language timothy!

Seeing as today is the birthday of my favourite James Bond I thought It'd be a good time to share an overview I wrote of the ultimate Bond movie from way back in 2015.

Partly because it's not too badly written (for me) but mainly in the hope of attracting some (any?) new readers.

Originally published in the late lamented Multitude of Movies Magazine - hence the distinct lack of 'mooth shite' and 'laugh now' gags - sit back and enjoy (again if you read it first time around) some classic bondage as we revisit....


Licence To Kill (1989).
Dir: John Glen.
Cast: Timothy Dalton, Carey Lowell, Robert Davi, Talisa Soto, Anthony Zerbe, David Hedison, Benicio del Toro, Everett McGill, Desmond Llewellyn, Robert Brown and Wayne Newton.

“loyalty is more important than money”

It’s 1989 and the world of cinematic heroism is in a state of flux… as Indiana Jones rides off into the sunset in the company of his dad and Captain Kirk has a cut-price family-friendly face-off with God, a hero from our childhood is about to emerge onto the big screen darker, dourer and much, much more leathery than ever before…

Indeed, 1989 was the year of the Bat.

But Bob Kane and Bill Finger’s eponymous Dark Knight detective wasn’t the only character of old being dragged kicking-and-screaming into the modern age.

Another 60’s pop culture icon was about to receive a much needed make-over.

Bond was back.

And, after the frankly schizophrenically scripted The Living Daylights tried somewhat unsuccessfully to mix Moore-style quips with Connery era arse-kicking, 007’s new adventure Licence Revoked looked to return to a Bond with a more realistic edge (but with a dreamy Welsh accent), the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the franchise’s very beginning.

But evil machinations of which Blofeld himself would be proud were about to scupper the super spy in his attempts to regain his action crown.

The least of which was the worry from Eon that no-one in America would know what ‘revoked’ meant.

And, if they did, would they assume that the title referred to Bond’s driving licence?

There is no such thing as a totally straight man, just a man who's never experienced Timothy Dalton as James Bond.

A dozen meetings and one swift title change later – well, I say swift… but not swift enough to save Eon from having to dump Robert Peak’s darkly daring promotional artwork and quickly replace it with what looked like a hastily Pritt-sticked community centre panto poster – and Licence To Kill was born.

And with it a grittier and, let’s be honest, a damn sight sexier Bond for a new and more dangerous age.

A Bond out for revenge and out for justice.

A Bond that bled, cried and wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

And, unfortunately, a Bond that no-one save the die-hard fan seemed to have had any interest in seeing.

Which is a pity really because those of us who did see it at the time realised that we were witnessing probably the greatest Bond movie ever.

And if you don’t believe me, then I’d happily listen to you explain why they’ve been remaking it every few years under a variety of titles only this time with Daniel Craig in the lead role.

Welcome to the weird, wonderful and high-wired world of Licence To Kill.
And by its end the Bond franchise will never be the same again.

But first, for those few who’ve still not seen it, I think a wee recap is in order.

Helping his best bud Felix Leiter (David Hedison, the only other actor save Jeffrey Wright to play the role twice) prepare for his wedding, suave super spy James Bond (Mr. Vegas himself Wayne Newton – nah, only joking, Timothy ‘Bloody’ Dalton obviously) finds himself and Leiter sidelined by the DEA to help in the capture of the evil drug kingpin Franz Sanchez (the great beast himself and star of Maniac Cop II and III, Robert Davi).

In a feat of airborne daring so great that Christopher Nolan would later rip it off for The Dark Knight Rises, Bond and Leiter – using only a big hook and a few metres of old rope – capture Sanchez by literally ‘fishing’ his plane out of the sky before parachuting into the wedding ceremony to a sexy Gladys Knight theme.

Phwoar indeed.

Unfortunately (for Felix, that is… I mean for us it’s a godsend, otherwise the movie would be over), Sanchez bribes slimy DEA agent Ed Killifer (Twin Peaks‘ Big Ed himself, Everett McGill) and escapes, but not before setting in motion a raging rampage of revenge that begins with feeding Felix to a shark before murdering his wife.

Bond, upon discovering this, is understandably a wee bit upset.

His temper isn't helped by the fact that the DEA refuse to assist our hero in bringing Sanchez to justice, due to him being out of his jurisdiction, leaving Bond – alongside his buddy Sharkey (Frank McRae) – to start their own investigation.

The dashing duo soon discover that not only is the nearby marine research centre run by a henchman of Sanchez, the twitchy, bitchy Milton Krest (the always fantastic Anthony Zerbe), but it’s also in reality a cover for Sanchez’ cocaine smuggling operation. As it happens, Killifer is there to pick up his cash.

What are the chances?

Bond, by this point not only annoyed about bits of his best friend becoming fish food but visibly angry at spending a whole 30 minutes without chinning someone, angrily feeds Killifer to the same shark (c’mon, they’re expensive to hire) that maimed Leiter.

Which is nice.

Imagine being the filling in this sandwich.

Concerned by Bond’s mood swings, M (Robert Brown) meets up with our hero and orders him to travel to Istanbul for a new assignment which frankly is the last thing Bond needs to hear, causing him to resign from the secret service before headbutting M’s bodyguards and legging it into the bushes.

Bond is now a rogue agent, bereft of official backing and on the run from both the US and UK secret services (and quite possibly Rumbelows), with only his trusty PPK and a suave line in blouson leather jackets and boating shoes for company.

Is there anyone Bond can turn to in his hour of need?

As luck would have it Major Boothroyd – or as we know him ‘Q’ (Desmond Llewellyn) – just happens to be taking a well earned holiday in exactly the same hotel that Bond is staying in; not only that, he’s come equipped with everything Bond could need to complete his mission.

All quite by chance, you understand.

The reunion has to wait though, as Bond has a drug shipment to foil.

Boarding Milton Krest’s ship, the none too originally monikered Wavekrest, Bond does indeed foil the shipment and also steals five million dollars of Sanchez’ cash in the process.

It’s not all joy and happiness though, as Sharkey ends up dead at the hands of the evil Dario (a frighteningly baby-faced Benicio Del Toro, sporting a fantastic quiff).

All this wanton violence is all well and good (and a little refreshing if I’m honest) but 007 soon realises that the film is missing one vital ingredient.

Yup it can’t be a proper Bond film without some top totty, so to that end James teams up with the tomboyish ex-CIA agent and bush pilot (ooeerr) Pam Bouvier (second best Bond girl Carey Lowell) who, alongside Bond and Q, head to the Republic of Isthmus where Sanchez holds court.

By that I mean he runs the joint, he doesn’t wander around in a powdered wig hitting a hammer on an old table whilst shouting “Order!” and the like.

Though he may have done in a deleted scene.

Who knows?

But I digress.

Posing as an unemployed hitman (his undercover binman disguise must have been in the wash), Bond manages to get a job working for the evil Sanchez but an attempt to ‘take out’ (in a non Paddy McGuinness way, obviously) the deranged drug dealer is thwarted by two jobs-worth Hong Kong narcotics agents who unceremoniously bundle our hero into the back of a van before taking him along to a deserted warehouse (is there any other kind?) where an MI6 operative named Fallon (Hammer stalwart Christopher Neame) is waiting to take Bond back to London.

Dead or alive.

Crikey.

Injected with a potent sleeping drug, wrapped in bubble wrap and bunged in a box, all looks lost for Bond… until that is a couple of Sanchez’s goons turn up, machine gun the three agents, and rescue our hero.

It appears that they thought that the secret service types were the actual assassins and that Bond was trying to stop them.

How more twisty turny can this plot get?

Sanchez handling his massive chopper.

Now well placed (on the right, just behind the drinks cabinet) in Sanchez’s inner circle, Bond decides to have some fun. Firstly, with the aide of Sanchez’s exotic girlfriend Lupe Lamora (Vampirella herself, the slinkily sexy Talisa Soto), he frames Krest by hiding the $5 million he stole earlier in one of the Wavekrest‘s hyperbaric (bless you) chambers, before dropping hints to Sanchez that it was Krest who nicked it.

Ever the reasonable employer Sanchez responds by locking Krest in the very same chamber, before smashing it with an axe causing the poor guy to explode.
Wondering how they’ll ever explain that to his Gran, Sanchez invites Bond along to his secret lair (cunningly hidden beneath a new-age meditation centre) to explain his plan to him – and us.

And what a plan it is.

Like a particularly over-excited child with a new toy, Sanchez explains how his scientists have discovered a way to dissolve cocaine in petrol, which they can them just roll out across the world in big trucks disguised as common or garden fuel and then sell it to evil Asian drug dealers.

Which is a pretty specific market if you ask me, but hey-ho what do I know about international drugs trafficking?

The best bit of the plan though is the fact that all of the dodgy drug transactions are conducted via the broadcasts of the centre’s leader, the porn ‘tashed televangelist Professor Joe Butcher (the afore-mentioned Mr. Las Vegas Wayne Newton), who just repeats whatever Sanchez’s ‘business manager’ Truman-Lodge (Iron Man himself, Starke) tells him to.

Obviously adding a “Praise The Lord!” or “Hallelujah!” occasionally, just to make sure no-one suspects anything.

Preparing to end Sanchez’s plan (and let’s be honest his life), Bond is surprised when Dario arrives unannounced and reveals 007’s true identity.

As a British agent, that is: he doesn’t turn up and shout “Bugger me, it’s Timothy Dalton star of Flash Gordon and Sextette!” because that would be silly.

Though probably perfectly acceptable in one of the latter Moore movies.

His cover blown, Bond does what any self respecting Welshman would do in that situation and sets fire to some stuff before attempting to flee.

But Dario has other plans and ties our hero up before dangling him feet first over a giant shredding machine.

Just as Bond is about to be sliced like so much bacon, Pam turns up and shoots Dario, allowing Bond, in one of the franchise’s most unpleasant deaths, to kick him into the shredder instead.

Which is as painful as it sounds.

Fleeing his burning base, Sanchez commandeers four tankers full of the cocaine and petrol mix and attempts to drive to freedom (or at least somewhere the Feds wont get him – Coventry, perhaps?) but Bond is in hot pursuit.

Well, actually he’s in a plane piloted by Pam, but let’s not be too anal about it.
Careering to an explosive climax, it’s soon one on one as Bond faces off with Sanchez…

Released on 13th June 1989, Licence To Kill, the 16th official James Bond, has a number of (fairly) interesting firsts and lasts attached to it.

It was last to be directed by long time Bond director John Glen (his fifth movie in succession) and the last to be produced by Albert ‘Cubby’ Broccoli who had handed the production reigns over to his stepson Michael G Wilson due to ill health, and last to make direct use of any of Ian Fleming’s story concepts and characters until Die Another Day in 2002, taking as it does elements from the novel Live and Let Die (the Leiter/shark scenes and the tactics employed by Sanchez to smuggle drugs) as well as from the short story The Hildebrand Rarity.

Though it’s been years since I read that so, to be honest, I really can’t remember which bits.

Probably the bit where Bond seduces a lady or something.

Pam Bouvier: Crick neck and side arm.

Staying true to Fleming didn’t go as far as the title though, it being the first not taken from a Fleming story (though A View To A Kill does cheat slightly by removing the ‘From’ from the short story title, allegedly to make it easier for Duran Duran to write the song).

Staying with songs, the film’s frankly fantastic title theme – as sung by Gladys Knight – was actually written as an homage to the classic Goldfinger*, meaning that composer John Barry – alongside lyricists Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley- received royalty payments from it, which is nice.

But the more things stayed the same,the more things changed: the main thing being that, due to budgetary concerns (which for a Bond movie is bizarre), the film was the first in the franchise to be shot totally outside the UK, though with locations in such glorious climes as Florida and Mexico I doubt the cast and crew complained.

I mean it’s not like they had a two week shoot in Bognor or something, was it?

And what of that sun-kissed cast I hear you cry?

Well, frankly, there’s never been a Bond film before this with such a top rate (or let’s be honest as sexy) group of thesps than this.

Eon must have agreed as it took 17 years before they even attempted to up the sheer sexual magnetism and raw talent of the movies again when they gave us the frankly magnificent duo of Eva Green and Mads Mikklesen in Casino Royale.

And even then they had to balance out the sexiness and cast a big potato as Bond, for fear of a thousand spontaneous pregnancies during the card playing finale.

But let’s ignore Mr Craig and wax lyrical on the actor who, in my humble opinion, gave us the definitive portrayal of 007, Timothy Dalton.

The dark and gritty Man About The House remake looks good.

It’s reported that on securing the role Dalton admitted to never having seen a Bond movie so decided to head back to the books for his inspiration and here it shows.

Dalton gives us a Bond that we can believe in, a cold-blooded killer for Queen and country but with a softer edge around those who know him, a flawed hero who will risk everything for a friend, and, in a lovely throwback to his ill-fated marriage to Tracey, a man haunted by his past.

If anything, Licence To Kill can actually be seen as a sequel of sorts to On Her Majesty’s Secret Service as it’s the murder of his best (only?) friend’s wife that sends Bond over the edge and on the path to revenge and ultimately redemption.

Imagine this movie following OHMSS, with Blofeld replacing Sanchez and a rogue Bond out for his blood to avenge Tracey’s death, no that would have been a swansong for Connery plus with the added bonus of the franchise being still (relatively) new enough to actually make the audience doubt that Bond would return to the fold by the movie’s end.

And, whilst you sit back and imagine that scenario, let’s look at the supporting cast.

Like all good leads Dalton isn’t afraid to let his co-stars shine, especially franchise stalwart Desmond Llewelyn as ‘Q’ who, in a role far expanded on any other movie, positively revels in the genuinely warm father/son relationship the pair share. It’s only beaten by Llewelyn’s final words to Bond in The World Is Not Enough which act as a fitting tribute to a much missed actor.

And it’s worth the price of admission for these scenes alone if I’m honest.

As for the villains, the casting director really struck gold with the amount of up and coming – and firmly established – talent on show, from a pitch-perfect Robert Davi, channeling real-life former dictator of Panama and all round bad boy Manuel Noriega, to Benicio Del Toro’s loon-tastically lecherous Dario, via Anthony Zerbe’s twitchy Krest.

The cast of villains are at the top of their game with every single one of them bringing something unique to their roles.

Not one main star or bit-part actor is out of place and all add to something, however small, to the film.

And in the much coveted ‘Bond Girl’ roles Talisa Soto is all exotically charged and smouldering beauty as bad-girl-with-a-heart Lupe Lamora, whilst Carey Lowell plays Pam with an energetic mix of wholesome cookie-cutting boy scout, wide-eyed sweetness and thighs you could happily ski down, ever so slightly reminiscent of Peanut‘s Lucy armed with a big gun.

Which says more about me than her, if I’m honest.

Any excuse.

If the film has any fault it’s that, with hindsight it was just too much of a departure too soon for those used to the Roger Moore style of Bond…but bravo to Eon for not taking the safe route and attempting something different when staying safe would have been the easier option.

At the film’s end we find Bond slightly shaken, with his loins stirred by the pouting Pam as the pair flirt in a swimming pool to the dulcet tones of Patti LaBelle warbling If You Asked Me To. Who would have guessed that it would be 6 years before Bond returned, refreshed and re-imagined again, but this time as a post Cold War warrior with a scary bouffant, a smart line in Moore-style quips and taking orders from the woman from A Fine Romance?

No sane person that’s for sure.

But that change resonated with a by-now more cinema-savvy audience, and once again cemented Bond as the world’s foremost action hero and, seemingly cemented Dalton as the true forgotten Bond, left awash in an uncertain point in the franchise’s history.

Which is why I feel it’s my duty to champion this, if not ‘unloved’ then ‘criminally neglected’ classic, because although I was brought up on a steady cinematic diet of Moore’s mischievous mayhem whilst encountering Connery on TV, Licence To Kill will always be ‘my’ Bond.

It’s genuine wit, style and grit (plus an over-reliance on 80’s hair products), perfectly summing up Bond in all its forms.

Plus, as an aside in these more enlightened days it’s the only action film I can think of that relies on the lead character being a smoker to defeat the villain.





































































































*It’s the sexy trumpet bit if you’re still wondering.

computer says no.

 Just because - A collection of Yugoslavian Računari Computer Magazine Covers.

There were many, many more but frankly I lost the will to live.

Enjoy. 

sigh-borg.

Can't believe it's been 40 years since The Terminator was released in UK cinemas (11 January 1985 fact fans) and I've noticed that to celebrate they're doing a massive (and very expensive) stadium tour where you can watch the film from miles away whilst someone plays the plinky plonk farty synth score on a Yamaha keyboard as you do.

Sounds fantastic I'm sure you'll agree.

 

Anyway as a tribute (and in the hope of pulling in (as opposed to pulling off) new readers I thought I'd post my own tribute by way of a review of the (much superior) film it ripped off.

You're welcome.

Cyborg 2087 (1966).

Dir: Franklin Adreon.

Cast: Michael Rennie, Karen Steele, Wendell Corey, Warren Stevens, Eduard Franz, Sherry Alberoni, Harry Carey, Jr., Dale Van Sickel, Troy Melton, John Beck,  Jo Ann Pflug and Larry Dean.

Half Human... Half Machine! Programmed to Kill!

 

The year is 2087, a totalitarian world where motorcycle helmeted androids rule with a rod of iron and form fitting, khaki polyester pantsuits are legally required to be worn by all women.

But not everyone is happy to live in this nightmarish (and fairly beige) world, and so we begin our exciting tale with two scientists (Dean in man-tit disguising black braces and the bewitchingly beehived Pflug, who I will spend the rest of the film thinking about) secretly preparing a time machine in order to send a bequiffed part man/part machine named Garth (Rennie, slumming it for coppers) on a quick trip back to 1966 in order to save humanity from Skynet or something.

To be fair this plot seems vaguely familiar.

Déjà vu?

 

"I can see your house from here Peter!"

 

But just as the pair send the capsule (which looks a wee bit like a giant metallic suppository) back in time a couple of shiny helmeted, elderly badmen burst in and arrest the pair for crimes against bri-nylon.

 Possibly.

Arriving in California at a deserted western town called Desert City, Garth heads off to complete his mission - which we find out involves kidnapping Professor Sigmund Marx (screen stalwart Franz), a scientist whose work welding crash helmets onto monkey's heads will lead to humanities destruction or something so after freezing a bearded man and his 'nephew' (he can't kill anyone in case it changes the future) and stealing their Jeep Garth drives into town to visit Marx in his lab.

 

"Fire engine!"

 

 

Unfortunately Marx is out at a dinner/dance in LA that night and has left his sexy assistant Dr. Sharon Mason (Steele best known for her role as Eve McHuron in the Star Trek episode Mudd's Women) in charge for the day.

This is no problem for Garth tho' as he possesses the power of mental persuasion so with a flick of his wrist and a wee bit of intense staring he convinces Sharon of his mission and gets her on side. 

Not everything is going to plan tho' as Garth hadn't taken daylight saving time into account or something and is now behind schedule meaning that the evil future people have had time to send a pair of terrifying “Tracer Agents” (in reality two fat old men in comedy helmets wearing Kwik Fit overalls and light up kiddies watches - Dale Van Sickel and Troy Melton take a bow) after him in order to prevent him from completing his mission. 

And with that in mind the two of them head off to see Sharon's friend Doctor Zeller (Forbidden Planet's Stevens), an eminent heart surgeon who they task with removing the transmitter from Garth's chest (or a close paper-mache approximation of it) so that they can't track his movements.

With that done, Zeller and Garth borrow a hotrod (no seriously) and head off to the local power station in order to electrocute the Tracers allowing Garth to continue his mission.

Which has gone from kidnapping Marx to offering him a quick trip in the time machine so he can see the dystopian future he'll create first hand and hopefully get him to change his research.

Sounds legit. 

And all while Zeller's hip 'n' happening daughter Laura (ex Mickey Mouse Clubber Alberoni) and her pals frug away to some hit rock n' roll sounds in the living room.

Yowzers!

Unfortunately the Tracers have a description of Garth's car and within minutes have turned up at Zeller's house, smashed the stereo radiogram and chased his daughter around the living room ala The Benny Hill Show.

 

The lights are on.

 

Cue 40 odd minutes of high octane chase scenes (kinda) and action that would shame the makers of the Bourne films as our heroes embark on a (fairly leisurely) race against time to kill the Tracers before they kill Garth.

Or something.

Anyway the plan sorta works and Garth - with the help of Zeller - manage to kill one of the Tracers but as they're celebrating with a big manly hug the other one has sneaked off and kidnapped Sharon, trussing in her up like a big pointy bra wearing turkey in the same deserted town from the films opening so the pair, accompanied by a recently arrived Marx head out to save her.

And to Garth it's personal as he appears to have fallen in love with Sharon and her with him.

Tho' in her case it's probably more to do with all the brain washing shite he was subjecting her to earlier rather than she's got a thing for skinny, turkey necked old men in silver wellingtons.

All this love chat seems to have had an effect on Zeller too seeing as he's just realised that he also fancies Sharon.

Fuck me it's like Eastenders.

 

I wouldn't want one of them swimming up my arse.

 

Will Garth rescue Sharon from the evil Tracer?

Will Marx be convinced to halt his work after a quick jaunt to the bri-nylon future hellscape?

Will everyone forget everything when Garth goes back to the future meaning that Sharon will settle on dating Zeller instead?

And will I ever get over my flu-fueled obsession with Jo Ann Pflug's jumpsuit?

Produced by United Pictures Corporation as part of a series of nine low-budget films intended for TV distribution, Cyborg 2087 is a decidedly lo-fi affair that manages to win you over solely on the performances of the leads,  Jo Ann Pflug's jumpsuit and by the fact that it's always nice to see something else that James Cameron ripped off for The Terminator (I'm looking at you Demon with a Glass Hand and Soldier  - The Outer Limits episode that is, not the Kurt Russell starring unofficial Blade Runner prequel).

It's true that teevee stalwart Franklin (director of episodes of Lassie, Bat Masterson and Sea Hunt among others) Adreon is uninspired and utterly workman-like but given the simplicity of what's on show that's maybe not a bad thing and yes the effects, what there is of them, are threadbare and the 'futuristic' costumes have a distinctly sub 1950s Video Ranger look about them but despite (or because) of all that I must admit I actually had fun watching.

 

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Plus Adreon must have impressed (or been shagging) somebody important as both him and writer Arthur C. Pierce went straight from this to the Jeffrey Hunter starring time travel thriller Dimension 5, which by some strange quirk of fate features Maggie Thrett who also appear in the Star Trek episode Mudd's Women with Karen Steele.

It is indeed a small world.

But I wouldn't want to paint it.

To be fair the film is so inconsequential that there's very little you can say about it but fuck it I enjoyed it and I'm pretty sure it's not just because I'm delirious right now plus it's a damn sight more enjoyable - and honest - than most sci-fi on release of late.

Damning with faint praise?

It's what I do best.

surfin bird.

An account I follow on 'The X' mentioned this movie t'other day and I'd actually forgotten how bloody brilliant it was so had a rewatch and decided to repost my original review seeing as no fucker had bothered to read it.

So there.

The Visitor (1979).
Dir: Giulio Paradisi (As Michael J. Paradise).
Mel Ferrer, Glenn Ford, Lance Henriksen, John Huston, Joanne Nail, Paige Conner, Sam Peckinpah, Shelley Winters, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Franco Nero.

Once, far away... light years... distances beyond thought, a great slender ship with a tail of fire slid through the black reaches of space. On that ship was Sateen. Words cannot describe his evil, his criminality. He had been captured by Commander Yahweh after decades of search and evasion, in a blood-drenched battle that claimed hundreds of lives. But shortly thereafter, Sateen escaped in a tiny scout craft, a fantastic escape from that spaceship. And soon, he found a hiding place on the planet Earth....

Somewhere in the vastness of space - which luckily for us looks like a sandpit, albeit one in quite a warm place, maybe somewhere near Rome? - the enigmatic and stringly bearded almost Young Ones character Jerzy Colsowicz (Huston, well that holiday home isn't going to pay for itself) is busy experiencing strange visions of spooky snowstorms brought about a young girl with a cotton wool face.

And all to a porn-tastic disco variation of Also sprach Zarathustra as re-imagined by Geoff Love's brother.

Nice.

As all this sub Dune-based oddness is going down an enigmatic (oh go on the drunk) and patchily hi-lighted space Jesus (Nero - uncredited but still guilty as sin) sits crossed legged clad in a fluffy dressing gown as he recounts the story of  a millennium-long cosmic conflict between an evil inter-spatial wizard of immense magnitude and psychic abilities named Barry Zatteen and his benevolent rival Terry Yahweh to a group of pajama wearing bald children.

Seems legit and in no way dodgy.

It appears that centuries ago Zatteen escaped to Earth and although he was eventually killed by Yahweh he managed to shag loads of human women beforehand meaning that his descendants now populate the planet, keeping his spirit alive in the minds of mankind waiting for an opportunity to re-emerge and do bad shit.

And turn into birds or something.

Fair play to him.

Fuck me, Noel Edmonds has let himself go.

But enough of this quasi-religious bollocks as we've got a basketball game to watch alongside team owner Raymond Armstead (Henriksen who bizarrely still has old man hair), his girlfriend Barbara Collins (daughter of singing actor Jimmy, Joanne Nail) and her scarily big-headed daughter Katy (former child star, Atlanta Falcons cheerleader and current owner of the Luxury Lash Lounge, an eyelash extension business in Atlanta, Conner).

As the game gets more and more fraught (probably) Armstead announces to an interviewer that the team will win at all costs as now he's in charge money will be no object when buying the best players.

Obviously all this cash doesn't stretch to buying a decent fitting shirt tho'.

When pressed  on the source of his wealth tho', Armstead answers with an enigmatic "from God".

And as if to push home all this spacey-religious stuff the basket explodes as a player scores the winning points.


Meanwhile in the movies most exciting sequence, Colsowicz is navigating his way thru' US customs whilst wearing a safari suit.

"Rice in mah mooth!"

But what of Raymond's wealth? I hear you ask.

Well, surprise surprise it appears that he's in league with the aforementioned secret cabal of Zatteen worshippers led by the sinister Dr. Roy Walker (Ferrer, busy paying for Audrey Hepburn's new swimming pool), you see his girlfriend daughter (remember her?) has already begun to display psychokinetic abilities due to her mother being a descendant of Zatteen, so they reckon that if he impregnates Barbara with a male child, that child can then shag his half-sister and - hopefully - produce the physical embodiment of Zatteen.

Don't think about it too much.

Obviously the writer hasn't.

Or maybe he has.

Who knows?

Or cares?

Anyway, it seems that whilst Katy is only partially aware of her special powers, she's totally aware of how much of an arsehole she is, whether it's making baskets explode or killing innocent ice skating kids she struts about the place in way too tight silk trousers and bunches looking for all the world like a bowling ball with a face painted on it as she creepily insults everyone around her and attempts to get her mum to let Armstead stick it in her before 'accidentally' shooting her in the spine at her birthday party confining her to a wheelchair.

Oh yes and she has a pet bird that attacks anyone who gets too close to the truth about whatever the fuck is going on.

Which is the reason why Colsowicz - who also possess powers similar to Katy - has spent the last hour trying to find his luggage and is currently holed up in a deserted building as he and his followers watch Katy from afar.

Cherry cheeks.

Just to make sure he knows what she's up to at every given opportunity tho' he's also arranged for one of his followers  Jane Phillips (Winters minus Schnorbitz) to act as Barbara's new housekeeper.

It's at this point that police detective, Jake Durham (Ford) begins to investigate Barbara's shooting and to do this he decides to stalk Katy at every opportunity whilst breaking into her house to look for clues.

Luckily for us - and his career - he's soon pecked to death in a car which begs the question as to why an actor of Ford's caliber even bothered to turn up.

Apart from for the huge wad of cash and welcoming young boy arse supplied by the producers obviously.

Things are going too well for poor Raymond either as he's failed spectacularly  to seduce Barbara leaving the Zatteen cult no alternative than to - tastefully -  impregnate Barbara in the back of a hi-tech rape van.

Because lets be honest that's what it is.

Your ex-missis would be so proud of you Mel.

The lights are on....

 Cue what seems like hours of poor Barbara pulling wheelies around the living room looking more and more shot to fuck with each passing moment as Jane hides behind a pot plant singing songs about candy.


Coming to her senses - and realising that we're heading toward the climax, Barbara heads off to see her ex - and Katy's biological father - Dr. Sam Collins (a bizarrely dubbed Peckinpah) in order to get an abortion but on returning home she's set upon by Raymond and Katy who - in a scene of comedy gold - attempt to kill her by tying a wire around her neck and sending her down the stairs in her stairllift.

Will they succeed?

Will dear old Colsowicz intervene at the last minute and summons an army of (badly animated) birds that thwart their evil plan?

Will any of this ever make any sense?

Only one way to find out.....

Playing out like an - unintentionally - comedic version of The Omen that's been roughly buggered by Alejandro Jodorowsky whilst a grainy pirate VHS of 2001: A Space Odyssey plays in the background, The Visitor is the kind of film that could only conceivably be made in the late 70s and then only by people to whom English was a second language.

Yes it's that good.

"Directed" (if that's even an appropriate description) by ex- Federico Fellini collaborator Giulio Paradisi from a series of notes he made on the back of numerous off-license receipts and produced by professional geezer Ovidio G. Assonitis  - the man who gave us Tentacles which bizarrely also starred John Huston and Shelley Winters which makes you wander what kinda shit he had on them - the most surprising thing is that the film is as entertaining and enjoyable as it actually is.

Yes it's true that The Visitor is complete and utter pants but you can’t help but fall for it's bizarre charms, I mean what other film can you name where the climax features a battle between an evil football manager, an alien pre-teen with a foul mouth and a swarm of cartoon space-pigeons with concealed within their beaks?

Obviously it's batshit crazy and makes absolutely no sense, possibly due to the fact that Paradisi was fired halfway through the shoot on account of being a mentalist, only to turn up at the producers home accompanied by a couple of Mafiosi hitmen in order to not only get his job back but to make sure he could bin Luciano Comici's script and just film whatever the fuck he fancied instead.

No doubt he used the same method to get such a top notch cast.

Oh and Mel Ferrer obviously.

"Aye hen!"

But of all the cast tho' special praise (but not special hugs) has to go to Paige Connor who plays the pesky alien hybrid brat Katy to perfection coming across like a velveteen, foul mouthed version of Patty McCormack in The Bad Seed - from ice skating teen boys to death to shouting “you’re a child molester” at Superman's dad via creepily suggesting that Lance Henriksen fuck her mum she's a revelation to behold and it's a crime she never went on to do more movies.

Or at least a collection of sweary answerphone messages you could buy.

But the icing on this toothpaste covered cake is the score, a funkadelic mix of Hooked on Classics cheese and Isaac Hayes style wah-wah guitars all mixed loving with a sexy orchestral vibe.

Franco Micalizzi we salute you.

And forgive you for the soundtrack to Black Demons.

Cinematic gold.

beastmaster.

At a loose end right now as I've finished up all the Frightfest art and don't fancy drawing anything non-horror related till after the event so I'm filling my time with a few good movies.

And this one obviously.*

Nightbeast (1982).

Dir: Don Dohler (with a few scenes by Dave Geatty).

Cast: Tom Griffith, Jamie Zemarel, Karin Kardian, George Stover, Don Leifert, Anne Frith, Eleanor Herman, Richard Dyszel, Greg Dohler, Kim Dohler, Monica Neff, Glenn Barnes, Richard Ruxton, Bump Roberts, Don Dohler, David W. Donoho, Richard Geiwitz, Larry Reichman, Christopher Gummer, Dace Parson and
Richard Nelson.

"Don't call me Bertie!"

Space - the final frontier.

Well it would be if the final frontier were a collection of painted ping-pong balls attached to an old black sheet intercut with slightly out of focus footage from some old NASA videos but beggars can't be choosers which is probably why the 'spaceship' we see hurtling thru' this crap cosmos bears an unsettling resemblance to a Dinky truck sans wheels and painted silver.

Unfortunately the pilot of said craft is way too interested in the surrounding planets to notice the large baked potato hurtling toward him and in a flash of fireworks and kiddies sparklers the spaceship ends up irreparably damaged and  crashing to earth.

To the small town of Perry Hall in Baltimore to be precise.

Think Dudley but with (slightly) better teeth.

The (crash) landing is observed by a group of good ol' boy hunters in the woods who quickly notify the local sheriff, Jack 'The Hat' Cinder (Griffith reprising his role from The Alien Factor) before heading to the wreckage to investigate themselves.

It'll come as no surprise tho' when I tell you that as soon as they approach, a silver jump suited, big toothed beast jumps out and disintegrates them before heading off into the woods to wreak havoc among the locals - killing a couple in their home before murdering a guy (Uncle Dave - a pitch perfect performance from David W. Donoho) whose only crime is having a piss against a tree whilst driving his niece and nephew home.

Obviously the beast kills the kids too but to be honest I was more upset about Dave.

What's that circling Uranus? (sorry).

Realising a scary alien beast is loose in the town (to be fair he has previous) Cinder rounds up a posse - including his 'sexy' blonde deputy Lisa (Kardian - one time hairdresser to Dohler's Auntie, I kid you not) - to go look for it whilst the erstwhile wannabe deputy Jamie (Zemarel, most famous for his role as a bailiff in As The World Turns) heads out to check on his exotic 'lady friend' Suzie (Neff), who is trapped in an abusive relationship with local biker bad boy Drago (Dohler regular Leifert).

And so with everything - and (almost) everyone in place Cinder heads out to a local farmhouse where the creature was last sighted only for most of his trigger happy pals to be zapped into oblivion forcing Cinder to retreat back to the police station and ask local science type Dr Ruth Sherman (producer and actress Frith) and her assistant/son/secret lover and part-time coroner Steven (the legend that is Stover) for help.

Unfortunately Steven reckons they're fucked so Cinder begrudgingly orders the town be evacuated but not before asking local sharpshooter Jimmy Perkins (director Dohler obviously not wanting to miss out on all the fun) and his dad Bill (the brilliantly monikered Bump Roberts) to have one last shot (literally) at killing the creature.

Neff: 'exotic'.

More gun-fun ensues culminating with Jimmy actually managing to hit - and destroy - the creatures disintegration gun, disarming the beast just before he himself is killed.

And with that the creature turns tail and runs into the woods.

 

MONSTA!

 

With the remaining members of the police department - and the postman - beginning the evacuation of the town, Cinder is doing his best to persuade  the local mayor, Bert Wicker (the Internets first horror host, Count Gore De Vol himself, Dyszel) and his vapid assistant Mary Jane (Herman, latter day New York Times bestselling author of Sex with Kings, Sex with the Queen) to cancel a party he's holding for the visiting governor Lenny Embry (Ruxton) that's planned to be held that very evening but the pissed up pair are having none of it and quickly send the sheriff on his way.

 

Paddington.

 

Meanwhile, and with no concern about the scary alien stalking the town, Drago has decided to go and sort out his relationship with Suzie but in a fit of jealous rage inadvertently strangles her before riding off on his BMX with Jamie in hot pursuit.

He soon catches up with him tho' (well he is riding a Grifter) and proceeds to beat the shit out of him, leaving Drago unconscious and covered in mud, sweat and egg before heading back to the sheriff's office to see if anyone else is in need of a fucking good beating.

 

"Laugh now!"

 
Anyway, back at the alien-based plot we find Steven and Ruth busying themselves trying to find a way to kill the beast using any information they've gathered, which seems to be that he likes going to discos (his outfit suggests this), he's a shit driver (hence the crash) and judging by his teeth must be British which in all honesty doesn't give them much to work on but does give the creature a reason to attack their office where, after hiding in the basement Steven electrocutes the beast with some dodgy electrical wires causing it to flee the building whilst screaming like a Democrat on election night.

Too soon?

Back in the woods Cinder and Lisa have come across (not in that way, you've got a mind like a sewer) a mutilated body but whilst checking it for ID (and loose change) the creature stumbles out of the trees and tries to eat them.

Luckily the pair manage to escape but not before Cinder suffers some nasty chafing on his inner thigh.

Luckily Lisa is also a first aider so takes him to her house to patch him up and also have 'the sex'. 

Easy tiger.

 

"Is it in yet?"

 

Back at Mayor Wicker's house the party is in full swing, much to Jamie's chagrin, you see he's decided that if he's upset then no-one else should be having a good time either so after scoffing 14 scotch eggs he forces out a terrible fart then proceeds to tell everyone there's a poison gas leak from the nearby mine causing everyone to flee in panic. 

And in some cases flee in cars.

Wicker and Mary Jane, upset with how the evening has turned out, stay behind tho' (well it is his house) and decided to get drunk instead.

Which is fair enough I guess.

And with that Jamie heads back to the sheriff's office to see who else he can annoy.

"Can you smell petrol?"

Finding out that Jamie has left Wicker and Mary Jane home alone (and hoping for a furtive glimpse of lady garden, probably) Steven decides to go and bring them to the - relative - safety of the sheriff's office,  unfortunately the beast has beaten him to it, first bludgeoning Mary Jane to death in the basement before beheading Wicker in the pantry.

Which is nice.

It's almost the climax so needing all the surviving characters to be together, Cinder and Lisa soon arrive followed by Ruth and Jamie who suggests electrocuting the creature using the high-voltage cables from the nearby power plant, a plan that Steven, remembering his electrical-based shenanigans from earlier agrees with.

And with that they all drive out to the power plant to begin running the cables to Wickers house.

And maybe have a picnic. 

Still no idea why they just didn't lure it to the actual power station and kill it there tho' and save them the effort.

Unfortunately Drago is already there and hiding in the portaloo ready to pounce.

And pounce he does, first slapping Ruth and then kicking Cinder on his sore leg.

The rotter.

Luckily for our hero tho' Jamie turns up in the nick of time and shoots Drago dead.

 

Dave Grohl: tunnel or funnel?

Quickly returning to Wicker's house our heroes begin setting the trap but the creature is lying in wait....

Will they succeed in beating the beast? 

Did I mean that to sound so rude?

Will Cinder and Lisa's relationship work out?

Will there ever be another director as great as Don Dohler?

From Don Dohler, director of some of the greatest lo-fi sci-fi horror yarns ever made comes this semi-sequel to his 1978 hit The Alien Factor, featuring as it does much of the same cast (with a few returning characters thrown in), much of the same plot and luckily enough much of the same joy and absolute love of films and film-making that we came to expect from from the great man's work.

Seriously, what it lacks in polish, acting talent or budget (seriously it only cost $14,000 to make and most of that went on bottles of Just For Men, tho' they ran out when they got to Tom Griffith) it more than makes up for with sheer, unadulterated fun and charm.

Plus it gave good old Star Wars botherer J.J. Abrams his big break (and first onscreen credit) in movies for his fart-tastic synth score for which we can all be grateful.

Possibly.

I mean we wouldn't have The Rise of Skywalker without this.

And, bizarrely enough it ended up being classified as a "Section 3" Video Nasty in the UK  for some unknown reason (maybe Tom Griffith's buttocks were too sexy for British audiences?) meaning that although never prosecuted, it was a real pain in the arse to actually watch this as a kid.

Which quite honestly was probably a good thing as I really can't imagine serious 12 year old film fan me (I have previous) being able to actually appreciate the genuine love Dohler and co. had not just for film-making but the horror genre in general.

Plus any movie featuring George Stover is guaranteed to be at least 75% more enjoyable than one without him.

And to think, at this point in his career Dohler was happy just producing, handing the directorial reigns over to Dave Geatty (famous for his portrayal of 'man in bar' in The Alien Factor), luckily for the viewer Geatty had no idea what he was doing and after spending half the budget on a tracking shot that ended up being out of focus Dohler stepped in, giving us what is probably his greatest movie and the greatest scene featuring a flabby, pale man-ass ever committed to celluloid.

I'm looking at you Tom Griffith.

And to think he actually insisted on doing a nude sex scene, even going as far as asking (begging?) Karin Kardian to do it with him.

Surprisingly she agreed tho' I don't know if we should be thankful or not.

Answers on a postcard to the usual address.

Ready Brek.

 

Perfect Friday night fodder and the kind of movie this blog was made for....if you're not a fan of Dohler's work then be warned, you will be after this.

*Only joking it's fucking fantastic.

operazione paura - frightfest edition.

Traveling up to Glasgow for FrightFest over the next few days? 

 

Then enjoy this mix of deep red disco, sinister samples and bizarro beats to help your journey into darkness...