bark at the moon.

Revisited possibly the second greatest zombie movie of all time* as part of our weekly FaceBook filmalong last night so thought I'd reanimated the review for those of you who'd never seen it.

And if you are one of those unlucky few, for fucks sake where have you all been?

And by the way if you do (as you should) love this movie as I do, why not express that love by buying one of these fantastic Burial Ground T-shirts available here or even here.

End of plug.

As a curious aside before we begin I thought I'd just add that quite recently during one of our many chats regarding this classic long-time reader Mr Dissolved Paul from The Canada (yes you can) discovered that apparently, (according to this ropey old VHS release anyway), the movie is actually set in Scotland.

Obviously there just happens to be a bunch of Italians and Etruscan Zombie monks kicking about.

But, he goes on to add, if that was the case, I'm pretty sure the most famous line would be "Ma, this rag totally stinks of pish".

Indeed.

Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror (AKA The Nihgts of Terror, Le Notti del Terrore, Die Ruckkehr Der Zombies - 1981)
Dir: Andrea Bianchi.
Cast: Peter Bark, Mariangela Giordano, Karin Well, Anna Valente, Simone Mattioli and Raimondo Barbieri.

"No, don't eat me. I'm your friend!"

Our tale of terror opens in a damp, dark cave - and surprisingly that isn’t a euphemism for Karin Well - where we join Santa's piss stained, fish-bearded and buggery obsessed brother examining some spooky cave drawings.

Obviously excited about this discovery he begins to bang on the walls whilst doing a - fairly erotic in the circumstances - drunk dance which unfortunately for him (but not for us) has awoken the dead that reside in the cave.

Dead that are hungry for human flesh.

And a wee bit of old man arse probably.

"Aye son, mah lottery numbers have

come up! oh no...ahv pished mah sel'."

Thru' the magic of cack handed editing it's suddenly the next morning where a motley band of visitors (three sexy young couples and a pot bellied dwarf  - sorry, small boy, my mistake) have arrived at the house and are looking forward to a weekend break in the country and catching up with their old pal Professor Ayres (the aforementioned bearded Barbieri).

Rocking up at the front door like some nightmare vision in Bri-Nylon our merry band are informed by the (fairly attractive in a kinda pound shop way) maid that the professor is out exploring and may be gone some time so they should make themselves at home.

Which in this case is an excuse for a quick bout of some hot sweaty sex-based shenanigans in the guest bedrooms.

Rushing to their rooms to unpack, undress and start shagging, poor little Michael (the legend that is Peter Bark looking for all the world like the result of an unholy pairing of Kevin Spacey and a warty testicle) is left alone in the downstairs lobby with only his Rubik Cube and Eye-Spy book of European arses for company.

Your mum and dad. Having sex.

In your bed.

After amusing himself for a few minutes playing with the hat stand and creepily chasing the maid, Michael decides to creep in on his mother and her mightily mustachioed lover in order to pick up a few sex tips.

We've all done it.

None too surprisingly the sight of a bowl headed, poppy eyed freak gazing lustfully from behind the sideboard does nothing for her growing passion so she throws a shoe at him screaming "Get out!".

As we will learn later, Michael has a wee thing for his dear mum and doesn't like her hanging around with perm haired, tanned Lothario's, no matter how tight their arses look whilst thrusting up and down on his mummy.

Fair enough.

Insert cock here.

After a morning of gin soaked sexiness and rampant STD's the couples settle down to some top grub whilst discussing the Professor's paper on the magical practices of the ancient Etruscans (ah, you studied that too eh?) before deciding to frolic round the lush gardens.

Michael on the other hand has decided to just sit and stare at his mums breasts.

Saying that tho' if my mums were half as bouncy I'd do the same.

But I digress.

Anyway, just in case you're wondering the frolicking in question mainly consists of sexy photography, breast fondling and general fanny flashing sauciness.

Fun for them maybe, but not for the viewer, unless you find the idea of middle aged Italian couples in nasty 70's fashion dry-humping to a sub Confessions score attractive.

Your maw's takin' the divorce well.

Luckily tho' just when you think the movie is going to descend into a soft core Euro-porn extravaganza, the dead do indeed start to rise from beneath the rosebushes and - remarkably for rotting centuries old Etruscans - manage to cut off any access to the cars, run the really annoying Janet (not the same of from Zombie Lake mind) into a handy bear trap, kill the non mustachioed man with a house brick and trap the shaky, shot to fuck survivors in the house.

And all within about twelve minutes, which isn't bad for a group of shite-covered tramps.

A shite moothed zombie

Etruscan yesterday.

The group are left with a big decision to make....do they:

A. Board up the house, arm themselves, find a safe vantage point (i.e. the attic) and defend it till help comes.

or


B. Argue among themselves, wandering off in a huff occasionally (alone).


Unbelievably Mr. mustache decides it would be best to board the house up! Everyone looks at him, then each other, then back at him (except Michael who's still staring at his mums breasts) and then start arguing.

"Hmmmm....

dirty pillows..."

One of the ladies (who cares which, they're all annoying) strops off and almost instantly gets killed by a knife wielding carnie zombie (unusual but quite nice).

Scarily he's not even the brightest one, I mean these zombies can actually plan attacks, use weapons and climb walls!

This skill is particularly useful when attacking the (still fairly hot) maid whom the undead horde manage to pin thru' an upstairs window and behead with a large scythe, which was unexpected to say the least.

Zombie Flesh Eaters? - Never heard of her.

Whilst all this is going on, Lothario man decides that the best course of action is to let the zombies into the house whilst the survivors hide in the pantry (do houses still have pantries?) sobbing like babies.

Surprisingly all the survivors think this is a great plan, except Michael that is who has an even  better idea.

You see he reckons now would be the best time to try and shag his mum.

Tom Cruise: the high waisted years.

Not knowing anything about shagging mums (well, not my own anyway) I'm quite sure (tho' I could be mistaken) that grabbing her breasts and trying to stick your tongue in her mouth isn't the way to go about it.

Unluckily for Michael this is just the smooth move he uses on her.

Unsurprisingly his mum freaks out a wee bit and throws another shoe at him screaming "Get out!" (it's becoming a habit) and Michael waddles off, only stopping to get bitten by a zombie.

Poor boy.

The survivors are faced with another difficult choice:

A. Run in the direction of the cars and drive away.

or

B. Run past the cars into the woods blindly waving your arms about going "AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!"

Which choice will they make?

Will they drive to safety or encounter a monastery full of black cloaked zombies?

Will Michael return from the grave to be met by his terrified mother or will she try to breast feed him in the most uncomfortable scene ever filmed?

The answer may be yes to the last one by the way.

Rush out and buy Burial Ground (or The Zombie Dead as the cheapo Vipco release calls it) and find out.

A bloody (not shitey) mooth

earlier today.

For all it's faults (including abysmal acting, paper thin characters, inept plotting, joke shop zombies etc.) Burial Ground is possibly one of the most entertaining films ever made, mostly down to Peter Bark's portrayal of the freaky mummy fixated Michael.

I mean whoever thought a 25 year old pot-bellied dwarf in a wig and nipple high trousers would make a convincing 12 year old deserves a medal for the sheer audacity of suggesting it.

He wanders around the film like some scary clockwork Dario Argento doll, either staring at his mums breasts or just staring into camera.

For what seems like hours at a time.

But his moment of triumph comes in the films closing moments; surrounded by the undead and with no means of escape the zombie Michael is welcomed by his open bloused mum to have some "mother's milk..."

Frankly I don't have the words and you won't either when you brave The Nights of Terror.......because you know you want to.

Cinematic gold.























*This is the best obviously.

cigarettes and alcohol.

This won our Friday night FaceBook postalong last night so thought it's as good a time as any to re-review it for those who missed it.

Which is everyone really.

So without further delay allow me to introduce Oasis of the Zombies, possibly the second best Nazi zombie movie ever made by the writer (and original director) of everyone's favourite water-based undead Nazi nasty, Zombie Lake.

Enjoy.

I know I did.

Probably.


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

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

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

as one would on any package tour.

At least it's somewhere to park your bike.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Destination: The Oasis.

Of The Zombies.

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

Not you.

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

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

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

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

Unlike the flashback in Zombie Lake which is cinematic gold.

"She's turned the weans against us!"

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

Oh yes and his dad was really shit at drawing.

Aye....seems legit.

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

So far so plodding.

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

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

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

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

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

"Aye son!"

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

Badly.


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

Poor sod.

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

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

Really? well I never.

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

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

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

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

Yeah right.

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

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

"Is it in yet?"

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

Well that's what it sounded like.


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

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

She's going to have someones eye out.

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

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

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

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

Will Robert and his friends survive the attack?

Will they find the gold?

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

Is 'gold-baggers' actually a word?

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

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

Oh yes, and the same script.

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

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

Neither of them that good.

"You ain't seen me right?"

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

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

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

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

Which means everyone here I guess.

































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

portland bill.

Was chatting/tweeting about this yesterday and I have to admit it's one of my faves.

I like to view it as part of the 70s Robin Askwith Trilogy of Terror - alongside Horror Hospital and The Flesh and Blood Show - classics one and all.

Anyway this review was lying about unloved so thought I'd repost it for your enjoyment.

And hopefully to get some (any?) new readers.



Tower Of Evil (AKA Beyond the Fog, Horror of Snape Island 1972)
Dir: Jim O'Connolly
Cast: Bryant Haliday, Jill Haworth, George Coulouris, Dennis Price, Jack Watson, Candace Glendenning, Anthony Valentine, William Lucas, Anna Palk, Robin Askwith and (Mister) Derek Fowlds.

Wayne Hussey beware!

Sometime in the early seventies in a mist enshrouded studio somewhere near Shepperton, two gruff fisherman types, Hamp Gurney (Brit movie legend Watson) and his Steptoe like father, John (Coulouris), are 'sailing' - Well, swaying about whilst some poor sod throws buckets of water at them like a kids panto version of Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds The Weeping Song -  towards the notorious Snape Island.

Mooring their boat on the craggy rocks, our duo begin a search of the islands nooks and crannies, soon coming across the naked (and very dead) body of a young man.

With incredibly tight buttocks.

"Put it in me!"

Venturing inside the island’s crumbling lighthouse, they discover another - naked - corpse, this time of a headless young woman.

Don't worry tho' as they soon find her blonde bobbed head lying at the bottom of the stairs.

Unfortunately she's lying on her front so we never know if her hair was dyed or not.

Look, some of us find these things important.

John reckons that all this is a wee bit odd, so decides to head off to explore the outside toilet, leaving Hamp to stand and stare uncomfortably at the nubile dead girl sprawled across the landing.

Opening the loo door he's very surprised to find 'Confessions' star and all round cheeky chappie Robin Askwith impaled on a big spear in the corner of the room next to the toilet rolls and copy of Razzle.

Looks like Bernie Winters finally caught up with him.

His shock is short lived tho' as he's almost immediately attacked by a shit covered - and naked - Candace Glendenning wielding a huge knife.

Which if I'm honest is a fantasy I've had since I was about 14, the lucky guy.

Jumping on John's back before biting his nose she manages to stab the poor sod to death before Hamp beats her into submission with a lead pipe.

Well, it was filmed before women's lib became a thing.

"Excuse me but I have a woman's period!"

Rushed (well I assume they rush her, not leave her lying about, occasionally bonking her on the head if she wakes up, but I digress) to the mainland hospital, the girl - whose name we discover is Penelope - falls almost immediately into a coma.

With the police desperate to pin all the murders (well, not every murder ever, just the ones on the island) on her so they can all go home for tea, eminent know all and specialist in mentalism induce catatonia, Doctor Simpson (Seventies sex God, ex Raffles and the spooky voice of Dr X on the Queensryche album Operation Mindcrime, Valentine) injects Penny with a strange drug whilst flashing disco lights at her in order to discover the truth.

Slowly but surely, she begins to recall (in groovy hypnovision) the terrible events that led up to the killings, screaming hysterically as giant images of her dead pals heads fill the screen.

Meanwhile in a plush swinging London (probably) office, professional rich man and part-time cake maker Laurence Bakewell (suave superstar Price) has become obsessed by the case.

Which is unusual for Price at this point in his career seeing as he's usually obsessing over young cock but hey-ho.

But why? I hear you ask.

Well it seems that the golden spear used to pin poor Robin Askwith to the toilet door shouldn't really be on the island at all (they do give a reason but frankly I couldn't be arsed paying attention) and this fact has attracted the attention of a group of groovy archaeologists.

Who, judging by their on-screen banter are actually more interested in shagging each other senseless than digging up old stuff.

But not being an archaeologist - or a welder - who am I to judge?

So who are this motley band that will be our heroes for the remainder of the movie?

Well it consists of Antiquities experts Ben and Nora - greatest line: "Masturbation’s so boring!" - Winthrop (Ex Basil Brush sidekick Fowlds and the frighteningly large breasted Palk), along with the bubbly Rose Mason (Haworth - The original stage Sally Bowles and star of the Tom Baker travesty The Mutations) and hunk o' burning lurve Adam Martin (Aussie beefcake and star of Wild Honey Edwards) are they've decided to take a wee break from wife-swapping to investigate the case.

And, in order to placate the US market they're taking a fast talking Yank private investigator (hired by Penelope's folks) named Brent (Halliday, star of such classics as Devil Doll, Curse of the Voodoo and The Projected Man) along for the ride alongside dear old Hamp and his horny young 'nephew' Brom (the big haired and seemingly horse cocked Hamilton).

Trinny and Susannah: The Pikey years.

To make the journey go quicker (and to prevent the film having too many scenes of folk staring uncomfortably at a badly projected seascape) Brent tries to get Hamp to talk about the dark history of the island but to no avail, so decides to try his American magic on Brom.

And by magic I mean seduction skills if what transpires as a conversation is anything to go by seeing as it consists of a dozen or so muttered 'Ooh Arrs' from Brom whilst he stands legs akimbo rubbing his trouser area.

Which if I'm honest was fairly relaxing.

Finally arriving at the island (portrayed by a fairly competently constructed Lego model), the party sets up camp in the outside loo before heading out to explore the lighthouse in particular the area in which the murders took place.

Brent steadfastly believes that poor ickle Penelope couldn’t possibly have pinned a star of Askwith's girth to a door, but Ben, always the pessimist reckons that madness may have given her super strength.

After a wee chat and some bitching the party come to the conclusion that there may be a mad man loose on the island but Hamp just shrugs his shoulders and mutters 'Dunno' before heading off for a sneaky fag.

He's saved from any more embarrassing questions tho' when his boat blows up.

Whilst most of the group run outside to see if anything can be salvaged, Brom and Nora are left alone in the lighthouse where they spend an uncomfortable couple of minutes making small talk before deciding to have 'the sex'.

Roughly.

And with a bit of biting.

Just like your dad and your sisters pal in the back of the car last week.

Returning to the lighthouse to find Nora all ruddy faced and a rotting corpse stuck in the rocking chair, Brent confronts Hamp with the fact that his brother was once the lighthouse keeper.

This in itself may seem inconsequential but Brent goes on to tell how Hamp's bro' went mad and killed his wife and child!

On the island!

And they never found his body!

Back at the hospital, Penelope is being given even more drugs and bigger flashing lights and as a result her shattered memory begins to piece itself back together, beginning with her recounting the horrible facts regarding the deaths of her friends....

And it's not pleasant.

Somewhere to hang your coat at least.

What can I possibly say about Tower Of Evil that hasn't been said a thousand times before on blogs that people actually read?

I mean, if there's a better example of such a way ahead of it's time horror flick then I'd like to see it because Tower Of Evil has everything you could want from a slasher movie, nearly ten years earlier than everybody else.

Coming at a time when censorship in Britain was becoming more lax (imagine that, the UK with lenient censors), writer/director Jim (Valley of Gwanji, Vendetta for The Saint) O’Connolly fills the screen with copious amounts of nudity, sex and violence filmed in an almost tabloid, in yer face manner almost unheard of at the time.

Scream from mah mooth!

And all the well worn rules of the genre are present and correct, anyone having sex is bound to die (the teens and adults), male characters show off their buff naked arses whilst the pretty female cast members are forever thrusting their breasts towards the camera and it's the virginal good girl Penelope (the only woman in Europe who doesn’t want to get laid comments her beau) that survives.

The archaeological experts fare no better, being as they are a bunch of bed hopping sex maniacs who count a bag of spliffs and a crate of cheap red wine amongst the essentials for their expedition, splitting up at the first sign of trouble to wander around the island dressed in mini skirts, breast revealing tops and sprayed on action-slacks.

"Aye son!"

Simply put, Tower of Evil is quite honestly a work of utter genius which needs, nay demands to be seen by as wide an audience as possible.

So there.

pussy wagon.

We appear to have adopted a stray cat here at Unwell Towers, which is nice and it seems to be taking up all my time, I mean I go to make a cuppa so I can start work (yes I do some occasionally) and end up just sitting watching it eat cat biscuits or preening.

Maybe I should have paid more heed to this movie when I first saw it years ago.

Well I might have had it been a wee bit less forgettable, seriously I'm having trouble remembering it and I've only just turned it off.

But surely any film that starts with a Ted Hughes quote can't be that bad.

Can it?

The Uncanny (1977).
Dir: Claude Héroux
Cast: Peter Cushing, Ray Milland, Samantha Eggar, Donald Pleasence,  John Vernon, Susan Penhaligon, Alexandra Stewart, Joan Greenwood, Roland Culver, Simon Williams, Donald Pilon, Chloe Franks and Katrina Holden Bronson.

There are a couple of other folk but frankly I got bored.

You're not such a big girl anymore, are you, Angela? Why, you're no bigger than a mouse!

Our story opens on a foggy night in a foggy (Canadian) street where piss-stained mystery author Wilbur Gray (Cushing enjoying a free holiday to Montreal) has just finished his new manuscript - a massive tome that links the worlds most bizarre unsolved murders to an army of killer cats that secretly rule the world.

Which sounds just like the plot to the classic Cats And Dogs if I'm honest but heyho.

His portly - and cat loving - publisher Frank Richards (a conspicuously sober Milland) reckons that it's all utter bollocks and invites Gray round for tea, biscuits and a chance to change his mind by telling him three of the scariest stories from his book.....

"...And this bag is fully of all the fucks I give!"

So it's with a shuffle of papers and a whiff of lemon that we're transported - via the medium of wobbly dissolve - to London town in the year 1912, where the wealthy widow Mrs. Melkin (Greenwood, slumming it for beer money) has just decided to bequeath her entire fortune to her cats, completely cutting her ne'er do well nephew Michael (Williams from Upstairs, Downstairs and Doctor Who) from her will due to him spending his allowance on booze and burds.

Well, booze and Mrs. Melkin's mousy maid Janet (70s uber Brit TV babe Penhaligon).

And it's by chance - and plot convenience - that Janet overhears the old woman discussing these changes with her lawyer, Wallace (Culver, who I'm sure has been in loads of stuff but honestly I can't be bothered checking) so rushes off - after doing the dishes and the like - to inform Michael.

Shocked at the thought of having to do some actually work for a living, he hatches a plan to get Janet to steal the will from his aunts safe and burn it.

Sneaking into Mrs. Melkin's bedchamber as she sleeps, Janet carefully steps over/around the collective cats and manages to open the safe and grab the will only to be caught in the act by a suddenly very awake - and very nimble for an old bird - Mrs. Melkin who angrily threatens to call the police leaving Janet no choice than to smother her with a pillow as the cats look on planning their catty revenge.

Or they might just be thinking about dinner.

I honestly don't know.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Actually I do know as I continued to watch in the hope of something exciting happening or at least a glimpse of ankle, which to be honest I did get but only after the cats had tried to claw Janet to death and she'd locked herself in the pantry.

You can see where this is going can't you?

Well if not tough cos I'm not going to spoil the twist for you.

I mean I had to sit thru' it so why shouldn't you?

As Gray finishes the terrifying tale he's upset to see that Richards is unimpressed so decides to take another true-crime file from his big swapping pocket in an attempt to convince him af the creepy cat capers and this time it's a wee bit more up to date, concerned as it is with the recent disappearance of a young girl, Angela Blake (Go to 70s child star Franks who was in everything from The House That Dripped Blood, I Monster, Who Slew Auntie Roo and Tales From The Crypt) in a leafy suburb of Quebec a few months earlier.

Bunnet.

The story begins when her cousin Lucy (Bronson, adopted daughter of Charles - no really - who it sounds as if has actually been dubbed by her dad here) ends up moving in with Angela and her mum and dad (Stewart from Mickey One and Pilon whom you may remember from the frankly shite video nasty I Miss You, Hugs and Kisses alongside Elkie Sommer) after her parents were killed in an horrific Frisbee accident.

But she's not alone as she's brought her pet cat Wellington along with her.

Tho' no actual wellingtons obviously.

But she does own a rather fetching bobble hat.

So that's OK then.

Anyway Angela, being a snidey wee cow and not having a pet of her own decides to spend her days abusing Lucy and blaming the cat for everything that goes wrong around the house.

Typical girl then.

As Wellington and Lucy get blamed for more and more outrageous acts (shitting in the bin, leaving hairs in the butter, subscribing to Pornhub etc) Angela's by now pissed off poppa decides to take the poor cat for a drive and leave it in the woods to die.

Much like my parents did with my cat as a child.

And by cat I mean me.

Just the pussy I've been looking for.

To cut a short story shorter, Wellington finds his way home, partly because that's what cats do but mainly because he's actually a familiar and Lucy's mom was a witch (or something) enabling her to exact revenge on her cousin thru' the power of magic and some sub-par CSO that's so fucking god-awful it would make ex-Doctor Who producer Barry Letts vomit blood.

If he wasn't dead obviously.

It's not too surprising to find that Richards still thinks that Gray's tales are utter bollocks but fear not as he announces that he's saved the best till last.

And with that our withered handed writer begins to recount the terrifying tale of the famous 1930s horror actor Valentine De'ath (Pleasance) who, after murdering his wife onset in a bizarre pendulum accident persuades his producer Pomeroy (Vernon, best known as Dean Wormer in Animal House) into replacing his still warm wife with his thick as pigshit girlfriend Edina Clunt (Eggar, who even tho' she appeared in The Brood can't be forgiven).

Anyway for the sake of basic storytelling she does indeed get the part and the pair retire to  De'ath's mansion where their attempts to have 'the sex' are constantly interrupted by his wife's cat.

"Put it in me!"

De'ath is having none of this and promptly drowns the cat's litter in the toilet before heading off to the studio to pad the already frighteningly thin premise with some comedy swordplay.

Unfortunately tho' not in his mouth.

The cat, upset by the murder of its children, follows him to the studio and attempts to kill the actor by chewing thru' some rope in order to drop an arc light on him.

And so as the film drunkenly lurches toward its climax the scene is set for a shocking showdown 'tween De'ath, Clunk and a very angry moggy...

Oh and then we go back to what Peter Cushing is up to for a twist ending obviously.

Produced by the professor of portmanteau horror himself, the late great Milton Subotsky - unfortunately at the arse end of his career (only Hawk The Slayer and The Monster Club to come) - and co-financed by Cinévidéo in Canada (yes you can) and The Rank Organization in dear old blightly, The Uncanny is a threadbare, scare-free oddity that seems as much out of time as it does out of ideas.

Shot in Quebec for less than the cost of a McDonald's Happy Meal, most of the budget appears to have been spent on Ray Milland's bar tab with the rest going toward getting Peter Cushing, Donald Pleasence and Samantha Eggar on board.

Well it's either that or Subotsky had some well dodgy photos of them stashed in a cupboard.

And let's be honest it's not like they spent anything on the special effects.

Or sets.

Or script.

Perhaps the producers thought that the behind the scenes talent would be enough to create a classic, seeing as the film boasts a fairly impressive crew - from director Denis Héroux (the man behind Naked Massacre - the film that is not an actual crime) to screenwriter Michel Parry (who gave us Xtro) and ace cinematographer Harry Waxman (The Wicker Man and Brighton Rock among others), unfortunately the end result is utter pish from start to finish.

Which is a shame really.

Candle shtick.

The cast (well some of them, well Cushing and Pleasence) do their best with what they're given whilst everyone else seems to be channeling a particularly poor community centre stage version of Tales of The Unexpected.

Minus the sexy dancing lady obviously.

Believe it or not this was actually what we had instead of porn in the 70s.

No budget, no time and no mercy, The Uncanny served as the death knell for the multi-part horror film in the UK but let's be honest - if this was a vision of things to come then it was a mercy killing.

Next time something better.

I hope.

snack attack.

It's Lucio Fulci's birthday today so I'm celebrating by doing fuck all work and watching this.



I soon realised that my original review (from way back when the lovely GFT gave it a rare big screen outing) was lying unloved in the depths of this blog so in loving tribute I'm reanimating it for you now.

Apologies  for the distinct lack of 'laugh now' and 'mooth shite' references ahead but this was from a time when I thought folk were actually interested in what I wrote so I tried to be quite serious.

That didn't last long.


Anyway, enjoy.

Zombi 2 (AKA Zombie Flesh Eaters, Island of the Flesh-Eaters, Island of the Living Dead Gli Ultimi zombi 1979).

Dir: Lucio Fulci.

Cast: Ian McCulloch, Tisa Farrow, Al Cliver, Auretta Gay, Richard Johnson, Olga Karlatos, a shark and some zombies.

What is all this about the dead coming back to life again and... having to be killed a second time? I mean, what the hell's going on here?

Welcome to New York - thanks to some rather wonderful Cinéma vérité  style of the cuff (and off the radar) footage - where a seemingly abandoned ship drifts spookily thru' the harbor, out of control and unstoppable.

Luckily the local harbor patrols two best men are sent to investigate.

Well second best.

The two best are out investigating another mysterious ghost ship filled with huge Kinder Eggs further up the river.

Arriving on board in a flurry of Action Slacks and sideburns the brave officers find that the ship is deserted, or so it seems until the fattest bastard zombie you will ever see shambles out of the hold, moaning and dribbling as he goes.

Tho' how the fuck he managed to hide aboard such a little boat is never explained, I mean even if you discount his size he still must stink worse than your gran after the retirement home Xmas party.

Anyways back to the action.

Refusing to show his ID (tho' not ashamed to flaunt his terrifying man-tits) our rotund rotter kills one of the patrolmen with a nasty bite to the throat and a quick stroke of the balls before the other, less dead cop shoots him in the face causing him to flop overboard faster than Natalie Wood before sinking straight to the bottom.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Seeing as stuff like this doesn't usually happen in the Big Apple, NYPD's finest decide to get in touch with the boat owner's daughter, the delectable Ms. Ann Bowles (genre superstar, ex taxicab driver and sister of Mia Farrow) in order to question her regarding the scary fat cannibal bloke, find out who styles her hair and ask the whereabouts of her missing dad.

Pleased that someone appreciates the effort she puts into looking so good but surprised to hear her dad is missing (close family eh?) Ann, concerned not only about his welfare but her huge inheritance too, returns to the ship that very night to search for clues and stuff but what she finds on board is far more exciting.

And considerably sexier than anything we've seen so far.

Please welcome ace reporter and all round studly Italian horror movie hero, the scarily comb-overed yet still cool as fuck Peter West (the man, the myth, the legend that is Glasgow's finest, Sir Ian of McCulloch).

West has found a letter written to Ann from her father (told you he was a good reporter, well it's either that or he's broken into her mail box, which frankly is the last box of Farrow's I'd want to break), which tells of a mysterious disease that is ravaging his home on the mysterious island of Matool and that he may never leave alive.

Ann, now very worried about her inheritance (you can tell by her quivering lip), and Peter, interested in the story (and in Ann), decide to travel together to the island to discover the truth.

McCulloch: He's got something to put in you.

Being too tight to get their own boat, the dynamic duo hitch a ride with a couple of hip American tourists, the swoonsome beefcake Bryan (the fantastically furry chinned Cliver) and his shapely wife Susan (Auretta 'Brillantina Rock' Gay- can this cast get any better?), who are enjoying a pleasant sailing holiday.

By sailing holiday I mean Cliver stands around looking rugged in a shirt that's about three sizes too small whilst Gay spends her days busying herself scuba diving in nothing but a pair of flimsy, fanny revealing pants and a pink flowery swimming cap.

We are indeed in cinematic heaven.

Gay: areola's like dinner plates.

It's during one such dive that possibly the greatest scene ever committed to celluloid occurs when the positively pneumatic Susan is attacked by a terrifying Tiger Shark.

As she wiggles her huge arse and sticks her breasts out towards the camera in fright to a terrifying Fabio Frizzi score, the fairly ferocious fish swims around menacingly thinking check the hat whilst licking it's shark lips.

But that's not the best bit, you see just when it looks like it's going to eat her whole (you know the punchline) a zombie pops up from behind a clump of undersea fauna and tries to bite the beast on the arse.

The shark that is not Susan.

The ensuing spectacle of watching a stuntman attempt to punch out a shark will stay with you forever, pant wettingly exciting and probably the reason that cinema exists in the first place.

Seriously.

"Slate and Vera Lynne?"

Eventually the intrepid party arrive on the shores of Matool and are approached by what looks like a gang of drunken tramps.

On closer inspection tho' they discover that they are, in fact an ARMY OF ZOMBIES who are also FLESH EATERS.

Tho' in retrospect the title does kinda give it away.

Unsurprisingly our heroes leg it up the beach (to be honest it's more a leisurely jog up the beach seeing as zombies aren't that quick) and, after stopping for a rest, being chased again, stopping for another rest and being chased again, a pal of Anne's dad, the enigmatic Dr Menard (a very angry Johnson) turns up in a jeep and offers them all safe haven at his house for tea and crumpets.

Some zombie flesh eaters yesterday.

Menard is convinced that the mysterious plague ravaging the island is also responsible for the dead rising from their graves.

Peter West nods sagely and adjusts his hair whilst the others look on - Susan in a particularly toothish manner usually seen only on rabbits.

Now it's a race against time as Menard struggles to find a cure, Peter and Bryan struggle over who's the more alpha male, Ann struggles to find her fathers whereabouts, Susan struggles to keep her kit on and Menard's sexily stern wife Paola struggles to finish her shower before a zombie pierces her eye on a large shard of splintered wood....


Will they survive the terrifying attack of the zombie flesh eaters and will horror cinema ever be the same again?

"Eye hen!"

What can you possibly say about the late, great Lucio Fulci's magnum opus that hasn't been said a hundred times before and by better folk than me?

I mean come on, everything about it is just brilliant, from the opening shots in New York to the exotic locations in Haiti which add a stark otherworldly air to the proceedings making the island of Matool a nightmare of dust storms and barren decayed buildings which cleverly mirror the colour palate used in the zombie make-up.
 
The dead being as much a part of the island as the beach and sands; a stark contrast to the vivid greens of the jungle scenes.

Also on show is Fulci's predilection for using the "crash zoom" as a shorthand way to heighten the audiences reaction to scenes of horror and gore.

Sometimes overused in his later movies, this (his) signature effect serves him well when it comes to the sheer horror of the decaying army slowly lumbering towards our heroes; never have zombies looked so hideous or repellent, bloated and muck encrusted with gaping wounds, tore flesh and dead eye sockets writhing with maggots.

Something that living in Glasgow I'm used to, having had to navigate Sauchiehall Street every weekend.

Nasty.

"...bloated and muck encrusted with gaping wounds, tore flesh and dead eye sockets writhing with maggots..." Yup gotta love a Glasgow gal.

The cast is, quite frankly magnificent, featuring the ultimate team of the grumpy Scotsman McCulloch, whining waif Farrow and the manly Cliver, all mainstays of the Italian horror genre and all never better than onscreen here.

Plus when you add the Ruebenesqe form of one (oh go on then two) hit wooden wonder Auretta Gay and her much needed gratuitous nudity to the mix, wobbling about in a pair of her mums pants as she desperately trying not to chafe her nipples on her oxygen tanks you know you're in the presence of genius.

Auretta Gay, or as she'd be these days Auretta Non-Binary.

Behind the cameras Fulci is served well by his crew, from husband and wife team Elisa Briganti and Dardano Sacchetti's cut to the bone script to the unforgettable make up effects from Giovanni Corridori and his team via Sergio Salvati's stunning cinematography, the whole film is a lean, mean experiment in sheer horror that still stands up as a masterpiece of the genre today.

Seriously, everything in the movie just falls perfectly into place but I have to say that the icing on the (very gory) cake is the stark synth' score from Fulci regular, the wonderful Fabio Frizzi.

Cinematic gold from the grand master of grand guignol.

Fulci, we salute you.