flesh gore-dom.

 

 Scarily just realised that Bruno Mattei’s craptastic Zombie Creeping Flesh is 40 years old this year - which makes me feel fucking ancient seeing as I remember hiring it out from Washvac Video in Coseley as a nipper.

To add insult to injury it's an off-licence now so I doubt they'll still have a copy in stock.

A local shop for local people.

 

Even sadder tho' is the fact that as far as 80's zombie movies go, ZCF isn't ever treated with the respect it deserves - which to be fair isn't much - but it should be treated a wee bit better than Full Moon Pictures did last year when, at the height of the Corona pandemic they shoddily recut/redubbed bits of it (alongside news footage of Donald Trump and footage from Zombies vs Strippers) and hastily popped it online under the title Corona Zombies in a vain attempt to make a cash-grab from the ongoing global pandemic.

Piracy - and a distinct lack of imagination - is a crime. Probably.

So anyway, I'm using 31 Days of Horror as an excuse to hopefully raise it up to the lofty position in cinematic history it deserves.

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

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

Good, now we can begin.



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

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

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

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

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

Is there any other kind tho?

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

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

These tinker terrorists are demanding the closing down of every Hope Centre in the world due to them being a cover for something bad (probably making 5G masts), which of course both the government and the military deny.

Well they would wouldn't they?

Luckily for us that world-renowned science expert, Made In Chelsea's Lucy Watson is on the case in 'the real life'.

Aren't we lucky?

 

This is what being tired of experts gets you. Hope you're proud of yourselves.

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

In the face.

Fuck yeah.

Children beware, their Jeep is not full of sweets.

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

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

An effect of the chemical leak surely?

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

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

Anyway, London (the character not the city obviously), realizing that Rousseau's breasts will probably be the most entertaining things we're going to see in the next 90 minutes offers to take them along for the ride.

Magrit Evelyn Newton's tits yesterday.

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

No chance it could be zombies then?

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

How convenient is that?

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

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

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

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

Which is nice.

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

Seriously.

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

Yikes.

Rooting around the building in search of some old ladies underwear to change into, Osbourne discovers whom he takes to be the plantation owner, a wrinkly old woman, asleep in a rocking chair.

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

Gah indeed.

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

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

Again.

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

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


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

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

Inside Michael Barrymore's mind.

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

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

Soylent Green anyone?

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

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

"Laugh now!"

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

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

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

"Aye hen!"

Nothing like finishing on an upbeat note eh?

Different title, same movie, scarier cover.

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

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

Only joking.*

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

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

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

Including bedding your mates attractive mum.

Probably.

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

Anyway, back to the movie in hand.

Lets be frank here, it's rare to get such a bad film that actually delivers the entertainment factor so perfectly - everything about it screams train wreck - from barely adequate gore effects, ludicrously stiff dialogue and stilted dubbing - "You're beginning to bug me, kiddo - just don't break my balls!" - unnecessary nudity, dodgy face-painting, a stolen score, stock footage pilfered from such places as Nuova Guinea: Isola Dei Cannibali and the directors holiday films via a fantastic collection of ill fitting hats.

This film has all this and more besides.

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

Brilliantly.

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

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

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

Or in José Gras' case cheap cooking sherry.

Allegedly.

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

An average Daily Mail headline yesterday.

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

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

 

 

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

 

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

Not Peter Rabbit 2 that's for sure.

Top quality entertainment for all the family.









































 *Or am I?

rainy wine house.

Day 7 of the whole horrific 31 Days of Horror thing and we're rapidly approaching half term here so starting on the kid friendly stuff.

And this is a perfect movie if you have kids right now as it's kinda like a Covid ridden Thomas the Tank Engine but with more breasts.

 

 

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

Emily: Really knows her stuff, allegedly.

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

In the dim and distant past, Button nosed elfin-esque cutie Elizabeth (the late, great Pascal, previously seen as Carla in the fantastic I Am Frigid... Why?) is enjoying a well deserved rail holiday (remember them?) with her blonde haired buck toothed pal thru' the quaint French countryside before Brexit/Covid restrictions kick in good and proper and they aren't allowed abroad anymore.

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

Which is weird seeing as they've just won the World Football Cup or whatever it's called.

As a plus point it did mean that Cassidy didn't have to look at such a freakish barnet for ninety minutes, I mean he's only 15 after all.

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

Will she be safe?

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

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

"Can you smell petrol?"

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

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

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

"Eye hen".

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

Which is when things start to get really freaky.

And I don't just mean the distinct lack of nudity - or the presence of an actual plot  - which are normally concepts quite alien to Jean Rollin.

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

Again.

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

Please note how I resisted adding a witty comment here.

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

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

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

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

"Le cheap French Vino in mah mooth monsieur!"

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

Tho' luckily not the band.

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

Hmmm....they must be German.

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

Will he save not only the day but our oh so cute heroine too?

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

Fuck me! It's Noel Fielding!

No matter how threadbare or cheese ridden his movies are, you can't help but love Jean Rollin. 

He's like the curmudgeonly old uncle you only saw at Christmas, you know the one that always gave you Victorian Erotic postcards instead of birthday cards and, after he'd got you to admit how attractive you found the breasts on show would laughingly inform you that it's a picture of your Great Granny.

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

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

Some grapes (of death) earlier today.

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

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

Especially if it's this pair:

Be seeing you.

mah mah mah my corona....

Calling it now, next Tuesday the White House are gonna announce that Trump's natural antibodies have actually defeated the Coronavirus without any medical help whilst he'll  boast about how it's due to his 'very good genes'.

 

At that point bio-suit clad agents burst in and taser him before carting him off to a secret lab where scientists (led by Brent Spiner essaying Harold Bornstein) dissect him (alive) to harvest a cure.

 

It's the perfect ending. Like I Am Legend but with shitter hair.

Post credit scene...the laboratory dissection discovers that his 'very good genes' are a mixture of Nixon, McCarthy, Jesus and The Fonz. 

 

The announcement is scored to the soundtrack from 'Gone With The Wind'....

 

Or Seinfeld. 

apocalypse sow.

With the Resident Evil 2 Remake released to critical acclaim - well my mate Paul was excited* - across PS4, Xbox One and PC in January 2019 and Resident Evil 8 coming soon(ish) I reckoned it'd be a good time to re-review some of the top quality motion pictures based on that illustrious video game saga.

Plus they've got viruses and stuff in them so they kinda suit the mood.

Have to admit tho' I did pull this one randomly from the boxset (it was a gift honest) so no idea which one this is but I think it's the second - slightly less shitey one.



Resident Evil: Apocalypse (2004)
Dir: Alexander Witt
Cast: Milla Jovovich, Sienna Guillory, Oded Fehr, Iain Glenn, Sandrine Holt, Thomas Kretschmann, Sophie Vavasseur, Razaaq Adoti, Jared Harris, and Mike Epps.

L.J.: [a Zombie walks in front of his car] GTA, Motherfucker!
[he runs over the Zombie, which flips over his car]
L.J.: Yeah! Ten points!

Welcome to Raccoon City, a normal American suburban paradise indistinguishable from any other but for the large amounts of piss stained tramps wandering about trying to bite folk.

Oh yes, and the fact that it looks a wee bit like Canada and also that the bird from The Fifth Element has taken to wandering about the streets wearing a tea-towel as a dress.

So actually nothing like a normal American suburban paradise then?

Well apart from the tramps obviously.

Anyway, while the stinky hobo's are quickly taking over and the towns residents (who surprisingly aren't evil) are desperately trying to leave - or at the very least are desperate to appear in a better film - the local law enforcement (and part time jazz dance crew by the looks of them) are fighting a losing battle to maintain order - and interest - against an overwhelming number of undead gypsies and the directors almost obscene obsession with crash zooming in on ladies underwear as they climb stairs to avoid a nibbling.

If this wasn't enough to put a downer on everyone's week, the evil multinational in charge of the town, the Umbrella corporation has decided to erect large gates at every exit and has taken to machine gunning anyone who gets too close.

Which is a mercy killing really.

Valentine: She loves you not.

The local (and I do mean local) news anchor Terri Morales (turnip nosed, topless star of Rapa Nui and latter day Mr Robot cast member Holt) is bravely (and sweatily) reporting from the front lines.

What she doesn't realize is that Umbrella are blocking the broadcast, effectively cutting Raccoon City off from the outside world.

The swines.

You see, it seems that not only do they own the local secret labs, the pound shop and the bakery but also the news channels too.

Imagine an even more patently bastard Trump empire but with sexier suits and less grating accents.

Oh yes and an ability to say 'China' properly.

Tho' you think she'd have noticed the big, fuck off Umbrella logo on the side of the cameras before now.

Back in town at the local police station, a squad of Raccoon Cities finest are doing their best not to get bitten by stinky zombie prostitutes whilst not spilling their coffees and filing traffic reports but to no avail.

Enter (oh go on, if I must) barely dressed, gun toting tottie Jill Valentine (Guillory from Love Actually and Fortitude), a no nonsense cop, kicked off the force for doing things her way.

Is there any cliche this film wont dig up and parade kicking and screaming in front of us like so gin soaked arthritic relative?

Taking time out from telling everyone to leave whilst walking around with her arse wiggling in the style of a ten year old cross-dressing Chinese boy, Jill shoots an undead hooker in the face and grabs a Snickers bar before heading off to meet up with her better looking (and far better dressed) cop buddy Carlos (the chip pan haired Fehr from, ahem, The Mummy Returns).

Which begs the question as to why she didn't just go and meet up with him in the first place rather than going to the station just to walk straight thru' and leave.

Oh yes, it was so we could all enjoy the long tracking shot of her backside.

My bloody Valentine.

Anyway some more (inconsequential but very loud) shit happens and the pair end up hiding out in a church alongside Terri the reporter and rent an ethnic sidekick Wells (Adoti from Doom - the guy must like his video games, well it's either that or he's got a huge drugs habit to fund) where our fearsome foursome come across a fat vicar and his zombie sister before being attacked by some inconsequential CGI turd-monsters with big tongues.

Slobbering slimy mouth monsters and skimpily dressed heroines?

This is where the movie could get interesting.

But no, given the choice between some girl on monster tentacle sex or having the writers wife smash thru' the window on a motorbike the director goes for the latter.

Yup, it's genetically engineered skinny bird Alice (the monkey faced, boy hipped and high Scrabble scoring Jovovich), fresh from lying strapped to a bed and flashing her smooth milky white thighs and a wee bit of bush (just enough to give the small boys watching something to do with their free hand) at the end of the first movie and ready to kick zombie bum.

Oh, and show her pants a lot.

Jovovich: Water sports.

Meanwhile back at the plot, the evil (yet sexily uniformed) Major Jeff Cain (Kretschmann, that nasty rapist from The Stendhal Syndrome) is busy arguing with the crippled (both physically - I mean he is ginger - and emotionally) genius behind Umbrella's slightly dodgy bio-weapons experiments Dr. Ashford (Harris, who is obviously getting ready to appear in Chernobyl - the miniseries not the actual place that is).

It seems that in the confusion they forgot to evacuate the good doctor's daughter before shutting down the city, mistakenly crashing the car she was in into a wall instead.

Arse.

Well Milla knew exactly who to fuck to get into the picture but who does she have to fuck to get out of it?

Wheeling off in a strop (well in a wheelchair but you know what I mean), Ashford (but alas not Simpson) secretly contacts our merry band of zombie hunters - who've now picked up a wise cracking pimp named LJ ('played' if that's the right word by a shameless Epps) and offers them a safe route out of the city.

But only if they rescue his daughter first....

Seriously, this doesn't deserve art this good.

Jumping the directors ship for the abominable sequel to the lackluster (nah, I'm being polite - that should read utterly shite) Resident Evil, baby faced movie mangler Paul W.S. Anderson handed over the reigns to Alexander Witt.

Lucky fella.

As you may remember, Anderson is the 'genius' behind the brash and ballsy violent violation of Forbidden Planet that was Event Horizon, the fist fuck of a film called Alien Vs. Predator as well as the not too bad (if I'm honest) Mortal Kombat and the Kurt Russell straight to video Blade Runner-baiting abortion Soldier.**

Sorry if I'm bringing back bad memories here but people need reminding of these facts.

"Laugh now!"

So you can only imagine how much of an utter shite-fest this movie is seeing as Anderson quickly booted Witt from the director's chair for the next installment.

Tho' let's be honest, how do you make a totally unwanted and unnecessary sequel to a film that couldn't even be arsed being anything like the video game it was based on in any way halfway decent or indeed watchable?

Give credit where it's due tho', I mean Witt's DP CV is/was certainly impressive (in a mainstream kinda way) and for years previous to this travesty he'd been working alongside Sir Ridley of Scott which you'd think would be pretty good on the job training.

At the very least the film should look nice, not like it was shot thru' a gauze of watered down shite.

Saying that it was 16 years and about 400 sequals ago so some fucker must have liked it.

Which is even scarier a thought when you realise that the next one - the beige hell that was Resident Evil: Extinction - was directed by the uber-permed one-hit wonder Russell (Razorback) Mulcahy.
For those lucky enough to never have seen it, it's less a horror thrill-ride and more a virtual reality trip thru' Simon LeBon's 80s boil wash.

On a brighter note, Alexander Witt's career now seems to consist of making short films for Land Rover which must pay quite well seeing as his last major movie - the Nic Cage starer Red Squad - seems to have vanished into the ether.

Imagine that, a Nic Cage movie too shit to release?

Now if only RE:A was as scary.

"You ain't seen me....right?"

Who stole Milla's leg?

Complete and utter tosh, which has scarily given me a real urge to revisit the rest now.

Is there any hope for me?


















































*So excited in fact that he did a 'mod' of main character Claire Redfield so you can play the entire game with her just wearing her underwear.

Look:

**Scary but true - Soldier which was written by David Peoples, who co-wrote the script for Blade Runner is considered to be an unofficial sequel/prequel to it,

Not only does the film subtlety reference the stories of Philip K. Dick but it also features a Spinner from Blade Runner amongst the background wreckage on the planet.

And if that wasn't enough, Kurt Russell’s character is shown to have fought in the battles referenced in Roy Batty’s (Rutger Hauer) famous monologue - the Shoulder of Orion and Tannhäuser Gate - leading to some film fans to assume that they are, in fact, one in the same character.

flaming alf.

The Coronavirus cine capers continue.....

Well that was short and to the point.

Just like yer maw.

Actually this is an oldie but a bloody goodie that I'm surprised more folk don't rave about.

I'm less worried about her getting the virus and more worried that she'll get a chill in her tummy (or a bad reputation) wearing that top.

Undead (2003).
Dir: Michael and Peter Spierig.
Cast: Felicity Mason, Mungo McKay, Rob Jenkins, Lisa Cunningham, Dirk Hunter and Emma Randall.

"When I was a kid, we fuckin' respected
our parents, we didn't fuckin' eat 'em!"

Welcome to the sleep fishing town of Berkeley in Western Australia, to the local population it's home but to everyone else it's the arse end of dullsville, the only great thing about it being the road out.

Think Dudley but with better (any?) teeth.

One of these non-believers is the towns former Miss Catch of the Day pin-up Rene (the Tefal browed Mason, best known as the voice of Audrey the Activist in the 'hit' online series Team Trashe), struggling to keep up payments on her late parents farm and dreaming of a new life in the big city.

Things aren't going well for our soon to be heroine at the moment tho' seeing as she's stuck in a horrendous meeting with the beefy and balding Mr. Chip Loan at the local bank, who  sits sweatily eyeing up poor Rene as she begs for an extension on her payments and,  after exhausting her patented female mix of giving huge puppy dog eyes and wistful sighs she ends up storming out to her friend Johnny Deadsoon's car determined to leave her troubles behind.

And with that bit of backstory out of the way we can begin.

(Poppy) eyes son.

Driving along the main road and out of town Rene soon begins to notice the sky getting darker and darker (and more blatantly CGI-ed) as the sound of thunder rumbles in the distance.

But that's not the only bizarre weather-based thing occurring as suddenly storms of burning meteorites descend from the heavens disrupting the local cricket match, destroying shops, frying children and turning the locals into flesh starved undead things.

So far so good.

Coming across (insert 'not literally' joke here) a nasty pile-up in the middle of the road Johnny pulls over and gets out the car to investigate and it's not long before the poor sod has been nibbled to death by a shite moothed, blank eyed, shambling pre-teen zombie.

With really bad hair.

Some folk have all the luck.

Beating the child to death with a steering wheel lock Rene heads off towards a nearby (and very run-down) farmhouse quick style.

"Shite in mah undead, pre-teen mooth ya bastard!"

Far from being deserted tho' the farmhouse belongs to the local monosyllabic mentalist Marion (McKay, ball faced star of Malibu Shark Attack), owner of Marion's World of Weapons and winner of the fishy beard of the year award three years running.

Luckily for Rene, Marion recognises these bizarre events as a sign of alien invasion as it appears that years ago, whilst fishing for carp the poor sod was abducted by a group of extraterrestrials under similar circumstances and since then he's been training and preparing for their return.

There's no time for introductions tho' (or any more character development than is absolutely necessary) because no sooner has Marion pulled a gun on Rene whilst muttering something slight yet meaningful in a rather gruff manner that ever more cliche riddled survivors turn up.

Enter pregnant beauty queen Sallyanne (Cunningham from Daybreakers), her hick helicopter pilot Wayne (hat wearing Jenkins), foul mouthed, bad ass, big shorted copper Harrison (The New Adventures of Flipper's Hunter) and fragile flower rookie police officer (plus token cutsie red head) Molly (ex set decorator, stop motion goddess and all round art queen Randall).

"He did WHAT in his cup?"

If the fact that the sky wasn't full of flaming meteors and the town full of zombies wasn't enough to upset everyone then the sudden heavy rainfall is.

But this is no ordinary rain, no sir.

I mean it's computer generated for a start.

You see it soon becomes apparent that this downpour not only burns skin but picks up people and animals at random in a kinda squishy shower like tractor beam.

Could things get any worse?

Bardot are looking a wee bit rough.

Deciding the best course of action is to make a Vegemite sandwich (or whatever it is these Aussie types eat) the groups attempts at making lunch are foiled when a team of scruffy undead tramps burst into the house looking for fresh meat to chow down on.

With Harrison shouting "Fuck!" at every given opportunity whilst flashing his knobbly knees to all and sundry Marion (quietly) takes command and leads everyone into his cellar cum lead lined bunker to formulate an action plan.

Think The Apprentice only with stinky beards, over the knee socks and a distinct lack of tottie and you're halfway there but probably only a quarter as entertaining*.

With the majority of the group agreeing that staying put is probably the best option it's down to Sallyanne and her rather inconvenient (under the circumstances) pregnancy to get in the way.

You see she reckons that she's about to pop a sprog at any second which may hamper any long term ideas about hiding out till it's all over.

There's only one clean towel for a start and the nearest they have to clean water is the sweat that they can mop from between Molly's ample (and sexily freckled) cleavage.

After a quick think (and helped along by Harrison waving his weapon about) everyone decides to make a break for Marion's van and attempt to drive out of town.

Again.

Nigel Mansell farted....and it was an eggy one.

Upon arrival at the town border it's fair to say that the group are fairly surprised to find that a mile high metal barrier lined with razor sharp spikes has been built surrounding the whole of Berkeley.

Marion blames the aliens that allegedly abducted him whilst Harrison is quick to point the finger at the bin men.

Sallyanne just sits cradling her stomach gurning like a loon.

Typical.

As the acid rain continues to drench the town and members of the group begin to fall foul of the heavenly tractor beams it's left to Rene and Marion to discover a cure to the undead terror destroying Berkeley and uncover the secret behind the mysterious glowing monks hiding in the shadows....

As cheap as chips and as tasteful as a Dingo's dinner, the Spierig brothers second feature (before hitting the big time with the Ethan Hawke starrers Daybreakers and Predestination**) is a delightful mix of 1950's alien paranoia and 1980's pre-cert horror with an added dash of Evil Dead style black comedy lovingly wrapped in an old pair of Paul Hogan's pants.

Yes it's slight and indeed it's throwaway but if it's ninety minutes of no brainer, laugh now giggles you're after then you could do worse than watch this.

Plus it's a damn sight more entertaining than the prospect of another seaon of The Walking Dead.

Or even Waking The Dead.

Not sold?

Well tough, because I'm not going to give away too about the numerous golden moments in the movie by mentioning the scenes of exploding old ladies, groan inducing shopfronts with names like Elvis Parsley’s Grapeland, Felicity Mason in soaking undies, streets awash with gore and the best (if only) tramp bearded John Woo tribute I've ever seen on celluloid.

Go on, watch it now.

It wont change your life but it may make a little bit of wee squirt out at certain points.

And if you're honest, what more can you ask for from a cinematic experience during a global pandemic?


































































*Must admit I've not watched the show for years but if I'm honest I'd pay good money (at least £15) to see former Junior Apprentice Goddess Zoe Plummer oiled up in a vest cradling a machine gun lead a group of contestants thru' a heaving throng of the undead as Lord Sugar barks insults at them from the boardroom.

But perhaps that's just me.

Zombie zapping
Zoe Plummer: sorted.

**Before pissing any good will well and truly up the wall with the utterly pointless SAW sequel Jigsaw.

a load of old sarse.

Other folk are still crying out for loo roll and handwash during their self isolation whilst I'm begging for decent movies...Welcome to my seemingly endless Coronavirus cine-thon....it seemed a good idea at the time.

A pretty short review today as:

A. I've been busy.

B. I've already written more than this deserves.

SARS/SARS: The Dead Plague (2009)

Dir: J. R. Thomas.

Cast: Michael Cooper, Ashley Mullis, Aaron Meade, Aubrey Davidson, Allie Stapelton, Meg White (not that one) and Tony Anthony.

Pray for the dead? Pray for the unfortunate fucking viewer more like.

Way back in the year 2005 that nasty Avian Bird Flu - remember that? Aaaah simple times! -  finally turned up in the good ol' US of A (it probably took it that long to get thru customs) to mild apathy from the locals.

This is probably because most of them were too fat, too busy shooting each other or too busy riding about in big gas guzzling cars whilst eating potato chips to notice.

Or in the case of director (and I use that title very loosely) JR Thomas, too busy in his parents basement masturbating over pictures of Amanda Bynes* whilst listening to Slipknot.

Sad bastard.

Amanda Bynes: scarily an anagram of 'shite in mah mooth'.

By 2009 however the disease had mutated to a point where it now infected insects who in turn bit lots of kiddies who then bit their parents.

And the result of all this biting?

Well by 2015 everyone who's ever been bitten, scratched or shagged their weans have transformed into zombies.

Yes, the make-up is this shit.

Unfortunately a small number of non-actors, friends of the producer and piss stained tramps (male and female) have survived and must now struggle to live in a world overrun by the undead.

Oh and one that features stolen footage from the Dawn of The Dead remake and, a fucking abysmal 'nu-metal' score and it's entire running time shoddily cut together from various quality (from shit to really fucking shit) Youtube shorts.

As the DVD sleeve says:

Embrace the madness.

See what they did here? Yes, the world is bad.

Finally I can die a happy (if not slightly soiled) man for I have witnessed a film so bad, so pointless that I am certain that it can never, ever be beaten.

Unlike the director who couldn't be beaten enough for my liking.

Saying that tho', perhaps I'm missing the point and the obvious lack of plot, acting talent or make-up skills on show here are intentional and this is, in fact a really, really clever art movie.

I tried to contact the director to ask him but to no avail.

Tho' thinking about it, the chances of him replying by email are very slim.

I mean that would involve him learning basic communication skills and at the very least how to form words because if this script (what?! You mean there was a script?) is anything to go by he has trouble even attempting to bash the keys into a cohesive sentence.

A man named J.R. Thomas yesterday. Did he 'direct' this film?

The most grating thing about this whole sorry affair isn't any of the things I've already mentioned (surprisingly) or even the fact that the entire thing was lit with a torch and a strobe light.

No, it's the fact that the first one was popular enough to warrant a sequel.

Is there no God?

I mean come on America, you'll shoot someone as hot as Gabrielle Giffords but you let this guy live?**

Or was it this Thomas?

The only thing we can do is to buy up every damned copy and burn them before they fall into the wrong hands.

Because if we don't it's our children who will suffer.

Thank you and good day.







































*For those too young to remember Amanda Bynes was the American equivalent of teen temptress Tina O'Brien, who played Sarah Platt in Coronation Street from 1999 to whenever (honestly I can't be bothered checking) before appearing semi-naked in Nuts magazine and marrying a footballer.

Possibly.

O'Brien: Hairy back and arse.

**By the way, I'm not really advocating murder (I'm not Mohammed bin Salman bin Abdulaziz Al Saud for one thing) but I wouldn't say no to anyone who fancies giving him a swift knee to the balls.