#JonathanGroffSweep, Queer Suffering, and “Knock At the Cabin” (2023)

The book was better, but at least the Hamilton and Guardians of the Galaxy alumni carried.

My friend — the one who I drag with me to every new theatrical release— and I have a particular obsession with two-time Tony-award-nominated actor Jonathan Groff. His voice in particular has been in a lot of things you (or your kids) might recognize: he’s Kristoff in Disney’s Frozen franchise, and he originated the roles of King George in Hamilton and Melchoir in Spring Awakening on Broadway. He delivers an excellently slick performance as Agent Holden Ford in Netflix’s underrated crime drama series Mindhunter.

But where we — meaning my friend and me — know him best from is his time on Glee as the on-and-off love interest of main character Rachel (Lea Michele), Jesse St. James (Vocal Adrenaline carried because of him). Yes, it’s true, no talented queer actor can escape having a role in perhaps the most influential, infamous, and iconic Ryan Murphy project of our time.

Jonathan Groff is notoriously absent from all social media, but in public is known to be very sweet and down-to-earth. He grew up among Mennonites and the Amish in rural Pennsylvania. He’s openly gay and very attractive (What? I may be a lesbian, but I do still have eyes!), neither of which hurt his case in the slightest.

I just think he’s neat! And so does my friend. Thus, when we heard our man JGroff was getting a leading role in the new M. Night Shyamalan horror joint Knock at the Cabin (based on the 2018 novel The Cabin at the End of the World by Paul Tremblay), we practically ran to get tickets for the film’s opening day.

I think Jonathan Groff is very overdue for his time in the mainstream spotlight, and it was my hope that Knock at the Cabin would bring Groff’s talents to light to those who aren’t previously familiar with his work (outside of talking to a reindeer in a Disney Princess movie, that is).

Upon seeing his performance here, I can confidently state that you should be stanning Jonathan Groff ASAP. Much like the home invaders who the film’s mystery centers around, the #JonthanGroffSweep could descend upon you sooner than you think.

Outside of Groff’s performance, unfortunately, I think the film was a bit of a letdown. I hate to be that person, but the aforementioned 2018 novel the film is based upon, which I have read, is a much better and more compelling story. There are numerous, significant differences between the book and the movie that occur toward the end which I won’t get into here.

Instead, I’d like to take a more broad look and unpack the film’s central themes: sacrifice and suffering. Knock at the Cabin asks who, if anyone, is deserving of either.

General plot spoilers ahead for Knock at the Cabin (2023).

Knock at the Cabin follows married gay couple Eric (Jonathan Groff) and Andrew (Ben Aldridge) along with their young adopted daughter, Wen (Kristen Cui) as they travel to their isolated New Jersey cabin for a getaway.

Their fun is very quickly interrupted when four strangers — Leonard (Dave Bautista), Sabrina (Nikki Amuka-Bird), Adriane (Abby Quinn), and Redmond (Rupert Grint) — hold the family hostage in the cabin. With Eric and Andrew tied up, the four strangers explain that the family is the only one who can stop the upcoming apocalypse the four have all foreseen in spontaneous visions. The catch? One member of the family must be sacrificed and killed in order for the apocalypse to be halted and for humanity to continue on.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention some of the outstanding performances from the four ensemble members here. Dave Bautista has unexpectedly bodied every single role he’s recently played (See Glass Onion). Here, Bautista plays Leonard with a warm, gentle giant-like aura of kindness. But on occasion, the mask will drop and he’ll say something a little off-kilter, a little disturbing that it just hits right where you want it to in a psychological thriller like this.

And Rupert Grint! Yes, that Rupert Grint. Ron Weasley! It might be because it’s been a while since I’ve seen him in anything, but he had a total glow-up in terms of his acting career. He nails the gritty, edgy vibe of Redmond in the limited screen time he has.

Confusion, fear, and aggression quickly overtake the atmosphere of the cabin. Of course, the couple is immediately skeptical and writes off the group as lunatics — there are absolutely no signs of the impending apocalypse they speak of. It’s Andrew who’s the first to suggest that this home intrusion by some crazy strangers spouting nonsense about the world ending is actually a targeted hate crime by bigots seeking to destroy Eric, Andrew, and Wen’s happiness simply because they are different.

The thread here does get pulled along for a little bit longer within the film, but I won’t spoil where it goes. I want to stick with this little bit of the story, because I think it’s perhaps the most interesting thing on offer here.

Let’s face it, if you were in Eric and Andrew’s situation — that is to say, a same-sex couple being held hostage and forced to make an unthinkable sacrifice for the greater good — wouldn’t you feel targeted as well? And logically, how could it not be?

Candidly speaking, to be queer is to suffer. Constantly.

To be queer is to have a target on your back. You are being hunted by people who don’t even understand you.

Do not get me wrong here. I love being lesbian, and if it were something I could choose, I would never choose to be straight. There is so much joy, community, and radical acceptance that inherently comes with queer identity.

But all that joy comes from deep pain. I once told my therapist that I don’t think there’s a queer person in this world who hasn’t suffered immensely.

It could be from your family not accepting you, or the random, uncalled-for microaggressions at work, or the constant barrage of Republican news headlines claiming we are monsters who deserve punishment for simply existing. It could be from the higher rates of drug use, mental illness, or suicide we experience. It could be from simply bearing witness to all these things happening to those around you with no clear way to stop it — no sacrifice that can be given to end the everyday horrors.

Regardless of how or why, if you are queer, you have experienced suffering. And what could be more exemplary of suffering and torture than being held hostage — with the people you love, in your own safe place — and being demanded to make a sacrifice of your own to ensure the welfare of the greater good? A greater good who, most of the time, doesn’t even like people like you unless it’s trendy on TikTok at the current moment or it’s the month of June. Even then that’s a bit of a stretch.

Eric and Andrew, presumably, have both suffered so much up until that moment in the cabin when they are asked to make a choice. We even see a few scenes of how that suffering manifests in their lives interspersed throughout the film’s main events. And now they are experiencing the ultimate form of gay suffering, together, for a reason that is completely meaningless to them.

Even if what the four strangers were saying was true — that the world depends on you making a sacrifice to save it — why the hell would you go along with it? It is completely unfair for the world to ask for a piece of yourself to go on when the world you’re trying to save has never, ever cared about you outside of when it’s convenient.

And yet? You might make the choice to sacrifice something of yours for the rest of the world anyway because God forbid anyone else ever has to suffer as you have.

I say all this not because Knock at the Cabin ever gets this deep or explicit in its explanations of plot details, but rather because I find this aspect of queer identity really interesting to discuss.

In the context of horror films, where lots of the time the monsters or villains can be queer-coded, gay suffering is almost a given. In instances where the characters are deliberately written to be queer, like in this one, I think it’s worth analyzing how their treatment in-universe is reflective of how LGBTQ+ people actually experience life.

Oftentimes, that life experience is soul-sucking.

To be queer is to constantly give, give, give, and instead be met with hatred or hardship in return. Sacrifices beget more suffering.

The knock at the cabin is not always as obvious as four strangers trying to intrude. Sometimes the knock at the cabin is the oppressor, looking for something more you can give away — queer culture, queer fashion, queer music — to everyone else until it’s all gone. Would you make that sacrifice?

This post is part of an unofficial official “series” I’m doing over here as part of the lead-up to the Oscars! From now until March 10th, every Friday I’ll be posting about something film-related.

Be sure to follow me so you won’t miss a post! Next week: a tour of my insane Letterboxd profile, just for you.