fall out boy.

Day 22 of the whole sorry 31 Days of Horror thing and we're off to Russia for a well deserved holiday.

Or is that horrorday?

Or just utter shiteday?

Sorry that doesn't make any sense but if the film maker can't be bothered why should i?

 

Anyway what with the war and everything this seemed quite topical and may get more more readers of an educated - and political correct - variety.

Because that always works out well.


Chernobyl Diaries (2012).
Dir: Bradley Parker.
Cast: Jesse McCartney, Jonathan Sadowski, Devin Kelley, Olivia Taylor Dudley, Nathan Phillips, the wonderful Ingrid Bolsø Berdal and Dimitri Diatchenko.

Have you heard of extreme tourism?

Vacant faced American nice guy Chris (McCartney, the voice of Theodore in the Alvin and The Chipmunks movies - seriously I couldn't make this shit up), his terrifyingly breasted girlfriend Natalie (Chillerama's Dudley but not the town alas) and their plain (as in not blonde and with natural boobs) friend Amanda (Kelley from teevee's Covert Affairs) are enjoying a summer break traveling thru' Europe which, as all our American readers will know is a small country near London,  just outside Paris, France and ruled by Queen Angela Dorothea Merkel II of Englandshire.

That's the geography out of the way so let's crack on with the plot.

Quickly taking in the sights during the credit sequence (because we all know there are only about six things of interest to see in Europe) our merry band decide to stop for a few days in Kiev, (that'll be the Ukraine fact fans) in order to visit Chris's bad boy brother, Paul (Sh#t My Dad Says' Sadowski) before carrying on to Moscow where Chris intends to propose to Natalie atop the Eiffel Tower.

Aaaah how romantic.

Anyway, after a night on the town to show how wacky 'n' cool they all are Paul suggests that to make the holiday (sorry 'vacation') one to remember they should all sign up for one of local sexy man Yuri's (the fantastic Diatchenko) extreme tours.

Seeing as the Urban Exploring one has sold out and the Hitman tournament isn't for another year or so our cool dudes and dudettes decide to take a day trip to the abandoned town of Prypiat which sits in the scary - and oh so slightly radioactive - shadow of Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.

Nothing like milking a real-life human tragedy for entertainment is there?

Prypiat: A local town for local people.

Also joining our funky foursome are the comedy accented Norwegian Zoe (Hellfjord's bowl haired babe Bolsø Berdal who's obviously been kidnapped and forced to make this against her will) and her swoonsome (and unwashed) Australian beau' Michael (Phillips from Wolf Creek).

Things don't start too well tho' when not long after starting on their adventure, Yuri's van is refused entry into the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone checkpoint due to what the guards explain are 'secret manoeuvres' but not even the might of the Russian army is going to stop Yuri showing his clients a good time.

Or even a giant mutant rubber fish or two.

Heading back toward town, our dishy driver takes a sneaky shortcut thru' the woods and within no time at all (look it only runs at an hour and twenty five minutes - be thankful for small mercies) the group arrive at the abandoned city which, if I'm honest looks spookily like Glasgow city centre on a Sunday morning.

But with fewer burned out buildings obviously.

They may be all shits and giggles now but just wait till the radioactive buggery starts...

After an afternoon visiting deserted schools, rundown fairgrounds and moldy chip shops Yuri decides to take our merry band to see the highlight of the tour, the upper floor of an abandoned block of flats from where they can view the infamous Chernobyl arc reactor (number 4).

And get chased by a CGI bear.

Preparing to leave the site, Yuri is fairly upset to discover that the wires in his van appear to have been chewed on by someone mistaking them for liquorice  and that his radio wont work.

By that I mean his two-way radio not the one tuned to T.A.T.u. FM.

Remember them?

 

Lena Katina at home yesterday.

 

As night falls and the sweet sounds of those risque Russian rude girls fades into the distance our backpacking band are sure that they can hear strange noises in the distance, Yuri is convinced that it's a pack of wild dogs joining in the chorus of All The Things She Said but the others aren't convinced.

It's more tuneful for one thing.

Being manly types (and possibly hoping the band themselves are outside) Yuri, armed with his trusty potato gun alongside Chris go out to investigate.

A load more Russian arse yesterday.

Shots and screams are heard causing Paul to man up and attempt a rescue, only to return seconds later with a whimpering simpering Chris.

It appears that the poor boy has had his leg bitten by an unknown assailant.

Or one of the aforementioned creatures.

The canine type that is not Lena Katina or Yulia Volkova obviously.

Tho' let's be honest the thought of being bitten by Lena Katina - especially in the passenger seat of a canary yellow Volkswagen Passat parked in an Asda carpark after a kebab and a can of Irn Bru - is something we can only dream of.

But I digress.

Lena Katina - Volkswagen Passat not shown.

 

Anyway the next morning - in an attempt to get away from Chris' near constant moaning - Paul, Michael and Amanda decide to go looking for Yuri, following  a handy trail of blood to a creepy underground shopping centre where they soon come across what remains of their jolly driver.

And with Yuri gone the group have lost their only means of escape.

Plus the movie has lost it's only believable and likeable character.

Frankly they're fucked.

Beware! Yuri's van is NOT full of sweets.

Returning quickly to the van, our tiresome trio plan to hike to the nearest checkpoint for help.

Natalie not content with letting her boyfriend be the groups whiny bitch starts crying and pleading them to take Chris along but one glimpse of her slapped arse of a face convinces the others to leave the pair behind.

Which is probably the best decision that anyone involved has ever made up to this point.

"Put it in me!"

Making it as far as the car park the group are lucky enough to find the spares they need for Yuri's van as well as a bullet riddled bus with a couple of torches in the glove box and a bloody uniform stuck to the seat.

Stealing the torches (but obviously leaving the uniform) our heroes decide to head back and repair the van only to end up getting chased by a couple of angry dogs meaning that the 10 minute walk back to Chris and Natalie ends up taking about 16 hours.

And that doesn't even include the precious minutes wasted when Michael falls into a small pond and is attacked by a fish.

Finally returning to the van, everyone is (fairly) shocked to find it smashed into tiny metal pieces and lying on it's roof (see? I told you it was like Glasgow), within the wreckage is Natalie's video camera which reveals that she and Chris were attacked by a group of ball headed, shaggy haired, eczema covered tramps.

But alas there's absolutely no footage of her jumping around with her tits out.

C'mon, I mean what kind of home movie is this?

Natalie farted and it smelled of shame. And eggs.

Paul, coming over all heroic (tho' not over Michael’s scraggy beard unfortunately) decides to mount a rescue party but only succeed in waking up even more tramps convincing our luckless band to beat a hasty retreat.

Poor Natalie meanwhile spends these tension packed minutes getting rescued then recaptured whilst everyone else points torches at various small children that appear and disappear without warning.

As this exciting* game of cat and mouse races toward it's conclusion our mud soaked pals are whittled away one by one, first Michael is dragged away by his skinny beard and then poor underwritten Zoe is tossed off a ladder, leaving
Paul and Amanda to navigate a series of ever more twisty passages finally emerging into the Chernobyl power plant itself.

Which is a wee bit unlucky seeing as the place is more radioactive than one of Godzilla's stools.

Godzilla's poo: Liable to burn your eyebrows off.

This becomes obvious when both Paul and Amanda’s faces start melting, which frankly is much better than their up to now dirt and tear smeared look.

As they make their way hurriedly to the exit the pair stumble upon Natalie's prone corpse propping open a door like a drunk teenager on a Saturday night binge (tho' to be fair her pants aren't round her ankles) and after stumbling past her and out out into the moonlight find themselves surrounded by a gaggle of Russian military personnel.

Are our terrified twosome safe?

Will their unsightly skin rashes ever clear up?

Or will we be subjected to the final indignity of a sub-par Twilight Zone ending where Amanda, having seen too much is locked up in a room full of big faced mutants forever?

Go on, guess.

Imagine if you will a world where a group of European film makers decided to make a horror movie based around the 9/11 attacks, where a group of tourists visiting Ground Zero are attacked and killed by a band of survivors who, after being trapped underground for ten years have mutated into cannibalistic mutants.

Or one where a group of inbred Holocaust survivors, living in the tunnels under Auschwitz since the end of the war, systematically stalk and slash a group of teens because the all have blond hair?**

Too sick? 

Too crass?

Not if you're Oren Peli, creator of the bizarrely popular Paranormal Activity series of movies, which after an admittedly enjoyable first film descended into even more and more ludicrous inbred sub-plotting set in ever increasingly sized houses.

Proof if any is needed that you can indeed flog an increasingly decomposing horse.

As for Chernobyl Diaries, surely someones taste monitor should have started bleeping the minute the title was mentioned.

Either that or you have the courage of your convictions name it "Attack of The Funny Foreign Cancer Sufferers" and be done with it.

Or did they just think no-one would remember the disaster?

OK Mr. Peli, I dare you to make a movie of this next.

Maybe, just maybe if it were any good it could be forgiven for such a lapse in taste but frankly it's not and it can't.

Tho' Peli, being a cutting edge and confrontational kinda guy must think that there are no boundaries when it comes to entertainment, so if any readers know  of any personal tragedies he or his family have been thru' feel free to get in touch and maybe we can make a movie about that.

He obviously wont mind.









































*that's irony by the way.

** Actually scratch that one, it pretty much like a pitch Oren Peli may have already made.

slumming and rave.

I remember years ago when my blog would receive literally dozens of death threats a month due to the horrendous amounts of filth I was subjecting the nation's youth to.

Fast forward 10 odd years and I'm now a bastion of good taste and decency thanks to folk like the Thissegg Theatre Company with their kiddie sex show and Redbridge Libraries hiring a dildo-butt monkey to teach the kids how to read.

I mean seriously, how can I compete?

Yes, this is really a thing. For kids.

By jumping on the progressive bandwagon obviously.

So gonna start reviewing kiddie-friendly fayre that will no doubt raise my profile and bag me a (TR)Ash Storytime hour at the local library over the summer.

Wish me luck.

First up.....

Extra Terrestrian: Die Ausserirdische (1995).
Dir: Lidko Entinger and Siggi Entinger.
Cast: Mary Millman, Fabien Barone, Attila Roll, Freddy Dalton and Silvia Squire.

In this (surprisingly unofficial) sequel to the Spielberg classic, a female E.T. is sent to Earth in order to learn more about our customs and beliefs.

Oh yes, and how to have the sex.


You see it turns out that although our alien chums still have all the right bits, they've completely forgotten how to do it.

"Laugh now!"

 

Arriving on Earth via bad matte work and a big silver dildo cum rocket our warty wench soon finds herself stumbling thru' a thick fog (thanks to a completely visible smoke machine) toward a large(ish) cardboard cut-out castle.

Silently entering the building and hiding behind a curtain (shades of Peeping Blog), E.T. watches silently as the local sex obsessed aristocrats that live there indulge in every porn cliché imaginable all in gruesome, harshly lit close-up.

Arse, quim, tits and mooth....you name it and those dirty Germans will try to fuck it.

Revenge for Dresden - or this years Eurovision - no doubt.

In a surprise move, the rotting corpse of Fearne Cotton's career appears on the GMTV sofa.

 

After what seems like hours of furiously masturbating as only a skinny woman in an ill-fitting latex alien suit can, E.T. decides to learn our strange sexual customs first hand and proceeds to spend the rest of the movie having stomach churning sex with a variety of mustachioed, pot bellied foreigners.

Exactly like your dad.

Stunning and Brave.

 

After having every orifice stuffed full of enough man muck to sink the Bismark, our alien friend heads home to teach her planet about shagging.


Oh and probably pass on a variety of interesting STD's to the rest of her species.

But before you laugh, phone childline or fire off another death threat, spare a moment to think of poor Silvia Squire, the woman playing E.T.

The poor woman deserves some kind of award (or at least psychiatric help) for managing against all odds to make that green, muck encrusted E.T. costume (with obligatory holes cut in it for her nipples, mouth and fanny to stick out) even a wee bit sexy.

And incredibly validating.

The new show from the ThisEgg theatre company looks a bit grim.

 

Look, it might not be the best alien cum sex movie ever made but it's a damn sight more erotic than Inseminoid.

Which leads me to director Dick Wadd's arthouse - or is that arsehouse? - classic N*ggas' Revenge, a film I assumed it was going to be a modern reworking of that 1977 William Sanderson, Robert Judd classic Fight For Your Life.

Or maybe even a Charles Bronsan style revenge thriller.

That'll teach me. 

 

 

 

N*ggas' Revenge (2001).
Dir: Dick Wadd.
Cast: Chane Adams, Bobby Blake, Chris Blake, Flex-Deon Blake, Dallas Chalmers Bud Cockerham and Eric Top Stud.

The film poster is a wee bit rude so here's a picture of my bedroom instead.

 

The small, everyday American town of Felchington is idyllic in every way; from it's picket fences, fat folk in high waist plaid trousers to it's neatly kept lawns.

But scratch the surface of any seemingly perfect place and something vile and slimy (and slightly rancid smelling) is bound to appear.

In this case it's a band of buffed up, bastard neo-Nazi bad boys going by the terrifying monikers of Bud, Dallas and Chane who seem to spend their entire waking life shouting slightly sexually charged yet incredibly racist abuse at their brick shithouse of a neighbour, Mr. Robert Blake (not that one).

"Excuse me! Do you require any scissors sharpening?"

Hurling remarks that would make the writers of Love Thy Neighbour proud it's only a matter of time before Bobby (as he likes to be called), tired of the police doing nothing takes matters into his own hand.

Alongside his massive cock.

Ringing his 'partner', Flex (who works as a baker fact fans) and his brother (not too sure if it's his real brother or a 'brother' brother, showing a slight lack of important character development methinks) Chris, Bobby only needs to say three little words to get the (mini) posse running.

And those words?

"White boy trouble!"

Can you dig it?

Indeed I can sir.

Bunnet.

And so the fight begins as three skinny arsed white supremacists face off against three hulking, body building black blokes.

Now who do you think will win?

The clue is in the title by the way.

As the good ol' racist boys fight valiantly to protect their right to be arseholes, the gangs leader, Dallas interjects with some choice insults between his punches referring to Bobby as 'Uncle Tom', which I assume is a continuity mistake by the way, seeing as his name is Bobby and he's not an uncle.

Shame on you for such a glaring mistake Mr. Wadd.

Who's ready for a wee mooth shite-in?

You know what they say about sticks and stones tho' and before too long Dallas is knocked to the ground, a bloodied, muddy mess.

But Bobby/Tom/whatever has a special surprise for our racist chum.

Pulling down his leather trousers whilst pulling out his frankly terrifyingly large penis, the Bobster drenches Dallas in the golden warmth of his urine.

In the mooth.

Shaking every last drop from his mammoth member, Bobby leans toward Dallas and, with a big cheesy grin on his face announces that "There's gonna be a barbecue at Twelve Oaks tonight...and the main course is Nazi ass drenched in nigga piss!"

It was at this point I began to suspect that this wasn't actually an action movie ala Death Wish and that I was, in fact watching what could be referred to as 'the porn'.

Tho' not being 100% sure I bravely soldiered on.

Bobby by now high on the smell of man sweat and piss fumes decides to clean up the urine soaked racist and dunks poor Dallas in a nearby septic tank before bending him (a wee bit like Beckham probably) over a barrel and beating his bare arse with a handy piece of 2x4 that just happened to be lying about in the back yard.

His fun is cut short tho' when the wood breaks, leaving Bobby weapon-less and Dallas with what looks like a bright red baboon bum covered in splinters.

But if he thinks this is as sore as his bottom is gonna get then he's in for a big surprise.

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

Bored with merely standing back and watching (albeit whilst sitting on Dallas' wriggly pals), Flex and Chris decide it's time to have some fun of their own and drag the three badboys off to bobby's basement games room cum sex dungeon...

And how do you think poor Dallas will explain this to his gran?

From director Rchard 'Dick' Wadd, the worlds finest purveyor of the oft ignored genre of bareback arse assault comes what will probably go down in cinema history (but not down on your mum) as the greatest - and most successful - attempt to portray the grim reality of racially motivated intolerance ever committed to celluloid.

Utilizing the harsh black and white colour palette of both the sets and performers bodies to subtly represent the violent transfer of power between the attackers and the attacked, the film culminates with what is quite possibly the most powerful statement on racism ever seen; the image of the persecuted African American transforming the oppressive white man into his slave.

Then violently bumming him for 40 minutes inbetween forcing him to drink warm urine from a dog bowl.

No wonder your Dad has this hidden in his bedside cabinet.

"Here come the Belgians!"

As with all great works of art tho' N*ggas' Revenge has it's critics.

Unbelievable as it seems there are some (very stupid) individuals tho' that disagree with the accepted interpretation of the movie, seeing it as nothing more than an excuse for 113 minutes (!) of forced interracial buggery and fisting intercut with the occasional golden shower scene and angry men shouting "N*gga!" a lot.

As if.

But even if arse informed politics isn't your thing it's a must see for any self respecting film fan in order to experience the final on-screen performance by the legendary Bobby Blake - star of High Rollin': A Black Thang,  White Nuts & Black Bolts, Pumping Black: Hold on Tight amongst many others, go on ask your dad for more info - who, in his autobiography (that bears the fantastically original title of "My Life in Porn: The Bobby Blake Story", musta taken weeks to come up with that) admits that due to the animalistic intensity of his buggery and pissing scenes that many performers refused to do movies with him, which aided his decision to retire.

Frankly I was terrified enough by the size of his cock.

I mean it was so big it hand an adult knee in the middle.

And a spine.

A spine of a giant.

Still need convincing?

Well it does feature the largest amount of urine ever unleashed in the name of interracial pornography.

Which in itself is frankly spectacular and worth the admission price (and shame filled evenings) alone.

Recommended.

true.

 

mah mah mah my corona....

Calling it now, next Tuesday the White House are gonna announce that Trump's natural antibodies have actually defeated the Coronavirus without any medical help whilst he'll  boast about how it's due to his 'very good genes'.

 

At that point bio-suit clad agents burst in and taser him before carting him off to a secret lab where scientists (led by Brent Spiner essaying Harold Bornstein) dissect him (alive) to harvest a cure.

 

It's the perfect ending. Like I Am Legend but with shitter hair.

Post credit scene...the laboratory dissection discovers that his 'very good genes' are a mixture of Nixon, McCarthy, Jesus and The Fonz. 

 

The announcement is scored to the soundtrack from 'Gone With The Wind'....

 

Or Seinfeld. 

gimme sum sugar baby....

Every opening to The Apprentice ever:

We're here at 10 Downing Street today and I’m sure you know who lives here.

Now Theresa May is known for many things, but mostly people know her for her love of shitting in the mouths of the poor and pissing on human rights.

Oh yes....and hating foreigners.
 
So today we're tasking you to create a new fragrance for her.

And obviously you have to be careful that she doesn't choke on it seeing as she seems to have a very tickly throat right now.

Now the men's team this year is quite surprisingly not as shit as usual so to make sure the viewing figures stay up we're adding some of the women to the team to create a bit of drama but just in case some of the men aren't deterred by this change, I’m throwing them the most sensible one into the women's team so I can watch them get shouted at even though they'll be the only one with any rational ideas.

Off you go.

Did I ever tell you how I made my first million before the age of 12 by punting my arse out of the back of a wheelbarrow?

true.

A few years ago whilst having a poo behind the bushes in a park in Braunton, North Devon I noticed a person behind me.

It was Tom Cruise taking a break from shooting Live, Die, Repeat.

As I turned he smiled and spoke to me.

All he said was "Proceed".

I felt fairly uncomfortable so took a picture and left.

oi! donald!

I think I've found your hackers......*

*With thanks to ‏@PulpLibrarian

criminalising kinkiness (part 2).

Not often I get to have a good old rant on here (well not about anything of importance) but I couldn't let the governments new digital economy bill pass without at least a few words.

Which is a shame but hey ho.

Readers with long memories (and glass dolls) will no doubt remember my previous moans aboutthe likes of Christopher Tookey and barmy Julian Brazier (there's more but frankly I really can't be arsed trawling thru' the links to find them) as well as the infamous ambulance chaser and buggerer of beefcake Keith Vaz regarding their thoughts that 'Explicit and extreme video games and films are fueling a tide of violence in Britain' from a few years ago and their ongoing attempts to ban anything and everything that they don't like.

Vernon: Your dad's cum face.

Obviously - thanks no doubt to my fantastic journalistic skills) - their puritanical pursuits came to naught  and we all got to live happily ever after, that is until professional witch-woman and part-time internet voyeur Theresa May came to power and decided that it was up to the government to decide what kind of sexy stuff we can enjoy.

Being more of a mindless violence than a kinky sex fan (look I have Aspergers I'm going to side with the less sticky pursuit - I hate mess) I gave the matter no thought, knowing that is that Zombie(s) Lake could in no way be construed as a sexual fetish, until that is a friend (yes I have one) pointed out that under the new legislation those occasional YouTube videos I post of me dancing provocatively whilst wearing a Howard Vernon mask could be seen as too kinky and therefore illegal.

It was at this point that my pervy pal delivered the killer blow.

Ooooer.

It seems that part of the bill is aimed at regulating things like menstrual blood, urination and 'mooth shite-ing'.

I'll let that sink in for a minute.

Yup, this blog will be well and truly screwed.

Hopefully then they'll remember to stick to the bizarre “four-finger rule” when they do it.

And what is this rule? I hear my overseas readers cry.

It's a part of the bill which limits the number of digits that can be inserted into an orifice for sexual stimulation.

No really.

We have food banks, a rise in racist attacks on the street and a country in post-Brexit turmoil and this is the most important thing our government can think about?

We are indeed drifting into an arena of the unwell.

Theresa May: Haunted beachfront cave.

For more information follow the link here, it's for The Guardian which may be a wee bit left-leaning but as a plus point the type is quite large and they don't use too many big words.

Which for readers here is a Godsend.

Talking of random film-based sex acts regular readers may have noticed that The Arena has been a wee bit obsessed with sexy seventies superstar Robin Askwith of late, culminating in me finally getting round to obtaining his classic 'Confessions' series on shiny StevieDee allowing my to confine my bulky VHS collection to the bin.

Imagine my surprise then when on going to watch them I realized I'd actually acquired the slightly inferior Barry (Mind Your Language) Evans 'Adventures' set by mistake.

Never mind I thought, It'd be a pity not to share....

Adventures of a Taxi Driver (1976)
Dir: Stanley Long.
Star: Barry Evans, Judy Geeson, Adrienne Posta, Robert Lindsay, Liz Fraser, Diana Dors, Anna Bergman, Stephen Lewis, Ian Lavender, Henry McGee, Stephen Riddle, Brian Wilde, David Auker, Angela Scoular and Beatrice Shaw.

The place: London, the time: the really unfashionable bit of the seventies where greasy haired, bowl cutted Joe North (Evans) - a busty burd obsessed (not a busty burd himself, obviously) taxi driver - spends his time using his cab as an impromptu shag palace to get away from his mundane everyday existence, from ditzy dollies to frustrated, saggy boobed bored housewives, every woman he meets seem to fall for his lost little boy charms.

And pleasant smelling cock obviously.

We first experience his uncanny (some would say ungodly) luck first hand when one of his passengers asks to be dropped off on a bridge so she can jump off.

She's heartbroken, the poor lamb.

Being a nice guy Joe convinces her not to toss herself off but to allow him to drive her home.

Probably after leaving the meter running and charging her extra tho' - you know what cabbies are like.

Upon arrival she surprisingly takes off all her clothes and jumps on our crap Casanova.

Suffice to say that just as they're about to get down and get with it (luckily for the viewer not before we've seen Evan's pale, shriveled penis), her boyfriend turns up unexpectedly leaving Joe no choice but to climb out of the window and leg it to his cab stark bollock naked.

Blimey.

He needn't have bother tho', turns out that this blokes missis is a raving nymphomaniac and uses the old suicide trick to pick up fellas all time.

Hi-fucking-larious I'm sure you'll agree.

"Oh no! It's John Leslie!"

The good thing is that all this sex is that it helps take Joe's mind of his hellish home life, dominated as he is by his moaning (but not in that way) peroxide headed mother (Dors....who wouldn't want to be dominated by her?...well not now obviously) and arguing constantly with his spotty teenage brother whilst trying to find an excuse to escape his clingy, marriage obsessed girlfriend Carol (the ball-faced, bewigged Posta, who also performs the films theme song 'Cruising Casanova').

It's not too much of a surprise then to find poor Joe finds at breaking point so he decides to move in with his best mate Tom (Lindsay).

Cue even more oh so amusing sexual shenanigans.

"Excuse me, you've shut my cock in the door".

Over the next forty five minutes we're treated (in much the same way as you treat syphilis) to a veritable comedic tsunami of sexual hi-jinks featuring faceless seventies totty and a hilarious escapade with Joe's pet python named....wait for it.....Monty.

Oh.

My.

Aching.

Sides.

"Is that a snake in your pocket or is it just
that your cock is particularly scaly and flexible?"

If this wasn't enough to get your pulse racing, down on her luck former Bond girl (and pube haired temptress) Angela Scoular gets her kit of in possibly the film’s most amusing moment (and that's not saying much) when her geeky accountant husband, who has unexpectedly come home early, surprisingly fails to notice that Joe is lying underneath his wife in a soapy bath.

Scoular: pube haired but still lustable.

Add to this the wonderful Judy (Inseminoid) Geeson playing a stripper (who scarily keeps her clothes on throughout), the comedy gem of Joe mistakenly picking up a transvestite and the bizarre last third of the film which forgoes any shagging to concentrate on Joe getting involved in a jewelery heist gone wrong and you have a movie to challenge Nativity 3: Dude Where's My Donkey? in the charm stakes.

Yes, it really is that good.

Watch out! it's Leslie Grantham.

So what else is there to say about this movie?

Well, Stanley Long's direction is, um, well it's in focus and he makes sure the camera doesn't wander off at the boring bits, whilst the 'script' co-written by Suzanne (Groupie Girl) Mercer from an idea by Long is simplistic at best, clichéd and predictable at worst.

Cast wise, the late (almost great) Barry Evans is fresh faced and agreeably cocky enough to worm his way into the audiences affections whilst Robert (Citizen Smith) Lindsay and Judy Geeson give sterling support as his best pal and best pals missis respectively.

The film also boasts a plethora of cameo's from some British comedy legends including Diana Dors, Liz (the one that wasn't in The Cocteau Twins) Fraser, Ian (Dads Army) Lavender, Stephen (On The Buses) Lewis and Brian (Last of The Summer Wine) Wilde.

Liz Fraser: The one that doesn't get
her tits out in British smut movies.
Pity.

Being kind tho' the films tiny (£130,000) budget is put to good use shooting in and around London (that's in England, Europe for any Americans reading) mostly without official permits which gives it a grittier edge than it's more famous Confessions cousins.

It's just a pity the film as a whole doesn't live up to it's guerrilla origins.

Worth a look if you like smut of a not too rude kind.

Or have a thing for huge seventies pants.

Which as I said earlier, the way it's going may soon be illegal.

tall in the saddle.

2016 has been an utter cunt of a year so far....now we've had Steve Dillon taken from us.

Fucking gutted.

hoots mon.

Happy Hogmanay dear reader(s)!
Here's hoping that 2016 brings even more crushing disappointments, god-awful straight to DVD shite and a Babadook sequel.

monsta!

Cassidy is in charge of the teevee tonight so currently watching Monsters Inc. (again) and it got me wondering, how does reproduction work in their world? 

Are the monsters all like dogs (same species but different genes), which allows them to interbreed?

That seems unlikely given the huge physiological differences seen between them. 

Look at the head of the company, the 8 legged spider monster Henry J. Waternoose III vs Mike.

This leads me onto my next point. 

How are stable population sizes maintained if there are only a few breeding pairs for each type of monster? 

What sort of evolutionary situations would have had to be seen for such a large variety of equally intelligent monsters to develop?

Or am I just being a very, very sad and lonely man?

Sully and Boo reunited in a little seen deleted sequence. Possibly

 

 

infernal eclairs.

After sitting patiently on the shelf for 2 years Eli ("The postage was how much?") Roth's 'homage' to flesh-eating foreigners is finally upon us.

Oh joy.

The Green Inferno (2013).
Dir: Eli Roth.
Cast: Lorenza Izzo, Ariel Levy, Daryl Sabara, Kirby Bliss Blanton, Sky Ferreira

Magda Apanowicz, Nicolás Martinez, Aaron Burns, Ignacia Allamand, Ramón Llao, Matías López and Richard Burgi.

"Activism is so fucking gay!"

Wannabe social justice warrior and part-time flautist Justine (Mrs. Roth herself and star of Aftershock, Izzo), having plenty of money but very little common sense decides to fill her spare time by joining the pube-bearded, big business battling Alejandro (Promedio Rojo's Levy) and his merry band of do-gooders on a trip to the Amazon to save some trees.

The group aim to achieve this by dressing up as Bob The Builder and shouting random stuff whilst tied to a tractor in a forest.

Obviously they'll be filming the whole thing to put on the 'interweb' so it all kinda makes sense. 

Her cynical roommate Kaycee (box-faced popster Ferreira giving a performance so wooden that I ended up with splinters in my eyes) is unconvinced by all this touchy feely stuff and reckons that Justine just wants a wee bit of Alejandro ass action, which I must admit I can see the appeal of - especially as it'd mean you wouldn't have to look at his frighteningly horse-like face.

But alas (for us that it) she fails to convince Justine to stay at home and get pissed instead, as does her UN attorney dad so off she flies - alongside chubby buddy Jonah (FX artist Burns), blonde bimbette Amy (Blanton, from the US version of The Inbetweeners - yes, such a thing exists), the tastefully tattooed, lusty lesbian Samantha (Apanowicz from some stuff), Lars (Spy Kids Juni Cortez himself, Sabara), Daniel (aftershock and Promedio Rojo star Martinez - there's a pattern here) and Alejandro's massive mouthed girlfriend Kara (Allamand) - to sunny Peru, home of Paddington Bear, pot smoking, noseflutes and violent arse banditary.

And that's just in Lima.

At this point I just thought I'd add that there are actually a couple more people along for the trip too but frankly I can't be bothered listing them, I mean this lot are forgettable enough and they're supposed to be the leads.

"Oh no....I forgot stamps!"

Arriving at the airport the merry band are greeted by the funder behind the protest, the swarthy Carlos (López, father of Saved By The Bell star Mario and husband of Jennifer) who - after a quick snack and 15 minute travelogue tour  takes the group off to the rainforest to begin the protest.

As predicted the protest does indeed go 'viral' as you young folk say, thanks partly to an angry logger putting a gun to Justine's head but mainly due to the whole thing being unimportant filler to take take up running time whilst we await the cannibal action.

Anyway, after a bit of bitching from Justine who has realised that her dad's job would guarantee the group publicity the group board a plane back home.

Unfortunately one of it's engines explodes and the plane crashes into a forest, resulting in a grisly demise for creepy Carlos and a few faceless extras falling out of fuselage in a comedy manner.

Luckily for viewers with weak stomachs the good looking cast members (and Kara) survive and bravely drag themselves from the wreckage.

By that I obviously mean the plane wreckage, I doubt anyone could survive the state of the film in general.

Hearing spooky noises coming from the trees and noticing the distinct smell of warm milk wafting from the bushes the group shout for help only to be attacked by spear-welding, nappie wearing natives.

Which is nice.

Kara, having the largest face is first to fall thanks to a spear in the head whilst the rest of the group are quickly taken out with tranquillizing blow darts before being carried off to a big canoe ready for the journey to the native village.

"Recorded delivery is HOW much?"

Taken roughly up the jetty by what looks like a brightly coloured Ramones tribute band clad in chamois leather nappies and placed in a bamboo cage, the group look on in horror as Jonah is dragged away to meet the tribal elders, magnificently played by Bonnie Tyler and a blacked-up Shawn Ryder.

Disoriented due to a lack of cake, Jonah mistakenly thinks he's appearing on Stars In Their Eyes and begins to belt out a corking rendition of Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay but this is unfortunately cut short when Bonnie messily gouges out his eyes and scoffs them before pulling out his tongue and ordering the rest of the tribe to dismember him.

Now if Harry Hill had done this on the revamped show it’d been a ratings winner.

But the horror doesn't end there.

Well I say horror but mild indifference would be a more apt phrase.

Justine, Samantha and Amy are dragged out of the hut and paraded in front of the tribe whilst a by now visibly aroused Bonnie (either that or it's deceptively cold) sticks a sharpened thimble into their fannies to see if any of them are virgins and therefore suitable to perform The Shangri Las hit Leader of The Pack in the semi-finals.

Or something.

I think this may be important as I remember a bit earlier when Justine's college lecturer was doing a talk on Roald Dahl's The Big Friendly Giant and how it was sexist or something tho' I'll admit I'd popped out for a fag at that point so I can't be sure.

You never know he might live in the woods and the tribe sacrifice virgins to him a bit like in Devil Hunter but with fewer genital warts.

I mean on screen obviously, I've no idea about the crew.

So what is the difference between a post box and a vagina?

Anyway back to the plot where it is revealed that Justine is indeed a virgin (yeah sure) which appears to make the tribe very happy indeed.

But not happy enough to let them all go obviously

Someone who isn't very happy tho' is Samantha who, driven mad by the lack of fanciable fanny in the village devises a cunning escape plan that involves dressing up as a tiger and hoping that the guards spot the mistake let her loose  so she can then run off into the trees and get help.

Who from?

Fucking George of The Jungle?

Surprisingly this plan works and Samantha, resplendent with a luxurious tail fashioned from knotted bits of Amy's pubic hair runs to the river, steals a canoe and quickly paddles downstream.

Just like big cats don't.

As day turns to night and night turns to day (trust me the whole movie feels like it unfolds in real time), the tribe bring the prisoners yummy bowls of soup for lunch.

Is this an act of kindness or a set up for a cheap thrill?

Guess.

As Amy begins to lick the bowl she notices a piece of skin stuck to the bottom and instantly recognizes it as one of Samantha tattoos.

Realizing she has just been scoffing her pal, Amy smashes the bowl and uses it to cut her throat.

God knows what she'd done had she eaten her whole.

Tho' the lesbians I know tell me that they usually spit that bit out.

I thank you.

"Shite in mah mooth!"

Remembering his spy training from when he was a youth, Lars stuffs his marijuana stash into Amy's throat hoping that when the tribe eat her that they'll all get stoned and fall asleep allowing the survivors to attempt another half arsed escape plan that will no doubt lead to more deaths.

Meanwhile Alejandro, whilst enjoying a swift wank (no really) gets to the point of the film, explaining - in very simple to understand words -  that the protest they carried out was really in order to let Carlos, who owned a rival logging company to get the contract.

This is because the real world is a bad place full of naughty people.

Right on.

Bizarrely enough the plan works and the tribe all pass out giving Justine, Daniel and Lars time to escape.

Unfortunately Alejandro, being a patented bastard but more importantly needing someone to help him masturbate after spraining his wrist last time, pricks Lars with a discarded Tranquillizer dart and he falls back into the cage.

Fearful of being covered in eggy man muck Justine and Daniel flee into the trees as Alejandro shouts random stuff about conservation, survival of the fittest and teabagging at them, leaving Lars to his fate.

Which is to be eaten by snack-obsessed tribesfolk in a cack-handed tribute to the climax of Day of The Dead minus the skill and deft-direction that made that movie so enjoyable.

Why am I surprised?

I can see you through the door
You been chewing bread and water
And there's a grudge on you
You know you not ought not to have
You've been running around the racetrack
You've been running around the racetrack
Put that mudder to bed to bed
Put that mudder to bed
And oh yeah...get in mah belly!

Meanwhile Justine and Daniel have managed to find not only the plane wreck but also a working phone in Kara's pocket.

Unfortunately (again) Justine stops for a quick game of Candy Crush Saga and to update her Facebook which gives the tribe ample time to catch up with them and drag the pair kicking and screaming back to the village where Daniel is tied to a tree and fed to some crap CGI ants whilst Justine is stripped naked, wrapped in a bandage and painted white in preparation for the BFG ceremony.

I'm assuming the rest of the film looks so cheap cos all the cash went on paying the Dahl estate.

Will Justine be rescued or is she destined to spend the rest of her days being pawed by a big hairy brute?

I mean in the movie obviously, there's no way I'd comment on her personal life.

Damn you spellchecker!

Brainless, clueless and ultimately ball-less, Green Inferno purports to pay homage to the gut-munching cannibal greats of the 'video nasty' era but singularly fails to see what made the originals such good fun in the first place.

Replacing gore and grainy footage with quick cutaways and digital shininess and the originals (albeit)  skewered world view with an almost infantile 'the world is full of bad people who will eat you up' message does not an entertaining movie make - and when the film's biggest shock is from seeing the cock and balls of the wee boy from Spy Kids in glorious high-definition then you know that you're onto plums.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

The whole thing feels like watching particularly badly applied politically agitating paint dry and the oft-mooted scenes of violence and threat seemed to have been pulled wholeheartedly from the 'Causing offence for Dummies' handbook.

The cast (bless 'em) do their best with what they're given but even then it's not enough to hold any interest and by the 45 minute mark you're praying for something, anything of note to happen.

And when the cannibals actually do turn up there's absolutely no rhyme or reason for anything they do, they're just generic, racially stereotyped cardboard bogeymen leering at a group of even more annoying and clichéd teenagers.

Roth should've had the balls to just black-up actors and put bones thru' their noses and be done with it.

At least then he'd have garnered a better reaction than the tired shrug of shoulders that the film gets.

Green Inferno?

Shit Inferno more like.