There’s a moment in Hellraiser (2022) — the reboot that nobody really asked for — where you realize that despite the lavish production design, the modernized Cenobites, and the alphabet soup of trauma metaphors, nothing in this movie hurts as much as the boredom. This is a film that promises agony and ecstasy and instead delivers a very long, very beige TED Talk on addiction and grief, sponsored by Restoration Hardware.
Marketed as a “reimagining” of Clive Barker’s sadomasochistic symphony of suffering, this Hulu-produced remake aims to drag Hellraiser into the 2020s, kicking and screaming. Instead, it gently walks it through a Target aisle, gives it a glass of almond milk, and says, “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
Let’s open the box.
The Setup: Gentrified Sadomasochism
We follow Riley (Odessa A’zion), a recovering addict with a haircut stolen from a 2014 indie drummer, who stumbles upon the Lament Configuration while doing what most modern horror protagonists do — robbing rich people in mansions they don’t belong in. One botched theft later, her brother disappears into thin air and Riley begins her journey of unraveling the secrets of the box, which apparently now comes in six collectible editions like a demonic Happy Meal.
As she twists and clicks her way through the puzzle’s stages — Lament, Lore, La-La Land, and whatever else — each new form triggers blood sacrifices and metaphysical anguish that ultimately lead her face-to-face with the Cenobites. Or as they’re known in this version: Naked Yoga Club: Flesh Edition.
The Cenobites: Flesh for Fashion
Now, don’t get me wrong — these new Cenobites are gorgeously grotesque. Their flesh isn’t just torn, it’s tailored. Imagine if HR Giger started designing evening wear for skinned mannequins and you’re halfway there. Gone are the leather-daddy vibes of Pinhead’s dominion; in their place, we get geometric wound couture and latex-free body horror that looks both Instagrammable and extremely uncomfortable to sit in.
And yes, Pinhead is now played by Jamie Clayton, and she does a commendable job — a cool, calm, almost priestly presence. But gone is the thunderous, baroque menace of Doug Bradley. This Pinhead is eerily soothing, like a Cenobite version of a meditation app. You don’t feel terror so much as the vague impulse to light incense and consider your chakras.
The Script: Say It Again, but Slower
The dialogue is workshopped into oblivion. Every character speaks like they’re trying to win a Creative Writing 101 assignment. “We are explorers in the further regions of experience,” has now become something like, “Pain is a choice… but so is power,” which might work if it didn’t sound like something your toxic ex said before ghosting you.
Riley, the lead, spends most of the movie in a state of elevated anxiety — which is fair, considering her brother is missing and she’s being chased by gods in bondage gear. But the emotional tone of the film never rises above “melancholy brunch.” Even when things go sideways — like one character getting flayed into spaghetti — everyone reacts with the intensity of someone losing cell service.
The pacing? Imagine watching molasses drip off a spoon while being serenaded by a Gregorian chant remix of Euphoria’s greatest hits. The runtime is 121 minutes, but emotionally, you will age in that chair.
The Horror: The Long, Slow Squeeze
Despite having Cenobites, a puzzle box, and a character with a retractable skin hook built into her spine, this Hellraiser is largely bloodless — both figuratively and literally. There are no real scares. No sharp stabs of panic. No erotic unease. Just methodical pacing and pristine lighting that makes every shot feel like a Dior ad for despair.
In the original films, pain and pleasure were interlinked — a raw nerve of transgression, desire, and damnation. Here? Pain is a mildly uncomfortable narrative device wrapped in thematic gauze. Everyone talks about suffering, but nobody feels it. It’s like going to a BDSM club and finding out it’s just people discussing taxes while holding whips for ambiance.
The Themes: Trauma as Window Dressing
This reboot leans hard into the metaphor of addiction, using the puzzle box as a symbol of compulsion and relapse. Riley’s journey is structured like a 12-step horror program: confront your demons, choose accountability, get chased by a flayed librarian who smells like copper and formaldehyde.
But instead of enhancing the horror, this metaphor just sucks the kink and chaos out of the franchise. It moralizes what should be morally ambiguous. Barker’s world was about diving into the abyss — about confronting the grotesque beauty of the unknown. This reboot just gives you a stern lecture, some tasteful gore, and sends you home with a pamphlet.
Best Moment: The End Credits
I say this not entirely in jest. By the time you reach the credits, you’ll feel relieved — not because the film resolved anything in a meaningful way, but because you can finally blink without fearing another five-minute scene of people whispering in front of mood lighting.
Also, the final twist (which I won’t spoil here) is so telegraphed it might as well have been skywritten above your house halfway through the second act. A character “chooses” their fate, but the payoff is more IKEA instruction manual than Barkerian damnation.
Clive Barker’s Involvement: Name-Dropped, Soul-Dropped
Yes, Barker is listed as a producer. No, his fingerprints aren’t on this. Not the way you’d expect. There’s none of his literary grotesquery. None of his writhing sensuality. None of his perverse affection for suffering. This feels like Barker by way of streaming algorithm: sanitized, categorized, and rinsed for millennials who say “triggered” unironically.
Final Verdict: A Puzzle Box with No Surprises
Hellraiser (2022) tries to be elevated horror with franchise roots, but ends up being neither. It’s too self-serious to be fun, too sterile to be scary, and too generic to be unforgettable. The best thing I can say about it is that it’s not Hellraiser: Revelations. But that’s like saying the best thing about falling down the stairs is that you didn’t land in dog poop.
Final Score: 1.5 out of 5 Hooks to the Spine
Open the box if you must. But don’t expect pain or pleasure. Just a lot of well-lit sighing.
