As a disabled film critic, when I'm asked about how the portrayal of disability in cinema has changed over the decades people are surprised to hear me say the past was more progressive. Before the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed and when people with disabilities were often institutionalized, cinema attempted to create compelling disabled characters with pathos and nuance in a way that hasn't been replicated fully in cinema today.

Today's disabled narrative follows a white man affected late in life. Disability is presented as a major transition in this character's life that requires them to spend the entire runtime learning and adapting to their newfound circumstances, often with an able-bodied companion to help audiences relate better. These characters may deal with medical issues, but never struggle with money or any of the government programs that countless people with disabilities use regularly. Money is no object and in many modern-day disabled narratives these characters are ridiculously wealthy, their issues more the whines of privilege than genuine disabled issues.

There's one classic film narrative that continues to position itself as the grandfather of disabled representation, remaining one of the best of a genre that's never been flawless. That, of course, is Tod Browning's 1932 "horror" feature, Freaks. Horror is in quotes as it was promoted as a horror feature at the behest of MGM. Freaks tells the story of circus performer Hans (Harry Earles). He has come into some money and attracts the eye of the beautiful Cleopatra (Olga Baclanova). When Cleopatra's true intentions are revealed--the circus oddities discover she's poisoning Hans for his money--the film turns into a tale of revenge.

Freaks is by no means perfect. It situates those with disabilities as a vengeful, insular cabal, all with the same aims and goals. "We accept her, one of us" is a chant of acceptance, but also terror for the able-bodied audience who fears disability more than anything else. But these moments are minor in contrast to what Freaks does that is so groundbreaking. For starters, it's one of the rare movies to boast a large cast of disabled performers. Browning himself was raised in a circus family and highly respected the disabled people who regularly traveled as part of the freak show circuit, an unfortunate term of the time.

The film was a passion project for Browning and his success with Dracula in 1931 gave him the opportunity to bring it to fruition. He strove for authenticity and hired several circus performers, many of which he knew from his time with the circuit. Harry and Daisy Earles were long-time performers, peddling their act as The Doll Family, while others like Johnny Eck and conjoined twins Daisy and Violet Hilton were also popular oddities. But what stands out about Freaks is the movie's humanity--what little of it remains after studio bosses re-edited the picture.

The oddities are presented as personable, some more child-like than others (predominantly a group of microcephalics led by circus performer Schlitze). The Hilton sisters are sexual creatures with one set to be married. A particularly saucy scene sees one of the sisters canoodling with her soon-to-be husband while the other sister, with nowhere to go, seems to feel her sister's happiness.

If anything, the movie presents the able-bodied performers as the villains. A group of men yell at Schlitze and his friends for innocently playing by the riverside; intersex performer Josephine Josephs is mocked for being both masculine and feminine. And let's not forget the villains, Cleopatra and her lover Hercules (Henry Victor) who have no issue with killing Hans for his money. Yet, the movie never devolves characters into black and white. There are allies for the performers in the form of Phroso (Wallace Ford) and Venus (Leila Hyams), who see the oddities as people.

It's hard seeing Freaks as a horror movie because, as a disabled person, I don't see it as such. If there's any horror to be derived (and there is) it comes from watching it through the eyes of the oddities themselves who are teased, marginalized and nearly killed. What they do to Cleopatra is, ironically, presented as freakish but there's an air of righteous indignation. They're the heroes for saving a man's life and stopping an evil person, yet that's not the way the audience of 1932 was supposed to see it. It's a thrilling, unforgettable film with a disabled cast you root for. Freaks ruined Tod Browning's career and it's a shame because, for countless disabled audiences, it's a feature that presents representation in a way that hasn't fully been replicated since. Hard to believe.

by Kristen Lopez