acting the goat.

Been watching (and enjoying) The Exorcist TeeVee show on SyFy over here in Blighty so thought I'd review something that featured an exorcism.

Well that was to the point wasn't it?

L’Anticristo (AKA The Tempter, The Antichrist, Besatt. 1974-ish).
Dir: Alberto De Martino.
Cast: Carla Gravina, Mel Ferrer, Arthur Kennedy, George Coulouris, Anita Strindberg, Alida Valli, Mario Scaccia and Umberto Orsini.

"I've been waiting 400 years but I piss on that time!"

You have to feel sorry for poor Ippolita Oderisi (actress cum politician and star of the fantastic A Bullet for the General Gravina), not only does her name appear to have been pulled randomly from a Scrabble box but years ago due to her dad Massimo's (Ferrer - no introduction necessary) rather reckless driving her mother was killed and she's now confined to a wheelchair.

Tragic I know and her sad story gets even worse when you realize that on top of this she's cursed with wiry, pube like ginger hair.

Poor girl.

Joining the story ten years on from the aforementioned accident we discover that just about every doctor in Italy (including Giovanni Frezza and Dr. Butcher MD no doubt) have given her the once over and not a single one of them can find anything wrong with her spine (her haircut is another story however) yet she can barely lift herself out of her wheelchair and has to stand with the aid of a cane.

Did I say poor girl?

Sorry I obviously meant lazy cow.

Massimo, fed up with being made to feel guilty over his daughters indolence (oh and killing her mum whilst pissed) decides to take her to a wee church deep in the countryside where a frighteningly butch (and bright blue for someone unknown reason) statue of the Virgin Mary is reputed to have miraculous healing powers.

Sounds legit.

Surrounded by a throng of scarily praying pikeys and filled with the love of God Ippolita attempts to stand only to almost immediately fall flat on her (harsh) face.

Harsh.

Her dad is understandably mortified (as a plus point at least the locals are grateful for such a good laugh first thing in the morning) but Ippolita seems almost nonchalant about the whole thing, almost as tho' she expected God to ignore her.

But why would she think such a thing? I hear you cry.

Well there in hangs a tale.

You see it appears that she's recently been having fairly blasphemous - and incredibly saucy - thoughts.

Mostly about a really pervy painting of Jesus, resplendent with a huge 14 inch cock and balls leatherier than Sean Connery's manbag.

And how do we know this?

Well apart from me being the one that painted the Jesus picture Ippolita has confessed as much to her uncle Brian who, it turns out,  just happens to be the local bishop (another top turn from everyones favourite drunken Oirish man Kennedy).

Arthur prepares to position his favourite choir boy.

And if that wasn't enough, she's also taken to having nasty violent thoughts about her dad's new squeeze Greta (big boned Strindberg from Fulci's classic Lizard in a Woman’s Skin).

Turns out that Ippolita is insane with jealousy at the mere thought of her father showing affection toward anyone but her.

It's like The Jeremy Kyle show but with better teeth.

Or Christmas Day with my family as I call it.

Fuck the satanic possession....check the tie!

It's not long (thankfully - there's only so much angry cripple tripping I can take in one film) before nearly all of Ippolitia’s family (and even the maid) are mightily pissed off with her frankly childish behavior and come to the conclusion that she needs locking up.

Luckily her uncle knows a good psychiatrist, the smooth handed Dr. Marcello Sinibaldi (Orsini the camp as pants 'star' of Diary of a Cloistered Nun) whom he invites to a big bash at the family villa, the idea being that he can check out lil' miss mentalism without her being any the wiser.

As well as drink as much free booze as he can handle.

Sneaky.

Unluckily for them - but a huge surprise for us it must be said - Ippolita has psychic powers enabling her to see right through the pairs plan.

But not alas their clothes.

In a change to her normal angry reaction to every little thing she doesn't throw a stroppy fit for once.

And why is this?

Well it seems that she's vaguely interested by Sinibaldi’s claim that her paralysis is really psychosomatic and that he can cure her of both it and her mentalism with a wee dose of hypnotic regression.

I'm convinced.

"You've got shite in yer mooth again hen".

Ippolita, being well up for a wee bit of hypnotic regression (but aren't we all?) excitedly turns up - well, wheels up if I'm honest -  to the dishy docs office the very next day and is quickly put under his spell.

Let's be honest here he is quite dreamy.

Anyway after the obvious pretend you're a sheep and eat this onion it's really an apple gags something interesting happens.

For the first time so far in this movie I hasten to add.

You see, it turns out that one of Ippolita's ancestors was burned at the stake for witchcraft some 500 years ago.

Well I say witchcraft but according to the foggy flashback it was actually for  eating a toad and - I kid you not - rimming a goat.

No really.

We get to see it played out on screen.

And in glorious technicolour no less.

Unluckily the uncovering of this deep, dark family memory inadvertently triggers a case of demonic possession.

Ain't that always the way?

"Sorry father, I farted".

Starting with the obvious (you know talking in a deep, sexy voice in various languages - or is that just the abysmal dubbing?) she soon moves onto more impressive stuff like psychokinesis - well, she moves some plant pots and a chest of drawers - and, most amazing of all, walking!

And how does she use her new found mobility?

Well as anyone in this situation would, she uses it to sneak out of her villa to seduce (then snap the necks of) young Germans.

Sinibaldi tries his best to think up a reasonable scientific explanation for everything that's going on but is frankly stumped whilst Irene (the aforementioned nanny/maid/hired help) secretly phones the local expert in the art of folk magic Big Tony (The Perfume of the Lady in Black's Scaccia - no me neither).

Pity then that everyone in the movie is a devout Catholic meaning that they just stand tutting and umming at the very mention of so called 'magic', reckoning that any such power can - and will - ultimately be linked to the devil himself.

The upshot of this is that all of Tony's flashy words and wizardy tricks are totally useless.

You do have to wonder why they really bothered with this plot thread.

Maybe Mario Scarria owed the director some cash?

"Tongue on mah pillow".
(But luckily not up a goats arsehole).

Finally, the bishop (who's obviously taken so long to get to the phone because he can only move diagonally) rings professional demon fighter for hire Father Jeff Mittner (The Woman Eater's Coulouris).

A man whose credentials, it appears, seem to consist of being the only person in the film who's not only seen The Exorcist but also made extensive notes, seeing as the movies ever building climax is lifted almost wholesale from that film.

But if you're gonna steal you might as well be honest about it.

Can he sort out the pesky demon once and for all?

Cue a frighteningly long and wordy exorcism complete with a floating lady, vomit, seductive glances, green facepainted nipples and an utterly terrifying Tefal headed, Rod Stewart wigged Ippolita swearing.

 A lot.

Your mum in her best clothes on a night out.

But being a cut-price Eurohorror The Exorcist isn't the only movie to be violently buggered for ideas here as - in a shocking turn of events - the film suddenly becomes a (very) cut rate Rosemary’s Baby, with the shocking reveal that the true purpose for Ippolita’s possession is for her to carry the baby Antichrist.

In her tummy that is, not in a Moses basket.

Will the might of Catholicism be enough to avert the birth of the devil himself?

Seriously, what do you think?

Alberto De Martino's fantastically crass retread of The Exorcist (to name but one 'influence') boldly goes where other cheap Euro' rip-offs fear to tread.

Whereas most cash-ins cut back on expensive effects, name actors and the like L’Anticristo positively revels in it's cut price glory, featuring as it does not one but two Hollywood has-beens and some brilliantly conceived (and not to mention insanely bonkers) stand out set-pieces.

Kennedy and Ferrer give us more ham than a butchers market and in an attempt to outdo Linda Blair floating above a bed, L’Anticristo has Gravina not only rising out of her wheelchair, but gracefully gliding out of an open window before entertaining us with an airborne dance number.

Well, it's not just John Wayne who's big leggy.

But the movies greatest scene must be when Ippolita's possessed right hand floats across the room and starts to strangle the white wizard man.

Unfortunately the film is scuppred by DiMartino’s desperate direction — you can almost feel his ultimately futile attempts to make an honest to goodness scary movie collapse around him.

Luckily he had the amazing Aristide Massaccesi working as his Director of Photography to help save the day.

And who the hell is Aristide Massaccesi?

Well, as regular readers will already know he's none other than the cinematic god also known as Joe D’Amato.

So it's probably him we have to thank for the classic devil worshiping scene, featuring as it does kinky naked orgies, the eating of a toad and the aforementioned goat/tongue/arse interface.

And for this we salute him!

And the ass saw the angle was
slightly wrong for a good photograph.

Oh, and De Martino, you did not bad yerself big fella.

Top-notch thrills for lovers of devil movies, harsh ginger birds and goat sex everywhere.

Which is probably just me thinking about it.

An essential purchase (if not a wholly legal one).

tree-mendous.

Just got sent this in reply to my review of the frankly fantastic Freddie Francis classic Tales That Witness Madness.

If you haven't seen it/read it do so now otherwise you'll just get scared.

No, really.

According to an interview in Closer magazine (other incest and death filled lifestyle magazines are available), man-handed, Evil Dead fan (possibly) Emma McCabe admitted that - just like Michael Jayston in the aforementioned movie - she's in love with a tree.


It seems that after a series of failed relationships with dozens of unsuitable guys who just wouldn't leaf her alone, she decided to branch out and fell in love with a tree in her local park called Tim.

I shit you not.

Or should that be knot?

Tim the tree yesterday just before he gave Emma a fucking good rooting.

“My feelings are genuine. I’ve had boyfriends, but never connected with anyone like Tim,” The 31 year old mentalist mumbled as she attempted fellatio on a pine cone before continuing “I’m in love and would like to get married. I look at other trees, but don’t touch — I wouldn’t cheat on Tim...unless it was with a particularly sexy cactus, I mean just imagine all the pricks.”

“He fulfills my emotional and sexual needs. I orgasm by rubbing against the bark naked,” Emma admitted as she playfully fondled a nearby pile of dog shit encrusted leaves “I love the feeling of skin-on-bark contact, which gives me a more pleasurable pain sensation, and the feel of his leaves against my skin makes me tingle. I have sex with him every week — it’s the best I’ve ever had!” 

 

"Leaf me alone!"

Apparently not realizing that the entire country is currently taking the piss out of her Emma went on to say that she sees Tim four times a week where they "just talk" and that she plans to marry him.

Surprisingly her family think that she's fruitloops and refuse to talk about it.

I phoned a scientist-type mate of mine (yes I do have friends) who said that he reckons that Emma may suffer from dendrophilia, a condition in which a person is sexually attracted to or aroused by trees.

Well either that or she's strapped for cash and decided to make up a story in order to get paid 250 quid that she can then blow on cheap drink and kebabs.

Either way you have to admire her style.

If not her massively ball-like face.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 64).

For Mr Stu (this is becoming a habit), the lovely Scottish TV presenter and antiques and art expert Natasha Raskin.

don of the drumpf.

A quick thought for you all.

I don't know if it's a lack of sleep coupled with an excess of Romero this weekend but it's struck me how much DOTD mirrors the recent US elections (you may have heard something about them on the news).

Are you sitting comfortably?

Then I'll begin.

Peter is obviously Barack Obama - a sexy, strong and cool black dude with fantastic leadership skills and a dark velvety voice, Fran is Hilary - yup she's a wee bit of a pain in the arse for most of the movie but you know she'd be your safest bet for survival, Steven is Bill Clinton - thinks he's the big man but soon falls into line behind his missis when things go bad and Roger is Trump, strange combover, tiny hands and mad as fuck who when things go south relies on Peter for support and understanding. 

The even build a wall to keep the outsiders out (and it is a beautiful wall albeit one made of cardboard). 

The trucks fortifying the Mall are obviously symbols of American big business holding up the economy of the shops and a desire to keep everything in the mall away from trade tariffs etc which in turn causes all the shops to close except for the lucky elite.

None of this works tho' and they are soon over run by bikers (one with a droopy mustache and another in a sombrero - need I say more?) that by the films end returns everything to the status quo.

And the zombies? 

Who do they represent? 

Well they're probably just there to keep the kids entertained.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as.

hard days shite.

It's the final day of the cadaver countdown in honour of the upcoming Weekend Of The Dead and I've saved the best till last.

And by that I mean I'd forgotten to post a review before heading to Manchester on Friday so upon arrival home late Sunday night I looked at my blog and randomly picked the first zombie film I came across.

As in to (re)post not masturbate to.

That'd be over the undead Jacqueline Pearce in Plague of The Zombies if you must know.

Anyway, without further ado.... 

Day of The Dead (2008)
Dir: Steve Miner.
Cast: Nick Cannon, Mena Suvari, Christa Campbell, Michael Welch, AnnaLynne McCord, Stark Sands, Matt Rippy, Ian McNeice, Robert Rais, Linda Marlowe and Ving Rhames.

Sorry mate, 'D' day was back in '85
when they released the original.

Somewhere in sunny Colorado, a group of hot 'n' horny (but none nude) 'teens' are making out in an abandoned warehouse but when one of them develops a nosebleed and snotters a big red bogie on his dates chest they all decide to go home.

Annoyed at having her cleavage messed up, the slutty/punky one decides to walk home thru' the woods alone.


Yes, it's that clichéd.


Meanwhile bald badass mofo Captain Nick Rhodes (Rhames, undisputed king of the Romero remake) and his tiny second in command Sarah (Mena "My illustrious career" Suvari) are trying to stop folk leaving town, Rhodes by shouting "Halt mutha fuckah" at everyone and Sarah by smiling wetly and pointing them in the direction of the hospital.

You see, it appears that a scary nosebleed virus has hit and the army are trying to contain it by putting up roadblocks, dishing out tissues and telling everyone to sit with their heads tilted back.

A bald bad ass mother fuckin'
son of a bitch yesterday.

Wise crackin' Private Salazar (Cannon) is drafted in to help his army buds  - and from his performance, put back the quality of well written black characters by about 30 years - as is Private Bud Crane (Sands) a veggie geek with a crush on Sarah.

Turns out tho' that Sarah is more concerned about her ailing mum than helping folk get medical assistance so she decides to commandeer a jeep (with Bud along for the ride and a for a wee bit of character building chat) to head home and get her to the hospital.

On arrival she finds her big chinned brother Trevor (Welch) making out on the sofa with the interestingly haired (yet pointed faced) Nina (McCord). Yup that's right, they were two of those 'teens' at the films beginning (will the location of the deserted warehouse become important later?) and to top it all it seems that brother and sis have 'issues', which involves the pair huffing and tutting for five minutes whilst their mum coughs a lot in the upstairs bedroom.
Bud suggests that they should maybe deal with their anger issues later (right now it's the issues with this utterly shite script that need dealing with) and bundles everyone into the Jeep for the trip to the outpatients where they find an even grumpier Rhodes (and scarily an even more jive-talking Salazar) stomping about and cussing at the mob of ill people slumped in their seats holding hankies up to their noses.

McCord: Interesting hair, crap top.

Without warning (and in an embarrassing frenzy of shite CGI and squelching noises) the nosebleed victims suddenly stop breathing, very quickly obtain joke show quality Halloween masks and transmute into zombies!

Laugh and indeed now.

But not just any old zombies oh no, these beasts can 'run' really fast (thanks to cranking up the camera speed-a trick not seen since The Keystone Cops), drive cars, shoot guns and hang off the ceiling (in what looks like a tribute to the old Spectrum game Manic Miner if the FX are anything to go by) plus if that's not enough they even dissolve into crappy CG dust when killed!

We are so lucky to have this film aren't we?

Mena moody.

Obviously it's all gets a wee bit fraught in the hospital what with all the zombies, Rhodes shouting "Mutha fuckah" at everyone (and everything), Sarah looking confused (as if Mena is thinking how the hell did I go from American Beauty to this) whilst Salazar does that hip-hop hand thing a lot and Bud just looks on in a daze (at least he doesn't have a career to ruin) so it's quite lucky when the mysterious Dr. Johnny Logan (Rippy - the other Captain Jack in Torchwood and a man I recognized as having once chatted to me about Pee Wee Herman when he was a member of The Reduced Shakespeare Company) promptly appears from nowhere and tells everyone to barricade themselves into a cupboard.

Unfortunately whilst frantically making space by throwing out all the boxes of Tip-Ex and the like Rhodes is overcome by a horde of the undead and bitten.



To death.

 Jehovah!

In a plot twist that I didn't see coming (a bit like your mum) the cupboard has a hole in the back that somehow leads to the cellar.

A cellar that bizarrely enough has windows.

Bravo set designer.

Catching her breath (but not a quick look at the reviews) Sarah remembers that Rhodes still has the car keys, so volunteers to lead everyone back into the cupboard in order to retrieve them. 

Unfortunately Rhodes re-animates and bites Bud whilst in the confusion Logan steals a car and leaves them to it.

Don't worry too much tho' as luckily our hapless band - after a rather lackluster fight against the cast of Michael Jackson's Thriller video - manage escape in Rhodes Jeep.
Meanwhile Trev and Nina (remember them? - no me neither) have also escaped from the hospital and are currently dodging zombies, cars, good taste and the like whilst looking for a place to hide.

Tho' whether it's from the zombies or from their families after making this shite we're never told.

As luck would have it portly town DJ Paul Morley (Doctor Who star McNeice) is still broadcasting and being a nice man, lets them into the studio - on the condition that they're not zombies of course -  where they also find the shot to fuck Mr and Mrs. Leitner (Rais and the lovely Campbell,  star of 2001 Maniacs and Kraken amongst others) who seem to spend most of their time gazing longingly at each other whilst Mrs. L sits coughing on the sofa whilst shouting "It's not the virus it's my allergies!"


Hmmmm....

Campbell: allergies.

As chaos and bad editing rage all around them, Sarah, Salazar and Bud drive to the nearest gun shop to get 'tooled up' (as I think the youngsters say) before thinking of a way to escape from town.

And hopefully their contracts.

The Living Daylights of the Dead.

Heading back to the car Sarah is hit by a double-whammy of a surprise.

Firstly she hears her brother broadcasting (well begging and whining like a small girl) for help from the radio station and then turns round to see that Bud has become a zombie.

It's a bit of good luck then that he was vegetarian when he was alive (see? it was important) because he's refusing to eat his pals and is content to sitting in the back of the Jeep making doe eyes at Sarah.

Aaaaahhh.....sweet.

Come to think of it tho' there's hardly enough meat on Mena Suvari to make it worth his while.

Holby Christmas party, 1987.

Anyway, they rescue Trev and Nina (but not before Mrs. Leitner has gone loco and eaten her hubbie and Paul) and head towards the town border because it's a scientific fact that man made viruses can't cross city council lines. 

The plan gets thrown to the wind tho' when a zombie headbuts the windscreen causing them to hit a tree.

There only hope of refuge now? the old abandoned building from the movies beginning.


See? 

They don't just throw this crap together.

As it happens it turns out to be an old missile silo cum secret research lab - every town should have one - headed up by the enigmatic Logan who, it appears has been experimenting with a way of shutting down enemy combatants nervous systems (he should show them this shite, that'd work) but alas has accidentally made zombies instead.

The bad man.

Suvari: meat free.

Will our brave band escape or will the zombies take over the world?

Honestly I really didn't care.
I mean c'mon, if everyone involved can't be arsed giving two fucks why should I?

The only intriguing thing about this whole mess (well I say intriguing but to be honest it's bloody disturbing) is why Steve Miner and his cronies would think that taking the title and character names from Romero's original and then bolting them onto a poverty row remake of Nightmare City would be a good idea seeing as, unfortunately it's nowhere near as entertaining as that Umberto Lenzi classic.

But then again how could it be?

Let's be real here for a moment, that movie was so shockingly inept it crossed that blurry line into genius whereas Day of the Dead is quite frankly the movie equivalent of weeping anal warts.

Unsuitable for Miners?

Yup, it really is that bad.

And the DVD cover is shit too.

I would say avoid this movie like the plague but to be honest I'd rather ask that if you see it on sale anywhere just torch the copies, you'd be doing everyone a favour.

Shit, that countdown ended on a wee bit of a downer didn't it?

top trump.

Well after my lovely tweet from Mike Pence* regarding his fave movie (yup, I ask the questions that no-one else dares) I reckoned I'd throw caution to the wind and ask the same of good old Donald J. Trump.

To be honest I wasn't expecting a reply (he's been busy) so imagine my surprise when I discovered that I was the first person he tweeted after the election results.**

Not only that tho' but a letter arrived this morning explaining his reasons behind his choice.***

I am truly blessed.

Frankly I'm speechless.

I mean who's next?
















*Probably.

**Maybe.

***Ditto.

burqa and hair (raising).

Day 4 of the Arena Cadaver Countdown and it's a look back at a classic.

Yes, occasionally I do watch good films.

It's a pity then that no fucker ever pays attention when I rave about them.

But not this time.

You've had 9 (!) years to catch up with this so if you haven't seen it already I'm giving you till then end of the week.

Go on, buy it now.

You'll thank me in the morning.

Zibahkhana (AKA Slaughterhouse, Hell's Ground. 2007)
Dir: Omar Ali Khan.
Cast: Kunwar Ali Roshan, Rooshanie Ejaz, Rubya Chaudhry, Haider Raza, Osman Khalid Butt, Najma Malik, Sultan Billa, Salim Meraj and Rehan.

You are on the road to Hell, my children.
On the road to Hell!

Newsflash!

Pakistan's biggest dance festival is about to start and wouldn't you know it, it's gonna be taking place on a school night!

Isn't it always the way?

But if you think that's going to stop our motley band of Islamabad based teens having a wild night of music, mental dancing and muddy boots then you've got another thing coming.

Living, breathing Bratz doll Roxy (big haired bad girl Chaudhry) has it all planned, her buddies are going to sneak away in a colourful van and tell their respective parents that they're studying at each others houses.

What could possibly go wrong?

Accompanying her to the groove-some (as opposed to gruesome) fest are drugged up horror geek Vicky (Roshan), binman's son Simon (the Pakistani Daniel Radcliffe Raza) and the sweetly sexy to a point of almost being librarian-esque (as only good girls can be) Ayesha (Ejaz) alongside designated driver and token older guy OJ (Butt).

So, who's your cash on surviving to the final reel then?

Ejaz: scrumptious.

After a few coffees (and an encounter with some scarily saucy transvestite hookers) our merry band head off toward their dance-tastic destination, stopping only to visit Deewana's world famous tea shop.

What do you mean you've never heard of it?

A sign of spooky things to come occurs when Vicky is convinced that the Bruce Willis vested Deewana is actually the cult actor and star of The Living Corpse (AKA Dracula in Pakistan) Rehan, although the creepily hairy backed tea legend angrily denies this.

You see he's more interested in why such good Muslim kids aren't preparing for evening prayer.

Freaked out by all this talk of praying and curses our heroes grab some tea and buns before making their excuses and leaving.

William and Kate: the wilderness years.

Could things get any worse?

Well after all that tea and cake poor Vicky seems to have developed a dodgy tummy and begs his buds to pull over so he can go vomit in a lake (as one would) but even before he's managed to wipe away the shame from the corners of his mouth he's attacked and bitten by a crazed, green skinned tramp.

Who also steals his stash.

Thieving undead bastard.

Simon, being the heroic type, offers to go search for the drugs (and the scary knee biting pikey) whilst Vicky sits huddled in a corner sweating and rubbing his leg in the hope of getting some female attention.

Bless.

Who's sari now?

Don't get too concerned tho' because Simon soon returns with the drugs (and in one piece) and, after a wee bit of shall we shan't we? the gang decide it's probably for the best if they just carry on toward the festival and hope one of the first aiders has a plaster and a junior aspirin for Vicky victim when they get there.

This is actually surprisingly sensible and everything would have turned out fine if OJ hadn't taken a wrong turn when hurriedly leaving Deewana's tea shop.

Wouldn't you know it the gang end up lost.

In the woods.

Surrounded by the living dead.

There's only one course of action left to our heroes and that's to sit in the van and scream like wee girls as the zombies excitedly devour the contents of an abattoir bin next to the road.

Luckily OJ remembers that they're in a van not a shed, and drives away before the zombies can attack, or at the very least scratch the paintwork.

What a guy.

After driving what seems for hours and needing something to break the monotony of Vicky's vomiting and the girls screaming, the - by this point not so - merry band pull over at a big tent in the middle of nowhere in the hope of getting directions to the festival and maybe a few bottles of Lucozade to keep them going.

Have they never seen Bio-Zombie?

Obviously not, nor the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre by the looks of things seeing as they happily offer a lift to a mad as a bag of spanners bearded type named Bill Baley (Meraj, being scarily more like Bill Moseley than Moseley himself) who, after squatting on the floor of the van and demanding water starts shouting "I will drink the blood from your veins!" before pulling a severed head out of his man-bag.

Reacting with a mix of utter pant wetting terror and a wee bit of mild embarrassment the group scream at the horrible hobo for a while before kicking him out the van and running him down like a dog.

Which is a little extreme methinks.

"Laugh now!"

Waiting till the screaming has died down Ayesha suggests that maybe, just maybe they should give the festival a miss a head home.

Roxy (who it must be said has spent about three days troweling on her make-up in preparation for the event) is adamant that the show must go on, only changing her mind when she accidentally sits on the severed head left on the seat by the late lamented Baley.

It seems obvious to me that he only left it there because it too wanted to attend the music fest but had no body to go with.

Sorry.

Like a whippet up a particularly greasy drainpipe Roxy jumps out of the van and legs it into the woods whilst everyone else starts screaming again.

The screaming continues for about ten minutes, with everyone in the van desperately trying to be considerably louder than their pals.

Unfortunately when the screaming finally stops and the merry band almost collapse thru' lack of oxygen no-one has the faintest idea where Roxy has gone.

Ayesha and Simon, being the clean living heroic types give chase.

OJ volunteers to sit in the van with a considerably greener and more zombie-like by the minute Vicky in case they need to make a quick getaway.

What a guy!

"Oooh....who fancies a wee
bit a mooth shite-in?"

Stumbling blindly thru' the woods, our dynamic duo come across a ramshackle house and, hoping to get help bang on the doors whilst, yes, screaming.

After a few minutes of banging and screaming (and reckoning that their day can't get any worse) Simon and Ayesha slowly enter the house hoping to find a nice old lady with a phone that they can use.

It comes as no surprise to us (but a bloody big shock to the two friends) when stomping out of the kitchen comes a giant, burqa-wearing beast of a bloke brandishing a huge spiked ball on a chain.

A wee bit of a chase ensues culminating with poor Simon getting spiked in the face.

And yes, before you say anything I am aware (as is Ayesha, who seems to find this the most shocking thing so far) that men don't usually wear burqa's.

But I for one wouldn't say anything to him about it.

Meow. Twice.

Meanwhile Roxy, all messy hair, smudged make-up and tearful of cheek (but still nowhere near as hot as Ayesha who frankly has become a wee bit of an unhealthy obsession by this point, sorry Ms. Ejaz if you're reading this) has been found by a sweet old lady who lives in a tent just up the road from all the carnage.

And not only that but this old dear has tea and toast!

As a minus point tho' she does have her dead hubbies corpse in a cupboard and pictures of her two sons plastered around the walls.

One of whom seems to enjoy wearing a burqa....

No, it couldn't be...

Could it?

Taller than Freddie, sexier than Jason and
far easier to dress as than either one of them.
Raise your glass for the Burqa Baby!

From the deranged mind of Islamabad Ice cream shop magnate Omar Khan comes what is quite possibly the best lo-fi horror movie of the past ten years if not the most fun ninety minutes I've spent with a teen killing mentalist for quite some time.

The surprising thing is that, on paper Hell's Ground should be little more than a run of the mill Texas Chainsaw rip off but it's kudos to Khan and his team that it's so much more than that, being at once an incredibly funny pastiche and an honest to goodness homage to the stalk and slash genre he obviously loves so much.

And just when you think it can't get any better cult movie king Rehan turns up.

From the pre-credit sequence onwards you know you're viewing something extra special and it's this love and understanding of the genres conventions that soaks (bloodily) thru' every single frame and every performance on show, the cast are uniformly fantastic, with special mention to the classically creepy Salim Meraj.

Honestly his performance is so convincing you can actually smell the urine and stale sweat thru' the teevee - God help you if you're watching in Blu-Ray.

And I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that the elfin Rooshanie Ejaz could quite possibly steal Bruce Campbell's crown (and heart) as the ultimate horror hero for a rapidly approaching new decade.

If nothing else she looks much sexier than the big chinned one when drenched in blood.

Sorry Bruce.

Frankly essential viewing and an essential costume come Halloween.

Now any chance of a sequel with Burqa Baby battling an army of ancient Jinns please Mr. Khan?

I've already started on a script if you're interested.