Why I Love "Bad" Horror Sequels
And Why No Writer Should Dismiss Them
This past week, I revisited Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth, Hellraiser: Bloodline, and Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers. While I don’t generally care about scores on Rotten Tomatoes, I’m going to refer to them here to prove a point. Hellraiser III, directed by Anthony Hickox, holds a 38%. Bloodline holds a 24% and was denounced by its directors (the movie is credited to infamous pseudonym Alan Smithee). The Curse of Michael Myers, the sixth entry in the franchise, sits at an abysmal 8%.
The critical consensus is that these films range from below average to absolute shit. Yet, I love them.
I could end the post here and simply say I had fun watching them despite what critics say, which would probably leave you wondering why you’re subscribed to such a low-effort newsletter. But I’m not going to do that. I’ve gotten lots of new subscribers lately, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint them or those of you who have been here from the beginning. So, let’s unpack this further.
Beyond enjoying these movies on a pure leave-your-brain-at-the-door level, I believe there is a lot to learn from in them. This is especially true if you’re a writer.
Hellraiser III and Bloodline were both written by Peter Atkins. If you’re familiar with the horror genre, you know that he’s no slouch! He’s written not just numerous films, but also several well-regarded short stories and novels. Dude can write. A perusal of his prose or even the interviews he’s granted will show that he’s intelligent, quick-witted, and knows a thing or two about the human condition.
Beyond the mindless fun factor, I find these texts fascinating because they show how a talented writer does his damnedest to work within a universe with established rules, expand upon it in ways that try getting it to make sense, please the fanbase, please the IP holders, and (hopefully) work in a little of his own special sauce.
For example, in Hellraiser III, there are already some rules in place from the previous entries. You need to fiddle with that puzzle box to summon the cenobites. Hell is a place where the heights of sensation are reached, where pleasure and pain are indistinguishable. Pinhead and the cenobites from the first two films were essentially killed off by Dr. Channard in the previous entry, so Atkins and company are tasked with finding a way to bring back the iconic villain for another cinematic sex-and-death romp. Good thing the second one ends with that “Pillar of Souls” stinger, eh?
Fans of the second film will recall that prior to their deaths, the cenobites reverted to their human forms. The third film puts forth the notion that the “Pinhead” side of Elliot Spencer was so evil and so powerful, that he was separated from his human side prior to death and trapped in the Pillar of Souls. Convoluted, sure, but I would argue that’s the writer thinking on his feet.
And writers need to think on their feet. This is especially true when there are other interests involved, interests such as film executives, fans, fidelity to the original idea, budgetary constraints, and delivering on the promise of the premise (in this case relayed in the subtitle, Hell on Earth). It’s a balancing act, and in Hellraiser III, Peter Atkins pulls it off.
The movie is a little messy, however. While I am an unapologetic mark for 1990s horror, even I can admit the editing style in so many of these films is bad for anyone with epilepsy, ADHD, or a desire to live in a shot for more than a few seconds. Hellraiser III is no exception. Also—and this is true in horror from various decades—no one’s going to win an award for their acting, except maybe Pinhead himself (portrayed by the enigmatic Doug Bradley).
Neither of those setbacks are the writer’s fault. The lesson here is that writers often need to think on their feet, and this is even true outside the movie world. Book writers have deadlines that sometimes necessitate quick thinking. There are tie-in novels, which are essentially bound to pre-established rules and the whims of the IP holders. If you plan on publishing with the Big 5, editors and publishing executives will have their input (and questions!) that will require quick thinking on the writer’s part as well.
Hellraiser: Bloodline can teach us a lot about storytelling logic when the writer is tasked with something specific. In the case of Bloodline, it seemed Atkins was tasked with bringing the franchise to a close.
Now, I want to get something out of the way. I actually think Bloodline is a solid horror film—again, its drawbacks come from 90s editing and acting that ranges from stiff to histrionic—but the writing is actually quite clever. I think people saw that it was “Hellraiser in space” and dismissed it outright. And that’s a shame, especially for writers looking to hone their craft.
Logically, if you’re going to bring a story to its conclusion*, then you need to go back to the beginning. In the case of Bloodline, that doesn’t mean contriving something from the first film to make it fit into the new entry. Instead, Atkins reached back to the origins of the iconic puzzle box—how and why it was made, who made it, and what were the long-term consequences. Atkins crafted a story of the box’s maker and how it affected the maker’s family for multiple generations. It all leads to a final confrontation between the maker’s descendant and the cenobites in the future (yes, in space; bite me).
By how the movie ends and the fact that the next entry didn’t come out for another five years, it does seem apparent that the IP holders tasked Atkins with ending the franchise. He exercised brilliant logic here by going back to the beginning where the key to the endings of many stories lie. If the key isn’t in the beginning that’s already been written, as is the case here, then look to the origin story. If there isn’t one in the lore outside what’s appeared on screen or on the page, write one.
Speaking of origin stories, that’s exactly what Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers is concerned with. By the time this movie was in development, we’ve met the villain and learned his methods and his goals. Previous writers have dropped some breadcrumbs that may or may not be relevant. Now, it’s time to explain shit.
I have mixed feelings about explanations in horror fiction. Sometimes it’s more interesting and even scarier if there is little to no explanation. The killer just likes killing. Lovecraftian entities just don’t care about us measly humans. But if I’m writing the sixth entry in a nearly twenty-year-old franchise, I probably want to do some explaining, even if not directed to do so by my corporate overlords.
Writer Daniel Farrands (mostly known for directing horror and true crime documentaries) took on the daunting task of figuring it out and getting it across for the rest of us. While the final product again suffers from jerky editing and some anticlimactic storytelling choices, I’ve got to commend Farrands for how he attempts to pull it all together. Why does Michael Myers want to kill his family members? How does that tie into the holiday of Halloween itself? Who is the Man in Black? What’s up with that Thorn tattoo?
I get why people don’t like it, but Farrands did the best with what he had. Sometimes, as a writer, that’s all you can do. This can be preexisting tropes, editorial or producer’s demands, tight deadlines, and rules established by previous entries (if you’re working on a series).
Writers shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss horror sequels, not even ones widely regarded as “bad.” From these much-maligned texts, we can learn how to think on our feet, how to find a story’s ending from its beginning, and how to do the best with what we have. All of these are crucial skills and will help us write better fiction.
*Obviously, Hellraiser didn’t end with Bloodline, but it probably should have.
Hey, gang. I hope you liked the above essay. In my last newsletter, I mentioned that I needed to be doing less things so that I can take better care of myself. One of the steps I took was to leave my place as co-host of Make Your Own Damn Podcast. There were no hard feelings and no drama. I value all the conversations I had with Jeff Burk, and I hope episodes of it helped enrich our listeners’ knowledge and appreciation for movies that are often dismissed by wider audiences. You can check out the show on Apple, Spotify, and YouTube. Don’t forget to subscribe either, as I believe Jeff will keep it going with a variety of guest co-hosts until he finds someone more permanent.
The second step I’m taking relates directly to this Fiction for the Cosmically Disturbed. Rather than sending it out once a week, I will now be posting once a month. Not only do I have books to write and a life to life, but I also want this newsletter to be more focused on quality over quantity. Thank you to everyone who has subscribed and stuck around. It means the world to me, and I hope to continue bringing quality personal essays to you for years to come. If you want to support this newsletter, you can pick up one of my books, like the recently Splatterpunk Award-nominated Snow Angels or the Hollywood ghost cult novella Mania.
Currently Reading: Little Girls by Ronald Malfi, Yaccub’s Curse by Wrath James White, and Dr. Parasite by Rowland Bercy Jr.
Recently Watched: Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth (1992, directed by Anthony Hickox, Hellraiser: Bloodline (1996, directed by Kevin Yagher and Joe Chapelle), Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers (1995, directed by Joe Chapelle), Robot Jox (1990, directed by Stuart Gordon), and The Last Dragon (1985, Michael Schultz).
I'm glad you're prioritizing your well-being, family, endeavors. You've always graced us with quality, but I know it will be even more meaningful going forward. Thank you for this wonderful essay. I adore old-school horror films. Sometimes the worse, the better for me, because they did stuff normally not done in other movies.
To everything you say, I'd add that the writer's work can get easily mangled in post-production. Bloodline in that regard is fascinating because it was so extensively re-edited that the director took his name off it. He apparently never even got to shoot the entire script he wanted.
And that means the actual story Atkins wanted to tell about the maker of the box and his legacy never quite made it to the screen, which is rather sad.