boys will be boys.

What would 31 days of horror be without at least one movie featuring the Autistic hating blowhard that is William Shatner?

Don't answer that.

 

 

As an aside this review features tonnes of pop culture references that unfortunately no-one under 50 will get.

I do indeed know my readership.

The Devil’s Rain (1975).
Dir: Robert Fuest.
Cast: William Shatner, Tom Skerritt, Ernest Borgnine, Joan Prather, Eddie Albert, Ida Lupino, Keenan Wynn, John Travolta and Anton LaVey.

"Corbis, you want the Devil's Rain, I want Tom & Julie Preston. I do not underestimate your powers, nor do I overestimate them".

Ladies and gentlemen let me introduce to you the Preston's.

They make look like an ordinary family (albeit one obsessed with lumberjack shirts) but behind their normal facade lies a dark secret.

And it's not that one of them was lead singer with The Ordinary Boys and married minor celebrity - and very definition of the word vapid - Chantelle Houghton for 15 minutes either.

Oh no, it's much worse than that.

Some ordinary boys yesterday (Ask yer dad).

You see the poor family have been cursed for all eternity by the potato faced Satanic high priest John Corbis (the legendary Borgnine).

Yup, it seems that generations ago the Preston family were members of Corbis' Satanic church but after deciding that virgin killing and goat shagging wasn't for them, they stole his magic book and sold him out to the Christians, who used the money from the book sale to fund such hits as Hooverville, Forgotten Town and Ideal World.

Since then a never ageing Corbis has vowed revenge.

Which kinda makes you wonder what he's been up to the last hundred odd years seeing as he only lives about ten minutes away.

Perhaps he's been redecorating his church?

"I wish I knew how to quit you Bill."

Luckily for the film viewing public Corbis has chosen this very night to begin his plan of action, firstly he jinxes Samuel Preston's first solo single "Dressed To Kill" so that it fails to chart before kidnapping Dad Preston for a wee bit of terrible torture, finally letting Dad escape in order to warn his wife and young(er) son about the true extent of Corbis' wrath.

"Give Corbis the book" gurgles bubbly Dad "Or all will suffer!"

And then, as if to hammer home the point he proceeds to melt into a pile of wax before his families very eyes.

That's not all tho' as for a final trick Corbis kidnaps dear old Mum.

"Shite in mah mooooooooooooooth!"

Finally having enough of Corbis' constant curses (which actually would make a great teevee show, Channel 5 take note) and with no-one to cook him dinner, the aforementioned son Mark (Shatner, nuff said) takes the book to Corbis in the hope of defeating him.

Well c'mon, it is Shatner.

After what seems like eight hours of desert driving scenes the pair eventually meet up in a ghost town in the desert, and in a scene of such homo-erotic power as the world has ever seen, Corbis cheekily offers Preston a drink of hand pumped water from his old water spout.

Phwoar.

Shatner takes a huge gulp then spits it out, proclaiming the water to be too salty or something.

Corbin gives a cheeky grin and replies, "Sweet way to end a thirst, though." before pulling out his massive horse cock and challenging The Shat to a sword fight in the directors mouth.

Probably.

Nope sorry, I must have fallen asleep and imagined that cos what actually happens isn't half as interesting; Preston talks about God, Corbis talks about the Devil and finally Preston challenges Corbis to a battle of faith whilst waving a gun about.

Ho hum.

Winston Shambler's Fointy pinger.

 

Being a polite kinda Satanist, Corbis invites Preston to join him for morning worship which if I'm honest Preston seems to be enjoying until that is his mum turns up with a face like a bag of spuds and big black holes where her eyes should be.

It's at this point that poor old Preston starts shouting Holy stuff whilst shooting the place up like a disgruntled, beer-bellied post-election Trump supporter.

Look, you know it's going to happen.

Corbis follows our hero outside asking, "Is that your faith?" before turning Preston's ginormous gold Godly medallion into a snake.

Shitting himself at such a long slimy thing being so close to his mouth, Preston throws it away before being promptly captured by a gang of hooded hoodlums.

"If you're scared now just wait til the fucking starts!" whispers Corbis.

I imagine.

"And remember guys for the best results this one's for the arse and the others for the fanny....now get fiddling!"

Meanwhile in a big city, Preston's scientist older brother, Tom (Skerritt channeling early seventies George Harrison) and his insectoid wife Julie (Big Bad Mama's Prather) have just received word that Mark has gone missing and decide - with top psychotherapist Dr. Sam Richards (Albert) in tow - to go look for him.

And then some excitingly scary stuff happens possibly.

I say possibly cos I fell asleep only to be rudely awakened by the booming sound of thunder on the soundtrack, falling off the sofa to be confronted by the image of Ernest Borgnine transforming into a silver wigged goat whilst a topless, sweat covered former starship captain, his man-breasts undulating softly in the wind, wriggles suggestively on an inverted cross.

I've not been right since.

William Shatner's cum face yesterday (go on, ask your mum).

Meanwhile Tom, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, is watching all this from behind an old piano only to be discovered by one of the Satanists who've sneaked off for a pee.

Legging it towards the church (which surprisingly isn’t being used for the ceremony - perhaps the new paint isn't dry yet) Tom meets up with (an until now useless) Richards (no idea where he's been, probably looking to punch fuck out of his agent for agreeing to him appearing in this shite) and begins to rummage thru' Corbis' dusty drawers.

Beside the ancient issues of Razzle, fluff covered mints, a crusty sock and old VHS copies of McHale's Navy our terrific twosome come across a porcelain chamber alleged to contain the souls of Corbis' followers and the secret of his powers.

And the name of this pot?

The Devil's Rain.

Clever eh?

"Laugh now".

There's no time for celebration tho' as crazy Corbis and his sinister Satanists have tracked Tom and Sam back to the church, threatening all manner of vile torturers if they don't hand over the paranormal pot.

Luckily Richards, being a man of science, reckons all these goat headed goings on are utter bollocks and quite calmly smashes the pot causes all of Corbis' followers to melt in the ensuing rain storm.

Thank fuck the Devil never set up base in Glasgow, the poor bastard would never have been able to leave the house.

"I can see your house from here Peter!"

As Sam and Tom beat a hasty retreat thru' sticky remains of Corbis' followers, our moustachioed hero notices his wife standing in the distance (I think she might have been captured at some point) ands runs to embrace her.

As the pair hold each other we (the audience, well the ones still awake) realize that Tom is in reality hugging Corbis.

Yup, the evil fella has swapped bodies with Julie, whose soul he has trapped within a new improved paranormal pot.

On a downside it does mean that until his strength has returned, Ernest Borgnine is going to get roughly shagged by Tom Skerritt on a daily basis.

Hang on, did I say downside?

Best remembered for totally destroying the film career of ace director Fuest (the man who gave us  The Abominable Dr. Phibes, Dr. Phibes Rises Again and The Final Programme), The Devil's Rain suffered from such a critical mauling that Fuest was immediately placed on the top of the FBI's most wanted list and his family imprisoned.

The story doesn't end there tho', for after years of living in exile on the isle of Shetland (eking out a pittance making dire teevee fodder) he was ordered to direct the soft core stinker Aphrodite (1982), a movie that's only memorable feature was it's lead actress, Valérie Kaprisky's massive bush.*

Kaprisky: secret garden.

It's not all bad tho' as not only do we do get to see a pre-Trek comeback Bill Shatner topless but also get to experience the joy of watching a young John Travolta being seduced by an evil cult from which he can't escape.

Something that wouldn't happen in real life obviously.

But with it's (probably) unintentional homo-erotic subplot, scenes of Mexican extras covered in chip fat in an attempt to make them look melty, a constantly angry Tom Skerritt (remember he chose to do this yet almost knocked back Alien)  and the sight of a shirtless Captain Kirk being tongued by an almost mummified Ida Lupino, The Devil's Rain has something for everyone.

If that person is criminally insane with no self worth obviously.
























*Due to the fact she was an avid - and award winning amateur gardener in her spare time.

dick dastardly.

 

 

31 days of horror day 11 (thought I'd remind you just in case you'd forgotten) and realized that I hadn't covered the fantastic demonic possession genre yet (or have I? I really can't be arsed checking).

I then remembered that I found Devil's Due behind the sofa a few months back with a note saying I should review it.

Obviously by this point someone had spilt something down the sofa so the letter was all smudged so I've absolutely no idea who sent it or why but if someone is kind enough to give me free stuff I should be polite enough to watch it.

As you can guess, this attitude has gotten me into a shed load of trouble over the years.

Anyway, having a quick check online it turns out that it is in fact a found footage movie (huzzah) from 2014, directed by Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett and starring Allison Miller, Zach Gilford, and Sam Anderson.
 

Plus the poster looked scary/sexy - delete as applicable.

As a bonus it has the word Devil in the title so it might fit into this whole 31 days thing.

Then again it might not.

Frankly by this point I've really stopped caring.

It's not all been a waste of time tho' as I've come to realize that sometimes more than one film can have the same title.

Who knew?

Devil's Due (1973).
Dir: Ernest Danna.
Cast: Cindy West, Andrea True, Davey Jones, Lisa Grant, Jamie Gillis, Andrea True, Gus Thomas (or is it?), Tina Russell, Marc Stevens, Darby Lloyd Rains and Georgina Spelvin and the Devil.

"My plans to teach sex education
were rejected by the parents!"

Brunette, big socked cutesy pie Cindy (West AKA Cherry Aims, Helen Highwater, Judy Otis, Terry Ruggiera, Linda Terry, Tania Tittle and Tammy Twat) is a sweet, (and more importantly) virginal high school senior cursed with a crushing shyness when it comes to even taking to the opposite sex.

Deciding it's his duty to help her overcome her fears the school principal (under the pretense of helping Cindy rehearse her valedictorian speech) decides to drug the shy sweetie before man-handling her peachy bum, putting his (frankly massive) cock in her mouth and finally having the full sex with her.

And all this whilst pulling what I can only imagine is your granddads cum face.

Sore arsed, addicted to drugs and pregnant, it looks like things couldn't get any worse for poor Cindy.

I mean at least her loving boyfriend Willie Joe (Jones, from Seven Delicious Wishes and Maxine's Dating Service but not alas The Monkees) will stand by her wont he?

Um, no is the short answer leaving our heroine to look out her best buddy Barbie (Grant...like it matters) to cry on.

And of course, her loving dad who would never be such a sexist pig.

You can see where this is going can't you?

Yup, Cindy arrives home to find Barbie and her dad engaged in some of that crazy 'mouth/penis sex', the shock of which causes Cindy to become mute.

"That'll wash the taste of shite oot ya mooth hen!"

Cue the patented wibbly wobbly fading device and we end up at the New York Port Authority Bus Terminal (and not lying face down trying to slash our wrists as any sensible viewer would be at this point) as a beleaguered Cindy stomps off the bus uttering the immortal lines "Everything I knew to be decent and good turned out dirty and evil."

Could things get any worse?

Either on screen or off?

Well Cindy answers a flat share ad place by two wacky lesbians named Dawn (generously chested ginger bird True AKA Catherine Warren, star of such classics as The Erotic Adventures of Little Orphan Sammy, director of the fanny-tastic Once Over Nightly and singer of the mid-seventies disco anthem 'More, More, More') and Nicky (plain Rains from The Teenage Sexmaids and The Hooker's Convention) who, in their spare time "Work for the devil." 

Impressed by their candor (and huge seventies bushes) a still mute Cindy hastily scribbles that she too wishes to be initiated into the coven.

Licking their lips the luscious lesbians agree.

The only Cindy West Google could find....
I think it might be the wrong one.

Blindfolded and taken to a deserted warehouse, Cindy is forced to strip naked (no change there then) and lie on a grubby altar hastily constructed from cardboard boxes and an old kitchen table whilst a gaggle of drunk, manbreasted extras in hoods (including horse-cocked dead porn legend Jamie Gillis) light candles and mumble.

Better the devil you know.

It's then that the evil, white robed and tennis shoed cult leader Kampala (who according to the credits is played by one Gus Thomas but I'm pretty damn sure it's a half cut Sonny Bono) appears, sitting in a crappy wicker garden chair shouting such classic lines as "I am all powerful! The spirit of Satan flows through my shaft!" before popping a dog collar around Cindy's neck and shooting his load onto her breasts.

Cindy, as you can probably understand, is not too impressed by Kampala and his so called 'devil cock' (which to be honest is the size of a shriveled walnut) and angrily lectures Dawn and Nicky on the evils of men.

Surely being lesbians tho' they probably know all about that already?

"I got you babe....tied to a table".

"Just like all the other men who've tried to destroy my life he's just a dirty animal!" Cindy cries before deciding that the thrilling threesome should destroy Kampala and take over the coven.

But not until they've indulged in some celebratory lesbian sex.

Hurrah!

Your mum and dad's wedding.

The following Thursday (which as everyone knows is Devil Day) dawn interrupts kampala's weekly wankfest with what is probably the most well written piece of dialogue I have Ever heard.

"Kampala! You’re about as powerful as your prick. Which isn't very powerful at all!"

Gripping stuff.

Shocked, stunned and fiddling uncomfortably with his by now flopping cock Kampala confronts Dawn regarding her nasty comments but our heroine has an ace up her sleeve (well if she were wearing anything she would so it's possibly stuck up her ample arse), she challenges Kampala to a satanic sex duel.

For those of you unlucky enough to have never been involved in one of these, this means that Cindy must dance provocatively in front of Kampala whilst he has to do his best to resist her charms.

But if he falls prey to her sweaty lady parts he loses the challenge and his top spot in the coven as well as most likely his wicker chair too.

Straddling Kampala whilst jiggling her breasts in time to a saucy salsa beat it's not long before the stony faced cultist can no longer control his base urges, he bites down on Cindy's left (left where? behind the bins?) boob before violently ejaculating and dying.

Just to make sure there'd be no rematch Cindy had covered herself in deadly poison oils before the ritual.

Now that's girl power.

But wait!

That's not all.

It seems that by finally overcoming the badness of man has enable Cindy to speak again!

And her first words?

To declare herself the high priestess of devilishness before leading her new found followers in a demonic orgy of satanic shagging.

Don't you just love a happy ending?

An apology if he's lucky.

From the pen (well crayons) of part-time writer and full time kitchen salesman Gerry Pound and director Ernest Danna (the man who gave us Like Mother, Like Daughter and My Husband, The Producer) comes this mighty fine example of the wholly seventies phenomena of cross genre porn.

No jokes, no irony, no mercy. Just ninety minutes of flaccid cock, unshaven fanny and the chance of a quick glimpse of some struggling bit-part actors genital warts as he thrusts manfully into whichever poor 'actress' has gotten of the bus this week looking for her chance of stardom.

I don't know about you but they're the things that keep me going back to this particular brand of seventies porn.

Well that and the fact that I've still not seen the one my dad's in.

And if that's not good enough an excuse you can always convince yourself that you're only watching for a glimpse of legendary porn goddess (and one of the officially voted top 25 Adult stars of all time) Georgina Spelvin in an early role as 'Cult Member'.

See? this place isn't just entertaining, it's educational too.

A simple thanks would be OK.

Anyway, from here on in no more shite like this, I mean I think I may have caught crabs from just reading the box.

Tomorrow some arse free 'orror.

Probably.

anthony and the (lack of) johnsons.

Day 10 of 31 days of horror and the kids have picked todays movie. 

Enjoy.

W is For WAR! (1983).
Dir: Willie Milan (as Wilfredo Milan).
Cast: Anthony Alonzo, Anna Marie Gutierrez, Alicia Alonzo, Ada Alberto, Jonee Gamboa, Renato del Prado, Edwart Bronet, Paul Vance, Al Alonzo, Linda Castro, Den Montero, Rommel Valdez, Bing Davao and literally dozens of other folk that frankly I really couldn't be arsed looking up.

You want a full cast list? then fuck off to Sight and Sound or somewhere like that.

Oh go on then, Jimmy Santos is in it too.

And token Yank Richard Jones.

"I put my ass on the line while you sit back and polish your medals!"

The time: the near future where the mean streets of Manila are under threat from an evil gang of guitar strumming, leather clad, slap-headed, motor-biking drug pushers (phew) who like nothing better than driving into the city centre to have a dance.

Oh yeah and sometimes deal arms.

But it must be said mainly dance.

And it's during one afternoons particularly complicated dance off - that the local police, led by sexy sergeant Wally Lucas - codename: W2 - (mustachioed action god and former councilor of Quezon City, Alonzo) 'accidentally' shoot one of the gang in the face as he performs the macarena, leaving W2's boss, the permanently grumpy Chief Doug Medina (Daddy Di Do Du's Gamboa) with no choice but to suspend W2 from the force and hope the whole thing blows over.

I really had trouble suspending my disbelief at this point, I mean as if the police would go about shooting innocent bystanders in the face eh?

Relax ladies, he's single (and been dead since 1998).

Unfortunately the dead man in question was the brother of the gangs notoriously family orientated leader, the vile despot Terry Nesfero (Montero in his one and only screen role, which is a shame as I could imagine him making a bomb in the gay porn scene), who not too surprisingly declares all out war, vowing revenge on W2.

Bored with not being able to go around bullying old people, shout at small children and shooting folk indiscriminately W2 decides to break the monotony of his suspension by marrying his mono-browed squeeze Vera (Gutierrez, the hamster faced star of For Your Height Only and Scorpio Nights) in a quiet little ceremony at the local scout hut.

Aw, how sweet.

If not a wee bit cheap.

But you never know, he might have spent all the money on a fantastic honeymoon.

One Direction: The arse banditary years.

Arriving at the local out of season Pontins, W2 and Vera are unaware that that shiny light they keep spotting in the distance isn't the local dance hall's disco ball at all but is, in fact the sun reflecting off Nesfero's bald pate as he and his squad of camp commandos watch them from a distance.

After a spot of dinner and a bottle of Buckfast in the camps fish and chip shop, our horny honeymooners head back to their caravan for a night of hot love and Barry White only to be interrupted mid thrust by Nesfero and his lecherous henchmen.

Obviously turned on by bushy eyebrows and forest like lady gardens Nesfero violently violates Vera's arse before offering his entire posse a shot of sloppy seconds as W2 looks on helplessly.

What an utter bastard.

But Nesfero has one final act of revenge to perform and in a scene that would make even George Eastman cringe he pulls out a rusty tin opener and (messily) castrates our hero.

Ouch.

"I spy with my little eye..."

Waking up in the hospital, W2 is horrified to discover that not only do his trousers not sit right but that he'll never be able to make love to his wife again.

Or yours.

Depressed and with a slightly higher voice than normal W2 slowly heads home for a life of (non-masturbatory) TeeVee watching and big packets of Dorito's.

The tissues and Pot Noodles consigned to the bin.

Nothing is ever simple for our sackless superstar tho' when one morning he accidentally walks in on his wife pleasuring herself with the showerhead, causing him to fly into a violent rage run off into the bushes where he conveniently runs comes across (he wishes) Nesfero and his band who've been sitting around waiting to hijack the local opium delivery van.

Imagine it....it'd be like shagging Patrick Stewart up the arse but without having to worry about giving him a reach round.

Enjoying himself so much last time, Nesfero gets straight down to torturing our hapless chum, stringing him upside down between four wooden poles before forcing him to watch dodgy home-made porn projected onto a nearby filthy bedsheet.

That for once doesn't feature your younger sister.

Luckily when Nesfero goes out for a pee, W2 is rescued by a disillusioned member of the gang, the strangely attractive (in a kinda smooth skinned, kissy lipped lady boy way) Pratings (Alberto, an actress so famous she has a Resident Evil character named after her, well it's one more than Julia Roberts has).

Her ample breast trying their damnedest to break free of her tight fitting leather waistcoat Pratings breathlessly explains to W2 how, thanks to the evils of drugs Nesfero has gone from being a slightly camp street dancer to an evil rapist with delusions of devilness.

See kids, drugs DO screw you up.

But not half as much as shite cinema obviously.

Worried about the whereabouts of her husband (but making sure she's finished herself off good and proper first) Vera heads into town to visit the funky cold Medina who quickly assigns special agent V1 (Davao, best known as Matt Cordero in the hit teevee show Kung tayo'y magkakalayo) to the case, ordering him to get to the bottom of W2's disappearance.


However good he is in the field doesn't make up for V1's apparent hearing problems tho' as the next thing we know he's hard at work getting jiggy on Vera's ample bottom.

An easy mistake to make.

Unfortunately for the dirty duo just as V1 is about to fire a pint of his stale smelling mayonnaise-like gunk up Vera's shit encrusted pack passage, who should walk in but W2.

And he's not a happy man.

Shouting like a very loud shouty thing, he chucks his wife out into the street before turning his attentions to a by now floppy V1 who stands there trying to look defiant whilst attempting to stop a handful of spunk trickle down his wrist.

Anthony Alonzo enjoys a good ear fisting from Jeanette Krankie. But then again, who wouldn't.

But before we get any man on man wrestling action, Pratings bravely steps in and informs the boys that Nesfero's opium shipment is due in the next hour, giving W2, V1, Pratings and some other alphabetized crime fighters time to organize a plan and steal the shipment.

I say organize a plan but they basically turn up at the rendezvous point and shoot everyone which pisses of Nesfero's boss, the evil Harry Praxis (Ninja Warriors Vance) no end.

Slowly losing the (admittedly wafer thin) plot Nesfero decides the best way to get (even more) revenge on W2 is to take an entire Catholic school (but the only one in the world devoid of sexy schoolgirls) hostage, threatening to kill all the kiddies unless Medina hands over both the the opium and W2.

Oh and sends in a crate of Tizer and some salted nuts.

W2, obviously having had enough shit for one lifetime let alone a weekend, decides to lock himself in his garage to get slowly drunk and maybe do some DIY.

But when local (in all senses of the word) news reporter Alice's (Alonzo's real-life sister Alicia) rash attempt at trying to get an interview with the vile villain gets both her and her hostage daughter killed, W2 comes out of hiding and, armed with only a home made rocket launcher, clad in body armour made entirely of saucepans and driving an second hand taxi covered in old soup tins, decides to face off to Nesfero and his gang one last time....

Nuttier than squirrel shit, cheaper than your mum and with a script written by a committee of horny, 14 year old boys (and one angry lesbian disguised as a horny boy) W is for War! is quite possibly the loopiest action movie ever to escape from the far off land of the Philippines.

Trust me I know, I've even seen The Twilight People.

Directed (loosely) by the legendary Willie Milan (of Ultimax Force fame) and edited by a blind hook-handed sailor, the film manages to cram in more outrageously bonkers ideas than you'd get from a roomful of crack-addled quantum physicists being poked with frozen twine yet still make more sense than an average episode of Hollyoaks.

Which in itself is no mean feat.

"Aya! mah BCG!"

From it's castrated leading man to the gayest post-apocalyptic warlord ever seen on celluloid, W is For War! has something for the whole family to enjoy;

Hilariously stilted (and oft repeated) dialogue?

Check.

Mindlessly messy violence?

Check.

Infanticide?

Check.

Skin tight, flesh tone Speedo's and large steel helmets?

Of course.

Add to that already heady mix a selection of the most cack-handedly edited sex scenes of all time and the close-up and personal sight of our heroes crotch, taped down as to appear ball-less whilst clad in tiny briefs and you know deep down in your soul that you're watching a thing of rare beauty.

Quite possibly the greatest action movie ever made and definitely worth selling your kids for.

Normal horror service will be resumed tomorrow.

Probably.

colour me giallo.

 

Blatant self publicity alert!

Just to let you know that I'll be joining Blue Azure on Totally Wired Radio this Saturday evening (8pm till 10pm) where I'll be unleashing the weirdest and most wonderful mix of Euro-centric cinema soundtracks on an unsuspecting public. 

 

documental.

Day 9 of the whole 31 Days of Horror thing and it's time to shake it up a wee bit with a movie that is - unusually for this blog - utterly bloody fantastic.

I've raved about this film for the last 15 years but honestly until everyone I know has seen it I'm not going to stop.

Haunted Changi (2010)
Dir: Andrew Lau, Tony Kern (uncredited).
Cast: Andrew Lau, Audi Khalis, Farid Azlam and Sheena Chung.

Singapore's famous - in ghost hunting circles - Old Changi Hospital has for years been the focal point of hundreds of paranormal investigations by psychical researchers from both home and abroad.

Save for Yvette Fielding, who's unable to fly to Singapore due to unpaid library fines and crimes against hair-based fashion.

Probably.

Anyway, the history of the hospital gives an interesting insight into just why the site is claimed to be so haunted; originally commandeered as headquarters for the Japanese Military during World War 2, rumours circulated that the Japanese had built a number of barbaric torture chambers below the building in concealed tunnels as well as executing hundreds of POW's in  the hospital grounds.

Which is nice.

Not long after the war (which America won single-handedly according to Trump by the way) the former hell hole was cleaned with disinfectant, given a fresh lick of paint and turned into a public hospital.

Obviously the local council thought that this would make everyone completely forget about the buildings notorious past.

Surprisingly this plan would have worked if only someone had decided to tell the myriad of ghosts, spectres and various Pontianaks (a Malay vampire fact fans) that haunt the building.


Typical local authority eh? 

Not ones to let things lie, the concerned townsfolk decided that no ailment or illness was worth visiting haunted Changi Hospital for, so whilst the staff sat about twiddling their thumbs the local residents limped about and tried not to complain to much about their sore throats, various cancers and ingrowing toenails.

A wee bit like Govan then.

Anyway in 1997, the government finally took the hint and closed down Changi - no doubt relocating it to Fife - leaving site open for numerous ghost-hunters, thrill seekers and vandals to visit in the hope of encountering any supernatural creatures or even coming across famous charlatan and ex-footballer Derek Acorah cracking one off in the basement*.

And this, dear reader is where we come in.

Changi Hospital: twinned with Fred West's house.

You see, groovy movie director Andrew Lau has decided to film a documentary about the infamous hospital, recruiting the pixie-like poppet Sheena Chung to produce his epic and hiring top sound-man (and all round sound guy) Farid Azlam and his cameraman buddy Audi Khalis to act as crew.

The brief is simple, with the documentary starting out in standard style with lots of creepy time lapse shots of the building, various talking heads interviews, a wee bit of wandering about the building during daylight hours and background info that will finally culminate with an all night vigil alongside the local paranormal group.

What could possibly go wrong?

"...and this is where I take off my zombie mask and shite in the tramps mooth".

With all concerned not taking the shoot too seriously (indeed, Khalis is more interested in using the night vision camera to gaze at young girls breasts in nightclubs), the crews mood is pretty playful with even Andrew admitting that they may edit in some homemade 'spooky stuff' to give the audiences a thrill.

Their day time jaunts to the hospital and evenings spent in the editing room show a group of close friends laughing and joking, sometimes at each others expense but all committed to making the best movie that they can.

Imagine, if you will  Cannibal Holocaust's lost footage revealing that the crew were busy helping the natives build rafts and knit jumpers before wandering off happy and content and you're halfway there.

But not too surprisingly, all that is about to change.

Watch out...Beadle's about!

Checking thru' the latest footage Andrew spots a ghostly, shadowy hand resting on Sheena's shoulder and if that wasn't enough to put the willies up our team then the headless shadows appearing against the hospital walls must surely serve as a warning of bad things to come.

Luckily for us it doesn't otherwise it'd be a really short film.

As the night shoot beckons Andrew appears to be somewhat distracted but no-one really notices seeing as the local paranormal group have turned up with a wee boy in tow.

It seems that whenever they go on an investigation (or 'vigil' as they call it) they drag the group leaders son along and make him go into the building first.

Seemingly if he doesn't get eaten, possessed or buggered by trees then the ghosts are friendly.

Phew, glad that's sorted.

If your hand is bigger than your face you'll die young....

Everything is going swimmingly until the poor little sod is sent up a darkened corridor leading to the toilets.

Within seconds of him touching the door handle (and cloth) he runs screaming out of the hospital and off down the road causing the investigators to hastily agree that they have enough evidence to suggest that yes, the hospital is probably haunted.

And with that they leave.

Unperturbed by this turn of events Andrew and co. soldier on, getting plenty of creepy footage and scary noises to spook the thrill-seeking public but when they return to the relative comfort of their studio, Andrew seems a little distracted.

After much verbal prodding his pals discover that a few days earlier when exploring the hospital, he'd come across  a Chinese national - the exotically monikered Xiao Juan - who it seems had been unwittingly duped into working in Singapore's burgeoning sex trade (we've all been there) and after fleeing her pimp had ended up living rough on site.

And Andrew, never one to miss an opportunity had been secretly interviewing her for the documentary. 

Boo!

Obviously his pals are oh so slightly pissed of that he's been keeping secrets from them, especially Sheena who having a crush on the cheeky chappie flies off in a jealous rage causing Andrew to storm out of the studio to a rousing "Fuck you!" whilst carrying a huge bag of tapes out to his car.

Which doesn't really bode well for the rest of the shoot.

The crew, being nice folk decide to give him time to calm down.

Bless.

Not too sure on RTD's Dalek redesign.

After a few weeks of unanswered calls and sitting about randomly looking at blank monitors Sheena decides that they should maybe go and visit Andrew to try and make amends.

Oh and hopefully get back to finishing their movie obviously.

But on arriving at his house none of them are prepared for the stench of stale sweat, egg and shame emanating from his kitchen.

Stumbling from the bedroom covered in sticky filth and weeping sores, it appears that Andrew has spent the intervening time hanging around the hospital alone, filming extra footage and 'probing' Xiao Juan for information.

Completely obsessed with both his new squeeze and the secrets of the hospital, he begs his colleagues to join him for one last night shoot where he promises to reveal the truth behind the hauntings once and for all.....

Appearing almost from nowhere way back in 2010, US born Singapore based Tony Kern's mockumentary shocker is a scarily effective little tale that plays out like one of those seldom repeated Christmas ghost stories of old so loved by the BBC  that builds slowly yet creepily towards it's shock climax, a lean mean tale of caution that works not only as a supernatural tale but also as a modern equivalent of an old fashioned folk fable akin to Hansel and Gretal.

Following the blueprint set by his first full length feature, A Month of Hungry Ghosts - in which Kern's takes the celebrations surrounding the seventh-lunar-month Hungry Ghost Festival and adds a few supernatural events of his own -  Haunted Changi's real-life hospital setting and history - it's reported to be Singapore's most ghost filled location alongside The Old Ford Motor Factory on Upper Bukit Timah Road, Fort Canning Park and the pontianak riddled Old Commando Jetty near Changi Beach - is used (and abuse)d as a basis for a good old haunted house tale which is as rewarding as it is scary.

Not bad for a film that probably cost less than the photocopying budget of The Conjuring: Last Rites.

Laugh nooooooooooooooooooooooooo.....

With it's likeable cast, genuinely freaky locations and simple, scare filled agenda Haunted Changi is worth searching for in much the same way as the intrepid film makers hoped to search for ghosts.

Albeit with less chance of being dazzled by one of Derek Acorah's guitar shaped diamond earings.

Criminally it's never gotten a UK distribution deal (we did try - shame on the company that knocked it back, you know who you are, I even drew up a cover design to save them cash) but like most things it's available to buy elsewhere so you've no excuse for not going online and ordering it right now.

And while you're at it pick up copies of the director's other works - the anthology movie Afterimages and the aforementioned - and frankly fantastic - documentary A Month Of Hungry Ghosts too.

Interested?

If you're a proper horror fan you should be.































* Tho' probably not the last one.

And not just because he's dead.

glad it's all ogre.

Every 31 Days of Horror deserves at least a wee bit of bonkers Bava.

Unfortunately I only have this to hand.

Sorry.

Demoni 3: The Ogre (AKA Brivido giallo - La casa dell'orco, Demons III, Demons III: The Ogre)
Dir: Lamberto Bava
Cast: Virginia Bryant, Patrizio Vinci, Sabrina Ferilli, Alice Di Giuseppe, Paolo Malco, Stefania Montorsi and an Ogre.

When childhood dreams become adult nightmares fear turns into reality!

 

 

It's a lovely sunny day in the gloriously grassy Italian countryside and bullyboy Tom (Fulci stalwart Malco), his downtrodden and frighteningly frumpy wife - and famous author of 'the horror' books to boot - Cheryl (Bryant from The Barbarian Brothers) alongside their little boy Jeff are busy driving to the castle they've rented for the summer holidays.

Cheryl, it transpires, has come to Italy to work on her latest book giving Tom and the boy time to enjoy themselves with a variety of manly pursuits like playing soggy biscuit and digging ditches.

Just like my holidays as a kid then.

The inbred locals tho' are a superstitious lot and are slightly irritated that a family of 'Americans' are renting out the castle, what with it having an ogre in the cellar and everything.

Tho' to be honest they may have mistaken the ogre for the cow that 'menacingly' stalks Cheryl in a kind of sub-Withnail And I type way at certain points during the films running time.

"I love you, could it be magic?"

Anyway back to the plot (I know but needs must) which unfortunately spends the first hour following Cheryl's attempt to write inter-cut with endless scenes of the boys hiking (whilst Tom bitches a lot).

It's a wee bit like a better shot version of those special 60 minute episodes of Eastenders they show every so often when they're trying to stop one of the more popular cast members defecting to ITV.

Or whenever they felt like making Danny Dyer work for his money.

Don't worry tho' it does get slightly more exciting with the revelation that the small girl wearing the horrid nightie being chased by someone with hairy hands in the pre-credit dream sequence was in fact Cheryl as a child.

Sorry did I not mention that?

 

My bad.

Anyway, turns out she's been having nightmares about castles, ogres and cellars all her life which beats my recurring dreams about skeletons with swords riding fire breathing giant ants I guess.

But if that wasn't enough poor Cheryl is even more shocked to discover that the castle she and her family are staying in is in fact the same one from her childhood dreams.

Not only that but everything happening to them has already been written in her new book.

Bizarre.

She's not that shocked that she packs her family into their car and fucks off back to the States tho, obviously.

Cheryl: Tweedy.

No, she decides to stay at the castle, enjoying the wine and local sights knowing full well that the scary beast is out to get her and probably her kid too.

Honestly she's like the Italian horror version of Karen Matthews.

It's not too long before Cheryl begins to see evidence of the ogre milling about the castle for herself (footprints in the butter, toilet seat left up etc.) but as is always the way in these situations they all seem to disappear whenever she calls Tom to look.

 

Luckily (for us that is) mutilated bodies soon start to turn up in the cellar, then a giant pulsating snotter appears on the ceiling, Cheryl starts having 'those' dreams again and a strange man named Dario has begun to paint pictures of it all down in the village.

Sabrina Ferilli:
Fifty and frisky.

 

Apparently - according to a throwaway piece of dialogue spouted earlier - Dario and an incredibly dirty pillowed witch named Anna (Ferilli) are somehow linked to the ogre and the castle.

But not in a good way obviously. 

You see, according to Cheryl's novel, (if you're interested) the monster will end up ripping the clothes off the witch in an satanic style rage of unbridled sexual fury before putting his 'orrible ogre organ in her peachy tanned arse.

Unfortunately we don't get to see this bit.

I did get the kids to draw some pictures of it tho' and may share at a later date if anyone's interested.

What we do get to see is Tom and the child getting lost while hiking (again), a fly getting trapped in Cheryl's typewriter and Tom and Cheryl having a bitch slap session whilst cooking supper.

Just try and imagine a really early episode of River City but with cheaper sets and minus the lovely Scarlett and her wayward cleavage.

Or a typical Archers episode.

"Oh Vic I've fallen".

 

 

And if all this soapy (tit) wank is getting too much to bear fear not, as the oft-mentioned but little seen ogre is about to make his grand entrance.

Decked out in a rather snazzy frill fronted shirt along with what look like cycling shorts, a Professionals era Martin Shaw wig and a pair of Lelli Kelly sandals, he cuts an imposing figure.

Probably.

Well put it this way, the beasts fashion sense is enough to turn Tom from wife slapping misogynist to spade wielding hero type and is scary enough to persuade Cheryl to finally mention that she knows how the story will end.

"Do you need any
scissors sharpening?"

Unfortunately tho' it won't end in a massive fleshy orgy of ogre on angry dad arse action but with Cheryl simply getting into her Jeep and reversing over the poor creature.

Three times.

 

And with the ogre dead everyone hugs and makes up.

Aaah...Lamberto Bava's never ending Demons saga, the guiltiest of all guilty pleasures.

After the stunning genius of the first chapter and the not as stunning but still brilliant Demons II, the brand name was shamelessly hijacked and shoddily stapled to any movie that seemed to fall into the distributors grubby hands.

A heart breaking romance?....called it Demons: The Wedding!

Hellzaboppin' comedy? No problem! It's now called Demons: Pie Fight!

An even more shoddy than normal Umberto Lenzi film featuring the ghosts of slaves with Rice Crispies on the faces? That'll be Black Demons then!

Scarily at last count there were over 16000 films bearing the Demons moniker with more to come, each more inept than the last but frankly a lot more enjoyable than most of the rubbish being churned out in the name of 'horror' today. 

And so the same fate befell this made for TeeVee movie.

But where as the first two featured men, women, children, dogs etc. being possessed by small slimy critters then proceeding to bite each other, this one features a man in a pound shop Halloween mask and lederhosen bumping into the scenery whilst covered in cheap red wine.

Some stunning make up fx yesterday.

On a brighter note it does feature the handsomely chiseled star of Lucio Fulci's House by The Cemetery and The New York Ripper, professional Italian sexy man Paolo Malco in the role of wife slapping, depression belittling Tom and mega-MILF Sabrina Ferilli, a woman with breasts so big they have their own time-zones a a witch so it can't be that bad.

Which is thanks in part to uber-writer, horror legend and dusky moustachioed love God Dardano Sacchetti who manages to fill his screenplay with dozens of riffs stolen not only from his own back catalogue but also random stuff like John Carpenter's Prince Of Darkness, The Last Snows of Spring and even Argento's Inferno.

Couple all this with Lamberto Bava's snappy direction and the magnificent Simon Boswell's frankly bonkers synth score and it least makes it interesting to look at and listen to.

Which is more than can be said for 99% of movies they weren't involved with.