goat finger.

Day 26 of the whole, sordid 31 days of "the 'orrah" and I'll be honest I'm as bored as you are.

Luckily there's only 5 days left.

And I'm busy for 2 of them.

Be interesting to see how that works out.

Ta paidia tou Diavolou (AKA Island Of Death, Killing Daylight, Holiday on the Buses. 1975).
Dir: Nico Mastorakis.
Cast: Bob Behling, Jane Ryall, Jessica Dublin, Gerard Gonalons, Billy Goat,  Janice McConnel and Nikos Tsachiridis.

“Please, I believe in God.”
“I’m sorry friend, but he doesn’t believe in you.”

Trendy (in a kind of pikey way) young things Christopher (pube haired Behling whom you may have seen in Cujo - the film that is not the actual dog tho' who knows?) and human hamster Celia (the chub of faced yet curved of arse Ryall) have arrived on the quaint Greek island of Mykonos (which I'm assuming is Greek for death) looking for fun, sun, a nice cream bun and various places to have 'the sex'.

They must be British then.

Booking into a cheap looking, crap wallpapered boarding house, Christopher changes out of his thin, beige socks and Jesus sandals before taking in a few of the local sights and then taking Celia up the bum.

In a phone box.

Whilst calling his mum.

If this wasn't enough (and frankly the sight of Christopher's skinny man buttocks thrusting vigorously against the dirty glass did it for me) it turns out that he's also an out and out puritanical nutter, madder than a bag of spanners and liable to hurl insults at ginger people in the street for no other reason than he thinks they're morally corrupt.

Which is nice.

lens flare, trouser flare, flared hair lip.

Feeling a wee bit peckish after the phone box fumble, Chris and Celia head back to the guest house for a bite to eat only to come across (not in that way, well not yet) the owners wife rutting with someone other than her hubby in the shed, her ample arse pushed against the grimy windows leaving a mark not unlike the shape of an obese butterfly on the glass.

Obviously upset by the sight of such an obese backside Chris angrily declares "Bitch! She's a bloody fat bitch, If she was my wife I'd kill her!" before heading into the dinning room for a quick cheese and crisp sandwich, a can of Tizer and the chance of insulting a quiet gay couple at the bar before retiring to bed.

It's like being on holiday with your dad.

The next morning poor Christopher wakes with an erection so stiff and bloated that not even your mum could satisfy it and, after unsuccessfully trying to prod Celia awake decides to go out into town to find someone willing to have some no strings sex with him so early in the morning.

After what seems like, ooh minutes of searching kerazy Chris stumbles across a cute white goat happily munching grass in a deserted field, there eyes meet and it's lust at first sight.

Aw sweet.

Next thing you know our man is happily humping away at his fluffy friend with all the facial ticks and grimaces of somewhere suffering a severe stroke.

In glorious technicolour of course.

Lying in each others arms (legs? paws? hooves?) the lovers gaze longingly at each other before Chris pulls out a big fuck off knife and slits the goats throat.

Cleaning his dick on the grass he happily heads back to Celia and a spot of lunch.

And who says that the English abroad aren't civilized?

How your dad used to wake
you up on Christmas morning.

Scoffing their delicious bacon, sausage and eggs at a local café our dingbat duo start to indulge in a little bit of saucy banter with one Monsieur Jean-Paul Boff, a local French painter (but not polisher) before asking him to join them in a dirty threesome.

Being French he obviously agrees.

After a quick bout of filthy fondling the couple head home but not before arranging to meet the by now sweat covered Monsieur Boff the next morning for some more saucy fun.

Morning can't come soon enough for the couple, tho' unfortunately Jean Paul does (all over Celia's rather wobbly breasts) whilst Christopher hides in the shadows taking photographs of the whole thing.

Obviously offended by the Frenchman's lack of staying power (tho' by the state of Celia I reckon he's lucky to have gotten it up at all) our hatstand hero calmly walks over to the resting couple and crucifies poor Jean Paul for his troubles.

Your mum, up the casino, 1974....Yesch!

Celia, understandably annoyed by the poor sods screams of agony, forces Jean Paul to drink some paint stripper in the hopes of shutting him up.

Not really much else I can add to that really is there?

At a loss as to what to do for the rest of the day, Christopher and Celia decide to attend an engagement party being throw by the gay couple they insulted earlier thinking that if they turn up with a half arsed apology and a cheap bottle of (pink) fizz everything'll be OK.

The gays, being nice, kind folk instantly forgive the couples earlier homophobic rants and welcome them into their celebrations.

And much, much later their bedroom too.

But don't worry dear viewer there's none of that sexy stuff this time (this couple obviously have way too much self esteem to want to put it anywhere near Celia and Christopher) as the maid of mentalism has other ideas.

Yup, it's Celia's turn for a wee bit of the killing this time as she pulls out a gun and shoots the younger, make up caked stud muffin in the mooth whilst kinky Christopher chases his older lover down the street before disemboweling him with a large paper knife.

Knackered after a full day of maiming and murder the couple retire to their room to masturbate over the photo's taken during the day.

Gun in mah mooth!

Luckily for the islands residents, Scotland Yard are on the trail of the perverted pair as it seems that they've been committing similar crimes against fashion and good taste in the UK too and the British Government - worrying about how all this killing of foreigners will affect the BREXIT deal have dispatched DI Foster (Gonalons from some other stuff) to bring the couple to justice.

It comes as a wee surprise then (to him and us) that within minutes of stepping off the plane (clutching his duty free and in-flight magazine) Chris has tied a rope to him and taken off, leaving him hanging on for dear life.

It can't be that dear tho' seeing as within seconds he's let go with a shout of "Oh my fingers!", falling to the ground in a spray of piss and shame.

Pleased with his mornings work Christopher decides it's time he had sex with the hotel owner.

Obviously, this being Christopher tho', having sex involves pissing over her before sticking it up her arse and finally decapitating her with a handy bulldozer.

Celia by this point has had enough of all this mindless violence and sleazy sex and just wants a quiet life.

And cake.

Don't we all?

As you can probably guess this really, really annoys cuckoo Christopher but not as much as the pair of stoned hippie types that just happen to turn up and molest Celia obviously.

As a plus point tho' it does give our boy an excuse to kill some more people and show her that the world is full of badness and that the pair should stay together.

Yes, there's a moral here somewhere.

Getting angrier by the minute and realizing that he still has to kill an Asian shopkeeper, a heroin addict and a lesbian to fill his cliché rota, Chris persuades the by now shot to fuck and cum stained Celia to seduce the local lady lover whilst he watches from a bush.

Luckily she's also a dirty junkie so it's two for the price of one.

Unbeknown to both Christopher and Celia, whilst they've been merrily blow-torching the faces off lesbians and cracking off to blurry death pics, a local novelist has been secretly watching the pair in a kind of Jessica Fletcher manner.

But not as sexily as Angela Lansbury does obviously.

Nice bedding, shame about the film.

With the bodies piling high and the quaint countryside awash with blood, egg and semen, the net is closing in on the terrible twosome.

Even the local police have finally gotten up off their fat arses and given chase, forcing Christopher and Celia to hide out in the hills on a dilapidated ranch belonging to a 70s footballer permed, ball faced sheep herder named Neville.

"Leathery balls!"

Seeing this simple man's lifestyle and happiness with his job has a profound effect on Christopher, almost as if a veil has been lifted from his eyes.

Could it really be that rape and murder are bad?

Christopher will never find out as without warning the shepherd hits him over the head and tosses him into a lime pit before forcing himself on (and into) a screaming Celia who, after a slight struggle, begins to enjoy the experience as Neville violently fucks the badness out of her system.

Christopher's screams for help are ignored, even the revelation that Celia is really his sister (that if you think about it they both should already know) has no effect on the by now tamed woman and as the rain begins to turn the lime caustic, Christopher slowly dies in agony as Celia begins her new life of servitude and sex slavery with Neville.

I think there's a lesson for us all there don't you?

"Put it in me!"

Ah dear old Nico Mastorakis, how must it have felt to see your heart-warming tale of forbidden love cruelly slated as a video nasty before being banned from our shelves?

How can anyone even consider saying this movie has no redeeming features and that it's sole reason for being is to glory in it's own filth and depravity?

Oh the injustice of it all!

Scarily playing out like a nylon caked nightmare version of the Holiday Show, Mastorakis' movie veers violently from wrong to oh so wrong via just plain  wrong.

With absolutely no respect for decency or fashion, it's frighteningly unattractive psycho-sexual siblings begin their reign of sex and violence without warning and continue to do so throughout the films running time, killing off various clichéd characters with gay abandon as the movie lurches toward it's (genuinely) surprising conclusion.

Nico Mastorakis we salute you (grudgingly I'll admit) for giving us a film that on the surface looks like a worthless sleazefest of sex and sin but on closer inspection turns out to be one of the greatest pieces of blackly humoured Carry on Abroad style comedies ever made.

If only all family vacations were this much fun.

Or all our sisters had such peachy arses.

a nightmare on pigeon street.

Day 25 of 31 days of horror is as good an excuse as any to revisit probably one of the best found footage movies ever.

And one of the most downright spooky films full stop.

Let's not beat around the bush here, on the surface Noroi may have all the hallmarks (and warning signs) of a formulaic Ringu/Blair Witch/Last Broadcast rip-off; the recently rediscovered documentary footage, mysterious video tapes et al but fear not, because director Koji Shiraishi (of Grotesque fame) has taken a pinch of each of these influences and fashioned them into a movie that is frankly far more effective (and creepy) than any one of them.
Enjoy.

Noroi: The Curse (2005).
Dir: Koji Shiraishi.
Cast: Jin Muraki, Rio Kanno, Maria Takagi, Marika Matsumoto, Tomomi Eguchi, Hiroshi Aramata, Tomono Kuga and Satoru Jitsunashi.

"I want the truth. No matter how terrifying, I want the truth."

Well known celebrity paranormal investigator, the cheerfully chubby, cake shop loving Masafumi Kobayashi (Nightmare Detective's Muraki) host a weekly show called "Wahey it's a ghost!" on Tokyo's top teevee channel garnering sky high ratings every week.

Just imagine a slightly less ginger Yvette Fielding with bigger (and better) tits, a bowl haircut and less bullshit.

He has a loyal following, a lovely wife and a fine line in waterproof jackets but all this will be put to the test (especially the jackets) as he and his loyal cameraman Jeff start an investigation into a mysterious phenomenon known simply as 'Noroi'.

Or as we English speakers would say 'The Curse'.

You see, not long after completing the project, Kobayashi's house burns to the ground killing his wife and our intrepid reporter disappears off the face of the earth.

All that remains are the tapes he made during the course of the investigation and, as the voice-over informs us, we are about to see them for the first time.

"Welcome to fright night!" as Craig Charles would say just before he jumps out of a cupboard wearing a hideous jumper.

Probably.

Yvette Fielding: Ginger.

Anyway I digress so let's head back, way back to the halcyon days of November 2002, when Kobayashi was busy interviewing a fairly hot single mum and her small daughter about the spooky goings on next door.

It seems that the pair have been hearing what sounds like scary crying babies coming from the house next door.

Popping round for a quick nosy around Kobayashi is greeted by the house's occupants, a raggedy haired, mental woman (the usually foxy Kuga from Invisible Waves) shouting utter bollocks at anyone who'll listen and a small pig nosed boy named Trevor who spends his days staring out of the window into next doors kitchen.

Sounds a wee bit like my old neighbours.

Before getting chased away with a broom, Kobayashi's camera guy manages to pick up a strange noise on tape and our hero excitedly takes it to be analyzed by a clever science of sound man.

After much technical jiggery and a wee bit of scientific pokery the sound guy manages to identify the noises coming from the house.

It turns out to be the sound of five babies crying in unison.

Spooky.

Heading back to the house in order to follow up this disturbing development, Kobayashi finds that the gruesome twosome have moved out.

And it appears that they have taken the noises with them.

Unfortunately for the local bin men they've left all their rubbish - and a pile of dead pigeons - behind in the garden.

Rifling thru' the aforementioned trash (and obviously avoiding the huge piles of bird shit), Kobayashi discovers that the name of the mentalist mum is one Junko Ishii and files away this information in case it proves useful later.

You think?

On a sadder note he also discovers that the nice next-door neighbour and her little poppet of a daughter ended up killed (to death) in a car crash less than a week after Kobayashi's visit.

Hmmm, could this be related?

Kobayashi spots a giant marzipan house.

We've no time to ask as the documentary jumps back to show clips from an episode of  Kobayashi's show that focused on children with ESP.

Which is a much more entertaining prospect than Junior Masterchef if I'm honest.

Out of the ten kids being tested, it's pigtailed princess Kana Yano (Kanno, the wee girl from Dark Water) who comes out on top, scoring the highest marks on the first four shape-drawing tests, on the fifth however instead of drawing a carrot she sketches what looks like a gimp mask with huge black eye sockets and a puckered anus for a mouth.

And if that wasn't weird enough (which to my mind it is), when she's requested to materialize some water into a sealed bottle - only using the power of the mind obviously - Kana manages this task without even breaking a sweat.

And conjures up some newborn baby hair in the jar at no extra cost.

"This is what I shite-ed in Ms!"

The next clip is from an earlier episode concentrating on celebrity ghost sightings, where a geeky ghost hunting duo (a kind of Japanese equivalent of Ant and Dec) and teevee/anime actress Marika Matsumoto - playing herself, meta or what? - are heading to Tokyo's most haunted shrine in the hope of seeing a spirit.

Or at the very least a chance of touching up Matsumoto behind the bins.

Matsumoto, all giggles, fluffy collars and big socks, confesses to being a bit of a psychic herself and having seen literally hundreds of ghosts before and being no stranger to having the willies put up her jumped at the chance to take part.

Within minutes of arriving at the shrine things take a turn for the worst as Matsumoto gets spooked by an eerie voice before falling to the ground and wriggling about like your nan having a stroke.

Matsumoto: no caption needed.

Later at an after show party for the cast and crew, Kobayashi interviews Matsumoto about the evenings events but she has absolutely no recollection of the incident save for hearing a man's voice whispering the word Kagutaba to her.

Luckily Kobayashi has invited the famous tinfoil-clad Autistic psychic and self proclaimed protector of humanity from ecto-plasmic worms Mitsuo Hori (Jitsunashi from Ju-on: The Grudge 2) to come and explain everything.

This doesn't really go to plan tho' as Hori runs on stage and attempts to strangle Matsumoto (whilst shouting shouting "Watch out for the pigeons!") as opposed to helping her.

An easy mistake to make I'm sure you'll agree.

Kobayashi tho', being a clever bloke - or having read the script - makes the bird based connection between the dead pigeons and Hori's warning and decides to dig a little deeper, going back to check out the shrine tapes.

Lo and behold on further viewing keen eyed Kobayashi spots a ghostly figure standing in the distant behind Matsumoto, a figure whose face bears a striking resemblance to the picture drawn by Kana the psychic girl.

Heading out to see her Kobayashi is shocked to find that the poor lamb has gone missing.

And that the last person to see her was behatted mentalist Mitsuo Hori.

"Million dollars or bomb? YOU decide!"

With a more and more shot to fuck Matsumoto in tow, Kobayashi rushes to Hori's apartment in the hope of garnering any information on the small girls whereabouts and to see if the psychic has any knowledge of the mysterious Kagutaba.

And from his reaction to being asked what it means I reckon he does, seeing as he literally poohs himself and hides in a giant toilet roll tube before falling into a trace and sketching a map showing Kana's location.

Kobayashi has no choice but to follow Hori's map if he's to have any chance of finding the missing girl and discovering the connection between the mysterious Kagutaba and the frankly pant filling events occurring around him.

"Hand in mah mooth!"

But he's gonna haveta get a move on, seeing as everyone and anyone, no matter how tenuously linked to the investigation is either disappearing without a trace or dying in a variety of bizarre ways.

Will Kobayashi discover the truth before he himself becomes a victim of the curse?

Frankly no, seeing as the film established that fact in it's opening minutes.

But don't let that put you off.

Playing out like a Japanese Ghostwatch with it's mix of fictitious characters and 'celebrity' cameos - everyone from the aforementioned anime voice-over queen Marika Matsumo to former AV girl and star of the classic Illegal Tits Violation 15, Maria Takagi via J-Pop gods Gokyu - Noroi doesn't try to be big, clever or re-invent the mockumentary genre, it's whole reason for being is just to deliver some scares.

Which it indeed does in bucket loads.

Jin Muraki is an instantly likeable lead and Satoru Jitsunash takes the tic-ridden   Mitsuo Hori, a role that could have been (over) played for laughs and makes him incredibly sympathetic.

With well over twenty five speaking characters and a running time of over two hours, Noroi has an unusually leisurely pace that builds the tension little by little, slowly unraveling the meaning of Kagutaba in such a way that you become totally (and unexpectedly) drawn into mystery, not realizing how far it's burrowed under your skin before it's too late.

"Do you require any scissors sharpening?"

Noroi is quite simply put a good old fashioned scary film, perfectly made with just one thought in mind; to make the viewer fill their trousers.

And you really can't ask for more from a horror movie can you?

the twilight zone.

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

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


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

Animal desires, human lust, furry rugs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But obviously only the ones that live locally.

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

You Woodell, twice.

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

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

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

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

Ashley: John.

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

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

Nothing like a well thought out plan eh?

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

"Is it in yet?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leslie: Sweat.

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

Darmo: half man, half bat, all shite.

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

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

Yup, it's rutting season on the farm.

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

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

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

Kate and William: He so horny.

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

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

Will Luma and Kuzma finally consummate their relationship?

And will Matt's ass escape unharmed?

"Teeth in mah mooth!"

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

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

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

"You chase me now!"

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

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

Romero I salute you sir.

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

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

Unless you're driving or performing surgery obviously.

compost corner.

This whole "31 days of 'orrah" has meant that a lot of folk are starting to think this is a serious film blog.

No really.

Someone even emailed me to say that they thought my use of childish captions was vaguely 'postmodern'.

Well, I'll soon fix that.

Born of Earth (2008).
Dir: Tommy Brunswick.
Cast: Daniel Baldwin, Brad Dourif, James Russo, Randall Godwin, Jennifer Kincer and Shannon Zeller.

Five years ago, bearded behemoth Danny Kessler (the fat Trump supporting Baldwin, literally oozing alcohol and shame thru' the screen) witnessed the murderous mutilation of his (admittedly fairly plain) wife and kidnapping of his unpleasant looking and chronically overacting children by a group of rubbery (why thank you!) shite-covered, nappie wearing underground beasts who then disappeared into his rose bush.

The local authorities, assuming that the poor bloke had lost it, blamed the killings on a rampant weasel family, leaving a distraught Kessler to leave town to try and rebuild his life.

Nothing like a happy opening is there?

"I bet you a tenner I can make this table move without using mah hands!"

Since all the killings - and alongside his gin-soaked hobo lifestyle - Kessler has been researching the whole monster killing/wean kidnapping phenomena and has recently discovered that eminent Doctor of stuff, Professor Terry Niceman (Godwin from the Jeff Daniels hit Escanaba in da Moonlight) has written quite a thick (and therefore very intelligent) book on the subject.

Heading off to meet him at a nearby signing, Kessler is shocked to see how many other people share the same story (tho' why it should be such a surprised when he's spent the last five years reading about it is one mystery the movie doesn't address) and attempts to fight his way thru' the, ooh, dozens of extras queuing patiently to meet the Prof.

But Niceman's burly bouncer has been given the job of turning anyone who looks a wee bit like a nutter away.

Which counts the sweat stained Kessler out then.

Luckily he has something that no other person there has.

And no it's not a Screen Actors Guild card.

It appears that Kessler is the only person ever to have been bitten by one of these beasts and survive.

Well, whoopie fucking doo.

"Quick! to the  Scagmobile!"

Niceman is suitably impressed, closing the signing early and taking Kessler for a coffee and a cream bun to discuss his scars in more detail.

Referring to his notes the professor realizes that these creatures take the children on the same date every year and that in the five years since Kessler's kids were taken the number has been multiplying at a huge rate.

Scribbling some rubbish on a napkin the professor is alarmed to discover that if his calculations are correct the creatures will attempt to abduct every child in America this very evening.

Yup, even the really fat ones.

Making his excuses, Kessler decides to finally face his demons and return to his former hometown in the hope of saving his sister-in-law Kelly (fish lipped and boss eyed Kincer from Unbeatable Harold) and her (by the looks of it) middle aged daughter Haley (the hamster like Zeller, best known for her standout performance in Shoot First and Pray You Live - Because Luck Has Nothing to Do with It).

Christ I've seen some shite.

Finishing his drink and saying something profound to his team, Professor Niceman decides to follow.

"Can mooth shite-in get me pregnant mum?"

Arriving in town just before teat time, Kessler pops in to see his sis-in-law and fill her in (ooeerr) re: his theories whilst Kelly, arms flailing like an epileptic windmill desperately tries to remember her lines.

Obviously all this arm waving is quite off putting for the rest of the cast so in a bid to calm things down our hero hands Kelly a book to read before making her an offer she can't refuse.

And before you asked it's not a bit part in next years Celebrity Rehab but a chance of a free night out at the funfair.

The deal is that if those pesky beasts attack they'll all be safely out of town (and sugared up to the eyeballs on candy floss) but if they don't attack they'll at least have had a nice night out.

Never one to turn down a freebie, Kelly agrees, giving Kessler a couple of hours to go visit the cemetery.

But not before he's stolen some flowers from a neighbours garden to put on his wife's grave.

No doubt he'll keep a few back to put on the remains of his career.

Not everyone is pleased to see our portly pal tho', as we discover when the local sheriff (Russo from Argento's Trauma and Donnie Brasco, looking like a man whose ex wife is after extra cash) interrupts a major business meeting between some cardboard Jehovah's Witnesses and the mayor (Dourif wearing one of Sylvester McCoy's old suits - as well as his wig).

The pair decide it would be best to pick up Kessler and run him out of town.

Why?

Well your guess is as good as mine, seeing as it turns out that the mayor is as much in the dark about the creatures as anybody else and his 'shady' business deal is trying to get a swimming pool for his new house on the cheap.

"Laugh now!"

As the plot screeches to a halt to allow sheriff Reeser to drive back and forth (whilst looking troubled), pick up Kessler, then question him, then getting the deputy to drive him out of town, any excitement on screen now revolves around Kessler's niece dating a 'punker guy' and the conversations she has with her mum regarding safe sex, guys in make-up and cannibalistic underground monsters.

But try as they do to build the tension, that prize is taken by Professor Niceman as he and his team try valiantly to find the road that leads into town before they run out of petrol.

Edge of the seat stuff I'm sure you'll agree.

"Jings an' crivens it's tha' Siiiiiiiiibearmon!"

Taken up the city limits in the back of a police car (it's alright for some), after first being shocked unconscious with a Tazer (as opposed to being beaten into submission with a can of Tizer) before being rudely awakened by the patter of tiny clawed feet on the roof of the car.

Oh and the smell of fresh shite.

It seems the creatures have begun to rise from the earth and are looking for food.

And weans.

But on finding neither they settle on chowing down on the deputy, giving our hero enough time to steal his car and drive back to town.

Where all hell is breaking loose.

Well, I say all hell but to be honest all that's happened is that one of the creatures is eating the mayor's new doors whilst a few others are rubbing their arses on Kelly's freshly cleaned windows.

Will this excitement never start?

Brad Dourif, up the casino, Ipswich, 2008....YESCH!

Rushing to the mayor's luxury pad just in time to see him getting rendered limb from limb by a couple of shoddily superimposed tramps, sheriff Reeser has a change of heart (and character) radioing Kessler to apologize for being grumpy before heading over to Kelly's house.

Screeching to a halt on Kelly's newly mowed lawn and right next to Kessler and the prof, our heroic duo get a chance to quickly shoot some stuff before Niceman (being the voice of scientific reason) suggests that they should leave town immediately.

Obviously he's worried that if anything exciting happens the audience may not be able to cope.

Driving into the town centre, our creeped out chums can't believe the sight that greets them, for where there once stood shops, a bookies and an off license now there's only a crappily digitized photo, animated GiF fires hastily added and green-screened, moldy tramps tottering around the bottom of the screen.

A veritable cheaply realized FX hell on (HD) earth.

Insert cock here.

Knowing that effects of this calibre wouldn't convince a dead blind man (or his wooden pawed dog), the group vote to continue their journey in the sewers.

Which are underground.

Which is where the creatures come from.

Go figure.

But not before the prof has his  face bitten off.

Lucky bugger.

Heading into the towns (very clean) sewer system our merry band of ne'er do wells must fight monsters, hackneyed dialogue and the urge to wander off for a piss (no, really) if they hope to make it to the city limits before time (and audience patience) runs out....

Hmmm...Photoshop.

My word, where to start?

Well imagine, if you will all the crappier bits of Nightmare City, The Gate and Demons mixed with a smidgen of Jaws and Hollyoaks and an added touch of Tremors for flavouring. Boil until shapeless then sprinkle with a dash of shame and egg white, leaving the whole thing to fester for a month in a tramps pants and you're someway to appreciating the celluloid shite-box that is Born of Earth.

Directed (if that's the word) by horror cinemas very own big bad mama, Tommy (Thomasita) Brunswick and backed with the stiffest actors this side of a porn film, the budget can barely stretch to keeping poor Daniel Baldwin sober and watching the poor sod emote for all his worth, convinced this is his great comeback is probably the most frightening (and uncomfortable) thing on screen.

Kelly's fridge: The best performance in the film.

The rest of the cast just seem to stand around either looking smug (stand up Professor Niceman's assistant) or comatose, the exception being Sir Bradley of Dourif who just stands around being, well Brad Dourif really.

Fuck knows how Brunswick got him onboard but I for one need to see the incriminating evidence for myself because whatever she's got on him must be really bloody juicy.

To be honest she could have caught him shagging her kids but come on lady let the punishment fit the crime because no-one deserves this on their CV.

As for the rest of the poor sods on show here there's much fun to be had trying to figure out just who is really the older (and most human) out of mother/daughter team Jennifer Kincer and Shannon Zeller.

What with Kincer's almost radioactive orange skin, carp-like lips and jerky body movements coupled with Zeller's hugely out of proportioned moonhead, stringy, greying  old lady hair and ruddy almost burn victim complexion, both actresses are far more terrifying than the actual monsters on show in the movies finale.

Ah and what monsters they are.

I have to admit that there's some kind of perverse genius at work from whoever decided to cast skinny homeless children as the creatures, covering them in green emulsion before tying a pair of huge grannie pants to them, shaving their heads and gluing a selection of knock-off Lord of The Rings Orc masks onto their faces.

I've heard of folk being arrested for less.

"If you were a bottle of meths I'd drink you hen!"

To be fair tho' I did experience a kind of dirty pleasure when watching this movie. You know, the kind of feeling you get when you secretly piss in your pants when you're at the theatre or in the cinema when you know no-one will notice and for that I can only be thankful.

 Just please don't make a sequel.

I don't think my bladder (or my laundry bill) could cope.

most taunted.

Another day in the whole 31 days of "the 'orrah", another lo-fi found footage epic.

But this time with added perv gurning.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you...

The Possession of Michael King (2014).
Dir: David Jung.
Cast:  Shane Johnson, Cara Pifko, Dale Dickey, Julie McNiven and The Devil.

Photofit everyman Michael King (Johnson, famous for his role as Soldier on the Beach in Saving Private Ryan) is a groovy documentary film maker with a beautiful wife, poppet daughter and a healthy disregard for anything paranormal or religious based.

Yup he's a cool headed, science is king kinda guy.

Which would be great if the movie was anything other than a possession themed one, which alas it isn't.

You see things started going a wee bit awry for our film making mucker when his wife Samantha (voice artist Pifko from The Clone Wars), canceling her holiday plans on the advice of a psychic named Beverly (road map faced Dickey) is tragically killed in an accident.

There is a wee bit of good news tho' when it transpires that it was pissing down with rain the week they'd planned to go to Blackpool anyway.

Silver linings and all that.

Blaming Beverly for his wife's death whilst cultivating a rather fetching five o'clock shadow Michael decides to channel his grief not into the usual pattern of tearful masturbation sessions followed by a couple of Pot Noodles but
into making a documentary regarding his personal quest to discredit not just psychics but anything and anyone supernatural related.

Including Yvette Fielding and Mystic Meg, who if I'm honest I'd thought had died years ago.

Yvette: Tunnel or funnel?

With his best buddy on camera duty Michael takes on the role of narrator cum whipping boy with relish as he throws himself head first into every kind of paranormal activity he can find; from chatting to asthmatic ex-priests to taking part in a demon summoning, spunk guzzling drug orgy via a corpse bothering undertakers unusual pre-burial practices, our hero throws himself into the bizarrest aspects of the supernatural with the gusto of Harvey Weinstein targeting a star-struck actress.

Or a pot plant.

Probably.

Which is all well and good (not to say admittedly well done) until that is he discovers that he may well have become possessed by an actual bone fide demon.

And one with an unhealthy ant fetish to boot.

King: Prawn or spring rolls?

Cue sixty odd minutes of our eponymous hero having acid-style flashbacks and growling at his daughter, attempting to do impressions of old man Steptoe
into a night vision camera, scratching himself in inappropriate places whilst vainly trying to touch up his sister Beth whilst she sleeps.

Saying that tho' she is played by the yumsome ginger goddess that is Supernatural's Julie McNiven so you can understand why, possessed or not.

Plus he's gentleman enough to pull her nightie down when he's finished which kinda makes it OK as far as the film is concerned.

"Don't leave me 'Arold....."

Is this a real case of possession or just a grieving widows slow decent into madness?

Will the rash on his tummy ever clear up?

Are the ants CGI or especially trained?

And most importantly will he fuck his sister?

Or yours?

BOO!

Writer director Jung shows some real promise and a flair for good old fashioned frights with this his debut movie, creating some genuine creepy moments (the psychiatrist office and Satanist celebration scenes to name but two)  before the whole film rapidly degenerates into a horribly cliched possession by numbers found footage laugharama resplendent with comedy gurning and embarrassing 'Boo!' effects that cheapen the whole experience causing it to hemorrhage viewer interest like a haemophiliac child at a self harm convention.

Which is a shame because the film could be so much more.

You can almost forgive it when a quite frankly scary plot twist seems imminent (that Michael is actually being possessed by his dead wife) but this turns out to be just the demon showing off his comedy voices.

Perhaps the demon of bad film-making entered David Jung during the shoot and deliberately sabotaged  the movie for fear of it telling the truth about demonic possession?

"It could be yooooouuuuuuu!"

Actually this makes some sort of sense, I mean how else can you explain how the ultra-real, show stealing performance from Shane Johnson suddenly goes from showing a genuinely warm believable character to an end of the pier panto villain with the flick of a light switch?

It's Last Exorcism syndrome all over again.

And on that bombshell can we at least have a person possessed by a demon that isn't a contortionist at some point in the future?

I mean the effect is good and all but it really became tiresome during The Devil Inside and that was nearly fifty years ago.

Here's an idea, how about a demon that does a slightly different circus skill?

Like balloon modeling or unicycling?

Now that would be scary.

snatch of the day.

Day 21 of the whole tedious 31 days of 'orrah thing and we're off to Italy (again) for a real creepy classic.

Oh hang on, my mistake it appears we're watching...

Il Bosco 1 (AKA Evil Clutch. 1989).
Dir: Andreas Marfori.
Cast: The yumsome Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni, Diego Ribon, Luciano Crovato, Elena Cantarone and Stefano Molinari.

The nightmare that grabs you where you least expect it...Ipswich (possibly).

somewhere in a field in Europe (it's a small place) young master Terry Soontodie (what looks like a junked up Mark Hamill - who knew?) is walking home from his job at Kwik Fit (he's still in his overalls bless).

Hearing a noise from the local church Terry decides to investigate and is surprised to find a young(er) Maureen Lipman sitting open legged next to a fountain.

Meow.

Being a hot blooded male (and obviously a fan of those old BT ads) Terry does what we'd all do in this situation and dives in for a wee bit of 'the sex'.

And all this within the first seven minutes.

Blimey.

Unfortunately (for him and us) at the moment of climax Maureen transforms into a pale faced, pointy toothed pikey and slaughters poor Terry.

Ouch.

Meanwhile back at the plot good and proper pube haired Italian stud muffin Tony (Ribon best known for his performance as Bartolotto in De Gasperi, l'uomo della speranza) and his incredibly sexy (in a kinda eighties way) girlfriend Cindy (the second hottest actress in Italian cinema Coralina Tassoni) are enjoying a romantic city break in Venice, or they would be if they both didn't have an unnatural fear of water.

And Cornetto's.

Reckoning a wee change of scenery might just save the holiday from disaster the couple decide to pack up their stuff and go camping in the Alps instead but as is always the way with these things (holidays and Italian horror movies) the lovers leisurely drive into the mountains is rudely interrupted by the appearance of a frighteningly harsh faced woman named Arva (Year of The Gun's Cantarone) running along the roadside.

Cataldi-Tassoni: truly scrumptious.

Being a gentleman (well, being unnaturally smooth) Tony pulls over to offer assistance (and an excuse to pose with his hairy arm out of the window) to Arva, who claims she was almost bummed by a bin man in a nearby cemetery.

Feeling all manly Tony offers to check out the graveyard but can find no sign of any bin men or signs of bumming, tho' the place does give him a distinctly strange sensation in his pants.

Trying not to think about it too much Tony heads back to the car and offers to drop Arva off at the nearest (bin free) village, the mysteriously named Spent, a quiet local place know for it's luxurious bowling greens, traditional ice cream shop and friendly neighbourhood nutter; the amusingly monikered Algernoon (House of Pleasure for Women's Crovato) a retired, cancer riddled horror writer with a really high pitched electronic voice box.

Obviously the wooden handed dwarf leper that sells moldy bread was busy that day.

Clad only in a soiled raincoat and Panzer commander goggles, Algernoon spends his days riding around the town on a moped scaring the children.

And Arva by the looks of things seeing that as soon as she sets sight on him she visibly shites herself and legs it into the bushes.

"Is it in yet?"

For some inexplicable reason best known to the script writers, Tony and Cindy decide it'd be really cool to hang out with him during their stay in the village and Algernoon, happy to finally have some company other than his pubic lice gives the lovers his fairly famous (and patented) guided tour of the town cum spooky ghost walk.

Kinda like a cut rate Derek Acorah crossed with a market stall speaking clock.

But less piss and shame stained obviously.

You see according to legend the outlying woods are said to be haunted by a scary sex demon who threatens to shag to death anyone foolish enough to venture outside the relative safety of the town.

Which is nice.

Derek Acorah who offered to be my 'custard cousin' not long after seducing recently widowed grandmother who'd seen his show at the SECC  Glasgow.

Understandably freaked out by such a terrifying tale (but more likely by Algernoon's voice) our delectable duo make their farewells and leave, hoping to save at least a smidgen of the romantic holiday they've waited all year for.

Driving out of town the pair notice how inviting the aforementioned woods look and soon pull over, quickly unloading their tent and stuff before heading into the trees to search for the local camp site.

But guess who's waiting for them at the picnic bench?

"Laugh now!"

Yup it's Algernoon, standing around in his pants and muttering something about dead sheep and filthy anuses.

At least I think that's what he was saying.

Cindy seems to be taking less notice of him than me tho' because no sooner has the mouldy mentalist opened his mouth than Cindy starts to angrily shout at him to sod right off and leave them alone, which he politely does leaving the pair to trot off into the undergrowth.

After wandering aimlessly for what seems like hours the couple then bump into Arva again (are she and Algernoon the only people that live in the town? Answers on a postcard please) but luckily tho' this time there are no randy rubbish collectors in sight.

Which is a blessing frankly.

Anyway, as a thank you for helping her out earlier that day Arva offers to show Tony and Cindy an abandoned church nearby that'd be a perfect pplace to spend the night.

Uh oh...sounds familiar.

After dumping their load on the steps and unrolling the extra large sleeping bag (specially made for Tony's ego), Cindy decides to step outside and watch the sunset to get herself in a romantic frame of mind in preparation for the damn good rogering she's expecting later.

Arva tho' has other idea's, hinting to Tony that she quite fancies snorting cocaine from between Cindy's buttocks whilst Tony does them both.

Up the arse obviously.

"Where's me washboard?"

Tony, being a red blooded Italian male is more than up for a wee bit of group sex but he knows that Cindy may take a little convincing.

Especially when she discovers that Arva is, in fact, the infamous sex demon mentioned earlier.

An infamous sex demon with a hairy, three-fingered claw growing out of her vagina.

And a zombie helper out for blood...

"Shite in mah mooth!"

From the international man of mystery that is Andreas Marfori, the genius who would later think the unthinkable and team Traci Lords, Denise Crosby and the former Mr. Olympia winner Franco Columbo in the erotic thriller Il ritmo del silenzio comes this blatant plundering (OK, I'll be kind, loving homage) to Sam Raimi's classic The Evil Dead that manages to be not only cheaper than the original but also a lot less sexy.

Which is fairly surprising seeing as the film has a horny succubus for a villain.

All the hallmarks of Raimi's movie; from a deserted house to a barrage of off-kilter 'shakycam' shots are present and correct, all that's missing is a halfway decent plot and any noticeable talent from anyone involved.

Even the usually fantastic Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni looks bored as she's made to wander around the directors garden in clothes that would make Cyndi Lauper puke.

There should really be a law against that.

Meow.

The most unforgivable crime the film commits tho' is the serious lack of potential victims on screen, meaning that Marfori has to pad out the majority of the movie's scant running time with endless scenes of people wandering around aimlessly looking for something interesting to do.

Luckily the film ups it's pace (and gore content) in the last thirty minutes with a mix of exploding heads, deadly fanny based shenanigans and in one particularly memorable scene that has dear Coralina being chased by a zombie wielding a fishing rod.

Which must count for something.

Mustn't it?

Oh well suit yourself.