Friday, July 26, 2019

our cousin vinny.

Been an eventful and very hot few days here culminating in the skin on my head splitting and my ear pouring blood.

The docs reckon it's dry skin but I reckon my head is rebelling due to watching too much shite.

Speaking of which...

The Last Horror Film (AKA Fanatic. 1982).
Dir: David Winters.
Caroline Munro, Joe Spinell, Judd Hamilton, Devin Goldenberg, David Winter, Susan Benton, Glenn Jacobson and Sean Casey.

"I've seen enough fake blood to 
know the real thing when I see it!"


Sweat covered NYC taxi driver and part time pock-marked testicle Vinny Durand (the late, great cult God Spinell) is scarily obsessed with the fantastically sweet smelling cult scream queen Jana Bates (the very first Barclay's of any self respecting child of the seventies and first lady of fantasy, the yumsome Munro), spending all his spare cash on every piece of Bates merchandise available.

Oh and tissues obviously.

But Vinny isn't planning being a taxi driver (or chronic masturbator) forever because he has a dream.

A dream of making the ultimate (and by default last) horror film with his heroine.

And when he yells cut he really means cut.

As in "I'll cut you up!" not "finish filming that scene" obviously.
That all sorted?

Great.

Now I can get back to the plot.

Returning home to the cramped, shame tinged apartment he shares with his mum, Vinny announces that he's off to the world famous Cannes Film Festival (that's in Paris, France near London, Europe for our American readers) in the hope of meeting Ms. Bates in the flesh and persuade her to appear in his aforementioned dream project, the aptly titled 'Death Wears a Second Hand Thong'.

After listening to her son's heartfelt dreams and plans, and being a normal mum she slaps him around the head and calls him a mentalist layabout with personal hygiene issues before making him a meatball sandwich and helping him to pack his case.

Matt Smith: The Pikey years.

Arriving in Cannes Vinny tries in vain to get a meeting with Jana but instead only meets with failure and general snobbery at every attempt, knocked back by everyone from her manager and ex-husband Master Bret Bates (Jacobson from Operation: Petticoat) as well as Jana's boyfriend, the famous film producer Alan Cunningham (Munro's ginger 'tached ex hubbie Hamilton).

On a plus side he does meet up with a bona fide 'American cowboy' and gets to stroll along the streets looking at film posters whilst the cameraman does his best to try and film someone (more) famous leaving a hotel.

It's like watching Friday 13th intercut with your mum's old holiday snaps.

But minus the nudity and body modification obviously.

The final straw tho' is when a stringy French bouncer knocks him back from a happening disco-party being held in Jana's honour, finally breaking Vinny's tenuous link to reality and destroying his beliefs regarding acceptable party fashions.

Angrily phoning Bret to complain about his treatment and to pitch his thong thriller, Vinny gets even more annoyed when the miserly manager hangs up on him, preferring to spend his time snorting cocaine from between the buttocks of a smooth skinned Albania boy child than talk 'the horror'.

Or was that me whilst I was watching this?

Attending an afternoon press conference to promote her new movie 'Scream' (not that one)  Jana is fairly perturbed to receive a bunch of garage forecourt flowers and a hand scrawled note that reads, "You've made your last horror film." 

Spooky eh?

Hopefully whilst all this flower based creepiness is going on no-one has murdered the ferret-like Bret lying dead in his bathrobe cos that'd be really embarrassing for the poor guy.


Too late, as after arriving at his hotel room Jana comes across Bret's bloodied remains, his little thin legs sticking out over the bath like a couple of discarded twigs.

Like any modern, strong willed woman in the same situation she runs away screaming.

But on returning with Alan and the local police, the body has vanished.

Who saw that coming?

"That reminds me...I must order a turkey for Christmas."


Luckily this lurch forward in the plot doesn't stop the director from continuing to indulge in his travelogue fetish as we're soon back to endless footage of Jana wandering in and out of hotels intercut with crash zooms into movie posters.

Again.
He's not totally lost the -literal- plot tho' as Vinny (resplendent in a top hat and cloak) is still stalking Jana, sneakily filming her at every given opportunity before retiring to his hotel room to sweat.
After indulging in a tearful Pot Noodle obviously.

Realising quite late on that he's in a film about movie making but he hasn't met a single clichéd and oh so slightly offensive Jewish mogal yet, Vinny calls Marty Bernestein (Hollywood Blue writer Goldenberg) to ask if he'd be willing promote 'Death Wears a Second Hand Thong'.

Maybe by wearing a second hand thong.

Or a t-shirt bearing the title.

Alongside a thong.

Marty, putting taste before profit declines before heading off to an important meeting with Scream director Stanley Kline (the films real-life director and former West Side Story gang banger A-Rab, Winters, honestly you couldn't make this shite up or make it any more confusing) and his 'personal assistant' Susan Archer (the covergirl of the May 1970 issue of Playboy - Vol. 17, Issue 5, pg. 137-141 for anyone interested - and star of the fantastic Boy and His Dog Benton).

It appears that all three of them have received the same note as Jana and Bret.

But more upsetting that the note is the fact that they didn't receive any nice flowers with it.

In my eyes the only thing worse than a murdering psychotic bastard is a tight  murdering psychotic bastard.

Phew, I'm glad to get that off my chest finally.


The reason I know so much about that issue? I own it. 




With all the threatening notes, murders and obscene amounts of unnecessary   footage of topless starlets going about Marty decides to head down to the local police station and ask for some help.

Unfortunately all the police in France are foreign and show no interest in doing an honest days detecting, preferring to blame Marty for Bret's disappearance, accusing it of being a cheap publicity before snubbing their noses and such unworthy cinema as the horror genre then going home to burn British beef, watch Jerry Lewis 'comedies' and await the next chance to surrender to someone.*

Some French police yesterday deciding who should surrender to the wee boy first.


Heading back to his hotel to count his money and train a group of Victorian pick-pockets, Marty is (fairly) surprised to find a letter from Bret on his doormat.

It seems the alleged dead man wants to meet him at a local screening room to watch a film.

Bizarre.

When Marty shows up tho' it's all revealed to be a crazy misunderstanding as instead of Bret being there to meet him, he's greeted by a hooded figure wielding an axe.

Nice firm tummy, stunning breasts, fanny made from bananas.


With Vinny getting angrier by the minute and shouting at strippers whilst more and more of Jana's companions are being threatened in a variety of bizarre and brutal (well, just brutal really) ways, nervous (but still bouncy) Susan begs Stanley to leave Cannes with her that very night but Stan (being either immune to her charms or gay) convinces her that it'll be safer to stay a while longer.

Or at least until they've attended the premiere of For Your Eyes Only, as Stan has heard that it's a throwback to the old style of Bond movies before the gadgets took precedence over plot.

Bond: Back to basics.


Neither of them have the chance to find out tho' as that evening Stanley is stabbed to death by the hooded figure (well technically he's stabbed to death by a knife but you know what I mean) whilst a fleeing (and still very bouncy) Susan falls off a hotel roof after being shot in the arse by a pellet gun.

Every death twitch and scream filmed by the killers hidden camera.

Meanwhile across town, Vinny has stopped sweating for just long enough to buy a bottle of cheap plonk and break into Jana's hotel room, hoping this surprise gesture will win her over to appearing in his movie.

Stepping out of the shower (her golden thighs glistening in the harsh light of the uncovered 70 watt bulb), Jana is - not too surprisingly, a phrase that's been banded about a lot during this review, unlike the phrase 'utter fucking shite' which I'll no doubt get to later - none to impressed to find a pencil mustached pock faced perv sitting on the edge of her bed vigorously rubbing a champagne bottle so politely asks him to leave.

"Put it in me!"
This brush off, whilst fairly acceptable to us normal folk annoys the buggery out of the by now quite understandably fractious Vinny who, in retaliation smashes the bottle and threatens poor Jana with the jagged edge.

Is this really how Hollywood contracts are made?

Luckily the doorbell rings and scares Vinny momentarily (he obviously only has a knocker at home), giving Jana enough time to kick him in the happy sacks and leg it down the hotel corridor clad only in a towel.

Let's take a moment to picture this enduring image.

Yum.

Vinny, not content with taking "Fuck off you mentalist!" as an answer gives chase and is only stopped from catching the wet one when a group of photographers get him to pose for some photographs.

By this time Jana has come across (easy tiger!) Alan and after she explains the situation, our ginger prince offers to take her to a remote castle owned by his musician 'friend' Jonathan (Casey, the films associate producer) where she'll be safe from any mentalists lurking around.

Sorted.

But the next day, as Alan drives Jana to the castle of relative safety in the French countryside who should be following them but dear old Vinny.

You know that someone is going to 'accidentally' cop it in the next ten minutes when Vinny (who's gone from scary stalker to real-life Mr. Bump) breaks in hoping to get five minutes with Jana don't you?

Yup, alas poor Jonathan we hardly knew you.

Or cared if I'm honest.

Well the rest of the cast don't because as soon as they realisinge that they've been nominated for the coveted 'Scariest Picture of The Year' award for Scream (still not that one) our debonair duo return to Cannes for the ceremony, putting their lives on the line in the hope of winning the gold (plated) statuette, £75 spending money and two nights in Saltcoats.

On the way into the hastily decorated bingo hall being used to host the ceremony however they fail to notice the pock faced, sweaty policeman standing at the front door.

"You'll never shite in mah mooth ya bastard!"


Waiting outside the gents whilst Alan has a particularly painful bowel movement, Vinny manages to chloroform Jana before bundling her into the back of a car and driving all the way back to the castle.

It seems he has a final scene to film for his ultimate horror movie....

But from the shadows a mysterious hooded, camera carrying figure is watching quietly as the events unfold...



Multi-faceted Director/writer/producer/dancer David Winters (alongside co-writers Judd Hamilton and Tom Klassen) took Cannes by storm way back in 1981when they made the (fairly) bold and undeniably cheap decision to film The Last Horror Film without permits and guerrilla style on the towns streets actually during the festival.

And hats off to them for it because despite the low budget, pants dubbing and community halls posing as top range screening rooms they managed to produce quite a nifty little thriller with enough twists to keep you watching even when your brain is yelling turn it off.

Re-teaming the munchy cult starlet Munro and the criminally underrated Spinell from the murkily mucky William Lustig murder frenzy Maniac whilst populating the rest of the movie with various real life members of the crew adds a an almost surrealist quality to the film, aided as it is by the snatched footage of 'real life' stars arriving at screenings and on red carpets.

This blurring of reality and fiction is nowhere near as obvious as in the movies opening scenes where Spinell is seen reading an issue of Starburst Magazine that has a cover feature about the film he's actually acting in at that very moment.

It's like a lo-fi Charlie Kaufman slasher that seems to have popped thru' a crack in space/time from that weird alternate universe where Doctor Who was never cancelled, someone with a smidgen of talent illustrated the original Arrow DVD release of Inferno and where The Last Jedi wasn't shit.

Yes, it's that strange an experience.

But one I urge you to search out if you haven't already.


I'll be the first to admit that yes, it might be cheaper than your mum and tackier than your bed sheets but The Last Horror Film has a special kind of eighties charm that perfectly encapsulates the time and place wherein it was made.

Plus you get to see Caroline Munro in a towel.

And that's gotta be worth a quid of anyone's money.




























*I'd just like to point out that this is a JOKE. I actually love our French cousins and apologize wholeheartedly for Brexit. 

Tho' I've still not forgiven Cécile Fournier obviously.


Wednesday, July 24, 2019

"like tears in the rain."

RiP Rutger Hauer.

Listening to this in tribute.


Sunday, July 14, 2019

horrorday on the buses


With the girls off on holiday this week it's left to me and the boy child to amuse ourselves so seeing as they've gone by coach I thought I'd show him what they can expect by re-watching this beauty.

Yup it's the frankly fangtastic (sorry couldn't resist) La Orgia Nocturna de los Vampiros.

As an aside did you know that for years I'd had to put up with watching a horribly chewed VHS copy of the movie seeing as no-one could be arsed giving it a proper DVD release.

Until about two years ago when whilst out shopping for pants  I found this little beauty lurking on a shelf just behind a copy of Night Train Murders.

And for only 3 quid too.

Bargain.

Trackings dodgy mate!


Well it would have been had, upon watching, it'd not become obvious that Fusion Media Sales had in fact broken into my house and just transferred my copy onto disc.

Via an old sock.

It's even got chews on it.

It's still bloody brilliant tho'.

Even the academic types think so seeing as someone actually delivered a paper on it at a conference a few years back.

I know.

I was there.

And I'd traveled by coach too.

Spooky.

La Orgia Nocturna de los Vampiros (AKA The Vampires Night Orgy. 1973) 
Dir: Leòn Klimovsky.
Cast: Jack Taylor, Dianik Zurakowska, Charo Soriano, Helga Liné, José Guardiola, Manuel de Blas, David Aller, Indio González, Luis Ciges, Antonio Páramo, María Vidal, Sandalio Hernández, Fernando Bilbao, Alfonso de la Vega, Rafael Albaicín, Reg Varney, Fernando E. Romero and Sarita Gil.


”The Countess says you can continue your work, with one arm!”



It's a sunny day in seventies Spain, Stan Butler anxious to get away from Blakey's constant complaining has decided to get a summer job driving a motley band of agency employees to their new jobs at a huge country estate and hopefully pull some dolly birds along the way.

Unfortunately whilst still 110 km from their destination, Stan suffers a massive heart attack and without his buck toothed pal Jack to perform a complicated heart massage procedure dies.

"Ere Jack...I can't feel my fingers!"



Luckily the passengers manage to stop the bus before anyone else is killed, regaining their composure and calling a meeting over what action to take.

Ferret-like gardener Terry Godo (former governor of Santander, Ciges) volunteers to take little Violet Smallgirl (Gil, later to grace our screens in the fantastic Esposa y amante) off the bus (as opposed to up the casino) whilst the rest of the passengers hurriedly carry poor Stan to the back seats before draping a dirty blanket over him.

Oh the indignity of it all.

Whilst all this stiff shuffling is going down Violet heads off to explore the local rocks where she bumps into a bowl haired, snub nosed little boy named Jeremy (star of Profesor Eróticus and director of Dawn of The Dead Romero) who invites her to play with him in the nearby quarry.

Until he gets bored and vanishes into thin air that is.

Some scary titles yesterday.

After much discussion and flailing of arms the passengers decide to head to the nearby village of Tolnio in order to find food and more importantly dispose of Stan seeing as the Brylcreem from his quiff is now dripping down the seats and staining the floors.

On arrival tho' our reluctant travelers realize that the entire place is empty, save for internationally renowned brush salesman Luis (Taylor from Polanski's The Ninth Gate), who instantly takes a liking to the harsh faced yet pleasantly breasted Alma (Scrabble scoring Zurakowska, star of such quality fare as Dracula, the Terror of the Living Dead....yes I know it's bizarre but these folk did indeed go on to have careers).

Helping themselves to the local hotels supply of crisps and booze it's not long before everyone is passed out, either draped across chairs in the bar or sprawled across the beds in one of the rooms.

Brits abroad eh?

Although to be honest they're not Brits they're Spanish.

And in Spain.

I didn't really think that thru' did I?

Let's just forget about it and move on.

Thanks.

Anyway back to the action where lecherous Luis has discovered that not only his is room right next to Alma's but there's a spy hole in the wall giving him (and us) ample opportunity to ogle her frighteningly conical breasts.

Ding dong.

Not everyone of the bus is a sex pest tho', there are a couple of honest-to-goodness alcoholics too, including the pie-eyed plumbers mate Ernesto (former Looney Tunes star Gonzálezis) who is too preoccupied with finding more booze to think about sleeping (or shagging) and wanders off into the village in the hope of finding an off-licence or 24 hour garage.

Imagine his surprise then when instead he finds every resident of the village having a party in the local graveyard.

And if that wasn't enough to tingle your spine imagine his reaction when he discovers that they're all vampires.

Now how's he gonna explain that to my nan?

"Hello there hen....fancy a wee bit o' mooth shite-in?"

Next morning and our heroes are woken by the shock haired local mayor, Boris Van Johnson (Guardiola), who helpfully explains the village's earlier emptiness was due to them all attending the town librarians funeral but not to worry because they're all welcome for as long as they wish to stay and that their bills will all be paid for by the Countess (the utterly gorgeous Liné from the classic Las garras de Lorelei) who lives in a house, a very big house overlooking Tolnio.

No, nothing sinister here at all then.

But for the mayor there are more important things to worry about, like what to feed everyone with seeing as the whole village appears to be devoid of shops.

"Can we fix it? No it's fucked!"


Turns out that he actually has a plan for such an occurrence (can you imagine the town meeting? "First order of the day, what to do if a bus  load of non vampire tourists turn up unannounced")  and soon has the town giant (Drácula contra Frankenstein star and uncle of Frodo, Bilbao) chopping off various bits of townsfolk to serve to the travelers.

Which is kinda sweet if you think about it.

But let's not forget that this is a horror movie not some feel good community caper so to add an air of uncomfortable menace to the proceedings (that doesn't involve Bri-Nylon slacks) who should reappear unannounced - and without having a wash the stinking bastard - why only Ernesto, all grey-faced, poo stained and scabby necked.

Exactly like your dad after his works Christmas party.

And his excuse for staying out all night?

Well according to it he's been busy burying Stan, tho' his pal Marcos Tandy (Paranormal Xperience 3D's de Blas) jokingly reckons from the size of his stomach he's probably eaten him.

If only he knew eh?

Invited to dine with the Countess our merry band enjoy a polite evening of stilted chat, sloppy dubbing and vaguely human shaped meat until the clock chimes midnight when she bids them farewell.

All that is except wannabe actor and stud for hire Cesar (Aller from Krakatoa: East of Java, the film not the place ) who after shoddily reciting a wee bit of Shakespeare gets to shake his own spear in the Countess' bed.

By that I mean they indulged in the sex.

Rather than a post-coital cuddle and a fag tho' the Countess leaps on the poor fella, biting his neck before tossing him out of the window to the awaiting mass of hungry villagers below.

Usually when that's happened to me I just get given a false telephone number.

"Is it in yet?"


As day makes way to night, more and more of the travelers succumb to the villagers vile curse and with Luis no longer content to just crack one off whilst spying on Alma undressing, our peephole pal must find a means of escape for him and his squeeze to be...

Will they fix the car and escape?

Will the hotel ever replenish it's stock of pork scratchings?

Will Luis get his end away or be cursed to a life of furtive masturbation at bus stops?

And what is the secret ingredient of Boris' ‘special drink’?

Well I'm not telling.

Whoever designed this cover, I hope your parents are proud.


From the late, great Leon Klimovsky, the man behind the Paul Naschy starrers The Werewolf Vs. Vampire Woman and Dr. Jekyll Vs. The Werewolf comes this frankly bonkers tale of fangs, fiends and migrant workers that plays out like Carry On Abroad as envisaged by Jean Rollin.

There may not be any actual night orgies and only one true vampire but when a movie features so many close-ups of slobbering gypsy mouths, crooked European teeth and unkempt seventies bush as this you really can't complain.

Well obviously you could but I for one would ignore you.

And so what if the plots been done to death a thousand times before by the likes of 2000 Maniacs and The Grapes Of Death, it's rarely done with so much flair and grace by a cast that scarily decides to play the whole thing totally straight.

And I for one are grateful.

Plus it features Helga Liné in a set of comedy pound shop vampire teeth and a chiffon nightie, take from that what you will.


Hook, Liné and tinker.



A masterpiece of holiday horror from start to finish, like Withnail And I stumbling drunkenly into the plot of I Am Legend, La Orgia Nocturna de los Vampiros should be on the top of every bodies top ten Spanish Vampire films set in towns and featuring trapped bus passengers lists.


Well it is in mine.


For a film that cost tuppence to make  the locations are surprisingly creepy, the luscious ladies are perfect Euro-vamps personified and the script is just the right side of dream-like, never wandering into the 'dubbed into incomprehensibility' badlands that many lo-fi Euroshockers end up in.

Glorious.

Unlike the DVD transfer.

Saturday, July 13, 2019

bits n bobs.

Ended up watching this as part of our Friday Night FaceBook along (tho' we watched it on a Sunday for added shits and giggles) and had actually forgotten how utterly fantastic/shite it is.

Well that was worth typing.

Pieces (AKA Mil Gritos Tiene La Noche, 1982).
Dir: Juan Piquer 'Simon'.
Cast: Christopher George, Linda Day George, Frank Braña, Paul L. Smith, Edmund Purdom, Ian Sera, Jack Taylor, Isabelle Luque, Gérard Tichy, Hilda Fuchs, May Heatherly, Alejandro Hernández, Roxana Nieto, Cristina Cottrelli, Leticia Marfil, Silvia Gambino, Carmen Aguado and Paco Alvez.


Now look, professor, I don’t want to wait for the coroner’s opinion, so can you give me yours? Could this killing have been done with a chainsaw like that one over there?


Our story opens in the year 1942 in a house somewhere in sunny Boston where the 10-year-old tank top sporting Timmy (Hernández, who scarily enough actually went on to have some sort of career outside homemade gay porn) is busying himself with a jigsaw puzzle of a nude lady.

A nude lady with a very noticeable 1970s style bush and Farrah-like flicked haircut.

Who knew that Bostonians were such trendsetters?

But obviously this childish fun can't last and when his mum (Heatherly, best know for playing a nurse in Cannibal Apocalypse) walks in and catches him in the act our poor pre-teen chum has no alternative but to bludgeon her (to death) with a handy axe before sawing up her body with a handy hacksaw of the kind we all kept in our bedroom as boys.

Just me then?

Worried when her sister doesn't meet up for bingo night, Timmy's aunt arrives at the house with the police (bizarrely it seems portrayed by the Super Mario Brothers) in tow to discover Timmy cowering in a cupboard and his mums remains scattered and smeared around the room.

Not wanting to get in trouble Timmy blurts out that a "bad boy done it and ran away!" before crying into his aunts dress.

Bless.

Surprisingly for a horror movie, the police believe him and pack the boy off  to live with his aunt whilst arresting the first black guy/Hispanic/illegal for the crime.

The end.



Put it in me!



Not really - which is a pity - instead we jump forward forty years to find a black-clad figure furtively opening an old crisp box containing not only Timmy's mum's blood stain dress (alongside a handy photograph of her wearing it) but also the unfinished (still? really? after 40 years? I mean it's not like it's one of those 2000 piece jobs with a picture of baked beans on it) jigsaw puzzle.

There's little chance to ponder the meaning of such things tho' as we're soon away across town as the camera perversely focuses on Roxana Nieto's - albeit - peachy arse and smooth milky thighs as she lies - oh so naturally - on the grass outside the university busily studying for her quantum mechanics cum brain surgery exam.

Somewhere to park your bike.

Being a loosely plotted exploitation piece more interested in blood and boobs than anything remotely resembling a plot she's swiftly decapitated with a chainsaw by an shadowy figure clad in a large hat and welding goggles who escapes into the bushes with her head just as the hunky Lt. Brick Bracken (George from City of The Living Dead and your mum's dreams) and his partner Sgt. Randy Holden (Braña from The Story of O 2 - as in the sequel to The Story of O not a documentary about the phone company) arrive to investigate a complaint from an old lady about the noise.


And again, just because.



Finding no sign of any witnesses or any clues as to why someone would want to steal a teenagers head the pair head along to see the college's Dean, Axel Foley (Purdom who appeared to be in every low budget movie made between about 1950 and 1989) to see if he has any clue as to why the girl was targeted.

Remembering that she had a fairly pert arse he sends them off to chat with the college's anatomy lecturer, former pop star - and part-time student shagger - the sinister Professor Arthur Brown (genre stalwart Taylor), who upon denying any knowledge - carnal or otherwise - of the girl tries to make it up to them by giving them a guided tour of the campus and a chance to meet the students who will become the various victims of the killer as the story progresses.

Which I must admit is quite useful.

But unbeknown to our cool cop heroes, as all this chat is going down the college groundskeeper, Willie (Smith, from Popeye and Dune) is watching with a mad glint in his eye as he busies himself trimming some bush.

With a chainsaw.

A chainsaw that looks awfully similar to the killer's.

Hmmm.

Sorry - I have my woman's period.

But we can't be spending too much time with sinister chainsaw wielding weirdos as we have to get back to those pesky sex obsessed students, especially the boss-eyed 'Danny' Kendall James (actor and producer Sera, best known for Extra Terrestrial Visitors and Marine Issue - no me neither) who has just received a note from the blonde bombshell - OK bombsite - Jenny (Former Ms Spain 1981 Cottrelli) asking him to meet her in the swimming pool for some of 'the sex'.

Unfortunately the killer comes across the note and arrives first, sticking something far sharper - and bigger - into Jenny before chainsawing her into tiny pieces and stealing her torso.

But not the film Torso which is unfortunate as they may have watched it and learned at least how to light stuff properly if nothing else.

And if that wasn't enough poor Willie, who just happens to be passing by, and - after a really shit slow fight that wouldn't even have passed muster in Blake's 7 - is arrested.



But the real victim in all this is poor Kendall who is fairly upset and not getting laid, so Lt. Brack - being a nice guy - sends him off to see Dr. Kat Jennings (Tichy, look him up yourself if you're that bothered cos I'm not) to talk about stuff and hopefully get an idea of who is responsible for all those bad murders and maybe, just maybe do a wee bit of investigating for them himself.

Which seems a wee bit of an odd way to investigate a crime but what do I know.

To help him in his investigation Kendall is teamed up with undercover cop extraordinaire plus former tennis player Mary Riggs (George, wife of the other George and mother of Boy George) who will be posing as a tennis instructor at the college with Kendall working as her ball boy.

Which is quite lucky as that night she's attacked by a tiny Chinese man as she walks home and it's Kendall who comes to her rescue.

As opposed to over her arse obviously.

Fear not tho' as it wasn't the killer but just the local Kung Fu instructor who is suffering from hallucinations after eating a dodgy chop suey.

No, really.

That's not the only trouble brewing because wouldn't you know it, an evil faced reporter, Sylvia Costa (Luque) has also arrived on campus and is determined to solve the case herself even if it puts everyone else in danger.


"IT'S CCCCHHHHHRRRRIIISSSSTTTMMMAAASSS!"


Luckily for us but not for the females on campus she's really shite at her job so the killer gets ample opportunity to carry on his murder spree, taking out a disco dancing dollybird before stabbing Sylvia to death on a handy (or should that be wobbly?) waterbed that they keep in the basement.

On a roll now (and knowing the film is nearing its climax) the killer strikes again, this time butchering Mary's tennis partner before stealing her legs much to the chagrin of Mary and Kendall who are spending way too much time gazing uncomfortably at each other rather than, ooh I don't know, trying to catch a murderer maybe.

Returning to the police station for tea and biscuits the pair are angry to discover that groundskeeper Willie has been let free mainly due to the fact that he's Innocent so, in order to have something to do, decide to start investigating other faculty staff members after Kendall realises that the killer commits his crimes during break periods and when no-one is looking.

Imagine a particularly shite episode of Columbo then lobotomize it and you'll be halfway to seeing how basic this whodunnit plot is.

Seriously I feel like I'm losing brain functions just writing it all down.



Fair enough.


And wouldn't you know it but after spending literally, oooh minutes,  searching thru' the staff files they discover that the Dean's name isn't really Axel Foley but Timmy Foley, just like the boy who chopped up his mum at the movies beginning.

It couldn't be could it?

There's only one way to find out.

Yup Mary decides to go alone to his apartment that very night to check it/him out.

Without telling anyone obviously.

Will she arrest the Dean and bring him to justice or will she get slapped then drugged whilst he attempts to steal her feet to completed his dead flesh sex doll cum mother replacement?

Will Bracken, Holden, and Kendall arrive in time to save her because as we all know girls are rubbish at crime fighting.

And after everything is all wrapped up will the jigsaw corpse inexplicably come to live and attempt to steal Kendall's testicles?




From Spain's very own (lo-fi) Orson Welles comes quite possibly the most inane, insane and downright shite slasher ever committed to celluloid.

Nonsensical, in every way the film lurches from one ever more unrelated and bizarre set piece to another with no care for logic, plotting or good taste.

 which bizarrely enough is probably the reason why it's so bloody brilliant.

It's almost as if director Juan Piquer Simon - who in case you didn't know also gave us the cheese-string superhero epic Supersonic Man, the Peter Cushing and Terence Stamp travesty Mystery on Monster Island, the ET bothering Extra-Terrestrial Visitors* as well as the oh so slightly homo-erotic Slugs among others -  had a bet going with the producers where they put random characters and situations into a hat and each day he'd pick one and have to put it in the movie for fear of not getting paid.

Or at very least getting the bumps behind the catering truck.

If there was a catering truck that is but I wouldn't be surprised if everyone had to bring their own sandwiches.**

To be honest that's the only reason I can think of as to why so much of it makes absolutely no sense. 

For example, in the establishing shot of the campus, there's a tiny-shorted girl riding a skateboard badly, wobbling about as she rolls down the street to a feel good score. 

Meanwhile further down the road a couple of guys are slowly carrying a huge sheet of glass that the girl crashes into (in glorious slow motion) screaming as she does.

And that's it, we never see or hear about her ever again because hey we've got Roxana Nieto's peachy arse to perv over.

Which if I'm honest is a much better prospect than having to listen to Love Ist OK!!, the 'sexy' song and dance she performed on the Spanish TV equivalent of Summertime Special.***

Yer maw.


And don't get me started on the surprise cameo appearance by stunt man, convicted fraudster and Bruce Lee alike Bruce Le.

Yup the 'star' of Challenge of the Tiger, Bruce, King of Kung Fu, Infra-Man and Return of Bruce appears for no other reason than the film’s producer - exploitation king and low rent Roger Corman - Dick Randall decided that with Kung Fu being quite popular that he should be in it.

Utter genius from start to finish.

































*The bedroom belonging to Tommy (the wee pube-haired boy who befriends the alien) in this movie is actually the very same bedroom set previously used in Pieces.

But cleaned up a fair bit obviously.




**And I bet Edmund Purdom's were egg and cress.




***Oh you actually want to see it?


You're welcome.

Friday, July 12, 2019

davie says: warbeck, hide yourself.

They've re-released Apocalypse Now! (again) and I'm sick of hearing how it's the greatest war movie ever made...

But it's not.

This is.

L’Ultimo cacciatore (AKA The Last Hunter, Hunter of the Apocalypse. 1980).
Dir. Antonio Margheriti
Cast: David Warbeck, Tisa Farrow, Tony King, Sir Bobby of Rhodes, John Steiner, some Chinamen and Margit Evelyn Newton.



The time: 1973, the place: a wee drinking club somewhere in downtown Saigon where the suave and sweaty Colonel Morris Minor (horror god and almost Bond, the late great Dame David Warbeck) has decided to spend his day off.

Enjoying warm booze and watching a bored Vietnamese whore trying to dance in an erotic manner (and failing miserably, poor cow) our heroes lazy day is rudely interrupted by his young male 'friend' Steve's sudden emotional breakdown.

Don't you hate it when that happens?

Steve, it seems, is rapidly approaching the tearful wank based Pot Noodle stage due in part to his missis leaving him but mainly because the scarily skinny prostitute lying across his bare chest is obsessed with stroking his hairy man breasts.

We've all been there.

After resigning himself to the fact that it's gonna be his job to clean up all the sweat, egg, semen and blood stains later whilst poor Steve dribbles in a ditch, you can imagine Morris' surprise when his forlorn pal suddenly sobers up and shoots some random GI in the face before offing himself.

And if that wasn't enough to ruin our heroes Saturday night somebody then decides to firebomb the club.

War it seems, is indeed hell.

Luckily for us (and for the film in general) Morris quickly legs it before the whole place goes up in cheap gin and piss soaked flames, watching in horror (or with mild apathy, I couldn't really tell) as everyone else is burnt to death.


Warbeck: You would
(tho' he'd probably not give you a choice).





There's no time for tears tho' because the top brass are sending Morris behind enemy lines.

As opposed to forcing him into the enemies mouth.

And his mission?

Jump out of what looks like the BBC outside broadcast helicopter into a small duck pond and meet up with the hard as nails 'Bastard Squad'.

This crack commando team, led by the badass Sgt. George Washington (king, from Cannibal Apocalypse and The Atlantis Interceptors) and his pal Carlos Santana (the legendary Rhodes) have orders to quietly traipse thru' the directors garden in order to 'silence' (they may mean blow up) a radio tower broadcasting evil propaganda messages telling the American soldiers to go home.

And it seems that they need Morris to join them as he once worked for Radio 2 as a continuity announcer or something.

So far so Heart of Darkness.

Throwing himself out of the plane and narrowly avoiding a rubber snake (or was that a real snake and a rubber Warbeck?) upon landing, Morris manages to find Washington and company without a hitch only to discover that they're dragging top lady reporter Jane Foster (Farrow, the slightly sleazier - not to say considerably more ginger sister of Mia) around with them for no other reason than that she must have been shooting another film nearby at the same time.

Which is fair enough I guess but does make you keep wondering when the zombies are going to attack.


Farrow: harsh.




Taking time to go the scenic route (and fill out the movie's length) our motley crew come across a small village populated by tiny, machine gun wielding Vietnamese woman with a nice line in exploding babies to shoot at.

Unfortunately Washington is wounded in the ensuing firefight meaning our heroes have to retreat into the jungle or face getting beaten by girls.

Cue twenty odd minutes of rotting corpses falling from trees, Tisa Farrow's sweaty nipples becoming more and more visible thru' her vest top and various members of the team getting pinned to trees by big spiky booby traps.

But alas still no zombies.

Or even cannibals for that matter.

But this lack of flesh eater action is the least of Warbeck's worries, seeing as the base camp (well base cave really) he has to report to on the final leg of his mission seems to be run by the scary bloke from Sparks (skinny legged Argento regular Steiner) and that all the soldiers under his command are off their tits on drugs.

To show how stoned they actually are  - and how the horrors of war can warp a man -  the entire camp start rubbing themselves up and wolf whistling when Tisa Farrow turns up.

I'd just like to point out that I'm in no way saying she's not attractive but she's standing next to a wet David Warbeck clad only in a vest and too tight combats.

And that's enough to turn anyones head.

Luckily for Tisa, Major Sparks - despite being camp as pants and having little thin rubber legs - is actually a rather nice man and at the first sign of any Donald Trump style behavior from his troops send those responsible pole vaulting behind enemy lines to fetch him a coconut or two.



"Look! a telescope with a mouse in it!"




But this jolly japery can't last forever and it's not too long before the oft-mentioned 'Charlie' (a character we never learn the true identity of) attack the cave system, kidnap Tisa and machine gun everyone inside.

Except for Morris and his buddies obviously.

Escaping to the local boating pond, Carlos is cruelly killed whilst stealing a junk (as opposed to firing it everywhere) whilst Washington clumsily trips over a corpse and snaps his leg in half, giving him and Morris a wee chance to discuss the futility of war and stuff.

After a series of meaningful glances Morris jumps overboard (either to continue his mission or because he can't stand anymore of the incredibly stilted and frighteningly clichéd dialogue), leaving Washington at the mercy of the Viet Cong machine gun nests serendipitously hidden around the next bend.

Which is a bit of a bastardy thing to do if you think about it.


"Aya! Mah BCG!"




With a look of grim determination (or constipation, it's hard to tell) Morris continues further into the jungle, alone and armed with only a kids spud gun and a sweat mottled pair of man breasts, determined to complete his mission before heading home for tea and crumpets.

Nice as this idea is it soon all goes tits up when he's captured by the ever present Charlie and dumped shoe-less in a rat infested water cage with only a man with a melted cheese face for company.

Can anyone help our hero?

Well Tisa's sitting sipping rice tea in a holiday chalet overlooking the prison (and the rent) so hopefully she'll get up off her fat arse and finally add something to the plot....

But will she be able to waddle down to rescue Morris before the rats begin to nibble on his man bits?

"Hey Tisa, is that your
brother in law shagging your niece?"






Genre busting genius Antonio (Bed of a Thousand Pleasures, Cannibal Apocalypse, Yor, the Hunter from the Future and Code Name: Wild Geese amongst others) Margheriti's The Last Hunter has everything Apocalypse Now! should have had (including a considerably shorter running time) and much more.

Except zombies unfortunately but you can't have everything.

It's pedigree is second to none featuring as it does star turns from Fulci faves David Warbeck and Tisa Farrow aided and abetted by a top cast of Italian icons including Bobby (Demoni) Rhodes, John (Tenebrae) Steiner and Margit Evelyn (Zombie Creeping Flesh) Newton.

Behind the scenes it has cult composer Franco (everything from Black Demons to music featured on the Death Proof and Ren and Stimpy show soundtracks) Micalizzi's sexy synth sounds and craftily crude special effects from the Philipino Savini himself Apollonio Abadesa.


"Fuck me! a wasp!"




And although Margheriti's entire career seems to have consisted of making cheap knock offs of bigger, more famous movies the director didn't seem to mind, giving his all and making the most of the motley assortment of the clichéd characters and situations in evidence.

From the hard bitten soldiers to the snatches of inappropriate nudity via scenes of extreme violence, Margheriti also manages to fill the movie with just enough cod "war is hell" speeches to almost convince you that you're actually watching something worthwhile and meaningful as opposed to just sitting eagerly awaiting the next over the top death scene or the chance of a quick look at Tisa Farrow's (admittedly) rather shapely breasts.

And if that doesn't get you salivating then I don't know what will.

Quite possibly THE greatest Vietnam based war movie starring David Warbeck ever made.

And you can't get higher praise than that.

Wednesday, July 10, 2019

shiver my timbers.

Been feeling really down lately so needed an old friend to cheer me up.

Unfortunately I don't know any real people so had to settle on a film instead.

Le Frisson Des Vampires (1971 AKA Sex and the Vampire, Strange Things Happen at Night, The Shiver of the Vampires, The Terror of the Vampires, Thrill of the Vampires, Vampire Thrills)
Dir: Jean Rollin.
Cast: Sandra Julien, Jean-Marie Durand, Jacques Robiolles, Michel Delahaye, Marie-Pierre Tricot, Kuelan Herce, Nicole Nancel and 'Dominique'.

The issue of Starburst with this
on the back cover
got confiscated during my lunchbreak
by my form teacher.
Bastard.



Our story opens (well it's not our story if I'm honest it's Monique Natan and Jean Rollins seeing as they wrote it but you know what I mean) somewhere in the French countryside where just outside a creepy castle, two of the dirtiest - and not in a good way -  laydees this side of Glasgow city centre on a Saturday night (moonheaded blonde poppet and teen crush Tricot alongside the toothsome, lank haired  Herce) gaze on drunkenly as the skinny minnie Isabelle (the slightly less sozzled but even more disease ridden Nancel) single handedly pops a couple of caskets into a cardboard crypt wall.

Yup definitely a Domfront gal.

Beanz meanz yeast infectionz.



Bored with staring aimlessly into the middle distance our toothsome twosome decide to go visit the castle tower in order to gaze instead at a couple of men that just happen to be chained to the wall, the stakes thru their chests making the two unfortunate fellas look like novelty coat hangers.

With his dying breath the one that can act (kind of) tells the maids to hurry to the graveyard and stake anybody who has died within the last week in case they turn into vampires.

Nodding in unison like a pair of novelty pug bookends the pair race to the cemetery.

I hope you're following this as scarily it's way more complicated to summarize this shite than to watch it.

Anyway on arriving at the graveyard the pervy pair are shocked (well apathetic) to see that the sultry Isolde (the mysterious - and painfully skinny - 'Dominique') has already risen from her grave.

And been busying herself tucking in to jam sandwiches by the look of her lips.

Recognizing a good deal when they see it - and by good deal I mean a chance to strip naked and coyly touch each others breasts -  the girls forget all about this vampire business and instead offer to serve the undead Isolde (alongside a couple of camp French blokes - are there any other kind? - who just happened to be hanging around) and help them entice unwary travelers to the house so that they may drink their blood.

And that quite frankly is why Brexit happened basically.


Dominique: up the casino, Benidorm, 1964.


With all that backstory and set up out of the way it's time to start the film good and proper and to that end we're introduced to the beautiful (and not to mention germ free) Ise (Julien, ask your dad) and her greasy mulleted husband Antoine (the rat-like Durand, ask your mum) who've just arrived at the castle after getting married.

Which begs the question what is it about European vampires and their obsession with newly weds visiting castles

Anyway it appears that Ise reckoned it'd be a good idea to combine her honeymoon with a visit to her overtly camp cousins.

As you do.

Plus as luck would have it another cousin died in the castle recently so it means she has a chance to have a wee cry about that whilst she's there too.

No doubt her new hubby is really happy with this plan but it's hard to tell seeing as he just stands there grinning and shuffling about uncomfortably in what looks like his dads suit.

Her unnamed cousins (Delahaye - tall, silver haired, lip wristed and fish lipped and Robiolles - lank haired, limper wristed and poppy eyed) seem way too happy to see little Ise and after much hugging, hair stroking, lip licking and knowing looks settle down for a slap up meal.

Davison and McGann are upset to hear that
David Tennant has all the best lines in the
75th Anniversary special 'The Nth Doctor'.


With a full tummy and a head full of grief at her (other) cousins' recent death, Ise goes all stroppy and makes Antoine sleep on the sofa.

Yup sounds like a normal wedding night.

Annoyed at not getting the chance to consummate their marriage but not wanting to come across as an unfeeling brute (or even just come across one....he's not that frustrated...yet) her hubby huffs n' shrugs before settling down for the night with a good book and the dog blanket whilst Ise drapes herself across the bed before adopting the patented horror film saucy virgin pose.

Wiggling and moaning in that sexily sweaty way that only girls in 1970's Eurohorror shlockers can, Ise is rudely awoken at midnight by Isolde noisily stepping out of a grandfather clock and our flaxen haired heroine is immediately entranced by this druggy (sorry, dusky) beauty.

Snoopy.


Isolde wastes no time in taking Ise up the cemetery (ooeer), where she uncomfortably fondles her breasts before biting her neck.

Ise's descent into darkness (and lipstick lesbianism) has begun.

Finally.

I mean come on, this is the only reason we're watching isn't it?

Marie-Pierre Tricot - dreamy.



Pity poor Antoine tho', the more he tries to get into his blushing brides - massive - pants the more distant and cold she becomes and, adding insult to injury whilst he's getting a crick neck from spending every night on the sofa she's getting bitten and fondled by her new vampiric lover.

Antoine's frustrations are soon at bursting point (and that's not all that's bursting from the way he's walking) and therefore, - in an effort to take his mind of his wifes admittedly peachy arse, decides to fill his days wandering aimlessly round the castle grounds shooting indiscriminately at pigeons.

This at least has the effect of bringing the couple together for a few minutes as every time he shoots one of the poor little buggers Ise darts out of the shadows and drinks its blood.

A classy date and no mistaking.


Hairy arse not shown.




Unfortunately for Antoine - but not for those of us that like a wee bit of early 70's girl on girl teasing - Ise is becoming more and more distant as she slowly transforms into a creature of the night.

By that I mean a vampire, not a taxi driver.

Tho' it is a fairly honorable and well loved profession so who am I to judge? 

Things may be about to chage tho' as one day as she's skulking about the castle Ise stumbles across Isolde's coffin sitting dangerously close to an open sunlit window.

Will she come to her senses, open the casket and kill Isolde or will she embrace (quite literally) her feminine side and complete her transformation into a saucy vampire vixen?

Go on, guess.



What your mum really gets up to at bingo nights.



As is the way with such films, you wait 30 minutes for a plot twist and two come at once, you see after years of serving their undead masters the two maids have actually been planning a way to escape from their nightmarish existence of serving drinks, fondling each other on a nightly basis and having their breasts exposed by the cousins after dinner for the amusement of guests.

Tho' I've no idea why as it seems a pretty cushy job if you ask me.

Which you didn't so I'll shut the fuck up and continue with the synopsis.

But what is this plan?

Wait for it cos it's a doozy, involving as it does sabotaging Antoine's car in order to stop him grabbing Ise and driving away (tho' why he didn't think of that earlier I've no idea) therefore forcing him to confront the vampire family whilst they sneak out the back.

And this plan took years to come up with?

Marie-Pierre farted and it's an eggy one.



As if the plot wasn't confusing enough, the other 'cousin' - possibly, it's hard to tell/care - from earlier the stern Isabelle (Nancel, looking like your friends mum you used to fancy at school) bursts into the room looking quite annoyed.

It seems that she's only just realized that her ex-lovers have transformed into evil vampires.

Better late than never I guess.

A severe case of telling off ensues which the cousins stoically take on the chin.

Lets be honest tho' it's probably not the only unpleasant thing that they've had there is it?

Unfortunately Isabelle takes it too far (well she is a woman) and starts slagging off their purple loon pants and girly blouses, accusing them of the terrible crime of being 'unmanly and pathetic'.

Obviously being the one that chose their outfits, Isolde goes a wee bit mental and decides the best course of action would be to murder Isabelle with a handy spiked bra she just happened to be wearing.

And no, I didn't see that coming.

This in turn so enrages the cousins that they have no choice but to pin her down and violently put it in her her.

Which, if I'm honest kinda gives it the edge over Graham's conflict resolution on the Jeremy Kyle show.

Until they inadvertently  killed a guest obviously.

A butcher's dog yesterday.

Antoine by this point has understandably had enough of all these underfed lesbians, as well as the crack whore maids who've by this point taken to jumping into his bed to steal his jammie bottoms and the least said about the piss and gin soaked camp cousins the better, so he decides to change into his best action slacks and confront the twee twosome with a crucifix.

But after a frankly pathetic struggle that would shame even two seven year old schoolgirls they slap him about for a bit and tie him up.

As he wriggles limply on the hall carpet sniffling like a girl and begging Ise for help the cousins camply giggle at him as they lead his beloved wife away for her final 'initiation'.

Deciding to push their escape plan ahead the maids untie Antoine, wiping his nose before pointing him in the direction of the graveyard.

Surprisingly for such an ineffectual lead he actually manages to follow the directions, making it to the graveyard without tripping over or bumping into something and also manages to succeed in abducting Ise before the ritual is complete, much to the annoyance of the cousins who mince after him waving their arms like angry camp seagulls.

At this point I'd like to add that this is no way meant as a slight to seagulls anywhere.

Camp or otherwise.

It is, in fact just a cheap attempt at humour.

I've no idea why I've felt that I have to point this out but with how sensitive everyone is these days I thought it for the best.

Whilst all this is going on a frankly bored Isolde decides to retire to the relative comfort of her coffin (for crack and buns obviously) only to find that the maids have set fire to it and surrounded the vampiric junkie with big crucifixes.

Gah!

The fire must rage for weeks tho' as she actually dies of hunger after trying to bite her own neck.

And with this the maids skip away hand in hand for a joyous, vampire free life of soap free lesbian sex.

Which we never see.

Pity that.

Forget the ample arse, check the tide
mark round her waist. Dirty cow.


But let's not dwell on what could have been and return to the here and now where we find our hero Antoine running across a beach carrying Ise to safety.

I must admit he looks very out of breath tho' so either the beach is miles away or he's even weedier than he looks.

Unfortunately it's not long before the cousins have caught up with poor Antoine, kicking sand in his face and dead legging him.

Crying even more now he begs Ise to come with him - or at least to let him put it in her once - but she chooses to go with her cousins, leaving Antoine sobbing like a wee boy who's had his football stolen by the big boys, blubbing and shaking in the sand.

Turning her back on her man (well her ex man....can't he take a hint?) she slinks toward her cousins who then nibble her neck, strip her naked and fondle her senseless till the sun rises and fries all three of them in an orgy of blood, sweat, egg and semen.

I would so hate to be their local launderette.

Distraught and confused, Antoine runs around the beach, firing off his pistol stumbles about like a loon.







There are those who will tell you that Jean Rollin was a purveyor of fine motion pictures and that if you look beyond the crass sex scenes and stilted performances that a hidden gem of art house cinema will appear.

This is, of course utter shite, I mean come on, this is the man responsible for Zombie(s) Lake.

Those of us who don't have hang ups about such things love and adore him for what he truly was.

A lovably dirty old man with an arse - and shoe - fetish.

And you'll all agree I'm sure that there's nowt wrong with that.

Appearing in the mid ground of his 'female vampire' obsession (following on from Le Viol du vampire in 1968 and La Vampire nue in '69) Le Frisson Des Vampires is the most accomplished of Rollin's vampire epics and an obvious influence, both thematically and storywise on Vicente Aranda Ezquerra's The Blood Spattered Bride released the following year.

Tho' Ezquerra could actually direct.

And afford to hire actual actors.

At once both cheap and cheerful and as pretentious as a first year art student it's moments of surreal genius (Dominique sleeping in a grandfather clock) are cruelly juxtaposed with arse numbing scenes of plotless ramblings and random snatches of female nudity.

Exploitative rubbish or an artistically erotic masterpiece?

Well I know what I think.

If you've never experienced this little gem for yourself you really should rush out and buy it now so you can make up your own mind.

Just don't forget the tissues.