fish lips.

Who knew that there were so many great shark movies?

And who is gonna break first?

Me or girl-child 2?

Super Shark (2011).
Dir: Fred Olen Ray. 
Cast: John Schneider, Sarah Lieving, Tim Abell, Rya Meyers, Jerry Lacy, Jimmie “J.J.” Walker and a (super) shark.

That's one big ass shark!

Before we begin good and proper I'd just like to point out for any newbies that for those of us that actually like this genre it's the norm in modern monster shark based movies that the creatures appearance is usually always due to a pesky offshore drilling accident that the titular beast is released/awoken/reanimated.

The unique thing this time is that the entire operation appears to have been constructed out of Lego in someones bath.

Which kinda adds to the movies (wet) dream-like quality I guess.

Anyway there's no time to guffaw over the visual effects as we're suddenly hurtled into the plot good and proper were a couple of expendable wet-suited lobster lovers are busy taking photo's of their fave animal whilst a silicon enhanced woman rubs chip fat onto her stomach and lies about on deck.

Unfortunately we have little time to get to know these obviously important characters as mere seconds after the appearance of those frankly terrifying breasts the aforementioned super shark has scoffed the divers and eaten the poor damsel too.

He's that kinda fish.

"Hey! Ya got tits an' tonsils? Well yer hired!"

Enter (but not roughly from behind obviously) marine biologist Katherine 'Kat' Carmichael (fish lipped Lieving from that other creature classic Monster) a sharp suited ex- FBI (Fish Bureau of Investigation) agent ready to kick some pollution based arse, especially if the arse belongs to the luxuriously haired head of the oil company Mr. Roger Wade (ex Duke of Hazzard and current low budget beast botherer Schneider), whom she blames for some stuff.

John....raise your hand from under the desk very slowly....

Meanwhile back at the beach, hunky surfer type Jeff Sexington has returned home from college for the summer to take up the position of studly lifeguard alongside his ex-girlfriend Edna and the bookish ginger princess Calli (Meyers, the only memorable one of the three. Can you tell?).

it looks like it's gonna be love triangles ahoy tho' seeing as Calli loves Jeff but Jeff still has feelings for Edna with it all coming to a head at superstar DJ Dynamite Stevens (Jimmie “J.J.” Walker, no me neither) Ms. Wet T-Shirt night.

Really, I shit you not.

Rya Meyers reaction to this review.

Luckily everyone involved is eaten the next day leaving the script free to concentrate on the up till now useless Ms. Carmichael and her newly discovered sidekick and comedy sea captain, Skipper Chuck (the thinking woman's Jason London, Abell here seen channeling Kurt Russell's glorious Captain Ron by way of a drunken uncle) and their attempts to find then kill the shark.

But don't worry, there are plenty more unnecessary breast shots to go before then.

Plus the shark has still to fight a kiddies toy submarine and pluck a fighter jet from the sky before it's secret is revealed...

Yup, the frighteningly fake fucker can use it's fins to walk on land.

No, really.

Well I guess that does make it a kinda super shark.

Plus it makes a better title than CG-ed Shark Shite Fest I guess.

"Do you need any scissors sharpening?"

Don't get too scared tho'  dear readers for as luck would have it the dear old US army have a secret weapon for just such an emergency.

A walking tank.

That's all you need to know really.

I don't have the words.

God bless director, producer, screenwriter, actor, cinematographer and sometime wrestler Fred Olen Ray who after such an auspicious start in the business way back in 1971 with the frankly fantastic Demented Death Farm Massacre has given us such delights as Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers, the Buster Crabbe starrer The Alien Dead and Evil Toons amongst others too many (and sometimes just too awful) to mention.

It's good to know that after nearly 600 years in the business he can still be relied on to deliver the goods.

Even if in this case the goods are a large plastic looking fish fighting a dog in an cut price AT-AT suit whilst a crack commando unit of three look on.

"Shite in mah big fish mooth!"

Obviously realizing he couldn't attract the fantastic Brooke Hogan back to the monster genre, Ray decided (wisely) to cut back on characterization and memorable dialogue and concentrate solely a motley collection bikini babes of various sizes and shapes either dancing to shit R and B, strutting their stuff on the sand like lobotomized Barbies or getting eaten by the shark.

Obviously the thinking behind this is that no red blooded male could fail to enjoy 80 odd minutes of 'gorgeous' girls in bikinis plus a big monster, which would be true if one of those bikini clad beauties was Unwell fave and monster fighter extraordinaire Corinne Nobili, who showed us how a bikini should be worn in the 2012 classic Two Headed Shark Attack.

Which bizarrely enough was directed by Fred's son Christopher.

I'm getting a headache just thinking about it so here's a nice picture of Ms. Nobili to finish with.

Any excuse for a photo of Corinne Nobili.

I forgot to mention if it's worth the rental didn't I?

Well if you've made it this far I think you know the answer.

spain oddity.

Been tidying up the scary cupboard and came across my copy of the craptastic Ghosts of Sherwood hidden under a pile of old copies of Titbits magazines yesterday.

As I held it fondly in my arms I remembered back to my review and how I thought I'd never seen a movie quite so shockingly awful ever again.

But guess what?

I was wrong.

So terribly, terribly wrong.

Total Retribution (aka Earthkiller, 2011)
Dir: Andrew Bellware.
Cast: Robin Kurtz, Walter Barnes, Joe Beuerlein, the directors family and friends, your dad.

“humanity will end itself”

The time?

The future (sometime just after lunch possibly),

The place?

High above a children's sandpit.

The audience attention grabbing situation?

Well that'll be the sight of a milky thighed woman falling from the sky as the words “humanity will end itself” play out in a loop.

Now I'm intrigued.

Especially seeing as she's a ginger.

Crashing to earth in a burst of special effects of the kind not seen since I last booted up my Atari 2600 our mysterious heroine is soon found by two portly gypsies dressed in their dad's work overalls (and their little sister's Harry Potter cosplay capes) who appear to have an unhealthy interest in the huge chocolate coin she's wearing around her little bird-like neck.

It can't be that they're hungry so it must have another significance.

It's like a nursery school adaptation of Hardware but with pound shop glitter and glue replacing, well everything really.

Here come The Belgians!

Jumping forward two hundred years (well that's what it says on the caption) we find the very same woman now completely naked and standing in what seems to be a stationary cupboard aboard a high-tech space station that appears to have been rendered by a hook handed child on a V-Tech look and learn tablet.

Luckily she still has the chocolate coin tho.

The woman (whom we discover is named Helen and portrayed with all the charisma of a - fairly - annoyed geography teacher by Robin Kurtz who, truth be told is the nearest the movie will get to having a bona fide actor on screen so make the most of it), bored with standing around shivering in the obviously cold set (trust me you can tell) decides to have a wee peek outside the cupboard just in time to see a guard shot herself in the head amid a pile of Kwik Fit overalled corpses.

There's no time to rest tho' (or even admire the shoddily constructed cardboard sets) as no sooner has the poor woman's head hit the ground when a rag tag couple of military types turn up to wax lyrically about death and 'the scriptures'.

As you do.

Sauce.

With the set not being that big - and with Helen being fairly tall - our naked pal is soon forced out of hiding and into a playground style Mexican standoff with the soldiers before everyone involved gets bored and goes their own way, the duo off into a darkened corridor and Helen straight ahead giving the director a chance to linger on her brightly lit - albeit frighteningly skinny - arse.

It's not all religious chat and nudity tho' as Helen is soon back to her old hiding tricks when she stumbles across a couple of over enunciating maintenance men deep in conversation about some existential rubbish before one of them turns into a zombie and punches the other to death.

No really.

20 minutes in and with her nudity clause fully fulfilled Helen decides to head for the nearest locker room in order to find some clothes suitable for battling the great space undead.

Or at least stand a chance of winning third prize at a Resident Evil fancy dress parade.

And only then if the judges were blind.

As a plus point the 'Helen gets dressed' scene is probably the most dramatic thing you will see in the movie and get dressed she does in a fantastically futuristic ensemble that includes a black boob tube, some saggy arsed spandex cycling shorts, a sad, single child's skateboarding kneepad, a pair of orthopedic boots and a realistic leather effect belt like the one your granddad wears.

Nice.

"Freedom for Tooting!"

She's barely had time to adjust her crotch when the pal-punching zombie from earlier turns up (you can tell he's a zombie because he has red felt pan round his eyes and a mouth covered in strawberry jam) in order it seems to carry on his frankly mundane musings from earlier.

Perhaps the zombiefication is caused by an airbourne virus that reacts to how much bollocks you can spout in a 5 minute period?

Well it'd make as much sense as the rest of the movie.

Helen has no time for chat tho' and quickly dispatches the zombie by shooting him in the stomach.

Twice.

Which as we all know is the only way to kill the undead.

Not wanting the plot to be the only thing that's meandering, Helen wanders deeper into the space station before coming across (if only) a harsh-faced girl who is luckily on hand to explain the plot to those of us who haven't drunk themselves into a coma/slashed their wrists by now.

So pay attention, here's the science part:

It appears that Helen is actually an android and that the space station is the staging ground for a final battle between The Terran Special Forces and the stations very own Allied Airborne Battalion.

Why? I hear you cry.

Well the scientists aboard the station have discovered a process by which they can turn folk (but only the really unattractive and untalented ones by the look of it) into scribble faced zombies.

And if that wasn't enough it seems that the process can also be used to turn them into massive robot dogs.

Obviously the people of Earth need to put an end to such frankly ludicrous shenanigans as soon as.

Makes perfect sense when you think about it.

If the director can't be arsed then I'm not wasting my time thinking up an amusing caption.

Now you'd think that'd be enough to keep even the most dedicated hero busy but no there's more as the scientists have also aimed a massive laser at the planet too.

And not just any old laser oh no, you see this one is specifically designed to create wormholes in time and space.

Tho' why you'd threaten to destroy the only place that you can get subjects for your robot dog/zombie hybrid experiments isn't explained.

Or maybe I'm just too thick to figured it out.

And so begins a race against time - and good taste - for our trim tummied terminatrix as she desperately tries to discover her reason for being onboard and her connection to the project before the earth is destroyed.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Cue 40 minutes of arse-prolapsing dialogue (including a frankly bizarre conversation about Helen's undies), Nintendo 64 quality 'special' effects, the same animated GiF of gunfire used over and over, random blood splash photoshop effects whenever anyone gets shot and the biggest collection of badly painted pound shop Nerf guns ever committed to videotape.

Imagine Alien: Resurrection remade by a group of fish-eyed schizophrenics with only the contents of their dads garage for props and with a script written in shit by a club footed insomniac in exchange for a collection of vintage underwear ads and you'd only be half way to understanding the whole sorry mess.

But who do we thank for it?

Well that'd be writer/director/composer/actor/binman Andrew Bellware - the man who gave the world the definitive discourse of that famous Dane with his New York based 1997 version of Hamlet (no me neither) as well as such straight to torrent site shite as Prometheus Trap, Alien Uprising and Clone Hunter who with this brings us a film so inept, so threadbare and so mind numbingly awful that it managed to not only give my DVD player cancer but caused me to go blind whilst watching.

And it's not just that it's badly made, ill-conceived and horribly realised but the fact that none of it makes any sense and that no-one involved seems to care.

The 'actors' (save Kurtz) seem to be wandering around in a self conscious, charisma free daze - all that is except the thick-necked blonde space marine lady who delivers her lines with all the skill and charm of a menstruating traffic warden with delusions of godhood and unfortunately the mouth of a stroke victim -  almost as if they've been forced at gunpoint to appear in this travesty as some kind of sub-Saw revenge plot.

Come on....they can't have all fucked the directors dog so god knows what they did to end up in this.

If I'm honest I'm kinda worried at to what punishment Bellware will dish out to me if he reads this.

This makes me really sad.

It's not all bad tho' - no hang on it is actually tho' I will admit that had I not had the misfortune to sit thru this I would have missed how utterly woeful (re: fucking abysmal) the robo/dog/zombies actually are.

I'd try to describe them but a screengrab will have to suffice and not even that can do them justice:

No really, just fuck off.

Yes my friends I'm actually recommending that you do indeed sit thru this steaming pile of cinematic shite just to experience the absolute joy of this perfect example of computer-aided arse first hand.

I doubt you ever find anything else that even remotely comes close.

The cinematic equivalent of being clumsily arse-fingered by a jaggy nailed tramp, Total Retribution is less a piece of low-brow cinema entertainment more an evil endurance test designed by an insane sadomasochist with a spandex fetish.

But don't take my word for it see for yourself......

You know you want to.

adventures of a (not too) private dick.

Spent the last few weeks drawing gothic Victoriana and mixing visuals for a brand new Scots Pop music night Simply Thrilled so thought I'd take a break with a wee movie and long-term reader Mr. Ken Korda from Hackney recommended this 'dark and deadly' thriller.

True there was a big lady bottom on the cover but that didn't mean that the whole gumshoe shtick was just a cover for some sweaty rutting did it?

Will I ever learn?

Asian Noir No.6: Evil Sex Trap (2008).
Dir: David Aaron Clark
Cast: Ange Venus, Mr. Marcus, Coco Velvett, Destiny, Lana Violet, Myla Montez and Dick James.

Hard boiled (and shiny dome headed) LAPD detective Terrence Trent (the smooth sex superstar Mr. Marcus from The World's Luckiest Black Man and your Auntie Joan's bed) wakes up one evening to find himself face down of the floor of a deserted room in the wrong part of town and suffering from a really bad case of amnesia.

Tho' not I hasten to add crabs, which in his line of work should be a given.

Clad in his best Billy Dee Williams suit and with only his toy police badge and big silver gun for company, our sexy Tec is desperate to find out what has happened and why he's there.

Oh and when he can start shagging a few fit (and clean) ladies.

Suddenly his mobile phone begins to ring and, on answering our hero is bombarded with the drunken ramblings of the infamous Lady Wu herself (the flat faced, skinny arsed porn goddess that is Ange Venus from My Mom's First Black Cock and Mini-Van Moms 2), who promises to reveal to Trent but only if he makes his way to her thoroughly evil sex trap warehouse cum knocking shop (fantastically played by the directors mum's condo in north Hollywood).

His curiosity aroused, Trent has no choice but to obey.

"Excuse me...is this the way to the mooth shite-in suite?"

Arriving by taxi (via a sexy voiceover) at the aforementioned evil sex trap type place, Trent soon realises that things aren't quiet what he expected.

For one thing it's not him indulging in some of the sex with an evil looking undead Asian babe (You're On Trial singer Dick James - possibly -  and My Daughter's Fucking Blackzilla! star Lana Violet) on a nice MFI leather sofa but a strap-on wielding masked lady instead.

Oh how they tease us.

Under the pretense of being a good detective (and not you understand because he fancies a cheap thrill) he sits back and watches the show, until that is things start to get a wee bit ugly and Trent feels he has to step in.

Which is a bad move if you think about it as the whole messy (in both senses of the word) situation ends up with the strap-on lass vanishing into thin air and Dick murdered - to death - by Trent's own hand.

How's he gonna explain that to his nan?

"You're on Trial" which is sex industry slang for you're on my massive black cock bitch! obviously.

Cradling Dick's stiff in his arms Trent begins to experience erotically fueled (and tit filled) sweaty flashbacks to, um stuff that maybe important later.

Or may just be flashy porn scenes for those who get off on such stuff.

Either way it's nicely lit.

Moving deeper and deeper into the evil sex trap warehouse (yes I know it's a mouthful), Marcus comes across (literally) loads more sexual encounter between various big black blokes and a number of fairly tiny tattooed Asian babes occasionally interrupted by even more of Lady Wu's drunken ramblings.

Imagine a twelve tissue version of Lost Highway with a cast constructed entirely of silicone and you're halfway there.

Still intrigued as to why he's there (and no doubt enjoying the sight of so many jiggly jubbly jugs) our sun-kissed sex machine finds Wu's saucy suspender clad secretary Lana (fresh faced and smooth arsed Velvett from Hit Me with Your Best Squirt) bending over a filing cabinet at the end of a long hallway.

Coco Velvett: Just add water.

Deciding to fill in Trent (and us) on what the fuck is going on, Lana explains that the building is home to not only a classy brothel but also an Import/Export business and a porn studio based in the cellar.

Which is nice.

Obviously keen on seeing a few more spunk covered arses, Trent heads to the lift double quick his manly hand clutched tightly around his massive weapon just in case of trouble.

And trouble he finds, in the yumsome form of the mysterious Bella Emberg (Mini minx Montez fresh from Black Dick Too Boo-Coo 4), who frankly makes no effort at all to seduce our police pimpmiester, she basically just flashes her arse and our hero does the rest.

The Wanko novelty sofa cushion...available now!

Whilst all this bum humping is going down Lana has fallen asleep whilst going (as opposed to coming) over the clients figures and is currently having a fairly erotic cum scary dream about Trent and his weapon to a sexy sax solo.

Trust me, you can almost taste the Brut aftershave.

Finishing up by romantically wiping his cock on the curtains, Trent fails to notice that Bella has wandered off (probably to clean herself up before she starts sticking to things) but being a detective, the Trent-inator follows her snail-like trail upstairs where he's shocked (and let's admit it, if he's anything like my mum slightly aroused) to find Lana being chocked/bummed to death by a mask wearing, strap on thrusting succubus (Destiny in her motion picture debut).

"I can see your house from here Peter".

Starting to lose his cool due to all the shagging and eighties style pop vid' lighting, Trent just stands there looking bald (but still sexy as fuck) in the vain hope that someone (anyone) will explain the plot to him.

Luckily Lady Wu finally makes an appearance, floating into the room on a cloud of poppers and shame to inform Trent (after having sex with him of course) that he once committed a bad murder and that the masked strap-on succubus, Bella and Lana aren't really harsh faced porn stars but are, in fact, an trio of evil and fairly vengeful spirits hellbent on punishing Trent for his various misdemeanour's.

And yes that does include messing up the curtains.

With his memories now restored (and his huge uncircumcised penis cocked and ready) Trent realises the true nature of the evil sex trap....

but is it too late to save his (arse) soul?

Mr. Marcus: he's shagging your mum.

From the slightly Asian babe obsessed mind of the late, great David Aaron Clark comes (literally) this bizarro mix of softly lit porn, Outer Limits homage's and kinky hair whipping that would shame even the legendary Joe D'Amato and his back catalogue of horror/porn crossovers.


And probably make him green with envy at the fact that Clark could get so many fairly attractive actresses for so little money whilst he was stuck with George Eastman in a vest.

Eastman: Sweaty sac.

Coming across like a buffer, less hairy version of Richard Roundtree mixed with the sheer animalistic rutting power of Bobby Blake, Mr. Marcus (real name: Marcus Frank Spencer) gives a fairly competent performance as an amnesiac copper with a constant hard-on, spending as he does the majority of the movie wandering through a spooky building and occasionally having sex with a number of Botoxed babes.

His real talent tho' lies in the sheer number of radically different cum faces he manages to pull during his many climaxes. Each one as different as they are strangely attractive.

I for one could happily watch him rutting my mum for hours just to gaze on his furrowed brow as he expels his mighty man-muck into her every orifice.

On a downside some of the make-up FX are frankly shite and most of the editing (credited to one Hasiell Damnett who I'm fairly sure isn't using his real name) looks like it was done using scissors and glue by a boss eyed hook handed toddler, but I can probably say that most viewers will be more interested in counting Ange Venus' ribs that checking out the continuity.

Except that is for the scene where Destiny's sex-mad, strap-on wearing succubus is killing Lana that is.

I for one was shocked to see the bastard had completely ruined the scene by shoddily intercuting it with footage of (gasp) some common or garden conventional sex therefore destroying the illusion of any supernatural occurrences at all.

Big thumbs down (and one right up the shitter) to the director for allowing this to happen.

But saying that he's dead now so I reckon one of my digits up his arse is the least of his worries.

do androids dream of electric beats?

Celebrate the 36th birthday of the Autastic Blade Runner with over an hour of Tyrell approved tunes, Roy Batty beats and synthetic samples.

Listen here.

misterio!

Welcome to the world of sexy Spanish language photostories!

Jacinda the lad need not apply.

At least I know what my Euro's are getting spent on next week.

where's captive kurt?

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

Which is where I came across this beauty.

Allegedly it's the most terrifying documentary ever made.

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

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

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

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

 "I AM NOT STONED!"

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

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

Less an unearthly child more an ungodly one.

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

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

Badly.

Who needs Blu-Ray?

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

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

But not as much as this family obviously.

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

Which is exactly like your mum.

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

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

Scary.

"We're off to Button Moon!"

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

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

Everyone bar Kurt agrees.

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

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

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

Is your hair the only thing you let down?

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

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

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

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

Oh and shoot some shit.

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

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

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

But not when he first read the script obviously.

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

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

Or it might have been the tracking.

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

Things are not looking good.

Watch out watch out John Leslie's about.

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

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

Yikes.

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

Unknowingly in the presence of an alien.

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

 

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

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

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

Renee: blood encrusted nostril not shown.

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

The two brothers leave never to be seen again.

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

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

With tongues and everything.

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

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

"The bin men made me do it mum!"

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

And on that bombshell the house plunges back into darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

God how I hope she's right.

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

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

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

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

Matthew, Kurt and Brian are nowhere to be seen.

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

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

Just like a normal Sunday here then.

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

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

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

The surviving family members stand as if in a trance.

The alien closes in.

The tape ends.

Madeline: The Revenge.

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

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

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

Megan prepares herself for some alien anal action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

An important and shocking film that needs to be seen.

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

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

mickey love.

As regular readers will know I've not been well of late and the doctor prescribed a large dose of antibiotics and top quality films.

Who am I to argue?

Cannibal Terror (1981).
Dir: Alain Deruelle.
Cast: Silvia Solar, Gérard Lemaire, Pamela Stanford, Olivier Mathot, Antoine Fontaine, Antonio Mayans, Mariam Camacho, Antonio Jover, Amparo Marsilla, Montserrat Salvador, Sabrina Siani, Bernard Thébault, Chris Yebenes, Alain Deruelle and le petite Annabelle (no, really).

As a (moldy) cheesy listening cover version cum tuneless abomination of La Bamba plays loudly in the background we're introduced to our brilliantly portrayed and well written cast of characters* whose lives we'll be following for the next 90 odd minutes - human rodent Roberto (Tony Fontaine), greasy mopped Mario (Antonio Oasis of the Zombies Mayans ) and the scarily pneumatic Belinda (Mariam Camacho....bless you) are a trio of shady crims running scams in some unnamed South American dive (played here by an off season Alicante).

Unfortunately they are all utter shite at being criminals as we see during the films opening when the bashful boys are seen attempting to rob a boat only to be foiled when Mario gets confused as to how to open a door.

Oh.

My.

Sides.

Their luck is about to change tho' because as Belinda is out shopping she happens across a wee girl named Florence Dauville (listed as - I kid you not -  le petite Annabelle in the credits) playing with a gaudy doll outside the beauty salon where her mum (Silvia Solar) is getting her nails done.

Tho' I'm surprised she's ignoring the mustache she has.

Or is that just shit on her top lip?

Anyway turns out that the little lass is actually the heiress of  the Dauville automobile fortune, so as anyone in that position would do, Belinda decides it'd be a good idea to kidnap her.

Your auntie at Christmas....you know which one.

Surprisingly this goes without a hitch and the girl is quickly snatched as the parents enjoy a nice tapas meal only going to pot when Mario's pal Ricardo (no idea who plays him, sorry) decides to visit them and gets run over by a drunk driver.

In no time at all (it is a short movie), the whole place is chocablock with the police and both Ricardo and the tipsy driver have been arrested.

I can see why the driver was but unless wearing your dad's golfing trousers out on a Friday night is a crime I'd have thought it'd be better to take Ricardo to hospital myself but heyho.

Convinced that Ricardo may mention the kidnapping to the police (even tho' he knows fuck all about it) Roberto calls his mafia boss-like buddy, Pepe (who is neither a skunk or owner of a 70s/80s jeans company) in order to get safe passage out of the country.

Pepe, being well connected arranges a flight to the border so they can meet up with famed tracker Mickey Morris (played by a chipmunk with a crap perm), who guide them around the checkpoint whilst keeping the guards busy by flashing her ample cleavage and smooth, milky white thighs before taking them up the safe house owned by the high waisted Antonio (playing himself probably) and his (much) younger wife Manuela (Pamela Stanford from your dads bed).

The only thing our intrepid group have to worry about is not to stray too far off the path as they may end up in cannibal territory.

Sounds legit.

Harsh.

Everything goes swimmingly (even Mickey's thigh tease is actually fairly arousing but then again I am ill) until that is the Jeep's radiator runs out of water or something (I don't know I'm not a driver) and Mickey has to go to the nearby stream to get a refill.

No sooner is she out of sight tho' (which must be quite far as her arse is massive) than the cannibals turn up and eat her whole.

Wait for it.....

Which is surprising seeing as I'd heard that they spit that bit out.

Thank you.

Hearing Mickey's screams as she's attacked the trio do what we all would in that situation and drive off in the Jeep which without warning is suddenly working again.

Quickly arriving at Antonio's house the group try to explain away Mickey's absence by saying she had her woman's period and after much 'oohing' and 'aaahing' Antonio relents and invites them in for tea.

But the only thing Mario wants into is Manuela's lacy undies.

That reminds me....I better check if the gammon in my fridge has gone off.

During the getting to know you tea party the phone rings and Antonio is called back into the office as it seems he's the only person who can change the toner in the photocopier and after kissing his wife goodbye bids everyone a fond farewell and instructs them to treat the place as their own.

Unfortunately Mario misinterprets this as "Feel free to wank in the bushes whilst watching my wife shower then chase her up thru' the bushes, tie her to a tree then forcibly penetrate her lush lady garden with your swollen uncircumcised member before firing your white hot joy juice all over her thighs." which lets be honest is an easy mistake to make.

For anyone thinking that this is just a crash exploitative sex scene thrown in to placate the (mostly) male audience you'd be dead wrong as this it's artistically offset with some soft-focus scenes of Belinda seducing a guy in a sombrero playing the guitar.

So there.

Your mum and dad at Christmas after you've gone to bed.

Upon his return Antonio is obviously a wee bit upset to find his wife semi-conscious and tied to a tree so decides to plan his revenge, firstly by getting everyone drunk then inviting Mario on a hunting trip where he ties him to the same tree before calling on his cannibal pals to eat him.

Meanwhile back at the house Manuela is busy with her own plan, informing the local handyman Brian that the houseguests are in fact the pesky (and pikey) kidnappers that have been all over the news and that there's a huge reward for their capture.

Meanwhile Florence’s parents have discovered where their daughter is being held so round up a posse to go rescue her.

The stage is set for an explosive climax as the kidnappers have the choice of facing justice or facing a hungry cannibal tribe....

Tho' to be honest it's not that exciting.

Hanson have let themselves go.

Reeling from the accusation of producing the shoddiest movie ever made with Zombie(s) Lake, producer Daniel Lesoeur obviously decided to show the world the true meaning of cheap and to that end hired professional pervert Jess Franco to flesh out his tale of kinky kidnapping and cannibal corpse crunching with the remit of keeping the entire budget under £12.50.

But who could be trusted to stay on/under budget but still deliver the gory goods?

Enter (roughly and from behind) Alain Deruelle, director of the fantastic Orgies pour nymphomanes, who keeps the budget low by using the play park behind his house a the jungle, his Pyrenees hiking holiday footage as establishing shots of the Amazon and in a stroke of either utter genius or blatant racism blacks up the local youth football team to play the cannibals.

And still manages to keep a few quid back to buy some wine for the wrap party.

Shite in mah mooth.

Luckily the director had photo's of composer Jean-Jaques Lemêtre fucking a pig so got the score for free, tho' to be honest he couldn't have been that bothered about the pics getting out if his music here is anything to go by seeing as it sounds like the type of thing your granddad would play to try and (unsuccessfully) seduce the papergirl.

You know the one with the club foot that your mum made you dance with at the church Christmas party.

The one with seriously sore acne that smelled of banana Nesquik?

Just me then.

The only downside scarily enough is Jess Franco's script (tho' it did have two obviously less able writers attached to it as well) tho' film historians agree that Franco purposely made it nonsensical as to not steal the thunder (or shoes) from his own Cannibal epic(s) Devil Hunter and Mondo Cannibale which were both shooting around the same time, tho' it may have been that he was just too drunk to give a fuck.

Which perfectly sums up the state you'd have to be in to even contemplate watching this movie.

Nuff said.

*This for all American readers is what we Brits call 'sarcasm'.