whoever sent me this....

cheers but surely my 31 days of horror wasn't that bad?

fall out boy.

Day 24 of the whole sorry 31 Days of Horror thing and we're off to Russia for a well deserved holiday.

Or is that horrorday?

Or just utter shiteday?

Sorry that doesn't make any sense but if the film maker can't be bothered why should i?


Chernobyl Diaries (2012).
Dir: Bradley Parker.
Cast: Jesse McCartney, Jonathan Sadowski, Devin Kelley, Olivia Taylor Dudley, Nathan Phillips, the wonderful Ingrid Bolsø Berdal and Dimitri Diatchenko.

Have you heard of extreme tourism?

Vacant faced American nice guy Chris (McCartney, the voice of Theodore in the Alvin and The Chipmunks movies - seriously I couldn't make this shit up), his terrifyingly breasted girlfriend Natalie (Chillerama's Dudley) and their plain (as in not blonde and with natural boobs) friend Amanda (Kelley from teevee's Covert Affairs) are enjoying a summer break traveling thru' Europe which, as all our American readers will know is a small country near London,  just outside Paris, France and ruled by Queen Angela Dorothea Merkel II of Englandshire.

That's the geography out of the way so let's crack on with the plot.

Quickly taking in the sights during the credit sequence (because we all know there are only about six things of interest to see in Europe) our merry band decide to stop for a few days in Kiev, (that'll be the Ukraine fact fans) in order to visit Chris's bad boy brother, Paul (Sh#t My Dad Says' Sadowski) before carrying on to Moscow where Chris intends to propose to Natalie atop the Eiffel Tower.

Aaaah how romantic.

Anyway, after a night on the town to show how wacky 'n' cool they all are Paul suggests that to make the holiday (sorry 'vacation') one to remember they should all sign up for one of local sexy man Yuri's (the fantastic Diatchenko) extreme tours.

Seeing as the Urban Exploring one has sold out and the Hitman tournament isn't for another year or so our cool dudes and dudettes decide to take a day trip to the abandoned town of Prypiat which sits in the scary - and oh so slightly radioactive - shadow of Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.

Nothing like milking a real-life human tragedy for entertainment is there?

Prypiat: A local town for local people.

Also joining our funky foursome are the comedy accented Norwegian Zoe (Hellfjord's bowl haired babe Bolsø Berdal who's obviously been kidnapped and forced to make this against her will) and her swoonsome (and unwashed) Australian beau' Michael (Phillips from Wolf Creek).

Things don't start too well tho' when not long after starting on their adventure, Yuri's van is refused entry into the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone checkpoint due to what the guards explain are 'secret manoeuvres' but not even the might of the Russian army is going to stop Yuri showing his clients a good time.

Or even a giant mutant rubber fish or two.

Heading back toward town, our dishy driver takes a sneaky shortcut thru' the woods and within no time at all (look it only runs at an hour and twenty five minutes - be thankful for small mercies) the group arrive at the abandoned city which, if I'm honest looks spookily like Glasgow city centre on a Sunday morning.

But with fewer burned out buildings obviously.

They may be all shits and giggles now but just wait till the radioactive buggery starts...

After an afternoon visiting deserted schools, rundown fairgrounds and moldy chip shops Yuri decides to take our merry band to see the highlight of the tour, the upper floor of an abandoned block of flats from where they can view the infamous Chernobyl arc reactor (number 4).

And get chased by a CGI bear.

Preparing to leave the site, Yuri is fairly upset to discover that the wires in his van appear to have been chewed on by someone mistaking them for liquorice  and that his radio wont work.

By that I mean his two-way radio not the one tuned to T.A.T.u. FM.

As night falls and the sweet sounds of those risque Russian rude girls fades into the distance our backpacking band are sure that they can hear strange noises in the distance, Yuri is convinced that it's a pack of wild dogs joining in the chorus of All The Things She Said but the others aren't convinced.

It's more tuneful for one thing.

Being manly types (and possibly hoping the band themselves are outside) Yuri, armed with his trusty potato gun alongside Chris go out to investigate.

A load more Russian arse yesterday.

Shots and screams are heard causing Paul to man up and attempt a rescue, only to return seconds later with a whimpering simpering Chris.

It appears that the poor boy has had his leg bitten by an unknown assailant.

Or one of the aforementioned creatures.

The canine type that is not Lena Katina or Yulia Volkova obviously.

Tho' let's be honest the thought of being bitten by Lena Katina - especially in the passenger seat of a canary yellow Volkswagen Passat parked in an Asda carpark after a kebab and a can of Irn Bru - is something we can only dream of.

But I digress.

Lena Katina - Volkswagen Passat not shown.

 

Anyway the next morning - in an attempt to get away from Chris' near constant moaning - Paul, Michael and Amanda decide to go looking for Yuri, following  a handy trail of blood to a creepy underground shopping centre where they soon come across what remains of their jolly driver.

And with Yuri gone the group have lost their only means of escape.

Plus the movie has lost it's only believable and likeable character.

Frankly they're fucked.

Beware! Yuri's van is NOT full of sweets.

Returning quickly to the van, our tiresome trio plang to hike to the nearest checkpoint for help.

Natalie not content with letting her boyfriend be the groups whiny bitch starts crying and pleading them to take Chris along but one glimpse of her slapped arse of a face convinces the others to leave the pair behind.

Which is probably the best decision that anyone involved has ever made up to this point.

"Put it in me!"

Making it as far as the car park the group are lucky enough to find the spares they need for Yuri's van as well as a bullet riddled bus with a couple of torches in the glove box and a bloody uniform stuck to the seat.

Stealing the torches (but obviously leaving the uniform) our heroes decide to head back and repair the van only to end up getting chased by a couple of angry dogs meaning that the 10 minute walk back to Chris and Natalie ends up taking about 16 hours.

And that doesn't even include the precious minutes wasted when Michael falls into a small pond and is attacked by a fish.

Finally returning to the van, everyone is (fairly) shocked to find it smashed into tiny metal pieces and lying on it's roof (see? I told you it was like Glasgow), within the wreckage is Natalie's video camera which reveals that she and Chris were attacked by a group of ball headed, shaggy haired, eczema covered tramps.

But alas there's absolutely no footage of her jumping around with her tits out.

C'mon, I mean what kind of home movie is this?

Natalie farted and it smelled of shame. And eggs.

Paul, coming over all heroic (tho' not over Michael’s scraggy beard unfortunately) decides to mount a rescue party but only succeed in waking up even more tramps convincing our luckless band to beat a hasty retreat.

Poor Natalie meanwhile spends these tension packed minutes getting rescued then recaptured whilst everyone else points torches at various small children that appear and disappear without warning.

As this exciting* game of cat and mouse races toward it's conclusion our mud soaked pals are whittled away one by one, first Michael is dragged away by his skinny beard and then poor underwritten Zoe is tossed off a ladder, leaving
Paul and Amanda to navigate a series of ever more twisty passages finally emerging into the Chernobyl power plant itself.

Which is a wee bit unlucky seeing as the place is more radioactive than one of Godzilla's stools.

Godzilla's poo: Liable to burn your eyebrows off.

This becomes obvious when both Paul and Amanda’s faces start melting, which frankly is much better than their up to now dirt and tear smeared look.

As they make their way hurriedly to the exit the pair stumble upon Natalie's prone corpse propping open a door like a drunk teenager on a Saturday night binge (tho' to be fair her pants aren't round her ankles) and after stumbling past her and out out into the moonlight find themselves surrounded by a gaggle of Russian military personnel.

Are our terrified twosome safe?

Will their unsightly skin rashes ever clear up?

Or will we be subjected to the final indignity of a sub-par Twilight Zone ending where Amanda, having seen too much is locked up in a room full of big faced mutants forever?

Go on, guess.

Imagine if you will a world where a group of European film makers decided to make a horror movie based around the 9/11 attacks, where a group of tourists visiting Ground Zero are attacked and killed by a band of survivors who, after being trapped underground for ten years have mutated into cannibalistic mutants.

Or one where a group of inbred Holocaust survivors, living in the tunnels under Auschwitz since the end of the war, systematically stalk and slash a group of teens because the all have blond hair?**

Too sick? Too crass?

Not if you're Oren Peli, creator of the bizarrely popular Paranormal Activity series of movies, which after an admittedly enjoyable first film descended into even more and more ludicrous inbred sub-plotting set in ever increasingly sized houses.

Proof if any is needed that you can indeed flog an increasingly decomposing horse.

As for Chernobyl Diaries, surely someones taste monitor should have started bleeping the minute the title was mentioned.

Either that or you have the courage of your convictions name it "Attack of The Funny Foreign Cancer Sufferers" and be done with it.

Or did they just think no-one would remember the disaster?

OK Mr. Peli, I dare you to make a movie of this next.

Maybe, just maybe if it were any good it could be forgiven for such a lapse in taste but frankly it's not and it can't.

Tho' Peli, being a cutting edge and confrontational kinda guy must think that there are no boundaries when it comes to entertainment, so if any readers know  of any personal tragedies he or his family have been thru' feel free to get in touch and maybe we can make a movie about that.
He obviously wont mind.









































*that's irony by the way.

** Actually scratch that one, it pretty much like a pitch Oren Peli may have already made.

spectrum sinema the return.

Greetings reader(s)!

One of those rare (semi) serious posts I do occasionally so apologies in advance but thought I’d celebrate Autism Awareness Week (or as we call it a normal seven day period) by blatantly rehashing this handy (and quite small) print out and throw away guide to the best Spectrum-based cinema available.....enjoy!

Swoon.

DRIVE (2011) - Neo-noir thrills meet arthouse style in Nicolas Winding Refn's high octane heist classic.

Ryan Gosling's uber-cool unnamed driver has become the unofficial hero of ASD in cinema, showing that characters on the Spectrum don't have to be geeky and freaky but can be not only super cool but 'a real human bean' too.....The Spectrum at it's sexiest.

And with a cool coat to boot.

DARK FLOORS (2008) - Finnish Eurovision stars Lordi write and star in probably the best Silent Hill adaptation ever made.

A creepy and kooky spookfest centering around Sarah, an Autistic girl residing in the decrepit St. Mary's Hospital.

Trigger.

When her concerned father attempts to take her home he inadvertently drops her crayons and in the confusion mixes the reds with the blue and yellow causing a portal to another dimension to open leaving a ragtag group of patients and staff fighting for their lives with only Sarah able to save them.

Luckily all the corridors are signposted.

BLADE RUNNER (1982) - What can you say about Ridley Scott's dystopian classic that hasn't been said before  - and by much better folk than me?

Well quite a bit actually if I ever get around to finishing writing this.


And just in case you can't be arsed clicking the link then  how about the fact that the whole replicant plot (with it's quest to be 'human' - or even to be accepted by humans and it's "Voight-Kampff" empathy test among other things) can be seen as a metaphor for Autism.

"Hey Harrison..it looks like rain, man."

The analysis/discussion on this goes much further but would take up an entire post on a blog much more intelligent than this one.

Oh yes and it's very blue, almost as blue as Thomas and Rainbow Dash forced into a blender and poured into a very blue glass.

MANHUNTER (1986) - Michael Mann's adaptation of Thomas Harris' Red Dragon features the first appearance of not only Hannibal Lecter (or Lektor as he's known here) but of top FBI criminal profiler Will Graham, better known now - and officially an Aspie - thanks to the Brian Fuller TV show 'Hannibal'.

Smart, sexy and quite possibly the second blue-est film ever made.
 

Stance.

CHARLIE'S ANGELS: FULL THROTTLE (2003) - McG's action comedy sequel features the frankly magnificent (and undisputed king of the Spectrum) Crispin Glover as the Aspie hair obsessed Thin Man in a role gratefully expanded from the original, probably his greatest role outside 'Simon Says'.

No caption required.

Oh, go on then....outside The Wizard of Gore remake.

And River's Edge.

or Willard.

If scifi is more your thing then look no further than the light blue hued tones of everyone's favourite version of 2001: A Space Odyssey for kids - Star Trek The Motion Picture.

The cinematic equivalent of lying in a really well equipped sensory room ST:TMP (as folk call it) is so laid back and leisurely as  to be almost horizontal with no distractingly bright colours (other than blue) to detract from the overall comfyness of the film and any emotional responses you should have are helpfully cued by the gorgeous Jerry Goldsmith score.

It even has an overture to get you in the mood.

And as a plus point it wins out over the aforementioned Kubrick classic by having the decency to actually explain what happens at the films climax.

Proper genius.

And if you don't cry at the Enterprise flyby then you really are a freak.

"Ahead Spectrum factor one!"

 

But the most Autistic movie(s) of all time?

It's pretty obvious really.
And it's also THE bluest hued cinema of all time.

Especially the second one.

I could wax lyrical for hours as to the reasons for this but it's always easier to show than tell.

Not convinced?

Well here you go.

Suffice to say it's a fact, just accept it.

They should really just name it Trautism and have done with it.

Scarily enough tho' a few years back someone decided that what the world needed was a Tron Legacy/Star Trek The Motion Picture mash-up just to send the Autism levels off the scale.

In a good way that is.

And you can find this piece of cinematic perfection here.

Enjoy.




















Just a word of advice when it comes to judging the Autistic merits of cinema in relation to the colour blue, beware of Blue Is The Warmest Colour, I came to it imagining a Kubrick-esque style Autistic film-fest and was shocked and surprised to find that it was, in fact totally neuro-typical in it's storytelling.

Tho' it did feature a couple of toothy French ladies having sex.

A lot.

Fancy trainers not shown.

 Oh yes and Craig Baldwin's Spectres of The Spectrum has absolutely sod all to do with Autism (tho' from the editing I'd like to think that there was a fair bit of it behind the camera) but is still worth a look if you like grainy stock footage cut into a rudimentary scifi-style plot.

And 1950's flying helmets.

gimme sum sugar baby....

Every opening to The Apprentice ever:

We're here at 10 Downing Street today and I’m sure you know who lives here.

Now Theresa May is known for many things, but mostly people know her for her love of shitting in the mouths of the poor and pissing on human rights.

Oh yes....and hating foreigners.
 
So today we're tasking you to create a new fragrance for her.

And obviously you have to be careful that she doesn't choke on it seeing as she seems to have a very tickly throat right now.

Now the men's team this year is quite surprisingly not as shit as usual so to make sure the viewing figures stay up we're adding some of the women to the team to create a bit of drama but just in case some of the men aren't deterred by this change, I’m throwing them the most sensible one into the women's team so I can watch them get shouted at even though they'll be the only one with any rational ideas.

Off you go.

Did I ever tell you how I made my first million before the age of 12 by punting my arse out of the back of a wheelbarrow?

beale gone kid.

A wee break from all the film based shenanigans I usually post in order to share this word of warning I received via e-mail last week.



Enjoy.


Dear Ashton,

You know Gillian Taylforth? best known for her role as Kathy Beale in EastEnders and as Jackie Pascoe-Webb in Footballers' Wives?

Blood Witch.

And a really, really powerful one at that.

And she now has my scent.

A few months back I accidentally smeared a bit of blood on a signed postcard of her I received from the BBC many years back and my life has been a living hell since.

She's started projecting herself into my dreams and talking to me telepathically....it feels like my energy has been drained and my life is slowly being ruined.

When you see her interviewed she acts all sweetness and light, convincing the viewers that she isn't a flesh-eating she-demon who sees us all as little more than cattle to be fed off.

All I can do is warn you to NEVER speak to her or to attempt to contact her telepathically. Especially if like me you have high sexual energy levels and are really good at magic.

Real magic I mean not the card game.

Though that probably means you're quite powerful too.

This warning is for you and your readers, seriously the bitch almost got me killed and has sent psychic assassins after me several times.

Heed my words.

Oh and by the way I think It Follows was shit too. 

true.

A few years ago whilst masturbating in bushes in a park in Braunton, North Devon I noticed a person behind me.

It was Tom Cruise taking a break from shooting Live, Die, Repeat.

As I turned he smiled and spoke to me.

All he said was "Proceed".

I felt fairly uncomfortable so took a picture and left.

the morning after the fright before (part 2).

Saturday's Full day of frights kicked off with a movie that promised to do for sharks what Jimmy Savile did for children's dreams....

Cage Dive (Australia 2017)
Director: Gerald Rascionato.
Cast: Joel Hogan, Josh Potthoff, Megan Peta Hill, Suzanne Dervish-Ali and some sharks.....hang on, how can it have a cast list if it's meant to be real? THEY LIED TO US!

Deciding to film an audition tape for submission to an extreme reality game show three really fucking annoying Californians - Jeff (Wannabe real life He-Man toy Hogan), his brother Josh (Potthoff) and Jeff’s girlfriend Megan (the rabbit-like Peta Hill) travel to Australia in order to document themselves taking part in a wee bout of shark cage diving.


As well as film themselves getting pissed, having parties etc because we all know how enjoyable that is to watch.

But while on the dive, a catastrophic turn of events leaves them in baited water full of hungry Great White Sharks and turns there audition tape into a snotty nosed survival cum bitching diary.

Shite in mah mooth....if only to brighten up this movie.

Obviously the chance of being eaten by sharks at any moment isn't exciting enough so director Gerald Rascionato adds a heart condition and a two-timing fiancée to the mix.

As well as an incredibly hilarious scene where Megan attempts to warm up a fellow survivor with a rescue flare.

Because as we know girls are rubbish in stressful situations.

Frankly I feel sorry for the sharks that have to eat these narcissistic no marks.

Avoid.

But if you really must see Americans getting stuck in a cage whilst fighting sharks check out Johannes Roberts frankly fantastic In The Deep (AKA 47 Meters Down) instead.

If they ever decide to release it that is.

From found footage shocks to pretty frocks now with.....

Fashionista (USA 2016)
Dir: Simon Rumley.
Cast: Amanda Fuller, Ethan Embry, Alex Essoe and Eric Balfour.

"I can see your house from here Peter!"

After Red, White and Blue and Johnny Garrett’s Last Word comes mighty bearded director Simon Rumley’s third Austin, Texas based shocker.

A hypnotic and bracing exploration of identity, body image and transformation via the wacky world of vintage clothing where hipster shop owners April and Eric (Fuller and Embry) find their marriage on rocky ground when she begins to suspect her husband of having an affair.

When her suspicions are confirmed, April seeks sexual validation with the mysterious and kinky Randall setting off a chain reaction of stylish fever dream madness, fantasy role-playing and chic ultra-shriek that's less Blue Velvet more Blue Broderie Anglaise.

See what I did there?

Unfolding like a particularly complex origami ostrich, Rumley's most accomplished movie to date is a harrowing and heartbreaking homage to the genius of Nicholas Roeg, wearing it's obviously proud influences on its finely tailored sleeve.

See it.

Now.

Bloodlands (Australia/Albania 2016)
Dir: Steven Kastrissios.
Cast: Gëzim Rudi, Emiljano Palali, Alesia Xhemalaj and Suela Bako.

The community centre stage version of Die Hard went down a storm with the under 12's.

The first ever collaboration between Australia and Albania (if you don't count the sordid back alley sex session my Uncle Brian from Queensland had with an exchange student in the 80s) comes a bizarre Balkan-based kitchen sink drama cum ancient blood feud frightener written and directed by Steven Kastrissios, the man who gave us the genuinely disturbing The Horseman.

Shot on location in Abania - and in Albanian - and rooted in the very real phenomenon of blood feuds ( or ‘Kanun Lek’ laws) still plaguing the country (think Govan but with fewer pikeys), Bloodlands tells the tale of a struggling Albanian family led by local butcher Skender (Rudi), who struggling to to maintain order amongst his children - his daughter Iliriana (Xhemalaj) is planning to leave home for the bright lights of Italy and his son Artan (Emiljano Palali) is more interested in becoming a photographer than taking over his father’s shop - is thrust into a war with a family of forest-dwelling beggars , rumoured to be led by a vampiric witch.

Which is nice.

Did a search for the Bloodlands cast on Google to illustrate the review and this came up. According to the caption it's actress Alesia Xhemalaj in a pretty frock. Fair enough then.

Unfolding at a pace that could best be described as (very) leisurely Bloodlands blends domestic drama and supernatural scares in such a matter-of-fact way as to make it difficult to decipher to a viewer not totally au fait with Albanian culture, tho' that's not to say it isn't an enjoyable journey - just at times wee bit too meandering and alien to truly be affecting.

Tho' that probably says more about me than the film.

Still it's as intriguing as it is frustrating - fantastically played and utterly believable which bodes well for Kastrissios' next movie.

Plus Alesia Xhemalaj is very cute in a kinda homely way.

Detour (UK 2016)
Dir: Christopher Smith.
Cast: Tye Sheridan, Emory Cohen, Bel Powley and Stephen Moyer.

From Christopher (Creep, Severance, Black Death and Triangle) Smith, Detour finds law student Harper (Sheridan) suspecting his stepdad Vincent (Moyer) of causing the car crash that landed his mother in a coma so when a chance meeting with tough, tattooed redneck Johnny Ray and his girlfriend Cherry (pitch perfect performances from Cohen and Powley) gives him an opportunity to discover the truth our student pal begins a terrifying road trip of revenge and random violence.

Playing out like the evil sibling of 1998s Sliding Doors, Detour takes the basic premise of the classic  Patricia Highsmith novel Strangers On A Train (I'm sure that would make a great film) Smith's perfectly plotted, sexily shot and smartly edited little thriller is a joy from start to finish.

Next up was Raw - the film that'd had everyone ranting, raving and salivating in anticipation, Julia Ducournau's coming of age tale of vets, vegetarianism and cute cannibals that - according to its PR people - had made folk faint in the aisles at Cannes.

Tho' that may have been the smell of all that garlic and onion.

I must admit I was intrigued and not just because the lead actress looked uncannily like Cécile Fournier*.

Raw (France/Belgium 2016)
Dir: Julia Ducournau.
Cast: Garance Marillier, Ella Rumpf and Rabah Nait Oufella.

Lest we (well I) forget.

So, what's it all about then?

Justine (Marillier) a strict vegetarian, applies to vet school (which surprisingly isn't a brand new Channel 4 reality show) following on the family tradition started by her parents and her big (chinned) sister Alexia (Rumpf)  but after being forced to eat a rabbit’s liver as part of a bizarre - yet very continental - initiation ceremony begins to develop a hunger for (human) flesh.

Merde dans ma bouche française parfaitement formée

Mixing the usual French cinema tropes of open mouthed eating, ill fitting undies and bedsocks with endless scenes of sweaty, partying teens and a muddle message about teenage experimentation and innocence lost, Raw unashamedly plays to the arthouse crowd first and foremost concentrating more on dream-like images and hastily drawn stereotypes than gounding the fantastical tale in a semblance of reality that unfortunately dulls its impact somewhat.

Enjoyable enough but ultimately hollow and vacuous.

Unlike the aforementioned Ms Fournier obviously.


With a sad feeling of disappointment in my stomach (I'd only packed one packet of Quorn Cocktail Sausages for the whole day) I quickly headed outside for a sly fag in order to prepare myself for what promised to be the other killer movie of the weekend - Ben Young's pervy pedophile potboiler Hounds Of Love.

Excitement factor was high due to Australia presenting us with a couple of top quality frighteners over the last few years like the fantastic Wolf Creek, Rogue and The Loved One.

Saying that they foister the utter shite-cake that was The Babadook on us too so you can never too careful.

Hounds of Love (Australia 2016)
Dir: Ben Young.
Cast: Emma Booth, Ashleigh Cummings, Stephen Curry and Susie Porter.

"When I was a child
Running in the night
Afraid of what might be

Hiding in the dark
Hiding in the street
And of what was following me

Now get in the back of the fucking car so I can take you home, chain you to a bed and violate you with a table leg you whorish little cunt!"

"Troubled" teen (aren't they all?) Vicki (Home and Away's Cummings) after an argument with her recently divorced mum Maggie (Star Wars babe Hermione Bagwa herself Porter) sneaks out to attend a pals party one night when she's accosted on the way by the creepy John and Evelyn (Currie and Booth).

The pervy pair persuade Vicki to go home with them in order to buy some of 'the hash' but they have something else in mind, drugging the screwed-up schoolie  before tying her to a bed and using her as their own personal fuck-monkey.

Which isn't that unexpected really given the films synopsis.

We're Cortina trap.

Cue 90 minutes of screaming, dodgy mustaches, dog kicking and long, pleading looks as Vicki goes from victim to victor as she attempts to expose the cracks in the couple’s relationship.

Neither as nasty or blackly comic as The Loved Ones or Wolf Creek, Hounds of Love comes across as a great idea marred by so-so execution and a simplistic script that has 'mah weak wimmin' under the thumb of an (even weaker) man.

Performances are OK but the under-developed almost panto style, one dimensional characterizations and lack of development hamper what should be an uncomfortable and grueling watch and when the most cringe-inducing scene is the totally inappropriately and irony free use of Joy Division's Atmosphere over the closing scenes then you know you have problems.

The cast do their best but bless 'em it's an uphill struggle.

Which is all the more disappointing when you realize that the film is based on a truly harrowing real-life case ( that of David and Catherine Birnie) that's ripe for a full 'In Cold Blood' style psychological retelling. 

Plus it's difficult enough to lure young girls into cars without films like this getting made.

Probably.

And how do you follow that? I hear you cry.

Well with a wee bit more forced sex and violent violation.

But it's OK as this time it's strictly for laughs.

Night of the Virgin (Spain 2016)
Dir: Roberto San Sebastián.
Cast: Javier Bódalo, Miriam Martín and Víctor Amilibia.

It's New Years Eve and the nerdy and naïve Nico (Bódalo) is out on the town and determined to lose his virginity.

He should have just hung about suburban Perth and looked out for John and Evelyn for tips seeing as his attempts at seduction ultimately end with him getting vomit covered shoes.

Bless.

Despondent and desperate for a diddling he finally comes across (not in that way, well not yet) uber MiLF Medea (Martín) and before he knows what’s happening he’s back at her filthy flat surrounded by sinister Asian artifacts and crawling cockroaches as an ancient prophecy prepares to rear its ugly head.

And if that wasn't enough there's a rowdy party of homosexualists upstairs and a very jealous ex-boyfriend waiting in the wings.

Roberto San Sebastián’s feature debut is a slick, sick semen drenched, shit stained comedy of (t)errors that proudly vies for the title of most digustingly disturbing movie ever.

And there's something to be admired about a film that's so honest.

At 2 hours the film is oh-so slightly overlong, leaving the viewer as exhausted as poor Nico after his arse destroying birthing of a blackened beast of Hell but it's heart is in the right place and I'd rather a movie deliver too much that not enough.

Especially when the director is in attendance showering the screen with abuse and comedy asides.

To be honest every film could probably be improved by this.

In parts massively enjoyable and slightly frustrating Night of The Virgin bodes well for the teams next foray into body (fluid) horror and I for one will be at the front of the queue.

A perfect end to a wonderful weekend.

Same time next year guys?

 *If you don't know this story already you can find out more here. I'll warn you tho' I'll probably keep on about this till she gets in touch.

oi! donald!

I think I've found your hackers......*

*With thanks to ‏@PulpLibrarian

criminalising kinkiness (part 2).

Not often I get to have a good old rant on here (well not about anything of importance) but I couldn't let the governments new digital economy bill pass without at least a few words.

Which is a shame but hey ho.

Readers with long memories (and glass dolls) will no doubt remember my previous moans aboutthe likes of Christopher Tookey and barmy Julian Brazier (there's more but frankly I really can't be arsed trawling thru' the links to find them) as well as the infamous ambulance chaser and buggerer of beefcake Keith Vaz regarding their thoughts that 'Explicit and extreme video games and films are fueling a tide of violence in Britain' from a few years ago and their ongoing attempts to ban anything and everything that they don't like.

Vernon: Your dad's cum face.

Obviously - thanks no doubt to my fantastic journalistic skills) - their puritanical pursuits came to naught  and we all got to live happily ever after, that is until professional witch-woman and part-time internet voyeur Theresa May came to power and decided that it was up to the government to decide what kind of sexy stuff we can enjoy.

Being more of a mindless violence than a kinky sex fan (look I have Aspergers I'm going to side with the less sticky pursuit - I hate mess) I gave the matter no thought, knowing that is that Zombie(s) Lake could in no way be construed as a sexual fetish, until that is a friend (yes I have one) pointed out that under the new legislation those occasional YouTube videos I post of me dancing provocatively whilst wearing a Howard Vernon mask could be seen as too kinky and therefore illegal.

It was at this point that my pervy pal delivered the killer blow.

Ooooer.

It seems that part of the bill is aimed at regulating things like menstrual blood, urination and 'mooth shite-ing'.

I'll let that sink in for a minute.

Yup, this blog will be well and truly screwed.

Hopefully then they'll remember to stick to the bizarre “four-finger rule” when they do it.

And what is this rule? I hear my overseas readers cry.

It's a part of the bill which limits the number of digits that can be inserted into an orifice for sexual stimulation.

No really.

We have food banks, a rise in racist attacks on the street and a country in post-Brexit turmoil and this is the most important thing our government can think about?

We are indeed drifting into an arena of the unwell.

Theresa May: Haunted beachfront cave.

For more information follow the link here, it's for The Guardian which may be a wee bit left-leaning but as a plus point the type is quite large and they don't use too many big words.

Which for readers here is a Godsend.

Talking of random film-based sex acts regular readers may have noticed that The Arena has been a wee bit obsessed with sexy seventies superstar Robin Askwith of late, culminating in me finally getting round to obtaining his classic 'Confessions' series on shiny StevieDee allowing my to confine my bulky VHS collection to the bin.

Imagine my surprise then when on going to watch them I realized I'd actually acquired the slightly inferior Barry (Mind Your Language) Evans 'Adventures' set by mistake.

Never mind I thought, It'd be a pity not to share....

Adventures of a Taxi Driver (1976)
Dir: Stanley Long.
Star: Barry Evans, Judy Geeson, Adrienne Posta, Robert Lindsay, Liz Fraser, Diana Dors, Anna Bergman, Stephen Lewis, Ian Lavender, Henry McGee, Stephen Riddle, Brian Wilde, David Auker, Angela Scoular and Beatrice Shaw.

The place: London, the time: the really unfashionable bit of the seventies where greasy haired, bowl cutted Joe North (Evans) - a busty burd obsessed (not a busty burd himself, obviously) taxi driver - spends his time using his cab as an impromptu shag palace to get away from his mundane everyday existence, from ditzy dollies to frustrated, saggy boobed bored housewives, every woman he meets seem to fall for his lost little boy charms.

And pleasant smelling cock obviously.

We first experience his uncanny (some would say ungodly) luck first hand when one of his passengers asks to be dropped off on a bridge so she can jump off.

She's heartbroken, the poor lamb.

Being a nice guy Joe convinces her not to toss herself off but to allow him to drive her home.

Probably after leaving the meter running and charging her extra tho' - you know what cabbies are like.

Upon arrival she surprisingly takes off all her clothes and jumps on our crap Casanova.

Suffice to say that just as they're about to get down and get with it (luckily for the viewer not before we've seen Evan's pale, shriveled penis), her boyfriend turns up unexpectedly leaving Joe no choice but to climb out of the window and leg it to his cab stark bollock naked.

Blimey.

He needn't have bother tho', turns out that this blokes missis is a raving nymphomaniac and uses the old suicide trick to pick up fellas all time.

Hi-fucking-larious I'm sure you'll agree.

"Oh no! It's John Leslie!"

The good thing is that all this sex is that it helps take Joe's mind of his hellish home life, dominated as he is by his moaning (but not in that way) peroxide headed mother (Dors....who wouldn't want to be dominated by her?...well not now obviously) and arguing constantly with his spotty teenage brother whilst trying to find an excuse to escape his clingy, marriage obsessed girlfriend Carol (the ball-faced, bewigged Posta, who also performs the films theme song 'Cruising Casanova').

It's not too much of a surprise then to find poor Joe finds at breaking point so he decides to move in with his best mate Tom (Lindsay).

Cue even more oh so amusing sexual shenanigans.

"Excuse me, you've shut my cock in the door".

Over the next forty five minutes we're treated (in much the same way as you treat syphilis) to a veritable comedic tsunami of sexual hi-jinks featuring faceless seventies totty and a hilarious escapade with Joe's pet python named....wait for it.....Monty.

Oh.

My.

Aching.

Sides.

"Is that a snake in your pocket or is it just
that your cock is particularly scaly and flexible?"

If this wasn't enough to get your pulse racing, down on her luck former Bond girl (and pube haired temptress) Angela Scoular gets her kit of in possibly the film’s most amusing moment (and that's not saying much) when her geeky accountant husband, who has unexpectedly come home early, surprisingly fails to notice that Joe is lying underneath his wife in a soapy bath.

Scoular: pube haired but still lustable.

Add to this the wonderful Judy (Inseminoid) Geeson playing a stripper (who scarily keeps her clothes on throughout), the comedy gem of Joe mistakenly picking up a transvestite and the bizarre last third of the film which forgoes any shagging to concentrate on Joe getting involved in a jewelery heist gone wrong and you have a movie to challenge Nativity 3: Dude Where's My Donkey? in the charm stakes.

Yes, it really is that good.

Watch out! it's Leslie Grantham.

So what else is there to say about this movie?

Well, Stanley Long's direction is, um, well it's in focus and he makes sure the camera doesn't wander off at the boring bits, whilst the 'script' co-written by Suzanne (Groupie Girl) Mercer from an idea by Long is simplistic at best, clichéd and predictable at worst.

Cast wise, the late (almost great) Barry Evans is fresh faced and agreeably cocky enough to worm his way into the audiences affections whilst Robert (Citizen Smith) Lindsay and Judy Geeson give sterling support as his best pal and best pals missis respectively.

The film also boasts a plethora of cameo's from some British comedy legends including Diana Dors, Liz (the one that wasn't in The Cocteau Twins) Fraser, Ian (Dads Army) Lavender, Stephen (On The Buses) Lewis and Brian (Last of The Summer Wine) Wilde.

Liz Fraser: The one that doesn't get
her tits out in British smut movies.
Pity.

Being kind tho' the films tiny (£130,000) budget is put to good use shooting in and around London (that's in England, Europe for any Americans reading) mostly without official permits which gives it a grittier edge than it's more famous Confessions cousins.

It's just a pity the film as a whole doesn't live up to it's guerrilla origins.

Worth a look if you like smut of a not too rude kind.

Or have a thing for huge seventies pants.

Which as I said earlier, the way it's going may soon be illegal.