Monday, December 5, 2016

eggs and baker.

Been thinking of doing a kinda countdown to Christmas review thing but was umming and ahing so long it's already the 5th so really no point now.

A wee bit like my life generally.


The Mutations (AKA Doctor of Evil, The Freakmaker, The Mutation. 1974).
Dir: Jack Cardiff.
Donald Pleasence, Tom Baker, Brad Harris, Julie Ege, Michael Dunn, Scott Antony, Jill Haworth, Olga Anthony, Esther Blackmon, Hugh Bailey, Felix Duarte and Willie Ingram the pop eyed man.

Professor Nick Nolter (Pleasence, looking not unlike a egg dipped in treacle) is just your average everyday science lecturer at some nameless English polytechnic splitting his time between teaching over forties who want to get better qualifications to get back into work (well from the look of the cast this seems to be the case) and conducting frankly bonkers experiments in an attempt to create a human/plant hybrid.

As you do.

But the professor needs a fresh supply of people to work on, so to this end he employs the fucked of face, scraggy haired Mr. Kenny Lynch (A pre-Doctor Who Sir Tom of Baker), a local bad man who just happens to co-own the local carnival to help him out.

Lynch happily obtains young men and women for Nolter's mad experiments on the understanding that one day the professor will fix his face for him.

Anyway, back at the Restart classes where three trendy 'young' students; blonde buxom Hedi (Ege from shitloads of stuff including your granddads bed), luscious Lauren (the bobble headed beauty Haworth star of Tower of Evil) and Tony (Antony, from Ken Russell's Savage Messiah) have decided to have a word with visiting scholar - and token American hunk - Dr. Brian Redford (B movie lunk Harris from The Mad Butcher amongst other classics) regarding the rumours they've heard about Nolter’s research.

Being a nosy bugger Redford agrees to look into it.

"Shite in mah....oh, someone already has".

Meanwhile back at the carnival the employees are a wee bit unhappy.

And not just because they're all really ugly and smell of cabbage.

Nope, it seems that they're getting a tad suspicious at the amount of new freaks suddenly appearing on show.

Lynch's partner, a pre-Simpsons Mr. Burns (Dunn) tries to calm his regular workers by saying he put an ad in the paper.

Could he be lying?

All this talk of bearded ladies and tiny men in hats is beginning to annoy Lynch tho' who vents his frustration on the tent pole before stomping off in a club-footed rage.

A wee bit like your Auntie Jean used to after a few sherries at Christmas.


There is a festive link.

Deciding that what Lynch needs is a surprise party to show how well liked he is his co-workers throw up some tinsel (not literally mind tho' with hindsight that would be worth seeing, organize a kiddy friendly - as opposed to kiddy fiddling - DeeJay and bake him a cake.

Unfortunately this act of kindness sends him into a violent (and dribbly) rage that can only be sated by a visit to a dirty, baby doll nightie clad whore who lives by the fish market.

Meanwhile back at the main plot our trendy tecs have decided to take a break from their investigations to spend an evening at the local fairground.

As over 30's often do.

After a few rides on the waltzers and eating their own bodyweight in candyfloss the groovy group spy the freakshow tent huddled in a dark corner of the park so decide tha half an hour taking the cunt out of those less fortunate than themselves ould be the perfect way to end the night.

And this, dear reader, is the reason we're watching.

Well the reason I'm watching, I mean you're not actually watching it as you're reading this.

Tho' to be honest you could be doing both - how would I know?

I'm not your mum.

For one thing I've never caught chlamydia off your uncle Paul.

And you wonder why her and your dad have separate rooms.

But I digress.

Upon entering the tent our merry band - and the viewer - are confronted by some of the strangest sights known to man.

There's an old lady with a hairy face, a lady with really bad exzema dubbed The Lizard Woman (Blackmon), a boy with no bones in his legs (no, really) non-sensationally named Terry the Frog Boy (Duarte), the bendy backed Human Pretzel (Bailey), a scarily sexy Monkey Woman and everyone's favourite, the fantastic Popeyed Jeff (Willie Ingram - but probably not this one) a man who can make his eyeballs pop out from their sockets.

A wee bit obvious that last one.

"Eye son".

Now part of me wants to say that exploiting those born differently for cheap entertainment is distasteful and somewhat sickening in this more aware climate.

But fuck that, this guy can actuallymake his eyeballs bulge out of his skull!

How fucking cool is that?

Anyway, as you can probably guess Nolter's experiments get more and more freaky climaxing with poor Tony getting turned into a hideous venus flytrap/human/vagina hybrid with a taste for tramps and blondes (and trampy blondes) whilst the Professor makes a speech arguing the case for the creation of a race of super-humans and poor old Lynch is hunted down by a gang of dwarves using attack dogs.

Oh yeah and Ege gets her kit off and is touched up by a tree-type thing.

Which seems to be a running theme around here at the mo.

Donald's cum face.

There's no denying that The Mutations is a bona fide classic of British exploitation cinema, what should be a crass and tasteless excuse to show differently-abled folk for cheap enjoyment is surprisingly entertaining and almost apologetic when it comes to it's subject matter.

It's mad mix of gore, girls and gro-bag induced terrors give the film a totally schizophrenic feel; the plight and humanity in the storyline regarding the (real life) freak show workers at odds with the main plot about man eating plants and a saliva slopping man with a potato stuck to his face.

But despite (or because) of all this The Mutations is both utterly brilliant and totally crap in equal measures.

Up the casino.

Scarily tho' the movie was directed by an honest to goodness Oscar winner, Jack Cardiff (who won best cinematographer for 1948 movie Black Narcissus), showing that he had either a secret love of shlock horror or the onset of Alzheimer's - it's your choice, and it's this unsure style, coupled with his almost erotic obsession with time-lapse footage of plants growing, topless dolly birds and the real life freak show performance at the movies half way point that makes this the cinematic equivalent of drunkenly shagging your best mates mum.

It might be great at the time but with hindsight you end up feeling coyisly guilty and even a wee bit itchy from enjoying it so much.

Worth watching, but only if you're alone.

Or just very lonely.

Sunday, December 4, 2016

rouge one.

A posh 'n' pouty Brit-chick leads a ragtag group of mismatched space warriors against an evil galactic Empire complete with planet devastating super weapon?

Oh Felicity, you fill me with electricity...

 Sounds familiar.

Starcrash (AKA The Adventures of Stella Star, Female Space Invaders, Scontri stellari oltre la terza dimensione, Star Battle Encounters 1979)
Dir: Luigi Cozzi.
Cast: The lovely Caroline Munro, David Hasselhoff, Dame Christopher Plummer, Judd Hamilton, Joe Spinell, Robert Tessier, Nadia Cassini and Mr. Marjoe Gortner.

"By sunset I'll be the new emperor. And I'll be the master of the whole universe!"

Somewhere in the Crayola hued reaches of deepest space and sometime in the far flung, leather-clad future a huge space cruiser constructed entirely from primary coloured Lego bricks is searching for the evil Count Zarth An's (the legendary Spinell) secret base. 

The search is going well, perhaps too well or just as the crew pinpoint Zarths lair the ship is attacked by a giant red lava lamp (only £20 from Smiggle) that strikes with such ferocity that the captain can only manage to launch three (yogurt pot)  lifeboats before the it's totally destroyed.


Meanwhile just up the road (take a left on Warp Drive and straight thru' the roundabout), sexy space smuggler Stella Star (every man's fantasy Munro) and her gerbil faced navigator Akton ('B'-movie god and once the world's youngest ordained preacher, Gortner) are in the middle of an exciting space chase, being, as they are, pursued across the cosmos by Space Police's finest, officer Jeff Thor (shiny pated teevee and film stalwart Tessier) and the cock headed robot Elle (ex Mr. Munro and moustachioed movie producer Hamilton).

Their crime?

A trumped up charge of copyright infringement.

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Murder on the dancefloor.

Leaping in and out of hyperspace like bed hopping lemmings, Stella is about to evade Thor for good when she picks up a distress signal emanating from one of the escape pods from the previous scene and being an all round good egg, Stella decides to sexily (and seductively) spacewalk across to the pod to check for survivors.

From the battle that is, not the 1970's Terry Nation scripted, Ian McCulloch starring TeeVee show.

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The USS Tikabilla yesterday.

Aboard is a lone astronaut, his mind irreversibly damaged by the pound shop lava lamp/lens flare thingy and his body left limp and lifeless.

And covered in a thin layer of egg and sweat.

Just as our heroes are deciding whether to leave him be or nick his wallet Thor's top gun fighter squad surround their ship leaving luscious Stella trapped.

Roughly grabbed by the filth our pneumatic nymph is taken into custody.

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"I can see your house from here!"

Left for hours in a stinky cell without fresh running water, clean bedding or even a knock-off  freeview box, Stella is finally led to the mysterious 'space court' (which appears to be run by the monster from the 1956 version of Invaders from Mars) and quickly charged with smuggling, dangerous driving and the use of a body double in the Hammer hit Captain Kronos Vampire Hunter.

The latter a crime so great (seeing as it meant that many young boys in the early 80's where tricked into firing their virgin load over some unknown actress rather than Munro herself) that the only sentence that could possibly come close is life imprisonment in the Chuckle Brothers Lemonade mines, wearing nothing but a skimpy black leather bikini whilst carrying glowing radium rods to power the nuclear furnace whilst sweating 

A lot.

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"Laugh Now!"

Within minutes of arriving at her new home Stella quickly becomes bored with lugging all those highly dangerous radioactive isotopes about whilst provocatively showing her ample cleavage so decides to incite a prison riot and escape.

Everything goes according to plan (shit explodes, Stella jiggles a wee bit, leather-clad extras fall over - you know the drill) but just as she's about to steal a prison ship and rocket to freedom would you believe that a gigantic gold winged dildo lands directly in front of her.

A dildo piloted by the glam-rock robed Emperor of all space himself (Plummer, caked in eyeliner, pissed as an old Jake, stinking of shame and obviously desperate to pay off his ex-wife, poor sod) the exalted Lord Toby Groom.

But why is the galaxies most powerful man bumming around in a huge sex toy stalking a fetish geared British actress you may ask.

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The Emperor of space: camper than Jesus.

Well, it appears that Emperor Groom's only son, Simon was serving aboard the
Lego space cruiser when it went down and he is willing to grant Stella and her pal a pardon for their smuggling racket (and for blowing up the prison killing God knows how many guards) if they can find and safely return him to his oh so worried dad.

The only thing he insists on is that Thor and Elle accompany them on their mission.

Will Stella accept? 

Hell yeah!

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"Leather clad Amazon babes? Fuck yeah!"

Using a data extract from the recovered space pod - and the saliva of the by now dribbly
vegetable like survivor - Stella (within minutes I mean c'mon it's a fairly short movie) discovers the crash site of not only the two remaining space pods but also the lost spaceship itself. 


First stop.....planet of the bareback riding Amazon women!

Or more accurately the beach
of the bareback riding Amazon women.

Oh well at least it wasn't a quarry.

Upon arrival Stella and co. are greeted by a group of benign female warriors who escort our merry band to the Amazon Palace for tea and biscuits with their queen, the clap riddled yet still strangely attractive Corelia Frostrup (a fantastic performance from the dirty as fuck and curvy of arsed pop princess Cassini, best known for that sensational Euro-hit A chi la do stasera).

Everything is going swimmingly until about halfway thru' the second packet of custard creams when a tipsy Corelia realizes that she's encountered the erstwhile Elle before.

Yup he once gave her a full body cavity search after pulling her over for speeding.

The dirty domed pervert.

Been a woman and obviously not prone to overreacting, our quaint queen pal decides to simply shoot Elle in the face before taking Stella prisoner.

Cue twelve tissues worth of slo-mo girl on girl karate action set to a lush John Barry score.

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"Don't touch the hair!"

Stella fights - and jiggles - valiantly but is soon overpowered by the gorgeous group of sweaty, leather clad Amazons who drag our hot heroine over to the hideous 'mind bending machine' for a quick bout of brain draining disco torture.

After a few minutes of brightly lit grimacing and shapely leg wobbling Stella is rescued by a fully recovered Elle who appears from behind the fridge, subduing the angryAmazons with his penile like fingers and cock shaped head before grabbing Stella and making a break for freedom.


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"It's a cock in a spacesuit!"

After a half-hearted runaround across the golden sands of Tenby's major tourist beach, Stella and Elle are fairly shocked (and maybe a tiny bit surprised) to come across a giant she-robot (with huge shiny metal breasts and massive silver rivets for nipples) blocking their escape.

Luckily this allows them to take part in a high speed chase scene that would do Benny Hill proud before being rescued by Akton who, in a fantastic show of his impeccable navigating skills defeats the She-Bot.

Okay, he crashes into it and knocks it over.

Happy now?

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Check the suit.

Thinking that the mission can't get any worse (or the movie any more comical) our heroes press on to planet number two, the chillily named Frozonian, a barren world covered by ice, snow and more ice. 

Drawing the short straw -  again - Stella and Elle venture out into the cold, polystyrene filled landscape and within minutes have stumbled across a couple of deep frozen bodies and a burnt out Fiat Uno.

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"Thor? I'm in agony!"

Whilst all this is going on, Thor -  deciding to add a wee bit of much needed jeopardy to the movie has become a badman - violently bashing Akton on the head he then takes control of the ship. 

And your mums heart.

His cunning plan is to leave the dynamic duo on the planet's frozen surface and join forces with Count Zarth An.

To be honest we should of guessed Thor would turn out to be a traitor seeing that in the entire cast of fairly attractive actors, he's the only pug-faced, green skinned baldy amongst them.

Luckily for Stella, Elle also has a cunning plan (it's always worrying when the cock-headed robot is the brainiest member of the cast) and persuades Stella to lie on top of him in the snow as he uses his 'circuits' to keep her warm.

Would this ever work on a lady in real life? 

Write in and let me know.

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"Snow in mah mooth!"

Whilst all this backstabbing and skulduggery is going on Thor seems to have forgotten about Akton, who awakes in the nick of time to zap Thor before opening the doors allowing a very stiff Elle and an even stiffer Stella back on board. 

As if that wasn't enough, it's only due to Akton's hitherto unmentioned 'special  skills'  that they're able to fully revive Stella without any - noticeable -damage. 

You see, Akton knew this would happen all along because he can see into the future!

Who knew?

Well he did obviously.

Scarily for a bubble permed second fiddle smuggler Akton has shit loads of useful (almost super) powers like this that only ever appear when the script calls for them.

I mean he can fire sine waves from his fingers, deflect death rays, thaw out bikini clad space chicks and wield a light saber.

You almost get the feeling that a movie about him and the novelty cockbot having amusing adventures would possibly have made more cash at the box office and that poor Stella was only added at the last minute to keep the dads (and teen boys) happy.

Tho' if Mr. Cozzi is reading this I do have a script in the works about that very subject and let's be honest, it can't be any worse than the ill-conceived  Starcrash sequel Escape from Galaxy 3.

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"Yeeaaahhh VT!"

Anyway, back to the plot.

With Thor banged up in a cell our terrific trio carry on with the mission and head towards the mysterious 'planet number three', know in space circles as 'the most dangerous planet in the universe' and home of the previously (un)seen lens flare/lava lamp/shoddy effects beasts, which - unsurprisingly - violently attacks the ship in what we hope will be a nerve shredding action scene like no other. 

Unfortunately tho' it isn't seeing as the crew appear to just hide behind Akton's hair for protection whilst he quickly flies thru' the monsters and lands right next to the remaining pod.

Elle and Stella head out to investigate (again) and surprise, surprise
are attacked by the indigenous population, which this time is a hairy arsed group of gypsy-like cavemen determined to use Stella for 'entertainment' purposes.

As is the way by now, Elle is once again disabled (by the cavemen obviously not in a car sticker way) as Stella is dragged away by her hair.

Space tramp bum fun ahoy.

Or not.

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"Boiled onions?"

You see just as the cavemen are about to have their wicked way with Stella, who should turn up but Prince Simon himself.

And played by the melted cheese chested Lord David of Hasselhoff no less.

Appearing from nowhere he starts shooting the hairy badmen with 'laser beams' from his glittery 'energy mask' (it's all techno-bollocks so try not to think to hard) before being joined by Akton and his (nothing like the ones in Star Wars) lightsaber.

The hunky heroes make short work of the weirdy beardies and Simon, obviously hyped up on all this killing decides to destroy Zarth An's lava lamp monster making machine too.

But just as he prepares to strike, the evil Count (boo! hiss!) finally arrives, flanked by a squad of leather clad, gimp masked Italians and two sword fighting, bin headed stop-motion robots.

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"Ladies and gentlemen....JLS!"

Zarth explains that the whole rescue mission was a cunning plan to lure the Emperor to his secret base and blow him up.


The swine.

As with all good villains, after explaining his entire plan, Zarth leaves the two robots to guard the prisoners whilst he prepares for battle.

Do you think our heroes can escape and warn Captain Von Trapp?

Noticing that Prince Simon's hair is much curlier and more bouffant than his own and therefore easier to hide in, Akton decides to give his pals a chance to escape by challenging the robots to a duel, unfortunately he's badly matted onto the scene giving the stop-motion metal men an unfair advantage which ends up with Akton getting stabbed up the shitter and left for dead.

Hmmm....he obviously didn't see that coming.

Or did he?

Stella and Simon, making no attempt to aid their pal quickly escape in Zarth's space taxi but are too late to stop him beginning the countdown to destroy the planet.

Things are looking grim for our heroes as the clock ticks away.

But not as grim as it does for the audience.

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The Von Trapp singers: the pedo years.

Just as the countdown approaches zero (as is always the way) the Emperor appears from nowhere and decides to use his 'ray for stopping time', a handy little device that allows everyone to escape before the planet explodes.

Surely this would have been useful earlier?

I mean he could have stopped time as soon as Zarth's base was found.

Or maybe launch a ship and given him a kicking.

Or even stopped time as soon as he discovered his son's ship crashed.

At the very least you think he'd of used it when he was doing his Emperor exams.

Visiting his local Debenhams lingerie department perhaps?

The possibilities are endless.

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The terrifying planet wanker.

Assuming that everyone died when the planet went boom, Zarth gets back to the everyday task of running his evil legion, busying himself by planning his next dastardly move.

Imagine his reaction then when from out of the blue a squadron of Imperial fighters appear in the heavens and proceed to drop big golden dildo shaped torpedoes thru' the massive bay windows of Zarth's base before spewing forth a gaggle of laser wielding soldiers dressed head to toe in Bacofoil.

Fair play to
Spinell for managing to look convincingly angry during this scene, if it were me I'd be on the floor pissing myself.

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You can tell that we're rapidly approaching the movies climax as a massive sparkler and smoke bomb battle ensues between the gold boiler suited good guys and the rubberized fetish geared bad men as brightly coloured toy spaceships from the early learning centre zoom about outside shooting at each other in a battle to the death.

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It comes as a wee bit of a shock to the Emperor (and to us) then when his crack troops are utterly defeated.


Pausing for a few seconds in an attempt to showcase his considerably acting talents - whilst mourningy the loss of his favourite dance troupe, the Emperor comes up with an audacious plan. 

He proposes to use the 'Starcrash'.

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As impressive and complicated as this sounds, it actually just involves crashing some huge spaceship into the Count's space fortress.

Stella is the obvious choice for the mission.....but will it work?

And let's be honest here do we really care?


Made two years after the release of Star Wars, Shlock Meister supreme Luigi Cozzi's 'homage' makes up for all it's short comings (of which there are many) by having the fantastic idea of putting British movie Goddess Caroline Munro in a leather bikini with matching thigh boots and covering her in baby oil. 

This in itself is more than enough for 93 minutes of entertainment, everything else is a bonus.

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Caroline Munro: I met her
and she smelled yummy.

And what of everything else? 

The model effects are fabulously inept, plus seeing as all the space ships appear to be made totally from the sprues from model kits (you know, the bits of plastic the parts come attached to) you and your friends can play spot the Airfix kit whilst admiring the dayglo painted backgrounds.

Space: 1999 Eagles, big truck wheels, X-Wings.....they're all here shoddily glued together to take part in a variety of disco coloured clunkily edited space battles just for you.

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Insert cock here.

As for the acting on show, Marjoe Gortner is all amusing facial ticks and a hairstyle that gives him the look of an unholy cross between Syd Little and a large pubic bush (albeit one with tiny rodent like teeth), Christopher Plummer looks junked to the eyeballs and frankly horrified, clad as he is in silver foil, thigh boots and light blue eyeliner whilst big screen bad guy Joe Spinell sweats like Donald Trump in a girls dormitory whilst shouting the word "FOREVER!" at the end of every line.

And the human car crash that is the Hoff?

Less chubby, self important and considerably less pissed than normal, his mouth is constantly agape like a whoring goldfish ready to accommodate the next eager punter you can actually see him thinking "Fuck you Harrison Ford! this is how you do space acting!" and imagining a world of Starcrash sequels and Simon action figures.

It says a lot for him that the two stop motion robots have much more charisma - and a better range - than he does.

Tho' the giant lady robot's huge metal breasts are nothing compared to his ever expanding man ones.

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I wouldn't one of them swimming up my arse.

As a bizarre aside, for years Starcrash was only available - in it's full 93 minute version - on home video in France which meant that to acquire it I had to have sex with a hairy pitted French girl named Mireille.


Come to think of it I really should have waited.

Or at least gotten a pen pal.

china in your han.

Getting excited about the upcoming release of Rogue One here (what can I say? I'm a guy of a certain age) so in way of celebration I present various panels from the fantastic Chinese comic book adaptation of Star Wars originally published in Guangdong.


Head over here for the full strip and to marvel at the amazing Nick Stember who's attempting to translate the whole thing and for more on the history  of lianhuanhua, check out the quite marvelous Maggie Green

Who says this blog isn't educational?

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

shiver mah timbah!

Been watching some real shite lately so needed an old friend to cheer me up.

Unfortunately I don't know any real people so had to settle on a film instead.

Le Frisson Des Vampires (1971 AKA Sex and the Vampire, Strange Things Happen at Night, The Shiver of the Vampires, The Terror of the Vampires, Thrill of the Vampires, Vampire Thrills)
Dir: Jean Rollin.
Cast: Sandra Julien, Jean-Marie Durand, Jacques Robiolles, Michel Delahaye, Marie-Pierre Tricot, Kuelan Herce, Nicole Nancel and 'Dominique'.

The issue of Starburst with this
on the back cover
got confiscated during my lunchbreak
by my form teacher.

Somewhere in a creepy French castle, two of the dirtiest - and not in a good way -  laydees this side of West Bromwich on a Saturday night (moonheaded blonde poppet Marie-Pierre Tricot and the toothsome, lank haired Kuelan Herce) gaze drunkenly as the skinny minnie Isabelle (the slightly less drunk but even more disease ridden Nancel) single handedly pops a couple of caskets into a cardboard crypt wall.

As you do.

Beanz meanz yeast infectionz.

Bored with staring aimlessly into the middle distance our toothsome twosome decide to go visit the tower in order to gaze instead at a couple of men that just happen to be chained to the wall, the stakes thru their chests making the two unfortunate fellas look like novelty coat hangers.

With his dying breath the one that can act (kind of) tells the maids to hurry to the graveyard and stake anybody who has die within the last week in case they turn into vampires.

Nodding in unison like a pair of novelty pug bookends the pair race to the cemetery.

I hope you're following's way more complicated to type this shite than to watch it.

On arrival the pervy pair are shocked (well apathetic) to see that the sultry Isolde (the mysterious - and painfully skinny - 'Dominique') has already risen from her grave.

And been busying herself tucking in to jam sandwiches by the look of her lips.

Recognizing a good deal when they see it - and by good deal I mean a chance to strip naked and coyly touch each others breasts -  the girls forget all about this vampire business and instead offer to serve the undead Isolde (alongside a couple of camp French blokes - are there any other kind? - who just happened to be hanging around) and help them entice unwary travelers to the house so that they may drink their blood.

Dominique: up the casino, Benidorm, 1964.

Within hours of this happening (or so it seems) the beautiful (and not to mention germ free) Ise (Julien, I would twice) and her greasy mulleted husband Antoine (the rat-like Durand) arrive at the castle straight from their wedding ceremony.

It appears that Ise reckoned it'd be a good idea to combine her honeymoon with a visit to her overtly camp cousins.

As luck would have it another cousin died in the castle recently so it means she has a chance to have a wee cry about that whilst she's there too.

No doubt her new hubby is really happy with this plan but it's hard to tell seeing as he just stands there grinning and shuffling about uncomfortably in what looks like his dads suit.

Dwarf or far awayism?

Her unnamed cousins (Delahaye: tall, silver haired, lip wristed and fish lipped and Robiolles: lank haired, limper wristed and poppy eyed) seem way too happy to see little Ise and after much hugging, hair stroking, lip licking and knowing looks settle down for a slap up meal.

Davison and McGann are upset to hear that
David Tennant has all the best lines in the
75th Anniversary special 'The Nth Doctor'.

With a full tummy and a head full of grief at her (other) cousins' recent death, Ise goes all stroppy and makes Antoine sleep on the sofa.

Yup sounds like a normal wedding night.

Annoyed at not getting the chance to consummate their marriage but not wanting to come across as an unfeeling brute (or even just come across one....he's not that frustrated...yet) her hubby huffs n' shrugs before settling down for the night with a good book and the dog blanket whilst Ise drapes herself across the bed before adopting the patented horror film saucy virgin pose.

Wiggling and moaning in that sexily sweaty way that only girls in 1970's Eurohorror shlockers can, Ise is rudely awoken at midnight by Isolde noisily stepping out of a grandfather clock.

our flaxen haired heroine is immediately entranced by this druggy (sorry, dusky) beauty.

The official Penelope Keith Cuckoo
clock was a huge hit in Bavaria.

Isolde wastes no time in taking Ise up the cemetery (ooeer), where she uncomfortably fondles her breasts before biting her neck.

Ise's descent into darkness (and lipstick lesbianism) has begun.


I mean come on, this is the only reason we're watching isn't it?

"Tongue in mah mooth!"

Pity poor Antoine tho', the more he tries to get into his blushing brides - massive - pants the more distant and cold she becomes and, adding insult to injury whilst he's getting a crick neck from spending every night on the sofa she's getting bitten and fondled by her new vampiric lover.

Antoine's frustrations are soon at bursting point (and that's not all that's bursting from the way he's walking) and - in an effort to take his mind of his wifes admittedly peachy arse -  therefore decides to fill his days wandering aimlessly round the castle grounds shooting indiscriminately at pigeons.

This at least has the effect of bringing the couple together for a few minutes as every time he shoots one of the poor little buggers Ise darts out of the shadows and drinks its blood.

A classy date and no mistaking.

"Go on....I'll promise I'll pull your
nightie down when I've finished".

Unfortunately for Antoine - but not for those of us that like a wee bit of early 70's girl on girl teasing - Ise is becoming more and more distant as she slowly transforms into a creature of the night.

By that I mean a vampire, not a taxi driver.

Tho' it is a fairly honorable and well loved profession so who am I to judge? 

Things may be about to chage tho' as one day as she's skulking about the castle Ise stumbles across Isolde's coffin sitting dangerously close to an open sunlit window.

Will she come to her senses, open the casket and kill Isolde or will she embrace (quite literally) her feminine side and complete her transformation into a saucy vampire vixen?

Go on, guess.

Doodle Do: the porn years.

As is the way with such films, you wait 30 minutes for a plot twist and two come at once, you see after years of serving their undead masters the two maids have actually been planning a way to escape from their nightmarish existence of serving drinks, fondling each other on a nightly basis and having their breasts exposed by the cousins after dinner for the amusement of guests.

Tho' I've no idea why as it seems a pretty cushy job if you ask me.

Which you didn't so I'll shut the fuck up and continue with the synopsis.
 At what is this plan?

Wait for it cos it's a doozy, involving as it does sabotaging Antoine's car in order to stop him grabbing Ise and driving away (tho' why he didn't think of that earlier I've no idea) therefore forcing him to confront the vampire family whilst they sneak out the back.

And this plan took years to come up with?

Marie-Pierre farted and it's an eggy one.

As if the plot wasn't confusing enough, the other 'cousin' - possibly, it's hard to tell/care - from earlier the stern Isabelle (Nancel, looking like your friends mum you used to fancy at school) bursts into the room looking quite annoyed.

It seems that she's only just realized that her ex-lovers have transformed into evil vampires.

Better late than never I guess.

A severe case of telling off ensues which the cousins stoically take on the chin.

Lets be honest tho' it's probably not the only unpleasant thing that they've had there is it?

Unfortunately Isabelle takes it too far (well she is a woman) and starts slagging off their purple loon pants and girly blouses, accusing them of the terrible crime of being 'unmanly and pathetic'.

Obviously being the one that chose their outfits, Isolde goes a wee bit mental and decides the best course of action would be to murder Isabelle with a handy spiked bra she just happened to be wearing.

And no, I didn't see that coming.

This in turn so enrages the cousins that they have no choice but to pin her down and violently put it in her her.

Which, if I'm honest kinda gives it the edge over Graham's conflicy resolution on the Jeremy Kyle show.

A butcher's dog yesterday.

Antoine by this point has understandably had enough of all these underfed lesbians, as well as the crack whore maids who've by this point taken to jumping into his bed to steal his jammie bottoms and the least said about the piss and gin soaked camp cousins the better, so he decides to change into his best action slacks and confront the twee twosome with a crucifix.

But after a frankly pathetic struggle that would shame even two seven year old schoolgirls they slap him about for a bit and tie him up.

As he wriggles limply on the hall carpet sniffling like a girl and begging Ise for help the cousins camply giggle at him as they lead his beloved wife away for her final 'initiation'.

Deciding to push their escape plan ahead the maids untie Antoine, wiping his nose before pointing him in the direction of the graveyard.

Surprisingly for such an ineffectual lead he actually  manages to follow the directions, making it to the graveyard without tripping over or bumping into something and also manages to succeed in abducting Ise before the ritual is complete, much to the annoyance of the cousins who mince after him waving their arms like big gay seagulls.

At this point I'd like to add that this is no way meant as a slight to seagulls anywhere.

Gay or otherwise.

It is, in fact just a cheap attempt at humour.

Whilst all this is going on a frankly bored Isolde decides to retire to the relative comfort of her coffin (for crack and buns obviously) only to find that the maids have set fire to it and surrounded the vampiric junkie with big crucifixes.


The fire must rage for weeks tho' as she actually dies of hunger after trying to bite her own neck.

And with this the maids skip away hand in hand for a joyous, vampire free life of soap free lesbian sex.

Which we never see.

Pity that.

Forget the ample arse, check the tide
mark round her waist. Dirty cow.

But let's not dwell on what could have been and return to the here and now where we find our hero Antoine running across a beach carrying Ise to safety.

I must admit he looks very out of breath tho' so either the beach is miles away or he's even weedier than he looks.

Unfortunately it's not long before the cousins have caught up with poor Antoine, kicking sand in his face and dead legging him.

Crying even more now he begs Ise to come with him - or at least to let him put it in her once - but she choses to go with her cousins, leaving Antoine sobbing like a wee boy who's had his football stolen by the big boys, blubbing and shaking in the sand.

Turning her back on her man (well her ex man....can't he take a hint?) she slinks toward her cousins who then nibble her neck, strip her naked and fondle her senseless till the sun rises and fries all three of them in an orgy of blood, sweat, egg and semen.

I would so hate to be their local laundrette.

Distraught and confused, Antoine runs around the beach, firing off his pistol stumbles about like a loon.

Remember kids, all women are evil.

There are those who will tell you that Jean Rollin was a purveyor of fine motion pictures and that if you look beyond the crass sex scenes and stilted performances that a hidden gem of art house cinema will appear.

This is, of course utter shite, I mean come on, this is the man responsible for Zombie(s) Lake.

Those of us who don't have hang ups about such things love and adore him for what he truly was.

A lovably dirty old man with an arse - and shoe - fetish.

And you'll all agree I'm sure that there's nowt wrong with that.

Appearing in the mid ground of his 'female vampire' obsession (following on from Le Viol du vampire in 1968 and La Vampire nue in '69) Le Frisson Des Vampires is the most accomplished of Rollin's vampire epics.

Which if I'm honest doesn't really say much.

At once both cheap and cheerful and as pretentious as a first year art student it's moments of surreal genius (Dominique sleeping in a grandfather clock) are cruelly juxtaposed with arse numbing scenes of plotless ramblings and random snatches of female nudity.

Exploitative rubbish or an artistically erotic masterpiece?

Well I know what I think.

If you've never experienced this little gem for yourself you really should rush out and buy it now so you can make up your own mind.

Just don't forget the tissues.