If you went to the scenic design center of a major movie company and asked them to design the ugliest, most beaten up, dirtiest pathetic rat hole they could imagine, you wouldn't even come close to the perverse reality of the Hotel Carter.
From the two greasy doormen you encounter who indifferently watch you drag you suitcases up the ten or so stairs that lead to the decrepit lobby; to the clerk that hands you the two plastic room cards with the room numbers inscribed on them with a magic marker (with bad penmanship); to the smallish elevators with scratched metal walls and missing reflectors (that undoubtedly violate all building safety codes); to the narrow hallways with scratched walls and old, ugly, stained carpeting; to the room doors with peeling paint; to the stained carpeting in the rooms; to the ugly orange curtains over the viewless windows; to the decrepit furniture; to the scratched and stained walls; to the small ancient bathrooms with tiny sinks and toilets; to medicine cabinets to whom derelict would be a compliment; to tile walls and floor that are a hodgepodge of elements of tiles and smeared grout; to single light bulbs without fixtures in each room; to TV’s that you threw out twenty years ago; to threadbare towels and sheets; to no room service or maintenance of any kind; to... what more has to be said?
You get the picture. Worthy of an academy award: best set design for a horror film, the haunted hotel, give up all hope to thee that enter here. But it's cheap has hell.