crocoshite.

 

 

Day 4 of the whole 31 Days of Horror shtick and it's time to pop on our swimsuits and chance an encounter with the...

Killer Crocodile (1989).
Dir: Fabrizio De Angelis (as Larry Ludman).
Cast: Sherrie Rose, Van Johnson, Ennio Girolami, John Harper, Richard Anthony Crenna, Ann Douglas, Julian Hampton, Bill Wohrman and a huge crocodile.

In what looks like a garden pond somewhere in the deep south (it's the trousers), a couple of pissed stained and hideously dubbed old men are sitting in a kiddies boat discussing the current state of the river and lack of fish therein.

As the camera slowly glides, well judders, in towards our old chums as they continue their ad-libbed rant a big wooden bright green emulsioned crocodile jumps out of the bushes behind them whilst making a roaring sound, it's mouth stiffly opening and closing like an old barn door.


Cue the Jaws theme (well as near as dammit without getting sued) as we're treated to a croc's eye view of a filth ridden pond whilst, on the not too distant shore a man with a guitar and a bowl haired lady get out of a car.

Exciting stuff.

Obviously intrigued as to what's going on the crocodile silently watches as guitar man starts to pluck his funky stuff, much to the chagrin of his girlfriend whose expression seems to fluctuate between slightly bored, annoyed and comatose.

"I can see your house from here Peter".

Finishing his romantic serenade, Mr. Music reveals his true intentions; he means to have the sex with the lady.

Unfortunately (for him) she prefers to frolic about in what looks like a sewage overflow rather than let him put it in her.

Them the breaks I suppose.

Within seconds of entering the water tho' our small-hipped heroine is attacked by the so called 'killer' crocodile and dragged off to her death.

"MONSTA!"

Meanwhile somewhere in the Philippines a group of instantly forgettable mature students are searching the local waterways for evidence of illegal chemical dumping.

Sexy bespectacled Mark (Hampton AKA Pietro Genuardi from Paganini Horror and Dellamorte Dellamore) is busy taking random photos (hoping no doubt to get a few upskirt shots) whilst Kevin (Crenna son of the late great Richard) and his pal Bob (Harper) are busying themselves hitting the water with a stick.

It wouldn't be an Italian horror movie without some attractive ladies but obviously the budget wouldn't stretch so here we have the permanently scowling Pamela (Rose), the 'handsome'  Jennifer (Douglas, looking like someone's mum)  and buck-toothed local beauty Cynthia (possibly).

There is also a small dog which none too surprising is more charismatic than the rest of the cast combined.

"My dog's got no knob". "How does it make love?" "It's a bitch".

Although Cynthia is convinced that their expedition is fruitless it's not long before our tree-hugging chums come across a huge pile of rusted beer barrels oozing shaving foam.

On their sides reads "TOXIC WASTE, PROPERTY OF MR. B. ADMAN'S CHEMICAL COMPANY".

Bob, wearing his best decorating overalls and a gimp mask swims over to the barrels in order to take a radiation reading, which is pretty smart seeing as he's actually holding a Karl Zeiss light meter, and what do you know, it goes off the scale.

Heading back to the boat he declares that things are worse than he initially thought and the industrial waste they've just discovered is the worst kind imaginable, it's so toxic that it could possibly make crocodiles grow to giant sizes.

Realizing that the expedition is ill equipped to handle a clean up job of this magnitude (fuck it, they'd be hard put to organize a kiddies boat party), Kevin decides that they should camp out overnight then approach the local authorities the next morn.

Being characterless lemmings the others just nod in agreement.

"Must kill water with stick!"

With night fast approaching our intrepid crew set up camp at the edge of the local play park (near the duck-pond) and spend the rest of the evening trying to decided who is the most tired/least attractive/next to die etc. whilst our doggy pal, bored with such human pursuits and desperate for a shite merrily runs off into the trees.

A few minutes later the groups monotonous conversation is interrupted by a huge yelp.

Being a dirty foreigner (compared to the others of course) and being the only non-named actor in the cast it's obviously Cynthia's job to go look for the furry lil devil, calling out as she wanders through the bushes, eventually arriving at where the boat is docked.

It's a bloody big park.

Kneeling at the waters edge she finds the dog's bloodied collar but before she has time to even scream the crocodile jumps out of the water and eats her whole.

Which is weird because they usually spit that bit out.*

Sade, up the casino, Brighton, 1987....YESCH!

The next morning as the crew begin to tidy away their camping equipment they begin to wonder as to the whereabouts of Cynthia but only for a few minutes because in no time at all their sailing off to town to report the pollution.

They're not all bad tho' as they do make a few half arsed attempts to call out her name as they leisurely chug down stream.

Arriving in town the group jump into a dilapidated old truck in search of the police station whilst a mysterious man in a hat watches from behind a bush.

Bizarrely enough our cool crew discover that not only does the town have no law enforcement at all but also that the fish market doubles as a morgue (but only on Tuesdays), anything legal is dealt with by a sprightly old ginger gentleman called the judge (former Hollywood heart-throb Van Johnson, obviously over his head in unpaid rent boys) and points them in the right direction.

Basically they're told to follow the smell of gin, piss and lavender.

Beware children, this Van is not full of sweets.

Unfortunately the judge is a bit of a bastard, togged up in his thin cotton finery and nipple revealing shirt and wastes no time in telling the plucky conservationists to fuck off before he puts them in jail for some reason or another.

After a half-hearted bitch fest where Pamela accuses the judge of being in bed with the man from the chemical factory (not literally mind, tho' I wouldn't put it past him, I mean Bill Wohrman is a fairly hunky piece o' meat) our teens head back to the boat deciding, like a cut-price junked up Scooby gang to search for Cynthia themselves.

As they leave the man in question, Jeff Sexington Foley (the aforementioned Wohrman) forces himself thru' the judges backdoor and demands that the meddling kids be dealt with. The judge however just sighs and cryptically tells Foley that he will have to stop "dumping his stuff in the swamp".

Is it just me or is this movie going all homo-erotic?

Insert cock here.

Back on the boat the group are busy using all their skills to find their friend which, I admit appears to involve splashing the water with a big stick whilst occasionally shouting her name.

The tedium is soon broken when the boat runs aground on a big rock, which at least gives them another reason to use the stick and Pamela an excuse to strip to her bra and pants.

Seriously tho' that's not as promising as it sounds.

Seductively swimming around the boat in an attempt to dislodge it Pamela pulls a big branch away from the hull and is fairly shocked when a half chewed Cynthia pops up.

Dragging her aboard (and searching her pockets for loose change) our heroes reckon she's been attacked by a massive (maybe chemically mutated) crocodile and head back to town to confront the judge.

Put it in me!

This would probably be a good idea if the local doctor wasn't in the judges pocket too because even tho' he kinda admits it looks a wee bit like a crocodile attack he's all too happy to side with the evil Foley, who suggests that the group murder their guide for some strange reason he hasn't thought of yet.

Just as the hanging (to the left) judge is about to have them arrested (by whom we are never told) the legend that is Sir Ennio of Girolami enters the room.

He will be playing the role of Joe, the huge hatted, hairy chested rough n' tough big game hunter for the rest of the movie and it's a pleasure to have him aboard.

Joe knows his stuff and after examining Cynthia's wounds announces that they're looking for a crocodile that's least 20 feet long that answers to the name of Terry.

More importantly tho' Joe offers to find it, kill it and skin it.

But not necessarily in that order. 

Bruce Forsyth picks a ring.

Back at the group's boat, Jennifer and Kevin convince the others (over a few beers) that they owe it to Cynthia to find the crocodile responsible and, um, make sure no-one kills it so that they can prove that Foley is dumping his muck in the river.

But for this they're going to need Joe's help.

As is the way in these situations our heroes decide that it'd be best to get Joe drunk before broaching the subject so, wallets in hand head over to the local bar cum bingo hall, not noticing the crocodile slowly swimming it's way to the dock behind them.

"shite (actor) in mah mooth!"

As Kevin, Pamela, Joe and the gang sit and enjoy a Babycham or three whilst discussing the best way to catch a crocodile a small raggedy girl sits happily playing with a Cabbage Patch kid on the dock (her family can't be that poor then) as a couple of local bad boys aimlessly toss a ball about before deciding it'd be much better fun to knock the doll into the water.

Cue the almost Jaws theme and ten minutes of kiddie based terror as the crocodile attempts to eat the screaming child as she clings onto the rapidly sinking dock for dear life, the towns folk standing around nonchalantly on the shoreline as if watching a football match.

How fucking unpopular must this kid be?


Luckily at least one of the townsfolk seems to care (it's either her dad or the local pedo) as one guy runs towards the dock to help but rather than just pull the girl up he climbs down into the water (next to the crocodile) and attempts (badly) to push her up.

Or at least get a good glimpse of her undies before she dies.

Not too surprisingly he slides into the crocodiles massive mouth and gets eaten, alongside a second rescuer who clumsily puts his foot in a hole right above the still hungry crocodile and (you'll never guess) gets eaten too.

It's like the Darwin Awards gone mad.

By this time our heroes have turned up at the dock to see what all the shouting was about and within seconds have jumped into action, Kev and Bob jump into the water and begin beating the crocodile with a big plank whilst Joe shoots randomly at anything that moves.

Mark on the other hand is busy taking photo's in the hope of at least getting 50 quid from You've Been Framed.

Oh no, the little girl slides into the water but luckily Bob manages to grab her hair and throw her to safety whilst Joe continues to shoot things from his boat.

By this time the crocodile has decided that he's had enough of this eating extras lark and swims off into the middle distance as Joe waves his fist at it between shooting at stuff.

The scene is now set for a battle like no other (alright a battle like the end of Jaws, Orca Killer Whale et al.) as Joe prepares to kill the crocodile and Mark and co. prepare to save it....

I predict blood, sweat and eggy stains.

From the fevered mind of ex-postman cum producer and director Fabrizio De Angelis comes probably the greatest Van Johnson starring killer crocodile movie ever made.

I would have said Ennio Girolami starring but as we all know, he's also in the sequel, directed by SFX god Giannetto De Rossi.

But we're leaping ahead of ourselves, what of the original (and best) of the pair?

"Not the face love!"

Well what can you say about a movie that epitomizes everything that is so right (and so, so wrong) with low budget '80's Euro' horror cinema?

Shoddy camera work, sunburned actors, stilted almost surrealist dubbing, ludicrously fashionable haircuts and a lack of respect for the laws of storytelling that would make Baron Munchhausen balk crash headlong into an almost 'fuck you' disregard for budgetary constraints as it proudly displays it's star attraction, a 20 foot long balsa wood crocodile for all to see.

And for that I can only salute all involved.


The perfect bedmate for Enzo G. Castellari's The Last Shark, this film needs to be seen (and revered) by today's teen horror fans as a shining example of what can be achieved for 30 quid and a cheap awayday ticket to the seaside.

Jon Turteltaub please take note.



*Can we take a moment to celebrate that particular jokes 976th appearance on this blog. Thank you.

getting the hump.

Day 3 of 31 Days of Horror and I'm already at the point of pulling random shite from the shelves.

 

 

Camel Spiders (2011).
Dir: Jim Wynorski.
Cast:  Brian Krause, C. Thomas Howell, Melissa Brasselle, GiGi Erneta, Matthew Borlenghi, Diana Terranova, Michael Swan, Kurt Yaeger, Jessica Cameron and Jon Mack.

“Mom, are we gonna die?”
"No honey, we’re going to be alright.”
 “If we’re not gonna die, can you and daddy get back together?”

Somewhere deep in the desert outside LA (sorry Iraq, or is it Afghanistan? um...Blackpool maybe?) a crack squad of  - at least six - American soldiers are engaged in a bloody Nerf battle against a couple of tanned Hollywood extras resplendent in their dads pajamas coupled with novelty beards and a selection of tea towels on their heads.

They'll be the evil Middle Eastern Insurgent types then.

Either that or the nativity rehearsals have started early. 

Leading the battle for universal democracy is Captain Dave Sturges (Sleepwalkers Krause) who, after running around randomly till he gets 'a cap in his ass' (as the youngsters say) is surprised to see the wicked teatowel-heads dragged away into the nearby rocks kicking and screaming by an unseen enemy.

GI Joe: Now with 'licking piss off John Nettles' mooth action.

Hiding behind boxes till the shooting stops (save they kill any British troops/hostages etc.), Sturges orders his men to round up any weapons, wallets or shiny things left lying around (all in the name of freedom you understand) before heading over to examine the only body left after the carnage.

A body covered in big blistering sores.

“A Desert Devil did this then ran away”. Explains the medic enigmatically.

Which is obviously a complete lie seeing as 'The Desert Devil' (or prickly Devil as it's better known) is a lizard that only lives in Australia.

Whereas this film is about spiders.

Or is it camels?

A Desert Devil yesterday.

Anyway, whilst all this David Attenborough style animal chat is going down no-one notices the family of spiders crawling toward a conveniently open body bag and into the dead soldiers mouth, all set for a trip to Hollywood and cinematic fame.

This is more than likely because they were shoddily added on in post production by a blind man using an Amiga.

Attenborough: don't let this swim up your arse.

Thanks to the magic of blue screen we're now in the good ol' US of A, where Sturges and a frighteningly chested stripper sergeant Shelly Underwood (Brasselle star of the Eric Roberts classic Raptor) are transporting the body via truck to somewhere important.

The town of Plotcontrivance-ville probably.

Their journey is cut short tho' due to former brat-packer C. Thomas Howell (hiding his - and our - shame behind a fake porn 'tache and Stetson as Sheriff Billy Beaumont) forcing a random guy he's chasing to crash into Sturges' ride.

And by that I mean the van not sergeant Underwood, causing the coffin to come shooting out the back of the vehicle and trundle down the road before crashing to a halt and releasing a couple of pesky camel spiders into the desert and freedom.

Arse.

Brasselle: the lights are on.

Meanwhile four random 'teenagers' (aye right, the youngest looks about 35) are enjoying a desert based drinking party with the hope of a wee bit of 'the sex' thrown in but Melissa isn't too keen on shagging someone who looks old enough to be her dad and strops off to the car, leaving her beau to have his cock bitten off by a CGI spider whilst his friends run around screaming as if waiting for the animator to pop the spiders on them too.

Melissa manages to make it to the local grocers where she's horrified to find the owners webbed to the wall like novelty Christmas ornaments.

As we are all aware tho' camel spiders don't spin webs so fuck knows who's to blame for the mess.

 An angry Tom Holland perhaps?

 Not that she has time to worry tho' as she's soon caught and eaten.

Shame.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Whilst Sturges and Beaumont swap insurance information and bond over coffee and flapjacks at the local diner the plot moves on good and proper with the evil local businessman planning to buy up the town as a group of 'kids' (including the frankly fantastic Jessica Cameron from Death of The Dead) head out on a field trip with their professor to the local park to look for dinosaur fossils.

No surprises then that the group are ambushed by spiders leaving the remaining four teens to seek refuge in an abandoned house.

Luckily one of the group (whom we will call Terry)  managed to take a photo of one of the critters and by checking it against his phones built-in encyclopaedia manages to deduce that the camel spider has a bite that's "fairly fatal”.

And six legs.

Well researched eh?
 
But let's be honest it's more background than any of the onscreen characters get as I'm at a loss to remember who anyone is and I'm actually watching the movie as I type.

Almost as if the writer can hear me we suddenly have a wee bit of 'the character development' with some sickeningly sweet dialogue between lard boy Carl and his secret wife Gina (played by a homeless Tori Amos) which is as uncomfortable as it is misplaced.

Luckily the fat boy is quickly dispatched, scoffed by spiders hiding in a biscuit tin, giving Terry, Tori and the wonderful Ms. Cameron time to tearfully leg it across the lawn towards the local car-park.

Jessica Cameron: She will be mine.

Back at the diner all Hell has broken loose (well stumbled drunkenly out of the toilets) as the spiders busy themselves making mincemeat of the regulars, leaving Sturges and Beaumont, alongside owners Reba and Joe (the wide-faced Erneta, another star of Raptor and Piranhaconda's Yaeger) to hold off the attack as Underwood tries not to pop out of her army fatigues whilst getting the survivors into her van.

Which, I would like to point out does not have candy inside.

"Either of you boys fancy a nice hot mooth shite-in?"

It seems the plan is to head toward the bad guys warehouse in an attempt to hide from the spiders till help arrives but first the director takes the opportunity to give the audience a chance to really get to know the characters and showcase the amazing acting talent on show.

There's Senga and Albert who are about to divorce, much to the chagrin of their daughter Alan; the airhead waitress Fiona who is trying to get into peace-nik Peters pants and Terry Badman and Tony Notsobadman who spend the time arguing over who's in charge.

It's like a Cinéma vérité version of Eastenders filmed in a shed with a slightly drunken cast whose first language unfortunately isn't English.

And with added spiders obviously.

GiGi Erneta: slippery when wet.

Surprisingly everything goes to plan and with no casualties and the survivors - after some uncomfortable hugging - bed down for the night.

Waking the next morning and realising that absolutely fuck all of interest has occurred for at least 10 minutes, the sheriff decides to shake things up a wee bit (literally) and sneaks out for a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle but is cruelly struck down mid stroke by one of the angry arachnids, leaving Sturges to formulate a mad as a lorry plan to make a break for a nearby truck (which makes a change from transit vans) that involves splitting everyone into teams before traveling backwards and forwards to pick everyone up.

This is rather than everyone just run out together, shoot a few spiders then drive away.

"Aim at the dog!"

Cue ten minutes of shady 'shooting a toy gun' acting with everyone pointing in different directions, some high and some low.

Pay close attention to Underwood tho' as she cradles her pound shop machine gun like a child dancing partner, swaying to and fro' as if hypnotized by some unheard glam rock tune.

As is always the way in these things, Terry Badman manages to screw everything up by running outside before his turn and getting eaten, which then causes some minor confusion allowing the divorcing couples daughter to run off leading to Joe and Tony Notsobadman getting scoffed too.


Don't worry tho' the wee girl is eventually rescued by Underwood who is, in turn rescued by Sturges.

Phew.

Underwood, overground, wobbling free.

The surviving folk finally manage to get into the truck and spend a few minutes randomly shooting spiders off the warehouse roof before preparing to drive off as, in the distance two Airfix model jet planes fly shakily toward the building.

Will our heroes escape in time?

Will the spiders survive?

And who actually gives a fuck?

"GRRRRAAAARRRRR!"

It's almost as if cheap as chips 'director' Jim Wynorski has been around forever, a never improving, never achieving ne'er was languishing in the seedy backwaters of the cinematic sewer.

From the magnificently average Chopping Mall to the frankly shite Return of Swamp Thing via The Bare Wench Project, Wynorski  is still plodding along making shite that no-one likes but everyone has seen.

Except for The Hills Have Thighs* obviously.

But surprisingly, compared to his previous efforts Camel Spiders isn't actually that bad.

Saying that tho' it's the equivalent to choosing between a rusty nail to the nut or one to the eye.

Worth a watch if you're clinically insane or have a thing for plastic creepy crawlies and even more plastic breasts.

Fuck this is going to be a long month. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* Things that bug me about films (part 1): The Hills Have Thighs? Actually they don't....the girl standing in front of the hills does. Plus if you want to be precise about it that's a mountain range.....and breathe.

 

bloodsucka!

31 Days of Horror day the second and a good an excuse as ever to rewatch this old favourite....

Enjoy.

Blacula (1974).
Dir: William Crain.
Cast: William Marshall, Vonetta McGee, Denise Nicholas, Ted Harris, Rick Metzler, Gordon Pinsent, Lance Taylor Snr., Emily Yancy, Charles Macaulay and Thalmus Rasulala.

"You shall pay, black prince. I shall place a curse of suffering on you that will doom you to a living hell. I curse you with my name. You shall be… Blacula!"

The year is 1780 and Count Dracula is busy entertaining studly African Prince Terry Mamuwalde (The King of Cartoons himself, Marshall) and his luscious lady-wife Luva (McGee from Shaft in Africa and Hammer among other top movies) at his castle in downtown Transylvania.

It seems that Dracula has invited these guests from the “dark continent” (and no that doesn't mean the West Midlands) to discuss Mamuwalde's plan to rid the world of slavery and see his people accepted as equals.

And Mamuwalde reckons that with Dracula’s help this dream can become a reality.

The evening appears to be going swimmingly until Dracula, slightly tipsy on Vodka and Red Bull decides to not only extol the merits of the slave trade but also admit that he's always fancied buying a "charming Negress" like Mrs. Mamuwalde just so he could touch her bum.

His wife, nation and sexiness insulted, Mamuwalde begins to smash the furniture before threatening to sodomize the Count with a chair leg and only a surprise appearance from Dracula's well trained army of ninja butlers stops this threat from becoming a reality.

"Spice Girls number one for Christmas....MONSTA!"

Outnumbered (but not outfunked) the saucily sideburned servants succeed in overpowering the Prince, giving Dracula's newly risen Pikey brides time to grab Luva whilst dribbling thru' their ill fitting pound shop teeth.

As a final indignity Dracula bites poor Mamuwalde and places him in a coffin before cursing the prince with his own name.

"From now on" Dracula intones in a vaguely sinister fashion "You shall be known as…Blacula!"

Slamming the coffin shut, the Prince of Darkness has it (and Luva) bricked up in a convenient alcove where she shall slowly die from starvation as her husband scratches away at the coffin lid....

Cue funky sounds!

"I fang you!"

After titles that would make John Kricfalusi proud we return to present day (well 1972) Transylvania where camp as knickers Interior decorators Bobby and Billy (Harris and Metzler from some other movies possibly) have traveled from the good ol' US of A in order to collect all the fittings and furnishings from Dracula's castle as part of a government funded carboot sale.

It could happen.


Whilst their guide regales them with blood curdling tales of Count Dracula, Bobby is busying himself in the Counts back passage where he comes across the tomb containing Mamuwalde’s coffin.

Never one to knock back a nice bit of wood Bobby begs the guide to let him have it to which the helpful Romanian gladly obliges.

Oh yes, he gives him the coffin too.

Back home in Los Angeles, our preening pals are busy unpacking their large containers when Billy, always the joker, has the oh-so-wacky idea of swapping the coffin they purchased for the bed in their guest bedroom.

A scarily early warning about AIDS or just a convenient way to wake the Count?

YOU decide.

Using all his strength  Bobby manages to pry open the lock on the coffin but Billy (being clumsy as fuck...must be the way he flaps his arms when he speaks) slashes his hand on the coffins knob.

Screaming and shouting about his cut whilst crying on his pal's shoulder, the flamboyant fellows fail to notice the coffin beginning to open.

From the inside.

They've got something to put in you.

Yup, Blacula is back and on the loose in LA, rising from his coffin he makes easy pickings of our pillow puffing pals before, um, going back to sleep.

Oh well.

It's the next day and we're at a funky funeral home where a 'service' for Bobby is about to be held but hark, who's the mystery man in black skulking in the background?

That'll be Blacula then, spookily staring at the corpse whilst wriggling his fingers, his vampire powers slowly bringing Bobby back to life as a servant of the undead.

Creepy.

Luckily for us these spooky shenanigans are interrupted by the arrival of jolly undertaker Mr. Swenson (Sanford and Son's Taylor) and a small group of mourners consisting of the funktastically 'tashed Doctor Gordon Thomas (Blaxploitation stalwart Rasulala), his girlfriend Michelle (Ghost Dad's Nicholas) and her purple clad, hooded sister Tina (McGee again...can you see where this is going?).

As Gordon, Michelle and Tina chat uncomfortably over the big blue stiff, Tina removes her hood to reveal her stunning visage leaving Blacula speechless at the resemblance to his dead wife.

Pre-walled up in a castle that is.

Laugh now!

Intrigued by the apparent bite marks on Bobby's neck, gorgeous Gordon whips out his scientific credentials and begins to question of cuddly undertaker pal who informs him that as well as the human mouth sized bite, Bobby’s veins were also empty of blood.

Gordon, his brow furrowed in a look usually kept for when he's pleasuring the ladies, briskly turns and heads for his lab  prompting Swenson to exclaim “That is the rudest nigger I ever met!” 

Which gives it the edge over Hollyoaks in the realism stakes I guess.

Meanwhile Tina, tired from having to be so sexy all day, decides that rather than go visit poor Bobby’s snot faced gurgling mother’s place with Michelle she'd much prefer to go home and relax with a nice bath, some romantic girl-porn and various fresh vegetables.

As she clip clops along the sidewalk in an outfit that would shame Liberace, Tina soon begins to sense that she is not quite alone.

Quickening her pace, she runs around the corner and comes face to face with Blacula himself who decides to break the ice by calling her "Luva".

As any sane person would do in that situation, Tina turns tail and hoofs it down the street dropping her purse in the process.

Not too surprisingly our velvet clad vamp finds it.

Just before he's hit by a cab which appears to be driven by Martin Lawrence in full Big Momma's House mode.

After much slagging and pushing from the driver, Blacula obviously bored with getting called 'Boy!' whilst getting man-handled by a crossdressing former Will Smith co-star finally bites the cabbie to death.

"Yo crazy biatch! etc".

Worn out by this sudden burst of ultra-violence Blacula heads home to bed.

Well daylight come and we’re off to the local police station where Gordon is busy chatting with Sam the morgue man as regards to the dead cabbie found the following night, looking over the body Gordon is shocked to find two puncture marks on the neck.

Just like on that gay bloke.

Could this be a clue?

Well crusty police lieutenant Jack Peters reckons it’s the Black Panthers (or an actual black panther, I'm not sure) but Gordon disagrees reckoning it's more likely to be bin men or gypsies.

Or maybe rats.

And with that, Gordon, planning on spending the day organizing Michelle’s birthday, bids his farewells and struts off into the city.

Dig?

Beware Blacula's cum face.

The birthday bash beckons down at Paul Barron's club, where top pop trio The Hues Corporation are entertaining the crowds as Gordon, Michelle and Tina enjoy some ice cold Colt 45 and flapjacks.

Probably.

Anyway striding manfully thu' the front door like some negative Jon Pertwee comes Blacula who uses Tina's purse as an excuse to join the party alongside comedy jivester Skillet who's just there for the champagne.

Everything is going swimmingly till local photographer and full time hot pants model Nancy (teevee stalwart Yancy) takes a couple of photo's of the group causing Blacula to freak out at the sudden flash.

Making his excuses he leaves, only to hide behind Nancy's bins waiting for a moment to strike.

You see, our bloodsucking brother doesn't show up on photographs.

When and how he learned this is never explained probably because it would get in the way of the killings.

"I need to crack this, Dag, cos if not, Won Ton will be all over me like knockers in a wind tunnel".

Nancy stumbles into the street and straight into the arms of erstwhile Sergeant John Barnes, who just happens to be heading to the party with a load of autopsy photo's for Gordon (don't ask) but as he prepares to call for help she sprouts fangs and bites him.

Deciding that all these bitings must be related, Gordon gets Michelle a stack of books on ghouls and vampires from the library whilst he attempts to get a permit to exhume Billy’s (remember him?) body.

Unfortunately the DA knocks his request back, meaning our hairy hero has no choice but to turn grave-robber, obviously Michelle refuses to help but Gordon manages to persuade her with lots and lots of sweet kisses and a couple of nipple pinches.

He the man as the young folk say.

As she heads home to change into some old clothes, Gordon takes the time to polish himself off whilst looking over some of the books from the library.

Fair enough.

Blood in mah mooth!

Whilst all this seventies style digging is going down, Blacula shows up at Tina’s door desperate to see her and Tina, being a girl in a horror movie, invites him in.

Cue a long and convoluted chat to fill in the backstory for those to busy (or thick) to remember that basically goes from  "Ooooh we have  a connection" to "I'm an undead African Prince who is now a vampire" via "you're my  wife reincarnated (now)".

Frighteningly this line of chat actually works and it's not long before Tina and Blacula are at it on the sofa like crazy things.

"Put it in me!"

Things are hotting up at the graveyard to, for no sooner has Gordon opened Billy's coffin than the ghoulish gay comes flying out like a slightly camp jack in the box.

Albeit one with huge plastic fangs and a face plastered in green emulsion.

Luckily Gordon has come prepared and quickly pulls out his trusty stake and thrusts it into Billy before beating him off with a shovel.

Noticing that Michelle has pissed herself with fear he quickly explains that Billy was a vampire so it's not really murder.

Hmmm, must remember to try that one next time I'm in court.

Quick as a very quick thing Michelle realizes that this means Bobby must also be a vampire.

A vampire on the loose somewhere in the city!

Gordon frantically phones Peters to explain the situation before remembering that Martin Lawrence is still in the morgue.

Hanging up on Peters he rings Sam to warn him not to take the body out of the freezer but Sam is busy having a big poo and when he returns he too is murdered.

Arse. 

Vonetta McGee: your dad did. Twice.

Realizing that all this started with the arrival of all that antique shite from Transylvania, Gordon begins to suspect that the legends of Count Dracula must be true.

But no-one can recall seeing a flamboyant white guy prowling the streets.

Eventually (after a few more murders and a good many snogs from Blacula) he realizes the truth about Mamuwalde, meaning it's a race against time to save the city and ultimately his sisters soul (both eternal and arse) from our lovelorn bloodsucker.

Released at the height of the seventies blaxploitation boom, William Crain's  Blacula is not only the most fondly remembered of the the black horror (or Blorror) cycle but quite possibly the best too.

Most of the movies success tho' is down to it's fantastic cast and none more so than actor William Marshall, playing he tragic yet terrifying Prince Mamuwalde with a conviction rarely seen in movies of this ilk.

With his booming baritone voice and commanding presence, Marshall totally (and believably) instills the character of Blacula with a quiet humanity that works well to juxtapose the more frightening aspects of what could have been, in a lesser actors hands a one note and quite possibly laughable villain.

Whilst the director failed to reach the same dizzy heights with the Bernie Casey starrer Dr. Black and Mister Hyde before returning to teevee, Blacula returned to face off against the one and only Pam Grier in the Scream Blacula Scream.

Worth ninety minutes of anyone’s time, if only to see where Richard Ayoade got the idea for Dean Learner from.

Highly recommended.

Twice.

junior kickstart.

It's 1st October which means another excruciatingly bad 31 Days of Horror selection from me in a sad attempt to get any new (or just any) readers....

To be fair tho' this is actually a bloody good movie and probably as entertaining as the blog will get in the next 4 weeks.

Enjoy.

 

Psychomania (AKA The Death Wheelers -1973).

Dir: Don Sharp.

Cast: George Sanders, Beryl Reid, Nicky Henson, Mary Larkin, Roy Holder, Robert Hardy, Ann Michelle, Denis Gilmore, Miles Greenwood, Peter Whitting, Rocky Taylor, Patrick Holt, Alan Bennion, John Levene, Roy Evans, Bill Pertwee, Denis Carey, June Brown, Martin Boddey and Heather (Inseminoid) Wright as The Girl with Parcels.

 

"You can only die once, after that nothing and nobody can harm you!"
 

 

 

Floppy fringed, leather clad, posh-boy leader of the home counties hardest biker gang The Living Dead, Tom Latham (film and TV stalwart Henson) is bored with his carefree life of chugging around on a motorbike, causing havoc at the local shopping arcade and occasionally scaring cows whilst racing along the A344 outside Walton-on-Thames, Surrey so decides, with the - begrudging - help of his mum (the legendary Reid) and her suavely sinister (or should that be sinisterly suave?) butler, Shadwell (cinema stalwart and chicken chef Sanders) to become immortal. 

Luckily Tom’s dad was a wizard or something and had already discovered this secret but died (for good) whilst attempting it due to being allergic to frogs, which was unfortunate as a frog is essential to the ritual.

But now it's Tom's turn so armed with a magical frog-shaped amulet he enters the mysterious room of death to confront the terrifying full-length mirror of fear.

No, really.

Turns out that the secret is that you really, really, REALLY have to want to come back from the dead for it to work.

Oh yes and not be scared of frogs obviously.

Tom being incredibly macho completes the ritual with ease and the next day rides his bike into the oncoming traffic to prove it, instantly killing him.

To death.

As requested Tom is buried - sitting atop his bike - in the middle of a stone circle up the road from his house and from where, later that eve, he bursts forth and rides off into the night to terrorize a group of darts players at a nearby pub before kissing - then killing - a lady.

What a rotter.

 

Sandwich in mah mooth!

 

As you can imagine the rest of his gang are pretty excited to see him alive and well and - after a wee bit of supernatural chat - all agree to kill themselves in order to live forever, free from pain, fashion and consequences.

A wee bit like Brexiteers if I'm honest.

One by one, the Living Dead finally get to live up to their gang name as, in a series of cunning stunts that would make Michael Crawford green with envy, Tom's pals start jumping from tower blocks (much to Mary, Mungo and Midge's disgust), throwing themselves out of planes without parachutes, driving off bridges and drowning themselves in ponds weighed down with comedy chains and wearing tiny pants.

Which is all well and good but makes you realize just how bloody lucky they all are to come back in one piece and not hideously burned or mangled. 

Knowing my luck I'd rise from the dead with my feet on backwards or something.

 

"French polishers? You may have just saved my life!"

Not everyone is happy with the situation tho', Tom's mum is worried about the satanic repercussions of having an undead son and his fairly forgettable - and frightfully posh - girlfriend Abby (Ex Darling Bud and future romantic author Larkin) is having second thoughts about killing herself as she reckons it may ruin her chances of becoming a nursery nurse.

So with this in mind she contacts the gruff but fair Chief Inspector Hesseltine (Hardy, nuff said) who has been busy trying to catch the corpsey crims.

 

"Boiled onions!"

 

Luckily for Tom tho', his saucy second-in-command, Jane (horror stalwart and sister of Vicki, Michelle), is well up for some undead fun - whether it be by hanging herself from a tree to scare Abby, running over a baby in the local Safeway or murdering Doctor Who’s Sgt Benton in a police station lobby, Michelle might not steal the film but she at least gives it a good goosing when no-one is looking.

But as all this motorbike-based mayhem continues Tom's mum is starting to get a wee bit worried about what her local neighbourhood seance club might think about his satanic shenanigans as the police - alongside Abby formulate a trap to catch terrible Tom....

 

 

 

 

 

From Don Sharp, the man behind the Hammer non-Dracula vampire flick The Kiss of the Vampire (which I can be ever thankful to for introducing a teen me to the wonderfully exotic - as in Scottish - Isobel Black) as well as the first two Christopher Lee Fu Manchu movies (as well as tonnes of other stuff that I can't be arsed listing, I mean come on it's not a shopping list), comes Britain's answer to Easy Rider only this time with added satanism, massive comedy helmets, copious amounts of club sandwiches and the biggest cast of 70s TeeVee celebs this side of a Christmas Woolworths ad.

I mean where else would you find Roy (Sorry!) Holder, Robert (All Creatures Great and Small) Hardy, Ann (Come Back Mrs. Noah) Michelle, Denis (Crossroads) Gilmore, Patrick (Emmerdale) Holt, Alan (Doctor Who's Ice Warrior supreme) Bennion, Roy (Eastenders) Evans, Bill (Dad's Army) Pertwee, Denis (I Claudius) Carey alongside Dot Cotton herself,  June Brown and the aforementioned John Levene?

 

 

Isobel Black - Scotch Miss.

 

Add to that a groovy folk song by based Brummie singer-songwriter and poet Harvey Andrews (who was cruelly cut from the film for having a face like a potato, his song mimed to by Martin Boddey), stunts from the legendary Rocky Taylor and a score by the fantastic John Cameron (who, in case you didn't know arranged and recorded the instrumental version of Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" that for centuries was used as the theme music for the BBC TV show, Top of the Pops) and you - should - have a recipe for success.

 

It's a pity then that the whole thing comes across more Victoria Wood than Pete Walker with it's frightfully posh - as opposed to just frightening - biker gang (who all appear to be just the wrong side of 25) who never seem to go any further than the local shops to cause trouble and with a bad boy lead who lives at home with his mum in a mansion and phones her if he's gonna be late home.

The gangs air of menace isn't helped by their names either - there's Gash, Hinkey, Chopped Meat (?), Bertram and bad girl Jane Pettibone, I mean seriously in a street fight between them and the Jets from West Side Story I know who my money would be on.

Sod that I reckon The Tweenies could probably take them given a few ales.

Plus I imagine Fizz would look really hot in skin-tight red bikers leathers.

But I digress.

Five fingers, never touched the sides.

 

 

 

 

 

It's not all bad tho' and to be fair when he's allowed Sharp pulls off some pretty cool scenes including a fantastic  360 degree pan around a morgue which begins with Abby pretending to be dead and surrounded by Police as Chief Inspector Hesseltine outlines his plan to capture Tom and Abby gone and the previously empty morgue bays filled with the bodies of the now dead officers. 

Add to that the gangs suicide scenes have an air of macabre glee about them, it's just a pity that the film doesn't know if it wants to be seriously scary or darkly comedic so ends up being neither.

Even the implications of the gangs suicide/resurrection pact is never fully explored and as mentioned earlier, none of them return looking anything other than perfect, imagine them coming back battered, burnt and broken then realising this is how it'd be from then on in, as it stands in the movie a group of bored, posho types pretend play working class rebels by scaring postmen, come back from the dead as immortals and still just scare postmen.

 

Hel-Met.

 

 

 

Saying that tho' it's actually (surprisingly?) a pretty entertaining watch if you're in the right frame of mind, which obviously George Sanders wasn't when he first viewed it in a small cinema whilst on holiday in Madrid seeing as after it'd finished he went straight back to his hotel and killed himself, leaving a note pronouncing "God I'm bored".

Shit this has ended on a wee bit of a downer hasn't it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

davie says: warbeck, hide yourself.

Sad to hear that John Steiner has died, an undisputed cult hero who worked with everyone from Lucio Fulci, to Antonio Margheriti.

 

 
Been prepping the whole 31 Days of Horror thang but couldn't let his passing go without at least a quick rewatch of one of his best movies.

This is.

L’Ultimo cacciatore (AKA The Last Hunter, Hunter of the Apocalypse. 1980).
Dir. Antonio Margheriti
Cast: David Warbeck, Tisa Farrow, Tony King, Sir Bobby of Rhodes, John Steiner, some Chinamen and Margit Evelyn Newton.

The time: 1973, the place: a wee drinking club somewhere in downtown Saigon where the suave and sweaty Colonel Morris Minor (horror god and almost Bond, the late great Dame David Warbeck) has decided to spend his day off.

Enjoying warm booze and watching a bored Vietnamese whore trying to dance in an erotic manner (and failing miserably, poor cow) our heroes lazy day is rudely interrupted by his young male 'friend' Steve's sudden emotional breakdown.

Don't you hate it when that happens?

Steve, it seems, is rapidly approaching the tearful wank based Pot Noodle stage due in part to his missis leaving him but mainly because the scarily skinny prostitute lying across his bare chest is obsessed with stroking his hairy man breasts.

We've all been there.

After resigning himself to the fact that it's gonna be his job to clean up all the sweat, egg, semen and blood stains later whilst poor Steve dribbles in a ditch, you can imagine Morris' surprise when his forlorn pal suddenly sobers up and shoots some random GI in the face before offing himself.

And if that wasn't enough to ruin our heroes Saturday night somebody then decides to firebomb the club.

War it seems, is indeed hell.

Luckily for us (and for the film in general) Morris quickly legs it before the whole place goes up in cheap gin and piss soaked flames, watching in horror (or with mild apathy, I couldn't really tell) as everyone else is burnt to death.

Warbeck: You would
(tho' he'd probably not give you a choice).

There's no time for tears tho' because the top brass are sending Morris behind enemy lines.

As opposed to forcing him into the enemies mouth.

And his mission?

Jump out of what looks like the BBC outside broadcast helicopter into a small duck pond and meet up with the hard as nails 'Bastard Squad'.

This crack commando team, led by the badass Sgt. George Washington (king, from Cannibal Apocalypse and The Atlantis Interceptors) and his pal Carlos Santana (the legendary Rhodes) have orders to quietly traipse thru' the directors garden in order to 'silence' (they may mean blow up) a radio tower broadcasting evil propaganda messages telling the American soldiers to go home.

And it seems that they need Morris to join them as he once worked for Radio 2 as a continuity announcer or something.

So far so Heart of Darkness.

Throwing himself out of the plane and narrowly avoiding a rubber snake (or was that a real snake and a rubber Warbeck?) upon landing, Morris manages to find Washington and company without a hitch only to discover that they're dragging top lady reporter Jane Foster (Farrow, the slightly sleazier - not to say considerably more ginger sister of Mia) around with them for no other reason than that she must have been shooting another film nearby at the same time.

Which is fair enough I guess but does make you keep wondering when the zombies are going to attack.

Farrow: harsh.

Taking time to go the scenic route (and fill out the movie's length) our motley crew come across a small village populated by tiny, machine gun wielding Vietnamese woman with a nice line in exploding babies to shoot at.

Unfortunately Washington is wounded in the ensuing firefight meaning our heroes have to retreat into the jungle or face getting beaten by girls.

Cue twenty odd minutes of rotting corpses falling from trees, Tisa Farrow's sweaty nipples becoming more and more visible thru' her vest top and various members of the team getting pinned to trees by big spiky booby traps.

But alas still no zombies.

Or even cannibals for that matter.

But this lack of flesh eater action is the least of Warbeck's worries, seeing as the base camp (well base cave really) he has to report to on the final leg of his mission seems to be run by the scary bloke from Sparks (skinny legged Argento regular Steiner) and that all the soldiers under his command are off their tits on drugs.

To show how stoned they actually are  - and how the horrors of war can warp a man -  the entire camp start rubbing themselves up and wolf whistling when Tisa Farrow turns up.

I'd just like to point out that I'm in no way saying she's not attractive but she's standing next to a wet David Warbeck clad only in a vest and too tight combats.

And that's enough to turn anyones head.

Luckily for Tisa, Major Sparks - despite being camp as pants and having little thin rubber legs - is actually a rather nice man and at the first sign of any Donald Trump style behavior from his troops send those responsible pole vaulting behind enemy lines to fetch him a coconut or two.

"Look! a telescope with a mouse in it!"

But this jolly japery can't last forever and it's not too long before the oft-mentioned 'Charlie' (a character we never learn the true identity of) attack the cave system, kidnap Tisa and machine gun everyone inside.

Except for Morris and his buddies obviously.

Escaping to the local boating pond, Carlos is cruelly killed whilst stealing a junk (as opposed to firing it everywhere) whilst Washington clumsily trips over a corpse and snaps his leg in half, giving him and Morris a wee chance to discuss the futility of war and stuff.

After a series of meaningful glances Morris jumps overboard (either to continue his mission or because he can't stand anymore of the incredibly stilted and frighteningly clichéd dialogue), leaving Washington at the mercy of the Viet Cong machine gun nests serendipitously hidden around the next bend.

Which is a bit of a bastardy thing to do if you think about it.

"Aya! Mah BCG!"

With a look of grim determination (or constipation, it's hard to tell) Morris continues further into the jungle, alone and armed with only a kids spud gun and a sweat mottled pair of man breasts, determined to complete his mission before heading home for tea and crumpets.

Nice as this idea is it soon all goes tits up when he's captured by the ever present Charlie and dumped shoe-less in a rat infested water cage with only a man with a melted cheese face for company.

Can anyone help our hero?

Well Tisa's sitting sipping rice tea in a holiday chalet overlooking the prison (and the rent) so hopefully she'll get up off her fat arse and finally add something to the plot....

But will she be able to waddle down to rescue Morris before the rats begin to nibble on his man bits?

"Hey Tisa, is that your
brother in law shagging your niece?"

Genre busting genius Antonio (Bed of a Thousand Pleasures, Cannibal Apocalypse, Yor, the Hunter from the Future and Code Name: Wild Geese amongst others) Margheriti's The Last Hunter has everything Apocalypse Now! should have had (including a considerably shorter running time) and much more.

Except zombies unfortunately but you can't have everything.

It's pedigree is second to none featuring as it does star turns from Fulci faves David Warbeck and Tisa Farrow aided and abetted by a top cast of Italian icons including Bobby (Demoni) Rhodes, John (Tenebrae and the reason we are here) Steiner and Margit Evelyn (Zombie Creeping Flesh) Newton.

Behind the scenes it has cult composer Franco (everything from Black Demons to music featured on the Death Proof and Ren and Stimpy show soundtracks) Micalizzi's sexy synth sounds and craftily crude special effects from the Philipino Savini himself Apollonio Abadesa.

"Fuck me! a wasp!"

And although Margheriti's entire career seems to have consisted of making cheap knock offs of bigger, more famous movies the director didn't seem to mind, giving his all and making the most of the motley assortment of the clichéd characters and situations in evidence.

From the hard bitten soldiers to the snatches of inappropriate nudity via scenes of extreme violence, Margheriti also manages to fill the movie with just enough cod "war is hell" speeches to almost convince you that you're actually watching something worthwhile and meaningful as opposed to just sitting eagerly awaiting the next over the top death scene or the chance of a quick look at Tisa Farrow's (admittedly) rather shapely breasts.

And if that doesn't get you salivating then I don't know what will.

Quite possibly THE greatest Vietnam based war movie starring David Warbeck ever made.

And you can't get higher praise than that.

doctor on call.

 

 

 

OK....Which one of you is it?