people you fancy but shouldn't (part 75).

To celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Glorious October Socialist Revolution I give you The Grand Duchess Tatiana Nikolaevna of Russia.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 74).

Star Trek: Discovery's Cadet Sylvia Tilly as played by Mary Wiseman.

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.

danny boy.

Noticed an acquaintance of mine had posted the This Is Your Life episode featuring the star of this movie on his Facebook wall earlier today so reckoned I'd revisit this criminally unloved classic of crossdressing cinema in tribute.

Plus I've been dead busy working so haven't watched anything new for an age.

Except  José Ramón Larraz's erotic masterpiece Black Candles but more on that later.

Well as soon as I've bleached my eyeballs.

But I digress.

As readers with long memories (and short fingernails) may remember whilst my dear old Granddad introduced me to the joys of Saturday night B & W horror double bills as a child it was my Nan (she of Cannibal Ferox and not murdering wee boys fame) who opened (some would say poisoned) my young mind to the joys of Dick Emery, Norman Wisdom, Lord Bruce of Forsyth and the fantastic Danny La Rue.

You see, in her younger days she worked at the local theatre cum 'entertainment' club and would often chat away to these Gods of British comedy whilst selling fags in a strange hat.

Which as a small child made summer trips to Blackpool interesting as you'd never guess who'd accost her in the street next.

One day it'd be Tarbie the next 'Mad' Max Bygraves.

Tho' I feel I must confess that none of them ever gave me sweets or commented on my kissy lips.

Bastards.

And you wonder why I grew up the way I did?

Our Miss Fred (AKA Beyond The Call of Duty, Operation: Fred. 1972).
Dir: Bob Kellett.
Cast: Danny La Rue, Alfred Marks, Lance Percival, Lally Bowers, Frances de la Tour, Walter Gotell, Jenny Twigge, Frank Thornton, Cyril Shaps and Barrie Gosney.

"You're all woman and something more!"
"You're right!"

Pretty of mouth and slender of hip Thespian Fred Wimbush (the worlds greatest female impersonator and my real Dad La Rue) is busy preparing what will undoubtedly be the greatest ever performance of Hamlet but, as is always the case in these situations, those pesky Germans decide to start the Second World War forcing our hero to do the right thing and join the army as a manly (albeit grease covered) mechanic type.

Your Granddad did. Twice.

Although Fred enjoys his oil covered antics, banging his tool and cracking his nuts all day, he misses the roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd so decides to join one of the army's stage troupes.

Unfortunately the only place left is that of a female impersonator.

What are the chances?

Swallowing his pride (and tucking his ample tackle between his smooth thighs) Fred throws himself wholeheartedly into the role and soon finds himself shipped off to France to 'entertain' the troops.

Everything is going swimmingly until one night, halfway thru' Fred's rousing melody of Cher hits a squad of Jew hating, minority exterminating (yet incredibly well dressed) Nazis burst in and take every single one of the soldiers prisoner.

Everyone that is except Fred.

You see, his drag act is so convincing that the Germans have mistaken him for a real woman!

Seizing his chance, Fred totters out of the theatre in an attempt to evade capture - and possibly a severe arse shagging - by the nasty Nazi's and get back to dear old Blighty before his true gender is discovered and he's shot as a spy.

And then arse shagged.

"The gas bill's HOW much?"

Dodging totally non-racially stereotyped horny, garlic eating Frenchmen and randy, sausage guzzling German soldiers along the way, Fred finally joins forces with two upper crust English schoolteachers, Miss Flodden (Harry Worth sidekick Bowers) and Miss Lockhart (Rising Damps Ms. Jones, the horse faced yet vaguely erotic de la Tour) plus their group of sex starved schoolgirls (none of whom are under 25) stuck in Paris after a trip to the Louvre.

Or something.

Comme quoi se sent-il pour
être merde dans la bouche?"

This causes even more problems for poor Fred, you see even tho' he's camp as pants with scary blue rinsed man-gran hair he's actually the most heterosexual man on the planet and can barely control his almost Trump-like urges to jump on the schoolies, rip off their flimsy white cotton shirts and cup their smooth, budding breasts before knobbing them senseless.

Especially as the script has then continuously bending over and exposing their huge blue pants and formidable 1970's arses.

Which I'll admit had me fairly aroused but Danny La Rue?

Sometimes you just find it impossible to suspend your disbelief.

Somewhere to leave your Grifter.

Suddenly the movie veers from trannie-based action movie to tragically camp holiday sightseeing film as endless scenes of Fred and co. traveling thru war torn France on a lorry singing the classic schoolyard (well, it was if you attended Hogwarts like me) ditty Hitler Has Only Got One Ball play out ad infinitum before the pace suddenly picks up with the introduction of Fred's nemesis, the evil, Gerbil cheeked General Brincker (Brit Teevee stalwart Marks) who (not too surprisingly) falls for Fred's ample charms (and curvy buttocks) and invites our hero to join him for a romantic dinner in a scene so great that it was copied (sorry, homaged) in the criminally underrated 2001 Stefan Ruzowitzky movie All The Queen's Men.

Only this time the pairing was of a tarted up Matt LeBlanc (who actually looked hot as fuck) and the world's sexiest man, Dame Udo of Kier, dressed to the nines in a gorgeous white SS uniform.

My pants have never recovered.

But I digress.

"Believe us, you wouldn't survive the titwank!"

Discovering that the have a transvestite and a group of young girls trapped behind enemy lines (and needing a way to steer the movie to a climax that doesn't involve Fred being forced to fellate a Luger whilst a trouser-less and scarily aroused General Brincker orders his troops to violently deflower the defenceless schoolgirls), the British Army have no choice but to send their best man in to rescue them.

Enter (roughly from behind obviously) the Rat-faced upper crust air force officer Colonel Smallpiece (Percival) who, knowing Fred's true identity (if not his sexuality) rushes over to France to save his friend and hopefully score some underage tail for himself in the process.

But will he get to Fred before General Brincker discovers the truth?

What your Gran did during the War.

Written specifically as a vehicle to launch top Teevee 'comic in a frock' Danny La Rue onto the big screen (his only other movie role was in the Freddie and The Dreamers fiasco Every Day's A Holiday), Our Miss Fred is a gentle enough comedy that's as harmless as it is inconsequential.

At the time criticized due to the problem of tailoring an entire script around a man whose talent was the very theatre friendly art of female impersonation, La Rue does a good enough job of holding his own whilst the dependable TeeVee friendly cast fire a volley of sub Talbot Rothwell Carry On gags at all and sundry.

Plus good old Danny has a stunning set of pins that even the straightest of men would be hard pushed not to want to ski down.

And you can't say fairer that that.

Comedy Gold from a comely comedy God.

Bluray when please? 

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 73).

South Dakota's finest, the  wise-cracking coroner Constance Talbot - as played by Jane Adams.

my recurring dream...

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 71).

Regular Show's uber BiLF Margaret Smith.

Sorry.

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.