pish fingers.

Day 17 of the 31 days of horror asks the question "What would happen if two of the worlds greatest directors teamed up to make a movie about a man-eating mutated shark/octopus/beach ball beast?"

 

Let's find out! 

 
Shark: Rosso nell'oceano (AKA Monster Shark, Devouring Waves, Devil Fish. 1984).
Dir: John Old Jr. (AKA Lamberto Bava with a wee bit of help from Bruno Mattei).
Cast: Michael Sopkiw, Valentine Monnier, Dino Conti, Gianni Garko, William Berger, Iris Peynado, Lawrence Morgant, Cinzia de Ponti, Darla N. Warner, Paul Branco, Ennio Brizzolari, Lisa Frances Rubin, Goffredo Unger and Dagmar Lassander.

"You filthy rotten bloody sod, LET ME HEAR YOU!"

As the sun glistens off the calm Florida coastline (which looks uncannily like the canal behind Bava's house) and seagulls waft on the warm air currents the tranquil silence is suddenly broken by a Navy rescue helicopter hurryingly (do helicopters hurry? Answers to the usual address) flying to aid some fat geezer whose inflatable beach toy has capsized or some other such drama.

Arriving at the scene our plucky rescuers are shocked to find huge teeth marks in the poor man and that someone (or something) has stolen his legs.
 
Bastards.

But who cares?

We have science-types to meet.

And first on the list is brainy blonde boffin Dr. Stella Dickens (council estate Michaela Strachan, Monnier, most fondly remembered for 2019: After the Fall of New York and serving you in McDonalds last week) who works at the local aquarium training homeless dolphins to beg for scraps of food and patronizing the visitors.

She will be our heroine for the next 90 minutes.

Meanwhile out at sea her college and fellow scientist Dr. Bob Hogan (a strangely uncredited - and frighteningly shortarsed- Conti from Endgame but not Shirley Valentine) appears to spend all his time getting pissed whilst sailing about aimlessly aboard the sea-going equivalent of a Pikey's caravan, the cleverly named research vessel Seaquarium.

Enjoying the scenery and contemplating a Pot Noodle fueled fiddle, Bob's daydreaming is rudely interrupted when one of the high tech sonar buoys he’s dragging along behind the boat starts making bleeping noises.

Exciting stuff.

Popping his booze on the table and his engorged member back in his shorts, Bob decides that it'd be a good idea to record the noises - well it is his job - but the boat is suddenly attacked and his beer is violently knocked over.

How much fucking plot does this masterpiece have?

Back at the aquarium it's pandemonium as every single dolphin has started going mental, swimming back and forth whilst making that irritating clicking noise (hang on, isn't that just normal behavior for a dolphin?) causing Stella to clumsily slip into the pool and smudge her make-up.

And if anyone ever needed a reason to slaughter dolphins I think that is a good enough one.

Kylie Minogue licking piss off John Nettles yesterday.

With all this make-up mussing we almost forgot about Bob, who is still stumbling about his boat trying to find a blank cassette to record the strange sounds on.

Luckily it stops almost as suddenly as it started so Bob switches off the recorder and sits back down.

But not before he opens another beer.

How much excitement can an audience take?

About this much obviously.

Roughly cutting to the local hospital, we join the enigmatic Doctor Simon Shifty who, after just completing his examination of the legless (but not in a good way) man that the helicopter team brought in, is on his way to give his valued opinion to the high voiced, tiny limbed Sheriff Gordon (Garko, star of Mole Men Against the Son of Hercules and The Psychic) and his hulking sidekick Cortez (portrayed by a brick shit-house).

"It's a shark what did it!" announces the Doc "Or then again it might be an otter or suicide" he continues, "I know! A bad boy done it and ran away!"

Gordon just stands there swaying in the breeze as he strokes his chin, mulling over the Doctors theories.

Me?

I'd have punched the annoying sod in the face.

And his mum.

The sheriff decides it'd be best to take pictures but whether there for evidence or his own sick sexual pleasure we will never know.

Which is a pity really.

It's grim up north.

Anyway before anything remotely interesting happens at the hospital it's back to wee Bob and his scary noises.

Stella, still damp from all that girl on dolphin action earlier is on tender-hooks (well, it's the only thing that can explain away the pained expression on her face) waiting for Bob to play back the recording.

But surprise, surprise when he goes to play it back the tape is silent.

Bob tries in vain to describe the sound, explaining that it was either a spooky voice or a particularly terrifying 'thing' filled with hate.

Hmmmm.

Always helpful, Stella reckons it's the very same noise that sent the dolphins ape (fish?) shit and that it may be either too high or too low for the tape recorder to pick up.

The fact that Bob was so pissed he could of imagined it doesn't enter her head.

With all the facts in hand Stella heads off to see her pal, electronics wizz and part-time hair model Peter (2019: After the Fall of New York's other blond bombshell Sopkiw) at his pound shop lair cum knocking shop where he works - and plays - with his exotic girlfriend Sandra (Peynado, last seen - by me at least - having sex with Fred 'The Hammer' Williamson in Warriors of The Wasteland or whatever it's called this week).

It's like an Enzo G. Castellari survivors group meeting.

Stella arrives just in time to see slinky Pete packing his suitcases into his Jeep, it seems he's off to New York on vacation where "three beautiful women are waiting for him".

That'll be his mum, aunt and sister then.

Luckily - for us and the plot - Stella's really good at batting her eyelids in a sorta harsh faced Bambi type way and within seconds Peter is hard at work building some special equipment to track the mystery noise much to Sandra's chagrin.

It seems she was looking forward to a fortnight vegging out to Loose Women and not having to shave her legs.

Or her mustache.

Peynado: Hairy back and arse.

Meanwhile over at the West Ocean International building, one Dr. Davis Barker (gone to seed David Cameron alike Morgant, in his only film role thank fuck) is busying himself making bubbles in a jug of water (it must be a science thing) whilst his boss' wife Sonja (copper topped genre Goddess Lassander) makes all the office computers say 'I love you Davis' in unison.

What this has to do with monster sharks or devil fish I have no idea but it is rather sweet.

Gazing into each others eyes whilst mumbling something about genetically modifying cod the pair engage in a bit of old person snogging which - fortunately for sensitive viewers - is quickly interrupted by a foxy young lab assistant who just happens to be wandering by.

I've a hunch that this may be important later.

Someone whose passions haven't been dampened tho' is Peter who, even as we speak is not only building all that technical gubbins for Stella but is also managing to pleasure Sandra with his free hand at the same time.

And all to a tinny Casio porn score.

Now there's a man whose life I want.

I wouldn't want one of them swimming up my.....oh fuck it go on then."

Remember the foxy lab assistant from a few paragraphs back?

Well she's returned home to pack her suitcases, phone a cab and run a bath.

And all whilst wearing the flimsiest pants/see thru dressing gown combo I have ever seen.

Which is a skill in itself.

But as fun as it is to watch these lace based, bouncy arsed packing activities, they're soon interrupted by a hairy armed, small handed man ringing her doorbell.

Is it the cab driver?

Donald Trump?

Or could it be that she's been threatening to tell Sonja's hubbie about the affair so he's sent someone round to off her?

Go on, guess.

See? She's not just a talented actress.

 

Either way it looks like it must be the town's annual thug night because that very same evening Peter is woken from his post sex slumber by the sound of someone trashing his workshop.

Not only that but the poor guy is beaten senseless by the same hairy armed bloke when he goes to investigate.

And what, pray does all this have to do with monster sharks?

Fucked if I know, it's almost as if everyone's forgotten that that's what the movie's about.

And I'm spent!

Two people who most definitely have forgotten are the couple balding middle-aged men that head out to sea (in what appears to be a child's toy boat) the next morning to enjoy a wee bit of scuba-diving fun.

The skinnier, more rat like of the two seems to be in his element watching various grainy clips of sharks go by as he bobs about in what looks like a swimming pool whilst his portlier pal lounges about eating do-nuts.

I'm sure it's the same guy from Tentacles.

Imagine the indignity of being typecast as the fat do-nut man who gets eaten by sea monsters.

Tho' saying that he probably gets more fan mail (and money) from that than being known as the Autistic  'mooth-shite guy that blogs about films that no-one else cares about'.

So touché sir.

Pity this tranquility - and random typing - can't last as from nowhere a huge bulbous head with rows of razor sharp teeth appears and starts to chow down first on the boat and then its occupants.

And in a scene shot entirely from inside the beasts mouth.

Art or arse?

YOU decide.

"Look at the dog!"

In spite of all these unexplained water-based deaths going down, Sheriff Gordon is more interested in interviewing the allusive director of West Ocean International himself, the mysterious Dr. Donald West (The Spider Labyrinth star Berger disappointingly not playing the sexy pilot from Lost In Space) regarding the death of the blonde lady from earlier.

No idea why.

Perhaps he doesn't like water?

"Do you think it was an accident…or did she commit suicide?" Asks the Sheriff in all seriousness.

Thinking for a moment a jovial West replies "Well I think that’s up to you to decide Sheriff!"

"Well murder it is then!" Comes Gordon's hilarious retort.

Yup, well researched police work at it's best.

At least it wasn't his wanking arm.

As more bodies turn up (including one of the scuba-guys and a hideously obese married couple who, for some reason best left unknown actually die in the pre-credits scenes of the American cut), Gordon reckons it'd be a good idea to ask the only survivor some questions regarding the attacks.

Pity then that one whiff of Gordon's pickled onion Monster Munch breath sends the poor sod into shock followed by an unhealthy dose of death.

Bored with being sidelined by the whole murder/blackmail plot, Peter, Stella, wee Bob and a foxy Paleontologist with a strange old/young face named Mrs. Janet Bates (Warner, best known for playing a waitress in E.T. and the Sheriff and singing drunkenly at karaoke in my local pub) jump aboard the Seaquarium in order to test Peters brand new sonar equipment.

As Sandra waves them on their journey (and heads off for an appointment with the hairy killer bloke) Bob cracks open the beers whilst Peter fiddles about with various brightly coloured wires.

"Do you think the sonar will work?" asks Stella.

Peter looks up from the back of what looks like an old telly and mischievously replies "You have beautiful eyes!" before getting back to work.

For he is indeed one smooth bastard.

A high tech sonar device earlier today.

Finishing his fiddling Peter dons his sexy scuba pants and dives into the water to check on the equipment whilst Stella and Janet (wearing a rather fetching diarrhoea coloured safari suit) join Bob on the deck for drinks, shits and giggles.


After even more fiddling, diving and drinking the fantastic foursome managed to get a sample of spooky noise and head back to shore for a meeting with the first with the Sheriff and then West who, thanks to Janet receives a fascinating lecture on 'proto-sharks'.

After the thrilling talk (with slides) West, waiting till everyone has left desperately tries to access some secret files on the institute database regarding 'Project Sea Killer".

Could this be the beast that's been terrorizing the coast?

It looks like we'll never know seeing as the computer keeps shrieking "access denied" at every given opportunity.

Which is strange seeing as West owns the place.

Laugh Nooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!

Back on the boat Peter notices a large, luxurious yacht close by which Bob recognizes as Dr. West’s boat, The Saucy Challenger remarking that he's probably sent his heavies to spy on them, smash all their equipment and capture the monster shark for their own nefarious ends.

Rotters.

As if by magic one of the buoys actually breaks down of its own accord so Peter and Stella change into their skimpiest swimming costumes legally allowed in 80's cinema in order to go and fix it, leaving Janet and Bob to get (even more) pissed and await the arrival of the beast itself.

Hopefully cos to be honest I'm pretty sure the thing doesn't exist.

Either that or the FX team haven't gotten around to finishing it yet.

Things go from bad to worse tho' because the broken buoy scenario is in itself  obviously not perilous enough a predicament to put our twosome in so the writer decides to give Peter's dinghy a puncture too.

On a brighter note it does leave the pair no other choice than to swim to the nearest island and have some sex.

Meanwhile, back aboard the Seaquarium (again) the monster shark - finally - shows up on the monitor as Bob and Janet gaze at the Spectrum 48K graphics in a mixture of awe, apathy and horror.

Swimming quickly towards the boat in a joyous mash up of grainy stock footage and blocky blips, it's tentacles poised for attack the shark readies itself.

Hang on....tentacles?

A shark with tentacles?

As if by some sort of osmosis Bob cries "My God, a shark with tentacles!" as the beast eats the camera under the boat and heads in for the kill.

I really can't figure out what's going on here but it looks painful.

Bob in an almost sexual frenzy grabs his trusty dart gun and peers over the side whilst Janet sits on deck pulling a classic constipation face.

Looking for any sign of a fin poor Bob visibly shats himself as a dozen or so rubbery (why thank you) tentacles appear from the sea, grabbing saucily at him before fondling his ample buttocks and dragging him to his doom.

Still feeling a bit peckish the monster shark/octopus/whatever it is makes a play for Janet who, luckily for her just happens to be holding a small hatchet at the time enabling her to beat the beast off.

But not in that way obviously.

And what of our star-crossed shaggers on the beach?

Cos let's be honest, if we have the choice between a wet woman being manhandled by a tentacled beast or watching Michael Sopkiw wiping his cock on a palm leaf, I know which I'd rather see.

So it's back to Peter who, after waking up Stella, decides that they really should get back to the boat to see how the monster search is going on.

She sighs, pulls her swimsuit out of her arse crack and starts to paddle the dingy towards the Seaquarium.

But as the loved up pair approach the boat they begin to realize that something is amiss, Bob is nowhere to be seen, there's blood in the water and a severed tentacle hanging over the side.

Boarding the craft they find Janet hysterical and lying in a pool of her own piss on the upper deck and Peter not wanting to miss out on a breast fondle looms over the poor girl and cradles her in his big manly arms as Stella takes them home.

She's got something to put in you.

Back onshore Peter, armed with a videotape of the creature heads over to the West Ocean International labs - again - (well if you've got a set you may as well use it) to see if anyone has any idea what they're dealing with.

Carefully studying the tape whilst consulting his battered copy of The Ladybird Book of Big Bastard Sea Beasts Dr. Davis hypothesizes that the creature is at least forty feet long with a six feet wide mouth and probably has a top speed is over thirty five knots.

All that from a murky out of focus video tape?

Damn he's good.

Being the heroic type Peter formulates a plan - and for once it doesn't involve fondling old ladies, instead he suggests that they could try and lure the monster shark thing into a trap using the recordings of it's voice that they made earlier.

All they have to do is raise the pitch so that it sounds like a female then lie in wait until he comes calling.

Yup, it's a Peter plan so it must involve sex in some form, I'm surprised he's not just offered to go out and shag it to death.

Anyway, everyone agrees that this is the most sensible option (obviously not the shagging bit) and heads off to load the boat with explosives.

Peter farted....and it was an eggy one.

With all this excitement going on, everyone fails to spot the hairy killing man receiving a phone call telling him to stop the mission at all costs.

Oh and to kill Sandra when he has a spare minute.

Not even stopping to change his cum stained shorts Peter is soon back aboard (well underneath) the good ship Seaquarium, attaching various probes and scanners to it's (and probably to Stella's bottom too) whilst totally failing to notice the beast watching therm from behind some seaweed.

Well to give it its dues the monster shark is wearing a top hat as a disguise.

But that's not the only trouble in store as Janet soon finds out when a group of badmen creep aboard and stab her.

To death.

Whilst all this is 'going down' as you young people say, Stella and Peter are attacked by the same knife-wielding bad boys but this time they're wearing swimsuits in what looks like a community centre drama group recreation of the underwater battle from Thunderball.

Dodging harpoons, knives, visible camel-toe and monster fish, Stella manages to make it back on board only to be captured by the groups ringleader.

Would you believe it, the evil Dr. Miller is behind everything.

Well I mean everything in the film not literally everything it's not like he was the real force behind 9/11, the 1986 Mozambican Tupolev Tu-134 crash, or the fact that Paracetamol causes Autism.

Tho' thinking about it....

Killing every underwater villain, Peter scrambles his way onto the boat and confronts Miller who is standing in his best scary pose with a bread knife to Stella's throat.

And if Peter comes any closer he'll cut it.

A crap pub fight ensues and they both fall into the sea with the monster shark getting ever closer but just as Peter reaches the boat one of the beasts tentacles grabs Stella and pulls her overboard.

Yikes.

Peter looks on in terror (well disbelief and hardly concealed amusement) as another tentacle grabs Miller and begins to toss him about like a dummy stuffed with newspaper.

Which it very probably is.

All this tossing of villains gives Peter enough time to rescue Stella from its slimy clutches and reach the relative safety of the boat where they both sit and watch Miller get eaten before putting an oily blanket over Janet (not as a mark of respect but to cover her harsh face) and preparing the dinghy's speakers.

Yup, Peter has volunteered to pretend he's a horny lady shark-thing (surprise) and lead the beast inland toward a huge mob of dynamite carrying locals eager to blow the bugger to Spain and back.

"Rrrrrrrraaaaannnnggggeeerrrrsss!!!!"

Meanwhile (this is getting a tad predictable now), Dr. West contacts Sheriff Gordon to report his findings.

Yes he has just spent the majority of the movies running time hunched over a computer.

It seems that every single one of the monster sharks cells is capable of reproducing another (albeit slightly less shoddy) monster shark.

Which is bad news as far as the plan goes.

Radioing Peter to tell him the news it's up to our hero to disabled the exploding buoys, warn the over excited townsfolk and find a non blowy-uppy way of finishing off the creature.

All within the next ten minutes.

Will pretty boy Peter succeed?

And will he really give a toss when he finds his ex-missis is dead?

From the smoking quill of Gianfranco Clerici (the writer of such hits as Delirium: Photo of Gioia, Murder-Rock and House on the Edge of the Park amongst others), the visionary mind of Lamberto Bava with cheap drink and snacks supplied by Bruno Mattei (possibly) Monster Shark manages the unenviable task of trying to match the sheer terror and excitement of Jaws but on a budget that wouldn't pay for Richard Dreyfus' nasal hair clippers.

Scarily tho' the film succeeds at this task and sometimes even rises above it's source material.

Not really, it is, in fact, utter shite from start to finish.

But that's not to say it isn't an enjoyable piece of shite, you know a wee bit like that scabbily skinned dodgy dancing delight you meet at the end of the night when your serial killer/stalker radar is at its lowest and you actually start listening to your libido.

Of course you enjoy the kebab stained muddy kneed fumble behind the bins but you wouldn't take her home to meet the wife and kids.

Monster Shark, you are that clap ridden horror and we love you for it.

Just don't expect us to give you the correct phone number as we sneak off for a taxi back to Movieville.

"Fuck me a wasp!"

On a plus point.....hang on there are no plus points; the dubbing is shoddiness of the first order, the editing seems to have been achieved by throwing the film into the air then allowing a group of blind, wooden pawed dogs to attempt to glue it together and the storyline (for what it is) is a weird mix of conspiracy thriller, scientific corporation gone bad, cack handed murder mystery and a monster movie all rolled into one big ball of cinematic sputum retched up from the tar ridden lungs of good taste.

More the beasts tentacles than the dogs bollocks, Monster Shark should have pride of place right next to Shark Attack 3 and Raging Sharks.

Hidden right behind your moldy old Betamax Colour Climax release of Animal Farm you've had since school save anyone sees it and makes a harsh character judgment on you.

Saying that tho' I bloody love it.

And you will too.

the return of bruno.

Recently realised it's been too long since I gorged myself on the genius that is Bruno Mattei so thought I'd dip into his sticky back catalogue and dredge up some old reviews in the hope of attracting some new readers.

Or any readers if I'm honest.

 

Island of the Living Dead (AKA L'Isola dei morti viventi. 2006)
Dir: Bruno Mattei (as Vincent Dawn).
Cast: Yvette Yzon, Franco Miguel, James L. Gaines Sr, Ronald Russo, Ydalia Suarez, Alvin Anson, Gary King Roberts, Curtis Carter and Thomas Wallwort. Stars one and all.

Why can't more films have artwork like this?

Many years ago on a mysterious Spanish ruled island a group of (strangely Filipino looking) Conquistadors are having a wee bit of bother with the witch doctor and his chums.

You see, it seems that as soon as anyone dies they immediately come back to life as pasty faced angry zombie/vampire/general undead thing.

Which is nice.

The forts soldiers are having the worst of it tho', seeing as they've got the incredibly monotonous job of piling the corpses onto the back of a wagon just to see them re-animate and wander off again.

Slightly annoyed by this turn of events, the islands captain decides it'd be much easier to shoot them in the head and set fire to them.

Which would be great if one of his overzealous pals hadn't decided to torch the curtains too.

Confused whether to be more afraid of the undead hordes outside or the chance of burning to death, the entire garrison of terrorized soldiers flee....running straight into a band of sword wielding, zombie pirates.

Don't you just hate it when that happens?

Is your hair all you let down when you have a drink?

Meanwhile, in 'the modern times' (did you really think that Mattei would have the cash to do a period piece?) the good ship Dark Star - a very expensive salvage/research vessel cunningly disguised as an old tug - and it's hearty crew are busy combing the ocean floor for discarded Ferrero Rocher boxes to sell to rich collectors on the chocolate box black market.

No really.

It's not been going too well this trip tho' as after 6 months at sea all they've found are a few old tins, a used condom and a bit of wood so with morale at an all time low (they've obviously not read the rest of the script) the crew decide to give up and go home for tea and biscuits.

Of a non-soggy kind obviously.

But just as they're about to put the boat in reverse the team's pocket sized scientist Sharon (the yumsome Yvette Yzon) announces that shes located a submerged sweet shop chock full of booty.

Tho' none as stunning as hers it has to be said.

We wont say that tho' as it would be a wee bit sexist.

So there.

Anyway, all is going swimmingly, until that is the crew begin to raise the big plastic model of the ambassadors reception that houses all the still sealed Rocher's and pop it on board.

After a flying start the ambassador's legs drop off  causing all the chocolate to go cascading back into the sea.

Discouraged and a little disheartened for about five minutes, the crew decide to crack open a beer and break out the Pringles before realizing that the could just go to a cash and carry and easily purchase a mountain of fresh Ferrero Rocher and with that thought begin heading home.

But there's even more bad luck on the horizon, a spooky mist has enveloped the vessel forcing it to run aground on a mysterious, uncharted island.

The ships drink sozzled captain, the unfortunately named Kirk (the gone to seed David McCallum lookalike that is Sir Ronald of Russo), decides that they'd better explore whilst Max the bubble permed engineer (Wallwort) stays on board to drink Lilt and shout at the engines in a vague mix of cliché and slightly racist characterizing.

Inside Nicola Sturgeon's mind.

Arriving on a deserted beach the crew do what is expected in any horror movie worth its salt and decide to split up to explore.

Sexy Sharon, tubby George Galloway wannabe Mark (Roberts) plus the hulking, bleached blond (and oh so slightly fey) Tao (Miguel) will go and search for food and water, whilst the ever more tipsy Captain Kirk, cool guy Fred (Anson, looking like the long lost son of Erik Estrada), shouty and permanently pre-judging Victoria (pouting, poppy eyed popstrel Suarez famous for her massive hits including Stars in Love) along with the superbad mo-fo Snoopy (Gaines) go looking for other stuff.

Seriously you need a notepad to keep track of this cast.

Making their way thru' the thick jungle vegetation (oh OK then, a local kiddies adventure playground) Sharon and co. stumble across an old an old cemetery (as well as their dialogue) shrouded in the same ghostly fog that enveloped the ship before it ran aground.

And slowly lurching out of that mist towards them is a shambling figure that may have once been a man.

Well technically it is still a man, he's just dead but writing "And slowly lurching out of that mist towards them is a shambling figure that upon further inspection is just a normal guy who happens to be dead yet walking" really doesn't have the same sinister ring to it does it?

"Aaarrgghhh...this isn't what I meant

by taking me up the casino!"

Sharon, obviously thinking that the scene needs a wee bit more tension, decides to stand perfectly still allowing the putrefying tramp to get close enough to grapple her to the ground (perhaps she likes a bit of rough?) and thus giving Mark a chance to shine as he trips over a plywood gravestone before screaming for help.

Luckily Tao is a champion kick boxer who's been itching for a fight since they arrived on the island, so he's more than happy to jump in and fight the undead groper whilst his two colleagues leg it to safety and leave him to get bitten to death.

Friends eh? I think we can safely say that they weren't there for him.

Elsewhere on the island, the crusty Captain Kirk (I'm sorry, but it makes me laugh just typing it) and his merry band have discovered the overgrown ruins of the Spanish outpost.

Taking tentative steps into the dark, dank interior, Fred manages to go crashing thru the floor, falling headfirst into a dusty torture chamber full of joke shop skeletons, pound shop candles and a mysterious book bound in pigs ear and inked in Crayola.

Kirk, showing off reads a few pages, pointing at the illustrations and making animal noises as he goes.

Snatching the book from his hand (why is she so impatient? Does she have a prior appointment?) Victoria begins to translate the passages not covered in crude nob drawings or shite revealing that the tome she is holding is the infamous Book Of The Dead that foretells of a time when the dead will return to life and devour the living.

Been done, hasn't it?

Beware the binmen!

Back on board the boat, Max is onto his twelfth can of pop and passing gas like a steam engine as his vain attempts to repair the engines - by rubbing them whilst shouting abuse at anyone within earshot (i.e. himself mainly) - comes to nothing.

Hearing a banging on deck, as well as noticing a faint whiff of cabbage mixed with stale urine, he assumes that Kirk has come back to check up on his progress, so as you would imagine Max is rather surprised when a gaggle of undead Spaniards start tottering down the engine room steps toward him licking their stringy lips in anticipation.

Understandably he begins to panic and, whilst attempting to escape accidentally hits the 'blow the ship up' lever.

What do you mean real ships don't have one of those?

Bruno would never lie.

"Ron Resrie!"

The resulting explosion brings everyone running back to the shore just in time to see what looks like a giant paper cut-out of the Dark Star sink slowly beneath an almost hypnotically undulating blue bedsheet, leaving the brave crew trapped on a zombie infested island for the foreseeable future.

If not longer.

 

Kirk and co. must quickly find a safe haven for the night if they're to survive on this mysterious, undead filled island.....

Or this?

Aah, good old Bruno Mattei, whilst most of his contemporaries gave up on the zombie horror genre after the bubble burst in the late eighties, Bruno decided to soldier on, partly in the hope of topping his magnum opus Zombie Creeping Flesh but mainly because he really, really liked zombie films.

Which I say fair play to, I mean as Susan Boyle said (or maybe she didn't, I just make most of this shit up) everyone needs to dream.

And it was this dream took him from his native homeland of Italy to the temperate jungles of the Philippines via the guerrilla realm of digital video technology and top quality local totty.

And the results were well worth the plane fees.

With it's wafer thin plot, copious amounts of stock footage and rough edged special effects, Island of the Living Dead resurrects the golden age of the shlock horror zombie genre, dragging it kicking and screaming into the straight to DVD age.

And it seems nothing has changed except the ethnicity of the actors involved.

But trust me, dear reader when I tell you that this is, in fact, a good thing.

 

Yzon: you would. Twice.

Featuring a heady mix of zombies along with an ample helping of vampirism, Voodoo and a snatch of flamenco dancing, Mattei bravely sticks to what he does best, which of course is churning out no-budget horror 'epics' whose plots are straining under the miniscule budgets involved.

Which goes to prove once and for all that God does indeed love a trier.

As do I.

Steps have let themselves go.

Worth a looksie for the first appearance of latter day Mattei muse Yvette Yzon (star of the sequel Zombies: The Beginning and Anima Persa) alone, Island of the Living Dead is an off coloured, moss stained gem of a movie, worthy of a place in the tarnished crown of Italian undead epics.

Unless you've been force fed a diet of David Robert Mitchell/Rob Zombie movies when frankly you shouldn't even be wasting my time reading this.

Go on, treat yourself today.

Then clean yourself up and go purchase this.

You know you want to.

stryke it lucky.

Our youngest was out shopping with Mum t'other day and came back with this haul...

He's obviously showing good taste.

Anyway, this served as an excuse to show him some other classics of the zombie genre.

 

And this one obviously.

 

Anyway on with the review.

Zombie Flesh Eaters 3 (AKA Zombie 4: After Death. 1988)
Dir: Claudio Fragasso.
Cast: Jeff Stryker, Candice Daly, Don Wilson, Massimo Vanni, Nick Nicholson, Adrienne Joseph, Jim Gaines, your mom and some tramps.

Touchin' our bane will feel our rain on the gain. It's a nightlife, whoa! Runnin' hard if you want it or not! It's a wild life, whoa! You can't stop. You must go on! I'm living after death! Living after death! I'm living after death! Living... Living... LIVING AFTER DEATH!

Somewhere on a remote South Pacific island (or more likely in the kiddies play park behind the directors house), a scientific research team have been working on a cellular regenerative thingy in the hope of finding a cure for ingrowing toenails and bad breath.

In an attempt to get the local (glam rock frocked) natives onside, top science bloke Dr. Godfrey Soontodie has offered to use this frankly bollocks scientific discovery to help cure the voodoo witch doctor's daughter of her terrifying bunions.

As is always the case in these situations the wee girl unfortunately dies.

It's off screen tho' so it's not that upsetting.

"Get your clothes off and your lips puckered....these babies aren't gonna suckle themselves!"

Not too surprisingly the witch doctor takes offense to this news and decides to put the famous 'curse of the dead' on the island, its visitors and inhabitants.

Which is understandable if not a wee bit annoying for the rest of the tribe.

With a wave of his mighty (and very beefy) arms and a flash of homemade fireworks (but not alas a flash of old man thigh) literally all hell breaks loose.

Well it would if hell consisted of an old lady in an ill fitting Halloween mask and a pair of Austin Powers teeth seemingly faking an orgasm whilst dancing like Ian Curtis on crack.

It's your Nan at Christmas basically.

Laugh and indeed now!

It's not too much of a spoiler to say that the dead rise and kill everyone.

Well everyone that is except the lead scientists blonde moppet daughter, Jenny who survives the carnage thanks to a magic amulet given to her by her mother.

Well it's either actually magic or so cheap and nasty as to repel any self respecting zombie that sees it.

You can decide.

Flash forward 15 years later and a rescue team, led by the hunky Chuck (porn idol Stryker in a rare 'straight' role - ask your dad) is finally dispatched to discover why no-one has been returning their calls.

Well they took their time didn't they?

Also on the island (by some strange quirk of fate) is a by now all grown up Jenny (the late, great Daly from The Young and the Restless and Hell Hunters) accompanied by the slightly less attractive Louise (Joseph, mother of Birds of a Feather's Leslie), rentalunk Rod (Nicholson) and a couple of dirty mouthed tramps from West Bromwich.

"Put it in me!"

 

Sod all this character stuff tho' we want to know what Team Chuck is up to.

Well, whilst wandering around in a polystyrene cave left over from Michele Soavi's 'The Sect' (no really) our hero comes across the mysterious Book of the Dead.

Which is a change from my boyhood years watching him coming across a variety of buff arses whilst pulling a face not too dissimilar to the one your grandad pulled when he had that stroke.

But enough of the homemade erotica you want to know how Chuck knows that it's the real Book of the Dead and not a shoddy knock-off one from down the market.

Well it does have the words BOOK OF THE DEAD printed on the cover in big bold letters so I guess that clinches it.

You can see why Mrs Unwell doesn't trust me to buy stuff off Ebay can't you?

"Shite in mah tramp bearded mooth!"

Anyway back to the plot (for want of a better word) where Chuck, in a vain attempt to prove he can read unaided - but alas proving that he's never seen a horror movie - begins to shout random passages from the book (intercut with him shouting "Yeah baby! You're so fuckin' tight!" and pulling his cum face - well in my dreams it is) not realizing that the words, when read aloud are capable of bringing the dead back to life.

This'll be the same living dead that have actually been wandering around aimlessly for the past decade and a half from when that witch doctor read the same book, remember?

The writer obviously doesn't.

Here come the Belgians!

Within minutes our heroes (well the folk on screen) are running for their very lives as hordes (I say hordes but I mean dozens) of foul looking, underpaid extras and homeless folk begin to rise slowly from their shallow graves intent on tasting the legendary Jeff Stryker's ample meat.

Or something.

Meanwhile in the grassy bit behind the bike sheds, jumpy Jenny and co. have problems of their own (discounting the obvious ones like lack of acting ability and bad breath) when a lone, maggot covered tramp falls on them from behind a tree covering a hapless member of her party in sick.

Running away screaming they soon stumble across the deserted medical research facility (in reality the directors local scout hut) once run by Jenny's folks where they're soon joined (c'mon, the running times not that long) by Chuck who has managed to escape the scary flesh eaters by leaving his team to die whilst he sneaked away sobbing like a baby.

What a guy.

Bobby Davro, up the casino, Penrith 1985.....YESCH!

Luckily for the survivors this peaceful medical centre is chock full of weapons  giving the male cast members ample opportunity to pose in a topless sweaty manner whilst firing a variety of semi-automatic weaponry indiscriminately at various extras who are then expected to fall off roofs and be set on fire in the vain hope of securing a work permit or at least a new pair of shoes for their kids.

Ain't capitalism grand?

But the humans are fighting a losing battle as one by one they are overcome by the advancing dead.

Deciding the blow up the centre in an attempt to convince the zombies it's Bonfire night and thus giving the humans a chance to escape (plus they reckon it might add a wee bit of much needed excitement to the movie), sole survivors Jenny and Chuck make a break for the woods only to find themselves back in the very cave where the spooky witch doctor started the undead plague to begin with.

With the zombie army closing in and Chuck down to firing blanks, Jenny clutches the magic amulet, praying for a miracle.

Well it's either that or she's cursing her agent.*

Casual.

Will our toothsome twosome escape?

Will the UK rise up and actually take back control?

Will the zombie hordes attack Jenny and eat her whole?

Or will they spit that bit out?

Or will Chuck die whilst something slight and fairly incomprehensible happens to Jenny?

Go on, guess.

Best known for it's frightening amount of alternate titles (After Death being the most common and Zombi 4 being the easiest to spell) as well as being shot on sets constructed for Michael Soavi's 'The Sect' and filmed entirely using camera's and equipment 'borrowed' from the set of Bruno Mattei's 'Strike Commando 2' (which was filming nearby), Claudio Fagrasso's -AKA Clyde Anderson - Zombie Flesh-Eaters 3/4 is the near pinnacle of bad movie making made flesh, a cinematic black hole so dire that not even light can escape from it's spiny celluloid fingers.

Imagine the most dangerous and sordid unsafe sex act you could ever indulge in with the most foul, STD ridden, crab-panted person - or animal - you can, then imagine that as you're about to ejaculate (against your better judgement) you look down and realize that this pock marked, toothless crone you've payed £5 to probably catch sex death from is, in fact, your Gran.

You know...the dead one.

This is the effect After Death can have on a normal cinema goer.

But saying that, imagine how amusing it would be if you saw this happen to a friend.

And you just happened to have a camera handy.

So I guess you pays your money you takes your chance.

"Happy birthday Kenneth!"

Wise men say that you can't choose who (or what) you fall in love with tho' and like the three legged dog you should put down but decide to nail to a skateboard, After Death stays with you long after the DVD has been ejected, just like Hepatitis C or the feeling of shame you get after watching your parents home made porn.

Obviously just before realizing halfway thru' that you're actually the star, propped up on top of the wardrobe, drugged up to the eyeballs and wearing a dress.

But if like me you're one of the special few that actually enjoys Fragrasso's work - especially his top notch collaborations with Bruno ('Zombie Creeping Flesh' and 'Rats : Night of Terror') Mattei  - then jump in and enjoy.

I know I did.

But to be honest I really think that I should get out more.

*Tho' obviously not as much as she was after she left The Young and the Restless, when after being unable to find work ended up OD-ing in a rundown Los Angeles apartment on December 14, 2004, which kinda put the dampers on my 35th birthday I can tell you.

cannibal xerox.

Just realised that there's been precious little cannibal cultness (or cuteness) in this years 31 days of horror

Unfortunately this was the first thing I could find.

Mondo Cannibale (AKA Cannibal Holocaust 2, Cannibal Holocaust: The Beginning, Cannibal World. 2003).
Dir: Bruno Mattei.
Cast: Helena Wagner, Claudio Morales, Cindy Jelic Matic, Antoine Reboul, Kevin Maxwell, Brad Santana, Michael Garland, Foster Howard, Eniko Bodnar, Zsilvia Chernel and Chan Le.

Well, somebody had to buy it.

The harsh of face yet smooth of thigh TV journalist cum Fame-hungry celebrity Grace Forsythe (Wagner, daughter of the composer of The Ring Cycle possibly) is in a dilemma.

Her hard hitting real-life reportage/review show NewsMooth has been unceremoniously canceled due in part to plummeting ratings but mainly due to its general crapness.

Five fingers, never touched the sides.

Understandably angry (and a wee bit aroused judging by the sweat on her top lip) at the decision she storms the TV station in order to confront her Tefal browed studio boss Geoff Head (played by an angry testicle) about the situation.

But as the tempers fray and the voices raise the whole thing goes from bad to worse via shouty McShoutington as Grace, whose narcissistic tendencies rival even those of ball-faced spunk-bucket Owen Jones, offers to let him stick it in her if he recommissions her show.

Classy.

"To me! To you!"

Sensibly holding out for a better offer he manages to resist Grace's bullish charm but does offer her a lifeline.

If she can persuade her ex co-presenter - and former lover - Bob 'horse cock' Manson (Poundshop Antonio Banderas, professional sexy man and star of Land of Death, Morales) to accompany her on a trip down the Amazon - as opposed to up the casino - to film a no holds barred expose of cannibal rituals he'll commission a second series.

The only rule is that she mustn't be naughty and go around faking any footage or burn any villages downs.

Just in case Ruggero Deodato sues obviously.

With her pudgy little sausage fingers crossed behind her back Grace agrees.

Five go mad on Meth.

With the contracts signed and the sun block packed our dynamic duo, along with their merry band of ratings hungry TV professionals (including the platinum princess of power - and reader of this blog - herself Matic as ace troubleshooter Cindy Blair) in tow, the merry band excitedly descend into the Amazon jungle determined to find the worlds legendary last remaining cannibal tribe at any cost.

And by any cost I actually mean any cost that doesn't go above the films £18.65 budget obviously.

But first things first and there's just enough time for a wee bit of topless sunbathing and a chance for their native guide Brian to get all hot under the collar as he nervously rubs lard all over Grace's hairy back and arse.

It's a dirty, nay sticky job but someone has to do it.

And by rights it should be the lowliest member of the cast.

Unfortunately (for us) he gets sent off to perform some odd jobs before he can get round to oiling up Cindy (bah) and so with a heavy heart, heaving bosom and slightly damp undies the lovely ladies get - slowly - dressed before rounding up the troops (which before you ask isn't a euphemism for touching each others breasts) and venture forth into the unknown.

Which is lucky really, seeing as last time they ventured fifth and only won a coconut.

I thank you.

"And when I want a good mooth
shite-in I pull THIS face!"

As the team sweat and fart their way thru' the undergrowth (or in this case the garden centre behind Mr. Mattei's house) allegedly miles from civilization, you can understand why Bob is so surprised when a group of battle hardened soldiers suddenly appear from behind a bush.

Their camouflage must be bloody effective seeing as the 'jungle' is only about as big as a school gym.

It seems that they're members of some elite UN jungle protection force charged with stopping the locals eating each other and protecting the trees from loggers and the like.

But today is Wednesday which means that they can forget all that and spend a few hours hiding in the local fauna taking pot shots and the scantily clad, pot bellied natives.

Bob is appalled by such random acts of violence and in a manly display of testosterone fueled righteous anger stamps his foot for a bit whilst tutting.

Grace on the other hand reckons that a wee bit of random violence is just what the show needs so she gives the soldiers 50 pence and a bag of Haribo Starmix each to continue shooting the 'savages'.

They greedily agree as Grace hurriedly sets up her camera. 

Best. Caption. Ever.

With a tape full of killings and a promise of more gruesome goodies to come our intrepid band of bad men and ne'er do wells bed down for the night.

Their next stop, according to the map is a village of friendly tribes folk.

Understandably Grace reckons that this might be a bit boring for the viewers so suggests that they should set fire to the place before shooting all the old folk in the face and stealing all the kids sweets, Bob however, being a world weary and cynical type, thinks that there's enough violence in the world without causing any more.

Especially in the name of TV ratings.

Right on.

Grace gently reminds Bob that he's getting paid at least £12 and all the Monster Munch he can eat for taking part in the programme so he'd better stop whining and start killing.

Thinking it over for at least a minute Bob sighs and gets to work polishing his massive weapon.

Grace sneaked away from base camp
to scoff the gangs last Snickers bar.

Meanwhile back at the studio, Geoff Head is foaming (at least it looks like foam) at the mouth as he views the incoming footage before literally exploding with unashamed delight when the viewing figures are released.

It seems that everyone on the planet bar three people in West Bromwich (who don't have a television set because they swapped it for magic beans and a Britain First hoodie) are avidly watching the groups every move.

Geoff's dad (and owner of the station) is less impressed tho' feeling that what the audience really want is less violence and more novelty dog-based acts.

After a tense board meeting the old fool is sent packing as the entire committee contact Grace to demand more murders.

And maybe a side order of violent buggery.

"Raugh row!"

Grace and company are more than happy to deliver and spend the next few days burning down villages, shite-ing in peoples gardens and parading old, shaggy breasted grannies before the cameras in between raping the odd virgin and skinning various animals, all in the name of entertainment of course.

Imagine a lower rent, slightly less patronizing version of Ant and Decs Saturday Night Takeaway (remember that?) and you're halfway there.

Everyone seems to be enjoying the ultra-violent holiday, egging each other on to commit more and more sordid and sick acts of depravity, except Cindy that is who, in a moment of clarity shouts the age old question "I wonder who the real cannibals are?" at the group as they roughly bugger a wee native girl.

As heartfelt as her question is, she really hadn't thought it thru', I mean the real cannibals are the ones in grass skirts that eat folk aren't they?

Hats.

As the violence continues unabated and the studio demands more and more shocking images (some involving goats) the film crew approach the jungle home of the infamous man-eating, Grant Morrison worshiping  'Invisibles', the most primitive and savage tribe ever recorded.

I say recorded but obviously they haven't been (yet) or there'd be not point in traveling all that way to get exclusive footage would there?

Or am I being too literal?

One sure fact about the Invisibles tho' is that you can bet that they don't give a monkeys ball about ratings.

Or cutlery.

Will our merry band survive their descent into the green inferno?

And if so, what will be left of them?

Sneakily promoted as Cannibal Holocaust 2: The Beginning in some territories (is this the most over-used title ever?), lo-fi exploitation king Mattei's homage (OK, shameless rip-off) to Ruggero Deodato's legendary mockumentary classic harks back to a more simple age of film-making when local video store shelves were stacked to bursting with low budget versions of hit movies and shit movies alongside cheap as fuck Brit movies of all shapes and sizes.

Actually they were all the same shape and size if I'm honest.

Except for the Betamax ones that were slightly smaller.

Oh yes and the Video 2000 releases which were fucking huge.

But I digress.

A meaty Matic sandwich....yum!

Like most of the late, great Mattei's horror output (from Zombie Creeping Flesh to Zombies: The Beginning), the screenplay is an almost exact copy of the source material in question (in his career the director homaged everything from Aliens to Dawn of The Dead via The Archers - possibly) but as with nearly all of his later work, cheaply and quickly made on video in the Philippines with a core band of actors and technicians that he would use until his untimely death.

Which isn't a bad thing really seeing as it meant that we got much more of the great mans work than we possibly deserved, with his final four movies being some of his most entertaining.

And not just because they introduced audiences to the wonderful Ms. Matic as well as the kick ass Ripley wannabe Yvette Yzon.

And for these reasons alone we should be eternally grateful.

"Ah fell aff mah beanstalk!"

But if you're worried that a drop in budget would somehow taint the great man's vision then worry ye not as there's plenty here to enjoy, from blood drenched breasts to flabby thrusting man ass via a tasteful pole-based abortion, Mondo Cannibale is the perfect date movie for those romantic nights in.

And who knows?

After sharing this with a loved one, you - just like the bouncy native girl chased thru the jungle by a horny Claudio Morales - may get lucky too.