Screens Untapped: The Case for Black Leads in the Horror Genre

Halima Duarte

03.01.25

Horror has a hidden rule: survival isn’t about wit, backstory, survival skills or luck — it’s about who looks the part. A long-standing cliché, masked as humor or satire, reveals a deeper issue: who gets to survive the film? For decades, White characters dominated the genre, while Black characters—when they appeared at all—were branded as the “first to go.”

Early on, Black characters were boxed into two roles: the disposable sidekick or the villain. This reinforced an insidious narrative—one that suggested they were either expendable or a threat.

Some industry voices claim that the "fear factor" integral to horror is absent in people of color, implying that White actors and Eurocentric, gothic aesthetics are the genre’s natural fit. Yet this perspective ignores the unique perspectives and talents Black leads bring to the table.

It’s crucial to recognize that films featuring Black leads don’t need to center on struggle or cultural identity to achieve success. Black characters can serve as dynamic, exceptional protagonists, independent of narratives tied to their identity.

Us (2019)

The psychological horror film follows a Black family on vacation, who soon find themselves and everyone around them attacked by doppelgängers. This brings the mother, Adelaide, back to a traumatic encounter from her childhood where she was seemingly attacked by another little girl who was her mirror image. 

The doppelgängers aren’t random — they embody distorted reflections of the family’s traits and flaws. These mirror images manifest as not only Adelaide’s shortcomings, but her family’s: her son's wanderlust and shyness, her daughter’s laziness and the father’s desire for luxury and wealth. Their doppelgängers are exact opposites or consequences of their flaws — the other son is covered in burns from playing with fire, the other daughter uses her athletic ability to torment the family and the other father is brute and aggressive.

Adelaide’s doppelgänger comes with a vengeance, envious of the successful life she had while the doubles lived in the shadows. However, it includes an underlying message about our flaws or what consequences our pleasures can result in. The family has to face their issues head-on as means for their own survival.

Their identity is obviously a point in the movie, but it does not make the film. What makes them is their strength and continuance in the face of conflict. This portrayal reinforces the potential for Black leads to excel in horror beyond the constraints of stereotype, showcasing their versatility in roles that transcend cultural or historical themes.

One of the most persistent critiques of Black leads in horror comes from the world of animation. Animators and directors have refuted the use of Black characters because of their lack of being able to fit a gothic, eerie animation style. However, this narrow viewpoint does nothing but limit the genre and in this case the art associated with it.

Wendell and Wild (2022)

Henry Selick, the animator behind classics like “Coraline” and “The Nightmare Before Christmas” teamed up with Jordan Peele to bring a new competitor into animated horror.

The story follows an orphaned Kat Elliot who is sent to her town’s private school after years of delinquency following her parents’ death. Hoping to resurrect her parents, Kat summons two mischievous demons, Wendell and Wild — voiced by comedic duo Keegan-Michael Key and Jordan Peele. While the demons navigate their own internal struggles to gain respect in the underworld, Kat grapples with her grief and a quest for closure.

Though Kat’s story doesn’t revolve around her Black identity, the film directly challenges the outdated notion that Black leads are incompatible with animated horror. Kat is unapologetically animated with Black features, but the ability to be scary and carry on a horror story is done without hesitation. “Wendell and Wild” not only expands the boundaries of animated horror but also dismantles biases that have long excluded Black protagonists from the genre.

Candyman (2021)

Jordan Peele and Nia DaCosta developed a sequel to the “Candyman” series, which developed the lifecycle to another light of the urban, Black experience.

The film follows an artist, Anthony, and his girlfriend in Cabrini-Green — the neighborhood where other “Candyman” films took place, but, unlike the others, is not gentrified. One thing lives on: the feared, morbid and violent Candyman.

The story reveals that Candyman originated from the lynching of a Black man centuries earlier. After being accused of a relationship with a wealthy White woman, he was mutilated — his hand replaced with a hook, his body covered in honey to attract bees and ultimately killed. This legacy continues with Sherman Fields, another Black man wrongfully accused and killed. Now it finds Anthony, who is manipulated into becoming the next incarnation of Candyman.

As the film unfolds, Candyman evolves into more than a villain. He becomes a haunting symbol of Black pain, resilience and the cyclical violence inflicted by systemic racism.

In one pivotal moment, Candyman declares,“I am the writing on the walls. I am the sweet smell of blood on the street. The buzz that echoes in the alleyways. They will say I shed innocent blood. You are far from innocent, but they will say you were. That's all that matters.”

What props the film to be truly terrifying is its reflection of the real life horrors Black people face in their communities — racial violence, generational trauma and societal marginalization  linger long after the credits roll.

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This critique goes beyond Black representation—it challenges horror to unleash its full potential. Too often, the genre recycles the same stories, trapping itself in typecasts that stifle creativity and shut out fresh perspectives. By clinging to the familiar, horror limits its own evolution, never daring to move beyond the tired trope of the New England haunted house.