the ellen degenerazione show.

Bit of a rush job today seeing as I was out watching John Carpenter last night (as in I was at his concert, I wasn't stalking him or anything) and been out for lunch today in a kinda socialising/grown up way.

Plus not too in-depth a review I'm afraid cos frankly most of the stories only last a few seconds, all are bonkers and most are really not that good.

On a plus side Asia (the first person to wish me happy birthday on Facebook two years ago don't you know) Argento is in it smoking a fag whilst wearing fishnets so it's not all bad.
Enjoy!

Degenerazione (1994).
Dir: Antonio Antonelli, Asia Argento, Pier Giorgio Bellocchio, Eleonora Fiorini, Alex Infascelli, Antonio Manetti, Marco Manetti, Andrea Maula, Andrea Prandstraller, Alberto Taraglio and Alessandro Valori.
Cast: Pierpaolo Trezzini, Asia Argento, Giorgio Tirabassi, Alberto Rossi and Patrizia Sacchi.

Our (well their - as in the directors - story, it's not really ours that's just a figure of speech) story opens in the movie memorabilia festooned office of a sweating bald man in an ill fitting suit anxiously chatting to someone (his agent? Your mum?) on the phone about various important film type stuff whilst he furtively looks around for any signs of oncoming badness.

So far so intriguing.

Suddenly the aforementioned oncoming badness bursts in to the room in the form of three pikeys clad in ill-fitting Halloween masks and a nice selection of Degenerazione t-shirts as some kick-ass 'rawk' music plays on the soundtrack.

Yup, definitely an Italian horror movie then.

Jumping from his window to save himself from whatever these masked mentalists have in store for him, Mr. Sweaty's ample arse gives him a soft landing plus the extra bounce needed to send him running merrily down the high street.

But those pesky psycho pikeys are in hot pursuit.

Bob Hoskins, up the casino, Tamworth, 1987.....YESCH!

Unfortunately our chubby heroes brain-based escape route radar is only attuned to cakes and after much frenzied wobbling he finds himself trapped in a back alley behind a bakers with the rubber-faced rotters slowly closing in...

Closing his eyes and hoping for a quick death (or a not too sore arse pummeling), he is fairly surprised that after a few seconds preparing for a beating that his assailants have suddenly disappeared.

"My word they've disappeared!" He exclaims (it's fansubbed, I'm sorry).

"No we haven't" says a mysterious masked man armed with a big gun next to him.

The Degenerazione boys (after magically re-appearing) look on menacingly as the poor guys screams...

"Laugh now!"

...before jarringly cutting to an antique shop where the middle-aged owner is getting phone hassle from a customer who wants an Ottoman delivered.

Convinced that this story is related to the fat bloke I begin to take notes.

Paying far too much attention I find myself being unwittingly dragged into the ensuing argument where it seems that young and hip honey June (some photo-fit blonde in a flimsy blouse) wants her new piece of furniture delivered earlier that agreed.

You see, it's her boyfriend Terry's birthday and she thinks he'd be well pleased with a huge piece of antique furniture for a gift.

My word she knows men so well.

Anyway, after much to-ing and fro-ing between shopkeep and lady the item is arranged to be delivered at 6 o'clock that evening.

But June has to promise that she'll be at home because the delivery man (who looks like the illegitimate child of a mouldy potato and an angry bassoon) is very grumpy and determined to get back as soon as possible as to not miss the new episode of Loose Women on teevee.

Shite in his mooth, blood on the thistle.

June gives her word but as soon as she puts the phone down her best friend Margot calls in a state of distress meaning that June, like a typical woman, forgets everything she's just said and heads straight out to go comfort her.

Returning home from work, birthday boy Terry (played by a pube headed lollipop in spectacles) begins to prepare a scrumptious meal whilst dancing like a tit to clichéd eighties soft rock when he's suddenly disturbed by the doorbell.

I mean it rings, not that it jumps on his and tries to fuck him with it's cold hard doorbell cock.

Tho' that would be fairly exciting.

Nope it's just our delivery spud growling menacingly and saying stuff like "I'm here to get you....let me in so I can stuff my box in your lounge!" and the like meaning that, quite understandably Terry gets the wrong end of the stick and thinks a mad killer has come to get him.

If only June had left a note.

But it's too late for that now so let's sit back and enjoy 20 minutes of Sam Raimi inspired violent lunacy coupled with a smidgen of breast grabbing across the Ottoman....

Jess Glynne: Harsh.

...Which leads us nicely to the home of Mr. Dirk Handsomestranger, a hunky lunk who, being in need of a drink and a wee bit of buggery, decides to visit Waxy O'Shinty's sailor themed gothic gay bar just along the beach from his house.

Well, he is European.

Ordering a Campari and soda, our studly pal can't help but notice a flamboyantly dressed older gentleman (who has a frightening resemblance to everyone's favourite Irishman Louise Walsh) sitting in the corner of the room nursing a tomato juice so, fancying a bit of old man cock, Dirk saunters over to join him.

Overpowered by the smell of sweaty leather and cheap aftershave (and not to mention being a bit tired of having to shout over the X Factor style Bauhaus tribute band) the pair decide to retire to Dirk's palatial love pad for more drink, less music and maybe, just maybe a saucy sex session of the rudest order.

With the booze and chatting flowing like so much horse semen into an aged prostitutes swollen stomach  our frill fronted fop admits that he's no normal man and that he has a dark secret.

And it's not that he dyes his hair or has his habit of furiously masturbating into children's teacups whilst listening to Jess Glynne.

Probably.

"Aye (s) Son!"

Nope, it turns out that his is, in fact a lonely old vampire, eager to impress with his tales of bloodlust, sodomy and working with Sharon Osbourne.

But as Dirk listens intently to his guest it becomes apparent that he may have a dark secret too...

...Meanwhile back in the big city, Mr. and Mrs. Middleincome are off out for a night of food, wine and depressingly middle class chat, leaving their cutesy-pie daughter home alone with only her homework and the brand new Teevee for company.

Unfortunately when they went to the shop to buy it they mistook 'includes evil child killing demon type' for '44" plasma screen plus Teletext'.

We've all been there.

Prepare for a night of child based terror as the killer telly (complete with the worlds longest extension cable) trundles loudly around the (stairless, that was lucky) house attempting to murder a small girl before zooming forward in time to experience a Blade Runner-esque future world where a massive lottery win can make you lose your head (literally) and women keep their hubbies on dog chains for some reason.

Oh yes, it's a subtle role reversal take on sexism.

Clever that.

Louise Walsh: He's got something to put in you (allegedly).

Some other stuff happened but needing a drink top up, a wee and a fag (but not all at once) I had to quickly leave the room but upon returning - I'd forgotten to press pause sorry - I was fairly surprised to see a naked (apart from a bus conductors hat) man persuading a young woman to hold his big umbrella before the wind took her (and it) flying across the fields before landing (with a psycho-sexual) bump in the city of Milan, where Terry the taxi driver is all set to go home after a hard days, um, taxi-ing.

Tho' I may have fallen asleep and imagined the last bit.

Anyway, after phoning his missis to see if she needs anything from the all night garage, Terry returns to his cab only to hear a voice from the back seat telling him not to turn around and just drive to a given destination.
Feeling oh so slightly uneasy about being mysteriously ordered about, Terry can't help but look round only to find that the back seat is empty, save a small briefcase.

Asia: She once wished me happy birthday...have you?

Is Terry going mad or is he just over tired?

Jumping out of the cab to clear his head, El Tel is forced to confront the bizarre truth of the situation when the disembodied voice angrily shouts at him to get back in the car.

It seems the mysterious presence has a job to do and time is running out...

Portmanteau part-work plots don't get much better than this story, which is a shame really as we've it doesn't end there, yup we've still to make the acquaintance of a sickeningly loved up couple who - between renovating their new home and having the sex - experience violence filled nightmares where they try to kill each other.

And the cat.

Hat.

Which brings us kicking, screaming (and sobbing) to our final tale.

A story of a normal man being stalk by a punk-tastic group of film makers intent on making him the star of their new snuff movie.

Yikes.

Ignored by the police and left to fend for himself, it's not long before our hapless hero has been beaten with a shovel and tied to a chair ready for his big close-up.

Luckily for him the designated sound guy is incapable of keeping the boom out of shot and this coupled with an impromptu shoot out and an unscheduled appearance by a nunchaku-wielding ninja may just be the the thing he needs to plan his escape.

And even maybe get the girl.

Who in this case is a leather skirted, fish-netted Asia.

Bastard.

No caption required.

With plots, acting and direction this diverse, you can't accuse Degenerazione of being boring and with it's frenetic mix of straight forward shocks, twisty-turny endings and highly eclectic story telling techniques you at least know that if you're not enjoying the current tale there'll be another one (or even two) along in a few minutes.

Shot for free by everyone involved, Degenerazione is an incredibly enjoyable mess of creativity over cash, putting to shame most no budget horrors of the last decade or so thru' sheer cheekiness alone.

Oh and did I mention Asia Argento is in it in fishnets?

Worth tracking down for the taxi segment (titled India 21) alone, Degenerazione played the film festival circuit before disappearing into oblivion alongside Tom Savini's Vampyrates and the third series of The Tripods, never to be seen again.

Until now obviously.

Unless it was all a dream that is.

more mooncup.

After rewatching the frankly fantastic The Man From Planet X I immediately (well almost immediately, I had a wee first) went online to see if there had ever been a sequel or the like and to find out who owns the rights because let's be honest it deserves a remake.

In a bizarre bit of (fearful) symmetry - seeing as it was rediscovering my Robot Monster strip that made me watch it - I discovered that Fawcett Publications actually produced a comic adaptation of the movie in 1952 (which actually ain't too shady).

Not only that tho' but after even more digging I found that way back in 1975 top scribe Hunter Adams (AKA Jack Lancer, Jim Lawrence) penned a three book series chronicling the further adventures of The Man From Planet X.

Excitedly I scurried to Ebay to find the books and after a few weeks (and a large part of the kids college fund) they arrived at Unwell Towers.

So imagine my surprise upon reading them when I realised that they had absolutely fuck all to do with the film but were actually a series of sexy stories about some bloke named Peter Lance,  who although looking human was in fact an alien from the planet Tharb named Pritan Lansol, sent to Earth to study our customs and learn more about us before his race finally announce their presence.

Obviously being aliens they have absolutely no concept of sex so to discover more about it the alien leader, Dr. Kraag, sends Lansol to Earth to look into it.

Obviously this involves him bedding as many beautiful women as possible and all in the name of science.


Sounds legit.

Invariably he ends up involved in spy rings, human trafficking and the like  forcing him to  use his amazing physical prowess, telepathic abilities, and alien technology to defeat the bad guys and save the damsel.

Before having some more of 'the sex' with them obviously.

And whilst this may seem a tiring proposition to us mere mortals, it turns out that the planet Tharb is actually the size of  Jupiter (tho' not alas Uranus) with a similarly immense gravity meaning that the muscles of its people are tremendous compared to Earthlings.

Obviously this means that Lance is able to 'perform' for hours and hours.

If all this wasn't manly enough Lance also freelances for the CIA on a part-time basis, investigating such mysteries as:

The She-Beast.

An exciting sexcapade involving an old hag who needs an experimental drug called Novitol in order to continue to look young and beautiful, therefore being able to continue having sex.
 
Unfortunately the company that manufactured it has just been bought by a rich industrialist who wants to cease its production so the old hag attempts to kill him.

Luckily Lance is shagging the guys daughter so steps in to help.





Tiger By The Tail.

When Lance rescues a beautiful young (nude) woman from a tiger attack - as you do - he finds himself in the middle of an attempt by a cabal of bad men trying to acquire a secret weapon known as C.O.D. AKA Crack of Doom.

The Devil To Play.

A rash of muggings and rapes in Manhattan can be connected (as is usually the way) to a group of Satanic worshipers who intend on controlling the oil industry by kidnapping a woman who has created a synthetic oil formula.

Unfortunately, on account of them being utter shite, Lawrence (who for years scripted the James Bond newspaper strip, eventually creating more adventures than any other writer including Ian Fleming) called it a day after book 3 and returned to writing Tom Swift Jr. (as Victor Appleton II) and The Hardy Boys Adventures (as Franklin Dixon) before going on to co-create two highly complex adventure games for the Infocom series in the 80s.

Shit! That means this computer is made entirely out of your dad's arse!

As an aside, all this talk of the 80s got me thinking, does anyone else remember/care that the 1962 classic Creation of The Humanoids was bizarrely feature on the inside sleeve of the Bronski Beat album Age of Consent?

This was quite possibly due as much to it being Andy Warhol's favourite SciFi movie as well as it's plot regarding forbidden love and the like.

Caught up with it again recently and surprisingly it still stands up well.

Tho' that's probably because all the sets are really thick cardboard.

Creation of The Humanoids (1962)
Dir: Wesley Barry.
Cast: Don Megowan, Erica Elliot, Frances McCann, Don Doolittle, George Milan, Dudley Manlove, David Cross.

Was She One Of The Green-Blooded People?

The place: A future Earth.

The time: Just after lunch where a nasty (let's be honest,is there any other kind?) nuclear war has resulted in the total extermination of 92% of the human race and left the remaining survivors riddled with radiation poisoning, scabs and bad teeth meaning the prospect for humanity surviving via the medium of having 'the sex' looking very grim.

To keep civilization ticking over smoothly, the remaining humans go into overdrive building over a billion robots to handle all the everyday jobs (bin men, STV voiceover announcers, working in the off licences, saying "In a world...." at the start of trailers etc.) and over the years these automatons have been constructed to emulate humans more and more, eventually becoming sentient and possibly even more human than their human 'masters'.

As is usual in situations like this, a nasty group of bad men (somewhat kinkily) named the “Order of Flesh and Blood” push for a ban on these human looking machines (know bizarrely as 'clickers') insisting that any new robots must be bald, blue and dressed in boiler suits left over from Brian Tilsley's garage.

Which is fair enough I guess.

The situation goes from bad to worse tho' when one such clicker goes a wee bit mental, killing his creator Dr. Mike Raven (Doolittle, best know for his sterling performance as a DA in a 1971 episode of Hawaii Five -O) to death.

Robot hater, founder member of the Order and all round rugged tough guy Kenneth Cragis (Blazing Saddles gum chewer himself, Megowan) suggests a solution to the problem.

Kill all the clickers.

Kill them a lot.

Which is nice.

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

The rest of the group think this may be a wee bit extreme and start to distance themselves from 'crazy' Cragis, who decides to go visit his sister Esme (McCann from fuck all else) for a few days of bitching and badness.


Unfortunately upon arriving at her house our racist rebel-rouser is surprised - and oh-so slightly annoyed - to find that Esme has become 'involved' in the state of 'rapport' with a robot named Pax (The Magic Swords Sir Pedro of Spain himself, Cross).

And what, you may ask, is 'Rapport'?

Well 'Rapport' occurs when a robot and a human begin to share the same mindset and the humans every desire is instantly understood by the robot partner and immediately fulfilled.

Which if I'm honest isn't as rude as it sounds really.

Sorry.

Shocked and upset Cragis storms off to his fantastic plastic bachelor pad for a tearful wank and a pot noodle.

Probably.

Hanson have let themselves go.

Even this small solace is interrupted tho' when the beautiful (and very 60s breasted) Maxine Megan (Elliott from, um, Peter Gunn) appears out of the blue and falls into his arms.

Hmmmm.

After a whirlwind romance - plus shedloads of cheesy B-grade SciFi dialogue - Cragis and Maxine stumble across a secret that will shake their beliefs to the very core and my explain the terrifying secret of the Creation of The Humanoids...

Looked at from a purely production point of view Creation of The Humanoids is a cheaply made, warehouse bound 'B' flick populated by bald-pated, blue toned men with acting as stilted as the wooden slats pretending to be a futuristic laboratory and talky to a point where you can imagine that writer Jay Simms originally envisaged this as a stage production, the whole threadbare endeavor is  topped off by a particularly lurid poster design and not much else.

But look passed all this and you'll find a quirky and intelligent lo-fi movie that's ideas pre-date many of the themes and concepts that would go on to dominate books and movies under the 'cyberpunk' banner more than two decades later.

Yup, it's basically Blade Runner 2049 but with sturdier underwear.

I'd better stop now before someone mistakes this for a real film blog.

the wild rover revisited......again.

Was going thru' the Unwell archives as I'm thinking of doing a print version of it (just in time for Christmas possibly) and found this languishing unloved back in early 2011.

I personally think it's the best thing I've ever written - and from the comments I received so did many (well 2) readers - plus the fact that it's transport based makes it all the more topical at the moment*.

 
So without further ado here it is again for those of you that missed it.

Or just fancy feasting your eyeballs on it again.

Enjoy.

Rover 6 - The Movie (2005)
Dir: Unknown (a Lookinghouse/MTRU Production).
Cast: The people of Westham and Pevensy.

Filmed on location in and around the beautiful countryside (and B roads) of Westham and Pevensy and featuring Dogma-esque performances from local residents, Rover 6 - The Movie is a piece of pure guerrilla film-making gold.

Purporting as it does to showcase the late, lamented Rover 6 community bus scheme this short infomercial manages to uncover the almost Lynchian depths of perversity and secrets hidden behind the net curtains of this small British Parish.

A local route for local people.

From the pearl necklaced grandmother mysteriously wanting to visit the local council offices on a Saturday (whilst trying to convince the transport booker that she's really going to Waitros) to the un-named 'limping fat man' via the almost Crippenesque 'Chairman of Local Transport Group' the unsettling footage of the local residents is intercut with scenes of the sinister dark blue Rover itself smoothly stalking the backroads to a creepy country soundtrack.

Your grannies cum face.

Like a giant metal angel of death the Rover at one point narrowly misses a cycling child before stopping to allow a family to sacrifice a wheelchair bound elderly relative to the maw of the wheeled beast, it's cold, emotionless handler (or 'driver') always hidden in shadow save his dead cold eyes inadvertently turn the unwary passengers to stone.

The Pevensy death machine senses another victim.

The narration, by a faceless old lady in a curt, emotionless style reminiscent of Sheila Keith in House of Whipcord takes on a sickeningly voyeuristic edge when married to footage of innocent school girls enjoying ice cream on the promenade or shots of the unsettlingly plain women reading a timetable as two badly behaved puppies fight inside her blouse.

It's almost as if the unseen narrator has been following their every moment, knowing when their lives will be cruelly cut short and is preparing to relish the moment before devouring their souls.

Forever.

Dirty pillows.

As the twangy guitars build to a crescendo the movie takes an unexpected turn, leaving the multitude of shots from the drivers eye view of the road and unending footage of strange shaped families waiting at makeshift bus stops in deserted country lanes and council estates to showcasing the town centre and beach front even going as far as to show a man serving muffins and a lonely housewife aimlessly wandering around a deserted supermarket.

Special mention is made of the monthly 'farmers market' where specialty meats can be found.

And if that's not an admission of cannibalism I don't know what is.

She looks like she enjoys
specialty meat inside her.

The voice also informs us that seeing as Rover runs till 11.30 PM on Saturdays that we have no excuse for not visiting the local theatre or for not enjoying a 'slap up' meal with friends. A special mention is made of those that enjoy 'a few drinks' when out, whilst the camera lingers on the oppressive exterior of the health centre.

The bearded woman and her friend may look
happy now but just wait till the fucking starts.

The story has an extremely sad and unexpected climax tho' as in early 2008 East Sussex County Council and the Westham/Pevensey Local Transport Partnership -  working closely with the sinister 'Cuckmere Community Bus Group' - decided (for reasons unknown) to replace the Rover with a volunteer run community bus link.

Lambert: Naked and piss stained.

The missing persons files on those poor souls who simply vanished after boarding the Rover disappeared and Marjorie Lambert (of the local transport group that created the Rover programme) was found dead six weeks later in a local brothel alongside her Filipino houseboy Ramon.

Both were naked.

The last day of the Rover 6 service was on Saturday 9 February 2008.

The Rover may be no more but it's legacy of sorrow will continue for years to come.




























































*For anyone who cares you'll have to read my real life blog for that story and frankly it's much scarier than anything you'll read here.

mental as anything.

After letting the podlings loose on this blog for a wee bit of shark-starring shock of late it's nice to have a change of pace.

With the end of the holidays fast approaching the trio of terror are well and truly knackered giving Mrs Unwell and myself a rare evening free of screams and fire starting.

So what better way to celebrate than with a nice romantic movie.

Doom Asylum (1987).
Dir: Richard Friedman.
Cast: Micheal Rogen, Patty Mullen, William Hay, Kenny Price, Harrison White, Kristin Davis, Ruth Collins, Dawn Alvan, Harvey Keith, Steven Menkin and Farin.

“Yes, I am mad, mad with hatred and revenge!”

Welcome to generic country backwoods USA where divorce lawyer extraordinaire  Mitch Hansen (Basket Case 2 star and father of Seth, Rogen) along-with his client/squeeze Judy LaRue (Frankenhooker herself and one-time Penthouse pet of the month, the milky thighed Mullen) are celebrating her divorce/his trial win with a high speed, champagne fueled trip along the winding roads with gay abandon to a really shite MOR soundtrack as they race home in order to pack off her daughter Kiki to boarding school so that they can indulge in some of the sex.

But we're not here for a legal-eagle drama or love story we're here for some copious amounts of blood and gore (with a couple of breast shots thrown in hopefully) so within minutes of this romantic scene playing out the couples car swerves out of control and crashes into a tree.

I assume it's a tree because the films budget is so low we only get some out of focus camera swirling and a scratchy sound effects LP in lieu of some actual stunt work. 

Luckily they kept a few quid back to show us the aftermath which features poor Mitch covered head to toe in strawberry jam with the arse ripped out of his trousers cradling a dirtied up and dying Judy as her severed hand lies in the grass.

Rum, sodomy and the lash.

Thanks to some top quality cutting we're suddenly at the local morgue where the studly and shaded Dr. Bob (stuntman for hire Keith obviously trying to hide his identity) and his assistant Barry (producer Menkin in a cash saving cameo) are preparing to perform an autopsy on a naked and badly burned Mitch.

But as Dr. Bob instructs Barry to start cutting away at Mitch's face the lacerated lawyer wakes up screaming and without further ado - or any reason whatsoever - proceeds to kill the pair with their own instruments before donning a labcoat and disappearing into the hospital basement where he will spend the next ten years watching old copyright free Todd Slaughter movies whilst caressing Judy's severed hand.

And wanking himself off with it.

Possibly.

Look we've all been there.

Anyway a lot has happened in ten years, including the hospital closing down and Judy's daughter Kiki growing up to be the spit of her mum (which is lucky as they can use the same actress) and she too is now driving along the same road accompanied on the journey by her indecisive beau Mike (Hay in his only film role - why am I not surprised?), geeky, trading card obsessed manchild Dennis (non-hit wonder Price), token black cool kid Darnell (White who actually went on to have a career working with such luminaries as David Fincher and Kermit The Frog), and the bespectacled beauty Jane (button-nosed Sex In The City babe and Stuff magazine's no. 42 in their 102 Sexiest Women in the World survey 2002 Davis in her film debut).

It seems that the group are retracing Kiki's mothers final journey on the anniversary of her death, first stopping off next to the tree where she died (where Kiki finds her mum's broken mirror) before heading off for a picnic at the by now abandoned hospital.

Each to their own I guess.

"How'd ya like dem apples?" - and by apples I think they mean breasts.

Approaching the hospital the group can't help but notice the strange sounds emanating from within so Darnell decides to investigate, soon coming across (not in that way tho' I'd seriously consider it) local punk legends - and real life Pizzazz And The Misfits -  Tina and the Tots rehearsing.

Not being a fan of female based industrial post-punk Darnell sneakily unplugs their sound system much to blonde bombshell Tina's (Collins, producer of the William Shatner TV show Moving America Forward) chagrin who loudly vows revenge on these musical philistines.
Before laughing maniacally.

For around fifteen minutes.

Probably THE greatest fictional band since DeJour, the incredible Tina And The Tots - emanating so much girl power that even the thought of a sly titwank would kill you.

But as Tina issues threats from the hospital roof (where the only real threat is that of her breasts escaping from her studded bikini top) the bands keyboard player Godiva (the pixie-like Alvan) gazes dreamily at Darnell and in a sequence as brilliant as it is misplaced fantasizes about the pair running thru' wheat-fields and kissing to the cheesiest library music this side of a Cheddar ad.

Rapunzel (the mysterious Farin) the Russian drummer is less impressed tho' as she stomps about shouting about politics and stuff in an accent so thick it's as if the soundtrack had been dipped in treacle.

She does have a very pretty skirt tho' so I guess that makes up for it.

Meanwhile our teen pals are busying themselves dishing out the crisp sandwiches and bottles of Tizer as the prepare their picnic and with this being an American movie the picnic also involves Kiki and Jane stripping down to their swimsuits in order to 'soak up some rays'.

Which probably wont be as absorbent as the tissues grabbed for by the audience of horny teen boys on release at the sight of Davis looking incredibly uncomfortable in probably the highest cut all in one blue swimsuit ever committed to celluloid.

It's obvious that she picked this costume - rather than the flimsy red number worn by Mullen - in order to retain some semblance of modesty, unfortunately from the camera angles used the director had other ideas.

And I wonder why she never talks about this movie during interviews?

Somewhere to park your bike at least.

But as the group settle down for some salty snacks and excited chat a strange figure is lurking in the bushes watching them....

Cue 50 minutes of fag end gore, sexy 80s goth boots, Kristin Davis' terrifying bubble perm, punk on preppy punch-ups, condom water balloons, some quick and unnecessary nudity and a running joke regarding our heroine calling her boyfriend 'mom' that drunkenly stumbles toward a climax of pure nonsensical joy.

Shot over 8 days for $168* by ex- Goldman/Sachs banker, biblical scholar or the guy behind Phantom of the Mall: Eric's Revenge depending on which Wiki entry you click on Richard Friedman in an actual abandoned hospital, Doom Asylum is at once the nadir and the pinnacle of lo-fi 80s horror from it's non-acting cast who all appear to have only recently discovered the power of speech to it's Blu-Tak make-up effects held together with piss and vinegar the whole exercise reeks of desperation and shame - and that's even when you ignore the look of utter embarrassment on poor Kristin Davis' face as she's forced to wander aimlessly around a hobo-paradise glad in an arse splitting swimsuit and a pair of wee boys trainers.

"Boiled onions!"

But at points it manages to transcend the limitations of its budget/editing/general cack-handedness to become something if not competent at least entertaining.

Especially when Ruth Collins is on-screen coming across like the results of an unholy union 'tween Tracie Lords and Tura Satana as she throws our hunky lead off a roof, attacks picnickers with condoms and beats the shite out of the villain with a big metal pole - all whilst laughing like a drain and clad in a studded bra.

Feminine perfection.

Thank fuck Linnea Quigley was too expensive for this movie.

Which is a terrifying thought in itself if I'm honest.

It's cheap and tacky with more holes than a crack addled whores duvet but to those of us of a certain (old) age  Doom Asylum is a guilt free way of reliving our teen movie watching years, peering closely at the flickering portable TV in our bedroom waiting for a glimpse of gore, our free hand on the cabled remote control as we awaited a flash of lady parts or a sexy 80s style swimsuit.

Just me then?

A must for anyone the wrong side of 40, tho' everyone else will probably think that it's just utter shite from start to finish.

































































*The extra $100 was paid to actress Ruth Collins when she agreed to flash her breasts.

True story bro.

coffin jo(k)e.

Currently in that limbo land 'tween work stuff at the moment and desperately trying to amuse myself in a way that doesn't involve tidying/heavy lifting/social interaction.

Dr. Blood's Coffin (1961).
Dir: Sidney J. Furie.
Cast: Kieron Moore, Hazel Court, Ian Hunter, Kenneth J. Warren, Andy Alston, Gerald Lawson and Fred Johnson.

Yup, THAT Fred Johnson.

'This is something from hell!'

Our story begins in an almost Lynchian manner as two men - a tall masked surgeon and a tiny shocked haired Austrian pensioner argue medical ethics as the camera unflinchingly focuses on a cadavers feet.

The old man instructs his younger charge to stop playing God before telling them to (politely) fuck off before he calls the police.

Now I'm intrigued.

Meanwhile something strange is afoot in the small Cornish village of Spent where local doctor's surgeries are being ransacked and various folk are disappearing without a trace.

Who or what could be behind this?

Being Cornwall the locals are blaming foreigners and demanding some kind of Brexit 50 odd years early not realizing that the danger is much closer to home.

Well closer than Brussels anyway.

You see both the myriad of stolen medical supplies and the - by now drugged up - missing people have been taken to the local disused tin mine and placed in a makeshift laboratory by persons unknown.

Spooky.

Enter (roughly from behind) the hunkyily squared jawed Dr. Peter Blood (actor cum activist Moore) who has recently returned home to Spent to spend time with his father Robert - the local doctor (Mott The Hoople frontman Hunter) after spending 3 years studying advanced biochemistry in Vienna.

Hmmm.....

And maybe get to know his recently widowed nurse, Linda (Hammer horror babe Court), a wee bit better.

Easy tiger.

Hazel Court with her hands in the till.

Thankful for the appearance of someone who's not either senile or drunk, local police chief and boiled egg-alike Sgt Peter Cook (Warren, best known as Z.Z. von Schnerk in The Avengers episode Epic and for his portrayal of General Frank in Digby The Biggest Dog In The World) excitedly asks Peter to help find all the missing stuff, little realising that he's actually behind it all.

Peter is more than happy to help seeing as it'll help prevent Cook and co. from discovering his secret mine-based lab so heads off to the caves announcing that he'll go in first cos he knows his way around them from when he used to hide in there as a kid with a bottle of Thunderbird and a copy of Men Only (incorporating Lilliput) magazine.

And to prove it our scientist pal points to a moldy pile of tissues in the mine entrance.

Your Auntie Jean - ask your dad.

It's actually quite lucky - or just lazy plotting - that Peter turns up when he does, seeing as he's no sooner ventured into the mines than he finds local fish monger and latest kidnap victim Ian Beale desperately trying to crawl to freedom.

Unfortunately Sgt Cook is close by and it takes all of Peter's cunning (he picks up a crumpled centre spread featuring Veronica Carlson and says "Feast yer eyes on this!") to lead Cook away from the poor fella and therefore keep his hidden lab, um, hidden but as the pair search for even sexier pics of Ms Carlson 'tween the rocks and shale Beale manages to crawl his way to freedom.

Luckily (again) being the only person there with a medical background the search party call on Peter to give some doctorly assistance and as Beale mumbles incoherently, our mental medic injects him with a secret sauce before pronouncing him dead, taking the body to the local undetakers cum morgue for 'tests'.

As the group lift Beale's body (he's a big bloke) a broken syringe falls from his pocket which Robert scoops up to take to Plymouth for tests.

This may be important. 

But first there's some romancin' to be done with the lovely Linda who, thanks to the BluRay transfer has the most terrifying shade of peach lipstick I have ever seen.

Seriously it's retina burning in its intensity.

Lipstick round mah mooth.

By romancing I actually mean an uncomfortably stilted chat about her dead hubbie (this may be important later) and Peter's time in Vienna before Linda admits to being scared of caves - all whilst pretending to drive against a scarily mismatched backscreen projection plate.
 
It turns out that Peter came home because of an argument he had with his professor regarding a controversial medical procedure he'd created and arrogantly informs Linda that 'no-one will hold me back now'.

As you can tell the rest of the journey is about as comfortable as the one's you had as a kid after your mum had caught your dad kissing her sister at Christmas.

Just me then?

Back at the village and Peter busies himself with Beale's autopsy as the local undertaker Morton Rolls (Lawson, he's probably been in loads of stuff but I really can't be bothered looking) wanders around in the background drinking.

When the coast is clear (and Morton has passed out) Peter gets on with the real job at hand - removing Beale's still beating heart in order to place it in a dead person and bring them back to life.

Stumbling into the room looking for some Ajax to sniff dear old Morton interrupts Peter's macabre experiment and our deranged doc begins to rant about how Beale was a drunken oaf who never amounted to anything - which is a fair point - and so he's going to put Beale's heart into someone dead to give them a second chance.

Fair enough.

Morton, thinking Peter is a bollocks spouting mentalist, tries to stop him but in the ensuing struggle (I say struggle but it's more like the kind of pushy, pushy fight two posh schoolgirls would have) Peter kills the poor old fella.

Not only that tho' but being left on the kitchen table for so long, Beale's heart has died too.

'Now I'll have to find another one', says Peter angrily.

But first there's a wee bit more romancin' to do.

So Peter takes Linda up the tin mine.

Something that would probably be illegal today.

Insert cock here.

Enjoying a picnic amongst the rocks and, er, tins outside the mine Peter excitedly takes Linda's hand and leads her into the dark where he regales the nice nurse with amusing tales from his youth.

And by amusing I mean a wee bit freaky as it seems that as a boy he'd often go deep into the mine and pretend to be dead, just lying there listening to the drip drop of water.

And then he'd pretend to come back to life.

Linda, as you can imagine, is a little disturbed by this, luckily the tension is dissipated by the timely arrival of self-employed tin miner and part-time Wurzels tribute act Trevor Tregaye (Johnson) whose bizarre conversation regarding mining for gold and neck scarves completely destroys the mood so the pair make their excuses and leave.

Annoyed at having his chance of touching the hem of a ladies skirt scuppered Peter later returns that afternoon and drugs Tregaye before heading back into town for Beale's funeral, arriving just as the ceremony begins.

As the coffin is lowered into the ground Peter notices that Linda has gone missing so he goes to look for her, soon finding the poor girl staring doe-eyed at her husband Steve's grave.

Poor lamb.

That evening Robert returns from Plymouth with the news that the syringe contained traces of a paralysis causing drug only found in The Amazon (or was it on Amazon? - really can't remember) just around the place where Peter's best friend went on holiday once, a fact that Linda vaguely remembers Peter mentioning.

Peter shuffles from foot to foot before trying to deflect to deflect suspicion away from him by saying that she's talking shite and must have a women's period or something but as Linda starts to confront him Sgt Cook arrives to inform them that Tregaye has been found dead before asking Peter to perform the post mortem.

Peter excitedly agrees.

Look into my eyes....not around my eyes but into my eyes....then shite in mah mooth!

 As Peter gets to work tho' Linda storms in to confront him and hopefully discover that he's not really a mentalist but after giving his "I put the  hearts of drunks into the dead bodies of those who deserve to live" speech she soon realises that she's onto plumbs pointing out that he may be able to restore 'physical life' but that the results will create an 'evil being'.

Peter counters this by randomly announcing that Linda only loves Steve's memory - and not what he is now, which he describes as being pinned down by a gravestone.

Which is nice.

Linda being a girl runs off sobbing.

With it almost being the end of the movie, Sgt Cook and Robert have both come to the conclusion that it's Peter who's behind everything (except Diana's death obviously cos that hasn't happened yet) and decide to go look for him.

Peter meanwhile is in the cemetery digging up Steve Parker's body.....

You can see where this climax is heading can't you?

Famous for being (allegedly) the first ever zombie movie filmed in colour and for having Nicolas Roeg as its camera operator, Doctor Blood's Coffin plays out like a low-rent British version of Re-Animator that replaces all the good stuff (gore, violence, black humour and Barbara Crampton's milky smooth tummy) from that movie with endless shots of fields, high waist trousers and bad teeth.

Oh yes.

And

lots

of

talking.

Sidney J. Furie's direction is adequate tho' it never gets as exciting as his work on The Ipcress File or even Superman IV and his tiny cast do what they can with the threadbare script but when even Hazel Court in a nurses outfit (and a lemon cardie) can't pique your interest you know something is terribly wrong.

Even thinking about a sly titwank she'd kill you.

Neither cheap and cheerful as The Earth Dies Screaming or as fun as Island of Terror, Dr Blood's Coffin is the horror equivalent of a brightly coloured blunt pencil - great to have on in the background if you can't sleep but ultimately pointless with a splash of gore and a walking corpse that's too little too late to save it from flatlining.

See it just to say you have so as to impress girls, or alternatively just memorize this review and pretend you have.

where's captive kurt?

Between jobs at the moment so spending most of my days wandering around the house nude whilst re-organising my shelves.

Which is where I came across this beauty.

Allegedly it's the most terrifying documentary ever made.

Even the thought of reviewing it is scaring the shit out of me.

Luckily Cass-man is having a boys day with me (the laydees are out watching Rampage) so we can be manly men together and hug up if it gets too scary.

Tho' he'll probably be unfazed I mean he is nearly 12.

Alien Abduction: Incident in Lake County (1998).
Dir: Dean Alioto.
Cast: Benz Antoine, Kristian Ayre, Gillian Barber, Michael Buie, Emmanuelle Chriqui, Marya Delver, Katlyn Ducharme, Ingrid Kavelaars, Aaron Pearl and Bart Anderson.

 "I AM NOT STONED!"

It's Thanksgiving night and the plaid clad McPherson clan have gathered (as always) at booze sodden Mum McPherson's (Barber, the factory receptionist from Cats And Dogs!) house for the traditional turkey dinner, raised emotions and sarky comments.

Since the death of Dad McPherson, Eldest son Kurt (professional background artiste Pearl) has done his best to hold the family together with a unique mix of shouting, sweating and standing with his hands on his hips and his legs spread wide in a pose usually reserved for bastard Tories whilst his manly shouldered wife Linda (Kavelaars, younger sister of former Ms. Canada wannabe Annette) and their Polly Pocket styled six year old daughter Rosie (Ducharme) gaze at him from afar.

Less an unearthly child more an ungodly one.

But today tensions are higher than normal, thanks in part to Lego haired, eldest daughter Melanie (Sons of Anarchy's Delver) bringing a leather clad black man named Matthew (Antoine from 19-2: The Series...yup me neither) as her dinner date.

Middle son Brian (Buie from, um stuff), doing his best to keep out of the way has taken to shagging his Rosie Perez-lite girlfriend Renee (Chriqui, the voice of Cheetara from Thundercats) in the bathroom whilst youngest son Tommy (Ayre, look him up at IMDB if you're really that bothered) wanders around aimlessly shooting stuff with his video camera.

Badly.

Who needs Blu-Ray?

Cue what seems like days of mum sneaking swigs of booze and commenting on the turkey whilst Tommy annoys everyone with his camera and Kurt sits and seethes like a harsh faced powder keg of pent up sexual frustration aimed, it seems at Matthew.

Luckily for us as soon as the family sits down to eat, there's a flash of blue light and the fuses blow.

But not as much as this family obviously.

Manly Kurt and baw-faced Brian head out to check the fuse box in the garage, with Tommy and his camera in tow only to find the entire box melted beyond repair and smelling like a wet dog.

Which is exactly like your mum.

Kurt has little time to get angry tho' as suddenly a nearby telegraph pole explodes in the distance with all the ferocity of a damp Catherine Wheel on Bonfire Night.

Running to the scene of the sparks our all American boys are slightly disturbed to find a group of paper-mache headed aliens dissecting a cow with a laser pointer.

Scary.

"We're off to Button Moon!"

Tommy tries to not only keep calm but also keep the camera in focus as his brothers spout clichéd stuff like "Holy cow! it's a gen-you-ine Martian!" and the like whilst trying not to shite themselves but all this macho bravado vanishes when the threesome run away screaming after an alien has waved at them.

Returning to the house to find the phones dead, the women folk huddled together (possibly covering in fear from the sex-offender-like charm of Matthew) and mum on her fourth bottle of gin, Kurt explains that there are aliens outside and that they should leave right now but mum has cooked a nice turkey dinner and is adamant that everyone should stay and eat it first.

Everyone bar Kurt agrees.

Feeling his macho prowess threatened Kurt regains control of the situation by heading to the den and grabbing loads of guns while Brian tries to convince everyone that he's not stoned or drunk.

Unlike mum who's off her fucking saggy tits by this point.

Tommy continues filming (obviously) as the womenfolk look on disapprovingly.

Is your hair the only thing you let down?

Suddenly the house explodes under an ultra high-pitched sonic bombardment as the place is over-run by large blue CGI hedgehogs.

Oh sorry I meant a sound attack (as in noise not Scousers) giving the cast ample opportunity to do some quality ear acting, except for Rosie, who seems strangely unaffected by the whole ordeal.

Either that or she's a really shite actress as well as looking like a troll.

The spooky screeching finally subsides long enough for the family to hear what sounds like a group of hyper-active kids jumping about on the roof, giving Kurt an excuse to tape a torch to the barrel of his gun and head outside to fetch his car.

Oh and shoot some shit.

He orders everyone to grab their coats and await his signal to leave, which gives mum ample opportunity to complain that the foods going cold whilst topping up her glass.

Tommy follows Kurt outside to find nothing but the acrid stench of warm piss and stale semen.

It seems that poor Tommy wet himself himself when he first saw the aliens.

But not when he first read the script obviously.

Kurt assures his lil bro' that everybody gets scared at some point.

Except Kurt who is in a constant state of sexual arousal by the look of things, I mean when he reaches the car and pops the bonnet (as our American cousins say) only to find the engine a steaming gooey mess I swear you can see a tiny spurt of love yoghurt erupt from his 501's.

Or it might have been the tracking.

Disappointed they head back to the house to find everyone gathered in the living room shaking, except mum who's busying herself opening another bottle of wine whilst still babbling on about the turkey.

Things are not looking good.

Watch out watch out John Leslie's about.

Suddenly Kurt hears the pitter patter of tiny feet on the roof of the house and, in a desperate attempt to shoot something (anything) heads back outside to fire his load into the air.

Tommy following him outside like some errant love puppy trains his camera up onto the roof and catches a fleeting glimpse of a pale skinned, jump-suited dwarf clambering into an upstairs window.

Yikes.

This is all Kurt needs and our hero excitedly climbs the stairs to check out the bedrooms for any sign of alien interference whilst Tommy quickly changes his underwear.

Unknowingly in the presence of an alien.

"If I lie on this hand long enough it feels like my mums!"

 

Screaming in terror as a bony digit begins to enter his anus, Kurt bursts in just in time to trap the interplanetary pervert in a cupboard before shooting it in the face.

The family regroups in the dining room much to mums joy but rather than start eating, everyone comes down with a massive dose of sinister nosebleeds which leads to a violent affray over who gets the most toilet roll to shove up their nostrils.

All this snot-based excitement is enough to keep the family occupied until poor Renee is zapped by a red light before falling (unconvincingly) into a coma.

Renee: blood encrusted nostril not shown.

Relieved that it's not his bitch that's been blasted, Kurt persuades blubbering Brian to make a run for the highway in order to get help or pizza, leaving Tommy in charge of the women and Renee under a blanket.

The two brothers leave never to be seen again.

After a bit of scary static and according to the camcorder's clock, an hour has passed since the boys left but to the remaining family (and Matthew) it seems that only a few minutes have elapsed.

Mum is devastated when the full horror of the situation dawns on her and she realises that she's lost valuable drinking time whilst Linda and Matthew have have become so confused by events that they start kissing each other.

With tongues and everything.

Melanie is not amused but once Matthew explains (whilst wiping his throbbing black member on Linda's blouse) that the aliens made him do it she calms down immediately, even offering to help dry the sofa cushions.

Note to readers, if your wife/husband/partner ever catch you in this situation I'd like to point out that this excuse doesn't always work.

"The bin men made me do it mum!"

Suddenly (it's always suddenly in this house, have you noticed?) gunshots ring out in the distance, Melanie (now tooled up like a council estate Buffy the Vampire Slayer) and a fresh smelling Tommy quickly head outside but find absolutely sod all whilst back in the house the power begins to fluctuate (again), the noise of someone dragging their nails down a blackboard fills the air and every household appliance goes crazy causing everyone to run about screaming only to stop when Renee, by this point lying in a heap with loads of white sticky stuff running out her mouth (Matthew was that you?) dies.

And on that bombshell the house plunges back into darkness.

Without warning the house begins to get hotter and hotter even mum is feeling the heat as she slowly unbuttons her silky smooth shirt, the beads of sweat collecting on her tanned breasts.

But before we get to see anything exciting everyone begins to complain about a nasty burning sensation on the back of their necks.

Except Matthew obviously who's more concerned with the itchy, burning sensation down the front of his pants.

Tommy tugs on Linda's collar revealing a triangular burn mark, checking the family it appears that everyone else has one too.

All that is except little Rosie, who has spent the entire ordeal so far telling everyone to calm down whilst sneakily emptying all the shotguns and is now assuring all the adults that everything is OK and it will all be over soon.

God how I hope she's right.

Matthew, understandably freaked by all this white folk nonsense volunteers to head out to look for the brothers.

You remember, the actual brothers, not 'brother' brothers.

"Look at the dog! Look at the dog!"

Within seconds there are more gunshots outside, Tommy stumbles out to find the remains of two shotguns; one with a bent barrel and the other sliced in two.

Matthew, Kurt and Brian are nowhere to be seen.

Searching, shouting and waving his camera about like Michael J Fox in a disco, Melanie notices more weird lights in the woods and two bulbous bonced figures approaching the house.

Rushing back inside, Linda, Melanie and Tommy quickly barricade the door whilst mum helps herself to more booze and Rosie plays the piano.

Just like a normal Sunday here then.

Making the excuse that he needs a wee, Tommy heads to the downstairs toilet for a quick cry to camera before rejoining the others who, by this time tired of mum's constant talking of the bollocks have all sat down for dinner.

"Would you like some dark meat?" Mum asks Melanie in a totally non ironic way.

Begrudgingly admitting that mum's spread is actually well tasty, no-one notices when Rosie sneaks away from the table only to return minutes later with a small band of alien visitors.

The surviving family members stand as if in a trance.

The alien closes in.

The tape ends.

Madeline: The Revenge.

So, Alien Abduction: Incident in Lake County, frightening fake or complete and utter bullshit?

Well it's a hard one to call but if you ignore the cast list in the closing credits (especially those of Shari Khademi and Myles Wolf as Alien #1 and Alien #2 respectively), oh and the fact that the entire family are credited as actors, it's understandable as to why this has been reported as the greatest - and most horrifying - evidence of interstellar invasion ever.

From the terrifying non performances of the cast, thru to the nasty nylon fashions and blatant disregard for the rules of tension building, I've not been this frightened, annoyed - or aroused - by a movie since that other true life abduction classic Megan is Missing.

Megan prepares herself for some alien anal action.

Where this movie oh so slightly pips MiM in the reality stakes is in it's use of talking heads interviews.

By that I mean from paranormal/UFOlogy experts not the pop group.

Yup whenever the film looks like it might be building to a scary or tension filled scene, the screen cuts to black and some homeless guy, the directors dad or whoever was available appears to wax lyrical for five minutes on how the footage is definitely real or in the case of some skinhead bloke with a mockney accent how it mirrors his abduction completely.

Tho' it does lose points by not showing Melanie pinned down and roughly arse-raped by the aliens in glorious close-up for ten minutes.

Megan director Michael Goi gets to keep that award unlike Alien Abduction helmer Alioto, who had to contend with various religious groups accusing him of blasphemy after broadcast.

And who says Americans don't have a sense of humour?

An important and shocking film that needs to be seen.

Then when you've finished pissing yourself with laughter and eventually come to terms with what you've witnessed passed onto your nearest and dearest like some yeast based infection.

It's what Kurt and co. would have wanted.