Let's Talk About David Cronenberg's Trans Fanbase

Talk to any trans film geek for a while, and eventually they’ll start chattering away about David Cronenberg. This filmmaker, known for his body horror features and collaborations with Viggo Mortensen, is a beloved author for countless segments of the movie geek population. However, he’s especially revered amongst trans cinema devotees. No doubt you’ve encountered more than a handful of tremendously personal essays across the internet where people pontificate on what this man’s body of work means to them.

Beyond these specific examples, though, what is it about Cronenberg that gets the tongues of trans pop culture geeks wagging? Why are so many trans people in love with this man’s filmmaking?

In my recent Into More piece about Sonic the Hedgehog’s trans fanbase, I noted that trans folks love co-opting things not “meant” for us. Nobody involved in either those video games nor titles like Dead Ringers or Crash could possibly expect that trans viewers would get so much out of them. That inevitable reality makes it all the more powerful when such art does end up resonating with trans observers. It’s one thing to watch a film explicitly about the LGBTQIA+ community and see reflections of yourself. It’s another to watch a movie concerning people shoving VCR tapes into people’s tummies and witnessing echoes of your everyday reality.

Perhaps it was inevitable that Cronenberg features would resonate like this, though, because of their obsession with the human body’s malleability. Cronenberg movies fixate on our fleshy vessels contorting, tweaking, and evolving. We are not static creatures destined to exist just as we are born. So too do Cronenberg’s characters evolve in fascinating ways.

Flickers of Jeff Goldblum’s Seth Brundle still fester even when he’s a massive, gooey insectoid beast. 1996’s Crash, meanwhile, chronicles very unique fetishists who endure God knows how many cuts, bruises, or mutilations during traffic collisions. Even a more grounded Cronenberg outing like A History of Violence is about how a hitman drastically overhauls himself to become a quiet diner owner. Whether it’s through stylized body horror or down-to-Earth gangster drama, Cronenberg films are about drastic physical and emotional evolutions.

If you’re a trans person of any gender just trying to exist in the hellscape of America in 2025, these titles can be oddly reassuring despite their grim and graphically violent material. After all, at least your life doesn’t involve being turned into a massive fly monster! Plus, on a more serious note, these features avoid the traps that many explicitly trans-centric titles from cis-het filmmakers fall into. These features depict any sense of change or growth as tragic or barbaric. This is especially apparent in the obsession titles like 2019’s Girl have with self-mutilation as a manifestation of transness. Such deeply unpleasant works capture trans life with an aloof dehumanizing gaze.

We are to gawk at these trans women (typically played by cis-het men) and recoil at the profoundly inaccurate depictions of how trans folks take control of their bodies. There is no trans community in these works, no subdued ways to reaffirm their identity. Transness only exists for shock value. The pursuit of gender euphoria can only lead to misery. No wonder, then, that trans folks find themselves more drawn to the allegorical renderings of human bodies and personalities evolving in Cronenberg’s works.

No trans women self-mutilating themselves for cis-het shock here. Instead, Cronenberg’s camera is very intimate (albeit often intentionally cold) when framing Violence or Crash characters. The staging of their lives is meant to evoke the idea that we’re in the room with them, watching car crashes or learning the world of “scanners.” The visual and emotional immediacy of these titles is already appealing. Meanwhile, titles like Scanners, Crash, and even more modern titles like Crimes of the Future depict trans-relevant characters as existing in larger communities. The tragic loner trans women of Girl and Dallas Buyers Club vanish in favor of exciting connectivity.

It doesn’t hurt that the idea of Cronenberg movies resonating with various sectors of the LGBTQIA+ community has existed for eons. Most notably, this filmmaker’s The Fly has been constantly interpreted as an AIDS epidemic metaphor. For younger trans folks under the age of 35, watching and resonating with these titles is a way of connecting to our past. The queer community has existed for eons before we were born. It shall endure long after we perish. Art provides time capsules to appreciate the longevity of this community. That’s as true for 19th century painting from queer artists as it is for allegorically queer works like Scanners and The Fly.

We also can’t forget that the more outlandish and horror-centric sensibilities of these titles undoubtedly make them appeal to trans folks. After all, that sense of maximalism and entire genre are elements coursing through so much trans-friendly media. Also appealing to this community is Cronenberg’s heavy dose of sexual energy. Trans folks of all genders don’t get to see themselves as sexually active beings on-screen. Thankfully, modern cinematic geniuses like Isabel Sandoval and D. Smith have begun to correct this with works like Lingua Franca and Kokomo City, respectively. For much of cinema history, though, the idea of trans people (especially trans women) being sexually appealing partners was the set-up to a cruel joke.

Trans people aren’t technically on-screen in Cronenberg’s movies. However, characters that can resonate as relevant to trans experiences most certainly do get to be horny and bone. Finally, trans audiences can project themselves into sex scenes, speaking to their experiences without waiting for Jim Carrey vomiting to ruin everything. The more ambiguous qualities of these works even allow additional marginalized communities (such as disabled folks) to finally see themselves in sexually active on-screen characters. The allegorical power of Cronenberg’s films doesn’t just belong to one community, a testament to this man’s immense filmmaking power.

With The Shrouds hitting North American theaters just as civil rights for trans people are rolling back, though, now’s an ideal time for appreciating trans-relevant art making life a little more bearable. That very much includes the trans-relevant art carving out time for exploding heads and idiosyncratic Kristen Stewart line deliveries.