dino-sore.

Real life shite has been getting in the way of late (I leave that to my 'real' blog so had precious little time to watch anything recently and when I do I seem to be gravitating toward the old classics.

And by classics I mean utter rubbish.

Enjoy.

The Last Dinosaur (1977).

Dir: Alexander Grasshoff and Tsugunobu Kotani

Cast: Richard Boone, Joan Van Ark, Steven Keats, Luther Rackley, Masumi Sekiya, William Ross, Carl Hansen, Tetsu Nakamura, Nancy Magsig, Don Maloney, Vanessa Cristina, Hyoe Enoki, Shunsuke Kariya, Toru Kawai and Tatsumi Nikamoto.

 

"You told me! You swore to all of us that we were not going to harm the dinosaur! We were only supposed to take film and study it!"

 

Welcome to the world of Masten Thrust jr. (Ex-Michael Elphick starring teevee show and American screen stalwart Boone) - the mighty man-tittied and gin soaked multimillionaire owner of the amusingly monikered Thrust Inc. who, when not using a manned laser drill to search for oil under the polar ice caps, is busy inappropriately touching (much) younger women and shooting wild animals in the face. 

Imagine, if you will, an animatronic melting meat sculpture of Tony Stark powered by piss and gin with the libido and pulling power of Donald Trump and you're halfway there.

We first come across our man-breasted hero as he's attempting to seduce a (much) younger girl in his (animal) corpse filled apartment, luckily this sexual harassment case waiting to happen is interrupted by a phone call from Thrust's office. It seems that his companies latest expedition accidentally ended up in an underground 'lost world' where all the crew save one were eaten by a dinosaur.  

No, really.

And with that Masten jets off to Japan (well it is co-produced with Tokusatsu) to find out the full story.

Holding a press conference with the aforementioned team survivor, geologist Chuck Wade (Tombstone toothed Keats from Death Wish and Silent Rage), Masten  announces that he's leading a second expedition himself in order to study (but not kill, oh no) the dinosaur (now discovered to be the last Tyrannosaurus Rex in existence, tho' how they know that I'm not sure) in its natural habitat alongside Chuck, a Masai tracker named Bunta (American professional basketball 'star' Rackley), eminent dinosaur expert Dr. Kawamoto (actor and singer Nakamura from the classic Space Amoeba) and the Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer Frankie Banks (Dallas' Valene Ewing herself and the voice of Spider-Woman in the 1979 animated series, Van Ark).

Masten is initially skeptical about Banks joining the expedition because she's a woman but she soon convinces him of her suitability thru' a mix of showing him her photography work taken in various war zones and stripping naked at a party before taking him back to her hotel room and licking his pock-marked face.

Because feminism obviously.

And with that they're on their way!

"I can see your house from here Peter!"

As our intrepid team approach the Polar Borer (cunningly played by something you'd find in your mums 'secret' drawer), the first thing we notice is how fucking small the 'full size' prop is. Seriously it's like two garden bins stuck together and sprayed silver, I mean you'd be hard pushed to fit Richard Boone's gut in it let alone the rest of the cast. Tho' this may be a cunning way of making the rest of the special effects and props look really good, I mean if you can take this seriously then you'll have no problem when the massive cardboard Pteranodon appears wobbling against a painted backdrop when our crew come ashore in cave-land.

Tho' to be fair it might just be that the whole thing is fucking threadbare.

Anyway, once they do actually come ashore - and after being almost trampled to death by a passing Uintatherium, Masten orders Dr. Kawamoto to set up camp, whilst he, Chuck, Bunta and Frankie head into the woods to find the pesky Tyrannosaurus Rex. 

And maybe a kebab shop.

Or even an off-licence.

Luckily with this being a fairly short film it's not long before the magnificent beast reveals itself to one and all, stomping thru the trees as it chases Frankie in an attempt to eat her whole.

Tho' I've heard it usually spits that bit out.

I thank you.

As an aside I really think it's important to point out that it's not any old fucker with an Equity card playing the Tyrannosaurus Rex tho', oh no, it is in fact the mighty Toru Kawai - famed Japanese stunt man and actor best known for playing Godzilla in Terror of Mechagodzilla as well as doubling for Ultraman Ace, Ultraman Taro and Ultraman Leo and also playing Gamera - which is the equivalent of royalty on this blog.

Nuff said.

"I 'squeeze your head!"

Masten excitedly pulls out his massive weapon with the aim of emptying it's hot content into the dinosaurs mouth (OK he pulls out a rifle in an attempt to shoot it in the face) but the beast keeps moving, causing the gun to jam and Masten to get all huffy and throw it at away before stomping off and hiding in some bushes, quickly followed by the rest of the team.

Little do they realize tho' that they are being followed by a tribe of comedy toothed, black up Japanese extras pretending to be neanderthals who are, in turn being followed by a kleptomaniac cave woman with very dirty feet (Sekiya best know for Special Investigation Unit and the manga adaptation Nippon bijo monogatari: onna no naka no onna) who is busy stealing everything the explorers discard.

Not including their dignity obviously.

"Boiled onions!"

 

Whilst all this decidedly non-PC raceplay is going on the Tyrannosaurus Rex has made it's way to the camp where it's come across Dr Kawamoto cooking up a huge pot of bangers and mash for dinner.

Not too surprisingly the beast kills Kawamoto before scoffing the food, smashing up the camp and finally picking up the Polar Borer in its mouth and carrying it off to its bone-filled lair where for absolutely no reason, a Triceratops bursts out of a wall and fights him.

To be fair tho' this scene is utter genius and not just for the fact that the front end of the Triceratops is played by Tatsumi Nikamoto, who also did stunt work on Ultraman Leo and Ultra Seven plus played Titanosaurus in Terror of Mechagodzilla.

No idea who played the back end tho'.

As the battle rages 'tween these two titans of terror, the Triceratops draws first blood but is soon countered with a kick to the head from our Tyrannosaurus pal in a fight that is as long as it is bloody (and bloody ludicrous).

I could wax lyrical for hours about this battle but frankly I can't be arsed so I wont, suffice to say that the Tyrannosaurus eventually wins by stomping on the Triceratops' face before heading off for a nap.

 

"Laugh Now!"

 

Whilst all this top quality action is going down our merry band have returned to the base camp to find it utterly trashed and the Polar Borer missing which causes Masten to storm off in a bigger rage than ever, vowing to kill the beast as he heads off to find a cave to live in.

No really.

Jump forward 4 months and the whole group are eking out a meager existence hunting rabbits whilst Frankie plays den-mother to everyone (in between flirting with Masten and Chuck that is).

But it's not all happy families and furtive shags tho' as the cavemen are becoming braver and start coming ever closer to our merry bands hideout.

And they've now started carrying pointy sticks.

Chuck suggests that they should form an alliance with the natives but Masten violently disagrees, constructing a makeshift crossbow in order to kill their leader and scare the rest of them away.

Bizarrely this not only succeeds in scaring them away but to also attract the thieving cave girl to our heroes cave where she attempts to return all the shit she's stolen/found over the last few months including the telescopic sight from Masten's rifle.

This has the effect of making him letch over her instead of Frankie (for a change) and giving her the name 'Hazel' due to the nutty smell emanating from her arsehole.

Frankie isn't too bother by this turn of events tho' (she's probably glad of a break from being prodded by Masten's big bloated sausage fingers) as she now has someone to help her wash her hair and prepare dinner for the men.

And no I'm not making this shit up.

 

Tunnel or funnel?

 And it's during one of these girly hair washing sessions 'tween Frankie and Hazel that the Tyrannosaurus reappears ready to strike. Frankie takes refuge in nearby cave whilst Hazel legs it into the bushes leaving Bunta and Chuck to fashion a rope made from Masten's wiry pubes (OK from local shrubbery) that they tie around a big boulder before Bunta lassos the other end around the dinosaurs tail and finally rolling the boulder done a hill giggling to themselves as the poor beast rolls after it, coming to a violent halt in a pond and banging its head.

This only manages to make Masten even more angry than usual and - after slapping Hazel (she loves it!) he starts collecting (well, orders Buntato start collecting) loads of wood in order to build a giant catapult to kill the beast with.

"Monsta!"

Will Masten's frankly bonkers plan succeed?

Will Chuck find the Polar Borer and attempt to persuade Frankie to leave with him?

Will it turn out that the films title actually refers to Masten rather than the Tyrannosaurus Rex (because technically it's not the last dinosaurs as there are loads of others wandering about but also because it's not a literal title)?

And does anyone actually care?

From the fevered mind of  cartoonist, writer, artist and letterer William Overgard (best known for his sterling inks of the American adventure comic strip Steve Roper and Mike Nomad between 1954 and 1985) comes this testosterone tinged tale of big beasts, bigger egos and baggy dinosaur suits that feels as out of time as the dinosaurs on screen.

Originally pitched to ABC as a movie of the week as a standard "great white hunter goes back in time to kill a dinosaur" actioner, it was rejected in favour of a rock musical remake of King Kong (which luckily never happened) before being dragged back to the pitch meeting and retooled as a full blown theatrical release.

Unfortunately the company he took it to was the stop-motion/seasonal fayre film purveyors Rankin/Bass Productions (Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964), The Little Drummer Boy (1968), and Frosty the Snowman (1969) among other classics) who although fantastic when it came to animation - Mad Monster Party is one of my all time faves) weren't really well known (if at all) for their gritty action output.

Luckily they had links with Japan due to them outsourcing many of their 'Animagic' animated productions which were headed up by Japanese stop-motion animator Tadahito Mochinaga at his studio, MOM Productions so it was only a matter of time before those masters of monster mayhem Tsuburaya Productions (founded by special effects God Eiji (Ultraman and Godzilla) Tsuburaya in 1963) became involved with the job of bringing the terrifying dinosaurs to life.

"Chase me now!"

Unfortunately the dollar to yen exchange rate at the time must have been really low as the effects on show aren't up to the studios usual standards.

And yes I'm being kind.

But effects aren't everything (ask Doctor Who)* and film usually lives or dies by the performances on screen.

It's a pity then that The Last Dinosaur has a massive, gin-soaked angry misogynist with really crap hair at its heart.

Drunkenly stumbling 'tween leching over women young enough to be his (grand) daughter and either shouting at them or slapping them before obviously sobering up enough to apologize, Richard Boone's performance is at once hysterical and terrifying whilst everyone else on screen just wanders around looking uncomfortable.

Especially the myriad of women that are forced to pretend to fall for his ample charms.

 Seriously, Masumi Sekiya looks like a deer caught in headlights when she has to lay down next to him and to be honest I'd rather take my chances with the dinosaur, at least its fingers would be small enough to gently unfasten my bra** and not leave greasy bruises on my shoulders.

Or bite marks.

True Joan Van Ark tries to bring a wee bit of gravitas to the proceedings but the writers are unsure if she's meant to be a hardened news photographer ala Elizabeth ‘Lee’ Miller or a simpering girl unable to cope without shampoo or make-up whilst Steven Keats just stands about complaining or being shouted at.

I'd say that Luther Rackley comes out best seeing as he has absolutely no dialogue but looking back he is forced to wear tiny shorts and shake a spear a lot so I reckon he deserves our pity too and I'm not going to mention the state of the blacked up, comedy toothed cavemen for fear of cancellation.

Only I just did.

Damn it. 

 

Hat.

 

 I was going to say something about the direction but all I can think of is that even Academy Award-nominated directors like Alex Grasshoff can have an off-day.

Seriously his Kolchak episodes are top notch as is Backwards: The Riddle Of Dyslexia, a film he directed for the American television anthology series ABC Afterschool Special in 1984 starring River and Joaquin Phoenix.

See? 

This blog is educational too.

Luckily Tsugunobu Kotani is on hand to film the monster bits, which he does by nonchalantly pointing the camera at them and hoping they're in focus, which to be fair they sometimes are.

So does the movie actually have anything remotely going for it?

Well the title song "He's the Last Dinosaur", arranged and conducted by Bernard Hoffer and with spot on lyrics by Jules Bass (seriously amazing song writing career for Rankin/Bass, check him out) is a banger and Grammy Award winner Nancy Wilson's vocals are top notch so it's worth watching just for that.

They - and us - deserved a better film.

Good day to you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*By that I mean classic Doctor Who obviously, if you ask new Who anything you'll probably get a joyless lecture on 'proper' pronoun use before being told the show was never made for you in the first place only to be accused of being racist (or something) for then doing what you were told and not watching.

Probably.

No.

**Obviously it's a metaphorical bra as I don't wear one.

keep on trekkin'

 

Celebrate Star Trek Day with a 60 minute trip across the final frontier of sound.

naschy birthday!

Seeing as it's the late, great Paul Naschy's birthday today I thought I'd revisit an article I wrote for the late lamented Multitude of Movies magazine way back in 2015 which itself was based on (bits of) a review of the classic Curse of the Devil (AKA Return of the Werewolf, El Retorno de Walpurgis) for The yearly Paul Naschy Blogathon that used to run over at the frankly fantastic Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies site.


Plus it's worth a look just to see how much childish shite I have to cut out of stuff when I submit it for 'proper' publication.

Enjoy.

And happy birthday Mr Naschy!

Back in the days before t'internet (and, gulp even video) the only way you could find out about new (ok let's be honest here, any) horror movies was from local library books (usually written by Leslie Halliwell, a writer whose own ideas of good horror once noted that Night of The Living Dead had killed the genre and nothing of any worth had been made since) or one of the very few genre magazines available (stand up and be counted House of Hammer and on the rare occasions it got imported to a wee newsagent nearby Famous Monsters).

As a precocious seven year old force fed a Saturday night teevee double bill of Universal and RKO classics these greats of film literature were a godsend to me and I would spent all my spare time pouring over grainy black and white shots of Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. as the tragic Lawrence Talbot.

I'll never forget though (I have a good memory) that one particular issue had a photo of the Wolfman I'd never seen before, true it was labeled 'the Werewolf' and although the accompanying picture of a fraught young man had a hint of Chaney about him his name wasn't Talbot, it was Daninsky. 

Like any curious kid of that age I examined the picture for a few minutes before completely forgetting about it and turning the page to reread an article on what looked like the greatest monster movie ever.

Ah Crater Lake Monster where are you now?*

The love of horror stayed with me (as did the love of Universal) and thanks to magazines like Starburst information became easier to find, the Saturday night double bills sometimes featured the films of Eddie Romero alongside the old faithfuls and movies like Dawn of The Dead and Phantasm had fueled my geek gene, forcing me to learn more about the directors and their influences. As a teenager you can probably tell I was never asked out on dates.

Ever.

The strange sad faced man with the foreign name seemed to have disappeared without a trace though and whilst Coffin Joe was being photographed with Christopher Lee at swanky Parisian horror conventions it would take a controversial censorship bill of epic proportions to bring the legendary Paul Naschy to the attentions of young horror fans in dear old blighty.

Yup, I hate to admit it but it's thanks to the 1984 'video nasty' furore and the inadvertent banning of Naschy's 1975 monster mash The Werewolf and The Yeti that finally introduced me to the great man's work. 

And oh boy did I hate it.

Bizarrely enough, of all the films I devoured at the time this is one of those that I have only the vaguest recollections of; something about the infamous Abominable Snowman playing the bagpipes during a fight scene and being sent out of the room to get biscuits when Naschy got involved in a wee bit of threeway action comes to mind.

But the most upsetting thing about it, and I'll admit this stayed with me for years, wasn't the gore or the sex (or even the lack of decent biscuits at my nan's), it was because this young upstart seemed to be taking all the ideas, the drama and heartache (plus the dissolve effects) of my beloved Universal movies and trying to make them his own.

How very dare he.

So being the sensible and knowledgeable film connoisseur that I was (you know, the way you can only be when you're 14) there was only one thing I could do.

Yup, I laughed loudly at the screen and flounce back to my 'serious' horror movies, tutting audibly at anyone who even mentioned that film. Looking back I find myself dying a wee bit inside at the thought of being such a know all little brat, so caught up in my own (movie-based) importance that I totally failed to see the irony in the situation.

The whole fact that they reminded me of the Universal series was that Naschy was a fan too. It's just that he knew how to have fun with his 'fannishness'.


But who was this Paul Naschy fella and why is he so revered in the world of horror cinema?

Well herein lies a tale worthy of a movie itself.

Born Jacinto Molina Álvarez in Madrid, Spain on September 6, 1934 into a fairly well-to-do family - his father Enrique was a highly regarded furrier (as in he worked with fur not that he dressed up as a rabbit and attended conventions) – Naschy's first love was surprisingly, not cinema but weightlifting, a profession he actually pursued upon leaving college.

As he entered his 20's Naschy's career took a number of more and more eclectic turns, moving as he did between writing pulp western novels, illustrating comics, weightlifting and acting, his first on screen appearance being as a Mongol warlord in Luis Lucia's El Príncipe Encadenado in 1960.

No me neither.

More and more (albeit small) roles followed – including an uncredited appearance in the Jesus-tastic King Of Kings (1961) and as his understanding of the film making process grew so did his appreciation for cinema in general but it was a chance encounter in 1966 with horror legend Boris Karloff whilst appearing in an episode of the Bill Cosby starrer I Spy that set Naschy on the road that would finally lead him to success.

Reminiscing with the actor about his time at Universal, Naschy admitted his love for the character of The Wolf Man, a fascination that dated back to his viewing of Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943) as a child.

Whatever Karloff said to him isn't on record but we can assume he didn't tell him to piss off and have him thrown off set, otherwise I reckon his career would have taken a more bizarre turn and you'd be sitting here reading about an actor who portrayed a nasty aging Thespian in a series of increasingly demented revenge flicks set in the twilight world of episodic TV.

Actually there may be a book in that.

Naschy spent the next few years working on his first screenplay and in 1968 La Marca Del Hombre Lobo hit the big screen, introducing the world to the tragic tale of the doomed lycanthrope Waldemar Daninsky, a character – or descendants of – that Naschy would go on to play 12 times between 1968 and 2004's direct to video Tomb Of The Werewolf.

Bizarrely though he never actually intended to play Daninsky, only stepping up to the role after original choice Lon Chaney Jr. proved too ill to travel and a suitable candidate couldn't be found.

And from such accidental beginnings a horror legend was born.

But portraying one iconic character was obviously not enough for Naschy who, as his career grew went on to give us his unique takes on several classic screen monsters including Count Dracula and Mr. Hyde, alongside assorted mummies and demons as well as a host of vile villains and black-hearted bad guys in a career that spanned over 100 movies and 4 decades.

Frequently writing the scripts for the movies he appeared in, he added directing to his list of not too inconsiderable talents with the 1976 Devil worshipping delight Inquisition (in which he also starred and wrote) and later, when the horror genre fell from favour within the Spanish film industry, Naschy became a producer, at one point bizarrely enough making documentaries for Japanese television resulting in a slew of Spanish-Japanese co-productions, including the frankly fantastic (if not slightly bonkers) La Bestia Y La Espada Majica (1983).

If you don't believe me then you try and name another film that features a werewolf taking on a (real) tiger as well as assorted Ninjas and a sub-plot featuring a magic monster slaying sword.

In 1984 Naschy faced a crisis in both his career and personal life, firstly with the death of his father – with whom he'd always had a close relationship and latterly when his production company, Aconito Films, filed for bankruptcy – partly due to the aforementioned lack of interest in horror movies but mainly due to the total commercial failure of the ahead of its time spy spoof Operacion Mantis.

Imagine a Spanish Austin Powers by way of The Naked Gun channelling Benny Hill via 70's Burt Reynolds and you're halfway there.

Things got worse for Naschy in 1991 when he too suffered a heart attack during a weightlifting session at his local gym, forcing the once seemingly indestructible star to take stock of his life leading to the publication in 1997 of an incredibly honest and deeply touching autobiography, Memorias De Un Hombre Loco.

As the new millennium dawned though so did a new found respect and interest in the masters work when in 2000 noted American horror magazine Fangoria inducted Naschy into its Horror Hall of Fame, thanks in part to his many – worldwide - fans championing his cause but his highest accolade was to follow when, in 2001 King Juan Carlos I presented Naschy with The Gold Medal Award for Fine Arts (the Spanish equivalent of a knighthood).

Paul Naschy passed away from cancer on 30th November 2009, still working away on new and more terrifying horror projects until his death, the lonely lycanthrope had finally come home to the love and affection he truly deserved.

Daninsky and his creator resting among the likes of Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. as true greats of horror and set to thrill and terrify fans of the fantastic of all ages for years to come.










































*Scarily enough it took 40 years but I did finally get to see The Crater Lake Monster.

forbidden fruit basket.

As is the way in oor hoose, we decided to rewatch our fave movie from the Alien franchise to celebrate the release of Alien Romulus before venturing forth to the cinema to watch it.

This caused no end of problems tho' seeing as my better half loves Aliens, wrongly thinking it's the best one whereas I'm one of those truly insightful folk that know for a fact that Alien3 is by far the superior movie.

After much fisticuffs, burning stuff and shouting we agreed to compromise and settled on...

Forbidden World (AKA Mutant, Subject 20. 1982)
Dir: Allan Holzman.
Cast: Jesse Vint, Dawn Dunlap, June Chadwick, Linden Chiles, Fox Harris, Don Olivera, Raymond Oliver and Scott Paulin.

"Let's go bag ourselves a Dingwhopper!"

Studly space hunk and beige clad gun for hire Mike Colby (rodent faced teevee stalwart Vint) is woken from hyper-sleep by his bucket headed, muffle moothed robot sidekick SAM-104 (voiced by FX man Olivera and played by a child in a cheap Stormtrooper Halloween outfit) to the news that a squadron of cut-throat space pirates are trying to blow them up to the score from 2001.

Not noticing that the monitors are in fact just replaying scenes from Battle Beyond The Stars our hunky hero presses some flashing buttons making random things explode whilst his plastic pal mumbles incomprehensibly.

But there's no rest for the wicked - or the just really incompetent - for no sooner have the space raiders been defeated than an emergency call comes thru' from a genetic research station located on the distant desert world of Xarbia and run by the permanently angry Dr. Gordon Hauser (Chiles, yet another teevee veteran) who in turn is aided and abetted by the one lunged chain smoker Dr. Cal Timbergen (Harris from Repo Man) and posh totty Dr. Barbara Glaser (Chadwick from 'V' with a visible pantie line that almost bursts forth from the screen, God help anyone watching this on a wall mounted plasma, tho' the chances of them getting foreign matter on the screen during the sexy bits will drop sharply).

There are a few other folk but none of them are really that interesting.

Except that is for the cute as a button and scarily shelf arsed Tracy Baxter (played to Formica perfection by the pudgy cheeked and often naked star of Barbarian Queen and Les Ombres De L'été plus former tyre manufacturer Dunlap).

Two puppies fighting in a binbag yesterday.

Arriving at the base and immediately catching the (boss) eye of the sex starved Baxter, Colby is introduced to everyone before being taken up the laboratory (steady) by Dr. Hauser to stare at a room full of dead rabbits and what looks like a big stringy shit in a Perspex box.

Colby, not too sure how to react and being slightly pissed off that he hasn't shot or shagged anyone for at least twenty minutes just looks at it in a quizzical manner.

Oh yes, and occasionally frowns.

But as Dr. Glaser breathlessly explains, this is no common or garden shit but an experimental life form that they've (snappily) named "Subject 20".

Well, it was either that or Lindsey.

"Fuck me! It's Fred Titmuss!"

It appears that the clever old science types have created a brand new synthetic DNA strain - or Proto B as it's more commonly known - in order to rid the galaxy of all famine, unfortunately tho' they accidentally impregnated one of their co-workers with it (during what I can only assume was a really drunken Christmas party) causing it to eat her whole (tho' I think they said it spat that bit out) and kill all the bunnies onboard before covering itself in bright pink feces and falling asleep in a fishtank.

As you would.

Colby decides the best course of action would be to shoot "Subject 20", have sex with Barbara (and/or Tracy), have a quick bite to eat and leave.

Surprisingly the scientists disagree (except for the food bit and probably the sex too) and persuade Colby to retire to the mess for a bag of Johnny Onion Rings and a Pot Noodle before taking any action.

Whilst the rest of the group head off for some tuck, young Ricky lab tech is left in charge of cleaning up the dead rabbits and told, in no uncertain terms not to poke the giant pooh or get any of it in his eyes.

Or his mouth.

"Shite in mah mooth!"

It'll come as no surprise then when Ricky, bored with scraping animal intestines of a bench with a toothbrush, decides to see what happens if he sticks his head in the shit-case and give it a wee tickle.

Much screaming (and much, much more mooth and shite interfacing) ensues.

Rushing into the lab to see what all the shoutings about (and spilling curry sauce down his shirt in the process, which makes a change from the stains left by shame I guess) Dr. Hauser gets even angrier than normal when he discovers that the creature has escaped into the air-vent.

However he soon cheers up when he realizes that Ricky isn't really dead but is being kept alive by the bit of "Subject 20" that fell on him, meaning that when he recovers Hauser can give him a damn good thrashing for ignoring the rules.

Poking Ricky with a stick whilst trying not to let her pendulous breasts droop into the slimy hole that was his face, Barbara makes a horrifying discovery of her own. It seems that the mucky mutant is actually absorbing Ricky and mutating him into another creature.

Yuck.

"I wouldn't want that swimming up my arse".

With everyone upset and the food having gone cold Dr. Hauser suggests (in a rare show of humanity) that everyone should have an early night and worry about the mess in the morning, Barbara has other ideas tho' and persuades Colby to indulge in a game of hide the (undoubtedly moldy) hot dog with this choice piece of chat up dialogue:

Bubbly Babs: "I hear you're the biggest trouble shooter in this part of the galaxy".
Cool-cat Colby: "That's what they tell me".
Bubbly Babs: "Well how'd you like to see some........trouble?"

Bizarrely this movie was cruelly overlooked at the 1982 Oscars, losing out on best Original Screenplay to Chariots of Fire.

Like has anyone ever heard of that let alone seen it?

Anyway, back to the plot and whilst Colby and Babs are getting down and getting dirty, the stations head of security (Late Review's Paulin) sweatily sits back and enjoys the show.

Luckily for us (and the station's cleaners) he's disturbed mid-stroke by a strange grunting noise coming from the cargo bay.

Like all good security types he decides to investigate.

Alone.

As you can probably guess, it's not long till his dying screams are heard throughout the base causing everyone to wake up in a startled manner but more importantly causing Colby to shoot off early, covering Bab's knees with space spunk.

How will he explain that to his Nan?

"Laugh now!"

The next morning Colby puts his fantastic monster catching plan into operation.

This involves him skulking around the base in a very suspicious manner whilst pointing his gun at stuff.

Well they did say he was the best of the best.

By some strange coincidence he just happens across Tracy whilst she's enjoying a naked steam bath and it's not long before she's persuaded him to get naked too.

How the fuck does he manage it?

Unfortunately for Colby (but fortunate for those of us not turned on by old man cock) just as he's about to stick it in Tracy the monstrous mutant drops out of an air-vent and waves it's flaccid, KY Jelly encrusted tentacles in a vaguely camp manner.

Tracy's ear bursting screams bring the rest of the crew (including a really angry and by now ready to explode with sexual frustration Barbara) running in just in time to see the beast scuttle away into a nearby airlock before bobbing away across the planets surface.

Realizing he's not going to get a proper shag till the thing is dead, Colby suggests that the men folk head outside to hunt it down whilst the ladies make a nice strong cuppa or something.

How your girlfriend manages to pay for all those expensive birthday gifts she gets you.

Decked out in sci-fi head scarves, a couple of second hand gimp masks and some Wellington boots our luckless band (and Sam the robot) wander aimlessly around the studio backlot before coming across what looks like a giant paper mache testicle hanging from a rock.

Sam - being jealous of not having man-parts - shoots it Whilst Dr. Hauser screams something about having much to learn from it and how we should all be friends and stuff.

Before he gets too annoyingly preachy the beast turns up and bites his face before darting back into the airlock with his still twitching body.

Heading back inside (and thus filling the movies meager running time with lots of corridor shots) Colby and co. are just about to explain what's happened when Hauser reappears, all melty faced and dripping shit for every orifice.

As is the way in these situations, he falls on poor Tracy getting her all slimy and sticky meaning that she needs to take a bizarro sonic shower straight away.

Oh yes, and she needs Barbara to join her so she can make sure all the slime is washed off.

No. Need.

It's during this completely non gratuitous and important scene that Barbara realizes that she has the solution to the monster problem.

And no, it's not have slimy tentacle sex with it unfortunately but instead the pair of them decide to don arse revealing bathrobes, head on down to the lab that it's hiding in and have a friendly chat with it.

What could possibly go wrong?

Within minutes Babs is bent over a computer desperately trying to communicate with the beast whilst hoping (in vain) that the cameraman can't see what she had for lunch.

Deciding to ask "What do you want?" the creature pauses for a moment to think of an intelligent answer before replying (in the movies most erotic scene) by shoving one of it's tentacles right up Barbara's arse and out of her mouth.

Tracy runs away screaming, her breasts bouncing like a couple of playful beagles in a bag as she goes.

With only Colby, cough-pot Timbergen, Tracy, her aforementioned breasts and ample arse left alive the chances of anyone surviving to the films end looks bleak.

But Timbergen has a secret weapon and the only thing that can possibly kill a beast capable of instantly adapting to the DNA of its victims.

Other than a nuclear bomb or a big fire obviously.

Yes, you guessed it, he's going to feed it his cancerous stomach tumour.

The only problem being that it's still inside him and Colby is the only person not shot too much to fuck to cut it out.

But as Colby prepares for the operation, the beast slithers ever closer....

With everyone from Luigi Cozzi (the egg-tastic Contamination), Norman Warren (Inseminoid) and Harry Bromley Knight (Xtro) picking over the corpse of Sir Ridley of Scott's big budget seminal sci-fi shlocker Alien, it was only a matter of time before king of the B's Lord Roger Corman got in on the act, first with the James Cameron designed Galaxy Of Terror and then (using the same sets, costumes, etc.) with Forbidden World.

Galaxy of Terror: Slimier monsters, faker breasts.

Directed by the former (and latter) editor Allan Holzman - best known for his work on Crazy Mama and Battle Beyond The Stars - after winning a bet with big Rog that he could shoot and edit enough rough footage in a day to make a coherent scene (that actually ends up as the films opening), Forbidden World may be cheesier than a tramps feet and cheaper than your girlfriend but it possesses a trashy heart (and neck of pure brass) that raises it above much of the competition.

The fact that it features some of the lamest excuses for nudity ever and a monster that the seventies Doctor Who production team would knock back as being too cheap doesn't do it any harm either.*

"Put it in me!"

Shamelessly ripping off everything from Star Wars to 2001 via Silent Running along the way, Forbidden World proudly wears it's influences on it's sleeve, almost boasting how it had (metaphorically) bummed Alien for a fiver then stolen its shoes, in equal parts enjoyable, laughable and as entertaining as watching your Dad drunkenly fall down the stairs whilst pissing himself.

Plus it has the audacity to cast big headed, baby doll Dawn Dunlap as a scientist and expect us not to laugh.

With balls of solid steel and a budget of less than a fiver Forbidden World delivers more scares, shocks, bare arses and laugh now moments than any other film with the same title plus it has slightly more natural breasts than the frighteningly pneumatic pair on show in Galaxy of Terror and for that we should all be grateful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Saying that tho' Chibbers and co. would probably have sold their weans for aliens as good as this one, Orphan 55 I'm looking at you.....among others

head boy.

This has been sitting on my shelf for years when I suddenly realised I'd never seen it before....I shall hand in my horror fan card forthwith.

 

 

All I can say to you is keep away from the skull of the Marquis de Sade!

 

The Skull (1965).

Dir: Freddie Francis.

Cast: Peter Cushing, Patrick Wymark, Christopher Lee, Jill Bennett, Nigel Green, Patrick Magee, Peter Woodthorpe, Michael Gough, George Coulouris, April Olrich and Maurice Good.

Our terrifying tale opens in a fog-filled graveyard somewhere in France (well I say somewhere but it's actually Épernon which lies some 27 kilometres northeast of Chartres, at the confluence of the Drouette and the Guesle, fact fans) in the year 1814 - tho' that might just be the time - where full-time phrenologist and part-time Tom Jones impersonator Pierre Soontodie (Good, Phineas Clanton himself from that 60s Doctor Who classic The Gunfighters) is busying himself exhuming the corpse of that well-known perv-miester Donatien Alphonse François - AKA Marquis de Sade in order to study his skull for signs of mentalism.

 No really.

Heading back home with the head in a bin bag Pierre is surprised to discover his sexy shouldered yet unfortunately unnamed mistress (Olrich whose biggest roles were as a party guest in Supergirl and as the bespectacled beauty Desiree in the 70s TeeVee 'classic' Roberts Robots) sprawled across his bed scoffing marshmallows.

Tho' to be honest I'd be pretty surprised to find myself in this situation seeing as although the recipe for marshmallows was invented by the ancient Egyptians, the weren't produced in their present form until 1850.

And it's this blatant disregard for historical accuracy that obviously causes him to push the Parisian strumpet aside and head straight into his makeshift laboratory to clean the skull of all its flesh. 

Three bags of marshmallows later and his French fancy is still sprawled across the bed awaiting the attentions of Pierre when she notices plumes of strange coloured smoke emanating from under the laboratory door and being curious/bored/French/ decides to investigate only to find her lover drowned in the same vat of liquids he used to clean the skull as the skull itself peers (as skulls do) from a nearby shelf...

Bloody Hell it's Fred Titmuss!

 Jumping forward to the present(ish) day (well 1965 so technically the past, spooky) we soon find ourselves - as in we're watching on the screen not in a Star Trek transporter type way, you get the idea - in a stuffy auction house where Michael Gough (obviously with an afternoon free) is refereeing a bidding war 'tween the eminent occult expert Dr. Christopher Maitland (Cushing) and the slightly less-eminent occult collector Sir Matthew Phillips as they battle to see who will spend the most cash on a set of four knock-off Gorillaz figures.

Phillips, being richer than Maitland - and it seems in a trance - wins out, paying double what the figures are actually worth yet seems to have no recollection of doing so and on that bombshell goes home leaving Maitland to drown his sorrows with the dodgy antique dealer Anthony Marco (genre stalwart Wymark) well known around the antique/occult circuit for acquiring rare items by any means necessary (including theft and probably offering sweet, sweet kisses) who offers him a rare book bound in human flesh (but not that one) for a princely £100 and a packet of Haribo.

"Can you see my bra?"

 

The book, it seems, is a complete horrible history of the Marquis and his erotically charged occult shenanigans and just to prove the point we get a spooky flashback to see what became of the marshmallow munching MILF from earlier when Pierre's solicitor, Dr. Londe (Coulouris from loads of stuff) turns up to sort out the dead mans affairs.

Oh and after seeing the skull on the shelf, stab the lady to death.

Maitland is understandably  intrigued by the book and excitedly hands over the cash but Marco has an ace up his sleeve.

And by that I mean the actually skull in question, in a Londis bag under his jacket.

And he's willing to part with it for a grand.

Or maybe even 500 quid.

Bargain.

Unfortunately Maitland isn't convinced (I mean let's be honest, most skulls look the same, except mine obviously seeing as I have a fucking huge head) so decides to discuss the proposition with Phillips that very night over their weekly billiards game.

"Put it in me!"

Fiddling self-consciously with his balls Phillips admits to Maitland that the skull is in fact the genuine article as Marco actually stole it from him in the first place but is reluctant to press charges as the skull had spooky powers that took him over and compelled him to purchase over-priced statues at the auction and the like in order to stage a demonic sacrifice style ritual over the next few days.

Sounds legit.

Anyway Phillips is convinced that the evil entity residing in the skull is the same force that compelled the Marquis de Sade to commit all that bad stuff and pleads with Maitland not to buy it.

Now convinced that the skull is worth having, Maitland heads home to prepare a space on the shelf and to take a deeper dive into the Marquis only to be disturbed (during a particularly juicy bit) by a knock on the door. 

Maitland answers only to be confronted by two (tiny) fedora wearing besuited blokes (less men in black more blokes from Barnardos)  who roughly arrest him before bunging him in the back of a police car and driving him to a big house where he's forced to play Russian Roulette by a grinning judge as the walls close in around him and acrid smoke appears from nowhere.

Tho' to be far compared to some of the stuff the police get up to in the UK (I'm looking at you Lesbian Nana - among others) Maitland gets off lightly.

A Lesbian Nana licking piss off John Nettles yesterday.

 

Suddenly Maitland wakes with a scream, yup it was all a dream but somehow he's woken in Marco's flat (and his trousers are on backwards) so without further ado he sneaks out and hurries home to explain his bedtime absence to his permanently bewildered wife Jane (button-nosed Bennett)and to get the cash to finally buy the skull.

Unfortunately when he returns (again) he finds Marco dead behind the door so quickly hides the skull in a cupboard to collect later before calling the police - who arrive in the form of cult favourites Patrick (WINE?) McGee and Nigel (Jason and the Argonauts, Zulu, Tobruk and The Ipcress File) Green - who conclude that Marco was killed (to death) by a wild dog or a very angry stoat due to his throat being ripped out.

Dirty nailed landlord Bert (Woodthorpe, the voice of Pigsy in Monkey) disagrees with this tho' seeing as he doesn't allow pets in the house.

Which is fair enough I guess.

Not that his opinion matters much seeing as later that night when he returns to retrieve the skull Maitland accidentally kills Bert by pushing him over a banister.

He then heads home to keep watch over the skull in order to see what funny japes it'll get up to.

Cue twenty (very) odd minutes of Cushing gurning and screaming whilst trying to stab his sleeping wife as the skull attempts to possess him...

 

It is you know.

 

With a plot (from Robert Bloch's - very - short story "The Skull of the Marquis de Sade") stretched almost to breaking point by producer-screenwriter Milton Subotsky, The Skull is a lean, mean and genuinely nightmarish (at times) thriller that for the most part relies solely on the acting prowess of Cushing (and a couple of really cool 'skulls eye view' moments) to keep the viewers entertained.

And incredibly it works.

A modern - for the time - British-based gothic horror that isn't afraid to channel the likes of classics such as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari alongside the then current trend for psychological horror over the supernatural (before cheekily melding the two) to produce a taut and terrifying little thriller that's a forgotten gem in the Amicus crown.

Plus it's a nice wee change of pace to the usual Amicus anthology 'orrors.

 

Eye son.

 

Fantastically - and simply -  staged and with fantastic cinematography - the skulls eye view scene are a particularly creepy stand out - whilst Freddie Francis' direction is never better add to that the music by Elisabeth Lutyens' (the first female British composer to score a feature film, fact fans) and you have a perfect example of British gothic horror at it's finest.

pouty pannochka.

 Soviet and Russian film and theatre actress Natalya Varley, best known around here for her creepy/cutesy portrayal of Pannochka in the 1967 adaptation of Viy pulling faces in an amusing manner.

Enjoy.

game on!