Monday, November 28, 2016

don't cry for me argentina.

So, when does trash transcend its boundaries to become art? and can 'art' become so misplaced that it becomes mere trash?

More importantly, are the two interchangeable?

Fucked if I know, I was only asking because between bonkers Brexit and terrifying Trump the world seems to be slowly but surely collapsing in on itself in an ever growing malaise of rancid racism and jingoistic flag waving like an ecstasy-fueled last night of the proms conducted by the putrefying corpse of Hunter S Thompson's dog.

Well done world.

 So to alleviate the feelings of dark despair I thought I'd give this gem a rewatch....

Sadomaster (2005).
Dir: Germán Magariños and Fernando Giangiacomo
Cast: Ezequiel Hansen, Leandro De la Torre, Francisco Pérez Laguna, Mariano Salas and Fernando Giangiacomo.

Asses and Nazi's.....pity there's
no dwarf action too.

The time: Now!

The place: Sunny Argentina!

Which it has to be said is being destroyed from within by a particularly nasty bout of ultra-violence.

And rickets.

Nasty Nazi gangs are roaming the streets, setting fire to tramps, pooing behind bins and molesting (leathery) old ladies and only senator Mauricio Beccar Varela ( it matters) is man enough to tackle this onslaught of badness by implementing a zero tolerance of naughtiness campaign.

Right on.

Unfortunately for the people of Argentina Varela leads a double life, by day he's a man of the people - kinda like a slightly less swarthy South American Nigel Farage - but as the sun sets he reveals his true self.

Yup he is, in fact actually the evil ring leader of the Nazi gang responsible for the violence.

Hang on, that's basically just Nigel Farage isn't it?

"Are you my mummy?"

As the weeks go by the violence gets ever worse and after a particularly nasty night which starts with a defenseless Rabbi is beaten to death by a group of One Direction wannabes and culminates with a leather clad pervert urinating on babies it looks like the city is doomed.

What will it take for someone to take a stand against these rotters?

Surprisingly the answer to that question is actually quite simple.

All it takes is the brutal, drawn out torture - and rape obviously - of a chubby, topless man with learning difficulties.

All in glorious close-up.

Lucky, lucky us.

The mutilated body is later discovered by a pissed up homeless man walking down the street who, feeling peckish proceeds to help himself to the poor victims spleen.

They're full of vitamin C apparently.

Not a still from the film
(to be honest there are precious few I can show)
but a photo of some Pikey kids dogging school
(possibly to actually go dogging - who knows? )
and giving the vickies to the camera.

But as our stinky chum cheekily chews his makeshift lunch a spooky pentagram appears flashing onscreen and the ghost of the dead chubby (as in dead and chubby, tho' he is actually dead chubby too) man appears from nowhere screaming “Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!”

Reckoning that becoming a black clad vigilante is probably a better career choice that rummaging thru' the bins, the homeless guy fashions himself a homemade gimp outfit and christens himself the Sadomaster before beginning a brutal series of revenge attacks against the gangs and the corrupt politicians.

Just like Bernie Sanders didn't.

A still from the aborted The Famous
Five/Frank Castle team-up.

Our hero - knowing he lacks a certain something in the hero stakes decides to make up for his stinky fish breath, stringy beard, lack of super powers and the fact that he rides a really crap moped by being not only hard as nails but mad as a lorry with it.

It's not too surprising them to find out that the Sadomaster soon has the evil Nazi's on the run.

But things are probably going to get a lot worse (acting and plotwise) before they get better...

I say probably because by this point I gave up and went to bed.

I mean there comes a point when you have to ask yourself is it really worth sitting up late at night feverishly scribbling notes on a film only myself - and possibly Keith Vaz - will ever see as a fat, sweaty Argentinian non-actor grinning like a loon has a huge rubber cock forced into his mouth in the background?

The final decision was made for me tho' when I caught sight of that old friend Porno Holocaust hiding under a pile of recently purchased Poundland DVD's on my desk.

I mean who wants to watch such mindless and inept shaky cam rubbish as Sadomaster when you know that only a few feet away Mark Shanon's warty scrotum is awaiting your attention in all it's remastered wide screen glory?

Even tho' I only watched it again a few weeks back.

Yes, Sadomaster is that bad.

Your nan on the phone yesterday.

Costing less than a McDonalds happy meal (and managing to be far less appetizing) this lo-fi revenge flick from the aptly titled Gorevision Films is the kind of movie that the self proclaimed art crowd will muse over for years to come whilst your connoisseur of cult films (and no doubt all you fine readers here) will (hopefully) see it for the tragically un-hip Mad Foxes rip-off that it really is.

Without that films charm, wit and big-bushed bath bonking obviously.

Gore, breasts, mouth-rape, evil Nazi's
and political commentary....

...or Mark Shannon's warty balls...
YOU decide!

Unfortunately Sadomaster was a big enough hit in Argentina to allow Magariños and Giangiacomo to continue making 'the films', following up this classic with the little seen Un Cazador de Zombis.

Which scarily is even worse than this.

Tho' at least it has someone famous in it.

OK it has a cameo from Troma's Lloyd Kaufman.

And then?

Yup.....they made Sadomaster 2.

As well as such titles as - I kid you not - Poltergays 5: los lobos desnudos de las, They Call Him One Eye Faggot and the hilariously sounding Scanners: Dopplegayners.




Yet it's me that gets the death threats.

Be seeing you.

Thursday, November 24, 2016

criminalising kinkiness (part 2).

Not often I get to have a good old rant on here (well not about anything of importance) but I couldn't let the governments new digital economy bill pass without at least a few words.

Which is a shame but hey ho.

Readers with long memories (and glass dolls) will no doubt remember my previous moans aboutthe likes of Christopher Tookey and barmy Julian Brazier (there's more but frankly I really can't be arsed trawling thru' the links to find them) as well as the infamous ambulance chaser and buggerer of beefcake Keith Vaz regarding their thoughts that 'Explicit and extreme video games and films are fueling a tide of violence in Britain' from a few years ago and their ongoing attempts to ban anything and everything that they don't like.

Vernon: Your dad's cum face.

Obviously - thanks no doubt to my fantastic journalistic skills) - their puritanical pursuits came to naught  and we all got to live happily ever after, that is until professional witch-woman and part-time internet voyeur Theresa May came to power and decided that it was up to the government to decide what kind of sexy stuff we can enjoy.

Being more of a mindless violence than a kinky sex fan (look I have Aspergers I'm going to side with the less sticky pursuit - I hate mess) I gave the matter no thought, knowing that is that Zombie(s) Lake could in no way be construed as a sexual fetish, until that is a friend (yes I have one) pointed out that under the new legislation those occasional YouTube videos I post of me dancing provocatively whilst wearing a Howard Vernon mask could be seen as too kinky and therefore illegal.

It was at this point that my pervy pal delivered the killer blow.


It seems that part of the bill is aimed at regulating things like menstrual blood, urination and 'mooth shite-ing'.

I'll let that sink in for a minute.

Yup, this blog will be well and truly screwed.

Hopefully then they'll remember to stick to the bizarre “four-finger rule” when they do it.

And what is this rule? I hear my overseas readers cry.

It's a part of the bill which limits the number of digits that can be inserted into an orifice for sexual stimulation.

No really.

We have food banks, a rise in racist attacks on the street and a country in post-Brexit turmoil and this is the most important thing our government can think about?

We are indeed drifting into an arena of the unwell.

Theresa May: Haunted beachfront cave.

For more information follow the link here, it's for The Guardian which may be a wee bit left-leaning but as a plus point the type is quite large and they don't use too many big words.

Which for readers here is a Godsend.

Talking of random film-based sex acts regular readers may have noticed that The Arena has been a wee bit obsessed with sexy seventies superstar Robin Askwith of late, culminating in me finally getting round to obtaining his classic 'Confessions' series on shiny StevieDee allowing my to confine my bulky VHS collection to the bin.

Imagine my surprise then when on going to watch them I realized I'd actually acquired the slightly inferior Barry (Mind Your Language) Evans 'Adventures' set by mistake.

Never mind I thought, It'd be a pity not to share....

Adventures of a Taxi Driver (1976)
Dir: Stanley Long.
Star: Barry Evans, Judy Geeson, Adrienne Posta, Robert Lindsay, Liz Fraser, Diana Dors, Anna Bergman, Stephen Lewis, Ian Lavender, Henry McGee, Stephen Riddle, Brian Wilde, David Auker, Angela Scoular and Beatrice Shaw.


The place: London, the time: the really unfashionable bit of the seventies where greasy haired, bowl cutted Joe North (Evans) - a busty burd obsessed (not a busty burd himself, obviously) taxi driver - spends his time using his cab as an impromptu shag palace to get away from his mundane everyday existence, from ditzy dollies to frustrated, saggy boobed bored housewives, every woman he meets seem to fall for his lost little boy charms.

And pleasant smelling cock obviously.

We first experience his uncanny (some would say ungodly) luck first hand when one of his passengers asks to be dropped off on a bridge so she can jump off.

She's heartbroken, the poor lamb.

Being a nice guy Joe convinces her not to toss herself off but to allow him to drive her home.

Probably after leaving the meter running and charging her extra tho' - you know what cabbies are like.

Upon arrival she surprisingly takes off all her clothes and jumps on our crap Casanova.

Suffice to say that just as they're about to get down and get with it (luckily for the viewer not before we've seen Evan's pale, shriveled penis), her boyfriend turns up unexpectedly leaving Joe no choice but to climb out of the window and leg it to his cab stark bollock naked.


He needn't have bother tho', turns out that this blokes missis is a raving nymphomaniac and uses the old suicide trick to pick up fellas all time.

Hi-fucking-larious I'm sure you'll agree.

"Oh no! It's John Leslie!"

The good thing is that all this sex is that it helps take Joe's mind of his hellish home life, dominated as he is by his moaning (but not in that way) peroxide headed mother (Dors....who wouldn't want to be dominated by her?...well not now obviously) and arguing constantly with his spotty teenage brother whilst trying to find an excuse to escape his clingy, marriage obsessed girlfriend Carol (the ball-faced, bewigged Posta, who also performs the films theme song 'Cruising Casanova').

It's not too much of a surprise then to find poor Joe finds at breaking point so he decides to move in with his best mate Tom (Lindsay).

Cue even more oh so amusing sexual shenanigans.

"Excuse me, you've shut my cock in the door".

Over the next forty five minutes we're treated (in much the same way as you treat syphilis) to a veritable comedic tsunami of sexual hi-jinks featuring faceless seventies totty and a hilarious escapade with Joe's pet python named....wait for it.....Monty.





"Is that a snake in your pocket or is it just
that your
cock is particularly scaly and flexible?"

If this wasn't enough to get your pulse racing, down on her luck former Bond girl (and pube haired temptress) Angela Scoular gets her kit of in possibly the film’s most amusing moment (and that's not saying much) when her geeky accountant husband, who has unexpectedly come home early, surprisingly fails to notice that Joe is lying underneath his wife in a soapy bath.

Scoular: pube haired but still lustable.

Add to this the wonderful Judy (Inseminoid) Geeson playing a stripper (who scarily keeps her clothes on throughout), the comedy gem of Joe mistakenly picking up a transvestite and the bizarre last third of the film which forgoes any shagging to concentrate on Joe getting involved in a jewelery heist gone wrong and you have a movie to challenge Nativity 3: Dude Where's My Donkey? in the charm stakes.

Yes, it really is that good.

Watch out! it's Leslie Grantham.

So what else is there to say about this movie?

Well, Stanley Long's direction is, um, well it's in focus and he makes sure the camera doesn't wander off at the boring bits, whilst the 'script' co-written by Suzanne (Groupie Girl) Mercer from an idea by Long is simplistic at best, clichéd and predictable at worst.

Cast wise, the late (almost great) Barry Evans is fresh faced and agreeably cocky enough to worm his way into the audiences affections whilst Robert (Citizen Smith) Lindsay and Judy Geeson give sterling support as his best pal and best pals missis respectively.

The film also boasts a plethora of cameo's from some British comedy legends including Diana Dors, Liz (the one that wasn't in The Cocteau Twins) Fraser, Ian (Dads Army) Lavender, Stephen (On The Buses) Lewis and Brian (Last of The Summer Wine) Wilde.

Liz Fraser: The one that doesn't get
her tits out in British smut movies.

Being kind tho' the films tiny (£130,000) budget is put to good use shooting in and around London (that's in England, Europe for any Americans reading) mostly without official permits which gives it a grittier edge than it's more famous Confessions cousins.

It's just a pity the film as a whole doesn't live up to it's guerrilla origins.

Worth a look if you like smut of a not too rude kind.

Or have a thing for huge seventies pants.

Which as I said earlier, the way it's going may soon be illegal.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

time and relative.....

...dimensions in sound.

Celebrate 53 years of the children's hero that adults adore with a 2 hour adventure in sound!

Friday, November 18, 2016


Just got sent this in reply to my review of the frankly fantastic Freddie Francis classic Tales That Witness Madness.

If you haven't seen it/read it do so now otherwise you'll just get scared.

No, really.

According to an interview in Closer magazine (other incest and death filled lifestyle magazines are available), man-handed, Evil Dead fan (possibly) Emma McCabe admitted that - just like Michael Jayston in the aforementioned movie - she's in love with a tree.

It seems that after a series of failed relationships with dozens of unsuitable guys who just wouldn't leaf her alone, she decided to branch out and fell in love with a tree in her local park called Tim.

I shit you not.

Or should that be knot?

Tim the tree yesterday just before he gave Emma a fucking good rooting.

“My feelings are genuine. I’ve had boyfriends, but never connected with anyone like Tim,” The 31 year old mentalist mumbled as she attempted fellatio on a pine cone before continuing “I’m in love and would like to get married. I look at other trees, but don’t touch — I wouldn’t cheat on Tim...unless it was with a particularly sexy cactus, I mean just imagine all the pricks.”

“He fulfills my emotional and sexual needs. I orgasm by rubbing against the bark naked,” Emma admitted as she playfully fondled a nearby pile of dog shit encrusted leaves “I love the feeling of skin-on-bark contact, which gives me a more pleasurable pain sensation, and the feel of his leaves against my skin makes me tingle. I have sex with him every week — it’s the best I’ve ever had!” 

"Leaf me alone!"

Apparently not realizing that the entire country is currently taking the piss out of her Emma went on to say that she sees Tim four times a week where they "just talk" and that she plans to marry him.

Surprisingly her family think that she's fruitloops and refuse to talk about it.

I phoned a scientist-type mate of mine (yes I do have friends) who said that he reckons that Emma may suffer from dendrophilia, a condition in which a person is sexually attracted to or aroused by trees.

Well either that or she's strapped for cash and decided to make up a story in order to get paid 250 quid that she can then blow on cheap drink and kebabs.

Either way you have to admire her style.

If not her massively ball-like face.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as.

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 64).

For Mr Stu (this is becoming a habit), the lovely Scottish TV presenter and antiques and art expert Natasha Raskin.

Monday, November 14, 2016

don of the drumpf.

A quick thought for you all.

I don't know if it's a lack of sleep coupled with an excess of Romero this weekend but it's struck me how much DOTD mirrors the recent US elections (you may have heard something about them on the news).

Are you sitting comfortably?

Then I'll begin.

Peter is obviously Barack Obama - a sexy, strong and cool black dude with fantastic leadership skills and a dark velvety voice, Fran is Hilary - yup she's a wee bit of a pain in the arse for most of the movie but you know she'd be your safest bet for survival, Steven is Bill Clinton - thinks he's the big man but soon falls into line behind his missis when things go bad and Roger is Trump, strange combover, tiny hands and mad as fuck who when things go south relies on Peter for support and understanding. 

The even build a wall to keep the outsiders out (and it is a beautiful wall albeit one made of cardboard). 

The trucks fortifying the Mall are obviously symbols of American big business holding up the economy of the shops and a desire to keep everything in the mall away from trade tariffs etc which in turn causes all the shops to close except for the lucky elite.

None of this works tho' and they are soon over run by bikers (one with a droopy mustache and another in a sombrero - need I say more?) that by the films end returns everything to the status quo.

And the zombies? 

Who do they represent? 

Well they're probably just there to keep the kids entertained.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

hard days shite.

Day of The Dead (2008).
Dir: Steve Miner.
Cast: Nick Cannon, Mena Suvari, Christa Campbell, Michael Welch, AnnaLynne McCord, Stark Sands, Matt Rippy, Ian McNeice, Robert Rais, Linda Marlowe and Ving Rhames.

Somewhere in sunny Colorado, a group of hot 'n' horny (but none nude) 'teens' are making out in an abandoned warehouse but when one of them develops a nosebleed and snotters a big red bogie on his dates chest they all decide to go home.

Annoyed at having her cleavage messed up, the slutty/punky one decides to walk home thru' the woods alone.

Yes, it's that clichéd.

Meanwhile bald badass mofo Captain Nick Rhodes (Rhames, undisputed king of the Romero remake) and his tiny second in command Sarah
(Mena "My illustrious career" Suvari) are trying to stop folk leaving town, Rhodes by shouting "Halt mutha fuckah" at everyone and Sarah by smiling wetly and pointing them in the direction of the hospital.

You see, it appears that a scary nosebleed virus has hit and the army are trying to contain it by putting up roadblocks, dishing out tissues and telling everyone to sit with their heads tilted back.

Peow! Peow!

Wise crackin' Private Salazar (Cannon) is drafted in to help his army buds  - and from his performance, put back the quality of well written black characters by about 30 years - as is Private Bud Crane (Sands) a veggie geek with a crush on Sarah.

Turns out tho' that Sarah is more concerned about her ailing mum than helping folk get medical assistance so she decides to commandeer a jeep (with
Bud along for the ride and a for a wee bit of character building chat) to head home and get her to the hospital.

On arrival she finds her big chinned brother Trevor (Welch) making out on the sofa with the interestingly haired (yet pointed faced) Nina (
90210 star McCord). Yup that's right, they were two of those 'teens' at the films beginning (will the location of the deserted warehouse become important later?) and to top it all it seems that brother and sis have 'issues', which involves the pair huffing and tutting for five minutes whilst their mum coughs a lot in the upstairs bedroom.
Bud suggests that they should maybe deal with their anger issues later (right now it's the issues with this utterly shite script that need dealing with) and bundles everyone into the Jeep for the trip to the outpatients where they find an even grumpier Rhodes (and scarily an even more jive-talking Salazar) stomping about and cussing at the mob of ill people slumped in their seats holding hankies up to their noses.
AnnaLynne McCord's reaction to reading the script.

Without warning (and in an embarrassing frenzy of shite CGI and squelching noises) the nosebleed victims suddenly stop breathing, very quickly obtain joke show quality Halloween masks and transmute into zombies!

But not just any old zombies oh no, these beasts can 'run' really fast (thanks to cranking up the camera speed-a trick not seen since The Keystone Cops), drive cars, shoot guns and hang off the ceiling (in what looks like a tribute to the old Spectrum game Manic Miner if the FX are anything to go by) plus if that's not enough they even dissolve into crappy CG dust when killed!

We are so lucky to have this film aren't we?

Obviously it's all gets a wee bit fraught in the hospital what with all the zombies, Rhodes shouting "Mutha fuckah" at everyone (and everything), Sarah looking confused (as if Mena is thinking how the hell did I go from American Beauty to this) whilst Salazar does that hip-hop hand thing a lot and Bud just looks on in a daze (at least he doesn't have a career to ruin) so it's quite lucky when the mysterious Dr. Johnny Logan (Rippy - the other Captain Jack in Torchwood and a man I recognized as having once chatted to me about Pee Wee Herman when he was a member of The Reduced Shakespeare Company) promptly appears from nowhere and tells everyone to barricade themselves into a cupboard.

Unfortunately whilst frantically making space by throwing out all the boxes of Tip-Ex and the like Rhodes is overcome by a horde of the undead and bitten.

To death.


In a plot twist that I didn't see coming (a bit like your mum) the cupboard has a hole in the back that somehow leads to the cellar.

A cellar that bizarrely enough has windows.

Bravo set designer.

Catching her breath (but not a quick look at the reviews) Sarah remembers that Rhodes still has the car keys, so volunteers to lead everyone back into the cupboard in order to retrieve them. 

Unfortunately Rhodes re-animates and bites Bud whilst in the confusion Logan steals a car and leaves them to it.

Don't worry too much tho' as luckily our hapless band -
after a rather lackluster fight against the cast of Michael Jackson's Thriller video - manage escape in Rhodes Jeep.

Meanwhile Trev and Nina (remember them? - no me neither) have also escaped from the hospital and are currently dodging zombies, cars, good taste and the like whilst looking for a place to hide.

Tho' whether it's from the zombies or from their families after making this shite we're never told.

As luck would have it portly town DJ Paul Morley (Doctor Who star McNeice) is still broadcasting and being a nice man, lets them into the studio - on the condition that they're not zombies of course -  where they also find the shot to fuck Mr and Mrs. Leitner (Rais and the lovely Campbell,  star of 2001 Maniacs and Kraken amongst others) who seem to spend most of their time gazing longingly at each other whilst Mrs. L sits coughing on the sofa whilst shouting "It's not the virus it's my allergies!"


Laugh and indeed now.

As chaos and bad editing rage all around them, Sarah, Salazar and Bud drive to the nearest gun shop to get 'tooled up' (as I think the youngsters say) before thinking of a way to escape from town.

And hopefully their contracts.

Actually this film was enough to convince me.

Heading back to the car Sarah is hit by a double-whammy of a surprise.

Firstly she hears her brother broadcasting (well begging and whining like a small girl) for help from the radio station and then turns round to see that Bud has become a zombie.

It's a bit of good luck then that he was vegetarian when he was alive (see? it was important) because he's refusing to eat his pals and is content to sitting in the back of the Jeep making doe eyes at Sarah.


Come to think of it tho' there's hardly enough meat on Mena Suvari to make it worth his while.

Must be the vegan diet.

Anyway, they rescue Trev and Nina (but not before Mrs. Leitner has gone loco and eaten her hubbie and Paul) and head towards the town border because it's a scientific fact that man made viruses can't cross city council lines. 

The plan gets thrown to the wind tho' when a zombie headbutts the windscreen causing them to hit a tree.

There only hope of refuge now? the old abandoned building from the movies beginning.


They don't just throw this crap together.

As it happens it turns out to be an old missile silo cum secret research lab - every town should have one - headed up by the enigmatic Logan who, it appears has been experimenting with a way of shutting down enemy combatants nervous systems (he should show them this shite, that'd work) but alas has accidentally made zombies instead.

The bad man.

"You chase me now!"

Will our brave band escape or will the zombies take over the world?

Honestly I really didn't care.

I mean c'mon, if everyone involved can't be arsed giving two fucks why should I?

The only intriguing thing about this whole mess (well I say intriguing but to be honest it's bloody disturbing) is why Steve Miner and his cronies would think that taking the title and character names from Romero's original and then bolting them onto a poverty row remake of Nightmare City would be a good idea seeing as, unfortunately it's nowhere near as entertaining as that Umberto Lenzi classic.

But then again how could it be?

Let's be real here for a moment, that movie was so shockingly inept it crossed that blurry line into genius whereas Day of the Dead is quite frankly the movie equivalent of weeping anal warts.


Yup, it really is that bad.

And the DVD cover is shit too.

Thursday, November 10, 2016

top trump.

Well after my lovely tweet from Mike Pence* regarding his fave movie (yup, I ask the questions that no-one else dares) I reckoned I'd throw caution to the wind and ask the same of good old Donald J. Trump.

To be honest I wasn't expecting a reply (he's been busy) so imagine my surprise when I discovered that I was the first person he tweeted after the election results.**

Not only that tho' but a letter arrived this morning explaining his reasons behind his choice.***

I am truly blessed.

Frankly I'm speechless.

I mean who's next?




Wednesday, November 9, 2016


Day 3 of my countdown to Weekend of The Dead.

Excuse the brevity of the review as I've been up all night watching the world burn.

Porn Of The Dead (2006)

Dir: Robert Rotten (not the one from Lazy Town....I hope).

Cast: Buster Good, Dirty Harry, Jenner, Alex Knight, Trina Michaels, Sierra Sin, Ruby and a load of other folk with made up names I really can't be arsed listing.

When there is no more room in Hell......
Dead Whores will walk the Earth.

The scene: a noisy roadside in downtown L.A., a green emulsioned, germ ridden, sleepwalking nurse with what looks like  rickets totters aimlessly down the street to a hard 'rawk' soundtrack.

Suddenly a black people carrier pulls up beside her and the driver jumps out, escorting the undead/bored/stoned (delete as you see fit) nurse into the passenger seat.

K-Fed and Britney: the reunion.

Surprisingly for a zombie she doesn't attempt to bite him but just sits down drooling as they ride back to his flat (sorry, apartment) which is bizarrely decorated in plastic sheets, bin bags and newspaper.

The first thing that sprung to mind was that he must have a really badly trained dog (or children) but no, there are more sinister things afoot.

Forgoing drinks and chat he bundles her into the bin bags and proceeds to strangle her till she's a dead undead zombie (obviously) then saunters off to get changed into a pair of paper decorators overalls before fetching an axe.

Or an ax as our American cousins call it.

The crinkling and zipping up of the suit is obviously too much for our undead (and unwashed) pal as she promptly sits up and with a half-hearted growl tears open the guys suit and has sex with him.


After what seems like a lifetime of this positively unattractive couple swapping bodily fluids (and face paint) to an annoyingly loud death metal soundtrack she bites his knob off.

Shite in mah...well shite everywhere
if I'm honest.

He screams a lot, she gags on whatever they've used as a fake penis and the scene cuts to black.

Which is nice.

I'll admit I stepped out for a fag at this point so was only able to watch the next terrifying vignette thru' the living room window.

And seeing as it was snowing last night (yes indeed Hell hath frozen over) it kept getting steamed up every time I leaned forward.

But from what I could make out it appeared to feature a balloon headed, chinless and pig-tailed blonde having even more sex with three dirty, shite covered tramps in almost clinical close-up.

Sorry did I say tramps?, I meant frighteningly realistic zombies obviously.

Not really being into blondes (large headed or otherwise) and finding that I was spending way too much time criticizing the make up (hers and the zombies) I decided to skip forward a chapter (or three) but assume the scene ended with something getting bitten off.


By now I was really tired so I'm not too sure if the next bit actually happened or if I just imagined it as the film suddenly went a wee bit meta, transforming from an horrendously bad porn film into a movie about  people actually making an horrendously bad porn film.

Major mind-fuck or what?

I think I'll plumb for 'or what' or more likely so what if I'm honest.

Luckily all this crap shagging is interrupted by the appearance three buffed up, plaid shirted, badly painted (again) zombie types, intent on eating the crew.

Everyone save the scarily breast augmented lead starlet manage to either escape or get eaten whilst she on the other hand spends the entire carnage filled scene naked on her hands and knees looking for her lost contact lens.

Or at least that's what I think was going on, you see I'd accidentally locked myself outside and was beginning to feel the effects of hypothermia.

Nice flat tummy, face of fuckness.

It's not long before the undead notice the womans dilemma and offer to help in their own unique zombie way, unfortunately - possibly due to the clumsy way zombies walk and stuff - this involves them accidentally sticking their manky man roots in her secret garden.

And her mouth.

And even her arse.

The most disturbing thing tho' is the fact that her breasts remain solid and eerily still throughout the entire sorry scene.

By now we're in endurance test territory.

"I made this".

The movie suddenly cuts to a deserted morgue - OK, someones dad's garage - where a skinny tattooed guy (director Rotten) is busily inspecting the corpse of a woman who appears to have died from fake tan overdose.

The fact that she's laid out on an old decorating table that the director is desperately trying to convince us is a hospital gurney is neither here nor there.

Well actually it's still in the garage but you know what I mean.

Sorry I'm rambling.

Anyway using the power of Grey Skull (or something...I was starting to lose consciousness at this point) he brings the body back to life, strips down to his sports socks and cap and has sex with her.

I was relieved to see that his penis remained attached at the segments end.

Tho' my love of bad cinema had been sorely tested.

We're onto the final furlong now as we arrive in what looks like a nursery school version of In The Mouth Of Madness, all paper walls and crayoned crucifixes with what looks like a groovy, straight jacketed supply teacher lying dead on the floor .

Just say no.

I say dead but she may just be bored witless by the inane shagging that seems to have been going on for what seems like days but the coroner (who looks like a sleazy Stan Lee) refuses to sign her death certificate until he's positive she's no longer with us.

And I think you can guess how he'll do that.

Yup, after a wee bit of fiddling the girl re-animates and the couple get down to some nitty gritty shagging n' gagging as even more crap black metal (cranked up to eleven) blares over the soundtrack.

After one final spurt show (because there obviously haven't been enough already) the zombie de-cocks the guy and chows down on his intestines as he screams like a wee lassie.

What else can I say about this masterpiece of erotica except for the love of God why did I subject myself to it?*

From the awful make-up effects to the sight of extremely unattractive, breakfast cereal covered hobo's sticking things in every orifice you can imagine, everything about this film is wrong.

In so many ways.

The lighting is either eye searingly bright or shrouded in almost pitch black (which is a small mercy when it comes to some of the fake breasts on view) and the soundtrack, consisting of such top bands as, um, Rancid is probably the only thing here that'll give anyone a hard on (and then only greasy teen boys).

"Laugh now!"

But most annoyingly the movie doesn't stick to any of Romero's zombie law (sad I know but it left me rather riled) and if you're gonna call your opus Porn of The Dead you could at least make the effort to deliver on that title, I mean it might as well be call Tramp Shaggers by the state of some of the cast.

Hopefully someone, somewhere will one day make an erotic horror movie to rival Erotic Nights of The Living Dead or Porno Holocaust (well perhaps not Porno Holocaust but you get my drift) and I for one will be first in the queue (providing In can get a babysitter obviously) but I can say with some authority that Mr. Rotten isn't that man.

Luckily he's got more than one string to his bow as, according to one of his - many - fan-sites he's as famous for his 'outlandish mohawk' as he is for his porn (made thru' his company Punx Productions - how old is he? fourteen?), his famous iTunes song mixes that include tracks by AFI, Authority Zero, Bad Religion, Deviates, Guttermouth, NOFX & those pretty boy rockers Rancid and trying to get one up on (and in no doubt) Sporticus in Lazy Town.

But that may be someone else with the same name.

Porn of the Dead is the celluloid equivalent of weeping anal sores but if you stick with it you may get something from the films clear moral message.

Don't hunt naked for your contact lenses in the middle of a zombie crisis.

Tomorrow.....something better.

* The answer to that is to save you from having to dear reader. Thank me later.