The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy (2 page)

Paul Kane with Doug Bradley at the British Fantasy Society Open Night 2 September 2005 (copyright Paul Kane).

But this is why we come to horror films after all, isn’t it? Not just to hide behind our hands and the sofa cushions, to squirm at the gore and jump at the shocks. For me, the ideas and the imagery in a horror film have always been as important as anything else. And it’s the nature of those ideas that draws us in, the deeper, darker—dare I say it—more profound ideas than you’re going to find in, say, the average Richard Curtis movie. In the—God help us all—nearly forty years that I’ve known him, it is that realm that Clive has been restlessly and relentlessly roaming. Paul Kane has, wisely or otherwise, chosen to follow in the great man’s footsteps, to reach down into the reeking heart of this mythology and see what he comes up with. I’ll leave it to you to find out exactly what that might be, but I can assure you that he has left few, if any, stones unturned in his pursuit. It would be, perhaps, facile of me to say that he has such sights to show you, but the simple fact is, he has.

Doug Bradley
London, Fall 2006

PREFACE

Welcome to Hell.

By opening this book you have entered into an agreement. The contents are only for those with a craving, a passion to learn about the
Hellraiser
mythos, primarily the cinematic interpretations, but also its intrusion into other artistic and cultural forms. If you are not ready to witness such sights, then this book may not be for your eyes. But if you come with me I guarantee an experience that will stay with you for eternity.

And as with most legends it all began with one person: a storyteller.

“I have seen the future of Horror and his name is Clive Barker.” It is perhaps appropriate that with these almost prophetic words of praise from the one-man American horror factory that is Stephen King, audiences were introduced to the shocking yet spectacular cinematic vision of Clive Barker. For there they were in big white letters preceding the trailer to the very first
Hellraiser
movie, unleashed upon an unsuspecting public in 1987. I say it was appropriate because these two masters of the macabre have much in common. Both are, of course, best-selling novelists. Both stamp their own inimitable signature on anything they produce—so much so that readers soon spotted the connection between King and his literary alter ego, Richard Bachman. But, more significantly, both have also written and directed movies in their time.

However, while King’s attempt at filmmaking resulted in a critical and box office failure (
Maximum Overdrive
, 1986),
¹
Barker’s first commercially released film went on to become one of the most distinctive and chilling pieces of celluloid since
Night of the Living Dead
(George A. Romero, 1968) or
The Exorcist
(William Friedkin, 1973), spawning a franchise which is still active today. At the time of this writing there have been seven motion picture sequels (taking in a variety of genres from science fiction and historical to murder mystery and serial killer), a number of spin-off comics, and even been talk of a TV production. Horror and film fans regularly cite the original movie as among their favorites,
²
and it groomed a legion of devoted fans worldwide eager to taste more of the pleasures on offer. The British Film Institute’s
Companion to Horror
acknowledged its contribution to the continuing redefining of the genre in the late twentieth century
³
and its far-reaching stylistic legacy can be detected in films such as
Cube
(Vincenzo Natali, 1997),
Event Horizon
(Paul W.S. Anderson, 1997),
Dark City
(Alex Proyas, 1998),
The Cell
(Tarsem Singh, 2000),
The Matrix Reloaded/Revolutions
(The Wachowski Brothers, 2003),
Hellboy
(Guillermo del Toro, 2004) and
White Noise
(Geoffrey Sax, 2005), as well as in TV series such as
The X-Files
,
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
(most notably in the silent Gentlemen of “Hush”),
Star Trek: The Next Generation
(who could fail to notice the similarities between the Borg and their Cenobite counterparts?) and
Farscape
(the character of Scorpius). The series’ figurehead was even immortalized on that most reliable gauge of public opinion,
The Simpsons
(in a 1994 Halloween special).

But what makes its conception even more remarkable is the fact that the first movie was shot in the director’s native England. Admittedly, funding came from the U.S., but this was still an achievement at a time when the UK’s cinematic contributions to the horror scene could be listed on the back of a small tombstone. In the days when Hammer’s productions were a distant memory, Barker was one of the few talents attempting to revitalize the industry on British shores, as recognized in Steve Chibnall and Julian Petley’s
British Horror Cinema
, which called him “One of Britain’s undoubted horror auteurs.”
⁴

Clive Barker at the Forbidden Planet signing for
Weaveworld
in London, 1987 (courtesy Forbidden Planet; photograph credit Dick Jude).

Because of his involvement at every stage of the film, from writing the novella on which it was based to providing demon drawings and hand painting special effects onto film cells, there certainly
is
a case for
Hellraiser
being not only one of the landmark horror films of all time, but also a true auteur movie.
⁵
The titles don’t just say
Hellraiser
, they say
Clive Barker’s Hellraiser
. Barker would be the first to admit that he approached the venture knowing relatively little about directing, and that the support of experts like cinematographer Robin Vidgeon and make-up effects man Bob Keen was invaluable, but the film sits very neatly within his canon of work as a whole. The look is pure Barker, as are the themes and the ambitious scope, something that ensuing writers and directors picked up on then extended even further.

As so often happens, nobody who worked on the movie could comprehend just how much of a phenomenon
Hellraiser
would become, though most did realize they were creating something more cerebral than its contemporaries. To quote Keen: “I think we thought it was going to be a good film, an original film. But I don’t think we thought it would be as big—you couldn’t possibly imagine ... I think we thought it would be a stepping stone to other projects, but it really caught the imagination of the audience.”
⁶

And there can be no doubt that much of this has to do with the central character of Pinhead himself. Unwittingly, Barker—with the help of Keen, partner Geoff Portass, and actor Doug Bradley—gave the genre and popular culture one of its enduring icons. A figure that could so easily have been presented as a disgusting mess was turned into something outlandish and transfixing, elegant and even beautiful, in its own way. Viewers embraced Pinhead, ensuring that he would be the one constant factor throughout the history of the film series, and that he would develop during the course of that time on screen. We would discover his background, see him run amok on earth, toy with the lives of key individuals, and finally return full circle. It would also mean fame for the man who played him, having his image plastered twenty feet high on billboard posters.

Barker, too, was catapulted to celebrity status because of
Hellraiser
, as his appearances on chat shows and TV programs testified—allowing him, like his champion King, to reach a much wider audience and readership. Although he limited his involvement after the first movie—to executive producer, occasional consultant, a name at the beginning, “Clive Barker Presents”—and concentrated more on his books and painting than directing, the originator of this series has returned to its themes time and time again, so much so that a current cinematic project (at the time of this writing) revolves around the Cenobite-esque Tortured Souls, and a novella in his new fiction collection,
Scarlet Gospels
, features Pinhead, albeit recounting his demise. Barker’s presence is perpetually felt and his bloody fingerprints will always be on the screen, in spite of the fact that he had to give up the cinematic rights to the characters to get the first installment made. In essence, it was Barker’s own deal with the Devil.

Not a bad price to pay, some might argue, for it has secured his place in history. But it is the history of
Hellraiser
in its entirety that this book is about. And now that the introductions—and warnings—are over and done with, the examination can at last begin.

Time to play.

1

THE ROAD TO HELL

The road to Hell, they say, is paved with good intentions. But in Clive Barker’s universe it is paved only with desire, torture, suffering, and exquisite pleasure.

Clive Barker was born in Liverpool on October 5, 1952, to a father who worked in industrial relations and a mother who was a schoolteacher. From an early age, there were incidents and events that informed his later work. For instance, he attributes his own fear of—and fascination with—blood to a distressing caesarean birth: “There was a series of traumatic first impressions of the world, which I believe have become a
leitmotif
of terror for me. A lot of noise. Panicked voices ... I think the first few minutes of my life were just horrible.”
¹
Most significantly, with regards to
Hellraiser
, Barker’s grandfather was a ship’s cook who brought him back exotic presents from the Far East. One of these just happened to be a puzzle box that Barker spent hours trying to solve.

As a child, Barker was also obsessed by a book on anatomy by Andreas Vesalius,
De Humani Corporis Fabrica
(1543). Its pages depicted skinless figures in delightfully graceful poses. “They’re very meticulous, neoclassical,” Barker once commented, “...and these are very beautiful etchings in which you get flayed men and women standing in classical poses or leaning against pillars. The whole atmosphere of these pictures is cool and elegant and beautiful.”
²
This contrast between the repugnant and the resplendent would infuse many of his pieces in years to come.

Barker lived on Oakdale Road, near Penny Lane, in an ordinary house with four bedrooms—his was at the top of the stairs—and, yet, extraordinary, forbidden things occurred inside. Here he read such landmark horror books as
Frankenstein
(Mary Shelley, 1818),
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
(Robert Louis Stevenson, 1886) and
Dracula
(Bram Stoker, 1897) and devoured the works of M.R. James, Arthur Machen, and Edgar Allan Poe, who became a particular favorite. Indeed, the first horror book he ever read was
Tales of Mystery and Imagination
which had a lurid front cover featuring a skull, a red sky and an old dark house. He also began to stretch his imagination, particularly through art—a quality he picked up from his parents, who were both decent artists.

But it was at Quarry Bank School that this talent started to seep out in various ways, particularly via the plays he wrote and organized. His art teacher at the time, Alan Plent, has mentioned seeing Barker walking through the corridors with a mock severed head to promote a play he’d written.
³
His reaction against the mundane, official plays that were being performed at the school, these productions also brought him to the attention of friends and collaborators like Peter Atkins and Pinhead-to-be Doug Bradley. This group, led with passion and verve by Barker, formed the nucleus of Hydra Theatre, and would finally evolve into his fringe theatre group, the Dog Company.

After leaving Liverpool University with a BA (Hons) in English literature, Barker and the Company went on tours giving performances of plays like
Dog
(1978),
Nightlives
(1979) and
The History of the Devil
(1980), all penned by Barker and following the tradition of Grand Guignol theatre (see Chapter 4). The latter clearly displays a certain fixation with all things hellish and biblical, though here Lucifer stands trial to decide whether he is eligible to return to heaven. Doug Bradley actually played the Devil in the original production, but his portrayal was very different from the Cenobites of
Hellraiser
. In truth, some of the dialogue spoken when he is being cross-examined displays more of a connection to Frank’s character than anything. Here he talks about his travels to distant regions on earth after he was cast out: “I was a student of the world, sir, and something of a sybarite. I wanted to taste every pleasure. I’d been a while in Athens and I’d heard of these towns on the very edge of the civilized world.”
⁴