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Horror is one of those genres that draws queer readings, but the farther back you go, the harder it becomes to convince people the films in question have queer subtext. People seem to be under the impression that LGBTQA subtext is somehow a new concept invented in the middle of the 20th century with Stonewall, and not a component in the human condition, reflected in art since bears like Gilgamesh and Enkidu became “best friends.”

It might surprise an uninformed individual how much queer subtext exists in two of the cornerstone black and white monster films: Universal’s Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein. These two films serve as the start to the Universal Frankenstein cycle. While Boris Karloff would reprise the role of the Monster in Son of Frankenstein, the first two films function as a succinct duology about a man who hides from his wife to make a baby with another man.

For historians of classic horror, it’s hard to avoid the queer influences surrounding these first two adaptations of Mary Shelly’s novel. Director James Whale was gay. Actors Colin Clive, who played Dr. Henry Frankenstein, and Ernest Thesiger, who played Doctor Pretorious, were both bisexual. All of this informs any read of the films, but even in the film themselves, there is inherent queerness both in terms of the titular character Frankenstein and the monster he creates.

Queer audiences can easily relate to the Monster’s predicament. He’s judged for the nature of his birth, he’s feared as an unnatural entity among the God-fearing villagers, and his pursuits at dating end…less than stellar, to put it mildly. However, while the Monster can obviously be interpreted as a queer allegory – or, for that matter, an allegory for any group that faces prejudice – it’s Doctor Frankenstein who especially reads as queer coded.

Obviously, any film featuring intimate relationships between other men is going to draw some attention from queer audiences. Henry Frankenstein sports two lab partners in the two films, both male. There’s Fritz, the hunchbacked assistant in the first film, and Doctor Pretorious, Henry’s former professor who dared to go where God-fearing academics never dared to venture. We later learn in Son of Frankenstein that Henry had a third male partner, Igor, played by Bela Lugosi.

In the text of the film, Henry is perpetually engaged to his wife, though he seems to want to be rid of her at any moment. There is no indication in the entire film that Elizabeth, his fiance, really means anything to Frankenstein. We see the passion with which the Monster seeks a bride, but the good doctor himself only seems to care for his wife when he risks losing her. The closest we see to a moment of intimacy between Henry and his wife is in the epilogue of Frankenstein, where we see Elizabeth nursing Henry to life.

Granted, Frankenstein doesn’t seem to spare as much love for Fritz, either. While he’s horrified by his death and definitely has a more honest relationship with him, there is still a significant difference in how Frankenstein regards his status and how he regards Fritz.

That said, there’s a lot of subtext between Frankenstein and Pretorious, to a degree that even the film Gods and Monsters, inspired by the life of James Whale, comments on it. In a flashback where Ian McKellen’s Whale reflects on the making of Bride of Frankenstein, Whale comments how Pretorious fancies Doctor Frankenstein.

This would be an amusing joke in the biopic, if not for the fact that Bride of Frankenstein really does read like a story about forbidden homoerotic attraction. Pretorious is overtly flirty with Frankenstein throughout most of their conversations, all the while talking to him about producing a child with him.

On top of this, Pretorious is a clearly queer-coded villain. From his flamboyant manner of speaking to his tendency to wear long, flowing attire, he is as delightfully camp and ghoulish as it comes. He stands in opposition of the conservative society around him, to the point where he enjoys sharing a drink with a Monster in a crypt surrounded by freshly decayed bodies.

Pretorious is framed as the dangerous queer, the person who cannot ever conform to society’s wants and wishes, while Frankenstein, despite Pretorious’s persuasion, is lured back into a life of normalcy. Pretorious, however, is slain by his student’s creation as the Monster declares, “We belong dead.” Is this simply a statement that those that exist outside the confines of reality need to separate themselves from normalcy in a more permanent fashion, or is this a convenient way for Whale to kill all of the “monsters” in one go? Probably the latter.

Ultimately, though, what’s the point? Why does the queer subtext of a movie nearing its 100th birthday matter? Well, there are a few key elements. For one, establishing the long-standing history of queer horror cinema is so vital in an era where those with the loudest voices keep shouting that, somehow, queer culture is a new invention. For another – and arguably more important – it’s interesting to analyze how a queer, larger-than-life director creates art in a staight-shaped mold.

Many creatives in the LGBTQA community historically had to craft art that suited the sensibilities of the time. There are several novels and early films that appealed to a heteronormative audience while featuring tons of queer coding. As we move further and further from an era where artists could never express overt queerness in art – or, worse, closer and closer to a revival of such an era – it becomes necessary to reflect how queer ancestors inserted queerness in heteronormative narratives.

That, and it’s cool digging into old works.