Saturday, January 16, 2021

carpenter cuts.

Celebrate John Carpenter's birthday with 3 volumes of classic Carpenter inspired cuts, Jack Burton beats and taxicab tunes: 

Sunday, January 10, 2021

virgin spring.

Bizarrely this is a film I'm most familiar with due to the trailer of the classic I Drink Your Blood, the film it was paired with on it's release.

As luck would have it tho' a friend felt the urge to send me a copy so I could finally watch it.

Well I say friend.

I Eat Your Skin (AKA Zombies, Zombie Bloodbath, Voodoo Blood Bath, Caribbean Adventure. 1964 - released 1970).
Dir: Del Tenney.
Cast: William Joyce, Heather Hewitt, Betty Hyatt Linton, Dan Stapleton, Walter Coy, Robert Stanton, Vanoye Aikens, Matt King, Rebecca Oliver and Don Strawn and his Calypso Band.

"Oh boy. Mister Harris, I read some of your books and I only hope you're more original in person!"

Pulp paperback writer and all round misogynist arse Tom Harris (Joyce - as in the actor most famous for The Young Nurses not Nazi-loving Lord Haw-Haw) is busying himself by the pool at the famous Fontainbleu Hotel (in a comedown from featuring in Goldfinger), reciting chunks of his racy romance novels to an eager bunch of bikini-clad, damp panted housewives whilst simultaneously sticking his tongue in a married women.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

If possibly a wee bit dubious in these more enlightened times.

Fuck it let's be honest he comes across downright rapey.

Anyway as his words get more sexual and his fingers get stickier who should arrive but his literary agent and best bud' - the slightly predatory Duncan 'Donuts' Fairchild (one time only actor and producer Stapleton, channeling Glenn Shaddix with a drink in him whilst modeling Mr Ed's teeth) excitedly announcing that he's booked a private plane to taken them - and Duncan's wife Coral (Circus of The Stars choreographer Linton) - to the spookily named Voodoo Island in order to get ideas for a new book.

Given the choice between a weekend of sun, sand and voodoo-fearing virgins or a fucking good kicking off the (scarily old) husband of the woman he's fondling Tom goes for the former and quickly heads off to the airport pursued by the aforementioned husband who, in an 'hilarious' scene boots his still bikini clad wife up the arse.

Before dragging her back to their room and beating her obviously.

Ah violence against women for comedy effect how we miss you so.

"Oi missis....come back to me room so I can bite you!"

As they fly out to the island there's just enough time for Duncan to fill us in (but not in that way) on some important plot points.

It seems that one of his bridge buddies - Lord Chumbley-Warner - has actually just inherited the island and that the inhabitants are ardent practitioners of the black arts (the name probably gave that away tho'), not only that but the island is also home to every imaginable species of poisonous snake, which is why a reclusive scientist, Dr. Biladeau (Stanton in his only role) lives their in an attempt to come up with a cure for mansplaining using their venom.

But obviously not the Tom Hardy Venom on account of it being even shitter than this.

Which takes a lot.

The thing that really peaks Tom's interest tho' is the fact that the whole of the island’s fishing fleet perished in a recent hurricane leaving its population ratio at five to one in favor of women.

And with that he orders the pilot to put his foot down as he carefully checks his cock for blemishes.

Unfortunately Enrico the pilot forgot to fill the petrol tank before they left and the plane is now dangerously low on fuel, the only option left to the travelers is to let Tom drive because as we all know, sexist arses are much better at landing planes than qualified pilots.

Especially Hispanic ones.

I mean he could be an illegal.

Anyway upon making a perfect beach landing, Tom orders everyone to stay put whilst he goes to look for something - anything - to forcibly stick his engorged member into....I mean look for help so sets off into the jungle soon coming across (not in that way, well not yet) the scientists beautiful blonde daughter Jeannie (former Miss Vermont 1957 and  'Miss America' contestant Hewitt) skinny dipping in a pond.

Why am I not surprised?

Oh yes, there's also a machete-wielding zombie with conjunctivitis spying on her from the bushes but let's be honest here we can kinda guess who she's in more danger from.

Eye son.

Tom bravely waves his cock in the air to get her attention and when this fails he jumps in the water to swim after her only to pop up the other side with her gone and the zombie baring down on him so our hero does what any sexual predator would do when faced with another man with his chopper in his hands and legs it into the trees where he soon bumps into one of the islands few surviving fishermen who fills him in on the whole virgin sacrifice/voodoo/zombie shtick before getting beheaded by the eye man.

Which is nice.

Just as the undead fiend is about to stick it in Tom he's scared away by the arrival of the cast of It Ain't Half Hot Mum in a jeep.

No my mistake, it's actually Lord Chumbley-Warner's pal and island governor type bloke Charles 'Wes' Bentley (ex-Star Trek doctor, McCoy) and his merry band of armed guards.

Less Dad's Army, more dead smarmy.

Yes I know that was shit but if the script writer can't be arsed why should i?

Being a stand-up bloke Bentley takes Tom back to the plane before ordering a group of natives to secure it in the carpark and then inviting everyone back to his villa he shares with Dr. Biladeau - but not in that way - for cake and crisps.

And pop.

Getting changed for dinner Tom is surprised to find the blonde he saw earlier playing the piano in the dining room and decides to sneakily watch her play - from a position where he can look down her top obviously - before sleazily approaching her and introducing himself.

There's something to be said about approaching random girls and rubbing yourself against them whilst plying them with booze seeing as Jeannie seems well up for it and giggles flirtily as Tom refills her glass.

Again and again.

Luckily for us her dad turns up and they all sit down for dinner.

Tho' by the look in Tom's eyes chicken isn't the only white meat on the menu.

Hewitt - pig in a blanket.

As is the way with dinner parties the chat soon turns to voodoo (again) and Dr.
Billedeau explains that not only is it true that the islanders all practice witchcraft but they also believe that blonde virgins make the best human sacrifices,  Bentley laughs to himself as he lights another fag whilst Jeannie just sits and gazes into Tom's eyes oblivious to the fact that she's the only blonde virgin in the room.

His head full of booze and feeling a pure steamer coming on Tom invites  Jeannie for a moonlight walk in the woods, where it must be said her screams as he forces himself on/in her will be less likely to be heard, and she heartily agrees.

Unfortunately any hope Tom has of sticking it in the doctor's daughter are ruined when the pair are attacked by a group of paper mache faced zombies who attempt to drag Jeannie off into the jungle.

Luckily there's a handy Tiki torch nearby and knowing it to be a symbol of the mainstream misogynistic man movement Tom uses it to beat off the undead horde.

Unlike the undead beating off you'd find here.

Or indeed here.

Insert cock here.

Returning to the villa,  Jeannie is taken to bed by Coral (look they have to give her something to do other than fawn over Tom behind her hubbies back like your gran over the milkman when she's drunk) whilst Tom and Bentley drink more booze and discuss the evenings events.

As the vodka's flow Bentley begins to realise that the young blonde virgin the tribe want to sacrifice to cure the illness affecting them could in fact be Jeannie so it'd probably be a good idea if they could get her off the island as soon as but Tom has another plan and climbs up the wall to her bedroom in order to have sex with her and therefore save her life.

What a stand up guy.

And before you ask the answer is no, Jeannie doesn't have a say in the matter.

Tho' why would she?

She's just a girl.

"Hello I'm the blind man!"

But even before Tom's cock is dry the local tribe and their mysterious leader are plotting to kidnap Jeannie and stick something all together more dangerous - and far less noxious smelling in her....

Will Tom and his pals save the day?

What is Dr. Biladeau really up to in his secret lab?

Why the fuck is Coral actually there?

And most importantly why does Dan Stapleton have the shapeliest figure in the whole movie?

Seriously when he comes out in his body hugging teeny tiny shorts you'll be stunned at how smooth and long his legs are.

Whilst his craptastic monster romp The Horror of Party Beach was picked up for distribution even before the film was dry director/producer/binman Del Tenney's I Eat Your Skin was left languishing on the shelf for years before being dragged kicking and screaming onto the screens in a double bill with the frankly fantastic Lynn Lowry starrer I Drink Your Blood.

And it's really not difficult to realise why.

Everything about the production screams poverty row - from the am dram shouty non-acting of the cast to the threadbare special effects that consist of zombies with wet tissue paper glued to their faces and an massive island explosion consisting of a paper mache mountain set fire to in a bath via a Caribbean tribe descended from slaves that is made up of 95% white extras and direction that can only be described as leisurely it's a film that defies both logic and sensibility, transcending 'so bad it's good' to become just bad.

Luckily (for it) it's so screamingly misogynistic as to blank everything else but that fact from your mind as you watch it.

Nothing else seems to matter the longer William Joyce is on screen, from his casual arse-slapping to random drink-spiking it's like watching a walking talking ball of horny testosterone filled woman hating rage dominating the screen, seriously as soon as the movie finished I actually went online to check if Joyce had ever been arrested for crimes against women in the years after the movie as so convincing was his utter contempt for ladies.

Either that or he was hiding something.

And probably not a body in a barn.

Fuck or fight? I'm too confused!

On the plus side Lon E. Norman's jazz fused score is a pleasant distraction from the utter pap onscreen which means you can at least close your eyes and try to think of something a wee bit more enjoyable, tho' be warned I tried this but then got scared that William Joyce (or his ghost) would sneak up on me and attempt to fuck me.

He didn't but that's not the point.

Fuck it I need a shower now.

Saturday, January 2, 2021

"cos i wear these toggles!"

So after surviving lockdown, Christmas (with another lockdown) and 'The Hogmanay' it was back to the old routine yesterday of trying not to vomit after overdoing the booze and shortbread whilst settling down to yet another fantastic Chris Chibnall-penned Doctor Who New years special.


It was whilst watching this utter amazing piece of teevee sci-fi (in particular the bit where a poorly rendered CGI testicle attempted to face-fuck the star of Shark Attack III) that I remembered a film from my youth where much the same happened to a group of folk on a remote Scottish island.

A few of which had been in Doctor Who.

See? I don't just randomly chuck this stuff together you know.

The Doctor desperately scans for someone who gives two fucks.

Island of Terror (AKA Night of the Silicates/The Night the Silicates Came/The Night the Creatures Came/The Creepers. 1966)
Dir: Terence Fisher.
Cast: Edward Judd, Peter Cushing, Carole Gray, Eddie Byrne, Sam Kydd, Niall MacGinnis, James Caffrey, Liam Gaffney, Roger Heathcote, Keith Bell, Shay Gorman and Peter Forbes-Robertson.

John, I've just found one of my horses dead. At least, I think it's my horse. It's all soft and flabby.

On the remote, tinker packed Petrie's Island, well meaning science type Dr. Lawrence Phillips (the chief Sea Devil himself, Forbes-Robertson in a blink and miss it cameo) is about to unveil his life's work; a cure for cancer.

Unfortunately rather than produce it in easy to swallow pill form (or even a nice orangey syrup) he appears to have stitched two giant warty testicles together and stuck a hoover pipe into the middle of it.

Oh and given it a taste for bones.

Is it just me that thinks this experiment may go slightly awry?

No time to think about it tho' for no sooner has he flicked the bollock enlarging switch than his lab explodes in a dazzling cartoon explosion leaving him and his scientist pals dead.

And the warty walnuts free to roam the island....

Radiation room? or dodgy porn stash?

Off home after a heavy nights drinking and Pot Noodle session with the boys, duffle-coated local farmer and part-time bin man Ian Bellows (Eastenders Gaffney) finds himself caught short on the way home and decides, as you do, to relieve himself against some handy polystyrene rocks.

No sooner has he unsheathed his mighty manhood than the silence is broken by his horrific screams.

And what sounds like someone farting in the bath.

His lovely (OK I'll be honest harsh) wife Morag surprised at not being pawed awake at three in the morning, finding her nightie round by her neck and the bed sick free worriedly contacts local copper (and town chiropodist)  John Harris (Brit teevee and movie stalwart Kydd) at the local constabulary in the vain hope that her hubbie has fallen asleep there or at the very least been arrested for cow violation.


Unfortunately Harris hasn't seen him since they left the pub but offers to go out and look for him, if only to get the babydoll nightied, horse thighed harridan off his doorstep.

I'm not saying she's scary looking but you can actually see the milk in the jug on Harris' table turn when he opens the door.

Wandering aimlessly thru' the brightly lit studio backlot (sorry, I mean darkened woods) he soon comes across (leaving an unsightly streaky pattern) Bellows' lifeless (and boneless) rubbery corpse propped up against the polystyrene rocks  like a big fleshy trifle.

"What we have here is the severest case of mooth shite-in known to man".

Terrified (and a wee bit aroused by the sight of the poor fella's gaping and somewhat inviting mouth), Harris swiftly (well as swiftly as a half cut, short arsed Oirishman can) runs to fetch the islands top Doc and resident posh bloke Dr. Reginald Landers (Star Wars' General Willard himself Byrne).

But despite his university education and fine line in tailored overcoats, Dr. Landers is fucked if he can determine why the dead man is completely without bones so decides to travel to the mainland to seek the help of severe cheeked pathologist and horror legend Dr. Brian Stanley (Cushing, all praise to him).

Like Landers tho', Stanley is totally at a loss at to what could have possibly caused such injuries, so the pair head round to the groovy penthouse apartment of the suavely sophisticated Dr. David West (Judd star of everything from First Men in the Moon to Coronation Street), the worlds leading authority on bones, bone diseases and boning in general.

And boning appears to be what's on his mind seeing as he's currently attempting to get into the (very tiny yet tastefully lacy) undies of the voluptuously hipped, wealthy jet-setter Ms. Toni Merrill (Gray from The Young Ones with Cliff Richard who, to our American readers is the true king of rock 'n' roll).

Gray: Sexier than Jesus.

Banging on his door just as West is about to start banging Toni, our middle-aged medics waste no time in explaining their predicament to West, even tho' there's a lady present.

Intrigued by the problem and knowing full well that he can't perform in front of an audience, West agrees to accompany them to the island and Toni, up for a wee bit of orgiastic pikey sex and a chance to undermine feminism in all it's forms offers the use of her dad's private helicopter in order to get back to the island (and the plot) that wee bit quicker.

Only thing is that he needs it back by three so he can go to Waitrose for his monthly food shop, effectively leaving the fantastic foursome stranded on the island till the bin men arrived the following Thursday.

On arrival their first stop (after getting their inoculations against foot and mouth and general Oirishness) is Phillips' secluded castle laboratory where they find the poor scientist and his colleagues all dead eyed and floppy.

Just like your dad when he used to sneak into your room after the pub.

Deciding that whatever caused all the deaths must have come from the lab, West, Stanley and Landers (Ms. Merrill has the most important job, which is to sit in the car and keep the seats warm) gather up all of Phillips' belongings (including his ladyboy porn stash, fags and notes) and head back to the hotel to 'study' them and, over a few pints of Guinness catch up on the plot so far before discovering that Phillips had inadvertently created a new lifeform by accidentally splicing a silicon atom to a pair of giants gonads.

"In mah mooooooooth!"

Meanwhile PC Harris, thinking that the boffins are still at the castle arrives there to report on a boneless horse that's been found behind the youth centre.

Intrigued by a locked door with a sign that reads 'Killer testicles keep out!' he heads inside only to be attacked and killed by a huge, rubbery tentacle.

In his mouth.

Back at the hotel, it's discovered that these creatures, dubbed Silicates by West and Stanley (Ms. Merrill wanted to name them Testiclons, bless), kill their victims by injecting a bone-dissolving enzyme into their bodies and sucking the resulting goo thru' their arses.

Not only are the Silicates the most pant wettingly scary creature ever to appear on film but are also bloody hard to kill as Landers discovers when he tries unsuccessfully to kill one with an axe only to have it retaliate by forcing a tentacle up his arse.

The poor man screams for help as the rest of the cast look on with expressions of mild apathy.

And in Stanley's case a wee hint of jealousy.

With one of their number down and the Silicates multiplying like rabbits, West and Stanley head over to the house of local big man (and the islands unofficial king) Roger Campbell (Zeus himself MacGinnis) in the hope of recruiting the islanders to repel the massive man-sack menace.

After convincing him that the creatures are of English origin - and with him being a typical Paddy - Campbell jumps at the chance of a fight and quickly phones his loyal assistant (and owner of the local newsagent) Peter Argyle (former actor and current alcoholic drink Caffrey) to round up the townsfolk and arm them with anything that comes to hand.

Which, being Irish means bullets, petrol bombs, exploding pigs and dynamite.

God bless them!

"Help mah boab!"

None of this seems to have any effect on the Silicates tho' and after a couple of minutes of loud bangs and random people shouting things like "Begorah!" and "Oh no! annudah baybees died!" the creatures get bored and go to sleep.

But not before splitting into two and doubling their destructive force.


With the battle quickly becoming a lost cause and with nowhere to turn the fate of the island looks bleak, until that is West and Stanley hear reports of a Silicate found dead on the beach after eating a stray dog that had inadvertently consumed a sandwich containing a rare isotope called Strontium-90.

Could this be the key to Petrie's salvation?

With time running out and the Silicate threat growing, Stanley and West must venture back to Phillips' laboratory in the hope of finding enough isotope to destroy the Silicates once and for all....

A testicle carrying a designer handbag yesterday.

Remember back in the swinging sixties when Britain actually had a film industry and companies like Hammer Films, Amicus and Tigon kept the locals on the edges of their collective seats with a constant stream of horror classics?

Well there's one company from those heady bygone days that lies forgotten and dejected, even tho' they released one of the most terrifying films ever made.

That company was Planet Film Productions and the film was that classic of science gone wrong that was, is and always shall be Island of Terror.

Unless you live abroad that is where it's known as the slightly less gruesome Night of the Silicates.

Or something.

God knows how much the budget was but most of it seems to have been blow on winter coats for the actors, which amazingly helps to show who's in charge of who in the cast; ordinary islanders wear donkey jacket style attire whereas the more important community members wear duffle coats, mainlanders are bedecked in Crombie's whilst Roger Campbell (being the big man) has a duffle coat with toggles and a sweater modeled from what looks like stringy cottage cheese.

Design genius I'm sure you'll agree.

Then there's the almost Lynchian direction and scenes of unnerving bizarreness on screen.

Examples include the fact that every time a car doors slams it does so to the exact timing of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, the fact that local copper Harris, in a sign of almost Wicker Man-esque Lord Summerisle adoration of Dr. Landers, dutifully follows the physician around whenever he's onscreen, helping him into his coat, bowing graciously and even following him around with his trilby like a dutiful footman.

And taking of headware, the mighty Peter Cushing adds a subtle touch to the oncoming danger, donning a variety of more and more darker hats (and matching shirts) as the movie progresses.

Insert slimy tentacle and/or cock here. Please.

Ah good old Peter Cushing, probably the scariest thing is how such a threadbare company as Planet were able to afford such a prestigious actor.

The same goes for director of Terrence Fisher’s standing.

I've no idea what incriminating photographs Planet's head had of the pair but I for one would love to see them.

Ripe for re-release and begging to be remade (but on the same budget obviously) Island of Terror is a remarkable experience that will alter the way you look at your testicles for years to come.

And there aren't many films you can say that about.

Friday, January 1, 2021

bee best.

Now that Trump is gonna be dragged kicking and screaming from the White House in a couple of weeks before being carted off to prison where he'll no doubt be passed around like the latest issue of What's On TV magazine, I realized that Melania is going to need a new job.

And I can think of much worse things she could do (or has done for her green card) than maybe appear in a remake of this classic.

I mean it's practically her life story already.

So Mels, give us a call and I'll see what I can do to make this happen.

Delirium: Photos Of Gioia (1987).
Dir: Lamberto Bava.
Cast: Serena Grandi, Daria Nicolodi, Vanni Corbellini, Karl Zinny, Lino Salemme, Sabrina Salerno, David Brandon, Capucine and George 'The Body' Eastman.

''a woman's anger can be very bad''

Terrifyingly breasted Former model cum part-time porn princess Gioia (Grandi, the big faced star of such quality movies as Anthropophagous: The Beast, Angelina: Lady of the Night and Frivolous Lola), has finally hit the big time with the publication of her cutting edge 'fashion' magazine, the aptly titled Pussycat.

To celebrate, our dirty pillowed darling has hired her hunky photographer brother Tony (Corbellini whom you may recognize from his star turn as Gualtiero Di San Casciano in the fantastic TeeVee miniseries Black Arrow....or maybe not) and his camp as pants assistant, Roberto (Brandon from, um, Beyond Dark) to re-imagine some of the risqué images that made her world famous (well they helped your dad thru' some lonely times) but this time using a hot new lady-model.

Your mum last Saturday night.

Everything goes swimmingly (and I must admit, quite sexily in a kinda eighties way) and the shoot wraps without a hitch, unfortunately, shortly after leaving Gioia's villa little miss model (we'll call her Babs) is brutally (and not to mention bloodily) slain with a rusty pitch fork.


Luckily (for the police, not the model, obviously) this wicked act is witnessed by Gioia's wheelchair bound young neighbour - and part time stalker - Mark (Zinny, long faced star of Bava's Demons and Graveyard Disturbance) thru his telescope that he just happens to have had trained on the swimming pool all day.

Dirty wee sod.

Yes it is Sabrina - you know the one that sang 'Boys -Summertime Love' and the Stock, Aitken and Waterman classic 'All Of Me' - being touched up by mummies in case you were wondering.

Being a nice guy he immediately phones Gioia -rather than the police- with the news.

Tho' it's a surprise that he can find the telephone under the pile of crusty tissues in his room if I'm honest.

Unfortunately our busty babe, thinking it's just another of Mark's pervy phone calls (he doesn't get out much) hangs up on him.

Thinking nothing more of the situation Gioia goes back to work preparing the next big issue (of Pussycat magazine, not the paper that the homeless sell) and trying to contact Babs to offer her another job (this time advertising the cut price undies for the Aldi catalogue no doubt).

With her phone ringing out constantly and no-one having seen her for weeks, Gioia assumes that poor old Babs is on holiday, but this idea is cruelly shattered when not only does her body turns up behind some bins but also an envelope arrives at the 'Pussycat' office containing photographs of the murdered model posed in front of a huge blow up piccie of our Gioia.

"Eye hen!"

From then on it's murder after murder as more and more models on the Pussycat books start turning up dead - and in poses that'd make a whore, or your mum, blush - meaning it's up to police inspector Corsi Manlove (Salemme, another refugee from Graveyard Disturbance and latterly a star of The Passion of the Christ) to find this mammary minded mentalist behind the deaths before it's too late.

Too late for what I have no idea, but you have to admit it sounds good.


Corsi is convinced that the killer must be harboring a grudge against Gioia (no shit) and is probably someone very close to her.

Figuratively speaking that is, I mean not actually standing behind her or something.

But who?

Could it be mustachioed man-breasted Alex? (genre god Eastman in a small but perfectly formed cameo that involves him having soapy sex with Grandi in a bathtub) or is it kooky Evelyn? (the ever wonderful Nicolodi, who is never anything other than perfect).

Possibly not.

So how about Roberto who's been seen cruising around the streets at night looking for a nice bit of manarse (and we all know that according to giallo rules homosexuality equals evilness) or is it Mark, driven insane by the constant night time visits by Mother Fist and her five beautiful young daughters?

And don't forget Gioia's bitchy lesbian publishing rival Flora (Capucine from Fellini's Satyricon) who's trying to get her bony old lady fingers into both Gioia's magazine and her silky undies.

Or is it someone else?

But let's be honest here, do we really care?

Once seen, never forgotten - a bit like when you catch your parents having sex - Lamberto Bava's Delirium plays out like some bastard beast-child that sprung from the (sweaty yet gloriously smooth and tanned) loins of Jackie Collins after a particularly heaving drink and drugs session with Joe D'Amato's pet dog.

Whose name I believe was Pascal.

Originally conceived as a star vehicle for one time 'sexiest woman in Italy' Serena Grandi (at that point more famous for her 39D boobs than any of her acting roles), Delirium was written to showcase her fantastic acting range as well as her pendulous breasts and peachy arse, therefore mixing emotional, heart felt drama with a bit of soft core nudity.

Oh yes and lots and lots of blood.

But it's not all killings, cod-psychobabble and boobs tho' as the film has a pretty unique ace up its wizard-like sleeve.

Namely the fact that the killer (due to some freaky medical condition that is never explained) sees all his victims as tho' they have huge comedy paper mache carnival heads.

No, really.

Yup, for no other reason than the joke shop next door to the studio was having a closing down sale the murderer sees one of his soon to be victims with a giant cyclops face (and a nasty seventies bun hairstyle a wee bit like your gran) and, in a scene that will live in cinema as a perfect example of celluloid genius long after you and I have passed on, sees another as having a big furry bee head.

Oh and scarily pointed breasts.

But I have a feeling those are real.

I don't know what's freakier,
the big bee head or the shocking pink wallpaper.

But it's these scenes of bloodletting, bizarro bonces and bouncing breasts that are the films saving grace, because if it wasn't for them breaking the arse numbing tedium of the movie every five minutes you'd have to concentrate on what passes as the plot.

"I'm sorry I have my womans period!"

If, however you manage to make it to the movies end then you'll be happy to know that it climaxes (oooerrr) with a dribbling man cutting off Grandi's flimsy garments whilst pervily whispering ''I want to see you in the nude, one last time''.

And after the amount of times she's flashed her (slightly soiled) wares during the proceeding ninety minutes the promise of no more nudity seems like a godsend.

One to keep you entertained during lockdown.

Or if you're missing your gran.