yor blimey!

Whilst awaiting the obvious cinematic triumph that is The Rise of Skywalker I noticed - from publicity stills not from wandering around the streets obviously - that the movies climax appears to feature bow and arrow wielding warriors sitting astride space horses fighting the technologically superior forces of the First Order in scenes reminiscent of the Battle of Endor from Return of The Jedi.

"Look at the dog!"

It was then I realised, a film maker of JJ Abrams talent wouldn't be so cliched as to pay homage to Star Wars in a Star Wars movie, he'd want to tease the audience by referencing something way more high-brow in the hope of not only entertaining them but educating them too.

Yup, he's paying tribute to this classic isn't he?



Yor - The Hunter Of The Future (AKA Yor, The World of Yor, 1983)
Dir: Antonio Margheriti (As Anthony M. Dawson).
Cast: Reb Brown, Corinne Clery, Luciano Pigozzi, Carole André, John Steiner, Marina Rocchi, Sergio Nicolai Ayshe Gul and the legendary Aytekin Akkaya.

Kalaa: Why is Yor different from other men?

In a world where dinosaurs rule and bit part Italian actors roam the woods behind the local primary school clad in nothing but flea bitten loincloths comes the mighty warrior Yor (ex pro-footballer, Captain America and deputy sheriff Brown) - oiled, toned and muscled yet with the running prowess of a small girl.

He looks good in furry pants tho'.

Somewhere in the bushes Kalaa and Pag (ex Bond babe Clery and the tramp like Pigozzi) are busy hunting a vaguely embarrassed piglet with wooden horns stuck to its head.

Kinda like a normal day in West Bromwich really.

Except for the bit where a giant Cardboardasaurus crashes thru' the trees and tries to bite them that is.

Kalaa is frozen with fear and Pag can only scream and wobble his manbreasts as the beast lurches towards them.

Luckily Yor - on the way back from buying his newspaper and a pint of milk - comes bounding to the rescue, beating the dinosaur around the head with a big stone axe till it falls over.

Phew.

"Yor going home in a St. Johns ambulance!"

As a way of saying thank you the desperate duo invite Yor back to their village for a big party and not having anything else planned he accepts.

Enjoying an evening of mead and bacon (and with the chance of a shag from Kalaa who appears to be the only non-bearded woman there) Yor is understandably upset when a gang of face painted ape men gatecrash the party and set fire to the village hall before tossing Yor off a nearby cliff and kidnapping Kalaa.

The Little Mix tribute band
was a wee bit disappointing.

In a bit of useful exposition it turns out that there are no ape women in the invaders tribe so every couple of weeks the scruffy monkey men attack the friendly village looking for posh totty to use as 'lurve slaves'.

Yor (who has climbed all the way back up the cliff) is adamant that if anyone is going to have their wicked way with Kalaa it's going to be him and to this end heads off towards the ape lair with Pag in tow.

Obviously he's hoping that if the worst comes to the worst Yor might at least be tempted by a wee suckle on his massive man tits.

I know I'd given it some serious thought.

Deciding to spend the night in the relative safety of a tree the duo are rudely awakened the next morning by a strange grunting noise coming from a nearby bush which the pair decide to investigate.

Popping their heads thru' a tired looking conifer the dynamic duo are met by the - somewhat arousing - sight of dozens of bikini clad ladies being oogled by the noisy band of cheeky (not to mention horny) monkeys.

Yup, most definitely West Bromwich.

"Laugh now!"

If that wasn't enough the evil leader of the apes, notorious decorative gardener and general bad boy Jeff Ukraan, is rubbing his hairy palms together and licking his lips whilst advancing on a cornered Kalaa.

There's only one course of action open to our hero - obviously - so after randomly killing a nearby giant bat then using the animals carcass to glide into the ape den Yor quickly releases Kalaa before smashing a nearby dike and flooding the camp.

Please note that he makes no attempt to rescue the other captives who obviously are either drowned or left to spend the rest of their lives having every one of their orifices violated by bananas.

What a guy.

Leaving the scene of carnage behind them Yor explains that he is trying to discover 'the secrets of his past' (and find out why all the other men look like lank haired bearded pikeys whilst he's tanned and blond) so must brave the dangerous desert to find the answers.

Kalaa decides to tag along (well, it's either that or sit on her own waiting for the dirty monkeys to turn up) and before long the stumble across a tribe sacrificing a nubile, pointy headed blonde on a bonfire.

Yor kills them all (it's kinda his M.O.) and rescues the lady who introduces herself as Roa (Gul), owner of a pound shop pendant not dissimilar to Yor's.

The main character, not yours obviously.

Unless you actually own one when it may well do.

Obviously not being able to see you I can't say.

"Do the monkey with me!"

Kala, unhappy with another female joining the group decides to kill her love rival but her plan is interrupted when a rather wet Ukraan turns up looking for revenge.

A fight ensues (again) but Roa is struck down - tho' not with gout - before Yor can save her.

Which is good news for Kalaa.

"Hullo I'm superfluous, come sleep in mah bed".

Our terrific trio tut and shrug shoulders before continuing their journey into the desert and before long come across some folk being attacked by what looks like a large chicken with an umbrella stuck to its back.

Not having been involved in a fight for around ten minutes Yor kills the beast and gets invited to another party where yet another bikini clad lady fawns over him and wiggles her ample hips.

Understandably Kalaa is fairly pissed off at the fact that every woman on the planet wants a piece of Yor's prime ass but before she can attempt to kill this one the tribal chief arrives with information about Yor's origins.

It seems that every so often blond 'gods' wearing big medallions come to visit the villagers in flying boxes from a mysterious island hidden by a spooky dark fog.

Yor is convinced that the island holds the key to his identity so he steals a fishing boat to continue his quest, leaving the friendly visitors to be wiped out by the aforementioned flying boxes.

"Thanks for the pearl necklace!"  "Yor welcome!"

With Pag and Kalaa as his loyal crew, Yor quickly makes his way to the island only to lose control of the boat when a violent storm whips up from nowhere.

Yor is tossed overboard and washed up on a beach where he is almost immediately zapped by a guy in a leather jumpsuit and a gimp mask.

Kinky.

Don't fret tho', Kalaa and Pag are safe too.

They've been cast ashore further up the beach where they're accosted by a small group of cave dwelling tramps.

Put it in me!

Yor meanwhile has been grabbed by the Overlord (sounds painful) as is looking on in mild apathy as the movies plot is explained to him.

It turns out that the film is set on a future Earth (never) devastated by nuclear war where the majority of survivors have regressed to little more than savages.

A small group of scientists however tried to hold back the oncoming violent times by using space age technology and appointing an absolute leader (the aforementioned Overlord - the plywood like Steiner) who  - and with a name like that you can't be too surprised - built an army of gimp suited androids and kick out anyone who disagreed with him.

Yor's parents were among those yellow bellied cowards that ran away, preferring to take their chances with the papier mache dinosaurs on the mainland, which was a bad idea seeing as they were almost instantly eaten leaving our hero an orphan.

Before they died however they gave baby Yor a present, the big gold medallion he wears which in reality is a high tech recording device.

What for I don't know, why they never left him a note of how to work it.

Laughing (looking and possibly smelling) like an off season seaside town crossdresser on crack, Overlord announces that he has plans for Yor.....

"Juliet Bravo!"

Kalaa and Pag meanwhile are swapping niceties with the resistance movement who have told then much the same story, but adding the (fairly important) bit about Overlord planning to kill everyone else on the planet within the next hour or so.

They decide to attack Overlord's complex.

Whilst all this is going on. Overlord and his foxy assistant Ena (André) have strapped Yor to a dining table and started flashing really hot disco lights at him in an attempt to steal his DNA which, when mixed with Kalaa's will become the genetic building blocks for Overlords new android army.

Just as it appears that Yor can't possibly sweat any more the stinky tramps burst in and free our hero as a battle of epic proportions ensues.

Well I say epic.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

One particularly stinking tramp manages to reach Overlords control centre and de-active his leathery android hordes whilst Yor plants a bomb inside the bases nuclear reactor.

With only minutes to spare before detonation Yor stabs overlord with a huge barbers poll and hounds the heroic rebel band into a conveniently parked spaceship, escaping the island with seconds to spare as it explodes no doubt showering a still recovering planet and population in all manner of dangerous radiation.

As our merry band fly off to an uncertain future, spooky voice over guy tells us of how Yor will "use his new found knowledge of mankind's past to protect the future".

Which is nice.

"Yor the one that I want".

Originally made as a three hour SciFi epic for Italian Teevee, Antonio (I got to say I directed Andy Warhol's Dracula and Frankenstein but only for tax purposes) Margheriti’s fantasy classic is better known to fans of the fantastic in it's truncated movie form.

Luckily for connoisseurs of cinematic sewage even after losing almost two hours of it's original running time the films sheer awfulness shines thru'.

From it's ludicrous premise by way of the abysmal acting via trite dialogue, a distinct lack of a workable script and overall general shoddiness it's still top quality entertainment.

For proof look - and listen - no further  than Maurizio and Guido De Angelis's reused score - you may remember it from such blockbusters as 2019: After the Fall of New York, Raiders of Atlantis and Lightblast, the clever use of costumes left over from that other Corinne Clery SciFi masterwork The Humanoid - tho' it's more likely that she came free with the suits - plus not forgetting the star turn by the ultimate forgotten macho man that is Mr. Reb Brown.

Brown: Tight, athletic buttocks.

From his early work alongside soon to be Starbuck Dirk Benedict in the 1973 shocker Ssssss to his appearances as Captain America in two ill advised 1979 Teevee movies you can always count on Brown's frankly terrifyingly muscled arse to take your attentions away from any mistakes on screen.

And here he's ably (and amply) supported by Euro art/sleaze star Corinne Clery doing her best as the vacant eyed bubble permed heroine with the hots for Yor and Italian 'B' stalwart (and owner of the droopiest man breasts ever) Luciano Pigozzi (star of such top quality hits as Alien from the Deep and Double Target) who brings a Wilfrid Bramble like quality (and smell probably) to his role as cuddly uncle Pag.

Funnier than Margheriti's Cannibal Apocalypse - and with better special effects - plus a fluid style of its own that features nods to the 60's Batman series with it's high angle camera work, good old over choreographed 'slow fighting' Yor has an endearing kind of thrift shop feel that makes it a pain free enjoyable 90 minutes of cheesy entertainment if nothing else.

True it makes absolutely no sense at all but at least it's not too painful to watch.

Especially if like me you enjoy tight buttocks.

As a strange but true aside I'd just like to add that about ten years ago I came across a Dutch version of Yor in a local charity shop for a pound and eagerly snatched it up (what can I say? I liked the cover illustration).

Rushing home to see how it held up dubbed I was surprised to find that someone had recorded over the last ten minutes with what looked like home video footage of a deserted public pool where a scantily clad, blindfolded woman sat strapped into a chair.

After viewing this strange (yet somewhat disturbing) scene for a few minutes a man appeared from stage left wearing nothing but a clown mask and holding a kitchen knife.

I'll be honest and say I didn't notice the knife to begin with because I was way to frightened by his massive, erect circumcised penis. 

I watch in horror (and mild jealousy) as he then proceeded to pinch the woman's nipples and play with her hair for a few minutes before moving slowly and menacingly toward her.

Then the screen cut to static.

I've always wondered if someone had accidentally recorded one of their home sex tapes at the end or if I'd stumbled across a scary snuff film, the killer desperate to recover the tape before his identity could be found.....

If you know (or are the person) that made this then feel free to get in touch.

Unless you are a mad mentalist murder obviously.

And if you are the mad murderer feature can I just point out that the VHS in question is now in the hands of Mr DissolvedPaul in Canada so hunt him down not me.

Cheers.

bungle bonce.

What an odd couple of years it's been for us Star Wars fans - sorry, enthusiasts.

With the cinematic abortion that was Star Wars: The Last Jedi taking a massively mis-judged piss over all we hold Holy (namely Luke Skywalker), the actually quite brilliant Solo: A Star Wars Story bombing at the box office and the animated Star Wars Resistance premiering to a wall of uninterested silence, who'd have thought that it would take the other bloke from Swingers (yep, that one, the guy with the beard) to be the sagas savior with the frankly fantastic The Mandalorian.*

So anyway with Episode 9 - The Rise of Skywalker only a month away I've decided to revisit this classic homage to George Lucas' original movie from way back in 1978.

Enjoy.


Os Trapalhões Na Guerra Dos Planetas (AKA The Bunglers In The War Of The Planets, Brazilian Star Wars 1978).
Dir: Adriano Stuart.
Cast: Pedro Aguinaga, Renato Aragão, Carlos (The Jackal) Bucka, Wilma Dias, Carlos (The Kettle) Kurt, Tereza Mascarenhas and some other folk I've never heard of.

Opening with a huge car chase that would put the makers of Top Gear to shame, the 'heroes' of Os Trapalhões Na Guerra Dos Planetas (top urine-stained Brazilian comedy tramps 'the Bunglers') are on the run from what looks like a ton of disgruntled Pikies suffering from narcolepsy, seeing as a huge number of them appear to be driving their cars into rivers for no reason.

It seems that one of the bunglers (the oldest yet least stinky one that wears the piss yellow sports jacket and pervert hat) amusingly named Didi, has slept with the head pikies missis and his friends/family/cousins are in hot pursuit looking for revenge.

After about twenty minutes of 'wah wah' guitar and exploding dune buggies the bunglers hide behind a convenient rock and wait for the bad men to get bored and leave.

"sniff mah coat hen".

That night, whilst the bunglers are sleeping, a turtle with a candle glued to its shell shuffles thru their camp and, in a stroke of comedy genius two of the bunglers think it's a ghost!

Oh how we laughed!

But just as you think it can't possibly get any funnier, the turtle manages to set light to the third, fattest bungler!

While he’s running around in circles going "Woo! woo!" whilst slowly (and probably very painfully) burning alive a passing spaceship touches down near their campsite.

Aboard is the handsome Prince Flik (no doubt referring to his almost Farrah like locks) who tells the four comedy legends (but not the turtle) that he needs their special 'talents' to retrieve a vital part of the fabled 'brain computer' and stop an evil space tyrant named Zuco from destroying his home world.

What? were Torchwood busy? I mean it's not like the plot was too far fetched for them.

A spaceship yesterday.

Our heroes, given the choice between jail time for forcing themselves on old ladies or a trip into space quickly agree and jump aboard Flik's starship where they meet his Red Setter-like, new romantic styled co-pilot Chewbacca (or Dave, I'm not sure).

He (it?) and Flik have an in depth chat in reverse Portuguese before Dave blindly stabs at a few buttons and prepares for take off in a blaze of coloured lights and sweet wrappers not seen since the heady days of Crackerjack.

"Hello Dave?"

Touching down on Flik's home planet, they immediately encounter what looks like an army of hooded midgets attacking a group of desert dwelling Arabs outside a series of stone portaloos.

It's like Disney does ISIS but with fewer beheadings.

Possibly.

Spoiling for a fight the comedy quads rush in and beat the shite out of anyone within punching distance in hyper-slow motion that makes The Matrix 'bullet time' look like the cheap trick it is.

Every time one of our heroes kicks, shoves or stumbles the same clip is shown again and again, accompanied by a hellish 'doo doo' disco score.

It's like mind melding with Jimmy Savile.

Runner up of the Lindy England lookalike contest (ask your mum).

About three days into the slo-mo spectacular the villain of the piece, the evil Darth Zuco appears from nowhere and drags the beautifully big hipped blond bombshell Princess Myrna (who?) from out of one of the portaloos before legging it across the dunes to what looks like a waiting gold vibrator (with wings).

Whilst this is going down (phnar), the warring aliens get bored and leave but not before blowing up one of the toilets with a painted air freshener cum grenade (as in an air freshener disguised as an explosive, not a grenade filled with man yoghurt, tho' that would be interesting) possibly as a political act lost on British viewers.

"Touch my big black helmet".

What isn't lost on viewers from dear old Blighty tho' is the effect that the explosion has, causing as it does four fairly attractive (in a cruise ship entertainer way) Lycra clad ladies to come running out of the smoke like a cheap(er) version of Benny Hill's Hill's Angels.

If that were at all possible**.

The bungling buddies start rubbing their filthy hands with delight but spoilsport Flik starts shouting about having to rescue the princess.

Relax girls....they're single.
And old enough to be your granddad.

Agreeing with Flik (and obviously fancying a wee bit of manass) Didi attempts to drag the others away from the babes with a promise of letting them borrow his hat.

Seriously, why would I make this shit up?

Things get very tense before a compromise is reached and the ladies offer to go with them to the local space disco to look for clues.

Let's be honest tho'...it's still more entertaining than this shite.

Arriving at the local nite-spot (which looks to all intents and purposes like Barry Noble's in Nottingham circa 1985) the bunglers manage to persuade the DJ to stop polluting the airwaves with farty sci-fi warblings and play some hi-energy disco instead but when the alien clientèle begin to 'get down' to the hot tunes the jolly jokers start beating them up.

Just like Dudley then.

For Didi this seems a step too far, he leaves the disco to buy a space laser gun, accidentally murdering five innocent bystanders in cold blood whilst 'testing' it and blowing up Flik’s landspeeder along the way.

If that wasn't enough, in a fabulously misplaced piece of slapstick he finds he has no money to buy the gun so he shoots the salesman dead and steals it.

Ha ha ha.

A normal Saturday night in Dudley.

Now the film begins to unravel and self destruct into an almost unwatchable display of violent comedy, giant birds and poverty row effects as our merry band decide to hit the trail in search of the princess and the evil Zuco.

All manner of random threats are thrown at the group from invisible monsters to flying oranges (yep....killer fruit......oh my sides) via a badly matted 'giant' spider and the aforementioned bird beast.

"Pluck off!"

Every time they encounter a new peril everyone throws their arms in the air, jogs on the spot whooping then runs away.

And I do mean every time.

Every.

Single.

Bloody.

Time.

For around half an hour.


Eventually (and obviously bored waiting for our heroes to discover his lair) Zuco sends them an open invitation to his house to exchange their half of the computer (admit it, you'd forgotten about that hadn't you?) for the captive Myrna.

What follows is a series of bluffs and double bluffs that would confuse even a very unbluffable (is that even a word? cos it should be) man.

The outcome is that Didi ends up in a box (not a coffin unfortunately) and Flik is left holding a green painted dwarf in a frighteningly lifelike Myrna mask.

Everything is now set for the final battle.

Thank fuck.

Didi scores first blood by freezing Zuco and then spending twenty five minutes dancing with his frozen body, popping a selection of funny hats on him, booting him up the arse etc. whilst his buddies fight for their lives against an elite squad of enemy shock troops.

Seriously tho' it's not as exciting as it sounds.

Just as the good guys break thru' the enemy ranks Zuco thaws out and tells everyone that Myrna is dead.

Laugh now.

It seems that whilst Zuco's scientist were making the mask for the dwarf to wear they accidentally disintegrated her.

No seriously.

Flik just shrugs his shoulders and sighs before pointing out that under his planets laws Didi’s squeeze, the seductive Loya must take Myrna’s place as Flik’s betrothed.

She leaves Didi’s side and gets straight down to business with Flik, leaving poor Didi to travel back to with nothing to look forward to but a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle.

Which is a wee bit depressing really.

Duck off.

What can one possibly say in regard to the almost perfect example of high brow Brazilian comedy that is Os Trapalhões na Guerra Dos Planetas?

As an introduction to the many fascinating aspects of Brazilian culture the film is a Godsend, featuring as it does the countries three major obsessions; dancing badly, awful polyester jackets and fighting.

Which is three more than Belgium is famous for.

And what of the comedy greats that are/were The Bunglers? 

Well believe it or not these comedy cnuts starred in over 15,000 films in the 1970s and 1980s, becoming Brazil's biggest export (outside STD's and child labour that is) before being hunted down by the UN war crimes committee in 1997 and sentenced to death by firing squad  in late 1995.

So if you enjoyed their hi-jinks in this, their biggest grossing (and most expensive) movie and don't mind laughing at dead folk, there should be enough online to keep you going for a few months at least.

The Bunglers: They've got something to put in you.

The rest of you can sleep soundly knowing I watched it for you.

You lucky people.

*I assume this is the case from what I've heard, it's not available in Europe yet so I wouldn't know for sure, pirating is bad don't you know.








**Obviously I don't count the wonderful Nola Hayes in this blanket statement because as a 12 year old watching Benny Hill she was by far the least scary of the bunch and not at all cheap.

strange.

Can't believe that it's 36 years today since Will Byers went missing.....Remember the day with 60 (very) odd minutes of strange sounds from the upside down.

cannibal xerox.

Just realised that there's been precious little cannibal cultness (or cuteness) in this years 31 days of horror

Unfortunately this was the first thing I could find.
Mondo Cannibale (AKA Cannibal Holocaust 2, Cannibal Holocaust: The Beginning, Cannibal World. 2003).
Dir: Bruno Mattei.
Cast: Helena Wagner, Claudio Morales, Cindy Jelic Matic, Antoine Reboul, Kevin Maxwell, Brad Santana, Michael Garland, Foster Howard, Eniko Bodnar, Zsilvia Chernel and Chan Le.

Well, somebody had to buy it.

The harsh of face yet smooth of thigh TV journalist cum Fame-hungry celebrity Grace Forsythe (Wagner, daughter of the composer of The Ring Cycle possibly) is in a dilemma.

Her hard hitting real-life reportage/review show NewsMooth has been unceremoniously canceled due in part to plummeting ratings but mainly due to its general crapness.

Five fingers, never touched the sides.

Understandably angry (and a wee bit aroused judging by the sweat on her top lip) at the decision she storms the TV station in order to confront her Tefal browed studio boss Geoff Head (played by an angry testicle) about the situation.

But as the tempers fray and the voices raise the whole thing goes from bad to worse via shouty McShoutington as Grace, whose narcissistic tendencies rival even those of pig-faced spunk-bucket Katie Hopkins, offers to let him stick it in her if he recommissions her show.

Classy.

"To me! To you!"

Sensibly holding out for a better offer (possibly a crack at her flaxen haired, Goddess like co-star Matic, I know I would) he manages to resist Grace's bullish charm but does offer her a lifeline.

If she can persuade her ex co-presenter - and former lover - Bob 'horse cock' Manson (Poundshop Antonio Banderas, professional sexy man and star of Land of Death, Morales) to accompany her on a trip down the Amazon - as opposed to up the casino - to film a no holds barred expose of cannibal rituals he'll commission a second series.

The only rule is that she mustn't be naughty and go around faking any footage or burn any villages downs.

Just in case Ruggero Deodato sues obviously.

With her pudgy little sausage fingers crossed behind her back Grace agrees.

Five go mad on Meth.

With the contracts signed and the sun block packed our dynamic duo, along with their merry band of ratings hungry TV professionals (including the platinum princess of power herself Matic as ace troubleshooter Cindy Blair) in tow, the merry band excitedly descend into the Amazon jungle determined to find the worlds legendary last remaining cannibal tribe at any cost.

And by any cost I actually mean any cost that doesn't go above the films £18.65 budget obviously.

But first things first and there's just enough time for a wee bit of topless sunbathing and a chance for their native guide Brian to get all hot under the collar as he nervously rubs lard all over Grace's hairy back and arse.

It's a dirty, nay sticky job but someone has to do it.

And by rights it should be the lowliest member of the cast.

Unfortunately (for us) he gets sent off to perform some odd jobs before he can get round to oiling up Cindy (bah) and so with a heavy heart, heaving bosom and slightly damp undies the lovely ladies get - slowly - dressed before rounding up the troops (which before you ask isn't a euphemism for touching each others breasts) and venture forth into the unknown.

Which is lucky really, seeing as last time they ventured fifth and only won a coconut.

I thank you.

"And when I want a good mooth
shite-in I pull THIS face!"

As the team sweat and fart their way thru' the undergrowth (or in this case the garden centre behind Mr. Mattei's house) allegedly miles from civilization, you can understand why Bob is so surprised when a group of battle hardened soldiers suddenly appear from behind a bush.

Their camouflage must be bloody effective seeing as the 'jungle' is only about as big as a school gym.

It seems that they're members of some elite UN jungle protection force charged with stopping the locals eating each other and protecting the trees from loggers and the like.

But today is Wednesday which means that they can forget all that and spend a few hours hiding in the local fauna taking pot shots and the scantily clad, pot bellied natives.

Bob is appalled by such random acts of violence and in a manly display of testosterone fueled righteous anger stamps his foot for a bit whilst tutting.

Grace on the other hand reckons that a wee bit of random violence is just what the show needs so she gives the soldiers 50 pence and a bag of Haribo Starmix each to continue shooting the 'savages'.

They greedily agree as Grace hurriedly sets up her camera. 

Best. Caption. Ever.

With a tape full of killings and a promise of more gruesome goodies to come our intrepid band of bad men and ne'er do wells bed down for the night.

Their next stop, according to the map is a village of friendly tribes folk.

Understandably Grace reckons that this might be a bit boring for the viewers so suggests that they should set fire to the place before shooting all the old folk in the face and stealing all the kids sweets, Bob however, being a world weary and cynical type, thinks that there's enough violence in the world without causing any more.

Especially in the name of TV ratings.

Right on.

Grace gently reminds Bob that he's getting paid at least £12 and all the Monster Munch he can eat for taking part in the programme so he'd better stop whining and start killing.

Thinking it over for at least a minute Bob sighs and gets to work polishing his massive weapon.

Grace sneaked away from base camp
to scoff the gangs last Snickers bar.

Meanwhile back at the studio, Geoff Head is foaming (at least it looks like foam) at the mouth as he views the incoming footage before literally exploding with unashamed delight when the viewing figures are released.

It seems that everyone on the planet bar three people in West Bromwich (who don't have a television set because they swapped it for magic beans and a Britain First hoodie) are avidly watching the groups every move.

Geoff's dad (and owner of the station) is less impressed tho' feeling that what the audience really want is less violence and more novelty dog-based acts.

After a tense board meeting the old fool is sent packing as the entire committee contact Grace to demand more murders.

And maybe a side order of violent buggery.

"Raugh row!"

Grace and company are more than happy to deliver and spend the next few days burning down villages, shite-ing in peoples gardens and parading old, shaggy breasted grannies before the cameras in between raping the odd virgin and skinning various animals, all in the name of entertainment of course.

Imagine a lower rent, slightly less patronizing version of Ant and Decs Saturday Night Takeaway and you're halfway there.

Everyone seems to be enjoying the ultra-violent holiday, egging each other on to commit more and more sordid and sick acts of depravity, except Cindy that is who, in a moment of clarity shouts the age old question "I wonder who the real cannibals are?" at the group as they roughly bugger a wee native girl.

As heartfelt as her question is, she really hadn't thought it thru', I mean the real cannibals are the ones in grass skirts that eat folk aren't they?

Hats.

As the violence continues unabated and the studio demands more and more shocking images (some involving goats) the film crew approach the jungle home of the infamous man-eating, Grant Morrison worshiping  'Invisibles', the most primitive and savage tribe ever recorded.

I say recorded but obviously they haven't been (yet) or there'd be not point in traveling all that way to get exclusive footage would there?

Or am I being too literal?

One sure fact about the Invisibles tho' is that you can bet that they don't give a monkeys ball about ratings.

Or cutlery.

Will our merry band survive their descent into the green inferno?

And if so, what will be left of them?

Sneakily promoted as Cannibal Holocaust 2: The Beginning in some territories (is this the most over-used title ever?), lo-fi exploitation king Mattei's homage (OK, shameless rip-off) to Ruggero Deodato's legendary mockumentary classic harks back to a more simple age of film-making when local video store shelves were stacked to bursting with low budget versions of hit movies and shit movies alongside cheap as fuck Brit movies of all shapes and sizes.

Actually they were all the same shape and size if I'm honest.

Except for the Betamax ones that were slightly smaller.

Oh yes and the Video 2000 releases which were fucking huge.

But I digress.

A meaty Matic sandwich....yum!

Like most of the late, great Mattei's horror output (from Zombie Creeping Flesh to Zombies: The Beginning), the screenplay is an almost exact copy of the source material in question (in his career the director homaged everything from Aliens to Dawn of The Dead via The Archers - possibly) but as with nearly all of his later work, cheaply and quickly made on video in the Philippines with a core band of actors and technicians that he would use until his untimely death.

Which isn't a bad thing really seeing as it meant that we got much more of the great mans work than we possibly deserved, with his final four movies being some of his most entertaining.

And not just because they introduced audiences to the wonderful Ms. Matic as well as the kick ass Ripley wannabe Yvette Yzon.

And for these reasons alone we should be eternally grateful.

"Ah fell aff mah beanstalk!"

But if you're worried that a drop in budget would somehow taint the great man's vision then worry ye not as there's plenty here to enjoy, from blood drenched breasts to flabby thrusting man ass via a tasteful pole-based abortion, Mondo Cannibale is the perfect date movie for those romantic nights in.

And who knows?

After sharing this with a loved one, you, just like the bouncy native girl chased thru the jungle by a horny Claudio Morales may get lucky too.

acting the goat.

31 days of horror and we've not had an exorcism movie yet.

Well we may have but I've not really been paying attention.

And by the distinct lack of hits on this blog neither has anyone else.

Thanks for nothing.

L’Anticristo (AKA The Tempter, The Antichrist, Besatt. 1974-ish).
Dir: Alberto De Martino.
Cast: Carla Gravina, Mel Ferrer, Arthur Kennedy, George Coulouris, Anita Strindberg, Alida Valli, Mario Scaccia and Umberto Orsini.

"I've been waiting 400 years but I piss on that time!"

You have to feel sorry for poor Ippolita Oderisi (actress cum politician and star of the fantastic A Bullet for the General Gravina), not only does her name appear to have been pulled randomly from a Scrabble box but years ago due to her dad Massimo's (Ferrer - no introduction necessary) rather reckless driving her mother was killed and she's now confined to a wheelchair.

Tragic I know and her sad story gets even worse when you realize that on top of this she's cursed with wiry, pube like ginger hair.

Poor girl.

Joining the story ten years on from the aforementioned accident we discover that just about every doctor in Italy (including Giovanni Frezza and Dr. Butcher MD no doubt) have given her the once over and not a single one of them can find anything wrong with her spine (her haircut is another story however) yet she can barely lift herself out of her wheelchair and has to stand with the aid of a cane.

Did I say poor girl?

Sorry I obviously meant lazy cow.

Massimo, fed up with being made to feel guilty over his daughters indolence (oh and killing her mum whilst pissed) decides to take her to a wee church deep in the countryside where a frighteningly butch (and bright blue for someone unknown reason) statue of the Virgin Mary is reputed to have miraculous healing powers.

Sounds legit.

Surrounded by a throng of scarily praying pikeys and filled with the love of God Ippolita attempts to stand only to almost immediately fall flat on her (harsh) face.

Wonder! Wonder! Wonder Wheels!

Her dad is understandably mortified (as a plus point at least the locals are grateful for such a good laugh first thing in the morning) but Ippolita seems almost nonchalant about the whole thing, almost as tho' she expected God to ignore her.

But why would she think such a thing? I hear you cry.

Well there in hangs a tale.

You see it appears that she's recently been having fairly blasphemous - and incredibly saucy - thoughts.

Mostly about a really pervy painting of Jesus, resplendent with a huge 14 inch cock and balls leatherier than Sean Connery's manbag.

And how do we know this?

Well apart from me being the one that painted the Jesus picture Ippolita has confessed as much to her uncle Brian who, it turns out,  just happens to be the local bishop (another top turn from everyone's favourite drunken Oirish man Kennedy).

Beware Beadle's wanking hand!

And if that wasn't enough, she's also taken to having nasty violent thoughts about her dad's new squeeze Greta (big boned Strindberg from Fulci's classic Lizard in a Woman’s Skin).

Turns out that Ippolita is insane with jealousy at the mere thought of her father showing affection toward anyone but her.

It's like The Jeremy Kyle show but with better teeth.

Or Christmas Day with my family as I call it.

Fuck the satanic possession....check the nightie.

It's not long (thankfully - there's only so much angry cripple tripping I can take in one film) before nearly all of Ippolitia’s family (and even the maid) are mightily pissed off with her frankly childish behavior and come to the conclusion that she needs locking up.

Luckily her uncle knows a good psychiatrist, the smooth handed Dr. Marcello Sinibaldi (Orsini the camp as pants 'star' of Diary of a Cloistered Nun) whom he invites to a big bash at the family villa, the idea being that he can check out lil' miss mentalism without her being any the wiser.

As well as drink as much free booze as he can handle.

Sneaky.

Unluckily for them - but a huge surprise for us it must be said - Ippolita has psychic powers enabling her to see right through the pairs plan.

But not alas their clothes.

In a change to her normal angry reaction to every little thing she doesn't throw a stroppy fit for once.

And why is this?

Well it seems that she's vaguely interested by Sinibaldi’s claim that her paralysis is really psychosomatic and that he can cure her of both it and her mentalism with a wee dose of hypnotic regression.

I'm convinced.

"Tongue in mah mooth".
(But luckily not up a goats arsehole).

Ippolita, being well up for a wee bit of hypnotic regression (but aren't we all?) excitedly turns up - well, wheels up if I'm honest -  to the dishy docs office the very next day and is quickly put under his spell.

Let's be honest here he is quite dreamy.

Anyway after the obvious pretend you're a sheep and eat this onion it's really an apple gags something interesting happens.

For the first time so far in this movie I hasten to add.

You see, it turns out that one of Ippolita's ancestors was burned at the stake for witchcraft some 500 years ago.

Well I say witchcraft but according to the foggy flashback it was actually for  eating a toad and - I kid you not - rimming a goat.

No really.

We get to see it played out on screen.

And in glorious technicolour no less.

Unluckily the uncovering of this deep, dark family memory inadvertently triggers a case of demonic possession.

Ain't that always the way?

That's your dad that is.

Starting with the obvious (you know talking in a deep, sexy voice in various languages - or is that just the abysmal dubbing?) she soon moves onto more impressive stuff like psychokinesis - well, she moves some plant pots and a chest of drawers - and, most amazing of all, walking!

And how does she use her new found mobility?

Well as anyone in this situation would, she uses it to sneak out of her villa to seduce (then snap the necks of) young Germans.

Sinibaldi tries his best to think up a reasonable scientific explanation for everything that's going on but is frankly stumped whilst Irene (the aforementioned nanny/maid/hired help) secretly phones the local expert in the art of folk magic Big Tony (The Perfume of the Lady in Black's Scaccia - no me neither).

Pity then that everyone in the movie is a devout Catholic meaning that they just stand tutting and umming at the very mention of so called 'magic', reckoning that any such power can - and will - ultimately be linked to the devil himself.

The upshot of this is that all of Tony's flashy words and wizardy tricks are totally useless.

You do have to wonder why they really bothered with this plot thread.

Maybe Mario Scarria owed the director some cash?

Your mum in her best clothes on a night out.

Finally, the bishop (who's obviously taken so long to get to the phone because he can only move diagonally) rings professional demon fighter for hire Father Jeff Mittner (The Woman Eater's Coulouris).

A man whose credentials, it appears, seem to consist of being the only person in the film who's not only seen The Exorcist but also made extensive notes, seeing as the movies ever building climax is lifted almost wholesale from that film.

But if you're gonna steal you might as well be honest about it.

Can he sort out the pesky demon once and for all?

Cue a frighteningly long and wordy exorcism complete with a floating lady, vomit, seductive glances, green facepainted nipples and an utterly terrifying Tefal headed, Rod Stewart wigged Ippolita swearing.

 A lot.

"Sorry Father....I farted."

But being a cut-price Eurohorror The Exorcist isn't the only movie to be violently buggered for ideas here as - in a shocking turn of events - the film suddenly becomes a (very) cut rate Rosemary’s Baby, with the shocking reveal that the true purpose for Ippolita’s possession is for her to carry the baby Antichrist.

In her tummy that is, not in a Moses basket.

Will the might of Catholicism be enough to avert the birth of the devil himself?

Seriously, what do you think?

Alberto De Martino's fantastically crass retread of The Exorcist (to name but one 'influence') boldly goes where other cheap Euro' rip-offs fear to tread.

Whereas most cash-ins cut back on expensive effects, name actors and the like L’Anticristo positively revels in it's cut price glory, featuring as it does not one but two Hollywood has-beens and some brilliantly conceived (and not to mention insanely bonkers) stand out set-pieces.

Kennedy and Ferrer give us more ham than a butchers market and in an attempt to outdo Linda Blair floating above a bed, L’Anticristo has Gravina not only rising out of her wheelchair, but gracefully gliding out of an open window before entertaining us with an airborne dance number.

Well, it's not just John Wayne who's big leggy.

But the movies greatest scene must be when Ippolita's possessed right hand floats across the room and starts to strangle the white wizard man.

Unfortunately the film is scuppred by DiMartino’s desperate direction — you can almost feel his ultimately futile attempts to make an honest to goodness scary movie collapse around him.

Luckily he had the amazing Aristide Massaccesi working as his Director of Photography to help save the day.

And who the hell is Aristide Massaccesi?

Well, as regular readers will already know he's none other than the cinematic god also known as Joe D’Amato.

So it's probably him we have to thank for the classic devil worshiping scene, featuring as it does kinky naked orgies, the eating of a toad and the aforementioned goat/tongue/arse interface.

And for this we salute him!

And the ass saw the angle was
slightly wrong for a good photograph.

Oh, and De Martino, you did not bad yerself big fella.

Top-notch thrills for lovers of devil movies, harsh ginger birds and goat sex everywhere.

Which is probably just me thinking about it.

An essential Halloween treat (if not a wholly legal one).