The standard workings of the slasher film are so well known that they hardly need mentioning. The more originality shown in the familiar methods of the mad the better. To wit, the real devils are left in the details. Sweatshop doesn't deviate far from the usual mechanics, but it does pick one helluva tool out of the blood-shed to make a smashing entrance.
And that's really Sweatshop's work-order in a nutshell. There are some personal conflicts going on between the thinly sketched characters, so we get some background and glimpses into these trivial dynamics: we have the hard-nosed bitch who takes no shit; a jerky oversexed 'player' type; a lesbian extrovert; the quiet reserved girl; and standing out most conspicuously from the lot, an obese redneck who carries a real public restroom's air about himself.
No back-story is given for the hulking killer (known only as 'The Beast'), who dons a welder's helmet and animal skins and shows a real aptitude for using anything within his powerful grasp to dispose of the obnoxious trespassers. In addition, he keeps two genuinely creepy hench-wenches in his employ whose sole purpose is to corral potential victims to slaughter. Whenever any of them appear on screen you can't help but feeling a rush of anticipation as to what type of nastiness will transpire.
Sweatshop looks and sounds great. The skillful cinematography and composition far exceed most independent films of this nature and the soundtrack suits the pummeling promenade to a tee. The FX department doesn't skimp on any of the many well executed set-pieces either, really pounding out the grue and never shying away from the more violent displays. It's gory, unrelenting and even leaves some doubt as to who will survive, which is always welcome. The ending also begs sequel, which admittedly is as novel an idea in slasher films as the happy ending is in a romantic comedy, but the way it arrives at this is both amusing and inspired.