hop to it.

Happy Easter all!

Night of The Lepus (AKA Rabbits. 1972).
Dir: William F Claxton.
Cast: Stuart Whitman, DeForest Kelley, Janet Leigh, Melanie Fullerton, Chris Morrell, some rabbits (obviously)  and Rory Calhoun.

Attention! Attention! There is a herd of killer rabbits headed this way and we desperately need your help!

Can I just say that on those rare occasions when a movie opens with grainy, documentary footage of big hunky men armed with large pointy sticks slowly advancing on some fluffy bunnies whilst an oh so serious voice over tells of the famine and disasters caused by 'rabbit plagues' over the years you know you're about to experience something special.

And no I don't mean Mr Tumble stumbling about shit-faced in a car park whilst signing 'cheap booze' at an anorak-clad moppet.

Tho' admittedly that would be worth seeing.

And who knows, the great man himself may even turn up in this film at some point.

I mean stranger things have happened.

But I digress.

A wee bit like the film actually as the almost Blair Witch/Alternative 3 style shockumentary footage is quickly replaced by a grainy shot of a field somewhere in the American mid-west where a group of disinterested extras are rounding up a group of painfully bored rabbits.

Indeed cinema doesn't get any more exciting - or Leporidae obsessed - than this.

But is there a reason for all this bunny bothering?

Well yes there is as it soon transpires that the local rabbit farm has been destroyed by fire meaning that the rascally rabbits are all making a bid for the prairie and freedom.

This in turn is upsetting the local cow poke because their horses keep falling down the rabbit holes and breaking their legs.

Luckily the local ranch owner Cole Hillman (Calhoun - don't judge) owns a big gun and is quite happy to go around shooting any fallen foles in the face.

Well until he realizes that if it continues the whole town will be skipping about banging coconuts together if a better remedy isn't found soon.

The real McCoy? (sorry).

Luckily a local pair of entomologists, Lenny Bennett and his wife Elizabeth (an unusually sober Whitman and an obviously slumming it Leigh) alongside their pal Eglin Clark (Kelley) offer their expertise in order to solve the rabbit problem.

But which course of action will they follow?

A. Hire the Elmer Fudd like, gun crazed Cole to go out and shoot them all.

B. Rabbit poison.

C. Use a never before tested experimental DNA-altering serum that could cause hideous mutations.

Reckoning that blindly tampering with nature on a genetic scale is more environmentally sound than poison they plum for the serum, which the Bennett's decide to test on their young daughter Amanda's pet rabbit first.

What caring parents.

The company that make these refused to put "Shite in mah mooth!" on it. Killjoys.

Amanda, as you can probably guess, is slightly upset by the thought of her dad sticking something in her pet so to this end sneaks into her parents lab and kidnaps the rabbit under cover of darkness.

As in at night obviously, not whilst disguised as Justin Hawkins but to be honest that may have brightened up the movie a wee bit.

Heading over to the Hillman ranch she soon comes across Cole's permanently scowling son Jackie (current resident of Chesapeake, VA and father of 3 Morrell in his only film role) who wrestles the rabbit from the poor girls grasp before popping it down a nearby rabbit hole unknowingly setting in motion a deadly series of events the likes of which the world has never seen.

And probably never wanted to anyway.

It's only a matter of time (well it is a short movie) before the local towns folk discover that their carrot patches have all been dug up and that a number of locals start turning up dead with huge incisor marks over their bodies.

Could these things be related?

Well most of the locals are so it wouldn't surprise me.

After a quick scientific natter our heroes decide that the serum must have mutated the rabbits to giant size.

Oh and turned them into ferocious meat eaters.

Which is nice.

Surprisingly everyone completely accepts this explanation without question.

They don't even get angry, just shrug their - collective - shoulders and begin to plan a counter-attack.

You've gotta love those plucky Americans.

"Fuck me! It's George Galloway!"

Meanwhile the rampant rabbits are on the move - in slow motion to add to the menace obviously -  first eating a not only a truck driver but the entire contents of his truck before chowing down on an unfortunate group of campers and finally setting up home in an abandoned lemonade mine.

Following the trail of corpses and carrot tops our heroes soon find the loopy Leporid's lair and quickly agree that the best course of action would be to blow the furry fuckers sky high with dynamite.

But as is always the way in movies like this they decide to go and explore the mine first in the vain hope of finding some vintage lemonade bottles and therefore make a few quid on the side.


Makes sense I guess.

"Lick yer lips luv!"

Stumbling about in the dark for what seems like days whilst the crew scrape enough cash together for a halfway decent matte shot Lennie and Cole do eventually come across the rabbits and stop to take a few selfies with them.

No, really.

Not too surprisingly the camera flash coupled with incredulous cries of "Fuck me! look at the size of the ears on that!" wake the brutish bunnies who then give chase - well give hop - after our heroes.

Scrambling out of the mine in the nick of time the pair detonate the explosives burying the rabbits under tonnes of rock and Cadbury's Caramel Wrappers.

Admit it....

With a spring in their step and a song in their hearts everyone returns to the ranch for a celebratory evening of cake eating, cousin kissing and moonshine moothing safe in the knowledge that the rabbit threat is no more.

The party is interrupted by a knock at the door and Cole, expecting a delivery from the Davenports man goes to answer it.

But it's not a delivery of booze but the rabbits, returned and ready for revenge.

  

Scarily it turns out that in all the excitement of explosions, cakes and whatnot everyone appears to have forgotten the fact that rabbits are actually quite well known for digging.

We've all done it.

Running to the barn to find his remaining horses eaten, Cole decides to leg it to the nearest town for help but on arrival finds it spookily deserted save the big brooding shadows of giant bunnies staring at him from the darkened windows of the local pub.

"Did you spill my pint?"

Brave Cole slowly tiptoes to a pay phone and calls the National Guard whispering the immortal lines "There's a herd of killer rabbits in town and we desperately need your help!"

Will the combined strength of the US military and the surviving townsfolk be enough to repel the might of the Lepus or will they eventually defeat humanity, hopping across the entire Earth like furry, big eared stormtroopers.

But let's be honest do you really care?

From writer/producer/director William F. Claxton (best known for his work on Little House on the Prairie, Bonanza and The High Chaparral amongst other TeeVee hits) Night of the Lepus is one of those rare movies that needs to be seen - with witnesses obviously - to be believed.

Terrifyingly neither tongue in cheek or camply humorous, the movie was made as if everyone involved actually thought that the scariest thing in the world would be if giant killer rabbits existed.

And I for one raise my glass to them.

If not question their sanity.

"Laugh now!"

There's really nothing you can add to the above description as any criticism seems redundant in the face of what's on screen so I'll leave the last word to
Lee Sollenberger, one of the films FX crew who was once interviewed (by trading standards no doubt) about the films grueling shoot and enduring legacy.

"Anyone who has ever worked with animals knows how difficult it can be. "Lepus" was a very difficult film to do. We worked in tremendous heat conditions and had hundreds of rabbits to deal with. It was a fun film for the trainers I think because no one had done a horror film with rabbits before".Or it turns out, since.

A misjudged gem of a movie.

And by that I mean utterly shite in every way.

spectrum sinema the return.

Greetings reader(s)!

One of those rare (semi) serious posts I do occasionally so apologies in advance but thought I’d celebrate Autism Awareness Week (or as we call it a normal seven day period) by blatantly rehashing this handy (and quite small) print out and throw away guide to the best Spectrum-based cinema available.....enjoy!

Swoon.

DRIVE (2011) - Neo-noir thrills meet arthouse style in Nicolas Winding Refn's high octane heist classic.

Ryan Gosling's uber-cool unnamed driver has become the unofficial hero of ASD in cinema, showing that characters on the Spectrum don't have to be geeky and freaky but can be not only super cool but 'a real human bean' too.....The Spectrum at it's sexiest.

And with a cool coat to boot.

DARK FLOORS (2008) - Finnish Eurovision stars Lordi write and star in probably the best Silent Hill adaptation ever made.

A creepy and kooky spookfest centering around Sarah, an Autistic girl residing in the decrepit St. Mary's Hospital.

Trigger.

When her concerned father attempts to take her home he inadvertently drops her crayons and in the confusion mixes the reds with the blue and yellow causing a portal to another dimension to open leaving a ragtag group of patients and staff fighting for their lives with only Sarah able to save them.

Luckily all the corridors are signposted.

BLADE RUNNER (1982) - What can you say about Ridley Scott's dystopian classic that hasn't been said before  - and by much better folk than me?

Well quite a bit actually if I ever get around to finishing writing this.


And just in case you can't be arsed clicking the link then  how about the fact that the whole replicant plot (with it's quest to be 'human' - or even to be accepted by humans and it's "Voight-Kampff" empathy test among other things) can be seen as a metaphor for Autism.

"Hey Harrison..it looks like rain, man."

The analysis/discussion on this goes much further but would take up an entire post on a blog much more intelligent than this one.

Oh yes and it's very blue, almost as blue as Thomas and Rainbow Dash forced into a blender and poured into a very blue glass.

MANHUNTER (1986) - Michael Mann's adaptation of Thomas Harris' Red Dragon features the first appearance of not only Hannibal Lecter (or Lektor as he's known here) but of top FBI criminal profiler Will Graham, better known now - and officially an Aspie - thanks to the Brian Fuller TV show 'Hannibal'.

Smart, sexy and quite possibly the second blue-est film ever made.
 

Stance.

CHARLIE'S ANGELS: FULL THROTTLE (2003) - McG's action comedy sequel features the frankly magnificent (and undisputed king of the Spectrum) Crispin Glover as the Aspie hair obsessed Thin Man in a role gratefully expanded from the original, probably his greatest role outside 'Simon Says'.

No caption required.

Oh, go on then....outside The Wizard of Gore remake.

And River's Edge.

or Willard.

If scifi is more your thing then look no further than the light blue hued tones of everyone's favourite version of 2001: A Space Odyssey for kids - Star Trek The Motion Picture.

The cinematic equivalent of lying in a really well equipped sensory room ST:TMP (as folk call it) is so laid back and leisurely as  to be almost horizontal with no distractingly bright colours (other than blue) to detract from the overall comfyness of the film and any emotional responses you should have are helpfully cued by the gorgeous Jerry Goldsmith score.

It even has an overture to get you in the mood.

And as a plus point it wins out over the aforementioned Kubrick classic by having the decency to actually explain what happens at the films climax.

Proper genius.

And if you don't cry at the Enterprise flyby then you really are a freak.

"Ahead Spectrum factor one!"

 

But the most Autistic movie(s) of all time?

It's pretty obvious really.
And it's also THE bluest hued cinema of all time.

Especially the second one.

I could wax lyrical for hours as to the reasons for this but it's always easier to show than tell.

Not convinced?

Well here you go.

Suffice to say it's a fact, just accept it.

They should really just name it Trautism and have done with it.

Scarily enough tho' a few years back someone decided that what the world needed was a Tron Legacy/Star Trek The Motion Picture mash-up just to send the Autism levels off the scale.

In a good way that is.

And you can find this piece of cinematic perfection here.

Enjoy.




















Just a word of advice when it comes to judging the Autistic merits of cinema in relation to the colour blue, beware of Blue Is The Warmest Colour, I came to it imagining a Kubrick-esque style Autistic film-fest and was shocked and surprised to find that it was, in fact totally neuro-typical in it's storytelling.

Tho' it did feature a couple of toothy French ladies having sex.

A lot.

Fancy trainers not shown.

 Oh yes and Craig Baldwin's Spectres of The Spectrum has absolutely sod all to do with Autism (tho' from the editing I'd like to think that there was a fair bit of it behind the camera) but is still worth a look if you like grainy stock footage cut into a rudimentary scifi-style plot.

And 1950's flying helmets.

hang the deejay.

Sorry for the lack of updates (this is becoming a habit) but I've been dead ill so haven't been around much.....I even managed to miss a whole day of Frightfest hence the lack of reviews.


Luckily I have an understanding doctor who recommended a diet of David Warbeck (and daily masturbation) to aid my recovery.


Panic (AKA Bakterion, Zombi 4. 1982).
Dir: Tonino Ricci (as Anthony Richmond tho' to be honest I'd change my name if I directed this).
Cast: David Warbeck, Janet Agren, Roberto Ricci, José Lifante, Miguel Herrera Eugenio Benito, Ovidio Taito, José María Labernié, Ilaria Maria Bianchi
Fabián Conde, Vittorio Calò and Franco Ressel.

Something has gone terribly wrong at the local chemical factory -  eminent science Professor Gerry Adams (Ricci, son of Christina) has accidentally infected himself with something or other which has turned him bright green and lumpy with a thirst for human blood.

Oh and more importantly (and amusingly) it's also turned his teeth into Pez.

Escaping from the building and into the sewers it's left to the company president  Mr. Milton Bradley (Ressel) to come up with a cover story whilst attempting to discover the whereabouts of the missing scientist before the press find out.

Calling on Adams' associates - Dr. Jane Blake (Eurotrash stalwart Agren) and Dr. Vince Clarke (Miguel Herrera) for help he's shocked to discover that Adams, instead of testing shampoo on horses and making beagles smoke like he was hired to do had been secretly working on a vaccine for gout (or was it bunions?) and had kept all the data pertaining to his work hidden.

Tho' beware as the reason for his actual research may change later if and when the plot requires it.

Don't engage in phone sex with strange men....you may get hearing aids.

As the trio umm and aah over what to do the by now muchly mutated mental medicine man is busying himself tearing various extras limb from limb, starting with a young couple having uncomfortable fake sex in a Morris Minor.

Quickly arriving at the crime scene local policeman Sergeant Richard O'Brien (little mouthed Lifante from Let Sleeping Corpses Lie) soon realizes that he's out of his depth so calls on MI6's top agent Captain Kirk - yes really - to help.

Kirk (Warbeck....hide yourself) enlists Jane to not only help him find Adams but more importantly so he has someone to fire flirty banter at and the pair head over to the scientists house to look for him.

No idea why no-one else had thought to do that but there you go.

There's no sign of the scientist but it's not a total wash out as they do find his man 'friend' strung up in the fireplace covered in blood and green goo, which is nice tho' to be honest I did originally think it was just facepaint that had accidentally wiped off the monster during a cut fight scene.

And I'm pretty sure Warbeck thought that too.

Body on mah bonnet!

Performing an autopsy on the body (as opposed to fellatio obviously) Jane discovers something unusual is happening to its cellular structure but  to explain this would take up precious time where the mental mutant could be pawing at naked women so instead we quickly cut to a suburban house where a particularly harsh faced and hairy armpitted cockernee woman is about to have a shower.

The mutant - attracted by the overpowering smell of boiled onions -  sneaks in and kills her.

But not before we've had ample opportunity to stare at her breasts and lady garden obviously.

Examining the body our heroes realize that each of the victims are covered in radiation burns and green paint with nearly all the blood drained from their bodies.

Which is probably important tho' by the way it's glossed over you wouldn't think so.

is it in yet?

Bored with all this skulking around in shite and killing random women Adams decides to spend the evening watching a movie and so to this end turns up at the local cinema.

Via the sewers obviously.

Unfortunately having a face like a half-chewed caramel causes panic amongst the cinema-goers, especially busty bombshell - or is that busted bombsite? - Agnes (who it must be said looks uncannily like a young Helen Mirren, albeit one that looks like she's been taking crack daily for about 5 years but hey beggars can't be choosers), who after letting her boyfriend Clive have a wee fanny fiddle is feeling a little peckish.

Not feeling a little pecker which after this sparkling exchange I assume she'll be doing later:


Agnes: "That's just to begin with....If you want the rest you'll have to earn it."

Clive: "Now what do you want?"

Agnes: "One of those huge ice-cream cones from the jumbo bar."

Clive: "But it's too far away. It'll take me ages."

Agnes: "Don't be silly, it's just down the street and it's worth it because I'm going to thank you in a special way."

Clive: "You promise?"

Seriously, this actually happens.

Take a few minutes to let it sink in.

Anyway Adams goes straight after Agnes and strangles her before popping her over his shoulder and taking her backstage for a wee nibble on her neck.

Please note he may be a mental mutant but he's not mad enough to go anywhere near her pock-ridden fanny.

It's a wonder Clive has any fingers left.

And that he never found the car keys.

"I can see your house from here Peter!"

Still feeling peckish but with the police in hot pursuit Adams heads off to the local church where the priest is busy dishing out sweets to the young boys in the choir.

Talking of buggery it's not long before Adams is banging on the doors trying to get in forcing the petrified priest to force the boys into a hole (which makes a change from his usual pastime of forcing himself into their holes) as he vainly beats off the beast with a standing lamp.

You'll not be too surprised to find out that he dies.

Tho' luckily we're spared the sight of his (man) breasts as it appears only ladies get naked in this film.

As a trade-off tho' in the next scene Warbeck is wearing a pair of trousers so obscenely tight that you can see what he had for dinner.

I think him and Jane were having a serious conversation about Adams' work and how he was creating some new germ warfare shite but I'll be honest and admit that the trousers were so form-fitting that I couldn't concentrate on anything except the fact that he appeared to have a baby secreted in his left hand trouser pocket.

A baby with a massive head.

And a spine.

I need a shower now.

Anyway back in London the (obviously Tory) government have decided to send the army (all wearing berets with bobbles on top for some obscure reason) to quarantine the town, setting up roadblocks and disabling all the phones and TVs.

This scene is made all the more surreal by the fact that although the film is set in the UK the footage of the army driving down the street is obviously filmed in a Spanish seaside resort full as it is with palm trees and mountainous backgrounds.

Every so often tho' it cuts to a council estate wifey kicking a phonebox of a garden shed in the hope of convincing us that we're watching a small English town being overrun by soldiers.

Well at least they tried.

Just not very fucking hard obviously.

"Don't tell him Pike!"

The lack of TV coupled with the green shite covering everything begins to rile the locals who decide to storm the barricades and start rioting but this is soon brought under control when the army shoot up a Fiat 500 whilst shouting "Go home" thru' a megaphone.

If only real-life were this simple.

Milton (remember him?) worried about his family being stranded alongside the plebs phones his friend in Westminster only to discover the real reason for the quarantine.

It appears that Whitehall aren't convinced that the army will find Adams before he infects the whole town so have decided to authorize "Plan Q," which involves dropping a bomb on the town.

It's a good job the film isn't set in the West Midlands then because if you bombed that place no-one would notice.

Especially Tipton, a town so grim even the seagulls refuse to shit on it.

Tipton: Utter wank.

As the clock counts down to zero hour Jane and Vince (yup he's still here) attempt to find an antidote, O'Brien and Kirk take to the sewers in the hope of finding (and killing) Adams before it's too late...

Fuck, marry, kill?

Playing out like a (care in the) community version of Romero's The Crazies - or in this case The Crazy - crossed with Frankenstein (albeit one with featuring a monster with a potato for a head) via the genius of Nightmare City, Tonino Ricci's Panic is a threadbare, poundshop production marred by a lack of logic, budget or common sense that's held together purely by the presence of the late great David Warbeck and his spray on trousers ably aided by Janet Agren with a home perm and sensible slacks alongside the frighteningly ferrety José Lifante dressed for all the world like Prince Charming in a particularly shoddy school panto.

And whilst they leads may have gotten the short straw costume wise at least they get to wear clothes unlike the poor sods playing the beasts victims expected as they are to strip nude at a moments notice to allow the camera to linger over their harshly lit tits before being dispatched by a spud-faced freak dribbling poster paint everywhere. 

The things your mum had to do to pay the bills when you were growing up eh?

Laugh now!

Directed (if you can call it that) in a workman-like (as in he spent all day leaning on a spade wolf-whistling ladies) way by Tonino Ricci, the name behind the arse-numbing Thor the Conqueror amongst other classics - probably - Panic scarily enough was scripted by Victor Andres Catena alongside Jaime Comas Gil (who believe it or not wrote A Fistful Of Dollars) which makes me think that they were either having a bad day or someone did a wee bit of script editing before shooting seeing as entire plot points are left unresolved or ignored - the escaped guinea pig that may grow to the size of a dog, the fact that Adam's is contagious - as Ricci races thru' the threadbare story in order to maximize the amount of nudity on screen as he valiantly attempts to convince us that the entire thing (and not just the second unit stuff) has been shot in dear old blighty by getting Blur and Dick Van Dyke to dub the actors.

It's a pity then that the only Englishman in the cast is dubbed by an American.

Tho' it can't have been too much of a chore for Warbeck seeing as he appears to have gone on holiday for a fortnight halfway thru' turning up as he does around the 50 minute mark with sunburn and a new coat.

Which let's be honest is a fuck load more than we get for sitting thru' it. 

Still it's worth a watch for Warbeck tho.

And for this closing caption obviously:

Utter shit but in a good way and you can't say fairer than that.

 

big in japan.

Stunning artwork from the Japanese editions of the Doctor Who Target novelisations.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 77).

To celebrate the 40th anniversary of Britain's favourite school Grange Hill opening its gates let us celebrate everyone's (well my) fave 80s classroom crush - Georgina Hayes (as played by Samantha Lewis).

You can read about my futile attempt to write for the show here if you like.

But you most likely wont.

video naschy.

I love Paul Naschy.

I love Maria Kosti.

I love corpses.

But scarily I'd never seen this till Wednesday.

I wont say too much about it because:

A. I don't want to give too much away.

B. I'll make it sound shit.

but more importantly

C. I really can't be arsed.

Enjoy.

A Dragonfly For Each Corpse (AKA Una libélula para cada muerto, Red Killer, 1974).
Dir: León Klimovsky.
Cast: Paul Naschy, Erika Blanc, Eduardo Calvo, Ángel Aranda, Antonio Mayans, Maria Kosti, Ricardo Merino, José Canalejas, Rafael Albaicín, Susana Mayo and Maria Vidal (not the one that sang Body Rock).

Welcome to the  fashion capital of the world, - tho' you wouldn't guess that from the state of the ties and collars -  the groovy city of Milan where a mentalist murderer clad in a ladies raincoat and massive red flares that are oh so slightly too short is busy ridding the city of what they term as 'undesirables'.

You know the types, monkey-faced junkies, various dirty ladies and skinny bearded men in big white pants who are dispatched using a variety of implements ranging from ceremonial swords to umbrellas with sharpened tips.

Which is nice.

But with this being a Giallo (as opposed to a common or garden slasher) the killer - by law - must leave a bizarre clue cum calling card which in this case is a shoddy dragonfly broach which appears to have been made by the producers hook handed blind child.

BBBBZZZZZ!!!!

Leading the investigation is girdle-wearing, bewigged bad boy of the old bill Inspector Paolo Scaporella (the legend that is Paul Naschy) - mustached machoman who loves nothing better than slapping perverts whilst chewing on a big cigar.

Oh yes, and cooking spaghetti whilst wearing a pink apron.

As the corpses pile up (tho' not literally mind) Paolo soon realises - with the help of his gorgeously ginger missis Silvana (The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave's Blanc) and their group of high society dinner party pals (which appears to include Jess Franco's evil twin) that all the victims aremembers of the cities criminal underworld and that the dragonfly is an ancient symbol used to denote bad people.

And whores obviously.

Blood on mah thigh!

As is the way with these films tho' it appears that many of their 'friends' have their own dark secrets which means that any one of them could be the next victim.

Or even the killer.

With a head full of conjecture and half-arsed theories, Paolo finally discovers a clue, it seems that one of the victims put up a wee bit of a struggle tearing a massive 'fashion' button from the killers coat so our hero enlists the help of his Kaftan-clad, haute couture homosexualist designer friend, Vittorio to try and track down the button's owner.

No, really.

But with the killer aware of Paolo's plan and Silvana taking to studying crime scene photos in the nude it's a race against time and good taste (plus a gang of biker neo-Nazis) to find the killer before there's no-one in the cast left to kill.

Or any viewers left to care.

Title.

Obviously bored with being stuck inside a furry suit 24 hours a day when making Waldemar Daninsky werewolf movies Paul Naschy decided to try a different tact  with A Dragonfly For Each Corpse and emulate the erotically charged Giallo's spewing forth from Italy at that time.

Well it was either that or he fancied a free holiday to Milan.

The result is, shall we say interesting.

George and Mildred: The Yewtree years.

Tho' nowhere near as polished or as accomplished as it's Italian counterparts Dragonfly is still a load of fun, partly due to the always watchable Naschy (and his mighty man breasts) alongside genre stalwarts Erika Blanc and Maria Kosti (or Kosty as she's credited here) but mainly because of the sheer amount of early seventies fashions on show.

Especially the ties.

No, really there are kipper ties, crotch covering paisley ties, ones with squared off edges and some so thin you'd mistake them for a hunger striker.

It's like a down at heel charity shop made flesh.

Add to that an arse end sixties style score, a stripper clad only in a crotched doily lounging in a coffin, Erika Blanc's tan lines, a group of geriatric Nazi boot boys and a climax featuring Naschy chasing a bandy legged transvestite thru' a kiddies playpark and you have all the elements needed for a top night in.

Recommended.

evelyn whoaaar!

With preparing for Frightfest, launching The Three Mothers and finishing up illustration duties on Dead Funny (available here and here) I've had precious little time to watch any movies of late.

Except the Paul Naschy classic A Dragonfly for Each Corpse (which scarily I'd never seen before) and this, which I had.

Hmmmm....I think I may be becoming a wee bit obsessed with Erika Blanc.

Again.

La Notte che Evelyn uscì dalla tomba (AKA The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave, The Night She Arose from the Tomb, The Night That Evelyn Left the Tomb. 1971).
Dir: Emilio Miraglia.
Cast: Anthony Steffen, Marina Malfatti, Erika Blanc, Giacomo Rossi-Stuart, Enzo Tarascio, Umberto Raho, Roberto Maldera and Joan C. Davis.

Welcome to the world of the filthy rich yet nutty as squirrel shit Sir Alan Cunningham (Steffen, AKA Antonio De Steffe, B-movie beefcake for hire) who, when not escaping from the local lunatic asylum on a monthly basis is hiring seedy down-at-heel hookers from down at the local docks for tuppence a time.

And the fact that Sir Alan uses fake number plates when picking up these sensuous ladies of the night really doesn't help the feeling that he may be after more than a wee bit of slap and tickle.

Arriving at his ramshackle stately home one night with a particularly rouge faced, ginger haired old slapper named Terri (no doubt played by your mum) Sir Alan leads her to a sumptuously seventies (in a kinda Roger Moore way) living room where he prepares a few glasses of J&B Whiskey (the Eurohorror drink of choice) while she slowly undresses in an incredibly bored manner.

Yup, definitely your mum.

Leslie Judd, up the casino, Wigan, 1974.....YESCH.

Stripped down to her market stall suspenders and big black Grannie pants she seductively follows Big Al into what she thinks is the bedroom.

So imagine her surprise when she discovers she's actually been led into a medieval torture chamber.

Before you can say bloodied breasts, Terri Whore finds herself strapped to a block of wood whilst Alan whips her before branding her soft white skin and finally stabbing her to death in a mentalist frenzy whilst screaming something about some woman named Evelyn.

Which is nice.

Early next morning Albert the grounds-keeper (Maldera, in a performance worthy of his own spin-off series), is angrily accosting Alan on the front lawn.

It appears that all the stabbings and torture kept poor Albert awake the night before and now he's too knackered to even consider mowing the grass.

Alan, being a considerate sort of chap gives Albert £30 in the hopes of winning him over (which indeed it does) so the crafty gardener heads into town to stock up on tissues and Pot Noodles, but not before a huge explanatory scene that serves to reveal that Evelyn was not only Sir Al’s (red haired) wife but also Albert's wee sister.

Stranger things are to come tho' as we discover that she died under 'mysterious circumstances' shortly after her husband became aware of the fact that she was having an affair.

Could this be related to the huge number of dead ginger whores in the cellar?

Eye hen.

That night, craving a wee bit more of the old sex and violence (well, it keeps him off the streets I guess....oh right), Alan phones his equally hatstand relative, George (the late, great Murdock star of The Etruscan Kills Again) to see if he fancies a night on the town.

George, next in line to the Cunningham fortune is the brains behind the operation, being the one that picks the 'nite spots' and back alley's that the duo frequent as well as deciding which red heads Alan should murder.

Which is more than any cousin of mine has done for me, except for that one time with the head in the fridge but that wasn't my fault.

All dressed up in the latest high fashions, the kinky pair head into town to the famous Barnsley Strip Emporium and Bingo Club where the harsh faced yet appealingly carrot topped stripper Susie (Blanc, the breast revealing star of A Dragonfly for Each Corpse and Will Our Heroes Be Able to Find Their Friend Who Has Mysteriously Disappeared in Africa?) is about to strut her stuff.

Oh, and get her tits out obviously.

Alan and George attempt to cover their tracks.

By the end of the evening, Sir Alan has hooked up with Susie, offering her a massive £1000 (in old money) to come back to his house for a stabbing.

I mean a shag.

Returning to Sir Al's pad, it's not long before Susie finds herself bra-less (tho' suitably huge panted), bound and standing in the middle of the torture chamber with Alan sweatily rubbing his hands together with glee as he approaches her menacingly.

A swift knee to the happy sacks gives Susie enough time to leg it into the garden, vault the fence and take refuge in a deserted chapel.

Within minutes the sinister sir has found the poor maiden, sneakily approaching her, his arms outstretched and his feeble erection rubbing against the thin polyester of his loon-pants, for the kill.

Luckily for Susie he's overcome mid throttle by vivid visions of his dead ex missis.

Next morning Sir A goes about his business as normal with no mention or sign of Susie, which is a good job really seeing as he has an appointment with the head psychiatrist from the asylum he used to regularly escape from (Rossi-Stuart from Gate of Hell, War of the Robots, The Last Man on Earth and Kill, Baby... Kill! playing the Doc not the asylum, obviously).

It's a pity then that Doctor Timberlake, sorry Timberlane (for that is he) appears to be as nutty as he is.

Not only is he confused as to whether his former patient should really be going out butchering sleazy burds but he reckons that holding a séance to get in touch with Al's dead wife to let her tell her hubbie to move on would be a good idea.

This has come about due to Doc Timberlane discovering that Alan’s Aunt Agatha (Davis, looking more like Al's younger sister) is a bona fide psychic medium.

Lionel.

The séance (rather unexpectedly to them but obviously not to us) is a huge success with Evelyn hovering above the dining table, but as she goes to speak Alan has another seizure, making the idea of having another ghostly chat experience a wee bit of an embarrassing idea for all involved.

So it’s back murdering gin soaked whores for Sir Alan.

And where better place to start than a cheap and tacky high society 'do' organised by the always helpful George?

Everything seems to be going to hell in a handbag until George introduces Al to an incredibly beautiful yet frighteningly big chinned girl with the amusingly unsexy name of Gladys (Malfatti from All the Colors of the Dark).

Enjoying her excited chat and horse-like laugh it's obvious that Sir Alan is besotted, so much so that it comes as a shock to all involved when he gets down on one knee and proposes to Gladys there and then.

Gladys all over.

With a swing in his step and a song in his heart Alan begins to restore the family mansion and put his past life of whore slashing behind him, gathering his entire family (well, his aunt and cousin plus Albert) alongside a bevvy of saucy blonde maids to begin preparations for what could be a wedding to rival the late, great Jordan's for out and out freak value.

not too surprisingly it's not long before things start to go wrong (and no, I don't mean that Al's fiancee is shite at cage fighting and wears a dress) when the theft of an an antique dinner service by a mysterious redhead dressed in a French maid outfit (wahey!) causes Alan’s Evelyn fixated hallucinations to begin again.

Putting two and two together to make 'random horror logic jump', Gladys begins to think that Evelyn might not be dead at all.

"Curses He-Man!"

Sod stolen tea sets and wedding bollocks tho' because after the spate of prostitute murders in the films first half the audience is now gagging for some more killings (preferably by a black gloved mentalist).

Well don't worry we won't have long to wait.

First up poor Albert is attack with a big snake and buried alive after being rendered unconscious by the reptiles vile venom then Aunt Agatha has a housebrick dropped on her (bulbous) head before being fed to Alan's pet foxes.

Ouch.

How the story may have been reported by
the press if it were real.(and yes I know he's a Lord but it wouldn't work if i put that).

And if that wasn't enough to keep the film lurching excitedly towards it's climax then the fact that glamorous Gladys has started seeing Evelyn floating outside her window at night  should make even the most jaded horror fan shriek with, oh I don't know...mild apathy I guess?

But what's this? Alan himself finally saw her too this time, so off he goes to the deserted chapel where her coffin lies.

Once inside, Alan is relieved to find not only the stolen dinner set (they're not cheap you know) but also Evelyn, who frighteningly still has a full curvy figure and ample breasts but alas also a face of utter skull fuckness.

Like Skeletor's head stuck on Lorraine Kelly's body.


Feeling a tad better for seeing his dead wife's breasts again, Sir Al is just about to seal her coffin when Evelyn suddenly opens her eyes and sits bolt upright!

A by now even more unhinged Alan starts to dribble before dropping to his knees and pissing himself (with fright, not laughter), his mind totally broken by this supernatural act.

Stepping out of her coffin and wandering off into the night, Evelyn waits till she's out of her husband's field of vision before pulling off the shoddy skull mask to reveal......

Gladys!

It appears that everything has been a big elaborate (some may say over elaborate) plot by George to get his hands on Alan’s title and fortune.

The dirty sod.

Celebrating his new found wealth George takes Gladys to his secluded love nest just outside Bridgenorth to celebrate, but once a sly bastard always a sly bastard and he turns on the big chinned chick too, poisoning her Champagne.

As Gladys lies on the sofa, foaming at the mouth and pulling a scarily accurate Bruce Forsyth cum face (I know what that looks like, my nan told me), who should walk in but Susie!

Yup, she was working for George too.

For fuck sake this is convoluted.

Gladys, half dead yet still bouncy, picks up a handy bread knife and lunges at Susie, sticking it into her shoulder-blade, Susie retaliates with a broken bottle.

Soon both ladies are cutting chunks out of each other with various handy household items as George looks on with a kinda manic glee usually seen on your mum's face when your best mate visits after swimming.

It's not long before the pair of them are lying dead in a huge pool of their own blood, leaving George with no witnesses or loose ends, just a huge pile of cash.

Leaving his house to begin his newly acquired playboy lifestyle, George is shocked to find Alan standing in his flower patch cradling a huge bag of nitric acid fertilizer to his bosom.

It seems the madness (well some of it) was just a ruse to out George for the bad man that he is and now Sir Alan wants revenge...

"Look at the dog!"

My God, Miraglia what the hell had you (and not to mention co-writers Fabio Pittorru and Massimo Felisatti) been drinking when you concocted this massively brilliant mess of a movie?

I mean, it took longer to explain the plot than it did to watch the film.

What director today would have the audacity to have a lunatic, whore slashing inbred English aristocrat as the put upon hero?

Then cast a swarthy Italian to play him?

But as it stands the whole film is just an excuse for a variety of deliciously red-headed Eurotrash babes to get their kit off at every given opportunity whilst the rest of the cast wander around gaudy as fuck sets in outfits that dear old Peter Wyngarde wouldn't be seen dead in spouting inane dialogue with all the emotion and feeling of a bag of clothes pegs.

And really, you can't argue with that can you?

If that's not enough to convince you tho' there are some fantastically shot scenes of undisputed genius in the film as well.

OK, there are two but who's counting?

Oh yeah, me.

Alan’s maddening pursuit of Susie from the torture chamber to the chapel alongside Evelyn's resurrection from the dead are heart stopping moments of sheer terror that really need to be seen to be believed and the films dementedly mad plot and choppy editing actually add to the overall joy to be had from Evelyn (both before and after her rise).

Essential family viewing.