Once Upon a Time in Bargain Bin Land
Let’s get this out of the way: Little Dead Rotting Hood is not Red Riding Hood. It’s the Red Riding Hood that got bitten by a werewolf, dropped out of community college, and now works nights at a haunted lumberyard. Directed by Jared Cohn and written by Gabriel Campisi, this 2016 Asylum production does what The Asylum does best—takes a familiar fairy tale, runs it through a blender full of fake blood, and serves it up lukewarm with a grin that says, “Yeah, we know exactly what we’re doing.”
If you’re expecting prestige horror, go back to the woods where A24 films live. But if you want an unapologetic mix of camp, carnage, and wolf-fur-coated nonsense, then pull up a log and prepare to howl.
The Big Bad Sheriff
Eric Balfour stars as Sheriff Adam, a man whose hair alone deserves its own SAG card. He plays the role like a guy who’s one paycheck away from moving to Alaska just to get away from small-town weirdos. The sheriff’s main job is to keep the peace in a town where “the peace” apparently involves nightly maulings and the occasional grandma being eaten by something that looks like a taxidermy experiment gone wrong.
Balfour gives the film an unexpected emotional center. He’s trying his best to be the rational adult in a script that’s about as rational as a werewolf holding down a 9-to-5. You can feel his pain every time he delivers a line like, “We’ve got another one in the woods,” as if his soul just left his body to go join the Screen Actors Guild in protest.
Bianca Santos: Grandma’s Got a Secret Weapon
Bianca Santos plays Samantha—our titular Little Dead Rotting Hood. She’s the granddaughter of Rose (Marina Sirtis), the local mystic who apparently skipped “knitting” and went straight to “raising the dead.” Santos gives the kind of performance that’s too good for a movie where the wolves occasionally look like rejected mascots from a Spirit Halloween store.
Her transformation from doe-eyed victim to undead avenger gives the film its bite (pun aggressively intended). She’s a werewolf killer who’s also technically dead, which makes her the most relatable millennial since Netflix canceled everyone’s favorite show.
Marina Sirtis: From Starfleet to Silver Bullets
Marina Sirtis—yes, Counselor Troi herself—shows up as Grandma Rose, a woman who looks like she’s been through every episode of Supernatural and still has enough sass left to brew wolf-killer tea. Sirtis doesn’t phone it in. She sends a handwritten letter of commitment. When she delivers exposition about ancient curses and forest spirits, you half-expect Picard to beam down and say, “Number One, what the hell is going on here?”
She’s the movie’s conscience, the moral compass spinning wildly as the rest of the cast tries to decide whether to act scared or just start shooting everything that moves.
Patrick Muldoon and the Case of the Missing Logic
Patrick Muldoon—forever the guy you vaguely remember from Starship Troopers—plays Deputy Henry, the cop who clearly didn’t sign up for this. He’s the kind of character who says things like, “It’s probably just a bear,” right before the bear eats the cameraman. Muldoon’s line delivery suggests a man who read the script once, shrugged, and said, “Yeah, sure, I’ll fight a werewolf.”
But that’s the beauty of Little Dead Rotting Hood: everyone in it seems aware they’re in a movie called Little Dead Rotting Hood. They’re not trying to reinvent horror. They’re trying to make sure you have something fun to watch while your pizza reheats.
The Plot, in All Its Furry Glory
The town is being terrorized by a mysterious creature—surprise, it’s a werewolf. Sheriff Adam and his ragtag crew of deputies, hunters, and red-shirt extras set out to stop it. Meanwhile, Grandma Rose’s granddaughter dies, comes back as an undead avenger, and proceeds to teach the Big Bad Wolf what happens when you mess with family.
It’s basically Twilight meets The Walking Dead directed by someone who just found out how to use red lighting. The film builds to a surprisingly effective final showdown—a mix of silver bullets, slow-motion chaos, and heartfelt glances that say, “Let’s wrap this up before the rental time runs out.”
Practical Effects: Cheap but Charming
Let’s be real: the werewolves here are about two steps away from being mop heads with fangs. But there’s something charming about how earnestly the film tries. The claws are plastic, the blood looks like cough syrup, and the CGI occasionally takes a smoke break—but that’s the fun.
This isn’t horror trying to terrify you. It’s horror trying to entertain you. And in that mission, Little Dead Rotting Hoodsucceeds. It’s a love letter to drive-in monster flicks and the golden age of schlock—when you didn’t need $200 million to make someone scream.
The Asylum Aesthetic
Jared Cohn directs with the kind of energy that says, “We can shoot this in three days, right?” And you know what? He does. The pacing never lags. The kills come quick, the dialogue is fast, and the camera never lingers long enough for you to question the set design.
The Asylum’s reputation for “mockbusters” has earned them both ridicule and affection, but Little Dead Rotting Hood sits in that sweet spot where parody meets genuine enthusiasm. It’s not trying to trick you into thinking it’s the Warner Bros. Red Riding Hood—it’s inviting you to laugh along with its low-budget audacity.
The Tone: Grimm by Way of Grindhouse
The film’s tone is one of gleeful absurdity. There’s a sense of joy in its chaos, as if everyone involved knew they were making the world’s most watchable SyFy original movie. The humor is unintentional, but it lands harder than most intentional horror-comedies.
You’ll laugh at the werewolf makeup, sure. But you’ll also find yourself weirdly invested when Sheriff Adam stares down the beast, muttering something about “protecting his town” like he’s in True Detective: Dollar Store Edition.
Final Thoughts: A Howling Good Time
Little Dead Rotting Hood isn’t art—it’s anti-art with a heartbeat. It’s a love letter to the B-movie tradition of making do with whatever blood packets, wigs, and daylight hours you can afford.
The cast sells the absurdity. The pacing keeps the nonsense moving. And somewhere in the middle of all the claws and clichés, you find yourself genuinely entertained.
If Red Riding Hood was a high school prom queen, Little Dead Rotting Hood is her chain-smoking cousin who shows up on a motorcycle, steals your drink, and somehow becomes the life of the party.
So yes, it’s ridiculous. Yes, it’s cheap. And yes, it’s glorious. Because sometimes, you don’t need perfect lighting or Oscar-worthy dialogue—you just need a werewolf, a shotgun, and a heroine who refuses to stay buried.
And if you’re lucky, a grandma with a silver bullet or two.
Verdict:
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ out of 5.
So bad it’s good? No. So fun it’s good.
