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‘Queer for Fear’ reveals that horror has always been queer

Shudder docuseries shows how genre has been shaped by LGBTQ sensibilities

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'Queer for Fear' looks at the queer history of horror. (Photo courtesy of Shudder)

We all know the LGBTQ community loves horror – that’s why we sometimes call Halloween “Gay Christmas.”

The appeal of stories about monsters and other creatures of the night should be obvious for a community of people whose very existence has been considered a threat for as long as they can remember. Yet, until recently, the genre has been notably short on outwardly LGBTQ subject matter, leaving us to assume that our love for horror has been a one-sided affair all along.

Or has it? According to the minds behind “Queer for Fear,” a new docuseries streaming on Shudder just in time for Halloween, the genre has been actively shaped by queer sensibilities from the very start – and they’re prepared to show the receipts.

The series, which drops new episodes each Friday through October, employs an array of experts – from creators to scholars to celebrities who just happen to be fans – to peel back the surface of the genre and reveal the queer heart beating within. It maintains a fun tone, making for an enjoyable-yet-informative seasonal distraction; nevertheless, it takes the subject matter seriously, making clear from the very first episode that its goal is to make a thoroughly researched case for the notion that queer subtext is deliberately built into the genre from the foundation up.

Though the show’s focus is ultimately on movies, it must first pave the way by delving into the origins of horror fiction. In Episode 1, “Queer for Fear” does some sleuthing into the private lives of the 19th century authors whose contributions loom the largest: Mary Shelley, who arguably spawned both the horror and science fiction genres with her hastily written “Frankenstein,” and Bram Stoker, who reinvented the image of the vampire in his only successful book, “Dracula.”

Typically interpreted as a cautionary fable about the reckless pursuit of science and technology without concern for consequences, Shelley’s audaciously transgressive 1818 novel also serves as a philosophical rumination on society’s conception of what is “unnatural.” Unlike the hulking monster in most versions of the story disseminated through film and other media later, in the original book Dr. Frankenstein’s creation is intelligent and eloquent, even refined, and seeks only to exist without persecution. Needless to say, the “good doctor” not only refuses to help, but devotes himself to the creature’s destruction, leading readers inevitably to question which of them is actually the monster.

It’s that question that lies at the heart of every good horror story since; by evoking our “sympathy for the devil,” so to speak, classic monsters from King Kong to Hannibal Lecter become the heroes while their oppressors – no matter how well-intentioned – mostly elicit our disdain. It’s not hard to recognize how that dynamic resonates with queer identity.

Striking perhaps even closer to home was Stoker’s 1897 “Dracula,” which took the already sexually charged archetype of the vampire out of the distant hinterlands of Central Europe and transported him to London. Now the symbolic associations with queer experience became even more apparent; deviant eroticism, a certain fluidity of gender in the vampire’s choice of victims, a need to secret himself away from the world during daylight – all these things and more make the vampire into a quintessentially queer monster, and Stoker’s novel burned them into the cultural imagination.

Mainstream literary scholars and historians (and by mainstream, we mean “straight”) have always been quick to caution against reading too much into such parallels, assuring us that they rise from themes with a generalized application to anyone deemed by society to be “other” and should not be interpreted as an expression of any actual queerness on the author’s part; indeed, these authorities remind us, they would presumably have been as blind to such subtext as most of their readers, especially in the 19th century. In short, queer observers who pointed to such a perspective in these works – or any other art or fiction produced before Stonewall, essentially, and most of those produced since – have usually been told we were imagining things.

“Queer for Fear” challenges that dismissive assumption. Turning to the personal papers of Shelley and Stoker and the obvious inferences that can be drawn from the biographical details of their lives, the series asserts that these authors – whose works have cast a more wide-reaching influence over the evolution of horror than perhaps any other writer – were not only aware of the queer subtext dripping from every page of their books but were actually queer themselves. To those unused to thinking beyond the heteronormative edges of our cultural narrative, that might seem a bold statement – especially regarding Stoker, who in later life was known for his strident opposition to “indecency” (sexual and otherwise) in society.

The show’s second episode, which moves into the 20th century and examines the beginnings of horror on film, covers more generally accepted territory as it explores the career of gay director James Whale, whose classic queer-coded fright films of the 1930s forged a permanent connection between horror and camp, and goes on to examine the life of famously closeted actor Anthony Perkins before and after his iconic role as a cross-dressing murderer in “Psycho.” It treads on shakier ground, however, when it implies the possibility of queer tendencies in the latter film’s director, Alfred Hitchcock – something that might seem a bit of a reach in light of his well-documented obsessions with his leading ladies, even considering that his work frequently displayed such blatant examples of queer subtext that even straight film scholars have long acknowledged them. 

Unsurprisingly, one can scroll through the viewer comments about the series on Shudder’s website and see the vehemence with which obvious homophobes have objected to the show’s conclusions; many of these cite a lack of definitive proof – which is, admittedly, a fair point. It’s hard to produce a “smoking gun” establishing the queerness of someone who lived in a time when keeping it hidden could easily be a matter of life or death.

When the facts are laid out plainly, however, as “Queer for Fear” endeavors to do, they speak volumes in support of a secret LGBTQ thread running through the history of horror since its earliest inception – a concept that has, in fact, become widely accepted in academic circles since the advent of Queer Theory in the ‘90s – which was intentionally put there by artists who created a coded storytelling language that would allow them to express their queerness in a way that would be obvious to those “in the know” but invisible to everybody else. Later, of course, some of those coded elements would be twisted into problematic tropes by filmmakers who had caught on and endeavored to turn them against us (something the series will doubtless explore in upcoming episodes) – but hurtful or not, they were put there on purpose, and despite the grousing of uneducated internet trolls, horror has always been queer.

Still, people can’t be blamed for being oblivious to what they were never intended to notice in the first place. Now, thanks to Shudder, straight horror fans can finally school themselves about something that’s been right under their noses all along.

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Television

Engrossing ‘Tip Toe’ delivers tension and an ominous warning

A chilling reminder that violent homophobia is on the rise

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Alan Cumming and David Morrissey in ‘Tip Toe.’ (Photo courtesy of Channel 4/Starz)

Whenever a new project comes from queer Welsh screenwriter and producer Russell T Davies – who created the original “Queer As Folk” in 1999 before spearheading the revival of the classic BBC sci-fi series “Dr. Who” as head writer and showrunner in the mid-2000s – it generally leaps to the top of every queer “must watch” list, and with good reason.

A genuinely versatile creative force who can move easily between genres without losing the core of humanity that keeps us engaged, he’s particularly known for his unequivocal, unsentimental, and always fearlessly candid narratives about queer life, set within a social context that’s barely tolerant, at best. He has a knack for capturing both the transient beauty and persistent hardships that seem to define our beleaguered community. His most recent such endeavor, 2021’s “It’s a Sin,” took us back to the harrowing years of the AIDS epidemic, following a group of gay young Londoners as the disease – and the societal homophobia that surrounded it – wreaked its merciless havoc, even as they began to break free from their closets and embrace their queer identities; and while it may have broken our hearts, it was also somehow empowering, a tale that reminded us not just of what we lost, but of what we have survived.

His latest miniseries, however, takes place in the here and now, and it offers a markedly bleaker assessment of the state of things.

“Tip Toe,” which appeared on the UK’s Channel 4 last summer, debuts on U.S. screens via the Starz streaming service on Oct. 2, and it lets us know from its first few minutes that things are not going to end well; that’s not a spoiler – it’s a warning, because if you’re looking for a happy ending, you’re not going to find it here.

A tale of resurgent and emboldened homophobia in a modern-day Britain where open hate for the queer community has surged at an alarming rate, it’s the story of two men whose intertwining destinies feel almost like a tragic accident of fate. Leo (Alan Cumming) is a Gen-X AIDS survivor who has become a beloved figure in Manchester’s queer community, the owner of a popular gay bar that has always been a safe space for the queer, trans, and questioning souls who are struggling toward self-acceptance; his next-door neighbor, Clive (David Morrissey), is a working-class electrician with a floundering marriage and two sons who live secret lives he knows nothing about. He’s an old-school “macho man” whose ingrained misogyny and homophobia have grown increasingly unfiltered with the rise of online “culture war” rhetoric; and while there’s a kind of forced “neighborly” friendship between himself and Leo, there’s also a clear-cut line of judgement – on both sides – that gives their interactions a sense of barely concealed hostility.

When Leo is locked out of his apartment after a messy hook-up gone wrong, Clive comes to his rescue, but uses the opportunity to impose himself on Leo’s privacy. He levies the situation into an opportunity for work – an electrical revamp of Leo’s bar, where he makes no secret of his  disdain for the queer “lifestyle” – and the tension between them continues to build despite Leo’s best efforts at being polite. The escalation reaches a boiling point when the secrets and lies in his own household lead Clive to suspect Leo of being a sexual predator, turning their precarious relationship into a minefield of hostility and inevitably pushing both men into a confrontation that will end in a shocking act of violence.

It might go without saying that “Tip Toe” is not the kind of show most of us would watch “for fun.” Russell’s script starts the relationship between its two antagonists at the threshold between a simmer and a boil, and shows us the outcome before either of them has even said a word, so it’s mostly impossible to avoid the sense of dread that hangs over everything that comes after. This is not a weakness; instead, aided by Peter Hoar’s masterful direction, it gives the show’s five episodes a slow build of tension that keeps us watching with morbid fascination, like the scene of a horrible road accident we’re forced to drive past in slow motion. We’re allowed to feel some hope along the way – after all, we’ve only had a glimpse of what is to happen, and there are other characters with storylines in which we can become invested along the way – but it’s a kind of grim hope, and it perfectly captures the fearful cultural zeitgeist-of-the-moment that the series is ultimately about.

The characters, too, are richly drawn and layered enough to avoid a simplistic “good guy/bad guy” dynamic. Clive is a brute – arrogant, uncivil, and forcefully antagonistic with a hair trigger that responds to anything or anyone that doesn’t meet his approval – but there’s enough broken humanity underneath all that to allow us to see a glimmer of potential for redemption. Likewise, Leo is mostly good-natured and likable, but he has an arrogance of his own, as well as some bitter resentments (most of them related to his ex-husband Curtis played by Charlie Condou), who left him for a woman), which – more than occasionally – surface to provide him with some ugly moments.

There are others, too; Melba (Paul Rhys), Leo’s gender-bending longtime bestie, who sees the growing danger in the world around them and voices it with the resigned stoicism of a reluctant Cassandra; Steph (Elizabeth Barrington), Leo’s straight friend who is not afraid to let him know when he’s too full of himself; Saul (Joseph Evans), Clive’s 20-something son who has evolved a more tolerant and easy-going outlook than his father, and teenaged George (Jackson Connor), Clive’s other son, whose struggles with his own identity take him on a roller-coaster ride of conflicted emotions; Marie (Pookie Quesnel), the wife who despises Clive but is unable to escape her unhappy existence with him; and Zee (Iz Hekseth), Leo’s employee who is trying to choose a name for herself after coming out as trans – along with a variety of other young, queer supporting players who have found refuge at the bar. All of them are written with depth and nuance, even those who remain more or less in the background, and brought to life through excellent, measured performances.

It is, however, Cumming and Morrissey who give the show its irresistible pull, their complex, bristling characters endowed with a palpable authenticity that makes us forget they are merely actors playing roles. They fully inhabit these two thorny men, creating a dynamic between them that feels like a force of nature, and it’s they who provide the terrible power that keeps us from looking away, no matter how much we might occasionally want to.

That’s a good thing, because “Tip Toe” is less a television event than it is a grim reminder that being “out” may no longer be as safe as we were finally beginning to think it was – and just because the alarm bell is coming from the UK, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t heed its warning on our side of the Atlantic, too.

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All the queer things to watch this fall

Andrew Scott, a new ‘Traitors,’ and plenty of horror

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Andrew Scott stars in ‘Elsinore.’ (Photo courtesy of Focus Features)

The fall season is barely upon us, and already the “must-see” queer movies and shows are leaping out of the gate. The next two months offer a hearty lineup of big screen and streaming options, with something for every taste. Whether you’re a fan of prestige drama, campy horror, “reality” TV, or just a fan of culturally relevant entertainment in general, you’ll definitely find some titles to pick from in our annual rundown below; and if you don’t want to choose, don’t worry: We won’t judge you if you watch them all.

Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story (Netflix, 9/17) Ryan Murphy starts the countdown to Halloween a little early with a new installment of his always-disturbing (but oh-so-entertaining) anthology series about notorious real-life murderers, and this time he takes us back to one of the most notorious of all. Ella Beatty plays the legendary 19th-century woman who (allegedly) “took an axe” and whacked her mother and father to death with it. Lesbian rumors have long been part of the subtext around the case, so expect a focus there — especially given that it’s the series’ first time centered on a woman, and that show creator Ian Brennan includes side-trips into the stories of famous sapphic serial killers both before and after Lizzie’s day. Vicky Krieps, Charlie Hunnam, Jessica Barden, Billie Lourd, and Sarah Paulson also star.

The Traitors: New Blood (NBC/Peacock, 9/17) The popular reality competition show, in which actor (and queer icon) Alan Cumming presides over a cutthroat game of intrigue and elimination in a Scottish castle, makes its return – but this time, in a new iteration that features non-celebrity contestants, Otherwise, it promises to offer more of the same delicious deception and Machiavellian manipulation that fans have come to love.

Black Church Bay (Theaters, 9/25) “Heartstopper” star Joe Locke is set to make a splash on the big screen opposite Tom Cullen in this brooding mystery thriller as a gay student whose disappearance stirs up long-buried secrets in a small Welsh coastal village. First-time writer/director Rhys Marc Jones says it “explores the lengths some people will go to in order to hide their true self,” so be ready for a dark tale of secrets and lies.

American Horror Story: 13 (FX/Hulu, 9/25) Ryan Murphy is ready, as usual, to hit the fall season with a “one-two” punch, and the second punch is the 13th season of his venerable, campy, and extremely queer horror anthology, which  brings back beloved alumni from seasons past (yes, even Jessica Lange) in the roles they originally played. Since a good number of those characters were dead the last we knew of them, seeing how the show manages to bring them all back is itself enough reason to make this landmark installment – which also features Sarah Paulson, Angela Bassett, Kathy Bates, Evan Peters, Emma Roberts, Billie Lourd, and even the Pope of Trash, John Waters himself – required viewing for a whole legion of queer pop culturistas with a taste for the macabre.

East of Eden (Netflix, 10/1) Fans of the late bisexual heartthrob James Dean clearly remember the 1955 film version of John Steinbeck’s classic novel, but that movie only told the second half of the story. This new limited series adaptation (from Zoe Kazan, granddaughter of Elia Kazan, director of the original film) takes advantage of a seven-episode running time to take on the entire novel from the beginning. The saga of a broken family in the Salinas Valley, it sprawls over the first two decades of the 20th century to document the struggles of a wealthy landowner whose wife abandons him to become a brothel madam after giving birth to his twin sons; following the boys as they grow up and apart, it mirrors the Biblical story of Cain and Abel, exploring the dynamics of a family haunted by the shadow of an “original sin” – and whether or not they are doomed to be defined by it. No directly queer content here, perhaps, but the direct family tie to a cinema classic (plus the presence of queer fan favorite Florence Pugh as Cathy, the story’s fabulously monstrous mother) gives it an appeal that feels like must-see TV, anyway.

Tip Toe (STARZ, 10/2) This taut UK miniseries from “Queer As Folk” creator Russell T. Davies has already been a critically lauded sensation in its home country, making its U.S. premiere an event worth putting on your calendar. Alan Cumming stars as a gay bar owner who is forced to face the shifting cultural tide when online homophobia begins to turn his once-friendly neighbor (David Morrissey) into a deadly enemy. A grim psychological thriller for an increasingly unsettling time, it’s bound to strike a chord with queer viewers who remember an era when “the closet” was the safest place to be – and with those who fear its return.

Street Fighter (Theaters, 10/6) It might seem as if a movie based on a 1980s video game would have limited appeal for anyone that isn’t a Gen-X “gaymer” who remembers when it cost 25 cents a pop to be one – but this reboot of the film franchise that sprung from it in 1994 is also the screen debut of gay country-western heartthrob Orville Peck, who appropriately takes on the role of Vega, a fighter who always wears his mask. It also stars Noah Centineo, David Dastmalchian, and Jason Momoa, among others. 

Carrie (Prime Video, 10/7) Horror fans may have mixed feelings about this new eight-part miniseries based on Stephen King’s much-adored seminal novel, given that the popular 1976 film adaption has endured as the definitive version – something that proved a factor when filmmaker Kimberly Pierce’s 2013 remake failed to win over fans. Even so, this retelling (featuring Summer H. Howell as the troubled teen title character and Samantha Soyen as her overbearing and increasingly unhinged mom) comes from horror maestro Mike Flanagan (“Oculus,” “The Haunting of Hill House,” “Midnight Mass,” “Dr. Sleep”), who has already proven himself as a director of King’s work and comes to the project with a considerable fanbase of his own. Either way, given its release less than a month before Halloween, we know all you horror fans – queer and otherwise – will be binge-watching it honor of the holiday.

It Gets Worse (UK Channel 4, 10/14) American audiences might have to wait a few months – unless they have access to Britain’s “public access” network Channel 4 – but we’re putting it on our list anyway, mostly because of the presence of premier gay thespian Andrew Scott, whose role as a therapist has already sparked frenzy over a line in the trailer about his patient being “just a hole for daddy.” Consider all of us intrigued, to say the least.

Sense and Sensibility (Theaters, 10/16) The material itself may not be particularly queer, but this new screen adaptation of the classic Jane Austen novel – like anything related to Jane Austen – has queer appeal, anyway. That’s especially true when it comes from lesbian filmmaker Georgia Oakley (“Blue Jean”), who will surely highlight all the reasons why Austen (or any other source for this kind of lush period costume romance) has queer appeal, no matter what. Stars include Daisy Edgar-Jones, Catriona Balfe, George MacKay, and Fiona Shaw.

Klara and the Sun (Theaters, 10/23) Adapted from the 2021 novel by Kazuo Ishiguro, this dystopian fantasy from New Zealand filmmaker Taika Waititi (“What We Do in the Shadows,” “JoJo Rabbit”) may not be directly queer-centric, but its story of an “artificial friend” (Jenna Ortega of “Wednesday” fame) who strives to save the sickly child for whom she has been purchased will surely resonate with queer audiences, evoking themes of otherness, societal disconnection, and simple empathy that transcends the imposed boundaries of what it means to be a conscious being in a world to which you can never truly belong. Amy Adams, Steve Buscemi, and Natasha Lyonne also star.

Club Kid (Theaters, 11/6) A new big-screen offering from gay actor/creator/personality Jordan Firstman (“Rotting in the Sun,” “The English Teacher”), who makes his feature directing debut with this comedy-drama about a washed-up party promoter whose career woes suddenly take a back seat when he is charged with the care of a 10-year-old son (Reggie Absolom) he never knew he had. This one premiered in the “Un Certain Regard” session at this year’s Cannes Film Festival, where it received a glowing response, and has won praise for its candid and non-judgmental depiction of underground queer nightlife and the people who find community there. Also starring Cara Delevingne, Kirby Howell-Baptiste, Colleen Camp, Vicki Pepperdine, Nigil Whyte, Eldar Isgandarov, Saturn Risin9, Miss Benny, Alaska Riley, and Diego Calva.

Yellowjackets, Season 4 (Showtime, 11/22) The fourth (and final) season of this acclaimed Ashley Lyle/Bart Nickerson-created series (the second-most-streamed in Showtime’s history) is on its way into your living rooms, bringing to a close its tangled saga of a group of teen girls forced to survive in the wilderness after a plane crash, and their struggle to repair their damaged lives as adults 25 years later. It’s been a tale full of mysteries, secrets, shocks, and twists, so if you’re a fan, you’re probably eager to get some answers – but don’t be surprised if this devilish show throws a few more curves your way before it finally delivers them! Melanie Lynskey, Tawny Cypress, Christina Ricci, Sophie Nélisse, Jasmin Savoy Brown, Sophie Thatcher. Sammi Hanratty, and Warren Kole all return, with Hillary Swank, Elijah Wood, June Squibb, and Molly Ringwald along for the ride in recurring roles.

Elsinore (Theaters, 11/20) Andrew Scott reappears on our list as the star of what seems to be the most-anticipated movie of the season, a biographical drama about the last days of gay British actor Ian Charleson (“Chariots of Fire”), as he prepares for the lead role in a National Theatre production of “Hamlet” while secretly dying of AIDS. Scott’s performance as Charleson has been showered with raves, and so has that of Olivia Colman as the doctor who helps him get through the ordeal of rehearsing theater’s most demanding role while suffering from the symptoms of his disease. Director Simon Stone collaborated closely with both Scott and screenwriter Stephen Beresford in developing what was for them a deeply personal project, which explores the challenges of being queer but closeted in the public eye while emphasizing the ability of art and self-expression to empower us “against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” even unto the very end. Yes, it sounds like a downer, but the reports from those who saw its premiere at the Telluride Film Festival earlier this month assure us otherwise. The ensemble supporting cast includes Billie Piper, Johnny Flynn, Juliet Stevenson, Joe Locke, Peter Mullan, Georgie Glen, and David Dawson as pioneering queer filmmaker Derek Jarman, a friend of Charleson’s who was also lost to AIDS.

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‘Vampire Lestat’ heats up Pride month with queer action

Latest Anne Rice adaptation poised to be your next TV obsession

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Sam Reid stars as a rock-n-roll version of Lestat. (Photo courtesy of AMC)

Whether you’re mourning the end of Euphoria, The Boys, or Hacks, you’re dying for another hit of Heated Rivalry or just need something new to watch, The Vampire Lestat has you covered. Whether it’s the cutting witty dialogue, supernatural action, or the maudlin adventures of problematic queer relationships, this is the show for you. This new season brings literal sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll as Lestat (Sam Reid), a multi-centennial vampire, decides to process his beef with his sexy ex Louis (Jacob Anderson) for giving the Interview With The Vampire by starting a rock band. 

In 1976, Anne Rice wrote a book to process the death of her young daughter. It was the story of two vampire “roommates” and their centuries-long relationship drama. What followed was a series of 13 books and a whole world filled with vampires, witches, and more. This launched the 1994 film where Brad Pitt, Antonio Banderas, and Tom Cruise played “totally not gay” vampires who almost kissed a few times, despite having all of the hottest actors of the era, it was sanitized of all queer subplots. R&B diva Aaliyah’s last role was as Akasha, the eponymous Queen of the Damned (2002), the unoffical follow up to the first film covering Rice’s second and third book. 

The AMC series version of Interview with the Vampire took all this source material and made it more gay, more current, and more PC. They shifted the story to the present day, having Louis live in a luxurious Dubai compound, and his interviewer, Daniel Molloy (Eric Bogosian), being a former addict hawking his masterclass, armed with a ton of evidence. The choice to race-swap Louis from a misanthropic emo plantation owner to a black brothel owner in New Orleans adds so much more nuance, history and richness to his character. Exploring the abusive nature of the relationship and casting the amazing Delainey Hayles as Claudia have all elevated the story to your next television obsession. The choice to turn the book into two seasons allowed the creators to take their time, play with storytelling and explore Louis as an unreliable narrator and tease at many of the storylines of later books. This was a smart choice considering these characters are all centuries old, and over the course of 13 books, all have complex backstories and inner worlds.

Sam Reid was always a standout and captured the egomania and charm of Lestat, the self-proclaimed Brat Prince. He gets to play an over-the-top bitch about everything we’ve seen and heard in Seasons 1 and 2, while even skewering the world of today, commenting on the state of fame, life, and politics.  

Like in the book, he reclaims the narrative as he takes the helm of the story. Rather than write his own book, he’s nabbed the newly vamped-up Daniel Molloy as his documentarian. Also, without giving too much away, this series begins in an unnamed future. Armand (Assad Zaman) and Louis are still as hot as ever, and they’re at an auction for the complete works of the Vampire Lestat. It’s teased that some sort of world-altering event has transpired, and Lestat is missing in action. Could that be the events of The Queen of the Damned or even the sum of all of the books? Only time will tell.

The worldbuilding is really solid as we get to see the past, present and future of these characters.  Prime example, Akasha, The Queen of the Damned, was name-checked in earlier seasons. Whether you’re a fan of the original source material or not, this series has something for everyone. It has action, including an epic vampire fight scene in the premiere. It has a complex world and mysteries that unfold over the course of each season. Plus, it has hotties of all genders with Reid, Anderson and Zaman holding it down from earlier seasons. Schitt’s Creek dreamboat  Noah Reid joins the cast as Lestat’s band’s frontman. 

The show has everything: sex, violence, drama, all with a queer and racially inclusive lens. It doesn’t pull punches in storytelling and examining history, all while maintaining a level of levity and fun. It unfolds with dramatic soap operatic reveals and confrontations while also grounding all of the fantasy in our world. 

The series is poised to continue with the same characters from the first two seasons while shifting the focus to allow in a new cast of characters who will play out the events of multiple books and major arcs that are part of AMC’s new Anne Rice cinematic universe. 

The series airs on AMC Plus, while the first two seasons are available on Netflix. A note to people streaming it may appear on Season 2, as the series name change might be confusing for those who haven’t seen the show.

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