roy castle.

What would make this whole 31 Days of Horror even more exciting than it's been so far?

I reckon a movie featuring the lady legend that is Barbara Steele.

Or even better a movie featuring two Barbara Steele's.

And one is in a blonde wig!

What's not to love?

Apart from the nonsensical plot obviously. 

Nightmare Castle (AKA The Faceless Monster, 1965).
Dir: Mario Caiano.
Cast: Barbara Steele, Paul Müller, Helga Liné, Marino Masé, Rik Battaglia and Giuseppe Addobbati.

You, I will kill you, you tart, you. You and your filthy friend. But death, my dear, must come to you only after I've torn from your bodies all the suffering and pain a human being can stand, and you don't know yet how long it takes to die of pain!

Full-time mad scientist cum part-time street dancer Dr Stephen Arrowsmith (Surrealist horse-visaged Müller from Vampyros Lesbos)  and the stunningly beautiful - and filthily rich - Lady Muriel (Genre Goddess Steele, no introduction necessary) are trapped in a loveless marriage, their bouts of arguing and sniping punctuated by long, uncomfortable silences and knowing looks from their geriatric (tho' she may just be maid of Plasticine it's hard to tell) maid Solange (the luscious Liné from The Loreley's Grasp).

Reminds me of my childhood.

Without the hot German help obviously.

Ours was Swedish.

And a man as I found out on my 15th birthday.

But I digress.

Obviously then our high-cheeked hottie is very happy to find that her horrid hubbie is going away to Edinburgh for a week long mad scientist conference giving her plenty of time to indulge in copious amounts of 'the sex' with David the hunky gardener (billiards-derived indoor table game and star of Yellow Emanuelle, Battaglia).

Which is nice.

As Stephen heads off to Edinburgh, Muriel excitedly - and quite saucily for the early 60s - slips into her best flowing nightie and makes her way to the greenhouse to await for David to work some of his green-fingered magic on her lady garden.

Well it does look like her bush needs pruning.

Sorry.

Stills don't get more erotic than this.

Unfortunately neither Muriel nor David realize that Stephen suspects their indiscretion and has been secretly hiding behind the bins waiting for a signal from Solange and catching them In flagrante delicto (which I'm assuming is a fancy word for a greenhouse) springs his trap.

In a metaphorical way that is, it's not like he has some huge Heath Robinson contraption rigged up behind the rose bushes tho' given his bizarre torture methods later I wouldn't be surprised.

Chaining the couple up in the basement (ah memories) an angry Arrowsmith proceeds to beat the couple with a riding crop whilst waxing lyrical about the nature of love pain and death for what seems like hours before finally tying Murial to a bed before dripping acid onto her favourite dress.

The scoundrel.

But Muriel is defiant to the last, taunting her husband with the fact that she has left her entire fortune to her insane step-sister Jenny.

If she dies then sinister Stephen is out on his ear and penniless.

Unfortunately (for Muriel and David that is) Stephen doesn't care and happily kills the adulterous couple.

His excuse?

He needs their blood for his anti-aging experiments and his supply of frog plasma has run out.

This is important because he's promised to rejuvenate Solange as a thank you for spying on his wife.

Sounds legit.

Here come the Belgians!

But what about the will I hear you cry/type?

Stephen has it all in hand as within a few days of his wife's death he's gone to the local asylum and taken Jenny's hand in marriage.

Tho' seeing as she too is played by the lovely Babs (in a fetching blonde wig) he'd be a fool not to want the rest as well.

Solange is obviously not happy about this - you see she reckoned that now she's all young and sexy again that she’d have the doctor all to herself.

But Stephen is playing the long game.

As in he has a fairly complicated plan not that he's re-watching the rather insipid Christopher Eccleston Doctor Who episode where Simon Pegg takes his orders from a roof mounted CGI shite.

Mixing up a powerful hallucinogen in his lab (as you do) he instructs Solange to pop it into Jenny’s bedtime brandy, hoping that this little mix will kickstart her mentalism sending her screaming back to the funny farm whilst he laughs all the way to the bank.

Give him his dues as a doctor tho' because the homemade druggy draught appears to have the desired effect, as that night poor Jenny has nightmarish visions that would put William Burroughs (or Micheal Barrymore) to shame as the deafening sound of heart beats echo around the castle walls our maid of mental illness 'wakes' to find herself trapped in a stone sarcophagus only to be 'rescued' by the ghostly figure of Dave the gardener who then proceeds to ravish her with soft kisses.

Just as you think there might be a chance of a quick peek at Bab's slender thigh tho' a scarily stocking faced man with a riding crop appears and begins to beat David around the head.

With the strength of a woman possessed  Jenny attacks this masked menace only to wake suddenly with her hands clamped around Stephen's scrawny bird-like neck. throat.

Quickly slapping some sense into her Stephen heads off to his lab, pleased with the effect of the drug on Jenny.

Tho' in my experience if he'd have wanted to make a woman act like a total fruitcake he'd have been cheaper just buying her a bottle of cooking sherry and 10 Silk Cut before taking her to the local kiddies playpark for the evening.

As a teen this scenario always ended with me tied to a swing whilst my date flicked matches at me.

Which explains a lot.

"No Andy....Brexit means Brexit!"

Discussing the previous nights madness with Solange, Stephen is shocked to discover that the mucky maid - being female so obviously unable to follow simple instructions - actually gave Jenny a totally harmless sugar solution by mistake  so the drippy doc deduces that just being married to him and living in her dead sisters house may be enough to trigger her breakdown.

Jobs a good 'un as they say.

But this is a spooky ghost type mystery and we're only half an hour in so - against all laws of logic and common sense - Stephen for reasons best known to himself and director Mario Caiano and writer Fabio De Agostini (he of the expensive partwork fame) immediately summons the suave science guy Dr. Derek Joyce ( Masé AKA Lawrence Clift whom you may remember as John in Tenebrae), who is not only a dead ringer for Matt LeBlanc of Friends fame but also  Jenny’s old psychiatrist, to the castle in order to observe her condition.

Oh and hopefully strip naked and cover himself in chip fat whilst dancing provocatively.

No?

Just me then.

"Aye son!"

 

But with Stephen being a (mad) man of science and Solange being, well a bit fick the pervy pair totally fail to grasp the fact that  Jenny’s descent into madness may in fact be caused by the ghost of her sister and her lover.

But to be honest if I was in their situation I probably wouldn't see that coming either.

Tho' if I were married to Barbara Steele beating her to death with a poker would be the last thing on my mind.

Before long, Dr. Joyce too is witnessing strange phenomena in this nightmare castle - from blood dripping from the pot that holds Muriel's ashes to the dual heartbeats echoing thru' the walls via badly dubbed laughter echoing down the corridors and strange shadowy figures behind the gooseberry bushes.

Throwing caution - and science - to the wind Joyce is soon convinced that someone or something has supernatural designs on Jenny.

But to what end?

As all these supernatural shenanigans are going down (as the kids say) Stephen and Solange have altered their plans, deciding to kill Joyce as well as Jenny and as our hero prepares for a long hot soak before bed Stephen is busy electrifying the bath.....

Will Joyce save Jenny or will he fry like a massive man-titted haddock?
 
Will Stephen explain how he manage to discover that frog blood can make ladies younger?

And will anyone asked about the double heart family crest that Stephen is so keen to show everyone?

Laugh now.

Mad, bad and dangerous to view (especially in the aforementioned truncated version, writer/director Mario Caiano (AKA Allan Grunewald) has everything required to produce a top-notch Eurohorror - a sexually charged plot festooned with vengeful spirits, a mad scientist attempting to hold back death, an insane hottie in a sheer nightie and a big scary castle.

And all shot in glorious black and white.

Add to this a cast that includes the frankly fantastic Barbara Steele at her otherworldly best ably supported by the camp as pants Paul Müller alongside the gorgeous Helga Liné and topped off with a lush Ennio Morricone score and you should have an instant classic.

But whilst enjoyable enough in its own way Nightmare Castle lacks a certain something in its execution, the direction is flat, the script is nonsensical and the air of kinky menace the film teases us with disappears almost as quick as Helga Liné's comedy 'old lady' make-up.

As a plus point it does feature Barbara Steele stripping down to a magnificent corset before donning a blonde pound shop wig only half as ludicrous as the one Asia Argento sports in The Stendahl Syndrome so it's not a total loss.

Which if I'm honest just about sums up my life in a nutshell.

Be seeing you.

rock the dagmar.

Just realised we've had no halfway decent possession movies in this years 31 Days of Horror.

It'd be a pity to change that tho' wouldn't it?

 

The Devil's Female (AKA Beyond the Darkness, Magdalena: The Devil Inside the Female. 1974) 

Dir: Walter Boos.

Cast: Dagmar Hedrich, Werner Bruhns, Michael Hinz, Peter Martin Urtel, Rudolf Schündler, Karl Walter Diess, Günter Clemens, Elisabeth Volkmann, Eva Kinsky, Petra Peters, Ursula Reit, Helena Rosenkranz, Toni Treutler and Anton Feichtner.

"Is she possessed by the Devil or by sex? Or is it an obsessive compulsion to make lascivious gestures and bestial motions?"

It's Friday night in hip 'n' happening downtown Bavaria and local lady of the night - and part-time Rocky Horror cosplayer - Brenda (Guildenstern's best mate Rosenkranz best known around here for her top turns in the porn as education hits Schulmädchen-Report 7. Teil - Doch das Herz muß dabei sein and Vergiss beim Sex die Liebe nicht - Der neue Schulmädchenreport 13) is heading home after an evening of cheap booze and clumsy reach arounds.

Probably.

After knocking back a fat bloke in a pork-pie hat who offers he £5 for a wee cuddle she's surprised to find an old man, Joseph Winter, crucified on her front gate (and wearing nowt but a huge nappy) as she's struggling to find her keys.

Which is nice.

My mum's taking the divorce well...

Enter - roughly and from behind - the second best cinema cop duo (behind Spitz and Moran obviously) Kommissar Bob Snatch and his trusty assistant Inspektor Jack Flatley (TeeVee stalwart and what happens when you buy Robert Shaw off Wish Diess,better known for his portrayal of Jack Harris the classic Kleine Bank mit schlechten Noten and Clemens from Alle meine Töchter - you're welcome) who discover - after a quick autopsy, the films quite short - that the victim was actually a fairly well known Satanist who's been offed by some other Satanists for, um, reasons.

More importantly to the plot tho' is the fact that he was/is the legal guardian of his granddaughter, the sweet and innocent Magdalena (Hamster cheeked Hedrich from the Brazilian based love story Férias No Sul and fuck all else - unless you count those films your uncle made when he went to visit 'friends' in Germany obviously) who lost both her parents in a terrible accident when she was 5 years old.

Loved by her classmates at the exclusive boarding school she attends - and lusted after by the local hunk in the fashion boutique where she has a Saturday job, Magdalena is a perfect example of a happy - if a wee bit of a mature looking - teenager.

Albeit one that wears smashing blouses.

But all that changes when during the schools Ash Wednesday Disco (no, really) organized by the schools head, the frighteningly eyebrow-less Madame Stolz (Volkmann, best known for  the German absurd comedy series Klimbimand and as the voice of Marge Simpson in the German dub of The Simpsons) and her mousy yet strangely attractive assistant Miss Preis (Kinsky best known for Testament and Ruf der Wälder - no me neither), Magdalena suddenly falls to the ground soaked in sweat and foaming from the mouth whilst the sound of a single buzzing fly echoes annoyingly on the soundtrack as the school's token lesbian couple look on longingly licking their luscious lips.

Due to this being a cut - well totally butchered - version of the film this sexy subplot will never been seen again. 

Which is a pity if I'm honest.

Lesbe friends....homo we won't!

As suddenly as the convulsions/sexy tics started they completely subside leaving Magdalena wondering why she lying on the floor covered in sweat with her nipples protruding thru' her shirt whilst Madame Stolz and Miss Preis consider the fact that getting a bunch of teenagers drunk was maybe a wee bit of a bad idea.

And with that they pack Magdalena off to bed for the night.

It isn't too long tho' before the entire school is awakened by an hysterical, sweat soaked (and underpants-less) Magdalena screaming at the floors whilst trying to kill Madame Stolz pet pooch Enoch before attempting to stab Ms Preis with a butter knifeand finally collapsing (again) in an arse revealing heap on the floor leaving Stolz no alternative but to call her friend Dr. Berger (Actual actor-type Urtel best known for Bürgerkrieg in Russland - as in a TV movie version not the actual Russian Revolution, a German version of Othello and To Commit a Murder).

Berger isn't too concerned tho' and explains that "Sweaty arse revealing psychotic episodes can happen to almost anyone!" before giving her a sedative and heading back home to enjoy a shifty wank whilst dreaming of the poor girls glistening bum crack.

The next morning an oblivious Magdalena has no recollection of her freaky frolics the previous evening so is fairly surprised when Madame Stolz explains what has happened.

Oh and finally tells her the news about her granddad at the same time obviously.

Two birds and all that.

With Berger in tow, Magdalena prepares to leave for her granddad's funeral but at last minute she shouts "Fuck off!" to everyone and bounds over the school wall disappearing into the trees only to surface later that night when she accepts a lift from a long-haired lout who, when she falls asleep, drives off into the woods and attempts to rape her. 

This culminates in the guy getting his wanking arm broken in several places whilst Magdalena is later found by the police and taken back to school where the evil spirit within her takes the form of a black cat and starts throwing old boxes, furniture and wine bottles around in the attic whilst Magdalena writhes about naked in her sleep. 

The noise of her arse skidding across the bedroom carpet alerts Ms Preis that something is wrong so, whilst Madame Stolz tries to catch the cat vandal, she goes to comfort Magdalena only to be confronted by the Satanic schoolie bouncing on the bed shouting "I wanna fuck you dirty whores! Put it in me! Put it in me!"

Which is nice.

Luckily Dr Berger is hanging about in the lobby so he quickly gives her another sedative in the hope that this time it'll work.

Ms Preis tho' has other ideas and calls on the friendly neighbourhood priest Father Jess Conrad (Suspiria's Prof. Milius himself, Schündler adding some much needed cult film cred to the proceedings) to have a wee chat with Magdalena regarding her bizarre behaviour.

Luckily he's known her since she sang in the church choir as a little girl so is more than happy to help and to this end invites Magdalena, Ms Preis and Madame Stolz to the church for tea and biscuits.

But not of the soggy variety obviously.

Well not yet.

Things don't go quite to plan tho' as no sooner has Magdalena stepped out of the taxi when she starts accusing Conrad of being a dirty nun fucker whilst demanding that she takes communion "not in my mouth but in my pussy."

Interestingly Conrad at no point denies fucking nuns but does draw the line at the communion suggestion which goes to show that he's a man of integrity that can be trusted.

And to prove this he locks Magdalena up in his office and gets on with his churchy business giving her ample time to piss on his sofa, tear a Bible in two, same thru' a door and head over to the cemetery in order to have a chat with her dead - and buried - granddad.

As is now the norm when she finally regains her senses Magdalena has no recollection of what's just happened and with the movie lurching drunkenly toward its climax Preis, Stolz and Berger have no alternative than to turn to the modern day science of Electroencephalography (or EEG as we laymen call it).

Conrad begrudgingly agrees but only if he can join in and wave a Bible about occasionally. 

Oh and fuck a - dirty - nun.

Probably.

Nice and kneesy does it....

I reckon that I should point out that between all the swearing and sweaty snatch shots the film keeps cutting back to Kommissar Snatch and Inspektor Flatley questioning a fuzzy haired tramp caught at the scene of the crime but this subplot is a wee bit shit so I wasn't really paying that much attention.

Saying that tho' these bits are worth it just for Helena Rosenkranz's fantastic fashions.

Oh and the bit where Mrs. Baumer's hunky son Brian gives chase to the tramp.

Comedy gold. 

 

The lights are on.

With this in mind (as in the science stuff not the tramp chasing obviously) Magdalena is taken to see the famed brain boffin Professor Peter Falk (German dubbing legend and voice of Sherlock Hemlock in the German version of Sesame Street, Bruhns) who alongside his studly young assistant Dr. Stone (Hinz - Uncle Quentin himself from the 70s TeeVee version of Enid Blyton's The Famous Five) promise to find out why she's so mental and hopefully cure her so she can meet a nice man and get married.

Cue loads of footage of Magdalena with a colander on her head intercut with eye gouging scenes of Magdalena and Stone riding horses, bicycling in the countryside and playing ping pong as the pair gaze longingly at each other.

Because there's absolutely nothing unethical about a 30 something doctor lusting over a 17 year old mental school girl is there?

Luckily the director thought that all this lovey-dovey shite and keep fit stuff would be likely to induce a coma in anyone (left) watching so occasionally he has Magdalena go shopping with Falk's nurse Shirley (Peters) and a random old woman who lives in the house with them (Treutler).

Everything seems to be going well with Magdalena keeping her clothes on and not swearing at anybody but all that changes when late one night the evil spirit returns, forcing Magdalena to sneak out to the local pub, strip naked and seduce a groom to be and his best man (a great cameo from Chas and Dave, possibly) before forcing them to fight to the death for a chance to shag her before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

OK in a really choppy dissolve.

Tickler.

 

Next up it's the turn of Dr. Stone to feel the spirits wrath as Magdalena begins to rub his cock thru' his action slacks whilst promising to let him touch her thigh before shouting rape whenever he even looks at her and finally announcing that she will only have sex with him if he kills Professor Falk. 

And with that proclamation she slinks off to her room and strips naked so as to make it easier for the spirit to shag her up the bum....

 

What your mum really gets up to on Bingo Night.

Will Stone fall completely under Magdalena's spell and kill his boss?

Will the crucifixion sub-plot ever make any sense?

Will science or religion prevail?

Will the movie pull out all the stops for an amazing and terrifying Exorcist style climax or will Magdalena - after a stern talking to - just cough up a toy snake that Stone gingerly steps on?

Go on, guess.

I love it when people display their kids artwork.

What can you say about smut peddler extraordinaire Walter Boos frankly threadbare excursion into the supernatural other than it's exactly the wrong kind of movie you want to be caught watching in a hotel room alone?

Seriously, the thought of someone breaking in and finding me viewing this abomination was way more terrifying than the thought of being murdered in my bed as at least that way I wouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of facing my loved ones later.

It is bloody enjoyable tho'.

With its whore-baiting, hat wearing, nappy crucifying opening the movie hits the ground running and whilst Karl Walter Diess being dubbed by trailer voice-over legend Richardson Green (or was it Donald Leroy LaFontaine? I can't be arsed checking) not so much breaks the fourth wall rather it beats it into submission before pissing on its shoes, the film as a whole ticks all the right exploitation boxes.

Violent murder?

Check.

Inadvisable attempts at portraying youth culture?

Check.

Saucy virgin heroine in clothes a size too small?

Check.

Gratuitous lesbian teasings?

Check.

Overweight, mustachioed Germans?

You get the idea.

It's just a pity then that around the 35 minute mark the whole film grinds to a halt as you realise that other than the thrill of hearing Dagmar Hedrich swear whilst flashing her well kept fanny (and occasionally her - admittedly peachy - arse) at everyone the film has literally fuck all else to offer.

But scarily enough that's part of its charm.

 

Font.

You know it's shit, you assume that the cast and crew know it's shit but fair play to 'em they carried on regardless so the least you can do is give them and hour and 14 minutes of your time.

Especially if the alternative is binging the entire sorry series of Smoggie Queens on BBC 3 whilst knocking back a fifth glass of Pinot noir and third bag of prawn cocktail Skips.

So damning with faint praise then?

Well it is what I do best.

dance macabre.

As ever, just in time for Halloween....(almost) every single horror/cult/Eurotrash themed mix from the infamous Man With No Suitcase pre-club and beyond.

 

Just the right thing to get your party going with a bang.

Probably.

 

 

 

 

 

 

isvand i blodet!

 

I love Tommy Wirkola and I love Stig Frode Henriksen so obviously I adore this.

As an (interesting) aside you may notice a distinct lack of childish innuendo and offensive language in this review, which is because it was originally written for DEAD FUNNY: THE RISE OF THE ZOM-COM which is still available on Amazon and would make a great Christmas gift.

 

Dead Snow (2009).
Dir: Tommy Wirkola.
Cast: Vegar Hoel, Stig Frode Henriksen, Charlotte Frogner, Lasse Valdal, Evy Kasseth Røsten, Jeppe Laursen, Jenny Skavlan, Ane Dahl Torp
Bjørn Sundquist and Ørjan Gamst.

Hello, 9-1-1? We've been attacked by what look like German zombies from the Second World War! And we set our cabin on fire by accident!

It's a calm moonlit Norwegian night in the snow covered woods somewhere in deepest darkest Øksfjord, the only sound being Edvard Grieg's Hall Of The Mountain King playing menacingly in the background.

This (fairly) sinister scene is abruptly broken by the noise of a terrified girl crashing thru' the trees as she attempts to escape from an unseen assailant.

Stopping to get her bearings (and catch her breath) she suddenly attacked and overcome by a group of grey-coated ghouls who proceed to eat her whole.

Tho' I always assumed that they would spit that bit out.

Less Eva Green more Eva Grue.

Cut to a rocking Country and Western tune (who knew Norway had such things?) as we follow two cars full of the oldest (medical) students this side of the Fenn St Gang - queasy Martin (Hoel), his dreadlocked girlfriend Hanna (Pound Shop Eve Green Frogner), snack loving horror fan Erlend (Laursen), identikit chicks Liv and Chris (Hamster-cheeked Røsten and the button nosed Skavlan) and Roy (comedy god Henriksen) as they head off to enjoy an Easter break of sex, snacks and song in a secluded cabin in the woods.

What could possibly go wrong?

Arriving at the cabin they meet up with their pal, the lion-haired, snow-mobile driving Vegard (Valdal) who has been patiently awaiting not only their arrival but that of his girlfriend - and the cabin's owner - Sara (Torp) who has decided to ski to the cabin from West Bromwich or something seeing as she's a sporty type.

As you do.

As is the way when students get together the pals settle down for an evening of booze and banter (I assume this is quite realistic seeing as I've never been invited away for the weekend on account of not having any friends. Ever) until that is a mysterious tramp arrives in order (it seems) to tell them the dark history of the region and start the plot good and proper.

You see, it seems that during World War II, a crack squad of Einsatzgruppe bad boys led by the evil Colonel Barry Herzog rocked up in the local area and spent the next few years abusing and torturing the local populace until, near the end of the war, the villagers decided to extract their revenge.


With Germany's defeat immanent the nasty Nazi's grabbed whatever loot they could and legged it into the woods, the torch bearing townies in hot pursuit.

Bloodshed, burnings and bad man beatings ensued as most of Herzog's squad were butchered.

However Herzog (being a lucky bloke) alongside a few of his troops managed to eluded capture/bumming and escaped into the mountains with the stash of loot where it was assumed that they all froze to death.

Or did they?

And with that (and a quick beer and fag) the tramp leaves to continue whatever snow-based business he was doing beforehand.

Which appears to be setting up camp somewhere in the mountains in order to be attacked - and eaten - by zombies therefore adding to the sense of impending doom.

Russell T Davies examining all the fucks we give about Doctor Who's cancellation.

As a new day dawns, Vegard - getting more and more concerned heads off on his snowmobile to look for Sara and soon comes across (no, not in that way, minds like sewers you lot) the dismembered tramp/concerned, creepy local guy.

Continuing his search Vegard clumsily falls into a hole landing in a cave knocking himself unconscious.

Yup, I know, I know you think his almost lion-like main of luxurious hair would have cushioned the blow.

As the day wears on and the friends get more and more tipsy, Erlend - looking for cakes discovers an old wooden box filled with jewelry coins and golden trinkets hidden under the floorboards and excitedly begins to rummage thru' it.

The greedy sod probably thinks the coins are chocolate.

Lache Jetzt!

Celebrating their find with even more booze (and pocketing a few of the coins for good measure) it's not long before Erlend's bladder gets the better of him and he heads off to the outside toilet for a wee followed by some furtive bog-based sex with a tipsy Chris before returning to the party leaving Chris to have a poo in peace.

And you say romance is dead.

With the plot points fully covered and the threat explained (plus we're at the halfway point) it'll come as no surprise to tell you that that the things in the woods are, in fact, the undead remains of Herzog's squad - out for revenge on anyone brave or silly enough to try to steal their gold.

Imagine a really right wing (and considerably better dressed) version of the Lucky Charms cereal leprechaun and you're halfway there.

And just in case you hadn't managed to work all that out yet we cut back to Vergard who, upon awakening finds himself in a candlelit cave chock full of gold, guns and Nazi memorabilia - as well as his girlfriends severed head.

Which is unexpected (to him) but to me, if I'm honest, is scarily reminiscent of my granddad's spare bedroom.

Oh how I miss the holidays of my youth.

"Fuck me Jamie....a wasp!"

Stalked (and slashed) on the shitter by the sinister soldiers, Chris is the first to die as the undead Nazi horde lay siege to the cabin, quickly killing Erlend (who it has to be said is the biggest target) as he and his friends attempt to secure the building using a collection of Ikea shelves and empty beer cans.

Meanwhile Vegard has been discovered and is currently busying himself poking zombies in the eyes with a penknife as the evil creatures edge him closer and closer to a cliff face.

It never rains.

Bitten on the neck by one of the zombie he stumbles back over the cliff edge but is saved when he grabs on to an unraveled undead intestine he'd managed to cut out of its owner earlier.

And no, I didn't see that coming.

Climbing back up the sticky stomach rope he quickly stitches his neck up before attaching a handy machine gun to his snowmobile and heads back to help his friends who, by this point have decided it'd probably be best to split up so to this aim Martin and Roy attempt to distract the zombies whilst Hanna and Liv run for the cars and look for help.

Hmmm...I can't this this plan failing in any way.

As the boys bang pots and pans whilst singing loudly the girls head out into the snowy covered woods but are soon attacked leaving Liv unconscious and Hanna stuck under a mini-avalanche with just a zombie for company.

All this snow-based kerfuffle wakes Liv from her slumber just in time to see a group of zombies messily pulling out her intestines and realising that her chances of ever getting a decent pair of dungarees to fit again uses her last vestige of strength to pull the pin from a grenade on one of the undead's belt causing a massive explosion that gives Hanna the boost she needs to drop kick her undead assailant.

Whilst all this has been going down Martin and Roy have managed to set fire to the cabin with shoddily made Molotov cocktails leaving them no choice but to lock themselves in the tool shed, which as it happens is a pretty smart move seeing as it's choc full of chainsaws, hammers and the like.

Groovy.

Undead Nazi in mah mooth!

As Vegard joins them the scene is set for a final battle against Herzog and his undead platoon but as they attack Martin begins to realise the real reason behind the onslaught....

The second film from the dream team of Tommy Wirkola and Stig Frode Henriksen (who later went on to give us the sublime Hellfjord) Dead Snow comes across like a horror retelling of Withnail And I ("We set our cabin on fire by accident!") and is one of those rare horror comedies that plays everything absolutely straight and is all the better for it.

True it may not be the most original plot in the world but it more than makes up for it with sheer chutzpah and an infectious sense of fun that puts most (if not all) big budget horror comedies to shame.

Perfectly pitched and tautly directed Dead Snow is scary and silly in equal measures and probably the most entertaining thing to come out of Norway since Vicky Vette.

Tho' much as I love him I can't imagine too many folk paying to see Stig doing a saucy webcam show.

family ties.

 

La notte dei diavoli (AKA Night of the Devils, 1972)
Dir: Giorgio Ferroni.
Cast: Gianni Garko, Agostina Belli, Roberto Maldera, Bill Vanders, Cinzia De Carolis, Maria Monti, Teresa Gimpera and Umberto Raho.

Our story begins in a damp European wood (probably just around the corner from where Annik Borel is writhing around naked) where we're introduced to the tragic traveling wood salesman, Lesley Manhorn (played by the mightily mustached Maldera) who is passing his time wandering thru' the undergrowth clad only in a dirty sweater and torn Action Slacks.

Discovered by a concerned shepherd our poorly pal is quickly carted off to the local mental hospital, tho' probably not to be stripped naked and tied to a bed.

Instead he's viciously prodded and poked by the concerned (or constipated, I couldn't tell) Dr. Tosi (Enter The Devil's Raho) as his terrifying tale unfolds through the medium of dance (oh go on then, flashbacks), leaving him - and us - horrified to discover that he's become embroiled in yet another remake of the (one halfway decent) Leo Tolstoy novel, The Family of the Vourdalak.

But this time not one directed by Mario Bava or starring Boris Karloff.

Or even by Adrien Beau in 2023.

Which is a shame but lets not be too hasty.

"You ain't seen me, right?"

It transpires that during his trip home from a particularly successful building conference Lesley, after drinking far to much of the local brew and taking a wrong turn managed to wrap his car around a tree leaving him stranded in the Yugoslavian countryside.

The whole situation is a wee bit like being stuck in Dudley in the West Midlands but with less chance of getting your arse felt by a tramp.
 

Or catching crabs from a beer glass.

Luckily (for the viewer obviously otherwise it'd be a really crap horror movie) he finds shelter for the night in the home of the Ciuvelak family, headed by grumpy patriarch Gary (Vanders).

All seems well, until day turns to night that is, when our hero (if you can class someone who self MDF and hardboard for a living a hero) is kept awake by strange noises emanating from the woods.

Questioning his host the next morning he's told not to worry as it's just a bloodthirsty witch that lives in the trees.

Which is nice if a little unexpected.

I was expecting rats.

A typical Scottish witch of the type that legend says used to hide in the bushes on Glasgow Green waiting to attack men with terrifying haberdashery. Seriously it's true. Look it up.

It seems that the witch killed Gary's brother a while back before deciding that it'd be a wee bit more fun for everyone to resurrect him as an exotically monikered Vourdalak, a mythological Russian vampire with a penchant for time keeping, fact fans.

Anyway back to the plot where Les seems to be taking all this gypsy gossip in his stride, which might be because he's fallen head over heels in love with Gary's ravishingly redheaded daughter Sdenka (button nosed beauty Belli), either that or the constant bowls of oxtail soup and bread are beyond compare.

Agostina Belli: Your grandad did. Twice.

Either way he doesn't even bat an eyelid when Gary decides to don a big furry hat and heads out into the woods to confront the witch once and for all.

Number one son Terry (Garko) tho' is prepared for the worst, fearing that his poor dad will get vamped and return home the next day at precisely 6 o'clock and wreak havoc on the household.

See?

Told you there was time keeping involved, I don't make this shit up you know.

Well, not all of it.

Beware! He's going to put his big chopper in you!

Suffice to say that Gary does indeed return at the allotted time the next day looking a wee bit greener than normal (which he blames on trapped wind) but insisting that he has in fact killed the witch and isn't a vampire.

The family (being a bit fick) believe him.

It won't come as too much of a surprise when I say that he's lying thru' his pointy teeth, leading to 60 minutes of death, depravity and dodgy trousers. 

Oh and future human/hamster hybrid Cinzia De Carolis sitting on a log giggling whilst ripping her mums throat out.

And her blouse to shreds obviously.

"I'm sorry, I have my woman's period."

Criminally under-rated and hardly seen by anyone outside the directors immediate family, Giorgio (AKA Calvin Jackson Padget) Ferroni's penultimate picture is a slow burning supernatural shocker that's a joy to watch from it's starch slacked start to it's devilish denouement. 

Whilst it never reaches the giddy heights of the directors earlier Mill of the Stone Women it's well worth the effort to track down, if only to compare how three totally different film makers (t'others being the aforementioned Mario Bava with his classic Black Sabbath and the - also aforementioned - Adrien Beau with his 2023 version Le Vourdalak) approach the same source material.

"Shite in my gorgeous Italian mooth you wood loving bastard!"

Whereas Bava's vision is all clinging atmospherics, subtle lighting and and knowing nods from Karloff and Beau opts for a fairy tale fantasy feel, Ferroni decides to go straight for the jugular from the start, the film’s opening minutes featuring as they do a barrage of blood, bush and boobs before quickly settling down into a more sombre state as the story begins good and proper.

With a pitch perfect cast playing the whole scenario as straight as Chuck Norris,
Ferroni is free to let his camera camp up the proceedings as it treats both gore and nudity with glee abandon.

And it's this freewheeling style, aided by Giorgio Gaslini's sinister score that enables the film to flip from gothic chiller to frantic chase movie almost without warning as it builds to it's climax.

Plus Agostina Belli really pulls off those early 70s, Eastern European fashions.

"Is it in yet?"

Tis a pity then that such a great movie is lumbered with such a generically piss-poor title, which probably hasn't helped it's availability* (or reputation) over the years, which is almost as much a shame as the fact that Ferroni made so few horror movies.

That and the fact that his best known work, Le baccanti (AKA Bondage Gladiator Sexy) is rubbish.

Well that's a bit of a downer to end on isn't it?
































*Tho' saying that it's actually been released on Blu-Ray in 'The States' - which would be good if I could actually play US Blu's.....oh well maybe a fan will buy me a new player.

Or not.

sausage fingers.

Got a huge pile (ooeer) of brand spanking new movies to watch for 31 days of horror so have spent days (well hours) pouring over what to watch first.

Unfortunately my autie-ness and fear of all things new kicked in so to calm myself down I ended up picking this old favourite.

Enjoy.

The Wax Mask (AKA M.D.C. - Maschera di cera, Gaston Leroux's The Wax Mask. 1997).
Dir: Sergio Stivaletti.
Cast: Robert Hossien, Romina Mondello, Riccardo Serventi Longhi, Daniele Auber, Umberto Balli, Gianni Franco and Gabriella Giorgelli.

It's the romantic city of Paris in the year 1900 and a portly, middle aged couple have just been bludgeoned to death in their beds by a cloaked, top-hatted fella with a groovy metal hand.

There are limbs and various bodily parts everywhere and the sheets are ruined leaving the local police at a loss as to who or what could have done such a thing.

After a few minutes heated discussion they all agree that it definitely wasn't the wee girl they found hiding under the bed.

Pretty good job they weren't Police Scotland tho' seeing as they'd have probably charged her with a hate crime for mentioning his metal hand then confiscated her teddy bear as a weapon before throwing the poor sod in a river.

Needle in mah neck!

Anyway our story quickly jumps (via the groovy world of dissolves) from blood stained sheets to semen stained slappers as it's now twelve years later and the action has moved from gay Paris to ia brothel in Rome where the besuited and bookish boys are enjoying the company of the prettiest (and cleanest looking) whores since Jeune & Jolie.

Or since watching Channel 5's Milkshake this morning obviously.

Anyway, between the shagging of ladies and the drinking of tea the conversation turns to a brand new wax museum that's soon to open across town, no-one has seen it yet but rumour has it that the place is frankly terrifying with the scariest waxworks ever (yes, even scarier than this one) and it's not long before the weaselly whore-shagger and gambling addict Marcel McBeardo has accepted a £5 bet to spend the night in the place.

Waved (as opposed to wracked) off by his favourite and particularly bouncy blonde prostitute (imagine a rouge lipped, corseted and even more council estate Baby Spice and you're partway there) he heads inside to find a quiet place to sleep between the spooky wax figures.

Baby Spice: What you really, really want. Allegedly.

Wandering between the exhibits he comes across a door leading to a basement room and being a nosy bugger heads down to investigate.

Bad move seeing as the basement is full of bottled babies, body parts and jars labeled 'bad things'.

Oh and a spooky hooded man busy working away on something not nice.

The sight is so horrific that poor Marcel can't help poohing himself a little bit, the smell of which attracts the attentions of the aforementioned hooded man who gives chase, easily catching the by now whiffy fella and killing him.

To death.

"Is that a leaky biro in your pocket
or have you cum in your pants?"

When Marcel doesn't turn up for work the following Monday the police soon begin an Investigation into his disappearance, quickly discovering that he was last seen approaching the waxwork where upon a closer inspection they soon find Marcel's shite stained body curled up in a corner just behind the Harry and Megan tableaux.

Due to the smell the coroner decides that he died of fear.

Enter Boris Volkoff (well as played by the very old yet still very sexy Hossein - you'd not think twice), the owner of the waxwork who, of course knows nothing about the aforementioned death.

Aye right.

And with the set up out of the way it's time to meet our heroine for the next 90 minutes in the petite form of the young, fresh faced wannabe fashion designer Sonia Lafont (button nosed pixie perfection Mondello) who has just applied for a job making costumes at the wax museum.

Unfortunately Alex (Balli from the cult Bobby Rhodes starrer Tre), Volkoff's lanky, pretty lipped and pudding bowled assistant despises her hairstyle and eels she'd be rubbish at sowing but Boris on the other (non metal) hand, finds young Sonia 'fascinating' and hires her on the spot.
Bless.
This is the first bit of good fortune Sonia has had in years seeing as her parents were butchered by a madman and that she's had to spend the last twelve years living with her vastly overweight and blind auntie Francesca (cinema legend and ex-model for the Sadistik photo-comic Giorgelli) .

But wait!

Does this mean that she's the wee girl from the start of the film?

And more importantly is it still OK to fancy her?*

Mondello: Fag.

Leaving the waxwork museum with a spring in her step and a heaving bosom Sonia is startled by the young news pup Andrea Conversi (Longhi, star of I tre volti del terrore and some other stuff) sneakily taking photo's of her.

After first wanting to slap him, Andrea's smooth movies and easy good looks soon have her, if not eating out of his hand at least sucking his fingers on a promise of a McDonalds and a movie.

Result.

But seeing as we're in an Italian horror movie it's no surprise that whilst all this mushy (and fairly sticky) stuff is going down, the mad bloke with the cloak, top hat and metal hand is skulking about the local parks buying a wee urchin's candy floss before sticking a huge syringe into his neck, stripping him down to his undies and filling him with warm sickly liquids.

Which reminds me, how is your uncle Peter doing?

Too late Ted Cruz discovered he'd
left his special wanking hand on the shelf.

Whilst all these murders are going on, Andrea comes to the conclusion that they may be related in some way to the wax museum.

Sonia tho' is too busy to care seeing as she's being romantically pursued by Boris (who gives her a really classy pearl necklace) as well as wondering if the metal hand murders could be in any way related to her parents deaths.

Hmmmmm......a hard one that.

Meanwhile Baby Spice has been kidnapped, stripped to a pair of (leather) undies and injected with stuff before being placed in a display featuring Jack The Ripper.

As a whore.

Oh the irony.

"Laugh now!"

Andrea with his patented sweet talking and even sweeter cock (possibly), manages to 'talk' Sonia into letting him into the wax museum after hours to take pictures of the exhibits before heading off for tea at Aunt Francesca's house.

The conversation turns to Sonia's childhood and Francesca tells the sad story of Sonia's mother, Gayle who was unhappily married to a weird bloke named Boris who did bad things with candles.

Finding solace in the arms of a nice (non mental) man named Victor, Gayle began a torrid affair but as is the way in these things, Boris caught them red handed (and sore arsed).

Being slightly upset at finding his wife spreadeagled across the bed like a common strumpet Boris leapt at Victor and some serious bitch-slapping ensued culminating with Boris falling arse over tit into a huge vat of boiling hot wax that just happened to be bubbling away in the living room.

Ouch.

The patented Melania Trump mooth shite-in chair,
only £19.99 from Paliwank industries.

Andrea begins to suspect that Sonia's dad maybe the same Boris that now runs the wax museum and heads back to over there, leaving Sonia just enough time to get herself kidnapped and threatened with being fed to some hungry pigs.

Rescued by Boris before any hot pig on pretty lady action can take place (booo!) Sonia is taken to the museum (rather than being taken up the casino which is what Boris would rather do, you can tell by the look in his eyes), dragged down to the secret laboratory and stripped and forced into another pair of leather undies (I hope they're clean) ready for embalming.

Mondello: Any excuse.

But don't fear (oh go on then, fear a wee bit) because the ultimate crime solving force of Andrea and the blind Francesca are hot on Boris' trail and determined to rescue our sweaty and trussed up like a turkey heroine.

Will they find Sonia before her dad fills her with his special liquid?

Will there be any more unnecessary close-ups of her glistening breasts?

And will a giant, steam powered Terminator style robot turn up for no reason?

Co-written by the late, great Lucio Fulci and the hardly ever late but still great Dario Argento with effects genius Sergio Stivaletti behind the camera how could a movie like Wax Mask fail to entertain?

Throwing caution, logic and budgetary constraints to the wind (but keeping hold of those handy red filters), Stivaletti has crafted a stylishly saucy slice of pure cinematic gold that's as cheesy as it is chilling, tho' whether the cheesiness is intentional is up for debate.

I for one don't care when a movie is as enjoyable as this.

Often cruelly slated by 'proper' fans of the genre, there's lots to love about Wax Mask if you're willing to let yourself go with the flow, not least the wonderful production values, the vivid deep colours, the lush score and lastly but by no means least, the yummy Romina Mondello strapped to a steampunk style operating table wearing nowt but some leather briefs and a layer of shimmering sweat.

Even the cack handed dubbing (the worst I've ever heard) courtesy of distributors Film 2000 can't detract from the movie's overall greatest, if anything it adds another unique dimension to the proceedings, as if the dialogue was being presented thru' some kind of bio-mechanical drunken trumpet.

And there aren't many films you can say that about.

Apart from the bizarro sound mix used on the Warner two disc release of the Peter Cushing Dalek movies back in the early nineties.

At once a celebration of the best (and worse) excesses of Italian horror cinema, Wax Mask deserves to be re-evaluated and smothered with the love, attention and sticky kisses it so richly deserves.

Do it now.

*Yes and yes.