Friday, May 31, 2019

t-rextacy.


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.

Oh.

My.

Sides.



"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?....is 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.

Probably.

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 (kinda....it 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 16, 2019

buio vista sociopath club.

Taking a break from mixing visuals for a Prince tribute night alongside creating frankly magnificent mash-ups for Simply Thrilled by revisiting one of my fave romantic comedies.

Enjoy.

Buio Omega: Beyond the Darkness (AKA Blue Holocaust , The Final Darkness. 1979).
Dir: Joe D'Amato.
Cast: Kieren Canter, Cinzia Monreale, Franca Stoppi, Anna Cardini, Lucia D'Elia and Sam Modesto.


"All right little boy, no one will touch your baby doll".


Welcome one and all to the sad, mad and thoroughly bad world of the slightly intense and incredibly lonely freak boy Frank Willer (Eroticoblues flaxen haired Canter) who  since the recent and not to mention mysterious death of his beautiful partner Anna (the lovely Monreale from The Beyond who bizarrely enough owns a piece of my artwork - small world) spends most of his days skulking around his huge villa with only his frightening taste in late seventies fashions, a pair of patent leather Kickers and his Mrs. Doyle-like, potato headed and onion odoured housekeeper Iris (stern faced Stoppi, star of Emanuelle fuga dall'inferno, The Other Hell and the underrated Bestiality among other things to gruesome too mention here) for company.

Being too rich (and too wet) to work Frank spends most of his - non whining - time either attempting to perfect his hobby (which is taxidermy, this may become important later) or suckling on Iris's left breast as she strokes his hair and calls him "Her little Frank".

Just like your mum does when you go to visit.

Stoppi: A mooth made for shite-in in.


If you think that's a wee bit strange - or even a little arousing - I wont judge - just wait till Anna's funeral, when just before the ceremony Frankie boy sneaks into the funeral home and quietly injects her corpse with an embalming liquid, either because he's having the service on the cheap or that he has other plans for his dead missis.

Which do you think?

Unbeknown to Frank, Mr. Kale (flash in the pan/cum in my pants Modesto) the friendly neighbourhood funeral director sees the whole thing.

Gah.

Obviously not wanting to spoil the funeral he keeps quiet and heads off home for a drink or three which allows Frank to sneak (he does a lot off that during the film) back that very night and exhume Anna's still fresh, yet slightly stiff body, bundle it into the back of his Ford Transit and head home.

But you know what they say about best laid plans and all that, 'cos the journey is a disaster of Last of The Summer Wine comedic proportions with Frank first having to endure a flat tire followed by a run in with the police before finally coming across an obscenely permed and squint eyed 'cock-er-nee' (the dubbing director must have been either very drunk or very bored) food obsessed hitchhiker named Jan (D'Elia) who won't take no for answer.

Or by the state of her that bag of chips away from her mouth.

Falling asleep in the van after one too many pasties, Jan is oblivious when Frank  drags Anna's corpse into the basement and then slicing her open from boob to bush to remove her vitals before finally sucking her brain thru' a tube up her nose.

Which is fairly lucky really because no doubt that greedy bitch Jan would've probably tried to scoff it all.

His luck can't last tho' and just as he's popping Anna's glass eyes into her exquisite skull Jan stumbles into the basement - obviously drawn by the smell of fresh offal - to find Frank covered in blood, sweat, shit and shame whilst bending over the corpse.

Jan screams but as she turns to run the friction of her thighs rubbing together causes a bucket of intestines to fall on her, giving Frank enough time to beat her to death with a rolled up copy of Stuffed Bird Monthly.

Which is better than she deserved if I'm honest.

Which I am.

Always.

Eamon Holmes and Kate Garraway's Strictly Come Dancing routine failed to impress a stern-faced D'Arcy Bussell yesterday. Or was that today?



Iris, no doubt at a loose end after polishing off the china (and Frank) is soon on the scene to help tidy up the mess before helping Frank to carry Anne to the bedroom, dressing her in a lovely nylon nightie and painting her finger and toe nails a luscious deep red colour.

Which actually improves her look no end, complementing as it does her massive blotchy chin.

As a new day dawns Frank sets about his daily routine as if nothing untoward had happened.

Which is probably a good thing seeing as her has an urgent appointment with  Mr. Kale who wants his baboon stuffing.

But Kale has other things on his mind.

And it's not discovering the secret of how baboons manage to keep their arses so red and peachy.

You see it seems that word has gotten out that someone stole Anna's corpse and Kale suspects Frank of the crime and in a sneaky plan that Columbo would be proud of arranges for a mutual friend to discuss the project whilst he sneaks into Frank's basement.

Alas Kale doesn't come across any corpses - he's probably still spent from doing that at work on slow days -  but does find a necklace belonging to Anna.
Spookily it was the one she was buried in.

Tho' Kale ignores this fact and goes home.

No doubt to search T'internet for ape porn.

He must have really loved that baboon.

Boiled onions!


We've no time for monkey sex tho' (which is unusual for D'Amato) because Frank still has a body to get rid of.

Waiting till nightfall (and till his loyal housekeeper has done the dishes) he gets Iris to pop Jan's body in the bathtub - don't worry, it's a bloody big bath - and cover it in acid before pulping the remaining lumpy bits with a hammer.

The sight of Iris taking such pleasure from her work (well it's either that or the smell from her breath) is enough to make Frank vomit but luckily Iris is more than willing to 'take him in hand' and make it all better.

Which in case you found that too subtle means she gives him a handjob whilst pulling a face like your nan when she wins at bingo.

Cardini: your dad did. Twice.

The next day Frank understandably decides to go driving to help clear his head.

And hopefully get rid of the memory - and smell - of Iris' beefy fingers.

It's not long tho' (it is a fairly short movie) before his mind is completely cleared of all things murder and old lady sex related thanks to the sight of an ample arsed, poodle haired jogger sitting at the side of the road suggestively rubbing her swollen ankle and Frank, being the gentlemanly type immediately offers to take her up the villa for a thorough bandaging.

The woman (Cardini coming across like a slightly saucier version of top 70's teevee star Susan Stranks and one of the few actresses to get a 4 out of 5 'nice feet' rating on Wikifeet) obviously attracted to Bri-Nylon leisure wear, accepts his offer.

No sooner have they arrived at Frank's pad than the pair of them are kissing, cuddling and engaging in general fondling on the sofa and Frank, happy to be finally pulling someone fairly attractive (as opposed to dead old or just dead) drags his new lady friend off to the bedroom for a quick shag.

You remember the bedroom don't you?

You know the one where he keeps his dead wife.

Everything is going swimmingly till Frank decides, just at the moment of entry, pulls down the bedsheets revealing Anna's corpse.

The juicy jogger turns her head and upon seeing this completely different kind of stiffie leering over her begins to scream.

Frank has no choice but to kill her.

And stupidly before he's even climaxed.

Luckily Iris is on hand to (eventually) clean up both messes.

"Sssssh! You'll wake me mam!" - That's you losing your virginity that is.


Obviously jealous at the thought of Frank shagging someone his own age (and someone who's breathing) Iris decides that the best course of action would be to get rid of Anna's body and persuade Frank to marry her, promising him a lifetime of vinegary hand-jobs and leek soup.

Frank not too surprisingly isn't too keen on getting rid of Anna but scarily agrees to marry Iris (the sick fuck) and even offers to make her the mistress of the estate.

If it were me I'd rather carry on shagging the corpse.

Any corpse.

Even your nan's.

Again.

Desperate to keep her hands (and black toothed mouth) on Franks manhood she begrudgingly agrees, promising to look after both Frank and his 'baby doll'.

I've already done a 'mooth shite' caption.....damn.

After excitedly buying a new dress and washing her bun Iris invites her family over to dinner in order to celebrate her engagement to Frank but things get off to a sticky start when the groom to be storms off in a huff, locking himself in his bedroom with Anna, professing his undying love for her whilst gently stroking her golden hair.

Which is kinda sweet if I'm honest.

Annoyed at her fiancés no show, Iris storms upstairs in an attempt to finally persuade Frank to get rid of Anna causing our hero to finally see the error of his ways.

By that I mean agreeing to shag a pensioner, not sharing a bed with a corpse obviously.

As the argument becomes more heated Frank realises that punching Iris in the face whilst calling her a dirty old whore isn't really going to help matters and the pair decide to call it a day.

Well Frank decides to call it a day, Iris on the other hand has gone totally fruitloops and she's decided to call it a strawberry.

Whilst all this shouty stuff's been going on, Mr. Kale (remember him?) has been keeping his beedy eye (as opposed to the weeping squint one) on Frank and all the creepy goings on at the villa.

Between perving over primates obviously.

But just when Frank (and the audience) don't think the situation can get any worse (or convoluted), who should turn up but Anna's never before mentioned twin sister Elena (Monreale again) in order to pay her respects to Frank.

She was obviously too busy getting her nails done to attend the funeral.

In reality she's only turned up to give the director an excuse to send everyone off the deep end and into the murky waters of mentalism in preparation for a blood soaked climax.

So will Frank come to his senses and end up marrying Elena?

Will Iris ever wash?

And more importantly will Kale ever get his hands on that stuffed baboon?

Answers to the usual email address.




The late 70’s to mid 80’s was a prolific time for the European horror genre and is seen by many as the career high point for such directors as Lucio Fulci, Dario Argento, Luigi Cozzi and Umberto Lenzi, their work constantly pushing back the boundaries of cinema with increasingly bizarre plots and simply lashings of gore in such masterpieces as Zombie Flesh Eaters, Tenebrae, Contamination*, The Beyond and Cannibal Ferox.

But the genres most underrated (and under appreciated) director must be the late great Aristide Massaccesi  (AKA Joe D'Amato, the man I share my birthday with).

Best known as a soft core porn director, he also contributed to the Euro-horror genre with such ‘classics’ as Anthropophagus: The Beast (starring Mia’s one eyed, ex cab driver sister Tisa Farrow) before wowing audiences worldwide with his fantastic forays into goreporn Erotic Nights of The Living Dead, Emmanuelle and The Last Cannibals (both starring dusky eyed beauty Laura Gemser) and  the subtly titled Porno Holocaust.

But perhaps his most accessible (and definitely least sordid) work is the wonderful Buio Omega: Beyond The Darkness.


With it's genius examples of Eurocentric 'panto acting, surrealist dubbing coupled with scenes of uncompromising violence and cheap gore the film stands up as D'Amato's most accomplished movie.

For one thing it has a vague semblance of a plot (usually his movies go: opening titles, shagging, murder, shagging, talky bit, shagging, misplaced 70's synth score, murder, end credits), a particularly strong lead performance from Kieren Canter (the only one he ever gave if I'm honest), a fantastically evocative score from Goblin, adequate - tho' barely - special effects and some even genuinely creepy moments.

Tho' it must be said that the best of these are when Iris attempts sexiness.

Gah indeed.



But just imagine tho' how much greater still it could've been in the hands of a more capable director (the bloke who directed Lord of Salem perhaps or Eli Roth?)**.

I'm sure there's a really bizarre alternate film universe where this is seen as a definitive Eurohorror classic, a kind of Italian Psycho or Peeping Tom. 

As it stands we have a sometimes tense, slightly vile but entertaining movie with a heart as black as Iris' tightly curled pubes. 

And for once D'Amato resisted using actors with porn mustaches, frightful chest wigs and a bad case of genital warts, for which we can all be thankful.































*OK maybe not Contamination. 


**For my American readers this is what we call irony.

Wednesday, May 15, 2019

stryke it lucky.

It's a little known fact that Claudio Fragasso's seminal shocker Zombie 4 is actually ferret-faced uber-racist and part-time hand model Nigel Farage's favourite film*, which shouldn't come as too much of a surprise when you realise that it's actually about immigration, foreign types and the like but under the guise of being an Italian zombie film.
Clever eh?

Oh plus it features Jeff Stryker and as we all know Nigel never says no to a wee bit of man-cock.

Just ask Catherine Blaiklock.

Anyway on with the review.

Zombie Flesh Eaters 3 (AKA Zombie 4: After Death. 1988)
Dir: Claudio Fragasso.
Cast: Jeff Stryker, Candice Daly, Don Wilson, Massimo Vanni, Nick Nicholson, Adrienne Joseph, Jim Gaines, your mom and some tramps.

But no immigrants obviously.

Touchin' our bane will feel our rain on the gain. It's a nightlife, whoa! Runnin' hard if you want it or not! It's a wild life, whoa! You can't stop. You must go on! I'm living after death! Living after death! I'm living after death! Living... Living... LIVING AFTER DEATH!




Somewhere on a remote South Pacific island (or more likely in the kiddies play park behind the directors house), a scientific research team have been working on a cellular regenerative thingy in the hope of finding a cure for ingrowing toenails and bad breath.

In an attempt to get the local (glam rock frocked) natives onside, top science bloke Dr. Godfrey Soontodie has offered to use this frankly bollocks scientific discovery to help cure the voodoo witch doctor's daughter of her terrifying bunions.

As is always the case in these situations the wee girl unfortunately dies.

It's off screen tho' so it's not that upsetting.

"Get your clothes off and your lips puckered....these babies aren't gonna suckle themselves!"


Not too surprisingly the witch doctor takes offense to this news and decides to put the famous 'curse of the dead' on the island, its visitors and inhabitants.

Which is understandable if not a wee bit annoying for the rest of the tribe.

With a wave of his mighty (and very beefy) arms and a flash of homemade fireworks (but not alas a flash of old man thigh) literally all hell breaks loose.

Well it would if hell consisted of an old lady in an ill fitting Halloween mask and a pair of Austin Powers teeth seemingly faking an orgasm whilst dancing like Ian Curtis (post suicide) on crack.

It's your nan at Christmas basically.

Laugh and indeed now!





It's not too much of a spoiler to say that the dead rise and kill everyone.

Well everyone that is except the lead scientists blonde moppet daughter, Jenny who survives the carnage thanks to a magic amulet given to her by her mother.

Well it's either actually magic or so cheap and nasty as to repel any self respecting zombie that sees it.

You can decide.

Flash forward 15 years later and a rescue team, led by the hunky Chuck (porn idol Stryker in a rare 'straight' role - ask your dad) is finally dispatched to discover why no-one has been returning their calls.

Well they took their time didn't they?

Also on the island (by some strange quirk of fate) is a by now all grown up Jenny (the late, great Daly from The Young and the Restless and Hell Hunters) accompanied by the slightly less attractive Louise (Joseph, mother of Birds of a Feather's Leslie), rentalunk Rod (Nicholson) and a couple of dirty mouthed gypsies.

Our Nige seen here reenacting his favourite scene from the movie. No, I didn't realize that it featured a bit where a bigoted halfwit almost gets garotted by a biplane either. Must have been cut in the UK.


Sod all this character stuff tho' we want to know what Team Chuck is up to.

Well, whilst wandering around in a polystyrene cave left over from Michele Soavi's 'The Sect' (no really) our hero comes across the mysterious Book of the Dead.

Which is a change from my boyhood years watching him coming across a variety of buff arses whilst pulling a face not too dissimilar to the one your grandad pulled when he had that stroke.

But enough of the homemade erotica you want to know how Chuck knows that it's the real Book of the Dead and not a shoddy knock-off one from down the market.

Well it does have the words BOOK OF THE DEAD printed on the cover in big bold letters so I guess that clinches it.

You can see why Mrs Unwell doesn't trust me to buy stuff off Ebay can't you?

"Shite in mah tramp bearded mooth!"


Anyway back to the plot (for want of a better word) where Chuck, in a vain attempt to prove he can read unaided - but alas proving that he's never seen a horror movie - begins to shout random passages from the book (intercut with him shouting "Yeah baby! You're so fuckin' tight!" and pulling his cum face - well in my dreams it is) not realizing that the words, when read aloud are capable of bringing the dead back to life.

This'll be the same living dead that have actually been wandering around aimlessly for the past decade and a half from when that witch doctor read the same book, remember?

The writer obviously doesn't.


Some immigrants stealing our jobs and benefits yesterday.



Within minutes our heroes (well the folk on screen) are running for their very lives as hordes (I say hordes but I mean dozens) of foul looking refugees and illegal Eastern European immigrants (possibly) begin to rise slowly from their shallow graves intent on tasting the legendary Jeff Stryker's ample meat.

Or something.

Meanwhile in the grassy bit behind the bike sheds, jumpy Jenny and co. have problems of their own (discounting the obvious ones like lack of acting ability and bad breath) when a lone, maggot covered tramp (obviously symbolizing Remainers) falls on them from behind a tree covering a hapless member of her party in sick.

Running away screaming they soon stumble across the deserted medical research facility (in reality the directors local scout hut) once run by Jenny's folks where they're soon joined (c'mon, the running times not that long) by Chuck who has managed to escape the scary flesh eaters by leaving his team to die whilst he sneaked away sobbing like a baby.

What a guy.


Bobby Davro, up the casino, Penrith 1985.....YESCH!



Luckily for the survivors this peaceful medical centre is chock full of weapons  giving the male cast members ample opportunity to pose in a topless sweaty manner whilst firing a variety of semi-automatic weaponry indiscriminately at various unpaid extras who are then expected to fall off roofs and be set on fire in the vain hope of securing a work permit or at least a new pair of shoes for their kids.

Ain't capitalism grand?

But the humans are fighting a losing battle as one by one they are overcome by the advancing dead.

Deciding the blow up the centre in an attempt to convince the zombies it's Bonfire night and thus giving the humans a chance to escape (plus they reckon it might add a wee bit of much needed excitement to the movie), sole survivors Jenny and Chuck make a break for the woods only to find themselves back in the very cave where the spooky witch doctor started the undead plague to begin with.

With the zombie army closing in and Chuck down to firing blanks, Jenny clutches the magic amulet, praying for a miracle.

Well it's either that or she's cursing her agent.**


Casual.

Will our toothsome twosome escape?

Will the UK rise up and actually take back control?

Will the zombie hordes attack Jenny and eat her whole?

Or will they spit that bit out?

Or will Chuck die whilst something slight and fairly incomprehensible happens to Jenny?

Go on, guess.






Best known for it's frightening amount of alternate titles (After Death being the most common and Zombi 4 being the easiest to spell) as well as being shot on sets constructed for Michael Soavi's 'The Sect' and filmed entirely using camera's and equipment 'borrowed' from the set of Bruno Mattei's 'Strike Commando 2' (which was filming nearby), Claudio Fagrasso's -AKA Clyde Anderson - Zombie Flesh-Eaters 3/4 is the near pinnacle of bad movie making made flesh, a cinematic black hole so dire that not even light can escape from it's spiny celluloid fingers.

Imagine the most dangerous and sordid unsafe sex act you could ever indulge in with the most foul, STD ridden, crab-panted person - or animal - you can, then imagine that as you're about to cum (against your better judgement) you look down and realize that this pock marked, toothless crone you've payed £5 to probably catch sex death from is, in fact, your Gran.

You know...the dead one.

This is the effect After Death can have on a normal cinema goer.

But saying that, imagine how amusing it would be if you saw this happen to a friend.

And you just happened to have a camera handy.

So I guess you pays your money you takes your chance.


Funnel or tunnel?




Wise men say that you can't choose who (or what) you fall in love with tho' and like the three legged dog you should put down but decide to nail to a skateboard, After Death stays with you long after the DVD has been ejected, just like Hepatitis C or the feeling of shame you get after watching your parents home made porn.

Obviously just before realizing halfway thru' that you're actually the star, propped up on top of the wardrobe, drugged up to the eyeballs and wearing a dress.

But if like me you're one of the special few that actually enjoys Fragrasso's work - especially his top notch collaborations with Bruno ('Zombie Creeping Flesh' and 'Rats : Night of Terror') Mattei  - then jump in and enjoy.

I know I did.

But to be honest I really think that I should get out more.

And by that I mean out of the house not out of Europe obviously.

We wouldn't have stuff like this film if that were the case.




































































*If I'd actually asked him that is but if he's reading this then get in touch and I'll review the real one.


**Tho' obviously not as much as she was after she left The Young and the Restless, when after being unable to find work ended up OD-ing in a rundown Los Angeles apartment on December 14, 2004, which kinda put the dampers on my 35th birthday I can tell you.

Thursday, May 9, 2019

croc-o-shite.

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.

Unfortunately.

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
















pauses













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.

Possibly.