’s but are a depiction of the disease itself. This can be construed when one considers the setting of the film. Like all good horror (in my humble opinion), the fantastical nature of the plot is reined in by banality of the setting. Minus one scene that happens in the Cenobite’s universe (and an opening scene in Morocco), the bulk of the action occurs within sleepy, leafy suburbia. The film centres around a normal, middle class American family unit. This suggests two possible readings, one that is unsavoury and one that is more redemptive in the films favour. On one hand, the suburban setting could be read as ‘alternative’ (read queer) sexuality being infringed upon Middle America, heterosexual society at large, again reflecting the media frenzy over the disease escaping out of queer communities. But this setting also highlights the private struggle behind the disease. The vitriolic attitude towards queer people in the press at this time forced many of those suffering into the closet, the fear compounded by misinformation and fear mongering. With this reading, the bulk of the film’s horror becomes a reflection of the queer man fighting his battle behind closed doors, behind a façade of hetero-sexist, culturally acceptable normality.

Consider as well, the scene in which Kirsty – Franks niece – first summons the Cenobites within a hospital room. Having just fled Frank (who can be viewed either as a predatory gay man suffering with disease – or, here, a manifestation of the disease itself), she ends up alone in a hospital bed, and it is here that the Cenobites first appear to her, and where she first stumbles into their realm. This reflects the tragic reality of many queer men who, abandoned by family and banned from being visited by their lovers and partners, died alone. This was the result of a combination of ignorant and outdated pieces of legislature forbidding patients from being visited by anyone other than legally recognised spouses in certain situations, as well as general ignorance over how the disease was transmitted. It is in this moment where Kirsty is alone, and vulnerable, that the demons are summoned, and the first time she is put in real peril. Of course, one could argue that Kirsty is a heterosexual woman, cursed by the actions of sexual deviants and demons. However, throughout the film, we find her developing her own sense of sexual and romantic independence outside of her family, a story all queer people can relate to. In this instance, Kirsty perhaps reflects a common horror motif of teens striking it out in the real world, and the perils they may face.

Overall, Hellraiser’s reputation as a horror film made for a queer audience is a muddy issue to say the least. The films central antagonists can be viewed as the dangers of promiscuity, or they can be seen as representations of fighting bigoted ideologies through your own suffering in your own home. And of course, perhaps it is just the films aesthetics and fantastical creativity that sell it to a queer audience. Either way, perhaps queer audiences identify with the film’s villains, ether ironically or genuinely, because they are vilified, reduced to monstrosity simply for pursing pleasure at the edges of traditionally accepted experience. After all, Frank was motivated mostly by curiosity, and the Cenobites only come when they are called – they suggest no judgement, no scorn. Their infamous quote ‘[We are] Demons to some, angels to others’, succinctly summarises the diametrically opposed views one can take on sexuality. It is so important to remember that we not judge those who choose to explore their sexuality, if it is at no-one else’s expense. And though the Cenobites are villains to some, to many they are angels bringing pleasure that is equal to pain. For so long, we queer people have been shamed for our sexuality – in many ways, AID’s was a convenient excuse for a deeply homophobic society to demonise a community who were beginning to make real strides for social and civil justice. Hellraiser recognises that shame, and refracts it through a horror lens, showing the true horror of living with sexual repression behind closed doors in our own homes, the condemnation that comes with seeking sexual fulfilment, and ultimately, that none of these horrors would happen if we were more open, honest, and frank about what turns us on. Maybe if we were, so much tragedy could have been avoided.