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.

oh bee-have.

'Logged on' to the interweb this morning and noticed this:

World Bee Day eh?

Well I have just the thing for that.

Excuse the brevity of the review as frankly it was a nightmare getting home last night due to Scotland banning trains plus I have a shocking hangover and really can't be arsed.

But then again no fucker ever reads this blog anyway.

Invasion of The Bee Girls (AKA Graveyard Tramps, 1973)
Dir: Denis Sanders.
Cast: William (wicki wah wah) Smith, Anitra Ford, Victoria Vetri, Cliff Osmond, Wright King, Ben Hammer, Stan Williams and Sid Kaiser.

They'll Love The Very Life Out Of Your Body! - Just like a normal girl then?

When a government research scientist is found naked (apart from his socks) and dead in a roadside motel just outside Peckham (a different Peckham, so don't worry that Nicholas Lyndhurst's gonna turn up) the US State Department sends tough guy special agent Neil Agar (William Smith, not the one from Bad Boys and Men in Black who punches people, but the one from Chrome and Hot Leather and The Swinging Barmaids) to investigate.

Agar’s first stop is at the home of the the sultry head of the dead scientist’s research department Julie Zorn (the always fabulous Vetri, fresh from messing up pavements in Rosemary's Baby and playing Gary Seven's sexy humanoid cat in Star Trek), who was, in fact the last person to see the scientist alive.

Nowt suspicious there then.

"Aye hen!"

At first evasive and blunt with Agar about what she was doing in the scientist's company that night, Agar eventually - and quite literally, well it is the 70s - shakes the information out of her as she delivers the Oscar worthy dialogue:

“Alright! We balled! And we balled and we balled and we balled some more, until finally he dropped dead!”

Investigating further (and with Zorn in tow) Agar makes a horrific discovery, an epidemic of fatal heart attacks linked only by the fact that the men involved all popped their clogs while engaged in the 'sex' act.

"Are you looking at my wife?"


As is always the way, misinformed Joe Q. Public start blaming the local science lab whilst erstwhile local 'sex researcher' (and closet S and M fan) Henry Murger (King) reckons it's a new disease so begins to try and convince folk to stop shagging for a bit till it's sorted.

Unfortunately there appears to be nowt else to do in the town except have sex, so the death toll continues to grow.

If only that would happen in America in real life.

"It doesn't matter how hard I twist I just can't seen to find 6 Music!"


As the stiffs get stiffer and the beds remain unmade the real cause of the sex deaths is gradually revealed.

Tho' not too gradually as it's a fairly short film.

But not as short as your mum obviously.

It appears that a group of shapely, sexy and sunglasses clad ladies are behind (and on top of obviously) the mounting pile of corpses.

Which is actually quite an erotic image.

The big question now

And why obviously but that would be two questions.

What your mum really gets up to on bingo night.

Enter (roughly from behind whilst wearing a horse mask - just me then?) nutty as squirrel shit entomologist Susan Harris (Original Price Is Right girl Ford) who, whilst studying bees and stuff has discovered that it's possible to merge bee DNA with that of a lady.

For what purpose I have no idea.

Anyway, Harris has a secret lab in the basement of the research centre as well as an army of semi-nude, bisexual, female helpers all decked out in groovy Jackie O sunglasses that answer to her every whim.

And luckily for the viewer her main whim appears to be getting her posse to smother captive naked women in custard, subject them to bursts of radiation then locking them in a cupboard full of bees, transforming them into sex crazed 'Bee Girls'.

Again, I have no idea why.

But let's be honest do you really care?

Spunky Brewster.

So it's left to an angry Agar and gruff police captain 'big' Jim Peters (Osmond from the fantastic Hangar 18) with the help of 'scientists' Stanley Williams (Kaiser) and Herb Klein (Ben 'Beast Master' Hammer) to discover the truth behind the epidemic.

But they better hurry, as Harris has kidnapped Zorn and she's next for a wee bout of oily bee-based nakedness....

Some real life farm-type ladies yesterday who may - or may not be genetically spliced with bees.

From the obviously bad break up fueled minds of Denis Sanders, the writer of the fantastic Creature from the Black Lagoon and Nicholas Meyer, later to co-write and direct Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan as well as the HG Wells/Jack The Ripper mash-up Time After Time, comes this bizarre tale of sexy girls, fist-fights, pervy sex, violence, hairy backed old men getting naked and erotically charged nude motorbiking.

Oh, and bees.

Lots of bees.

But what's copious amounts of sex and violence without a good cast?

Possibly fairly entertaining but not as entertaining as seeing 'B' movie hardnut William Smith punching insect infected laydees that's for sure.

And if that's not enough our resident stud muffin is ably abetted by pouty ex-Playmate Victoria Vetri in her last film role before she retired to raise chickens in Idaho and the spellcheck defying Anitra Ford who at that point was on the cusp of becoming a permanent 70s exploitation fixture with roles in everything from The Big Birdcage to Messiah Of Evil via the first Cathie Cosby starring version of Wonder Woman.

Which is a good thing.

No, really.

Any excuse for a Victoria Vetri pic.

But it's not all sexy females on show oh no as for the ladies watching there are top notch appearances from mustachioed lard lord Cliff Osmond, Black Belt Jones' Sid Kaiser and Halloween II's Cliff Emmich. you think about it it basically is just sexy women on show.

Tho' there is a wee bit of girl on girl action too so that's OK.
"Juliet Bravo!"

As an interesting aside it does feature the only on screen role of Mary Sweeney - David Lynch's ex-wife and one time editor which gives you an excuse to watch it from a purely film connoisseur I guess and not just look like a sad lonely man who gets turned on by wanton nudity, lipstick lesbianism and mindless violence.

You're welcome.

Forgetting all that tho' the big question we have to ask is Invasion of The Bee Girls a satire of 70's sexual attitudes or an incredibly sexist exploitationer relying on copious amounts of T and A to film it's meager running time?

Who cares?

it's got nude ladies being smeared in honey by other nude ladies to a wonderful 'Ooooow wooooo woooo' spooky scifi soundtrack.

What more do you want?

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?

Now there's a mooth made for shite-in in.

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' Niggas' 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 "Nigga!" 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 man 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.