scotch pissed.

Day 2 of the whole 31 Days of Horror thing and it's time to break out the big guns.

And by big guns I mean man boobs.

Stop....Naschy time!

La orgía de los muertos (AKA Orgy of the Dead, The Hanging Woman, Beyond the Living Dead, Return of the Zombies and Terror of the Living Dead among others, 1973).

Dir: Jose Luis Merino.

Cast: Stelvio (Stan Cooper) Rosi, Aurora de Alba, Maria Pia Conte, Gérard Tichy, Dyanik Zurakowska, Pasquale Pasile, Gérard Tichy, Isarco Ravaioli, Carlos Quiney and Lord Paul of Naschy.

For the Squeamish ... Keep Repeating ... It Can't Be True ... It Can't Be True ... It Can't Be True ... It Can't Be True ... It Can't Be True ...

Our tale begins in 19th century Scotland (played here utterly realistically by Skopje in Macedonian) where sexy blonde-bobbed bloke around town Serge Chekov (Council estate Jason King, Rosi, billed as Stan Cooper for reasons beyond our comprehension) and his porn star 'tache has just arrived from 'the London' for the reading of his late uncle Brian’s will. 

And I mean late as in dead, not that he was shite at timekeeping.

With the train guard telling him that no taxis go to the nearby town of Yaweebam after dark due to rampaging Kappa-trackie demons, Serge has no choice but to proceed on foot.

Well technically that's not true as he could stay at the local hotel till morning if he wanted but obviously it's a short film so he wants to get down to the actual plot as soon as possible.

Which is fair enough.

Taking a short cut thru' the local graveyard he's shocked to come across the body of a young girl swinging from a tree and is soon running around in a fairly girly manner, banging on doors and screaming for help only stopping when he gets to his uncle's house.

The fact that he doesn't recognize it or realize that the corpse is that of his cousin Mary (de Alba from Raise Your Hands, Dead Man, You're Under Arrest and Frankenstein's Bloody Terror among other classics) till someone tells him makes me think that they're not that close a family.

Or that he'd actually any idea as to where he was heading.

But heyho, that's early 70s Spanish horror films for you. 

Well this one at least.

"Are you the farmer?"

 

It's not all bad tho' as Serge soon discovers that he is to his inherit the entire of his uncle’s estate, much to the chagrin of Brian's widow Nadia (Conte, from Spasmo, The Labyrinth of Sex and your dad's bed) a foxy temptress who, when not shagging Ivan the butler (Quiney from shedloads of stuff, none of it any good tho') or having crafty cunnilingus sessions with Igor the gravedigger (Sir Paul of Naschy - the reason we are here)is busy performing black magic rites in her nightie. 

Which is nice.

Add weirdy beardy Professor Leon Droila (Spanish cinema god Tichy) who had been tasked by Brian to find a cure to death via the reanimation of disco-dancing frogs and his harsh daughter Doris (Zurakowska, best known for the classic Vampires Night Orgy and having a really wide face) to the mix and you can see why local police detective and pie expert Jeff Tidybeard (Spain's very own Noel Edmonds, Basile from Julius Caesar Against the Pirates) is convinced that something more sinister than a late night graveyard suicide is afoot.

He suspects murder and is pretty sure that Igor is to blame, especially since they've discovered his love of sniffing (dead) ladies underwear and his habit of sticking his engorged member into female corpses.

Which to me sounds like he's definitely a bit of a wrong 'un,  tho' others would no doubt say he's stunning and brave whilst demonizing and de-platforming anyone who would question the mental health of a person sticking their cock in a corpse. 

Probably.

"Is it in yet?"

Anyway back at the plot and Nadia is relaxing with a wee bit of voodoo hoodoo (you do, remind me of the babe that is) before following Serge to his room with offers of 'the sex' in the hope of her fantastic blouse persuading him to let her stay in the house.

She will not be the last person to try this trick on Serge during the remainder of the film.

Knocking her back on account of her having 'Knees like me mum', Serge bids her goodnight and - in a scene of unbridled eroticism - slowly strips for bed only to be confronted by Igor falling out of a wardrobe shouting "I'm no a bad 'un really, I just shag corpses! It's everyone else who's wrong!" before trying to stab Serge in the face and escaping thru a secret passage behind the toilet.

Hearing the commotion coming from Serge's room Nadia bursts in to help but only succeeds in hitting poor Serge on the head with a chamber pot resulting in him getting knocked unconscious, luckily Nadia manages to convince him that the best cure for concussion is a shag in her dead husbands bed.

Being a wee bit unsteady on his feet and mildly confused Serge agrees.

Cue ten minutes (or is it hours?) of twirling cut price sexy psychedelic shagging, which would be OK if the whole saucy sense of sexiness wasn't ruined by the cast's dirty feet.

Oh and by Rosi's really hairy arse.

Or was that Conte's?

Obviously Ivan the butler is fairly upset by this turn of events and tries to exert his manliness by refusing to serve Serge an extra crumpet at breakfast which results in our hero shouting - in his best Alan Sugar voice - "You're fired!" at him before punching him in the face which Ivan counters by pulling out a switchblade and trying to stick it in Serge.

Five minutes of slow fighting - and one broken banister - later and Serge has booted the big-haired badboy out of the house with a threat to shoot him in the face if he returns.

Ivan announces that he knows what's going on before storming off into the night.

And with that out of the way everyone retires to bed.

Except me obviously as I want to see how everything plays out.

That's your Mum that is.

With a fairly short running time to fill, the next morning Serge has no sooner finished breakfast when Professor Leon Droila walks in to beg our hero to continue funding his experiments and not chuck him and Doris out into the streets.

Which is fair enough I guess.

He has nowt to worry about tho' as Serge has money to burn and no intention of chucking the Prof and his daughter out on their arse, especially after witnessing an amazing reanimated frog experiment in the downstairs laboratory.

In all the frog-based excitement tho' no-one thinks to tell Doris the good news so she takes in on herself to - uncomfortably - strip down to her pants in front of Serge in the hope of him allowing the pair to stay on the payroll and being the joker he is he doesn't mention it till she's tearfully about to let him put it in her.

What a card.

And with that the pair decided to figure out for themselves what's going down.

Apart from scarily abusive misogyny obviously.

Baby Spice is taking the divorce well.

As their investigations continue, Serge comes across his late niece's diary which leads him back to the family crypt (well it was either there or the chippie - it is a very small town) where he discovers that his uncle's body has vanished, luckily Nadia is on hand to perform a seance in order to contact the count and ask him what the fuck is going on.

Unfortunately for her rather than knock over candles and bang on the table he actually turns up in the (slightly peeling) flesh and strangles her.

To death!

 

Less is there anyone here, more is anyone fucking interested.

So is Serge's uncle alive or dead? 

 

Well Inspector Tidybeard reckons that they may have just missed him in the crypt what with it being dark and all, so everyone heads back for a second look.

 And guess what?

Not only is the count's body is back where it should be but poor Igor is there too, bricked up in a wall and covered in blood, egg and shit.

And he's left them a clue scrawled in his own blood.

Or it might be paint.

With the film lurching toward a climax and with nowt of any consequence happening on screen save a few scenes of nudity and Naschy's sweaty man-tits, Serge and Doris head into the catacombs below the house only to discover a horde of zombies awaiting their orders.

But who is controlling them?

And why?

No, really, why cos none of this makes any sense.

 

Whilst better known for his action/adventure output (including the classics Slaughter on the Khyber Pass, Battle of the Last Panzer and Zorro, Rider of Vengeance) director José Luis Merino had already - if not flirted - then at least given a furtive reach-around to the horror genre with his 1970 offering Scream of the Demon Lover, the terrifying tale a young and beautiful biochemist, Ivanna Rakowsky who falls in love with her employee Baron Janos Dalmar. Little realising that at night he transforms into a demon intent on making her its love slave.

Reading that back I'm kinda wondering why I didn't review that instead.

Oh well.

 

A strong wumman does some science yesterday.

To be fair tho', what this film lacks in demon-based lusting it more than makes up for with its heady mix of (junior) Cluedo style hi-jinks (albeit with added panty sniffing), a genuinely - at times - creepy atmosphere, Voodoo, zombies, mad scientists and lashings of nudity and gore.

Plus a guest appearance by Paul Naschy that he did as a favour on the proviso  that he could flesh out his character, sleep with the leads (both male and female), write his own dialogue and wear his own trousers.

It's just a pity then that none of it actually holds together in any way whatsoever.

The 'plot' - what there is of it - is equally over-complicated and under developed; at one point screeching to a halt so we can 'enjoy' a ketchup soaked autopsy, the characterization (save for Naschy) is sketchy at best, especially with our 'hero' Serge who goes from well meaning nice guy to predatory creep at the drop of a hat and the fact that there are a fair few characters that don't even have names - even tho' the village seems to only have about 8 inhabitants.

Lucky for us then that just when you think about turning it off Paul Naschy appears at random intervals clad in an Alvin Stardust wig, Benny beanie and with an eggy beard randomly touching up a corpse and saving the whole film in the process.

And for that, as ever we salute him. 

Oh and the scenery is quite nice and whilst The Hanging Woman is no way the best Spanish/Italian co-production featuring a zombie frog ever made it's really not that shit and is a fairly pain-free way to spend an evening.

And if that's not damning with (very) faint praise I don't know what is.

Be seeing you.

bad monk house.

 

It's day 1 of this years fang-tastic 31 Days of Horror where I attempt to get more (any?) readers to pay attention to my inane ramblings and I'm starting with a good 'un.

Yup it's all downhill from here.

 

Haunted House of Horror (aka The Dark, Horror House, 1969).
Dir: Michael Armstrong.
Cast: Frankie Avalon, Gina Warwick, Jill Haworth, Julian Barnes, Mark Wynter, Carol Dilworth, Richard O’Sullivan, Dennis Price, George Sewell, Robin Stewart, Veronica Doran and Clifford Earl.

"the way you dig blood you'd think you were a vampire."

It's 'swinging' 60s London and what better place to start our story than the hip 'n' happening Carnaby Street where the girls are all dishy dolly birds and the guys are all groovy go-getters.

And every single one of them looks like they're just the wrong side of their 30s.

Well it's either that or they've all had fucking tough paper rounds.

In the midst of all this mod-ish madness we meet the raven haired temptress Sylvia (Warwick - not the castle but an actress who once played a librarian in The Champions) who inbetween fixing the wigs on a variety of shop window dummies is desperately trying to find a way of convincing her OAP ex-beau, the sinisterly named Uncle Bob (Sewell on his day off from UFO) that she doesn't fancy him any more.

You see it seems that since the pair split up poor old lovelorn Bob has been following her about in his car whilst telling Sylvia that she'll never get away from him.

Obviously back in the 60s this kinda thing was just seen as playful flirty bantz and not the kind of behavior that, today, would get you locked up.

Ah more innocent times.

To add to her woes it also appears that the fella she actually does want to have stick something in her is actually dating another girl.

Enter - roughly and from behind - the boy in question, the swoonsome Gary (ex-popster Wynter)who is currently enjoying a coffee with the aforementioned girlfriend Dorothy (Dilworth who scarily looks just like Lucy Porter if drawn from memory which was quite disconcerting I can tell you and not just because I have a fairly unhealthy crush on her*) whilst discussing the party being held that evening by their American pal Chris (Avalon taking a break from all those Beach Party flicks by spending his days off in rainy Ealing, each to their own).

Unfortunately Gary remembers that he has a stag do that evening so Dorothy will have to go without him, tho' he promises to turn up late and not be drunk.

Porter - Cabin.

Later than evening and very drunk, Gary finally arrives at the party (after an incredibly realistic stag party that consists of 4 guys standing around a piano singing sub-Blur ditties whilst cradling glasses of bitter) and proceeds to collapse into a bed whilst his pals - including Peter (Robin's Nest star and Brit TV royalty, the late, great O'Sullivan), his girlfriend Madge (Council estate Wendy Padbury Doran) and Henry (Stewart from Legend of The 7 Golden Vampires and Bless This House) - cover for him.

Dorothy meanwhile and none the wiser that her beau is back continues to stand in the corner licking piss off John Nettles.

Back at the creepy sugar daddy stalker subplot, Sylvia has also just arrived at the party thanks to a lift from Bob and almost immediately attempts to snog Gary but being a nice man - OK being really drunk - he refuses, offering instead to maybe shag her tomorrow when he's sober.

What a guy.

With Sylvia onto a promise she excitedly leaves the bedroom to enjoy the happening party atmosphere only to realise that everyone is sitting around bored senseless and getting totally shit-faced in an attempt to alleviate the boredom, you see it turns out that Chris' party is in fact utter wank and everyone is quickly losing the will to live.

Tho' to be honest I'm not too surprised seeing as they do only seem to have one record and then the only real entertainment seems to be watching Madge creepily undulate in what looks like your gran's babydoll nightie.

Luckily the sinisterly fey Richard (Barnes who you may recall as Jeff Gilbert in Crossroads for a few episodes in 1976) has a plan to add a wee bit of excitement to the proceedings - both on and off screen - and to this end suggests that they take the party to a nearby haunted house and tell spooky stories.

As you do.

So the (main) cast grab a few crates of booze and head out, much to the annoyance of Chris' girlfriend Sheila who, it turns out doesn't dig haunted houses.

Tho' she does like blood.

Which is fair enough.

So off they drive to the infamous - and deserted - Baldpate Manor ready to party, unaware that Uncle Bob is following them.

Thanks to the American producers interference this doesn't actually happen in the film, instead we get a shot of a fat lass dancing. Cheers!

It's not too long before the pals arrive at the rundown mansion and have soon broken in and settled onto some handy blankets to hear Richard's spooky story regarding the house, you see it seems that 20 years ago a member of the Baldpate family went mental, chopping up everyone else in the house with an axe before killing himself.

Tho' to be honest it'd be pretty difficult to do it the other way round.

Anyway it also turns out that the killer's ghost is supposed to haunt the old house.

This has an odd effect on Henry who excitedly exclaims "To hell with the drinks, let's all have an orgy!" before looking at a by now smiling Madge before quickly changing his mind and suggesting a seance instead.

A lucky escape there methinks.

Sylvia, being much more 'mature' than her friends (and by that I mean nearly 40) decides she's had enough of such childish things so elects to go home, Gary offers to take her as far as the front porch and with a kiss waves her off into the night.

With Bob in hot pursuit.

Which judging by his 3-piece suit, woolly overcoat and porkpie hat must be very hot indeed.

Don't get too concerned tho' as she's soon hitched a lift home leaving the pervy oldster to go back to furtively smoking behind a tree.

At least some lights are on.

It's all go back at the house tho' the rest of the gang ready themselves for the seance but upon realising that they have absolutely no clue what to do decide to just wander around the place looking for the ghost instead so off they trot into the dark for what seems like hours of folk popping out behind cupboards shouting "Boo!" whilst dropping their candles.

But not their knickers alas.

All this tomfoolery soon comes crashing to a close however when, out of nowhere, Gary is messily stabbed to death by an unseen assailant which kinda puts a damper on the whole evening.

Meeting up in the drawing room and with hysterical ladies slapped and sitcom star vomited (nice gag acting from O'Sullivan) Chris steps in to decide what to do and, after assuming that the killer is 'one of them' (as in a member of the gang not a homosexualist), reckons that rather than call the police and report a murder they must hide Gary's body in a field a few miles away and just forget it ever happened.

No, really.

Thanks to the power of the slow dissolve it's now 3 days later and the local police - led by the inappropriately named Inspector Manley (An obviously sozzled Price) are investigating the disappearance of poor Gary.

The reason that they're so interested in his whereabouts is due to the fact that the year before Gary was involved in a drugs bust where the police found 8 stone of crack in Madge's pants so assume it must be related so to this end they pull the gang in for questioning.

Meanwhile poor old - an I do mean old - Bob is in a right tizzy seeing as Sylvia appears to have lost the cigarette lighter he bought her and it maybe at the old house.

No, me neither.

"And this is all the fucks I give."

With a grumpy shout of  "If they find it it could finish us both!" he stomps off to his car and drives back to the house in order to find it.

And by find it I mean get stabbed.

To death.

As the pals show signs of cracking under pressure, Chris calls a meeting where Peter stiffly suggests that the only way to sort things out is to head back to the house and re-create the night in question.

But with less killings obviously.

And maybe a pot plant in the place of Gary.

Maybe.

Will our groovy gang discover the killer's identity before it's too late?

Is the missing lighter anything at all to do with the murders or just a way to off a cast member to keep viewer interest with a subplot that makes no sense?

Will Dennis Price appear in any scenes where he's not clutching a desk for fear of falling over?

And will the climax make any sense?

Edgar Allan NO more like.

From the pen (and eyes) of cult film royalty Michael Armstrong - amongst other things he's given us the Udo Kier classic Mark of the Devil (1970), the sight of David Warbeck's pert arse thrusting atop Diane Keen in The Sex Thief (1973), the Katy Manning starring sex comedy Eskimo Nell (1975), the Black Country based bad man movie The Black Panther (1977), the Vincent Price, Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing and John Carradine classic House of the Long Shadows (1983) he also worked as an uncredited script doctor on LifeForce (1983) as well as writing and directing the David Bowie short The Image - comes his first full length feature - from a script called The Dark - he wrote when he was 15.

I'll let that sink in, I mean what were you doing when you were 15?**

Exactly.

To be fair he did rewrite it 7 years later so any goodwill we could have is kinda pissed up the wall cos frankly it's pretty shite.

Tho' if you delve into the story behind it you get a tale way scarier - and much more depressing - than anything on screen.

Something about 'thighs' and 'limits' possibly.

Originally pitched as a story that explored "The dark psycho-sexual themes reflected in the current cynical underbelly beneath the superficial 60s culture." and with David Bowie penciled in to play the killer, the script was recommended to Witchfinder General and Repulsion producer Tony Tenser who immediately set up a deal with American International Pictures (famous for their Vincent Price starring, Roger Corman produced Poe movies) who after much thought and bags of potato chips insisted that it be shot (cheaply) in the UK, have a couple of American actors in it for 'international appeal', feature way more sexy stuff and star Boris Karloff.

Karloff would have played the role later taken by Dennis Price and not the sexy male lead obviously tho' being close to death at the time he turned it down.

Which was a blessed relief for him seeing as he got to make the slightly more entertaining Curse of the Crimson Altar instead.

Even tho' it was the year before.

I probably just mentioned it as no-one seems to have read my review.

Anyway for that part Armstrong suggested Ian Ogilvy but American cash meant an American lead so to this end Frankie Avalon was cast, scuppering any chance of an appearance by David Bowie in case the pair "didn't get on".

Tho' it was more likely that Bowie wouldn't have been seen dead in the collection of ghastly turtlenecks (topped off with a  nice mustard coloured V neck sweater) that Avalon is forced to wear.

Seriously he looks like the shittest Captain Kirk kissagram ever.

Even more so than Chris Pine.

Ask yer mum.

Further rewrites ensued as more and more saucy sex stuff was added and then removed (alongside most of the plot) until all that remained was an essence of the original psycho-sexual slasher hobbled by reams of stilted dialogue delivered by plum-mouthed posh types, one fairly gruesome murder scene and Gina Warwick in a pretty frock.

Which let's be honest isn't really enough to recommend it.

Plus the house isn't even bloody haunted.

What a swizz.

Saying that tho' there is - allegedly - a version where Gina Warwick (and Mark Wynter unfortunately) get sweaty and naked but to be honest I'm not that desperate.










*Lucy Porter that is, not Carol Dilworth, I mean she's old enough to be my gran. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**And no, your mum's best friend doesn't count.

thunderbirds are go!

 

"Anything can happen in the next hour!"

Celebrate Thunderbirds Day with 60 minutes of Fab Supermarionation sounds.....

 

keep on trekkin'

 

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

spak to the future.

 

Been a wee bit quiet around Arena Towers at the moment due to real life shite but I couldn't let the 60th anniversary of Star Trek pass without a wee bit of a celebration.

Turist Ömer Uzay Yokunda (AKA Ömer the Tourist in Star Trek 1973)
Dir: Hulki Saner.
Cast: Sadri Alisik, Erol Amac, Cemil Sahbaz, Ferdi Merter, Fusun Olgac and Yilmaz Sahin.....yes THAT Yilmaz Sahin.

"Kompiter cevap verin. Zzt ne demek?"

The place: space, somewhere near the final frontier, the time: round about teatime, the USS Enterprise (recently refitted using MDF and cardboard by the look of things) is on a routine mission to deliver supplies to the eccentrically bearded Professor Minty and his homely (re: plain), bog eyed assistant, the short skirted, ample thighed Nancy.

Mincing quite alarmingly onto the bridge is the mulleted master of man-dom himself, Kaptan Kirk (Turkish action superstar Sahbaz), effeminately lisping orders to all and sundry as he rubs his thighs in a vaguely homo-erotic - and strangely enough incredibly hypnotic - manner.
 
Uhura (or to be more precise a Turkish council estate equivalent) just nods with a look of concern usually seen on the faces of mothers with particularly naughty children at everything he says.

Or maybe she just doesn't speak Turkish, who knows?

Or cares.

Arriving at their destination via the use of blatantly stolen clips from the teevee show Kirk - as always - decides to lead the mission himself, taking 'Scocthy' (Sahin), Mr. Spak (star of the Turkish Exorcist, the late great Erol Amac), Dr. Makkoy (Merter, best known for his portrayal of Sefa Kervancioglu in the teevee hit A Bitter Life) and the green shirted ensign Ricky with him for company.

So far so standard Star Trek.

If it were shot thru' a spunk filled sock obviously.

The Pet Shop Boys have let themselves go.

Beaming down to the planet's surface in a fantastic mix of film scratches and camera pauses accompanied by the sounds of an old man whistling our heroes find that Minty is none too happy about having visitors.

"Leave the supplies an go!" he screams.

In Turkish obviously.


At this point the casual viewer may be wondering why the actress playing Nancy keeps changing between scenes.

And - if they're really mean and quite sexist - why none of the are even vaguely attractive.

Fear not dear viewer it's not bad continuity - tho' there's a lot of it about - but because she is in reality a shape changing 'salt vampire'.

Hmmmm, this plot is very familiar.

Effects.

Luckily before the viewer can get too distracted trying to remember which Star Trek episodes they've nicked it from*, Minty - for reasons best known to himself - unveils his latest creations to the captain and his crew.

And what has he been spending his time (and Starfleet funds) working on all this time?

Believe it or not our scientist chum announces that he's built the perfect android.

Tho' you wouldn't think it to look at it seeing as what he presents us with is a fake tanned, greasy haired ne'er do well of the kind you see operating the waltzers at the fairground in a loincloth accompanied by a couple of harsh faced gypsy girls painted gold.

Maybe they're in disguise?

There's no time for such trivialities tho' as no sooner have the ravishing she-bots started fawning over our hunky captain that a blood curdling (well cock bothering) scream is heard from behind a nearby rock.

Racing as quick as his chubby legs will carry him (which isn't very) Kirk is shocked (well I assume it's shock it could well be constipation) to discover the prone form of Ensign Ricky, killed by Nancy who has now reverted to her true terrifying form.

Which to all intents and purposes appears to be that of a fake fur covered giant spotty space otter.

As Kirk and co. examine the body Nancy sneaks back home before getting to work sticky-taping what looks like a Kinder Egg to the hunky roboman chest.

I felt that a pic was needed here to break up the massive amount of text and this was all I had to hand....sorry.

It's at this point that things get really weird as in a scene that would make David Lynch scratch his head in confusion the movie suddenly (and very jerkily) cuts to a wedding party where a greasy, mustached fat man in a shit hat, Omer (comedy god Sadri Alisik and the reason we're here) is being forced to marry a toothless old lady by a bunch of goons in ill fitting suits that they've obviously stolen from a morgue.

Omer gurns and grimaces like a man possessed (or at the very least indulging in a guilty, Pot Noodle fueled wank outside the local school - we've all been there) whilst the old woman nonchalantly looks on, sexily sucking on her gums.

But just as the wedding ceremony is about to begin Omar mysteriously vanishes in a puff of orange smoke, rematerialising on the alien planet.

Before he can catch his breath (or even crabs) tho' Omer finds himself being chased by the hunky, baby oiled He-bot,stopping occasionally to jump up and down grabbing his hat whilst shouting "Ooooh ooohhh!" as the robot suggestively thrust his hips towards him before grabbing our hapless behatted hero and roughly taking him up the rocky crevasse.

It's right about now that the film takes an even more disturbing turn and in a scene that even Lars von Trier would think twice about subjecting his audience to Omer is forcibly held down as the evil alien Nancy  proceeds to lick his grubby hand.

In glorious close-up.

For what seems like hours.

Ranting at her in Turkish, Omer takes his (non licked hand) and makes a grab for the Kinder egg taped to the robots back, finally managing to get hold of it and giving it a good squeeze causing the hunky roboman to start violently thrusting his hips whilst making strange animal sex noises.

This amuses Omer no end as he start laughing and grunting like like a creepy beast as he squeezes and rubs the egg more and more, watching the robot air shag whilst Nancy continues to lick his fingers.

Say what you like but it's shit like this that gives Turist Ömer Uzay Yokunda the edge over Star Trek Academy.

"Put it in me!"

From this point in the fuzzy-cheeked foreign funnyman that is Omer takes centre stage (and centre seat) with his patented brand of unwashed and uncouth comedy gold, highlights of which include a scene where upon being taken prisoner by three mini-skirted and sexy booted women holding phasers, Omer reacts by stroking one of the women's thighs and pulling ever more unsettling faces whilst making pig noises.

If any movie will bring back memories of being bummed by your uncle Jim at Christmas it's this one.

Whether that's a good or bad thing is totally up to you.

I won't judge.

Uncle Jim and Auntie Pat - Bumming not shown.

Anyway back to the plot where Nancy - obviously tired of the taste of tramp - is now busy licking the corpse of Ensign Ricky, seemingly left to rot by a heartless kirk before taking on his form and beaming aboard the Enterprise.

Her goal?

To slobber all over the crews hands and steal their salt.

Or something.

After endless scenes of Nancy changing shape and licking people, Kirk and Spak decide to return to the planet to get to the bottom of this saliva based mystery once and for all.

Exploring the local cave system the pair become separated and Kirk upon reaching the surface is confronted by the most terrifying creature ever committed to celluloid.

Yup, it's a radiation scarred Fimble with scary jazz hand action!.

Kirk, confused as to whether he should shoot or shag the beast, stands entranced as the creature performs a sexy dance routine before suddenly belching fire towards the captain who, in a fabulous act of heroism hides behind a rock till Spak turns up and shoots it in the face.

But where is Omer? I hear you cry.

Well it seems that he's back on the planet too.

Nancy bored with all those ships corridors  has dragged him back to her love nest where upon taking on the form of a big hipped beehived bikini babe has decided that his sweat is sweetest and is currently attempting to lick him to death.

Omer, surprisingly for a man facing certain death, is energetically reciprocating whilst pulling what must be a Turkish bum cum face.

Republica: The Pontins years.

Luckily (for us) this insane spit porn ends with the arrival of Mr Spak who upon seeing the horrors unfolding infront of him pulls out his shiny smooth weapon and threatens to unleash its milky white ray all over Nancy's face.

The vile vixen counters this by morphing into a Sexy Vulcan babe and with a flutter of her eyelashes and wiggle of her pointed ears persuades Spak to fight Kirk to the death.

What follows is the greatest display of slow fighting ever captured on celluloid as our heroes throw dummy punches, harsh looks and grunting noises at each other whilst Omer and Nancy look on.

"Spak - make porn come on my television."

The whole debacle quickly comes to an end when Nancy - obviously overcome by boredom - just walks off, freeing Spak from her control.

Kirk avoids any uncomfortable feeling by totally ignoring the fight and heads off to find Nancy only to be attacked by around twenty leopard print thong wearing young boys.

Which is nice, if a little unexpected.

And very possibly illegal.

What now follows is around ten minutes of Kirk and Spak wrestling a group of sunburned oiled pre-teens whilst Omer pulls 'amusing' faces before running over to an upright cooker and fiddling with some knobs causing the boys to start kicking each other up the arse before collapsing.

It's like a virtual tour of Dave Lee Travis' mind.

Is it in yet?

With the film races toward it's end and viewer tolerance quickly running out Kirk and Spak finally confront Nancy, deciding that it'd be best for everyone involved if they just shoot her.

Seeing it as a fair cop she decides to face death in her true 'space otter' form.

Come on the costume must have taken up at least a third of the films £27 budget so they need to get their money's worth.

Choking back the tears (and their vomit) our intrepid duo take aim only to be stopped by Dr. Makkoy whom it is revealed is an old flame of Nancy's and still fancies a bit of action.

Plus he has a thing for girls with hairy backs and arses.

But as we all know a leopard (or in this case an otter) can't change its spots and as Spak and Makkoy discuss the finer points of wiping out the last of a species Nancy sneaks away and begins to lick the captain.

To death.

Luckily for him tho' his screams get so loud that they can't hear each other speak so Spak has no choice but to start slapping Nancy around the head whilst wildly staring towards the camera.

Nancy bitch slaps the Vulcan and continues to lick and slobber over Kirk whilst Makkoy looks on helplessly.

Will the captain survive?

Will Omer re-appear and save the day in a golden shower of comedy goodness?

Will he return to Earth with Vulcan ears and mastery of the nerve pinch giving him a way of escaping the wedding?

It's a yes to this one by the way.

Insert amusing caption here.

Regular readers of this blog will already be aware of the Turkish film industries proud heritage of stealing from American blockbusters and 're-imagining' them on a budget of around twelve quid with thrift shop special effects and somebodies uncle in the lead.

Who can forget the Turkish Superman with it's shots of a Mego 8" action figure dangling precariously from a thread in front of a black and white teevee to simulate the flying scenes or the unforgettable Dunyayi Kurtaran Adam (AKA Turkish Star Wars), where a portly middle aged Luke Skywalker battles an army of Chuckle Hounds on trampolines?

Not much is known about the making of this classic (well, there might be info out there, but I can't be arsed researching it) but director Hulki Saner also made the 1974 hit Seytan (AKA Turkish Exorcist) and that the movies star, the late great Sadri Alisik was the Turkish equivalent of Stan Boardman, Johnny Vegas and a sweaty pervert rolled into one be-hatted piss stain package.

With seven popular movies behind him, taking in comedy adventures in locations as varied as the Middle East, Germany, Africa and The Killing Fields of Cambodia Turist Ömer Uzay Yokunda was his last appearance on the big screen with Alisik going into semi-retirement and becoming a poet, his book "Bir Ömürlük İstanbul" became an instant best seller and is universally acknowledge as being the main inspiration for the fall of the Berlin Wall, Live Aid and season 24 of Doctor Who.

So popular was he that after his death the Turkish government alongside his wife Çolpan İlhan (Turkey's answer to Joan Collins) opened a huge cultural centre in his name.

No idea if it was staffed by stinky tramps that attempted to molest female attendees in a variety of amusing ways tho.

Perhaps if any readers have been they could email and tell me.

The only other thing I could find out about him was that his brother-in-Law was the famous (well in Turkey) writer, Atilla Ýlhan.

Hmmm.....I better stop before this begins to sound like a real film blog.

Live long and prosper dear reader.






* It's 'The Man Trap', the first episode ever aired on September 8, 1966 in the USA  if you're wondering.

naschy birthday to you!

Seeing as it's the late, great Paul Naschy's birthday today I thought I'd (re)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 (incredibly Autistic) 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.














*It took about 40 years but I did finally get to see The Crater Lake Monster by the way.

leathery balls.

I sometimes get emails complaining that there isn't enough sport featured on this blog.

Or girls with massive chins.

But mainly it's folk just wishing me dead.

Or things like this:

Which is nice.

So with everyone gripped by 'the World Cup fever' as they say I reckoned now would be the time to jump on that bandwagon and hopefully get some new readers/sponsorship/money.

I can but dream.

So as all you 'soccer' fans say:

"Come on the reds!"

Or something.

And yes I know I repost this every time there's a major football tournament on but what do you expect for free?

Sing gum zhook kao (AKA Sexy Soccer, 2004)
Dir: Sik Hok Min (Yup, that's right - THE Sik Hok Min)
Cast: Au Yeung, Carmen Yeung and lots of other people but I've discovered that no-one actually reads the cast list bit, they go straight to the movie poster that's usually right below.

Professional sleazy guy Terry Rolando (Yeung, probably) is having a wee bit of bad luck culminating with a run in with the local loan shark.

You see he'd made a huge bet on his fave team winning the football championship cup (or something....as you can probably tell, I'm not really the sporty type) but guess what?

Yup, they lost.

Feeling generous the loan shark decides against cutting his throat and instead offers him one last chance to come up with the cash.

With no idea as to what he could do to raise the money Rolando decides to go watch a football match to get a wee bit of inspiration.

It's there that whilst enjoying the game his eyes are draw to a brash n' busty jogger bouncing by him at half time.

Rolando sees this as a message from God telling him to form an all female football team (named Friendly Balls) to compete against the all male squads, with the ladies uses their 'sexy bodies' to distract the testosterone fueled male players.

How this would work is never fully explained (much the same way as the loan shark storyline never re-appears) but, we've been promised scantily clad and sexy girls playing football so let's stick with it and see if it delivers.

Same shit....different smell.

Anyway back to the plot (which I will cover quickly so I can eradicate any memory of this film from my head), everything starts swimmingly with much training footage of girls jogging in tiny shorts and shots of sweaty ladies jumping on the spot as Rolando's plan seems to be foolproof enough for him to actually have a chance of winning whatever he's meant to win (I don't really care).

Unfortunately his arch rival Dennis gets wind of his plan and has a secret weapon of his own....

You see, he's secretly been training a team of homosexualists to play against the ladies in the final.

The rotter!

When all seems lost tho' our hero comes up with his greatest plan yet.

Remembering that 'the gays' like arse he gets all the ladies to flash their bum cheeks at them, instantly curing them of their gayness and thus enabling the girls to win.

Gary Lineker and your mum.

Effectively that's it as far as the movies plot goes, with half of the film being a shameful excuse to see a handful of fairly attractive young ladies with bored looks on their faces (and one with a chin like an ironing board) prancing around in tight tops and tiny seventies style shorts wiggling and jiggling like they're have a stroke.

But not in a good way like when Helen Robinson had hers in Neighbours.

What he said.

The remainder of this epic consists of endless scenes of Rolando (dressed like your dad) having sex with the team ( either in reality or 'hilarious' dream sequences) in the most disturbing scenes in cinema since Harvey Keitel cracked one off over that car door in The Bad Lieutenant'.

True there's and almost obscene amount of nudity (plus sex scenes that border on hardcore) but it's a bit like watching a video of your parents having sex.

In your bed.

And trust me on this when I tell you that's not a nice feeling.

No idea if she's in the movie but this picture came up when I was searching for the poster so thought it'd be a shame if I didn't share it.

Saying that tho' at least Harvey looked like he was enjoying himself (as did my folks), Yeung on the other hand keeps pulling comedy 'cum' faces whilst making grabbing actions toward the unfortunate actresses breasts.

For Minutes at a time we're subjected to this in extreme close-up, it's almost as if he's possessed your teevee and is desperately trying to escape to do bad things to you.

And your mum.

And your mum's dog.

Twice.

I will admit that the film does have a few stand out moments, mainly showcasing the total ineptitude of those involved, including a fantastic bit in which one of the team actually stops speaking to look off-camera at the director for reassurance before continuing the scene.

Buy this film now and see how many you can spot.

It'd be much easier than trying to spot any of the films promised 'sexy' moments.

They can't be arsed why should I?

Market to us foreign devils as a kinky version of the classic Steven Chow comedy Shaolin Soccer, this is more Benny Hill than Jimmy Hill, replacing the formers knockabout comedy, musical numbers and martial arts mayhem with copious amounts of spotty arses, crap Cosby sweaters and a plethora of frankly arse numbing sexual shenanigans that only seem exist in order to pad out the movie's meager running time.

Worth it if you're bored to a point of suicide, find horse faced Chinese folk attractive or if you don't have a girlfriend.

Or like football obviously.