Friday, May 31, 2019


Originally released way back in 1994 on the ragged coattails of Jurassic Park, Tammy and the T-Rex is a bit of a guilty pleasure at Arena Towers - epitomizing as it does everything that was/is utter shit about mid 90s movies.

When I reviewed this originally way back in 2007 I remember saying (well typing but you get the idea) that it would probably fare a wee bit better - and receive a bit more love - if the director had just gone "fuck it!" and made it a gore soaked T-Rex 'n' sex based movie to begin with rather than a poverty row screwball comedy filled with cock jokes and hellish homosexual stereotypes.

So you can imagine my surprise - I'm easily pleased - when it was announced that an R-rated “Gore Cut” had been recently discovered and is getting a world premiere at the Cinepocalypse Genre Fest next month.

Which is OK if you live in the States I guess but not too good for those of us living anywhere else*.

Tho' if anyone would like to pay for me to attend in order to review it I'll be happy to oblige.

If not you'll just have to put up with the very old - and very creaky review from way back.

Don't worry tho' as it's really short, I mean if they couldn't put in the effort why should I?

For those of you reading it for the first time - enjoy, and for those of you re-reading it - I've added a few more "Shite in mah mooth!" captions for you so everyone's a winner.

Except Paul Walker obviously.

And not just because he had to spend the entire shoot encased in a dinosaur suit that the Pertwee era production team would think twice at putting on screen.

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

Fish lipped and shiny haired high school cheerleader Tammy (a pre-Bond - and pre-Botox - Richards) has fallen madly in love with the sensitive yet still manly football jock Michael (a pre-death Walker) and spend her school days gazing adoringly at him from afar.

Unfortunately tho' her mad as a bag of spanners, ex-beau Billy (Pilgrim, best known as the original AJ Chamberlain on CBS's longest running Soap Opera of all time, Guiding Light) is making her life a living hell, stalking her, phoning her and generally being a bad lad who takes particular offense to Michael's apparent interest in Tammy which culminates in a playground scrap where the pair roughly grab each others genitalia to see who will let go first much to the eye-popping amusement of Tammy's black and gay (wasn't it always the way in the 90s?) best friend Byron (Forsett, best known for Street Knight and Street Hawk - poor fucker).

Luckily this only brings the pair together and Michael finally asks her out for a picnic.

As in for sandwiches, crisps and pop 'n' stuff, not just to share a chocolate bar.

Glad that's sorted.

But Billy is lying in wait and upon discovering Michael in Tammy’s room later that evening explodes in a fit of jealous rage and chases poor Michael across town before beating the crap out of him and throwing his unconscious body into the lion enclosure at the local zoo.

Which seems a wee bit over the score if I'm honest.

Fast, furious and fish lipped.

As luck - and plotting - would have it Michael is only slightly (but not quite fatally) mauled and is rushed to hospital under the care of medical mentalist Dr. Wachenstein (TeeVee stalwart and Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood star Kiser giving it 110%) and his 'busty' German assistant Helga (Dubin from Napoleon Dynamite and your dad's bed).

Hearing the terrible news Tammy hurriedly squeezes into her best slut chic outfit and rushes to be at Michael's bedside only to find that Wachenstein - after having a wee fiddle with his bits because he's a bad man - has transplanted Michael's brain into the body of a ferocious T-Rex.

As you would.

Tammy does what any strong independent woman would do in this situation and faints.

As does Byron because he's gay obviously.

But what of poor Michael?

Waking up in his new (tiny handed) body he, quite understandably, goes on a mad killing rampage attacking Billy and his gang at a pool party before squashing the bully underfoot.

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

Either that or a really awful Halloween costume.

There's no time to spend admiring the dino-suit tho' as we're about to strike comedy gold when Helga arrives at the scene and upon surveying the carnage decides to roll the squashed body of Billy up like a carpet.




"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Realising that most of the subsequent dino attacks are probably going to end up on the cutting room floor director Raffil plows straight into the romance subplot so has Michael kidnap Tammy and take her to a secluded hayloft just out of town.

Tho' how he can pick her up in those itsy bitsy stick thin arms is never revealed.

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

Seriously you get the idea, can I stop now?

Laugh now!

From the director who gave us Mannequin: On the Move, The Ice Pirates and Mac And Me comes a movie that does for the dinosaur what Cruising did for random night club pick-ups.

Tho' to be fair at least after Cruising your dad decided to stay home a wee bit more at the weekend which probably helped save yer folks marriage.

At least till you left home and he moved out to share a flat with his pal Brian from work.

You remember, the flat you couldn't visit because it only had one bedroom so your dad slept on the couch.

Just me then?

No caption needed.

Anyway back to Tammy and the T-Rex - if I must - which is just like your dad's life choices is a cliche-filled, ultra-shite crapfest of equally baffling and oddly schizophrenic proportions that's neither funny enough or blackly comic enough to be any way successful tho' to it's - very mild - credit it does have some scenes that raise if not a wee chuckle then a little bit of bile at the back of your throat.

Yes, I'm talking about the bit where Tammy sexily strips to her 80s style white Madonna basque and suspenders - complete with white fluffy boa in front of a brain in a jar.

A brain she has just poured a glass of champagne over to 'get it in the mood'.

 which she has just poured a glass of alcohol on top of it.

And maybe, just maybe I'd have to mention the scene with the T-rex watching a funeral from behind a bush and maybe even the 'tender' love moments between Tammy and a large rubber dinosaur which were both vaguely amusing but that's about it seeing as most of the alleged comedy comes from some Chuckle Brothers style pratfalls and the fact that Tammy might be sleeping with a dinosaur, I mean just imagine the films standing if the director had show the balls to give us some foxy Denise on dino' soft focus, MOR scored loving.

Or is that just me that gets excited by that thought?

"Shite in mah huge Jurassic mooth you ape descended bastards!"

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

Or if you have shit for eyes.

*Tho' if you lived in Italy on it's original release you've probably seen most of the cut stuff seeing as the deleted scenes were reinstated there.

Monday, May 27, 2019

the price of fear.

Celebrating Vincent Price's birthday with this megamix of deep red disco death cult of sinister samples and bizarro beats:


kiss my face.

What better way to relax on a Bank Holiday than with a top quality movie?

Pity then that we decided on this....

KISS Meets The Phantom of The Park (AKA KISS Meets the Phantom, KISS in the Attack of the Phantom. 1978).
Dir: Gordon Hessler.
Cast: Peter Criss, Ace Frehley, Gene Simmons, Paul Stanley (AKA KISS), Anthony Zerbe, Deborah Ryan, Terry Lester, Carmine Caridi, John Dennis Johnsto, Lisa Jane Persky and John Lisbon Wood.

"What do you compute, Space Ace?"
"Insufficient data at the moment, Star-Child!"

Welcome to Magic Mountain, the world's most unpopular and dare I say it, shittiest theme park where the frighteningly plain Melissa (infinitely forgettable TV stalwart Ryan) and her Lego-haired beau - and park employee - Sam (Ark II star Lester) are enjoying a romantic date wandering around the empty stalls and rides whilst holding hands uncomfortably.

It's not all stilted love stuff tho' as the park's business manager Calvin Richards (Caridi from shit loads of stuff) has begun to notice how much cash he's losing so in a fit of pique decides to book the world's (nay the universe's) biggest rock band, KISS to play three nights in the Magic Mountain car park.

This decision doesn't go down well with everyone mind, especially the park's head techie guy, general janitor type and all-around mad scientist, Dr. Abner Devereaux (the creepily craggy cult king Zerbe).

You see Abner is the creator of the parks frighteningly realistic animatronic exhibits (you remember, the ones that are losing them all the cash) and reckons that all the public really need for a good time is a quick look at his stiff, moth-bitten robot monkey jerkily rocking backwards and forwards like Norman Wisdom during his final days and not some spandex clad nonces letting it all hang out whilst wearing their mums shoes.

To prove he knows what he's doing, Abner plans to soup up a few of the parks rides (including the kiddies spinning teacups) with a kinda super-charged energy thing, which would've been a great plan had a group of bad men not decided to sabotage the bumper cars that very day almost killing a group of orphans and blaming the poor doc in the process.

Saying that tho' he may have hired them to do it, I wasn't really concentrating if I'm honest).

Not too surprisingly Calvin sacks him on the spot (but does let him keep the keys to his secret lab hidden below the waltzers, which is nice).

Insert cock here.

Stomping off like a stroppy teenager (or a substitute teacher discovering pics of themselves pissed on t'internet whilst looking up pictures of fluffy bunnies for her class) Devereaux promises himself revenge on the park and it's owners before locking himself away in his lair.

Whilst all this is going on, Mel and Sam are still wandering aimlessly around the park stuffing their faces full of candyfloss and firing airguns at ratty teddy bears.

Suddenly, as if he's just developed some kind of spider-sense, Sam announces that there's 'something wrong in the park.... something I don't understand' (could be anything, dating etiquette, personal grooming, hairstyles that suit a big square face...) and promptly leaves to check 'it' out.

Heading straight to the doc's underground lab Sam accidentally leans on a shelf revealing a secret door leading to an even more secret (and deeper underground) laboratory full of bits of old teevee's, glittery blouses, orthopedic shoes, wooden legs and the like.

What evil plan could Devereaux have up his sleeve?

By a strange (or convenient) stroke of luck, Melissa has been following Sam and she too happens upon the daffy doc's ultra-secret underground lab and is even greeted at the door by Devereaux himself.

Making his excuses and muttering something about brainwashing her date and building evil robotic replicas of KISS the doc sends her on her way. Being a girl she thinks nothing of it and continues her walk no doubt daydreaming about make-up, chocolate and stuff.

Just when you'd given up hope of them ever arriving (or at least checked you were watching the right movie) KISS finally turn up at the park, flying in from the skies and firing lasers from every orifice opening their killer 'set' with the top pop number "Rock and Roll All Night."

"KISS my hairy man nipples!"

Watching from afar is Melissa who, after spending a fruitless day looking for her man and forgetting to buy a ticket for the gig has decided that KISS may be able to help her find Sam.

Which makes you wonder why the McCann's never thought of this but heyho.

Unfortunately for her tho' the folk hired as security refuse to let her in (they say it's because she doesn't have a backstage pass but I reckon it's cos her hair looks so shite), just then Gene Simmons raises his head and booms out the words "Star-Child!" in a weird, wibbly wobbly voice, causing Paul Stanley to shoot crimson lasers out of his eyes that penetrate Melissa's mind.

KISS, never ones to desert a damsel in distress take Melissa under their wing (well, glittery capes) and offer to show her their magical talismen (talismen? talismans? it really that important?) that give them 'special' powers so reckon that this would be a good time to explain this to the audience.

And what are these powers, pray?

Well Gene (AKA The Demon) has the aforementioned scary voice power and can shoot fire from his mouth, Paul (AKA Star-Child) shoots lasers from his eyes that can read minds, eavesdrop on conversations and blow shit up whilst Ace (AKA Space Ace) can teleport, make bird noises and do handstands (do you have the feeling that they were running out of idea's at this point?) whilst Peter (AKA The Catman) has the ability to be redubbed and appear as a huge black guy daubed make-up and a leotard in longshot.

I'm assuming that these are his actual powers and not the effects of him being way to junked up to do anything other than dribble - and occasionally piss himself - during filming.

Gene explains to Melissa that without this collection of tacky trinkets that they'd become a group of powerless mere mortals with tiny cocks.


Leaving the talisman on a shelf near an open window our heroes retire to bed.

Bag o' shite.

Later that evening Devereaux unleashes his secret weapon on the park, a giant robot Gene Simmons intent on smashing up the popcorn stand and abusing (but not in a Gary Glitter way thank heavens) the locals hired as security.

So it comes as no great surprise when the next morning Richards shows up at the bands hotel in a wee bit of a tizz.

Gene, who is busy sunning himself whilst wearing and a long, hooded, silver robe denies all knowledge of the attacks, telling Richards that he was in bed with a cup of cocoa by nine and the rest of the band agree leaving the bizarre question of who it was that really smashed up the park.

Leaving the band to prepare for that nights gig, Richards strikes a deal with the bruised and battered security guys, If they'll let KISS continue with the park shows, he'll let them get revenge on Gene during the after show party.

Could things get any worse for the band?

Well not as bad as it is for the poor sods watching obviously.

Surprisingly the gig goes off without a hitch and after a star-studded show the band retire backstage to entertain Melissa (yup she's still there) with a fantastic acoustic version of "Beth" and enjoy a massive bowl of Opal Fruits.

Little do they know tho' that a brainwashed Sam has been programmed to break into their room and steal the talismen.

The rotter.

Luckily they're protected by a mystical force field, giving KISS enough time to finish scoffing the sweets before giving chase.

After quite a leisurely jog the band break into the park (well, climb over the fence) to entertain the viewers at home with what seems like a six hour slow fight against a variety of robots in a shoddily unconvincing kung-fu style whilst a late seventies wah wah beat plays in the background.

Imagine a junior school version of The Raid that culminates with the good guys stomping on a robot monkey in a scene reminiscent of a high camp version of A Clockwork Orange.

Yup it's that good.

Anyway Devereaux sends Sam (this time armed with a force field nullifying laser gun) back to attempt to steal the talismen again.

Surprisingly this plan actually works leaving KISS (slightly less) powerful ( doesn't really make sense) and before long they're captured by robots things and locked in a cage where a gloating Devereaux excitedly tells the captive KISS all about his plan for world - well theme park - domination.

A plan that involves replacing the band with robots and giving them hypnotic powers which, when the crowd hears certain (added) lyrics will make everyone go mental and (wait for it) smash all the rides.

Which makes you want to ask, is it really worth it?

No, really.

....And one day we awoke to find that Nigel Farage was in power.

Leaving the talismen on a table next to the cage that KISS are locked in the doc heads off to the concert to oversee his plan as the evil robo-KISS head on stage.

Things don't start off too well tho' as the crowds jeer and boo the new lyrics but as Devereaux powers up his hypno-thing the gathered masses suddenly go silent before getting all jittery and start slashing the seats.

The real KISS, meanwhile, remember the fact that they still have some power even without their gaudy trinkets use psychokinesis to make the talismen spookily fly back in their possession ready to KISS some ass!

Not literally tho'.

Taking to the air with an 'up, up and away!' - helped in part by a fairly small CSO budget -  the band fly to the concert arriving just in time to stop the riot and take down their wicked robot duplicates.

The crowd, thinking it's all part of the show, cheer uncontrollably as eight tubby stuntmen in drag throw each other about by the hair.

Tearing the robots limb from limb before throwing them into the mosh pit, KISS encore with "Rock and Roll All Night" before tracking down Devereaux, who due to the radiation emitted by his hypno-ray has aged over a hundred years and is sitting helplessly in the corner of his lab covered in his own piss.

Some other stuff happens and then it ends.

There was a time (before Bill and Ted revived their fortunes - ask your mum) when KISS were the biggest band in America (over here we had Slade who to be honest could've kicked their arses).

Replacing any determinable musical talent with glittery space persona's and fright make-up the band had already signed to Marvel comics so a movie couldn't be far behind.

Hiring genre veteran Gordon Hessler (director of such classics as Scream and Scream Again, The Oblong Box, Cry of the Banshee and the fantastic The Golden Voyage of Sinbad) may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but on viewing his limp and turgid excuse for 'direction' you can tell his glory days were behind him.

Well either that or he just couldn't be arsed.

Co-produced by Hanna-Barbera (which is really all you need to know) and obviously seen as a way to showcase the band's love of sci-fi (good and bad) this is more panto than pathos with KISS doing little more than standing around whilst obviously ad-libbing most of their dialogue - at least I hope no-one got paid to write this shite - before a team of crap (sorry I mean crack) circus performers take over for the slow fighting scenes and Peter Pan style flying stuff.

Scarily Gene Simmons actually did go on to have an acting career (playing opposite Tom Selleck in the robot riot that is Runaway and as an evil drag queen in Never Too Young to Die) and is now best know for appearing on 'top ten celebrity shaggers' shows sticking his tongue out whilst hinting that he's had your mum.

Which of course is a lie.

It was mine.

Well at least the kids were amused.

Sunday, May 26, 2019

Ad nauseam.

Flicking thru' old copies of the UK's number one sci-fi/fantasy/the 'orrah magazine of the seventies, Starburst I came across (quite literally) this fantastically PC ad for projectors.

Who needs VHS (or life drawing skills) eh?

Sunday, May 19, 2019

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 85).

Seeing as it's Eurovision weekend it has to be this years Danish entry, Leonora.

Honestly you cannae beat braces and big trousers.

Saturday, May 18, 2019

kaiju kuts.

 Celebrate the upcoming Godzilla King of The Monsters with nearly 60 minutes of Gojira grooves, Kaiju cuts and massive monster mixes.

Thursday, May 9, 2019


Just won a copy of this from the rather nice Mr Nasty Pasty on Twitter so thought I'd re-watch it as it's one of my fave Tobe Hooper movies.

Don't worry - I'll actually do some work at some point.

Especially if one of you actually hire me.

Eaten Alive (AKA Death Trap, Starlight Slaughter, Horror Hotel, Horror Hotel Massacre. 1977).
Dir: Tobe Hooper.
Cast: Neville Brand, Marilyn Burns, Carolyn Jones, Stuart Whitman, Janus Blythe, Betty Cole, Kyle Richards, Roberta Collins, William Finley, Mel Ferrer and Crystin Sinclaire.
"My name's Buck and I'm rarin' to fuck!"

Welcome to the small US town of Tossburgh (near Texas I'm assuming from the fashions and accents), it might not be much to look at but it has everything a weary traveler will need.

On main street there's the world famous Bad Place Brothel run by Miss Hattie (Morticia Addams herself, Carolyn Jones looking for all the world like a half melted Truman Capote waxwork), a bar cum diner that appears to have only one song on the jukebox and a, um, police station run by Mark Forrest from Invaders of The Lost Gold.

On one of his rare, sober days obviously.

If you need somewhere to relax after a hard days boozing and shagging then the town boasts a fantastic place to stay that's just a few minutes away, the terrific Starlight Motel, located in an incredibly secluded wood just outside town.

Let's be honest tho', the reason it's so secluded is that it's actually in a studio, miles away from any live action shots.

Oh  and it's lit like something from Crossroads.

Run by the enigmatically bowl haired ex-soldier Leslie Judd (Neville Brand, star of Stalag 17 and father of Russell and Jo), the establishment boasts hot and cold running mentalism, flock wallpaper, an old sofa on the porch and a mini petting zoo consisting of a giant crocodile.
Just the place to take the kids.

Or it would be if Judd could go longer than ten minutes without offing somebody.

"Where's me washboard?"

Anyway, on with the plot where good ol' boy Buck Buckley (Sir Robert of Englund) is just about to get his end away with a pink babydoll nightied, bubble permed prostitute by the name of Clara (Death Race 2000's  Collins) on one of his frequent visits to the aforementioned Bad Place Brothel.

So far so seventies fashioned.

It's the poor gals first time tho' and Buck doesn't make it any better by roughly rolling her over and trying to do her up the arse, which as we all know is most definitely second date stuff.

Terrified and helpless Clara begs Buck to stop but our pervy pal is adamant that he wants his full hours worth of fun and tells her as much whilst trying to stick it in her.

Which would probably be a lot easier if he wasn't wearing his trousers and her a big pair of black granny pants.

But hey, that must be how they do things in the south.

Attracting the attention of Miss Hattie, Clara announces that she no longer wants to be a whore, most definitely doesn't fancy a wee bit of anal violation and wishes to return home.

Being a caring, sharing kinda boss, Hattie offers Buck a fantastic two for one deal before kicking poor Clara out into the street.

Jon Pertwee's initial costume choice was quickly vetoed by the producer.

With only some stamps, twenty pence and a hairy mint in her purse poor Clara trudges up the street in the hope of finding somewhere to stay.

Cut to a dimly lit backlot and our failed floozy is soon outside the Starlight Motel and it's oddball owner.

All's going swimmingly (well as swimmingly as a conversation between a bewigged block of wood and a man so over the top he's in orbit can go) until Judd realizes where Carla used to work.

Baring his yellowing teeth he picks the poor girl up off the floor and squeezes her arse before bludgeoning her to death with a scythe and feeding her whole to his croc.

And you thought they spat that bit out.

No sooner has Judd cleaned up the mess that was Clara's bowel than more guests arrive.

Albeit ones driving very slowly for fear of knocking down the cardboard trees.

Please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Des Functional, their daughter Angie and pet dog.

Liza Minelli-wigged Mrs. Functional (Marilyn Burns from TCM) desperately tries to hold on to an air of normality whilst her poppy eyed, crow faced hubbie Des (Finley from Phantom of The Paradise) minces around like a drunk Slinky whilst barking at the dog, much to the amusement (oh alright, total apathetic blankness) of wee Angie (latter day babe Richards).

Don't fret tho' cos it's not long before dad's dead, the dogs been eaten, mom's stripped down to her little white undies and tied to her bed, her mouth duct taped up and poor little Angie is trapped under the house whilst Judd menacingly waves his chopper at her.

Cliff Richard, up the casino, last week.

Judd's underage carnage will have to wait tho' as who should turn up next?

Only Clara's dad, the grumpy Mr. Harvey Wood (no shame Ferrer) and his terrifyingly plain younger daughter Libby (Sinclaire).

Father Harvey, obviously annoyed at how his career has gone after divorcing Audrey Hepburn starts shouting at Judd regarding the motel's wallpaper but before it can escalate into a bit of full on topless old man wrestling Libby calms the situation down.


Shuffling back to his car in order to get his luggage (which surprisingly isn't kept in the huge leathery bags under his eyes) Harvey comes across Sheriff Martin (movie icon and walking brewery Whitman) who kindly offers to help in their quest to find Clara.

Insert cock here. Again.

Harvey decides to rest up in the motel whilst Libby heads into town with Martin for a slap up meal and heartfelt chinwag at the local bar, giving her a chance to experience Buck's chat up skills and marvel at the frankly perfectly pert arse belonging to his date, the luscious lolita Lynette (the yumsome Blythe from The Hills Have Eyes and one of my first major movie crushes).

This sight is, by far the best reason to watch the movie.

You'd have to. Twice. Maybe three times on a Friday.

Unfortunately with no-one to stop them arguing it's only a matter of time before Judd and Harvey are back at each others throats, Harvey using a clenched fist and Judd his trusty scythe.

Unsurprisingly it's not too long before Harvey's bloodied corpse is chucked into the lake.

Bloody hell, that crocodile's gonna burst at this rate.

with Libby heading back to the motel for a snooze, Buck and Lynette heading over for 'the sex', poor Angie still stuck under the floorboards and mum desperate for a wee it can only be a matter of time before someone (anyone? Please?) discovers how far Judd is willing to go to keep his pet happy.

But who will survive?

And what will be left of them?

Or their careers.

Tramp in mah big green mooth!

With a director and writer hot off the back of an all-time cult classic and an ensemble cast to die for, Eaten Alive should be one of the all time greats of the horror genre.

Unfortunately Hooper didn't so much as drop the ball than not actually have a ball to begin with.

Or any idea of what the fuck to do with the ball if it actually existed.

Unlike the hyper real Texas Chainsaw, which made it's lack of budget, non-actors and home-made sets a unique feature of the film, Eaten Alive seems strangely studio bound looking for all the world like it was shot for peanuts in the late sixties by a particularly ham-fisted Herschell Gordon Lewis wannabe; the plotting is nonsensical, the editing obviously done by a hook-handed child leaving long


in the middle of scenes and the scratched, outdated film stock (obviously found in a bin) and lack of continuity between studio and location work gives the impression of two different movies shoddily spliced together.

Unfortunately for us neither of them look any good.

Blythe: Nice, milky thighs you could ski down.

But it's not all bad.

I mean, with a cast as great as this how could it be?

Plus it does feature a tiny monkey.

And William Finley (sporting the greasiest barnet ever committed to celluloid) barking like a dog in a vane attempt to get noticed by David Lynch and rescued from this madness.

Plus Janus Blythe's oft mentioned perfectly sculptured arse and silky smooth thighs.

And it's strangely hypnotic, like a particularly gruesome car crash drawing you in until you find it impossible to turn away, desperate to find out what Hooper will throw at the screen next.

Nowhere near as great as his Classic Lifeforce but still worth a look.

Especially if you suffer from sadomasochistic tendencies.

Or are a twelve year old boy.


Wednesday, May 8, 2019

wee burnie.

Released 38 years ago today, it seems as good an excuse as any to revisit.....

The Burning (1981).
Dir: Tony Maylam.
Cast: Brian Matthews, Lou David, Leah Ayres, Brian Backer, Larry Joshua, Jason Alexander, Ned Eisenberg, Carrick Glenn, Carolyn Houlihan, Fisher Stevens, Shelley Bruce, Sarah Chodoff, Bonnie Deroski, Holly Hunter and J.R. McKechnie.

 Don't worry. Tonight's the night that we scare the shit out of Cropsy. Because when he wakes up, when he see it, he's gonna have a heart attack.

It's a normal sunny day at the amusingly monikered Camp Blackfoot (named no doubt in honour of one of top 70's TV comedian Dick Emery's most popular characters); the jocks are baiting the nerds, the camp counsellors are busying themselves having the sex and the kids are getting ready for a jolly old sing-song and a Weiner roast round the fire.

Unfortunately the Weiner that ends up getting roasted belongs to the camps resident caretaker Terry "Cropsy" Cropston as during the night a group of mischievous bad boys sneak into his cabin and place a worm covered skull - wearing candles for eyes - next to his bed with the sole intention of getting the poor bloke to wet himself.

As is the way in '80's horror movies tho' everything goes tits up and Cropsy gets so frightened that he knocks the skull onto his bed setting his eggy bedsheets and - 100 % polyester - Farrah Fawcett nightshirt aflame.

Leaping from his bed the unfortunate fella accidentally knocks over a nearby gas cannister causing the whole cabin to be engulfed by a raging fireball and leaving Cropsy with no alternative but to stumble out of his by now charred abode - in glorious slo-mo obviously I mean that asbestos suit isn't going to pay for itself - and crash headlong into a river.

I don't know who was the more burned, Crospy wearing it or the guy that paid 250 quid for it on Ebay.

Jump forward five years and Cropsy - or Crispy as he should probably be now known - is released from hospital, decked out in a rather fetching flasher mac, big ass sunglasses and fedora to hide his melted visage the first thing he does, which is what anyone in his circumstances would do if I'm honest, is head out to murder a prostitute.

Albiet one that almost chocked at the sight (but not on) his well cooked spring roll looking penis.

So I suppose that that's OK then. 
No caption necessary.

Realising that he's found his true vocation in life our burned-up buddy decides to head off to the nearest summer camp (in this case the far less amusing Camp Stonewater) and armed with a nifty new pair of garden shears extract revenge on any teenagers that cross his path.

Hiding behind a convenient bush it's not long before he comes across the tomboyish Tiger (ex-Annie star Bruce) who is busy searching for a lost baseball in the undergrowth.

Luckily for Tiger her androgynous nature confuses Cropsy and unsure whether to stab or shag her (as if the two were mutually exclusive) hesitates long enough for her to escape.

Tunnel or funnel?

Back at the camp it's business as usual as we're introduced to the teen cast that will be our victims for the next 90 minutes starting with the showering sexy senior Sally (Girls Nite Out star Glenn) who gets to show off her ample arse as the pube-haired friendless geek Alfred (Backer, best known as A. Bartlett Congdon in Santa Barbara) tries to put the willies up her before running away.

Sally's screams - alongside the light glistening on her ample breasts - bring Michelle (St. Elsewhere's Ayres), Karen (former Miss Ohio, Houlihan), Todd (Matthews AKA David Laurent from Santa Barbara, the TV show where all ex-horror stars go to die) and Eddy (Law & Order: Special Victims Unit's Eisenberg) running to the rescue and slap bang into poor Alfred.

Todd, being a nice guy, feeling sorry for Alfred takes the lonely teen in hand (but not alas in the mouth) and has a brotherly chat with him regarding the rights and wrongs of spying on naked teens, even going so far as stopping Sally's boyfriend Paul Michael Glazer (jobbing thesp Joshua) from giving him a kicking.

If only someone had done this for me as a teen things would have turned out so much different.

And probably less messy.

They might look happy now but just wait till the stabbing starts.

Later that night, whilst attempting to get to sleep after a visit from the mysterious Mother Fist and her five alluring daughters, Alfred spots Cropsy crouching in the bushes outside his window, obviously enjoying a post show fag but with Alfred being a pervy loner freak and everything, no-one believes him.

Well would you?

A new day dawns and the kids are all excited by the prospect of a canoe trip 'up river', especially Karen who's decided that a boat ride is just the excuse she needs to finally have some of the sex with Eddy.

Cue 10 minutes of soft focus paddling and holiday report style shots of the sun shimmering on the water as a groovy Rick Wakeman score plays in the background.

Which is quite relaxing if I'm honest.

The director obviously realises tho' that all this well directed caring about the characters stuff is getting in the way of why we're all here so as soon as the merry band settle down for snacks, Karen and Eddy head to the rivers edge for a wee bout of skinny dipping.

Unfortunately - it's probably something to do with the temperature of the water - Karen changes her mind after seeing Eddy's wrinkly and somewhat shrivelled penis and quickly heads back to shore where she discovers that all of her clothes have been strewn about in the woods.

I say all of her clothes but I actually mean just the ones she was wearing, obviously whoever did it hadn't gone to her house, raided her wardrobe then driven/hitch-hiked back and just thrown them everywhere, that would be silly. 

But all this chat is immaterial frankly for as Karen bends down to retrieve her undies Cropsy appears from nowhere and slits her throat.

Paddle in mah pond!

Things go from bad to very annoying via slight inconvenience the next morning when Michelle discovers that not only is Karen missing but that the canoes have been cut adrift and have floated off up the lake.

Luckily Todd, being the handy sensible type organises the group into two parties; one group, including Eddy and Woodstock (Short Circuit star Stevens) who  alongside the bespectacled Marnie and the instantly forgettable Barbara will build a makeshift (tho' not Makepeace and no sign of Dempsey) raft and to go and retrieve the canoes whilst the others stay behind and gather wood.

For what reason is never explained tho' building a Wicker Man probably isn't it.

Alfred meanwhile decides to go exploring.

It's not too long before Eddy and co. spot one of the missing canoes and quickly paddle toward it only to have Cropsy jump out from under a dog blanket and kill them all to death with his shiny shears.

Which was a wee bit unexpected if I'm honest, I mean how lucky was it that they came across that canoe first?

What would have happened if they'd found the others and decided that that was enough?

Or just walked back to camp?

He could've ended up lying there all summer.

He'd probably still be there now.

Back at base camp Michelle is still worrying about Karen.

"Excuse me, I have my womans period".

As night approaches Glazer decides to make his move on Sally but in the ensuing excitement and at the first hint of nipple he cums in his shorts before storming off in a huff under the pretence of 'starting a fire'.

Been there, done that, still own the (eggy) t-shirt.

Whilst he's away concentrating  on a totally different kind of wood Cropsy steps out from behind a tree and sticks his shears into Sally instead.

Weighed down with kindling and all set for a second attempt Glazer returns to the scene and immediately makes amorous advances on his by now stone cold and uncomfortably stiff missis only to find - in a joke that would make Jeremy Beadle - proud that Cropsy is hiding underneath her corpse.

Fearing getting covered in juicy jock jism, Cropsy jumps up and pins Glazer to a tree.

And can you guess who was watching the whole sordid scene unfold from the bushes in the hope of seeing a hint of snatch?

Yup, it's Alfred.

Running back to camp he quickly rouses  Todd (but not in that way) and tells him what just happened.

Minus the bit where Glazer came in his pants obviously, I mean the guys a freak but he's not heartless.

Todd, upset at being woken from a particularly sexy dream thinks Alfred is lying and sternly tells his to fuck off but our geeky pal is so convincing that Todd eventually offers to go with him and take a look, thinking if nothing else he too might get a glimpse or two of fanny before the night's out.

The only gash that Todd gets to see tho' is the one in Glazer's throat and that's only for a second before Cropsy bonks him on the head and gives chase to Alfred in a scene of Benny Hill proportions as our crispy killer desperately attempts to catch Alfred and Todd (now armed with a handy axe) tries in vain to just catch up.

"Blood in mah mooth!"

Back at camp the rest of the teens are excited to see the raft heading back towards them.

So excited in fact that they mistake the pile of bodies scattered clumsily aboard it as their buddies sleeping.

So you can imagine Michelle's surprise as she approaches it only to discover that it is, in fact full of dead bodies.

And a few of them are still intact.

Amidst the panic and out of the trees appears Todd who, obviously bored with trying to save Alfred has decided to go save the cool kids instead.

Rounding everyone up he gets Michelle to head back to the camp and contact the authorities before realising that the film is nearly over and that, if he save Alfred, he'll be the hero.

Thinking this over for a few seconds he heads back into the woods.

Meanwhile, Cropsy is busying himself pinning Alfred to the wall with his shears in the hope of getting picked to decorate the Chelsea Flower Show entrance hall later in the year.

Coming across a deserted mine opening and noticing the faint odour of frightened virgin (which next to tears and petrol must be the sexiest smell imaginable) Todd sneaks in only to get hit by a rusty mine car which, as luck would have it sends him crashing thru' a convenient cardboard wall and straight into Cropsy's lair where the scene is set for a battle to the death.

"Boiled onions!"

Will Michelle contact the cops and rescue the campers?

Will Todd save Alfred?

Will Cropsy appear to die only to return for one last 'shocking' scene?

Will Rick Wakeman ever stage a musical version of the movie?

From the director of Genesis in concert (no, really), first time film producers Bob and Harvey Weinstein and starring the then unknown Jason Alexander and Fisher Stevens (plus a very young Holly Hunter), The Burning should, by rights be utter shite. 

It's a pleasant surprise then just how great a movie it actually is.

Leaving aside it's sturdy - if hardly original - premise, The Burning has a lot going for it; the direction, from the multi-talented (if a wee bit sport obsessed) Tony Maylam, is terrifyingly taunt and surprisingly classy and the cast (not just the ones who actually went on to have careers) are uniformly great, even those in the more throwaway roles give performances that put most of their contemporary slasher buddies to shame.

A special mention goes out to the frankly wonderful Shelley Bruce as Tiger who's pudding bowl haircut and boyish hips did more to confuse a generation of teenage boys than an entire army of Boy George's could.

Which is actually compliment so please no death threats.

Plus name another film that can boast of having an executive in charge of production with a name like Corky Burger working on it?

Cropsy had won the pools but suddenly realised that he'd burnt his coupon.

Add to the mix a stunning score by Britain's favourite Wizard Sir Rick of Wakeman and some startlingly gruesome effects from a top of his game Tom Savini and you know you have something special.

Unfortunately cinema goers at the time didn't realise it and stayed away in droves.

Unlike our crazy oriental cousins who managed to make it the biggest overseas hit of the year in Japan.

There's a lesson to be learned there but I'm fucked if I know what it is. 


laugh now.

Monday, May 6, 2019


Seem to be fixated by mutant monster movies at the moment.


The Spawn of The Slithis (1978).
Dir: Stephen Traxler
Cast: Alan Blanchard, Dennis Lee Fault, Judy Motulsky, J.C. Claire, Steven J. Hoag, John Hatfield, Rocky Fumarelli, Mello Alexandria, Dennis Falt, Hy Pyke, Wendy Rastattar and Win Condict.

“Why is it called Slithis?”  “For the same reason your parents named you ‘Jeff’.”

Our story begins with a sub-Jaws style score and a shaky pan across what looks like one of the rougher areas of Dudley (that's in the West Midlands in Englandshire for any Americans/thick people reading) settling - luckily before any of us vomit from the drunken camerawork - on a couple of kids playing frisbee.

In slow motion for some reason.

Thinking about it it's probably as one of them is morbidly obese so it's a good excuse to focus on his wobbling mantits as he runs about which, if I'm honest is about as exciting/erotic as this movie gets.

Anyway, after a particularly long toss from the fat lad his small ginger pal comes across a pair of mutilated dogs lying by the canal.

As the pair disinterestedly ride away in search of cakes the local radio news announces that there has been a spate of dog attacks around town and as if to prove this to the audience we abruptly cut to evening time where a yappy mutt is busy barking at a camera with a plastic cup sellotaped to the lens in order to give us an 'otherworldly' point of view of the proceedings that just makes it obvious that we're looking thru' a kids tumbler.

At least the thought was there.

If not the budget.

Or the imagination to come up with anything better.

Oh well.

His owners are woken by the noise and head downstairs to investigate only to be cruelly dispatched by the unseen intruder.

By dispatched I mean killed obviously, not packaged up and posted.

Pink ball straight in the pocket.

The police are convinced that the spate of bad murders are the work of a Manson style cult but rugged high school journalism teacher and ex-reporter for the Baldpate Advertiser Wayne Connors (Blanchard who left acting to sell insurance in the Merrimack Valley area of northeastern Massachusetts fact fans) has other ideas.

Mainly about acceptable fashion choices for heterosexual men by the look of his outfits but each to their own.

Anyway Wayne decides that if he alone cracks the case and writes the story (as well as writing and singing the theme tune obviously) it'll safe him from a turgid life teaching scantily clad cheerleader types how to spell, so much to the chagrin of his wife, Jeff (The Big Bus and Idaho Transfer star Motulsky, who was also once married to top Star Trek villain Charlie X himself Robert Walker Jr.), he heads off to the home of the two most recent recent victims for a wee nosy around.

Breaking into the house and having a quick rummage thru' the drawers it's not long before he's accosted by a sneezing policeman whom he placates by giving a cough sweet before leaving with a handful of dried shite he scraped off the carpet which he excitedly takes to be analyzed by the school biology teacher, Doctor John Leslie (Claire in his only film role) before returning home for an evening of snacks, soda and scrabble with his missis.

"Is it in yet?"

Their romantic night is interrupted tho' when an overenthusiastic Dr. John turns up at the door eager to share the results of his tests.

And by that I mean the ones he did on the shit not that he's about to announce that he has Hep B.

Tho' he does have a yellowish pallor to him, which in fairness may just be the lighting.

Anyway John grabs a beer and begins his big scene, explaining that the scraping is a wee bit radioactive and is a - little - piece of organic and inorganic stuff that he's never before encountered.

Tho' the fact that he looks like he's even never encountered a real woman before let alone anything remotely scientific dents the authenticity of the claim somewhat.

All this talk of radiation and shite tho' does remind him of something he read in Love It! Magazine once when he was in the dentist waiting room.

Love it!

You see nearly twenty years ago, the very first nuclear power plant opened for business in Wisconsin, everything was hunky dory till one afternoon a tipsy cleaning lady accidentally lent on an important lever causing a radiation leak to mutate the mud at the bottom of a nearby lake and made it sentient.

Aye, sounds legit.

This was discovered after a wee boy became ill with sickness and diarrhea after inadvertently drinking some of the water and his mum took him to the doctor for treatment for his explosive poo - or 'shitils' as the boy called them.

Hence the scientists named the organism Slithis as shitils sounded silly and not at all realistic.

True story bro.

But John is quick to point out that mutant mud doesn't have legs or eats folk so this version of the Slithis would have to absorbed a person or something.


And with that he bids his farewell and we cut to a pair of homeless men drinking cheap wine and gazing at each other far too intently whilst sitting next to a boat.

Actually it could be behind the scenes footage of the director and writer, who knows?

Anyway as the pair sit, sup and talk bollocks - in order to boost the running time - some spooky music kicks in and we're back with the plastic tumbler as someone - or something, OK we know it's something - watches them from afar in a totally non-pervy manner.

Well I assume it's non-pervy tho' I may be mistaken.

I mean imagine a movie where a mutated pile of shite furtively masturbates over tramps before eating a dog or two.

The fucker would be box office gold.

So the beardy tramp named Bunky and played to piss soaked perfection by John Hatfield who I assume isn't the American professional baseball player from the 1860s and 1870s - decides that after all this imbibing that he really needs a piss so off he trots to find a bin to go behind but just as he's about to unleash his engorged, pock-marked member the Slithis jumps out from the shadows and scares him so he runs away.

His friend and ex Ordinary Boys frontman Preston (Fumarelli, kissy lips and stinky trainers) meanwhile has fallen asleep so sees or hears nothing.

Fuck me that was exciting.

Rolf Harris is taking the divorce well.

Whilst attacks on dogs and fat folk seems to be the norm it appears that attacking the transient community is a step too far as we're now treated to exciting footage of various law enforcement types looking in bins and pushing tramps as the desperately try to find the person responsible for the killings cum piss spying.

Unfortunately everyone they meet is dressed as tho' they were auditioning for an off-Broadway stage musical version of Midnight Cowboy so the film takes an unexpected turn into camp territory as we're subjected to more and more shots of stubbly topless men in a variety of ever shorter - and tighter - cut off denims.

Even Wayne gets in on the act when he heads downtown to pump a few of them for information, decked as he is in a navel revealing cheesecloth shirt and a jaunty panama hat.

Heading over to the boatyard our hero indulges in a vaguely homoerotic chat with Preston - all long lingering looks and lip-licking as they discuss homeless drinking habits and how best to keep warm at night - regarding the whereabouts of Jethro before heading into town to offer cash to a variety of semi-dressed young men lounging on statues with their legs spread and finally turning up at a rundown motel where Bunky is slouched in a chair looking for all the world like an abused beanbag cosplaying Tom Savini.

Which is nice.

"My film."

Offering him a cash incentive to talk Wayne finds out that Bunky did in fact see the beast whilst trying to have a wee but due to outstanding fines for public urination can't go to the police but does give Wayne a pretty good description of the creature.

And a wee hug before he leaves.


After a tearful wank, a Pot Noodle and a shower Wayne and Dr. John decide to visit the scientist behind the original Slithis outbreak, the caramel faced human testicle Dr. Erin Burick (voice actor Falt who's done everything from Silent Hill to Castlevania) to see if their idea that the Slithis can now walk about and eat stuff is true.

He reckons so and suggests that they collect some mud samples from the river where the creature originated not only to be 100% certain but to also add a Jaws dimension to the film seeing as that was quite popular and anything that will help this monstrosity to be seen must be a good thing.

S obviously they're gonna need a (bigger) boat.

Enter (roughly from behind whilst indulging in a frantic reacharound) Captain Chris Alexander (Alexandria famous for Psychic Killer and playing a naked dancing hologram in THX 1138) who offers not only the use of a boat and crew but throws in some vaguely stereotypical 'jive-talkin' black dude' dialogue for good measure.

He must be related to the cleaner cum housemaid Elsie in Mausoleum, yo dig?

"So how much for a wee mooth shite-in boys?"

Heading out to sea - OK heading onto the lake, albeit a fairly big one but still - aboard the good ship Creation, they 'anchor' the boat just offshore enough to not need filming permits and Chris scuba dives down in order to get the samples.

Obviously we have to take his word for this seeing as the film's budget wont stretch to any underwater scenes so to make up for this Wayne sits on the boat looking into the water for what seems like days whilst every so often Chris pops up and hands him a jar.


Anyway all this bobbing up and down is tiring work so the boys all head home and after a sweet late night phone chat 'tween Wayne and Dr. John regarding the lack of consistency  between the samples (?) our hero decides it's time to shower Jeff with some of the attention he's been paying to the local tramps.

Unfortunately it goes all soft focus before the good bits.

But Wayne isn't the only person feeling a wee bit amorous this eve as we're suddenly in the towns most happening bar where the swarthy sex obsessed Doug (ex catalogue model and documentary producer Hoag) is busying himself betting on a turtle race - no really - whilst keeping a lookout for any under-aged talent that may wander by.

And he doesn't have to wait too long as the bubble gum popping, cousin visiting  Jennifer (David Cassidy - Man Undercover co-star Rastattar) soon catches his slightly less milky eye.

Checking if she's 'old enough'? ("Does it matter?" is her reply - zoiks!) Doug takes her up the marina where he's parked his boat a seductively tells her to go onboard and pour a drink whilst he has a piss.

The smooth talking devil.

Cue what seems like hours of lecherous small talk and illegal lolita lust as Dug plys Jennifer with more and more cheap wine before inviting her to his bedroom for a nude massage.

Luckily the Slithis turns up and kills Doug before he can get naked but just to make things even more uncomfortable than they already are we're treated to a 5 minute scene of the Slithis tossing Jennifer around the boat in slow motion - with the cameraman making the effort to show her pants as often as possible - before the beasts clumsily tears her blouse (which is a shame as it was smashing) for a much needed breast shot* and then biting her to death.

Just in case you thought I was taking the piss.....

The thing that haunts you about this (totally unnecessary) scene tho' isn't the dubious sexual politics or latent misogyny or even the fact that Dough has a framed photo of himself - surrounded by candles - on his bedside table.

Nope, it's the fact that during the monster molestation bit the photograph is replaced by a shoddy drawing.

No, really....just look:

Sexy portrait.

Shit sketch.

And they thought we'd be too busy looking at some poor actresses breasts to notice?

Well they obviously didn't count on someone with Autism powered super pedantry watching it did they?

With the blatant sexism out of the way it's back to the main plot and Wayne and Dr. John have gone to the police station to explain who all the bad murders have actually been committed by a human sized bit of radioactive sea shite.

And it's during this scene that we find the movie's one saving grace.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you - no fucking take him, please - Hy Pyke as police lieutenant Jack Dunn:

"Is it Giro day?"

In a - slightly shy of - 4 minute performance that bares absolutely fuck all relation to the plot, Pyke delivers one of the greatest - and most terrifying performances ever committed to celluloid, coming across like the bastard child of Joe Spinell and a Fraggle he eye rolls and screams thru' a page and a half of nonsensical dialogue with all the warm, humour and charm of a man with his hemorrhoids trapped in an infants mouth.

They really should have just had him play the lead and have done with it.

Or at least feature him getting his shirt ripped off in slow motion by the beast.

Suffice to say he's tells our dynamic duo to get to fuck leaving them no alternative but to deal with the creature themselves.

After much chat Wayne figures out that the Slithis must be using the water lock to enter the canal from wherever it is he spends his days so to this end decides to close it off leaving it no way to get into town.

And I thought the public transport here was shite.

Anyway as night falls head over to the locks only to find the gate padlocked but luckily Dr. John has the key as his best friend who works at the water authority is really forgetful and hands out keys to folk he trust so he wont lose them.

Shutting (locking?) the, um, lock the pair head over to Captain Chris' boat and armed with some handy sonar equipment from the high school lab set sail to find and kill the Slithis once and for all....

Shot in just twelve days over the long hot summer of  1977, Slithis is a no budget, lo-fi fleamarket 50s throwback that comes across as cheap and downtrodden as the hobos the beast feasts on, with precious screen time taken up with dozens of (non) actors stumbling thru' banal dialogue wearing a succession of more and more uncomfortable charity shop outfits rather than with gruesome killings and when the titular creature finally appears in all his rubber glory you'll be more concerned about how it can manage to walk with such oversized (albeit womanly) hips rather than elicit screams of terror.

But don't worry as there's some underage nudity and murder on a houseboat to keep the audience happy.

Said no director ever.

Talking of directors, the man behind this one, Stephen Traxler, is fairly interesting.

He first got the movie bug - as opposed to a tummy one - whilst serving in  Vietnam and upon his return home got straight to work on creating the greatest monster movie he could.

Unfortunately he was short of time - and money and nearly everything else - so made Spawn of the Slithis instead.

Not too surprisingly it was another 21 years till he directed again but scarily he didn't slack off in the meantime as he stuck by his dreams of film success, ending up becoming an industry renowned production supervisor with stuff like Waterworld, Gleaming The Cube and Windtalkers under his belt.

But not literally obviously.

Scarily he also co-produced Legally Blonde 2: The Crackdown.

Which let's be honest is more than I'll ever achieve sitting here typing shite that no-one reads so fair play to you Stephen, at least you're living the dream as opposed to wanking for coppers at the bus station like most of the cast ended up doing.

"Aya mah BCG!"

And it's this obvious love of cinema - but possibly loathing for the audience - that stops you turning the movie off and setting light to it as soon as a fat lad bouncing in a too tight T-shirt appears or when various local homeless guys are forced into ever more revealing Daisy Dukes.

Seriously it's actually fairly enjoyable despite itself.

Especially if you have a few bottles of wine handy.

And you haven't eaten.

Which is quite possibly the bizarrest recommendation I've ever given.

"You chase me now!"

True there's way too much exposition, many of the scenes drag on for what seems like an eternity and the editing/effects/acting can only be described kindly as utter bollocks but it's heart is in the right place.

It's just a pity it's brain isn't.    

*This is what we call sarcasm.