Wednesday, September 29, 2021

total bondage!

To celebrate the release (finally) of No Time To Die here's a taster mix of the music from our James Bond bash from many moons ago....enjoy.

language timothy!

With the new James Bond film 'No Time To Die' (finally) debuting this week I thought It'd be a good time to share an overview I wrote of my favourite Bond movie from way back in 2015.

Partly because it's not too badly written (for me) but mainly in the hope of attracting some (any?) new readers.

Originally published in the late lamented Multitude of Movies Magazine - hence the distinct lack of 'mooth shite' and 'laugh now' gags - sit back and enjoy (again if you read it first time around) some classic bondage as we revisit....

Licence To Kill (1989).
Dir: John Glen.
Cast: Timothy Dalton, Carey Lowell, Robert Davi, Talisa Soto, Anthony Zerbe, David Hedison, Benicio del Toro, Everett McGill, Desmond Llewellyn, Robert Brown and Wayne Newton.

“loyalty is more important than money”

It’s 1989 and the world of cinematic heroism is in a state of flux… as Indiana Jones rides off into the sunset in the company of his dad and Captain Kirk has a cut-price family-friendly face-off with God, a hero from our childhood is about to emerge onto the big screen darker, dourer and much, much more leathery than ever before…

Indeed, 1989 was the year of the Bat.

But Bob Kane’s eponymous Dark Knight detective wasn’t the only character of old being dragged kicking-and-screaming into the modern age.

Another 60’s pop culture icon was about to receive a much needed make-over.

Bond was back.

And, after the frankly schizophrenically scripted The Living Daylights tried somewhat unsuccessfully to mix Moore-style quips with Connery era arse-kicking, 007’s new adventure Licence Revoked looked to return to a Bond with a more realistic edge (but with a dreamy Welsh accent), the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the franchise’s very beginning.

But evil machinations of which Blofeld himself would be proud were about to scupper the super spy in his attempts to regain his action crown.

The least of which was the worry from Eon that no-one in America would know what ‘revoked’ meant.

And, if they did, would they assume that the title referred to Bond’s driving licence?

There is no such thing as a totally straight man, just a man who's never experienced Timothy Dalton as James Bond.

A dozen meetings and one swift title change later – well, I say swift… but not swift enough to save Eon from having to dump Robert Peak’s darkly daring promotional artwork and quickly replace it with what looked like a hastily Pritt-sticked community centre panto poster – and Licence To Kill was born.

And with it a grittier and, let’s be honest, a damn sight sexier Bond for a new and more dangerous age.

A Bond out for revenge and out for justice.

A Bond that bled, cried and wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

And, unfortunately, a Bond that no-one save the die-hard fan seemed to have had any interest in seeing.

Which is a pity really because those of us who did see it at the time realised that we were witnessing probably the greatest Bond movie ever.

And if you don’t believe me, then I’d happily listen to you explain why they’ve been remaking it every few years under a variety of titles only this time with Daniel Craig in the lead role.

Welcome to the weird, wonderful and high-wired world of Licence To Kill.
And by its end the Bond franchise will never be the same again.

But first, for those few who’ve still not seen it, I think a wee recap is in order.

Helping his best bud Felix Leiter (David Hedison, the only other actor save Jeffrey Wright to play the role twice) prepare for his wedding, suave super spy James Bond (Mr. Vegas himself Wayne Newton – nah, only joking, Timothy ‘Bloody’ Dalton obviously) finds himself and Leiter sidelined by the DEA to help in the capture of the evil drug kingpin Franz Sanchez (the great beast himself and star of Maniac Cop II and III, Robert Davi).

In a feat of airborne daring so great that Christopher Nolan would later rip it off for The Dark Knight Rises, Bond and Leiter – using only a big hook and a few metres of old rope – capture Sanchez by literally ‘fishing’ his plane out of the sky before parachuting into the wedding ceremony to a sexy Gladys Knight theme.

Phwoar indeed.

Unfortunately (for Felix, that is… I mean for us it’s a godsend, otherwise the movie would be over), Sanchez bribes slimy DEA agent Ed Killifer (Twin Peaks‘ Big Ed himself, Everett McGill) and escapes, but not before setting in motion a raging rampage of revenge that begins with feeding Felix to a shark before murdering his wife.

Bond, upon discovering this, is understandably a wee bit upset.

His temper isn't helped by the fact that the DEA refuse to assist our hero in bringing Sanchez to justice, due to him being out of his jurisdiction, leaving Bond – alongside his buddy Sharkey (Frank McRae) – to start their own investigation.

The dashing duo soon discover that not only is the nearby marine research centre run by a henchman of Sanchez, the twitchy, bitchy Milton Krest (the always fantastic Anthony Zerbe), but it’s also in reality a cover for Sanchez’ cocaine smuggling operation. As it happens, Killifer is there to pick up his cash.

What are the chances?

Bond, by this point not only annoyed about bits of his best friend becoming fish food but visibly angry at spending a whole 30 minutes without chinning someone, angrily feeds Killifer to the same shark (c’mon, they’re expensive to hire) that maimed Leiter.

Which is nice.

Imagine being the filling in this sandwich.

Concerned by Bond’s mood swings, M (Robert Brown) meets up with our hero and orders him to travel to Istanbul for a new assignment which frankly is the last thing Bond needs to hear, causing him to resign from the secret service before headbutting M’s bodyguards and legging it into the bushes.

Bond is now a rogue agent, bereft of official backing and on the run from both the US and UK secret services (and quite possibly Rumbelows), with only his trusty PPK and a suave line in blouson leather jackets and boating shoes for company.

Is there anyone Bond can turn to in his hour of need?

As luck would have it Major Boothroyd – or as we know him ‘Q’ (Desmond Llewellyn) – just happens to be taking a well earned holiday in exactly the same hotel that Bond is staying in; not only that, he’s come equipped with everything Bond could need to complete his mission.

All quite by chance, you understand.

The reunion has to wait though, as Bond has a drug shipment to foil.

Boarding Milton Krest’s ship, the none too originally monikered Wavekrest, Bond does indeed foil the shipment and also steals five million dollars of Sanchez’ cash in the process.

It’s not all joy and happiness though, as Sharkey ends up dead at the hands of the evil Dario (a frighteningly baby-faced Benicio Del Toro, sporting a fantastic quiff).

All this wanton violence is all well and good (and a little refreshing if I’m honest) but 007 soon realises that the film is missing one vital ingredient.

Yup it can’t be a proper Bond film without some top totty, so to that end James teams up with the tomboyish ex-CIA agent and bush pilot (ooeerr) Pam Bouvier (second best Bond girl Carey Lowell) who, alongside Bond and Q, head to the Republic of Isthmus where Sanchez holds court.

By that I mean he runs the joint, he doesn’t wander around in a powdered wig hitting a hammer on an old table whilst shouting “Order!” and the like.

Though he may have done in a deleted scene.

Who knows?

But I digress.

Posing as an unemployed hitman (his undercover binman disguise must have been in the wash), Bond manages to get a job working for the evil Sanchez but an attempt to ‘take out’ (in a non Paddy McGuinness way, obviously) the deranged drug dealer is thwarted by two jobs-worth Hong Kong narcotics agents who unceremoniously bundle our hero into the back of a van before taking him along to a deserted warehouse (is there any other kind?) where an MI6 operative named Fallon (Hammer stalwart Christopher Neame) is waiting to take Bond back to London.

Dead or alive.


Injected with a potent sleeping drug, wrapped in bubble wrap and bunged in a box, all looks lost for Bond… until that is a couple of Sanchez’s goons turn up, machine gun the three agents, and rescue our hero.

It appears that they thought that the secret service types were the actual assassins and that Bond was trying to stop them.

How more twisty turny can this plot get?

Sanchez handling his massive chopper.

Now well placed (on the right, just behind the drinks cabinet) in Sanchez’s inner circle, Bond decides to have some fun. Firstly, with the aide of Sanchez’s exotic girlfriend Lupe Lamora (Vampirella herself, the slinkily sexy Talisa Soto), he frames Krest by hiding the $5 million he stole earlier in one of the Wavekrest‘s hyperbaric (bless you) chambers, before dropping hints to Sanchez that it was Krest who nicked it.

Ever the reasonable employer Sanchez responds by locking Krest in the very same chamber, before smashing it with an axe causing the poor guy to explode.
Wondering how they’ll ever explain that to his Gran, Sanchez invites Bond along to his secret lair (cunningly hidden beneath a new-age meditation centre) to explain his plan to him – and us.

And what a plan it is.

Like a particularly over-excited child with a new toy, Sanchez explains how his scientists have discovered a way to dissolve cocaine in petrol, which they can them just roll out across the world in big trucks disguised as common or garden fuel and then sell it to evil Asian drug dealers.

Which is a pretty specific market if you ask me, but hey-ho what do I know about international drugs trafficking?

The best bit of the plan though is the fact that all of the dodgy drug transactions are conducted via the broadcasts of the centre’s leader, the porn ‘tashed televangelist Professor Joe Butcher (the afore-mentioned Mr. Las Vegas Wayne Newton), who just repeats whatever Sanchez’s ‘business manager’ Truman-Lodge (Iron Man himself, Starke) tells him to.

Obviously adding a “Praise The Lord!” or “Hallelujah!” occasionally, just to make sure no-one suspects anything.

Preparing to end Sanchez’s plan (and let’s be honest his life), Bond is surprised when Dario arrives unannounced and reveals 007’s true identity.

As a British agent, that is: he doesn’t turn up and shout “Bugger me, it’s Timothy Dalton star of Flash Gordon and Sextette!” because that would be silly.

Though probably perfectly acceptable in one of the latter Moore movies.

His cover blown, Bond does what any self respecting Welshman would do in that situation and sets fire to some stuff before attempting to flee.

But Dario has other plans and ties our hero up before dangling him feet first over a giant shredding machine.

Just as Bond is about to be sliced like so much bacon, Pam turns up and shoots Dario, allowing Bond, in one of the franchise’s most unpleasant deaths, to kick him into the shredder instead.

Which is as painful as it sounds.

Fleeing his burning base, Sanchez commandeers four tankers full of the cocaine and petrol mix and attempts to drive to freedom (or at least somewhere the Feds wont get him – Coventry, perhaps?) but Bond is in hot pursuit.

Well, actually he’s in a plane piloted by Pam, but let’s not be too anal about it.
Careering to an explosive climax, it’s soon one on one as Bond faces off with Sanchez…

Released on 13th June 1989, Licence To Kill, the 16th official James Bond, has a number of (fairly) interesting firsts and lasts attached to it.

It was last to be directed by long time Bond director John Glen (his fifth movie in succession) and the last to be produced by Albert ‘Cubby’ Broccoli who had handed the production reigns over to his stepson Michael G Wilson due to ill health, and last to make direct use of any of Ian Fleming’s story concepts and characters until Die Another Day in 2002, taking as it does elements from the novel Live and Let Die (the Leiter/shark scenes and the tactics employed by Sanchez to smuggle drugs) as well as from the short story The Hildebrand Rarity.

Though it’s been years since I read that so, to be honest, I really can’t remember which bits.

Probably the bit where Bond seduces a lady or something.

Pam Bouvier: Crick neck and side arm.

Staying true to Fleming didn’t go as far as the title though, it being the first not taken from a Fleming story (though A View To A Kill does cheat slightly by removing the ‘From’ from the short story title, allegedly to make it easier for Duran Duran to write the song).

Staying with songs, the film’s frankly fantastic title theme – as sung by Gladys Knight – was actually written as an homage to the classic Goldfinger*, meaning that composer John Barry – alongside lyricists Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley- received royalty payments from it, which is nice.

But the more things stayed the same,the more things changed: the main thing being that, due to budgetary concerns (which for a Bond movie is bizarre), the film was the first in the franchise to be shot totally outside the UK, though with locations in such glorious climes as Florida and Mexico I doubt the cast and crew complained.

I mean it’s not like they had a two week shoot in Bognor or something, was it?

And what of that sun-kissed cast I hear you cry?

Well, frankly, there’s never been a Bond film before this with such a top rate (or let’s be honest as sexy) group of thesps than this.

Eon must have agreed as it took 17 years before they even attempted to up the sheer sexual magnetism and raw talent of the movies again when they gave us the frankly magnificent duo of Eva Green and Mads Mikklesen in Casino Royale.

And even then they had to balance out the sexiness and cast a big potato as Bond, for fear of a thousand spontaneous pregnancies during the card playing finale.

But let’s ignore Mr Craig and wax lyrical on the actor who, in my humble opinion, gave us the definitive portrayal of 007, Timothy Dalton.

The dark and gritty Man About The House remake looks good.

It’s reported that on securing the role Dalton admitted to never having seen a Bond movie so decided to head back to the books for his inspiration and here it shows.

Dalton gives us a Bond that we can believe in, a cold-blooded killer for Queen and country but with a softer edge around those who know him, a flawed hero who will risk everything for a friend, and, in a lovely throwback to his ill-fated marriage to Tracey, a man haunted by his past.

If anything, Licence To Kill can actually be seen as a sequel of sorts to On Her Majesty’s Secret Service as it’s the murder of his best (only?) friend’s wife that sends Bond over the edge and on the path to revenge and ultimately redemption.

Imagine this movie following OHMSS, with Blofeld replacing Sanchez and a rogue Bond out for his blood to avenge Tracey’s death, no that would have been a swansong for Connery plus with the added bonus of the franchise being still (relatively) new enough to actually make the audience doubt that Bond would return to the fold by the movie’s end.

And, whilst you sit back and imagine that scenario, let’s look at the supporting cast.

Like all good leads Dalton isn’t afraid to let his co-stars shine, especially franchise stalwart Desmond Llewelyn as ‘Q’ who, in a role far expanded on any other movie, positively revels in the genuinely warm father/son relationship the pair share. It’s only beaten by Llewelyn’s final words to Bond in The World Is Not Enough which act as a fitting tribute to a much missed actor.

And it’s worth the price of admission for these scenes alone if I’m honest.

As for the villains, the casting director really struck gold with the amount of up and coming – and firmly established – talent on show, from a pitch-perfect Robert Davi, channeling real-life former dictator of Panama and all round bad boy Manuel Noriega, to Benicio Del Toro’s loon-tastically lecherous Dario, via Anthony Zerbe’s twitchy Krest.

The cast of villains are at the top of their game with every single one of them bringing something unique to their roles.

Not one main star or bit-part actor is out of place and all add to something, however small, to the film.

And in the much coveted ‘Bond Girl’ roles Talisa Soto is all exotically charged and smouldering beauty as bad-girl-with-a-heart Lupe Lamora, whilst Carey Lowell plays Pam with an energetic mix of wholesome cookie-cutting boy scout, wide-eyed sweetness and thighs you could happily ski down, ever so slightly reminiscent of Peanut‘s Lucy armed with a big gun.

Which says more about me than her, if I’m honest.

Any excuse.

If the film has any fault it’s that, with hindsight it was just too much of a departure too soon for those used to the Roger Moore style of Bond…but bravo to Eon for not taking the safe route and attempting something different when staying safe would have been the easier option.

At the film’s end we find Bond slightly shaken, with his loins stirred by the pouting Pam as the pair flirt in a swimming pool to the dulcet tones of Patti LaBelle warbling If You Asked Me To. Who would have guessed that it would be 6 years before Bond returned, refreshed and re-imagined again, but this time as a post Cold War warrior with a scary bouffant, a smart line in Moore-style quips and taking orders from the woman from A Fine Romance?

No sane person that’s for sure.

But that change resonated with a by-now more cinema-savvy audience, and once again cemented Bond as the world’s foremost action hero and, seemingly cemented Dalton as the true forgotten Bond, left awash in an uncertain point in the franchise’s history.

Which is why I feel it’s my duty to champion this, if not ‘unloved’ then ‘criminally neglected’ classic, because although I was brought up on a steady cinematic diet of Moore’s mischievous mayhem whilst encountering Connery on TV, Licence To Kill will always be ‘my’ Bond.

It’s genuine wit, style and grit (plus an over-reliance on 80’s hair products), perfectly summing up Bond in all its forms.

Plus, as an aside in these more enlightened days it’s the only action film I can think of that relies on the lead character being a smoker to defeat the villain.

*It’s the sexy trumpet bit if you’re still wondering.

Tuesday, September 28, 2021

takao's yer uncle.

In tribute to the manga and gekiga artist Takao Saito, the creator of Golgo 13, here are the covers for his little seen Man From UNCLE manga.


Friday, September 24, 2021


Crikey! Russell T Davies has just been announced as the new/old Doctor Who showrunner (which was a surprise to be sure) which hopefully means he'll finally give us the Doctor Who* we deserve......


" me 'We really arsed it up with Chris Chibnall and really, really need to get the viewers back without showing me we really arsed it up with Chris Chibnall and really, really need to get the viewers back'"....

Is it too early to finally welcome David Burton aboard the TARDIS?

*And before anyone complains his name is Doctor Who.....look:

Tuesday, September 21, 2021

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 99).

Was (re)watching the Old Grey Whistle Test documentary last night and remembered how much of a huge crush I had on latter day presenter (and former Radio 1 DeeJay) Ro Newton.

Bizarrely she left presenting to become a writer/director and was responsible for Take That's Do What You Like promo as well as editing Just Seventeen magazine.




Thursday, September 9, 2021

keep on trekkin'.

 A 60 minute adventure across the final frontier of sound to celebrate Star Trek Day.



Wednesday, September 8, 2021

spak to the future.

It was Star Trek's birthday yesterday so in a way of celebration I watched this last night.

You're welcome.


Turist Ömer Uzay Yokunda (AKA Ömer the Tourist in Star Trek 1973)
Dir: Hulki Saner.
Cast: Sadri Alisik, Erol Amac, Cemil Sahbaz, Ferdi Merter, Fusun Olgac and Yilmaz Sahin.....yes THAT Yilmaz Sahin.

"Kompiter cevap verin. Zzt ne demek?"

The place: space, somewhere near the final frontier, the time: round about teatime, the USS Enterprise (recently refitted using MDF and cardboard by the look of things) is on a routine mission to deliver supplies to the eccentrically bearded Professor Minty and his homely (re: plain), bog eyed assistant, the short skirted, ample thighed Nancy.

Mincing quite alarmingly onto the bridge is the mulleted master of man-dom himself, Kaptan Kirk (Turkish action superstar Sahbaz), effeminately lisping orders to all and sundry as he rubs his thighs in a vaguely homo-erotic - and strangely enough incredibly hypnotic - manner.
Uhura (or to be more precise a Turkish council estate equivalent) just nods with a look of concern usually seen on the faces of mothers with particularly naughty children at everything he says.

Or maybe she just doesn't speak Turkish, who knows?

Or cares.

Arriving at their destination via the use of blatantly stolen clips from the teevee show Kirk - as always - decides to lead the mission himself, taking 'Scocthy' (Sahin), Mr. Spak (star of the Turkish Exorcist, the late great Erol Amac), Dr. Makkoy (Merter, best known for his portrayal of Sefa Kervancioglu in the teevee hit A Bitter Life) and the green shirted ensign Ricky with him for company.

So far so standard Star Trek.

If it were shot thru' a spunk filled sock obviously.

The Pet Shop Boys have let themselves go.

Beaming down to the planet's surface in a fantastic mix of film scratches and camera pauses accompanied by the sounds of an old man whistling our heroes find that Minty is none too happy about having visitors.

"Leave the supplies an go!" he screams.

In Turkish obviously.

At this point the casual viewer may be wondering why the actress playing Nancy keeps changing between scenes.

And - if they're really mean and quite sexist - why none of the are even vaguely attractive.

Fear not dear viewer it's not bad continuity - tho' there's a lot of it about - but because she is in reality a shape changing 'salt vampire'.

Hmmmm, this plot is very familiar.


Luckily before the viewer can get too distracted trying to remember which Star Trek episodes they've nicked it from*, Minty - for reasons best known to himself - unveils his latest creations to the captain and his crew.

And what has he been spending his time (and Starfleet funds) working on all this time?

Believe it or not our scientist chum announces that he's built the perfect android.

Tho' you wouldn't think it to look at it seeing as what he presents us with is a fake tanned, greasy haired pikey of the kind you see operating the waltzers at the fairground in a loincloth accompanied by a couple of harsh faced gypsy girls painted gold.

Maybe they're in disguise?

There's no time for such trivialities tho' as no sooner have the ravishing she-bots started fawning over our hunky captain that a blood curdling (well cock bothering) scream is heard from behind a nearby rock.

Racing as quick as his chubby legs will carry him (which isn't very) Kirk is shocked (well I assume it's shock it could well be constipation) to discover the prone form of Ensign Ricky, killed by Nancy who has now reverted to her true terrifying form.

Which to all intents and purposes appears to be that of a fake fur covered giant spotty space otter.

As Kirk and co. examine the body Nancy sneaks back home before getting to work sticky-taping what looks like a Kinder Egg to the hunky roboman chest.

I felt that a pic was needed here to break up the massive amount of text and this was all I had to hand....sorry.

It's at this point that things get really weird as in a scene that would make David Lynch scratch his head in confusion the movie suddenly (and very jerkily) cuts to a wedding party where a greasy, mustached fat man in a shit hat, Omer (comedy god Sadri Alisik and the reason we're here) is being forced to marry a toothless old lady by a bunch of goons in ill fitting suits that they've obviously stolen from a morgue.

Omer gurns and grimaces like a man possessed (or at the very least indulging in a guilty, Pot Noodle fueled wank outside the local school - we've all been there) whilst the old woman nonchalantly looks on, sexily sucking on her gums.

But just as the wedding ceremony is about to begin Omar mysteriously vanishes in a puff of orange smoke, rematerialising on the alien planet.

Before he can catch his breath (or even crabs) tho' Omer finds himself being chased by the hunky, baby oiled He-bot,stopping occasionally to jump up and down grabbing his hat whilst shouting "Ooooh ooohhh!" as the robot suggestively thrust his hips towards him before grabbing our hapless behatted hero and roughly taking him up the rocky crevasse.

It's right about now that the film takes an even more disturbing turn and in a scene that even Lars von Trier would think twice about subjecting his audience to Omer is forcibly held down as the evil alien Nancy  proceeds to lick his grubby hand.

In glorious close-up.

For what seems like hours.

Ranting at her in Turkish, Omer takes his (non licked hand) and makes a grab for the Kinder egg taped to the robots back, finally managing to get hold of it and giving it a good squeeze causing the hunky roboman to start violently thrusting his hips whilst making strange animal sex noises.

This amuses Omer no end as he start laughing and grunting like like a creepy beast as he squeezes and rubs the egg more and more, watching the robot air shag whilst Nancy continues to lick his fingers.

Say what you like but it's shit like this that gives Turist Ömer Uzay Yokunda the edge over Star Trek Discovery.

"Put it in me!"

From this point in the fuzzy-cheeked foreign funnyman that is Omer takes centre stage (and centre seat) with his patented brand of unwashed and uncouth comedy gold, highlights of which include a scene where upon being taken prisoner by three mini-skirted and sexy booted women holding phasers, Omer reacts by stroking one of the women's thighs and pulling ever more unsettling faces whilst making pig noises.

If any movie will bring back memories of being bummed by your uncle Jim at Christmas it's this one.

Whether that's a good or bad thing is totally up to you.

I won't judge.

Uncle Jim and Auntie Pat - Bumming not shown.

Anyway back to the plot where Nancy - obviously tired of the taste of tramp - is now busy licking the corpse of Ensign Ricky, seemingly left to rot by a heartless kirk before taking on his form and beaming aboard the Enterprise.

Her goal?

To slobber all over the crews hands and steal their salt.

Or something.

After endless scenes of Nancy changing shape and licking people, Kirk and Spak decide to return to the planet to get to the bottom of this saliva based mystery once and for all.

Exploring the local cave system the pair become separated and Kirk upon reaching the surface is confronted by the most terrifying creature ever committed to celluloid.

Yup, it's a radiation scarred Fimble with scary jazz hand action!.

Kirk, confused as to whether he should shoot or shag the beast, stands entranced as the creature performs a sexy dance routine before suddenly belching fire towards the captain who, in a fabulous act of heroism hides behind a rock till Spak turns up and shoots it in the face.

But where is Omer? I hear you cry.

Well it seems that he's back on the planet too.

Nancy bored with all those ships corridors  has dragged him back to her love nest where upon taking on the form of a big hipped beehived bikini babe has decided that his sweat is sweetest and is currently attempting to lick him to death.

Omer, surprisingly for a man facing certain death, is energetically reciprocating whilst pulling what must be a Turkish bum cum face.

Republica: The Pontins years.

Luckily (for us) this insane spit porn ends with the arrival of Mr Spak who upon seeing the horrors unfolding infront of him pulls out his shiny smooth weapon and threatens to unleash its milky white ray all over Nancy's face.

The vile vixen counters this by morphing into a Sexy Vulcan babe and with a flutter of her eyelashes and wiggle of her pointed ears persuades Spak to fight Kirk to the death.

What follows is the greatest display of slow fighting ever captured on celluloid as our heroes throw dummy punches, harsh looks and grunting noises at each other whilst Omer and Nancy look on.

"Spak - make porn come on my television."

The whole debacle quickly comes to an end when Nancy - obviously overcome by boredom - just walks off, freeing Spak from her control.

Kirk avoids any uncomfortable feeling by totally ignoring the fight and heads off to find Nancy only to be attacked by around twenty leopard print thong wearing young boys.

Which is nice, if a little unexpected.

And very possibly illegal.

What now follows is around ten minutes of Kirk and Spak wrestling a group of sunburned oiled pre-teens whilst Omer pulls 'amusing' faces before running over to an upright cooker and fiddling with some knobs causing the boys to start kicking each other up the arse before collapsing.

It's like a virtual tour of Dave Lee Travis' mind.

Is it in yet?

With the film races toward it's end and viewer tolerance quickly running out Kirk and Spak finally confront Nancy, deciding that it'd be best for everyone involved if they just shoot her.

Seeing it as a fair cop she decides to face death in her true 'space otter' form.

Come on the costume must have taken up at least a third of the films £27 budget so they need to get their moneys worth.

Choking back the tears (and their vomit) our intrepid duo take aim only to be stopped by Dr. Makkoy whom it is revealed is an old flame of Nancy's and still fancies a bit of action.

Plus he has a thing for girls with hairy backs and arses.

But as we all know a leopard (or in this case an otter) can't change its spots and as Spak and Makkoy discuss the finer points of wiping out the last of a species Nancy sneaks away and begins to lick the captain.

To death.

Luckily for him tho' his screams get so loud that they can't hear each other speak so Spak has no choice but to start slapping Nancy around the head whilst widly staring towards the camera.

Nancy bitch slaps the Vulcan and continues to lick and slobber over Kirk whilst Makkoy looks on helplessly.

Will the captain survive?

Will Omer re-appear and save the day in a golden shower of comedy goodness?

Will he return to Earth with Vulcan ears and mastery of the nerve pinch giving him a way of escaping the wedding?

It's a yes to this one by the way.

Insert amusing caption here.

Regular readers of this blog will already be aware of the Turkish film industries proud heritage of stealing from American blockbusters and 're-imagining' them on a budget of around twelve quid with thrift shop special effects and somebodies uncle in the lead.

Who can forget the Turkish Superman with it's shots of a Mego 8" action figure dangling precariously from a thread in front of a black and white teevee to simulate the flying scenes or the unforgettable Dunyayi Kurtaran Adam (AKA Turkish Star Wars), where a portly middle aged Luke Skywalker battles an army of Chuckle Hounds on trampolines?

Not much is known about the making of this classic (well, there might be info out there, but I can't be arsed researching it) but director Hulki Saner also made the 1974 hit Seytan (AKA Turkish Exorcist) and that the movies star, the late great Sadri Alisik was the Turkish equivalent of Stan Boardman, Johnny Vegas and a sweaty pervert rolled into one be-hatted piss stain package.

With seven popular movies behind him, taking in comedy adventures in locations as varied as the Middle East, Germany, Africa and The Killing Fields of Cambodia Turist Ömer Uzay Yokunda was his last appearance on the big screen with Alisik going into semi-retirement and becoming a poet, his book "Bir Ömürlük İstanbul" beame an instant best seller and is universally acknowledge as being the main inspiration for the fall of the Berlin Wall, Live Aid and series 24 of Doctor Who.

So popular was he that after his death the Turkish government alongside his wife Çolpan İlhan (Turkey's answer to Joan Collins) opened a huge cultural centre in his name.

No idea if it was staffed by stinky tramps that attempted to molest female attendees in a variety of amusing ways tho.

Perhaps if any readers have been they could email and tell me.

The only other thing I could find out about him was that his brother-in-Law was the famous (well in Turkey) writer, Atilla Ýlhan.

Hmmm.....I better stop before this begins to sound like a real film blog.

Be seeing you.

* It's 'The Man Trap', the first episode ever aired on this very day in 1966 if you're wondering.

to bodly go......

Celebrate 55 years of Star Trek with THE greatest Trek waxworks of all time.



Monday, September 6, 2021



half nelson.

This classic got a mention on 'The Twitter' earlier so I reckoned that was as good an excuse as any to repost this.

You see I've always loved this movie from when I first read about it in House of Horror magazine way back in 1977 and was really jealous when as a boy my bezzie mate (who will remain nameless as he'll no doubt end up getting fan mail for being so cool) went to see this in America whilst on his holidays.

Obviously the bit when the Melting Man chased the hot rod (which was exactly the same one that he'd just bought) that he excitedly acted out on the wall of the Alder Coppice First School playground ended up being cut from the UK release.*


The Incredible Melting Man (1977).
Dir: William Sachs.
Cast: Alex Rebar, Burr DeBenning, Myron Healey, Barack Obama, Michael Alldredge, Ann Sweeny, Rainbeaux Smith, Don Walters, Bonnie Inch, Dorothy Love, Edwin Max, Jonathan Demme and the lovely Janus Blythe.

"Don't shoot! I'm Ted Nelson!"

Space: Not only the final frontier but it seems the final resting place for those movies that can only afford National Geographic style stock footage for their opening shots and in this case it's a blurry, scratched film of the sun hastily edited 'tween shots of three tinfoil-covered guys strapped into a portaloo pretending that they're orbiting Saturn.

Whilst peering out of the window and trying not to knock any of the broken egg timers cunningly disguised as scientific instruments off the MDF unit masquerading as a control console an eerie light envelopes the cockpit instantly killing two of the astronauts (to death) and seriously injuring the third.

Well it singes his porn mustache.

Back on Earth the survivor -  Colonel Steve West (Rebar from the classic Sex, Pain and Murder, Episode Two: Castration Elation and an episode of Murder, She Wrote) awakens from his slumber to find his face wrapped with toilet roll and his body covered in a snazzy pair of Bri-Nylon pajamas just like the ones your dad wears.

Even down to the stubborn brown stain on the arse and the crusty eggy bits on the crotch.

His physician, the suavely sexy Dr. Lou Loring (A young pre-Prez Barack Obama using the stage name Lisle Wilson) is at a loss to explain how West survived the journey back to Earth or why he's been given such nasty sleepwear but when it comes to the bandaged face he informs West that to cheer him up the hospital staff has styled and dyed his 'tache tho' it's best not to remove them just yet as the colour is still to set.

Sounds legit.

There's not a liberal America and a conservative America - there's the United States of America....and a melting man who lives there!"

After Loring leaves (he's probably off to fake a birth certificate), West leaps from his bed and excitedly tears off the dressing in order to admire his (now) funky facial fuzz.

Imagine his horror then when he gazes into the mirror to be confronted not by a cooly coiffured mustache but by the flesh on his face - and hands - melting away like a caramac bar left on a radiator.

Slightly riled by this turn of events West begins to smash up his room only stopping when a portly nurse (Inch from the directors classic Vietnam tale There Is No 13) arrives to take his temperature.

Having a thermometer shoved up his arse is the final straw for our spaced-out pal and West suddenly turns violent, chasing the nurse - in bouncy breasted slo-mo - down a corridor before chowing down on her ample thighs and escaping into the nearby woods.

"Shite in mah mooth!"

 Only being experienced in dealing with bunions and broken bones Loring calls on his scientist pal - and friend of West - Dr. Theodore "Ted" Nelson (Trash TeeVee stalwart DeBenning) for help.

Arriving at the scene in a snazzy tracksuit and armed with a handy Geiger counter, the pair soon come across (well she was fairly hot for a fat bird) the nurse's radiation wracked body and after much stroking of chins (as well as wiping their cocks on the remains of her uniform) the pair surmise that West must some how be melting due to the radioactive properties of Saturn and needs to consume human flesh to slow the process.

Which is a pretty good deduction from just looking at a chubby chicks gash.

As in the bite mark obviously.

Wanting to keep the operation low key (which is lucky seeing as the production doesn't seem to be able to afford a couple of lab coats let alone a troop of marines) Nelson contacts General Michael 'Scratch' Perry (Healey - best known as Arch Quinton in 'V'), an air force bigwig who was involved in the Saturn mission but now spends his time scoffing sandwiches at his desk.

With fuck all else to do other than slowly eat his way into oblivion Perry offers to help the search and flies out to meet Nelson.


Whilst we're waiting for our heroes to get their arses into gear West is busying himself causing all manner of trouble for the local populace, firstly beheading a local fisherman before turning his attentions to a group of buck-toothed pre-teens playing hide and seek.

Unfortunately the kids escape unharmed.

Realizing that the film is lacking some skin (obviously the fact that it's also lacking any good actors and a halfway decent plot isn't that important) we're suddenly introduced to the 'lovely' - if a wee bit undernourished wannabe fashion model Mavis (Ex-member of The Runaways and B movie babe Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith) and her sleazy photographer pal Clive (legendary porn producer/ director Walters) who is desperate to get Mavis to flash her boobs for his camera.

Anyone here aware of Smith's career wont be too surprised to find that this happens quite quickly but as she - feebly - attempts to fight of Clive's creepy advances our bony elbowed blonde trips over the fisherman's severed hand denying them (and us) any chance of some harshly lit loving.

We should be thankful for small mercies.

Steffi Graf, up the casino, Blackpool, 1985.....YESCH!

Armed with his handy Geiger counter - and a brass neck - whilst dressed in a fetching scoop-necked polyester jumper Nelson wanders the woods aimlessly pointing his high tech device at things in the hope of persuading himself that the paycheck is worth the effort but his intellectual musings are cut short when he finds West's ear stuck to a tree branch.

Meanwhile back at the other plot we're entertained by a 15 minute segment featuring FX god Rick Baker's fake fisherman head (I'm assuming it's fake) floating down a stream before falling down a waterfall and bursting like a melon whilst a crappy Bontempi score jauntily plays in the background.

With the film almost at the halfway point the director realizes that he has to get things moving so Perry finally arrives at the main plot, accompanying Nelson to the crime scene where the fisherman's body was found.

Hoping to avoid telling anyone about the mad, melty maniac stomping about the woods our dynamic duo desperately try to convince the peachy arsed Sheriff Blake Severn (Alldredge from everything you've ever seen including The Entity, Scarface and Iron Eagle. See how many others you can find.) that it was wolves what done it but he suspects that Nelson is lying.

Torn between telling the truth or continuing with his frankly shite lies Nelson heads home to berate his pregnant, straw haired wife Judy (M.A.S.H's Nurse Carrie Donovan herself Sweeny - no me neither) for not buying any cream crackers.

No really.

His hopes of a nice cheeseboard feast dashed Nelson's evening goes from bad to worse when Judy informs him that her whorish mother Helen (Love from Caged Heat and your Granddad's darkest dreams) and her 'boyfriend' Harold (Max who once guest starred on the radio drama Nightbeat with Frank Lovejoy fact fans) are coming over for dinner and the promise of a foursome.

Luckily on their way the pair are cruelly murdered by West.

Which may sound a wee bit harsh but anything that puts paid to their frankly arse destroying 'comedy' car antics is a blessing.

The Ronko Wankotron 2000 proved a hit with Jessica Tandy.

Off out looking for whores to murder Blake soon discovers the couples abandoned car and half-chewed bodies, quickly calling Nelson to come and identify them.

Poking about in Helen's innards Nelson quickly surmises that West is somehow getting stronger the more his body melts.

"Then he is surely an incredible melting man" Blake doesn't exclaim.

Back at Nelson's house, Judy has gone to bed leaving an - ever - peckish Perry to raid the fridge giving the director ample opportunity to share a horrendous amount of close-ups of the fat faced fucker greasily stuffing his face with chicken wings and pork sausages as congealed lumps of fat and gristle collect in the corners of his toilet-like mouth.

His gluttonous gastronomic gobblings are cut short tho' when West turns up unexpectedly and brutally slays Perry before stealing a bag of frozen peas and disappearing into the night.
Realizing that (an incredible melting) man cannot live on frozen peas alone, West breaks into the nearby home of newlyweds Terry and June  (director Demme and owner of the world's peachiest arse and smoothest of smooth thighs Blythe from The Hills Have Eyes and Eaten Alive) in the hope of finding some potatoes and maybe a small portion of fish.

Or a little bit of chicken in a box.

"Put it in me!"

Unfortunately West's search for scran is disturbed by the couple returning home and our space-fairing freak responds in the only way he knows how - by bludgeoning Terry to death this a tube of Pringles before menacing poor June thru' a broken kitchen door.

June is made of sterner stuff than her hubbie tho' and viciously slices West's arm off with a kitchen knife before sliding sexily around he goo covered lino and phoning Blake for help.

Thank you Ms Blythe for bringing some much needed eroticism to the proceedings.

Following the ever stronger radioactive trail left by West the pair soon arrive at the local power plant to find West on the roof trying to build a makeshift hammock out of the electrical cables.

All that killing must be hard work.

Nelson and Blake soon realize that if West harnesses the plant's electrical power he will become invincible.

Will our heroes defeat the sticky space slasher?

And will the director cut back to Janus Blythe who by this point is (hopefully) taking a long, lingering shower to clean all that fake blood and goo from her smooth, lily white skin?

From William Sachs - Manuel in Fawlty Towers (probably) and the man who gave us Galaxina and Spooky House (but not alas the man who gave your mum the clap - that was your uncle George) comes a movie that takes all the best bits of  The Night of the Living Dead, First Man into Space and The Quatermass Xperiment (amongst others) and mixes them into a threadbare 50's throwback thriller of inane dialogue, poverty row production values, one note performances and a tone that veers wildly from exploitation shocker to TeeVee sitcom farce like a drunken man trying to find his way home after a particularly heavy drinking session.

And that's just how it makes the audience feel.  

Bizarrely enough Sachs original screenplay was written as a parody of a typical sci-fi horror shocker but producer Samuel W. Gelfman - allegedly - cut most of the comedic elements before adding more scenes of gore and gruesomeness (thanks to a young Rick Baker) during editing claiming that a 'straight horror film' would make more cash.

On viewing you have to ask that if this is the movie with the comedy completely removed then what the fuck did they deem to funny to keep?

I mean the whole endeavor comes across like some sub-Crackerjack version of Torchwood.

Which actually means exactly like a normal episode if you think about it. 

If only Saddam had thought to wave the white flag rather than snort it maybe ISIS wouldn't exist.

The scariest thing about it tho' was the fact that the film actually became a massive commercial hit - thanks mainly to Baker's aforementioned makeup effects tho' critics unanimously derided it for being utter shite.

To a modern cinema-going audience this may seem true but let's be honest here - given the choice I'd rather spend 90 minutes in the company of creepy Colonel Steve than with the fucking whiny wee shite in the Babadook.

The perfect Friday night film and screaming out for a midnight showing alongside Contamination.

Which may sound like damning with faint praise but heyho.

So any brave cinema's up for it?

After we get our lovely vaccine passports obviously.

Answers to the normal email address.

*Tho' there's a chance he may have been lying - tho' not as much as Andrew Colley who told us all he'd seen Return of The Jedi in America and that during the film's climax Darth Vader gained robot wings and chased Luke around the still under construction Death Star interior whilst it was revealed that Boba Fett was Han Solo's evil twin brother.