colour me giallo/the american scream.

 

 Here for your Halloween party pleasure are the weird and wonderful mixes of Euro-centric and cult American cinema soundtracks that I curated for Blue Azure's rather marvelous monthly music show a few months back.

Click to download and enjoy!

Colour Me Giallo

 

The American Scream

And for true music connoisseurs you can hear the full shows here and here. 

maiden manhattan.

Finally got around to seeing Lee Cronin's The Mummy last week and was actually really impressed by it which was nice seeing as I absolutely hated Evil Dead Rise (or Evil Dead Rubbish as it's call round here), suffice to say it's well worth a watch and made me think how great it'd been to see the whole Universal Monsters franchise re-imagined via the Lucio Fulci back catalogue because let's be honest it did bear more than a passing resemblance to this.....

 

Manhattan Baby (AKA L' Occhio del male, Eye of the Evil Dead, Evil Eye, The Possessed. 1982).
Dir: Lucio Fulci.
Cast: Christopher Connelly, Laura Lenzi, Brigitta Boccoli, Carlo De Mejo, Giovanni Frezza and Cinzia de Ponti.

"You can take my life with stuffed birds,
but you shall not take my immortal soul!"

Somewhere in the deserts of Egypt the dashing professor of old foreign stuff, George Hackett (son of Jennifer and star of Peyton Place, Connelly) is busy collecting deadly scorpion's to give to his daughter as a gift.

Is she that annoying?

His Egyptian helper Alan is a wee bit concerned by this, pointing out that in his culture the scorpion is a symbol of evil and the like.

Thinking this over George, deciding that the information is a bit scary for a nine year old, paints the poor thing yellow before sprinkling some glitter over it and telling her that it's a new kind of Pokemon instead.

Fathers eh?, you gotta love them.

But not in a sneaking into your room and taking photo's of you with an infra-red camera kinda way obviously.

Now there's a mooth made for a shite-in.

And who is this lucky child?

Well, it's the precocious, tomb toothed blonde poppet Susie (former child star turned topless circus entertainer Boccoli), who's spending her time clothes shopping with her tussle haired mum Emily (freckled beauty and Uber-MiLF Lenzi).

Unfortunately mum has mistaken an old dilapidated building for one of those modern supermarkets and the only other person around is a blind eyed old hag who smells of vinegar.

A bit like Anniesland shops on a Tuesday then.

Whilst Emily is off taking photo's of the locals holding slightly malnourished babies in an attempt to look caring (or at least give her something to chat about over lunch at the hotel), the old blind tramp approaches Susie before uttering the words “Tombs are for the dead” and handing her a huge gold amulet with a big (boss) eye in the middle of it.

Eye son.

Meanwhile Indiana Dad is busy excavating the lost tomb of King Habibabsomething but the locals have warned him, the tomb holds a terrible curse.

A curse.....OF DEATH!

Curious George doesn't care tho' and prepares to go down with (but not on I hasten to add) his assistant into the undisturbed resting place of a once glorious king.

Stumbling and fumbling around in the dark cavernous chamber Alan discovers a stone tablet placed in the far wall which, on further inspection fires deadly cobra's across the room like slinky green Arrows.

Luckily George is a professional sharp shooter and manages to kill the snakes (for real, I mean this is 1980's Italian cinema after all) before taking a well deserved rest and leaning against an innocuous leaver marked 'do not press'.

Oops.

"Touch my ring".

A gaping hole appears in the dirt covered stone floor and our unlucky pair suddenly find themselves plummeting into a stinky cobweb covered pit of death.

Luckily Alan's fall is broken by some rather large pointy spikes, enabling George to bounce of his companions ample arse and onto the relative safety of the crypt floor.

But our intrepid archaeologist barely has time to dust himself off before two supernaturally spooky blue laser beams fire out of the crypt wall and hit him square in the eyes (son).

And all this before breakfast.

Pa pa papa pa pa pa.....X Men!

Back home in New York, George is told that the blindness caused by the mysterious rays should only last a year or so and in the meantime he should go about his daily business with two Kotex sanitary pads taped to his face and held in position by a pair of Su Pollard's glasses.

Tho' why he should need glasses when he can't see shit is never explained.

Anyway life goes on as normal for George  - well as normal as it can be seeing as he has to carefully totter around his house looking like a twat in glasses George A Romero would knock back for being too large - Emily is busy juggling her photojournalist career with typing up her hubbies notes whilst shapely child-minder Jamie Lee (the yumsome de Ponti from The New York Ripper) looks after the ungodly Susie and her little brother Tommy (the legendary Frezza).

I did a Google search for Cinzia de Ponti,
this is the only pic that came up.
Frankly I don't even think it's her
but the scenery looks nice.

Everything seems to be going fine, until one day when out in the park Susie gets a Polaroid picture taken and, rather than a cute looking girl appearing on the photograph the amulet appears in her place.

Thinking it's a faulty film Jamie Lee chucks it away and takes the kids home for a quick game of hide and seek before tea.

With the kids running around and jumping into cupboards Jamie Lee takes time out to relax with the latest Skorpio magazine but just as she gets to the article on the love woes of Antonello Fassari the whole house is suddenly engulfed in shit scary noises.

Which is unusual to say the least.

But obviously not as unusual as the fact that there are snakes emerging from the fridge whilst a spooky light and fog starts to emanate from the pantry.

Who ya gonna call?

The concierge (unfortunately not played by Bobby Rhodes or Fred Williamson) obviously.

Beard.

No sooner has she hung up the intercom that the kids re-appear and everything returns to normal.

Bizarre and chilling too.

Pity then that she forgets to tell Jeff Security who, even as we speak (well even as I type and you read or something but you get the gist) is slowly waddling his portly arse into the lift.

Munching on a bagel and jabbing the buttons with his chubby sausage fingers, Jeff hasn't even time to swallow (unlike your mum) before the spooky noises start up and the floor gives way causing the poor sod to fall to his death.

He leaves no immediate family but does leave a cupboard full of crisps and cake.

Jeff, we'll miss you buddy.

Other publications are available.

Meanwhile back at the plot some unknown woman approaches Emily (the hot mum, remember?) and hands her the Polaroid of the amulet from earlier in the movie.

Examining it closely she notices the name Adrian Marcato (not this one) written on it.

Being a girl and only knowing about shoes and make-up she gives it to her husband to examine but then remembers that he's blind (but not as blind as he was - it's getting better) so he in turn gives it to his pal professor Wiler to take a look at.

After much humming and aahing the professor confirms that the symbol is the crest of the great god Habibabsomething.

Coincidence or creepy craftiness?

"Look at me....I'm from Partick!"

Back at home things are going from bad to very bad via Spooksville City Arizona as not only does wee Susie keeps going missing all the time but doors are mysteriously locking themselves and Tommy spends all day trying to convince anyone who'll listen that there's a time/space portal that leads to Egypt in his toy cupboard.

Scratch very bad and make that very, very bad.

Being a caring mum Emily decides to ring an expert in such matters for help.

Ghostbusters?

The Pope?

Danny Robins?

Nope, she calls he children's entertainer cum magician friend Luke (City of The Living Dead star and professional sexy beard De Mejo) to pop over and try to look in the toy cupboard mystery.

Arriving in his best suit and top hat Luke entertains the little uns with a few card tricks before heading up to the bedroom, standing in front of the cupboard door and with a chant of "Izzy whizzy let's get busy!" opening it.

Only to be zapped by a huge blue fireball before disappearing.

"Tonight Matthew I'm going to be Chris De Burgh!"

Hearing the commotion (and recognizing the acrid stench of fried magician) Emily bounds upstairs and opens the bedroom door only to find that the room stinks of camel shit and is covered in sand.

This is the final straw for Poor old Jamie Lee who sits in the corner weeing herself as Tommy recounts another tale of his trips to Egypt whilst Susie and her mum desperately try to get the scorpions out of the sock drawer before dad gets home.

George, now with working eyes arrives back at the apartment with a plan.

Yup, it's time to go visit Adrian Marcato, professional antique dealer, collector of stuffed birds and part-time warlock.

Luckily Marcato is well versed in the dark arts and recognises straight away that the amulet is actually the fabled the eye of evil and is using Susie as it's portal to our dimension.

Thinking on this for a minute and taking all the facts into consideration, George decides that it's all bollocks and that Susie is just jealous because her lips aren't as pretty as her brothers but Marcato is adamant (it's the white stripe across his nose and bouts of depression that give him away) that he's correct and offers, free of charge to come over and fix everything.

Including hopefully the lift floor.

Agreeing to this our intrepid trio head back to the Hackett apartment, the race is on to save not only poor Susie's soul (tho' looking at her dead eyes I'm pretty sure she never had one) but the family a huge amount in dry cleaning bills.

Wired for sound.

Armed with only his wits and a sexy beard, Marcato begins his exorcism ceremony as the movie transforms into a blur of eyes and silence, broken only by close-ups of Tommy's pouting lips as he whispers "punish me!" to anyone who'll listen.

Scary as hell does not do this justice.

With a cry of "Birds of darkness! consume me!" Marcato suddenly rolls to the floor, sexily writhing and wriggling like your nan after a stroke and talking in Susie's voice whilst the missing Jamie Lee (well her corpse) bursts out of the wall.

With Marcato inside Susie's body (but obviously not in that way, that would just be wrong) the curse is broken and Susie returns to normal leaving our psychic pal to re-enter his hairy frame and inform George that he must take the amulet and put it in the bin as only then will the family be safe.

And with that Marcato heads home for a small Sherry, a tearful wank and a well deserved Pot Noodle.

Phew.

Without further ado, George grabs the deadly piece of jewellery, legs it out of the house (being careful to use the stars) and throws it into a nearby reservoir leaving it to sink to the bottom.

Double phew.

Watch out, watch out...John Leslie's about.

With everything back to normal George can get back to digging up dead foreigners and the lovely Emily takes a break from her photography to interview a new nanny (but not before removing the last one from between the cavity insulation mind) whilst the heroic Mercato takes a well deserved break, tidying and dusting his collection of stuffed birds.

Stuffed that is until they all come alive and murder him!

Meanwhile back in Egypt, the boss eyed woman is handing the amulet to another small girl....

Unfortunately Susie doesn't sport
anything this sexy in the movie.

Mad, bad and dangerous to view (but only if you're sitting directly under the TV and it's on a rickety shelf obviously), Manhattan Baby is a loving homage by a master film-maker to movies as far afield as of The Exorcist, Poltergeist, Rosemary's Baby and the Charlton Heston snoozefest The Awakening, all mixed up with that patented Fulci edge we all know and love and with a cast that seem to totally get what's expected of them.

And if there are any accusations of plagiarism to be aimed at the movie, they can surely be blamed on the frankly bonkers script by regular collaborators Elisa Briganti and the legendary Dardano Sacchetti that takes in not only the movies mentioned above but also The Birds and The Omen for good measure.

So obviously when you put this in the hands of a director whose main concern is to make everything look nice rather than building a conventional narrative coherence you can see how some (less educated) viewers could mistake it for a rambling mess rather than for the terrifying vision of bodily possession that it really is.

Or even the "terrible movie" its director accused it of being.

Go on, you know you want to.

If you haven't already that is.

wet dreams.

Nowt to say about this except enjoy!

Oh yeah, and don't get too frightened by the jumpers.

The Slayer (AKA Nightmare Island. 1982).
Dir: J.S. Cardone.
Cast: Sarah Kendall, Frederick Flynn, Carol Kottenbrook, Paul Gandolfo, Alan McRae and Michael Holmes.

"Dreams don't drag men out of
bed in the middle of the night!"

Copper-topped Kay (Kendall, later to appear in the pivotal role of 'the stewardess' in The Karate Kid Part 2) has been feeling a wee bit down in the dumps the last few months, suffering as she does from almost constant from panic attacks and bad dreams.

Her condition isn't helped by her insistence on wearing Grannie style turtle neck sweaters under tent like jumpers and the fact that her uncontrollable mass of bright ginger hair makes it look like someone has planted a huge red bush on her head.

Luckily her loving hubbie Doctor David (McRae, best known as Parker Simonson in the hit teevee show Santa Barbara and Sam Douglas in the Three Ninja movies) has an idea to cheer her up, so alongside her rat faced brother Eric (directors fave Flynn who also appeared in the Leif Garrett starrer Thunder Alley) and his wife Brooke (the director's wife, the former actor and now producer of such quality fare as 8MM 2 , Alien Hunter and The Covenant, Kottenbrook) decides to organize a holiday  - to a deserted island no less -  to try and shake her malaise.

Which would possibly be a nice idea if she actually wanted to go in the first place.

Eric, being a practical type thinks her mental health problems stem from the fact that her art career is waning but David thinks that it's because of her nightmares.

But we all know that it's that hairstyle that's causing the damage.

I mean I'm only looking at it thru a TV screen and it's scaring the shit out of me.

jumper.

Anyway arriving on the island by a plane piloted by the creepy ball headed Kim Marsh (Holmes from everyone's favourite Black Day Blue Night ), Kay is shocked and disturbed to discover that she's been there before.

Not in reality but in her dreams.

Scarier still is the fact that the island was the basis for her last few paintings.

Creepsome.

The others tho' are more concerned with the fact that they've to carry their own bags the two miles up the beach to the house that they've rented.

You can tell it's going to be a long week.

"Hey sexy lady! Fancy a wee bit o' mooth shite-in?"

After what seems like days of the foursome whining and walking, intercut with Kay looking spookily off into the middle distance whilst muttering "I've been here before" they finally get to the house.

David and Brooke are content to slag off the paintwork whilst Eric gives us his best rodent toothed smile when he discovers a packed drinks cabinet and a fridge stocked with Petit Filous.

Kay on the other hand is content to stand in the corner shaking like a tall and lanky ginger tree in the wind.

Settling in for an evening of Scrabble and snacks the fun is well and truly ruined before it starts by the re-appearance of Mr. Marsh, who appears to have flown all the way back to tell everyone a storm is coming and they should probably leave.

I'm not too certain but I'm sure he's using the storm as an excuse to warn them about something else, tho' why he didn't just tell them that there was a killer on the loose when they went to book it I just don't know.

Your mum's cum face, trust me I know.

Meanwhile back on the beach the local wino/fisherman/molester of young boys Terry No-Name (former Middle Earth wizard Gandolfo) is busy gutting a carp whilst chatting to himself about getting either a woman or a dog for companionship (pity he's not met Kay, the best of both worlds there) but alas we never find out which he chooses because the conversation is cut short when someone puts a paddle thru' his head.

Ouch.

Not wanting to give us too much excitement we quickly cut back to the holidaymakers who are sitting on the porch sharing booze and thinly veiled insults before bedtime.

Eric is slagging off his sisters paintings, David is looking concerned and nodding sagely whilst Brooke stands around looking fairly plain.

Not wanting to have too much (or any really) fun, Kay just sits there talking about the cat she had as a child.

Seems that a week after she got it the poor kittie was found in the freezer.

She blames a big monster, Eric is sure it was her.

What do you think?

Well, an hour in and the only death has been a tramp on a beach, hopefully the oncoming storm and the broken lift hatch will provide a wee bit of gore soaked entertainment soon because frankly all this artsy angst is giving me stomach ache.

And piles.

Plus the kids are so bored they've taken to rummaging thru the pile of Jess Franco films.

Which is never a good sign.

It's almost midnight (in the film that is not in reality tho' it does feel like it) and the storm rages outside whilst the wind and rain lash against the window panes like a terrible piss stream from an over excited toddlers tiny todger.

David unable to sleep due to Kay's incessant farting decides to get up and have a wander around the cellar hoping to find the source of the loud banging noise.

Don't worry, it's not Eric and Brooke he's already checked.

Heading down to the basement it's not long before poor Davey boy has got his head stuck in that aforementioned hatch before getting it ripped off by some unseen assailant.

On a brighter note it does give Kay a chance to experience a Lamberto Bava based dream sequence so it's not all bad.

So many mooths, so little shite.

Waking the next morning to no sign of David (or any blood), Eric is convinced he's gone to the beach with 'all his cameras' but Kay is sure he's been murdered.

After all, she did have a severed head sex dream.

But then again haven't we all?

The day goes by and David still hasn't returned meaning that the terrific trio finally begin to be a wee bit worried, deciding to search the island for any sign of him.

Or maybe even any sign of a halfway decent plot.

Eric takes the beach and Brooke looks in the bushes whilst Kay checks out the deserted old theatre they passed on the way to the house.

You remember, the one she painted from her dream.

"Put it in me!"

When inside it comes as no surprise to find that hanging in the upstairs room is what remains of her husband, gutted, plucked and swaying in the breeze.

Running screaming to the others it's left to Eric to take charge and find a way to survive this nightmare until help arrives from the mainland.

But who (or what) is the killer?

Could it be freaky Mr. Marsh?

Has Kay finally lost the plot and decided to act out her dreams?

Is it old man Whethers that owns the funfair?

Or has a hideous dream demon of 'laugh now' proportions escaped from Kay's subconscious to wreak terror on the island?

Go on, guess.

Insert choice of laugh or shite based caption here.

The feature debut of workaholic writer, director and producer J.S. Cardone, The Slayer is a nice little non-offensive spooky slasher that would have possibly faded into obscurity had it not been bizarrely placed on the DPP banned list during the 80's video nasty scare.

Pre-dating A Nightmare on Elm Street's dream based monster plot by a few years, Cardone (and co-writer William R. Ewing) go the psychological thriller route rather than Craven's original dream within a dream headfuck, being as they are more interested in the slowly dissolving mental state of Kay than in cheap thrills and gore but feel that the audience would be upset if it didn't feature a wee bit of both.

Whether this approach works or not is up for debate tho the kids thought it was utter bollocks.

The film's biggest stumbling block to greatness (or even averageness) tho' is that there appears to be a huge charisma-free black hole where the lead actress should be which doesn't help with the films pacing, given as we have to endure some pretty long scenes of Sarah Kendall 'emoting' whilst staring into space.

Unfortunately, as interesting as its premise is, it's just too slow for it's own good and you wonder with a better cast and sharper editing what could have been achieved.

Tho' seeing as Cardone went on to direct 8MM2, Shadowhunter and Wicked Little Things as well as writing the abysmal remakes of The Stepfather and Prom Night it's probably for the best if we don't.

looney tunes.

Almost at the end of the whole 31 Days of Horror thing and realised I'd yet to feature a spooky portmanteau horror plus as spooky coincidence would have it the twins ended up watching this last week as they're trying to find a movie to show at their Halloween party.

So here you go.

Asylum (AKA House of Crazies, 1972).
Dir: Roy Ward Baker.
Cast: Peter Cushing, Britt Ekland, Robert Powell, Herbert Lom, Barry Morse
Patrick Magee, Charlotte Rampling, Barbara Parkins, Ann Firbank, Sylvia Syms, James Villiers, Megs Jenkins, John Franklyn-Robbins and Geoffrey Bayldon.

“Working with the mentally disturbed... can lead to a breakdown. ”

The slight of hip and pretty of lip former boot maker Doctor Martin (onetime Jesus and father of Enoch -  Powell) has been invited to the famed Cleftpate asylum for an interview regarding the job of head of mentalism.

Which I've been told is an actual medical term and not something I randomly made up.

After acing the first round of questions and nailing the team-building exercise Martin's prospective boss Dr Paul Rutherford (screech-voiced 70s stalwart Magee, who appears to come with his own wheelchair, which probably saved Stan a few quid when they made A Clockwork Orange) has decided that in order to make sure he's the right man for the job he must take one more unusual test.

You see, it appears that Rutherford's associate, Dr Freddie Starr, has developed a dual personality after being hit on the head with a swingball during garden time and is now housed upstairs alongside all the 'proper' mentalists.

“If you can recognise who is - or was - Dr Starr, I’ll give you the job” announces Rutherford as Mark O'Toole plucks a funky bass-line in the background.

Barbara Parkins was unimpressed by the size of Richard Todd's chopper.

Making his way to the Wacky Wing - and admiring some badly drawn pictures showing the history of mental health along the way - he's soon greeted by the hospital's chief  orderly Max (Catweazle himself, Bayldon), who quickly introduces him to the first of the four patients he must interview in order to find the disturbed doc, a wild haired woman named Bonnie.

It seems that Bonnie (Valley of The Dolls star Parkins) was having a torrid affair (tho' not as torrid as his wallpaper it must be said) with a slick-haired, middle aged banker named Walter (Dambusters and Doctor Who star Todd), whose love for nipple revealing shirts and camp cravats is only matched by his hatred of his well to do wife Ruth (screen legend Sims, who's been in loads of stuff that I frankly can't be arsed typing).

When not busy reminding Walter that she's rich and that he'd be nothing without her Ruth keeps herself busy studying voodoo with “a black charlatan” (not Tim Burgess then) at the local community centre - as you do - and has decided that today's the day to show of her new magical bracelet to her husband.

Which is pretty bizarre seeing as today is also the day that Walter has decided to rid himself of Ruth once and for all.

As opposed to twice and for a bit obviously.

Your dads cum face - trust me I know.

And how does he plan to do this? I hear you cry.

Well by taking her down to the cellar to show her the new chest freezer he’s bought (from Glens, Hutchison. Robertson and Stepek no doubt) before surprising her with an axe to the face, then chopping her up, wrapping the body parts in brown paper and finally popping them in the aforementioned freezer - alongside the spooky voodoo bracelet obviously.

Everything seems to be going swimmingly but as Walter heads upstairs to pour himself (another) large brandy he notices that his wife's - still parcelled - severed head has followed him up the stairs.

Spooky biscuits.

Some time later Bonnie arrives at the house and noticing the smell of fresh gammon emanating from the cellar goes to investigate.

Slowly opening the freezer lid she's - fairly - shocked to find her beloved tucked in behind the carrots.

Which is nice.

As she turns to leave tho' Bonnie is confronted by the horrifying (well I say horrifying but I mean ludicrous) sight of Ruth's paper wrapped body parts trundling menacingly toward her.....

Doc Martin - not this one.

Back in the real life Dr Martin is convinced Bonnie was talking bollocks (as the medical professionals say) and hurries along to see the next patient, an elderly tailor named Bruno (Space: 1999s Professor Bergman himself, Morse) who spends his days sitting on a table pretending to sew trousers for celebrity game show contestants.
Cue a wibbly wobbly dissolve that that's us from the asylum to a dreary backlot at Shepperton where the aforementioned Bruno is struggling to keep his business afloat as his uncaring landlord Stubbins (Franklyn-Robbins who was in lots of really good stuff during his career but we know as the jester-hatted Timelord that sends The Doctor on his mission in Genesis of The Daleks) keeps turning up and demanding the rent.

Bastard.

Enter (gently after a long bout of sweet foreplay) the enigmatic Mr Smith (Cushing), who offers to pay Bruno a small fortune to make a special shiny suit for his son who, by the look of the material is about to start touring as a Nik Kershaw tribute act.

However, there are certain rules that Bruno must adhere to in order to get paid - he must only work on the suit after midnight and stop at dawn and he must do it whilst wearing his wife's underwear.*

“I happen to believe in astrology” exclaims Smith in the way of an explanation.

And with that he leaves the shop.

Sapphire and Steel investigate Brexit.

Starting work on the suit right away, as his wife Anne (Firbank - most famous around here for turning up at the end of The Rise of Skywalker to ask Rey who she is) dutifully brings him copious amounts of coffee and biscuits (Rich Tea, thanks for asking) he almost immediately breaks Smith's rules and carries on sewing after the deadline only to prick his finger on a needle - looking on in mild horror as the blood mysteriously disappears into the fabric.

Don't worry tho' as contrary to Smith's wishes this will have absolutely fuck all effect on the outfit.

Or the climax of the story.

Finishing the suit in record time he excitedly takes takes a cab to Smith's house, rubbing his knees with glee at the thought of all that lovely money but alas everything is not how it seems as Smith is actually totally skint - spending his fortune on the magic pattern book in order to bring his (very dead) son back to life.

This has actually happened to me with art commissions so I can totally understand why Bruno gets a wee bit annoyed and refuses to hand over the suit.

Smith counters this by pulling out a gun and screaming “Give me that suit!”at Bruno and a (very slow) struggle ensues climaxing in Smith accidentally shooting himself and Bruno (not accidentally) stealing the magic book.

As you would.

Nigel Mansell: He's got something to put in you.

Returning home Bruno explains the whole sorry situation to his wife before instructing her to burn both the suit and the book but Ann has other ideas and decides to dress Brian, the shop window dummy she chats to everyday (which is news to both us and her hubbie as it's never been mentioned before) in the smart new supernatural togs....

With absolutely no loin-stirring at the sight of Barry Morse's bouncy manboobs Dr Martin stands dejected, wondering if he should have just applied for a job at Wimpy Burgers instead but his spirits are soon lifted by the smell of sophistication and strawberries emanating from the next room, so with an added spring in his step he heads off to investigate the next patient.

And it's in that room that Martin comes across (not in that way, well not yet - she's a classy lady who would probably want dinner first) the lovely Barbara (the even lovelier Rampling - ask your granddad) - a young and with it woman with a dark secret....

Peter's stiffie.

You see (well you would be if you were watching) after being locked away in Shady-nook for the last year due to suffering from 'the mentalism', Barbara is traveling back to her family home alongside her sharp-suited brother George (Villiers from For Your Eyes Only and Crown Court amongst other classics).

 Although happy to be home she's not too enamored at the thought of having a nurse tell her what to do and when to go to bed and has no sooner sat on her bed than is planning her escape.

A plan that may or may not involve poisoned tea, multiple scissor stabbings, ladies in 70s style suits and split personalities....

Strawberries.

Finding that he's in desperate need of the toilet, Martin makes his excuses ("You're talking bollocks hen!") and proceeds to the final room where his next patient, Doctor Byron (Pink Panther star and former Star Wars bounty hunter Lom) sits busying himself making slightly shady looking wind-up tin robots in which, he claims, he can capture peoples souls.

Starting with his own.....

Tunnel or funnel?

Will Dr Martin choose the right patient and get his dream job?

Will Byron end up marketing his tin toys to unsuspecting kids and start the Transformers range 15 years too early?

And will there be a spooky twist ending that begs the question 'who is the real mentalist?'

From those genre stalwarts at Amicus Films (and sometimes AARU Productions if the Daleks - or more importantly Joe Vegoda and his cash - were involved), the late great Milton Subotsky and Max Rosenberg comes another classically creepy portmanteau horror that is less about scares and shocks and more to do with being a Saturday night rite of passage for those of us (just) the wrong side of 50.

And let's be honest our appreciation of all things horror is much better because of them.

Between 1965 and 1974 the pair released a cornucopia of creep filmed classics including the sublime Dr. Terror's House of Horrors (1965), the carnie-courting Torture Garden, The House That Dripped Blood, the original Tales from the Crypt, Vault of Horror, From Beyond the Grave and Asylum cementing the companies reputation as the perfect pair for part-work horrors featuring the cream of British - and sometimes American - talent (oh yes and Robert Hutton).

And you can't get much bigger than casting the son of God in the headlining role can you?

OK so this is a pre-Jesus (but just post-Doomwatch) Robert Powell but he's still pretty good, as is the ever twitchy Patrick Magee who alongside  Geoffrey Bayldon make the wraparound story watchable for their performances alone.

The rest of the cast ain't too shady either with the likes of Barry Morse, Richard Todd and Herbert Lom, alongside the likes of Britt Ekland and Charlotte Rampling and the ever present Peter Cushing, seriously it's worth watching for them alone.
Sorry, can you tell I'm a fan?

Well it's either that or lockdown has mellowed mea wee bit.

What sets Asylum apart from the rest tho' is it's unrelenting bleakness and distinct lack of (intentional) comic book style humour that permeates thru' the majority of Amicus' output, Asylum, alongside Vault of Horror and From Beyond the Grave, are the companies attempts at 'serious' horror with nary a giggle on show.

Well except for Richard Todd's way too tight shirt obviously.

Oh yes and bits of a shop window dummy wrapped in brown paper 'menacing' Barbara Parkins.

And maybe the living mannequin.

And those pound shop soul robots.

Other than that it's fucking terrifying.

Mostly.

"Fiona! Look at me! I'm from Dudley!"

Written - like everything else Amicus released at the time by one-shock pony Robert (I wrote Psycho) Bloch at his pulpy best and with a score that utilities every loud piece of music Modest Petrovich Mussorgsky ever composed, Asylum is a by the book (and damn near perfect) example of why when it came to anthology 'orror - Amicus were king.

Don't worry, I'll be back to slagging stuff off next time.





























*This last bit is a lie, sorry.

dance macabre.

Our 31 Days of Horror countdown continues with this little gem from Italy.

Well that was short and to the point.

Enjoy.

Murder Rock: Death Dancing (AKA Giallo a disco, Murder Rock - Dancing Death, Slashdance, 1984).
Dir: Lucio Fulci.
Cast: Olga Karlatos, Berna Maria do Carmo, Cosimo Cinieri, Claudio Cassinelli, Ray Lovelock, Geretta Geretta, Al Cliver, Silvia Collatina, Giovanni de Nava, aria Vittoria Tolazzi, Carla Buzzanca, Angela Lemerman, Christian Borromeo and Belinda Busato.

Save the last dance . . . for hell!

The co-ed dance students at the very real sounding yet entirely fictional Arts for Living Center in New York City are being worked into a disco frenzy every hour of the day as their graduation performance fast approaches.

Not only that but it seems that a prestigious New York stage show is about to open and the producers want the three best female dancers from the class for the lead roles.

And their fearsome tutor Candice Norman (Zombie Flesh Eaters harsh hottie herself - Karlatos) who had her own dancing career cut tragically short by a hit and run accident years ago knows how hard she must push her students if they're to succeed even if it means shattered dreams for all except the chosen few.

Hopefully tho' she wont be pushing them under any motorbikes and giving them shattered pelvises instead.

Just saying.

It's not all studio based gyrating tho' as after a particularly sweaty diisco inferno-esque dance routine, saucy, local nosed student Joan (the hamster like  Carmo, providing I've got the right actress it's all a bit of a haze) and her boyfriend Willy (Mark Hamill alike Borromeo from Tenebrae) decide meet up in the ladies locker room for some bumping and grinding of a different kind.


And by that I mean they're going to be having some of 'the sex'.


So after some hot n' heavy 'making out' (as the kids call it) and being aware that the automated security system is about to lock the school, Willy heads off to wash his bits in preparation for some proper poking whilst Joan has a shower to 'cool down'.

Fuck me having sex was really complicated in the 80s, no wonder I stuck to books.


Quite literally in some cases.*

"Tissues in mah mooth!"

Unfortunately for her - but bloody lucky for us after the flurry of crotch obsessed musical numbers -there's a black clad killer on the loose who sneaks into the shower cubicle and chloroforms the nubile dancer before stabbing her in the heart with an ornate hat pin.

As you do.

As dawn breaks it'll come as no surprise when I say that the rest of the dance class is shocked (or is that totally apathetic? it's hard to tell) as accusations begin to fly and gossip starts to spread like warm runny butter down a small childs thigh.

Surely it wasn't one of the other students that committed this foul (if not oh so slightly erotically charged) murder to better their chances of an audition?

Hard nosed, brick chinned chubster Lieutenant Borges (Cinieri from The New York Ripper looking for the world like a less gin - and piss - soaked Hugo Stiglitz) has absolutely no idea, but you can be pretty sure he's going to use the murder as an excuse to slap the kids around a bit, stuff his face with nuts and swear a lot till he finally solves the case.

What a guy.

 

Hands up if you think this blog is shite.

Remembering that even tho' the film is attempting to look - and feel - like a big budget American thriller it is in fact an Italian giallo so at some point one of the characters must experience a bizzaro dream sequence and in this case it's Candice who suddenly starts sweatily dreaming about a hunky blond guy chasing her around a kids play park and trying to stab her with a hat pin.

Seems legit.

Anyway as the plot gets more and more obtuse and more and more girls are murdered - alongside a wee chaffinch in a cage, the bastard - Borges deduces that each one is being killed in order of class merit.

If that at happened when I attended art school I'd have been royally screwed.

And not just by the sleazy librarian Mr Chisholm.

But I digress.

To take her mind off such matters Candice decides a day in the country would be nice so persuades her school girl chasing, bespectacled college Dick Gibson (Mountain of The Cannibal God's Cassinelli - seriously this movie is a veritable who's who of Euro Horror) to accompany her and with picnic packed and a clean pair of pants in her pocket the duo head out onto the road but almost immediately come across (not in that way) a billboard ad for hemorrhoid cream that features the same mysterious man as is in her dreams.

After a wee bit of rudimentary detective work on her part (which let's be honest is much more than Borges has done) Candice discovers that the mystery man is one George Webb (Living Dead At The Manchester Morgue's Lovelock), an alcohol actor cum model with a thing for pre-teen girls and a dark secret.

Because being a pedo isn't dark enough obviously.

"You may feel a tiny prick."

Obviously the best way for Candice to prove he did/didn't do the bad murders is to almost immediately jump into bed with him in and have loads of sex, oblivious to the fact  that all around her chaos is reigning supreme and everyone and their dog becomes a suspect or at the very least has a bizarre secret to hide.

For starters it turns out that Dick had been trying to bed the dead girls, one of the male students is a nutter who actually confesses to the crimes (he did it because he hates 'Spics' apparently), George once had an affair with a 15 year old who mysteriously died and Fame-like fellow dance tutor Margie (friend of this blog Geretta) hates Candice so much that she goes as far as dressing up as the Killer, chloroforming her and attempting to stick her with a pin.

Phew!

As even more girls turn up on the slab and with fewer and fewer suspects left standing, will Lieutenant Borges be able to pin the crime on the killer before it's too late?

It was the early 80's and the Giallo genre was fading out of fashion in Italy, replaced by futuristic action flicks, slasher movies and an invasion of big budget American fare such as Flashdance and the like.

Silk stockings and blood red shoes were out and leather shoulder pads, crotch cutting leotards and amusing hairstyles were most definitely in.

It would take a man of unhinged genius to try and revive Giallo's fortunes and save this fantastic sub genre; and Lucio Fulci happily took the challenge.

The result was Murder Rock, a schizophrenic mishmash of murder, mystery, body popping and cheesy disco hits straight out of Fame.

From the opening scenes of a demanding female instructor putting her students thru' their paces to close ups of the shaggy haired keyboard jiving student miming to a poptastic Kieth Emerson score you know you're in for something special as Fulci treats us to consistent (and totally unnecessary) close-ups of spandex clad bouncy arses, sweaty heaving breasts and a plethora of thrusting hips.

One sequence is actually taken shot for shot from the aforementioned Flashdance, when one of the students auditions for a nightclub boss.

Chair dancing and drenched in water with her backside fighting to escape the tiniest thong in living memory, Fulci's only addition to the scene is a frightening number of crash zooms into the dancers crotch at every opportunity.

And for that we must thank him.

Forever.

Five fingers, never touched the side.

As for the cast well, as mentioned earlier it's a fanboy's dream come true, featuring as it does nearly ever major player from the heyday of Italian horror.

As well as those already mentioned - Olga (Zombie Flesh Eaters and later Prince's mum in Purple Rain) Karlatos, Cosimo (Manhattan Baby) Cinieri, the late great Claudio (Island of The Fishmen) Cassinelli, Geretta (Rats) Geretta, Al Cliver (and beard) in an uncredited cameo and Ray Lovelock - there are also top turns from such Euro superstars as Giovanni (The Beyond) de Nava and the scarily sexy red head Silvia (House By The Cemetery) Collatina of whom I used to wish would move in next door to me as a kid so we could fight zombies together.

Look, I was only 13 and had no friends except for horror films.

With fantastic cinematography from the god like Giuseppe Pinori, top gore effects and more sweaty and naked ladies than you can stick a hat pin in, Murder Rock is well worth the couple of quid it'll cost you at Cash Converters so jump in and boogie on down to one of Fulci’s greatest movies.

No seriously.

*Case in point:

the entrance of uranus.

No witty introduction today because frankly I can't be arsed.

 

The Red Monks (1988).
Dir: Gianni Martucci.
Cast: Gerardo Amato, Lara Wendel (meow), Malisa Longo, Chuck Valenti, Claudio Pacifico, Mary Maxwell, Gaetano Russo and Ludovico Della Jojo.

The Garlini family are one of those unlucky enough - but quite common according to Eurotrash cinema - to have some kinda curse that gets visited on generation after generation.

Unlike most movie curses which seem to involve Werewolves or hidden torture chambers the Garlini one appears to concern a violin playing old woman and a nude, turban headed lady with a predilection for jogging.

Takes all sorts I guess.
But enough scene-setting let's get on with the film good and proper and focus our attentions on a groovy young fella-my-lad about town (in a snazzy Burton's suit) has just noticed the aforementioned - naked - jogger running around his garden so decides to call out to her (as you would), being a typical woman she ignores his cries and heads into his house.

Result.

Following her indoors and down into the house's sprawling basement the nameless bloke finds this dusky beauty standing with her back to him giving him plenty of time to take in her curves whilst admiring her hairy back and ample arse.

But before you can say 'up the casino' the mysterious Miss slowly turns around and with sword in hand beheads the poor sod.

Ouch.

A lady reading a newspaper in an extremely natural way yesterday.

Worried that the confusion and strangeness of the scene may caused our tiny minds to explode a scary voiceover man suddenly breaks the silence and whilst sexily intoning "fifty years earlier" snaps us back to reality.

Which comes as a blessed relief for us mere mortals after experiencing so much terror so early in the proceedings.

Luckily we're still in the grounds of the house so it's not too much of a challenge to figure out what's happening plus we still have a hunky man in the garden, only this time he has a name.

And quite a sexy physique.

Ladies and gentlemen (especially ladies) please be upstanding for 'Big' Bob Garlini (Disperatamente Giulia's Amato) who whilst busily tending to the rose bushes comes across (not in that way) a foxy woman - dressed as a dinner lady for reasons only known to the director - stuck up a tree being barked at by his hairy dog.

Which in itself is a bit bizarre because the woman in question is played by Lara Wendel, who also gets snapped at by a big dog in Dario Argento's Tenebrae.

No idea if that's related tho'.

Sorry.

Wendel: In bed with me dinner (lady).

Being hunky and spunky Bob convinces Ramona (for that is her name) to jump out of the tree and into his manly arms just before the rubber joke shop spider that's glued to one of the branches 'bites' her.

As she falls into his arms their eyes meet and it's love at first sight.

Whirlwind romance and marriage follow, which would be all well and good if not for Bob's dark secret.

And you'll never guess what it is.

Tho' the clue is in the films title.

Yup, that's right, Bob has a cellar chock full of spooky red monks intent on having his new bride sacrificed to them within four days.

But that's not all because for the sacrifice to work she has to remain a virgin.

Now how's he gonna explain this to his nan?

As you would expect, this puts a wee bit of pressure on the poor guy on his wedding night, forcing him to leave Ramona lying spreadeagled on the bed with a look of saucy intent in her eyes whilst he paces around the garden in a housecoat.

Poor Ramona ends up spending the night propped up in bed reading Take A Break magazine whilst scoffing chocolates all the time wondering if she should have just jumped out the tree and let the dog have her.

Which, if I'm honest would probably have been quite an interesting scene.

From an artistic viewpoint obviously.

To make matters worse, the next morning Bob is called away to an 'important business meetings' leaving his grumpier by the minute bride sitting at home getting the piss taken out of her by the housekeeper Priscilla (genre goddess Longo from oooohhhh loads of stuff including your granddad's bed) - who it turns out is having an affair with her hubbie.

It's like a gore filled version of Dynasty.

Your mum gets ready for parents night. And you wondered why your grades were so good.

It's not all bad tho' for Ramona's blonde haired haired, poppy eyed maid Lucille (Maxwell from Dirty Love II: Love Games) quickly strikes up a friendship with her, entertaining the new Mrs. Garlini with tours of the scary cellar to check out the handy guillotine kept hidden in there.

Deciding that spending her evenings skulking about in dank cellars is way more fun than watching the shopping channel whilst eating crisps, Ramona begins to enjoy her time searching the basement for goodies to sell at carboot sales so it's not too much of a surprise when one day after moving a particularly dusty commode that she finally comes across the red monks busily (and quite quietly) going about their basement based business.

Which would be freaky enough if she didn't suddenly wake up in bed half way thru' the chat.

Is she going mental?

Well her hubbie and housekeeper seem set on trying to convince her so.

Me? I just think she's a typical woman.

Hel-Met.

Lucille, being cool and full of girl power and sisterly love is having none of it tho' and tells Ramona that she did indeed go into the cellar that evening and that she isn't in fact going loopy after all.

Phew, that's OK then.

Luckily everything seems to be back to normal the next day - well, if you forget about the monks, the plot to send Ramona mad and think that the fact that her hubbie keeps eying up the housemaid is normal - so our lovebirds decide to enjoy a picnic in the garden, this romantic notion is oh so slightly spoiled however when Lucille's severed head pops out of the picnic hamper during the cheese selection.

Trying to make the best of a bad situation, Ramona reckons a wee bit of painting may calm her nerves, but would you credit it, that darned spider is back on the loose.

Wendel: Womanly perfection personified.

As if by magic (or perhaps because Wendel hasn't got her kit off yet) the arachnid attack is rudely interrupted by an unhealthily thin bloke with a stringy ponytail who gingerly swats the spider to one side before having some of 'the sex' with our heroine.

Fairly annoyed to begin with (he keeps dipping his cock in her water colours) Ramona finally gets into the groove as the youngsters say, hoisting up her dress and and going with the - sweetly sticky - flow.

I say flow but it's more of a thick, gooey mess if I'm honest.

After a few minutes (I'm being kind) of fiddly fun the mysterious stranger wipes his cock on Ramona's canvas and stands up. Not to be outdone in the romantic stakes our horny heroine quickly pops her pants in her pocket before arranging to meet the leathery Lothario for drinks in a local bar later that night.

Result.

Day soon turns to night and Ramona excitedly travels to the local pub for a pint, a plate of scampi and some excited chat.

But our horny hairy-man has a surprise for Ramona and after a few bags of pork scratchings and a bottle of house wine takes her to visit a stinky tramp with a comedy stick on beard.

But why? I hear you cry.

Well it appears that only he knows the full gory story of her hubbies house.

As Friends star Jennifer Aniston once said, pay attention, here's the science part.

Aniston: Five fingers, never touched the sides.

Coughing up a tasty bit of black lung the old man seductively whispers thru' his fishy beard "...it all began in the year 1426..." prompting the screen to go all wibbly wobbly (tracking's dodgy mate) before coming to focus on a pointy chinned man in tights drinking cheap wine.

Lord Lloyd Lodorisio (for that is he), being rich and bored spends his days hanging around with that group of red hooded monks from earlier getting into all kinds of scrapes, setting fire to phone boxes, making prank calls, graffiti-ing walls and the like much to the chagrin of the local populace.

Fair play to him I say.

The local church, understandably annoyed by all these unholy shenanigans decide to send a mysterious, black masked assassin to kill Lodorisio.

As you would in those circumstances.

"Is it in yet?"

After a - very slow - primary school style sword fight, the assassin ends up with the Lord's long blade wobbling scarily at his mouth (OK it's at his throat but that doesn't sound as rude), dropping to his knees and begs for mercy whilst the loopy Lorde stands astride him laughing like a loon.

Just as all seems lost Mr. Assassin sees his chance and sticks Lodorisio with his poisoned ring before tossing him off (the balcony) and hitting him repeatedly with a mace for good measure.

Ouch.

As was the law in the olden days, the assassin inherits not only Lord Lodorisio's lands but his sultry gypsy wife too, unfortunately tho' before he can drag her off to the bedroom she lays down a curse on him - and his descendants - forever.

Blimey.

If this wasn't a big enough revelation in itself (it's like 20 Christmas day episodes of EastEnders at once) it turns out that Ramona is apparently a descendant of that very same gypsy and it is her destiny to have revenge on Bob.

Taking it all in her stride (but not alas up the Khyber) she buys a sword from a local armorer and heads back home....

Bob in a monk house yesterday.

Will she behead her hubbie?

Will the fabled red monks do anything but stand about?

Who beheaded Lucille?

Is Ramona a ghost?

And why is Bob shagging the housekeeper when the cast includes both Wendel and Longo?

Is he mad?

One of these questions may be answered by the movies end.

Possibly.

"I Frati Rossi? All talkin' Scotch ain't they?"

From director/writer Gianni (Naked Girl Killed in the Park) Martucci comes this (very) loose remake of the Mario Bava classic Lisa And The Devil but minus that films suspense shocks and thrills obviously.

Well he had to find some way of making it different didn't he?

Longo: saucepot.

Produced by genre genius Lucio Fulci (whom I'm sure had a hand in casting showing the pedigree of the Eurohorror talent on screen) alongside an obviously feverish Pino Buricchi (the man who gave us Intimate Crimes and Cindy's Love Games amongst other gems), The Red Monks maybe be at times tedious with plot holes so big that you could comfortably reverse Dominic Cummings thru' without touching the sides but the classy cast and kooky creepiness ultimately win the viewer over.

Plus whenever you're feeling like ending it all rather than sit thru' another second of dodgily dubbed doomsaying, a pair of 70's breasts pop out of nowhere or a head rolls out of a hamper and suddenly you're transfixed again.

And before you know it you're hooked worse than your uncle Peter on the paperboy.

Recommended.