‘Camp’ Kills: Review of Ironic Horrors, Weapons and Beyond
Image Credits: Tima Miroshnichenko via Pexels
In a divided world, one thing which unites our generation is a perpetual fear of embarrassment. We live in a society where with the ubiquitous presence of social media in our lives, scrupulous scrutiny is commonplace. Every photo, post, thread and opinion falls subject to constant debate, and this seems to happen incessantly. This endless war of words arouses one question in particular: today, how can we be our true authentic selves when our every move is debated?
Despite this, we seem to have found the best coping mechanism: laughing at ourselves.
This is what seems to draw us towards all things camp: how can a genre so self-aware, and unapologetically itself, not appeal to a generation who is terrified of taking itself too seriously? Coralie Fargaet’s 2024 hit The Substance catapulted the camp horror genre back into the public eye. The Substance satirises the beauty standards placed on women through grotesque and over-the-top body horror, whilst also exploring the themes of ageism and the self-destructive pursuit of perfection. Whilst being an effective critique on societies’ ever-changing beauty standards, it takes them and ramps them up to the extremes. The very spectacle which is The Substance is what makes it so inviting to us. It doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what it is: over-indulgent, horrifically ironic and true to itself, whilst simultaneously showing how monstrous the pursuit of beauty is.
This exaggerated exploration of the self and eternal youth isn’t new, of course. Robert Zemeckis’ Death Becomes Her (1992) paved the way for modern ironic horrors. Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn stun as Madeline Ashton, a has-been actor, and her dear friend Helen, who - in pursuit of eternal beauty - take a potion which allows them to live forever and return to their former renown and beauty. The pair are cursed with immortality and saddled with the burden of youth. The film cascades into a satire of vanity and extravagance, exaggerating the same obsession with beauty as seen in The Substance until it becomes ugly. The blend of both social critique and ironic humour again is what attracts our generation towards these films, masking, in the same way we do ourselves, our insecurity behind the barrier of humour.
Films such as The Substance and Death Becomes Her are not only camp due to their self-awareness and irony, but also because these qualities render them iconic and cultural staples.
The most notorious camp character is of course, The Rocky Horror Picture Show’s (1975) Frank-N-Furter, who each year emerges on Halloween as one of the season’s most popular costumes. This year’s go-to costume for many is Aunt Gladys, from Zach Cregger’s smash hit Weapons (2025). Amy Madigan’s stellar performance as the mysterious and eclectic Aunt Gladys left audiences - myself included - stunned every moment she was on screen. In a world of normality, Gladys is high camp. The ludicrously brightly coloured outfits and a strikingly memorable personality are reminiscent of our generation. We too hide behind exaggerated, theatrical façades to cope with the criticism levelled at us by society and social media, conforming to social expectations which demand conventionality over eccentricity.
Laughing at ourselves and learning to be who you are shamelessly are things which our generation seems to be best at, so it’s no surprise that we flock towards these ironic, iconic horrors to help us navigate this fear.
Camp characters are always fan-favourites for our generation, so it’s hardly shocking that they are the characters who we love the most. They show us that authenticity isn’t about being flawless: it’s about owning the performance and finding truth within exaggeration.