“Satan Called—He Wants His Time Back”
There’s something perversely charming about a film so grimy, so confused, and so utterly committed to its own misery that you can’t tell if it’s art or an accidental found-footage confession. The Hagstone Demon is that kind of cinematic fever dream—an arthouse horror film shot like a lost student project and performed like community theater for the damned.
Directed, co-written, co-produced, photographed, and edited by Jon Springer (a man clearly too polite to let anyone else say no), The Hagstone Demon stars American Movie’s Mark Borchardt as a washed-up alcoholic caretaker haunted by ghosts, demons, and possibly the memory of better scripts. It’s an indie horror film that desperately wants to be Eraserhead meets The Exorcist, but ends up feeling more like Hangover 4: The Spiritual Reckoning.
Plot (Or: 90 Minutes of Existential Alcoholism)
The movie follows Douglas Elmore, a once-promising investigative journalist now reduced to maintaining a crumbling apartment complex called The Hagstone—a building so decrepit it looks like it should have been condemned in the ’70s, along with disco and common sense.
Douglas is mourning his dead wife, Julie, whose ghost starts dropping by for late-night haunting sessions that feel less like terror and more like an awkward post-divorce reunion. Meanwhile, a prostitute named Karna and her cat (who is apparently allergic to fur) move into the basement, because no horror film is complete without an ominous woman and her even creepier pet.
Tenants start dying, Douglas starts drinking (more), and the movie starts resembling a David Lynch knockoff filmed through a dirty fish tank. There’s talk of satanic rituals, reanimated corpses, and demonic cats—though by the time the climax arrives, you’re not sure if any of it’s actually happening or if Douglas just drank an entire jug of turpentine.
By the end, the building’s possessed, the dead wife’s alive again, and the caretaker’s sanity has left the chat. Also, there’s a demon sex scene that looks like it was choreographed by Satan’s least motivated intern.
Mark Borchardt: The Patron Saint of Cinematic Suffering
Mark Borchardt, the cult hero from American Movie, plays Douglas with a kind of sweaty sincerity that’s both impressive and depressing. His eyes constantly look like they’ve just read the script for the first time.
To his credit, Borchardt’s performance is the one thing that feels real about the film—his portrayal of grief and alcoholism has an authenticity that makes you wonder if the production couldn’t afford fake booze. He mumbles through philosophical monologues about death, demons, and lost love, all while looking like he’s one late rent payment away from becoming a ghost himself.
Still, watching him stagger around The Hagstone with a flask and a thousand-yard stare gets old fast. It’s less “tragic descent into madness” and more “guy who forgot the camera was rolling.”
The Supporting Cast: Victims of Budget and Dialogue
Then there’s Karna, the demonic seductress played by Nadine Gross. She oscillates between “mysteriously alluring” and “bored barista reading from cue cards.” Her chemistry with Borchardt is so dry it could spontaneously combust, and yet the film treats their awkward encounters as the beating heart of its narrative.
The other characters include:
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Father Carl (Sasha Andreev), the priestly brother-in-law who apparently moonlights as an exorcist therapist;
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Barbara (Cyndi Kurtz), the voice of reason who inexplicably sticks around despite every single sign that she should move to literally any other building;
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Detective Willis, who exists only to deliver exposition and die for the plot’s convenience;
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and, of course, Victoria the hairless cat, whose expression throughout the film perfectly mirrors that of the audience—confused, annoyed, and mildly afraid of catching something.
It’s a cast of earnest try-hards trapped in a film that mistakes murkiness for mystery.
The Hagstone: Real Estate Straight from Hell
If haunted houses could Yelp their owners, The Hagstone would be leaving one-star reviews for everyone involved. The building itself is the real star here—every wall is rotting, every hallway looks like it’s been marinated in nicotine, and every light bulb flickers like it’s being powered by regret.
The cinematography, shot mostly in black and white, clearly wants to evoke noir horror. Instead, it evokes “cheap camera battery dying in real time.” The shadows are so thick you’ll be squinting like an old man trying to read the fine print on a Ouija board.
And while we’re on visuals—if this was meant to look gritty, mission accomplished. The film looks like it was developed in whiskey instead of film chemicals.
The Pacing: Demonic, in the Sense That It Never Dies
At a lean 90 minutes, The Hagstone Demon still somehow feels longer than a Catholic mass held in slow motion. Scenes drag on endlessly as characters stare into the void or discuss metaphysical nonsense in dimly lit rooms.
It’s the kind of movie where you could leave to make popcorn, return, and still find the same character whispering about “the darkness within.” There are horror movies that build tension and dread; this one just builds a strong desire for caffeine.
The Script: Satanic by Accident
Jon Springer’s screenplay tries to be poetic, but mostly sounds like a refrigerator magnet poetry kit had a nervous breakdown. Lines like “The devil finds a way through the cracks of grief” and “Love is just a grave we keep digging” are delivered with straight faces, which somehow makes them funnier.
The film’s mythology is equally baffling. There’s talk of demons, resurrection, blood rituals, and cursed real estate—but none of it connects in any meaningful way. It’s as if the script was written during a séance conducted with an empty whiskey bottle.
The Horror: More Existential Than Intentional
There are murders, possessions, and even a reanimated corpse, but somehow none of it lands. The scares are so subdued you half expect the ghosts to apologize for interrupting.
Even the climactic satanic ritual—a moment that should feel unholy and shocking—looks like a backstage rehearsal for a Marilyn Manson concert circa 1998. By the time the demon cat shows up, you’re more likely to laugh than scream.
This isn’t horror. This is ennui with eyeliner.
Sound and Editing: Hell’s Own Podcast
Springer, who also edited the film, clearly hates transitions. Scenes just sort of… stop. Conversations cut off mid-thought, as if even the movie is too bored to continue listening.
The sound mix is a special kind of torment. Dialogue fades in and out, background noise hisses like a snake with asthma, and every creak of the Hagstone building feels like a cry for professional post-production.
The Ending: The Devil Gets the Last Laugh (Unfortunately, So Do We)
By the finale, Douglas has descended fully into madness, Karna and her demonic pimp are slain, the cat is dead (again), and Julie’s corpse has joined the ranks of the undead. In a final act of defiance against both God and narrative clarity, Julie wanders off to kill someone else, presumably whoever greenlit this project.
The credits roll, and the true horror dawns: this movie was made on purpose.
Final Thoughts: When Indie Ambition Meets Infernal Ineptitude
The Hagstone Demon is the kind of film that reminds you passion projects can go terribly, hilariously wrong. It’s bleak, bizarre, and occasionally brilliant—but mostly in the way a fever dream feels profound before you realize it’s just your brain melting.
Mark Borchardt gives it his all, but even his haunted charisma can’t save a movie that confuses “slow burn” with “slow death.”
The film wants to be about grief, addiction, and demonic corruption, but what it really captures is the existential dread of realizing you have 40 minutes left to watch.
Grade: D+ (for “Demonic, Dreary, and Drunken”)
It’s not the devil you should fear—it’s the director with final cut.
In the battle between man and demon, The Hagstone Demon proves that sometimes, the scariest thing of all is an indie film that just keeps going.
