Saturday, July 22, 2017

holy crossovers!

On this day way back in 1978 I witnessed the greatest entertainment extravaganza ever the likes of which we'll never see again.

 Unless Ben Affleck gets really desperate obviously.

Monday, July 17, 2017

dad of the dead.

George A. Romero
4 February 1940 - 16 July 2017
"Stay scared!"

Sunday, July 16, 2017


Today's the day Auntie Beeb announce the new Doctor Who* and there's only one man it can be!

Welcome aboard David Burton!

*And before anyone complains his name is Doctor Who.....look:

Saturday, July 15, 2017

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 72).

With Game of Thrones returning this week there's only one person it could be.

By popular demand we give you....

Maisie Williams.

Nuff said.

*Can I just point out that there's been at least one reader requesting this since GoT season one......and to them can I just say please stop messaging me now you sick puppy.

mummy's boy.

Time Walker (AKA Being from Another Planet, 1982).
Dir: Tom Kennedy.
Cast: Ben Murphy, Nina Axelrod, Kevin Brophy, James Karen, Robert Random, Austin Stoker, Darwin Joston, Antoinette Bower, Sam Chew Jr., Clint Young, Shari Belafonte and Jack Olson.

“Well, maybe you’ve found the first civilization to use polyester?”

Somewhere in Egypt (OK I'll be honest it's actually a set left over from Tales of The Gold Monkey and by set I mean empty studio lot with a bit of sand randomly sprinkled over it) the sexily double-denimed science guy Professor Douglas McCadden (Alias Smith And Jones star Murphy) has just come across the tomb of the ancient Egyptian king Tutankhamun.

Unfortunately his excited thigh rubbing at the thought of all that pharaoh gold causes a minor earthquake making one of the tomb walls collapse - well it was only shoddily nailed up balsa wood - revealing a hidden chamber containing  a second mummy in a huge cardboard sarcophagus.
Oh hang on, it's meant to be stone.

Never mind at least they tried.

Tried to make it look utterly shite I mean, obviously the cash went on the top notch cast.

Or at the very least on Shari Belafonte's velor jacket. 

"If you're the mummy.....who's the daddy?"

Knowing that the films meager budget wont extend to any actual shooting outside the US McCadden has the mysterious sarcophagus quickly shipped back to California where hip n' happening science student Peter Sharpe (Brophy - the poor mans Michael Beck, I'll give you a minute to let that sink in) proceeds to x-ray it whilst chewing gum (and the scenery) in a provocative manner much to the chagrin of the Tefal-headed tinker in charge of the universities computers; the enigmatic Jack Parker (TV stalwart Random).

It seems that in his rush to get the x-rays complete Sharpe has accidentally set the machine to 'highly radioactive' as opposed to 'slightly radioactive' meaning that not only will the pictures come out a wee bit blurry but the folk present will all probably drop dead from cancer within a fortnight.

Which is quite possibly a blessing seeing as none of them will be around for the movies premiere.

Heading back to his lab to examine the x-rays, Sharpe notices what looks like five tiny balls arranged around the mummy's head so decides to investigate the sarcophagus himself in the hope that the mysterious objects are something worth selling.

Or at least something that may move the plot along.

Breaking into McCadden's room he skillfully cuts open the sarcophagus with a penknife and finds 5 shiny marbles embedded within.

Sorry I mean mysterious crystals filled with a strange glowing energy.

My mistake.

Quickly re-x-raying (is that even a word?) the mummy to cover his tracks Sharpe fails to notice that the extra dose of radiation has caused a strange green mold inside the sarcophagus to become active and start to spread like an evil coloured butter.

Or low fat spread if you like.

Well at least you can still enjoy a Pot Noodle.

Resealing the sarcophagus Sharpe heads over to the local pawnbrokers in the hope of scoring some ready cash to take his girlfriend out for a slap up meal little realising that it's not just the creepy mold that's moving.

Yes indeed the mummy itself is on the prowl.

With a wipe that would make George Lucas shoot his load we're into the next day where a stressed McCadden is desperately trying to persuade the university president, Wendell Rossmore (Return Of The Living Dead's Karen), to postpone the mummy's unveiling due to the nasty stink caused by the green gunk oozing out of the sarcophagus. 

Rossmore is having none of it tho' but as he excitedly ushers the press in one of McCadden's more forgettable students sticks his finger in the sarcophagus and instantly starts screaming as the gunk starts to rot his hand.

Falling to the grown and writhing in agony (or is it ecstasy?) he accidentally knocks the sarcophagus lid off revealing that its occupant has vanished.

And you know when your main monster can't be arsed appearing onscreen that your film is in big trouble.

"Balls on mah x-ray!" - sorry that was the worst caption ever but if they can't be arsed why should I?

Enter (yes please) Dr. Ken Melrose (the legend that is Stoker) who alongside his sternly school ma'am like colleague Dr. Rita Hayworth (Prom Night's Bower) desperately attempts to identify the spooky green stuff and destroy it before it can infect anyone else.

Is everyone in this movie desperate?

Rossmore being a bit of an arse assumes that the mummy's disappearance is because of a fraternity prank, however his Smithers-like sidekick Dr. Bruce Serrano (Chew Jr) insists that McCadden - alongside Parker - is responsible for the whole thing.

No idea why tho'.

Rossmore, hypnotised by Serrano's slinky hips and tight ass calls on the campus police captain Holly Willoughby (Switchblade Sisters Young) and orders him to track the pair.

Meanwhile  the mummy is busy tracking the whereabouts of the stolen crystals. The crystals, which are - it turns out -  actually complicated components of a space-age transportation device.

Yup, he's not really a mummy but an alien ambassador sent to Earth to buy cakes two thousand years hence who ended up crash landing in Egypt where
Tutankhamun came across his prone body.

Fucking Hell those Egyptians will shag anything.

Mistaking the unconscious alien for the Egyptian God of massive heads (or something), the king and his attendants tried to shake his hand but were all killed by the green slime.

Always looking on the bright side the surviving flunkey's decided to bury them all together in the King's tomb.

Phew, glad that's all sorted, we can get back to more important matters now like watch a bog-roll wrapped stuntman being wheeled around on an out of shot skateboard as he chases various no-name extras around a deserted shopping centre.

"Tonight Matthew I'm going to be Peter Gabriel!"

It's a race against time - and tedium - as our heroes try to find the crystals before the shit-handed horror does seeing as one touch from his mucky member causes instant paralysis and stubborn stains. 

After brutally attacking a single mum student who'd been given one of the crystals as a present Rossmore is forced to call the 'proper' police who send no-nonsense flatfoot Lt. Amanda Plummer (Napoleon Wilson himself Joston) is to investigate and as more students turn up dead or injured, our heroic cop begins to suspect that he's on the trail of a serial killer.

Albeit one covered head to toe in Andrex.

Maybe they should just send a puppy after him?

As is always the way in this kind of movie (and I'd be disappointed if it weren't), the students decide that the best way to deal with the on campus killings is to organise a massive mummy themed frat party and dance badly - to a song called "Mummified" on a constant loop - whilst those who actually possess the crystals end up either babysitting and taking showers in order to up the breast count of the film and help it appeal to sad, lonely teens.

Well seeing as I first saw this as a 12 year old it must have worked.

As Plummer conducts his investigation, McCadden and Parker track the stolen crystals back to Sharpe, who admits to everything before giving them the  crystal he was keeping for himself.

Realising that the final crystal is currently in the hands of a student he's shagging (Motel Hell's Axelrod), McCadden races to the library in the hope of saving her from a sticky end only arriving in time to see her plummet from the roof.

Luckily she's only bruised so our hero wastes no time in getting on with the job at hand which right now involves investigating why the campus computer systems are showing sporadic energy drains in the large broom cupboard behind the girls toilets.

Fuck me Hanson have let themselves go.

As the movie lurches drunkenly toward its climax, McCadden, Parker, Rossmore, Serrano and Willoughby all descend on the cupboard at the same time and after a bit of pushing and shoving are fairly surprised to see the mummy standing over what looks like a novelty pie dish fiddling with some small balls.

Like some kind of intergalactic naughts and crosses he gently places them in a certain order (being careful not to break the flimsy prop) before activating the device causing his mummy wrappings disintegrate and revealing his true form.

That of a fairly camp skinny bloke in a pound shop alien mask.

Takes all sorts.

Realising that the creature actually doesn't mean any harm and just wants to go home McCadden and Parker smile waving at it as it prepares to leave, Serrano tho' has other ideas and orders Willoughby to shoot the creature.

The rotter.

Being the hero tho' McCadden throws himself in front of the bullet in order to protect the alien and falls to the ground injured.

As the pair gaze lovingly into each others eyes the alien holds his (scarily lady-like) hand out to the professor who eagerly takes it.

Tho' not up the arse I'm told.

As the starstruck couple touch there's a blinding light as they disappear from view leaving only a solitary crystal lying on the floor.....

Serrano pushes everyone aside and grabs for it but suddenly drops it with a scream as the fungus begins to infect his hand and the words "TO BE CONTINUED" flash up on the screen.

No, really.


Lurching drunkenly 'tween slasher movie, Sci-Fi and kooky campus caper, Tom Kennedy's only foray into directing (after a career working as an editor) is a threadbare throwback with a TV movie of the week feel and whilst it's in no way that bad a movie it is a horribly inept one, which is scary considering its pedigree, featuring as it does such luminaries as Nina Axelrod, James Karen, Shari Belafonte (riffing Adrienne Barbeau in The Fog as a sexy DJ) and most bizarrely one Warrington Gillette, who went on to play the unmasked Jason Voorhees in Friday 13th Part 2.

Hopefully with make up tho'.

The rest of this cast of has beens, might be's and ne'er wills isn't too bad either with appearances from Greta (Chained Heat) Blackburn, Kevin (Hell Night) Brophy, Melissa (Invasion: USA) Prophet as well as  Antoinette Bower from that episode of Star Trek with the huge kitten.

But most importantly it features a (brief) re-teaming of Assault On Precinct 13's Austin Stoker and Darwin Joston which frankly makes the film worth owning for that alone.

"Laugh now!"

Behind the scenes it has Flesh Gordon's Jason WIlliams as co-writer and producer plus cult composer Richard Band on soundtrack duty whilst the majority of the crew were straight off the back of that monster hit The Howling and no doubt the producers were hoping for as big (if not a bigger) hit.

Oh well.

"Oh no! I have my womans period!"

Coming across like the idiot offspring of Kolchak or a lobotomized X Files, Time Walker never hits the dizzy heights (or shites) of The Incredible Melting Man or even Hangar 18 but is fairly inoffensively enjoyable in it's own albeit moldy way.

Plus you can picked it up on Amazon for a measly eleven quid on a shiny DVD that also features Lady Frankenstein, The Velvet Vampire and Grotesque (not that one) so what's not to love?

I mean you couldn't even get a quick handjob for that kinda cash.

And no your sister doesn't count.

Recommended viewing.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

little big planet.

Ended up getting a commission to do a poster for this a few months back (don't ask) so thought I'd rewatch it.

Will I never learn?

The Sinful Dwarf (1973)
Dir: Vidal Raski.
Cast: Torben Bille, Tony Eades, Anne Sparrow, Clara Keller, Werner Hedman and a load of other folk that frankly it's not worth listing. I mean they don't have this on their CVs so why should I make the effort?

Hvad var den mystiske dværgs perverse hemmelighed?

A hot summers day and a pig-tailed (and let's be honest slightly pig-nosed) young girl is happily playing hopscotch in a quiet street, not a care in the world and a warm smile on her freckled face.

Rounding a corner she comes across a dwarf (the late great Bille who at the time was Denmark's only profession dwarf actor) leading a yapping toy dog, Intrigued she bends down to pet it.

The toy dog that is not the dwarf.

"Hello pretty lady, I'm Olaf!" grins the dwarf in a friendly manner "Do you like my toy? I have many more upstairs in my house!" and with that he takes her by the hand and leads her to the run down boarding house he manages with his mother.

The girl is amazed at the amount of wonderful (re: creepy) toys spread out before her and turns to congratulate Olaf on his collection but as she does the evil little fella smashes her in the head with his walking stick.

We've all been there.

"Grine nu!"

Cue frighteningly 70s titles and compulsory inappropriate theme tune (more on these later) and we're on with the plot good and proper, being quickly introduced to a pair of down on their luck lovebirds; the flasher-macked 'writer' Peter (Eades, bizarrely enough last seen in the Danish/Indian musical drama The Melody of Love alongside Pavel Kadochnikov's granddaughter Nina Bergman - beat that Kermode) and posh tottie Mary (Sparrow, mother of Jack the famous pirate) who arrive at the boarding house looking for a place to stay.

Greeted at the door - as opposed to in the mooth - by Olaf's even freakier (if that were possible, which it is obviously or that last sentence wouldn't make sense) mother, the show tune singing, gin soaked, piss smelling lush that is Ms. Lila Lash (the genius that is Keller in her only film role outside your dad's home movies) the couple are quickly shown to their room (a bargain at 6 quid a week).

Excited at the thought of finally getting to sleep in a real bed - rather than under a bush - neither of them notice Ms. Lash licking her (hair) lip and eying up Mary's ample arse (with her none milky eye) as the enter the room.

You see it turns out that behind the Fawlty Towers-esque facade, Olaf and his mentalist mum are kidnapping nubile young girls and running a white slavery sex ring out the attic.

And a secret lemonade mine in the cellar.

But to be honest judging by the reactions of those poor half dressed (and half cut) girls they have chained up this may all be normal in Denmark.

Answers to the normal email address.

"Er det en blyant i lommen eller har du en massiv erektion?"

Olaf's main job (apart from luring the girls to the house and using a Curly Wurly bar as a ladder when he's cleaning the TV obviously) appears to be injecting pure heroin into the victims buttocks whilst screaming “I’m coming girls! I’m coming” with a huge dribbling grin on his face.

Whilst all this drugging and shagging is going on, Olaf's mother amuses herself by staggering about with a bowl of plastic fruit on her head pretending to be Carmen Miranda.

To be honest this is one of the few films that has ever made me miss living with my parents.

"Shite i måneden fæstet!"

Obviously the director reckoned that all this just wasn't scary enough and in a masterstroke introduces us to a fish-lipped piss stained drugs dealer named Santa Claus (former cinematographer and production manager Hedman) who delivers the drugs inside stuffed animals.

And this is why folk voted Brexit.

Peter and Mary tho' are oblivious to all this, being too busy thrusting and wriggling on top of each other in a very energetic manner to notice the sounds of sobbing and smell of vinegar and shame emanating from the attic.

And when Peter gets himself a job leaving Mary home alone with Olaf and Lila
little does she suspect that she is next on their list of tanked up tottie to be....

As far as short arsed cinema classics go, The Sinful Dwarf is up there (but not too high obviously) with the best.

One of the strangest (and undoubtedly one of the sleaziest) of a small sub-genre of deadly dwarf movies this UK/Danish (with possible US backing too possibly) co-production feels like a weird hybrid of slasher movie, exploitation cheapie, European arthouse and dodgy porn film that's been forced into a rusty old sausage maker, minced and squeezed out onto a filthy, chipped plate before being served up by a club-footed hook-handed harlot with bad breath and breasts like cheese filled condoms.

From it's shocking, head bashing opening thru it's unsettling titles (consisting, as they do of close-ups of wind up toys tottering around gaudy lettering as Danish avant garde composer Ole Ørsted mixes the sound of a troupe of clockwork monkeys banging drums and smashing cymbals with a bass guitar *), The Sinful Dwarf delivers shocks and sleaze by the (scuzzy) bucketful, leaving the audience in need of a good bath and a gallon of mouthwash.

Honestly, it's THAT good a movie.

"Is it in yet?"

And what of the ‘sinful' dwarf himself?

Sporting a greasy moptop, a huge tombstone grin and (very) kissy lips, Torben Bille is truly magnificent. Hobbling around and lusting over anything with breasts, his 'unique' lisping delivering of his English dialogue is a masterclass in villainy, coming across like the bastard son of Don Estelle and Jimmy Krankie on crack, trapped in an endless summer season review in Torquay.

Plus when you realize that he and Anne Sparrow were actually a couple during filming the whole scummy, spanked arseness of the proceedings take on an even more sleazy - and slightly more erotic if I'm honest - turn.

Full of 'wah wah' guitars and close-ups of sagging, old men arses thrusting up and down on drugged up, dirt covered girls this is one of those rare films that genuinely does have something for everyone and not even hatchet man Vidal Raski’s lacklustre direction can ruin it.

Essential viewing for the whole family.

But especially your Uncle Peter.

*And you can hear it here.

my recurring dream...

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

beale gone kid.

A wee break from all the film based shenanigans I usually post in order to share this word of warning I received via e-mail last week.


Dear Ashton,

You know Gillian Taylforth? best known for her role as Kathy Beale in EastEnders and as Jackie Pascoe-Webb in Footballers' Wives?

Blood Witch.

And a really, really powerful one at that.

And she now has my scent.

A few months back I accidentally smeared a bit of blood on a signed postcard of her I received from the BBC many years back and my life has been a living hell since.

She's started projecting herself into my dreams and talking to me feels like my energy has been drained and my life is slowly being ruined.

When you see her interviewed she acts all sweetness and light, convincing the viewers that she isn't a flesh-eating she-demon who sees us all as little more than cattle to be fed off.

All I can do is warn you to NEVER speak to her or to attempt to contact her telepathically. Especially if like me you have high sexual energy levels and are really good at magic.

Real magic I mean not the card game.

Though that probably means you're quite powerful too.

This warning is for you and your readers, seriously the bitch almost got me killed and has sent psychic assassins after me several times.

Heed my words.

Oh and by the way I think It Follows was shit too. 

Saturday, July 1, 2017

adventures in sound.

Celebrate the genius that is Peter Capaldi's Doctor with a masterful mix of Cyber samples, Bok beats and Terrifying Terileptil tunes.

Thursday, June 29, 2017


For no reason whatsoever here's a collection of jingles from Beacon Radio 303....the West Midlands equivalent of WKRP in Cincinnati only with bigger bush.


Saturday, June 24, 2017

wet dreams.

Mrs Lamont is away working this weekend so I've let the podlings choose today's entertainment.

The Slayer (AKA Nightmare Island. 1982).
Dir: J.S. Cardone.
Cast: Sarah Kendall, Frederick Flynn, Carol Kottenbrook, Paul Gandolfo, Alan McRae and Michael Holmes.

"Dreams don't drag men out of
bed in the middle of the night!"

Copper-topped Kay (Kendall, later to appear in the pivotal role of 'the stewardess' in The Karate Kid Part 2) has been feeling a wee bit down in the dumps the last few months, suffering as she does from almost constant from panic attacks and bad dreams.

Her condition isn't helped by her insistence on wearing Grannie style turtle neck sweaters under tent like jumpers and the fact that her uncontrollable mass of bright ginger hair makes it look like someone has planted a huge red bush on her head.

Luckily her loving hubbie Doctor David (McRae, best known as Parker Simonson in the hit teevee show Santa Barbara and Sam Douglas in the Three Ninja movies) has an idea to cheer her up so, alongside her rat faced brother Eric (directors fave Flynn who also appeared in the Leif Garrett starrer Thunder Alley) and his wife Brooke (the director's wife, the former actor and now producer of such quality fare as 8MM 2 , Alien Hunter and The Covenant, Kottenbrook) decides to organize a holiday  - to a deserted island no less -  to try and shake her malaise.

Which would possibly be a nice idea if she actually wanted to go in the first place.

Eric, being a practical type thinks her mental health problems stem from the fact that her art career is waning but David thinks that it's because of her nightmares.

But we all know that it's that hairstyle that's causing the damage.

I mean I'm only looking at it thru a TV screen and it's scaring the shit out of me.

Not even with your dads.

Anyway arriving on the island by a plane piloted by the creepy ball headed Kim Marsh (Holmes from everyone's favourite Black Day Blue Night ), Kay is shocked and disturbed to discover that she's been there before.

Not in reality but in her dreams.

Scarier still is the fact that the island was the basis for her last few paintings.


The others tho' are more concerned with the fact that they've to carry their own bags the two miles up the beach to the house that they've rented.

You can tell it's going to be a long week.

"Hey sexy lady! Fancy a wee bit o' mooth shite-in?"

After what seems like days of the foursome whining and walking, intercut with Kay looking spookily off into the middle distance whilst muttering "I've been here before" they finally get to the house.

David and Brooke are content to slag off the paintwork whilst Eric gives us his best rodent toothed smile when he discovers a packed drinks cabinet and a fridge stocked with Petit Filous.

Kay on the other hand is content to stand in the corner shaking like a tall and lanky ginger tree in the wind.

Settling in for an evening of Scrabble and snacks the fun is well and truly ruined before it starts by the re-appearance of Mr. Marsh, who appears to have flown all the way back to tell everyone a storm is coming and they should probably leave.

I'm not too certain but I'm sure he's using the storm as an excuse to warn them about something else, tho' why he didn't just tell them that there was a killer on the loose when they went to book it I just don't know.

Your mum's cum face, trust me I know.

Meanwhile back on the beach the local wino/fisherman/molester of young boys Terry No-Name (former Middle Earth wizard Gandolfo) is busy gutting a carp whilst chatting to himself about getting either a woman or a dog for companionship (pity he's not met Kay, the best of both worlds there) but alas we never find out which he chooses because the conversation is cut short when someone puts a paddle thru' his head.


Not wanting to give us too much excitement we quickly cut back to the holidaymakers who are sitting on the porch sharing booze and thinly veiled insults before bedtime.

Eric is slagging off his sisters paintings, David is looking concerned and nodding sagely whilst Brooke stands around looking fairly plain.

Not wanting to have too much (or any really) fun, Kay just sits there talking about the cat she had as a child.

Seems that a week after she got it the poor kittie was found in the freezer.

She blames a big monster, Eric is sure it was her.

What do you think?

Well, an hour in and the only death has been a tramp on a beach, hopefully the oncoming storm and the broken lift hatch will provide a wee bit of gore soaked entertainment soon because frankly all this artsy angst is giving me stomach ache.

And piles.

Plus the kids are so bored they've taken to rummaging thru the pile of Jess Franco films.

Which is never a good sign.

It's almost midnight (in the film that is not in reality tho' it does feel like it) and the storm rages outside whilst the wind and rain lash against the window panes like a terrible piss stream from an over excited toddlers tiny todger.

David unable to sleep due to Kay's incessant farting decides to get up and have a wander around the cellar hoping to find the source of the loud banging noise.

Don't worry, it's not Eric and Brooke he's already checked.

Heading down to the basement it's not long before poor Davey boy has got his head stuck in that aforementioned hatch before getting it ripped off by some unseen assailant.

On a brighter note it does give Kay a chance to experience a Lamberto Bava based dream sequence so it's not all bad.

So many mooths, so little shite.

Waking the next morning to no sign of David (or any blood), Eric is convinced he's gone to the beach with 'all his cameras' but Kay is sure he's been murdered.

After all, she did have a severed head sex dream.

But then again haven't we all?

The day goes by and David still hasn't returned meaning that the terrific trio finally begin to be a wee bit worried, deciding to search the island for any sign of him.

Or maybe even any sign of a halfway decent plot.

Eric takes the beach and Brooke looks in the bushes whilst Kay checks out the deserted old theatre they passed on the way to the house.

You remember, the one she painted from her dream.

"Put it in me!"

When inside it comes as no surprise to find that hanging in the upstairs room is what remains of her husband, gutted, plucked and swaying in the breeze.

Running screaming to the others it's left to Eric to take charge and find a way to survive this nightmare until help arrives from the mainland.

But who (or what) is the killer?

Could it be freaky Mr. Marsh?

Has Kay finally lost the plot and decided to act out her dreams?

Is it old man Whethers that owns the funfair?

Or has a hideous dream demon of 'laugh now' proportions escaped from Kay's subconscious to wreak terror on the island?

Go on, guess.

Insert choice of laugh or shite based caption here.

The feature debut of workaholic writer, director and producer J.S. Cardone, The Slayer is a nice little non-offensive spooky slasher that would have possibly faded into obscurity had it not been bizarrely placed on the DPP banned list during the 80's video nasty scare.

Pre-dating A Nightmare on Elm Street's dream based monster plot by a few years, Cardone (and co-writer William R. Ewing) go the psychological thriller route rather than Craven's original dream within a dream headfuck, being as they are more interested in the slowly dissolving mental state of Kay than in cheap thrills and gore but feel that the audience would be upset if it didn't feature a wee bit of both.

Whether this approach works or not is up for debate tho the kids thought it was utter bollocks.

The film's biggest stumbling block to greatness (or even averageness) tho' is that there appears to be a huge charisma-free black hole where the lead actress should be which doesn't help with the films pacing, given as we have to endure some pretty long scenes of Sarah Kendall 'emoting' whilst staring into space.

Unfortunately, as interesting as its premise is, it's just too slow for it's own good and you wonder with a better cast and sharper editing what could have been achieved.

Tho' seeing as Cardone went on to direct 8MM2, Shadowhunter and Wicked Little Things as well as writing the abysmal remakes of The Stepfather and Prom Night it's probably for the best if we don't.

Friday, June 16, 2017

welcome to the pleasure dome.

A collection of random pages from probably THE greatest Marvel comic adaptation ever....Xanadu.