The True Queerness in A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge
When queer was reclaimed in the 1980s, it became a symbol for a particular model of defense; it repurposed a homophobic term into one of endearment, one that forcibly sucked the power from those who would use it for violence. A fabulously petty retort by a community that was long belittled, harassed, and even killed under its earlier uses, this slur became a rallying cry: “We’re here, We’re Queer, get used to it!” is a reclamation that simultaneously celebrates and resists.
Nightmare on Elm Street 2 follows a similar history. Designed to commercialize gay panic, Nightmare’s original structure is one with deeply homophobic roots. It was written to equate homosexual feelings with murder, perversion, and isolation in a formula that proved largely profitable — the film grossed $30 million on a $3 million budget. In the sequel to the first Nightmare, instead of a classic female lead, a male is at the forefront of Freddy’s (Robert Englund) bloodlust. Jesse (Mark Patton), the reservedly handsome main character, is desperately pursued by Lisa (Kim Myers), the seeming love interest. But Freddy’s eyes are focused on Jesse, not Lisa, as he attempts to overtake Jesse’s body to make Jesse “kill” for him. The plot revolves largely around Jesse’s struggle to keep Freddy contained, and where the connection between Freddy’s control and repressed homosexuality is fostered. But as Freddy’s control advances, bodies start to pile up. Just as Freddy gains complete control of Jesse, Lisa takes up the role of heroine, braving the nightmarish lair of the power plant, where Jesse-turned-Freddy is hiding. In the end, she saves Jesse with a kiss, showing the audience that to escape the perils of queerness, one must stay on the straight and narrow, so to speak.
Showing the real-life power of film imagery, Nightmare’s homoerotic subtext cost Mark Patton his career while AIDS was already ravaging the community and the country at large. In fact, it is hard not to correlate Jesse’s demise with the context of the day. The story arc of Jesse’s struggle with an unseen monster “inside him” that kills those he loves is eerily similar to the lives of many young men who, like Jesse, were confused and heartbroken, crying over friends and lovers lost from a mysterious monster that may or may not be living inside them as well.
The reading of Nightmare as a dangerous allegory for AIDS is best represented by Jesse and Grady’s (Robert Rusler) relationship. The ways in which the camera lingers on Grady at a baseball scrimmage shows our true love-interest. Their suspicious friendship is all but confirmed when Jesse, reeling from Freddy’s control over his body, flees to Grady’s house, away from Lisa’s pool party. At the climax of Jesse’s transformation into Freddy, Grady is murdered in his bedroom where he and Jesse stay the night.
But against an insidious infrastructure, this film has become ours, reclaimed as a queer cult classic. The coach’s dramatized S&M murder in a high school gym shower is a laughable representation of 80s queer life as told by a Reaganite Mom; Jesse’s coded protest against Lisa’s endless pursuit of him (honey, he’s just not that into you), and the camp performance of Freddy who — quite literally — crescendos his murder spree by opening his arms wide, ecstasy on his face, as a roar of fire erupts behind him. All these outrageous depictions give queer people something to revel in, and to laugh at, the act of which strips the film of its past power and turns it into a beacon of queer delight.
What is most important to understand about the reclamation of this film, like the term “queer”, is the process by which it came to be part of our community. By incessantly chanting queer at protests and using it in our daily lives, the term became ours. By our continued and incessant participation, dangerous and violent words and imagery can be declawed, safe, and even celebratory. Coming together, made this term our own, and reveling in it created positive change in our world. Again, Nightmare follows this trajectory. It is a film that becomes queerer the more we consume it, and the more we garner pleasure from it. The more we laugh at the camp, the more we lust over Grady (or Jesse), the more joy the film brings into our community. Happy Halloween.
