Monstervision's Joe Bob Briggs Looks At
Hellraiser 3: Hell on Earth
And a comment about Hellraiser 4: Bloodline
...wait a minute--I give up--is this the good guy or the bad guy?
"Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 11/20/92
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
Not many people know that I do as many as 30 or 40 prison visits per year, offering counseling advice on how to get your hiney OUT of there--because, you see, my friend Rhett Beavers is ARRESTED 30 or 40 times each year, and he's so heavy into the "habitual offender" law that the judge is starting to say stuff like, "If you ever finish your 33rd life sentence, and space travel has become a reality, you will serve your THIRTY-FOURTH life sentence on Pluto, or wherever the crew of the Enterprise agrees to take you."
In fact, the only reason Rhett is NOT doing hard time is that I'm such a good counselor. For example, I went to see him last week, and he was looking at five-to-fifteen on a probation violation for carrying a concealed weapon, three-to-five for stealing $2,000 from a cash register at the Denny's where he works, and six months for failing to show up in court the last three times he was supposed to.
So what I do first is I identify the problem. I say, "Rhett, why were you carrying that pistol under your shirt."
"I forgot it was there."
Have you ever noticed it's only in jail that you get answers like this?
"What do you mean you forgot it was there?"
"I don't even remember picking it up that morning."
"Are you saying somebody ELSE stuck it under your shirt?"
"No, I'm just saying that I didn't even NEED a gun that day, so why would I be carrying it?"
For those of you unfamiliar with jailhouse logic, I submit the above sentence as the type of argument used approximately 5,000 times a day.
Now. Jailhouse counseling these days is very simple. You identify the problem, which you can read in the formal indictment. Then you say to yourself, "What SICKNESS would a person have who committed this crime?" And then you inform the prisoner that that's what he is.
"You're suffering from paranoia, Rhett."
"You're a paranoid. You need treatment. You're sick."
I used to think this was weird, when guys would come up with these diseases, but it WORKS. You go into court, tell the judge, and then he HAS to appoint a psychiatrist, and he HAS to hear testimony about it.
"Okay, next item. Why'd you steal the two thousand?"
"I owed Manny."
"You owed Manny?"
"I owed Manny for all the money I lost on the Super Bowl."
"Easy one! Compulsive Gambling Syndrome!"
"Write this down, Rhett: Compulsive Gambling Syndrome. But why didn't you show up in court the last three times? The judge is really p.o.ed."
And Rhett seemed puzzled by this question.
"Why didn't I show up?"
"Yeah, that's what I said. Why didn't you show up."
"I never show up. Anywhere."
I thought for a minute.
"Chronic Lateness Syndrome. I've never used it, but it's bound to exist. Rhett, were you ever late to a job?"
"About ten billion times."
"PERFECT! You already had ALL the symptoms BEFORE you failed to appear in court! Don't worry, bud. We'll have you out of here in three days."
"Yeah, and one more thing, Rhett. You've done so many drugs that the left side of your face is caved in. So write down anything that happens to you in here. We wouldn't want you to be a victim of Lookism."
"Don't worry about it. It just means they can't beat you up for being ugly."
"Oh, is THAT why that happens." You see how this stuff works. It's great to be in America in the nineties, isn't it, where there's no such thing as crime. Everything's a DISEASE. Never forget that.
Speaking of people with a couple of buttons missing on their remote, Clive Barker is back for the third time with "Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth," and this time the kinky sex demons from hell are recruiting depraved disco owners and attacking entire dance floors full of leering singles, ripping their flesh off with steel hooks, and leaving them wailing in little clumps of black leather and ankle chains. You know, sex in the movies started getting real dangerous in 1980, when Friday the 13th came out, but THIS IS RIDICULOUS.
Pinhead, the guy with the nails in his face who's becoming more famous than Freddy Krueger, comes back to torment a TV news reporter played by the lissome and nubile Terry Farrell. (I have no idea what "lissome" or "nubile" means, but I've always wanted to use those words in a sentence.) Terry is tracking down leads to try to find out what is happening to the guys being wheeled into hospital emergency rooms, where their bodies explode after being ripped apart with grapple hooks that come down out of the sky. Pretty soon she's rooming with a little disco waif who seems to be sleeping with these guys, and before she knows it, she's walking through windows and entering other dimensions and being chased by the Clive Barker army of underworld sex creatures, and . . . well, it's not "Hellraiser 2," but it's pretty decent.
There's this one part where the demons kill everybody by flinging CD's like Frisbees into people's skulls.
I'm not kidding.
Eighty-three dead bodies.
One massive motor vehicle chase.
Cops burned alive.
Battle of the Goohead Demons.
Bloody rat attack.
Exploding hospital patient.
Grapple hook Fu.
Brass knuckle Fu.
Weird sex sculpture Fu.
Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Paula Marshall, as the little disco bimbo, for saying "I don't dream";
Kevin Bernhardt, as the sleazoid disco owner, for saying "Get dressed and get out of here";
Terry Farrell of Star Trek:Deep Space 9, as the TV reporter with a mission in the sex underworld, for saying "I just walked into madness for you! Talk!";
and Doug Bradley, as Pinhead the sex demon, for saying "Appetite sated, desire indulged" and
"There is only flesh" and
"I am offering you a place at my right hand--flesh, power, dominion."
Joe Bob says check it out
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Victory Over Republicanism! At last report, the Skyview Drive-In in Santa Cruz, Calif., was threatened by greedy Yugo dealers, who wanted to turn it into 200 acres of asphalt--but they were stopped, thwarted, and tossed out. The drive-in stands. The Democrats are everywhere. Russ "Jake" Jacobson of San Jose reminds us that, with eternal vigilance, the drive-in will never die. To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail and Joe Bob's world-famous "We Are the Weird" newsletter, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221. Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-368-2310.
"Iron Joe Bob," the definitive explanation of the men's movement, is now available from Atlantic Monthly Press, or by writing to Joe Bob.
To: Editor (Aspen Times Daily):
Normally I don't pay much attention to Joe Briggs' column, redneck humor notwithstanding. I can't take a whole lot from a guy whose I.Q. is smaller than his hat size. However, his inane, insulting piece on immigration begs a response.
The insulting part is J.B.'s attitude that if you make your living with your hands and the sweat of your brow then you're an ignorant, valueless member of our society whose job is expendable. Shove that Ralphus characterization where the sun don't shine, Joe Boy!
All U.S. workers should be accorded job and wage protection from illegal foreign competition. If Denny's can't make it without exploiting illegal aliens, then we don't need Denny's either!
This sea of unskilled scab labor that floods the Rio Grande by the millions annually is undercutting U.S. workers' wages and standard of living. They are burdening school budgets with dual language instruction. They regularly take advantage of free medical services that their Anglo counterparts must pay for. And a growing segment of Joe Bob's "cream of the crop" are peddling misery by the gram with a worst-case scenario of a free trip home.
In fact, the only time illegals are deported anymore is when the DEA is involved. That might have something to do with the fact that the entire western slope of Colorado is covered by one INS agent. Funds have been so scarce that the only immigration phone line in Colorado was disconnected last week in Denver.
This makes dollars and sense to jackasses like Joe and unethical businessmen who have taken to screwing the U.S. worker as a matter of habit.
Who cares if Denny's goes bankrupt? We do not need any more wetbacks. Do you understand this now, Joe Boy?
Let me get this straight.
YOU are calling ME a redneck?
Dear Mr. Briggs,
Here are a few topics that you might consider writing about:
1. Was "Gilligan's Island" just an example of Communist propaganda shown in a very subliminal way? Tina Louise sure looks Russian to me!
2. What exactly was the point of producing "Circus Fun" cereal?
3. Did Babe Ruth really put a voodoo curse upon the Boston Red Sox?
4. Why don't they market a video game based on the Persian Gulf War?
Your cosmic fan,
Why don't they market a Persian Gulf War video game?
As soon as you flipped the coin to see who would be the Allied Forces and who would be the Iraqi forces, the game would be over.
Dear Mr. Briggs:
I showed your letter to my children. They wanted to know what a "bimbo" was. I said someone like Marla Maples. They never heard of her. Can you do a column on how our modern educational system doesn't teach our kids nothing?
I can't believe your children aren't familiar with the famous Marla syrup trees from Vermont.
Dear Joe Bob,
Would you do a piece on the right Reverend Al Sharpton? He is my personal hero and inspiration.
Can you make that sound like a person breaking wind where you cup one hand in the opposite armpit and make your arm go up and down?
Carl La Fong
Santa Clara, Calif.
No, but I can make a sound like the Reverend Al Sharpton breaking wind while he speaks.
Wait a minute. That's redundant.
Bulls-eye, Observant One!
I just finished reading your article on who invented the idea "everybody should go to college."
Thank you for trying to rattle the mental cages the masses have put themselves in. I was one. I should know. Now after all too many years I'm learning to cook--to let creativity and imagination run wild. It sure beats getting dressed up in $600 suits with $30 socks and playing in public relations (more like public bullstuff) like I used to.
I finally had to ask if I was doing what I enjoyed. I hated what I did, made great money. I lost who I was, what was meaningful to me. Things have changed.
The key: 1) Follow your heart! 2) Risk! 3) Tell yourself the truth!
Thank you again.
San Antonio, Tex.
Someday historians will write about America in the 20th century, and they'll say, "It was this weird time where people spent the first 50 years of their lives trying to figure out what they wanted to do, and the last 20 years regretting the fact they didn't start sooner."
I think it was Mark Twain who said, “College is a place that polishes pebbles and dims diamonds.”
© 1992 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved
For more of Joe Bob's pre-TNT reviews in Grapevine, Texas, go to his Drive-In Reviews Archive over yonder at www.Joe Bob Briggs.com
return of the devil-sex mush-head goo-eyed cenobite people, trying to
crowbar themselves into the life of innocent little Kirsty. The sequel
picks up just a few hours after the first movie, when Kirsty wakes up in a
psycho ward trying to explain to nice Dr. Chennard just exactly how it was
that her stepmother Julia skinned her daddy alive so she could use the
skin on the evil uncle Frank so they could have monster sex together in
the attic and hit traveling salesmen over the head with a hammer so they'd
have plenty of blood for Frank to drink. Pretty soon Dr. Chennard gets
TURNED on, and he moves the bloody mattress that Julia died on into his
own house, where he chains up zombie maniac mental patients for the fun of
it and does brain research, and you can just imagine what's coming next:
Julia is INSIDE the mattress, and she needs a little liquid refreshment.
Dr. Chennard takes a little deaf-mute blonde girl and teacher her to solve
the puzzle-boxes from the first movie: when you twist em just the right
way, you get zapped into hell. There is NOTHING that compares to the scene
where the skinless Julia finally kisses Dr. Chennard right square on the
Hellbound: Hellraiser 2 (1988)
(From Joe Bob's Ultimate B Movie Guide)
26 dead bodies.
Four undead bodies.
Straight-razor close-up suicide.
Rapple hooks to the chest.
deep-throat French kissing.
Aardvarking in hell.
Giant snake fingers.
A 98 on the Vomit Meter.
With Kenneth Cranham as Dr. Chennard
("You have your whole lives behind you now"), Ashley Laurence as Kirsty
the teenage cenobite-fighter ("Julie doesn't deserve to come back--it's
not FAIR!"), Sean Chapman as the evil Frank AND the zombie fed to Julia,
Doug Bradley as Pinhead the numero uno cenobite ("We have eternity to know
your flesh!"), Clare Higgins as the sex-crazed queen of hell
Julia--probably the only woman ever seen in the movies who had no skin on
and was still sexy.
Written by Peter Atkins ("Ah, the suffering! The sweet
Barker journeys into new frontiers of fried flesh in this tale of a guy
who gets so far into a kinky Ayrab jungle sex-fiend hocus-pocus swingers
club that by the second scene of the movie he's getting flayed, frayed and
filleted by this tribe of mutant needle-head octopus-face monsters that
he's created out of his own imagination. We've got steel hooks, manacles,
chains, and spare body parts on parade, and Andrew Robinson--best known as
the maniac murderer in "Dirty Harry"--is the GOOD GUY. Basically Clive
took the most frightening fear of the pale-face Hush-Puppy-wearing English
weenie husband and made a whole movie about it. What would happen if your
wife is so sick of your sniveling nerdy questions and your sucking up to
her every time you want something that she starts having sex in the attic
with devilhead slime monsters that remind her of your brother Frank who
she used to have sex with before he got flayed and filleted and carried
off by the nightmare sex monsters? Sure, it's a common problem, but what's
unique is Clive's solution. One day, while they're moving into a new
house, the weenie husband slices open his hand on a nail and walks in on
his wife while she's dreaming about making the sign of the double-humped
sperm whale with Frank, and he's slopping 19 gallons of blood a second on
the floor and he thinks he's gonna faint, and so the wife gets her
stepdaughter to drive him to the hospital, only once he's gone something
under the floor starts DRINKING the blood. Frank is back from Devil Land,
with most of his skin ripped off and his blood vessels exposed. But here's
the really gross part: he wants to get ROMANTIC. Here's the really grosser
part: SHE wants to get romantic. And here's the one that makes the Vomit
Meter go off the scale: they DO get romantic. Their only problem is that
they can't go on meeting like this. Frank needs a whole bunch of blood to
stuff down into his gizzards and start the world's most ambitious
transplant surgery. Does she love him enough to go trolling her way
through singles bars, hoping for bald-headed punching bags that'll nuzzle
up beside her, ask her what sign she is, and trail her home for some
claw-hammer skull-bashing? Of course she does. So now we got part vampire
movie, part zombie movie, part tribute to "Psycho" and "Chainsaw" and all
the other documentaries based on Ed Gein, but there's one more thing this
movie needs--giant dragonhead lizard-gut glopola monsters. Best gore
flick of the eighties.
(From Joe Bob's Ultimate B Movie Guide)
Seventy-eight gallons blood.
forty-seven gallons slime.
Ten dead bodies.
Character actor taffy pull.
With Oliver Smith as Frank the Monster ("Every drop of blood
you spill puts more flesh on my bones, and we both want THAT, don't we?"),
Doug Bradley as the No. 1 mutant "cenobite" who leads the Hamburger Helper
people ("No tears, please, it's a waste of good suffering"), and the
cruel-lipped laser-eyes Clare Higgins as Julia, the wife who will do
ANYTHING for the love of a zombie in the attic, even if it means
sacrificing her personal ethics.
© 2000 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights
The "Hellraiser" movies are available on video and on DVD
Note: "Hellraiser 4: Bloodline" was so lame, not only did Joe Bob pass on reviewing it, the director had his name taken off the credits, changing it to the fictional name "Alan Smithee." Leonard Maltin says of Hellraiser 4, "Dull & plot-heavy (too much story in the way of the movie), even if you're a Clive Barker devotee. Re-caulk your bathtub instead." Leonard gave the original Hellraiser movie 2 1/2 stars, calling it "ugly fun all the way."
See if your favorite person, TV series or
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