A group of angst-ridden punk-rockers descend on a long abandoned train terminal deep in the heart of a Buffalo ghetto (there’s a ghetto in Buffalo?) to debunk the long standing rumor of it being haunted.
Prison of the Psychotic Damned
opens with a nearly six-minute main title sequence, apparently conceived to either pad the running time or as a favor to the laughably angry punk band that plays over top of it. After this, we get to watch some chick - ripe off of a big natural’s website and high on smack - as she flirts with a shard of wine-bottle, caressing her tits with it, all-the-while pile-driving through clunky dialog with the skill and grace of a porn star. One thought kept racing back-and-forth through my head as I sat (gritting my teeth) watching every second lick-off on my DVD players time display: is this what would happen if a bunch of those scrawny squeegee-kids got together and made a movie?
This film seems more interested in set-deck (a look borrowed liberally from Rob Zombie’s House of 1000 Corpses
) than it does with good old-fashioned storytelling. In a fight between style over substance, style will most assuredly loose one hundred percent of the time. I don’t give a shit if your film was shot by God himself - if you’ve got nothing to hang all those great visuals off of, they wont matter and the whole works will go down the shitter. Case in point: Prison of the Psychotic Damned.
While Director D.W.Kann certainly has his shit together in the ambitious department (wonderful location and great photography), it’s his execution (budgetary limitations aside) that feels rushed and amateurish. There were a few instances where I could swear I heard an actor actually flub a line in a completely finished film – I don’t get that. Now I won’t completely slam Kann because – unlike me - he is out there doing it and that carries with it a certain measure that should be commended; good for you, man…I don’t like your movie.