death by stereo.

Just in time for Halloween, 3 vicious volumes of killer beats, psychotic sounds and sinister samples for your aural delight.

Download

volume 1 here

volume 2 here

volume 3 here

then turn off the lights, play loud and enjoy.

edwige and the angry bint.

Was out in 'The Edinburgh' last night watching the John Carpenter classic Prince of Darkness in a church as TST: The Southern Tenant played some spooky waxings.

Beforehand I met up with longtime reader Mr David and ne'er reader (she has taste), the part-time criminologist cum Gialli expert Ms Racheal for dinner and excited chat.

Bloody hell I'm cultured.

Anyway the conversation turned to classic films and quality directors as we all impressed each other with our wide and varied knowledge, until that is I mentioned my love of Andrea Bianchi and everything (Burial) ground to a halt.

I tried to save the conversation by saying that obviously it wasn't his best work before beginning to witter on about Edwige Fenech's massive pants in
Strip Nude For Your Killer and started to excitedly draw a picture of them on a napkin.

It's the last thing I remember before waking up in an alley with a black eye this morning.

Oh yes and my trousers on backwards.

It never rains eh?

Strip Nude For Your Killer (1975)
Dir: Andrea Bianchi.
Cast: Edwige Fenech, Nino Castelnuovo, Franco Diogene, Femi Benussi, Claudio Pellegrini, Erna Schürer, Giuliana Cecchini (AKA Amanda) and various voluptuous Italian women.

"You don't need to strangle me."

"Sorry."

Large of breast and curvy of hip Brenda, a young, vivacious and obviously whorish 'model', has accidentally fallen pregnant by a mysterious lover (not me) and panicking over how she'll ever fit into her snazzy fashions again decides to visit a reputable (is there such a thing?) back street abortionist (again, not me) to sort out her little problem.


Unfortunately (for her tho' not the plot) she dies of heart failure during the botched procedure. 

Being a conscientious kinda bloke the abortionist rings his pal Carlo (Scrabble winning Castelnuovo) to give him a hand taking her lifeless (but still fairly hot) body back to her house and pops it in the bath tub with a bottle of gin and a coathanger in the hope of covering up his little mistake.

You don't get service like that on the NHS. 

"I cannae see the car keys hen but I've found the transit van!"

Unbeknown to Alan (the abortionist) he's being tailed by a mysterious, shiny helmeted, black clad motor-biking mentalist who, on following him back to his swish apartment, re-arranges his video tapes, knocks all his paintings slightly squint before finally cutting out his still beating heart.


Gah indeed.

When we next see creepy Carlo he's lusting over the harsh faced, tombstone toothed (but still hotter than your mum), bikini-clad beauty that is Lucia Cerrazini (ample arsed genre goddess Benussi) at his exclusive health club, almost immediately he sidles over to her and asks if he can see her breasts.

She's obviously reticent until he admits to being a fashion photographer and being smoother than a babies arse this is all it takes to get Lucia to strip off in a sauna enabling our leering Lothario to take loads of almost gynecological pics of her ample body before sticking it in her.

By that I mean put his penis in her vagina.

As in they have 'the sex'.

  

Anyway, back to the plot good 'n' proper where it transpires that Carlo works for the infamous Albatross modeling agency, an organization well known for having the prettiest models around and run with terrifying Teutonic efficiency by the sapphic sexpot Giselle (Cecchini from the classic Il compromesso... erotico) and her sweatily man breasted, cake loving and frighteningly sausage fingered husband Maurizo (The Stendhal Syndrome's Diogene).

The very same agency that dead Brenda worked for.

Luckily for Lucia, Carlo's in fact an honest sex obsessed pervert and, true to his word is soon dragging her along to the aforementioned Albatross Studios to meet the bosses and work on her 'portfolio'.

Gisella especially is so impressed with Lucia's natural poise and photogenic properties that she has no option but to hire her on the spot.

And then have sex with her.

This never happens on Britain's Next Top Model.

Or unfortunately on this years The Apprentice which is a shame because Joanna Jarjue* is truly scrumptious.

Still it's only week four.

 Jarjue in mah sugary Alan.

With all this sinful bed hopping going on it doesn't take long for everyone to completely forget about poor Brenda's death as our creepy camera guys and curvy cuties carrying on with their day to day routines of swimsuit modeling, sexiness and vomiting.

Until one morning that is when Mario, the pink cravatted, camp as pants photographer (Death Walks at Midnight's Pellegrini) is found murdered, clad only in a G string and furry slippers.

Or was that my dad?

It's hard to tell sometimes.

Next in line for the chop is poor Lucia, stripped nude not for her killer but for some rumpy pumpy with Gisella, the killer taunts her with the sound of running water before they put something in her too.

Only this time it's a big sharp knife, not a penis or leathery dildo.

Whilst all these killings are going on Carlo, never one to miss the chance of a wee bit of the sex, has hooked up with sexy, doe eyed art director Magda (the legendary Fenech, think a sleazier foul mouthed Audrey Hepburn and you're halfway there) splitting his time between fondling her frankly fantastic breasts and arguing with Gisella over what to tell the police.

Could either of them be the killer?

I mean, Carlo seems to be very friendly with all the victims and Gisella is a lesbian which must mean she's Godless with no morals.

But to be honest do you really care when Edwige Fenech is stripping naked at the drop of a hat?

Fenech: Older than your gran but twice as dirty.

Oblivious to all this murder and back-biting, man-breasted Maurizio is still trying to get his end away with one (well any of them really) of the models, focusing his attentions on the strangely vole like Doris (blonde bombsite Schürer, famous for her appearances on the cover of many a Killink novel cover during the 60's and 70's) who proves the old adage that love is blind (and in this case lacking a sense of smell) because she actually says yes to his advances.

But her night of meat fingered fun is scuppered when the poor fella bursts into tears at the thought of doing it with a real live lady, preferring to spend the night clad only in a huge nappy with his faithful blow-up doll instead.

Unfortunately Maurizio's night of latex loving is cut short when the killer pops in and cuts his throat.

Which is a mercy killing quite frankly.

With (nude) bodies starting to pile up everywhere and Milan running out of models (plus the local cake shop losing it's best customer) you'd think that the local police would at least suspect a link to the Albatross Studios.

Wouldn't you?

But oh no, they're more confused than the viewer as to what's going on, the chief inspector still reeling from the fact that Mario was a, gulp, homosexual.

What enlightened times the seventies were eh?

"Look everyone I've found Maddie!"

With time (and cast members) running out it's left to Magda and the by now infinitely punchable Carlo to attempt to solve the case and unmask (or is that unhelmet?) the killer and more importantly will Joanne make it to the interview rounds?

"Gimme sum (Alan) Sugar!"

Directed by the genius behind the Peter Bark starring zombie classic Burial Ground, Lord Andrea of Bianchi, Strip Nude for Your Killer doesn't so much as steal from the best than break into their houses and spunks in their underwear drawers before legging it with all the credit cards and loose change.

But not before it's shoved their toothbrushes up it's arse.

Bianchi (again) has managed the impossible, making a film that is at once so squalid and sleazy that even the bathwater on screen is dirty but at the same time making it a joy to behold.

And that's even before you add Edwige Fenech to the equation.

From What Have They Done To Solange? to Scooby Doo Where are You? via Blood and Black Lace, nothing or no-one is safe from Bianchi's sweaty palmed mix of sleaze, nudity, sensationalist lesbianism, big pants, vibrant wallpaper, naked handstands and blood stained bedding.

Plus it's one of the few movies that delivers exactly what it says on the box.

Which can't be all that bad.


















































*For those who have no idea who I'm on about, Joanna- In her current role - creates multi-channel strategies to improve the digital footprint of companies.

She considers being determined and a great talker to be her best qualities.

She hates being patronised, but will remain resilient on the show.

And according to that bastion of hate The Daily Mail she's a bikini loving selfie fanatic who adores being smothered in chip fat and shits baubles into Captain Birdseye's bath.

super gran.

Whilst re-watching Bloody Beast for 31 days of horror recently I was reminded of a strange fact regarding my dear departed Gran.

You see, she had this quirk when it came to watching films. She'd quite happily sit thru' any number of rapes, tortures and mutilations but got really upset if (and I quote) 'a wee boy died'.

A Gran watching Sadomaster yesterday
(not mine tho', she's dead).

I remember the day when her and my Gramps had hired House By The Cemetery and Cannibal Ferox from the local 'Washvac' video shop (no longer with us I'm afraid) and settled down for a quiet Saturday afternoons film viewing.

Umberto Lenzi's trash extravaganza of breast skewering, eyeball popping, cock cutting and skull crushing went by without a hitch but as soon as mulleted moppet Giovanni Frezza appeared onscreen chatting to Silvia Collatina (aaahhh....young love!) in that Fulci masterpiece of the macabre House By The Cemetery, my Gran turned it off, commenting on how sick the director must be to cast a child in a horror film.

Do my formative years make more sense now?

Anyway, enough inane chat, time for some killings.


Cannibal Ferox (AKA Make Them Die Slowly, Woman from Deep River, 1981).
Dir: Umberto Lenzi.
Cast: Giovanni Lombardo Radice, Lorraine De Selle, Danilo Mattei, Zora Kerova, Walter Lucchini, Fiamma Maglione, Robert Kerman, John Bartha and Venantino Venantini.

Banned in 31 countries, and that's
just for using that godawful font.

Opening with the obligatory New York skyline shots (to convince the viewer that they're watching an American movie), the action soon moves to the shoddily decorated (I'm a furnishing snob, so sue me) flat of sleazy doper Mike Logan (thin haired, Italian exploitation god Radice) where his rat-like buddy Johnny, hankering for a score (as they say) has inadvertently disturbed a couple of mob heavies trashing the place looking for the hundred grand our dealer pal has stolen from them.

When Johnny junkie can’t tell them where Mike (or their cash) is, they be-suited brutes toss him out of a window.

Ouch.

Giovanni Lombardo Radice: He's got something to put in you.

Meanwhile in the Amazon, 'pretty' grad student Gloria Davis (raven haired French star of Woman's Prison Massacre, S.S. Extermination Love Camp and Return of the Saint, De Selle), her brother Rudy (the weasel faced, Milo Ventimiglia-alike Mattei) and their token blonde slut pal Pat (the petite and pert breasted yet harsh faced, almost milk bar Kerova) are driving around aimlessly (in a Jeep if details like that are important) hoping to find evidence to support Gloria’s idea that cannibalism is, in reality just a myth perpetrated to justify the exploitation of primitive cultures.

She's studying anthropology by the way and this is for her graduation thesis, it's not like she's just decided to do this for a drunken bet ALA Dave Gorman.

Tho' come to think of it that would make a great Edinburgh Fringe show if you're reading Dave.

Some emoting from the cast yesterday.

Our studious pals decide to take a break from all this anthropological jazz at the Turamazonas resort, partly to find directions to the hidden village of Manioca but mainly because Gloria is sick of shitting in a bucket.

Classy burd that she is, Pat has nasty sex with a fat, sweaty policeman in order to use his shower (from the state of her she really should be bathing in bleach tho'. Or piss) before all three head off to catch a barge so as to reach their destination.

Which in Pats case should be the nearest VD clinic.

Pat: licking piss of John Nettles.

To make the journey go a bit quicker Gloria harps on at great length about the theory behind her PHD dissertation to anyone who'll listen, but luckily doesn't stray to far from being a typical girl by screaming at insects vomiting when a local eats a butterfly for good luck.

And that's about as pleasant as the trip gets as literally within minutes of reaching dry land the heroic trio mount the kerb trying to dodge a pissed up, jay walking iguana before driving into a big puddle and finally blowing up the jeep's engine.

Rudy reckons it's time to break out the whiskey and get pissed but Gloria, being the sensible (shoed) one bullies her brother into carrying all their luggage in the direction of the nearest village.

Pat decides to stand around trying to look sultry but unfortunately just looks like a Bulldog licking piss off a nettle.

"Tin o'beans 20 pence mah friend?"

Making their way thru' undergrowth our merry band begin to notice the lush trees around them are filled with half naked natives, silently watching their every move.

Which is all well and good but distinctly lacking in the animal murder stakes.

Don't worry tho' because after making camp for the night their restless sleep is disturbed by an anaconda snacking on their pet tapir.

Finally we're in proper Italian cannibal territory. meaning with all the exploitation boxes now ticked the group can continue their journey into the jungle.

And it's not long before they stumble across a pair of (very) dead natives pinned to a tree via a crazy death trap.

This sight is even enough to cool even Pat's horny mood.

Tupac Tapir: victim of a long running feud
with The Notorious Mr. Big (snake).

As the pals stand around emoting two sweaty white guys stumble out of the undergrowth and fall at Rudy's feet (you can tell this pisses Pat off). The less sweaty one explains that they've just escaped from some hungry cannibals and that they should all run away as quickly as possible.

Which they do before suddenly stopping in a clearing by a river’s edge (a real one, not the movie) where one of the men introduces himself as Mike Logan (see how it's all tying together?...it's good that) who alongside his buddy Joe (Lucchini) have been out looking for cocaine and stuff.

No doubt all the shops in New York were shut so they've had to get a bus out to the Amazon....ain't that always the way?

Heath Ledger: the post Oscar years.

According to Mike's story, they were wandering about minding their own business when a bunch of naked, blue skinned men jumped out, ate their guide (as in tour guide, not the small girl type, tho' that would be worth seeing) and chased them off into the trees.

Pat, obviously upset by poor Mike's tale decides it'd help if she has 'the sex' with him (and if he gives her some cocaine as a thank you then even better) whilst the others cover their heads with pillows to block out the noise.

Next morning everyone awakes to discover that Gloria has wandered off (probably sick of spending every night gazing at Pat's lilly white arse bouncing up and down on a variety of rancid cocks) so they split up (great idea) to look for her.

Mike and Pat stroll off hand in hand together whilst a concerned (or is it bored? I really can't tell) Rudy and limping Joe head off further into the jungle.

It's not long before the brave boys enter the village of Manioca (you remember? the place they were going to visit....that it appears they didn't have an address for. Students eh?), deserted save for a few old geezers, a couple of corpses and, nailed to a tree, what remains of Mike and Joe's guide.

Despite Joe begging Rudy to leave, Gloria's bowl headed bro' is intent on having a wee look around, hoping to find a souvenir shop that sells sticks of rock and the like.

Wait for it............






"Eye son!"
(You're welcome).

Mike and Pat on the other hand are busy enjoying stock footage of a leopard killing a monkey before coming across Gloria alive and well but stuck at the bottom of a muddy hole with just a piglet for company.

Tho' you'd be hard pressed to tell the difference.

Mike pulls Gloria out of the hole but reckoning that this good deed goes against his anti-establishment image almost immediately jumps in himself and tortures the poor wee pig to death.

Bastard.

Rudy boy: A mooth made for shite-in in.

This act of wanton cruelty is the final straw for poor Gloria who starts stomping her feet and shouting that they should all go home before they get eaten.

Unfortunately tho', by the time she's managed to convince everyone that this would be for the best, Joe starts to feel really poorly, looking at everyone with his big puppy dog eyes he pleads with the group to stay till he's better.

Much to Gloria's chagrin they all agree.

At least Mike and Pat are happy about the whole situation, seeing as this gives them even more time to get stoned, get naked and get dirty (as you youngsters say) in the bushes as well as indulging in a bit of post shagging torture of a local native girl who happens upon then during one particularly nasty sex session.

Unluckily (for them) Her brother sees everything and heads off to tell his dad.

You can tell the tribe are angry by this news (or that the director wanted to spice up the film a bit) because that night they butcher and eat a giant tortoise (in full technicolor and in loving close up).

Yup, I reckon what this film needs at this point is a few more senseless animal killings.

cheers Mr. Lenzi.

"Didn't you kill my brother?"

Back at the village (the Indios one, not the one in The Prisoner) Joe wakes from his jungle illness just long enough to tell Rudy and Gloria the shocking truth about him and Mike.

And it's not that they're lovers.

Or even real wielders.

It seems the pair fled to South America with the cash they'd nicked in the movies opening, hoping to set themselves up as emerald prospectors (as you would).

But standing around up to their arses in cold water waggling a tea strainer for hours on end and only finding bits of beak and stone had begun to take it's strain on their relationship so the duo decided it'd be easier to just torture the whereabouts of the emeralds out of the local villagers instead.

Realizing that the reason the village is so quiet is that anybody that can carry a spear is out searching for this evil pair gives Gloria the impetus she needs to start running as quick as her little chicken legs will let her back to the boat drop off.

Pat and Mike are already one step ahead tho', having already legged it into the bushes taking all the cash, equipment and crisps with them.

After first having sex of course.

A non cursed (and non rotten)
papaya yesterday.

At this point (and because he no longer serves any purpose to the 'plot') Joe dies, leaving Rudy and Gloria to watch in horror as the returning tribes people tear him limb from limb and eat him for lunch before (wait for it) placing the curse of the rotting papaya onto the siblings.

Is there no end to this movies brutality?

At least now she doesn't have to
watch the end of this sick filth.

Tripping over a twig whilst trying to escape, Pat is pounced on by a gang of natives and dragged back to the village alongside a slightly peeved Mike.

The tribe sing and dance (badly) as Rudy, Pat and Gloria are popped into an Ikea style bamboo cage and lowered into a leech infested pond while Mike is tied to a big tree.

Not being one to stand on ceremony, big chief Brian Indios yanks down Mike’s high fashion denim flares and cuts his cock off with a bit of jagged stone before waving it about for all to see.

Then he eats it.

But not in a gay way obviously.

Not wanting to be accused of being savages the witch doctor cauterizes Mikes wound and then the entire group is led away further up river.

Mike checks out the Ryan Seacrest skullfuck hat.

Rudy, suddenly deciding he's an action hero, tries to escape but only manages to fall into a pool of piranhas before being shot with a poison dart.

Really, I don't know why he even bothered.

The surviving trio are dropped into a stinky pit whilst the natives once again eat a live animal for our viewing (dis) pleasure, this time at least it's not as cute as a tortoise.

At least he died in the name of high art, unlike Vic Morrow,
but at least John Landis didn't try
to hide his corpse by eating it.

Whilst all this scoffing of the poor Caiman (not Nick I hasten to add) and dancing is going on Mike (always the optimist) manages to claw his way out of the hole.

Killing a couple of natives for good measure, Mike heads for freedom, leaving Pat and Gloria at the of tribe but he’s quickly recaptured (well we are nearing the films climax) and tortured for his all round badness and crimes against piglets.

Firstly they lop off his (by now redundant) wanking hand before shoving him under a table with the top of his shiny balding bonce sticking thru' a hole in the top.

You can see where we're heading can't you?

Gloria and Pat can only look on in horror (well to be honest they could look away or cry but they choose to watch) as the main fella cuts off the top of Mikes head and scoops out his brain with a big wooden spoon for his pals to eat.

And before you ask yes this is indeed where Steven Spielberg got the idea for the monkey brains scene in Temple of Doom, luckily for 80s kids everywhere he must have popped out to the toilet afterwards and missed the bit where the tribe decide to pull Pat from the pit, tear her top off (and let's be honest it probably stinks of shite, blood, semen and egg by this point) and stick a pair of huge hooks thru' her breasts before leaving her hanging like a big bed sheet to die in the centre of the village.

Tho' I can't decide if this happening to Willie Scott would be more or less disturbing that the bit at the start when she sings.

Anyway whilst all this is going on a plane is flying overhead, it seems that Mike's girlfriend from back home has been worried about him and has launched a rescue mission.

Anything goes.....except forced arse banditary obviously.

Later that night whilst the tribe are sleeping off their big feast, a young Indio boy takes pity on Gloria (either that or he fancies a bit of rough), cuts her free and leads her out into the jungle. You know her escape couldn't be that easy tho' as some time later he too is killed and Gloria is left abandoned and alone in this green inferno.

Could be worse tho' she could be stuck in the fucking abysmal Eli Roth one.

Not funny but true....I found this note inside the ex-rental copy of the movie I bought.

Time passes (and the viewer starts looking at his watch hoping the film's nearly finished because he needs a wee) and the camera pans to a couple of American trappers enjoying a leisurely sail down the river.

Suddenly they hear what sounds like a woman screaming in the trees so decide to investigate.

Following the noise they find a slightly mad Gloria, crawling around half-naked in the grass, her hair greasier than normal and covered in angry boils.

Returning to civilization and spending months recovering in hospital, Gloria finally gets a bit of good news when she receives her doctorate for the (finally completed) thesis Cannibalism: End of a Myth.

See?

it at least had a happy ending.

Don't be fooled by this poster,
Zora Kerova's breasts are not this pert.

Cannibal Ferox (or Cannibal Xerox as it was amusingly called during the British video nasty era) is another in a long line of Lenzi's midly entertaining rip-offs of (then) current movie fads and whilst never as enjoyable as the utterly fantastic Nightmare City, as downright shite as Black Demons or as arse numbingly earnest as Man from Deep River, there are still a few (soiled) goodies on offer to enjoy if you look hard enough.

Famous for two things (surprisingly not the acting or direction) - eighties Italian horror whipping boy Radice's castration scene and the bit with the breast hooks, Lenzi uses the cod civilisation vs. stone age argument as an excuse for wall to wall violence and general nastiness, somehow believing himself that's he's producing some great work of art whereas anyone who's viewed the interview with the great man on the aforementioned Nightmare City disc will have to agree that he was completely off his rocker.

And how we loved him for it.

Lenzi: Fruit loops.

Good or bad?

Sleazy or super?

Who can really say?

All I know is it has pride of place on my shelf, right inbetween Anthropopagous: The Beast and Land of Death.

Which I think sums it up really.

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.