Alright, so let’s talk about this whole Hellboy situation. You know, the big, red, horny devil dude with the… well, you know. We’ve had him on screen a couple of times, and for a good chunk of us, our mental image of Hellboy is permanently ™️ branded by the glorious, creature-filled, and surprisingly emotional universe Guillermo del Toro cooked up. Those movies? They were like a warm, fiery hug from a demon you actually liked. Ron Perlman as Hellboy was basically the dad everyone wished they had, if their dad had a tail and a penchant for punching Nazis and otherworldly beasts.
And then… poof. Along came the 2019 reboot. And this reboot, bless its heart, seemed to have one mission statement: "Forget Everything You Just Saw." It was like your new neighbor moving in and immediately painting over your favorite mural with beige. Not that beige is bad, per se, but it’s definitely not… you know, Hellboy.
The del Toro films were, and I’m not exaggerating here, a masterclass in creature design. We’re talking about an octopus man named Abe Sapien who could probably write poetry, and Liz Sherman, who could spontaneously combust like a poorly planned barbecue. They had heart. They had a sense of wonder. They made you believe that a giant, fiery demon could have daddy issues and a soft spot for kittens (or at least, the idea of kittens).
The 2019 version, however, went for a different vibe. Think less cozy café chat with a demon, and more… well, imagine your least favorite uncle trying to be cool at a rave. It was violent. It was gritty. It was trying so hard to be edgy, it probably strained a muscle. And while I appreciate a good dose of grit, sometimes it feels like they mistook "gritty" for "needs more gratuitous gore and questionable CGI."
Here’s the thing: del Toro’s Hellboy wasn’t afraid to be a little silly. He was a hero, yes, but he was also a guy who enjoyed a good cigar and a bit of banter. He was relatable, in a very… infernal sort of way. The reboot, on the other hand, seemed to be channeling a perpetually scowling teenager who just discovered heavy metal and thinks anything without a death count is boring. It was all about making Hellboy look tough, which, let’s be honest, a giant red demon with horns pretty much already is. He doesn't need to grunt menacingly at every single thing that moves.
And the supporting cast! Selma Blair’s Liz Sherman? A beacon of fiery, conflicted humanity. Doug Jones’ Abe Sapien? A gentle soul in a bizarre package. These characters were as crucial to the magic as Hellboy himself. They were the family he didn't get to choose but desperately needed. The reboot? It felt like it was trying to shed that baggage, like a snake shedding its skin, but forgot to leave behind the good bits. We got new characters, sure, but they didn't quite have that same lived-in, slightly melancholic charm. It was like going from your favorite, slightly worn-out sweater to a brand-new, itchy polyester monstrosity.
The plot of the del Toro films, while fantastical, had a certain grounded emotional core. Hellboy grappling with his destiny, his adoptive father’s love, his own desires… it resonated. The reboot’s plot? It was a bit of a whirlwind. Lots of demons, lots of fighting, and a whole lot of “what’s going on?” It felt less like a carefully crafted story and more like a video game boss rush. And while I'm not saying I don't enjoy a good boss rush, sometimes I want a narrative that doesn't require a flowchart and a degree in demonology to follow.
Let’s not even get started on the tone. Del Toro’s Hellboy had this wonderful balance of dark fantasy and genuine warmth. You’d be watching a terrifying battle one minute, and then Hellboy would be making a surprisingly insightful comment about the human condition the next. It was sophisticated, in a way. The reboot felt like it was trying to be edgy for the sake of edginess. Think less thoughtful introspection, more: “RAAAARGH! I’m a demon, and I punch things!” Which, again, is fine, but it’s not exactly groundbreaking.
It’s almost as if the reboot’s creators looked at the del Toro movies and thought, "Hmm, people liked the demon part. Let's just crank that up to eleven and forget about the parts that made people care about the demon." It was like trying to make a gourmet meal by just adding more chili powder. You get heat, sure, but you lose all the subtle flavors.
And the CGI! Oh, the CGI. While the reboot clearly had a bigger budget for visual effects, sometimes it felt like they were trying to recreate the magic of del Toro’s practical effects with digital wizardry. And let me tell you, there’s a certain charm to a creature that’s actually there, wobbling slightly under the lights. The reboot’s CGI could be a bit too slick, a bit too perfect, losing that tangible, almost puppet-like quality that made the del Toro creatures so endearing. It was like comparing a beautifully crafted stop-motion animation to a perfectly rendered, but ultimately soulless, video game cutscene.
Now, before anyone comes at me with pitchforks and flaming torches (fitting, I know), I’m not saying the 2019 reboot was objectively terrible. It had its moments, and David Harbour did his best with what he was given. But the problem is that it felt like it was actively trying to erase the memory of the del Toro films. It was the cinematic equivalent of showing up to a meticulously planned wedding and immediately announcing, "Okay, forget all that; this is how you really party!"
The del Toro Hellboy movies are still out there, mind you. They’re like that beloved, comfy pair of slippers you can always rely on. The reboot? It’s more like that trendy new pair of sneakers that look cool for a bit but are ultimately uncomfortable and a bit… much. It’s a stark reminder that sometimes, trying too hard to be different can make you forget what made the original special in the first place. And for fans of the original, that’s a missed opportunity that’s harder to swallow than a plate of demon eyeballs.
