Sunday, May 24, 2015

virtual insanity.

Always exciting to find a new movie to rave about - as opposed to slag off - on the Arena, especially if the director/cast members are complimentary about me (Absentia director Mike Flanagan please take note) and it's even better if it's still in production because there's a chance you might get a quote on the poster.

Or a ticket to the première.

Or even a wee kiss off the lead actor/actress.

I'm not fussy.

So I got very excited indeed when I came across (not literally) director Harry Lindley's low budget British indie shocker entitled CTRL.

Throwing caution - and budgetary constraints - to the wind CTRL is a heady mix of haunted house chills, zombie thrills, bloody body horror and mad mentalist mayhem via the frankly bonkers concept of an airbourne digital virus in a plot that goes something like this:

The contents of Cheggers fridge.

Deciding to visit her geek-centric brother Leo in his high rise Bava-esque bachelor pad in the heart of London, Lex and her boyfriend Dru are surprised to discover that he's been busy creating a digital virus that's intent on gaining absolute knowledge.

Of everything.
Unfortunately (for them - obviously) the virus appears to be evolving at a pant wettingly alarming rate - which is lucky otherwise it'd be stuck downloading dodgier and dodgier porn as it attempted to absorb the internet before growing a virtual neckbeard - deciding (as all good computer viruses with delusions of grandeur do) that to become truly all knowledgable it must evolve beyond the need to be confined to a computer system.

Obviously coming across the works of Dr. Alan Harris online (between reading this blog and looking up Youtube clips of dogs in cardigans obviously) the virus sneakily traps the trio, watching their every move via its spookily self-made drones.

Will our terrified trio overcome Leo's godlike creation and outwit the maniacal mainframe?

Well the movie's still in production and Harry (alongside producers Julian Mack and Harriet Wade) isn't telling.

Want to know more?

Well check out the films website - and its impressive trailer - here and if you can pop a few quid into the Kickstarter appeal.

Friday, May 15, 2015

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 53).

Munchier than Mel Gibson and bonnier than Bruce Spence, let's celebrate the much missed Arkie Whiteley, Mad Max 2 mega babe and star of the seminal killer pig movie Razorback.

worriers of the waistband.

More motor-based madness that definitely doesn't feature a sneaky feminist subplot.

Or any plot for that matter.

Warrior Of The Lost World (AKA The Executioner of the Lost Earth, Mad Rider, Raiders of the Omega Year. 1983).
Dir: David Worth.
Cast: Robert Ginty, Persis Khambatta, Donald Pleasence, Fred Williamson, Robert Kilroy Silk and Bruno Bilotta.

“Very bad mothers!
Very bad mothers!
Very bad mothers!”

World War III has been and gone in a big puff of stock footage-less explanatory dialogue. From the ashes of conflict has risen a new society, the totalitarian government known as Omega run by professional bad man Prossor (Pleasence still wearing his old Blofeld costume and therefore saving the costume designer a costly trip to Matalan) from his highly fortified shopping centre base.

Opposing this faceless, emotionless regime is the individuality loving The New Way, lead by the silver fox like Professor McWayne (orange skinned, Arab hating former talk show host Kilroy Silk) and his crack squad of nappy clad Nepalese wise men.

Legend has it (isn't that always the way?) that a mysterious (well, unshaven and piss stained) fighter will appear to help in their battle against the bad men, leading them into battle astride a cardboard and MDF enhanced 'supercycle'.

His name?

Mr. Lesley Warrior.

A smoother ride than your mum.

When we first meet 'Warrior' he's whiling away the afternoon by racing along a country lane playing tag with various Omega security cars obviously still obsessed with people adhering to the speed limit whilst Einstein, his bikes onboard computer does it's best to annoy the fuck out of the viewer by repeating everything Warrior says in a voice reminiscent of a child with a badly fitted voicebox.

Cue twenty minutes of racing, shooting and playground style stunts as Warrior battles everyone from police-types to Nadsat spouting 'teens' with tights on their heads and finally a group of Nazi Stormtroopers who live on a newly mowed football pitch scattered with a dozen or so junked cars and attack passers by from their heavily armoured kiddies go-karts.

None of these are any cause for concern to a warrior of, um, Warriors standards unlike the huge cliff face he singularly fails to see before driving headlong into it.


Luckily for the rest of the movie this inconvenient accident doesn't kill Warrior or destroy Einstein (unfortunately in that case) and he's soon seen lying naked except for a fluffy towel whilst those pesky mystical types wave their hands over him, watched by a bemused Barry Henchman (Williamson, whose alimony bill must have been fucking huge that month).

Resting up (but not shaving) Warrior is approached by the sexily snooty Nastasia McWayne (Khambatta from MegaForce and Star Trek: The Motion Picture) who explains that her dad has been grabbed by the Omegas (sounds painful) and is to be executed the next day unless they mount rescue mission.

As opposed to mounting a wee boy.

"I'm shagging your weans!"

To make sure he'll agree to the mission Nastasia threatens to shoot him in the cock if he tries to leave.

No surprise then that he eagerly agrees to help and is soon decked out in a pair of Kwik Fit overalls, navigating a secret underground tunnel chock full spiders, snakes and ball headed mutants by torchlight in an attempt to break into the Omega fortress.

Which if I’m honest isn't half as exciting as it sounds seeing as it only takes them about ten minutes, it took me at least half an hour to break into your mum.

Entering Omega city via a warehouse cum nightclub our heroes are subjected to some eighties style leather-clad Europop dancing before making their way outside and along to execution plaza as dastardly Donald's voice booms over the cities sound system reminding folk that emotions (and collars by the look of things) are a crime.

Oh and that there's a special offer on baked beans, twelve tins for a pound.

"Do you expect me to talk?"
"No Mr. Bond I expect you to shite in mah mooth!"

Arriving at the execution area our heroes take a seat and prepare for action by watching three (obviously less important) prisoners pull sex faces whilst getting electrocuted before one of the guards, armed with a huge flame-thrower comes out and roasts the corpses.

Just to make sure.

As soon as daddy McWayne is dragged out for his (s)execution Nastasia and the Warrior take out the guards (and anyone else in their way) with some handy machine-guns before running thru' the city and decimating what looks like at least 70% of Prossor's army and smashing a few windows for good measure before escaping in a handy helicopter that was parked in the street.

Unfortunately in all the excitement Nastasia (after getting shot in the arse) gets left behind to be captured by Prossor's men whilst his elite crop spraying team try in vain to stop Warrior and the professor reaching the relative safety of hills.

Persis Khambatta, up the casino, 1979.....Yesch!!

Back at hippy central, McWayne decides that maybe he should have tried to help his daughter rather than run screaming from the scene so, in a fit of pique raises a rag-tag army of misfits (about twelve of them) to overthrow Prossor and turn his superstore empire into a collection of pound shops.

The only way to get these outsiders (or 'marginals' as the script calls them) on side tho' is for Warrior to go to the local kiddies playground and offer to fight them all, which of course he does (tossing a midget for good measure), winning the title of 'Mr. Lost World Top Fighter' and the respect of his peers.

It's now time for Warrior to lead this makeshift military mob into battle against the forces of darkness and destroy the Omega fortress by means of kiddies scooters, some second hand mobility cars, a few old taxi's with cardboard fins stuck onto them and a milk float whilst The Professor and Mr. Henchman monitor the attack from the air.

Just imagine the climax of Mad Max 2 re-enacted by a gypsy convoy and you're halfway there.

Some muthas do 'ave 'em.....dig?

This (scarily) successful attack on consumer culture is brought to a sudden halt when Prossor unveils his ultimate defence.

A giant, matt black bin lorry with huge wooden spikes attached and a roof mounted flame thrower that thunders very slowly up the road and can't take corners.

Ladies and gentlemen, behold the 'Megaweapon'.

The deadly Megaweapon earlier today.

Everyone stops what they're doing and just stands staring as it trundles slowly toward them, not knowing whether to run scared or piss themselves laughing.

Warrior asks Einstein "How the Hell do we stop that?" before receiving the chirpy reply of "Forty megatons!"

Yup, that's right, a glorified removal van that can only be destroyed by a nuclear strike.

This film must be like hard core porn to Jeremy Clarkson.

Clarkson: masturbatory fantasies.

With Megaweapon looming ever closer and the evil Prossor preparing to wipe Nastasia's mind (that wont take long), it will take a miracle (or some shady plotting) for Warrior and his friends to succeed in bringing what amounts to anarchy to Prossors well ordered society.

Will they overcome the dreaded Megaweapon?

Will Einstein get crushed under it's wheels allowing Warrior to find the off switch?

or Will Prossor turn out to be an android replica all along?

There's only one way to find out!


You can't help but feel envious of director/writer David Worth.

Not only has he directed three of the greatest movies ever made; Shark Attack 3: Megalodon, Kickboxer and the Cynthia Rothrock starrer Lady Dragon but admits that when he was hired to direct Warrior Of The Lost World he was given free reign to make it about anything he wanted as long as it looked a wee bit like the poster they'd designed.

So how on earth did he manage to make something featuring super fast cars and bikes so pedestrian seeing as he had carte blanche and a budget well in excess of £78?

Too much freedom perhaps?

James Cameron please take note.

It's like coming in halfway thru' the last episode of a six part TV series, you kinda guess who everyone is, you know what's going on and you think you know where it's going.

Just just don't care why.

It's not all bad tho', the thing is fairly enjoyable in a 'what the fuck's going on?" kinda way and the cast (bar the annoying little fucker playing Einstein) are top notch, well midway notch...well they're notched in some way.

And what a cast it has; The Exterminator himself Ginty resplendent in stonewash denims and teabag stubble, dear old Donald Pleasence, Persis Khambatta with hair and Fred Williamson in a beret.

Just when you think it can't get any better in the cult actors stakes tho', the gorgeous Geretta Geretta turns up as a foxy Amazon and kicks the shite out of our hero whilst a plaid covered dwarf looks on.

It's worth it just for this alone.

Oh that and the fact that everyone shakes their guns in a pow! pow! motion whenever they are called on to fire them.

Frankly if this is how the post-apocalyptic world is gonna be then start dropping those bombs now.

I'll just go cut the collar off my shirt and blow up the wheels on my trike.

Post-apocalyptic pleasures don't get much guiltier than this.

...and the fathers who love them.