cannibal xerox.

Just realised that there's been precious little cannibal cultness (or cuteness) in this years 31 days of horror

Unfortunately this was the first thing I could find.
Mondo Cannibale (AKA Cannibal Holocaust 2, Cannibal Holocaust: The Beginning, Cannibal World. 2003).
Dir: Bruno Mattei.
Cast: Helena Wagner, Claudio Morales, Cindy Jelic Matic, Antoine Reboul, Kevin Maxwell, Brad Santana, Michael Garland, Foster Howard, Eniko Bodnar, Zsilvia Chernel and Chan Le.

Well, somebody had to buy it.

The harsh of face yet smooth of thigh TV journalist cum Fame-hungry celebrity Grace Forsythe (Wagner, daughter of the composer of The Ring Cycle possibly) is in a dilemma.

Her hard hitting real-life reportage/review show NewsMooth has been unceremoniously canceled due in part to plummeting ratings but mainly due to its general crapness.

Five fingers, never touched the sides.

Understandably angry (and a wee bit aroused judging by the sweat on her top lip) at the decision she storms the TV station in order to confront her Tefal browed studio boss Geoff Head (played by an angry testicle) about the situation.

But as the tempers fray and the voices raise the whole thing goes from bad to worse via shouty McShoutington as Grace, whose narcissistic tendencies rival even those of pig-faced spunk-bucket Katie Hopkins, offers to let him stick it in her if he recommissions her show.

Classy.

"To me! To you!"

Sensibly holding out for a better offer (possibly a crack at her flaxen haired, Goddess like co-star Matic, I know I would) he manages to resist Grace's bullish charm but does offer her a lifeline.

If she can persuade her ex co-presenter - and former lover - Bob 'horse cock' Manson (Poundshop Antonio Banderas, professional sexy man and star of Land of Death, Morales) to accompany her on a trip down the Amazon - as opposed to up the casino - to film a no holds barred expose of cannibal rituals he'll commission a second series.

The only rule is that she mustn't be naughty and go around faking any footage or burn any villages downs.

Just in case Ruggero Deodato sues obviously.

With her pudgy little sausage fingers crossed behind her back Grace agrees.

Five go mad on Meth.

With the contracts signed and the sun block packed our dynamic duo, along with their merry band of ratings hungry TV professionals (including the platinum princess of power herself Matic as ace troubleshooter Cindy Blair) in tow, the merry band excitedly descend into the Amazon jungle determined to find the worlds legendary last remaining cannibal tribe at any cost.

And by any cost I actually mean any cost that doesn't go above the films £18.65 budget obviously.

But first things first and there's just enough time for a wee bit of topless sunbathing and a chance for their native guide Brian to get all hot under the collar as he nervously rubs lard all over Grace's hairy back and arse.

It's a dirty, nay sticky job but someone has to do it.

And by rights it should be the lowliest member of the cast.

Unfortunately (for us) he gets sent off to perform some odd jobs before he can get round to oiling up Cindy (bah) and so with a heavy heart, heaving bosom and slightly damp undies the lovely ladies get - slowly - dressed before rounding up the troops (which before you ask isn't a euphemism for touching each others breasts) and venture forth into the unknown.

Which is lucky really, seeing as last time they ventured fifth and only won a coconut.

I thank you.

"And when I want a good mooth
shite-in I pull THIS face!"

As the team sweat and fart their way thru' the undergrowth (or in this case the garden centre behind Mr. Mattei's house) allegedly miles from civilization, you can understand why Bob is so surprised when a group of battle hardened soldiers suddenly appear from behind a bush.

Their camouflage must be bloody effective seeing as the 'jungle' is only about as big as a school gym.

It seems that they're members of some elite UN jungle protection force charged with stopping the locals eating each other and protecting the trees from loggers and the like.

But today is Wednesday which means that they can forget all that and spend a few hours hiding in the local fauna taking pot shots and the scantily clad, pot bellied natives.

Bob is appalled by such random acts of violence and in a manly display of testosterone fueled righteous anger stamps his foot for a bit whilst tutting.

Grace on the other hand reckons that a wee bit of random violence is just what the show needs so she gives the soldiers 50 pence and a bag of Haribo Starmix each to continue shooting the 'savages'.

They greedily agree as Grace hurriedly sets up her camera. 

Best. Caption. Ever.

With a tape full of killings and a promise of more gruesome goodies to come our intrepid band of bad men and ne'er do wells bed down for the night.

Their next stop, according to the map is a village of friendly tribes folk.

Understandably Grace reckons that this might be a bit boring for the viewers so suggests that they should set fire to the place before shooting all the old folk in the face and stealing all the kids sweets, Bob however, being a world weary and cynical type, thinks that there's enough violence in the world without causing any more.

Especially in the name of TV ratings.

Right on.

Grace gently reminds Bob that he's getting paid at least £12 and all the Monster Munch he can eat for taking part in the programme so he'd better stop whining and start killing.

Thinking it over for at least a minute Bob sighs and gets to work polishing his massive weapon.

Grace sneaked away from base camp
to scoff the gangs last Snickers bar.

Meanwhile back at the studio, Geoff Head is foaming (at least it looks like foam) at the mouth as he views the incoming footage before literally exploding with unashamed delight when the viewing figures are released.

It seems that everyone on the planet bar three people in West Bromwich (who don't have a television set because they swapped it for magic beans and a Britain First hoodie) are avidly watching the groups every move.

Geoff's dad (and owner of the station) is less impressed tho' feeling that what the audience really want is less violence and more novelty dog-based acts.

After a tense board meeting the old fool is sent packing as the entire committee contact Grace to demand more murders.

And maybe a side order of violent buggery.

"Raugh row!"

Grace and company are more than happy to deliver and spend the next few days burning down villages, shite-ing in peoples gardens and parading old, shaggy breasted grannies before the cameras in between raping the odd virgin and skinning various animals, all in the name of entertainment of course.

Imagine a lower rent, slightly less patronizing version of Ant and Decs Saturday Night Takeaway and you're halfway there.

Everyone seems to be enjoying the ultra-violent holiday, egging each other on to commit more and more sordid and sick acts of depravity, except Cindy that is who, in a moment of clarity shouts the age old question "I wonder who the real cannibals are?" at the group as they roughly bugger a wee native girl.

As heartfelt as her question is, she really hadn't thought it thru', I mean the real cannibals are the ones in grass skirts that eat folk aren't they?

Hats.

As the violence continues unabated and the studio demands more and more shocking images (some involving goats) the film crew approach the jungle home of the infamous man-eating, Grant Morrison worshiping  'Invisibles', the most primitive and savage tribe ever recorded.

I say recorded but obviously they haven't been (yet) or there'd be not point in traveling all that way to get exclusive footage would there?

Or am I being too literal?

One sure fact about the Invisibles tho' is that you can bet that they don't give a monkeys ball about ratings.

Or cutlery.

Will our merry band survive their descent into the green inferno?

And if so, what will be left of them?

Sneakily promoted as Cannibal Holocaust 2: The Beginning in some territories (is this the most over-used title ever?), lo-fi exploitation king Mattei's homage (OK, shameless rip-off) to Ruggero Deodato's legendary mockumentary classic harks back to a more simple age of film-making when local video store shelves were stacked to bursting with low budget versions of hit movies and shit movies alongside cheap as fuck Brit movies of all shapes and sizes.

Actually they were all the same shape and size if I'm honest.

Except for the Betamax ones that were slightly smaller.

Oh yes and the Video 2000 releases which were fucking huge.

But I digress.

A meaty Matic sandwich....yum!

Like most of the late, great Mattei's horror output (from Zombie Creeping Flesh to Zombies: The Beginning), the screenplay is an almost exact copy of the source material in question (in his career the director homaged everything from Aliens to Dawn of The Dead via The Archers - possibly) but as with nearly all of his later work, cheaply and quickly made on video in the Philippines with a core band of actors and technicians that he would use until his untimely death.

Which isn't a bad thing really seeing as it meant that we got much more of the great mans work than we possibly deserved, with his final four movies being some of his most entertaining.

And not just because they introduced audiences to the wonderful Ms. Matic as well as the kick ass Ripley wannabe Yvette Yzon.

And for these reasons alone we should be eternally grateful.

"Ah fell aff mah beanstalk!"

But if you're worried that a drop in budget would somehow taint the great man's vision then worry ye not as there's plenty here to enjoy, from blood drenched breasts to flabby thrusting man ass via a tasteful pole-based abortion, Mondo Cannibale is the perfect date movie for those romantic nights in.

And who knows?

After sharing this with a loved one, you, just like the bouncy native girl chased thru the jungle by a horny Claudio Morales may get lucky too.

acting the goat.

31 days of horror and we've not had an exorcism movie yet.

Well we may have but I've not really been paying attention.

And by the distinct lack of hits on this blog neither has anyone else.

Thanks for nothing.

L’Anticristo (AKA The Tempter, The Antichrist, Besatt. 1974-ish).
Dir: Alberto De Martino.
Cast: Carla Gravina, Mel Ferrer, Arthur Kennedy, George Coulouris, Anita Strindberg, Alida Valli, Mario Scaccia and Umberto Orsini.

"I've been waiting 400 years but I piss on that time!"

You have to feel sorry for poor Ippolita Oderisi (actress cum politician and star of the fantastic A Bullet for the General Gravina), not only does her name appear to have been pulled randomly from a Scrabble box but years ago due to her dad Massimo's (Ferrer - no introduction necessary) rather reckless driving her mother was killed and she's now confined to a wheelchair.

Tragic I know and her sad story gets even worse when you realize that on top of this she's cursed with wiry, pube like ginger hair.

Poor girl.

Joining the story ten years on from the aforementioned accident we discover that just about every doctor in Italy (including Giovanni Frezza and Dr. Butcher MD no doubt) have given her the once over and not a single one of them can find anything wrong with her spine (her haircut is another story however) yet she can barely lift herself out of her wheelchair and has to stand with the aid of a cane.

Did I say poor girl?

Sorry I obviously meant lazy cow.

Massimo, fed up with being made to feel guilty over his daughters indolence (oh and killing her mum whilst pissed) decides to take her to a wee church deep in the countryside where a frighteningly butch (and bright blue for someone unknown reason) statue of the Virgin Mary is reputed to have miraculous healing powers.

Sounds legit.

Surrounded by a throng of scarily praying pikeys and filled with the love of God Ippolita attempts to stand only to almost immediately fall flat on her (harsh) face.

Wonder! Wonder! Wonder Wheels!

Her dad is understandably mortified (as a plus point at least the locals are grateful for such a good laugh first thing in the morning) but Ippolita seems almost nonchalant about the whole thing, almost as tho' she expected God to ignore her.

But why would she think such a thing? I hear you cry.

Well there in hangs a tale.

You see it appears that she's recently been having fairly blasphemous - and incredibly saucy - thoughts.

Mostly about a really pervy painting of Jesus, resplendent with a huge 14 inch cock and balls leatherier than Sean Connery's manbag.

And how do we know this?

Well apart from me being the one that painted the Jesus picture Ippolita has confessed as much to her uncle Brian who, it turns out,  just happens to be the local bishop (another top turn from everyone's favourite drunken Oirish man Kennedy).

Beware Beadle's wanking hand!

And if that wasn't enough, she's also taken to having nasty violent thoughts about her dad's new squeeze Greta (big boned Strindberg from Fulci's classic Lizard in a Woman’s Skin).

Turns out that Ippolita is insane with jealousy at the mere thought of her father showing affection toward anyone but her.

It's like The Jeremy Kyle show but with better teeth.

Or Christmas Day with my family as I call it.

Fuck the satanic possession....check the nightie.

It's not long (thankfully - there's only so much angry cripple tripping I can take in one film) before nearly all of Ippolitia’s family (and even the maid) are mightily pissed off with her frankly childish behavior and come to the conclusion that she needs locking up.

Luckily her uncle knows a good psychiatrist, the smooth handed Dr. Marcello Sinibaldi (Orsini the camp as pants 'star' of Diary of a Cloistered Nun) whom he invites to a big bash at the family villa, the idea being that he can check out lil' miss mentalism without her being any the wiser.

As well as drink as much free booze as he can handle.

Sneaky.

Unluckily for them - but a huge surprise for us it must be said - Ippolita has psychic powers enabling her to see right through the pairs plan.

But not alas their clothes.

In a change to her normal angry reaction to every little thing she doesn't throw a stroppy fit for once.

And why is this?

Well it seems that she's vaguely interested by Sinibaldi’s claim that her paralysis is really psychosomatic and that he can cure her of both it and her mentalism with a wee dose of hypnotic regression.

I'm convinced.

"Tongue in mah mooth".
(But luckily not up a goats arsehole).

Ippolita, being well up for a wee bit of hypnotic regression (but aren't we all?) excitedly turns up - well, wheels up if I'm honest -  to the dishy docs office the very next day and is quickly put under his spell.

Let's be honest here he is quite dreamy.

Anyway after the obvious pretend you're a sheep and eat this onion it's really an apple gags something interesting happens.

For the first time so far in this movie I hasten to add.

You see, it turns out that one of Ippolita's ancestors was burned at the stake for witchcraft some 500 years ago.

Well I say witchcraft but according to the foggy flashback it was actually for  eating a toad and - I kid you not - rimming a goat.

No really.

We get to see it played out on screen.

And in glorious technicolour no less.

Unluckily the uncovering of this deep, dark family memory inadvertently triggers a case of demonic possession.

Ain't that always the way?

That's your dad that is.

Starting with the obvious (you know talking in a deep, sexy voice in various languages - or is that just the abysmal dubbing?) she soon moves onto more impressive stuff like psychokinesis - well, she moves some plant pots and a chest of drawers - and, most amazing of all, walking!

And how does she use her new found mobility?

Well as anyone in this situation would, she uses it to sneak out of her villa to seduce (then snap the necks of) young Germans.

Sinibaldi tries his best to think up a reasonable scientific explanation for everything that's going on but is frankly stumped whilst Irene (the aforementioned nanny/maid/hired help) secretly phones the local expert in the art of folk magic Big Tony (The Perfume of the Lady in Black's Scaccia - no me neither).

Pity then that everyone in the movie is a devout Catholic meaning that they just stand tutting and umming at the very mention of so called 'magic', reckoning that any such power can - and will - ultimately be linked to the devil himself.

The upshot of this is that all of Tony's flashy words and wizardy tricks are totally useless.

You do have to wonder why they really bothered with this plot thread.

Maybe Mario Scarria owed the director some cash?

Your mum in her best clothes on a night out.

Finally, the bishop (who's obviously taken so long to get to the phone because he can only move diagonally) rings professional demon fighter for hire Father Jeff Mittner (The Woman Eater's Coulouris).

A man whose credentials, it appears, seem to consist of being the only person in the film who's not only seen The Exorcist but also made extensive notes, seeing as the movies ever building climax is lifted almost wholesale from that film.

But if you're gonna steal you might as well be honest about it.

Can he sort out the pesky demon once and for all?

Cue a frighteningly long and wordy exorcism complete with a floating lady, vomit, seductive glances, green facepainted nipples and an utterly terrifying Tefal headed, Rod Stewart wigged Ippolita swearing.

 A lot.

"Sorry Father....I farted."

But being a cut-price Eurohorror The Exorcist isn't the only movie to be violently buggered for ideas here as - in a shocking turn of events - the film suddenly becomes a (very) cut rate Rosemary’s Baby, with the shocking reveal that the true purpose for Ippolita’s possession is for her to carry the baby Antichrist.

In her tummy that is, not in a Moses basket.

Will the might of Catholicism be enough to avert the birth of the devil himself?

Seriously, what do you think?

Alberto De Martino's fantastically crass retread of The Exorcist (to name but one 'influence') boldly goes where other cheap Euro' rip-offs fear to tread.

Whereas most cash-ins cut back on expensive effects, name actors and the like L’Anticristo positively revels in it's cut price glory, featuring as it does not one but two Hollywood has-beens and some brilliantly conceived (and not to mention insanely bonkers) stand out set-pieces.

Kennedy and Ferrer give us more ham than a butchers market and in an attempt to outdo Linda Blair floating above a bed, L’Anticristo has Gravina not only rising out of her wheelchair, but gracefully gliding out of an open window before entertaining us with an airborne dance number.

Well, it's not just John Wayne who's big leggy.

But the movies greatest scene must be when Ippolita's possessed right hand floats across the room and starts to strangle the white wizard man.

Unfortunately the film is scuppred by DiMartino’s desperate direction — you can almost feel his ultimately futile attempts to make an honest to goodness scary movie collapse around him.

Luckily he had the amazing Aristide Massaccesi working as his Director of Photography to help save the day.

And who the hell is Aristide Massaccesi?

Well, as regular readers will already know he's none other than the cinematic god also known as Joe D’Amato.

So it's probably him we have to thank for the classic devil worshiping scene, featuring as it does kinky naked orgies, the eating of a toad and the aforementioned goat/tongue/arse interface.

And for this we salute him!

And the ass saw the angle was
slightly wrong for a good photograph.

Oh, and De Martino, you did not bad yerself big fella.

Top-notch thrills for lovers of devil movies, harsh ginger birds and goat sex everywhere.

Which is probably just me thinking about it.

An essential Halloween treat (if not a wholly legal one).

bern baby bern.

You know who doesn't get enough cult movie love but should?

The really rather wonderful Monika Zanchi.

I first encountered her when, as a shy retiring 12 year old, I accidentally came across a copy of Joe D'Amato's Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals whilst looking for a Marathon bar in the back of a cupboard, obviously I had to see what it was about because the title didn't give it away obviously and, after what seemed like days of D'Amato's trademark ugly people having sex mixed with hard core gore shtick and just as I was starting to feel a wee bit ill she appeared - all strawberry blonde locks, freckles and wide eyed innocence and looking for all the world like a cutesy librarian dropped naked into a cesspool of cannibal kinkiness.

And from that moment I was smitten in a way only a 12 year old could be.

Damn you D'Amato springing Zanchi onto me as an innocent, horror loving teen.

I mean between her and Nastassja Kinski in Cat People is it any wonder it took me nearly so long to find a girlfriend who lived up to such perfection?*

 

 

*As an aside I should point out that apart from being absolutely beautiful and a damn fine actress to boot Zanchi also performs the second best masturbation scene ever committed to celluloid in this very movie.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**The best being Harvey Keitel's car window Nat West in The Bad Lieutenant obviously.

celebrity love island.

With it being the home stretch of this whole 31 days of horror fiasco I've decided that it's time to revisit this quality Joe D'Amato 'classic' as a way of 'celebrating'.

I'm blaming this on the fact that I rewatched Wild Beasts t'other day and felt like a frisky femme fix after the joy of seeing Lorraine De Selle strut her sexy stuff.

Don't be too harsh on me tho' when I admit to having a really soft spot for this film, it was one of those movies that always sat at the back of your 'nasties' cupboard when you were 15 (alongside the Malcolm McDowell masterpiece Caligula and Mad Foxes).

The 80's: That's how we all dressed.

It disappeared from my collection during one of my frequent moves during the late 80's but bizarrely enough a few years ago I was sent a copy in the post by my mad uncle Quentin - alongside an out of date condom and a copy of the Anime series Sex Friend which he'd mistakenly purchased thinking it was called Sex Fiend but I digress.
 
So saddle up and prepare to revisit those heady days of Pop Will Eat Itself, Red Stripe in cans, starchy school uniforms and dodgy Marc Almond haircuts.....


Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi (AKA Erotic Nights Of The Living Dead 1980)
Dir: Joe D'Amato
Cast: Laura Gemser, George Eastman, Mark Shannon, Dirce Funari and some other folk obviously but they're the most important ones.

Salty Oirish seadog, Captain 'amazing' Larry O'Hara (played by the half man half giant sweat gland that is D'Amato regular George Eastman, this time wearing Al Cliver's beard and Auretta Gaye's breasts) has been hired to take a big mustached, 'sexy' American businessman/playboy/STD riddled sex tourist Mr. John Wilson (yes, the Man in Haini's Fantasy from Orgasmo Nero himself, Mark Shannon) and his 'girlfriend' Fiona (the fantastically named Dirce Funari from D'Amato's Porno Holocaust) to visit the remote island of Briny Cleft where the businessman is planning to build an exclusive holiday resort.

Presumably one exclusively for the use of big mustachioed playboys wearing bri-nylon.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

After what seems like days of on deck shagging, drinking, comparing of man-tits and  the like they finally arrive at the island to find a spookily sexy voodoo lady (and I don't mean maybe) named Luna (Gemser, ask your mum) and her bony old dad Geoff waiting for them on the beach.

And they don't look happy.

Saying that tho' if someone told me I was going to have to put Mark Shannon's warty cock in my mouth for a measly 25 quid I'd be a wee bit pissed off too.

It appears that the island is cursed and bad things (other than the imminent risk of herpes) are going to occur if they don't scarper back to the boat pretty sharpish.

You see, this is an island of the dead and they don't take kindly to property developers disturbing their sleep.

Either by building stuff or having sex a lot.

Which is fair enough really.

"Excuse me I appear to have accidentally stuck my cock in you".

Obviously the only way to deal with this frankly terrifying revelation is to indulge in a bit - well a lot - more sex.

Which is nice.

And it must be our lucky day cos not only do we get to experience the sheer joy of Eastman's hairy arse thrusting up and down as he attempts to pleasure an obviously bored Funari but also the unbridled passions of Gemser and Funari (again - the poor girl will be knackered) as the pervy pair get down to some furious scissoring.

It's not all bareback bummings tho' because D'Amato knows what we're really here for.

Yup, the undead.

Oh go on then and took gaze in awe at the dusky and dirty pillowed Gemser.

But mainly the undead.

Who it has to be said do indeed rise to take revenge on the interlopers in a surprisingly tense scene that's actually quite cinematic and stylish thanks to the use of a fog machine and a couple of blue lenses.

Great cinematography in a Joe D'Amato flick?

Will wonders never cease?

Rrrrraaaaannnnggggeeerrrrssss!!!

It's at this point that the movie goes a wee bit strange - which seeing as it had a woman opening a bottle of Champagne with her fanny during the films opening is saying something - as without rhyme nor reason the lovely Gemser suddenly turns into a cat (or a child's cuddly toy I can't really tell) and back again before biting Mark Shannon's cock off as Eastman runs into the sea screaming before turning round and running out again.

Maybe it was too cold?

As a plus point it does give us a chance to see his huge hairy nipples rubbing against his wet vest so it's not all for nothing.

And what is the foxy Funari doing during all this I hear you ask?

Well she's sitting on the beach clad only in a massive pair of grey granny pants sobbing and snottering everywhere whilst the undead slowly creep toward her.

Will our heroes survive the zombie hordes and live to shag another day?

Go on, guess.

Like his other genre molesting crossover Porno Holocaust - both of which were shot over two weeks in the same Dominican Republic locations with only minor variations in cast and crew (mainly due to Tetanus jabs being required -  it's difficult to see who D'Amato was aiming these films at.

Present company excepted obviously.

The usual porn brigade are no doubt going to be put off by the scenes of undead induced violence whilst your everyday horror fan is probably not going to want to see Mark Shannon's wart-infested scrotum.

Possibly.It does beg the question is this a rare example of the unsung genius that is D'Amato sneakily toying with the porn crowds expectations and enjoyment by creating a genre defying work of cinematic art never since matched?

Probably not but it would be nice to think so.

Even for a short while.

"Put it in me!"

Yet, despite all the crap shags, woeful performances and the aforementioned sight of Eastman's girlfriend opening a bottle of Champagne with her vagina, the island scenes are steeped with a genuinely nightmarish atmosphere thanks to D'Amato's moody, if sometimes zoomtastic, cinematography.

Marcello Giombini's eerie score is suitably, um, eerie and the 'exotic' Laura Gemser is always worth a mention.

If not a quick hand shandy every now and then, especially if you're watching her fitness video.

Or so your dad says.

There is even the odd spooky scene along the way, like the one when Shannon, sceptical of the zombie curse, throws away a protective talisman only to see it transform into a cat as it hits the sand.

Pity this can't be said about the later scenes of zombies dropping from trees tho' seeing as they look exactly like what they are, which is groups of unfortunate drunk homeless men being pushed out of bushes.

Saying that it's probably better to be pushed off by D'Amato than wracked off.

Especially seeing as he's been dead nearly 20 years.

Funari: Smashing arse.

But for all it's faults and uncomfortable close ups of ugly warts, sagging arses and lopsided breasts (stand up and be counted Ms. Funari) Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi comes across (quite literally) as the bastard, inbred offspring of Fulci's Zombi 2 and Jess Franco's Nightmares Come at Midnight with a wee bit of Ferdinando Di Leo's Klaus Kinski starrer Asylum Erotica thrown in - or up - for good measure.

I mean if you're going to steal steal from the best.

Plus it's slightly funnier than D'Amato's Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (plus it hasn't got a bizarre arse obsessed subplot) and a damn sight more erotically charged than The Boy In The Striped Pajamas.

And that really isn't such a bad thing if you think about it.

snake eyes.

Ended up watching this whilst trying to finish up some work t'other night.

It was late, I was tired and just couldn't be arsed turning it off.

So it's my own fault obviously.

Welcome to the continuing saga of 31 days of horror.

Brennan: Not you.

Tho' as a plus point it does feature a stand out performance from Joy Bang who looks a wee bit like top teen crush Peggy Lee Brennan from Message from Space.

In a certain light.

And if you squint.

Night of The Cobra Woman (1972).
Dir: Andrew Meyer.
Cast: Joy Bang, Marlene Clark, Roger Garrett, Vic Diaz, Rosemarie Gil, Vic Silayan and Slash Marks.

“I don’t know about you chicks running around cockfights but take off your dress.”

Welcome to a World War II torn Philippines (where life is cheap but film stock - and people willing to get their tits out for coppers - is cheaper) where army nurse Lena Aruza (Ex missis Billy Dee Williams Clark) and her equally nursey pal Francisca (Gil, currently starring as Doña Carmen Cortes in the hit teevee show Ngayon at Kailanman) have decided to take a break from saving soldiers to explore the local caves.

As you do.

Well Lena is exploring the caves as poor Francisca is scared of the dark so decides to sit on a rock and watch out for any evil Japanese types who may be skulking about.

Unfortunately as she's sitting adjusting her hat who should sneak out of the shadows but cult Filipino film star and professional bad guy Vic Diaz who grabs the poor girl before roughly putting it in her before shooting her in the tummy.

Ouch.

The gunshot startles a sleeping cobra in the cave who in turn bites Lena's (ample) arse but rather than kill her the venom imbues her with magical powers which she then uses to save her pal.

Sounds legit.

"I can see your house from here Peter!"

There's no time to think about any of that tho' as we're suddenly transported thru' time (via the medium of fim, not in reality obviously) to the 'modern day' where the toothsome student and UNICEF researcher Joanna (Bang - the reason we are here) is busy helping her kindly college professor Jeff Tezon (Silayan, creator of those little toy animal families that cost a fortune to collect) create (non-Autism causing) vaccines for snakebites.

Anyway it seems that during the course of her studies she'd heard about a reclusive old woman who owns an ultra-rare kind of snake (you can spot it by the shoddily marker penned diamond on its neck) that may have a venom that can cure stuff - or something - so decides to go visit her.

Arriving at the old ladies house she's greeted by an aged - well dipped in PVA glue) Francisca and told that as Lena (for the old snake lady is she) is meditating she can’t be disturbed so she should come back later.

Undeterred she decides to have a nosy around the garden where she's startled by a fat man in a set of comedy teeth and a too tight T-shirt dribbling and gurning from in a tree.

Turns out that this is Francisca's son Lope (Diaz again), who unlike his dad is only interested in the flower on her hat.

Terrified at the thought of his sweaty sausage fingers anywhere near her Joanna beats a hasty retreat back to the car and heads home to prepare to meet her boyfriend, the scarily skinny Stan Duff (One time Laverne & Shirley guest star Garrett) who is flying in from America to visit her that very evening.

And by prepare I mean have a crafty wank whilst gazing at his photograph obviously.

You have to admit that if nothing else she has a packed day.

It's just a pity that none of it is very exciting to watch.

Not even the furtive fiddling.

Bunnet.

Anyway, arriving at the airport just as Duff is picking up his luggage the pair have a girly hug n' kiss before firstly kidnapping an eagle that's sitting on a wall minding its own business and then offering a fellow American - Sergeant Angelus Merkle (Marks in his only film role outside the CCTV ones of him exposing himself in a kiddies playpark) - a lift into town seeing as his GI pals haven't turned up to get him.

Obviously worn out with all this action (and bird stealing) the pair head back to Joanna's room for some cuddling and stuff. and all whilst she wears really ill-fitting - yet oddly arousing - underwear.

The next day after Joanna has headed off to work Duff finds himself at a loose end so to amuse himself and maybe help his girlfriend out he decides to visit Lena himself in the hope of getting the information/venom/whatever the fuck it is/ that Joanna seeks so to this end puts on his best denim shirt and drives off to the village.

"Are you the farmer?"

As he's about to ring the doorbell tho' poor Duff is bitten by a deadly cobra and falls unconscious to the floor, luckily Lena appears just back from the local Aldi and sucks the venom out of him before putting him to bed to recover.

Worried about where her man has gotten to Joanna heads up to Lena's house and soon bumps into Francisca who, quite nonchalantly goes on to explain that Lena is an evil cobra woman cum deity whose psycho-sexual powers drain any man who sleeps with her and that Duff may be next on the list after Lope who is in fact Francisca's son.

Surprisingly Joanna takes all this information on face value and offers to steal some of the snake venom Lena's keeps in her drinks cabinet so that they can do something with it.

Maybe.

I honestly don't know.

She returns the next day with the eagle in tow (because eagles are the only creatures that can kill a cobra) and rings the bell only to be told - by Lena - that Duff's very tired after the biting and is still asleep but she should come back later.

Somehow (I wasn't paying attention) Joanna manages to steal the venom and leg it out of the house eager to meet up with Francisca but as the pair chat the evil cobra (who may or may not be a supernatural being) leaps on the poor woman and bites her.

To death.

Cue an exciting - if not entirely ethical real-life snake on bird fight as the eagle kills the cobra whilst Joanna heads off to work to study the vial of venom.

"I love you....could it be magic?"

With her pet cobra killed Lena has no choice but to seduce Duff and make him her sex slave and draining his life force, you see it turns out that fucking random blokes till they whither and die is the only thing that stops her turning into a snake herself.

I think.

Unfortunately she needs to get the venom back from Joanna as that's the only thing that will restore Duff and make him fanciable again.

Probably.

Honestly I really don't know as I was more interested in catching a glimpse of Joy Bang in her pants again.

Look I'm only flesh and blood.

So to this end Lena hatches a plan where Duff will head over to the lab to steal back the venom whilst she wanders around the local market picking up random guys to have sex with, peeling her ever growing snakeskin off as she goes.

Just like you'd peel glue off your fingers in school.

"Raff row!"

And so begins a race against time - and tedium - as Lena's psychopathic sexcapades continue and more and more local studs (as well as Sergeant Merkle, who it turns out is a wee bit rapey so no loss) fall prey to the evil cobra woman.....

Will Joanna find a cure?

Will Dr Tezon ever get to smoke a full fag?

Will anything remotely interesting actually happen?

Only one way to find out cos I'm not telling.

From the late, great (well OK late) actor/writer/producer/director Andrew Meyer comes a film hat's probably most famous for being the first Roger Corman produced Filipino fright flick.

And even he's uncredited.

Let that sink in for a second.

Scary eh?

Doubled up for its US release with the Mel Welles’ classic Lady Frankenstein, Night of The Cobra Woman feels like a strange hybrid of 30s monster movie and 50s sci-fi with added breasts and big pants hastily bunged together with a plot that's as nonsensical as it is convoluted.

And all that with a running time that's under 90 minutes.

I fang you.

It's not all bad tho' - only mostly - Marlene Clark gives it her all as the lizardy Lena whilst Joy Bang is her usual infinitely watchable self, Roger Garrett's performance on the other hand is so inconsequential and forgettable that they may have well as cast a scarecrow and had done with it.

His screen presence or lack of it may be due to the fact that he contracted a bizarre poultry infection whilst filming so I'll try not to be too harsh.

Nah fuck it he's shit.

But for every shite scene or eggbox effect there's a moment of true genius, like when Lena kills a topless farmer as a local guitarist jams in the background - nodding to the director as he waits for his cue to leave or when Lena upon attempting to seduce a street trader seductively lips her lips at his exposed arse crack.

Actually that's about it really.

But to be honest I can slag it off too much seeing as Andrew Meyer's first film - at the age of 23 - 'Match Girl' featured Andy Warhol in a starring role which is a fuck of a lot more than I achieved at that age.

Plus it does have a rather bookish heroine in glasses and big granny pants which is always a selling point.

Just me then?