Modern horror releases like Ti West’s X trilogy prequel, Pearl, and Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu were topics of hot debate when they hit theaters in 2022 and 2024, respectively. Aside from discourse surrounding the content of these otherwise acclaimed films, they also shared in a growing phenomenon among audiences, in which sexually charged scenes involving their scream queen leads made movie-goers laugh.
Spoilers for Pearl and Nosferatu ahead!
Given the severity of the arguments that Nosferatu sparked online last year, it’s hard to believe theaters erupted in laughter each time Ellen cried out and drooled, her eyes rolling back and her body shaking as Count Orlok’s presence drew nearer and she came closer to climax, all alone in her bed. Maybe less surprising, though still questionable, is the similar amusement Pearl incited when the film’s titular character rode a scarecrow in a field on her family’s farmstead as she envisioned the hot projectionist she’d just met at her local theater. We’ve all had a good laugh at the “I’m married!” memes, but in earnest, what’s so funny about a woman masturbating?
Following Pearl’s box office debut, I remember scrolling past a TikTok of some guy rolling with laughter as he turned to his friend next to him in the theater, the film’s star mid-orgasm on-screen. I say “some guy” because this wasn’t a kid who snuck into an R-rated horror movie. This was an adult man who was so shocked at the sight of Mia Goth going full cowgirl on a scarecrow that his jaw was glued to the floor. In a culture that exalts the fantasy of pornography and sees its influence everywhere, from burger joint ads to our own intimate relationships, what’s most shocking is how little credence we give to realistic depictions of women’s sexuality, unpolished and unapologetic in their authenticity. Why not laugh at scenes that instead feed the lie?
This isn’t an attack on theater etiquette (though I will take this moment to say you should absolutely not be filming during screenings!) or a hot take on the “correct” ways to react to and engage with horror. Heck, I’m not even mad at the guy who laughed. I’m saying we need to talk about sex. More specifically, it’s time we deconstruct the taboo that is women’s sexuality, something these horror films and many others have sought to tackle.
The gag is contextual
Despite the seemingly endless stream of sexualization we see in media today, the fact of the matter is we don’t talk about women’s pleasure enough outside of pure fantasy. This leaves comedy and horror as some of the best outlets to effectively explore the reality of women’s sexual experiences and feelings.
Jenny Slate, an endlessly funny writer, actor, and comedian, talks about masturbation shamelessly in her stand-up comedy and her book Little Weirds (which I cannot recommend enough to self-proclaimed weird women). For every soul-crushing question like, “Who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me?” she also posits answers that might heal the visceral wounds with humor and rare honesty. In light of her divorce, she jokes about moving back home and masturbating to the full moon at her parents’ house. Her vulnerability is electric, and so, so relatable.
Comedies like Booksmart and Bottoms have since taken the Superbad approach to the topic, reiterating self-service quips with the vulva in mind. This involves teddy bears and things like electric toothbrushes, the likes of which have made timeless (and ill-advised) masturbation companions for countless women growing up.
We can joke about the reality of masturbation because it’s human and because it’s been kept so well hidden, but the gag is contextual. Even raunchy comedies continue to toe a hard line when it comes to anyone with a vagina, as reproductive rights and so much more remain under threat in the U.S. and across the globe. Women are made to feel so profoundly ashamed of their bodies and appetites that it borders on religious guilt. There’s only so much room to laugh, and this is where comedy and horror meet at a tense crossroads.
The nuance of Ellen’s circumstances in Nosferatu aside, as the demonic possession trope implies she’s never truly removed from Orlok’s will, we watch the female protagonist writhe alone in bed for much of the film, falling victim to an “illness” that worsens when her husband, Thomas, is away at work. At a time when hysteria diagnoses were still a thing, Ellen is likened to the very monster that pursues her, ultimately dying in the vampire’s arms mid-orgasm as the film ends. This visual metaphor unravels the sexual taboos still held over women’s heads and lays them bare; a message audiences found either cathartic or so uncomfortable they had to laugh.
The response was the same to Pearl’s dance with a scarecrow. Juxtaposed with the 1918 Spanish Flu, Pearl is lonely and horny—peak pandemic-era cinema. It’s easy enough to understand the why behind the masturbation scene, with her husband deployed and a new guy waiting for her in town. A scarecrow beats a teddy bear, right? But, coming from a character who questions what’s wrong with her in dealing with wants so great they’ve grown murderous, the message woven into the scene is even more explicit.
Realistic portrayals of women’s sexual experiences and desires in horror often shatter the most carefully contrived fantasies built into commonplace sex scenes and challenge how we’re made to view sex, leaving audiences feeling stripped down and seen. That’s the point. We’ve all laughed through nerves, fear, or a sense of relation, but continuing to treat authentic iterations of women’s sexual behaviors as anomalous, something that must be kept secret, quiet, and neat, is a problem that feeds the internalized shame that births these scenes. Humor isn’t the big bad here. Misogyny is.
Published: Feb 21, 2025 09:36 am