Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Hellraiser: Inferno (2000)

The problem with Hellraiser's main heavy ("Pindick"), beyond the fact that he just seems sillier and sillier the more you look at him, is that he's such an insufferable windbag. "Blah blah blah, pain, blah blah blah, eternal torment..." Seriously, dude, do you ever stop talking? Maybe that's part of the eternal torment. Fortunately, he's barely in this one, finally granting us a reprieve from his tiresome, dime-store Marquis de Sade-flavored philosophical horseshit. Instead, this sequel focuses on a crooked cop who's on the trail of what appears to be a psychopathic pimp, only to find shit getting darker and darker and weirder and weirder until suddenly his ass is being handed to him by a pair of Asian cowboys and he's wondering how in fuck's name he ended up in a David Lynch film. It's like someone at Hellraiser Central finally said "Hey, let's actually make a real movie out of these wild, bizarre ideas," and while we all know where it's going, having seen four Hellraiser entries prior to this (and if you haven't watched the other four, why are you sitting through this nonsense in the first place?), it's still reasonably suspenseful and creepy and filled with plenty of appropriately icky and/or surreal touches. In short, a legitimately good movie, embarrassing only because it's part fucking five, and follows the "in space" one. Could this be a new direction for the Hellraiser franchise? ("Adequate.") Of course not, but it's fun to think so, just like it's fun to imagine Pindick puttering around the hardware store, all pissed off because he can't find the nails, but no one will help him because they're convinced that if they ask him if that's what he's looking for he'll think they're being patronizing and go off on one of his "We have such sights to show you!" rants before whipping out his penis and twirling it around and around like a party favor, right there in the plumbing aisle. He calls it "the whirlybird".

Fucking sex demons. You can't take them anywhere.
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