THE DUKE ON
HEllRAISER 1-3
HEllRAISER 1-3
One day when The Duke was a younger fella, ie, a child or some
such, he was sitting in the glamorous confines of a dog kennel.
What happened was that The Duke and a couple “friends”, “mates”
etc would meet up and sit in this dog kennel and do spooky shit,
on account of it was almost Halloween.
Sometimes we’d look into the mirror and hold a candle up and then
what happened was that if you threw an apple over your shoulder
you saw some terrifying fucking sight of some kind, like maybe a
rancid, decomposing corpse, or maybe notice that a spot is
starting to form above your lip, on account of the proximity of
the old “puberty”.
What happened one day, ie, the day in question, was that I put my
head back and felt a motherfucking nail driving into my scalp, on
account of it wasn’t nailed properly into the roof. It wasn’t
really painful, as such, but I still shudder at the thought.
such, he was sitting in the glamorous confines of a dog kennel.
What happened was that The Duke and a couple “friends”, “mates”
etc would meet up and sit in this dog kennel and do spooky shit,
on account of it was almost Halloween.
Sometimes we’d look into the mirror and hold a candle up and then
what happened was that if you threw an apple over your shoulder
you saw some terrifying fucking sight of some kind, like maybe a
rancid, decomposing corpse, or maybe notice that a spot is
starting to form above your lip, on account of the proximity of
the old “puberty”.
What happened one day, ie, the day in question, was that I put my
head back and felt a motherfucking nail driving into my scalp, on
account of it wasn’t nailed properly into the roof. It wasn’t
really painful, as such, but I still shudder at the thought.
What this all relates to is that The Duke has very recently
observed once again the first three films in the ongoing
Hellraiser franchise, about a fella who has a head full of nails,
even though most folks assume them to be pins. This fella has
such an alarming array of nails in his head, in fact, that The
Duke’s dog kennel terror pales into vaporous, ethereal
insignificance.
Nailskull is one of a bunch of S&M obsessed masochistic sadist
demon motherfuckers from beyond the gates of Hell, ie, just
inside, although now and again they come out to take a walk about
in non-sulphuric climates, and maybe tear a man’s head in two
while they’re at it. They represent that middle-ground between
pleasure and pain, between orgasm and, I dunno, being hit loads
of times in the face with a brick.
Some folks get off on that kinda fucked up nonsense, like maybe
they masturbate while someone whips them with a cactus, or maybe
they derive pleasure from watching a Joel Schumacher film.
Hardcore perverts might even want to watch a John Grisham
adaptation.
These People Are Probably Terrorists! Burn These Filthy Scum!
These demonic sons a bitches that Nailskull hangs around with,
the cenobites, they embody, personify, that sensation, that
thrill of being burned with a lighter in order for to do a filth
explosion.
To be all the honest in the world, I think that if The Duke was
in the middle of doing some sex with a lady-friend, and then all
of a sudden she wants to light a candle and then let the wax drip
onto my face and then stick the burny bit into my tongue, I don’t
think I’d find it all that erotic, to be honest. I think what
might happen is that I might stand up and say about “What the
hell did you do that for? Fuck sakes, Kirsten, that was just
messed-up, right there!”
But anyway, the lesson to be learned is that some folks do,
indeed, enjoy this kind of antic of an evening, and Hellraiser
teaches us that these folks end up in Hell, having nails hammered
into their heads for all of eternity.
You probably wouldn’t guess for a second, had you never seen the
flick, but Nailskull isn’t actually in the first Hellraiser a
terrible lot. He’s there at the start, and again in the last
fifteen minutes, but in the middle, what we get is a supremely
fucked-up relationship drama.
We open with a fella by the name of Frank purchasing the famous
puzzle box from off of a Chinese fella in a market someplace.
Next thing anyone knows he’s got his shirt off, and surrounded by
candles, and fiddling with this damn box. Maybe he could have
looked up instructions on the internet, like one of those pages
that tell you exactly how to solve the Rubik’s Cube whilst
hanging upside down from a belfry, one of those types a things.
Given that this was back in the dark ages of 1987, though, folks
hadn’t even invented computers yet, let alone the Internet, so
don’t be so damn foolish.
Frank might’ve wanted to reconsider his dress, though, maybe
opting for some chain-mail instead of the old naked-torso get-up,
given that no sooner has he solved the puzzle, than hooks are
flying the fuck out of the walls and ripping his skin to gore-
drenched pieces.
Mind you, it’s probably a lot more satisfying than when you
completed Ghosts And Ghoulies and all you got was a bunch a shit
about how you had to play the whole thing again, on account of
some motherfucking twist or other.
What happens then is that Frank’s brother and his wife and child
move into the house, not knowing that Frank has been getting all
perverted and then getting ripped to pieces. Obviously, the wife,
Julia, played by the marvellous Clare Higgins, would be a tad
upset to hear the news, given that she has all sorts of soft-
focus, filthy flashbacks to the time she had an illicit sex with
the pervert in question.
It was your husband’s brother, you harlot! And look what
happened! Hooks and so on!
observed once again the first three films in the ongoing
Hellraiser franchise, about a fella who has a head full of nails,
even though most folks assume them to be pins. This fella has
such an alarming array of nails in his head, in fact, that The
Duke’s dog kennel terror pales into vaporous, ethereal
insignificance.
Nailskull is one of a bunch of S&M obsessed masochistic sadist
demon motherfuckers from beyond the gates of Hell, ie, just
inside, although now and again they come out to take a walk about
in non-sulphuric climates, and maybe tear a man’s head in two
while they’re at it. They represent that middle-ground between
pleasure and pain, between orgasm and, I dunno, being hit loads
of times in the face with a brick.
Some folks get off on that kinda fucked up nonsense, like maybe
they masturbate while someone whips them with a cactus, or maybe
they derive pleasure from watching a Joel Schumacher film.
Hardcore perverts might even want to watch a John Grisham
adaptation.
These People Are Probably Terrorists! Burn These Filthy Scum!
These demonic sons a bitches that Nailskull hangs around with,
the cenobites, they embody, personify, that sensation, that
thrill of being burned with a lighter in order for to do a filth
explosion.
To be all the honest in the world, I think that if The Duke was
in the middle of doing some sex with a lady-friend, and then all
of a sudden she wants to light a candle and then let the wax drip
onto my face and then stick the burny bit into my tongue, I don’t
think I’d find it all that erotic, to be honest. I think what
might happen is that I might stand up and say about “What the
hell did you do that for? Fuck sakes, Kirsten, that was just
messed-up, right there!”
But anyway, the lesson to be learned is that some folks do,
indeed, enjoy this kind of antic of an evening, and Hellraiser
teaches us that these folks end up in Hell, having nails hammered
into their heads for all of eternity.
You probably wouldn’t guess for a second, had you never seen the
flick, but Nailskull isn’t actually in the first Hellraiser a
terrible lot. He’s there at the start, and again in the last
fifteen minutes, but in the middle, what we get is a supremely
fucked-up relationship drama.
We open with a fella by the name of Frank purchasing the famous
puzzle box from off of a Chinese fella in a market someplace.
Next thing anyone knows he’s got his shirt off, and surrounded by
candles, and fiddling with this damn box. Maybe he could have
looked up instructions on the internet, like one of those pages
that tell you exactly how to solve the Rubik’s Cube whilst
hanging upside down from a belfry, one of those types a things.
Given that this was back in the dark ages of 1987, though, folks
hadn’t even invented computers yet, let alone the Internet, so
don’t be so damn foolish.
Frank might’ve wanted to reconsider his dress, though, maybe
opting for some chain-mail instead of the old naked-torso get-up,
given that no sooner has he solved the puzzle, than hooks are
flying the fuck out of the walls and ripping his skin to gore-
drenched pieces.
Mind you, it’s probably a lot more satisfying than when you
completed Ghosts And Ghoulies and all you got was a bunch a shit
about how you had to play the whole thing again, on account of
some motherfucking twist or other.
What happens then is that Frank’s brother and his wife and child
move into the house, not knowing that Frank has been getting all
perverted and then getting ripped to pieces. Obviously, the wife,
Julia, played by the marvellous Clare Higgins, would be a tad
upset to hear the news, given that she has all sorts of soft-
focus, filthy flashbacks to the time she had an illicit sex with
the pervert in question.
It was your husband’s brother, you harlot! And look what
happened! Hooks and so on!
Through some fantastic special effects tomfoolery, Frank gets
resurrected on account of a drop of spilled blood. Julia then
sets about luring men folk to the house with the promise of
nakedness, only to beat them over the skull with hammers and
stuff, that Frank might feast on their organs and then be ever
more resurrected.
The whole set-up is terribly interesting, given the wealth of
Catholic imagery littering the frame. It’s not that far-fetched
to see Hellraiser as a kind of sexually-repressed response to
Catholicism in general, from the notion of lust as a
destructively sinful carry-on, to the importance that blood and
remembrance lends to the resurrection.
The film has an oppressive, gothic feel to it, something
accentuated by Christopher Young’s magnificent score, the kind
of thing more readily associated with lavish fantasy flicks,
like, for instance, Tim Burton’s Batman, Danny Elfman's score
for which owed a fair old amount to Young’s work.
resurrected on account of a drop of spilled blood. Julia then
sets about luring men folk to the house with the promise of
nakedness, only to beat them over the skull with hammers and
stuff, that Frank might feast on their organs and then be ever
more resurrected.
The whole set-up is terribly interesting, given the wealth of
Catholic imagery littering the frame. It’s not that far-fetched
to see Hellraiser as a kind of sexually-repressed response to
Catholicism in general, from the notion of lust as a
destructively sinful carry-on, to the importance that blood and
remembrance lends to the resurrection.
The film has an oppressive, gothic feel to it, something
accentuated by Christopher Young’s magnificent score, the kind
of thing more readily associated with lavish fantasy flicks,
like, for instance, Tim Burton’s Batman, Danny Elfman's score
for which owed a fair old amount to Young’s work.
Young, of course, has a marvellous CV to get all boasting about and
annoying folks in pubs left and right. Since scoring the fantastic
Pranks (The Dorm That Dripped Blood) in 1981, he went on provide
the notes, tones, chords and so on for such glories as The Fly II,
Barbarian Queen and its 1989 sequel – The Empress Strikes Back, not
to mention lesser works like The Hurricane, The Core, Sam Raimi’s
The Gift and, most recently, the Hollywood remake of The Grudge.
It certainly makes a fella’s tinkering with Dance eJay look
positively fucking laughable.
There was a lot riding on Hellraiser, for sure, and had it proved
to be a suck-riddled sack of suck then most likely Clive Barker
would have scuttled off into the shadows and never again pointed
the camera in the direction of folks who were acting and stuff on
account of he paid them to. Already a rather wonderful writer of
short-stories and the odd novella here and there, by the time he
took on the task of directing Hellraiser (adapted from his own
book, The Hellbound Heart), Barker was so disgusted by the
treatment given to his previous screenplays (even though Rawhead Rex
was a damn masterpiece) that he vowed to abandon film forever,
should his new film about perverts and folks with nails in their
faces fall flat on its leather-bound arse-crack.
It didn’t, though, even though producers, as is their wont, liked
nothing more than to meddle, poke around, suggest stupid shit.
Not content with the fact that the film was known as Sadomasochists
From Beyond The Grave for much of its gestation, some financiers
even went so far as to suggest that the flick be titled What A
Woman Will Do For A Good Fuck.
Being keyed in on a little known fact along the lines of “Don’t be
fucking stupid you stupid fucks”, the backers relented, only to
insist that several of the cast-members be dubbed with American
voices.
God knows American audiences hadn’t heard an English accent since
fucking Plymouth Rock or some shit, so we can understand that
particular request, a request which was, of course, accepted.
Hellraiser was something of an instant success, is what, with
Stephen King musing along the lines of “I have seen the future of
horror, and his name is Clive Barker.” Mind you, Stephen King was
just about to write Christine, most likely, so best not to pay much
attention to anything he might have said right about then.
Certainly Roger Ebert didn’t have no truck with that kinda praise;
“He may have seen the future of the horror genre”, waxed the
critic, But he has almost certainly not seen Hellraiser, which is
as dreary a piece of goods as has masqueraded as horror in many a
long, cold night.”
He continues; “This is one of those movies you sit through with
mounting dread, as the fear grows inside of you that it will indeed
turn out to be feature length.”
In the oft-quoted words of Aristotle, “Shut your filthy fucking
yap, Ebert. The fuck you know about the sadomasochism?”
So successful was Hellraiser, in fact, that a sequel was bundled
into production before anyone had even half-a-second for to sit
down and maybe have an “exotic cigarette” or a cup of tea, even.
Tony Randall stepped in to direct the follow-up, written by Peter
Atkins, with Clive Barker preferring to sit at the back and wear
the old “Executive Producer” hat, a hat which is very silly
looking, if you ask me, and certainly not as fetching as the
baseball-cap variant which director’s seem to wear all the
motherfucking time, if DVD Making Of’s are to be believed.
annoying folks in pubs left and right. Since scoring the fantastic
Pranks (The Dorm That Dripped Blood) in 1981, he went on provide
the notes, tones, chords and so on for such glories as The Fly II,
Barbarian Queen and its 1989 sequel – The Empress Strikes Back, not
to mention lesser works like The Hurricane, The Core, Sam Raimi’s
The Gift and, most recently, the Hollywood remake of The Grudge.
It certainly makes a fella’s tinkering with Dance eJay look
positively fucking laughable.
There was a lot riding on Hellraiser, for sure, and had it proved
to be a suck-riddled sack of suck then most likely Clive Barker
would have scuttled off into the shadows and never again pointed
the camera in the direction of folks who were acting and stuff on
account of he paid them to. Already a rather wonderful writer of
short-stories and the odd novella here and there, by the time he
took on the task of directing Hellraiser (adapted from his own
book, The Hellbound Heart), Barker was so disgusted by the
treatment given to his previous screenplays (even though Rawhead Rex
was a damn masterpiece) that he vowed to abandon film forever,
should his new film about perverts and folks with nails in their
faces fall flat on its leather-bound arse-crack.
It didn’t, though, even though producers, as is their wont, liked
nothing more than to meddle, poke around, suggest stupid shit.
Not content with the fact that the film was known as Sadomasochists
From Beyond The Grave for much of its gestation, some financiers
even went so far as to suggest that the flick be titled What A
Woman Will Do For A Good Fuck.
Being keyed in on a little known fact along the lines of “Don’t be
fucking stupid you stupid fucks”, the backers relented, only to
insist that several of the cast-members be dubbed with American
voices.
God knows American audiences hadn’t heard an English accent since
fucking Plymouth Rock or some shit, so we can understand that
particular request, a request which was, of course, accepted.
Hellraiser was something of an instant success, is what, with
Stephen King musing along the lines of “I have seen the future of
horror, and his name is Clive Barker.” Mind you, Stephen King was
just about to write Christine, most likely, so best not to pay much
attention to anything he might have said right about then.
Certainly Roger Ebert didn’t have no truck with that kinda praise;
“He may have seen the future of the horror genre”, waxed the
critic, But he has almost certainly not seen Hellraiser, which is
as dreary a piece of goods as has masqueraded as horror in many a
long, cold night.”
He continues; “This is one of those movies you sit through with
mounting dread, as the fear grows inside of you that it will indeed
turn out to be feature length.”
In the oft-quoted words of Aristotle, “Shut your filthy fucking
yap, Ebert. The fuck you know about the sadomasochism?”
So successful was Hellraiser, in fact, that a sequel was bundled
into production before anyone had even half-a-second for to sit
down and maybe have an “exotic cigarette” or a cup of tea, even.
Tony Randall stepped in to direct the follow-up, written by Peter
Atkins, with Clive Barker preferring to sit at the back and wear
the old “Executive Producer” hat, a hat which is very silly
looking, if you ask me, and certainly not as fetching as the
baseball-cap variant which director’s seem to wear all the
motherfucking time, if DVD Making Of’s are to be believed.
Hellbound – Hellraiser 2 has Ashley Lawrence reprising her role as
Kirsty Cotton, waking up to find herself in nothing less than a
nut-house. Why am I here?, she probably thinks, What’s going on?
She probably thinks other stuff about what the fuck is she doing
in this demented hole, but she doesn’t have time to worry about
it, what with the visitations and so on from her dad about how
he's In Hell, and needs her help right about this instant.
Hellbound is fairly sparse in the old “plot” department, for sure,
but fuck the plot, is what The Duke would suggest, since the
imagery on display here is uncommonly fantastic. A fella tears his
flesh to tatters with a razor-blade whilst strapped to a mattress,
a young lass fiddles with the puzzle box in one of the more
obvious masturbation references running throughout the series,
before the room parts and all Hell emerges from amidst the drably
depressing paint-work. A black diamond monolith towers above the
bottomless pits of Hell, casting its shadow over the countless
winding corridors. Sundry mattresses filled with sexing, skinless
creatures slide in and out from the walls.
Kirsty Cotton, waking up to find herself in nothing less than a
nut-house. Why am I here?, she probably thinks, What’s going on?
She probably thinks other stuff about what the fuck is she doing
in this demented hole, but she doesn’t have time to worry about
it, what with the visitations and so on from her dad about how
he's In Hell, and needs her help right about this instant.
Hellbound is fairly sparse in the old “plot” department, for sure,
but fuck the plot, is what The Duke would suggest, since the
imagery on display here is uncommonly fantastic. A fella tears his
flesh to tatters with a razor-blade whilst strapped to a mattress,
a young lass fiddles with the puzzle box in one of the more
obvious masturbation references running throughout the series,
before the room parts and all Hell emerges from amidst the drably
depressing paint-work. A black diamond monolith towers above the
bottomless pits of Hell, casting its shadow over the countless
winding corridors. Sundry mattresses filled with sexing, skinless
creatures slide in and out from the walls.
Nailskull gets much more screentime in the second instalment,
also, with a bit of backstory flung in and even a scene depicting
the actual administration of those damn things in his head. It’s
around this time that Hellraiser became The Nailskull Chronicles,
and Doug Bradley’s performance became one of the most
recognisable in Horror Cinema. Bradley wasn’t even going to play
the part, initially, on account of no one could see his face.
He had of course starred in Barker’s Pre-Hellraiser short-films,
The Forbidden and Salome, both of which are included on the bonus
disc of the Anchor Bay Hellraiser Collectors Edition, housed in a
motherfucking Puzzle Box, would you believe?
Hellraiser III – Hell On Earth, arriving four years after
Hellbound, is bursting at the jaws with OTT genius. Not only does
it have brilliant sadomasochistic-poetry serving as dialogue,
like when Pinhead says about “Save your tears. I'll reap your
sorrow slowly. I have centuries to discover the things that make
you whimper”, or when he notes that “Down the dark decades of
your pain, this will seem like a memory of Heaven”, but it even
has a coenobite who has CD’s stuck in his head, and who then
flings said Compact Discs at passers by, by way of killing the
fuck out of them.
What it’s all about, Alfie, is that Nailskull arrives on Earth,
on account of a ridiculously mean motherfucker by the name of J.P
Monroe, a fella who owns a nightclub and buys the statue what has
imprisoned Nailskull since the end of Hellbound, on account of he
wants to put it in his room and impress the ladies he brings
there for to sex with.
J.P Monroe is a hard-ass motherfucker, so much so that when the
aforementioned sexing occurs, he doesn’t even put his cigarette
out, puffing away throughout the entire episode. Not only this,
but he’s more than happy to offer the lady in question as a
sacrifice to Nailskull, and then some nonsense about the
coenobite goes fucking nutzoid in the club, flinging hooks about
like there’s no tomorrow, ripping dancers in pieces and then
making CD's fly about and then ram themselves into the DJ’s head.
Of course it’s sublime.
Peter Atkin’s hoped to step up the rung and so on and go about
directing this flick, but Miramax decided the fella just didn’t
have enough experience, and so flung it in the direction of
Anthony Hickox, who had previously crafted not only Waxwork, but
also Sundown – The Vampire In Retreat.
Sadly, Hellraiser III doesn’t feature Christopher Young’s
compositional genius, and so the musical duties were rolled up
and then kicked over to Randy Miller, veteran of such wonders as
Doctor Hackenstien and 1991’s And You Thought Your Parents Were
Weird.
A bunch of sequels followed, with Nailskull even setting off for
space in 94’s Bloodlines, but since the set what The Duke
observed only has the first three, that, I’m afraid, is where we
leave it, like a lover we pleasured for at least 45 minutes, but
who now, delirious with orgasmic pleasure, must watch us walk out
that door, in soft focus, and then we’ll leave it open so as they
can see us walk ever further down the street, although really,
they should close it eventually, on account of it’s fucking
freezing out this morning.
Barker is apparently working on a novel which will bring an end
to the Hellraiser saga, although whether or not it ever gets
filmified is obviously a matter for filthy speculation.
Another outing for Nailskull that’s up to the standard of that
first one, though. Shit, man, that’s something a fella could get
lost in.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
also, with a bit of backstory flung in and even a scene depicting
the actual administration of those damn things in his head. It’s
around this time that Hellraiser became The Nailskull Chronicles,
and Doug Bradley’s performance became one of the most
recognisable in Horror Cinema. Bradley wasn’t even going to play
the part, initially, on account of no one could see his face.
He had of course starred in Barker’s Pre-Hellraiser short-films,
The Forbidden and Salome, both of which are included on the bonus
disc of the Anchor Bay Hellraiser Collectors Edition, housed in a
motherfucking Puzzle Box, would you believe?
Hellraiser III – Hell On Earth, arriving four years after
Hellbound, is bursting at the jaws with OTT genius. Not only does
it have brilliant sadomasochistic-poetry serving as dialogue,
like when Pinhead says about “Save your tears. I'll reap your
sorrow slowly. I have centuries to discover the things that make
you whimper”, or when he notes that “Down the dark decades of
your pain, this will seem like a memory of Heaven”, but it even
has a coenobite who has CD’s stuck in his head, and who then
flings said Compact Discs at passers by, by way of killing the
fuck out of them.
What it’s all about, Alfie, is that Nailskull arrives on Earth,
on account of a ridiculously mean motherfucker by the name of J.P
Monroe, a fella who owns a nightclub and buys the statue what has
imprisoned Nailskull since the end of Hellbound, on account of he
wants to put it in his room and impress the ladies he brings
there for to sex with.
J.P Monroe is a hard-ass motherfucker, so much so that when the
aforementioned sexing occurs, he doesn’t even put his cigarette
out, puffing away throughout the entire episode. Not only this,
but he’s more than happy to offer the lady in question as a
sacrifice to Nailskull, and then some nonsense about the
coenobite goes fucking nutzoid in the club, flinging hooks about
like there’s no tomorrow, ripping dancers in pieces and then
making CD's fly about and then ram themselves into the DJ’s head.
Of course it’s sublime.
Peter Atkin’s hoped to step up the rung and so on and go about
directing this flick, but Miramax decided the fella just didn’t
have enough experience, and so flung it in the direction of
Anthony Hickox, who had previously crafted not only Waxwork, but
also Sundown – The Vampire In Retreat.
Sadly, Hellraiser III doesn’t feature Christopher Young’s
compositional genius, and so the musical duties were rolled up
and then kicked over to Randy Miller, veteran of such wonders as
Doctor Hackenstien and 1991’s And You Thought Your Parents Were
Weird.
A bunch of sequels followed, with Nailskull even setting off for
space in 94’s Bloodlines, but since the set what The Duke
observed only has the first three, that, I’m afraid, is where we
leave it, like a lover we pleasured for at least 45 minutes, but
who now, delirious with orgasmic pleasure, must watch us walk out
that door, in soft focus, and then we’ll leave it open so as they
can see us walk ever further down the street, although really,
they should close it eventually, on account of it’s fucking
freezing out this morning.
Barker is apparently working on a novel which will bring an end
to the Hellraiser saga, although whether or not it ever gets
filmified is obviously a matter for filthy speculation.
Another outing for Nailskull that’s up to the standard of that
first one, though. Shit, man, that’s something a fella could get
lost in.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
