Sunday, August 29, 2010


It might be because it's early and I'm poorly but I really don't have any idea what the fucks going on in this pic.

I do like it tho'.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

malko in the middle (east).

Welcome to the world of Austrian prince and part-time CIA agent Malko Linge, creation of the infamous French writer, journalist, editor and outspoken (far) right wing loon Gérard de Villiers.

With their title taken from the French equivalent of His Royal Highness (Son Altesse Sérénissime) (SAS) is the French version of HRH; the novels (of which over 171 have been published) have also hit the big screen with 'B' movie God Miles O'Keefe taking on the role of Malko in the 1983 movie S.A.S. à San Salvador and then with cheeky chappie Richard Young (the fedora man from Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade) in 1989's Eye of the Widow.

Both are shite.

But we're not here to discuss the merits of a series of shoddily written right wing macho wank fantasy novels that are only available from airports and railway stations (seriously), only to gaze in awe at some of the fantastic gun toting totty featured on the books covers.

Like you expected anything else?










the real mccoy.


Been busy whoring my art to various guests at Collectormania this weekend.

Luckily I wasn't told "Fuck off it's shit".

For once.

Monday, August 16, 2010

beyond the pale.

Have you ever wondered what shame looks like?

I have.

HG Wells' The Shape of Things To Come (1979)
Dir: George McCowan
Cast: Jack Palance, Carol Lynley, Barry Morse, John Ireland, Nicholas Campbell, Mark Parr and Eddie Benton.


Beyond the earth...
Beyond the moon...
Beyond your wildest imagination!
and quite possibly beyond the pale.
But not The Beyond.


The time is the tomorrow after tomorrow (which makes it a Thursday) and planet Earth is a devastated no-man's land, left irradiated after the infamous 'Robot Wars' (Craig Charles has a lot to answer for).

Luckily for the future of mankind the survivors have all buggered off to the moon and set up what looks like a giant supermarket cum roller disco named New Washington.

Named after America's last president, the actor turned politician Denzel, whose quick thinking allowed humanity to flee the Earth to begin with, the city is run by an elite selection of tight jump-suited old men in thin socks and led by the doddery (yet still pert arsed) Senator Jeff Smedley (acting warhorse Ireland from everything you can think of from Salon Kitty to Waxwork II, obviously his ex-wife was being really demanding at this time) and the candyflosh haired Dr. John Caball ( introduction necessary).

Washington: post.

Not everything is all rosy in New Washington tho', the general populace are required to wear hellish 'high fashion' outfits that even the producers of Logan's Run turned down for being too seventies and the after effects of the cyborg conflict means that the survivors need to take a regular dose of the miracle drug Radish-Q-2 just to stop their sideburns dropping out.

This miracle drug is only produced on one planet in the galaxy, the barren(ish) Delta Three but unfortunately for cuddly Caball and co., the planets self proclaimed robot master, the mad as a lorry scientist named Edward James Omus (Palance, nuff said), has deposed Nikki Six (Lynley from The Poseidon Adventure and, um, loads of other stuff), the legitimate governor of Delta Three and taken over with the help of his terrifying army of moving compost bins.

Oh sorry, I mean hi-tech robots.

Obviously disguised as compost bins.

Beware! The bin men!

To prove that he means business, Omus crashes a robot controlled cargo ship into the New Washington branch of Asda before announcing that forthwith all shipments of Radish-Q-2 will be suspended until he is proclaimed emperor of everything and given a big crown made of chocolate.

And the moon on a stick.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

In response these outrageous demands and acts of aggression Smedley decides the best course of action would be to do nothing and just hope that Omus gets bored or just changes his mind but massively manbreasted Dr. Caball demands an immediate (if not sooner) response.

You see, he's spent the last few years building a super sleek space attack ship (out of bits of left over model parts by the look of it) called The Star Streak and reckons this is just the right opportunity to blast off into space and get rid of some of his old man aggression by way of kicking Omus' arse.

After consulting the giant talking disco ball in his office however, Smedley (and the computer) says no.

How the Enterprise would look if constructed
by the guy that does Arrow's horror covers.

Without access to paint.

Being a grumpy old man slowly eaten away by sexual frustration and the fact that he now has to wear a bra, Caball ignores everyone and decides to go anyway, taking his drippy son Jason (latter day writer/director and son of Bruce, Campbell), Smedley's harsh faced daughter Kim (Benton AKA Anne-Marie Martin from teevee's Sledge Hammer and star of your Granddad's most erotic fantasies) and a upturned water cooler on castors and decked out in Christmas tree lights named Sparks (full time little person Parr).

Stealing Star Streak and blasting off for Delta Three our heroes remember that they've forgotten to fill her up with petrol so, slightly embarrassed they turn around and head back toward Earth in order to refuel at the planets last garage which is luckily run by an old drinking chum of Caball Snr.

I would say you couldn't make this shit up but obviously someone did.

No matter what I write I couldn't make
this look any shitter than it already does.

I hope the designer is proud of himself.

Landing in someone's garden Jason soon discovers that the garage is shut (due to the owner being dead in a cupboard) and that the local woods are over-run by irradiated children in ill fitting white wigs, left behind after the war.

Being a nice man tho' Jason tells all the kids to sit in a field and that he'll be back for them in a bit.

Phew! Glad the plot made that detour.

Meanwhile back on Delta Three Nikki and her band of, oh at least seven followers, obviously bored sitting about in the dirt like a bunch of late sixties counter-culture junkies, are planning to attack Omus and seize back control of the base and stuff.

So, armed with dustbin lids and washing poles the heady band take a secret route thru' a massive maze of underground caverns only to find the evil robot bins lying (well swaying) in wait and ready to strike out clumsily with their big plastic hands.

Niki being very little sneaks between the robots chunky rubber thighs and makes it inside Omus' fortress, sending a message to the moon for help.

A message that is intercepted by old man Caball and co. as they (very slowly) approach Delta Three.

Demanding they move up to 'faster than faster than light' speed before retiring to his room for a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle, John misses the after effects of travelling at such high speeds which include flashing disco lights, poverty row matte work and a variety of disturbing cum faces from the rest of the cast as they cartwheel round the set desperately trying to avoid knocking Sparks the robot over.

Even having to write about that scene has made a little piece of me die inside.

"I wonder what'll happen if I tug this knob?"

Finally arriving in one piece (but sweating more than John Leslie on an oil rig) our heroes come across a couple of robot controlled freighters heading toward the moon, but having failed to fit The Star Streak with weaponry of any kind in which to blow them up, John decides that they should land and have a stern chat with Omus instead.

Cut to someone dropping a paper plate into a garden and it's away we go.

Trudging thru' the sandpit behind the directors house our merry band soon find Nikki and her followers hiding up a tree and, after a bit of uncomfortable hugging between the Baby Jane like Nikki and the saggy arsed John, the baddie robots turn up and escort the old fella to his audience with Omus.

Clambering back up the tree till they've gone, Jason formulates a cunning rescue plan involving going back thru' the same caves as before, knocking on Omus' door then running away giggling.

A rare behind the scenes shot of the
movies special effects team at work.

Whilst all this potty plotting is going on, Caball and Omus finally meet face to face (again).

Yup it turns out that John was once Omus' geography teacher, keeping him behind in detention for wrongly identifying France as Belgium and therefore starting him off on his road to dictatorship.

But Omus has his revenge planned to the tiniest detail.

A revenge that involves the man we've come to hate donning au upturned water cooler on his head whilst playing white noise loudly thru' his stereo radiogram causing poor old Barry Morse to feign a stroke.

Or is it his sex face?


Arriving just in time to find his fathers prone body covered in jam and slumped in a Lazy Boy chair, Jason vows violent revenge on Omus but way below in the caverns his evil army of robotic bins is on the move, determined to smash Nikki's mini rebellion whilst far away in space the bomb laden freighters edge ever closer to the moon.....

Star Wars: The Pikey Years.

Like the idiot child you keep locked in the attic or the piss stained and bearded old Aunt you only see at Christmas, you can't help but admire the late, (wannabe) great George McCowan's
lo-fi, sci-fi shlockfest for it's blatant brass necked, steel balled arrogance.

Taking it's title from the classic HG Wells novel, it's plot from the back of a fag packet and it's effects from the local thrift store, McCowan has fashioned what should be a ratty, tatty fag end of a movie into a highly entertaining (but still ratty, tatty and fag ended) piece of cinematic cheese worthy of a wider fan following than it currently has.

Kim prepares to try out the new
Anne Summers Golden Nobbler for size.

Chock full of badly fitted polyester jumpsuits, the largest bunch of non acting, non entities this side of Hollyoaks and an army of killer robots obviously fashioned by a wooden handed blind child from the contents of his Dads shed, The Shape Of Things To Come positively revels in it's tawdriness, almost as if the people involved haven't realised how arse numbingly bad the entire production is.

Yes, it's like they honestly believe that they're making something that will rival 2001 in the intellectual stakes.

And for that you really have to admire their commitment.

If not worry about their collective sanity.

Frankly you can't call yourself a true film fan unless you own this.

Especially if it's on VHS.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 22).

Alternate Mrs. Jones.....Coraline's 'other' mum.

Nuff said?

fumetti farm.

Keeping with the babes and beasts theme here are some more top quality Fumetti type covers for you to enjoy!

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

glad to be geisha.

Been catching up on a big pile of stuff in the corner (films, laundry, work, kids etc.) and went for this first cos it had a pretty laydee on the cover.

At least I'm honest.

And don't worry, seeing as it's fairly new(ish) i'll not give too much away to the six of you who haven't seen it yet.

Robo-Geisha (2009)
Dir: Noboru Iguchi
Cast: Aya Kiguchi, Hitomi Hasebe, Yoshihiro Nishimura, Takumi Saito and Taro Shikagi.

"I knew it would rotate!
Shit! Help me!"

After saving an important politician (FX whiz Nishimura in a neat cameo) from the clutches of an evil cybernetic Geisha assassin and her deadly breasted, sword wielding minions, the mysterious saviour of Japan, Robo-Geisha begins to tell (in true Marvel Comics style) the grateful and very sweaty would-be victim her secret origin story....

Time to fetch the tissues.

Welcome to the (not so) wonderful life of the cute as a button and pigtailed Yoshie Kasuga (former gravure idol and tarento turned actress Kiguchi), destined to live forever in the shadow of her bullying (and fairly harsh) older sister, the top geisha Kikue (Battle Royale II and Ultraman Max's Hasebe).

After an accident involving peppered dough balls, hot soup, a cucumber in the mooth and Kikue administering a severe kicking to her sister, poor Yoshie angrily tears a phonebook in half, catching the attention of super mulleted pretty boy Hikaru Kageno (fish lipped Saito from Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl), spoiled son of the vaguely camp and bequiffed multi-millionaire steel tycoon Mr. Kenzan Kageno (Japan's very own Shakin' Stevens, Shigaki) who invites them both to dinner.

"Blades in mah face!"

As the pair of them both think he's a sexy man (if a little wet) they excitedly accept his invitation and make their way to his home, a bizarre hybrid of temple, factory and James Bond villain lair by way of the Eurovision Song Contest set circa 1987.

I'd move in there like a shot.

Even if I had to have a daily pleasuring from Hikaru and his dad.

Your mum at work yesterday.

Little do the sisters suspect that behind the almost ladyboy smile and kissy lipslurks the heart of a very bad man because Hikaru (and his dandy dad) are planning to build an army of deadly robo-geisha’s (to work alongside their deadly breasted elite Tengu assassins) in an attempt to seize control of Japan...

...with Yoshie and Kikue the latest recruits.

Soon the sisterly slaggings and slaps become more and more dangerous as the pair are pitted against each other (in full geisha make-up and big pink pants) in a fight to the death.

Meow. Thrice.

Although small in stature Yoshie is big in battle skills and, after a wee bit of a kicking easily defeats her sister, causing one of those nasty not talking phases between the pair.

Which is quite possibly the least of their worries seeing as Hikaru is hoping to use their new found sibling hatred to aid his plan to transform them into the most efficient killing machines ever created.

"Put it in me!"

Augmenting their (silky smooth) bodies with everything from armpit swords, breast mounted machine guns and napalm hair, Yoshie and Kikue soon become the number one and number two assassins in Hikaru's organisation but when Yoshie is ordered to assassinate the families of those Hikaru has kidnapped and transformed into his cybernetic army our maiden of metal has a crisis of conscience.

"You RUSE!"

Betrayed and left for dead, Yoshie is rebuilt by the very same concerned relatives she was programmed to destroy our heroine decides to make a stand for all that's good and decent in the world, even if it costs her the sister she secretly still loves....

From the smoking quill of Noboro Iguchi, the man behind Machine Girl, Sukeban Boy and the upcoming Mutant Girls Squad comes yet another panties and prosthetics filled tale of love, family honour, city stomping robots and ludicrously large guns.

Well you know what they say, if it ain't broke dinnae fix it.

To take it too seriously (as many folk seem to have) is to miss the point, as Robo-Geisha is nothing more than a cheap and cheerful comic book of a movie just to be enjoyed on the most basic of levels not over analysed and chin stroked.

Folk should realise this as soon as swords appear out of the (shapely) arses of the Tengu assassins.

I mean, it's not deep and it doesn't want to be clever, it just wants to be fun, fun, fun.

Iguchi directs like a child raiding a chocolate box, you never know what you're going to get next.

Mouth mounted buzzsaws?, arse-blades?, armpit swords?, acidic breast milk? sister on sister bickering? It's all here in one dizzily silly and childish mix topped off by acting so over the top it's a wonder none of the actors got nosebleeds, pre-Playstation effects and a score that purposely rips off everything from Godzilla to Live and Let Die.

Oh, and numerous shots of big pants and a secret base that turns into a dancing robot intent on blowing up Mount Fuji with a big gold bomb.

Need I say more?

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

ghana no do that.

Scarily I got a paid gig the other week, which meant having to brave public transport on a Saturday (Glasgow becomes a wee bit New Barbarians come the weekend).

Whilst waiting patiently for the train to Innsmouth I couldn't help (well I could but I'm nosey) but notice a hideously middle class, born again Christian couple discussing how they spend their holidays in Ghana (that's near Europe I think) handing over bags of old clothes to the locals whilst posing for photo's in a condescending manner whilst no doubt imagining that they're Brad and Angelina.

Some moderate Christians yesterday.

After hearing how poor and how grateful the locals are for the visits from the concerned western folk and how God helps them survive their pointless and dusty lives (plus how luxurious the local hotel complex they stay in is) I realised that not once had either of them even mentioned Ghana's burgeoning horror film industry.

Now pay attention, here's the science part.

Not long after the (non literal) home video explosion of the early eighties and the reduction (relatively) in price of home recording equipment and portable cameras (which gave birth - not like Splice so stop panicking - to the mobile cinema phenomena in a number of West African countries), the African film industry jumped at the chance to produce affordable (re: dirt cheap) movies with a local theme aimed squarely at the home market, taking in themes such as devout Christianity, gangsters, devout Christianity, possession, people trafficking, devout Christianity, police corruption, devout Christianity and fat ladies waving their arms about whilst crying.

Oh, and did I mention that the majority of the movies feature at least a wee bit of devout Christianity?

"Not more bloody foreigners with
their second hand football strips!"

And one of the most successful films in what shall now be called the
Ghanian 'Godly Horror' genre is C'Emeka Uba's Abro Ne Bayie.

A film so terrifying that it had to be split into two parts!


Tho' don't expect too much seeing as half the dialogue and the credits are in Twi, a language that we failed to cover at The Dormston School.

Damn you teachers!

Abro Ne Bayie.
Dir: C'Emeka Uba.
Cast: Anita Acheampong and some other people.

Hunky, grey suited and shiny of shoed Vincent Opoku (apparently portrayed by Ghana's very own Wickey Will Smith) is an successful businessman and devout Christian (told you) with everything to look forward to in life.

He's rich in both monetary terms and his love for God, has a really hot (and incredibly bootylicious) fiancée named Brenda and a really nice car that isn't pulled by a donkey.

But his perfect life is about to take a nasty turn for the (supernatural) worse tho' seeing as his massive headed mum Dufie (not the Welsh singer) has made a pact to deliver her son's eternal soul to the Satanic underworld in return for a new dress and some cha-cha heels.

"Ah fell aff mah beanstalk Ian!"

Her plan to achieve sartorial ecstasy involves persuading poor Vincent to fall out with Brenda and start dating the black clad (and even more bootylicious if that's humanly possible) Natasha, who in reality is an evil sex demon in human form.

So he has the choice between the attractive yet staid Brenda, who even tuts at the thought of kissing before marriage or a leather clad, very dirty pillowed nymphomaniac she creature from Hell who gives out on a first date.

Hmmmm.....tricky choice.

Natasha: up the casino.

Within, oh minutes, Vincent is totally under Natasha's spell with her promises of letting him bite her in the back of his motor and a quick touch of her baps (chicken), leaving poor Brenda crying into her Pot Noodle and his evil mum organising a dinner dance (with Bingo) to reveal her new look.

Can anyone save Vincent (and his soul) from an eternity of forced and meaningless hot sweaty sex?

Luckily for Vincent (depends on your definition of luck tho' doesn't it?) his dad Tony and the local priest, Father Dennis Kwabina are ready to take on the hordes of Hell in an attempt to save Vincent's very soul....

And his reputation as a good boy.

"Laugh now!"

Clocking in at an arse numbing two and a half hours, Abro Ne Bayie may be cruder than your Grannie on Meth, shot as it is in harsh natural light with a bunch of non-actors obviously rounded up at the local job centre and effects achieved on an old Amiga. Cheap it certainly is but none of this stops it being bloody enjoyable.

But the greatest (and most refreshing) thing about Abro Ne Bayie is despite the films budgetary shortcomings the theme of demonic possession and temptation is played in such a deep and serious manner.

Almost as if this were a public information documentary on the evils of Satan.

And frankly, if I've got the choice between the ultimate evil looking like Linda Blair masturbating with a crucifix whilst Max Von Sydow wets himself over a big stone dog or the Devil and his minions on show here - some chubby bloke in a second hand Jedi cloak wearing a novelty old man mask from the market, a child in a skeleton suit, covered in facepaint with a plastic horn staple to his head and a really fat person covered in what looks like fresh cow shite in a Dolly Parton wig - I know which I'd pick.

Plus I reckon naughty Natasha would be worth it.

Just remember to get your Tetanus jag first.

"Shite in mah mooth!"

If only half of Hollywood's output was this entertaining (and had as many shaved small boys in facepaint throw around rooms by Vicars) then the world would be a much better place.

Tho' as a downside the thought of every major film using (the free demo of) Adobe Premiere's Eye Candy for their special effects is kinda disconcerting.

But that's a chance I'm willing to take.

Who's with me?

Monday, August 2, 2010

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 21).

Jessie the cowgirl from Toy Story.

It must be the red hair and freckles.

And probably the fact that she's voiced by possibly the sexiest actress in Hollywood makes her hard to resist.

porn again.

You want porn but worried your mum might find it?

Then why not give these oh so amusing titles a try then you can convince your friends (and yourself) that you hadn't realised that they weren't the originals!