Admission: unclear, but presumably human souls sent there
The Hell of Bill and Ted has two aspects. One is a rocky, fiery realm occupied by huge cast iron machines and Satan himself. It resembles nothing so much as, well, a million heavy metal album covers (despite what the dudes say to the contrary).
The second aspect is an apparently endless series of corridors, in which opening any of the many doors will lead you directly to your personal hell (or a shared ‘personal’ hell if you’re in numbers). The hells are cartoonishly distorted, and occupied by either your worst fears or your greatest regrets. They are, however, fairly easy to escape, although the principal occupants of them will pursue you into the corridors. Of course, you can always choose to play the Grim Reaper and possibly win back your life.
Despite my dismissal of its dangers above, there are few images in modern cinema I find more terrrifying than that of Granny S. Preston Esq.
Admission: unclear, but presumably worthy human souls (see below)
Heaven, for Bill S. Preston Esq. and Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan, is a purple series of regular cities, floating through an endless white void like the contents of an unusually serene and orderly lava lamp. Admission is fairly straight forward – you merely need to tell the gatekeepers what the meaning of life is. (By implication, this meaning is personal and different for each person, but can almost certainly be found in the lyrics of a popular song.)
Everyone arrives in Heaven wearing whatever they had on when they died, only changed to a muted colour scheme of whites and mauves. Within its gates, the great and the good amuse themselves with pastimes such as charades. And God himself is a distant presence, although willing to intervene to assist those who petition him. He is, as Bill puts it, “a just and noble Creator.”
Insofar as Heavens go, this one is kinda G-rated. It seems like a nice place to visit, if one can deal with the monotony of the colour scheme, but it is entirely too much like a retirement home for some tastes. Like mine.