the return of bruno.

Preparing for The Weekend of The Dead here with a five day feast of flesh-eating film fun.

And what cadaver countdown would be complete with a film (or two) from the late, great(ish) Bruno (he of Zombie Creeping Flesh fame) Mattei?

Not this one that's for sure.

Which is a shame but if you don't like it write your own fucking blog.

Island of the Living Dead (AKA L'Isola dei morti viventi. 2006)
Dir: Bruno Mattei (as Vincent Dawn).
Cast: Yvette Yzon, Franco Miguel, James L. Gaines Sr, Ronald Russo, Ydalia Suarez, Alvin Anson, Gary King Roberts, Curtis Carter and Thomas Wallwort. Stars one and all.

Why can't more films have artwork like this?

Many years ago on a mysterious Spanish ruled island a group of (strangely Filipino looking) Conquistadors are having a wee bit of bother with the witch doctor and his chums.

You see, it seems that as soon as anyone dies they immediately come back to life as pasty faced angry zombie/vampire/general undead thing.

Which is nice.

The forts soldiers are having the worst of it tho', seeing as they've got the incredibly monotonous job of piling the corpses onto the back of a wagon just to see them re-animate and wander off again.

Slightly annoyed by this turn of events, the islands captain decides it'd be much easier to shoot them in the head and set fire to them.

Which would be great if one of his overzealous pals hadn't decided to torch the curtains too.

Confused whether to be more afraid of the undead hordes outside or the chance of burning to death the entire garrison of terrorized soldiers flee....running straight into a band of sword wielding, zombie pirates.

Son't you just hate it when that happens?

Is your hair all you let down when you have a drink?

Meanwhile, in 'the modern times' (did you really think that Mattei would have the cash to do a period piece?) the good ship Dark Star - a very expensive salvage/research vessel cunningly disguised as an old tug - and it's hearty crew are busy combing the ocean floor for discarded Ferrero Rocher boxes to sell to rich collectors on the chocolate box black market.

No really.

It's not been going too well this trip tho' as after 6 months at sea all they've found are a few old tins, a used condom and a bit of wood so with morale at an all time low (they've obviously not read the rest of the script) the crew decide to give up and go home for tea and biscuits.

Of a non-soggy kind obviously.

But just as they're about to put the boat in reverse the team's pocket sized scientist Sharon (the yumsome Yvette Yzon) announces that shes located a submerged sweet shop chock full of booty.

Tho' none as stunning as hers it has to be said.

All is going swimmingly, until that is the crew begin to raise the big plastic model of the ambassadors reception that houses all the still sealed Rocher's and pop it on board.

After a flying start the ambassador's legs drop off  causing all the chocolate to go cascading back into the sea.

Discouraged and a little disheartened for about five minutes, the crew decide to crack open a beer and break out the Pringles before realizing that the could just go to a cash and carry and easily purchase a mountain of fresh Ferrero Rocher and with that thought begin heading home.

But there's even more bad luck on the horizon, a spooky mist has enveloped the vessel forcing it to run aground on a mysterious, uncharted island.

The ships drink sozzled captain, the unfortunately named Kirk (the gone to seed David McCallum lookalike that is Sir Ronald of Russo), decides that they'd better explore whilst Max the bubble permed engineer (Wallwort) stays on board to drink Lilt and shout at the engines in a vague mix of cliché and slightly racist characterizing.

Inside Jimmy Hill's mind.

Arriving on a deserted beach the crew do what is expected in any horror movie worth its salt and decide to split up to explore.

Sexy Sharon, tubby George Galloway wannabe Mark (Roberts) plus the hulking, bleached blond (and oh so slightly fey) Tao (Miguel) will go and search for food and water, whilst the ever more tipsy Captain Kirk, cool guy Fred (Anson, looking like the long lost son of Erik Estrada), shouty and permanently pre-menstrual Victoria (pouting, poppy eyed popstrel Suarez famous for her massive hits including Stars in Love) along with the superbad mo-fo Snoopy (Gaines) go looking for other stuff.

Seriously you need a notepad to keep track of this cast.

Making their way thru' the thick jungle vegetation (oh OK then, a local kiddies adventure playground) Sharon and co. stumble across an old an old cemetery (as well as their dialogue) shrouded in the same ghostly fog that enveloped the ship before it ran aground.

And slowly lurching out of that mist towards them is a shambling figure that may have once been a man.

Well technically it is still a man, he's just dead but writing "And slowly lurching out of that mist towards them is a shambling figure that upon further inspection is just a normal guy who happens to be dead yet walking" really doesn't have the same sinister ring to it does it?

"Aaarrgghhh...this isn't what I meant

by taking me up the casino!"

Sharon, obviously thinking that the scene needs a wee bit more tension, decides to stand perfectly still allowing the putrefying tramp to get close enough to grapple her to the ground (perhaps she likes a bit of rough?) and thus giving Mark a chance to shine as he trips over a plywood gravestone before screaming for help.

Luckily Tao is a champion kick boxer who's been itching for a fight since they arrived on the island, so he's more than happy to jump in and fight the undead groper whilst his two colleagues leg it to safety and leave him to get bitten to death.

Friends eh? I think we can safely say that they weren't there for him.

Elsewhere on the island, the crusty Captain Kirk (I'm sorry, but it makes me laugh just typing it) and his merry band have discovered the overgrown ruins of the Spanish outpost.

Taking tentative steps into the dark, dank interior, Fred manages to go crashing thru the floor, falling headfirst into a dusty torture chamber full of joke shop skeletons, pound shop candles and a mysterious book bound in pigs ear and inked in Crayola.

Kirk, showing off reads a few pages, pointing at the illustrations and making animal noises as he goes.

Snatching the book from his hand (why is she so impatient? Does she have a prior appointment?) Victoria begins to translate the passages not covered in crude nob drawings or shite revealing that the tome she is holding is the infamous Book Of The Dead that foretells of a time when the dead will return to life and devour the living.

Been done, hasn't it?

Beware the binmen!

Back on board the boat, Max is onto his twelfth can of pop and passing gas like a steam engine as his vain attempts to repair the engines - by rubbing them whilst shouting abuse at anyone within earshot (i.e. himself mainly) - comes to nothing.

Hearing a banging on deck, as well as noticing a faint whiff of cabbage mixed with stale urine, he assumes that Kirk has come back to check up on his progress, so as you would imagine Max is rather surprised when a gaggle of undead Spaniards start tottering down the engine room steps toward him licking their stringy lips in anticipation.

Understandably he begins to panic and, whilst attempting to escape accidentally hits the 'blow the ship up' lever.

What do you mean real ships don't have one of those?

Bruno would never lie.

"Ron Resrie!"

The resulting explosion brings everyone running back to the shore just in time to see what looks like a giant paper cut-out of the Dark Star sink slowly beneath an almost hypnotically undulating blue bedsheet, leaving the brave crew trapped on a zombie infested island for the foreseeable future.

If not longer.

Kirk and co. must quickly find a safe haven for the night if they're to survive on this mysterious, undead filled island.....

Or this?

Aah, good old Bruno Mattei, whilst most of his contemporaries gave up on the zombie horror genre after the bubble burst in the late eighties, Bruno decided to soldier on, partly in the hope of topping his magnum opus Zombie Creeping Flesh but mainly because he really, really liked zombie films.

Which I say fair play to, I mean as Susan Boyle said (well she more likely violently spat the words out whilst twitching but you get the idea) everyone needs to dream.

And it was this dream took him from his native homeland of Italy to the temperate jungles of the Philippines via the guerrilla realm of digital video technology and top quality local totty.

And the results were well worth the plane fees.

With it's wafer thin plot, copious amounts of stock footage and rough edged special effects, Island of the Living Dead resurrects the golden age of the shlock horror zombie genre, dragging it kicking and screaming into the strwaight to DVD age.

And it seems nothing has changed except the ethnicity of the actors involved.

But trust me, dear reader when I tell you that this is, in fact, a good thing.

 

Yzon: you would. Twice.

Featuring a heady mix of zombies along with an ample helping of vampirism, Voodoo and a snatch of flamenco dancing, Mattei bravely sticks to what he does best, which of course is churning out no-budget horror 'epics' whose plots are straining under the miniscule budgets involved.

Which goes to prove once and for all that God does indeed love a trier.

As do I.

The cast (and Yvette Yzon's breasts, barely controlled by the thin
orange t shirt restraining them) ham it up for the camera.

Worth a looksie for the first appearance of latter day Mattei muse Yvette Yzon (star of the sequel Zombies: The Beginning and Anima Persa) alone, Island of the Living Dead is an off coloured, moss stained gem of a movie, worthy of a place in the tarnished crown of Italian undead epics.

Unless you've been force fed a diet of David Robert Mitchell/Rob Zombie movies when frankly you shouldn't even be wasting my time reading this.

Go on, treat yourself today.

Then clean yourself up and go purchase this.

You know you want to.

flesh gore-dom.

Before we start let me just get my favourite quote from this (any?) movie out of the way:

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

Good, now we can begin.

Day 21 of 31 days of horror and we're bringing out the big guns.

And by big guns I mean Magrit Evelyn Newton's breasts.

Probably.

Tho' I may actually be referring to the M-16 assault rifles carried by Frank 'Garfeeld' and José Gras during the film.

You decide.

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.

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 nose sex with him 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 (the character not the city obviously), realizing 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 and 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, specializing in the tribes of New Guinea.

How convenient 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 into town.

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

You may laugh but it seems to do the trick, 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 defenseless 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. Oswald 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 in search of some old ladies underwear to change into, Osbourne discovers whom 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 uncomfortable hardness of 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 Osbourne 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.

Once again the late (as in dead, not that he's terrible time keeper) great Bruno Mattei proves to the world that a lack of budget, imagination and common sense are no boundary to producing a rip-roaring, terrifyingly taunt movie.

Unfortunately it just wasn't with this one, I must have been thinking of The Tomb.

Only joking.*

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

Plus in his later years he introduced the world the gloriously button-nosed Yvette Yzon in his Dawn of The Dead/Alien mash-ups Island of The Living Dead and it's confusingly titled sequel Zombies: The Beginning

Indeed this man achieved everything you could ever wish for basically.

Including bedding your mates attractive mum.

Probably.

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

Anyway, back to the movie in hand.

Lets be frank here, it's rare to get such a bad film that actually delivers the entertainment factor so perfectly - everything about it screams train wreck - 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.

But despite (because?) of all this the whole sad affair actually works.

Brilliantly.

Scarily enough tho' 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 industrialized nations - think Soylent Green with zombies and the budget of Avatar, but - as is always the way with these things - when the producers discovered that between them they could only scrape together £6.80 and that Charlton Heston hadn't returned their calls they realized that a major rethink - and rewrite - would be needed.

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

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

Or in José Gras' case cheap cooking sherry.

Allegedly.

And from such problems a work of true cinematic genius was born.

An average Daily Mail headline yesterday.

The films troubles didn't end with it's budget problems, sub-literate cast and lack of suitable head wear tho' 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?

Not Finding Dory that's for sure.

Top quality entertainment for all the family.









































 *Or am I?

pish fingers.

Day 13 of the 31 days of horror asks the question "What would happen if two of the worlds greatest directors teamed up to make a movie about a man-eating mutated shark/octopus/beach ball beast?"

Let's find out!

Shark: Rosso nell'oceano (AKA Monster Shark, Devouring Waves, Devil Fish. 1984).
Dir: John Old Jr. (AKA Lamberto Bava with a wee bit of help from Bruno Mattei).
Cast: Michael Sopkiw, Valentine Monnier, Dino Conti, Gianni Garko, William Berger, Iris Peynado, Lawrence Morgant, Cinzia de Ponti, Darla N. Warner, Paul Branco, Ennio Brizzolari, Lisa Frances Rubin, Goffredo Unger and Dagmar Lassander.

"You filthy rotten bloody sod, LET ME HEAR YOU!"

As the sun glistens off the calm Florida coastline (which looks uncannily like the canal behind Bava's house) and seagulls waft on the warm air currents the tranquil silence is suddenly broken by a Navy rescue helicopter hurryingly (do helicopters hurry? Answers to the usual address) flying to aid some fat geezer whose inflatable beach toy has capsized or some other such drama.

Arriving at the scene our plucky rescuers are shocked to find huge teeth marks in the poor man and that someone (or something) has stolen his legs.
 
Bastards.

But who cares?

We have science-types to meet.

And first on the list is brainy blonde boffin Dr. Stella Dickens (council estate Michaela Strachan Monnier, most fondly remembered for 2019: After the Fall of New York and serving you in McDonalds last week) who works at the local aquarium training homeless dolphins to beg for scraps of food and patronizing the visitors.

She will be our heroine for the next 90 minutes.

Meanwhile out at sea her college and fellow scientist Dr. Bob Hogan (a strangely uncredited - and frighteningly shortarsed- Conti from Endgame but not Shirley Valentine) appears to spend all his time getting pissed whilst sailing about aimlessly aboard the sea-going equivalent of a Pikey's caravan, the cleverly named research vessel Seaquarium.

Enjoying the scenery and contemplating a Pot Noodle fueled fiddle, Bob's daydreaming is rudely interrupted when one of the high tech sonar buoys he’s dragging along behind the boat starts making bleeping noises.

Exciting stuff.

Popping his booze on the table and his engorged member back in his shorts, Bob decides that it'd be a good idea to record the noises - well it is his job - but the boat is suddenly attacked and his beer is violently knocked over.

How much fucking plot does this masterpiece have?

Back at the aquarium it's pandemonium as every single dolphin has started going mental, swimming back and forth whilst making that irritating clicking noise (hang on, isn't that just normal behavior for a dolphin?) causing Stella to clumsily slip into the pool and smudge her make-up.

And if anyone ever needed a reason to slaughter dolphins I think that is a good enough one.

Kylie Minogue licking piss off John Nettles yesterday.

With all this make-up mussing we almost forgot about Bob, who is still stumbling about his boat trying to find a blank cassette to record the strange sounds on.

Luckily it stops almost as suddenly as it started so Bob switches off the recorder and sits back down.

But not before he opens another beer.

How much excitement can an audience take?

About this much obviously.

Roughly cutting to the local hospital, we join the enigmatic Doctor Simon Shifty who, after just completing his examination of the legless (but not in a good way) man that the helicopter team brought in, is on his way to give his valued opinion to the high voiced, tiny limbed Sheriff Gordon (Garko, star of Mole Men Against the Son of Hercules and The Psychic) and his hulking sidekick Cortez (portrayed by a brick shit-house).

"It's a shark what did it!" announces the Doc "Or then again it might be an otter or suicide" he continues, "I know! A bad boy done it and ran away!"

Gordon just stands there swaying in the breeze as he strokes his chin, mulling over the Doctors theories.

Me?

I'd have punched the annoying sod in the face.

And his mum.

The sheriff decides it'd be best to take pictures but whether there for evidence or his own sick sexual pleasure we will never know.

Which is a pity really.

It's grim up north.

Anyway before anything remotely interesting happens at the hospital it's back to wee Bob and his scary noises.

Stella, still damp from all that girl on dolphin action earlier is on tender-hooks (well, it's the only thing that can explain away the pained expression on her face) waiting for Bob to play back the recording.

But surprise, surprise when he goes to play it back the tape is silent.

Bob tries in vain to describe the sound, explaining that it was either a spooky voice or a particularly terrifying 'thing' filled with hate.

Hmmmm.

Always helpful, Stella reckons it's the very same noise that sent the dolphins ape (fish?) shit and that it may be either too high or too low for the tape recorder to pick up.

The fact that Bob was so pissed he could of imagined it doesn't enter her head.

With all the facts in hand Stella heads off to see her pal, electronics wizz and part-time hair model Peter (2019: After the Fall of New York's other blond bombshell Sopkiw) at his pound shop lair cum knocking shop where he works - and plays - with his exotic girlfriend Sandra (Peynado, last seen - by me at least - having sex with Fred 'The Hammer' Williamson in Warriors of The Wasteland or whatever it's called this week).

It's like an Enzo G. Castellari survivors group meeting.

Stella arrives just in time to see slinky Pete packing his suitcases into his Jeep, it seems he's off to New York on vacation where "three beautiful women are waiting for him".

That'll be his mum, aunt and sister then.

Luckily - for us and the plot - Stella's really good at batting her eyelids in a sorta harsh faced Bambi type way and within seconds Peter is hard at work building some special equipment to track the mystery noise much to Sandra's chagrin.

It seems she was looking forward to a fortnight vegging out to Loose Women and not having to shave her legs.

Or her mustache.

Peynado: Hairy back and arse.

Meanwhile over at the West Ocean International building, one Dr. Davis Barker (gone to seed David Cameron alike Morgant, in his only film role thank fuck) is busying himself making bubbles in a jug of water (it must be a science thing) whilst his boss' wife Sonja (copper topped genre Goddess Lassander) makes all the office computers say 'I love you Davis' in unison.

What this has to do with monster sharks or devil fish I have no idea but it is rather sweet.

Gazing into each others eyes whilst mumbling something about genetically modifying cod the pair engage in a bit of old person snogging which - fortunately for sensitive viewers - is quickly interrupted by a foxy young lab assistant who just happens to be wandering by.

I've a hunch that this may be important later.

Someone whose passions haven't been dampened tho' is Peter who, even as we speak is not only building all that technical gubbins for Stella but is also managing to pleasure Sandra with his free hand at the same time.

And all to a tinny Casio porn score.

Now there's a man whose life I want.

I wouldn't want one of them swimming up my.....oh fuck it go on then."

Remember the foxy lab assistant from a few paragraphs back?

Well she's returned home to pack her suitcases, phone a cab and run a bath.

And all whilst wearing the flimsiest pants/see thru dressing gown combo I have ever seen.

Which is a skill in itself.

But as fun as it is to watch these lace based, bouncy arsed packing activities, they're soon interrupted by a hairy armed, small handed man ringing her doorbell.

Is it the cab driver?

Donald Trump?

Or could it be that she's been threatening to tell Sonja's hubbie about the affair so he's sent someone round to off her?

Go on, guess.

Did a quick Google search for pictures but I'm not sure this is the correct Cinzia de Ponti...nice swimsuit tho'.

Either way it looks like it must be the town's annual thug night because that very same evening Peter is woken from his post sex slumber by the sound of someone trashing his workshop.

Not only that but the poor guy is beaten senseless by the same hairy armed bloke when he goes to investigate.

And what, pray does all this have to do with monster sharks?

Fucked if I know, it's almost as if everyone's forgotten that that's what the movie's about.

And I'm spent!

Two people who most definitely have forgotten are the couple balding middle-aged men that head out to sea (in what appears to be a child's toy boat) the next morning to enjoy a wee bit of scuba-diving fun.

The skinnier, more rat like of the two seems to be in his element watching various grainy clips of sharks go by as he bobs about in what looks like a swimming pool whilst his portlier pal lounges about eating do-nuts.

I'm sure it's the same guy from Tentacles.

Imagine the indignity of being typecast as the fat do-nut man who gets eaten by sea monsters.

Tho' saying that he probably gets more fan mail (and money) from that than being known as the 'mooth-shite guy that blogs about films that no-one else cares about'.

So touché sir.

Pity this tranquility - and random typing - can't last as from nowhere a huge bulbous head with rows of razor sharp teeth appears and starts to chow down first on the boat and then its occupants.

And in a scene shot entirely from inside the beasts mouth.

Art or arse?

YOU decide.

"Look at the dog!"

In spite of all these unexplained water-based deaths going down, Sheriff Gordon is more interested in interviewing the allusive director of West Ocean International himself, the mysterious Dr. Donald West (The Spider Labyrinth star Berger disappointingly not playing the sexy pilot from Lost In Space) regarding the death of the blonde bird from earlier.

No idea why.

Perhaps he doesn't like water?

"Do you think it was an accident…or did she commit suicide?" Asks the Sheriff in all seriousness.

Thinking for a moment a jovial West replies "Well I think that’s up to you to decide Sheriff!"

"Well murder it is then!" Comes Gordon's hilarious retort.

Yup, well researched police work at it's best.

At least it wasn't his wanking arm.

As more bodies turn up (including one of the scuba-guys and a hideously obese married couple who, for some reason best left unknown actually die in the pre-credits scenes of the American cut), Gordon reckons it'd be a good idea to ask the only survivor some questions regarding the attacks.

Pity then that one whiff of Gordon's pickled onion Monster Munch breath sends the poor sod into shock followed by an unhealthy dose of death.

Bored with being sidelined by the whole murder/blackmail plot, Peter, Stella, wee Bob and a foxy Paleontologist with a strange old/young face named Mrs. Janet Bates (Warner, best known for playing a waitress in E.T. and the Sheriff and singing drunkenly at karaoke in my local pub) jump aboard the Seaquarium in order to test Peters brand new sonar equipment.

As Sandra waves them on their journey (and heads off for an appointment with the hairy killer bloke) Bob cracks open the beers whilst Peter fiddles about with various brightly coloured wires.

"Do you think the sonar will work?" asks Stella.

Peter looks up from the back of what looks like an old telly and mischievously replies "You have beautiful eyes!" before getting back to work.

For he is indeed one smooth bastard.

A high tech sonar device earlier today.

Finishing his fiddling Peter dons his sexy scuba pants and dives into the water to check on the equipment whilst Stella and Janet (wearing a rather fetching diarrhoea coloured safari suit) join Bob on the deck for drinks, shits and giggles.


After even more fiddling, diving and drinking the fantastic foursome managed to get a sample of spooky noise and head back to shore for a meeting with the first with the Sheriff and then West who, thanks to Janet receives a fascinating lecture on 'proto-sharks'.

After the thrilling talk (with slides) West, waiting till everyone has left desperately tries to access some secret files on the institute database regarding 'Project Sea Killer".

Could this be the beast that's been terrorizing the coast?

It looks like we'll never know seeing as the computer keeps shrieking "access denied" at every given opportunity.

Which is strange seeing as West owns the place.

Laugh Nooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!

Back on the boat Peter notices a large, luxurious yacht close by which Bob recognises as Dr. West’s boat, The Saucy Challenger remarking that he's probably sent his heavies to spy on them, smash all their equipment and capture the monster shark for their own nefarious ends.

Rotters.

As if by magic one of the buoys actually breaks down of its own accord so Peter and Stella change into their skimpiest swimming costumes legally allowed in 80's cinema in order to go and fix it, leaving Janet and Bob to get (even more) pissed and await the arrival of the beast itself.

Hopefully cos to be honest I'm pretty sure the thing doesn't exist.

Either that or the FX team haven't gotten around to finishing it yet.

Things go from bad to worse tho' because the broken buoy scenario is in itself  obviously not perilous enough a predicament to put our twosome in so the writer decides to give Peter's dinghy a puncture too.

On a brighter note it does leave the pair no other choice than to swim to the nearest island and have some sex.

Meanwhile, back aboard the Seaquarium (again) the monster shark - finally - shows up on the monitor as Bob and Janet gaze at the Spectrum 48K graphics in a mixture of awe, apathy and horror.

Swimming quickly towards the boat in a joyous mash up of grainy stock footage and blocky blips, it's tentacles poised for attack the shark readies itself.

Hang on....tentacles?

A shark with tentacles?

As if by some sort of osmosis Bob cries "My God, a shark with tentacles!" as the beast eats the camera under the boat and heads in for the kill.

Another Google image search,

another Cinzia de Ponti.

Bob in an almost sexual frenzy grabs his trusty dart gun and peers over the side whilst Janet sits on deck pulling a classic constipation face.

Looking for any sign of a fin poor Bob visibly shats himself as a dozen or so rubbery (why thank you) tentacles appear from the sea, grabbing saucily at him before fondling his ample buttocks and dragging him to his doom.

Still feeling a bit peckish the monster shark/octopus/whatever it is makes a play for Janet who, luckily for her just happens to be holding a small hatchet at the time enabling her to beat the beast off.

But not in that way obviously.

And what of our star-crossed shaggers on the beach?

Cos let's be honest, if we have the choice between a wet woman being manhandled by a tentacled beast or watching Michael Sopkiw wiping his cock on a palm leaf, I know which I'd rather see.

So it's back to Peter who, after waking up Stella, decides that they really should get back to the boat to see how the monster search is going on.

She sighs, pulls her swimsuit out of her arse crack and starts to paddle the dingy towards the Seaquarium.

But as the loved up pair approach the boat they begin to realize that something is amiss, Bob is nowhere to be seen, there's blood in the water and a severed tentacle hanging over the side.

Boarding the craft they find Janet hysterical and lying in a pool of her own piss on the upper deck and Peter not wanting to miss out on a breast fondle looms over the poor girl and cradles her in his big manly arms as Stella takes them home.

She's got something to put in you.

Back onshore Peter, armed with a videotape of the creature heads over to the West Ocean International labs - again - (well if you've got a set you may as well use it) to see if anyone has any idea what they're dealing with.

Carefully studying the tape whilst consulting his battered copy of The Ladybird Book of Big Bastard Sea Beasts Dr. Davis hypothesizes that the creature is at least forty feet long with a six feet wide mouth and probably has a top speed is over thirty five knots.

All that from a murky out of focus video tape?

Damn he's good.

Being the heroic type Peter formulates a plan - and for once it doesn't involve fondling old ladies, instead he suggests that they could try and lure the monster shark thing into a trap using the recordings of it's voice that they made earlier.

All they have to do is raise the pitch so that it sounds like a female then lie in wait until he comes calling.

Yup, it's a Peter plan so it must involve sex in some form, I'm surprised he's not just offered to go out and shag it to death.

Anyway, everyone agrees that this is the most sensible option (obviously not the shagging bit) and heads off to load the boat with explosives.

Peter farted....and it was an eggy one.

With all this excitement going on, everyone fails to spot the hairy killing man receiving a phone call telling him to stop the mission at all costs.

Oh and to kill Sandra when he has a spare minute.

Not even stopping to change his cum stained shorts Peter is soon back aboard (well underneath) the good ship Seaquarium, attaching various probes and scanners to it's (and probably to Stella's bottom too) whilst totally failing to notice the beast watching therm from behind some seaweed.

Well to give it its dues the monster shark is wearing a top hat as a disguise.

But that's not the only trouble in store as Janet soon finds out when a group of badmen creep aboard and stab her.

To death.

Whilst all this is 'going down' as you young people say, Stella and Peter are attacked by the same knife-wielding bad boys but this time they're wearing swimsuits in what looks like a community centre drama group recreation of the underwater battle from Thunderball.

Dodging harpoons, knives, visible camel-toe and monster fish, Stella manages to make it back on board only to be captured by the groups ringleader.

Would you believe it, the evil Dr. Miller is behind everything.

Well I mean everything in the film not literally everything it's not like he was the real force behind 9/11, Trump's Presidential campaign or the disappearance of Madeline McCann.

Tho' thinking about it....

Killing every underwater villain, Peter scrambles his way onto the boat and confronts Miller who is standing in his best scary pose with a bread knife to Stella's throat.

And if Peter comes any closer he'll cut it.

A crap pub fight ensues and they both fall into the sea with the monster shark getting ever closer but just as Peter reaches the boat one of the beasts tentacles grabs Stella and pulls her overboard.

Yikes.

Peter looks on in terror (well disbelief and hardly concealed amusement) as another tentacle grabs Miller and begins to toss him about like a dummy stuffed with newspaper.

Which it very probably is.

All this tossing of villains gives Peter enough time to rescue Stella from its slimy clutches and reach the relative safety of the boat where they both sit and watch Miller get eaten before putting an oily blanket over Janet (not as a mark of respect but to cover her harsh face) and preparing the dinghy's speakers.

Yup, Peter has volunteered to pretend he's a horny lady shark-thing (surprise) and lead the beast inland toward a huge mob of dynamite carrying locals eager to blow the bugger to Spain and back.

"Rrrrrrrraaaaannnnggggeeerrrrsss!!!!"

Meanwhile (this is getting a tad predictable now), Dr. West contacts Sheriff Gordon to report his findings.

Yes he has just spent the majority of the movies running time hunched over a computer.

It seems that every single one of the monster sharks cells is capable of reproducing another (albeit slightly less shoddy) monster shark.

Which is bad news as far as the plan goes.

Radioing Peter to tell him the news it's up to our hero to disabled the exploding buoys, warn the over excited townsfolk and find a non blowy-uppy way of finishing off the creature.

All within the next ten minutes.

Will pretty boy Peter succeed?

And will he really give a toss when he finds his ex-missis is dead?

From the smoking quill of Gianfranco Clerici (the writer of such hits as Delirium: Photo of Gioia, Murder-Rock and House on the Edge of the Park amongst others), the visionary mind of Lamberto Bava with cheap drink and snacks supplied by Bruno Mattei (possibly) Monster Shark manages the unenviable task of trying to match the sheer terror and excitement of Jaws but on a budget that wouldn't pay for Richard Dreyfuss' nasal hair clippers.

Scarily tho' the film succeeds at this task and sometimes even rises above it's source material.

Not really, it is, in fact, utter shite from start to finish.

But that's not to say it isn't an enjoyable piece of shite, a bit like the scabbily dressed plain girl you meet at the end of the night when your yeast infected whore radar is at its lowest and you actually start listening to your libido.

Of course you enjoy the kebab stained muddy kneed fumble behind the bins but you wouldn't take her home to meet the wife and kids.

Monster Shark, you are that clap ridden girl and we love you for it.

Just don't expect us to give you the correct phone number as we sneak off for a taxi back to Movieville.

"Fuck me a wasp!"

On a plus point.....hang on there are no plus points; the dubbing is shoddiness of the first order, the editing seems to have been achieved by throwing the film into the air then allowing a group of blind, wooden pawed dogs to attempt to glue it together and the storyline (for what it is) is a weird mix of conspiracy thriller, scientific corporation gone bad, cack handed murder mystery and a monster movie all rolled into one big ball of cinematic sputum retched up from the tar ridden lungs of good taste.

More the beasts tentacles than the dogs bollocks, Monster Shark should have pride of place right next to Shark Attack 3 and Raging Sharks.

Hidden right behind your animal porn saved anyone sees it and makes a harsh character judgment on you.

Saying that tho' I bloody love it.

And you will too.

stryke it lucky.

With the elections coming up I reckoned it was time to review the various party leaders favourite horror movies.

First up is UKIP leader Nigel Farage's choice*, dealing as it does with immigration, foreign types and the like but under the guise of being an Italian zombie film.

Clever eh?

Zombie Flesh Eaters 3 (AKA Zombie 4: After Death. 1988)
Dir: Claudio Fagrasso.
Cast: Jeff Stryker, Candice Daly, Don Wilson, Massimo Vanni, Nick Nicholson, Adrienne Joseph, Jim Gaines, your mom and some tramps.

Somewhere on a remote South Pacific island (or more likely in the kiddies play park behind the directors house), a scientific research team have been working on a cellular regenerative thingy in the hope of finding a cure for ingrowing toenails and bad breath.

In an attempt to get the local (glam rock frocked) natives onside, top science bloke Dr. Godfrey Soontodie has offered to use this frankly bollocks scientific discovery to help cure the voodoo witch doctor's daughter of her terrifying bunions.

As is always the case in these situations the wee girl unfortunately dies.

It's off screen tho' so it's not that upsetting.

"Touch mah titties!"

Not too surprisingly the witch doctor takes offence to this news and decides to put the famous 'curse of the dead' on the island, its visitors and inhabitants.

Which is understandable if not a wee bit annoying for the rest of the tribe.

With a wave of his mighty (and very beefy) arms and a flash of homemade fireworks (but not alas a flash of old man thigh) literally all hell breaks loose.

Well it would if hell consisted of an old lady in an ill fitting Halloween mask and a pair of Austin Powers teeth seemingly faking an orgasm whilst dancing like Ian Curtis (post suicide) on crack.

Laugh now.

It's not giving too much away to say that the dead rise and kill everyone.

Everyone that is except the lead scientists blonde moppet daughter, Jenny who survives the carnage thanks to a magic amulet given to her by her mother.

Well it's either actually magic or so cheap and nasty as to repel any self respecting zombie that sees it.

You can decide.

Flash forward 15 years later and a rescue team, led by the hunky Chuck (porn idol Jeff Stryker in a rare 'straight' role) is finally dispatched to discover why no-one has been returning their calls.

Well they took their time didn't they?

Also on the island (by some strange quirk of fate) is a by now all grown up Jenny (the late, great Daly from The Young and the Restless) accompanied by the slightly less attractive Louise (Joseph from Birds of a Feather), rentalunk Rod (Nicholson) and a couple of dirty mouthed gypsies.

Sod all this character stuff tho' we want to know what Team Chuck is up to.

Well, whilst wandering around in a cardboard cave left over from Michele Soavi's 'The Sect' our hero comes across the mysterious Book of the Dead.

Which is a change from my boyhood years watching him coming across a variety of buff arses whilst pulling a face not too dissimilar to the one your grandad pulled when he had that stroke.

But enough of the homemade erotica you want to know how Chuck knows that it's the real Book of the Dead and not a shoddy knock-off one of the kind featured here.

Well it does have the words BOOK OF THE DEAD printed on the cover in big bold letters  so I guess that clinches it.

"Shite in mah tramp bearded mooth!"

Anyway back to the plot (for want of a better word) where Chuck, in a vain attempt to prove he can read unaided - but alas proving that he's never seen a horror movie - begins to shout random passages from the book - intercut with him shouting "Yeah baby! You're so fuckin' tight!" and pulling his cum face probably -  not realizing that the words, when read aloud are capable of bringing the dead back to life.

This'll be the same living dead that have actually been wandering around aimlessly for the past decade and a half from when that witch doctor read the same book, remember?

The writer obviously doesn't.

Some immigrants stealing our jobs and benefits yesterday.

Within minutes our heroes (well the folk on screen) are running for their very lives as hordes (I say hordes but I mean dozens) of foul smelling pikeys and illegal Eastern European immigrants (possibly) begin to rise slowly from their shallow graves intent on tasting the legendary Jeff Stryker's ample meat.

Or something.

Meanwhile in the grassy bit behind the bike sheds, jumpy Jenny and co. have problems of their own (discounting the obvious ones like lack of acting ability and bad breath) when a lone, maggot covered tramp (obviously symbolizing the EU) falls on them from behind a tree covering a hapless member of her party in sick.

Running away screaming they soon stumble across the deserted medical research facility (in reality the directors local scout hut) once run by Jenny's folks where they're soon joined (c'mon, the running times not that long) by Chuck who has managed to escape the scary flesh eaters by leaving his team to die whilst he sneaked away sobbing like a baby.

What a guy.

Luckily for the survivors this peaceful medical centre is chock full of weapons  giving the male cast members ample opportunity to pose in a topless sweaty manner whilst firing a variety of semi-automatic weaponry indiscriminately at various unpaid extras who are then expected to fall off roofs and be set on fire in the vain hope of securing a work permit or at least a new pair of shoes for their kids.

Ain't capitalism grand?

But the humans are fighting a losing battle as one by one they are overcome by the advancing dead.

Deciding the blow up the centre in an attempt to convince the zombies it's Bonfire night and thus giving the humans a chance to escape (plus they reckon it might add a wee bit of much needed excitement to the movie), sole survivors Jenny and Chuck make a break for the woods only to find themselves back in the very cave where the spooky witch doctor started the undead plague to begin with.

With the zombie army closing in and Chuck down to firing blanks, Jenny clutches the magic amulet, praying for a miracle.

Well it's either that or she's cursing her agent.

Insert cock...well anywhere you fancy really.

Will our toothsome twosome escape?

Will the UK rise up and tell Europe where to stick its fishing quota?

Will the zombie hordes attack Jenny and eat her whole?

Or will they spit that bit out?

Or will Chuck die whilst something slight and fairly incomprehensible happens to Jenny?

Jeff Stryker, up the casino, 1988...Yesch!

Best known for it's frightening amount of alternate titles (After Death being the most common and Zombi 4 being the easiest to spell) as well as being shot on sets constructed for Michael Soavi's 'The Sect' and filmed entirely using camera's and equipment 'borrowed' from the set of Bruno Mattei's 'Strike Commando 2' (which was filming nearby), Claudio Fagrasso's -AKA Clyde Anderson- Zombie Flesh-Eaters 3 is the near pinnacle of bad movie making made flesh, a cinematic black hole so dire that not even light can escape from it's spiny celluloid fingers.

Imagine the worst unsafe sex ever with the most foul, STD ridden, crab panted whore imaginable, then imagine that as you're about to cum (against your better judgement) you look down and realize that this pock marked, toothless crone you've payed £5 to probably catch AIDS from is, in fact, your Gran.

You know...the dead one.

This is the effect After Death can have on a normal cinema goer.

But saying that, imagine how amusing it would be if you saw this happen to a friend.

And you just happened to have a camera handy.

So I guess you pays your money you takes your chance.

Funnel or tunnel?

Wise men say that you can't choose who (or what) you fall in love with tho' and like the three legged dog you should put down but decide to nail to a skateboard, After Death stays with you long after the DVD has been ejected, just like Hepatitis C or the feeling of shame you get after watching your parents home made porn.

Obviously just before realizing halfway thru' that you're actually the star, propped up on top of the wardrobe, drugged up to the eyeballs and wearing a dress.

But if like me you're one of the special few that actually enjoys Fragrasso's work - especially his top notch collaborations with Bruno ('Zombie Creeping Flesh' and 'Rats : Night of Terror') Mattei  - then jump in and enjoy.

I know I did.

But to be honest I really think that I should get out more.

Our Nige seen here reenacting his favourite scene from the movie. No, I didn't realize that it featured a bit where a bigoted halfwit almost gets garotted by a biplane either. Must have been cut in the UK.

*If I'd actually asked him that is but if he's reading this then get in touch and I'll review the real one.