ice to see you, to see you...ice!

Still feeling the cold after my weekend 'trading' at Horror Con so thought I'd stick with the snow-based scares.

You're welcome.

Snow Beast (2011)

Dir: Brian Brough (not Clough).

Cast: John Schneider, Jason London (who appears to feature on this blog more times than is healthy), Danielle Chuchran, Paul D. Hunt and Kari Hawker.

"Back to bed everyone!"

Sexy wildlife researcher cum single dad Jim Harwood (Dukes of Hazzard star and Superman's dad Schneider) is looking forward to his yearly trip to Canada (yes you can son) where he and his erstwhile colleges spend a month studying the rather splendid Canadian Lynx.

Unfortunately this year he has to drag his wayward teenage daughter, Emmy (fright haired Chuchran, best known for playing Thing 1 in The Cat In The Hat) along seeing as she's been suspended from school for dyeing a wee bit of her hair purple, fighting and tossing off the male teachers for pennies.

OK I lied about the last bit but she does look the type.

Anyway, arriving on site Jim is greeted not only by his fellow researchers Rob (Hunt from, um loads of other stuff directed by Brian Brough) and Marci (Hawker from all the same stuff as Hunt) but  the news that there are absolutely no Lynx's anywhere to be found in the whole area.

Which is fairly odd I'm guessing.

Being the geeky tech' guy, Rob reckons that they've all become camera shy whilst Marci just stands around wistfully sighing every time Jim wanders by.

Jim reckons the best thing to do is to wait till morning then go outside and maybe have a look for them.

Obviously no-one else has thought of this (you can see why Jim's in charge) so our merry band excitedly settle down to dinner whilst making a note of things they'll need the next day.

You know the type of stuff; shoes, a hat, trousers etc.

All except Emmy that is, who's too busy embarrassing Rob by flirting with him and wiggling her (admittedly peachy for a schoolie) arse at the camera.

It's gonna be a long four weeks.

Emmy: Arse of a strip queen, hair of a scarecrow and a mooth made for shite-in. perfect.

Meanwhile back on the tourist packed slopes a number of vacationers have been mysteriously vanishing in a daze of CGI blood and growling. Ginger lard arsed forestry bloke Gibbons (Thomas looking like Harry Knowles slightly less attractive - and far less kickable - brother) reckons they've all just run away without telling anyone but the rugged newbie Ranger Barry (B-Movie monster battling beefcake London) is convinced that someone or something - oh go on then someone in a badly dyed monkey suit - is making short work of a motley collection of snowboarders and overweight extras pretending to be ultra-fit skiers.

And he intends to crack the case with or without his partners help.

Which is lucky seeing as his sweet sodden sidekick is more interested in cases of cakes than anything else.

"Put it in me!"

Back at the research house and everyone is tucked up in bed, unfortunately our gang are being kept awake by a (fairly) monstrous growling noise coming from outside.

Wide awake and shivering with a mix of fright and mild apathy our merry band nervously approach the window to hopefully get a wee look at what could possibly be making such a noise outside.

Coming from Glasgow I automatically assumed that it was either a tramp or a drunken couple of copulating Neds.

"We're ootside ya windae rapin' yer bin!"

 As Jim (being the headline star) lowly moves his trembling hand toward the curtain the noises suddenly stop.

Without a moment’s hesitation and in the most nonchalant manner ever, he announces “Back to bed, everyone.”

And guess what?

Surprisingly everyone does as they're told.

Unfortunately the next morning a mixture of lack of sleep and Emmy's harsh face is causing tempers to fray, poor Rob is sweatingly concerned about his cameras and there's a wee bit of sexual tension in the air between Jim and Marci.

Just imagine Coronation Street with an added big monster.

And snow obviously.

Anyway it's in this very snow in fact that Rob, whilst fixing one of his aforementioned cameras manages to fall into a big hole containing huge piles of bloody bones and half a snowboarder much to Jim's amusement.

And if that wasn't enough Emmy (in between griping and frowning) has noticed a big white - well more a kinda yellowy piss stained - monkey jogging merrily along towards our studly duo.

Monsta!

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Escaping in the nick of time - and on a snowmobile - Jim and Rob are now pretty certain that the beast is the reason for the disappearance of all the Lynx in the area.

and it's probably why there are no actors of quality left in the local vicinity  either.

As our merry quintet decide what to do next - Jim, Elly and Rob want to go home, Marci wants to go out and make friends with the beast - Ranger Barry has decided to head out into the snow to see if he can uncover any evidence of foul play or big monsters.

but as all this inane chat and navel gazing continues the dreaded snow beast is still on the loose.

And hungry for fresh meat.

Unfortunately for certain members of the cast tho' he'll settle for cardboard.

Not to be confused with the 1977 made for teevee Yvette Mimieux starrer Snowbeast, this 2011 re-imaging is quite possibly the most terrifying Sasquatch based horror movie starring an ex-Duke of Hazzard that you will see.

With it's tiny cast, minimal settings and comfortably cliched script from Brittany (Scents and Sensibility, Christmas Angel) Wiscombe, Snow Beast throws convention to the wind by proudly displaying it's (frankly magnificent) monster suit at every given opportunity, whether it's stumbling menacingly around the trees like a drunk trying to find it's way home or camply springing out from behind bushes bearing it's tanned man tits whilst roaring, the creature is a sight to behold and probably the first time I've seen a director embrace the man in a monster suit in such a non-apologetic way since the John Guillermin remake of King Kong.

And the film is all the better for it, playing out like a classic monster B-movie of yesteryear, no nudity, no swearing and minimal blood-letting, just a very tall man in a fur coat and knock off Wampa mask.

What's not to love?

A piece of cinematic genius yesterday.

Honestly, every single second the Snow Beast is on the screen is another moment of happiness made possible by knowing that somewhere out in the big bad world there are still people intent on making little movies featuring faceless stuntmen dressed up as huge furry monsters.

And I for one salute them.

An essential viewing experience and most likely the best film called Snow Beast ever released.

rowdy mole.

Ended up watching this as someone emailed to say that there's not enough John Agar on this blog.

Fair enough.

The Mole People (1956).
Dir: Virgil W. Vogel.
Cast:  John Agar, Cynthia Patrick, Hugh Beaumont, Alan Napier, Nestor Paiva, Phil Chambers, Rodd Redwing, Robin Hughes and Dr Frank Baxter.

"Archeologists are the underpaid publicity agents for deceased royalty."

Let's be honest, any film that opens with a video essay from the late, great American TV personality, educator and former professor of English at the University of Southern California Dr. Frank Baxter, has to be worth a look.

As regular readers (just regular readers in general, not of this blog obviously) will already know, Baxter was famous for his appearances as "Dr. Research" in the Bell System Science Series of television specials that ran from 1956–1962 becoming a staple of American classrooms right thru' to the 80s.

Which kinda explains a lot if you think about it.

With Baxter acting as a genial and affable host, the specials combined scientific footage, live action and animation to explain complicated concepts (like space travel, radiation and why you shouldn't elected tangerines to the office of President) in a lively, entertaining and simple way and to thousands of Americans young and old these programmes became the 'go to' for all science minded folk, making a star of its trusted host.

So when Baxter rocks up in the prologue to the film chatting about various hollow Earth myths and theories you have to sit up and listen, for what follows must be true.

And so must the film we're about to see.

Spooky.

Patrick Stewart shooting hoops with one of Mark Shannon's genital warts yesterday.

After what seems like hours of flipcharts and children's drawings we're into the movie good and proper with a title card that informs us that we're in Asia, although to be honest it looks like Egypt from the stock footage tho' the painted backdrops features snow covered mountains so we could actually be anywhere.

I'm going for South Wales.

Anyway, geography aside it's time to meet our heroes for the next 70 odd minutes and they are the dashing  Dr. Wes Bentley (Rhythm Ace and former Mr Shirley Temple, Agar) and the slightly less dashing  Dr. Paul Stuart (Chambers) who are busily digging up bits of stone whilst attempting to look intelligent.

And interested.

Suddenly one of the local workers appears with a stone tablet which Stuart noticesis engraved in a language "not of these parts".

Bentley excitedly grabs the ancient artifact and, after blowing the dust away (which makes a change from blowing his agent for roles) announces that the text is Sumerian and tells the tale of a city that disappeared from the face from the Earth.

And with that the camera starts to shake whilst the actors pretend to be slightly concerned as the stone tablet falls to the ground and smashes into pieces.

Bloody hell how exciting is this?

"Is it in yet?"

As a new day breaks (fuck they're clumsy) Bentley and Stuart decide a conference is in order so invite Doctors Jud Bellamin (Beaumont) and Geordi Lafarge (Paiva) over for beer, crisps and a quick chat regarding the broken tabley before rounding the day off with a quick game of soggy biscuit.

LaFarge, as ever, wins.

As they're cleaning up a wee native boy approaches them carrying a bit of market tat cunningly disguised as an ancient artifact whilst motioning toward a crudely painted mountain.
"The mountain was the epicenter of the earthquake!" exclaims Dr. Stuart and with that our fabulous foursome decide to go and explore it.

Cue endless stock footage of snow-covered mountain climbing which I'm pretty sure is exactly the same as the stuff used in The Abominable Snowman.

No really, I'm gonna cut it all together and upload it so you can see for yourselves.

Probably.

After what seems like days of scratchy out of focus snow trudging our merry band finally arrive at the ruins of a Sumerian temple, cunningly disguised a an old set left over from a local pantomime, where Bentley is excited (some would say too excited) to find an old shop window dummy head lying in a pile of polystyrene snow.

"It's the goddess Ishtar!" he exclaims!

And as he does poor Dr. Stuart steps on a cracked bit of concrete and falls thru' a hole into a deep, dark chasm.

Obviously he has the team wallet as Bentley a co. decide to climb after him, giving the viewer the exciting prospect of watching the cast carefully tie ropes, hammer hooks into walls and slide down a spooky shaft all very, very slowly.

Seriously the scene seems to go on for days, the only relief being a long lingering shot of Hugh Beaumont gently easing a rope between his thighs.

One tearful wank and cold shower later and the group are finally at the bottom - tho' not rock bottom, not yet - and crouched over Stuart's corpse, riffling thru' his pockets for photos of his wife in the nude.

The sheer excitement of seeing something so hot raises the temperature in the cave causing the shaft to collapse leaving Bentley, Bellamin and Lafarge no other choice but to press on ever deeper into the dark tunnel ahead.

But as they do a sinister pair of clawed hands appear in the dirt behind them.

That's your Nan that is.

After much walking and waving a torch around he tunnel eventually opens into an underground cavern housing an entire city.

Or at least a painted approximation of one.

Which would probably be OK if the matte artist in question hadn't decided to illustrate the whole thing in really thick Sharpie.

You drew this.

Deciding that they've had enough adventuring for one day the tired time team lie down on the cavern floor to get some sleep.

As you do.

As the trio snore and fart away their troubles a group of the mysterious Mole People (I'm assuming) begins to dig their way up from the under the ground, popping canvas sacks over the shocked archeologists’ heads and dragging them kicking and screaming underground.

Tho' seeing as they're already underground surely that should be underground the underground?

Or more undergrounder?

John Agar is coming for tea? Aaah Lovely!

Waking in a makeshift dungeon resplendent with creepy cobwebs and hanging Halloween style skeleton decorations, Bentley, Bellamin and Lafarge sit around twiddling their thumbs and spouty psuedo-science bollocks till a wall opens and they're motioned to walk forward by a couple of visibly embarrassed extras covered in greasepaint and decked out in children's nativity costumes carrying plastic swords.

Sorry, I meant to type they're motioned to walk forward by a couple of scary  Sumerian warriors.

My bad.

The archeologists are escorted to an ancient - is there any other kind? -  Sumerian temple where a mysterious ceremony, which seems to involve Elinu, the high priest (Alfred the butler himself, Napier looking visibly embarrassed even under a 6 inch layer of white face) shaking a giant cardboard Star Trek badge at a group of 'sexy' dancers, is taking place.

It appears that this is the dance of Ishtar.

Fair enough.

Concluding the ceremony Elinu approaches King Rollo (you can tell he's the king because he appears to be wearing a cardboard hedgehog on his head) and announces that there are 'intruders among them!"

Tho' to be honest from the look of them I'd be less worried about intruders and more concerned about latent arse banditry.

The fucking state of this.

Eyeing them up (and down) with a suspicious gaze the King stands erect and regal before pronouncing that the archeologists are to be put to death via the "Fire of Ishtar" so Bentley and Bellamin, not waiting to wait to find out what this entails,  punches the guards and steals their swords before fleeing into a convenient tunnel with resident oldster Lafarge lagging behind.

As the guards draw ever closer the poor old guy falls to the ground calling on his buddies for help and when Bentley hears Lafarge’s calls he spins around, shinig his flashlight into the faces of their pursuers which not only temporarily blinds them but scares them into submission as they shout about Ishtar's light.

Bizarrely tho' the torch isn't actually as bright as the  lights in the city they live in.

Maybe it's actually circles that they're scared of.

Or it might just be shit film-making.

Who knows?

Leaving Lafarge leaning against a cardboard wall (he's tired the poor lamb), Bentley and Bellamin continue to explore the cave eventually reaching the slave quarters where the skirted Sumarian guards spend their days whipping the poor Mole People for some reason or another.

Realizing that nothing exciting has happened for a few minutes one of the mole folk attacks the archeologists and attacks them, alerting the Sumarian guards to their presence.

Cue more pointless running around in the dark till  Lafarge is killed by one of the beasts due to the torch jamming.

No really.

The surviving pair just shrug their shoulders and move on.

Confession time: This scene gave me strange feelings in my tummy as a child.

As the pair continue into the cave system who should pop out from behind a wall but the high priest, it seems that the king has changed his mind about the strangers and wants to invite them around for tea to say sorry.

Sounds legit.

All that hot torch action has convinced the king that the archeologists are actually holy messengers rather than B-movie actors trying to earn a buck and to this end he's organised a party for them that includes fizzy pop, music and scantily clad maidens serving paper plates full of mushrooms.

Standing out from the sexy slaves tho' is the wistful Adele (Patrick strangely credited as Adad in the titles) who is constantly beaten and abuse because unlike everyone else she has normal skin colour and blonde hair.

Obviously she will become Bentley love interest for the remainder of the film.

Meanwhile, whilst all this scoffin' 'n' romancin' is going down the high priest is busily plotting behind the scenes to overthrow the king.

It's almost like that after so many boring scenes of endless cave wanderings and climbing that the writer has decided that what the film needs is an actual plot.

Unfortunately rather than anything remotely involving action this involves lots of forgettable characters in silly hats sitting around talking about stuff.

Case in point as to achieve control of the city the priest sits on a garden chair and slowly orders his co-conspirators to steal Bentley's torch.

The king however has other ideas and demands that Bentley and Bellamin use the magic fire to control the mole people and stop their plans to take over the city.

Bentley however is more interested in Adele and her skills at playing the banjo.

No really.

They look how I feel.

Anyway, more stuff happens, a few mole people get whipped and Bentley continues to gaze wistfully at Adele whilst all the time him and Bellamin are fed mushrooms by sexy albino chicks like the gods they've been mistaken for.

But the film is almost over so it's time to ramp up the action.

Or at least have the priest come across (who are we to judge? it might be a religious thing) LaFarge's corpse proving that our heroes are just mere mortals and deserve to die.

But first there's just time for a fucking terribly choreographed dance routine to accompany three 'sexy' maidens who, one by one disrobe and enter the sunlit room thru' a huge cardboard door and into Ishtar's Flame.
Yup that's right, the high priest is effectively threatening our heroes with death by sunroof.

I mean what if it's raining?

Or cloudy?

Or nighttime?

What your Mum, Nan and Auntie Jean get up to when they say they're at bingo.

Well the guards - after a few minutes waiting - go and retrieve the now burnt remains so their must be a scientific reason for it working.

Oh that's right, Bentley explains that because they've lived underground sunlight is deadly to them.

Well that's OK then.


Anyway some more stuff happens* that leads to Bentley and co. starting a mole man revolution that culminates in the titular beasts attacking the city.

Having stolen the torch the king waves it frantically at the mole men but the batteries are dead which allows the beasts to murder everyone in cold blood, opening the doors to fry the survivors in the blazing sunlight.

Which isn't at all extreme.

Luckily Adele - being a freak with normal skin - is immune to the sun and survives.

With the palace littered in corpses and drenched in blood Bentley, Bellamin and Adele leave the city via Ishtar's flame and climb up the rock face to freedom.

Your sister's wedding night.

"It’s warm…and beautiful," Adele exclaims as she limbs out of the hole and onto the studio set.

Bentley gazes at her lustfully and laughs.

For those of you who think they know how films of this ilk end the makers of The Mole People have an ace up their sleeve.

Or more accurately no idea what constitutes a satisfying ending because 
suddenly as the trio start their journey down the mountin to home an earthquake rocks the mountain causing  Adele to be crushed by a falling stone pillar.
No, really.

Amazingly for a film with such a short running time The Mole People seems to go on forever. 'Directed' (and I use that term in it's loosest possible sense) by Virgil Vogel - the man behind such classics as Space Invasion of Lapland and The Kettles on Old MacDonald's Farm - and 'starring' lug-headed 50s sci-fi icon (as in he was cheap) John (Zontar the Thing from Venus, Attack of the Puppet People, The Brain from Planet Arous, Women of the Prehistoric Planet - top quality one and all) Agar, The Mole People is the cinematic equivalent of a really unsatisfying toilet trip, you know what I mean - you settle down, trousers round your ankles with a good book ready to let slip the (poo) dogs of war and then nothing.

Just painful pushing and grunting followed by a wet fart (if your lucky) 25 minutes later and culminating in a streaky stain on the bowl glistening sadly in the harsh light of the naked bulb.

Just me then?

See that? That's  your film that is.

Ploddingly paced, stiffly acted (if you can call it acted) and as engaging as watching someone nail bent nails into an old piece of wood - which if anything would be a better use of it's cast - The Mole People is so inexcusably horrendous that its only redeeming feature and the only interesting thing about it is the fact that footage from it was reused in a film ever more shite than this one, Jerry Warren's 1966 shitfest The Wild World of Batwoman.

A film so arse-numbingly bad that it even managed to steal the non-sexy bits from a Swedish porn film.**

Avoid.

Unless you have trouble sleeping that is.

Not even with your Dad's.

*All of which is frankly way too boring to even consider typing, tho' it does involve poisoned mushrooms, beast beating and (even) more vaguely erotic dancing whilst John Agar looks on with that smug, punchable expression on his face.

Agar: Punchable.

**In certain establishing shots there's a sign reading "Livsmedel", the Swedish word for grocery store.

naschy birthday!

Seeing as it's the late, great Paul Naschy's birthday today I thought I'd revisit an article I wrote for the late lamented Multitude of Movies magazine way back in 2015 which itself was based on (bits of) a review of the classic Curse of the Devil (AKA Return of the Werewolf, El Retorno de Walpurgis) for The yearly Paul Naschy Blogathon that used to run over at the frankly fantastic Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies site.


Plus it's worth a look just to see how much childish shite I have to cut out of stuff when I submit it for 'proper' publication.

Enjoy.

 And happy birthday Mr Naschy!

Back in the days before t'internet (and, gulp even video) the only way you could find out about new (ok let's be honest here, any) horror movies was from local library books (usually written by Leslie Halliwell, a writer whose own ideas of good horror once noted that Night of The Living Dead had killed the genre and nothing of any worth had been made since) or one of the very few genre magazines available (stand up and be counted House of Hammer and on the rare occasions it got imported to a wee newsagent nearby Famous Monsters).

As a precocious seven year old force fed a Saturday night teevee double bill of Universal and RKO classics these greats of film literature were a godsend to me and I would spent all my spare time pouring over grainy black and white shots of Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. as the tragic Lawrence Talbot.

I'll never forget though (I have a good memory) that one particular issue had a photo of the Wolfman I'd never seen before, true it was labeled 'the Werewolf' and although the accompanying picture of a fraught young man had a hint of Chaney about him his name wasn't Talbot. It was Daninsky. Like any curious kid of that age I examined the picture for a few minutes before completely forgetting about it and turning the page to reread an article on what looked like the greatest monster movie ever.

Ah Crater Lake Monster where are you now?*

The love of horror stayed with me (as did the love of Universal) and thanks to magazines like Starburst information became easier to find, the Saturday night double bills sometimes featured the films of Eddie Romero alongside the old faithfuls and movies like Dawn of The Dead and Phantasm had fueled my geek gene, forcing me to learn more about the directors and their influences. As a teenager you can probably tell I was never asked out on dates.

Ever.

The strange sad faced man with the foreign name seemed to have disappeared without a trace though and whilst Coffin Joe was being photographed with Christopher Lee at swanky Parisian horror conventions it would take a controversial censorship bill of epic proportions to bring the legendary Paul Naschy to the attentions of young horror fans in dear old blighty.

Yup, I hate to admit it but it's thanks to the 1984 'video nasty' furore and the inadvertent banning of Naschy's 1975 monster mash The Werewolf and The Yeti that finally introduced me to the great man's work. And oh boy did I hate it.

Bizarrely enough, of all the films I devoured at the time this is one of those that I have only the vaguest recollections of; something about the infamous Abominable Snowman playing the bagpipes during a fight scene and being sent out of the room to get biscuits when Naschy got involved in a wee bit of threeway action comes to mind.

But the most upsetting thing about it, and I'll admit this stayed with me for years, wasn't the gore or the sex (or even the lack of decent biscuits at my nan's), it was because this young upstart seemed to be taking all the ideas, the drama and heartache (plus the dissolve effects) of my beloved Universal movies and trying to make them his own.

How very dare he.

So being the sensible and knowledgeable film connoisseur that I was (you know, the way you can only be when you're 14) there was only one thing I could do.

Yup, I laughed loudly at the screen and flounce back to my 'serious' horror movies, tutting audibly at anyone who even mentioned that film. Looking back I find myself dying a wee bit inside at the thought of being such a know all little brat, so caught up in my own (movie-based) importance that I totally failed to see the irony in the situation.

The whole fact that they reminded me of the Universal series was that Naschy was a fan too. It's just that he knew how to have fun with his 'fannishness'.


But who was this Paul Naschy fella and why is he so revered in the world of horror cinema?

Well herein lies a tale worthy of a movie itself.

Born Jacinto Molina Álvarez in Madrid, Spain on September 6, 1934 into a fairly well-to-do family - his father Enrique was a highly regarded furrier (as in he worked with fur not that he dressed up as a rabbit and attended conventions) – Naschy's first love was surprisingly, not cinema but weightlifting, a profession he actually pursued upon leaving college.

As he entered his 20's Naschy's career took a number of more and more eclectic turns, moving as he did between writing pulp western novels, illustrating comics, weightlifting and acting, his first on screen appearance being as a Mongol warlord in Luis Lucia's El Príncipe Encadenado in 1960.

No me neither.

More and more (albeit small) roles followed – including an uncredited appearance in the Jesus-tastic King Of Kings (1961) and as his understanding of the film making process grew so did his appreciation for cinema in general but it was a chance encounter in 1966 with horror legend Boris Karloff whilst appearing in an episode of the Bill Cosby starrer I Spy that set Naschy on the road that would finally lead him to success.

Reminiscing with the actor about his time at Universal, Naschy admitted his love for the character of The Wolf Man, a fascination that dated back to his viewing of Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943) as a child.

Whatever Karloff said to him isn't on record but we can assume he didn't tell him to piss off and have him thrown off set, otherwise I reckon his career would have taken a more bizarre turn and you'd be sitting here reading about an actor who portrayed a nasty aging Thespian in a series of increasingly demented revenge flicks set in the twilight world of episodic TV.

Actually there may be a book in that.

Naschy spent the next few years working on his first screenplay and in 1968 La Marca Del Hombre Lobo hit the big screen, introducing the world to the tragic tale of the doomed lycanthrope Waldemar Daninsky, a character – or descendants of – that Naschy would go on to play 12 times between 1968 and 2004's direct to video Tomb Of The Werewolf.

Bizarrely though he never actually intended to play Daninsky, only stepping up to the role after original choice Lon Chaney Jr. proved too ill to travel and a suitable candidate couldn't be found.

And from such accidental beginnings a horror legend was born.

But portraying one iconic character was obviously not enough for Naschy who, as his career grew went on to give us his unique takes on several classic screen monsters including Count Dracula and Mr. Hyde, alongside assorted mummies and demons as well as a host of vile villains and black-hearted bad guys in a career that spanned over 100 movies and 4 decades.

Frequently writing the scripts for the movies he appeared in, he added directing to his list of not too inconsiderable talents with the 1976 Devil worshipping delight Inquisition (in which he also starred and wrote) and later, when the horror genre fell from favour within the Spanish film industry, Naschy became a producer, at one point bizarrely enough making documentaries for Japanese television resulting in a slew of Spanish-Japanese co-productions, including the frankly fantastic (if not slightly bonkers) La Bestia Y La Espada Majica (1983).

If you don't believe me then you try and name another film that features a werewolf taking on a (real) tiger as well as assorted Ninjas and a sub-plot featuring a magic monster slaying sword.

In 1984 Naschy faced a crisis in both his career and personal life, firstly with the death of his father – with whom he'd always had a close relationship and latterly when his production company, Aconito Films, filed for bankruptcy – partly due to the aforementioned lack of interest in horror movies but mainly due to the total commercial failure of the ahead of its time spy spoof Operacion Mantis.

Imagine a Spanish Austin Powers by way of The Naked Gun channelling Benny Hill via 70's Burt Reynolds and you're halfway there.

Things got worse for Naschy in 1991 when he too suffered a heart attack during a weightlifting session at his local gym, forcing the once seemingly indestructible star to take stock of his life leading to the publication in 1997 of an incredibly honest and deeply touching autobiography, Memorias De Un Hombre Loco.

As the new millennium dawned though so did a new found respect and interest in the masters work when in 2000 noted American horror magazine Fangoria inducted Naschy into its Horror Hall of Fame, thanks in part to his many – worldwide - fans championing his cause but his highest accolade was to follow when, in 2001 King Juan Carlos I presented Naschy with The Gold Medal Award for Fine Arts (the Spanish equivalent of a knighthood).

Paul Naschy passed away from cancer on 30th November 2009, still working away on new and more terrifying horror projects until his death, the lonely lycanthrope had finally come home to the love and affection he truly deserved.

Daninsky and his creator resting among the likes of Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. as true greats of horror and set to thrill and terrify fans of the fantastic of all ages for years to come.










































*Scarily enough it took 40 years but I did finally get to see The Crater Lake Monster.

dave alien at large.

Shocking Dark (AKA Terminator II, Aliens 2, Aliennators, Contaminator. 1989).
Dir: Bruno Mattei.
Cast: Cristopher Ahrens, Al McFarland, Haven Tyler, Geretta Giancarlo Field, Tony Lombardi, Mark Steinborn, Dominica Coulson, Clive Ricke, Paul Norman Allen, Cortland Reilly, Richard Ross, Bruce McFarland and
Al McFarland.

"It's not alive until it finds something to live in... something to reprogram on the basis of its own genetic program — a chromosome databank."

The place: The late 70s clad fashion hell that can only be someone's scratchy home movies from a family holiday to Venice, hastily edited and with a morose voice-over quickly added in order to make the film that is to follow look at least a little bit expensive than it really is.

Or that a bit of thought went into it.

As a variety of overweight plaid-clad tourist feed the pigeons the aforementioned voice-over informs us that due to it's polluted algae filled waters and toxic badness polluting the air that the city is doomed.

And as if to prove this the image cuts to a group of men in bootleg Power Rangers suits, BMX helmets and gas masks guarding a homemade sign that reads:

 "VENICE OFF LIMITS"

Hastily drawn in Sharpie and placed on the edge of the duck pond in the directors local park.

Job done.

As the credits play out over even more stock footage - this time of bombed out and derelict buildings, well it's either that or footage of the poshest housing estate in West Bromwich - we're suddenly transported to the local electricity board power station where the stoic Colonel Barry Exposition (McFarland in his only screen appearance) is busy watching an important video transmission from the deserted (sort of) city featuring three blokes in muck encrusted Kwik-Fit overalls running down a corridor and screaming.

Which is nice.

To add to this already exciting scene the group split up with two of them being overcome by a vaguely threatening shadow obscured by some smoke whilst the other - a man named Towers (like that's important. I really only mentioned it to prove I was paying attention)  shits himself when yet another guy pops out from behind a pipe and gently taps him on the shoulder.

Luckily he recognises the newcomer as assistant researcher Charlie Drake (actor and composer Ricke, best known for Rome - as in the TV show not shagging your mum when she was on holiday there) whom it seems is an old friend.

Unfortunately Drake appears to be completely insane  and suddenly strangles poor Towers whilst guffawing like a mentalist of the kind only found in - badly - dubbed Eurohorror.

You know the drill.

Shocked by the appalling lack of any discernible talent on show Colonel Exposition calls a staff meeting in what looks like the local school IT room to discuss the situation with the hunky military type - wait for it - Captain Dalton Bond (Steinborn) and a slightly less hunky science type named Sara (ex-Aerosmith frontman Tyler probably) in the hope of finding out what the fuck is going on.

Shifting uncomfortably on the child-sized seats our amazing trio sit in stunned silence as the tape plays out.

It seems that one Professor Ralph Raphelson (another McFarland, probably the dad of the other guy) whilst working on a top secret project to restore Venice to its former glory has inadvertently created a device that can turn people into monsters.

Monsters with massive paper mache heads.

As you do.

His assistant, the aforementioned Drake, upon discovering this went mad and decided that he alone could communicate with the creatures.

And on that bombshell the tape ends.

"Sorry Miss, the dog ate my homework!"

After sharing a few knowing - and vaguely erotic - looks with each other Colonel Exposition orders Bond and Sara to head to Venice to rescue any survivors and to retrieve Raphelson's diary - as opposed to his lab notes, am I being picky?), to this end they'll be accompanied on their mission by the mysterious Samuel Fuller (not the director unfortunately but some guy called Ahrens) from the rather quite radical sounding Tubular Corporation who I assume from the name - and from Fuller's Sun-In style locks are a surfing company.

So far so Aliens.

All we need now is a squad of gung-ho hard-bitten marines.

Unfortunately the budget can't spread to this so instead we get a handful of non-actors in market stall shellsuits.

And a few kiddies skateboarding helmets with masking tape stuck on them.

Oh yes and the fabulous friend of The Arena Geretta Giancarlo Field (AKA Geretta Geretta) carrying a big gun so it's not all bad.

Koster (for that is she) is joined in this elite fighting team - dubbed 'The Megaforce' (tho' not this one) - by the cleanliness obsessed Kowalsky (Allen from What Would Jesus Buy?), ponytailed pretty boy Caine (Reilly - Ace of Spies) and the slick-quiffed Franzini (Lombardi who actually went on to have a career appearing in such quality fayre as Heaven - but not the gay nitespot - Blue Tornado and Vita di Antonio Gramsci) as well as a few other folk I can't be arsed listing who all excitedly polish their weapons whilst chatting about the mysterious 'Operation Delta Venice'* that they're about to embark on.

So without further ado it's off into the tunnels below Venice (played here by an underground car park just outside Rome) where literally within seconds everything goes to pot.

You see deranged Drake has found a machine gun and is currently firing it in the general direction of our crack squad of soldiers whilst shouting random shite like "I CAN SEE YOU......I KILL YOU NOW!" at whoever is listening.

Which unfortunately is the viewer.

Luckily Bond stays cool under pressure - well it's either that or he just can't act - and orders Kowalsky and some other guy (look if the director can't be arsed why should I?) to "Take him from behind!" which obviously leads to a bumsex joke and a classic bit of playground rolling before Drake is apprehended but as the team attempt to question him he starts to laugh maniacally before letting out a high pitched scream that leaves the squad holding their heads in agony and Drake enough time to escape with Private Stevie Soontodie as a hostage.

"He did WHAT in his cup?"

 Slowly recovering from the ear onslaught Bond counts the number of soldiers (twice) before realising that they're a man down so quickly sends everyone off to look for him giving the film a chance to copy the spooky motion tracker scene from Aliens only this time using a desk calculator and a pinging egg timer.

Being the only two cast members with any ounce of acting ability (well one of them does) it's Caine and Koster who finally find Stevie, who by this time is covered in what looks like dried whale spunk and glued to a wall alongside the remains of the base scientists.

Begging for death (most likely as he knows the film is utter guff rather than for any other reason) Koster can only look on in horror - well I say horror but it's actually mild indifference and slight annoyance - as a shoddily painted glove puppet bursts forth from Stevie's chest just like the one in Alien.

If Alien had been directed by a blind, hook-handed child that is.

To say the effect is underwhelming is an understatement.

It's just shit.

Luckily the film cuts to Koster and Caine reacting giving the crew just enough time to replace this affront to visual effects with something slightly less crap to wrap itself around Koster's neck.

Unfortunately it's still not good enough to look like anything except a stringy green scarf.

A stringy green scarf constructed from condoms.

Never mind tho' as Caine quickly shoots it and the pair run away.

 quick reaction-shot cutaway, a slightly more dignified prop wraps around Coster's neck, until Kane fires a few rounds into what was once his fellow-Marine.

Meanwhile the movies answer to The Chuckle Brothers, Franzini and Kowalsky have problems of their own seeing as they've rounded a corner and literally bumped into the shadowy monster from the films opening.

Being proper tough guys the pair start screaming and run  back to where Bond and Sarah are currently busying themselves hypnotically staring at the flashing light on their motion scanner.

It's almost as if they're standing about doing fuck all just waiting on their cue to start recycling even more of the dialogue from Aliens and this time it's the whole "The tracker's off scale, man. They're all around us, man. Jesus!" bit delivered so fantastically by the late great Bill Paxton only here it's spoken in the manner of a recently woken child who's only just discovered the power of speech.

As tensions rise - well as everyone stands around looking bored if I'm honest - Fuller suggests that they all beat a hasty retreat to the relative safety of Zone 14.

It's all just words isn't it?

Let's be honest, it's not even worth typing 'Laugh Now' on something this shit.

Arriving in/at Zone 14, Sara's calculator prop is soon pinging again and the group this time decide to follow the ping rather than running away which is quite lucky as it's not a big slimy monster they come across but a small disheveled girl named Newt.

Sorry I mean Samantha (Coulson in - again - her only film role tho' I think she didn't suffer too many after effects of being in this movie and now lives in Maine and enjoys drinking coffee if the interweb is correct**).

Five fingers - never touched the sides.

As you've guessed the entire Newt plot from Aliens will now play out in it's entirety.

Just with worse costumes.

Well worse everything if I'm honest.

Luckily for Fuller It just so happens that Zone 14 is actually where Raphelson's lab is located so he gets to work looking into kids microscopes and flicking thru flipcharts whilst Caine and Koster sneak off for a crafty fag.

It's almost as if he knows more than he's letting on.

Wanking himself silly at his discovery he announces that Raphelson had created an enzyme that has similar properties to DNA and the ability to reprogram on the basis of its own genetic level.

Or something.

As all this high-tech nonsense is going down, Caine and Koster are also getting a violent tossing - off a walkway by a beast that is.

Samantha - being about 12 - is old enough to realize that the whole thing is utter bollocks and is desperate to get the whole thing over and done with announces that her dad, Raphelson if you hadn't guessed - it's easy to tell as they both have odd shaped ears and a limp, suspected that the Tubular Corporation was experimenting with enzyme-DNA type stuff in order to take over the world or something which annoys Fuller no end.

Which makes me think who Raphelson (you know head of a project funded by Tubular) actually thought he was working for in the first place.

We have no time to think about that tho' as  the power suddenly goes out.

"They cut the power!" exclaims Sara.

"What do you mean, they cut the power? They're animals!" Answers Bond.

And that whirring noise in the background?

That's James Cameron spinning in his grave.

Yes I know he's not dead*** but he got so angry he actually dug one just to spin in.

And with that the group hurriedly make their way toward the Tubular Corporation headquarters in the building because as Samantha puts it "It is very safe".

Well I'm sold.

This gives us time to sit back and enjoy 10 minutes of various cast members shouting loudly whilst pretending to shoot homemade  fireworks at some poor sod in a big green rubber gimp suit growling as he waves his little thin arms around trying to pretend that there's more than one monster suit.

Tragic doesn't begin to cover it.

"It's CCCCCCCCCHHHHHHRRRRRRRIIIIIISSTTTTTTMMMMMMAAAASSSSSSSS!"

Saying that something exciting (sort of) does occur when one of the beasts attacks Fuller and slightly scratches his arm revealing not blood and bone but printed circuits and tin foil....Yup Fuller is a robot!

But there's no time to waste on that plot revelation as Sara is getting confused as to how doors work.

Sigh.

I'll admit now that by this point any goodwill I had for the film had evaporated so I sneaked off to get some crisps and by the time I returned Sara and Samantha seemed to be sitting in a leisure centre office watching a badly dubbed public information film with no signs of any monsters or any other members of the cast.

Checking it was still the same movie I sat down, began to weep and carried on in the hope that it had nearly finished.

Instead of an exciting pulse pounding climax tho' I re-entered the film to see a bleach-blonde Barbie doll in a hideous 80s power suit attempting to explain the films plot via a bunch of cue cards.

Unfortunately they appear to have been written in a language she couldn't understand seeing as what should have been a 3 minute scene descended into 9 minutes of uncomfortable pauses and mispronunciation where we discover that Tubular, although originally contracted to clean up the toxic environment in and around Venice actually planned to release the mutating virus thing into the city in order to turn everyone into monsters so that they could loot all its famous art and antiques.

No me neither.

Noticing that everyone now knows the companies evil plan Fuller goes into full Terminator mode (if the Terminator was a slightly fey guy with a home hi-lighting job) and proceeds to kill the remaining soldiers before activating the big 'DESTROY VENICE' device and shouting "You have 30 minutes to escape....if escape were possible! Ha! ha! ha!" before watching Sara and Sam run leisurely  up some stairs.

It's then he remembers that Samantha has the diary he was sent to retrieve so gives chase.

"Shoot me now!"

As the evil robot bloke gets ever nearer all looks lost until that is Sara rounds a corner and finds a time machine parked in a corridor.

A time machine with what looks like an old Major Morgan toy as a controller.

No, really.

Pressing all the buttons randomly the pair travel back in time as the whole of Venice explodes.

Surely this must be the end? both Samantha and Sara must be thinking as they stumble into a children's playpark.

I know I was.

But alas no, you see there was a second time machine hidden just behind the first one and it was set for the same point in time and space.

And Fuller found it.

Stepping out of his time machine he advances menacingly on our terrific - and toothsome - twosome, stopping only to throw a tramp off a bridge which gives Sara time to reprogramme the Major Morgan toy and toss it to him sending it and Fuller back from whence he came.

Which I assume is an exploding future Venice and not his mother's womb.

Regular readers will already know how much I love dear old (and dead) Bruno Mattei as well as writer Claudio Fragasso - I mean come on, between them they gave us the fantastic Zombie Creeping Flesh as well as the fur-tastic Rats so you can kinda forgive them most things.

Except this film that is.

For Shocking Dark is bad.

And not just bad, I mean arse-clenchingly, shite-curdlingly bad.

It's almost bad beyond words, taking everything you love about not just the film it copies but everything wonderful about 80s Italian cinema then proceeds to piss on it before sticking a rusty knife in its heart and finally setting fire to it creating a celluloid inferno from which no-one will survive unscathed.

Especially not the viewer.

Insert amusing caption here.

Unlike most (all?) Italian - and sometimes Spanish - 'homages' - OK rip-offs - of major Hollywood films and themes that were commonplace during the 80s Shocking Dark lacks that sense of fun that everything else from the aforementioned Zombie Creeping Flesh to Panic via the Alien-baiting Contamination with the entire film played so straight as to become deadly dull, you can't even snigger at the lo-fi effects because you know that no-one save the director is ever going to get paid and that everyone else is going home each night full of broken dreams and with an empty stomach.

Tho' in Cristopher Ahrens case that's probably not a bad thing.

Smug git.

And why should I put the effort in if the folk behind the camera aren't?

Not wanting to end on a downer it seemed at least Mattei realised the error of his ways and attempted to make amends later on in his career with his - actually brilliant - second attempt at ripping-off Aliens, Zombies: the Beginning, a film that has everything Shocking Dark lacks from naked Filipino children covered from head to (tiny) toes in green house paint wearing  joke shop Austin Powers-esque teeth and a paper mache headpieces pretending to be the undead to a sexy, charismatic lead in local swimwear model cum 'Hotgirl of The Week' and former electrical company receptionist Yvette Yzon.

Bizarrely Yzon after becoming something of a muse for Mattei in his later life she retired from acting upon his death, becoming an accountant and working on Argento's Dracula 3D.

Now that is scary.























































*Which is not to be confused with Delta of Venus, the saucy short story collection by Anaïs Nin published posthumously in 1977.

The short stories that make up this anthology were written during the 1940s for a private client known simply as "Collector".

This "Collector" commissioned Nin, along with other now well-known writers (including Henry Miller and former Doctor Who editor Terrance Dicks) to produce erotic fiction for his private consumption.

Which in layman's terms means wank fodder.

A bit like how people see this blog.

His identity has since been revealed as your mum's cousin Jim, remember the guy that always used to hug you too tightly at Christmas whose keys always dug into you back?

**I say that because from what I can gather she attended the Maine Restaurant Week event that was hosted by Coffee By Design last year where guests tried coffee in many forms paired with sweet and savory treats created by local bakers and pastry chefs.

"They mostly come in cups....mostly!"

The lineup included: Baristas & Bites; Cakes by Babbs; C-Salt; Dean’s Sweets, Foley’s Cakes; Frisky Whisk; Landry’s Confections; Stones Cafe & Bakery; Tin Pan Bakery; TIQA Pan Mediterranean and Walter’s.

Tho' Walter's what we shall never know.




***Unless you're reading this in the far future when he is.

hied the ball.

Been a hectic week of real-life stuff here so decided to settle down and relax with a wee bit of Paul Naschy.



Scarily even after the amount of (fairly) well written reviews I've posted recently (I've even been spell-checking them) no-one has commented/read or offered me any free stuff.


The nearest I got was an email from Carolina Grigorov, star of
Robin Hood: Ghosts Of Sherwood.

Well I say it was from her but it was from her management threatening to sue me because "I didn't have permission to review her performance." and to tell me to remove all photographs of her from my review.

I bet Mark Kermode doesn't have to put up with this shite.

Anyway from now on I'm just gonna review films where the cast is already dead.

Or should be.

The Man With The Severed Head (AKA Crimson, 1973).
Dir: Juan Fortuny.
Cast: : Paul Naschy, Carlos Otero, Yul Sanders, Claude Boisson, Ricardo Palmerola, Evelyne Scott, Gilda Arancio, Olivier Mathot, Richard Kolin, Roberto Mauri, Silvia Solar, Antonia Lotito and Víctor Israel.

The top tier criminal gang (and Bad Seeds tribute act by the look of them) of 'Monsieur' Jack "The Lad" Surnett (Naschy - say no more) are busying themselves stealing loads of cut price tat from Argos in order to fund a place in the upcoming Battle of The Cover Bands competition being held at the local Pontins.

Or should that be Le Pontins seeing as we're in France?

But the days of planning goes to pot when the greedy, bucked toothed Karl (Israel looking for all the world like the results of an unholy union 'tween Tracey Pugh and The Gonch from Big Babies) decides that he wants to give his wife a pearl necklace so excitedly smashes a display case causing all the alarms to go off.

And this, my friend is why the UK voted leave.

Terrified of being grabbed by the gendarmerie our motley crew jumped into the back of their rust covered 2CV and make a break for the countryside with the police in hot pursuit.

Unfortunately the local law enforcement officers seem to have previous when dealing with filthy, fame hungry crims and set up not only a sneaky roadblock but a couple of hidden snipers armed with machine guns.

With appears a tad excessive and just goes to show that you can never trust the French.

As their getaway car trundles forth the police open fire and in a scene that would make the creators of Casualty go green with envy poor old Surnett gets shot in the head.

Which is nice.

Seeing as Surnett is the one who owns all the equipment (plus his uncle is the entertainment officer at the holiday camp) the gang have no choice but to attempt to save his life and to this end drive over to the house of alcoholic and the recently widowed Nick Cave alike - I'm assuming he's the bands singer -Dr John Ritter (Otero) who, after taking a look at Surnett and gently poking the bullet hole ,with his red right hand informs the others that without urgent medical help that their friend will die.

Being a band on the run visiting a hospital is out of the question, so Ritter suggests that a visit to his old friend Professor Neville Teets (the bewigged and big-binned Palmerola) is in order.

It seems that Teets is a world expert on bullet-based brain injuries and has been waiting for the chance to try it on a human patient so with this in mind Ritter, Karl, Barry Adamson (Devil Hunter's Sanders) alongside second in command Henry Kelly (Mathot) rock up at his house in the middle of the night (tho' it may be daytime with a shit filter) and demand his help.

And some booze obviously.

"Well at least we have something to shite in now!"

Things go a wee bit awry tho' when upon arriving at the house Ritter realises that poor Teets accidentally shut both of his hands in a fridge door a few months back and can no longer operate but in a fantastic twist of fate it turns out that prior to this he'd been instructing his boyish wife Ana (Cannibal Terror's Solar)in the ways of brain surgery just in case something like that ever happened.

Lucky eh?

Examinig Surnett's head (whilst ignoring his massive manbreasts and dinnerplate sized nipples) Teets surmises that the only way to save the patient it to remove the damaged part of the brain and replace that with a similar one from a compatible donor.

Sounds legit.

Unfortunately (for the donor that is, for the plot it makes perfect sense) the only person with a similar brain is Surnett's arch enemy, the evil gangster and popular keyboard wizz Ronald 'The Sadist' Mael (writer and director Mauri, best known for King of Kong Island and The Porno Killers), a man feared as much for his mighty mustache as his mentalist manner.

Taking the Professor's daughter hostage Karl and Barry head into town to acquire the much needed brain.

When he knocked on my door and entered the room
My trembling subsided in his sure embrace
He would be my first man, and with a careful hand He wiped the tears that ran down my face and placed a brain on the table for us to pop in Paul Naschy's head.

With the help of a local flower seller (a blink and you'll miss it cameo from top Scots singing star Lulu) and Surnett's girlfriend - who happened to be shagging Mael before that, seriously this is getting to be like an episode of EastEnders just with less forced bumming - Ingrid (Arancio from the classic Zombie Lake plus the jailbait lez-fest that is Schoolgirl Hitchhikers) and her breasts,  Karl and Barry track down The Sadist and gun him down before placing his dead body on a railway track to sever the head.

Hmmm....seems a wee bit convoluted but hey ho.

Within the hour the operation is complete and appears to be a great success, the only downside it seems is that upon waking Surnett now finds that he's experiencing violent (and sometimes sexual) urges, tho' I'm not sure if that's due to him now sharing The Sadist's brain or the fact that the bandages around his baw-like bonce appear to be so tight as to make his face turn purple.

With The Sadist's pals all running about trying to find their boss, Henry decides it'd be a bit of a giggle to have The Sadist's head nicely gift wrapped and delivered to Mael's harsh faced girlfriend Barbara Dixon (Scott, best known as Lisa the secretary in Swedish Sex Games) as a present.

As you can imagine this goes down as well as your Nan after a glass of cooking sherry so Barbara orders The Sadist's best buddy Willy (Kolin from Eyeball) to find those responsible and kill them.

To death.

Taking the movies meager running time into account it's not long before Barbara and Willy have captured both Ritter and Ingrid, beating the poor doctor to a fleshy pulp (no change there) whilst they torture Ingrid with fag ends in the spare room.

A wee bit like Boxing Day at your house when you were a kid.

Is it in yet?

 Dumping Ritter in the street, the dying doctor valiantly returns to Teets' house to warn the others that Willy and his gang are coming - and gunning - for revenge and that it'd be best for everyone if they stop all this nonsense and apologise.

Henry agrees and alongside Ana attempt to persuade Teets to stop his experiment.

Teets however disagrees and vows to continue working on/with Surnett to complete the operation and cure him of his newly acquired psycho-sexual tendencies before he ends up sticking it in the local paper girl whom he's been lusting after from the bedroom window.

Beware the binmen.

As the bad guys close in tensions fray as Henry discovers that it was Karl that bungled the robbery and Teets and his wife argue over the fate of Surnett's ever expanding bonce.....

From Juan Fortuny, the director of such classic fayre as the Joe Rígoli vampire comedy El pobrecito Draculín (he also wrote Orloff And The Invisible Man but don't hold that against him - oh go on then do) and Marius Lesoeur, the producer of Zombie Lake and Oasis of The Zombies comes a film that's sole purpose appears to be that star Paul Naschy fancied a dirty weekend in France.

True it features enough plot points for about six different movies - everything from wildly implausible brain transplants, gangland murders and crime caper fun all set to a backdrop of gaudy fashions and a fantastically inappropriate 'bing bong' score from the legendary Daniel White but none of it actually makes any sense in relation to the plot.

Even the slightly more 'erotic' version (released under the catchy title Le Viol et L'Enfer des X) lacks any kind of excitement or ability to thrill, tho' that may just be the fact that the cast are so uniformly unattractive that any temperature rises are more likely to be the result of having to sit thru' such a tardy mess than anything of a sexual nature.

Tho' I must admit to experiencing some small stirring when Antonia Lotito cycled into view clad in white knee-length socks and an underpant revealing skirt to deliver the papers.

That may have been because of the vintage Yamaha FS1E she was riding.

Sexiest thing in the movie if I'm honest.

What the whole thing lacks in convincing performances, realistic plotting and anything remotely resembling talent it more than makes up for in sheer entertainment value when you realise that every single cast member looks like a famous musician.

From then on in you can re-interpret the plot as some massive Smash Hits Poll Winners Party style gang war where goth-rock god Nick Cave battles fearlessly against an evil teaming of Sparks and Danni Minogue as Smokey watch on from the sidelines.

There's even a dance sequence about a third of the way in featuring a pert arsed redhead (is there any other kind?) and a couple of camp blokes dressed as Klingons.

I shit you not.

This all comes to a head tho' when Paul Naschy escapes from Teets' house and instead of some mad, mental sadistic Frankenstein style beast we're confronted with what looks like a cut price cosplay of The Aquabats MC Bat Commander.

Aquabats....

Let's go!

So is The Man With The Severed Head a fantastically self-aware piece of modern cinematic art or a huge pile of massive wobbly arse?

Honestly I'm fucked if I know.