Thursday, February 8, 2018

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 77).

To celebrate the 40th anniversary of Britain's favourite school Grange Hill opening its gates let us celebrate everyone's (well my) fave 80s classroom crush - Georgina Hayes (as played by Samantha Lewis).

You can read about my futile attempt to write for the show here if you like.

But you most likely wont.

Saturday, February 3, 2018

video naschy.

I love Paul Naschy.

I love Maria Kosti.

I love corpses.

But scarily I'd never seen this till Wednesday.

I wont say too much about it because:

A. I don't want to give too much away.

B. I'll make it sound shit.

but more importantly

C. I really can't be arsed.


A Dragonfly For Each Corpse (AKA Una libélula para cada muerto, Red Killer, 1974).
Dir: León Klimovsky.
Cast: Paul Naschy, Erika Blanc, Eduardo Calvo, Ángel Aranda, Antonio Mayans, Maria Kosti, Ricardo Merino, José Canalejas, Rafael Albaicín, Susana Mayo and Maria Vidal (not the one that sang Body Rock).

Welcome to the  fashion capital of the world, - tho' you wouldn't guess that from the state of the ties and collars -  the groovy city of Milan where a mentalist murderer clad in a ladies raincoat and massive red flares that are oh so slightly too short is busy ridding the city of what they term as 'undesirables'.

You know the types, monkey-faced junkies, various dirty ladies and skinny bearded men in big white pants who are dispatched using a variety of implements ranging from ceremonial swords to umbrellas with sharpened tips.

Which is nice.

But with this being a Giallo (as opposed to a common or garden slasher) the killer - by law - must leave a bizarre clue cum calling card which in this case is a shoddy dragonfly broach which appears to have been made by the producers hook handed blind child.


Leading the investigation is girdle-wearing, bewigged bad boy of the old bill Inspector Paolo Scaporella (the legend that is Paul Naschy) - mustached machoman who loves nothing better than slapping perverts whilst chewing on a big cigar.

Oh yes, and cooking spaghetti whilst wearing a pink apron.

As the corpses pile up (tho' not literally mind) Paolo soon realises - with the help of his gorgeously ginger missis Silvana (The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave's Blanc) and their group of high society dinner party pals (which appears to include Jess Franco's evil twin) that all the victims aremembers of the cities criminal underworld and that the dragonfly is an ancient symbol used to denote bad people.

And whores obviously.

Blood on mah thigh!

As is the way with these films tho' it appears that many of their 'friends' have their own dark secrets which means that any one of them could be the next victim.

Or even the killer.

With a head full of conjecture and half-arsed theories, Paolo finally discovers a clue, it seems that one of the victims put up a wee bit of a struggle tearing a massive 'fashion' button from the killers coat so our hero enlists the help of his Kaftan-clad, haute couture homosexualist designer friend, Vittorio to try and track down the button's owner.

No, really.

But with the killer aware of Paolo's plan and Silvana taking to studying crime scene photos in the nude it's a race against time and good taste (plus a gang of biker neo-Nazis) to find the killer before there's no-one in the cast left to kill.

Or any viewers left to care.


Obviously bored with being stuck inside a furry suit 24 hours a day when making Waldemar Daninsky werewolf movies Paul Naschy decided to try a different tact  with A Dragonfly For Each Corpse and emulate the erotically charged Giallo's spewing forth from Italy at that time.

Well it was either that or he fancied a free holiday to Milan.

The result is, shall we say interesting.

George and Mildred: The Yewtree years.

Tho' nowhere near as polished or as accomplished as it's Italian counterparts Dragonfly is still a load of fun, partly due to the always watchable Naschy (and his mighty man breasts) alongside genre stalwarts Erika Blanc and Maria Kosti (or Kosty as she's credited here) but mainly because of the sheer amount of early seventies fashions on show.

Especially the ties.

No, really there are kipper ties, crotch covering paisley ties, ones with squared off edges and some so thin you'd mistake them for a hunger striker.

It's like a down at heel charity shop made flesh.

Add to that an arse end sixties style score, a stripper clad only in a crotched doily lounging in a coffin, Erika Blanc's tan lines, a group of geriatric Nazi boot boys and a climax featuring Naschy chasing a bandy legged transvestite thru' a kiddies playpark and you have all the elements needed for a top night in.


Thursday, February 1, 2018

evelyn whoaaar!

With preparing for Frightfest, launching The Three Mothers and finishing up illustration duties on Dead Funny (available here and here) I've had precious little time to watch any movies of late.

Except the Paul Naschy classic A Dragonfly for Each Corpse (which scarily I'd never seen before) and this, which I had.

Hmmmm....I think I may be becoming a wee bit obsessed with Erika Blanc.


La Notte che Evelyn uscì dalla tomba (AKA The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave, The Night She Arose from the Tomb, The Night That Evelyn Left the Tomb. 1971).
Dir: Emilio Miraglia.
Cast: Anthony Steffen, Marina Malfatti, Erika Blanc, Giacomo Rossi-Stuart, Enzo Tarascio, Umberto Raho, Roberto Maldera and Joan C. Davis.

Welcome to the world of the filthy rich yet nutty as squirrel shit Sir Alan Cunningham (Steffen, AKA Antonio De Steffe, B-movie beefcake for hire) who, when not escaping from the local lunatic asylum on a monthly basis is hiring seedy down-at-heel hookers from down at the local docks for tuppence a time.

And the fact that Sir Alan uses fake number plates when picking up these sensuous ladies of the night really doesn't help the feeling that he may be after more than a wee bit of slap and tickle.

Arriving at his ramshackle stately home one night with a particularly rouge faced, ginger haired old slapper named Terri (no doubt played by your mum) Sir Alan leads her to a sumptuously seventies (in a kinda Roger Moore way) living room where he prepares a few glasses of J&B Whiskey (the Eurohorror drink of choice) while she slowly undresses in an incredibly bored manner.

Yup, definitely your mum.

Leslie Judd, up the casino, Wigan, 1974.....YESCH.

Stripped down to her market stall suspenders and big black Grannie pants she seductively follows Big Al into what she thinks is the bedroom.

So imagine her surprise when she discovers she's actually been led into a medieval torture chamber.

Before you can say bloodied breasts, Terri Whore finds herself strapped to a block of wood whilst Alan whips her before branding her soft white skin and finally stabbing her to death in a mentalist frenzy whilst screaming something about some woman named Evelyn.

Which is nice.

Early next morning Albert the grounds-keeper (Maldera, in a performance worthy of his own spin-off series), is angrily accosting Alan on the front lawn.

It appears that all the stabbings and torture kept poor Albert awake the night before and now he's too knackered to even consider mowing the grass.

Alan, being a considerate sort of chap gives Albert £30 in the hopes of winning him over (which indeed it does) so the crafty gardener heads into town to stock up on tissues and Pot Noodles, but not before a huge explanatory scene that serves to reveal that Evelyn was not only Sir Al’s (red haired) wife but also Albert's wee sister.

Stranger things are to come tho' as we discover that she died under 'mysterious circumstances' shortly after her husband became aware of the fact that she was having an affair.

Could this be related to the huge number of dead ginger whores in the cellar?

Eye hen.

That night, craving a wee bit more of the old sex and violence (well, it keeps him off the streets I guess....oh right), Alan phones his equally hatstand relative, George (the late, great Murdock star of The Etruscan Kills Again) to see if he fancies a night on the town.

George, next in line to the Cunningham fortune is the brains behind the operation, being the one that picks the 'nite spots' and back alley's that the duo frequent as well as deciding which red heads Alan should murder.

Which is more than any cousin of mine has done for me, except for that one time with the head in the fridge but that wasn't my fault.

All dressed up in the latest high fashions, the kinky pair head into town to the famous Barnsley Strip Emporium and Bingo Club where the harsh faced yet appealingly carrot topped stripper Susie (Blanc, the breast revealing star of A Dragonfly for Each Corpse and Will Our Heroes Be Able to Find Their Friend Who Has Mysteriously Disappeared in Africa?) is about to strut her stuff.

Oh, and get her tits out obviously.

Alan and George attempt to cover their tracks.

By the end of the evening, Sir Alan has hooked up with Susie, offering her a massive £1000 (in old money) to come back to his house for a stabbing.

I mean a shag.

Returning to Sir Al's pad, it's not long before Susie finds herself bra-less (tho' suitably huge panted), bound and standing in the middle of the torture chamber with Alan sweatily rubbing his hands together with glee as he approaches her menacingly.

A swift knee to the happy sacks gives Susie enough time to leg it into the garden, vault the fence and take refuge in a deserted chapel.

Within minutes the sinister sir has found the poor maiden, sneakily approaching her, his arms outstretched and his feeble erection rubbing against the thin polyester of his loon-pants, for the kill.

Luckily for Susie he's overcome mid throttle by vivid visions of his dead ex missis.

Next morning Sir A goes about his business as normal with no mention or sign of Susie, which is a good job really seeing as he has an appointment with the head psychiatrist from the asylum he used to regularly escape from (Rossi-Stuart from Gate of Hell, War of the Robots, The Last Man on Earth and Kill, Baby... Kill! playing the Doc not the asylum, obviously).

It's a pity then that Doctor Timberlake, sorry Timberlane (for that is he) appears to be as nutty as he is.

Not only is he confused as to whether his former patient should really be going out butchering sleazy burds but he reckons that holding a séance to get in touch with Al's dead wife to let her tell her hubbie to move on would be a good idea.

This has come about due to Doc Timberlane discovering that Alan’s Aunt Agatha (Davis, looking more like Al's younger sister) is a bona fide psychic medium.


The séance (rather unexpectedly to them but obviously not to us) is a huge success with Evelyn hovering above the dining table, but as she goes to speak Alan has another seizure, making the idea of having another ghostly chat experience a wee bit of an embarrassing idea for all involved.

So it’s back murdering gin soaked whores for Sir Alan.

And where better place to start than a cheap and tacky high society 'do' organised by the always helpful George?

Everything seems to be going to hell in a handbag until George introduces Al to an incredibly beautiful yet frighteningly big chinned girl with the amusingly unsexy name of Gladys (Malfatti from All the Colors of the Dark).

Enjoying her excited chat and horse-like laugh it's obvious that Sir Alan is besotted, so much so that it comes as a shock to all involved when he gets down on one knee and proposes to Gladys there and then.

Gladys all over.

With a swing in his step and a song in his heart Alan begins to restore the family mansion and put his past life of whore slashing behind him, gathering his entire family (well, his aunt and cousin plus Albert) alongside a bevvy of saucy blonde maids to begin preparations for what could be a wedding to rival the late, great Jordan's for out and out freak value.

not too surprisingly it's not long before things start to go wrong (and no, I don't mean that Al's fiancee is shite at cage fighting and wears a dress) when the theft of an an antique dinner service by a mysterious redhead dressed in a French maid outfit (wahey!) causes Alan’s Evelyn fixated hallucinations to begin again.

Putting two and two together to make 'random horror logic jump', Gladys begins to think that Evelyn might not be dead at all.

"Curses He-Man!"

Sod stolen tea sets and wedding bollocks tho' because after the spate of prostitute murders in the films first half the audience is now gagging for some more killings (preferably by a black gloved mentalist).

Well don't worry we won't have long to wait.

First up poor Albert is attack with a big snake and buried alive after being rendered unconscious by the reptiles vile venom then Aunt Agatha has a housebrick dropped on her (bulbous) head before being fed to Alan's pet foxes.


How the story may have been reported by
the press if it were real.(and yes I know he's a Lord but it wouldn't work if i put that).

And if that wasn't enough to keep the film lurching excitedly towards it's climax then the fact that glamorous Gladys has started seeing Evelyn floating outside her window at night  should make even the most jaded horror fan shriek with, oh I don't know...mild apathy I guess?

But what's this? Alan himself finally saw her too this time, so off he goes to the deserted chapel where her coffin lies.

Once inside, Alan is relieved to find not only the stolen dinner set (they're not cheap you know) but also Evelyn, who frighteningly still has a full curvy figure and ample breasts but alas also a face of utter skull fuckness.

Like Skeletor's head stuck on Lorraine Kelly's body.

Feeling a tad better for seeing his dead wife's breasts again, Sir Al is just about to seal her coffin when Evelyn suddenly opens her eyes and sits bolt upright!

A by now even more unhinged Alan starts to dribble before dropping to his knees and pissing himself (with fright, not laughter), his mind totally broken by this supernatural act.

Stepping out of her coffin and wandering off into the night, Evelyn waits till she's out of her husband's field of vision before pulling off the shoddy skull mask to reveal......


It appears that everything has been a big elaborate (some may say over elaborate) plot by George to get his hands on Alan’s title and fortune.

The dirty sod.

Celebrating his new found wealth George takes Gladys to his secluded love nest just outside Bridgenorth to celebrate, but once a sly bastard always a sly bastard and he turns on the big chinned chick too, poisoning her Champagne.

As Gladys lies on the sofa, foaming at the mouth and pulling a scarily accurate Bruce Forsyth cum face (I know what that looks like, my nan told me), who should walk in but Susie!

Yup, she was working for George too.

For fuck sake this is convoluted.

Gladys, half dead yet still bouncy, picks up a handy bread knife and lunges at Susie, sticking it into her shoulder-blade, Susie retaliates with a broken bottle.

Soon both ladies are cutting chunks out of each other with various handy household items as George looks on with a kinda manic glee usually seen on your mum's face when your best mate visits after swimming.

It's not long before the pair of them are lying dead in a huge pool of their own blood, leaving George with no witnesses or loose ends, just a huge pile of cash.

Leaving his house to begin his newly acquired playboy lifestyle, George is shocked to find Alan standing in his flower patch cradling a huge bag of nitric acid fertilizer to his bosom.

It seems the madness (well some of it) was just a ruse to out George for the bad man that he is and now Sir Alan wants revenge...

"Look at the dog!"

My God, Miraglia what the hell had you (and not to mention co-writers Fabio Pittorru and Massimo Felisatti) been drinking when you concocted this massively brilliant mess of a movie?

I mean, it took longer to explain the plot than it did to watch the film.

What director today would have the audacity to have a lunatic, whore slashing inbred English aristocrat as the put upon hero?

Then cast a swarthy Italian to play him?

But as it stands the whole film is just an excuse for a variety of deliciously red-headed Eurotrash babes to get their kit off at every given opportunity whilst the rest of the cast wander around gaudy as fuck sets in outfits that dear old Peter Wyngarde wouldn't be seen dead in spouting inane dialogue with all the emotion and feeling of a bag of clothes pegs.

And really, you can't argue with that can you?

If that's not enough to convince you tho' there are some fantastically shot scenes of undisputed genius in the film as well.

OK, there are two but who's counting?

Oh yeah, me.

Alan’s maddening pursuit of Susie from the torture chamber to the chapel alongside Evelyn's resurrection from the dead are heart stopping moments of sheer terror that really need to be seen to be believed and the films dementedly mad plot and choppy editing actually add to the overall joy to be had from Evelyn (both before and after her rise).

Essential family viewing.

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

seventy not out.

 John Carpenter turning 70  seems as good an excuse as any to re-share the patented Carpenter mega-mixes.

Get ready for over 3 hours of classic Carpenter inspired cuts, Jack Burton beats and taxicab tunes.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

it'll be all fright on the night (and the following two days obviously).

Yup it's that time of year when Team Frightfest make their way oop nerth to 'sunny' Glasgow for their annual weekend of blood, sweat and fears and I recycle the last god knows how many previews so I don't have to come up with any new patter.

It's not like anyone reads this so frankly I can't see the point.

Anyway on with the show.

And by show I mean looking forward to what films are on obviously.

This year’s line-up of 13 films spanning 10 countries, four continents and 12 different hairstyles kicks off on the now traditional Thursday evening slot in a scare-tastic style with the big screen adaptation of Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson's Ghost Stories.

Adapted from the stage show of the same name it stars Martin (the man in the romantic phone ads) Freeman alongside Paul ('Brilliant!') Whitehouse and tells the sinister story of Professor Philip Goodman (Nyman), a renowned sceptic of the supernatural who is given the opportunity to investigate three case histories of baffling paranormal activity, uncovering mysteries beyond his own imagination that lead to a shockingly personal nightmare style conclusion.

Or so the official blurb says.

Expect scares, chairs and quality facial hair from Mr Nyman.

"I am not a number!"

There's just enough time for a change of underwear before we meet The Lodgers (not literally tho' it's just the films title) in this gothic tale we're introduced to (again not literally, only on screen) orphaned twins Rachel (Charlotte - American Assassin - Vega) and Edward (Bill Milner - young Magneto in X-Men: First Class) who live alone in their crumbling family estate, except that is at night when the house becomes the domain of a sinister presence that enforces three rules upon them.

Bed by midnight, no outsiders past the threshold and any solo escape attempt will put the other twin in jeopardy.

Which bizarrely is near enough the same rules I had as a kid except we had a fourth one about not wanking in the butter but I digress.

But a troubled war veteran (is there any other kind?) who is mysteriously drawn to Rachel is about to test the rules to the limit.

And hopefully get a glimpse of ankle for his trouble.


Friday brings us (the audience) the UK premiere of Dragos Buliga’s The Wanderers: Quest of the Demon Hunter that features Judge Dredd's evil twin Armand Assante as Louis, the most famous ghost and demon hunter in the world who, as we meet him, is traveling to the infamous Zalesky Castle in Romania alongside an Israeli journalist, a Romanian guide and a Korean television reality show team in to untangle the evil secrets lurking at the dark heart of this frightened community.

Think Dudley but with better teeth.


Next up is Kelly Greene’s pastiche of 50's monster movies and all things Corman Attack of the Bat Monsters, where we join schlock impresario Francis Gordon as his intrepid crew as they attempt to shoot an impromptu monster movie in the three days left over from the film they’ve just wrapped.

From the Saul Bass opening title homage to its highly authentic, comic evocation of 1950s’ grade-Z grindhouse, the movie ended up lost behind the directors sofa shortly after it was made in 1999.

But ace restorer and armchair collector Mark Rance (who brought Tobe Hooper’s Eggshells to FrightFest 2010 and once bought me a pickled egg in a train station) found it when shopping for a new footstool and has lovingly refurbished it under writer/director Kelly Greene’s supervision and steely gaze.


It's time for a quick wee and maybe a smoke before Robin Aubert’s The Ravenous (or Les Affamés as the French speakers amongst us call it) is let loose on an unsuspecting audience.

Unless that is they've read a programme and know what films are coming up.

Tho' someone may change the order for a laugh.

Who knows?

As a pesky zombie apocalypse ravages Canada (the thought of anything at all happening in Canada is scary enough) the surviving residents of rural Quebec wait patiently for any assistance from the government but as it becomes more and more likely that no-one is coming (to help that is, I'm sure a couple of the townsfolk are actually quite aroused by an undead invasion) the survivors must figure things out for themselves, even if it means risking a hideous death.

Saying that I'd risk certain death if it meant I could even lightly touch the skirt hem of the librarian-like star of the film, the pixie-like Monia Chokri so this maybe my fave movie of the whole weekend.

Monia Chokri: Smooth, milky thigh.

And how do you follow a French speaking zombie shocker I hear you cry, well with  Xavier (Frontier(s) and The Divide) Gens  love letter to HP Lovecraft and amphibious fondling Cold Skin.

Phew, glad that's sorted.

At the dawn of the First World War a young man named Friend (David Oakes who'll always be there for you) arrives at a desolate Antarctic Circle lighthouse to take up the post of weather observer but soon discovers that a race of amphibious humanoids live nearby, rising from the sea every night to attack him and his grumpy lighthouse keeper companion, Gruner (the always watchable Ray Stevenson).

I'm expecting The Shape of Water but with added gore and fish fanny if I'm honest.
And that's not a bad thing.

"She-Fish in mah mooth!"

Friday closes with the European premiere of Primal Rage.

No not the one based on the video game starring The Rock and a big monkey but a scary Sasquatch shocker from special effects icon and former Hulk hunter Patrick (Jurassic Park III, Evolution, Spider-Man) McGee.

Lost deep in the forest of the Pacific Northwest, Ashley (Casey Cagliardi) and her ex-convict husband Max (Andrew Joseph Montgomery) find themselves being stalked by a terrifying creature the locals call Oh-Mah.

Tho' not by The O Men from BBC TV's Jigsaw which is probably for the best.

Soon they find themselves forced to face not only nature’s harshness but a band of unsavory hunters (who will most likely try to touch Ashley's bum whilst leering a lot) as they become embroiled in a life and death battle against a Native American legend made flesh.

And fur obviously.

Pure ragin'.

Time for bed now as we steal 40 winks (and the shoes of the person asleep two rows in front) to prepare us for a scary Saturday starting with Paul Urkijo’s Basque fantasy fairytale The Blacksmith and the Devil.

Ten years after Spanish Civil War (well one of them), orphan Usue (Uma Bracaglia) seeks to escape from her abusive guardians and the general shittiness of the local villagers.

When her beloved doll is stolen, it ends up at the property of Patxi (Kandido Uranga) a lonely and feared blacksmith who is the keeper of a terrifying secret.

A horrible truth that Usue innocently reveals.

Which sounds good.

Laugh now.

After all that darkly disturbing subtitle reading it's back to basics with the origin story of Gillian Holroyd's cat and familiar in the film Bell, Book and Candle = Pyewacket.

Or the title may just be a reference to one of the familiar spirits of a witch detected by the Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins.

Either way Adam MacDonald's tale of angst-ridden teenage girl (is there any other type?) Leah (Nicole Muñoz, last seen taking a bath with some aliens in Defiance) upset after the death of her dad (or is it the dad of her death?) performs a blood incantation calling on the devil to kill her mother.

As you do.

Changing her mind almost immediately she soon realizes she can’t reverse the curse and an unholy presence now stalks them both.


Nicole Muñoz in a bath yesterday.

 After all the demon-based badness it's time for some good old fashioned human hatred with Gabriela Amaral Almeida’s Friendly Beast, which is surprisingly neither friendly or beast based.

It's nearly closing time at a struggling restaurant and all the staff want is to go home.

As they tidy up and grab their coats the restaurant owner sits alone in the back office struggling with money troubles and a desire for more control in his life.

Enter two robbers, the catalyst for a violent situation, which the boss is initially able to contain and even gain the upper hand, unfortunately tho' the already dangerous and explosive situation takes a turn for the worse and as sides are taken all those involved begin to engage in the most abhorrent behaviour imaginable.

Which probably means lots of mooth shite-in.

I hope.

Tie me up, tie me down.

If that puts you off dining out the Adam Marcus' Christmas kill-fest Secret Santa may put you off turkey and stuffing for life, telling as it does the sorry story of  
the Pope family’s Christmas Eve dinner where everything goes horribly (and hilariously) wrong when someone puts something in the party punch causing everyone to tell the unvarnished truth at the already dysfunctional holiday reunion.

When the head of the household turns psycho, the scene is set for murderous mayhem and raw revenge as the family reveal their long-buried hatreds and festering loathings.

Just like my Christmases as a child.

Blood on mah face.

Mexican writer/director Issa Lopez brings us her magical (and disturbing) story of five young urchins making the best of their daily struggle to survive on the streets as they are caught in the unceasing cartel crossfire of the ongoing violent drug war in Mexico in her third feature Tigers Are Not Afraid next, which if I'm honest seems way too serious for me to take the piss out of with childish captions so I'll move straight on to Neil Mackay’s home-based Turkey Shoot/Running Man homage bloody Sixty Minutes to Midnight.

Tigers may not be afraid but she looks like she's about to shit herself.

It’s New Years Eve 1999 and former soldier Jack Darcy (Robert Nolan minus his singing sisters) wakes to find himself mysteriously entered into a murderous new TV game show.

He has sixty minutes to kill or be killed by a group of strange armed men who’ve surrounded his house but what his would-be assassins haven’t realised is that Jack has learnt a few tricks from his military days.

He has a hidden bunker full of weapons and he isn’t going down without a vicious fight.

Or at the very least a violent bumming.


See you all on Thursday 1st March in Nice N Sleazy for pre-movie drinks then?

But until then here are some more pics of Nicole Muñoz in the bath.


Sunday, December 31, 2017

happy hogmanany!

See you all (well all 3 of you who bother to read my shite) next year!

Monday, December 18, 2017

chicken run.

As mentioned earlier I've been busy reviewing a slew of halfway decent 'Zom-Coms' for an upcoming book on the genre (alongside some 'proper job' drawing....wonders never cease) so had precious little time for anything.

Including washing which is a wee bit embarrassing if I'm honest.

Available to buy soon....please do cos I need new shoes!

But occasionally a film comes along which is so mind-numbingly arse that you just can't ignore it.

But enough about The Last Jedi.

Instead ladies and gentlemen I give you (no really take it)....

Leatherface (2017).
Dir: Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo.
Cast:  Stephen Dorff, Vanessa Grasse, Sam Strike, Lili Taylor, Finn Jones, James Bloor, Jessica Madsen, Sam Coleman and Julian Kosto.

Surely it should say the origin of Leatherface seeing as the origin of TCM is actually the film? Just saying.

Deep in the heart of Texas (played quite convincingly - surprisingly enough - by a small Bulgarian town) on the Sawyer homestead, mucky-faced mentalist matriarch Verna Sawyer (Lili - "The school fees are how much?" - Taylor) is busy organizing a birthday party for her youngest son/nephew/brother Jedidiah.

And what is the little tyke getting for his birthday?

Well the chance to slaughter a local hick they found wandering around the farm who it seems was attempting to steal a pig.

Presenting Jedidiah with a chainsaw the family cheer on the boy as he slowly (well he only has tiny legs) approaches the prone pig puller.

Being a sweet caring child tho' Jedidiah refuses, preferring to finish his cake leaving grandpa to finish the job with his trusty hammer.


Jump forward to 1955 where sweet young things Betty Hartman (the Converse-clad, button nosed pixie dream girl Grasse) and Ted - hey fanboys here's a reference for you - Hardesty (Kosto) are happily driving down a country road when they come across (not in that way even tho' he's on all fours with his peachy arse sticking in the air) little Jedidiah clad only in a pair of soiled undies and a cow head.

No really.

Betty, being a nice girl (and obvious victim fodder, no one that cute could possibly survive that long in a horror movie) follows the wee fella to a dilapidated old barn where the rest of the Sawyer family are in hiding ready to drop a tractor engine on her head.

Unfortunately for them her father is not only the mad as a bag of spanners local Sheriff but also played by the frankly marvelous Stephen ("She's bleeding me dry with this divorce settlement!" Dorff who reacts by angrily shouting at everyone before taking little Jedidiah into custody and carting him off to the Gorman House Youth Reform School for 'his own safety'.

It's like a slightly more violent episode of The Archers really.

"Milk it."

With the backstory out of the way it's time to start the movie good and proper as we (quantum) leap ten years into the future where the recently-hired nurse Elizabeth White (It Came From The Desert star Grasse) is spending her first day at work bonding with the patients.

As opposed to abusing them ala One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest because no cliché works quite like an old cliché.

And just to show how nice she really is she stands up for the misunderstood and incredibly broody Jackson (Strike) when he steps in to stop the hulking monosyllabic Bud (ex Doctor Who companion Coleman) getting into trouble for fighting with the buck-toothed badboy Ike (Bloor who scarily looks like a living breathing human/Daffy Duck hybrid and so by default is the scariest thing in the film).

Grasse modeling the incredibly authentic 1960s nurses uniform she wears in the film...or is it in your dads bed?

Things are about to take a turn for the worse tho' as no sooner has our heroine calmed everyone down when Verna turns up with an injunction to allow her to see her son.

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on if you want to watch a horror movie or a courtroom drama) the creepy head of the hospital Doctor Shanga Lang (Adamson who's been in loads of stuff including your auntie and your younger sister. Twice) tells her to fuck off adding that she couldn't see him even if they wanted her to seeing as they've changed Jedidiah's name to something else because it wouldn't fit on the name labels in his vest and what do you know the file with his new name has fallen down the back of the sofa.

Taking matters into her own (very delicate) hands the mentalist mum inadvertently causes a riot whilst searching for her boy allowing Ike and his burned boobed girlfriend Clarice (mother of Reservoir Dogs star Micheal, Jessica Madsen) to kidnap Elizabeth - along with Bud and Jackson - and steal a car in an attempt to flee to Mexico.


As the group travel between rest stop diners and deserted caravans via various murder sprees, country roads and bloodbaths, Sheriff Hartman discovers that one of the group is actually Jedidiah so alongside his Deputy Nancy Sorells (Former Game of Thrones homosexualist, nephew of Doctor Who companion Jo Grant and Iron Fist himself Jones) heads off in hot pursuit.

Realizing that they've hit the halfway point with nary a hint of sleazy sex-based shenanigans our merry band of bonkers buddies take refuge in a rundown mobile home, abandoned save for the hanging putrefying corpse of its former owner, which not only supplies us with a cheap jump scare but gives Ike an excuse to whoop and giggles a lot whilst Clarice strips naked to reveal what a good job the make up department have done on her burn scars (and also show off the frankly magnificent fake nipples shes sporting) before the pair - unsurprisingly - engage in a necrophiliac threeway in an attempt to remind us just how down right bad they really are but only manages to make the viewer pine for the wonderful Beatrice Manowski in Nekromantik.

Tho' to be honest I never really need an excuse to do that.

Beatrice Manowski: Don't try this at home, again.

As the gruesome twosome sleep off their sexy hi-jinks Elizabeth makes a break for the woods only to be very quickly grabbed by a by now awake Ike who, after making some lewd suggestions decides to pick on Bud instead.

This not only saves Elizabeth from a brutal bumming but riles Bud up enough to stomp on Ike's head before falling asleep on his corpse.

Which is nice.

The next morning, Clarice notices that Ike is missing (she's observant like that) and heads off to find him leaving Jackson and Elizabeth to find Bud and wake him up before quickly running away.

Which is what I would love to do at this point if I'm honest, I mean I'm only sticking around to see if Lili Taylor turns up again - I've not been the same since I saw her in I Shot Andy Warhol well I'm only flesh and blood plus 'tween her and Dorff it's like a veritable reunion.

Taylor: Swift kick to the head.

It's not long tho' before crusty Clarice is apprehended by an ever more angry Hartman who in a fit of pique shoots her in the head as Bud, Jackson and Elizabeth watch from their hiding place inside a dead cow.



Crawling out of the poor beasts arse our plucky trio make their way toward the highway where Elizabeth attempts to get the attention of a passing policeman who - as they are known to do in The States - responds by shooting Bud in the head.

This sends an understandably jittery Jackson into a violent rage culminating in him shutting the poor policeman's head in the car door whilst pinching his nipples before stealing the by now very messy motor and flooring it.

But Hartman is in hot pursuit.

In a chase scene the like of which hasn't been seen since the episode of Father Ted with the milk float, Hartman soon catches up with the daring duo, opening fire on the car and shooting Jackson in the mouth (which lets be honest is better than him shite-ing in it) causing a rather nasty crash.

And a wee bit of chafing.

As time passes and the screen fades thru black Elizabeth suddenly wakes to find herself handcuffed to the backdoor of Hartman's car.

We've all been there.

The silence is broken by Sorells on the radio (as in the police radio - he's not crooning a song on pick of the pops or anything) and Elizabeth manages to grab the mic with her feet and call for help but unbeknown to our heroine Sorells is in the pay of Verna, heading out to her homestead to  reveal her - and Hartman's - whereabouts.

It appears that Jackson is, in fact, Jedidiah and the crazy copper has him trussed up in the same barn his daughter was killed in.

Pausing only to feed Sorells to some pigs she gathers her family and heads over to the barn for a final confrontation with Hartman.

FOLD ME? - must not be just the plot that's paper thin then.

With Elizabeth trussed up like a Christmas turkey (albeit a turkey with wonderfully milky white thighs you could ski down) and an injured Jackson lying in a pool of his own piss moaning like your mum at the works end of year do Hartman stands legs akimbo with a shotgun in his hand goading the family to attack.

Which they do and with there being five of them they soon overpower the Sheriff and take him back to their gouse for tea, crumpets and a wee bit of chainsaw chopping courtesy of the by now shot to fuck - and flappy faced - Jackson/ Jedidiah.

In the confusion Elizabeth breaks free of her bonds and legs it into the woods, Jedidiah and co. in hot pursuit.

You can see where this is going can't you?

"Put it in me!"

Tripping over a discarded bear-trap Elizabeth is soon at the mercy of the by now deranged Jedidiah, his face held together with a makeshift muzzle constructed from an old thong and an eggcup as he slowly approaches his prone pal his chainsaw wobbling in the air menacingly.

OK I'll be honest he looks a wee bit of a cock but at least he's trying.

"Hello...are yu the blind man?"

Will Elizabeth be able to appeal to her one-time friends softer side or will she inadvertently insult his mum causing him to behead her in a fit of pique?

And if this does happen will he fashion Elizabeth's face into a leathery mask and take to wearing it (and shitly applied lipstick) around the house?

Go on, guess.

The prequel to the Tremaine 'Trey Songz' Neverson starring sequel cum reboot that no-one ever asked for (Ok maybe one person did and yes I'm looking at you nan) Leatherface is a futile attempt to breathe new life into a horror franchise that's last halfway decent entry was released way back in 1986.

Ignoring the brilliant Part 2 (probably) as well as Parts 3 and 4 - and the various reboots and rejigs since - Leatherface takes us back to the birth of a horror icon (again) in the vain hope that someone (anyone?) is interested, ticking all the deep south clichés along the way before exploding into an ill-advised mess of wobbly mantits, bad teeth, cheap gore and a twist so obvious you'll be surprised that they didn't just add another twist on the end to make up for it.

Or at least an apology.

Directors Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo (who obviously shot their horror wad when writing and directing the frankly marvelous Livide and the not too shady Inside) do their best with the limited budget available and whilst Bugaria does a passable impression of Texas and the cast try to add some sparkle to the hackneyed dialogue it's an uphill struggle that's neither shlocky enough or gruesome enough to be truly memorable.

Or even remotely enjoyable for any reason other than to marvel at the depths Lili Taylor and Stephen Dorff's careers have sunk to.

A friend of mine in it's defense said that "It's the best TCM movie not directed by Tobe Hooper."

Which sums it up perfectly.


Unless you get turned on by fake rubbery nipples and bad teeth.