The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy

by Kane, Paul

  While Nightbreed was being made, a script was written which had Pinhead spending much of the movie floating around in a miasma made up of the various bits and pieces from the pillar, before being reincarnated and exploding out of a church altar. There was also an idea that the Lament Configuration could be a building this time and its corridors would make up the puzzle. All of these concepts made it into the finished movie, albeit in different incarnations: Pinhead does indeed explode out of the pillar, but the church scene comes much later on, and we are only given a quick glimpse of the Lament Configuration building right at the very end of the film—a story arc that would be completed in the ensuing film, Hellraiser: Bloodline.

  However, just before the film’s release, Atkins put paid to rumors that they had considered setting the movie in a bordello, turning Pinhead into a sort of Jason Vorhees clone. “Truthfully, that was just me shooting my mouth off because I was so worried the money men would turn him into a stalk and slash figure. A worry based on good reason, I might add, as one famous quote from a nameless New World executive shows. He said, ‘Can’t we get Pinhead on the streets beating up youths?’”5 Tony Randel was also very much involved in the genesis of Hell on Earth’s plot, which is why he received a “story by” co-credit with Atkins, and was going to direct the movie himself until he, too, had a falling out with the producers, who thought he would make it too dark.

  The first official draft of the screenplay was begun in March 1991 and completed in May. It contains much that should be familiar to fans of the finished movie, as the basic storyline remains intact. Rich, young, and successful nightclub owner J.P. Monroe spots the torture pillar in an antiques and curios store and buys it. Wannabe TV reporter Joanne “Joey” Summerskill then stumbles upon the story after witnessing a man from the club being torn apart by hooks and chains in a local hospital. The man was brought in by a punkish woman called Terri, who used to be Monroe’s girlfriend. Joey’s investigations lead her back to the club and she enlists Terri’s help. Meanwhile she is having terrible dreams about her father’s death in Vietnam, and it is through these that Pinhead’s human half, Elliott Spencer is able to warn her that his demonic self is about to be unleashed upon the world. Pinhead, trapped inside the pillar, is awakened by a few drops of Monroe’s blood. He then is able to make his escape by devouring one of Monroe’s female conquests, Sandy, then Terri, and then finally Monroe himself, though not before talking the nightclub owner into doing his bidding. The script works towards a confrontation between Pinhead and Joey/Elliot, with J.P. and Terri brought back as Cenobites.

  But there are also significant distinctions. When J.P. first arrives at the store there are “bums” in the street outside, used as a comparison to the one inside that “sells” him the pillar. The scene with the boy in the hospital is minus the head explosion, a homage to Frank’s swansong on the original Hellraiser—although we do get a very apt description of the chain assault as “some vile variation on the Indian Rope Trick.”6 Monroe’s nightclub is called Under the Underground, which was later changed to The Boiler Room. There’s no sign of the barman or the DJ who work in the club, and who would be transformed into Cenobites themselves, but the workers J.P. employs are described as ethnic, which gives us a further insight into the man’s exploitative character. There’s much more character interaction between Joey and Terri, especially when she allows her to stay in her apartment. The scene on pages 28–32 includes a particularly relevant and poignant piece of dialogue by Joey, in which she tells her guest about a boy in a neighboring block who they can see through the window sitting staring at an empty pigeon coop:

  JOEY: I don’t know his name.... I saw the whole story. There was a wounded bird on his roof. I could hear its cries from here. He went straight to it. I couldn’t have. I’d be frozen between pity and fear. But he wasn’t. Its pain spoke directly to him. He picked it up. Caged it. Nursed it. Fed it. And it got better. Every day I’d watch him sit there. And every day he’d watch the pigeon. And every day the pigeon would watch him. I saw him learn. Learn that there was one more thing he had to do to make the rescue complete. And one day, just as afternoon became evening, he leaned over, opened the cage, and he walked away. Didn’t look back. But he heard the sound of its wings...7

  Terri is, of course, Joey’s very own wounded pigeon whom she tries to help and, inevitably, has to let go.

  Joey’s car, a Mazda 323, makes more of an appearance—specifically during a ride to the store and during the climactic chase at the end. The store itself, like the nightclub, underwent a change of name. Here it is called Carducci’s Antiques (soon to become the Pyramid Gallery, perhaps an in-joke referencing Barker’s Egypt idea) and Mama Carducci herself is a minor character who lets Joey and Terri into the shop. Expositionally she isn’t needed—having Terri break into the store further emphasizes her wayward nature and misspent childhood—but Mama Carducci does represent a missed opportunity to introduce another piquant character into the Hellraiser universe.

  Sandy, the girl Monroe beds, is dragged to the pillar by a pair of hands rather than the chains that add a welcome special effect in the finished movie. And her life force is simply drained out of her, à la Julia and Frank’s victims. In addition, we see more of the documentary footage of Kirsty in the Channard institute. The touch of irony where she says “And it might be metaphorical to you, Doctor, but you haven’t had some blue-faced bastard come at you with hooks and chains”8 cannot fail to raise a grin.

  But the vast majority of the differences are towards the end of the screenplay, beginning with what happens at the nightclub. Whereas in the movie we are privy to some of the things Pinhead does to those poor unfortunates trapped in the club, here the scene ends with him contemplating what he is about to do: “A small smile forms on his face. He’s just had an entertaining idea.”9 When we return to this location we find that, “The building that housed Under the Underground looks like a bomb hit it. Smoke and debris litter the streets. So do corpses.”10 Following this is a scene where Pinhead encounters two policemen on the streets who are beating up a runner for a drugs gang.

  The exchange between Pinhead and the Elder Cop is comparatively out of character, though, and doesn’t quite gel.

  ELDER COP: I have the distinct impression I told you to fuck off. Unless I miss my guess, you’ve just disobeyed an officer of the law.

  CLOSER ANGLE ON PINHEAD

  —as he emerges into the (dim) light in the alley.

  PINHEAD: I am the law.

  ANGLE ON COPS

  —as they halt in shock at this awesome presence, both of them instinctively drawing their guns. And both instinctively beginning to back up.

  ELDER COP: You’re one butt-ugly son of a bitch and you’re about to be put down.

  DIFFERENT ANGLE—ALL THREE

  PINHEAD: I am the son of eternal night and you are about to discover pain has no ending.11

  The first line of dialogue is so synonymous with the comic book character of Judge Dredd it would be hard to imagine Doug Bradley delivering it seriously (even if this was four years before the Sylvester Stallone movie). And the latter, though beautiful in its own right, jars against the utterances of the cop. The idea of turning the entire alleyway into a torture alley is a tantalizing one, though, and forcing the elder cop to pierce his own tongue with a handcuff bracelet counts as one of the most original torments in the entire Hellraiser canon.

  The sequence where the Cenobites chase Joey down the street is gone, and while the controversial church scene is present it is the priest who faces Pinhead alone. All this is happening as Joey races home in her car, to find Pinhead waiting for her, “Like a spider or a lizard ... flat against the ceiling, his arms outstretched for balance.”12 This is a little too reminiscent of one of the best scenes in 1990’s Exorcist III (William Peter Blatty), where one of the patients in the hospital looks down on George C. Scott’s character from the ceiling.

  Joey lures Pinhead through the window of her apartment, whi
ch she used to travel to Elliott’s dream plane earlier. As in the film, it is in the Quonsett Hut where Elliott first opened the box that the final confrontation takes place. In this version both Pinhead and Elliott “erupt,” then their essences merge together in the reflection of Elliott sitting cross-legged on the floor. The frozen scene comes to life and as Elliott works the box again in 1921 the box opens in 1992. In a replay of the first scene from Hellbound, the hooks and chains take hold of Elliott and Joey finds herself back in her apartment, alone.

  Yet a number of extra twists await. Because the box is now open in her time, when Joey walks through to the kitchen she finds herself in Hell with Pinhead waiting for her. “Oh, no kiss of welcome after seventy years?” he says.13 This is where we meet the Cenobitized versions of Monroe, Terri and Doc, Joey’s cameraman. In one of the most dramatic and, I think, more satisfying changes, Joey must make her own Faustian deal with the Devil. The script has her dressed in Hell’s bridal gown, “bound tight in a black leather bustier with decorative metal attachments.... The only flash of color amidst all this black are her blood red elbow-high gloves ... no ... as she gets closer we see it’s real blood, as if she has dipped her arms elbow deep in a pool of blood. The skin exposed between blood and bustier is a rich Cenobitic blue.”14 Joey walks up the aisle of her own accord, taking Pinhead’s hand—and then the camera pulls out through the circle of the puzzle box, just as it did at the end of Hellraiser. We discover the box is in “Ms. Summerskill’s Office,” on a plinth inside a bell jar. Seated behind the desk is a more confident and successful variant of Joey. All her dreams have come true, she is now a TV celebrity with her own show. Brad, her boss at the station, is now beneath her. A final bit of dialogue ends the movie perfectly:

  SUMMERSKILL: You have to ask yourself, Brad—What do I really want ... and what am I prepared to pay? You have to ask yourself ... The Question.

  BRAD (off): The Question?

  SUMMERSKILL leans her elbows on her desk, interlocking her fingers and leaning her chin on the bridge they make.

  She stares straight ahead—at BRAD and us. A mysterious smile plays about her lips.

  SUMMERSKILL: What’s your pleasure, sir?15

  A backwards nod to the previous films, the lines also make more of the romantic possibilities between Elliott and Joey. This was also an undercurrent in the Pinhead/Kirsty relationship and because, to all intents and purposes, Joey takes Kirsty’s place in Hell on Earth, one option was to make her the bride.

  But as with Hellbound, there would be more drafts and the screenplay eventually fell in line with what we saw on the screen. It wasn’t an easy process, something Atkins confirmed when the task was completed: “Every time someone made a stupid suggestion, I would ... give ’em an earful. And, thank God, they listened—even if it did take four different versions of the script and more drafts than I care to remember to get it where it is now.”16 This would filter out some of the components mentioned, completely revamp the climax, add two more “Pseudo Cenobites”—C.D. and Barbie—an on-foot pursuit through the streets, the construction site scene, a deception involving Joey’s father, and her triumph over Pinhead. The box also became more of a driving force for Pinhead, because if it is in his possession he cannot be sent back to Hell, and it would be the catalyst for turning the office block not yet built into a veritable shrine to the Lament Configuration.

  There is just one more point to mention with regard to the script: the wavering between English and American settings completely disappeared. Hellraiser III is told against a backdrop of an American City—unnamed in the first drafts of the screenplay, but most definitely New York when it came to filming. Those holding the purse strings were insistent this time. Besides which, it would be virtually impossible for the film to cling to its English origins now that almost all the cast were American and the movie was slated to be shot in North Carolina. But, ironically enough, the director chosen to replace Tony Randel at the very last minute, though he lived in the U.S., was in fact British himself.

  Born in 1964 in London, Anthony Hickox came from a family of successful cinema people. His father was Douglas Hickox, who directed Entertaining Mr. Sloane (1970) and Zulu Dawn (1979). He was also the man responsible for Theatre of Blood (1973) starring Vincent Price, which he helmed at the behest of his horror- and Hammer-loving son. His mother, Anne V. Coates, edited such well-known classics as Lawrence of Arabia (David Lean, 1962) and The Elephant Man (David Lynch, 1980). Both Anthony’s brother, James, and his sister, Emma, followed her into this line of work: James was assistant editor on two of Anthony’s movies (Waxwork II and Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth), and Emma also edits for a living. As if that wasn’t enough, Hickox’s great-grandfather was none other than Lord J. Arthur Rank, founder of the famous Rank Film Company. Hickox’s contributions to cinema were slightly more modest; indeed, he began his career in front of the cameras rather than behind them.

  After some commercials, television and film work as a child, Hickox thought about pursuing acting when he grew up, and this explains why he always makes cameo appearances in his own films (in Hell on Earth he’s a dying Vietnam soldier in Joey’s dreams). But his father had other ideas, “When I was young I vividly remember my dad throwing down the Spotlight book (an actor directory used by casting agents), saying, ‘Most of these people are starving! Is that the sort of career you want?’”17 He bought Hickox an 8mm camera to experiment with and took him to work, in order to steer him towards making movies. Hickox decided to go to film school, but with no A or O levels, it wasn’t going to be that easy. Thankfully, the London College of Printing gave him five days to make an 8mm short as part of the entrance exam. Hickox used Ralph McTell’s famous song, “The Streets of London,” as inspiration and his father helped him to acquire a photographic model for the film. The College liked what he’d done and he was accepted onto their Foundation Course, which lasted four years.

  After all that hard work, Hickox dropped out two months in and changed direction completely. The club scene was taking off in the early eighties and he tried his hand at this. While this experience would make him eminently qualified to get inside the head of J.P. Monroe’s character later on, he almost wound up running nightclubs for the rest of his life. It was his girlfriend at the time who provided the impetus for change. Daughter of actor Simon Ward, Sophie Ward convinced Hickox to direct again. He wrote and filmed the 16mm short Rock-A-Bye Baby, which he financed with his own money and which Sophie starred in. Helping out again, his father also facilitated Vincent Price’s role as narrator.

  It eventually came to the attention of stage and film producer Michael White, best known for The Rocky Horror Picture Show (Jim Sharman, 1975), who asked Hickox to come in for a meeting. White wanted to know if he had anymore projects lined up, and Hickox told him about a cheap sci-fi flick he was trying to get off the ground called Death Star (which coincidentally Bob Keen was set to work on). Hemdale had agreed in principle to finance the picture for $800,000, so White paid for Hickox to travel to Los Angeles to close the deal. The director flew to New York instead and took the Greyhound bus on to L.A., due to his notorious aversion to flying, but he heard nothing after the meeting. Fortunately, White backed him to the hilt, telling him that he’d sort out anything he needed over there.

  Finally Hickox got his lucky break when he met Stefan Ahrenberg of Vestron Pictures, who showed interest in yet another project he was developing. This one was called Waxwork, about students who visit a waxworks chamber of horrors in an old dark house, only for the exhibits to come to life. On the same day Vestron agreed to make the movie, Lorimar made an offer, but his loyalty was with the former company, which put $1 million into the venture. The 1988 movie starred Zach Galligan—famous for his role in Joe Dante’s smash hit Gremlins (1984)—as Mark, and cult starlet Deborah Foreman as his companion Sarah. It also featured ex-Avenger Patrick Macnee, while Bob Keen was called upon again to re-create the gallery of famous monsters from filmland.

  Waxw
ork definitely set the tone for Hickox’s early work: derivative, but well-paced, visually stimulating, with interesting camerawork, and tongue firmly placed in its horror-comedy cheek. It was something the director justified by stating, “When we made Waxwork, horror comedies weren’t the big thing aside from Monster Squad, so I felt it was quite original to spoof the genre.”18 He also saw it as a clever way of getting around the ratings system. The movie was due to be released in 1,200 cinemas, but then Vestron’s title The Unholy did badly at the box office and Vestron got cold feet. Nevertheless, the movie found its niche on video, doing extremely well financially. This had two consequences: first, Vestron were impressed enough to payroll Hickox’s next venture, a spoof vampire-western; and second, Electric Pictures bought the rights to Waxwork and offered Hickox $2 million to direct a sequel. The first of these, Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat (1991), was a self-confessed homage to Polanski’s The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967) that revolved around a peaceful vampire town called Purgatory. Enter the great-grandson of Van Helsing (a bespectacled Bruce Campbell) who has tracked down the oldest of them all, The Count (David Carradine). Throw in a splinter group threatening to destroy the community, and you have the essence of the movie. Interesting ideas, such as six-shooters that pack wooden bullets, sit well alongside jokey one-liners (when she becomes a bloodsucker, one woman moans, “What am I going to tell my mother?”). But there are some distinctly soap opera moments—exacerbated by the presence of The Colbys’ Maxwell Caulfield—and the action appears overblown and staged. If it did nothing else, the director claims it taught him the “real nuts and bolts of film making,”19 although the more relaxed method of filming would prove time-consuming and led to his next film being made at breakneck speed.