Hell Asylum (2002) Starring Debra Mayer, Tanya Dempsey, Sunny Lombardo, Stacey Scowley & Joe Estevez Directed by Danny Draven Written by Trent Haaga

The HELL ASYLUM V.H.S. tape I'm reviewing today was salvaged from a pile of mostly worthless exercise videos, Disney cartoons, and mainstream action-comedies rotting away atop some unwashed schmuck's flimsy plywood table at a recent flea market. Hidden amongst all those Jane Fonda rip-off's and Wesley Snipes wanna-be's was a deposit of Full Moon fright film cheapies, including this one. Scampering home with as many of these precious diamonds in my arms as I could carry (and as many as a five-spot would buy me, which was quite a lot indeed), I barricaded myself in with a T.V., a V.C.R., a jumbo sack of pork rinds, and a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew. With my stomach full of high fructose corn syrup and artery-clogging, questionably pig-related junk food, I hit the "play" button on my lumbering old tyrannosaurus tape-player and let my brain get mutated n' mutilated with images of dime store gore and turgid toxic trash.

Directed by Danny Draven (HORRORVISION, DARK WALKER, etc.) and penned by modern-day indie horror maven Trent Haaga (TOXIC AVENGER 4, SUBURBAN NIGHTMARE, etc.), HELL ASYLUM plays out a lot like HALLOWEEN: RESURRECTION and the 1999 remakes of THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL and THE HAUNTING. Not a good sign by any stretch of the imagination. And yet HELL ASYLUM's obviously low-fi mongrel mutt pedigree gives it the kind of amusing b-movie charisma that has the power to redeem bottom-of-the-barrel schlockers in spite of 'em committing the same sins that would otherwise damn a big budget Hollywood picture.

Though the Grand Guinol game show angle is clearly meant as little more than a clever hook upon which to hang an otherwise standard body count flick, Haaga's script does make the effort to offer up a wee bit o' critical satire aimed at the T.V. industry, "lowest common denominator" type entertainment, corporate scumbags, and aggravatingly artificial "reality" programs like The Real World and Big Brother. Anyone who has seen the Haaga-penned zombie flick FEEDING THE MASSES knows that the man is no slouch when it comes to satire. However, even though he definitely has a talent for it, and even though he probably could've taken things much farther, it seems that Full Moon just had zero interest in producing something that was heavy on the social commentary (no big shock there). The subtext, therefore, is kept to a minimum, and it's not very deep. Still, though the subtext intended isn't very strong, a whole different vein of subtext can be inferred, and, what's more, the subtext inferred is much stronger than the subtext intended. That is, one can easily view HELL ASYLUM as an unintentional metaphor for Full Moon itself.

Like the television execs within the movie, Full Moon has been shooting itself in the foot for years, in a vicious cycle wherein the budgets get smaller... and so the quality of their output is damaged... and so the company tries desperately to bid for your attention by offering up crasser, cruder, dumber, cheaper thrills... and audiences don't respond... and so the budgets get smaller... and the quality of their output is further damaged... and so the company becomes even more desperate and their movies get even worse... and the audiences respond even less... and so the budgets continue shrinking... and the wheel keeps on spinnin'. It's like the "which came first? the chicken or the egg?" dilemma, or the thing where fat people eat because they're miserable but then they're miserable because they're fat.

What takes HELL ASYLUM to a whole 'nother level, if you're looking at it from this particular point-of-view, is that HELL ASYLUM is itself a product of Full Moon's withering resources and increasingly disastrous product yield (DANGEROUS WORRY DOLLS anyone? ... I didn't think so). The most tragic and telling aspect of the whole HELL ASYLUM-as-Full Moon metaphor is that this rather blatant symbolism seems to be entirely accidental, a testament to the company's waning faculties and seeming lack of self-awareness.

Now, aside from Mr. Haaga (who also puts in a cameo appearance as a camera-fixing maintenance man who gets wasted in about four seconds flat), there are at least two other familiar faces who should be instantly recognizable to any self-respecting bad movie aficionado (hmmm, isn't "self-respecting bad movie aficionado" an oxymoron?). Those faces would be the ones affixed to Brinke Stevens and Joe Estevez. Joe Estevez (THE LEGEND OF THE ROLLER BLADE 7, AUTOPSY: A LOVE STORY, etc.) is best known for being Martin Sheen's less successful brother, whereas Brinke Stevens (NIGHTMARE SISTERS, DELTA DELTA DIE, etc.) is best known for being scantily clad and splattered with gore.

A truly timeless scream queen and a bona fide selling point for horny video renters with a couple extra bucks and a raging woodie, Brinke's pulchritudinous presence here is comforting, yet upsettingly exiguous. Though she's shown as one of the druid-esque spectres whose job it is to shuffle our heroines loose the mortal coil, really we only get to see her face irregularly and fleetingly. Most of the time, all we're given is a couple o' grips n' gaffers donning doom-and-gloom hooded cloaks, keeping their heads down n' their ugly mugs hidden from view so as to rescue Charlie Band from having to write out any more checks for real actors to play real roles. Then, every once in a while, when we need a close-up, we get a low-angled shot of Brinke wearing one of these chintzy L.A.R.P. leftover robe outfits for about a minute. Then it's back to the faceless nobodies. Bummer.

I understand the corner-cutting technique of keeping the "ghosts" or whatever somewhat generic-looking, so you can make it appear as if there are more of them than their really are, and so you can switch out whoever is sportin' the spookwear with whoever is available at any given time. But, really, why would you ever put Brinke Stevens in a movie and not make her wear lingerie or some similarly skimpy attire? What's more, the ghoulish facial appliances that the F.X. department super-glued to her face render her neigh unrecognizable. The hell?!? That's like paying for a candy bar and eating the wrapper. Or, even worse, getting a blowjob and then havin' your lady friend switch from hand to mouth in those last few moments before eruption. Laaaame.

Lack-of-Brinke lameness aside though, HELL ASYLUM really isn't that bad. Yeah, it's corny and uninspired, but it isn't particularly poorly made or annoying. The only really abominably bad aspect of the picture is just it's grating, ill-advised, agonizingly out-of-place nu-metal soundtrack (although one song is worth listening to, despite how terrible it is, by virtue of the fact that it features one of the most out-there things I've ever heard of in my entire life: a hip-hop cameo from everyone's favorite four-barrel shotgun-toting ice cream man, Reggie Bannister!).

Mondo Cheapo trivia: that cool-ass digital end credit sequence was animated by the Taylor twins, Rob and Neil, who also directed EVIL CULT, a little-known independent horror-comedy so fucking awesome that I frequently use it as a "friend test" to determine whether I should even bother hanging out with someone.

When all's said n' done, there isn't really much to say about HELL ASYLUM. The one word in the English language that describes it best is "middling." It sure as shit ain't "compelling" or "original." "Middling," though? Yeah. "Middling" is right.

Despite its atmospheric lighting and a few brief instances of visual flourish n' cool camera movement, the directing here is generally quite artless and workmanlike, a plain indicator of this being viewed by the usually talented Draven as nothing more than a piece of work-for-hire, as well as a byproduct of the restrictive nature of the movie's production being tight on both time and money. I admire the hard work and exhaustion that goes into a picture like this, especially when there's so little reward waiting for those who meet the challenge (I'm sure no one involved with this flick had any illusions as to what kind of movie they were making or how many accolades said movie would receive). Fact is, filmmaking is difficult, regardless of whether you're working in the arena of a-pictures or b-pictures, and all movies deserve at least a modicum of respect, no matter how bad they may or may not be.

If you don't dig low budget shot-on-video z-movies then this flick will probably have you screamin' for cyanide. 'Cause despite bearing the Full Moon brand, HELL ASYLUM looks like it didn't even have half the budget of something like EVIL BONG. And considering how shitty EVIL BONG was, that's saying something. HELL ASYLUM is strictly time-waster material. Shot on a digital video for pennies on the dollar, and displaying the kind of acting chops and special effects magic that could only be described as amateurish and cheap (if nevertheless perversely pleasurably), there's nothing here that's gonna blow your socks off. Having said that, though, I'll also say that it's still extremely watchable. Unless you're one of those hardcore anti-S.O.V. a-holes, or some kind of high-minded cineaste burdened by an abundance of this thing I keep hearin' 'bout called "good taste" (::cringe::), there's no reason why you shouldn't at least be occupied by HELL ASYLUM, if not exactly entertained. And if you're a supporter of the true independent underground, a Danny Draven fan (better off just sticking with HORRORVISION), or a Charles Band completist, then, sho' 'nuff, HELL ASYLUM deserves your dollars.

The problem with this movie is not that it's memorably bad. It's not. It's not memorably good, though, either. And that right there is, in point of fact, the problem. HELL ASYLUM isn't really memorable at all, for good or ill. It won't have you contemplating suicide, but it won't have you singing joyous praise in celebration of the beautiful wonder that is life either. You'll just... watch it. Maybe smile a few times, maybe a yawn a few times. Afterwards, 72 minutes will have passed, you'll eject the tape (or the bonus feature-packed special edition D.V.D. release from Tempe Video), and you'll go on livin' your life, forgetting at least 80% of everything you saw in the movie by the end of the day.

Keep in mind, I don't mean to give off the impression that I disliked HELL ASYLUM. And I don't mean to say that any of this is a necessarily that bad of a thing. After all, the world needs forgettable time-wasters. Not every movie can be a classic, y'know? If it were a case of "all killer, no filler" then the rental shelves would be empty, ya dig? Sometimes, a little "filler" is a good thing. We need "disposable" movies. Sometime you ain't lookin' for something brilliant that blows your hair back. Sometimes you just wanna watch something ya ain't never seen before, that ain't gonna take up too much of your time, ain't gonna suck rancid tortoise turds, and ain't gonna demand too much energy, attention, or thought. Sometimes, ya just got an hour and a half to kill. In a sense, "disposable" movies are, in actuality, indispensible.

If nothing else, HELL ASYLUM is prime material for when you got a li'l time to kill. Sure, it's mediocre and mostly just middle-of-the-road. But a movie that's middle-of-the-road is better than one that's an ass-raping piece of utter fucking shit that makes you wish you were born blind and deaf (like another Full Moon cheapie I can think of, DOLL GRAVEYARD). Yeah, the acting n' effects n' all that razzle-dazzle are par for the course in the world of dingy ol' video tapes scrounged up in out-of-the-way, middle-of-nowhere flea markets. And it's definitely par for the course in the world of quickly (and inexpensively) made Full Moon horror movies. Weak, but satisfactory. There's some decent splatter here, though there's also a little too much padding, and not so much as a dollop of nudity (all those cuties and not a single exposed tit? aw, fiddlesticks!). An overall ominous vibe helps keep things creepy (and the scenes in which our resident Joy Division groupie suffers through seemingly endless amounts of paralysis and pain surprisingly succeed at being genuinely unsettling, just a little bit). As long as you don't walk into this flick with any illusions about what you're about to watch, you should get along just fine.

In the end, there's nothing here worth getting uppity or excited about, but HELL ASYLUM gets the job done, and, if you're a guy like me, writing a column saddled with the title "Mondo Cheapo," then a movie that manages to keep hold over your nearly non-existent attention span for the entirety of its running time, without ever really gettin' dull or despicable, and barely costs more than a song for you to get your grubby mitts on... well, that there's a commendable damn thing indeed.

Yes sir, that's all that I want, and that's all that I ask. HELL ASYLUM gets the job done. Just like that crack-smokin' Asian chick with the cold sore who works at Target.

Amen.

Until next slime...
Stay sick!
Your pickled pal,
William Weird.

Rating: 2.5 out of 5 super ghosts from hell
Recommendation: rent it
Best moment: Joe Estevez' demented, over-the-top reading of his final few lines is unforgettable