Friday, May 27, 2022

bolly would.

Before I continue tho' can I just point out that my copy of this fine film is (unfortunately) not subtitled but, for the sake of expanding my cinematic horizons (and because the kids are off for a long weekend and they pick films based on how colourful the covers are) I decided to stick with it.

The fact that it features two attractive ladies in a bath together (wearing smashing swimsuits I must add) had nothing to do with my decision.

Cassidy can take the blame for it.

Look he's 16 now and old enough to make decisions on what gets reviewed here.

To be honest he'd probably make a better job of it.

A wee bit of a short one too cos frankly it's Friday night and I really should have something better to do. 

Well I've got the first two episodes of Obi-Wan Kenobi to watch.

Yes I love Star Wars, so sue me.

Men Not Allowed (2006).
Dir: Shrey Srivastava.
Cast: Payal Rohatgi, Tina Majumdar, Aryan Vaid and Tarun Arora (plus some other folk too).

Poor little rich girl Tanya (the funktastically Big faced Bollywood babe Rohatgi star of India's first film about wife swapping, Fun - Can Be Dangerous Sometimes but most famous for threatening to kill the head of her fan club via social media) has grown up in the lap of luxury.

Her father, the multi-millionaire business tycoon (and serial womanizer) Brian Sharma with whom she runs an exclusive advertising agency has always made sure that she wants for nowt, especially after her mothers untimely death.

But then again is any death timely if it's your own?

"Oh Vic....I've fallen."

Living the high life from an early age she has everything she could ever want, including a hunky fiance named Jeff Shekhar (spongy faced, manbreasted superstar Vaid, looking like Sylvester Stallone's cheese constructed younger brother) and a great line in primary coloured eighties fashions.

She wants for nothing.

Except her fathers love that is.

Tho' if I'm honest I'd settle for the money.

But Tanya's complacent existence is shattered when she comes home to find sleazy Shekhar in bed with another lady.

What a rotter. 

Dumping him (but not on him obviously), Tanya vows never to marry and throws herself into her advertising work.

During auditions for a particularly day-glo fashion shoot, Tanya meets the erotically eyebrowed, obscenely long legged wannabe model Urmila (Majumdar, star of the fantastic Haseena and regular interloper in my dreams) who, despite her stunning good looks and tasteful line in Ra-Ra skirts hides a dark secret.

A secret that could wreck her dreams of catwalk stardom forever.

"I can see your house from here Peter!"

You see, even tho' Urmila is a natural at wearing clothes, whenever she's asked to walk down a runway or pose seductively she goes all limp and falls over.

Which is a wee bit of a pain for the photographer really.

Yet incredibly arousing for the viewer.

Tanya, concerned for Urmila's welfare probes the model about her past.

Get the tissues ready because her family make our Royals seem positively normal.

Except Prince Andrew obviously.

I mean he's just a fucking nonce.
Which must be bad if you think about the amount of perverts featured on this blog.
But I digress.
You see, it seems that Urmila's deadbeat dad was a sleazy drug dealer who died alone (and stinking of piss) in prison whilst her mum was filthy drug addled mentalist that died in a mentalist asylum.

And if this wasn't enough she was sent to live with her pedo uncle who tried to molest her on a daily basis till he got bored and packed Urmila off to an orphanage where he hatred for men festered and grew.

Which is nice.
Tho' it doesn't really explain why she can't walk in a straight line whilst wearing shoes.

Your mum and your girlfriend at the bingo last night.

Tanya, being a good egg (and frankly gagging for a bit of hot model chick) decides to help Urmila overcome her fears and emotional problems by lending her a shoulder to cry on.

And a bath to share.


What a scorcher!

Izzy whizzy let's get frizzy.

After a fantastically soft focused saucily Sapphic inspired montage of knowing looks, licking of lips and friendly cuddles (which is the equivalent of x rated porn in Bollywoodland) Tanya and Urmila admit to wanting more than just, ahem, 'friendship' as a love that dare not be mentioned grows between them.

Awww, sweet.

If not a little too subtly done for readers of this blog.

Not for sale in the UK? Fuck you Brexit.

Enter (oh go on then) the vile Benny Vikram (Arora, looking like a swarthy boss eyed Corey Feldman), studly celebrity and a top model.

Who - alongside Tanya's bad dad - he hatches an evil plan to break the girls bond of friendship for ever and maybe even get rich along the way.
And what does this plan entail?

To marry Tanya, cure her of her lesbian tendencies and take over her business.


Arora: He's got something to put in you.

Riding on the coat tails of director Karan Razdan's movie Girlfriend (famous for being the first
commercial Hindi film to tackle head on the subject of lesbianism), Shrey Srivastava (director of the toptastic Sanjay Suri actioner Insaaf) joined forces with India's answer to Sharon Stone - Payal Rohtagi - to produce this primary coloured kaleidoscope of high drama, market stall fashion and top tunes that (unsurprisingly) bombed at the box office yet still cemented Payal Rohatgi's reputation as the (never naked but usually very wet) sleaze queen of Bollywood and opened the door for such saucy fayre as Phir Tauba Tauba and her career defining role in Laila – A Mystery.

Which is fair enough really.

Laila being mysterious yesterday.

If you're a fan of Bollywood (or just from the Midlands - that's in the UK for our overseas readers) then you'll know what to expect, songs, singing and pound shop slingbacks only this time with added wet lady lesbianism.

Which is nice.

But whilst Men Not Allowed never scales the dizzying heights of such classics as Disco Dancer or even Raja Nawathe's Gumnaam and is (albeit only slightly) more frightening than Bandh Darwaza (but for different reasons) it's still worth a looksie, if only for the sight of that saucy minx Rohatgi in a variety of eyeball searing outfits as she totters about on big heels to Sanjay Srivastav's groovy disco score.

Quite possibly THE best luscious lipped lesbian movie I've seen this week. 

Monday, May 23, 2022


One of those rare (semi) serious reviews now - sorry in advance - but last Friday I got the chance to see one of my favourite movies on the big screen as Carl Theodor Dreyer's 1932 classic Vampyr has gotten a 90th anniversary re-release ahead of a spanking new blu-ray edition coming out.

It's a film I've loved since first seeing it at art school (after becoming obsessed with it thanks to Dennis Gifford and Alan Franks horror books in the 70s) and a cinema showing was too good to resist.

And not just because I'd finally get to worship the alluring beauty that is Rena Mandel in all her cinematic glory either.


Rena Mandel - that is all.


Vampyr (1932).

Dir: Carl Theodor Dreyer.

Cast:  Julian West, Maurice Schutz, Rena Mandel, Jan Hieronimko, Sybille Schmitz, Georges Boidin and Henriette Gerard.

"Why does the doctor only come at night?"


After enjoying a restful afternoon fishing whilst on holiday in the quaint village of Courtempierre (that's in France, Europe near London Town for our American readers and it's pretty famous for it's huge carp. Fact.) man about town Allan Gray (West, AKA Baron Nicolas de Gunzburg, French-born magazine editor, socialite and winner of the International Best Dressed List Hall of Fame in 1971, who also co-produced and financed the movie) heads toward the local Premier Inn hoping to get a bed for the night and maybe a selfie with Lenny Henry or something.

It's all a wee bit vague and dreamlike seeing as he has no luggage other than a lunchbox and a fishing rod but hey-ho it was a more innocent time. 

Luckily the tiny, bespectacled landlady has a room to spare and after escorting Allan thru a myriad of bizarrely wallpapered corridors he finally reaches his room and gets ready for bed only to be awakened from his slumber (or is he dreaming) by a foppish, smoking jacketed old geezer (Schutz) sneaking into his room and depositing a large package on his table.

Which to be honest is a wee bit nicer - and less messy - than what could have happened.


"Do you require any scissors sharpening?"


Quickly jumping from his bed Allan grabs the package and reads the ominous note attached:

 "To be opened upon my death" 

Getting dressed, and with the package under his arm Allan heads outside, allowing the shadows around him to guide him to an old dilapidated castle on the outskirts of town where he encounters a spooky old woman (Gérard), a one-legged soldier (Boidin) and what looks like Albert Einstein (Hieronimko) after being pushed into a hedge, re-enacting scenes from Eraserhead.

Or at least they would be if Eraserhead had actually been made yet.

Which is kinda confusing.

Maybe, just maybe David Lynch had seen this before he made it?


Quickly bored with all this shadow based surrealism - and realising the film has a fairly short running time -  Allan leaves the castle and walks to the nearby chateau that just happens to be owned by the man who broke into his room the previous night.


Sneakily looking thru' one of the windows, Allan is shocked (well  I say shocked but he just has that permanent surprised eyebrow thing going on that everyone in 20s/30s movies has so I'm guessing) to see his bedroom visitor violently shot and killed.

Which is nice.

"Eye hen!"


As the servants rush around trying in vain to save their employer (and their jobs) Allan soon comes across (easy tiger) the man's youngest daughter, the epitome of 30s chic and my reason for watching - Gisèle (Mandel, be still my beating teenage heart), who, after some stilted chat, takes Allan up the library (which isn't a euphemism) and confesses that her sister, Léone (Schmitz from Diary of A Lost Girl with Louise Brooks), is seriously ill and suffering from blood loss and a tendency to snarl at passers by.

The chat is interrupted by the sight of Léone wandering passed the window in a trance like state before disappearing into the bushes.


The pair follow her, and soon find Léone lying unconscious on the grass with fresh bite wounds on her neck and really damp knees. 

Carrying her back to the chateau, Allan suddenly remembers the package and hurriedly opens it to reveal a book about vampyrs, evil creatures who can turn humans into slaves by drinking their blood. 

No, the noise was my teenage heart breaking.

A wee bit like the Tories then.

Or the SNP.

Or the production team behind Doctor Who.

Take your pick.

Armed with this information - and being a really fast reader - Allan comes to the realization that Léone is the victim of one such vampyr.

Just then there's a loud knock at the door, the local doctor (whom Allan recognises as the wild-haired man from earlier) has come to check up on Léone, oh and scoff all the biscuits obviously.

He informs Allan - 'tween nibbles on a Hob-Nob -  that Léone needs a vital blood transfusion if she's to survive and Allan - desperate to impress Gisèle (and who wouldn't be?) immediately offers to help.

As Allan has a wee kip to recover Jeff the servant passes the time by having a flick thru' (tho' not to, it's not that kind of book) the vampyr tome and learns that a vampyr can be only be killed by driving an iron bar thru its heart. 

Which if I'm honest would pretty much kill anyone, vampyr or not.

I've always wondered about that.

It's the Ninky Nonk!


Allan awakes from a fevered dream to find the doctor attempting to poison Léone in order to make her a servant of the vampyr but luckily disturbs him before he can empty his special sickly sweet liquid into the poor girls mouth.

As the doctor flees the house, Allan goes to wake Gisèle only to find her missing.

Oh no.

So with a swagger usually reserved for very energetic postmen Allan gives chase, following the dastardly doctor back to the castle where he suddenly find himself having a (totally unexpected) out of body experience that helpfully explains the bits of the plot not yet covered to him.

It seems that the spooky old lady from earlier is in fact, the infamous vampyr Marguerite Chopin and the doctor and the one-legged soldier are her loyal servants, determined to find fresh meat for their mistress.

But before Allan can stop them there are a few more nightmarish hallucinations to deal with, including experiencing his own (premature) burial by Chopin's hand and - in possibly THE most erotic scene ever committed to celluloid in the 30s - discovering poor Gisèle tied to an old bed frame looking slightly bored.

Seriously, this scene played out in my mind a lot as a teen.

To be honest it still does.

Don't judge.

I thought all girls were like this as a teen...

Roused from his hallucinations by the family servant (who just happened to be passing and carrying a huge iron bar) the pair head to Marguerite Chopin's grave and crack it open, finding the old woman perfectly preserved within. 

Obviously this is enough evidence that she really is an evil vampyr so without further ado the pair hammer the bar into her heart, killing her instantly and lifting curse from Léone who suddenly sits up in bed and asks for a cake.

And a can of pop.

Meanwhile the ghost of Gisèle and Léone's dad is wandering around the castle in the hope of extracting revenge of the one-legged man and the dirty doctor....
Will the ghost succeed in his plan?

Will Allan rescue Gisèle before the doctor has his dastardly way with her or before she gets cramp in her shoulder?

And will I ever recover from this teenage crush/obsession?*

Cinematic - and feminine - perfection.


A year after completing his frankly fantastic The Passion of Joan of Arc, director Carl Theodor Dreyer decided his next film would be (more of) a supernatural tale - if you ignore the stigmata, voices from beyond and witch trials in Passion obviously - and considering vampires to be "fashionable things at the time" (the stage version of Dracula had been a huge hit in 1927) began to fashion a tale of the undead based partly around J. Sheridan Le Fanu's In a Glass Darkly short story collection, drawing mainly from Carmilla (the lesbian vampire tale from which Hammer would plunder it's teeth and tits cycle mot famously starring Ingrid Pitt) and The Room in the Dragon Volant, a jolly tale of a young Englishman who falls in love with a beautiful and married French countess that features spooky corridoors and a premature burial.

Just because.

Société Générale des Films, the production company behind Passion were less than enthusiastic tho' leading Dreyer to team up with Baron Nicolas de Gunzburg (whom he'd met thru' surrealist illustrator and painter Valentine Hugo), who offered to fund the film if he could play the lead.

Heading to Britain to study the new medium of sound films he soon teamed up with the London based Danish writer Christen Jul to write the script, deciding after reading hundreds of books regarding the supernatural that none of it was real and that they could just make shit up.


Shot entirely on location and with a cast of (mostly) non-actors - the director found Jan Hieronimko on a late night metro train in Paris after a night out whilst Rena Mandel was an artists model - and the crew from Passion (including returning cinematographer Rudolph Maté and art director Hermann Warm) the film was completed over a 6 month period with both cast and crew staying at the (run down) chateau used in the film. Other locations such as the church (a converted barn) and the castle where all within walking distance.


With the (minimal) dialogue planned to be recorded in English, German and Danish for the international market (as it was), the film was held back until Universals Dracula and Frankenstein had been released in the hope of securing a by now horror-centric audience, this backfired somewhat as Dreyer's surreal nightmarish vision confused - and in some ways scared - audiences with it's dream-like logic and often off-kilter performances and the film was seen as a colossal failure.

Basically it's David Lynch 50 years too early.

And that's why it's so fucking brilliant.

It plays fast and loose with narrative forms, playing out like a dream within a dream (within a dream) whilst still making absolute sense and with a gripping sense of dread that most modern directors would sell their kids for.

Plus it features the goddess that is Rena Mandel portaying the very definition of art school waif.

I mean seriously, what's not to love?

Pure, unadulterated, cinematic perfection.

Friday, May 20, 2022

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 104).

 In tribute to World Bee Day, let's celebrate the companion that never was - Sara Griffiths as Ray in Delta And The Bannermen.

Thursday, May 19, 2022

slumming and rave.

I remember years ago when my blog would receive literally dozens of death threats a month due to the horrendous amounts of filth I was subjecting the nation's youth to.

Fast forward 10 odd years and I'm now a bastion of good taste and decency thanks to folk like the Thissegg Theatre Company with their kiddie sex show and Redbridge Libraries hiring a dildo-butt monkey to teach the kids how to read.

I mean seriously, how can I compete?

Yes, this is really a thing. For kids.

By jumping on the progressive bandwagon obviously.

So gonna start reviewing kiddie-friendly fayre that will no doubt raise my profile and bag me a (TR)Ash Storytime hour at the local library over the summer.

Wish me luck.

First up.....

Extra Terrestrian: Die Ausserirdische (1995).
Dir: Lidko Entinger and Siggi Entinger.
Cast: Mary Millman, Fabien Barone, Attila Roll, Freddy Dalton and Silvia Squire.

In this (surprisingly unofficial) sequel to the Spielberg classic, a female E.T. is sent to Earth in order to learn more about our customs and beliefs.

Oh yes, and how to have the sex.

You see it turns out that although our alien chums still have all the right bits, they've completely forgotten how to do it.

"Laugh now!"


Arriving on Earth via bad matte work and a big silver dildo cum rocket our warty wench soon finds herself stumbling thru' a thick fog (thanks to a completely visible smoke machine) toward a large(ish) cardboard cut-out castle.

Silently entering the building and hiding behind a curtain (shades of Peeping Blog), E.T. watches silently as the local sex obsessed aristocrats that live there indulge in every porn cliché imaginable all in gruesome, harshly lit close-up.

Arse, quim, tits and name it and those dirty Germans will try to fuck it.

Revenge for Dresden - or this years Eurovision - no doubt.

In a surprise move, the rotting corpse of Fearne Cotton's career appears on the GMTV sofa.


After what seems like hours of furiously masturbating as only a skinny woman in an ill-fitting latex alien suit can, E.T. decides to learn our strange sexual customs first hand and proceeds to spend the rest of the movie having stomach churning sex with a variety of mustachioed, pot bellied foreigners.

Exactly like your dad.

Stunning and Brave.


After having every orifice stuffed full of enough man muck to sink the Bismark, our alien friend heads home to teach her planet about shagging.

Oh and probably pass on a variety of interesting STD's to the rest of her species.

But before you laugh, phone childline or fire off another death threat, spare a moment to think of poor Silvia Squire, the woman playing E.T.

The poor woman deserves some kind of award (or at least psychiatric help) for managing against all odds to make that green, muck encrusted E.T. costume (with obligatory holes cut in it for her nipples, mouth and fanny to stick out) even a wee bit sexy.

And incredibly validating.

The new show from the ThisEgg theatre company looks a bit grim.


Look, it might not be the best alien cum sex movie ever made but it's a damn sight more erotic than Inseminoid.

Which leads me to director Dick Wadd's arthouse - or is that arsehouse? - classic N*ggas' Revenge, a film I assumed it was going to be a modern reworking of that 1977 William Sanderson, Robert Judd classic Fight For Your Life.

Or maybe even a Charles Bronsan style revenge thriller.

That'll teach me. 




N*ggas' Revenge (2001).
Dir: Dick Wadd.
Cast: Chane Adams, Bobby Blake, Chris Blake, Flex-Deon Blake, Dallas Chalmers Bud Cockerham and Eric Top Stud.

The film poster is a wee bit rude so here's a picture of my bedroom instead.

The small, everyday American town of Felchington is idyllic in every way; from it's picket fences, fat folk in high waist plaid trousers to it's neatly kept lawns.

But scratch the surface of any seemingly perfect place and something vile and slimy (and slightly rancid smelling) is bound to appear.

In this case it's a band of buffed up, bastard neo-Nazi bad boys going by the terrifying monikers of Bud, Dallas and Chane who seem to spend their entire waking life shouting slightly sexually charged yet incredibly racist abuse at their brick shithouse of a neighbour, Mr. Robert Blake (not that one).

"Excuse me! Do you require any scissors sharpening?"

Hurling remarks that would make the writers of Love Thy Neighbour proud it's only a matter of time before Bobby (as he likes to be called), tired of the police doing nothing takes matters into his own hand.

Alongside his massive cock.

Ringing his 'partner', Flex (who works as a baker fact fans) and his brother (not too sure if it's his real brother or a 'brother' brother, showing a slight lack of important character development methinks) Chris, Bobby only needs to say three little words to get the (mini) posse running.

And those words?

"White boy trouble!"

Can you dig it?

Indeed I can sir.


And so the fight begins as three skinny arsed white supremacists face off against three hulking, body building black blokes.

Now who do you think will win?

The clue is in the title by the way.

As the good ol' racist boys fight valiantly to protect their right to be arseholes, the gangs leader, Dallas interjects with some choice insults between his punches referring to Bobby as 'Uncle Tom', which I assume is a continuity mistake by the way, seeing as his name is Bobby and he's not an uncle.

Shame on you for such a glaring mistake Mr. Wadd.

Who's ready for a wee mooth shite-in?

You know what they say about sticks and stones tho' and before too long Dallas is knocked to the ground, a bloodied, muddy mess.

But Bobby/Tom/whatever has a special surprise for our racist chum.

Pulling down his leather trousers whilst pulling out his frankly terrifyingly large penis, the Bobster drenches Dallas in the golden warmth of his urine.

In the mooth.

Shaking every last drop from his mammoth member, Bobby leans toward Dallas and, with a big cheesy grin on his face announces that "There's gonna be a barbecue at Twelve Oaks tonight...and the main course is Nazi ass drenched in nigga piss!"

It was at this point I began to suspect that this wasn't actually an action movie ala Death Wish and that I was, in fact watching what could be referred to as 'the porn'.

Tho' not being 100% sure I bravely soldiered on.

Bobby by now high on the smell of man sweat and piss fumes decides to clean up the urine soaked racist and dunks poor Dallas in a nearby septic tank before bending him (a wee bit like Beckham probably) over a barrel and beating his bare arse with a handy piece of 2x4 that just happened to be lying about in the back yard.

His fun is cut short tho' when the wood breaks, leaving Bobby weapon-less and Dallas with what looks like a bright red baboon bum covered in splinters.

But if he thinks this is as sore as his bottom is gonna get then he's in for a big surprise.

"I love you....could it be magic?"

Bored with merely standing back and watching (albeit whilst sitting on Dallas' wriggly pals), Flex and Chris decide it's time to have some fun of their own and drag the three badboys off to bobby's basement games room cum sex dungeon...

And how do you think poor Dallas will explain this to his gran?

From director Rchard 'Dick' Wadd, the worlds finest purveyor of the oft ignored genre of bareback arse assault comes what will probably go down in cinema history (but not down on your mum) as the greatest - and most successful - attempt to portray the grim reality of racially motivated intolerance ever committed to celluloid.

Utilizing the harsh black and white colour palette of both the sets and performers bodies to subtly represent the violent transfer of power between the attackers and the attacked, the film culminates with what is quite possibly the most powerful statement on racism ever seen; the image of the persecuted African American transforming the oppressive white man into his slave.

Then violently bumming him for 40 minutes inbetween forcing him to drink warm urine from a dog bowl.

No wonder your Dad has this hidden in his bedside cabinet.

"Here come the Belgians!"

As with all great works of art tho' N*ggas' Revenge has it's critics.

Unbelievable as it seems there are some (very stupid) individuals tho' that disagree with the accepted interpretation of the movie, seeing it as nothing more than an excuse for 113 minutes (!) of forced interracial buggery and fisting intercut with the occasional golden shower scene and angry men shouting "N*gga!" a lot.

As if.

But even if arse informed politics isn't your thing it's a must see for any self respecting film fan in order to experience the final on-screen performance by the legendary Bobby Blake - star of High Rollin': A Black Thang,  White Nuts & Black Bolts, Pumping Black: Hold on Tight amongst many others, go on ask your dad for more info - who, in his autobiography (that bears the fantastically original title of "My Life in Porn: The Bobby Blake Story", musta taken weeks to come up with that) admits that due to the animalistic intensity of his buggery and pissing scenes that many performers refused to do movies with him, which aided his decision to retire.

Frankly I was terrified enough by the size of his cock.

I mean it was so big it hand an adult knee in the middle.

And a spine.

A spine of a giant.

Still need convincing?

Well it does feature the largest amount of urine ever unleashed in the name of interracial pornography.

Which in itself is frankly spectacular and worth the admission price (and shame filled evenings) alone.


Tuesday, May 17, 2022

saved by the belli.

Partly because I re-watched La notte dei diavoli last night but mainly due to my obsession with mysterious redheads here's Agostina Belli in a green top posing against THE brightest background ever.

You're welcome.

Tuesday, May 10, 2022

mary beard.

Been busy doing some actual work of late but didn't want you to feel left out so decided to do a quality sword and sorcery style double bill last night as a way to placate my ever dwindling readership.

Didn't finish till about 4:30 AM tho' which'll explain why the review is so short.

No doubt you'll be grateful for small mercies.

Hercules in the Haunted World (AKA Ercole al centro della terra, 1961).
Dir:Mario Bava.
Cast: Reg Park, Christopher Lee, Leonora Ruffo, George Ardisson, Marisa Belli, Ida Galli, Mino Doro, Gaia Germani, Franco Giacobini, Rosalba Neri (probably) and Ely Drago.

You know, I didn't think Hades would be anything like this.

After literally dozens of fantastically exciting (offscreen) adventures, legendary nappy clad strongman Hercules (English bodybuilder, businessman, actor and dad of Darth Maul, Park) is returning home to catch up with his girlfriend Princess Deianira (Ruffo from Pietro Francisci's fantastic Star Pilot where she plays the saucy space vixen Kaena) for a wee kiss and a cuddle.

And maybe a biscuit.

Custard Creams no doubt.


But things are amiss in the city of Cleftpate - Deianira has been struck down by a mysterious malaise and her father has died leaving her uncle Lico (Lee, slumming it for fag money) to reluctantly - aye right - to take the throne.

And Hair styling tips from Dario Argento by the look of his barnet.

Fringe benefits.

Hercules, never one to give up so easily (ask your mum) quickly heads off to ask the saucy masked oracle lady Medea (Germani) for help.

Obviously Ms Teletext was busy.

And wouldn't you believe it, it turns out there's a cure for Deianira's condition (tho' not for her dad's obviously, Hercules isn't really that bothered about that tho' as he didn't want to fuck him), unfortunately it can only be found in the Underworld.

And by that I mean Hell, not the bar that used to be by Glasgow Central Station.

Tho' I did once bump into a man that looked like Christopher Lee in the toilets there once.

Or was it Christopher Plummer?

But that isn't important, unlike the fact that no mortal man has ever returned from that dreadful place.

Again it's Hell I'm talking about, not the Glasgow bar.

Or even the London one.

Born slippy.

Hercules as we know is no mortal man and eagerly agrees to take the challenge.

But first he'll need to get a crack team of heroes together to help.

Unfortunately everyone is busy so he's left with Aryan stud muffin - cum future sex criminal the way he's carrying on, it was a more innocent time etc. - Theseus (Ardisson, best known for Agent 3S3: Passport to Hell and Zorro the Fox) who, when we first meet him is busy trying to stick it in the ever more despairing Jocasta (Drago best known for playing a tourist in Avventura a Capri - aye me neither) and former animated kid sidekick and peeping tom Telemachus (comedy god Giacobini) who has been busying himself perving on Jocasta and Theseus as they go about their - dirty - business whilst telling anyone who'll listen that she is in fact his fiancee.

Honestly it makes more sense when you watch it.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

With his team assembled the first thing Hercules needs to do is find a magic ship capable of traveling to Hades and as luck (and dodgy plotting) would have it the local fisherman Brian has just such a vessel so Telemachus volunteers to go speak to him.

Comedy hi-jinks and almost bodily dismemberment ensues (turns out that Telemachus once tried to fuck his missis) resulting in Brian leaving the boat unguarded as he chases his beloved horses giving the team ample opportunity to steal it and sail to adventure.

Little do they realise tho' that Lico is actually the evil force behind the whole plot and he'll stop at nothing to make sure our heroes fail and secure his right to the throne.

Luckily his back up plan seems to involve leaving them to it whilst he struts about in a cape shouting in a badly dubbed American accent.

"Is it in yet?"

Their first port of call is a strange land ruled by purple tissue paper clad ladies who guard a magic apple that will allow Hercules to descend to Hell, luckily they don't seem to have a problem with him taking it and point him in the direction of the - albeit huge - apple tree in order to let him pick it.

Unfortunately tho' it's a magic tree protected by lightning and stuff that no-one has ever survived.

Hercules is made of stern stuff tho' and after telling his companions to go for a wee lie down he decides to climb the tree and grab the apple.

The girlie tribe tho' are ruled over by the evil Pluto who demands a sacrifice on occasions like this so sends Procrustes the giant rock monster to kill
Theseus and Telemachus whilst they sleep.


"It could be you!"

As the rock monster (very) slowly approaches our prone pair Hercules is having trouble of his own, the lightning bolts keep breaking the branches he's holding on to and the small size of the set means that he appears to keep climbing up the same bit and never getting any higher leaving him - and the effects crew - no other option than to fashion a vine catapult capable of firing a polystyrene rock at the apple in the hope it'll fall down.

No, really.

Surprisingly this works first time and the lady boss excitedly tells Hercules that seeing as the apple is no longer on the tree that Pluto has no power over them and the ladies are now free of the patriarchy and the like.

If only it were that easy.

And as a thank you she explains that a rock monster is about to butcher his pals so Hercules heads off to save them, which he does by effortlessly lifting the beast and chucking it at a shoddily constructed wall which collapses, revealing the entrance to Hell.


"I am Groot."

Telemachus, being a wee bit more sussed than he lets on, volunteers to guard the entrance whilst Hercules and Theseus forge ahead soon coming across (not in that way but to be honest it's tempting) a naked lady chained to a tree begging for help.

Or at the very least a bucket to piss in.

Theseus is eager to help but Hercules reminds him of the oracles advice - 'believe not what you see'.

No me neither.

But there's no time to think about it as with that she disappears in a puff of smoke.

Which is a shame really as I'm sure she was portrayed by Rosalba Neri from Lady Frankenstein.

I mean according to various sources she is in the movie it's just that no-one seems to know where.

It's like Where's Wally but with nicer blouses.

Oh well.

What your mum really gets up to on bingo night.

This advice also helps when the pair are confronted by an imaginary but oh so terrifying - sea of flames blocking their path to the island of the magical stone of forgetfulness but not so much when they have to shimmy across a lake of molten lava as that turns out to be real when Theseus falls into it.

Don't get too worried tho' as by some bizarre quirk of fate Pluto was so annoyed at losing control of the ladies earlier that he totally missed Theseus dying so our (other) hero ends up safe and well in a paper-mache cave in the company of the beautiful Persephone (Galli AKA Evelyn Stewart from Fulci's The Psychic as well as Bava's The Whip And The Body) the mysterious and lonely daughter of Pluto.

It seems that she's bored of her pitiful existence and wishes to live in the mortal realm, much to her father's chagrin, and after falling madly - and quickly - in love with Theseus vows to accompany him home.

Theseus is sure Hercules will object so quickly stuffs her in his sock for safe-keeping whilst awaiting Hercules' triumphant return with the magic stone.

Look, it's not like we think he isn't going to succeed is it?

I mean fair enough they do try to add a touch of excitement by having the stone a wee bit hot so that Hercules burns his fingers every time he  tries to pick it up but he soon sorts this out by punching it till the glowing bit breaks off then wrapping it in his underwear to carry it.

Like I said, they tried.

There is such a thing as too much colour.

With apple and stone acquired it's time for our hero to head back to
Telemachus, stopping quickly to join up with Theseus - whom he just happily accept didn't burn to death in a lava pit for 'reasons' and then it's ship ahoy! for the trip home.

Theseus tells Hercules that he's very tired after his near death experience and retires below deck to 'sleep' leaving poor Telemachus to act as navigator, bosun and cabin boy as Hercules stands on the bow gazing into the middle distance whilst trying to move his nipples using only the power of the mind.

Luckily the crashing waves and howling winds cover the slurping noises coming from below as Theseus and Persephone go at it like (PG friendly) rabbits.

All this stormy weather is a bit worrying for Hercules as the purple ladies from earlier told him that the apple would grant him safe passage home, this is confirmed by Telemachus who surmises that there must be something/someone else onboard that shouldn't be there before dismissing this and going to ask Theseus for advice.

Theseus, wiping his engorged member on Telemachus' togo reckons it's nowt to do with him sneaking Pluto's daughter onboard so proceeds to throw the apple away which surprisingly does the trick and they make land without any further delay.


"Oh Vic...I've fallen."

But something is wrong, the local populace are leaving their lands as it's become dry and arid, their livestock is dying and a sense of fear perminates the whole area. Superstition has it that Pluto is angry with the mortal world, almost as if something has been taken from him.

Hercules doesn't seem to care tho' as he's more interested in getting his end away, as does Theseus so the pair head back to the city leaving Telemachus to get back to stalking Jocasta.

It's a hobby I guess.

With the special stone sought and delivered Deianira is soon back to her normal - albeit still wooden self - and eagerly planning her wedding to Hercules but Lico has other ideas, for during the upcoming lunar eclipse - due in part to Pluto's wrath - he plans to sacrifice Deianira to the god of darkness (or Dave as we call him), drink her blood and rule the world with the aid of a curtain clad zombie army he has hidden in the basement.

Hercules can't fight him alone but with Theseus busy having 'the sex' how can our hero convince his friend that the old adage of Bro's before hoes isn't actually just childish sexism but the key to saving the world?


Hot off the heels of his first 'official' film as sole director - the magnificent Black Sunday - genre god Mario Bava was hired to direct (as well as do the special effects, double as director of photography and no doubt make the tea) the second of the Reg Parks starring/ Achille Piazzi produced Hercules movie providing he could do so whilst keeping the budget under 30 quid and shooting it in a (fairly large) shed.

Bava always up for a challenge agreed on the proviso that he could shoot at least a few scenes in the local park and that they'd supply the Quality Street wrappers he'd need for the FX sequences.

Luckily for fans of quality cinema Piazzi said yes and the resulting movie is a triumph of pizazz over pennies with all the charm, ingenuity and stylish set-pieces that became trademarks of the directors output present and correct, the movie could be nothing else but prime Bava and he knows it.

"It was THIS big...I couldn't walk for weeks!"

And it's Bava's absolute confidence in his directorial - and design - abilities that makes the movie such a joy to watch, raising it head and - muscular - shoulders above its contemporaries -  whether it be scenes of Hercules holding back four wild horses in a classic strongman pose or the gorgeously framed aftermath of the handmaiden's murder as the camera calmly pans from her throat to a pool of blood, revealing Lico’s reflection within (later homaged by Argento in Deep Red) almost every frame could literally be a work of art.

Seriously, say what you like about the - at times minimal - acting style and admittedly paper thin plot cos the whole thing looks bloody gorgeous and you can see only two films in to his illustrious career why Bava was and is still regarded as The Master.
Unlike Tonino Ricci obviously.
Thor the Conqueror (1983)
Dir: Tonino Ricci.
Cast: Luigi Mezzanotte (AKA Conrad Nicholls), Malisa Longo, Raf Falcone, Maria Romano and some gypsies.

It is a time of magic and mystery (still) and the evil Lord Gnut (Raf Falcone, yup he of The Italian Job) decides to murder not only his arch rival King Linda (I'm sure that's what they say) but also his leggy wife and ball headed child - for Gnut is a very bad man.

Luckily the God Teisha places the newborn in hiding, safe from Gnuts evil clutches and turns Linda's mighty sword into a snake (as you would).

Jumping forward 25 years we find ickle baby Thor has grown up to look like Italian 'B' movie stud muffin Luigi Mezzanotte (AKA Conrad Nicholls), all rippling oily six-pack, furry pants and hairy nipples.

His only companion, a 6 ft. down at heel reject from Ru-Paul's Drag Race complete with shoulder pads Joan Collins would murder for and a libido that would terrify even John Leslie.

Thor?....Phwoooaaarrrrr more like!!

For this is the legendary Etna the Bird-Man (didn't you guess?), a powerful wizard, so named because he has the power to transform himself into an owl.

And not cos he looks like a lassie.
Etna it transpires will be our narrator for the proceedings, this will be useful because it means he can just tell us about the exciting stuff rather than showing us, seeing as the films budget doesn't even stretch to a few horses or a donkey for our hero to ride on.

Anyway, as with all these types of movie, Thor is destined to undertake a great quest under Etna's guidance. He must locate his fathers sword and take revenge on Gnut.

La Cage Aux Folles...The Steptoe years.

It's not all plain sailing tho' as along the way Thor must battle everything from blue painted, bare buttocked cannibals, frightening demons in a cave, a group of friendly fishermen who offer him food (yup, he just kills anything really) and a hunting party of 'sexy' warrior virgins.

OK, he only kills a few of those, sparing the life of the lovely Ina (Romano, star of the fabulous Women’s Prison Massacre).

Chicken in mah mooth!

Although he's only kept Ina alive to do his cooking, clean his furry pants etc. love soon blossoms between them, as Thor romantically tweaks her nipples under a tree he grunts "You Thor's bare Thor the gift of children."

How could any sane girl refuse?
Anyway some fantastic shagging ensues (intercut with sunsets, mountains etc.) before Thor continues on his quest for revenge.
I'm pretty sure some other stuff happens too, like Ina getting killed and Thor shagging a blonde bird but to be honest I've tried to block this movie from my memory.

You can probably tell that when I do that to a film it must be a bad 'un.

Didn't stop me buying it tho'.

Thor battling some stunningly
realistic demons yesterday.

Thor is another experiment in tedium from ace director Tonino Ricci, the man behind such classics as Buck at the Edge of Heaven, Night of the Sharks and Robin Hood... Arrow, Beans and Karate (yup, you've sat thru' all of those too eh?) and 'writer' Tito Carpi of Ultimo Mondo Cannibale, Tentacles and the fantastic The Raiders of Atlantis.

Unlike this fetid shite, Raiders is a film that really has to be seen to be believed, with a plot that manages to include Atlantis, Vietnam vets, Russian nuclear subs, top director Michele Soavi in a rare acting role and has a baddie called 'Crystal Skull'.

Tho' to be fair he did direct the David Warbeck monster mayhem masterpiece Panic so we should probably cut him some slack.


"Don't touch the hair!"

Frighteningly (or surprisingly) the crew weren't half-cut jakey's as first imagined but some of the best people working in Italy at the time (well, by best I mean not bad) and featured such luminaries as Giovanni Bergamini, the cinematographer from Cannibal Ferox, the Richard Kiel starrer The Humanoid and the terrific nuke mutants/motor-psychos exploitationer Exterminators from the Year 3000.


The make-up effects (of which I can't remember any) were the work of the diminutive Mr. Pietro Tenoglio (he of the bacon covered rabbit from Anthropophagous: The Beast), so how this group of bona-fide geniuses can come together and produce this beggars belief.

Maybe it was a case of too much talent and not enough booze?

Still 23rd Century (remember them?) released it a few years back as a poundshop 'exclusive' so it'd probably be worth trying to find a copy at your local 2nd record shop or whatever.

Just for completest value of course.