Paging Dr. Disaster
If you ever wondered what would happen if The Texas Chainsaw Massacre had a baby with a gas station restroom, the answer is The Hospital (2013). This cinematic catastrophe from co-directors Tommy Golden and Daniel Emery Taylor proves that not all horror movies are created equal — some are cobbled together in a fever dream, dipped in sleaze, and then left to rot under fluorescent lighting.
The Hospital proudly bills itself as a “gritty, extreme horror experience,” but that’s just fancy marketing for “we didn’t have a budget, so we made it gross instead.” It’s the kind of movie that makes you want to shower afterward — not because it scared you, but because it feels like you caught tetanus through the screen.
A Research Trip Straight to Hell
The plot — and I use that word generously — revolves around Beth (Constance Medrano), a college student doing research on local folklore. Because, apparently, no professor has ever warned her that “abandoned hospital in the middle of nowhere” is not a safe research location.
Beth arrives in the charmingly cursed town of Bridgeport, where the locals say the hospital is full of ghosts, and the police assume it’s full of junkies. In a shocking twist, both groups are wrong. The hospital is actually full of one man: Stanley Creech (Daniel Emery Taylor), who looks like the unholy spawn of Paul Blart and a deep fryer.
Stanley introduces himself as the caretaker, but it quickly becomes clear that he’s more of a caretaker-of-nightmares — a necrophiliac, rapist, and serial killer who turns the hospital into his personal chamber of horrors. What follows is a relentless parade of violence and sexual assault that’s less “scary” and more “morally questionable.”
Found Footage? No, Just Lost Dignity
Eventually, a group of “paranormal investigators” arrives at the hospital — because horror films require at least one set of idiots with cameras to wander into danger yelling, “Did you hear that?”
These ghost-hunting morons include Alan (Jim O’Rear) and Jack (Jason Crowe), who have all the professionalism of a public access cooking show. They’re joined by a crew of cannon fodder with names you’ll forget before the end credits roll. Their mission: to document the alleged haunting. Their result: to document their own bad decisions.
Of course, they quickly cross paths with Stanley, who does not appreciate uninvited guests interrupting his crimes. What follows is a combination of torture porn, ghost nonsense, and acting so wooden it could summon termites.
There are moments where the movie teases supernatural horror — flickering lights, distant whispers, maybe a vengeful spirit or two — but it all gets buried under the avalanche of exploitation. You could make a compelling ghost story about a haunted hospital. You could even make a grim slasher movie about a psychopathic janitor. The Hospital, bless its heart, tries to do both and fails at both spectacularly.
A Horror Film or a Cry for Help?
Watching The Hospital feels like being trapped in a feverish nightmare designed by someone who only learned about filmmaking from late-night Cinemax and YouTube conspiracy videos.
The violence is so gratuitous it stops being shocking and just becomes numbing. Every time the camera lingers on another torture scene, you can practically hear the filmmakers whispering, “This is edgy, right?” Spoiler: It’s not edgy; it’s lazy.
The cinematography looks like it was shot through a jar of mayonnaise, and the editing has the rhythm of a seizure. The soundtrack alternates between generic metal riffs and what sounds like someone strangling a Casio keyboard.
And then there’s the dialogue. Every line sounds like it was written by a guy who just learned the concept of “banter” from a message board. My favorite exchange involves a paranormal investigator declaring, “This place gives me the creeps,” as if that’s not the entire point of investigating haunted hospitals.
The Cast: Bravery Without Talent
Let’s give credit where it’s due: the cast is brave. Not talented, but brave.
Constance Medrano deserves some sort of medal for keeping a straight face through this sludge. She’s tasked with screaming, crying, and being chained to grimy walls for most of the runtime. It’s less a performance and more an endurance test.
Daniel Emery Taylor (who also co-directed) plays Stanley Creech with the subtlety of a bull in a morgue. He’s sweaty, giggling, and perpetually moist — the kind of villain who’s supposed to be terrifying but ends up looking like he wandered off the set of a Florida Man documentary.
Jim O’Rear and Jason Crowe, as the ghost hunters, seem to be in an entirely different movie — possibly a parody that no one else was told about. Their bumbling antics might have been funny if the rest of the film weren’t drenched in misery.
And then there’s poor John Dugan, who once played Grandpa in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Here, he’s reduced to playing a small-town cop in a film that looks like it was filmed on an actual crime scene. Somewhere, Leatherface is shaking his head.
The Ghosts: Even They’re Over It
Technically, there are ghosts in The Hospital, but they seem just as tired of this movie as we are. They drift in, make a spooky noise, and then vanish, probably to haunt a better production.
The supposed twist — that both Stanley and the ghosts are threats — lands with all the impact of a wet paper towel. The supernatural element feels stapled on at the last minute, as if the filmmakers realized, “Oh right, we called it The Hospital, not The Pervert Basement.”
When “Extreme Horror” Means “Extremely Bad Taste”
To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with disturbing horror. Classics like Martyrs or The Human Centipede (yes, even that one) use discomfort to provoke emotion or thought. The Hospital, however, uses it to fill time. The torture scenes go on for so long that you start rooting for the ghosts just to speed things up.
The movie mistakes cruelty for creativity, thinking that showing a woman being brutalized equals bold storytelling. In reality, it’s just exploitation disguised as “shock cinema.” There’s no deeper meaning, no commentary — just two hours of human suffering filmed in what looks like an abandoned DMV.
“Award-Winning” — Somewhere in Hell
To its credit, The Hospital did manage to win “Scariest Movie” at Germany’s Movie Days Festival. I can only assume the judges were terrified it might get a sequel. (Spoiler: it did. It’s called The Hospital 2, and it somehow exists, proving that bad movies are harder to kill than any slasher villain.)
It was also shown at Cannes, which sounds impressive until you realize “screened at Cannes” could mean “shown in a café near Cannes where no one stayed past the credits.”
Final Diagnosis: Terminally Awful
In the end, The Hospital isn’t scary, suspenseful, or even unintentionally funny. It’s a grimy slog through bad lighting, worse acting, and the kind of writing that makes you nostalgic for The Room.
It’s the kind of horror movie that gives the genre a bad name — the cinematic equivalent of an infected wound that refuses to heal.
If you want atmosphere, go watch Session 9. If you want brutality, try Saw. If you want to feel your soul leave your body in protest, then by all means, check into The Hospital.
Rating: 2 out of 10 Haunted Bedpans.
Diagnosis: Acute stupidity. Prognosis: Unwatchable. Recommend immediate exorcism of the filmmakers.
