The first thing that should be said is that "Road to Hell" is not a film. It's not a movie. In truth, I don't know what it is. Youtube videos of mentos and diet coke are more cinematic than anything this attempts. It isn't just bad, it's Sega CD Full Motion Video Game circa 1992 bad. It makes "Night Trap" look like "The Godfather." It's the "2 Girls 1 cup" of sequels. Most importantly, it's an insult to "Streets of Fire" and everyone who has ever watched even five minutes of it.
Before the 60 + minute "dream project" proceeded to assault those not smart enough to walk out, Albert Pyun, his wife Cynthia Curnan, and a handful of others came up and explained what we would be seeing. Cynthia mentioned that it was the result of an argument that she and Albert had had about the ending of Streets of Fire. Albert had thought it was one of the most romantic endings of all time. Cynthia thought it was deeply tragic and showed that Tom Cody was doomed. She wrote "Road to Hell" to show what she thought would have happened to him.
If the near-finished product is any indication, Albert handily won that argument and by default has now won all subsequent arguments for the rest of their lives.
Put simply, "Road to Hell" is garbage -- cinematic fan-fiction that is essentially a pointless 60+ minutes of atrocious dialog in front of a green screen, mixed in with some black and white footage of Deborah Van Valkenburgh being interrogated and flashbacks of a poor double for Diane Lane lip-syncing and dancing along with two songs lifted from "Streets of Fire."
I'm not entirely sure why everything was filmed in front of a green screen, probably to give it that "filmed in one day" look. It definitely does no favors to the performances, and the computer animated backdrops used look like screen savers circa 1994. I kept half-expecting a flying toaster to glide across the screen. Sadly, like any hope that "Road to Hell" would be redeemed, it failed to materialize.
The muddled excuse for a plot centers around the idea that Tom Cody is now a deranged serial killer, waiting in the middle of nowhere in case Ellen Aim's tour bus happens to drive by.
Meanwhile the two least interesting former strippers turned murderers in the world come across him.
They yell and swear and swear and yell. They talk in circles. There's some blood and some kissing. It goes absolutely nowhere and just drags and drags and drags. It could have been whittled down into a five minute short, told the same "story," and it STILL would have been painful.
I guess the filmmakers deluded themselves into thinking they were making something artistic and the characters we see might be in purgatory, or some other metaphysical realm. Unless the filmmakers' intent was to make the viewer feel like they were literally in hell, they failed.
The only elements that are even remotely interesting at all are ripped from "Streets of Fire." It is fascinating watching Paré and Van Valkenburgh reprising their respective roles, or at least it would be if the dialog wasn't so mind numbingly awful that the characters as portrayed resemble those in "Streets of Fire" about as much as David Koresh resembled Jesus.
Pyun, particularly in his Cannon years, has made some legitimately entertaining no-budget films. There is nothing entertaining here. It captures none of the spirit, energy, character, or fun of "Steets of Fire." It's an ugly, draining, pointless trifle.
Do yourself a favor and stop caring about this now. It will only end in heartbreak.
