Monday, October 9, 2017

ghost in my house.

Day 9 of that whole 31 days of horror thing I force upon you every year and with this Halloween being the 25th anniversary of the first (and only) broadcast of Ghostwatch I thought I'd go all mockumental with Carles Torrens poltergeistastic Apartment 143 which is effectively a remake of that very show.

But without the child molestation obviously.

Or Parkie.


Or any of Ghostwatch's genuine scares, jumps or frightening bits.

Or even an ex-British Rail guard to fill in the backstory.

So, nothing at all like it really.


Apartment 143 (AKA Emergo, 2011).
Dir: Carles Torrens.
Cast: Kai Lennox, Michael O’Keefe, Gia Mantegna, Rick Gonzalez, Fiona Glascott and Francsec Garrido.

Meet the White family, normal in every way except that since Mrs White (not Betty) died they have been trapped in a violent turmoil of bizarre paranormal activity.

Poor dad Alan (Ex Eurythmics singer and D2 The Mighty Ducks star Lennox) looks like he hasn't slept (or washed) for six months, his pert arsed daughter, Caitlin (Mantegna, daughter of tough guy Joe so just remember that before you get any ideas) blames him for her mothers death whilst his young son Benny is convinced that dear old dead mum is haunting them.

It's like a Christmas day episode of Eastenders but without the sodomy.

Even moving house hasn't helped with the hauntings not only continuing but seemingly increasing in intensity.

Caitlin: Just begging to have the willies put up her.

Enter (tho' not all at once that would be sick - if not a wee bit impossible) our terrific trio of paranormal investigators, sexy scientist Dr. Alcass Helzer (Caddyshack's O’Keefe), token Oirish camera operator Ellen (the librarian-esque Glascott) and super cool Paul tech-guy (Looney Tunes mouse Gonzalez) who within minutes of arriving at the apartment are experiencing slamming doors, ghostly farts and all manner of pipe banging badness.

If this wasn't stressful enough for Alan to cope with, Caitlin spends her time either locked in her room shouting or wandering about the house in tiny hotpants whilst calling her dad an arse.

Teenage girls eh?

Can't live with 'em, can't keep them locked in your basement.

Being a nice man, Doc Helzer does his best to give Alan a wee bit of support whilst his erstwhile crew monitor, record and comment on everything happening around them.

But with both the ghostly entity and catty Caitlin going from bad to worse, Helzer has no choice but to call in the big guns.

And no, we don't mean Craig Charles.

A séance is planned and with the help of the enigmatic medium (tho' to be honest he looks an extra large) Michael Heseltine (Garrido, last seen in your mom's bed) and a couple of phone books the ghost finally materializes.

Unfortunately tho' it materializes inside Caitlin's sweaty, young, nubile body; screaming and shouting abuse before smashing a few pictures and disappearing out of her arse.

It'd be like mouth fucking a furry bowling ball. Probably.

All this dad-based badness leaves Helzer thinking that there may be more to Mrs White's death than meets the eye.

With Benny away at his granddads house and Caitlin sprawled on her bed listening to One Direction, the Doc has ample time to lean on Alan in order to get the truth.

I say lean on but what he actually does is shove a camera in his face whilst shouting "Tell me the truth you gangly bastard!" until Alan breaks down and reveals that his wife was a man hungry, cum guzzling slut who when not sucking on a cock was busy slurping vodka from a saucepan.

Alan, catching her in bed with the local fire brigade one night (whilst poor Caitlin stood in the corner watching) bitch-slapped her and drove away with the kids.

Off her tits and covered in yellowing man juice Mrs White gave chase before wrapping her car round a tree.

Which is nice.

And when I filmed something similar I got arrested.

With all the information to hand Dr Helzer comes to the conclusion that just like her late mother, Caitlin suffers from schizophrenia and that this alongside her burgeoning womanhood has manifested as your classic case of poltergeist activity.

Luckily in these modern times all this can be cured with a couple of aspirin and a good mooth shite-in.

The Katie Hopkins Ringu remake, less Sadako more sadagetthisuglyvileracistbitchoffmyteevee.

Relieved to finally have an answer the investigators, kooky Caitlin and dad prepared for a well deserved sleep but the happiness is short lived as without warning all Hell breaks loose as the spirit begins to not only destroy the house but trap poor Caitlin in her bedroom, throwing the child around like a soggy biscuit.

Welcome to fright night indeed.

"Put it in me!"

 After the abysmal Devil Inside and the cinematic abortion that was The Amityville Haunting, Apartment 143 is like a breath of fresh(ish) air.

It's well acted, relatively short, is pain free and has a nice - if predictable - twist at the end (yes William Brent Bell, a film with an ending!) plus it's got the added bonus of having Gia Mantegna grumpily stomping around in next to nothing.

God bless teen girls and their 'fashions'.

Mantegna: Relax guys, she's legal...and not dead. Sorry Megan.

First time Spanish feature director Carles Torrens alongside screenwriter Rodrigo Cortes make the best of their limited cast and locations, turning out an enjoyable little thriller that wouldn't be out of place as one of those much loved BBC ghost stories that were a staple of Yuletide teevee during the 80's.

A pity then that Stephen Volk's Ghostwatch got there first.

As a plus point tho' the teen girl in this is slightly hotter.

But if you can resist shouting "It's in the machine!" and "He's touching me!" at the screen every five minutes you'll be rewarded with a creepy, if inconsequential 90 minutes of fun.

Which frankly is better than a fist to the balls.

Or Kill List.

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