A woman with issues from her childhood (Sara Foster) takes a nightshift job in an old abandoned mental institute, where she begins to see some very strange things and doubt her own sanity. Meanwhile, a serial killer is on the loose, picking off young women one by one.
Bloated and crass, Andrew Shortell’s feature debut is a confused yet utterly predictable whodunit swathed in steals from far superior horrors (Saw, Silence Of The Lambs, Session 9).
The dialogue’s hokey, the score is overbearing and Cary Elwes proves once and for all The Princess Bride was just a fluke.
Easily the worst film of recent times with the number nine in the title. And there have been many.
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