hp source.

In the middle of doing some 'proper' reviews for some legitimate publications which means I've not really had time to post the usual rubbish on here.

Be thankful for small mercies.

I have to make an exception for this beauty tho' as it's become a wee bit of a tradition that we watch it every Christmas.

Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968).
Dir: Vernon Sewell.
Cast: Christopher Lee, Boris Karloff, Michael Gough, Rosemarie Reede, Virginia Wetherell, Barbara Steele and Mark Eden.

"It's like Boris Karloff is going to pop up at any moment!"

 You have to feel sorry for square jawed antique dealer Robert Manning (Marco Polo himself and latter day Corrie mad man Eden), not only has his better looking brother Peter gone missing - kidnapped by a pervy tea towel wearing Satanic cult led by a turquoise breasted witch named Lavinia (swinging sixties sex goddess Steele), we got to see this amazing spectacle in the pre-credits teaser - after sending him only one of a matching pair of candle sticks but, and this is much more important, his attempts at flirting with his assistant Esther (Reede) have all the erotic pulling power of your dad pissed up and trying it on with a bridesmaid at a wedding.

The mighty man tits don't really help either if I'm honest.

With only a hastily written note detailing Peter's last whereabouts - which if you think about it is more than most folk have to go on - Robert heads off to the typographically odd Craxted Lodge in the quaint English village of Greymarsh, which by some bizarre twist of fate and plot convenience is where his family originally hails from, for some answers.

And maybe even a shirt or two that fit from the local tailors.

Barbara Steele: Ask yer granddad.

Driving into town in the middle of the night Robert is welcomed by the sight of a nearly naked young girl being chased by two mob filled cars and with him being an heroic type he pulls over, leaps out of his car and to her defence.

Wouldn't you know it tho', it's all a huge misunderstanding and the group are actually playing a grown up version of hide and seek possibly called run and ravish .

Sounds reasonable I guess.

Making his apologies for trying to punch everyone involved our hero is surprised to find himself invited along to the annual whacked-out witch party - of the type that only exist in the minds of middle aged film producers in the late '60's - being held at the Lodge.

Cut to ten minutes of saucy body painting, exotic types pouring cheap Cava over their overripe breasts, besuited Brylcream boys smoking dope and girls timidly touching each others thighs whilst licking their lips.

Robert, realizing that with all the drinking going on he might actually pull immediately grabs a large one and proceeds to fire into the first girl he sees, blonde bombshell Eve (Weatherell, best known for playing dishy Dyoni in the first Dalek story and waving her breasts at Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange) who just happens to be the niece of J.D. Morley (Christopher 'the kids school fees are how much?' Lee), the man he's there to see regarding his missing brother.

Lucky that.

Christopher Lee tries out Mark Eden's new Ronco anti-mooth shite-in mask.

Escorted by Morely's monosyllabic manservant Elder (the shameless Gough) to the drawing room, Robert is informed that Morley has never met his brother and has absolutely no idea who he is but does offer to let him lodge at the house until he either finds him or nails his niece.

Which is thoughtful of him.

Thanking his host before heading off for a quick Pot Noodle, Robert is waylaid by the arrival of the wheelchair bound local witchcraft expert Professor John Marsh (Karloff, nuff said) who, armed only with a bottle of home brewed tonic wine and a back of torture instruments proceeds to regale our hero with the tale of the luscious Lavinia Morley, a witch burned by the towns folk a hundred years ago that very night.

The party it seems is the locals way of celebrating the event because nothing says community spirit like a good burning.

Except maybe pedo baiting.

How your mum earns the money for all your Christmas presents.

Now that the entire cast have been introduced we can get on with the plot good and proper.

And my word what a plot it turns out to be featuring as it does a Joe Orton style mute manservant with a gun fetish, LSD fuelled dream sequences full of middle-aged men in bondage gear alongside tassle-titted butch babes in animal masks, horrible bri-nylon Kung Fu style pyjamas and, most disturbingly a bizarre sixties style revolving lamp that communicates from beyond the grave using Barbara Steele's voice.

Which is weird seeing as not even he appears to be using it in this film.

They must have secretly recorded her answer phone or something.

Tonight live on stage....One Direction!

It's not all breasts, booze and beasts tho' as Robert is soon dragged headlong into an hallucinogenic hellhole of soul selling and rare silverware that even Bargain Hunt's Tim Wonnacott would be wary of.

Tho' saying that he'd have had absolutely no problem bedding at least half of the party goers by now.

Even Christopher Lee would have been tempted.

Probably.

So, will Robert find his brother and manage to get a good price for the candlesticks?

Will bubbly Barbara pop out of her gravity defying dress?

And most importantly will Robert's frankly over aggressive pulling technique of attempting to force himself upon Eve culminate in a kissing session or a restraining order?

Five miles...roughly speaking.

Executive produced by Tony Tenser, the man who gave us Witchfinder General, The Sorcerers, Cul-de-sac, Repulsion and Frightmare amongst others, written by Mervyn Haisman and Henry Lincoln of Doctor Who fame, based on a story by HP Lovecraft and with a cast to die for (oh and Mark Eden), Curse of The Crimson Altar should be one of the Greatest British horror movies ever made.

I say should be because what we end up with is a gloriously cliched and convoluted pot boiler of a 'B' picture that's so simplistic in it's plotting as to make Scooby Doo look like Eraserhead.

Barbara Steele: She'll have plenty of energy left for me long after you've crawled into a corner for a cry.

That's not to say it isn't still wildly entertaining and worth a look tho', if only for the legendary Karloff and Lee sharing screen time.

It's just a pity we don't get to see more of the magnificent Ms. Steele in all her technicolour glory which frankly would be far more attractive than a topless Mark Eden grubbily pawing at Virginia Wetherell's flimsy nightie with his massive sausage fingers.

Erotic as that maybe for your grannie I'm sorry but it does nowt for me.

Wetherell: Nip slip and side shed.

Adequately directed in a workman-like manner by 'B' movie stalwart Vernon Sewell, director of The Blood Beast Terror - the film that Peter Cushing decried as his 'worse ever' - Crimson Altar isn't necessarily bad or unwatchable it's just that with hindsight and seeing the film as the last gasp of the whole Roger Corman led/Hammer following gothic horror cycle of the fifties and sixties before gruesome realism and grittiness took over that both the audience and the actors deserved a wee bit better.

Bloody Hell that's a bit of a downer to end on isn't it?

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 76).

A total no-brainer, possibly Britain's most yumsome actress ever, the wonderful Sally Hawkins.

Especially as Mrs Brown in Paddington tho'.

Perfection.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 75).

To celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Glorious October Socialist Revolution I give you The Grand Duchess Tatiana Nikolaevna of Russia.

green day.

It's finally here!

The stunning climax to this whole 31 days of horror rubbish I've been doing for the last, well 31 days (obvious really) and like everything else I do I started off with the best intentions but got bored towards the end and ended up posting any old rubbish.

And it's a bizarre little gem picked randomly from Rollie's cannibal collection to keep the kids entertained over the school holidays.

And before you complain to social work I'd just like to say don't worry as bizarrely enough there are absolutely no cannibals in it.

Or any inferno's (green or otherwise) for that matter.

Green Inferno (AKA Cannibal Holocaust 2. 1988).
Dir: Antonio Climati.
Cast: Mario Merlo, Fabrizio Merlo, May Deseligny, Roberto Ricci, Jessica Quintero and Pio Maria Federici.

Speccy faced and pube haired anthropology geek Peter (Federici in his only film role) is planning - well I say planning but he's really just packed some clean pants and a hat - a wee trip to a remote region of the Amazon alongside his buff buddies Fred and Mark (the brothers Merlo in their only film role too, no surprises there really).

But why I hear you ask?

It seems that an acquaintance of his, the ambitious and fairly attractive (for the budget) young journalist Jemma (the flaxen haired, council estate Tisa Farrow alike Deseligny) has located the missing scientist Professor Barry Korenz (FX expert and star of Casper, Ricci) who mysteriously disappeared whilst searching for a mythical tribe known as the Imas.

So far so clichéd.

"Sorry, I have my woman's period".

Finding that their own light aircraft has been swapped at the airport by the sozzled owner for magic beans, our heroic trio of likely lads - and token lass - reckon it's too late to cancel the trip, so decide to steal a bright yellow seaplane from outside the local toyshop, drive it down the motorway to the coast and head off for adventure anyway, hoping that no-one spots the big plane shaped hole in the grass the next morning.

Arriving at a small town on the edge of the jungle our intrepid foursome are disappointed to find that the petrol station is shut, leaving them no alternative than to book into the local hotel for the night and get a haircut at the local barbershop.

No really.

Hitting the town to look for the famous guide and adventurer Jungle Jim Smith, the gang end up in the local cantina cum nite club, where rough looking locals are enjoying a dance, a drink and a wee bit of gambling on the local racing frogs.

Bob, having a a bit too much shandy accidentally bumps into the table, knocking over the local hard man's drink but what do you know - everyone is really friendly and polite and to show there's no hard feelings invites the group over to join the frog based fun.

Could this be a drinks based revenge plan that's going to leave our wannabe explorers penniless, beaten and anally violated?

Surprisingly no, everyone is genuinely nice and even tho' Jim refuses to go on the trip due to it being 'a bit scary' he helpfully shows them the way on the map.

Next morning the friends find that all the petrol has been sold to the local monkey hunter, Mr. Geoff Mainwaring and that there won't be another delivery for a week.

Undeterred our band borrow a boat and head upstream to the monkey farm to find lots of little chimps collapsing due to too much anesthetic in the blow darts used to catch them.

As luck would have it Peter is a monkey expert and manages to perform mouth to mouth on a particularly ill chimp before sternly asking Mainwaring why he's drugging so many simians, putting them in wooden crates and sending them up river.

Is he part of an evil monkey slave cult perhaps?

Unfortunately no, he is, in fact catching the monkeys to send to a local government run sanctuary where they'll be well looked after and fed as many bananas as they can manage.

Not only that but the money raised by this exercise pays for the treatment needed by the local disabled kids.

How sweet.

With this in mind Peter offers to go fetch some more monkeys in exchange for fuel but not before Jemma takes the opportunity to interview a Paul Newman obsessed man about his home head shrinking business.

 

Moooooooonhead.

Heading down river in the company of Mainwaring's top monkey catchers, Peter gets a chance to wax lyrical about nature and stuff before putting his survival skills into practice (in what is the movies most exciting sequence) by pulling a cannibalistic fish out of a native's oily anus.

The action doesn't stop there tho' as Peter, Mark, Fred and Jemma soon find themselves dodging bats in their hunt for monkeys before being taken captive by an angry group of Savage's who have mistaken them for common or garden chimp rustlers.

Taken back to the natives village Peter is tied to a tree with a spider in his pants whilst Fred is covered in honey and tied next to an anthill, Mark is made to climb a tree in his underwear and Jemma is forced to eat bananas.

Could this tribe be evil cannibal types preparing to shag, slit and slaughter the youngsters?

Erm, no sorry.

Peter, the spider getting nearer to his cock by the second, explains their reason for taking the monkeys resulting in the chief, after rubbing his chin for a second apologizing for the mistake and letting everyone go.

Cannibals of the type not found in this film.

With the plane fueled and everyone fed and watered it's time (finally) to head off into the unknown to find Professor Korenz (remember him?) but it's not all plain sailing (or plane flying even with the amount of paddling they end up doing) as the first village they come across has been attacked by gold prospectors who have not only killed all the men but kidnapped a few of the ladies to use for 'the sex'.

Bastards.

Enter (oh go on then) the firm of breast and shapely of arse native girl Kuwala (Quintero, never seen again) who begs our teen pals to take on the baddies and rescue her sister.

Having a few hours to spare they answer with a rousing yes and head off (with Kuwala in tow) to do battle with the gold thieves.

A different Jessica Quintero
to the one in the film.
This one is from MySpace,
why not add her and say 'Hi!'

Following the smell of cheap aftershave and vodka they soon find the prospectors hide-out and Fred, being the more manly of the group launches a daring rescue mission only to get caught, slapped around a bit and threatened with a cock gobbling snake called Matilda.

Honestly, I couldn't make this shit up.

It's left to Kuwala to save everyone's arse and this she does in style firstly threatening to shoot the main bad guy before punching the snake in the face and leading everyone back to the plane and leaving the prospectors waving their fists as shouts of "Why I oughta!" fill the air.

As they head slowly ever further into the jungle Peter provides the entertainment with his constant monotone and nasally drone as he witters endlessly about the Amazon, its wildlife and fauna mixed with plenty of po-faced philosophical musings regarding the nature of existence.

So it's almost a blessing when they stumble across a cave full of child abductors who spend their spare time drugging kids and selling their organs.

Yay! finally a chance for some unnecessary violence and scenes of small children in peril!

Chance would be a fine thing as Mark leads a bloodless rescue mission to save the kids by setting fire to the cave and leading everyone out the back door.

Except the ones already in boxes so I assume that they burn to death.

Off screen unfortunately.

Everything is going swimmingly until Jemma is bitten by a poisonous snake and with no chance of saving her Peter makes the decision to head towards the local tribe to see if they can help.

But can this tribe be trusted or are they cannibals preparing for a holocaust (or two?).

Go on, guess.

That's right, the tribe are really friendly to a point of one of the tribal elders sacrificing himself to aid Jemma's recovery.

For fucks sake, somebody stab something.

"Snake on mah cock!"

Suddenly as if he's realized that there's only twenty minutes left, Mr. Climati quickly returns to original missing professor plot.

But is it too little too late?

I'm certainly not saying, I mean I had to sit thru' this abomination so I don't see why you shouldn't too.

The cover, should you wish to
purchase it for a loved one.

There are some out there that will tell you that Antonio Climati's Green Inferno is a clever, self knowing exercise in twisting the audience's knowledge of the genre to produce the very antithesis of what is expected from a cannibal film, as the viewer is led ever forward into scenes that should end in mindless violence the director usurps our expectations and shows the 'savages' as friendly, noble and more importantly as understanding as you or I.

Well it's either that or Climati was trying to pull a fast one by marketing this Disney-esque boys own adventure as an honest to goodness gut munching jungle exploitationer (actually marketed in some places as Cannibal Holocaust 2 tho' you've probably gathered that by now) in a bid to make a quick buck.

But no-one's that cynical surely?

With my well documented love for Fatal Frames and Zombie Lake I'm probably the wrong person to ask.

Yet another movie called Cannibal Holocaust 2.
See how many you can find dear reader.

The scariest thing about the movie and it's non offensive feel must be the fact that director Antonio Climati was responsible for the cinematography (and in some cases co-directing duties) on such Italian exploitation movies as Savage Man Savage Beast 2, Africa Blood and Guts, Mondo Cane and the incredible Goodbye Uncle Tom.

What happened?

Did he suddenly develop taste or was this his reason for making such offensive nonsense in the first place?

To fund his dream adventure movie?

Perhaps we'll never know.

Sweet dreams and please don't have nightmares.

baadly drawn boy.

Been busy teaching teens about Edgar Allan Poe today and had completely forgotten about 31 days of horror.

And let's be honest there's nothing I can watch that will ever be as horrific as the debacle that was BAAD and Electric Frog's attempt to show John Carpenter's Halloween at Kelvingrove Art Gallery on Saturday night, as fellow punter Mark Liddell observed:

"John Carpenter's Halloween at the Kelvingrove was like listening to a sub-aquatic production of the fucking Clangers."

"Whit?"

I mean I watch some shite but you'd be hard pushed to find any film fan whose idea of a grand night out is watching an Nth generation copy of one of the finest films ever - or at least trying to watch it when the screen has been placed too low to compensate for the level seating - with a soundtrack reminiscent of a couple having drunken, Lithuanian arse sex underwater.

Don't worry tho' there was a bar.

If your version of a bar is childsize plastic tumblers of warm Chardonnay, fermented cider or tiny cans of Coors Light for 4 quid a pop.

Donald Pleasance will be spinning in his grave.

As will Dean Cundey.

And he's not dead.

Anyway, realizing that I had day 30 to do I grabbed the first thing I could off the shelf and hoped for the best.

Fuck sake I feel cursed.

Terror Toons (2002).
Dir: Joe Castro.
Cast: Kerry Liu, Lizzy Borden, Beverly Lynne,Brandon Ellison and Fernando Padilla.

In a quiet neighbourhood in 'anytown' USA, two 'teenage' sisters , Cindy and Candy (Lynn and Borden* who, if I'm honest look old enough to not only have their own place by now but a couple of kids - and grandkids too - or maybe it's just the lighting, no they just look really old) have been left home alone by their parents for the evening.

And by home alone I mean left in the house, not the hit Christmas classic which if I'm honest would have been better.

 Scarily enough the parents are actually played by two men, the director being under the misapprehension that covering a guys face in flour makes them look female.

Can I just say that over the years literally dozens of directors have covered my face in various substances and not once have they remarked on how feminine it made me look.

Anyway, Cindy receives a mysterious DVD in the mail from the Devil himself (as you do) and decides to watch it.

As you would I guess.

Whilst all this digital media shite is going down Candy is amusing herself downstairs with her 'buddies' (as in she's dancing, it's not a euphemism for masturbation) unaware that by watching the disc her sister has unintentionally unleashed the hordes of Hell (well, two of them) on Earth in the form of Dr. Carnage and Max Assassin.

And if you think the Devil is bad, wait till you see the quality of the puppet makers he has working for him.

Inside Kevin Spacey's mind.

As the body count (and pants flashing action) rises Cindy realizes that she is the only one with the power to stop these evil cartoons from continuing their insane (ly average) murder spree.

Can she save her friends?....or will everyone die?

And more importantly will any of us get a refund for Saturday?

God knows we deserve it.

"Shall we bother checking the sound before we put this DVD on?"

"Fuck it we have their money now so who cares!"

Aaaah, Joe Castro.

When his name appears on a video box in the capacity of 'director' you know you're in for a treat, he's the 'genius' behind such modern day classic as Legend of The Chupacabra, The Young, The Gay and The Restless and Jackhammer plus creator of the stunning effects for movies as wide ranging as Near Death, Blood Feast 2 and Another Gay Movie as well as Arena favourite LA Zombie.

And he certainly delivers the goods with this film.

Unfortunately the goods are bashed, busted and well passed their sell by date.

Welcome to a world where mom's have five o'clock shadows, the supposed 14 year old heroines have all had (botched) boob jobs and the greatest party game for teens at parties is 'strip Ouija'.

Oh and the Devil looks like your granddad with one horn bigger than the other.

Saying that tho' I reckon for all his faults even Castro would baulk at charging 18 quid for a film event without first checking the sound in the venue.

"Put it in me!"

And whilst the acting is non existent and the cast have the look of dazed and confused deer trapped in the headlights of an upcoming car about them - during the extras one of the cast can't remember making the film and another tells how she can't remember lines so she just made dialogue up on the spot - and the 'special' effects seem to consist of random animal puppets popping up from behind furniture every few minutes the film does have a certain homely charm and in some cases it's cheapness is kinda sweet, for example when any of the female cast get bitten by the toons it always cuts to a monkey biting a man's shin. 

No matter what the actresses wearing we get this same shot......

And it does feature the best 'is this terror or is this my cum face?' acting ever to appear on celluloid.....

Plus what other movie can you think of that ends with a rat arsed Lucifer battling with a wanna be porn star playing a 15 year old dressed in a superhero 'costume' consisting of some pimp shades, a tea towel cape, pink vest top and huge black granny pants?

"Meow!" probably.

Slag it off all you like but at least you can hear the dialogue.

And I bet if you emailed Joe Castro regarding it you wouldn't just get an out of office reply.

Unlike some events companies that think a nice logo and artsy hipster pics make up for shoddy planning and shit customer service.

Plus if you actually make it to the end the pay-off is divine - after killing the toons and defeating Satan the 'teens' are reprimanded by their returning parents for having a party in the house and trashing the place.

Beautiful.

Well someone must have thought so seeing as there are 5, yes 5, sequels.


Fuck I'm going to be busy over Christmas.

















































*Who as an interesting aside used to be able to fist her own mouth but unfortunately can't anymore because she's had her wisdom teeth removed.

ghana no do that.

Todays 31 days of horror treat starts with a wee true story you see scarily I actually left the house this week (Friday actually)*, which meant having to brave public transport (Glasgow becomes a wee bit New Barbarians come the weekend).

Whilst waiting patiently for the train to Innsmouth (OK Edinburgh but it's much of a muchness) I couldn't help - well I could but I'm nosy - but notice a hideously middle class, born again Christian couple discussing how they spend their holidays in Ghana (that's near Europe I think) handing over bags of old clothes to the locals whilst posing for photo's in a condescending manner whilst no doubt imagining that they're Brad and Angelina.

Some moderate Christians yesterday.

After hearing how poor and how grateful the locals are for the visits from the concerned western folk and how God helps them survive their pointless and dusty lives (plus how luxurious the local hotel complex they stay in is) I realized that not once had either of them even mentioned Ghana's burgeoning horror film industry.

Now pay attention, here's the science part.

Not long after the (non literal) home video explosion of the early eighties and the reduction (relatively) in price of home recording equipment and portable cameras (which gave birth - not like Splice so stop panicking - to the mobile cinema phenomena in a number of West African countries), the African film industry jumped at the chance to produce affordable (re: dirt cheap) movies with a local theme aimed squarely at the home market, taking in themes such as devout Christianity, gangsters, devout Christianity, possession, people trafficking, devout Christianity, police corruption, devout Christianity and fat ladies waving their arms about whilst crying.

Oh, and did I mention that the majority of the movies feature at least a wee bit of devout Christianity?

"Not more bloody foreigners with
their second hand football strips!"

And one of the most successful films in what shall now be called the Ghanian 'Godly Horror' genre is C'Emeka Uba's Abro Ne Bayie.

A film so terrifying that it had to be split into two parts!

Enjoy.

Tho' don't expect too much seeing as half the dialogue and the credits are in Twi, a language that we failed to cover at The Dormston School.

Damn you teachers!

Abro Ne Bayie.

Dir: C'Emeka Uba.
Cast: Anita Acheampong and some other people.

Hunky, grey suited and shiny of shoed Vincent Opoku (apparently portrayed by Ghana's very own Wickey Will Smith) is a successful businessman and devout Christian (told you) with everything to look forward to in life.

He's rich in both monetary terms and his love for God, has a really hot (and incredibly bootylicious) fiancée named Brenda and a really nice car that isn't pulled by a donkey.

But his perfect life is about to take a nasty turn for the (supernatural) worse tho' seeing as his massive headed mum Dufie (not the Welsh singer) has made a pact to deliver her son's eternal soul to the Satanic underworld in return for a new dress and some cha-cha heels.

"Ah fell aff mah beanstalk Ian!"

Her plan to achieve sartorial ecstasy involves persuading poor Vincent to fall out with Brenda and start dating the black clad (and even more bootylicious if that's humanly possible) Natasha, who in reality is an evil sex demon in human form.

So he has the choice between the attractive yet staid Brenda, who even tuts at the thought of kissing before marriage or a leather clad, very dirty pillowed nymphomaniac she creature from Hell who gives out on a first date.

Hmmmm.....tricky choice.

Natasha: up the casino.

Within, oh minutes, Vincent is totally under Natasha's spell with her promises of letting him bite her in the back of his motor and a quick touch of her baps (chicken), leaving poor Brenda crying into her Pot Noodle and his evil mum organizing a dinner dance (with Bingo) to reveal her new look.

Can anyone save Vincent (and his soul) from an eternity of forced and meaningless hot sweaty sex?

Luckily for Vincent (depends on your definition of luck tho' doesn't it?) his dad Tony and the local priest, Father Dennis Kwabina are ready to take on the hordes of Hell in an attempt to save Vincent's very soul....

And his reputation as a good boy.

If any photo ever deserved the caption "Laugh now!" it's this one.

Clocking in at an arse numbing two and a half hours, Abro Ne Bayie may be cruder than your Grannie on Meth, shot as it is in harsh natural light with a bunch of non-actors obviously rounded up at the local job centre and effects achieved on an old Amiga, it might be cheap but none of this stops it being bloody enjoyable.

But the greatest (and most refreshing) thing about Abro Ne Bayie is despite the films budgetary shortcomings the theme of demonic possession and temptation is played in such a deep and serious manner.

Almost as if this were a public information documentary on the evils of Satan.

And frankly, if I've got the choice between the ultimate evil looking like Linda Blair masturbating with a crucifix whilst Max Von Sydow wets himself over a big stone dog or the Devil and his minions on show here - some chubby bloke in a second hand Jedi cloak wearing a novelty old man mask from the market, a child in a skeleton suit, covered in facepaint with a plastic horn staple to his head and a really fat person covered in what looks like fresh cow shite in a Dolly Parton wig - I know which I'd pick.

Plus I reckon naughty Natasha would be worth it.

Just remember to get your Tetanus jag first.

"Shite in mah mooth!"

If only half of Hollywood's output was this entertaining (and had as many shaved small boys in facepaint throw around rooms by Vicars) then the world would be a much better place.

Tho' as a downside the thought of every major film using (the free demo of) Adobe Premiere's Eye Candy for their special effects is kinda disconcerting.

But that's a chance I'm willing to take.

Who's with me?










































*So thinking about it this should have really been Fridays film so it's almost like I've sent the reader back in time....or I've been that busy I didn't get round to writing this till today.....maybe I should have done it yesterday to avoid confusion.

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.