it's not just the water that's dirty....

As readers with long memories - and short skirts - may realise I often like to come back to the Zombie Lake review and update it periodically as an excuse to rewatch what is possibly my all-time favourite water-based undead Nazi movie (even more so than Shock Waves) so don't expect me to be too critical of this unsung masterpiece of the macabre cos it's abso-fucking-lutely brilliant.

If you don't believe me then you're a fool.

And that's a fact.

Now that's out of the way let's start as we mean to go on.....with a wee bit of gratuitous nudity.

 Beware! Zombie Lake!

Are you sitting comfortably?

So let us begin...

Zombie(s) Lake (AKA Le Lac Des Morts Vivants, 1981)
Dir: Jean Rollin and/or Jess Franco (as J.A. Lazer)
Cast: Howard Vernon, Annouchka, Rene Douglas, Alain Petit, some zombies and a lake.

Welcome to 1970's exploitation Europe and an oh-so-slightly scummy lake somewhere in France, the sun is glistening over the discarded condoms, fag boxes and pop cans as an incredibly buxom beauty is frolicking thru' the trees and gaily throwing her clothes behind her.

Stripped naked and enjoying the sun (unless you're watching the 80's UK 'Modern Films' Betamax edition where she's sporting big grey granny pants) she suddenly notices a 'danger' sign near the waters edge.

Tossing it aside she dives into the welcoming waters of the lake.

Little does she realise that it is, in fact, a lake of death.

Or more correctly a lake of zombies.

A 'zombie lake' if you will.

Swimming fun - death (or at the
very least a huge dose of the shits) to follow.

Sexily splashing away to a frankly fantastic Europorn organ soundtrack and making sure to keep her ample breasts in shot at all times, our wet 'n' wild wench doesn't notice the shadowy figures lurking just below the surface.

Well she wouldn't would she, seeing as all those shadowy figure bits have been filmed miles away and weeks later at a disused public swimming baths.

Anyway, back to the action where without warning - unless you count the sudden burst of 'spooky' organ music that is - a green hand grabs for the girls leg and pulls her below the surface to her doom.

With is quite scary if I'm honest, tho' not as scary as the loud pops and scratches that constitute a smooth transition to the next scene which appears to be made up of someone's holiday Super 8's of a quaint (if not a little seedy) public house somewhere in Normandy.

Most probably the town of Domfront* if I'm not mistaken.

Inside this marvellous example of early 19th century Orne architecture another, totally different buxom lady (she's blonde for one thing) is serving huge jugs (snigger) of beer to the locals who are busy eating snails and gossiping about the sheer amount of young girls who go missing near the local lake.

"She probably met some young stud eh?" remarks Claude, the big burly Brian Blessed alike as his drips piss weak French lager down his plaid shirt.

His rat-like companions twirl their moustaches in agreement before deciding to go see the Mayor if she hasn't shown up by closing time.

I mean come on, those tables aren't going to clean themselves.

Domfront: Local.

Morning dawns and the Mayor (who it appears is played by Ren Hoek from The Ren and Stimpy Show) is rudely awakened from his garlic fuelled fantasies by Claude and his chums loudly banging on his door.

It seems that after much frantic searching there's been no sign of the girl except her discarded clothes, so Mayor Ren decides to call in the police from the next village - his town being so small that they don't have any of their own.

Meanwhile, out near the (zombie) lake another busty young woman is busily spending her day pushing a milk churn in a wheelbarrow across a bridge whilst wearing orthopaedic shoes.

Which if I'm honest is reason enough to stay in the EU alone.

Unfortunately she is so deeply involved in her obviously important job that she totally fails to notice the fact that a shadowy green figure is watching her from the lakeside.

A shadowy figure which is revealed to be a one-eyed zombie in a Nazi uniform.

Well I say Nazi uniform but it's really a pair of mouldy Quick-Fit overalls with Swastikas painted on them topped off with a pair of Wellington boots but at least the thought was there.

If not the budget.

The hideous Hun quickly grabs the woman and grapples her to the ground before clumsily exposing her hideous brown bra to the world and finally messily nuzzling her neck.

She screams kicking off her horrendous clogs in the struggle as the zombie dribbles poster paint over her throat in a cacophony of hisses, scratches and pops that suddenly cut to her prone body being laid (but not in that way, tho' I wouldn't put it past the French) on the Mayor's patio by an ever sweatier than earlier Claude.

Check the shoes (and the milk
churn in a wheelbarrow).

"I know how you feel about your daughter," Mayor Ren tells her distraught dad as he shuffles about his daughters corpse desperately trying to cover her big white pants.

Which is nice.

"No son, I ordered semi-skimmed."

As the fumbling father heads off into the bushes for a tearful wank and a garlic frogs leg flavoured Pot Noodle the gathered crowd (all six of them) stand motionless gazing longingly at the Mayor for what seems like an eternity.

Before it gets too uncomfortable tho' there's another cack-handed cut and we're suddenly watching Ren sitting on a bridge, his sinewy wrinkled arms wrapped around two obviously terrified young boys as he slowly drags them ever closer to his quivering, sweat covered lips.

"Is it in yet?"

It turns out that the boys have witnessed something strange near the lake and the Mayor wants all to know all the facts straight from their pretty mouths.

And probably a 'special ' cuddle too.

"Fuck me! It's Jon Pertwee!"

Meanwhile back at the pub ace reporter Janet Ellis (Annouchka) has arrived in town determined to uncover the mystery of the 'ghostly lake' and heads over to Claude's table to pump him for information.

"You call it the Lake of Ghosts." Announces Janet.

Claude grunts, strokes his droopy moustache and lets loose a very eggy fart before realising that this would probably make a better title for the film.

So impressed by Janet's use of words - and her hairy back and arse - he quickly offers to take her up the Mayors house.

Which is sadly not a euphemism for field based barebacking tho' it really should be. 

Once there, Janet wastes no time (OK maybe a minute or so) introducing herself before explaining that she's working on a story regarding the legends of the lake and surrounding area for a local TV show called Zombing About.

Probably.

Ren tells her she's talking bollocks, which she counters by whipping out a huge book detailing the legends of the lake (and other stuff) from her tiny handbag.

"Now I'm intrigued!" a visibly aroused Ren exclaims, rubbing his boney hands together with glee.

His pleasure is soon curtailed when he begins reading thru' the tome tho' deciding that it's too vague to be of any use.

"The book is too out of date to be useful" he cries.

You heard it here first kids, any books not written within the last forty minutes must be obsolete and should therefore be burned. 

Janet, not being an inbred hick, argues that legends and folktales like these are usually based on fact.

"But they are the very stuff of books." Ren cryptically (and nonsensically) replies, before launching into a tale from the heady days of the second world war.....

What your granddad really did during the war.

Thru' the magic of the 'wobbly dissolve' (that's the actual technical term for it, go on check) we're quickly transported back to the 1940's where a crack squad of German soldiers are battling an (unseen) airplane with pellet guns whilst yet another busty blonde stands screaming at the chaos and bloodshed going on just out of shot.

Noticing how the sunlight glistens on her ample breasts, the sexy blond Nazi-boy (is there any other kind?) in charge runs thru' the ensuing explosions to save her, grappling her to the ground as a 'huge' (ahem) bomb goes off.

Later that evening she shows her gratitude by having sex with him in a barn to the strains of romantic choral music.

As morning breaks the lovers prepare to go their separate ways - her to explain to her dad why she's having sex with a Nazi, him to slaughter some more Jews, the disabled etc. - she gives him a huge pendant to remember her by.

Which begs the question who knew they had pound shops in 1940's France?

Anyway, after what seems about 3 days worth of footage of the Nazi's fighting in the snow against (invisible) Russians and driving around aimlessly in a badly painted milk float, Aryan boy returns to the village to find that his 'lady friend' is heavily pregnant.

On discovering this fact - and being a blackclad badboy - he kisses her goodbye and leaves almost immediately to rejoin his jackbooted buddies for a bit more killing.

Cue even more shooting at imaginary foes and driving down deserted country lanes to a slightly sinister soundtrack.

Fear not tho' because before too long - probably due to the rocking motion in the back of the van - the crack troops are all desperate for a toilet break and a quick ciggie.

Just like the audience.

But, unlike the said viewer the soldiers joy is cut short by Claude and his buddies who leap out of the trees and shoot them all dead before dumping their bodies in the local lake.

See? it's all coming together now.

 
"Not the face luv!"

In a case of spooky coincidence - or plot contrivance take your pick - blond boy's squeeze dies at exactly the same moment.

Tho' this may have more to do with the fact that she's giving birth to a ball headed baby than some supernatural quirk of fate.

Janet, unable to hide her disappointment at such a shite story makes her farewells and heads back to the pub with only an evening of cheap drink and the chance of Claude pawing at her underwear with his sweaty sausage fingers for comfort.

Which, if I'm honest sounds a pretty good night.

Meanwhile back at the lake a local all-girl volleyball team have decided to stop for a picnic followed by some nude cavorting to a jaunty Hammond organ score.

As groups of women together are known to do.

Giggling, combing each others hair and throwing a ball around (in glorious boob bouncing close-up) they're all blissfully unaware of the evil lurking nearby.

And I'm not talking about Claude.

A nude volleyball team yesterday frolicking in a lake earlier today.

As is always the way in these situations there's usually one person for whom jiggling about in the nude is never enough, so a cry of "Let's all go for a swim in this inviting and zombie-free lake!" is soon heard and the ladies cheerfully dive in for more ball based, giggly fun.

But down below the zombies are on the move.

Not too quickly tho' as they appear to be enjoying the underwater shots of the girls swimming, doing star jumps and kicking their legs wide open as much as we are.

I don't have the words.

The zombies soon remember that this is meant to be a horror film tho' and soon enough decide to attack, fondling the ladies soft thighs as they drag them to their doom at the bottom of the lake.

Luckily one of the team has been sitting on the banks painting her nails so manages to run screaming and wobbling towards the village clad only in a big (and I mean BIG) pair of blue pants.

Nope, here neither.

Claude and his posse are enjoying a quiet beer or three (now there's a surprise) when she bursts into the pub screaming before promptly collapses on their table.

Obviously impressed by the service and totally enamoured by her choice of underwear Claude orders his pals to take her 'up the stairs' (I don't know if this is a particularly French sexual activity but we never see her again) whilst at the same time top 'tecs Spitz and Moran arrive on the scene, stopping by the pub to ask directions to Mayor Ren's residence.

It's all go in this town isn't it?

 
"Waitress! this gammons off!"

Mayor Ren cracks under the good hair/bad hair double act and reveals the full sordid history of the 'Lake of the Damned' and how it's evil has stretched back as far as the middle ages and maybe even earlier.

Tho' probably not as far back as lunchtime tho' because that would be silly.

Spitz and Moran unfortunately think he's talking complete shite and decides to go back to the pub to, um, 'interview' people.

As all this is going down (as the yoof say) our favourite Aryan zombie has taken a break from all the killing and decided to go and visit his now grown up (well 12 year old) daughter.

Surprisingly she takes his re-appearance quite well, seeing as he's now a green skinned, undead beast in a (possibly very damp smelling) German uniform.

The lack of surprise is only equalled by the films lack of logic, I mean it's now the 'modern' (well the 1980's) day, so how come she's not in her early 40's?

Ignoring this vexing plot point they exchange knowing glances and he heads back to the lake.

But what of Europe's greatest detective duo?

Well Spitz and Moran, now bored with getting pissed and annoying the locals elect to go and investigate the disappearance of the basketball team everyone's talking about, especially upon hearing that they were nude.

Heading out to the lake the dynamic duo soon come across an abandoned camper van and piles of ladies clothes.

"Do you think it's foul play?" asks Moran as he wipes his now flaccid member on a discarded t-shirt.

"It beats me," Spitz replies, "There's no clue to what happened." 

Save the bloodstained shoes and claw marks on the benches obviously.


Shrugging at each other in a manner usually reserved for impatient waiters the pair proceed to rifle thru' the team's discarded handbags no doubt in order to pocket lipsticks, blusher etc. to give to their wives.

But as this blatant abuse of police power continues the zombies are slowly rising from their watery graves and preparing to attack killing the detectives.

But this is only the beginning of their lust for vengeance (and lust for blood and possibly big pants too) as the unstoppable zombie horde starts to shuffle towards the village.....

"Where's mah hoosekeepin'?"

Your can't imagine the sheer ecstatic pleasure I feel every time a young film fan inadvertently discovers the joy of Jean Rollin/Jess Franco's infamous no-budget zombie 'epic', directed under the frankly fantastic pseudonym 'J.A. Lazer' and starring Rollin regular, the frighteningly ferret like Howard Vernon, what Zombie Lake lacks in budget, plot, effects, editing, coherent storytelling etc. it more than makes up for with lots of long, lingering nude scenes (not found in the original bulky boxed betamax UK Modern Films release) alongside scenes of such mind numbing bizarreness that you'll be flicking back to make sure you really did see them.

And then just flicking away in general.

Seriously it's that good.

Experience the crew forgetting to turn the lights on till halfway through a scene!

Recoil in horror as Nazi zombies in green emulsion stomp about in a swimming pool!

Swoon as grannie-haired Annouchka sits in the pub with a sweating moustached man!

Go open another bag of crisps as the unnecessary love story subplot (complete with soft focus ‘lurve’ scenes) unfolds in bum numbing detail!

Strain your ears trying to decipher the almost Lynchian dialogue and get a headache attempting to figure out how it relates to the action on screen!

Get slightly uncomfortable as you watch the antics of the nude female basketball team unfold to a cheesy 'europorn' score and much more besides!

Your mum and dad drunk at Christmas.

You know you’re onto a winner when you realize that Rollin was in fact using a completely different script to the one his actors had (he admitted as much in a 1981 interview in Starburst Magazine number 48…go find it out, it’s the special Zombie issue fact fans) meaning that for the majority of the films shoot people were just looking at him blankly as he barked out directions at them.

If only  Jennifer Kent had have had the same problem during The Babadook we might have had a halfway decent movie.

Plus when Jess Franco has dropped out of a project due to it being utter shit you know you're in trouble.

That's not me on the cover BTW....Everyone knows that I was the small boy in Suspiria.

 Usually at this point I spend ages ripping a film apart and making purile jokes at the crews expense but in all honesty I can't do it with Zombie(s) Lake because it's so damn wonderful.

No, really.

Essential Friday night viewing for fans of Eurotrash horror, anyone who thinks they've already seen the worst movie ever or those who really enjoyed 'Bloody Moon'.

Sheer genius.




* Domfront is a very pretty hilltown in the south of Normandy full of ancient ramparts and a quaint old town centre with half timbered houses, an historic church and a breathtaking castle.

There is also a popular - and cheap - market on Friday mornings.

More importantly I was once taken advantage of by an older girl from there named Cécile Fournier in the ZigZag toilets in Birmingham back in 1986 who I then proceeded to follow around for 6 months like a lost puppy.

She eventually gave in and asked me to move to France with her to live on her family farm but being really young and nervous I declined, tho' I've no idea if that's a reason to love Zombie(s) Lake or not.

Answers to the usual email address.

Nuff said.

dog day afternoon.

Just finished up the Easter holidays so had a week of young master Cassidy taking charge of the teevee whilst his sisters run rampage in town*.

Well at least he's choosing something other than old Mister Maker episodes for a change.

"Come get me Yewtree I'm fucking untouchable!"

Sadomania (AKA Holle der Lust, Hellhole Women. 1981)
Dir: Jesus Franco.
Cast: Uta Koepke, Ursula Buchfellner, Ajita Wilson, Antonio Mayans (AKA 'Robert Foster'), Gina Janssen, Jesus Franco, Angel Caballero and a huge, horny dog.

"Look at the dog! Look at the dog!"

Young(ish) and fairly groovy (for the west midlands circa 1974) newlyweds, Olga (pert of breast and flaxen of haired Koepke, best known for her performance as Kirstin in the classic Drei Schwedinnen auf der Reeperbahn) and Michael (Caballero from the brothel based drama L'oasis des filles perdues) are happily enjoying their South America honeymoon cum golfing holiday, which is always how these things start if I'm honest.

It's been sun, sand, huge amounts of cocaine, a wee bit of poverty and holes in one all the way so far and with a return home looming our loving couple decide to finish their hols with an idyllic picnic.

After packing the Tizer and egg and cress sandwiches they're soon on their way, taking a short cut to the beach thru' the grounds of the ominous Hacienda Blanco, notorious womens prison and general den of kinkiness.

As you can imagine this doesn't go down too well with the Hacienda's evil warden Magda (transsexual mega-star and Euro porn queen, the late great Ajita Wilson) who comes across the pair gobbling on some fruit.

Which reminds me of the reason I got expelled from school years ago.

Wilson: Like you'd have a choice.

After a quick telling off and a slapped wrist Michael is sent on his merry way but Olga on the other (slightly smaller) hand is charged with trespassing on private property and detained at (and for) the wardens pleasure.

Matron!

Surprisingly Michael sheepishly bids farewell and saunters off without even a hint of annoyance at the thought of having to spend the final nights of his honeymoon in the company of mother fist and her five beautiful daughters, leaving poor Olga to be (roughly) taken up the prison to be 'processed'.

Which is nice.

Arriving at the prison gates and with her only experience of prison being endless reruns of Prisoner: Cell Block H and Bad Girls, Olga is surprised to find that this alleged top security complex looks more like an end of days Butlins as imagined by a crack-addled Robin Askwith, housing as it does around 40 women - of various degrees of attractiveness -  who spend their days sweatily toiling in fields clad only in Daisy Duke style hot-pants whilst (topless) female guards with machine guns watch them from either horseback or home made chariots.

A wee bit like your mums old school.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Lucky for Olga tho' who to be honest isn't the sharpest tool in the tin,  the prison rules are  simple enough for even her to understand.

And they go something like this:

 If a prisoner is caught trying to escape they are given a 60 second head start and then chased and shot (unless the inflatable Crocodiles don't get them first that is).

See?

I told you they were easy to remember.

Don't worry if shooting or being eaten alive aren't your thing as there is an alternative.

For example if the local politicians wife, the luscious Loba (swallowing superstar Janssen from the Story of Q) is in a good mood, hand-picked prisoners are taken to her villa for a wee kiss and cuddle with her impotent husband Jeff Mendoza (Foster from Oasis of the Zombies and Zombie(s) Lake sporting the worlds greatest comedy moustache).

Or if they're really lucky a wee bit of sapphic sauciness Loba herself.

Now which UK political party would be brave enough to bring this bill in?

I for one would commit a dozen acts of wanton burglary if I was in with a chance of an evening alone with Scottish Conservative badgirl  Ruth Davidson.

Well I'm only flesh and blood.

"Now ladies....who fancies a wee bit o' mooth shite-in?"

It's not all fun and frolics tho' as wicked warden Magda has a strict zero tolerance approach to fighting amongst the inmates and anyone who breaks this rule is punished by both parties being bundled into a ramshackle cage and forced to fight to the death.

Whilst topless obviously.

And what of the winner?

Well they get the special treat of spending the night with Mendoza's (over) friendly Alsatian, Butch and a once in a lifetime chance to enjoy his own special brand of 'meat treat'.

If, for some strange reason, none of this works to break the prisoners spirits, the worst offenders (or those with the perkiest breasts) are sold to the ferret-like Mr. Jorge Lucas (director Franco with trademark pube beard in tow) and put to work in his brothel in order to bring pleasure to the local mine workers and various salty sailor folk that pass thru town.

Exactly like your mums old school.

Who's best...Samantha Cameron or Miriam González?.....There's only one way to find out! FIGHT!

Anyway, back to the non lesbian/torture/dog sex plot of the movie (yes there is one) and poor Michael, outwardly beginning to show the faintest signs of guilt in regards to leaving his missis in such a god forsaken hellhole - but more likely just jealous of missing out on all this girl on girl action - decides it's time to mount a rescue mission (as opposed to mounting a rescue dog or your gran) and free Olga.

Yup, I know he's taken his time about it but they've got to stretch the movie out somehow.

But if he's ever to be re-united with his true love he must first face not only the wrath of Luba and her psycho-sexual perversions but the cunning wiles of the horny she-male Magda who, sick of sticking it in girls is searching for some fresh, virginal manass to corrupt.

Oh and don't forget Mendoza's dog.

Which would be quite difficult seeing as he's quite ruggedly handsome if I'm honest.

Well for a dog anyway.

Good old Jess Franco, director of such classics as Vampyros Lesbos and, well everything you can think of with the words nude, little or vampire in the title really - oh and that cannibal one where Al Cliver loses his arm - brings this shockingly brutal and realistic tale of loose women, perverted prisons and militant feminism to the screen in a blaze of cheaply made, poorly acted, S/M fuelled trashorama sleaze in the way that only he can.

But to be honest is this a good thing?

Franco-philes, as some enthusiasts like to be called - probably - claim that the great mans movies have a genuine and legitimate artistry to them as well as a strong moral message lurking behind the sleaze and violence but to be honest it's pretty well hidden here.

Maybe I should take a closer look as no doubt it's carefully hidden somewhere between the frankly bizarre cutaways to close-ups of a selection of wind-up tin toys when Mendoza's pup ravishes the foxy cage fighter and the bits prisoners get eaten by crocodiles.

Or maybe I'm just too thick to see past the exploitation excesses.

Most likely tho' is the fact that I really don't feel the need to over intellectualize my genuine love of saucy Euro-Trash and am quite happy to share it with anyone who'll listen.

Because let's be honest here, if I've got the choice of spending a Friday night watching Chiwetel Ejiofor being whipped by a bad man or a flee bitten Alsatian desperately trying to mount a visibly nervous Angel Caballero I know which one I’d go for.

And I don't care how hot Ejiofor looks topless and drenched in sweat.

Plus he's no Idris Elba is he?

Well, neither of them are really but that's a different topic altogether.

"Oh no! I have my woman's period".

Whilst obviously never reaching the dizzy heights of Franco's all time classic Bloody Moon (but then again, what does?), it still has much to offer the serious film connoisseur, from glimpses of how unattractive the majority of people in the 70's were when naked to a rare mainstream (sort of) performance by cult goddess Ajita Wilson, later to become Europe's highest paid transsexual porn star as well as my godmother.

Add to this the copious amounts of mindless violence coupled with the choice overgrown seventies bush on show and the oh so saucy hints of bestiality and you know you've got a winner on your hands.

Or at least a pitiful semi between your chubby little fingers.

You dirty, dirty boy.

What your girlfriend really gets up to on bingo night.

*By the way, before you complain to social services I was only joking about letting the wee fella watch Jess Franco movies, that would be just plain wrong (plus he's only half way thru' the Lucio Fulci back catalogue and I wouldn't want to confuse him).

playaway.

It's been a helluvah week here what with all three of the unholy tiny trio housebound suffering from some particularly virulent version of the Umbrella virus, Mrs. Lamont coughing and shaking in the corner and myself, whilst seemingly immune to the scabby plague sits feverishly and scared, attempting to find a cure as the undead hordes of Partick (that's in Scotland by the way) slowly lumber toward our crumbling castle home whilst bravely trying (and failing) to watch a few films from the ever increasing pile of shiny shite on the table.

Poor Cassidy was so feverish he attempted even to eat a Jess Franco box set mistaking it for a block of Galaxy chocolate.

Tho' he may have just fancied seeing some busty women being whipped whilst they lie bound in chains in a damp dungeon.

I mean, he is nearly four after all.

"He's no Jean Rollin Dad!"

Anyway, as I was about to consigned myself to a life free from celluloid stinkers I was surprised to find my doctor prescribing a course of early seventies Euro-porn vampire flicks as the only thing that would cure my malaise.

No matter how uncomfortable this treatment would be it was my last hope and if it did fail at least me and the little fella will get to enjoy some father and son time, bonding over a few 'arthouse' classics.

I mean you can't start a love of cult cinema early enough these days.

The Devil's Plaything (AKA Veil of Blood, Das Schloss der schwarzen Hexen, Den pornografiske jungfrun, Plaything of the Devil, The Curse of the Black Sisters, Vampire Ecstasy and probably dozens more. 1973)
Dir: Joseph W. Sarno.
Cast: Marie Forså, Nadia Henkowa, Anke Syring, Ulrike Butz, Nico Wolf, Flavia Keyt, Irina Kant and a few other folk with even higher Scrabble scoring names.

“The hour of the wampire draws closer.”

Opening with shots of a dark foreboding castle somewhere in deepest darkest Europe (I'm thinking Germany by the size of the lady gardens on show) and to the trippy sounds of a conga beat, we find ourselves privy to a groovy girls night-in being held in a cosy dungeon where a busty bevy of wobbly arsed women are undulating sexily (well kind of) to the tribal rhythms.

Leading the festivities is a big of hip, poppy of eyes and scarily simian faced woman named Wanda (Henkowa from the classic Bibi: Confessions of Sweet Sixteen and the not so classic Baby Tramp) whose idea of a good time seems to involve aggressively touching up women and shoving her ample arse into the camera at any given opportunity.

No complaints from the Cassman so far then.

The party reaches it's climax with the announcement of the evenings raffle draw and after yanking the winning ticket from between a black lasses buttocks, Wanda fetches the winner (a lovely dirty - in both senses of the word - blonde named Brenda) and lays her on the dining table before getting Brenda to masturbate herself silly with a big black dildo.

And all this before the opening titles.

I've no idea how they're going to top that but with the introduction of the blonde bucktoothed bimbette Helga (Forså, whose performance as Lajla the girl in aquarium in the smash hit Sex in Sweden is still talked about in hushed tones on the internet to this day) and the council estate Marlene Dietrich-alike Monika (Butz, star of Love in 3D and What Schoolgirls Don't Tell) you can kinda guess where they're heading.

How your Mum could afford your Christmas
presents when you were younger.
Happy now?

Turns out that this gorgeous (well, I say gorgeous...) pair are descendants of a lusty lesbian vampire cum posh bird Danielle Varga and our sexy strumpets are in line to inherit all her wealth.

Kerching.

But in order to collect their inheritance Helga and Monika must live in Varga’s spooky castle for a year, thus giving wicked Wanda plenty of time to seduce Monika and complete her plan of placing the revived spirit of Danielle Vaga inside the poor girls body.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well apart from Monika being completely straight and there being absolutely no hot girl on girl action in the next ninety minutes?

"Don't look down hen but wee
Jimmy Krankie is trying to shag your leg".

Before we get a chance to let the horror of that situation sink in, a battered old jalopy breaks down right outside the castles gates, I mean come on what are the chances of that?

Turns out that the car belongs to the local doctor (and expert in supernatural activities) Julia Malenkow (big haired Syring from Sexy Susan Sins Again) and her hunkily funky sideburned brother Peter (Confessions of a Sexy Photographer star and ex-Gladiator - possibly - Wolf) who decide, after a wee bit of uncomfortable flirting, to see if the castle has a phone that they can use.

Upon opening the door Wanda, now wearing a harsh school ma'am bun and a centre parting that looks like it's been burnt into her skull thereby revealing even more of her frightening monkey mouth introduces herself as the castles 'housekeeper' and invites the siblings inside to meet the house-mates and enjoy a nice bit of tea and toast.

Yum.

However, behind the smile (well grimace) Wanda is worried as to the real reason that a doctor of spookiness has turned up at the castle at the moment she's about to put her lesbian resurrection plan into operation and during supper she subtly asks Julia if she's just on holiday or if she's visiting because she think there's a bit of kinky vampirism afoot?

Julia, scoffing another Mini-Roll responds (rather enigmatically) by saying “I'm here to study the superstitious beliefs of the villagers.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow before deciding that Julia actually isn't too bad looking and she might enjoy a wee bit of the Sapphic action too.

A sly wink from Wanda is all that's needed for the local lesbian vampire coven (remember the pre-credits?) to begin seducing the house guests via the medium of modern dance and vaguely rude sounding German phrases.

The competition for Ms. Pikey 1977 was hotting up.

As the disco seduction continues the guests all become much sweatier and much more husky which, in turn means Wanda's powers of persuasion become stronger.

But not strong enough to seduce Julia.

Tho' she has started to rub her brothers inner thigh whilst licking her lips, which is nice.

By this time our heroine has begun to notice something is amiss (the fact that everyone else has begun mounting candlesticks and anything remotely cock shaped has probably given her cause for concern too) and takes the precaution of hanging a huge necklace of garlic around her brothers big thick neck before taking to stalking the castle grounds waving a crucifix around like some harsh faced middle-aged Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

On crack.

"It doesn't matter how hard I turn
the dial I can't get Radio One!"

So will Julia be able to resist her brother's yummy manliness?

Will Wanda's plan succeed?

Will the all girl vampire dance troupe decide to enter Britain's Got Talent?

And most importantly will Monika fix her make-up?

From the mind of 60's sex-ploitation legend Joseph Sarno, The Devil's Plaything takes the vampire genre by the scruff of it's neck whilst tugging hard on it's genitalia to produce a warm and sticky mix of sex, horror, more sex and dancing.

The more appropriate title of Vampire Ecstasy suits the movie's tone better tho' given the distinct lack of neck biting on show, replacing as it does the usual vampire bloodlust with an ability to control their victims minds via the power of pure sexual arousal.

Which shouldn't come as any real surprise seeing as the movie is really just one big lesbian porn film masquerading as a horror flick so as to not embarrass the producers parents.

This doesn't mean that the film isn't enjoyable (and sometimes even for the reasons the makers intended), it's heady mix of (hopefully intentional) stilted dialogue, none too subtle phallic imagery and desperate attempt to appeal to both the art and porn crowd raising more giggles than erections.

Tho' scarily there are a group of chin stroking movie critiquing no-hopers that harp on about how similar (and in some ways much more successful) Joseph W. Sarno's masterpiece is when compared to the works of Ingmar Bergman.

It's true, I've met some of them.

And yes before you ask, none of them have girlfriends.

"Ooh Vic! I've fallen".

Sweaty, sleazy and a wee bit queasy, The Devil's Plaything comes across as a better made, (slightly) bigger budgeted version of any Jean Rollin movie you care to choose but populated by far less attractive actresses wearing the type of nightmarish Bri-Nylon fashions that even your Gran wouldn't be seen dead in.

Damning with faint praise?

Well it is what I do best.

cinema's forgotten legends (part 14...probably).

She's the vacant eyed, button nosed 80's breasted blonde star of many a lo-fi Euro epic ranging from Jess (the sandwiches cost how much?) Franco's classic Cannibals to the Fulci masterpiece Conquest via the sauciness of Blue Island.

Ladies and gentlemen (but mainly gentlemen) I give you...

Sabrina Siani

Usually either naked or at the very least in a pair of tiny pants, the actress whom Jess Franco once referred to as "the stupidest person I've ever met" began life as plain old Sabrina Seggiani in the backstreets of Rome in 1963, child to a pair of performing circus midgets.

After spending her childhood living in the mountains and attacking travelers for food and clothes she was discovered at the age of 16 by ace director Alfonso Brescia when he caught her rifling thru' his bins one stormy night. Immediately he cast her as Maria in his Mafia vs. shopkeeper epic Napoli... la camorra sfida, la città risponde (no I have no idea what it means either).

And the rest, as 'they' say is history.

Phwoar.

It wasn't long before she was setting the screen alight (oh, hang on that was the audience) as the arse baring teen cannibal cutie in the fantastic (well, I say fantastic but I really mean barely watchable) Mondo Cannibale and finding new ways to look slightly bored whilst stripping naked in a load of instantly forgettable Italian sex comedies.
Whilst other, lesser thesps would be happy to continue showing their breasts to wee bald Italian men for cash, Sabrina knew that there was more to her talents, if only a director would give her the chance to prove it.
That chance came sooner than she thought when professional liar and all round thin man Umberto Lenzi cast her as a scantily clad female Tarzan in his 1982 movie Incontro Nell'Ultimo Paradiso.
From that point there was no stopping Siani in her plan for cinematic domination as she wowed audiences with her chameleon like ability to play everything from a scantily clad sword-swinging siren in Joe D'Amato's Ator the Fighting Eagle to an even more scantily clad wicked witch in Fulci's sword and small pants epic Conquest.

Will this nipple sneak past Mr. Photobucket?

Naked save for a market stall g-string and a drugged python and with her face hidden beneath a joke shop robot mask, Siani comes into her own as the evil leader of a gang of marauding dog men with a penchant for snorting their vanquished victims brains thru' bendy straws and unconvincingly snapping nude women in half.

A pair of tiny pants of the type worn by Siani.

Probably.

It says a lot for Siani's convincing portrayal of evil that at the films climax when her mask opens to reveal a rotting, putrid corpse face that the majority of the audience still would.
Twice if the truth be told.

Siani: sucking a lemon.

Siani's finest hour however was when she appeared as the Golden Goddess in Michele Massimo Taranti's arse numbingly serious sub - Conan cash in Sword of the Barbarians.
Her entrance in the movie, emerging mysteriously from a fountain of party poppers and glitter whilst wearing only a plastic crown and bejeweled thong slowly making her way towards bearded beefcake Pietro Torrisi for a spot of hot barbarian bonking makes the proceeding carcrash of badly staged swordplay and stilted dialogue all worthwhile.

After a couple of soft core/hard gore sleaze epics, Siani reunited with D'Amato (and her Mondo Cannibale dad Al Cliver) for the futuristic actioner 2020: Texas Gladiators before hiting the high brow groove as Berthilde in Dino Risi's medieval romp Le bon roi Dagobert, a surprisingly funny (and realistic) portrayal of the life of Good King Dagobert, the first French king to be buried in the royal tombs at Saint Denis Basilica (see? this blog is educational too).
Then after appearing (nude of course) with Fred 'The Hammer' Williamson in the no-brainer Black Cobra she vanished leaving behind only a tiny diamante thong and a blink and miss it cameo in Fulci's Aenigma.

Neither seen nor heard from since, we hope that wherever she is now she's happy (and not having to wear the shite facepaint she did in Mondo Cannibales).