Wednesday, August 29, 2012

we are going to eat you.

Sorry (again) for the lack of owt interesting recently but been busy beavering away on various work-type stuff.

It's not all been backs to the grindstone and shites in mooths tho' as those freaky folk at Arrow had decided to break up the monotony of modern life (which as Damon Albarn once said is rubbish) by resurrecting on old friend on the big (gish) screen at the incredibly sexy Glasgow Film Theatre.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back...

 Zombi 2 (AKA Zombie Flesh Eaters, Island of the Flesh-Eaters, Island of the Living Dead Gli Ultimi zombi 1979).
Dir: Lucio Fulci 
Cast: Ian McCulloch, Tisa Farrow, Al Cliver, Auretta Gay, Richard Johnson, Olga Karlatos, a shark, some zombies. 

And for those sad fools out there who have yet to experience true genius... 

New York circa some grainy seventies stock footage where a seemingly abandoned ship drifts spookily thru' the harbour, out of control and unstoppable.

Luckily the local (seemingly French from the boat's flag) harbour patrol's two best men are sent  to investigate. 

Arriving on board in a flurry of Action Slacks and sideburns the brave officers find that the ship is deserted, or so it seems until the fattest bastard zombie you will ever see shambles out of the hold moaning and dribbling as he goes.

Tho' how the fuck he managed to hide aboard such a little boat is never explain, I mean even if you discount his size he still must stink worse than your gran after the retirement home Xmas party.

Anyways back to the action.

Refusing to show his ID (tho' not ashamed to flaunt his terrifying man-tits) our rotund rotter kills one of the patrolmen with a nasty bite to the throat and a quick stroke of the balls before the other, less dead cop shoots him in the face causing him to flop overboard faster than Natalie Wood before sinking straight to the bottom.

"Aye son! Where's mah cake?"

Seeing as stuff like this doesn't usually happen in the Big Apple, NYPD's finest decide to get in touch with the boat owner's daughter, the delectable Ms. Ann Bowles (genre superstar, ex taxicab driver and sister of Mia Farrow) in order to question her regarding the scary fat cannibal bloke, find out who styles her hair and ask the whereabouts of her missing dad. 

Pleased that someone appreciates the effort she puts into looking so good but surprised to hear her dad is missing (close family eh?) Ann, concerned not only about his welfare but her huge inheritance too, returns to the ship that very night to search for clues and stuff but what she finds on board is far more exciting.

And considerably sexier than anything we've seen so far.

Please welcome ace reporter and all round studly Italian horror movie hero, the scarily combovered yet still cool as fuck Peter West (the man, the myth, the legend that is Sir Ian McCulloch). 

West has found a letter written to Ann from her father (told you he was a good reporter, well it's either that or he's broken into her mail box, which frankly is the last box of Farrow's I'd want to break), which tells of a mysterious disease that is ravaging his home on the mysterious island of Matool and that he may never leave alive.

Ann, now very worried about her inheritance (you can tell by her quivering lip), and Peter, interested in the story (and in Ann), decide to travel together to the island to discover the truth.

McCulloch: Put it in me!

Being too tight to get their own boat, the dynamic duo hitch a ride with a couple of hip American tourists, the swoonsome beefcake Bryan (the fantastically furry chinned Cliver) and his shapely wife Susan (Auretta 'Brillantina Rock' Gay- can this cast get any better?), who are enjoying a pleasant sailing holiday.

By sailing holiday I mean Cliver stands around looking rugged in a  shirt that's about three sizes too small whilst Gay spends her days busying herself scuba diving in nothing but a pair of flimsy, fanny revealing pants and a pink flowery swimming cap.

We are indeed in cinematic heaven.

Gay: Nipples like dinner plates.

It's during one such dive that possibly the greatest scene ever committed to celluloid occurs when the positively pneumatic Susan is attacked by a terrifying Tiger Shark.

Susan wiggles her huge arse and sticks her breasts out towards the camera in fright as the fairly ferocious fish swims around thinking "Check the hat".

But that's not the best bit, you see just when it looks like it's going to eat her whole (you know the punchline) a zombie pops up from behind a clump of undersea fauna and tries to bite the beast on the arse.

The shark that is not Susan.

The ensuing spectacle of watching a stuntman attempt to punch out a shark will stay with you forever and is probably one of the reasons that cinema exists in the first place.

Pant wettingly exciting.

"Slate and Vera Lynne?"

Eventually the intrepid party arrive on the shores of Matool and are approached by what looks like a gang of drunken tramps.

On closer inspection tho' they discover that they are, in fact an ARMY OF FLESH EATING ZOMBIES.

Tho' in retrospect the title does kinda give it away.

Unsurprisingly our heroes leg it up the beach (to be honest it's more a leisurely jog up the beach seeing as zombies aren't that quick).

Some zombie flesh eaters yesterday.

After stopping for a rest, being chased, stopping for another rest and being chased again, a pal of Anne's dad, the enigmatic Dr Menard (a very angry Johnson) turns up in a jeep and offers them all safe haven at his house.

Menard is convinced that the mysterious plague ravaging the island is also responsible for the dead rising from their graves. Peter West nods sagely and adjusts his hair whilst the others look on, Susan in a particularly toothish manner usually seen only on rabbits.

Cliver: Ask your mum.

Now it's a race against time as Menard struggles to find a cure, Peter and Bryan struggle over who's the more alpha male, Ann struggles to find her fathers whereabouts, Susan struggles to keep her kit on and Menard's sexily stern wife Paola struggles to finish her shower before a zombie pierces her eye on a large shard of splintered wood....
Will they survive the terrifying attack of the zombie flesh eaters and will horror cinema ever be the same again?

"Eye hen!"

There's not much more entertaining than sitting in a cinema jam packed with like minded souls enjoying a film you've loved since childhood and Arrow's presentation of ZFE certainly delivered the goods, building on and adding to the success of previous events.

Friends and fiends old and new (including an old tramp lady sheltering from the rain in the back row and the fat sweaty man with a big bag of Monster Munch and severe body odour issues) snuggled in close (some closer than they ever sat to anyone, including their mum's) as our host with the most (amusing tales regarding Nico Mastorakis and his stellar career) Mr. Calum Waddell entertained and informed the audience about the nights events before starting the evening as it meant to go on with a collection of trailers ranging from the great (Zombie Holocaust, AKA Doctor Butcher, Medical Deviant) to the gruesome (Cannibal Ferox) via the sweaty man's munchings, perfectly preparing one and all for  Lucio Fulci's most famous (and probably well loved) movie.

The Monster Munch man grabs a quick snack.

Filmed on location in New York and Haiti, the exotic locations adding a stark otherworldly air to the proceedings with the island of Matool, all dust storms and barren decayed buildings cleverly mirroring the colours used in the zombie make-up. The dead being as much a part of the island as the beach and sands; a stark contrast to the vivid greens of the jungle scenes. 

Also on show is Fulci's predilection for using the "crash zoom" as a shorthand way to heighten the audiences reaction to scenes of horror and gore. 

Sometimes overused in his later movies, this (his) signature effect serves him well when it comes to the sheer horror of the decaying army slowly lumbering towards our heroes; never have zombies looked so hideous or repellent, bloated and muck encrusted with gaping wounds, tore flesh and dead eye sockets writhing with maggots. 

Something the Glasgow audience would be used to having had to navigate Sauchiehall Street earlier during the day.


"...bloated and muck encrusted with gaping wounds, tore flesh and dead eye sockets writhing with maggots..." Yup gotta love a Glasgow gal.

The cast is, quite frankly magnificent, featuring the ultimate team of the grumpy Scotsman McCulloch, whining waif Farrow and the manly Cliver, all mainstays of the Italian horror genre and all never better than onscreen here.

Plus when you add the Ruebenesqe form of one (oh go on then two) hit wooden wonder Auretta Gay and her much needed gratuitous nudity to the mix, wobbling about in a pair of her mums pants as she desperately trying not to chafe her nipples on her oxygen tanks you know you're in the presence of genius.

Behind the cameras Fulci is served well by his crew, from screenwriter Walter Patriarca's cut to the bone script to the unforgettable make up effects from Giovanni Corridori and his team, effects that have never looked better thanks to this sparkling new print.

Calum, composer Fabio Frizzi and translator Mr. Nick Frame deciding whether to ring FACT regarding the worlds subtlest video pirate on the front row.

Everything in the movie just falls perfectly into place and the icing on the (very gory) cake is the stark synth' score from Fulci regular (and event special guest) the wonderful Fabio Frizzi who, following the screening, joined Calum and erstwhile translation titan Nick Frame on stage to field a mix of audience questions, on set anecdotes and stories of scary soundtracks which culminated in probably the best guest Q and A seen at the GFT for some time.

Fabio's great sense of humour and genuine love of his work (and for Fulci) was obvious from the start with tales frequently drawing loud laughs and even louder cheers from the whole audience. 

And don't worry if you missed anything due to loud crisp scoffing or someone holding a camera in front of your face (you know who you are) because the whole thing (minus the sweaty mans farts - these are to be edited out at great cost) is set to be one of the bonus features on the new DVD and Blu-ray release.

"Alright luv...get in the back o' me car and let me bite ya!"

Obviously the crowd weren't too scary for the guest of honour, seeing as Mr. Frizzi was soon to be found in the lobby, signing everything handed to him (but alas not the by now empty crisp bag) and posing for photos whilst possibly the sexiest man I have ever seen (a blond, bequiffed Brummie) manned the merchandise stall with all the skill and charm of Roger Moore at a Derby and Joan meeting.
With his talent and looks this young man should be a star.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

seperated at birth?

That Snooki(?) bird and an Orc, suggested by reader Val Guest.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 43).

German volleyball goddess Laura Ludwig.

Friday, August 3, 2012

sad single women - an apology.

In my review of Cool for Cats I mistakenly wrote the phrase: Shoddily made shite for sad single women when in fact I obviously meant to write Shoddily made shite for single women's sad cats.

My inbox have been literally overwhelmed with complaints from hundreds of obviously not at all sad single women (some with cats) so I'd like to not only apologize for any hurt or insult caused but also present my handy visual guide to women with (and without) cats.


Normal lady with cat (not sad).

Sad cat.

Sad lady (with bag cats).

Sad lady (without cat).

Bat-Cat (without lady, he works alone).

Normal lady (without cat) yesterday.

Hope that clears everything up.

pussy galore.

Less a review more a horrified rant.

Was rifling around my local charity shop t'other day when I came across this beauty.


Yes dear friends I have seen pure evil and it's name is...

Cool for Cats (1992)
Dir: Liam Dale.
Cast: Peter Neville, some cats and a dog.

Before I start I'd like to admit that I have never owned, flirted with or shagged a cat but a friend of mine has two.

Two cats that is, not two things on the list.

So, as a good friend I purchased this for her, assuming this is the kinda thing felines watch.

You see, according to the back cover, this video is 'officially good feline therapy' and looking over host Professor Peter Neville's credentials who am I to argue?

Neville: Just the pussy he's been looking for.

Not only is he a Companion Animal Behaviour Therapist but was also a Clinical Professor at Miyazaki University and an Adjunct Professor at the Dept of Animal Sciences at The Ohio State University.

 Besides all that he also writers books about famous fascists.

Tho' I have no idea if he links these two hobbies together.

Mussolini: Pussy not shown (or shaved probably).

Before viewing I decided it'd be a good thing to immerse myself in cat culture to have a better idea of what to expect, obviously I personally wouldn't be able to experience the unique visual and aural frequencies (only heard/seen by, you guessed it, cats) used in the presentation but was intrigued as to why the video was labelled 'revolutionary'.

Did it contain hidden messages that will make my cute house cats turn raunchy revolutionaries with big guns?

Three boxes of tissues and a Pot Noodle later and I was ready to go.

A cat yesterday. Sort of.

After a short introduction regarding dormant cat hunting instincts from the Crippenesque Professor Neville, (more Dr. Shipman than Dr. Doolittle), the action really starts as we (humans and cats) are subjected to a 60 minute equivalent of the Ludvico Technique as interpreted a drug-fuelled ADHD suffering Mr. Tumble after spending three weeks on the isle of Lesbos.

And not in a good way.

"I'm shagging your weans!"

Whilst the frankly terrifying sounds of animals rutting fills your ears, your eyes are viciously assaulted by random shots of birds OD-ing on patio's plus panicking mice; both the real kind and occasionally some truly frightening fake ones that look like they've been stitched together from rotten, gangrenous flesh by hook handed Polish orphans, plus various types of fish banging their heads against the walls of their tanks alongside almost subliminal shots of bizarre wooly balls hanging limply from threads.

Oh yes, and frogs.

But that's not all.

Occasionally, after lulling our feline friends into a false sense of security, random images of dogs would appear intercut with almost pornographic footage of cats licking themselves as superimposed blurry blue dots move randomly around the screen.

I don't know if it's meant to affect mere humans but after only 30 minutes I discovered that I'd shat a kidney.

And can still see the blue dot weeks later.

Almost as if it's following me, telling me to do things.

Bad things.

To your mum.

Cat porn: Ban this sick filth!

  Shoddily made shite for sad single women, the greatest piece of arthouse cinema ever made or a feline version of the video from Ringu?

YOU decide.

But be warned, after viewing Cool for Cats your life (and sanity) may never be the same again.

"Laugh now!"

By the way, can you smell fish?