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HELLBOY

Yet another movie made from a dark comic book (sorry, “graphic novel”) hardly seems likely to afford much pleasure, but Guillermo Del Toro shows how it should be done; Mike Mignola’s Dark House series is reportedly one of the director’s favorites, and his adaptation proves the rare labor of love that should both satisfy die-hard fans and excite newcomers as well. “Hellboy” is about a horned, red-faced son of Satan (Ron Perlman, looking as though he’s wearing garb left over from Tim Curry’s demonic turn in Ridley Scott’s “Legend,” though this demon grinds down his antler-like horns to mere nubs in an effort to “fit in”) who’s gone good and fights Evil under the tutelage of a grizzled, professorial type (John Hurt), the head of a secret FBI appendage called the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense. Just think of “X-Men” with a different sort of mutant or “Angel” with an ugly anti-hero instead of a pretty one and you’ll have some idea of the template that’s being followed here.

But “Hellboy” is hardly a simple copy of anything, and Del Toro’s filmization of it is happily different from the run-of-the-mill comic movies that have proliferated of late. It’s hardly a serious piece; rather, like the best comics, it combines amusing absurdities with a world just real enough to be recognizable, and adds to the mix plenty of good jokes in the dialogue and situations to brighten the dark ambience. Thus we find a plethora of disparate elements that include not only a scarlet demon but a repeatedly resurrected Rasputin, a clique of Nazi officers involved in the occult, a near-immortal faceless Gestapo ghoul equipped with long knives that are wielded in kung-fu style, a good-natured version of the gill man from “The Creature from the Black Lagoon,” some squishy lion-like monsters spawned from a bottle of salt long concealed in a statue of Dionysius the Areopagite (!), a doorway to hell, and what appears to be a giant, drooling land squid sent from Hades to begin the apocalypse. As if all this weren’t enough, there’s a romantic triangle involving Hellboy, a young FBI agent named Myers (the likable Rupert Evans), and a pyrokinetic young woman (Selma Blair), in which Hellboy’s jealousy is played (quite successfully) for comic relief; a typically officious FBI head (Jeffrey Tambor, who makes the fellow’s preening self-importance amusing); and even a skeletal Russian corpse that’s disinterred by Hellboy to provide information on the location of a mausoleum in a Moscow cemetery–a character that, contrary to all expectations, is very funny in a haunted horse sort of way. And, as topping to it all, there are plenty of big, elaborately staged fight scenes, done up in true comic-book fashion, with pulverizing blows, collapsing walls and long, humorously extended reactions from the unfortunate recipients of the punches.

With all of this going on, it’s nearly impossible to summarize the narrative (or, perhaps, even to understand it all, unless you’ve an aficionado of the books). After a 1944 prologue in which the young Professor Broom (played by Kevin Trainor at this stage), President Roosevelt’s paranormal advisor, foils an effort by Rasputin and the Nazis to open a portal to hell, he discovers that the impish hellboy has passed into the world in the process. Broom adopts the demon tyke and raises him to become the chief agent of the FBI’s B.P.R.D., a Sasquatch-like figure sent out to deal with unexplained phenomena using both his fists (his oversized right hand looks like a big red mallet) and huge guns when necessary, always quipping along the way (and occasionally glimpsed by civilians, to the delight of supermarket tabloids). He’s accompanied by gill-man Abe Sapien (acted in heavy makeup by Doug Jones, but voiced with impeccable comic timing by David Hyde Pierce) whenever necessary, and pines away for Liz Sherman (Blair), who’s locked herself up in a mental hospital to deal with her unwanted powers. At the very moment when Broom has discovered he’s terminally ill and chosen Myers as his replacement, a dangerous challenge emerges, in the form of monsters unleashed by the revived Rasputin to serve as bait to lure Hellboy, after a whole series of encounters and fights, to an underground Russian cavern where the Mad Monk needs him to unlock the door that will unleash the destruction of the earth.

The cast plays this material with precisely the right blend of tongue-in-cheek seriousness. Perlman, who’s always looked good in heavy monster makeup, is hilariously hard-boiled as Hellboy, and he pulls off some charming change-of-pace scenes (watch the one where he spies on Liz and Myers from a rooftop, in the company of an advice-giving young boy). Hurt uses his Shakespearean tones to excellent effect as the eccentric Broom, Evans is surprisingly pleasant as the fumbling young hero, and Blair brings both strength and vulnerability to Liz. And while Roden is pretty much standard-issue villainy, the Jones/Hyde Pierce combo makes Abe a touching and funny creature, and Tambor seethes with stupidity as the self-important FBI head (he also enjoys a nice final scene with Hellboy, in which they come warily to respect one another).

But the real heroes of “Hellboy” are the strip’s creator, Mignola, who’s served as a visual consultant and helped to insure the picture’s faithful recreation of the comic’s world, and Del Toro, who captures the zest, adolescent spirit and sheer panache of the original. The movie doesn’t have the profundity of the director’s smaller efforts (“Cronos” or “The Devil’s Backbone”), and in the final reel it does tend to go on a bit too long. But it’s better that his “Blade II,” and especially in comparison to the many failed adaptations of comics (just think “Daredevil”), it’s a triumph, and lots of fun besides.

TOUCHING THE VOID

Part documentary and part re-enactment, Kevin Macdonald’s account of a near-fatal attempt by two young Englishmen to scale a forbidding Andean peak in 1985 makes for absorbing, moving viewing. Both accomplished filmmaking and powerful human statement, “Touching the Void” makes Hollywood attempts to capture the climbing experience–pictures like “Cliffhanger” and “Vertical Limit”–look like the cheap melodrama they are. It’s a compelling and strangely beautiful piece of work.

Based on the book by Joe Simpson, the film relates the effort by him and Simon Yates to scale the treacherous Siula Grande mountain in the Peruvian Andes. The duo manages to reach the summit, but during the descent Simpson shatters his leg. Though Yates tries to lower his disabled friend down the treacherous slope, Simpson is eventually trapped danging above a gorge, and Yates is left with no choice but to cut the rope that connects them to save himself. Believing his friend to be dead, Yates makes his way back to their base camp, exhausted and grieving. But unknown to him, Simpson has made his way out of the chasm and struggles his way painfully toward the camp as well. Much of the latter portion of “Touching the Void” recounts his tortured effort to cross the first icy, then rocky landscape, and his trek is so stunningly realized that a viewer can almost feel his agony.

The “you-are-there” effect, in fact, permeates the film, beautifully shot using actors Brendan Mackey and Nicholas Aaron on locations in the Andes and the Alps. No other picture has so brilliantly caught both the exhilaration and the sheer physical brutality of the climbing experience. But it goes beyond that to present what is also a story of great courage and tenacity. By punctuating the narrative with observations by the real Simpson and Yates recalling their feelings and thoughts as the events actually unfolded, Macdonald raises the emotional tension of the piece. One can hardly fail to be moved by Simpson’s thoughts on religion and the afterlife–not at all the ones you might expect (and would certainly find in a fiction film)–when he thinks himself doomed, or by Yates’s still-raw explanation for his decision to cut the rope. (Simpson’s book was, in fact, intended in part to refute later criticism of his friend for having left him on the mountain.) There is a third person involved, though peripherally, in the events–Richard Hawking, a young man whom the climbers hired to man their base camp during their assault on the peak. His role is dramatized too, though only incidentally, and he also records his reminiscences.

There are points in “Touching the Void,” especially toward the close, when Macdonald miscalculates slightly. The recreation of Simpson’s hallucinatory final night on the way back to camp, complete with ghostly music and double exposures, goes overboard; it’s simply out of place against the more straightforward approach taken elsewhere, however much based on reality it might be.

Overall, however, this is a non-fiction film of rare impact. It easily takes its place among the succession of imaginative, powerful documentaries that have reached theatres over the past couple of years. Like mountain climbing itself, it’s both thrilling and rather terrifying.