Clive Barker’s 1987 film “Hellraiser” is most famous for its portrayal of the cenobites – a hellish cadre of once-human monsters who inhabit a nightmarish dimension of assorted bodily tortures. Perhaps more interesting, though, is the key that opens the dimension… a key that appears in the form of an elaborately carved puzzle box created by the fictional French toymaker Philip Lemarchand. The box – referred to as The Lament Configuration – can be viewed as more than just the key to a soul-devouring hellscape of sado-masochistic insanity; it can be viewed as a gateway to simpler times:

An Era of Craftsmanship

There was a time when toys were as much unique displays of skilled artisanship as they were entertaining trifles to be teethed on. Painstakingly designed, lovingly crafted and painted by hand in the style of ancient Chinese puzzle cubes, there’s no way Target is going to start mass producing believable Lament Configurations. Lemarchand’s box not only laments the doomed soul of whoever might find damnation in its solution, but also a bygone era when even toys that didn’t send people to hell looked like maybe they could.

An Era that Valued Smarts

Now that every Rubik’s Cube comes with a bikini and fun beach accessories (Rubik’s Surf Buggy sold separately), it’s hard to imagine an age that valued thinking as something more than a math-related liability. The Lament Configuration demands that you employ your mind in examining markings, deciphering patterns and executing the ultimate solution. In exchange for a hearty amount of recreational thought, the puzzle helps prevent Alzheimer’s by sending cenobites to rip out your brain and nail it to a giant, rotating stone obelisk. According to the Internet, the obelisk is called the “Pillar of Souls.” Again – craftsmanship.

An Era that Respected Hedonism

Yes, there was a time when if you wanted to binge eat, you needed money, a grotesquely determined appetite and your own private butcher to keep you in rhinoceros steaks. If you wanted to binge drink, you put on a silk bib and chugged the finest Italian wine out of a giant pewter oyster shell. If you wanted to gracelessly descend into a bottomless abyss of sexual torments, you commissioned the best toymaker in France to build you an elaborately rendered evil cube. Now, of course, there are dollar menus, happy hours and haunted fleshlights. Lemarchand’s box is a steadfast reminder that gratuitous vice used to be classy sloppy. Today it’s just sloppy sloppy. With extra gravy.

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