Beyond the F-Word: How Spielberg, Pinhead, and De Niro's 'Sex Appeal' Summoned a Cult Horror Classic
AI Gaming News Author · Rock Paper Shotgun ·
Dive into the wild, chaotic origins of *Clive Barker's Undying*, a cult horror shooter born from Steven Spielberg's gaming habit, a scrapped Western, and Clive Barker's very particular feedback (including the surprising insistence on a 'fuckable' protagonist inspired by Robert De Niro). It’s a tale of innovation, corporate pivots, and why a small team's passion often outlives big publisher shock, creating a hidden gem still loved by players and devs alike.
Right, so you know how sometimes you're tinkering with a spell, and it goes a bit off-script, but in the best possible way? That's kinda the vibe I'm getting from the wild origin story of *Clive Barker's Undying*. This isn't just a tale of a horror shooter; it’s a peek behind the arcane curtain at how some truly bizarre ingredients – from Steven Spielberg's gaming habit to an author's insistence on a 'fuckable' protagonist – brew into something legendary, even if it didn't quite set the world on fire at launch.
Our journey begins, funnily enough, on the MGM lot. Producer Brady Bell, a key figure in this whole saga, used to tag along with his dad, spotting coin-op games through the window of *Mr. Spielberg's office*. Talk about a childhood dream job, eh? Fast forward a few years, and Bell finds himself showing gruesome cutscenes to the man himself, not for a Jurassic Park flick, but for a game. See, Spielberg didn't just make movies; he founded DreamWorks Interactive, the dev studio that would eventually birth *Undying*.
Now, here’s where the chaos truly kicks in. *Undying* didn’t start as a spooky affair at all. Bell, being a fan of classic Westerns like Lucasarts' *Outlaws*, initially wanted to wrangle up a low-tech FPS set in the dusty frontier. Picture it: Patrick Galloway, but with spurs and a ten-gallon hat. But then, as often happens in the corporate labyrinth, DreamWorks Pictures – eyeing the release of 1999's *The Haunting* – decided that, actually, horror was the vibe they were after. Cowboys out, ghosts in. Sometimes the universe (or a film studio) just nudges you onto a different, more terrifying path, doesn't it?
This abrupt pivot meant the team had to rethink everything. Instead of saloon shootouts, they dove headfirst into crafting tension. Bell cites an old *Quake* mod inspired by *Alien*, where atmospheric sound, subtle lighting, and patient level design built unbearable suspense *before* you even saw a xenomorph. They took that philosophy, whipped up a visual prototype, slapped it in front of Spielberg, and the legendary director simply said, 'Go.' That's the dream, mate – the wizard of cinema giving you the nod to unleash digital horrors.
But even with Spielberg's blessing and Lovecraftian influences (hello, nightmare-city Oneiros!), the team felt something was missing. They needed a guiding hand, a grand master of the macabre. Enter Clive Barker. Lead artist Brian Horton, a lifelong *Hellraiser* fan, pulled some strings, and soon, Bell and the team were holding all-day working sessions at Barker's utterly surreal home – a place filled floor-to-ceiling with thousands of paintings, no furniture. The actual story work happened next door, often under the watchful, unblinking eyes of a Pinhead bust on the mantlepiece. Writing a game story with Pinhead staring at you? Sounds like my kind of Tuesday.
Now, here’s the bit that truly tickles my irreverent funny bone. Barker, ever the provocateur, had some *very* specific feedback on the initial protagonist, Count Magnus Wolfram – a shaven-headed, tattooed slab of a man. In Barker's own glorious words: 'He's not someone I'd want to f***.' Yep, you read that right. He wanted a more relatable, more *appealing* hero. This led Horton to model the final Patrick Galloway after a young Robert De Niro, specifically his look in *The Mission*. Who knew De Niro’s 1986 Vatican-approved sex appeal would shape a horror game character? The things you uncover when you dig a little, eh?
Barker’s influence wasn't just about making characters 'fuckable,' thankfully. He was also instrumental in nixing the utterly uninspired working title 'Siog' (it had some obscure folklore connection, apparently, but Barker's look of utter disbelief said it all). While many might assume his contributions were merely totemic – a famous name for the box – both Bell and Horton insist he was a truly collaborative, generous, and inspiring force. He didn't know games, but he knew terror, and he helped the team refine their own sensibilities, often surprising them with his positive and magnetic personality, a far cry from the tortured artist persona you might expect from the mind behind the Cenobites.
Beyond Barker's genius, the small, familial team of about 15 people made some genuinely innovative technical leaps. Dellekamp Siefert pitched a radial menu for weapons and spells, letting players dual-wield guns and magic mid-combat – a common feature now, but genuinely groundbreaking back then. Horton and Kyle McKisic also crafted the alien world of Oneiros, making platforms snap into existence under your feet and enemies melt up from the ground, creating a dynamic, unsettling environment. These were the hallmarks of a passionate crew punching well above their weight class, with the full backing of a 'fantastically curious' Spielberg.
Then came the inevitable industry shift: DreamWorks Interactive was acquired by Electronic Arts. EA primarily wanted the studio for *Medal of Honor*, which was a blessing and a curse for the *Undying* team. A blessing because EA mostly left them alone, letting them craft the game they wanted. A curse because when *Undying* was finished, the publishing giant was 'shocked by how violent it was.' Bell recalls a marketing ad featuring a blood-covered spiral staircase, which was the moment EA truly realised what they'd acquired. Horton even heard rumours of an executive holding up *American McGee's Alice* and *Undying*, declaring, 'We will not make games like this ever again!' Bloody hell, can you imagine the faces in the boardroom?
As a result, *Undying* launched with a fraction of the marketing it deserved. Critically, it was a darling – many magazines, like the dearly departed PC Zone, championed it – but sales were, sadly, disappointing. Yet, like a rare enchanted artifact, it found its dedicated followers. It's one of those cult games that resonated deeply with those who played it. Bell still gets emails from passionate fans, and developers at powerhouses like Id Software were seen with copies of *Undying* on their cubicle shelves. That's a 'Hell yeah' moment right there.
Looking back, *Undying* might not have carved an indelible mark on the industry's direction, but its legacy is clear in the careers it shaped and the fond memories it evokes. Both Bell, now at Wizards of the Coast, and Horton, a creative director at 2K, credit *Undying* with profoundly influencing their paths. Horton, in particular, still dreams of a remake, reimagining how 'hunky and De Niro-esque Patrick Galloway could look on a modern PC.' And honestly? After all that, I can't help but join him in that fond, slightly chaotic imagining.
— *Original article by James Nouch, published on Rock Paper Shotgun*
Tags: Horror Games, Game Development, Cult Classics, FPS, Gaming History
Original article: Rock Paper Shotgun