sick squid.

This film was like the Holy Grail of beast-based horror growing up.

No, seriously - alongside The Crater Lake Monster it was on the top of my 'must see' list for decades.

And why? I hear you cry.

Well I remember catching a few clips of it on Clapperboard with Chris Kelly (as in he hosted it, he wasn't babysitting me or anything dodgy) and thinking it looked sensational, tho' in my defense I was 7 at the time.

So did it live up to childhood expectations?

Go on, guess.

"Clap mah board you magnificent wee bastards!"

Tentacles (AKA Tentacoli, 1977).
Dir: Ovidio G. Assonitis (AKA Oliver Hellman).
Cast: John Huston, Shelley Winters, Bo Hopkins, Henry Fonda, Delia Boccardo, Cesare Danova, Claude Akins, Alan Boyd, Franco Diogene, Marc Fiorini and
Sherry Buchanan.

 "Will, I've heard the suckers on a tentacles are like the claws on a tiger."

"Compared to suckers on a tentacle, claws are nothing Mr. Turner."

Welcome to the hip n' happening saucy seaside resort of Solana Beach where men are men and the women are hideously overdubbed in an makeshift shed to hide their Italian origins.

One such woman is busy adjusting her lippy as her frighteningly chubby baby bounces in it's buggy.

How sweet.

She soon however sees her best friend pull up on the opposite side of the road and in a move that even the McCann's would baulk at abandons her baby at trots off for a wee chat.

As the pals happily natter away we can only watch as the baby bounces happily in the background (tho' to be honest he's huge so wouldn't be that hard to spot) before promptly disappearing as a bus goes by causing a bout of mild indifference in the parent.

Meanwhile over at the docks we're introduced to 'salty' Stan the sailor man and his shiny peg leg as he, alongside his tight-shorted sidekick Erasmus prepare their boat for a wee fishing trip.

But all this dockside polishing is hard work (ask your mum) and Erasmus soon wanders of for a sandwich leaving poor Stan to get tugged overboard by an unseen assailant.

Don't worry tho' he soon turns up (well bits of him do) bobbing about in the ocean as a fat lady in a tiny red bikini attempts to get a greasy rat-like guy to put it in her.

Who says romance is dead?

"Laugh now!"

Enter (gently tho' he's 71 and may hurt his back) top journalist type 'Newsworthy' Ned Turner (cinema god Huston, wishing he hadn't bought that second holiday home) who's convinced that the recent deaths are somehow related to the massive tunnel being dug out at sea by the amusingly monikered Trojan Tunnels PLC.

The local sheriff (Akins from loads of stuff, go look him up if you like, I'll still be here when you get back) agrees.

His reason?

"That tunnel that they're building is using equipment Buck Rogers couldn't dream up!"

Which seems fair enough.

Fuck the deaths and discussions where are the old men in dresses? I hear you cry, well don't worry as the next scene features Huston wandering around the house in a christening gown smoking a cigar, his ickle fin legs sticking out of the bottom like stubbly matchsticks as his sister Tillie (Winters....how the heck did Assonitis get this cast?) poses provocatively around the house for his amusement.

One tearful wank and a Pot Noodle later (well I'm only flesh and blood) and we're back to the plot good and proper with an autopsy of the unfortunate Stan.

It appears that whatever killed him tore of most of his flesh before chowing down of his cartilage and finally guzzling all his marrow, leading our heroes to phone an underwater expert to see if he has any clue as to what's going on.

With Richard Dreyfuss busy in rehab it's left to famed oceanographer and whale trainer Will Gleason (Teevee stalwart and father of Anthony, Bo Hopkins) to step into the fray.

Unfortunately it looks like he'll only be able to assist from afar seeing as a recent case of the bends has left him unable to even dip his toes in water without fear of exploding.

As a plus point it does mean that he and his sharp-faced wife Vicky (Boccardo from the classic Secret of the Sahara Teevee Mini-Series) will get a free holiday out of it so it's not all bad plus being so well renowned he can easily send two no-mark extras out to sea to have a nosy around in his place.

Which means more food for whatever's munching its way thru the cast so everyone's a winner really.

"Hello French Polishers? You might just be able to save my life!"

Not everyone is so happy at the thought of Gleason's arrival tho', especially the head of Trojan (and purveyor of Buck Rogers style drilling equipment) Mr Farley Whitehead (Fonda, Mel Ferrer was busy).

Could chemicals/radiation/out of date peaches released by his sinister multinational be to blame for the recent deaths?

In any other movie the answer would be yes but in a bizarre twist of logic (and due in all probability to dear old Henry only being available for a single afternoons shooting) the only thing they've done wrong is forget to forward the paperwork to head office to say that they've started drilling a week early.

But who cares about dead Italian extras when there's a regatta to organize?

Especially when Tillie's son Tommy and his urine obsessed pal Jamie are entering.

The race that is not each other.

"How much for a mooth shite-in?"

Meanwhile back at the main plot Will is pining for his whales so decides to attempt to woo his wife into indulging his animal passions instead, unfortunately she has a sailing trip to go on (alongside her sister, a hunky man with high hair and bizarrely enough a fat Mexican played to comic perfection by the fantastic Franco Diogene, who after sporting cinema's biggest underpants ever in Andrea Bianchi’s Strip Nude For Your Killer is rewarded here with the world's tiniest swimming trunks) so leaves our hero dazed, confused and with his meager erection in his ladylike hands.

As luck would have it she gets stuck in the toilet and misses the boat leaving it up to Sherry Buchanan (she of Zombi Holocaust fame) to supply the bikini clad sexiness (alongside some top racist fatphobia) for a few minutes before the three are eaten whole.

Well not the fat guy obviously, that takes a few more bites.

Whilst all this sea-based tomfoolery is going down, Will and company make a startling discovery.

And it's not that they're stuck in a terminally dull Italian Jaws rip-off with delusions of entertainment value.

Which would be quite nice if I'm honest, I mean the rest of the film could be taken up with the American cast desperately calling their agents whilst the yumsome Buchanan lounges about in a tiny bikini.

But alas it's not that interesting or arousing.

But it is fairly funny.

Turns out that the drilling is so loud that it's annoyed an octopus that lives near by causing him to lose sleep and go a wee bit mental, killing anyone he thinks is related to the project.

Just like octopi are known not to do.

Well glad that's settled.

Here come the Belgians!

By this point you can tell that the movie is beginning to hurtle (lurch?) toward an action packed climax as a few more folk are quickly munched by the monster whilst the Sheriff runs around in a vain attempt to shut off the coastline before anyone else dies.

Unfortunately in all the excitement he appears to have forgotten to cancel the regatta.

Arse.

So the scene is set for an ocean-based blood(less) bath as the boats set sail, everyone aboard clutching walkie talkies specifically tuned to an octopus-baiting frequency (how lucky is that) whilst the rest of the town sit on the beach and watch a shit clown tell even shitter jokes totally oblivious to what's going on.

But best of all tho' is the fact that all of this plays out to a big band remix of  Stelvio Cipriani's theme from What Have They Done to Your Daughters? on an almost constant loop.

No really.

I mean when the composer can't be arsed coming up with some new music for a movie what chance do the rest of us have?

To be fair tho' he was kinda busy at the time scoring such classics as  The Great Alligator and Piranha II: The Spawning.

I almost expected the octopus to burst out of the water on a motorbike, slashing at the competitors with a huge knife whilst taking candid pics of underage girls in bikini's.

Saying that it's a thought I often have anyway.

Buchanan: Gallery.

Will our heroes be able to stop the octopus and it's reign of rampaging revenge before the race has finished?

Will our heroes wife be stupid enough to go out to sea to look for her missing sister only to be eaten in a scene directly riffed from Jaws?

Will John Huston vanish from the film entirely after realizing it's beyond saving leaving poor old Bo Hopkins to face the creature alone (apart from a couple of Killer Whales that is)?

Will Henry Fonda ever forgive his agent?

And Will Shelley Winters please stop showing her arse?

Most famous (around here anyway) for 'co-directing' the best sequel James Cameron ever made - the aforementioned Piranha II: The Spawning, Ovidio G. Assonitis takes Jaws as a template for his octo-based 'orror but decides (wisely or unwisely depending on your tolerance to pain) to replace that movies taunt pacing and genuine scares with endless shots of people chatting behind shrubbery, inappropriate kazoo use and Shelley Winters in a variety of ever lager hats intercut with scenes of a baby octopus nonchalantly nudging a toy boat in a bath.

Genius or madman?

You decide.

But (try to) ignore all that and stick with it to the bitter end and you'll be rewarded by the awesome sight of a visibly drunk (and somewhat aroused) Bo Hopkins tearfully flirting (via radio mike) with a couple of whales before sending them off to do battle with the films titular terror and all this is (frighteningly realistically) achieved by attacking a baby octopus with two handmade felt rod puppets.

But probably only because it was too much hard work to catch the real thing.

Oh yes and find a bath big enough to film it in.

Essential viewing for fans of Shelley Winters in hats.

blue is the warmest colour.

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

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

I don't have any real friends.

Obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spooky.

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

No, really.

Savile: The Return.

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

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

Which is nice.

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

Eggs with pupils drawn on them obviously.

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

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

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

Twice.

Capt. Jack Sparrow: The Bri-Nylon years.

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

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

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

Americans eh?

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

Nutted but still sucking.

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

See? 

That stuff earlier wasn't just filler.

Probably.

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

But not just any bald man.

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

And his neighbour.

And his neighbours dog.

Could the headaches and hair loss be related?

Go on, guess.

Leslie Dixon: Still fears the chives.

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

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

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

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

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

His bald spot is fortunately quite natural.

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

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

"Put it in me!"

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

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

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

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

 Will Flemming manage to hold onto his election?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And by default you too.

Good day.

dressed for excess.

Brilliant article over at Vintage Everyday showcasing Jacques Fonteray and Paco Rabanne's frankly fantastic costume designs for the 1968 Roger Vadim movie Barbarella.


Enjoy a taster.

plug!

Now available - Presenting over 200 pages of horrific Victorian fact and fiction,and featuring art by me, Gaslit and Gruesome is now on sale from Amazon.

selling the star wars.

Four of the original concepts for selling George Lucas' little seen space opera to an unsuspecting audience way back in the summer of 76.

Wonder what became of it?

brothers in arms.

Just woke up (well not literally, I mean I've been awake for hours what I just typed was a figure of speech to set the scene but hopefully you knew that) to the news that top children's entertainer and scourge of the left wing Barry Chuckle has died.

This reminded me that over a decade ago (yes I've been blogging in undeniable obscurity for that long - tragic I know) I wrote a rather nice piece about the brothers celebrating twenty years as Britain's premiere comedy duo.

Many folk (well two) found it vaguely amusing so I thought I'd re-post it now (with some added stuff so you don't feel cheated) as a tribute.

Enjoy.

Twin brothers Barry (born 24 December 1843) and Paul Von Chuckle (born 18 October 1870) were abandoned by their parents in the forests of Lithuania when it was discovered that they suffered from a rare form of Lycanthropy that caused them to be born with a full head of thick, spiky brown hair, mustaches and mullets.

The earliest existing photo of Paul and
Barry Von Chuckle, aged 3.

Saved from certain death and raised by a passing band of cannibalistic circus gypsies, the brothers were versed in the dark and ancient rites of 'knockabout comedy', entertaining the crown heads of Europe until a fateful night in 1907 when they found themselves shipwrecked off the coast of Scotland after a particularly violent storm.

Left penniless and homeless (but not mustache-less) the brothers survived the only way they knew how, desecrating graves and feasting on the flesh of corpses, absorbing the very essence of the recently deceased bodies before pawning their rings.

A rare (colourised) photo of the brothers parents, Lord Hailstrom and Lady Vindictiva Von Chuckle, Duisberg 1867.

It was during one such graveyard excursion that they discovered tickets to the ITV talent show New Faces in the jacket pocket of a murdered country singer - Wailin' Wayne Wilton and after consuming the singers face the brothers stole the tickets and decided to audition.

It came as a surprise to audiences and contestants alike when the duo won the series in 1974 after the bookies favourite, Wee Charlie Hadcock (an Edinburgh-based ventriloquist suffering from leprosy whose catchphrase "moldy bread!" had taken the nation by storm at the time) was found dead in his dressing room with his throat ripped out.

The last known photo of
Wee Charlie Hadcock.

The boys should have been catapulted to stardom had it not been for a terrifying incident during the final curtain call where the full moon like shape of the arc lights coupled with the over excited pheromones of fellow contestant Marti Caine caused the brothers to revert to their true form...that of giant humanoid dog-like creatures (with mullets) and attack the audience.

This incident went on to be known as the great Teddington terror and for many years became a favourite staple of the Dennis Norden gaffs 'n' gashes compilation show It'll Be Alright On The Night as well as inspiring the little seen 1978 Hindi horror classic Darwaza.

Grade: pseudo-sexual
science.

Luckily too much bloodshed was avoided when one of Caine's fellow judges, Lord Lew Grade managed to calm the brothers by singing an old Lithuanian lullaby in his native tongue before subduing them with his silver topped walking stick and whisking them away to a top secret research facility hidden beneath Pinewood studios.

What happened to Paul and Barry in the intervening ten years is difficult to know, rumour has it that Grade spent millions trying to harness their sheer animalistic entertainment talent (and luxurious hair length) to create a new race of Teevee personality (ex Magpie frontman Mick Robertson was discovered to be part of this breeding programme), this would explain the sightings of large wolf-like beasts reported around the studio's in the mid seventies and the excessive amounts of missing persons the police have on file for the Pinewood area at the time.

Mick Robertson, Algarve 1978.

The brothers would have become a footnote in history had it not been for the efforts of world renowned animal expert and geneticist Rod Hull, who in late 1984, launched a daring raid on the studio to free Paul and Barry and offer them a lucrative BBC contract.

The mission (codenamed: Entertainment Express) did not go smoothly however, a spy in the ranks meant that Grades crack ITC elite were waiting for them, mortally wounding funnyman Peter Glaze. and had it not been for the sacrifice of Bernie Clifton's ostrich Oswald there would have been many more casualties.

Clifton and Oswald shortly before

the raid that would claim his life.

The story tho' had a happy ending (and a new beginning) for the Chuckle Brothers, thanks to the help and guidance of Hull and Barbara Woodhouse, Paul and Barry launched themselves onto our Teevee screens in 1985 with the spectacular Chucklehounds, a series of short shows (usualy featuring the brothers attempting to move pianos for pensioners) with no dialogue aimed at a pre-school  (and post pub) audience.

"To me to yooooooooooo!" The Chucklehounds attempt to move a piano.

The viewing public, caught up in the excitement of the show failed to realise that the brothers were not, in fact wearing costumes but still trapped in their Vulpine form and tho' ratings were high the duo were kept away from public appearances for fear that they may eat the children.

Pyke: Five fingers, never touched the sides.

In 1986 however a breakthru' occurred when famous Doctor of Scientific things, Magnus Pyke discovered that an enzyme secreted from the brother's forebrain - usually found at the ballooning end of the neural tube and located most rostrally (toward the nose) was the cause of their affliction.

In an average human the caudal end of this ballooning portion is the rhombencephalon (4th ventricle), the middle part of the balloon is the mesencephelon, and the anterior part of the balloon is the proencephelon/forebrain but in the brothers case it was discovered that the  proencephalon was divided by the ballooning inwards - rather than out.

Further studies showed that the telencephalic vesicles could be used to ferment a change in their physiognomy, returning them to their 'human' form permanently.


But you all probably knew that.


The procedure was a success and the brothers, with the the last vestige of their wolf form, razor sharp incisors cunningly hidden behind bushy moustaches quickly moved on to their most famous show, Chuckle Vision in 1987 and, with catchphrases such as "To me....To you!", "Fancy a spin in me motor?" and "Ooooh....he's a suave bugger!" the show was an overnight hit bringing in over 19 million viewers.

Suave buggers indeed!

There was nothing to stop the brothers now, wining the BAFTA for best children's series and launching the quiz 'To Me, To You', the basic format of which was deceptively cunning; involving as it did two teams, competing each round for prizes on a morticians trolley (albeit with a fake corpse attached). By rolling a dice carved from human bone the teams had to get the trolley to their end of the board. The 'squares' leading up to their end of the board often represented dangerous challenges such as piranha pools, quick lime pits and gun emplacements manned by ex-Soviet special forces.

The rounds ended when this was achieved and new prizes were put on the trolley, which was reset to the centre with a cry of "Oh how fortitude doth forgive the foolish!" delivered by a cage of lank-haired homeless ex- bus conductors.

The show lasted for three series before being banned under the UN war crimes committee.

"But who will help me with this piano?" Tensions run high as the UN arrest the brothers.

The brothers were soon acquitted of any wrong doing blaming co-host Dave Lee Travis for the numerous violations of human rights on show, even going as far as to give evidence against the so-called 'Human Cornflake at The Hague despite death threats from a sinister cabal of showbiz luminaries led by Jimmy's Savile and Krankie.

It was during the final day of the trial when the brothers escaped death for a third time (after the Scottish shipwreck and an ill-advised summer season in Weston Super Mare obviously) when comedy superstar Billy Pearce - brainwashed by Travis and high on Tizer - attempted to attack the courtroom with stinkbombs given away free with that weeks Whizzer And Chips comic.

Luckily Three of A Kind star and ex-SAS sergeant David Copperfield was present, managing to wrestle the bombs before they could be used, diffusing the smell by lying on top of them therefore allowing his brand new Arran sweater to soak up the stench whilst armed guards cleared the area.

Pearce: Hypnotized.

 Thanks to a massive multi-agency operation the evil cabal was eventually broken up allowing the brothers to return to their second love (their first being grave robbing) appearing on stage almost constantly throughout the rest of year as they toured with their semi-autobiographical show "'Boiled Onions and Bangers" across the UK.

And it was the success of the show that led to the brothers to concentrate more on stage than TV as over the next 18 months they premiered over a thousand new shows including  The Erotic Adventures of the Chuckle Brothers, The Chuckle Brothers in - Trouble at Sea, Raiders of the Lost Bark, Barry Potty and his Smarter Brother Paul in the Chamber of Horrors, The Chuckle Brothers meet Pol Pot, Star Doors, Pirates of the River Rother, Doctor What and The Return Of The Garlics, Spooky Goings On, Spooky Goings On 2: Prayer of the Crack Ho's and their biggest success to date the fantastic plea for peace in the Middle East Chuckling All The Way To The West Bank.



But all this success couldn't save Barry from the nightmares and flashbacks caused by his experiences with the showbiz terrorist group that tried to kill him.

And it would be these fears that would almost cause the brothers career to come crashing down around them as when researching a new show about an overweight feminist set on a 70s council estate - the controversially titled "Lip Up Fatty" that Barry was drawn into the world of fringe British politics, posting threads on Facebook regarding the banning of Foreign-made Spoons and bringing back the death penalty for the use of canned laughter during the recording of sitcoms.

Paul desperate to save not only his brothers sanity but a lucrative marketing deal that had just been signed with chemical giants Glaxo hatched a plan to kidnap his brother andtake him back to the wilds of Scotland to recover.

And this he did, leaving British TV and theatre bereft of any mustache-based monkey business for almost a decade.

But as suddenly as they'd vanished they returned with the news that after a massive bidding war (and at the cost of over 20,000 lives, mainly in marketing so no loss really) that The pair had signed a massive multi-million pound contract with well-respected arts broadcasters Channel Five to produce an in no way derivative (yet still hilarious) clip show cleverly titled Chuckle Time (with The Chuckle Brothers.

Harry Hill was unavailable for comment.

As was Lisa Riley.

Tho' that might be because the restraining order is still in force.

Riley: Twice.

But let's forget all the Dodgy politics and even dodgier fashion choices and just remember The brothers as they would have wanted.

As comedies (elder) gods.

And with this quote from their management when The Huffington Post asked for a statement on the rise of the right in the UK:

Barry Chuckle - (born 24 December 1843 - died 5 August 2018)