Two more of Guillermo’s heroes have strong presences here—James Whale and Ray Harryhausen. “This is an original drawing by James Whale,” Guillermo comments. “And that’s a brush from his paint kit.”

A sweep of his hand takes in model kits, a skull clock from the 1700s, Japanese netsukes, representations of the Gill-Man from Creature from the Black Lagoon, and finally an odd little container—a vial of blood from Steve Brudniak, an artist who sells his own blood as art. “We all do,” Guillermo notes.

^{The Steampunk Room, presided over by a sculpture of Oliver Reed’s Werewolf from Hammer Films’ The Curse of the Werewolf.}

^{The logo for Mirada, del Toro’s production company.}

^{Sculptures of skulls and human expressions, meant to aid artists working in Bleak House’s Studio.}

THE STUDIO

Guillermo renovated Bleak House’s garage to serve as his art studio, where a quote from Albert Einstein sets the tone: “Imagination is more important than knowledge.”

The Studio is the most utilitarian of all the rooms in Bleak House. It’s where Guillermo invites concept artists to work together on his projects. “Normally it’s empty,” Guillermo notes. “But when I bring people in for preproduction, it can accommodate up to eight artists without any problem.”

On display in this room are some of Guillermo’s many awards—“The Hugos, the Nebula, Mexican Oscars,…”—along with mementos from fellow filmmakers. Of one, he remarks, “This is a letter from Miyazaki, thanking me for a book I sent him.”

However, most of the inspirational items in the Studio are meant to be directly related to the work at hand: storyboards and concept art from Guillermo’s films, which line the walls in greater quantity here than in the rest of the house. There is art from Cronos, Devil’s Backbone, Mimic, Hellboy, Hellboy II, and more. An illustration from Pan’s Labyrinth bears the inscription “In our choices lies our fate.” Maquettes and props are scattered about, along with terrific presentation boards from the unmade At the Mountains of Madness. Indicating a figure, Guillermo comments, “That’s one of the guards from Hellboy II with a crushable head, so you can see the dented portions. Mr. Wink grabs it and crushes it. So we had a wire inside. You pull that, and the head crushes in.”

The framed insignia from Guillermo’s company, Mirada, is prominently featured: “We wanted to make it sort of a baroque little piece that has death, rebirth, imagination represented by imaginary animals, octopuses—which we all like—and dragons. The owl is the gaze and the wisdom to look at things a different way. The company name, Mirada, means ‘the gaze.’”

THE STAIRCASE

At the far end of the Foyer, a winding staircase leads to the second floor. Upstairs are the Screening Room and the Comic Book Library. As we reach the landing, Guillermo points to an image and says, “This is the first concept drawing of Hellboy we ever did.” Next to it are illustrations by classic fantasy illustrator Hannes Bok, an original cel from the landmark 1914 Winsor McCay cartoon Gertie the Dinosaur, and a Ron Cobb design for Aliens, which was given to Guillermo by James Cameron. Continuing the Alien theme is artwork by H. R. Giger.

As in other areas, standing guard is a Thomas Kuebler sculpture from Freaks. This one is a life-size figure of Schlitzie. “This is my favorite, probably, because it usually puts me in a very good mood,” notes Guillermo. “I need to be very grumpy for it not to work.”

Two other notable items are originals of the posters Drew Struzan did for Hellboy and Pan’s Labyrinth, which were released only as limited editions. “The studios didn’t want to use them,” explains Guillermo. “I think Drew is a genius. Such a shame the marketing departments have their own ideas.”

^{The staircase leading up to the second floor of Bleak House.}

THE SCREENING ROOM

Indeed, the primary function of the Screening Room is to watch films, but it is also a shrine to Guillermo’s favorite filmmakers—a place where he can come to study and be inspired by their work. In particular, Hitchcock and Disney, Guillermo’s eternal favorites, vie for wall space: “Everything on the wall is original art from Fantasia, Sleeping Beauty, Alice in Wonderland, The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad….”

The books in this room are predominantly biographies and retrospectives of four directors Guillermo holds in the highest esteem—Stanley Kubrick, David Lean, Alfred Hitchcock, and Luis Buñuel. “I also have some texts on Kurosawa,” he elaborates. “What I try to do is, before I watch a movie, I read a little bit about it.”

Guillermo owns film prints of only two movies—Cronos and Brian De Palma’s Phantom of the Paradise—which are housed in their film cans beside a vintage Chinese desk.

An original Virgil Finlay illustration from Weird Tales hangs on the wall alongside Mike Mignola’s first drawing of Abe Sapien for Hellboy. The concept maquette of Mr. Wink from Hellboy II sits side by side with a figurine of the Gill-Man from Creature from the Black Lagoon. “Second-greatest monster ever made,” Guillermo proclaims.

^{A bronze mask of Alfred Hitchcock hangs in the Screening Room.}

Nearby, incongruently, is a figure of Jesus. “It’s a Jesus that was in my house when I was a kid,” Guillermo explains. “It’s a pretty gory Jesus. Pretty brutal, but his face is so serene. This explains a lot.”

^{A vinyl toy from del Toro’s childhood stands guard over mementos from his past in the Comic Book Library.}

^{The photo is of del Toro at age nine, pretending to suck blood out of his sister, Susana.}

THE COMIC BOOK LIBRARY

Though he has a library dedicated to them, Guillermo admits, “Every closet in the house has comics.” He’s read all of them, but he tends not to buy publications of recent vintage: “I only buy the new collected editions of Dick Tracy, the Spirit, or Little Lulu.”

Covering the walls are more originals by Mignola, Corben, Wayne Barlowe, Mike Kaluta, and Gahan Wilson. “The final pages of Alan Moore’s From Hell are over there,” gestures Guillermo. Then he notes, “This is one of the last drawings Charles Doyle did.” Doyle was a popular illustrator who went mad and was sent to a mental institution, where he continued to draw until his death in 1893.

Atop a drawing table rests a strange, furry creature. “It’s a toy from when I was kid,” Guillermo exults. “It’s an action figure of an insect warrior. I started collecting vinyl art long before people were into it. This is a real toy. It’s not a postmodern reflection. Somebody said, ‘This would make a great toy.’”