naschy birthday!

Seeing as it's the late, great Paul Naschy's birthday today I thought I'd revisit an article I wrote for the late lamented Multitude of Movies magazine way back in 2015 which itself was based on (bits of) a review of the classic Curse of the Devil (AKA Return of the Werewolf, El Retorno de Walpurgis) for The yearly Paul Naschy Blogathon that used to run over at the frankly fantastic Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies site.


Plus it's worth a look just to see how much childish shite I have to cut out of stuff when I submit it for 'proper' publication.

Enjoy.

 And happy birthday Mr Naschy!

Back in the days before t'internet (and, gulp even video) the only way you could find out about new (ok let's be honest here, any) horror movies was from local library books (usually written by Leslie Halliwell, a writer whose own ideas of good horror once noted that Night of The Living Dead had killed the genre and nothing of any worth had been made since) or one of the very few genre magazines available (stand up and be counted House of Hammer and on the rare occasions it got imported to a wee newsagent nearby Famous Monsters).

As a precocious seven year old force fed a Saturday night teevee double bill of Universal and RKO classics these greats of film literature were a godsend to me and I would spent all my spare time pouring over grainy black and white shots of Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. as the tragic Lawrence Talbot.

I'll never forget though (I have a good memory) that one particular issue had a photo of the Wolfman I'd never seen before, true it was labeled 'the Werewolf' and although the accompanying picture of a fraught young man had a hint of Chaney about him his name wasn't Talbot. It was Daninsky. Like any curious kid of that age I examined the picture for a few minutes before completely forgetting about it and turning the page to reread an article on what looked like the greatest monster movie ever.

Ah Crater Lake Monster where are you now?*

The love of horror stayed with me (as did the love of Universal) and thanks to magazines like Starburst information became easier to find, the Saturday night double bills sometimes featured the films of Eddie Romero alongside the old faithfuls and movies like Dawn of The Dead and Phantasm had fueled my geek gene, forcing me to learn more about the directors and their influences. As a teenager you can probably tell I was never asked out on dates.

Ever.

The strange sad faced man with the foreign name seemed to have disappeared without a trace though and whilst Coffin Joe was being photographed with Christopher Lee at swanky Parisian horror conventions it would take a controversial censorship bill of epic proportions to bring the legendary Paul Naschy to the attentions of young horror fans in dear old blighty.

Yup, I hate to admit it but it's thanks to the 1984 'video nasty' furore and the inadvertent banning of Naschy's 1975 monster mash The Werewolf and The Yeti that finally introduced me to the great man's work. And oh boy did I hate it.

Bizarrely enough, of all the films I devoured at the time this is one of those that I have only the vaguest recollections of; something about the infamous Abominable Snowman playing the bagpipes during a fight scene and being sent out of the room to get biscuits when Naschy got involved in a wee bit of threeway action comes to mind.

But the most upsetting thing about it, and I'll admit this stayed with me for years, wasn't the gore or the sex (or even the lack of decent biscuits at my nan's), it was because this young upstart seemed to be taking all the ideas, the drama and heartache (plus the dissolve effects) of my beloved Universal movies and trying to make them his own.

How very dare he.

So being the sensible and knowledgeable film connoisseur that I was (you know, the way you can only be when you're 14) there was only one thing I could do.

Yup, I laughed loudly at the screen and flounce back to my 'serious' horror movies, tutting audibly at anyone who even mentioned that film. Looking back I find myself dying a wee bit inside at the thought of being such a know all little brat, so caught up in my own (movie-based) importance that I totally failed to see the irony in the situation.

The whole fact that they reminded me of the Universal series was that Naschy was a fan too. It's just that he knew how to have fun with his 'fannishness'.


But who was this Paul Naschy fella and why is he so revered in the world of horror cinema?

Well herein lies a tale worthy of a movie itself.

Born Jacinto Molina Álvarez in Madrid, Spain on September 6, 1934 into a fairly well-to-do family - his father Enrique was a highly regarded furrier (as in he worked with fur not that he dressed up as a rabbit and attended conventions) – Naschy's first love was surprisingly, not cinema but weightlifting, a profession he actually pursued upon leaving college.

As he entered his 20's Naschy's career took a number of more and more eclectic turns, moving as he did between writing pulp western novels, illustrating comics, weightlifting and acting, his first on screen appearance being as a Mongol warlord in Luis Lucia's El Príncipe Encadenado in 1960.

No me neither.

More and more (albeit small) roles followed – including an uncredited appearance in the Jesus-tastic King Of Kings (1961) and as his understanding of the film making process grew so did his appreciation for cinema in general but it was a chance encounter in 1966 with horror legend Boris Karloff whilst appearing in an episode of the Bill Cosby starrer I Spy that set Naschy on the road that would finally lead him to success.

Reminiscing with the actor about his time at Universal, Naschy admitted his love for the character of The Wolf Man, a fascination that dated back to his viewing of Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943) as a child.

Whatever Karloff said to him isn't on record but we can assume he didn't tell him to piss off and have him thrown off set, otherwise I reckon his career would have taken a more bizarre turn and you'd be sitting here reading about an actor who portrayed a nasty aging Thespian in a series of increasingly demented revenge flicks set in the twilight world of episodic TV.

Actually there may be a book in that.

Naschy spent the next few years working on his first screenplay and in 1968 La Marca Del Hombre Lobo hit the big screen, introducing the world to the tragic tale of the doomed lycanthrope Waldemar Daninsky, a character – or descendants of – that Naschy would go on to play 12 times between 1968 and 2004's direct to video Tomb Of The Werewolf.

Bizarrely though he never actually intended to play Daninsky, only stepping up to the role after original choice Lon Chaney Jr. proved too ill to travel and a suitable candidate couldn't be found.

And from such accidental beginnings a horror legend was born.

But portraying one iconic character was obviously not enough for Naschy who, as his career grew went on to give us his unique takes on several classic screen monsters including Count Dracula and Mr. Hyde, alongside assorted mummies and demons as well as a host of vile villains and black-hearted bad guys in a career that spanned over 100 movies and 4 decades.

Frequently writing the scripts for the movies he appeared in, he added directing to his list of not too inconsiderable talents with the 1976 Devil worshipping delight Inquisition (in which he also starred and wrote) and later, when the horror genre fell from favour within the Spanish film industry, Naschy became a producer, at one point bizarrely enough making documentaries for Japanese television resulting in a slew of Spanish-Japanese co-productions, including the frankly fantastic (if not slightly bonkers) La Bestia Y La Espada Majica (1983).

If you don't believe me then you try and name another film that features a werewolf taking on a (real) tiger as well as assorted Ninjas and a sub-plot featuring a magic monster slaying sword.

In 1984 Naschy faced a crisis in both his career and personal life, firstly with the death of his father – with whom he'd always had a close relationship and latterly when his production company, Aconito Films, filed for bankruptcy – partly due to the aforementioned lack of interest in horror movies but mainly due to the total commercial failure of the ahead of its time spy spoof Operacion Mantis.

Imagine a Spanish Austin Powers by way of The Naked Gun channelling Benny Hill via 70's Burt Reynolds and you're halfway there.

Things got worse for Naschy in 1991 when he too suffered a heart attack during a weightlifting session at his local gym, forcing the once seemingly indestructible star to take stock of his life leading to the publication in 1997 of an incredibly honest and deeply touching autobiography, Memorias De Un Hombre Loco.

As the new millennium dawned though so did a new found respect and interest in the masters work when in 2000 noted American horror magazine Fangoria inducted Naschy into its Horror Hall of Fame, thanks in part to his many – worldwide - fans championing his cause but his highest accolade was to follow when, in 2001 King Juan Carlos I presented Naschy with The Gold Medal Award for Fine Arts (the Spanish equivalent of a knighthood).

Paul Naschy passed away from cancer on 30th November 2009, still working away on new and more terrifying horror projects until his death, the lonely lycanthrope had finally come home to the love and affection he truly deserved.

Daninsky and his creator resting among the likes of Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. as true greats of horror and set to thrill and terrify fans of the fantastic of all ages for years to come.










































*Scarily enough it took 40 years but I did finally get to see The Crater Lake Monster.

the twilight zone.

It's day 24 of the whole (by this time frankly boring) 31 days of horror thing so as a treat for anyone(?) still reading I present THE greatest horror movie ever made.

Well, the greatest horror movie ever made featuring Pam Grier as a panther at least.


The Twilight People (1971).
Dir: Eddie Romero.
Cast: John Ashley, Pat Woodell, Pam Grier, Jan Merlin, Eddie Garcia, Charles Macaulay, Ken Metcalfe, Tony Gosalvez and Mona Morena.

Animal desires, human lust, furry rugs.

Hunky adventurer and general stud muffin Matt Farrell (Romero regular Ashley) is enjoying a well deserved scuba holiday somewhere off the Blackpool coast when he's unexpectedly man-napped by a couple of greasy foreign types eager to get a glimpse of his muscular tanned frame.

Trussed up like a (well fit) turkey and dripping with a mix of sea water and manliness our hero is taken aboard what looks like a disused (or stolen) car-ferry belonging to the blond haired, bad man Simon Steinman (Merlin, formerly of King Arthur's court), a man obviously obsessed (in more ways than I feel comfortable with) with Farrell, his arch enemy in the sexy stakes.

John Ashley: He's got something to put in you.

Steinman is in the employ of one Doctor Gordon Gordon (the potato-like co-star of Blacula, MacCaulay), eminent genetic crackpot, father to the gap-toothed vixen Neva (the curvy hipped and bomb breasted Woodell, former pop princess, star of The Big Doll House and the original Bobbie Jo Bradley on teevee's Petticoat Junction) and often described (by whom I've no idea) as the most brilliant scientist alive.

Stripped to his pants and junked up to his eyeballs on sherbet, Farrell is told that Gordon has been searching the world for a man both physically and mentally perfect and that Matt fits the bill.

Poor Gordon couldn't risk Farrell knocking him back so he hired Steinman, knowing of his love for Matt, to come up with an incredibly convoluted plan to capture our hero and bring him to the Doc's island home.

With nothing to do on the journey except get lusted over by both Steinman and Neva whilst wearing a natty collection of handmade shirts, Mike passes the time by quizzing everyone about Gordon's work, soon discovering that the mad medical man believes that the human race is destined for extinction and the only way of stopping this is to splice the human race together with various animals.

But obviously only the ones that live locally.

Or more realistically the ones that the pound shop had masks of.

You Woodell, twice.

Farrell’s first glimpse of Gordon's self proclaimed 'homo superior' is when saucy Steinman invites our hero to join in the pursuit of one of the escaped experimental subjects.

Partly to convince Farrell that escape is impossible but mainly to show off his chest and to impress Farrell with how well he handles his weapon.

Standing about in an uncomfortable silence waiting for something to happen, Steinman is just about to give Matt a reachround when a swarthy pikey with a boar's head appears out of the bushes, screeching like your mum during a particularly heavy anal session and wearing a tramps suit.

Seeing a fantastic chance to prove his manliness Steinman shoots the poor fucker in the face.

Ashley: John.

Looking down at the prone figure Matt has an inkling of what may be in store for him and fellow captive  Juan Pereira (Garcia from Beyond Atlantis, Beast of Blood and The Grateful Dead) but is frankly unconcerned, seeing as both he and Steinman know that he already has a horses cock.

But it's upon chatting about his ordeal with Dr. Gordon that things start to get confusing, seeing as everyone concerned seems to want to do something different to our heroic chum.

Nothing like a well thought out plan eh?

One one hand (tho' not Jeremy Beadle's) Dr. Gordon plans to remove Matt's brain and plonk it in a machine that will allow his consciousness to control all of the beast hybrids, Neva (understandably) has fallen for his rugged charms and wants to have babies with him whilst Steinman just wants to take Matt up the casino.

"Is it in yet?"

Much preferring to be a stone rather than a sponge, Matt decides to choose Neva as his escape ticket and after a quick fumble on the kitchen floor the buxom bombshell decides to help him escape.

But only if they can take all the manimals with them.

Farrell, thinking ahead to a career in the circus (OK then, running a freakshow) agrees but not before heading back to the house to abduct Dr. Gordon.

Luckily he manages this without a hitch seeing as Steinman and the boys have gone out for tapas, leaving Gordon alone and the door unlocked. 

So as Matt drags a tied up Gordon up the high road to freedom, Neva takes the low road (it's more scenic) to the beach alongside the most terrifying beasts ever committed to celluloid.

Yes, even more terrifying than a sweaty John Leslie serenading you from the foot of your bed.

Leslie: Sweat.

Ladies and gentlemen quake in fear as you are introduced to Ayesa the she-panther (the legendary Grier, in tiny black undies, facepaint and a comedy Jew beard), Lupa the wolf (smooth thighed Moreno in mini skirt and Chuckle Hounds mask), the pant wettingly bizarre Darmo the bat (a chest rug wearing, orange peel toothed and cardboard winged Gosalvez of I remember Bataan
fame), the stunning Kuzma the mantelope (a horned and bowl haired Metcalfe from TNT Jackson, looking all the world like Ed Begley Jnr.) and last but by no means least, Primo the horny ape (not credited so I'm assuming it's a real ape man).

Darmo: half man, half bat, all shite.

With Steinman, aided and abetted by a motley group of uninterested local extras in hot pursuit of Matt's much envied manass it's down to Neva and her amazing animal band to cause enough distractions to allow Farrell time to catch up.

Unfortunately the manimals, being out of their cages for the first time ever, all seem to have one thing on their mind.

Yup, it's rutting season on the farm.

Which is OK for Luma and Kuzma who seem to be a match made in (furry) heaven and Darmo who is busy rubbing himself inappropriately against a tree.

Ayesa on the other hand is too busy trying to bite everyone to care about sex which just leaves poor old Primo who, in his best drunken uncle way tries in vain to stick his simian sausage in Neva.

Suffice to say she's not impressed leaving Primo all flustered and a nasty sticky stain down the back of Neva's trousers.

Kate and William: He so horny.

But there's no time for Kleenex as Steinman is quickly catching up on Matt whilst Ayesa the she-panther is getting stroppy because no-one will let her bite Kuzma.

Will Neva be able to rally the beasts into some kind of competent fighting force before Sexy Steinman finds Matt?

Will Luma and Kuzma finally consummate their relationship?

And will Matt's ass escape unharmed?

"Teeth in mah mooth!"

From the legendary Eddie Romero, the hardest working director in the Philippines (47 plus films in a career spanning over a thousand years) and creator of the famous 'Blood' saga comes this frankly mental hybrid of The Island of Doctor Moreau and The Most Dangerous Game really has to be seen to be believed.

Like a throwback to an earlier, more innocent age of mad doctors and wacky science The Twilight People is played straight by the cast (well if you can call anything Jan Merlin does straight), especially Romero regular Ashley and surprisingly Pam Grier, given that she spends the entire movie in a shammy leather mini dress, false nose and comedy teeth whilst miming to a dubbed on cat screech whilst the movies bonkers idea's regarding human evolution coupled with it's threadbare budget give the film an almost feckless charm that wins the viewer over in much the same way as you warm to a drunken, piss-stained tramp dancing in a street on Christmas Eve.

And that's even before I've mentioned the maminal make-up.

"You chase me now!"

In a triumph of vision over practicalities, it veers wildly from the subtly  restrained like Kuzma whose body language and basic nose/antler prosthetic make him a fairly convincing human/antelope hybrid to the comedic genius that is Darmo the bat-man.

Worth the purchase cost alone, you'll find it almost impossible to believe that when the director was confronted with such a monstrosity as an actor who'd been blacked up, dipped in tea and rolled around on a barbers floor before having a couple of hastily cut out bin bags stapled to his arms he didn't have a screaming fit or top himself but decided to give this creation centre stage.

Romero I salute you sir.

And to those of you who have never experienced the absolute joy of The Twilight People I can only say you're in for a treat.

Drop what/who you're doing and go get it now.

Unless you're driving or performing surgery obviously.

yellow peril.

Day two of that 31 days of 'the horror' thing.....

Beast Of The Yellow Night (1971).
Dir: Eddie Romero.
Cast: John Ashley, Vic Diaz, Mary Charlotte Wilcox, Eddie Garcia, Leopoldo Salcedo and Ken Metcalfe.

Well it's 1940 something (the red text is really bleeding) and we're straight into action with the Filipino army who appear to be on some kind of camping trip in the play park behind director Romero's house.

After a few uncomfortable minutes featuring some top quality comedy accents and distorted dialogue Romero, giving up any hope of explaining the plot, cuts to good old John Ashley in a tattered combat suit wearing a pube beard and trademark quiff but carrying a good 100 lbs more than normal.

Surely his career hasn't sunken so low that he's been forced to eat shrubs in a park?

Phew! don't worry, he's just 'in character' as US deserter and patented bad bastard Joseph Langdon, on the run (and no doubt the rum) from, um somebody after selling out his country to work for the Japanese.

As what we will never know.

"Is it Giro day?"

Dying of starvation and desperate for a slash, Langdon is offered eternal life in exchange for his soul by The Devil (corpulent campster and father of Cameron,  Diaz) who just happens to be passing by on the way back from the Aldi with a bag of human body parts.

Lucky eh?

One flesh feast and a Hey Nonny Nonny later and we learn that Langdon’s mind now travels from body to body, inciting the “inert evil” that lies within each person.

No, sorry it all sounds a wee bit vague to me.

Anyway we're now in modern day (well 1971) Manila where Langdon has just been buried but as the old saying goes wicked folk never get any sleep and our argumentative anti-hero has soon jumped into the body of rich American businessman Philip Rogers, face fucked by some heavy machinery and believed dead by the local doctor.

You can imagine his surprise then when Rogers sits up and removes the bandages revealing not the face of a man with mince for eyes but the handsome chiseled features of Ashley.

Put it this way, his sexy wife Julia (Wilcox whose nipples you may remember from her sexy shower scene in The Psychic Killer and being Playboy playmate of the month in October 1974) isn't complaining.

Unlike his ball headed brother Earl (the frighteningly Formica Metcalfe, best remembered as the fantastic gazelle man in The Twilight People) who seems a little annoyed - or is that constipated - at the thought of his big bro coming back to rule the roost.

"Three kiddy kidneys and an old mans cock for a fiver! Sorted!"

Anyway, apart from being the embodiment of ageless evil itself and being able to live forever in any body, Langdon/Rogers/Ashley also has the power to peer into even the blackest of souls, literally smelling the most impure of intentions and making people act on them.

Which is nice if a little obscure a super power to have, tho' saying that, the ability to make anyone act in this movie would be a Godsend right now.

So with his new found wealth and power he goes about calling board meetings, shagging his wife and, um, trying to get her to run away with his brother before shagging her again.

This may not make any sense cinematically but it does give the director an excuse to indulge in some frankly hyper-erotic shots of Wilcox's arse superimposed over random scenes of Ashley squeezing her left tit.

And all to a sexy rhumba beat.

"Shite in mah mooth or suckle mah man tits.....you decide!"

Well, we're halfway in and still with no clear idea as to why anything is happening but none of this will soon matter as one night, whilst walking off a particularly heavy Vindaloo, Langdon turns into a werewolf.

No, seriously.

It seems that the pesky Devil has cursed the poor bugger with some form of trapped wind induced Lycanthropy.

A messy trail of mutilated bodies and squished internal organs follows with a bloody shirted (which does make the pattern a wee bit easier on the eye) and battered Langdon awakening in a blind man's shed.

Luckily tho' his Englebert Humperdick quiff is still perfect.

Laugh now!

More murders (and sexy stuff) follow leaving ace detectives Jeff Santos and Barry Campo (Salcedo and Garcia) to track down this monstrous mutilator.

Which, if I'm honest isn't that difficult seeing as there's only one 6ft, high haired American with a line in such tasteless shirts wandering around Manila.

But will our police pals managed to arrest Langdon before he's able to initiate the Devil's evil plan to do stuff?

Will Julia ever change out of that hellish powder blue babydoll nightie?

And will Earl's head continue expanding until it exerts it's own gravitational force and drags the rest of the cast kicking and screaming toward it?

Regular readers of the Arena will no doubt already know of my love for Eddie Romero’s Filipino frighteners, his cinema cohort, the 50's teen star turned horror hero John Ashley and their frankly magnificent 'Blood Island' trilogy, produced alongside Sam Sherman.

But all good things must come to an end and it was with Beast Of The Yellow Night; originally envisaged as a fourth Blood Island film that Sherman and Romero parted company.

Sherman went on to produce the Grant Williams starrer Brain Of Blood (directed by the almost legendary Al Adamson) whilst Romero took his film to Roger Corman and his recently created New World Pictures.

"Is it in yet?"

Much more talky and, for such a simple plot, much more confusing than the duo's earlier work, it still successful enough for the duo to continue working with King Corman for the rest of the early 70's bringing us such classics as The Woman Hunt and Savage Sisters alongside the aforementioned Twilight People and the Patrick (Sinbad) Wayne fantasy fest Beyond Atlantis before the entire Filipino fright film industry collapsed on it's arse.

No, it's not for sale.

Which is a sad note to end on really.

I'll try better tomorrow.

sexy (blood) beast.

31 days of horror day 7 and I'm onto the good stuff.

It's quality all the way from this point on.

Brides of Blood (AKA Brides of Blood Island, Grave Desires, Terror on Blood Island 1968).
Dir: Eddie Romero, Gerardo De Leon.
Cast: Beverly Hills, John Ashley, Kent Taylor, Mario Montenegro, Eva Darren and the fantastic Bruno Punzalan.

Lusting for women it terrified the land! Which is also an apt description of your uncle Pete.

Slick haired and snake hipped Peace Corp volunteer Jim Farrell (Filipino fright film fave Ashley) alongside the cut-price Clark Gable-a-like Dr. Paul Henderson (Psycho à Go-Go's Taylor) and his wife, the classy chassised bleached bimbette Carla (Beverly Hills...not her real name) are traveling to the spookily named "Blood Island" for a six-month stay.

But why would they do such a thing? I hear you ask.

Well, Henderson is heading there to study the effects of atomic testing on local flora and fauna (as you do) whilst Farrell's going to build stuff for the natives (and hopefully score with a few of the grass skirted sex kitens that live there).

And Carla?

Well she's accompanying her hubbie in order to show off her arse in in a variety of Capri Pants three sizes too small.

Just like your mum when she goes to Spain with her mates.

Your Auntie Jean, up the casino, Brighton, 1967....YESCH.

Upon arrival our heroic trio are surprised to find the usually friendly locals glumly carrying a couple of dead bodies towards the beach, which either means a burial at sea or they've gone to the wrong island and stumbled across Joe D'Amato filming another of his cannibal porn epics.

There's no time to check tho' as one of the body-bearers trips, dropping a cloth covered corpse onto the ground with a rubbery thud and our merry trio are shocked to see that the body has been literally torn to pieces.

Well I say shocked but Ashley - with his cinematic back catalogue -  is kinda used to this sort of thing by now and dear old Beverley is too busy concentrating on walking and talking at the same time to notice.

God bless Kent Taylor tho', who gives it his all, twitching and grimacing exactly like your dad at the point of climax.

Trust me I know. 

Luckily Frank Arcadio the English speaking, tea cosy hatted tribal leader (and buddy to Henderson) is on hand to helpfully explain that the two girls were involved in an "accident" and that there's really nowt to worry about.

Especially not radioactive monsters.

No sir.

Before anyone can ask any awkward questions Arcadio mentions that he's prepared a slap up meal of crisp sandwiches and fizzy pop back at his hut so our trio, hungry from all that traveling and corpse gazing excitedly follow him home.

Everything is going swimmingly (if a little stilted tho' that could just be the acting) until Arcadio - handing out fun size Twix's for dessert whispers in a hushed tone that things are a wee bit mental on the island at the moment and, for their own safety that they should really leave.

Right now if not sooner.

Dr. Henderson looks on concerned and nods thoughtfully but Jim is otherwise engaged as he gazes longingly at Arcadio's beautiful granddaughter Alma (the dusky beauty that is Eva Darren, currently doing Stirling work as Thelma in the hit TeeVee soap Magpakailanman) whilst sweating like Jimmy Savile opening a girl guides camp.

Eva: Not green.

Ignoring Arcadio's warning the group head off to bed with Henderson particularly excited about beginning his research the next morning much to his wife's chagrin who decides to sit up all night smoking whilst seductively flashing her ankles at any tribesfolk who wander by.

Jim by this point is already in his tent, searching his backpack for tissues and a Pot Noodle.

As dawn breaks Henderson is already up and about searching for samples in the jungle whilst a bored looking Carla lies wistfully against a tree, her frankly terrifying breasts pointing skywards like silk covered weapons of mass distraction, her scarily pointed bra barely holding their awesome power in check.

The beauty of her surroundings seems to have a calming effect on Carla tho' as she decides that rather than attempting to seduce the locals she'll try to rekindle the Doctor's love for her and to this end starts poking around in the bush for something nice to give him as a present.

It says a lot about Carla that she decides that a massive mutated land crab would make a perfect romantic gift and excitedly hands it to her hubbie.

Rather than trying to shag it as she has everything else that moves.

Giving it a quick once over he decides that the creature is irrefutable evidence that radiation has affected the island.

Hmmmm....you think so?

With the (stock footage and filtered) sun setting, the Henderson's return to the village (with the crab in a shoe box) only to stumble across what appears to be the tribes own version of the National Lottery draw, except this one features purple smoke, drums and a couple of scantily clad laydees crying in a corner.

Which actually sounds pretty exciting.


Well it'd make me consider buying a ticket.

Inside John Leslie's mind.

With some poor old guy from the local unemployed group dragged up like Mystic Meg he totters about on a pair of homemade Cha-Cha heels for what seems like an eternity before angrily pointing none too happy native girls and gesturing to a couple of hunky, spear wielding warrior types to carry them off into the jungle.

Our dynamic duo (with Jim close behind -he can obviously smell distressed female from a mile away) give chase but before they can catch up with the procession they are accosted by the bald, cod-eyed Goro (Black Mama White Mama's Punzalan), servant of the enigmatic Mr. Esteban Powers (Mario Montenegro), owner of the islands only brick house and winner of the Butlins Skegness Dezi Arnez look-a-like competition a record breaking 5 times between 1955 and 1961.

It appears that Goro has been skulking about in the trees since they arrived on the island in the hope that they'll accept Mr. Powers invite of dinner and offer to use of his estate for the duration of their stay.

Which sounds as good a reason as any for hiding behind a bush watching scantily clad babes being carried away screaming, so the party (totally forgetting about the sobbing girls as soon as free food is mentioned) accept heartily.

Dominic Littlewood goes undercover as a genie to report on dangerous garden centres and terrifying things.

Arriving at Powers' estate (after a slight fright involving a killer bush...yes really) the Henderson's and big Jim fail to notice (but not me, oh no sir) that not only is the entire house staff made up of dwarves, scurrying and leaping around the kitchens whilst Goro chases down then whips them but also that Powers has the face (and firm tight buttocks) of a 12 year old even those he alleges he's over 50.

To be fair tho' they're probably distracted by the fact that the promised slap up meal actually appears a plate of huge green bananas and jugs of weak piss.

Good to see they have their priorities right.

Making the most of a bad situation (and even worse script) our heroes tuck into dinner, enjoying Goro's dwarf baiting in between Dr. Henderson tediously giving everyone a lecture on the effects of atomic radiation whilst using the croissants to represent tumors, which is nice.

This may be important to the plot later tho', you never can tell.

Excited at the prospect of staying in a house with real beds and hot and cold running water (as opposed to weeping sores) Carla persuades her husband to let her stay over at Powers' House, he agrees that she can stay but explains that he must return to the village to fetch some 'special equipment'.

Jimbo too needs to stay in the village to 'assist' the new building work so the pair make their farewells and head off once more into the jungle.

Beverly Hills Cop (a feel of these babies).

Heading back to the village, they again cross paths with the sobbing girls, only this time they are both naked and tied to crosses in front of a giant paper mache statue of TeeVee funnyman Phil Cool.

Which if I'm honest is one of the most erotic things I've ever seen committed to celluloid.

Jim and the Doctor look on worriedly as they discuss whether to jump in and free the poor girls or just sit back and enjoy the show.

Luckily that decision is made for them when Arcadio, with the help of his silver tongue and a spear carrying posse turns up, diffusing the situation by explaining that they've just come across the local drama group rehearsing the village Christmas panto before taking the boys back to the village mightily impressed by the bound babes convincing acting.

You'll be surprised to know that Arcadio was in fact lying and that the girls are actually going to be sacrificed to 'The Evil One' an ancient spirit returned to wreak havoc on this idyllic paradise.

Jim and Henderson are barely tucked into bed (separately obviously) when strange Animalistic grunts, groans and farts suddenly begin to fill the air.

Laugh now!

Jim leaps from his sleeping bag and confronts Arcadio about the noise (and the smell) but our bonneted buddy remains tight lipped only saying that the whole thing was probably rats before heading off to his hut but Jim is undeterred, turning his charms on Alma.

Melting under Jim's salacious gaze she's about to spill the beans (and out of her top by the looks of it) but runs away sobbing as soon  as she hears the screams coming from the women in the trees.

Jim tries to follow her but is stopped by Arcadio brandishing his massive weapon, the shiny tip glistening in the moonlight.

Threatening to kill our slick-haired hero if he tries to interfere, Arcadio admits that he may have been a wee bit economical with the truth before breaking down in tears and exclaiming that the infamous 'Evil One' has returned.

Jim, finally realizing that being the only male cast member under 40 (just) he must actually be the films hero and donning his best Hawaiian shirt decides that it's his job to combat the terror threatening the village.

And how does he decide to do this?

By showing the villagers how to build an irrigation system for their fields and smiling seductively at Alma in the hope of getting information regarding the Evil One's plans from her.

And hopefully a wee cuddle too.

Luckily the latter part of the plan works and she tells him how the Evil One's violent urges can only be placated by the sacrifice of young virgin tottie.

But not as food for the beast oh no.

You see the hapless young (and firm) girls are given to him in order to quell his bizarre sexual urges.


Yup, the Evil One literally shags the sacrifices.....

TO DEATH.

"Put it in me!"

Meanwhile after returning to Chez Powers, Henderson is almost certain that Blood Island has been contaminated by atomic radiation from the tests.

No idea what swung it for him....was it the mutant crabs, man eating banana trees, giant killer moths or the horny man beast prowling around the forest?

We can but imagine.

There's a wee bit of good news tho' because it turns out that the resulting mutations are - kinda - reversible and only manifest themselves at night.

There's just one thing bothering Henderson tho' - well two if you count how his missis manages to squeeze into those blue hot-pants at this point of the movie - and that's the fact that the villagers themselves aren't affected by the radiation.

Powers, never one to let tension build,  informs him that they were all brought in as part of the US government’s resettlement program for peoples displaced by the atomic bomb tests.

And he should know, because he was on the island all the time nursing his radioactive wife.

Not to worry tho' the only side effects Powers has ever shown is bouts of migraine and a habit of waking up in his garden covered in blood, egg and semen.

Fuck me....it's Fred Titmus!

Hmmmm, I wonder....Could the nice Mr. Powers really be a sex starved atomic shag-beast?

Will Carla realize before she chases him into the forest (at night) wearing only a seductive Baby Doll nightie?

And will Alma win the island lottery?

Farrell and Henderson have only hours to put the pieces of the puzzle together before more innocent women (and Carla) become BRIDES OF BLOOD.

This second film in the late great Eddie Romero's cult 'Blood' series - co-directed with his long-time partner Gerardo De Leon -  invites viewers on a return journey to the notorious Blood Island made (in)famous in The Mad Doctor of Blood Island for an exciting tale of terror that features equal amounts of brutish beasts and bare breasts - the natives must strip the girls naked to be sacrificed as no doubt the beast can manage to tear them limb from limb but not remove their bra's - much to the delight of the delinquent drive-in crowds it was so obviously aimed at.

'Brides' is a no nonsense shoestring 'B' flick that despite it's low budget, still manages to deliver it's quota of scares and sexiness (take a bow John Ashley) that personifies perfectly this period of Filipino film-making mayhem.

Your wee sister will be OK then.

True, many of the 'effects' sequences are anything other than special (the obviously cardboard 'giant' mutant moth and the killer trees clearly visible strings) but everyone involved never takes the plot as anything less than deadly serious, which makes for a genuinely (at times) creepy film that never fails to entertain.



Plus if you do manage to get bored - tho' how is beyond me - you can always marvel in awe at the amount of highly coiffured hairstyles on show.

What your girlfriend really gets up to when she says she's working late.

The acting is uniformly adequate (with special mention to Kent Taylor as the so stoic he's almost solid granite Dr. Henderson) with the glowing exception of Ms. Beverly Hills.

No doubt cast for reasons other than her thespian skills, she lights up the screen like a large, tacky plastic glitterball from the pound shop every time she appears - her pneumatic breasts and gravity defying arse a true feat of engineering of which engineers everywhere should be forced to study.

My only disappointment is that after shagging and flirting her way thru' most of the male cast she never bothered to get in on with Mr. Powers' dwarf home help.

Oh well.

The shy, wallflower Beverly Hills in a rare non-posed shot.

But what of the films big selling feature?

The nightmarish Evil One?

In a classic case of enthusiasm over budget the beast is a joy to behold, looking as it does like a wart ridden swollen left testicle with chubby arms and legs, pointy cardboard teeth and torches for eyes it exudes menace and animal sexuality in equal doses.

Well it does if you find the thought of a drink sodden tramped up Mr. Blobby with scabs makes you damp with joy.

Just me then?

But fair play to the film makers who, rather than hide this stunning creation in the shadows come straight out and have it take centre stage.

"Not my wanking hand!"

Maybe not the best Filipino shocker ever made but definitely not the worst by a long stretch (that still has to be Super Beast), Brides of Blood is the perfect Friday night thriller.

Especially if like me you have no pals.

back to the future (part one).

In the words of the late, great Paul Gadd “Hello! Hello! It's good to be back!”.

After what seems like an eternity in the interwebless wilderness Virgin Media have decided that it's finally time to reconnect me to the world wide web, which means everyone else's connection speed will drop dramatically (again) as I cruise the ether catching up on all the dodgy cinema, comic porn, dead celebrities and piss fetish films I’ve missed over the last few months as well as recounting my various cinematic adventures at Fright Fest, why Kucch To Hai is possibly the best remake ever made as well as the pro's and cons of having a six foot stone swastika from Outpost 2 in your garden. 

"Did you miss me?"

So without further ado here's a quick catch up for you all beginning with:

Glasgae's very own Fright Fest '11 threw up (literally in some cases) a few shiny gems and a film so arse numblingly atrocious that it even beat Outcast in the "what's the fucking point?" case.

Not only that but it caused a cripple to stand up from his wheelchair and walk out of the cinema.

No, really.

This years line up consisted of:

Little Deaths (2010)

Dir: Sean Hogan, Andrew Parkinson and Simon Rumley.
Cast: Luke de Lacey, Siubhan Harrison, Holly Lucas and a dog.

"Shite in mah mooth now you bastard!"

Three films about violent shagging, mentalists, spunky stains, men with monster cocks and Nazi sperm banks. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on who you ask, which in this case was the audience) I missed this classic as I spent the entire running time trying to get served at the bar.

But fear not because I did catch:

I Saw The Devil (2010).

Dir: Kim Ji-woon.

Cast: Byung-Hyun Lee and Min-Sik Choy.

Much like having a drunken, stereophonic bar room brawl forcibly projected onto your retinas, Mr. Kim's black as Shaft serial killer cum raving revenge saga begins with sexy secret service agent Byung-Hyun Lee's fiancée being savagely murdered by that teddy bear faced bloke from Old Boy (Min-Sik Choy). 

Which was nice.

But tracking down the killer isn't enough for our hero who, using some nifty miniature spy gadgets begins to track the mangy mentalist, jumping in to kick seven shades of shit out of him just as he's about to commit any more crimes.

For ninety minutes.

Bonkers, brutal and barking in equal measures, a cold shower is recommended after viewing to clean away the grimy residue that the movie leaves on your skin.

And I mean that as a compliment.

"It's not an automatic is it?"

Rounding off Friday night was the frankly fantastic Machete Maidens Unleashed, director Mark (Not Quite Hollywood) Hartley's loving tribute to the Filipino exploitation genre that defined cult cinema for those of us of a certain age.

This ocumentary had it all; the one and only Weng Weng, shitly constructed monsters and Pam Grier with a flick knife!

Plus vaguely amusing comments from Sir Roger of Corman, directors Eddie Romero, Steve Carver and Jack Hill plus hotties Celeste Yarnall and Colleen Camp. 

Perfection.

Relax guys, they're old enough to be your mums.

Join me tomorrow for the Saturday selection, tonnes of stiffs and the genius that is Meteor Storm.

Or Metron Storn as the screener disc proclaims.

Missing you already!

video naschy.

The strangely hypnotic Vicar of VHS and his evil cohort in cinematic sin The Duke of DVD have graciously asked me to take part in the first ever Paul Naschy Blogathon that they've unleashed (from beyond the grave obviously) over at their frankly magnificent MMMMMovies blog.

And not only did they ask very politely but they said that if I agreed they would burn both the set of photo's and the negatives.

So dear reader how could I refuse?

But which film to pick?

Well, after a random, blindfolded grab at the shelf (which first brought forth Banda Darwaza, different country completely but still subtitled) I reckoned it was probably easier to put all the Naschy stuff together before picking (otherwise I'd be here all night).

With that done my sticky little paws found themselves drawn to...

Curse of the Devil (AKA Return of the Werewolf, El Retorno de Walpurgis. 1973).
Dir: Carlos Aured.
Cast: Paul Naschy, Fabiola Falcón, Maria Silva, Ana Farra, Fernando Sánchez Polack, Maritza Olivares, José Manuel Martín, Ines Morales and Eduardo Calvo.

Damn the Exorcist! The Devil won't let go!

Returning home after a busy night working as a Sir Lancelotagram, Irenius Daninsky (the late, great Naschy AKA Jacinto Molina Álvarez and the reason we are here) is surprised to come upon his evil rival in the kissing knight business,  Baron Barry Bathory riding toward him across a deserted field.

Furious at the thought of such a second rate snogger (and crap dancer) stealing his work Irenius has no alternative but to challenge the beastly Baron to a full on Knight Fight.

With the sound a cheap tin on plastic filling the early morning air it's not too long before our hero has bested (tho' thankfully not beasted) the vile Baron, taking his large comedy proportioned head as a souvenir.

But the smell of blood, sweat and shame has driven Irenius into a righteous fury that the life of one bad Bathory isn't enough to quell.

Raising (and rousing) his most trusted men he decides to march on Bathory Towers, where he is certain that the Baron's wife, the professional vixen and part-time bad girl Elizabeth Bathory (a behatted and narrow of hips yet still quite fit for an old bird Silva) is holding a Black Mass.

Crikey.

Just in case you forget what we're talking about.

Entering the castle just in time to catch mad Lizzie cutting an oil-covered naked gypsy girl's throat cut, our Christian crusaders waste no time in taking the whole coven into custody and, after the shortest (and by the looks of it the most legally dubious) trial in the history of Witch-Finding hanging them from the bridge at Daninsky's castle.

Which, admittedly is a good use of space which really adds contrast to the stark brickwork.

All that is except Elizabeth who, being the leader of the coven (and more importantly the only real actress in the scene) is tied to a stake and set alight.

Which (unfortunately for Irenius and his kin) give her just enough time to curse his family with what must be the most convoluted threat ever made by a burning witch.

With her dying breath she explains that one of his descendants will, at some point accidentally kill one of her descendants, thus setting the (most probably) vile curse in motion.

And you wonder why you're girlfriend wont invite you home to meet her folks?

Now the back story is done and dusted we can all flash forward a few years and meet the mournful and slightly melancholic Waldemar Daninsky (It's Naschy! Again!), the last of the Daninsky's, his roly-poly housemaid Malitza (Ana Farra but not the one from Scary Movie) and 'man-servant' Maurice (Cannibal Man's Polack).

Imagine Bruce Wayne with a third of the cash but twice the charisma, topped off with William Shatner's hair and you're halfway there.

Naschy: Dreamy.

Being a closeted, rich type, Waldemar spends his days moping around reading poetry and taking long walks in the woods While his servants try (in vain) to get him to take up a hobby or talk to girls.

Things seem to be turning round for our troubled hero tho' when one day, completely out of the blue he asks if he can join Maurice on a hunting trip.

You see, it appears that a wolf is loose around the forest scaring the local farmers chickens and it's Maurice's job (seeing as he's the only person with a gun license) to kill it.

Armed with a swanky new Chinese fowling piece (made in Birmingham, England naturally) and bedecked in his best tweed jodhpurs, Waldemar throws himself whole heartedly into tracking a wolf, letting out a loud "Woohoo!" when he finally bags the beast.

Imagine then his surprise when on closer inspection of the body he discovers that it wasn't a wolf at all but a man!

And he wasn't even that hairy.

He couldn't have been a Werewolf could he?

Well if he was his gypsy brethren (who aren't at all named Bathory oh no) aren't saying, seeing as they're too busy being huffy and refusing money from Waldemar whilst trying to sell pegs to all and sundry.

Whilst all this soap-like drama is going on the gypsy elders, hidden deep within a nearby cave, are busy summoning the Devil himself in order to set the second part of the Bathory curse, which seems to involve a spandex clad mime taking various busty gypsy wenches up the arse to see who has the sexiest cum face, into motion.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Ines Morales, up the casino, Benidorm, 1973....Yesch!

Thru' all the grunting, groaning and cross-eyed lip biting it's Ilona (scrumptious Necrophagus star and another survivor of Cannibal Man, Morales) that comes out on top (albeit with slightly scuffed knees) and, posing as a helpless lady with a low cut dress, manages to worm her way into Waldemar's home.

And his king sized bed.

After on particularly heavy night of love making, Ilona, clad only in an old ladies chiffon nightie sneaks back into our unlucky chums room clutching a wolf skull and a pen knife.

Unluckily for Waldemar this isn't some kind of proto-Basic Instinct shagathon but the final rites in the dreaded Bathory curse.

Finally.

Slitting her wrist and wiping the fresh blood over the skull Ilona plunges the little wolf teeth into Waldemar's ample manbreast before disappearing into the night.

But just to show that bad things do happen to bad people she's soon hacked to death by a passing axe wielding mentalist.

So that's ok then.

Waking up on the bedroom floor with a terribly itchy tit, Waldemar is helped back to bed by Maurice and an overly concerned Malitza.

It seems that last night was the eve of Walpurgis and being of good old fashion pikey folk, Malitza has an inkling of what may have been done to poor Waldemar.

There's no time for Malitza to voice her fears tho' as no sooner has Waldemar got up and gotten dressed than the local police type bloke turns up to inform him that the axe murderer that killed Ilona appears to have set up home in the woods and is intent on annoying the neighbours.

A prayer before mooth shite-in.

If all that wasn't enough to keep everyone interested then the fact that a famous Belgian industrialist, his blind wife and beautiful young(ish) daughters have moved into the house a the edge of the woods (tho' not at the edge of the park unfortunately) it at least cheers Waldemar up and he decides to go for a walk in the hope of coming across them.

The daughters that is, I mean if he came across the mum she'd probably think it's was just raining or something.

Tiptoeing thru' the tulips Waldemar hears a cry from in the distance and runs toward the noise only to find older sister Kinga (the permanently middle aged star of National Mechanics, Falcon) teetering precariously on a ledge after attempting to pick some flowers.

As our hunky hero helps the poor maiden down their eyes meet and it's love at first sight, much to the annoyance of the rabbit toothed yet incredibly bouncy breasted younger sister Maria (the pixie-like Olivares) who, quite understandably, fancies a wee bit of Naschy nookie for herself.

"Awight hen....who's first for a suckle?"

As the romance blossoms and the full moon rises so does the body count, the locals (and police) blaming these lunar head loppings on the murderer still at large in the woods.

So why is it that Waldemar keeps waking up with dirty feet?

Whatever Malitza knows she isn't telling.

Smiling for the first time since the film began and preparing to announce their engagement Waldemar receives a letter from his bride to be asking to meet at their secret love nest (a cottage at the edge of the woods) and hoping for a bit of pre-nup rumpy Waldemar quickly washes himself.

But he's in for a shock on his arrival seeing as that's where the axe man is hanging out.

And the note was sent by Maria, not Kinga.

It's like a less fantastical Eastenders isn't it?

Arriving just in time to see the killer attempting to stick his chopper in Maria Waldemar jumps into the fray, beating the badman within an inch of his acting ability before stabbing him with a letter opener and throwing him out of an open window.

Turning to Maria for an explanation he notices two quite important things.

1. she's naked.

and

2. Her breasts are indeed much perkier than her sisters.

Five fingers, never touched the sides.

It seems that far from being the flirty little whore we mistook her for (which is a shame) Maria just wants to be loved and is sick and tired of being treated like a child.

Bless.

After pouring out her heart she turns to Waldemar and confesses "I came her a virgin and don't intend to leave one".

Waldemar, being a strong upstanding guy does the right thing and sticks it in her.

And before any of you start tutting we've all done it at some point or another if we're honest about it.

What we haven't done tho' (probably) is transformed into a Werewolf during intercourse and bitten the throat out of our partner.

Which is unfortunately, what occurs here.

Arse.

With the room (and Maria) awash with blood, hair and semen Waldemar leaps from the window ready for the hunt, leaving Malitza to come out of hiding and tidy up the mess.

Bless her, I mean who wouldn't like a granny that did that for you?

The locals (being country bumpkins and therefore thick as pig shit) are still intent on blaming the escaped axe man for the crimes, until that is they find his corpse rotting away in a barn with a letter opener bearing the initials WD sticking out his chest.

This (fairly circumstantial) evidence couple with the man sized paw prints and hairballs scattered about immediately points to a Werewolf wandering around the place and by a using a complex method of elimination it's decided the real killer is none other than Waldemar Daninsky himself.

To prove this the villagers indiscriminately murder Maurice before heading into the woods with pitchforks aloft and shouting loudly.

As the rampant mob gather numbers, smashing letterboxes and upturning flower pots as they go Kinga realises that there is only one thing she can do to save Waldemar's eternal soul...

But does she have the courage and love to see it thru?

"Blood in mah big hairy mooth!"

Back in the days before t'internet (and, gulp even video) the only way you could find out about new (ok let's be honest here, any) horror movies was from local library books (usually written by Leslie Halliwell, a writer whose own ideas of good horror once noted that Night of The Living Dead had killed the genre and nothing of any worth had been made since) or one of the very few genre magazines available (stand up and be counted House of Hammer and on the rare occasions it got imported to a wee newsagent nearby Famous Monsters).

As a precocious seven year old force fed a Saturday night teevee double bill of Universal and RKO classics these greats of film literature were a godsend to me and I would spent all my spare time pouring over grainy black and white shots of  Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. as the tragic Lawrence Talbot.

Bejesus and Mary Chaney.

I'll never forget tho' (I have a good memory) that one particular issue had a photo of the Wolfman I'd never seen before, true it was labelled 'the Werewolf' and although the accompanying picture of a fraught young man had a hint of Chaney about him his name wasn't Talbot.

It was Daninsky.

Like any curious kid of that age I examined the picture for a few minutes before completely forgetting about it and turning the page to reread an article on what looked like the greatest monster movie ever.

Ah Crater Lake Monster where are you now?

The love of horror stayed with me (as did the love of Universal) and thanks to magazines like Starburst information became easier to find, the Saturday night double bills sometimes featured the films of Eddie Romero alongside the old faithfuls and movies like Dawn of The Dead and Phantasm had fuelled my geek gene, forcing me to learn more about the directors and their influences.

As a teenager you can probably tell I was never asked out on dates.

The strange sad faced man with the foreign name seemed to have disappeared without a trace tho' and whilst Coffin Joe was being photographed with Christopher Lee at swanky Parisian horror conventions it would take a controversial censorship bill of epic proportions to bring the legendary Paul Naschy to the attentions of young horror fans in dear old blighty.

Yup, I hate to admit it but it's thanks to the 1984 'video nasty' furore and the inadvertent banning of Naschy's 1975 monster mash The Werewolf and The Yeti that finally introduced me to the great man's work.

And oh boy did I hate it.

Bizarrely enough, of all the films I devoured at the time this is one of those that I have only the vaguest recollections of; something about the infamous Abominable Snowman playing the bagpipes during a fight scene and being sent out of the room to get biscuits when Naschy got involved in a wee bit of threeway action comes to mind.

But the most upsetting thing about it, and I'll admit this stayed with me for years, wasn't the gore or the sex (or even the lack of decent biscuits at my nan's).

It was because this young upstart seemed to be taking all the ideas, the drama and heartache (plus the dissolve effects) of my beloved Universal movies and trying to make them his own.

How very dare he.

The second most terrifying VHS case of all time.

So being the sensible and knowledgeable film connoisseur that I was (you know, the way you can only be when you're 14) there was only one thing I could do.

Laugh loudly at the screen and flounce back to my 'serious' horror movies, tutting audibly at anyone who even mentioned that film.

Looking back I find myself dying a wee bit inside at the thought of being such a know all little brat, so caught up in my own (movie-based) importance that I totally failed to see the irony in the situation.

The whole fact that they reminded me of the Universal series was that Naschy was a fan too.

It's just that he knew how to have fun with his 'fannishness'.

And there's no better example of that than Curse of The Devil, taking as it does it's basic storyline from the Universal Wolfman (well it was written by Curt Siodmak so you might as well steal from the best), the mad witches and mysterious castles from Poe era Corman and it's copious amounts of tit and fanny shots from early seventies Hammer before mixing the whole thing together with a continental flair usually kept for high quality Euro-porn to make something so comfortable yet so unique that you can't help but fall for it's charms.

A wee bit like the ladies round the great man himself.

And talking of the great man, it's true that it looks like most of the scant budget went on styling his hair (both as Daninsky and the Werewolf) but the lack of polish and (sometimes inappropriate) use of library music only adds to the enjoyment factor.

Yes you may have seen it all before but never quite like this.

If you've never experienced the joys and heartache of  Waldemar Daninsky them I suggest you use the Christmas holidays to catch up and to Mr. Naschy a (slightly late) but heartfelt apology.

Sorry I never got the joke sir, I was too busy trying to get my head round the exploding doorknob in Suspiria at the time.

And at least I grew out of that serious geek phase.

I hope.