Main cast: Bruce Ramsay (Phillip LeMarchand, John Merchant, Dr Paul Merchant), Valentina Vargas (Angelique), Kim Myers (Bobbi Merchant), Christine Harnos (Rimmer), Charlotte Chatton (Genevieve LeMarchand), Paul Perri (Edwards), Mickey Cottrell (Duc de L’Isle), Louis Mustillo (Sharpe), Louis Turenne (Auguste de L’Moure), Adam Scott (Jacques), Pat Skipper (Carducci), Wren Brown (Parker), and Doug Bradley (Pinhead)
Director: Alan Smithee
Hellraiser: Bloodline—the cinematic Rubik’s Cube of horror that’s more puzzling than the Lament Configuration itself!
Picture this: It’s 1996, and Clive Barker, the mastermind behind the Hellraiser franchise, decides it’s time for a fresh start. He steps in as executive producer, hoping to breathe new life into the series. But wait! The folks at Miramax have other ideas. “More Pinhead!” they cry, “More, more, more!” It’s like asking for extra sprinkles on your ice cream sundae from hell.
Poor Kevin Yagher, the original director, found himself in a nightmare worse than anything Pinhead could conjure. As the studio executives meddled and mutilated his vision, Mr Yagher decided to pull a disappearing act worthy of a Cenobite. He withdrew his presence and his name from the credits faster than you can say “Jesus wept!”
Enter Joe Chappelle, the cinematic equivalent of a substitute teacher, who stepped in to basically redo the whole shebang. The result is a movie that, against all odds, manages to appear somewhat coherent. It’s like watching a jigsaw puzzle put together by a blind man wearing oven mitts, but surprisingly, you can still make out the picture!
Now, let’s talk plot. We’ve got a space station in the future, because why not add a dash of sci-fi to our horror cocktail? Our protagonist, Paul Merchant, is a descendant of the toy maker who created the infamous puzzle box. He’s got a plan to close the gates of hell forever, which seems like a solid career move.
The movie then takes us on a time-traveling adventure, jumping between the future, 18th century France, and 1990s New York. We follow the Merchant family’s centuries-long battle against Pinhead and his merry band of sadomasochistic demons. There’re puzzle boxes, blood rituals, and enough leather to make a biker gang jealous. Oh, and did I mention there’s a demon princess named Angelique? Because of course there is.
Now, here’s where things get interesting… or would have, if the studio hadn’t wielded their editing scissors like Edward Scissorhands on a caffeine high. The movie attempts to present a fresh take on hell’s hierarchy. We’ve got the old guard, represented by Angelique, your classic femme fatale demon who probably uses virgin blood as moisturizer. Then there’s the new guard, led by our favorite pin cushion, Pinhead. It’s like Mad Men meets The Office, but in hell. Sadly, this intriguing subplot gets about as much screen time as a red shirt on Star Trek.
What’s left is… well, it’s something. The multi-generational storyline is actually quite engaging, with Bruce Ramsay pulling triple duty as various Merchant men throughout history. He holds his own amidst the chaos, like a tightrope walker in a hurricane.
Valentina Vargas as Angelique is a solid femme fatale, oozing more menace than a snakes-only petting zoo. But alas, her character arc goes nowhere faster than a treadmill in a power outage. It’s a waste of potential that would make even Pinhead wince.
Speaking of our favorite acupuncture enthusiast, Pinhead is… Pinhead. By this point, the character’s popularity is like a ball and chain dragging the franchise down. It’s as if the filmmakers are stuck in their own personal hell, forced to rehash the same character beats for all eternity.
In conclusion, Hellraiser: Bloodline is like a cinematic turducken—two full-length movies awkwardly stuffed inside each other, with huge chunks left on the floor. The fact that there are glimpses of a potentially great movie in this Frankenstein-ian creation makes it all the more frustrating. You can still taste the quality ingredients, but you’re left wondering what might have been.
In the end, the real villains of this piece aren’t the Cenobites, but the studio executives. They’re the true demons, turning potentially great movies into soulless, focus-grouped abominations. If there’s a special hell for ruining creative visions, I hope it involves being forced to watch their own butchered cuts for all eternity.
