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By the year 2000, the Hellraiser franchise had drifted far from its grisly, surreal origins under Clive Barker. What had once been a baroque tale of desire, pain, and cosmic horror had, by its fifth entry, morphed into something altogether more familiar: a standard-issue psychological thriller with the faintest whiff of Cenobite leather stitched across it. Scott Derrickson’s Hellraiser: Inferno epitomises this era of crowbarring unrelated stories into the franchise, taking what could have stood alone as a grim detective noir and grafting Pinhead and his puzzle box onto its framework.

The film follows Detective Joseph Thorne (Craig Sheffer), a morally compromised cop whose corruption and addictions lead him down a spiralling rabbit hole of violence, betrayal, and surreal torment. Along the way, he encounters the infamous Lament Configuration, unleashing the Cenobites. Or at least, in theory. In practice, Doug Bradley’s Pinhead barely registers, appearing only in fleeting, spectral cameos as though contractually obligated. It’s a curious bait-and-switch: marketed as a Hellraiser sequel, but functioning more as a hallucinatory morality play about guilt and punishment.

Craig Sheffer delivers a performance that is both strange and strangely compelling. His Thorne is less a hardened detective than a man visibly unraveling from frame one, his paranoia and sweaty desperation walking a fine line between over-the-top and hypnotic. His odd choices give the film its only real personality, even when the script veers into derivative territory.

For Scott Derrickson, Inferno marked his feature debut, and in hindsight, it reads like an intriguing blueprint. The seeds of his fascination with morality, spirituality, and personal damnation—later explored more successfully in The Exorcism of Emily Rose and Sinister—are all present here, though buried under the constraints of direct-to-video horror branding. His direction adds a layer of polish and atmosphere to what otherwise could have been disposable.

In the end, Hellraiser: Inferno is less a Hellraiser film than a late-night cable thriller wearing Cenobite skin. It embodies the era when Dimension Films would shoehorn iconic franchises into unrelated scripts, keeping names alive while draining them of identity. As such, it’s both frustrating and oddly fascinating—a film that feels at once forgettable and, in retrospect, a small but notable stepping stone for Derrickson.

  • Saul Muerte