the return of bruno.

Preparing for The Weekend of The Dead here with a five day feast of flesh-eating film fun.

And what cadaver countdown would be complete with a film (or two) from the late, great(ish) Bruno (he of Zombie Creeping Flesh fame) Mattei?

Not this one that's for sure.

Which is a shame but if you don't like it write your own fucking blog.

Island of the Living Dead (AKA L'Isola dei morti viventi. 2006)
Dir: Bruno Mattei (as Vincent Dawn).
Cast: Yvette Yzon, Franco Miguel, James L. Gaines Sr, Ronald Russo, Ydalia Suarez, Alvin Anson, Gary King Roberts, Curtis Carter and Thomas Wallwort. Stars one and all.

Why can't more films have artwork like this?

Many years ago on a mysterious Spanish ruled island a group of (strangely Filipino looking) Conquistadors are having a wee bit of bother with the witch doctor and his chums.

You see, it seems that as soon as anyone dies they immediately come back to life as pasty faced angry zombie/vampire/general undead thing.

Which is nice.

The forts soldiers are having the worst of it tho', seeing as they've got the incredibly monotonous job of piling the corpses onto the back of a wagon just to see them re-animate and wander off again.

Slightly annoyed by this turn of events, the islands captain decides it'd be much easier to shoot them in the head and set fire to them.

Which would be great if one of his overzealous pals hadn't decided to torch the curtains too.

Confused whether to be more afraid of the undead hordes outside or the chance of burning to death the entire garrison of terrorized soldiers flee....running straight into a band of sword wielding, zombie pirates.

Son't you just hate it when that happens?

Is your hair all you let down when you have a drink?

Meanwhile, in 'the modern times' (did you really think that Mattei would have the cash to do a period piece?) the good ship Dark Star - a very expensive salvage/research vessel cunningly disguised as an old tug - and it's hearty crew are busy combing the ocean floor for discarded Ferrero Rocher boxes to sell to rich collectors on the chocolate box black market.

No really.

It's not been going too well this trip tho' as after 6 months at sea all they've found are a few old tins, a used condom and a bit of wood so with morale at an all time low (they've obviously not read the rest of the script) the crew decide to give up and go home for tea and biscuits.

Of a non-soggy kind obviously.

But just as they're about to put the boat in reverse the team's pocket sized scientist Sharon (the yumsome Yvette Yzon) announces that shes located a submerged sweet shop chock full of booty.

Tho' none as stunning as hers it has to be said.

All is going swimmingly, until that is the crew begin to raise the big plastic model of the ambassadors reception that houses all the still sealed Rocher's and pop it on board.

After a flying start the ambassador's legs drop off  causing all the chocolate to go cascading back into the sea.

Discouraged and a little disheartened for about five minutes, the crew decide to crack open a beer and break out the Pringles before realizing that the could just go to a cash and carry and easily purchase a mountain of fresh Ferrero Rocher and with that thought begin heading home.

But there's even more bad luck on the horizon, a spooky mist has enveloped the vessel forcing it to run aground on a mysterious, uncharted island.

The ships drink sozzled captain, the unfortunately named Kirk (the gone to seed David McCallum lookalike that is Sir Ronald of Russo), decides that they'd better explore whilst Max the bubble permed engineer (Wallwort) stays on board to drink Lilt and shout at the engines in a vague mix of cliché and slightly racist characterizing.

Inside Jimmy Hill's mind.

Arriving on a deserted beach the crew do what is expected in any horror movie worth its salt and decide to split up to explore.

Sexy Sharon, tubby George Galloway wannabe Mark (Roberts) plus the hulking, bleached blond (and oh so slightly fey) Tao (Miguel) will go and search for food and water, whilst the ever more tipsy Captain Kirk, cool guy Fred (Anson, looking like the long lost son of Erik Estrada), shouty and permanently pre-menstrual Victoria (pouting, poppy eyed popstrel Suarez famous for her massive hits including Stars in Love) along with the superbad mo-fo Snoopy (Gaines) go looking for other stuff.

Seriously you need a notepad to keep track of this cast.

Making their way thru' the thick jungle vegetation (oh OK then, a local kiddies adventure playground) Sharon and co. stumble across an old an old cemetery (as well as their dialogue) shrouded in the same ghostly fog that enveloped the ship before it ran aground.

And slowly lurching out of that mist towards them is a shambling figure that may have once been a man.

Well technically it is still a man, he's just dead but writing "And slowly lurching out of that mist towards them is a shambling figure that upon further inspection is just a normal guy who happens to be dead yet walking" really doesn't have the same sinister ring to it does it?

"Aaarrgghhh...this isn't what I meant

by taking me up the casino!"

Sharon, obviously thinking that the scene needs a wee bit more tension, decides to stand perfectly still allowing the putrefying tramp to get close enough to grapple her to the ground (perhaps she likes a bit of rough?) and thus giving Mark a chance to shine as he trips over a plywood gravestone before screaming for help.

Luckily Tao is a champion kick boxer who's been itching for a fight since they arrived on the island, so he's more than happy to jump in and fight the undead groper whilst his two colleagues leg it to safety and leave him to get bitten to death.

Friends eh? I think we can safely say that they weren't there for him.

Elsewhere on the island, the crusty Captain Kirk (I'm sorry, but it makes me laugh just typing it) and his merry band have discovered the overgrown ruins of the Spanish outpost.

Taking tentative steps into the dark, dank interior, Fred manages to go crashing thru the floor, falling headfirst into a dusty torture chamber full of joke shop skeletons, pound shop candles and a mysterious book bound in pigs ear and inked in Crayola.

Kirk, showing off reads a few pages, pointing at the illustrations and making animal noises as he goes.

Snatching the book from his hand (why is she so impatient? Does she have a prior appointment?) Victoria begins to translate the passages not covered in crude nob drawings or shite revealing that the tome she is holding is the infamous Book Of The Dead that foretells of a time when the dead will return to life and devour the living.

Been done, hasn't it?

Beware the binmen!

Back on board the boat, Max is onto his twelfth can of pop and passing gas like a steam engine as his vain attempts to repair the engines - by rubbing them whilst shouting abuse at anyone within earshot (i.e. himself mainly) - comes to nothing.

Hearing a banging on deck, as well as noticing a faint whiff of cabbage mixed with stale urine, he assumes that Kirk has come back to check up on his progress, so as you would imagine Max is rather surprised when a gaggle of undead Spaniards start tottering down the engine room steps toward him licking their stringy lips in anticipation.

Understandably he begins to panic and, whilst attempting to escape accidentally hits the 'blow the ship up' lever.

What do you mean real ships don't have one of those?

Bruno would never lie.

"Ron Resrie!"

The resulting explosion brings everyone running back to the shore just in time to see what looks like a giant paper cut-out of the Dark Star sink slowly beneath an almost hypnotically undulating blue bedsheet, leaving the brave crew trapped on a zombie infested island for the foreseeable future.

If not longer.

Kirk and co. must quickly find a safe haven for the night if they're to survive on this mysterious, undead filled island.....

Or this?

Aah, good old Bruno Mattei, whilst most of his contemporaries gave up on the zombie horror genre after the bubble burst in the late eighties, Bruno decided to soldier on, partly in the hope of topping his magnum opus Zombie Creeping Flesh but mainly because he really, really liked zombie films.

Which I say fair play to, I mean as Susan Boyle said (well she more likely violently spat the words out whilst twitching but you get the idea) everyone needs to dream.

And it was this dream took him from his native homeland of Italy to the temperate jungles of the Philippines via the guerrilla realm of digital video technology and top quality local totty.

And the results were well worth the plane fees.

With it's wafer thin plot, copious amounts of stock footage and rough edged special effects, Island of the Living Dead resurrects the golden age of the shlock horror zombie genre, dragging it kicking and screaming into the strwaight to DVD age.

And it seems nothing has changed except the ethnicity of the actors involved.

But trust me, dear reader when I tell you that this is, in fact, a good thing.

 

Yzon: you would. Twice.

Featuring a heady mix of zombies along with an ample helping of vampirism, Voodoo and a snatch of flamenco dancing, Mattei bravely sticks to what he does best, which of course is churning out no-budget horror 'epics' whose plots are straining under the miniscule budgets involved.

Which goes to prove once and for all that God does indeed love a trier.

As do I.

The cast (and Yvette Yzon's breasts, barely controlled by the thin
orange t shirt restraining them) ham it up for the camera.

Worth a looksie for the first appearance of latter day Mattei muse Yvette Yzon (star of the sequel Zombies: The Beginning and Anima Persa) alone, Island of the Living Dead is an off coloured, moss stained gem of a movie, worthy of a place in the tarnished crown of Italian undead epics.

Unless you've been force fed a diet of David Robert Mitchell/Rob Zombie movies when frankly you shouldn't even be wasting my time reading this.

Go on, treat yourself today.

Then clean yourself up and go purchase this.

You know you want to.

warts of the world.

Women! We must be crazy! You know what they say about women! They bring bad luck.

It's worse than that, Jacques. They're scientists. Can you imagine what kind of monsters they are?

With The Weekend of The Dead happening this very weekend (admittedly the name gave it away) I reckoned it was time to take a look back at some of the greatest Zombie movies ever made.

And this one obviously.

Talking of zombie movies don't forget that the stunning UnDeck is still available to buy and if you are attending this weekend and want to buy a set I'll even sign them for you.

Well not every single card obviously cos I'd be there all day but you know what I mean.

The UnDeck....BUY IT NOW.

So with that blatant plug out of the way it's on with the show.

And by show I mean review.

Enjoy.

Porno Holocaust (AKA Insel der Zombies, Orgasmo Nero II 1981)
Dir: Joe D'amato.
Cast: George Eastman, Mark Shannon, Dirce Funari, Annj Goren and Lucia Ramirez.

Photoshop holocaust more like.

Warty scrotumed sea fairing sex god Captain Darren O'Day (the manly Mark Shannon) has been hired by the Dominican government to ferry a team of scientists to a remote tropical island that once served as a nuclear test site in the 1950's.

It seems that in the intervening years strange stories have surfaced regarding bizarre mutations that now live on the island and the aforementioned scientific team - led by Dr. Lemoine Snickett (mustachioed and man breasted D'Amato regular Eastman) the physicist behind the original tests - has been sent to investigate.

As is the way in porn/horror hybrids, Lemoine's team consists of three fairly sexy (in a kinda kebab shop queue way), late 70's breasted nympho's and a dispensable old bloke with bad hair called Professor Keller

And before you ask I've absolutely no idea who plays him as he's not listed on the credits.

Yup his performance is that good.

But enough of the old men what about the babes you mentioned I hear you cry.

Well there's the granite faced Doctor Annie Darmon (former Egyptian immortal Ramirez) who scarily fancies the captain, the button nosed and boy-haired lesbian Countess Dorcin de Saint Jacques (Goren, best known - by me anyway - for her stand out performance as Cristina the maid in Antonio D'Agostino's Eva Man) and finally Doctor Simone Keller (Funari best known for getting finger diddled by Laura Gemser in Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals), Professor Keller's horse-like wife and plaything of the Countess.

Something for everyone I'm sure you'll agree.

What was this film called again?

Before setting off to the island tho' there's just enough time for some nasty shagging.

Annie and O'Day head off into the countryside for some lumpy loving whilst the Countess pays a pair of local inbreds - and I really do mean local, D'Amato allegedly payed two men he met in the street $25 to have sex with Goren on film - for an impromptu biology lesson.

This turns out to be the films most disturbing scene as the tombstone toothed twosomes attempts to stay aroused are thwarted by the omnipresent camera crew as Goren stares dead-eyed into the middle distance obviously annoyed that her career has come to tossing off strangers in back alleys.

At this point I suggest a cold shower before continuing.

And it's probably best to ring your mum seeing as you now realize what she had to go thru' to be able to afford all the Christmas presents you got as a kid.

Just saying.

"Touch my warty scrotum....yesch!"

After all this nasty shagging everyone decides that it'd be a good idea to get to the island and start work (oh and start the films plot running good and proper) but all hope of this is dashed when, once again the kinky Countess and saucy Simone decide it'd be more interesting to indulge 'the sex' rather than indulge in any scientific research.

Interesting to them perhaps but by this point not to the viewer ho by now is almost certainly suffering from post - coital - traumatic stress disorder.

Or at the very least an aversion to undercooked sausage.

Meanwhile the Captain and Annie - not wanting to be left out - also rush off into the trees in order to find a secluded spot for a wee game of hide the warty wand, giving us a change to gaze in awe at Shannon's fantastically scary cum face in glorious wide screen.

He's thinking of your mum...

Realizing that most viewers will have never seen a real woman and most likely be hunched over their TeeVee's violently manipulating their members, the thoughtful Simone - after her luscious lesbo licking session - returns to the boat and in an act of solidarity with the audience offers her hubbie a swift hand shandy.

Well would you say no?

Probably not but I would insist she wear gloves.

After a few minutes in the company of mother fist and her five beautiful daughters and being a cleanliness obsessed kinda guy (see? it's not just me), Professor Keller wanders off to give hims unusually red and slightly swollen helmet a good scrub at the waters edge.

Tho' to be honest if I were him I'd be using bleach.

And then I'd pour it into my eyes just in case there's a chance of Mark Shannon thrusting his crusty cock at the screen again.

Luckily for my sight - and sanity - just when you've given up hope of anything truly horrifying happening a freakily deformed, rag wrapped tramp (sorry...zombie) arrives and murders the professor.

Finally someone died!

Not much you can say to that is there?

Hearing a muffled cry in the distance, a concerned Simone pops out of her tent - and her nightie - in order to look for her husband, totally  failing to notice that the terrifying tramp is slowly advancing toward her.

Forcing the terrified (well, I say terrified but to be honest by this point she just looks bored or stoned) Simone to her knees the tramp begins to choke her to death with his comedy rubber zombie cock.

Which you have to admit is a fairly unique way to go in a zombie movie.

"Zombie cock in mah mooth!"

Realizing that no-one has seen or heard anything from Keller or Simone for a couple of hours, Captain Cock-Rot, Lemoine (relax girls, Eastman stays fully clothed) and the Countess (who at this point looks like she's lost the will to live) decide to mount a search party (not literally but with this movie it wouldn't surprise me).

No sooner have they left the relative safety of base camp (it's a fairly short movie, it just seems to last forever) that our merry band come across (again, not literally) not only poor Keller face down in a pool with his penis out but also a naked and spunk encrusted (not to mention very dead) Simone perched against a tree.

Our heroic Captain comes to the conclusion that there must be another person on the island with them....either that or a pissed off lobster with a hard on.

Mark Shannon impressed the rest of the cast
by using his largest genital wart as a stool between scenes.

Whilst all this chat is going on (and trust me, it's a blessed relief from all the ugly sex) our zombie pal has decided that the sexy shenanigans have gone on for far too long and has decided to kill off the remaining (but more importantly unattractive) cast members as quickly as possible.

That's Mr. Eastman screwed then.

When he finally catches up with Annie (who stumbles on a twig and bruises her ankle whilst trying to escape, poor lamb) he bonks her on the head, binds her hands and carries her off to his lair.

But why? you may ask, I mean it's not like he can choose to be picky about who he shags to death, seeing as he's dressed in rags with a face like a half chewed caramel, so they're must be another reason.

Plot development in a Joe D'Amato movie?

Scary or what?

Here come the Belgians!

Leaving her lying against his favourite rock, Mr. Zombie wanders off to kill an investigative reporter who just happens to have turned up on the island unannounced (D'Amato himself, yes it's that cheap) leaving Annie enough time to have a nosy around his groovy bachelor pad where she finds an old rucksack (hidden behind a pile of old copies of Razzle magazines) that will no doubt contain information about the zombie and an abundance of useless backstory.

Excitedly she empties the contents of the aforementioned sack onto the dusty cave floor.

A rucksack like the one featured in the movie.

Leafing thru' the pile of tatty woman's clothes and various baby items Annie discovers a battered old diary with 'this book belongs to Antoine Demadura - do not read' scrawled on the inside cover.
Being a typical woman tho' Annie settles down ready to get all the gossip.

 Eastman: Sweaty manbreasts.

Meanwhile back at the beach, Captain O'Day is slightly upset by the fact that not only has his entire crew been murdered and his squeeze gone missing but his wee boat has vanished too.

Stomping about manfully and splitting coconuts with his buttocks he has no alternative but to have sex with the Countess to cheer himself up.

Annie on the other hand hasn't had sex for at least twenty minutes as she's far too busy reading how poor local farmer Demadura, his wife and ickle baby had been accidentally left on the island prior to the nuclear tests.

The death of his wife and child (coupled with the radiation obviously) mutated and regressed the poor fella to a point where only his most basic animal desires survived.

Which is a wee bit like your dad after a few beers if you're honest.

Luckily Annie has been spared the fate of her colleagues tho' because in a strange quirk of fate only found in movies such as this, she bares an uncanny resemblance to Demadura's dead wife.

As if wishing to push this point even further (obviously for those members of the audience who find the lead actress looking at a photo of herself in a different outfit whilst exclaiming "Oooh...I look like his dead wife!" too difficult to understand) Demandura turns up with his scabby head cleaned, the tufts of hair in his ears combed and clutching a bunch of flowers for Annie.

Awwww....what a sweetie!

Gently kissing his new love goodbye (well more like dribbles on her if I'm honest) he leaves the cave to look for the Countess.

Is he going to invite her back to the cave too maybe to explain that the entire killing spree was a misunderstanding?

No, when he finds her Demadura knocks her unconscious and proceeds to shag her to death over a big bit of driftwood.

Oh well. It was nice whilst it lasted.

The binmen strike again....

The Captain, by now the only survivor and obviously gagging for 'the sex', reckons it's about time he went to search for Annie.

Within a matter of minutes he's found Demadura's cave, untied her hands and dragged her off to the reporters boat for a quick getaway and a good grope.

Headfuck.

Just as our heroes approach the shoreline and a chance of freedom, Demadura pops out of the undergrowth and makes a move toward Annie but O'Day shoots him with his handy speargun, only to see our zombie sex pest pluck the projectile from his body and move menacingly towards the captain, his cock swaying in the sea breeze.

Just as he lunges in for the kill Annie (remembering that she's still in the movie) calls out "No, Demadura! No!" whilst looking on in an uninterested manner causing his arm to fall off.

No, really.

Howling with pain (or trapped wind) as the memories of his previous life come flooding back to him Demadura collapses onto the golden sands and dies leaving Annie and the Captain run hand in hand to the boat, cast off from shore and no doubt have a big shag to celebrate.

Joe D'Amato's companion piece to his sexy horror opus, Erotic Nights of the Living Dead, is more sex film than shocker, discarding the haunting voodoo menace of that movie for an atomic monster with a huge cock and a thing for colourful head scarves.

With it's uniformly ugly cast and brightly lit, almost clinical scenes of penetration and overgrown 70's bush the true horror comes not from the idea of being shagged to death by a large blue mutant but from the look on the cast members faces as the are forced to twist their faces and bodies into more and more frighteningly contorted shapes as they attempt an array of unique and horrifically fake 'cum faces' just to earn a dollar.

Or in Annj Goren's case enough to buy a bottle of extra strong mouthwash in order to rise away the taste of tramp from earlier.

It's enough to put you off sex (especially with zombies) for life and after almost two hours of Mark Shannon's aforementioned genital warts I'd challenge you to ever eat a bramble again.

Those minor niggles aside it does feature the only full screen death by forced zombie blow job I can think of on film so that must count for something I guess.

Like shagging a bin or eating out of a trans gendered dwarf (or is that the other way round?) Porno Holocaust is something you must experience at least once before you die.

Because to be honest I really shouldn't have to suffer this alone.

beard of evil.

Following the massive success of my 31 days of horror marathon (yeah right) folk have been emailing in their thousands (ditto) to congratulate me on a job well done and to say thanks for such a fantastic selection of movies.

And quite a few of them (well one person) were intrigued as to what happened next in regards to Coffin Joe.

So without further ado and by popular demand let us indeed find out what happened post-À Meia-Noite Levarei Sua Alma with the fantastically monikered:

Esta Noite Encarnarei no Teu Cadáver (AKA This Night I'll Possess Your Corpse, Tonight I Will Make Your Corpse Turn Red, Tonight I Will Paint in Flesh Colour. 1967).
Dir: Jose Mojica-Marins.
Cast: Jose Mojica-Marins, Tina Wohlers, Nadia Freitas, Antonio Fracari, Jose Lobo, Esmeralda Ruchel, Paula Ramos and Tania Mendonça.

Mad as a bag of spanners undertaker Zé Do Caixão (AKA Coffin Joe) having pissed off everyone is his home town with his constant raping, killings and eating meat on holy days has run away to the local cemetery after being chased by ghosts (are you getting all this?) and, after hiding in the crypt of his murdered (by Zé obviously) best friend ends up scared shitless by the spirits of his victims.

The pursuing townsfolk arrive to find him lying in a pool of his own urine, all googly eyed and dribbling like a wean.

But, incredibly, still alive.

Still having to answer for all those killings (and rapes and mutilations) Zé is placed under arrest to await his trial.

Luckily for him (but of no surprise to anyone who's seen the first movie), the authorities have no hard evidence and have to let Zé go free.

Heading back to his (newly acquired) castle with his (recently hired) hunchback assistant Bruno Marrs (Lobo, not the DC Comics character) our undertaker pal quickly resumes his mission to find the perfect woman to give him a child.

But being the wacky outgoing guy that we all know and love, Zé forgoes the normal dating channels (such as the internet, Guardian Soulmates and the like) and decides that it'd be easier to just send Bruno out to kidnap the five best looking birds in town.

Well, the four best looking and their lopsided mouthed pal.

OK if I'm honest he kidnaps the five actresses least likely to complain about having to show their nipples whilst wearing huge black pants.

"Fuck me it's Fred Titmus!"

Always the gentleman, Zé, taking a leaf from hit TeeVee show Big Brother waits till they've all calmed down and settled in before explaining his plans which involves torturing them with big hairy spiders, threatening to let Bruno shag them and finally dropping the ladies into a pit filled with large, possibly phallic snakes.

I say possibly because I'm never too sure about that kind of thing, which is why I stick to films with killings in them.

At the end of all this general badness only one woman is left standing, a wealthy, blonde and scarily buxom widow named Marcia (Freitas) who is more than happy to oblige our hero in his quest for an heir.

Which begs the question why he didn't just ask the ladies politely to begin with?

"We've got some great photo's of you without the
hump showing but the bad news
is that we can't get the album shut".

Everything is going swimmingly for Zé and his new squeeze until one day, when our hatted hero is out picking flowers and stuff he bumps into the dark eyed and bullet breasted Laura (Wolhers, star of the underrated Amantes, Amanhã Se Houver Sol) who not only happens to be the daughter of a prominent town dignitary but is as completely fruit loops as Zé is.

Love is indeed in the air.

And from the look of the fog surrounding Zé's home so are a number of eggy farts.

Not too surprisingly her dad and family are furious (tho' not as furious as that fast film with Vin Diesel) and, after being knocked back by the Jeremy Kyle Show (obviously for not being inbred dole scum pikey bastards), decide to take matters into their own hands hiring some bad men to 'duff Zé up'.

Don't worry tho' because as we all know by this point Zé's nothing if hard as nails and ends up killing them instead.

"Don't forget Zé, Graham and his
team are waiting backstage to help
you with your anger issues should the DNA results
reveal that the beard isn't yours!"

It's only a matter of time before Laura falls pregnant giving Zé an excuse to go into town, get pissed and hand out exploding cigars to everyone but whilst enjoying his new found status as daddy to be he discovers that one of the women he's offed earlier was pregnant and not just portly as he'd mistakenly believed.

The thought of killing a child sends Zé into a fit of guilt and rage that not even a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle can cure culminating in dreams of being dragged to Hell by a big, naked black man to witness the horrors that befall cursed souls.

Oh, and a load of buff, thong wearing muscle men with their arses painted red.

 

Inside John Leslies mind.

It's at this point that things start to go from bad to worse for our coffin carrying chum as Laura loses the baby, causing Zé's somewhat tenuous grip on reality to slip even more whilst the local law enforcement folk start to put two and two together (finally) with regards to all the killings and general badness that's been occurring in the local area since Zé moved in.

There's only one course of action left to the top hatted terror and that's to scarper into the swamp....

But has Zé's luck finally run out?

"Tonight I will make your corpse turn red, but
not before I've turned your
mooth a shitey brown colour!"

The second part of Jose Mojica Marins 'Coffin Joe' trilogy offers more of the same mix of violence, philosophy, nudity and murder but on a much more polished scale.

Like a Marvel Comics re-imagining of the character of Joe, the movie adds a hunchback butler and spooky castle to the mix giving our anti-hero an almost Doctor Doom feel and the plot, whilst an almost carbon copy of the first movie, seems bigger and brasher expanding to a point where the character of Joe moves from being 'just' an evil bogeyman figure to become the whole reason for the films existence.

And the horror genre is all the better for it.

Everything about Esta Noite Encarnarei no Teu Cadáver is so unique and different from anything else being produced at the time, from the juxtaposition of the hand scrawled animated credits flashed over a frantic display of images against the classic gothic look of Coffin Joe himself, it becomes obvious that you're experiencing a film created by a true visionary and a master of storytelling.

And if any director deserved recognition outside his chosen genre then it's Jose Mojica-Marins, that brilliant yet utterly bonkers Brazilian eccentric, loved and hated in equal measures in his homeland where he's viewed as either a god or an living breathing incarnation of his on-screen personia.

The church to this day still vigorously attack his anti-religion stance and his ongoing theme of ethical beliefs and religious principles, and at the centre of this we have Coffin Joe and his quest to cement his ideal of man's place in the hierarchy of heaven and hell, violently confronting and challenging blind conformity and ultimately to prove man's superiority over God himself.

Pants.

Tho' Marins would quite possibly say I was talking utter bollocks and that he just makes the wee horror films to scare the weans shitless.

If this is the case then fair play to him, but I really do believe that we need directors like Marins working in our beloved genre.

And that the world in general deserves a character such as Coffin Joe, today more than ever.

"cos i wear these toggles!"

And you thought I'd worn myself out with the whole 31 days of horror thing?

We with no-one wanting to hire me at the moment and given the choice between slowly drinking myself into oblivion or watching some films I've decided to mix both together and see what happens....

Island of Terror (AKA Night of the Silicates/The Night the Silicates Came/The Night the Creatures Came/The Creepers. 1966)
Dir: Terence Fisher.
Cast: Edward Judd, Peter Cushing, Carole Gray, Eddie Byrne, Sam Kydd, Niall MacGinnis, James Caffrey, Liam Gaffney, Roger Heathcote, Keith Bell, Shay Gorman and Peter Forbes-Robertson.

John, I've just found one of my horses dead. At least, I think it's my horse. It's all soft and flabby.

On the remote, tinker packed Petrie's Island, well meaning science type Dr. Lawrence Phillips (the chief Sea Devil himself, Forbes-Robertson in a blink and miss it cameo) is about to unveil his life's work; a cure for cancer.

Unfortunately rather than produce it in easy to swallow pill form (or even a nice orangey syrup) he appears to have stitched two giant warty testicles together and stuck a hoover pipe into the middle of it.

Oh and given it a taste for bones.

Is it just me that thinks this experiment may go slightly awry?

No time to think about it tho' for no sooner has he flicked the bollock enlarging switch than his lab explodes in a dazzling cartoon explosion leaving him and his scientist pals dead.

And the warty walnuts free to roam the island....

Radiation room? or dodgy porn stash?

Off home after a heavy nights drinking and Pot Noodle session with 'the boys', duffle-coated local farmer and part-time bin man Ian Bellows (Eastenders Gaffney) finds himself caught short on the way home and decides, as you do, to relieve himself against some handy polystyrene rocks.

No sooner has he unsheathed his mighty manhood than the silence is broken by his horrific screams.

And what sounds like someone farting in the bath.

His lovely (OK I'll be honest harsh) wife Morag surprised at not being pawed awake at three in the morning, finding her nightie round by her neck and the bed sick free worriedly contacts local copper (and town chiropodist)  John Harris (Brit teevee and movie stalwart Kydd) at the local constabulary in the vain hope that her hubbie has fallen asleep there or at the very least been arrested for cow violation.

Again.

Unfortunately Harris hasn't seen him since they left the pub but offers to go out and look for him, if only to get the babydoll nightied, horse thighed harridan off his doorstep.

I'm not saying she's scary looking but you can actually see the milk in the jug on Harris' table turn when he opens the door.

Wandering aimlessly thru' the brightly lit studio backlot (sorry, I mean darkened woods) he soon comes across (leaving an unsightly streaky pattern) Bellows' lifeless (and boneless) rubbery corpse propped up against the polystyrene rocks  like a big fleshy trifle.

"What we have here is the severest case of mooth shite-in known to man".

Terrified (and a wee bit aroused by the sight of the poor fella's gaping and somewhat inviting mouth), Harris swiftly (well as swiftly as a half cut, short arsed Oirishman can) runs to fetch the islands top Doc and resident posh bloke Dr. Reginald Landers (Star Wars' General Willard himself Byrne).

But despite his university education and fine line in tailored overcoats, Dr. Landers is fucked if he can determine why the dead man is completely without bones so decides to travel to the mainland to seek the help of severe cheeked pathologist and horror legend Dr. Brian Stanley (Cushing, all praise to him).

Like Landers tho', Stanley is totally at a loss at to what could have possibly caused such injuries, so the pair head round to the groovy penthouse apartment of the suavely sophisticated Dr. David West (Judd star of everything from First Men in the Moon to Coronation Street), the worlds leading authority on bones, bone diseases and boning in general.

And boning appears to be what's on his mind seeing as he's currently attempting to get into the (very tiny yet tastefully lacy) undies of the voluptuously hipped, wealthy jet-setter Ms. Toni Merrill (Gray from The Young Ones with Cliff Richard who, to our American readers is the true king of rock 'n' roll).

Gray: Sexier than Jesus.

Banging on his door just as West is about to start banging Toni, our middle-aged medics waste no time in explaining their predicament to West, even tho' there's a lady present.

Intrigued by the problem and knowing full well that he can't perform in front of an audience, West agrees to accompany them to the island and Toni, up for a wee bit of orgiastic pikey sex and a chance to undermine feminism in all it's forms offers the use of her dad's private helicopter in order to get back to the island (and the plot) that wee bit quicker.

Only thing is that he needs it back by three so he can go to Waitrose for his monthly food shop, effectively leaving the fantastic foursome stranded on the island till the bin men arrived the following Thursday.

On arrival their first stop (after getting their inoculations against foot and mouth and general Oirishness) is Phillips' secluded castle laboratory where they find the poor scientist and his colleagues all dead eyed and floppy.

Just like your dad when he used to sneak into your room after the pub.

Deciding that whatever caused all the deaths must have come from the lab, West, Stanley and Landers (Ms. Merrill has the most important job, which is to sit in the car and keep the seats warm) gather up all of Phillips' belongings (including his ladyboy porn stash, fags and notes) and head back to the hotel to 'study' them and, over a few pints of Guinness catch up on the plot so far before discovering that Phillips had inadvertently created a new lifeform by accidentally splicing a silicon atom to a pair of giants gonads.

"In mah mooooooooth!"

Meanwhile PC Harris, thinking that the boffins are still at the castle arrives there to report on a boneless horse that's been found behind the youth centre.

Intrigued by a locked door with a sign that reads 'Killer testicles keep out!' he heads inside only to be attacked and killed by a huge, rubbery tentacle.

In his mouth.

Back at the hotel, it's discovered that these creatures, dubbed Silicates by West and Stanley (Ms. Merrill wanted to name them Testiclons, bless), kill their victims by injecting a bone-dissolving enzyme into their bodies and sucking the resulting goo thru' their arses.

Not only are the Silicates the most pant wettingly scary creature ever to appear on film but are also bloody hard to kill as Landers discovers when he tries unsuccessfully to kill one with an axe only to have it retaliate by forcing a tentacle up his arse.

The poor man screams for help as the rest of the cast look on with expressions of mild apathy.

And in Stanley's case a wee hint of jealousy.

With one of their number down and the Silicates multiplying like rabbits, West and Stanley head over to the house of local big man (and the islands unofficial king) Roger Campbell (Zeus himself MacGinnis) in the hope of recruiting the islanders to repel the massive man-sack menace.

After convincing him that the creatures are of English origin - and with him being a typical Paddy - Campbell jumps at the chance of a fight and quickly phones his loyal assistant (and owner of the local newsagent) Peter Argyle (former actor and current alcoholic drink Caffrey) to round up the townsfolk and arm them with anything that comes to hand.

Which, being Irish means bullets, petrol bombs, exploding pigs and dynamite.

God bless them!

"Help mah boab!"

None of this seems to have any effect on the Silicates tho' and after a couple of minutes of loud bangs and random people shouting things like "Begorah!" and "Oh no! annudah baybees died!" the creatures get bored and go to sleep.

But not before splitting into two and doubling their destructive force.

Yikes.

With the battle quickly becoming a lost cause and with nowhere to turn the fate of the island looks bleak, until that is West and Stanley hear reports of a Silicate found dead on the beach after eating a stray dog that had inadvertently consumed a sandwich containing a rare isotope called Strontium-90.

Could this be the key to Petrie's salvation?

With time running out and the Silicate threat growing, Stanley and West must venture back to Phillips' laboratory in the hope of finding enough isotope to destroy the Silicates once and for all....

A testicle carrying a designer handbag yesterday.

Remember back in the swinging sixties when Britain actually had a film industry and companies like Hammer Films, Amicus and Tigon kept the locals on the edges of their collective seats with a constant stream of horror classics?

Well there's one company from those heady bygone days that lies forgotten and dejected, even tho' they released one of the most terrifying films ever made.

That company was Planet Film Productions and the film was that classic of science gone wrong that was, is and always shall be Island of Terror.

Unless you live abroad that is where it's known as the slightly less gruesome Night of the Silicates.

Or something.

God knows how much the budget was but most of it seems to have been blow on winter coats for the actors, which amazingly helps to show who's in charge of who in the cast; ordinary islanders wear donkey jacket style attire whereas the more important community members wear duffle coats, mainlanders are bedecked in Crombie's whilst Roger Campbell (being the big man) has a dufflecoat with toggles and a sweater modeled from what looks like stringy cottage cheese.

Design genius I'm sure you'll agree.

Then there's the almost Lynchian direction and scenes of unnerving bizarreness on screen.

Examples include the fact that every time a car doors slams it does so to the exact timing of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, the fact that local copper Harris, in a sign of almost Wicker Man-esque Lord Summerisle adoration of Dr. Landers, dutifully follows the physician around whenever he's onscreen, helping him into his coat, bowing graciously and even following him around with his trilby like a dutiful footman.

And taking of headware, the mighty Peter Cushing adds a subtle touch to the oncoming danger, donning a variety of more and more darker hats (and matching shirts) as the movie progresses.

Insert slimy tentacle and/or cock here. Please.

Ah good old Peter Cushing, probably the scariest thing is how such a threadbare company as Planet were able to afford such a prestigious actor.

The same goes for director of Terrence Fisher’s standing.

I've no idea what incriminating photographs Planet's head had of the pair but I for one would love to see them.

Ripe for re-release and begging to be remade (but on the same budget obviously) Island of Terror is a remarkable experience that will alter the way you look at your testicles for years to come.

And there aren't many films you can say that about.

power mad.

Celebrating the start of November which a tribute to the strongest man alive.