‘Ganymede’ transcends camp to achieve genuine queer horror

In Greek mythology, a young mortal named Ganymede possessed such beauty that Zeus himself chose to abduct the boy to Mount Olympus – which wasn’t such a bad deal, considering Ganymede was granted not just immortality to go along with his new job as cup- bearer to the gods, but eternal youth and beauty as well.

That’s not, however, how the story gets told – or rather, twisted – in the new movie “Ganymede,” the latest queer indie gem to debut on VOD platforms this summer, which uses the myth as the launchpad for a horror story that manages to be both campy and creepy at once. Directed by partners Colby Holt and Sam Probst (from Holt’s original screenplay) and set in a small town in the modern-day Bible Belt, it centers on high school wrestling star Lee (Jordan Doww), the only son of a deeply religious local politician (Joe Chrest) who runs his household with an iron fist. When gay classmate Kyle (Pablo Castelblanco) makes an effort to befriend him, he quickly develops feelings that put him at odds with his conservative upbringing of him; small-town gossip, as well as a dark family secret surrounding his mother (Robyn Lively, in a deliciously hysterical performance), soon have him under the controlling eye of his church’s fanatical pastor (David Koechner). Even more terrifying, his mind is being invaded by a ghostly, sinister presence that seems determined to drive him toward madness and self-destruction – unless Kyle can get to him first.

Like many of these queer-centric genre pictures, “Ganymede” emerged from the festival circuit, securing acclaim and awards throughout its run. With its unconcealed LGBTQ focus and religious homophobia at the core of its horror, it’s plain to see why it would strike a chord with queer audiences, especially in a time when conservative pushback against queer acceptance dominates the public conversation.

For “mainstream” horror fans, however, whose appreciation of the genre is generally focused on fright and gore rather than on the subtextual nuances of its tropes, Holt’s movie might not be the terrifying experience it aims to be — largely because he and Probst do don’t hide their LGBTQ perspective between the lines. It’s clear from early on that the gay love story upon which the plot hinges is exactly what it appears to be, and further, that it’s where our sympathies belong.

More than that, “Ganymede” inverts the supposed moral order of traditional, old-school horror narratives by framing the forces of religion – or at least, a weaponized form of it – as the source of the story’s true evil. Despite the “haunting” that plagues the film’s young protagonist from almost the very beginning, the supernatural elements of the story (spoiler alert) remain located within his own mind, only manifesting in the real world – with one important but ambiguous exception – throughout his reactions to them, and it doesn’t take a film scholar to figure out that they are not the real threat to his well-being. For Holt and Probst, the evil doesn’t come from outside the real world, but from within the darkest corners of a stunted human imagination that projects its own pre-programmed ideas onto that world and treats anything that conflicts with them as an existential threat . In truth, it’s the same message one can find in horror classics from “Bride of Frankenstein” to “The Wicker Man” to the notoriously gay “Nightmare on Elm Street 2” – but in this case, it is delivered not by implication but by direct and obvious assertion.

It’s this point that might keep Holt’s film from satisfying the conventions of traditional horror filmmaking, but it’s worth observing that it’s also this point that makes it stand out. By refusing to conform to generic expectations, it represents a powerful cultural shift, in which the queerness of its premise is no longer a transgressive statement of countercultural themes, but in fact becomes the “normal order” that is being threatened by perverse powers that seek to tear it down – and those perverse powers are the very “norms” that have so long cast all “otherness” in a monstrous light.

The bottom line for most film audiences, of course, be they queer or not, is whether the movie succeeds in scaring them – and if we’re being honest, it does so only in the sense that it confronts us with the horrific bigotry and abuse that is heaped upon LGBTQ existence from right-wing religious hate. That means, even for queer audiences, it’s not so much a horror movie as it is a disturbing allegory about the torment of being forced to suppress one’s true self in order to feign the safe conformity required for self-preservation. Frankly, that should be scary enough for everyone, regardless of whether the movie adheres to accepted genre form, to keep them trembling in their shoes over the prospect of a world dominated by such a deranged mentality; after all, it’s not just queer people who stand to be subjugated, suppressed, and worse in a world controlled by a strict and deeply biased interpretation of outdated beliefs – it’s anybody who would dare to suggest that those beliefs might deserve an extinction as final as the one experienced by the dinosaurs.

Going a long way toward making the whole thing work – besides the sureness of Holt’s direction, that is, which fully embraces the traditions of the genre (hence the aforementioned campiness) while treating the story as a realistic thriller with genuinely high stakes – is a cast that delivers performances several cuts above what we are used to watch in such movies. Doww is a compelling and convincing lead, who never returns into over-the-top histrionics, while Castelblanco triumphs in embodying the determined heroism required of his position in the plot while still maintaining an unashamedly femme-ish queer persona; we never doubt his ability to turn the tide, nor the natural and unforced chemistry the two actors find together. They find stellar support from the aforementioned Lively, as well as from Chrest – a domineering patriarch who would be the most terrifying figure in the film if it weren’t for Koechner’s chillingly authentic pastor, whose buried self-loathing is nevertheless painfully clear as he bullies and tortures the young Lee in the name of “conversion.”

Which brings us back to the significance of the title, and its roots in Greek mythology, where it was born as a tale of transcendence; in the warped minds of the film’s religious leaders, it becomes the opposite, a story of deliberate corruption perpetrated against so-called “decent” men by monsters who tempt them with “unnatural” desires. More than anything, perhaps, it’s that flourish of the screenplay that makes “Ganymede” an astute piece of social commentary, whether or not it succeeds as a horror film; in warping the understanding of that ancient tale into a justification for cruelty and repression, it underscores the toxic effects of clinging to a dogma that pretends to be truth while casting other viewpoints as the products of malevolent influence. That’s a delusion that has reached crisis levels in American society – and it’s why “Ganymede” is a must-see whether it’s a true horror film or not.

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