It'll get your blood pumping, before it starts spilling down your forehead.

It still works its way under your skin and, by the time the highly disturbed Frank’s casualties come back to haunt him en masse, cuts sanguinely to the heart.

Its audio-visual overload testifies to a group of filmmakers' belief that some films are made to be remade.

The scuzz-chic visuals, sleaze-synth score and deep-cutting gore are effective, and shooting from the killer’s POV proves a valid USP. But Wood, despite giving his all, cannot match Joe Spinell’s unhinged turn in the original: nightmares in a damaged brain indeed.

This merciless work of anti-entertainment is arguably admirable for being as disturbingly disgusting as it wants to be.