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(A) When he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, a small thorn emerges from its tip and secretes a liquid.

BLUE NOTEBOOK, PAGE 91

(1) Extended arm

(2) Fist turns, arm shrinks.

Wrist changes position.

Natural “hinge” instead of a common human elbow.

(3) Pupil activates reptilian membrane in his eye

When the pupil dilates, a second eyelid slides up over the eye.

* Somebody tells him something tragic about his worst enemy and when he is alone: “THAT’S NICE”

• GDT: Now these pages [above, left, and opposite] are full of notes on vampirism that make it all the way to Blade II and The Strain. The stinger, the nictating membrane. It’s funny. These were done in ’93, years and years and years before. I write, “When he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, a small thorn emerges from its tip and secretes a liquid.” When I was a kid, I had a fascination with the origins of vampirism, and in eastern Europe, the vampire, the strigoi, have a stinger under the tongue.

MSZ: So you were actually designing your vampires back in 1993 in these drawings?

GDT: Yeah, yeah. These were ideas I couldn’t put in Cronos. I was making an inventory of vampiric stuff. Then this idea of the tumor, like a parasitic heart growing in the human heart, came to me at some point. My thought was, “Okay, how does it actually happen?” A vampire bites you, the virus spreads, parasitic organs grow next to your heart. They suffocate the heart. The patient dies, and then the vampiric heart starts beating and the vampire wakes up. That idea gave birth to The Strain.

Del Toro wanted Damaskinos (Thomas Kretschmann), the vampire king, to have cracked, white-blue skin,

• MSZ: So then we come to this illustration [opposite] of Damaskinos, the vampire king.

GDT: The idea here with Damaskinos was an exploration in color. Back then, I wanted to evoke a guy that looks like he’s from a Bruegel painting—like an aristocrat from the Renaissance. And the idea of the skin being made of cracked white-blue marble? Like, see the striations of the marble? It’s a demonstration of how old he is, and it comes from Cronos. I tried it first in Cronos, but the makeup was not good enough. And I tried it again here, and guess what? The makeup was not good enough again. I tried it yet again in Hellboy II with Prince Nuada. I think that came out decent. It was not marble by then; it was ivory. I’m bound to try it again.

MSZ: And then there’s a halo, almost like a saint.

GDT: I was trying to evoke wall portraiture, so I wrote some fake Latin, too. Completely fake.

MSZ: And the notes you have along the periphery about 1930s motion detectors, a body that twitches and then appears to come alive, but that is really covered with squids. What was that for?

GDT: Well, that is all in Mountains. In a way. Not all of it, but some of it. The 1930s motion detectors are a good idea. [laughs]

An idea he had been toying with since Cronos.
NOTEBOOK 3, PAGE 33 B

– Cannibalistic squids in the whole torso of a victim. Animals are a part of a cave’s texture (walls).

– They see the body twitch and the think: ALIVE!!… but when they turn it, it’s covered with “squids”

– 1930’s motion detectors for the ice—

It is both sad, sad and very apparent that in this, the “age of communication” no one calls.

– Dead animals in a circle

– Under the ice chase w/ gun to take a breath

– In Hellboy, we’ll use grays, blues, greens, etc., and except for Chinatown, things Nazi, and Hellboy himself, we won’t use reds

– Diagonal beams “a la” Piranesi.

– A man is dismembering a corpse. Someone knocks at the door. He wants to speak with the man’s wife to sell her a vacuum cleaner. NOT TODAY. NOT A GOOD DAY. DAMASKINOS ON THE BLADE II POST 1/21/02.

HELLBOY

Page from Rasputin’s journal by Mike Mignola.
Storyboard panel of Sammael by Simeon Wilkins.
Drawing of Hellboy by Mike Mignola given to del Toro when wrapping Hellboy preproduction.
Sculpture depicting Hellboy’s confrontation with the Behemoth.
Rasputin (Karel Roden), flanked by Ilsa (Biddy Hodson) and Kroenen (Ladislav Beran).
Storyboard panel of Abe Sapien by Simeon Wilkins.
Concept of a young Hellboy by Wayne Barlowe.
Sammael sculpture by Spectral Motion.

AT ONE POINT, I was going to do Mimic, and Jim Cameron said, ‘Aren’t you afraid people will pigeonhole you as a horror director?’” Guillermo recalls. “I said, ‘I’d love that!’”

Artist and writer Mike Mignola—the creator of the Hellboy comic book series—is a kindred spirit, someone who happily let his passion for horror tropes define his place in the world of comic books. “I’ve just always liked monsters,” Mignola said in a 2012 podcast interview with Geek’s Guide to the Galaxy. “Since I was a little kid, it was always the thing I found interesting. It’s always what I wanted to draw. It’s always what I wanted to read.”

In the same interview, Mignola recalled how he came up with the comic’s eponymous character. “I’d made some noise about creating my own comic. I’d been working for Marvel and DC for ten years, had done a little bit of everything…. The more I thought about it, the more I really wanted to draw just what I wanted to draw, and the only name I’d ever come up with was Hellboy.”

Mignola added, “For whatever reason, the comic… appealed to a broader audience maybe than a lot of the regular comics I was doing. And then certainly you’ve got to give a lot of credit to the movie. I got really lucky that a very, very talented director happened to be a fan of the comic.”

Harlan Ellison has said that everything a writer writes, whether fiction or nonfiction, is ultimately autobiography, and this is certainly true of Guillermo’s approach to writing and filmmaking. The reason he was drawn to Hellboy was that he saw himself in this ungainly, unlikely superhero, this extraordinary outsider, this child-man striving to find a place for himself in a world ill-suited to his dimensions and diversions. Not for Guillermo were Batman or Superman, those oddballs who nevertheless so successfully imitate normal men. Hellboy, on the other hand, someone who lacks that ability, was a perfect fit.

From the start, Guillermo brought Mignola in to work closely with him on the movie’s design and story elements, but nonetheless Guillermo felt free to deviate from Mignola’s comic book to explore issues that were personally important. “Even though they both arrived on Earth in the forties, somehow del Toro’s Hellboy is still a lovesick teenager,” Mignola explains. “My Hellboy is modeled on my father in some way, a guy who’s been in the Korean War, and he’s traveled and he’s done a lot of stuff, and he’s kind of got a ‘been there, done that’ attitude. He’s been in the world. And del Toro’s change was to have Hellboy bottled up in a room and mooning over the girl he can’t have. My Hellboy, there were just no girl problems. That element of the character was completely not in the comic.”

As with Blade II, Guillermo realized that he wanted to craft a film that would appeal to a particular aspect of himself: the eight-year-old boy inside. That meant that Hellboy would be excessive, he explains, “in the way that a gold-leaf-covered Baroque church in Mexico is excessive. The whole statement is excess. And if you know me, and you know my life, and you know my house, I’m not exactly going for the Zen stuff. So the two Hellboys are very excessive.”

Hellboy’s excessiveness extended in particular to the color palette, with no apologies. Visually, Guillermo notes, “the films I’m the proudest of are the Hellboys, because I don’t care if people like them or not, I just think they are absolutely beautiful to look at.”

Not every bold idea planned for Hellboy made it into the final 2004 film. “Originally, the idea for Hellboy was that the whole movie was going to be told with When Harry Met Sally–type of interviews,” Guillermo explains. “So people would be saying, ‘I saw Hellboy over here. I saw him jump,’ and a kid saying, ‘I saw him on the rooftop.’ Now everybody does it, but back then it was 1997, ’98, and I thought that was a great idea. That was the first thing we cut out of the shooting schedule because [the studio executives] didn’t understand it.”

Even after being narratively domesticated, Hellboy provided fertile ground to plant seeds from earlier unmade projects. In the notebook pages, we see Guillermo drawing heavily on design elements from his unrealized film adaptations of At the Mountains of Madness (from the novel by H. P. Lovecraft), Mephisto’s Bridge (from the novel Spanky by Christopher Fowler), and The Left Hand of Darkness (a version of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas).

In Hellboy’s villain Kroenen (Ladislav Beran), the steampunk aesthetic of The Left Hand of Darkness was given a Third Reich twist. The studies Guillermo created for Mephisto’s Bridge yielded Kroenen’s face, devoid of eyelids and lips. And from the nightmarish Old Ones of At the Mountains of Madness, Hellboy’s demon Sammael (Brian Steele) was birthed.

Amid simulated blood splotches and arcane symbols reminiscent of Lovecraft’s Necronomicon, Guillermo explored design elements for all Hellboy’s main characters. He was particularly intent on rendering both Hellboy (Ron Perlman) and his sidekick Abe Sapien (Doug Jones) vivid and—for all their peculiarities—human. Most notably, Guillermo strove to evolve Hellboy from the creature Mignola devised into something Ron Perlman could play, drawing him as a hundred-year-old Victorian, an elegant creation in long pants, or cloaking him in a U.S. Civil War–style leather coat. He wrote in the notebook’s margin: “Hellboy has lots of cats running around everywhere.” All these embellishments, Guillermo relates, were “my ways of finding Ron in there.”

Many of the notebook’s concepts made it into the film, while others were abandoned due to budgetary concerns, production logistics, or in the interest of gaining a PG-13 rating. In one case, though, Guillermo jettisoned a fish mouth intended for Abe Sapien because a horrified Mignola offered to give him any four original Hellboy comic panels if he would abandon the notion.

In the end, Hellboy shares the signature trait of all Guillermo’s English-language, studio-sponsored films—Guillermo himself, who throws his entire self into every film wholeheartedly. “Everything about me is consistent,” he observes. “People have a saying in Mexico, ‘The way you eat is the way you dance, the way you dance is the way you fuck,’ and you continue like that.

“I haven’t made eight movies. I’m trying to make a single movie made of all those movies. To me, it’s like Bleak House. I’m building room by room, and you have to take it as a whole in a way. Does that mean that maybe Devil’s Backbone and Pan’s Labyrinth make Mimic a little less terrible? I think so. Or the echoes of those may make Blade II more interesting? I think so.

“The one thing I can say is that, inarguably, I may go three, four years without shooting a movie here or there, but everything I’ve done I’ve done on my own terms. I’ve never had to stray from what I believe is right.”