Thursday, September 16, 2010

out on a limb.

Been a strange month here at Arena Towers with a mix of waiting for pay cheques, having commissions rejected, general work type stuff and my plea last month for someone (anyone) to find me something halfway decent to watch before I end up stabbing the sofa.

Again.

Luckily longtime Unwell urchin Dissolvedpaul was kind enough to recommend this movie to me, saying it was the finest film he'd ever seen.

And he never lies.

Saying that tho' can you really trust a man who released a four CD boxset musical tribute to Peter Bark?

The Last House in the Woods (AKA Il Bosco Fuori. 2006).
Dir: Gabriele Albanesi.
Cast: Daniela Virgilio, Daniele Grasseti, Gennaro Diana, Santa De Santis and a few other folk who should really know better.

There are some lines that must never be crossed...
beyond them all...
is The Last House in the Woods.



Driving along a deserted country round after attending a waiters lookalike party Geoff Soontodie, his fish-lipped wife Brenda and his ball headed boy child Crispin, confused by the eye searing inconsistencies between the day and night shots on-screen manage to make their rented hatchback screech uncontrollably off the road and career headlong down a muddy bank.

Luckily a handy tree helps stop the car before it gets too damaged.

Which is more than can be said for Geoff's face.

Escaping from the car in an amusing wobbly manner, Brenda and son head back to the road to hopefully flag down a passing motorist.

It doesn't take long before help seems to be at hand when a nice sturdy family style saloon comes a trundling down the road towards the pair.

Thinking that a huge faced, bow tie wearing dwarf may put the driver off helping Brenda pushes Crispin to the side of the road (and into daylight bizarrely enough) just as the car slams into her, spraying her pretty dress with mud and ruining her lipstick.

Obviously trying to help the driver steps out of the car and tries to wipe it up by repeatedly hitting her in the face with a large brick.

Crispin, fearful for his life (and possibly of losing his bum virginity) runs into the woods....

"Paging Mr. Herman!"


Meanwhile back at the plot good and proper the chisel of chin and lank of hair Aurora (Italian teevee queen Virgilio) is busy drawing funny faces in crayon whilst her on/off (and constantly hen-pecked boyfriend) Rino (Grasseti from Nature: Consuelo...no me neither) takes her up the arse.

And the reason?

He (allegedly) wants to see what great masterpiece she can create in the throes of ecstasy.

Either that or he's banned from working as a classroom assistant.

Rino and his novelty bike stand yesterday.


Within what seems like minutes the pair have messily split up and Rino has taken to driving around in his Fiat Uno hoping for a glimpse of Aurora's bouncy breasts as she stomps passed him.

Makes a change from sitting at home indulging in a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle I suppose.

But why did these young lovers part I hear you ask?

Seems that Aurora can't decide if she loves him or not, playing the 'I'm really confused' card whilst still expecting him to drive her around and give her sweaty car seat shagging on demand.

Typical woman then.

"Blood in mah big fishy mooth ya bastard!"


Meeting up one day the pair decide to head off up the road from the movies beginning for a bit of 'the sex' and a chat about why she's such an evil cow and wont have him back.

But as the sweaty ex-sweethearts discuss their future (or lack of it) they're interrupted by the arrival of three Hush Puppy wearing, nipple revealing t shirt clad bad boys driving around in a bright pink Fiat hatchback (does the directors dad own a dealership?) looking to partake in a wee bit of fighting and raping.

But not necessarily in that order.

Nicola Bryant, up the casino, 1984.....Yesch!


Beating Rino to a pulp (which to be honest is no show of manliness seeing as a gentle breeze would probably send him flying he's so wet) before locking him in the boot of his car, the three stooges decide to turn their lascivious gaze toward Aurora, pinning her down in the dirt and taking it in turns to gyrate against her thighs and threatening to show her their cocks.

Luckily a nice middle aged (and armed) couple (the facially challenged Diana and the sleazily seductive De Santis) drive up and scare the bad lads away, saving us from having to see their (possibly scabby) penises and Aurora from having to touch them.

A win/win situation as far as I'm concerned then.

"Is it a book, film or song?"


As our would-be beast pals run off into the slowly fading light, the man (Antonio) and his wife (Clara) invite Aurora and the by now free but still-unconscious Rino (I for one couldn't tell the difference between him awake or asleep) back to their house for a cup of tea, a quick clean up and a digestive biscuit.

Aurora, being a greedy bitch agrees and they all drive off down a quiet country lane.

Well I say all drive off but it's really only Antonio doing the driving, the others are passengers.

Obviously.

Arriving at the couples secluded mansion things begin to take a sinister turn for the strange, Rino is huddled off into a room by the sexily pneumatic Clara whilst Aurora is sent to sit in the dining room with the smooth talking (if pube haired) Antonio and his clumsy attempts at seduction.

He does manage a quick snog tho' so he can't be all that bad.

Either that or Aurora's a manipulative whore.

But alas, we'll never know as the creepy couple are thankfully interrupted when, in one of modern cinemas finest 'Laugh Now' moments Antonio's rat-toothed, bowl headed and jam covered seven year old son enters the room asking for a pair of fresh beef curtains to munch on.

Laugh when?


Being thick as mince Aurora doesn't notice anything peculiar about this at all and only begins to worry (and then only slightly) when Antonio comes at her with a hypodermic needle shouting "I kill you now!"

Trying to escape from her slightly strange host, our heroine runs upstairs where she finds a by now conscious Rino strapped to a chair and being forced to watch Cbeebies with toothy boy and his mum.

Fearing an appearance by Big Cook, Little Cook Aurora jumps out of the window and disappears into the night.

Followed by some slow motion flashbacks of ball-boy from the films opening.

This man loves Peter Bark...in EVERY way.

Spooked by the recordings of owl songs and frightened by the distant sounds of growling, Aurora hides under a tree till the cameraman's night filter falls off before heading to a burnt out caravan parked by a nearby bush, surely she'll find help there, I mean it's not like you get inbred cannibal type hicks in the backwoods of Italy is it?

Well, yes you do actually.

I know, I was vaguely surprised by this turn of events too.

not as surprised as Aurora tho' who not only gets her cheeks stroked but gets hit on the head for good measure.

Christmas at Heather Mills house.


Waking back at the house, our lippy loser soon finds that she's strapped to a cheap wicker chair next to an unconscious (yes again) Rino.

Who appears to have lost a few limbs along the way.

Continuity error or food for the spiky toothed cannibal child?

Go on...guess.

Screaming and shouting (oh and getting really angry because she's just decided that she loves Rino after all) Aurora is told the terrible tale of Ratty's birth.

Seems the poor boy was born with a perfect set of gnashers and and overwhelming love of man-meat.

Obviously the only solution to the problem was to fortify the house and begin kidnapping anyone who drives down their street.

As a parent I can totally see the logic behind that.

Whilst all this back story is being filled in toothy Tom is bust salivating at the thought of munching out on Aurora's ample thighs and eating her whole.

Tho' I've heard cannibals usually spit that bit out.

I'm sorry but that's not a skirt it's a belt.


Meanwhile our terrible threesome are driving back from a night of booze, big bands and blow-jobs when their car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. With none of their phones working the boys decide to walk thru' the woods, occasionally stopping to pull action poses and look for a house where they can get help and/or some more sex.

Oh and as the none too bright Ginger adds "We can steal a DVD player too!"

It's not long (or big, or clever) before they begin to hear screams in the distance which Biffa, the lead thug mistakes for the sound of shagging, reckoning if they can follow the sound they can all have sex too.

And they say romance is dead.

"Sorry hen but you've got the wrong last house!"


Still tied to a chair and being forced to watch a fat man with a scabby lip chainsaw her beau's arm off it actually comes as a blessed relief to Aurora when she see's her would-be molesters face peering thru' the window.

To Antonio's family tho' this is one meal-time interruption too far and, after packing little toothy ratkin off to bed the entire clan arm themselves with whatever comes to hand and head out to catch the interlopers and protect the family secret locked away in the cellar....

Will Aurora survive with all her limbs still attached?

Will Robbie Rapist turn good guy or attempt to stick it in her again?

Will we ever find out what the significance of bow tie boy is?

And will Rino manage to get trousers to fit him now?


Same shit, different smell.



Writer, director and non trick pony Gabriele Albanesi after force feeding himself a diet of classic seventies shlockers and classic eighties splatter has manage to vomit up a mish mash of influences and ideas so bizarre and unrelated as to make a film that's beyond parody, redemption and possibly criticism.

How else can you explain how arse numbingly bad yet at the same time head fuckingly brilliant
The Last House in the Woods is?

It's quite honestly the film your twelve year old self never made, a junior school version of Phenomena via The Texas Chainsaw Massacre with an added cameo from Last House On The Left villain Krug's slightly stupider younger brother, slightly less soiled linen and considerably more arse shots.

Is this a good thing? I can't possibly say.

But what I can tell you is that if Amer is the ultimate tribute to the Eurohorror genre then this is the hook handed idiot sibling, cowering and dribbling in the basement whilst constantly masturbating over faded, soiled pictures of Marilyn Burns.

And Pete too probably.

"Sorry, I have my woman's period".



Chock full of bizarrely inappropriate dialogue, full frontal amputations, shocking denim fashions, kiddie friendly cannibalism, chainsaw-wielding inbred hicks and a flagrant disregard for the laws of editing not seen since the heady days of Plan 9, the acting veers wildly between the stiffly Formica (Grasseti I'm looking at you) to ear bleedingly shrilly (Virgilio) with a supporting cast that seems hell bent on hitting every emotional point in between whether we like it or not.

Except for the wee toothy boy that is, who seems to spend the entire film in a dribbly, Prozac fuelled daze.

And who says child abuse can't be entertaining?

But fear not for there is one saving grace in this sea of mediocrity and that's the gorgeously ghoulish Santa De Santis.

Coming over like Daria Nicolodi's slinkier, sleazier little sister with a penchant for sensible A-line skirts, De Santis knows exactly how to play it, giving (the fairly sketchy) role just enough 'arch' as to make it the most memorable performance on show.

And in a film packed to the brim with lump-headed freaks, mutant kids and various ginger folk that's no easy task.

And that's why we love her.

De Santis: Twice.


The Last House in the Woods elicits the same feelings of wrongful passion that you get when gazing at your neighbours daughter or your younger cousin in her Girl Guides uniform, you know it's wrong but you just can't help yourself, sneaking a peek from the corner of your eye whilst adjusting you trousers.

Damning with faint praise or too much information regarding my social life?

You decide, I'm off to dress the Cassman in a waiters outfit.

Monday, September 13, 2010

let slip the dogs of phwoarr!

You like books?

You like pups?

Well you'll love these.









Wednesday, September 8, 2010

just because...

...Everyone loves Mia Farrow.

moose flesh.



Just came across (quite literally) these gorgeous Italian posters for the fantastic (possibly) I Porno Zombi (AKA La fille à la fourrure, Naked Lovers, The Girl in the Fur Coat and Starship Eros).

Obviously I have to have it.

More later but until then...

Enjoy!

Sunday, August 29, 2010

wtf?

It might be because it's early and I'm poorly but I really don't have any idea what the fucks going on in this pic.

I do like it tho'.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

malko in the middle (east).

Welcome to the world of Austrian prince and part-time CIA agent Malko Linge, creation of the infamous French writer, journalist, editor and outspoken (far) right wing loon Gérard de Villiers.

With their title taken from the French equivalent of His Royal Highness (Son Altesse Sérénissime) (SAS) is the French version of HRH; the novels (of which over 171 have been published) have also hit the big screen with 'B' movie God Miles O'Keefe taking on the role of Malko in the 1983 movie S.A.S. à San Salvador and then with cheeky chappie Richard Young (the fedora man from Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade) in 1989's Eye of the Widow.

Both are shite.

But we're not here to discuss the merits of a series of shoddily written right wing macho wank fantasy novels that are only available from airports and railway stations (seriously), only to gaze in awe at some of the fantastic gun toting totty featured on the books covers.

Like you expected anything else?

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Monday, August 16, 2010

beyond the pale.

Have you ever wondered what shame looks like?

I have.

HG Wells' The Shape of Things To Come (1979)
Dir: George McCowan
Cast: Jack Palance, Carol Lynley, Barry Morse, John Ireland, Nicholas Campbell, Mark Parr and Eddie Benton.


Beyond the earth...
Beyond the moon...
Beyond your wildest imagination!
and quite possibly beyond the pale.
But not The Beyond.

Unfortunately.





The time is the tomorrow after tomorrow (which makes it a Thursday) and planet Earth is a devastated no-man's land, left irradiated after the infamous 'Robot Wars' (Craig Charles has a lot to answer for).

Luckily for the future of mankind the survivors have all buggered off to the moon and set up what looks like a giant supermarket cum roller disco named New Washington.

Named after America's last president, the actor turned politician Denzel, whose quick thinking allowed humanity to flee the Earth to begin with, the city is run by an elite selection of tight jump-suited old men in thin socks and led by the doddery (yet still pert arsed) Senator Jeff Smedley (acting warhorse Ireland from everything you can think of from Salon Kitty to Waxwork II, obviously his ex-wife was being really demanding at this time) and the candyflosh haired Dr. John Caball (Morse....no introduction necessary).



Washington: post.


Not everything is all rosy in New Washington tho', the general populace are required to wear hellish 'high fashion' outfits that even the producers of Logan's Run turned down for being too seventies and the after effects of the cyborg conflict means that the survivors need to take a regular dose of the miracle drug Radish-Q-2 just to stop their sideburns dropping out.


This miracle drug is only produced on one planet in the galaxy, the barren(ish) Delta Three but unfortunately for cuddly Caball and co., the planets self proclaimed robot master, the mad as a lorry scientist named Edward James Omus (Palance, nuff said), has deposed Nikki Six (Lynley from The Poseidon Adventure and, um, loads of other stuff), the legitimate governor of Delta Three and taken over with the help of his terrifying army of moving compost bins.

Oh sorry, I mean hi-tech robots.

Obviously disguised as compost bins.



Beware! The bin men!


To prove that he means business, Omus crashes a robot controlled cargo ship into the New Washington branch of Asda before announcing that forthwith all shipments of Radish-Q-2 will be suspended until he is proclaimed emperor of everything and given a big crown made of chocolate.

And the moon on a stick.


"Are you looking at my bra?"


In response these outrageous demands and acts of aggression Smedley decides the best course of action would be to do nothing and just hope that Omus gets bored or just changes his mind but massively manbreasted Dr. Caball demands an immediate (if not sooner) response.

You see, he's spent the last few years building a super sleek space attack ship (out of bits of left over model parts by the look of it) called The Star Streak and reckons this is just the right opportunity to blast off into space and get rid of some of his old man aggression by way of kicking Omus' arse.

After consulting the giant talking disco ball in his office however, Smedley (and the computer) says no.


How the Enterprise would look if constructed
by the guy that does Arrow's horror covers.

Without access to paint.


Being a grumpy old man slowly eaten away by sexual frustration and the fact that he now has to wear a bra, Caball ignores everyone and decides to go anyway, taking his drippy son Jason (latter day writer/director and son of Bruce, Campbell), Smedley's harsh faced daughter Kim (Benton AKA Anne-Marie Martin from teevee's Sledge Hammer and star of your Granddad's most erotic fantasies) and a upturned water cooler on castors and decked out in Christmas tree lights named Sparks (full time little person Parr).

Stealing Star Streak and blasting off for Delta Three our heroes remember that they've forgotten to fill her up with petrol so, slightly embarrassed they turn around and head back toward Earth in order to refuel at the planets last garage which is luckily run by an old drinking chum of Caball Snr.

I would say you couldn't make this shit up but obviously someone did.


No matter what I write I couldn't make
this look any shitter than it already does.

I hope the designer is proud of himself.


Landing in someone's garden Jason soon discovers that the garage is shut (due to the owner being dead in a cupboard) and that the local woods are over-run by irradiated children in ill fitting white wigs, left behind after the war.

Being a nice man tho' Jason tells all the kids to sit in a field and that he'll be back for them in a bit.

Phew! Glad the plot made that detour.

Meanwhile back on Delta Three Nikki and her band of, oh at least seven followers, obviously bored sitting about in the dirt like a bunch of late sixties counter-culture junkies, are planning to attack Omus and seize back control of the base and stuff.

So, armed with dustbin lids and washing poles the heady band take a secret route thru' a massive maze of underground caverns only to find the evil robot bins lying (well swaying) in wait and ready to strike out clumsily with their big plastic hands.

Niki being very little sneaks between the robots chunky rubber thighs and makes it inside Omus' fortress, sending a message to the moon for help.

A message that is intercepted by old man Caball and co. as they (very slowly) approach Delta Three.

Demanding they move up to 'faster than faster than light' speed before retiring to his room for a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle, John misses the after effects of travelling at such high speeds which include flashing disco lights, poverty row matte work and a variety of disturbing cum faces from the rest of the cast as they cartwheel round the set desperately trying to avoid knocking Sparks the robot over.

Even having to write about that scene has made a little piece of me die inside.



"I wonder what'll happen if I tug this knob?"


Finally arriving in one piece (but sweating more than John Leslie on an oil rig) our heroes come across a couple of robot controlled freighters heading toward the moon, but having failed to fit The Star Streak with weaponry of any kind in which to blow them up, John decides that they should land and have a stern chat with Omus instead.

Cut to someone dropping a paper plate into a garden and it's away we go.

Trudging thru' the sandpit behind the directors house our merry band soon find Nikki and her followers hiding up a tree and, after a bit of uncomfortable hugging between the Baby Jane like Nikki and the saggy arsed John, the baddie robots turn up and escort the old fella to his audience with Omus.

Clambering back up the tree till they've gone, Jason formulates a cunning rescue plan involving going back thru' the same caves as before, knocking on Omus' door then running away giggling.


A rare behind the scenes shot of the
movies special effects team at work.


Whilst all this potty plotting is going on, Caball and Omus finally meet face to face (again).

Yup it turns out that John was once Omus' geography teacher, keeping him behind in detention for wrongly identifying France as Belgium and therefore starting him off on his road to dictatorship.

But Omus has his revenge planned to the tiniest detail.

A revenge that involves the man we've come to hate donning au upturned water cooler on his head whilst playing white noise loudly thru' his stereo radiogram causing poor old Barry Morse to feign a stroke.

Or is it his sex face?



Hel-met.


Arriving just in time to find his fathers prone body covered in jam and slumped in a Lazy Boy chair, Jason vows violent revenge on Omus but way below in the caverns his evil army of robotic bins is on the move, determined to smash Nikki's mini rebellion whilst far away in space the bomb laden freighters edge ever closer to the moon.....


Kim prepares to try out the new
Anne Summers Golden Nobbler for size.


Like the idiot child you keep locked in the attic or the piss stained and bearded old Aunt you only see at Christmas, you can't help but admire the late, (wannabe) great George McCowan's
lo-fi, sci-fi shlockfest for it's blatant brass necked, steel balled arrogance.

Taking it's title from the classic HG Wells novel, it's plot from the back of a fag packet and it's effects from the local thrift store, McCowan has fashioned what should be a ratty, tatty fag end of a movie into a highly entertaining (but still ratty, tatty and fag ended) piece of cinematic cheese worthy of a wider fan following than it currently has.




Chock full of badly fitted polyester jumpsuits, the largest bunch of non acting, non entities this side of Hollyoaks and an army of killer robots obviously fashioned by a wooden handed blind child from the contents of his Dads shed, The Shape Of Things To Come positively revels in it's tawdriness, almost as if the people involved haven't realised how arse numbingly bad the entire production is.

Yes, it's like they honestly believe that they're making something that will rival 2001 in the intellectual stakes.

And for that you really have to admire their commitment.

If not worry about their collective sanity.

Frankly you can't call yourself a true film fan unless you own this.

Especially if it's on VHS.