Wednesday, November 9, 2016

stiffed.

Day 3 of my countdown to Weekend of The Dead.

Excuse the brevity of the review as I've been up all night watching the world burn.


Porn Of The Dead (2006)

Dir: Robert Rotten (not the one from Lazy Town....I hope).

Cast: Buster Good, Dirty Harry, Jenner, Alex Knight, Trina Michaels, Sierra Sin, Ruby and a load of other folk with made up names I really can't be arsed listing.



When there is no more room in Hell......
Dead Whores will walk the Earth.




The scene: a noisy roadside in downtown L.A., a green emulsioned, germ ridden, sleepwalking nurse with what looks like  rickets totters aimlessly down the street to a hard 'rawk' soundtrack.

Suddenly a black people carrier pulls up beside her and the driver jumps out, escorting the undead/bored/stoned (delete as you see fit) nurse into the passenger seat.

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K-Fed and Britney: the reunion.




Surprisingly for a zombie she doesn't attempt to bite him but just sits down drooling as they ride back to his flat (sorry, apartment) which is bizarrely decorated in plastic sheets, bin bags and newspaper.

The first thing that sprung to mind was that he must have a really badly trained dog (or children) but no, there are more sinister things afoot.

Forgoing drinks and chat he bundles her into the bin bags and proceeds to strangle her till she's a dead undead zombie (obviously) then saunters off to get changed into a pair of paper decorators overalls before fetching an axe.

Or an ax as our American cousins call it.

The crinkling and zipping up of the suit is obviously too much for our undead (and unwashed) pal as she promptly sits up and with a half-hearted growl tears open the guys suit and has sex with him.

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Germs.


After what seems like a lifetime of this positively unattractive couple swapping bodily fluids (and face paint) to an annoyingly loud death metal soundtrack she bites his knob off.

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Shite in mah...well shite everywhere
if I'm honest.


He screams a lot, she gags on whatever they've used as a fake penis and the scene cuts to black.

Which is nice.


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I hope her parents are proud.
Mine are after reading this blog.



I'll admit I stepped out for a fag at this point so was only able to watch the next terrifying vignette thru' the living room window.

And seeing as it was snowing last night (yes indeed Hell hath frozen over) it kept getting steamed up every time I leaned forward.

But from what I could make out it appeared to feature a balloon headed, chinless and pig-tailed blonde having even more sex with three dirty, shite covered tramps in almost clinical close-up.

Sorry did I say tramps?, I meant frighteningly realistic zombies obviously.

Not really being into blondes (large headed or otherwise) and finding that I was spending way too much time criticizing the make up (hers and the zombies) I decided to skip forward a chapter (or three) but assume the scene ended with something getting bitten off.

Probably.

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A different kind of head to the one featured in The Monkees film.




By now I was really tired so I'm not too sure if the next bit actually happened or if I just imagined it as the film suddenly went a wee bit meta, transforming from an horrendously bad porn film into a movie about  people actually making an horrendously bad porn film.

Major mind-fuck or what?

I think I'll plumb for 'or what' or more likely so what if I'm honest.

Luckily all this crap shagging is interrupted by the appearance three buffed up, plaid shirted, badly painted (again) zombie types, intent on eating the crew.

Everyone save the scarily breast augmented lead starlet manage to either escape or get eaten whilst she on the other hand spends the entire carnage filled scene naked on her hands and knees looking for her lost contact lens.

ProAt least that's what I think was going on, you see I'd accidentally locked myself outside and was beginning to feel the effects of hypothermia.


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Nice flat tummy, face of fuckness.


It's not long before the undead notice the womans dilemma and offer to help in their own unique zombie way, unfortunately - possibly due to the clumsy way zombies walk and stuff - this involves them accidentally sticking their manky man roots in her secret garden.

And her mouth.

And even her arse.

The most disturbing thing tho' is the fact that her breasts remain solid and eerily still throughout the entire sorry scene.

By now we're in endurance test territory.

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"I made this".


The movie suddenly cuts to a deserted morgue - OK, someones dad's garage - where a skinny tattooed guy (director Rotten) is busily inspecting the corpse of a woman who appears to have died from fake tan overdose.

The fact that she's laid out on an old decorating table that the director is desperately trying to convince us is a hospital gurney is neither here nor there.

Well actually it's still in the garage but you know what I mean.

Sorry I'm rambling.

Anyway using the power of Grey Skull (or something...I was starting to lose consciousness at this point) he brings the body back to life, strips down to his sports socks and cap and has sex with her.

I was relieved to see that his penis remained attached at the segments end.

Tho' my love of bad cinema had been sorely tested.

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Good zombie make-up,
hidden man breasts.



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Shite zombie make-up,
visible man breasts.

We're onto the final furlong now as we arrive in what looks like a nursery school version of In The Mouth Of Madness, all paper walls and crayoned crucifixes with what looks like a groovy, straight jacketed supply teacher lying dead on the floor .

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Just say no.


I say dead but she may just be bored witless by the inane shagging that seems to have been going on for what seems like days but the coroner (who looks like a sleazy Stan Lee) refuses to sign her death certificate until he's positive she's no longer with us.

And I think you can guess how he'll do that.

Yup, after a wee bit of fiddling the girl re-animates and the couple get down to some nitty gritty shagging n' gagging as even more crap black metal (cranked up to eleven) blares over the soundtrack.

After one final spurt show (because there obviously haven't been enough already) the zombie de-cocks the guy and chows down on his intestines as he screams like a wee lassie.

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Bored sheetless?


What else can I say about this masterpiece of erotica except for the love of God why did I subject myself to it?*

From the awful make-up effects to the sight of extremely unattractive, breakfast cereal covered hobo's sticking things in every orifice you can imagine, everything about this film is wrong.

In so many ways.

The lighting is either eye searingly bright or shrouded in almost pitch black (which is a small mercy when it comes to some of the fake breasts on view) and the soundtrack, consisting of such top bands as, um, Rancid is probably the only thing here that'll give anyone a hard on (and then only greasy teen boys).


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"Laugh now!"


But most annoyingly the movie doesn't stick to any of Romero's zombie law (sad I know but it left me rather riled) and if you're gonna call your opus Porn of The Dead you could at least make the effort to deliver on that title, I mean it might as well be call Tramp Shaggers by the state of some of the cast.

Hopefully someone, somewhere will one day make an erotic horror movie to rival Erotic Nights of The Living Dead or Porno Holocaust (well perhaps not Porno Holocaust but you get my drift) and I for one will be first in the queue (providing In can get a babysitter obviously) but I can say with some authority that Mr. Rotten isn't that man.


Luckily he's got more than one string to his bow as, according to one of his - many - fan-sites he's as famous for his 'outlandish mohawk' as he is for his porn (made thru' his company Punx Productions - how old is he? fourteen?), his famous iTunes song mixes that include tracks by AFI, Authority Zero, Bad Religion, Deviates, Guttermouth, NOFX & those pretty boy rockers Rancid and trying to get one up on (and in no doubt) Sporticus in Lazy Town.

But that may be someone else with the same name.



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How Porn of The Dead may have looked if
directed by the other Robbie Rotten.


Porn of the Dead is the celluloid equivalent of weeping anal sores but if you stick with it you may get something from the films clear moral message.

Don't hunt naked for your contact lenses in the middle of a zombie crisis.

Tomorrow.....something better.
































* The answer to that is to save you from having to dear reader. Thank me later.

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