gimme sum sugar baby....

Every opening to The Apprentice ever:

We're here at 10 Downing Street today and I’m sure you know who lives here.

Now Theresa May is known for many things, but mostly people know her for her love of shitting in the mouths of the poor and pissing on human rights.

Oh yes....and hating foreigners.
 
So today we're tasking you to create a new fragrance for her.

And obviously you have to be careful that she doesn't choke on it seeing as she seems to have a very tickly throat right now.

Now the men's team this year is quite surprisingly not as shit as usual so to make sure the viewing figures stay up we're adding some of the women to the team to create a bit of drama but just in case some of the men aren't deterred by this change, I’m throwing them the most sensible one into the women's team so I can watch them get shouted at even though they'll be the only one with any rational ideas.

Off you go.

Did I ever tell you how I made my first million before the age of 12 by punting my arse out of the back of a wheelbarrow?

doggy style.

The history of dogs in comic form.

Enjoy.

With thanks to Wings Over Scotland.

lost in france.

Day 4 of that 31 days of horror thing.

Anyone else bored yet?

Seven Women for Satan (AKA Les week-ends maléfiques du Comte Zaroff. 1976).
Dir: Michel Lemoine.
Cast: Michel Lemoine, Nathalie Zeiger, Howard Vernon, Joëlle Coeur, Sophie Grynholc, Robert Icart, Stephanie Lorry, Patricia Mionet, Emmanuel Pluton, Maria Mancini and Nathalie Zeiger.

Please welcome dear readers the studly French businessman Boris Zaroff (writer/director and general show off Lemoine) -  a self made millionaire whose success is all down to hard work and a good dose of old fashioned morals.

Just imagine a sexier (and by default greasier) version of Lord Alan Sugar.

If that were possible.

But unlike Shugsy poor Boris hides a family secret.

You see his dad, the late (as in dead not crap at time keeping) Count Zaroff was a sexually corrupt mentalist who liked nothing better than to hunt unfortunate ladies around his vast estate before torturing them in his deadly dungeon of, um, death upon capture.

And if that wasn't enough the family butler Karl (Jess Franco regular and human rodent, the late great Vernon) made a blood pact with the Count on his deathbed to teach young Boris about the pleasures and pain of 'the flesh'.

Saucy.

Well it would be if Boris wasn't such a prude.

"Oh no! I have a woman's period!"

You have to feel for poor Karl, spending his days continuously inviting large breasted burds to the house in the hope that his master will stick something in them.

By this point you can tell he wouldn't mind if it was his cock, a knife or a hamster.

But Boris just can't get the hang of it, sitting as he does in a dribbly, hypnotic state at the first sign of a decent pair of bristols.

All this embarrassing sexual failure is about to change tho' when Boris - whilst out for one of his early morning drives - picks up Stephanie (Mancini, probably not the one that was one of Cardinal Mazarin nieces* or the type of cigar), a young, voluptuous hitch-hiker and invites her back to his castle for an evening of champagne fueled sexiness and a sausage roll or two.

As the booze flows the sight of the sausage grease glistening on Stephanie's chin stirs something in Boris and the pair retire to the bedroom for some quality Eurocentric sexiness.

Waking the next morning and stuck for conversation (as well as being stuck to the sheets) Boris offers to escort his new beau around the castles grounds.

Aw what a sweetheart.

Well he would be if halfway round the cabbage patch he didn't try to strangle Stephanie then feebly attempt to convince her that she had a wasp on her neck.

A bird in the bush yesterday.

Panicking that he may have made a wee faux pas Boris decides to break the uncomfortable atmosphere by punching his new love in the face, pinning her down an attempting for force feed her dirt.

Which as you can probably guess doesn't impress Stephanie too much, so she decides it'd probably be best to leave.

Pavement in mah mooth!

Boris, rightly worried that he's messed up his one chance of true love gives chase in order to apologise but Stephanie, having the legs of a gazelle is too quick for him so Boris (with a confidence that only French men have when seducing ladies) decides to catch her up by using his car.

By catch her up I really mean run her down like a dog and hide her body in the boot.

As you do.

Karl, after standing in the shadows and witnessing the whole sorry event can't believe his eyes.

After years of trying to get Boris to follow the family traditions he's overjoyed to see his hard work finally pay off.

Your mum's party piece.

Cue ninety minutes of bonkers Boris picking up busty babes, shagging, chasing then torturing them in a variety of sleazily eurotrash ways.

And if you think that's not enough to entertain you there's also a heart breaking love story between batty Boris and a sexy lady ghost.

What's not to love?

Runner up of the Gerry McCann lookalikey
competition 2008.

Orson Welles wannabe Michel Lemoine's naively heartfelt yet still intellectually challenging discourse on humanities eternal struggle to reconcile the wants of the family with the needs of the individual is quite possibly one of the best movies with the words seven, Satan and women in the title ever committed to celluloid.

Lost for decades after the French authorities (who were probably too busy burning British beef, sinking Greenpeace boats and worshiping at the altar of Jerry Lewis at the time to truly appreciate it) banned the film for being 'too bouncy', Seven Women for Satan has never received the praise or cult standing it truly deserves and is only available now thanks to Lemoine himself having a not too knackered copy lying about in his cupboard just waiting for someone to have the vision to release the thing onto an unsuspecting public.

Which means we can finally forgive Mondo Macabro from punting the terrifyingly bad Queen of Black Magic onto us a few years back.

With it's deceptively linear storytelling, Lemoine's film comes across as a kind of junior Jess Franco aimed at the under 12's (my wee boy Cassidy will testify to that), especially the one's who like their victims a wee bit more on the curvy (and not to say massively bushed) side.

Any of your kids got a party coming up soon because that's the only excuse you need to get this.

And trust me, little Jimmy or Jennifer's friends will love it too.








* For those of you that don't know, Anna Maria (Marie) Mancini (28 August 1639 – 8 May 1715) was the third of the five Mancini sisters; nieces to Cardinal Jeff Mazarin who were brought to France in order to be married off to some rich blokes.

Along with two of their female Martinozzi cousins, the Mancini sisters formed a proto-riot girl group and played a number of low key gigs at the court of King Louis XIV of France under the name "The Mazarinettes".

And they say this blog isn't educational.

reckless eric.

Day 3 of this 31 days of horror nonsense and it's time to unleash Eric Roberts....

The Dead Want Women (2012).
Dir: Charles Band.
Cast: Jessica Morris, Ariana Madix, Lord Eric of Roberts, J. Scott, Robert Zahar and Jean Louise O'Sullivan

Welcome to Hollywood USA, to the age when the talkies were about to become the biggest thing to happen to movies since, well since they invented movies probably.

Enter bowl headed, silent movie star Rose Pettigrew (Gingerdead Man 3: Saturday Night Cleaver's O’Sullivan in what I hope is a wig) who to celebrate her first starring role has organised the party of a lifetime (well as big a party as you can get on this movies minuscule budget) at her glamorous home.

Hair of Lego and a chin Joe Dredd would kill for.

Bored with all the sycophantic guests upstairs our movie moll soon retires to the basement for a wee bit of a fanny flicking, tittie touching orgy alongside her pals the fat funster 'Tubby' Fitzgerald (Scott from Zombies Vs. Strippers), inconsequential baldy Erik Burke (Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers villain Zahar) and kinky cowboy star Sonny Barnes (Roberts, nuff said).

Cue ten minutes of softcore titillation for all the basement dwelling virgins watching.

And fans of Eric Roberts' peachy arse obviously.

Remember when your girlfriend said she at her sisters?

Unfortunately before you can reach for the tissues  a skinny studio exec turns up to inform raunchy Rose that sound tests of her voice have been causing horses to vomit and that her contract is canceled.

Tho' obviously listening to it in a modern day setting is alright tho'.

Bastards.

Never one to over-react, Rose first shoots the messenger before shooting her fellatio loving fellas and slashing her own throat.

Unfortunately the movie doesn't end there and with the majority of the budget gone on 20 style lampshades it's time to screech forward to 'the modern day' where botoxed beauties, bessie buds and real estate partners Reese (Morris, blonde and fresh faced) and Danni (Madix, blonde and sultry) are celebrating selling a Hollywood mansion for top dollar.

Can you guess which one?

If this picture was any more vapid it would fade from view completely.

Anyway, our toothsome twosome head up to the house to clean up and, whilst waiting for the buyer to show get a wee bit drunk too because that's what professional estate agents do obviously.

Unfortunately the buyer (he's probably read the script) never shows up, instead we're treated to a return performance by Sonny, Tubby, Erik and Rose (cunningly disguised in cardboard zombie masks cut out from the back of cereal packets) ready for a raunchy rave from the grave.

And Jack the lad need not apply.

Roll on twenty five minutes of chesty chases, pervy possessions, lesbian lustings, zombie rape and Eric Roberts (in full undead mode) pretending to do one of the estate agents up the arse.

WARNING: Nothing this erotic happens at any point during the movie.

Poor Charles Band, do you remember the good old days when he produced some of the greatest films ever made? Stuff like Trancers, Laserblast, Puppet Master and Robot Jox? not to mention his forays into teevee with such classics as Josh Kirby: Time Warrior (Corbin Allred where are you now?).

If you're too young to remember trust me when I tell you that any (all) self respecting horror/scifi/fantasy fans growing up in the eighties were practically raised on Band's direct to video goodness.

I even saw Laserblast at the cinema on it's original release.

Which is what makes viewing The Dead Want Women all the more painful.

I mean it's like watching your favourite auntie, riddled with dementia lying in a pool of her own urine whilst gingerly fingering the ring of a Bassett Hound as she hums tunelessly to Cher Lloyd.

Lloyd: Bassett bothering.

And you've got to feel for the great Eric Roberts when even his God-like presence can't lift a movie above the level of an irritating STD, I mean the film promises so much; zombies, soft-core lesbianism, a fat man in a hat and the aforementioned great man himself threatening to show his bum in glorious Blu-Ray goodness.

I never felt so confused as to what to do during a movie, get aroused by Eric, feel ashamed at the girl on girl fondling, attempt to suckle on the fat man's breasts or just feel slightly burned that I actually paid  five English pounds for this?

In the end I just felt violated and very confused.

And not in a good way.

Can someone call my mum?

yellow peril.

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

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

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

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

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

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

As what we will never know.

"Is it Giro day?"

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

Lucky eh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And all to a sexy rhumba beat.

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

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

No, seriously.

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

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

Luckily tho' his Englebert Humperdick quiff is still perfect.

Laugh now!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is it in yet?"

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

No, it's not for sale.

Which is a sad note to end on really.

I'll try better tomorrow.

simple simon.

It's the first of October which is as good an excuse as any to do that horror movie a day thing that blogs have to try and up their readership.

Plus it means I can repost all those really old reviews from 2006 that no-one has ever (will ever) read and add new pictures seeing as Photobucket seems to have deleted all the old ones.

And what better way to start than by revisiting....

Simon Says (2006)
Director: William Dear.
Starring: Sir Crispin of Glover, Margo Harshman, Greg Cipes, Carrie Finklea, Kelly Vitz, Artie Baxter and Blake Lively.

Deciding it would be cool to spend their summer vacation panning for gold (no, really), five high school 'buds', comprising of the annoying, pointed faced Kate (Harshman), annoying pug-nosed 'jock' Zack (Cipes), annoying blonde slut Vickie (Finklea), annoying 'stoner' Riff (Baxter) and annoying rich chick Ashley (Vitz) decide to head out to the woods for a camping holiday.

Taking a wrong turn (but alas not taking it up the casino) they stop at a nearby cemetery to ask directions from the local (twin brother) gravediggers and end up getting told the tale of (another set of) scary twins Stanley and Simon, one of which murdered his brother, family and 'a person for every year he was alive'.

Which is nice if not totally useless in helping them get to their destination.

Unless of course their destination is TERROR.

Know your cast: (l-r) Annoying, annoying,
annoying, annoying and annoying. Oh and Crispin Glover.

Anyway 'Hmmm' thinks the audience, 'twin brothers...could they be the killers?'.

Well that might be the case and if it is it's a pity then that the director chose to show pics of the real 'killer twins' in the opening credits leaving us with no doubt that it's the magnificent Mr. Glover playing the mentalist.

Anyway, after a comment about 'filling holes' the brothers send the group on their way reminding them to stop in at the local shop (for local people) for supplies first.

Which is thoughtful.

Arriving at the run down miner's tool shop cum garage cum convenience store they're startled when the owner pops up from behind the counter shouting "Don't steal mah beer it's bad!".

Ladies and gentlemen our hero (and the sole reason for watching) has arrived.

It;s Crispin playing Simon and who by this point we know is dead so I reckon it's safe to say that this is really Crispin playingStanley in 'disguise'.

A disguise that consists of a pair of filthy waders and a large hat.

Genius.

Luckily bad boy Riff scares Simon away by shouting "Retard!" at him and the teens go about their business.

Overly excited by his show of manliness  Riff heads off for a wee where he comes across (wouldn't we all?) the suave and sophisticated Stanley who promptly apologies for his brother before refusing to sell them fags ("smoking kills!") and drooling over Kate's hand whilst calling her 'dream girl'.

He does point them in the direction of the most secluded part of the woods tho' so it isn't all bad.

Just the acting.

I dream of pointy.

It's not long then (it is a short film) before the friends have set up camp, changed into skimpy bikini's and bright shorts and gotten down to the business of 'partying on' as the youngsters say.

But there tensions are in the air, slutster Vickie wants hunky Zack for herself, harsh Kate wants a cleaner barbecue, Riff wants to get 'stoned' and squeaky Ashley wants to go jogging.

So our merry band split up.

Bad idea.

Vickie offers to go help Zac 'get wood' for the fire whilst Ashley runs off listening to shitey MOR soft rock on her stereo (she deserves to die for her music taste alone) leaving Riff and Kate to chat about drug misuse and hygiene whilst cooking before taking the hint he finally drives off to buy cleaning products.

And booze.

Yes I know what teenagers forget to take booze on a camping weekend?

Insert penis here.

After all this talk of choppers and wood, Vickie and Zack indulge in some 'film sex' (you know fully clothed and pulling faces) only to be interrupted by athletic (but still annoying) Ashley jogging by. She stops at camp only to shout "Zack was shagging Vickie!" to Kate before disappearing behind a bush.

Now this is where the fun starts, you see unbeknown to them, the group of friends are being watched....by a man dressed as a tree and it can only be a matter of time before they're forced to play a deadly game of 'chase me now!' with the slightly schizo Stanley involving giant mechanical pick axe launchers, cannons that fire spiked logs and worst of all, moldy sandwiches.

And if that wasn't enough we still have the sight of soon-to-be famous Blake Lively trussed up in a shed like a pig in a market to look forward to.

When I heard that William Dear, acclaimed director of Bigfoot and The Hendersons and Teen Agent was making his first foray into horror I couldn't help but get excited, especially when you know The Glover-man himself is involved (and signed up for two sequels!).

I just knew this was going to be a classic.

Then I watched it.

Lurching from a Friday The 13th homage (with a huge dash of the Chuck Connor's 1979 'classic' Tourist Trap thrown in) to moments of uneasy comedy via genuinely ingenious death scenes (including death by joint, death by hanging/swung at a WV camper van, death by spiky log etc.), Simon Says is as schizophrenic as it's main character with a tone that veers wildly from funny to creepy to cringe worthy and back from one scene to another (and sometimes in the middle of scenes) to a point where the director appears to be working from an idea's list rather than a completed script.

Oh and decided to outfit the villain entirely from an Aldi Special Buys fishing catalogue.

Crispin's farted...
and it's an eggy one.

Take for example the 'deserted' forest the teens are camping in, after stressing the point of how isolated it is ad infinitum, Stanley suddenly happens across a team of paint ballers and a group of combat clad kick boxers and their dog all within minutes of starting his stalking shenanigans.

Seriously it's busier than our local A and E on a match day.

Or your mums bedroom when your dad's away fishing.

As a plus point it does mean we get to see Mr. Glover kill a few more folk in a variety of interesting ways plus squash a Terrier with his combat boots, but you do wonder if it's such a popular place why no-one has notices the countless families, hitch hikers and pets that have gone missing over the years since Stanley was let out of jail for murdering his family.

Then there's Stanley's weapon of choice, a large pick axe cannon.

All well and good but at one point it appears to be firing over a hundred axes per second in all it's CGI glory.....it's a wonder there's any trees left.

Plus wouldn't he have to wander the forest picking them all up again? that'd take forever.

This films equivalent of a making of book.

Worth watching for Crispin Glover wearing a large pair of trousers made from the contents of a lawn mower bucket and squashing a dog, Simon Says ultimately disappoints (unlike its star), the 'shock' ending is quite nice tho' even if it is signposted within the first 3 minutes of the film.

One for fans of twin based, grass trousered Crispin Glover horror movies only.

rip harry dean.

Harry Dean Stanton,
14 July 1926 -
15 September 2017