If What We Do in the Shadows were to meet Only Lovers Left Alive, the result would be something like Out to Run: A Tale of Blood Velvet by James Berry—a gory good time full of heart and humor. Berry’s short film opens with a montage: open drag brunches, socializing, and people strolling through inclusive street markets. Two lovers, Cole and Jessie, enjoy a romantic evening, discussing the next stage of their relationship. But their rendezvous takes an unexpected turn when Jesse investigates a series of abrupt knocks at the door, only to be consumed by vampires. Before Cole can meet the same fate, he is rescued by an amazeballs lesbian vampire-slayer named Cass Celinski in a breathtaking fight sequence, leaving Cole bewildered. This film encapsulates the perfect blend of humor and horror— “dark humor”— stemming from combining sonic, visual, and rhetorical techniques to recast today’s depiction of queer vampires.
What’s Funny…
Much of the humor in this short film is undetectable due to how Berry cleverly plays with queer tropes, creating a strong sense of social-awareness. Some of these tropes, scattered throughout the film, are too niche to register outside of the LGBTQ+ community. However, the humorous take on queerness is central to its comedic tone, initiating that contrast between severe vampire lore and larger-than-life elements in the characters’ depictions.
Cass Celinksi serves as a prime example with her exaggerated physical characteristics. Sporting a pixie-cut and living in a trailer are almost exclusively associated with the “tomboy” persona often stigmatized as the lesbian identity in films. Her self-proclaimed “lesbain vampire-slayer” feels both empowering and kitsch. This embrace of a subversive and almost absurd character reflects the type of humor often embedded in queer cinema—characters who challenge traditional norms while also reclaiming their outsider status.
The title itself contains an oxymoron, juxtaposing the violent imagery of blood with the sweet, sensual appeal of velvet. The very notion of blood, which in horror is associated with violence and death, becomes a medium of desire and allure. This contradiction is explored in the scene where the vampire is feeding on Cole, where the gruesome act is romanticized through rich, sultry tones of ASMR-like sound effects. The biting of flesh, typically horrific, is transformed into something erotic, distorting the audience’s visceral reaction to the scene.
Moreover, Berry employs a warm color palette to further evoke sensuality and danger. The opening scene, which depicts Cole and Jessie’s romantic evening, are awash in vibrant, warm tones that conjure the feeling of intimacy and passion. However, as the climax unfolds, these colors deepen to a more concentrated and aggressive red, underscoring both the violence and overstimulation in the moment. This is where we see the genre of horror come into full effect, setting up the subsequent moments of horror and humor blending.
Ironic, Isn’t It?
The film’s irony is central to its unique sense of humor: it subverts historical representations of vampires, queerness, and heroism. This plays into the subtext of Victorian-era literature, where vampires often served as allegories for repressed desires, queerness, and transgression. Additional evidence includes fictional characters such as Dracula and Carmilla, vampires embodying the fear of the unknown and the tabooed practices of the time, which were both alluring and dangerous. Out to Run flips this subtext on its head, giving queer characters protagonist roles, and offering a fresh take on the genre that acknowledges but ultimately debunks the long-standing association with vampirism and sexual deviance.
Berry explained that he wanted to create a movie “that was fun, witty, and subverted your expectations while building toward a knock-your-socks-off conclusion that made queer characters the heroes.” This ethos is captured in the duality of queer protagonists as victims and heroes. As literary historian S. Brooke Cameron explored, in her book Queer Gothic, many narratives in this subgenre configure queer vampires as the antihero–someone who defies conventional morality or perpetrates societal norms. Berry’s complete one-eighty turn on this narrative adds a layer of humor through this irony.
The closing sequence, where “Freedom! 90” is featured in the underscore, ties back to the film’s ironic approach to horror. This iconic, upbeat anthem becomes an anempatheic soundtrack to Cole’s internal turmoil. Of course, he was saved and was freed from his imminent death, but he is also grappling with the events that had just unfolded. The juxtaposition of the traumatic, near-death experience coupled with a cheeky, energetic song epitomizes how Berry blends these genres. In stark counterpoint to the visuals, the song highlights the film’s playful, subversive nature.
So Much is Happening!
As an honorable mention: Berry’s use of fantastical elements helps soften the horrific images and bring the humor to light. The film’s sound effects succeed in creating moments of absurdity, making even the most grotesque entertaining. The foley gulps of the blood during the feeding scene is an example, as is the epic and comical fight sequence between Celinski and the vampires with dramatic close-up shots of bloodshed. These instances of spectacle perfectly align with the film’s dark comedic tone.
In Out to Run: A Tale of Blood Velvet, James Berry deliciously integrates horror and comedy using sounds, visuals, and irony to create an experience that is both gruesome and witty. The film’s take on queerness, both as a subversive force in the vampire genre and as a tool of cultural satire, reflects the tumultuous history of queer representation in media and literature. By employing sound effects, and anempatheic juxtaposition, Berry guides the audience through the tension of horror and the release of humor as well as shock and charm in a way that is both unsettling and entertaining.