Friday, October 25, 2019

bern baby bern.

You know who doesn't get enough cult movie love but should?

The really rather wonderful Monika Zanchi.

I first encountered her when, as a shy retiring 14 year old, I accidentally came across a copy of Joe D'Amato's Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals whilst looking for a Marathon bar in the back of a cupboard, obviously I had to see what it was about because the title didn't give it away obviously and, after what seemed like days of D'Amato's trademark ugly people having sex mixed with hard core gore shtick and just as I was starting to feel a wee bit ill she appeared - all strawberry blonde locks, freckles and wide eyed innocence and looking for all the world like a cutesy librarian dropped naked into a cesspool of cannibal kinkiness.

And from that moment I was smitten in a way only a 14 year old could be.

Damn you D'Amato springing Zanchi onto me as an innocent, horror loving teen.

I mean between her and Nastassja Kinski in Cat People is it any wonder it took me nearly so long to find a girlfriend who lived up to such perfection?*

















 




































































*As an aside I should point out that apart from being absolutely beautiful and a damn fine actress to boot Zanchi also performs the second best masturbation scene ever committed to celluloid in this very movie.**

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
**The best being Harvey Keitel's car window Nat West in The Bad Lieutenant obviously.

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Wednesday, October 23, 2019

logan's rum.


The Taking of Deborah Logan (2014).
Dir: Adam Robitel.
Cast: Jill Larson, Anne Ramsay, Michelle Ang, Anne Bedian, Ryan Cutrona and Jeremy DeCarlos.





Obviously deciding to go for the cheap laughs at the end of term movie party, film makers Mia (Neighbours Ang), Gavin (Banshee's gentle Gentile, Brett) and Luis (Ben 10: Alien Swarm star DeCarlos) have decided to make a documentary about the foxy redhead Deborah Logan (sexy screen stalwart and current Captain Marvel - Larson) and her battle with Alzheimer's disease.

At first reluctant to be filmed, Deborah only agrees to the project after much badgering from her surprisingly hot - in a manly way - daughter Sarah (the always watchable Ramsay, all checked shirted, chain smoking lesbian chic) who gently reminds her that they need the money to stop the bank from repossessing the house.

Told you it was a barrel of laughs.

Anyway filming begins with Deborah reminiscing about her earlier years working as the town switchboard after her husband had died, detailing how she would receive calls for some of the most rich and powerful people around and how she was privy to various secrets that could end their businesses - or hers - if she had ever spilled the beans.

Not literally obviously.

Tho' the thought of a naked, baked bean smothered Larson is worth taking a minute to think about.

Check the shirt.


Luckily for us the film isn't all old lady chat and boring tales of life in a small town as soon enough dishy Deborah is wandering around the garden barefoot and trying to attack various members of the crew with spoons leading her local GP, Dr. Nazir (Ex Canadian Armed Forces and TV fave Bedian) to believe that the disease is far more aggressive and advanced than first thought.

Not being an expert on such matters Luis is curious to find out if Deborah's habit of levitating in the kitchen and speaking French (very sexily I might add) is also a symptom of the disease. His concerns are swiftly dealt with by all concerned with a loud "You're talking the utter bollocks."

And loudest of all in their condemnation is Deborah's old friend and neighbour Harris Tweed (Potato nosed Cutrona) who is adamant that Sarah send the film crew away, accusing them of causing Deborah's descent into dementiadom.

Oblivious to everyone’s concerns  Deborah is having a whale of a time sitting stark naked at her old switchboard, her peachy arse perched saucily on her old work chair as she babbles on about raging rivers, human sacrifices and slithering snakes to a mysterious stranger on line 337 of her switchboard.

Or should that be witchboard?


Your gran DJ-ing at the old folks Christmas party yesterday.
After much - well a wee bit of - investigation (basically they asked the neighbours) our concerned crew discover that line 337 belonged to local physician cum cannibal kiddie killer Henry Desjardins (Campbell whom, it appears has made it his life to play doctors - onscreen that is, not too sure about real life), a very bad man who mysteriously disappeared after it was found that he'd murdered four local girls.

Blimey what a rotter.

All this old lady lewdness and killer confessions proves too much for poor Gavin tho' and he quits, returning to play Detective Feders in the The Red Road leaving  Luis and Mia to finish the documentary alone.

Which isn't as bad as it seems seeing as there's actually not much they can film at the moment seeing as Deborah's been hospitalized for her own safety.

If I were Mia I'd cut my losses, get Sarah drunk, well drunker, and make some lesbian porn.

She might not pass her course but I'm sure she'd make more cash from that than from the documentary.

Anyway back to the plot where Mia and the others have realized that the movie has reached the halfway point so it's time to get all that pesky backstory about Desjardins explained in full and tied into the main plot, so it's off to see local historian and paranormal buff Professor Franklin Exposition.

She's got something to put in you.


After much humming, hawing and looking intensely at a variety of old books the Professor explains that Desjardins reason for killing the girls was in order to  re-create an ancient demonic ritual that would make him immortal - which is nice - but unfortunately (for Desjardins that is) the ritual called for deaths of five girls and that all of them had to have recently had their first 'womens period'.

Whatever that is.

So can you guess who the fifth victim was to be?

Yup, after hassling Harris, Mia and co. find out that Deborah had overheard Desjardins plan for Sarah to be his fifth victim and that the pair had murdered the doctor before burying his body in the garden.

Could Desjardin have returned from beyond the grave (OK from behind therose bush) and even now be attempting to use Deborah's Alzheimer addled body to complete the ritual?

It would explain her obsession with trying to abduct a bucktoothed young cancer patient named Cara from the hospital wouldn't it?

Accepting everything that they've been told without question Mia and Sarah begin a desperate race against time to find a way to stop the unearthly Desjardin from completing his plan and hopefully save Deborah's very soul in the process.

Because let's be honest here, she's so far gone I doubt there'd be anything else worth salvaging.

They don't have to look too hard for a solution tho' as the Professor is soon back in contact with them explaining that his pal George once saw a similar case in Africa.

What are the chances?

You see there was this grieving mum who was, it seems possessed by the spirit of her dead son.

And the only way to free her?

Easy, they got a local witch doctor to burn the boys corpse.

Sorted.

"Stay back! This Kinder Egg is all mine!"



As if things couldn't get any better it looks like they wont even have to search for Desjardins body,seeing as dishy Debs has already dug it up and popped it in the attic for safe keeping.

Unfortunately it's way too damp and sticky to burn.

Meanwhile back at the hospital Harris is busying himself trying to carry out Deborah's last wish, which by the look of things is to be smothered by an overweight old man whilst wriggling her hips suggestively.

Desjardin's spirit has other ideas tho' and proceeds to batter Harris around the head with a handy TV set.

Tempting....


Deciding that it'd probably be easier to burn a child killers corpse in an ER waiting room than in a kitchen Sarah, Mia and Luis rush to the hospital only to discover that Deborah has not only succeeded in kidnapping poor Cara but also suddenly gained the ability to spit poison in a snake-like manner at the various security guards and staff that have tried to stop her.

Creepy.

Let's just hope that she stopped to get Cara a hat on the way out.

"Shite in mah big serpant mooth!"


With Deborah seemingly headed to the very location where Desjardins had murdered all of his previous victims, it's left to Sarah and Mia(alongside Sarah's old crush Deputy Linda Twee) to prevent the ritual being completed.

Oh and to keep the camera running and in focus obviously, I mean this is a found footage movie after all.

Jill Larson: Twice.

 After what seems like an eternity of being subjected to a barrage of badly made found footage fiascoes it's nice to finally see one that's halfway decent and genuinely unnerving.

A pity then that it's problems actually stem from it being found footage (OK faux documentary) as apposed to being shot as a straight horror thriller.

The documentary crew premise although well worn is given a neat twist by having the main protagonist Deborah not as some vulnerable young girl but as a strong older woman and whereas most films of this ilk play on that obscure childhood fear of spirits and demons, here screenwriter Gavin Heffernan alongside director Robitel use the very real fears of ageing and disease as a springboard to play around with these well worn themes in a unique and genuinely unnerving way.

Michelle Ang: if Jill were busy.
 
Kudos to TV veteran Jill Larson, whose central performance as Deborah Logan is not only pitch perfect but acts as an anchor to the other cast members, especially the oft seen and vastly under-rated Anne Ramsay who breathes genuine life into what could be a real cliche of a character.

Yup, as I said the premise is great, the acting top notch and the direction is solid, so it's really upsetting that any tension built up is in danger of being instantly quashed by being shot in shaky cam.

The whole premise of Mia and her crew making a documentary about Alzheimer's would still work fine in 'traditional' film making form but with the added bonus of being able to see stuff properly.

Which would be great when it comes to the big pay off which visually is so unexpected and nightmarish that it deserves more than a wobbly hand cranked close-up.

Anne Ramsay: Surprisingly supple and open to new ideas.


Smaller, spookier and a damn sight scarier than The Possession of Michael King and the like The Taking of Deborah Logan may not re-invent the genre but it plays around with its conventions just enough to stay with you long after viewing.

And is entertaining enough to forgive the surprise twist that is so obviously signposted from the halfway point that you'd be surprised if anything but that happened at the end.

Just turn off before the Bugs Bunny kid turns up turns up to taint your memory  of Jill Larson in the cave based climax.

You'll thank me in the morning.










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Tuesday, October 22, 2019

family plot.

The Rise of Skywalker simplified.


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Wednesday, October 16, 2019

blond on blond.


More mucky masterpieces from the world of Italian comics, ladies and gentlemen I give you Vipera Bionda (AKA Blond Viper), pervy protagonist of the comic series of the same name.

Enjoy!















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Monday, October 14, 2019

fancy.

Happy birthday to my real dad, the utterly wonderful Udo Kier.


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Saturday, October 12, 2019

to infinity and beyond.



Robert Forster 
13 July 1941 - 11 October 2019





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Thursday, October 10, 2019

lost and found.

Found on a street in Glasgow, this cruelly discarded Aquaman sticker.

Look at the state of it, Jason Momoa will be spinning in his grave.

Minor superhero sticker abuse.

Together we can stamp it out.


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Tuesday, October 8, 2019

Operazione paura: halloween special.

 Yup it's that time of the year when I share those pesky (patented) Arena of The Unwell Halloween party mixes.....enjoy!










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Sunday, October 6, 2019

body rock.

Just a quickie today as I was all set to review Murder Rock then realised I'd done that a few months back.

Enjoy.

Aerobicide (AKA Killer Workout, 1986).
dir: David A Prior.
Cast: Marcia Karr, David James Campbell, Fritz Matthews, Ted Prior, Teresa Van Der Woude and Teresa Truesdale.

"Just relax, I'm not some crazy killer."




Horse of face and pube of perm 'fashion' model Valerie (Karr from Real Genius, Savage Streets, Maniac Cop and latterly your local chippie) is excited to discover she's been chosen as the cover star of the new issue of Love it! Magazine (or something) to illustrate a story about infanticide or genital warts (don't have the issue to hand, sorry) and, eager to be at her most orange for the photo shoot heads off to the local gym to use the sun bed.

Unfortunately a freak accident means the machine cooks Valerie so they have to go with a I murdered my kids for talking during I'm A Celebrity/Jordan: my tits make my back ache cover instead.

Which is a shame really as the original idea would have probably gotten them some new - non granny based violence obsessed - readers.


Love it!





With the backstory out of the way we (as in the viewer) jump forward several years - and a dozen crimes against fashion - later and find ourselves (via the medium of film, not in reality obviously) in the middle of a funky Hi-Energy workout complete with dodgy 80's synth pop, crack splitting leotards and over ripe bouncy breasts where the sexily strict gym manager - and Crispy Valerie's twin sister - Rhonda (Karr again) runs the classes with a rod of iron, saving the worst of her venom for the sassy  Jaimy (Woude, star of Night Visitor) and local chubster Jimmy (mightily mulleted Matthews from Deadly Prey and The Devil's Rain) because, um, reasons.



No need.



Luckily for the viewer these soap opera shenanigans are quickly put on hold when keep fit enthusiast Rachel (queen of the walk on Truesdale) is stabbed in the showers by a nutter wielding a giant safety pin.

No, really.

Which is annoying for Jaimy whose (sweaty) jockstrap stealing antics are cruelly curtailed when Rachel's bloodied corpse falls out of a locker on top of her.

Enter (not literally mind) the Caramel faced Lieutenant Morgan (blond bruiser Campbell) who's brought in to investigate the murder and add some much needed testosterone to the proceedings.


Knife to see you, to see you, knife.





Whilst Morgan is roughing up the clientèle, Rhonda is surprised to find a strange man named Chuck (Ted - slightly less ugly brother of the director - Prior) ransacking her office.

Tho' not her orifices, obviously.

It appears her business partner has hired Chuck to, um, do stuff.

Oh and to have a vaguely homo-erotic fight with Jimmy in the car park.

Excitedly watching from the sidelines is Jimmy's ex girlfriend (whose name escapes me) who, overcome with lust for Chuck invites him back to her apartment for a quick shag and a biscuit.

As is the norm, the post sex chat quickly comes (tho' not as quick as Chuck) around to her ex, who it appears she dumped because he liked to 'tie girls up and stuff' making him the number one suspect for Rachel's murder.

I know, I can't figure that one out either.

Anyway, Chuck is too interested in watching the ladies ample breasts bob up and down in a slightly hypnotic way to really take anything in tho'.

As was I if I'm honest.

Juliet Bravo!


Luckily I snapped back to reality in time to see the local bad boys spraying death spa all over the gym's walls before being dispatched by the unseen killer.

Why?

Didn't he like the font they used?

Morgan appears to be as much use as a chocolate starfish as more and more supple, toned (dead) bodies turn up forcing him to run around accusing everyone of being the killer whilst Rhonda sticks her chest out and glares at the rest of the cast.

Bizarrely enough the small matter of the killings doesn't seem to have bothered the local fitness freaks at all, seeing as the gym seems busier than ever.

And if that isn't a metaphor for Brexit I don't know what is.


Same shit, different smell.





So, who is the workout obsessed killer?

Will anyone tell Rhonda that her bra is about three sizes too small?

And will Jimmy win back the heart (and not to mention huge breasts) of his ex?

To be honest, there aren't enough hours in the day to care really.



Every need yet no need at the same time.





The horror equivalent of itchy anal warts, Aerobicide takes your basic slasher plot, gets it drunk on cheap lager in a sleazy night club and buys it a kebab before roughly buggering it in the cab on the way home then kicking it out of the backdoor onto a dirty piece of wasteland half naked and bleeding.

Director Prior (he of, oh fuck it I can't be bothered listing the unadulterated shite he's been involved in, just look him up) takes a surprisingly competent cast and forces them to stand around in vomit inducing luminous 80's dance fashions whilst spouting whatever inane sentences just happen to come into their heads.

And my word what heads the cast have.

There are mullets, poodle perms and giant blonde barnets that look like they'd snap if tugged too hard, it's painfully obvious to anyone watching that the ozone hole is all the fault of this movie.

But all that fades when compared to the outfits paraded on screen - day-glo vests, spandex snatch splitters, shiny leotards and leg warmers are the order of the day whilst the electropap score kills any chance of suspense before it can rear it's head.

Bloody abysmal.

And I love it.

Tomorrow, something good.


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