romay holiday.

Finished up all the FrightFest art for this year so decided to fill my empty, meaningless life by tidying the house.

Yes I know.

Anyway just picked this up (the way one would a particularly vile STD) from behind Cassidy's bed and felt I had to share (ditto).


Les Amazones du Temple D'or (AKA Golden Temple Amazons, Amazons in the Temple of Gold, 1986).
Dir: Alain Payet (AKA James Gartner - yet credited to good old Jess Franco overseas).
Cast: J. R. Gossart, Analía Ivars, William Berger, Antonio Mayans, Stanley Kapoul, Olivier Mathot, Eva León* and Lina Romay.

“ I'm Rena and I will enjoy playing with you!”

Somewhere in the steaming hot jungles of the Amazon (or more likely the park behind the directors house) the sweaty, mouse like missionary Tom Godly (Bra maker Gossart) is surprised one morning whilst on his way to convert the natives when he comes across - stop it - a secret cave hidden in the mysterious Blue Mountains (no, not the ones from that Laurel and Hardy film) that is filled to bursting with large quantities of gold.

Returning to his jungle pad as fast as his skinny Christian legs can carry him and with his pockets bulging with a dozen or so Ferrero Rocher sized nuggets he excitedly tells his fright haired, tombstone toothed wife Greta (Franco's missis Romay in a scarily non-naked film role) that because they are now rich enough that they can give up this Holy lark and retire to Ibiza.

Cagney And Lacey: The Pikey Years.

What he hasn't realized, however is that the cave is in fact a holy golden temple belonging to the local tribe of topless, gold pants wearing Amazon warriors, feared amongst the locals and ruled with a rod of iron by their scary leader Stan Uruk (Berger from The Winds of War).

Well, it's an easy mistake to make.

These bewigged and busty warrior women, discovering that they've been robbed, follow Tom back home, demanding that he give them back the booty or else.

Tom chooses 'or else' much to the chagrin of their evil leader who being one of those guys that justifies every single one of his frankly bonkers - and often violent -  actions with some kinda religion reason (as is the way of these types), not too surprising kills poor old Tom and Greta in a hail of poison arrows and slow motion yelling, leaving their young daughter Liana (fish lipped Franco regular Ivars) to fend for herself in this hostile tropical hell.

Or Govan as we call it up here.

Luckily a friendly monkey and a local tribe take pity on her and help her out which is sweet in a kinda Disney way.

"Fiona! where's mah lunch?"

Jump forward a few years and the church have finally decided to send a new missionary (who scarily is the spitting image of Father Ted, not now obviously seeing as he's been dead about 20 years but you know what I mean) to discover what happened to Tom and Linda.

Better late than never I suppose.

Arriving at their dilapidated cabin he's surprised (there's a lot of it in this movie) to find Liana still living there in all her grown up glory, complete with a faintly embarrassing bubble perm and dressed in skimpy animal skins but luckily still resembling a startled haddock.

Despite being nubile and (half) naked, the missionary has no interest in Liana (well, she's not a wee boy) so he decides instead to read her fathers diary aloud, which as luck (or really atrocious plotting) would have it, conveniently explains all about the gold and her parents subsequent murder.

Which really begs the question as to why, after being run thru' with loads of arrows, he decided to write about it rather than raid the medicine drawer for aspirin or at very least a plaster.

"My dad told me about those cults.
People dressing up in black
and saying Our Lord's going to
come back and save us all".
"No, Liana, that's us. That's Catholicism".
"Oh right".

Upon hearing of her parents fate - she must have been busy when it happened, either that or she has the memory, as well as the looks, of a fish - Liana vows to have her revenge upon the evil Amazon women (and scary Stan) and immediately sets off towards the Blue Mountains, accompanied by her faithful pet chimp Rocky (himself) and a funny tribesman named Koukou
(Kapoul from the Andrea - Nights of Terror - Bianchi classic Maniac Killer).

It's going to be a long film.

Cue an endless nightmare of stock footage animals, Liana's breasts bouncing in slow motion and random shots of a monkey grinning like a loon for what seems like days.

Which is all well and good if you like that sort of thing but not too exciting if you enjoy interesting characters exchanging meaningful dialogue.

All that may be about to change tho' as our terrific trio come across (not literally, tho' in this case it might have been fun to see) a group of explorers out searching for the Golden Temple.

And one of them is played by Emilio Linder!

Now that makes all the difference.

"Laugh Now!"

Anyway back to the plot where I can safely say without fear of spoiling it for those who've yet to see it but they all get to the cave unharmed (and with nay hair out of place or slips of nipple) and with no sense of jeopardy or danger whatsoever.

Tho' this may be to lull us into a false sense of security (or a coma) seeing as soon as they set foot in the cave our motley band are almost instantly rendered unconscious by Stan's eggy fart gas and imprisoned by the Amazon women ready to be used as slave labour in Uruk's secret gold mines.

Or was that The Chuckle Brothers secret lemonade factory?

Little Mix number one for Christmas....MONSTA!

None of these questions will be answered however as there are  more important things afoot, like overly long and totally random scenes of topless ladies in tiny gold pants sword fighting under the watchful (and lustful) gaze of the bequiffed and eyepatched Rina (the frankly magnificent León, best known around here for her top rendition of the top pop tune Una Mujer on the TeeVee show El Hotel de las Mil y Una Estrellas and a woman whose performance alone raises this film to genius level if I'm honest.).

It seems that Rina is a tad upset at Liana turning up and wants her out of the way just in case there's any chance of Uruk choosing our haddock-faced chum as his successor instead.

Luckily Rina has a cunning plan to rid herself of Liana that involves smearing blood on her (stunning) breasts in extreme close up whilst licking soot off various stoned wannabe starlets.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Or just deeply tragic when you realise that this is the high point of the film.

Anyway, will our heroes escape?

And does anyone (except the investors) really care?

I love you.....could it be magic?

Aaah, you can't beat a wee bit of Jess Franco, the late great pensioner perv of quality Eurotrash, unfortunately tho' in this case he only seemed to be on hand to film the fleeting nude scenes (oh and his missis) which means that the usual Franco trademarks - sexy European girls with massive bushes writhing around on knock-off Ikea sofa beds whilst his other half licks tomato sauce of their thighs are all missing, replaced with director Payet's trademark 'point the camera randomly and hope something interesting happens' technique that he honed on such classics as Hitler's Last Train, Captive Women 5: Mistresses of the 3rd Reich, Confessions très intimes d'une petite fille and French Erection.

Eva León: Ask your granddad.

Luckily for us tho' he left his infamous Nazi porn chic obsessions at home this time, which would be OK if he'd at least attempted to add something (anything) else to the film other than a deep depressing hole that radiates out from the screen and into the pit of your stomach.

But why was Franco involved I hear you cry.

Rumor has it that he was just passing by the studio with his shopping one day and popped his head around the door to say hi.

But I like to think that maybe he was on holiday near the location and just stumbled across them filming.

Which would explain a lot.

Except that is why the whole thing look like a nursery school version of Raiders of The Lost Ark, albeit one with loads of wobbly breasts and some sporadic scenes of mindless violence.

Mumbled dubbing, a tinny synth score, a human/cod hybrid in a fur bikini and overlong slo-mo shots of topless women on horseback all add up to the celluloid equivalent of anal warts, just slightly more embarrassing to admit to having let alone enjoying.

I should start a support group.
































*Not this one:

beard of evil.

Just awoke to the news that José Mojica Marins AKA  Coffin Joe has died.

Which has kinda put the dampers on Mrs Unwell's birthday seeing as he's her real dad.

No seriously.

You should check her nails.

So anyway in tribute - and because loads of folk (well one) emailed to find out what happened to him post À Meia-Noite Levarei Sua Alma I thought it was time to review the fantastically monikered:

Esta Noite Encarnarei no Teu Cadáver (AKA This Night I'll Possess Your Corpse, Tonight I Will Make Your Corpse Turn Red, Tonight I Will Paint in Flesh Colour. 1967).
Dir: Jose Mojica-Marins.
Cast: Jose Mojica-Marins, Tina Wohlers, Nadia Freitas, Antonio Fracari, Jose Lobo, Esmeralda Ruchel, Paula Ramos and Tania Mendonça.

Mad as a bag of spanners undertaker Zé Do Caixão (AKA the late great but still warm seeing as he only died yesterday Coffin Joe) having pissed off everyone is his home town with his constant raping, killings and eating meat on holy days has run away to the local cemetery scarily pursued by ghosts (are you getting all this?) and, after hiding in the crypt of his murdered (by Zé obviously) best friend ends up scared shitless by the spirits of his victims.

The pursuing townsfolk arrive to find him lying in a pool of his own urine, all googly eyed and dribbling like a wean.

But, incredibly, still alive.

But still having to answer for all those killings (and rapes and mutilations) Zé is placed under arrest to await his trial.

Luckily for him (but of no surprise to anyone who's seen the first movie), the authorities have no hard evidence and have to let Zé go free.

Heading back to his (newly acquired) castle with his (recently hired) hunchback assistant Bruno Marrs (Lobo, not the DC Comics character) our undertaker pal quickly resumes his mission to find the perfect woman to give him a child.

But being the wacky outgoing guy that we all know and love, Zé forgoes the normal dating channels (such as the internet, Guardian Soulmates and the like) and decides that it'd be easier to just send Bruno out to kidnap the five best looking ladies in town.

Well, the four best looking and their lopsided mouthed pal.

OK if I'm honest he kidnaps the five actresses least likely to complain about having to show their nipples whilst wearing huge black pants.

"Fuck me it's Fred Titmus!"

Always the gentleman, Zé, taking a leaf from late but not lamented TeeVee show Big Brother waits till they've all calmed down and settled in before explaining his plans - which involves torturing them with big hairy spiders, threatening to let Bruno shag them and finally dropping the ladies into a pit filled with large, possibly phallic snakes.

I say possibly because I'm never too sure about that kind of thing, which is why I stick to films with killings in them.

At the end of all this general badness only one woman is left standing, a wealthy, blonde and scarily buxom widow named Marcia (Freitas) who is more than happy to oblige our hero in his quest for an heir.

Which begs the question why he didn't just ask the ladies politely to begin with?

"We've got some great photo's of you without the
hump showing but the bad news
is that we can't get the album shut".

Everything is going swimmingly for Zé and his new squeeze until one day, when our hatted hero is out picking flowers and stuff he bumps into the dark eyed and bullet breasted Laura (Wolhers, star of the underrated Amantes, Amanhã Se Houver Sol) who not only happens to be the daughter of a prominent town dignitary but is as completely fruit loops as Zé is.

Love is indeed in the air.

And from the look of the fog surrounding Zé's home so are a number of eggy farts.

Not too surprisingly her dad and family are furious (tho' not as furious as that fast film with Vin Diesel) so decide to take matters into their own hands hiring some bad men to 'duff Zé up'.

Don't worry tho' because as we all know by this point Zé's nothing if hard as nails and ends up killing them instead.

"Don't forget Zé, Graham and his
team are waiting backstage to help
you with your anger issues should the DNA results
reveal that the beard isn't yours!"

It's only a matter of time before Laura falls pregnant giving Zé an excuse to go into town, get pissed and hand out exploding cigars to everyone but whilst enjoying his new found status as daddy but whilst out enjoying himself he inadvertently discovers that one of the women he's offed earlier was pregnant and not just portly as he'd mistakenly believed.

The thought of killing a child sends Zé into a fit of guilt and rage that not even a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle can cure culminating in dreams of being dragged to Hell by a big, naked black man to witness the horrors that befall cursed souls.

Oh, and a load of buff, thong wearing muscle men with their arses painted red.

 

Inside Michael Gove's mind.

It's at this point that things start to go from bad to very bad for our coffin carrying chum as Laura loses the baby, causing Zé's somewhat tenuous grip on reality to slip even more whilst the local law enforcement folk start to put two and two together (finally) with regards to all the killings and general badness that's been occurring in the local area since Zé moved in.

There's only one course of action left to the top hatted terror and that's to scarper into the swamp....

But has Zé's luck finally run out?

"Tonight I will make your corpse turn red, but
not before I've turned your
mooth a shitey brown colour!"

The second part of Jose Mojica Marins 'Coffin Joe' trilogy offers more of the same mix of violence, philosophy, nudity and murder but on a much more polished scale.

Like a Marvel Comics re-imagining of the character of Joe, the movie adds a hunchback butler and spooky castle to the mix giving our anti-hero an almost Doctor Doom feel and the plot, whilst an almost carbon copy of the first movie, seems bigger and brasher expanding to a point where the character of Joe moves from being 'just' an evil bogeyman figure to become the whole reason for the films existence.

And the horror genre is all the better for it.

Everything about Esta Noite Encarnarei no Teu Cadáver is so unique and different from anything else being produced at the time, from the juxtaposition of the hand scrawled animated credits flashed over a frantic display of images against the classic gothic look of Coffin Joe himself, it becomes obvious that you're experiencing a film created by a true visionary and a master of storytelling.

And if any director deserved recognition outside his chosen genre then it's Jose Mojica-Marins, that brilliant yet utterly bonkers Brazilian eccentric, loved and hated in equal measures in his homeland where he's viewed as either a god or an living breathing incarnation of his on-screen persona.

The church to this day still vigorously attack his anti-religion stance and his ongoing theme of ethical beliefs and religious principles, and at the centre of this we have Coffin Joe and his quest to cement his ideal of man's place in the hierarchy of heaven and hell, violently confronting and challenging blind conformity and ultimately to prove man's superiority over God himself.

Pants.

Tho' Marins would quite possibly say I was talking utter bollocks and that he just makes the wee horror films to scare the weans shitless.

If this is the case then fair play to him, but I really do believe that we need directors like Marins working in our beloved genre.

And that the world in general deserves a character such as Coffin Joe, today more than ever.

God bless you sir, you will be missed.

13 March 1936 -
19 February 2020

in living colour*.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Super 8 and Spanish style!

*That's 'color' for any American 'readers'.

t-rextacy.

Originally released way back in 1994 on the ragged coattails of Jurassic Park, Tammy and the T-Rex is a bit of a guilty pleasure at Arena Towers - epitomizing as it does everything that was/is utter shit about mid 90s movies.

When I reviewed this originally way back in 2007 I remember saying (well typing but you get the idea) that it would probably fare a wee bit better - and receive a bit more love - if the director had just gone "fuck it!" and made it a gore soaked T-Rex 'n' sex based movie to begin with rather than a poverty row screwball comedy filled with cock jokes and hellish homosexual stereotypes.

So you can imagine my surprise - I'm easily pleased - when it was announced that an unrated “Gore Cut” had been discovered and is finally getting a Glasgow airing next month.*

Hopefully someone will read this and be so impressed they'll invite me along to do a 'proper' review.
If not you'll just have to put up with the very old - and very creaky one from way back.

For those of you reading it for the first time - enjoy, and for those of you re-reading it - I've added a few more "Shite in mah mooth!" captions for you so everyone's a winner.
Except Paul Walker obviously.

And not just because he had to spend the entire shoot encased in a dinosaur suit that the Pertwee era production team would think twice at putting on screen.

Tammy And The T-Rex (1994)
Dir: Stuart Raffil.
Cast: Denise Richards, Paul Walker, George Pilgrim, Ellen Dubin, Sean Whalen, Theo Forsett, Terry Kiser and a big dinosaur.

Fish lipped and shiny haired high school cheerleader Tammy (a pre-Bond - and pre-Botox - Richards) has fallen madly in love with the sensitive yet still manly football jock Michael (a pre-death Walker) and spend her school days gazing adoringly at him from afar.

Unfortunately tho' her mad as a bag of spanners, ex-beau Billy (Pilgrim, best known as the original AJ Chamberlain on CBS's longest running Soap Opera of all time, Guiding Light) is making her life a living hell, stalking her, phoning her and generally being a bad lad who takes particular offense to Michael's apparent interest in Tammy which culminates in a playground scrap where the pair roughly grab each others genitalia to see who will let go first much to the eye-popping amusement of Tammy's black and gay (wasn't it always the way in the 90s?) best friend Byron (Forsett, best known for Street Knight and Street Hawk - poor fucker).

Luckily this only brings the pair together and Michael finally asks her out for a picnic.


As in for sandwiches, crisps and pop 'n' stuff, not just to share a chocolate bar.

Glad that's sorted.

But Billy is lying in wait and upon discovering Michael in Tammy’s room later that evening explodes in a fit of jealous rage and chases poor Michael across town before beating the crap out of him and throwing his unconscious body into the lion enclosure at the local zoo.

Which seems a wee bit over the score if I'm honest.

Fast, furious and fish lipped.

As luck - and plotting - would have it Michael is only slightly (but not quite fatally) mauled and is rushed to hospital under the care of medical mentalist Dr. Wachenstein (TeeVee stalwart and Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood star Kiser giving it 110%) and his 'busty' German assistant Helga (Dubin from Napoleon Dynamite and your dad's bed).

Hearing the terrible news Tammy hurriedly squeezes into her best slut chic outfit and rushes to be at Michael's bedside only to find that Wachenstein - after having a wee fiddle with his bits because he's a bad man - has transplanted Michael's brain into the body of a ferocious T-Rex.

As you would.

Tammy does what any strong independent woman would do in this situation and faints.

As does Byron because he's gay obviously.


But what of poor Michael?

Waking up in his new (tiny handed) body he, quite understandably, goes on a mad killing rampage attacking Billy and his gang at a pool party before squashing the bully underfoot.

Luckily for the crew the 'delicate' animatronics didn't fuse in the water, tho' the fact that the dinosaur can only move it's head ala the Clooney Batman probably means it was a clockwork one.

Either that or a really awful Halloween costume.

There's no time to spend admiring the dino-suit tho' as we're about to strike comedy gold when Helga arrives at the scene and upon surveying the carnage decides to roll the squashed body of Billy up like a carpet.

Oh.

My.

Sides.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Realising that most of the subsequent dino attacks are probably going to end up on the cutting room floor director Raffil plows straight into the romance subplot so has Michael kidnap Tammy and take her to a secluded hayloft just out of town.

Tho' how he can pick her up in those itsy bitsy stick thin arms is never revealed.

It doesn't take Tammy long to figure out that the horny lizard rubbing against her leg is her beau and so begins a race against time (and good taste) to find Michael a more 'acceptable' body and one better suited to giving Tammy the love she needs whilst dodging the local sheriff and the mad doctor intent on reclaiming his latest creation.

Seriously you get the idea, can I stop now?

Laugh now!

From the director who gave us Mannequin: On the Move, The Ice Pirates and Mac And Me comes a movie that does for the dinosaur what Cruising did for random night club pick-ups.

Tho' to be fair at least after Cruising your dad decided to stay home a wee bit more at the weekend which probably helped save yer folks marriage.

At least till you left home and he moved out to share a flat with his pal Brian from work.

You remember, the flat you couldn't visit because it only had one bedroom so your dad slept on the couch.

Just me then?

No caption needed.

Anyway back to Tammy and the T-Rex - if I must - which is just like your dad's life choices is a cliche-filled, ultra-shite crapfest of equally baffling and oddly schizophrenic proportions that's neither funny enough or blackly comic enough to be any way successful tho' to it's - very mild - credit it does have some scenes that raise if not a wee chuckle then a little bit of bile at the back of your throat.

Yes, I'm talking about the bit where Tammy sexily strips to her 80s style white Madonna basque and suspenders - complete with white fluffy boa in front of a brain in a jar.

A brain she has just poured a glass of champagne over to 'get it in the mood'.

Oh.

My.

Sides.

Oh, and maybe, just maybe I'd have to mention the scene with the T-rex watching a funeral from behind a bush and maybe even the 'tender' love moments between Tammy and a large rubber dinosaur which were both vaguely amusing but that's about it seeing as most of the alleged comedy comes from some Chuckle Brothers style pratfalls and the fact that Tammy might be sleeping with a dinosaur, I mean just imagine the films standing if the director had show the balls to give us some foxy Denise on dino' soft focus, MOR scored loving.

Or is that just me that gets excited by that thought?

"Shite in mah huge Jurassic mooth you ape descended bastards!"

Worth it only if you're a crap dinosaur fan or get off at the thought of Denise Richards dressed up like your uncles new mail-order 'girlfriend' at Christmas whilst flirting outrageously with a rubber T-Rex.


Or if you have shit for eyes.










































*Tho' if you lived in Italy on it's original release you've probably seen most of the cut stuff seeing as the deleted scenes were reinstated there.

eggs and baker.

Scarily both Dame David Lynch and Sir Tom of Baker have their birthdays today so what better way to celebrate than with a film where the aforementioned ex-Time Lord plays a character called Mr Lynch?


The Mutations (AKA Doctor of Evil, The Freakmaker, The Mutation. 1974).
Dir: Jack Cardiff.
Donald Pleasence, Tom Baker, Brad Harris, Julie Ege, Michael Dunn, Scott Antony, Jill Haworth, Olga Anthony, Esther Blackmon, Hugh Bailey, Felix Duarte and Willie Ingram the pop eyed man.

Professor Nick Nolter (Pleasence, looking not unlike a egg dipped in treacle) is just your average everyday science lecturer at some nameless English polytechnic splitting his time between teaching over forties who want to get better qualifications to get back into work (well from the look of the cast this seems to be the case) and conducting frankly bonkers experiments in an attempt to create a human/plant hybrid.

As you do.

But the professor needs a fresh supply of people to work on, so to this end he employs the fucked of face, scraggy haired Mr. Lynch (A pre-Doctor Who Dame Tom of Baker), a stinky ne'er do well who just happens to co-own the local carnival, to help him out.

Lynch happily obtains young men and women for Nolter's mad experiments on the understanding that one day the professor will fix his face for him.

Sounds legit.

Anyway with the basic plot out of the way it's back to the Restart classes where three trendy 'young' students; blonde buxom Hedi (Ege from shitloads of stuff including your granddads bed), luscious Lauren (the bobble headed beauty Haworth star of Tower of Evil) and Tony (Antony, from Ken Russell's Savage Messiah) have decided to have a word with the visiting scholar - and token American hunk - Dr. Brian Redford (B movie lunk Harris from The Mad Butcher amongst other classics) regarding the rumours they've heard about Nolter’s research.

Being a nosy bugger Redford agrees to look into it.

"Shite in mah....oh, someone already has".

Meanwhile back at the carnival the employees are a wee bit unhappy.

And not just because they all smell of cabbage.

Nope, it seems that they're getting a tad suspicious at the amount of new freaks suddenly appearing.

Lynch's partner, a pre-Simpsons Mr. Burns (Dunn, who sadly died at the age of 38 during production not long after completing all his scenes. As a plus point it did mean that he didn't have to sit thru' it) tries to calm his regular workers by saying he put an ad in the paper and an entire family from Cradley Heath turned up for the job.

Could he be lying?

All this talk of bearded ladies and tiny men in hats is beginning to annoy Lynch tho' who vents his frustration on the tent pole before stomping off in a club-footed rage.

A wee bit like your Auntie Jean used to after a few sherries at Christmas.

Deciding that what Lynch needs is a surprise party to show how well liked he is his co-workers throw up some tinsel (not literally mind tho' with hindsight that would be worth seeing), organize a kiddy friendly - as opposed to kiddy fiddling - DeeJay and bake him a cake.

Unfortunately this act of kindness sends him into a violent (and dribbly) rage that can only be sated by a visit to a dirty, baby doll nightie clad whore who lives by the fish market.

What your dad gets up to at camera club.

Meanwhile back at the main plot our trendy tecs have decided to take a break from their investigations to spend an evening at the local fairground.

As over 30's often do.

After a few rides on the waltzers and eating their own body weight in candyfloss the groovy group spy the freakshow tent huddled in a dark corner of the park so decide that half an hour taking the absolute cunt out of those less fortunate than themselves would be the perfect way to end the night.

And before you go all PC and huffy on me remember this, dear reader, is the reason we're watching.

Well it's the reason I'm watching, I mean you're not actually watching it are you?

You're reading this.

Tho' to be honest you could be doing both - how would I know?

I'm not your mum.

For one thing I've never caught chlamydia off your uncle Paul.

And you wonder why her and your dad have separate rooms.

But I digress.

See her? That's your mum that is.

Upon entering the tent our merry band - and the viewer - are confronted by some of the strangest sights known to man.

There's an old lady with a hairy face, a woman with really bad exzema dubbed The Lizard Woman (Blackmon), a boy with no bones in his legs (no, really) non-sensationally named Terry the Frog Boy (Duarte), the bendy backed Human Pretzel (Bailey), a scarily sexy Monkey Woman and everyone's favourite, the fantastic Popeyed Jeff (Willie Ingram - but probably not this one) a man who can make his eyeballs pop out from their sockets.

"Eye son".

Now part of me wants to say that exploiting those born differently for cheap entertainment is distasteful and somewhat sickening in this more aware climate.*

But screw that, this guy can actually make his eyeballs bulge out of his skull!

How fucking cool is that?

Tunnel or funnel?

Anyway, as you can probably guess Nolter's experiments get more and more freaky climaxing with poor Tony getting turned into a hideous Venus flytrap/human/vagina hybrid with a taste for tramps and blondes (and trampy blondes) whilst the Professor makes a speech arguing the case for the creation of a race of super-humans and poor old Lynch is hunted down by a gang of dwarves using attack dogs.

Oh yeah and Ege gets her kit off and is touched up by a tree-type thing**.

There's no denying that The Mutations is a bona fide classic of British exploitation cinema, what should be a crass and tasteless excuse to show differently-abled folk for cheap enjoyment is surprisingly entertaining and almost apologetic when it comes to it's subject matter.

It's almost as if it wants to channel the sympathetic edge of the Tod Browning classic Freaks with it's "Who are the real monsters?" message but kinda drops the ball as soon as Scott Antony stumbles into shot dressed as a giant fanny tho'.

But fair play for trying.

"Look dad! I'm from Sedgley!"

 

Saying that tho' the films mad mix of gore, girls, gritty social commentary and gro-bag induced terrors adds a totally schizophrenic feel to the whole thing that kinda works in it's favour tho' at times the heavy-handed plotline plight of the carnival folk and their abuse at the hands of the loutish Lynch does feel a wee bit  at odds in a story about man eating plants and a saliva slopping bloke with a potato stuck to his face.

But despite (or because) of all this The Mutations is both utterly brilliant and totally crap in equal measures.

Jeremy Corbyn, up the casino, Blackpool, 1978.

Scarily tho' the movie was directed by an honest to goodness Oscar winner, Jack Cardiff (who won best cinematographer for 1948 movie Black Narcissus), showing that he had either a secret love of shlock horror or the onset of Alzheimer's - it's your choice, and it's this unsure style, coupled with his almost erotic obsession with time-lapse footage of plants growing, topless dolly birds and the real life freak show performances at the movies half way point that makes this the cinematic equivalent of drunkenly shagging your best mates mum.

It might be great at the time but with hindsight you end up feeling slightly guilty and even a wee bit itchy from enjoying it so much.


Worth watching, but only if you're alone.

Or just very lonely.

Hopefully I'll pick something a wee bit less controversial next time.

If I can be arsed that is.











































*Let's be honest here, I'm just pissed off that I'm the only Autistic person in the world who can't count cards, is rubbish at maths and never wins owt in the casino.....Imagine how shit it is to not even do Autism properly.





**Which seems to be a running theme in films of this era.....look here if you don't believe me.

carpenter cuts.

Celebrate John Carpenter's birthday with 3 volumes of classic Carpenter inspired cuts, Jack Burton beats and taxicab tunes: 

double trouble.

Even tho' it's been a couple of weeks since the audience splitting BBC adaptation of Dracula (which I must admit to thoroughly enjoying) was shown we're still on a wee bit of a vampire fix here in Unwell Towers, gorging ourselves on the very best (or is that very beast?) bloodsucking blockbusters.

Oh yes and this.

All I can say is shite movie, vaguely amusing back story.

So prepare yourself dear reader for the truth behind... 

Dracula vs. Frankenstein (1971).
Dir: Al Adamson.
Cast: Anthony Eisley, Regina Carrol, Russ Tamblyn, Jim Davis, Angelo Rossitto, Greydon Clark, Anne Morrell, Forrest J Ackerman, John Bloom, Lon Chaney, Jnr, J. Carrol Naish and Zandor Vorkov.

“She used to have fantasies about being a freak…
Two heads, an eye missing, elongated spine.
Anything that was grotesque turned her on.”

Somewhere in California - the Oakmoor Cemetery to be precise - world famous lord of the undead Count Dracula (disguised by the look of things as an almost AIDS thin pedo with pubes for hair and played to almost cardboard perfection by 'Zandor Vorkov' AKA Roger Engel) is busy unearthing the remains of Doctor Frankenstein's monster.

What? You mean to tell me you skipped the part of the book where the creatures remains are secreted to the US to be experimented on?

Surprised to see a black satin clad sex offender digging around in the middle of the night the cemeteries lone security guard (the directors dad) comes to investigate, getting his neck nibbled for his trouble.

Pay attention at this part, as it's the only vaguely vampiric thing Dracula will partake in during the whole movie.

Meanwhile under Brighton pier a fairly foxy girl is nervously feeling her way thru' a fog of what can only be cigarette smoke before being suddenly - and unconvincingly -  attacked by an axe-wielding, alcoholic Lon Chaney, Jr. (who distressingly looks close to death).

The axe cuts short her scream.

And cuts off her head.

We cut too but fear not, for it's only a cinematic phrase meaning the action (well, I say action) is moving to somewhere else.

And that somewhere else is glorious Las Vegas, where glamorous grannie Judith Fontain (director Adamson's wife, the late Carrol, star of Satan's Sadists and official pin-up girl of raunchy rockers The Sleepfarmers) is performing her groovy nite-club act to a packed audience via the wonders of stock footage (well, takes up a couple of minutes running time) before retiring to her dressing room to let the air out of her breasts and check her fan mail.

Alongside the final demands, STD test results and court summonses is a letter from one Sergeant Martin Martin (Dallas star Davis) of the Californian Police Missings Persons Bureau (yup, that's the name on the envelope), informing Judith that her wee sister Jodie has gone missing.

Dracula, up the casino, 1973.....Yesch!

Judith, being a concerned sister and desperate to get the plot moving rushes to California (I'm assuming it's just down the road) in order to help with the police investigation much to the chagrin of the permanently scowling Sgt. Martin.

"Hey lady, the world is a dark place," Martin informs her as he switches off his desk lamp in order to batter the point home "If you have any wool I suggest you get knitting!" he suggests usefully before heading off to beat up some students.

Left to her own devices, our heroine wanders innocently into the dangerous hippie neighbourhood where her sister was last seen.

Entering the famous Hippie Hilton (500 McLaughlin Dr. Santa Cruz, CA 95064-1084, families welcome) Judith tries to ingratiate herself into the whole hippie thing by asking for a coffee whilst showing pictures of her sis to all and sundry but this only succeeds in getting her mistaken for a cop, leaving the owner no alternative but to spike her drink with LSD.

Smart.

Cue much hair tugging, indiscriminate crash zooms and Judith writhing on a platform whilst wearing a white fishnet body stocking to a frantic bongo beat.

Far out.

Luckily she's rescued by nice guy hipster Clive Strange (hard working Clark, best known - to me anyway - for Without Warning) and his mousy girlfriend Samantha (Morrell, you may remember her as the floating harem girl in John Goldfarb, Please Come Home! or maybe not).

Lon Fancies a wee mooth shite-in....are you man enough for the challenge?

Meanwhile at the local chamber of horrors conveniently located on the end of the pier next to the bingo hall, the wheelchair-bound scientist and former member of NWA Dr. Drea (Naish, desperate to pay his medical bills) is busy attempting to perfect a special formula that will enable mankind to live forever and have perfectly coiffured  hair even after a heavy night out.

Unfortunately he can only make this formula by beheading people then bringing them back to life before finally lobotomizing them.

But if it means I only ever have to style my quiff once a month then I'm game.

Aided by urine stained imbecile Groton (that'll be Lon then, poor sod) and professional little person Grazbo (Rossitto famous for everything from Freaks to Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome via Galaxina), who've been promised physical and mental superiority once the formula is perfected, this dynamic duo find suitable candidates for experimentation via Grazbo's job at the box office, leaving Groton to chop them up.

"Laugh now!"

After one particularly heavy night of lobotomy-based fun, Dr. Drea is surprised when a strange man steps out of the shadows and demands to talk to him.

Examining the strangers ring (snigger) Drea identifies the visitor as Count Dracula, and Dracula not to be outdone, identifies Drea as the last of the Frankenstein family.

With Drea realizing that his Colonel Sanders disguise is fooling no-one and Drac just relieved that he's finally met someone who doesn't piss themselves laughing whilst looking at him they pair settle down for an excruciatingly bad chat that although meant to fill in an important bit of back story just careers off on bizarre tangents.

None of this is helped by the fact that Dracula appears to have been dubbed by someone standing in a well.

"Ahm sorry hen....ave pished mahsel again!"

Anyway, from what I can gather (after rewatching the movie a few times) is that  Drea was adopted (which is why he's not known as Frankenstein and more importantly why he's considerably less hip than other Def Jam stalwarts) and that his work in monster construction was discredited by three evil doctors, one of which caused the accident that crippled him.

This man whom we shall call simply Dr. Bill Beaumont (because that's his name) added insult to injury by stealing the Frankenstein monster and burying it in the graveyard from the films opening.

Luckily for all concerned the infamous Zornov Comet is rapidly approaching the Earth, heralding the beginning of the monster's second life cycle.

Look I'm just typing what was said.

Meanwhile junked up Judith suddenly wakes up in the bed of aged hippie Mike Howard (Eisely from Knots Landing), a local middle-aged guy who looks after the disenfranchised yoof in the area whilst dressed like a teenage rent boy.

Nope, nothing sinister about that at all.

Taking a shine to Judith (he's obviously bored with failing to score at the school gates so he's decided on someone nearer his own - old - age) the pair begin to discuss Jodie's disappearance, eventually coming to the conclusion that, being disabled Dr. Drea is behind it.

Cue hours of wandering around aimlessly back and forth to the house of horrors exhibit intercut with dozens of unnecessary appearances  by a chubby, pube bearded Russ Tamblyn playing an evil rapist biker named Rico.

Truly the man has no shame.

Or a fucking huge rehab bill.

Heath Ledger farted....and it was an eggy one.

Skipping forward a few chapters (look I'm only human) and finally Judith and Mike (after admitting their love for each other and having a wee kiss and cuddle) have decided to take one last look at Drea's horror show.

Only to make it more interesting they've turned up in the middle of the night.

Wandering around in the 'dark', they pair of wannabe investigators completely fail to see or hear Rico and his pals trying to rape Samantha and also miss Groton's subsequent slaughter of the bad boy bikers but, and give credit where it's due, Mike does manage to hear Groton quietly pull a chain that opens a trapdoor to Drea's lab.

Trying to find the source of the noise, the pair also manage to miss the three hacked to pieces bodies at their feet but do spot a teeny tiny locket belonging to Samantha buried in the sand.

I'll be honest, even I've stopped caring at this point.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Drea, lying in wait behind a shady model of a giant monkey catches the pair as they sneak around the exhibits and manages to lure our loved up losers into the dank, dark basement below his lair.

If you could take a minute now to consider the layout of Drea's Chamber of Horrors.

If you've been paying attention you'll remember that it's built on a pier over the beach to give Groton easy access to the sands to kill women.

So how (and more importantly where) does the stone clad gothic basement fit in?

I have to be honest and say that at the time I totally accepted this without question showing the true extent of the films almost supernatural mind numbing powers.


It was only the following day that I realized that the whole thing was complete and utter shame trousered shite from start to finish.

Anyway, Drea explains the plot, Judith finds her naked sister in a big jam jar and Mike, being an all American hero type picks a fight with the dwarf, causing Groton's pet cat to fall down the trapdoor.

I kid you not, cinema hardly ever gets as exciting as this baby.

Tosser.

Much infant school slapping and grimacing ensues culminating with wee Grazbo falling onto an axe giving Judith time to escape to the roof.

Of a factory.

Not a pier.

Mike however is trapped behind some boxes as an ever more excited Drea take potshots at his arse with an air pistol before giving chase in what must be modern cinemas slowest wheelchair versus middle aged man race ever.

All looks lost until Mike in a rare flash of intelligence, hides behind the monkey exhibit and shouts "BOO!" as Drea wheels by causing the scientist to shit himself, the runny consistency of which makes Drea slide off his seat and onto a prop  guillotine exhibit, which decapitates him.

Back on the roof Groton, pulling his best sex face, is closing in on Judith but just as all seems lost who should turn up but Sgt. Martin and Clive Strange back from discovering the three bodies under the pier.

Strange spots Judith running across the roof and Martin, desperate to shoot someone, opens fire on Groton.

"Put it in me!"

Running to the roof to comfort Judith, Mark seems to have forgotten one tiny thing.

The title of the film.

For waiting in the shadows Dracula is plotting a terrible revenge on those who have thwarted his plans.

A revenge that will at some point involve him bitch slapping a potato-faced monster whilst Judith's breasts look on in terror....

"I fang you!"

Where to start when it comes to the late king of exploitation Al Adamson and his work?

Director, producer, actor and writer Adamson directed an impressive (in quantity if not quality) thirty movies between 1961 and 1983 before retiring from films and getting involved in real estate.

Tho' probably not beach-front piers with stone basements.

Back to his movies tho' and whilst Dracula vs. Frankenstein is nowhere near one of his better efforts it does have the most comically convoluted stories behind it's journey to the big screen.

Beginning production in 1968 as The Blood Seekers with much the same plot and cast Adamson was reported as being unhappy with the finished product, feeling it lack a certain something and consequently shelved the entire movie, putting all his efforts into the other seven (!) he had in production at the same time.

Jump forward a few years and Al's producer pal Sam Sherman, is panicking into a bottle of Rum.

It appears that he foolishly signed a contract to deliver a brand new full colour Frankenstein film to the drive-in theatre crowd and, after spending the cash on crisps and fizzy pop has only days in which to find one before he gets his legs broken.

In an attempt to cheer his pal up, Adamson took Sherman to the cinema where the pair found themselves watching Paul Naschy's debut film La Marca del Hombre Lobo (AKA The Mark of The Wolfman) alongside Holiday on The Buses.

It was at this point Sherman hatched a cunning plan.

He would buy the rights to the movie and change the title to The Something of Frankenstein therefore filling his obligation and make a few bob on the side.

Unfortunately tho' Holiday on The Buses was too expensive (Hammer wanted £18.60 for the worldwide rights) to purchase so instead he ended up with Naschy's movie which he quickly retitled Frankenstein's Bloody Terror (despite it not featuring Frankenstein) before releasing it onto an unsuspecting audience.

The plan worked and to celebrate Sherman took Adamson out for a baked potato and a pint of cider and it was during this meal, as Adamson looked down on the cheese melting across his lumpy spud that the director realised what was missing from the Blood Seekers footage.

A monster with a potato for a face.

With a cry of "Eureka!" Adamson jumped from his seat causing the man sitting behind to accidentally spray tomato sauce of his wife's heaving bosom.

Noticing the red liquid dripping seductively down her swan-like (if a little too hairy) neck the film making duo looked at each other before both shouting:

"Dracula!"

And thus a legend was born.

"Wahey Blakey! I'm spunking tenners!"

But who had the gravitas to play such an iconic roll?

And who was brave enough to bring the Count kicking and screaming into the 1970's?

Sherman wanted genre veteran John Carradine, thinking that the actor would bring a noble gravitas to a portrayal of an older, more desperate Dracula, out of time and thrust into the modern world for one last attempt at immortality.

But Adamson had other ideas, he wanted someone young and sexy but more importantly he wanted someone with a beard.

A beard fashioned from pubic hair.

With this in mind he called upon his stockbroker Robert 'pubey' Engel who accepted the part on the spot.

Funnel or tunnel?

Renamed Zandor Vorkov (a partial anagram of Talentless tosser), his voicebox replaced with that of a bass-heavy transistor radio slightly off-tuned to medium wave and his skin bleached with ammonia, Engel's was ready to begin shooting.

All that was left to do now was to find and purchase a really big potato and find someone willing to put it on their head.

This job fell to the massive, slack jawed 7 foot, 4 inch bulkily hulky John Bloom. Known as Johnny 'Horsecock' Bloom to his friends, the actor had already appeared in such greats as The Incredible 2-Headed Transplant and Up Your Alley before Adamson came a calling and he too had unique ideas as to how the infamous monster should be portrayed.


As a club-footed tramp obviously.

And how did it all turn out?

Well I would usually say see for yourselves but frankly I'm not that much of an unfeeling bastard.

If you have already seen it there are groups out there to help you adjust back into normal life life.

And if not?

Just memorize this review and kid on that you saw it.

It's for the best.

it's raining men.

People say that I cover way too much horror and sleaze on this blog and not enough films featuring large white pants.

Well it's the new year so I thought I'd change all that.

And luckily in this age of comic adaptations it just happens to be one of those too, so hopefully this'll get some kids reading in a mistaken view that this is the one-stop shop for all things Marvel/DC related.

Enjoy.

Otenki-oneesan (AKA Weather Woman 1996).
Dir: Tomoaki Hosoyama.
Cast: Kei Mizutani, Takashi Sumida, Yasuyo Shiroshima, Kunihiko Ida, Ren Osugi, Saori Taira.

Given the films title you may not be too shocked when I tell you that it is indeed the story of a female weather broadcaster, in this case it's stand in teevee weather girl Kieko Nakadai (she-ferret Kei Mizutani) who, during her first forecast, accidentally flashes her pants to the nation.
I often wished Carol Kirkwood would do the same.

You could house an entire refugee family quite comfortably in those.

Not too surprisingly ratings soar and Kieko becomes a media darling, not just in Japan but worldwide and instead of replacing regular weather girl Michiko (Teevee starlet Saori Taira) for one night, Keiko is given a permanent slot in which to flash her pants, forecast snow and the like to an adoring nation.

Why can't all films have plots this simple?

Or pant-centric?

Harsh.

Poor Michiko is relegated to hosting the hit reality TV show ‘Hentai-san, hajimemashite’ (Hello, Mr Pervert!).

Obviously angry and annoyed (tho' it's hard to tell from her acting plus I kept getting distracted by her shoulder pads) at losing the best job on teevee Michiko plots her revenge.

In between presenting stories about old men fondling strangers arses and guys in love with horses that is.

Just imagine This Morning but with smoother thighs.

Luckily for her the studio owners daughter, a French educated weather expert named Shimamori (Yasuyo Shiroshima, ultra-cute star of the fantastic BeeBop High School) also has plans to oust our heroine (who is in fact her old school rival) and, after humiliating Kieko during a live broadcast, takes over the weather slot hoping to be crowned national 'Weather Woman'.

Just. Too. Cute.

Deciding to fight back Kieko enlists the help of fellow employee and professional stalker Yamagushi (none trick pony Takashi Sumida) a creepy geek with a crush on Kieko.

Why? You may ask.

As in why does she need his help not as to why he fancies her obviously.

Well, it appears that Yamagushi owns the fabled 'Heavenly Whip' which, when used on Kieko, will grant her the power to control the worlds weather (no, I'm not making this up) enabling her to defeat Shimamori.

"Gordon's alive!"

After an extremely long (and slightly uncomfortable) scene of Kieko bound and whipped by her sweaty stalker she finally gains control over the elements and is reborn as the all powerful Weather Witch, heading over to the studio to battle Shimamori for the ultimate prize.....

Who will triumph?

And more importantly what will they be wearing?

Fair enough.

Director Tomoaki Hosoyama's first (and last) stab at mainstream success, after his 'Pinku' classic (and plea for sexual tolerance) Lesbian Colony (1987) certainly knows how to grab the audiences attention, opening the film, as he does, with Kei Mizutani masturbating furiously atop a building, which kinda gives it the edge over Suicide Squad in the comics to film stakes.

Never one to miss a trick he shows her at it again about twenty minutes in (tho' he does change the scenery by setting this saucy scene in the station toilets) and intercuts all this fiddling with an almost obscene amount of pantie flashing (I lost count after thirty), which I'll be the first to admit does detract from Kei Mizutani's nightmarish incisors and ghoulishly grotesque  pin-head.

Kirkwood, you would, I would. Twice.

What makes this movie truly bizarre tho' (as if the 'plot' wasn't enough) is that alongside the copious amounts of sexiness and fetish fantasies are serious commentaries on Japanese business culture and interpersonal relationships (no really) coupled with off the wall moments of untranslatable 'comedy' and satirical jibes at the state of television, making it slightly more schizophrenic than Norman Bates but better looking in a dress, obviously.

Comic lady.

Real lady.

Vibrant, colourful, vaguely amusing, slightly smutty yet never boring, Weather Woman is the perfect movie to entertain grannie with (or anyone with a thing for rat faced, grumpy women, uncle Jeff perhaps?) on those rainy afternoons and sits proudly at the top spot of the weather-based, underwear obsessed witchcraft movie genre.

Check the shoes.

It's just a pity that Tomoaki Hosoyama went and ruined it all with the totally unnecessary sex based (and shoulder showing) low in laughs sequel Weather Woman Returns but hey ho at least it's not New Female Teacher - Leotards of Temptation - now that is shite.

Don't worry the usual films about bad murders and the like will be back soon.