monster mash.

Celebrating the birthday of the late great Jess Franco in the only way I know.

With a movie featuring a ginger woman singing whilst flashing her pants.

Them's the breaks.

Dracula, Prisoner of Frankenstein (AKA Drácula contra Frankenstein, 1972).

Dir: Jesus Franco.

Cast: Dennis Price, Howard Vernon, Paca Gabaldón, Alberto Dalbés, Britt Nichols (AKA Carmen Yazalde), Josyane Gilbert, Luis Barboo, Brandy and Fernando Bilbao.

 

They have awakened... and they are the sound of terror!

 

Evil bloodsucker Count Brian Dracula (Genre God Vernon, star of my fave ever lake based zombie movie Zombie Lake, the terrifying Orloff And The Invisible Man and latter day angry Chihuahua Ren Hoek) rules over the small Romanian village of Spent with a rod of iron (and teeth like clothes-pegs), spending his nights either draining local virgins of blood or pushing pensioners down the stairs.

With the villagers are too frightened to fight back and local gypsy witch Amira's (Geneviève Robert who was married to Ivan Reitman, no idea how that's relevant tho') spells seemingly powerless against the Count it's left to the local GP, the studly Dr. Jonathan Seward (hunky beef-treat Dalbés star of Tendre et perverse Emanuelle and The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein) to challenge the creepy count and rid the village of his evil ways

 

Fancy trainers not shown.

.

Jumping into/onto his deluxe horse-drawn carriage (which is an odd choice of transport seeing the sheer amount of modern days cars, TV aerials, phones and fashions around the place) Seward makes his way to Castle Dracula and almost without any effort enters the crypt and quickly pounds a stake into Dracula's heart.

Sorted.

This has the bizarre effect tho' of not only transforming Dracula into a tiny stuffed bat but turning the massive wooden stake into a cocktail stick which is now poking out of the bats arse.

Which is nice.

And with that Seward heads back to work.

And by work I mean spending the day 'studying' the dusky, Amazon-thighed María (Gabaldón) his - seemingly - only patient who spends her days wearing only a mans red shirt whilst crayoning on the walls.

Feminine perfection I'm sure you'll agree.

Maria: Thighs.

Being only 20 minutes into the film (tho' to be fair it does seem like longer) there's no way that's the last we'll see of Dracula and soon enough a sinister black hearse trundles into town driven by the boss-eyed hunchback Morpho (Barboo who readers may recognise from Franco's The Demons and from his top turns in Supersonic Man, Conan The Barbarian - yes really - and as Alberic in The Loreley's Grasp), humble servant of the infamous - and oh so slightly pissed - Dr. Rainier Frankenstein (Dennis - my gin soaked career - Price. From Kind Hearts and Coronets to this and with only Horror Hospital to look forward to, poor sod).

Seriously you can smell the booze thru' the screen.

It appears that the pair have stopped to ask for directions to Dracula's castle (as you do), well Morpho has stopped to ask as I'm pretty sure by the look of things that Price can barely stand unaided let alone speak.

Which is probably why the movie has literally no dialogue.

And when anyone does speak it's a voice-over.

Artistic eh?

Or just cheap?

YOU decide.

Anyway it turns out that Frankenstein has purchased the castle at a knock down price and reckons it's just the place for him to continue his work.

Plus it has a really fucking well stocked wine cellar and a handy off-licence nearby.

And with that the pair unpack the car and set up the lab.

They've even got a monster (Bilbao from the frankly fantastic The Vampires Night Orgy), packed carefully into a big box and are all set to go.

Sorted.  

But whilst searching for extra extension cords to plug all his fancy electrical gadgets into Frankenstein stumbles (literally) upon Dracula’s coffin in the crypt, complete with the arse-impaled bat lying inside.

 

Surmising that this must be the infamous Count Dracula himself, the doctor decides to try and reanimate him.

 

As you do.

 

Meanwhile back in town, copper-topped temptress Estela (Gilbert, best known for her roles in Confessions of the Sex Slaves and A Rope for a Bastard as well as editing A Virgin Among the Living Dead and co-writing Nightmares Come at Night) is busy entertaining the locals with her saucy French cabaret act which involves her singing sad love songs whilst shoving her arse into the faces of anyone sitting near the front.

 

Just like your Nan did during the war.

 

 

Strumpet.

 

Luckily we only get to see her perform one song (Jess doesn't need to stretch the running time that much) so she's soon off to her dressing room for a fag and a poo before heading home. Unfortunately she's interrupted by Frankenstein’s monster, who's been hiding behind the wardrobe ready to pounce.

 

And pounce he does, scooping Estela into his arms and beating the remaining clientele to death before stomping off to the castle.

It appears that only the blood from a third-rate, over the hill cabaret performer can revive the prince of darkness so Frankenstein straps Estela to a decorating table and begins draining her blood into an old jam jar wherein lies a visibly terrified bat flapping about as it tries not to drown whilst director Franco pours Ribena over it.

Surprisingly this actually works and thanks to the power of stop/start filming techniques the bat is quickly replaced with a sleeping Howard Vernon (tho' they've not tried to squeeze him into a jar unfortunately) - minus a stake up his arse obviously.

For some unknown reason tho' Dracula is now almost catatonic and unable to function without orders from Frankenstein. 

And what are those orders?

To head into town and kidnap folk to turn into an army of the undead and take over the world.

And he's going to start with Maria.

Probably because Seward is less likely to try and stick his wood into her if she goes all vampy but mainly because the cast is so small.

Look I didn't write this.

As in I didn't write the script.

I mean I wrote (well typed) this obviously.

And this.

But you know what I mean.

 

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Anyway I digress.

So whilst all this blood draining and kidnapping is going on Frankenstein sends his monster to deal with Seward but being a bit shit it totally fails to kill the good doctor but does leave him incapacitated in a ditch, unable to save Maria from her fate.

Luckily Amira and her Gypsies come across him and nurse Seward back to health much to Frankenstein's chagrin.

Phew, glad that bit of jeopardy was dealt with so quickly, the film almost became exciting for a minute.

With Frankenstein's plan in full flow and Seward out of action recovering on a stinky camp bed no-one seems to have noticed that there was, in fact, another vampire in the castle and this time it's a sexy blonde one (Brit Nichols AKA Carmen Yazalde - best known around here as the uncredited sacrificial maiden in Tombs of The Blind Dead) and she too wants a wee bit of bitey action.

Cue many scenes of her and Vernon breaking into peoples houses and sucking jam off their necks.

I fang you.

 An ever growing gang of vicious vamps isn't all a quickly recovered Seward has to deal with tho' as Amira's spooky spirit guide has warned her that a werewolf (played by the enigmatic Spanish stuntman Brandy and not the American singer, songwriter, dancer, model and actress of the same name no matter what Google says, pity) is fast approaching town with a score to settle with Frankenstein....

For fans of the late, great Jess Franco, Dracula, Prisoner of Frankenstein is a wee bit of an oddity featuring none of the nudity, sexy sadism and erotica (plus copious amounts of 60s/70s bush) we associate with the great man.

Which is a shame really as all we're left with is a threadbare basis of a plot, a barely conscious lead villain, joke shop make-up and a pace that, if any more leisurely with be catatonic.

And don't get me started on the piss poor editing and hit and miss attempts a keeping things in focus.

But as a plus point, the usual Franco crash zooms are always welcome and Paca Gabaldón does have a smashing blouse so swings and roundabouts really.

 

"Spice Girls number one for Christmas? MONSTA!"

 

 

Scarily tho' despite its (painfully) obvious shortcomings it's actually a fairly enjoyable little film, especially late at night with a drink in you.

Plus Howard Vernon is always worth a watch, even when he's as horribly miscast as he is here, all poppy-eyed and cherry-lipped sneaking around various folks bedrooms with an ill-fitting top hat perched precariously on his tiny pinhead.

Like most folk here he's doing his best with what he's been given, which is more than Paca Gabaldón got seeing as she's emoting with only a shirt and a box of crayons but whilst everyone seems to be giving it their all you can't help but feel slightly uncomfortable every time Dennis Price is onscreen as he stumbles around the uneven castle floors, obviously trying his best to walk in a straight line as the booze sweat glistens on his brow.

And to think he'd be dead a year later at the (relatively) young age of 58.

So don't drink kids.

Fucking Hell that's a depressing note to end on.

Sorry.

(bloody) moonhead.

As you may of heard/read the 1928 version of Mickey Mouse entered the public domain on Monday, and just like what happened with Winnie The Pooh shitloads of indie 'horror producers' have started work on their own versions.

 

 

What they all seem to forget is that it's already been done.

 

Yup, dear old uncle Jess beat them to it way back in 1981.

So what better excuse to revisit the horror genius that is....

 

Bloody Moon (1981).
Dir: Jesus Franco.
Star: Olivia Pascal, Christop Moosbrugger, Nadja Gerganoff and some other folk with made up names.

It's almost the witching hour, the moon is full and the night is as quiet as the grave.

Suddenly the deathly silence is broken by the squeak of a wheelchair trundling thru' the dark shadows and a woman's angry voice: "Miguel!... I'm your sister, don't look at me that way!"

The pudding bowl haircutted and facially fucked Miguel (Moosbrugger wearing what looks like a bucket of dried horse cum on his cheeks) stands in the moonlight dribbling as his sexy (in a 70's breasted way) sister Manuela (the local nosed Olivia Pascal) continues to berate him before ordering him back to the local dance club in the hope that all that jiving will make him far too tired to start wanking in her underpant drawer later.

Wandering among the hip 'n' happening party goers he picks up not only a pound shop, copyright taunting Mickey Mouse mask but a sexy disco diva to boot and the pair soon head back to her chalet for some steamy and sweaty sex.

Well it is a short film.

Unfortunately at the moment of climax she pulls off his mask to reveal the aforementioned heavily scarred (and atrociously haircutted) Miguel leering over her like Jimmy Savile in a creche.

Annoyed at the fact that she finds his face scary (especially after the intimate moments they've just shared) he decides that rather than sort the misunderstanding out over a nice cup of tea it'd be easier to stab her to death with a pair of scissors.

As one would.

Hilarity unfortunately does not ensue.

Years later he is released from 'hospital' into his sister's care, allegedly cured and ready to return to society.

Just one thing the doctor's warn her, "...avoid references to that unfortunate night. He might not be that cured."

Which is nice.

Obviously the best thing to do is to take Miguel back to the scene of the murder, (now open as The International Youth-Club Boarding School of Languages, run by Miguel's wheelchair bound mum).

So dear viewer let's sit back and see what happens.

Luckily for those of us who like to take the piss out of those less fortunate than ourselves the school is populated by the biggest collection of freaks this side of a Todd Browning convention.

Or Govan on Giro day.

Well on any day really.

Admit it, Glasgow girls are best.

There's the grunting handyman, Paco, a beast of a bloke obsessed with hitting sign posts randomly with hammers whilst rubbing his crotch; a slug murdering gardener; a twitchy, ferret like head professor and a South American studly tennis tutor with a permanent hard on and a never ending line of ladies willing to sit on it.

Good job then that all the students are female and decked out in crotch splitting hot pants, Farrah flicks and skin tight tee's, coming out with such quality lines as: "The best way to learn a language is in bed!"

There are actually a few more quality lines but to be honest my computer was sick as I typed them.

"Put it in me!"

Miguel meanwhile, has become obsessed by the raven haired (yet shark toothed) Angela (Gerganoff), a girl he sat opposite on the train journey to the school and begins to follow her around like a lovesick (and bowl-head) puppy.

Awww.

Feeling sexually renewed (alright just downright horny) by these pangs of young love and realising that it will come to nothing, our scarred sibling decides to ask Manuela if they can continue their incestuous relationship (as you would), even going as far as to attempt a sexy seduction by licking the grit from between her toes.

Pascal: Pig in a market.

After taking a minute to think about it (and no doubt about what happened last time) she refuses.

Miguel is heartbroken (and maybe, just maybe a teensy bit mad): "Only if we could get rid of everyone, then things could go back to the way they were." He cries.

Then the fun really begins as Angela's friends are dispatched one by one.....oh and someone cuts a grass snake in half.

Unfortunately for our heroine, nobody believes her story of a killer on campus.

But we know better obviously.

Don't leave me hanging!

The killer even goes so far as to hang one of Angela's pals in her cupboard but spitefully removes it before she can get help.

Confused and scared, Angela finally looks to Miguel's mum and sister for support - well, obviously not the mum, she can't support herself without sticks let alone Angela.

Will the killer be caught before it's too late?

Laugh now!

Bloody Moon is the mad, bad and dangerous to know idiot offspring of a sleazy late night kebab fueled shag between your average American slasher movie and a lonely homesick Italian giallo it's met in a dive bar and took back to a dirty hotel after first spiking it's drink.

A totally screwy mix of sex, violence and cack handed dubbing from Spain's busiest exploitation maestro, the great Jesus Franco, a man who would've filmed his elderly mother suffering a stroke if he thought there was a market for it.

"Blood in mah mooth!"

Franco spent his career churning out everything from sordid women in prison flicks to sordid lesbian vampire ones and who holds the record of being the 'director' with the most movies on the DPP ‘video-nasties’ list in the UK during the 80's.

The confused tone inherent in the film isn't helped by the fact that most of it is German financed but with a bizarro mix of (horrendously dubbed) Italian and Spanish actors whilst Franco appears to be nonchalantly working to his own agenda.


The money men obviously wanted a cheap and cheerful disco dancing, gory, mentalist murders teens flick whilst Franco has decided this was to be his homage to John Carpenter and (ye gads) Brian DePalma.


Everyone (except Jess, God love him) appears to be embarrassed by the whole thing, especially Olivia Pascal who doesn't even mention it on her resume (it's becoming a habit on here, dredging up serious actors shameful pasts).


The fact that she's done more dodgy porn than Robert Kurman and puts that on her CV says a lot about her experiences here.

Olivia Pascal:
we know where you live.

But saying that, any movie that's paid homage to by Pedro Almodovar (the death by circular saw scene is "quoted" in his laugh a minute Matador) is OK by me.

Trust me.....no StevieDee collection is complete without this movie.

Honest.

cigarettes and alcohol.

As I admitted earlier this week, I went out and bought another version of Zombie Lake on Wednesday (because reasons).

What I didn't admit was that I also purchased another copy of this classic too. 

But why I hear you cry.

Because it's quite possibly the second best Nazi zombie movie ever made by the writer (and original director) of Zombie Lake

So without further delay allow me to introduce you to the genius that is Oasis of the Zombies.

Enjoy.

I know I did.

Probably.

La Tumba de los muertos vivientes (AKA Grave of the Living Dead, Oasis of the Zombies, Oasis of the Living Dead, Treasure of the Living Dead, Bloodsucking Nazi Zombies. 1983).
Dir: Jesus Franco (probably, well the majority of it, as A.M. Frank).
Cast: Manuel Gélin, Eduardo Fajardo, Henri Lambert, Myriam Landson, Antonio Mayans, Eric Viellard, Javier Maiza, Albino Graziani, Miguel Aristu, Doris Regina, Caroline Audret, and France Lomay (but not Lina Romay - well not in some versions).

"Quick, get some bottles to make Molotov cocktails with like in school".

Our tale of terror opens with two ample arsed ladies who have taken time out from their holiday to sunny Tripoli to visit a haunted oasis in the middle of the desert.

as one would on any package tour.

At least it's somewhere to park your bike.

It appears that the locals have been filling the girls (settle down) heads with all sorts of scary stories about the oasis and how it's haunted by the restless spirits of murdered Nazi soldiers but the ladies, probably thinking that undead baby killers are less likely to try it on with them at the local disco than the greasy mustachioed natives decide to go take a look for themselves.

It comes as no surprise (to us that is, they seem visibly shocked) when they're dragged beneath the sands to their deaths by mysterious and moldy bread-like hands....

Melania's let herself go....less Be Best more Be Beast.

Cut to rugged, porn 'tached Colonel Kurt Maitzell (Lambert) and his sexy chain smoking, oh so slightly stern and Lego haired wife (Landson, covering for Lina Romay who only appears in the French version*) on vacation in Tripoli to catch up with his oldest military acquaintance and World War II rival, the stiff (upper lipped) Captain Robert Blabert Sr. (Maiza).

Landson: sexily supply teacher-like, yet still
replaced by Lina Romay in some versions.

Fighting on opposite sides during World War II (Maitzell alongside Rommel, Blabert with Monty) Maitzell has a business proposition for his former adversary; it appears that $6,000,000 worth of Nazi gold went missing during a battle in the Libyan desert and there’s every reason to think the gold is still there.

Blabert agrees and goes to fetch his map of the site but just when you think that the movie is going to become a kind of 'Indiana Jones vs. the undead' style adventure (albeit a wee bit cheaper) Maitzell stabs Blabert with a poisoned biro and legs it into the desert with the map.

Destination: The Oasis.

Of The Zombies.

And not Oasis in Birmingham where I used to buy all my clothes in the 80s obviously.

Not you.

Suddenly for fear of the film getting too exciting we're transported - by what looks like someone's holiday Super 8's filmed on a cotton bedsheet - to swinging London where Blabert’s son, also confusingly named Robert (Gélin) has just received a letter regarding not only his dads death but a mention of the missing millions.

This obviously has no baring on him deciding to embark post haste to Tripoli.

While he’s getting his stuff together for the journey, Robert Jr. finds his dad’s wartime diary, complete with the exciting tale of his mission to intercept the Nazi gold.

It's so exciting in fact that it causes the picture to go all wobbly as we experience an incredibly overlong flashback full of glaring continuity errors, too much acting and far too many unnecessary sex scenes.

Unlike the flashback in Zombie Lake which is cinematic gold.

"She's turned the weans against us!"

Important things that we learned from this sequence include the fact that between 1943 and 1983, Robert Snr. didn't age one jot (is he perchance related to Howard Vernon’s Zombie Lake Mayor Hoek?), that Robert Jr. was conceived during the war yet is only in his early twenties and that his mum was as a sheiks daughter (and played by the sultry - and slightly boss eyed - Doris Regina, star of Orgy of the Nymphomaniacs).

Oh yes and his dad was really shit at drawing.

Aye....seems legit.

Impressed with his dads tales of daring-do and random impregnations, Robert manages to persuade his pals the council estate Mark Hamill-alike Ronald (Viellard), lank haired troll Sylvia (Audret), and the pube headed, bespectacled Ahmed (Aristu, whom you may remember from The Night of Sincere Sex, no? suit yourself), to join him in Libya on his hunt for the gold.

So far so plodding.

Things soon hot up tho' when we catch up with Colonel Maitzell and his wife (admit it you'd forgotten about them hadn't you?) who, it appears have arrived at the oasis (alongside some badly dubbed shirtless hired muscle) and have decided to rest for the night and start excavations first thing in the morning.

Whilst the Colonel and his missis sleep (well he sleeps, she just continues to smoke) the muscle men sit around playing cards (but not alas using The UnDeck - copies still available) and thinking of the best way to screw over the Maitzells and keep the gold for themselves.

If you hadn't already guessed they are very, very bad men.

Before they can make a decision as to the best way to rid themselves of the Colonel and his wife (tho' the cigarettes will probably finish her off soon) the dunes suddenly burst alive with the sound of undead Nazis rising from their graves beneath the sand.

Well with the sound of various farmyard animals - alongside what sounds like a squeaky rocking chair - slowed down, which much as I admire this avant garde approach to sound design is actually a bit shit.

"Aye son!"

The Colonel manages to escape the ensuing blood bath but not before he's given a nasty hickie by one of the zombies (and we all know what that means), but being such a hard man he's able to stumble back to Tripoli and into Robert and his pals before dying.

Badly.


Robert seems to find the whole situation a wee bit annoying - tho' not as annoying as his pal Ronald seeing as it's interrupted his attempts to worm his way into the affections (and bri-nylon undies) of the cutely blond, dungaree wearing Erika (professional rude lady Lomay from the classic Pussy Talk 2), assistant to kindly anthropologist cum Dave Lee Travis lookalike Professor Denikan (Two Female Spies with Flowered Panties star Gratziano) and his colleague Steve Soontodie who is that unimportant he doesn't even get a credit on the movie.

Poor sod.

Or very lucky sod depending on how you rate the film.

taking a lighter from his breast pocket, Professor DLT-lite nonchalantly torches The Colonel's body before explaining in great depth that anyone bitten by a zombie will rise from the dead.

Really? well I never.

And probably never will if I continue to spend all my time watching shite like this.

Or at least that's what my mum always said.

It's not Omar Shariff it's Omar the thief....of your heart.

Robert and his pals are suitably nonplussed by all these tales of death - and the fact that the hairy cornflake has just torched a corpse - and reckon that after a good nights kip they can go visit Granddad Sheik, borrow a camel or two then be at the oasis and back with the gold before tea time.

Yeah right.

Not wanting to be stuck in the local town any longer than necessary, Denikan, yummy Erika (after some soft focus hot lovin' with Ronald) and Soontodie decide it'd be best to leave for the desert straight away in order to set up camp and have a cuppa brewing ready for Rob and companies arrival.

And not, I repeat not in order to steal the gold for themselves.

"Is it in yet?"

All that conniving is immaterial tho' as the next day when Robert and co. finally arrive at the oasis they're shocked to find Denikan's party covered in blood and love bites whilst their native guide runs around like a wuss screaming “The living dead! The zombies! The zombies that came out of the sandwich is there!”

Well that's what it sounded like.


Robert assumes this is some kind of sick joke, even going as far as to accuse Denikan of making the whole thing up when the poor guy wakes up shouting the same thing.

The fact that his arse is covered in bite marks is obviously not important.

She's going to have someones eye out.

With our heroes banded together at the oasis, the scene is set for a climactic battle between the living and the dead.

Which would be nice seeing as so far we've only seen the zombies for about 10 minutes in total.

And to be honest I'm not even sure they were actually zombies seeing as they looked (and smelled probably) more like a bunch of homeless folk the director happened across whilst scouting for locations.

But enough of that because the movie is racing (limping?) toward its exciting climax as suddenly the dead begin to rise from the dunes hell bent on eating the would be gold-baggers....

Will Robert and his friends survive the attack?

Will they find the gold?

Will Erika escape or will the zombies eat her whole? (seeing as most of the undead spit that bit out).

Is 'gold-baggers' actually a word?

And how many of my reviews have featured that 'joke' (which was way past it's sell by date when they used it in Carry On Columbus)?

Franco's Oasis of the Zombies can be viewed as a terrifying companion piece to Jean Rollin's classic Zombie Lake, seeing as both films share a similar plot, villains and structure.

Oh yes, and the same script.

Bizarre as it sounds that's actually true and to add even more confusion to the background of the epic Oasis was actually released in dozens of re-edited versions, each one concentrating on a different thread of the plot.

But the strangest thing regarding Oasis of the Zombies is that Franco shot two separate versions of the film simultaneously, one for the French market and one for the Spanish.

Neither of them that good.

"You ain't seen me right?"

As with most (all?) Jess Franco flicks the acting varies from unemotional cardboard to sturdy MDF with most of the females being cast due to arse size and an abundance of bush rather than any thespian ability.

Make-up wise the Nazi zombies are a step up from the green, gloss painted goons of Zombie Lake (which admittedly isn't that difficult) tho' some do look a wee bit too much like necrophiliac sex dolls for my liking.

The Matt Hancock love doll: Insert cock here and fuck him like he fucked the NHS.

Still it's worth a look for any fans of the much maligned Nazi zombie genre or large 1970's European bottoms.

Which means everyone here I guess.

































*But don't quote me on that as it may be a total lie.

it's not just the water that's dirty....

My all time favourite lake-based zombie movie has just been re-released on shiny DVD (with an even thinner sleeve than last time if that's at all possible) so I really had to go buy (another) copy, especially seeing as it now features the version with the big grey granny pants not seen since the heady days of the big-boxed Betamax 'Modern Films' release.

Which I also own.

I know I should really get out more.

Don't expect me to be too critical of this unsung masterpiece of the macabre tho' cos it's abso-fucking-lutely brilliant.

If you don't believe me then you're a fool.

And that's a fact.

Now that's out of the way let's start as we mean to go on.....with a wee bit of gratuitous nudity.

 Beware! Zombie Lake!

Are you sitting comfortably?

So let us begin...

Zombie(s) Lake (AKA Le Lac Des Morts Vivants, 1981)
Dir: Jean Rollin and/or Jess Franco (as J.A. Lazer)
Cast: Howard Vernon, Annouchka, Rene Douglas, Youri Rad, Nadine Pascal, Gilda Arancio, Pierre-Marie Escourrou, Alain Petit, Pascale Vital, Jean Rollin, some zombies and a lake.

Welcome to 1970's exploitation Europe and an oh-so-slightly scummy lake somewhere in France, the sun is glistening over the discarded condoms, fag boxes and pop cans as an incredibly buxom beauty (Vital from Come Play With Me 2 - like it matters) is frolicking thru' the trees and gaily throwing her clothes behind her.

Stripped naked and enjoying the sun (unless you're watching the 80's UK 'Modern Films' Betamax edition where she's sporting big grey granny pants) she suddenly notices a 'danger' sign near the waters edge.

Tossing it aside she dives into the welcoming waters of the lake.

Little does she realize that it is, in fact, a lake of death.

Or more correctly a lake of zombies.

A 'zombie lake' if you will.

Swimming fun - death (or at the
very least a huge dose of the shits) to follow.

Sexily splashing away to a frankly fantastic Europorn organ soundtrack and making sure to keep her ample breasts in shot at all times, our wet 'n' wild wench doesn't notice the shadowy figures lurking just below the surface.

Well she wouldn't would she, seeing as all those shadowy figure bits have been filmed miles away and weeks later at a disused public swimming baths.

Anyway, back to the action where without warning - unless you count the sudden burst of 'spooky' organ music that is - a green hand grabs for the girls leg and pulls her below the surface to her doom.

Which is quite scary if I'm honest, tho' not as scary as the loud pops and scratches that constitute a smooth transition to the next scene which appears to be made up of someone's holiday Super 8's of a quaint (if not a little seedy) public house somewhere in Normandy.

Most probably the town of Domfront* if I'm not mistaken.

Inside this marvelous example of early 19th century Orne architecture another, totally different buxom lady (she's blonde for one thing) is serving huge jugs (snigger) of beer to the locals who are busy eating snails and gossiping about the sheer amount of young girls who go missing near the local lake.

"She probably met some young stud eh?" remarks Claude (Rad - best known for his fantastic portrayal of 'the barman' in The Panther Squad), the big burly Brian Blessed alike as his drips piss weak French lager down his plaid shirt.

His rat-like companions twirl their mustaches in agreement before deciding to go see the Mayor if she hasn't shown up by closing time.

I mean come on, those tables aren't going to clean themselves.

Domfront: Local.

Morning dawns and the Mayor (who it appears is played by Ren Hoek from The Ren and Stimpy Show....no it's genre god Vernon working to pay off his parking fines) is rudely awakened from his garlic-fueled fantasies by Claude and his chums loudly banging on his door.

It seems that after much frantic searching there's been no sign of the girl except her discarded clothes, so Mayor Ren decides to call in the police from the next village - his town being so small that they don't have any of their own.

Meanwhile, out near the (zombie) lake another busty young woman is busily spending her day pushing a milk churn in a wheelbarrow across a bridge whilst wearing orthopedic shoes.

Which if I'm honest was reason enough to vote remain when we had the chance.

Unfortunately she is so deeply involved in her obviously important job that she totally fails to notice the fact that a shadowy green figure is watching her from the lakeside.

A shadowy figure which is revealed to be a one-eyed zombie in a Nazi uniform.

Well I say Nazi uniform but it's really a pair of moldy Quick-Fit overalls with Swastikas painted on them topped off with a pair of Wellington boots but at least the thought was there.

If not the budget.

The hideous Hun quickly grabs the woman and grapples her to the ground before clumsily exposing her hideous brown bra to the world and finally messily nuzzling her neck.

She screams kicking off her horrendous clogs in the struggle as the zombie dribbles poster paint over her throat in a cacophony of hisses, scratches and pops that suddenly cut to her prone body being laid (but not in that way, tho' I wouldn't put it past the French) on the Mayor's patio by an ever sweatier than earlier Claude.

Check the shoes (and the milk
churn in a wheelbarrow).

"I know how you feel about your daughter," Mayor Ren tells her distraught dad as he shuffles about his daughters corpse desperately trying to cover her big white pants.

Which is nice.

"No son, I ordered semi-skimmed."

As the fumbling father heads off into the bushes for a tearful wank and a garlic frogs leg flavoured Pot Noodle the gathered crowd (all six of them) stand motionless gazing longingly at the Mayor for what seems like an eternity.

Before it gets too uncomfortable tho' there's another cack-handed cut and we're suddenly watching Ren sitting on a bridge, his sinewy wrinkled arms wrapped around two obviously terrified young boys as he slowly drags them ever closer to his quivering, sweat covered lips.

"Is it in yet?"

It turns out that the boys have witnessed something strange near the lake and the Mayor wants all to know all the facts straight from their pretty mouths.

And probably a 'special ' cuddle too.

"Fuck me! It's Jon Pertwee!"

Meanwhile back at the pub ace reporter Janet Ellis (Arancio from Pourvu qu'on ait l'ivresse and your granddad's bed) has arrived in town determined to uncover the mystery of the 'ghostly lake' and heads over to Claude's table to pump him for information.

"You call it the Lake of Ghosts." Announces Janet.

Claude grunts, strokes his droopy mustache and lets loose a very eggy fart before realizing that this would probably make a better title for the film.

So impressed by Janet's use of words - and her hairy back and arse - he quickly offers to take her up the Mayors house.

Which is sadly not a euphemism for field based bare-backing tho' it really should be. 

Once there, Janet wastes no time (OK maybe a minute or so) introducing herself before explaining that she's working on a story regarding the legends of the lake and surrounding area for a local TV show called Zombing About.

Probably.

Ren tells her she's talking bollocks, which she counters by whipping out a huge book detailing the legends of the lake (and other stuff) from her tiny handbag.

"Now I'm intrigued!" a visibly aroused Ren exclaims, rubbing his boney hands together with glee.

His pleasure is soon curtailed when he begins reading thru' the tome tho' deciding that it's too vague to be of any use.

"The book is too out of date to be useful" he cries.

You heard it here first kids, any books not written within the last forty minutes must be obsolete and should therefore be burned. 

Janet, not being an inbred hick, argues that legends and folktales like these are usually based on fact.

"But they are the very stuff of books." Ren cryptically (and nonsensically) replies, before launching into a tale from the heady days of the second world war.....

What your granddad really did during the war.

Thru' the magic of the 'wobbly dissolve' (that's the actual technical term for it, go on check) we're quickly transported back to the 1940's where a crack squad of German soldiers are battling an (unseen) airplane with pellet guns whilst yet another busty blonde (Pascale, who it turns out actually worked again appearing in everything from Ópalo de fuego: Mercaderes del sexo with Lina Romay to Sechs Schwedinnen im Pensionat with professional sauce-pot Brigitte Lahaie) stands screaming at the chaos and bloodshed going on just out of shot.

Noticing how the sunlight glistens on her ample breasts, Klaus, the sexy blond Nazi-boy (is there any other kind?) in charge (Escourrou - bless you) runs thru' the ensuing explosions to save her, grappling her to the ground as a 'huge' (ahem) bomb goes off.

Later that evening she shows her gratitude by having sex with him in a barn to the strains of romantic choral music.

As morning breaks the lovers prepare to go their separate ways - her to explain to her dad why she's having sex with a Nazi, him to slaughter some more Jews, the disabled etc. - she gives him a huge pendant to remember her by.

Which begs the question who knew they had pound shops in 1940's France?

Anyway, after what seems about 3 days worth of footage of the Nazi's fighting in the snow against (invisible) Russians and driving around aimlessly in a badly painted milk float, Aryan boy returns to the village to find that his 'lady friend' is heavily pregnant.

On discovering this fact - and being a blackclad badboy - he kisses her goodbye and leaves almost immediately to rejoin his jackbooted buddies for a bit more killing.

Cue even more shooting at imaginary foes and driving down deserted country lanes to a slightly sinister soundtrack.

Fear not tho' because before too long - probably due to the rocking motion in the back of the van - the crack troops are all desperate for a toilet break and a quick ciggie.

Just like the audience.

But, unlike the said viewer the soldiers joy is cut short by Claude and his buddies who leap out of the trees and shoot them all dead before dumping their bodies in the local lake.

See? it's all coming together now.

"Not the face luv!"

 

In a case of spooky coincidence - or plot contrivance take your pick - blond boy's squeeze dies at exactly the same moment.

Tho' this may have more to do with the fact that she's giving birth to a ball headed baby than some supernatural quirk of fate.

Janet, unable to hide her disappointment at such a shite story makes her farewells and heads back to the pub with only an evening of cheap drink and the chance of Claude pawing at her underwear with his sweaty sausage fingers for comfort.

Which, if I'm honest sounds a pretty good night.

Meanwhile back at the lake a local all-girl volleyball team have decided to stop for a picnic followed by some nude cavorting to a jaunty Hammond organ score.

As groups of women together are known to do.

Giggling, combing each others hair and throwing a ball around (in glorious boob bouncing close-up) they're all blissfully unaware of the evil lurking nearby.

And I'm not talking about Claude.

A nude volleyball team frolicking in a lake earlier today.

As is always the way in these situations there's usually one person for whom jiggling about in the nude is never enough, so a cry of "Let's all go for a swim in this inviting and zombie-free lake!" is soon heard and the ladies cheerfully dive in for more ball based, giggly fun.

But down below the zombies are on the move.

Not too quickly tho' as they appear to be enjoying the underwater shots of the girls swimming, doing star jumps and kicking their legs wide open as much as we are.

I don't have the words.

The zombies soon remember that this is meant to be a horror film tho' and soon enough decide to attack, fondling the ladies soft thighs as they drag them to their doom at the bottom of the lake.

Luckily one of the team has been sitting on the banks painting her nails so manages to run screaming and wobbling towards the village clad only in a big (and I mean BIG) pair of blue pants.

Claude and his posse are enjoying a quiet beer or three (now there's a surprise) when she bursts into the pub screaming before promptly collapses on their table.

Obviously impressed by the service and totally enamored by her choice of underwear Claude orders his pals to take her 'up the stairs' (I don't know if this is a particularly French sexual activity but we never see her again) whilst at the same time top 'tecs Spitz and Moran (played by a shaved ferret and Rollin himself, fact fans) arrive on the scene, stopping by the pub to ask directions to Mayor Ren's residence.

It's all go in this town isn't it?

 
"Waitress! this gammons off!"

Mayor Ren cracks under the good hair/bad hair double act and reveals the full sordid history of the 'Lake of the Damned' and how it's evil has stretched back as far as the middle ages and maybe even earlier.

Tho' probably not as far back as lunchtime tho' because that would be silly.

Spitz and Moran unfortunately think he's talking complete shite and decides to go back to the pub to, um, 'interview' people.

As all this is going down (as the yoof say) our favourite Aryan zombie has taken a break from all the killing and decided to go and visit his now grown up (well 12 year old) daughter Helena (Anouchka - star of White Cannibal Queen and daughter of producer Daniel Lesoeur, which if nothing else meant she knew exactly who to fuck to get out of the movie).

Surprisingly she takes his re-appearance quite well, seeing as he's now a green skinned, undead beast in a (possibly very damp smelling) German uniform.

The lack of surprise is only equaled by the films lack of logic, I mean it's now the 'modern' (well the 1980's) day, so how come she's not in her early 40's?

Ignoring this vexing plot point they exchange knowing glances and he heads back to the lake.

But what of Europe's greatest detective duo?

"Where's mah hoosekeepin'?"

Well Spitz and Moran, now bored with getting pissed and annoying the locals elect to go and investigate the disappearance of the basketball team everyone's talking about, especially upon hearing that they were nude.

Heading out to the lake the dynamic duo soon come across an abandoned camper van and piles of ladies clothes.

"Do you think it's foul play?" asks Moran as he wipes his now flaccid member on a discarded t-shirt.

"It beats me," Spitz replies, "There's no clue to what happened." 

Save the bloodstained shoes and claw marks on the benches obviously.


Shrugging at each other in a manner usually reserved for impatient waiters the pair proceed to rifle thru' the team's discarded handbags no doubt in order to pocket lipsticks, blusher etc. to give to their wives.

But as this blatant abuse of police power continues the zombies are slowly rising from their watery graves and preparing to attack killing the detectives.

But this is only the beginning of their lust for vengeance (and lust for blood and possibly big pants too) as the unstoppable zombie horde starts to shuffle towards the village.....

Your can't imagine the sheer ecstatic pleasure I feel every time a young film fan inadvertently discovers the joy of Jean Rollin/Jess Franco's infamous no-budget zombie 'epic', directed under the frankly fantastic pseudonym 'J.A. Lazer' and starring Rollin regular, the frighteningly ferret like Howard Vernon - what Zombie Lake lacks in budget, plot, effects, editing, coherent storytelling etc. it more than makes up for with lots of long, lingering nude scenes (not found in the original bulky boxed betamax UK Modern Films release) alongside scenes of such mind numbing bizarreness that you'll be flicking back to make sure you really did see them.

And then just flicking away in general.

Seriously it's that good.

Experience the crew forgetting to turn the lights on till halfway through a scene!

Recoil in horror as Nazi zombies in green emulsion stomp about in a swimming pool!

Swoon as grannie-haired Gilda Arancio sits in the pub with a sweating mustached man!

Go open another bag of crisps as the unnecessary love story subplot (complete with soft focus ‘lurve’ scenes) unfolds in bum numbing detail!

Strain your ears trying to decipher the almost Lynchian dialogue and get a headache attempting to figure out how it relates to the action on screen!

Get slightly uncomfortable as you watch the antics of the nude female basketball team unfold to a cheesy 'europorn' score and much more besides!

Your mum and dad drunk at Christmas.

You know you’re onto a winner when you realize that Rollin was in fact using a completely different script to the one his actors had (he admitted as much in a 1981 interview in Starburst Magazine number 48…go find it out, it’s the special Zombie issue fact fans) meaning that for the majority of the films shoot people were just looking at him blankly as he barked out directions at them.

If only  Jennifer Kent had have had the same problem during The Babadook we might have had a halfway decent movie.

Plus when Jess Franco has dropped out of a project due to it being utter shit you know you're in trouble.

That's not me on the cover BTW....Everyone knows that I was the small boy in Suspiria.

Usually at this point I spend ages ripping a film apart and making puerile jokes at the crews expense but in all honesty I can't do it with Zombie(s) Lake because it's so damn wonderful.

No, really.

If it wasn't then why did Jess Franco remake it a few years later as Oasis of The Zombies?

Seriously, same plot, villains and structure.

Oh yes, and the same script.

Essential viewing for fans of Eurotrash horror, anyone who thinks they've already seen the worst movie ever or those who really enjoyed 'Bloody Moon'.

Sheer genius.


























* Domfront is a very pretty hilltown in the south of Normandy full of ancient ramparts and a quaint old town centre with half timbered houses, an historic church and a breathtaking castle.

There is also a popular - and cheap - market on Friday mornings.

More importantly I was once taken advantage of by a 20 year old French exchange student who came from there named Cécile Fournier.

She drank wine not snakebite, swore like a trooper, smoked like a chimney, didn't shave under her arms and smelled of Mint Aero.

But more importantly she was the spitting image of Rena Mandel from Carl Theodor Dreyer’s 1932 film Vampyr. 

Only with an added leather biker jacket.

Come on, what’s not to love?

After a fair bit of sneaky hand holding and the like (she said she felt guilty as I was but a boy) and the like she eventually asked me to move to France with her to live on her family farm but being really young and nervous I declined.
 

But I still have Zombie Lake.

Nuff said.