Tucker and Dale vs. the Patriarchy

With the insanely fun campy shenanigans of Tucker and Dale vs. Evil, it’s easy to reduce it to another great horror comedy. It’s a smart riff on the tried and true slasher movie formula that pits college students against backwoods hillbillies. The twist is that the hillbillies in question, the titular Tucker (Alan Tudyk) and Dale (Tyler Labine), are harmless, well-meaning men caught in the middle of a hilarious misunderstanding with a band of college kids. Chad (Jesse Moss), the de facto leader of the bumbling coeds, has a deep-seated hatred for hillbillies, rednecks, and their ilk due to his mother being the sole survivor of a bloody massacre at the hands of hillbillies. On the surface, Tucker and Dale vs. Evil is a rollicking good time, as well as an earnest and sweet film that shows the inherent toxicity of biases. Beyond that, believe it or not, Tucker and Dale vs. Evil serves as a commentary on both toxic and healthy masculinity. Chad, the character who would normally be in the victim role in horror, is representative of toxic masculinity, while Tucker and Dale, characters who are usually villains in horror, represent healthy masculinity. In the midst of all the chaos in the narrative, a thoughtful and genuine commentary emerges.  

The backbone of the film is the dynamic between Tucker and Dale. The two men have all the outward traits of overly masculine backwoods boys who like to hunt and fish, but in their looks are exceedingly deceiving. At first glance they look entirely uninviting, a little intimidating, and terrifying, but as the audience gets to know Tucker and Dale, they learn the duo are a pair of easygoing and delightful friends who just want to get away for the weekend and relax at their newly-purchased vacation home. The two share a genuine and loving bond with one another that’s both sweet and vulnerable. Tucker spends much of the film trying to build up Dale’s dangerously low self-confidence. The two aren’t hindered by societal expectations of what a man should be, thus their friendship is allowed to flourish without the toxic constraints. It’s not often that two men are portrayed in such an earnest friendship. They aren’t afraid to verbalize their affection for or go to great lengths to defend one another. They’re not caught up in the toxic round robin of “no homo, bro” that many straight men find themselves in. The love they share is special, and the film makes a point to show that it is. 

While Tucker is the gruffer member of the pair, Dale is a gentle and soft-hearted man. He’s shy and lacks confidence in himself and his appearance. Everything about Dale contradicts the hillbilly stereotype that has been ingrained in media, and in those contradictions, an indictment of toxic masculinity is made. When Allison (Katrina Bowden) falls and hits her head, Dale is the one who dutifully rescues her while her friends run for their lives, not caring what happens to her. Dale subsequently and tenderly cares for Allison, showing her his kind nature. In caring for Allison, the audience is allowed even more access to Dale’s personality and quirks. He’s revealed actually to be extremely intelligent and has a knack for remembering facts easily. Dale’s also a soft man who openly adores his dog, Jangers. One of the few scenes where he’s willing to go on the offensive with the college kids is when Chad threatens his beloved dog. Not once is Dale’s sweetness portrayed as a weakness, but it is shown to be his strength and is one of his greatest weapons in the film as a whole. 

Tucker is much more traditionally masculine than Dale, but he doesn’t let that impede their loving friendship. Tucker is shown to be a great support system for Dale, often spending time talking Dale up and attempting to give his confidence a much needed boost. He’s seen many times trying to motivate Dale to action and does so in a loving and comedic way. While Tucker is rough around the edges, he genuinely does care for his friend. He’s more than willing to put himself in harm’s way to aid Dale and proves this by attempting to rescue Jangers from a deranged Chad. It takes one hell of a friend to risk his life for his buddy’s dog, but Tucker does it without question. 

On the exact opposite end of the spectrum there is the all too aptly named Chad, who is an almost textbook example of toxic masculinity. Chad is a self-important and unrepentant asshole. He’s driven blindly by his own prejudices and leads many of the college kids to their deaths as a result. His possessive nature concerning Allison is equally troubling. He’s unable to take no for an answer and doesn’t respect her rights to reject him, which leads him to kidnap her toward the end of the film. His uncaring and outright hatefulness contrasts nicely with Dale’s overall kindness. It’s not a shock to the audience that Allison is attracted to Dale over Chad because Dale is everything Chad isn’t. Dale is a nurturing human being and not a cocksure entitled brat like Chad. While Dale has loyalty in proverbial spades, Chad is loyal only to himself. He doesn’t seem to care that his friends are accidentally slaughtering themselves around him in the midst of a comical misunderstanding. His hate fuels him and causes even more deaths. This contrasts with Dale’s concern and love for Tucker, who Dale would do anything for. 

While Chad has all the trappings of a stereotypically attractive college bro that is used to getting what he wants as soon as he wants it, Dale is presented as a gentle and respectful soul who values Allison’s personal autonomy over his own attraction to her. Dale’s not the typical romantic hero in the film world or the real world, but he should be. In a reality where men who are in tune with their emotions and don’t look at women as merely chattel are made fun of, it’s nice to see Dale uplifted as the ideal over a Chad. Chad represents a toxic norm that people are faced with constantly in daily life. Dale also doesn’t fall into the equally toxic faux “nice guy” category, either. Dale is kind for the sake of being kind. He doesn’t expect anything from Allison. He’s a genuinely nice man. 

In the end, Dale literally has to battle Chad and triumphs over him. The symbolism there isn’t subtle. Chad’s functionally an avatar for the patriarchy, something that men themselves are tasked with battling alongside women. Dale fights Chad on his own terms and defeats him using his own unique strengths and doesn’t fall into toxicity as a way to beat Chad at his own game. Dale’s ability to emerge as the champion is a hopeful action on the part of the tale. A man with many societal odds against him is the one who rightfully comes out on top. It’s an optimistic ending and, frankly, an uplifting outcome that sends the message that patriarchal toxicity can be overcome if men let go of it. 

Sure, Tucker and Dale vs. Evil is funny. It’s one of the funniest horror-comedies out there and should be a staple in any horror aficionado’s Halloween routine, but there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye. Don’t reduce it to just gory idle fun that’s meant to pass the time. The crew behind the film concocted a brilliant take on both healthy and toxic masculinity and use the conventions of horror and comedy as a way to deliver an important message and explore healthy male friendships. Tucker and Dale is food for the soul and balm for the heart, and it believes in goodness as everyone should.