Hell Comes to Frogtown is the type of film that shouldn’t need a review. Now, I’ll gladly admit I’m the type of guy that could watch Randy Piper spread his seed one woman at a time – can you imagine the glorious, golden-haired, musclebound, wildly overacting progeny he’d make? – but not everyone is cut from this cloth (how I pity you all). The way I see it, though – you’re either frothing at the mouth to see the film by the time you finish the above synopsis or you’re not. It’s that simple, because this is the element the film has going for it: its story. I will concede that it’s a completely absurd one, but to a segment of the population, which I’m proudly a part of, it’s this kind of absurdity that’s a hell of a lot of fun to watch. Other films may focus on the struggles of re-populating the world following an apocalyptic event, but no film is as wild in its approach to that idea as Hell Comes to Frogtown.
And that’s why despite the film’s stumbles in execution – its script is seriously flawed – it skates by on its ludicrous premise and B-movie qualities. It’s buoyed by frequent tits and ass, which the director points out in the commentary, but I’m not sure when that’s ever been a problem? Sandhal Bergman, who you should recognize as Valeria in Conan the Barbarian, is simply gorgeous (her glasses are not however) while the equally exquisite Cec Verrell strips down to experience Sam’s legendary reputation. It’s all done a little awkwardly yet it’s shamelessly entertaining. The dialogue also proves to be awkward in certain scenes like when Spangle says, “Stop. Save yourself for the fertiles,” and Sam replies, “I have enough.” While that sounds like a benign statement, you eventually understand he’s talking about his spunk – a creepy realization to be sure. But the film actually stretches its budget a surprisingly long ways with descent prosthetic effects, though they show their age in 2011, and an old refinery appropriately serving as the dark and dangerous Frogtown.