The original Hellraiser is one of those “complicated” movies for me. Along with Cat People, I watched them at a time in my mid-teens when I was still very much a virgin, and in fact was rather intimidated by the idea of sex, but also deeply fascinated by it at the same time. I’d sneak peeks at the late night softcore porn on Cinemax (only a peek, my Catholic guilt wouldn’t allow any more than that), and seek out the “good parts” in novels, feeling alternately embarrassed and intrigued at the same time. Hellraiser and Cat People both merged that intrigue with horror, a longtime love of mine by then, and watching them felt more forbidden and titillating than the cheesy “Swedish stewardesses go to Rome” stuff on Cinemax. This was particularly true of Hellraiser, which introduced me to the concept of BDSM years before I even really knew the term.
Regrettably, no other horror franchise has had more rapidly diminishing returns than Hellraiser. Though its follow-up Hellbound, released just one year later, was solid (some may even say superior, although I am not one of those people), each subsequent film became progressively more unwatchable, where all of the effort that should have gone into writing a coherent script was instead spent on coming up with new Cenobites, who rarely got to do more than stand in the background. Even after Doug Bradley cashed his last check with 2005’s Hellraiser: Hellworld, two more of these things were made, one of which, 2011’s Hellraiser: Revelations, looked like its own porn parody.
The announcement that Hulu was going to be rebooting the franchise from the beginning was met with a resounding shrug of indifference. Those who had watched all nine sequels in the original series did it mostly as an endurance test, while the rest of Hellraiser’s fans, myself included, gave up less than halfway into them. We simply had no expectation that the magic could be recaptured at the same level, or even at a level that could be charitably described as “competent.”
Then, interest began to pique when it was announced that Clive Barker would be producing the reboot, even though it would no longer involve an earlier script he had written. Though it was rumored that Doug Bradley would return as Pinhead (despite being nearly 70 years old), this version would get a new, shinier version of the Hell Priest (Pinhead’s actual name), one whose androgynous voice and appearance was more fitting of the film’s source material, and played by trans actor Jamie Clayton.
This was, of course, met with the usual measured response one can expect from social media, particularly that corner of social media devoted to horror movies, and an insistence that a new “woke” Hellraiser would destroy the legacy of a series in which one of the Cenobites could launch CDs like Chinese throwing stars out of his face.
Since I don’t know what “woke” means in this context (nor do I think anyone actually does, it’s as meaningless a criticism as “overrated”), I can’t say for certain if nuHellraiser, directed by David Bruckner (whose last film was the deeply disturbing The Night House), is woke or not. I think that if you go into it determined to hate it because you think the casting of Clayton is sending some sort of secret negative message to the original fans of the series, you will not be swayed in any meaningful way.
However, if you’re a normal person who doesn’t greet the slightest change in an established property with suspicion and hostility, you’ll find it a well-made, eerie film that honors the original without copying it beat by beat. Merely being adequate would have put it above nearly all the sequels in the franchise, the fact that it’s actually pretty good feels like a minor miracle.
Barely recovering drug addict Riley (Odessa A’zion) is trying to regain her brother Matt’s (Brandon Flynn) trust, and not doing a good job of it. It doesn’t help that she’s secretive, temperamental, and has terrible taste in men, namely Trevor (Drew Starkey), another addict she meets in a 12-step program. Trevor talks Riley into breaking into an abandoned warehouse, where they discover an all-too-familiar puzzle box. Never having seen a Hellraiser movie before, Riley attempts to “solve” the puzzle, inadvertently opening a portal and bringing forth Cenobites, led by the Hell Priest, who require sacrifices, starting with Matt.
Seven paragraphs of lead-in followed by one paragraph of plot description, that’s what you can expect from a genuine Gena Radcliffe Review™. But if you’ve already seen it, then there’s no need for me to tell you what happens, and if you haven’t, what kind of jerk would I be if I spoiled it for you? This Hellraiser trades in the overt sexuality of the original for the lure of power, in that the owner of the box, should they give the Cenobites all the sacrifices they demand, will be rewarded an audience with Leviathan, the god of the underworld. I won’t say that I didn’t miss the sordid campiness of Julia Cotton getting laid so good she’s willing to kill to experience it again, but screenwriters Ben Collins and Luke Piotrowski’s take on the mythos is fascinating in its own way, and developed enough so that the plot isn’t merely a gossamer thread leading the audience from one gory kill to the next.
That being said, the kills are nicely gory, particularly the drawn-out death of one character, who’s tortured when the Hell Priest runs a pin through her neck (several times!!). Goran Višnjić as millionaire Roland Voight, the certified freak, seven days a week who originally owned the puzzle box, spends much of the movie with some sort of contraption strapped to his chest that stretches his nerves like piano wires. Even with the sexual aspects significantly toned down (Voight’s dark proclivities are mentioned rather than shown), it feels very true to the spirit of Barker’s original vision. This is particularly true in the design of the Cenobites who, with their otherworldly skin color, bejeweled adornments, and exposed insides, have an almost elegant beauty to them that previous incarnations have often lacked. A visibly pregnant Cenobite is particularly disturbing, as is the Asphyx, bound head to toe in its own skin and with its hands permanently held in prayer.
However, it’s Clayton who commands every minute she’s on screen as the Hell Priest. Whereas Doug Bradley as essentially the same character was intimidating, Clayton, speaking in a soft, otherworldly voice, is both sinister, and seductive. It’s a different take on Bradley’s iconic performance, in a movie that’s not looking to be tiresome fan service, and that alone makes it worthy of praise.
Also watched last week was Marvel’s one-shot Werewolf by Night. I’ve experienced a massive case of Marvel burnout over the past year, particularly when it comes to the various TV series. I hung in there with WandaVision and Loki, but since then there’s been roughly 47 more series, and if I tried to catch up with all of them I wouldn’t be able to leave my house for two weeks. Also, we’re starting to get into the “It’s me, Blorko” phase of the MCU, where I no longer know who anyone is, or if and how they factor into the original storyline (such as it is). If you were to tell me tomorrow that one of the Stranger Things kids just signed a three picture deal to play Xnorp the Beast-Man, I’d believe you. I wouldn’t make plans to see any of them, but I’d believe you.
But I do like werewolves, and while I didn’t know there was a werewolf character in the MCU, I do now, thanks to Werewolf by Night, a fun little old-timey drama that, thankfully, tells a complete story in under one hour. Michael Giacchino, who’s had a incredible year just based solely on composing the score for The Batman, directs, and what the show lacks in plot coherence (though, again, actually knowing some of the lore behind it already obviously helps), it more than compensates with its vintage 40s style aesthetic, shot in grainy black and white and featuring Gael Garcia Bernal as the perfect troubled hero.
Bernal is Jack Russell, a monster hunter called by Verussa Bloodstone (Harriet Sansom Harris), widow of champion monster hunter Ulysses Bloodstone, to compete against other hunters to replace Ulysses. The hunters are ordered to capture a monster implanted with a powerful jewel, also named a Bloodstone, but there’s just one problem: the monster, Man-Thing, is a friend of Jack’s, who he actually intends to rescue. Well, actually, there’s two problems: Jack is a monster himself, the titular Werewolf by Night, exposed when Verussa wields the Bloodstone.
On the downside, for a TV show called Werewolf by Night, I expected way more werewolves. It’s more than halfway through the episode before Jack transforms, and most of the time up to that point is spent on the various hunters punching and kicking each other. However, relying on old-fashioned “guy in a fur suit” practical effects, and with human features reminiscent of Lon Chaney, Jr. in The Wolf Man, it’s worth the wait.
After some of the downright shabby CGI of Thor: Love and Thunder, taking a back to basics approach allows the actors an opportunity to actually act. Bernal is mostly understated but really shines in the sweetly comic scenes with Man-Thing (“Ted” to his friends), who understands him better than any of the other humans in the cast. But it’s Harriet Sansom Harris, last seen stealing Licorice Pizza in her single scene as talent agent Mary Grady, who absolutely dominates every second she’s on screen. It’s wonderful enough to see a woman in her sixties play a comic book villain, but Harris brings such broad energy and flair to her role, gleefully hamming it up as a stark contrast to Bernal’s subtlety, that you wouldn’t mind seeing a prequel about her character, even if it means having to finally figure out who the hell Blorko is.