beaches.

Day 6 of 31 days of horror and t's time to hit the beach and stain the sands red....

Take a minute to Savior that sentence because quite frankly that's as good as it gets. 

Blood Beach (1981).
Dir: Jeffrey Bloom
Cast: David Huffman, Marianna Hill, Burt Young, John Saxon, Otis Young, Lena Pousette, Darrell Fetty, Harriet Medin and Stefan Gierasch.

"Hey, Harry! What colour eyes your stewardess have... had"

Welcome to the wacky world of handsome Harbour Patrol officer, Harry Caulder (the late, almost great Huffman, teevee stalwart and ex-thesp) who, in between rescuing drowning dogs and making love to his leggy blond air stewardess girlfriend becomes embroiled in a bizarre missing persons case when his ex-girlfriend’s wacky (and fairly hot for an old bird) mom (Medin, Death Race 2000's Thomasina Paine) mysteriously vanishes from the local beach mere seconds after chatting to him about house insurance prices.

"Please sir! Can I go to the toilet?"

Unfortunately this is only the first in a whole host of bizarre disappearances that leave the locals in shock, the beach front shops almost bankrupt and the local coppers with permanently bemused looks on their faces.

Well all of them that is except the towns sexy Police Captain Pearson (Lord John of Saxon), who instead spends the movie with the look of a man haunted by ever increasing tax bills and outrageous demands from an ex-wife.

Aiding our beleaguered bobbie are the no-nonsense Lt. Piantadosi (star of teevee hit The Outcasts Otis Young) and the modern life loving Sgt. Royko (Rocky co-star Burt Young - no relation), a character whose whole demeanour and delivery makes it look as tho' he's accidentally  wandered onto the wrong set, his endless monologues regarding the differences between small town procedures and the LAPD coupled with his hard talking smart arse persona make you feel that he'd be more at home in Serpico or Cruising.

The film, not actually going out looking for no holds barred sexual encounters with big, buff muscle men, tho' each to their own.

Every time he appears onscreen you're immediately  dragged kicking and screaming out of a fairly generic monster movie to an uncomfortable place where you half expect Royko to glass the nearest child in the face and arrest them for aggravated arse burgalary.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Wandering around with absolutely no idea what's going on or causing the sand based shenanigans it's left to Caulder, his guitar playing pube haired side-kick Hoagy (Fetty from, um some other stuff) and the completely off his tits coroner Doctor Demetrios (Dark Shadow's Gierasch, channeling a cuddly paedophile), to look for answers.

Tho' when Demetrios starts ranting - with almost sexual fervour - about it most likely being an underground monster living in the sand everyone looks away uncomfortably and decides that it must be a rash of suicides instead, leaving the disheartened doctor to go back to prodding the corpse of a rapist that was found (minus his cock) on the beach that very morning.

It's not too surprising then that even more people keep vanishing, including  Caulder's current beau as she makes her way to our heroes house for some surprise sex.

"Would you like me to put it in you?"

But that's not too much of a bad thing seeing as whilst she was away doing stewardess type stuff his ex girlfriend Catherine (brunette bombshell Hill whose career spans everything from Star Trek to The Godfather via Batman) has arrived back in town to help look for her missing mum and on the night in question the pair were enjoying some fairly smelly seafood together.

Suffice to say she's not missed.

Deciding that the best way to solve the case - and also to avoid the resident mad bag lady - is by spending every waking moment in the local bar watching Hoagy murder various middle of the road country tracks, our doe-eyed duo seem to totally forget about the films plot as they rekindle their old romance and it takes Hoagy's death (obviously the creature has some music taste) to spur them back into action.

Well I say action when in actuality all they do is take a walk up the pier where they stumble across a half eaten victim of the beast who helpfully tells them where it's lair is before dying.

At least the poor sod was only involved in this shite for a few minutes, by this point I felt like I'd been experiencing the whole thing in real time.

"Shite in mah mooth you crustacean bastard!"

Informing the police of their findings our heroes stand back whilst the boys in blue rig up a series of explosives and cameras in the creatures lair, obviously hoping to get a few quid from You've Been Framed to top up their wages.

Obviously by this point in the proceedings John Saxon had decided to have it out with his agent with regards to the type of arse he was being offered at the time (Cannibal Apocalypse anyone?) and is conspicuous by his absence, leaving the obviously drunk and dangerously trigger happy Royko in charge of the big red button with the only voice of reason ("Think what we can learn from the creature" etc.) being the daft as a brush Demetrios.

Suffice to say Royko blows the fucker to kingdom come at the first opportunity before reaching into his egg stained overcoat for a creamcake and walking away to an early cholesterol fueled death safe in the knowledge that the town is safe.

Or is it?

As during the end titles featuring a pound shop selection of  scantily clad teens  frolicking on the beach, hundreds (well dozens) of tiny holes beging to appear in the sands.....

Unfortunately we'll never know the truth as a sequel is yet to be made.

Bugger.

Obviously (and quite possibly drunkenly) inspired by Jaws 2's tagline - which frankly should have set alarm bells going straight away - Jeffrey Bloom's Blood Beach is proof enough (if any were needed) that a massive shite will invariably still stink like a massive shite, no matter how much perfume you dowse it in or how many times you backcomb its luxurious locks.

Or is that logs?

Which in itself is scarier than the actual movie when you consider the talent involved.

I mean on screen there's the ever dependable John (the kids school fees are how much?) Saxon, Rocky and Amityville 2's living potato Burt Young, the yummy Marianna Hill looking all luscious and forlorn whilst Xanadu's Lena Pousette gets to wear the most hideous hat ever to grace the cinema screen.

Surely that should be enough to make it at least watchable if nothing else?

Add to that the behind the scenes presence of such movie legends a producers Irwin (Halloween) Yablans, Neil (The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension) Canton and an uncredited Sir Run Run Shaw, not to mention a distributor in the grindhouse god that was Jerry Gross and you begin to realize that the blame can only be laid at the feet of director/writer/ Bloom and his co-scripter Steven Nalevansky, the man who gave us the 1992 American teevee classic Prime Suspect, a movie that still holds the record for the most usage of the word "arse" on prime time US teevee.

Oh yeah, and let's not forget to apportion a wee bit of it to whoever thought that the monster should be portrayed as a giant paper mache venus flytrap sporting a rather fetching testicle for a tongue that even the 1960's Doctor Who production team would turn down for being utter shite.

Whoever designed this abomination your card is marked son, I don't care how long it takes you will pay for your crime.

"Laugh now!"

The perfect last request movie for anyone on death row due to its scant 92 minute running time seeming to magically stretch on for days, Blood Beach should serve as a warning to us all on the perils of letting a man named Jeffrey direct a horror movie.

hand shandy.

Had an email asking if I'd ever reviewed Black Candles* so thought I'd take a look thru' the archives - tho' why they couldn't search for it I've no idea....what is this a library?

So did a quick search and bizarrely this popped up instead.

Checking it seems that only 3 folk have ever read it which is sad really.

Or a sign of good taste.

Who knows?

Anyway, it's out on shiny Bluray now (and really cheap) so thought I'd re-review it.

Enjoy.

Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966)
Dir: Harold P. Warren.
Cast: Tom Neyman, John Reynolds, Diane Mahree, Harold P. Warren, Stephanie Nielson, Sherry Proctor, Robin Redd, Jackey Neyman, Bernie Rosenblum, Joyce Molleur and William Bryan Jennings.

"Manos, God of primal darkness. As thou has decreed so have I done. The hands of fate have doomed this man. Thy will is done".

The somewhat sickening Felcher family; dad Michael (writer, director, actor, spy, salesman and inventor Warren), mum Margaret (Mahree - bless you), Hellish girl child Debbie (Curse of Bigfoot star and only person to be paid for the movie, Neyman) and the family dog, Peppy are heading for a well deserved (if arse-numbingly dubbed) holiday at Butlins in Skegness.

So far so so.

Luck (and let's be honest looks) obviously aren't on their side tho', as not only are they stopped by the police due to a cracked tail-light but also get lost somewhere near the A1 turn off to Smethwick.

Smethwick, twinned with your gran.

Bored, cold and tired, Michael and his family decide to pull over at a the first house they come across to ask directions.

But being Smethwick, there aren't any houses as we know them, just a few broken down sheds and a burnt out Burger king.

Oh and a car on bricks with the words 'GRASS' sprayed down the side in excrement.

Finally, just as their hope of finding any signs of civilization is fading the family reach a rickety old house looked after by a big hatted, bow legged backward arsed butler named Torgo (Reynolds, allegedly wearing a home-made bondage suit to aid his performance), who, as it happens is house-sitting for "The Master" (no not that one) whilst he's away on business.

Togo: He's got something to put in you.

Repulsed yet oh so slightly aroused by the smell of boiled onions permeating thru' Togo's beard, Michael and Margaret ask him for directions to Butlins; Torgo simply (and stiffly) replies that "There's no way out of here....It'll be dark soon...." 

Spooky.

Michael, totally nonplussed by the terrifying Torgo and his trampy beard demands that he and his family be allowed to stay the night and orders Torgo to fetch their belongings from the car.

Being a woman Margaret's concerns go unheard by her husband who's too busy booting Torgo up the arse as he attempts to balance a variety of cases on his hips.

Once inside, the family are disturbed to see that there are not only a distinct lack of carpets but that the walls are crammed full of pound shop voodoo shite with a child’s finger painting of a dark eyed, grey skinned moustachioed man and his anorexic greyhound as a stunning centrepiece.

The man it depicts is The Master.

The dog, well that's just a dog.

I've spunked prettier things.

When an amusingly scratched sound effect of a wolf howling puts the willies up poor Margaret and sends lil' Peppy running outside, macho Michael decides to investigate.

Grabbing a flashlight - tho' a fleshlight would probably be more appropriate for a pile of wank this big - and revolver from his car he wanders around in the dark (making sure not to step off the set obviously) before finding Peppy, by now cunningly played by an old coat lying dead in the desert dust.

Back at the house Torgo is busying (and arousing) himself by rubbing his legs and attempting to stroke Margaret's hair as he admits undying love for her, warning our moaning faced MiLF that she is doomed to become a bride of The Master, tho' Torgo wants her for himself.

 Dirty boy.

Obviously offended at only being able to pull square faced bores and bandy legged bums Margaret threatens to tell Michael about Torgo's frankly ludicrous seduction attempts but our bearded buddy convinces her to stay quiet by promising to protect her from stuff.

Look the script isn't that specific so why should I be?

Luckily for all concerned Michael re-enters the scene at this point with some bad news.

And it's not that the film is almost over.

It seems that on his travels he's discovered that not only is the dog dead but the car has broken down and little Debbie has wandered off.

Good news tho' is that the local Tapas bar still has tables available.

Unfortunately there isn't a phone in the house to ring for a reservation so with great reluctance the family decide to stay the night, if only to find out where Debbie has gone.

 Which is nice.

Tunnel or funnel?

Worry not dear readers, Debbie is only outside playing with the devilish greyhound from the painting.

Let's be honest tho' it's not like anyone would've abducted her anyway seeing as she has a face that would make a horse sick, I mean any pervy pedo that could maintain anything remotely like an erection around her would deserve a medal.

But I digress.

Unlike the director obviously who seems to be under the impression that the film doesn't have enough stilted, dialogue free scenes of badly made up (and in some cases just plain ugly) actors staring at each other for no reason than to highlight the many continuity mistakes on show.

Make it stop.

Or at least get a wee bit interesting.

Please.

Debbie: Not even With Jonathan King's.

Which after what seems like an eternity it actually does with the arrival of The Master himself (Neyman, unfortunate father of the fearful she-child Jackey, actual owner of the featured greyhound and the man who painted the portrait mentioned earlier...so many jobs so little talent) who is first seen sleeping in a barn surrounded by several ex-strippers clad in translucent dresses and oversized girdles.

Without warning Torgo ties Michael to a handy pole as The Master and his many 'wives' suddenly spring to life before indulging in a short (yet downright bizarre) argument over what to do with the Felcher family.

Is it just me or would you assume that a secret polygamous devil cult would already have contingency plans in place for such an event?

Batman: the mooth shite-in years.

Anyway, The Master (still not that one) after a wee pause decides to sacrifice Torgo and his first wife Mavis to the evil God of facial hair (and hands) Manos before taking Margaret and (ye gods no) Debbie as his new wives.

With this decision The Master makes his farewells and heads off for a power shower and a poo, leaving his wives to engage in some impromptu wrestling.

Phwoar! Wahey! etc.

Upon his return and using a potent post poo hypnotic spell The Master stops the fight before ordering his minions (not those ones) to tie Mavis to the pole in order to be sacrificed whilst Torgo awaits his fate from a handy stone bed.

And what a fate it is, as the remaining wives jump on the poor sod and pretend to eat him before The Master, using his mysterious hairy lipped powers severs Torgo's hand before setting fire to it.

Or at least to a crudely made wax replica.

Torgo, hoping to still be around for the planned sequel (seriously) escapes into the darkness, waving his burning stump as he goes whilst The Master laughs uncomfortably as he sinisterly approaches his first wife.

Whilst all this burning, blundering and back stabbing is going down, Michael and family have managed to barricade themselves into the pantry in the hope of either hiding till morning or that The Master might get bored.

But alas, The Master is a, um, past master at hide and seek (and from what I've heard the double entry) and he's soon looming over the family, a tin of peaches in one hand and a corncob in the other confronting Michael.

Being a true American tho' Michael has no time (or concept of) conversation and promptly empties his weapon into The Master's face at point-blank range but alas to no avail.

The screen fades to black.

The viewer loses the will to live.

And bladder control.

Jamiroquai, up the casino, Tenby, 1997....Yesch!

Time passes and much, much later two more travellers arrive at the house to be greeted by Michael, clad in Torgo's shit stained suit and 'kiss me quick' hat.

Her turns to camera and says - well someone does and from the dubbing it ain't him - "I take care of the place while the Master is away."

And so it goes.

Let us, dear reader, travel back in time to the mid 60's and to El Paso, Texas, where Hal Warren, manager of the American Founder's Life Insurance Co. came across (tho' not in a sexual way) famed screenwriter Stirling (In the Heat of the Night, The Towering Inferno, The Poseidon Adventure, Shaft in Africa and The Swarm amongst others) Silliphant, who was visiting the town to scout out film locations.

After several meetings (and even more booze), Warren decided that this movie making lark seemed a piece of piss and after a few more drinks reckoned he could do as good a job himself.

Within a week he had a script (The Lodge of Sins), a few boyscouts to be his crew and the local theatre group, alongside and a few 'hand' models to be his cast.

Armed with a third hand 16mm Bell and Howell silent camera, a garden shed, some Hula Hoops and 60 Woodbines a legend was born.

The 16mm Bell & Howell silent camera: Witness to more porn and real life atrocities than your granddad during the war.

Shot within 4 hours, edited in 2 and dubbed over a quiet Bank Holiday weekend, Manos (as it was now known) premièred at the El Paso Odeon on 15 November 1966 to non-stop audience laughter and howls of derision that prompted a shell shocked cast and crew to escape from the cinema via underground tunnels dug during the interval.

A chilling footnote to this is that the cleaning woman who's job it was to bin the Coke cups and burito packets after the show discovered that the audience had laughed so much that over 13000 gallons of piss had been unwittingly released into the main auditorium causing the cinema to collapse killing 47 people and spraying urine into the local fields, killing farmer Morton J Blithe's prized heard of bullocks as well as his lame son, 12 year old Morton Jnr, who was found drowned in a gully 2 weeks later.

Lying on it's back stinking of piss....and no it's not your mum surprisingly.

But forget the tales of deaths, suicide and heartache for a moment and just concentrate on the movie then ask yourself; Is it really the worst movie ever made or some proto-Lynchian work of subgenius trading on mans darkest fears as witnessed thru' the prism of Barthesian semiotics?

I mean you have to admit that certain aspects of the film invoke both intertextuality and Bertolt Brecht's theories of estrangement to explore the metafictional or parodic aspects of the idea of polygamy (or polygyny as is truer the case here).

Possibly.

Diane Mahree: Barthesian semiotics or terrifying tit wank?

And to all those naysayers, yes the editing is abysmal, the myriad of continuity flaws are an abomination to modern cinema and yes the soundtrack and visuals are so out of synchronization as to lead us to believe that they are being beamed from different parts of the world.

But surely, a friend of mine once asked of Manos; if viewing the film thru' the lens of intertextuality, taking onboard Freud's idea that the repression of fear and desire is the main cause of 'dream work' then the film's seriously tedious pacing, frankly terrifying non acting and  inexplicable inclusion of scenes and characters either disconnected or totally redundant from the actual plot begins to make sense.

Or does it?

Manos: The Hands of Fate: good shit or bad shit?

Who really cares tho' because when you get around to it a shit is still a shit and either way it's still gonna stink your house out.

Which, if I'm honest is fairly profound for this blog.

Be seeing you.






























*I've been informed by my solicitors to add that I did in fact receive a phone call this week from longtime reader David of Colchester informing me not to bother as it was utter shite.

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.

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Quite possibly the most glorious toy ever.