the ellen degenerazione show.

Bit of a rush job today seeing as I was out watching John Carpenter last night (as in I was at his concert, I wasn't stalking him or anything) and been out for lunch today in a kinda socialising/grown up way.

Plus not too in-depth a review I'm afraid cos frankly most of the stories only last a few seconds, all are bonkers and most are really not that good.

On a plus side Asia (the first person to wish me happy birthday on Facebook two years ago don't you know) Argento is in it smoking a fag whilst wearing fishnets so it's not all bad.
Enjoy!

Degenerazione (1994).
Dir: Antonio Antonelli, Asia Argento, Pier Giorgio Bellocchio, Eleonora Fiorini, Alex Infascelli, Antonio Manetti, Marco Manetti, Andrea Maula, Andrea Prandstraller, Alberto Taraglio and Alessandro Valori.
Cast: Pierpaolo Trezzini, Asia Argento, Giorgio Tirabassi, Alberto Rossi and Patrizia Sacchi.

Our (well their - as in the directors - story, it's not really ours that's just a figure of speech) story opens in the movie memorabilia festooned office of a sweating bald man in an ill fitting suit anxiously chatting to someone (his agent? Your mum?) on the phone about various important film type stuff whilst he furtively looks around for any signs of oncoming badness.

So far so intriguing.

Suddenly the aforementioned oncoming badness bursts in to the room in the form of three pikeys clad in ill-fitting Halloween masks and a nice selection of Degenerazione t-shirts as some kick-ass 'rawk' music plays on the soundtrack.

Yup, definitely an Italian horror movie then.

Jumping from his window to save himself from whatever these masked mentalists have in store for him, Mr. Sweaty's ample arse gives him a soft landing plus the extra bounce needed to send him running merrily down the high street.

But those pesky psycho pikeys are in hot pursuit.

Bob Hoskins, up the casino, Tamworth, 1987.....YESCH!

Unfortunately our chubby heroes brain-based escape route radar is only attuned to cakes and after much frenzied wobbling he finds himself trapped in a back alley behind a bakers with the rubber-faced rotters slowly closing in...

Closing his eyes and hoping for a quick death (or a not too sore arse pummeling), he is fairly surprised that after a few seconds preparing for a beating that his assailants have suddenly disappeared.

"My word they've disappeared!" He exclaims (it's fansubbed, I'm sorry).

"No we haven't" says a mysterious masked man armed with a big gun next to him.

The Degenerazione boys (after magically re-appearing) look on menacingly as the poor guys screams...

"Laugh now!"

...before jarringly cutting to an antique shop where the middle-aged owner is getting phone hassle from a customer who wants an Ottoman delivered.

Convinced that this story is related to the fat bloke I begin to take notes.

Paying far too much attention I find myself being unwittingly dragged into the ensuing argument where it seems that young and hip honey June (some photo-fit blonde in a flimsy blouse) wants her new piece of furniture delivered earlier that agreed.

You see, it's her boyfriend Terry's birthday and she thinks he'd be well pleased with a huge piece of antique furniture for a gift.

My word she knows men so well.

Anyway, after much to-ing and fro-ing between shopkeep and lady the item is arranged to be delivered at 6 o'clock that evening.

But June has to promise that she'll be at home because the delivery man (who looks like the illegitimate child of a mouldy potato and an angry bassoon) is very grumpy and determined to get back as soon as possible as to not miss the new episode of Loose Women on teevee.

Shite in his mooth, blood on the thistle.

June gives her word but as soon as she puts the phone down her best friend Margot calls in a state of distress meaning that June, like a typical woman, forgets everything she's just said and heads straight out to go comfort her.

Returning home from work, birthday boy Terry (played by a pube headed lollipop in spectacles) begins to prepare a scrumptious meal whilst dancing like a tit to clichéd eighties soft rock when he's suddenly disturbed by the doorbell.

I mean it rings, not that it jumps on his and tries to fuck him with it's cold hard doorbell cock.

Tho' that would be fairly exciting.

Nope it's just our delivery spud growling menacingly and saying stuff like "I'm here to get you....let me in so I can stuff my box in your lounge!" and the like meaning that, quite understandably Terry gets the wrong end of the stick and thinks a mad killer has come to get him.

If only June had left a note.

But it's too late for that now so let's sit back and enjoy 20 minutes of Sam Raimi inspired violent lunacy coupled with a smidgen of breast grabbing across the Ottoman....

Jess Glynne: Harsh.

...Which leads us nicely to the home of Mr. Dirk Handsomestranger, a hunky lunk who, being in need of a drink and a wee bit of buggery, decides to visit Waxy O'Shinty's sailor themed gothic gay bar just along the beach from his house.

Well, he is European.

Ordering a Campari and soda, our studly pal can't help but notice a flamboyantly dressed older gentleman (who has a frightening resemblance to everyone's favourite Irishman Louise Walsh) sitting in the corner of the room nursing a tomato juice so, fancying a bit of old man cock, Dirk saunters over to join him.

Overpowered by the smell of sweaty leather and cheap aftershave (and not to mention being a bit tired of having to shout over the X Factor style Bauhaus tribute band) the pair decide to retire to Dirk's palatial love pad for more drink, less music and maybe, just maybe a saucy sex session of the rudest order.

With the booze and chatting flowing like so much horse semen into an aged prostitutes swollen stomach  our frill fronted fop admits that he's no normal man and that he has a dark secret.

And it's not that he dyes his hair or has his habit of furiously masturbating into children's teacups whilst listening to Jess Glynne.

Probably.

"Aye (s) Son!"

Nope, it turns out that his is, in fact a lonely old vampire, eager to impress with his tales of bloodlust, sodomy and working with Sharon Osbourne.

But as Dirk listens intently to his guest it becomes apparent that he may have a dark secret too...

...Meanwhile back in the big city, Mr. and Mrs. Middleincome are off out for a night of food, wine and depressingly middle class chat, leaving their cutesy-pie daughter home alone with only her homework and the brand new Teevee for company.

Unfortunately when they went to the shop to buy it they mistook 'includes evil child killing demon type' for '44" plasma screen plus Teletext'.

We've all been there.

Prepare for a night of child based terror as the killer telly (complete with the worlds longest extension cable) trundles loudly around the (stairless, that was lucky) house attempting to murder a small girl before zooming forward in time to experience a Blade Runner-esque future world where a massive lottery win can make you lose your head (literally) and women keep their hubbies on dog chains for some reason.

Oh yes, it's a subtle role reversal take on sexism.

Clever that.

Louise Walsh: He's got something to put in you (allegedly).

Some other stuff happened but needing a drink top up, a wee and a fag (but not all at once) I had to quickly leave the room but upon returning - I'd forgotten to press pause sorry - I was fairly surprised to see a naked (apart from a bus conductors hat) man persuading a young woman to hold his big umbrella before the wind took her (and it) flying across the fields before landing (with a psycho-sexual) bump in the city of Milan, where Terry the taxi driver is all set to go home after a hard days, um, taxi-ing.

Tho' I may have fallen asleep and imagined the last bit.

Anyway, after phoning his missis to see if she needs anything from the all night garage, Terry returns to his cab only to hear a voice from the back seat telling him not to turn around and just drive to a given destination.
Feeling oh so slightly uneasy about being mysteriously ordered about, Terry can't help but look round only to find that the back seat is empty, save a small briefcase.

Asia: She once wished me happy birthday...have you?

Is Terry going mad or is he just over tired?

Jumping out of the cab to clear his head, El Tel is forced to confront the bizarre truth of the situation when the disembodied voice angrily shouts at him to get back in the car.

It seems the mysterious presence has a job to do and time is running out...

Portmanteau part-work plots don't get much better than this story, which is a shame really as we've it doesn't end there, yup we've still to make the acquaintance of a sickeningly loved up couple who - between renovating their new home and having the sex - experience violence filled nightmares where they try to kill each other.

And the cat.

Hat.

Which brings us kicking, screaming (and sobbing) to our final tale.

A story of a normal man being stalk by a punk-tastic group of film makers intent on making him the star of their new snuff movie.

Yikes.

Ignored by the police and left to fend for himself, it's not long before our hapless hero has been beaten with a shovel and tied to a chair ready for his big close-up.

Luckily for him the designated sound guy is incapable of keeping the boom out of shot and this coupled with an impromptu shoot out and an unscheduled appearance by a nunchaku-wielding ninja may just be the the thing he needs to plan his escape.

And even maybe get the girl.

Who in this case is a leather skirted, fish-netted Asia.

Bastard.

No caption required.

With plots, acting and direction this diverse, you can't accuse Degenerazione of being boring and with it's frenetic mix of straight forward shocks, twisty-turny endings and highly eclectic story telling techniques you at least know that if you're not enjoying the current tale there'll be another one (or even two) along in a few minutes.

Shot for free by everyone involved, Degenerazione is an incredibly enjoyable mess of creativity over cash, putting to shame most no budget horrors of the last decade or so thru' sheer cheekiness alone.

Oh and did I mention Asia Argento is in it in fishnets?

Worth tracking down for the taxi segment (titled India 21) alone, Degenerazione played the film festival circuit before disappearing into oblivion alongside Tom Savini's Vampyrates and the third series of The Tripods, never to be seen again.

Until now obviously.

Unless it was all a dream that is.

mum's the word.

A blatant shout out for The Three Mothers comic which after a sold out initial print run is now available on ComiXology...You can buy it here.

End of plug.

a fistful of argento

A blast from the past.....presenting a - very - brief, slightly condescending yet incredibly bizarre interview conducted by the tartan temptress herself 'kinky' Kirsty Wark, showcasing Argento's painful lack of fluency in English, his infamous home haircut and his fantastic use of the 'errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr' noise in interviews.
 
Can you spot Luigi Cozzi skulking around the shelves of Profondo Rossi obviously searching for the remains of his career?

He'd be better off rummaging thru the bins.

happy birthday dario argento.

And what better way to celebrate than a mega-mix of (Goblin-based) musical madness?

bloody birthday.

yellow peril.

Another year, another Argento film released to mild audience apathy and a hostile reaction from the critics.

Unfortunately my 'press credentials' (a cut out Daily Bugle card stuck in the side of a trilby and a cardboard box painted up as a camera) weren't enough to get me in to see it at it's Edinburgh premiere earlier this year, so I've had to wait with baited breath for a screener to arrive.

Well, was it worth the wait?

Giallo (2009).
Dir: Dario Argento.
Cast: Adrien Brody, Emmanuelle Seigner, Elsa Pataky, Valentina Izumi, Linda Messerlinker, Taiyo Yamanouchi, Giuseppe Lo Console and Byron Deidra.

The cosmopolitan city of Turin, where two foxy girls about town, the teeny tiny Keiko and her man chinned pal Marjorie are enjoying a (fairly stilted) night at the opera.

Realising that this is an Argento movie and that watching a fat bird sing is, in this situation a fair way to get killed (or at the very least shat on by crows) they decide to bid their farewells and hit a local discotheque instead, hoping to find some hot tunes and even hotter men.

Fat chance of that seeing as the place is full of greasy haired, tight t-shirted 80's throwbacks dancing badly to cheesy Europop, including one poor sod wearing a t-shirt with a suit and bow tie printed on it.

If anyone in this movie deserves to die then it's him quite frankly.

Nice legs, shame about the imminent face cutting.

When Keiko manages to pull the only bloke in the place under fifty, Marjorie reckons she'd have better fun with the wobbly plastic pal she keeps under her pillow so decides to head back to the hotel.

With brightly lit rain pouring down in that heavy, Suspiria fashion and Marjorie having a high, hairsprayed bonce, she quickly flags a passing taxi and jumps into the comfy back seat, little realising that the cab driver is a notorious kidnapper and mutilator of fit young birds.

Arse.

"Teeth in mah mooth!"

It's not long before she's being taken down a deserted alley (which is, I must admit better than being taken up the casino) and jumped on by the driver.

Which is nice.

Tho' not as nice as the beautiful catwalk (as opposed to Airfix) model Celine (Beyond Re-Animator's Pataky), who is counting the hours (and pretty frocks) till she can head home to see her older, harsher sister Linda (Mrs. Roman Polanski, Seigner), recently arrived from America on a visit.

Wouldn't you know it tho' but on her way back to her apartment, Celine has the bizarre misfortune of hailing the same taxi as poor Marjorie, soon finding herself injected in the face with drugs, her expensive shoes stolen and a final indignity waking up in a dirty, egg stained, spunk encrusted basement owned by a Mister Tony Yellow.

A moon faced slobbering beast of a bloke so named because of his yellow jaundiced skin.

Before we move on I'd just like to point out that Mr. Yellow is portrayed by one 'Byron Deidra' (which could be an anagram of the lead actors name if I'm not mistaken) in a frankly magnificent tour de force performance the like of which hasn't been since Lord Udo of Kier fondled a sheep's innards during Flesh For Frankenstein.

Showing us all just why he won nine awards (including an Oscar) for his heartbreaking turn as Wladyslaw Szpilman in The Pianist, Brody (wearing a fat suit, dirty vest and a Bo Selecta! Mel B. mask) brings a truly subtle sense of realism to Yellow. Whether he's mumbling profanities at various chained women or simply having a sly wank whilst staring at photographs of his victims, the performance is truly terrifying.

No, really.

It's as if that Brody, for a giggle during rehearsals decided to do a drunken Robert DeNiro impression to amuse the crew and, not wanting anyone to steal his crown as the giallo joker, Argento called his bluff and told him that it would be a perfect way to play the villain.

Obviously neither of them wanted to admit defeat so the performance stayed in.

"Laugh now!"

Anyway back to the plot.

When Celine fails to return home, a worried (I think she's worried, tho' she does spend a fair amount of the film frowning) Linda heads over to the local police station, where she ends up interrupting an important pizza delivery much to the annoyance of the desk sergeant who hurriedly sends her off to the cellar, hang out of the maverick no nonsense inspector Enzo Avolfi (Brody).

Moody, mysterious and armed with a sexy beard (and with a great line in 1980's blouson jackets), Avolfi is a cop on the edge, haunted by the death of his mother at the hands of the bald bloke from Do You Like Hitchcock? and obsessed with finding the maniac responsible for this recent spate of murders.

"Wahey! Stop starin' at me tits mon!"

"Kiss kiss no more... wakey wakey!"

But time is running out for Celine and as more and more bodies begin turning up in the city, the only clue to the killers identity is a word whispered by a dying Japanese victim....

"kiiroi".

"This is the most extreme case of
mooth shite-in I have ever seen!"

After the cinematic abortion that was the final ten minutes of The Third Mother and the pantomime villainy of The Card Player you'd be forgiven (by some people but not me) for thinking the the master of the home haircut, Mr. Dario Argento had lost his mojo.

I say lost but from the evidence it seems more likely that it was violently removed from his chest with the same rusty nail scissors he cuts his fringe with.

I'll be the first to admit that the performances veer wildly from the kite flying, crack fuelled excesses of Adrien Brody to the almost narcoleptic lows of Emmanuelle Seigner and yes, the labyrinthine Argento plots of old have been replaced by characters randomly shouting out facts for no other reason than to get the story done and dusted but what the Hell I loved every minute of it.

Coming across like a cut price, lobotomised version of Tenebrae, it's true that it lacks that certain 'something' that made Argento's earlier such a joy but how much of that is down to the director and how much is down to the well publicised studio interference?

"I can see your house from here Jesus!"

But come to the film with the right mindset (or a head full of red) and there's plenty to enjoy.

Including the earlier mentioned masturbation scene, which is well on the way to becoming the greatest cinematic wank since Harvey Keitel cracked off a Barclay's in The Bad Lieutenant and, on a more serious (if less sticky) note, Frederic Fasano's lush cinematography coupled with the Danny Elfman-esque score from Marco Werba.

Guilty pleasures don't come better than this.

suscratchia.

With Professor X was looking after our mutant offspring we decided to take in a romantic movie and a few drinks this week.

And obviously you can't get anymore romantic than this:

Yup, our local arthouse cinema was showing Dario Argento's version of ABBA's Dancing Queen as part of it's Italian Film Festival and rumors abounded of it being a brand new shiny print!

Smoking and chatting excitedly outside (whilst obviously being pass remarkable about some of the fashions surrounding us and the fact that someone had felt the need to show their superior Argento fan-ness by wearing a, gulp, Creepers t-shirt) we came across our friend (and fellow Eurotrash enthusiast) Skinny John.

It appeared, according to John's sources that we were about to view a BRAND NEW uncut, recoloured and polished by the director himself copy of the movie!

Oh and he also pointed out that he has tickets to the UK premiere of Giallo and that I do not.

Bastard.

Anyway, we took our seats (mine was dedicated to Wet wet Wet) and waited eagerly for the movie to start.

Imagine our surprise (made worse by general audience apathy) when the curtains opened to reveal a scratchy burnt out BBFC title card informing us that the following film had been rated 'X'.

So much for the brand new print, the one they were showing appeared to have been hidden in a bin behind The Scala, left there when the debt collectors raided.

A shiny new print of Suspiria yesterday.



The one we saw on Wednesday night.

Always seeing the best in situations I commented how exciting it was to experience the movie in the same way as those who saw it on it's original release did and Rollie (Mrs. Unwell) agreed.

John on the other hand saw it a wee bit differently.

Especially at the twelve minute mark when part of the first murder appeared to be missing from the print, engulfed in a haze of scratches and pops.

"I am furious!" he shouted at anyone who'd listen "I am not paying good money to see cut Argento!"

And with that he left.

John: Furious.

which is a pity really, because you don't often get to see Argento on the big screen (albeit surrounded by people who appeared to be expecting an Italian version of Billy Elliot) and as far as I'm concerned a choppy, croppy 70's print is better than nothing.

Saying that tho', Sarah's death by piano wire was slashed to ribbons and missing it's denouement (an unforgivable crime - the cuts not the murder obviously, she deserved it) which frankly put me on edge for the rest of the movie, spending far too much time looking for cuts meaning that I couldn't fully appreciate Udo Kier's lovely flyaway hair in the next scene.

But all things considered you have to take your hat off to the lovely cinema staff for even considering showing the movie in the first place and inadvertantly taking us oldies back to the halcyon days of the video nasty bill, when you'd pay a fiver down the market for a copy of Bloody Moon, not knowing if it was a first or nth generation copy or even a dodgy Swedish animal erotica in a badly photostatted cover.

And for reviving those memories I thank you.

tears are not enough.

Finally it's here! because you demanded it! the full review of the (uncut) Italian Language version of La Terza Madre!!

(Warning! I would say it contains spoilers, but it's more like a blow by blow account of the plot....so if you don't want to know what happens, look away till you get to the Mekon man).


La Terza Madre (AKA The Third Mother 2007)

Dir: Dario Argento.

Cast: Asia Argento, Daria Nicolodi, Moran Atias, Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni, Philippe Leroy, Adam James, Valeria Cavalli, Clive Riche, Massimo Sarchielli, Silvia Rubino, Jun Ichikawa and Udo Kier.

What you see does not exist. What you cannot see is truth.

Whilst digging up a Vieterbo cemetery somewhere in Rome, Bob the (Italian) builder (with the help of Lofty) accidentally crashes thru an open grave, landing atop a 19th century urn strapped to a coffin.

Ouch.

The local priest appears to recognise the name etched into the ancient wood and decides to box it off to Michael (James), curator of the Museum of Ancient Art in Rome, but not before reburying the body on the far side of the church....

Museum intern Giselle (Cataldi-Tassoni) receives the spooky casket thru the mail and rather than wait for Michael to arrive, persuades her uber-sexy librarian-like art restorer colleague Sarah (Argento) that they should open it themselves for a wee nosy.

Asia: Silky blouse and a pearl necklace
(which I didn't give her before you ask).

Cutting her finger over the urn (never a good idea) whilst opening it Giselle intently examines the contents; a huge dagger, three evil Moonmins statues and a hand knitted crop top with glittery letters embroidered onto it.

Snazzy.

Intrigued by the ancient text, Sarah hurries away to fetch some handy 'how to translate old t-shirts' books whilst her pal squints at the statuettes whilst hmming and ahhing a lot and nibbling a pen top.

"It'd look great with a pair of mules and a drindle skirt".

Within minutes of the box being opened tho', the room is suddenly crammed full of shadowy, bald demons with knives and annoyed expressions plus quite possibly the shit-scariest movie monkey this side of Phenomena.

Before Giselle can scream for help tho' she has her tongue messily removed with what looks like a giant wooden corkscrew, her chest slit from throat to groin and finally she's strangled with her own intestine.

God knows what they'd have done if she'd dared tried the top on.

"Here come the Belgians!"

Returning with the books Sarah notices the blood, demons, intestines over the walls (not forgetting the creepy monkey) and, quite understandably legs it down a corridor to the main entrance with the wee hairy fella in hot pursuit but, when finding the exit locked a mysterious wind blows the doors open as a disembodied voice shouts "run!"

Rome's finest arrive on the scene and instantly think Sarah is a mentalist with her tale of scary demons, ghostly voices and spooky monkeys, so she heads home with hunky Michael to discuss all things supernatural over a mug of hot chocolate whilst his Giovanni Frezza like son sits cheekily on his bed.

Some mothers do 'ave 'em.

Whilst Sarah sleeps an ill wind is blowing thru the streets of Rome, mindless violence and murderous robberies begin to take hold of the city and groups of mid 80's goth girls start arriving in droves and abusing old men at train stations as young mothers begin casually tossing their babies off bridges (and yes they do bounce).

The police, deducing that Sarah is behind all this (no idea why) decide to follow her. Michael on the other hand has different idea's. He's going to go visit the old priest who discovered the urn for some answers (that will be revealed in fantastically illustrated black and white flashbacks as a pounding Simonetti score plays in the background). It appears that the urn carried the magic tunic of Mater Lachrymarum, the Mother of Tears and the most beautiful and wicked of The Three Mothers; three sisters skilled in the dark art of witchcraft who wandered the world amassing great personal wealth and power but leaving only death and destruction in their wake.

While you're waiting for the movie to continue
here are some nice storyboards for
the scenes we couldn't afford to shoot.

It appears that the chaos and bloodshed on the streets is only the beginning and Mater Lachrymarum is lying in wait, regaining her strength for the coming second fall of Rome.

On his way home Michael is perturbed when he notices the two (fairly) sexy (in a Birmingham Powerhouse 1987 way) goth chicks (including the really scary, black toothed Jun Ichikawa) staring at him from a bridge whilst licking their lips.

Ooeer.

Ichikawa: scary as fuck.

Returning home Michael is surprised (and a wee bit upset-tho not too much) to find the witches have kidnapped his son, leaving a load of archaic symbols and the word SILENTIUM scrawled in blood on his headboard.....his son will die if he continues to search for answers.

Michael has only one option left to him...he must travel to meet one of the Vatican's last remaining (and not to say the sexiest) Exorcism cum demon specialists at his country house on the outskirts of Rome. Sarah offers to go to the library to look up more information (and to fill in those few cinema goers who've accidentally turned up to see the movie -or rented it on DVD-not realising it's a sequel to Suspiria and Inferno) regarding The Three Mothers.

But Michael doesn't make it far before he's accosted by a couple of goth girls in a phone box (which some folk would pay good money for)...the only thing he can do is call Sarah for help.

Rushing from the library to the train station, Sarah is shocked to find that not only are the police tailing her but so is the scary Japanese goth and her pals (including a punked up midget!-this keeps getting better and better).

During a high octane bookshop based chase scene however, the mysterious voice in Sarah's head explains that if she concentrates really, really hard she will become invisible to her pursuers.

"You aint seen me, right?"

Remarkably this does the trick and Sarah manages to board a train undetected by the police but not, alas by the scary Japanese lady who having sneaked aboard has already killed a copper and is currently searching the train toilets for our heroine.

Sarah has the last laugh tho' for as Jun goes to strike, our arse kicking art restoring honey slams the witches head repeatedly in the toilet door till her eyes pop out before hopping on another train bound for exorcismville and a date with the kindly Padre Joannes.

Arriving at his country abode, the first thing Sarah notices is the large group of mentalists, gypsies, topless ladies and Tourettes sufferers camped out in his courtyard. Everyone is either possessed or gone mad the rather butch housekeeper explains, which is why Joannes is way too busy to see her.

Sarah pushes her way into the house only to be confronted by the exotic (and low cut cleavage sporting) Marta (Cavalli), a friendly Sapphic (you can tell) medium who appears to know much more about Sarah's mysterious voices-and the circumstances surrounding her mothers death than even Sarah herself does.

Valeria Cavalli (totally unnecessary
lesbian sex scene still to come).

Sarah is understandably taken aback by claims that her mother, Elisa (Argento's ex, Asia's mum and owner of the world's sexiest smoker voice Daria Nicolodi, playing a character that's not to be confused with the similarly named Elise Stallone Van Adler that she portrayed in Inferno, no matter what certain fansites suggest) did not die in a car accident but was in fact a white witch who, whilst studying ballet at the Tanz Akademie in Freiburg lost her life to Mater Suspiriorum.... and it's her mothers voice she's been hearing and who has been guiding her actions.

Still keeping up at the back? Good stuff.

Limping, spluttering and wearing a HUGE crucifix and carrying a glass of water for his 'medicine' the grey haired and oh so slightly camp Padre Joannes enters the room.

He has been expecting Sarah and has information that will be vital if she is to defeat Mater Lachrymarum.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls (but mainly boys)....it's Udo time!

You would, I would and he most definitely would. Twice
(well in my dreams anyway).

Joannes has been run off his feet with the amounts of exorcisms he's having to perform at the moment (hence the freaks camped out in his garden) and explains that it's all down to the Mothers dark influence.....things are going to get much worse too as more and more witches arrive in Rome to prepare for her rising.

Luckily the Padre has a book that explains exactly how to kill Lachrymarum so he totters off to his study to fetch it.

Joannes finds that the book has gone and shouts on his housemaid for help locating it, unfortunately (for him, her and her wee boy) she's way too busy chopping up her son with a meat cleaver to offer a hand and decides instead to cut the padres throat before slashing his ankles, slamming the cleaver into his back and, just to make sure he's dead using it to turn his face into a meaty soup (all in glorious technicolour close up) before cutting her own throat to the cry of "For my Mother!"

With Udo down (noooooooooooooo!) Sarah and Marta have no alternative but to start panicking and leg it to the car, narrowly avoiding the pervy pikeys before driving back to the city.

It has to be said tho, that Marta is surprisingly calm as she explains more about Sarah's powers and her mothers legacy during the drive back even offering to let her sleep over to hone her powers.

Sarah however thinks it'd be safer to head home in case Michael rings (yep, I'd forgotten about him too) so Marta drops her off in the middle of a riot and bids her goodnight.

"There's somebody at the door!"

Sarah soon has a change of heart however when she attempts to unlock her front door only to hear what sounds like a cheeky monkey rifling thru her pant drawer so decides to take up Marta's offer.

A totally unnecessary lesbian sex scene yesterday.

Arriving at Marta's pad (much to the disdain of her 'flatmate' Helga-a really grumpy Rubino) there's just time for a quick coffee, a few lessons in seeing the dead and a chat with mum (not forgetting some all important plot exposition) before bed. Elisa warns her daughter that she can't fight Mater Lachrymarum alone and must secure the help of friendly warlock Guglielmo De Witt if she is to have any chance of winning.

Snuggled up on the sofa with nothing to do but listen to the totally gratuitous (and completely unnecessary) sex scene in the next room, Sarah is awoken by dreams of demons, chimps and monkey noises.....but wait....the monkey noises are coming from the hallway!

Sarah does what we'd all do in these circumstances and sneaks out the flat only stopping to phone Marta to warn her of the killer monkey in her house.

But it's too little too late seeing as when she climbs out of bed to answer the phone she's karate chopped in the throat whilst poor Helga is finally given something to look grumpy about when she gets stabbed in the chest by a baldy man with bad skin.

"Knife to see you, to see you knife!"

In a rare moment of calm from this tsunami of bloodshed, Mr. Bald Pate stops to howl menacingly down the phone at Sarah causing her to trash the receiver and run off into the night.

Lying prostrate on the floor of her bedroom, Marta can only gaze on in horror as Mater Lachrymarum (looking like a Jedi stripper seeing as she's clad only in a cape and hood) accompanied by a chained blonde bimbette dressed in an Anne Summers toga, slinks into the room.

"Put it in me!"

Lachrymarum crouches down next to Marta, wiggling her ample arse like a big, pink, caped cat and starts licking her cheek in a vaguely erotic manner before ordering baldy to stab the unconscious Helga in the eyes with a sharp pointy thing and if this wasn't enough to put you off your popcorn he then takes a snap together spear out of his briefcase and violently inserts it into Marta's nether regions, pushing till it pops out of her mouth.

Which, even I will admit is maybe a wee bit excessive.

Wandering the blood drenched, violent streets in a horrified daze, Sarah is shocked to see Michael hurry past her, she gives chase and manages to catch up with him in a deserted alley.

Looking like shit and smelling of cheap gin and piss, he calmly explains how the witches have murdered his son and how he is on the run from the evil ladies but it should be ok for him and Sarah to head back to his for coffee.

Sarah thinks there's nothing at all suspicious about this suggestion and happily accompanies him back to his flat. It's only after she's put the kettle on that Sarah realises that Michael is actually a re-animated, slit-throated, foul mouthed tool of Mater Lachrymarum.

Deciding that their relationship is probably over she does what most girls would do.

That's right, she sets fire to her undead ex and runs off to bitch about it to her mum who, using the last of her magical powers drags the human torch-alike off to limbo in a scene very reminiscent of The Wizard of Oz (which to my mind is a good thing really).

"Curses Dan Dare!"

Lost and alone as everything she knows and loves is dragged into hell and with the police broadcasting nationwide APB's claiming that she is behind everything, Sarah's only hope lies with the mysterious Guglielmo De Witt.

But will he have the information she needs to find and defeat the third mother?

Or will Mater Lachrymarum create a living hell on earth?


Since Dario Argento announced his plans to complete 'The Three Mothers' trilogy way back in 2004 the internet has been rife with rumours and gossip concerning the new film even before a script was completed or a frame of film shot (well, it was on the kinda sites I read). Fans were worried with discussions ranging from "Will it live up to the highs of Suspiria and Inferno?" to the blunt "Dario lost it half way thru' Phenomena...it'll be crap".

As a huge (nay, obsessive) fan of the 'master of horror' since my early teens it pains me to admit that since the release of his undisputed classic giallo Tenebrae (way back in 1982), the great man's career has had more twists and turns than a really big twisty turny roller-coaster, taking him from being hailed as 'the new Hitchcock' (something he's had to live up to since his directorial debut The Bird With A Crystal Plumage) and heir apparent to Mario Bava's crown as Italy's 'Maestro of the Macabre' to being seen as a spent talent, churning out cheaply xeroxed copies of his hits desperately trying to regain his former glory.

I'll admit that since Tenebrae's release Argento has gone from the dizzying excesses of the truly fantastic Opera (AKA Terror At The Opera) thru the maddeningly out of control car crash of a movie that is Phenomena and the almost Argento-lite of his first American shot feature Trauma, taking in the dazzling return to form, Non Ho Sonno and the great in parts The Card Player.

But thru' thick and thick myself (and many more like minded souls) have stuck by the great man, knowing full well that a bad Argento movie is usually 100 times more entertaining that most 'mainstream' movies being released today (except the cinematic abortion that was-and still is- his version of The Phantom Of The Opera of course).

So.....how does La Terza Madre fair in the 21st century world of 'torture porn' and slick Hollywood no-brain horror? but most importantly is it a worthy climax to the story of The Three Mothers?

To answer the last one.....um.....kinda.

"Does my bum look big in this?"

From the opening titles featuring illustrations and artwork charting the history of witchcraft matched to a frankly pant-wettingly good Claudio Simonetti score that subliminally echoes the music of Suspiria without aping it you know you're in classic Argento territory. A sense of foreboding and cold menace hang over the opening scenes like a cruel blanket of fog on a deserted moor. It almost feels as if Mater Lachrymarum's plan is already in action and that the characters are merely pawns in a greater game being dragged along to their respective fates.

The complexities of the Mother's back story inform the whole proceedings but not to the detriment of viewers who aren't familiar with the earlier chapters, thanks to a solid screenplay written by Dario alongside Jase Anderson and Adam Gierasch (scarily the duo behind the abysmal Toolbox Murders remake....who knew they could actually write?) that
ticks all the right boxes needed to produce a great final act to an epic story.

"Shite in mah mooth!"

Fans of the previous installments are rewarded with nods to characters and situations from both Suspiria and Inferno, satisfyingly linking it to the previous films and even the high level of exposition dialogue (never one of Argento's strong points) may sometimes border on the camply absurd side but is played with a knowing conviction that never veers into unintentional laughs because this is a one of a kind director at the top of his game making a film about a subject he loves.

The almost perversely graphic murder scenes are pure Argento and match anything the director has imagined before, both brutal and vile yet at the same time stunning to watch. Add to this a director who brings a new subtlety to his palette; the earlier scenes shot in harsh greys with natural lighting leaving his trademark brilliant reds and blues to come to the fore when the Mother's power and influence begin to grow, building towards a nightmarish climax awash with deep crimson shafts of light and black shadows slashing thru' the film like an open razor.

So, at this point I have to ask.....what the fuck went wrong with the movies climax?

"Laugh now!"

I mean after the years of waiting, the bad press reports and less than favourable reviews I'd settled down expecting a midly entertaining so-so Argento movie.

Nothing more, nothing less.

But it was better, much better than it had any right to be, almost (gulp) on a par with Inferno....an 'end of days' horror for the new millennium. It builds and builds moving relentlessly towards it's aforementioned fiery climax and then.....

"Aye and indeed, Hen!"

It's as if the co-writers hastily put an ending on paper (perhaps it was their final piece and the shop was shut) expecting Dario to flesh it out but then he assumed the same. It's classic 7 year old schoolboy creative writing, you remember, you'd write these huge rambling stories that took up about 8 sides in your exercise book then realise The Two Ronnies or something was on in 5 minutes so you'd hastily scribble down:

'and so the hero killed the bad guy. The End'

and rush off to do whatever it was that was more important.

This also goes for the effects department who, after 90 minutes of fantastic work appear to shoddily pin up a painting of a street (completed by the AD's 3 year old blind, wooden handed child) for the final scenes that doesn't just leave you wondering if you've accidently skipped a chapter and gone straight to the out-takes but also how anyone could have sat and agreed that this was a great way to end not just the film, but the whole trilogy.

"Don't shout at me! I never wrote the ending!"

Did Dario keep it a secret till the night of release? or is he surrounded by George Lucas style 'yes' men hanging on his every word?

I just don't know.

Part of me thinks that if the movie had, in fact been the lackluster mess that most reviewers had said then it wouldn't have mattered so much.

But it's not. It's possibly the best Argento movie since Opera and shows the director has lost none of his talent or passion for the cinema, just that he needs discipled co-writers to work with, not glorified fan boys who were obviously too in awe of their hero to say "No Dario, that endings shit...we need a better one".

I'd love to think I could end this review with something witty and amusing, rather than leave it looking like I hated the movie (which I didn't). It's just that this missed opportunity doesn't just reflect badly on what could have been a classic horror movie from the worlds greatest horror director but one the Three Mothers trilogy as a whole.

Dario, you've not just let us down, you've let yourself down too.

does your mother know?

Good news! (for me anyways). Just got an uncut, subtitled copy of La Terza Madre thru.....Review to follow (and excuse to post more pics of Asia right below this message).

Asia: lovely boots.

any excuse.

Just noticed I've not posted a picture of Asia Argento for ages so here you go.