she-it.

The weans are on holiday (again) so we're stuck with their choice in movies.

Luckily they have taste.

She (1982)
Dir: Avi Nesher.
Cast: Sandahl Bergman, David Goss, Elena Wiedermann, Gregory Snegoff, David Traylor, Gordon Mitchell, Quin Kessler, David Brandon, Andrew McLeay, Harrison Muller Jr and some camp tramps.

"What's a bomb?"

It is the 23rd year after 'the cancellation', of what I'm not too sure but most likely of the cheaper than your mum animated TV show that opens the movie with it's crayon and crepe paper history of the apocalypse.

Hopefully.

But nuclear annihilation isn't the scariest thing on screen, oh no. 

That'll be the fact that it's only taken 23 years for the sad remnants of humanity to return to dressing up like pound shop new romantics, fighting with swords, flamethrowers and chainsaws instead of guns and riding around on ponies like a collection of underfed rag and bone men.

The only thing that hasn't change is the bizarre obsession with minor celebrities.

In this case it's Arnie's ferret faced Conan sidekick, dancer cum actress Sandahl (daughter of famed Space:1999 scientist Victor) Bergman who, until someone more famous comes along is currently worshiped as a living God.

Which is nice.

Meanwhile the common folk spend their days wandering around the local market in the hope of picking up cheap meat off-cuts, dodgy phonecards and pirate DVD's.

Not really so different there then.

It's in one such market that we meet the duo who will act as our heroes for the next 90 minutes (tho' it will seem much, much longer), a Chuckle Brothers for the 21st century, blond bombshell Tom (Goss, last seen working as a production assistant on that hit show The Bachelorette) and his pube haired (almost) comedy sidekick Dick (Muller Jr. from The Final Executioner) who, within minutes of arriving on the scene are viciously assaulted by a small group of hooligans clad in the contents of a child’s dressing up box.

Albeit a child with a swastika obsession. 

That'll be me aged 6 then.

"To me!" "To you!"

Within a matter of minutes they've beaten our dynamic dunces senseless, stolen all the Yorkies from the sweet shop and kidnapped Tom’s sister - wait for it - Hari (Wiedermann, Wiedermann does whatever a Wieder can).

Anyone else would probably be distraught but good old Tom is frankly unaffected by the whole thing and decides, along with Dick to go and pick up a prostitute to drown his sorrows.

By drown his sorrows I obviously mean to have the sex with.

Unfortunately being an evil whore she drugs the duo, chaining Dick up in the shed before delivering Tom to the immortal 'She' (that'll be Bergman then) to use him as she sees fit.

"Are you looking at mah bra?"

Because of (or despite his) lack of manbreast, She dispenses with her usual shag and stab routine deciding instead to submit Tom to the ominously named Path of Blood, a tiny obstacle course built in a child’s sandpit that consists of a series of sharp wooden stakes thru which Tom will be led blindfolded whilst being kicked and fondled by a dozen Granny panted Suzi Quatro lookalikes before being abandoned to die in the wasteland.

Which seems a little extreme but what do I know?

Luckily, for the movie if not for us, the next morning he’s rescued by a token British homosexualist and part time science man named Stony Tark (McLeay) who whisks Tom away to his secret laboratory where he can be told various plot points that may, or may not come in useful later.

You know, important stuff like the fact that his sisters has been grabbed by the Norks (no sniggering) and that the only person that knows the how to get their hands on those pesky Norks (no seriously) is She herself.

And with this Tark promptly disappears from the film, never to be seen again and leaving Tom with no alternative than to rescue his buddy Dick from the hands of the evil hooker and kidnap She in the hope that she'll show them where those infamous Norks hang out.

Seriously you couldn't make this shit up.

Tho' scarily somebody (I'm looking at you Avi Nesher) did just that.

Anyway, making his way back to the village - and wearing a child's army helmet as a disguise - Tom punches out the prostitute (isn’t that extra?) and rescues Dick from a life of pig based humiliation before settling down to plan their next move over a nice cup of tea and a biscuit.

You know the convention was going downhill when drunken ex-weathergirl Ulrika jonsson tried to violate Clash of the Titans star Bubo with a chocolate dildo.

Meanwhile it's the time of the month where She has to endures the gruesome sounding Trial of Blood This involves She dressing up in her best bed-sheet and fighting a variety of wind up robots, Roman Centurions and a Frankenstein monster secreted in huge wooden crates in a cave haphazardly filled with barrels, televisions and old washing machines.

Or as we call it in the UK, West Bromwich.

After a slight and uninspired slow fight the bloodied and battered She ventures deeper underground where she meets an old lady who urges our heroine to strip naked and enjoy a long hot bath in the healing waters of a conveniently placed spring.

As She gently caresses her breasts and ample thighs the old woman mysteriously intones...

“You have passed through the cycle again, Goddess. But the prophecy still stands. A man will come to claim your heart. For him you will break your vow. Through him, you will be destroyed.” 

At this point I really think I should point out that although this scene sounds as tho' it could be really important at some point further in the movie it is, bizarrely never referred to again.

Yup that's right.

At no point does She fall in love or end up destroyed. A wee bit muddy yes but that's about it.

Got that?

Great, now let's move on and catch up with Tom and Dick who succeed in kidnapping She from her bedchamber before riding off into the local play park with a bunch of butch Amazonian warriors, led by She's best pal Shanda (the mighty Kessler, in truth the only real reason for watching) in hot-tish pursuit.

...Inside Dave Lee Travis' mind...

After what seems like hours of galloping and lame wise-cracks inter-cut with random shots of muscly thighed women on horseback our trippy trio come across (you know the drill) a band of mutants wrapped in dirty bandages and all clad in big nappies called the Nukes who, after a wee bit of polite conversation decide to execute the threesome in a handy trash compactor.

Luckily Shanda soon turns up and using a mix of pantomime swordplay and unbridled sex appeal defeats the Nukes before any harm can befall Tom, She or Dick (which in his case in a crying shame).

With She untied and looking as leathery as ever and Tom and Dick surrounded by angry Amazons you'd be forgiven for thinking the quest to save Hari (remember her?) would be over but, oh no, She takes pity on Tom and Dick and helpfully points them in the general direction of Nork Valley before letting them on their way.

Unbeknownst to our plucky pals She has decided - along with sexy Shanda - to follow the  follow the pair from a distant so as to see what wild and wacky adventures they may have.

Shanda: Five fingers, never touched the sides.

Wandering deep into the woodland that conveniently sits opposite the park Tom and Dick discover an idyllic country house occupied by a group of handsome (in an 80's Italian way) young men and big haired women draped around a swimming pool in togas and reciting bad poetry to each other.

Their leader (Italian genre stalwart and ex-Caligula Brandon) upon noticing the newcomers charmingly invites them to join the group for dinner.

And maybe a side order of the sex.

Our heroes, obviously forgetting what happened last time someone offered them a shag excitedly accept the offer and spend the evening stuffing their grubby faces with turkey sandwiches and crisps, dancing badly to cheesy 50's ballads whilst wearing ill fitting tuxedo's.

Just a normal night in Blackpool really.

Your mum and sister at my house last week.

Drunk on Happy Shopper Vino and stuffed full of cake Tom and Dick collapse in a stupor hoping to sleep off the nights excesses but wouldn't you know it, the party revelers are really a tribe of flesh eating werewolves intent on scoffing ours heroes whole.

Although I've heard that they spit that bit out.

Just as all seems lost who should turn up but She and Shanda, annoyed at missing a free meal and ready to kick some hairy arse meaning our fantastic foursome live to ride another day.

Or at the very least get captured by someone else about 10 minutes later.

Probably.

With thank you's (and a few lustful glances 'tween Dick and Shanda) exchanged they soon arrive at a quaint old town, seemingly untouched for years save for all the walls, doors, windows and very slow dogs being covered in some fairly well designed (for a child) retro-communist style posters emblazoned with the word Godan and what looks like a picture of a young Eli Roth complete with glowing green eyes.

"£6.50??!!?? I can almost hire a whore for that much!"

They don't have much time to discuss the merits of feltpen vs. crayon tho' (or even Roth's more recent acting roles) as She and her pals are suddenly captured (surprise!) by a group of elderly monks who take them before the great god Godan (Robotech voice artist Snegoff) himself.

Realizing that Godan is a wee bit of a mentalist, used to getting his own way, full of self importance and with little respect for anything other than his own needs (hang on...are you sure that this isn't Eli Roth?) Tom and Dick quickly pretend to be disciples and are soon re-enacting the rape scene from Aftershock whilst setting fire to each others trousers, totally ignoring the fact that She and Shanda have been dragged off to the dungeon in order to have their sweaty, leather-clad bodies whipped and poked for Godan's amusement.

"Put it in me!"

After enduring, oooh minutes of torture (and chaffing) Godan decides that the best way to interrogate She would be to have her taken to his room and sex the information out of her (what this information is I've still no idea).

Unfortunately (for him) this is the last straw as far as his dedicated priestess Sylvia is concerned, seeing as she's been waiting on him hand and foot for years without even a hint of a penis going her way and she reacts in the way that most women would when spurned by someone who has absolutely no interest in them.

Yup, she buries a large axe into his chest.

Obviously poor Godan wasn't expecting this but manages to summon the last of his supernatural eye powers to strangle Sylvia with a handy curtain cord.

And what pray tell do She, Tom and Dick do during all this?

That's right, they just stand around ineffectually whilst trying to remember if they had anyone else with them.

Or in Bergman's case desperately trying to remember Arnies phone number in the hope that he can pay for her ticket back to the U.S.

Finally remembering that Shanda is still tied up downstairs (as in to a rack in the dungeon, not having trouble with her ovaries), our motley crew quickly untie her and head of deeper into the woods leaving a small group of old men with nothing else to do but stare at each other and wonder where their next meal is coming from now that their leader is dead.

Well, it's good to know that American foreign policy survived the apocalypse even if fashion sense and basic storytelling didn't.

Sandahl farted in the Jacuzzi and it was an eggy one.

With She and Tom enjoying the countryside and Shanda and Dick involved in some playful flirting no-one notices the slightly foul smelling gas emanating from a nearby bush until it's too late. Our heroes are soon overcome by the smell of egg, gravy and shame as a gas mask-clad hulking figure gleefully watches the scene unfold from a safe distance.

Waking with a terrible headache and his trousers on backwards Tom frantically searches for the others soon finding Shanda unconscious on a nearby rock, beads of sweat collecting in her mighty cleavage and glistening like tiny diamonds.

Possibly.

Aroused and ready for action the pair call on their comrades but to no avail.

It's as tho' they've vanished into thin (but still stinky) air.

But we know the truth don't we?

Yes, they've been kidnapped (I know who'd believe it?) again but this time it's by a bearded transvestite giant and a pale-faced old man on his way to a Scarlet Pimpernel party who've decided to put She and Dick in huge plastic bags in order to experiment on them in their greenhouse cum private love nest.

I think.

Not that Tom is too bothered tho' seeing as he's decided to head along to Norksville on his own.

Selfish sod.

On further examination, the Amanda Knox bedspread that Noel Edmond’s purchased from Ebay turned out to be a fake.

Not wanting to dwell on it for too long suffice to say that yet another oh so daring and improbable escape (this time involving a gas fire and a rope) ensues that reunites our remaining heroes outside a burning shed.

But not for long because although the land of the Norks is within sight Shanda, obviously bored of the by now frankly ludicrous script and missing the feeling of a big powerful animal between her thighs volunteers to head back home (alongside the trannie for reasons best known to herself) to get reinforcements or something leaving She and Dick to go it alone.

The Jimmy Savile/Kurt Russell cloning experiment was more successful than even William Roache could imagine.

 By this time Tom has reached the Nork fortress, all he has to do now is cross the bridge that leads over a dangerous minefield and knock on the front door.

Easy eh?

Well it would be if the bridge weren't guarded by the mighty Xenon (America's top comic Traylor), a frighteningly jumpsuited genetic mix of Michael Barrymore, Snake Plissken, Des Lynam and a caffeine addicted paedophile. 

And that's before he opens his mouth.

His secret weapon?

Following whoever attempts to cross the bridge whilst doing bad impressions of  Groucho Marx, the Cowardly Lion and James Cagney.

Despicable.

Tom being a man of few words and even less patience reacts in the only way he knows, yes attacks him with a sword, chopping off his arms and legs.

Which would be fine if the severed parts didn't grow into more versions of Xenon.

Before long there's a whole army of irritating impressions following the poor sod to Norksville.

"Hey big fella how'd you fancy a wee bit of mooth shite-in?"

 Scratching his head with the swords blunt end Tom has no idea what to do next, so it's lucky for him that She and Dick soon arrive, cutting thru' the creepy comedians and tossing them into the minefield before they can regenerate.

And with that problem out of the way all that's left to do is sneak into the Nork city, win Lord Norks trust and rescue Hari.

But how are they supposed to enter the city unmolested?

Just then She notices a poster flapping in the wind.

It appears that Lord Nork is having a competition to find the best fighter in the world and the winner gets to meet him and his new priestess Hari.

And guess what?

The competition starts today!

Ladies and gentlemen....Destiny's Child!

 

It's three against an army as Tom, Dick and She prepare to battle the odds and rescue Hari from a fate worse than death.

Or at the very least from having to marry a man who insists on dressing in tinfoil with a lampshade for a hat to stop him getting infected by radiation.

Tho' compared to actually sitting thru' this shite that seems like a more humane option.

From the undoubtedly twisted (re: drug addled possibly) mind of "one of Israel's all-time greatest filmmakers" (he's won awards and everything) via the pen of  H. Rider Haggard (creator of Allan Quatermain and arguably the whole 'lost world' genre), She is a 90 minute threadbare freak show of half arsed awfulness that plays out like a series of rambling comedy sketches written for a rejected  Benny Hill Mad Max parody by Barry Cryer after being forced to ingest meth and children's tears whilst listening To Rick Wakeman's The Burning score on a warped cassette.

And that's just the pre-credit sequence.

With it's swastika clad villains, sexy Jewish girls kicking arse and it's lead characters habit of just strolling in and taking land that doesn't belong to her the movie is obviously some kind of Mossad sponsored mind control project aimed at doing something to somebody (I'm sorry but conspiracy type stuff just isn't my strong point) add to this the fact that America co-funded the movie only adds to the theory.

I mean come on, if any other country had produced a toxic shite of this magnitude Uncle Sam would have declared war on them within minutes.

 Sandahl Bergman: Cheaper than your mum, dirtier than your gran and considerably older than both of them.

After completing the movie, director Avi Nesher was flown out of Italy under cover of night back to Israel to continue his career as a 'serious' film maker, a career that bizarrely continues today, his last film The Wonders, his third with actor Adir Miller opened to critical and financial success becoming one of the biggest hits of 2013.

True it was shot entirely in Hebrew and only shown in Israel but it still made more money than the last movie I worked on so who am I to judge?

Director Nesher is sneaked out of Italy after death threats from livid Ursula Andress fans.

Of the rest of the cast only a few survived a massive cull by secret service agents in the months after the film was released. It appeared that someone didn't want the movies secrets made public.

Luckily Bergman used the influence of her friend the former governor of California Arnold Schwarzenegger (with whom she shared the actors first ever love scene) to defy the many attempts on her life whilst co-star David Traylor wasn't so lucky.

Nice flat tummy, face of fuckness.

After a booby trapped canned laughter machine exploded during a sold out show at the Detroit comedy store showering the actor with sharpened giggles Traylor was left paralysed.

It was only thanks to a mysterious benefactor (said to be one of the films composers Justin Hayward) that Traylor was inducted into the top secret and highly experimental Robo-comic programme, emerging some years later as Mr. ZED the Robot Comedian whose first appearance in the UK was strangely enough alongside Jim Davidson, who it was once rumoured had once worked undercover in Palestine for MI6.

A rarely seen pic of a post movie, pre surgery Traylor, here being looked after by comedian cum scientist Kelly Monteith.

But all that is for the history books and whilst today we may have peace in the middle east unrest and terrorism have raised the ugly heads elsewhere in the world. So who knows? perhaps it's time for the erstwhile Mr. Nesher to revisit 'She Who Must Be Obeyed' to give hope to a new generation.

Plus I'm sure Elizabeth Berkley would be grateful of the work right now.

asking for a friend....

A castle under siege from an army of the undead.....
 

Scared peasants training to fight....
 

A man with one hand arrives to help them...
 

Game Of Thrones or Army Of Darkness?

birthday boy!

Happy 40th birthday to Don Coscarelli's Phantasm.

surfin bird.

Now this has been sitting gathering dust on my shelf for about two years so decided to finally take the plunge.

The Visitor (1979).
Dir: Giulio Paradisi (As Michael J. Paradise).
Mel Ferrer, Glenn Ford, Lance Henriksen, John Huston, Joanne Nail, Paige Conner, Sam Peckinpah, Shelley Winters, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Franco Nero.

Once, far away... light years... distances beyond thought, a great slender ship with a tail of fire slid through the black reaches of space. On that ship was Sateen. Words cannot describe his evil, his criminality. He had been captured by Commander Yahweh after decades of search and evasion, in a blood-drenched battle that claimed hundreds of lives. But shortly thereafter, Sateen escaped in a tiny scout craft, a fantastic escape from that spaceship. And soon, he found a hiding place on the planet Earth....

Somewhere in the vastness of space - which luckily for us looks like a sandpit, albeit one in quite a warm place, maybe somewhere near Rome? - the enigmatic and stringly bearded almost Young Ones character Jerzy Colsowicz (Huston, well that holiday home isn't going to pay for itself) is busy experiencing strange visions of spooky snowstorms brought about a young girl with a cotton wool face.

And all to a porn-tastic disco variation of Also sprach Zarathustra as re-imagined by Geoff Love's brother.

Nice.

As all this sub Dune-based oddness is going down an enigmatic (oh go on the drunk) and patchily hi-lighted space Jesus (Nero - uncredited but still guilty as sin) sits crossed legged clad in a fluffy dressing gown as he recounts the story of  a millennium-long cosmic conflict between an evil inter-spatial wizard of immense magnitude and psychic abilities named Barry Zatteen and his benevolent rival Terry Yahweh to a group of pajama wearing bald children.

Seems legit and in no way dodgy.

It appears that centuries ago Zatteen escaped to Earth and although he was eventually killed by Yahweh he managed to shag loads of human women beforehand meaning that his descendants now populate the planet, keeping his spirit alive in the minds of mankind waiting for an opportunity to re-emerge and do bad shit.

And turn into birds or something.

Fair play to him.

Fuck me, Noel Edmonds has let himself go.

But enough of this quasi-religious bollocks as we've got a basketball game to watch alongside team owner Raymond Armstead (Henriksen who bizarrely still has old man hair), his girlfriend Barbara Collins (daughter of singing actor Jimmy, Joanne Nail) and her scarily big-headed daughter Katy (former child star, Atlanta Falcons cheerleader and current owner of the Luxury Lash Lounge, an eyelash extension business in Atlanta, Conner).

As the game gets more and more fraught (probably) Armstead announces to an interviewer that the team will win at all costs as now he's in charge money will be no object when buying the best players.

Obviously all this cash doesn't stretch to buying a decent fitting shirt tho'.

When pressed  on the source of his wealth tho', Armstead answers with an enigmatic "from God".

And as if to push home all this spacey-religious stuff the basket explodes as a player scores the winning points.


Meanwhile in the movies most exciting sequence, Colsowicz is navigating his way thru' US customs whilst wearing a safari suit.

"Rice in mah mooth!"

But what of Raymond's wealth? I hear you ask.

Well, surprise surprise it appears that he's in league with the aforementioned secret cabal of Zatteen worshippers led by the sinister Dr. Roy Walker (Ferrer, busy paying for Audrey Hepburn's new swimming pool), you see his girlfriend daughter (remember her?) has already begun to display psychokinetic abilities due to her mother being a descendant of Zatteen, so they reckon that if he impregnates Barbara with a male child, that child can then shag his half-sister and - hopefully - produce the physical embodiment of Zatteen.

Don't think about it too much.

Obviously the writer hasn't.

Or maybe he has.

Who knows?

Or cares?

Anyway, it seems that whilst Katy is only partially aware of her special powers, she's totally aware of how much of an arsehole she is, whether it's making baskets explode or killing innocent ice skating kids she struts about the place in way too tight silk trousers and bunches looking for all the world like a bowling ball with a face painted on it as she creepily insults everyone around her and attempts to get her mum to let Armstead stick it in her before 'accidentally' shooting her in the spine at her birthday party confining her to a wheelchair.

Oh yes and she has a pet bird that attacks anyone who gets too close to the truth about whatever the fuck is going on.

Which is the reason why Colsowicz - who also possess powers similar to Katy - has spent the last hour trying to find his luggage and is currently holed up in a deserted building as he and his followers watch Katy from afar.

Cherry cheeks.

Just to make sure he knows what she's up to at every given opportunity tho' he's also arranged for one of his followers  Jane Phillips (Winters minus Schnorbitz) to act as Barbara's new housekeeper.

It's at this point that police detective, Jake Durham (Ford) begins to investigate Barbara's shooting and to do this he decides to stalk Katy at every opportunity whilst breaking into her house to look for clues.

Luckily for us - and his career - he's soon pecked to death in a car which begs the question as to why an actor of Ford's caliber even bothered to turn up.

Apart from for the huge wad of cash and welcoming young boy arse supplied by the producers obviously.

Things are going too well for poor Raymond either as he's failed spectacularly  to seduce Barbara leaving the Zatteen cult no alternative than to - tastefully -  impregnate Barbara in the back of a hi-tech rape van.

Because lets be honest that's what it is.

Your ex-missis would be so proud of you Mel.

The lights are on....

 Cue what seems like hours of poor Barbara pulling wheelies around the living room looking more and more shot to fuck with each passing moment as Jane hides behind a pot plant singing songs about candy.


Coming to her senses - and realising that we're heading toward the climax, Barbara heads off to see her ex - and Katy's biological father - Dr. Sam Collins (a bizarrely dubbed Peckinpah) in order to get an abortion but on returning home she's set upon by Raymond and Katy who - in a scene of comedy gold - attempt to kill her by tying a wire around her neck and sending her down the stairs in her stairllift.

Will they succeed?

Will dear old Colsowicz intervene at the last minute and summons an army of (badly animated) birds that thwart their evil plan?

Will any of this ever make any sense?

Only one way to find out.....

Playing out like an - unintentionally - comedic version of The Omen that's been roughly buggered by Alejandro Jodorowsky whilst a grainy pirate VHS of 2001: A Space Odyssey plays in the background, The Visitor is the kind of film that could only conceivably be made in the late 70s and then only by people to whom English was a second language.

Yes it's that good.

"Directed" (if that's even an appropriate description) by ex- Federico Fellini collaborator Giulio Paradisi from a series of notes he made on the back of numerous off-license receipts and produced by professional geezer Ovidio G. Assonitis  - the man who gave us Tentacles which bizarrely also starred John Huston and Shelley Winters which makes you wander what kinda shit he had on them - the most surprising thing is that the film is as entertaining and enjoyable as it actually is.

Yes it's true that The Visitor is complete and utter pants but you can’t help but fall for it's bizarre charms, I mean what other film can you name where the climax features a battle between an evil football manager, an alien pre-teen with a foul mouth and a swarm of cartoon space-pigeons with concealed within their beaks?

Obviously it's batshit crazy and makes absolutely no sense, possibly due to the fact that Paradisi was fired halfway through the shoot on account of being a mentalist, only to turn up at the producers home accompanied by a couple of Mafiosi hitmen in order to not only get his job back but to make sure he could bin Luciano Comici's script and just film whatever the fuck he fancied instead.

No doubt he used the same method to get such a top notch cast.

Oh and Mel Ferrer obviously.

"Aye hen!"

But of all the cast tho' special praise (but not special hugs) has to go to Paige Connor who plays the pesky alien hybrid brat Katy to perfection coming across like a velveteen, foul mouthed version of Patty McCormack in The Bad Seed - from ice skating teen boys to death to shouting “you’re a child molester” at Superman's dad via creepily suggesting that Lance Henriksen fuck her mum she's a revelation to behold and it's a crime she never went on to do more movies.

Or at least a collection of sweary answerphone messages you could buy.

But the icing on this toothpaste covered cake is the score, a funkadelic mix of Hooked on Classics cheese and Isaac Hayes style wah-wah guitars all mixed loving with a sexy orchestral vibe.

Franco Micalizzi we salute you.

And forgive you for the soundtrack to Black Demons.

Cinematic gold.

dressed for excess.

Brilliant article over at Vintage Everyday showcasing Jacques Fonteray and Paco Rabanne's frankly fantastic costume designs for the 1968 Roger Vadim movie Barbarella.


Enjoy a taster.

one dark knight...

With all the buzz surrounding the Todd Phillips directed, Joaquin Phoenix starring Joker movie culminating in the first stills of Phoenix as the Clown Prince of Crime being released this week I remembered a very lucid bat-based dream I experienced a couple of years back after partaking in a few ales.

"Laugh Now!"

Luckily I awoke to find a pen and paper on the bedside cabinet and excitedly wrote it down.

Obviously I did this before I noticed the dead rent boy at the bottom of the bed but that's a different story.

Obviously it has to be based on The Dark Knight Returns due to the fact that in the passed 30-odd years it appears that no fucker as ever read anything else.

So anyway, here goes*.

"No, Joker. You’re playing the wrong game. The old game. Tonight you’re taking no hostages. Tonight I’m taking no prisoners!" John Cassavetes as an older, wiser Bruce Wayne.

'Batman: The Dark Knight Returns'

(loosely) based on the graphic novel by Frank Miller.


Dir. Nicolas Winding Refn.

Prod: Stanley Kubrick.

Adapted for the screen by Truman Capote and Anthony Burgess

Original music: Cliff Martinez and Wendy Carlos.


Cast:

Bruce Wayne/Batman: John Cassavetes

The Joker: Malcolm McDowell
 
Commissioner Gordon: Lee Marvin

Two Face: Udo Kier
 
Alfred Pennyworth: Vincent Price

Robin: Emma Stone

Superman: John Phillip Law 

Bruno: Ajita Wilson

Oliver Queen: Doug McClure

Selina Kyle: Helga Line

Dave Endochrine: Dustin Hoffman.

For added realism McDowell actually underwent a painful bleaching process to obtain The Joker's deathly pallor.

 

Despised by critics yet loved by cinema goers, the big screen adaptation of The Dark Knight Returns popularity among lefties annoyed it's creator, Frank Miller so much that vowed never to allow another one of his stories to be adapted in any medium. 

Eventually, after realizing that he needed cash for a new cowboy hat he relented and finally allowed all of his properties to be adapted by anyone with a dollar and/or right wing leanings.

The Bat mask interior as envisaged by  Jean Giraud

 

The behind the scenes story is as exciting as anything on screen tho', with triple Oscar winner Nicolas Winding Refn taking over the project after Dario Argento, Alejandro Jodorwosky, Shane Black, John Boorman, and Takashi Miike failed to stay attached to the film. 

During the Jodorwosky production, Mick Jagger was slated to play the Joker, tho' Jagger reportedly actually appeared on set, his scenes shot at various locations around the world due to The Rolling Stones being in the middle of a world tour.

These scenes were to be inserted into the final film at a later date using technology created by producer Stanley Kubrick. 

It was this period that saw pre-production costs spiraling 12 years and 250 million dollars over-budget, almost bankrupting Warner Brothers and causing Jodorwosky to secretly escape from America seeking refuge in Mexico where he hoped to film the entire movie and where construction of the full sized Gotham City sets had begun in earnest. 

The Jean Giraud inspired Batmobile. 47 different versions were built for the film.

Trivia:

Some of the concept art by French cartoonist Jean (Moebius) Giraud were eventually used in Terry Zwigoff's stage adaptation of Marvel's Alpha Flight (2019).

Scarily Klaus Kinski was cast as the Joker for Argento's version and 70% percent of his scenes were in the can before he became increasingly deluded that he was being stalked by Mick Jagger in revenge for 'stealing' his role. 

Three weeks before the end of shooting Kinski disappeared on the same day that Jagger went missing from a Florida hotel room.

After a countrywide search it was discovered that after numerous phone altercations with the Jagger, Kinski had kidnapped the singer in an attempt to replace him on stage and during a gig in Washington blow himself and the rest of The Stones to pieces in revenge for what he said were Great Britain's crimes against popular culture.

No charges were filed.



























*If anyone from Warner's is reading this I'm available.

they read my mind...

Haven't we all had this dream at some point?

slayer-rific.

With everyone getting all hyped for the series finale of Game of Thrones I thought I'd revisit the pinnacle of sword and sorcery film making plus I thought it was about time I introduced the kids to it.

Which probably means I'll get a call from social work tomorrow.

Oh well.

Hawk The Slayer (1980).
Dir: Terry Marcel.
Cast: John Terry, Jack Palance, Bernard Bresslaw, Morgan Sheppard, Annette Crosbie, Shane Bryant, Ray Charleson, Peter O'Farrell, Patricia Quinn and Catriona MacColl.

I am no messenger. But I will give you a message. The message of DEATH!

It is a time of darkness (around 3:30 in the afternoon by the look of the sky) when evil walks the land.

Witches wander the woods whilst common folk sit on tree stumps wearing tights and tidy beards and every bad man possesses a shiny helmet.

One such chrome hatted horror is the wicked Steve Voltan (Jack Palance in a performance so over the top he's almost in orbit) who, after a huge argument with his dad (probably over not paying his board or being out too late), kills the old fella before doing a runner.

It's like the Jeremy Kyle show but with more tooled leather.

Enter from stage left the luxurious locked nice son Hawk (John - not the footballer - Terry) who's just turned up to see if his dad needs any shopping done.

Cradling his dying father in his arms (but luckily not in his mooth) our hero listens intently (tho' from Terry's acting he could have constipation) as the old man mutters on about the kids of today having no respect and the price of bread before finally bestowing the mysterious 'Mind Sword' on his son.

A magical weapon with bizarre powers represented by a kids torch stuck to the hilt.

As dad breathes his last Hawk turns to camera and vows to avenge his death.

But not before he gets his hair blow dried and his eyebrows done obviously.

"Don't touch the hair."

Meanwhile Voltan's evil ways have eclipsed the entire kingdom; his followers appear to have stolen all the buildings and replaced them with paintings, night time has been outlawed and replaced with a nicotine filter and the whole country has been reduced to the wooded bit next to the play park behind the directors house, just ever so slightly redressed between scenes in an attempt to confuse the locals.

Luckily there's at least one real building left in the land, a convent run by Victor Meldrew's missis and a last shining beacon of hope in an otherwise dark world.

And currently limping bravely towards this beacon  is the bearded and bashed Ranulf (genre stalwart Sheppard), sole survivor of one of Voltan's massacres.

Arriving at the front door he's quickly ushered into the dining hall and inbetween mouthfuls of egg and cress sandwiches and crisps helpfully informs the nuns  - and by default the viewers - of just how evil Voltan is.

It appears that the evil one attacked Ranulf's village without reason or warning, hacking the women and children to pieces and digging up the adventure playground before twisting the swings around so high that no-one could use them and sitting on the slide.

I shudder as to what he did to the men folk tho' as their fate is never mentioned.

Maybe he sent them to work in his secret licorice mines?

Hel-met.

Luckily for Ranulf he's a bloody good runner  - who seems not too bothered to lose his family, perhaps they weren't speaking?-  and managed to escape before things got too bloody.

Tho' he does appear to have left most of his hand behind and what's left of it is beyond saving,  so the nuns wrap a scarf around it and send him to bed.

On the other - only?- hand his beard and crooked teeth are perfectly fine so it's not all bad.

It's not all saucy young nuns and snacks tho' as before long Voltan appears at the convent intent on bad deeds, first he roughly takes Annette Crosbie to his lair (dirty boy), before demanding 'all the gold!' as a ransom.
 
Understandably pissed off at all these naughty shenanigans Ranulf, blaming Voltan for cutting short his promising career as a professional knitter decides to challenge him to a duel but unfortunately falls for the villains taunts of "I can fight you with one arm behind my back" (probably) which results in our bearded pal getting a damn good kicking.

"You should really see a doctor about that son."

Left battered, bruised and surrounded by crying nuns, Ranulf quickly rides off - he's getting good at this legging it lark - to the Abbey for a meeting with the High Abbot (unfortunately not Russ), who after much chin stroking sends Ranulf off to search for one who can help defeat Voltan.

A man named Hawk.....The Slayer.

Obviously everyone else was busy.


Ranulf quickly leaves to begin his quest to find Hawk but is almost immediately  accosted by some gypsies and after refusing to buy some pegs is locked up in a cage.

Come on, how unlucky is this guy?

Help is at hand tho' when Hawk just happens to come riding past - with his sexy blind sorceress companion (the raunchy redhead that fuelled so many teen fantasies thanks to Rocky Horror, Patricia Quinn) that he rescued from being burnt as a witch a few scenes earlier - and kills the dirty criminals using his 'Mind Sword'.

Which it turns out is exactly like a normal sword apart from the fact that it can float into its owners hand as if carried - just out of shot - by a member of the crew.

Spock: The Pikey years.

After listening to Ranulf's tale of woe, Hawk decides to help rescue Ms. Crosbie  and begins to round up his posse from 'the mystic hood' as they probably said in the olden days to kick Voltan's arse.

Contrary to what you might be thinking this isn't as heroic and selfless as it sounds seeing as he was on his way to kill Voltan anyway, it just means that now he'll be getting some readies for doing it so it's not long (well the film has a fairly short running time) before our hero has got his merry band (The Slayerettes?)  together.

"'Ere Sid! This is a real carry on!"

This (slightly) super six consists of Hawk himself, Ranulf, the aforementioned sexy sorceress, a seriously short mallet wielding 'giant' named Gort (Carry On star Bresslaw), an elf dressed in a knitted tracksuit Cameron Crow (Charleson, famous for playing the Bishop in London's first multi-racial production of Jean Genet's 'The Balcony' fact fans) and Alec Baldin (professional short-arse O'Farrell) an overly tall dwarf with a bullwhip, pointy shoes and a fish fetish.

Voltan must be shitting himself.

"Trout in mah mooth!"

Heading back to the convent, our heroes soon get to work protecting the nuns, eating sandwiches and trying to work out how to get enough gold to lure Voltan into a trap.

You see, they've figure out that it'd be impossible to literally get 'all the gold' seeing as no-one is quite sure where it's all kept but reckon that some - mixed inn with some chocolate coins and old Ferrero Rocher packets would probably be better than none.

I mean Voltan only has one good eye so it's not like he'll be looking too closely.


After much deliberation and deciding that whoring out the nuns for pennies would be a bad idea, our heroes decide the easiest way to get the gold is to head out into the woods and relieve Tony Trafficker, the local news agent cum slave trader of his stash.

Oh yeah and free his slaves too obviously.

Surprisingly this all goes without a hitch and our merry band are soon back at the convent celebrating with crisps and lashings of ginger beer.

There's always one miserable git who manages to sour any celebration tho' and in this case it's Hawk himself.

Seems he's beginning to have second thoughts about trusting Voltan to keep his side of the bargain.

Seeing as he's already killed their dad and - in a soft focus flashback sequence - Hawk's wife Eliane (the legend that is Catriona MacColl) you can kinds see where he's coming from.


Pissed up on Buckfast and spoiling for a fight our heroes grab their weapons and head out to Voltan's castle in order to rescue Annette (and no doubt keep the gold for themselves) and hopefully persuade Voltan to change his ways and therefore avoid any unnecessary bloodshed.

Or any prohibitively expensive action sequences obviously.

It'll come as no surprise when I say that this plan fails abysmally and the dirty half dozen end up retreating back to the abbey with bruised ego's and slightly ruddy arses.

From having them kicked that is.

Minds like sewers you lot.

It's not all bad tho' as during the botched rescue, Hawk did manage to run his nephew Drogo thru' with a sword.

Which is nice.

"Buns you say?!?"

Obviously this doesn't go down too well with  Voltan, who on hearing the news of the death of his son goes completely mental and after throwing a dinner service at his trusty servant decides to attack the abbey, kill everybody in it and just take 'all the gold' for himself.

Which if you think about it is much more in keeping with his evil image.

With the help of a well-meaning (yet ultimately misguided) nun he breaks into the abbey whilst everyone is sleeping/hungover and captures our motley crew, tying them up in the basement ready for a wee bit of torture porn.

And he's going to start by introducing his brother Hawk to a red hot poker.

All looks lost but can the sorceress use her magical powers plus her seemingly unending supply of glowing ping-pong balls and silly string to rescue our heroes from evil?

Five go mad on meth.

Before I go any further can I just say I fucking love this movie and nothing - or no-one - will ever change my mind.

It's sad but true that Terry (co-writer and producer of Norman J. Warren's Prey- see? this blog's not just chucked together randomly) Marcel's vastly underrated British entry into the early 80's sword and sorcery genre is often ridiculed for it's poor effects, lack of budget, pseudo-disco score and the varying quality of the performances but if you can look past that lot you'll find a gem as bright as the one in the 'Mind Sword' just under the surface.

Well maybe not that bright otherwise you'd probably go blind but you get the point.

OK I'll admit that the cast are, on the whole as stilted and wooden as the trees surrounding them, but this almost high arch delivery evokes a less sophisticated age.

Take John Terry's performance as Hawk, who's to say that medieval noblemen didn't speak in broad Yankee accents and I've never read anything in history books to say that they had to move their upper bodies whilst talking.

Who knows, it might be that seeing as the 80's was the height of the toy tie-in, Terry might just be the greatest actor of them all, choosing to play Hawk as a living, breathing full size Palitoy action figure.

Now how's that for post modernism?

Luckily the late, great Jack Palance appears to be compensating for everyone else's lack of energy, spitting and snarling every single syllable like some huge brutish bull terrier with it's balls being slowly squeezed by a fresh smelling Emma Thompson whilst Air's Sexy Boy plays in the background and all the time whilst wearing a swing bin on his head.

C'mon, what's not to love?

"Touch my ring!"

Of the other cast members Ray Charleson's portrayal of Crow the Elf, whilst seemingly spookily mysterious to me as a child now just comes across like a whispering pikey peadophile bedecked in his mums best PJ's, which I admit says more about me than him whilst Bernard Bresslaw is basically having a dry run for the same character in Krull a few years later.

Only in that they could afford to give him some built-up shoes and a mask.

Tho' in all honesty it doesn't make it any less a bind to sit thru', at least with Hawk the cast look like they're at least enjoying themselves, unlike Krull where half the budget seems to have gone on inserting poles up the casts arses.

Talking of arses, Patricia Quinn is as sexy/scary (tick as applicable) as she was in The Rocky Horror Picture Show and The Hammer House of Horror episode Witching Time (the first full frontal nudity I ever saw) even tho' she's forced to wear a headband with an eye chalked on it and an old sleeping bag but let's be honest here, can you imagine any other actress managing to pull that off and still look sultry?

Thought not.

Patricia Quinn: You would (and your dad probably did. Twice).

Of the rest of the cast, the fantastic Morgan Sheppard is all hangdog looks, world weary sighs and muscular thighs (well maybe not the last bit) whilst O'Farrell gives it his all, which seeing as he's stuck wearing a pair of child's black ballet tights, winkle-pickers and a hoodie with a plastic mackerel in the pocket is pretty damn good if I'm honest.

Talking of plastic joke shop toys, any film that makes no apologies for using silly string, glowing ping-pong balls, pound shop spiders and hula hoops stolen from the set of Superman II as a serious replacement for a lack of effects budget deserves all the praise you can muster.

I mean you have to at least admire the crews balls for even thinking about attempting a movie of this scale on a budget that wouldn't even begin to cover the cost of Lena Headey's tattoo camouflaging cream on Game of Thrones.

Headey: No reason.

And what of the high energy synth score by ex Six-Five Special and Oh Boy musical director Harry Robertson I hear you ask?

Well it's nothing short of genius, giving Claudio Simonetti a run for his money and perfectly evocative of a spooky age of sorcery, swords and magic.

Albiet one where holiday resort discos are all the rage obviously.

Just give it a listen now and see if you're not transported back to a time of mucky maidens and medieval mayhem.

Or at the very least overtaken by the urge to give your evil sibling a damn good hiding.

Had there been any justice in the world someone would have penned lyrics to this and given us another Eurovision hit thereby ushering in an age of Hawk-based fashions and films.

Instead we got Prima Donna: Love Enough For Two and the cementing of Thatcherism.

Bastards.


But then again, I may be just a sad, sad fan boy who needs to get out more.