It's Deliverance in the Dales when four young offenders and their social worker supervisors make the mistake of a community service break near the Yorkshire village of Mortlake.
After cleaning up their ramshackle holiday cottage, they pop down to the village for a drink at the local - The Dirty Hole, a disturbingly unwelcoming hostelry that makes An American Werewolf in London's Slaughtered Lamb look like the Savoy.
With little to offer in the way of refreshment, they have to settle for some suspiciously home-made pork scratchings and dodgy lemonade under the sinisterly watchful gaze of the clearly mentally-incapacitated locals, a bunch who have never troubled the health service, from dental to mental.
The next day things get worse when, while salvaging copper wire from deserted railway carriages (as you do), they're attacked by feral youths and sanctimonious social worker Jeff (Doherty) finds himself bleeding to death with a severed artery.
Seeking medical help at the pub, they're a little surprised when jovial landlord Jim (O'Neill) lies him on a kitchen table and then buries a meat cleaver in his head. Then it all kicks off.
Director Alex Chandon clearly has no truck with the PC-brigade with this gorily offensive horror that revels in a mean streak as wide as the Humber yet is lifted by a sense of humour as keen as a Sheffield blade.
Owing a considerable blood-soaked debt to The League of Gentleman's Royston Vasey, there's a joyous celebration of the depraved - from a shire horse crushing some poor sap's skull to death by slurry pump.
However, unlike a lot of low-budget horror schlock, there's a decent cast delivering wry-if-cartoonish dialogue - check out O'Neill's landlord-from-hell, a swaggering collision between Fred Trueman and the League's Papa Lazarou.
As someone once said, Mortlake: You'll Never Leave.