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?

 

new york stories.

Just found out that the great beast himself and towering hero of Italian cinema Luigi Montefiori AKA George Eastman has died.

 

 

So as way of a tribute I present a (re)review of a couple of his greatest hits.

Why not see how many more you can find scattered around the blog?

Remember there's no prizes tho' it's just for fun! 

The New Barbarians (AKA Warriors of The Wasteland, Metropolis 2000. 1982).
Dir: Enzo G. Castellari.
Cast: Timothy Brent (AKA Giancarlo Prete), Fred Williamson, George Eastman, Anna Kanakis, Thomas Moore (AKA Ennio Girolami), Giovanni Frezza, Massimo Vanni, Venantino Venantini, Iris Peynado, Andrea Coppola, Vito Fornari and Zora Kerova.

At the beginning of the 21st century, the nuclear
holocaust had come to pass and civilisation vanished.
It was a time of chaos and violence,
until one day there appeared…The New Barbarians!

Our adventure (by that I mean the film) opens in what appears to be a child's bedroom, a scale model of New York (built entirely from discarded boxes and yogurt pots for a school project) sits proudly on the shelf.

Suddenly someone drops a discarded cigarette on the model and it bursts into flames.

Oh no, it was getting judged for a prize tomorrow!

Hang on my mistake, I think it was meant to be the actual New York City being nuked.

Well it's an easy one to make.

As Claudio Simonetti channels Stewart Copeland's 'Equaliser' theme we jump forward nine years to 2019 where the world has become one huge quarry and groups of barely human survivors wander around in charity shop cardigans and a variety of hats whilst supping soup from tiny metal take away dishes.

Indeed, I've seen the future and it's really similar to Glasgow city centre on a Saturday.

Littering the wasteland are rotten corpses in breast revealing anti-radiation suits, tatty bits of heating ducts and car doors to show viewers that civilization has indeed fallen.

Anyway enough pointless scene setting, we want action and action we get when a gang of scary haired road warrior types clad in white padded PVC and riding about on dirt bikes and customized kiddies dodgem cars attack the survivors encampment killing everyone in sight.

Lion-O Blair.

Welcome The Templars dear viewer, a camp as pants gang of angry gays with jokeshop wigs led by the badger haired, bearded Bible tearing bad man named 'The One' (Eastman-the reason we are here).

And the Templars mission?

Rough sodomy and maximum violence in retaliation for the nuclear war that ended civilization.

Yup that makes perfect sense.

Gayest of these gay marauders is One's right (and probably his wanking) hand man Steve Mako (AKA Dick Shagnasty vividly portrayed by Massimo Vanni from Zombie 4: After Death and Strike Commando 2) a peacock headed loon who drives around in a Bacofoil covered 2CV with a huge cannon sticking out of the front and a side mounted wall fan capable of cutting the heads off passers by.

All of course painted silver.

He's thinking of you naked
and trussed up like a turkey.

Into the devastation and fields of burning pikey corpses drives our hero, the perfectly permed Scorpion (the late great Brent, star of the classic Black Belly of the Tarantula as well as dross like Caligula II: Messalina Messalina, The Last Shark and Fashion Crimes), dressed head to toe in beige corduroy (with huge fur trimmed shoulder pads obviously) and his scrawny man chest on view for all the world to see cuts a mighty fine dash as he cruises the apocalypse in his jet black muscle car, complete with a silver painted skull on the radiator, huge silver tubes leading into the bonnet and what looks like a massive transparent plastic tit glued to the roof.

He must be hard as fuck (or have a neck of pure brass) to be see dead in such an automotive abomination.

Tongs ya bas? No it's a perm.

Realizing that he's missed the battle, Scorpion relieves his pent up anger by viciously slaughtering a bunch of lisping mummies he finds aimlessly limping about like stroke sufferers before taking his car to be repaired by my wee boy, sorry I mean Giovanni Frezza.

No really, the Frezza-Meister turns up in a fantastic surprise cameo as a mechanic cum sling shot champion (remember this it may become important later) turning an already so-so movie into a not bad one.

I bet he can heal the sick and walk on water too the cool bastard.

With his tires changed and his furry dice cleaned Scorpion heads back onto the open road (in reality a deserted airstrip just outside Rome) where he catches the Templars (sounds painful) chasing a half naked, boss eyed young woman named Alma (former Ms. Italy and ex missis Claudio Simonetti, Kanakis) after spearing her hubbie in the cock and blowing their transit van up.

Scorpion steps (well, drives) in to save this damsel in distress, much to the chagrin of Mako and his leather clad lover Brian (Coppola from Amazonia: The Catherine Miles Story) who vows revenge on the pube topped one for this and a variety of past misdemeanors.

It turns out that Scorpion actually used to be an elder of the arse bothering Templars but left the order due to not having outrageous enough a barnet (oh and not liking cock obviously) and it's for this reason (and the fact that he hates Mako even more than he hates fanny) that the lion-maned, tidy bearded Barry Shadow (Girolami from Tenebrae, Bronx Warriors and Escape From The Bronx) feels obliged to let him go.

"Keep your eyes on the prize hen,
well one of them at least".

Scorpion, being a perfect gentleman, offers the girl a ride in his car (with a promise of more later) she breathlessly accepts and the pair drive off into the sunset, unaware that they are being followed by a really annoyed Mako.

The Templar that is not the species of Shark tho' to be honest that would also be worth seeing.

After a romantic evening shagging in a giant, green Marks and Spencer's freezer bag, Scorpion spends what seems to be the next three days driving very slowly around the same bit of quarry whilst telling Alma the story of his life ("I used to be a bad buggerer of boys but now I prefer quim and helping people.") Scorpion notices the small group of kiddies electric cars blocking his way.

"Is it in yet?"

Mako and his bro's have decided (against the will of The One) to kick (then shag obviously) Scorpions firm, muscular arse and our hero soon finds himself in the middle of a firefight whilst dodging Mako's killer fan contraption.

Luckily for Scorpion (and for the viewer) his old buddie, the sexy black, bowman Nadir (the man, the legend that is and always will be Fred 'The Hammer' Williamson) has been watching from a distance and soon wades into battle armed with his high-tech exploding arrows, porn god mustache and almost supernatural ability to impregnate women thru' a teevee screen.

The pair make short work of mentalist Mako and his goons, with Mako himself ending up chewing on one of his own cars wheels whilst a distraught Brian looks on, tears, blood, egg yolk and semen stinging his eyes.

Scorpion sends him back to Templar HQ with a clip round the ear and his boyfriends mangled corpse in a binbag.

This isn't gonna end well is it?

 Your dad's taking the divorce well.

By this point, The One seems to having a really bad day, not only are his men going out to commit acts of bum violence behind his back but Shadow has been really stroppy since he found out that Scorpion was back on the scene so, to cheer himself up he sets fire to Mako's half naked corpse before stringing Brian up and shooting him.
By this point it's pretty obvious that only one thing can placate One's violent temper.

And that's the pert arse of the Scorpion.

Traveling thru' the (same bit of) deserted wasteland our heroic trio soon come across a band of raggedy survivors led by Father Moses (Venantini from City of the Living Dead) in search of the promised land and Alma, tired of shagging an old man in a kiddies play-tent and missing having access to make-up and hair straighteners decides she wants to join them.

Scorpion reacts with an air of faint indifference whilst Nadir kills time by shagging the pants off a foxy disco-garbed priestess named Vinya (the cute as a button Peynado from Ator the Iron Warrior and my dreams as a teen).

Twice.

After telling Nadir that he's a wild eyed loner heading for the gates of oblivion, our heroes go their separate ways (Nadir into the sunset and Scorpion off to the gents) and leave the Christian folk eating soup and singing hymns unaware that The Templars have discovered this merry band too and are racing at top speed to tell The One.

And things go from bad to worse when One and his posse catch up with Scorpion and run him off the road, trashing his car, messing up his hair and leaving his corduroy jacket in tatters before dragging him back to their camp to string him up so that One can bugger him senseless.

Ouch.

 "Put it in me!"

Spread-eagled and bent double, Scorpion braces himself for a severe forced entry when Shadow interrupts proceedings to tell One about the religious folk he's come across down the road and that it'd probably be best to attack them now before they drive off.

Given the choice between manass and murder One chooses the latter, leaving Scorpion strung up like a turkey whilst the Templar army heads off to battle.

Scorpion can only hang there, his bright red, raw buttocks swaying softly in the breeze as One disappears into the distance, not noticing the sexy hipped black dude crouching in the hills with a sleek steel bow pointed at his captives....

Will Nadir be able to rescue Scorpion in time to prevent the massacre?

Will One ever get his man sandwich?

And will the wee boy design some manbreast revealing see-thru armour for Scorpion to wear in the final battle?

 

 

 

It's important to point out that to truly appreciate Enzo Castellari's mad, mental (and oh so slightly homo-erotic) tribute to Mad Max, this film should only be viewed in a totally sober state in order to be truly appreciated, with it's Casio-tastic Claudio Simonetti score, costumes converted from leatherette sofas, sets built from the contents of the neighbourhood bins and a group of actors no doubt found hanging around those said bins dear old Enzo, obviously still drunk from the success of The Bronx Warriors (or the hotel mini-bar) threw caution, budgetary constraints and common sense to the wind giving us possibly the most realistic view of a post apocalypse world ever committed to celluloid.

Not full of sweets.

And the glue that binds the movie together?

 

That'll be the late great George Eastman, clad in a leatherette sofa cover and with platinum highlights and with a beard bushier than a 70s porn star he doesn't so much as chew the scenery as swallows it whole, only rivaled in the onscreen sexy man stakes by the total stud muffin that is Fred Williamson.

With a trademark sexy swagger and buns of pure diamond, The Hammer doesn't just steal every scene he's in but more likely wines and dines them before making love to them all night long.

And then making them breakfast.

So relax, remove your outer clothing, raise a glass to Mr Eastman and prepare to dive deep in to the warm, wacky and oh so wet world that only a mind like Enzo G. Castellari's (or as we see below, Sergio Martino) can conjure.

 

 2019: After The Fall of New York (AKA 2019 - Dopo la caduta di New York 1983)
Dir: Sergio Martino.
Cast: Michael Sopkiv, Anna Kanakis, George Eastman, Roman Geer, Vincent Scalondro, Edmond Purdom, Valentine Monnier and Louis Ecclesia.

In the future world of 2019 (which is now the past, spooky eh?) the Scrabble worrying Eurac alliance, a new power bloc consisting of top mock rock bands Europe, Asia and Africa but scarily not Toto or Foreigner, having finally had its fill of endless Friends reruns, Taylor Swift and Honey Boo Boo has decided to teach the good ol' US of A a lesson in humility by nuking the fuck out of the entire country and setting up a new government in the ruins of New York City.

And all before the opening titles.

The remaining New Yorkers, after being banned from wearing plaid shirts and shouting 'Bagels!' at passersby now spend their days being used and abused as part of a diabolically inhumane programme of, um, diabolical and (yup) inhumane experiments to solve the problem of sterility among the surviving females.

Every evil empire has to have a hobby tho', so in their spare time the Eurac soldiers gallop around on horseback bedecked in Disney Land style armour killing the piss reeking, mutant squatters who still run free in the city.

Which is nice.

And also where we join the movies plot good and proper as a gaggle of these mucky mutants, armed with the kind of 'high tech' weaponry you always get in these movies (sticks, clubs, maces, golf clubs) are facing off with a squad of the aforementioned black clad Eurac cavalry.

The cavalry orders are simple; make these stinky so and so's have a shower or kill them all.

The honking hordes answer is simple.

Fight for your right to be dirty!

Obviously chaos and property damage ensues.

 

Four men with big shiny helmets yesterday.

Meanwhile in sunny Nevada, our hero, the greasy locked layabout Arthur Parsifal (80's action god Sopkiv) is enjoying a nice, relaxing cross country death race.

The prize?

A foxy female sex slave (pneumatic 80's 'pop' star Sabrina).

Obviously Parsifal wins the race but to show what a nice man he is (well it's either that or he's particularly concerned about his sexual hygiene) decides to let Sabrina go.

Little does our hero know that he's being secretly spied on by a couple of Confederate soldiers (they're the good guys by the way) from way up in the hills.

Well I say hills but it's really a middle sized pile of sand used by the quarry workers to hide behind when they sneak off for a fag.

It appears that the soldier boys have been hanging about in the vain hope that the former popstrel poppet will give an impromptu performance of her hit 'Boys Boys Boys' whilst jiggling about like an epileptic trifle in an ill fitting bikini because frankly I can't think of any other reason to spend your days knee deep in soggy mud wearing an outfit that Jimmy Savile would knock back for being too perv-like.

So it comes as a wee bit of a surprise when they suddenly stun the poor bloke before manhandling him onto a jet and flying to Alaska.

"Can you smell petrol?"

 
It seems that some non-gypsy inbreds also survived the attack on America and are in dire need of a man of Parsifal's talents to undertake a most special mission.

The last fertile woman in the country has been located in New York and it's his job to rescue her.

If Parsifal succeeds the surviving members of America's (flea) free government intend to pop her aboard a spaceship bound for Alpha Centauri, alongside a carefully selected crew of stud muffins, where on arrival they'll proceed to fuck like bunnies in an attempt to repopulate the human race.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

"Mah wee boy painted this".

Seeing as it's such a dangerous mission and more importantly that Parsifal will need folk to talk to in order to keep the viewers interested, the limp fringed one is to be accompanied on his journey by top childrens entertainers Goeff Ratchet and Lesley Bronx (Geer and Scalondro who've probably been in loads of stuff and are dead famous but frankly I can't be arsed checking).

Our heroic band gain entry into the city with little trouble (and very quickly seeing as they started the morning in Alaska) but as usually happens in these films quickly get into a painfully slow paced fight.

The bad men are no match for our heroes tho', especially after Ratchet unleashes his deadly metal balls (he's really an android.....yesch!) and bonks the baddies into submission.

Retreating to the sewers the trio soon encounter a crazy mob of filthy rat hating folk led by the madly monikered Rat Eating King (The Wolverine's Yamanouchi) and accompanied by the sultry Giara (Monnier from Devil Fish) who looks the filthiest of them all but in a totally different way.

Not used to having guests and wanting to show our heroes a good time the merry band decided to engage in the age old tradition of poking rats with sticks whilst a groovy samba beat plays in the background whilst a community centre modern dance group throw shapes in the corner.

So far so dick shrinkingly awful but don't despair because just when you're about to end it all (or at the very least turn this shite off) the rat people pull a dwarf (Ecclesia in his only screen role outside your mum's secret video tapes) out from behind some rocks and start poking him instead.

Britain's Got Talent hang your head in shame.

"Stop trying to climb mah beanstalk!"

Just as they're about to administer the infamous death poke tho' good guy Parsifal steps in (by steps in I mean he starts fighting them) because if anyone is going to stick something in a little person it should be him frankly.

Unfortunately, our heroic trio are overwhelmed by the rat tribe and taken prisoner.

Waking up in a cupboard Parsifal learns that the rat baiting is less a search for food but more the prelude to some sexy shenanigans.

You see, whoever pokes the most rodents gets to have sex with the lady of their choice and seeing as all the women (and all the men) - except Giara - are covered in weeping sores it's a safe bet to say she gets picked all the time.

Lucky girl.

Parsifal, upset at not automatically getting the girl and obviously upset at missing his chance with Sabrina earlier, just sits and sulks as Giara is taken into a side room for some hot rat based bum bothering but as luck (and decency) would have it the evil Euracs pick that very moment to attack the rodent hunting tribe.

Ratchet legs it up a tunnel, but Bronx and Parsifal grabbed by the gendarmes and taken before the slinkily sinister Eurac leader Ms. Ania (former Ms. Italy Anna Kanakis looking for all the world like a sexier, council estate version of Danni Minogue) who instantly knows that there's something amiss with Parsifal and his bud.

The fact that they both look like they work out, don't stink of piss and aren't covered in vile weeping sores alone is enough to arouse Ania's suspicions, add to this her reaction to a glimpse of Parsifal's tight buns when he swaggers into her office and it comes as no surprise that she quickly orders him to be stripped to the waist for a thorough 'interrogation'.

Lucky sod.

The old guy from The Full Monty, Ms. Italia
1977, Fred West and a young Rutger Hauer yesterday.

Luckily Parsifal's quick thinking convinces Ania that Giara is the real threat and that the should really capture her instead.

Being female and obviously threatened by the thought of a rival to Parsifal's affections she completely falls for his ruse.

The angry Eurac commander given the job of interrogating Bronx fairs a little worse, forgetting as he does to disable Bronx's claw (you know, wrapping it in parcel tape or tying a big elastic band around it, basic common sense really).

The poor bloke gets no further than asking his favourite ice cream flavour before Bronx has gouged the commander's eyes out in painfully fake close-up.

Don't worry tho' they get replaced by robot ones in the following scene.

(Here it comes)...."Aye son!"

 
Luckily Ratchet and Shorty (that's the dwarf if you didn't guess) jump out from behind a filing cabinet in order to rescue our heroes and an exciting (well I say exciting) chase ensues thru' the crumbling tunnels beneath the city.

Losing their pursuers our merry band arrive at Shorty's home; a large cave beneath the old UN building where an entire army of dwarves  lie in wait for a hero to lead them.

Can this movie get any better?

Unfortunately, before you can get too excited imgining a sweaty dwarf Vs. leather clad horseman battle, the Eurac stormtroopers turn up and kill them all with a 'sonic cannon' meaning it's back to the slightly less exciting pastime of aimless tunnel wandering for our clueless chums.

Shit....Dollar have let themselves go.

Don't fret tho' because a film with such a short running time wont spend too long dwelling on inconsequential padding plus the opening credits promised an appearance from the mightily man-breasted 'B' movie behemoth that is George Eastman, so it comes as no surprise when he turns up leading a posse of mutant monkey men.

What is a surprise tho' is their choice of attire, clad as they are in brightly coloured silk and gaudy, pound shop  jewelery, which for an alleged race of hard as nails simian soldiers is a brave choice.

Eastman especially looks camper than Dylan Mulvaney in a pink bunny suit sunbathing on a beach of cock.

Not to worry tho' as they know where the fertile woman is hidden and are willing to take Parsifal to her.

It appears that she's kept in a secret cavern (well, obviously secret to everyone but the dwarves and monkeys) just around the corner from where the apemen live and that they've always been willing to hand her over to whoever asked but no-one ever did.

Thinking about it, this entire plot could possibly been sorted so much quicker by a well timed phone call and some flowers.

Entering the cavern (which is much less effort than doing the same to your sister) Parsifal finds not only Lil Ms. Fertile - suspended from the roof in a glass case -  but also the corpse of her kindly scientist dad and a fully restored 1972 Station Wagon.

Something for everyone really.

It appears that Mr. Scientist had spend loads of time thinking about his daughters future as a baby machine (which is nice if a little creepy) and had formulated a plan to get her out of the city via the Lincoln Tunnel using the station Wagon supplied.

He'd even left maps and drawings to aid whoever turned up, which is lucky for our heroes seeing as they look the type that would lose a game of noughts and crosses with a potato.

Depending if they could figure out how to use a pencil first that is.

Unfortunately the Lincoln Tunnel is heavily defended by crack Eurac troops armed with special Station Wagon busting cannons so Parsifal's only chance of success rests on being able to armoured plate the car using whatever comes to hand.

Discarded loo rolls, pizza boxes etc. You know the drill.

Only then will they have any chance of making it out alive and with their precious cargo intact.

I'd jump to her beat but not before I'd done a shite in her mooth.

Leaving Big Ape and Giara to guard the girl Parsifal, Ratchet, and Shorty go searching for junk to stick to the car.


As opposed to sticking their junk in it obviously.

Their run of bad luck (and half-arsed plotting) seems to come to an end when they come across what appears to be a totally undamaged Aldi full to the brim of all our car armouring needs but it doesn't last as no sooner have they found a pound coin for the trolley when a pesky Eurac patrol attacks our heroes.

Just as all seems lost the plucky Shorty leads the bad boys away giving our Parsifal and Ratchet time to drag a couple of trolleys full of tin plate and toffee back to the cavern but at the cost of Shorty's life.

No real loss then.

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

Whilst all this is 'going down' as the youngsters say, Big Ape has come across all amorous, he's fully loaded so to speak and is feeling the urge to procreate.

Knocking Giara out cold he slips first into Ms. Fertile's display cabinet and then into Ms. Fertile herself.

Saucy.

When Giara awakes Big Ape is sitting with his pipe and slippers singing to himself and explaining how she must have fainted due to his aftershave or something.

Nothing suspicious there then.

Returning with the tin and stuff, our heroes quickly begin the task of armouring the car for the journey from New York.

But will it be enough?

Will they reach Alaska with the fertile lady intact?

Will Big Ape get it on again?

And will Parsifal realise that Giara is only hanging around because he's the only person in the film who's not had sex with her yet?

Channeling everything from Escape from New York and Mad Max via Fanny Craddock's wardrobe and Simon LeBon's hair, director Sergio Martino's lo-fi sci-fi epic is a rip roaring rollercoaster ride of action, adventure and excitement with the added bonus of dwarf power.

Its special effects put its contemporaries to shame (but only if the contemporaries are Blake's 7, Captain Zep and late 70's Doctor Who obviously), its costumes are enough to make 'Wild Boys' era Duran Duran green with envy (or giddy from laughing take your pick) and the hair bleach budget alone must have been enough to cripple a small country.

But if that wasn't enough to recommend this masterpiece then don't forget that it features the frankly magnificent George Eastman playing a cheeky (and very horny) monkey.

 

To be honest it's exactly what you'd expect from the man behind the classic Mountain of The Cannibal God.

Sopkiw: camel.

Michael Sopkiw's short (but sweet) movie career was kick-started with this movie, unfortunately for him (and us) he failed to make such an impact again and after Monster Shark (1984, where he re-teamed with Monnier) and Cannibal Ferox 2 (1985) he retired from acting, going on to study medicinal plant science and eventually launched Miron Violet Glass, a California-based company which makes special glass bottles that protect plants from the sun.

Not funny but true, sorry.

His portrayal as the oddly monikered Parsifal is a joy to watch coming over like a junior Kurt Russell doing a community centre pantomime version of Beyond Thunderdome with a script by someone to whom English is a third language.

Which, if he's reading is meant as a compliment by the way (he still looks quite handy and could probably give me a bloody good kicking if angered).

Other cast members fared a wee bit better in the acting field; foxy Anna Kanakis became a mainstay of Italian TeeVee and is still working today (not literally mind you, you may be reading this on a bank holiday or late at night) and the late great Edmund Purdom, whose career took him from stage to screen via the dizzying highs and lows of European exploitation hell before finally carving a career as a dubbing/voice artiste in the Italian film industry appears to be still going strong despite dying in 2009.

Of the others I'll be honest, I didn't bother checking, except for Valentine Monnier whom I quickly looked for on Facebook and found this:

Tho' I'm assuming it's not her.

Anyway, I digress.

As is the usual with a Martino movie, the whole thing is less about unimportant factors like budget (or lack of) and (often threadbare) scripts and more about the movie's pacing and offering a variety of set pieces (of varying quality and levels of excitement) to keep the viewer entertained enough to not realise - or care - that the whole thing is actually complete and utter bollocks.

 

Obviously if anyone can prove that radioactive fallout can turn people into  monkey-men I'll take it all back.

And I can't say much fairer than that.

 

Except RIP Mr Eastman and Godspeed!