The more I think about it, the more I hate the idea of a House of Wax remake.
I just don’t think that they could ever do it justice. The 2005 film has its flaws, sure. But there’s something about it that can’t and won’t be replicated, especially when you start looking at the behind the scenes. The production value, along with everything that went into making it, was actually insane. The set of Ambrose was a town built in the middle of a field specifically for the film, if I remember correctly. And the wax sculptures were also real and cost a fortune. They also relied mostly on practical effects for the gore as they wanted it to look as realistic as possible, only using cgi when they absolutely had to. The making of the film was fascinating, and it cost around 40 million. I just can’t see them putting that kind of effort and money into a remake for a film that failed miserably when it released, and still isn’t even all that popular to this day. It baffles why they’d even be doing this.
I also worry about the writing. While the plot of the 2005 film was very much just your average slasher, the Sinclair family were so incredibly interesting. Bo in particular is incredibly complex, and often heavily misunderstood I feel. I can just see a remake turning him into the abusive, manipulative mf he’s always mischaracterized as, and ruining his relationship with Vincent. And… that’s assuming Vincent is even in the movie. It’s hard to imagine how they could possibly write this without him and Lester, but i couldn’t find them on the cast list ANYWHERE. It could be that they just weren’t added yet, but they had credits listed for every other character but them, it might be nothing, but it’s a concerning thing I took note of. I wouldn’t put it past them to try and make Bo the only antagonist for some reason… The fact there’s a character listed as “Mary Sinclair” also tells me that they’re already changing things, because WHO TF IS THAT?
I’m also just incredibly biased in that, even if the movie did turn out to be ok in its own right, I couldn’t get past the cast. The 2005 cast was so iconic, I can’t imagine anyone else playing these characters. Especially Bo. Anyone other than Brian van Holt just feels so wrong.
I’ll admit, I’m incredibly biased about this whole thing given that House of Wax is (obviously) my favorite film of all time. But man, I just can’t see this going well. 💔 They can never top this…
why do people baby Vincent so much he's a grown man who has shown some very sadistic tendencies such as COVERING SOMEONE IN WAX ALIVE and RECORDING A VIDEO OF A WOMANS HEAD IMPALED WITH A SPIKE.
Don't you dare say Bo is manipulating him HE DID THAT OF HIS OWN CHOICE.
Also if Bo was controlling Vincent why would Vincent have the balls to steal his truck and go out with the dog.
Sure Bo is a shithead towards Vincent but Vincent is not a child he has got a mind of his own.
Now don't get me wrong while watching the movie I was like ''AWWWWWW MY BABY WHY'D HE SAY THAT TO YOU YOU'RE NOT A FREAK'' but I still see the fact that he is although cute at times, a sadistic murderer.
For freaking freaks sake he paralysed Wade when he could have killed him to put him out of his misery and encased him in boiling hot wax
I bet Bo is actually just as good as art as Vincent, but the reason he doesn’t indulge in art is because it reminds him of how Trudy wanted him to be like his twin.
Bo’s talent for art is what Trudy wanted; Bo refuses to give her what she wants.
I use to get annoyed at people saying that Vincent might be worse than Bo, but I’ve been thinking…
How could a man so quiet endure such hate from his own twin?
Sure, Vincent may have a good tolerance for his twins outburst,
But Vincent’s outburst?
They’re so rare, yet so ruthless, Bo’s constantly tiptoeing around Vincent when he realizes he’s said too much.
Yeah, Bo calls Vincent a, “freak” and all other sorts of stuff, but Vincent can’t talk; Vincent’s hands are his voice.
Bo usually ends up with a black eye, bloody nose, a knot or two on his head, and broken furniture may or may not end up scattered everywhere.
Vincent goes out of his way to help Bo encapsulate hide his victims, wants to take care of Bo when he’s hurt or sick, and would die for him, despite Bo calling him the worst of things,
All because he’s well aware his outbursts are worse than Bo’s, and Vincents actions are his only way to show how sorry he is.
𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You and your boyfriend stumble into the cursed town of Ambrose. As you flee from the Sinclair brothers, your boyfriend's cowardice reaches its peak resulting in his betrayal. Impressed by your fire and refusal to break, Bo decides you're worth keeping and survival blurs into something dangerously intimate.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.6k
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: graphic violence and gore. implied and depicted murder. physical assault during chase and confrontation. betrayal. emotional abuse. kidnapping/captivity themes. stalking/possessive/yandere behavior. dark romance. profanity. sexual tension. general horror elements.
The air in Ambrose hung thick with the scent of decay and melted wax, a ghost town frozen in time under the relentless Louisiana sun. You and your boyfriend, Jake, had stumbled upon it by accident—or so it seemed.
Your car had broken down miles back, and the detour signs led you here, to this eerie place where the streets were empty, the buildings sagged like weary sentinels, and the only signs of life were the unnervingly lifelike wax figures staring out from shop windows.
At first, it was just unsettling. The House of Wax museum at the center of town drew you in with its macabre charm, but as you wandered deeper, the truth clawed its way to the surface. Those weren't statues. They were people—real people, preserved in eternal agony, their skin coated in wax like some twisted artist's masterpiece.
And the brothers... God, the brothers. Vincent, the masked giant with his silent, predatory grace, and Bo, the charming mechanic with eyes that gleamed like oil slicks, hiding a venomous soul.
You realized too late when Vincent appeared from the shadows, his wax-covered blades glinting. Panic exploded as you grabbed Jake's hand and ran, hearts pounding, feet slapping against cracked pavement as you darted through alleyways and abandoned houses. Bo's laughter echoed behind you, a low, mocking drawl that sent chills racing down your spine. "Y'all ain't goin' nowhere!" he called, his voice laced with amusement, like this was just a game to him.
Your lungs burned as you sprinted toward the edge of town, but Ambrose was a trap—a labyrinth designed to ensnare. Every turn led back inward, toward the museum, toward them. Vincent's heavy footsteps thudded in the distance, closing in like a noose. Jake's grip on your hand tightened, his face pale and slick with sweat. "We gotta split up," he gasped, but you shook your head fiercely.
"No, we stick together!"
But the choice wasn't yours. You turned a corner into a dead-end alley behind the church, trash bins and rusted fences blocking the way. Bo stepped out from the shadows ahead, his shotgun slung casually over one shoulder, a smirk twisting his handsome features. Vincent loomed at the alley's mouth, blocking retreat, his breathing ragged through that grotesque mask.
"Well, well," Bo drawled, his Southern accent thick as molasses, eyes raking over you both with predatory interest. "Looks like the party's over, darlin'. You two lovebirds done runnin'?"
Jake shoved you behind him, his voice trembling. "Stay back! We don't want trouble!"
Bo chuckled, advancing slowly, his boots scraping the gravel. "Oh, sugar, trouble's already found ya. Ain't no leavin' Ambrose once you're here. But hey, maybe we can make a deal. I got a soft spot for pretty things." His gaze lingered on you, dark and hungry, making your skin crawl.
You pressed against the fence, heart hammering. "Jake, we have to fight," you whispered urgently, scanning for anything—a loose board, a rock. But Jake's eyes darted wildly, his bravery crumbling like dry wax.
Bo raised the shotgun, not aiming yet, just toying. "Last chance. Drop to your knees, or we do this the hard way."
In a blur of motion, Jake spun, grabbing your arms. For a split second, you thought he was pulling you close, protecting you. But no, his shove was brutal, propelling you straight toward Bo.
You stumbled, crashing into the killer's chest, his arms instinctively wrapping around you to steady—or capture.
"Take her!" Jake yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. "Just take her! Let me go!"
Time froze. Bo's grip tightened, his body warm and solid against yours, smelling of motor oil and faint cologne. You twisted, staring at Jake in disbelief as he bolted past Vincent, who didn't move—perhaps stunned, or maybe just amused. Jake disappeared around the corner, his footsteps fading into the distance.
"You son of a bitch!" you screamed, rage boiling over, hot tears stinging your eyes. Betrayed and sacrificed like a lamb to buy his cowardice a few more minutes. You thrashed in Bo's hold, nails raking his arms, but he held fast, his laugh rumbling through his chest.
"Whoa there, easy, darlin'." Bo's voice was low, teasing, his breath hot against your ear. "Looks like your knight in shinin' armor just threw you to the wolves. Damn, that's cold. Even I ain't that heartless." He spun you around to face him, one hand cupping your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes sparkled with dark humor, and his lips curled in a smirk that revealed straight white teeth. "What kinda man leaves his girl behind? Bet he didn't even say goodbye."
"Fuck you," you spat, shoving at his chest, but he didn't budge. Vincent shifted nearby, a low grunt escaping his mask, but Bo waved him off.
"Nah, brother, I got this one." Bo's smirk widened. "She's feisty. Kinda like it." He glanced in the direction Jake had fled, then back to you. "Tell ya what, sugar. You wanna go after him? Settle the score? I got somethin' for ya." He reached behind his back, pulling a hunting knife from his belt, the blade wickedly sharp, stained with old blood. He held it out hilt-first, not expecting you to take it, just mocking your fury. "Go on. Take it. Chase that yellow-bellied bastard down. I'll even give ya a head start."
Your blood roared in your ears. Without hesitation, you snatched the knife, the weight familiar and empowering in your palm. Bo's eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise flickering across his face before it melted into intrigue.
"Damn," he murmured, stepping back with hands raised in mock surrender. "Alright then. Go get 'im, tiger."
You didn't wait. Rage propelled you forward, past Vincent, who stepped aside without protest, and out of the alley. Jake couldn't have gotten far; his betrayal was fresh, his fear making him sloppy. You sprinted down the main street, knife gripped tight, the town's waxen inhabitants watching silently from their perches.
Jake, in a clumsy panic, had knocked over a barrel near the gas station and had stopped for a breather, seemingly under the impression that Bo had taken his offer.
"Jake!" you bellowed, voice raw with fury. He glanced back, eyes widening in terror as he saw you closing in, blade flashing in the sunlight.
"Oh shit, wait, baby, I didn't mean—"
You tackled him, the impact sending you both tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He fought back, grabbing your wrist, but your anger fueled you. "You sacrificed me!" you snarled, kneeing him in the gut. He gasped, winded, and you wrenched free, pressing the knife to his throat just enough to draw a thin line of blood. "You pushed me into his arms like I was nothing!"
"I'm sorry! I panicked! Please—"
Bo's voice cut through the air, slow-clapping as he approached, Vincent trailing behind like a shadow. "Well, I'll be damned. Look at that fire." He stopped a few feet away, arms crossed, that smirk back in place, but his eyes held something new: admiration, maybe even desire.
Jake whimpered beneath you, but Bo ignored him, focused solely on you. "You got more guts than he ever did, darlin'. Hell, I think I'm in love."
You glanced up, breathing hard, the knife still poised. Bo's gaze locked with yours, intense and unyielding. A shiver ran through you, not entirely from fear. There was a twisted allure in his confidence, in the way he looked at you like you were a prize worth claiming.
Bo chuckled, stepping closer. "We should finish this little reunion." He nodded at Jake. "You wanna do the honors, or should I?"
Your mind raced. Jake's betrayal stung deep, but killing him? That line blurred in the heat of the moment. Yet Ambrose's rules were clear: no one left alive. You hesitated, and Bo saw it. Gently, he pried the knife from your fingers, his touch lingering. "Easy, sugar. I got ya."
In one fluid motion, he hauled Jake up by the collar, dragging him toward the museum. Jake begged, blubbering apologies, but Bo silenced him with a backhand. "Shut up. You had your chance." Vincent moved in, restraining Jake with ease, his masked face impassive.
You stood watching as they hauled him away. Part of you wanted to run, to escape this nightmare, but where? The town was a cage, and deep down, a darker curiosity stirred.
Bo turned back, extending a hand. "C'mon, darlin'. Let's get you cleaned up. Ambrose could use a queen like you."
You stared at his hand, callused and strong. The rational part of you screamed to fight, to flee. But rage and adrenaline whispered otherwise.
Slowly, you took it, his fingers closing around yours possessively.
As you walked toward his house, Bo's arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close. "Knew you were special the moment I saw ya," he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "Ain't lettin' you go now."
The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the wax figures, soon to be joined by a new addition. Jake's screams echoed from the basement, but you didn't flinch. In Ambrose, survival meant adapting, and with Bo's dark gaze on you, promising protection and passion twisted with peril, you wondered if this was escape or entrapment. Either way, you were his now.
Bo led you inside, his touch igniting a spark you couldn't ignore. The door creaked shut behind you, sealing your fate in wax and desire.
<Just some lemon whump for no reason. Mention of some physical voilence>
There's days where they don't say anything to each other
For as long as they've lived together, there really isn't anything that hasn't been said at least once
Bo's throat is sore from yelling. He quietly throws together leftovers before heading out to the station. The food is past the point of being enjoyable anymore- but he knows Vincent can't eat it, so he might as well. He dabs at red eyes with dirty sleeves, keeping his feet as light on the old wooden floor as possible- hoping no one hears him and he can just sneak out for the day. He's used to this- it was how he started every morning years ago
Vincent hears the steps upstrairs- he hasn't slept. He counts the sound to the door, then the porch outside. Once he knows Bo is gone, he gets up. He checks the pantry for something to eat. Dinner last night was nonexistant- the remnants of broken plates still on the floor. He notes the packages of plain ramen left untouched....left specifically for him. Bo's absence suddenly weighs heavier than before. A glance to the door- in hopes of seeing the knob turn and his twin stumble back in. Vincent practices ways to apologize, silently
Lester's been out in the truck, legs uncomfortably stiff from the lack of space, despite his size. The dirty tarp, previously used for deer corpses, lays drapped over him in a failed attempt at warmth. He's been tossing and turning all night- cheek still stinging. Eye, still swelling. The sound of Bo's boots on the dirt road outside prick Lester's ears up- and he quietly ducks deeper under the tarp. Once the sound has passed, he's snaking his way out of the truck- careful to lead the door gently closed. The rush of blood back in his legs makes him stumble as he runs into a bush to relieve himself. He's able to tiptoe back into the house just long enough to snag whatever scraps are leftover in the dusty pantry. His dirt caked fingers pry open a cold can of old beans, which he chokes down on the way back to his truck. He freezes- Bo's leaning against the side paneling, steel toed boot mindlessly digging into the ground as he keeps his eyes off the younger man. Lester's breath is still, hands shaking as he reaches for the door handle.
