Sunday, December 31, 2017

happy hogmanany!

See you all (well all 3 of you who bother to read my shite) next year!

Sunday, November 19, 2017

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 76).

A total no-brainer, possibly Britain's most yumsome actress ever, the wonderful Sally Hawkins.

Especially as Mrs Brown in Paddington tho'.


Friday, November 17, 2017

chicken run.

As mentioned earlier I've been busy reviewing a slew of halfway decent 'Zom-Coms' for an upcoming book on the genre (alongside some 'proper job' drawing....wonders never cease) so had precious little time for anything.

Including washing which is a wee bit embarrassing if I'm honest.

Available to buy soon....please do cos I need new shoes!

But occasionally a film comes along which is so mind-numbingly arse that you just can't ignore it.

But enough about The Last Jedi.

Instead ladies and gentlemen I give you (no really take it)....

Leatherface (2017).
Dir: Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo.
Cast:  Stephen Dorff, Vanessa Grasse, Sam Strike, Lili Taylor, Finn Jones, James Bloor, Jessica Madsen, Sam Coleman and Julian Kosto.

Surely it should say the origin of Leatherface seeing as the origin of TCM is actually the film? Just saying.

Deep in the heart of Texas (played quite convincingly - surprisingly enough - by a small Bulgarian town) on the Sawyer homestead, mucky-faced mentalist matriarch Verna Sawyer (Lili - "The school fees are how much?" - Taylor) is busy organizing a birthday party for her youngest son/nephew/brother Jedidiah.

And what is the little tyke getting for his birthday?

Well the chance to slaughter a local hick they found wandering around the farm who it seems was attempting to steal a pig.

Presenting Jedidiah with a chainsaw the family cheer on the boy as he slowly (well he only has tiny legs) approaches the prone pig puller.

Being a sweet caring child tho' Jedidiah refuses, preferring to finish his cake leaving grandpa to finish the job with his trusty hammer.


Jump forward to 1955 where sweet young things Betty Hartman (the Converse-clad, button nosed pixie dream girl Grasse) and Ted - hey fanboys here's a reference for you - Hardesty (Kosto) are happily driving down a country road when they come across (not in that way even tho' he's on all fours with his peachy arse sticking in the air) little Jedidiah clad only in a pair of soiled undies and a cow head.

No really.

Betty, being a nice girl (and obvious victim fodder, no one that cute could possibly survive that long in a horror movie) follows the wee fella to a dilapidated old barn where the rest of the Sawyer family are in hiding ready to drop a tractor engine on her head.

Unfortunately for them her father is not only the mad as a bag of spanners local Sheriff but also played by the frankly marvelous Stephen ("She's bleeding me dry with this divorce settlement!" Dorff who reacts by angrily shouting at everyone before taking little Jedidiah into custody and carting him off to the Gorman House Youth Reform School for 'his own safety'.

It's like a slightly more violent episode of The Archers really.

"Milk it."

With the backstory out of the way it's time to start the movie good and proper as we (quantum) leap ten years into the future where the recently-hired nurse Elizabeth White (It Came From The Desert star Grasse) is spending her first day at work bonding with the patients.

As opposed to abusing them ala One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest because no cliché works quite like an old cliché.

And just to show how nice she really is she stands up for the misunderstood and incredibly broody Jackson (Strike) when he steps in to stop the hulking monosyllabic Bud (ex Doctor Who companion Coleman) getting into trouble for fighting with the buck-toothed badboy Ike (Bloor who scarily looks like a living breathing human/Daffy Duck hybrid and so by default is the scariest thing in the film).

Grasse modeling the incredibly authentic 1960s nurses uniform she wears in the film...or is it in your dads bed?

Things are about to take a turn for the worse tho' as no sooner has our heroine calmed everyone down when Verna turns up with an injunction to allow her to see her son.

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on if you want to watch a horror movie or a courtroom drama) the creepy head of the hospital Doctor Shanga Lang (Adamson who's been in loads of stuff including your auntie and your younger sister. Twice) tells her to fuck off adding that she couldn't see him even if they wanted her to seeing as they've changed Jedidiah's name to something else because it wouldn't fit on the name labels in his vest and what do you know the file with his new name has fallen down the back of the sofa.

Taking matters into her own (very delicate) hands the mentalist mum inadvertently causes a riot whilst searching for her boy allowing Ike and his burned boobed girlfriend Clarice (mother of Reservoir Dogs star Micheal, Jessica Madsen) to kidnap Elizabeth - along with Bud and Jackson - and steal a car in an attempt to flee to Mexico.


As the group travel between rest stop diners and deserted caravans via various murder sprees, country roads and bloodbaths, Sheriff Hartman discovers that one of the group is actually Jedidiah so alongside his Deputy Nancy Sorells (Former Game of Thrones homosexualist, nephew of Doctor Who companion Jo Grant and Iron Fist himself Jones) heads off in hot pursuit.

Realizing that they've hit the halfway point with nary a hint of sleazy sex-based shenanigans our merry band of bonkers buddies take refuge in a rundown mobile home, abandoned save for the hanging putrefying corpse of its former owner, which not only supplies us with a cheap jump scare but gives Ike an excuse to whoop and giggles a lot whilst Clarice strips naked to reveal what a good job the make up department have done on her burn scars (and also show off the frankly magnificent fake nipples shes sporting) before the pair - unsurprisingly - engage in a necrophiliac threeway in an attempt to remind us just how down right bad they really are but only manages to make the viewer pine for the wonderful Beatrice Manowski in Nekromantik.

Tho' to be honest I never really need an excuse to do that.

Beatrice Manowski: Don't try this at home, again.

As the gruesome twosome sleep off their sexy hi-jinks Elizabeth makes a break for the woods only to be very quickly grabbed by a by now awake Ike who, after making some lewd suggestions decides to pick on Bud instead.

This not only saves Elizabeth from a brutal bumming but riles Bud up enough to stomp on Ike's head before falling asleep on his corpse.

Which is nice.

The next morning, Clarice notices that Ike is missing (she's observant like that) and heads off to find him leaving Jackson and Elizabeth to find Bud and wake him up before quickly running away.

Which is what I would love to do at this point if I'm honest, I mean I'm only sticking around to see if Lili Taylor turns up again - I've not been the same since I saw her in I Shot Andy Warhol well I'm only flesh and blood plus 'tween her and Dorff it's like a veritable reunion.

Taylor: Swift kick to the head.

It's not long tho' before crusty Clarice is apprehended by an ever more angry Hartman who in a fit of pique shoots her in the head as Bud, Jackson and Elizabeth watch from their hiding place inside a dead cow.



Crawling out of the poor beasts arse our plucky trio make their way toward the highway where Elizabeth attempts to get the attention of a passing policeman who - as they are known to do in The States - responds by shooting Bud in the head.

This sends an understandably jittery Jackson into a violent rage culminating in him shutting the poor policeman's head in the car door whilst pinching his nipples before stealing the by now very messy motor and flooring it.

But Hartman is in hot pursuit.

In a chase scene the like of which hasn't been seen since the episode of Father Ted with the milk float, Hartman soon catches up with the daring duo, opening fire on the car and shooting Jackson in the mouth (which lets be honest is better than him shite-ing in it) causing a rather nasty crash.

And a wee bit of chafing.

As time passes and the screen fades thru black Elizabeth suddenly wakes to find herself handcuffed to the backdoor of Hartman's car.

We've all been there.

The silence is broken by Sorells on the radio (as in the police radio - he's not crooning a song on pick of the pops or anything) and Elizabeth manages to grab the mic with her feet and call for help but unbeknown to our heroine Sorells is in the pay of Verna, heading out to her homestead to  reveal her - and Hartman's - whereabouts.

It appears that Jackson is, in fact, Jedidiah and the crazy copper has him trussed up in the same barn his daughter was killed in.

Pausing only to feed Sorells to some pigs she gathers her family and heads over to the barn for a final confrontation with Hartman.

FOLD ME? - must not be just the plot that's paper thin then.

With Elizabeth trussed up like a Christmas turkey (albeit a turkey with wonderfully milky white thighs you could ski down) and an injured Jackson lying in a pool of his own piss moaning like your mum at the works end of year do Hartman stands legs akimbo with a shotgun in his hand goading the family to attack.

Which they do and with there being five of them they soon overpower the Sheriff and take him back to their gouse for tea, crumpets and a wee bit of chainsaw chopping courtesy of the by now shot to fuck - and flappy faced - Jackson/ Jedidiah.

In the confusion Elizabeth breaks free of her bonds and legs it into the woods, Jedidiah and co. in hot pursuit.

You can see where this is going can't you?

"Put it in me!"

Tripping over a discarded bear-trap Elizabeth is soon at the mercy of the by now deranged Jedidiah, his face held together with a makeshift muzzle constructed from an old thong and an eggcup as he slowly approaches his prone pal his chainsaw wobbling in the air menacingly.

OK I'll be honest he looks a wee bit of a cock but at least he's trying.

"Hello...are yu the blind man?"

Will Elizabeth be able to appeal to her one-time friends softer side or will she inadvertently insult his mum causing him to behead her in a fit of pique?

And if this does happen will he fashion Elizabeth's face into a leathery mask and take to wearing it (and shitly applied lipstick) around the house?

Go on, guess.

The prequel to the Tremaine 'Trey Songz' Neverson starring sequel cum reboot that no-one ever asked for (Ok maybe one person did and yes I'm looking at you nan) Leatherface is a futile attempt to breathe new life into a horror franchise that's last halfway decent entry was released way back in 1986.

Ignoring the brilliant Part 2 (probably) as well as Parts 3 and 4 - and the various reboots and rejigs since - Leatherface takes us back to the birth of a horror icon (again) in the vain hope that someone (anyone?) is interested, ticking all the deep south clichés along the way before exploding into an ill-advised mess of wobbly mantits, bad teeth, cheap gore and a twist so obvious you'll be surprised that they didn't just add another twist on the end to make up for it.

Or at least an apology.

Directors Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo (who obviously shot their horror wad when writing and directing the frankly marvelous Livide and the not too shady Inside) do their best with the limited budget available and whilst Bugaria does a passable impression of Texas and the cast try to add some sparkle to the hackneyed dialogue it's an uphill struggle that's neither shlocky enough or gruesome enough to be truly memorable.

Or even remotely enjoyable for any reason other than to marvel at the depths Lili Taylor and Stephen Dorff's careers have sunk to.

A friend of mine in it's defense said that "It's the best TCM movie not directed by Tobe Hooper."

Which sums it up perfectly.


Unless you get turned on by fake rubbery nipples and bad teeth.

Tuesday, November 7, 2017

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 75).

To celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Glorious October Socialist Revolution I give you The Grand Duchess Tatiana Nikolaevna of Russia.

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

green day.

It's finally here!

The stunning climax to this whole 31 days of horror rubbish I've been doing for the last, well 31 days (obvious really) and like everything else I do I started off with the best intentions but got bored towards the end and ended up posting any old rubbish.

And it's a bizarre little gem picked randomly from Rollie's cannibal collection to keep the kids entertained over the school holidays.

And before you complain to social work I'd just like to say don't worry as bizarrely enough there are absolutely no cannibals in it.

Or any inferno's (green or otherwise) for that matter.

Green Inferno (AKA Cannibal Holocaust 2. 1988).
Dir: Antonio Climati.
Cast: Mario Merlo, Fabrizio Merlo, May Deseligny, Roberto Ricci, Jessica Quintero and Pio Maria Federici.

Speccy faced and pube haired anthropology geek Peter (Federici in his only film role) is planning - well I say planning but he's really just packed some clean pants and a hat - a wee trip to a remote region of the Amazon alongside his buff buddies Fred and Mark (the brothers Merlo in their only film role too, no surprises there really).

But why I hear you ask?

It seems that an acquaintance of his, the ambitious and fairly attractive (for the budget) young journalist Jemma (the flaxen haired, council estate Tisa Farrow alike Deseligny) has located the missing scientist Professor Barry Korenz (FX expert and star of Casper, Ricci) who mysteriously disappeared whilst searching for a mythical tribe known as the Imas.

So far so clichéd.

"Sorry, I have my woman's period".

Finding that their own light aircraft has been swapped at the airport by the sozzled owner for magic beans, our heroic trio of likely lads - and token lass - reckon it's too late to cancel the trip, so decide to steal a bright yellow seaplane from outside the local toyshop, drive it down the motorway to the coast and head off for adventure anyway, hoping that no-one spots the big plane shaped hole in the grass the next morning.

Arriving at a small town on the edge of the jungle our intrepid foursome are disappointed to find that the petrol station is shut, leaving them no alternative than to book into the local hotel for the night and get a haircut at the local barbershop.

No really.

Hitting the town to look for the famous guide and adventurer Jungle Jim Smith, the gang end up in the local cantina cum nite club, where rough looking locals are enjoying a dance, a drink and a wee bit of gambling on the local racing frogs.

Bob, having a a bit too much shandy accidentally bumps into the table, knocking over the local hard man's drink but what do you know - everyone is really friendly and polite and to show there's no hard feelings invites the group over to join the frog based fun.

Could this be a drinks based revenge plan that's going to leave our wannabe explorers penniless, beaten and anally violated?

Surprisingly no, everyone is genuinely nice and even tho' Jim refuses to go on the trip due to it being 'a bit scary' he helpfully shows them the way on the map.

Next morning the friends find that all the petrol has been sold to the local monkey hunter, Mr. Geoff Mainwaring and that there won't be another delivery for a week.

Undeterred our band borrow a boat and head upstream to the monkey farm to find lots of little chimps collapsing due to too much anesthetic in the blow darts used to catch them.

As luck would have it Peter is a monkey expert and manages to perform mouth to mouth on a particularly ill chimp before sternly asking Mainwaring why he's drugging so many simians, putting them in wooden crates and sending them up river.

Is he part of an evil monkey slave cult perhaps?

Unfortunately no, he is, in fact catching the monkeys to send to a local government run sanctuary where they'll be well looked after and fed as many bananas as they can manage.

Not only that but the money raised by this exercise pays for the treatment needed by the local disabled kids.

How sweet.

With this in mind Peter offers to go fetch some more monkeys in exchange for fuel but not before Jemma takes the opportunity to interview a Paul Newman obsessed man about his home head shrinking business.


Heading down river in the company of Mainwaring's top monkey catchers, Peter gets a chance to wax lyrical about nature and stuff before putting his survival skills into practice (in what is the movies most exciting sequence) by pulling a cannibalistic fish out of a native's oily anus.

The action doesn't stop there tho' as Peter, Mark, Fred and Jemma soon find themselves dodging bats in their hunt for monkeys before being taken captive by an angry group of Savage's who have mistaken them for common or garden chimp rustlers.

Taken back to the natives village Peter is tied to a tree with a spider in his pants whilst Fred is covered in honey and tied next to an anthill, Mark is made to climb a tree in his underwear and Jemma is forced to eat bananas.

Could this tribe be evil cannibal types preparing to shag, slit and slaughter the youngsters?

Erm, no sorry.

Peter, the spider getting nearer to his cock by the second, explains their reason for taking the monkeys resulting in the chief, after rubbing his chin for a second apologizing for the mistake and letting everyone go.

Cannibals of the type not found in this film.

With the plane fueled and everyone fed and watered it's time (finally) to head off into the unknown to find Professor Korenz (remember him?) but it's not all plain sailing (or plane flying even with the amount of paddling they end up doing) as the first village they come across has been attacked by gold prospectors who have not only killed all the men but kidnapped a few of the ladies to use for 'the sex'.


Enter (oh go on then) the firm of breast and shapely of arse native girl Kuwala (Quintero, never seen again) who begs our teen pals to take on the baddies and rescue her sister.

Having a few hours to spare they answer with a rousing yes and head off (with Kuwala in tow) to do battle with the gold thieves.

A different Jessica Quintero
to the one in the film.
This one is from MySpace,
why not add her and say 'Hi!'

Following the smell of cheap aftershave and vodka they soon find the prospectors hide-out and Fred, being the more manly of the group launches a daring rescue mission only to get caught, slapped around a bit and threatened with a cock gobbling snake called Matilda.

Honestly, I couldn't make this shit up.

It's left to Kuwala to save everyone's arse and this she does in style firstly threatening to shoot the main bad guy before punching the snake in the face and leading everyone back to the plane and leaving the prospectors waving their fists as shouts of "Why I oughta!" fill the air.

As they head slowly ever further into the jungle Peter provides the entertainment with his constant monotone and nasally drone as he witters endlessly about the Amazon, its wildlife and fauna mixed with plenty of po-faced philosophical musings regarding the nature of existence.

So it's almost a blessing when they stumble across a cave full of child abductors who spend their spare time drugging kids and selling their organs.

Yay! finally a chance for some unnecessary violence and scenes of small children in peril!

Chance would be a fine thing as Mark leads a bloodless rescue mission to save the kids by setting fire to the cave and leading everyone out the back door.

Except the ones already in boxes so I assume that they burn to death.

Off screen unfortunately.

Everything is going swimmingly until Jemma is bitten by a poisonous snake and with no chance of saving her Peter makes the decision to head towards the local tribe to see if they can help.

But can this tribe be trusted or are they cannibals preparing for a holocaust (or two?).

Go on, guess.

That's right, the tribe are really friendly to a point of one of the tribal elders sacrificing himself to aid Jemma's recovery.

For fucks sake, somebody stab something.

"Snake on mah cock!"

Suddenly as if he's realized that there's only twenty minutes left, Mr. Climati quickly returns to original missing professor plot.

But is it too little too late?

I'm certainly not saying, I mean I had to sit thru' this abomination so I don't see why you shouldn't too.

The cover, should you wish to
purchase it for a loved one.

There are some out there that will tell you that Antonio Climati's Green Inferno is a clever, self knowing exercise in twisting the audience's knowledge of the genre to produce the very antithesis of what is expected from a cannibal film, as the viewer is led ever forward into scenes that should end in mindless violence the director usurps our expectations and shows the 'savages' as friendly, noble and more importantly as understanding as you or I.

Well it's either that or Climati was trying to pull a fast one by marketing this Disney-esque boys own adventure as an honest to goodness gut munching jungle exploitationer (actually marketed in some places as Cannibal Holocaust 2 tho' you've probably gathered that by now) in a bid to make a quick buck.

But no-one's that cynical surely?

With my well documented love for Fatal Frames and Zombie Lake I'm probably the wrong person to ask.

Yet another movie called Cannibal Holocaust 2.
See how many you can find dear reader.

The scariest thing about the movie and it's non offensive feel must be the fact that director Antonio Climati was responsible for the cinematography (and in some cases co-directing duties) on such Italian exploitation movies as Savage Man Savage Beast 2, Africa Blood and Guts, Mondo Cane and the incredible Goodbye Uncle Tom.

What happened?

Did he suddenly develop taste or was this his reason for making such offensive nonsense in the first place?

To fund his dream adventure movie?

Perhaps we'll never know.

Sweet dreams and please don't have nightmares.

Monday, October 30, 2017

baadly drawn boy.

Been busy teaching teens about Edgar Allan Poe today and had completely forgotten about 31 days of horror.

And let's be honest there's nothing I can watch that will ever be as horrific as the debacle that was BAAD and Electric Frog's attempt to show John Carpenter's Halloween at Kelvingrove Art Gallery on Saturday night, as fellow punter Mark Liddell observed:

"John Carpenter's Halloween at the Kelvingrove was like listening to a sub-aquatic production of the fucking Clangers."


I mean I watch some shite but you'd be hard pushed to find any film fan whose idea of a grand night out is watching an Nth generation copy of one of the finest films ever - or at least trying to watch it when the screen has been placed too low to compensate for the level seating - with a soundtrack reminiscent of a couple having drunken, Lithuanian arse sex underwater.

Don't worry tho' there was a bar.

If your version of a bar is childsize plastic tumblers of warm Chardonnay, fermented cider or tiny cans of Coors Light for 4 quid a pop.

Donald Pleasance will be spinning in his grave.

As will Dean Cundey.

And he's not dead.

Anyway, realizing that I had day 30 to do I grabbed the first thing I could off the shelf and hoped for the best.

Fuck sake I feel cursed.

Terror Toons (2002).
Dir: Joe Castro.
Cast: Kerry Liu, Lizzy Borden, Beverly Lynne,Brandon Ellison and Fernando Padilla.

In a quiet neighbourhood in 'anytown' USA, two 'teenage' sisters , Cindy and Candy (Lynn and Borden* who, if I'm honest look old enough to not only have their own place by now but a couple of kids - and grandkids too - or maybe it's just the lighting, no they just look really old) have been left home alone by their parents for the evening.

And by home alone I mean left in the house, not the hit Christmas classic which if I'm honest would have been better.

 Scarily enough the parents are actually played by two men, the director being under the misapprehension that covering a guys face in flour makes them look female.

Can I just say that over the years literally dozens of directors have covered my face in various substances and not once have they remarked on how feminine it made me look.

Anyway, Cindy receives a mysterious DVD in the mail from the Devil himself (as you do) and decides to watch it.

As you would I guess.

Whilst all this digital media shite is going down Candy is amusing herself downstairs with her 'buddies' (as in she's dancing, it's not a euphemism for masturbation) unaware that by watching the disc her sister has unintentionally unleashed the hordes of Hell (well, two of them) on Earth in the form of Dr. Carnage and Max Assassin.

And if you think the Devil is bad, wait till you see the quality of the puppet makers he has working for him.

Inside Kevin Spacey's mind.

As the body count (and pants flashing action) rises Cindy realizes that she is the only one with the power to stop these evil cartoons from continuing their insane (ly average) murder spree.

Can she save her friends?....or will everyone die?

And more importantly will any of us get a refund for Saturday?

God knows we deserve it.

"Shall we bother checking the sound before we put this DVD on?"
"Fuck it we have their money now so who cares!"

Aaaah, Joe Castro.

When his name appears on a video box in the capacity of 'director' you know you're in for a treat, he's the 'genius' behind such modern day classic as Legend of The Chupacabra, The Young, The Gay and The Restless and Jackhammer plus creator of the stunning effects for movies as wide ranging as Near Death, Blood Feast 2 and Another Gay Movie as well as Arena favourite LA Zombie.

And he certainly delivers the goods with this film.

Unfortunately the goods are bashed, busted and well passed their sell by date.

Welcome to a world where mom's have five o'clock shadows, the supposed 14 year old heroines have all had (botched) boob jobs and the greatest party game for teens at parties is 'strip Ouija'.

Oh and the Devil looks like your granddad with one horn bigger than the other.

Saying that tho' I reckon for all his faults even Castro would baulk at charging 18 quid for a film event without first checking the sound in the venue.

"Put it in me!"

And whilst the acting is non existent and the cast have the look of dazed and confused deer trapped in the headlights of an upcoming car about them - during the extras one of the cast can't remember making the film and another tells how she can't remember lines so she just made dialogue up on the spot - and the 'special' effects seem to consist of random animal puppets popping up from behind furniture every few minutes the film does have a certain homely charm and in some cases it's cheapness is kinda sweet, for example when any of the female cast get bitten by the toons it always cuts to a monkey biting a man's shin. 

No matter what the actresses wearing we get this same shot......

And it does feature the best 'is this terror or is this my cum face?' acting ever to appear on celluloid.....

Plus what other movie can you think of that ends with a rat arsed Lucifer battling with a wanna be porn star playing a 15 year old dressed in a superhero 'costume' consisting of some pimp shades, a tea towel cape, pink vest top and huge black granny pants?

"Meow!" probably.

Slag it off all you like but at least you can hear the dialogue.

And I bet if you emailed Joe Castro regarding it you wouldn't just get an out of office reply.

Unlike some events companies that think a nice logo and artsy hipster pics make up for shoddy planning and shit customer service.

Plus if you actually make it to the end the pay-off is divine - after killing the toons and defeating Satan the 'teens' are reprimanded by their returning parents for having a party in the house and trashing the place.


Well someone must have thought so seeing as there are 5, yes 5, sequels.

Fuck I'm going to be busy over Christmas.

*Who as an interesting aside used to be able to fist her own mouth but unfortunately can't anymore because she's had her wisdom teeth removed.

Sunday, October 29, 2017

ghana no do that.

Todays 31 days of horror treat starts with a wee true story you see scarily I actually left the house this week (Friday actually)*, which meant having to brave public transport (Glasgow becomes a wee bit New Barbarians come the weekend).

Whilst waiting patiently for the train to Innsmouth (OK Edinburgh but it's much of a muchness) I couldn't help - well I could but I'm nosy - but notice a hideously middle class, born again Christian couple discussing how they spend their holidays in Ghana (that's near Europe I think) handing over bags of old clothes to the locals whilst posing for photo's in a condescending manner whilst no doubt imagining that they're Brad and Angelina.

Some moderate Christians yesterday.

After hearing how poor and how grateful the locals are for the visits from the concerned western folk and how God helps them survive their pointless and dusty lives (plus how luxurious the local hotel complex they stay in is) I realized that not once had either of them even mentioned Ghana's burgeoning horror film industry.

Now pay attention, here's the science part.

Not long after the (non literal) home video explosion of the early eighties and the reduction (relatively) in price of home recording equipment and portable cameras (which gave birth - not like Splice so stop panicking - to the mobile cinema phenomena in a number of West African countries), the African film industry jumped at the chance to produce affordable (re: dirt cheap) movies with a local theme aimed squarely at the home market, taking in themes such as devout Christianity, gangsters, devout Christianity, possession, people trafficking, devout Christianity, police corruption, devout Christianity and fat ladies waving their arms about whilst crying.

Oh, and did I mention that the majority of the movies feature at least a wee bit of devout Christianity?

"Not more bloody foreigners with
their second hand football strips!"

And one of the most successful films in what shall now be called the
Ghanian 'Godly Horror' genre is C'Emeka Uba's Abro Ne Bayie.

A film so terrifying that it had to be split into two parts!


Tho' don't expect too much seeing as half the dialogue and the credits are in Twi, a language that we failed to cover at The Dormston School.

Damn you teachers!

Abro Ne Bayie.
Dir: C'Emeka Uba.
Cast: Anita Acheampong and some other people.

Hunky, grey suited and shiny of shoed Vincent Opoku (apparently portrayed by Ghana's very own Wickey Will Smith) is a successful businessman and devout Christian (told you) with everything to look forward to in life.

He's rich in both monetary terms and his love for God, has a really hot (and incredibly bootylicious) fiancée named Brenda and a really nice car that isn't pulled by a donkey.

But his perfect life is about to take a nasty turn for the (supernatural) worse tho' seeing as his massive headed mum Dufie (not the Welsh singer) has made a pact to deliver her son's eternal soul to the Satanic underworld in return for a new dress and some cha-cha heels.

"Ah fell aff mah beanstalk Ian!"

Her plan to achieve sartorial ecstasy involves persuading poor Vincent to fall out with Brenda and start dating the black clad (and even more bootylicious if that's humanly possible) Natasha, who in reality is an evil sex demon in human form.

So he has the choice between the attractive yet staid Brenda, who even tuts at the thought of kissing before marriage or a leather clad, very dirty pillowed nymphomaniac she creature from Hell who gives out on a first date.

Hmmmm.....tricky choice.

Natasha: up the casino.

Within, oh minutes, Vincent is totally under Natasha's spell with her promises of letting him bite her in the back of his motor and a quick touch of her baps (chicken), leaving poor Brenda crying into her Pot Noodle and his evil mum organizing a dinner dance (with Bingo) to reveal her new look.

Can anyone save Vincent (and his soul) from an eternity of forced and meaningless hot sweaty sex?

Luckily for Vincent (depends on your definition of luck tho' doesn't it?) his dad Tony and the local priest, Father Dennis Kwabina are ready to take on the hordes of Hell in an attempt to save Vincent's very soul....

And his reputation as a good boy.

If any photo ever deserved the caption "Laugh now!" it's this one.

Clocking in at an arse numbing two and a half hours, Abro Ne Bayie may be cruder than your Grannie on Meth, shot as it is in harsh natural light with a bunch of non-actors obviously rounded up at the local job centre and effects achieved on an old Amiga, it might be cheap but none of this stops it being bloody enjoyable.

But the greatest (and most refreshing) thing about Abro Ne Bayie is despite the films budgetary shortcomings the theme of demonic possession and temptation is played in such a deep and serious manner.

Almost as if this were a public information documentary on the evils of Satan.

And frankly, if I've got the choice between the ultimate evil looking like Linda Blair masturbating with a crucifix whilst Max Von Sydow wets himself over a big stone dog or the Devil and his minions on show here - some chubby bloke in a second hand Jedi cloak wearing a novelty old man mask from the market, a child in a skeleton suit, covered in facepaint with a plastic horn staple to his head and a really fat person covered in what looks like fresh cow shite in a Dolly Parton wig - I know which I'd pick.

Plus I reckon naughty Natasha would be worth it.

Just remember to get your Tetanus jag first.

"Shite in mah mooth!"

If only half of Hollywood's output was this entertaining (and had as many shaved small boys in facepaint throw around rooms by Vicars) then the world would be a much better place.

Tho' as a downside the thought of every major film using (the free demo of) Adobe Premiere's Eye Candy for their special effects is kinda disconcerting.

But that's a chance I'm willing to take.

Who's with me?

*So thinking about it this should have really been Fridays film so it's almost like I've sent the reader back in time....or I've been that busy I didn't get round to writing this till today.....maybe I should have done it yesterday to avoid confusion.

death by stereo.

Just in time for Halloween, 3 vicious volumes of killer beats, psychotic sounds and sinister samples for your aural delight.


then turn off the lights, play loud and enjoy.

Saturday, October 28, 2017

edwige and the angry bint.

Was out in 'The Edinburgh' last night watching the John Carpenter classic Prince of Darkness in a church as TST: The Southern Tenant played some spooky waxings.

Beforehand I met up with longtime reader Mr David and ne'er reader (she has taste), the part-time criminologist cum Gialli expert Ms Racheal for dinner and excited chat.

Bloody hell I'm cultured.

Anyway the conversation turned to classic films and quality directors as we all impressed each other with our wide and varied knowledge, until that is I mentioned my love of Andrea Bianchi and everything (Burial) ground to a halt.

I tried to save the conversation by saying that obviously it wasn't his best work before beginning to witter on about Edwige Fenech's massive pants in
Strip Nude For Your Killer and started to excitedly draw a picture of them on a napkin.

It's the last thing I remember before waking up in an alley with a black eye this morning.

Oh yes and my trousers on backwards.

It never rains eh?

Strip Nude For Your Killer (1975)
Andrea Bianchi.
Cast: Edwige Fenech, Nino Castelnuovo, Franco Diogene, Femi Benussi, Claudio Pellegrini, Erna Schürer, Giuliana Cecchini (AKA Amanda) and various voluptuous Italian women.

"You don't need to strangle me."

Large of breast and curvy of hip Brenda, a young, vivacious and obviously whorish 'model', has accidentally fallen pregnant by a mysterious lover (not me) and panicking over how she'll ever fit into her snazzy fashions again decides to visit a reputable (is there such a thing?) back street abortionist (again, not me) to sort out her little problem.

Unfortunately (for her tho' not the plot) she dies of heart failure during the botched procedure. 

Being a conscientious kinda bloke the abortionist rings his pal Carlo (Scrabble winning Castelnuovo) to give him a hand taking her lifeless (but still fairly hot) body back to her house and pops it in the bath tub with a bottle of gin and a coathanger in the hope of covering up his little mistake.

You don't get service like that on the NHS. 

"I cannae see the car keys hen but I've found the transit van!"

Unbeknown to Alan (the abortionist) he's being tailed by a mysterious, shiny helmeted, black clad motor-biking mentalist who, on following him back to his swish apartment, re-arranges his video tapes, knocks all his paintings slightly squint before finally cutting out his still beating heart.

Gah indeed.

When we next see creepy Carlo he's lusting over the harsh faced, tombstone toothed (but still hotter than your mum), bikini-clad beauty that is Lucia Cerrazini (ample arsed genre goddess Benussi) at his exclusive health club, almost immediately he sidles over to her and asks if he can see her breasts.

She's obviously reticent until he admits to being a fashion photographer and being smoother than a babies arse this is all it takes to get Lucia to strip off in a sauna enabling our leering Lothario to take loads of almost gynecological pics of her ample body before sticking it in her.

By that I mean put his penis in her vagina.

As in they have 'the sex'.
Anyway, back to the plot good 'n' proper where it transpires that Carlo works for the infamous Albatross modeling agency, an organization well known for having the prettiest models around and run with terrifying Teutonic efficiency by the sapphic sexpot Giselle (Cecchini from the classic Il compromesso... erotico) and her sweatily man breasted, cake loving and frighteningly sausage fingered husband Maurizo (The Stendhal Syndrome's Diogene).

The very same agency that dead Brenda worked for.

Luckily for Lucia, Carlo's in fact an honest sex obsessed pervert and, true to his word is soon dragging her along to the aforementioned Albatross Studios to meet the bosses and work on her 'portfolio'.

Gisella especially is so impressed with Lucia's natural poise and photogenic properties that she has no option but to hire her on the spot.

And then have sex with her.

This never happens on Britain's Next Top Model.

Or unfortunately on this years The Apprentice which is a shame because Joanna Jarjue* is truly scrumptious.

Still it's only week four.

 Jarjue in mah sugary Alan.

With all this sinful bed hopping going on it doesn't take long for everyone to completely forget about poor Brenda's death as our creepy camera guys and curvy cuties carrying on with their day to day routines of swimsuit modeling, sexiness and vomiting.

Until one morning that is when Mario, the pink cravatted, camp as pants photographer (Death Walks at Midnight's Pellegrini) is found murdered, clad only in a G string and furry slippers.

Or was that my dad?

It's hard to tell sometimes.

Next in line for the chop is poor Lucia, stripped nude not for her killer but for some rumpy pumpy with Gisella, the killer taunts her with the sound of running water before they put something in her too.

Only this time it's a big sharp knife, not a penis or leathery dildo.

Whilst all these killings are going on Carlo, never one to miss the chance of a wee bit of the sex, has hooked up with sexy, doe eyed art director Magda (the legendary Fenech, think a sleazier foul mouthed Audrey Hepburn and you're halfway there) splitting his time between fondling her frankly fantastic breasts and arguing with Gisella over what to tell the police.

Could either of them be the killer?

I mean, Carlo seems to be very friendly with all the victims and Gisella is a lesbian which must mean she's Godless with no morals.

But to be honest do you really care when Edwige Fenech is stripping naked at the drop of a hat?

Fenech: Older than your gran but twice as dirty.

Oblivious to all this murder and back-biting, man-breasted Maurizio is still trying to get his end away with one (well any of them really) of the models, focusing his attentions on the strangely vole like Doris (blonde bombsite Schürer, famous for her appearances on the cover of many a Killink novel cover during the 60's and 70's) who proves the old adage that love is blind (and in this case lacking a sense of smell) because she actually says yes to his advances.

But her night of meat fingered fun is scuppered when the poor fella bursts into tears at the thought of doing it with a real live lady, preferring to spend the night clad only in a huge nappy with his faithful blow-up doll instead.

Unfortunately Maurizio's night of latex loving is cut short when the killer pops in and cuts his throat.

Which is a mercy killing quite frankly.

With (nude) bodies starting to pile up everywhere and Milan running out of models (plus the local cake shop losing it's best customer) you'd think that the local police would at least suspect a link to the Albatross Studios.

Wouldn't you?

But oh no, they're more confused than the viewer as to what's going on, the chief inspector still reeling from the fact that Mario was a, gulp, homosexual.

What enlightened times the seventies were eh?

"Look everyone I've found Maddie!"

With time (and cast members) running out it's left to Magda and the by now infinitely punchable Carlo to attempt to solve the case and unmask (or is that unhelmet?) the killer and more importantly will Joanne make it to the interview rounds?

"Gimme sum (Alan) Sugar!"

Directed by the genius behind the Peter Bark starring zombie classic Burial Ground, Lord Andrea of Bianchi, Strip Nude for Your Killer doesn't so much as steal from the best than break into their houses and spunks in their underwear drawers before legging it with all the credit cards and loose change.

But not before it's shoved their toothbrushes up it's arse.

Bianchi (again) has managed the impossible, making a film that is at once so squalid and sleazy that even the bathwater on screen is dirty but at the same time making it a joy to behold.

And that's even before you add Edwige Fenech to the equation.
From What Have They Done To Solange? to Scooby Doo Where are You? via Blood and Black Lace, nothing or no-one is safe from Bianchi's sweaty palmed mix of sleaze, nudity, sensationalist lesbianism, big pants, vibrant wallpaper, naked handstands and blood stained bedding.
Plus it's one of the few movies that delivers exactly what it says on the box.

Which can't be all that bad.

*For those who have no idea who I'm on about, Joanna- In her current role - creates multi-channel strategies to improve the digital footprint of companies.

She considers being determined and a great talker to be her best qualities.

She hates being patronised, but will remain resilient on the show.

And according to that bastion of hate The Daily Mail she's a bikini loving selfie fanatic who adores being smothered in chip fat and shits baubles into Captain Birdseye's bath.