So sad to hear about Norman J Warren's passing, had a brilliant time looking after him at an event years back...really funny and knowledgeable guy...he cheekily placed me in the audience to ask questions he thought would lead into interesting answers!, got to return the compliment on the Cine-Excess poster a few years later.
So if you've not already, sit back and enjoy three of the best in my tribute to the unsung hero of British horror.
Terror (1978).
Dir: Norman J Warren.
Cast: John Nolan, Carolyn Courage, James Aubrey, Sarah Keller, Glynis Barber
Tricia Walsh, Patti Love, William Russell, Mary Maude, Peter Mayhew, Michael Craze, Chuck Julian and Elaine Ives-Cameron.
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| Have You Ever Felt An Evil Presence All Around You ... ? |
Welcome one and all to the olden days (or is it West Bromwich last week?) where a dirty faced - and even dirtier pillowed - woman (Love from The Long Good Friday) is fleeing thru' the forest from an angry mob of torch-bearing peasants who want to burn her (to death) on account of her being a witch.
Which is fair enough I guess tho' to be honest I'd be more than tempted to set fire to her for having a poodle perm but there you go.
Finally brought down by a handy bear trap she's dragged before the local squire Lord Hawhaw Garrick and his wife Angela (Ian Chesterton himself, Russell alongside Crucible of Terror star Maude) who shout something at her before flouncing off to their stately home leaving the egg stained woman at the mercy of the mob.
Luckily for her tho' she is actually a witch and as the local vicar attempts to read the Bible at her she screams something vaguely sinister at him and the entire mob start running around in terror before accidentally setting fire to themselves.
And as if that wasn't enough she spookily materializes at Lord and Lady Garrick's house, cursing all of their descendants before murdering Lord Garrick and dropping his still warm, blood stained corpse on his wife.
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| "FIONA! Where's mah lunch?" |
Don't worry tho' none of this is real as we are in fact watching - alongside the cast, meta much? - the exciting finale of the latest horror epic from independent producer/director/sexy posh man James Garrick (Nolan, uncle of director Christopher and husband of Helga from 'Allo 'Allo), which he's based on the old family legend that, although he doesn't really believe is true reckons might get him a few quid from the horror crowd.
Especially seeing as he's cast his cameraman, Gary's (Craze AKA Doctor Who's Ben Jackson) beautiful actress girlfriend, Carol (Dempsey and Makepiece, Blake's 7 and more importantly Invaders of the Lost Gold legend Barber) in a main role.
At this point I started to get confused.
You see in the movie (with a movie) was William Russell actually playing Lord Garrick or was it William Russell playing an actor playing Lord Garrick?
Because if it were the former then why is another former Who actor pretending to be a cameraman named Gary?
And more bizarrely is the actress playing the witch really a witch or just an actress?
Because (spoilers) she's gonna turn up as a real witch later.
Anyway before I can figure any of this out there's a wee bit of hypnosis to throw into the plot when Gary proposes to entertain everyone attending the screening by putting Carol into a trance and making her eat an onion.
James, being a mean and moody type thinks it's a bit shit and suggests soggy biscuit instead but is outvoted by his fresh-faced editor, Philip (Aubrey, Gavin Sorenson from Bouquet of Barbed Wire) and James' mysterious cousin Anne (Courage from, um, stuff).
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| Fringe. |
Anyway after much amusement with Carol pretending to be a rabbit and stripping to her pants (probably) Anne decides it'd be a weeze if she had a shot, even tho' Gary has explained that it's actually all bollocks and that Carol just likes the attention.
Nevertheless Anne insists and plonks herself on the sofa to await Gary's hypnotic commands.
Bizarrely - and much to everyone's surprise - she actually does end up in a trance and as a by now fairly freaked out Gary tries to wake her Anne slowly rises from her seat and slowly advances toward a handy wall-mounted sword, taking it from it's resting place and trying to stab her cousin with it.
Luckily she only grazes his arm and after a quick slap round the face she comes to alas but too late to rescue the party atmosphere and everyone fucks off home, except Carol that is who decides to have a wander around the grounds before getting stabbed.
To death.
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| "Knock knock!" "Who's there?" "Kissap" "Kissap who?" |
Meanwhile Anne - who can't remember any of the sword shenanigans - has just woken up in bed with no memory of how she got there or as to why she's covered in blood.
Which sounds like a normal night out if I'm honest.
Even her chisel-chinned roommate, Suzy (Keller - look her up yourself) hasn't a clue what's going on.
James has an inkling that something might be wrong tho' after coming across (but not in that way) Carol's still warm body stuck to a tree with the sword and begins to wonder if his mysterious cousin may be behind his friends death.
Tho' bizarrely because he actually owns the sword he reckons the police may blame him for the bad murders so reckons the best way to allay their suspicions is to start acting like an utter shite.
Tho' just starting to act may have been a better choice but heyho.
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| "Where's the soap?" - "It's next to the sink!" |
And the first person to be on the receiving end of his brutish behavior?
Only poor porn director Jeff Beck (TV stalwart Peter Craze but not alas Peter Glaze) who has rented James' studio to make the epic Busty Brenda Takes A Bath and who James chucks out on his ear telling him that he's double booked the space to record an episode of 2Gs And The Pop People.
Not arf.
To add a wee bit more meta-confusion to the plot, Brenda is actually the stage name of Anne's pal Viv who not only works as a hostess at the same strip-club but also lodges at the very same boarding house.
As an aside she's played to perfection by the rather wonderful latter-day playwright, actress, singer and sexagenarian sauce pot Tricia Walsh whose hit pop tune Be Careful Dear (written about her divorce from the head of The Shubert Organisation Philip J. Smith) has to be heard to be believed.
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| Walsh: Sauce pot. |
Anyway back to the plot where, a few nights later, a anal sex obsessed regular at the club known to the girls as Phil the Greek (Julian from Scream for Help and your mums bed) is found viciously murdered (to death) the very same night as he was chucked out for sticking his finger up Anne's arse.
Not too surprisingly most of Anne's workmates reckon that she did it and Viv calls the police.
Cue a myriad of mental murders as anyone who crosses Anne's path (or who even walks by in the background) is killed in a variety of ever more gruesome (and sometimes fairly implausible) ways.
From the policeman squashed by his own - possessed - car to poor Jeff Beck is squashed by a studio light and Brenda/Viv is garotted by her own suspender belt.
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| How will she explain this to her gran? |
Is Anne responsible or is their something more sinister - and supernatural - afoot?
And more importantly in the cold light of day will any of it actually make any sense?
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| Pants. |
From the unsung genius behind Inseminoid and Prey, the fantastic Norman J Warren comes this (very) British, shot on a shoestring (tho' not Eddie) take on Suspiria albeit one that replaces the originals exotic and alluring cast with tubby cockneys and it's dance school shenanigans with a crop-haired stripper with nipples like bullets (Yes I'm looking at you Tanya Ferova*) fellating a whip to a cheesy sub-Kenny Lynch disco track as pot-bellied punters rub their thighs menacingly.
Which is fair enough I guess.
The cast are great, playing it just right - never too campy and just serious enough to make it believable whilst Carolyn Courage is a perfect quivering lipped heroine/victim who shows vulnerability and spooky in equal measure despite having what looks like a Lego wig on her head.
Talking of wigs tho' the entire film is almost stolen by the frankly fantastic Elaine Ives-Cameron as ex-actress Delores Hamilton, owner of the lodging house in which the girls reside.
Coming across like a Benefits Street Fenella Fielding I swear I could taste the gin fumes thru' the screen, honestly their aren't enough performances like this in horror.
Writers take note.
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| Breaking Glass? - More like touching cloth. |
As much as all this is nice tho', let's be serious for a minute because when it comes down to it Terror is really nowt more than an excuse to show a series of ever more violent murder set pieces loosely-connected by a paper-thin plot involving witches, revenge and the troubles besetting low budget porn directors which covers it's multitude of cinema sins by offering copious amounts of furtive nudity and gore (plus top 70s fashions) in place of anything resembling a coherent plot.
And I for one salute it.
Plus it's really short which is always good.
And if that hasn't convinced you then the bit where a second hand Rover P6 floats about in a park for no reason during a thunderstorm might.
Still not sure?
Well - slight spoilers here - Poor Gary is killed when boxes of damaged prints of Saturday Night Fever fly off the shelves and cause a bathtub to ignite.
Now tell me another film that features something as terrifying as this.
Genius.
A wee bit like this.....
Prey (AKA Alien Prey. 1977).
Dir: Norman J. Warren
The day after a weird green light is seen in the English sky, luscious lesbians Jessica (cutesy Annen, best known for her spot on performance as 'Midvale Protestor' in Supergirl) and the bullish, lantern jawed Josephine (knicker flashing, boy haired, Cyberman stomping sixties strumpet Faulkner) are shocked to find not only three dead bunnies in the local woods but also a strange, polo necked young man with a gammy leg and a nice line in Burton's 'action slacks' hiding in the apple tree.
Being friendly, non men hating lesbians the pair decide to take him home.
Wahey.
Oblivious to his fairly odd behavior, his even odder name (Anders Anderson, short we find out later for Kator, go figure) and the fact that he appears to be the only Englishman in the world who doesn't drink tea, the ladies fawn over their new house guest as if he were a stray moggie they'd found in the rain.
Which, bizarrely enough is very close to the truth.
kind of.
The next morning whilst wandering around the scene of the mysterious rabbit massacre, Anders is accosted by two of the local constabulary who are busy investigating the crime.
It appears that one of the rabbits was seventies teevee star Hartley Hare's nephew and they desperately want to keep it out of the papers.
Panicking that he'll be uncovered as the phantom rabbit slasher, Anders morphs into his terrifying true form and kills the coppers dead.
Can I just take a moment to say that Anders' 'alien' make-up does, in fact border on pure genius.
Imagine if you will a kiddie forcibly face painted as Tigger by a tipsy Salvador Dali at a local funfair before having an Elvis wig plonked violently onto his tiny head and finally being made to wear a pair of pointy teeth cut from orange peel to complete the outfit.
Then imagine this very same child - high as a kite on E numbers - launching himself out of a garden bush at a policeman accompanied by a terrifyingly tune defying synth score.
I really don't have the words it's that bloody scary.
"Laugh now!"
Returning to the house for a light lunch (all that killing does take it out of a man/space-cat) Josephine suddenly announces that "Jessica and I are lovers," whilst Anders is tucking into a fondant surprise, causing him to vomit all over the cucumber sandwiches completely ruining the afternoon.
Far from being a scary lesbian hating bigot tho' it's due to the fact that he can only digest raw meat.
I guess that's alright then.
All this sick and sarnies seems to have a very strange effect on Jessica tho', who whilst licking her lips and stroking her neck admits to Josephine that "Anders is very attractive....for a man".
Crikey.
And if that wasn't enough, the constant talk of man lust has sparked our luscious ladies passions meaning only one thing, yup it's time for a wee bit of big pants, seventies's style lesbo loving.
All shot in brightly lit blackhead (and black bush) revealing close-up, our only relief (apart from the obvious) is when it cuts to Anders watching silently thru' a crack in the door.
Reminds me of boarding school.
Returning to his room Anders has a quick conversation with the alarm clock before bed.
"Have made contact with human life forms, new identity established." he intones menacingly.
Well as menacingly as he can for a man clad in a nipple revealing sports shirt and arse hugging polyester slacks.
Waking the next morning to the dulcet tones of Josephine screaming, Anders and Jessica quickly head downstairs to find that a crafty fox has eaten all the chickens.
Obviously shocked by the senseless chicken choking, Anders heads off into the woods whilst Josephine buries her disturbingly large head in Jessica's fluffy pillow-like cleavage.
Slightly annoyed at the chicken massacre, Josephine decides to spend the entire day busily (and huffily) setting all manner of traps for the fox (including heat seeking missiles and bear-pits) but to no avail, luckily tho' Anders has kindly gone out and slaughtered the wee fella for her and returns home proudly carrying it's furry body aloft.
He'll be a Tory then.
Overcome with joy, Josephine decides to celebrate with a dead fox party.
As you do.
This involves (as if readers of the Arena need telling) Anders getting dragged up like a butch(er) Liza Minelli with the sole purpose the evening gazing seductively at Jessica whilst tapping away to a Foreigner tribute band on the stereogram.
Which we've all done at some point if we're honest.
And if that wasn't enough excitement for one night the evening culminates in a marvelously mind-bending game of hide and seek in which Josephine inexplicably arms herself with a flick knife and hides in a wardrobe.
But not before attempting to beat the keyhole at a staring competition.
Scarily things get stranger still when the next afternoon (fuck, how long did she spend in the cupboard?) Josephine finds the half eaten remains of Mr. Fox under Anders pillow (sounds like a song title).
Slightly concerned by this turn of events she runs out of the house before coming across Jessica (you can tell she's a squirter) and begins to rant wildly about how Anders is a mentalist and no better than an animal himself.
Typical man then really.
Jessica, God bless her just stares at her lover with a look of mild apathy and the vague hope of a quick knicker fiddle in her eyes.
As do I most afternoons.
There's - unfortunately - no time for any sapphic fumblings tho' as the sexual tension is cut short by the sound of Anders screaming.
It appears he's fallen into a muddy pond whilst stalking a duck.
At this point I must warn readers of a nervous disposition that the scene that follows is frankly unparalleled in the history of mental movie moments, featuring as it does Jessica, Josephine and Anders erotically rolling about in mud - in slow motion - to the accompaniment of a truly terrifying tonal track of the kind not usually heard outside Wendy Carlos' gin fueled night terrors.
Probably.
The result of all this mentalist mayhem coupled with Jessica's hitherto hidden mud fetish and Anders' creepy conversation regarding needing a good duck has the effect of curing the by now jolly Jessica of her lesbian tendencies leaving her free to attempt to seduce Anders.....
Will Anders succumb to Jessica's ample charms and (quite literally) lunch out on her womanly thighs?
And whatever will Josephine do when she finds out?
When a film's credits include the names Norman J. Warren, Terry Marcel (director of the Legendary 'Hawk The Slayer'), Handyman hunk Barry Stokes, Confessions cutie Sally Faulkner and writer Max Cuff you know you're going to get something that's a wee bit different from the norm.
Obviously followed by a shameful wank and a hot 'n' spicy Pot Noodle.
The isolated locations (the splendidly imposing country house, the directors garden and a big muddy puddle) and the sparsely populated cast work to make this movie an uncomfortable powder keg of lustful emotions, strange undercurrents, market stall knitwear and disapproving looks ready to explode at any moment.
And that's before you add a talking parrot, Gloria Annen's incredibly sexy stretched polkadot knickers, a cake with a tiny iced fox on it and Sally Faulkner's vertigo inducing portrayal of a trackie sporting mad dyke with a flick knife to the mix.
Put it all together and you know you're in the presence of greatness.
It's like a post watershed version of the 70's sitcom Butterflies as reimagined by David Lynch with make-up effects by a group of particularly disturbed - yet scarily talented - hook-handed demons and scored by Karlheinz Stockhausen.
And you can't get higher praise than that.
Well you probably can if you visit a proper film site but not here.
Somewhere in space (OK it's Chislehurst Caves in Chislehurst, Kent. Obviously Wookey Hole in Somerset was overrun with Cybermen at the time) a British led scientific/mining/archaeological mission is busy digging up rare alien artefacts and even rarer colourful rocks.
You can tell it's a British mission because whereas the Yanks have shiny rockets, jetpacks and lasers, this bunch here have buckets and spades, Kwik Fit overalls and a chainsaw amongst their equipment.
Oh, and big 80s hair.
Imagine Alien remade with the cast of Hi-De-Hi and you're halfway there.
Digging about in the tunnels one day the team come across a shiny plastic rock much like the type you get on fireplaces which immediately explodes directly in front of the blond beefcake of the group, Dean (Brit teevee stalwart Jephcott) Gaffney's face, causing some nasty chafing and more importantly a serious case of mascara based alien possession.
This possession manifests itself when Dean begins to run around the base in his pants and socks around trying to strangle his fellow team members before escaping into the tunnels.
But not until he's pushed payload specialist Gayle Tuesday (Lloyd who was once in Doctor Who) over so violently that she gets her foot stuck in a hole.
Bastard.
If that wasn't enough to ruin her day her life support system heater has run out and she hasn't got any spare coins for the meter.
Obviously worried by this turn of events she breathlessly radio's the base for help.
Pity the groups resident sponge-bob, Gary is on communications duty that day.
Rather than waste valuable preening time going out and rescuing her, Gary suggests that she pulls the air pipe off her spacesuit, stick it in her tiny, bird like mouth and suck on it whilst hacking at her ankle with a blunt nail-file.
The following scene is no mooth shite-in but it does come close.
As did I.
"Pipe in mah mooth!"
It comes as no surprise to the viewer that the poor cow dies from a mix of blood loss and septicemia due to putting a dirty hoover attachment into her gob.
But this is only the beginning of the horror that is Inseminoid.
You see whilst all this limb lopping and pipe moothin' is going on sexy button nosed biologist Sandy (English Rose Judy - I have never done a nude scene honest - Geeson) has been busy scraping algae off some rocks with her equally bookish pal Roy (Pugh possibly, it's dark and he's wearing a goldfish bowl on his head).
After passing some particularly eggy gas in her suit Sandy passes out and just as Roy scrambles to help her he's violently decapitated (but is there any other kind of decapitation?) by an unseen alien menace.
Could the day get any worse?
Well Sandy awakes to find herself stark bollock naked and spread-eagled on a pool table as a moon headed alien attempts to impregnated her using a length of hosepipe, 4 litres of Fairy washing up liquid and a carton of green painted free range eggs, so the answer is probably yes.
After what seems like an eternity (well, just long enough to have a fag and make a cuppa) the surviving team members find the poor woman fully clothed (yet strangely fresh smelling) and resting against the slain body of Roy so decide to take her back to the base for a hot chocolate and a Rich Tea biscuit.
It's not long tho' before Sandy is experiencing sticky egg based nightmares, reliving (in glorious, sweaty close-up) every detail of her Venusian vaginal violation (as in the creature was from Venus, not that she has a bizarre, Giger-esque fanny tho' never having seen it she might. Judy?) which culminates in the cold blooded murder and cock eating of one of her hapless buddies.
Walking into the bathroom for a quick pee, the mumsy Barbra (Tennant) is taken aback to see Sandy, giggling away to herself as she sits astride a corpse, covered in blood and with a testicle hanging from her lips before uttering the immortal line: "Sandy! what's wrong?"
Well, that's the understated British for you.
Jumping to her feet and snarling like fairly vicious tabby, Sandy chases after Babs (in that faintly embarrassing way that girls run) who locks herself in the teevee room before pressing a load of buttons and declaring a state of emergency.
The rest of the crew, being hardened space veterans all shite themselves simultaneously.
Imbued with supernatural strength, a mad glint in her (boss) eyes and a frightening ability to wave her arms around like deadly windmills, Sandy will stop at nothing to protect her unborn babies which means sixty minutes of her stomping around a collection of spacey Portacabins killing everyone she meets using a collection of items you'd be surprised to find on a high-tech space mission including a nail gun, a rusty shovel and one of those long lighter things you use to start a barbecue.
Will the surviving crew find a way to defeat this mentalist mum to be or will they all die leaving the alien offspring to sneak aboard a passing rescue ship heading for Earth?
Go on, guess.
From the unsung hero of British horror cinema, the frankly fantastic Norman J. Warren - he who gave us such classics as the dog nosed predator potboiler Prey, the slightly saucy Satan's Slave and the spooky Terror comes a bloodier, bad taste British version of Alien, filmed on a budget of £12.50 and using props and sets stolen from the Blake's Seven production office, Inseminoid is the epitome of true Brit, lo-fi sci-fi at its most entertaining.
Plus any film that gets banned in Iceland must be worth at least a few minutes of your time.
It may be rougher than your mum but what it lacks in polish it more than makes up for with bloody violence,typically British nihilism and a fantastic cast that includes such luminaries as the mega-MiLF Victoria Tennant and the yummy Judy Geeson who manages the magic monster movie trick of morphing from frumpy mum to schizo-sex-kitten the more shot to fuck her character gets.
Remember I first saw this film as an impressionable 11 year old so it kinda explains my taste in girls.
Damn you Warren.
Even the minimalist electronic score by jazz guru John Scott, commissioned when Warren discovered that he couldn't afford a full orchestra is an asset rather than a hindrance, the retro-Radiophonic workshop style sonics gently adding a final freaky feel to the lo-fi ambience permeating the rest of the film.
Cast: Barry Stokes, Sally Faulkner and Gloria Annen.
"Do you take sugar?
I should think so, most men do!"
I should think so, most men do!"
The day after a weird green light is seen in the English sky, luscious lesbians Jessica (cutesy Annen, best known for her spot on performance as 'Midvale Protestor' in Supergirl) and the bullish, lantern jawed Josephine (knicker flashing, boy haired, Cyberman stomping sixties strumpet Faulkner) are shocked to find not only three dead bunnies in the local woods but also a strange, polo necked young man with a gammy leg and a nice line in Burton's 'action slacks' hiding in the apple tree.
Being friendly, non men hating lesbians the pair decide to take him home.
Wahey.
Some quality knitwear yesterday.
Oblivious to his fairly odd behavior, his even odder name (Anders Anderson, short we find out later for Kator, go figure) and the fact that he appears to be the only Englishman in the world who doesn't drink tea, the ladies fawn over their new house guest as if he were a stray moggie they'd found in the rain.
Which, bizarrely enough is very close to the truth.
kind of.
The next morning whilst wandering around the scene of the mysterious rabbit massacre, Anders is accosted by two of the local constabulary who are busy investigating the crime.
It appears that one of the rabbits was seventies teevee star Hartley Hare's nephew and they desperately want to keep it out of the papers.
Panicking that he'll be uncovered as the phantom rabbit slasher, Anders morphs into his terrifying true form and kills the coppers dead.
Can I just take a moment to say that Anders' 'alien' make-up does, in fact border on pure genius.
Imagine if you will a kiddie forcibly face painted as Tigger by a tipsy Salvador Dali at a local funfair before having an Elvis wig plonked violently onto his tiny head and finally being made to wear a pair of pointy teeth cut from orange peel to complete the outfit.
Then imagine this very same child - high as a kite on E numbers - launching himself out of a garden bush at a policeman accompanied by a terrifyingly tune defying synth score.
I really don't have the words it's that bloody scary.
"Laugh now!"
Returning to the house for a light lunch (all that killing does take it out of a man/space-cat) Josephine suddenly announces that "Jessica and I are lovers," whilst Anders is tucking into a fondant surprise, causing him to vomit all over the cucumber sandwiches completely ruining the afternoon.
Far from being a scary lesbian hating bigot tho' it's due to the fact that he can only digest raw meat.
I guess that's alright then.
All this sick and sarnies seems to have a very strange effect on Jessica tho', who whilst licking her lips and stroking her neck admits to Josephine that "Anders is very attractive....for a man".
Crikey.
And if that wasn't enough, the constant talk of man lust has sparked our luscious ladies passions meaning only one thing, yup it's time for a wee bit of big pants, seventies's style lesbo loving.
All shot in brightly lit blackhead (and black bush) revealing close-up, our only relief (apart from the obvious) is when it cuts to Anders watching silently thru' a crack in the door.
Reminds me of boarding school.
Josephine's public hare on
show for everyone to see.
show for everyone to see.
Returning to his room Anders has a quick conversation with the alarm clock before bed.
"Have made contact with human life forms, new identity established." he intones menacingly.
Well as menacingly as he can for a man clad in a nipple revealing sports shirt and arse hugging polyester slacks.
Waking the next morning to the dulcet tones of Josephine screaming, Anders and Jessica quickly head downstairs to find that a crafty fox has eaten all the chickens.
Obviously shocked by the senseless chicken choking, Anders heads off into the woods whilst Josephine buries her disturbingly large head in Jessica's fluffy pillow-like cleavage.
Gloria: pillows.
Slightly annoyed at the chicken massacre, Josephine decides to spend the entire day busily (and huffily) setting all manner of traps for the fox (including heat seeking missiles and bear-pits) but to no avail, luckily tho' Anders has kindly gone out and slaughtered the wee fella for her and returns home proudly carrying it's furry body aloft.
He'll be a Tory then.
Overcome with joy, Josephine decides to celebrate with a dead fox party.
As you do.
This involves (as if readers of the Arena need telling) Anders getting dragged up like a butch(er) Liza Minelli with the sole purpose the evening gazing seductively at Jessica whilst tapping away to a Foreigner tribute band on the stereogram.
Which we've all done at some point if we're honest.
And if that wasn't enough excitement for one night the evening culminates in a marvelously mind-bending game of hide and seek in which Josephine inexplicably arms herself with a flick knife and hides in a wardrobe.
But not before attempting to beat the keyhole at a staring competition.
"Blood on mah chest".
Scarily things get stranger still when the next afternoon (fuck, how long did she spend in the cupboard?) Josephine finds the half eaten remains of Mr. Fox under Anders pillow (sounds like a song title).
Slightly concerned by this turn of events she runs out of the house before coming across Jessica (you can tell she's a squirter) and begins to rant wildly about how Anders is a mentalist and no better than an animal himself.
Typical man then really.
Jessica, God bless her just stares at her lover with a look of mild apathy and the vague hope of a quick knicker fiddle in her eyes.
As do I most afternoons.
There's - unfortunately - no time for any sapphic fumblings tho' as the sexual tension is cut short by the sound of Anders screaming.
It appears he's fallen into a muddy pond whilst stalking a duck.
At this point I must warn readers of a nervous disposition that the scene that follows is frankly unparalleled in the history of mental movie moments, featuring as it does Jessica, Josephine and Anders erotically rolling about in mud - in slow motion - to the accompaniment of a truly terrifying tonal track of the kind not usually heard outside Wendy Carlos' gin fueled night terrors.
Probably.
Shite (quite literally) in her mooth.
The result of all this mentalist mayhem coupled with Jessica's hitherto hidden mud fetish and Anders' creepy conversation regarding needing a good duck has the effect of curing the by now jolly Jessica of her lesbian tendencies leaving her free to attempt to seduce Anders.....
Will Anders succumb to Jessica's ample charms and (quite literally) lunch out on her womanly thighs?
And whatever will Josephine do when she finds out?
What the French call 'Prey' yesterday.
When a film's credits include the names Norman J. Warren, Terry Marcel (director of the Legendary 'Hawk The Slayer'), Handyman hunk Barry Stokes, Confessions cutie Sally Faulkner and writer Max Cuff you know you're going to get something that's a wee bit different from the norm.
Obviously followed by a shameful wank and a hot 'n' spicy Pot Noodle.
The isolated locations (the splendidly imposing country house, the directors garden and a big muddy puddle) and the sparsely populated cast work to make this movie an uncomfortable powder keg of lustful emotions, strange undercurrents, market stall knitwear and disapproving looks ready to explode at any moment.
And that's before you add a talking parrot, Gloria Annen's incredibly sexy stretched polkadot knickers, a cake with a tiny iced fox on it and Sally Faulkner's vertigo inducing portrayal of a trackie sporting mad dyke with a flick knife to the mix.
Put it all together and you know you're in the presence of greatness.
It's like a post watershed version of the 70's sitcom Butterflies as reimagined by David Lynch with make-up effects by a group of particularly disturbed - yet scarily talented - hook-handed demons and scored by Karlheinz Stockhausen.
And you can't get higher praise than that.
Well you probably can if you visit a proper film site but not here.
Sally Faulkner and your dad yesterday.
Like most of Warren's output, the movie's tone veers wildly from the just plain sinister to fairly bizarre to bizzarely sinister via the ever popular 'What did I just see?", lulling us into a false sense of security by appearing to peak early with Anders alien reveal but sneakily managing to keep getting better and better.
And madder and madder.
It's then, just when you think the surprises can't get any more freakish that muddy lake scene appears from nowhere.
Why Warren was never knighted (or at least given the bumps in a playground) is a crime against cinema.
The fact that one of our greatest genre directors was so unheralded for years should be made a crime.
Fuck Shakespeare (tho' not literally seeing as he's been dead for nearly 400 years) it should be Warren's back catalogue on the school curriculum.
Especially this one....
'Inseminoid' (aka Horror Planet. 1981)
Dir: Norman J. Warren.
Cast: Judy Geeson, Jennifer Ashley, Stephanie Beacham, Dominic Jephcott, Steven Grives, Victoria (sister of David) Tennant, Heather Wright, Rosalind Lloyd, Robert Pugh and Kevin O'Shea.
Somewhere in space (OK it's Chislehurst Caves in Chislehurst, Kent. Obviously Wookey Hole in Somerset was overrun with Cybermen at the time) a British led scientific/mining/archaeological mission is busy digging up rare alien artefacts and even rarer colourful rocks.
You can tell it's a British mission because whereas the Yanks have shiny rockets, jetpacks and lasers, this bunch here have buckets and spades, Kwik Fit overalls and a chainsaw amongst their equipment.
Oh, and big 80s hair.
Imagine Alien remade with the cast of Hi-De-Hi and you're halfway there.
Digging about in the tunnels one day the team come across a shiny plastic rock much like the type you get on fireplaces which immediately explodes directly in front of the blond beefcake of the group, Dean (Brit teevee stalwart Jephcott) Gaffney's face, causing some nasty chafing and more importantly a serious case of mascara based alien possession.
This possession manifests itself when Dean begins to run around the base in his pants and socks around trying to strangle his fellow team members before escaping into the tunnels.
But not until he's pushed payload specialist Gayle Tuesday (Lloyd who was once in Doctor Who) over so violently that she gets her foot stuck in a hole.
Bastard.
"Laugh now!"
If that wasn't enough to ruin her day her life support system heater has run out and she hasn't got any spare coins for the meter.
Obviously worried by this turn of events she breathlessly radio's the base for help.
Pity the groups resident sponge-bob, Gary is on communications duty that day.
Rather than waste valuable preening time going out and rescuing her, Gary suggests that she pulls the air pipe off her spacesuit, stick it in her tiny, bird like mouth and suck on it whilst hacking at her ankle with a blunt nail-file.
The following scene is no mooth shite-in but it does come close.
As did I.
"Pipe in mah mooth!"
It comes as no surprise to the viewer that the poor cow dies from a mix of blood loss and septicemia due to putting a dirty hoover attachment into her gob.
But this is only the beginning of the horror that is Inseminoid.
You see whilst all this limb lopping and pipe moothin' is going on sexy button nosed biologist Sandy (English Rose Judy - I have never done a nude scene honest - Geeson) has been busy scraping algae off some rocks with her equally bookish pal Roy (Pugh possibly, it's dark and he's wearing a goldfish bowl on his head).
After passing some particularly eggy gas in her suit Sandy passes out and just as Roy scrambles to help her he's violently decapitated (but is there any other kind of decapitation?) by an unseen alien menace.
Could the day get any worse?
"Mooooooooooooooooooooooooon!"
Well Sandy awakes to find herself stark bollock naked and spread-eagled on a pool table as a moon headed alien attempts to impregnated her using a length of hosepipe, 4 litres of Fairy washing up liquid and a carton of green painted free range eggs, so the answer is probably yes.
Beware the binmen!
After what seems like an eternity (well, just long enough to have a fag and make a cuppa) the surviving team members find the poor woman fully clothed (yet strangely fresh smelling) and resting against the slain body of Roy so decide to take her back to the base for a hot chocolate and a Rich Tea biscuit.
It's not long tho' before Sandy is experiencing sticky egg based nightmares, reliving (in glorious, sweaty close-up) every detail of her Venusian vaginal violation (as in the creature was from Venus, not that she has a bizarre, Giger-esque fanny tho' never having seen it she might. Judy?) which culminates in the cold blooded murder and cock eating of one of her hapless buddies.
Walking into the bathroom for a quick pee, the mumsy Barbra (Tennant) is taken aback to see Sandy, giggling away to herself as she sits astride a corpse, covered in blood and with a testicle hanging from her lips before uttering the immortal line: "Sandy! what's wrong?"
Well, that's the understated British for you.
Jumping to her feet and snarling like fairly vicious tabby, Sandy chases after Babs (in that faintly embarrassing way that girls run) who locks herself in the teevee room before pressing a load of buttons and declaring a state of emergency.
The rest of the crew, being hardened space veterans all shite themselves simultaneously.
"I'm sorry, I have a woman's period!"
Imbued with supernatural strength, a mad glint in her (boss) eyes and a frightening ability to wave her arms around like deadly windmills, Sandy will stop at nothing to protect her unborn babies which means sixty minutes of her stomping around a collection of spacey Portacabins killing everyone she meets using a collection of items you'd be surprised to find on a high-tech space mission including a nail gun, a rusty shovel and one of those long lighter things you use to start a barbecue.
Will the surviving crew find a way to defeat this mentalist mum to be or will they all die leaving the alien offspring to sneak aboard a passing rescue ship heading for Earth?
Go on, guess.
More or less tasteful?
From the unsung hero of British horror cinema, the frankly fantastic Norman J. Warren - he who gave us such classics as the dog nosed predator potboiler Prey, the slightly saucy Satan's Slave and the spooky Terror comes a bloodier, bad taste British version of Alien, filmed on a budget of £12.50 and using props and sets stolen from the Blake's Seven production office, Inseminoid is the epitome of true Brit, lo-fi sci-fi at its most entertaining.
Plus any film that gets banned in Iceland must be worth at least a few minutes of your time.
It may be rougher than your mum but what it lacks in polish it more than makes up for with bloody violence,typically British nihilism and a fantastic cast that includes such luminaries as the mega-MiLF Victoria Tennant and the yummy Judy Geeson who manages the magic monster movie trick of morphing from frumpy mum to schizo-sex-kitten the more shot to fuck her character gets.
Remember I first saw this film as an impressionable 11 year old so it kinda explains my taste in girls.
Damn you Warren.
"Put it in me!"
Even the minimalist electronic score by jazz guru John Scott, commissioned when Warren discovered that he couldn't afford a full orchestra is an asset rather than a hindrance, the retro-Radiophonic workshop style sonics gently adding a final freaky feel to the lo-fi ambience permeating the rest of the film.
Sexy Sci-Fi: British style!
From skimpy pants to dodgy model work via paper mache space sexbeasts, Inseminoid truly has something to offend everyone....and if that hasn't convinced you, then try to think how many other films allow you the pleasure of seeing an ex Carry On girl strapped naked to a table with a hosepipe stuck up her fanny in a vain attempt to suggest extra-terrestrial rape.
That'll be none then.
God Bless you Mr Warren, you will be missed.
That'll be none then.
God Bless you Mr Warren, you will be missed.
 |
| Norman John Warren. 25 June 1942 - 11 March 2021 |
*And if you like her performance here then feel free to check out Derek
Ford's The Sexplorer (AKA The Girl From Starship Venus) the heartwarming
tale of a A young Venusian girl (obviously) who comes to Earth in
order to research 'the sex'.
It's basically Under The Skin but with (slightly) better teeth and bigger collars, oh and before you ask Tanya Ferova does indeed play a stripper.
But stick to what you're good at that's my motto.
It's basically Under The Skin but with (slightly) better teeth and bigger collars, oh and before you ask Tanya Ferova does indeed play a stripper.
But stick to what you're good at that's my motto.
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