Arena Of The Unwell

rule 34 and all that.

2012-01-30T08:06:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, thanks to the upsurge in all things Alien thanks to Ridley Scott's upcoming Prometheus I give you...

Space Jockey porn.

I think the interweb is finally about to die.

beware the bin men.

2012-01-30T06:43:00.000-08:00

It's late birthday present time.....thanks to the anonymous benefactor who sent me this.

No really.

L.A. Zombie (2010).
Dir: Bruce LaBruce.
Cast: Francois Sagat, Rocco Giovanni, Wolf Hudson, Eddie Diaz, Andrew James, Matthew Rush, Erik Rhodes, Francesco D'Macho, Adam Killian, Tony Ward, Santino Rice, Sly (but no Family Stone), Tim Kuzma, Trevor Wayne, Deadlee and the mighty N.asa.

It's a beautiful sun filled day in good old Los Angeles, the streets are empty, the beaches deserted.

Think Blackpool but with less dried vomit and fat birds.

Suddenly and without warning (tho' not the film Without Warning as that would be too bizarre) the waters begin to bubble and squeak as from out of the oceans depths appears some kind of massive man-breasted (and ever bigger cocked) alien cum zombie cum bucket (Fistpack 7: Twist My Arm's Sagat) stumbling blindly as it tries to make some kind of sense of it's new environment.

"Touch mah wee titties Morag!"

Emerging from the bushes onto an empty roadside it's not long before our blue skinned buddy is picked up by a passing surfer 'dude' who, obviously nonplussed by the hitch-hikers pallid blue complexion and lack of footwear begins a conversation taking in everything from the physical manifestations of self loathing to the delusional behaviour associated with severe schizophrenia.

With strangely enough are the subjects of the directors last film Otto, famous for it's uncompromising gut-fuck sequence and being one of your dads favourite films.

Unfortunately for all us art-fags watching, the conversation is cut short due to a massive crash that throws our zombie pal clear of the wreckage but leaves the poor surfer dead at the wheel.

Bemoaning the loss of his only friend the zombie has no choice but to attempt to fuck surfer boy back to life.

In glorious close-up.

How your dad got that pay rise last month.

Bizarrely enough the salty love juice from this strange creature, when gently injected into the poor fella's gaping chest wound (and over his face), does indeed bring the dead back to life.

Probably worth a try next time you get a hangover or toothache then methinks.

Realising the almost messiah-like gift he has, the zombie wanders away from the accident (and the by now living yet stickily sore surfer), finding himself drawn to the rough backstreets of L.A where the cities homeless population live a meagre existence, shunned and forgotten by society.

"I have to suck out all the poison before you die!" shouted TV host Nicky Campbell as he seduced another victim.

Like some body painted, plaid shirted, bald Jesus our zombie hero, with no thought to his owns comfort or needs proceeds to search the streets of the Greater Los Angeles area looking for dead hobo's to fuck back to life.

But only those who work out obviously.

For just over an hour.

"I can see your house from here Jamal!"

Don't get put off by all this talk of gay sex tho' as there's some metaphysical shenanigans going down too as Sagat's zombie often changes into a bedraggled human for no reason in between the sexy stuff.

No, me neither.

He actually does neither, but I guess the tagline 'He spunks sticky black goo in your mooth!" didn't sound as good.

Expanding on the themes and ideas first seen in his earlier, hoodie based Zombie flick Otto: Or up with Dead People, director, artist and professional dirty boy Bruce La Bruce refines, restyles and ultimately re-imagines the zombie genre as a religious parable for an uncertain age as our nameless hero quite literally uses 'the power of love' to resurrect those forgotten and ignored by society, the meek if you will.

This bold redux of accepted ideas doesn't just stop there tho' as La Bruce has also redefined the look of the undead too.

No more light blue paint and drooling mouths no sir, in a moment of artistic genius La Bruce has decided to give his undead a dark blue pallor and as well as a nice line in prosthetic penises.

Joe D'Amato will no doubt be spinning in his grave whilst Paul Morrissey will probably be ringing his lawyers to see how much he can sue La Bruce for for stealing his ideas.

Laugh now!

Treading the fine line between gore movie, action thriller (there's a totally unnecessary subplot involving a drugs ring), religious tract and gay porn effort, you can't fault La Bruce for at least trying to do something a wee bit different with his weekends plus it's a damn sight more entertaining than most of the shite I've had to sit thru' so far this year.

Cheap as chips and queerer than your uncle, LA Zombie is the perfect ice-breaking date movie.

Honest.

if cuteness were a crime.

2012-01-29T11:48:00.000-08:00

Molly Hooper would be serving a life sentence.

Any excuse for a few pics of Sherlock's pervy thought inducing pathologist.

Enjoy.

smut pedlar.

2012-01-26T12:30:00.000-08:00

After the movie month I've had so far all I can say is

"Help me Ti West....you're my only hope".

The Innkeepers (2011).
Dir: Ti West.
Cast: Sara Paxton, Pat Healy and Kelly McGillis.

After over a hundred years of service to the community of Connecticut and it's various passers thru' the Yankee Pedlar hotel is finally locking it's doors for good after one final weekend of trading.

The hotel's last two employees, asthmatic cutsie-pie Claire (Last House on The Left and Aquamarine's Paxton) and the bespectacled professional ginger man Luke (Ghost World's Healy), decide to brighten up their last ever shifts by finally recording some real evidence of the ghost that allegedly haunts the premises.

Kelly McGillis farted...and it smelled of Tom Cruise.

Spreading their time between the hotel's paranormal-based website, fetching coffees and dealing with the Pedlars only guest; a mad mum and her brattish child, things brighten up when the bitchy Leanne Rease-Jones (Top Gun tottie McGillis) arrives to book a room.

It appears that Claire's favourite alcoholic (ex) actress has turned new age guru and is in town for a speaking engagement.

Approached by Claire for an autograph, Leanne informs our bowl haired babe that there isn't just one spirit in the hotel but three, so Claire donning headphones and with a ghost-friendly electronic voice phenomenon device at her side heads into the buildings myriad of rooms in the hope of finding some proof of paranormal activity.

Tho' hopefully not any of the three movies of the same name.

Or the Asylum Paranormal Entity rip-offs.

Or The Entity.

Tho' from the look of Luke's internet history he seems the kinda guy who'd have a rubber tit fetish.

"I'm Batman".

Starting off in the creepy confines of the hotel laundry room, Claire gently sways the microphone to and fro, whilst in a moment of visual and aural genius the camera smoothly follows the mike, the viewer hearing only the sounds that it picks up.

Pure movie porn.

Travelling slowly thru' the deserted rooms, a feeling of ominous dread fills the air, the static and silence suddenly interrupted by the distant sound of a piano playing.

Running to tell Luke of her discovery she surprised to see an old man at the front desk.

It appears that he and his late wife spent their honeymoon in the Yankee Pedlar and he's now determined to spend the night in the by now, boxed up and gutted honeymoon suite for a night of "nostalgia".

Whatever that may mean.

Beware The Krankies basement.

When Claire scares the obnoxious young boy with her tales of ghosts forcing his mother to strop off home in a huff our tipsy twosome are left to their own devices, now even more determined to catch a ghost but after a chat with Leanne regarding the afterlife, Claire is shocked to find that there is more than one ghost in the hotel and that they mean to harm our heroine.

Noticing how scared Claire has become Leanne tries her best to allay her fears, everything will be fine so long as she doesn't go in the basement....

And that's all I'm gonna say save spoiling one of the best old fashioned spooky house stories of recent memory.

Thank you Ti West for re-igniting my love of creepiness after what can only be described as a month of mank-riddled movie monstrosities.

After the fantastic The House of the Devil, West's love letter to early 80's slashers, expectations were high regarding his follow up and frankly he hasn't disappointed.

Well, if I'm honest he seems to have disappointed a few people with it but not me.

Slow burning, slow building and as genuinely scary as a really scary thing, it's tiny (as in small number not little people) cast play out the scenario to perfection with everyone from the adorable Sara Paxton (looking so much cuter here than covered in mud in Last House) to the ginger prince himself Pat Healy, via the legend that is Kelly McGillis giving their all for a story that's as deceptively simple as it is spookily effective.

Saying that tho' the movies greatest scene involves no ghosts whatsoever but does involve Claire, a big bin and a leaky rubbish bag.

Sheer delight.

Jade Goody: The pancake years.

The real star of the film tho' must be the location itself, the very real Yankee Pedlar Inn which comes across as a kinda budget decorated, more homely version of the Overlook from The Shining mixed with the mundane ordinariness of every cheap hotel you've ever stayed in, the kinda place where even the wallpaper can give you a chill.

Lovingly crafted and beautifully shot, West has created one of the best haunted house films I’ve seen in an age.

And my hat is doffed to the man.

when cosplay goes bad part 29.

2012-01-23T13:58:00.000-08:00

As ever, enjoy.

angels, septicemia, more terrifying things and another broom handle.

2012-01-23T12:47:00.000-08:00

Still recovering from the eyeball enema that was Kill List I decided to try and reignite my love of British horror with this wee gem.

What went wrong this time?

A Lonely Place To Die (2011).
Dir: Julian Gilbey
Cast: Melissa George, Alec Newman, Eamonn Walker, Ed Speleers, Gary Sweeney, Holly Boyd, Karel Roden, Kate Magowan, Stephen McCole and Sean Harris.

Top climbing babe Alison (Home and Away's septicaemia spouting sex kitten George) is enjoying a mountain mounting weekend in the Scottish highlands alongside her hunky yet horrifyingly high headed buddie Rob (teevee's Paul Atreides and David Baddiel's ex partner Newman) and their geeky wee pal Ed (Eragon's Speleers).

After an exciting cliff face incident involving Ed's shoe, some rope, a golden eagle and a camera the trio decide to call it a day and head off to meet their friends Alex and Jenny (former cop show Sweeney and John Simm's missis Magowan) at the cottage they've rented for the weekend.

Melissa George spots the only person in Scotland with a job.

It's not all happy jolly tricks tho' as grown up Alex and baby Ed start the evening by rubbing each other up the wrong way (and not in the sexual sense), Jenny has taken to sitting on the sofa whining about missing her new baby and to make matters worse the kitchen stinks of egg.

Luckily Rob has got a couple of bottles of Scotland's national drink in his bag and after a few sniffs of Buckfast and a good nights rest our by now friendly five-some are ready to run up that hill as Kate Bush would say.

However, this being Scotland it's not long before they (quite literally) stumble across a wee Serbian lassie called Anna (newcomer Boyd looking like a younger Emily Perkins) buried under a pile of dog shite and damp porn mags and trapped inside a wooden Aldi's crate.

Kate: Bush not shown.

Cold, stinking of piss and unable to speak English (which is more common than you think in Scotland) Anna instinctively latches on to new mum Jenny who sensible decides that they should head right back to the cottage and attempt to contact the police.

Surprisingly everyone agrees, tho' Rob and Alison decide to do it via a scary cliff-face.

And without the proper equipment.

Don't worry tho' they're both experienced climbers.

Just not experienced at climbing whilst dodging bullets.

Which is a wee bit of a shame seeing as bad boy kidnappers cum child murdering bastards Mr Kidd (the always fantastic psycho for hire Harris) and Mr Mcrae (Single Father's McCole) are holed up on a hilltop watching Anna thru' a fairly expensive telescopic sight.

One that's attached to a very expensive rifle.

You see if she gets rescued before the exchange they'll never get their grubby sausage fingers on the ransom money.

"Cover yer Papist ears hen...it's an orange band!"

It's at this point that I turned it off.

I mean it had a genuinely taunt post-credit sequence, pretty solid acting and was nicely shot but that celluloid cesspool that was Kill List seemed to have destroyed any ability I had to watch anything with a British accent.

It's as if deep down I knew who'd live and I knew who'd die and frankly I didn't want to be dissapointed.

Plus I was suffering horrendous hallucinations of Neil Maskell dancing saucily over me, gently cupping his mantits as I meekly popped used fivers into his union jack codpiece.

Which goes along way to explaining why my kiddies found me visibly shaking and retching.

For fucks sake Ben Wheatley what have you done to me?

"Keep hold of the twins Kate I think she's still moving!"

Feeling like I should at least give it a chance I took a shift swig of absinthe and gingerly stabbed the chapter button.

And again.

And again.

Trees...check, waterproofs...check, gun...check, desperate feeling of oppression...check, recycled plot...check...must be a British thriller then.

What can I say?

Everyone gets offed in the order you imagine, the stalking scenes are fairly well done and there's even a sly nod to The Wicker Man (which seems to be a must if you fancy any chance of getting Lottery funding at the moment), there's just nothing that hasn't been seen a dozen times before and usually a wee bit better.

I was going to say 'Meh' but I thought I'd better be a bit more professional (and polite) and just say workman-like.

Which thinking about it is the worse crime a movie can commit.

I mean you don't see me having visions of Melissa George's tits do you?

Or does that just say something about me?

people you fancy but shouldn't part 36.

2012-01-17T05:13:00.000-08:00

The spandex clad cosmic cutie that was Captain Nicole Davidoff from Jason of Star Command.

terrifying things and broom handle heads.

2012-01-15T12:24:00.000-08:00

Well, three weeks into 2012 and I may have spoken too soon when I said that The Amityville Haunting was the biggest pile of shite I'd ever sat thru.

In the wise words of Yoda "There is another".

Or two.

Yoda: Slap Ben Wheatley hard he will.

Readers with long memories (or short fuses) may remember a few months back when in regards to that great British horror epic Little Deaths I mentioned that it'd been called 'the future of British horror' (by who God only knows) and that if that was the case we might as well unplug the life support machine and go home now.

If only Ben Wheatley had read this.

What am I saying?

If anyone actually read what I say I'd be happy.

And no, popping by to look at the pictures of Megan doesn't count.

Anyway, Ben if you accidentally come across this on your interweb travels I'd just like you to know that you're the only film-maker to ever make me sob like an Albanian baby trapped in supermarket meat locker.

With your dad.

And it wasn't thru' fear or even due to a tearful Pot Noodle aided wank.

Oh no.

It was at the sight of what British horror has become.

And while I'm at it you can stop looking so smug Mr. Julian Gilbey, I mean at least I managed to sit thru'....

Kill List (2011).

Dir: Ben Wheatley.

Cast: Neil Maskell, Michael Smiley, MyAnna Buring and Emma Fryer.

Cake loving, bowl haired hitman for hire Jay (played by what looks like a fatter, camper and considerably crapper Paul Ross) hasn't had any work killing folk since a botched job in Kiev eight months ago.

By the look of him he probably ate all the chicken, sweaty cunt.

With no cash to pay for a new Jacuzzi or have a couple of holidays abroad this year (oh my heart bleeds), his baby faced ex-army wife Shel (Buring from The Descent and Doctor Who channelling an East End fishwife) shouting at him between gulps of wine and troubled by the fact that his terrifyingly toothsome son Sam (Simpson) has a scarily posh stage school accent, Jay's luckless (if not lard-less) life is starting to tear the happy family apart.

So far so grim.

Luckily Jay's best buddy cum fellow assassin and professional Oirishman Gal (Smiley bringing some much needed characterisation, charm and acting talent to the movie) turns up for dinner with his equilateral triangle faced girlfriend Fiona (low fat Fryer, an actress with a face so perfectly angled that you could use her as a spirit level, which frankly shouldn't work but does. She just oozes sexy badness throughout the whole movie and deserves so much better) one night and during some boy time in the garage, offers Jay a job.

It seems that ex Radio One DJ Jimmy Saville wants some people killed.

People...on a list.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or have you put your cock up my arse?"

Meeting up with the Jim'll Fix It star in a cheap Leeds hotel, Jay is slightly surprised to find that not only does his new employer know about Kiev (which is probably why they met in his suite and not the dining room) but that the deal is to be finalised over a wee bit of blood sharing.

Three people, three hits, three pound seventy eight pence.

How can our dynamic duo refuse such an offer?

Plus as Jay so eloquently puts it "They're bad people and they should be punished".

Top quality writing I'm sure you'll agree.

"Your hair reminds me of ice cream...can I eat it?"

But, as is the way of these movies, things don't go to plan; for a start Shel has been secretly using his credit card (elocution lessons for little Lord Fauntleteeth must cost a bomb) causing him a knock back at the hotel and a wee bit of unwanted attention at the check in desk and if that wasn;t enough he's forced to share a dining hall with a group of singing Christians whilst at home Fiona and Shel have become bezzy mayes, giving Flighty Fi enough time to scratch a variety of mystic symbols onto Shel's bathroom wall.

Fryer: Like she'd give you a choice.

But enough of that let's get killing and first up it's a dodgy priest - I know, how ground breaking is that? I've never seen the church portrayed as anything other than straight down the line nice guys before - who politely thanks Jay before our portly pal puts a bullet in his head.

I assume the audience are meant to be wracking their heads as to why he would thank him at this point, me? I just reckoned he was overjoyed to be finally out of such a shitey movie.

Next up it's a silver haired librarian whose only crime appears to be selling dodgy DVD's of folk screaming on rollercoasters out of a lock-up.

Saying that tho', they must be top quality Blu Ray if you go by Jay's horrified reaction to watching them, sitting as he is trembling and in tears.

Well it's either that or he's spotted someone eating candyfloss in the background and it's making him feel hungry.

And a wee bit mental, seeing as soon as he arrives at the Librarians house he starts attacking him with a hammer whilst trying to find the location of the nearest burger van.

Probably.

Strangely enough, he thanks Jay too before he brings the final blow down on his bonce, even going as far as to say it's an honour to be killed by him.

Obviously a fan of those celeb talking head shows then.

"I've told you already! I'm totally out of biscuits!"

This politeness (and lack of sugary snacks) seems to send Jay right over the edge as he storms (well, waddles) off to bring justice to those responsible for the scary vids which culminates in an offscreen bloodbath and dog killing.

Alas it wasn't a hotdog but hey, you can't fault the guy for trying.

Back at the hotel and in between visions of a ghostly Fiona and flashing images of knights Jay and Gal discover that their last target is a top MP which means a longer driveway and, by default longer for Jay to go without a snack.

The pair decide to back out of the agreement, saying that Jay's cat has eaten the list.

Jimmy being a professional isn't to happy to hear this and threatens the pair with death if they don't complete the work.

"Now then now then dear Jim could you fix it for me to visit a cake shop, love Jay".

Jay returns home for a wee bit of comfort cake only to find his cat hanging from the porch.

Someone's unhappy with him.

With no choice but to finish the job Jay and Gal head out to the pervy parliamentarian's posh pad for a nosey around and some outdoor grub only to find themselves inexplicably drawn into a sixth form stage version of The Wicker Man as the barely sketched out plot descends into a nonsensical mix of new age hocus pocus, market stall animal masks, old folk in revealing capes and busty sacrificial blondes with their tits out.

Beware the Judder Man!

A waste of time, energy and whatever talent was working on it, Wheatley has managed to produce a movie that encapsulates everything that is wrong with the British film industry in a grimly self conscious ninety odd minute celluloid shitfest that mistakes bad storytelling for for the kind of back slapping self self-congratulatory arse that fools some viewers into thinking "That made no sense therefore the film is cleverer than what I am" when in fact the film in question is just poorly thought out and plotted in the first place.

God knows what the critics who raved about this were on at the time, maybe Ben Wheatley gives out crisp new fifty pound notes to those who write good reviews.

Or bloody good head.

Either way it's still wrong.

For the love of God somebody release something good (even watchable will do at this point) soon before I end up gouging my eyes out with a spoon.

Or yours.

celebs that look like animals (part one).

2012-01-08T04:14:00.000-08:00

the shamityville bother and other animals.

2012-01-07T14:42:00.000-08:00

Hey hey hey!

It's a brand new year so what better way to celebrate than not only with the monthly list of dead folk to cheer you up but with a movie so arse clenchingly bad that not even the real director or certain members of the cast will come forward and claim it.

Not arf.

As well as our hopes and dreams being shattered in an ill advised drunken argument with regards to you making an awkward fumbling pass at the babysitter unknowingly in front of your wife, December also saw the passing of actor Bill (Deliverance, The Outlaw Josey Wales) McKinney, Japanese animation artist and character designer Shingo Araki and French cartoonist animator and co-creator of Inspector Gadget Bruno Bianchi.

December also saw the death of comic book legend and creator of The Joker, Jerry Robinson, hound-faced M*A*S*H* star Harry Morgan, film trailer producer, voice-over artist, author, film editor and director of the classic Time Walker Tom Kennedy, Romanian Eurovision Song Contest entry 1998 Mălina Olinescu and Horror Express star Alberto de Mendoza.

Sticking with (and to) comics, we said goodbye to the writer of Captain America, Fighting American and Prez, Joe Simon, Brit sit com writer Ronald Wolfe, Pedro Armendáriz, Jr. from Licence To Kill and lest we forget Ronald Searle, creator of St Trinian's.

There were probably loads more but frankly it was getting too depressing.

Why not see how many I missed and write in?

Well after all that death, depression and hole digging (she'd seen too much) I really needed a movie to lighten my mood and fill me with excitement and hope for 2012.

To get me excited about cinematic joys to come in the next 12 months.

Unfortunately I chose....

The Amityville Haunting (2011/12).

Dir: Geoff Meed.

Cast: Devin Clark, Jon Kondelik, Tyler Shamy and others.

Mark my words you WILL be found.

Saying that tho' it's a really hard film to review, I mean where do you start? And would it be acceptable to have a review that just had the words 'fucking shit fucking shit fucking shit' for an entire page?

After a long hard think I decided, in homage to the movie, to review it in a blow by blow mocumentary stylee.

All reactions are real, no photo's or footage was faked.

I mean shit this really happened, ergo this film must be real too!

Enjoy.

Told you!

The infamous Amityville house yesterday. Honest.

"A haunted house? Cool! let us break in and party!" suggests the frankly terrifyingly toothed hamster woman.

"I am geek boy and I can crack codes to houses!!"

"Woah! awesome! Do you think the girls with have sex with us? If so I'm having the hamster, you can fuck the anorexic old women with shit tits!"

"You look like my mum...can I touch your titties?"

"If you can find them sure!"

Tara Reid, up the casino, New York State, 2004.....Yesch!"

"AAAAIIIEEEGGGGHHHH!!!!!" Death!

A FEW DAYS LATER...

To break the boredom of house hunting, dad lightens the mood with his impression of the Zombie Flesh Eaters poster. This will be the most frightening thing you will see in the next 90 minutes.

"You'll sell us the house for a tenner?!!? Why? It's not haunted is it?"

"Not at all sir and neither were there any shit titted murders! I'd say the only ungodly thing around here is your daughter...look at her...it's enough to make a pedo vomit!"

"Hmmm...maybe I was a little harsh to that little girl, I mean I'm no oil painting either! I guess I'm lucky that the director prefers girls who swallow over good actresses....being his sister doesn't hurt either....unlike my...."

"AAAAIIIEEEGGGGHHHH!!!!!" More death!

"Can you believe it?....First James Brolin, then those pesky kids and now that harsh faced estate agent....it's freaky how many folk die around this house....maybe it's haunted!"
"Well I ain't afraid of no ghost!"

"AAAAIIIEEEGGGGHHHH!!!!!" Even more death!

"Hello Mr. Policeman I'd like to report a bad killing. Or three".

"Don't you believe those ghost stories sir, it was probably wolves what done it".

"Hiya! I am the fat faced kissy lipped boy child who is filming everything in case there actually is a ghost....so it's me you can thank for the fucking abysmal footage but obviously not for my dad's sub-pedo style acting!"

This is the amount of breakfast cereal the budget stretches to...but don't worry, it's for sinister child's imaginary friend.....it couldn't be a ghost could it?

"Can you smell egg? Who the fuck keeps farting?"

"According to the interweb eggy smells usually mean killer kiddie ghosts that befriend small horse faced girls....or that your eldest daughter is sneaking out....YOU'RE GROUNDED WHORE!"

"Dad's gone mental, my mum's shot to fuck, big sis is crying in her room and the one that looks like a pony is talking to dead folk....I can't be that bothered tho' seeing as I'm still managing to stuff my face with lard".

"Time for lunch! Hang on...who the fuck's that wee boy!?!"

"...To be honest tho' who the fuck cares? I can hear a bag of sweets opening!"

I would put a vaguely amusing caption but all I can say is SPECIAL EFFECTS!

"OK I admit it, the house is a wee bit strange and my daughter isn't a whore. Let's stay just one more night and tomorrow we'll leave, I mean nothing bad could possibly happen before morning could it?"

Luckily there are camera's in the teen daughters room so we can watch her writhe in her sleep, her budding young breasts straining against the soft cotton of her top....Unfortunately all we get to see is...

Cheers for that.

Meanwhile a paint explosion in the kitchen has done for mom but in that outfit it was probably for the best.

Fuck me! It's Fred Titmus!

"Fat boy in mah moooooooooooooooth!"

"Daddy wake up so I can...."

"Stab you now!"

And they all died.

The end.

Geoff and Cody, I hope you're fucking proud of yourselves cos seriously for the first time ever I don't have the words.

Well, actually I do.

And it's just one word.

Toss.

Toss.

Toss.

Toss.

Maybe with a Pots added to the end.

And 'A stinking foul tasting backstreet abortion filled' just in front.

Ok I know, that's 13 words.

Which is 12 more than they deserve.

Saying that tho' it means the year in movies can't get any worse.

Can it?

And at least we have the names of the fuckers responsible so let's just hunt them down and see what happens.

have a good one!

2011-12-31T16:38:00.000-08:00

sing while your winning.

2011-12-26T14:54:00.000-08:00

It's around this time of year that people often ask me - no really - what poptastic tunes I play to get the guests frugging away at the many parties I hold around Christmas and Hogmanay.

Well seeing as it's a time of sharing I thought I'd share my top ten party albums with you dear reader.

An with these, a bag of nuts (salted mind, none of your posh dry roasted rubbish), a few Davenports Party Sevens and a variety of crisps you're guaranteed a good time.

Enjoy.

the festive thing.

2011-12-24T08:40:00.001-08:00

water sports for all.

2011-12-24T04:10:00.000-08:00

A fairly short review for you now seeing as it's late here and that this has been sitting in a draft limbo for about four months.....

You know, it's a good job only about six folk read this, God help me if I had deadlines to work to or presents to wrap.

Shit...I do.

The Girls Rebel Force of Competitive Swimmers (AKA: Joshikyôei hanrangu, Nihombie 2, Nihonbi 2, Undead Pool. 2006)
Dir: Kôji Kawano
Cast: Mizuka Arai (AKA Chieri Haruyama), Sasa Handa, Yuria Hidaka, Hiromitsu Kiba, Ayumu Tokitô and Hidetomo Nishida (There are many more folk too but I just can't be arsed listing them).

Aki (the tres cute-some star of a number of Juicy Honey collectable card sets, Handa) a former 'aqua terrorist' (what? You mean they go around committing atrocities to the strains of Barbie Girl?) has decided to turn over a new leave and give up her exciting international jetset life of crime to enjoy a normal, everyday one as a schoolgirl at a top Japanese school.

Unfortunately Aki's first day is anything but normal, poor lamb.

Not only do her new classmates decide that her welcome party should involve our cutie honey heroine being pushed into the swimming pool whilst still fully clothed (teasing bastards) but just as she's climbed out and dried off there's a sudden and inexplicable outbreak of a particularly virulent virus on campus that makes all those infected start to spew strawberry sauce from every orifice and begin to smell like a zoo.

How's your luck hen?

"Has anybody got any cans of orange juice?"

By one of those strange quirks of fate that only ever happen in 'the movies' an emergency medical team - consisting of a scarily familiar, to Aki at least, doctor and stern yet shapely thighed nurse - suddenly appear from nowhere to assist the pupils and administer a vaccine.

Which would be good thing really if it didn't appear to make everyone's symptoms oh so slightly worse.

By that I mean that the injection turns everyone into scabby, short skirted flesh eating zombies.

Tho' that works for me.

As luck (and pervy plotting) would have it, Aki soon discovers that the chlorine in the school swimming pool counteracts the effects of the virus, meaning that as long as adorable Aki remains in her tight fitting swimsuit (and stays soaking wet obviously) she's safe from infection.

But probably not from the myriad of spotty youth watching...arms like body-builders after this I assure you.

Doing what anyone would do in this situation, Aki persuades the (mostly attractive) school swimteam to suit up and hose down ready for battle against not only the every increasing army of the undead but also her musically minded former boss and mentor who has cunningly disguised himself (well, he's wearing a lab coat) as the 'friendly' doctor helping the infected.

You see, it turns out that the virus is all his doing but this is only part of his sick scheme.

A sick scheme that also involves touching the smooth and milky white genital area of as many young girls as possible.

Whilst playing a flute.

Dirty bugger/lucky sod (delete as applicable).

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Rushing headlong into battle against the evil doctor, Aki (not too surprisingly, we're only thirty minutes in) and her soggy sisters get a damn good beating, leaving our heroine lying vacant eyed in a pool of blood ready to be muched on by any passing zombie.

Fear not tho' dear readers, as Aki is bravely rescued by her shy (well up till this point) new best friend Sayaka (former Bukkake star Yuria Hidaka) and, in an act of kidness that will bring tears to viewers everywhere, nursed back to health with a mixture of noodle soup and having her breasts gently rubbed by Sayaka.

How sweet is that?

No need.

Laugh all you want because it seems to do the trick as in no time at all Aki is sitting up in bed and sharing her sad tale of life as a killer for hire whilst fastening the buttons on her flimsy white school shirt, the material straining to contain her honey dew breasts.

Probably.

What follows is quite possibly the greatest fusion of dodgily translated subtitles, inappropriate incidental music and meaningful montage sequences ever committed to celluloid, featuring as it does slo-mo shots of Aki firing a machine gun whilst wearing a bikini, popping a butterfly knife into her pants, doing sweaty push ups with what looks like an orange in her mouth and sitting around topless looking bored.

Sheer genius.

"I've found the cars keys!"

The whole sorry tale is too much for the sensitive Sayaka who, with tears in her eyes reacts the only way she can.

And that's by stripping herself and Aki naked save their tiny pleated kilts before indulging in a totally realistic and completely essential to the plot lesbian sexy scene whilst moaning loudly.

And biting her lip at the point of orgasm.

Photobucket removed the scan of the lesbian sex scene so here's a naked blood soaked Japanese schoolgirl (with her nipples covered of course)
instead.

Ready for battle (and probably another lie down) Aki is set to face her nemesis one final time.

Will she emerge triumphant?

And, most importantly will she be naked?

Who let the dogs out?

Kôji Kawano, director of the classic teen lesbian drama Love My Life and the soya-based shocker Cruel Restaurant appears to have knocked out this lo-fi sleaze epic in a few hours between bouts of online gaming and frantic masturbation sessions, seeing as it consists solely of cheap gore and violence, random bouts of nudity and an abundance of soft core lesbianism aimed fairly and squarely at the 'I've never seen a lady naked except my mum' demograph.

Which frankly is a public service that must be applauded.

By no means perfect, it would be churlish (and a wee bit geeky) to point out this movies flaws and weaknesses when your average viewer is only watching for a glimpse of the square faced, hamster cheeked dream girl Sasa Handa's frankly stunning breasts.

So I wont.

Handa: Chinny Rackon.

Running at just under eighty minutes and just like your younger sisters pal that you get drunk and fiddle with occasionally when your between girlfriends, it never outstays it's welcome and the budget, although lower than John Leslie at Crufts is enough to make sure that things never looks too cheap (unlike the terrifyingly elongated faced Ayumu Tokitô who spends most of her sexy scenes looking like a bulldog licking piss off John Nettles), wildly throwing ever more bizarre characters and situations at the screen hoping at least a few will stick and cover the cracks.

Ayumu Tokitô: she'll even turn the milk chocolaty.

Juggling?

Fire breathing zombies?

A flute playing pervert in a lab coat?

Check.

And a heroine with a deadly laser beam built into her vagina?

It has all this and more.

Well I say more but in reality is has all this plus a copious amount of panty shots.

And breasts.

Lots of breasts.

Go on, you know you want to.

mummy dearest.

2011-12-20T05:44:00.000-08:00

Dawn of The Mummy (1981)
Dir: Frank Agrama.
Cast: Brenda King, Barry Sattels, George Peck, John Salvo, Ibrahim Khan, Joan Levy, Ellen Faison, Diane Beatty with the 'lovely' Laila Nasr and her dancing teeth.

It lives! It kills!
And it smells of old man wee!

“If ever this tomb is disturbed, Safiraman will rise and kill. His armies will rise and kill.”

Take yer pick.

Anyways we're back to good old Egypt in the year 3000 B.C. (Before Continuity), it's a Tuesday afternoon just after 3.20 where the evil Pharaoh Safiraman is up to his normal weekday tricks pillaging local villages for hunky teen boys to abduct, shave and used as 'slaves'.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

But with this being a horror movie as opposed to a sweaty gay porn one, all this oiled boy kinkiness is skipped over in favour of showing us Safiraman's funeral.

Arse.

Or lack of.

We join this obviously sad day just as his mysterious, tombstone toothed high priestess (one hit wonder Nasr) is ranting and raving about Osiris (the Egyptian one, not the shop that does cheap nose piercings in Glasgow city centre) and how fantastic and bloody a tyrant Safiraman was to crowds of nearly a dozen of his followers.

Knowing that it's best to stop on a high she finishes her speech with a saucy wiggle of her ample old lady arse before muttering an obligatory curse over the mummified body and locking six leather pant clad slaves into his burial chamber to keep him company.

Oh yes, then she fills the whole place with toxic gas.

What a nice lady.

Beware! This van is NOT full of sweeties.

Cut to the 'modern' day where a trio of sexy grave robbers led by the hunky blond bad boy Rick Cannon (the easy going co-star of Zoolander and Starsky and Hutch, Owen Wilson acting here under the pseudonym Salvo) have just uncovered Safiraman’s still sealed back passage and, after a quick chat and chin stroke decide to blow the bugger open with handy dynamite sticks.

You never get that on Time Team.

Noticing the noxious stench of sweat, spunk and gravy emanating from Safiraman’s cracked entrance, Rick reckons that the burial chamber may have been booby trapped to prevent anyone doing what he's attempting to do, therefore it'd probably be safer to wait for the poisoned gas to dissipate before stealing all of the Pharaohs trinkets.

Brains, beauty and man-boobs, this guy has it all.

Telling the hired help Iain and Jeanette to stay on guard, Rick jumps into his jeep and prepares to head back to town to buy some crisps and pop for everyone.

Or something.

But as our hero guns his throttle (as I assume you drivers say) he's accosted by a dog blanketted old harridan stinking of piss shouting obscenities at him from the depths of her tar covered toothless mouth.

That'll be Laila Nasr back then, only this time caked in shit and wearing a comedy Cher wig.

Zena (for it is she) angrilly spouts and spits at poor Rick, telling him and his team that they're about to desecrate a holy site, and if they're not careful, the mighty Safiraman an his (six man) army of the dead will be forced to “rise from the tomb and kill the infidels!”

Which is nice.

Rick tho', being a rascally type of guy just shrugs his manly shoulders and laughs the threat off before driving to the local shops leaving his buddies tanking crates of Carling at the tombs entrance.

"Hows this for a Pharaohs entrance Gary?"

Pissed up and passed out on the sands Iain and Jeanette fail to notice the couple of boorish Bedouin neighbourhood watch members skulking behind a nearby cactus and licking their lips at the sight of Jeanette's ample thigh.

It appears that Zena has paid the pair (not in kisses I hope) to keep an eye on the grave robbers but, being foreign and therefore untrustworthy, the bearded bozo's have decided to steal the treasure for themselves.

Bad, bad Bedouins.

"Nick it!"

Unfortunately the sinister smell of Zena must have affected their noses (and memories) as the pair walk straight into the still gas filled chamber and after a wee bit of dribbling and coughing drop down dead.

Which is actually quite lucky because it leaves the tomb fresh and smelling of daises the next morning just in time for Rick and co. to enjoy a death trap free day of looting.

Result.

Meanwhile over in New York (well that's what it says on the grainy footage), that top selling women's mag Fashion Monthly has decided that the time is right to send a (camp as pants) photographer Bill (Peck, not Bob), makeup lady Jenny (Levy, tho' not Eugene) and sexy 'models' Lisa (King not Steven), Melinda (Faison, Bless you), Joan (Beatty not Ned) plus not forgetting gorgeous Gary (Sattels) over to Egypt for a sexy new fashion shoot.

You can see where this is going can't you?

What all the two-bit whore's will be wearing next summer, go on ask your mum.

The magazines Egyptian correspondent, Norman has decided that the little town of Barqa would make a suitable backdrop for a few days of clothes based shenanigans, especially the sand dunes overlooking the tomb of some guy named Safiraman.

Who'd have guessed?

Fairly unsurprisingly (it's that kinda movie) the fashion glitterati almost immediately bump into Rick and his band and seem to hit it off right away.

Tho' that could have something to do with the amount of clean(ish) and good-looking - well I say good looking - laydees that have just turned up on his doorstep all wanting to get to grips with his newly recovered Pharaoh staff.

By which I probably mean penis.

And, after much persuasion by Bill he even agrees to let them use the tombs interior for the fashion shoot.

As you can probably imagine, this is probably going to be a very, very bad idea.

"Fuck me! It's Vic Morrow!"

So far so horribly clichéd but can you guess, dear reader what actually causes Safiraman to finally rise from his sandy grave?

Is it the messily dynamiting of his sacred burial chamber?

Is it when one of Rick's buddies (not Ben Stiller) steals his golden walking stick before snipping away at his bandages?

Or is it the fact that the heat from Bills arc light is a wee bit too warm for him?

Go on, guess.

"Sand in mah mooth!"

Yup that's right, Safiraman gets all hot and bothered by the lights, waking up in a strop of Tyra Banks proportions and ready to kick some model arse.

Imagine America's Next Top Model but with more eating disorders but without the hunksome Nigel Barker.

Summoning his zombie slaves, who, in the intervening years appear to have moved out of the tomb and set up home amongst the dunes, Safiraman prepares for his revenge.

Only not right away.

"You wore hotpants in my tomb!!??!!"

After what seems like months of planning (look there are only so many times I can watch underfed wannabe models pose in hideous chiffon dresses before I want to force a pie into the screen - or someone's arse) Safiraman finally gets up and decides on a plan of action.

Firstly he makes a surprise visit to Jeanette's butcher shop and sticks a meat cleaver in his head before sneaking up on the lovely Melinda whilst she's swimming at the local oasis (but not the one of the zombies) and kills her too.

Luckily for the viewer - if not the poor cast, once Safiraman and his zombie minions get a taste for blood there's no stopping them as they chow down on Gary, enjoy a main course of beefy Bill in a basket before quickly following that with a juicy Jenny dessert.

Yum.

Jade Goody...The Return.

All this blood-letting, burping and general badness seems to be just what our undead chums have been missing all these years and, not wanting to be seen as lightweights they decide to vote on who or what to do next.

Democracy in Egypt?

Who'd have thunk it?

Noticing the sound of riotous laughter and rocking good music in the distance, Safiraman and his horde reckon it'd be a bit of a laugh to head right into Barqa town centre and crash Steve Hamid the local drug dealer’s wedding party for a wee dance and some good natured banter.

Oh and to eat the guests whole of course.

Tho' they may spit that bit out.

Dave's Dalek impression was always a hit at kids parties.

It's not too long (or too well shot) before Safiraman and co. have managed to eat their way thru' the aunts, uncles and cousins until only Lisa, Joan, Rick plus a few other folk I've already forgotten are left.

With the undead slowly closing in on them our heroes become embroiled in a battle for survival.

And more importantly against crushing tedium.

Will our heroes escape?

Will Safiraman and his greedy pals ever be full?

And will Rick possibly use the handy stash of dynamite sitting nearby to blow Safiraman up?

Patrick Stewart: the face AIDS years.

The worlds first (and only) joint Egyptian/Italian/American production to feature both flesh eating mummies and high fashion, Frank Agrama's Dawn of The Mummy is a laugh a minute, schizophrenic thrill ride of cack handed dubbing, bad teeth, Lego hair and a cast so unclean you'd swear you could smell the stale urine oozing thru' your Teevee screen.

I had to mop up after sitting thru' it but then again that may have been my excitement showing.

Owen Wilson, up the casino, Cairo, 1982...YESCH!

A big name in the Egyptian film industry (yes it has one) Agrama - the man who brought Super Dimension Fortress Macross to the English-speaking world, a thing that we are eternally grateful for - had already produced and directed over 40 movies before deciding to turn his hand to the horror genre.

Looking to Italy for his inspiration, he (unfortunately) skipped the films of Agento, Fulci and (Mario) Bava and went straight to the shelf containing the complete works of Bruno (Zombie Creeping Flesh) Mattei and Andrea (Burial Ground) Bianchi, delivering a movie of such appalling tardiness thats only claim to fame is its frightening ability to appear to last even longer than its relatively short 97 minute running time.

It's as if you enter a spooky slow dimension that quietly eats away at your soul whilst watching it.

As this is coming from a man who once sat thru' the entire celluloid abortions that are Cradle of Fear and Little Deaths in one sitting.

But, if self harm appeals to you and you still feel compelled to view this movie you can at least look forward to the amusing (and possibly arousing) delights of sweaty Egyptians whipping small boys, John Salvo's hair and Laila Nasr's teeth, not to mention the cheap market stall fashions and the gore-tastic climax.

Which beats a good plot any day really doesn't it.

Doesn't it?

licence to il.

2011-12-19T10:36:00.000-08:00

with the death of everyone's favourite bond villain in waiting, Kim Jong-il, newspapers, internet sites and even pub conversation has turned to discussing North Korea's human rights records or whether they're now going to go crazy ape mental and blow up the nice folk in the south with everyone forgetting the good things to come out of the world's best tin-pot dictatorship.

Comrades, I give you...

Pulgasari (1985).
Dir: Shin Sang-ok, Chong Gon Jo and most probably Kim Jong-il.
Cast: Chang Son Hui, Ham Gi Sop, Jong-uk Ri, Gwon Ri, Gyong-ae Yu, Brian Blessed (possibly) and Geoff Pulgasari as himself.

"I can't just sit here and cry all the time!"

The time is somewhere between 918 and 1391 AD (that's the Koryo Dynasty fact fans - who says this blog isn't educational?) and the evil bearded governor of the Korean province of, um, West Bromwich has decreed that all the iron in the area is to be confiscated and used to fashion all manner of pointy, sharp weapons.

Not for fashion weapons tho' that would be silly.

Pretty soon all the men folk are sick and tired of having to live off Pot Noodles and take-aways so decide the time is right to stage a revolution.

Right on!

Takse (Ri), the local blacksmith and calm man wanders around urging everyone to just get on with it and stop complaining but his bowl headed apprentice Inde (someone else) has other ideas and sets him self up as a self styled revolutionary leader.

After a couple of weeks of grumpy disagreements and interminable political rhetoric between the two friends, the governor decides to claim Taske's iron too and, surprise surprise the blacksmith then decides that maybe Inde had the right idea.

Takse's plan is stunning in it's simplicity; he gets up in the middle of the night and stashes all his iron under the bed before telling the governor's men that a legendary beast named Pulgasari (as himself) snuck in and ate it all during the night.

"Raugh Row!"

The governor, not being a small boy, thinks Takse's story is utter bollocks and promptly throws him in jail along with Inde and his stinky band of angry peasant followers.

Score one for justice and law abiding folk!

Not having any iron spare to make cutlery, microwave ovens or chairs means that the prisoners all end up sitting in their own shite on hard stone floors (probably catching piles) with nothing to eat but beetles, so Takse's two annoyingly twee children, Ami (Hui) and Ana (Ri, the other one listed, it's not like he plays two parts) decide to throw scraps of food to their father through the window of his cell.

"Ah fell aff mah beanstalk Ian!"

But rather than eat it (or even share it with the others the selfish bastard) Takse fashions the food into a little troll - like doll before dying of (you guessed it) starvation.

So far, so depressing.

Ami, being the favourite child (and having the less amusing haircut of the two) ends up inheriting the doll, carrying it around with her and occasionally chatting to it whilst sewing, accidentally cuts herself one day dripping blood all over it.

Frankly I'd slit my wrists if I was in her position too but that's neither her nor there because, believe it or not the blood causes the doll comes to life!

Not only that but it starts to eat any scraps of iron lying about!

Could this be the legendary left wing monster and hero of the people Geoff Pulgasari?

Um, yes it is.

"Blade in mah mooth!"

Geoff, thanks to a diet of old tin cans and spoons grows bigger and bigger (well big-ish, about the size of an average toddler) everyday and is soon ready for his first mission as an heroic communist kaiju, heading off to save Inde from the executioner's chopping block.

The daring (if not incredibly comically, seeing as the entire scene consists of watching a grown man with a stick on beard wrestle a stiff rubber doll) rescue is a success and Inde and his band of pikey layabouts head off to the mountains to hide.

Back home, Ami and Ana are busy celebrating the fact that a small child in a knobbly gimp suit is going to lead Korea and her people to freedom and how he will save them all from, um bad stuff.

Well, I've heard worse.

Time passes and Geoff is now the size of your average Korean stuntman in a suit and has begun to get those typical big monster kick arse urges, so he persuades the local farmers to start a fight with the kings men offering to help win the battle if he can eat all their swords and amour etc.

Which sounds an OK plan to me.

After a few more battles (well half a dozen folk in fake beards running at each other yelling "Aaaaiiieeehhh!") and a few more metal meals, the Pulgasari grows to a gigantic 100 feet tall.

Yet scarily still looks like a man in a mould covered gimp suit.

"And it's goodnight from me"
"And it's goodnight from him!"

Everything is going swimmingly until Korea's most evilly bearded general (Blessed) offers to take out Geoff and company.

It seems that General Brian has discovered Pulgasari's secret, that our big beast buddy must protect Ami at all costs. A fact he plans to use to his advantage.

This ingenious plan involves kidnapping Ami whilst she's out collecting water for the rebels then tying her to a pole behind a big wooden shed (disguised as an all the metal you can eat buffet) so that when Pulgasari goes inside he can set fire to the beast.

The fact that our big boned pal is made entirely of metal (as opposed to bits of rotting food as you'd imagine) doesn't seem to worry Brian one bit.

"I'm fucking your mum!"

Which is probably why he looks more bored than shocked when Pulgasari start glowing white hot and with anyone who goes near him bursting into flames.

Never one to give up, General Blessed moves onto plan two (firing rockets at Geoff) and finally plan three (digging a big hole) but he can only watch in mild apathy as Pulgasari continues his journey toward the kings castle, stopping only to squash the aforementioned monarch under foot.

"Foot in mah mooth!"

Celebrating their freedom and the birth of a new socialist state the peasants prepare a huge banquet but the festivities are soon put on hold when they realize that poor old Pulgasari just can't just stop eating iron and it's not long before he too is demanding that everyone has to give him all their iron farming and cooking implements too.

Can you see what they've done there?

Luckily for the workers, Ana (being a girl and therefore untrustworthy) has been secretly getting advice from Bernard Majin, AKA Mr. Monster of Terror and he has a plan to defeat Pulgasari once and for all....

"Pulgasari, up the casino, 1984....Yesch!"

Pulgasari is a film born out of legend and hearsay that is, quite possibly much more entertaining than the movie itself.

Directed (kind of) by famed South Korean director Shin San-Ok after he'd been kidnapped by the Northern regime on the direct orders of leader in waiting and well known monster movie fan Kim Jong-il, the director manage to escape a matter of weeks before it was completed leaving hack for hire Chong Gon Jo to complete it.

All this became immaterial however when the illustrious leader realised that the completed film was utter pants from start to finish and refused to release it.

Which just goes to show that world dictators, whilst being well versed in crushing uprisings and keeping the workers under control, know next to nothing about what makes a great historical monster movie because Pulgasari, in my humble opinion is probably one of the greatest and most heart warming films ever made.

Walking that fine line between entertainment and historical drama, in much the same way as Schindler's List, Pulgasari may not be as rib-ticklingly funny as Spielberg's opus but it's a darn sight more factually accurate and miles more entertaining.

Frankly it's a must see, especially if you have any interest in world affairs, history, big rubber monster and 'the politics'.

Or comedy hats.

when cosplay goes bad part 28.

2011-12-18T07:06:00.000-08:00

The Christmas party special.

Enjoy!

bad dad mags (part one).

2011-12-11T14:19:00.000-08:00

rainy wine house.

2011-12-11T04:22:00.000-08:00

Been re-arranging the shelves here in preparation for Christmas no doubt to make way for even more of those faintly terrifying Littlest Petshop toys that our twin terror Midwich Cuckoos are obsessed with.

The Cassatron was quite happily minding his own business, playing with his new Devilman action figure when he dragged this out from behind a pile of Shaw Brothers VCD's w3ith a huge cheesy grin on his face.

Of course we had to watch it straight away, it's perfect for kids kinda like Thomas the Tank Engine with tits.

Tho' no-one in this movie has as kissable lips as Emily.

Emily: Really knows her stuff, allegedly.

Les Raisins de la mort (AKA Pesticide, The Grapes of Death, The Raisins of Death. 1978).
Dir: Jean Rollin.
Cast: Marie George Pascal, Felix Marten, Serge Marquand, Mirella Rancelot, Patrice Valota, Patricia Cartier, Brigitte Lahaie, Olivier Rollin and Noel Fielding.

Button nosed elfin-esque cutie Elizabeth (Pascal, previously seen as Carla in the fantastic I Am Frigid... Why?) is taking a rail holiday with her blonde haired buck toothed pal thru' the quaint French countryside.

Taking in the scenery and giggling like a pair of schoolies, the couple are having a wonderful time until a strange French bloke (is there any other type?) with a half chewed caramel for a face bursts into their compartment and kills Elizabeth's plain friend.

Which is lucky seeing as I don't think Cass could've bared to look at such a freakish woman for ninety minutes, I mean he's only little.

In an action sequence that would make Bond proud Elizabeth quickly jumps off the (slow moving) train and runs like buggery along the train tracks toward a small village she noticed a few miles back.

Will she be safe?

Well it wont spoil anything to say that upon arrival she finds herself surrounded by a whole community of chewed faced Frenchies brandishing pitchforks in one hand and bottles of cheap wine in the other so I guess the answer is no.

But thinking about it it would have made for a really short movie had she turned up, told the local copper and had Mr. Melty arrested, which is probably why my scripts end up unsold.

"Can you smell petrol?"

Deciding the best thing to do is hide till everyone in the village is too drunk to walk, Elizabeth dunks into a ramshackle cottage only to be accosted by a melted faced mentalist who, without even a hello (or a sleazy chat up line) tries to kill her.

So that's the secret of the Frenchman's success with women.

Running away (again - it's a good job she's a fit lass) Elizabeth ends up hiding out in a deserted hilltop ruin where she comes across a strangely attractive, gingery blind girl (the fluffily pillow breasted Rancelot, obviously auditioning for a part in a The Beyond tribute act) who, it turns out used to live in the village before all the crazy stuff started.

"Eye hen".

After swapping make up tips (as women do) the pair decided to head back to the village for a nosy about.

Which is when things start to get really freaky.

And I don't just mean the distinct lack of nudity (or the presence of a plot) which is normally an alien concept in a Jean Rollin.

Or the fact that seemingly out of the blue former porn star Brigitte Lahaie turns up, all tight shirted and bouncy haired in order to crucify then behead poor Rancelot leaving Elizabeth no choice but to (you guessed it) run away.

You see, it turns out that someone has been spraying an experimental pesticide on the grapes used to make the local wine, turning most of the French populace into scab faced, violent tempered loons.

Please note how I resisted adding a witty comment here.

Wandering around the barren hilltops looking for help, Elizabeth discovers the most disturbing thing all all regarding the infection when it appears that not everyone contaminated is affected in the same way.

Yes there are those odd few that stumble around, arms outstrecthed as the lurch toward their victims but then there are others that are still able to think rationally about their condition, even going as far as feeling remorseful at what the infection is forcing them to do.

Elizabeth however has no time for touchy feely French types and usually just runs away screaming before they start crying on her.

Or try to run her thru' with a pitchfork obviously.

"Le cheap French Vino in mah mooth monsieur!"

Fearing accusations of being an anti-monster bigot, Elizabeth also takes to screaming at any uninfected folk that she comes across too, which always seems to alert any passing madmen to their presence, meaning that these unfortunates usually end up on the wrong end of some pointy farm tool wielded by a dribbling sponge-faced foreigner.

Tho' luckily not the band.

After what seems like days of (non nude, non lesbian vampire filled) wanderings, she eventually meets up with a couple of high waisted, wellie wearing farmers who've amazingly managed to avoid the infection because, gulp, they hate the taste of wine, preferring beer instead.

How's that for luck?

But just as it seems Elizabeth’s luck is about to change and she's excitedly looking forward to a hot, dribbly sausage or two inside her, a bizarre series of coincidences and obvious plot twists happen, bringing her into contact with her (until now) unseen boyfriend.

Will he save the day (and our oh so cute heroine)?

Look to all intents and purposes this is a zombie movie, so what do you think?

Fuck me! It's Noel Fielding!

No matter how threadbare or cheese ridden his movies are, you can't help but love Jean Rollin. He's like the curmudgeonly old uncle you only saw at Christmas, you know the one that always gave you Victorian Erotic postcards instead of birthday cards and, after he'd got you to admit how attractive you found the breasts on show would laughingly inform you that it's a picture of your Great Granny.

Second only to the incredible Zombie Lake, Les Raisins de la mort is Rollin at his most accessible and audience friendly, owing more than a nod to Jorge Grau's fantastic Living Dead at the Manchester Morgue and Romero's The Crazies rather than his Night of The Living Dead.

When it does feel the need to steal from Romero's classic however it uniquely does so in reverse, whereas Night's cast are trapped inside a farmhouse fighting for survival, Raisins Elizabeth is stranded on the windswept hilltops of rural France, the long lingering shots of Elizabeth alone and frightened make a startling counterpoint to the claustrophobic close-ups of the infected shuffling slowly from various dilapidated houses as the sun sets.

Some grapes (of death) earlier today.

Above all else tho', Les Raisins de la mort is not only classic Rollin but classic Eurohorror to boot, pre-dating (and pissing on from a great height) modern virus based shockers like 28 days later by almost 30 years and finally proving that Rollin was capable of making a damn fine horror movie without having to resort to scantily clad, small chested lesbo vampires with dirty feet.

Tho' I'll be the first to admit tho', there is something warm and tingly about seeing them occasionally.

Especially if it's this pair:

Be seeing you.

hal to pay.

2011-12-09T08:18:00.000-08:00

childline.

2011-12-09T04:31:00.000-08:00

Quien Puede A Un Nino? (AKA Death Is Child's Play, The Killer's Playground, Island of the Damned, Who Can Kill a Child?, Would You Kill a Child? 1976)
Dir: Narciso Ibanez Serrador.
Cast: Lewis Fiander, Prunella Ransome, Antonio Iranzo and the cast of Byker Grove.

"Do you think the other children will start playing the way we do?"

"Oh, yes...there are lots of children in the world. Lots of them."

A pair of particularly posh English love birds, the mightily moustached Tom and the pountily pregnant poppet Evelyn (Doctor Who's drug dealing tinker Tryst from The Nightmare of Eden Lewis Fiander and victim of the Silurian plague Prunella Ransome) are enjoying a well deserved break from drinking Pimms, watching cricket and abusing the staff with a holiday in sunny Spain, taking in the local lifestyle (letting your hair get greasy, not washing, seducing underage girls etc - possibly) and travelling to various festivals buying carpets and the like.

Whilst ordering food in English and sniggering at the locals trousers like all Brits abroad obviously.

After much saucy fun,bikini clad frolicking, vast amounts of el cheapo Vino and a fairly serious chat about abortion (Tom wanted Evelyn to have one, she refused - see it's a kinda child killing thing isn't it? I see what they did there), Tom decides to finish the holiday with a visit to the beautiful island of Almanzora (these days frequented by such luminaries as Ian Botham and Daley Thompson fact fans) and the small village of Shi'moo where he had many a magical holiday as a small (non moustached) boy.

Hmmm...another child reference.

This Serrador bloke is good.

The couple get a shock on arriving at the island, the town is abandoned, the hotel is empty and the local restaurant is deserted.

Worst of all tho' is that all the TeeVee's are broken and the corner shop is out of Take A Break magazines.

What has happened to this island paradise?

"Look! It's Fred Titmuss!"

Tom, being a hunky hero type decides to play detective whilst Evelyn, being in the fat lady pudding club, rests her swollen feet.

No sooner has Tom jauntily skipped down the road than a young girl appears pops up at the window and waves merrily at Evelyn before slowly creeping over and obsessively stroking our plump pals mummy tummy before smiling and running away.

Weird.

Returning to Evelyn empty handed save for a kiss me quick hat the pair, in a horror movie first decide to explore together, soon coming across an old man sitting at the roadside.

But I suppose that being heavily pregnant has put Evelyn off the sex so Tom has to get his jollies where he can.

But before the old fella can wipe himself down or even grunt "Aye son!" a small girl appears from nowhere and bludgeons him to death with his walking stick.

Kids eh?

Luckily the local kids fear the Bri-Nylon.

Finding the situation a wee bit strange and probably worthy of a bit of Scooby Doo style investigation Tom and Evelyn decide to follow the girl further inland, passing deserted cars, discarded teeth and many a battered skull along the way.

All belonging to adults.

Well obviously in the case of the cars but I'm trying to build tension so bare with me.

It's not long before our dynamic duo have uncovered the terrifying = if fairly obvious - truth behind the kiddie killings....the children have become possessed, murdering all the adults on the island to death!

Front bum, back bum, shitey mooth....three for a full hoose!

After school activities on the island now include using dead peoples as piñatas, not brushing your teeth, skewering tourists and staying up all night to play Call of Duty on the PS3 whilst listening to Pixie Lott or something.

Yes, it's every adults nightmare.

Pixie Lott: Tunnel or funnel?

Tom and Evelyn, obviously au fait with the killer kiddies genre, decide it'd probably be for the best if they attempted to escape from these wannabe ASBO's by making their way to the posher bit which luckily is populated by ex-pats withposh kids, none of this council scum they keep finding around the streets where they are now.

See? Even more of that socio-political stuff, this guys a genius.

Just when everything seems like it's going to be OK (isn't that the way?) Tom makes a disturbing discovery, it appears that it only takes a sly look from those perishing pre-teens in the general direction of another child to pass of the madly murderous mentalism.

Tom and Evelyn are left with no choice but to fight back, the fate of their unborn child in their hands.

Well in Evelyn's tummy but you know what I'm getting at, pedants.

Begging for a mooth shite-in.

Unfortunately Tom's idea of fighting back is to lock himself and his wife in someones spare room and hope they can stay quiet enough to not attract any attention till the police turn up.

Which as far as escape plans go is up their with "Let's split up and search the woods for a way out alone!"

Hal Delrich would be proud.

Settling down for a well deserved rest (and maybe, just maybe a quick fondle of Evelyn's glorious globes) Tom's top seduction technique ("Oooh Evelyn I've got a pure steamer on!" probably) is interrupted when a blond small boy brandishing his large weapon bursts in on them.

Tom jumps into action, bitch-slapping the little shite before reluctantly shooting him in the arse, giving us a chance to not only see Fiander's Oscar calibre grief acting but to answer the question poised by the film's title.

This is getting all meta-textual init?

But the tearful wank and Pot Noodle brings only a moment of calm for our cooped up couple as without warning Evelyn starts leaking piss, shit and shame as her by now infected foetus murders her from within the womb.

Which I'll admit I didn't see coming.

As the sun rises on a new day, a weary Tom is left completely alone.

Apart from a handy assault rifle that is.

And an obvious dislike of weans.

Shallow: Hal.

Violently grabbing the rifle, Tom decides (albeit a bit late in the day) to prove his worth as a real man by running down to the harbour whilst firing indiscriminately into the crowds of kids and steal a boat back to the mainland.

Cue primal screams and comedy kid dancing as the bullets rip thru' row upon row of mad mini-people as Tom gingerly runs down the street before finally managing to cut the boat loose and head toward the open sea.

Wading into the water in an attempt to stop him leaving the children try desperately to overturn the boat as Tom valiantly tries to maim as many of them as he can.

Unfortunately (for him) Tom's world recording breaking infanticide attempt is cut short by the arrival of a Spanish police patrol boat, and the greasy crew mistakenly thinking that Tom has gone mad, shoot the poor sod dead.

Docking at the harbour, the officers begin tending to the wounded and asking the poor ickle children where their parents are.

One of the kids points toward town whilst the officer in charge asks no-one in particular the age old question "Who Can Kill a Child?" .

Which is a wee bit silly seeing as the answer is the guy he just shot obviously.

As the three officers begin the short walk to town one of them notices a small group of children sharing out the guns on the boat, turning to stop them the trio are confronted by a small moonfaced girl who waves them "Goodbye just before one of the boys shoots the three dead.

As the sun begins to set the children split into small groups, all the easier to infiltrate the mainland...

Murphy's Mob: the ASBO years.

The bastard offspring of Village of The Damned and daddy to every kiddie based horror flick since (and no doubt where Stephen King ripped Children of The Corn off from), from it's opening montage of true life atrocities committed against children to it's downbeat ending Who Can Kill a Child? is as disturbing a movie today as it was at the time of release.

Thinking about it in these child safety obsessed modern times tho' it probably comes across as even more so.

You'd be hard pushed to imagine it getting greenlit today, let alone made.

And that's not just because of the subject matter.

Or the haircuts.

No it's more to do with the leisurely pace at which Narciso Ibanez Serrador unfolds his story, unafraid as he is to build the tension slowly as he works quietly toward the movie's climax with an ever growing sense of dread.

Filmed completely in broad daylight, Pedro Almodóvar's cinematographer of choice, Jose Luis Alcaine adds a sense of growing isolation whilst avant-garde composer Waldo de los Ríos' soundtrack of suitably soothing lullaby style songs gives a spooky Twilight Zone vibe to the proceedings.

But that's not all it has in it's favour, the small (in number as well as height) cast are unusually good for Spanish genre flicks of the time (casting English speaking ex-Doctor Who actors probably helped) and the Kiddie cast admirably pull of the task of going from sweet to shit scary in the bat of an eyelid.

A wee bit like my own then.

Finally getting the love and care it deserves after years of being butchered, redubbed, retitled and generally pissed about, Serrador's masterpiece can now proudly take it's place as the missing link between the horrific excesses of Jorge Grau's Manchester Morgue and Paul Naschy's well meant Werewolf series.

Well we all know how much I like my little boxes, plus it makes it easier to put on your shelves this way.

ch...ch...ch...changi.

2011-12-08T08:53:00.000-08:00

Not one to plug stuff (unless it's my own work obviously) but felt I had to share seeing as this is one of the best mockumentary movies I've ever seen.

Tony Kern's Haunted Changi (reviewed way back here) could be Likened to one of those seldom repeated Christmas ghost stories of old so loved by the BBC or a particularly gruesome episode of Tales of The Unexpected, it builds slowly yet creepily towards it's shock climax, a lean mean tale of caution that works not only as a ghost story but also as a modern equivalent of an old fashioned folk tale akin to Hansel and Gretal.

Still trying to get a UK distribution deal (shame on the company that knocked it back, you know who you are) it's just been announced that readers in the US can now view this Singapore shocker for a limited time nationwide On Demand via cable, satellite and telco operators.

Interested?

You should be.

Check the Haunted Changi Facebook page for more details or visit the official website here.

End of plug.

who says necromance is dead?

2011-12-06T11:52:00.000-08:00

Seeing as it's almost Christmas I thought I'd try something a wee bitty different and share a few romantic movies with you just for those nights when it's you and a loved one alone.

Providing she's not got school the next day that is.

Sextette (1978)
Dir: Ken Hughes.
Cast: Mae West, Timothy Dalton, Tony Curtis, Ringo Starr, Alice Cooper, Regis Philbin, Keith Moon, George Raft, George Hamilton and Dom DeLuise.

Marriage is like a book. The whole story takes place between the covers.

Mummified screen superstar Marlo Manners (golden age cum bucket West) and her latest husband, Sir Michael Barrington (Prince Barin himself, Sir Timothy of Dalton) are spending their wedding night in a swanky London hotel.

The couple, expecting a few relaxing days (and nights) of top shag action are surprised - well Dalton is, West's faced just kinda lolls there like a botched burns victim - to find themselves caught in an international incident that could have serious ramifications for the whole world.

And to good taste.

"Aye son....touch mah titties!"

In a bizarre case of movie coincidences, who should be in the next room but Marlo's ex-hubbie, the Russian diplomat Alexei (ex Persuader! Curtis) busy taking part in an important UN peace conference.

The problem is that he's refusing to sign anything unless he can spend one last night with his ex wife.

Obviously he just can't get the thought of her ample (and varicose veined) arse out of his head.

But let's be honest, who could?

And if that wasn't confusing (or clichéd) enough yet another ex hubbie, the film director Laslo (Ringo Starr) wants to film her in a 'romantic' scene for his new movie.

It's enough to make a whore vomit.

Tony Curtis: the mark of cinematic quality.

Understandably, Sir Michael feels he should be chivalrous and defend his (very) old ladies honour.

Unluckily for him a misunderstanding about the use of the word 'gay' means the evil gutter press have branded him a homosexual.

Oh. My. Sides.

Just when you thought that matters - or ludicrous plotting - couldn't get any worse, Marlo's taped memoirs (dishing the dirt on everyone she's ever shagged) have gone missing and her back from the dead, gangster ex-husband, the evil Dan The Fish (comedy God DeLuise) is determined to have them.

"Just close your eyes
and think of Roger Moore".

In a bizarre twist of fate tho' (one of Which David Lynch would be proud) the cassette ends up first in a cake being delivered to Curtis, then in a dog before finally ending up in the US track and field team's private gym.

Luckily Marlo is visiting the hunky athletes and, in a scene more painful than circumcision with a rusty tin lid , starts fondling the young bucks before making a slew of lewd suggestions as to where she'd like them to put it.

This frankly terrifying act of sexual harassment is cut short tho' when she notices the cassette bounce off a trampoline and thru' the roof.

Tho' how she can see anything thru' her melted plastic face is beyond me.

"Five fingers, never touched the sides!"

By this point Sir Michael is behaving like Barrymore at a pool party, barely able to control the raging erection in his monogrammed silk undies, the sexual tension he feels at not yet being able to consummate their marriage liable to burst covering anyone standing close in gooey thick Welsh joy-jism at any minute.

Which if I'm honest I wouldn't say no to.

his sexual frustration isn't helped by his wife tho', who's taken to wandering around their room in a baby doll nightie so tiny that you can see her nipples swinging freely just below the hem.

So being a true Brit, plus not fancying being caught hunched over the bed in the company of mother fist and her five young daughters (but most likely because there are no old peoples homes near) Sir Michael decides to find the tape himself.

Using his almost Bond-like detecting skills he actually manages to find the pesky casette before dodgy Dan and his Mafia mo-fo's and finally discovers the reason as to why it's so important.

Would you believe that in her old age poor Marlo can't remember if she divorced Dan or not.

Only by listening to her frankly sordid past in full Dolby surround can Dan and the mob determine if she now has two husbands.

If you think that sounds harmless just imagine your gran talking dirty to you as you try to polish one off.

Again.

"Smell my finger!"

Thinking about it tho' (the plot that is not your gran) I still can't figure out why this is so important.

Anyway, back to the movie and just when you think it can't get any worse (or that West may get all naked and dirty with Dalton) the tape ends up in the United Nations conference hall along with the bad guys, the new hubbie, Alice Cooper, Laslo, Regis Philbin and practically every other wannabe, has-been and celebrity junkie after money for a quick fix that you can name.

Just check the cast list.

And for some unfathomable reason the delegates want to hear it all.

Well it beats trying to stop acts of genocide and backing illegal invasions doesn't it?

The poor guy on the right says it all.

Will the conference be a success or will the contents of the tape plunge everyone into World War 3 meaning that Damnation Alley really happened?

Will the newly weds ever get to have 'the sex'?

Will West keep her teeth in as Dalton slowly eases his rock solid member into her lipstick covered mouth, his pendulous testicles slowly and rhythmically slapping against the fine hairs on her chin?

Or will he, at the moment of climax plead with his new bride to allow him to cover her unblinking corpse-like visage in his off-white man-muck but then without waiting for a reply, violently fire his seed over Marlo's unflinching face, the sperm glistening like early morning dew on some haunted death mask?

Will Dalton's career survive?

"So you think you'll be able to find the car keys?"

From Ken Hughes, the director behind Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, the Rachel Ward slasher Night School and the Berlin bits in the unofficial Bond movie Casino Royale, comes this star-packed musical comedy, conceived with the idea of relaunching Mae (by this point older than God) West's career as a sex goddess and glamour queen.

And you have to admit that whatever else is wrong with this movie (and there's a lot) it shows that West could still deliver a kinky quip and a sexual innuendo with the best of them.

Which would be fine if at this point in her career she wasn't an 85 year old leathery necked, tucked and stapled white wigged living corpse.

Imagine if some young guy asked your Gran "How do you like it in London?" and she answered, "I like it anywhere!" whilst stroking herself only wearing a see thru' nightie.

It's just so wrong (unless your Gran happens to be Diana Rigg), almost as if someone travelled back in time to make a star studded role reversed musical version of Jörg Buttgereit's Nekromantik ten years early.

And make it even more disturbing.

Heath Ledger's audition for the new James Bond didn't go quite according to plan.

Remarkably it becomes an even scarier proposition as soon as you realise that every single male cast member is meant to fancy the (scaffolded to fuck) arse off West, this knowledge added to the sight of Bond to be Timothy Dalton exclaiming that upon arrival at the hotel (Marlo) won't be wearing many clothes over the next few days still gives me nightmares.

This is the man that pulled Ornella Muti in Flash Gordon for Christ sake.

Begrudgingly (well it is nearly Christmas) I will admit that there are a few good bits (and a couple of dangling leathery bits in West's case) including Dalton crooning Love will Keep Us Together to West and a really freaky Jimmy Carter pedo-alike belting out You've got the cutest little baby face to a visibly nipple aroused Marlo, add to that the final revelation that Sir Michael is, in fact a spy ("Just like your James Bond!") is enough to raise a giggle.

If not any interest in the pant department.

Camper than Udo Kier in an immaculately clean SS uniform running barefoot thru' a forest of cock, the film does have one final surprise, an ending that rivals Carrie and Rosemary's Baby in the terror stakes.

Yep, I'm talking about the final shot of a scantily clad Ms. West writhing in bed next to a topless Timothy Dalton whilst moaning "Oooohhhhhhhhhhhhh, the British are COMING!"

What more can I say?

View at your peril.

seperated at birth?

2011-12-06T10:53:00.000-08:00

Another of the tenuous celebs who look like something posts I occasionally do when bored and this time it's the light entertainment equivalent of Luke and Leia.

Scary eh?

plug.

2011-12-05T14:19:00.000-08:00

Those lovely folk at High Rising Productions have been hard at work bringing the definitive guide to grindhouse cinema to the masses...you owe it to them (and your kids) to check it out.

flesh gore-dom.

2011-12-05T13:22:00.000-08:00

Zombie Creeping Flesh (AKA Apocalipsis caníbal, Zombi 5: Ultimate Nightmare, Hell of the Living Dead, Inferno dei morti-viventi, Virus, Cannibal Virus 1980)
Dir: Bruno Mattei (AKA Vincent Dawn)
Cast: Magrit Evelyn Newton, Frank 'Garfeeld', José Gras, Josep Lluís Fonoll, Gabriel Renom, Bob Carolgees and Selan Karay.

This cover scared the living shite out of me as a kid. Fact.

"She may not know much about chemistry, but in bed, her reactions are terrific!"

Somewhere (cheap to film) in sunny Papua New Guinea lies a top secret research facility called The Hope Centre where armies of underpaid and overworked Italian extras spend their days dressed in ill-fitting lab coats and children's Bob The Builder hats whilst ooh-ing and aah-ing over a variety of flashing lights and diode meters.

Which if I'm honest is possibly the best job in the world.

Well it would be if it weren't for the scary puppet rat that takes a fancy to one of the poor supporting artistes (who looks way too much like Harry H. Corbett for my liking) nostrils and in a vain attempt to have sex with it causes a gas leak that turns the entire staff into flesh-eating zombies.

Is there any other kind tho?

"There's a rat in the kitchen Albert....you dirty old man!"

Cue the Goblin score to Dawn of The Dead coupled with some felt-tip titles that take us half way across the world - or 15 miles down the road - to some unnamed banana republic where the heroically chinned and scarily hairy backed Lt. Mike London (José Gras, the star of Mad Foxes) and his Quick Fit overalled four man anti-terrorist squad are being deployed to eliminate a group of sweaty, bearded working class types who've taken the directors family hostage inside the local council offices.

These tinker terrorists are demanding the closing down of every Hope Centre in the world due to them being a cover for something bad (probably), which of course both the government and the military deny.

Well they would wouldn't they?

Bored with sitting about looking manly, London and co. fire tear gas into the building before bursting in and machine gunning all the bad guys.

In the face.

Fuck yeah.

Children beware, their Jeep is not full of sweets.

Once the mission is completed and the bodies bagged our heroes receive an important communiqué from whichever fascist police state they work for informing them that all communication with Hope Centre has been lost and, seeing as this wannabe A-Team is a far as the budget can stretch when it comes to supplying a small army, they've to head out to New Guinea right away.

On arrival our oddly hatted he-men take in the scenery and wildlife as they drive aimlessly around what looks like a kiddies sandpit, failing totally to notice that a number of animals they encounter are all moving in slow motion on differentiating qualities of film stock whilst others just stand in the background as tho' stuffed.

An effect of the chemical leak surely?

There's unfortunately not enough time to discuss this because it's about now that we meet bubble haired journalist Lia Rousseau (Newton from Hunter of the Apocalypse) and her cameraman Barney (ex-Tiswas star Carolgees), who're busy chasing the same story.

I mean the Hope centre one by the way, not the actual film plot because that would be a waste of time and effort on all parts.

Anyway, London, realising that Rousseau's breasts will probably be the most entertaining things we're going to see in the next 90 minutes offers to take them along for the ride.

Magrit Evelyn Newton's tits yesterday.

As their journey takes them ever closer to the facility (encountering amongst other things, even more grainy scratchy stock footage of animals and even grainier stock footage of African tribes plus a few - none stock footage - zombies), London's crack team come across (not in that way tho' it'd brighten things up) a native village that's been recently attacked by persons unknown.

No chance it could be zombies then?

Our haircut dodging heroes desperately need information on the attack if they're to stand any chance of completing their mission and as luck would have it, Lia not content with being the video nasty equivalent of Anne Diamond is also a trained anthropologist, specialising in the tribes of New Guinea.

How lucky is that?

As we all know, the best way to communicate with a primitive tribe is to strip stark bollock (or in this case boob) naked, cover your breasts and face in poster paint and then just waltz on in.

Frank Sidebottom always enjoyed judging the annual Ms. Timperly competition.

It seems to do the trick tho' as the team are all invited for dinner and the chance to sit thru' some stock footage (surprise) of various tribal burial rights before rounding off the evenings entertainment with a wee bit of a dance.

Luckily some zombies turn up (finally) giving our heroes a chance to quickly drive away whilst the defenceless villagers are violently massacred.

Which is nice.

Stopping a short while later (far enough away that they can't hear the screams) London and his boys decide to rest up in a deserted plantation where hopefully they can find some supplies and maybe even a ballet tutu or two (too).

Seriously.

It seems that the bald pated Lt. Osbourne (Fonoll) has gone a wee bit fruit loops due to the intense heat and is desperate to find his feminine side.

Yikes.

Rooting around the building as one would an old ladies underwear London discovers what he takes to be the plantation owner, a wrinkly old woman, asleep in a rocking chair.

Moving slowly closer (well your hole is your hole after all) our lewd Lieutenant is shocked to find that the stiff in his throbbing manhood isn't the only thing stiff in the room, the old biddy is dead and the rocking motion is due to an ickle pussy cat eating its way thru' her chest.

Gah indeed.

And just when you thought things couldn't get any more uncomfortable, the Zimmer using zombie stands up and slowly totters towards a visibly repulsed London whilst pulling a terrifying cum face.

It's like waking up with your gran's face buried in the damp muskiness of your crotch.

Again.

What your dad really gets up to on his darts night.

Screaming like wee lassies at a Gary Glitter concert the team barely make it out alive, in fact poor old Osbourne doesn't, he's unfortunately killed whilst wearing a top hat and a green ballet tutu as the house is quickly overrun - well as quickly as zombies can totter - by the undead.

Eventually, Rousseau, her bullet-like nipples rubbing against her rough yet functional cheesecloth blouse and the remains of London's team battle their way to a local boating lake cum kiddies paddling pool where, after commandeering a dingy begin the final leg of their journey to the Hope Centre.

And it's about fucking time if I'm honest.

Inside Michael Barrymore's mind.

Paddling ever nearer to the complex it soon becomes apparent (thanks to even more stock footage, this time of what looks like a school PTA meeting) what the Hope Centre project actually entails.

It seems that their top secret plan to alleviate world hunger actually involves harvesting the bodies of the dead as a cheap food source.

Soylent Green anyone?

Ironically tho', with the chemical leak causing the dead to rise the worlds starving will now devour us.

Hang on, that's a wee bit serious for this kind of film isn't it?

"Laugh now!"

Suffice to say that when they finally reach the centre things go from bad to very bad via a quick trip to badsville; the scarily Argento fringed Zantoro (Frank Garfeeld AKA Franco Garofalo AKA The Nipples from Naples) after spending the rest of the film turned up to eleven finally blows, going so far over the top that his performance can only be viewed from the Hubble telescope whilst good old Mike London appears to suddenly gains 2 stone (pesky reshoots) which he then takes out on poor Lia.

If anything she should be angry seeing as his tits are now bigger (and considerably juicer) than hers.

Whilst all this sweaty arguing is going on, literally dozens (OK a few) zombies randomly jump out of lifts and cupboards (but obviously don't shout) picking off - and pissing on - the survivors one by one, leaving the zombie hordes to take over the world and Lia's head being used as a novelty bowling ball.

"Aye hen!"

Nothing like finishing on an upbeat note eh?

Different title, same movie, scarier cover.

Again the late (as in dead, not terrible time keeper) great Bruno Mattei show- but highly enjoyable - tat.

Working under the pseudonym Vincent Dawn in a thinly veiled tribute to George Romero for the first time, Mattei would continue to use this moniker till the end of his career, a career that took in Lovecraftian mummies, Nazisploitation, saucy Roman epics, women in prison, combat shockers and big rats as well as the undead.

Everything you could ever wish for basically.

Bruno and his very own Ripley, the fantastic (and fantastically smooth thighed) Yvette Yzon.

Back to the movie in hand tho' and it's seldom that such a bad film delivers so perfectly, from barely adequate gore effects, ludicrously stiff dialogue and stilted dubbing - "You're beginning to bug me, kiddo - just don't break my balls!" - unnecessary nudity, dodgy face-painting, a stolen score, stock footage pilfered from such places as Nuova Guinea: Isola Dei Cannibali and the directors holiday films via a fantastic collection of ill fitting hats.

This film has all this and more besides.

Scarily enough the film was originally envisioned as a big budget ecological horror thriller - it's original draft features the entire third world becoming zombies taking on the armed might of the industrialised nations - think Soylent Green with zombies and the budget of Avatar, but when the producers discovered that between them they could only scrape together £6.80 and that Charlton Heston hadn't returned their calls they realised that a major rethink - and rewrite - would be needed.

Enter Mattei (not literally you sick bastard he's been dead for 5 years) who alongside the hack-tastic Claudio Fragasso soon had the entire project re-jigged to more suit the more, um, modest budget assigned to it.

And more importantly get a cast that would work for food.

Or in José Gras' case cheap cooking sherry.

Allegedly.

And it's probably a much better movie because of this.

But let's be honest, the thought of it being any worse is almost criminal.

An average Daily Mail headline yesterday.

But the films troubles didn't end with it's budget problems, sub-literate cast and lack of suitable head wear, as upon release in the UK Zombie Creeping Flesh was quickly pounced on by the evil forces of the DPP and unfairly (and messily) tarred with the 'video nasty' brush before being bundled into a box next to an ex-rental copy of Night Train Murders.

Night Train Murders: A little bit of chicken in a box.

But like the zombies it portrays so realistically, the critics found Zombie Creeping Flesh hard to kill as over the years it's somewhat tarnished reputation as a perfectly formed end of the pier style, totally craptastic shocker has grown to a point where it's fans now number in the dozens.

And what other movie has the balls to feature a ending where a zombie pushes its fist into the heroines screaming mouth, forcing its fingers up through her face before poking out her eyeballs?

Top quality entertainment for all the family.

november stiffs.

2011-12-01T06:31:00.000-08:00

It's the time of the month where we mourn those Unwell faves that are raving in graves.

So without further ado.

November after not only spawning a monster, saw the passing of Leonard Stone, best known for his portrayal of Sam Beauregarde, the father of Golden Ticket winner Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.

Spanish film actor Antonio Molino Rojo, probably most recognisable for his roles in A Fistful of Dollars (1964), For a Few Dollars More, (1965) and the The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

Munchy Margaret Field, mother of uber-milf Sally Field and star of such classics as The Man from Planet X and Captive Women.

American adult film star and sdisco diva Andrea True (AKA Inger Kissin, Singe Low, Sandra Lips, Andrea Travis and Catherine Warren), best known for the disco hit "More, More, More", released in 1976, which reached No. 5 in the UK Singles Charts in 1976.

Last month also saw the deaths of Hong Kong movie star Ricky Hui Koon-Ying who alongside his brothers, Michael and Sam, appeared in several comedy blockbusters in the '70s and '80s including The Lizard (1972), The 14 Amazons (1972), The Sugar Daddies (1973) and The Generation Gap (1973) as well as Karl Slover, one of the last surviving Munchkins.

Baron Munchausen himself, the British-born Canadian based actor John Neville.

Michal Friedman, American voice actress and singer best known for Mobile Suit Gundam Unicorn, , Samurai Deeper Kyo and X Men.

From the world of 'the cartoon', British animator, television and film producer Mark Hall, most famous for bringing us Danger Mouse, Count Duckula, the animated segments on the Doctor Who: The Invasion DVD and the full length The Wind in the Willows movie passed away as did Zdeněk Miler, the Czech animator and illustrator best known for his Mole (Krtek) character.

And finally it was said to see the death of The Arena's unofficial granddad and favourite British film maker the wonderful Ken Russell.

And I'd like to leave you with a quote from his letter to the British censor at the time re: The Devils "Dear John: I have cleaned up the shit from the altar and cut the orgy in half".

Godspeed sir!

redundant pitches part one.

2011-11-29T08:45:00.000-08:00

Been unboxing some odds and (dirty) sods from the wacky world of illustration here, so for your enjoyment a sure fire hit I tried to pitch to Fleetway at the tender age of 17.

Juan Dog: The adventures of a Mexican dog-boy art student cum detective.

Surprisingly they rejected it.

people you fancy but shouldn't part 35.

2011-11-29T02:58:00.000-08:00

The Young Apprentice's answer to Mary Harron, Ms. Zara Brownless.

To be honest it was a hard choice between Ms. Brownless and the fiery redhead Lizzie Magee but the Tron style white dress swung it.*

frame game.

2011-11-28T15:55:00.000-08:00

Sneaky peek at the background panels for the new 'Rosemary' cover.

Excited yet?

Full cover will be revealed soon!

rat scabies.

2011-11-25T01:12:00.000-08:00

Rats: Notte Di Terrore (AKA Blood Kill, Les Rats de Manhattan, Rats: Night of Terror 1984)
Director: Bruno Mattei
Starring: Richard Raymond, Alex McBride, Richard Cross, Moune Duvivier, Henry Luciani, Cristoph Bretner, Ann-Gisel Glass and the fantastic Geretta Geretta.

It is the year is 225 A.B. (the A.B. stands for  either after the bomb or absolute bollocks, take yer pick.) and the world as we know it has gone forever.

Nuclear war has decimated our beloved planet Earth.

Well, a bit of it just outside Rome.

But luckily humanity survived by retreating underground to wait out the ecological crisis that undoubtedly followed.

Tho' we wont get to see that because it'd be way too expensive.

Unfortunately an argument over whose turn it was to wash up causes a major split amongst the survivors, forcing a small band tp return to the planet's surface to live as 'scavengers', roaming the barren wasteland like a community centre panto version of Mad Max, searching for food, fuel, Fairy liquid  (those dishes wont do themselves) and - from the look of them - an 80's Top Shop's to stock up on legwarmers, day-glo eyeshadow and zippered, rising sun t-shirts.

The others must have just stayed inside watching reruns of Jeremy Kyle or something. 

Kurt: queer as folk.

One particular group of these junior road warriors led by the bouffanted, bleached and bearded Kurt (stuntman turned actor Raymond looking like an aborted Gibb brother) stumble across an abandoned town (although how you can stumble across a town escapes me) and, after a quick nosey about the immediate area, being careful not to stray too far off the backlot, immediately enter what looks like a cheap Eurohostel to look for food and water.

What they find inside is beyond their wildest dreams tho'; boxes of fresh food, some porn, boxes of tissues, a big water purifier in the basement and a hydroponic nursery.

Shelter, food, fresh water and top shelf wanking material - everything they need to survive.

Cue a few scenes of slightly uncomfortable food-porn that includes a scruffy middle aged beardie man pouring sugar into his mouth and eyes exclaiming "Sugar!" and Kurt munching a bag of flour shouting "Yum! flour!" before emptying the rest of the bag over the exquisite Chocolate (horror goddess and all round superstar Geretta Geretta).

A scene worth rewatching just to admire possibly the worlds greatest genre actress (and part-time Amazon) in action.

Jenny Spoon, the token anorexic of the group, bored with watching her pals play hide the sausage (literally) notices that a freshly laundered bed in the corner of the hi-tech dining room is mysteriously moving and heads over to investigate.

Tho' I'd be more concerned with why someone would pop a bed in their dining room if I'm honest.

Slowly easing her way toward the bed with her dirty, shaking skeletal fingers stretched out like someone's Nan attempting a birthday hand job, she's surprised to find that beneath the clean, and soft Postman Pat blankets lies a putrefying corpse.

With  dozens of rats gnawing at the bones!

Yikes.

Billie Piper, up the casino, 1998...yesch!

  

Now, just put yourself in their shoes for a second...what do you think is the most terrifying thing about this scenario?

The half chewed body in the bed or the fact that it appears that the rats must of attacked this man as he slept, then pulled the covers up and made the bed in an attempt to play an hilarious Jeremy Beadle style prank on the next people to turn up?

Ignoring all of this tho' and deciding just to chalk it up to experience, our motley crew decide to explore the buildings computer room to see if the internet is still working giving them a chance to download some cheerleader porn before bed.

It's great to know that even after a nuclear holocaust that peoples priorities are still right.

Anyway, before settling down for a good nights kip (not a night of terror- with rats - we hope) the criminally camp technology egghead Vic Video (Il capo dei capi's Gianni Franco AKA Richard Cross) lives up to his moniker by finding the buildings light switches.

After first accidentally starting an 'eliminate intruders' program obviously.

And with that the group settle down to bed.

As the air is filled with the dulcet sounds of snores and farts, ball headed bad boy Barry Lucifer (star of the hit teevee series Cas de divorce's Bretner) and his scarily googly eyed girlfriend Lilith (Duvivier), overcome with passion start having 'the sex' in a cosy double sleeping bag in the corner.

And they say romance is dead.

Luckily for all the folk trying to get a good nights kip (and for us if I'm honest) the zip in the bag sticks before Lucifer (as he so romantically puts it) can "blast off baby!" leaving the horny devil to stomp off to the bar to drown his sorrows.

And no doubt choke his chicken.

"Is it in yet?"

Coming across (not literally mind) Video, Jeff and Spoon getting slowly drunk on Meths in the corner, Lucifer opens his heart to his pals who promptly take the absolute piss out of him for getting stuck in a bag (the sleeping variety not Lilith) causing him to stomp off leaving his buddies crying with tears of laughter and shame and his lanky lady alone in the aforementioned broken zipped bag.
 
 That she can't get out of....remember this, it may be important later.
 
 Stumbling about with a bottle of cheap booze and a Pot Noodle shouting "You're my best mate" at various tables, Lucifer fails to notice the army of red eyed rats slowly approaching him whilst  Lilith, drifting into sleep in another room is oblivious to the single rat (obviously the only one not terrified by her teeth) slowly gnawing its way into her sleeping bag.
 
A sleeping bag that will soon become her tomb.

Of death.
 
Funnel or tunnel?

Lucifer meanwhile is still boozing away and shouting at random objects when he comically falls down an open manhole whilst trying to avoid a banana skin and as he tries in vain to hoist himself up is suddenly jumped on by hundreds of hungry rats intent on stealing his wallet.

Kurt and company startled awake by cries of "Aaarrrghhh! rats!" are even more surprised to find Lilith lying stiff as a board in her sleeping bag.

Surmising that Lucifer must have strangled her at the height of passion our merry mentalists decide to find him and hopefully the truth regarding lanky Lil's death.

But as they're about to leave, Lilith's body begins to convulse and shake (pretty much like my Auntie when she had a stroke, just not as arousing) as a rat suddenly emerges from her mouth!

"Maybe it wasn't Lucifer after all" Chocolate guesses.

No shit. 

Rat in mah shitey wee mooth!

Finding all this rodent based carnage a bit much to deal with this early in the morning, the gang decide to head for the bikes and get the hell out of Dodge (as they say) only to find that the rats have scoffed all the tires.

This leaves Kurt in a difficult position.

Do they:

A. Leave/carry the bikes and run away from town and from the killer rats?

B. Go back into the (killer rat infested) building, board themselves in (with the rats) and wait till morning to leave (when the rats are asleep obviously)?

Yup they decide to leg it out of town.

No not really, they actually go back inside and hurriedly board up every window.

Save the one the rats will no doubt attack thru' later of course.

One by one the gang are outsmarted by the rats, the older Chuck Norris/George Eastman alike is attacked in the hydroponics (painful), one gets a few wee bites and has a flamethrower taken to him (which is a bit extreme really) and blonde bombshell and former Italian Playboy Playmate of the month (September 1978) Cindy Leadbetter gets nibbled on whilst standing at that unsealed window (doh) and goes a wee bit potty.

Diane: Nice flat stomach, face of f*ckness.

As if the night (of terror) couldn't get any worse, sweaty pudding headed chubster Duke (Erotic Games star Luciani) has decided that he wants to take control of what's left of the gang, pushing his chest out and scowling "I could do that better! You Smell!" etc. in Kurt's general direction at the most inopportune of moments.

"It's CCCCHHHRRRIIISSSTTTMMMAAASSS!!!"

This testosterone fuelled angriness and general unpleasant behavior culminates in him kidnapping permanently slack jawed Myrna (Ann-Gisel Glass, now a major French TV star who surprisingly doesn't actually list this movie on her agents website and denies all knowledge of it if you send her the DVD to get signed) before threating to steal the groups one remaining vehicle.

It wont come as too much of a surprise to anyone watching that the car in question is full of rats so Duke calmly decides to clear them out by dropping a hand grenade on them.

Fair enough it kills all the rats but unfortunately also kills himself and Myrna instantly.

If not sooner, proving his leadership skills weren't up to much after all.

Whilst all this drama is going down, Diane has decided to wander off in a sulk after catching sight of the woeful make up job she has and after screaming "I wont let you eat me!" (which raised a snigger here at least) slashes her wrists.

She's not really thought this thru' tho' as no doubt the rats will probably still gobble her up anyway, it's not like they're fussy eaters.

It's about now that Kurt's manly visage begins to slip as he disintegrates into a blubbing mess, shooting randomly at Diane's body ("She was covered in those beasts!") before sobbing like a big girl.

Now it's down to Chocolate, a bald man whose name escapes me and Video to save the day.

Frankly I reckon they're screwed.

"I can see your house from here Peter!"

Unluckily for Kurt (but lucky for the poor sods having to carry him) he gets squashed by a large cardboard door within a few minutes of his great emoting scene.

If that wasn't embarrassing enough tho' it's only the wee baldy man who can be bothered to even try and rescue him, meaning the pair get eaten by rats whilst lying in a sweaty, shit covered mess.

Faced with so much carnage, Chocolate (still looking gorgeous by the way) and the bubble permed Video decide the best course of action is to run away screaming before hiding inside a few handy boxes.

But these rats are smart enough not to be confused by such a cunning disguise and licking their ickle thin lips edge closer and closer to our desperate duo.

Chocolate has heard rumours that they'll eat her whole but Video is pretty sure that they'll spit that bit out.

Suddenly as if by magic a group of strange bio-suited figures appear from the sewers and by using what appears to be Baby Bio sprays manage to kill the all rats.

Phew.

But who are these mysterious strangers?

Are they friend or foe?

Are they even human?

Or could they possibly be giant rat people in yellow jumpsuits?

I'll let you guess, all I'm saying is that it's great that Kevin the Gerbil's career continued after ITV cancelled Rat on The Road.


 Spoiler warning: this picture may
give clues to the films shock ending.

It takes a special kind of person to even consider mixing such diverse influences as Mad Max, The Muppet Movie and Willard, let alone to actually go ahead and make such an entertaining movie out of them.

And for this reason we must praise the late lamented genius that was Bruno Mattei.

I mean what can you possibly say about such a heady brew of action, gore, leather trousers, beards and nudity seamlessly mixed with stunning effects (the rat army is a hand drawn conveyor belt with dozens of dogs squeaky mouse toys glued to it) helped along by top notch dialogue and topped off with a frankly fantastically farty Eurohorror synth score?

Plus it features the magnificent Geretta Geretta (in case you'd forgotten) decked out in cool combat gear and cradling a huge gun.

C'mon, what's not to love?

They should teach Mattei in film school.

But then they'd have to point out that his Jaws 'homage' Cruel Jaws was shite tho'.

Swings and roundabouts really.

happy birthday to who.

2011-11-23T15:34:00.000-08:00

"Let me get this straight. A thing that looks like a police box, standing in a junkyard, it can move anywhere in time and space?"

...and so it began.

Happy 48 years!

get me to the greek.

2011-11-23T05:32:00.000-08:00

Noticed a lack of blatant nudity on the blog recently.

Hope this makes up for it.

Emanuelle’s Daughter Queen of Sados (AKA Black Emmanouella, Emanuelle the Seductress, Emanuelle's Daughter, Emanuelle: Queen Bitch, Emanuelle: Queen of Sados, 1979)

Dir: Ilias Mylonakos (Yup,THE Ilias Mylonakos you lucky people!)

Cast: Laura Gemser, Pantelis Agelopou, Haris Tryfonas, Gabriele Tinti, Vagelis Vartan, Nadia Neri, Livia Russo and Gordon Mitchell.

...and suffering from leg
cramp by the look of it.

Imagine this.....Laura Gemser in a nude film NOT 'directed' by Joe D'Amato but still playing the role she became famous (sort of) for.....so how does Ilias Mylonakos' vision compare to that of the god-like D'Amato?

Let's begin with a quick synopsis (yes, there is a plot....this time focusing on revenge and murder as well as 70's breasts and hairy arses).

Gladys Emanuelle (dusky beautie and your dads first Nat West Laura Gemser) hires a hit-man to kill her abusive (and incredibly kinky) husband, the devil bearded and mightily man-titted Victor alongside his two evil business partners, Robert and Ilona after suffering years of abuse, weird sexual rituals and rough bum love.

Even on Sundays.

Trying everything from putting bromide in his tea to ringing Jeremy Kyle our heroine has no other option than to hire the mysterious hitman Mario (Tryfonas AKA Harris Stevens AKA my real dad sporting the biggest - and brightest - pair of polyester flares ever committed to celluloid) to take him out for the agreed price of £37.80 and a quick shag.

Bargain.

"Suckle mah man tits!"

Mario comes thru' and kills the dirty blighter in a plane crash meaning that our olive skinned heroine inherits not only his successful orange growing empire and high waist trouser collection but also gains custody of his virginal teenage daughter Livia (dirty bird Russo).

Emanuelle finally free from all this death, dodgy deals and sex sees her new found freedom as a great opportunity to not only have some girl bonding time but also a good excuse to get away from all suspicious coppers skulking about her house so decides to book the pair on a package holiday to Greece.

What?

Has she not seen Island of Death?

Your mum licking piss off John Nettles yesterday.

Unfortunately (for them that is, for the entertainment of the viewer this man is a godsend) sleazy sex god Mario is in hot pursuit.

It would appear that the hunky hitman has begun to feel that his big wad (of cash) wasn't big enough.

He wants more.

Much more.

And not just money.

You see, he's taken a shine to young Livia's hymen for one thing.

The filthy rotter.

"Ooh Vic...I've fallen".

Turning up at the depressingly off season holiday camp with some tacky gifts in tow (an arse plug for mum and a bag of sweets for the wean) Mario soon ingratiates himself with the normally shy Livia, much to her step mum's disgust.

And as Gemser enthusiasts know, if our heroines disgusted it must be bad.

The swarthy, handbagged faced lothario tho' is enjoying the awkwardness of the whole situation lifting Livia onto his lap and rubbing coconut oil into her smooth, milky virgin flesh with his big sweaty sausage fingers before inviting her swimming at a local secluded beach.

Emanuelle is raging which means that she storms out of the chalet looking for someone to stick it in her.

Obviously.

"Wahey Janet! I'm spunking buckets!" cried Peter Duncan as he announced the Blue Peter appeal total.

Luckily for all involved, whilst at the beach Livia ends up getting chatting with a geeky bowl haired local guy named Aubrey (Vartan), who although blessed with having a face like a wart riddled testicle is at least her own age (which according to various sources was about 14 at the time of shooting which doesn't make the beach front sex scene a wee bit uncomfortable to watch at all, no sir).

Staying out way past her bedtime in order to catch Aubrey's fantastic display of table top disco-dancing (to the Village People's “YMCA” - unfortunately overdubbed with mind numbing bouzouki music on the new DVD release) in the nite spot from Bloody Moon, Livia's romantic night comes to an end with her bashful beau walking her home along the sands before stealing a goodnight kiss.

But unbeknownst to the young lovers Mario is watching from behind a bush, angrily masturbating as he stares silently at her admittedly peach arse as it jiggles in the moonlight.

But if that wasn't enough, lurking behind a slightly bigger bush further up the beach are Robert and Ilona, trying to uncover the truth behind Victor's death while also planning to get Livia to side with them.

All this because it appears that she's the true heir to her late father's fortune.

And you thought it was all about the shagging.

Anyway, back to the, ahem, plot.

Whilst all this sinister subterfuge is going on, Emanuelle decides the best course of action is to meet up with Robert for a wee bit of bollock tickling (watch him sweat! Touch his warts!) before arguing about orange growing with a stubborn factory foreman (see him growl!) before finally going shopping for pants.

Edible ones of course.

If you sit close enough to the
screen you can smell the yeast.

Feeling a wee bit left out at this point, Mario (in between staring at Livia whilst licking his lips and wearing bri-nylon swimming trucks) has been spending his time shagging every woman with a pulse on the island.

This includes a naked-cooking fetishist he met on the flight out and Emanuelle's wonky faced, cod eyed and bulldog faced 'assistant'.

Obviously having some taste and a slight grasp of foreplay techniques, he began this sordid little liaison by first forcing her head down a toilet (no doubt in an attempt to straighten it up or at the very least wipe of some of the industrial make-up she was caked in) before cheekily forcing it up her (massive donut like) shitter.

And they say chivalry's dead.

Feeling on a roll (and after first wiping his shit encrusted cock on the squinty woman's curtains) Mario heads down to the beach and after a half hearted attempt to generate some tension with a chase, he finally catches up with Livia and tosses her into a muddy puddle before stripping her naked and violently breaking down the gates to her lady garden and putting it in her.

The swine.

"Nah....still squint".

Will Emanuelle get her revenge on Mario?

Will Livia survive the dirty puddle or ever walk again?

Will our heroines new technique for battery farming oranges prove a success?

Frankly, who cares.

Not me that's for sure.

"IT'S CCCHHHRRRIIISSSTTTMMMAAASSS!"

With Queen of Sados, director Mylonakos manages the impossible by making a low budget Laura Gemser skin-flick that scarily induces bouts of boredom and apathetic yawns from it's audience as opposed to the normal reaction of involuntarily releasing torrents of cum and tears.

Clumsily acted, plotted and directed it's about as erotic as a swingers party in an old peoples home and twice as leathery, featuring a cast of has beens and never wills including art house lunk Gordon (Fellini's Satyricon) Mitchell and the never seen again (outside Childline ads) Livia Russo.

I mean honestly, you know it's bad when Gemser's real life beau Gabriele (Bava's Lisa And The Devil) Tinti even looks bored when shagging his missis on film.

At least Haris Tryfonas (and his cock) seem to be enjoying themselves tho'.

But unfortunately unlike Tryfonas and his overworked penis the story is reed thin and the characters seldom rise (snigger) above the lightweight plot, many of them coming and going throughout the movie with no other motivation than to stick something in somebody or get something put in them.

Livia Russo: I guess it's OK now seeing as she's probably old enough to be your mum. Or dead.

Lacklustre, insipid and uninspired, the only things in it's favour is the movies historic importance as one of the first films made to cash in on the success of Bitto Albertini's Black Emanuelle series (a series that grew from strength to strength under the milky eyes of Joe D'Amato and Bruno Mattei, taking in cannibals and horses along the way) and the fact that it's marginally more watchable than Mylonakos' other foray in the series, the frankly mad as pants Divine Emanuelle (AKA Love Camp) with it's free love cult and floating overdubbed Gemser.

Oh yes, and it does give us a chance to admire Haris Tryfonas fantastic collection of 70's fashions, from garishly vomit inducing leisure wear to tiny cock bothering Speedo's.

Still doesn't stop it from being half arsed rubbish tho'.

spazio oddity.

2011-11-22T16:30:00.000-08:00

Sette uomini d'oro nello spazio (AKA Captive Planet, Metallica (no, really), Space Odyssey, Star Odyssey. 1979).
Dir: Alfonso Brescia.
Star: Yanti (meow) Sommer, Gianni Garko, Malisa Longo, Cristea Avram, Ennio Balbo, Aldo Amoroso Pioso, Pino Ferrara, Roberto Dell'Acqua, Fred West's dad and Filippo Perrone.

"Man meets an alien race at last, and greets them by disintegrating our vessel"

Finally!

After years of fruitless searching I've happened across the Holy Grail of shite scifi.

Yes dear reader I know possess the lost classic from the great Alfonso Brescia, director of such classics as The Beast in Space, War of the Robots and War of the Planets.

Ladies and gentlemen I present Star Odyssey.

Somewhere in the inky blackness of space on a mysterious planet, a gathering of powerful aliens, known locally as the Lords of the Galaxy is busily bidding on various planets and suchlike to buy their wives as novelty Crimbo pressies.

Jack Crowly's mum tries to remember which
one of her brothers is her sons father.

The biggest offer of the day is a very familiar small blue/green planet named Sol 3, a planet in which the spiky headed, lank haired Kev Korda is very interested in.

You see, if his bid is successful (it's kinda like an intergalactic Ebay but with fewer overpriced Doctor Who toys) he plans to use the natives of this world as cheap labour throughout the galaxy.

A wee bit like the Kosovans as my dear dad would say (but not I) .

Feeling lucky he even has a number of contracts and window cleaning businesses already set up for his new workforce.

Which is nice.

Just to make sure he's gonna win, our pen faced pal is not above using his almost Derren Brown like mind powers (well, a torch in front of his eyes) to scare his main rival away from the bidding table.

100 million credits poorer (but a whole lotta planet richer) Kev boards his spaceship and relaxes with his battered vhs copy of Cosmos: War of the Planets as he travels to view his newly acquired prize.

Hang on, I'm mistaken, it's actually stock footage from that movie doubling as his journey to Earth.

Silly me.

"I wanted to be a tiger!"

Scanning his new toy to find out what he's actually purchased (yes, I know it's a wee bit like not looking at a new house till you've paid for it but who are we to judge these aliens?), Kev discovers that not only has the planet 'widespread traces of pollution due to chemical combustion and nuclear waste' but that most of humanity live either underground or in sea cities due to the surface being used for growing food and feeding livestock.

Yup, the pikeys have inherited the Earth.

And down at Earth's fantastically minimalist (or just cheap) space command centre, Admiral Steve (probably, the subs were atrocious), being understandably shocked by the huge spaceship approaching, launch a fantastic interceptor craft to say hello to the visitor who, unfortunately responds by blasting it out of the sky.

Bastard.

"Shite in mah big tin mooth ya bastard!"

Mightily pissed off by this frankly outrageous act of aggression humanity decides to throw everything they've got at Kev's ship but even the combined fire-power of the entire planet is useless against him and serves only to make Kev a wee bit annoyed.

Yikes.

There's only one thing for it, Kev unleashes a terrifying barrage of grainy, black and white stock footage of exploding buildings, erupting volcanoes, cats looking nervous and archive newsreel shots of the battle of Britain in order to convince the human race that he is, in fact the daddy.

London is totally destroyed, as is most of Australia (no loss there then) and (bizarrely) the Okinawa stadium, leaving the Admiral no choice but to call upon the maverick (not to mention "independent, stubborn and undisciplined") scientist Professor Barry Morey, a forest dwelling genius whose "intelligence puts him about two centuries above anyone else" and whose collars would enable him to fly at least two hundred miles above anyone else.

Desperate doesn't even touch it.

Fuck me! it's Fred West's dad!

Anyway, Admiral Steve begrudgingly phones the Professor, polishing his ego by telling him that he's Earth's last hope and it's greatest ever scientist/lover/kazoo player etc. before asking him if he can suggest anything to stop the terror from space.

Seeing as Earth is so desperate as to ask a balding, piss stained hippy type for help it comes as a wee bit of a surprise to hear that the planets government and military have refused to give him any cash, support or even a shiny new commode for his troubles if he agrees to help.

I even watched this bit twice to see exactly how this magnificent piece of reverse psychology works but I'm fucked if I could figure it out if I'm honest, so I'll put it down to being an Italian thing.

"Sod saving humanity there be tasty
lady arse a-going spare!"

Luckily the Professors hearing is going, meaning he misses everything except the "you're great please help us" bit and decides to give it a go.

Analysing the alien ship he quickly discovers that it's hull is constructed from a strange substance called iridium, which, it turns out is virtually indestructible.

As is the way in such movie s, the Professor has the only other example of this rare metal locked in his garage, a keepsake from his research days when (and this is a scary coincidence so sit down now) him and his geek team were working on a way of breaking down iridium to its base molecular structure.

"Shymoo!" - Mickey Mouse's fetish parties were
always a big hit amongst his cartoon buddies.

The only thing for it is to search out his old mates (who all fucked off around the globe after the Professor was discredited for pissing himself in a funding review) and pick up the research where they left off.

If only he had access to a spaceship and daredevil pilot, it'd certainly be better (and more exciting) than catching the bus looking for his ex workmates.

Enter the Professors Big breasted (and even bigger haired) niece Irene (Sommer-yes please), whose boyfriend, Jeff, happens to be a hunky space pilot.

Even better is the fact that he spent the night at the house and his spaceship is parked outside!

But how can the kindly scientist convince him to help in his quest?

Would you believe that the Professor has the same spooky mind powers as Kev?!?

Within minutes Jeff is eating an onion as if it were an apple and flying off to round up this sci-fi A-Team whilst the Professor gets down to some serious 'work' in his lab.

First on the list is the roguish mercenary cum chemist (and first love of Irene...yes it really is that convoluted so i'd suggest that you begin taking notes, I know I did) Dirk Laramie (Dell'Acqua), who now spends his days fleecing alcoholics out of their dole money in seedy backstreet bars.

Yup, you guessed it, Dirk too has the very same scary mind powers as Barrie and Kev and has been using them to cheat at cards.

Obviously when the local council estate scum whose Giro's he's been taking find out about this they decide to administer a darn good kicking, which gives our man a chance to show off his sexy street fighting skills to impress his buxom ex (and her new man).

Sommer lovin': tell me more!

Meanwhile back in the main plot Lord Kev has unleashed an army of face stomping alien Nazi's across the planet to collect 'worker units' and, in a scene of ball aching badness, attack the planets sub-tropical continent, capturing 2000 dark-skinned human units to use as slaves.

Hmmm, see what they did there?

Whilst all this political musing is going on, Irene is off enjoying herself at a community centre boxing match where ex-scientist cum pugilist Bill Norman (The late, great Garko, looking for all the world like a pervier, cancer riddled Sporticus from Lazy Town) is having a girly slapping match with the frighteningly realised warrior robot Hercules (some poor guy in a Mickey Mouse gimp suit).

Being surprisingly fit for someone so close to deaths door Norman beats the crap outta poor Hercules before donning a silk disco jacket and joining our merry band.

"Yesch...gobble my spurtsh
candy wee man!"

Deciding to bring a couple of buddies with him, Norman leads the gang to a deserted junkyard (the producers garden) where they meet up with a couple of dwarfs dressed in silver painted bins decorated with the contents of their mums kitchen drawers.

Norman, keen to point out just why they would need such a tragic waste of the film designers time on their mission is quick (maybe too quick if you ask me) to point out that not only do our plastic pals have a full range of human emotions but they're also fitted with some kinda energy conversion bollocks that allows them to phase out of real space so that laser fire passes right through them (a wee bit like red wine does with me).

Oh, and I forgot to add that due to their emotional chip the pair are in love.

"Duck off".

Meanwhile, back at the space command centre, it appears that Kev's spaceship (despite being big enough to comfortably hold the entire population of Earth plus a shed load of stormtroopers) is moving way too fast for them to keep up, appearing only when it lands to grab some slaves.

Admiral Steve grimly reads off the list of humans already captured by Kev as his stunned comrades look on.

Hiroshima (how's your luck?), Russia, the Arabs and rather oddly, "those farmers in the United States of Africa" have all been captured, leaving only the good ol' US of A, half of Govan and the West Midlands left to battle against this thoroughly bad man.

Always believe in your soul.

Whilst all this shit is going down, our heroes (in case you thought I'd forgotten about them) are heading towards the notorious 'Moonspace', a space age Alcatraz orbiting the moon in order to break out two other members of the aged professor's science club, some middle-aged bloke named Sean and a sexily square faced lady going by the name of Bridget ('played' by the infamous - well, around here she is - Malisa Longo, AKA Malisa Lang, one of Italy's greatest and most moon headed, exploitation stars).

Malisa: moooooooooooooooonhead.

The pair are being held in a 'suspension ray machine' designed to keep them awake but unable to move (why? you may ask), giving the lone guard a great excuse to quietly perv over her prostrate form whilst rubbing his leather clad thighs.

Ah, so that's why.

Turning off off her suspension machine he gazes lustfully as she emerges from within, stretching and cooing like my mum on a Sunday morning, complaining about how long it's been since she had a real man (hang on, that's exactly like my mum on a Sunday morning) before slinking up to the guard and giving him a big girly kiss.

Of course, this is all just a ruse so she can release all the prisoners and escape herself in the confusion.

As the convicts escape a bitch-slapping fest of epic proportions gets underway as prisoners and leathery guards alike slowly kick, punch (it's all in the mind) each other before rolling around gurning.

The break-out is eventually subdued and everyone involved is given a slap on the wrist before being put back in their cells. But luckily for us (and the plot), our merry band have been pencilled in for a meeting with the prisons governor about releasing Sean and Bridget.

A pity then that he refuses to let them go free.

What a jobsworth bastard.

Remember tho', Dirk has those scary mind powers so it's only a matter of time before he's persuaded the guv to let them go (and convinced him that he's a dog) meaning that finally (thank fuck) that the science squad is finally assembled and that they can head on back to the Professor's house and prepare to kick some alien arse.

Which in Bridget's case involves getting trussed up in a skin tight leather dominatrix outfit.

Stephanie: Unfortunately
not in this movie, or this one.

Will our heroes defeat the evil Kev?

Will there be anyone left on Earth to save?

Will our robot pals ever consummate their relationship?

And, most importantly, will Kev be able to sell on Earth at the next space auction?

Alfonso Brescia's space epic with it's powerful social message regarding Colonialism and the ethno-centric belief that the morals and values of the colonising power are superior to those of the peoples being colonised is a little seen gem of the Italian Sci-fi genre.

Forget The Humanoid and Starcrash because if it's high concept/budget busting interstellar adventure you're after then this is the movie for you.

Only joking!

I mean the social commentary is there alright, it's just that it's buried alive beneath a slurry pile of skid row acting, cheap robot suits, borrowed effects and scratchy old stock footage of second world war battles.

Was this a clever way of comparing Lord Kev's jackbooted minions to the Nazi Stormtroopers of yesteryear or just a lack of anything remotely resembling a budget?

You decide (tho' if you need a clue it's the latter by the way).

If, like me tho' you get bored with trying to justify a love of shite cinema by over intellectualising every single thing about it then there's always the sight of Malisa Longo dressed up like a transvestite hooker as well as the Amazonian delights of Yanti Sommer's cleavage to keep you occupied.

And just in case you think I'm being sexist then don't forget that all you female viewers can gaze lustfully at the professors yellowing bald pate and wibbly wobbly manbreasts.

For everyone else there's a pulse pounding fart-tastic synth score and the chance to see some once great (OK, once so-so) actors such as Gianni Garko and Chris Avram, reduced to playing second fiddle to a couple of dwarfs in a dustbin.

And be honest now, what more could you want from a movie?

veg head.

2011-11-21T14:30:00.000-08:00

Just got emailed this.

Anyone?

Please?

get to truck.

2011-11-21T04:17:00.000-08:00

Damnation Alley (1977)
Dir: Jack Smight.
Cast: Jan-Michael Vincent, George Peppard, Dominique Sanda, Paul Winfield, Kip Niven and Jackie Earle Haley.

"Bomb or no bomb, the lights never go out in Vegas!"

Welcome to the US Airforce's best kept secret, an ICBM base cunningly disguised as a collection of garden sheds some place in the sunny Mojave Desert where moustachioed military Major Eugene Denton (pity poor Peppard having to slum it to pay his wife's alimony) and his rebellious rookie sidekick Tanner (grizzled Airwolf star Michael Vincent) spend their days marching up and down corridors and looking intently at a series of randomly flashing lights whilst wearing fancy white cravats and Kwik-Fit overalls.

Paul and Barry Chuckle: The Nuremberg Years.

It's not all hard work tho' as they do get to occasionally hang out with Kev Keegan (Star Trek II's Winfield), the bases security chief cum artist whose obsession with painting Denton's wife (or is it Denton?) naked borders on the obscene.

But just when you think the movies going to take a turn into paint covered multi-racial tit wanking territory Russia decides to start World War III and nuke America.

Arse.

Not wanting to spoil the habit of a lifetime when it comes to world wars our Yankee cousins wait a little bit (well until Albuquerque has been nuked) before joining in the fight and it's not long before the Earth dies screaming in a searing haze of disco lights, atomic test film and stock footage from The Guns of Navarone, all played out to an eerie electronic proto-jazz score courtesy of Jerry Goldsmith.

On crack.

Cue your friendly neighbourhood title cars to explain that as well as mutating scorpions and turning the sky into a giant laser light show, the combined nuclear explosions have also tilted the Earth off its axis.

Which is nice.

Luckily for the plot our heroes base is safe, enabling the few bold survivors to carry on doing all that military stuff for no apparent reason other than an almost psychotic obsession with finally making all the lights on the control panels flash in unison.

Except that is for Denton who spends his time tinkering away in the garage, assisted by the only slightly moustached Lt. KT Perry (teevee stalwart Niven) and air force drop-outs Keegan, who's taken to shoddily painting tropical landscapes on the outside of his shed and Tanner who fills his day by wildly driving around the desert annoying the local giant scorpions.

It's a living I guess.

If not very exciting to watch.

"Fuck me! It's Fred Titmuss!"

It's a good job then that one of the airman, enjoying a post wank fag accidentally sets light to a jazz-mag which just happens to be resting against a pipe that says "WARNING:FLAMMABLE GAS" in big letters down the side.

Massive explosions and more stock footage ensues leaving only our feebly fleshed out foursome standing.

Or in Jan Michael Vincent's case leaning drunkenly against a wall.

But fear ye not, for Denton and Perry have been building two massive silver (I.E. futuristic) highly armed transit vans, christened Landmasters with the intention of driving to Albany where Denton is sure a group of survivors live.

This is probably more likely than it seems, I've been to Albany and I can assure you it's not even worth shitting on let alone wasting an atomic bomb on, even the birds fly past upside down.

So our heroes, like a gaggle of sci-fi pikeys set out across the radioactive desert in the vain hope of finding the last remnants of humanity.

Or at the very least a field to park in.

"Wanna buy some pegs Dave?"

Almost immediately (almost as if the director is scared we'll get bored if there are more than five minutes of dialogue on screen between the action) our motley band drive headlong into a terrifying tornado-style storm.

Yikes.

Tanner, being a wee bit of a rebel decides to carry on regardless whilst the more by the book Perry pulls over to the side of the desert to consult the Landmaster manual.

This turns out to be a fairly bad decision as poor Perry has only gotten as far as how to set the dashboard clock before the storm has picked up the Landmaster and deposited it upside down halfway up a hill.

And unfortunately on Perry's head.

As a plus point this does mean that for the first time in cinematic history it's not the token black guy that died first.

Tho' an actor of Paul Winfield's calibre was probably hoping to get out sooner rather than later.

"You mean this van isn't full of sweets?"

There's no time for tears tho' as the next stop is fabulous Las Vegas, where quite surprisingly (and to Hunter S Thompson's utter joy I imagine) the Circus Circus is still all lit up and pumping Tom Jones thru' the tannoy system.

I would expect nothing less from the hotel I got married from.

Keegan and Tanner, relieved at finally getting some fresh air after days of wallowing in each others farts (and trust Me Jan Michael Vincent's taste of egg) race thru' the casino with gay abandon pausing only to chance their luck on the puggy machines whilst dashing Denton stand atop the stairs, hands on hips and with a clearly visible erection, gazing down on his boys with all the decorum of The Pope at an orphanage.

"Merde
dans les cuisses de grenouilles mah bouche gourmands!"

Suddenly as if from nowhere a curtain wearing, long of face yet smooth of thighed French woman appears and introduces herself as club singer cum exotic bird (and last non mouldy woman in Vegas) Ms. Janice (Sanda from, um some French stuff).

Which is a bit of a shock for our heroes as they were expecting Cher.

Or at the very least Lance Burton.

She soon explains that she managed to survive the war because she was giving the manager a private performance in his handy fallout shelter when the bombs went off.

Typical fucking blonde.

Being real gentlemen our tricky trio offer to take Janice all the way (to Albany, not up the arse obviously) but first have to stop in Salt Lake City to get some petrol.

Oh and crisps.

Arriving at their destination (in what seems like a matter of minutes) Tanner and Janice head into town of his motorbike to look for 'women's stuff' whilst Keegan checks the abandoned cars for any discarded chocolate or cans of Tizer leaving Denton to stand about looking manly whilst sucking on a cigar.

It's whilst on this snack hunt that Keegan notices how strangely clean the human bones are within the cars.

It's almost as if the set has been littered with bits of cheap Halloween skeleton toys.

Well either that or the place is full of fist sized flesh eating cockroaches but really what are the chances of that?

We'll soon find out cos no sooner has Keegan open the petrol hatch when hundreds of the black shelled buggers start swarming (do cockroaches swarm?) toward him, biting and barking wildly as they go.

Keegan finding himself pursued by what looks like loads of raisins stuck to a bit of lino jumps inside one of the cars and attempts to hide under a skeleton.

Big hunky black man, skinny white skeleton, you do the maths.

Beware the Cornetto man!

Noticing his pal's dilemma (tho' why he's admiring the make of car he's hiding in under the circumstances is anyone's guess) Denton hops into the Landmaster and pulls out that most useful of sci-fi movie weapons; a fire extinguisher.

Great, because we all know that mutant insects are allergic to foam.

That'll be why you never see them taking bubble baths then.

Unfortunately for Keegan this has absolutely no effect on the bugs, so Denton shuts the car door to muffle the screams before radioing Tanner to announce, in all seriousness:

"This whole town is infested with killer cockroaches, repeat, killer cockroaches!"

Utter fucking genius.

Relieved that they're not actually being chased by giant liquorice balls Tanner and Janice do their best to lose the bugs in the local Woolworths, taking the stairs (on a motorbike mind) in an attempt to outrun the lazier cockroaches who'll no doubt be waiting on the lift before stunt biking it thru' a first floor window in glorious seventies slo-mo action.

Ker-chow!

Waiting for them downstairs, after first blowing up a wall with a handy grenade launcher is good old Denton smoking a big cigar and standing manfully atop a pile of foam sodden bugs.

Phew.

Tonka.

Patting each other on the back as they drive no-one seems to give a fuck that Keegan is dead, more likely Tanner realises that he's now the only hetro' guy onboard, bringing him closer to having a wee French fancy.

Dirty sod.

Denton, obviously upset by the lack of firm man-meat in the Landmaster decides that they should stop at the next town they find in the hope of coming across a young boy.

You can take that any way you like because I'm pretty sure Denton will.

Coming to a sudden halt outside a rundown shack in the middle of nowhere, Denton sniffs the air before changing into his best uniform and heading outside where, not too surprisingly, he finds a young, baw headed and buck toothed boy named Billy (Future Fred Krueger and author of Roots Haley), who's busy throwing rocks at bad men.

Result.

"That's amazing! I'm 15 and like The Saturdays too! Now get your webcam on and your clothes off!"

Adventure seems to be coming at them by the bucket load now (well at least that's all that's coming) because after the first thirty five minutes where sod all happened they appear to be finding fairly attractive survivors every couple of seconds now.

Except for this time obviously where our heroes run foul to a group of real-life, rape obsessed gypsies hiding out in a petrol station just waiting for a nice bit of prime ass to travel by.

Oh and to sell them some pegs as well.

It's only thanks to big browed Billy's amazing rock-throwing skills coupled with Janice's almost impregnable bra (oh and Tanner's ability to shoot someone in the face at point blank range obviously) that our merry band escape without so much as a violated mouth or loss of bladder control.

Denton, feeling a bit left out of all this manly fighting decides to show everyone who's boss tho' by firing a couple of rockets from the Landmaster's missile tubes at the outside toilet in which two of the gypsies were hiding.

Which I'll admit does seem a wee bit excessive even by the future A-Team leaders standards.

"Four fingers and George Peppard...never touched the sides!"

After all this rough terrain, rough justice and even rougher toilet paper it's not too surprising to find that the faithful old Landmaster has begun to make loud clanking noises and belch plumes of oily black smoke.

Looking under the hood Denton deduces that the crank-shaft and armature quimm have broken and need replacing ASAP.

If not sooner.

Luckily for all concern Denton designed and built the Landmaster to use common or garden truck parts so it's a quick detour to the wrecking yards of Detroit then all the way to Albany.

Huzzah!

Pulling into the nearest scrap palace Denton gets hard at work straight away vigorously screwing his nuts whilst Billy goes out exploring and Janice and Tanner stare into the middle distance, totally unaware that the sky has gone all red and the wind is whipping up.

Cue a low rent version of the last twenty five minutes of 2001 projected onto the clouds as Tanner, astride his beloved bike tries desperately to find little Billy whilst dodging large chunks of painted cardboard.

"Hmmmm....tastes like chicken!"

Spotting Billy having a piss behind an old corvette Tanner grabs the boy and rides back to the Landmaster just in time to see a giant tsunami engulf Detroit.

Luckily, Denton designed the Landmaster to float, giving us ample opportunity to experience the sheer joy of watching a shoddily painted cardboard box with cut-out wheels bobbing in a bath.

Noticing the huge wet patch on the seat (no it's not Janice) Denton and Tanner manfully force open the Landmasters top hatch to discover that not only has the sky has gone back to it's pre-nuke normality but from the look of things Detroit is now a lake.

Yup, the huge and impressive special effects sequence we've just experienced was, in fact the Earth tilting back to its normal axis.

Three cheers for science!

Feeling fairly elated by this turn of events Denton sets the Landmaster into 'chug' mode and heads for dry land.

I wouldn't want that swimming up my arse.

Coming ashore in what looks like a kiddies playpark and knowing the movie only has about ten minutes left, Tanner and Denton get to work on setting up a radio transmitter in the hope of contacting Albany, which luckily they do within a matter of seconds.

And guess what?

It's only a few miles down the road.

With an excited glee not seen since The Pope visited a Glasgow orphanage Tanner and Billy jump on the motorbike and head off to meet these newly christened 'Albanians' and hopefully get first dibs on any Mars bars left uncontaminated.

Gazing ruefully into the distance as they drive into the sunset, Denton uncomfortably hugs Janice who, in turn just stands there looking French.

Chinny rackon.

Meanwhile, further down the road, Tanner and Billy are amazed to pass fields of non-mutant sheep and cows, small clean faced children playing in the bushes and about thirty well dressed and healthy people ready to welcome them to their new home.

Awe.

From the director of that other classic book balls up The Illustrated Man comes this cack handed post apocalyptic action based on a novel by Roger Zelazny, which itself is loosely based on the story of Balto, a Siberian Husky sled dog who led the team on the 1925 emergency run, transporting diphtheria antitoxin from Nenana, Alaska to Nome.

In the novel, tough as nails Hells Angel Tanner is hired to deliver a load of cod liver oil tablets to somewhere inconsequential.

Due to his unbearable BO Tanner is forced into piloting the Landmaster alone; the situations and survivors he comes across during the course of the novel work to reawaken his humanity, until by the stories end and with the Landmaster totally fucked, Tanner walks the rest of the way with the serum in a backpack.

A bit like Judge Dredd did in The Cursed Earth saga remember?

With such a great (and highly pilfered) concept and top pedigree it's genuinely frightening to see how much the movie plays out like a Childrens BBC version of Mad Max.

How could director Smight and scriptwriter Alan Sharp go so wrong?

Well adding an array colourful cardboard cliché characters doesn't help

or a Frenchwoman.

And utilising tinfoil, tea bag boxes and giving your huge survival tank a ruddy great canvas midrift is probably not the best way of going about it if I'm honest.

Oh, and getting your six year old nephew on board as scientific advisor is probably not the greatest of ideas.

"Come get in the back of me Cortina and let me bite ya!"

But to be fair there are a few enjoyable things on show.

I mean the cast are good (to a point), the deserts look nice and there's gangly love god Jan Michel Vincent for the ladies.

And lets be honest, what more do you want on a Sunday night?

A pity then that I watched it on a Thursday.

danny boy.

2011-11-18T14:00:00.000-08:00

Christmas has come early at Unwell Towers with the arrival of one of the best cross-dressing/Nazi comedies ever thru' my letterbox.

Whilst my dear old Granddad introduced me to the joys of Saturday night B & W horror double bills as a child it was my Nan (she of Cannibal Ferox and not murdering wee boys fame) who opened (some would say poisoned) my young mind to the joys of Dick Emery, Norman Wisdom, Lord Bruce of Forsyth and the fantastic Danny La Rue.

You see, in her younger days she worked at the local theatre cum 'entertainment' club and would often chat away to these Gods of British comedy whilst selling fags in a strange hat.

Which as a small child made summer trips to Blackpool interesting as you'd never guess who'd accost her in the street next.

One day it'd be Tarbie the next 'Mad' Max Bygraves.

Tho' I feel I must confess that none of them ever gave me sweets or commented on my kissy lips.

Bastards.

And you wonder why I grew up the way I did?

Our Miss Fred (AKA Beyond The Call of Duty, Operation: Fred. 1972).
Dir: Bob Kellett
Cast: Danny La Rue, Alfred Marks, Lance Percival, Lally Bowers, Frances de la Tour, Walter Gotell, Jenny Twigge, Frank Thornton, Cyril Shaps and Barrie Gosney.

"You're all woman and something more!"
"You're right!"

Pretty of mouth and slender of hip Thespian Fred Wimbush (the worlds greatest female impersonator and my real Dad La Rue) is busy preparing what will undoubtedly be the greatest ever performance of Hamlet for the British publics viewing pleasure but, as is always the case in these situations, those pesky Germans decide to start the Second World War forcing our hero to do the right thing and join the army as a manly (albeit grease covered) mechanic type.

Your Granddad did. Twice.

Although Fred enjoys his oil covered antics, banging his tool and cracking his nuts all day, he misses the roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd so decides to join one of the army's stage troupes.

Unfortunately the only place left is that of a female impersonator.

What are the chances?

Swallowing his pride (and tucking his ample tackle between his smooth thighs) Fred throws himself wholeheartedly into the role and soon finds himself shipped off to France to 'entertain' the troops.

Everything is going swimmingly until one night, halfway thru' Fred's rousing melody of Cher hits a squad of Jew hating, minority exterminating (yet incredibly well dressed) Nazis burst in and take every single one of the soldiers prisoner.

Everyone that is except Fred.

You see, his drag act is so convincing that the Germans have mistaken him for a real woman!

Seizing his chance, Fred totters out of the theatre in an attempt to evade capture (and possibly a severe arse shagging) by the nasty Nazi's and get back to dear old Blighty before his true gender is discovered and he's shot as a spy.

And then arse shagged.

"The gas bill's HOW much?"

Dodging horny, garlic eating Frenchmen and randy, sausage guzzling German soldiers along the way, Fred finally joins forces with two upper crust English schoolteachers, Miss Flodden (Harry Worth sidekick Bowers) and Miss Lockhart (Rising Damps Ms. Jones, the horse faced yet vaguely erotic de la Tour) plus their group of sex starved schoolgirls (none of whom are under 25) stuck in Paris after a trip to the Louvre.

Or something.

Comme quoi se sent-il pour
être merde dans la bouche?"

This causes even more problems for poor Fred, you see even tho' he's camp as pants with scary blue rinsed man-gran hair he is, in fact the most heterosexual man on the planet and can barely control his almost John Leslie-like urges and stop himself from jumping on the schoolies, ripping off their flimsy white cotton shirts before cupping their smooth, budding breasts and knobbing them senseless.

Especially as the script has then continuously bending over and exposing their huge blue pants and formidable 1970's arses.

Which I'll admit had me fairly aroused but Danny La Rue?

Sometimes you just find it impossible to suspend your disbelief.

Somewhere to leave your Grifter.

Suddenly veering from trannie-based action movie to tragically camp holiday sightseeing film with endless scenes of Fred and co. travelling thru war torn France on a lorry singing the classic schoolyard (well, it was if you attended Hogwarts like me) ditty Hitler Has Only Got One Ball, the pace suddenly picks up with the introduction of Fred's nemesis, the evil, Gerbil cheeked General Brincker (Brit Teevee stalwart Marks) who (not too surprisingly) falls for Fred's ample charms (and curvy buttocks) and invites our hero to join him for a romantic dinner in a scene so great that it was copied (sorry, homaged) in the criminally underrated 2001 Stefan Ruzowitzky movie All The Queen's Men.

Only this time the pairing was of a tarted up Matt LeBlanc (who actually looked hot as fuck) and the world's sexiest man, Dame Udo of Kier, dressed to the nines in a gorgeous white SS uniform.

My pants have never recovered.

But I digress.

"Believe us, you wouldn't survive the titwank!"

Discovering that the have a transvestite and a group of young girls trapped behind enemy lines (and needing a way to steer the movie to a climax that doesn't involve Fred being forced to fellate a Luger whilst a trouser-less and scarily aroused General Brincker orders his troops to violently deflower the defenceless schoolgirls), the British Army have no choice but to send their best man in to rescue them.

Enter (roughly from behind obviously) the Rat-faced upper crust air force officer Colonel Smallpiece (Percival) who, knowing Fred's true identity (if not his sexuality) rushes over to France to save his friend and hopefully score some underage tail for himself in the process.

But will he get to Fred before General Brincker discovers the truth?

What your Gran did during the War.

Written specifically as a vehicle to launch top Teevee 'comic in a frock' Danny La Rue onto the big screen (his only other movie role was in the Freddie and The Dreamers fiasco Every Day's A Holiday), Our Miss Fred is a gentle enough comedy that's as harmless as it is inconsequential.

At the time criticised due to the problem of tailoring an entire script around a man whose talent was the very theatre friendly art of female impersonation, La Rue does a good enough job of holding his own whilst the dependable Teevee friendly cast fire a volley of sub Talbot Rothwell Carry On gags at all and sundry.

Plus good old Danny has a stunning set of pins that even the most hetero of man would be hard pushed not to want to ski down.

And you can't say fairer that that.

school daze.

2011-11-13T12:06:00.000-08:00

Sorry about the lack of recent updates, been actually working and frighteningly enough been watching some semi-decent films.

Oh and Conan.

But to keep you amused here's some of the podlings school work.

Enjoy.

october stiffs.

2011-11-02T02:36:00.000-07:00

A bad month for movies in general this month with the passing of square jawed tough guy and Russ Meyer stalwart Charles Napier, Wicker Man witch Diane Cilento as well as friend of William Castle and star of Unknown World Marilyn Nash.

October also saw the deaths of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan's Lieutenant Commander Beach Paul Kent, Inspector Wexford himself George Baker, Coronation Street hot pot queen Betty Driver, Crossroads hottie Sue Lloyd and Eraserhead and Article 99 thesp. T. Max Graham.

Beyond the world of stage and screen last month also saw the deaths of Yoiko no Mokushiroku writer/artist Kei Aoyama alongside masked Mexican professional wrestler Doctor X.

But by far the saddest death last month was of actor, singer, song writer and all round nice guy David Hess.

We'll miss you bud.

bugger lugs.

2011-11-01T17:41:00.000-07:00

The Human Centipede 2: Full Sequence (2011).
Dir: Tom Six.
Cast: Laurence R. Harvey, Ashlynn Yennie, Vivien Bridson, Maddi Black, Bill Hutchens and a shit load of folk from the Islington job centre.

"Great blow job but I'd rather be fucking that retards arse".

Baw headed sweaty London manchild Martin Lomax (Harvey) when not spending his time working as a car park attendant in Tooting enjoys nothing more than sitting in his booth masturbating furiously to a copy of The Human Centipede, the pleasures of his clammy little palms relieving much of the tension he suffers as a result of being buggered on a daily basis by his jailbird dad as a child (tut all you want but he does have a really peachy arse for a fat bloke), having to live with his abusive mum Fanny (the skeletal yet scarily sexy Bridson, just imagine Super Gran portrayed as a foul mouthed aged stripper) and the constant hard core dance tunes being played by his large, gay upstairs neighbour.

Add to his troubles a habit of poohing the bed, a weirdy-beardy psychiatrist (Hutchens) who's more interested in sucking his cock than soothing his pain and a pair of nipples like hairy plates and you can see that poor Martin is one of lifes losers.

He probably even reads this blog.

Nah, he's not that sad.

"I love you....could it be magic?"

Anyway, back to the plot where Martin has decided that it might be a good idea to try and make a human centipede of his own using the various folk who use the parking garage as his test subjects.

Cue an hour of head smashing, knee-capping and baby bothering violence intercut with scenes of our bald pal getting felt up by the doc, his mum shouting at him and the aforementioned gay neighbour destroying the Lomax family dinner table.

Despite all these inconveniences tho' Martin bravely struggles on, even going as far as phoning the actors from the first film in an attempt to lure them to London for a 'special show'.

And surprisingly one of them, the pointy of face yet smooth of thighed Ashlynn Yennie, actually turns up.

Posh and Becks: the Vimto years.

But before our beautiful Hollywood starlet can become the main attraction in Martin's scientific wonder there's still the small matter of killing his mum to deal with.

I mean come on, she did rip up his Human Centipede scrapbook and tell him he stank of shit.

With mum out of the way, Ashlynn tied up in a warehouse alongside all his other 'volunteers' and the noisy neighbour in the back of his van Martin is finally ready to make medical history.

"Shite in...well someone elses mooth I guess".

With only the Eye Spy Book of Medical Facts to help, Martin gathers a veritable potpourri of kitchen utensils, DIY tools and assorted household junk to aid the construction of his medical marvel; a human centipede consisting of 12 hastilly sketched stereotypical clichéd characters.

He's got something to put in you.

Finally after an hour and a quarter of some of the most inane dialogue and arse-clenchingly bad acting ever committed to celluloid it's time for a wee bit of hammer based tooth removing, mucky mouth slicing and rectum ripping fun, shot entirely in glorious black and white and backed with the dulcet tones of mental Martins girly giggles.

Using a handy staple gun to attach each of his victims face to the person in fronts arse, Martin chooses Yennie to be the acceptable face of this new and improved human centipede, partly so her make-up wont be ruined by the constant mooth shite-ing but mainly because she's by far the most attractive member of the cast.

After much prodding, poking and pissing Martin, clad in a labcoat and with his obvious erection barely kept under control in his shit stained underpants, can finally marvel at his creation as it stumbles around the room making gurgling and farting noises.

But something - and it's not the self respect on the part of anyone involved surprisingly - is missing.

Yup, you've guessed it; no-one has started shite-ing in each others mooths yet.

"Laugh now!"

But not to worry because Martin has come prepared.

And no doubt in his pants.

You see, right after feeding Ashlynn some tasty tomato soup and tinned peaches, Martin quickly forces a family sized bottle of quick acting laxative down her pretty tanned throat, causing each member of the centipede to violently evacuated their bowels into the mooth of the person behind them.

The length of the chain also gives our medical mentalist time to wrap his throbbing member in barbed wire, run to the end of the centipede and violently rape the last person in lines filth covered arse thru' a sea of ever flowing shit.

As you would in that situation.

As is always the way with these things, everything is going swimmingly (shittingly?) until one of the centipede parts spoils everyones fun by choking to death leaving Martin in tears and a tarpaulin covered pregnant woman, whom he thought was dead, to suddenly regain consciousness and run screaming to Martins minivan.

With Martin distracted the centipede breaks into two and attempts to escape whilst our poor, misguided mad man stands confused not sure whether to chase the mum to be or regain control of his creation.

As the situation escalates from nutty to fruit loops a tiny bit of poo drops from Martins bottom.

Will our hero calm the centipede?

Will our escapee accidentally crush her newborn baby whilst trying to find reverse in a strange motor?

Will anyone live to tell the tale?

And if so, how are they gonna explain it to my nan?

Hopefully it wont turn out to be just a dream...

Or will it?

I ignored the first Human Centipede for a variety of reasons, one being that there was no chance of it actually living up to the premise and another being that for some bizarre reason director Six hadn't cast Udo Kier in the Dr. Heiter role but mainly because if anyone was going to make a movie full of mooth shite-ing madness and mentalist German doctors it really should have been me.

Anyways, I didn't Tom Six did, it caused a wee bit of controversy before released before finally opening to a loud "Wuh?" and much viewer apathy.

But not enough to stop our cowboy hatted pal from unleashing a sequel onto an unsuspecting world and upsetting the mighty BBFC in the process who regarded the film as being "sexually violent and potentially obscene" as well as possibly being in breach of the Obscene Publications Act.

Demanding 32 cuts (totalling 2 minutes and 37 seconds) before granting it a certificate the film is is finally with us and despite losing some references to sandpaper aided masturbation, forced mooth shite-ing and newborn baby crushing the movie still manages to be the funniest, most hellzaboppin' comedy I've seen since Cannon and Ball's one and only big screen outing The Boys in Blue.

"Rock on Tommy! There's mooth shite-in about!"

It's almost as if director Six has somehow channelled the journalistic genius of the great Charlie Brooker (or locked him in a cellar) into purposely writing a movie that's aimed fairly and squarely at readers of the Daily Mail* and no-one else, just to watch their collective heads explode as they try to comprehend it.

I mean, where do you begin when summing up such genius?

The acting, as mentioned before is excruciatingly bad but perfectly so, giving a spot on portrayal of the kind of performances usually seen in this type of movie.

Special mention has to be given to the neighbour who's delivery of lines like "I'll play my fahkin music as loud as I like you fahkin retard!" are so stiltedly delivered, his walk so laboured as to give his scenes an almost cinéma vérité feel seldom seen in the modern horror genre.

Every shot, every action, every scene of the film is so recognisable and so clichéd that to see them de-constructed then presented back to us in such a perfectly re-rendered way is mind blowing in it's simplicity.

Never has the idea of the metanarrative been so successfully used before now in an attempt to actually fuse the audience members (as it were) into the story telling technique. Our knowledge and appreciation of the differences between good and bad cinema have never been so fully utilised by a director before, making us as much a part of the story as Martin or even the mooth shite-in.

Jean-François Lyotard would be wanking himself silly in his grave at the thought of it.

If he still had a cock obviously.

But is that so surprising for a wonderfully metaphorical work such as this?

I think not.

Unfortunately it seems that precious few of the folk who'd actually appreciate all this meta-textual bollocks have been arsed going to see it.

And rather than come out and explain exactly what he's made, Tom Six seems to be taking the whole 'it's just a so-so badly executed horror film designed to shock and make me tonnes of cash' rubbish too far.

I mean at this rate the whole point is gonna be lost and I'm going to end up looking like an arse who's been duped into reading way too much into something that in reality has very little cultural or cinematic worth.

And don't you just hate it when that happens?

Lyotard: Clever clogs. And French.

*For those of you outside the UK the Daily Mail is a British 'news' paper written exclusively by, and for ex-Nazi's and their families. Famously pro-Hitler during the 40's, latter day classic cuts include advocating abortions for babies with Autism, describing Stephen Gately's death as a little sleazy due to him being gay and that every crime and benefit fraud in the country is committed by 'Johnny Foreigner', who even tho' has been welcomed into our country with open arms refuses blankly to turn his skin white.

And that's just articles by Jan Moir.

art of darkness.

2011-10-29T12:33:00.000-07:00

Sorry 'bout the lack of mooth shites this month, been busy finalising the long awaited Geretta-Geretta comic book.....should finally be available in time for Christmas and possibly with a brand spanking new sexy cover.

Hopefully you'll all rush out and buy a copy on the day of release cos I really need some new shoes for the winter.

End of plug.

people you fancy but shouldn't part 34.

2011-10-24T07:05:00.000-07:00

Georgina Elisabeth Ward, the Countess of Dudley.

Must be a Midlands thing.

green fingered.

2011-10-21T08:30:00.000-07:00

...Well, sorta.

Someone (not me) has created the ultimate in guilty pleasures, a Twi'Lek Real Doll.

I don't have the words right now.

But that's possibly because I'm having an argument with my erection.

they read my mind...

2011-10-17T05:45:00.000-07:00

Haven't we all had this dream at some point?