Sunday, June 23, 2019

sound house sunday.

Just chillin' with a couple of top pop compilations today....








Thursday, June 20, 2019

pussy wagon.

We appear to have adopted a stray cat here at Unwell Towers, which is nice and it seems to be taking up all my time, I mean I go to make a cuppa so I can start work (yes I do some occasionally) and end up just sitting watching it eat cat biscuits or preening.

Maybe I should have paid more heed to this movie when I first saw it years ago.

Well I might have had it been a wee bit less forgettable, seriously I'm having trouble remembering it and I've only just turned it off.

But surely any film that starts with a Ted Hughes quote can't be that bad.



Can it?

The Uncanny (1977).
Dir: Claude Héroux
Cast: Peter Cushing, Ray Milland, Samantha Eggar, Donald Pleasence,  John Vernon, Susan Penhaligon, Alexandra Stewart, Joan Greenwood, Roland Culver, Simon Williams, Donald Pilon, Chloe Franks and Katrina Holden Bronson.

There are a couple of other folk but frankly I got bored.

You're not such a big girl anymore, are you, Angela? Why, you're no bigger than a mouse!


Our story opens on a foggy night in a foggy (Canadian) street where piss-stained mystery author Wilbur Gray (Cushing enjoying a free holiday to Montreal) has just finished his new manuscript - a massive tome that links the worlds most bizarre unsolved murders to an army of killer cats that secretly rule the world.

Which sounds just like the plot to the classic Cats And Dogs if I'm honest but heyho.

His portly - and cat loving - publisher Frank Richards (a conspicuously sober Milland) reckons that it's all utter bollocks and invites Gray round for tea, biscuits and a chance to change his mind by telling him three of the scariest stories from his book.....

"...And this bag is fully of all the fucks I give!"


So it's with a shuffle of papers and a whiff of lemon that we're transported - via the medium of wobbly dissolve - to London town in the year 1912, where the wealthy widow Mrs. Melkin (Greenwood, slumming it for beer money) has just decided to bequeath her entire fortune to her cats, completely cutting her ne'er do well nephew Michael (Williams from Upstairs, Downstairs and Doctor Who) from her will due to him spending his allowance on booze and burds.

Well, booze and Mrs. Melkin's mousy maid Janet (70s uber Brit TV babe Penhaligon).

And it's by chance - and plot convenience - that Janet overhears the old woman discussing these changes with her lawyer, Wallace (Culver, who I'm sure has been in loads of stuff but honestly I can't be bothered checking) so rushes off - after doing the dishes and the like - to inform Michael.

Shocked at the thought of having to do some actually work for a living, he hatches a plan to get Janet to steal the will from his aunts safe and burn it.

Sneaking into Mrs. Melkin's bedchamber as she sleeps, Janet carefully steps over/around the collective cats and manages to open the safe and grab the will only to be caught in the act by a suddenly very awake - and very nimble for an old bird - Mrs. Melkin who angrily threatens to call the police leaving Janet no choice than to smother her with a pillow as the cats look on planning their catty revenge.

Or they might just be thinking about dinner.

I honestly don't know.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"


Actually I do know as I continued to watch in the hope of something exciting happening or at least a glimpse of ankle, which to be honest I did get but only after the cats had tried to claw Janet to death and she'd locked herself in the pantry.

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

Well if not tough cos I'm not going to spoil the twist for you.

I mean I had to sit thru' it so why shouldn't you?

As Gray finishes the terrifying tale he's upset to see that Richards is unimpressed so decides to take another true-crime file from his big swapping pocket in an attempt to convince him af the creepy cat capers and this time it's a wee bit more up to date, concerned as it is with the recent disappearance of a young girl, Angela Blake (Go to 70s child star Franks who was in everything from The House That Dripped Blood, I Monster, Who Slew Auntie Roo and Tales From The Crypt) in a leafy suburb of Quebec a few months earlier.

Bunnet.


The story begins when her cousin Lucy (Bronson, adopted daughter of Charles - no really - who it sounds as if has actually been dubbed by her dad here) ends up moving in with Angela and her mum and dad (Stewart from Mickey One and Pilon whom you may remember from the frankly shite video nasty I Miss You, Hugs and Kisses alongside Elkie Sommer) after her parents were killed in an horrific Frisbee accident.

But she's not alone as she's brought her pet cat Wellington along with her.

Tho' no actual wellingtons obviously.

But she does own a rather fetching bobble hat.

So that's OK then.

Anyway Angela, being a snidey wee cow and not having a pet of her own decides to spend her days abusing Lucy and blaming the cat for everything that goes wrong around the house.

Typical girl then.

As Wellington and Lucy get blamed for more and more outrageous acts (shitting in the bin, leaving hairs in the butter, subscribing to Pornhub etc) Angela's by now pissed off poppa decides to take the poor cat for a drive and leave it in the woods to die.

Much like my parents did with my cat as a child.

And by cat I mean me.

Just the pussy I've been looking for.




To cut a short story shorter, Wellington finds his way home, partly because that's what cats do but mainly because he's actually a familiar and Lucy's mom was a witch (or something) enabling her to exact revenge on her cousin thru' the power of magic and some sub-par CSO that's so fucking god-awful it would make ex-Doctor Who producer Barry Letts vomit blood.

If he wasn't dead obviously.

It's not too surprising to find that Richards still thinks that Gray's tales are utter bollocks but fear not as he announces that he's saved the best till last.

And with that our withered handed writer begins to recount the terrifying tale of the famous 1930s horror actor Valentine De'ath (Pleasance) who, after murdering his wife onset in a bizarre pendulum accident persuades his producer Pomeroy (Vernon, best known as Dean Wormer in Animal House) into replacing his still warm wife with his thick as pigshit girlfriend Edina Clunt (Eggar, who even tho' she appeared in The Brood can't be forgiven).

Anyway for the sake of basic storytelling she does indeed get the part and the pair retire to  De'ath's mansion where their attempts to have 'the sex' are constantly interrupted by his wife's cat.


"Put it in me!"


De'ath is having none of this and promptly drowns the cat's litter in the toilet before heading off to the studio to pad the already frighteningly thin premise with some comedy swordplay.

Unfortunately tho' not in his mouth.

The cat, upset by the murder of its children, follows him to the studio and attempts to kill the actor by chewing thru' some rope in order to drop an arc light on him.

And so as the film drunkenly lurches toward its climax the scene is set for a shocking showdown 'tween De'ath, Clunk and a very angry moggy...

Oh and then we go back to what Peter Cushing is up to for a twist ending obviously.




Produced by the professor of portmanteau horror himself, the late great Milton Subotsky - unfortunately at the arse end of his career (only Hawk The Slayer and The Monster Club to come) - and co-financed by Cinévidéo in Canada (yes you can) and The Rank Organization in dear old blightly, The Uncanny is a threadbare, scare-free oddity that seems as much out of time as it does out of ideas.

Shot in Quebec for less than the cost of a McDonald's Happy Meal, most of the budget appears to have been spent on Ray Milland's bar tab with the rest going toward getting Peter Cushing, Donald Pleasence and Samantha Eggar on board.

Well it's either that or Subotsky had some well dodgy photos of them stashed in a cupboard.

And let's be honest it's not like they spent anything on the special effects.

Or sets.

Or script.

Perhaps the producers thought that the behind the scenes talent would be enough to create a classic, seeing as the film boasts a fairly impressive crew - from director Denis Héroux (the man behind Naked Massacre - the film that is not an actual crime) to screenwriter Michel Parry (who gave us Xtro) and ace cinematographer Harry Waxman (The Wicker Man and Brighton Rock among others), unfortunately the end result is utter pish from start to finish.

Which is a shame really.

Candle shtick.


The cast (well some of them, well Cushing and Pleasence) do their best with what they're given whilst everyone else seems to be channeling a particularly poor community centre stage version of Tales of The Unexpected.

Minus the sexy dancing lady obviously.

Believe it or not this was actually what we had instead of porn in the 70s.


No budget, no time and no mercy, The Uncanny served as the death knell for the multi-part horror film in the UK but let's be honest - if this was a vision of things to come then it was a mercy killing.

Next time something better.

I hope.

Monday, June 17, 2019

snack attack.


It's Lucio Fulci's birthday today so I'm celebrating by doing fuck all work and watching this.



I soon realised that my original review (from way back when the lovely GFT gave it a rare big screen outing) was lying unloved in the depths of this blog so in loving tribute I'm reanimating it for you now.

Apologies  for the distinct lack of 'laugh now' and 'mooth shite' references ahead but this was from a time when I thought folk were actually interested in what I wrote so I tried to be quite serious.

That didn't last long.


Anyway, enjoy.


Zombi 2 (AKA Zombie Flesh Eaters, Island of the Flesh-Eaters, Island of the Living Dead Gli Ultimi zombi 1979).
Dir: Lucio Fulci.
Cast: Ian McCulloch, Tisa Farrow, Al Cliver, Auretta Gay, Richard Johnson, Olga Karlatos, a shark and some zombies.

What is all this about the dead coming back to life again and... having to be killed a second time? I mean, what the hell's going on here?



Welcome to New York - thanks to some rather wonderful Cinéma vérité  style of the cuff (and off the radar) footage - where a seemingly abandoned ship drifts spookily thru' the harbor, out of control and unstoppable.

Luckily the local harbor patrols two best men are sent to investigate.

Well second best.

The two best are out investigating another mysterious ghost ship filled with huge Kinder Eggs further up the river.

Arriving on board in a flurry of Action Slacks and sideburns the brave officers find that the ship is deserted, or so it seems until the fattest bastard zombie you will ever see shambles out of the hold, moaning and dribbling as he goes.

Tho' how the fuck he managed to hide aboard such a little boat is never explained, I mean even if you discount his size he still must stink worse than your gran after the retirement home Xmas party.

Anyways back to the action.

Refusing to show his ID (tho' not ashamed to flaunt his terrifying man-tits) our rotund rotter kills one of the patrolmen with a nasty bite to the throat and a quick stroke of the balls before the other, less dead cop shoots him in the face causing him to flop overboard faster than Natalie Wood before sinking straight to the bottom.


"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"




Seeing as stuff like this doesn't usually happen in the Big Apple, NYPD's finest decide to get in touch with the boat owner's daughter, the delectable Ms. Ann Bowles (genre superstar, ex taxicab driver and sister of Mia Farrow) in order to question her regarding the scary fat cannibal bloke, find out who styles her hair and ask the whereabouts of her missing dad.

Pleased that someone appreciates the effort she puts into looking so good but surprised to hear her dad is missing (close family eh?) Ann, concerned not only about his welfare but her huge inheritance too, returns to the ship that very night to search for clues and stuff but what she finds on board is far more exciting.

And considerably sexier than anything we've seen so far.

Please welcome ace reporter and all round studly Italian horror movie hero, the scarily comb-overed yet still cool as fuck Peter West (the man, the myth, the legend that is Glasgow's finest, Sir Ian of McCulloch).

West has found a letter written to Ann from her father (told you he was a good reporter, well it's either that or he's broken into her mail box, which frankly is the last box of Farrow's I'd want to break), which tells of a mysterious disease that is ravaging his home on the mysterious island of Matool and that he may never leave alive.

Ann, now very worried about her inheritance (you can tell by her quivering lip), and Peter, interested in the story (and in Ann), decide to travel together to the island to discover the truth.


McCulloch: He's got something to put in you.


Being too tight to get their own boat, the dynamic duo hitch a ride with a couple of hip American tourists, the swoonsome beefcake Bryan (the fantastically furry chinned Cliver) and his shapely wife Susan (Auretta 'Brillantina Rock' Gay- can this cast get any better?), who are enjoying a pleasant sailing holiday.

By sailing holiday I mean Cliver stands around looking rugged in a shirt that's about three sizes too small whilst Gay spends her days busying herself scuba diving in nothing but a pair of flimsy, fanny revealing pants and a pink flowery swimming cap.

We are indeed in cinematic heaven.




Gay: areola's like dinner plates.


It's during one such dive that possibly the greatest scene ever committed to celluloid occurs when the positively pneumatic Susan is attacked by a terrifying Tiger Shark.

As she wiggles her huge arse and sticks her breasts out towards the camera in fright to a terrifying Fabio Frizzi score, the fairly ferocious fish swims around menacingly thinking check the hat whilst licking it's shark lips.

But that's not the best bit, you see just when it looks like it's going to eat her whole (you know the punchline) a zombie pops up from behind a clump of undersea fauna and tries to bite the beast on the arse.

The shark that is not Susan.

The ensuing spectacle of watching a stuntman attempt to punch out a shark will stay with you forever, pant wettingly exciting and probably the reason that cinema exists in the first place.

Seriously.



"Slate and Vera Lynne?"




Eventually the intrepid party arrive on the shores of Matool and are approached by what looks like a gang of drunken tramps.

On closer inspection tho' they discover that they are, in fact an ARMY OF ZOMBIES who are also FLESH EATERS.

Tho' in retrospect the title does kinda give it away.

Unsurprisingly our heroes leg it up the beach (to be honest it's more a leisurely jog up the beach seeing as zombies aren't that quick) and, after stopping for a rest, being chased again, stopping for another rest and being chased again, a pal of Anne's dad, the enigmatic Dr Menard (a very angry Johnson) turns up in a jeep and offers them all safe haven at his house for tea and crumpets.

Some zombie flesh eaters yesterday.



Menard is convinced that the mysterious plague ravaging the island is also responsible for the dead rising from their graves.

Peter West nods sagely and adjusts his hair whilst the others look on - Susan in a particularly toothish manner usually seen only on rabbits.

Now it's a race against time as Menard struggles to find a cure, Peter and Bryan struggle over who's the more alpha male, Ann struggles to find her fathers whereabouts, Susan struggles to keep her kit on and Menard's sexily stern wife Paola struggles to finish her shower before a zombie pierces her eye on a large shard of splintered wood....


Will they survive the terrifying attack of the zombie flesh eaters and will horror cinema ever be the same again?

"Eye hen!"



What can you possibly say about the late, great Lucio Fulci's magnum opus that hasn't been said a hundred times before and by better folk than me?

I mean come on, everything about it is just brilliant, from the opening shots in New York to the exotic locations in Haiti which add a stark otherworldly air to the proceedings making the island of Matool a nightmare of dust storms and barren decayed buildings which cleverly mirror the colour palate used in the zombie make-up.
 
The dead being as much a part of the island as the beach and sands; a stark contrast to the vivid greens of the jungle scenes.

Also on show is Fulci's predilection for using the "crash zoom" as a shorthand way to heighten the audiences reaction to scenes of horror and gore.

Sometimes overused in his later movies, this (his) signature effect serves him well when it comes to the sheer horror of the decaying army slowly lumbering towards our heroes; never have zombies looked so hideous or repellent, bloated and muck encrusted with gaping wounds, tore flesh and dead eye sockets writhing with maggots.

Something that living in Glasgow I'm used to, having had to navigate Sauchiehall Street every weekend.

Nasty.



"...bloated and muck encrusted with gaping wounds, tore flesh and dead eye sockets writhing with maggots..." Yup gotta love a Glasgow gal.




The cast is, quite frankly magnificent, featuring the ultimate team of the grumpy Scotsman McCulloch, whining waif Farrow and the manly Cliver, all mainstays of the Italian horror genre and all never better than onscreen here.

Plus when you add the Ruebenesqe form of one (oh go on then two) hit wooden wonder Auretta Gay and her much needed gratuitous nudity to the mix, wobbling about in a pair of her mums pants as she desperately trying not to chafe her nipples on her oxygen tanks you know you're in the presence of genius.

Auretta Gay, or as she'd be these days Auretta Non-Binary.


Behind the cameras Fulci is served well by his crew, from husband and wife team Elisa Briganti and Dardano Sacchetti's cut to the bone script to the unforgettable make up effects from Giovanni Corridori and his team via Sergio Salvati's stunning cinematography, the whole film is a lean, mean experiment in sheer horror that still stands up as a masterpiece of the genre today.

Seriously, everything in the movie just falls perfectly into place but I have to say that the icing on the (very gory) cake is the stark synth' score from Fulci regular, the wonderful Fabio Frizzi.

Cinematic gold from the grand master of grand guignol.

Fulci, we salute you.




Saturday, June 15, 2019

missing persson.

Seeing as the rather quite wonderful Mission Stardust didn't get picked as our Facebook Watchalong last night (Moon Zero Two did) I reckoned it only right to celebrate (in a kinda runner up style) the real star of Mission Stardust - and the only real reason to watch - and that is the shapely blonde bombshell Captain Thora played to slightly bemused perfection by actress cum visual artist cum haunter of my dreams Essy Persson.






























moonshed.

Last night was the night of our weekly FaceBook watchalong and this topped the online poll as to whayt we were to view* so thought I'd dig up this old review for anyone who joined in.

Or didn't.

Excuse the distinct lack of 'laugh now' and 'shite in mah mooth' comments as believe it or not this was originally written for publication in a proper magazine.

You know one with actual writers and everything.

Fuck knows how I got that gig.

Anyway as ever enjoy.

Moon Zero Two (1969).
Dir: Roy Ward Baker.
Cast: James Olson, Catherina Von Schell (AKA Catherine Schell), Amber Dean Smith, Simone Silvera, Warren Mitchell, Adrienne Corri, Ori Levy, Neil McCallum, Dudley Foster and Bernard Bresslaw.

"I'm always at a disadvantage when I haven't got any clothes on!"



The year is 2021.

Which is scarily nearly now.

Man has visited Mars (it was shut) so decided instead to concentrate on colonizing the moon, where regular shuttle flights bring prospectors from Mother Earth all hoping to lay claim to its mineral riches.

At the arse end of space type jobs are the hardworking crew of space tug Moon Zero Two; the sexy comb-overed, ex-astronaut William Kemp (seventies scifi regular Olson) and his porn mustachioed co-pilot, Karminski (Levy from Entebbe: Operation Thunderbolt ) who earn an honest crust salvaging space junk.


Tash, brash and a butchers shop window yesterday.




Landing at the originally named Moon City after picking up a satellite constructed entirely from egg boxes, Kemp comes across an old space captain pal (and useful fountain of exposition) from his space hero days who, after pointing out that Bill is the best pilot ever, offers him a job as a passenger pilot for the Corporation.

Being a cool rebel dude, Kemp flatly refuses the offer, saying he's happy as an intergalactic Steptoe (or Sanford for our American friends) and heads off for a shower, giving his pal enough time to bump into the rich, powerful (and patently evil) J.J. Hubbard (Alf Garnett himself, Mitchell) and his sexy entourage.

But more from them later.

With a running time of only 100 minutes and having a lot to fit in, Bill's shower is interrupted by the arrival of the shapely (and frighteningly torpedo breasted) Miss Clementine Taplin (uber sexy and doe eyed Schell, better known as Space:1999's Maya) who's turned up on the moon looking for her brother Wally.

Tho' why she thinks she'll find him between Bill's manly buttocks is anyone's guess.


Schell: I would. Twice. And my Granddad probably did.





Bill isn't too interested in Clementine's dilemma but realizing that she's the best looking (and least whorish) of all the girls onscreen he decides to give her not only the grand tour of the city but also takes time out to explain every detail regarding mining on the far side of the Moon before suddenly dumping her outside a space boutique.

This is because he has a previous engagement with his girlfriend (well, I say girlfriend but she looks more like his auntie), United Nations Bureau of Investigation Agent Liz Murphy (A Clockwork Orange's Corri) who's dead angry because she's spent the last two hours hanging about in her pants waiting for a shag and is now late for work.

It's for this reason (possibly) she threatens to ground his ship.

Being a real man Bill deals with this rejection by heading off to get pissed but is interrupted by a big butch bastard with a bowl haircut named Harry (Carry on God and former Ice Warrior Bresslaw), who insists on taking Bill to see Mr Hubbard.

But not up the casino.

It seems that Hubbard needs an experienced pilot to divert an asteroid (composed entirely of the ceramic crystalline form of corundum aluminum oxide - sapphire to me and you) so it'll crash on the far side of the Moon.

As you would really.

Tho' this would be breaking about ten very serious space laws, Hubbard sweetens the deal by offering Bill a brand new spaceship.

A big silver one with fins and everything, like on the poster.**


Hel-mets.





The next day, accompanied big Harry and the weasley Whitsun (Foster) Bill takes off for the asteroid in order to set up the three engines that will alter it's orbit and send it crashing into the moon.

The only problem is that because he got the engines from the pound shop, Kemp has to stay on the asteroid to fire them manually (well, hit them with a hammer) then jumping off the big lump of rock before it starts moving too fast.

This is called 'the science' and may come in useful later.

When Bill returns to Moon City he heads straight to the bar, finding a very worried (yet still incredibly sexy) Clementine drinking alone with neither hide nor hair of her brother.

Grateful of a sympathetic ear (and a shiny head to look at) she explains that nobody has seen her errant sibling for several months and unless he can register his recent mineral claim within the next forty eight hours he'll lose everything.

Batting her luscious eyelashes Clementine asks if Bill fancies taking her where the sun don't shine (the dark side of the moon, not up the shitter) to find out what's happened.

Our hero, obviously delighted at the prospect of taking Clementine over the craters agrees, however Harry has different ideas and a (very slow) fight ensues in which the bars gravity is turned off and everyone walks around pretending they have porridge legs.


"I wouldn't want that zooming up my arse".



Quickly leaving the scene of the crime, Bill and Clementine arrive at the local cash and carry, Farside Five and realizing the cost of the optical effects needed to fly the ship to Wally's land, decide to hire a moon taxi instead.

After a long and uninteresting journey punctuated by even more back story, the duo arrive at Wally's mining site, only to find his shed empty and his lunar digger covered in cobwebs.

Oh and his corpse standing behind a rock ready to fall on the next person who touches it.

What originally appears to be a simple case of bad luck takes a sinister turn when three garishly clad hitmen turn up and try to kill the terrific twosome, forcing Bill to unload his own weapon into their faces before stealing Wally's digger and quickly heading back to the shops.

Unfortunately the fan is broken meaning that Clementine has to strip down to her undies for a bit.

Arriving safely back at Farside Five (and now fully clothed), our heroes find a still grumpy Liz waiting to arrest them for taking part in the crap fight earlier.

Bill quickly explains that Wally Taplin has been murdered - to death - before forcing the tubby base supervisor into confessing that it was him what done it.

"Fuck me! a wasp!"



Just as the fat man starts to sing who should turn up but Hubbard ready to fill the rest of the cast in on the full story behind the asteroid job.

But not before he shoots lippy Liz (no loss there then) and threatens to fill Clementine's face with hot lead.

Bastard.

It transpires that the asteroid's final destination is slap bang in the middle of Wally Taplin's mining site, Hubbard paid to have him killed so that he can grab the claim for himself and be even richer.

His maniacal laughter is still filling the air as Moon Zero Two blasts off toward the asteroid ready to set the knock off engines for it's final journey to the moon's surface.

In a matter of minutes they've reached their destination, giving Hubbard another excuse to gloat whilst Bill fiddles about with some wires (and sweats a fair bit).

Karminski and Clementine, meanwhile, are struggling bravely to regain control of the ship.

This involves making it lurch a wee bit before shooting a couple of folk and staring worriedly at Bill who, remembering the trouble with the engine earlier, shouts "Look out behind you! Swans!" before slamming it with a wrench really hard and finally leapfrogging over Hubbard and Witsun leaving them hurtling towards the moons surface.

Sorted.

Heading back home and with his girlfriend dead, Bill's only option is to ask Clementine for some sex.

And the cash for a new spaceship.



"Sorry I farted!"




Riding on the coat tails of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Hammer Films one and only foray into the world of the space western features the two things that would elevate Kubrick's movie to classic status.

Namely a sexy lady in space undies and a crudely animated title sequence featuring two badly draw ball headed astronauts fighting over whose flag should be up on the moon.

I mean, imagine how much less pofaced Stan's film would be if the entire 'Dawn of Man' scene had been hand drawn by under fives.

And been given a swinging 60's beat.

Am I allowed to say sheer genius?



"Shite-ski in mah mooth-ski comrade!"




No big black Stickle Bricks, dodgy drug fueled trips and deep comments on mans place in the universe for this movie, just a good old fashioned jewel heist jazzed up with brightly coloured rubber spacewear, go go dancing, a variety curvy hipped 60's vixens in multicoloured wigs and a collection of oh-so slightly miscast British comedy stars in semi-serious roles.

Oh, and I'm not too sure if I've already mentioned it, Catherine Schell in a skimpy bra and pants.

And if nothing else, director Baker should be applauded for having the audacity to even consider attempting to make a huge space epic on a typical Hammer shoestring budget and, despite it's 60's paraphernalia and almost fetishistic use of plastic shiny thigh boots, at least trying to use a little bit of 'the science' in regard to the space travel bits.


Catherine Schell: Smooth milky thighs
you could quite happily ski down.




Brighter than Outland, sexier than Alien and considerably shorter than Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Moon Zero Two deserves to be seen by a much wider audience than it has till now, cos no doubt poor James Olsen wouldn't say no to the cash.





*This was the other choice.




**Look at it, I mean how cool is that?