Struggling journalist Nellie Bly was 23 years old when she feigned mental illness to infiltrate the notorious Women’s Lunatic Asylum on New York’s Blackwell’s Island. Her scathing exposé on the cruel treatment of the mentally ill ran in Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World and became the basis for a book, a musical and now a movie. But the independently-made biopic 10 Days in a Madhouse is a curious hybrid of hagiography and horror movie that doesn’t do much justice to Bly’s achievement, nor to the mentally ill patients she championed.
The earnest if sometimes awkward film manages an admirable low-budget approximation of old New York (played by Salem, Oregon). But inconsistent acting and myriad technical flaws—from an anachronistic font to poor sound to clumsy editing—sink this well-meaning effort. The film ironically works best when it approximates an exploitation subgenre: the women in prison movie.
There may be a reason for that. Director Timothy Hines previously made films distributed by Troma Entertainment, the low-budget house responsible for films like The Toxic Avenger that wore a socially conscious heart underneath B-movie clothing. Despite its R rating, Madhouse dispenses with that level of gore, but it still begins with a sensationalistic prelude at Blackwell’s, where a mad doctor injects a female patient, who insists she’s sane, with a drug that kills her.
Cut to Bly (Caroline Barry) pitching her journalistic wares to an editor at the New York World, whose entrance is approximated by a plaque bearing a suspiciously modern-looking font. This early scene is like much of the film: clumsily edited, cut in a way that needlessly distracts the viewer from what should be a simple two-person conversation.
The movie is more successful once Bly gets thrown into Blackwell’s. From the admissions process, we learn that few if any of her fellow inmates at the asylum are truly insane—one woman is committed by her husband, who simply doesn’t want anything to do with her, and another has her baby taken away from her. Grumpy-looking Anne Neville (Julia Chantrey) is one of the few patients that seem truly sociopathic, but her defiance against cruel hospital staff (led by Superintendent Dr. Dent, hammily played by Christopher Lambert) becomes a source of strength for Bly.
Barry is perhaps too spunky to register the descent from Victorian comfort to lunatic squalor, and many of her fellow patients are made up to appear relatively spry and healthy. The exceptions happen to be the strongest performers, like Chantrey and Jessa Campbell (as Tilley Mayard), whose descent from ingénue to inmate is effective.
Once Hines’ earnest script immerses you in the hell of Blackwell’s, the movie becomes a watchable B-drama, but the film finally seems patronizing both to Bly and the patients she fought for. It closes with a folk song that comes from an album meant for children. The song suggests a sequel, as its lyrics tell the story of Bly’s career after her Blackwell’s experience, including a trip around the world where, “She sailed the China Sea/ With her little pet monkey.” Bly deserves better rhymes, and a better movie.