An unabashedly sleazy, semi-expressionistic action thriller that's so over-the-top in both style and substance that it's a miracle it doesn't collapse back onto itself and crumble into a heap of self-parody, Running Scared offers a sordid journey into a hell on earth in which law and innocence take a backseat to humankind's darkest impulses, bloodlust and revenge. For those with the fortitude to sit through a film where guns are held to grimacing children's heads and murderous pedophiles purchase pint-sized body bags in bulk, the element that sets Running Scared apart from the pack is a potent sense of danger in which the audience is never quite sure how far the filmmakers are willing to go in upping the ante. Starting off like a bullet out of the barrel and rarely slowing except to pile on convoluted plot point after convoluted plot point, Wayne Kramer's blood-spattered frenzy of a crime flick may, in the end, not be what one might consider a "good" film, though it is certainly far from boring. The world of Running Scared is a dark one indeed, and as faceless, menacing transients emerge from the darkness to prey on children and shutterbug pedophiles cast shadows that would give Murnau's Nosferatu a run for his money, the nightmarish vision of urban depravity quickly descends into a hyper-stylized representation of hell on earth. This is truly a world in which everyone has a hidden agenda and to trust is to die; and though a majority of viewers will simply be put off by the reprehensible cast of characters who populate Running Scared, those willing to set aside moral judgment and accept the film on its own twisted terms are in for a loud, audacious, and trashy two hours of entertainment that will leave shell-shocked viewers stumbling from their seats in a dizzied haze of disbelief.