Her Name was Torment

Dustin Mills’ 2014 mid-length film "Her Name was Torment" is a surreal descent into psychosis and brutality — a disturbing, hypnotic hybrid of extreme gore and hallucinatory visuals that seem to vibrate at the edge of sensory overload.

While it may not hinge on a groundbreaking plot, what it delivers is an unflinching and unforgettable cult experience — essential viewing for aficionados of extreme horror.

At its core is a young woman — identified only as Torment or Patient 394 — plagued by demonic visions that drive her to commit unspeakable acts, perceiving her victims not as people, but as voids to be filled with violence.

The narrative unfolds in a non-linear, fragmented style, oscillating between the bleak confines of a torture chamber, fever-dream hallucinations, and a cold, ambiguous interrogation room that could be part of a police station… or perhaps a psychiatric facility.

This isn’t a film to be easily parsed — and maybe it isn’t meant to be. Torment presents the unraveling of a deeply fractured mind, one possibly aware — but detached — from its own moral collapse. By placing a female torturer at the center of this psychological chaos, Mills makes a bold, provocative statement.

The film is equal parts disorienting and exhilarating, radiating a sensual menace that is both deeply uncomfortable and fiercely original.

The boundary between violence and eroticism doesn’t blur — it disappears. Mills explores arousal in the grotesque, even edging toward necrophilic imagery, presenting a spectacle so transgressive it’s hard to watch — and impossible to look away from.

"Her Name was Torment" weaponizes discomfort, turning the viewer into a complicit voyeur in a game of mental and physical domination.

What’s even more astonishing is that all of this was accomplished on a micro-budget of just $500. Given such constraints, the film’s direction and visual composition are nothing short of remarkable.

Mills, known in underground horror circles for pushing creative and moral limits (Bath Salt Zombies, Easter Casket), delivers one of the most artistically committed and visceral entries in the genre in recent memory.

It’s a polarizing piece — some critics dismiss it, others detest it — but I’m firmly among those who admire its daring. The gore is plentiful but never gratuitous, operating with an artful balance of revelation and concealment.

It taps masterfully into our darker voyeuristic instincts without ever descending into cheap provocation.

Ultimately, "Her Name was Torment" immerses the viewer in a diseased consciousness that seeks no redemption and offers no justification.

And for those like myself — drawn to cinema that navigates the fragile terrain of mental deterioration and human depravity — this film stands as a rare and intelligent hybrid of psychological delirium and what some label as torture porn (a term I personally reject).

Few films venture this far into the abyss — and fewer still return with something this potent.

Nearly a decade after its release, "Torment" deserves reappraisal. In a post-pandemic landscape where low-budget horror has resurged with bold, confrontational storytelling, Mills’ film feels ahead of its time — a raw, daring vision that still lingers under the skin.

"Her Name was Torment" is Brutally Sensual — and It Shouldn’t Be!