sores on the doors.

Off to 'The London' this weekend for a whistle-stop tour so spent the last few days trying to figure out how to actually get around the place seeing as the entire transport system seems to have been designed by a madman.

I've got to get the underground a fair bit so been researching routes etc so decided that it'd be a good idea to rewatch a few films that feature it.

Good move.

Death Line (AKA Raw Meat 1972).
Dir: Gary Sherman.
Starring: Donald Pleasence, David Ladd, Christopher Lee, James Cossins, Sharon Gurney, Hugh Armstrong and Clive Swift.

Beneath Modern London Lives a Tribe of Once Humans. Neither Men Nor Women...They Are the Raw Meat Of The Human Race...or UKiP as we now know them.

Dirty old Tory politician - is there any other kind? -  James Manfred (professional TeeVee posh bloke Cossins) is cruising London's seedy Soho in the hope of scoring some sordid sexiness with a 'lady' after a hard day cutting disability benefit and taxing the dead.

Alas even the scummiest prostitutes have told him to fuck off.

My heart bleeds.

Realizing he's onto plums (his own) Manfred sulks off to Russell Square underground to await a train home only to decide to throw caution to the wind and try to use his charms one final time on a young woman standing on the platform.

Unluckily - for him - a reply consisting of a swift knee to the nuts puts paid to that idea and leaves him stumbling about like a drunk, chinless penguin as, to add insult to injury the woman proceeds to steals his wallet.

I love her already, pity she wont be back really.

You know how they say trouble always comes in threes? - as opposed to in your mooth obviously - well in this case it's true as now sooner is Manfred back on his feet whilst gently cupping his tiny cock and balls when he's violently attacked by a stinky tramp with a fishy beard.

A bad night all round then, except for the young woman of course she's quids in.

"Hello French Polishers? Yes this is the same caption as yesterday why do you ask?"

It's about now that we get to meet the folk who will be our heroes for the duration of the film in the form of the groovy young couple, Alex (Ladd - annoyingly big haired and American) and Trish (Gurney - annoyingly cute brunette and English) who find the Manfred man face down on the stairs covered in blood, egg and semen.

Alex, thinking the guy is pissed ignores him tho' caring Trish insists on telling the station manager but, on returning with a policeman, Manfred has gone.

Being a prominent MP, a missing persons case is opened led by the very grumpy, tea obsessed Inspector Calhoun (Pleasence) who, being one of those typical 70s horror movie cops in the mold of the booze soaked bigot Inspector Barry B'stard in The Living Dead at The Manchester Morgue decides to blame the whole thing on Alex due to him having long hair.

Undeterred Alex and Trish now obsessed with the disappearance - well there's fuck all else for them to do - decide to start some investigating of their own, soon discovering that in 1892 the roof of a newly constructed underground tunnel collapsed trapping the (mixed sex) workers underground.

The local council, being tight bureaucratic types and in order to save cash left them all there to rot.

Where's Dominic Littlewood when you need him?

Inside Boris Johnson's mind.

In a scary twist of fate tho', a few survived and have been living in the tunnels ever since, feeding on the flesh of unfortunate travelers inbetween rutting away like pigs in the dark.

Exactly like that family that used to live at the bottom of your street when you were younger.

Unfortunately (tho' I bet the make-up team breathed a sigh of relief) years of inbreeding and a diet of pikeys means that there are now only two left,  the aforementioned stinky bearded tramp man and his even stinkier (and also possibly bearded) pregnant missis.

Alas things aren't really going well for this 70's version of Eva Mendes and Ryan Gosling as mishap after disaster seems to befall them at every turn culminating in the poor lady-tramp dying during childbirth.

It's a wee bit like Brexit but slightly eggier.

Distraught yet still feeling - and smelling - fruity our shambly shmuck decides it's time to search for another woman to share his underground love nest.

Can you guess who he's set his sights on?

Clue: it's not Donald Pleasence.

She may look happy now but just wait till the tramp buggery starts.

A veritable classic of the cannibal genre, Gary Sherman's stunning debut feature is an undisputed influence on such movies as An American Werewolf in London, (the virtual remake) Creep and quite possibly every other underground-based bloodbath since.

From the (genuinely) spooky premise to the perfect moments of comedy (mostly from Donald Pleasence) this skewed American take on London life never hits a wrong note, it's at once wonderfully weird yet comfortably traditional with pitch perfect performances topped off with a proto-Soft Cell sleazy synth score from Wil Malone* that was just made for groping your gran to.

Trust me I know.

Put it in me!

And the sparkling diamond in this rough n' ready yet strangely magical mix?

That'll be Hugh Armstrong as the 'cannibal man', he takes what could be a one dimensional bogeyman and turns him into a believable and tragic victim of circumstance - his cry of "Mind the doors!" is his only way to communicate, whether it be at the tear jerking death of his mate or his fumbling attempts at seduction with Trish, the moaning broken voice is both tragic and terrifying.

And maybe, just maybe a wee bit sexy if you're in the right frame of mind.

Rats in mah mooth!

Sherman's direction is second to none - lingering and atmospheric he's not afraid to slowly build tension and confident enough to litter the movie with some fantastically macabre comic touches that he builds on in his later movies like the darkly disturbing Dead And Buried.

One of the greatest (yet most overlooked) gems of British horror.

Lovely.





































*Not Gareth unfortunately.

underground pervy.

The Cine-Excess Festival are showing this next month in honour of one of their guests, the frankly fantastic Norman J Warren add to that I've been working on some illo's for the programme which means I've recently re-watched it.

And drawn it obviously.

Tho' not at the same time, I mean I'm not that good.

So ladies and gents I give you - in quite a short form....

'Inseminoid' (aka Horror Planet. 1981)
Dir: Norman J. Warren.
Cast: Judy Geeson, Jennifer Ashley, Stephanie Beacham, Dominic Jephcott, Steven Grives, Victoria (sister of David) Tennant, Rosalind Lloyd, Robert Pugh and Kevin O'Shea.

Inseminoid's subtle poster campaign.

Somewhere in space (OK it's Chislehurst Caves in Chislehurst, Kent. Obviously Wookey Hole in Somerset was overrun with Cybermen at the time) a British led scientific/mining/archaeological mission is busy digging up rare alien artefacts and even rarer colourful rocks.

You can tell it's a British mission because whereas the Yanks have shiny rockets, jetpacks and lasers, this bunch here have buckets and spades, Kwik Fit overalls and a chainsaw amongst their equipment.

Oh, and big 80s hair.

Imagine Alien remade with the cast of Hi-De-Hi and you're halfway there.

Digging about in the tunnels one day the team come across a shiny plastic rock much like the type you get on fireplaces which immediately explodes directly in front of the blond beefcake of the group, Dean (Brit teevee stalwart Jephcott) Gaffney's face, causing some nasty chafing and more importantly a serious case of mascara based alien possession.

This possession manifests itself when Dean begins to run around the base in his pants and socks around trying to strangle his fellow team members before escaping into the tunnels.

But not until he's pushed payload specialist Gayle Tuesday (Lloyd who was once in Doctor Who) over so violently that she gets her foot stuck in a hole.

Bastard.

"Laugh now!"

If that wasn't enough to ruin her day her life support system heater has run out and she hasn't got any spare coins for the meter.

Obviously worried by this turn of events she breathlessly radio's the base for help.

Pity the groups resident sponge-bob, Gary is on communications duty that day.

Rather than waste valuable preening time going out and rescuing her, Gary suggests that she pulls the air pipe off her spacesuit, stick it in her tiny, bird like mouth and suck on it whilst hacking at her ankle with a blunt nail-file.

The following scene is no mooth shite-in but it does come close.

As did I.

"Pipe in mah mooth!"

It comes as no surprise to the viewer that the poor cow dies from a mix of blood loss and septicemia due to putting a dirty hoover attachment into her gob.

But this is only the beginning of the horror that is Inseminoid.

You see whilst all this limb lopping and pipe moothin' is going on sexy button nosed biologist Sandy (English Rose Judy - I have never done a nude scene honest - Geeson) has been busy scraping algae off some rocks with her equally bookish pal Roy (Pugh possibly, it's dark and he's wearing a goldfish bowl on his head).

After passing some particularly eggy gas in her suit Sandy passes out and just as Roy scrambles to help her he's violently decapitated (but is there any other kind of decapitation?) by an unseen alien menace.

Could the day get any worse?

"Mooooooooooooooooooooooooon!"

Well Sandy awakes to find herself stark bollock naked and spread-eagled on a pool table as a moon headed alien attempts to impregnated her using a length of hosepipe, 4 litres of Fairy washing up liquid and a carton of green painted free range eggs, so the answer is probably yes.

Beware the binmen!

After what seems like an eternity (well, just long enough to have a fag and make a cuppa) the surviving team members find the poor woman fully clothed (yet strangely fresh smelling) and resting against the slain body of Roy so decide to take her back to the base for a hot chocolate and a Rich Tea biscuit.

It's not long tho' before Sandy is experiencing sticky egg based nightmares, reliving (in glorious, sweaty close-up) every detail of her Venusian vaginal violation (as in the creature was from Venus, not that she has a bizarre, Giger-esque fanny tho' never having seen it she might. Judy?) which culminates in the cold blooded murder and cock eating of one of her hapless buddies.

Walking into the bathroom for a quick pee, the mumsy Barbra (Tennant) is taken aback to see Sandy, giggling away to herself as she sits astride a corpse, covered in blood and with a testicle hanging from her lips before uttering the immortal line: "Sandy! what's wrong?"

Well, that's the understated British for you.

Jumping to her feet and snarling like fairly vicious tabby, Sandy chases after Babs (in that faintly embarrassing way that girls run) who locks herself in the teevee room before pressing a load of buttons and declaring a state of emergency.

The rest of the crew, being hardened space veterans all shite themselves simultaneously.

"I'm sorry, I have a woman's period!"

Imbued with supernatural strength, a mad glint in her (boss) eyes and a frightening ability to wave her arms around like deadly windmills, Sandy will stop at nothing to protect her unborn babies which means sixty minutes of her stomping around a collection of spacey Portacabins killing everyone she meets using a collection of items you'd be surprised to find on a high-tech space mission including a nail gun, a rusty shovel and one of those long lighter things you use to start a barbecue.

Will the surviving crew find a way to defeat this mentalist mum to be or will they all die leaving the alien offspring to sneak aboard a passing rescue ship heading for Earth?

Go on, guess.

More or less tasteful?

From the unsung hero of British horror cinema, the frankly fantastic Norman J. Warren - he who gave us such classics as the dog nosed predator potboiler Prey, the slightly saucy Satan's Slave and the spooky Terror comes a bloodier, bad taste British version of Alien, filmed on a budget of £12.50 and using props and sets stolen from the Blake's Seven production office, Inseminoid is the epitome of true Brit, lo-fi sci-fi at its  most entertaining.

Plus any film that gets banned in Iceland must be worth at least a few minutes of your time.

It may be rougher than your mum but what it lacks in polish it more than makes up for with bloody violence,typically British nihilism and a fantastic cast that includes such luminaries as the mega-MiLF Victoria Tennant and the yummy Judy Geeson who manages the magic monster movie trick of morphing from frumpy mum to schizo-sex-kitten the more shot to fuck her character gets.

Remember I first saw this film as an impressionable 11 year old so it kinda explains my taste in girls.

Damn you Warren.

"Put it in me!"

Even the minimalist electronic score by jazz guru John Scott, commissioned when Warren discovered that he couldn't afford a full orchestra is an asset rather than a hindrance, the retro-Radiophonic workshop style sonics gently adding a final freaky feel to the lo-fi ambience permeating the rest of the film.

 

Sexy Sci-Fi: British style!

From skimpy pants to dodgy model work via paper mache space sexbeasts, Inseminoid trulyhas something to offend everyone....and if that hasn't convinced you, then try to think how many other films allow you the pleasure of seeing an ex Carry On girl strapped naked to a table with a hosepipe stuck up her fanny in a vain attempt to suggest extra-terrestrial rape.

That'll be none then.

Luckily it's recently been re-released as part of a shiny new Blu-Ray boxset so you can buy it now and thank me later.

chilly con carnies.

Remembering when this beauty came out on DVD from the Arrow films a few years back and my vain attempts to blag a copy for review purposes were all for nowt.

As was my attempt to get some new (any) readers.

Anyway, noticed that this review had been looked at a grand total of about 8 times in 4 years so thought I'd rejig and repost it seeing as I'm at a loose end waiting to hear back about some work.

Enjoy.

Malatesta's Carnival of Blood (1973).
Dir: Christopher Speeth
Cast: Herve Villechaize, Bill Preston, Daniel Dietrich, William Preston, Lenny Baker, Paul Hostetler, Betsy Henn, Jerome Dempsey, Chris Thomas, Karen Salmansohn and Janine Carazo.

You'll Shriek With Horror! ... As You Watch His Victims Take a Diabolical Roller-Coaster Ride to Bloody Death! - Brexit in a nutshell.

Somewhere and sometime in the evilly dressed early seventies, teen bombsite - sorry bombshell - Vena Norris (Carazo, looking like a chubby Suzi Quatro - which isn't necessarily a bad thing - in her only film role) is busy having her fortune told by the cross-dressing Jewish gypsy Sonia (1977 Tony Award winner Baker) at his stall in the famous Malatesta Carnival (of blood obviously)  whilst her parents, Frank (An Innocent Love's Hostetler, looking for all the world like an even more down at heel - but pre-death obviously - Tobe Hooper) and Noreen (Henn), are being shown around the site by the Mr Barry Blood (teevee stalwart and ex partner of Makepeace, Dempsey), sideshow owner and part-time recluse cum Malatesta’s enigmatic business manager.

"You're my wife now!"

It appears that the Norris family are opening a shooting gallery at the carnival and Vena is naughtily wasting time chatting to unconvincing transvestites rather than doing what she's been asked to, which is be set up the stall but when she finally decides to get to work wouldn't you know it she gets distracted again, this time by the guy who runs the tunnel of love, a studly young buck named Kit (writer of the fantastic P. Diddy Presents the Bad Boys of Comedy Thomas) who slinks over to 'get to know' our pretty heroine.

Easy tiger.

His smooth moves are rudely interrupted tho' when the Ferris Wheel running Davis clan, complete with harsh faced obnoxious daughter 'Toby' (Salmansohn, latter day Hollywood story consultant and best selling self-help book author) turn up to say hello.

In between Toby's ear piercing whining regarding rubber chickens that is.

Hoping to placate Toby and get rid of mom and dad for a few minutes Kit offers them a free ride on the tunnel of love.

A ride from which none of them return.

In fact all Kit finds are Pa Davis’ shattered and blood stained spectacles.

A lovely firm tummy and milky white thighs you could ski down...and that's just the fella.

That night in the Norris family trailer, Ma and Pa are busy entertaining Mr Blood, whom we discover, was once told by 'doctors' that due to his unusual metabolism he had less than six months to live but thanks to a special diet he's managed not only to defy the Doc's expectations but learn how to look good in a cape.

By good I mean really fucking sinister obviously.

Even later - it's all go isn't it? - Kit and Vena meet up near 'The Ghouls Eye' (which I'm assuming is a ride and not a reference to the carnival cleaners unfortunate ocular problem) for a chat and stuff whilst elsewhere in the deserted carnival two checked shirt wearing drunk types (let's call them Pete and Pete) are stumbling around the empty stalls looking for a ride on the roller-coaster.

Each to their own I guess.

Luckily the ride just happens to be open and Pete jumps at the chance for a shot, unfortunately half way round he's decapitated by some hidden cheese wire  causing the other Pete to start screaming like a baby.

Annoyed at all the noise Mr Blood orders the aforementioned bog eyed cleaner, Sticker (Oldie Olson from Late Night with Conan O'Brien, Preston) to stab him to death with his pointy rubbish collecting stick before carrying the body off to a secret blood siphoning facility hidden beneath the carnival where a number of ashen faced freaks gorge themselves on Pete's still warm flesh.

"Eye son!"

It's round about this point that Vena and Kit begin to suspect that there may be something slightly odd happening at the carnival.

Cue a heady mix of surreal dream sequences, top quality chases and extended scenes of a possibly bra-less Vena jogging thru' a park in slow motion.

Oh yes and a gun obsessed dwarf named Bobo (the late, great Villechaize) spouting all manner of sinister bollocks whilst the grey faced flesh eaters sit about enjoying grainy copies of the best of Universals silent back catalogue.

No, really.

John Carpenter, up the casino, New York, 1997.....YESCH!!

However just when you think you got your head round the whole reality/fantasy/drug induced dream stuff you realise that Vena has indeed been out running all night and yes, she actually isn't wearing a bra but don't worry because just as the movies already stretched view of realism looks like it's going to snap like so much cheap knicker elastic the grey faced flesh eating tramps suddenly attack the Norris' trailer leaving big panted dad to fight them off with a spud gun.

Two puppies fighting in a sack yesterday.

Returning to the carnival and oblivious to all that's going on around her Vena is fairly surprised to find poor Kit impaled on a large  paper mache clown causing her to scream apathetically and run off into the carnival catacombs with Sticker in wobbly pursuit.

Meanwhile back at the trailer, Pa Norris has not only vowed revenge on somebody but also decided that the best means of escape would be to blow up the trailer and run away in the confusion.

His wife however isn't convinced.

Cue offscreen explosion and a prolonged chase around the various stalls as more and more of the strange underground cannibal spew forth into the park....

MMMMOOOOOOSSSSHHHHHHIIIIII!!!!

Will the Norris family survive the oncoming cannibal apocalypse?

What hideous plans do Blood and Malatesta have for the perky Vena?

And where will her boyfriend Johnny stay when he arrives the next morning now that the Norris' camper van has burnt down?

Fantastically plotted, linear and expensive are just a few of the words you wouldn't use to describe Christopher Speeth's newly rediscovered horror oddity, lost in his spare room for the past 30 years and only recently let loose on an unsuspecting public.

But then that might not be a bad thing when you realise that you'll end up describing it as one of the surrealist and most terrifying movies of all time.

And that's just Bill Preston.

Malatesta's Carnival of Blood is quite possibly one of (if not the) greatest horror movies to come out of the 70's, playing out like a big screen version of the worst acid trip you've ever experienced, it's dream logic and total lack of regard for the rules of cinema (and good taste) will leave you boggle eyed and shaking like a baby on a window ledge with it's heady mix of cannibals, vampires, inflatable sets and little people but the icing on an already sickly sweet cake are the performances from the leads.

Taking the concept of 'non-acting' to new heights, everyone on screen appears to be playing to an unseen audience, almost unaware of the other actors around them.

Genius Mr Speeth, true genius.

Groundbreaking and unique, this is the kind of film this blog lives for.

And so should you.

Beg, borrow, steal or even sell your entire dvd collection to pay* for a copy because you need this.

Badly.

And I need a cold shower.

Gah.












































*Not brand new obviously just wait till Cash Converters have it in for 2 quid.

root it oot.

Just back from my yearly trip to the motherland which you'll be interested to know has trees in it.

Hence I viewed this upon my return as it too has trees in it.


The Forest (1982).
Dir: Donald M. Jones.
Cast: Dean Russell, Gary Kent, Tomi Barrett, John Batis, Ann Wilkinson, Jeanette Kelly, Corky Pigeon, Becki Burke, Tony Gee, Stafford Morgan, Marilyn Anderson Jean Clark and Donald M. Jones.

'If you go down to the woods today... You might never get out alive.'

Somewhere in the American great outdoors an unnamed couple of the type you only get in early 80s horror movies that have only relatives and neighbours to cast from - you know the types, long, horse like faced women with Farrah flicks and middle-aged guys with stud beards grey chest hair poking thru' an open necked stonewashed shirt a size too small for him - are having fun hiking thru' the woods whilst attempting to chat in a non-stilted manner as an instantly forgettable MoR rock track plays in the background.

Everything is going smoothly, well as smoothly as two non-actors trying to recite dialogue whilst not slipping down muddy banks can go, until that is the lady (Anderson whose post Forest career peaked with an appearance as a Receptionist in a 1983 episode of Dynasty*) gets a feeling of impending dread and a notion of them being watched from the trees.

Her husband (Morgan, best known for his spot on portrayal as an engineer in Die Hard 2: Die Harder), being that kind of guy, poo-poos the idea but in order to placate his missis (in the hope of some tent based todger tickling later) allows her to walk ahead of him so she'll feel less threatened.

No me neither.

"I'm sorry, I have my woman's period."

We don't have to much time to worry about such trivialities tho' as the pair have soon been dispatched by an unseen assailant with a big knife as an even more forgettable MoR track with lyrics about spooky forests blurts out over the credits.

Which I have to admit feature one of THE best home made fonts of all time.

And here it is:

Genius.


Anyway we're soon with the plot good and proper where best buds - handsome hunk Steve (mustached macho man and council estate Tom Selleck, Russell) and the ferret like Charlie (Batis who I think went into Christian-based arts as far as I remember, I'd check but to be honest I can't be arsed) are busy planning a boys weekend away camping in the woods much to their girlfriends - Teddi (Poundshop Cheryl Ladd, Wilkinson - and the thin lipped Sharon (Ex stunt person Barrett) - chagrin.

It seems that the laydees are a wee bit pissed off at the fellas constant digs at women's lib and the like so the pair decide to play them at their own game and go camping by themselves.

Or is it with the guys?

It's kinda confusing if I'm honest.

Anyway the next morn the girls drive off toward the forest but as they chat it becomes increasingly apparent that neither of them have any idea about camping and were only saying they did in order to come across as equal to the men.

Because feminism.

Or a glib generalization of what feminism is according to the (male) director obviously.

Meanwhile the boys are running late due in part to the car breaking down but mainly because it took Steve and hour and a half to fit into his crotch revealing denims so by the time they arrive at the campsite the girls have already set off into the woods, failed to put up a tent, broken a nail and been visited by two mysterious kids and a woman.

Oh and been attacked by a portly tramp named John (Kent, stuntperson and hubbie of Barrett) who murders Teddi before carrying her off to his cave to eat.

Which is nice.

Sharon, in case you're interested escaped by jumping off a (small) cliff into a lake by the way.

Which is probably why they cast a stunt type person.

"To me!" "To you!"

Anyway as night (and the rain) continues to fall Steve and Charlie are still frantically searching for their lady friends but decide that because it's so wet to hide out in a cave till morning and it's here that they too come across (but not in a sexual way, well not yet) the weirdy beardy John who's just finished cooking Teddi and offers the pair a nibble, proclaiming that it's actually a deer.

As the trio tuck in, John begins to tell his tragic tale of woe and how he came to be living in a cave in the woods stinking of piss, you see it seems that a few years back when he worked as a traveling rubber nipples salesman, his - nameless because this film has a really healthy view of women - dear wife (Kelly in her only film role - surprise) spent her days shagging anyone who passed by the house.

Repair men, post men, the paperboy - you name it she let them put it in her which wasn't until one day John came home early to find her in bed with the refrigerator repairman who, bizarrely enough and after an uncomfortable scene reminisce of when my mum got caught with the Jehovah's Witness in the conservatory by my uncle Peter actually pulls on his trousers and does indeed proceed to fix the fridge.

That's your mum that is.

This wanton display of multitasking masculinity sends John over the edge and after beating his wife to death with a table lamp chases the fridge guy around the garden brandishing a variety of sharp edged gardening tools (and a bicycle) before gutting him on a lathe as his children - John Jr. (Pigeon who scarily went on to have a huge career and is best known for playing Freddy Lippincottleman in the hit teevee sitcom Silver Spoons as well as drumming with top pop combos MXPX and Reel Big Fish) and Jennifer (Burke, who may now be working as a customer Account Manager at Aaron’s Sales and Lease Corporation in Texas) look on in apathy.

From there on in he's been holed up in a cave with only his baseball cap and by now very stiff pants to his name.

Bless.

And on that note the boys unpack their sleeping bags and quickly fall asleep.

Which is what I wanted to do at this point thanks to the films 'leisurely' pace.

Less Grizzly Adams more slightly peeved Pete.

 

As morning dawns the pair wake to the sight of John standing over then licking his lips as he gently cradles his man package so making their excuses Steve and Charlie quickly pack up and head of to find the ladies soon finding their destroyed campsite and discarded belongings.

Because lets be honest, it's quite a short film.

"Oh Vic...I've fallen!"

Deciding that something terrible must have happened to cause the girls to leave their make up bags behind the pair split up to continue their search.

Meanwhile down on the riverbank Sharon is busy finding out more about the plot from the pair of spooky kids she met earlier, who it transpires are ghosts.

Fair enough.

It seems that getting bored with living in a cave with their deranged dad and living solely on wild berries and hikers  the pair killed themselves but are now trapped in limbo being chased by the ghost of their mother.

And this, coupled with marrying a whore caused John to turn cannibal.

No, really.

Man murders folk?

Blame a woman.

Or if that doesn't work blame his kids.

"Is it giro day?"

Realizing that the film is almost over the director decides to add a wee bit of excitement so to this end Steve falls down a hill and hurts his leg whilst Charlie stumbles around getting steadily sweatier and more simpering as he goes.

Just when all thought of absolutely anything entertaining happening is forever destroyed who should pop out from behind a tree but the ghost of the dead wife   who - quite politely for a dead slapper I reckon - asks him where her children are.

But as he goes to answer John too jumps out the bushes and attempts to stick his chopper in Charlie, causing ghost mum to vanish and our hero to experience a wee bit of chafing round the thigh area.

As the pair (slow) fight to the death John explains that he's not really a mentalist and only kills campers during the winter when it's too difficult to get to Asda to buy pork, which is OK then I guess.

And with that he drowns poor Charlie in the river.

Which given the state of the film so far is a mercy killing.

Dollar - The Pikey Years.

As John attempts to carry Charlie's body back to his man cave who should arrive but Sharon who, being a girl is quickly is overpowered by John (tho' it may have more to do with his onion breath than his strength) but just as he lunges in for the kill his ghostly weans turn up and beg him to let Sharon live.

And with that he lets her escape.

Will Sharon find Steve or will John go a bit mad again at the thought of lunching out on her tender thighs?

Will anything happen in the scant running time remaining to make watching this anything other than an utter waste of time?

Who knows/cares.

Not director/writer/tea boy Don Jones that's for sure.

From the man behind The Love Butcher, Sweater Girls and Schoolgirls In Chains (oh and who also did the sound on Switchblade Sisters and The Swinging Cheerleaders) comes probably one of THE most incoherently plotted, woodenly acted and crappily directed movies if not ever then definitely of the 80s.

But saying that at least it's in focus and does feature David Somerville 'singing' the fantastically cringe inducing "The Dark Side of The Forest" (with lyrics by Stan Fidel who wrote "Best of Friends" for Disney's The Fox And The Hound fact fans) over the credits so you win some, you lose some I guess.

But if you fancy 80 odd minutes of barely bargain basement gore effects, ghostly kids with haircuts that'd make even Jimmy Savile think twice, bizarro voice overs, a woman who looks like your auntie whoring it up on a camp bed and what seems like hours of footage of two guys arguing in/about traffic then The Woods may just be the film for you.

But I doubt it somehow.

Flick.

It's almost like Jones is purposely trying to scupper any chance the film has to shine, whether it be the almost DOA pacing, aimless wide shots of trees or just the entire nonsensical nature of the plot, at every turn just when you think something interesting might happen the film, like some drunken bloke stumbling home from the pub with a greasy kebab in hand,  just fumbles and staggers across the road before dropping meat onto its shoes and collapsing in an alley.

Probably to get bummed by a tramp in the early hours of the morning.

Only Jones wouldn't show that bit, he'd cut to an empty taxi rank round the corner.

Tho' he'd probably dub the sound of foxes playing in a garden over the footage just to stop you falling into a coma.

Scarily according to the cast he actually remortgaged his house to pay for this so either he was really fucking delusional or he really hated the wallpaper and reckoned that losing his home to the bank was a better option than just burning it down.

Put it in me!

But who knows perhaps the film is actually really meta and is in fact just playing with our preconceptions of what makes a good slasher - I mean we all accept Jason wearing a hockey mask or Leatherface wearing your mums mug so why not a terrifying mountain-based cannibal in a child's baseball cap and a mantit hugging T-shirt?

And sure after The Evil Dead we were spoiled with Raimi's patented 'shaky-cam' and wall to wall grue but who's to say that overexposed static shots of random trees and stock footage of traffic jams isn't the next leap forward in tree-based terror?

Plus after axes, chainsaws and fingerblades what's stopping a jam covered pen knife being a terrifying weapon of death?

Indeed maybe this film is actually cinematic genius and it's me who's wrong.


What the truth is we'll never know for sure cos I'm fucked if I'm going to lose any more sleep thinking about it.



Good day.


























*And I only know this as I own the entire run on DVD.....sad but true.

general franco.

Do you remember the other month when 88 Films released a lovely spruced up copy of Cannibal Terror on shiny Blu Ray and I desperately tried to blag a free copy with this hastily scribbled review?

Well this is their next release so I'm going to try again.

Wish me luck.

Devil Hunter (AKA Il Cacciatore di Uomini, Sexo Cannibal, Man Hunter, Mandingo Man Hunter. 1980).Dir: Jess Franco.
Cast: Al Cliver, Burt Altman, Aline Mess, Ursula Buchfellner, Yul Sanders, Gisela Hahn, Werner Pochath, Antonio de Cabo, Melo Costa, Robert (not the one from The Black Hole) Foster and Muriel Montossé.

Primark's most popular leggings model, the Lego haired temptress Laura Crawford (ball faced former Playboy bunny and Sadomania star Buchfellner) has everything - the prettiest frocks to the hunkiest boyfriend and the largest collection of slingback court shoes known to man.

The only thing she doesn't have (apart from any discernible acting talent obviously) is the respect of her long suffering assistant - the brunette bombshell Jane (the terrifyingly tight arsed Hahn).

Suffice to say that Jane hates Laura's guts.

Not content with venting her frustrations the normal way (you know, like poohing in her bed or putting itching powder in her vest) the jealous witch hatches a frankly bonkers plan that involves getting Crawford abducted then legging it to Rio (or Saltcoats, whichever's cheaper) with the ransom money as soon as the world's fashion photographers/film producers pay up.

Or something.

Enlisting the help of her bad boy buddies - led by the Skeletor like Vietnam vet Thomas (actor and art director, Cabo from the classic Aberraciones sexuales de una mujer casada - no me neither), they decide to forgo the usual kidnapping conventions of hiding the victim in a convenient bed and breakfast (or even a car boot) and take her to a region of uncharted cannibal infested jungle and lock her in an old shed instead.

They've obviously not seen the aforementioned Cannibal Terror or they'd have some idea - however vague - of how this might pan out.

It's not long tho' before everyone involved is bored senseless with playing Twister and charades  - and scuffing their elbows on the walls - so reckon it'd be much more fun to tie Laura to a tree and touch her up a wee bit.

Could her day get any worse?

Umm.....maybe, because it appears that there's an honest to goodness scary monster living in the jungle.

And by scary monster I actually mean a big black man, stark bollock naked apart from a pair of pound shop googly eyed glasses.

No, really.

The Devil (Altman, who does whatever an Altman can allegedly) as he is known by the locals, spends his days wandering around the jungle shagging then eating - or is it the other way round? - any women he comes across.

And I mean that quite literally.

"Are you the farmer?"

The scarily sexy cannibal high priestess (Mess from Diamonds of Kilimandjaro where she appears alongside the yumsome Katja Bienert) keeps the horny devil's libido at bay by sacrificing various buxom ladies to him on a weekly basis in a ceremony that is as intricate and breast obsessed as it is unnecessarily long winded.

Firstly she hypnotizes the unwilling victims with a sweaty lap dance before dragging them naked to a secluded lagoon where even more naked ladies scrub them clean and tie them to a tree ready to be diddled with  - in glorious technicolour - by Altman.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Laura’s producer pal Brian has no option but to mount a rescue attempt and to this end hires hunky mercenary (and all round love god) Peter Weston (the legend that is Cliver) and his big hipped, manbreasted Vietnam flashback obsessed sidekick Jack (Foster) to fly in and seal the deal.

As opposed to clubbing it to death obviously.

Having a limited running time tho' it's not long before the dynamic duo are facing off against the crazy kidnappers in a pitched gun battle, unaware that the horny Altman is slowly moving in for the kill.

Or at least a swift handjob off Cliver - I mean, which hot blooded male wouldn't?

After an indeterminable amount of shootings, chasing and gratuitous arse shots our heroes end up lost in the jungle (or the local garden centre, take your pick) but luckily find a mysterious - and topless - 'girl on a yacht' (bird-faced beauty, singing sensation and regular Franco femme Montossé) who, after bouncing about on deck (and on Cliver) for a bit offers to help our heroes in their quest.

Hugh Quarshie was suitably impressed with the brand new Ronco Holly Willoughby doorbell.

Unfortunately for all concerned time is running out.

It appears that Altman has become bewitched by the blonde Laura and will stop at nothing in his quest to vigorously plant his rotten zombie seed inside her mysterious - and scarily overgrown - lady garden.

What follows promises to be an apocalyptic assault on the senses that will shred your nerves and possibly more than a few boxes of tissues.

Packaging.

After a girlie tiff with top producer Erwin Dietrich, Franco fucked off to the jungle in a strop and decided to film this masterpiece alongside the classic Mondo Cannibale, hence the appearance of the same cast, locations, shirts and obviously Caucasian actors blacked up pretending to be cannibals etc.

But whereas that movie has at least some redeeming qualities in it's (unintentionally) funny performances, Devil Hunter is played dead straight (tho' I use the word 'played' loosely, most of the cast look too drunk to do anything other than hopefully hit there mark and mumble banal dialogue that'll be overdubbed at a later date).

Even the usually fantastic Cliver can't save this one, reduced as he is to sitting topless on a boat, his hairy nipples erect and his luxurious mustache swaying in the cool breeze as he tosses bottles into the dirty water surrounding him, all the time looking like a condemned man praying for salvation.

Which, if I'm honest even he manages to make look sexy.

What a guy.

Always the auteur, Franco - in his infinite wisdom - decided to waylay the horror and violence and instead fill the movie with spasmodic zooms towards Buchfellner and Mess's front bums, hoping that these would stun the viewers into submission and detract from the frightening amount of scenes showing an Altman's eye view of a myriad of naked women of varied degrees of attractiveness running thru' trees whilst screaming badly.

Which is a brave move by anyone's standards and whilst the thought of Franco following a variety of European non-actresses around, concentrating on their ample arses bouncing about as they go may sound appealing after a while it only achieves the effect of making the viewer feel slightly nauseous.

And filled with the urge to tuck into a massive sausage filled burger bun.

Erotic? racist? or just erotically racist?

Saying that, if you enjoy Franco's work (which frankly we all do) then you'll at least find something to enjoy.

If only Cliver's comedy 'tache and Buchfellner's fright fringe.

Which is two more recommendations than you'd get for Sadomaster.

And if you still need convincing that you just have to have this in your collection then just look at the myriad of extras on the disc.

As in read about them obviously as to actually 'look' at them you would have already purchased it which would make reading this redundant.

There's Franco-Philes - a feature length documentary examining the career of big Jess as we call him, featuring contributions from film journalist John Martin; author and critic Rachael Nisbet; author and publisher Andy Black; Sitges Film Festival organiser Mike Hostench; Fangoria editor and writer Tony Timpone;
assistant editor of Starburst Magazine Martin Unsworth; Brunel University
scholar Julian Petley; actress Dyanne Thorne; actor Howard Maurer and
actor Antonio Mayans.

And for those of you who enjoy the technical stuff....


• HD transfer in original 1.66:1 aspect ratio (which is good).

• Extensive re-grading carried out in the UK (ditto).

• Uncompressed LPCM English audio (excellent).

• Optional English SDH subtitles (always useful).

• Region free Blu-ray

Tempted?

Well it's released on 8th April and you can purchase it here.

mickey love.

88 Films are releasing this on shiny Bluray soon (alongside this).

Do you think my hasty review will get me a free copy?*

Cannibal Terror (1981).
Dir: Alain Deruelle.
Cast: Silvia Solar, Gérard Lemaire, Pamela Stanford, Olivier Mathot, Antoine Fontaine, Antonio Mayans, Mariam Camacho, Antonio Jover, Amparo Marsilla, Montserrat Salvador, Sabrina Siani, Bernard Thébault, Chris Yebenes, Alain Deruelle and le petite Annabelle (no, really).

As a (moldy) cheesy listening cover version cum tuneless abomination of La Bamba plays loudly in the background we're introduced to our brilliantly portrayed and well written cast of characters** whose lives we'll be following for the next 90 odd minutes - human rodent Roberto (Tony Fontaine), greasy mopped Mario (Antonio Oasis of the Zombies Mayans ) and the scarily pneumatic Belinda (Mariam Camacho....bless you), a trio of shady crims running scams in some unnamed South American dive (played here by an off season Alicante).

Unfortunately they are all utter shite at being criminals as we see during the films opening when the bashful boys are seen attempting to rob a boat only to be foiled when Mario gets confused as to how to open a door.

Oh.

My.

Sides.

Their luck is about to change tho' because as Belinda is out shopping she happens across a wee girl named Florence Dauville (listed as - I kid you not -  le petite Annabelle in the credits) playing with a gaudy doll outside the beauty salon where her mum (Silvia Solar) is getting her nails done.

Tho' I'm surprised she's ignoring the mustache she has.

Or is that just shit on her top lip?

Anyway turns out that the little lass is actually the heiress of  the Dauville automobile fortune, so as anyone in that position would do, Belinda decides it'd be a good idea to kidnap her.

Your auntie at Christmas....you know which one.

Surprisingly this goes without a hitch and the girl is quickly snatched as the parents enjoy a nice tapas meal only going to pot when Mario's pal Ricardo (no idea who plays him, sorry) decides to visit them and gets run over by a drunk driver.

In no time at all (it is a short movie), the whole place is chocablock with the police and both Ricardo and the tipsy driver have been arrested.

I can see why the driver was but unless wearing your dad's golfing trousers out on a Friday night is a crime I'd have thought it'd be better to take Ricardo to hospital myself but heyho.

Convinced that Ricardo may mention the kidnapping to the police (even tho' he knows fuck all about it) Roberto calls his mafia boss-like buddy, Pepe (who is neither a skunk or owner of a 70s/80s jeans company) in order to get safe passage out of the country.

Pepe, being well connected arranges a flight to the border so they can meet up with famed tracker Mickey Morris (played by a chipmunk with a crap perm), who guide them around the checkpoint whilst keeping the guards busy by flashing her ample cleavage and smooth, milky white thighs before taking them up the safe house owned by the high waisted Antonio (playing himself probably) and his (much) younger wife Manuela (Pamela Stanford from your dads bed).

The only thing our intrepid group have to worry about is not to stray too far off the path as they may end up in cannibal territory.

Sounds legit.

Harsh.

Everything goes swimmingly (even Mickey's thigh tease is actually fairly arousing but then again I am ill) until that is the Jeep's radiator runs out of water or something (I don't know I'm not a driver) and Mickey has to go to the nearby stream to get a refill.

No sooner is she out of sight tho' (which must be quite far as her arse is massive) than the cannibals turn up and eat her whole.

Wait for it.....

Which is surprising seeing as I'd heard that they spit that bit out.

Thank you.

Hearing Mickey's screams as she's attacked the trio do what we all would in that situation and drive off in the Jeep which without warning is suddenly working again.

Quickly arriving at Antonio's house the group try to explain away Mickey's absence by saying she had her woman's period and after much 'oohing' and 'aaahing' Antonio relents and invites them in for tea.

But the only thing Mario wants into is Manuela's lacy undies.

That reminds me....I better check if the gammon in my fridge has gone off.

During the getting to know you tea party the phone rings and Antonio is called back into the office as it seems he's the only person who can change the toner in the photocopier and after kissing his wife goodbye bids everyone a fond farewell and instructs them to treat the place as their own.

Unfortunately Mario misinterprets this as "Feel free to wank in the bushes whilst watching my wife shower then chase her up thru' the bushes, tie her to a tree then forcibly penetrate her lush lady garden with your swollen uncircumcised member before firing your white hot joy juice all over her thighs." which lets be honest is an easy mistake to make.

For anyone thinking that this is just a crash exploitative sex scene thrown in to placate the (mostly) male audience you'd be dead wrong as this it's artistically offset with some soft-focus scenes of Belinda seducing a guy in a sombrero playing the guitar.

So there.

Your mum and dad at Christmas after you've gone to bed.

Upon his return Antonio is obviously a wee bit upset to find his wife semi-conscious and tied to a tree so decides to plan his revenge, firstly by getting everyone drunk then inviting Mario on a hunting trip where he ties him to the same tree before calling on his cannibal pals to eat him.

Meanwhile back at the house Manuela is busy with her own plan, informing the local handyman Brian that the houseguests are in fact the pesky (and pikey) kidnappers that have been all over the news and that there's a huge reward for their capture.

Meanwhile Florence’s parents have discovered where their daughter is being held so round up a posse to go rescue her.

The stage is set for an explosive climax as the kidnappers have the choice of facing justice or facing a hungry cannibal tribe....

Tho' to be honest it's not that exciting.

Hanson have let themselves go.

Reeling from the accusation of producing the shoddiest movie ever made with Zombie(s) Lake, producer Daniel Lesoeur obviously decided to show the world the true meaning of cheap and to that end hired professional pervert Jess Franco to flesh out his tale of kinky kidnapping and cannibal corpse crunching with the remit of keeping the entire budget under £12.50.

But who could be trusted to stay on/under budget but still deliver the gory goods?

Enter (roughly and from behind) Alain Deruelle, director of the fantastic Orgies pour nymphomanes, who keeps the budget low by using the play park behind his house a the jungle, his Pyrenees hiking holiday footage as establishing shots of the Amazon and in a stroke of either utter genius or blatant racism blacks up the local youth football team to play the cannibals.

And still manages to keep a few quid back to buy some wine for the wrap party.

Shite in mah mooth.

Luckily the director had photo's of composer Jean-Jaques Lemêtre fucking a pig so got the score for free, tho' to be honest he couldn't have been that bothered about the pics getting out if his music here is anything to go by seeing as it sounds like the type of thing your granddad would play to try and (unsuccessfully) seduce the papergirl.

You know the one with the club foot that your mum made you dance with at the church Christmas party.

The one with seriously sore acne that smelled of banana Nesquik?

Just me then.

The only downside scarily enough is Jess Franco's script (tho' it did have two obviously less able writers attached to it as well) tho' film historians agree that Franco purposely made it nonsensical as to not steal the thunder (or shoes) from his own Cannibal epic(s) Devil Hunter and Mondo Cannibale which were both shooting around the same time, tho' it may have been that he was just too drunk to give a fuck.

Which perfectly sums up the state you'd have to be in to even contemplate watching this movie.

Unless you're a connoisseur of 'cult' cinema when you'll have to buy it anyway.

Just like I did.

Which is fair enough.

 *No.



**This for all American readers is what we Brits call 'sarcasm'.