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Frank Henenlotter has a special knack for conjuring up outlandish stories, rooted in 1950s sci-fi, that resonate with current cultural and social trends. His 1990 Frankenstein reinvention, Frankenhooker, dives into the dirty streets of New York City, the lives of sex workers, and expectations placed upon women and the queer community. Since its release 36 years ago, queer fans have adopted the gooey, mannequin-exploding, and perfect-for-drag feature as a significant benchmark in LGBTQ+ cinema. The queer-coded film transmits signals about the relationship between men and women, gender stereotypes, finding catharsis in embracing uniqueness, and learning what it means to be alive.
When Elisabeth (Patty Mullen) dies by remote-controlled lawn mower, Jeffrey Franken (James Lorinz) succumbs to unimaginable grief. A self-proclaimed “bio-electric technician,” he isolates himself in his room and pores over various medical textbooks, human anatomy diagrams, and photos of his dead girlfriend. He plots a scheme to bring her back to life by piecing together different body parts from sex workers in New York City. After withdrawing from his Christmas club account, he drives through dark and wet streets, looking for that perfect block that’ll give him all he needs.
When Jeffrey meets several sex workers, her reveals his plans to hold a beauty contest for the perfect body. He cooks up “super crack” to give to the “winner,” which will make her explode into a million tiny parts. During the party in a sleazy hotel, he whips out his measuring tape and medical instruments to measure, observe, and select the body parts he so desires. But when he can’t decide on a prime candidate, the madam discovers a bag of drugs in Jeffrey’s black satchel. “The party ain’t over yet!” she screams, gleefully. The sex workers partake, and the evening quickly devolves into debauchery and revelry. The drug-induced soiree soon goes off the rails as the women explode into bursts of sparks, smoke, and flying body parts.
This literal deconstruction of sex workers mirrors the blatantly misogynistic treatment and disdain the general public has for them. Even today, there lingers a disgust for sex workers, adult film stars, and OnlyFans performers. The disconnect happens when corners of the internet still grasp onto traditional male-female gender roles. Society tells women that they should be homemakers and nurturers, meant only for having kids and little else (just ask Republicans…). Archaic traditions then trickle down into the queer community and influence a widespread moral panic. The core of transphobia is misogyny, prevalent in a space that promises to be a safe one.
Frankenhooker offers a cathartic outlet through which queer joy can take root. When Elisabeth returns from the dead, her hair, brassiere, and skirt are all purple, caused by a vat of purple liquid that Jeffrey stored her head in to preserve it. Her face painted an exaggerated white hue with a rosy lip, Elisabeth’s new body was made for a perfect drag performance. Just ask any horror-loving drag queen – it’s the sort of niche getup that turns heads and gets the applause roaring. In co-opting the look, queer people step into her shoes to experience her existence that’s not too far removed from their own.
Her body, made up of various parts from the sex workers, is not necessarily her own, yet it gives her remarkable strength and endurance to navigate the world. In much the same way, being queer often feels as though your body doesn’t belong to you. It’s only through intense reflection (and, perhaps, a little bit of therapy) that you arrive at some semblance of self-acceptance, discarding whatever psychological blocks you hold onto for the sake of self-preservation. With her platform shoes and newfound agency, Elisabeth causes an internal revolt where you dismantle what you thought you knew.
With every rewatch, the film’s messages course through my veins and directly into my heart. Being non-binary, I’ve found myself reflected onscreen differently from Cat People (1942), another transformative film. Once contaminated with self-loathing, I couldn’t resist the film’s magnetism and visual appeal. It’s a vibrant wonderland that might seem wacky upon first watch, but it conceals a powerful force that topples expectations and allows you to feel that energy in your bones.
Frankenhooker also teaches about the acceptance of people of all walks of life. That general feeling pulses throughout the film, often through the eyes of the sex workers, as they work the block, look after one another, and engage in seductive behavior. As their livelihood, the sex work serves as a license for agency, and it’s not exclusive to sex workers or cam performers (for the record: sex work is work). Queer people latch onto this message and adopt it as their own – freeing themselves from the constraints of society and discovering a deeper understanding of their identity.
These themes permeate the visual storytelling present in the film, as well. With cinematography by DP Robert Baldwin, bright purples, greens, and pinks splash the screen. Each scene is a visual feast, an immersion in a colorful fantasy about a woman reclaiming her dignity. I don’t know about other queer horror fans, but plush neon lighting and costuming are surefire ways to my heart. In a heightened reality, these artistic flourishes create a sense of whimsy, style, and an environment where queerness is not only embraced but also celebrated. “Oh, honey, look at Miss Thang,” proclaims a queer character dressed up as a maid in a scummy dive bar. They’ve just spotted Elisabeth, as the Frankenhooker, sitting across the room in a booth while a man goes down on her underneath the table. It’s such small details that highlight the film’s innate sexuality and inescapable queerness.
With the film currently playing in the background, I’m also reminded of the power of cinema. You never know when a film so zany will connect deeply with you. In all its melodramatic performances and high-voltage color, Frankenhooker stands as an important piece of queer storytelling that allows for the community to rediscover themselves and the capacity of self-expression that leads to rebellion and world-burning. In our current political era, such an audacious piece needs to be cherished and upheld as a shining beacon of freedom and self-love. We’re gonna need all the courage we can get.
sink. your. teeth.
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