THE STORY – A group of drag queens, club kids and frenemies must put aside their personal dramas and use their unique skills to fight the brain-thirsty undead when a zombie apocalypse breaks out on the night of a giant warehouse party.
THE CAST – Katy O’Brian, Jaquel Spivey, Nina West, Tomas Matos, Margaret Cho, Jack Haven, Quincy Dunn-Baker, Cheyenne Jackson, Riki Lindhome, Dominique Jackson, Shaunette Renée Wilson, Becca Blackwell, Eve Lindley, Tom Savini & Julie J
THE TEAM – Tina Romero (Director/Writer) & Erin Judge (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 99 Minutes
Horror has always been a diverse genre that storytellers can work within. While it is often utilized for the most basic of pleasures, taking glee in witnessing anxiety-riddled tension or spectacularly gory violence. However, it can also be a landscape to explore a rich thematic tapestry. Sure, “trauma” may have become a buzzword to the point of parody, but that is still an example of the more complex narratives that can be assembled to glean deeper meanings conveyed through metaphors. This can also be a great opportunity to mix genres, combining a variety of tones to create an even more unique experience. “Queens of the Dead” keeps its severed tongue placed firmly in cheek, opting for uproarious humor to punctuate the haunting aura of monsters chasing down our heroes. By no means is this a novel approach to the genre, but one that has often seen effective results. This particular effort, though, suffers from a laborious pace that struggles to build that momentum to a satisfying conclusion.
The day starts on a relatively normal note in the hours before a big production at a drag club is about to begin. Nothing supernatural occurs at first, but it doesn’t make the events less chaotic and stressful. Dre (Katy O’Brian) is the organizer who has to juggle an array of warring personalities and a series of crises that threaten to derail the entire proceedings. When her headliner, Yasmine (Dominique Jackson), suddenly pulls out, she’s forced to reconnect with Sam (Jaquel Spivey), a figure from the past who left the world of performing on sour terms and fractured their friendship. However, Sam decides to come back and help the struggling show. In the midst of the large personas fighting for equal time in the spotlight, disaster breaks out. The city has been struck by a zombie apocalypse, and the walking dead are now terrorizing this group that is taking refuge in the club. While some will emerge as heroes and others will succumb to the darkness, the determination is strong for those remaining to survive the proceeding hours and escape.
If anyone feels vindicated in their inspiration to bring their own twist to the zombie movie landscape, it seems evident that the daughter of George A. Romero is likely a candidate. Tina Romero’s family legacy brings an atmosphere of reverence to this material, even at its most irreverent and comical. Her father’s films were not adverse to sprinkling in comedic elements amongst the grizzly carnage, often making use of satire to illuminate deeper political commentaries. She even includes a cameo by her father’s longtime collaborator, Tom Savini. Despite the potential for such thematic discussion in observing marginalized groups fighting against an oppressive force, the tone never really aims for anything deeper than silly comedy. It’s an inconsistently engaging method, as the first gag of a horny drag queen attempting to find a quick hookup in a church only to be ambushed by an already-turned priest is indicative of the lazier targets found in this screenplay. The reveal of the zombies themselves isn’t particularly impressive either, looking more like grey lizards than a menacing undead army. There are some precision strikes that are effective, like one character expressing their disappointment in a situation by lamenting, “If Marsha could see this.” But most of the spectacle finds characters running around without much momentum that’s built up through believable arcs.
This narrative, conceived by Romero and co-writer Erin Judge, doesn’t even indulge in its own horror premise in the first act. Instead, it focuses on this collection of characters who are forced together through particular circumstances and are attempting to put on a plagued show. There’s potential here to be a fascinating exercise, like taking the premise of “Noises Off” and turning the queerness levels up to insane amounts. Yet, the issue here is that while the film takes its time to establish these characters, it does not fill in the necessary details to make this world feel more textured. All the interpersonal conflicts are blatantly stated, which limits the nuance that can be brought out by the performances, and the specifics of this pandemic are kept frustratingly vague. There’s no awareness of how this is spread or the scale of destruction, and those details are waved away in favor of the wacky antics. Eventually, the storytelling just becomes a tedious slog to arrive at the finale, with mostly flat personalities to endure along the way.
Nearly any bit of enjoyment derived here comes from this ensemble. It’s a difficult task bestowed upon them because, despite all being confined to a small environment, there’s a disparate space between them. Spivey is our de facto protagonist, but his emotional arc is so muddled that his performance ends up feeling ill-defined. The same goes for O’Brian, who juggles managing this motley crew and difficult domestic responsibilities. Still, there’s not much illuminated by the relationship with her wife (Riki Lindhome) that would make anything there compelling. Given that Yasmine is a major catalyst in this story, one would think that it is a great opportunity to showcase the marvelous talents of Jackson, shown so brilliantly on the television show “Pose.” But she’s utterly wasted here, never given a chance to demonstrate her striking screen presence nor play against type in a more submissive role that would go against her established personality. The roles that are characterized as the leads end up being underwhelming, and these talented performers suffer for it.
The more effective assets are found within the supporting cast. Best in show, hands down, belongs to Tomás Matos, who plays one of the club’s dancers. He steals the whole movie from every single player, allowing quick retorts and a fiery personality to puncture every moment. Each line delivery produces a sassy tone that becomes the most engrossing figure in the entire piece, and he’s an absolute joy to watch. Nina West, a real-life drag performer best known as a contestant on “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” also aims for a similar level of high camp, though, surprisingly, their best efforts are towards the more emotional parts near the end. There’s genuine sadness and tragedy that was shockingly well conveyed through their performance, despite the goofy setup and outfit made to look like a WWII-era nurse. Amusing moments were also found in Jack Haven’s dry line readings, and Margaret Cho gave a rambunctiously entertaining turn that indulged in a captivating bravada nature. The collection of actors here is all appreciated despite the script’s efforts.
There’s a veneer to “Queens of the Dead” that should make it far more enthralling than the final product ultimately ends up becoming. Mixing comedy and horror is typically an effective recipe, but more is needed to create a satisfying meal. The world assembled here is opaque in specifics, resulting in a distance in engaging with this piece overall. The pacing is a chore to endure, the comedy isn’t particularly clever, and the characters are mostly shallow and uninteresting. Thankfully, a handful of supporting players go a long way in making the film as watchable as it is. There is a respect for infusing queer content into any medium, but one hopes for a more enticing message beyond the cheap thrills or at least a more riveting showcase of such tropes. Sadly, neither is found here.
