Tuesday, March 3, 2015

potato!



With news just in that Umberto Lenzi and Tom Savini are currently crowdfunding a remake of this cult classic and noticing that my fine review of this even finer film was lying unloved way back on page 346 I thought I'd add a few Mooth Shite-In captions and repost it for a new generation of readers.

And maybe get a few more off the back of the remakes publicity.

Or maybe even a job.

Enjoy.

Nightmare City (AKA City of the Walking Dead, La Invasión De Los Zombies Atómicos, 1980).
Dir: Umberto Lenzi
Cast: Hugo Stiglitz, Laura Trotter, Francisco Rabal, Mel Ferrer, some bouncy breasts and a few other body parts usually attached to people.










In a nameless city somewhere in 'Europe' (tho' from the state of the haircuts and trousers it looks like the West Midlands circa 1985) a terrible nuclear accident has sent the populace reeling into panic.

Bouffanted and bearded ace reporter Dean Miller (Stiglitz from Alcoholics Anonymous and that film where the boat capsizes and they eat the dog ) is assigned to interview eminent scientist Otto Hagenbach (bless you) who just happens to be flying in from the accident site that very morning.

Lucky eh?

But when the plane arrives it contains not only the grey haired boffin but a cargo hold full of scum-faced tramps dressed in their grandads old suits.

Sorry, I mean bloodthirsty, potato faced 'atomic zombies'.

'Atomic zombies' intent on murder!!

And a fair bit of tittie touching if the rest of the film is anything to go by.


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"You chase me now!"



Whilst all this scary shite is going down (as you kids say) Mrs. Miller (Trotter from Only Fools and Horses) is busy making her rounds at the local hospital (don't worry, she works there. It's not like she's skulking about chasing ambulances).

But things are a mite strange there too as she realizes when visiting a young patient named Phil.

When our bubble haired heroine, trying to pass the time, innocently asks him "Well, how are you feeling today?"

His frankly worrying reply is "I feel like somebody who's waiting for the hatchet guy to chop off his head, doctor."

Which is nice, if delivered a little stiffly.

To make matters spookier, another patient, this time a small broken legged football loving wee boy, has been having nightmares about bad men cutting his leg off.

Could this be related?


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Mel (not Kim).



Well there's no time to worry about such trivialities as meanwhile at a top secret army base, military top brass Major Holmes (Rabal, all rugged with a silver quiff and a sexy sculptress girlfriend young enough to be his granddaughters foetus) and General Murchinson (Mel "I was married to Audrey Hepburn and the alimony bill is forcing me to appear in utter shite for the remainder of my career" Ferrer) are discussing the breaking emergency.

Please join us for a fantastic piece of choice dialogue as the body of one of the attackers is being examined :

Murchison (obviously reading from cue cards): Your autopsy categorically excludes an extraterrestrial being. It's molecular structure clearly establishes him as a member of the human race. A paradox when you consider what they've been doing....

Donohue (a 'scientist'): The examination of the various tissue samples that we have taken from the body reveal a high level of radioactivity, far superior to the level normally tolerated by the human organism. In addition we have found more or less recent hyper-tissue regeneration.

Murchison (bored now): Can you make that a little simpler Colonel? Some of your colleagues may not have the same technical or theoretical background...

(what? a technical background in talking bollocks? does that exist?)

Donohue (he's making it up now): In other words this individual and others like him have been subjected to strong doses of atomic radiation which increase their physical capacities beyond the norm.

Holmes (in a way only a man of a certain age can): How far beyond the norm?

Donohue (he's on a roll!): It's impossible to say. But it is a fact that these cells, subjected to almost every treatment we know, have proven to be almost indestructible.

Holmes: In short it's a kind of superman…?

Donohue (very excitedly): Much more than that… the victims of these creatures are contaminated even if they only suffer minor injuries.....

Murchison (losing the will to live): Then they can reproduce themselves… say indefinitely?

Donohue (jumping up and down waving his hands like a loon): That more or less… is correct!

I'm not saying the dialogue is bad but my computer kept crashing in an attempt to stop me typing it.

Look at it....really LOOK AT IT, it's so banal that if you concentrate hard enough the words actually appear to melt into mush before seeping into your eyes and attempting to rot your brain.

And the whole fucking film is written in this 'style'.

It's like the celluloid equivalent of a prison buggery.

Minus the biting obviously.

People died for this.

Possibly.

Anyway, still with us?

Good because after this fantastically written exchange Murchison elects to put plan 'H' into effect (no idea what's wrong with A thru' G), giving his men the unforgettable order to "Aim for the brain".

The race is now on to save humanity.

And enough cash to get Stiglitz some cheap wine after shooting obviously.


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Mr. Potato Head need love!



Can Dean persuade the station heads (and their bodies too) to cancel the pop hits and bouncy tits TV show 'Dance Party' and broadcast his warning to the city and still have time to rescue his wife?

Will Sheila the sculptor survive in the coal bunker?

Will Mrs. Miller (not the cult recording star, the doctor remember?) ever stop waxing philosophically about the situation or will Dean just slap her (and slap her and slap her) until she starts crying in the horrific realisation that she's surround by a cast and crew of highly disturbed sociopaths and alcoholics whose only concerns are keeping their star sober and filling the screen with as many inopportune breast shots as possible?

But most importantly will the once great Mel Ferrer have to spend his twilight years in the hell that is the Italian 'B' movie industry?






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"Touch my hairy face!"



Director Umberto Lenzi's warning against the dangers of science gone mad is (according to the director) based on 'true events'.

That's right! Lenzi reckons this really happened and is actually proud of this film, hailing it his 'masterpiece' comparing it's plot to that of Jonathan Demme's Philadelphia for it's portrayal of the effects disease has on the populace.

The joke was on us, we thought we were watching a cheap and cheerful zombie movie, when Lenzi has actually produced an amazingly existential docudrama that could change lives and save our planet.

His off screen battles to complete his vision are well documented, from producer Luis Mendez refusing to let him cast a 'name' actor in the lead role of Dean Miller (Lenzi favoured either Franco Nero or Fabio Testi whereas Mendez insisted on a Mexican lead to appeal to the movies co-funders who eventually cast alleged lush and professional hairy woodsman Stiglitz) to what appears to be an imaginary 'female executive' forcing him to tone down the films many gore scenes.


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"Oi Umberto! NO!"



Unfortunately (for Lenzi), by the usual cinematic standards the finished film is in fact utter shite.

But for us it's one of the greatest pieces of art ever produced.

Just ask Robert Rodriguez, he allegedly based his Planet Terror on this movie and we know how great that is.

From the moment the film begins echoes of Waiting for Godot reverberate around the whole production as the imagination of the director crashes headlong into the crushing reality of the films budget with Hagenbach's arrival  celebrated by covering the screen with a crimson hue only a cheap blood substitute can supply and characters just hang around, unable to do anything but await their final indignant ends.

The rampaging 'atomic zombies' are a triumph of crap over cash, looking for all the world as if their heads have been covered in PVA glue and then dipped in a bowl of potato peelings mixed with a liberal amount of dried shite and burrowing below the surface like some sleeping beast Lenzi's latent misogynism regularly bursts forth onto the screen as female character after female character are forced to trip over, whimper and lose their tops before being killed in a variety of increasingly sexualised scenes.

Fair play to the writers tho' who even when faced with the plot screaming to a halt halfway thru' bravely carry on by having Stiglitz and Trotter run aimlessly around the countryside with no other purpose than to occasionally bump into a group of infected killers then run away again.

But not before Trotter has been given (another) bloody good slap obviously.

It's like a horror version of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead but with more arse shots.

Trotter (a doctor don't forget) persuades the hairy one that a church is the best place to hide because the virus/plague/whatever won't enter the house of God.....Much to her (but not the audiences) surprise the church is full of spud-faced loons out for blood.


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Mulder and Scully: the pikey years.

Exciting subplots include General Merchinson trying to get his daughter to the (relative) safety of the base whilst she'd rather go camping with her fella and the silver fox that is Major Holmes attempting to save his (almost pre-teen) girlfriend.

If I'm honest then the sight of the mahogany tanned and leathery faced Francisco Rabal running his tongue over the chest of someone young enough to be his (grand) daughter is probably the most unsettling and nightmarish thing in the whole movie meaning this image (and the sight of him in a scoop-necked too tight green 'army' t-shirt proudly displaying his curvy man-breasts) will stay with you long after the film has ended.

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A leathery man yesterday.



And oh boy what an ending.

After everyone else seems to have died, the Millers escaped to a seemingly deserted fairground.

Suddenly they are surrounded by the infected....Dean and Anna head for safety atop a rollercoaster (?) the bad men in hot pursuit.

A helicopter appears on the horizon lowering a ladder the pair climb to safety, only for Mrs. Miller to lose her grip (on the ladder, not reality) and plummet to her death in a kind of floppy way only a shoddily made dummy can.

Dean screams and suddenly.....


Like I'd spoil it for you.


You'll just haveta go out and buy it now before the remake appears.

And then you can send Tom and company some cash.

I know you want to even if you don't you filthy whores.

Monday, March 2, 2015

cum as you ar(s)e.

Things that really don't need a porn parody part one.






beast me up.

To celebrate the news that Fox are attempting to suck another pint of blood from the ailing Alien franchise I reckoned it was time to look back at this beauty.

Hopefully Neil Blomkamp's a fan cos he could do much worse than use this gem for inspiration.

The Terror Within (1989).
Dir:  Thierry Notz.
Cast: George Kennedy, Andrew Stevens, Starr Andreeff, Terri Treas, John LaFayette, Yvonne Saa and Tommy Hinkley.




Sometime in a post-apocalyptic future (oh go on then a week next Tuesday), the few survivors of a particularly nasty bout of space rickets are scattered around the planet eking out a meagre existence squatting in caves whilst dodging the amorous intentions of a group of horny mutants known as Gargoyles.

These creatures live only to have 'the sex' with any females they find in the hope of perpetuating their race.

So there's hope for your sister after all. 

Anyway that's the back-story out of the way so lets get on with the plot good and proper.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert hunky army types Michael Killedsoon and John Soontodie are busy looking for survivors and/or food when they come across strange activity in the distance, well far enough away as to not have to show it obviously.

Radioing the rest of their team back at the originally monikered 'Mojave Lab' the pair are attacked by an unseen assailant (how much cost cutting can you put in your opening scenes?) leaving the base commander Hal (Airport star Kennedy no choice but to send out team hunk David (former 'soap' star and future director Stevens) and delicate flower Sue (Falcon Crests Andreeff) to investigate.

Oh and to take the base dog Butch out for a walk and a pooh too.

Wandering aimlessly whilst filling in even more plot detail the pair soon come across John and Michael’s bodies, or at least what's left of them before hearing what sounds like a girl screaming in the middle distance.

Dave primes his crossbow and heads off to investigate and is surprised to find a tight-shorted dirty faced girl named Karen (Saa in not too surprisingly her only film role) being chased by a massive chinned rubber monster with a hard on.

Which makes a change from counting rocks and bagging dog shite I guess.


"I can see your house from here Peter!"


 Being a square-jawed hero type Dave shoots the beast dead before taking Karen back to the base.

But all is not well.

You see on return our dishy duo discover that not only have they lost contact with the Rocky Mountain base (which means no more Friday night pizza) but that poor Karen is pregnant.

A quite possibly with a gargoyle baby.

Which obviously means that the pizza they do have will have to be shared out even more.

Base doctor Linda (the oh so yumsome Treas from Alien Nation: The Series) being a nice lady is less worried about the upcoming birth and attempts to explain away the Ultrasound pics of babies massive head on it being Catholic and decides that the crew should stop fretting about monster infants and concentrate on building a crib and playroom for the wee fella.

Which is nice if a little naive seeing as within a matter of hours poor Karen has gone from appearing 3 months pregnant to almost full term meaning that Linda has no choice but to deliver the baby right there and then.

I say she has no choice but obviously she does, I mean she could just get pissed and let nature take its course I guess.

Anyway, whilst under anaesthesia (as in she's unconscious not being sexed up by a foreign sounding bloke with a baby bump fetish) Karen does indeed give birth to a gargoyle which promptly escapes into the air-vents leaving the crew at a loss as to what to do with the hastily constructed playpen they've just built.

Waking from a slow plot induced coma  Hal comes up with a sure fire plan to capture and kill the beastly baby which involves sending the bases expendable comic relief engineers Andre (LaFayette from your mums bed) and Neil (Hinkley who later went on the try and assassinate Ronald Reagan) into the bowels of the base armed only with a firelighter and a joy-buzzer and see what happens.

Who ya gonna call? He might not be afraid of no ghost but the thought of a violent fisting from Ernie Hudson scares the shite out of the man.


Not too surprisingly the gargoyle (which has now grown to giant size) kills the pair before giving David a particularly nasty hickie, attempting to mount the dog and finally dragging Sue off into the hold with the sole intention of sticking it in her.

Which goes to prove that you should never let anyone who's ever appeared with OJ Simpson on film (or who has a combover) formulate a plan that may involve the deaths of one or more people involved.

Feeling a wee bit guilty for the amount of carnage his plan has caused Hal leads David and Linda into the hold in an attempt to rescue poor Sue who, by this point has been stripped down to her vest and is being forced to look mildly uncomfortable whilst an overweight stuntman encased in a threadbare rubber suit gyrates clumsily on top of her.

Suffice to say this is one of the most erotically charged scenes to ever appear on celluloid since the worm shagging bit in Galaxy of Terror.

Following the strange grunting noises our intrepid heroes soon come across Sue (unlike the Gargoyle who is too busy holding back to maximize her pleasure) and after taking a few minutes to get a crafty look at her milky sweat covered thighs come up with another totally safe and danger free plan to rescue her.

Hmmm...what makes me think that this wont end well?

Hal strips to his waist hoping that his massive wobbly man-tits will entice the creature over whilst Dave and Linda disguise Sue under a dirty blanket and drag her to safety, a plan which does indeed work.

But also ends in the death of Hal, killed as the Gargoyle attempts to give itself an unnecessarily violent tit-wank.

Billy Dee Williams, up the casino, Las Vegas, 1982. YESCH!


With the creature having a relaxing smoke after all its sexual escapades, Linda and Dave manage to get to the medical suite unmolested and give Sue and ultrasound scan which reveals that she too is now pregnant.

The question is tho' is it Dave's (who has been having some sex with her for a few months) or is it the beasts?

Unable to face the prospect of having Jeremy Kyle do a DNA test and becoming a laughing stock to TV viewers everywhere (well to those without jobs) Sue takes an overdose and promptly dies, which is a wee bit fucking ungrateful if you ask me seeing as Hal sacrificed himself so that Linda and Dave could rescue her.

I mean had they known she was going to do that they'd have probably left her.

I know I would have.

"OI Gargoyle! Put something on the end of it and step up to the mark at the end of the day and so on..."


With time and budget running out Linda and David desperately try to find a way to kill the beast or at least find a weakness (well one that doesn't involve female genitalia obviously) that they can use against it (photos of the dirty whore fucking someones gran might be an option) and are almost about to give up when Linda remembers how the gargoyle reacted to Davids dog whistle.

If you must know it covered its 'ears' in pain as opposed to trying to have sex with it.

Searching the bases record library for a copy of Now That's What I Call Dog Whistles 6, Linda reckons that they could kill the creature by forcing it into the ventilation system and chop it up with a big fan.

David, by this point  fairly pass remarkable about the ever more ludicrous plot turns agrees and heads off to confront the gargoyle one last time....

"Excuse me...I have my womans period."


Will our heroes beat the beast or will evil prevail and Linda live out the rest of her days on all fours being pleasure in every orifice and in every conceivable way by the randy mutant?

Will Butch recover enough to appear in this years One Man and His Dog competition?

Will the creature costume look even more laughable than it already is when shown in glorious close-up?

And will David actor Andrew Stevens ever work again?

"Laugh now!"

 From the director of Watchers II comes the final nail in the coffin of Roger Corman's collection of Alien rip-offs, the laugh a minute shagfest that is The Terror Within.

With a budget that could be sued under the trade descriptions act for being called tight, Notz and write Thomas M. Cleaver save cash by transferring the originals space bound terror to an underground car park decorated with empty cardboard boxes and egg cartons and swapping Ridley Scott's nightmarish alien vistas for the waste ground behind the directors house, freeing up more money for that all important monster suit.

 Unfortunately the head of FX got mugged on the way to the shops and ended up being left with a pocket full of fluff and an old penny meaning that in place of Giger's terrifying xenomorph we have this:



Is it so surprising that absolutely no screen time is spent explaining where this monstrosity comes from?

Aliens from beyond space?

Mutations?

Carnie folk gone bad?

Who knows and who cares cos we've got endless walking around identical corridors and wandering aimlessly around the desert scenes to film!

At least Cleaver was clever enough to realise he couldn't beat Dan O'Bannon's frankly magnificent script which is probably why he ended up copying most of the dialogue exchanges practically verbatim alongside most of the important bits of the plot.

I'm convinced that the only reason there's a dog in the movie is that he didn't know anyone with a cat.

Beware the beast mans laser nipples!
Slagging aside you have to give kudos to the casting director tho' who by fair means or foul actually managed to get a pretty competent cast together - save Kennedy who you could replace with a bucket of offal and not tell the difference - to appear in this shite.

How?

The photographic evidence he has of their illegal activities that he used to buy their time must be sensational.

Fuck knows what they did.

But in the case of Terri Treas I just hope it involved naked avocado puree wrestling and an eel.

Treas: Less a case of who she has to fuck to get out of this movie as more of a case of what the fuck she did to be blackmailed into it.

Scarily it looks like Andrew Stevens may have appeared by choice, either that or he caught the director fucking someones sister and played them at their own game.

And the proof?

Well not only did he appear in the sequel but he directed it too.

And for that we salute him.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

steps, dogs and sprocket holes.

Greetings dear readers, please excuse my fragile state, miniscule reviews and bad spellings as it's early Sunday morning here and I'm nursing a bruised kneecap and the slightly uncomfortable feeling that a Frenchman is living in my mouth.

Which must mean that I've just returned from a Jim Beam and Irn Bru fuelled  Glasgow FrightFest, a weekend (kinda) of killer clowns, Aussie undead, dodgy 70's wigs, foxy Spanish ladies in grubby vests and an almost (accidental) buggering off a fat sweating man as I attempted to leave the toilets.

So, where shall we begin?

Why with the pre-fest film of course!

Eliza Graves (AKA Stonehearst Asylum)
Dir: Brad Anderson.
Cast:  Jim Sturgess, 'Sir' Ben Kingsley, Dame Michael Caine, David Thewlis, Sophie Kennedy Clarke and Kate Beckinsale.




The fairly new Glasgow tradition of a Thursday night movie for those who've arrived from 'down south' a day early and are too scared to go drinking in town continued this year with the latest offering from director Brad (Session 9 - no idea if he directed the other 8) Anderson, Stonehearst Asylum.

Based on the darkly comic short story The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether by professional Tom Savini alike Edgar Allan Poe, Anderson transports the original tale from France to England (albeit one with thunderous ravines and snow topped mountains in Yorkshire), adds a wee bit of feminism to the proceedings and gives a name to it's narrator whilst still managing to give relevance to the original plot, which when stretched to a 2 hour plus running time is quite an achievement.

Fresh-faced newly qualified Doctor Edward Newgate (Sturgess) has travelled to the scarily remote Stonehearst Asylum, a creepy gothic monstrosity specially built to home some of the UK's finest acting talent, to learn more of the medicine of the mind and the art of eyebrow acting from the slightly over the top Dr Silas (Of the) Lamb (Kingsley doing what he does best - take from that what you will), whose patients are all members of either European royalty or just filthy rich.

Either way they're all embarrassments to their respective families.

I know the feeling.

Amongst them is the beguilingly bewitching Eliza Graves (Beckinsale, obviously Eva Green was busy/too expensive), the wife of a rich count who suffers from seizures every time she has her breasts squeezed.

I gather from the movie that this was an everyday occurrence in the olden days alongside consumption and rickets.

Intrigued by Lamb's methods (which seem to include getting the patients pissed whilst enunciating loudly) Newgate decides to dig a little deeper into the asylum's treatments only to come across a large group of caged British stage and TV stalwarts, led by Michael Caine no less imprisoned in the basement and claiming to be the true asylum staff.

An enjoyable old school tribute to the glory days of RKO, Anderson's movie seems less concerned with the mystery of who the real mentalists are (which to be honest is pretty obvious from the moment David Thewlis turns up in all his panto glory) than with giving the cast an excuse to enjoy playing such over the top characters.

And the film is much better for it.

An enjoyably entertaining old fashioned romp especially suited to us over 40's who grew up on BBC 2's black and white double bills of the 70's.

The crowds try to figure out where the guests have gone (clue: the fat fucker who had me pinned against the toilet door has probably eaten them).


On to Friday and the fest (of fright) good and proper beginning with the mind over mentalism mocumentary...

The Atticus Institute.
Dir: Chris (I know Ryan Reynolds) Sparling.
Cast:  William Mapother, Rya Kihlstedt, John Rubinstein, Julian Acosta and the lady who used to be in the Gold Blend ads with Anthony Head.



Back in the deepest, darkest 1970's (ask your nan), top brain boffin Dr. Henry (brother of Herbert, or was it Fred?) West (The Burrowers Mapother) creates  The Atticus Institute in order to study various paranormal type things including but not confined to, ESP, ELO, NYPD Blue and psychokinesis.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Unfortunately no amount of spoon bending, card guessing and hideous tie wearing can prepare Dr. West and his team for what unfolds when butch barnetted Judith Winstead (Home Alone 3's Kihlstedt) arrives at the institute.

Outperforming every test subject ever recorded it soon becomes apparent that  her amazing plate-pushing abilities owe more to demonic possession than Peter Powers and it's not long (the film is a short 83 minutes) before the U.S. government (boo hiss) intervene in a woeful attempt to weaponize the demon inside her.

A great idea slightly hampered by the traditions of the 'found footage' genre (highly trained military cameramen filming reaction shots rather than one of a kind demonic possessions?), you want the movie to follow thru' with the frankly fantastic theme of government sanctioned demonic assassins (which if I'm honest would make a great mocumentary itself), unfortunately Sparling backs out, seemingly more interested in telling us (in the most earnest way imaginable) that state sanctioned torture is bad (really? cheers for that) before heading toward a well worn climax.

The demon is sneakier than the military?

No way.

Enjoyable but immediately forgettable save the top notch performances from   Kihlstedt and an understated Mapother, The Atticus Institute shows that there's still mileage to be had out of the whole 'possession' genre but leaves you frustrated that thits unique concept wasn't taken further, I mean imagine a movie tying in the Kennedy assassination, 9/11 et al. to government controlled Hell-born psychic assassins.

No?

Suit yerself then.

A quick wee and a crafty ciggie before...

The Hoarder.
Dir: Matt Winn.
Cast:  Mischa Barton, Emily Atack and Robert Knepper.



Big faced New Yorker Ella (Barton) discovers that her fiance keeps a secret storage locker over the wrong side of town and convinced that he's having an affair or worse, that has a collection of comics hidden away there recruits her best buddy Molly (the even bigger faced Atack) to break in and have a nosey around.

Much death, running, violent stapling and ginger haired horror ensues.

A surprisingly early kill and threat reveal coupled with a fantastically twitchy performance from Prison Break's Knepper (Prison Break) and a really nice twist isn't enough to lift The Hoarder above its stalk and slash origins which is a shame as the aforementioned plus points coupled with a great setting promises so much more than it delivers, which is a shame because it could have been a killer.


As opposed to just sneaking up behind you and pulling your pants up your arse in an annoying way that is.

Tho' the promise of seeing Mischa Barton hideously tortured for fun does give it a certain edge it needs to not be a total waste.

From big faced ladies to wide arsed Aussies next with....

Wyrmwood: Road Of The Dead.
Dir: Kiah Roache-Turner.
Cast: Jay Gallagher and his sexy beard, Bianca Bradey, Leon Burchill and his big hair plus some other folk.







When a meteor shower causes an infection that turns folk into zombies it's left to the butchly bearded mechanic Barry (little known Gallagher brother Jay) to travel to the hip and happening town of Bulla Bulla to rescue his harsh of face yet curvy of hips artist sister Brooke (Bradey abley supported by the sweatiest cleavage I have ever seen on film) who is currently trapped in a garage after being attacked by her model and assistant during a photoshoot.

Leaving the city with his wife Annie and daughter Megan (not that one) tragedy soon strikes leaving Barry no alternative but to kill then both with a nailgun which, whilst sad for Baz is great for us because it means he's free to team up with a variety of amusingly one dimensional Aussie stereotypes such as Benny the Aboriginal comic relief (an amazing performance from ex- Mrs Tony Parsons Burchill) and fright-tashed garage owner Frank for a series of ever more convoluted and crazed escapades as they attempt to rescue an ever sweatier Brooke from the clutches of an evil scientist and his panto-esque Mad Max style private army.

The most hyped film of the festival, director Roache-Turner (which sounds as if it he should be listed under worlds bizarrest job title) promised a heady mix of Mad Max machine madness, zombie mayhem, typically Australian haircuts and gross-out comedy with an ample helping of KC and the Sunshine Band thrown in for good measure in this over the top tribute to everything from Peter Jackson to John Carpenter via that earlier Aussie zombie classic Undead, and whilst not always successful (the road movie elements work infinitely better than the mad scientist subplot) it chucks enough at the screen to have the majority of it's jokes stick.

With it's loveable leads and an imagination that would shame a very imaginative man, Wyrmwood has midnight movie written all over it (not literally tho' as that would mean that it'd be impossible to see the film) and certainly delivered on its promise, if not on the hype surrounding it.

Plus it's the first movie I've ever seen where the poster art cost more than the movie.

Recommended.

With the bar raised it was time to change gear (literally and metaphorically) as we went from the scary undead to a sexy redhead with...

88.
Dir: April Mullen.
Cast: Katharine Isabelle, Christopher Lloyd, Michael Ironside and Tim Doiron.




Finding herself in a diner with no idea how she got there, puppy-eyed amnesiac Gwen's (Friend of the Unwell Isabelle) day goes from bad to worse as she accidentally shoots a waitress forcing her to go on the run and outwit her many pursuers as she attempts to piece together he shattered memories.

Memories that include dead fiances, severed fingers, evil crime bosses, copious amounts of cheeseburgers and a kick-arse alter ego by the name of Flamingo.

Like an out of control Buick on a lost highway to Hell 88 veers crazily from crime caper to edge of the seat thriller via slapstick comedy and general weirdness (director Mullen's weapon selling cutie I'm looking at you) as it races to it's continuity crushing climax thanks in part to it's incredible cast and top notch writing from the fantastic Doiron, who almost steals the movie as the camps as pants and trigger happy Ty.

As for Katherine Isabelle, well she could make stripping wallpaper watchable and given the amount of goodness she's given to work with here, from the lost lamb that is Gwen to her wise-cracking, gun toting alter-ego Flamingo it's a no-brainer that she's brilliant.

And totally yumsome obviously.

I think it's safe to say I quite enjoyed it.

After more fags, urine and smoozing it was time for the final film of Friday, a multi-titled terror from the 'director' of such quality fayre as the Texas Chainsaw remake, The Friday 13th reboot and that Conan travesty with Drogo from Game of Thrones, the hacks hack himself, Marcus Nispel.

Hmmmm.

Backmask (The Asylum, Exeter).
Dir: Marcus Nispel.
Cast: That bloke from Avatar and some interchangeable teens.





With the local church run addiction treatment centre being cleared out after a massive fire ex-choir boy cum priest favourite Patrick and his pals decide to not only have a party in the grounds but a seance too, resulting in his emo little brother Rory becoming possessed by the spirit of a scabby goth girl who was once locked in a box by a priest for being mental.

Hilarity ensues as the rag tag group of friends try to exorcise the spirit using only an online exorcism guide and a variety of kitchen implements found around the building whilst trying to hide the body of the local clergyman that they accidentaly ran over whilst trying to escape.
 
Based on Nispel’s frankly appalling track record, this sounded as much fun as being fisted by your dad at the Christmas table during the Queens Speech.

Possibly.

And viewing the films opening set up you'd be forgiven for dropping your trousers and greasing up.

So it comes as a surprise that around the 20 minute mark the movies tone veers wildly into a blackly comic vein and suddenly becomes a really enjoyable romp, thanks mainly to Kirsten Elms’ blackly humorous script turning it from a turgid reshash of every horror cliche ever into Evil Dead for kids.

Even the usually leaden Nispel seems in on the joke, presenting us with a succession of wilder and funnier kills and genuinely likeable characters and a cast to die for.

I mean even to token stoner (a pitch perfect Nick Nordella) is genuinely funny, spending as he does nearly the entire film clad only in a pair of tight pants with 'I love big cocks' marker penned on his back.

Pity then that the ending makes no sense at all as the evil spirit goes from hurt party to mad mentalist to one of the main characters for no reason other than the fact that the writer had run out of paper and needed an ending.

But frankly it doesn't matter seeing as the proceeding 90 minutes are bordering on genius.

Now this is what The Evil Dead remake should have been like.

File under 'groovily guilty pleasure'.

The crowd might look happy now but wait till the mooth shite-in starts.


Next up we have tree-based terrors, clothes-based killings, red nose ravaging, some mighty moothed monsters and a wee bit of kiddie fiddling.

Feel free to join me.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 52).

In tribute to Eastenders 30th birthday we nominate the one true Lucy Beale, Melissa Suffield.












minaj au toy.

Been a wee bit bored here lately so here are some toys pretending to be Nicki Minaj.

Enjoy.