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"It's not your future if you're pretending to be someone else."
- Fear Street 1994
Within the very first ten minutes of the first installment of Netflix's latest hit trilogy, "Fear Street," Kiana Madeira's Deena Johnson utters the lines above as part of an impassioned plea to her estranged girlfriend, Samantha Fraser.
A line that not only encapsulates the film's identity-driven core but also successfully sows the seed for the foundation of a watershed moment in the history of queer representation on-screen.
From that moment on, the protagonists of Fear Street go on to wage a symbolic battle against demons of a different kind — homophobia, toxic masculinity, and sheer societal repression — in a weary war that spans across three distinct timelines — 1666, 1978, and 1994.
Laced with a powerful emotional undercurrent, Fear Street is fraught with a seamless blend of thrills and intrigue that further amplifies the duo's painstaking quest for a semblance of normalcy in a cruel, conservative and unforgiving world.
Luckily for them, despite flirting with tragedy on numerous occasions, Leigh Janiak's Fear Street is essentially a tale of love's labor found, not lost.
The symbolic significance of Fear Street
Built upon the immersive world of RL Stine's classic teen series, Netflix's latest horror offering, Fear Street, successfully pays homage to the traditional motifs of slasher horror in the vein of "Scream" and "Friday the 13th."
What sets it apart is its ability to elevate the genre itself to a transcendental position of progressiveness — courtesy of the cliche yet supremely effective power of love.
In a manner almost akin to Stephen King's sci-fi classic "Under the Dome," Deena and Sam eventually succeed in shattering the glass ceiling of toxicity. It has long plagued the realm of Shadyside and prevented its residents from reaping the dividends of their long-overdue day in the sun.
With one being obscured in darkness for eons and the other basking in an unnatural aura of light, the parallels between Shadyside and Sunnyvale serve as a recurring theme throughout the Fear Street trilogy.
But it is not until the third film in the series that viewers get to witness and understand the ominous origins of the Shadyside curse, which stems from the unfulfilled love of Sarah Fier and Hannah Miller.
Ironically enough, the events of Fear Street 1666 unfold in the pastoral setting of Union, the name of the joint settlement that housed both Shadyside and Sunnyvale before its segregation.
It is to be noted that the most revered man in town, Pastor Cyrus Miller, becomes the very omen of nefariousness, and it is Solomon "Goode" who turns out to be the root of all evil.
The latter's unshakeable deal with the devil initiates a rippling domino effect that not only brings upon the burden of blight upon the land but also throws the lives of closeted lovers, Sarah and Hannah, into disarray.
Deemed illicit right from the very outset, the nature of the teenage duo's relationship is placed under a highly rigid conservative lens from the very start, which is reflective of a myopic mob mentality, the bitter remnants of which continue to plague major pockets of the world today.
Forced to suppress the flickering flame of desire and conform to the regressive societal norms of their time, Hannah and Sarah's arduous plea for recognition and acceptance is tantamount to the yearning cries of queer youth movements today.
Their tryst, in the woods, is casually brushed aside as a "dalliance," a mere oddity instantly linked to witchcraft and the harbinger of ill-will.
The demonization that follows serves as a stark reminder of the puritanical fervor and baseless bigotry long ailing humanity.
Hung upon the altar of anarchy, Sarah Fier's mortal soul may have succumbed to the perils of society, but the flame of her eternal love flickers on.
The moss burns bright-red, which festers for years on end, creeping across the doomed land, and is symbolic of her rage, suppressed love, and unfulfilled quest for vengeance.
The power of a jilted lover simmers until it is unleashed centuries later by her soul sister, Deena, in one radiant and climactic burst of soul-stirring vision.
A watershed moment in queer representation on-screen
Essentially a layered love story, the emotional profundity of Netflix's Fear Street far belies its dubious horror overtones to drive home a burning question — who, indeed, are the real monsters?
Focusing on the far-reaching implications of being unjustly ostracized and ridiculed, the film holds a mirror to the times we live in via a healthy dose of introspection and scathing social commentary.
From Hozier's "Take Me To Church" to the suppression of the Viscount's identity in "Slaughterhouse Rulez" to a same-sex couple frontlining a pulsating narrative in 2018's "What Keeps You Alive," queer representation in art and cinema is indubitably on the rise.
But it is the sheer deftness with which Fear Street subtly defies the formulaic horror movie approach, seemingly set in stone, that allows it to transcend the tribulations of society's gatekeepers and claim its place in the pantheon of all-time greats.
In a triumphant nod to the "Final Girl" trope, the film's closing moments enable the protagonists to shatter preconceived notions emphatically while also issuing a rallying cry for acceptance.
Having said that, the world may have grown accustomed to the timeless tale of the Capulets and the Montagues spewing venom over the mere thought of an affair between their scions.
But one can no longer ignore nor suppress the winds of change.
Today's generation has been blessed with yet another revolutionary, new-age pair of star-crossed lovers to root for hopelessly — Deena Johnson and Samantha Fraser.
Sensitive in its portrayal of young, sapphic love and unabashed in terms of its clarity of vision, Fear Street is so much more than "just another dalliance in the dark."
For it is only through their baptism of "fier" that the true Union of Sunnyvale and Shadyside could ever take place.
Note: This article reflects the author's views.
