romay holiday.

Just picked this up (the way one would a particularly vile STD) and felt I had to share (ditto).


Les Amazones du Temple D'or (AKA Golden Temple Amazons, Amazons in the Temple of Gold. 1986).
Dir: Alain (yes, you did read that right) Payet or maybe James Gartner (yet credited to good old Jesus Franco overseas, reckon he did the scuzzy stuff).
Cast: Analía Ivars, William Berger, Antonio Mayans, Stanley Kapoul, Olivier Mathot, Eva León and Lina Romay.

“ I'm Rena and I will enjoy playing with you!”

Somewhere in the steaming hot jungles of the Amazon (or more likely the park behind the directors house), Tom Godly, your average sweaty missionary who's having a hard time trying to convert the heathens is surprised to find a secret cave hidden in the mysterious Blue Mountains (not the ones from that Laurel and Hardy film) that is filled to bursting with large quantities of gold.

He quickly returns to his jungle pad as fast as his skinny Christian legs can carry him with a dozen or so Ferrero Rocher sized nuggets and excitedly tells his fright haired wife Linda (or Godly 'Ell as we like to call her) that that because they are now rich that they can give up this Holy lark and retire to Ibiza.

"Always believe in your soul".

What he hasn't realized, however is that the cave is in fact a holy golden temple belonging to the local tribe of topless, gold pant wearing Amazon warriors, feared amongst the locals and ruled with a rod of iron by their scary leader Stan Uruk (Berger from The Winds of War).

Well, it's an easy mistake to make.

These bewigged and busty warrior women, discovering that they've been robbed, follow Tom back home, demanding that he give them back the booty or else.

Justifying his actions with religion (as is the way of these types), it's not too surprising when a few days later him and Godly are killed in a hail of poison arrows and slow motion yelling, leaving their young daughter Liana (fish lipped and cod eyed Franco regular Ivars) to fend for herself in this hostile tropical hell.

Luckily a friendly monkey and a local tribe take pity on her and help her out which is sweet in a kinda Disney way.

"Fiona! where's mah lunch?"

Jump forward a few years and the church have finally decided to send a new missionary (who is the spitting image of Father Ted) to discover what happened to Tom and Linda.

Arriving at their dilapidated cabin he's surprised (there's a lot of it in this movie) to find Liana still living there, all grown up with a faintly embarrassing bubble perm and dressed in skimpy animal skins but still resembling a startled haddock.

Despite being nubile and (half) naked, the missionary has no interest in Liana (well, she's not a wee boy) so he decides to read her fathers diary to her, which as luck (or really atrocious plotting) would have it, conveniently explains all about the gold and her parents subsequent murder.

Which really begs the question as to why, after being run thru' with loads of arrows, he decided to write about it rather than raid the medicine drawer for aspirin or at very least a plaster.

"My dad told me about those cults.
People dressing up in black
and saying Our Lord's going to
come back and save us all".
"No, Liana, that's us. That's Catholicism".
"Oh right".

Upon hearing of her parents fate (she must have been busy when it happened, either that or she has the memory of a fish as well as the looks) Liana vows to have her revenge upon the evil Amazon women (and scary Stan) and immediately sets off towards the Blue Mountains, accompanied by her faithful pet chimp Rocky (himself) and a funny tribesman named Koukou
(Kapoul from the Andrea - Nights of Terror - Bianchi classic Maniac Killer).

Cue an endless nightmare of stock footage animals, Liana's breasts bouncing in slow motion and random shots of a monkey grinning like a loon for what seems like days before our terrific trio come across (wait for it....not literally, tho' in this case it might have been fun to see) a group of explorers out searching for the Golden Temple.

How's that for a(nother) bizarre coincidence?

Or is it just the shite script writing again?

Your mum and dad last night. In your bed.

Anyway, it won't spoil the movie for those who've yet to see it by telling you that they get to the cave unharmed (and with nay hair out of place or slips of nipples) only to be rendered unconscious by Stan's eggy fart gas and imprisoned by the Amazon women, ready to be used as slave labour in Uruk's gold mines.

Or was that The Chuckle Brothers secret lemonade factory?

None of these questions will be answered however because before the viewer can get too bored with watching random scenes of topless ladies in tiny gold pants sword fighting Jess Franco's missis turns up (the rabbit faced vixen of Eurohorror Romay – like I needed to remind you of that) to parade around like a leather clad, shaggy boobed and dead eyed grandmother licking her lips and making lewd comments to anyone who'll listen.

It seems that she wants Liana out of the way just in case there's any chance of (the by now rat-arsed) Uruk chosing her as his successor before quickly heading home to her day job.

Which we all know is smearing blood on her (by now southbound) breasts whilst licking soot off various stoned wannabe starlets.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Or just deeply tragic for a woman of her age.

Anyway, will our heroes escape?

And does anyone (except the investors) really care?

It's pants.

Aaah, you can't beat a wee bit of Jess Franco, the pensioner perv of Eurotrash has been making the same style of sleazy exploitation cinema since about 1864 and seems to show no signs of stopping.

Which is a nice thought, frankly because in this scary world of change it's nice to know that you can rely on at least one person to deliver the goods, sexy European birds writhing around on sofa beds whilst his other half licks tomato sauce of their thighs, golden showers, slightly scummy ladies running around beaches naked whilst camp as pants, long haired Frenchmen giggle and wave handkerchiefs around to an awful jazz fusion score.....

Well, not this time.

Golden Temple Amazons has none of these things, which seems to make some sense of the fact that those in the know claim that Franco only directed certain bits of the movie.

Most probably the scene with Lina Romay in it.

But why? was he just passing by the studio with his shopping one day or on holiday near the shoot?

So, who is really to blame for this cinematic abortion?

Stand up Alain Payet (not literally seeing as he's been dead for a few years), infamous Nazi porn chic fan and maker of such classics as Bangkok Connection, Peep Show Fantasy and my kids favourite movie Captive Women 5: Mistresses of the 3rd Reich. But if this is true why does the whole thing look like a nursery school version of Raiders of The Lost Ark? albeit with loads of wobbly breasts and some sporadic scenes of mindless violence.

Mumbled dubbing, a tinny synth score, a human/cod hybrid in a fur bikini and overlong slo-mo shots of topless women on horseback all add up to the celluloid equivalent of anal warts, just slightly more embarrassing to admit to having let alone enjoying.

I should start a support group.

more great moments in comicdom.

This time it's Wonder Woman's turn.

Enjoy!

things i've received from readers (part 2).

After the joy of receiving these via email a few months ago i was a wee bit disturbed to find these beauties had been sent to me recently:

Could they be from the previous owner of the Yor VHS?

I hope not.

murder and skull-y.

taking a break from drawing Lycra clad laydees kicking the shite out of demons I actually got around to watching a few movies this last week.

And a few (well one of them) was quite modern!

Will these wonders never cease?

Laid To Rest (2009).
Dir: Robert Hall.
Cast: Bobbi Sue Luther, Kevin Gage, Sean Whalen, Lena Headey, Johnathon Schaech, Nick Principe and Thomas Dekker.

It's dark, it's dusty and the sound of heavy breathing fills the air, shafts of light cut swathes thru' the darkness revealing a pair of terrified eyes darting left to right as the breathing gets louder and louder.

It appears that some joker has locked a pneumatic brunette in a coffin (Luther, last seen strutting her stuff as a buxom Orion slave girl in Star Trek: Enterprise and soon to appear in the remake of Night of The Demons) and left her in the chapel of rest of an unnamed funeral home.

Ain't that always the way?

You think she looks upset now?
Well just wait till the mooth shite-in starts.

Managing to break free (and scare the arse off 'B' movie stalwart Richard Lynch in the process) the poor lamb is horrified to discover that the impromptu Boxing Helena impression is the least of her worries seeing as she can hardly walk, has the vocabulary of a child, memory loss and a huge sticky hole in the back of her head.

Oh and she's found herself in the preparation room surrounded by scary looking jars, many sharp things and with only the naked corpse of an old lady for company.

Could her day get any worse?

Gazing out of the window in the hope of finding someone who can help her she notices a shadowy figure in the distance.

Could this be her knight in shining armour?

Well only if chivalrous movie good guys have now taken to wandering around clad totally in black apart from a chrome-plated skull mask with a handy video camera attached to their shoulders and carrying knives so sharp that they seem to cut thru' the very air around them.

Hmmm....I think we can hazard a guess as to who locked her in the coffin.

Bloody hell.

Managing to avoid a stabbing off her new slash happy pal our heroine escapes into the woods and onto a deserted road where she's picked up by gamy legged nice guy Tucker (Gage from Ricky 6) and his wife Cindy (Teevee's Sarah Connor, Heady) who are convinced they can help her regain her memories and discover who she is.

But outside in the dark Mr. Chromeskull is on the move and we're about to discover if you can ever truly escape your past.

Or more importantly escape from the fright masked nutter who's chasing you.

Video piracy is a crime.

It seems that there isn't a week that passes without some new low budget horror movie being unleashed with it's director being hailed as the Saviour of horror as critics and fansites alike eagerly swallow the studio hype only to be disappointed (again) when the curtains rise and they're greeted by another lackluster and oh so clever (yet ultimately toothless and imagination free) post modern slasher movie.

I blame Wes Craven myself, but then again I blame Wes Craven for most things, including the death of my beloved pooch when I was 12. But that's another story.

Maybe it's old age or maybe I'm just jaded, but it's rare to find a movie these days that gives you the same buzz you got when seeing Dawn of The Dead (on Video 2000 no less) as a 9 year old or queuing to see your first 'X' rated feature (Nightmare on Elm Street, Dudley Plaza, October 31st, 1985).

In fact I can probably count them on one hand.

Soft for Digging, The Descent, Diary of The Dead and [Rec] are probably the only genre films of recent years that have actually treated their subject matter with anything remotely resembling a straight face, placing their horrors in a real world setting and with believable characters and situations.

And now Laid to Rest has done the same thing for the much maligned slasher genre.

Director Robert Hall has delivered a back to basics no frills slasher movie that's as black and bloody as it's protagonists suit with a plot that's stripped to the bone (like a certain persons shiny skull head).

And I for one an grateful for that.

There's no annoying attempts a justification for the villains behaviour or reasons for his mentalist ways (ala the absymal TCM prequel or Rob Zombie's Halloween rehash) as the audience, alongside Luthor's character are thrown headlong into the scenario with no idea as to why (or where) things are happening

"Laugh Now you bastards!"

And with Chromeskull Hall has created a villain that, like the original Michael Myers before him most resembles a land based Great White Shark, striking violently and indiscriminately without warning and whose only agenda is to kill, maim and then maybe kill a wee bit more.

Every one of the small cast is just fleshed out to just the right amount and well played enough to make the viewer genuinely care as to who will make it to the final reel, from Gage and Headey's loving husband and wife team to Sean (Tammy and the T-Rex, People Under The Stairs) Whalen's lovable geek Steven via the creepy Lynch the performances are pitched perfect and the characters just the right side of cliche.

Couple this with a crisp and uncluttered directing style that subtly pays homage to such varying sources as The Beyond and Phantasm amongst others and you have a fantastically crafted love letter to the slasher genre from a director who obviously loves and understands it's rules and conventions enough to realize why they were successful enough in the first place.

There is hope for the future of good, old fashioned horror after all.

Buy, beg or steal a copy now, then go ring up that Zombie bloke and shout "shite in ya mooth!" at him down the phone.

Twice.

when cosplay goes bad (part 5).

I don't have the words.

love crazy.

More youthful shenanigans courtesy of my local charity shop.

Carry On Emmannuelle (1978).
Dir: Gerald Thomas.
Cast: Kenneth Williams, Suzanne Danielle, Kenneth Connor, Joan Sims, Howard Nelson, Dino Shafeek, Jack Douglas, Peter Butterworth, Larry Dann, Beryl Reid and Henry McGee.

High in the skies aboard (a children's toy) Concorde, Emmannuelle (Danielle, or missis diversity as I know her after appearing in everything from Flash Gordon, Doctor Who, Cannon and Ball's comedy classic The Boys in Blue and even, ulp, The Jim Davidson Show) is on her way home to London (England, that's in Europe near France for our American readers) to be reunited with her husband; the French Ambassador to the UK, Emile Prevert (Williams obviously suffering with severe depression - or piles).

Bored and frisky (no doubt brought on by the Funky Kenny Lynch disco tune playing over the titles) she inadvertently gives the co-pilot a hard on before dragging bespectacled wimp Theodore Valentine (The Bill's Sgt. Peters) of to the toilets for a quick shag.

Landing at Heathrow and, after some oh so amusing banter with an Indian customs man (the late, great Dino Shafeek from such comedy greats as It Ain't Half Hot Mum and Mind Your Language) she's driven to the Ambassadorial Residence by crusty old Leyland the Chauffeur (Carry On stalwart and contributor to the hit LP Parade of Disney Hits Connor) where she's greeted by the surviving members of the Carry On team that were too skint to turn the movie down; Lyons the Butler (Douglas), Mrs Dangle the Housekeeper (Sims, another Doctor Who guest) and Richmond (The Meddling Monk himself, Peter Butterworth).

Do you think we can get on with the plot now? Seeing as most of the cast look like they might keel over dead at any minute?

Kenneth Williams, up the casino, 1978.

Well, it seems that Emmannuelle and her hubbie haven't been able to have 'the sex' since he landed on a church spire whilst out parachuting, which begs the question what were they getting up to? Surely it wasn't solely a bit of rough anal?

Anyway, whilst we ponder that question Theodore has arrived back at the home he shares with his overbearing mother (Reid - how many ex Who actors are in this?).

Deciding that he's in love with Emmannuelle he vows to win her heart.

Bless.

Bored with sitting in a room of walking corpses, Emmannuelle gets Leyland to take her on a riotous comedy tour of famous London landmarks (via the magic of back screen projection) where she hilariously fails to arouse a guard at St James' Palace. Not because of his harsh millitary training tho' but because he's a gay!

Har de fucking har.

"You fancy a wee bit o' mooth shite-in solder?"

Can the comedy get any better?

Well, funny you should ask that because later that evening at the Ambassador's reception an amusing misunderstanding occurs when Emmannuelle, after having a serious chat about a possible assassination attempt on her husband's life with the local Police Chief, decides to search everyone in attendance for concealed weapons.

By that I mean she starts touching the male guests genitalia under the tables.

Hilarity does indeed ensue.

She's awoken the next morning by a delivery of flowers from the lovestruck Theodore (and a really aching hand probably), whom she has completely forgotten.

Bitch.

Heading downstairs she decides to have breakfast with the servants whom she persuades to talk about their sexy secrets whilst scoffing crumpets and lukewarm tea.

Yup, it's a chance to see the by now decrepit Carry On team indulging is sexual shenanigans involving everything from second world war action (and nuns), a seedy bedsit (and a fat lady), a visit to the Zoo (with a randy monkey rapist - not as good as it sounds) and a laundrette.

On the big screen.

In colour.

You lucky people.

Emmannuelle, enjoying the thought of Joan Simms being fisted by a tramp (and who wouldn't?) shares the sad tale of her husbands ruptured arse with the staff to much merriment and forced laughter.

Jordan and Peter: the reunion.

Theodore in the meantime has decided to visit Emmannuelle at home to declare his love to her, but Emmannuelle, being a typical woman admits that he was just a shag and has no interest in seeing him again.

Theodore leaves in tears whilst our slutty heroine heads upstairs to watch her hubbie working out with teevee muscle man Harry Hernia (ex-champion bodybuilder turned skin flick actor Nelson).

Impressed by the size of his breasts, she decides to go and visit Harry at home for some more sex, but unknown to Emmannuelle, Theodore is now stalking her, camera in hand and Pot Noodle and tissues in pocket.

Could the movie suddenly turn into a British sex comedy version of Black Christmas?

Erm....no.

Tho' by this point I'd quite happily stab some fucker in the face.

Someone with a great set of
bristols and Suzanne Danielle.

Anyway, it's time for Emile and Emmannuelle to attend a premiere league football match where the Ambassador is due to present a cup to the winning team (you can tell I know about the football can't you?).

Surprisingly, Emmannuelle gets bored watching the match and decides to go the changing rooms to have sex with any footballers (or pets) present.

More comedy gold unfolds as each and every one of the teams pretends to be injured or starting fights in order to get sent off so that they too can get a wee bit of (leathery) ball action.

Theodore, hiding in a shower cubicle, is disgusted (yet possibly aroused who knows?) by what he sees so reckons that the best thing to do is to kidnap Emmannuelle.

Obviously this plan fails.

And without bloodshed unfortunately.

Theodore, at the end of his tether and running low on hankies, realizes there's only one course of action left to him so he sells the incriminating photo's to the Sunday papers.

"Oi Emmannuelle! your results
come back positive!"

In order to put an end to the gossip, Emmanuelle decides to appear on top teevee interviewer Harold Hump's (Benny Hill Show legend and star of Superman 2 McGee) show to defend her actions.

Outraged by he lack of shame, Hump gets more and more hot under the collar till Emmannuelle gives him a darn good gobble live on air.

Sitting at home in a state of shock, Theodore puts a gun to his head to blow his brains out.

But misses.

Meanwhile back at the Embassy, Emile has invite his doctor over to discuss his steeple/arse problems and his lack of shagging.

Luckily the doctor explains that the erectile dysfunction that he's suffering from is all in his mind, even going as far as to get his exotic nurse to strip down to her tiny undies and jiggle her ample breasts in Emile's face to prove it.

Standing tall and proud (meaning he has an erection) Emile rushes home and jumps on his missis, sticking it in her.

But thankfully off screen.

Spank that monkey.

Some other stuff happens but I don't want to give it all away or you'll have no reason to watch it will you?

After moving the usual saucy postcard humour of the original movies into a more lewd and upfront vein (ooeer missis) with the 1976 release Carry On England to something more akin to the Robin Askwith starring Confessions films, it was only a matter of time before the series ramped up the sexual content even further than Timmy Lea ever did.

The resulting car crash of a movie is at once painful yet strangely enjoyable to watch.

Learning from the mistaken of jettisoning most of the original Carry On team from England (which sounds like a sinister BNP plot) Emmannuelle brings back a few surviving members and tries to be radical by forcing them to swear and show their arses.

Which is a wee bit like watching someone abusing your Grannie.

Kenneth farted...and it was an eggy one.

Suzanne Danielle is an OK female lead but any attempts at humour are prematurely butchered by her appalling French accent, whereas everyone else invovled is obviously doing it for the cash.

Except for Howard Nelson that is who, from viewing his other work, just seems to enjoy flaunting his manbreasts and tiny trunks.

Oh and for a comedy there's a distinct lack of anything remotely funny in the script, save the fantastic sight of Concorde's nose standing up when Theodore and Emmannuelle are having sex in the plane's toilet.

But I love it anyway.

And so should you.

sweet charity.

No idea who's been sending stuff to my local charity shop recently but it's suddenly become an Aladdin's cave of tat filled delights.

Boxes of He-Man and Turtles toys, first editions of the American Pinnacle Doctor Who novelizations for a quid and huge piles of 'top quality' DVD's starting at 25p each.

Just yesterday I picked up an uncut copy of Devil's Nightmare (complete with the much heralded 'Nazi baby death scene as the flash on the box would tell us), the crazily entitled Vanessa Hudgens CD 'V', the Bud Spence and Terrence Hill classic All The Way Boys (on the fine South African Impact DVD label) and a bag of 70's/80's British comedy DVD's in cardboard sleeves that you usually find in Sunday papers.

Hudgens: with her cash you'd think she
could afford a matching bra and pants.

Sorting thru' the expected episodes of On The Buses, Hi-De-Hi and the like (which incidently only cost a small donation seeing as they can't be resold) I was surprised (and a little aroused if I'm honest) to find not only a copy of the fantastic (and terribly underated) Carry On Emmannuelle but also the Barry (cats face) Stokes starrer The Ups and Downs of a Handyman, a film I'd not seen since I sneakily watched it at a school chums house about 25 years ago and whose reputation seemed to be based more on the fact that Bob Todd had on on screen nervous breakdown whilst filming more than anything else.

So, would it live up to those hazy, Thunderbird fueled memories of spankings, huge bristols and hairy manass?

The movie I mean, not what happened when my mates parents came home.

Anyway, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure.....





Ups and Downs of a Handyman (AKA Confessions of a Handyman, Confessions of an Odd-Job Man and The Happy Housewives. 1975)
Dir: John Sealey.
Cast: Barry Stokes, Penny Meredith, Valerie Leon, Sue Lloyd, Chic Murray, Bob Todd, Ava Cadell and Gay Soper.

Helmet haired and horse cocked newly wed Bob (Stokes) and his buxom blonde bird Margaretta (ex Hills Angel and star of the Pete Walker classic The Flesh and Blood Show Meredith) have decided to start their married life in the quietly quaint little haven that is Chipping Sodbury.

Enjoying a wee bit of do it yourself (shelf building and the like, not furious masturbation obviously) our hero sets up shop as the local handyman, cue loads of hilarious gags about the size of his tool (meaning his penis) whilst being asked by various 70's dollybirds to 'check their plumbing' (as in their vaginas).

Yup, welcome to the Hell that was 1970's British cinema, where behind every door there was a frustrated and bored housewife in a nylon babydoll nightie and furry heeled slippers (usually played by Liz Fraser, or in this case ex Hammer hottie Valerie Leon), a sexy schoolgirl with pigtails and NHS specs (Ava Cadell, former page 3 poppet, Hollywood star and currently the leading authority on Tantric sex), maybe an uptight twinset and pearls wearing school teacher (usually played by mole lipped Crossroads legend Sue Lloyd) or even the bored daughter of the local magistrate with an IQ of a housebrick but the body of a strip queen.

Oh, and the fashion sense of a clap ridden whore.

She might be enjoying the eggy chest now
but just wait till the mooth shite-in begins.

And if that wasn't entertainment enough, it seems that poor Bob is a bit fick himself, seeing as he never catches on to the fact that the small job that needs doing isn't, in fact putting up a spicerack but involves his sticking his cock into the customer in question.

You have to feel for a guy who turns up to fix a broken tap, only to find the lady of the house stark bollock naked (apart from a huge rainforest like 70's bush), clutching a dry Martini in one hand and one of her ample breasts in the other lying on a bed winking at him whilst he mistakenly sees this as she's got something in her eye.

Yes, the script is that funny.

Luckily for us writer/director John Sealey and his partner in crime Derrick Slater (who later gave up writing in order to thrill us with his performance as an unnamed security guard in the classic Tom Baker Doctor Who story, The Seeds of Doom) had realized that it takes more than Barry Stokes bouncing arse to make a movie great, so decided to add a few eccentric British stereotypes to the fold in order to up the comedy ante.

"Why what a lovely shiny helmet you have".

Enter top Scots funnyman (not literally mind, he's been dead for years) Chic Murray as the clumsy PC Knowles and balding bumbler Bob Todd as the spank happy Squire Bullsworthy.

Rumour has it that Todd (of whom it was widely known enjoyed the pleasures of corporal punishment in private) was so close to the edge as far as his mental state was concerned, that every day the director would send a car to pick him up from the local hospital where he was being treated just pop him in a scene with a nude young actress and let him slap her arse until they had enough footage for that scene.

Which, frankly is nice work if you can get it.

But it's stuff like this that effectively sounded the death knell for the British film industry, whereas our American cousins had the likes of John Holmes and Ginger Lynn Allen strutting their stuff in grindhouse sexploitation epics we had to put up with bald manbreasted old men appearing all naked and pink like big wobbly perverted jellies and in some cases, like in many of the Dave Sullivan produced sex comedies burst into song and dance routines at the most inopportune moments.

A bit like having your Granddad walk in on you just as you're about to shoot your load over a picture of Caroline Munro.

Possibly.

Your dad and your girlfriend last night.

To add insult to an already mentally scarred audience the film was later re-released as Confessions of a Handyman (and later still as Confessions of an Odd-Job Man), in an attempt to con poor viewers into thinking that it was an entry in the fantastic "Confessions Of ..." series starring Robin Askwith and written by Roger Moore Bond scribe Christopher Wood under the pen name Timothy Lea.

Avoid like a dose of crabs, unless the thought of Gay Soper (who voiced the classic kids teevee show The Flumps) getting taken from behind by the guy from Prey tickles your fancy.

Hmmm, just me then.

paperback biter.

More spooky old Italian horror comics for your reading pleasure.

Enjoy!

This time it's the adventures of
Zora the Vampire!


Realizing that lesbian vampirism and motherhood
don't mix, Zora goes to see her local GP for advice.


He prescribes (on the NHS no less) a pair of funky contact
lenses that blank out crosses
and all kinds of Christian stuff.


Even churches!


Deciding to start a new life as a chimney sweep
in good old London town Zora boards the Love Boat.


But Brenda, the pug faced evil vampire is also
aboard and throws baby Shazza out of a convenient porthole!


Never fear baby S!
Mummy is swimming to the rescue!


Unfortunately a shark gets there first and eats her whole.

Or does it spit that bit out?

people you fancy but shouldn't (part the 12).

Meryl Streep in Mama Mia. Never ever until that movie (not even in A Cry in The Dark).....
and now all I hear is "meow" when she speaks.

Please don't let me be alone on this one.

holy she-it.

The She Beast (AKA Il Lago di Satana, Revenge of the Blood Beast, Satan's Sister. 1966)
Dir: Michael Reeves.
Cast: Barbara Steele, John Karlsen, Ian Oglivy, Mel Welles, Jay Riley, Richard Watson, Edward B. Randolph, Tony Antonelli, Peter Grippe, Lucretia Love, Kevin Welles and Woody Welles

"What's troubling you? For running over a chicken
you won't get more than two years."

Transylvania, 1765 and X Factor Hobbit Eoghan Quigg (or a really scary lookie-likie) stumbles thru' the bushes towards the local church.

It appears a wicked witch (with eyebrows that even angel voiced mentalist Susan Boyle would die for) has kidnapped his sister.

Goaded on by a pervy priest and a dwarf in what looks like a Santa suit, a squad of gypsies decide to confront the aforementioned witchy woman at her house.

I mean cave.

Vardella (for it is she), is (quite rightly) bloody furious at having the Emmerdale omnibus interrupted by a bunch of pikeys so decides to teach them a lesson by attempting to bite their faces off with her scabby, shite filled mouth.

"Shite in mah...."
fuck it, you know the rest.

Fighting a losing battle, our hairy eyed chum is dragged kicking and screaming to the local lake where she's tied to the unholy Seat of Chastisement (Ikea, $649) before having red hot nails hammered into her hands and finally being dunked repeatedly into the dark, icy water until she drowns.

A wee bit like Noel's House Party but funny.

But before she breaths her last, Vardella curses the villagers....and their descendants.

Spooky.

Quigg: enough to make a pedo vomit.

Jump forward two hundred years and newlywed groovers Veronica (Steele - meow) and Philip (Ogilvy - easy tiger) are enjoying a driving holiday in evil Communist-controlled Transylvania, a country "full of weirdies and werewolves." if Veronica is to be believed, tho' from the evidence on show it appears to be chock-a-block with old men riding bicycles.

Badly.

Meow.

Studly Philip, feeling a steamer coming on decides that they should rest up at the local hotel and on arrival, get chatting to the lecherous, alcoholic, rapist of an owner, the fantastically named Mr. Ladislav Groper (Welles of The original Little Shop Of Horrors and Lady Frankenstein ) about good places to sight see, which of the local teens are the easiest to get drunk and molest and the dish of the day.

Our dashing duo also come across the famed demon hunter and faded aristocrat Count Von Helsing (a pissed Karlsen), who takes a break from hanging around the local kiddies play park to regale them with tales of vampires and the like.

Retiring for an evening of rumpy pumpy (and luscious close-ups of Barbara's milky white and incredibly smooth topside of breast) Philip and Veronica's sexy shenanigans are rudely interrupted by Groper sweatily wanking outside their window.

Feel free to go get tissues and a Pot Noodle,
I'll still be here when you're done.

Furious, Philip asserts his manliness by kicking the shite out of the hotel owner and leaving first thing the next day without paying the bill.

Driving along the deserted country roads and enjoying a giggle after seeing the funny side of someone sneakily cracking one off over a half dressed Barbara Steele (look we're all guilty of it) the couples Volkswagen inexplicably goes out of control, weaving from side to side before narrowly missing a lorry full of chickens and ending up in a lake.

The very lake that the angry villagers drowned Vardella centuries before.

Double spooky.

Babs was shocked to find Simon
Templer swimming out of her arse.

Philip, with the help of the lorry driver, manages to make it to shore, but Veronica is nowhere to be seen (hint: try the passenger seat or behind the sofa, that's where I usually find stuff) leaving Philip to pass out whilst sobbing like a wee lassie.

Taken back to Groper's and but to bed, Philip is unaware that a second body has been dragged from the lake and is currently dripping all over the sprouts in the kitchen but it isn't Veronica.

Can you hazard a guess as to who it is?

Yup, it’s Vardella, back from her watery grave and all set for her revenge (and a fair amount of mooth shite-in if she's lucky).

Luckily schoolyard stalker and ghost buster Von Helsing (remember him?) is quick on the scene to fill Philip (phnarrr) in on the back story and point out to anyone who'll listen (which is no one frankly) that "Vardella has returned and she's chosen to possess Veronica's spirit".

"How much longer till you show me your puppies?"

If this wasn't drama enough, back at the hotel Groper is drunk and attempting to molest his niece (Love, from the Pam Grier classic Naked Warriors in a blink and miss it cameo) whilst Fred the chicken van owner is worried the police will arrest him for causing the accident with the car in the first place.

Remembering that this is, in fact a horror movie, the Count has a plan that will restore Veronica’s identity (and shapely figure) and lift the witch’s curse once and for all.

All he has to do to accomplish this is stick his pinky finger in her eye thereby releasing the maggots trapped in her skull and bringing her back to life.

He can then chase her around town and hopefully persuade her to sit back on the big chair to get redunked in the lake.

I bet you all saw that one coming.

Ian Ogilvy, up the casino, Benidorm, 1966.

But with the local fascist bootboys on their tail and Groper hungry for ass (man or otherwise) will our heroes be able to destroy the witch and repair the trusty VW before, well before Vardella does any bad stuff?

Steele: no excuse needed.

Boy genius director Michael (Witchfinder General, The Sorcerors) Reeves first movie, The She Beast may look like a slipshod low budget shlocker but peel back the thin net curtain of shoddiness and there's a real gem underneath.

Unfairly dismissed by arsey Reeves fans and the type of folk that talk loudly about film in cinema foyes, it's true that the film is crudely made and cursed with a (occassionaly misjudged) vein of comedy that is in danger of capsizing the whole proceedings at any moment, but as far as debuts go, it's gloriously watchable and hideously silly at the same time.

Shot on the cheap (and on the sly) in Italy after the wily producers had managed to convince the local authorities that they were making a documentary therefore enabling them to apply for the lowest location rates, and with a screenplay (of sorts) written by Reeves but under the alias of Michael Byron (to make the crew look larger) the director cast his best mate in the lead role and shot all of Steele's footage in a single 22-hour-long period as to reduce the actress's cost it takes a director of rare talent to produce something as enjoyable as it is under those conditions.

And enjoyable it is, from it's camp as pants cast to it's moments of sly humour and gore that culminates in a 15 minute (!) car chase tribute to the Keystone Cops The She Beast never outstays it's welcome and, like the awkward best friend you only used for sex when you were younger or the local Tesco home shopping van, never fails to deliver.