Amid the crop of torture porn flicks that continue to saturate theatre screens and home video, Broken is likely to get lumped with and lost among the Hostel and Saw clones, mostly because of an opening scene that has a woman (Hope) forced to pull out stitches from her abdomen, reach between her innards, and remove a razor blade so she can cut through the thick rope that will strangle her, once her legs give out after having stood on a board plopped onto a wobbly log.

It's a grotesque exercise in cruelty, except it's a test a woodman (known only as The Man) dressed in Eastwoodian Man With No Name attire employs to ultimately find a mind he can control, and a body he can use to do menial chores, tend a pathetically small garden, and once in a while use for gratification (though sex is pretty much the last thing on his mind).

Where the film becomes intriguing and distances itself from torture and sado-porn flicks is in the simple scenes tracing the Man's slow control over Hope: having already slammed us with brutal material, co-writers/co-directors Simon Boyes and Adam Mason attempt to depict Hope's erosion through looks, gestures, sparse dialogue, and time passages – probably a more accurate demonstration of how the control over another individual is achieved though simple verbal threats that seem almost banal: Your old life as a mother is over, your 6 year-old daughter no longer exists, and I'm your family now.

The Man's voice is steady and smooth, and he possess a benevolent smile when he offers grapes or water as rewards for good behaviour, yet he's a megalomaniac, and within his forced world of calm and order, he looks for flaws to vent a seething rage we know is omnipotent – something characteristic of despots, dictators, and cult leaders - making the scenes totally convincing.

In stories of warped relationships – forced, criminal, sexual, etc. – there's a point where the story must move forward towards some conclusion, and it's that journey which either turns a film into a gripping tale, obsesses on fetishes and goes absolutely nowhere, or alienates audiences through inept storytelling, punctuated by a ridiculously contrived twist.

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Broken's filmmaking team choose neither route, and instead almost wallow in utter nihilism – a decision that also divided some audiences who may have felt cheated by the grimness and cruel finale of The Descent, Neil Marshall's subterranean mutant thriller which, in its first half, emphasizes character relations, doesn't offer a killing every ten minutes, and lacks a more comforting, clichéd finale where the heroine is the victor (though admittedly even that's a bit rare, as the survivor in nihilistic thrillers either goes completely mad, dreams up the escape, or is suddenly confronted by the still-alive villain before the end credits roll.)

Unlike the women in Broken, the characters in The Descent at least had the means to fight their aggressors and knew a route to freedom existed somewhere, whereas in Broken, Hope is clearly going nowhere, and her means of escape can only be achieved by getting her hands on the key that will unlock a set of really fat chains wrapped around her leg or neck (although that becomes a lesser problem after the Man breaks her leg, forcing her to hobble for the rest of the film. She gets some payback, however, when she bashes his head with a pipe in a scene clearly patterned after the cranial mashing at the beginning of Gaspar Noé's indulgent and pointless Irreversible).

Hope does has moments of possible control and flight: her first effort should've worked, if not for a major blunder; and a second doesn't happen until a recently abducted Schoolgirl (another nameless character), fed up with cleaning pots, plans a deadly confrontation. The latter sequence sets in motion a finale which, like the Descent, answers a pivotal question– Is her daughter still alive? – but it also concludes the film with a cruel twist that seems too far-fetched, and leaves a lot of unanswered questions as to how the child could still be alive, 40 days after the momentous abduction.

There's also the issue of how the heck a mother and daughter were snatched from their home at night, deep in the city; Hope remembers nothing after putting her daughter to bed, and we know her date, seen at the film's beginning, has nothing to do with the event (unless he's not only in cahoots with the Man, but used Hope's babysitter to gain access into her apartment).

The garden Hope maintains under threat of some unmentionable punishment is also absurdly small to feed even one mouth, so how it ultimately manages to nourish up to four people at one point is ridiculous. And then there's the Man, whose reasons for all this insanity is never explained.

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The script's flaws, however, are marginal due to Nadja Brand's strong performance as Hope: her character is an everyday older woman, and Brand's physicality and un-stylized performance sells her character as an average person whose life has been completely destroyed.

Consistent with crime studies of serial killers and rapists, she's a victim who's been depersonalized by her abuser as a means to break down identity, and reformulated into a pathetic wretch, eternally grateful for any pitiful act of kindness or generosity. Through obedience comes privileges, and ultimately loyalty, until the Man's greed sets up his own downfall.

That's pretty much what happens when he drags the schoolgirl into his ordered world, and it's clear even a brutal act – cutting out the girl's tongue after her incessant screaming – does little to reassert his dominance, so we know her demise is imminent.

The direction by Boyes and Mason is very steady and assured, and with Erik Wilson's fine DV cinematography, the three establish an eerie, moist woodlands where no one would ever want to get lost. The night scenes are reminiscent of Dante Tomaselli's own woodsy thrillers, and Wilson uses a similar lighting scheme of bright backlighting, heavy mists, and layers of shadows that surround characters – particularly during the opening razor blade scenes (yes there's actually two of them).

Also of note is the sound design, which layers natural sounds with an effective score and instrumental songs by Emma Holland, Mortiis, and Mason's longtime composer, Gavin Miller.

Alongside Neil Marshall's The Descent and Alexander Aja's High tension / Haute Tension, this is one of the grimmest works in recent years, and deserves the Michael Reeves Award for Sublime Bleakness in Film.

Cinematographer Wilson also photographed Mason's first 3 films - The 13 th Sign (2000), Dust (2001), and Prey (2003) – and worked on the recent The Hills Have Eyes remake & sequel as second unit cinematographer. Eric Colville has appeared in Mason's first 2 films, while Nadja Brand (Mason's wife), has appeared in the director's first 3, and has a supporting role in Mason and Boyes' The Devil's Chair (2007).

As of this writing, this film is currently available on British and German Region 2 DVDs.

© 2007 Mark R. Hasan