Melissa Barrera’s Your Monster Emboldened Me to Embrace My Feminine Rage

I love horror movies. In fact, some people who know me may say that I love them too much. I’ve seen nearly all the classics – Friday the 13th, Sorority Row, Black Christmas, A Nightmare on Elm Street. But there is one glaring flaw with horror movies and that is that men are always the ones who have all the fun. Granted, there are a few great female horror villains like Mrs. Voorhees, Carrie, and Jennifer of Jennifer’s Body fame. But rarely are they Latinas, despite the fact that we arguably have more reason to be angry and rageful. We’ve faced and been forced to survive generational trauma, state violence, microaggressions, and cultures of abuse, just to name a few. Yet Latinas, and other racially or ethnically marginalized women, are relegated to side characters that die off well before the credits roll. 

Cue Your Monster, a horror movie starring Melissa Barrera as Laura, a young woman who gets diagnosed with cancer, is dumped by her boyfriend (still in the hospital bed, mind you), and then discovers a monster (Tommy Dewey) in her closet who helps her rediscover her voice, agency, and rage. 

Your Monster, directed by Caroline Lindy, is a genre-bending kaleidoscope of a movie that seamlessly blends in elements of horror, comedy, romance, and even the movie musical. For instance, when viewers are first introduced to Monster, it’s terrifying (like scary violins screeching and all). But then the villain greets Laura with a “What’s up?” — and begins to read her Shakespearean monologues. What?

While I love how this movie refuses to choose a single storytelling form, I’ve been raving about it since its October 25 release because of how it showcases Latina anger — specifically, what happens when we unleash the fury we’ve been holding inside (festering to the point of our own malady) because society and culture have taught us we don’t have permission to unleash it. 

At the start of the film, Laura, like many self-sacrificing Latinas, treats herself like a punching bag, putting up with injustice, toxic behavior, and mistreatment without a second thought. Her boyfriend breaks up with her at a critical point in her recovery, claiming her cancer is too much for him. Even more, he doesn’t give her the leading role in his musical that she helped develop and workshop — and that he promised to her while they were dating. Meanwhile, her best friend is a flake who will walk her to doctor’s appointments but ditches her when she needs a medical ally. Laura’s even willing to let Monster do what he wants in her apartment, like ripping Eggos out of the carton and forcing her to move out because he decided that he lives there now.

It’s only when Laura falls in love with Monster that things finally start to change in her life. For one, she finds herself in a healthy and mutually beneficial romantic relationship. For another, she begins leaving behind her own carnage. In many ways, the Monster is Laura; he is an embodiment of all the rage, violence, and anger she carries inside of her. In that sense, falling for Monster allows her to also fall in love with herself and, through that self-love, find and assert her own power.  

While I’ve never gone through half of the hardships that Laura experiences in the film, to me, watching this movie felt like an exorcism, especially because so many of us have been her, to some degree. How many times have Latinas been taught to turn the other cheek? To settle or accept the bare minimum out of fear of being abandoned, demonized, or told we’re just being dramatic? That expressing our anger, much less feeling it, isn’t safe, “ladylike,” or socially acceptable? How many times have we been expected to prioritize other people’s comfort over our own emotions? 

Admittedly, I still find myself behaving this way in my adult age, accepting less than the bare minimum of how I should be treated because staying silent is easier than speaking up. Cognitively and emotionally, I’ve been conditioned to resist conflict. I mask every negative emotion I feel, almost effortlessly. I hate starting fights. If someone insults or commits a microaggression against me, I let it pass and roll off my back, only releasing the anger I feel by venting about it later to family and friends but never dealing with it in the moment. 

This is why it was so validating to see the Mexican Barrera playing a character that chooses to resist every lesson we’ve been taught about denying ourselves the right to be angry. Being a witness to her rage and breakdowns, shouting matches and, yes, even her murders, allowed me to vicariously experience what it would be like to express myself fully, without conditions or shame. She embodied what I’m still struggling to learn: that it’s okay to be deeply, completely angry; and while these feelings shouldn’t lead to violence, they also shouldn't be hidden or ignored.

Your Monster is a reminder that we don’t have to put up with things that are unacceptable to us. We don’t have to stay quiet or suffer in silence forever. Our feminine rage is valid and sacred. So while I don’t plan on replicating Laura’s violent acts, I feel evermore motivated to stand up for myself, express how I’m feeling without emotional filters, and get in touch with my inner monster.