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Given my lifelong passions for horror and romance, I’ve found myself smitten with a number of characters from horror films over the years. Some of these crushes result from the admiration of courage and perseverance; others are purely superficial. I tend to be more attracted to characters than their aesthetics, although I must confess to finding it difficult to pay attention to the mise-en-scène in Alien when Sigourney Weaver strips down to her undergarments. (I’m only a man.)

To celebrate those standout genre sirens that have so deviously pulled at my heartstrings, I offer the following tributes.

Tina Shepherd from Friday the 13th, Part VII: The New Blood
The New Blood is among my favorite entries in the Friday the 13th series. Thanks to the nifty visual effects and Lar-Park Lincoln’s solid lead performance, it becomes possible to ignore the fact that you’re watching a film that pits a telekinetic against a zombie in a hockey mask.

Lincoln plays Tina, a troubled young woman who, as a child, accidentally committed patricide during her first outbreak of telekinesis. Oops. Needless to say, Tina has severe daddy issues. (According to blogger and woman-ologist Barney Stinson, daddy issues are an attractive feature in a woman. I wonder what his take is on women who can implode his skull with their minds?)

Unlike the other “final girl” figures in the Friday… series, Tina has the ability to fight back. Watching a perplexed Jason suffer through falling roofs, levitating couches, and projectile nails is a swell reversal on the “stalk-scream-skewer” formula. It’s also fun, ‘cause hyper-violence is awesome. Horror films can be highbrow and lowbrow—the best of both brows.

Tina ends up going for her neighbor, a denim-clad Neanderthal. On the upside, if he ever does her wrong, she can crush his testes using sheer willpower.

Kate Beringer, Gremlins and Gremlins 2: The New Batch
It bugs me that Phoebe Cates is best known for baring her breasts in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. There’s more to a woman than her mammary glands, no matter how marvelous those mammaries may be. Question my male credentials if you like, but I much prefer Cates’s nekkid-flesh free turn as Kate in the Gremlins films.

Cates’s small-town beauty Kate is more than enough to send this fanboy eating after midnight. Her story of Yuletide trauma is one of my favorite film sequences. Like Tina, Kate has issues—her father died in the chimney one Christmas pretending to be Santa Claus. This is dark humor at its finest. The sequel, a grossly underrated satire of the original, has Kate reveal another holiday trauma, this one involving Lincoln’s birthday. Will I go as far as saying that trauma is sexy? No—but I will go as far as to imply it.

Cates’s Kate is a hybrid concoction of the girl next door of classic film and the troubled beauty of modern fiction. Phoebe Cates’s full lips and deadpan stare adroitly convey Kate’s sardonic innocence.They also adroitly convey her allure. That Billy is one lucky guy. What in the hell did he do in a past life to be so lucky? Is it the perm? Why couldn’t the gremlins have eaten him and left Kate available? I hate it when another nerd gets the girl. I’m bitter—adroitly bitter. I’ve adroitly misapplied an adverb; that’s what a woman like Kate does to a man. She makes him lose all of his adverbs. I adore her miraculously. Kate bureaucratically pleases me. I’m writing haphazardly! Kate, I’m moving on from you . . . but reluctantly.

Lisa Webber, A Nightmare on Elm Street Part II: Freddy’s Revenge
The most unfortunate thing about the first sequel to the immensely popular A Nightmare on Elm Street isn’t its disappointing portrayal of Freddy Krueger, its absurd story, or even its lack of action. The worst part is the . . . ahem . . . “troubled” romantic angle. Under the “so bad it’s good” rule, that weakness is also the film’s greatest asset. It’s also what makes Lisa Webber so tragic a character.The first time I saw this film, I was too young to pick up on the problem inherent in pairing Lisa with the film’s protagonist, Jesse. The second time I watched the film, I was 22 and suffering from insomnia. I wasn’t too exhausted to experience a long, hard “WTF.” But I won’t get into that. Watch the provided clip. Come to your own conclusion.With that out of the way: I like Lisa because, like Cate’s Kate, she has a thing for hopeless dorks. That means there’s a remote chance that she’d fall for the likes of me—considering Lisa wasn’t a fictional character and I had a time machine. I was 2 years old in 1985.

There’s a practical reason Lisa stands out for me. I’ve had a thing for redheads since my freshman year of high school. Lisa has red hair. She’s also willing to scrape the bottom of the barrel for a boyfriend. Jesse? Come on. Where is his compassion? Where is his passion? A woman like Lisa needs to be reminded that she’s appreciated. I’m sorry, Jesse, but you never even kiss her proper. You have a redheaded bombshell practically begging for you to ask her to “go steady” or whatever teens did in the 1980s, and all you can do is whine about the “man inside you.” Get a grip!

Poor Lisa comes through for Jesse. At the conclusion of the film, she encourages Jesse to overcome Freddy, that awful man inside him. I’m not joshing you—the movie actually ends with Lisa explaining to Jesse that he can overcome Freddy—the man inside him. I’d normally have sent out a spoiler alert before ruining an ending, but the movie isn’t very good. It’s not quite Transformers bad, but it’s bad enough that it’s best enjoyed alone in a dark bedroom at 3 a.m.

I have often speculated that Jesus Christ invented bad horror films as a gift to insomniacs. I also suspect that He made redheads and imitation crab meat as a personal gift to the wily author of the “Charles Snarls” column. Again, this is only speculation.

Terry Fisher, The Howling
Being that poor Terry Fisher is only a supporting character in The Howling, she naturally ends up werewolf food. Being that she’s far more interesting than the film’s protagonist, and a total fox to boot, I naturally lament the fact.It may as well be set in stone that the best friend of any horror movie protagonist is going to take a dirtnap. I hoped against hope that Terry would prove an exception to the rule, but alas, the formula holds true.Still, Terry puts up a hell of a fight. She manages to sever the hand of her first lycanthrope attacker. It’s a shame that her daring escape from the big bad wolf is so short-lived. On an island of were-creeps, evading one pursuer isn’t just cause for celebration.

Why did Terry have to die? She was smart, resourceful, and looked damned good in a tie. Terry was a professional. I could have been her stay-at-home husband. I’d be willing to take care of the kids, Terry. I know that you value your career as a journalist. Just indulge me in a little snuggle action every now and again. I’ll do whatever you ask. I’d feed myself to the wolves for the likes of you, Terry Fisher.

Dr. Dakota Block, Planet Terror
For his half of the Grindhouse double feature, director Robert Rodriguez helmed Planet Terror, a film that may as well have been a personal offering to yours truly. I can’t think of another film to incorporate so many of my favorite things: zombies, B-grade film editing, a John Carpenter-esque soundtrack, cheesy zoom shots, and a libido-flaying duo the likes of Rose McGowan and Marley Shelton. Seeing Grindhouse in the theater wasn’t exactly better than sex, but I consider it to have been every bit as good.

While I certainly dug Rose McGowan’s role as hardcore uniped Cherry Darling, it was Shelton’s Dr. Dakota Block that won me over. How can you not love those eyes? Watch Dakota’s face as her vengeful husband, Dr. Block, anesthetizes her hands with her own color-coded syringes. (Don’t fret; she has her revenge.) Those peepers are the show-stealing kind. Shelton is unparalleled at using her doe-eyes to evoke twisted innocence. She has the look of a woman you’d want to introduce to your mother. What’s more is, Mom would love her. Mom would pull you aside just to tell you how happy she is that you’ve finally found a nice, normal girl. She’d admit that she never much cared for any of those lunatic tarts you brought home in the past.

After bidding farewell to mum, your innocent ladyfriend would hold your arm on the walk to your car. Miss Not-a-luna-tart would then proceed to handcuff you to your steering wheel, press a butterfly knife against your clammy neck, and force you to strip down and drive to Kmart. She’d then lift your wallet, buy a George Foreman Grill with your American Express card, and leave you cuffed, cold, and compromised in the parking lot. And you know what? You’d be calling her for another date the second the paramedics released your wrist from the steering column.

Dr. Dakota Block is an irrefutable knockout. Even with paralyzed hands and smeared eyeliner, she’s well worth an uncomfortable trip to Kmart.

New River Voice columnist Charles Smith is obsessed with women and horror—and he likes to combine the two. Just ask him about his past relationships.