Tuesday, May 3, 2016

look who's stalking.

Approached this expecting a shite, cheaply made found footage fiasco that I'd be able to quite lazily lay into.

But guess what?

It's not half bad.

Apologies for the brief review but I'd hate to give too much away.

Anyway, I'm not getting paid by the word so without further ado ladies and gentlemen I give you....

Man Vs. (2015).
Dir: Adam Massey.
Cast: Chris Diamantopoulos, a wolf and some (dead) fish.




Buff and bearded outdoors type Doug (Diamantopoulos, Clark Ingram in everyones fave TeeVee show Hannibal as well as the current voice of Mickey Mouse - no really), the star of the hit cable series Man Vs. (see what they did there?) is - when we first meet him - preparing to shoot the first episode of the aforementioned shows third season.

The format is simple, our hairy hero is dropped off in some god-forsaken place (Cradley Heath for example) where, using only his finely honed outdoor skills - and his frighteningly firm buttocks - he must survive unaided for five days.

With his head full of rumours that this year is the year that the show will break the big time, Doug heads into the Temagami woodlands of Northern Ontario (playing itself) for a few days of eating berries, sleeping under the stars and shitting in holes whilst chatting animatedly into a tiny camera.

So exactly like life in Cradley then.

Minus the hole for shitting in obviously, they just do it in the street.


"He did what in his cup?"



Leaving the production team at base camp Doug is soon settled in a peaceful wooded area, starting a fire using only an empty pop can (which is genuinely impressive), catching a couple of rabbits and building a bed that would put Ikea to shame before waxing lyrically to the audience at home in a manner usually reserved for dashing dreamboats.

Even I found myself going a wee bit red thinking that he was actually talking just to me.

Yes, Diamantopoulos is that engaging as a lead.

Unfortunately things start to go a wee bit awry that evening when Doug is awoken by a loud bang (and no it's not your mum) followed by a terrible wind (again not your mum) and a fairly impressive (for the meagre budget) light display.

Luckily Doug is made of stern stuff so thinking that it's either low flying aircraft - or wolves - he nonchalantly goes back to sleep with a promise to camera to investigate the next morning.

As morning dawns Doug heads to the river to catch a fish or two for breakkie only to discover them all floating dead on the waters surface and a massive hole in the tree line.

Which is a wee bit unexpected.

Assuming that it's either a plane crash or his team mates taking the piss Doug goes with the latter and attempts to ring them on his swanky GPS cum mobile phone only to be met by static.

Unflappable as ever our bearded bushwhacker thinks nothing of it and heads back to camp to skin his rabbit.

As in the one he caught earlier, it's not a euphemism for nature based masturbation.

~But it might as well be seeing as upon his return the rabbit has gone, his bed has been rifled thru and most spooky of all someone has moved the pieces on his mini chess set.

Could Doug have a stalker in the forest?

And if so could it be related to the strange light in the sky?

Or is it in fact just wolves?

Go on, guess.

Treebeard.

Playing out like a back to basics Predator - only with Bear Grylls replacing Arnie - Man Vs. is a lean, mean Tribute to The Twilight Zone hat ultimately works because of it's lo-fi feel rather than despite it.

A case in point is the fact that for the majority of the movie we only have one cast member to carry the whole thing, luckily Diamantopoulos is naturally easy-going and genuinely charming enough to pull it off, turning from happy-go-lucky to terrified at the flick of a camera switch.

And nothing showcases this better than the brilliant mix of standard filming with 'found' footage from Doug's cameras which not only adds an air of menace to the scenes of him being watched but is also a unique way to have Doug communicate with the audience.


Inside Harry Hill's mind.



So what if the twist is a wee bit obvious from the start (and spoiled somewhat by some slightly shady CG during the reveal)?

Be honest you can't be too disappointed or would you really prefer it to be a chess playing raccoon stalking him in the woods?

Plus if you decide to buy into it and go along for the ride it has a pay-off that would do Rod Serling proud.

Proving once and for all that less can really be more, Man Vs. is well worth a visit.

Just don't forget to pack a hunting knife.

Recommended.

Saturday, April 30, 2016

suits you sir.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you (not literally mind) the fantastic Japanese G.I. Joe bootleg Combat Joe complete with his very own Godzilla costume.

Quite possibly the most glorious toy ever.






Wednesday, April 13, 2016

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 57).

The home counties husband slasher herself, the chump-chibbing, posh noshing Helen Archer (as played by Louiza Patikas).





 

underground pervy.

School holibags time and add to that a scary amount of work coming my way it's no surprise that I've had sod all time to watch many new movies of late.

I did get round to revisiting this old friend in preparation for the twins birthday tho'.


Ladies and gents I give you - in quite a short form....

'Inseminoid' (aka Horror Planet. 1981)

Dir: Norman J. Warren.
Cast: Judy Geeson, Jennifer Ashley, Stephanie Beacham, Dominic Jephcott, Steven Grives, Victoria (sister of David) Tennant, Rosalind Lloyd, Robert Pugh and Kevin O'Shea.


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Inseminoid's subtle poster campaign.



Somewhere in space (OK it's Chislehurst Caves in Chislehurst, Kent. Obviously Wookey Hole in Somerset was overrun with Cybermen at the time) a British led scientific/mining/archaeological mission is busy digging up rare alien artefacts and even rarer colourful rocks.

You can tell it's a British mission because whereas the Yanks have shiny rockets, jetpacks and lasers, this bunch here have buckets and spades, Kwik Fit overalls and a chainsaw amongst their equipment.....oh, and big 80s hair.

Imagine Alien remade with the cast and crew of On The Buses and you're halfway there.

Digging about in the tunnels one day the team come across a shiny plastic rock much like the type you get on fireplaces which immediately explodes directly in front of the blond beefcake of the group, Dean (Brit teevee stalwart Jephcott) Gaffney's face, causing some nasty chafing and more importantly a serious case of mascara based alien possession.

This possession manifests itself when Dean begins to run around the base in his pants and socks around trying to strangle his fellow team members before escaping into the tunnels.

But not until he's pushed payload specialist Gayle Tuesday (Lloyd who was once in Doctor Who) over so violently that she gets her foot stuck in a hole.

Bastard.
"Laugh now!"


If that wasn't enough to ruin her day her life support system heater has run out and she hasn't got any spare coins for the meter.

Obviously worried by this turn of events she breathlessly radio's the base for help.

Pity the groups resident sponge-bob, Gary is on communications duty that day.

Rather than waste valuable preening time going out and rescuing her, Gary suggests that she pulls the air pipe off her spacesuit, stick it in her tiny, bird like mouth and suck on it whilst hacking at her ankle with a blunt nail-file.

The following scene is no mooth shite-in but it does come close.

As did I.

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"Pipe in mah mooth!"

It comes as no surprise to the viewer that the poor cow dies from a mix of blood loss and septicaemia due to putting a dirty hoover attachment into her gob.

But this is only the beginning of the horror that is Inseminoid.

You see whilst all this limb lopping and pipe moothin' is going on sexy button nosed biologist Sandy (English Rose Judy - I have never done a nude scene honest - Geeson) has been busy scraping algae off some rocks with her equally bookish pal Roy (Pugh possibly, it's dark and he's wearing a goldfish bowl on his head).

After passing some particularly eggy gas in her suit Sandy passes out and just as Roy scrambles to help her he's violently decapitated (but is there any other kind of decapitation?) by an unseen alien menace.

Could the day get any worse?

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"Mooooooooooooooooooooooooon!"


Well Sandy awakes to find herself stark bollock naked and spread-eagled on a pool table as a moon headed alien attempts to impregnated her using a length of hosepipe, 4 litres of Fairy washing up liquid and a carton of green painted free range eggs, so the answer is probably yes.

Watch out watch out....John Leslie's about!


After what seems like an eternity (well, just long enough to have a fag and make a cuppa) the surviving team members find the poor woman fully clothed (yet strangely fresh smelling) and resting against the slain body of Roy so decide to take her back to the base for a hot chocolate and a Rich Tea biscuit.

It's not long tho' before Sandy is experiencing sticky egg based nightmares, reliving (in glorious, sweaty close-up) every detail of her Venusian vaginal violation (as in the creature was from Venus, not that she has a bizarre, Giger-esque fanny tho' never having seen it she might. Judy?) which culminates in the cold blooded murder and cock eating of one of her hapless buddies.

Walking into the bathroom for a quick pee, the mumsy Barbra (Tennant) is taken aback to see Sandy, giggling away to herself as she sits astride a corpse, covered in blood and with a testicle hanging from her lips before uttering the immortal line: "Sandy! what's wrong?"

Well, that's the understated British for you.

Jumping to her feet and snarling like fairly vicious tabby, Sandy chases after Babs (in that faintly embarrassing way that girls run) who locks herself in the teevee room before pressing a load of buttons and declaring a state of emergency.

The rest of the crew, being hardened space veterans all shite themselves simultaneously.

"I'm sorry, I have a woman's period!"


Imbued with supernatural strength, a mad glint in her (boss) eyes and a frightening ability to wave her arms around like deadly windmills, Sandy will stop at nothing to protect her unborn babies which means sixty minutes of her stomping around a collection of spacey Portacabins killing everyone she meets using a collection of items you'd be surprised to find on a high-tech space mission including a nail gun, a rusty shovel and one of those long lighter things you use to start a barbecue.

Will the surviving crew find a way to defeat this mentalist mum to be or will they all die leaving the alien offspring to sneak aboard a passing rescue ship heading for Earth?

Go on, guess.

More or less tasteful?


From the unsung hero of British horror cinema, the frankly fantastic Norman J. Warren - he who gave us such classics as the dog nosed predator potboiler Prey, the slightly saucy Satan's Slave and the spooky Terror comes a bloodier, bad taste British version of Alien, filmed on a budget of £12.50 and using props and sets stolen from the Blake's Seven production office, Inseminoid is the epitome of true Brit, lo-fi sci-fi at its  most entertaining.

Plus any film that gets banned in Iceland must be worth at least a few minutes of your time.


It may be rougher than your mum but what it lacks in polish it more than makes up for with bloody violence,ttypically British nihilism and a fantastic cast that includes such luminaries as the mega-MiLF Victoria Tennant and the yummy Judy Geeson who manages the magic monster movie trick of morphing from frumpy mum to schizo-sex-kitten the more shot to fuck her character gets.

Remember I first saw this film as an impressionable 11 year old so it kinda explains my taste in girls.

Damn you Warren.


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"Put it in me!"

Even the minimalist electronic score by jazz guru John Scott, commissioned when Warren discovered that he couldn't afford a full orchestra is an asset rather than a hindrance, the retro-Radiophonic workshop style farts and plinks gently adding a final freaky feel to the lo-fi ambience permeating the rest of the film.

 
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Sexy Sci-Fi: British style!


From skimpy pants to dodgy model work via paper mache space sexbeasts, Inseminoid truly has something to offend everyone....and if that hasn't convinced you, then try to think how many other films allow you the pleasure of seeing an ex Carry On girl strapped naked to a table with a hosepipe stuck up her fanny in a vain attempt to suggest extra-terrestrial rape.


That'll be none then.


Buy it now and thank me later.

Monday, April 4, 2016

spectrum sinema #1.

Greetings reader(s)!

One of those rare (semi) serious posts I do occasionally so apologies in advance but thought I’d celebrate Autism Awareness Month (or as we call it April) with the first part of a handy (and quite small) print out and throw away guide to the best Spectrum-based cinema available.....enjoy!

Swoon.

DRIVE (2011) - Neo-noir thrills meet arthouse style in Nicolas Winding Refn's high octane heist classic. Ryan Gosling's uber-cool unnamed driver has become the unofficial hero of ASD in cinema, showing that characters on the Spectrum don't have to be geeky and freaky but can be not only super cool but 'a real human bean' too.....The Spectrum at it's sexiest.

And with a cool coat to boot.

DARK FLOORS (2008) - Finnish Eurovision stars Lordi write and star in probably the best Silent Hill adaptation ever made. A creepy and kooky spookfest centering around Sarah, an Autistic girl residing in the decrepit St. Mary's Hospital.

Trigger.

When her concerned father attempts to take her home he inadvertently drops her crayons and in the confusion mixes the reds with the blue and yellow causing a portal to another dimension to open leaving a ragtag group of patients and staff fighting for their lives with only Sarah able to save them.

Luckily all the corridors are signposted.

BLADE RUNNER (1982) - What can you say about Ridley Scott's dystopian classic that hasn't been said before - and by much better folk than me?
Well how about the fact that the whole replicant plot (with it's quest to be 'human' - or even to be accepted by humans and it's "Voight-Kampff" empathy test among other things) can be seen as a metaphor for Autism.


"Hey Harrison..it looks like rain, man."

The analysis/discussion on this goes much further but would take up an entire post on a blog much more intelligent than this one.

Oh yes and it's very blue, almost as blue as Thomas and Rainbow Dash forced into a blender and poured into a very blue glass.

MANHUNTER (1986) - Michael Mann's adaptation of Thomas Harris' Red Dragon features the first appearance of not only Hannibal Lecter (or Lektor as he's known here) but of top FBI criminal profiler Will Graham, better known now - and officially an Aspie - thanks to the Brian Fuller TV show 'Hannibal'.

Smart, sexy and quite possibly the blue-est film ever made.

Stance.

CHARLIE'S ANGELS: FULL THROTTLE (2003) - McG's action comedy sequel features the frankly magnificent (and undisputed king of the Spectrum) Crispin Glover as the Aspie hair obsessed Thin Man in a role gratefully expanded from the original, probably his greatest role outside 'Simon Says'.


No caption required.


Oh, go on then....outside The Wizard of Gore remake.

And River's Edge.

or Willard.

More to follow.

Probably.

Just a word of advice when it comes to judging the Autistic merits of cinema in relation to the colour blue, beware of Blue Is The Warmest Colour, I came to it imagining a Kubrick-esque style Autistic film-fest and was shocked and surprised to find that it was, in fact totally neuro-typical in it's storytelling.

Tho' it did feature a couple of toothy French ladies having sex.

A lot.

Fancy trainers not shown.

 

chilly con carnies.

Just out on DVD from the Arrow films so thought I'd cash in and attempt to get some new (any) readers.

Oh and seeing as it's 40 quid (it's in a 'limited edition' boxset alongside some other shite) try to blag a free copy at the same time.

Wish me luck.

Malatesta's Carnival of Blood (1973).
Dir: Christopher Speeth
Cast: Herve Villechaize, Bill Preston, Daniel Dietrich, William Preston, Lenny Baker, Paul Hostetler, Betsy Henn, Jerome Dempsey, Chris Thomas, Karen Salmansohn and Janine Carazo.




Somewhere and sometime in the evilly dressed early seventies, teen bombsite, sorry bombshell Vena Norris (Carazo, looking like a chubby Suzi Quatro - which isn't necessarily a bad thing - in her only film role) is busy having her fortune told by the cross-dressing Jewish gypsy Sonia (1977 Tony Award winner Baker) at his stall in the famous Malatesta Carnival (of blood obviously)  whilst her parents, Frank (An Innocent Love's Hostetler, looking for all the world like an even more down at heel Tobe Hooper) and Noreen (Henn), are being shown around the site by the Mr Barry Blood (teevee stalwart and ex partner of Makepeace, Dempsey), sideshow owner and part-time recluse Malatesta’s enigmatic business manager.

"You're my wife now!"


It appears that the Norris family are opening a shooting stall at the carnival and Vena, rather that spending her time chatting to unconvincing trannies is meant to be setting it up but she's distracted again when the guy who runs the tunnel of love, a studly young buck named Kit (writer of the fantastic P. Diddy Presents the Bad Boys of Comedy Thomas) slinks over to 'get to know' our pretty heroine.

Easy tiger.


His smooth moves are rudely interrupted when the Ferris Wheel running Davis clan, complete with harsh faced obnoxious daughter 'Toby' (Salmansohn, latter day Hollywood story consultant and best selling self-help book author) turn up to say hello.

In between Toby's ear piercing whining regarding rubber chickens that is.

Hoping to placate Toby and get rid of mom and dad for a few minutes Kit offers them a free ride on the tunnel of love.

A ride from which none of them return.

In fact all Kit finds are Pa Davis’ shattered and blood stained spectacles.

A lovely firm tummy and milky white thighs you could ski down...and that's just the fella.


That night in the Norris family trailer, Ma and Pa are busy entertaining Mr Blood whom we discover was once told by 'doctors' that due to his unusual metabolism he had less than six months to live but thanks to a special diet he's managed not only to defy the Doc's expectations but learn how to look good in a cape.

By good I mean really fucking sinister obviously.

Later that night Kit and Vena meet up near 'The Ghouls Eye' (which I'm assuming is a ride and not a reference to the carnival cleaners unfortunate ocular problem) for a chat and stuff whilst elsewhere in the deserted carnival two checked shirt wearing drunk types (let's call them Pete and Pete) are stumbling around the empty stalls looking for a ride on the roller-coaster.

Each to their own I guess.

Luckily the ride just happens to be open and Pete jumps at the chance for a shot, unfortunately half way round he's decapitated by some hidden cheese wire  causing the other Pete to start screaming like a baby.

Annoyed at all the noise Mr Blood orders the aforementioned bog eyed cleaner, Sticker (Oldie Olson from Late Night with Conan O'Brien, Preston) to stab him to death with his pointy rubbish collecting stick before carrying the body off to a secret blood siphoning facility hidden beneath the carnival where a number of ashen faced freaks gorge themselves on Pete's still warm flesh.

"Eye son!"


It's round about this point that Vena and Kit begin to suspect that there may be something slightly odd happening at the carnival.

Cue a heady mix of surreal dream sequences, top quality chases and extended scenes of an obviously bra-less Vena jogging thru' a park in slow motion.

Oh yes and a gun obsessed dwarf named Bobo (the late, great Villechaize) spouting all manner of sinister bollocks whilst the grey faced flesh eaters sit about enjoying grainy copies of the best of Universals silent back catalogue.

No, really.

John Carpenter, up the casino, New York, 1997.....YESCH!!

However just when you think you got your head round the whole reality/fantasy/drug induced dream stuff you realise that Vena has indeed been out running all night and yes, she isn't wearing a bra but don't worry because just as the movies already stretched view of realism looks like it's going to snap like so much cheap knicker elastic the grey faced flesh eating tramps suddenly attack the Norris' trailer leaving big panted dad to fight them off with a spud gun.

Two puppies fighting in a sack yesterday.

Returning to the carnival and oblivious to all that's going on around her Vena is fairly surprised to find poor Kit impaled on a large paper mache clown causing her to scream apathetically and run off into the carnival catacombs with Sticker in wobbly pursuit.

Meanwhile back at the trailer, Pa Norris has not only vowed revenge on somebody but also decided that the best means of escape would be to blow up the trailer and run away in the confusion.

His wife however isn't convinced.

Cue offscreen explosion and a prolonged chase around the various stalls as more and more of the strange underground cannibal spew forth into the park....

MMMMOOOOOOSSSSHHHHHHIIIIII!!!!


Will the Norris family survive the oncoming cannibal apocalypse?

What hideous plans do Blood and Malatesta have for the perky Vena?

And where will her boyfriend Johnny stay when he arrives the next morning now that the Norris' camper van has burnt down?




Fantastically plotted, linear and expensive are just a few of the words you wouldn't use to describe Christopher Speeth's newly rediscovered horror oddity, lost in his spare room for the past 30 years and only recently let loose on an unsuspecting public.

But then that might not be a bad thing when you realise that you'll end up describing it as one of the surrealist and most terrifying movies of all time.

And that's just Bill Preston.

Malatesta's Carnival of Blood is quite possibly one of (if not the) greatest horror movies to come out of the 70's, playing out like a big screen version of the worst acid trip you've ever experienced, it's dream logic and total lack of regard for the rules of cinema (and good taste) will leave you boggle eyed and shaking like a baby on a window ledge with it's heady mix of cannibals, vampires, inflatable sets and little people but the icing on an already sickly sweet cake are the performances from the leads.

Taking the concept of 'non-acting' to new heights, everyone on screen appears to be playing to an unseen audience, almost unaware of the other actors around them.

Genius Mr Speeth, true genius.

Groundbreaking and unique, this is the kind of film this blog lives for.

And so should you.

Beg, borrow, steal or even sell your entire dvd collection to pay* for a copy because you need this.

Badly.

And I need a cold shower.

Gah.




*Not brand new obviously just wait till Cash Converters have it unboxed for a fiver.

Sunday, April 3, 2016

bark at the moon.

Just for Mr. Dissolvedpaul of Smethwick, a quick rehash of this review with his favourite quotes and various suggestions for comedic captions added.

Plus I thought it was time to redo it seeing as a frightening amount of people seem to be discovering this classic for the first time.

For fucks sake where have you all been?

And by the way if you do (as you should) love this movie as I do, why not express that love by buying one of these fantastic Peter Bark T-shirts available here.



End of plug.

Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror (AKA The Nihgts of Terror, Le Notti del Terrore, 1981)
Dir: Andrea Bianchi
Cast: Peter Bark, Mariangela Giordano, Karin Well, Anna Valente, Simone Mattioli and Raimondo Barbieri.


"No, don't eat me. I'm your friend!"


Our tale of terror opens in a damp, dark cave - that surprisingly isn’t a euphemism for Karin Well - where we join Santa's piss stained, fish-bearded buggery obsessed brother examining some spooky cave drawings.

Obviously excited about this discovery he begins to bang on the walls whilst doing a - fairly erotic in the circumstances - drunk dance which unfortunately for him (but not for us) has awoken the dead that reside in the cave.

Dead that are hungry for human flesh.

And a wee bit of old man arse probably.

"Aye son, mah lottery numbers have
come up! oh no...ahv pished mah sel'."



Thru' the magic of cack handed editing it's suddenly the next morning where a motley band of visitors (three sexy young couples and a pot bellied dwarf  - sorry, small boy, my mistake) have arrived at the house and are looking forward to a weekend break in the country and catching up with their old pal Professor Ayres (the aforementioned bearded Barbieri).

Rocking up at the front door like some nightmare vision in Bri-Nylon our merry band are informed by the (fairly attractive in a kinda pound shop way) maid that the professor is out exploring and may be gone some time so they should make themselves at home.

Which in this case is an excuse for a quick bout of hot sweaty shagging in the guest bedrooms.

Rushing to their rooms to unpack, undress and start shagging, poor little Michael (the legend that is Peter Bark) is left alone in the downstairs lobby with only his Rubik Cube and Eye-Spy book of European arses for company.



Your mum and dad. Having sex.
In your bed.



After amusing himself for a few minutes playing with the hat stand and creepily chasing the maid, Michael decides to creep in on his mother and her mightily moustachioed lover in order to pick up a few sex tips.

We've all done it.

None too surprisingly the sight of a bowl headed, poppy eyed freak gazing lustfully from behind the sideboard does nothing for her growing passion so she throws a shoe at him screaming "Get out!".

As we will learn later, Michael has a wee thing for his dear mum and doesn't like her hanging around with perm haired, tanned lothario's, no matter how tight their arses look whilst thrusting up and down on his mummy.

Fair enough.

Insert cock here.


After a morning of gin soaked sexiness and rampant STD's the couples settle down to some top grub whilst discussing the Professor's paper on the magical practices of the ancient Etruscans (ah, you studied that too eh?) before deciding to frolic round the lush gardens.

Michael on the other hand has decided to just sit and stare at his mums breasts.

Saying that tho' if my mums were half as bouncy I'd do the same.



But I digress.

Anyway, just in case you're wondering the frolicking in question mainly consists of sexy photography, breast fondling and general fanny flashing sauciness.

Fun for them maybe, but not for the viewer, unless you find the idea of middle aged Italian couples in nasty 70's fashion dry-humping to a sub Confessions score attractive.


"Can you smell cabbage?"

Luckily tho' just when you think the movie is going to descend into a soft core Euro-porn extravaganza, the dead do indeed start to rise from beneath the rosebushes and - remarkably for rotting centuries old Etruscans - manage to cut off any access to the cars, run the really annoying Janet (not the same of from Zombie Lake mind) into a handy bear trap, kill the non moustachioed man with a house brick and trap the shaky, shot to fuck survivors in the house.

And all within about twelve minutes, which isn't bad for a group of shite-covered tramps.


A shite moothed zombie
Etruscan yesterday.


The group are left with a big decision to make....do they:

A. Board up the house, arm themselves, find a safe vantage point (i.e. the attic) and defend themselves till help comes.

or


B. Argue among themselves, wandering off in a huff occasionally (alone).


Unbelievably Mr. moustache decides it would be best to board the house up! Everyone looks at him, then each other, then back at him (except Michael who's still staring at his mums breasts) and then start arguing.

"Hmmmm....
dirty pillows..."


One of the ladies (who cares which, they're all annoying) strops off and almost instantly gets killed by a knife wielding carnie zombie (unusual but quite nice).

Scarily he's not even the brightest one, I mean these zombies can actually plan attacks, use weapons and climb walls!

This skill is particularly useful when attacking the (still fairly hot) maid whom the undead horde manage to pin thru' an upstairs window and behead with a large scythe, which was unexpected to say the least.


"Just a trim madam?"


Whilst all this is going on, lothario man decides that the best course of action is to let the zombies into the house whilst the survivors hide in the pantry (do houses still have pantries?) sobbing like babies.

Surprisingly all the survivors think this is a great plan, except Michael that is who has an even  better idea.

You see he reckons now would be the best time to try and shag his mum.

Tom Cruise: the high waisted years.



Not knowing anything about shagging mums (well, not my own anyway) I'm quite sure (tho' I could be mistaken) that grabbing her breasts and trying to stick your tongue in her mouth isn't the way to go about it.

Unluckily for Michael this is just the smooth move he uses on her.

Unsurprisingly his mum freaks out a wee bit and throws another shoe at him screaming "Get out!" (it's becoming a habit) and Michael waddles off, only stopping to get bitten by a zombie.

Poor boy.

The survivors are faced with another difficult choice:

A. Run in the direction of the cars and drive away.

or

B. Run past the cars into the woods blindly waving your arms about going "AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!"

Which choice will they make?

Will they drive to safety or encounter a monastery full of black cloaked zombies?

Will Michael return from the grave to be met by his terrified mother or will she try to breast feed him in the most uncomfortable scene ever filmed?

The answer may be yes to the last one by the way.

Rush out and buy Burial Ground (or The Zombie Dead as the cheapo Vipco release calls it) and find out!!





A bloody (not shitey) mooth
earlier today.


For all it's faults (including abysmal acting, paper thin characters, inept plotting, joke shop zombies etc.) Burial Ground is possibly one of the most entertaining films ever made, mostly down to Peter Bark's portrayal of the freaky mummy fixated Michael.

I mean whoever thought a 25 year old pot-bellied dwarf in a wig and nipple high trousers would make a convincing 12 year old deserves a medal for the sheer audacity of suggesting it.

He wanders around the film like some scary clockwork Dario Argento wind up doll, either staring at his mums breasts or just staring into camera.

For what seems like hours at a time.

But his moment of triumph comes in the films closing moments; surrounded by the undead and with no means of escape the zombie Michael is welcomed by his open bloused mum to have some "mother's milk..."

Frankly I don't have the words and you won't either when you brave The Nights of Terror.......because you know you want to.

Cinematic gold.