Editorials
The Road to Midian: Clive Barker’s ‘Nightbreed’ Turns 30
After the success of Hellraiser, Clive Barker chose to adapt his 1988 novella Cabal for his sophomore feature. The setup of the novella was ripe for crafting expansive mythology from the ground up, one that posited monsters as the good guys and humans as the real villains. That the source story only briefly described the monsters in a mere matter of paragraphs meant it was open for creativity. What was envisioned as an epic romance in a world of sympathetic monsters eventually was trimmed down and marketed as a slasher thanks to the studio balking at new terrain.
Nightbreed flopped upon its theatrical release on February 16, 1990. Still, thirty years later, the core themes of Barker’s vision shine through and remain timeless, both in the profoundly altered theatrical release and his original version.
Aaron Boone (Craig Sheffer) dreams of Midian, a place where creatures of the night live in hiding from the dangers of man. He’s so troubled that his worried girlfriend, Lori (Anne Bobby), urges him to seek help, which puts him in the clutches of Dr. Phillip Decker (David Cronenberg). Decker is a sadistic killer. He drugs Boone and convinces him that he’s the one responsible for the recent string of grisly murders. After an encounter in a hospital with a man named Narcisse (Hugh Ross), Boone is given the actual location of Midian, which sets him down a path to accepting his destiny, full of bloodshed and heartbreak, as the savior of the Nightbreed.
At the center of the looming war between man and monster is the enduring love between Boone and Lori. Throughout Boone’s evolution- the death of his human self and rise as new Nightbreed- Lori refuses to give up on him or their relationship. It’s Lori, a virtuous human descending into the epicenter of the catacomb-like Midian, who conveys the narrative’s message of acceptance and value of not judging a book by its cover. Many of the Nightbreed look “other” and are dangerous, but they’re the ones living in terror; man tends to destroy what it envies and fears.
As for the Nightbreed and the city of Midian, Barker enlisted his special makeup effects collaborator on Hellraiser, Bob Keen. In the beginning, Keen and Barker had full creative control on designing the Nightbreed and the story. Eventually, though, the studio got cold feet on a two-and-a-half-hour romantic dark fantasy that made the monsters the heroes and so they pushed to make Dr. Decker much more prominent. Planned stop motion animation sequences involving creatures in Midian were trimmed and scrapped, scenes were edited out entirely, and more scenes with Decker were added to expand his character and motivation. The idea? To make Nightbreed more of a straightforward horror movie.
Keen wasn’t the only Hellraiser connection, either. Doug Bradley plays Lylesberg, the Nightbreed’s lawmaker and leader. Nicholas Vince, known as the Chatterer cenobite, appears as Kinski, a crescent-moon faced creature that has a direct hand in Boone’s journey. There’s Simon Bramford, who looks the most human as Nightbreed Ohnaka, a far cry from his role as cenobite Butterball. Oliver Parker appeared briefly in the first two Hellraiser films as a workman or mover but stole scenes in Nightbreed as the memorable monster Peloquin.
Even with a heavily cut and altered theatrical version that emphasizes the humans over the Nightbreed, it’s easy to see the direction Barker was headed with his envisioned film trilogy for Boone. Whichever cut you watch, the newly changed Ashbury remained a dangling loose end for the Nightbreed to contend with, and their numbers drastically dwindled. Meaning that Boone’s journey to find these endearing monsters a new place to live, free from judgment and harm, would be an arduous and winding road.
Thanks to vocal and stalwart fans and champions of Barker’s initial vision, many cuts of the film have finally seen release. With it, numerous ways to discover a timeless tale of love and acceptance in a world of monsters. Barker and the original studio, Morgan Creek, are even working on continuing Midian’s story with a Nightbreed TV series, proving yet again the enduring quality of this unique universe.
Cool monster designs, sympathetic creatures, an enduring love story, and even an earworm score by Danny Elfman all make for a unique and compelling creature feature. It’s also one of the rare instances where if you don’t like one cut, there are numerous cuts of the film that change the tone and scope of the story. Even if the theatrical cut favors the slasher style of Decker, it’s still Boone’s prophecy and the denizens of Midian that make Nightbreed so special.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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