Friday, May 29, 2020

thought of the day.




mind your language.

Since lockdown myself and the boychild have been amusing ourselves by taking daily walks up the woods and along the canal.

No idea why this film came to mind during yesterdays walk tho'.....

Risky to write NHS on this lock, if any Tories see it they'll probably try and sell it. Bastards.



Invaders of The Lost Gold (AKA Horror Safari, Safari of No Return, Greed 1982).
Dir: Alan Birkinshaw.
Cast: Stuart Whitman, Edmund Purdom, Woody Strode, Laura Gemser, Harold Sakata, David De Martyn and Glynis Barber.


Mmmmmm.....starburst effect.





The year is 1945 and somewhere deep within the lush, verdant jungles of the Philippines a crack squad of (really sweaty) Japanese soldiers and their native minions are carrying huge wooden crates of gold to the coast where it will be shipped back to Japan to help the war effort.

All is going to plan until the (frighteningly bare arsed) local cannibal tribe decide it would be a good laugh to jump out of the bushes and start firing arrows at the unfortunate soldiers before beheading them and dancing about with the said heads on poles.

Which is nice.

The Chuckle Brothers have let themselves go.






After an out of focus minor skirmish the Japanese that still have their heads attached run away and hide the gold under a pile of leaves in a nearby cave before beating a hasty retreat back to the Holiday Inn or wherever they've been staying during the films production.

Before leaving tho' they make a vow to one day return together to retrieve the booty.

Without warning we suddenly jump forward in time 36 years to join weaselly Englishman Rex Larsen ('B' movie ne'er was Purdom) as he cruises the mean streets of Tokyo looking for the three surviving soldiers to 'persuade' them to take him to the caves so he can get his stinky little mitts on the gold.

Things aren't going that well for poor Rex tho' as a mix of bad manners (and bad luck) means that he accidentally killed the first soldier he came across (oops) and the second one he spoke to committed Hari Kari.

Must be his aftershave.

Or his rotten fish breath.



Mark attempts his party stopping Fatty Arbuckle impression.



Luckily the surviving squaddie, Mr. Jeff Tobachi is always looking for ways to fund his pie habit and offers to lead a team to the cave for a very generous 30% and all the cakes he can eat.

All that's left now is to get Brit Toff Douglas Jefferson (De Martyn in his only big screen role. Shame) to put up the cash for the expedition and pick a motley band of adventurers to head out into the jungle to retrieve the gold.

Rex is very annoyed to hear that Jefferson is insisting on using piss stained mercenary Mark Forrest (one time star and full time alcoholic Troy Tempest lookalike Stuart Whitman) to lead the team, it appears Rex and Mark have a history (but not of the sexy kind) and the thought of having to share a tent with him has left Rex all riled.


Yes, the film is really this fucking grim.



Cut to grainy (well grainier than the rest of the film) footage of sexy bar signs and slinky hipped oriental girls dancing badly. In between the baying sailors and bespectacled tourists is our hero Mark slumped over a bottle of finest J & B and dribbling like a baby.

It's right about now that we meet Cal (Strode), Mr. Jefferson's right hand man, who's been sent to find Forrest and offer him a deal.

Pausing only to admire the dancers stomach muscles his enjoyable night out is spoiled by one of the group of sailors standing in front of him turning round and uttering the immortal (and possibly fairly offensive line) "Check out the big black bastard here!".


Some gammons social distancing yesterday.



Ignoring the barrage of - not so - thinly veiled insults as he bops along to the glorious disco sounds Cal finally loses his cool when one of the sailors admits to 'not liking niggers' causing the until now calm Cal to become a frenzied fight machine intent on kicking the absolute shite out of anything and anyone near him.

This is enough to sober up Mark who decides to join in.

Waking in the cells all snuggled up the next morning Mark and Cal have a quick chat about jungle trips before bidding their farewells and going their separate ways.

Mark however is interrupted a few hours later still drunk and mid shandy by Jefferson clutching a wad of cash.

Before Mark gets the wrong idea Jefferson explains that the money is to secure his services as team leader for the expedition.

Mark hiccups and drops off to sleep in a warm bed of his own urine.


"Mooooooooooooooon!"

 Jefferson has only one option left open to him and that's to send his beautiful young daughter Janice (Glynis - Dempsey and Makepiece - Barber in a shocking wig) to seduce Mark into coming.

On the jungle trip obviously.




"To me!" "To you!"




Well this seems to do the trick as next thing we known he's standing on the bow of a boat in all his safari shirted, open necked, man breasted glory as a team of stereotypical natives carry tins of peaches and condensed milk on board.

One of the party appears to have there own (evil) agenda tho' and if that wasn't enough, Mark's ex girlfriend the sultry Maria (purring pussycat Gemser) and her chubbie hubbie are acting (if that's not too strong a word) as guides for the team.

With this mix of ex minxes, jolly Japs, evil Englishmen and alcoholic Americans what could possibly go wrong?


Sing Lofty.


They've only just finished setting up base camp before the horrible (and 'accidental') deaths begin.

First up Maria's fat hubby is killed by a snake (after first embarrassingly having a tent collapse on top of him) then a nameless man is killed in slow motion by a photo of a crocodile (or five photo's of a crocodile in a jammed, second hand Viewmaster, tho' it may have been an alligator the picture was so scratchy it was hard to tell) and Rex disappears (whilst shaving no less).

Mark, between bouts of drinking and sticking it in Janice decides that the merry gang should stick together in case anyone else suffers a mysterious accident which is Maria's cue to go skinny dipping (she's already disappointed us by not having a big sexy lesbian shagfest - as she does in every other one of her movies - with Glynis so this is the next best thing).


"Not my wanking hand!"





After a good (and I do mean good) ten minutes of Lovely Laura frolicking about in the water the soundtrack goes all sinister whilst the picture went all grainy and slow-mo.

I actually thought my player, having finally had enough of all the shite I force it to play had become sentient and decided to end it all.

Worriedly fiddling with the front of the player whilst randomly hitting buttons on the remote control I was brought back to reality by Ms. Gemser's shrill screams as an unseen horror appeared to do bad things to her under the water.

Or something.

Anyway the next thing we know she's lying face down in a puddle, her arse shivering in the cold air as Cal shoots at something strange in the trees.

Yup, after 30 minutes screen time and nary a minge-munching in sight Gemser is out of the picture.

I know the lovely Glynis is still around but honestly what are the chances of her wanking off a monkey at the directors request?


Gemser: Ask your (grand) dad.


Now everything has gone to Hell in a handbasket (I still have no idea what that means), Mr. Tobachi is sweatily blaming Cal, Mark is feverishly searching for a bottle of scotch to dull the pain of the script and Cal is playing guitar as Janice and her dad stand around looking like right tits in their pith helmets.

But the quest for the gold must continue tho' as there's still 25 minutes left on the running time (not to mention that seeing as there are less folk now it means the survivors will get more cash) but will any of them make it out alive?

Will Cal fall off a rope bridge and fall to his death in a 'bottomless' 15 feet deep cravas?

Will Jefferson end up skewered like a big leathery posh kebab?

Will Tobachi ever have a full tummy and will the cannibals re-appear to protect their sacred land?

You'll have to see Invaders of The Lost Gold to find out.

Tho' the answer is rather upsettingly no to the last one by the way.





Same shit, different smell.





Invaders of the Lost Gold is one of those unique movies that transcends it's simple, cack handed film making roots to become something so much more.

You actually begin to feel sorry for the cast and crew as the film plays out it's threadbare plot, taking the obvious pain and hurt in their eyes as your own, every disappointed glance and hungover action begins to affect you on a personal level, almost as if you been the victim of some cruel crime from which you suffer waking nightmares and flashbacks.


 
"Put it in me!....oh wait somebody already did".





After a gung ho opening that offers us guns, gold and gory cannibal action the film jumps forward in time and grinds to a halt never regaining its momentum as it's unfortunate cast are forced to deliver clichéd line after clichéd line whilst wandering around the directors garden in the vain hope we'll think they're in the jungle.

Minutes of valuable screen time is used showing the cast erecting brightly coloured garden party marquees on freshly cut grass whilst chatting inanely about about the green jungle hell and the dangers therein when (as viewers will testify) the only danger facing anyone is the very real possibility of Stuart Whitman collapsing from too much drink, his puffy red eyes and hideously sun burnt neck reminding one of the old tramp you always find sprawled out in the local kiddies play park on hot summer days.


Arse.



True, there are some scenes of genuine horror in the movie but they're inadvertently the ones where the geriatric and bloated Whitman is giving it full on tongue action with the fresh faced Glynis Barber.

You can almost hear the strain of his trousers as he gets more excited than he has for years (or at least since his last drink) and this image if nothing else will haunt me till the day I die.

Add to that the fact that this was made the same year as Raiders of The Lost Ark and you can be guaranteed a chill down your spine just thinking about it, I mean what was director Alan Birkinshaw on?


Rod Steiger, up the casino, Clackton, 1982.....YESCH.


Whatever it was he must have continued taking them seeing as he followed up this classic with the terrifying straight to video hell that is The Best of Gilbert and Sullivan (featuring one time Master Peter Pratt) and the star studded An Orchestral Tribute to the Beatles (?) before 'modernizing' a couple of Edgar Allen Poe and Agatha Christie stories and redeeming himself with three episodes of the fantastic Gerry Anderson 'cops in space' show Space Precinct.

His last known whereabouts was directing the German Teevee series Die Unbestechliche in 1997.

He's been missing ever since.

It's just a pity this film isn't.

But saying that, if you follow this blog chances are you'll love it.

I know I did.

Monday, May 25, 2020

joe le taxi.

Dario Argento and women in taxis....an ongoing project.









Sunday, May 24, 2020

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 93).

Christel Bodenstein, most famous for her portrayal of
the haughty princess in The Singing Ringing Tree.











Friday, May 22, 2020

beat surrender.

After revisiting the Naschy-tastic Horror Rises From The Tomb t'other night I thought it was only fair to rewatch the (semi) sequel.

Not just because it's bloody brilliant but because the last time I watched/reviewed it no-one noticed.

Which is fair enough I guess.



Panic Beats (1983).
Dir: Paul Naschy.
Cast: Paul Naschy, Julia Saly, Lola Gaos, Frances Ondiviela and Silvia Miró.






It is the ye olden times somewhere in the French countryside (again) and top TeeVee weathergirl Carol Kirkwood (or a very convincing lookie-likey) is running naked and blood spattered thru' the fog enshrouded trees in an attempt to escape an unseen assailant.

Well either that or she's late for work.

Stumbling thru' the mist and dodging a collection of plastic joke shop skulls she soon stumbles to the ground, turning to face her tormentor - a clanking, wide-hipped knight carrying a blood stained mace.

Behold the stare of the evil Alaric de Marnac - last seen being bested by button nosed uber-babe Emma Cohen in the afre-mentioned Horror Rises From The Tomb.

Yup, that'll be Paul Naschy then.

Lifting his helmet visor our bearded badman raises his mace (which surprisingly for Naschy isn't a euphemism) and begins to strike down on the poor presenter.


Your mom after bingo night.



No sooner has this blood drenched big bushed beating begun than we're transported - thru' the power of shitey synth score and clumsy dissolves - to 'the modern day' and the city of Paris to be more precise where we meet the portly - yet clean shaven - Paul de Marnac (Naschy again, you know the drill), another distant relative of the evil Alaric who is busy discussing how best to deal with his fur coat wearing and possibly knicker-less wife Geneviève's (vacant eyed Naschy regular and Night of The Seagulls star Saly) fragile health.

Yup the poor woman suffers from a weak heart and 'the nerves', so the family doctor advises Paul to take her up the de Marnac ancestral house (which is in fact a house, a very big house in the country which used to belong to General Franco in real life fact fans) to recuperate.

As with the last film the pair are accosted on their journey by a pair of ragamuffins giving Paul a chance to show off the karate skills he learned filming The Beasts' Carnival in Japan three years earlier before getting back in the car and heading off to the house.

No matter how hard she tweaked Frances Ondiviela just couldn't tune her full size Ronko Naschy Radiogram to 6Music.


Arriving later than planned the pair are greeted by the a pound shop Mrs Doyle the almost mummified Maville (The Legend of Blood Castle's Gaos) and her naughty niece Julie (Ondiviela, a dirty minded dream in denim obsessed with Dexy's Midnight Runners last seen in Un refugio para el amor), who takes an instant dislike to poor Genevieve, thinking herself more worthy of some Naschy nuptials.

Saucy.

As the weeks go by tho' Genevieve and Julie grow closer, taking long walks in the woods whilst the minx-like maid regales the wobbly wifey with tales of the infamous Alaric and how he rises from the grave every hundred to murder unfaithful women with a mace.

This all began when he discovered his own wife being bummed by a binman all those years ago and his reputation grew from there.

Surprisingly tho' there's absolutely no mention of the cannibalism, blood-drinking, drawing penises on pictures of the mayor, buggery, false promises of 350 million quid to the NHS post Brexit and human sacrifice that he was accused of (alongside what we must now assume was his second wife) in the earlier film.

Which is kinda frustrating for those of us with a hard on for continuity fests.

Not to worry tho' as no doubt Naschy will appear topless at some point giving us at least something to spill our seed over.


"Chase me now!"



This knowledge seems to trigger something in Genevieve's muddled mind and it's not long before she's seeing snakes slithering across tombstones, scary suits of armour wandering around the drawing room and skulls in the butter dish, causing her health and her mind to grow ever more fragile.

Meanwhile Paul is making more and more frequent trips to Paris due, he says, to 'work commitments' tho' in reality he's off visiting his mistress Mireille (bird-faced, perm-headed Miró) whose first appearance, sprawled across a cheap motel bed resplendent in a skin-tight leopard print cat-suit (and tiny skirt) ranks as probably the most erotic scene ever committed to celluloid.

Even the bright pink bedside lap looks rude.

"Easy tiger....um leopard!" - I really didn't think that one thru' did I? Should have really made a pussy joke and be done with it.



But that's not the only girl trouble Paul has, as you see he's also actually in love with Julie and it transpires that she's been feeding Genevieve all these horrific stories in order to give her a heart attack so she can have Paul (and his massive girth) all to herself.

Well she's only flesh and blood.

It's not like a man of Naschy's stature would write in all those scenes of younger and younger women throwing themselves at him for any other reason than to forward the plot is it?

Bored with playing second fiddle to the by now shot to fuck Genevieve, Julie hatches the ultimate plan to rid herself of her love rival and with the help of the two robbers from earlier (whom Paul has said have been killed by the police), the always present armour and a handy pound shop skeleton mask and with poor Maville drugged into unconsciousness the pair finally rid themselves of Paul's pesky wife before jumping into bed together to celebrate.

Little do they realise tho' that Maville is watching.

Heading off to Paris to oversee the funeral Paul is shocked to find Mireille lounging in his flat naked and with a big cigar in her mouth and a plan to marry him herself.

With no other option left to him our hero indulges in 'the sex' with her before attempting to strangle his lover in her sleep with a silk stocking.

Unfortunately his almost constant breaking wind wakes Mireille up and the pair have breakfast instead.

Just like your parents used to.

Stressed to fuck and feeling flustered Paul returns home (his other home obviously) only to be confronted by Maville who demands that he be a good boy and dump the evil Julie.

With no other choice left to him he sets up an elaborate trap which causes the old lady to fall down the stairs and, um bang her head leaving Julie no option but to strangle her aunt.

As they attempt to hide the body tho' who should turn up unannounced but a thigh-booted  is interrupted Mireille wearing what looks like the cast of The Lion King on her back and demanding sex from her boss.

The request is met by an axe in the stomach and head by Julie. 

Frances Ondiviela: you would, I would, your dad did. Twice.
Tidying away the bodies and scrubbing the floors clean the pair are soon wed and enjoying almost constant sexual shenanigans.

Well Paul is because it seems that Julie is playing a longer game.

You see she's been in contact with the mysterious 'Maurice' - her ex pimp cum drug dealer cum lover with whom she's been planning to kill Paul and inherit his cash.

What a rotter.

...And here's Carol with the weather....and it looks like damp patches all round.


Will Paul get wise to his wife's wicked ways or will he did an embarrassing death by nude electrocution in a tiny bath tub?

Will Julie actually succeed with her plan to inherit the de Marnac fortune or will the evil Alaric (who's been conspicuous by his absence) actually turn up to extract revenge on her for abusing his family?

And will Julie ever put on the saucy maid outfit again that she wore for one scene earlier or will I have to just screengrab it for posterity?






Written and directed by Naschy himself as well as being produced by star Saly,  Panic Beats is a bizarro follow up cum remake of the aforementioned Horror Rises from the Tomb (1973) but this time with an added dash of Les diaboliques (1955) and Hitchcock's Rebecca (1940) for good measure.

Look if you're gonna steal then steal from the best.

But those unaccustomed Naschy's oeuvre who might be expecting a straight sequel may be a little confused as, much like the great man's Daninsky Werewolf movies, Naschy eschews the whole formula of a continuing story arc, preferring instead to re-use characters and situations within a completely unrelated story giving the whole thing a sense of deja vu at times, especially when Paul and Genevieve are accosted by robbers on the road.

Good job then that viewers never tire of Naschy - quite literally - throwing his weight around.

Luckily for the most part the movie does it's own thing and Naschy plays the whole idea of Genevieve's faltering mental state at a slow, almost funeral pace occasionally throwing in some shocks or nudity to keep the viewers interest as the double crossing deals are uncovered.

And it's this part of the plot if anything that falls flat seeing as the cast is so tiny (and Naschy such a showman) that it'd be a surprise if it were anyone but him (and Julie) behind the murder plot.

It's a wee bit like the revelation in Count Dracula's Great Love that the mysterious Doctor Marlow is, in fact, the bloodsucking Count.

I mean Paul Naschy has spent the last 40 odd minutes wandering around in a cape avoiding sunlight....who else is it going to be?

Luckily once the revelations and back-stabbings are revealed there's enough of them to keep you interested.

And it's almost as if Naschy knows that at points the plot gets maybe a wee bit too ludicrous so every now and then he gets Frances Ondiviela (or Silvia Miró or even Naschy himself) to strip naked and take your mind off it.

Which is very thoughtful of him, if only Rian Johnson had done this with The Last Jedi then it might have just been watchable.

"Hello are you the blind man?"

Talking of watchability the cast on show here (in more ways than one) are all top notch, from Julia Saly's waif-like Genevieve to Frances Ondiviela's bad girl antics via Silvia Miró's fantastically frightening fashion choices every one's a winner - mad, bad and dangerous to know but all linked by their unearthly (some would say ungodly) attraction to Naschy.

Tho' they're only flesh and blood. 

 As are we all when it comes to the great mans movies and as with most (all?) of them, Panic Beats is a thoroughly enjoyable experience that's a heady mix of gloomy gothic horror and gory giallo.

Yes it's true that the mystery aspect is more Agaton Sax than Agatha Christie but this just adds to its charm.

Scarier than your dad drunk and sexier than your wee sister on smack Panic Beats is a must see.

No, really.


Wednesday, May 20, 2020

head the ball.

Rewatched this last night.

Well that was short and to the point.


Horror Rises From The Tomb (1973).
Dir: Carlos Aured.
Cast: Paul Naschy, Emma Cohen, Helga Liné, Cristina Suriani, Julio Peña, Montserrat Julio, Betsabé Ruiz, Elsa Zabala, María José Cantudo, Juan Cazalilla and Vic Winner.

Bloody Hell my spellcheck has had a breakdown after that.









It's sometime in the late Middle Ages in a playpark somewhere in France (played in this case by Madrid doing a passable impression of a shit-covered French field) where a pair of French nobletypes -  Armand du Marnac (Naschy, nuff said) and his pal Andre Roland (Winner from Count Dracula's Great Love) are busy leading a group of soldier types who are in turn taking a black-clad duo to their deaths via an old cart pulled by cows.

Obviously the films budget would only stretch to two horses and the stars have those.

Turns out that the two prisoners are Armand’s brother, Alaric (Naschy again but this time in a comedy beard) and his girlfriend Mabille de Lancre (Liné, who appears in this blog so often I really should just name it after her and be done with it) both of whom have been convicted of not only crimes against fashion but also of cannibalism, blood-drinking, drawing penises on pictures of the mayor, buggery, false promises of 350 million quid to the NHS post Brexit and human sacrifice.

Which is nice.

After cursing his brother and his descendants Alaric is quickly beheaded (mainly so as you don't see the cut 'tween Naschy and the shop window dummy with a hastily painted balloon head) whilst Mabille is stripped naked, hung upside down by her ankles and whipped a bit to a spooky organ soundtrack.



Maybe she's born with it?


With all this breast-based scene setting out of the way we're off to 70s sunny Paris (or at least a wee bit of Naschy's holiday Super 8 footage) where dumpy descendant Hugo du Marnac (yup it's Naschy yet again) has just popped round to tell his artist friend Maurice (Winner back for more) that his girlfriend, the council estate Elle Fanning Paula (Experiencia prematrimonial’s Suriani), has returned from Germany and is staying with Hugo's squeeze, the frightbrowed Silvie (Return of The Blind Dead and The Loreley's Grasp star Ruiz) and that the boys have been invited round for some Aldi booze based fun.

Unfortunately Silvie has also invited the séance obsessed, professional oldsters  Gail (The Blood-Spattered Bride's Julio) and Sean (Satanik's Peña) over for the evening and they soon dominated the proceedings with chat pertaining to the spooky psychic medium Madam Irina Kormorova (high Scrabble scoring Zabala from your granddad's bed) and her ability to converse with the dead.

Sean and Gail suggest that they all go and see her and the gang excitedly agree.

Maurice however being sensible (and having a painting to finish) declines the invitation and goes home for a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle whilst the rest of the gang grab their jackets and head of to Kormorova's house.

Obviously being a legit psychic she'll know that they're coming.

In both cases.


"Hands on mah table!" - Trump's nightmare.


Hugo, being skeptical about all things paranormal (so it's a good thing he hasn't taken a look at his wig in a mirror then) cheekily suggests that Madam  Kormorova should attempt to contact the spirit of the aforementioned Alaric du Marnac in order to find out if it’s true that his head and body were buried in separate graves on the family estate.

You'll not be too surprised to find that Alaric does indeed appear and not only confirms the facts of his burial but also gives the precise location of where both body and head will be found.

Meanwhile, Maurice too is receiving a visitation from the vengeful spirit in the form of a possessed painting session that climaxes in him producing a picture of Alaric holding his severed head.

Shocked at how shite the actual piece is Maurice quickly destroys it.


I made this.


As you can probably guess the next day our groovy foursome excitedly pack their bags and begin the long drive over to Hugo’s ancestral estate.

Being a Paul Naschy movie tho' nothing is that simple (or logical) so it's not long before the group are attacked by bandits on the road (obviously bored by the lack of British beef to burn) giving our hero a chance to show off his fighting skills before a local lynch-mob arrives and kills the ruffians to death.

Most upsetting tho' is the fact that the bad men have totaled Hugo’s car, forcing him to buy (in the films most exciting scene) what looks like a cheap Chitty Chitty Bang Bang knock off in which to complete the journey.

And this my friends is the kind of thing that made people vote leave*

Finally arriving at the estate Hugo and co. are greeted by Terry Gaston the family butler (giant atomic monster Cazalilla) and his dishy daughters, Elvire (button nosed uber-babe Cohen, who later found fame as Gallina Caponata - the Spanish counterpart to Big Bird in their version of Sesame Street) and Chantal (Cantudo, who's bound to have been in loads of stuff but I can't bother checking) who busy themselves taking the luggage upstairs whilst gazing dreamily at Hugo.

But then again who wouldn't?

"Hello madam....Do you require any scissors sharpening?



As dawn breaks Hugo - alongside Maurice, Gaston and a couple of local ne'er-do-wells are busying themselves digging for Alaric's remains, well the plebs are - Hugo is just standing around like a club-footed catalogue model smoking a fag.

Suddenly Maurice is struck by a bizarre premonition of where Alaric (or at least bits of him) is buried and hurriedly starts to dig up the tomato patch soon uncovering a rusty box that's just about the right size for a human head.

Hmmm.

Ordering the hired help to take the box back to the château, Hugo announces that he'll head into town for a blowtorch (I'm pretty sure that's what he said)  to open the box but not until tomorrow as right now there is booze to be drunk and fags to smoke.

Oh and doe-eyes to make at Elvire behind Silvie's back.

Which is fair enough I guess.

Unfortunately the hired help reckon that they’ve uncovered a box of valuable treasures so decide to wait till nightfall and open it themselves but as they burn it open Gaston appears in the doorway brandishing a rolling pin which is kinda unfortunate for him seeing as the now released head of Alaric is free to extend its evil influence onto one of the thieves who picks up a handy sickle before striking Gaston - and his pal - down.

Wiping the bloodied weapon on Gaston's best shirt he picks up the head and carries it away to the crypt in order to reunite it with its body.

Emma Cohen: You would, I would, your dad probably did. Twice. That's why him and yer maw never talk about that holiday to Benidorm they had in 1973.


Meanwhile back at the château the friends game of Twister is interrupted by the appearance of a blood and snot soaked Elvire and Chantal who have just discovered their dead dad.

Hugo quickly grabs his jacket and alongside Maurice ventures out to find the killer ordering the ladies to go to their rooms and lock the doors until they return.

All except Chantel that is, I mean there's washing up to do and it's not going to clean itself.

As she starts work on removing those stubborn stains that just wont fade (the remains of Hugo's runny egg on toast obviously) the possessed pikey prowls into the kitchen and strikes her down before abducting poor Paula and heading back to du Marnac’s crypt.

Maurice, being slightly fitter - and considerably less portly than Hugo - heads off to look for her leaving his pal to console Elvire over the death of her dad and sister by sticking his engorged member in her.

Which, admit it, we'd all do.

Meanwhile Maurice has ended up hypnotized by Alaric and is ordered to bring Sylvia to the crypt where her life-force will be used to resurrect Mabille de Lancre but not before he's helped attach Alaric's head to his body and removed Mabille's skeleton from its resting place.

And if you thought things couldn't get any worse (either in front of or behind the camera) Alaric has torn out the tramps heart and scoffed it.

Returning with Sylvia (wearing a bri-nylon babydoll nightie that even your nan would balk at for being too whorish, Maurice is forced to look on as Alaric strips her naked and stabs her to death before having a sneaky feel of her boobs and locking her in a coffin where - in an amazing show of quick cuts and sloppy editing Mabille appears in her place looking for all the world like she's set for a night frugging away at Studio 54.

Or at the very least the Astoria in Nottingham**.

The Astoria Nottingham: sequined boob-tubes and wet t-shirts not shown.



The devilish duo waste no time in wreaking their vengeance, mysteriously materialising around town in a puff of purple smoke to have sex with various non-speaking extras before tearing their hearts out and - as an encore - sending an albeit small group of zombies (including Gaston) to attack Hugo and Elvire who by this time have discovered an ancient talisman - cunningly hidden behind the toilet cistern -  that has been in the du Marnac family for centuries and kept just on the off-chance that the evil pair ever returned.

Which is lucky if you think about it.

"Put it in me!"

As the pervy paranormal pairs powers grow it's left to Hugo and Elvire to save the world (well OK the local town) from a deadly plague of sex-based brutality and harsh buggery.

Probably.

Will Maurice regain his free will or at the very least change out of his baby pink shirt?

Will Hugo stop nailing anything that moves?

Will Helga Liné cover up as she looks like she may catch her death of cold?

And will Paul Naschy - after a 10 year wait - end up making a follow up starring the lovely Frances Ondiviela which is just like the original but with more gore, lots more front bums and better wigs?




 Paying homage to - OK totally ripping off - the Will Cowan 1958 American black-and-white 'classic' The Thing That Couldn't Die, Paul Naschy's first collaboration with director Carlos 'The Jackal' Aured (they would later go on to make El Retorno de Walpurgis, Los ojos azules de la muñeca rota and La venganza de la momia together) features nearly everything we know and love about the Naschy oeuvre except werewolves, tho' the stars naturally hairy back and arse near enough makes up for this omission - I mean what other movie can you name that features spooky séances, cannibalism, zombies, random acts of nudity and a lead who changes his outfit almost every scene?

 
You ain't seen me right?



Whether he's punching perverts or putting it in pretty ladies - Naschy is - a ever - totally watchable as both the hero and villain of the piece, admirably aided by genre stalwarts Vic Winner (AKA Víctor Barrera) and the ginger goddess that is Helga Liné working from a script that makes just enough sense as to make the whole absurd thing vaguely plausible.

If you don't think about it too much obviously.

As with most (all?) of Naschy's output what the film lacks in budget, logic and half-way competent dubbing it more than makes up for in sheer chutzpah and if you can switch off your brain and accept Naschy as a love god whom women find irresistible then you'll have no bother accepting (and enjoying) everything else the movie has to offer.

Except maybe some of Paul's more interesting fashion choices obviously.

And I must admit in some scenes it does look like he's applied his foundation with a trowel.   

No matter how hard he tried Jeff Beck just couldn't tune his Ronco Lady0gram to 6 Music.


But let's be honest, there's not much I can say - I mean if you read this blog chances are you'll already be a fan of the great mans work (except if you're one of those folk that only come by to look at the nudity and leave me abuse) but if you've chanced across this by accident then strip down to your pants and excitedly dive into the world of Naschy.

You can thank me later.

Just wash your hands first.
































*Well that and the very English pastime of hating foreigners obviously - thank fuck I live in Scotland as we only have rickets to worry about.



**Or, to give it its proper name, Barry Noble's Astoria.

Barry (now famed for owning most of the UK's penny arcades as well as for owning one of the countries biggest Cyberman memorabilia collections) bought what had earlier been the Astoria Ballroom and then the Sherwood Rooms from Mecca (the bingo hall company not the religious place), turning it into one of the defining clubs of the 80s  - coining the phrase 'Is That Alright Fyuzs' along the way.

Noble: Prize.



On a slightly more sinister note its most famous DJ, Graham Neale (who also did the Castle Rock show on Radio Trent) committed suicide in prison after trying to murder his wife with a hammer.






***Indeed he will and that film shall be called.....