After recently writing an article about Hollywood's trans villains, I realized I had done exactly what others had done to Buffalo Bill. I denied Lois Einhorn's humanity.

In that piece, I explored how Hollywood's depictions of trans-coded villains, tragic figures, and cruel jokes shaped my own understanding of gender — and delayed my coming out. I focused on The Silence of the Lambs and its infamous antagonist, Buffalo Bill, whose real name was Jame Gumb.

Gumb was a serial killer who targeted women, and their gender nonconformity was framed as something grotesque. Though the film had Hannibal Lecter explicitly state, "Billy is not a real transsexual," it still used queerness as a source of horror — showing Gumb tucking their genitals, dancing in front of the mirror, and obsessing over transformation. The message was clear: Gumb's dysphoria, their rejection by society, and their attempts at self-actualization weren't just part of their identity — they were what made them monstrous.

I fought to reclaim Gumb, to show that their suffering, their dysphoria, and their rejection weren't the makings of a monster, but the unraveling of someone who never got the chance to live. I saw the humiliation, the pain, the inability to escape the crushing weight of being trapped in a body that didn't align with the self. I saw how Gumb's fate could have been any of ours as trans people if only things had gone just a little differently.

But Einhorn? I let her be the joke they told me she was.

Lois Einhorn was a police chief in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, played by Sean Young. The film presents a twist: that Einhorn was actually Ray Finkle, a disgraced football player who had vanished years earlier. However, Finkle never physically appears in the film — he exists only in old photos and backstory.

The audience only ever sees Einhorn as a woman, yet the film insists that she was just a disguise created by Finkle. This framing leaves no room for Einhorn to be seen as anything other than a deception. But what if we rejected that framing? What if Einhorn was never Finkle at all? She was respected, authoritative, and successful — until the film's "twist" revealed that she was actually the disgraced football player Ray Finkle. This revelation turned her into the punchline of one of the most degrading transphobic jokes in cinematic history.

And now, my heart cries out for her.

The Question I Never Asked

That is the question. I argued so much to state that Gumb really is a woman, truly. But is it unfair, then, to assume that Finkle wasn't Einhorn?

Ace Ventura presents Einhorn as nothing more than Finkle in disguise — a deception, a trick. The film frames her entire existence as a lie, reinforcing the idea that she was never truly a woman. But if we reject that framing, if we stop seeing her identity through the movie's transphobic lens, then doesn't that mean Einhorn wasn't just Finkle? That she was Einhorn all along?

If I could see Gumb as a woman, despite what Harris and Lecter claim, shouldn't I have given Einhorn that same consideration? And here's where things get really complicated.

Harris had Lecter say, "Billy is not a real transsexual." Ace Ventura's writers framed Einhorn as a deceptive disguise, rather than acknowledging any real gender identity. In both cases, cis men dictated whether these characters "count" as trans. In both cases, these characters were given a reveal meant to horrify or humiliate.

• Gumb's queerness was framed as terrifying.
• Einhorn's queerness was framed as disgusting.
• But in both cases, their gender identity was treated as unnatural, something that made people recoil.

Both were stripped of agency in their own identity.

• The narrative in Silence of the Lambs says Gumb is "not really trans."
• The narrative in Ace Ventura says Einhorn is "not really a woman."

But what if we reject those narratives?

If we can say Gumb was truly a woman, then it's only fair to say Einhorn was too. Movies tell us what to believe. Ace Ventura told its audience that Einhorn was never real — that she was just a disguise, a deception. The audience never even had the chance to see her as anything else.

This made me think of The Prestige (2006), a movie built on misdirection. Christian Bale's character asks, "Are you watching closely?" The whole film is a trick — the audience is led to believe an illusion because the story never gives them a reason to question it. Ace Ventura does the same thing.

It doesn't just reveal that Einhorn was Finkle — it forces the audience to believe it was always that simple. But what if it wasn't? What if Einhorn was always Einhorn?

And that makes Ace Ventura even more transphobic than people already think — because instead of just making a "deceptive villain," it forced a trans woman into public humiliation for laughs.

The Joke That Hid a Cruel Truth

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective is remembered as one of the most iconic comedies of the 1990s, propelled by Jim Carrey's eccentric performance. But at its core, it contains one of the most viscerally humiliating transphobic moments in film history.

Lois Einhorn wasn't just the villain of the movie. She was a respected police officer, played by a beautiful, powerful woman. She was confident, authoritative, and successful — everything I once might have wanted to be. But then came the film's punchline — the revelation that she was actually the disgraced football player Ray Finkle.

What followed was one of the most disturbing sequences of forced public humiliation ever played for laughs.

Ace Ventura, in front of an entire crowd of men, forcibly turns Einhorn around and yanks on her skirt and underwear, revealing the outline of what appears to be her genitals through her panties. The crowd erupts in disgust. Earlier, upon realizing he had kissed Einhorn, Ace went through an extreme 'cleansing' ritual — burning his clothes, scrubbing himself raw, and gargling in disgust. Both moments hammer in the same message: that being attracted to a trans woman — even unknowingly — was something so horrible it required physical purification.

And then came Captain Winky — the moment that cemented it all.

"Captain Winky": A Symbol of Everything Wrong

Ace forcing Einhorn's public outing wasn't enough. The film needed one last humiliation, one final gut-punch to drive home its cruelty.

The moment Ventura exposes Einhorn's genitals and shouts "Captain Winky!" while the entire police force reacts in collective horror, it became clear: the movie didn't just want to "reveal" Einhorn's identity — it wanted to annihilate it.

This wasn't just a transphobic joke. It was a cultural statement.

The world would never let Einhorn be seen as a real woman. No matter how respected, no matter how powerful, no matter how she carried herself — she would always be reduced to her body.

This moment took the worst fear of every trans woman — being forcibly outed and publicly ridiculed — and turned it into comedy. The idea that trans women's entire existence could be invalidated with one invasive act was normalized, repeated, and embedded into the culture. And the damage it did is immeasurable.

Horror vs. Comedy: Two Sides of the Same Transphobic Coin

I had always seen Silence of the Lambs as a major villain in the history of trans representation. Buffalo Bill was framed as grotesque, disturbing — a nightmarish vision of gender nonconformity that made people fear us.

But Einhorn? She was different.

Buffalo Bill was meant to terrify. Einhorn was meant to make us laugh. But both characters had the same fate: they were denied their right to exist on their own terms.

One was made into a horror, the other a joke. But in the end, both served the same purpose — to teach audiences that trans women were either dangerous or disgusting. That no matter how they tried to live, they would never be seen as real.

Horror makes us afraid. Comedy makes us laugh. But both, in these cases, dehumanized us.

The Real Tragedy of Lois Einhorn

For years, I had no language for why Ace Ventura made me uncomfortable. It was just "a joke." I laughed like everyone else. I accepted what the film told me.

But I see it now.

Einhorn wasn't just a joke. She was a woman trying to exist in a world that refused to let her. And the movie didn't just mock her — it stripped her of all dignity.

And the most heartbreaking realization? She never even had a chance to fight back.

Buffalo Bill was given a backstory, a reason, an explanation — even if it was deeply flawed. Einhorn wasn't given anything. She wasn't allowed to be real, even within her own movie. She existed solely to be humiliated.

And now, my heart breaks for her.

For all of them.

For every trans woman who has been outed, humiliated, reduced to her body, told she isn't real. Because once you see it — once you truly understand what was done to them — you can never go back.

Reclaiming What Was Taken

Einhorn deserved better. They all did.

And if there's one thing I refuse to do now, it's let people like Harris, like Carrey, like the audiences who laughed along, decide whose existence is valid. I will never again let them tell me who is and isn't worthy of dignity.

And neither should you.

Jim Carrey's Silence Speaks Volumes

In the decades since Ace Ventura was released, Jim Carrey has never addressed the film's transphobia.

Maybe he thinks it was just a joke. Maybe he doesn't see the harm it caused. Maybe he does know and just doesn't care. But silence is complicity. If he truly believes in progress and kindness, why hasn't he said anything?

Because if Ace Ventura had mocked another marginalized group in the same way, would he have stayed this quiet?

A.L. Bellettiere is a contributor to Prism & Pen where she writes about trans rights, activism, and politics. She is the author of The Inextinguishable Marie Kelly — now available. She is currently writing the first books in two upcoming series. She runs a Beehiiv newsletter (subscribe here) exclusively for updates on her book(s). When inspired, she unleashes her mocking commentary on Substack, particularly toward the current administration. She is also redesigning her Patreon to include exclusive content about her writing process and books. For other creative work, including dark erotica under a separate name, she writes on OnlyFans, ensuring that it remains distinct from her other work.