dead in japan.

Counting down to Weekend of The Dead with a handful of the undead, Japanese style.

something for the weekend sir?

...As a wee Friday treat here's a vintage death certificate handed out to patrons who attended this fantastic double bill from times gone by....

Unfortunately neither of these movies will feature in my 31 days of horror.

Sorry.

beanz meanz hinz(man).

Day 5 of the whole 31 days of horror thing and I've not given up yet - or gotten any new readers but hey ho it's early days.

Was helping the girls tidy their room last night and came across this jammed between a copy of The Boy In The Striped Pajamas and Spy Kids.

They really should know better I mean they are 13 after all.

But it did mean we could do some top quality father/daughters film bonding after homework.

Theirs not mine obviously.


Flesh Eater (AKA Zombie Nosh, Revenge of the Living Zombies. 1988).
Dir: Bill Hinzman. 
Cast : Bill Hinzman, John Mowod, Leslie Ann Wick, Lisa Smith, the local job seekers club and some tramps.

Well excuse me boss, I must've come up here with the wrong impression, I thought we were here to have fun!

Welcome to Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania in the good ol' (and by the look of it freezing centre of) US of A where a rag tag bunch of red-necked (and red faced) 'teenagers' are having a fun filled weekend wobbling about on the back of a tractor.

That's not all they have in mind tho' as their good times don't just end with a ride on some filthy farmyard machinery, you see they plan to spend the night in the woods getting drunk and 'making out'.

Whilst all these teen shenanigans are going on the local farmer Barney Moe has noticed that a huge hole has appeared in one of his fields, luckily for us (and the plot) he's not from Norfolk so doesn't try to fuck it but instead he has a little dig around and uncovers a rather unconvincing paper-mache stone with a scary inscription:

Beware! The bin men!

Upon further inspection our frightened farmer finds something much more terrifying, yup it's that bloke from the start of Night of The Living Dead still wearing the same threadbare suit and a coating of talc lying in the hole up to his elbows in mud.

Ladies and gentlemen please welcome Mr. Bill (my illustrious acting career) Hinzman!

But before Moe can ask how or why (or even to get his Alpha VHS signed) Hinzman has popped out of the ground and popped his teeth into the farmers neck.

Ouch.

Losing acting ability as quickly as he's losing blood our hapless chap falls woodenly (and quite carefully) to the ground shaking like an epileptic in a fridge.

Meanwhile a few miles away the teenage dirtbags, oblivious to all this naughty neck nibbling are indeed busying themselves getting drunk and, most disturbingly attempting to shag each other.

Yes indeed, the movie gives us a rare opportunity to watch two real and very camera conscious teenagers awkwardly making out in blindingly lit, acne revealing close-up.

You can almost imagine director Hinzman, one hand on the zoom button and one down his trousers shouting "Touch her titties!" from just off screen as the pair  clumsily go thru' the motions, the boy praying that the girls bra strap doesn't stick for fear of Hinzman giving him a kicking.

Or a sickly hicky.

"Blood in mah mooth!"

Thankfully, Hinzman soon jumps in front of the camera and proceeds to put the zit-faced teens (and us) out of their misery via a rusty pitchfork thru' the chest and a rubber heart removal cum breast fondle before stumbling off  to menace the rest of the cast, each victim rising from the grave as a member of the undead.

Either that or they're all high on crack or cheap cider.

It's probably a good time to point out that the subtle tit touch from Hinzman doesn't appear to be at all accidental seeing as at any point during the movie whenever a female is called upon to be attacked it's our erstwhile director doing the biting, invariably squeezing one of her breasts as he does it.

It's almost as if it were planned this way so as to give him a chance to get his sweaty sausage fingers on some young virginal flesh.

Or maybe I'm just pissed of that I never thought of it first.

Either way before long there are at least a dozen (OK I'm being kind) of the undead (some with ladybreasts some without) wandering aimlessly around the forest in search of a half decent script whilst the surviving (non molested) teens decide to barricade themselves in a dilapidated farmhouse much like that other Bill Hinzman zombie movie*.

That reminds me, the gammon in the fridge has gone off.

Obviously the zombies have seen it tho' and decide to attack before the refurbishments are finished, eating all of the main cast except for the two leads (no doubt the directors daughter and her boyfriend), leaving them with no choice but to run away in the hope of extending the movies running time to a full 90 minutes.

Not too surprisingly the undead give chase.

Fairly slowly obviously but it's the thought that counts.


At this point the film degenerates into a tourist guide to the woods and hedgerows of Beaver Falls (with added random murders and nudity) before showing off the interior design of the sound guys house (complete with nude babysitter) and finally showing us how the locals spend their weekends by climaxing with a barn-based fancy dress party.

Which not too surprisingly Hinzman and his zombie buddies soon turn into a blood bath, possibly because the revelers fancy dress outfits were a lot more impressive than the movies actual make-up.

Shockingly for the amount of females present there's precious little tittie touching in this scene but big bad Bill does manage to grope a teenage cheerleaders ample arse as she tries to escape up a ladder so that's OK then.

"Put it in me!"

This extreme form of trick or treating (well it is Halloween night) continues unabated for what seems like several days before the local police and fire department, aided and abetted by a group of gun crazed locals finally turn up and kill everything before setting fire to a farm and, in a scene totally unlike the end of NOTLD accidentally kill the surviving teens with a bullet to the head and a nail in the coffin of independent film making.

Flesh Eater on Bluray?...Isn't that a wee bit like making Ridley Scott reshoot Alien with the lights on?

 Mumbling, bumbling and drunkenly stumbling across the screen like an Alzheimer's riddled drunken uncle, William Hinzman shows himself to be the original one-trick convention guest with this threadbare vanity project designed for the sole reason of playing on his 'fame' as the cemetery zombie, a role he also returned to in John Russo's abysmal NOTLD anniversary edition and no doubt various supermarket, envelope and eyelid openings.

"I'm sorry, I have my woman's period".

Whilst there's nowt wrong with the fella making a few bob off the back off a fleeting appearance in a hit movie (just check the guest list for any Collectormania event) there's something not right in seeing the source of that fame dragged out and violently buggered in front of you.

Which is effectively what Hinzman attempts to do to Night in this truly abhorrent tribute cum sequel.

Shot with all the skill of Jill Dando's gunman from a script consisting of a series of random ideas hastily scribbled on the back of a used tissue and acted out by a collection of Ikea furniture, Flesh Eater brings nothing to the undead table except the idea that middle-aged zombies adore teen tits.

"Little Mix number one for Christmas...MONSTA!"

No budget, no imagination and no mercy, Flesh Eater by it's very nature is a must see movie if for no other reason than to show that George Romero was indeed the talented one behind Night of The Living Dead dspite what Hinzman and John Russo might have you believe.

Oh and the fact that it makes Survival of The Dead almost watchable.

Tomorrow something better.

I promise.












































*Not this one tho'.....this one.

dad of the dead.

George A. Romero

4 February 1940 - 16 July 2017

"Stay scared!"

don of the drumpf.

A quick thought for you all.

I don't know if it's a lack of sleep coupled with an excess of Romero this weekend but it's struck me how much DOTD mirrors the recent US elections (you may have heard something about them on the news).

Are you sitting comfortably?

Then I'll begin.

Peter is obviously Barack Obama - a sexy, strong and cool black dude with fantastic leadership skills and a dark velvety voice, Fran is Hilary - yup she's a wee bit of a pain in the arse for most of the movie but you know she'd be your safest bet for survival, Steven is Bill Clinton - thinks he's the big man but soon falls into line behind his missis when things go bad and Roger is Trump, strange combover, tiny hands and mad as fuck who when things go south relies on Peter for support and understanding. 

The even build a wall to keep the outsiders out (and it is a beautiful wall albeit one made of cardboard). 

The trucks fortifying the Mall are obviously symbols of American big business holding up the economy of the shops and a desire to keep everything in the mall away from trade tariffs etc which in turn causes all the shops to close except for the lucky elite.

None of this works tho' and they are soon over run by bikers (one with a droopy mustache and another in a sombrero - need I say more?) that by the films end returns everything to the status quo.

And the zombies? 

Who do they represent? 

Well they're probably just there to keep the kids entertained.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as.

shoot the dead.

Diary Of The Dead (2007)
Dir: George A Romero.
Cast: Shawn Roberts, Joshua Close, Michelle Morgan, Joe Dinicol, Phillip Riccio, Scott Wentworth, Megan Park, Chris Violette, Amy Ciupak Lalonde and Tatiana Maslany.

"For you, if it's not on film it never happened."

Busy filming a student horror movie in the woods, wannabe documentary maker Jason Creed (Close) and his crew are surprised to here a news report stating that the bodies of the recently dead are returning to life and attacking the living.
Not too surprisingly the group of film makers are kinda freak out by these turn of events, Ridley rich-boy (Riccio) is the first to jump ship, inviting the (understandably) freaked out band to hide out at his families fortified mansion before speeding off with the toothy Francine (Park) in tow.Jason decides to head back to the college to get his girlfriend Debra (Morgan) before heading cross country in a beat up Winnebago alongside his crew - brooding Tony (Roberts), spec-head Eliot (Dinicol), Texan tottie Tracy (Lalonde), her hunky beau Gordo, jittery wallflower Mary (Maslany) and the permanently pissed lecturer Maxwell (Wentworth) - under the auspice of heading home, documenting the journey (pretentiously titled The Death of Death) along the way.

Bruiser: "You ain't seen me, right?"

After the wilderness years that covered most of the 90's and the first half of the noughties it seemed that genre god Romero would have trouble getting even his holiday snaps developed at the local chemist let alone a film deal (2000's Bruiser is still unreleased in the States and most of Europe). So it was with some surprise (and much excitement) when it was announced that he would begin work on a big budget (for him) continuation of his 'Dead Saga', Land Of The Dead for Universal Pictures and, although the movie was only a moderate hit Stateside (and split Romero fandom; some feeling it was a 'stopgap' movie somehow compromised by the studio system) it seemed, if nothing else to rekindle Romero's creative edge, drive and love for the genre he single handedly created 40 years ago.

"Snyder yer gettin' it!": The big binned
'un on the set of Land.

Personally I find it way too hard to be critical of 'Land' and whilst I admit it never reaches the heights of Dawn of The Dead or Day of The Dead it does feature some uniquely Romero moments and it has to be said, an 'adequate' Romero movie still stands head and shoulders over most horror movies being churned out of Hollywood today (and did something to remove the taste of the cinematic stillbirth that was Zac Snyders Dawn remake).

So what of this latest chapter in the masters 'Dead Saga'?

Well, if someone had of said to me that at the age of 67, Romero would be running around in the cold Canadian wilderness, armed only with a hand held camera, coffee and fags making a low budget return visit to the original night it all started to give us a new slant on the zombie uprising I'd have thought they'd gone mad (and would have at least emailed Georges missis to check he hadn't been drinking) but bloody hell, the old fella has still got it.

Although sold as a 'stand alone' movie, Diary is still as much a part of Romero's ongoing vision of the zombie uprising as it's predecessors, taking as it does the premise and ideas forged in Night of The Living Dead mixed with his patented blend of social satire, real world interpersonal politics and heady violence.

Add to this a critical view of how the media can shape, inform and eventually alter our perspective of shared events as well as posing the question of can any reportage be truly unbiased.

Don't mess with Texas.

Romero's ongoing fascination with the breakdown of society and the media's handling of such an event is given a unique spin by the way that today any information, no matter how trivial can be so instantly disseminated to the entire world via the internet, a far cry from the ramshackle news reports of Dawn of The Dead but eerily similar to the 'If it's not on TV it's not really happening' attitude of the original Night and, by making the films main protagonist the camera lens- we see only what it sees -Romero makes us a complicit part of the unfolding story.

What's more horrific: the recently dead returning
to life or the recently dead returning
to life wearing that jumper?

The (mostly) unknown cast is uniformly fantastic and a return to the 'real people in unreal situations' of Romero's earlier works. Michelle Morgan excels as Debra, torn between dealing with her boyfriends overwhelming obsession to complete his documentary and her own over-riding need to be with her family whilst Scott Wentworth's film professor is a deadpan joy to watch. But it has to be said tho' that no matter how great this little ensemble cast is, the true star of the movie (and possibly the whole saga) has to be Samuel the Old Amish man....NECA release an action figure of this guy now!

"Put it in me!"

What else can I say? Diary of The Dead is the cleverest, scariest and downright entertaining horror movie to come out of America (or Canada) since Romero's own Day of The Dead in 1985. And it truly has something for everyone.

If you don't go see this (or more importantly don't like it) then there is really no hope for you.

Utter perfection on celluloid.

happy birthday dario argento.

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

the undeck rises.....

Nothing like a good plug first thing on a Thursday morning so here goes....

Finally launching this frankly fantastic deck of playing cards that I've been beavering away at for the last few months, a real labour of love, the set harks back to the glory days of VHS, video nasties and classic Zombie films.

C'mon what's not to love? 

The cards are in manufacturing at the moment, so as a special pre-sale offer, save yourself £1.50 of the normal price AND get a signed A3 poster, using the art from any card (the poster won’t have the suit or numbers on, just the art). 

 

Follow this link for order details.

 

Normal service will be resumed as soon as..... 

when there's no more hair in hell...

More badly (re)animated fun.....Dawn of the Bod part 2.....enjoy! 

george diablos.

All the way from sunny Argentina, some rather spiffing George A. Romero cover art.

Enjoy!

island life.

We've waited and waited for Sir George of Romero's latest undead opus to hit our screens (almost as long as we waited for a proper title) and when it finally arrives the thing is shoddily shat out by Optimum Home Entertainment with absolutely no special features (I'm surprised they even bothered putting a menu on it) and a cover illustration draw by a blind, wooden handed boy in crayon.

A cover so shockingly bad even Arrow turned it down.

Bodes well for their 'special edition' of A Lizard In A Woman's Skin.

And here was me joking that they were going to steal one of my limited edition Giallo postcards for the cover.

Of which there are a few sets still available at a mere £5, Paypal accepted.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand.

Survival Of The Dead (2010).
Dir: George A. Romero.
Cast: Alan van Sprang, Kenneth Welsh, Devon Bostick, Kathleen Munroe and Athena Karkanis.

And neither is the art of cover
design by the look of this.

It's six days since the undead mysteriously (if you don't count that pesky Venus probe) began to rise from their graves and the survivors are struggling not only to keep the ever growing zombie hordes at bay but to come to terms with what the situation actually means to humanity as a whole.

Off the coast of Delaware is the island of Plum, home to a couple of annoyingly accented, scab hatted Oirish clans with a history of drink fuelled feuding named (quite originally) the O'Flynns and the Muldoon's.

Their latest disagreement revolves around the fact that the Santa-bearded terrible tinker Patrick O'Flynn (Twin Peaks' very own Windom Earle, Welsh) wants to shoot all zombies on sight whilst pie loving, pig carrying Shamus Muldoon (RoboCop: Prime Directives Fitzpatrick) reckons that domesticating them is for the best.

And meanwhile, in an underground bunker just outside Pittsburgh, Richard Liberty's body begins to spin.

"Hoo-de-hoo! you'll never get yer
hands on mah lucky charms!"

Into the middle of all this shooting, fecking and potato guzzling comes the flame haired, boss eyed Jane (teevee stalwart Monroe), Patrick's non silly accented daughter and local voice of reason who, within the space of a few minutes manages to stop her dad being shot (persuading the manbreasted Muldoon to exile him instead) and look good in knitwear.

Which as fans of George will know is important as far as female characters go.

Back on the mainland, chain smoking tough guy (and part-time dirty looting bastard) Sergeant Crockett (Tom Arnold alike Van Sprang, reprising his role from Diary of The Dead) and his merry band of AWOL National Guardsmen are busying themselves shooting zombies, masturbating (a fantastically realistic performance from Karkanis), watching teevee and stealing armoured cars from red necks as they attempt to head north (to Canada?) and carve out a new life for themselves as a kinda travelling Hogan's Heroes comedy troupe.

Possibly.

Deleted scenes from the new John Leslie sex tape.

All this changes tho' when upon finding a wee emo boy (Degrassi: The Next Generation's Bostick) held captive by bad men, they discover an Internet site, run by our old pal O'Flynn, offering the chance of a new life on the fine isle of Plum.

Arriving at the docks to get the ferry to freedom, Sarge is surprised to find that Patrick has his own reasons for inviting everyone to join the island community.

Not us tho' I mean he's Irish and therefore cannot be trusted.

Yup, he's been fleecing all the would be travellers of their valuables, false teeth, lunch money and even in some cases their shoes.

As he sees it, there may be a global catastrophe happening all around him but why shouldn't he make some cash on the side?

Sarge, finally happy to meet a three dimensional (if fairly clichéd) character, immediately bonds with twinkly eyed old Patrick and head off to the island determined to kick Muldoon's ample arse.

Sarge farted and it was an eggy one.

Chugging along to the island our merry band make a horrifying discovery, it seems that Muldoon has been good to his word and rounded up all the dead folk in order to train them to do menial tasks.

And if all goes to plan maybe, just maybe get them to eat something other than humans.

Back in deepest, darkest Pittsburgh, Richard Liberty's body is spinning fast enough to create it's own gravity field.

"Tramp in mah mooth!"

Survival of The Dead, Big George's sixth Zombie movie (yet first direct sequel-to 2008's Diary of The Dead) finds the director appearing to embrace 'reboot' mode, almost as if the original 'Dead saga' which began in that gloomy graveyard way back in 1968 ends with the hope of some sort of peaceful co-existence at the climax of Land of The Dead.

But Survival, when watched back to back with Diary (yes, some of us are that sad) feels as unrelated to the original four as they do a part of a bigger story.

A new, lo-fi Dead saga for a more cynical age?

The island setting, the community at odds at to what to do with the undead and the water based zombie shenanigans make it seem that Big George still hasn't gotten his original, unmade script for Day of The Dead from way back in the early 80's out of his system, with ideas and characters featured in it surfacing in Land of The Dead and with the same applying here making the movie appear more of a prelude than an actual story in itself.

It's almost as if George is getting cold feet about finally finishing the story, retreading ideas regarding the feeding and domestication of the undead and concentrating more and more on the philosophical debates the litter the quieter moments of his original vision.

The problem this time is that although the original Day of The Dead is basically chat and debate culminating in mass bloodshed you never forget that the zombie hordes are there, shuffling and waiting, their moans filling the caverns, echoing thru' the underground bunker and chilling the viewer to the bone.

With Survival, there are times when you almost forget that you're watching a Romero zombie movie, with genuinely chilling ideas such as the undead postman moaning loudly as he posts and reposts his letters and the horrifying sight of Muldoon's undead wife, literally chained to the kitchen sink as she attempts to cook dinner quickly glossed over in favour of more chat and
Sarge's wise-cracking one liners.

Revenge of the disco dads.

And the movie's shock revelation as regards to what the undead will eat, which in any other Romero movie would have you gasping with surprise, passes you by with a 'hmmm', so engrossed you are with spotting the similarities to Day and humming the John Harrison score to the very same movie as the zombie's break out of Muldoon's shed.

Survival is one of those rare films that although enjoyable on some levels is really difficult to like.

Which is a genuine shame.

Criticising Romero feels a wee bit like criticising your kids school report when you know they've lazed their way thru' a term, you know what they're capable of and feel crushingly disappointed when they fail to deliver, we all know that there's at least one final great dead movie in George.

By the looks of it tho' it's the one that never got made.

the tedious footsaw massacre.

Staunton Hill (2009).
Dir: G. Cameron Romero.
Cast: Kathy Lamkin, Cristen Coppen, David Rountree, Kiko Ellsworth, Christine Carlo, Paula Rhodes, BJ Hendricks and Charlie Bodin.

It's 1969 (OK?) somewhere in a part of America that has loads of trees and stuff and where group of faceless and fairly interchangeable friends - hunky behatted Cole (co-writer and drummer with Blur Rountree, best known for appearing in the Britney Spears Oops, I Did It Again video), the token politically minded black dude Boone (shiny browed co-producer Ellsworth) and his granite jawed missis Raina (star of Nora's Hair Salon, Carlo), teeny tiny Trish (actress, composer, writer tho' obviously no judge of quality Rhodes) and the terrifyingly toothsome Jordan (Coppen, I can't be arsed looking her up) - are busy hitch-hiking their way to Washington D.C. for a rally of some sort or another.

By the year we can assume that it's either to protest against the war in Vietnam or to demand equal rights for someone, seeing as that's all folk did in the sixties.

The writer obviously doesn't care enough to give a specific reason so why should I be bothered to think of one?

Not having any luck finding a ride (tho' you'd need a bus to carry all of them) they decide to stop at a roadside garage, store for no other reason than to give the writer the chance to have a pock-faced Hick use the word 'nigger' (shocking) and to introduce car driving cut-out Quintin (Bodin, all pube beard and ticks) so he can offer them a ride.

So far so clichéd.

"Hello, I'm bad".

Well would you believe it, halfway down the road Quintin's truck breaks down, leaving our party stranded in the woods with a storm brewing and no shelter.

But wait, didn't they pass what looks like a deserted farm a few miles back?

Maybe they could stay there till morning.

I mean what's the worse thing that could happen?

Heading off thru' the trees and over a hill (the sound of thunder and local traffic rumbling in the background) our merry band of cipher's take refuge in a big barn and bed down for the night.

I feel that I have to interject right now to point out that it's taken about 35 minutes of the movie to get this far.

Yup, a third of it's running time is over and absolutely fuck all has happened.

No character development, no suspense, no hope of a quick and painless end to the viewers suffering, nothing.

Waking the next morning (which is more than my arse had done by now) the friends come across (and I so wish I'd been literally) hulking, moonfaced inbred Buddy (another co-producer and living potato BJ Hendricks) raping a cabbage patch.

Actually the last bit is a lie but I'm trying to brighten up the review in a way the writers didn't bother with the film.

"For Gods sake somebody throw a pie!"

Buddy's (like all big boned movie mentalists) response to Cole's friendly greeting is to hit him in the face with a spade.

Cue some slow fighting and staged wrestling till the farms owners - wheelchair bound alcoholic Geraldine Staunton (Weston) and her lard loving daughter Louise (Lamkin, playing exactly the same role that she did in the Texas Chainsaw remake) arrive in time to break it up, apologise and invite their guests to stay for a big meaty breakfast.

Cut to lots of long, lingering close ups of Buddy actually cooking the said brekkie followed by even more shots of the cast eating it, intercut with close-ups of Quintin calling the chef a retard.

Realizing that the movie has almost finished yet no-one has died yet (except me, inside) our cardboard crew decide to head out to the fields in an attempt to fix the families van in the hope of borrowing it to travel to the next town or something tho' Trish, desperate for a wee stays behind to look for a toilet.

"That was a damn fine bit
o' mooth shite-in there boy!"

Wandering aimlessly (and whining annoyingly) around the farm she first stumbles across Buddy having a sly Barclay's whilst looking at pictures of Tiny Tears dolls (which isn't as funny as it sounds, I mean the cast are so uniformly unattractive that given the choice I'd probably choose to crack one off over your gran than anyone on offer here) before taking a wrong turn and ending up in a scary (re: filthy) operating theatre built onto the back of a shed.

Taking it all in her stride (tho' unfortunately not in her mouth) Trish tiptoes around opening every door and cupboard in the hope of finding a loo (or a bucket - she's been needing a piss for what seems like days) just as Buddy, brandishing a hammer, turns up and beats her to death before cutting her throat and skinning her.

I'm no medical expert but I'm sure that if you needed a slash (of the wee kind, not your throat) so badly then at least a little bit would come out at the moment of death?

But not to complain, at least we finally get a killing.

Pity it's so boringly directed really.

Which, if I'm honest wouldn't be that bad if we actually gave a toss about any of the characters.

"Hole in mah neck!"

It's not long (thank fuck) before the surviving friends find themselves being hunted down by bad boy Buddy and his family and discover the true horror behind the seemingly random acts of slaughter.

Which (as far as I can gather seeing as my finger was permanently attached to the fast forward button) seems to involve them running an illegal severed foot farming operation led by Quintin (the ex medical student brother of Buddy) out of the converted coal shed behind the house.

Yes, really.

Beard of evil.

Those regular readers of this fine blog will know that this is the point where I usually wax lyrical about the movie in questions production, cast etc. in a cutting yet oh so amusing fashion

adding clever observations and sometimes scandalous lies for the enjoyment of those childish enough to find references to 'mooth shite-in' and the overuse of the comedy catchphrase 'laugh now' the height of cinematic criticism.

But frankly when it comes to Staunton Hill the only thing that comes to mind are three little words over and over again.

Absolute fucking pish.

Look, I'll show you what I mean:

Direction: Absolute fucking pish.

Acting: Absolute fucking pish.

script: Absolute fucking pish.

And so on and so forth.

It's as if the movie has somehow fallen thru' a crack in space/time from some bizarro world where good plotting and character development have no place, it's as if someone decided to remake the Frederick Friedel classic Axe but without any of that films suspense and tension (for any American's reading this is what we Britfags call irony).

I can imagine Cameron and his buds sitting around drunk after reading the script and saying "Hmm, you know what, this script seems a lot like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre....how can we make it different and unique?".

"Well, that film's got Leatherface in it, so named because he has a mask made from human skin..."

"Gee you're right! Every major horror movie villain has a trademark look; Freddie with his hat and finger knives, Michael Myers with his Quick Fit overalls and William Shatner mask and Jason with his hockey mask and machete!"

"Let's give the folk watching a real fright...let's make our killer fat and ginger..."

"And almost myopic from constant masturbation!"

"But what can we call him....His name needs to strike fear into the hearts of cinema goers everywhere..."

Scratching his head Cameron glances over at his record collection catching glipse of the Chesney Hawkes hit 'The One and Only".

"I got it! how about Buddy?"

The only way you'll get viewers to
sit thru' this crap till the end.

Cameron Romero, hang your head in shame and George, if I were you I'd get a paternity test done as soon as possible because if this is the kind of shite your 'son' is producing then I'd check your missis wasn't playing around with John Russo behind your back.

It's the only explanation I can think of.

just a thought...

Is it just me or does Gaylen Ross get hotter the more shot to fuck her nerves get in Dawn of The Dead?

Just curious.