Directed by FX wiz Kevin Yagher (who disowned the film after his work was marred by studio interference), this fourth entry in the popular, but flawed Hellraiser series is not as bad as people have said. Still, it's pretty bad, especially since Pinhead has now greatly upped the ante in terms of tedious philosophizing. Dreadful Cenobites aside, the film stars a wide array of paper-thin, underexposed characters thrown against a confusing canvas of mythological hodge-podge. Although it contradicts many of the facts brought forward by the first three films, I would still recommend it to completists who might want to broaden their knowledge of Hellish lore and who don't mind the occasional inconsistency.
Why couldn't Chatterer be the lead Cenobite?
Damn you to Hell, Pinhead!
I've said it before and I'll say it again: Pinhead sucks! The S&M guru is especially dreary in this fourth episode as he talks non-sense for what appears to be an eternity, rambling on about the virtues of pain like a senile dominatrix going nostalgic on us. From the moment he rears his ugly, nail-ornated head, you know the fun is over. What loose narrative thread still holding the film together becomes severed to fit the overwhelming need to showcase His ignominious Majesty. Even though Clive Barker's original novella mentioned him only in passing, he soon became a necessary staple of the series, sparking riots amongst fans through his absence. And like many boogeymen before him, he has also become an overwhelming presence in the narrative, one that limits the screen-writers' job to finding cool-sounding but empty one-liners for Doug Bradley to recite in distinctive British speak.
Born in Liverpool, where he became friends with Barker and fellow writer Peter Atkins (who wrote the screenplays of chapters 2 through 4 as well as all four Wishmaster films), Bradley is not unlike one of the Beatles. His face is instantly recognizable amongst pop culture aficionados and any performance he gives is met with awe and adulation from insatiable fans. But whereas Barker and Atkins are John and Paul, Bradley is more of a Ringo, using "a little help from his friends" in order to achieve fame as part of a project driven by more enterprising artistic talents.
Personally, I prefer when his character takes on a more subdued role (as in the original Hellraiser and Hellraiser: Inferno, my two favorite entries in the series). Then, and only then can the focus be on the real protagonists of these films, that is the humans caught in a web of ill-fated desires. After all, Pinhead is neither a funny, nor a like-able guy. He is a blood-thirsty demon who would gladly sink hooks through every part of your body. It's actually a miracle that his brand of one-liner pelting actually caught on. For that, you have to give credits (or boos) to Clive Barker, whose original screenplay contained the juiciest ones, including "We'll tear you soul apart!" and "No tears, please. It's a waste of good suffering." (actually a two-liner...). These simple bits of dialogue, as well as the brilliant makeup/costume job from the original creature crew, have created a monster. Not a demon, but a fanged rat, eating away at the screenplay like merry old Freddy Krueger, who also became a farce once his own series started to depict him as a comical anti-hero meant to sell Halloween costumes.
A trio of tentative tales tenuously tied together
Although the film begins in outer space during the year 2127, it quickly shifts to the Age of Enlightenment as the mysterious Dr. Merchant tells the story of the Lament Configuration. Alone aboard space station Minos, Merchant had just solved the golden puzzle box with the help of a remotely controlled robot when the place was overrun by cops out to arrest him. Unconvinced as to why they should let him pursue "what he has started" (namely, summoning Pinhead and his cohorts in order to trap and destroy them forever), the shrink of the pack takes him aside for a friendly consultation during which Merchant calmly explains his actions by retracing his family history and incidentally, the history of the box.
We then cut to 18th century Paris where his ancestor Philippe Lemarchand is creating a custom toy for a wealthy client, the Lament Configuration. Unaware of how cruel Duc de L'Isle intends to use this contraption, he stands by the window of his mansion after delivering the object and witnesses the summoning of a demon princess, ironically named Angélique, within the skin taken off a peasant girl. Traumatized by the sight, he eventually decides to create another box, one that could counter the effects of its demonic double. Dubbed "The Elysium Configuration", this new box seems only theoretical at this point, involving rays of light trapped in perpetual motion within an outside shell of gold and black.
Lemarchand witnesses the evil he has created
When Lemarchand is killed by Angélique while on a mission to retrieve the Lament configuration from De L'Isle's mansion, it's up to his descendants to give a definite shape to his theoretical project. But Hell has other projects for the family of "toymakers" (as they're affectionately called by the Cenobites), projects that involve the creation of a box that would permanently bridge the gap between Earth and Hell. Starting with architect John Merchant in 20th century New York and closing with Paul Merchant in the 22nd century, the saga of the Lemarchand children are chronicled in the last hour of the film, which involves far too many narrative shortcuts and plot holes to really cash in on the intriguing premise.
The third sequel syndrome
By the time the third sequel rolls around, it is not uncommon to see horror film series launched into outer space. Think Hellraiser: Bloodline, Leprechaun 4, Critters 4, with Jason X being a late bloomer. This should tell you just how desperately film producers are reaching for plot at that point. But whereas it made sense for the Critters to go back from where they came, demons from Hell hardly seem at home in the stellar void. Being a Gothic piece, Clive Barker's clever novella seems to lose relevance when transposed away from the Victorian estates of Britain, large family houses seeping with the secrets of many past generations. Even the modern villa of Dr. Channard felt alien to the mood cast by Barker. So did Joey's high-rise apartment and JP's over-crowded nightclub. Now Pinhead's up in space!?! For me, this is the umpteenth proof of how purely commercial film sequels are and how willing studio businessmen are to sacrifice the spirit of an artwork in exchange for a mere hint of novelty meant as a selling point. The production history of this film is actually riddled with such interferences and this is how Pinhead has come to reign supreme over the narrative.
As I understand it, the film was meant to focus on the decadent French bourgeois from the first timeline. But instead, the producers wished to introduce geek star Pinhead earlier and so, they removed slices of meat from the narrative in order to replace them with tasteless, chewy fat. Thus, the early incarnations of soulless Cenobites within French aristocracy, which could've helped us better understand the origins of Frank Cotton's ritualistic masochism, are removed to make way for an established, readily exploitable, but irrelevant figure. Having failed to grasp the defining trait of the previous Hellraiser films, namely human desire and its ability to push the boundaries of pleasure into the nether realms of pain and suffering, this new entry relies on superficial staples (such as Pinhead's monologues and various blood-drenched ceremonies), creating what is basically a grocery list of horror gimmicks. Given this mindset, the space setting may appear as a nice addition, but it's actually a meaningless attempt at exoticism.
On top of that, space has never looked so dull. Comprised mostly of dusty chunks of trash apparently taken from the dump, the futuristic scenery is entirely underwhelming, which is a necessary drawback of the production's obvious lack of artistic consensus. Against such a depressing backdrop, which should remind aficionados of the dreadful depiction of Hell contained in Hellbound, Pinhead's brand of joyous sadism almost seems illuminating. And so, we are treated to a few inventive bits of gore, including a hook in the brain (accompanied by a cute squishing sound) and a singular death by crushing. The third act is highlighted by gore, which slightly compensates for the terribly lackluster sets and lack of genuine tension.
The "Cenobite Maker" scene will likely
wake the viewer from his slumber
Gore-wise, the film has its moments. The obligatory Cenobite Maker scene is quite nice. It involves a pair of twins whose faces are fused together with a rotating cylinder. Duc de L'Isle's necromantic ceremony is equally creepy. It features skinning, hooks and a pit to Hell. Nonetheless, while gore and gruesome imagery goes some way to try and salvage the inconsistent narrative, they don't fully succeed. Their contribution to the last two chapters are earnest but they can't compensate for the lacks in the art direction and screenwriting department. That said, the middle segment is by far the weakest link in the film. It features the least interesting Merchant, the most incomplete scenario, the biggest quantity of verbiage by Pinhead and the most uninteresting costumes. If it weren't for a glimpse of Valentina Vargas' exquisite body during a dream sequence, this segment would be entirely forgettable. Surprisingly, despite numerous cuts, the first segment remains the most intriguing one and its radiance accounts for nearly all my enjoyment of the film. Almost the entire creativity and craftsmanship of the production team seems to have been focused on this segment. The costumes and sets are way superior and the character of De L'Isle, although short-lived, is the most intriguing in the entire film. He would have made a perfect replacement for evil protagonists Frank Cotton, Dr. Channard and JP Monroe. Unfortunately, his early death leaves a void in the narrative that remains unfilled. And thus the film starts its rapid decline into oblivion.
The whole world in a bottle
Clearly, this film is too ambitious for its own good. Containing three distinct timelines spanning almost 350 years and covering the entire history of the infamous golden box from Clive Barker's The Hellbound Heart in a scant 80 minutes, it was an impossible achievement. The screenplay's lack of finesse, its crude usage of returning motifs and pathological emphasis on Pinhead all combine to ruin a valid, but wishful premise. Most importantly, it reveals just how confused and uninteresting the Hellraiser mythology really is.
Whereas the first film was a Gothic tale of lust, the later films have all branched in different directions with their one uniting feature being a disturbing fetishism for the leather-bound Cenobites and the many contraptions that allow their coming. Here, screenwriter Atkin's debilitating obsession revolves around "the box". In the original film, the box was an exciting prop, but that's just what it was: a prop. Its origin was unimportant. It was the mystery surrounding the object which was exciting. Being a timeless piece of deviant art, its forbidden nature gave it all the sense it needed to have. Whatever we may have imagined it to be in our minds is much more exciting than what it is revealed to be in this film. And this betrays the very nature of horror film sequels: to create entire mythologies around secrecy-veiled characters who end up trading their mystique for illusory depth. This is why sequels never outdo the source material. The extraneous exposition they require is often detrimental to the mystery surrounding the boogeyman and thus, our fear of the unknown is no longer solicited. Only our curiosity is.
The funny thing about curiosity is that it is interesting only insofar as it is not quenched totally. When one of the universe's dark secrets is unveiled, not only isn't it horrific anymore, but it isn't interesting anymore either. Same thing with the dreaded Lament Configuration. As an item bought with a bundle of bills in a Maghreb café, it preserves a certain mystique that almost makes it desirable. Its appeal to the enterprising traveler remains the same as that of unexplored regions of the world. But as a commissioned work carefully dated and tagged as a museum exhibit, it becomes nothing more than a dusty artifact to be shelved. Its nature shifts away from the realm of tales and legends into the rigidly academic domains of history and archeology.
Launching the box into space
doesn't make it more interesting
This wouldn't be so bad if Peter Atkin's work was consistent. But considering how many angles he used to develop the mythology and find half-assed ways to resurrect Pinhead and his minions, we tend to see only the glaring contradictions thus surfacing and not the glimpses of genius injected in every single of his screenplays. This creates an heterogeneous whole that seems to isolate each of the films in the series within its own set of rules. While this is not a bad thing in itself, it makes it hard for enduring fans to really discern who's who within Hell. In this film, Angélique is presented as a demon princess, whom is meant to have known Pinhead personally prior to her conjuration. Many questions come to mind once this fact is established. First of all, we cannot help but wonder how the royal castes of Hell are organized. In Hellbound, Hell is depicted as a mostly empty labyrinth ruled by a rotating prism named Leviathan. Are we meant to believe that Angélique is Leviathan's daughter? And if so, how did Leviathan reproduce? This question is only mildly puzzling if you consider the blatant inconsistencies in the timeline. If Pinhead was transformed into a Cenobite during WWI, how is it that he knows Angélique? I'm sure that there is some sort of explanation for all this, but I just know that it involves a great measure of "film logic". These inconsistencies are not a problem in themselves, but considering how the sole interest of this fourth film lies in broadening our knowledge of the Hellraiser world, they become very bothersome. By trying to make a quick buck on the spectator's back, the producers of this film have neutered the ambition to really expand on the mythology by crafting a film as large in scope as it appeared to be on paper. Instead, they have crafted an entirely forgettable, entirely useless film.
For God's sake, stick to the first film
I have seen my fair share of Hellraiser films by now, and although each new title somehow manages to titillate my curiosity, I always end up being underwhelmed by what I see. Despite consistently weird imagery and a certain inclination toward genuine nastiness, the many sequels spawned by Clive Barker's original film always come up short in terms of spectator involvement as well as in the screenwriting department. The lack of creativity shown by Barker's collaborator Atkins, his over-reliance on the uni-dimensional Cenobites as well as the ever-changing production design all contribute to the lackluster aspect of these sequels. Thankfully, new penmen Boardman and Derrickson added some new blood to the series with Hellraiser: Inferno, turning out a surprisingly tolerable Christian-minded horror film in the process. But this is not nearly enough to refill the gas tank.
For God's sake, stick to the first film
I have seen my fair share of Hellraiser films by now, and although each new title somehow manages to titillate my curiosity, I always end up being underwhelmed by what I see. Despite consistently weird imagery and a certain inclination toward genuine nastiness, the many sequels spawned by Clive Barker's original film always come up short in terms of spectator involvement as well as in the screenwriting department. The lack of creativity shown by Barker's collaborator Atkins, his over-reliance on the uni-dimensional Cenobites as well as the ever-changing production design all contribute to the lackluster aspect of these sequels. Thankfully, new penmen Boardman and Derrickson added some new blood to the series with Hellraiser: Inferno, turning out a surprisingly tolerable Christian-minded horror film in the process. But this is not nearly enough to refill the gas tank.
If there's any advice to convey here, it's that you should simply stick to the original film. It's the only one that makes any sense, and it is the only one which is truly involving. The sequels are fun for a sit, but they don't transcend the genre like the original did. And they don't seem to even comprehend what made the source material so great. Lust, desire, whatever you may call Frank and Julia's motivations, these were deeply human and deeply tragic emotions. They held the narrative up and into the stellar backdrop of horror excellence. What followed is a bunch of soulless rehashes showing horror without managing to horrify us, let alone make us care.
1,5/5 Despite obvious ambitiousness and some glimpses of genius, this film remains the brainchild of its producers: a lackluster, confusing Pinhead vehicle.
