The release of The Addams Family in 1991 was a pivotal moment for teenage me – it changed how I viewed the world.
Before this, I’d learned what families should look like from an early age – tidy, respectable and normal. The kind you see in sitcoms where everyone learns a valuable lesson by the end of the episode and no one ever really challenges the fundamental structure of things. Mum bakes, Dad works, the kids act out but ultimately conform and everyone stays in their lane.
But crashing into this, you had the Addams Family – supposedly monstrous and macabre and deeply weird, but they turn out to be the healthiest, most functional family in film. They embody everything we’re told families should be, just without the exhausting performance of normalcy. They love each other fiercely, support each other unconditionally, and never once pretend to be something they’re not.
I was fifteen when this film struck like lightning. I’d never felt comfortable with the family portrayals that came before. Watching the Addams Family felt like finding an oasis because they were different and unashamed and just awesome in every way. Right then, I knew this was what I wanted: to be weird, to have that family, and more than anything, to have that relationship.
Of course, the TV show got there first – as part of the 60s supernatural sitcom wave, The Addams Family presented a genuinely alternative family structure. But the 1991 film arrived with perfect timing – one of the first volleys against ’80s yuppie culture and aspiration worship, before the ’90s really got into its deconstruction stride. For those of us who hadn’t grown up with the TV show (The Munsters dominated UK reruns), this film was a revelation.
Barry Sonnenfeld brought a cinematographer’s eye from the Coen Brothers films and gave us something extraordinary – every frame composed like a living Charles Addams drawing, all Gothic symmetry and Dutch angles that made the macabre feel like a storybook. (It’s a crying shame that Jon Peters and his bloody mechanical spiders stopped Sonnenfeld’s career in its tracks 8 years later.)
Relationship Goals:
Morticia and Gomez have been together for years, they have children, they’ve weathered life’s chaos together, and they remain absolutely, ferociously obsessed with each other. There’s no “take my wife… please” exhaustion, no eye-rolling at each other’s quirks, no mockery disguised as affection. They adore each other openly and passionately, without embarrassment. Gomez would do anything for Morticia – she gives him stability, unwavering support, and the kind of love that sees his flaws and adores them anyway, while he gives her passion, loyalty, and fire in return. They’re kink-positive in the best possible way – not as a punchline, but as two people who genuinely delight in each other.
They save each other too, which matters. When Gomez sinks into depression over “Fester’s” takeover of the house, Morticia goes to the mansion to reason with Fester, and her capture snaps Gomez out of his spiral. When Morticia’s in danger, Gomez rescues her right back.
They’re equals and partners who don’t perform strength or independence but just support each other when it’s needed, without keeping score. They’ve been married for years and still look at each other like they’re the only person in the room. It might be played as a joke but it’s a seriously good take – isn’t that what we all want?
Parenting Goals:
The Addams indulge their children’s darkness whilst also keeping them grounded. When Morticia tells the horrified teacher about Wednesday’s worship of her great-aunt Calpurnia Addams (who was burned as a witch for dancing naked in the town square and enslaving a minister) she finishes with: “Don’t worry, we’ve told Wednesday: college first.”
They see their children as whole people rather than projects to be fixed or moulded into something more palatable. They let Wednesday and Pugsley be exactly who they are, and the kids thrive because of it – confident, curious, bold, knowing they’re loved and wanted, which gives them the security to push boundaries and exist without shame.
(Quick sequel nod: when Pubert turns into a blonde, happy child – the opposite of everything the Addams stand for – Morticia still reads him The Cat in the Hat even though she clearly hates it. Because love is showing up for your kids even when they’re not who you expected them to be.)
Then there’s the school play, where Wednesday and Pugsley perform Hamlet with gallons of fake blood whilst the entire Addams clan stands cheering and applauding, and the rest of the audience sits in shock. That’s unconditional support: celebrating your children, not in spite of who they are, but because of it.
The Real Monsters:
When “Fester” shows up with a suspicious backstory and paranoid, resentful behaviour, it takes enormous pushing before Gomez even considers doubting him. The Addams don’t operate from suspicion or fear but from trust. And when they take Fester in – traumatised, amnesiac and conditioned by his abusive fake mother – they don’t demand he earn his place but simply treat him as family with no conditions. They welcome him with open arms (and disembodied hands), and he learns what it means to be part of something that doesn’t require performance or masks.
The Addams choose darkness for themselves but never impose it on others. They donate to charity, then accidentally buy their own donation back for a fortune. They’re generous and trusting, never weaponising their strangeness or using it to hurt anyone. Even Thing – without a mouth – still has a voice in this house.
Meanwhile, the “normal” people are pure Reagan-era archetypes: Judge Womack abusing his power for profit, Tully betraying a family that trusts him completely, all of them money-chasing and status-obsessed, corrupt beneath their respectability. The parents cry over saccharine songs but recoil from creativity (and blood spatters). These are the pillars of the community we’re taught to respect. They think they’re good people because they conform, because they look the part, but they’re miserable, hollow, cruel in small and insidious ways.
The world tells us to fear the strange and the dark, but the real danger comes from people who weaponise normalcy and use respectability as a shield for cruelty.
Life Goals:
We’re taught to aspire to “normal”, to sand down our edges and mask our quirks and perform the acceptable version of ourselves until we forget we’re performing at all. We’re told it’s necessary and accepting it is maturity.
But the Addams Family shows something different – that love doesn’t require conformity and you can be as strange as you like as long as you’re not hurting anyone. That passion and devotion don’t fade with time if you’re willing to stay present, curious and unashamed. They’re not perfect, but they’re there for each other, they see each other and they celebrate each other’s darkness instead of asking anyone to dim their light.
At fifteen, all of this was immediately recognisable as true love, happiness, trust, acceptance and safety. I knew that was what I wanted my family to look like.
I’ve watched this film more times than I can count, and even now, when I don’t know how I feel about something or how a good person would react, I go back to the source that guided me through the most difficult years of my teens and ask myself:
What Would Morticia Do?
– Mom