in living colour*.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Super 8 and Spanish style!

*That's 'color' for any American 'readers'.

video naschy.

I love Paul Naschy.

I love Maria Kosti.

I love corpses.

But scarily I've never had an opinion on dragonflies.

Rewatched this gem last night and realised that the review of it from years back has only been looked at twice so I'm reposting it in the hope that someone might actually read it.

I wont say too much about it tho' because:

A. I don't want to give too much away.

B. I'll make it sound shit.

but more importantly

C. I really can't be arsed.

Enjoy.

A Dragonfly For Each Corpse (AKA Una libélula para cada muerto, Red Killer, 1974).
Dir: León Klimovsky.
Cast: Paul Naschy, Erika Blanc, Eduardo Calvo, Ángel Aranda, Antonio Mayans, Maria Kosti, Ricardo Merino, José Canalejas, Rafael Albaicín, Susana Mayo and Maria Vidal (not the one that sang Body Rock).

Welcome to the  fashion capital of the world, - tho' you wouldn't guess that from the state of the ties and collars -  the groovy city of Milan where a mentalist murderer clad in a ladies raincoat and massive red flares that are oh so slightly too short is busy ridding the city of what they term as 'undesirables'.

You know the types, monkey-faced junkies, various dirty ladies and skinny bearded men in big white pants who are dispatched using a variety of implements ranging from ceremonial swords to umbrellas with sharpened tips.

Which is nice.

But with this being a Giallo (as opposed to a common or garden slasher) the killer - by law - must leave a bizarre clue cum calling card which in this case is a shoddy dragonfly broach which appears to have been made by the producers hook handed blind child.

BBBBZZZZZ!!!!

Leading the investigation is girdle-wearing, bewigged bad boy of the old bill Inspector Paolo Scaporella (the legend that is Paul Naschy) - mustached machoman who loves nothing better than slapping perverts whilst chewing on a big cigar.

Oh yes, and cooking spaghetti whilst wearing a pink apron.

As the corpses pile up (tho' not literally mind) Paolo soon realises - with the help of his gorgeously ginger missis Silvana (The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave's Blanc) and their group of high society dinner party pals (which appears to include Jess Franco's evil twin) that all the victims are members of the cities criminal underworld and that the dragonfly is an ancient symbol used to denote bad people.

And whores obviously.

Blood on mah thigh!

As is the way with these films tho' it appears that many of their 'friends' have their own dark secrets which means that any one of them could be the next victim.

Or even the killer.

With a head full of conjecture and half-arsed theories, Paolo finally discovers a clue, it seems that one of the victims put up a wee bit of a struggle tearing a massive 'fashion' button from the killers coat so our hero enlists the help of his Kaftan-clad, haute couture homosexualist designer friend, Vittorio to try and track down the button's owner.

No, really.

But with the killer aware of Paolo's plan and Silvana taking to studying crime scene photos in the nude it's a race against time and good taste (plus a gang of biker neo-Nazis) to find the killer before there's no-one in the cast left to kill.

Or any viewers left to care.

Title.

Obviously bored with being stuck inside a furry suit 24 hours a day when making Waldemar Daninsky werewolf movies Paul Naschy decided to try a different tact  with A Dragonfly For Each Corpse and emulate the erotically charged Giallo's spewing forth from Italy at that time.

Well it was either that or he fancied a free holiday to Milan.

The result is, shall we say interesting.

George and Mildred: The Yewtree years.

Tho' nowhere near as polished or as accomplished as it's Italian counterparts Dragonfly is still a load of fun, partly due to the always watchable Naschy (and his mighty man breasts) alongside genre stalwarts Erika Blanc and Maria Kosti (or Kosty as she's credited here) but mainly because of the sheer amount of early seventies fashions on show.

Especially the ties.

No, really there are kipper ties, crotch covering paisley ties, ones with squared off edges and some so thin you'd mistake them for a hunger striker.

It's like a down at heel charity shop made flesh.

Add to that an arse end sixties style score, a stripper clad only in a crotched doily lounging in a coffin, Erika Blanc's tan lines, a group of geriatric Nazi boot boys and a climax featuring Naschy chasing a bandy legged transvestite thru' a kiddies playpark and you have all the elements needed for a top night in.

Recommended.

stuff....

....you find stored on SD cards you come across in the street

(Part One).

spain oddity.

Was tidying up the scary cupboard yesterday in order to try and find some shite sci-fi I can review in the countdown to The Rise of Skywalker (as I mentioned yesterday, it might get me a few more readers) when I came across my copy of the craptastic Ghosts of Sherwood hidden under a pile of old copies of Titbits magazines.

As I held it fondly in my arms I remembered back to my review and how I thought I'd never seen a movie quite so shockingly awful ever again.

But guess what?

I was wrong.

So terribly, terribly wrong.

Total Retribution (aka Earthkiller, 2011)
Dir: Andrew Bellware.
Cast: Robin Kurtz, Walter Barnes, Joe Beuerlein, the directors family and friends, your dad, my dad and that scary woman that hangs about the corner shop who smells of bananas.

“humanity will end itself”

The time?

The future (sometime just after lunch possibly),

The place?

High above a children's sandpit.

The audience attention grabbing situation?

Well that'll be the sight of a milky thighed woman falling from the sky as the words “humanity will end itself” play out in a loop.

Now I'm intrigued.

Especially seeing as she's a ginger.

Crashing to earth in a burst of special effects of the kind not seen since I last booted up my Atari 2600 our mysterious heroine is soon found by two portly gypsies dressed in their dad's work overalls (and their little sister's Harry Potter cosplay capes) who appear to have an unhealthy interest in the huge chocolate coin she's wearing around her little bird-like neck.

It can't be that they're hungry - greedy yes, hungry definitely not -  so it must have another significance.

It's like a nursery school adaptation of Hardware but with pound shop glitter and glue replacing, well everything really.

Here come The Belgians!

Jumping forward two hundred years (well that's what it says on the caption) we find the very same woman now completely naked and standing in what seems to be a stationary cupboard aboard a high-tech space station that appears to have been rendered by a hook handed child on a V-Tech look and learn tablet.

Luckily she still has the chocolate coin tho.

The woman (whom we discover is named Helen and portrayed with all the charisma of a - fairly - annoyed geography teacher by Robin Kurtz who, truth be told is the nearest the movie will get to having a bona fide actor on screen so make the most of it), bored with standing around shivering in the obviously cold set (trust me you can tell) decides to have a wee peek outside the cupboard just in time to see a guard shot herself in the head amid a pile of Kwik Fit overalled corpses.

There's no time to rest tho' (or even admire the shoddily constructed cardboard sets) as no sooner has the poor woman's head hit the ground when a rag tag couple of military types turn up to wax lyrically about death and 'the scriptures'.

As you do.

Sauce.

With the set not being that big - and with Helen being fairly tall - our naked pal is soon forced out of hiding and into a playground style Mexican standoff with the soldiers before everyone involved gets bored and goes their own way, the duo off into a darkened corridor and Helen straight ahead giving the director a chance to linger on her brightly lit - albeit frighteningly skinny - arse.

It's not all religious chat and nudity tho' as Helen is soon back to her old hiding tricks when she stumbles across a couple of over enunciating maintenance men deep in conversation about some existential rubbish before one of them turns into a zombie and punches the other to death.

No really.

20 minutes in and with her nudity clause fully fulfilled Helen decides to head for the nearest locker room in order to find some clothes suitable for battling the great space undead.

Or at least stand a chance of winning third prize at a Resident Evil fancy dress parade.

And only then if the judges were blind.

As a plus point the 'Helen gets dressed' scene is probably the most dramatic thing you will see in the movie and get dressed she does in a fantastically futuristic ensemble that includes a black boob tube, some saggy arsed spandex cycling shorts, a sad, single child's skateboarding kneepad, a pair of orthopedic boots and a realistic leather effect belt like the one your granddad wears.

Nice.

"Freedom for Tooting!"

She's barely had time to adjust her crotch when the pal-punching zombie from earlier turns up (you can tell he's a zombie because he has red felt pen round his eyes and a mouth covered in strawberry jam) in order it seems to carry on his frankly mundane musings from earlier.

Perhaps the zombiefication is caused by an airbourne virus that reacts to how much bollocks you can spout in a 5 minute period?

Well it'd make as much sense as the rest of the movie.

Helen has no time for chat tho' and quickly dispatches the zombie by shooting him in the stomach.

Twice.

Which as we all know is the only way to kill the undead.

Not wanting the plot to be the only thing that's meandering, Helen wanders deeper into the space station before coming across (if only) a harsh-faced girl who is luckily on hand to explain the plot to those of us who haven't drunk themselves into a coma/slashed their wrists by now.

So pay attention, here's the science part:

It appears that Helen is actually an android and that the space station is the staging ground for a final battle between The Terran Special Forces and the stations very own Allied Airborne Battalion.

Why? I hear you cry.

Well the scientists aboard the station have discovered a process by which they can turn folk (but only the really unattractive and untalented ones by the look of it) into scribble faced zombies.

And if that wasn't enough it seems that the process can also be used to turn them into massive robot dogs.

Obviously the people of Earth need to put an end to such frankly ludicrous shenanigans as soon as.

Makes perfect sense when you think about it.

If the director can't be arsed then I'm not wasting my time thinking up an amusing caption.

Now you'd think that'd be enough to keep even the most dedicated hero busy but no there's more as the scientists have also aimed a massive laser at the planet too.

And not just any old laser oh no, you see this one is specifically designed to create wormholes in time and space.

Tho' why you'd threaten to destroy the only place that you can get subjects for your robot dog/zombie hybrid experiments isn't explained.

Or maybe I'm just too thick to figured it out.

And so begins a race against time - and good taste - for our trim tummied terminatrix as she desperately tries to discover her reason for being onboard and her connection to the project before the earth is destroyed.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Cue 40 minutes of arse-prolapsing dialogue (including a frankly bizarre conversation about Helen's undies), Nintendo 64 quality 'special' effects, the same animated GiF of gunfire used over and over, random blood splash photoshop effects whenever anyone gets shot and the biggest collection of badly painted pound shop Nerf guns ever committed to videotape.

Imagine Alien: Resurrection remade by a group of fish-eyed schizophrenics with only the contents of their dads garage for props and with a script written in shit by a club footed insomniac in exchange for a collection of vintage underwear ads and you'd only be half way to understanding the whole sorry mess.

But who do we thank for it?

Well that'd be writer/director/composer/actor/binman Andrew Bellware - the man who gave the world the definitive discourse of that famous Dane with his New York based 1997 version of Hamlet (no me neither) as well as such straight to torrent site shite as Prometheus Trap, Alien Uprising and Clone Hunter who with this brings us a film so inept, so threadbare and so mind numbingly awful that it managed to not only give my DVD player cancer but caused me to go blind whilst watching.

And it's not just that it's badly made, ill-conceived and horribly realised but the fact that none of it makes any sense and that no-one involved seems to care.

The 'actors' (save Kurtz) seem to be wandering around in a self conscious, charisma free daze - all that is except the thick-necked blonde space marine lady who delivers her lines with all the skill and charm of a menstruating traffic warden with delusions of godhood and unfortunately the mouth of a stroke victim -  almost as if they've been forced at gunpoint to appear in this travesty as some kind of sub-Saw revenge plot.

Come on....they can't have all fucked the directors dog so god knows what they did to end up in this.

If I'm honest I'm kinda worried at to what punishment Bellware will dish out to me if he reads this.

This makes me really sad.

It's not all bad tho' - no hang on it is actually tho' I will admit that had I not had the misfortune to sit thru this I would have missed how utterly woeful (re: fucking abysmal) the robo/dog/zombies actually are.

I'd try to describe them but a screengrab will have to suffice and not even that can do them justice:

No really, just fuck off.

Yes my friends I'm actually recommending that you do indeed sit thru this steaming pile of cinematic shite just to experience the absolute joy of this perfect example of computer-aided arse first hand.

I doubt you ever find anything else that even remotely comes close.

The cinematic equivalent of being clumsily bum-fingered by a jaggy nailed tramp, Total Retribution is less a piece of low-brow cinema entertainment more an evil endurance test designed by an insane sadomasochist with a spandex fetish.*

But don't take my word for it see for yourself......

You know you want to.


























































































*It still pisses over The Last Jedi tho'.

stryke it lucky.

Noticed that the pound shop Oswald Moseley, ferret-faced uber-racist and part-time hand model that is Nigel Farage has been trending on Twitter again.

Unfortunately it's not because he's dead but because it looks like our roly poly prankster cum (bucket) Prime Minister Boris Johnson has promised him a peerage for um reasons.

The scariest thing tho' was at no point during the conversation was it mentioned that BoJo and Nige actually have more in common that just being elitist tosspots who only think of lining their own pockets no matter what the cost to anyone else because you see they also scarily enough both have the same favourite film.

No seriously.

I once phoned in Farage's radio show to ask him about it.*

Johnson: A mooth made for shite-in in.

Obviously this shouldn't come as too much of a surprise when you realise that Zombie 4 is actually about immigration and foreign types and the like but under the guise of being an Italian zombie film.

Clever eh?

Oh plus it features Jeff Stryker and as we all know BoJo never says no to a wee bit of man-cock.

You can ask Carrie Symonds about that.

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.

But not Jeremy Corbyn obviously.

Or immigrants.

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 (post suicide) 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 gypsies.

Our Nige seen here reenacting his favourite scene from the movie. No, I didn't realize that it featured a bit where a bigoted halfwit almost gets garotted by a biplane either. Must have been cut in the UK.

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.

Some immigrants stealing our jobs and benefits yesterday.

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 refugees and illegal Eastern European immigrants (possibly) 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 (obviously symbolizing Remainers) 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 unpaid 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.

Not photoshopped.

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 cum (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.

Funnel or tunnel?

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.

And by that I mean out of the house not out of Europe obviously.

We wouldn't have stuff like this film if that were the case.

*And bizarre as it seems it's also Catherine Blaiklock's favourite film too.

You see it was actually her love of this movie that got her to team up with  Farage to form the Brexit Party in the first place.

**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.

green fingered.

Thing 1 attended her first Rai-Con today so in celebration I thought I'd rewatch something suitable to get me in the mood.

Well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Shokuhou Marunomi Acme (2008).
Dir: Ishikawa Hitoshi (as Ishikawa Kin).
Cast: Sanada Haruka, her big white pants, an industrial sized tub of KY jelly and a large slimy tentacled plant thing.

Smart and sensible shoed office girl Brenda (wild eyed and Pez toothed AV starlet Haruka, whom you may recognize from the arthouse classic Multipronged) is heading home after a hard day photocopying important stuff, sorting the pens out and the like, looking forward to a nice salad and a large glass of Lambrusco.

kicking off her Mules and heading straight for the kitchen Brenda is surprised to find a large green slimy thing in her knife drawer. Bending down to examine it closer she fails to see the mass of other wriggly, giggly slimy things slowly slithering towards her.

Yikes!

Haruka (bless you): A damn good rooting.

Before she can even muster a scream the tricky, sticky tentacles have wrapped themselves around her tiny waist and begun to show a rather unhealthy interest in her undies.

And the contents therein obviously.

Brenda vainly struggles against her green assailant but only manages to get even more and more slimy and - more upsetting for her - a huge ladder in her best tights.

Kicking and screaming as more and more of these pervy penile plant things begin to wrap themselves around her, our hapless heroine becomes alarmingly aware that for what are effectively long skinny plant roots they're incredibly adept at removing clothes.

Are they just interested in the latest smart office fashion or is something more sinister afoot?

Managing to flip herself onto her back in order to kick the tentacles away (and tearing her by soaked and by now transparent blouse too) Brenda is horrified to see, hiding in the corner of the kitchen (next to the bin) the owner of the frisky tentacles.

A giant fluffy (and possibly foul) mouthed plant, dripping with sticky goo and lustfully licking its lips as it drags Brenda ever closer....

Haruka: "Leaf me alone!"

Being a plucky kinda gal, Brenda tries to pull free one last time, but the pull of the plant alongwith the slimy floor/sticky arse interface causes all her clothes to fall away leaving her stark (non) bollock (ed) naked and slipping along the lino toward the beasts quivering maw.


Just a thought but do plants have maws?

Anyway, not one to give up without a struggle, Brenda fights and wiggles with furious abandon as it tries to pull her inside, eventually managing to make it as far as her apartment door (tho' by this point she's probably cursing having all the floors tiled rather than carpeted).

Just as it seems that Brenda is free of this horny hosepipe-like horror the creature lets out a massive fart and drags her kicking, screaming and squishing into its mighty mouth.


It's comes as no surprise that poor Brenda passes out.

Regaining consciousness inside what looks like a huge blood red bouncy castle,  wearing nothing but an ample coating of slime and being prodded by all manner of long sticky things, Brenda (understandably) starts to panic, screaming loudly as she desperately tries to crawl her way towards the creatures lips as even more gooey things appear and attempt to hold her back.

Will she escape?

Remarkably it seems like she will, seeing as her high pitched nasally whine appears to make the tentacles to shudder and panic, waving around like a sea of epileptic worms at a rave before losing their grip on poor Brenda.

Noticing this she screams some more.

Which is (in hindsight) a wee bit of a mistake, seeing as it causes the tentacles to go all stiff and bury themselves into every orifice available.

I'm sure this is accidental tho' and the poor things are just trying to hide.

Plus you can tell that they're scared because they appear to be crying milky tears from the single slitty eye they all have.

At least I think it's tears, cos the picture is all pixelated at this point.

The cover in full (just in case you want to
order it for your Gran this Christmas).

Suddenly the movie takes a bizarre twist as Brenda stops trying to fight the tentacle intrusion and, gulp, begins to enjoy the experience.

I've asked a few female friends that have been in this situation to see if this would really happen or is merely for titillation purposes and they all seem to agree that the film is quite accurate on this count (tho' they do admit that Brenda's choice of shoe doesn't really match her outfit so there you go).

Slowly, lustfully and very, very stickily the plant drags Brenda back towards it's dribbling pulsating mouth....

Will Brenda escape?

Does she really want to?

Will the couple end up married with 2.4 saplings?

Or after 40 minutes or so of hot rubber tentacle on nude, glistening Japanese girl action will Brenda awake screaming inside the plant as it begins to digest her?

Clue: it's the latter.

Pants.

Yup, it's another classic from Ishikawa Hitoshi, the genius writer/director behind the fantastic love triangle weepies Captured for Sex 1 and 2 as well as the high school hooker/possession/knockabout comedy hybrid The Big Slaughter Club (amongst other great family favourites) and just like those mentioned, this too is destined to be remembered as the top quality piece of cinematic greatness that it so obviously is.

As with the other chapters in Hitoshi's Shokujuu Acme series, this fifth episode analysises the cold hard truth in regards to the sexual politics of modern day Japan according to the theoretical frameworks of Tzvetan Todorov and Sigmund Freud, exploring aspects of both the Uncanny and the Fantastic.

The traditional and playful view of female sexuality - as symbolized by the ever probing tentacles, an image that can be dated as far back as 1820, with Hokusai's erotic masterpiece The Dream of The Fisherman's Wife and based in part on the animism aspects of the Shinto religion - is frighteningly inverted through the prism of Barthesian semiotics, as if the modern Japanese Alpha male (in this case not just director Hotoshi, but the complacent young men the series is so obviously aimed at), terrified by the openness of old world Japanese female sexuality have taken it on themselves to reclaim (as it were) the males rightful place of sexual power (in their eyes), replacing the thrusting sword with the (up until now) soft tentacles so loved by artists of the Edo Period.

A frightening upsurge in violent sexism based on 17th century erotic art?

Only in Japan.

Or West Bromwich obviously.

Although I could be reading way too much into this and Ishikawa Hitoshi has actually just made a common or garden tentacle porn movie aimed at the undersexed teenage masturbator market.

You decide.

do androids dream of electric beats?

Well Blade Runner fans we made it!

Yup, the movie is no longer science fiction seeing as from today it's set right here right now.

Well it;s only really right here if you're reading this in Los Angeles but you know what I mean.

So what better way to celebrate this Autastic classic with over an hour of Tyrell approved tunes, Roy Batty beats and synthetic samples.

Listen here.

logan's rum.

The Taking of Deborah Logan (2014).
Dir: Adam Robitel.
Cast: Jill Larson, Anne Ramsay, Michelle Ang, Anne Bedian, Ryan Cutrona and Jeremy DeCarlos.

Obviously deciding to go for the cheap laughs at the end of term movie party, film makers Mia (Neighbours Ang), Gavin (Banshee's gentle Gentile, Brett) and Luis (Ben 10: Alien Swarm star DeCarlos) have decided to make a documentary about the foxy redhead Deborah Logan (sexy screen stalwart and current Captain Marvel - Larson) and her battle with Alzheimer's disease.

At first reluctant to be filmed, Deborah only agrees to the project after much badgering from her surprisingly hot - in a manly way - daughter Sarah (the always watchable Ramsay, all checked shirted, chain smoking lesbian chic) who gently reminds her that they need the money to stop the bank from repossessing the house.

Told you it was a barrel of laughs.

Anyway filming begins with Deborah reminiscing about her earlier years working as the town switchboard after her husband had died, detailing how she would receive calls for some of the most rich and powerful people around and how she was privy to various secrets that could end their businesses - or hers - if she had ever spilled the beans.

Not literally obviously.

Tho' the thought of a naked, baked bean smothered Larson is worth taking a minute to think about.

Check the shirt.

Luckily for us the film isn't all old lady chat and boring tales of life in a small town as soon enough dishy Deborah is wandering around the garden barefoot and trying to attack various members of the crew with spoons leading her local GP, Dr. Nazir (Ex Canadian Armed Forces and TV fave Bedian) to believe that the disease is far more aggressive and advanced than first thought.

Not being an expert on such matters Luis is curious to find out if Deborah's habit of levitating in the kitchen and speaking French (very sexily I might add) is also a symptom of the disease. His concerns are swiftly dealt with by all concerned with a loud "You're talking the utter bollocks."

And loudest of all in their condemnation is Deborah's old friend and neighbour Harris Tweed (Potato nosed Cutrona) who is adamant that Sarah send the film crew away, accusing them of causing Deborah's descent into dementiadom.

Oblivious to everyone’s concerns  Deborah is having a whale of a time sitting stark naked at her old switchboard, her peachy arse perched saucily on her old work chair as she babbles on about raging rivers, human sacrifices and slithering snakes to a mysterious stranger on line 337 of her switchboard.

Or should that be witchboard?

Your gran DJ-ing at the old folks Christmas party yesterday.

After much - well a wee bit of - investigation (basically they asked the neighbours) our concerned crew discover that line 337 belonged to local physician cum cannibal kiddie killer Henry Desjardins (Campbell whom, it appears has made it his life to play doctors - onscreen that is, not too sure about real life), a very bad man who mysteriously disappeared after it was found that he'd murdered four local girls.

Blimey what a rotter.

All this old lady lewdness and killer confessions proves too much for poor Gavin tho' and he quits, returning to play Detective Feders in the The Red Road leaving  Luis and Mia to finish the documentary alone.

Which isn't as bad as it seems seeing as there's actually not much they can film at the moment seeing as Deborah's been hospitalized for her own safety.

If I were Mia I'd cut my losses, get Sarah drunk, well drunker, and make some lesbian porn.

She might not pass her course but I'm sure she'd make more cash from that than from the documentary.

Anyway back to the plot where Mia and the others have realized that the movie has reached the halfway point so it's time to get all that pesky backstory about Desjardins explained in full and tied into the main plot, so it's off to see local historian and paranormal buff Professor Franklin Exposition.

She's got something to put in you.

After much humming, hawing and looking intensely at a variety of old books the Professor explains that Desjardins reason for killing the girls was in order to  re-create an ancient demonic ritual that would make him immortal - which is nice - but unfortunately (for Desjardins that is) the ritual called for deaths of five girls and that all of them had to have recently had their first 'womens period'.

Whatever that is.

So can you guess who the fifth victim was to be?

Yup, after hassling Harris, Mia and co. find out that Deborah had overheard Desjardins plan for Sarah to be his fifth victim and that the pair had murdered the doctor before burying his body in the garden.

Could Desjardin have returned from beyond the grave (OK from behind therose bush) and even now be attempting to use Deborah's Alzheimer addled body to complete the ritual?

It would explain her obsession with trying to abduct a bucktoothed young cancer patient named Cara from the hospital wouldn't it?

Accepting everything that they've been told without question Mia and Sarah begin a desperate race against time to find a way to stop the unearthly Desjardin from completing his plan and hopefully save Deborah's very soul in the process.

Because let's be honest here, she's so far gone I doubt there'd be anything else worth salvaging.

They don't have to look too hard for a solution tho' as the Professor is soon back in contact with them explaining that his pal George once saw a similar case in Africa.

What are the chances?

You see there was this grieving mum who was, it seems possessed by the spirit of her dead son.

And the only way to free her?

Easy, they got a local witch doctor to burn the boys corpse.

Sorted.

"Stay back! This Kinder Egg is all mine!"

As if things couldn't get any better it looks like they wont even have to search for Desjardins body,seeing as dishy Debs has already dug it up and popped it in the attic for safe keeping.

Unfortunately it's way too damp and sticky to burn.

Meanwhile back at the hospital Harris is busying himself trying to carry out Deborah's last wish, which by the look of things is to be smothered by an overweight old man whilst wriggling her hips suggestively.

Desjardin's spirit has other ideas tho' and proceeds to batter Harris around the head with a handy TV set.

Tempting....

Deciding that it'd probably be easier to burn a child killers corpse in an ER waiting room than in a kitchen Sarah, Mia and Luis rush to the hospital only to discover that Deborah has not only succeeded in kidnapping poor Cara but also suddenly gained the ability to spit poison in a snake-like manner at the various security guards and staff that have tried to stop her.

Creepy.

Let's just hope that she stopped to get Cara a hat on the way out.

"Shite in mah big serpant mooth!"

With Deborah seemingly headed to the very location where Desjardins had murdered all of his previous victims, it's left to Sarah and Mia(alongside Sarah's old crush Deputy Linda Twee) to prevent the ritual being completed.

Oh and to keep the camera running and in focus obviously, I mean this is a found footage movie after all.

Jill Larson: Twice.

 After what seems like an eternity of being subjected to a barrage of badly made found footage fiascoes it's nice to finally see one that's halfway decent and genuinely unnerving.

A pity then that it's problems actually stem from it being found footage (OK faux documentary) as apposed to being shot as a straight horror thriller.

The documentary crew premise although well worn is given a neat twist by having the main protagonist Deborah not as some vulnerable young girl but as a strong older woman and whereas most films of this ilk play on that obscure childhood fear of spirits and demons, here screenwriter Gavin Heffernan alongside director Robitel use the very real fears of ageing and disease as a springboard to play around with these well worn themes in a unique and genuinely unnerving way.

Michelle Ang: if Jill were busy.

 

Kudos to TV veteran Jill Larson, whose central performance as Deborah Logan is not only pitch perfect but acts as an anchor to the other cast members, especially the oft seen and vastly under-rated Anne Ramsay who breathes genuine life into what could be a real cliche of a character.

Yup, as I said the premise is great, the acting top notch and the direction is solid, so it's really upsetting that any tension built up is in danger of being instantly quashed by being shot in shaky cam.

The whole premise of Mia and her crew making a documentary about Alzheimer's would still work fine in 'traditional' film making form but with the added bonus of being able to see stuff properly.

Which would be great when it comes to the big pay off which visually is so unexpected and nightmarish that it deserves more than a wobbly hand cranked close-up.

Anne Ramsay: Surprisingly supple and open to new ideas.

Smaller, spookier and a damn sight scarier than The Possession of Michael King and the like The Taking of Deborah Logan may not re-invent the genre but it plays around with its conventions just enough to stay with you long after viewing.

And is entertaining enough to forgive the surprise twist that is so obviously signposted from the halfway point that you'd be surprised if anything but that happened at the end.

Just turn off before the Bugs Bunny kid turns up turns up to taint your memory  of Jill Larson in the cave based climax.

You'll thank me in the morning.