3 from Hell (2019)

Love him or loathe him, there's no denying that Rob Zombie, quite possibly the most controversial and divisive filmmaker working within the horror genre today, is a man with a distinctive vision and the chutzpah to see it through to its fullest, bloodiest potential. It certainly helps that he boasts a penchant for assembling some of the most fearless and talented actors to aid him in bringing his vivid stories to gruesome life. Whether or not you welcome his radically humanizing take on Michael Myers for his 2007 remake of John Carpenter and Debra Hill's 1978 prototypical slasher, Halloween, with approval, ambivalence, or, as in the case of the majority of critics and audiences alike, outright contempt (I happen to fall emphatically in the first category), one fact of life cannot be denied: ardent fans of the Zombie, such as myself, and detractors alike seem to unanimously agree that The Devil's Rejects, the sequel to his 2003 backwoods splatter fest debut, House of 1,000 Corpses, remains his masterpiece. A title that will not be lost as of this writing, as it's the most gorily exhilarating and tonally daring horror sequel I've encountered and the best horror film to emerge from the crypt of the auteur's horrorography to date, just beating out his Halloween reimagining by a smidge.

What makes The Devil's Rejects the horror masterpiece that it is? Well, apart from eschewing the Halloween night/haunted house surrealism that characterizes its predecessor, Zombie made the gutsy (in more ways than one) decision to frame the narrative from the perspective of his central trinity of human-yet-utterly inhumane sadists, imbuing them with distinguishable personalities and a disturbingly relatable camaraderie during their moments of downtime (as in, when they weren't busy carving an innocent human being into a fish sculpture) that engendered and sustained a compelling fascination without ever asking us to sympathize with them, even when they were captured and subjected to a taste of their own medicine by the vengeful brother of one of their victims. 

Following a deliciously cathartic yet ultimately implausible climax that somewhat spoiled the humanity of his vile villains with a dose of plot armor, Zombie sent his titular rejects out with a suitably poetic (and quite literal) bang in one of the most iconic, technically masterful, and uniquely disturbing endings in the history of horror. When Zombie first teased the possible return of this unholy trinity, asking fans if they'd like to see their return, or better yet, resurrection, horror fans went wild with the possibilities. After all, the last three remaining members of the infamous Firefly family -- Captain Spaulding, Otis B. Driftwood, and Baby -- were definitively put out of their miserable existence in a shootout with the Ruggsville police department. In a series of freeze-frame close-ups, Zombie showed them taking in a barrage of bullets that no mortal could possibly withstand... right? 

The title for this upcoming sequel was revealed to be 3 from Hell, and naturally we assumed that number referred to the characters portrayed by Sid Haig, Bill Moseley, and Sheri Moon Zombie. So let's review a couple possible methods by which they could grace the screen with a third cinematic outing. Perhaps, true to their title, Spaulding, Otis, and Baby got to meet their maker in the bowels of Hell following the end credits and actually were rejected, sent back to the land of the living because not even the Devil himself could handle them. My personal preference would've been an origin story, a prequel that delved into the lives of the Firefly clan at a younger age and traced their genesis into a life of sadistic crime. What turned this family of flesh-and-blood human beings into the monsters they would become, losing every ounce of their humanity and appreciation for the sanctity of life outside their own bloodline? Given his masterful treatment of Michael Myers, a villain once thought to be nothing more than the personification of pure evil with no motive underlying his actions, I can only imagine the story Zombie would've cooked up for his own family of original subhuman demons. I even have the perfect candidate for a younger Baby: Jessica Madsen, whose standout performance as Clarice in Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo's origin story for Leatherface could've served as a training course for this very role.

Alas, the approach we actually receive as to their eagerly anticipated resurrection... they just survived. Yes, that's right. These three flesh-and-blood psychopaths successfully managed to beat their less-than-a-million-to-one odds, surviving 20 bullet wounds apiece and making a full recovery over the course of ten years. Of all the tantalizing roads Zombie could've taken to reintroduce the characters for whom he will always be celebrated as a modern master of horror, he chooses the one most blatantly absurd and, quite honestly, shamelessly lazy.

On the early morning of May 23, 1978, the manhunt for the three most infamous (albeit fictitious) fugitives in the annals of American crime seemingly came to a definitive end. The final trinity of the Firefly family -- patriarch Johnny Lee Johns (Sid Haig), a.k.a. Captain Spaulding, and his two most sadistic children, adoptive son, Otis B. Driftwood (Bill Moseley), and only daughter, Vera-Ellen "Baby" Wilson (Sheri Moon Zombie) -- each met their grisly end at the barrel of guns, their bodies punctured repeatedly by a cascade of flying bullets as they attempted one final act of defiance on their way to Hell. After receiving greater care than anyone of their nature could possibly deserve at a hospital appropriately named Mercy of Christ Memorial, the three rejects responsible for what's been dubbed "the House of 1,000 Corpses" murders recover from their injuries over the next ten years and are forced to stand trial for their morbid crimes. 

Of the trio, only Spaulding is sentenced to death by way of lethal injection. Baby's mental health has deteriorated from years spent in solitary confinement, reducing her to the personality of an emotionally stunted hippie desperately craving parole. One day, while out digging in a field, Otis is broken out of jail by his half-brother, Winslow Foxworth Coltrane (Richard Brake), known publicly as "The Midnight Wolf Man." Before making his escape, Otis exacts vengeance on a former enemy, Rondo Chavez (Danny Trejo). 

Concocting a plan to reunite with their sister, Otis and Foxy locate the home of Warden Virgil Dallas Harper (Jeff Daniel Phillips), who's watched over and tormented the rejects since they first arrived at the gate of his prison, and take him, his wife, and their friends hostage, falsely promising to release them once Virgil breaks Baby out of prison and delivers her to them. Upon Virgil's compliance with Otis' demand, Otis, Baby, and Foxy enjoy a short-lived celebration of their mutual freedom, leaving behind a characteristically gory massacre in their wake to eliminate loose ends. Unsure where to go next, aware that their faces are plastered across every TV screen in the country, Baby suggests they hightail to Mexico, confident that nobody's looking for them south of the border. As luck would screw them royally, the manager of the motel where they seek refuge recognizes them and reports their appearance to Francisco Mendoza Chavez (Emilio Rivera), the son of Rondo and leader of a dangerous well-known gang called "The Black Satans" who is thirsty for some good old-fashioned revenge.

First thing's first: there's no driving around the inherent absurdity of Zombie's blatantly farcical setup. For many, it will represent the make or break of 3 from Hell. What distinguishes the Firefly family from their horde of fellow slashers is their grounding humanity. They're not zombies resurrected from the grave, spectral serial killers who manifest in the nightmares of their victims, or forces of evil who were born human then mysteriously imbued with supernatural regenerative abilities. No, these are 100% human beings, sprung from the womb and vulnerable to the limitations of the human body. They just so happen to be human beings with zero respect for the lives of their fellow human beings, a collective symbol of the darkest dimension of human nature, who derive immense and insatiable joy from the suffering and dehumanization of anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. That's precisely what makes them so terrifying: they walk the same planet as the rest of us, blend in seamlessly with society, bleed the same color, all while harboring impulses much darker and unfathomable to the human mind. Sure, Zombie undermined that humanity at the end of the climax to his magnum opus by imbuing them with a superhuman level of durability, but here, he outright obliterates it to smithereens. 

The foundation upon which the plot of 3 from Hell rests is fundamentally preposterous. Not only are we expected to go with the anatomically impossible premise that Spaulding, Otis, and Baby managed to withstand 20 bullets each penetrating their flesh, but that over the course of ten years, none of them have endured the slightest remnant of their mutilating ordeal, either. None of them are confined to a wheelchair or so much as forced to walk with a cane. They've suffered no impediments to their movement or bodily disfigurements whatsoever. Where are the scars from those 20 bullet wounds? Shouldn't their faces, arms, and torsos be covered in bullet markings? (To be fair, in Baby's case, maybe they're hidden behind the cat tattoos that now envelop her entire body from the chest down.) 

Okay, let's say we move past that nonsense. The trial these murderers would face would surpass the one faced by the Charles Manson family. Much like theirs, the Firefly's is referred to in the newspaper as "The Trial of the Century." So in the fictitious world of Zombie's story, which transpires in 1988, 17 years after the trial of Manson and his murderous followers, which remains the trial of the 20th century in actuality, the Firefly's trial has in fact surpassed Manson's in terms of sensationalism and length. The concept of these three modern horror legends waking from their coma after 10 years and standing before a jury to discuss the lurid details of their heinous crimes is as stimulating as it is ridiculous. But surely Zombie will execute it in such a way that the technical impossibility of it all won't be a hindrance to enjoyment... right? Unfortunately, the auteur known for making bold narrative choices commits an unforgivable sin much greater than those of his onscreen sinners: he breezes through their so-called "trial of the century," reducing years' worth of highly publicized drama to scattered snippets of newsreel footage. Granted, the newsreel does contain the feel of the time period, intercutting shots of Otis and Baby talking to the press in the courtroom, expressing nary a scintilla of remorse or accountability, with interviews by everyday people inexplicably praising the killers as "martyrs to the youth," which makes no sense.

Clearly, Zombie has taken inspiration from the Manson family story throughout his entire filmmaking odyssey. It's written all over the DNA of over half his movies. And for the trial portion of his trilogy closer, that's just as much in evidence. During the Manson family trial, many misguided youths sided with the killers from outside the courtroom, hailing them as fighters against the corrupt system who stuck it to the one percent. Former members of the family still feel that way to this day, most notably Sandra Good, who remains a steadfast supporter of Manson vouching for his innocence in the murders of 1969. Here's the difference, though: Manson and his followers, particularly regarding the Tate-LaBianca murders for which they're most infamous, murdered wealthy white people. That makes it a little more understandable how naive imbeciles, especially those belonging to the poor and underprivileged class, could actually believe the killers committed a worthwhile deed. Also, the Vietnam War was transpiring on the opposite side of the country, broadcast on TV, filling people's screens and minds with images of bloodshed, inspiring rebellion from the youth who wanted to combat this ungodly evil with messages of peace and love. To many, these killings were nothing more than a reflection of the crimes perpetrated by our own U.S. government. After all, Manson was responsible for the deaths of nine people (ten if you include Sharon Tate's unborn son). How many died while serving in Vietnam? 

Zombie attempts to impart social commentary about the misguided affection we tend to place on serial killers by creating interviews with everyday people as deranged and delusional as the killers they're praising, if not more so. It doesn't quite come off because, in the context of the Firefly family, they didn't specifically target Caucasian members of the wealthy class. They abducted, tortured, molested, and butchered anyone with whom they came into contact, be it wannabe true crime authors in their late 20s, early 30s, middle-aged married couples in a band, a nurse driving down the street, police officers searching their premises, you name it. So what are these borderline psychotic morons rambling on about when they claim "They're cool, man. I think it's all a big conspiracy. They know that Captain Spaulding is the man, and they know that he knows what this country needs, you dig?" What on Earth did Spaulding do that could be considered beneficial to the country? How can this all be a conspiracy when a thousand corpses were literally discovered rotting in the crawlspace of their own farmhouse? "Spaulding says, 'Fuck you and your system. I'm in control,'" says another interviewee. To which I'd respond, "Say what?" The most bizarre part is when a woman, after conceding that Otis is "a bad man and he's done some bad things," openly insists she'd date him. I think even Sandra Good would accuse these people of acute insanity. There's no discernible reason for them to interpret the Fireflys' actions as anything more than senseless and wicked. They've even created the admittedly catchy mantra, "Free the Three!" which they vehemently chant to the cameras. Yeah, I'd love to see these delusional morons' reactions if they found out their "countercultural heroes" were being released from prison and just bought a house in one of their neighborhoods.

After rushing through what should have been the most spellbinding aspect of 3 from Hell, perfunctorily detailing the current realities of his unholy trinity, Zombie settles into his most uninspired plot to date. It's made abundantly clear that, after picking the silliest explanation for their resurrection and unleashing them from captivity, he has no idea where to take them or the story. The first 54 minutes represent the best 3 from Hell has to offer, reacquainting us with three of the greatest villains in modern horror and catching us up to speed on what their lives have been like over the last 14 years since we thought they met their fate. Zombie maintains a propulsive and energetic pace during this initial half as his antiheroes band together and strategize how to get their lives back together as a family (while stealing those of others along the way, naturally). 

The Harper household massacre is the highlight set piece of the movie, an atmospherically shot banquet of psychological torment and brutal violence, enlivened with a streak of macabre humor, evinced when Foxy sprinkles the ashes of Virgil's mother-in-law into the air before her hysterically crying daughter, Judy (Tracey A. Leigh), while taunting, "Fly away, Mama." All of which takes place on a stormy night, with the lights inside the home turned off and flashes of lightning penetrating the gloom. It's a suitably gruesome family reunion for the titular trinity, allowing them a cathartic release from the violence they've been holding in for the last 10 years of their incarceration. Following this showstopper, 3 from Hell loses a great deal of momentum, the siblings' indecision about where to go next reflecting Zombie's own about where to take his story and characters. 

In a moment of sly self-reflective commentary, while holed up in a motel to plan their next move, Foxy asks Otis, "I ain't looking to rain on this reunion parade, but what exactly is our next move?" to which Otis honestly replies, "Uh, I have no idea. Truthfully, I never thought we'd make it this far." It's safe to assume Zombie had this exact same conversation with himself during the screenwriting stage. So, after over a decade since his last entry in the Firefly saga to contemplate his next move, where does Zombie ultimately decide to transport his human monsters? Why, in the most conceptually uninteresting and aesthetically putrid setting one can conceive of, of course: Mexico. This is where 3 from Hell really runs afoul of pacing problems, as Zombie decides to have his trio attempt to shed their hunger for carnage in favor of laying low amid their surrounding Mexicans. For once, their goal is no longer to kill anyone in their sight, but rather to sip shots of Tequila, dance to psychedelic rock music, partake in machismo-testing knife-throwing competitions, and have sex with prostitutes. I gotta tell you: watching these once-appropriately named "devil's rejects" interact harmlessly and jovially with their neighbors is a hell of a lot less entertaining than them finding new and inventive ways to turn them into hollowed-out corpses. 

Seemingly aware that he's working from a screenplay that has no compelling reason to exist in the first place, Zombie falls back on a fail-proof method: rediscover the most important beats from his most revered movie and reheat them in the cinematic microwave. Once Otis and Baby escape captivity and re-enter the world with their new comrade, Zombie's story stagnates into a rehash of The Devil's Rejects: the standout Harper massacre, which emulates the Banjo & Sullivan slaughter at the Kahiki Palms Motel, complete with the laughably contrived cameo appearance of Clint Howard, who makes a literal clown of himself in an obligatory but grimly amusing evocation of Jimmy the rodeo; the trio's night of debauchery at the Mexican motel, emulating the original rejects' hideout at Charlie Altamont's brothel; and most egregiously of all, the last-minute introduction of Aquarius, whose long-term desire to avenge the televised murder of his father is a rote imitation of John Quincey Wydell's implacable quest for vengeance for the murder of his brother, George. Despite his sullen facial expression and solemn tone, Rivera lacks the palpable bloodthirsty intensity, gravel-voiced gravitas, and private sense of all-consuming grief that made William Forsythe's a three-dimensional portrayal of vigilante justice taken to the utmost. In short, Zombie loses his sense of direction post-jailbreak.

As hard as I'm justifiably being on the contrived setup and unoriginal narrative trajectory of Zombie's third installment in his Firefly franchise, there's a single saving grace that carries 3 from Hell through its rough patches and makes it a wickedly and wildly exhilarating ride for the majority of its 115-minute runtime: his knack for casting. Zombie was, is, and will always be a master caster, working with the best in the business from top to bottom. This is a man who knows how to prevent actors playing the smallest and most inconsequential roles from fading into the background, even if it's just by having a man portraying a member of a parole board hold a tissue against his nostril while addressing a prisoner. It's a weird choice, but you remember it. Naturally, you can't make a sequel to The Devil's Rejects without bringing back on board the rejects themselves. These characters are almost only as iconic and deliciously inhuman as they are because of the actors playing them, and the immensely talented trinity of Haig, Moseley, and Zombie do not know how to disappoint. These titans of terror slide back into the roles for which they will always be remembered most as though they were the comfiest sweater, one they had never taken off for 14 years.

When Zombie sat down to write his original script for 3 from Hell, his initial intention was for the title to indeed refer to the OG Devil's rejects: Spaulding, Otis, and Baby. Tragically, in early September 2019, Sid Haig, who will be forever immortalized as the most fearsome clown in horror this side of Tim Curry's Pennywise the Dancing Clown, took a nasty fall in his home and was hospitalized. While recovering, he contracted Aspergillus pneumonia after aspirating vomit in his sleep, passing away on September 21st at the age of 80, two years younger than his onscreen alter ego. Haig, ever the trooper prior to his passing, summoned every last ounce of what little strength he still had left in his gradually failing body to play Captain Spaulding one last time in what would be his final screen appearance. Out of necessity, Zombie was obligated to shoehorn in a new character to fill the large shoes worn by Haig, and thus, Winslow Foxworth Coltrane was born. (Another Zombie specialty: creating full names for his characters, even when not one of them is spoken aloud, like Sylvia Jefferies' Heather "Starship" Galen.) However, neither Zombie nor Haig was content to conclude this series without one final word from the killer clown, and man oh man, does Haig make the absolute most of his single parting scene! Fittingly, Spaulding's one and only scene is a final interview with an insecure journalist prior to his impending execution, seeking the truth of the man behind the greasepaint. With his emaciated face submerged beneath a gray beard, his weary eyes betraying a sickly man who's more than accepted his fate, Haig conveys a self-pitying bitterness toward the alleged injustice of society and a nearly homicidal impatience with the man pathetically trying to understand him. Once Spaulding lifts the figurative mask of world-weary fatigue and embraces the evil he's allowed to consume him, Haig widens his eyes and parts his lips in a grin to let out that infamous sadistic laugh for his last-ever shot, sending his eccentric killer clown out with an unforgettable bang. In the final onscreen words of the legend himself, "All hail the man behind the greasepaint!"

Of the three rejects from hell to have found their way back to life, none have experienced an epiphany from having received a taste of their own medicine at the merciless hand of their almost-killer, but Baby has undergone the closest thing to an internal transformation. Having spent every second of her incarceration in the restrictive and isolated environment of solitary confinement, she's nearly lost all contact with reality, reverting to a childlike state with an affinity for cats. (Where that last part came from is anyone's guess.) If this isn't the greatest performance submitted by Rob's glamorous wife and irreplaceable muse, it's without a doubt her most purely delectable. In all three entries in this gruesome trilogy, Sheri has presented a unique and distinguishable interpretation of Baby, the most proudly sadistic female villain in the world of horror cinema. In her first outing, she played Baby as a deceptively playful and highly sexualized damsel in distress, stuck in the rain, in need of a way back home, desperate for male companionship, childlike in her joy for human mutilation. In her second, she retained the disarming sexiness that effortlessly lures men into her web of torture, but exhibited a growth of maturity and intimidating authority. Less playing around this time. For her third and likely final outing, Sheri provides her most exuberantly unhinged performance to date, channeling former murderous Manson girls Susan Atkins and Leslie Van Houten circa 1969-1971 with a childlike interpretation of psychosis to illustrate Baby's severe psychological deterioration. For those who decried her ear-piercing guffaw in House of 1,000 Corpses and were happy to find it absent in The Devil's Rejects, I'm happy to report it's very much back in action in 3 from Hell, albeit in small doses with a more adult inflection. 

However, beneath that laugh of "isn't suffering hilarious?" lies a private despair born of loneliness and isolation, evinced in a rare moment of poignant vulnerability where Baby, resting in solitary, hallucinates a cat performing ballet for her. Once unleashed from her cage, Sheri, who looks as though she hasn't aged a day since we last saw her as Baby in 2005, returns to her old reliable bag of tricks, utilizing her God-given sex appeal to disarm an unlucky Sean Whalen, flashing her showstopper of a smile and suggestively fondling her long, curled blond hair. More crucially, she expresses a newfound brashness and reinvigorated, youthful sense of enthusiasm for the simple beauty of human freedom, exemplified by her stolen use of an Indian headdress that becomes her signature look for the second half of the movie. (Humorously, former horror film critic Heather Wixson expressed discomfort with Zombie's use of cultural appropriation in her review for Daily Dead. It's one thing if Baby gets her kicks out of chasing a bloodied, naked woman onto a street, pouncing on her, and stabbing her repeatedly in the chest and stomach with a hunting knife, but donning an artifact native to a culture other than her own? Now, that's just one step too far.)

Since his second to last time playing Otis, Bill Moseley has fully acquired the Jesus-like appearance of Charles Manson during his time in jail, making him the scariest-looking of the trio without a need for makeup. With his beard longer, heavier, and grayer than ever before, and his hair every bit as silvery and stringy, Moseley presents two different dimensions to Otis Driftwood. When filmed on camera for the world to witness, he cranks up the Manson-esque menace to 11, dishing out similarly incoherent yet blood-curdling pronouncements such as "The truth is a fucking knife: cuts deep and it cuts both ways. Which end of the buck knife are you holding? The handle or the blade?" His eyes glint diabolically as he stares directly into the camera after feigning self-pity and declares, "Hello, America. Did you miss me? I am Satan's destroyer. I am the eternal flame of salvation burning through your life, your liberty, and your pursuit of fucking happiness. I suggest you get ready to burn, motherfucker." Despite the unmistakable authority with which he utters these self-congratulating pronouncements, there's a performative quality to the words themselves, much as there was with Manson's himself. Surely, this can't be the real Otis Driftwood, and surely enough, it's revealed to be more or less a facade for the terrified spectators watching at home on TV. This is the sensational boogeyman persona he's presenting to the public, same as Manson did from behind bars. During his time out of jail prior to his final arrest, when recruiting and dazzling his followers, Manson wasn't ranting and raving like the lunatic we see on YouTube. He was charming, soft-spoken, perceptive, and impish. That's what drew these young lost souls into his deceitful orbit, unaware of where he was leading them.

Off-camera, Moseley presents a far more laid-back side to Otis than we've ever seen before, one who actually elicits chuckles from his frequently dry line delivery, and assumes an almost paternal fatigue, having grown exhausted from so much time on the road, evading capture and nearly staring death straight in the face. Where he was once screaming obscenities at his baby sister and refusing to buy her a cone of ice cream, now Otis spends days on end dreaming up a way to reunite with her, taking two couples hostage for the sole purpose of ensuring her freedom. Once the mission's accomplished, he takes on the role of a frustrated father figure for both Baby and Foxy, exhibiting more patience and less of a temper. This is the least scary version of Otis, but Moseley still invests him with the devilish charisma of an actor who understands this monster inside and out. 

Coming off his standout performance as Doom-Head, the primary antagonist of Zombie's previous Halloween-set slasher, 31, in which he ironically spent the majority of his screen time covered facially in greasepaint, it was only logical that Richard Brake would be selected to fill the shoes of the inimitable Sid Haig, a daunting task that he handles with aplomb and easygoing grace. Make no mistake: there will never be a replacement for the one and only Captain Spaulding. The cocktail of clownish buffoonery and heart-stopping menace that Haig brought to the role, which could manifest in the same scene, could never be recaptured or surpassed by anyone, no matter how talented. Fortunately, Winslow Coltrane isn't written to be a carbon copy of the captain. Even though Rob wrote the character as a last-minute substitute for Haig upon realizing the gravity of his situation and the reality of his physical restrictions, he didn't play it cheap by making his new addition to the Firefly team another clown. Foxy is his own character, and Brake inserts himself seamlessly into the trio. He fits in with Moseley and Zombie effortlessly.

The nature of his character sounds about as last-minute as it actually was: the long-lost half-brother of Otis who was never seen or mentioned at any point in either of the last two films. Nevertheless, from the second Brake, ahem, breaks onto the scene, there's no question he belongs in this twisted family of nihilistic sadists. He establishes an unforced, relaxed rapport with both of his co-stars (one of whom he spent his last Zombie movie terrorizing to the final scene), but it's in his scenes opposite Moseley where the modern go-to for horror villains truly shines brightest. These two bearded degenerates share such a natural brotherly chemistry that their dialogue frequently comes across as improvisational, especially at the motel where they converse about the possibility of starting a career in the porn industry. When Moseley bursts out laughing at the sound of Brake's idea for a plot, it feels spontaneous and unscripted, like two best friends amusing each other during some downtime. Same goes for the brother-sister interplay between Moseley and Zombie, which involves more play-fighting and less contentious, expletive-laden vulgarity than in their middle outing. 

At one point, while Baby and Otis are lounging in their Mexican motel room, Baby experiences a brief spell of doubt and melancholy, asking Otis if it's even worth it anymore, saddened by the loss of all their other relatives. "Yeah, that's the past," Otis matter-of-factly states. "I mean, the two of us. That's the future." All of a sudden, these soulless purveyors of mayhem are dipping their dirtied toes in philosophy. It's in this scene where Brake peels back the layers in his character and unveils a cool but clear desire for acceptance within the family unit. True to his title as the midnight wolf man, Brake sporadically utters a howl of triumph in moments when appropriate, whether slitting the throat of a woman who insulted his ego, busting his big brother out of jail and taking out an entire chain gang in the process, or to boost the morale of his two favorite people. When in the presence of Otis, Brake has a tendency to become more docile like an actual little brother, backing down quickly in a frivolous argument about which of them would be Bogart in a hostage situation, and smiling with pride at the sight of his older brother smashing a man's skull with the butt of a gun. If ever a new Nightmare on Elm Street movie should enter production, I'd endorse Brake for the role of Freddy Krueger in a heartbeat.

As Baby's primary guard and archnemesis, Greta, Dee Wallace is remarkably unrecognizable, with her hair cut in a boyish brown crop, her nose swathed in a bandage for the majority of her limited screen time, and her eyes protected by a pair of glasses. Usually known for playing benevolent mothers who ooze warmth, Wallace is finally given the latitude to dip her toes in the pool of borderline villainy. As Greta, Wallace paints an intriguingly conflicted psychological portrait of a miserable, lonely woman torn between wanting to break her target in half and release her pent-up sexual passion on her. She conveys a captivating mix of intense loathing and barely containable lust for Baby, this internal battle never more evident than when she stares at Baby from behind the window of her cell, listening to Baby ruthlessly dissect her unspoken, repressed sexual fantasy with taunting accuracy. Tears well in her eyes as her tongue struggles to protrude from her mouth, praying for the courage to slam the window shut and keep this godforsaken lesbian crush at bay. For retribution for her broken nose, Greta releases Baby from solitary and locks her in a cage to be crippled by two of the most violent female inmates in the prison. Upon seeing the backfiring of this plan, Greta can't decide whether she's horrified by the grisly display before her, impressed by Baby's strength and survival instinct, or flat-out aroused. More could have been done with this complex relationship and the shifting power struggle between these headstrong women.

Jeff Daniel Phillips has been a regular collaborator with Zombie since his dual role in Halloween 2, and in his previous two, The Lords of Salem and 31, he played a best friend and unadmitted love interest to Sheri Moon's characters. In 3 From Hell, Zombie cleverly flips the script by making their characters' relationship adversarial. Phillips and Zombie are given two intimate scenes to interact privately, but there's no underlying sense of romance between them for a change. Virgil is the warden who can make life for Baby even more of a living hell than it already is, and isn't above flaunting that fact if he needs to extract information from her. Even without the romantic element, there's still a degree of playfulness and comfortability between them, the kind that stems from years of making movies together.

Unfortunately for Phillips, Rob has saddled him with his most aggressively unlikable character yet, an arrogant cokehead who dogmatically barks orders at his subordinates, has a large picture of himself on his wall, and, on the side, cheats on his wife with a sergeant, who also happens to be black. (Clearly, Virg has a type.) It's as if Rob is going out of his way to make his audience despise Virgil and salivate for his impending death, a common horror cliche I'd be happy to have banished. Even worse than making him unfaithful and self-obsessed, Rob makes Virgil extremely unintelligent as well. When Otis orders him to go into his office, call in for a guard uniform, call in Baby, dress her in the uniform, sneak her out of the prison, and drive her to his home where she can be reunited with her brothers, this blockhead actually complies with every last detail. He's granted the freedom to leave his home and drive to work, while Otis and Foxy remain in his house with his wife, best friend, and best friend's wife bound and wounded. Does Virg utilize this perfect opportunity to inform the police and covertly bring them to his house so that his loved ones stand a chance at being rescued? Does he actually believe Otis and Foxy will let them all go free just as soon as he walks through the front door with Baby behind him? Regarding the second question, the answer is, frustratingly enough, yes. Maybe that's why it's not a prudent idea to snort a mound of coke during a period of stress (or ever, for that matter).

Aside from Judy Harper and Heather Galen, the wife of Virgil's co-worker and best friend, Gerard James (fellow 31 co-star, Kevin Jackson), both of whom submit strong, emotional performances in the thankless roles of two ill-fated damsels in distress, the only major sympathetic character is Sebastian, played with beautiful, heartbreaking understatement and modesty by Pancho Moler. The last time we saw Moler, it was in 31, his first collaboration with Zombie in which he played the first killer clown unleashed upon the unlucky fresh batch of contestants, a Spanish-speaking Nazi nicknamed Sick-Head. Standing at a meager 4 feet 6 inches tall, with an eye patch over his right eye, Moler instantly catches the attention and melts the heart as Sebastian, the mistreated assistant of motel owner Carlos (Richard Edson) whose height is as low as his self-esteem. Even though Carlos belittles him as ugly as a monster (but "gentle as a baby rattlesnake"), to the point where Sebastian even believes himself to be "horrible," Zombie and Moler treat him with dignity. Aside from working full-time as an assistant who helps guests bring in their possessions, Sebastian is an artist who paints on his spare time and, once acquainted with Baby, sketches her in his sketchbook while she dances. In what is by far the most heartfelt scene in a film that ironically thrives on heartlessness, Sebastian brings Baby breakfast in her room and she asks him to join her. After she compliments him on a joke and compares his "vibe" to that of her late brother, Tiny (the two being on the opposite side of the height spectrum), Moler uses his one available eye to silently communicate a profound appreciation and deep-seated longing for love. Once the Black Satans arrive to execute the three from hell, Sebastian bravely risks and ultimately sacrifices his own life to save theirs, particularly Baby's. He may be off-putting to the eye, but Sebastian is a truly beautiful human being who deserves a better life than the one he's been handed.

Not so beautiful, in terms of aesthetics, activities, or the behavior of most of the inhabitants, is Zombie's portrayal of Mexico, which is as culturally insensitive and visually grimy as one might reasonably expect from the gore-happy filmmaker. Apart from the blazing sun that shines through the windows, there's nothing in the production design or the cinematography by David V. Daniel that will entice audiences to someday book a visit to Mexico. At least in the world of 3 from Hell, here are snippets of Zombie's interpretation: snakes slither across the trash-littered street, fire ants emerge from or crawl back into the ant hills, people urinate openly and proudly in the street, Baby gargles with Tequila and spits it onto her motel room floor, unattractive prostitutes throw themselves at random men, Otis, after having sex with two of them, gets up to urinate in a corner of the room, for fun, the men partake in the aforementioned knife-throwing contest to show off and compare their machismo, and arguably least disgusting of all, rice and beans constitute all three daily meals. As Baby sarcastically observes, "Beautiful." 

When I first saw 3 from Hell in theaters, when the movie ended, it was followed by a making-of documentary, in which I recall Zombie expressing disapproval and low-key disgust of filmmakers who zoom in on their actors' faces so intimately that you can practically count their nose hairs. Quite an ironic statement from a man who literally does just that in this very movie, with DP Daniel filming his actors in extreme close-ups, highlighting Baby's perpetually begrimed feet and, most frequently, the faces of nearly every last onscreen participant. For the most part, there's little artistic merit to this technique, apart from binding us further to the characters, but when Zombie wants to zero in on the psychological suffering of victims like Judy and Heather, it's an effective and compassionate choice.

When Daniel has the most fun with his camera occurs during the derivative dance party at the bar. As the titular trio dances the night away, swallowed up by dazzling, psychedelic colors, their reflections split their bodies in two, as if they're dancing literally with themselves, before other characters join in the frame and their bodies appear to meld into one another's, set to the trippy jam of James Gang's "From Another Time." 

Speaking of the song choices, Zombie returns to the well he tapped in his previous entry, augmenting the actions and appearances of his antiheroes with a high-energy rock soundtrack consisting of lots of Gang and Terry Reid. Zombie often combines his rock songs with slow motion to the effect of celebrating his vile protagonists. For example, take Baby's climactic reintroduction: as she exits her cell and makes her way down the hall to her parole hearing, accompanied by her guards, Zombie accentuates her long-awaited return with Suzi Quatro's "The Wild One." Now, Zombie is a smart filmmaker. He's aware of how evil and despicable these characters are. At no point does he treat them as anything more noble, or dare ask us to sympathize with them. At the same time, he knows how much his fans adore them for precisely how irredeemably evil they are, and he makes it a point to present them in a glorifying style befitting their 14-year hiatus. Notably, this is the only entry in the Firefly trilogy in which Moon Zombie gets to keep her clothes on, but that doesn't stop Rob from reminding the male viewer that, physically, she's still got it. Toward the end, Zombie plays "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" by Iron Butterfly while Baby dances sexily in her motel room for Sebastian while he sketches her, intercut with the arrival of the Black Satans outside. In an homage to the double homicide of Don Willis and Officer Naish in House of 1,000 Corpses, Zombie films Heather Galen's daytime butchering in dread-soaked slow motion, accompanied by the contrastingly jaunty Southern tune of "It's a Sin to Tell a Lie" by Slim Whitman, who also sung "I Remember You" in the previous set piece.

For a Rob Zombie slasher, the violence in 3 from Hell is surprisingly tame compared to his previous projects, in which the simple nick of a finger can provide an outpouring of pitch-black blood. However, Zombie reserves his most appalling imagery for the more gruesome and entertaining first half before losing direction in the second. Some of the kills occur off-screen, while others are filmed in such a choppy manner that it's impossible to discern the details. The worst example of the latter occurs when Baby finds herself locked in a cage with two violent female inmates, nicknamed "Slackjaw" (Dot-Marie Jones) and "Poker" (Alicia Adams), sent by Greta to cripple her. As soon as the women execute their assault, DP Daniel's camera suffers an uncontrollable seizure, rendering the action utterly incomprehensible. Making matters worse is the fact that editor Glenn Garland intercuts the fight with close-ups of Wallace smoking a cigarette and licking her lips. Zombie's intent is not hard to suss: he wants to put us in Greta's cocky perspective, deceiving us into believing that Baby is getting the living daylights beaten out of her, only to pull the rug out and reveal that she gained the upper hand. But other than Greta, who is he fooling? Anyone who knows Baby, and that would make up the majority of his audience, can predict who will be the last woman standing. 

Aside from that shaky set piece, Zombie understands how to stage a murder and pack a punch, even if the money shot occurs out of frame. Take the scene with married couple Tony (Bill Oberst Jr.) and Nebraska (Lucinda Jenney, Bill Moseley's wife). As they aim their rifles at Foxy, elated at the prospect of turning him in for a profit, Foxy distracts Tony with a hypothetical sexual scenario, stalling for time until Otis arrives and blows Tony's head off. Only the shooting isn't graphically depicted; instead, we hear a loud bang accompanied by the splattering of blood on one side of Nebraska's face. As Nebraska pleads for her life, Otis removes a hunting knife from her sheath and asks if it's sharp, insisting she doesn't want to know why. Garland then cuts to the aftermath of her murder, showcasing the grisliest double image in the movie: Jenney's face suspended from a tree like a mask (reminiscent of Lew Temple's face mask in The Devil's Rejects), followed by a close-up of Jenney's skinned face as she lies slowly dying against another tree, blood pouring out of her mouth. In a sequence modeled after Baby's flirtatious ambush of Roy Sullivan in Rejects, Baby flirts with Sean Whalen's motel patron, Burt Willie, at a soda machine. After gleefully revealing her identity, much to Burt's shock, she pulls out Nebraska's knife and tells him she wants to party, to which he nervously replies, "I don't." Garland awkwardly cuts away to an interaction between Otis and Foxy in their motel room, displaying the aftermath in a cutaway shot that's more darkly comedic than terrifyingly repulsive: Whalen slumped against the soda machine with Baby's grape soda in his hand, x's carved on his eyelids, his throat slashed, the word "grape" carved across his forehead, and the phrase "Baby was here" written in blood on the soda machine. 

Once the Black Satans arrive in the final reel to take out the trio from hell, Zombie attempts to build suspense by cutting between close-ups of Baby's focused eyes as she crouches in a corner and readies her bow and arrow, and a door slowly opening, but because Aquarius and his henchmen are so anonymous and shoehorned into the climax, not to mention the inevitability of Baby's triumph, it falls flat. After slinging an arrow through a henchman's neck, Baby takes out her hunting knife and begins stabbing him repeatedly in the chest and stomach. Rather than show the blade penetrating his flesh, Zombie merely repeats the motion of Baby thrusting her knife in and out of his body in slow motion. Other henchmen are ambushed and defeated in a blandly repetitive manner, with Baby successfully firing an arrow through their faces or necks, causing blood to squirt out. It's violent, but not especially squirm-inducing or imaginative coming from the man who produced arguably the most sickening and grotesque horror film I've ever seen. 

When Foxy and Baby are finally captured and tied up for bait, 3 from Hell degenerates into a moronic machete fight to the death between Otis and one of Aquarius' masked henchmen. Zombie flatly fails to generate tension in this climax because there's no sense of danger for Baby or Foxy. To entice Otis to come out and face him, Aquarius shoots Foxy in the shoulder, to which Foxy exhibits zero pain. Other than that, he and Baby merely spend the confrontation tied together back to back. It's the most perfunctory and bloodless rip-off of The Devil's Rejects' far more viscerally gratifying climax. At least that had the courage of its convictions, unafraid to let Forsythe's Wydell purge himself of his contempt for his brother's killers using innovative methods for torture. The machete battle between Otis and his rival is choppily edited, the only injury they appear to be inflicting on each other being a slash to the arm. Big deal. As for the ending, in which the trio predictably gains the upper hand on Aquarius, it's fairly satisfying on a basic visceral level, but as the closing chapter of this franchise that had no business reviving itself after the masterful second installment, it lacks definitiveness. If this is the best Rob could come up with for an unlikely continuation of his human monsters' journey, I'm ready to see them drive straight into the pit of Hell and stay there for good.

6.2/10