The end of a year is here, and with it comes the perfect opportunity to take a look back at the year in film. First up, here’s our extensive evaluation of the year in home video.
Tag: clive barker
Noel Thingvall follows up his Coulda Been A Contender article on Hellraiser: Deader with a piece on the Hellraiser franchise itself. Suitable Halloween reading, I’m sure you’ll agree.
Exploding onto the horror scene in 1984 with the first volume of Books of Blood, Clive Barker didn’t wait long to make the transition to film, writing the screenplays for Transmutations (1985) and Rawhead Rex (1986). Dissatisfied with how the films, both directed by George Pavlou, ultimately turned out, Barker decided to take his own turn in the director’s chair. He settled on an adaptation of his novella, The Hellbound Heart, pulling together his own funds and additional income from a distribution deal with New World Entertainment that left him with a budget of around a million bucks.
Hellraiser (1987) is about a man named Frank (Oliver Smith and Sean Chapman, respectively in and out of makeup). Frank is a pervert and a sadist who’s travelled the world looking for new thrills and sensations and acts of depravity. One day, he arrives for his brother’s wedding only to deflower the bride on top of her wedding dress. He leaves before the ceremony and the indiscretion is never discovered. During another adventure, Frank comes across a puzzle box known as the Lament Configuration, which opens a portal to the dimension of the Cenobites (led by Doug Bradley in an unnamed role that’s never referred to as Pinhead within the films themselves), priests of the art of taking pain and pleasure to such extremes that both fuse together into a single eternal sensation.
Not long after Frank’s disappearance, his brother, Larry (Andrew Robinson), moves into the old family home with his daughter, Kirsty (Ashley Lawrence), and his wife, Julia (Clare Higgins), who’s still lost in the memory of her encounter with Frank. When Larry’s blood is spilled on the floor of the attic room, Frank is violently reborn into this world and seduces Julia into luring men up to his hiding place so he can feed and slowly regenerate his body.
Hellraiser is, for my money, the best horror film ever made. Not just because of the sado-surrealistic imagery of the leathered up Cenobites with their flesh modified in extreme, elegant ways, not just because of the horror of Frank’s skinless rebirth and gradual gruesome regeneration, but because of the horror of humanity. Frank isn’t a monster because of transdimensional horrors or bloodied makeup effects, but because of the way he finds deep pleasure out of the torment and manipulation of others. When we see him in human form, he’s a strikingly beautiful man who knows how to lure others into his grasp before leaving them to clean up the mess of their exploitation. In his skinless form, a truly magnificent series of full-body makeup effects, there’s still a power and a grace to his stance, a fire in his eyes, a seductively commanding tone to his voice that takes this being of exposed muscle tissue and nerve strands and turns him into something alluring, something fascinating that you can’t look away from, no matter the horrors. Such is what happens with Julia, the woman whose craving for debauchery slowly grows after Frank gives her a first taste and she gets to the point where she’s making out with a man with no lips, grinning into a mirror while spattered with the blood of a stranger she bludgeoned to death with a hammer, and forced to make a choice between the man who married her, who genuinely loves and cares for her despite being a bumbling bore, and the man who defiled her, who cares nothing for her but leads her to thrills she’d never before imagined.
It’s a captivating, meticulous melodrama Barker weaves as he uses the splatterpunk Lovecraftian nightmare of Pinhead and the Cenobites as a background presence to enhance the story rather than as a driving force that looms above it. They aren’t the enemy, the monster, the nightmare of the story. Frank is. Frank is the dirty uncle in the family who outshines the rest while secretly abusing them. When the story shifts to Kirsty and she first encounters the Cenobites, the story doesn’t go the usual horror route of her having to run from or fight the monsters. No, they’re an unbeatable force and the story instead goes into the territory of ancient fables where she has to strike a deal with the devil and condemn someone else to an eternity of torment so as to save herself from the same fate.
It’s not a film with easy themes or easy answers. It’s touching, it’s haunting, it’s so simple in its complexity. Like Frank and the Cenobites, the film is ugly to the point of being beautiful, monstrous to the point where it cuts to the heart of humanity, gruesomely modified to the point where it feels painfully natural.
It’s a masterpiece.
The Peter Atkins Trilogy
While the film wasn’t a huge success on initial release, it quickly built a sizeable cult following and New World decided to fund a sequel. Barker remained involved as a producer and supervisor of the script, but he was busy with his latest novels and the early stages of getting his next film, Nightbreed, off the ground. He instead brought in a friend, Tony Randel (not the similarly named actor), to direct, and handed scripting duties over to another pal, Peter Atkins. Atkins is an interesting writer full of wonderful ideas and vivid scenes of lyrical, fairy tale horrors, but I often find he lacks cohesion. There’s too much going on in his stories – as I’m sure you’ll see below – and they never ultimately come together as a whole. Despite this, I highly recommend tracking down his obscure novel Big Thunder, a clever horror tale about 1930s era pulp literature suddenly invading present day reality.
Hellbound: Hellraiser 2 (1988), continues the story of Kirsty, now institutionalized, as she comes under the care of Dr. Phillip Channard (Kenneth Cranham), a closet sadist secretly obsessed with the Lament Configuration. Channard resurrects Julia and starts feeding her cast off patients from forgotten basement cells so she can regenerate. Channard then uses an autistic patient, Tiffany (Imogen Boorman), to solve the puzzle box and send him to Hell, where he goes through the torturous rituals to become a Cenobite himself.
Kirsty comes to believe her father is trapped in Hell, so she uses the puzzle box to open the door and she and Tiffany wander the dark labyrinths of tormented souls, all looming beneath a massive monolith in the sky, a diamond that casts beams of absolute darkness as it slowly rotates like a lighthouse. While here, Kirsty once again encounters Frank, then discovers the original human identity of Pinhead, using it to turn him against Channard when the evil doctor fuses with some kind of giant hell worm to become an uber-Cenobite.
This film is at its best when it focuses on the twisted romance between Julia and Channard, who is more her equal than the controlling Frank, and the amazing imagery of Hell itself. The walls of cold-grey stone, interrupted by views into rooms of souls going through their personal torments, all beneath the massive monument and smothered with an astonishing score where Christopher Young takes his dark fairy tale waltz themes from the first and kicks them up to the level of a biblical nightmare. And Ashley Lawrence continues to shine as an everyman lead who has to use her wits against unstoppable forces of horror.
Unfortunately, Atkins establishes new pieces of the mythos that will carry on under his reign; elements that, while he explores them well, dilute the central concept. First of all, the Cenobites are no longer tied to a dimensional plane of their own creation. Instead, they oversee all of Hell itself, which takes something mysterious and Lovecraftian and instead ties it to tired biblical cliches. Also, the idea of equally extreme pleasure is dropped from the equation, turning it into torment-only torture porn. And the Cenobites are all revealed to have once been human, with Pinhead being a former British soldier who encountered the Lament Configuration during his service in WWI. This soldier feels random and shows none of the perversity that would lead someone like Frank to the box, which sets off a theme in the sequel of people turning into Cenobites with no real rhyme or reason as to who can become one or why.
Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth (1992) went through a share of problems which ultimately landed the franchise in the hands of Mirimax/Dimension and the Weinstein Bros., who still own the rights to this day (more on that later). Atkins originally wrote a very different script that he intended to direct, but the studio wanted someone with more experience, settling on indie genre vet Anthony Hickox.
The original script featured Pinhead, trapped in a pillar following the end of the last film and now fully separated from his once human soul, as the centerpiece of a twisted church/brothel that pops up in a small town, luring people in as the Cenobite tries to unleash Hell on Earth. It’s not all that great of a script so I likely won’t be doing a full Coulda Been a Contender on it (unless you all tell me there’s a demand for it, of course). In the finished film, the Pinhead pillar now finds itself at the heart of a fetish nightclub run by the narcissistic (sensing a theme here?) J.P. Monroe (Kevin Bernhardt). Pinhead offers J.P. promises of power in return for drugged up club goers dragged into a back room where they’re consumed by the pillar, causing Pinhead to gradually emerge.
Meanwhile, spunky television reporter Joey Summerskill (Terry Farrell) witnesses several deaths tied to what turns out to be the Lament Configuration and comes across the box when she meets a teen runaway, Terri (Paula Marshall), who stole it from the club. As Terri is lured deep into the torment J.P. is discovering, Joey must team up with the spirit of the WWI officer who was once Pinhead to keep the Cenobite from opening up a permanent portal between Hell and Earth.
As I’m sure you can tell, this story is a bit all over the place, but there’s still a lot to like. Such as the power-hungry J.P. being lured by thrills ultimately beyond his imagining. Or the genuinely tender and tragic friendship that builds between Joey and Terry. Or some more amazing Cenobite visuals, some of which were directed by Barker himself when the film required a few reshoots.
But the Cenobite visuals are ultimately where the main problem lies. Here, the Cenobites are little more than rampant monsters killing indiscriminately in ways that are sometimes impressive, sometimes ridiculous (a girl watches as water rises out of her glass, forms into an icicle, and spears her), but ultimately empty and senseless. Worst of all, completely random people are turned into silly new Cenobites, like Joey’s cameraman becoming a beast with a laser eye, or the bartender suddenly breathing fire, or the DJ being able to shoot razor discs from a CD player in his chest. The film can’t help but feel a bit pointless as nothing is really done that will carry on in the franchise and the entire story revolves around the human and demon halves of Pinhead needing to be rejoined when there was no real reason for them to be separated to begin with.
Hellraiser: Bloodline (1996) has the honor of being “An Alan Smithee Film”. Makeup artist Kevin Yagher meant it to be his directorial debut, but ultimately walked off when he found out the studio was making cuts behind his back. Joe Chappelle was brought in to complete the film.
Atkins’ final script for the series is a surprisingly bold multi-generational tale. In the past – 15th century France, to be specific – Philip L’Merchant (Bruce Ramsey) is a toy maker commissioned by a wealthy court magician to construct a puzzle box: the Lament Configuration. After delivering the box, the function of which he’s not aware, Philip watches through a window as the magician kills a young woman and uses the box to summon a demon to inhabit her skin. Angelique (Valentina Vargas) is a classical demon from a time before the Cenobites and their reorganization of Hell, and she quickly kills the magician and seduces the man’s assistant. Philip is killed soon after, but not before he starts work on plans to create a negative aspect of the puzzle box, using light instead of darkness to kill a demon forever.
In the present, Philip’s descendant, John Merchant (also Ramsey), is nearing completion of a building inspired by his ancestor’s designs. He never took the old family tales seriously and doesn’t realize the threat his structure poses to the forces of Hell, which ultimately leads to a confrontation between himself and the combined forces of Angelique and Pinhead.
In the future, John’s son, Paul (Ramsey again), has followed and perfected the designs, creating a giant puzzle box space station that he hopes will be able to seal off Hell for all eternity. He uses the Lament Configuration to summon the Cenobites, but before Paul’s plan can be completed, a squad of space marines shows up wondering why he hijacked what was supposed to be a military project.
This film is often dismissed because it came out around the same time the Critters and Leprachaun franchises also sent their monsters into space, but this one doesn’t feel like a cheap gimmick. The space marines are empty fodder, but there is a solid story at the core of this film of a family trying to undo the hell they’re partially responsible for having unleashed in the first place. The plot is a little choppy from the edits, but Ramsey gives a good triple lead performance and Angelique is a welcome fresh face as a villainous demon, even when she, too, joins the ranks of the Cenobites. There’s also some more amazing makeup effects on display, including a Cenobite dog. I know I’m in the minority, but I ultimately find this to be the strongest of Peter Atkins’ entries, and feel it’s a good note for him to have left the franchise on. Just ignore the scenes with the twins.
After a brief hiatus, Dimension dusted the franchise off for a quartet of straight-to-video releases between 2000 and 2005. All mostly abandon the mythos Atkins added – the Cenobites still operate out of Hell, but their human origins are never again mentioned and we don’t see anyone turned into another member of their ranks – and follow the example of the first with standalone character pieces where the Cenobites play a part, but are ultimately just dark reflections of what’s already present in the characters’ souls.
The best of the batch is arguably Hellraiser: Inferno (2000), written and directed by Scott Derrickson a couple films before he went on to helm the uneven The Day the Earth Stood Still remake. It follows a dirty cop (Craig Sheffer) – the type that steals drugs and cash from crime scenes and uses hookers to distract him from the family he neglects – whose latest case puts him on the path of The Engineer, a mysterious, seemingly inhuman man tied to child kidnappings and ritualistic killings. It’s a beautifully shot film for a DTV release and Sheffer makes for a surprisingly charismatic lead given the repulsive character he’s playing. The ending is a little weak, but Derrickson milks the gothic imagery and serial killer horrors for all they’re worth, and even returns the sense of pleasure to the Cenobites’ pain in a great scene where a pair of female demons caress our “hero’s” chest… both over and under his skin.
Hellraiser: Hellseeker (2002) tries to maintain the style of reality blending with fantasy as a person’s life unravels, but its story of an office drone (Dean Winters), who may or may not have killed his wife, lacks the skill and thoughtfulness Derrickson brought to his entry. It’s a weak directorial debut for cinematographer Rick Bota, coming off as little more than a confused clone of Jacob’s Ladder or Carnival of Souls. The script reportedly went through a lot of changes, with Carl Dupre writing it as a Hellraiser sequel, then Tim Day being brought in to first turn it into a standalone project, then back to being a Hellraiser piece. Worst of all, they bring back Ashley Lawrence as the franchise’s first protagonist, Kirsty, and then do noting with her. Seriously, she has about five minutes of screen time and then closes the story in a way that’s completely out of character to what the first two entries established.
For a full breakdown of Hellraiser: Deader (2005), check out the my latest installment of Coulda Been a Contender.
Rick Bota directed for the franchise one last time with Hellraiser: Hellworld (2005), with Carl Dupre returning to scripting duties, this time working off a standalone outline by veteran Dimension hack/producer Joel Soisson titled Dark Can’t Breathe. This entry tries to hook the kids by getting all meta and self referential with Hellworld, a MMORPG social network/game based on the series. Two years after an obsessive player commits suicide, his five friends are invited to a Hellworld themed rave in a mansion owned by Lance Henrickson. Yes, this is the entry where Hellraiser descends to a group of college kids drinking, having sex, and being picked off by Pinhead and his brood. While there have been some bad moments in previous entries, this is easily the lowest and laziest of the series from a conceptual point. Even the ending, where it turns out the five kids were drugged and buried by Lance Henrickson and that the entire film was a hallucination, is more of a copout than a shocking twist. Yes, I just spoiled the ending. You’re welcome.
The Weinstein Bros. started talking about a remake in February of 2008, when Marcus Dunstan and Patrick Melton – best know for debuting on season 3 of Project Greenlight with their screenplay for Feast – were hired to write a script, reportedly with Clive Barker’s approval. Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo, the french duo behind Inside, signed on, then quickly left over creative differences, and the Dunstan/Meltron script was discarded soon after.
In October of that year, Martyrs director Pascal Laugier signed on to both write and direct. Barker was enthusiastic and supportive of Laugier, but otherwise uninvolved. Laugier said his first draft featured Frank and Julia from the original film, but was very adamant about labelling it a reboot instead of a remake. In June of 2009, it was reported Laugier was no longer involved with the project. Again, over creative differences with the Weinsteins.
In October 2009, the Weinsteins started promising a remake was coming and that it would be in 3-D. This despite nobody being involved as either writer or director.
Nothing more would be heard until August of 2010, when yet another DTV sequel, Hellraiser: Revelations was annouced, to be directed by DTV sequel vet Victor Garcia and with a script by long-time series makeup effects supervisor Gary Tunnicliffe. We’ll get to this entry in a minute, but Dimension made it clear from the start that this was something they put out just to keep the franchise rights from lapsing due to the remake/reboot having stalled.
Word began to spread in October 2010 that Christian E. Christiansen, director of The Roommate, was signing onto the reboot, with Amber Heard in talks to star and rumors that the Weinsteins wanted a PG-13 so as to appeal to a younger teen crowd. Whether or not all of this is true, it quickly flitted away as, less than a week later, director Patrick Lussier and writer Todd Farmer officially signed on to make this their third collaboration following My Bloody Valentine 3-D and Drive Angry 3-D, both promising their version would be a hard R. This was actually based on a pitch the two had made a year earlier, but the Weinsteins instead put them on a Halloween 3 which never came to be. Lussier and Farmer intended to reboot Hellraiser was a new story focusing on “the world of the box” instead of re-telling Barker’s tale of Frank and Julia. Though the team drafted several scripts, word came in September 2011, almost a year after the two started working on the project, that they’d left. Creative differences. Weinsteins. PG-13.
And now for Hellraiser: Revelations (2011), the recently released film made fast and on the cheap just so the Weinsteins could keep the franchise license from expiring. Emerging teenage sadist Nico Bradley (Jay Gillespie) drags his eager but innocent friend, Steven Craven (Nick Eversman), across the border for a weekend of decadence in Tijuana. It’s not long before a whore is dead and Nico has his hands on the Lament Configuration, dragging Steven down a dark journey of murder and sex. Several months later, the two families of the missing boys meet, stewing over the meaning behind the acts captured on a video camera while Steven’s sister, Emma (Tracey Fairaway), finds awakening desires that draw her to a puzzlebox (the puzzlebox) also found among her brother’s belongings. As she starts exploring its configurations, the house is cut off from the outside world, a disheveled and distressed Steven suddenly shows up, and the Cenobites prepare to welcome new flesh.
Given the tiny budget and reasons behind the production, this is an easy film to dismiss – as many have – but I was quite pleasantly surprised. Don’t get me wrong, it’s shot on a tiny budget with unknown (but not inexperienced) actors in what looks to be one of the producer’s houses that they borrowed for a week. And the dialogue is awful. Really really awful. You know that criticism where some dialogue sounds like an eight-year-old who’s learned how to swear and found a place where he can’t get in trouble for it so he starts dropping F-bombs in every line he can just to impress his friends? That’s the dialogue here. When it gets into cryptic lines about the Cenobites and their teachings, it’s fine, but 60% of it is people shouting at each other with such a saturation of expletives that it feels desperate to be seen as mature and edgy. Which is unfortunate because, while Tunnicliffe’s wording betrays his limitations as a writer (he’s had four previously produced scripts, if you can believe it), the intelligently constructed story shows how much he’s come to learn about the franchise in the almost two decades he’s being providing its makeup effects, starting with Part 3.
In a welcome return to the original, the Cenobites are no longer the technicians of Hell and once again operate out of their own pocket dimension within the Lament Configuration itself, only coming to those who call for their teachings. This film perfectly captures them as a religious society, with those outside mostly looking on with repulsion or fear, yet there’s some for whom curiosity is sparked as pleasure is once again the equal to pain in the Cenobites’ philosophy. To those who are drawn in by the longing, by the desire to explore a higher form of sensation, some will become overwhelmed and seek escape (this film suggests such was the case with Frank and Julia), and others will come to believe with all their hearts. I won’t say who (this article can’t spoil everything), but this is the first among the sequels that sold me on a human joining the ranks of the Cenobites as it builds off his character’s journey and comes in layers and stages, instead of just being the random victim they were in much of Atkins’ run.
The central human melodrama of the two families is also surprisingly captivating as their secrets and hidden ties start to unfold and the box and what it contains are once again a relfection of the turmoil within and a trigger that brings it to a boiling point. And unlike the past four DTV sequels, where the underlying theme of the character driven dramas was guilt and punishment, this entry goes back to the roots of the first where it’s all about longing unfulfillment and hidden desires for forbidden pleasures.
I’m not going to argue this is a great film, as the dialogue really is a chore to sit through and the cheapness with which it was made is quite apparent, but the cast is sincere, Stephan Smith Collins is perfectly fine as the new Pinhead (though the makeup makes him look a little puffy), Tunnicliffe’s effects continue to be expertly designed and executed, and this story actually has something to say about the darker aspects within each of us, a fable to spin that shows this crew, while stuggling with the means by which they show it, understands the original film on a level that every sequel up till now has struggled to grasp.
And that brings this piece to a close. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve spent the better part of the last week fully immersed in Hellraiser and need to wash it out of my soul with some Power Rangers and My Little Pony, lest I give in to these tempting desires starting to flare within.
Noel Thingvall, a native of Minnesota, co-hosts the podcast I Hate/Love Remakes and writes for the blogs The Super Saturday Short-Lived Showcase, Deconstructing Moya, and Review Journal of an Obsessive Completist. Follow him on Twitter.
Noel Thingvall returns with another instalment of Coulda Been A Contender just in time for Halloween. This month Noel takes a look at Deader, one of the most recent additions to the Hellraiser franchise.
Last month, fellow contributor Rob Girvan wrote a great piece about the direct-to-video market and the occasional gems that can be found within. One of the more interesting aspects of the direct-to-video system is how completely original projects can be retooled under a brand label. Sometimes a completed film will simply have its titled changed, as with 8MM 2 or several of the Wild Things entries. Sometimes, as with a few of the American Pie spinoffs, scripts will be bought that can easily be revised to tie them into the franchise. Heck, this isn’t exclusive to direct-to-video, as none of the four existing Die Hard films featured the character of John McClane in their original incarnations.
Which brings us to today’s subject: Deader by Neal Marshall Stevens. The script is undated and may have been written as far back as the late 90s. In a 2003 interview, Stevens says it’s been several years since he last heard from Dimension on the project, so it likely predates his work on the 2001 remake of William Castle’s Thirteen Ghosts, and may have been the sample that won him the initial writing job on that project before a handful of other writers (including Todd Alcott and James Gunn) threw their ingredients in the stew. His only other writing credits under this name are 2010 film Super Hybrid, a short-lived indie comic called Havoc Brigade (another comic, Demon Squad, was announced in 2009 but never surfaced), and work as a writer and “creative consultant” on the early 90s anthology series, Monsters. Added to that are about two dozen credits for extremely low budget schlock films for Full Moon Studios which he wrote under the name Benjamin Carr; works that include Johnny Mysto: Boy Wizard, Murdercycle, and several installments of the Puppet Master franchise. I can’t confirm it, but he may also have been the Jack O’Donnell who co-wrote the film adaptation of Stephen King’s The Night Flier.
So, yeah, Neal or Benjamin or whatever his real name is has been around the industry for a while and may even have several additional pseudonyms that haven’t been uncovered. But we’re not here to talk about that. Our subject is his spec script Deader.
Amy Klein is a bitter, sarcastic young woman, often dressed all in black with yesterday’s smelly clothes and indoor sunglasses from late nights and the strange company she keeps. She’s a spreading name among journalists following an undercover expose on crack dens and drug culture that recently saw print, and her editors drag her down to the office for something they want her to look into. They’ve found a tape claiming which shows members of the underground Deader society calmly cheering on a woman as she puts a gun to her head and pulls the trigger… then comes back to life shortly after, seemingly unaffected both mentally and physically, despite the gaping head wound. Amy’s editors think the video is likely a fake, but send her off to see what it’s all about.
Amy tracks the mailing address on the video to the apartment of Marla Chen. No one answers and there’s a nasty smell coming from within, so Amy gets the super to open up. Sure enough, Marla is dead, slumped forward on the toilet where she hung herself with a bootlace. The super heads off to call police while Amy quickly searches the apartment for evidence, finding a planner for names and numbers. When Amy tries to reach around the corpse for something in the bathroom, Marla turns and looks at her, trying to speak around her bloated tongue. Amy bolts out of the place, nearly killing herself as she spills down stairs and races out the door.
Amy later tries to call some of the numbers, pretending to be Marla’s sister, but the people on the other end pass the phone to someone else, someone who gargles in much the same way Marla did. With nothing else to go on, Amy visits a contact from her last story, a druglord named Joey who owns a travelling crack den in the form of a private subway car. He’s a little miffed about his portrayal in the article, but still has respect for Amy’s attitude, so he gives her an address where the Deaders are known to meet. With it comes a warning that, as twisted as the things Joey has fallen into, they don’t hold a candle to the rumors surrounding the Deaders.
Stepping off the train, Amy sees a female figure slumped on a bench in a green rain coat. Amy recognizes the coat as Marla’s and notices decay on the visible hands. Amy’s attention is then drawn to a piercing man she recognizes as Winter, the leader of the Deaders who she saw on the video. Before she can encounter him, he runs and leaps in front of a train just as it enters the station. Amy turns to find Marla gone. Amy tells the driver someone has been hit and the cops are called, but no remains are found and she’s labelled a nut. When she sees Winter and Marla exiting on the far side of the station, Amy tries to pursue, but she’s busted by the cops. Her editors show up to spring her from jail.
Amy heads to the address Joey gave her, which leads into the basement of an abandoned industrial building and an extremely claustrophobic narrowing corridor hidden within a bathroom. After finding herself trapped, Amy discovers yet another hidden door and enters a room where the entire Deader cult is assembled and looking right at her. They stare, but are otherwise not aggressive and Amy is led to Winter’s office. He tells her that she’s already started down a path from which she can’t return, where the truth about reality is that none of it is real and by mentally accepting this concept, reality and self can be manipulated, even to the point of avoiding death. This is all demonstrated when the table they’re sitting at slowly morphs back into the form of the woman from the video in the opening scene.
The woman attacks Amy, but is thrown off by Winter who then hurls Amy through what seems to be a solid wall. Before this, he tells her that Marla is her chosen guide, despite having lost the full acceptance of her condition and being trapped in a flux where she knows she’s alive but believes she should be dead, leaving her a decaying thing.
Instead of shattering through a wall, Amy crashes through a pane of glass, finding herself in the shower of her own apartment. Amy calls her editors to say she’s quitting the story, then collapses on her bed in exhaustion. As she’s sleeping, a figure appears in the room, we hear a small “thud”, and then it’s gone.
Amy wakes up when she finds a dark fluid trickling down her shoulder. Her and the entire mattress are covered with the fluid. Stumbling to the bathroom mirror, she turns on a light and finds that it’s blood. Her blood. Searching for a source, she finds a tiny little point of steel protruding from the center of her chest. Using the mirror to look at her back, she finds a knife embedded there. Amy tries reaching for the knife, going into sobs of shock at both the gruesome thing that’s happened to her as well as the realization that she’s not feeling any pain and she should be dead given that the knife is going straight through her heart. She eventually manages to pry the knife out with barbecue tongs and recognizes it as a stiletto from Marla’s apartment. Just as she realizes this, she sees Marla’s reflection in a mirror, beckoning to her. Amy shatters the mirror, but eventually calms down, throwing on clothes and doing her best to bind her seeping wounds with duct tape. Despite this, she continues to bleed throughout the script, leaving a trail of bloody footprints everywhere she goes.
Amy arrives at Marla’s apartment and finds the other woman in a corner, squatting in the crime scene that was once her home. Marla’s still gurgling until Amy helps her undo the bootlace noose that’s still dug in her neck. Marla reiterates the mindset that led to her condition and expresses hope that being a guide for Amy and using the woman’s entry into the Deader lifestyle will help her to somehow recover herself. Cracks start appearing in reality, creating shafts of sunlight that reveal police on the crime scene, where no body was found despite the lingering evidence of rot. These cracks increase and Marla says Amy needs to be the one to use her will to find a way out before the sunlight engulfs them. During the day, people are awake and Deaders are assaulted by mass conscious beliefs that can shatter the individual perceptions they create for themselves, so there’s a underground Night World for them to retreat to. Amy eventually conceives of an exit point, a door hidden in the bathroom which leads to a flight of stairs. Marla and Amy descend.
They find themselves entering the kitchen of a grotesque restaurant where Deaders consume and are consumed. Amy is separated from Marla and overtaken by a group of bloated chefs, which includes a great moment where Amy brandishes a knife only for a chef to lift his shirt and reveal several blades that have already been snapped off in his torso. Noticing that she won’t stop bleeding, a chef binds her and hangs her upside down, slitting her throat to drain into a sauce pan. Hours go by and the bleeding finally stops. Marla appears and tells Amy that’s good, that she isn’t bleeding because she no longer thinks she has to. Things take a turn when Amy starts to freak out, denying all of this as a dream and wanting to go back to her life. A creature of sewn together limbs tears into the room, taking Marla.
Amy wakes up. She’s uninjured and in a hospital psych ward. Her editors are there. Apparently, she didn’t wake up with a knife in her back that one night and was instead found unconscious and covered in vomit following a drug overdose. As they leave, Amy is relieved the situation is something she can understand, but then she has a doubt. Reality starts to crack and she’s once again in the Night World, wounds to her neck and back once again in place, where she’s confronted by Bob, a Deader we’ve heard mention of, who lost control of his perceptions and keeps shifting into different things. The entire hospital is full of lost Deaders who swarm Amy when Bob says she’s new and will know the way back to stability. Amy hides in a closet where she’s rescued by Winter. The man tells her Marla is almost lost, that she was the one who triggered Amy’s transformation with the knife and Amy must complete the ritual so as to inspire Marla to regrasp her conceptual hold. Amy finds Marla on a slab in the morgue. The increasingly decayed girl can barley move and speak, but still manages to guide Amy through the ritual. Amy takes Marla’s place on the slab and begins to recite:
“My skin isn’t real. My eyes aren’t real. My muscles aren’t real. My bones, my heart, my veins and nerves, flesh and meat aren’t real. What I see, what I hear, what I taste, what I touch, what I remember, what I think, what I feel, aren’t real. I’m not real.”
Marla starts to regenerate. Amy is given a revolver. She puts the gun to her head and pulls the trigger.
A month later, Amy’s editors are still musing over the tape and wondering what happened to their reporter who disappeared without a trace. One editor leaves and the other keeps watching the tape, toying with the question of what it all means. Amy is suddenly in his office, asking him why he’s watching it? What’s he hoping to find? He doesn’t understand and she tells him not to be afraid. He finally sees her eyes, which are pools of black infinity, as she says, “I’m not real.”
I love this script. The central premise of perceptual reality manipulation could have come off campy, but Stevens goes at it with full sincerity and, through the characters of Marla and Bob, demonstrate problems created by the fallibility of the human mind as subconscious fears and doubts can slip in and affect otherwise clear and controlled thoughts. The separate dimension of the Night World is a bit much, and the grotesque kitchen straight out of Beetlejuice is never really explained and over the top, but I like the way this society needs to find ways to shield itself from the influence of the mass consciousness of the woken “real” world that becomes overwhelming once the populace leaves the dream state of their unrestrained subconscious. There’s a very Philip K. Dick quality to the idea of reality only being what we make of it, but this script does a great job of bringing it down to a relatable level. Despite what she’s going through, Amy keeps chugging along, wrapping her head around concepts simply because she needs to in order to move on, leaving a chilling little trail of bloody footprints in her wake. Marla, the bloated corpse woman, is adorable in her innocent teen girl quality of someone lured into the underworld crowd because they seemed cool, but then gives into her doubts and fears and never fully pulls herself out, leaving her trapped between two worlds.
The script is also beautifully written with crisp dialogue that gives even the smallest of roles some great distinction – like the superintendent who’s apologetically trying to cover his own ass for having not investigated the smell in Marla’s apartment, or the editors Larry and Bob, or the woman from the video who keeps popping up in strange forms – and the steady, vivid way he describes bizarre happenings accentuates the reality of their unreality, if that makes any sense. As silly as it is, the kitchen scene is a full-throttle nightmare carnival house. The frequent encounters with Marla always remind us of the deteriorating condition she’s in and her embarrassment and depression over it. The meeting with Winter takes a sudden turn from dry philosophising to a surrealistic example of his teachings. The meeting with Joey on the train is both disgusting and amusing as he fills Amy in while getting a blowjob and someone keeps track of stops so they can cover all their windows before the car rolls into the next station. And the knife scene. Oh, the knife scene. It goes on for about five pages and is absolutely horrific and gripping as it plays out one of the worst things a person would never even dream of waking up to. That scene is truly one of the best I’ve ever read.
I’m sure many of you noticed the story does follow a bit of a similar path as The Matrix, particularly the idea of perceptive manipulation and the way Amy is slowly drawn into the mystery of things before encountering a leader who tells her she’s crossed the point of no return. We’ve established that Stevens sold the script to Dimension several years prior to 2003, and he likely wrote it and shopped it around the studios a bit earlier, which could believably overlap the 1999 release date of The Matrix – not to mention the 1998 release of the similarly themed Dark City. I honestly don’t know if this was something written as a bit of a knockoff of those films, one of which was an instant cultural icon, or if it had the misfortune of being so similar that it was shelved following their release, much like Corey Mandell’s Metropolis, which Ridley Scott was all set to direct before The Matrix stole its thunder. No matter the origins, the script is still a solid read and would have made for an interesting film in the hands of the right filmmaker.
Unfortunately, it sold to Dimension, which doesn’t exactly have a great track record of intelligent handling of things (remind me to write about Brendan Hood’s They one of these days). The script sat on a shelf for until 2004/05, when it was dusted off and rewritten by an electrician grip turned screenwriter by the name of Tim Day. As with Day’s first credited script, Deader was retooled as a direct-to-video sequel to the Hellraiser franchise, specifically part seven in a series of nine. (Stay tuned this weekend for a separate piece I’m doing on the entire batch.)
Cinematographer Rick Bota (probably best known for shooting House on Haunted Hill and numerous episodes of Tales from the Crypt) signed on as director and the New York setting was shifted to London and Romania so as to save money on the four million dollar budget. This doesn’t really detract from the story as much of the same atmosphere is still present. Amy is played by Kari Wuhrer, an underrated actress often stuck in schlock, who grunges herself up and nails the attitude of Amy. In fact, while a little clunky, the first 60 pages or so of Stevens’ script make it to screen almost entirely intact, with Bota mostly capturing the increasing sense of mystery and tension as Amy is lured into a bizarre underworld. Heck, even the scene of Amy waking up with a knife in her back is entirely intact and excellently handled, with neither the director nor actress shying away from the full horror of the drawn out sequence.
There are changes, most of them light in the first half – Amy’s yin/yang pair of editors have been combined into one, Joey has a past with Marla instead of Amy – but the differences significantly increase as pretty much everything from the original script that comes after the knife scene is discarded and rewritten from scratch. Joey come back and is revealed to be a Deader. Marla (Georgina Rylance) is still Amy’s guide of sorts, but instead of being an innocent also struggling with her condition, she’s much more cryptic and sinister, yanking Amy from one experience to the next. Apparently, as part of the conversion, Amy has to sort out her unfinished business and “solve the puzzle” (I see what you did there) of her life. This is shown through her screaming as she relives the buried childhood memories of stabbing her father to death after suffering his constant abuse and molestations. This adds nothing to her character, is really shoddily shot, and they even try to thematically tie the father’s stabbing with Amy’s, even though they were under completely different circumstances.
And then the Hellraiser angle comes in.
When she found the corpse of Marla, Amy also recovered the Lament Configuration, the puzzlebox used to summon the guardians of Hell’s sweetest torments. AKA, The Cenobites. Apparently, Winter (Paul Rhys, wearing Chris Angel’s hair) is a descendant of the puzzlebox maker (see Hellraiser: Bloodline) and has found a loophole in the magical magic that allows him access to the same immortality and invulnerability to pain as the Cenobites, but without being bound to their rules and calling. After Amy solves the puzzle box, Pinhead appears, tells her he owns her soul, and drafts her as a soldier to infiltrate the Deaders. Which she does.
In the big climax, Amy wakes up, still surrounded by Deaders on the day she first met them, revealing everything after that moment (the knife, the Marla quests) to have been entirely in her mind. She’s given a knife. Now that she’s sorted out her will, it’s time for her to stab herself and become a Deader. Instead, she grabs the puzzle box, the Cenobites show up, and lots of light and gore effects come into play as everyone is strung up with hooks.
Just as Pinhead is about to claim her soul, Amy finally plunges the knife into herself. It’s unknown if she died or if she managed to complete the process, continuing to live on out there in a state free from death.
It’s not a terrible film. The cast is mostly solid (Marc Warren especially memorable as Joey), the look is surprisingly striking and varied given the budget, the first two thirds of Amy’s journey are almost as captivating as they are in the script, but it just can’t escape being an unfortunate failure. As I admitted, there were problems in the second half of the script, but this revision didn’t fix them. The Cenobites feel shoe-horned into a story that lacks any form of satisfying climax, and the attempts to fuse their mythos with the Deaders just doesn’t work. And by revealing much of the story to be a hallucination, they rob scenes like the knife bit and the journeys with Marla of their unnatural power. If they aren’t really happening, they have no sense of consequence.
I think it’s time for me to bring this to a close. Neal Marshall Stevens wrote a great script that could have been made into something special, but it ultimately fell into the hands of bad producers who tossed it into the direct-to-video slushpile. The crew involved made a valiant effort to save it, but by that point, it had already been broken.
Noel Thingvall, a native of Minnesota, co-hosts the podcast I Hate/Love Remakes and writes for the blogs The Super Saturday Short-Lived Showcase, Deconstructing Moya, and Review Journal of an Obsessive Completist. Follow him on Twitter.