lake flaccid.

Way back in 2010 I actually got asked to write something for a proper blog (I've never been asked since, go figure) about that genius of horror cinema the late great Paul Naschy.

You can read it here if you're interested, it's actually quite good for me.

Anyway it was during this fine piece of cinema scribbling that I mentioned how as a 7 year old The Crater Lake Monster looked like it could quite possibly be THE greatest monster movie ever.

Well scarily 40 years on and finally someone took the hint and sent me a copy.

So, was it worth the wait?

Go on, guess.

The Crater Lake Monster (1977).
Dir: William R. Stromberg.
Cast: Richard Cardella, Glenn Roberts, Mark Siegel, Bob Hyman, Richard Garrison, Kacey Cobb, Michael Hoover, Sonny Shepard, Suzanne Lewis, Marv Eliot, Garry Johnston, Susy Claycomb, Joe Sasway and Jim Goeppinger.

I've been stuffin' my shoes with newspaper for so long, my feet know more about what's goin' on than my head.

In the small town of Crater Lake, Northern California (twinned with West Bromwich), local science guy - the Lego-haired Dr. Richard Calkins (the sniggeringly named Hyman best known as the Desk Sergeant in the hit TeeVee show Insight) is annoyed to find his nightly tearful wank and Pot Noodle rudely interrupted by his over-excited colleague Desperate Dan Turner (Garrison who you might recall from his top turn as a Doctor in A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master).

It appears that he and his girlfriend Susan (Cobb who went on to be a technical advisor on A Bunny's Tale fact fans) have come across (look there's not much else to do around there) some remarkable cave drawings in the local woods (well in a cave in the local woods but I thought that would be obvious) that appear to depict a group of cavemen types fighting a Plesiosaurus, thus proving that dinosaurs existed at the same time as man.

Probably.

Look I went to art school I've fuck all idea how 'the science' works...I mean why would they lie?

Plesiosaurus in mah hand!

Their excitement is short lived however when a hastily scribbled cartoon light - sorry I mean a flaming meteorite - appears from nowhere and crashes into the lake causing the cave system to collapse.

Coughing and spluttering in the darkness after barely escaping with their lives (their dignity however is totally destroyed) the trio are greeted by the porn 'tached local sheriff "Stubbly" Steve Hanson (Cardella who also wrote the screenplay) who offers them a lift back to town.

Several weeks pass before the Sheriff suddenly remembers the meteorite (he must have been busy) so he arranges to meet with the three scientists to go look for it.

Diving down to the bottom of the lake Susan and Dan discover it still smoldering away inbetween the usual shopping trolleys and dead gypsies resulting in the temperature of the water rising to approximately 90 degrees and all the fish dying.

To get a feeling of how fucking inane the whole thing feels so far just imagine a really bad episode of the X-Files genetically spliced with the much missed cult TeeVee show Rentaghost and you'd be halfway there.

Meanwhile in an attempt to add some excitement to the proceedings a local birdwatcher (sound man Scharn) is busy setting up his equipment.

In arse numbing detail.

For 15 minutes.

Luckily a monster suddenly rises out of the lake and eats him.

Well I say rises, it actually just appears to float shamefully against the background but they meant well.

Michael Jackson Vs Gojira.....FIGHT!

Obviously fearing for the viewers health (and sanity) after such a shit-scary scene the director wisely decides now is the time to introduce the movie's comic relief in the form of the bush bearded Arnie (Roberts not Eric) and the baw-headed Mitch (Siegel not George or Steven) a pair of denim clad stoners who've decided to start a boat rental service in order to make a fast buck and meet girls.

No, seriously.

It's not too long before they get their first customer - famed U.S. senator Jack Fuller (Eliot but not the small boy from ET) who, wanting a break from doing political type stuff (and your mum) decides to rent a boat for a quick fishing trip.

Luckily for viewer sanity he is soon killed by the monster. leaving only a blood stained (well paint stained if I'm honest) boat and a crusty old sports sock to show he was ever there.

Arnie and Mitch bring the boat back to shore and quickly call the Sheriff before trying to figure out how they'll explain it to their nan.

Shite in mah bearded hipster fuck mooth ya gentrified bastard!

Obviously the fact that anyone hiring a boat off them ends up getting eaten by a huge beast doesn't seem to bother the pair as in no time at all they're renting another boat (and one with an engine and everything this time) to top light entertainment couple Ross and Paula Conway (Hoover and Lewis - look is it really worth listing them as no-one in this movie went on to do anything of worth - except Lewis but more on him later....I need a reason to keep you reading) who,  on their way to a perform at a children's party have a wee bit of car trouble and need to get to the other side of the lake ASAP.

You can see where this is going can't you?

Yup, whilst puttering across the lake the polyester clad pair are viciously attacked by the monster and in the film's most terrifying and nail biting scene* attempt to outrun the beast as it chases them to shore.

The monster has flippers tho' so continues to pursue them even on land and is only stopped when Ross empties a handy can of petrol into the boat and sets light to it scaring the beast away.

Phew.

With neither of their boats being returned to them within the alloted time and understandably annoyed by the fact that their business seems to be failing,  Arnie and Mitch have a massive fight on the waterfront only to stumble across the severed head of Fuller before things get too exciting.

Luckily the sheriff shows up and takes it away as 'evidence', ordering the pair to stay out of the lake and to stop their frankly homo-erotic wrestling escapades before they scare any children.

Kylie and Jason: The Pikey Years.

The pair hung uncomfortably and agree to pull together for the sake of the business before realizing that Ross and Paula are still out there somewhere.

Which means that they may just be able to charge them overdue boating fees.

Result.

Searching the shoreline - and being careful not to put their feet in the water - they eventually discover the burnt-out and battered remains of the motorboat along with the distraught couple who are sitting shaking on a nearby rock covered in shit and piss.

Which scarily manages to make them the most attractive members of the cast.

Meanwhile in a totally unrelated incident in a nearby town pube-haired bad boy Harris Tweed (Shepard) is busy robbing the local Aldi, shooting Clark the clerk in the face before violently bumming a customer to death.

OK I lied, he actually shoots her too but I just wanted to add some much needed excitement to the movie.

Plus she did have a great arse.

A typical 1970s lady of the type not bummed in this film.

Driving off into the sunset he soon stops at the Crater Lake diner for a donut, coffee and a big poo.

Unfortunately - for him - sheriff Hanson is also there enjoy a bagel and quickly recognizes the vile villain from the description given over the radio.

Tweed sensing trouble legs it into the woods pursued by Hanson and a gunfight ensues.

Being a crack shot (he was in Vietnam probably) the Sheriff shoots Tweed in the bum before dipping behind a tree to reload.

It's during this brief pause in the action that the director remembers that it's meant to be a monster movie so the creature appears and eats Harris whole.

Yeah I'd have thought it'd spit that bit out too.

Jumping out from behind the tree the Sheriff is surprised to see Tweed has vanished, all that remains is a big red jam like smear snaking into the water.

Shrugging his shoulders Hanson heads back to town where he's accosted by  Doctor Calkins (you forgotten about him hadn't you?) who has just completed the autopsy report on Fuller's head.

It appears that the wounds were caused by a giant animal that lives in the lake.

But we kinda knew that.

I wouldn't want one of them swimming up my arse....then again...

Going back to investigate the scene Hanson soon discovers several massive footprints in the dirt (and no doubt in the butter) but as he takes out his tape measure he's surprised by the beast itself bursting forth from the lake.

Hanson isn't so easily spooked tho' and fires his revolver at it before jumping in his car and quickly driving back to the doctor's house where he excitedly tells Calkins and his pals about the incident.

Obviously excited at the idea of having a living dinosaur in the lake, the trio are quite disappointed when the Sheriff informs them that he's going to kill it.

But first they decide to call a town meeting.

There's teasing us with promises of monster mayhem then there's pulling down our undergarments, rubbing us up till we're about to explode with pleasure then fucking off to make a cup of tea.

Can you guess which this film is more  like?

With the sheriff slowly going kill crazy and the townsfolk insistent on keeping the beast alive Calkins suggests that it goes to a vote but just as it looks like the townsfolk will win the local dentist Craig Ferguson (Sasway - like it fucking matters) bursts into the diner having just narrowly avoided a buggery from the beast.

This act of attempted arse banditary is enough to turn the tide against the creature and the townsfolk head out to build a makeshift barricade to protect themselves as the Sheriff commandeers the town bulldozer.

Luckily the town bike was too busy making coffee or things may have turned out a wee bit differently.

"Put it in me!"

 Will bulldozing might beat prehistoric power?

Will Arnie and Mitch ever make any money?

Will anything exciting - or just anything at all - actually happen?

Funded off the back of a pile of cash (just under $100,000 or so I'm told) he received as part of an inheritance - he also got a collection of nodding dogs and a caravan - William R. Stromberg's sole directorial effort is a mighty mish-mash of half-baked ideas, dead eyed performances and misjudged comedy hi-jinks topped off with a scratchy library score saved from obscurity solely thanks to the stunning stop motion work of David W. Allen - aided here by Star Wars alumni Phil Tippett on his days off.

Tho' according to star/co-writer and producer Richard Cardella the blame for the movie's (many) failures can be laid at the feet of the film's distributors Crown International.

In an interview given to my gran back in 1979 he had this to say:

"Crown International was part of the financing and they just screwed up everything!"

Key scenes were - allegedly - either cut or never filmed (including one where the beast ripped the roof off a topless dance club and gobbled up the performers - why are things like this always the first casualties?), the cheap library score was added to save cash and the finished product was given over to a one-eyed alcoholic with hooks for hands to edit.

"The asshole didn't even use a fade or dissolve in the whole fuckin' picture!"
complained Cardella before spiking her drink and slowly undressing her, pawing at her clothes with his big sweaty sausage fingers.

Probably.

It can't all be the fault of some nameless hack editor tho' as I'm sure it wasn't him that decided - in their infinite wisdom - to give over a larger proportion of the films running time to the frankly wank misadventures of comedy tinkers Arnie and Mitch, I mean surely as co-writer Cardella has to take some responsibility for this.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

As a scary aside, Mark Siegel that 'played' Mitch actually went on to have a pretty good motion picture career - as a special FX technician, cutting his teeth  on John Carpenter films (as in he worked on them, he didn't bite chunks out of Escape From New York in a fit of pique) before moving on to Star Trek and Pirates of The Caribbean.



It says a lot for Crater Lake that the director chose to put him in front of the camera then.

See? It must be real...the 'news' papers say so.

Mercifully running at a scant 85 minutes - which unfortunately includes at least 60 odd minutes of arse destroying padding - Crater Lake is one of those movies (alongside The Incredible Melting Man) that signaled the death knell of the drive-in, Star Wars and Close Encounters were just around the corner and the face of low budget cinema was about to change forever with the release of Halloween.


Lo-fi sci-fi shlock was a dying art and if Crater Lake was it's swansong then it was a mercy killing.

Scarily tho' despite being complete and utter shite from start to finish the film went on to make over $3 million at the box office which just goes to show that the American public are in general are quite, quite mad.

And probably goes a long way to explain the popularity of Donald Trump.

But don't worry American cousins, we still love you.































*This is what we Brits call being ironic.

stage shite.

New year, classic movies, same old catchphrases.

Welcome to 2017.

Finally caught up with this gem last night (yup we really know how to celebrate Hogmanay here in Unwell Towers) so thought I'd share.

I wont give to much away tho' seeing as from what I can gather only about six people have ever viewed it.

Yup it's that good.

The Killer Reserved Nine Seats (AKA L’ Assassino ha riservato nove poltrone, 1974).
Dir: Giuseppe Bennati.
Cast: Rosanna Schiaffino, Christea Avram, Eva Czemerys, Lucretia Love, Paola Senatore, Gaetano Russo, Andrea Scotti, Eduardo Filipone, Luigi Antonio Guerra, Howard Ross and Janet Agren.

"It looks like Dracula's Summer house!"

During a birthday bash for cheese-chested silver fox Patrick Davenant (Star Odyssey's Avram), one of the guests (doesn't matter who - it's all back story) suggests that it'd be a good laugh if they all drove to a deserted theatre in the middle of the English countryside (fantastically played by a country road somewhere outside Rome) for some reason or other that isn't worth mentioning.

I mean come on we've got killings and lipstick lesbianism to get to.

Accompanying the birthday boy on this merry jaunt is his harsh-faced fiancé Kim (genre regular Agren), his sister Rebecca (Czemerys who doesn't appear to be wearing any pants) and her lover Doris (evil pixie Love), his frighteningly ginger daughter Lynn (Senatore) alongside her creepily camp - tho' that just may be the dubbing - boyfriend Duncan (Russo), the sexily bearded Doctor Albert (Scotti) alongside his wife (and Patrick’s former flame) Vivian (council estate Faye Dunaway Schiaffino) and the big-haired bastard Russell (Werewolf Woman's Ross, looking for all the world like a childs photofit picture of Robert Davi).

But what would a giallo be without a mysterious man in a Nehru-collared suit  and a massive 'world of the strange' gold medallion?

Probably a wee bit more entertaining - and a lot less clichéd but heyho.

This nameless man (portrayed with all the charisma of a shoddily constructed wooden sex toy by the Lego-haired Eduardo Filipone) seems to have been to the theatre before, being as he is quite familiar with his surroundings.

And all this despite the fact that the place has been closed for a century.

The cast really should have figured out things were going to go tits up when he announces in that deadpan way reserved exclusively for cut-price Eurohorror actors "I spent a night here once.....100 years ago."

Being the way in these movies the rest of the cast just shrug their shoulders and cut daggers at each other.

Me?

I'd have given him a round of applause for delivering the line with such a straight face.

I didn't give him this....but I did give your mum a pearl necklace on Christmas Eve.

Tho' to be honest when he turns to camera and slyly announces that "The actors are present and now the play may start…" I was all set to punch him in his smug supercilious face.

Right on cue a pair of black gloved hands drop a large piece of wood from the rafters that almost kills Patrick setting in motion a series of terrifying events and random breast shots as the cast of almost-weres and has beens are bitching, kissing and cursing their way thru a variety of more and more elaborately style murder set pieces.

In between bouts of uncomfortable lesbianism, big panted perving and - thanks to an impromptu performance by Kim - a wee bit of Romeo and Juliet as she acts out the heroine's death scene.

Who says horror movies can't be educational too?

Decked out in a handy Edwardian bodice Kim gives it her all during Juliet's death scene before slumping to the ground with a dagger in her back.

Which makes a change from her usual habit of taking it up the arse from all comers.

Allegedly.

As our frightened friends crowd round Kim's prone body (obviously hoping for a wee bit of boob spillage) dykey Doris spots a black-clad figure running  backstage and heads off in hot pursuit.

Well as hot as a 70's style middle-aged, polyester clad secretary can be I guess but each to their own.

...And there it is.

Whilst Doris plays Nancy Drew the rest of the of the cast are beginning to panic.

Not only have they discovered that no-one save the director is getting paid but also that the theatre's doors have all mysteriously locked from the outside leaving them trapped.

And in Lynn and Duncan's case desperate for a quick shag.

Tho' given the choice Lynn would rather it be her dad sticking it in her.



Cue ten minutes of uncomfortable nipple nibbling and scary stroke faces as Rebecca gazes lustfully at her niece from a nearby cupboard.

Meanwhile Doris has caught up with the killer and in an attempt to stop him killing her decides to flash her tits at him whilst purring like a cat.

Temporarily blinded by the glare from her milky white chest the killer stumbles giving our man-haired maiden time to escape.

Unfortunately she soon trips over one of her nipples and is  quickly dispatched by the mysterious mentalist via a sliding door cum storage box.

With the surviving cast - and let's face it the audience - at a loss to what the fuck is going on Patrick helpfully explains that the theatre is cursed.

Which is nice.

You see exactly a hundred years ago this very night a group of party-goers visited this very spot for a wee bout of shits and giggles only to find themselves locked in and, when the doors were finally opened they were all found dead.

And mutilated.

And covered in egg, blood, sweat and semen.

Well probably not the last bit.

Dog blanket.

As the body count rises our groovy group realise that there may be more to the curse than meets the eye and that a painting found in the theatre library (?) depicting the horrific events of the night before they happen - and in glorious Crayola colour to boot - may hold the key to the mystery at hand.

Tho' not the mystery of how the fuck this thing got greenlit with such a threadbare and nonsensical script.

Don't worry too much dear readers as the fairly graphic killings (well one of them) and the copious amounts of flesh on show more than make up for it. 

Probably.

From Writer/director Giuseppe Bennati - the man who directed the TV movie adaptation of Italo Calvino's BattleToads and the teen temptress teasing Red Lips, The Killer Reserved Nine Seats is an oft overlooked late entry into the Giallo cycle that blatantly steals the basic plot of Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians before hitting the bottle and introducing more and more wildly bizarre plot twists and turns -  everything from spooky ghosts, family curses to incest and luscious lesbians are randomly throw into the mix in the hope that some of it will stick to the (paper thin) walls of the plot and cover the cracks.

And scarily it almost succeeds.

Let's be honest you know a film is doing something right when you're more concerned whether Eva Czemerys is wearing underwear beneath her frankly terrifying togs than if the plot makes sense.

And for this alone we salute your courage Mr Bennati.

If not your sanity.

Eva Czemerys - Feeling a little horse.

And what the film (admittedly) lacks in logic, cohesive plotting and convincing performances it more than makes up for with its fantastic location and set pieces which no doubt went some way to influence the setting of Dario Argento's Opera and at least one of the kills is copied wholesale inMichele Soavi’s Stagefright.

Sure on reflection the films plot makes absolutely no sense but who cares when it looks as lovely as it does thanks to Giuseppe Aquari's lush cinematography.

Kudos too to composer Carlo Savina for his groovy score that bravely replaces normally expected shock cues with a rumba beat and wah-wah chase music.

As an aside it was Savina's - stock - scores that were used for the majority (79 episodes) of The Phil Silvers Show which is bizarre in itself.

See? You wont find nuggets like that on the BFI site.

But their well written articles about films that folk actually care about probably makes up for it.

Pants.

Worth looking out for just to impress girls with the knowledge that you've seen it, The Killer Reserved Nine Seats deserves to find a wider audience than it currently has.

As a bonus I've set 2017's bar so low that I'll be surprised if I'm disappointed by any movie this year.

lest we forget.

Haviland Morris as Marla Bloodstone in Gremlins 2: The New Batch.

Nuff said.

suits you sir.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you (not literally mind) the fantastic Japanese G.I. Joe bootleg Combat Joe complete with his very own Godzilla costume.

Quite possibly the most glorious toy ever.

who says necromance is dead?

Seeing as it's almost Christmas I thought I'd try something a wee bitty different and share a few romantic movies with you just for those nights when it's you and a loved one alone.

Providing she's not got school the next day that is.

Sextette (1978).
Dir: Ken Hughes.
Cast: Mae West, Timothy Dalton, Tony Curtis, Ringo Starr, Alice Cooper, Regis Philbin, Keith Moon, George Raft, George Hamilton and Dom DeLuise....Yes, it's THAT good.

Marriage is like a book. The whole story takes place between the covers.

Mummified screen superstar Marlo Manners (golden age cum bucket West) and her latest husband, Sir Michael Barrington (Rassilon himself, Sir Timothy of Dalton) are spending their wedding night in a swanky London hotel. 

The couple, expecting a few relaxing days (and nights) of top shag action are surprised - well Dalton is I mean West's faced just kinda lolls there like a botched burns victims - to find themselves caught in an international incident that could have serious ramifications for the whole world.


And to good taste.

"Aye son....touch mah titties!"

In a bizarre case of movie coincidences, who should be in the next room but Marlo's ex-hubbie, the Russian diplomat Alexei (ex Persuader! Curtis) busy taking part in an important UN peace conference.

The problem is that he's refusing to sign anything unless he can spend one last night with his ex wife.

Obviously he just can't get the thought of her ample (and varicose veined) arse out of his head.

But let's be honest, who could?

And if that wasn't confusing (or clichéd) enough yet another ex hubbie, the film director Laslo (Ringo Starr) wants to film her in a 'romantic' scene for his new movie.

It's enough to make a whore vomit.

Tony Curtis: the mark of cinematic quality.

Understandably, Sir Michael feels he should be chivalrous and defend his (very) old ladies honour. 

Unluckily for him a misunderstanding about the use of the word 'gay' means the evil gutter press have branded him a homosexualist.

Oh. 

My. 

Sides.

Just when you thought that matters - or ludicrous plotting - couldn't get any worse, Marlo's taped memoirs (dishing the dirt on everyone she's ever shagged) have gone missing and her back from the dead, gangster ex-husband, the evil Dan The Fish (comedy God DeLuise) is determined to have them.

"Just close your eyes
and think of Roger Moore".

In a bizarre twist of fate (of which David Lynch would be proud) the cassette ends up first in a cake being delivered to Curtis, then in a dog before finally ending up in the US track and field team's private gym.

Luckily Marlo is visiting the hunky athletes and, in a scene more painful than circumcision with a rusty tin lid , starts fondling the young bucks before making a slew of lewd suggestions as to where she'd like them to put it.

This frankly terrifying act of sexual harassment is thankfully cut short when she notices the cassette bounce off a trampoline and thru' the roof.

Tho' how she can see anything thru' her melted plastic face is beyond me.

"Five fingers, never touched the sides!"

By this point Sir Michael is behaving like Barrymore at a pool party, barely able to control the raging erection in his monogrammed silk undies, the sexual tension he feels at not yet being able to consummate the marriage liable to burst at any moment covering anyone standing close in gooey thick Welsh joy-jism.

Which if I'm honest I wouldn't say no to.

His sexual frustration isn't helped by his wife tho', who's taken to wandering around their room in a baby doll nightie so tiny that you can see her nipples swinging freely just below the hem.

So being a true Brit, plus not fancying being caught hunched over the bed in the company of mother fist and her five young daughters (but most likely because there are no old peoples homes near) Sir Michael decides to find the tape himself.

Using his almost Bond-like detecting skills he actually manages to find the pesky cassette before dodgy Dan and his Mafia mo-fo's and finally discovers the reason as to why it's so important.

Would you believe that in her old age poor Marlo can't remember if she divorced Dan or not. 

Only by listening to her frankly sordid past in full Dolby surround can Dan and the mob determine if she now has two husbands.

If you think that sounds harmless just imagine your gran talking dirty to you as you try to polish one off.


Again.

"Smell my finger!"

Thinking about it (the plot that is not your gran) I still can't figure out why this is so important.

Anyway, back to the movie and just when you think it can't get any worse (or that West may get all naked and dirty with Dalton) the tape ends up in the United Nations conference hall along with the bad guys, the new hubbie, Alice Cooper, Laslo, Regis Philbin and practically every other wannabe, has-been and celebrity junkie after money for a quick fix that you can name. 

Just check the cast list.

And for some unfathomable reason the delegates want to hear it all.

Well it beats trying to stop acts of genocide and backing illegal invasions doesn't it? 

The poor guy on the right says it all.

Will the conference be a success or will the contents of the tape plunge everyone into World War 3 meaning that Damnation Alley really happened? 

Will the newly weds ever get to have 'the sex'?


Will West keep her teeth in as Dalton slowly eases his rock solid member into her lipstick covered mouth, his pendulous testicles slowly and rhythmically slapping against the fine hairs on her chin?

Or will he, at the moment of climax plead with his new bride to allow him to cover her unblinking corpse-like visage in his off-white man-muck but then without waiting for a reply, violently fire his seed over Marlo's unflinching face, the sperm glistening like early morning dew on some haunted death mask?

And will Dalton's career survive if he does?


The answer to the last one is yes by the way.

"So you think you'll be able to find the car keys?"

From Ken Hughes, the director behind Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, the Rachel Ward slasher Night School and the Berlin bits in the unofficial Bond movie Casino Royale, comes this star-packed musical comedy, conceived with the idea of relaunching Mae (by this point older than Methuselah) West's career as a sex goddess and glamour queen.

And you have to admit that whatever else is wrong with this movie (and there's a lot) it shows that West could still deliver a kinky quip and a sexual innuendo with the best of them.

Which would be fine if at this point in her career she wasn't an 85 year old leathery necked, tucked and stapled white wigged living corpse.

Imagine if some young guy asked your Gran "How do you like it in London?" and she answered, "I like it anywhere!" whilst stroking herself only wearing a see thru' nightie.

It's just so wrong (unless your Gran happens to be Diana Rigg), almost as if someone travelled back in time to make a star studded role reversed musical version of Jörg Buttgereit's Nekromantik ten years early.


And make it even more disturbing.

Heath Ledger's audition for the new James Bond didn't go quite according to plan.

Remarkably it becomes an even scarier proposition as soon as you realise that every single male cast member is meant to fancy the - scaffolded to fuck - arse off West, this knowledge added to the sight of Bond to be Timothy Dalton exclaiming that upon arrival at the hotel (Marlo) won't be wearing many clothes over the next few days still gives me nightmares. 

This is the man that pulled Ornella Muti in Flash Gordon for Christ sake.

Begrudgingly (well it is nearly Christmas) I will admit that there are a few good bits (and a couple of dangling leathery bits in West's case) including Dalton crooning Love will Keep Us Together to West and a really freaky Jimmy Carter pedo-alike belting out You've got the cutest little baby face to a visibly nipple aroused Marlo, add to that the final revelation that Sir Michael is, in fact a spy ("Just like your James Bond!") and you can't help but let out a giggle.

Or at the very least a little bit of white wee wee.

Camper than Udo Kier in an immaculately clean SS uniform running barefoot thru' a forest of cock, the film does have one final surprise, an ending that rivals Carrie and Rosemary's Baby in the terror stakes.

Yep, I'm talking about the final shot of a scantily clad Ms. West writhing in bed next to a topless Timothy Dalton whilst moaning "Oooohhhhhhhhhhhhh, the British are COMING!"

What more can I say?

View at your peril.

people you don't expect to find on display in your local waxworks (part one).

Peter William Sutcliffe, AKA "The Yorkshire Ripper" as seen at Louis Tussaud's House of Wax, Great Yarmouth.

lost and found.

Found on a street in Glasgow, this cruelly discarded Aquaman sticker.

Look at the state of it, I mean who would want this now?

Minor superhero sticker abuse.

It must be stopped. NOW.

(half) wit and wisdom (teeth).

When I was a small boy most of my weekends were spent sleeping over at my grandparents with Saturday nights consisting of sitting up late with my granddad on the sofa watching the black and white Universal horror double bill on BBC 2 whilst sipping hot chocolate. Ahhhh those days were fab! It was one of those weekend afternoons that I first came across this movie, my nan, being a Norman Wisdom fan had decided to watch it (believe it or not she's on first name terms with Brucie and, gulp, Max Bygraves-perhaps that's where my comedy genes come from-who knows). Sitting there playing with my Mego Star Trek figures behind the sofa I was dragged kicking and screaming into a world of swinging, drugs and a comedy legends saggy arse. So, when I stumbled across this gem on DVD I knew I had to face my fears.... This is my survivors story.

What's Good for the Goose (AKA Girl Trouble, What's Good for the Gander, 1969)
Dir: Menahem Golan
Cast: Norman Wisdom, Sally Geeson, Sarah Atkinson, Sally Bazely and Terence Alexander.

Short arsed, slack haired merchant banker Timothy Bartlett (Wisdom) finds his life in a deep dark rut, he hates his job, his busy (and busty) wife Margaret (Sally Bazely) ignores him and he feels his life has passed him by.

All that changes tho' when his boss is taken ill leaving Timothy as the only person that can take his place at a high powered seaside conference for important banking types.

Driving down to Southport (or is it up?), Timbo gives a lift to a couple of girlie hitch-hikers, the raven haired, button nosed Nikki (top 60's strumpet Geeson) and her best friend Meg (the not as strumpety, more mumsy Atkinson).

The girls take pity on Tim, seeing him as a wild spirit that needs set free, so decide to introduce him to the way out 1960's psychedelic world of groovy discotheques, dodgy drugs, free love, top pop combo The Pretty Things (man) and (for the love of God no) skinny dipping.

Geeson: You would, twice. Even tho' you may be thinking of her sister in Inseminoid.

Timothy finds his true self and experiences joys and passions he'd never imagined before...but everything starts to go wrong when he finds himself falling in love with Nikki.

Thigh son!

I always reckon that if it's your dream to make a serious film about human relationships, mid-life fears and one mans breakdown you could do worse than watch this movie for inspiration.

I mean, when you think of films like Love Story, Kramer vs. Kramer and Sophie Choice you have to admit that the one thing they all lack (and it's one thing that makes them lesser movies) is a barrage of jokes so awful even Talbot Rothwell would balk at the thought of using them and a sweaty comedy star mugging their way thru' the lead role.

Wisdom: Nipples like bullets.

If there's ever a point in time where the British film industry began to collapse in on itself it's with the release of this movie.

From here on in Holiday on the Buses, Carry On Emanuelle and Cannon and Ball's The Boys in Blue beckon...

Wisdom must take the majority of the blame tho' seeing as not only does he headline but he co-wrote and produced what appears to be nothing more than an excuse for him to get his kit off, smoke crack and fondle young ladies breasts for our viewing pleasures.

It's like an ITV sitcom version of The Bad Lieutenant but one where it's the audience violated rather than a nun.

Beware the judder man.

The weirdest thing about the film tho' must be seeing Menahem Golan actually directing a movie rather than producing cut price shite and using the majority of the investors cash to run guns into world trouble spots (strange but true).

Golan who later went on to form Cannon Films, makers of such classics as Superman IV: The Quest for Peace and Tobe Hooper's Invaders from Mars remake (plus bankrolling most of his 80's output-says a lot really) has the directing style of a low rent Richard (Hard Days Night, the other Superman II) Lester but without any of that that directors deft comedy touch, relying on hand cranked comedy chases, Sally Geeson's (undoubtedly nice I'll grant you) breasts and groovy (if it were 1966) crash zoom cum lava lamp effects.

"Are we there yet?"

Even by the worst 60's 'yoof' film standards the characters are mere ciphers - Nikki and Meg are feeble cardboard cut out wank fantasies for podgy, middle age men everywhere (I'm just surprised that they don't shag each other during the film seeing as that's the only free love cliche missing) and their characterizations consist of thus: Nikki: cute, dark hair, sometimes pigtailed, smokes pot, sleeps under piers, shags men. Meg: Blonde, leggy, smokes pot, sleeps under piers, shags men.

Brilliant.

Geeson: Shoes.

Sally Bazely as Norman's wife fairs no better, veering wildly from frigid ice queen to overly affectionate MILF without rhyme nor reason.

Her character is just there and never changes throughout the entire movie; after all the drugs and shagging she turns up for the films final third when the 'plot' takes on a bizarre twist revolving around Timothy's attempts to persuade his wife to stop wearing curlers and flouncy 'baby doll' nighties to bed and maybe dress a wee bit more like a tart and never even finds out about his affair.

 Just when you think the film is going to say something deep or reflect on Wisdom's characters predicament someone drops their trousers or falls over.

It's bizarre to think that after the burlesque joy of The Night They Raided Minsky's that Sir Norm decided to make a lowbrow poverty row sex comedy for no reason it seems other than to take advantage of the UK's newly-relaxed cinema censorship laws and to give himself a chance to ogle some young, firm tottie.

Nice work if you can get it tho'.

Luckily (for him) Wisdom's Dementia means he's now likely to have forgotten ever making this debacle tho' for us it will remain burned onto our memories forever.