more mooncup.

After rewatching the frankly fantastic The Man From Planet X recently I immediately (well almost immediately, I had a wee first) went online to see if there had ever been a sequel or the like and to find out who owns the rights because let's be honest it deserves a remake.

In a bizarre bit of (fearful) symmetry - seeing as it was rediscovering my Robot Monster strip that made me watch it - I discovered that Fawcett Publications actually produced a comic adaptation of the movie in 1952 (which actually ain't too shady).

Not only that tho' but after even more digging I found that way back in 1975 top scribe Hunter Adams (AKA Jack Lancer, AKA Jim Lawrence) penned a three book series chronicling the further adventures of The Man From Planet X.

Excitedly I scurried to Ebay to find the books and after a few weeks (and a large part of the kids college fund) they arrived at Unwell Towers.

So imagine my surprise upon reading them when I realised that they had absolutely fuck all to do with the film but were actually a series of sexy stories about some bloke named Peter Lance,  who although looking human was in fact an alien from the planet Tharb named Pritan Lansol, sent to Earth to study our customs and learn more about us before his race finally announce their presence.

Obviously being aliens they have absolutely no concept of sex so to discover more about it the alien leader, Dr. Kraag, sends Lansol to Earth to look into it.

Obviously this involves him bedding as many beautiful women as possible and all in the name of science.


Sounds legit.

Invariably he ends up involved in spy rings, human trafficking and the like  forcing him to  use his amazing physical prowess, telepathic abilities, and alien technology to defeat the bad guys and save the damsel.

Before having some more of 'the sex' with them obviously.

And whilst this may seem a tiring proposition to us mere mortals, it turns out that the planet Tharb is actually the size of  Jupiter (tho' not alas Uranus) with a similarly immense gravity meaning that the muscles of its people are tremendous compared to Earthlings.

Obviously this means that Lance is able to 'perform' for hours and hours.

If all this wasn't manly enough Lance also freelances for the CIA on a part-time basis, investigating such mysteries as:

The She-Beast.

An exciting sexcapade involving an old hag who needs an experimental drug called Novitol in order to continue to look young and beautiful, therefore being able to continue having sex.
 
Unfortunately the company that manufactured it has just been bought by a rich industrialist who wants to cease its production so the old hag attempts to kill him.

Luckily Lance is shagging the guys daughter so steps in to help.





Tiger By The Tail.

When Lance rescues a beautiful young (nude) woman from a tiger attack - as you do - he finds himself in the middle of an attempt by a cabal of bad men trying to acquire a secret weapon known as C.O.D. AKA Crack of Doom.

The Devil To Play.

A rash of muggings and rapes in Manhattan can be connected (as is usually the way) to a group of Satanic worshipers who intend on controlling the oil industry by kidnapping a woman who has created a synthetic oil formula.

Unfortunately, on account of them being utter shite, Lawrence (who for years scripted the James Bond newspaper strip, eventually creating more adventures than any other writer including Ian Fleming) called it a day after book 3 and returned to writing Tom Swift Jr. (as Victor Appleton II) and The Hardy Boys Adventures (as Franklin Dixon) before going on to co-create two highly complex adventure games for the Infocom series in the 80s.

Shit! That means this computer is made entirely out of your dad's arse!

 

As an aside, all this talk of the 80s got me thinking, does anyone else remember/care that the 1962 classic Creation of The Humanoids was bizarrely feature on the inside sleeve of the Bronski Beat album Age of Consent?

This was quite possibly due as much to it being Andy Warhol's favourite SciFi movie as well as it's plot regarding forbidden love and the like.

Caught up with it again recently and surprisingly it still stands up well.

Tho' that's probably because all the sets are really thick cardboard.

Creation of The Humanoids (1962)
Dir: Wesley Barry.
Cast: Don Megowan, Erica Elliot, Frances McCann, Don Doolittle, George Milan, Dudley Manlove and David Cross.

Was She One Of The Green-Blooded People?

The place: A future Earth.

The time: Just after lunch where a nasty (let's be honest,is there any other kind?) nuclear war has resulted in the total extermination of 92% of the human race and left the remaining survivors riddled with radiation poisoning, scabs and bad teeth meaning the prospect for humanity surviving via the medium of having 'the sex' looking very grim.

To keep civilization ticking over smoothly, the remaining humans go into overdrive building over a billion robots to handle all the everyday jobs (bin men, STV voiceover announcers, working in the off licences, saying "In a world...." at the start of trailers etc.) and over the years these automatons have been constructed to emulate humans more and more, eventually becoming sentient and possibly even more human than their human 'masters'.

As is usual in situations like this, a nasty group of bad men (somewhat kinkily) named the “Order of Flesh and Blood” push for a ban on these human looking machines (know bizarrely as 'clickers') insisting that any new robots must be bald, blue and dressed in boiler suits left over from Brian Tilsley's garage.

Which is fair enough I guess.

The situation goes from bad to worse tho' when one such clicker goes a wee bit mental, killing his creator Dr. Mike Raven (Doolittle, best know for his sterling performance as a DA in a 1971 episode of Hawaii Five -O) to death.

Robot hater, founder member of the Order and all round rugged tough guy Kenneth Cragis (Blazing Saddles gum chewer himself, Megowan) suggests a solution to the problem.

Kill all the clickers.

Kill them a lot.

Which is nice.

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

The rest of the group think this may be a wee bit extreme and start to distance themselves from 'crazy' Cragis, who decides to go visit his sister Esme (McCann from fuck all else) for a few days of bitching and badness.


Unfortunately upon arriving at her house our racist rebel-rouser is surprised - and oh-so slightly annoyed - to find that Esme has become 'involved' in the state of 'rapport' with a robot named Pax (The Magic Swords Sir Pedro of Spain himself, Cross).

And what, you may ask, is 'Rapport'?

Well 'Rapport' occurs when a robot and a human begin to share the same mindset and the humans every desire is instantly understood by the robot partner and immediately fulfilled.

Which if I'm honest isn't as rude as it sounds really.

Sorry.

Shocked and upset Cragis storms off to his fantastic plastic bachelor pad for a tearful wank and a pot noodle.

Probably.

Hanson have let themselves go.

Even this small solace is interrupted tho' when the beautiful (and very 60s breasted) Maxine Megan (Elliott from, um, Peter Gunn) appears out of the blue and falls into his arms.

Hmmmm.

After a whirlwind romance - plus shedloads of cheesy B-grade SciFi dialogue - Cragis and Maxine stumble across a secret that will shake their beliefs to the very core and may explain the terrifying secret of the Creation of The Humanoids...

Looked at from a purely production point of view Creation of The Humanoids is a cheaply made, warehouse bound 'B' flick populated by bald-pated, blue toned men with acting as stilted as the wooden slats pretending to be a futuristic laboratory and talky to a point where you can imagine that writer Jay Simms originally envisaged this as a stage production, the whole threadbare endeavor is topped off by a particularly lurid poster design and not much else.

But look passed all this and you'll find a quirky and intelligent lo-fi movie that's ideas pre-date many of the themes and concepts that would go on to dominate books and movies under the 'cyberpunk' banner more than two decades later.

Yup, it's basically Blade Runner 2049 but with sturdier underwear.

I'd better stop now before someone mistakes this for a real film blog.

mooncup.

About 10 years ago I was commissioned to draw a comic sequel to the fantastic Robot Monster for a now defunct space-based magazine and recently came across the first draft of the art for it (you can see it in all it's glory here).

It was this find that made me realise that I'd not actually sat and watched any  50s sci-fi for what seemed like forever so with that in mind I dived into the DVD slushpile and pulled out the first thing that came to hand....


The Man From Planet X (1951).
Dir: Edgar G. Ulmer
Robert Clarke, Margaret Field, Raymond Bond, William Schallert as Dr. Mears
Roy Engel, Charles Davis, Gilbert Fallman, David Ormont, June Jeffery and Franklyn Farnum.

To think - a fantastic gnome like you had to hurdle out of space to put this power in my hands. Well, now that we've made contact, I'm gonna tear out every secret you've got!

Famed astronomer Professor Billy Elliot (Bond who bizarrely also played an astronomer in Flight to Mars - did he own his own telescope?) is excited to discover a new planet that just happens to be hurtling thru space toward the Earth.

Exactly as planets don't.

Although there's no evidence that the two planets will actually collide (that'll be a totally different movie) “Planet X,” as Elliot has so originally named it, will come close enough to cause a wee bit of bad weather and maybe a few tremors and the like.

Probably.

Using 'the science' Elliot works out that the closest the mysterious planet will come to Earth is the small island of Bury just off the coast of Scotland - which is in England near Paris, Europe for all our American readers.

"What did you do with the trumpet you found buried in your garden?" "I root it oot.”"

And with that the professor alongside his foxy - in a kinda part-time librarian way - daughter, Enid (Sally Field's mum Margaret - no really) heads off to the island to await its arrival.

Enter - roughly and from behind -  an old friend of the professors, the American journalist and general stud-muffin John Lawrence (Clarke from The Hideous Sun Demon),who's been invited along to cover the story.

But what he's going to cover it in we're never told.

Anyway it seems that the pair met during 'the war' when Elliot was working as a meteorologist, supplying Lawrence's 8th Air Force squad with information regarding the weather conditions they could expect during their bombing missions, which is way more back story than either of them deserve.

Arriving at/on the island John is met by Enid, giving us plenty of time for that old "Oh you were just a child last time I saw you but I'd shag you now!" type chat you used to get in movies before the pair drive up to the old keep the professor has taken over in order to start this alien visitor plot good and proper.

When they - finally - get there (after a wee bit more of what passed for flirty bantz in the 50s) Lawrence is surprised to find another scientist, the creepy Dr. Ray Mears (Tobor The Great and Trouble With Tribbles star Schallert) ingratiating himself with the professor, no-one actually admits why he's such a bad man or what he's done but the lank hair, sinister beard and ill-fitting suit mark him out as a bad yin and the character most likely to abuse an alien during the course of the story.

Ah things were so much simpler back then.

"Please don't jump we've just let all the water out"

With John visibly seething at Mears very presence Enid decides to take him up the moors to calm him down so away they trot.

Yup, the films pace could be generously described as leisurely.

And it's while out on the moors that the pair come across a strange metallic object that looks suspiciously like a toilet roll rocket painted silver embedded in the side of a nearby paper-mache rock.

With it only being about 30 inches long and weighing just a few pounds (you can see Enid is impressed by the way she's licking her lips)  John gingerly pockets it and the pair hurry back to the keep where an obviously excited Dr. Mears’s sweats in anticipation of the profits he'll make as soon as he:

A. Figures out what the fuck it's made of.

and

B. How to make it himself.

As Mears gently strokes the cylinder as he coos away to himself, Elliot sits stroking his chin and surmises that the object must be of extraterrestrial origin and has arrived on Earth from the rapidly approaching Planet X. 

Enid on the other hand just stares at it whilst crossing and uncrossing her legs, the heavy woolen skirt she's wearing gently brushing against her milky smooth calves.

"Look at the dog!"

 

 

John, realising that he's left his re-usable sheath back at the hotel makes his excuses and gets ready to leave hoping that the cool night air may calm his amour but Enid has other ideas and offers him a lift in her car, accidentally brushing his leg with her Lilly white fingers every time she grabs for the gear stick.

Probably.

Stiffly - in more ways than one, phnarr - saying their goodnights Enid begins the lonely drive back to the keep but on the way she gets a burst tire, well her car does, I mean she doesn't have any wheels for one thing so has to walk the rest of the way.

It's not too far tho' seeing as the whole thing is totally studio bound.

Well I say studio bound but I'm pretty sure it was shot in someone's shed.

 

 

"Get in the back of my car and let me bite you!"

On the way, she sees a strange glow out on the moors, which on closer inspection appears to be emanating from what looks like a giant menstrual cup (painted silver obviously) with cardboard fins attached.

Stealthily sneaking toward it (well as stealthily as you can be when you try to walk across polystyrene in heels), Enid moves ever closer before peering into the window coming face to face with a midget in an old lady mask wearing a fishbowl on its head.

Or it might actually be a very tiny old lady.

Wearing a fishbowl on her head obviously.

 Who can truly say?*

Scared shitless Enid hurries back to her father (and Dr. Mears) to tell them all about it and her father excitedly grabs his jacket to go look for himself.

Unfortunately as he's peering at it from behind a rock the alien turns on his secret weapon (cunningly disguise as a high wattage porch light) - a mysterious  ray that hypnotizes people into obeying his every will.

The fact that he chose to shine it on an old, balding man rather than the narrow-hipped vixen that is Enid says more about the alien creature than I ever can.

Luckily for the professor - and humanity - spaceman X totally fails to give him any orders so the pair just shrug and head home leaving a very sweaty Mears hiding in a bush rubbing his hands together.

The next morn, John arrives to find the professor chomping at the bit to get back to the alien ship to try and find the pilot and to this end the pair hurry off across the moors.

Again.

Luckily for them - and us - the pilot (whom we shall refer to as Mr X from now on) is actually present this time, cutting a dashing figure as he flails around outside his spaceship gingerly pointing at a bathtap attached to his suit before falling over.

Which is a kinda unique way of revealing yourself it must be said.

Mooooooooooooooooooonhead.

 John, being a strong man, easily helps the little invader turn the tap on his breathing equipment and a grateful Mr X gives them a wacky thumbs up before following them home for tea and biscuits.

Tho' seeing as it's Scotland it's more likely to be a deep fried pizza, some Irn Bru and a yeast infection.

Attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to communicate with him thru' the medium of interpretive dance Mears hits upon the idea (as opposed to hitting on wee boys) of using geometry and maths to communicate with him and lo the rest of the gang trundle off for more biscuits and leave him to it.

Unfortunately for everyone involved Mears is a bit of a mentalist and no sooner have they left than he's making Mr X hit himself in the face and drawing pictures of cocks on his nice shiny space helmet in order to learn his 'secrets' and become rich.

Because that's how it works.

Obviously Mr X is a wee bit upset by this so decides to feign sleepiness, wait till Edin turns up to check on him then kidnap her.

No doubt in order to use his hypno-ray to make her dance wearing only a teatowel.

Just me then?

With Mears admitting to being a bit bad and in light of Enid's disappearance John gets set to head into town to inform the local police but as he goes to leave the town constable, the potato-like Tommy McSporran (Zombies of the Stratosphere star Engel) drunkenly bursts in demanding to see the professor.

And some crumpets.

It seems that over the last few nights that a couple of the local farmers have gone missing too so it must all be the fault of the foreigners that have recently arrived.

Luckily John manages to convince him that it is in fact a totally different type of alien by taking him across the moors and showing him the spaceship, thereby totally ending what ever drama this scene may have been building to almost immediately.

Meanwhile Mr X has been busy, firstly re-hypnotizing the professor before doing the same to Mears and a dozen or so townsfolk in order to have them build a wall around his spaceship to protect it from attack.

Sounds legit.

With the clock counting down to Planet X's arrival (and to rationing ending too possibly) John and Tommy must race against time to stop Mr X from doing whatever it is he has planned (because it's obviously bad) and rescue the townsfolk.

From the golden age of sci-fi and Edgar G Ulmer - the director of such classics as the Lugosi/Karloff caper The Black Cat and the little seen The Amazing Transparent Man (I thank you) - comes a threadbare tale of extra-terrestrial terror that's actually quite high on concept if not on budget, winning it's place in cinematic history not for being a good film but for being in all probability the first alien invasion film ever released.

And because of that we should be a wee bit kinder.

So let's not mention how none of it makes any sense storywise, I mean early on Mr X asks our heroes for help and only turns mental when Mears attacks him (which is fair enough) tho' as the film heads toward its climax everyone decides out of the blue that the wee fella is the scout for an invasion force and should be wiped out.

And no, having your female lead looking wistfully into the middle asserting her belief that Mr X was just misunderstood doesn't make this any better.

Even tho' she's wearing a kilt.

"Hello Dave?"

Talking of kilts I'd love to know what American audiences made of its 'exotic' locations, tho' thinking about it  they probably all came away with the idea that 'The Scotchland' is a place completely made up of painted scenery where everyone speaks in a mix of farcical French accents and Unwinese.

But most likely they'd be under the impression that it only exists in someones shed.

Which if I'm honest is scarily close to the truth.

"Are you the farmer?"

Whilst never as arse-numbingly boring as that other genre first, the terrifyingly tedious Dr. Blood's Coffin (it's considerably shorter for one thing) The Man From Planet X actually has a fair bit about it to enjoy, especially if like me you decide to view it when drunk.

And if that's not a recommendation I don't know what is.








































* Rumour has it that the alien was (terrifyingly) portrayed by either Pat Goldin,  an actor best known for Jiggs and Maggie in Court (1948), Jiggs and Maggie in Society (1947) and Bringing Up Father (1946) or the ex-vaudeville performer Billy Curtis.

"Can you get me a Drifter?"

Popular opinion it must be said goes with Goldin as it turns out that Curtis was about 6' 4" or something.

Bizarrely tho' when interviewed (by my Nan) about the film in the early 80s star Robert Clarke could only recall that the actor was 'Jewish'.

lynched.

David Keith Lynch (January 20, 1946 – January 16, 2025)

 

Pour yourself a coffee, cut a slice of cherry pie and celebrate the genius that was David Lynch with 90 minutes of Badalamenti beats, sinister soundbites and toe tapping tunes....

 

 

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 111).

 In celebration of the 42nd anniversary of Fraggle Rock's first broadcast here's the utterly adorable (and mysteriously captivating Red Fraggle.

Admit it, you do too.

happy hogmanay!

 Here's wishing all (3) readers a fantastic 2025.

 

 

double trouble.

We're still on a wee bit of a vampire fix here in Unwell Towers, gorging ourselves on the very best (or is that very beast?) bloodsucking blockbusters in tribute to Nosferatu.

No idea why tho' as no-one has noticed.

And todays choice?

All I can say is shite movie, vaguely amusing back story.

So prepare yourself dear reader for the truth behind... 

Dracula vs. Frankenstein (1971).
Dir: Al Adamson.
Cast: Anthony Eisley, Regina Carrol, Russ Tamblyn, Jim Davis, Angelo Rossitto, Greydon Clark, Anne Morrell, Forrest J Ackerman, John Bloom, Lon Chaney, Jnr, J. Carrol Naish and Zandor Vorkov.

“She used to have fantasies about being a freak…
Two heads, an eye missing, elongated spine.
Anything that was grotesque turned her on.”

Somewhere in California - the Oakmoor Cemetery to be precise - world famous lord of the undead Count Dracula (disguised by the look of things as an almost AIDS thin pedo with pubes for hair and played to almost cardboard perfection by 'Zandor Vorkov' AKA Roger Engel) is busy unearthing the remains of Doctor Frankenstein's monster.

What? You mean to tell me you skipped the part of the book where the creatures remains are secreted to the US to be experimented on?

Surprised to see a black satin clad sex offender digging around in the middle of the night the cemeteries lone security guard (the directors dad) comes to investigate, getting his neck nibbled for his trouble.

Pay attention at this part, as it's the only vaguely vampiric thing Dracula will partake in during the whole movie.

Meanwhile under Brighton pier a fairly foxy girl is nervously feeling her way thru' a fog of what can only be cigarette smoke before being suddenly - and unconvincingly -  attacked by an axe-wielding, alcoholic Lon Chaney, Jr. (who distressingly looks close to death).

The axe cuts short her scream.

And cuts off her head.

We cut too but fear not, for it's only a cinematic phrase meaning the action (well, I say action) is moving to somewhere else.

And that somewhere else is glorious Las Vegas, where glamorous grannie Judith Fontain (director Adamson's wife, the late Carrol, star of Satan's Sadists and official pin-up girl of raunchy rockers The Sleepfarmers) is performing her groovy nite-club act to a packed audience via the wonders of stock footage (well, takes up a couple of minutes running time) before retiring to her dressing room to let the air out of her breasts and check her fan mail.

Alongside the final demands, STD test results and court summonses is a letter from one Sergeant Martin Martin (Dallas star Davis) of the Californian Police Missings Persons Bureau (yup, that's the name on the envelope), informing Judith that her wee sister Jodie has gone missing.

Dracula, up the casino, 1973.....Yesch!

Judith, being a concerned sister and desperate to get the plot moving rushes to California (I'm assuming it's just down the road) in order to help with the police investigation much to the chagrin of the permanently scowling Sgt. Martin.

"Hey lady, the world is a dark place," Martin informs her as he switches off his desk lamp in order to batter the point home "If you have any wool I suggest you get knitting!" he suggests usefully before heading off to beat up some students.

Left to her own devices, our heroine wanders innocently into the dangerous hippie neighbourhood where her sister was last seen.

Entering the famous Hippie Hilton (500 McLaughlin Dr. Santa Cruz, CA 95064-1084, families welcome) Judith tries to ingratiate herself into the whole hippie thing by asking for a coffee whilst showing pictures of her sis to all and sundry but this only succeeds in getting her mistaken for a cop, leaving the owner no alternative but to spike her drink with LSD.

Smart.

Cue much hair tugging, indiscriminate crash zooms and Judith writhing on a platform whilst wearing a white fishnet body stocking to a frantic bongo beat.

Far out.

Luckily she's rescued by nice guy hipster Clive Strange (hard working Clark, best known - to me anyway - for Without Warning) and his mousy girlfriend Samantha (Morrell, you may remember her as the floating harem girl in John Goldfarb, Please Come Home! or maybe not).

Lon Fancies a wee mooth shite-in....are you man enough for the challenge?

Meanwhile at the local chamber of horrors conveniently located on the end of the pier next to the bingo hall, the wheelchair-bound scientist and former member of NWA Dr. Drea (Naish, desperate to pay his medical bills) is busy attempting to perfect a special formula that will enable mankind to live forever and have perfectly coiffured  hair even after a heavy night out.

Unfortunately he can only make this formula by beheading people then bringing them back to life before finally lobotomizing them.

But if it means I only ever have to style my quiff once a month then I'm game.

Aided by urine stained imbecile Groton (that'll be Lon then, poor sod) and professional little person Grazbo (Rossitto famous for everything from Freaks to Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome via Galaxina), who've been promised physical and mental superiority once the formula is perfected, this dynamic duo find suitable candidates for experimentation via Grazbo's job at the box office, leaving Groton to chop them up.

"Laugh now!"

After one particularly heavy night of lobotomy-based fun, Dr. Drea is surprised when a strange man steps out of the shadows and demands to talk to him.

Examining the strangers ring (snigger) Drea identifies the visitor as Count Dracula, and Dracula not to be outdone, identifies Drea as the last of the Frankenstein family.

With Drea realizing that his Colonel Sanders disguise is fooling no-one and Drac just relieved that he's finally met someone who doesn't piss themselves laughing whilst looking at him they pair settle down for an excruciatingly bad chat that although meant to fill in an important bit of back story just careers off on bizarre tangents.

None of this is helped by the fact that Dracula appears to have been dubbed by someone standing in a well.

"Ahm sorry hen....ave pished mahsel again!"

Anyway, from what I can gather (after rewatching the movie a few times) is that  Drea was adopted (which is why he's not known as Frankenstein and more importantly why he's considerably less hip than other Def Jam stalwarts) and that his work in monster construction was discredited by three evil doctors, one of which caused the accident that crippled him.

This man whom we shall call simply Dr. Bill Beaumont (because that's his name) added insult to injury by stealing the Frankenstein monster and burying it in the graveyard from the films opening.

Luckily for all concerned the infamous Zornov Comet is rapidly approaching the Earth, heralding the beginning of the monster's second life cycle.

Look I'm just typing what was said.

Meanwhile junked up Judith suddenly wakes up in the bed of aged hippie Mike Howard (Eisely from Knots Landing), a local middle-aged guy who looks after the disenfranchised yoof in the area whilst dressed like a teenage rent boy.

Nope, nothing sinister about that at all.

Taking a shine to Judith (he's obviously bored with failing to score at the school gates so he's decided on someone nearer his own - old - age) the pair begin to discuss Jodie's disappearance, eventually coming to the conclusion that, being disabled Dr. Drea is behind it.

Cue hours of wandering around aimlessly back and forth to the house of horrors exhibit intercut with dozens of unnecessary appearances  by a chubby, pube bearded Russ Tamblyn playing an evil rapist biker named Rico.

Truly the man has no shame.

Or a fucking huge rehab bill.

Heath Ledger farted....and it was an eggy one.

Skipping forward a few chapters (look I'm only human) and finally Judith and Mike (after admitting their love for each other and having a wee kiss and cuddle) have decided to take one last look at Drea's horror show.

Only to make it more interesting they've turned up in the middle of the night.

Wandering around in the 'dark', they pair of wannabe investigators completely fail to see or hear Rico and his pals trying to rape Samantha and also miss Groton's subsequent slaughter of the bad boy bikers but, and give credit where it's due, Mike does manage to hear Groton quietly pull a chain that opens a trapdoor to Drea's lab.

Trying to find the source of the noise, the pair also manage to miss the three hacked to pieces bodies at their feet but do spot a teeny tiny locket belonging to Samantha buried in the sand.

I'll be honest, even I've stopped caring at this point.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Drea, lying in wait behind a shady model of a giant monkey catches the pair as they sneak around the exhibits and manages to lure our loved up losers into the dank, dark basement below his lair.

If you could take a minute now to consider the layout of Drea's Chamber of Horrors.

If you've been paying attention you'll remember that it's built on a pier over the beach to give Groton easy access to the sands to kill women.

So how (and more importantly where) does the stone clad gothic basement fit in?

I have to be honest and say that at the time I totally accepted this without question showing the true extent of the films almost supernatural mind numbing powers.


It was only the following day that I realized that the whole thing was complete and utter shame trousered shite from start to finish.

Anyway, Drea explains the plot, Judith finds her naked sister in a big jam jar and Mike, being an all American hero type picks a fight with the dwarf, causing Groton's pet cat to fall down the trapdoor.

I kid you not, cinema hardly ever gets as exciting as this baby.

Tosser.

Much infant school slapping and grimacing ensues culminating with wee Grazbo falling onto an axe giving Judith time to escape to the roof.

Of a factory.

Not a pier.

Mike however is trapped behind some boxes as an ever more excited Drea take potshots at his arse with an air pistol before giving chase in what must be modern cinemas slowest wheelchair versus middle aged man race ever.

All looks lost until Mike in a rare flash of intelligence, hides behind the monkey exhibit and shouts "BOO!" as Drea wheels by causing the scientist to shit himself, the runny consistency of which makes Drea slide off his seat and onto a prop  guillotine exhibit, which decapitates him.

Back on the roof Groton, pulling his best sex face, is closing in on Judith but just as all seems lost who should turn up but Sgt. Martin and Clive Strange back from discovering the three bodies under the pier.

Strange spots Judith running across the roof and Martin, desperate to shoot someone, opens fire on Groton.

"Put it in me!"

Running to the roof to comfort Judith, Mark seems to have forgotten one tiny thing.

The title of the film.

For waiting in the shadows Dracula is plotting a terrible revenge on those who have thwarted his plans.

A revenge that will at some point involve him bitch slapping a potato-faced monster whilst Judith's breasts look on in terror....

"I fang you!"

Where to start when it comes to the late king of exploitation Al Adamson and his work?

Director, producer, actor and writer Adamson directed an impressive (in quantity if not quality) thirty movies between 1961 and 1983 before retiring from films and getting involved in real estate.

Tho' probably not beach-front piers with stone basements.

Back to his movies tho' and whilst Dracula vs. Frankenstein is nowhere near one of his better efforts it does have the most comically convoluted stories behind it's journey to the big screen.

Beginning production in 1968 as The Blood Seekers with much the same plot and cast Adamson was reported as being unhappy with the finished product, feeling it lack a certain something and consequently shelved the entire movie, putting all his efforts into the other seven (!) he had in production at the same time.

Jump forward a few years and Al's producer pal Sam Sherman, is panicking into a bottle of Rum.

It appears that he foolishly signed a contract to deliver a brand new full colour Frankenstein film to the drive-in theatre crowd and, after spending the cash on crisps and fizzy pop has only days in which to find one before he gets his legs broken.

In an attempt to cheer his pal up, Adamson took Sherman to the cinema where the pair found themselves watching Paul Naschy's debut film La Marca del Hombre Lobo (AKA The Mark of The Wolfman) alongside Holiday on The Buses.

It was at this point Sherman hatched a cunning plan.

He would buy the rights to the movie and change the title to The Something of Frankenstein therefore filling his obligation and make a few bob on the side.

Unfortunately tho' Holiday on The Buses was too expensive (Hammer wanted £18.60 for the worldwide rights) to purchase so instead he ended up with Naschy's movie which he quickly retitled Frankenstein's Bloody Terror (despite it not featuring Frankenstein) before releasing it onto an unsuspecting audience.

The plan worked and to celebrate Sherman took Adamson out for a baked potato and a pint of cider and it was during this meal, as Adamson looked down on the cheese melting across his lumpy spud that the director realised what was missing from the Blood Seekers footage.

A monster with a potato for a face.

With a cry of "Eureka!" Adamson jumped from his seat causing the man sitting behind to accidentally spray tomato sauce of his wife's heaving bosom.

Noticing the red liquid dripping seductively down her swan-like (if a little too hairy) neck the film making duo looked at each other before both shouting:

"Dracula!"

And thus a legend was born.

"Wahey Blakey! I'm spunking tenners!"

But who had the gravitas to play such an iconic roll?

And who was brave enough to bring the Count kicking and screaming into the 1970's?

Sherman wanted genre veteran John Carradine, thinking that the actor would bring a noble gravitas to a portrayal of an older, more desperate Dracula, out of time and thrust into the modern world for one last attempt at immortality.

But Adamson had other ideas, he wanted someone young and sexy but more importantly he wanted someone with a beard.

A beard fashioned from pubic hair.

With this in mind he called upon his stockbroker Robert 'pubey' Engel who accepted the part on the spot.

Funnel or tunnel?

Renamed Zandor Vorkov (a partial anagram of scary pubic beard), his voicebox replaced with that of a bass-heavy transistor radio slightly off-tuned to medium wave and his skin bleached with ammonia, Engel's was ready to begin shooting.

All that was left to do now was to find and purchase a really big potato and find someone willing to put it on their head.

This job fell to the massive, slack jawed 7 foot, 4 inch bulkily hulky John Bloom. Known as Johnny 'Horsecock' Bloom to his friends, the actor had already appeared in such greats as The Incredible 2-Headed Transplant and Up Your Alley before Adamson came a calling and he too had unique ideas as to how the infamous monster should be portrayed.


As a club-footed tramp obviously.

And how did it all turn out?

Well I would usually say see for yourselves but frankly I'm not that much of an unfeeling bastard.

If you have already seen it there are groups out there to help you adjust back into normal life life.

And if not?

Just memorize this review and kid on that you saw it.

It's for the best.

love bites.

Still attempting a Nosferatu/vampire themed series of posts in the hope of gaining (any) new readers and seeing as the kids enjoyed the Paul Naschy classic Count Dracula's Great Love yesterday I've been desperately searching for any other vampire movies I own that may be kid friendly.

This one with hindsight, wasn't.

Gayracula (1983).
Dir: Roger Earl (Which I must admit sounds a wee bit like Robert Eggers).
Cast: Tim Kramer, Steve Collins, Rand Remington, Randal Butler, Michael Christopher, Ray Medina, Max Montoya, Doug Weston, Douglas Poston and Davin McNeil.

"You have done me a great service....

now I shall service you!"

Our dark tale of undead bloodlust begins with a group of robed and mysteriously seventies haired monks carrying a coffin thru' the California desert to a fairly inoffensive sub-Jerry Goldsmith Omen-esque score.

So far so so.

Entering a dark, dank cave our hooded pals force open the coffin to reveal a jug-eared young man in his granddad's tuxedo lying within.

As the lead monk Brian attempts to stake him thru' the heart our be-suited chum suddenly opens his eyes and sits upright before metamorphosing into a bat whilst filling the cave with what looks like (Robert) eggy bad-dad gas.

As the monks shriek and scream in terror the bat - via a handy fishing wire and a big stick - flies to the cave entrance before reverting back to it's human form.

Naked apart from a cape, patent leather brogues and socks the monks can only cower in fear at the evil that is Gayracula.

Ladies and gentlemen....
live on stage....5ive!

Jump forward (backwards? sideways?) to the year is 1783  - well according to the dodgy Letraset font superimposed over a kids drawing of a Halloween castle it is - where the fantastically monikered Gaylord Young (The late Tim Kramer of California Jackoff fame), a courier for the legal firm of Crotchley, Bloomfield and Smythe (like it matters) has been dispatched to Transylvania to deliver a family heirloom to the mysteriously mustachioed Mark Shannon alike (and even more fantastically monikered) Marquis de Suede (Collins last seen in Falconhead Part II: The Maneaters).

Being so grateful for the personal touch of delivering the said artifact to his imposing castle by hand, de Suede offers Young a hot meal and a bed for the night.

Oh yes, and also insists on sucking the young man's huge throbbing member as if it were an oversized Chupa Chup before firing his own undead vampiric muck all over Young's lily-white arse and at the point of climax biting him on the neck.

All in gloriously over-lit clinical colour.

Which reminds me, how is your dad?

The year they invented Crayola obviously.

Waking the next morning to a head full of red and an arse like a sugared doughnut, poor Gaylord stumbles over to the mirror to examine his neck only to see not his own reflection but the face of de Suede laughing maniacally at him before the mirror explodes in a shower of sharp pointy shards.

The curse of the vampire has been passed to a new victim.

Gaylord Young, legal eagle is no more.

He has become the king of the undead.

Something less than human but with a cock the size of a newborn baby.

A very muscly new born baby.

With shot putters arms.

Which is a plus point if you think about it.

Your Dads works night out.

Suddenly (and without so much as a warning or even a crudely crayoned flashframe) we're transported to 'modern day' Los Angeles, where Boris the manservant (allegedly some bloke named Rand Remington but frankly I'm convinced is Tom Savini) and Geoff the delivery boy (Christopher last seen in the 1991 erotic thriller Fade In, an undiscovered classic that featured gay half-men, half-spiders who devour their sexual partners after trapping them in webs of sticky cum...seriously) are busy decorating a huge mansion ready for the new owner to move in.

Worn out after carrying a big wooden coffin into the lounge Geoff has to rest for a while but luckily Boris appears to be a trained sports therapist and offers to massage his stiff shoulders.

With his penis.

Obviously.

Geoff, grateful for the help notices that Boris looks uncomfortable sitting on a rough wooden box so, assuming his bottom must be getting a wee bit sore offers to massage that in return.

Boris agrees and the two men indulge themselves in a bout of manly massage.

It was at this point I realised that this may not be, in fact, a 'proper' vampire film.

"Tonight Matthew I'm going to be...
Gary Barlow!"

All this excitement, groaning and testosterone (not to mention the copious amounts of semen dripping into his coffin) is enough to wake Gaylord from his slumber.

Having been asleep for 200 hundred years tho' he's rather peckish and makes short work of poor Geoff's bum draining every speck of blood from his body.

And now Gaylord, rested and fed can begin to explore his new home.

Your dad, working late at the office last night.

And it's whilst taking in the LA sights (as well as taking a few other things in obviously) that Gaylord discovers that the Marquis de Suede is still alive - posing as an agent and running an all male dance troupe in a theatre just off Hollywood Boulevard.

And you guessed it our vampiric chum and the Marquis have some unfinished business to attend to.

Revenge for turning Gaylord into a vampire?

A battle to the death to decide who is the king of the undead?

Or is it that Gaylord just can't get enough of the Marquis' ungodly shaft?

Go on, guess.

"Flames in mah mooth!"

Arriving at rehearsals and given a front row seat - alongside a key to the mysterious 'backroom' - by the Marquis, Gaylord's sex plans are thrown into disarray when he comes across (not literally, well not yet) the young, virginal Gavin (McNeil star of Malibu Days Big Bear Nights), a waiter at the theatre and falls instantly and hopelessly in love with him.

Using his powers of persuasion to entice Gavin to his home the pair make beautiful (well sticky and sweaty) love together and, as Gavin falls asleep in Gaylord's arms, the vampire vows never to suck the young boys blood and to only indulge in rimming on a Tuesday.

Aw, ain't love sweet?

Abstaining from blood drinking tho' leaves Gaylord weakened and stumbling thru' the streets in a daze and it's only thru' sheer luck that he manages across the local bloodbank where, as is usually the way with these things, the hunky doctor is far too busy sodomising one of the (even hunkier) patients to notice our hero draining the blood supply dry.

Returning home Gaylord vows to tell Gavin the truth about his unusual affliction.

But will their love survive?

"Put it in me!"

Three cheers for Roger Earl for producing a vampire movie with all the passion, romance, horror and copious scenes of buggery sadly missing from such big budget offerings as Bram Stoker's Dracula, the Salem's Lot remake, Twilight and the like.

It's micro-budget never once compromises Earl's vision and tho' he may have had to incorporate props and sets left over from the arse end of the seventies (cracked and wobbly disco balls, silver clad dance 'numbers' and a couple of unfortunate mustaches) he stays true to his aim of producing a film that not only delves deep into vampire lore whilst dealing with the universal issues of love and belonging but also manages to feature the most varied and frankly disturbing (and slightly erotic as my nan told me) scenes of fucking, rimming, sucking and cupping I have ever seen.

And for this reason alone I take my hat off to him.

I mean who am I to judge tho?

Your mum watching this film yesterday.