Tuesday, May 31, 2011

may stiffs.

A morbidly mixed bag this month (tho' not as many as usual which is a good thing).

So without further ado last month saw the demise of the foxy German-born British Body Snatchers star Dana Wynter, founder member of The Walker Brothers John Walker as well as actress, songwriter and equestrienne Dolores Fuller.

Also kissing the pink last month were American arm wrestling champion Cleve Dean, 57, Japanese glamour model and star of Takashi Miike's Yatterman, Miyu Uehara, American professional wrestler 'Macho Man' Randy Savage plus British actress and impersonator Janet Brown.

Saddest of all tho' (well to those of us with blond quiffs and the hots for Stockard Channing) was the death of Kenickie himself Jeff Conaway.

As an aside, I'd just like to add that Megan is still missing and not, as reported last month chained up in my shed.

Or bed.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

thought of the day.

You will never lovingly embrace a naked Sofia Coppola in a pool.

box (art) frenzy.

For your enjoyment, a selection of quality covers from the late, great Video Classics collection that will (and have) served as inspiration for many a struggling young artist.

If only today's covers had half the flair.

Friday, May 27, 2011

the price is right!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

tough on crime...

Captain Marvel tells it like it is.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

people you fancy but shouldn't part 29.

Guardian teevee critic and all round clever lady Grace Dent.

I'll let our Dutch pals sum her up:

Ze studeerde Engelse literatuur en werkt sinds 1996 als freelance journalist en columnist voor jongerentijdschriften, zoals CosmoGIRL! en kranten als The Guardian, The Daily Mirror en Glamour.

Roughly translated:


Monday, May 23, 2011

fish fang grrrrrrr!

What can I say?

The box art looked exciting plus it's from some of the folk that made Sharktopus so sue me.

And at least there'll be no footage of 14 year old abducted girls getting violated in this one.

Which is a shame really.

Dinoshark (2010).
Dir: Kevin O'Neill (not the one that drew Nemesis The Warlock).
Cast: Eric Balfour, Iva Hasperger (me too), Aarón Díaz, Dan Golden, Christina Nicole, Humberto Busto and Lord Roger of Corman.

"Welcome to the Endangered Species list, bastard!"

Our story begins off the coast of Alaska (or at the very least a lovely painting of it), where solo yachtsman Sevrin Seas (as himself) has managed to bump his boat into a particularly sharp bit of CGI iceberg.

Deciding to dive into the icy waters to check the hull for scratches it's not long before our salty pal is being stalked by something in the deep blue sea.

And no, it's not called 'Josh'.

Suddenly and without warning (apart from a whooshing sound) poor Mr. Seas (and his handy GPS) is swallowed whole by what looks like a huge, grey computer generated turd with fins.

And  a bad case of all over genital warts.

"Shark in mah mooth!"

Meanwhile in Mexico (just across the street from where they shot Sharktopus) the horse-faced and bullet nippled everyman Trace McGraw (Balfour from 24 and the Texas Chainsaw remake) having recently returned home from sailor school, as decided to put his training to work by running a tourist cruise throughout the holiday season in a kinda Carry on Cruising way.

Sun, sand, sexy senoritas and various STD's beckon.

Well it would be if the harbour patrol would let him live on his boat.

A sexy senorita (sans AIDS) yesterday.

Heading to his pal Jeremy's pub, The Salty Seaman, to drown his sorrows, a long (well longer than usual) faced Trace soon gets chatting the blonde bombshell, scientist and girls water polo coach, Carol Brubaker (Hasperger from the Billy Zane classic Vlad) who just happens to be a buddy of his bestest pal Rita (the mightily moustached and spud faced Nicole).

After a few drinks and a wee bit of character development, Rita makes her farewells and heads off to the beach for a swim leaving Trace and Carol to stare at each other giggling whilst trying to figure out who has the bigger chin.

Adrien Brody: the mooth shite-in years.

Making her excuses to leave (and no she doesn't just say "I have my women's period" and walk away) our brainy beauty heads of to meet hotelier and part-time dirty perv Mike (Bad Girls from Mars star Golden) who talks her into having her huge thighed female volleyball team hold an exhibition game in a canal that leads to open sea.

For no other reason it seems than to make for an exciting climax.

Whilst all this chat is highly commendable (and unusual) for this kind of movie, what we really want is gratuitous scenes of Frank Dinoshark chowing down on some olive skinned beauty.

Well we get half of our wish granted when poor Rita becomes the main course in our prehistoric chums Latino lunch.

Entrails on mah beach!

Worried (kinda) by their friends non appearance at dinner time, Trace and co. head out to look for her, finding instead our titanic toothed terror chomping away on a couple of non speaking extras dressed as rejects from Baywatch Nights.

What the fuck is this giant scaly beast? enquires Trent with the worried look of a slightly constipated beagle.

Luckily for us (and the plot) as well as everything else, Carol is an expert on badly rendered prehistoric shark type things and heads over to see her old friend, eminent marine biologist Dr. Frank Reeves (Corman himself looking as sexy as ever) to see if he has any idea how to make it die.

Call me stupid but it doesn't matter how old and grizzled it is cos at the end of the day it's only a big fish?

Why would she need to ask how to kill it?

I mean it's not like it's lead lined or made of gold.....surely bullets, bombs or a big net would do?

"Come my children...suck the movie milk from my man tits!"

Anyway, Trace and Carol decide it'd be wise to hunt down and kill poor Dinoshark before he has a chance to eat any more of the admittedly small number of tourists there for the resorts annual bring and buy sale.

So will our dynamic chinned duo manage to kill this titan of terror before the budget runs out?

Or will the swim team get eaten whole?

Well, what do you think?

"Laugh noooooooooo!"

Another day, another big shark and another SyFy original movie produced by Sir Roger of Corman on a break from counting his money, directed by the man that gave you Dinocroc (and did the effects on the Feast trilogy) and starring the pretty one from the TCM remake.

What's not to love?

Apart from the acting, visual effects and shoddy production values obviously.

Filmed in exactly the same locations - and with exactly the same script - as Sharktopus you kinda know what you're getting yourself into even before you've slapped a fiver down for this beauty in your local Morrisons and if you don't then it's no ones fault but your own.

And frankly you should be ashamed of yourself.

Rum, sodomy and the lash.

I mean come on, you know the CGI beast is going to look like a slightly spastic childs bath toy, that the performances will be pitch at comatose level and that the lead actress has been hired on breast size rather than talent but who the hell cares cos sometimes after a hard days toil you just want to see busty babes and comedy shirted men get eaten by monsters.

Admit it, you know it's true.

It's just a pity that Eric Roberts was busy.

more things you don't expect....

...from your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

celebrity love island.

Another busy day of work, another repost of a quality Joe D'Amato 'classic' (I'm blaming that Evil Sex Trap nonsense).

You can think what you like tho, I'll admit to having a soft spot for Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi, it was one of those movies that always sat at the back of your 'nasties' cupboard when you were 15 (alongside the Malcolm McDowell masterpiece Caligula and Mad Foxes).

The 80's: That's how we all dressed.

It disappeared from my collection during one of my frequent moves during the late 80's but bizarrely enough a few yearss ago my dear father sent a DVD copy to me as a present (alongside a copy of the Anime series Sex Friend which he'd mistakenly purchased thinking it was called Sex Fiend but I digress) and the poor review has been sitting alone and unloved way back in the 2007 section.
So, let's revisit those heady days of Pop Will Eat Itself, Red Stripe in cans, starchy school uniforms and dodgy Marc Almond haircuts.....

Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi (AKA Erotic Nights Of The Living Dead 1980)
Dir: Joe D'Amato
Cast: Laura Gemser, George Eastman, Mark Shannon, Dirce Funari.

The plot (what there is of it) goes thusly.....

A salty Oirish seadog Captain 'amazing' Larry O'Hara (played by the half man half giant sweat gland that is D'Amato regular George Eastman wearing Al Cliver's beard and Auretta Gaye's breasts) takes a big moustached, 'sexy' American businessman/playboy/STD riddled sex tourist Mr. John Wilson (yes, the Man in Haini's Fantasy from Orgasmo Nero himself, Mark Shannon) and his 'girlfriend' Fiona (the fantastically named Dirce Funari from D'Amato's Porno Holocaust) to visit the remote island of Matoul (snigger) where the businessman is planning to build an exclusive holiday resort (presumably for big moustachioed playboys to have sex).

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"Are you looking at my bra?"

After Much on deck shagging, drinking, comparing of man breasts and such-like they arrive at the island to be met by a spookily sexy voodoo lady (and I don't mean maybe) Luna (Gemser, ask your mum) and her bony old dad Geoff.

After a bit more sex (involving Gemser but not the old man unluckily) the trio are warned that the island is cursed and bad things (not including 70's style 'sexiness' and herpes) are going to occur if they don't scarper sharpish.

You see, this is an island of the dead and they don't take kindly to property developers disturbing their sleep (either by building or having sex a lot).

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"Excuse me I appear to have accidentally stuck my cock in you".

After a bit (well a lot) more sex (this time involving Eastman and Funari then Gemser and Funari, bloody hell she should be knackered!), some character driven tension and a nice use of a fog machine and blue lenses the dead do indeed rise from the grave....intent on ridding the island of these kinky interlopers....

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It's then that the movie goes a wee bit strange (which seeing as it earlier had a woman opening bottle of Champagne with her fanny is saying something)....Gemser turns into a cat (or a child's cuddly toy I can't really tell) and back again before biting Mark Shannon's cock off (well he really shouldn't leave it dangling about like that).

Eastman meanwhile runs into the water (giving us a chance to see his huge hairy nipples rubbing against his wet vest) screaming then runs out again and Funari sobs a lot.

After a while the zombies (all wearing huge nappies) kill them.

The end.

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"Big Issue mate?"

Like his other genre buggering crossover gem Porno Holocaust (the two films were shot in the same Dominican Republic locations with only minor variations in cast and crew due to Tetanus jabs being required), it's difficult to see who D'Amato was aiming this film at (present company excepted).

The usual porn brigade are no doubt going to be put off by the scenes of undead induced violence whilst your everyday horror fan is probably not going to want to see Mark Shannon's wart-infested scrotum, taking it's place centre stage and in widescreen glory.


Is this a rare an example of the unsung genius that is D'Amato sneakily toying with the porn crowds enjoyment?

Probably not but it would be nice to think so.

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"What's for tea?" "Fish fingers!"

Yet, despite all the crap shags, woeful performances and the aforementioned sight of Eastman's girlfriend opening a bottle of Champagne with her vagina, the Matoul scenes are steeped with a genuinely nightmarish atmosphere thanks to D'Amato's moody, if sometimes zoomtastic, cinematography.

Marcello Giombini's eerie score is suitably, um, eerie and the 'exotic' Laura Gemser is always worth a mention.

If not a quick hand shandy every now and then, especially if you're watching her fitness video.

Or so my dad says.

There is even the odd spooky scene along the way, as when Shannon, sceptical of the zombie curse, throws away a protective talisman only to see it transform into a cat as it hits the sand.

Pity this can't be said about the later scenes of zombies dropping from trees tho....

"Warty cock in mah exotic mooth!"

For all it's faults and uncomfortable moments of ugly warts, sagging arses and lopsided breasts (stand up and be counted Ms. Funari) Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi comes across (quite literally) as the bastard, inbred offspring of Fulci's Zombi 2 and Jess Franco's Nightmares Come at Midnight with a wee bit of Ferdinando Di Leo's Klaus Kinski starrer Asylum Erotica thrown in - or up - for good measure obviously, I mean if you're going to steal steal from the best.

Plus it's slightly funnier than D'Amato's Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (and with less arse obsessed subplots) and a damn sight more erotically charged than Sophie's Choice.
And that isn't really such a bad thing if you think about it.