frigid bitchin'.

Almost caught up with the whole 31 Days of Horror thing (I'm not even going to attempt it next year - partly because it's way too much hard work but mainly because no one cares) and after an entire weekend freezing my arse off it the sub zero temperatures of The Classic Grande in Glasgow (which bizarrely enough we're told isn't allowed to have heating because it's a listed building) this film seemed scarily appropriate.

Ice Queen (2005).
Dir: Neil Kinsella.
Cast: Ami Veevers-Chorlton, Harmon Walsh, Noelle Reno, Jennifer Hill, Daniel Hall Kuhn Tara Walden, Peter Wyndorf and Demone Gore.

"What she wants is a wet me-shirt contest!"

Somewhere in the directors local garden centre, sorry I mean the Amazon rain forest a group of very tall boy scouts (you can tell by the shorts) have made the archeological find of the century.

A totally naked blonde, dating from the ice age (the proper ice age not the film series) encased in a huge block of amber.

Realizing that this is a fairly unusual thing to find our learned pals quickly load her body onto a handy aeroplane to be flown to a military facility where she can be 'studied' by scientists at their leisure.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Meanwhile at Scabies Ski Resort, lanky local loser Johnny (As The World Turns Doctor Bullock himself, the chisel chinned Walsh) alongside his pals Jessie Ethic (Gore, best known for his role as 'Vegas Ballroom Worker' in, yup, As The World Turns) and his instantly forgettable other pal (look he was wearing a woolie hat so it could be anyone but it's most likely Jason Mewes trying to get enough cash to score) are busy enjoying the resort bars weekly Ms. Wet T-shirt/let's dance like a tit competition.

"Smell my fingers!"

The boys night of good old fashioned drunken fun is turned on it's head tho' when Johnny is confronted by Elaine (Hill) and her unfeasibly large silicon tits (playing themselves).

Hypnotized or terrified (I couldn't tell) Johnny goes from gently prodding them to full on nipple sucking action in a handy jacuzzi, totally forgetting about his long term girlfriend Tori (the rabbit-like Reno from the straight to the charity shop hit Devour) and even loaning their rent money to Elaine.

What a bastard/hero (delete as applicable).

Next morning and Johnny's life seems to be going from bad to worse; not only is Tori chasing him for the rent but Elaine has turned up for an interview at the lodge and his boss, the man-eating MiLF Audrey (funny lady Walden) is determined to see him fired after he told everyone that she was a lesbian.

Phew, I don't know about you but I'm shattered now.

"Snow on mah mount!"

Luckily tho' before Johnny’s life completely mutates into an episode of the Jeremy Kyle show, the plane carrying the frozen lady is hijacked by terrorists and accidentally crashed into the mountain overlooking the resort causing an - incredibly shite CGI - avalanche and trapping all six members of the cast inside the hotel under a tonne of snow that could quite possibly collapse on them at any moment

Chance would be a fine thing.

Kyle: Arrogant prick.

And if this wasn't enough danger for one movie (especially one trying to do giant natural disasters on what looks like The Power Rangers tea budget) it appears that our frozen femme has all thawed out and is hungry for love.

And intestines obviously.

Which probably wouldn't be too much of a problem if she (alongside a faintly ridiculously fake bearded scientist not so much played as planked by the charisma black hole that is Daniel Hall Kuhn) wasn't also trapped in the ski lodge too.

Daniel Hall Kuhn: Insert cock here.

With everything that's happening it comes as a wee surprise that for no other reason that the actresses seem up for it, Elaine and Tori decide to have a girlie cat fight over who's the better shag.

It's like arguing over which you'd rather have; syphilis or crabs. 

Whilst this fake snow squashing, thigh revealing, nipple poking fight continues ad nauseum, the Ice Queen is wandering around the patently hardboard topsy turvy sets randomly killing the few remaining cast members by sticking her hand into their tummies and freezing them from the inside.

"She put WHAT in your mooth?"

With alcoholic Uncle Ed and Patch the dog searching the grounds for survivors it's left to Johnny, armed with only a hand dryer, a hot tub, some sexy pants and his rampant libido to kill the she-beast.

But let's be honest here, does anyone really give a fuck?

Your mum's cum face.

What a bloody dogs dinner of a movie this is, Neil Kinsella seems to be confused as to whether he's making a monster movie, Porky's style frat 'house' comedy or metaphysical exploration of the human condition and frankly after viewing it I’m not so sure either.

From the moment it's start the movie darts between breasts, explosions and soft core sex before settling into a threadbare disaster scenario with the added bonus of a buck-toothed beast babe trying her best to either kill folk or fuck them.

And it's the aforementioned she beast that's the film's trump card in the shapely shape of the frankly wonderful ex-farm girl cum model cum actress Ami Veevers-Chorlton.

Dressed in an old Quick Fit boiler suit, Jimmy Savile's old spunk stained wig and wearing a set of wooden teeth Chorlton's portrayal of the Ice Queen is like nothing I've ever seen before, tottering around on heels and wiggling her arse like a middle aged secretary who's had one too many gin's at the office Christmas party whilst licking her bright blue Joker lips and tonging the air, everything about her performance is fantastic.

And utterly convincing.

She should get her own chat show, it'd be a ratings winner.

Cheryl Cole-The pikey years.

Her greatest scenes tho' are towards the films climax when our horny horror takes an instant liking to Johnny and sets about trying to seduce him.

Honestly Chorlton should have been Oscar nominated for this.

As it goes we were all robbed.

Her for the best actress award and me for spending a quid on this.

Tomorrow.....something better.

Probably.

having a butchers.

For day 22 of the fairly tiresome 31 Days of Horror let's travel back in time and revisit a  classic of the cannibal/zombie/mentalist medic genre.

Or I could just review this instead.

Enjoy.

Zombi Holocaust (AKA: Doctor Butcher M.D: Medical Deviate, Island of the Last Zombies, Queen of the Cannibals, La Regina dei cannibali, Zombie Holocaust, 1979).
Director: Marino Girolami (or if you prefer, Frank Martin).
Cast: Ian (the kids school fees are how much?!!?) McCulloch, Sherry Buchanan, Alexandra Delli Colli, Peter O'Neil and Donald O'Brian.

"You nearly succeeded in ruining my life's work! I could easily kill you now. But I'm determined to have your brain!"

In a rain sodden (and badly lit) teaching hospital deep in the heart of New York City (the home from home for 80's lo-fi Italian movie makers, well at least for their films openings in order to convince folk that they're watching an American production) someone has been helping themselves to various body parts belonging to the cadavers marked for use in the daily anatomy class, much to the chagrin of the grumpy surgeon who uses the incidents as an excuse to shout "You've all failed!" at his students and fuck off down the pub.

Possibly.

"Fuck me! A wasp!"

The gorgeously glamorous (in an Kay's catalogue way) Lori Ridgway (the frighteningly fish lipped Delli Colli) and her colleagues are baffled by this spate of icky thefts and reckon that the answer must be prank playing students.

But lo, the truth is far more sinister - and it has to be said, oh so slightly racist - when they discover the token, bowl haired Asian doctor (who looks disturbingly like a porn movie version of Erik Estrada) is caught sitting in the dark eating a corpses heart.

Spooky.

Erik decides the best course of action is to evade capture by throwing himself out of a window then cunningly turning into a shop window mannequin before he hits the ground (with a satisfying plastic echo it has to be said).

Noel Edmonds discovers his hand twin.

After a leisurely trip to street level in the lift Ridgway bags the body and returns to work to start her examination.

Of the corpse that is, she's not taking her driving test or anything.

It's whilst examining the aforementioned corpse, that Ridgway — who also happens to be a student of anthropology, lucky that - recognizes a strange (for strange re: shite) tattoo on the dead man's chest—a tattoo that just happens to be (are you paying attention?) exactly the same as a symbol found on a ceremonial dagger she was given on her sixth birthday by the family housemaid when she lived on the tropical island of Kitkatoo.

Which by a strange coincidence is where the heart eating doc was from too.

Phew!

And if that wasn't plot contrivance enough it turns out that the dagger has recently been stolen!

I mean what are the chances of that?

"This outbreak of cannibalism could
be related to the killing moon".

Feeling there's more to this than just an isolated incident, Lori decides to ask famous scientific 'investigator' and generally suave stud muffin Dr. Peter Chandler (genre god and owner of the worlds best ginger comb-over McCulloch) for help in solving the macabre mystery.

After much ooing and aahing, Chandler reckons the best way to get to the bottom of things is to organize an all expenses paid holiday - sorry expedition - to the island alongside a crack team of experts (well alongside Lori, her assistant George (the credits say Peter O'Neal but I swear it's a pre Dead Ringers Jon Culshaw) and tough tomboy reporter Susan (the lank haired, boy trousered but infinitely bonkable Buchanan from Starcrash II and Tentacoli).

  

Non-entities one and all but infinitely more charismatic than anyone featured on I'm A Celebrity.

 

Mooooosssshhhhiiiiiiiii!!!!

Deciding to visit the big island next to Kitkatoo (Dogpoochone?) first our fantastic foursome spend a few days staying with the trampish Dr. Jeff Obrero (screen legend O'Brian, looking like Wilfrid Brambell's buffer brother), a piss stained and poo breathed gone to seed medical researcher with a great line in open neck shirts who's been living among the natives for years.

Well in their bins by the look of him.

"Aye son!"

Although stinky as hell, Obero still has some manners and after tea, cakes and a severed head (tho' it may have been a mouldy potato) in Laura's bed he offers not only the use of his boat but a trio of Beatle haired native bearers and his big cravated 'man friend' Moloto (Barrera, essaying his role in Zombie Flesh Eaters but in a cheaper outfit), as their guide.

As is the way in such movies, nothing goes according to plan. The boats engine overheats stranding the group not on the isle of Kitkatoo but on the smaller, slightly less dangerous and more like a playpark behind the director's house island of Kitkatoow...or so Moloto claims.

"Look at the dog!"

Chandler however is beginning to suspect that Moloto isn't being entirely honest about the situation but as he goes to confront the guide a loin-clothed band of scary cannibals jump out of the bushes and attack our heroes.

The native bearers are the first to fall (but isn't that always the way?) giving Chandler and co. time to leg it into the trees.

Contacting Dr. Obrero, the survivors are told to make their way to a handy abandoned church further inland and to lock themselves in whilst awaiting rescue.

Bunnet.

As Chandler and his merry (if slightly smaller than earlier) band make their way through the jungle - well, the producers garden - they seem surprised to find that the cannibals have been following them so react the way anyone would in that situation by standing around screaming as they wait for them to attack again.

After a particularly threadbare and school playground like struggle George ends up eyeless whilst slinky Susan (being the most attractive woman in the movie) is carried away by the arse bearing natives.

Suddenly (almost as if the director has remembered the films title) a gaggle of shuffling zombies turn up and scare the natives to buggery (not literally mind) and the survivors make it to the church - on time - to find Obrero waiting for them.

"Put it in me!"

Convincing the survivors that Susan is probably actually enjoying the attentions of the sausage fingered cannibals and that they should just forget about her, he hands Lori and Chandler a map showing the quickest way to New York and points them in the direction of a handy rubber dingy left on the beach and even tho' Chandler's suspicions of foul play are getting stronger by the second he decides that it probably would be safer to just head home and forget about everything.

Plus he realizes that it'll just be him and Lori in the dingy for weeks...the dirty wee dog.

His sinful thoughts of hot sea-based sex are interrupted tho when a zombie attacks them on the beach, leaving an angry (and no doubt sexually frustrated) Chandler to dispatch it with a handy outboard motor.

With a look of grim determination usually only seen in Sheepdogs our hero slowly realises that the only way he's ever gonna pull Lori is to solve the island mystery so with a heavy heart – and a raging horn - Chandler heads back to the church to confront the mad doctor......

With more cuts available than Richie Manic, Marino Girolami's cult classic is probably the only Italian gore-arama to feature not only cannibals but also zombies and a mad as a lorry doctor too, so you effectively get three movies for the price of one.

It's just a pity that none of them are any good.

On the plus side, Ian McCulloch is in it and as we all know he would never appear in anything too shady, standing around in a selection of Primark suits looking worriedly ginger (or is that gingerly worried) and let's be honest, he could stand around in his undies painting a wall and he'd still be infinitely watchable.

McCulloch: Ginger.

Donald O'Brian on the other hand is the complete antitheses of McCulloch's subtle acting style, a perfect example of an eye rolling, scenery chewing and wee stained madman. His fantastically realized Dr. Obrero is an utter joy, so convincing is his performance that you can almost taste his fishy breath.


Tho' luckily not his cheesy Doritos.

Of the other cast members, the plump mouthed star of Fulci's New York Ripper Alexandra Delli Colli is only there to look good in her cream suspenders whilst pouting, her most difficult acting scene being when she's required to look vaguely scared whilst a group of Filipino tramps smear her naked body in face paint and strap her to a big paper mache wheel.

Luckily she manages this with great aplomb I'm glad to say, whilst Sherry Buchanan comes across as a dirtier (but less mental and with more teeth) Margot Kidder.

Wearing her dads clothes and with hair that hasn't seen shampoo for about six months she still manages to exude an air of clumsy back alley sexual hi-jinks.

Even - well especially if I'm honest - when strapped to a table after being scalped which would be a tall order for most actresses. 

 

The rest of the cast are kinda just there really, which is enough I guess.

Buchanan: Just wait till the shampooing starts.

As for the cannibal tribe, well it's the first time I've ever seen scary natives dressed only in thongs fashioned from rashers of bacon and mop top wigs but who's to say this isn't a realistic depiction of an ancient civilization?

Not me that's for sure.

Now to the zombies hordes (well I say hordes but there are only five of them, one of which is the directors mum) who, with make up that is a triumph for the seven year old hired to produce it using only the contents of the class arts and craft cupboard and accompanied at all times by a synth score that consists mainly of samples of a small boy farting whilst a dog with throat cancer barks backwards these undead terrors are guaranteed to strike mild apathy into the hearts of even the most hardened viewers.

Essential viewing.

the ellen degenerazione show.

Bit of a rush job today seeing as I was out watching John Carpenter last night (as in I was at his concert, I wasn't stalking him or anything) and been out for lunch today in a kinda socialising/grown up way.

Plus not too in-depth a review I'm afraid cos frankly most of the stories only last a few seconds, all are bonkers and most are really not that good.

On a plus side Asia (the first person to wish me happy birthday on Facebook two years ago don't you know) Argento is in it smoking a fag whilst wearing fishnets so it's not all bad.
Enjoy!

Degenerazione (1994).
Dir: Antonio Antonelli, Asia Argento, Pier Giorgio Bellocchio, Eleonora Fiorini, Alex Infascelli, Antonio Manetti, Marco Manetti, Andrea Maula, Andrea Prandstraller, Alberto Taraglio and Alessandro Valori.
Cast: Pierpaolo Trezzini, Asia Argento, Giorgio Tirabassi, Alberto Rossi and Patrizia Sacchi.

Our (well their - as in the directors - story, it's not really ours that's just a figure of speech) story opens in the movie memorabilia festooned office of a sweating bald man in an ill fitting suit anxiously chatting to someone (his agent? Your mum?) on the phone about various important film type stuff whilst he furtively looks around for any signs of oncoming badness.

So far so intriguing.

Suddenly the aforementioned oncoming badness bursts in to the room in the form of three pikeys clad in ill-fitting Halloween masks and a nice selection of Degenerazione t-shirts as some kick-ass 'rawk' music plays on the soundtrack.

Yup, definitely an Italian horror movie then.

Jumping from his window to save himself from whatever these masked mentalists have in store for him, Mr. Sweaty's ample arse gives him a soft landing plus the extra bounce needed to send him running merrily down the high street.

But those pesky psycho pikeys are in hot pursuit.

Bob Hoskins, up the casino, Tamworth, 1987.....YESCH!

Unfortunately our chubby heroes brain-based escape route radar is only attuned to cakes and after much frenzied wobbling he finds himself trapped in a back alley behind a bakers with the rubber-faced rotters slowly closing in...

Closing his eyes and hoping for a quick death (or a not too sore arse pummeling), he is fairly surprised that after a few seconds preparing for a beating that his assailants have suddenly disappeared.

"My word they've disappeared!" He exclaims (it's fansubbed, I'm sorry).

"No we haven't" says a mysterious masked man armed with a big gun next to him.

The Degenerazione boys (after magically re-appearing) look on menacingly as the poor guys screams...

"Laugh now!"

...before jarringly cutting to an antique shop where the middle-aged owner is getting phone hassle from a customer who wants an Ottoman delivered.

Convinced that this story is related to the fat bloke I begin to take notes.

Paying far too much attention I find myself being unwittingly dragged into the ensuing argument where it seems that young and hip honey June (some photo-fit blonde in a flimsy blouse) wants her new piece of furniture delivered earlier that agreed.

You see, it's her boyfriend Terry's birthday and she thinks he'd be well pleased with a huge piece of antique furniture for a gift.

My word she knows men so well.

Anyway, after much to-ing and fro-ing between shopkeep and lady the item is arranged to be delivered at 6 o'clock that evening.

But June has to promise that she'll be at home because the delivery man (who looks like the illegitimate child of a mouldy potato and an angry bassoon) is very grumpy and determined to get back as soon as possible as to not miss the new episode of Loose Women on teevee.

Shite in his mooth, blood on the thistle.

June gives her word but as soon as she puts the phone down her best friend Margot calls in a state of distress meaning that June, like a typical woman, forgets everything she's just said and heads straight out to go comfort her.

Returning home from work, birthday boy Terry (played by a pube headed lollipop in spectacles) begins to prepare a scrumptious meal whilst dancing like a tit to clichéd eighties soft rock when he's suddenly disturbed by the doorbell.

I mean it rings, not that it jumps on his and tries to fuck him with it's cold hard doorbell cock.

Tho' that would be fairly exciting.

Nope it's just our delivery spud growling menacingly and saying stuff like "I'm here to get you....let me in so I can stuff my box in your lounge!" and the like meaning that, quite understandably Terry gets the wrong end of the stick and thinks a mad killer has come to get him.

If only June had left a note.

But it's too late for that now so let's sit back and enjoy 20 minutes of Sam Raimi inspired violent lunacy coupled with a smidgen of breast grabbing across the Ottoman....

Jess Glynne: Harsh.

...Which leads us nicely to the home of Mr. Dirk Handsomestranger, a hunky lunk who, being in need of a drink and a wee bit of buggery, decides to visit Waxy O'Shinty's sailor themed gothic gay bar just along the beach from his house.

Well, he is European.

Ordering a Campari and soda, our studly pal can't help but notice a flamboyantly dressed older gentleman (who has a frightening resemblance to everyone's favourite Irishman Louise Walsh) sitting in the corner of the room nursing a tomato juice so, fancying a bit of old man cock, Dirk saunters over to join him.

Overpowered by the smell of sweaty leather and cheap aftershave (and not to mention being a bit tired of having to shout over the X Factor style Bauhaus tribute band) the pair decide to retire to Dirk's palatial love pad for more drink, less music and maybe, just maybe a saucy sex session of the rudest order.

With the booze and chatting flowing like so much horse semen into an aged prostitutes swollen stomach  our frill fronted fop admits that he's no normal man and that he has a dark secret.

And it's not that he dyes his hair or has his habit of furiously masturbating into children's teacups whilst listening to Jess Glynne.

Probably.

"Aye (s) Son!"

Nope, it turns out that his is, in fact a lonely old vampire, eager to impress with his tales of bloodlust, sodomy and working with Sharon Osbourne.

But as Dirk listens intently to his guest it becomes apparent that he may have a dark secret too...

...Meanwhile back in the big city, Mr. and Mrs. Middleincome are off out for a night of food, wine and depressingly middle class chat, leaving their cutesy-pie daughter home alone with only her homework and the brand new Teevee for company.

Unfortunately when they went to the shop to buy it they mistook 'includes evil child killing demon type' for '44" plasma screen plus Teletext'.

We've all been there.

Prepare for a night of child based terror as the killer telly (complete with the worlds longest extension cable) trundles loudly around the (stairless, that was lucky) house attempting to murder a small girl before zooming forward in time to experience a Blade Runner-esque future world where a massive lottery win can make you lose your head (literally) and women keep their hubbies on dog chains for some reason.

Oh yes, it's a subtle role reversal take on sexism.

Clever that.

Louise Walsh: He's got something to put in you (allegedly).

Some other stuff happened but needing a drink top up, a wee and a fag (but not all at once) I had to quickly leave the room but upon returning - I'd forgotten to press pause sorry - I was fairly surprised to see a naked (apart from a bus conductors hat) man persuading a young woman to hold his big umbrella before the wind took her (and it) flying across the fields before landing (with a psycho-sexual) bump in the city of Milan, where Terry the taxi driver is all set to go home after a hard days, um, taxi-ing.

Tho' I may have fallen asleep and imagined the last bit.

Anyway, after phoning his missis to see if she needs anything from the all night garage, Terry returns to his cab only to hear a voice from the back seat telling him not to turn around and just drive to a given destination.
Feeling oh so slightly uneasy about being mysteriously ordered about, Terry can't help but look round only to find that the back seat is empty, save a small briefcase.

Asia: She once wished me happy birthday...have you?

Is Terry going mad or is he just over tired?

Jumping out of the cab to clear his head, El Tel is forced to confront the bizarre truth of the situation when the disembodied voice angrily shouts at him to get back in the car.

It seems the mysterious presence has a job to do and time is running out...

Portmanteau part-work plots don't get much better than this story, which is a shame really as we've it doesn't end there, yup we've still to make the acquaintance of a sickeningly loved up couple who - between renovating their new home and having the sex - experience violence filled nightmares where they try to kill each other.

And the cat.

Hat.

Which brings us kicking, screaming (and sobbing) to our final tale.

A story of a normal man being stalk by a punk-tastic group of film makers intent on making him the star of their new snuff movie.

Yikes.

Ignored by the police and left to fend for himself, it's not long before our hapless hero has been beaten with a shovel and tied to a chair ready for his big close-up.

Luckily for him the designated sound guy is incapable of keeping the boom out of shot and this coupled with an impromptu shoot out and an unscheduled appearance by a nunchaku-wielding ninja may just be the the thing he needs to plan his escape.

And even maybe get the girl.

Who in this case is a leather skirted, fish-netted Asia.

Bastard.

No caption required.

With plots, acting and direction this diverse, you can't accuse Degenerazione of being boring and with it's frenetic mix of straight forward shocks, twisty-turny endings and highly eclectic story telling techniques you at least know that if you're not enjoying the current tale there'll be another one (or even two) along in a few minutes.

Shot for free by everyone involved, Degenerazione is an incredibly enjoyable mess of creativity over cash, putting to shame most no budget horrors of the last decade or so thru' sheer cheekiness alone.

Oh and did I mention Asia Argento is in it in fishnets?

Worth tracking down for the taxi segment (titled India 21) alone, Degenerazione played the film festival circuit before disappearing into oblivion alongside Tom Savini's Vampyrates and the third series of The Tripods, never to be seen again.

Until now obviously.

Unless it was all a dream that is.

here's one i made earlier.

To celebrate the 60th birthday of Blue Peter, here's the Unwell guide to our top ten favourite presenters....EVER!

No 'laugh now' or 'mooth shite-in' here tho' because frankly Blue Peter is brilliant.

So there.

10. Peter (have you ever met Steven's tailor?) Purves.

9. Peter Duncan (donuts).

8. John (I never done it) Leslie.

7. Janet (Sophie) Ellis (Bexter's mum).

6. Simon Groom(ing kids on t'internet - not really).

5. Yvette Fielding (supersonic).

4. Val (up the casino) Singleton.

3. John (Beast Master) Noakes.

2. Konnie (meow meow meow) Huq.

1. Sarah Greene (gables).

screen burn.

It's another day in the slow motion car crash that is 31 Days of Horror and we're trading scares for 'the sex' as we grab our old VHS player and insert....

Sx_Tape (2014).
Dir: Bernard Rose.
Cast: Caitlyn Folley, Ian Duncan, Chris Coy and Diana Garcia, Julie Marcus, Daniel Faraldo but alas not Jason Segal or Cameron Diaz.

Robby: Who has sex for three hours?
Jay: We did!
Robby: That's the length of the movie "Lincoln". You did the full Lincoln.
Ooops....wrong tape...

The annoyingly nasal and scarily pube bearded Adam (Ian Duncan but not Smith unfortunately) bored with constantly making dodgy sex videos with his girlfriend - the free-spirited (meaning she gets her kit off at the drop of a hat) and spookily milky arsed Jill (Folley, a kinda Lidl Lily Rabe) decides instead to make a documentary about her life and work as an artist.

In between filming them having sex obviously.

After what seems like an eternity of watching the happy hippy couple gazing lovingly at each other, shoplifting sunglasses and Jill baring her arse to passersby from her kitchen window, Adam decides that what the movie (both his and the one we're being forced to endure) needs is a fantastic location full of fear and spookiness.

Unfortunately the budget doesn't stretch to anything remotely like that (I mean they can't even afford a halfway decent fitting bra for Jill, every time she walks past it's like she has two frisky puppies fighting under her shirt) so Adam drives Jill out to the recently abandoned Vergerus Institute for Troubled Women.

The hospital obviously named by a fan of director Ingmar Bergman, has a long history abuse, abortions and lecherous lobotomy lovers making it the perfect place, according to Adam for Jill to throw a party to celebrate her artistic skills.

Or get possessed by a vengeful spirit and kill folk.

Whichever's more convenient for the plot.

Salt and vinegar.

Dodging security guards as they venture further into the hospital, it's only a matter of time (if not taste) before Adam talks Jill into letting him tie her down to an operating table under the pretense of having some of the kinky sex.

Unfortunately for Jill (but not us because it means we aren't going to have to look at her arse again) Adam has no intention of putting it in her in a violent manner usually reserved for dogs and your dad when drunk, preferring to run away in an attempt to convince Jill that he's fucking off home and leaving her there for the night.

  Smoky bacon.

The rest of the film consists of hour upon hour of hilarious camera footage as Jill tries to scratch her nose and tries not to pee herself etc. before Adam returns the next day and frees her.

After an initial bout of grumpiness, laughs and swearing ensue all round as the couple imagine how they'll spend the £250 they'll get from You've Been Framed.

The end.

If only.

Nope, what actually happens is that within seconds of him wandering off a female ghost appears and possesses Jill causing her first to agree to a wee bout of bondage bed sex with Adam and secondly - yet much more erotically if I'm honest, to have a severe nose bleed in a kinda League of Gentlemen way.

Bloody Hell the Babadook isn't going to turn up too is he?

Quavers.

Realizing that nose bleeds, arses and mild bondage do not a horror movie make our dense duo decide to go home only to find that their car has been towed leaving Jill no choice but to call her even more annoying (if that were possible) pals Ellie (Garcia best known as Ximena from the fantastic TV show Kdabra...No me neither) and her infinitely punchable 'art terrorist' boyfriend, the buck-toothed Bobby (Hostel III's Coy) for a lift home.

It'll come as no surprise when I tell you that they don't actually head home for more mutual ego masturbation but head back into the hospital under the pretence that Bobby can 'tag' the place whilst waving a pistol around in a gangsta manner.

Yup, he's a gun totin' graffiti artist.

Or as we call them around here a massive bellend.

Watch out watch out Bobby's about.

With his gun in one hand and his cock in the other Bobby manages the near impossible task of making the other characters seem likeable as he swaggers around attempting to mount Jill like a desperate, drowning man at any opportunity which, if nothing else annoys Adam enough to forced him to stomp off in a sulk closely followed by the vacuum sucking non-entity that is Ellie.

This of course gives Jill and Bobby ample time to saunter off to possibly have sex/get murdered by an evil ghost.

Or both.

Frankly I don't care.

Prawn cocktail.

After a while Ellie, bored with having to look at Adams beard and after sucking all the joy from the room persuades him to stand in a corner whilst she goes off to find the others, leaving the hairy one to mutter to himself until that is his narcissistic natterings are interrupted by a volley of screams and gunfire.

Adam goes to investigate, eventually finding an hysterical (but not in that way) Jill covered in blood and semen and surround by spent bullet casings.

Hmmm.

Jill mutters something about having Bobby trying to put it in her lady garden and Ellie being upset before wandering off to the hospital's medical record archive, where she almost immediately picks up the file belonging to Toni Colette (played by Grand Theft Auto V's Marcus), a violently suicidal schizophrenic patient ultimately lobotomized for being too mad.

Oh yeah and for appearing in the United States of Tara TV series.

Probably.

Monster munch.

If that wasn't enough tho' it seems that poor Colette was actually lobotomized on the very bed that Jill was strapped to earlier.

What are the chances eh?

And could this mean that Colette has in fact possessed Jill?

Our jumpy duo have no time to ponder such mysteries as Jill is soon running down the corridors shouting abuse at Adam whilst he points the camera at various bits of the room hoping to see the ghostly girl that keeps appearing  at random intervals framed by a hazy glow of mid-80's Top of The Pops visual trickery.

Which everyone knows means a fantastically scary climax must be fast approaching.

After much, well a bit of searching Adam comes across Jill (but not in that way tho' I've no idea why seeing as everyone else has) hiding in an office clutching a video tape which he tries to take it from her.

Being a big wuss tho' he only manages a couple of half arsed grabs before she pushes him out of the way and disappears again.

It's becoming less Blair Witch more Chariots of Fire the amount of running in this movie, I'm knackered just writing about it.

Tho' that might have to do with the copious times I've had to get up and wander around the room for fear of beating myself to death due to the effects of watching such a turgid movie.

Spicy nik naks.

As luck - and plot convenience would have it - the hospitals security system is still working, allowing Adam to trace his gaga girlfriend via the miracle of CCTV and to also, thanks to good old fashioned video technology rewind the tape and find out what actually happened between Jill, Ellie and the Bobster.

Oh you'd forgotten about them too?

Well it seems that Bobby and Jill did in fact have 'the sex' but were interrupted by Ellie who like anyone in that situation decided to join in.

Which was all well and good (if a wee bit blurry) until Jill decides to spoil everyone's fun by shooting the pair in their respective faces.

Don't you hate it when that happens?

Doritos.

Needing to pee (or crack one off, take your pick) after such a shocking revelation Adam heads to the nearest bathroom only to find Jill sitting silently in the cubicle still clutching the video tape.

Covered in blood, sweat, egg and shame and stinking like a pikeys vest, Jill scarily demands that Adam allows her to give him a blow job before changing her mind and shooting him in the head.

And the contents of the video tape?

It seems that the black hearted (and bearded) head of the hospital Dr. Simeone had filmed himself fiddling with an anesthetized Colette before performing her lobotomy.

And possibly after.

The end.

The phrase 'another day, another found footage movie' seems to have been playing on a constant loop for the last 10 years, i mean for Bods sake is no-one making anything else?

And no, 80s set nostalgia flicks don't count.

And when you come across one directed by Brit flick stalwart Bernard 'Mary' Rose you can at least expect it to look nice can't you?

I mean come on, this is the guy that gave us Candyman and Snuff Movie.

Hmmm.....I didn't really think that thru' did I?

"Is it in yet?"

Apart from the sex tape angle there's nothing here we haven't seen a hundred (OK a hundred and six) times before and even then the quite cool idea of haunted semen based shenanigans is completely discarded on the title alone as first (only hopefully) time writer Eric Reese blows it all by concentrating on a spooky abandoned building instead.

Maybe it's uniqueness blinded me.

Or more likely the overall averageness of the proceedings has numbed me to a point where I can't type for fear of bringing the whole depressing mess back before my eyes.

No plot, no point, no mercy.

Tomorrow something good.

If my computer is working, obviously.