tis the season.....

 Merry Christmas dear reader.

Yes, I assume there's only one of you.

slayer-rific.

This is on the Horror Channel in the UK today at 4:00 PM - a proper Crimbo banger as the kids say.

Enjoy.

And Merry Christmas ya lousy bums.

Hawk The Slayer (1980).
Dir: Terry Marcel.
Cast: John Terry, Jack Palance, Bernard Bresslaw, Morgan Sheppard, Annette Crosbie, Shane Bryant, Ray Charleson, Peter O'Farrell, Patricia Quinn and Catriona MacColl.

I am no messenger. But I will give you a message. The message of DEATH!

It is a time of darkness (around 3:30 in the afternoon by the look of the sky) when evil walks the land.

Witches wander the woods whilst common folk sit on tree stumps wearing tights and tidy beards whilst every bad man possesses a shiny helmet.

One such chrome hatted horror is the wicked Steve Voltan (human handbag Palance in a performance so over the top he's almost in orbit) who, after a huge argument with his dad (probably over not paying his board or being out too late), kills the old fella before doing a runner.

It's like the late lamented Jeremy Kyle show but with more tooled leather.

Enter from stage left the luxurious locked nice son Hawk (John - not the footballer - Terry) who's just turned up to see if his dad needs any shopping done.

Cradling his dying father in his arms (but luckily not in his mooth) our hero listens intently (tho' from Terry's acting he could have constipation) as the old man mutters on about the kids of today having no respect and the price of bread before finally bestowing the mysterious 'Mind Sword' on his son.

A magical bladed weapon with bizarre powers represented by a kids torch stuck to the hilt.

As dad breathes his last Hawk turns to camera and vows to avenge his death.

But not before he gets his hair blow dried and his eyebrows done obviously.

"Don't touch the hair."

Meanwhile Voltan's evil ways have eclipsed the entire kingdom; his followers appear to have stolen all the buildings and replaced them with paintings, night time has been outlawed and replaced with a nicotine filter and the whole country has been reduced to the wooded bit next to the play park behind the directors house, just ever so slightly redressed between scenes in an attempt to confuse the locals.

Luckily there's at least one real building left in the land, a convent run by Victor Meldrew's missis and a last shining beacon of hope in an otherwise dark world.

And currently limping bravely towards this beacon is the bearded and bashed Ranulf (genre stalwart Sheppard), sole survivor of one of Voltan's massacres.

Arriving at the front door he's quickly ushered into the dining hall and in between mouthfuls of egg and cress sandwiches and crisps helpfully informs the nuns  - and by default the viewers - of just how evil Voltan is.

It appears that the evil one attacked Ranulf's village without reason or warning, hacking the women and children to pieces and digging up the adventure playground before twisting the swings around so high that no-one could use them and sitting on the slide.

I shudder as to what he did to the men folk tho' as their fate is never mentioned.

Maybe he sent them to work in his secret licorice mines?

Hel-met.

Luckily for Ranulf he's a fucking good runner  - who seems not too bothered to lose his family, perhaps they weren't speaking?-  and managed to escape before things got too bloody.

Tho' he does appear to have left most of his hand behind and what's left of it is beyond saving,  so the nuns wrap a scarf around it and send him to bed.

On the other - only?- hand his beard and crooked teeth are perfectly fine so it's not all bad.

It's not all saucy young nuns and snacks tho' as before long Voltan appears at the convent intent on bad deeds, first he roughly takes Annette Crosbie to his lair (dirty boy), before demanding 'all the gold!' as a ransom.
 
Understandably pissed off at all these naughty shenanigans Ranulf, blaming Voltan for cutting short his promising career as a professional knitter decides to challenge him to a duel but unfortunately falls for the villains taunts of "I can fight you with one arm behind my back" (probably) which results in our bearded pal getting a damn good kicking.

"You should really see a doctor about that son."

Left battered, bruised and surrounded by crying nuns, Ranulf quickly rides off - he's getting good at this legging it lark - to the Abbey for a meeting with the High Abbot (unfortunately not Russ), who after much chin stroking sends Ranulf off to search for one who can help defeat Voltan.

A man named Hawk.....The Slayer.

Obviously everyone else was busy.

Ranulf quickly begins his quest to find Hawk but is almost immediately  accosted by some gypsies and after refusing to buy some pegs is locked up in a cage.

Come on, how unlucky is this guy?

Help is at hand tho' when Hawk just happens to come riding passed - with his sexy blind sorceress companion (the raunchy redhead that fueled so many teen fantasies thanks to Rocky Horror, Patricia Quinn) that he rescued from being burnt as a witch a few scenes earlier - and kills the dirty criminals using his 'Mind Sword'.

Which it turns out is exactly like a normal sword apart from the fact that it can float into its owners hand as if carried - just out of shot - by a member of the crew.

Spock: The Pikey years.

After listening to Ranulf's tale of woe, Hawk decides to help rescue Ms. Crosbie  and begins to round up his posse from 'the mystic hood' as they probably said in the olden days to kick Voltan's arse.

Contrary to what you might be thinking this isn't as heroic and selfless as it sounds seeing as he was on his way to kill Voltan anyway, it just means that now he'll be getting some readies for doing it so it's not long (well the film has a fairly short running time) before our hero has got his merry band (The Slayerettes?)  together.

"'Ere Sid! This is a real carry on!"

This (slightly) super six consists of Hawk himself, Ranulf, the aforementioned sexy sorceress, a seriously short mallet wielding 'giant' named Gort (Carry On star Bresslaw), an elf dressed in a knitted tracksuit Cameron Crow (Charleson, famous for playing the Bishop in London's first multi-racial production of Jean Genet's 'The Balcony' fact fans) and Alec Baldin (professional short-arse O'Farrell) an overly tall dwarf with a bullwhip, pointy shoes and a fish fetish.

Voltan must be shitting himself.

"Trout in mah mooth!"

Heading back to the convent, our heroes soon get to work protecting the nuns, eating sandwiches and trying to work out how to get enough gold to lure Voltan into a trap.

You see, they've figure out that it'd be impossible to literally get 'all the gold' seeing as no-one is quite sure where it's all kept but reckon that some - mixed inn with some chocolate coins and old Ferrero Rocher packets would probably be better than none.

I mean Voltan only has one good eye so it's not like he'll be looking too closely.

After much deliberation and deciding that whoring out the nuns for pennies would be a bad idea, our heroes decide the easiest way to get the gold is to head out into the woods and relieve Tony Trafficker, the local news agent cum slave trader of his stash.

Oh yeah and free his slaves too obviously.

Surprisingly this all goes without a hitch and our merry band are soon back at the convent celebrating with crisps and lashings of ginger beer.

There's always one miserable git who manages to sour any celebration tho' and in this case it's Hawk himself.

Seems he's beginning to have second thoughts about trusting Voltan to keep his side of the bargain.

Seeing as he's already killed their dad and - in a soft focus flashback sequence - Hawk's wife Eliane (the legend that is Catriona MacColl) you can kinds see where he's coming from.

Pissed up on Buckfast and spoiling for a fight our heroes grab their weapons and head out to Voltan's castle in order to rescue Annette (and no doubt keep the gold for themselves) and hopefully persuade Voltan to change his ways and therefore avoid any unnecessary bloodshed.

Or any prohibitively expensive action sequences obviously.

It'll come as no surprise when I say that this plan fails abysmally and the dirty half dozen end up retreating back to the abbey with bruised ego's and slightly ruddy arses.

From having them kicked that is.

Minds like sewers you lot.

It's not all bad tho' as during the botched rescue, Hawk did manage to run his nephew Drogo thru' with a sword.

Which is nice.

"Buns you say?!?"

Obviously this doesn't go down too well with  Voltan, who on hearing the news of the death of his son goes completely mental and after throwing a dinner service at his trusty servant decides to attack the abbey, kill everybody in it and just take 'all the gold' for himself.

Which if you think about it is much more in keeping with his evil image.

With the help of a well-meaning (yet ultimately misguided) nun he breaks into the abbey whilst everyone is sleeping/hungover and captures our motley crew, tying them up in the basement ready for a wee bit of torture porn.

And he's going to start by introducing his brother Hawk to a red hot poker.

All looks lost but can the sorceress use her magical powers plus her seemingly unending supply of glowing ping-pong balls and silly string to rescue our heroes from evil?

Five go mad on meth.

Before I go any further can I just say I fucking love this movie and nothing - or no-one - will ever change my mind.

It's sad but true that Terry (co-writer and producer of Norman J. Warren's Prey- see? this blog's not just chucked together randomly) Marcel's vastly underrated British entry into the early 80's sword and sorcery genre is often ridiculed for it's poor effects, lack of budget, pseudo-disco score and the varying quality of the performances but if you can look past that lot you'll find a gem as bright as the one in the 'Mind Sword' just under the surface.

Well maybe not that bright otherwise you'd probably go blind but you get the point.

OK I'll admit that the cast are, on the whole as stilted and wooden as the trees surrounding them, but this almost high arch delivery evokes a less sophisticated age.

Take John Terry's performance as Hawk, who's to say that medieval noblemen didn't speak in broad Yankee accents and I've never read anything in history books to say that they had to move their upper bodies whilst talking.

Who knows, it might be that seeing as the 80's was the height of the toy tie-in, Terry might just be the greatest actor of them all, choosing to play Hawk as a living, breathing full size Palitoy action figure.

Now how's that for post modernism?

Luckily the late, great Jack Palance appears to be compensating for everyone else's lack of energy, spitting and snarling every single syllable like some huge brutish bull terrier with it's balls being slowly squeezed by a fresh smelling Emma Thompson whilst Air's Sexy Boy plays in the background and all the time whilst wearing a swing bin on his head.

C'mon, what's not to love?

"Touch my ring!"

Of the other cast members Ray Charleson's portrayal of Crow the Elf, whilst seemingly spookily mysterious to me as a child now just comes across like a whispering pikey peadophile bedecked in his mums best PJ's, which I admit says more about me than him whilst Bernard Bresslaw is basically having a dry run for the same character in Krull a few years later.

Only in that they could afford to give him some built-up shoes and a mask.

Tho' in all honesty it doesn't make it any less a bind to sit thru', at least with Hawk the cast look like they're at least enjoying themselves, unlike Krull where half the budget seems to have gone on inserting poles up the casts arses.

Talking of arses, Patricia Quinn is as sexy/scary (tick as applicable) as she was in The Rocky Horror Picture Show and The Hammer House of Horror episode Witching Time (the first full frontal nudity I ever saw) even tho' she's forced to wear a headband with an eye chalked on it and an old sleeping bag but let's be honest here, can you imagine any other actress managing to pull that off and still look sultry?

Thought not.

Patricia Quinn: You would (and your dad probably did. Twice).

Of the rest of the cast, the fantastic Morgan Sheppard is all hangdog looks, world weary sighs and muscular thighs (well maybe not the last bit) whilst O'Farrell gives it his all, which seeing as he's stuck wearing a pair of child's black ballet tights, winkle-pickers and a hoodie with a plastic mackerel in the pocket is pretty damn good if I'm honest.

Talking of plastic joke shop toys, any film that makes no apologies for using silly string, glowing ping-pong balls, pound shop spiders and hula hoops stolen from the set of Superman II as a serious replacement for a lack of effects budget deserves all the praise you can muster.

I mean you have to at least admire the crews balls for even thinking about attempting a movie of this scale on a budget that wouldn't even begin to cover the cost of Lena Headey's tattoo camouflaging cream on Game of Thrones.

Headey: No reason.

And what of the high energy synth score by ex Six-Five Special and Oh Boy musical director Harry Robertson I hear you ask?

Well it's nothing short of genius, giving Claudio Simonetti a run for his money and perfectly evocative of a spooky age of sorcery, swords and magic.

Albiet one where holiday resort discos are all the rage obviously.

Just give it a listen now and see if you're not transported back to a time of mucky maidens and medieval mayhem.

Or at the very least overtaken by the urge to give your evil sibling a damn good hiding.

Had there been any justice in the world someone would have penned lyrics to this and given us another Eurovision hit thereby ushering in an age of Hawk-based fashions and films.

Instead we got Prima Donna: Love Enough For Two and the cementing of Thatcherism.

Bastards.


But then again, I may be just a sad, sad fan boy who needs to get out more.

dead sexy.

Rewatched the rather splendid (if not a wee bit kinky) Nightmare Castle t'other night, for those who've never seen it it's gloriously gory tale of sex, blood and Barbara Steele featuring Paul Müller as a dodgy doctor doing weird things with his new wife whilst his dead former spouse wanders around breaking stuff.

Obviously I had to follow it almost immediately with The Horrible Dr. Hichcock, another Barbara Steele shocker that spookily has the very same plot that was made a scant two years earlier.

The only difference is this time it's in colour and with the added bonus of a wee bout of necrophilia.

What's not to love?*

The Horrible Dr. Hichcock (1963).
Dir: Riccardo Freda.
Cast: Barbara Steele, Robert Flemyng, Silvano Tranquilli, Maria Teresa Vianello, Harriet Medin and Al Christianson.

His secret was a coffin named DESIRE!

Ginger prince and owner of the biggest sideburns this side of Noddy Holder, Bernard Hichcock (Flemyng, best known for The Blood Beast Terror and dating your nan) is a successful Victorian doctor and pioneer of an experimental new anesthetic for use during surgeries.

The new technique is a roaring success and the doctor alongside his swarthy assistant Dr. Kurt Lowe (Tranquilli from The Legend of Blood Castle) quickly celebrate their medical breakthru' before Hichcock heads home to his spooky mansion, where his wife Margaret (Vianello from The Giants of Thessaly and not much else) is throwing a piano party that very evening.

Paddington.

Arriving home to the dulcet sounds of Margaret’s piano plinking, Hichcock spies a quick glance at his wife's admittedly breathtaking cleavage and almost immediately sneaks off to his bedroom where he instructs their maid Martha (Blood and Black Lace's Medin) to send the guests home and to inform his wife that he's "off to bed".

Heading into the drawing room, Martha gives Margaret the kind of saucily knowing look only found in 1960's European cinema causing her to immediately stop playing and send her guests home.

Margaret then excitedly makes her way to sumptuously silk lined chamber and lays down on an exotic canopied bed, awaiting her husband who soon turns up waving a massive syringe about.

Filling it with a special potion he injects Margaret, waiting until she falls unconscious before jumping onto the bed and giving her an injection of a totally different kind.

And by that I mean he pops his erect penis into her smooth vagina.

Blimey.

"You may feel a little prick".

This seems to be a regular occurrence in the Hichcock household as the following night they're at it again, only this time - for some unknown reason - Hichcock decides to up anesthetic dosage causing Margaret to start convulsing (which in itself is fairly sexy reminding me as it did of Helen Daniels stroke in Neighbours) before dropping dead.

Sinking deep into depression - and wracked with sexual frustration probably - Hichcock orders Margaret to be laid to rest in his laboratory (which he's conveniently converted into a tomb - thank fuck for Habitat) before leaving his mansion in order to 'find himself'.

Twelve years pass before Hichcock returns to his old homestead, bringing with him his exotic new wife Cynthia (Steele), a onetime patient of his that he met whilst moonlighting at a sanitarium just outside West Bromwich.

Cynthia's nervous demeanor and latent mentalism isn't helped by the decrepit state they find the mansion in upon their arrival  (the spooky storm blowing outside doesn't help much either) add to this Martha's thinly veiled hostility and the revelation that the maid’s psychotic sister is living in the house too and it's no surprise that poor Cynthia ends up all a jitter.

Bizarrely enough tho', the thing that tips Hichcock's new bride over the edge and into shaky hand land is the full-size portrait of Margaret (and her cat Jezebel)  that still hangs over the fireplace.

 Deciding it best not to make a fuss tho' Cynthia tries to ignore it and instead concentrate on a spot of redecorating whilst her hubbie goes back to work at the hospital much to the joy of young Dr. Lowe, who was sure he'd be relegated to walk on status and therefore not get to share any screentime with Ms. Steele.

A mooth you'd never tire of shite-in in.

Surprisingly everything seems to be going swimmingly until that is Cynthia begins to have the uncomfortable feeling that someone is creeping around the mansion at night.

Asking Martha if she's allowed her scary sibling to roam around after dark Cynthia is unnerved to discover that she has been sent to an asylum - meaning that either our heroine is going loopy or that someone is indeed stalking her.

Her husband thinks it’s just her mentalism returning but Lowe (having a wee soft spot for the precious porcelain doll that is Barbara Steele but then again, who doesn't?) thinks she's telling the truth.

With the movie at the halfway point at not much having happened (save some nice shots of ghostly boots tiptoeing around the staircase) Cynthia decides to do some investigating of her own.

Her hubbie doesn't really notice - or care - tho' seeing as he's way to busy trying not to shag any corpses of freshly deceased young girls in the hospital morgue.

Yup seems the lack of necrophiliac-based nookie is driving him to distraction.

No childish captions just feminine perfection.

It's not long before Cynthia discovers comes across Martha looking after what she assumes is her sister in an annex just of the old laboratory and confronts her husband with the news.

Imagine her surprise then (but not ours as it's kinda obvious) when he reveals that Martha doesn't have a sister.

Yup, the woman that she’s been caring for is none other than Margaret herself, dazed, confused but very much alive.

You see the overdose that Hichcock administered wasn’t lethal, merely putting her into a deep coma for a few weeks and Martha, whilst hoovering one afternoon whilst the doctor was away discovered her clawing at her coffin lid covered in shite and egg.

Which is nice.

Strangely enough Martha has decided to keep this a secret a secret from the doctor, only confessing the truth when he happens across her one night whilst skulking around the garden one night whilst looking for badgers.

Aroused by Margaret's new corpse-like look, Hichcock follows the only sensible course of action open to him so decides to trap Cynthia in an airtight coffin before draining her blood and injecting it into Margaret.

No, me neither.

Will his vile plan succeed?

Or will Dr. Lowe arrive just in time to save the day?

And will we come across yet another movie in the next few months with this very same plot?

From director Riccardo Freda (the man behind the 1948 version of Les Misérables fact fans) comes a deliciously deadly drama of dodgy deviants, dastardly doctors and damsels in distress which mixes nightmarish gothica, necrophilia and natty lighting with the ultimate scream queen in the perfect form of Barbara Steele.

With a script by Eurohorror stalwart Ernesto Gastaldi - who wrote everything from The Long Hair Of Death to Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion via Your Vice Is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key and 2019: After the Fall of New York, see how many you've seen - the film attempts to marry Mario  Bava inspired visuals with the "explained supernatural" storytelling style of the 18th century author Ann Radcliffe in a highly enjoyable -  if a rather silly - way.

This is due in part to the myriad of production problems that beset the film, giving director Freda no choice but to cut many of the scenes that offered any explanation (or logic) to the doctors actions leaving us with visually stylish movie with fag packet motivation and nonsensical reasons for what we see on screen.

Which frankly adds to the general bizarreness of the proceedings no end.

Harsh.

With a top notch cast (is Barbara Steele ever anything other than perfect?) and a vivid over the top style and delivery usually reserved for Christmas pantomimes The Horrible Dr. Hichcock is a gem of a movie that not only deserves to be seen but demands a big budget remake with Eva Green and Richard E Grant.

The campaign to make it happen begins here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Your sister obviously.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 101).

American half-blood witch Porpentina Esther "Tina" Scamander (née Goldstein) as portrayed by Katherine Waterston in the Fantastic Beasts saga.

roy castle.

What would make a better Christmas gift than a movie featuring the lady legend that is Barbara Steele?

 A film featuring two Barbara Steele's obviously.

And one is in a blonde wig!

What's not to love?

Apart from the nonsensical plot obviously.

Nightmare Castle (AKA The Faceless Monster, 1965).
Dir: Mario Caiano.
Cast: Barbara Steele, Paul Müller, Helga Liné, Marino Masé, Rik Battaglia

and Giuseppe Addobbati.

You, I will kill you, you tart, you. You and your filthy friend. But death, my dear, must come to you only after I've torn from your bodies all the suffering and pain a human being can stand, and you don't know yet how long it takes to die of pain!

Full-time mad scientist cum part-time street dancer Dr Stephen Arrowsmith (Surrealist horse-visaged Müller from Vampyros Lesbos)  and the stunningly beautiful - and filthily rich - Lady Muriel (Genre Goddess Steele, no introduction necessary) are trapped in a loveless marriage, their bouts of arguing and sniping punctuated by long, uncomfortable silences and knowing looks from their geriatric (tho' she may just be maid of Plasticine it's hard to tell) maid Solange (the luscious Liné from The Loreley's Grasp).

Reminds me of my childhood.

Without the hot German help obviously.

Ours was Swedish.

And a man as I found out on my 15th birthday.

But I digress.

Obviously then our high-cheeked hottie is very happy to find that her horrid hubbie is going away to Edinburgh for a week long mad scientist conference giving her plenty of time to indulge in copious amounts of 'the sex' with David the hunky gardener (billiards-derived indoor table game and star of Yellow Emanuelle, Battaglia).

Which is nice.

As Stephen heads off to Edinburgh, Muriel excitedly - and quite saucily for the early 60s - slips into her best flowing nightie and makes her way to the greenhouse to await for David to work some of his green-fingered magic on her lady garden.

Well it does look like her bush needs pruning.

Sorry.

Stills don't get more erotic than this.

Unfortunately neither Muriel nor David realize that Stephen suspects their indiscretion and has been secretly hiding behind the bins waiting for a signal from Solange and catching them In flagrante delicto (which I'm assuming is a fancy word for a greenhouse) springs his trap.

In a metaphorical way that is, it's not like he has some huge Heath Robinson contraption rigged up behind the rose bushes tho' given his bizarre torture methods later I wouldn't be surprised.

Chaining the couple up in the basement (ah memories) an angry Arrowsmith proceeds to beat the couple with a riding crop whilst waxing lyrical about the nature of love pain and death for what seems like hours before finally tying Murial to a bed before dripping acid onto her favourite dress.

The scoundrel.

But Muriel is defiant to the last, taunting her husband with the fact that she has left her entire fortune to her insane step-sister Jenny.

If she dies then sinister Stephen is out on his ear and penniless.

Unfortunately (for Muriel and David that is) Stephen doesn't care and happily kills the adulterous couple.

His excuse?

He needs their blood for his anti-aging experiments and his supply of frog plasma has run out.

This is important because he's promised to rejuvenate Solange as a thank you for spying on his wife.

Sounds legit.

Here come the Belgians!

But what about the will I hear you cry/type?

Stephen has it all in hand as within a few days of his wife's death he's gone to the local asylum and taken Jenny's hand in marriage.

Tho' seeing as she too is played by the lovely Babs (in a fetching blonde wig) he'd be a fool not to want the rest as well.

Solange is obviously not happy about this - you see she reckoned that now she's all young and sexy again that she’d have the doctor all to herself.

But Stephen is playing the long game.

As in he has a fairly complicated plan not that he's re-watching the rather insipid Christopher Eccleston Doctor Who episode where Simon Pegg takes his orders from a roof mounted CGI shite.

Mixing up a powerful hallucinogen in his lab (as you do) he instructs Solange to pop it into Jenny’s bedtime brandy, hoping that this little mix will kickstart her mentalism sending her screaming back to the funny farm whilst he laughs all the way to the bank.

Give him his dues as a doctor tho' because the homemade druggy draught appears to have the desired effect, as that night poor Jenny has nightmarish visions that would put William Burroughs (or Micheal Barrymore) to shame as the deafening sound of heart beats echo around the castle walls our maid of mental illness 'wakes' to find herself trapped in a stone sarcophagus only to be 'rescued' by the ghostly figure of Dave the gardener who then proceeds to ravish her with soft kisses.

Just as you think there might be a chance of a quick peek at Bab's slender thigh tho' a scarily stocking faced man with a riding crop appears and begins to beat David around the head.

With the strength of a woman possessed  Jenny attacks this masked menace only to wake suddenly with her hands clamped around Stephen's scrawny bird-like neck. throat.

Quickly slapping some sense into her Stephen heads off to his lab, pleased with the effect of the drug on Jenny.

Tho' in my experience if he'd have wanted to make a woman act like a total fruitcake he'd have been cheaper just buying her a bottle of cooking sherry and 10 Silk Cut before taking her to the local kiddies playpark for the evening.

As a teen this scenario always ended with me tied to a swing whilst my date flicked matches at me.

Which explains a lot.

"Brexit means Brexit!"

Discussing the previous nights madness with Solange, Stephen is shocked to discover that the mucky maid - being female so obviously unable to follow simple instructions - actually gave Jenny a totally harmless sugar solution by mistake  so the drippy doc deduces that just being married to him and living in her dead sisters house may be enough to trigger her breakdown.

Jobs a good 'un as they say.

But this is a spooky ghost type mystery and we're only half an hour in so - against all laws of logic and common sense - Stephen for reasons best known to himself and director Mario Caiano and writer Fabio De Agostini (he of the expensive partwork fame) immediately summons the suave science guy Dr. Derek Joyce ( Masé AKA Lawrence Clift whom you may remember as John in Tenebrae), who is not only a dead ringer for Matt LeBlanc of Friends fame but also  Jenny’s old psychiatrist, to the castle in order to observe her condition.

Oh and hopefully strip naked and cover himself in chip fat whilst dancing provocatively.

No?

Just me then.

"Aye son!"

 

But with Stephen being a (mad) man of science and Solange being, well a bit fick the pervy pair totally fail to grasp the fact that  Jenny’s descent into madness may in fact be caused by the ghost of her sister and her lover.

But to be honest if I was in their situation I probably wouldn't see that coming either.

Tho' if I were married to Barbara Steele beating her to death with a poker would be the last thing on my mind.

Before long, Dr. Joyce too is witnessing strange phenomena in this nightmare castle - from blood dripping from the pot that holds Muriel's ashes to the dual heartbeats echoing thru' the walls via badly dubbed laughter echoing down the corridors and strange shadowy figures behind the gooseberry bushes.

Throwing caution - and science - to the wind Joyce is soon convinced that someone or something has supernatural designs on Jenny.

But to what end?

As all these supernatural shenanigans are going down (as the kids say) Stephen and Solange have altered their plans, deciding to kill Joyce as well as Jenny and as our hero prepares for a long hot soak before bed Stephen is busy electrifying the bath.....

Will Joyce save Jenny or will he fry like a massive man-titted haddock?
 
Will Stephen explain how he manage to discover that frog blood can make ladies younger?

And will anyone asked about the double heart family crest that Stephen is so keen to show everyone?

Laugh now.

Mad, bad and dangerous to view (especially in the aforementioned truncated version, writer/director Mario Caiano (AKA Allan Grunewald) has everything required to produce a top-notch Eurohorror - a sexually charged plot festooned with vengeful spirits, a mad scientist attempting to hold back death, an insane hottie in a sheer nightie and a big scary castle.

And all shot in glorious black and white.

Add to this a cast that includes the frankly fantastic Barbara Steele at her otherworldly best ably supported by the camp as pants Paul Müller alongside the gorgeous Helga Liné and topped off with a lush Ennio Morricone score and you should have an instant classic.

But whilst enjoyable enough in its own way Nightmare Castle lacks a certain something in its execution, the direction is flat, the script is nonsensical and the air of kinky menace the film teases us with disappears almost as quick as Helga Liné's comedy 'old lady' make-up.

As a plus point it does feature Barbara Steele stripping down to a magnificent corset before donning a blonde pound shop wig only half as ludicrous as the one Asia Argento sports in The Stendahl Syndrome so it's not a total loss.

Which if I'm honest just about sums up my life in a nutshell.

Be seeing you.

excellent.

 Came for the saucy singalong, stayed for the cybernetic giant from Earth's twin planet....Turkish popster Aleyna Tilki duets with one of the Mondas massive.

Nuff said.

ethel mermaid.

Just found out that Peggy Neal has died so in way of a tribute I thought I'd reshare this.

Enjoy.

Terror Beneath The Sea (AKA Water Cyborg, 1966).
Dir: Hajime Sato (AKA Terence Ford).

Cast: Sonny Chiba, Peggy Neal, Franz Gruber, Andrew Hughes, Erik Neilson, Mike Daneen, Beverly Keller, Gunther Braun, Koji Miemachi, Tadashi Suganuma, Hideo Murota, Osamu Yamanouchi, Kosaku Okano, Ichiro Mizuki, Akemi Fuji, Enver Altenbay, Hans Horneff and Steve Queens.

Prof. Howard: "Some very peculiar things have been going on around here lately."
Cmdr. Brown: "What?"
Prof. Howard: "I'm not sure, but I think the Navy should be informed about them."
Cmdr. Brown: "What are you driving at?"

Our story (well scriptwriter Kôichi Ôtsu's story....actually it's not even his seeing as it's based on a novel by Masami Fukushima - but I digress) begins at the very important deep sea trials of "The Navy's" brand new homing torpedo, where among the assorted dignitaries and press we're introduced to the big haired Jenny Gleason (button-nosed Kate McKinnon alike and star of The X From Outer Space and Las Vegas Free-for-All, Neal) and the cool, collected Ken Abe (Golgo 13 himself Chiba) who will be our heroes for the next 70 odd minutes.

As the stoic Commander Brown (council estate Christopher Eccleston Gruber) entertains the crowd by randomly pointing at a collection of hastily cut out submarine stickers on a Plexiglass board Jenny begins to feel a sense of dread, made worse when the video feed begins to broadcast from the test site.

And not just because the model work is so atrocious.

Tho' it doesn't help.

As the test continues Jenny becomes even more distressed before screaming in sheer terror when, as the homing torpedo nears the target submarine, a shadowy humanoid figure quickly swims past the underwater camera before being consumed by the explosion as the torpedo finds its target.

Commander Brown, either spooked by the figure or embarrassed by Jenny's reaction  cuts the demonstration short before flouncing out of the room, leaving Jenny slightly shaken and Ken deeply aroused by her display of woman-ness leading to him offering to take her "up the bay" in search of whatever creature they saw swim by.

What a guy.

Jenny screaming: Please note - she'll be doing a fair bit of this during the movie.

After a few brandies in the press bar Ken and Jenny - with her camera to hand - don their wetsuits and head out to sea, partly to look for stuff but mainly as an excuse to track Jenny's undulating arse in her tiny swimming trunks as she swims past the camera.

Which is nice.

It's not all unearthly siren song and smooth milky thighs tho' as suddenly and without warning - well apart from the clumsy musical cue - a terrifying fishman appears from behind a rock and startles our heroine so much that she manages to scream thru' a scuba mouthpiece.

And that, dear reader, is fairly impressive.

Dropping her camera she beats a hasty retreat to the surface as the fishman drunkenly follows her but luckily she makes it to the boat before any flipper based shenanigans can occur leaving Ken to console our tear-soaked heroine and the camera - plus any evidence - presumably lost at the bottom of the ocean.

Arse.

With nothing to show but a pair of mascara stained goggles, Commander Brown quite rightly accuses Jenny of making all this shite about boss-eyed sea beasts up before stomping off in a huff to examine some strange clawed footprints that have been found on the beach near to the top secret torpedo research lab.

No, nothing suspicious at all here.

"Laugh now!"

After downing a few more drinks to drown their sorrows the pair decide to head back into the water in order to find the camera and therefore prove the existence of the fishmen but quickly (well it only has a 70 minute running time) end up getting captured and taken to the spooky underwater lair of the eminent slick haired science guy Dr. Josef Heim (Daneen from the classic Gappa the Triphibian Monsters), an evil mastermind obsessed with turning humanity into remote controlled, crudely constructed models of Will Self made entirely of shortbread.

Sorry I mean cyborg fishmen.

MONSTA!

Ever the gracious host, Dr. Heim proceeds to give our dynamic duo a tour of the facilities even going as far as to give a demonstration of the cyborgs sophisticated control system which appears to consist of a massive knob (there seems to be a lot of them in this film) with three settings - work, rest and fight which he twiddles with glee as he makes a couple of fishmen grapple in a vaguely homoerotic manner.

Unfortunately neither Ken nor Jenny seem impressed (or even a little aroused) by this display of strength and with that Heim sends them back to their cell before skulking away for a tearful wank and a cod flavoured Pot Noodle.

Aware of the films scant running time, the pair quickly escape and decide to have a nosy around the base for a bit (mainly to admire the matte paintings on show) before being recaptured.

Well I say recaptured but in reality they just arrive in a room with a couple of dartboards on the wall where Heim just happened to be waiting and with a sigh he orders the scarily bouffanted Nurse Smallbone (Keller in her only film role outside those 'special interest' ones she did to pay her way thru' college) to take them back to their cell.

Exciting isn't a word I would use but heyho they're doing their best.

“You know that sickening feeling of inadequacy and over-exposure you feel when you look upon your own empurpled prose? Relax into the awareness that this ghastly sensation will never, ever leave you, no matter how successful and publicly lauded you become. It is intrinsic to the real business of writing and should be cherished....Now get back in the sea so I can bite you.”

Meanwhile back at the top secret naval base, distinguished science-type Dr. Russell Howard (monster movie mega star Hughes, star of everything from Destroy All Monsters to Battle In Outer Space via playing a comedy Hitler in Crazy Adventure) is suddenly grabbed by the cyborgs - which is way less painful than it sounds - and taken to the undersea base because, um reasons, where he - and Ken and Jenny - are given a chilling ultimatum: join Heim's evil empire or be turned into undersea cyborg fish folk.

Obviously they refuse and next thing you know poor Jenny is strapped to a table, her smooth shoulders on show, covered in Swarfega and sweating like Bobby Crush on an oil rig as disco lights flash all around her before passing out.

Which is probably the most erotic thing I've seen on film this year.

Sorry.

Waking in her cell Jenny soon realises that both her and Ken appear to have bits of PVA glue hastily stuck to their bodies (this, we're told is phase one of the conversion process) and quickly becomes hysterical, waving her sticky mitts in front of her face whilst grimacing and violently shaking her head.

Ken on the other (slightly less sticky) hand just gazes into the middle distance heroically.

"Warm it up in the microwave for 40 seconds and slip it in......"

If like me at this point you're beginning to miss dear old Commander Brown then fear not as he's currently shouting orders at anyone who'll listen as he valiantly searches for the missing reporters (and scientist) in a commandeered submarine whilst narrowly avoiding crashing into hundreds of discarded beer barrels labeled "Very Dangerous Atomic Waste" on the ocean floor* for some reason or another that isn't explained.

Maybe the director realised that as we were heading toward the films climax it'd be a good idea to have something - anything - exciting happen?

Just a thought.

Heim is soon alerted to the submarines presence and orders a missile strike resulting in some quality rocking back and forth acting from the cast and causing Brown to don a wet suit and clench a knife 'tween his teeth as he angrily threatens to swim over to the base and stab someone as random missiles fly out of the sea and into the sky, nearly killing Jenny and Ken's boss who is currently flying about in an old plane looking for them.

Phew.

I think I got all that down.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just sexually aroused? Oh it's a gun, my bad."

The heroic submarine crew and the evil undersea based bastards continual shooting at each other randomly whilst scowling into camera comes to a head when a missile fired by the submarine actually hits Heim's base causing the control panel for the cyborgs to stop working and the fishmen to go bat-shit mental, throwing shapes, wanking into pot plants and attacking the crew.

Soon the entire base is filled with the sound of gunfire (and a smell of old socks and egg) as Heim's henchmen battle the cyborgs for undersea supremacy.....

Will Ken, Howard and Jenny escape?

Will they find a cure for their scabs?

Will anyone bother repairing the massive tear on the lead fishman's costume?

Will the film's final scene feature a forced laugh and comedy turn to camera?

I'm not saying.

From Hajime Sato (the film director that is, not the sustainable seafood advocate, sushi chef and certified Saké advisor I found on Twitter) - the man behind The Golden Bat, four episodes of Captain Ultra, Jûdai no âshidôri and the terrifying Goke, Body Snatcher From Hell comes this threadbare thriller that takes the very best bits of Voyage To The Bottom of The Sea and mixes it with  a smidgen of Bond style spy hijinks before adding a child's approximation of The Creature From The Black Lagoon and beating the whole thing senseless in an alley then filming the results in a warehouse full of giant Lego bricks.

Yes, it's that good.

Big drink or tiny head?

Featuring future Street Fighter and professional sexy man Sonny Chiba in the lead role, ably abetted by the absolutely adorable (and that's just her hair) Peggy Neal and Japanese junk stalwart  Andrew Hughes, the rest of the cast of ne'er do wells and never wills don't matter as the interchangeable henchmen and military types seem to spend the film either barking orders or just being barking mad as they attempt to keep a straight face as the poor sods stuff in the fishmen suits potter about trying not to knock any bits of the set over as the piss-poor plot unveils - and unravels - in front of them, but what it lacks in logic, budget or intelligence it more than makes up for by ignoring all of that and just going for it.

Which gives it the edge over modern sea-based fayre like the Kristen Stewart starrer Underwater, tho' to be honest the monsters in that were slightly better realised.

But only slightly.**

"Are you the farmer?"

But let's be honest, you kinda know what you're letting yourself in for with quality cinema like this so kick your shoes off, crack open a beer, sit back and enjoy.



And if nothing else, Peggy Neal sports a smashing blouse at one point.


Recommended.






























* Oh go on then, at the bottom of the directors bath.




**Tho' neither of them hold a candle to the utterly terrifying Underwater Puppies calendar my kids insisted on buying the other Christmas.

bin raidin'.

Released on this very day in 1983, Ruggero Deodato's disco-tastic dystopian epic doesn't get a quarter of the love it deserves so I'm rewatching it right NOW and then reposting this review to see if I can change that.

Which is fair enough.

I mean I don't need to explain myself to you, you're not my dad.



The Raiders Of Atlantis (AKA Atlantis Interceptors, Atlantis Inferno, I predatori di Atlantide. 1983)
Dir: Ruggero Deodato.
Cast: Christopher Connelly, Gioia Scola, Tony King, George Hilton, Ivan Rassimov, Mike Miller, Bruce Baron, Michele Soavi, Giancarlo Prati, Maurizio Fardo, Mike Monty, John Vasallo, Lewis A. Cianelli, James Demby and Audrey Perkins.

"This don't look like no advanced civilization
to me - just a bunch of trees!"

Rough and tumble, pastel clad heroes for hire Mike Smith (mottle skinned Connelly from Manhattan Baby) and Geoff 'Mohammad' Washington (King AKA Malik Farrakhan from Cannibal Apocalypse and BJ and the Bear), make ends meet by chloroforming then kidnapping old men on the orders of the US government for $50,000 a shot.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Having delivered an old fella to a mysterious colonel whilst wisecracking about Vietnam and Washington's conversion to Islam, the pair decide to set sail to the Caribbean for a well deserved holiday.

By some strange coincidence, a secret Navy project is getting under way in the same bit of ocean and the tiny faced, 80s council estate Ashley Judd-alike science type, Dr. Cathy Rollins (Desirable Teacher and Until Death 'star' Scola of whom, it must be said, I had a huge crush on in my teens to a point where I actually wrote her a fan letter*) has been - forcibly - drafted in to help decipher an ancient, skull embossed plaque discovered on the ocean floor.

The projects head, the bespectacled and knee length shorted Professor Peter Saunders (Hilton from such classics The Case of the Bloody Iris and Holy God, Here Comes the Passatore!) explains that they came across it (not literally) whilst trying to raise a Russian sub that had sunk a few months earlier.

Being an expert on pre-Columbian dialects of almost Daddy Pig proportions, Rollins has absolutely no trouble in translating the strange markings on the plaque and announces that it tells the whereabouts of the fabled lost city of Atlantis.

"Bbbbbbzzzzzzzzzz!"

Meanwhile in a mysterious Caribbean isle hotel room, a spooky man in his granddad's suit slowly opens a wall safe and removes a joke shop plastic skull mask from it, gazing lovingly at it before popping it onto his tiny head.

I'm just relieved that he didn't force it up his arse.

Talking of tiny heads - and anal insertions, it's action stations all the way back on the government submarine stealing base as Rollin's takes a break from transcribing ancient inscriptions (and a sell out spoken word tour) to peer at a grainy black and white monitor showing superimposed images of a child's bath toy slowly rising to the surface of a fish tank.

Suddenly the whole place goes haywire as indoor firework style sparks shower the set and the light fuses blow.

As the crew run around like small girls being chased by a wasp it's left to the director of Delamore Dellamorte to lead everyone to the lifeboats.

But what's happening back on that island with the skull-faced man I hear you cry?

Well so far nothing seeing as we've cut to a garishly clad couple, Arthur and Maude who, upon leaving their house are shocked and frightened by the amount of grainy stock footage of thunderstorms in the distance.

Maude is understandably upset and wants to go back into the house but as she turns to enter the porch plastic skull face turns up (surrounded by a motley assortment of leather clad and mohawk headed pikeys) and shoots her in the throat before parking his bike up Arthur's arse .

Finally some bum-based action.

Boris Johnson reveals his true form.

Mike and Washington, alongside their oiled Filipino cabin boy Manuel (Vasallo in his only credited screen appearance - shame) are having problems of their own trying to guide the boat thru' giant waves whilst dodging the huge domed city that's appeared out of the ocean in front of them.

The trio are surprisingly nonchalant about the whole thing which is quite refreshing for this type of movie, well at least they are until the outboard motor explodes and the last crate of beer falls overboard.

Luckily the films fades to black before it can get too exciting (or expensive) and next thing we know it's the following morning.

Phew.

The sea is calm and Washington and Manuel seem to have forgotten about their earlier ordeal and are busying themselves rescuing the survivors (including Italian cinema's sexiest man, Sir Ivan of Rassimov in the pivotal role of daredevil pilot Bill Cook) from the base whilst Mike makes googly eyes at Cathy.

Who it appears seems young enough to be his daughter but let's not dwell on that.

Mercifully for the viewer this uncomfortable display of old man lust is cut short when Manuel suddenly becomes a mentalist and grabs Cathy by her scrawny throat, threatening to kill anyone who gets in his way.

It appears that Manuel has received a psychic message telling him that 'Cathy is needed'.

It mustn't be that important tho' seeing as he's happy enough to jump overboard without her.

"To me!" "To you!"

With everyone just standing about staring at each other trying to figure what just happened, nobody notices that the boat has run aground on a deserted beach until Cathy decides to go skinny dippy, jumps overboard and grazes her knee on a discarded Irn Bru bottle.

Mike being the oldest (by about seventy years) takes charge and decides that they should head inland and try to find a phone.

Or at least find the guy who runs the donkey rides across the sand.

Approaching the nearest town our intrepid (or is that tepid?) band are shocked to find the whole place in ruins with buildings ablaze, cars overturned and corpses hanging from every telegraph pole.

Mike mistakenly thinks that they've arrived in Manchester and whilst desperately trying to score some skag of an illiterate inbred on a street corner bumps into his old pal Manuel, still nutty as squirrel shit and here to warn them to get Cathy back to the boat before 'they' arrive to take her.

Top Gear's gone a bit shit.

But it's a warning too late as the infamous 'they' (plastic skull face and his merry band of homo-erotic bikers) arrive and start shooting at things whilst showing their oiled nipples to all and sundry forcing Mike and co. to take shelter in a church.

All that is except the resident ginger man who runs towards the leather clad gang shouting “They’re human! They’ll listen to reason!” before being shot in the face and nailed to a tree.

Which is fair enough I reckon.

Waiting till nightfall and the bad boy bikers going home to bed, Mike and Bill lead the survivors to the (relative) safety of a nearby warehouse packed with cases of rifles, unlimited ammunition and a big box of napalm.

Which is pretty damn lucky if you ask me.

On a less interesting note the warehouse is also hiding place to a balding camp man in a tuxedo (Fardo from The Bronx Warriors 2 and Demons 6 which I must admit sounds like the best football result ever), his fairly unattractive daughter and his very unattractive wife.

Don't worry tho', they'll be dead soon.

It's not long before the barking bikers return to torment and taunt Mike and his pals whilst handily standing still on top of walls within easy shooting distance.

“We have returned!” shouts plastic before sending his men into the warehouse to snatch Cathy, leaving Mike no alternative but to give chase.

What a guy.

Running around the backlot, his turkey neck glistening with sweat Mike chances upon a hefty German man (Mike Miller, not this one I assume) in a fetching headband who goes by the name of Klaus.

Being a typical German he's been wandering around for days spoiling for the chance to fight someone.

Or at the very least find somewhere to place his towel.

Not too surprisingly he jumps at the chance to join Mike's quest.

Returning to the warehouse and reading thru' Cathy's notebook (in the hope of finding some nude pictures of her obviously) Mike discovers that Atlantis sank as a consequence of a big civil war culminating in the use of a nuclear bomb, ergo the radiation leaking from the downed Soviet sub is what must have caused the island to rise again.

Obvious really.

There's a downside to all this domed city and psychic nonsense tho' as it seems that the radiation has caused all the surviving Atlanteans to become forgetful which is why they need Cathy as it seems only she knows how to raise  Atlantis for good.

And yes, I know it's all bollocks, I've just had to type it.

Scola: Nice shoes, shit sofa.

But Mike, being brave and desperate for a shag has a rescue plan which involves commandeering a bus to travel to the local airport and steal a helicopter to fly to Atlantis, kill everyone there and leave with Cathy over his shoulder.

Yup, works for me.

After an exciting bus journey and a few more killings they do indeed steal a helicopter and fly toward the bubblicious Atlantis where, upon landing they kill a few more leather-clad Atlantean types whilst Professor Saunders (yes, he's still alive and wearing shorts) decides that neutralizing the radiation from the submarine may indeed cause Atlantis to sink again, saving everyone from being over-run by plastic skull wearing mentalists on motorbikes.

Or something.

Stance.

Whilst all this killing and science is going on Cathy has had time to dress up in a seventies disco-whore outfit and have a conversation with some old men projected onto a wall.

Her lack of any visible acting ability makes me think that she's either drunk or under hypnosis seeing as she's not only readily agreed to help the Atlantean's take over the world but seems to believe all the frankly techno-bollocks chat that's being banded about.

Saying that tho' her legs to look particularly nice in those glittery tights so it's not all bad.

But time (and the viewers patience) is running out.

"Shite in mah Atlantean mooth!"

Will Mike be able to rescue Cathy in time to take her out for the promised spinach supper?

Will the Professor be able to turn off the nuclear radiation?

Or will the plastic skull man take over the world?

Go on, guess.

What film are we talking about?

The controversy courting king of the cannibals Ruggero Deodato's little seen action epic Raiders of Atlantis is a majestically mental mix of gruesome gore, mystical mumbo jumbo and post-apocalyptic thrills, riffing Indiana jones and the Hong Kong classic Fantasy Mission Force along the way before mixing the entire thing to a tepid disco beat courtesy of the fantastic Guido De Angelis and Maurizio De Angelis under the alias Oliver Onions.

I'll give you a second to take all that in and then ask....

What's not to like?

Gioia Scola: Ask your dad.

For better or worse, Deodato will probably only be remembered (by all but the most devoted film enthusiasts) for his infamous mockumentary shocker Cannibal Holocaust (and possibly House on the Edge of the Park but for all the wrong reasons) which is a shame really, as his most enjoyable (and accessible) works are the ones that no-one seems to have seen.

And if they have they rarely seem to talk about them.

From the sexy swashbuckling Lucretia love starring comic book adaptation Zenabel to the sublime crime thriller Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man (AKA The Terminators) via the lo-fi Airport: 79 rip off Concorde Affaire '79 (AKA Concorde Inferno '79), Deodato is a director whose genuine love of cinema (and more importantly an appreciation of the sheer enjoyment that films can give) shines thru' even the most threadbare and nonsensical plots.

And much like the great man's drug busting actioner Cut And Run, The Raiders Of Atlantis might be total bollocks but you can't deny that it's utterly enjoyable.

And you can't say fairer than that can you?

Scola: Any excuse.

*She never replied.