Drag Queens take on the Undead in a Queer Horror romp with deadly looks and killer laughs
It’s Easter night, and an upcoming Drag show at Bushwick’s Yum club is falling apart minutes before doors. Organizer/DJ Dre (Katy O’Brian) is pulling out all the stops, even convincing best friend Sam (Jaquel Spivey) to revive their semi-legendary Samoncé act when previous headliner Yasmine (Dominique Jackson) bails for a better-paying event by Glitter Bitch Vodka. As drama between fellow performers skyrockets, plumbing goes haywire, and rival events leave Yum’s dance floor desolately dead, Yum’s future looks grim. And in Tina Romero’s Queens of the Dead–so does humanity’s! At Sam’s hospital day job, bite-ridden patients rise as glittery-gray zombies, forcing Dre and their crew of queens, queers, and one tragically straight brother-in-law to glam up, gear up, and fight to survive until they’re rescued.
Drawing on her DJ roots in New York’s LGBTQ+ nightlife and the legendary legacy of her father, George A. Romero, Tina Romero’s Queens of the Dead riotously fuses sharp scares, biting social commentary, and a joyfully silly sense of humor. From frame one, Queens explodes with inescapably neon-soaked color; even the comically gray zombies of Dawn of the Dead are dusted with copious amounts of glitter, turning them undead and fabulous. Drag essentials likewise double as survival gear–whether it’s butt padding as zombie-bite armor or go-go cages repurposed into surprisingly effective traps for bloodthirsty twinks. Amidst the mayhem, an endless bop of a soundtrack by Blitz/Berlin turns even the most terrifying moments into total bangers. Even as the film shifts from ensemble frame to full-on gory horror, Queens barrels forward with rapid-fire, big-hearted comedy, skewering both the highs and lows of gay club culture. Romero’s lived experience in both worlds gives the story a rare balance, blending these disparate genres with striking ease—a remarkable feat for a debut feature.
Romero’s assured direction spotlights her gifted LGBTQ+ ensemble, giving them room not only to shine comedically but also to play against audience expectations. The film overflows with queer royalty—including a drill-wielding Margaret Cho and a supremely sassy Cheyenne Jackson, alongside Pose’s Dominique Jackson as the gloriously selfish drag superstar Yasmine and Nina West as Ginsey Tonic, the ultimate drag matriarch—both turning their sleek looks into deadly, slay-by-the-masses weapons. Horror icons such as Gaylen Ross and Tom Savini provide exciting and funny sight-gag homages to Romero family films of yore.
After attention-grabbing turns in Love Lies Bleeding, Twisters, and Mission Impossible: The Final Reckoning, Katy O’Brian finally gets the lead role she deserves; as Dre, O’Brian channels a harried backstage parent à la Kermit the Frog, juggling backstage crises and saving loved ones from the undead as her latest line items on the thankless to-do list of a drag show stage manager. Mean Girls and A Strange Loop’s Jaquel Spivey delivers a Sam you just want to give a big bear hug to, a Queen in hiding whose brushes with the undead unearths the confidence they need to finally kill it on stage. I Saw The TV Glow’s Jack Haven is hysterical as the terminally Gen-Alpha Kelsey, particularly when left to their own anxious-singing devices after being axed in the leg. Tomas Matos brings surprising depth to Nico, a.k.a. Scrumptious—an ambitious, ego-driven baby queen determined to make a name for herself while willfully ignoring the damage caused by her role as a dealer in the very scene she wants to belong in. Riki Lindhome brings sharp, grounded energy as Lizzy, Dre’s fiancée and a fiercely capable nurse, while Quincy Dunn-Baker delivers a standout turn as Lizzy’s toxically dude-bro brother Barry: a homophobic, podcast-guzzling plumber whose unexpectedly wholesome, blood-soaked arc mirrors Queens’ own ambition to bury long-standing prejudices as decisively as it does the undead.
Just as Romero draws from her own experiences to shape Queens’ sharp fusion of humor and horror, it’s through her motley crew’s comically gruesome journey that she confronts some of the most pressing issues in modern queer life. From substance abuse and self-doubt to isolation within chosen families and the hollow churn of influencer culture, Romero and co-writer Erin Judge cast a wide, critical net—approaching each topic with sharp wit and surprising nuance. That balance of insight and irreverence is only strengthened by the fully queer cast and crew, whose lived experience fuels a debut that’s as hysterical and horrifying as it is inclusive and empathetic. It recognizes that each character’s flaws and petty judgments stem from understandable, if misguided, places, and uses the glamorous, deadly trappings of queer horror to bring them together and lift them up.
In a world that grows darker and more hostile toward Queer communities by the day, Queens of the Dead reminds us that the Queer and Drag communities should be far from the butt of the joke when it comes to horror–rather, they’ve always been uniquely equipped to face such danger head-on. More than that, it celebrates our ability to meet whatever life throws at us with flawless looks and irreverent wit—essential armor against real-world horrors. Nothing captures Queens’ defiant horror ethos better than the peak of the chaos when Sam declares their situation is “life or death,” to which Dre replies, “It’s always both.”
Tina Romero’s Queens of the Dead is a defiant and hilarious debut of Queer Horror that slays expectations, skewers prejudice, and turns surviving the undead into a glamorous act of rebellion–one made effortless with the right reads and killer looks.
Queens of the Dead is now playing in theaters courtesy of IFC and Shudder.
