(bloody) moonhead.

It's the penultimate 31 Days of Horror post so wanted to build up to Halloween with a classic when I noticed this review languishing unloved on about page 735 of the blog.

Yes I know everyone should have seen it but who knows there may be a wee boy reading who has never experienced the sheer joy of....

Bloody Moon (1981).
Dir: Jesus Franco.
Star: Olivia Pascal, Christop Moosbrugger, Nadja Gerganoff and some other folk with made up names.

It's almost the witching hour, the moon is full and the night is as quiet as the grave.

Suddenly the deathly silence is broken by the squeak of a wheelchair trundling thru' the dark shadows and a woman's angry voice: "Miguel!... I'm your sister, don't look at me that way!"

The pudding bowl haircutted and facially fucked Miguel (Moosbrugger wearing what looks like a bucket of dried horse cum on his cheeks) stands in the moonlight dribbling as his sexy (in a 70's breasted way) sister Manuela (the local nosed Olivia Pascal) continues to berate him before ordering him back to the local dance club in the hope that all that jiving will make him far too tired to start wanking in her underpant drawer later.

Wandering among the hip 'n' happening party goers he picks up not only a pound shop Mickey Mouse mask but a sexy disco diva to boot and the pair soon head back to her chalet for some steamy and sweaty sex.

Well it is a short film.

Unfortunately at the moment of climax she pulls off his mask to reveal the aforementioned heavily scarred (and atrociously haircutted) Miguel leering over her like Jimmy Savile in a creche.

Annoyed at the fact that she finds his face scary (especially after the intimate moments they've just shared) he decides that rather than sort the misunderstanding out over a nice cup of tea it'd be easier to stab her to death with a pair of scissors.

As one would.

Hilarity unfortunately does not ensue.

Years later he is released from 'hospital' into his sister's care, allegedly cured and ready to return to society.

Just one thing the doctor's warn her, "...avoid references to that unfortunate night. He might not be that cured."

Which is nice.

Obviously the best thing to do is to take Miguel back to the scene of the murder, (now open as The International Youth-Club Boarding School of Languages, run by Miguel's wheelchair bound mum).

So dear viewer let's sit back and see what happens.

Luckily for those of us who like to take the piss out of those less fortunate than ourselves the school is populated by the biggest collection of freaks this side of a Todd Browning convention.

Or Govan on Giro day.

Well on any day really.

Admit it, Glasgow girls are best.

There's the grunting handyman, Paco, a beast of a bloke obsessed with hitting sign posts randomly with hammers whilst rubbing his crotch; a slug murdering gardener; a twitchy, ferret like head professor and a South American studly tennis tutor with a permanent hard on and a never ending line of ladies willing to sit on it.

Good job then that all the students are female and decked out in crotch splitting hot pants, Farrah flicks and skin tight tee's, coming out with such quality lines as: "The best way to learn a language is in bed!"

There are actually a few more quality lines but to be honest my computer was sick as I typed them.

"Put it in me!"

Miguel meanwhile, has become obsessed by the raven haired (yet shark toothed) Angela (Gerganoff), a girl he sat opposite on the train journey to the school and begins to follow her around like a lovesick (and bowl-head) puppy.

Awww.

Feeling sexually renewed (alright just downright horny) by these pangs of young love and realising that it will come to nothing, our scarred sibling decides to ask Manuela if they can continue their incestuous relationship (as you would), even going as far as to attempt a sexy seduction by licking the grit from between her toes.

Pascal: Pig in a market.

After taking a minute to think about it (and no doubt about what happened last time) she refuses.

Miguel is heartbroken (and maybe, just maybe a teensy bit mad): "Only if we could get rid of everyone, then things could go back to the way they were." He cries.

Then the fun really begins as Angela's friends are dispatched one by one.....oh and someone cuts a grass snake in half.

Unfortunately for our heroine, nobody believes her story of a killer on campus.

But we know better obviously.

Don't leave me hanging!

The killer even goes so far as to hang one of Angela's pals in her cupboard but spitefully removes it before she can get help.

Confused and scared, Angela finally looks to Miguel's mum and sister for support - well, obviously not the mum, she can't support herself without sticks let alone Angela.

Will the killer be caught before it's too late?

Laugh now!

Bloody Moon is the mad, bad and dangerous to know idiot offspring of a sleazy late night kebab fueled shag between your average American slasher movie and a lonely homesick Italian giallo it's met in a dive bar and took back to a dirty hotel after first spiking it's drink.

A totally screwy mix of sex, violence and cack handed dubbing from Spain's busiest exploitation maestro, the great Jesus Franco, a man who would've filmed his elderly mother suffering a stroke if he thought there was a market for it.

"Blood in mah mooth!"

Franco spent his career churning out everything from sordid women in prison flicks to sordid lesbian vampire ones and who holds the record of being the 'director' with the most movies on the DPP ‘video-nasties’ list in the UK during the 80's.

The confused tone inherent in the film isn't helped by the fact that most of it is German financed but with a bizarro mix of (horrendously dubbed) Italian and Spanish actors whilst Franco appears to be nonchalantly working to his own agenda.


The money men obviously wanted a cheap and cheerful disco dancing, gory, mentalist murders teens flick whilst Franco has decided this was to be his homage to John Carpenter and (ye gads) Brian DePalma.


Everyone (except Jess, God love him) appears to be embarrassed by the whole thing, especially Olivia Pascal who doesn't even mention it on her resume (it's becoming a habit on here, dredging up serious actors shameful pasts).


The fact that she's done more dodgy porn than Robert Kurman and puts that on her CV says a lot about her experiences here.

Olivia Pascal:
we know where you live.

But saying that, any movie that's paid homage to by Pedro Almodovar (the death by circular saw scene is "quoted" in his laugh a minute Matador) is OK by me.

Trust me.....no StevieDee collection is complete without this movie.

Honest.

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

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

You're welcome.

Snow Beast (2011)

Dir: Brian Brough (not Clough).

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

"Back to bed everyone!"

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

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

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

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

Which is fairly odd I'm guessing.

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

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

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

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

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

It's gonna be a long four weeks.

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

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

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

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

"Put it in me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

And guess what?

Surprisingly everyone does as they're told.

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

Just imagine Coronation Street with an added big monster.

And snow obviously.

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

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

Monsta!

"Are you looking at my bra?"

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

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

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

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

And hungry for fresh meat.

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

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

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

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

What's not to love?

A piece of cinematic genius yesterday.

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

And I for one salute them.

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

frigid bitchin'.

Almost caught up with the whole 31 Days of Horror thing (I'm not even going to attempt it next year - partly because it's way too much hard work but mainly because no one cares) and after an entire weekend freezing my arse off it the sub zero temperatures of The Classic Grande in Glasgow (which bizarrely enough we're told isn't allowed to have heating because it's a listed building) this film seemed scarily appropriate.

Ice Queen (2005).
Dir: Neil Kinsella.
Cast: Ami Veevers-Chorlton, Harmon Walsh, Noelle Reno, Jennifer Hill, Daniel Hall Kuhn Tara Walden, Peter Wyndorf and Demone Gore.

"What she wants is a wet me-shirt contest!"

Somewhere in the directors local garden centre, sorry I mean the Amazon rain forest a group of very tall boy scouts (you can tell by the shorts) have made the archeological find of the century.

A totally naked blonde, dating from the ice age (the proper ice age not the film series) encased in a huge block of amber.

Realizing that this is a fairly unusual thing to find our learned pals quickly load her body onto a handy aeroplane to be flown to a military facility where she can be 'studied' by scientists at their leisure.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Meanwhile at Scabies Ski Resort, lanky local loser Johnny (As The World Turns Doctor Bullock himself, the chisel chinned Walsh) alongside his pals Jessie Ethic (Gore, best known for his role as 'Vegas Ballroom Worker' in, yup, As The World Turns) and his instantly forgettable other pal (look he was wearing a woolie hat so it could be anyone but it's most likely Jason Mewes trying to get enough cash to score) are busy enjoying the resort bars weekly Ms. Wet T-shirt/let's dance like a tit competition.

"Smell my fingers!"

The boys night of good old fashioned drunken fun is turned on it's head tho' when Johnny is confronted by Elaine (Hill) and her unfeasibly large silicon tits (playing themselves).

Hypnotized or terrified (I couldn't tell) Johnny goes from gently prodding them to full on nipple sucking action in a handy jacuzzi, totally forgetting about his long term girlfriend Tori (the rabbit-like Reno from the straight to the charity shop hit Devour) and even loaning their rent money to Elaine.

What a bastard/hero (delete as applicable).

Next morning and Johnny's life seems to be going from bad to worse; not only is Tori chasing him for the rent but Elaine has turned up for an interview at the lodge and his boss, the man-eating MiLF Audrey (funny lady Walden) is determined to see him fired after he told everyone that she was a lesbian.

Phew, I don't know about you but I'm shattered now.

"Snow on mah mount!"

Luckily tho' before Johnny’s life completely mutates into an episode of the Jeremy Kyle show, the plane carrying the frozen lady is hijacked by terrorists and accidentally crashed into the mountain overlooking the resort causing an - incredibly shite CGI - avalanche and trapping all six members of the cast inside the hotel under a tonne of snow that could quite possibly collapse on them at any moment

Chance would be a fine thing.

Kyle: Arrogant prick.

And if this wasn't enough danger for one movie (especially one trying to do giant natural disasters on what looks like The Power Rangers tea budget) it appears that our frozen femme has all thawed out and is hungry for love.

And intestines obviously.

Which probably wouldn't be too much of a problem if she (alongside a faintly ridiculously fake bearded scientist not so much played as planked by the charisma black hole that is Daniel Hall Kuhn) wasn't also trapped in the ski lodge too.

Daniel Hall Kuhn: Insert cock here.

With everything that's happening it comes as a wee surprise that for no other reason that the actresses seem up for it, Elaine and Tori decide to have a girlie cat fight over who's the better shag.

It's like arguing over which you'd rather have; syphilis or crabs. 

Whilst this fake snow squashing, thigh revealing, nipple poking fight continues ad nauseum, the Ice Queen is wandering around the patently hardboard topsy turvy sets randomly killing the few remaining cast members by sticking her hand into their tummies and freezing them from the inside.

"She put WHAT in your mooth?"

With alcoholic Uncle Ed and Patch the dog searching the grounds for survivors it's left to Johnny, armed with only a hand dryer, a hot tub, some sexy pants and his rampant libido to kill the she-beast.

But let's be honest here, does anyone really give a fuck?

Your mum's cum face.

What a bloody dogs dinner of a movie this is, Neil Kinsella seems to be confused as to whether he's making a monster movie, Porky's style frat 'house' comedy or metaphysical exploration of the human condition and frankly after viewing it I’m not so sure either.

From the moment it's start the movie darts between breasts, explosions and soft core sex before settling into a threadbare disaster scenario with the added bonus of a buck-toothed beast babe trying her best to either kill folk or fuck them.

And it's the aforementioned she beast that's the film's trump card in the shapely shape of the frankly wonderful ex-farm girl cum model cum actress Ami Veevers-Chorlton.

Dressed in an old Quick Fit boiler suit, Jimmy Savile's old spunk stained wig and wearing a set of wooden teeth Chorlton's portrayal of the Ice Queen is like nothing I've ever seen before, tottering around on heels and wiggling her arse like a middle aged secretary who's had one too many gin's at the office Christmas party whilst licking her bright blue Joker lips and tonging the air, everything about her performance is fantastic.

And utterly convincing.

She should get her own chat show, it'd be a ratings winner.

Cheryl Cole-The pikey years.

Her greatest scenes tho' are towards the films climax when our horny horror takes an instant liking to Johnny and sets about trying to seduce him.

Honestly Chorlton should have been Oscar nominated for this.

As it goes we were all robbed.

Her for the best actress award and me for spending a quid on this.

Tomorrow.....something better.

Probably.

ziggy sunburst.

Been out at horror con this weekend punting my wares like a cheap Parisian whore so didn't have time to write any proper reviews.

Which to be honest really doesn't matter with this seeing as you can probably already guess the plot.

Enjoy.

Arachnoquake (2012).
Dir: Griff Furst.
Cast:  Tracey Gold, Edward Furlong, Bug Hall, Ethan Phillips,
Megan Adelle, Gralen Bryant Banks, Dane Rhodes, Paul Boocock, Skyy Moore, Tiara Gathright, Olivia Hardt, Grant James and Lucky Johnson.

Jumbo spiders, some as big as dwarves!

A massive (off-screen) nighttime earthquake has cause even more massive CGI holes to appear in and around New Orleans (and not, I repeat not Orville, Texas as it says on the back of the box) and from these holes crawl an army of mutant albino arachnids.

Using sonar to detect their prey, these multi-legged monsters can also shoot web strong enough to capture a man, spit fire and walk on water.

Oh yes, and due to a lack of continuity between the computer artists they appear to be getting bigger and bigger depending what scene they're in.

"Laugh now!"

Anyway, that's the monsters dealt with so let's meet the human cast, first up is our hero for the next 90 minutes, a young ne'er do well named Paul (Hall, from the Robert Hays comedy series Kelly Kelly) who spends his nights drinking and shagging and his days helping out with the family tour business alongside his Hobbit like dad Roy (Star Trek: Voyagers Phillips) and his blonde 'n' buxom sister Petra (Hot Hot Los Angeles star Hardt, best known for snogging American Horror Story's Alexandra Breckenridge in an episode of the Courteney Cox TV show Dirt).

It appears that due to his excess drinking, sodomizing and habit of losing the tour boat, Paul's dad has decided that if anything else at all goes wrong he's going to kick poor Paul out on his ear.

His last chance of redemption?

Take out the tour bus that's been booked by teachers from a Houston school, in town for a girl on girl baseball match.

Sounds legit.

Furlong, using a matchstick defends the Corgi bus from normal sized spiders yesterday.

Unfortunately the class assistant is stuck in bed covered in webbing leaving biology teacher Katelynn (ex Growing Pains star and uber MiLF Gold) and her kids Annabel (the long faced Adelle) and Justin (Moore) to their own devices whilst dad Charlie (the one mighty Furlong, now looking younger - and considerably shorter -  than his kids) has to drive the Baseball babes back to Houston.

It's a terrible job but someone has to do it.

Deciding to make the best of it, the family decide to take the tour themselves alongside a motley crew of wannabe spider fodder including a grumpy old man (James) and the Ghetto-tastic newly weds Glenn and Tina (Johnson and Gathright).

"It's behind you!"...Well it will be in a couple of months when we've added it to the background.

As the tour begins our bus riding 'rachnid snacks soon become aware of the mysterious holes in the road and the tiny eight legged terrors emerging from them.

Tho' due to budgetary constraints you can catch glimpses of local residents going about their every day lives in the background, totally oblivious to the drama unfolding on the streets.

Spiders crawl across roofs and passed cars as commuters head to and from work, families enjoy a picnic and shopper look for bargains. it's almost as if only a chosen few can see the eight-legged beasts.

Either that or the production was so threadbare they couldn't afford to close of the roads for shooting.

"Monsta!"

Will our heroes survive the giant spider situation?

Will they make it to Roy's boat in time?

Will Paul take control and become the hero the movie deserves or will he end up just so much spider snack?

And just how many times can you be distracted by the lead actresses frankly pendulous freckly mommy breasts during one movie?

Even tho' they're quite securely held in place by a V neck top.

Only one way to find out.

Font.

All hail the multi talented actor/director Griff Furst (Chase from the fantastic Monsterwolf), beaming to us from a world where the 50's monster flick never died and proving with his latest flick, the shoestring shocker Arachnoquake that you can, in fact polish a turd.

I mean come on, when a movie's DVD sleeve gets the plot wrong you know you're in trouble and when Edward Furlong turns up with the obvious DT's and the haunted look a lost child trapped in a hotel room about to be horribly abused by a hooded bad man you know there's something amiss and the whole endeavor should by rights be utterly devoid of any entertainment value.

But guess what?

Arachnoquake is actually really enjoyable.

Mike Pence's attempt to change the batteries in Melania's vibrator were doomed to failure.

True the spiders look like they've been rendered on a Casio calculator by a blind boy and everything is shot in uncomfortable close-ups to disguise the fact that no-one bothered to seek shooting permission but the cast are great with enough one liners, spider attacks and humour (mostly intentional but with a few unintentional thrown in) to totally win you over.

Plus it's probably the only movie I know of where the hero dons a deep sea diving suit in order to enter a giant monster and tie a stick of dynamite to it's intestines before failing out it's arse.

Need I say more?

chains of love.

Away whoring myself at Glasgow Horror Con this weekend so excuse the short and sweet 31 Days of Horror posts.....I'm typing any old shite and planning scheduling it to post whilst I'm away.

Like you care.

Demoni 3 (AKA Black Demons, Black Zombies. 1991)
Dir: Umberto Lenzi.
Cast: Sonia Curtis, Keith Van Hoven, Joe Balogh, Philip Murray, Juliana Teixeira, Maria Alves and some other folk I really can't be arsed listing.

"I see his bag, but I don't see Dick."

Fancying a cheap holiday (and even cheaper drugs, probably), the sexily square headed Jessica (Curtis from Days of Our Lives), her 'hunky' beau Kevin (Van Hoven who's been in everything from House of Clocks to Operation Delta Force via your mum) and her tagalong brother Dick (Balogh...bless you) decide Rio de Janeiro is the place to be seen and book themselves onto the first flight they can find in the hope of experiencing sun, sand and sex with transsexual crack whores in glittery bikinis.

Or was that just me?

Derek Griffiths helps out with the magical mouse
theatre's musical version of The Wicker Man.

Anyway being the friendly and approachable man about town that he is and within minutes of arriving, Dick somehow manages to wrangle himself an invite to a genuine Macumba ceremony from a dusky, bingo winged bucktoothed bouncy mamma (or is it Martin Laurence?) with a great line in pound shop jewellery and lips that could suck an orange thru' a tennis racquet.

Reckoning that an evening of chicken slaughtering, luscious laydees dancing topless and sweaty men playing the bongos would be preferable to sitting in between his sis and Kev in the pictures whilst hiding his cock in the bottom of the popcorn to give them a fright (again) Dick jumps at the chance, secretly taking his tape recorder to get a keepsake of the whole kerr-azee night.

Imagine the sexy bit in Angel Heart but with Lisa Bonet replaced by your Auntie Jean in blackface and your halfway there.

But who am I to judge as Dick seemed to enjoy himself and obviously made a good impression seeing as on his way back to the hotel the grizzled grannie gives him a strange (re: tacky as fuck) amulet to remember her by.

Oh, and a curse.

Swings and roundabouts really.

Aye hen.

Getting on with their holiday, our terrific trio hire a jeep and take a few days to explore the wonderful Brazilian countryside taking snapshots of undernourished weans, toothless old men and women carrying baskets on their heads (as you do), but this frankly time filling exercise is (thankfully) cut short when their jeep breaks down.

Luckily a well to do couple, Jose and Sonia just happen to be passing and offer to let the holiday makers stay at their villa.

I'm assuming it's theirs but I was out having a fag at this point so they may have just broken in....but really, who cares?

Dick however has begun to act a wee bit mental and wanders off on his own to check out the local graveyard - I say graveyard whereas in reality it's a vegetable patch with six cardboard gravestones in it - where the bodies of a group of murdered slaves lie awaiting the chance for revenge on  dem dere nasty white folks.

For a laugh Dick decides to play his recording of the Macumba ritual which, not too surprisingly awakens them from their slumber.

Who'd have guessed?

"Do you need any scissors sharpening?"

Back at the villa Kev and Jessica have been making small talk with the maid Maria (the late, great Alves), who as well as being a mean cook and cleaner is also the local towns official practitioner of Voodoo.

Which is lucky when she realizes what a dick Dick's been and offers to do all she can to protect everyone from advancing zombie horde.....

Dick.

Whilst never scaling the dizzying heights of Lenzi's masterpiece Nightmare City, Black Demons is a fairly enjoyable way to pass ninety minutes (if drunk) and, surprisingly actually has a couple of good things going for it despite the mad as a lorry Lenzi's unique (ahem) directorial style (nothing changed there then) coupled with a terrifying cast of non actors doing their damnedest to sabotage the proceedings at every opportunity.

I mean it's not often you get to see a hero so wooden that he's acted off screen by six dead black guys with ping pong balls for eyes.

And for that reason alone Black Demons is worth the price of a rental.

Curtis: May field. may not.

It's not total shite tho' as the film has one saving grace in the form of Sonia Curtis, who bravely attempts to bring at least a semblance of life to a movie that was dead before it got passed the scripting stage.
To add insult to injury Lenzi seemed to have a real axe to grind (tho' not literally fortunately) with poor Ms. Curtis, referring to her in interviews as both a mediocre actress, as well as describing her as short and unattractive.

Which is rich coming from the guy who kept Hugo Stiglitz in work (and in booze) for the majority of the eighties.

Saying that tho' he's dead now so it really doesn't matter.

 

Witherspoon? no, with a chisel.

But never fear because if like me you began to find yourself strangely drawn to this pink jumpered wonder during the duration of the movie then it's time to rejoice because surprisingly she didn't give up acting, she even made a film fairly recently when she 'played' Vera Johnson in Mark Savage's 120/80: Stressed To Kill alongside Bill Oberst Jr, Marshall Hilton and Arman Assante.
.
And if that's not enough then fear not because she's been working constantly since Black Demons with roles as diverse as that of Sondra De Salvo in Boston Strangler: The Untold Story and the tight trousered Deputy Deborah Goodrich in Relentless Justice.

Now doesn't that give you a tingly feeling inside?

feastenders.

Was in the charity shop yesterday and found this in a bucket by the door for a quid....already own it on VHS but thought what the hell and bought it anyway.

Partly because due to the VHS player being in the bottom of a cupboard I've not been able to watch it for years but mainly because I needed change for the bus.

You can tell how much effort I'm putting into 31 Days of Horror can't you?

Cannibal Apocalypse (AKA Apocalypse Domani, Invasion of The Flesh Hunters, The Cannibals Are In The Streets, Cannibals In The City. 1980).
Directed by Antonio Margheriti.
Starring John Saxon, Elizabeth Turner, Giovanni Lombardo Radice, May Heatherly, Tony King, Wallace Wilkinson, Cinzia De Carolis and Ramiro Oliveros.

"Charlie can you hear me?" "I can hear you. Shitface" 

Welcome to Vietnam (OK it's really the local nature reserve at the bottom of Antonio Margheriti's street), where war is Hell and shooting permits are cheap but more importantly where the evil Viet Cong force captured American soldiers to sit in puddles of dirty water and poke them with sticks until they turn into cannibals.

Or something.

Stumbling into this jungle madness is the heroically hatted figure of Norman Hopper (Saint John of Saxon), who has been given the task of rescuing his fallen (and now soaked to the skin and slightly damp smelling) comrades.

After an obligatory fire-fight our hero manages to free the prisoners only to to bitten on the arse - sorry, arm, by the googly eyed madman and famed author Charlie Bukowski (Italy's favourite whipping boy, Giovanni Lombardo Radice credited here as John Morghen), who, unknown to Hopper has turned into one of those aforementioned cannibals.

And all that's within the first five minutes.

Inside Gary Glitters mind.

Attempting to adjust back to civilian life Hopper is plagued by nightmares regarding his 'Nam man munching, waking every night in a cold sweat and suffering from an uncontrollable fear of bearded blokes in Ford Capris whilst his flaxen haired and smooth of skinned wife Jane (Turner from Fulci's The Psychic and the possession panto Beyond The Door) can only sit with her head held slightly askew in a concerned manner offering her man hugs and biscuits inbetween sly flashes of her milky cleavage.

Which is nice. 

John Saxon realizes in horror that the script requires him to perform oral sex on a bubble-permed hamster.

As it happens Hopper receives a phone call from Bukowski the very next day, it seems that he's just been released from psychiatric care and fancies catching up with his old wartime buddy over a glass of J&B or six.

Hopper, trying to forget the whole Vietnam thing declines the offer, preferring to spend the day flying kites with his son before finally giving in to the advances of his hamster-cheeked, big barnetted, barely legal neighbour Mary (De Carolis who once released the hit single Perché sei mia madre, fact fans).

But don't worry about Hoppers honour tho'....from the amount of chins she has it's more Pie-dophilia than pedophilia.

Never more so than when our hero comes face to, um fanny with her springy bush, straining as it is to escape over the top of her tiny white panties.

Overcome with grief at what has happened to his career the poor sod ends up biting her.

I mean if the saying 'you are what you eat' is true then John Saxon's going to spend the rest of the film looking like a right fanny.

Or a poodle/pound shop Barbie hybrid.

Luckily Mary's aunt calls her home before Hopper can start on dessert saving  him (and us) from what could have been the single most disturbing scene in cinema history.

Hammy the hamster, up the casino, Brighton, 1978....Yesch!

A rejected and forlorn Charlie, still reeling from being knocked back for a fat lass decides to spend his afternoon in the local 'art' cinema, taking in a few subtitled movies and, if lucky getting a wee gobble off a crack fueled whore during the Butterkiss ads.

Ah memories of being a teen and visiting the Plaza cinema Dudley in the 80s.

Alls going swimmingly until halfway thru' Jacques Rivette's classic Jane Birkin starrer Around a Small Mountain when Charlie notices the couple in front of him having a bit of 'the sex'.

The sight of Birkin back on the big screen coupled with the overpowering aroma of yeast is too much for our Charlie who, after a bit of thigh rubbing leans forward and bites the woman on the neck.

This small social faux pas on Charlie's part soon escalates into a full blown riot with the poor guy accidentally knocks over a motorbike on his way out and getting chased by a gang of Hells Angels before finally getting trapped in the middle of a shoot-out in the kids section of Marks and Spencer with the whole thing being shown live on the news.

Which if I'm honest is a pretty normal day in Glasgow.

Luckily Hopper just happens to watching and - in tribute to Paul Gascoigne grabs a can of lager, some chicken and a mobile phone and quickly heads down to the shops in order to help out his old buddy.

Shite in mah mooth!

Tempting Charlie out of hiding with the promise of a Kinder egg, Hopper is soon accompanying his friend to the hospital where they come across fellow vet and long-pig fan Tom Thompson (King from Shaft) who, alongside Charlie has the sudden urge to bite both the police and nursing staff before getting bundled into a cupboard and locked up.

Hopper's embarrassment and worry about what he's going to tell his wife is soon put into perspective when everyone who's been bitten or scratched by either Tom or Charlie start rampaging around possessed by a crazed hunger for human flesh.

Luckily Helen (Heatherly from the classic Pieces), the fairly hot nurse who gotten nibbled earlier is actually fairly sympathetic to our heroes plight and sets the former soldiers free to escape into the sewers.

Hopper feeling partly responsible for his men decides to follow.

Cinzia De Carolis: There's a snake in her boots...possibly.

Back at the Hopper house, Jane is having a wee bit of trouble using the telephone - the receiver keeps slipping thru' her sausage fingers - so she heads over to whorish Mary's house to use hers.

And her telephone if she's lucky.

Greeted at the door by an even more freakish than normal Mary and her spooky brother Radcliffe, the kids are more than happy to help, apologizing for the lingering smell of dead old lady in the house and explaining that their aunt has had to leave suddenly.

Hmmm....suspicious much?

 John Saxon mulls over his career choices to date.

Anyways, back in the stinky sewer our heroes hope of escape is dashed when Helen gets bitten on the bum by a rat, her screams leading the police straight to the cannibal chums who then politely shoot her in the face.

Mad with rage, shame and hunger Charlie goes mental only to get his stomach machine gunned out whilst Tom, annoyed at seeing his pals and the most attractive woman on screen get slaughtered in front of him attacks the police before getting torched with a handy flamethrower.

Ouch.

Only Hopper survives - just about - and then only after being shot in the leg destroying his chances of ever entering Strictly Come Dancing.

Or Tess Daly.

Tess Daly: Cut up like a pig in a market.

Crawling out of the sewer he steals a car and heads home for a tearful wank and a sweet n' sour Pot Noodle.

Meanwhile with her phone needs sated, Jane  decides to head back home for an afternoon of gin, chocolate and Price Drop TV but as she settles into her favourite chair she hears a strange scraping noise from the spare room.

Slowly opening the door she finds her husband, decked out in his smartly ironed - yet slightly bloody - dress uniform.

Saucy.

Begging his wife to stay away Jane informs him that she's gotten in touch with their friend and family physician Dr. Phil Mendez (Oliveros) and even as they speak he's racing over to help.

Which would be all well and good if he too wasn't infected.

With barmy bloodlust on both sides and a sweaty handed housewife trapped in between the outlook for a happy ending looks grim.

And that's without mentioning the crazed cannibal kids across the road....

"Is that a gun in your hand or just a strange shaped erection?"

With the enigmatically - oh go on lazily - unexplained cannibal virus becoming shorthand for the effects of the Vietnam war on the American psyche and the repercussions of said war on the general populace,  Arena hero Antonio Margheriti's foray into the mind of a post war USA and the effects of a repressive society  still haunted by their unspeakable acts is as relevant today (if not more so) in this post 9-11 world as it was on release.

Each character has a lust or urge that society deems must be controlled, from Hopper's lust for his teen neighbour to Charlie's violent breast obsession via Jane's romantic feelings toward Mendez, they are all fighting against their base primal instincts.

And when these instincts take over what better form to represent them than cannibalism?

And who says Japanese cinema design isn't subtle?

Or is it just a low budget horror movie featuring blood, guts gore and some jailbait T&A given a cheap and cheerful Vietnam opening because Apocalypse Now had just been released?

If you check out the directors other projects I think the question answers itself.

Cast wise the movie is blessed by stand-out performances by the always watchable John Saxon, aided and abetted by the brooding king of cinematic bad luck, the incredible Giovanni Lombardo Radice, a man that  made his mark playing nasty lowlifes who meet vicious ends in a handful of 80s Italian splatter flicks and who, remarkably isn't a fan of the genre, his main love being opera (a world in which he's renowned as a director).

Strange but true.

Saxon, in one of his many 'it's a shame for me' outbursts has all but disowned the movie, saying how he was drugged/tricked/blackmailed into making it.

To that all I can say is Blood Beach.

 

I could go on for pages trying to persuade you how great a movie this is and how it defies genre pigeon holing but the bottom line is that:

A. I really can't be bothered.

and

B: Let's be honest here, any Vietnam war movie featuring such quality actors giving it their all, cannibals, war is hell flashbacks and dumpy seductresses in tiny pants has to be at least twice as entertaining as one that doesn't.

Grab this, some beer and a copy of L’Ultimo cacciatore and your Saturday night will be complete.

fall out boy.

Day 24 of the whole sorry 31 Days of Horror thing and we're off to Russia for a well deserved holiday.

Or is that horrorday?

Or just utter shiteday?

Sorry that doesn't make any sense but if the film maker can't be bothered why should i?


Chernobyl Diaries (2012).
Dir: Bradley Parker.
Cast: Jesse McCartney, Jonathan Sadowski, Devin Kelley, Olivia Taylor Dudley, Nathan Phillips, the wonderful Ingrid Bolsø Berdal and Dimitri Diatchenko.

Have you heard of extreme tourism?

Vacant faced American nice guy Chris (McCartney, the voice of Theodore in the Alvin and The Chipmunks movies - seriously I couldn't make this shit up), his terrifyingly breasted girlfriend Natalie (Chillerama's Dudley) and their plain (as in not blonde and with natural boobs) friend Amanda (Kelley from teevee's Covert Affairs) are enjoying a summer break traveling thru' Europe which, as all our American readers will know is a small country near London,  just outside Paris, France and ruled by Queen Angela Dorothea Merkel II of Englandshire.

That's the geography out of the way so let's crack on with the plot.

Quickly taking in the sights during the credit sequence (because we all know there are only about six things of interest to see in Europe) our merry band decide to stop for a few days in Kiev, (that'll be the Ukraine fact fans) in order to visit Chris's bad boy brother, Paul (Sh#t My Dad Says' Sadowski) before carrying on to Moscow where Chris intends to propose to Natalie atop the Eiffel Tower.

Aaaah how romantic.

Anyway, after a night on the town to show how wacky 'n' cool they all are Paul suggests that to make the holiday (sorry 'vacation') one to remember they should all sign up for one of local sexy man Yuri's (the fantastic Diatchenko) extreme tours.

Seeing as the Urban Exploring one has sold out and the Hitman tournament isn't for another year or so our cool dudes and dudettes decide to take a day trip to the abandoned town of Prypiat which sits in the scary - and oh so slightly radioactive - shadow of Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.

Nothing like milking a real-life human tragedy for entertainment is there?

Prypiat: A local town for local people.

Also joining our funky foursome are the comedy accented Norwegian Zoe (Hellfjord's bowl haired babe Bolsø Berdal who's obviously been kidnapped and forced to make this against her will) and her swoonsome (and unwashed) Australian beau' Michael (Phillips from Wolf Creek).

Things don't start too well tho' when not long after starting on their adventure, Yuri's van is refused entry into the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone checkpoint due to what the guards explain are 'secret manoeuvres' but not even the might of the Russian army is going to stop Yuri showing his clients a good time.

Or even a giant mutant rubber fish or two.

Heading back toward town, our dishy driver takes a sneaky shortcut thru' the woods and within no time at all (look it only runs at an hour and twenty five minutes - be thankful for small mercies) the group arrive at the abandoned city which, if I'm honest looks spookily like Glasgow city centre on a Sunday morning.

But with fewer burned out buildings obviously.

They may be all shits and giggles now but just wait till the radioactive buggery starts...

After an afternoon visiting deserted schools, rundown fairgrounds and moldy chip shops Yuri decides to take our merry band to see the highlight of the tour, the upper floor of an abandoned block of flats from where they can view the infamous Chernobyl arc reactor (number 4).

And get chased by a CGI bear.

Preparing to leave the site, Yuri is fairly upset to discover that the wires in his van appear to have been chewed on by someone mistaking them for liquorice  and that his radio wont work.

By that I mean his two-way radio not the one tuned to T.A.T.u. FM.

As night falls and the sweet sounds of those risque Russian rude girls fades into the distance our backpacking band are sure that they can hear strange noises in the distance, Yuri is convinced that it's a pack of wild dogs joining in the chorus of All The Things She Said but the others aren't convinced.

It's more tuneful for one thing.

Being manly types (and possibly hoping the band themselves are outside) Yuri, armed with his trusty potato gun alongside Chris go out to investigate.

A load more Russian arse yesterday.

Shots and screams are heard causing Paul to man up and attempt a rescue, only to return seconds later with a whimpering simpering Chris.

It appears that the poor boy has had his leg bitten by an unknown assailant.

Or one of the aforementioned creatures.

The canine type that is not Lena Katina or Yulia Volkova obviously.

Tho' let's be honest the thought of being bitten by Lena Katina - especially in the passenger seat of a canary yellow Volkswagen Passat parked in an Asda carpark after a kebab and a can of Irn Bru - is something we can only dream of.

But I digress.

Lena Katina - Volkswagen Passat not shown.

 

Anyway the next morning - in an attempt to get away from Chris' near constant moaning - Paul, Michael and Amanda decide to go looking for Yuri, following  a handy trail of blood to a creepy underground shopping centre where they soon come across what remains of their jolly driver.

And with Yuri gone the group have lost their only means of escape.

Plus the movie has lost it's only believable and likeable character.

Frankly they're fucked.

Beware! Yuri's van is NOT full of sweets.

Returning quickly to the van, our tiresome trio plang to hike to the nearest checkpoint for help.

Natalie not content with letting her boyfriend be the groups whiny bitch starts crying and pleading them to take Chris along but one glimpse of her slapped arse of a face convinces the others to leave the pair behind.

Which is probably the best decision that anyone involved has ever made up to this point.

"Put it in me!"

Making it as far as the car park the group are lucky enough to find the spares they need for Yuri's van as well as a bullet riddled bus with a couple of torches in the glove box and a bloody uniform stuck to the seat.

Stealing the torches (but obviously leaving the uniform) our heroes decide to head back and repair the van only to end up getting chased by a couple of angry dogs meaning that the 10 minute walk back to Chris and Natalie ends up taking about 16 hours.

And that doesn't even include the precious minutes wasted when Michael falls into a small pond and is attacked by a fish.

Finally returning to the van, everyone is (fairly) shocked to find it smashed into tiny metal pieces and lying on it's roof (see? I told you it was like Glasgow), within the wreckage is Natalie's video camera which reveals that she and Chris were attacked by a group of ball headed, shaggy haired, eczema covered tramps.

But alas there's absolutely no footage of her jumping around with her tits out.

C'mon, I mean what kind of home movie is this?

Natalie farted and it smelled of shame. And eggs.

Paul, coming over all heroic (tho' not over Michael’s scraggy beard unfortunately) decides to mount a rescue party but only succeed in waking up even more tramps convincing our luckless band to beat a hasty retreat.

Poor Natalie meanwhile spends these tension packed minutes getting rescued then recaptured whilst everyone else points torches at various small children that appear and disappear without warning.

As this exciting* game of cat and mouse races toward it's conclusion our mud soaked pals are whittled away one by one, first Michael is dragged away by his skinny beard and then poor underwritten Zoe is tossed off a ladder, leaving
Paul and Amanda to navigate a series of ever more twisty passages finally emerging into the Chernobyl power plant itself.

Which is a wee bit unlucky seeing as the place is more radioactive than one of Godzilla's stools.

Godzilla's poo: Liable to burn your eyebrows off.

This becomes obvious when both Paul and Amanda’s faces start melting, which frankly is much better than their up to now dirt and tear smeared look.

As they make their way hurriedly to the exit the pair stumble upon Natalie's prone corpse propping open a door like a drunk teenager on a Saturday night binge (tho' to be fair her pants aren't round her ankles) and after stumbling past her and out out into the moonlight find themselves surrounded by a gaggle of Russian military personnel.

Are our terrified twosome safe?

Will their unsightly skin rashes ever clear up?

Or will we be subjected to the final indignity of a sub-par Twilight Zone ending where Amanda, having seen too much is locked up in a room full of big faced mutants forever?

Go on, guess.

Imagine if you will a world where a group of European film makers decided to make a horror movie based around the 9/11 attacks, where a group of tourists visiting Ground Zero are attacked and killed by a band of survivors who, after being trapped underground for ten years have mutated into cannibalistic mutants.

Or one where a group of inbred Holocaust survivors, living in the tunnels under Auschwitz since the end of the war, systematically stalk and slash a group of teens because the all have blond hair?**

Too sick? Too crass?

Not if you're Oren Peli, creator of the bizarrely popular Paranormal Activity series of movies, which after an admittedly enjoyable first film descended into even more and more ludicrous inbred sub-plotting set in ever increasingly sized houses.

Proof if any is needed that you can indeed flog an increasingly decomposing horse.

As for Chernobyl Diaries, surely someones taste monitor should have started bleeping the minute the title was mentioned.

Either that or you have the courage of your convictions name it "Attack of The Funny Foreign Cancer Sufferers" and be done with it.

Or did they just think no-one would remember the disaster?

OK Mr. Peli, I dare you to make a movie of this next.

Maybe, just maybe if it were any good it could be forgiven for such a lapse in taste but frankly it's not and it can't.

Tho' Peli, being a cutting edge and confrontational kinda guy must think that there are no boundaries when it comes to entertainment, so if any readers know  of any personal tragedies he or his family have been thru' feel free to get in touch and maybe we can make a movie about that.
He obviously wont mind.









































*that's irony by the way.

** Actually scratch that one, it pretty much like a pitch Oren Peli may have already made.