KSanders writesThe Southern-Fried Queer Horror of “Ganymede”

by Kyle Sanders

A few years ago I had the opportunity to meet one of my idols, writer Fran Lebowitz. After signing my copy of The Fran Lebowitz Reader, I complimented the pair of cowboy boots she was wearing, and pointed to my own (I happened to be dressed in similar attire as she was: sport coat, pressed button-down shirt, and cuffed denim jeans--not that she seemed to notice), which I had purchased in Nashville, Tennessee a decade prior.

"You should buy a pair the next time you do a speaking engagement in Nashville," I insisted. She seemed unconvinced, stating that she'd never been to Nashville because she's rarely invited to speak in the conservative parts of the country.

"Oh," I responded. "You should give Nashville a chance though--they've become slightly more progressive these days."

"Yeah," Fran quipped back. "But it's still the South."

Less than a year after that fateful encounter, the Volunteer State signed into law the Tennessee Adult Entertainment Act, which prevents "adult cabaret performance" in public or in front of children.

The details are pretty vague, until you come across the section that defines such performances as "male or female impersonators who provide entertainment appealing to prurient interest." In other words, this law was primarily meant to ban drag performances.

Fran was right, no matter how liberal a red state city can appear, the South is still gonna "South."

Why exactly is that? Why is it that progress is slowed (or more accurately, forced backward) thanks to the conservative-minded hive of Bible-beating, family-valuing climate deniers? More importantly, why a ban on drag? How does a law so trivial in the grand scheme of things take precedence over actual legislation that benefits communities instead of divides them?

What is it about drag--and to a greater extent, the LGBTQ community--that conservatives are so afraid of? These nagging questions kept bubbling up to the surface as I watched the latest queer horror release, Ganymede.

Directed by local (and married!) filmmakers Colby Holt and Sam Probst, the film's title is in reference to a biblical being straight from the darkest imaginations of Christian fear-mongers, defined as "an unrepentant homosexual, deeply entwined with demonic forces" (it's also the name of a Greek mythological hero who was so handsome that Zeus kidnapped him to be his cupbearer--but that's a whole other can of worms). In this film, a ganymede is the cause of one young man's troubles in a small rural community where reputations are made based on the church you attend. 

Supposedly, this ganymede has its bulging eyes set on Lee Fletcher Jr. (Jordan Doww), a high school wrestling all-star who experiences some rather conflicted feelings--and visions of said monster--for his out-and-proud classmate, Kyle (Pablo Castelblanco). This concerns his deeply religious parents, led with patriarchal sadism by Big Lee (Joe Chrest from Stranger Things).

Big Lee rules the family home with a dom-daddy iron fist and does not want to see his son seduced into the depths of Hell by demonic desire. Young Lee's mother Floy (Teen Witch's Robyn Lively) has some internal struggles of her own, torn between her Bible-based faith and the guilt she feels for abandoning her estranged gay brother Neal (Pete Zias), who committed suicide years prior. How to cope with this moment of crisis? By diving into religious zealotry of course, thanks to the fanatical fervor of their church's leader, Pastor Roy (David Koechner of Anchorman and Krampus).

According to Pastor Roy, there is no such thing as a homosexual--only homosexual acts inflicted by salacious demons puppeteering the strings (because no such human behavior could ever exist in reality, right?). It is our relationship with God that can save us from such immoral sin, and if Lee Jr. just maintains his faith in the Almighty, he will be saved and these same-sex desires for Kyle will be vanquished.

Of course, if prayer doesn't work, there's always the healing powers of electro-shock therapy. Needless to say, this delusional dogma leads young Lee down a path more terrifying than any satanic force.

For all its idyllic, down-home way of life, the South's obsession with evil and sin can be hell for any resident living outside the norm, and Ganymede really sinks its teeth into this notion. Written by Holt, who grew up in Paducah, Kentucky (where filming took place) and knows a thing or two about small town homophobia, it's not just the inner turmoil one feels that goes against their Christian upbringing, but the fear of being outed in an environment that's incredibly hostile towards it. 

There's a stiff, tightly-wound physicality in Doww's performance where hesitation precedes any sort of intimate gesture, which comes natural to anyone petrified of coming out. Living in a hypermasc environment where patriarchy is as revered as divinity, Lee is more concerned with keeping up acceptable, traditional appearances lest his secret be exposed.

That's old-fashioned southern repression for you: the real threat of God's punishment is not in eternal damnation, but in the discerning eyes and shrewd whispers of your neighbors, and the fear of loved ones turning you away. The spread of small town gossip can be swift, and as deafening as the buzzing of summer cicadas in the trees.

Visually, the film's lighting sets a sinister tone, draping the interiors of the Fletcher home in murky yellows while illuminating homoerotic desire in bright neon pinks--the same color that flickers from the threatening retinas of the film's shadowy monster. That same monster we only see in quick, pulsating flashes--an effective approach thanks to Probst, who also edited the film. It's just the right amount of skin-crawling creepiness to flesh out Lee's inner demons, even if he'd rather pray the gay away.

It's those sadistic faith-based solutions that conjure the true horror. I found the subtle scares to be way more disturbing, such as Pastor Roy's monologue detailing his own "past struggles" with gay-panic. Roy's speech is as chillingly rendered as the "USS Indianapolis story" recited by Robert Shaw's character from Jaws. When Lee's desperation calls for extreme measures, the tension is revved up to eleven when Pastor Roy brings out an electroconvulsive device, a moment eerily reminiscent of Misery's "hobbling" scene.

Of course, Ganymede couldn't possibly be considered queer without a dose of appropriate camp. With references to leather, dom/sub role play, and late-night cruising, the film winks at its audience with confidence. The heart of the film relies on the solid, earnest chemistry between Doww and Castelblanco, but its supporting cast offers plenty of homophobic tropes any rural resident would be familiar with.

Lively channels a southern fried version of Margaret White from Carrie, portraying a mother who gradually loses her grip on her rigid beliefs. Her character unironically proclaiming "This family is protected by God!" is finger-licking good. Koechner also has a ball as the fanatical pastor, evoking a crazy, backwoods cousin of his Todd Packer character from The Office, but with a bit more disquieting menace.

There's also a little bit of fun in the minor yet memorable performance of Anna Schlegel's PFLAG-waving school counselor, the understanding ally in kooky glasses who spouts supportive jargon like "Live your truth!" And Zias is fabulous as the dead gay brother who comes back to haunt sister Floy during one pivotal scene. His decaying, decrepit viciousness had me living for every second of his all-too-brief screen time. Overall, Ganymede's well-rounded cast provides enough gravitas to ground the story, with a little dash of madness to sell the more horrific elements. 

Ganymede translates those elements of horror into metaphorical commentary on the dangers of southern conservatism. It should prove relatable to any queer-oriented person who has ever had to survive the terrors of small town homophobia and the atrocious religious beliefs of its narrow-minded residents. It's not Satan possessing their soul that worries them, but the monsters residing next door.

As the Halloween season approaches, think outside the box (or should I say closet?) and put Ganymede on your watchlist.

Ganymede is currently available to stream on Amazon Prime and Apple TV.