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.

romay holiday.

With still no fucking idea when we're meant to be moving or where to (Unwell Towers is currently collapsing due to being built on an ancient Etruscan burial ground) we appear to be stuck in a nightmarish loop of boxing and binning whilst the youngest of our brood has taken to removing everything from the boxes as we go before stashing it in a 'safe space'.
 

Anyway I just picked this up from behind his bed and he insisted it was his second favourite film ever (just behind the original King Kong) so guess how I've spent Father's Day?

Enjoy.

Les Amazones du Temple D'or (AKA Golden Temple Amazons, Amazons in the Temple of Gold, 1986).
Dir: Alain Payet (AKA James Gartner - yet credited to good old Jess Franco overseas).
Cast: J. R. Gossart, Analía Ivars, William Berger, Antonio Mayans, Stanley Kapoul, Olivier Mathot, Eva León* and Lina Romay.

“ I'm Rena and I will enjoy playing with you!”

Somewhere in the steaming hot jungles of the Amazon (or more likely the park behind the directors house) the sweaty, mouse like missionary Tom Godly (Bra maker Gossart) is surprised one morning whilst on his way to convert the natives when he comes across - stop it - a secret cave hidden in the mysterious Blue Mountains (no, not the ones from that Laurel and Hardy film) that is filled to bursting with large quantities of gold.

Returning to his jungle pad as fast as his skinny Christian legs can carry him and with his pockets bulging with a dozen or so Ferrero Rocher sized nuggets he excitedly tells his fright haired, tombstone toothed wife Greta (Franco's missis Romay in a scarily non-naked film role) that because they are now rich enough that they can give up this Holy lark and retire to Ibiza.

Cagney And Lacey: The Pikey Years.

What he hasn't realized, however is that the cave is in fact a holy golden temple belonging to the local tribe of topless, gold pants wearing Amazon warriors, feared amongst the locals and ruled with a rod of iron by their scary leader Stan Uruk (Berger from The Winds of War).

Well, it's an easy mistake to make.

These bewigged and busty warrior women, discovering that they've been robbed, follow Tom back home, demanding that he give them back the booty or else.

Tom chooses 'or else' much to the chagrin of their evil leader who being one of those guys that justifies every single one of his frankly bonkers - and often violent -  actions with some kinda religion reason (as is the way of these types), not too surprising kills poor old Tom and Greta in a hail of poison arrows and slow motion yelling, leaving their young daughter Liana (fish lipped Franco regular Ivars) to fend for herself in this hostile tropical hell.

Or Govan as we call it up here.

Luckily a friendly monkey and a local tribe take pity on her and help her out which is sweet in a kinda Disney way.

"Fiona! where's mah lunch?"

Jump forward a few years and the church have finally decided to send a new missionary (who scarily is the spitting image of Father Ted, not as he looks now obviously seeing as he's been dead about 20 years but you know what I mean) to discover what happened to Tom and Linda.

Better late than never I suppose.

Arriving at their dilapidated cabin he's surprised (there's a lot of it in this movie) to find Liana still living there in all her grown up glory, complete with a faintly embarrassing bubble perm and dressed in skimpy animal skins but luckily still resembling a startled haddock.

Despite being nubile and (half) naked, the missionary has no interest in Liana (well, she's not a wee boy) so he decides instead to read her fathers diary aloud, which as luck (or really atrocious plotting) would have it, conveniently explains all about the gold and her parents subsequent murder.

Which really begs the question as to why, after being run thru' with loads of arrows, he decided to write about it rather than raid the medicine drawer for aspirin or at very least a plaster.

"My dad told me about those cults.
People dressing up in black
and saying Our Lord's going to
come back and save us all".
"No, Liana, that's us. That's Catholicism".
"Oh right".

Upon hearing of her parents fate - she must have been busy when it happened, either that or she has the memory, as well as the looks, of a fish - Liana vows to have her revenge upon the evil Amazon women (and scary Stan) and immediately sets off towards the Blue Mountains, accompanied by her faithful pet chimp Rocky (himself) and a funny tribesman named Koukou (Kapoul from the Andrea - Nights of Terror - Bianchi classic Maniac Killer).

It's going to be a long film.

Cue an endless nightmare of stock footage animals, Liana's breasts bouncing in slow motion and random shots of a monkey grinning like a loon for what seems like days.

Which is all well and good if you like that sort of thing but not too exciting if you enjoy interesting characters exchanging meaningful dialogue.

All that may be about to change tho' as our terrific trio come across (not literally, tho' in this case it might have been fun to see) a group of explorers out searching for the Golden Temple.

And one of them is played by Emilio Linder!

Now that makes all the difference.

"Laugh Now!"

Anyway back to the plot where I can safely say without fear of spoiling it for those who've yet to see it but they all get to the cave unharmed (and with nay hair out of place or slips of nipple) and with no sense of jeopardy or danger whatsoever.

Tho' this may be to lull us into a false sense of security (or a coma) seeing as soon as they set foot in the cave our motley band are almost instantly rendered unconscious by Stan's eggy fart gas and imprisoned by the Amazon women ready to be used as slave labour in Uruk's secret gold mines.

Or was that The Chuckle Brothers secret lemonade factory?

Little Mix number one for Christmas....MONSTA!

None of these questions will be answered however as there are  more important things afoot, like overly long and totally random scenes of topless ladies in tiny gold pants sword fighting under the watchful (and lustful) gaze of the bequiffed and eyepatched Rina (the frankly magnificent León, best known around here for her top rendition of the top pop tune Una Mujer on the TeeVee show El Hotel de las Mil y Una Estrellas and a woman whose performance alone raises this film to genius level if I'm honest.).

It seems that Rina is a tad upset at Liana turning up and wants her out of the way just in case there's any chance of Uruk choosing our haddock-faced chum as his successor instead.

Luckily Rina has a cunning plan to rid herself of Liana that involves smearing blood on her (stunning) breasts in extreme close up whilst licking soot off various stoned wannabe starlets.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Or just deeply tragic when you realise that this is the high point of the film.

Anyway, will our heroes escape?

And does anyone (except the investors) really care?

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

Aaah, you can't beat a wee bit of Jess Franco, the late great pensioner perv of quality Eurotrash, unfortunately tho' in this case he only seemed to be on hand to film the fleeting nude scenes (oh and his missis) which means that the usual Franco trademarks - sexy European girls with massive bushes writhing around on knock-off Ikea sofa beds whilst his other half licks tomato sauce of their thighs are all missing, replaced with director Payet's trademark 'point the camera randomly and hope something interesting happens' technique that he honed on such classics as Hitler's Last Train, Captive Women 5: Mistresses of the 3rd Reich, Confessions très intimes d'une petite fille and French Erection.

Eva León: Ask your granddad.

Luckily for us tho' he left his infamous Nazi porn chic obsessions at home this time, which would be OK if he'd at least attempted to add something (anything) else to the film other than a deep depressing hole that radiates out from the screen and into the pit of your stomach.

But why was Franco involved I hear you cry.

Rumor has it that he was just passing by the studio with his shopping one day and popped his head around the door to say hi.

But I like to think that maybe he was on holiday near the location and just stumbled across them filming.

Which would explain a lot.

Except that is why the whole thing look like a nursery school version of Raiders of The Lost Ark, albeit one with loads of wobbly breasts and some sporadic scenes of mindless violence.

Mumbled dubbing, a tinny synth score, a human/cod hybrid in a fur bikini and overlong slo-mo shots of topless women on horseback all add up to the celluloid equivalent of anal warts, just slightly more embarrassing to admit to having let alone enjoying.

I should start a support group.
































*Not this one:

solar power!

 

 Now that Doctor Who has finally bitten the dust how about rebooting this for Saturday nights?