The Great Red North: Revisiting the Overlooked Horror of Nightbreed

As we near Halloween, I, like many a Facets genre film-loving staffer, find myself feeding an insatiable hole in my stomach that can only be filled by horror films, whether as art cinema lofty as Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) or as paracinema lowly as Dwain Esper’s Maniac. Last night I went for something right smack dab in the center of that spectrum: Clive Barker’s Nightbreed (1990). I’m not going to argue that this movie be added to the list of canonical horror films. Let’s face it, Barker is first and foremost a writer who knows how to film some dang competent adaptations. Yes, Hellraiser (1987) and Lord of Illusions (1995) are both great in their own right, but I feel their success has more to do with the narrative universe and ruling mythology Barker created rather than his actual filmmaking skills. Regardless, the combination of Nightbreed’s monumental scope, superb production design, and amusingly forgivable flaws warrant its reevaluation.

Getting down to brass tacks, or in this case, rusty, blood-covered ingots, the film is set near Alberta, Canada and stars David Boreanaz look-alike Craig Sheffer (Fire in the Sky) as Aaron Boone, a youngish Canuck seeking mental help for a relentless run of murderous night terrors in which he imagines a netherworld called Midian filled with beastly monstermen. Rather famously, his sinister therapist, Dr. Philip K. Decker (kudos for the Blade Runner reference), is played by Canadian body genre director David Cronenberg in a clumsy, inept, and, therefore, memorable performance.

In a lateral breach of doctor-patient confidentiality, Decker has begun acting out Boone’s unconscious confessions, slaying families and leaving bodies scattered all over the city. When the police investigation heats up, Decker simply turns over his patients’s taped therapy sessions and boom--case closed. Swift and illogical, not two words that come to mind when thinking about Canada, but heck, I'm no expert. Boone, now on the lam, is quickly tracked down by the authorities in the woodlands where an old cemetery rests. In desperation, our doomed protagonist enters with the grim hope of finding his imagined sanctuary, Midian. Sure enough, subterranean monsters pop out of the ground just then and lay some teeth into him.

The quick wrap-up without giving away all the scary goods: Boone is then shot down by the police, resurrected thanks to an evil mutant curse, and joins the brotherhood of Midian. Also called “the tribes of the moon,” each of the nightbreed has his or her own special powers and shape-shifting form, and the budgetary allowance for these incredible costume/makeup designs gets a ‘tip of the hat' from this writer. Back to busines: Boone soon drags his earthly girlfriend (Anne Bobby) into his hellish mess. Tracking her to Midian, Decker then notifies the rural sheriff of the monsters’ whereabouts. The sheriff, a poorly-drawn Lt. Kilgore of a character, rallies the redneck hunting militia [Barker’s nod to the angry, pitchforked villagers of Frankenstein (1931), as well as a shout-out to social commentary], and we’re off on an unprovoked, genocidal crusade to kill the beasts, the other. Just cue the near-apocalyptic final battle and . . . scene!

I must say, not too shabby for a B-ish horror production. Based on Clive Barker’s novella Cabal (1988), the movie concludes feeling like part one of a LOTR-sized terror epic, with Midian in ruins, the God of the moon people destroyed, and Boone setting out to fulfill some sort of prophecy by rebuilding Midian. Like I said, the scope is pretty grand. I didn’t even mention that there’s a vengeful, alcoholic priest who brings the therapist-cum-serial killer Decker back to life in a reverse crucifixion ceremony at the end.

Speaking of Dr. Philip K. Decker, he does not just point to Blade Runner (1982) with his name alone. His role in the film is perversely related to that of Deckard (Harrison Ford) in Ridley Scott’s sci-fi cult hit. Deckard hunts down replicants with never clearly established vehemence right until the very end when the audience learns that he might just be a replicant himself. Left mainly unexplained in Barker’s film, Decker orchestrates a campaign to slaughter the nightbreed, only to be brought back as one of these undead mutants in the final scene. A closer consideration of the two films’ themes--Blade Runner’s emphasis on gorgeous exteriors hiding damning secrets and Nightbreed’s position that grotesque exteriors can conceal beauty beneath--would be interesting, but a bit cheesy and beyond the bounds of this post.

Signs of truncation abound and confusion reigns by the end, but that’s all part of Nightbreed’s charm. Unlike a horror flick with a simple plot that fails, say House of the Dead (2003), Nightbreed strives for something huge and falls just short, doing so with great panache. You can’t help but give Barker a slow clap for his efforts. This is all not to mention the real fun Nightbreed has to offer on the referential end. We start with the Leatherface mask Decker dons when he wants to practice his stabbing, which makes sense in that Decker’s killing is the only slasher element in this otherwise cosmic, Hellboy-sized horror tale. Then there's the God of the moon people, essentially a low-rent version of the queen from Aliens (1986) accompanied by pagan idolatry. We also see a quaintly disturbing flashback to centuries past when the race of nightbreed monsters was tortured and massacred nearly to the point of extinction. This scorching, slow-motion sequence is full of executioners in black Ku Klux Klan robes reenacting the highlights of the Spanish Inquisition with much vim and vigor.

Furthermore, as the audience gets its first look at the underground catacombs and Escher-inspired rope systems that make-up the city of Midian, we find the set design to be a rich allusion to the early interiors of another gloriously bloated production, Fellini Satyricon (1969), right down to the ziggurat-style architecture and forced perspectives. Add to that the excessive shots of monsters using their uniquely gruesome powers in quick, successive cutaways, which taken together smacks of decadence in a twisted way. Similar to the dreamlike odyssey Fellini created, psychoanalytic film theorists would have a field day (albeit a lame one) with Nightbreed. Looking forward, Barker's film is also an early entry on "Come to Daddy" music video director Chris Cunningham’s special effects resume. The deformed, pallid, salamander-esque bodies he perfected in the 2005 short Rubber Johnny have clear antecedents in his model-making work here. Besides all this, morsels like a monster named “Kinski” and the swirling Danny Elfman score only sweeten the proverbial deal.

In closing, please don’t let my superficial search for references put you off. There are numerous hidden treasures in Nightbreed on visual, narrative, and generic levels that I have not come close to hitting upon. If you’re still reading but on the fence with this movie, rest assured that the frenzied nightmare of an opening sequence alone, rivaling the POV “shaky cam” shots of Evil Dead II, makes Clive Barker's film well worth the purchase, rental, or Tivo stop. Happy hunting!

-Brian Elza