body rock.

Just a quickie today as I was all set to review Murder Rock then realised I'd done that a few months back.

Enjoy.

Aerobicide (AKA Killer Workout, 1986).
dir: David A Prior.
Cast: Marcia Karr, David James Campbell, Fritz Matthews, Ted Prior, Teresa Van Der Woude and Teresa Truesdale.

"Just relax, I'm not some crazy killer."

Horse of face and pube of perm 'fashion' model Valerie (Karr from Real Genius, Savage Streets, Maniac Cop and latterly your local chippie) is excited to discover she's been chosen as the cover star of the new issue of Love it! Magazine (or something) to illustrate a story about infanticide or genital warts (don't have the issue to hand, sorry) and, eager to be at her most orange for the photo shoot heads off to the local gym to use the sun bed.

Unfortunately a freak accident means the machine cooks Valerie so they have to go with a I murdered my kids for talking during I'm A Celebrity/Jordan: my tits make my back ache cover instead.

Which is a shame really as the original idea would have probably gotten them some new - non granny based violence obsessed - readers.

Love it!

With the backstory out of the way we (as in the viewer) jump forward several years - and a dozen crimes against fashion - later and find ourselves (via the medium of film, not in reality obviously) in the middle of a funky Hi-Energy workout complete with dodgy 80's synth pop, crack splitting leotards and over ripe bouncy breasts where the sexily strict gym manager - and Crispy Valerie's twin sister - Rhonda (Karr again) runs the classes with a rod of iron, saving the worst of her venom for the sassy  Jaimy (Woude, star of Night Visitor) and local chubster Jimmy (mightily mulleted Matthews from Deadly Prey and The Devil's Rain) because, um, reasons.

No need.

Luckily for the viewer these soap opera shenanigans are quickly put on hold when keep fit enthusiast Rachel (queen of the walk on Truesdale) is stabbed in the showers by a nutter wielding a giant safety pin.

No, really.

Which is annoying for Jaimy whose (sweaty) jockstrap stealing antics are cruelly curtailed when Rachel's bloodied corpse falls out of a locker on top of her.

Enter (not literally mind) the Caramel faced Lieutenant Morgan (blond bruiser Campbell) who's brought in to investigate the murder and add some much needed testosterone to the proceedings.

Knife to see you, to see you, knife.

Whilst Morgan is roughing up the clientèle, Rhonda is surprised to find a strange man named Chuck (Ted - slightly less ugly brother of the director - Prior) ransacking her office.

Tho' not her orifices, obviously.

It appears her business partner has hired Chuck to, um, do stuff.

Oh and to have a vaguely homo-erotic fight with Jimmy in the car park.

Excitedly watching from the sidelines is Jimmy's ex girlfriend (whose name escapes me) who, overcome with lust for Chuck invites him back to her apartment for a quick shag and a biscuit.

As is the norm, the post sex chat quickly comes (tho' not as quick as Chuck) around to her ex, who it appears she dumped because he liked to 'tie girls up and stuff' making him the number one suspect for Rachel's murder.

I know, I can't figure that one out either.

Anyway, Chuck is too interested in watching the ladies ample breasts bob up and down in a slightly hypnotic way to really take anything in tho'.

As was I if I'm honest.

Juliet Bravo!

Luckily I snapped back to reality in time to see the local bad boys spraying death spa all over the gym's walls before being dispatched by the unseen killer.

Why?

Didn't he like the font they used?

Morgan appears to be as much use as a chocolate starfish as more and more supple, toned (dead) bodies turn up forcing him to run around accusing everyone of being the killer whilst Rhonda sticks her chest out and glares at the rest of the cast.

Bizarrely enough the small matter of the killings doesn't seem to have bothered the local fitness freaks at all, seeing as the gym seems busier than ever.

And if that isn't a metaphor for Brexit I don't know what is.

Same shit, different smell.

So, who is the workout obsessed killer?

Will anyone tell Rhonda that her bra is about three sizes too small?

And will Jimmy win back the heart (and not to mention huge breasts) of his ex?

To be honest, there aren't enough hours in the day to care really.

Every need yet no need at the same time.

The horror equivalent of itchy anal warts, Aerobicide takes your basic slasher plot, gets it drunk on cheap lager in a sleazy night club and buys it a kebab before roughly buggering it in the cab on the way home then kicking it out of the backdoor onto a dirty piece of wasteland half naked and bleeding.

Director Prior (he of, oh fuck it I can't be bothered listing the unadulterated shite he's been involved in, just look him up) takes a surprisingly competent cast and forces them to stand around in vomit inducing luminous 80's dance fashions whilst spouting whatever inane sentences just happen to come into their heads.

And my word what heads the cast have.

There are mullets, poodle perms and giant blonde barnets that look like they'd snap if tugged too hard, it's painfully obvious to anyone watching that the ozone hole is all the fault of this movie.

But all that fades when compared to the outfits paraded on screen - day-glo vests, spandex snatch splitters, shiny leotards and leg warmers are the order of the day whilst the electropap score kills any chance of suspense before it can rear it's head.

Bloody abysmal.

And I love it.

Tomorrow, something good.

bits n bobs.

Ended up watching this as part of our Friday Night FaceBook along (tho' we watched it on a Sunday for added shits and giggles) and had actually forgotten how utterly fantastic/shite it is.

Well that was worth typing.

Pieces (AKA Mil Gritos Tiene La Noche, 1982).
Dir: Juan Piquer 'Simon'.
Cast: Christopher George, Linda Day George, Frank Braña, Paul L. Smith, Edmund Purdom, Ian Sera, Jack Taylor, Isabelle Luque, Gérard Tichy, Hilda Fuchs, May Heatherly, Alejandro Hernández, Roxana Nieto, Cristina Cottrelli, Leticia Marfil, Silvia Gambino, Carmen Aguado and Paco Alvez.

Now look, professor, I don’t want to wait for the coroner’s opinion, so can you give me yours? Could this killing have been done with a chainsaw like that one over there?

Our story opens in the year 1942 in a house somewhere in sunny Boston where the 10-year-old tank top sporting Timmy (Hernández, who scarily enough actually went on to have some sort of career outside homemade gay porn) is busying himself with a jigsaw puzzle of a nude lady.

A nude lady with a very noticeable 1970s style bush and Farrah-like flicked haircut.

Who knew that Bostonians were such trendsetters?

But obviously this childish fun can't last and when his mum (Heatherly, best know for playing a nurse in Cannibal Apocalypse) walks in and catches him in the act our poor pre-teen chum has no alternative but to bludgeon her (to death) with a handy axe before sawing up her body with a handy hacksaw of the kind we all kept in our bedroom as boys.

Just me then?

Worried when her sister doesn't meet up for bingo night, Timmy's aunt arrives at the house with the police (bizarrely it seems portrayed by the Super Mario Brothers) in tow to discover Timmy cowering in a cupboard and his mums remains scattered and smeared around the room.

Not wanting to get in trouble Timmy blurts out that a "bad boy done it and ran away!" before crying into his aunts dress.

Bless.

Surprisingly for a horror movie, the police believe him and pack the boy off  to live with his aunt whilst arresting the first black guy/Hispanic/illegal for the crime.

The end.

Put it in me!

Not really - which is a pity - instead we jump forward forty years to find a black-clad figure furtively opening an old crisp box containing not only Timmy's mum's blood stain dress (alongside a handy photograph of her wearing it) but also the unfinished (still? really? after 40 years? I mean it's not like it's one of those 2000 piece jobs with a picture of baked beans on it) jigsaw puzzle.

There's little chance to ponder the meaning of such things tho' as we're soon away across town as the camera perversely focuses on Roxana Nieto's - albeit - peachy arse and smooth milky thighs as she lies - oh so naturally - on the grass outside the university busily studying for her quantum mechanics cum brain surgery exam.

Somewhere to park your bike.

Being a loosely plotted exploitation piece more interested in blood and boobs than anything remotely resembling a plot she's swiftly decapitated with a chainsaw by an shadowy figure clad in a large hat and welding goggles who escapes into the bushes with her head just as the hunky Lt. Brick Bracken (George from City of The Living Dead and your mum's dreams) and his partner Sgt. Randy Holden (Braña from The Story of O 2 - as in the sequel to The Story of O not a documentary about the phone company) arrive to investigate a complaint from an old lady about the noise.

And again, just because.

Finding no sign of any witnesses or any clues as to why someone would want to steal a teenagers head the pair head along to see the college's Dean, Axel Foley (Purdom who appeared to be in every low budget movie made between about 1950 and 1989) to see if he has any clue as to why the girl was targeted.

Remembering that she had a fairly pert arse he sends them off to chat with the college's anatomy lecturer, former pop star - and part-time student shagger - the sinister Professor Arthur Brown (genre stalwart Taylor), who upon denying any knowledge - carnal or otherwise - of the girl tries to make it up to them by giving them a guided tour of the campus and a chance to meet the students who will become the various victims of the killer as the story progresses.

Which I must admit is quite useful.

But unbeknown to our cool cop heroes, as all this chat is going down the college groundskeeper, Willie (Smith, from Popeye and Dune) is watching with a mad glint in his eye as he busies himself trimming some bush.

With a chainsaw.

A chainsaw that looks awfully similar to the killer's.

Hmmm.

Sorry - I have my woman's period.

But we can't be spending too much time with sinister chainsaw wielding weirdos as we have to get back to those pesky sex obsessed students, especially the boss-eyed 'Danny' Kendall James (actor and producer Sera, best known for Extra Terrestrial Visitors and Marine Issue - no me neither) who has just received a note from the blonde bombshell - OK bombsite - Jenny (Former Ms Spain 1981 Cottrelli) asking him to meet her in the swimming pool for some of 'the sex'.

Unfortunately the killer comes across the note and arrives first, sticking something far sharper - and bigger - into Jenny before chainsawing her into tiny pieces and stealing her torso.

But not the film Torso which is unfortunate as they may have watched it and learned at least how to light stuff properly if nothing else.

And if that wasn't enough poor Willie, who just happens to be passing by, and - after a really shit slow fight that wouldn't even have passed muster in Blake's 7 - is arrested.

But the real victim in all this is poor Kendall who is fairly upset and not getting laid, so Lt. Brack - being a nice guy - sends him off to see Dr. Kat Jennings (Tichy, look him up yourself if you're that bothered cos I'm not) to talk about stuff and hopefully get an idea of who is responsible for all those bad murders and maybe, just maybe do a wee bit of investigating for them himself.

Which seems a wee bit of an odd way to investigate a crime but what do I know.

To help him in his investigation Kendall is teamed up with undercover cop extraordinaire plus former tennis player Mary Riggs (George, wife of the other George and mother of Boy George) who will be posing as a tennis instructor at the college with Kendall working as her ball boy.

Which is quite lucky as that night she's attacked by a tiny Chinese man as she walks home and it's Kendall who comes to her rescue.

As opposed to over her arse obviously.

Fear not tho' as it wasn't the killer but just the local Kung Fu instructor who is suffering from hallucinations after eating a dodgy chop suey.

No, really.

That's not the only trouble brewing because wouldn't you know it, an evil faced reporter, Sylvia Costa (Luque) has also arrived on campus and is determined to solve the case herself even if it puts everyone else in danger.

"IT'S CCCCHHHHHRRRRIIISSSSTTTMMMAAASSS!"

Luckily for us but not for the females on campus she's really shite at her job so the killer gets ample opportunity to carry on his murder spree, taking out a disco dancing dollybird before stabbing Sylvia to death on a handy (or should that be wobbly?) waterbed that they keep in the basement.

On a roll now (and knowing the film is nearing its climax) the killer strikes again, this time butchering Mary's tennis partner before stealing her legs much to the chagrin of Mary and Kendall who are spending way too much time gazing uncomfortably at each other rather than, ooh I don't know, trying to catch a murderer maybe.

Returning to the police station for tea and biscuits the pair are angry to discover that groundskeeper Willie has been let free mainly due to the fact that he's Innocent so, in order to have something to do, decide to start investigating other faculty staff members after Kendall realises that the killer commits his crimes during break periods and when no-one is looking.

Imagine a particularly shite episode of Columbo then lobotomize it and you'll be halfway to seeing how basic this whodunnit plot is.

Seriously I feel like I'm losing brain functions just writing it all down.

Fair enough.

And wouldn't you know it but after spending literally, oooh minutes,  searching thru' the staff files they discover that the Dean's name isn't really Axel Foley but Timmy Foley, just like the boy who chopped up his mum at the movies beginning.

It couldn't be could it?

There's only one way to find out.

Yup Mary decides to go alone to his apartment that very night to check it/him out.

Without telling anyone obviously.

Will she arrest the Dean and bring him to justice or will she get slapped then drugged whilst he attempts to steal her feet to completed his dead flesh sex doll cum mother replacement?

Will Bracken, Holden, and Kendall arrive in time to save her because as we all know girls are rubbish at crime fighting.

And after everything is all wrapped up will the jigsaw corpse inexplicably come to live and attempt to steal Kendall's testicles?

From Spain's very own (lo-fi) Orson Welles comes quite possibly the most inane, insane and downright shite slasher ever committed to celluloid.

Nonsensical, in every way the film lurches from one ever more unrelated and bizarre set piece to another with no care for logic, plotting or good taste.

 which bizarrely enough is probably the reason why it's so bloody brilliant.

It's almost as if director Juan Piquer Simon - who in case you didn't know also gave us the cheese-string superhero epic Supersonic Man, the Peter Cushing and Terence Stamp travesty Mystery on Monster Island, the ET bothering Extra-Terrestrial Visitors* as well as the oh so slightly homo-erotic Slugs among others -  had a bet going with the producers where they put random characters and situations into a hat and each day he'd pick one and have to put it in the movie for fear of not getting paid.

Or at very least getting the bumps behind the catering truck.

If there was a catering truck that is but I wouldn't be surprised if everyone had to bring their own sandwiches.**

To be honest that's the only reason I can think of as to why so much of it makes absolutely no sense. 

For example, in the establishing shot of the campus, there's a tiny-shorted girl riding a skateboard badly, wobbling about as she rolls down the street to a feel good score. 

Meanwhile further down the road a couple of guys are slowly carrying a huge sheet of glass that the girl crashes into (in glorious slow motion) screaming as she does.

And that's it, we never see or hear about her ever again because hey we've got Roxana Nieto's peachy arse to perv over.

Which if I'm honest is a much better prospect than having to listen to Love Ist OK!!, the 'sexy' song and dance she performed on the Spanish TV equivalent of Summertime Special.***

Yer maw.

And don't get me started on the surprise cameo appearance by stunt man, convicted fraudster and Bruce Lee alike Bruce Le.

Yup the 'star' of Challenge of the Tiger, Bruce, King of Kung Fu, Infra-Man and Return of Bruce appears for no other reason than the film’s producer - exploitation king and low rent Roger Corman - Dick Randall decided that with Kung Fu being quite popular that he should be in it.

Utter genius from start to finish.

































*The bedroom belonging to Tommy (the wee pube-haired boy who befriends the alien) in this movie is actually the very same bedroom set previously used in Pieces.

But cleaned up a fair bit obviously.




**And I bet Edmund Purdom's were egg and cress.




***Oh you actually want to see it?

You're welcome.

shiver my timbers.

Been feeling really down lately so needed an old friend to cheer me up.

Unfortunately I don't know any real people so had to settle on a film instead.

Le Frisson Des Vampires (1971 AKA Sex and the Vampire, Strange Things Happen at Night, The Shiver of the Vampires, The Terror of the Vampires, Thrill of the Vampires, Vampire Thrills)
Dir: Jean Rollin.
Cast: Sandra Julien, Jean-Marie Durand, Jacques Robiolles, Michel Delahaye, Marie-Pierre Tricot, Kuelan Herce, Nicole Nancel and 'Dominique'.

The issue of Starburst with this
on the back cover
got confiscated during my lunchbreak
by my form teacher.
Bastard.

Our story opens (well it's not our story if I'm honest it's Monique Natan and Jean Rollins seeing as they wrote it but you know what I mean) somewhere in the French countryside where just outside a creepy castle, two of the dirtiest - and not in a good way -  laydees this side of Glasgow city centre on a Saturday night (moonheaded blonde poppet and teen crush Tricot alongside the toothsome, lank haired  Herce) gaze on drunkenly as the skinny minnie Isabelle (the slightly less sozzled but even more disease ridden Nancel) single handedly pops a couple of caskets into a cardboard crypt wall.

Yup definitely a Domfront gal.

Beanz meanz yeast infectionz.

Bored with staring aimlessly into the middle distance our toothsome twosome decide to go visit the castle tower in order to gaze instead at a couple of men that just happen to be chained to the wall, the stakes thru their chests making the two unfortunate fellas look like novelty coat hangers.

With his dying breath the one that can act (kind of) tells the maids to hurry to the graveyard and stake anybody who has died within the last week in case they turn into vampires.

Nodding in unison like a pair of novelty pug bookends the pair race to the cemetery.

I hope you're following this as scarily it's way more complicated to summarize this shite than to watch it.

Anyway on arriving at the graveyard the pervy pair are shocked (well apathetic) to see that the sultry Isolde (the mysterious - and painfully skinny - 'Dominique') has already risen from her grave.

And been busying herself tucking in to jam sandwiches by the look of her lips.

Recognizing a good deal when they see it - and by good deal I mean a chance to strip naked and coyly touch each others breasts -  the girls forget all about this vampire business and instead offer to serve the undead Isolde (alongside a couple of camp French blokes - are there any other kind? - who just happened to be hanging around) and help them entice unwary travelers to the house so that they may drink their blood.

And that quite frankly is why Brexit happened basically.

Dominique: up the casino, Benidorm, 1964.

With all that backstory and set up out of the way it's time to start the film good and proper and to that end we're introduced to the beautiful (and not to mention germ free) Ise (Julien, ask your dad) and her greasy mulleted husband Antoine (the rat-like Durand, ask your mum) who've just arrived at the castle after getting married.

Which begs the question what is it about European vampires and their obsession with newly weds visiting castles

Anyway it appears that Ise reckoned it'd be a good idea to combine her honeymoon with a visit to her overtly camp cousins.

As you do.

Plus as luck would have it another cousin died in the castle recently so it means she has a chance to have a wee cry about that whilst she's there too.

No doubt her new hubby is really happy with this plan but it's hard to tell seeing as he just stands there grinning and shuffling about uncomfortably in what looks like his dads suit.

Her unnamed cousins (Delahaye - tall, silver haired, lip wristed and fish lipped and Robiolles - lank haired, limper wristed and poppy eyed) seem way too happy to see little Ise and after much hugging, hair stroking, lip licking and knowing looks settle down for a slap up meal.

Davison and McGann are upset to hear that
David Tennant has all the best lines in the
75th Anniversary special 'The Nth Doctor'.

With a full tummy and a head full of grief at her (other) cousins' recent death, Ise goes all stroppy and makes Antoine sleep on the sofa.

Yup sounds like a normal wedding night.

Annoyed at not getting the chance to consummate their marriage but not wanting to come across as an unfeeling brute (or even just come across one....he's not that frustrated...yet) her hubby huffs n' shrugs before settling down for the night with a good book and the dog blanket whilst Ise drapes herself across the bed before adopting the patented horror film saucy virgin pose.

Wiggling and moaning in that sexily sweaty way that only girls in 1970's Eurohorror shlockers can, Ise is rudely awoken at midnight by Isolde noisily stepping out of a grandfather clock and our flaxen haired heroine is immediately entranced by this druggy (sorry, dusky) beauty.

Snoopy.

Isolde wastes no time in taking Ise up the cemetery (ooeer), where she uncomfortably fondles her breasts before biting her neck.

Ise's descent into darkness (and lipstick lesbianism) has begun.

Finally.

I mean come on, this is the only reason we're watching isn't it?

Marie-Pierre Tricot - dreamy.

Pity poor Antoine tho', the more he tries to get into his blushing brides - massive - pants the more distant and cold she becomes and, adding insult to injury whilst he's getting a crick neck from spending every night on the sofa she's getting bitten and fondled by her new vampiric lover.

Antoine's frustrations are soon at bursting point (and that's not all that's bursting from the way he's walking) and therefore, - in an effort to take his mind of his wifes admittedly peachy arse, decides to fill his days wandering aimlessly round the castle grounds shooting indiscriminately at pigeons.

This at least has the effect of bringing the couple together for a few minutes as every time he shoots one of the poor little buggers Ise darts out of the shadows and drinks its blood.

A classy date and no mistaking.

Hairy arse not shown.

Unfortunately for Antoine - but not for those of us that like a wee bit of early 70's girl on girl teasing - Ise is becoming more and more distant as she slowly transforms into a creature of the night.

By that I mean a vampire, not a taxi driver.

Tho' it is a fairly honorable and well loved profession so who am I to judge? 

Things may be about to chage tho' as one day as she's skulking about the castle Ise stumbles across Isolde's coffin sitting dangerously close to an open sunlit window.

Will she come to her senses, open the casket and kill Isolde or will she embrace (quite literally) her feminine side and complete her transformation into a saucy vampire vixen?

Go on, guess.

What your mum really gets up to at bingo nights.

As is the way with such films, you wait 30 minutes for a plot twist and two come at once, you see after years of serving their undead masters the two maids have actually been planning a way to escape from their nightmarish existence of serving drinks, fondling each other on a nightly basis and having their breasts exposed by the cousins after dinner for the amusement of guests.

Tho' I've no idea why as it seems a pretty cushy job if you ask me.

Which you didn't so I'll shut the fuck up and continue with the synopsis.

But what is this plan?

Wait for it cos it's a doozy, involving as it does sabotaging Antoine's car in order to stop him grabbing Ise and driving away (tho' why he didn't think of that earlier I've no idea) therefore forcing him to confront the vampire family whilst they sneak out the back.

And this plan took years to come up with?

Marie-Pierre farted and it's an eggy one.

As if the plot wasn't confusing enough, the other 'cousin' - possibly, it's hard to tell/care - from earlier the stern Isabelle (Nancel, looking like your friends mum you used to fancy at school) bursts into the room looking quite annoyed.

It seems that she's only just realized that her ex-lovers have transformed into evil vampires.

Better late than never I guess.

A severe case of telling off ensues which the cousins stoically take on the chin.

Lets be honest tho' it's probably not the only unpleasant thing that they've had there is it?

Unfortunately Isabelle takes it too far (well she is a woman) and starts slagging off their purple loon pants and girly blouses, accusing them of the terrible crime of being 'unmanly and pathetic'.

Obviously being the one that chose their outfits, Isolde goes a wee bit mental and decides the best course of action would be to murder Isabelle with a handy spiked bra she just happened to be wearing.

And no, I didn't see that coming.

This in turn so enrages the cousins that they have no choice but to pin her down and violently put it in her her.

Which, if I'm honest kinda gives it the edge over Graham's conflict resolution on the Jeremy Kyle show.

Until they inadvertently  killed a guest obviously.

A butcher's dog yesterday.

Antoine by this point has understandably had enough of all these underfed lesbians, as well as the crack whore maids who've by this point taken to jumping into his bed to steal his jammie bottoms and the least said about the piss and gin soaked camp cousins the better, so he decides to change into his best action slacks and confront the twee twosome with a crucifix.

But after a frankly pathetic struggle that would shame even two seven year old schoolgirls they slap him about for a bit and tie him up.

As he wriggles limply on the hall carpet sniffling like a girl and begging Ise for help the cousins camply giggle at him as they lead his beloved wife away for her final 'initiation'.

Deciding to push their escape plan ahead the maids untie Antoine, wiping his nose before pointing him in the direction of the graveyard.

Surprisingly for such an ineffectual lead he actually manages to follow the directions, making it to the graveyard without tripping over or bumping into something and also manages to succeed in abducting Ise before the ritual is complete, much to the annoyance of the cousins who mince after him waving their arms like angry camp seagulls.

At this point I'd like to add that this is no way meant as a slight to seagulls anywhere.

Camp or otherwise.

It is, in fact just a cheap attempt at humour.

I've no idea why I've felt that I have to point this out but with how sensitive everyone is these days I thought it for the best.

Whilst all this is going on a frankly bored Isolde decides to retire to the relative comfort of her coffin (for crack and buns obviously) only to find that the maids have set fire to it and surrounded the vampiric junkie with big crucifixes.

Gah!

The fire must rage for weeks tho' as she actually dies of hunger after trying to bite her own neck.

And with this the maids skip away hand in hand for a joyous, vampire free life of soap free lesbian sex.

Which we never see.

Pity that.

Forget the ample arse, check the tide
mark round her waist. Dirty cow.

But let's not dwell on what could have been and return to the here and now where we find our hero Antoine running across a beach carrying Ise to safety.

I must admit he looks very out of breath tho' so either the beach is miles away or he's even weedier than he looks.

Unfortunately it's not long before the cousins have caught up with poor Antoine, kicking sand in his face and dead legging him.

Crying even more now he begs Ise to come with him - or at least to let him put it in her once - but she chooses to go with her cousins, leaving Antoine sobbing like a wee boy who's had his football stolen by the big boys, blubbing and shaking in the sand.

Turning her back on her man (well her ex man....can't he take a hint?) she slinks toward her cousins who then nibble her neck, strip her naked and fondle her senseless till the sun rises and fries all three of them in an orgy of blood, sweat, egg and semen.

I would so hate to be their local launderette.

Distraught and confused, Antoine runs around the beach, firing off his pistol stumbles about like a loon.

There are those who will tell you that Jean Rollin was a purveyor of fine motion pictures and that if you look beyond the crass sex scenes and stilted performances that a hidden gem of art house cinema will appear.

This is, of course utter shite, I mean come on, this is the man responsible for Zombie(s) Lake.

Those of us who don't have hang ups about such things love and adore him for what he truly was.

A lovably dirty old man with an arse - and shoe - fetish.

And you'll all agree I'm sure that there's nowt wrong with that.

Appearing in the mid ground of his 'female vampire' obsession (following on from Le Viol du vampire in 1968 and La Vampire nue in '69) Le Frisson Des Vampires is the most accomplished of Rollin's vampire epics and an obvious influence, both thematically and storywise on Vicente Aranda Ezquerra's The Blood Spattered Bride released the following year.

Tho' Ezquerra could actually direct.

And afford to hire actual actors.

At once both cheap and cheerful and as pretentious as a first year art student it's moments of surreal genius (Dominique sleeping in a grandfather clock) are cruelly juxtaposed with arse numbing scenes of plotless ramblings and random snatches of female nudity.

Exploitative rubbish or an artistically erotic masterpiece?

Well I know what I think.

If you've never experienced this little gem for yourself you really should rush out and buy it now so you can make up your own mind.

Just don't forget the tissues.

mudhoney.

Seem to be fixated by mutant monster movies at the moment.

Sorry.

The Spawn of The Slithis (1978).
Dir: Stephen Traxler
Cast: Alan Blanchard, Dennis Lee Fault, Judy Motulsky, J.C. Claire, Steven J. Hoag, John Hatfield, Rocky Fumarelli, Mello Alexandria, Dennis Falt, Hy Pyke, Wendy Rastattar and Win Condict.

“Why is it called Slithis?”  “For the same reason your parents named you ‘Jeff’.”

Our story begins with a sub-Jaws style score and a shaky pan across what looks like one of the rougher areas of Dudley (that's in the West Midlands in Englandshire for any Americans/thick people reading) settling - luckily before any of us vomit from the drunken camerawork - on a couple of kids playing frisbee.

In slow motion for some reason.

Thinking about it it's probably as one of them is morbidly obese so it's a good excuse to focus on his wobbling mantits as he runs about which, if I'm honest is about as exciting/erotic as this movie gets.

Anyway, after a particularly long toss from the fat lad his small ginger pal comes across a pair of mutilated dogs lying by the canal.

As the pair disinterestedly ride away in search of cakes the local radio news announces that there has been a spate of dog attacks around town and as if to prove this to the audience we abruptly cut to evening time where a yappy mutt is busy barking at a camera with a plastic cup sellotaped to the lens in order to give us an 'otherworldly' point of view of the proceedings that just makes it obvious that we're looking thru' a kids tumbler.

At least the thought was there.

If not the budget.

Or the imagination to come up with anything better.

Oh well.

His owners are woken by the noise and head downstairs to investigate only to be cruelly dispatched by the unseen intruder.

By dispatched I mean killed obviously, not packaged up and posted.

Pink ball straight in the pocket.

The police are convinced that the spate of bad murders are the work of a Manson style cult but rugged high school journalism teacher and ex-reporter for the Baldpate Advertiser Wayne Connors (Blanchard who left acting to sell insurance in the Merrimack Valley area of northeastern Massachusetts fact fans) has other ideas.

Mainly about acceptable fashion choices for heterosexual men by the look of his outfits but each to their own.

Anyway Wayne decides that if he alone cracks the case and writes the story (as well as writing and singing the theme tune obviously) it'll safe him from a turgid life teaching scantily clad cheerleader types how to spell, so much to the chagrin of his wife, Jeff (The Big Bus and Idaho Transfer star Motulsky, who was also once married to top Star Trek villain Charlie X himself Robert Walker Jr.), he heads off to the home of the two most recent recent victims for a wee nosy around.

Breaking into the house and having a quick rummage thru' the drawers it's not long before he's accosted by a sneezing policeman whom he placates by giving a cough sweet before leaving with a handful of dried shite he scraped off the carpet which he excitedly takes to be analyzed by the school biology teacher, Doctor John Leslie (Claire in his only film role) before returning home for an evening of snacks, soda and scrabble with his missis.

"Is it in yet?"

Their romantic night is interrupted tho' when an overenthusiastic Dr. John turns up at the door eager to share the results of his tests.

And by that I mean the ones he did on the shit not that he's about to announce that he has Hep B.

Tho' he does have a yellowish pallor to him, which in fairness may just be the lighting.

Anyway John grabs a beer and begins his big scene, explaining that the scraping is a wee bit radioactive and is a - little - piece of organic and inorganic stuff that he's never before encountered.

Tho' the fact that he looks like he's even never encountered a real woman before let alone anything remotely scientific dents the authenticity of the claim somewhat.

All this talk of radiation and shite tho' does remind him of something he read in Love It! Magazine once when he was in the dentist waiting room.

Love it!

You see nearly twenty years ago, the very first nuclear power plant opened for business in Wisconsin, everything was hunky dory till one afternoon a tipsy cleaning lady accidentally lent on an important lever causing a radiation leak to mutate the mud at the bottom of a nearby lake and made it sentient.

Aye, sounds legit.

This was discovered after a wee boy became ill with sickness and diarrhea after inadvertently drinking some of the water and his mum took him to the doctor for treatment for his explosive poo - or 'shitils' as the boy called them.

Hence the scientists named the organism Slithis as shitils sounded silly and not at all realistic.

True story bro.

But John is quick to point out that mutant mud doesn't have legs or eats folk so this version of the Slithis would have to absorbed a person or something.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRangers!"

And with that he bids his farewell and we cut to a pair of homeless men drinking cheap wine and gazing at each other far too intently whilst sitting next to a boat.

Actually it could be behind the scenes footage of the director and writer, who knows?

Anyway as the pair sit, sup and talk bollocks - in order to boost the running time - some spooky music kicks in and we're back with the plastic tumbler as someone - or something, OK we know it's something - watches them from afar in a totally non-pervy manner.

Well I assume it's non-pervy tho' I may be mistaken.

I mean imagine a movie where a mutated pile of shite furtively masturbates over tramps before eating a dog or two.

The fucker would be box office gold.

So the beardy tramp named Bunky and played to piss soaked perfection by John Hatfield who I assume isn't the American professional baseball player from the 1860s and 1870s - decides that after all this imbibing that he really needs a piss so off he trots to find a bin to go behind but just as he's about to unleash his engorged, pock-marked member the Slithis jumps out from the shadows and scares him so he runs away.

His friend and ex Ordinary Boys frontman Preston (Fumarelli, kissy lips and stinky trainers) meanwhile has fallen asleep so sees or hears nothing.

Fuck me that was exciting.

Rolf Harris is taking the divorce well.

Whilst attacks on dogs and fat folk seems to be the norm it appears that attacking the transient community is a step too far as we're now treated to exciting footage of various law enforcement types looking in bins and pushing tramps as the desperately try to find the person responsible for the killings cum piss spying.

Unfortunately everyone they meet is dressed as tho' they were auditioning for an off-Broadway stage musical version of Midnight Cowboy so the film takes an unexpected turn into camp territory as we're subjected to more and more shots of stubbly topless men in a variety of ever shorter - and tighter - cut off denims.

Even Wayne gets in on the act when he heads downtown to pump a few of them for information, decked as he is in a navel revealing cheesecloth shirt and a jaunty panama hat.

Heading over to the boatyard our hero indulges in a vaguely homoerotic chat with Preston - all long lingering looks and lip-licking as they discuss homeless drinking habits and how best to keep warm at night - regarding the whereabouts of Jethro before heading into town to offer cash to a variety of semi-dressed young men lounging on statues with their legs spread and finally turning up at a rundown motel where Bunky is slouched in a chair looking for all the world like an abused beanbag cosplaying Tom Savini.

Which is nice.

"My film."

Offering him a cash incentive to talk Wayne finds out that Bunky did in fact see the beast whilst trying to have a wee but due to outstanding fines for public urination can't go to the police but does give Wayne a pretty good description of the creature.

And a wee hug before he leaves.

Bless.

After a tearful wank, a Pot Noodle and a shower Wayne and Dr. John decide to visit the scientist behind the original Slithis outbreak, the caramel faced human testicle Dr. Erin Burick (voice actor Falt who's done everything from Silent Hill to Castlevania) to see if their idea that the Slithis can now walk about and eat stuff is true.

He reckons so and suggests that they collect some mud samples from the river where the creature originated not only to be 100% certain but to also add a Jaws dimension to the film seeing as that was quite popular and anything that will help this monstrosity to be seen must be a good thing.


S obviously they're gonna need a (bigger) boat.

Enter (roughly from behind whilst indulging in a frantic reacharound) Captain Chris Alexander (Alexandria famous for Psychic Killer and playing a naked dancing hologram in THX 1138) who offers not only the use of a boat and crew but throws in some vaguely stereotypical 'jive-talkin' black dude' dialogue for good measure.

He must be related to the cleaner cum housemaid Elsie in Mausoleum, yo dig?

"So how much for a wee mooth shite-in boys?"

Heading out to sea - OK heading onto the lake, albeit a fairly big one but still - aboard the good ship Creation, they 'anchor' the boat just offshore enough to not need filming permits and Chris scuba dives down in order to get the samples.

Obviously we have to take his word for this seeing as the film's budget wont stretch to any underwater scenes so to make up for this Wayne sits on the boat looking into the water for what seems like days whilst every so often Chris pops up and hands him a jar.

Stunning.


Anyway all this bobbing up and down is tiring work so the boys all head home and after a sweet late night phone chat 'tween Wayne and Dr. John regarding the lack of consistency  between the samples (?) our hero decides it's time to shower Jeff with some of the attention he's been paying to the local tramps.


Unfortunately it goes all soft focus before the good bits.

But Wayne isn't the only person feeling a wee bit amorous this eve as we're suddenly in the towns most happening bar where the swarthy sex obsessed Doug (ex catalogue model and documentary producer Hoag) is busying himself betting on a turtle race - no really - whilst keeping a lookout for any under-aged talent that may wander by.

And he doesn't have to wait too long as the bubble gum popping, cousin visiting  Jennifer (David Cassidy - Man Undercover co-star Rastattar) soon catches his slightly less milky eye.

Checking if she's 'old enough'? ("Does it matter?" is her reply - zoiks!) Doug takes her up the marina where he's parked his boat a seductively tells her to go onboard and pour a drink whilst he has a piss.

The smooth talking devil.

Cue what seems like hours of lecherous small talk and illegal lolita lust as Dug plys Jennifer with more and more cheap wine before inviting her to his bedroom for a nude massage.

Luckily the Slithis turns up and kills Doug before he can get naked but just to make things even more uncomfortable than they already are we're treated to a 5 minute scene of the Slithis tossing Jennifer around the boat in slow motion - with the cameraman making the effort to show her pants as often as possible - before the beasts clumsily tears her blouse (which is a shame as it was smashing) for a much needed breast shot* and then biting her to death.

Just in case you thought I was taking the piss.....

The thing that haunts you about this (totally unnecessary) scene tho' isn't the dubious sexual politics or latent misogyny or even the fact that Dough has a framed photo of himself - surrounded by candles - on his bedside table.

Nope, it's the fact that during the monster molestation bit the photograph is replaced by a shoddy drawing.

No, really....just look:

Sexy portrait.

Shit sketch.

And they thought we'd be too busy looking at some poor actresses breasts to notice?

Well they obviously didn't count on someone with Autism powered super pedantry watching it did they?

With the blatant sexism out of the way it's back to the main plot and Wayne and Dr. John have gone to the police station to explain who all the bad murders have actually been committed by a human sized bit of radioactive sea shite.

And it's during this scene that we find the movie's one saving grace.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you - no fucking take him, please - Hy Pyke as police lieutenant Jack Dunn:

"Is it Giro day?"

In a - slightly shy of - 4 minute performance that bares absolutely fuck all relation to the plot, Pyke delivers one of the greatest - and most terrifying performances ever committed to celluloid, coming across like the bastard child of Joe Spinell and a Fraggle he eye rolls and screams thru' a page and a half of nonsensical dialogue with all the warm, humour and charm of a man with his hemorrhoids trapped in an infants mouth.

They really should have just had him play the lead and have done with it.

Or at least feature him getting his shirt ripped off in slow motion by the beast.

Suffice to say he's tells our dynamic duo to get to fuck leaving them no alternative but to deal with the creature themselves.

After much chat Wayne figures out that the Slithis must be using the water lock to enter the canal from wherever it is he spends his days so to this end decides to close it off leaving it no way to get into town.

And I thought the public transport here was shite.

Anyway as night falls head over to the locks only to find the gate padlocked but luckily Dr. John has the key as his best friend who works at the water authority is really forgetful and hands out keys to folk he trust so he wont lose them.

Shutting (locking?) the, um, lock the pair head over to Captain Chris' boat and armed with some handy sonar equipment from the high school lab set sail to find and kill the Slithis once and for all....

Shot in just twelve days over the long hot summer of  1977, Slithis is a no budget, lo-fi fleamarket 50s throwback that comes across as cheap and downtrodden as the hobos the beast feasts on, with precious screen time taken up with dozens of (non) actors stumbling thru' banal dialogue wearing a succession of more and more uncomfortable charity shop outfits rather than with gruesome killings and when the titular creature finally appears in all his rubber glory you'll be more concerned about how it can manage to walk with such oversized (albeit womanly) hips rather than elicit screams of terror.

But don't worry as there's some underage nudity and murder on a houseboat to keep the audience happy.


Said no director ever.

Talking of directors, the man behind this one, Stephen Traxler, is fairly interesting.

He first got the movie bug - as opposed to a tummy one - whilst serving in  Vietnam and upon his return home got straight to work on creating the greatest monster movie he could.

Unfortunately he was short of time - and money and nearly everything else - so made Spawn of the Slithis instead.

Not too surprisingly it was another 21 years till he directed again but scarily he didn't slack off in the meantime as he stuck by his dreams of film success, ending up becoming an industry renowned production supervisor with stuff like Waterworld, Gleaming The Cube and Windtalkers under his belt.

But not literally obviously.

Scarily he also co-produced Legally Blonde 2: The Crackdown.

Which let's be honest is more than I'll ever achieve sitting here typing shite that no-one reads so fair play to you Stephen, at least you're living the dream as opposed to wanking for coppers at the bus station like most of the cast ended up doing.

"Aya mah BCG!"

And it's this obvious love of cinema - but possibly loathing for the audience - that stops you turning the movie off and setting light to it as soon as a fat lad bouncing in a too tight T-shirt appears or when various local homeless guys are forced into ever more revealing Daisy Dukes.

Seriously it's actually fairly enjoyable despite itself.

Especially if you have a few bottles of wine handy.

And you haven't eaten.

Which is quite possibly the bizarrest recommendation I've ever given.

"You chase me now!"

True there's way too much exposition, many of the scenes drag on for what seems like an eternity and the editing/effects/acting can only be described kindly as utter bollocks but it's heart is in the right place.

It's just a pity it's brain isn't.    

































*This is what we call sarcasm.

blue is the warmest colour.

It's one of those weeks where I'm awaiting will they/wont they? work news so I thought I'd pass the time catching up with a few old friends.

By friends I mean films and by catch up I mean watch and (hastily) review.

I don't have any real friends.

Obviously.

I mean come on, it's the bank holiday weekend you've probably been out for the entire time having fun and I'm stuck in watching this.

Blue Sunshine (1977 - or maybe even 78 no one seems sure).
Dir: Jeff Lieberman.
Cast: Zalman King, Deborah Winters, Robert Walden, Bill Cameron, Ann Cooper, Mark Goddard, Brion James, Adriana Shaw and Charles Siebert.

There's a bald maniac in there, and he's going bat shit!

You know it's the 70's when your movie for the evening opens with a grainy shot of a massive full moon whilst and synthesized kazoo soundtrack blares in the background before finally settling on a hideously flock wallpapered corridor resplendent with brown, bell-bottomed extras.

But it's not all flares and flammable fabrics as we're soon introduced to a diddy doctor named David Bloom (Walden) who's spending his evening eying up cancer stricken old ladies with a look of either mild concern or just plain confusion.

Don't worry tho' because before we can get bored with all this caring stuff we're suddenly taken to a gorgeous n' groovy 'pad' (ask your granddad) where Lego haired homebody Wendy (Cooper, a kinda council estate version of Adrienne Barbeau) is uncomfortably reading a bedtime story to a couple of children.

I'm assuming that they're hers and that she hasn't just kidnapped them but with low budget 70's horror you can never be sure, as it happens she's babysitting for her neighbour in order to take her mind off her impeding divorce from local congressman Ed Flemming (Lost In Space star Goddard).

I'm sorry, I appear to have inadvertently popped a daytime soap in my player in place of a cult 70's classic...

Your mums cum face....trust me I know.

Not too surprisingly she's feeling quite tender as well as prone to upsetting headaches so as you can probably imagine that when halfway thru' the kiddies bedtime story (it's Rapunzel by the way) the small girl child tugs on her hair pulling a handful out that Wendy gets a wee bit upset.

Meanwhile across town the big-binned wife of potato-faced beat cop (sounds groovy) John O'Malley (Cameron, father of the former British PM) Barbara (Shaw who's probably been in other stuff but I can't be arsed checking) is busy crying/flirting on her neighbours shoulder in regard to her hubbie working late/never being home/loving his parrot more then her etc - plus the fact that since hs hair has been falling out in clumps that she doesn't fancy him much - typical marriage then really.

Suddenly John returns home and just stares blankly at his wife and pal for a few seconds more than necessary.

Spooky.

Jumping around even more than your mum on speed we're suddenly at a hip n' happening party where the bush-barnetted beefcake Jerry Zipkin (latter day erotic thriller god and former Jesus, King) is getting down with his lady love Alicia (Winters) whilst Blade Runner star Brion James squats on the arm of a chair pretending to be a budgie.

No, really.

Savile: The Return.

But that, believe it or not is the most embarrassing thing to happen at the party.

That'll be when check-jacketed pube-haired Frannie Packet (Crystal, brother of Billy) decides to impress the group with an impromptu Tom Jones impression whilst fondling the buttocks of one of his pals girlfriends.

Which is nice.

Playful scuffling ensues with culminates in the aforementioned lady accidentally pulling of Frannie's wig which not only reveals his massive shiny head but causes his eyes to bulge like massive eggs.

Eggs with pupils drawn on them obviously.

He legs it out of the front door with his (bloke) buddies - and Jerry's girlfriend, well she is the female lead - in hot pursuit, the ladies staying in the warm and get pissed which really sums up how they must feel about the whole thing if I'm honest.

As Jerry and Alicia start rifling thru the bins for any sign of their follically challenged chum and the other buddies drive around in circles Frannie sneaks back into the party and starts drooling over the dinner table, much to the ladies disgust.

Which wouldn't actually be so much of a social faux pas if he didn't then batter one of them to death with a mop handle before throwing one into the open fire and finally punching the last girl standing in the face.

Twice.

Capt. Jack Sparrow: The Bri-Nylon years.

Hearing the screams Jerry hurries back to the party only to come across (not in that way) a blood spattered Frannie legging it into the darkness.

Being our hero for the evening Jerry gives chase and in a fight scene that would do Blakes Seven proud pushes Frannie under an oncoming truck.

Pity that the trucks occupants are very happy with losing their no claims bonus and decide to shoot our hero as he tries to explain what's happened.

Americans eh?

Thinking fuck this for a game of darts, Jerry jumps in a car and drives away desperately trying to think how he's going to explain the whole sorry situation to his gran.

Nutted but still sucking.

Back at the house party cum bloodbath the police are already busy questioning Alicia whilst across town Jerry makes his way to see his old pal Dr Bloom for a sticking plaster and cold coffee enema for his gunshot wound.

See? 

That stuff earlier wasn't just filler.

Probably.

Meeting up with Alicia the next day Jerry is shocked to see a newspaper headline (or he may have just been admiring the pretty lips of the old man reading it) regarding a recent spate of killings involving - wait for it - a bald man.

But not just any bald man.

You see it looks like  John O'Malley may have gone crazy and murdered his family.

And his neighbour.

And his neighbours dog.

Could the headaches and hair loss be related?

Go on, guess.

Leslie Dixon: Still fears the chives.

As is the way with such tales Jerry decides to take it on himself to prove his innocence at to this end breaks into the  O'Malley house to search for clues.

Oh yes and to also have an almost proto-Will Graham flashback/vision of the crime being committed as the ex-cops pet budgie squawks the words 'Blue Sunshine' from a nearby wardrobe.

If that wasn't freaky enough it seems that  O'Malley was something of an amateur photographer and has photos of many of the main cast pinned on his wall, the words 'Blue Sunshine' written below each of them.

Heading back to Dr Blooms office (look the running time isn't that long) Jerry discovers that ten years previously, when they were all students at the local tech they'd all bought doses of acid (named....wait for it....'Blue Sunshine') from Bloom himself.

Luckily (for him) he was a good guy and never tried the stuff himself.

His bald spot is fortunately quite natural.

It's now left to Jerry (and Alicia) to find the other ex-dopeheads and warm them of their condition before it's too late, which in Wendy's case is probably about now seeing as she's quite literally just flipped her wig and started chasing the kids around the house with a bread knife.

Tho' this might just be a 70's parenting thing who knows?

"Put it in me!"

 It's not all slapheaded stabbing tho' as there's still the matter of convincing sleazy senator Flemming that he's somehow in danger too (possibly) so Alicia using her feminine charms (either that or she hypnotizes him with her massive glasses) to persuade his ex-quarterback (whatever that means) college pal turned  bodyguard to meet her 'for drinks' at a political rally cum puppet show cum disco at the local mall.

Which sounds brilliant even if all these killings weren't going on.

Unfortunately Mr Beef had also indulged in a wee bit o' Blue in the past and that coupled with the pint of Babycham he orders caused him to lose his mind (and his hair) and go batshit crazy to a grooving disco score as polyester clad cool people dive for cover.

Will Jerry be able to convince everyone that bad drugs - and not he - did the bad killings or will there be (mass) murder on the dance floor?

 Will Flemming manage to hold onto his election?

And will the talented talking budgie turn up to save the day?

From genius Jeff Lieberman, the man behind Squirm, Just Before Dawn and the frankly fantastic Satan's Little Helper comes this psychedelic slice of 70's pill popping paranoia that plays out like an episode of Columbo as scripted by Larry Cohen.

Albeit when he was a wee bit busy and could only manage a rough first draft.

Solidly directed, tightly edited and played with just the right amount of stoic conviction from it's cast, Blue Sunshine may unravel a wee bit toward the climax but the plots sheer delicious deliriousness more than makes up for any hiccups along the way

Sophie Ellis Bextor: Stolen groove (and clothes) not shown.

Plus it has the added bonus of being genuinely creepy in parts thanks in no small way to Charles Gross' sinisterly scary score and the casts really big eyes.

Even the featured song Disco Blue by the fantastically named Humane Society For The Preservation Of Good Music is a winner.

And talking of music any film that's good enough for Steve Severin  and Robert Smith to name their collaborative album after is good enough for me.

And by default you too.

Good day.