109 pages
Published 1872
Read May 5
Rating: 2 out of 5
My partner R and I went through a phase this past fall and winter in which we watched a glut of old horror films: Hammer vampire joints, folk horror classics, random seedy B-movies. Coupled with R’s abiding interest in queer history and old queer literature, it was inevitable that we would watch Carmilla’s 1970 sexploitation adaptation The Vampire Lovers. And after watching that, it was inevitable that I’d want to give Carmilla itself a try.
Carmilla is about what you’d expect: a turgid melodrama, full of tumultuous sighing and weird bits of racism that tumble out when you least expect them. In classic Victorian style, it teases coy eroticism under layers of moralistic protestations. It holds few surprises if you’ve already seen The Vampire Lovers; if anything, Carmilla is flat and anticlimactic in comparison to the B-movie. However, I appreciated Carmilla’s languorous atmosphere, and any queer representation from such an early date — despite the prurient motivations of its author and original audience — is fascinating.
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