The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy

by Kane, Paul

  There is one final scene with Angelique and a mirror, during the Minos sequence. Here she is actually on the other side in her human appearance, asking Carducci to, “Help me, please help me!” It is a ruse and when he is pulled through he sees her as the Cenobite she has become. There is something very sad about this, that Angelique’s human self has now become merely a shadow used to confuse her victims, like Elliott Spencer, the ghost of what Pinhead once was.

  A mirror image, the Twin Cenobites of Hellraiser: Bloodline. Replica figure by NECA (courtesy NECA; photograph credit Nicolle M. Puzzo).

  Paul Merchant is also plagued by mirror images. He is cursed with looking exactly like his predecessors, which creates even more pressure for him to conform to their mistakes. “You are so very like your ancestor,” Pinhead says to him, “did you know that?” Facially this may be so, but there is a difference. In his current incarnation, with his shaved head (which Ramsey willingly volunteered for just to get this point across), Paul more closely resembles his adversary than he does either Phillip or John. In order to beat the demon he has taken on some of its traits—the obsession, the allegiance to order, the ability to play games. But only Paul and Angelique actually take on three different personas at various times: in the latter instance, her human, demonic and Cenobitic likenesses; in the former, his three different generational incarnations

  A more tangible representation of the mirror image is presented in the shape of the twins. A staple of horror cinema, these have been used time and again in films like Dead Men Walk (Sam Newfield, 1943), The Dark Mirror (Robert Siodmak, 1946), Twins of Evil (John Hough, 1971), right through to the more recent Dead Ringers (David Cronenberg, 1988), the brothers chillingly portrayed by Jeremy Irons. In Bloodline we first encounter the twins as inept security guards. “What’s this?” says the first when they come across a section of John Merchant’s building they aren’t familiar with. “It’s a door,” replies the second. “I know it’s a door, but it isn’t on the chart,” his brother replies. The solution is to put it down to “Genius college boys” and investigate. This ends in a confrontation with Pinhead, and their ultimate Cenobitization: “I know your pain, I hear it. Please don’t separate me from my brother. I give you my word, that will never happen.” The pair are merged forever, a drill winding their faces tightly together. Moments beforehand, their conversation actually alluded to a repressed Cenobitic nature:

  “So she starts asking me all kinds of weird questions,” says the first brother, “Like would I do it with a woman who used to be a man.”

  “With a guy who had it cut off?” asks twin number two. “So what did you say?”

  His answer is: “I mean, I guess so, if she was cut and all....”

  A transformation brought about through pain, exactly like their own. When we see them a second time on the Minos, they have been radically altered: their faces are contorted, one smiling, one frowning. And they have the ability to absorb other people, just as they do with Edwards—disconnecting and coming back together with their victim in the middle. In addition to their mirror image twin faces, they now have another personality as Cenobites taking direction from Pinhead and Angelique.

  Darkness and Light

  At its most simplistic level, the darkness and light motif represents good versus evil. Pinhead tells John in the corridor that “Darkness is where you’ll find me.” In contrast, it is “the light” that allows Paul to defeat Hell, solar energy powering the Elysium Configuration. “The light, demon,” Paul explains as he makes his escape, “the light.” But, as we’re aware, nothing is that simple in Hellraiser.

  Leviathan churns out a black light, itself a paradox, and the demons can be seen as angels to some. The main female demon in this film even takes part of her name from this concept: Angel-ique. The monster she hides beneath her human guise and the Hell she originates from is more in keeping with those described in chapter 9. She is a demon of the Old Hell—and thus could only find a home in an unchristened host. Therefore, her radical metamorphosis into a Cenobite could be seen as a rebirth, a baptism to wash away the elements of chaos she once defended.

  Pinhead, as we’ve noted, turned his back on the Christian God after his experiences in the First World War. His opinions haven’t altered and this gives rise to one of his finest lines: “Do I look like someone who cares what God thinks?” He is asked to question who he is in this movie at least twice, by Angelique and by Paul. In this last scene Pinhead tells Paul that he has the “same faithless hope in the light” as his ancestors. “And what do you have faith in?” Paul asks. “Nothing,” is the reply, “I am so exquisitely empty.” Except we know this isn’t completely true. Somewhere deep inside, Elliott Spencer is begging to be released—a release that comes when the Elysium Configuration is activated. As he dies, Pinhead—or Elliott—whispers: “Amen.” Could this one word mean that he is again embracing the light? That at the end he has sought forgiveness from a God he once turned his back on? The very name of the Elysium Configuration is taken from the Greek Elysium Fields, a heaven where souls go to rest upon their death.

  But if the lines between the light and dark are blurred again, we can be sure of one thing: the black magic that de L’Isle practices is the very embodiment of evil. Most surely influenced by the Marquis de Sade, who was alive around that time, though probably more by the Satanist Gilles de Rais (a French nobleman from the 1400s who kidnapped, tortured and murdered hundreds of peasant children in his black magic experiments) with a pinch of Frankenstein, de L’Isle’s ritual to summon a demon uses iconography that will be familiar to most horror fans—the pentangle, the Latin incantations, the blood sacrifice. These are shorthand to identify the true forces of darkness in this movie.

  17

  A DISTINCT SENSE OF DÉJÀ VU

  More than any other picture in the series so far, Bloodline relies upon previous filmic references to tell its story. As Doug Bradley said in the U.S. press kit: “In a way, we made three films in one: a Gothic horror film, a contemporary horror film and almost a genre-crossover, a science fiction horror film.”1 In some respects the movie couldn’t help referring to those that had gone before it. Simply in terms of the iconography and setting, the eighteenth century section closely resembles films like The Scarlet Pimpernel (Harold Young, 1934). But both the storyline and décor match when examining Stephen Frears’ 1988 film, Dangerous Liaisons. This film is set in baroque France, circa 1760–1770, and tells the story of a bet made by a widow, the Marquise de Merteuil (Glenn Close), and her ex-lover Vicomte Sébastien de Valmont (John Malkovich) to corrupt a married woman, Madame de Tourvel (Michelle Pfeiffer). Full of intrigue and sexually charged, it could easily be taking place not far from the Chateau du Reve in Bloodline.

  Furthermore, this section, as Bradley suggests, does owe much to the Gothic tradition of horror films, typified by the Universal movies of the 1930s and Hammer films of the ’50s and ’60s. But its closest cousin must be a production that only just beat Bloodline’s release: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (Kenneth Branagh, 1994). An extremely faithful adaptation of the original novel, in look and theme it is another good mate. A comparison of the birth scene in both—Angelique’s and Robert de Niro’s monster—should be enough to convince, the organic nature of both so close in conception. Similarly, Branagh’s Frankenstein shares many of the same qualities of Phillip’s inventor: dedication to his work; realization of their one true masterpiece, no matter what the cost; dabbling in areas they definitely should not be.

  Yet, it is in the future section that cinematic comparisons are abundant. One might even speculate this was done on purpose because of the success of those it emulated. The first is the shot of the Minos’s interior, accompanied by a very good imitation of Jerry Goldmith’s and James Horner’s respective scores for the opening of Alien and Aliens. The corridors also recall the dirty, industrial look of these seminal films, in direct opposition to the look Atkins wanted:

  (NB: PRODUCTION NOTE : This area and all the
areas (mainly corridors) that are not function-specific have a half-finished laser-blasted look to them. There are grooves in the walls of the rock where corridors and walkways were blasted through. Unless specifically described otherwise, everywhere on the Minos is rock, not steel or wood or plaster.)2

  Rather like the caverns of the Christian Hell. He knew that this would have given it a more original look, more in tune with lesser known sci-fi movies such as Saturn 3 (Stanley Donen, 1980) and Outland (Peter Hyams, 1981). The combination of lack of money and the insistence on using such cinematic shorthand combines to give this sense of déjà vu. Though the outside of the Minos station is original in design—clearly an unfolded box, which gives the dramatic ending less impact—the shuttle that arrives is an almost exact replica of the drop-ships used by the space marines in Cameron’s sequel to Alien.

  When they infiltrate the station, their movements resemble those of Cameron’s marines, too, as they hunted for Xenomorphs on the remote Terra-forming colony. However, in dress, they look more like the futuristic Detroit police officers of another classic sci-fi franchise, Robocop (Paul Verhoeven, 1987). In their dark blue riot gear and face shields, as they make their way through the corridors to Paul Merchant’s quarters, they are merely extrapolations of the police teams of the day—just like Robocop’s contemporaries—with Rimmer an adequate replacement for Nancy Allen’s Lewis. More robotic resemblances abound when Paul uses a droid to open the Lament Configuration. Sat crossed-legged, the same position Frank and Elliott had occupied in previous Hellraiser entries, the robot is an exact duplicate of the T-1000 endoskeleton from The Terminator (James Cameron, 1984) and Terminator 2: Judgment Day, even down to the red, glowing eyes. The only difference is that this one is more docile and cannot fight back when the Cenobites tear it to pieces.

  We are granted more Alien references as the section continues. The female voice of the computer is comparable to “Mother,” who counts down the time Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley has to escape from the Nostromo (and, to a lesser extent, the countdown to evacuation in Aliens when Ripley sets out to rescue Newt from the Alien Queen), while Rimmer does a passable impression of the same heroine when trying to outwit the Chatter Beast in the corridors, substituting a shuttle’s rockets for a decompression chamber.

  The use of a holographic character is informed not only by Star Trek: The Next Generation’s holosuite—which could conjure up people from thin air—but also Red Dwarf’s holographic officer played by Chris Barrie, coincidentally enough called Rimmer. Lastly, the final condition of the Minos station, a metallic representation of the puzzle box, looks suspiciously like a Borg ship, also from The Next Generation. The Borg race, ironically enough, were themselves possibly modeled on Cenobites; or are, at any rate, futuristic versions of them due to their ethos.

  18

  A BLOODLINE CURSED TO THE END OF TIME

  The critical response to Hellraiser: Bloodline was almost universal. Reviewers lined up to criticize and condemn the movie, with Variety being one of the first: “Except for the most undiscriminating gorehound, the pic is a pointless mess.” Richard Harrington at the Washington Post in his review of March 6, 1996, shared some of these sentiments, applauding Yagher’s decision to take his name off the film: “Yagher’s move was a good one, for this fourth installment in the Clive Barker-inspired ‘Hellraiser’ chronicles is the least imaginative.... The three episodes do not hang together all that well and the Configuration mythology is never really illuminated. Even poor Pinhead seems bored; other visually distressing creatures don’t show up until the last reel, far too late to rescue the film.” He does, though, concede that it has the widest scope of any of the movies so far.

  John A. Lavin of Movie Magazine International was slightly more balanced in his evisceration of Bloodline: “So, is this great science fiction? No. Is it great horror, sending endless chills down one’s spine? Not really. What this movie is, though, is a decent distraction. It’s certainly not a bad little time at the movies.”

  Sean O’Neill at Box Office Magazine was not quite so restrained: “‘Whither Pinhead?’ might have been the question that the ... fans out there in movieland were clamoring to have answered in a third sequel to Clive Barker’s 1986 horror masterwork, Hellraiser. ‘Wither, Pinhead!’ might be what each of them says after paying good money to see this....” He continues: “Whenever Alan Smithee is credited as the director, informed audiences know they’re in trouble.”

  The Deseret News reviewer, Chris Hicks, commented, “Though the Hellraiser movies have traditionally taken place in dark, dank abodes with ‘haunted house’ written all over them (along with those long, spooky hallways that inevitably shoot chains and hooks into the flesh of innocents who pass through), this one begins like an episode of TV’s ‘Space: Above and Beyond,’ as a 22nd-century space station is boarded by armed troops.”

  The most considered, and perhaps the longest, review came from Anthony Tomlinson at Shivers magazine, who really took the time to go through the history of the project, making the viewer aware of all the bad luck that had befallen the venture before passing judgment: “Even by Smithee’s demanding standards the production of Hellraiser—Bloodline was ... difficult.”1 But the overall response was still the same: “Fundamentally, Hellraiser—Bloodline fails to achieve the key aim of any film: to tell a story, and on this occasion it’s hard to know where to point the finger of blame.”2

  Perhaps it was a testament to the dedication of Hellraiser fans that the film did so respectably at the box office—so much so that speculation was rife about a further sequel. When asked if this was the series end, in an interview for Lost Souls, Peter Atkins said, “You never can tell. Miramax is very interested, but you have to look at these questions from a creative viewpoint and a financial one. As far as I was concerned, part three was the end creatively. It seemed to round things off.... But Miramax wanted to do a fourth part and Clive had the nice idea of a three part story, which excited my interest.... But I think from this point on it would be just telling more stories about the box and the demons. So I am not particularly interested in pursuing it. Miramax certainly want to preserve the franchise. One reason why they are spending the extra money in having this extra shoot is to keep the franchise alive for parts five and six.” And when the subject cropped up of Pinhead versus Jason, he said jokingly: “You’d better believe it! Actually, they don’t own Jason, but they do own Michael Myers. So Pinhead versus Michael Myers might be a distinct possibility somewhere down the road.”3

  Doug Bradley’s reply when asked if he would be vowing never to play Pinhead again was, “Not at all, I’d certainly consider another Hellraiser movie. I hear rumors about a fifth film, although I know nothing about it.”4 And Clive Barker’s reaction? “Hellraiser 4 has been released in the States. It’s not very good. I think they are making another one. Oh, God!”5

  19

  DANTE’S FOOTSTEPS

  In part because of the reaction to Bloodline, there would be another gap before the next Hellraiser film arrived—regardless of the fact that Miramax were keen to start on a follow-up as soon as possible. They did not want to let this franchise die, especially when they were still planning sequels to films like Children of the Corn. The Hellraiser fanbase remained a strong one and there was room to tell more stories in that universe, as the Hellraiser comic series had shown. (See chapter 33.) Dimension listened to potential pitches and developed scripts for some time, many of which picked up plotlines from the previous entries, set in modern day America.

  However, one sought to bring the Hellraiser story back home to London for the millennium. This was a treatment by the unit publicist on the first three films and a well-respected editor of books like The Hellraiser Chronicles and The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror, Stephen Jones, working with his friend, bestselling author of Only Forward and Spares, Michael Marshall Smith (nowadays also known for his Straw Men thrillers written as Michael Marshall). Their idea, entitled Hellraiser: Hellfire, revolves aro
und Jack Credence, a businessman with his finger in every pie and the head of a cult called The Nine. Members of The Nine think Credence draws his power from ritual magic, whereas actually it comes from a pact he made in the ’80s with a figure very familiar to Hellraiser fans: Pinhead. Pitted against the forces of Hell this time was a shy but tough American, Christine Freely, who works in a bookstore Credence happens upon, and who has access to antiquated tomes that might just help in her battle.

  Smith and Jones brought back familiar characters, such as the original Cenobites (including a deadlier CGI incarnation of The Engineer) and Kirsty—now an insane derelict after her earlier encounters with the demons—and even returned to the house at Dollis Hill, where Christine thinks she spots a figure in the attic window. But they added to these traditional elements a determination to use the city itself as a character, weaving a multilayered story from its history, including the positioning of abandoned tube stations and Hawksmoor churches. The climax involved a giant Lament Configuration pattern encompassing the whole of London, and a race against time to stop a gateway to Hell opening as Leviathan breaks through into the real world and panic grips the streets. In essence, it would be a lost Hellraiser classic that tied up a lot of loose ends, adding much depth and humanity to the mythology in the process. Though it was written in response to a commission from Miramax’s London office, encountered a warm welcome at a pitch in Los Angeles, and received strong support from both Doug Bradley and Peter Atkins, Hellraiser: Hellfire ran aground on the mechanics of the film industry.