Tuesday, April 26, 2011

things i get sent (part something or other).

Genuine message I received thru' Facebook this morning:

Dear Dr. Lamont, 

Let me first say that I think your blog is OK and sometimes even a little bit funny but not always.

The reason I'm messaging you though isn't to stroke your obviously massive ego but to ask your advice.

Imagine this. 

You are attracted to women, like you are now (emotionally and sexually), but they do not exist. 

They existed a long time ago, and no one knows what they looked like (They have a pretty good idea from the fossils, however), but they do not exist anymore.

That means, not only do you know there will never be any possibility of you
having sex with one, but there’s not even a possibility of you ever seeing one in real life.

Everyone else, however, except for a very few, are not attracted to women,
they are attracted to something else entirely.

So in other words, you will never find any porn anywhere on the internet, only non-sexual pictures of women.

Everyone you have told about your attraction to women think it’s disgusting.
To relieve yourself, you get off on the non-sexual pictures of women, knowing it will never get any better.

That’s what life is like to me.

I am a degree 6 Zoosexual, sexually and emotionally attracted to Tyrannosaurs and nothing else.

Women don’t even do it for me. I am cursed to live my life in the misery that my most powerful emotional fantasies will never be even close to coming true. Life is like hell to me. 

I will never know true love.

So can you recommend me any good Dinosaur movies?

Yours ____________________

He needs your help! (and not just in a fashion sense).

OK readers it's over to you.

Monday, April 25, 2011

people you fancy but shouldn't part 28.

Shirley Jones from The Partridge Family.

Nuff said.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

celebs that look like scifi creatures (part one).

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

stuff you don't expect...

.....to find in the comic books (part one).

reckless eric.

Sharktopus (2010).
Dir: Declan O’Brien.
Cast: Sir Eric Roberts, Sara Malakul Lane, Kerem Bursin, Liv Boughn, Héctor Jiménez, Blake Lindsey, Ralph Garman and 'Hand' Shandi Finnessey.

"Ladies and gentlemen there's a killer shark-octopus hybrid headed this way. So please leave in a timely fashion". 

Eminent genetic scientist and professional sexy man Nathan Rand (the living legend that is Eric Roberts) alongside his geekily librarian-like bespectacled daughter Nicole (Phraw Rak Kkhrap Phom's Lane) have been busying themselves creating a brand new bio-weapon for use by the U.S. Navy.

As one does.

The culmination of this work, codenamed: S11, is a terrifying mix of shark and octopus (oh and a wee bit of porcupine if the spikes are anything to go by but obviously sharktopineporkopus didn't fit on the box) controlled from dry land via a huge pair of snazzy earphones screwed into it's skull.

And it's ready for testing.

The lights are on...

 Obviously as is the way with these things, on it's first trip out it accidentally bumps into a speedboat snapping one of the leads and re-tuning it's command frequency to Jazz FM causing the poor sod to go crazy bat (shark?) shit mental and start swimming to Mexico.

Who saw that coming?

Imagine the shite it would take to fill that.

The Navy, led by the amusingly monikered Commander Cox are understandably furious (even tho' it was him that pointed poor sharktopus in the direction of the boat in the first place) and demand that Rand returns sharktopus to them within the next 48 hours, leaving the sexy scientist no choice but to grab the largest bottle of scotch the budget will allow, get pissed and head down to Mexico himself alongside a couple of folk in ill fitting shirts and his daughter.

Is it just me who thinks he's not really taking the situation seriously enough?

Meanwhile sharktopus is getting a wee bit peckish from all this swimming lark, so you can imagine how delighted he is (well as delighted as a computer graphic from around 1984 can be) to find the coastline littered with hundreds of plastic breasted, anorexic wannabe actresses not too ashamed to thrust their bony crotches camera-ward and a variety of middle aged, balding has been and ne'erwere hunks all decked out in Matalan Hawaiian shorts.

He surely is a lucky shark (topus).

"It'll eat me whole!" "don't worry it'll spit that bit out!"

Arriving in Mexico around the same time as a number of sea-based killings are occurring, Rand begrudgingly contacts the slick 'n' sexy Andy Flynn (Bursin, best know for his role of Grauss in the hit indie short Thursday and for keeping your mums bed warm after bingo),  a comedy hat wearing, lecherous former shark hunter cum soldier of fortune who also happens to be an ex-employee of Rand who was sacked for lighting his own farts in staff meetings.

It seems the drunken, shiny manbreasted arse is the only hope we have of catching the sharktopus before it's too late.

Frankly I think we're screwed.

"Look at the dog!"

Not too surprisingly, Rand and his erstwhile buddies aren't the only ones in pursuit of the beast, also hot on its tentacles are fright-chinned news reporter Stacy Everheart (Boughn from the upcoming Dinoshark), her cameraman Bones (Jiménez, best known for dancing on Yo Gabba Gabba) and a drunken, womanising fisherman who's seen the creature first hand.

And if that wasn't enough characters to fill such a threadbare plot there's also the pot-bellied local pirate radio DJ Captain Jack (Garman from Family Guy), who alongside his scarily Stepford-like assistant Stephie (former hostess for "The Firm Express" workout system infomercials and Miss Missouri USA 2004 winner Finnessey) who could give sharktopus a run for it's money on the scary teeth stakes if I'm honest.

"Put it in me!"

 Now that all the pesky character and motivation stuff is done and dusted we can sit back and enjoy  ninety odd minutes of titanium tittied, bikini babes and iron balled boys being eaten by the titular monster as they innocently sunbathe, search beaches for Roman coins and bungee jump as our heroes argue, look quizzically at laptop screens, shoot stuff and in Eric's case get more and more pissed on duty free gin as you try to forget your once Oscar nominated career.


And for the ladies viewing?

The film even has a heartfelt (and incredibly realistic) burgeoning romance between Nicole and Flynn as they bicker, fight and steal lustful gazes at each other before eventually falling in love and gazing out over a CGI sunset just in time for the end credits.


He can see you naked.

From the man behind Wrong Turn 3, Rock Monster and Learn The Game: The Big Football Game comes quite possibly the greatest hybrid shark/octopus movie starring the one-time Master from Doctor Who ever made.

Showing Jaws, Cloverfield and Jurassic Park how it should be done, fear-Meister O’Brien has crafted a tension filled, thrill a minute beast of a movie with performances so real and effects so perfect that you will honestly believe sharktopus exists.

No, really.

With a script that holds such gems as "The sharktopus is armed and dangerous!” and a lead in Kerem Bursin to rival Mark Hamill in the charisma stakes, Sharktopus is as near as cinema gets to perfection.

If you only purchase one shark/octopus hybrid movie this year make it this one.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

people you fancy but shouldn't part 27.

Veronica Cartwright as Lambert in Alien.

Nuff said really.

back to the future (part two).

The story so far, I've been offline whilst on the run from 'da law'. Finally holed up in a safe house somewhere in down-town New Yoik it's time for me to update the Arena with a few tiny thumbnail reviews of films what I've seen during downtime for those three folk that read it.

The Fright Fest crowd getting into the spirit of things.

Back to Fright Fest with the film that everyone was talking about (well, nearly everyone, OK then four people queueing for the toilet said it looked good and that exploitation king (and ex Paul McCartney group) Wings Hauser was in it.

"That chicken was rubbery". "Why thank you!"

Rubber (2010).
Dir: Quentin Dupieux.
Cast: Thomas F. Duffy, Roxane Mesquida, Stephen Spinella and 'Wings' Hauser.

Cleverly dubbed 'latexploitation' by some bloke much wittier than myself, Rubber charts the adventures of a psychic car tyre named Robert who finds himself achieving a kinda semi-sentience (and telekinetic powers) whilst lying in a mound of dirt in the Australian outback.

Meanwhile a group of paying onlookers are watching the mayhem unfold thru' rented binoculars and commenting on the action from a nearby hilltop.

Fantastic premise with a brilliant opening followed by a superb first twenty minutes.

Which is a pity then that the pube bearded Mr. Dupieux had to go spoil it by adding an arse cletchingly, desperate to be hip yet ultimately meaningless extra ninety minutes to the end of it.

One for those who thought that Donnie Darko was mind-blowing.

And particularly stupid dogs.

Tho' Hauser was good but not as good as he was in Vice Squad.

Territories (2010).
Dir: Olivier Abbou (bless you).
Cast: Roc LaFortune, Sean Devine, Nicole Leroux, Cristina Rosato and Michael Mando.

Bananarama: The Blackpool years.

From the producer of La Horde and the guy who built the shelves for Inception comes the hilarious tale of five friends who, when driving back home to the good ol' U.S. after attending a wedding in Canada (yes you can son), get stopped by a pair of wackily moustached Border Police.

These crazy coppers, looking exactly like an arse-sex obsessed Laurel and Hardy (yes, they are that hot) check and double check their IDs whilst questioning the pals on all manner of subjects before shouting at them for having a broken headlight.

Things go from frayed to shot to fuck when our potty police find a stash of the hash hidden under a blanket in the back of the car belonging to the token deaf teenage brother of one of the group and to teach him a lesson shoot his dog.

Which is fairly unexpected.

Unbelievably the situation turns even more sinister with a couple of strip seaches and an anal probing or two before spiralling completely out of control when the friends are arrested and taken to a ‘special’ prison camp deep within the forest.

Humiliation, dental abscesses, subtle hints of man-love and (unfortunately) heavy handed political allegories ensue.

Not bad but I did wish someone had have thrown a pie at some point to lighten the mood.

Or at the very least angrily violated the deaf boys oh so pretty mouth.

Talking of violation brings me to what could possibly be the biggest cinematic abortion since Outcast.

From the talentless team behind the movie equivalent of weeping anal sores,  Jack Brooks: Monster Slayer comes a film so dull it can only be likened to being forced to sit in a pitch black room for ninety minutes whilst a stinky tramp pokes you in the shoulder with a stick whilst whispering "Hello hen....hello hen" ad infinitum.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

The Shrine (2010).
Dir: Jon Knautz.
Cast:  Aaron Ashmore, Cindy Sampson, Meghan (Insecticidal) Heffern
, Trevor Matthews and Vieslav Krystyan.

"Put it in me!"

When an American backpacker goes missing in 'the Europe' (fantastically portrayed by the directors garden) a motley band of journalists led by the scarily squared faced, Real Doll made flesh Cindy (Swamp Devil, High Plains Invaders) Sampson trace his last known whereabouts to the small Polish village of Alvaina.

Aye, right.

Arriving in the village our wooden topped trio fail to notice not only it's similarity to Ohio but also the fact that the residents (all eight of them) are speaking in a made up language.

They do, however manage to spot a huge CGI fog bank hovering in the distance tho' when they try to ask the locals about it they’re chased away to cries of "Ooglestamp!".

Nope not even worth shite-ing in.

Taking this to mean 'go and take a look at the demonic papier mache monster statue that will possess you in the fog' the three head off to the spooky mist bank where, surprise surprise a couple of them get possessed and stuff.

Cue fifty five minutes of absolutely fuck all and and ending so obvious you could see it from space.

Note to Mr. Knautz, please just stop.

De Mornay: you would. Twice.

From the depths of the cinematic sewer to a surprisingly good re-imagining of a 'B' roll classic. Well I say classic, the film no-one was excited about but everyone loved;

Mother's Day (2010).
Dir: Darren Lynn Bousman.
Cast: Rebecca De Mornay, jaime King, Shawn Ashmore, the absolutely yumsome Deborah Ann Woll and Patrick Flueger.

Geri farted...and it was an eggy one.

Fleeing from a botched bank robbery (is there any other kind?) the notorious Koffin brothers; Ike, Johnny and the lead-filled stomached Addley brothers are racing back to their mums house for tea and sympathy.

Unfortunately the non too bright bro's have forgotten the slightly important fact that poor old mum’s house has been sold to a slightly annoying yuppie couple who just happen to be holding a housewarming party that very night.

What are the chances eh?

Taking the house-guests hostage and smashing a vase, the boys lock them in the basement before indulging in a spot of humiliation and mentalism as they wait for the arrival of mummy dearest and their incredibly hot (and not to mention incredibly ginger) sister Lydia.

Deborah Ann Woll: fitter than Jesus.

It's only on mum's arrival that the battered, bewigged and bruised guests realize that she’s the family’s most dangerous member who'll do anything to protect her kin.

Taking the originals title and binning the rest, Bousman surprises us all after directing the yawnful Saw II, III and IV by showing he can, in fact make a rip-roaringly intense shocker that's as fun as it is foul-mouthed.

Perfect for those family get togethers, your gran would love it.

Unless she's dead obviously.

And now we reach the weekend's final treat, the full length version of Jason Eisener's SxSW Festival winning fake trailer featuring the adventures of a stinky bum and his shiny gun.

Hobo With A Shotgun (2010).
Dir: Jason Eisener.
Cast: Rutger Hauer, Gregory Smith, Brian Downey, Nick ("I've, er, made a mistake".) Bateman and cute just not as much as Deborah Ann Woll tho' I wouldn't kick her out of bed for soiling my sheets Molly Dunsworth.

Lord Jamie of Bridle taking a photo of a man having his photo taken with director Eisener and therefore braking down the fourth wall.
Those of us worried that a one joke trailer wouldn't stretch to a full feature had our fears alleviated within minutes of Eisener's lo-fi lampoon of rowdy, rampage, revenge flicks starting, largely thanks to the directors infectious intro but mainly due to the movie being bloody good fun.

Brightly coloured and noisy as hell, the plot follows the (mis)adventures of Hauer's nameless, lawnmower obsessed tramp who, on arriving in a new city via The Littlest Hobo express, finds himself trapped in a quagmire of rampant criminality and urban chaos overseen by the deliciously evil and scarily slick quiffed Drake.

Dunsworth: tight creamy tummy and legs you could ski down.

Trapped in an urban landscape filled to the brim with with corrupt cops, big hatted pimps, under-age prostitutes and paedophile Santas, Hauer decides to clean up the streets the only way he knows how; with a second hand 20-gauge shotgun.

"You chase me now!"

Aided by the plucky ex-prostitute Abby and his unnerving knowledge of bears, it's not long before our homeless hero has to face the dastardly Drake in an arena of death where only one man will be left standing.

Oh and with a head.

Funnier than bowel cancer and twice as colourful, Hobo With A Shotgun won over it's audience with it's cheap and cheerful charm alongside the directors obvious love for cinematic cheese.


Still to come:

A long list of dead folk and some more film stuff.


And for those of you who were wondering how I filled my interwebless time?

You're welcome.