Thursday, September 29, 2011

it's tricky.

Superman's hardest mission....and they say comics are for kids.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

people you fancy but shouldn't part 33.

Well I admitted it earlier so here goes...

The lovely Jamie, as played by Danyi Deats in the classic Rivers Edge.

Look, don't judge me I was only 16 right?

drop dead gorgeous.

Only just gotten round to seeing this (slow I know) after being put off by the sub Diablo Cody style cover design and that fact that it sounded a wee bit like Teeth.

Only with a full female body not just a rubber fanny.

Ah, I love being one of those 'new men'.

Dead Girl (2008).
Dir: Marcel Sarmiento, Gadi Harel.
Cast: Shiloh Fernandez, Noah Segan, Andrew DiPalma, Eric Podnar, Candice Accola, a dog and Jenny Spain.

"JoAnn, I love you".
"Fuck you. Grow up".

Rebel without a clue Rickie (Fernandez channelling Vincent Gallo) and his 'bud' JT (the Skeet Ulrich-lite Segan) are the obligatory tattooed badboys at the local high school, hated by the cheerleaders and pummelled by the jocks on a daily (nay hourly) basis.

Think Grange Hill with better teeth.

Rickie, being the floppy fringed sensitive one, is totally obsessed with the big headed blonde JoAnn (Ex-Miley Cyrus backing singer Accola), his first kiss in grade school and his one true love.


Unfortunately not only is she one of the schools golden girls but she's also engaged to star football player and owner of the slickest hair known to man, the monobrowed Johnny (DiPalma, a man constructed entirely of right angles). 

Deciding to skip class and go drinking rather than study and get some exams leading to a good job (listen to Uncle Ashton kids!) our dour duo head over to a handy abandoned mental hospital just up the road.

Thru' The Keyhole with John Leslie.

Creeping around the eerily empty wards JT does his best to freak his pal out before deciding it'd be more fun to chug weak American beer, jump about shouting "Woah!" and smash some windows.

As you do if you're a teen.

Everything is going swimmingly (well drunkenly) until a large hairy (and possibly very horny) dog turns up and chases Rickie and JT down a dark, damp corridor, up some stairs, passed the bins before finally losing our pissed up pals in the big scary basement.

Twilight for pikeys.

Deciding to explore the room for another exit rather than face the full arse tearing wrath of the mad dog our friends soon come across (not in that way, well not yet) what looks like a naked dead girl, spread-eagled, chained to a slab and wrapped in plastic.

So far so Lynch.

Having a good poke around under the plastic sheet, JT is surprised to see that she's not dead at all,  only sleeping - oh, and dribbling, moaning and trying to bite chunks out of anyone who gets too close.

Just like a normal girl then.

Rickie freaked out by the discovery wants to tell the police but JT has other plans.

Namely to keep her locked in the basement and have sex with her whenever he fancies, telling Rickie that it'll be "their little secret”.

What a lovely guy.

"And this is where you plug your MP3 player in!"

Cue ninety minutes of Rickie staring wistfully at JoAnn, sighing as his drunken stepdad talks about life and occasionally heading over (and down) to the basement to check on JT, who's quickly morphing from lank haired druggie to a comedy drunk, underpants wearing, slick-headed Pimp-Meister.

A Pimp-Meister with an eager new accomplice, long haired and behatted Wheeler (lead singer/songwriter of the band Falling Still, Podnar).

Unfortunately Wheeler can't help but brag about the 'sex slave' they have locked up in the hospital and it's not long before Johnny and his posse have bullied their way into the basement intent on tasting some undead arse for themselves.

Coercing Johnny into popping his cock in her mouth (as opposed to shite-ing in it obviously)  whilst his buddy has the proper 'vaginal sex' (Johnny doesn't want to be unfaithful to JoAnn, bless him) with the dead girl, it's only a matter of time before there's a case of nob-nibbling ahoy and muchos manly screaming ending with a wee bit of baseball bat and dead head interfacing.

With half the football team now knowing about JT's zombie pimping service and with Johnny's cock going a funny green colour it's only a matter of time before JoAnn comes a calling, desperate to find out what happened to her boyfriends penis.

Unfortunately for her the copious amounts of beatings and penetrations inflicted on our undead sex kitten are beginning to show (plus she's starting to smell like a cheese factory) but JT has the answer.

If he can get her to bite another woman, then the victim will turn giving him a brand new sex slave.

"Shite in mah undead mooth ya jock bastard!!"

In parts playing out like a particularly nightmarish version of Lemon Popsicle, Sarmiento and Harel's Dead Girl owes more than a nod to Tim Hunter's seminal movie of teenage alienation, the undisputed classic of the genre River's Edge.

Both films deal with the teen protagonists curiosity and pre-occupation regarding sex and death, and one that finally grows uncontrollably and violently as the stories reach their conclusion, questioning both our own and societies morals and beliefs along the way.

The only real differences are that Rivers Edge has by far the sexier corpse in Jamie, played to perfection by Danyi Deats - oh how I would sit and drool over her as a shy sixteen year old, the video remote cradled in my free hand - and also has quite possibly the greatest cast ever assembled for a film.

Whereas - and I'm sorry to have to say it - but Dead Girl is populated by actors that remind you of other actors and a zombie that looks like a young Adrienne Barbeau.

But without the frighteningly pneumatic breasts obviously.

As a 16 year old, this was my perfect girl....nuff said really.

On a plus point it does try to do something different with the undead genre and surprisingly (given the subject matter and advertising designs) actually underplays quite a few of the films more explicit scenes.

And for that we can all be grateful, in lesser hands this could have had all the makings of a cheap and tawdry sex-shocker (tho' I'm not saying that wouldn't have been enjoyable too) so kudos to all involved for staying true to the genuinely dark premise and although after much soul-searching and meta-textual musings on life, love and death the best they can come up with is 'males are nasty' they at least did it in a far more entertaining way than the utterly abysmal Teeth.

"Is it in yet?"

As it stands Deadgirl is the perfect first date film with something for the most jaded viewer; love, life, sex, death and the consequences of shite-ing your intestines out of your arse are all covered here, giving you loads to chat about as you enjoy your coffee and do-nuts afterwards.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

earth 52 and a third.

After the head fuck that is DC Comics total relaunch let's travel back to a time when anyone could pick up any issue and follow the storylines.

let it snow.

Sorry (again) for the lack of recent rants.....been busy working on the tie-in strip for the movie The Snowman.

Enjoy this sneaky peek at page 4.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

fish cake.

The Last Shark (AKA The Last Jaws, L'ultimo squalo, Great White. 1981).
Dir: Enzo G. Castellari.
Cast: James Franciscus, Vic Morrow, Micaela Pignatelli, Joshua Sinclair, Giancarlo Prete, Stefania Girolami, Gian Marco Lari , Chuck Kaufman, Gail Moore and a shark.

"No damned shark is gonna screw up a whole year's work and planning!"

Hip, bubble-permed windsurfing champion and Mr. Bungle lead vocalist Mike Patton, is practising his cool moves to the smooth sound of Yvonne Wilkins hit "Hollywood Big Time" whilst wearing the tightest vest ever known to man (Which in itself is quite a feat) in the hope of winning the annual Port Harbour surfing competition.

Everything is going swimmingly, well surfingly, until poor Mike is dragged kicking and spluttering beneath the waves.

Enter (you know you want to) local writer and shark expert Peter Benton (Beneath The Planet of The Apes, Cat o' Nine Tails and Naked City star Franciscus) who after getting an earful regarding a lack vegetables in the pantry courtesy of his Farrah-lite wife Gloria (the terrifyingly toothsome Pignatelli) decides to investigate Mike's disappearance.

"Is it in yet?"
You see, their beautiful, well I say beautiful, daughter Jenny (Castellari's real-life daughter and latter-day Hollywood based assistant director Girolami) was on the beach at the time is pretty sure that the overpowering stench of fish filled the air seconds before he vanished.

Anyway, whilst Peter is wandering around the obviously off-season and freezing cold beach looking for a big rubber fish, his wife is busy at work organising the aforementioned competition and regatta for local congressman and professional stud-muffin William Wells (Sinclair, the actor that, in an alternative universe was cast as Tony Stark in Ruggero Deodato's Iron Man movie).

Wells, being a kindly soul is a wee bit worried that a giant shark terrorising the bay might put folk off from visiting the festivities so decides to hire local fisherman Ed Glover to hunt down then destroy the ferocious fish.

Vic Morrow deciding whether to use Head and Shoulders or Sainsbury's own brand to wash his hair yesterday.

Unfortunately (for Ed) the shark gobbles up everything except his arm before nudging the boat back to port as a kind of water-based ASBO calling card.

Wells is obviously even more worried now but his white suited assistant (Howard Keel in an uncredited cameo and a nipple revealing string vest, I'm sure of it) manages to convince him that a rogue hand grenade caused the damage and also, as luck would have it that he's noticed that the local Asda has a massive collection of shark proof nets on sale.

And they're three for the price of two.

Seeing this as a good omen (as opposed to say, The Final Conflict), Wells orders the show to go ahead but not before putting Peter and his best pal, the comedy accented and candy-floss haired Scottish skipper Captain 'Ron' McHammer (the late, great Morrow, chewing scenery like a starving Somali chews his own gammy leg) in charge of security and the islands only pair of binoculars.

I wouldn't want that swimming up my arse.

Soon the beach is full of playful teens, pot bellied adults and those kind of ball headed, hairy children you only got in the seventies all intent on enjoying the regatta.

With all the participants are waxing their boards before heading into the water, it's left to Peter and Ron to nonchalantly watch the water for tell-tale fins whilst Howard Keel supervises the race from his little boat.

What could possibly go wrong?

With nothing unusual in the water save a mysteriously bobbing buoy the race begins but within minutes the very same bouncy and somewhat bullying buoy is zig-zagging thru' the competitors knocking them all off their boards.

Too late Cap'n Ron realises what's happened.

That snide shark has obviously disguised himself as a beach ball and is even know preparing to lunch out on the surfers smooth thighs.

Using his fishing boat and big net to catch stray surfers and pull them to safety, Ron and Peter are oblivious to the big beast swimming (well lolling) closer to the star of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers until it's again too late.

Damn you Mr. Tension.

Without warning (save a sexy guitar twang) Howard's boat is throw skywards by some unseen force (which I'm assuming was meant to be either the sharks hitherto unexplained psychic powers, a massive fishy fart or that the model refused to shoot upwards) leaving the poor sod bobbing about in the water crying like a baby till the shark gobbles him up.

Richard Dreyfuss farted...and it was an eggy one.

A by now really annoyed Wells, realising that he'll never have his armoured suit ready in time to kill the shark retreats to his office in a huff, leaving our terrific twosome to go it alone and, in a plan of diabolical ingenuity follow the shark back to his underground lair, what till it goes out for lunch then hide inside armed with some dynamite on a stick.


With Gloria on-board for moral support and a cheeky show of flesh, Peter and Ron suit up and dive down to the sharks cave only to get trapped in a rock-fall caused by the crafty fish itself, who had already anticipated their plan and had been lying in wait behind a big sponge.

This shark is good.

With Ron unconscious and his air hose broke (no doubt causing lots of trouble and lots of bubbles) Peter, using a makeshift underwater catapult fires the dynamite at the shark and frightens it away.

Not only that but the explosion clears the rocks giving our heroes a clean run to the surface.


With all this exciting (if a wee bit dangerous) shark hunting and near death chills going down you'd be forgiven for thinking the poor audience would get a break from the excitement to get their breath back or at least have a slash, but oh no because we soon discover that back on the island Wells' pube haired son Billy has rather foolishly decided to steal his dads boat and alongside his friends (and Jenny) to head out to sea and kill the shark themselves to avenge Mikes (you remember him) death.

It's like an episode of Eastenders but with fewer laughs and less of a rancid fish odour.

Jenny: I've got something to put in you.

Busying themselves by tying a bag of offal to a broom the teens completely fail to see the shark slowly heading towards the boat till it's too late, only noticing when it jumps out of the water to grab the meat treat.

The friends have no other option but to scream and shout as the brute tears up the bait before inadvertently biting the broom in half, sending Jenny tumbling into the cold, icy sea.

Billy desperately tries to pull her back on-board as the snappy shark bounces up and down on the waves like a multi-toothed beach toy whilst the rest of the crew shuffle about trying to look concerned, eventually tho' Jenny is dragged to safety.

Minus her leg.

"Boiled Onions!"

As luck (or simplistic plotting) would have it her dad is just sailing passed as this is happening so Within no time at all Jenny is back on dry land and laid up in a hospital bed as her dad (quite cruelly methinks) chats to her about the first time she rode a bike, her first dance and the like, you know just all the stuff that she won't be doing again any time soon.


but not everyone is so calm as we can tell from Wells' reaction to seeing his son moping about the waiting room.

After administering a quick disciplinary buggery on the boy, our moustachioed hunk, armed with only a machine gun and a carrier bag full of entrails heads over to his private heliport to take to the skies in the hope of raining hot leaded death on the killer fish.

just imagine that's your cock he's about to suck on...just don't imagine him taking it out of a box and lighting it first.

After a few minutes hanging out of the helicopter throwing bits of meat into the sea Wells actually seems surprised when the shark shows up.

Tho' saying that I probably would be too seeing as it appears to be moving thru' the water whilst balancing on it's fin looking for all intent and purposes like a badly made performing seal.

none of this really matters tho' as Wells is soon in the drink and frantically waving at the helicopter to pick him up.

"Laugh now!"

Wells' fearless pilot Geoff lowers the helicopter as near to the water as he can enabling a very wet Wells to grab onto the landing rail and get whisked to safety.

Well that was the plan anyway.

The reality of the situation is much more amusing as the shark leaps up out of the sea and bites Wells' in half before eating the helicopter.

Can this film get anymore pant wettingly exciting?

You betcha it can, cos even now back onshore beardy news reporter Bob Snatch and his porn god cameraman Sheldon have decided to staple a pig to the pier in the hope of getting the shark on TV.

And planning for every eventuality they've even hired a big game hunter to shoot the shark live on air.

Well I'd tune in.

"Balsa wood in mah mooth ya bastards!"

But don't forget that Ron and Peter have once again braved the elements and are back out at sea hoping to find this fiendish fish from hell.

Coming across (not in that way, tho' it's Vic Morrow so you never can tell) the debris from Wells' helicopter, Cap'n Ron dives down to investigate only to find Wells' severed arm and a long piece of string.

Tugging it gently Ron soon discovers that the string is tied to one of the sharks teeth and that the poor animal is using the wreckage in an attempt to pull it out.

So that's why it's so grumpy.

Swimming back to the boat to fetch his cavity filler Ron manages to become entangled in the string and is soon dragged to his death below the ocean waves as Peter watches on helplessly.

Which is nice if a little less dramatic a death scene than we'd have liked.

Realising what an arse he's made of things so far Peter admits defeat and heads back to the beach for a well deserved ice cream and a can of fizzy pop only to be greeted by the sight of the town pier, with his wife, Sheldon, the big game hunter guy and various non-speaking townfolk aboard, being dragged out to sea by the shark.

Racing to the rescue (but not in time to save the hunter or Sheldon) Peter pulls alongside the rapidly sinking pier and drags everyone aboard his boat but as he manhandles his wife's ample arse aboard the shark picks up speed, dragging our hero away from safety and trapping him on an ever quicker sinking pile of sodden wood and streamers.

"Will it eat me whole?" "No it shall probably spit that bit out".

As the shark leaps toward Peter like some grinning seventies sock puppet our hero notices Ron's body hanging limply out of the side of it's mouth.

And just within reach?

Ron's handy dynamite belt.

With  all his remaining strength and a high pitched scream Peter launches himself at the beast, grabs the detonator and kicks his best pals bloated corpse further down the sharks gullet before diving into the sea and pressing the detonators shiny red button causing the shark to pop like a big balloon full of jelly.

"Aya! Mah BCG!"

Returning to dry land with his wife on his arm and the townsfolk cheering Peter has one piece of unfinished business to deal with.

Punching Bob in the face for no discernible reason, Peter throws his wife into the backseat of the car and drives home for some well deserved sex.

From Italy's master of unlocking, the great Enzo Castellari (he of Inglorious Bastards and The New Barbarians fame amongst other goodies) comes the tarnished jewel in the scrap pile of copycat movies released in Jaws wake.

After replacing Charlton Heston in Beneath The Planet Of The Apes, James Franciscus seems to have no qualms about stepping into Roy Scheider's shoes whilst Vic Morrow just looks happy with the thought of earning enough to eat that month and the rest of the cast?

Who cares.

Apart from Universal Pictures and Steven Spielberg himself obviously, who successfully managed to have this film pulled from American cinemas.....FOREVER.

Which is a shame really because in many ways The Last Shark is superior to the film it rips off.

Nah, only joking.

Standby for action!

But it does boast a fantastic eighties Italiana score, some very stylish haircuts and a rare appearance by Howard Keels nipples so in that respect at least it's worth a look.

Plus if I'm honest Vic Morrows arse looks great in a wetsuit.

Monday, September 19, 2011

by george!

From the pages of Variety, a collection of movies that George A Romero didn't direct during the eighties.


Monday, September 5, 2011

come as you are.

those of you with long memories and short fuses may remember how gutted I was to miss this classic at this years Fright Fest in Glasgow, especially after being told how fantastic it was.

As you'll all be aware, Britain has a long and golden history when it comes to the genre of portmanteau horror, from Dead of Night to The Monster Club it's a tradition of which we can all be proud.

Until now obviously.

Little Deaths (2011).
Dir: Sean Hogan, Andrew Parkinson and Simon Rumley.
Cast: Scott Ainslie, Luke de Lacey, Mike Anfield, James Anniballi, Holly Lucas, Siubhan Harrison, Kate Braithwaite, Tom Sawyer, a huge rubber cock, some Bisto and few dogs.

"I wouldn't normally allow sorrow in my house"

After some so hip it hurts titles, director Sean (can't be arsed looking up anything else he's done, sorry) Hogan introduces us to Richard and Victoria (the fantastically weasely and permanently sweat soaked de Lacey and the scarily school ma'm-like Harrison); your average God bothering 30 something, Tory bastards; all big cars, crap hair, plummy voices and an overwhelming sense of their own self worth.

So far, so hateful.

Well, they would be if Victoria was so luscious lipped, I mean if any actress alive has a mooth just begging for a shite-in it's her.

In a totally non-sexual way obviously.

Victoria prepares to suck plumbs thru' a tennis racquet earlier today.

In an attempt to give something back to society our caring couple like to invite the occasional homeless girl back to their humble abode for a relaxing bath, hearty meal and a wee bit of bondage buggery and nipple badgering.

Which is nice.

After a few days stalking a likely candidate in the form of the tussle haired and dirty pillowed Sorrow (Holby City star and daughter of Star Wars director George, all milky thighs and sexy eyebrows), Randy Richard decides it's time to invite her home for food, fun and a little forced entry hi-jinks.

I don't know what's more terrifying; those man-breasts or that wicker chair.

With everything seemingly going to plan it's only when the fucking starts good and proper that our mental man and wife realise that sorrow will indeed blight their lives.

And we're not talking the David Bowie song either.

Tho' that would be far more original than the re-heated and comedy toothed 'Eat The Rich' bollocks that we get here.

Embarrassingly derivative, offensively stereotypical and totally predictable from start to finish, 'House and Home' (as 'in eat you out of', clever eh?) is prove enough that just because you (or mummy and daddy) have the cash to make a movie doesn't mean you have to.

Spare a thought for the three leads tho' who even when forced to utter some of the most banal dialogue ever written, give 100% with their performances.

Which is a good 100% more than this shite deserves.


And not in a good way.
He's the lucky one, at least you can't see his face.

With little time to breath, let alone escape to the bar or remove your own eyes,  Andrew (not the disease) Parkinson’s disappointingly average Mutant Tool rears it's bulbous, circumcised head.

There's really nothing you can say concerning the plot cos frankly it doesn't have one, what it does have tho' is a few terrific ideas idly pissed up against the wall with such a lack of grace and effort that most of it ends up down the front of the directors trousers.

Which to make things worse are light brown corduroy.

From the market.

Spunk in a bucket....nuff said.

I mean come on, how on earth can you make a movie about a tall skinny man chained up in a hospital basement whose 3 foot long genetically engineered Nazi penis constantly leaks it's conscious altering man-muck into a rusty bucket and make it so bowel tearingly boring that you start to tear out your own, then other peoples eyelashes in a vain attempt to stay awake?

Possibly the only way the film makers will get anyone to sit thru' the whole film.

The most annoying thing about the whole sorry mess tho' is the fact that they couldn't even be arsed to make the big cock shudder and shake when it ejaculates, it just limply sits there, dripping like an old wrinkly man with a cold.


Admit it, she's no Megan.

With two down, one to go and the will to live fading fast it's time for Simon (director of some films, one featuring transvestites) Rumley to let his Bitch loose on an unsuspecting (and by this point unconscious) audience.

The permanently scowling and granite chinned Claire (Braithwaite) and her pube haired, permanently bemused beau Pete (literary legend Sawyer) have a troubled relationship.

Although Pete loves Claire and Claire loves Pete, she just happens to love violating his arse with a big black strap on whilst he crouches on all fours, naked except for a shoddy dog mask even more.

This relationship, you see is built on power and Claire has it all, from slapping poor Pete for not sharing his fish fingers to shagging his best mate via illicit trips back in time to mid-eighties goth nite clubs, Claire is as hard and harsh as they come.

But like all villains she has a chink in her armour.

A morbid fear of dogs.

The worlds first natural pillow birth, shown live on Channel 4 last Tuesday.

As Claires actions become meaner and meaner and Pete withdraws deeper into his own world, you can tell that it'll only take a little thing to make the poor sod go over the edge.

And in this case it's a comment about his penis size.

Or lack of.

Shite in mah mooth? No! Bisto on mah buttocks!

 Pete has had enough, refusing to sleep with Claire or let her touch his bum, he spends his whole time wandering the streets buying dogs and big tins of gravy.

What could he possibly be planning?

I couldn't possibly say just in case anyone reading this has never, ever seen a film in their lives and therefore wont possibly be able to guess the ending.

Tho' it does involve Claire spread eagled and sobbing on a bed with her (admittedly really peachy) arse covered in Bisto, which quite honestly is one of the most erotic scenes I've experienced in recent memory so it's not all bad.

By not all bad I mean that the acting from the two leads is, again, far better than this script deserves and the 'shocking' twist, like the other two stories, is so obvious as to make you expect that it has to be a red herring and something so mind-spunkingly brilliant is going to happen.

But no, like that leopard print clad, varicose veined middle-aged barmaid that you always end up doing in a dirt sodden back alley during your weaker moments you know exactly how it'll turn out.

Only in the case of this movie it definitely makes you feel a helluva lot cheaper.

How I felt watching this movie.

Little Deaths has been called 'the future of British horror' and if that is in fact the case we might as well unplug the life support machine and go home now.

It'd be a mercy killing.

celebs that look like scifi creatures (part three).


Just rewatched this lost classic and had to share.

Look, it was either this or Torchwood.

Tammy And The T-Rex (1994)
Dir: Stuart Raffil
Cast: Denise Richards, Paul Walker, George Pilgrim, Sean Whalen, Theo Forsett, Terry Kiser, a big dinosaur.

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Fish lipped high school cheerleader Tammy (Richards) is in love with football jock Michael (Walker) unfortunately tho' her gang-banger ex-beau Billy (Pilgrim) is making her life hell, stalking her, phoning her and generally being a bad lad.

Everything goes pear shaped when Billy Badman catches Michael and Tammy together and, as any leather-clad jealous ex would do in that situation, he drags Michael off to the zoo and throws him into the lion enclosure.

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Fast, furious and fish lipped.

Michael is only slightly (but not quite fatally) mauled and is rushed to hospital under the care of medical mentalist Dr. Wachenstein (Kiser).

Hurriedly squeezing into her slut chic outfit, Tammy rushes to Michael's hospital bed, only to find that Wachenstein has transplanted Michael's brain into the body of a ferocious T-Rex.

As you would.

Michael wakes up in his new (tiny handed) body and understandably goes on a mad killing rampage culminating in an attack on Billy and his gang at a pool party.

Luckily for the crew the 'delicate' animatronics didn't fuse in the water, tho' the fact that the dinosaur can only move it's head ala the Clooney Batman probably means it was a clockwork one.

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Little eyes, tiny hands and fish breath.

Tired of all the senseless (PG-13) killings, Michael decides to kidnap Tammy (tho' how he can pick her up in those itsy bitsy stick thin arms is anyones business).

It doesn't take Tammy long to figure out that the horny lizard rubbing against her leg is her beau, so begins a race against time (and good taste) to find Michael a more 'acceptable' body more suitable for giving Tammy the love she needs whilst dodging the local sheriff and the mad doctor intent on reclaiming his latest creation.

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"Don't worry, I have protection".

In the way out world of wacky comedies, Tammy and the T-Rex is in a league of its own as far as jokes (or lack of them) go.

But for fans of cliche ridden ultra-crap cinema the movie is a real find, a film so utterly and irredeemably bad it has no positive points at all.

Stereotypes on show include the gay and cowardly (not to mention black best friend) Byron, Wachenstein the mad German doctor and his busty, blonde assistant Helga (I kid you not).

Most of the alleged comedy comes from some Chuckle Brothers style pratfalls and the fact that Tammy might be sleeping with a dinosaur, I mean just imagine the films standing if the director had show the balls to give us some foxy Denise on dino' soft focus, MOR scored loving...or is that just me that gets excited by that thought?

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Denise Richards, up the casino, Blackpool
pleasure beach, the Cretaceous period.

The director wisely tries to cover her lack of acting talent, comic timing, freakishly large cod-like lips by dressing her in more and more slutty outfits as the movie progresses, Finally giving up and just dressing her as an out of work butch transsexual Madonna impersonator.

Saying that tho' it is the hottest she's ever looked but maybe that says more about me than the movie.

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If I had to pick a couple of plus points tho' (if for example the director was threatening to burn my Blackhawk Squadron collection), I'd have to mention the sight of a huge T-rex watching a funeral from behind a bush and the 'tender' love moments between Tammy and a large rubber dinosaur were vaguely amusing but that's about it.

Bye bye Blackhawk then.

Worth it only if you're a crap dinosaur fan or get off at the thought of Denise Richards dressed up like your uncles new mail-order 'girlfriend' at Christmas whilst flirting outrageously with a rubber T-Rex.

Or if you have shit for eyes.