crocoshite.

 

 

Day 4 of the whole 31 Days of Horror shtick and it's time to pop on our swimsuits and chance an encounter with the...

Killer Crocodile (1989).
Dir: Fabrizio De Angelis (as Larry Ludman).
Cast: Sherrie Rose, Van Johnson, Ennio Girolami, John Harper, Richard Anthony Crenna, Ann Douglas, Julian Hampton, Bill Wohrman and a huge crocodile.

In what looks like a garden pond somewhere in the deep south (it's the trousers), a couple of pissed stained and hideously dubbed old men are sitting in a kiddies boat discussing the current state of the river and lack of fish therein.

As the camera slowly glides, well judders, in towards our old chums as they continue their ad-libbed rant a big wooden bright green emulsioned crocodile jumps out of the bushes behind them whilst making a roaring sound, it's mouth stiffly opening and closing like an old barn door.


Cue the Jaws theme (well as near as dammit without getting sued) as we're treated to a croc's eye view of a filth ridden pond whilst, on the not too distant shore a man with a guitar and a bowl haired lady get out of a car.

Exciting stuff.

Obviously intrigued as to what's going on the crocodile silently watches as guitar man starts to pluck his funky stuff, much to the chagrin of his girlfriend whose expression seems to fluctuate between slightly bored, annoyed and comatose.

"I can see your house from here Peter".

Finishing his romantic serenade, Mr. Music reveals his true intentions; he means to have the sex with the lady.

Unfortunately (for him) she prefers to frolic about in what looks like a sewage overflow rather than let him put it in her.

Them the breaks I suppose.

Within seconds of entering the water tho' our small-hipped heroine is attacked by the so called 'killer' crocodile and dragged off to her death.

"MONSTA!"

Meanwhile somewhere in the Philippines a group of instantly forgettable mature students are searching the local waterways for evidence of illegal chemical dumping.

Sexy bespectacled Mark (Hampton AKA Pietro Genuardi from Paganini Horror and Dellamorte Dellamore) is busy taking random photos (hoping no doubt to get a few upskirt shots) whilst Kevin (Crenna son of the late great Richard) and his pal Bob (Harper) are busying themselves hitting the water with a stick.

It wouldn't be an Italian horror movie without some attractive ladies but obviously the budget wouldn't stretch so here we have the permanently scowling Pamela (Rose), the 'handsome'  Jennifer (Douglas, looking like someone's mum)  and buck-toothed local beauty Cynthia (possibly).

There is also a small dog which none too surprising is more charismatic than the rest of the cast combined.

"My dog's got no knob". "How does it make love?" "It's a bitch".

Although Cynthia is convinced that their expedition is fruitless it's not long before our tree-hugging chums come across a huge pile of rusted beer barrels oozing shaving foam.

On their sides reads "TOXIC WASTE, PROPERTY OF MR. B. ADMAN'S CHEMICAL COMPANY".

Bob, wearing his best decorating overalls and a gimp mask swims over to the barrels in order to take a radiation reading, which is pretty smart seeing as he's actually holding a Karl Zeiss light meter, and what do you know, it goes off the scale.

Heading back to the boat he declares that things are worse than he initially thought and the industrial waste they've just discovered is the worst kind imaginable, it's so toxic that it could possibly make crocodiles grow to giant sizes.

Realizing that the expedition is ill equipped to handle a clean up job of this magnitude (fuck it, they'd be hard put to organize a kiddies boat party), Kevin decides that they should camp out overnight then approach the local authorities the next morn.

Being characterless lemmings the others just nod in agreement.

"Must kill water with stick!"

With night fast approaching our intrepid crew set up camp at the edge of the local play park (near the duck-pond) and spend the rest of the evening trying to decided who is the most tired/least attractive/next to die etc. whilst our doggy pal, bored with such human pursuits and desperate for a shite merrily runs off into the trees.

A few minutes later the groups monotonous conversation is interrupted by a huge yelp.

Being a dirty foreigner (compared to the others of course) and being the only non-named actor in the cast it's obviously Cynthia's job to go look for the furry lil devil, calling out as she wanders through the bushes, eventually arriving at where the boat is docked.

It's a bloody big park.

Kneeling at the waters edge she finds the dog's bloodied collar but before she has time to even scream the crocodile jumps out of the water and eats her whole.

Which is weird because they usually spit that bit out.*

Sade, up the casino, Brighton, 1987....YESCH!

The next morning as the crew begin to tidy away their camping equipment they begin to wonder as to the whereabouts of Cynthia but only for a few minutes because in no time at all their sailing off to town to report the pollution.

They're not all bad tho' as they do make a few half arsed attempts to call out her name as they leisurely chug down stream.

Arriving in town the group jump into a dilapidated old truck in search of the police station whilst a mysterious man in a hat watches from behind a bush.

Bizarrely enough our cool crew discover that not only does the town have no law enforcement at all but also that the fish market doubles as a morgue (but only on Tuesdays), anything legal is dealt with by a sprightly old ginger gentleman called the judge (former Hollywood heart-throb Van Johnson, obviously over his head in unpaid rent boys) and points them in the right direction.

Basically they're told to follow the smell of gin, piss and lavender.

Beware children, this Van is not full of sweets.

Unfortunately the judge is a bit of a bastard, togged up in his thin cotton finery and nipple revealing shirt and wastes no time in telling the plucky conservationists to fuck off before he puts them in jail for some reason or another.

After a half-hearted bitch fest where Pamela accuses the judge of being in bed with the man from the chemical factory (not literally mind, tho' I wouldn't put it past him, I mean Bill Wohrman is a fairly hunky piece o' meat) our teens head back to the boat deciding, like a cut-price junked up Scooby gang to search for Cynthia themselves.

As they leave the man in question, Jeff Sexington Foley (the aforementioned Wohrman) forces himself thru' the judges backdoor and demands that the meddling kids be dealt with. The judge however just sighs and cryptically tells Foley that he will have to stop "dumping his stuff in the swamp".

Is it just me or is this movie going all homo-erotic?

Insert cock here.

Back on the boat the group are busy using all their skills to find their friend which, I admit appears to involve splashing the water with a big stick whilst occasionally shouting her name.

The tedium is soon broken when the boat runs aground on a big rock, which at least gives them another reason to use the stick and Pamela an excuse to strip to her bra and pants.

Seriously tho' that's not as promising as it sounds.

Seductively swimming around the boat in an attempt to dislodge it Pamela pulls a big branch away from the hull and is fairly shocked when a half chewed Cynthia pops up.

Dragging her aboard (and searching her pockets for loose change) our heroes reckon she's been attacked by a massive (maybe chemically mutated) crocodile and head back to town to confront the judge.

Put it in me!

This would probably be a good idea if the local doctor wasn't in the judges pocket too because even tho' he kinda admits it looks a wee bit like a crocodile attack he's all too happy to side with the evil Foley, who suggests that the group murder their guide for some strange reason he hasn't thought of yet.

Just as the hanging (to the left) judge is about to have them arrested (by whom we are never told) the legend that is Sir Ennio of Girolami enters the room.

He will be playing the role of Joe, the huge hatted, hairy chested rough n' tough big game hunter for the rest of the movie and it's a pleasure to have him aboard.

Joe knows his stuff and after examining Cynthia's wounds announces that they're looking for a crocodile that's least 20 feet long that answers to the name of Terry.

More importantly tho' Joe offers to find it, kill it and skin it.

But not necessarily in that order. 

Bruce Forsyth picks a ring.

Back at the group's boat, Jennifer and Kevin convince the others (over a few beers) that they owe it to Cynthia to find the crocodile responsible and, um, make sure no-one kills it so that they can prove that Foley is dumping his muck in the river.

But for this they're going to need Joe's help.

As is the way in these situations our heroes decide that it'd be best to get Joe drunk before broaching the subject so, wallets in hand head over to the local bar cum bingo hall, not noticing the crocodile slowly swimming it's way to the dock behind them.

"shite (actor) in mah mooth!"

As Kevin, Pamela, Joe and the gang sit and enjoy a Babycham or three whilst discussing the best way to catch a crocodile a small raggedy girl sits happily playing with a Cabbage Patch kid on the dock (her family can't be that poor then) as a couple of local bad boys aimlessly toss a ball about before deciding it'd be much better fun to knock the doll into the water.

Cue the almost Jaws theme and ten minutes of kiddie based terror as the crocodile attempts to eat the screaming child as she clings onto the rapidly sinking dock for dear life, the towns folk standing around nonchalantly on the shoreline as if watching a football match.

How fucking unpopular must this kid be?


Luckily at least one of the townsfolk seems to care (it's either her dad or the local pedo) as one guy runs towards the dock to help but rather than just pull the girl up he climbs down into the water (next to the crocodile) and attempts (badly) to push her up.

Or at least get a good glimpse of her undies before she dies.

Not too surprisingly he slides into the crocodiles massive mouth and gets eaten, alongside a second rescuer who clumsily puts his foot in a hole right above the still hungry crocodile and (you'll never guess) gets eaten too.

It's like the Darwin Awards gone mad.

By this time our heroes have turned up at the dock to see what all the shouting was about and within seconds have jumped into action, Kev and Bob jump into the water and begin beating the crocodile with a big plank whilst Joe shoots randomly at anything that moves.

Mark on the other hand is busy taking photo's in the hope of at least getting 50 quid from You've Been Framed.

Oh no, the little girl slides into the water but luckily Bob manages to grab her hair and throw her to safety whilst Joe continues to shoot things from his boat.

By this time the crocodile has decided that he's had enough of this eating extras lark and swims off into the middle distance as Joe waves his fist at it between shooting at stuff.

The scene is now set for a battle like no other (alright a battle like the end of Jaws, Orca Killer Whale et al.) as Joe prepares to kill the crocodile and Mark and co. prepare to save it....

I predict blood, sweat and eggy stains.

From the fevered mind of ex-postman cum producer and director Fabrizio De Angelis comes probably the greatest Van Johnson starring killer crocodile movie ever made.

I would have said Ennio Girolami starring but as we all know, he's also in the sequel, directed by SFX god Giannetto De Rossi.

But we're leaping ahead of ourselves, what of the original (and best) of the pair?

"Not the face love!"

Well what can you say about a movie that epitomizes everything that is so right (and so, so wrong) with low budget '80's Euro' horror cinema?

Shoddy camera work, sunburned actors, stilted almost surrealist dubbing, ludicrously fashionable haircuts and a lack of respect for the laws of storytelling that would make Baron Munchhausen balk crash headlong into an almost 'fuck you' disregard for budgetary constraints as it proudly displays it's star attraction, a 20 foot long balsa wood crocodile for all to see.

And for that I can only salute all involved.


The perfect bedmate for Enzo G. Castellari's The Last Shark, this film needs to be seen (and revered) by today's teen horror fans as a shining example of what can be achieved for 30 quid and a cheap awayday ticket to the seaside.

Jon Turteltaub please take note.



*Can we take a moment to celebrate that particular jokes 976th appearance on this blog. Thank you.