I was absolutely thrilled when I watched The Possession (2012), simply because it’s the only horror movie I’ve seen with a Jewish exorcism. I felt like an overeager high school student, ready to take notes about how the Rabbi prepared for the exorcism. It’s really that rare—I’d been so used to seeing priests do the job.

Religious themes are an intrinsic part of most horror films. Ideas of pure evil, seeing the light, and lost souls are immediately tied to religious ideas. Whether it’s ghosts or demons, it’s connected to the underlying idea of an afterworld, a heaven and hell. Horror generally relies on Abrahamic religious ideas, but even then it’s really only Christianity. From overtly Christian horror films such as Bless The Child (2000) and The Prophecy (1995)—where Viggo Mortensen portrays a weirdly sexy Satan—to more subtle ones like the slasher classic Friday the 13th franchise (which hint in later sequels that Jason Voorhees has consorted with the devil), Christian religious themes are everywhere in horror. The problem is that there is little to no diversity in religious themes. Ideas of “foreign” religious practices are usually simplified down to African voodoo practiced in New Orleans, which is, more often than not, portrayed incorrectly and is rife with racism.

One of the major flaws with over-using Christian themes is that it makes horror movies predictable. We start to catch on to exactly how a demon can be defeated, and exactly how to rid your home of a ghostly presence. We learn that you slap a flew Crucifixes on the wall, read your Hail Mary’s, avoid locust swarms, and you’re pretty much good to go. Not only is including different religions in horror more progressive and diverse, but it’s also more interesting for the genre. The only thing is that if horror does choose to expand to, let’s say, Eastern religions, writers and directors need to make sure they’re not tokenizing it, exotifying it, or using it to essentially scare white people from the scary rituals of foreigners.

Adding different religious themes to horror is also very timely and would reflect the diversifying demographic of audiences. As the Western world becomes more racially and religiously diverse, our media needs to reflect that, and storytelling needs to pay attention to it or else plots will read as socially irrelevant. We are a diverse society, but if horror would have us believe we’re entirely homogeneous.

Instead of the same old “the power of Christ compels you!” let’s look at Hindu traditions, let’s look at jinns in Islam, churels from South Asian folklore, or Japanese Oni. Enough with sprinkling holy water; I want to see how lime or lemon is used in Hindu pooja to protect from evil spirits. And I want to see these traditions treated with respect, rather than portrayed like the backwards customs of the mystifying “Orient.”

Next week, I look at the elderly in horror, tropes of the creepy old lady, and how frightened we are of aging.

Like every other movie genre around, horror confirms to the same white hetero and cis normative, able-bodied standard of beauty. Your leading lady scream queen is almost always checks off all those boxes: beautiful, thin, able-bodied, cis, straight, white. Horror movies have abundance of scenes where said perfect model actress is walking around the house in her underwear or taking a steamy shower. The self-esteem crushing thoughts usually pop up here: “She has no cellulite. Why can’t I have no cellulite? How does she have such a flat stomach?”

It’s disappointing. Horror is supposed to be the outcast genre. Even the best horror films don’t often receive the prestige and praise of other genres. Unlike other genres, horror has a huge underground movement. Indie horror is vastly popular, and the endless streams of horror B-Movies are constantly flooding out, due in part to the fact that horror is relatively cheap to make. But if the genre is the renegade of the film world, why does it still conform to the Eurocentric mainstream beauty perception of beauty?

The horror genre asks so many deep questions about who we are as a society It taps into our sadomasochism, our strange attraction to violence, and our most uncomfortable fears. And with all this insight, the genre still fell for the same skinny, hairless, cisgender, straight, able-bodied, white woman trend. The genre is rife with fatphobia, exploiting fat actors to be extras struggling to run away from zombies and the like. Those with visible disabilities are practically non-existent. And those with invisible disabilities (mental illness) are stigmatized as rampant axe-murderers with evil alter-egos. Horror breaks so many boundaries, smashing through our comfort zone, and pushing our perspective on what crosses the line. And yet the boundaries of mainstream body image stand as strong as ever.

The importance of showing different bodies and identities in horror has two major benefits: the first is obvious, we can destroy conventional ideas of body image and propel horror as the genre that is the most socially progressive. But the second is also purely for the intelligence of the genre: it’s simply not realistic to keep having the same people appear throughout horror. Diversity in horror means better and more realistic plots and more interesting character development.

I love horror because it is such an outcast in so many ways, and it appeals to outcasts. But when the stars of the film are the same billboard babes that made me feel bad about myself throughout my adolescence, that outcast comfort falls to pieces. Generic conformity might work for mediocre, money-making romantic comedies, but it just doesn’t suit horror.

Next week, I look at religion in horror and where horror movies are lacking in religious diversity for horror origin stories.

From its major lack of racialized characters to helpless screaming women running through the night in their underwear, horror is notoriously problematic genre. Still, at 20-years-old, I’ve gone from avoiding all horror-related things throughout my adolescence (I will always be teased by my family for bolting out of a cheap haunted house in terror) to watching several horror movies a week. I’m still an incredibly easy scare, but I just can’t resist horror: the opportunity to see society’s deepest fears and  to examine society’s deepest prejudices—acted out in hyperbolic spectacles of evil and terror. And so, for the next six weeks of my internship, I will examine my most favourite horror films, the most loathsome, and everything in between, all to combine two equally scary things: horror movies and politics.

First up, let’s look at a classic: George A. Romero’s iconic 1968 zombie flick Night of the Living Dead. Romero’s choice to cast black actor Duane Jones for the lead role was hugely significant. The main character, Ben, was initially written as a part for a white actor (they were going to cast Rudy Ricci, who was one of the writers of the film). Needless to say, it was kind of a big deal that a black actor landed the lead role, in a movie that wasn’t explicitly about race, nor part of the Blaxploitation trend of the 60s and 70s.

Now, had the character been explicitly written as black, there’s a chance the script would’ve been littered with racist stereotypes. But the script was left unaltered even after Jones was cast. His character Ben, is by far the most capable person in the film. While other characters bicker and wail, he gets the job done. However, one very problematic scene occurs when Ben lays the lightheaded and overheating Barbara, played by Judith O’Dea, down on the couch and attempts to take her coat off. It’s a scene that certainly made some viewers uncomfortable, or at least those who internalize racist suspicions of the black man that lusts for white women. Barbara then smacks Ben, and Ben proceeds to punch her in the face. The scene is also odd—it doesn’t really fit with Ben’s character. He’s tough and takes no shit, that’s for sure, but this scene is overboard, and was apparently, not an original part of the script.

The sad part is in 2014, if a black actor were cast in the lead role for a horror film that was not explicitly about race, it would still be a big deal. The presence of racialized characters in lead roles in horror is an area in which the genre is still lacking—something that can be said about many genres, such as fantasy and sci-fi.

Other then the Night of the Living Dead 1990 remake starring Tony Todd,  two more recent films with black actors in the lead are Def by Temptation (1990), and The People Under the Stairs (1991), neither of which match the commercial success and cult following of original Night of the Living Dead. Todd also stars as the Candyman in the Candyman movie franchise—not the lead per se, but the villain. There’s also British horror/comedy gem Attack the Block (2011), which follows a group of underprivileged teenagers in Brixton fighting off monsters, but the movie falls more closely into the sci-fi genre. Forty-six years later since Night of the Living Dead was released it seems little has changed.

Mention black characters in the context of horror movies, and everyone jumps to the go-to “joke” that “the black guy always dies first.” Unfortunately, it’s true: black characters, and most racialized characters for that matter, tend to play minor side roles in horror films and are quickly killed. It’s this horror movie reality that everyone pretty much laughs about, despite the fact that it has deeply problematic connotations as to the way we view black and other racialized characters: as unimportant, disposable, laughable side tokens available for the first kill.

While Night of the Living Dead was in no way a perfect pinnacle for diversity—especially concerning the portrayal of the female characters—it’s still, unfortunately, more progressive then so much of mainstream horror today.

Next week, I’ll be exploring the demonic possession genre and its obsession with female sexuality. Cue the theme from The Exorcist.

Hana is an intern at This Magazine, and a self-described angry feminist. She spends her time blogging, illustrating, and re-watching Lord of the Rings.