The Queer Horror Blerd: Solving ‘Problems’ Like Malik and Tunde

My journey chronicling Black Queer Horror Characters has been met with some highs and many lows. This is expected given the history of being Black and Queer in America.  Although, Black Queer folx are not new to horror, as you know. We have been playing in the horror sandbox since the 70s and possibly even before then, thanks to the nature of queer coding in the past. And as we all know, Black Queer horror characters have come a long way in representation since then. The current Black horror renaissance has given us more Black Queer characters to add to the overall canon. More importantly some are even the leads in their respective films. This was always the goal for a fan like me.

Questions, Comments, and Concerns

However, with these latest narratives, there are two that stick out to me because upon hearing about them as they went into production, I couldn’t help but have high hopes for these new Black Queer movies. Kurtis David Holder’s Spiral (2019) and Ali LeRoi’s The Obituary of Tunde Johnson (2019) both had what I was asking for in horror in general: Black queer men amid some fucked up shit. They weren’t the sassy best friend this time or the token character. They were the protagonist in their respective films. Everything revolved around them. This was a big step in the right direction. Then I watched both movies and had some words for both.

Problems Has Come To Light

In Spiral, Malik (Jeffrey Bowyer-Chapman), his husband Aaron (Ari Cohen), and their daughter from Aaron’s previous marriage, Kayla (June Laporte), move to a Midwest suburb in the mid-90s and are met with passively aggressive behavior from their new neighbors that only Malik notices. It’s not long before shit hits the fan. This leaves Malik (the sole Black person in the entire movie) to his own devices. As Aaron wants to be accepted by his new community rather than listen to his own husband’s fears and concerns.

In The Obituary of Tunde Johnson, Tunde (Steven Silver)is a Nigerian-American teen who, after coming out to his family, is gunned down by the police while on his way to tell his white lover Soren (Spencer Neville) the good news. Tunde’s best friend Marley (Nicola Peltz) is also sleeping with Soren and has no clue that Tunde is as well. However, she knows Tunde is gay and even encourages him to come out to his folks. The horror transpires with Tunde having to relive being killed by the police in a horrific time-loop. While on his way to Soren, being with Soren, or being with someone in Soren’s social circle. Despite Tunde being overwhelmingly accepted by his parents, it’s his quest to be with Soren, who is blissfully closeted. This is where the danger comes from, leading the viewer to ask, why even bother?

The Racism Of It All

The particular horror Malik and Tunde face is primarily rooted in racism. While each narrative is different in execution, the situations are the same. Both Black men are anchored in their respective horrific situations by either their white love interest/counterpart. Taking note of this observation, my optimistic enjoyment for both films and these characters dropped significantly. Mainly because of how out of touch and ignorant their white lovers were in light of these bigoted situations. That is something that is a huge red flag of galactic proportions in itself.

So, while watching these movies in a frustrated state, a negative new trope formed in my mind. The White Anchor, or the White Weight, is where the white counterpart in an interracial relationship is either blissfully useless or actively problematic to their Black or POC counterpart in a horror film. Especially a movie with racist, homophobic, and/or overall bigoted overtones.

This type of character is not only seen in Queer horror but also in regular horror films with interracial couples as the protagonists. Last year’s The Front Room and Imaginary hold prime examples of these types of useless white lovers, who ignore the Black women in their lives. I think it would’ve been very helpful to inform your Black wife that your stepmother is a bigoted, nasty woman with a knack for the Hard R before you decided to get the digits from her. But I digress…

How Do We Fix It?

So, how do we solve ‘problems’ like Malik and Tunde? Well, the usual answer is to get Black creatives behind the scenes. However, The Obituary of Tunde Johnson was directed and written by Black filmmakers. Jeffrey Bowyer-Chapman had input on the characterization of Malik for Spiral, because the character was originally white (hopefully with a different name). While that particular note did drastically elevate the movie’s tone somewhat, it still added to the unavoidable frustration for a Black Queer viewer.

Maybe the answer, which has permeated recently throughout the Black horror fandom, is to not use racism as the de facto backdrop to explore horror through a Black lens. At least, not unless it’s handled responsibly. Or maybe uplift the undeniable beauty that is Black Love in horror. Anthony and Brianna from Candyman (2021) and Ganja and Hess from Ganja and Hess (1973) are prime examples of skillfully handled Black couples. In general, Black love in horror is severely lacking. Whereas, in other forms of media, it is celebrated on every aspect of that spectrum. Is Black Love in horror the new boogeyman for studios and filmmakers?

Malik and Tunde are two examples of how Black Queer representation in horror (despite being groundbreaking) can go wrong in the effort to diversify the field. Despite their flaws, they are still needed. I continue to implore people to look out for these films, support them, and come to their own conclusions. Because maybe a Black queer creative can pick up the slack where these filmmakers missed the mark.

Read more of Mark’s work here.