[Pride 2022] Torture Porn and the Sexuality Spectrum

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My love of on-screen blood and guts is no secret to those who know me. Some of my favorite films in the last ten years include Would You Rather, Tusk, and Green Inferno. I have a deep adoration for the disturbed and disgusting. I’m aware this love of unsightly carnage may seem odd to some, including my fellow queer horror aficionados. I don’t know why precisely these movies compel me, but I do know that few subsets of the horror genre satisfy that blood lust like so-called torture porn flicks. I also know that torture porn is an often-maligned genre, even by other horror fans. 

Since David Edelstein first coined the term “torture porn” in 2006, the subgenre has been a hot topic of debate. Many see these films as nothing more than exploitative; torture porn films are considered violence for the sake of violence. While I don’t expect anyone else to love the evisceration of fictional characters the way I do, I must disagree with the torture porn nay-sayers. To reduce these films to nothing more than their gory visuals minimizes their true depth. Born in the wake of 9/11, torture porn films serve as vehicles for real-life fears and feelings just as much other subsets of horror. While the most typical fear addressed within torture porn is terrorism, there are multitudes of nuance hidden under the amputated limbs and sliced Achilles heels.

Two films can be considered the founding fathers of torture porn: James Wan’s Saw and Eli Roth’s Hostel. While Hostel was deemed torture porn shortly after release, Saw earned its badge retroactively, and both franchises have carried that accolade throughout their runs. I’m extremely fond of these franchises, which I’m sure comes as no great shock. What has always fascinated me about these films, given that they’re so often lumped together, is how different they actually are. 

From the stories they tell to the special effects they use, they’re less alike than most people assume. Despite ruling the horror kingdom as the monarchs of torture porn, their plots are entirely unique—and so is their gore. Beyond these obvious differences, I’ve always wondered why Saw speaks to me more deeply than Hostel, despite enjoying them both. It wasn’t until last year that I could nail down exactly what sets them apart. Both centered around the torment of unsuspecting victims and released in the early aughts, behind the viscera these two films exemplify opposing experiences on the spectrum of sexuality.  

As the first film to be dubbed torture porn, Hostel closest resembles what most people picture when they think of the genre, even close to 20 years later. Not only is it nauseatingly violent, it’s also unsubtle in its commentary on relations between America and other countries. Our trio of protagonists, Paxton, Josh, and Óli, are clearly presented as crude and disrespectful, full of unearned confidence in a place they don’t belong. This horny bumbling not only represents America’s entitlement to intrude on foreign spaces but so too does it represent how straight/cisgender people feel entitled to intrude on queer spaces.

This presumed right to these spaces goes beyond our ill-fated trio and trickles upward to the wealthy men using Elite Hunting’s services. Characters like the Dutch Businessman and American Client both reek of privilege afforded to them by being wealthy—not dissimilar to the privilege afforded to straight/cisgender people just for being “normal.” The Dutch Businessman and American Client feel it is their right to dismember, torture, and mutilate unwilling victims simply for a nominal fee.  

They bear unsettling resemblance to those in positions of power in the United States: unafraid to utilize their status and privilege to perpetuate what they think is right. The Dutch Businessman and American Client think it’s perfectly acceptable to use Elite Hunting. Politicians in the United States have no qualms throwing their weight around—their money, their beliefs, their “normalcy”—to impact the lives of queer people (not to mention the lives of people of color, disabled folks, and AFAB people).  

Not only do these characters feel entitled to destroy the lives of others, but the unflinching violence of the film is itself a liberty. Hostel has no trouble baring it all, bright and bloody and bold. It is not a coy film because it knows it doesn’t need to be. While the unapologetic gore may seem akin to the queer community’s refusal to be swept under the rug, I posit instead that it reflects how straight/cisgender people are simply allowed to be themselves. They are “normal,” why should they worry what others think of these deep, dark sides of themselves? Why should they be coy with even the ugliest parts of themselves when they know their privilege will protect them?  

The American Client not only feels like it’s his right to gleefully torment Kana with a blowtorch—he has no real shame. When he thinks Paxton is a fellow client, he is giddy to share the experience. The American Client knows that Elite Hunting will keep him safe, so long as he pays up. He knows he is untouchable. Similarly, straight/cisgender people do not have to worry about perception the same way queer people do. The sheer act of being straight or cisgender protects them from scorn. They are granted grace, even when they show the world the ugliest sides of themselves. Even at their most grotesque, they will be accepted—perhaps even, they will be celebrated.  

In contrast to Hostel’s unwavering brutality, Saw seems almost tame. Having earned its torture porn label years after its release, Saw is often lauded as one of the goriest films of the 21st century; people recall various scenes with toe-curling disgust and awkward laughter. And yet, it’s remarkably sparing, especially when juxtaposed against Hostel. Despite the unsettling shot of Paul Leahy tangled in barbed wire, we only briefly see the extent of his wounds. Though Amanda Young’s trial with the reverse bear trap is laden with blood spatter, we never see the scalpel in her hands hit flesh. While Lawrence Gordon presses the rusty saw blade to his bare leg, the actual amputation and its aftermath are scantily shown.  

Part of this is obviously due to the “less is more” approach often used by horror directors, but it goes much deeper than that. The sharp cuts between shots and the tease of gore just slightly off-screen reflect how queer people can seldom show the darkest, scariest parts of themselves for fear of being rejected. Not only are we afraid to come out and be our authentic selves for fear of persecution or revulsion, we are scared that any part of ourselves will be seen as too much, simply because we happen to be queer. We all want to be known, but so many of us feel we can only barely expose the frayed edges and instead hide the bulk of ourselves away.  

Not only must we hide parts or all of ourselves away—sometimes we have to outright destroy pieces of our personality, bodies, and minds, all for being considered palatable to the masses. This self-mutilation is an unfortunately indelible part of being queer, just as Lawrence’s story in Saw hinges on his impossible choice: destroy his only companion in the game or destroy himself to save his family. Queer people are boxed into hetero/cisnormative society, while Lawrence and Adam are boxed into a decrepit bathroom. In both situations, one of the only chances at freedom is to do something unbelievably painful to either yourself or others.  

Lawrence and Adam are pawns in an unwinnable game, just like any queer person who tries to fit themselves into a life dictated by the straight/cisgender powers-that-be. Adam’s only option to survive the trap is to cut off his foot and flee the danger; understandably, whether you see it as fear or indignation, he doesn’t want to do that. The refusal to mar oneself for others’ acceptance is not a choice easily made. Nor is Lawrence’s choice to ultimately sever his own foot or shoot Adam.  

Some queer people find it easier or even necessary to bend to the pressure society puts on them. Sometimes it’s for their own benefit, other times it’s for their family or friends. While being queer is an intensely personal experience, it is seldom something that only impacts an individual. Unfair as it is, being queer can affect all corners of a person’s life. This is the case for Lawrence, who has not only himself to consider but his wife and child as well. He is forced into the decision to amputate his own foot, all by Jigsaw’s design. He must scar himself irreparably simply to survive, just as so many of us queers end up scarred from society.  

None of this is to say one film is better than the other; they both have their merits in terms of story, gore, and acting. There are arguments for queer subtext in Hostel just as much as there is hetero/cisnormativity rampant in the Saw franchise. There is no right or wrong answer here. There are only interesting parallels between two films that couldn't be more different, despite looking identical on the surface. I suppose it’s only fitting that I, as a bisexual nonbinary person who has never made a concrete decision in her life, adore both these films equally. 

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