double trouble.

We're still on a wee bit of a vampire fix here in Unwell Towers, gorging ourselves on the very best (or is that very beast?) bloodsucking blockbusters in tribute to Nosferatu.

No idea why tho' as no-one has noticed.

And todays choice?

All I can say is shite movie, vaguely amusing back story.

So prepare yourself dear reader for the truth behind... 

Dracula vs. Frankenstein (1971).
Dir: Al Adamson.
Cast: Anthony Eisley, Regina Carrol, Russ Tamblyn, Jim Davis, Angelo Rossitto, Greydon Clark, Anne Morrell, Forrest J Ackerman, John Bloom, Lon Chaney, Jnr, J. Carrol Naish and Zandor Vorkov.

“She used to have fantasies about being a freak…
Two heads, an eye missing, elongated spine.
Anything that was grotesque turned her on.”

Somewhere in California - the Oakmoor Cemetery to be precise - world famous lord of the undead Count Dracula (disguised by the look of things as an almost AIDS thin pedo with pubes for hair and played to almost cardboard perfection by 'Zandor Vorkov' AKA Roger Engel) is busy unearthing the remains of Doctor Frankenstein's monster.

What? You mean to tell me you skipped the part of the book where the creatures remains are secreted to the US to be experimented on?

Surprised to see a black satin clad sex offender digging around in the middle of the night the cemeteries lone security guard (the directors dad) comes to investigate, getting his neck nibbled for his trouble.

Pay attention at this part, as it's the only vaguely vampiric thing Dracula will partake in during the whole movie.

Meanwhile under Brighton pier a fairly foxy girl is nervously feeling her way thru' a fog of what can only be cigarette smoke before being suddenly - and unconvincingly -  attacked by an axe-wielding, alcoholic Lon Chaney, Jr. (who distressingly looks close to death).

The axe cuts short her scream.

And cuts off her head.

We cut too but fear not, for it's only a cinematic phrase meaning the action (well, I say action) is moving to somewhere else.

And that somewhere else is glorious Las Vegas, where glamorous grannie Judith Fontain (director Adamson's wife, the late Carrol, star of Satan's Sadists and official pin-up girl of raunchy rockers The Sleepfarmers) is performing her groovy nite-club act to a packed audience via the wonders of stock footage (well, takes up a couple of minutes running time) before retiring to her dressing room to let the air out of her breasts and check her fan mail.

Alongside the final demands, STD test results and court summonses is a letter from one Sergeant Martin Martin (Dallas star Davis) of the Californian Police Missings Persons Bureau (yup, that's the name on the envelope), informing Judith that her wee sister Jodie has gone missing.

Dracula, up the casino, 1973.....Yesch!

Judith, being a concerned sister and desperate to get the plot moving rushes to California (I'm assuming it's just down the road) in order to help with the police investigation much to the chagrin of the permanently scowling Sgt. Martin.

"Hey lady, the world is a dark place," Martin informs her as he switches off his desk lamp in order to batter the point home "If you have any wool I suggest you get knitting!" he suggests usefully before heading off to beat up some students.

Left to her own devices, our heroine wanders innocently into the dangerous hippie neighbourhood where her sister was last seen.

Entering the famous Hippie Hilton (500 McLaughlin Dr. Santa Cruz, CA 95064-1084, families welcome) Judith tries to ingratiate herself into the whole hippie thing by asking for a coffee whilst showing pictures of her sis to all and sundry but this only succeeds in getting her mistaken for a cop, leaving the owner no alternative but to spike her drink with LSD.

Smart.

Cue much hair tugging, indiscriminate crash zooms and Judith writhing on a platform whilst wearing a white fishnet body stocking to a frantic bongo beat.

Far out.

Luckily she's rescued by nice guy hipster Clive Strange (hard working Clark, best known - to me anyway - for Without Warning) and his mousy girlfriend Samantha (Morrell, you may remember her as the floating harem girl in John Goldfarb, Please Come Home! or maybe not).

Lon Fancies a wee mooth shite-in....are you man enough for the challenge?

Meanwhile at the local chamber of horrors conveniently located on the end of the pier next to the bingo hall, the wheelchair-bound scientist and former member of NWA Dr. Drea (Naish, desperate to pay his medical bills) is busy attempting to perfect a special formula that will enable mankind to live forever and have perfectly coiffured  hair even after a heavy night out.

Unfortunately he can only make this formula by beheading people then bringing them back to life before finally lobotomizing them.

But if it means I only ever have to style my quiff once a month then I'm game.

Aided by urine stained imbecile Groton (that'll be Lon then, poor sod) and professional little person Grazbo (Rossitto famous for everything from Freaks to Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome via Galaxina), who've been promised physical and mental superiority once the formula is perfected, this dynamic duo find suitable candidates for experimentation via Grazbo's job at the box office, leaving Groton to chop them up.

"Laugh now!"

After one particularly heavy night of lobotomy-based fun, Dr. Drea is surprised when a strange man steps out of the shadows and demands to talk to him.

Examining the strangers ring (snigger) Drea identifies the visitor as Count Dracula, and Dracula not to be outdone, identifies Drea as the last of the Frankenstein family.

With Drea realizing that his Colonel Sanders disguise is fooling no-one and Drac just relieved that he's finally met someone who doesn't piss themselves laughing whilst looking at him they pair settle down for an excruciatingly bad chat that although meant to fill in an important bit of back story just careers off on bizarre tangents.

None of this is helped by the fact that Dracula appears to have been dubbed by someone standing in a well.

"Ahm sorry hen....ave pished mahsel again!"

Anyway, from what I can gather (after rewatching the movie a few times) is that  Drea was adopted (which is why he's not known as Frankenstein and more importantly why he's considerably less hip than other Def Jam stalwarts) and that his work in monster construction was discredited by three evil doctors, one of which caused the accident that crippled him.

This man whom we shall call simply Dr. Bill Beaumont (because that's his name) added insult to injury by stealing the Frankenstein monster and burying it in the graveyard from the films opening.

Luckily for all concerned the infamous Zornov Comet is rapidly approaching the Earth, heralding the beginning of the monster's second life cycle.

Look I'm just typing what was said.

Meanwhile junked up Judith suddenly wakes up in the bed of aged hippie Mike Howard (Eisely from Knots Landing), a local middle-aged guy who looks after the disenfranchised yoof in the area whilst dressed like a teenage rent boy.

Nope, nothing sinister about that at all.

Taking a shine to Judith (he's obviously bored with failing to score at the school gates so he's decided on someone nearer his own - old - age) the pair begin to discuss Jodie's disappearance, eventually coming to the conclusion that, being disabled Dr. Drea is behind it.

Cue hours of wandering around aimlessly back and forth to the house of horrors exhibit intercut with dozens of unnecessary appearances  by a chubby, pube bearded Russ Tamblyn playing an evil rapist biker named Rico.

Truly the man has no shame.

Or a fucking huge rehab bill.

Heath Ledger farted....and it was an eggy one.

Skipping forward a few chapters (look I'm only human) and finally Judith and Mike (after admitting their love for each other and having a wee kiss and cuddle) have decided to take one last look at Drea's horror show.

Only to make it more interesting they've turned up in the middle of the night.

Wandering around in the 'dark', they pair of wannabe investigators completely fail to see or hear Rico and his pals trying to rape Samantha and also miss Groton's subsequent slaughter of the bad boy bikers but, and give credit where it's due, Mike does manage to hear Groton quietly pull a chain that opens a trapdoor to Drea's lab.

Trying to find the source of the noise, the pair also manage to miss the three hacked to pieces bodies at their feet but do spot a teeny tiny locket belonging to Samantha buried in the sand.

I'll be honest, even I've stopped caring at this point.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Drea, lying in wait behind a shady model of a giant monkey catches the pair as they sneak around the exhibits and manages to lure our loved up losers into the dank, dark basement below his lair.

If you could take a minute now to consider the layout of Drea's Chamber of Horrors.

If you've been paying attention you'll remember that it's built on a pier over the beach to give Groton easy access to the sands to kill women.

So how (and more importantly where) does the stone clad gothic basement fit in?

I have to be honest and say that at the time I totally accepted this without question showing the true extent of the films almost supernatural mind numbing powers.


It was only the following day that I realized that the whole thing was complete and utter shame trousered shite from start to finish.

Anyway, Drea explains the plot, Judith finds her naked sister in a big jam jar and Mike, being an all American hero type picks a fight with the dwarf, causing Groton's pet cat to fall down the trapdoor.

I kid you not, cinema hardly ever gets as exciting as this baby.

Tosser.

Much infant school slapping and grimacing ensues culminating with wee Grazbo falling onto an axe giving Judith time to escape to the roof.

Of a factory.

Not a pier.

Mike however is trapped behind some boxes as an ever more excited Drea take potshots at his arse with an air pistol before giving chase in what must be modern cinemas slowest wheelchair versus middle aged man race ever.

All looks lost until Mike in a rare flash of intelligence, hides behind the monkey exhibit and shouts "BOO!" as Drea wheels by causing the scientist to shit himself, the runny consistency of which makes Drea slide off his seat and onto a prop  guillotine exhibit, which decapitates him.

Back on the roof Groton, pulling his best sex face, is closing in on Judith but just as all seems lost who should turn up but Sgt. Martin and Clive Strange back from discovering the three bodies under the pier.

Strange spots Judith running across the roof and Martin, desperate to shoot someone, opens fire on Groton.

"Put it in me!"

Running to the roof to comfort Judith, Mark seems to have forgotten one tiny thing.

The title of the film.

For waiting in the shadows Dracula is plotting a terrible revenge on those who have thwarted his plans.

A revenge that will at some point involve him bitch slapping a potato-faced monster whilst Judith's breasts look on in terror....

"I fang you!"

Where to start when it comes to the late king of exploitation Al Adamson and his work?

Director, producer, actor and writer Adamson directed an impressive (in quantity if not quality) thirty movies between 1961 and 1983 before retiring from films and getting involved in real estate.

Tho' probably not beach-front piers with stone basements.

Back to his movies tho' and whilst Dracula vs. Frankenstein is nowhere near one of his better efforts it does have the most comically convoluted stories behind it's journey to the big screen.

Beginning production in 1968 as The Blood Seekers with much the same plot and cast Adamson was reported as being unhappy with the finished product, feeling it lack a certain something and consequently shelved the entire movie, putting all his efforts into the other seven (!) he had in production at the same time.

Jump forward a few years and Al's producer pal Sam Sherman, is panicking into a bottle of Rum.

It appears that he foolishly signed a contract to deliver a brand new full colour Frankenstein film to the drive-in theatre crowd and, after spending the cash on crisps and fizzy pop has only days in which to find one before he gets his legs broken.

In an attempt to cheer his pal up, Adamson took Sherman to the cinema where the pair found themselves watching Paul Naschy's debut film La Marca del Hombre Lobo (AKA The Mark of The Wolfman) alongside Holiday on The Buses.

It was at this point Sherman hatched a cunning plan.

He would buy the rights to the movie and change the title to The Something of Frankenstein therefore filling his obligation and make a few bob on the side.

Unfortunately tho' Holiday on The Buses was too expensive (Hammer wanted £18.60 for the worldwide rights) to purchase so instead he ended up with Naschy's movie which he quickly retitled Frankenstein's Bloody Terror (despite it not featuring Frankenstein) before releasing it onto an unsuspecting audience.

The plan worked and to celebrate Sherman took Adamson out for a baked potato and a pint of cider and it was during this meal, as Adamson looked down on the cheese melting across his lumpy spud that the director realised what was missing from the Blood Seekers footage.

A monster with a potato for a face.

With a cry of "Eureka!" Adamson jumped from his seat causing the man sitting behind to accidentally spray tomato sauce of his wife's heaving bosom.

Noticing the red liquid dripping seductively down her swan-like (if a little too hairy) neck the film making duo looked at each other before both shouting:

"Dracula!"

And thus a legend was born.

"Wahey Blakey! I'm spunking tenners!"

But who had the gravitas to play such an iconic roll?

And who was brave enough to bring the Count kicking and screaming into the 1970's?

Sherman wanted genre veteran John Carradine, thinking that the actor would bring a noble gravitas to a portrayal of an older, more desperate Dracula, out of time and thrust into the modern world for one last attempt at immortality.

But Adamson had other ideas, he wanted someone young and sexy but more importantly he wanted someone with a beard.

A beard fashioned from pubic hair.

With this in mind he called upon his stockbroker Robert 'pubey' Engel who accepted the part on the spot.

Funnel or tunnel?

Renamed Zandor Vorkov (a partial anagram of scary pubic beard), his voicebox replaced with that of a bass-heavy transistor radio slightly off-tuned to medium wave and his skin bleached with ammonia, Engel's was ready to begin shooting.

All that was left to do now was to find and purchase a really big potato and find someone willing to put it on their head.

This job fell to the massive, slack jawed 7 foot, 4 inch bulkily hulky John Bloom. Known as Johnny 'Horsecock' Bloom to his friends, the actor had already appeared in such greats as The Incredible 2-Headed Transplant and Up Your Alley before Adamson came a calling and he too had unique ideas as to how the infamous monster should be portrayed.


As a club-footed tramp obviously.

And how did it all turn out?

Well I would usually say see for yourselves but frankly I'm not that much of an unfeeling bastard.

If you have already seen it there are groups out there to help you adjust back into normal life life.

And if not?

Just memorize this review and kid on that you saw it.

It's for the best.

love bites.

Still attempting a Nosferatu/vampire themed series of posts in the hope of gaining (any) new readers and seeing as the kids enjoyed the Paul Naschy classic Count Dracula's Great Love yesterday I've been desperately searching for any other vampire movies I own that may be kid friendly.

This one with hindsight, wasn't.

Gayracula (1983).
Dir: Roger Earl (Which I must admit sounds a wee bit like Robert Eggers).
Cast: Tim Kramer, Steve Collins, Rand Remington, Randal Butler, Michael Christopher, Ray Medina, Max Montoya, Doug Weston, Douglas Poston and Davin McNeil.

"You have done me a great service....

now I shall service you!"

Our dark tale of undead bloodlust begins with a group of robed and mysteriously seventies haired monks carrying a coffin thru' the California desert to a fairly inoffensive sub-Jerry Goldsmith Omen-esque score.

So far so so.

Entering a dark, dank cave our hooded pals force open the coffin to reveal a jug-eared young man in his granddad's tuxedo lying within.

As the lead monk Brian attempts to stake him thru' the heart our be-suited chum suddenly opens his eyes and sits upright before metamorphosing into a bat whilst filling the cave with what looks like (Robert) eggy bad-dad gas.

As the monks shriek and scream in terror the bat - via a handy fishing wire and a big stick - flies to the cave entrance before reverting back to it's human form.

Naked apart from a cape, patent leather brogues and socks the monks can only cower in fear at the evil that is Gayracula.

Ladies and gentlemen....
live on stage....5ive!

Jump forward (backwards? sideways?) to the year is 1783  - well according to the dodgy Letraset font superimposed over a kids drawing of a Halloween castle it is - where the fantastically monikered Gaylord Young (The late Tim Kramer of California Jackoff fame), a courier for the legal firm of Crotchley, Bloomfield and Smythe (like it matters) has been dispatched to Transylvania to deliver a family heirloom to the mysteriously mustachioed Mark Shannon alike (and even more fantastically monikered) Marquis de Suede (Collins last seen in Falconhead Part II: The Maneaters).

Being so grateful for the personal touch of delivering the said artifact to his imposing castle by hand, de Suede offers Young a hot meal and a bed for the night.

Oh yes, and also insists on sucking the young man's huge throbbing member as if it were an oversized Chupa Chup before firing his own undead vampiric muck all over Young's lily-white arse and at the point of climax biting him on the neck.

All in gloriously over-lit clinical colour.

Which reminds me, how is your dad?

The year they invented Crayola obviously.

Waking the next morning to a head full of red and an arse like a sugared doughnut, poor Gaylord stumbles over to the mirror to examine his neck only to see not his own reflection but the face of de Suede laughing maniacally at him before the mirror explodes in a shower of sharp pointy shards.

The curse of the vampire has been passed to a new victim.

Gaylord Young, legal eagle is no more.

He has become the king of the undead.

Something less than human but with a cock the size of a newborn baby.

A very muscly new born baby.

With shot putters arms.

Which is a plus point if you think about it.

Your Dads works night out.

Suddenly (and without so much as a warning or even a crudely crayoned flashframe) we're transported to 'modern day' Los Angeles, where Boris the manservant (allegedly some bloke named Rand Remington but frankly I'm convinced is Tom Savini) and Geoff the delivery boy (Christopher last seen in the 1991 erotic thriller Fade In, an undiscovered classic that featured gay half-men, half-spiders who devour their sexual partners after trapping them in webs of sticky cum...seriously) are busy decorating a huge mansion ready for the new owner to move in.

Worn out after carrying a big wooden coffin into the lounge Geoff has to rest for a while but luckily Boris appears to be a trained sports therapist and offers to massage his stiff shoulders.

With his penis.

Obviously.

Geoff, grateful for the help notices that Boris looks uncomfortable sitting on a rough wooden box so, assuming his bottom must be getting a wee bit sore offers to massage that in return.

Boris agrees and the two men indulge themselves in a bout of manly massage.

It was at this point I realised that this may not be, in fact, a 'proper' vampire film.

"Tonight Matthew I'm going to be...
Gary Barlow!"

All this excitement, groaning and testosterone (not to mention the copious amounts of semen dripping into his coffin) is enough to wake Gaylord from his slumber.

Having been asleep for 200 hundred years tho' he's rather peckish and makes short work of poor Geoff's bum draining every speck of blood from his body.

And now Gaylord, rested and fed can begin to explore his new home.

Your dad, working late at the office last night.

And it's whilst taking in the LA sights (as well as taking a few other things in obviously) that Gaylord discovers that the Marquis de Suede is still alive - posing as an agent and running an all male dance troupe in a theatre just off Hollywood Boulevard.

And you guessed it our vampiric chum and the Marquis have some unfinished business to attend to.

Revenge for turning Gaylord into a vampire?

A battle to the death to decide who is the king of the undead?

Or is it that Gaylord just can't get enough of the Marquis' ungodly shaft?

Go on, guess.

"Flames in mah mooth!"

Arriving at rehearsals and given a front row seat - alongside a key to the mysterious 'backroom' - by the Marquis, Gaylord's sex plans are thrown into disarray when he comes across (not literally, well not yet) the young, virginal Gavin (McNeil star of Malibu Days Big Bear Nights), a waiter at the theatre and falls instantly and hopelessly in love with him.

Using his powers of persuasion to entice Gavin to his home the pair make beautiful (well sticky and sweaty) love together and, as Gavin falls asleep in Gaylord's arms, the vampire vows never to suck the young boys blood and to only indulge in rimming on a Tuesday.

Aw, ain't love sweet?

Abstaining from blood drinking tho' leaves Gaylord weakened and stumbling thru' the streets in a daze and it's only thru' sheer luck that he manages across the local bloodbank where, as is usually the way with these things, the hunky doctor is far too busy sodomising one of the (even hunkier) patients to notice our hero draining the blood supply dry.

Returning home Gaylord vows to tell Gavin the truth about his unusual affliction.

But will their love survive?

"Put it in me!"

Three cheers for Roger Earl for producing a vampire movie with all the passion, romance, horror and copious scenes of buggery sadly missing from such big budget offerings as Bram Stoker's Dracula, the Salem's Lot remake, Twilight and the like.

It's micro-budget never once compromises Earl's vision and tho' he may have had to incorporate props and sets left over from the arse end of the seventies (cracked and wobbly disco balls, silver clad dance 'numbers' and a couple of unfortunate mustaches) he stays true to his aim of producing a film that not only delves deep into vampire lore whilst dealing with the universal issues of love and belonging but also manages to feature the most varied and frankly disturbing (and slightly erotic as my nan told me) scenes of fucking, rimming, sucking and cupping I have ever seen.

And for this reason alone I take my hat off to him.

I mean who am I to judge tho?

Your mum watching this film yesterday.

merry christmas...

 to all you readers at home!

slay ride.

Celebrating the 50th anniversary of Bob Clark's festive classic released on this very day in 1974...

And why not?

Black Christmas (AKA Silent Night, Evil Night, Stranger in the House 1974).
Dir: Bob Clark.
Cast: Olivia Hussey, Keir Dullea, Margot Kidder, John Saxon, Michael Rapport, Lynne Griffin, Marian Waldman and Andrea Martin.

If this movie doesn't make your skin crawl... It's On Too Tight! (is that even physically possible?)

Tis the season to be jolly, there's snow on the ground, love in the air, the smell of chestnuts roasting and in a sorority house at the world famous Baldpate University of Clever Clogs, many of the female students - including badgirl Barb and the virginal Jess - (a pre-mentalism Kidder and the pony faced Hussey) have been receiving a series of obscene phone calls from a strange perv nicknamed The Moaner.

You'll probably remember that's why your dad got sacked from The Samaritans.

Being a horror movie tho' no one takes his calls seriously, with a few of the saucier students (hands up Barb - tho' not literally, a couple of fingers would suffice) - actually looking forward to his nightly messages, that is until the night when Jess hears the screams and gasps of a woman in the background.

Calling her friends to listen in it's not long before Barb is threatening The Moaner with a severe buggering only to have him reply that he's actually going to kill her to death first and with that he hangs up and the girls go about their business.

Which in this case is packing for the Christmas holidays.


Which as slasher fans will know is as good a cue as any for the bad murders to start.

"Try and shite in mah mooth now you bastard!"

And start they do when cutesy Co-ed Clare Harrison (Griffin from the brilliant Curtains which I'm sure I'd reviewed once but it seems to have been deleted which is a pity as I remember it being a lot better written than this review) becomes moaners first victim, a plastic bag wrapped around her head as shes dragged to the attic and sat in a rocking chair.

Obviously the killer knows a cool poster image when he sees one.

The following morning, Clare's dad George arrives to pick up his daughter but she doesn't show up he quickly heads over to the sorority house to, if not find her then at least get a glimpse of Lois Lane's stocking tops.

Well it is Christmas.

Unfortunately the only thrill he gets is a peek at housekeeper Mrs. MacHenry's (world's shittest superhero Waldman) infeasibley large hat.

And that is worth the R rating alone if I'm honest.

Meanwhile Jess is meeting up with her neurotic musician boyfriend, Peter (2001's Dullea saddled with really crap hair) to tell him that she's pregnant and thinking about having an abortion.

Which is nice and festive.

Peter, being a 70s type of guy gets a wee bit angry and shouts at poor Jess before stomping off in a huff giving us an excuse to see what good old Mr. Harrison is up to in the search for his daughter.

Well him, Barb and Phyllis (Kim Possible voice-over actress Martin, who also appeared in the remake too don't you know) are busy at the police station try to get tough as nails cop Lieutenant Kenneth 'Horse Cock' Fuller (Saxon - nuff said) to form a search party and look for the missing girl.

John Saxon receives a call from his agent

offering him the lead in Cannibal Apocalypse.

Unfortunately he's a wee bit busy as another girl, Janis, has also vanished while walking home from school and seeing as she's much younger (and cuter) the police would rather look for her.

Which is fair enough I guess.

Barb, overly upset by her friends disappearance, gets drunk leaving Mr. Harrison, Jess,and Phyllis free to visit the local park where Janis was last seen.

Adding even more stress to the situation is the fact that Mrs. MacHenry can't seem to place her pussy and between that and packing to go to her sister's for Christmas is causing all manner of problems for the housemates.

It's great to get your priorities right isn't it?

Luckily after following a faint 'meowing' noise she finds her precious moggy in the attic, unfortunately she also finds the killer, who promptly wedges a hook in her face.

Which is nice.

Obviously on a gore-filled frenzy after seeing how great the face stabbing effect looked, it's only a matter of time before Janis' mutilated body is found, upsetting Jess to a point where she has to go home to bed.

Poor lamb.

"Hallo? French Polishers?

you might just save my life!"

As the others continue their search continues for Clare, Jess receives yet another obscene phone call and this time decides to report it to the police but as she does Peter turns up to beg her to marry him.

Jess refuses and Peter storms off in a huff just as Lieutenant Fuller arrives to bug the telephone.

As in put a recording device on it, not hassle it over unpaid bills etc.

With the movie rushing (albeit leisurely) toward its climax, Fuller pools all his resources in an attempt to stop the moaners reign of, er..moaning, unfortunately this appears to involve standing around in the street looking tough whilst holding a megaphone whilst eyeing up carol singers.

"Boiled onions!"

And it's the dulcet tones of these carol singers - who just happen to be visiting Jess' house at the time) that the mysterious killer decides to use as cover as he continues his reign of terror, firstly stabbing Barb to death with a handy statue before murdering Phyllis too.

But Fuller is hot on his trail and has managed to trace the moaners calls.

And they're coming from inside the house.

It seems that Fuller had totally forgotten that there was an extension built onto the sorority house and that the killer could happily hide there, listening to peoples conversations and phone calls.

It's like a nightmare version of Homes Under The Hammer.

Ringing the house Fuller warns Jessica to leave immediately and wait for him outside but, being a girl she gets lost on the way from the living room to the front door and heads upstairs (armed with a poker at least) instead where - surprise - she is jumped on by the killer.

Managing to escape she runs back downstairs completely missing the front door (again) and heads into the basement where she bumps into her grumpy boyfriend Peter, whom she is convinced is the killer for no other reason than he wants to marry her.

What a bastard.

And as he approaches her to talk Jessica bludgeons him to death with the poker.

Ouch.

The lights are on.

The police arrive to find her hunched over Peters body and decide that the case is closed - It's possibly their Christmas night out so understandably they want to get everything down as soon as - so you can imagine the conversation between Fuller and his men; "Aye, that Peter was a wee bit angry with his girlfriend not wanting to marry him so he must be the killer and the fact that we've found his aforementioned estranged girlfriend leaning over him holding a bloody poker means it must have been him! Right! mines a Babycham!".

Sorted.

They pack up the bodies, clean up the blood and bid their farewells to Jess, leaving her alone (in a major crime scene) to sleep off the excitement of her friends being murdered and killing her boyfriend.

But as we cut to the attic one last time we discover that there are two dead bodies that have yet to be found and as a man's voice whispers out thru' the darkness the phone begins to ring.....

Possibly the first of the modern 'slasher' cycle made famous by Halloween and Friday The 13th, the late, great Bob Clark's genre defining Black Christmas is unfortunately overlooked by all but the most rabid horror fans and Clark himself is better known for his seminal holiday classic A Christmas Story and Porky's than for this and the fantastic Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things.

Which is a shame as Black Christmas has much to offer, not just of historical interest but as a darn good frightener in its own right.

Featuring a decidedly eclectic cast—from Superman's Margot Kidder to cult stalwart John Saxon via the Star Child himself Keir Dullea as well as many shots and set ups that would become genre mainstays, Clark's movie deserves to be sought out by any self respecting film fan if only to see where the stalk and slash genre started.

As well as to have a bloody good laugh at the haircuts and trousers obviously.

It's not too late to rush out and buy it to watch on Christmas Eve, tho' make sure you don't pick up the shite 2006 remake by mistake.

seeing as...

 ...it's nearly my birthday, here's some gift ideas.

blue is the warmest colour.

Off my tits on medicine at the moment to combat the dreaded winter flu and this film just about sums up how I feel.....

 
Blue Sunshine (1977 - or maybe even 78 no one seems sure).
Dir: Jeff Lieberman.
Cast: Zalman King, Deborah Winters, Robert Walden, Bill Cameron, Ann Cooper, Mark Goddard, Brion James, Adriana Shaw and Charles Siebert.

There's a bald maniac in there, and he's going bat shit!

You know it's the 70's when your movie for the evening opens with a grainy shot of a massive full moon whilst and synthesized kazoo soundtrack blares in the background before finally settling on a hideously flock wallpapered corridor resplendent with brown, bell-bottomed extras.

But it's not all flares and flammable fabrics as we're soon introduced to a diddy doctor named David Bloom (Walden) who's spending his evening eying up cancer stricken old ladies with a look of either mild concern or just plain confusion.

Don't worry tho' because before we can get bored with all this caring stuff we're suddenly taken to a gorgeous n' groovy 'pad' (ask your granddad) where Lego haired homebody Wendy (Cooper, a kinda council estate version of Adrienne Barbeau) is uncomfortably reading a bedtime story to a couple of children.

I'm assuming that they're hers and that she hasn't just kidnapped them but with low budget 70's horror you can never be sure, as it happens she's babysitting for her neighbour in order to take her mind off her impeding divorce from local congressman Ed Flemming (Lost In Space star Goddard).

I'm sorry, I appear to have inadvertently popped a daytime soap in my player in place of a cult 70's classic...

Your mums cum face....trust me I know.

Not too surprisingly she's feeling quite tender as well as prone to upsetting headaches so as you can probably imagine that when halfway thru' the kiddies bedtime story (it's Rapunzel by the way) the small girl child tugs on her hair pulling a handful out that Wendy gets a wee bit upset.

Meanwhile across town the big-binned wife of potato-faced beat cop (sounds groovy) John O'Malley (Cameron, father of the former British PM) Barbara (Shaw who's probably been in other stuff but I can't be arsed checking) is busy crying/flirting on her neighbours shoulder in regard to her hubbie working late/never being home/loving his parrot more then her etc - plus the fact that since hs hair has been falling out in clumps that she doesn't fancy him much - typical marriage then really.

Suddenly John returns home and just stares blankly at his wife and pal for a few seconds more than necessary.

Spooky.

Jumping around even more than your mum on speed we're suddenly at a hip n' happening party where the bush-barnetted beefcake Jerry Zipkin (latter day erotic thriller god and former Jesus, King) is getting down with his lady love Alicia (Winters) whilst Blade Runner star Brion James squats on the arm of a chair pretending to be a budgie.

No, really.

Savile: The Return.

But that, believe it or not is the most embarrassing thing to happen at the party.

That'll be when check-jacketed pube-haired Frannie Packet (Crystal, brother of Billy) decides to impress the group with an impromptu Tom Jones impression whilst fondling the buttocks of one of his pals girlfriends.

Which is nice.

Playful scuffling ensues with culminates in the aforementioned lady accidentally pulling of Frannie's wig which not only reveals his massive shiny head but causes his eyes to bulge like massive eggs.

Eggs with pupils drawn on them obviously.

He legs it out of the front door with his (bloke) buddies - and Jerry's girlfriend, well she is the female lead - in hot pursuit, the ladies staying in the warm and get pissed which really sums up how they must feel about the whole thing if I'm honest.

As Jerry and Alicia start rifling thru the bins for any sign of their follically challenged chum and the other buddies drive around in circles Frannie sneaks back into the party and starts drooling over the dinner table, much to the ladies disgust.

Which wouldn't actually be so much of a social faux pas if he didn't then batter one of them to death with a mop handle before throwing one into the open fire and finally punching the last girl standing in the face.

Twice.

Capt. Jack Sparrow: The Bri-Nylon years.

 

Hearing the screams Jerry hurries back to the party only to come across (not in that way) a blood spattered Frannie legging it into the darkness.

Being our hero for the evening Jerry gives chase and in a fight scene that would do Blakes Seven proud pushes Frannie under an oncoming truck.

Pity that the trucks occupants are very happy with losing their no claims bonus and decide to shoot our hero as he tries to explain what's happened.

Americans eh?

Thinking fuck this for a game of darts, Jerry jumps in a car and drives away desperately trying to think how he's going to explain the whole sorry situation to his gran.

Nutted but still sucking.

 

Back at the house party cum bloodbath the police are already busy questioning Alicia whilst across town Jerry makes his way to see his old pal Dr Bloom for a sticking plaster and cold coffee enema for his gunshot wound.

See? 

That stuff earlier wasn't just filler.

Probably.

Meeting up with Alicia the next day Jerry is shocked to see a newspaper headline (or he may have just been admiring the pretty lips of the old man reading it) regarding a recent spate of killings involving - wait for it - a bald man.

But not just any bald man.

You see it looks like  John O'Malley may have gone crazy and murdered his family.

And his neighbour.

And his neighbours dog.

Could the headaches and hair loss be related?

Go on, guess.

Leslie Dixon: Still fears the chives.

As is the way with such tales Jerry decides to take it on himself to prove his innocence at to this end breaks into the  O'Malley house to search for clues.

Oh yes and to also have an almost proto-Will Graham flashback/vision of the crime being committed as the ex-cops pet budgie squawks the words 'Blue Sunshine' from a nearby wardrobe.

If that wasn't freaky enough it seems that  O'Malley was something of an amateur photographer and has photos of many of the main cast pinned on his wall, the words 'Blue Sunshine' written below each of them.

Heading back to Dr Blooms office (look the running time isn't that long) Jerry discovers that ten years previously, when they were all students at the local tech they'd all bought doses of acid (named....wait for it....'Blue Sunshine') from Bloom himself.

Luckily (for him) he was a good guy and never tried the stuff himself.

His bald spot is fortunately quite natural.

It's now left to Jerry (and Alicia) to find the other ex-dopeheads and warm them of their condition before it's too late, which in Wendy's case is probably about now seeing as she's quite literally just flipped her wig and started chasing the kids around the house with a bread knife.

Tho' this might just be a 70's parenting thing who knows?

"Put it in me!"

 It's not all slapheaded stabbing tho' as there's still the matter of convincing sleazy senator Flemming that he's somehow in danger too (possibly) so Alicia using her feminine charms (either that or she hypnotizes him with her massive glasses) to persuade his ex-quarterback (whatever that means) college pal turned  bodyguard to meet her 'for drinks' at a political rally cum puppet show cum disco at the local mall.

Which sounds brilliant even if all these killings weren't going on.

Unfortunately Mr Beef had also indulged in a wee bit o' Blue in the past and that coupled with the pint of Babycham he orders caused him to lose his mind (and his hair) and go batshit crazy to a grooving disco score as polyester clad cool people dive for cover.

Will Jerry be able to convince everyone that bad drugs - and not he - did the bad killings or will there be (mass) murder on the dance floor?

 Will Flemming manage to hold onto his election?

And will the talented talking budgie turn up to save the day?

From genius Jeff Lieberman, the man behind Squirm, Just Before Dawn and the frankly fantastic Satan's Little Helper comes this psychedelic slice of 70's pill popping paranoia that plays out like an episode of Columbo as scripted by Larry Cohen.

Albeit when he was a wee bit busy and could only manage a rough first draft.

Solidly directed, tightly edited and played with just the right amount of stoic conviction from it's cast, Blue Sunshine may unravel a wee bit toward the climax but the plots sheer delicious deliriousness more than makes up for any hiccups along the way

Sophie Ellis Bextor: Stolen groove (and clothes) not shown.

Plus it has the added bonus of being genuinely creepy in parts thanks in no small way to Charles Gross' sinisterly scary score and the casts really big eyes.

Even the featured song Disco Blue by the fantastically named Humane Society For The Preservation Of Good Music is a winner.

And talking of music any film that's good enough for Steve Severin  and Robert Smith to name their collaborative album after is good enough for me.

And by default you too.

Good day.

shit alexis says....

 

delia derbyshire: audiological.

 Celebrating the genius of Delia Derbyshire - the high priestess of British electronic music.

 

stryke it lucky.

Our youngest was out shopping with Mum t'other day and came back with this haul...

He's obviously showing good taste.

Anyway, this served as an excuse to show him some other classics of the zombie genre.

 

And this one obviously.

 

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.

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 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 tramps from West Bromwich.

"Put it in me!"

 

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.

Here come the Belgians!

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, underpaid extras and homeless folk 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 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 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 ejaculate (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.

"Happy birthday Kenneth!"

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.

*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.