Tuesday, January 31, 2012

big bloody plug.

If you enjoy my inane ramblings here why not visit my day job?

Just promise to be kind (plus I only have one follower so I'm getting kinda lonely).

Thursday, January 26, 2012

smut pedlar.

After the movie month I've had so far all I can say is

"Help me Ti West....you're my only hope".

The Innkeepers (2011).
Dir: Ti West.
Cast: Sara Paxton, Pat Healy and Kelly McGillis.

After over a hundred years of service to the community of Connecticut and it's various passers thru' the Yankee Pedlar hotel is finally locking it's doors for good after one final weekend of trading.

The hotel's last two employees, asthmatic cutsie-pie Claire (Last House on The Left and Aquamarine's Paxton) and the bespectacled professional ginger man Luke (Ghost World's Healy), decide to brighten up their last ever shifts by finally recording some real evidence of the ghost that allegedly haunts the premises.

Kelly McGillis farted...and it smelled of Tom Cruise.

Spreading their time between the hotel's paranormal-based website, fetching coffees and dealing with the Pedlars only guest; a mad mum and her brattish child, things brighten up when the bitchy Leanne Rease-Jones (Top Gun tottie McGillis) arrives to book a room.

It appears that Claire's favourite alcoholic (ex) actress has turned new age guru and is in town for a speaking engagement.

Approached by Claire for an autograph, Leanne informs our bowl haired babe that there isn't just one spirit in the hotel but three, so Claire donning headphones and with a ghost-friendly electronic voice phenomenon device at her side heads into the buildings myriad of rooms in the hope of finding some proof of paranormal activity.

Tho' hopefully not any of the three movies of the same name.

Or the Asylum Paranormal Entity rip-offs.

Or The Entity.

Tho' from the look of Luke's internet history he seems the kinda guy who'd have a rubber tit fetish.

"I'm Batman".

Starting off in the creepy confines of the hotel laundry room, Claire gently sways the microphone to and fro, whilst in a moment of visual and aural genius the camera smoothly follows the mike, the viewer hearing only the sounds that it picks up.

Pure movie porn.

Travelling slowly thru' the deserted rooms, a feeling of ominous dread fills the air, the static and silence suddenly interrupted by the distant sound of a piano playing.

Running to tell Luke of her discovery she surprised to see an old man at the front desk.

It appears that he and his late wife spent their honeymoon in the Yankee Pedlar and he's now determined to spend the night in the by now, boxed up and gutted honeymoon suite for a night of  "nostalgia".

Whatever that may mean.

Beware The Krankies basement.

When Claire scares the obnoxious young boy with her tales of ghosts forcing his mother to strop off home in a huff our tipsy twosome are left to their own devices, now even more determined to catch a ghost but after a chat with Leanne regarding the afterlife, Claire is shocked to find that there is more than one ghost in the hotel and that they mean to harm our heroine.

Noticing how scared Claire has become Leanne tries her best to allay her fears, everything will be fine so long as she doesn't go in the basement....

And that's all I'm gonna say save spoiling one of the best old fashioned spooky house stories of recent memory.

Thank you Ti West for re-igniting my love of creepiness after what can only be described as a month of mank-riddled movie monstrosities.

After the fantastic The House of the Devil, West's love letter to early 80's slashers, expectations were high regarding his follow up and frankly he hasn't disappointed.

Well, if I'm honest he seems to have disappointed a few people with it but not me.

Slow burning, slow building and as genuinely scary as a really scary thing, it's tiny (as in small number not little people) cast play out the scenario to perfection with everyone from the adorable Sara Paxton (looking so much cuter here than covered in mud in Last House) to the ginger prince himself Pat Healy, via the legend that is Kelly McGillis giving their all for a story that's as deceptively simple as it is spookily effective.

Saying that tho' the movies greatest scene involves no ghosts whatsoever but does involve Claire, a big bin and a leaky rubbish bag.

Sheer delight.

Jade Goody: The pancake years.

The real star of the film tho' must be the location itself, the very real Yankee Pedlar Inn which comes across as a kinda budget decorated, more homely  version of the Overlook from The Shining mixed with the mundane ordinariness of every cheap hotel you've ever stayed in, the kinda place where even the wallpaper can give you a chill.

Lovingly crafted and beautifully shot, West has created one of the best haunted house films I’ve seen in an age.

And my hat is doffed to the man.

Monday, January 23, 2012

angels, septicemia, more terrifying things and another broom handle.

Still recovering from the eyeball enema that was Kill List I decided to try and reignite my love of British horror with this wee gem.

What went wrong this time?

A Lonely Place To Die (2011).
Dir: Julian Gilbey
Cast: Melissa George, Alec Newman, Eamonn Walker, Ed Speleers, Gary Sweeney, Holly Boyd, Karel Roden, Kate Magowan, Stephen McCole and Sean Harris.

Top climbing babe Alison (Home and Away's septicaemia spouting sex kitten George) is enjoying a mountain mounting weekend in the Scottish highlands alongside her hunky yet horrifyingly high headed buddie Rob (teevee's Paul Atreides and David Baddiel's ex partner Newman) and their geeky wee pal Ed (Eragon's Speleers).

After an exciting cliff face incident involving Ed's shoe, some rope, a golden eagle and a camera the trio decide to call it a day and head off to meet their friends Alex and Jenny (former cop show Sweeney and John Simm's missis Magowan) at the cottage they've rented for the weekend.

Melissa George spots the only person in Scotland with a job.

It's not all happy jolly tricks tho' as grown up Alex and baby Ed start the evening by rubbing each other up the wrong way (and not in the sexual sense), Jenny has taken to sitting on the sofa whining about missing her new baby and to make matters worse the kitchen stinks of egg.

Luckily Rob has got a couple of bottles of Scotland's national drink in his bag and after a few sniffs of Buckfast and a good nights rest our by now friendly five-some are ready to run up that hill as Kate Bush would say.

However, this being Scotland it's not long before they (quite literally) stumble across a wee Serbian lassie called Anna (newcomer Boyd looking like a younger Emily Perkins) buried under a pile of dog shite and damp porn mags and trapped inside a wooden Aldi's crate.

Kate: Bush not shown.

Cold, stinking of piss and unable to speak English (which is more common than you think in Scotland) Anna instinctively latches on to new mum Jenny who sensible decides that they should head right back to the cottage and attempt to contact the police.

Surprisingly everyone agrees, tho' Rob and Alison decide to do it via a scary cliff-face.

And without the proper equipment.

Don't worry tho' they're both experienced climbers.

Just not experienced at climbing whilst dodging bullets.

Which is a wee bit of a shame seeing as bad boy kidnappers cum child murdering bastards Mr Kidd (the always fantastic psycho for hire Harris) and Mr Mcrae (Single Father's McCole) are holed up on a hilltop watching Anna thru' a fairly expensive telescopic sight.

One that's attached to a very expensive rifle.

You see if she gets rescued before the exchange they'll never get their grubby sausage fingers on the ransom money.

"Cover yer Papist ears hen...it's an orange band!"

It's at this point that I turned it off.

I mean it had a genuinely taunt post-credit sequence, pretty solid acting and was nicely shot but that celluloid cesspool that was Kill List seemed to have destroyed any ability I had to watch anything with a British accent.

It's as if deep down I knew who'd live and I knew who'd die and frankly I didn't want to be dissapointed.

Plus I was suffering horrendous hallucinations of Neil Maskell dancing saucily over me, gently cupping his mantits as I meekly popped used fivers into his union jack codpiece.

Which goes along way to explaining why my kiddies found me visibly shaking and retching.

For fucks sake Ben Wheatley what have you done to me?

"Keep hold of the twins Kate I think she's still moving!"

Feeling like I should at least give it a chance I took a shift swig of absinthe and gingerly stabbed the chapter button.

And again.

And again.

Trees...check, waterproofs...check, gun...check, desperate feeling of oppression...check, recycled plot...check...must be a British thriller then.

What can I say?

Everyone gets offed in the order you imagine, the stalking scenes are fairly well done and there's even a sly nod to The Wicker Man (which seems to be a must if you fancy any chance of getting Lottery funding at the moment), there's just nothing that hasn't been seen a dozen times before and usually a wee bit better.

I was going to say 'Meh' but I thought I'd better be a bit more professional (and polite) and just say workman-like.

Which thinking about it is the worse crime a movie can commit.

I mean you don't see me having visions of Melissa George's tits do you?

Or does that just say something about me?

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

people you fancy but shouldn't part 36.

The spandex clad cosmic cutie that was Captain Nicole Davidoff from Jason of Star Command.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

terrifying things and broom handle heads.

Well, three weeks into 2012 and I may have spoken too soon when I said that The Amityville Haunting was the biggest pile of shite I'd ever sat thru.

In the wise words of Yoda "There is another".

Or two.

Yoda: Slap Ben Wheatley hard he will.

 Readers with long memories (or short fuses) may remember a few months back when in regards to that great British horror epic Little Deaths I mentioned that it'd been called 'the future of British horror' (by who God only knows) and that if that was the case we might as well unplug the life support machine and go home now.

If only Ben Wheatley had read this.

What am I saying?

If anyone actually read what I say I'd be happy.

And no, popping by to look at the pictures of Megan doesn't count.

Anyway, Ben if you accidentally come across this on your interweb travels I'd just like you to know that you're the only film-maker to ever make me sob like an Albanian baby trapped in supermarket meat locker.

With your dad.

And it wasn't thru' fear or even due to a tearful Pot Noodle aided wank.

Oh no.

It was at the sight of what British horror has become.

And while I'm at it you can stop looking so smug Mr. Julian Gilbey, I mean at least I managed to sit thru'....

Kill List (2011).
Dir: Ben Wheatley.
Cast:  Neil Maskell, Michael Smiley, MyAnna Buring and Emma Fryer.

Cake loving, bowl haired hitman for hire Jay (played by what looks like a fatter, camper and considerably crapper Paul Ross) hasn't had any work killing folk since a botched job in Kiev eight months ago.

By the look of him he probably ate all the chicken, sweaty cunt.

With no cash to pay for a new Jacuzzi or have a couple of holidays abroad this year (oh my heart bleeds), his baby faced ex-army wife Shel (Buring from The Descent and Doctor Who channelling an East End fishwife) shouting at him between gulps of wine and troubled by the fact that his terrifyingly toothsome son Sam (Simpson) has a scarily posh stage school accent, Jay's luckless (if not lard-less) life is starting to tear the happy family apart.

So far so grim.

Luckily Jay's best buddy cum fellow assassin and professional Oirishman Gal (Smiley bringing some much needed characterisation, charm and acting talent to the movie) turns up for dinner with his equilateral triangle faced girlfriend Fiona (low fat Fryer, an actress with a face so perfectly angled that you could use her as a spirit level, which frankly shouldn't work but does. She just oozes sexy badness throughout the whole movie and deserves so much better) one night and during some boy time in the garage, offers Jay a job.

It seems that ex Radio One DJ Jimmy Saville wants some people killed.

People...on a list.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or have you put your cock up my arse?"

Meeting up with the Jim'll Fix It star in a cheap Leeds hotel, Jay is slightly surprised to find that not only does his new employer know about Kiev (which is probably why they met in his suite and not the dining room) but that the deal is to be finalised over a wee bit of blood sharing.

Three people, three hits, three pound seventy eight pence.

How can our dynamic duo refuse such an offer?

Plus as Jay so eloquently puts it "They're bad people and they should be punished".

Top quality writing I'm sure you'll agree.

"Your hair reminds me of ice cream...can I eat it?"

But, as is the way of these movies, things don't go to plan; for a start Shel has been secretly using his credit card (elocution lessons for little Lord Fauntleteeth must cost a bomb) causing him a knock back at the hotel and a wee bit of unwanted attention at the check in desk and if that wasn;t enough he's forced to share a dining hall with a group of singing Christians whilst at home Fiona and Shel have become bezzy mayes, giving Flighty Fi enough time to scratch a variety of mystic symbols onto Shel's bathroom wall.

Fryer: Like she'd give you a choice.

But enough of that let's get killing and first up it's a dodgy priest - I know, how ground breaking is that? I've never seen the church portrayed as anything other than straight down the line nice guys before - who politely thanks Jay before our portly pal puts a bullet in his head.

I assume the audience are meant to be wracking their heads as to why he would thank him at this point, me? I just reckoned he was overjoyed to be finally out of such a shitey movie.

Next up it's a silver haired librarian whose only crime appears to be selling dodgy DVD's of folk screaming on rollercoasters out of a lock-up.

Saying that tho', they must be top quality Blu Ray if you go by Jay's horrified reaction to watching them, sitting as he is trembling and in tears.

Well it's either that or he's spotted someone eating candyfloss in the background and it's making him feel hungry.

And a wee bit mental, seeing as soon as he arrives at the Librarians house he starts attacking him with a hammer whilst trying to find the location of the nearest burger van.


Strangely enough, he thanks Jay too before he brings the final blow down on his bonce, even going as far as to say it's an honour to be killed by him.

Obviously a fan of those celeb talking head shows then.

"I've told you already! I'm totally out of biscuits!"

This politeness (and lack of sugary snacks) seems to send Jay right over the edge as he storms (well, waddles) off to bring justice to those responsible for the scary vids which culminates in an offscreen bloodbath and dog killing.

Alas it wasn't a hotdog but hey, you can't fault the guy for trying.

Back at the hotel and in between visions of a ghostly Fiona and flashing images of knights Jay and Gal discover that their last target is a top MP which means a longer driveway and, by default longer for Jay to go without a snack.

The pair decide to back out of the agreement, saying that Jay's cat has eaten the list.

Jimmy being a professional isn't to happy to hear this and threatens the pair with death if they don't complete the work.

"Now then now then dear Jim could you fix it for me to visit a cake shop, love Jay".

Jay returns home for a wee bit of comfort cake only to find his cat hanging from the porch.

Someone's unhappy with him.

With no choice but to finish the job Jay and Gal head out to the pervy parliamentarian's posh pad for a nosey around and some outdoor grub only to find themselves inexplicably drawn into a sixth form stage version of The Wicker Man as the barely sketched out plot descends into a nonsensical mix of new age hocus pocus, market stall animal masks, old folk in revealing capes and busty sacrificial blondes with their tits out.

Beware the Judder Man!

A waste of time, energy and whatever talent was working on it, Wheatley has managed to produce a movie that encapsulates everything that is wrong with the British film industry in a grimly self conscious ninety odd minute celluloid shitfest that mistakes bad storytelling for for the kind of back slapping self self-congratulatory arse that fools some viewers into thinking "That made no sense therefore the film is cleverer than what I am" when in fact the film in question is just poorly thought out and plotted in the first place.

God knows what the critics who raved about this were on at the time, maybe Ben Wheatley gives out crisp new fifty pound notes to those who write good reviews.

Or bloody good head.

Either way it's still wrong.

For the love of God somebody release something good (even watchable will do at this point) soon before I end up gouging my eyes out with a spoon.

Or yours.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

celebs that look like animals (part one).

Saturday, January 7, 2012

the shamityville bother and other animals.

Well after all that death, depression and hole digging (she'd seen too much) that summed up the previous 12 months I really needed a movie to lighten my mood and fill me with excitement and hope for 2012.

Unfortunately I chose....

The Amityville Haunting (2011/12).

Dir: Geoff Meed.

Cast: Devin Clark, Jon Kondelik, Tyler Shamy and others.

Mark my words you WILL be found.

Saying that tho' it's a really hard film to review, I mean where do you start? And would it be acceptable to have a review that just had the words 'fucking shit fucking shit fucking shit' for an entire page?

After a long hard think I decided, in homage to the movie, to review it in a blow by blow mocumentary stylee.

All reactions are real, no photo's or footage was faked.

I mean shit this really happened, ergo this film must be real too!

Told you!

The infamous Amityville house yesterday. Honest. 

"A haunted house? Cool! let us break in and party!" suggests the frankly terrifyingly toothed hamster woman. 

"I am geek boy and I can crack codes to houses!!"

"Woah! awesome! Do you think the girls with have sex with us? If so I'm having the hamster, you can fuck the anorexic old women with shit tits!" 

"You look like my mum...can I touch your titties?" 

"If you can find them sure!"

Tara Reid, up the casino, New York State, 2004.....Yesch!"


To break the boredom of house hunting, dad lightens the mood with his impression of the Zombie Flesh Eaters poster. This will be the most frightening thing you will see in the next 90 minutes.

"You'll sell us the house for a tenner?!!? Why? It's not haunted is it?"

"Not at all sir and neither were there any shit titted murders! I'd say the only ungodly thing around here is your daughter...look at her...it's enough to make a pedo vomit!"

"Hmmm...maybe I was a little harsh to that little girl, I mean I'm no oil painting either! I guess I'm lucky that the director prefers girls who swallow over good actresses....being his sister doesn't hurt either....unlike my...."

"AAAAIIIEEEGGGGHHHH!!!!!" More death! 
"Can you believe it?....First James Brolin, then those pesky kids and now that harsh faced estate agent....it's freaky how many folk die around this house....maybe it's haunted!"
"Well I ain't afraid of no ghost!"

"AAAAIIIEEEGGGGHHHH!!!!!" Even more death!

 "Hello Mr. Policeman I'd like to report a bad killing. Or three".

"Don't you believe those ghost stories sir, it was probably wolves what done it".

"Hiya! I am the fat faced kissy lipped boy child who is filming everything in case there actually is a ghost....so it's me you can thank for the fucking abysmal footage but obviously not for my dad's sub-pedo style acting!"

This is the amount of breakfast cereal the budget stretches to...but don't worry, it's for sinister child's imaginary friend.....it couldn't be a ghost could it?

"Can you smell egg? Who the fuck keeps farting?"

"According to the interweb eggy smells usually mean killer kiddie ghosts that befriend small horse faced girls....or that your eldest daughter is sneaking out....YOU'RE GROUNDED WHORE!"

"Dad's gone mental, my mum's shot to fuck, big sis is crying in her room and the one that looks like a pony is talking to dead folk....I can't be that bothered tho' seeing as I'm still managing to stuff my face with lard".

"Time for lunch! Hang on...who the fuck's that wee boy!?!"

"...To be honest tho' who the fuck cares? I can hear a bag of sweets opening!"

I would put a vaguely amusing caption but all I can say is SPECIAL EFFECTS!

"OK I admit it, the house is a wee bit strange and my daughter isn't a whore. Let's stay just one more night and tomorrow we'll leave, I mean nothing bad could possibly happen before morning could it?"

Luckily there are camera's in the teen daughters room so we can watch her writhe in her sleep, her budding young breasts straining against the soft cotton of her top....Unfortunately all we get to see is...

Cheers for that.

Meanwhile a paint explosion in the kitchen has done for mom but in that outfit it was probably for the best.

Fuck me! It's Fred Titmus!

"Fat boy in mah moooooooooooooooth!"

"Daddy wake up so I can...."

"Stab you now!"

And they all died.

The end.

Geoff and Cody, I hope you're fucking proud of yourselves cos seriously for the first time ever I don't have the words.

Well, actually I do.

And it's just one word.





Maybe with a Pots added to the end.

And 'A stinking foul tasting backstreet abortion filled' just in front.

Ok I know, that's 13 words.

Which is 12 more than they deserve.

Saying that tho' it means the year in movies can't get any worse.

Can it?

And at least we have the names of the fuckers responsible so let's just hunt them down and see what happens.