Graveyard Shift Sisters

Obscurity is a common occurrence in the lives of billions. In grand fashion, very few carry the burden of conspicuousness. The remedy of balance some hope for, is the space to exercise their passion that isn't eclipsed by their personal life in a showcase.

Surely, a group of many are able to do great things in a spotlight, see multiple corners of the planet and be able to keep a part of their shadow. Marsha A. Hunt, in such lyrical passages could be described in this manner.

I'm far from a war historian, but I imagine World War II had an impact on American foreign policy and its relationships amongst the key thirty countries entangled between 1939 and 1945. With stories of spys, secrets and millions of deaths including mass genocide, the war's residue in media was nuclear destruction fear bait. Technology saw a vast upswing, and every developed country wanted the upper hand. A symbol of pious boasting and virtually "untouched" by the aesthetic bleakness of the war's aftermath, America was not a celebrated land in many parts of Europe.

My friend, former magazine editor, published author, and fellow avid horror fan Christine Makepeace brought to my attention an essay on Monday that covers one of the biggest gaps I find in this project: why there aren't many Black horror filmmakers. It is extremely difficult to even begin a breakdown of why.How or can that question even be answered without a faulty explanation? Matt Barone's essay for The Dissolve titled, "Horror's scariest trend is the nonexistent black filmmaker" at least takes to task the historical trajectory of Black horror films, noticing the significant gaps and talking to industry insiders such as genre filmmaker Ernest Dickerson.

Mother of ten and horror's first Black scream queen, I have admired Monique Dupree (@Thaoriginalgata) from afar for quite some time. Dynamic women are awe inspiring to me. So much so, I tend to get really, really shy around them. Monique is a testament to hard work, resilience, and discipline. Her honesty and presence is something to aspire to.

In addition to her work in genre film, Monique is an alternative/fetish model, a front woman in a band, Negro Childe, entrepreneur with an online clothing store Liz Boutique, a very active professional wrestling enthusiast, has collaborated on a comic book Cat O' Nine Tails, and participates in charity and social outreach.

The post that started this series came as a surprise. Moved by its sustaining popularity, I saw a brief overview of the genesis of Black women in horror film history as nothing but an exercise in dishing a convergence you rarely see in February: Black History and Women in Horror Month. 
When I first began conversing with founder of Women in Horror Month Hannah Neurotica, she expressed some of the backlash to the movement that wanted staunchly to dismiss her efforts, seeing it as a bigoted move to conflict with a month largely capitalized upon as an acknowledgement of African American contributions to American history (you can find more of this here). With my natural inclination to think first and comment later, I sat with that ridiculous argument for awhile. It suggested the idea that Black people have no history in horror. Sadly, this appears to be the politics of invisibility of the Black presence within the genre, but this sentiment is far from definitive.