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'.


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.

Friday, October 27, 2017

super gran.

Whilst re-watching Bloody Beast for 31 days of horror recently I was reminded of a strange fact regarding my dear departed Gran.

You see, she had this quirk when it came to watching films. She'd quite happily sit thru' any number of rapes, tortures and mutilations but got really upset if (and I quote) 'a wee boy died'.

A Gran watching Sadomaster yesterday
(not mine tho', she's dead).

I remember the day when her and my Gramps had hired House By The Cemetery and Cannibal Ferox from the local 'Washvac' video shop (no longer with us I'm afraid) and settled down for a quiet Saturday afternoons film viewing.

Umberto Lenzi's trash extravaganza of breast skewering, eyeball popping, cock cutting and skull crushing went by without a hitch but as soon as mulleted moppet Giovanni Frezza appeared onscreen chatting to Silvia Collatina (aaahhh....young love!) in that Fulci masterpiece of the macabre House By The Cemetery, my Gran turned it off, commenting on how sick the director must be to cast a child in a horror film.

Do my formative years make more sense now?

Anyway, enough inane chat, time for some killings.

Cannibal Ferox (AKA Make Them Die Slowly, Woman from Deep River, 1981).
Dir: Umberto Lenzi.
Cast: Giovanni Lombardo Radice, Lorraine De Selle, Danilo Mattei, Zora Kerova, Walter Lucchini, Fiamma Maglione, Robert Kerman, John Bartha and Venantino Venantini.

Banned in 31 countries, and that's
just for using that godawful font.

Opening with the obligatory New York skyline shots (to convince the viewer that they're watching an American movie), the action soon moves to the shoddily decorated (I'm a furnishing snob, so sue me) flat of sleazy doper Mike Logan (thin haired, Italian exploitation god Radice) where his rat-like buddy Johnny, hankering for a score (as they say) has inadvertently disturbed a couple of mob heavies trashing the place looking for the hundred grand our dealer pal has stolen from them.

When Johnny junkie can’t tell them where Mike (or their cash) is, they be-suited brutes toss him out of a window.


Giovanni Lombardo Radice: He's got something to put in you.

Meanwhile in the Amazon, 'pretty' grad student Gloria Davis (raven haired French star of Woman's Prison Massacre, S.S. Extermination Love Camp and Return of the Saint, De Selle), her brother Rudy (the weasel faced, Milo Ventimiglia-alike Mattei) and their token blonde slut pal Pat (the petite and pert breasted yet harsh faced, almost milk bar Kerova) are driving around aimlessly (in a Jeep if details like that are important) hoping to find evidence to support Gloria’s idea that cannibalism is, in reality just a myth perpetrated to justify the exploitation of primitive cultures.

She's studying anthropology by the way and this is for her graduation thesis, it's not like she's just decided to do this for a drunken bet ALA Dave Gorman.

Tho' come to think of it that would make a great Edinburgh Fringe show if you're reading Dave.

Some emoting from the cast yesterday.

Our studious pals decide to take a break from all this anthropological jazz at the Turamazonas resort, partly to find directions to the hidden village of Manioca but mainly because Gloria is sick of shitting in a bucket.

Classy burd that she is, Pat has nasty sex with a fat, sweaty policeman in order to use his shower (from the state of her she really should be bathing in bleach tho'. Or piss) before all three head off to catch a barge so as to reach their destination.

Which in Pats case should be the nearest VD clinic.

Pat: licking piss of John Nettles.

To make the journey go a bit quicker Gloria harps on at great length about the theory behind her PHD dissertation to anyone who'll listen, but luckily doesn't stray to far from being a typical girl by screaming at insects vomiting when a local eats a butterfly for good luck.

And that's about as pleasant as the trip gets as literally within minutes of reaching dry land the heroic trio mount the kerb trying to dodge a pissed up, jay walking iguana before driving into a big puddle and finally blowing up the jeep's engine.

Rudy reckons it's time to break out the whiskey and get pissed but Gloria, being the sensible (shoed) one bullies her brother into carrying all their luggage in the direction of the nearest village.

Pat decides to stand around trying to look sultry but unfortunately just looks like a Bulldog licking piss off a nettle.

"Tin o'beans 20 pence mah friend?"

Making their way thru' undergrowth our merry band begin to notice the lush trees around them are filled with half naked natives, silently watching their every move.

Which is all well and good but distinctly lacking in the animal murder stakes.

Don't worry tho' because after making camp for the night their restless sleep is disturbed by an anaconda snacking on their pet tapir.

Finally we're in proper Italian cannibal territory. meaning with all the exploitation boxes now ticked the group can continue their journey into the jungle.

And it's not long before they stumble across a pair of (very) dead natives pinned to a tree via a crazy death trap.

This sight is even enough to cool even Pat's horny mood.

Tupac Tapir: victim of a long running feud
with The Notorious Mr. Big (snake).

As the pals stand around emoting two sweaty white guys stumble out of the undergrowth and fall at Rudy's feet (you can tell this pisses Pat off). The less sweaty one explains that they've just escaped from some hungry cannibals and that they should all run away as quickly as possible.

Which they do before suddenly stopping in a clearing by a river’s edge (a real one, not the movie) where one of the men introduces himself as Mike Logan (see how it's all tying together?'s good that) who alongside his buddy Joe (Lucchini) have been out looking for cocaine and stuff.

No doubt all the shops in New York were shut so they've had to get a bus out to the Amazon....ain't that always the way?

Heath Ledger: the post Oscar years.

According to Mike's story, they were wandering about minding their own business when a bunch of naked, blue skinned men jumped out, ate their guide (as in tour guide, not the small girl type, tho' that would be worth seeing) and chased them off into the trees.

Pat, obviously upset by poor Mike's tale decides it'd help if she has 'the sex' with him (and if he gives her some cocaine as a thank you then even better) whilst the others cover their heads with pillows to block out the noise.

Next morning everyone awakes to discover that Gloria has wandered off (probably sick of spending every night gazing at Pat's lilly white arse bouncing up and down on a variety of rancid cocks) so they split up (great idea) to look for her.

Mike and Pat stroll off hand in hand together whilst a concerned (or is it bored? I really can't tell) Rudy and limping Joe head off further into the jungle.

It's not long before the brave boys enter the village of Manioca (you remember? the place they were going to visit....that it appears they didn't have an address for. Students eh?), deserted save for a few old geezers, a couple of corpses and, nailed to a tree, what remains of Mike and Joe's guide.

Despite Joe begging Rudy to leave, Gloria's bowl headed bro' is intent on having a wee look around, hoping to find a souvenir shop that sells sticks of rock and the like.

Wait for it............

"Eye son!"
(You're welcome).

Mike and Pat on the other hand are busy enjoying stock footage of a leopard killing a monkey before coming across Gloria alive and well but stuck at the bottom of a muddy hole with just a piglet for company.

Tho' you'd be hard pressed to tell the difference.

Mike pulls Gloria out of the hole but reckoning that this good deed goes against his anti-establishment image almost immediately jumps in himself and tortures the poor wee pig to death.


Rudy boy: A mooth made for shite-in in.

This act of wanton cruelty is the final straw for poor Gloria who starts stomping her feet and shouting that they should all go home before they get eaten.

Unfortunately tho', by the time she's managed to convince everyone that this would be for the best, Joe starts to feel really poorly, looking at everyone with his big puppy dog eyes he pleads with the group to stay till he's better.

Much to Gloria's chagrin they all agree.

At least Mike and Pat are happy about the whole situation, seeing as this gives them even more time to get stoned, get naked and get dirty (as you youngsters say) in the bushes as well as indulging in a bit of post shagging torture of a local native girl who happens upon then during one particularly nasty sex session.

Unluckily (for them) Her brother sees everything and heads off to tell his dad.

You can tell the tribe are angry by this news (or that the director wanted to spice up the film a bit) because that night they butcher and eat a giant tortoise (in full technicolor and in loving close up).

Yup, I reckon what this film needs at this point is a few more senseless animal killings.

cheers Mr. Lenzi.

"Didn't you kill my brother?"

Back at the village (the Indios one, not the one in The Prisoner) Joe wakes from his jungle illness just long enough to tell Rudy and Gloria the shocking truth about him and Mike.

And it's not that they're lovers.

Or even real wielders.

It seems the pair fled to South America with the cash they'd nicked in the movies opening, hoping to set themselves up as emerald prospectors (as you would).

But standing around up to their arses in cold water waggling a tea strainer for hours on end and only finding bits of beak and stone had begun to take it's strain on their relationship so the duo decided it'd be easier to just torture the whereabouts of the emeralds out of the local villagers instead.

Realizing that the reason the village is so quiet is that anybody that can carry a spear is out searching for this evil pair gives Gloria the impetus she needs to start running as quick as her little chicken legs will let her back to the boat drop off.

Pat and Mike are already one step ahead tho', having already legged it into the bushes taking all the cash, equipment and crisps with them.

After first having sex of course.

A non cursed (and non rotten)
papaya yesterday.

At this point (and because he no longer serves any purpose to the 'plot') Joe dies, leaving Rudy and Gloria to watch in horror as the returning tribes people tear him limb from limb and eat him for lunch before (wait for it) placing the curse of the rotting papaya onto the siblings.

Is there no end to this movies brutality?

At least now she doesn't have to
watch the end of this sick filth.

Tripping over a twig whilst trying to escape, Pat is pounced on by a gang of natives and dragged back to the village alongside a slightly peeved Mike.

The tribe sing and dance (badly) as Rudy, Pat and Gloria are popped into an Ikea style bamboo cage and lowered into a leech infested pond while Mike is tied to a big tree.

Not being one to stand on ceremony, big chief Brian Indios yanks down Mike’s high fashion denim flares and cuts his cock off with a bit of jagged stone before waving it about for all to see.

Then he eats it.

But not in a gay way obviously.

Not wanting to be accused of being savages the witch doctor cauterizes Mikes wound and then the entire group is led away further up river.

Mike checks out the Ryan Seacrest skullfuck hat.

Rudy, suddenly deciding he's an action hero, tries to escape but only manages to fall into a pool of piranhas before being shot with a poison dart.

Really, I don't know why he even bothered.

The surviving trio are dropped into a stinky pit whilst the natives once again eat a live animal for our viewing (dis) pleasure, this time at least it's not as cute as a tortoise.

At least he died in the name of high art, unlike Vic Morrow,
but at least John Landis didn't try
to hide his corpse by eating it.

Whilst all this scoffing of the poor Caiman (not Nick I hasten to add) and dancing is going on Mike (always the optimist) manages to claw his way out of the hole.

Killing a couple of natives for good measure, Mike heads for freedom, leaving Pat and Gloria at the of tribe but he’s quickly recaptured (well we are nearing the films climax) and tortured for his all round badness and crimes against piglets.

Firstly they lop off his (by now redundant) wanking hand before shoving him under a table with the top of his shiny balding bonce sticking thru' a hole in the top.

You can see where we're heading can't you?

Gloria and Pat can only look on in horror (well to be honest they could look away or cry but they choose to watch) as the main fella cuts off the top of Mikes head and scoops out his brain with a big wooden spoon for his pals to eat.

And before you ask yes this is indeed where Steven Spielberg got the idea for the monkey brains scene in Temple of Doom, luckily for 80s kids everywhere he must have popped out to the toilet afterwards and missed the bit where the tribe decide to pull Pat from the pit, tear her top off (and let's be honest it probably stinks of shite, blood, semen and egg by this point) and stick a pair of huge hooks thru' her breasts before leaving her hanging like a big bed sheet to die in the centre of the village.

Tho' I can't decide if this happening to Willie Scott would be more or less disturbing that the bit at the start when she sings.

Anyway whilst all this is going on a plane is flying overhead, it seems that Mike's girlfriend from back home has been worried about him and has launched a rescue mission.

Anything goes.....except forced arse banditary obviously.
Later that night whilst the tribe are sleeping off their big feast, a young Indio boy takes pity on Gloria (either that or he fancies a bit of rough), cuts her free and leads her out into the jungle. You know her escape couldn't be that easy tho' as some time later he too is killed and Gloria is left abandoned and alone in this green inferno.

Could be worse tho' she could be stuck in the fucking abysmal Eli Roth one.

Not funny but true....I found this note inside the ex-rental copy of the movie I bought.

Time passes (and the viewer starts looking at his watch hoping the film's nearly finished because he needs a wee) and the camera pans to a couple of American trappers enjoying a leisurely sail down the river.

Suddenly they hear what sounds like a woman screaming in the trees so decide to investigate.

Following the noise they find a slightly mad Gloria, crawling around half-naked in the grass, her hair greasier than normal and covered in angry boils.

Returning to civilization and spending months recovering in hospital, Gloria finally gets a bit of good news when she receives her doctorate for the (finally completed) thesis Cannibalism: End of a Myth.


it at least had a happy ending.

Don't be fooled by this poster,
Zora Kerova's breasts are not this pert.

Cannibal Ferox (or Cannibal Xerox as it was amusingly called during the British video nasty era) is another in a long line of Lenzi's midly entertaining rip-offs of (then) current movie fads and whilst never as enjoyable as the utterly fantastic Nightmare City, as downright shite as Black Demons or as arse numbingly earnest as Man from Deep River, there are still a few (soiled) goodies on offer to enjoy if you look hard enough.

Famous for two things (surprisingly not the acting or direction) - eighties Italian horror whipping boy Radice's castration scene and the bit with the breast hooks, Lenzi uses the cod civilisation vs. stone age argument as an excuse for wall to wall violence and general nastiness, somehow believing himself that's he's producing some great work of art whereas anyone who's viewed the interview with the great man on the aforementioned Nightmare City disc will have to agree that he was completely off his rocker.

And how we loved him for it.

Lenzi: Fruit loops.

Good or bad?

Sleazy or super?

Who can really say?

All I know is it has pride of place on my shelf, right inbetween Anthropopagous: The Beast and Land of Death.

Which I think sums it up really.