nemod syad.

Noticed the the blog seems to be full of politics and pictures of late so thought I'd better watch a wee film so I could actually post a review.

Mausoleum (1983).
Dir: Michael Dugan.
Cast: Marjoe Gortner, Bobbie Bresee, Norman Burton, Maurice Sherbanee, LaWanda Page, Laura Hippe, Sheri Mann, Julie Christy Murray, Chu Chu Malave and Gene Edwards.

 

There's some strange shit goin' on in this house!

Like any good horror film worth its salt we open on a windswept graveyard where the young - and frighteningly dog faced - Susan (bony kneed Murray in her only film role outside those shorts she did to pay her way thru' college) is mourning her recently deceased mother as her posh tottie-like aunt Cora (Logan's Run and Swinging Barmaids star Hippe who killed herself shortly after making this movie - take from that what you will) pats her on the shoulder uncomfortably whilst offering to buy her ice cream and a pony to replace her dearly departed parent.

Why do I never get offered ponies?

Oblivious to all the bribery being offered (and wanting a unicorn probably - girls are never happy) Susan legs it and soon takes refuge in an old superimposed rainswept and spookily lit mausoleum (bearing her family name - Nemod - I'm sure her family must originally be from the village Nilbog featured in Troll2.) that is in no way at all scary or foreboding.

No seriously it's not, it actually looks for all the world like it's been outlined in Sharpie the matte work is so shit.

As a spooky fog rolls from its gates Susan pricks her finger on a crown of thorns hanging outside before entering the tomb to be confronted by a shadowy figure with unkempt nails who offers her blessed relief whilst making a passing pedophiles head explode.

Which seems legit.

I can see your house from here Peter.

 
Thru' the power of editing and rudimentary dissolves we're suddenly in the present day (which is the past now....scary eh?) where we find a now adult Susan (ex Playboy bunny Bresee in a performance that's all tits and teeth but not much else which at least means she fits in right at home here) living in a massive house albeit one filled with way too many windows and staircases than is needed and happily married to the ferret-like business bloke Oliver (Starcrash 'star', B'-movie god and once the world's youngest ordained preacher, Gortner) and obsessed with the colour brown for some reason.


Seriously, the house, her clothes, the plants - everything in this movie has the colour palette of dried cack.

Except when a demon appears then the fucker is lit up like a disco.

But I digress.

All seems normal (if you ignore everyone's stilted body language and speech patterns obviously) until that is Susan starts to act a wee bit strangely - or is that just begins to act?

Answers to the usual address.

Oliver thinks he has the perfect answer to Susan's woes so decides to take her disco dancing at the local nite spot where they enjoy (well I say enjoy but to be honest they just look dead inside tho' at least Bresee tries her hardest to look hip n' happening as she pulls a classic 'Le disco duck face') frugging away to some turgid instrumental disco track that even Mike Read would balk at for being too shit.

And he wrote the UKIP Calypso.

Luckily (for us) the whole ordeal is cut short when a drunken beardy man (who I was convinced was original Grizzly Adams star Dan Haggerty but was in fact Gene Edwards who played him in the 1990 remake/sequel) tries to molest Susan on the dance floor whilst Oliver is on the phone causing the couple to call it a night and head home.

Unfortunately the drunk bloke follows them but after a wee bit of shoving he wanders off to his car in order to drunkenly drive home, probably killing a few kids on the way.

But hey it's the 80s and no-one cared back then.

Suddenly and without warning - if you don't count the spooky score - Susan's eyes begin to glow green as she stares at the car for what seems like an eternity (thanks in part to the eye effect being animated over a still) before causing it to burst into flames, trapping and burning weirdy beardy to death inside.

"Eye hen!"

 

And from then on things go from bad to worse as poor Susan experiences angry mood swings and night sweats before turning into a full-blown psycho when she starts offering Ben the sleazy gardener (council estate David Hess, Sherbanee, who's probably been in other stuff but I can't be bothered checking) fresh cups of coffee whilst stroking her breasts then having sex with him in the garage and finally murdering the poor sod (to death) with a garden fork.

Aunt Cora is next on the death wish list, slashed to death whilst being levitated over the staircase after popping round with a cake.

Luckily no-one seems to notice until Oliver wakes up one night to find Susan sitting in a chair spouting gibberish and sporting a pair of comedy horns on her now donkey like head.

Terrified he runs down stairs and quickly calls their old friend and family psychiatrist Dr. Simon Andrews (Burton from Simon, King of the Witches which scarily is actually sitting on my desk as I type this) to ask for help.

It seems that Susan had a few mental health issues as a child due to her dad dying whilst trying to exorcise the demon that had possessed her mother.

Turns out that according to family legend a demonic curse has been passed down the female line of the Nomed family ever since some bizarre incident involving a crown of thorns (what? another one? - maybe this is important) and a sausage roll way back in 1692.

Anyway with all this demonic possession shite going around and with the movie hitting the halfway point it's time for a wee bit of comic relief so enter (roughly behind the bins) the Farrell's cleaner cum housemaid Elsie (Sanford and Son's Page who bizarrely enough at the start of her career, while performing as a burlesque style stripper in Missouri, was billed as "The Bronze Goddess of Fire" because she could light cigarettes with her fingertips*) who - in either a piece of post-modern comedy genius or ill advised racial stereotyping spends her time rolling her eyes whilst shouting out stuff like:

"There's some strange shit goin' on in this house!"
 
"No more grievin'. I'm leavin'!"

And the classic

"Great googily moogily!"

Whilst running about in high-speed effects whilst comedy 'wah wah' music plays in the background.

I'll not comment.
 

Skulk.

With time - and anything remotely resembling logic - running out, Andrews contacts an old friend and colleague of his, the boyishly barnetted Dr. Roni Logan (Mann) for help.

Which is lucky cos she knows loads about demons and the like.

Bizarrely all she does is rereads the family diary as it turns out that the way to kill the demon and Save Susan is actually written in it.

In English and everything.

Yup it appears that the pesky crown of thorns from earlier is important to the plot and all Adams has to do is place it on Susan's head whilst she's not looking.

This will in turn force the demon back to it's tomb giving our heroes time to then place it on the tomb itself locking the creature inside.

Sorted.

Andrews probably skipped that bit but makes amends by phoning Oliver to warn him that when he returns home from work not under any circumstances to have sex with his wife in the bathroom as her breasts may grow teeth and bite him to death.

Which is fair enough.

"Are you the farmer?"

Meanwhile back at the house an Hispanic bloke (Malave who scarily actually had an acting career of sorts, appearing in everything from A Force of One alongside Chuck Norris to multiple roles in the Barney Miller TV show and starring alongside the 'statuesque' Dona Speir in Fit To Kill) is delivering plants and the like to Susan.

But that's not the only thing he wants to fertilize and he's soon in the kitchen phoning his boss to say he'll be late back to the garden centre as Susan seductively flashes her ample breasts at him.

Don't worry tho' as there's no time for any more uncomfortable sex scenes as Susan has t go shopping for some shit occult based art before the movies climax so she quickly makes the guys head melt before going heading to the mall.

No really.

She actually goes shopping and steals some sub Boris Vallejo fantasy art** - she also kills a bald man by dropping him on a spiky sculpture that just happens to be sitting conveniently  on a picnic table before heading home for a well deserved bubble bath.

It's interesting to note that the mentalism and murders isn't the thing that sends Oliver over the edge but the crap art scattered around the house so to prove his manliness he storms into the bathroom to confront his wife.

"Spice Girls number one for Christmas...MONSTA!"

His anger soon subsides tho' as Susan steps out of the bath and into his arms but as the pair embrace Susan begins to change.

It seems that the demon is aware that Andrews is attempting to steal the crown of thorns from the mausoleum at end its reign of terror.

 Will Andrews succeed?

Will Oliver get eaten by the terrifying tittie teeth?

Will Susan actually put some proper clothes on?

At the height of the 80s low budget horror resurgence film maker Michael Dugan (director of the classic Raging Hormones and currently making Youtube shorts and something called Chubby Chasers - go figure) decided what the world needed was a new scream queen to rival the likes of Jamie Lee Curtis, Adrienne King and Linnea Quigley so to that end decided to unleash the 'buxom and beautiful blonde actress' (according to IMDB) Bobbie Bresee upon the world in his second feature - after the 1976 family comedy Super Seal - Mausoleum.

Now don't all thank him at once.

A living embodiment of everything terrifying about the 80s - big boobs an even bigger blonde barnet and teeth so white they could blind you, Bresee is the main focus of the movie and Dugan structures the whole endeavor to showcase her talents as she runs the emotional gamut from happy to sad to sexy via sleepy and maybe bashful and it's her powerhouse performance that makes the movie so compelling.

Only joking.

He cast her cos she didn't mind getting her kit off.

But she's not the only one.

If there's a chance that a character can appear topless Dugan grabs it - from 'star' Marjoe Gortner pulling angry cum faces on a faux fur rug to the mightily manbreasted Norman Burton seductively taking a phone call in his bed, we're not even spared the sight of Maurice Sherbanee's sweaty pot belly being on show as he wanders around with the bottom of his shirt unbuttoned rubbing it seductively as he lusts after Bresee.

None of this nudity would be that bad tho' if any of the cast actually looked happy doing it but as it stands they all just appear nervous and wishing they were anywhere else but there.

I just sat watching hoping and praying that the director would realise that if the actors look uncomfortable pretending to have sex or being naked then maybe he'd see that we the viewer will feel uncomfortable watching.

Poor sods.

Except Sherbanee obviously - he seemed to be reveling in his new found freedom.

Creepy bastard.

"Shite in mah mooth!"

This isn't helped by the cast actually coming across as quite likeable - Gortner is his usual inoffensive self whilst Burton and the rest appear to be enjoying themselves (mostly) and Bresee comes across as a likeable enough person out of her depth both onscreen and off which means at time rather than reeling in terror at the horrors onscreen you're cringing like a parent watching your offspring mess up their lines in the school nativity.

Hopefully not whilst naked tho.

Its saving grace tho' is the fantastic make-up FX work from the late great  John Carl Buechler whose career spanned Friday 13th Part VII to Hatchet and everything in between - the gore effects (especially the head explosion and melting man) are top notch and it still gives me a warm feeling to see a full prosthetic bodysuit on screen even if at times it looks more Space Precinct than Pazuzu.

Fairly mad, sometimes bad - frustratingly so at times - Mausoleum is a harmless and fairly pain free way to spend an evening provided you have enough beer and crisps at hand plus for anyone who's ever wonder what a school disco would look like if lit by Mario Bava then the possession scenes will answer that question for you.

And there isn't much higher recommendation than that.












































* She also swallowed fire and touched flaming torches to her naked body during her act as well as appearing on Rupaul's Supermodel Of The World Album and playing Rupaul.s mum in the Back To My Roots video.



**Tho' let's be honest he did produce some utter wank himself....like this Star Wars inspired piece for example:

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 91).

Been rewatching the teevee version of What We Do In The Shadows in preparation for the upcoming second series and had totally forgotten how utterly adorable - and terrifyingly bonkers - Nadja is.

Vampiric perfection.

a little less conversation....

Been a bit of a resurgence in the cult of Weng Weng recently (OK, one person I follow on Twitter mentioned it last week) so thought I'd give his first big screen outing a rewatch.

Bizarrely this was the first ever review posted here from a time where I assumed people would actually read my stuff.

But they didn't.

Ah youth.

Anyway without further ado - and now with added words.....

For Your Height Only (AKA For Y'ur Height Only. 1981).
Dir: Eddie Nicart (yes THAT Eddie Nicart).
Cast: Weng Weng, Yehlen Catral, Carmi Martin, Tony Ferrer, Mike Cohen, Anna Marie Gutierrez, Beth Sandoval and your Auntie Jean.

"How did that midget find out about our operation? That little Weng could put us out of business!"

Whilst visiting the Philippines (no doubt for the cheap crack and whores....no, sorry for a 'science conference') the brilliant - well he did invent the terrifying 'N' bomb - and bearded Professor Bertie 'Van' Kohler (Warriors of The Apocalypse's Cohen) is kidnapped by an evil group of pimp shirted bad men and held to ransom by the notorious Mr. Giant.

So far so usual foreign holiday.

As we all know from watching 'the films' at times of crisis the world can usually call on one man to help and in this case it's the Philippines top secret super spy.

His name?

Weng Weng, or as he's better known 'Agent 00' - a martial arts expert, weapons specialist, randy romancer, smart dressed lady killer and all-around honest to goodness superhero wrapped in a tiny package topped off with a Dario Argento moptop.

Can U dig it?

Harry and Meghan in happier times.

Arriving at Spy HQ, Agent 00 (Weng Weng) receives his orders and his top gadgets - including a poison detecting ring, a radio controlled flying straw hat with a razor sharp brim, a tiny machine gun, a miniature jetpack and a fountain pen which  is pointed out helpfully "It isn't any good if you need to write with it, but we can't have everything." - from 'The Boss' (not Bruce Springsteen, but a jovial, chubby pervy old uncle figure played by Ferrer from the classic Legs Katawan Babae) before setting out to rescue the missing professor and foil Mr. Giant's no doubt evil plans by infiltrating his gang.

And how does he do this?

By stripping off his shirt and wiggling his HUGE erect nipples in front of a sexy lady whilst muttering the immortal chat up line: “Hey, do you want to do it?” of course.

Tho' this might just be crass dubbing.

You can take the piss all you like, that's one more girl than you've ever touched.

As far as the plot goes that's about it seeing as the majority of the movie is just a fantastic mish mash of hair raising stunts (usually involving Weng jumping off buildings using an umbrella or handkerchief as a parachute or jumping over small molehills on a mini motorbike) and Weng dancing to hot disco hits to impress a gaggle of Filipino ladies (including sexy superstar Carmi Martin) intercut with random scenes of our pint sized hero chasing polyester panted (and shiny shirted) bad guys with his flying hat.

For about an hour.

Don't fret tho' because just when you think your brain (or you underpant elastic) can't possibly take any more high octane action (or any more hot loving), Weng finally makes his way to the villains hide out, eliminating most of his henchmen thru' a mix of hot lead and hot punches to the happy sacks before confronting Mr. Giant himself.

And guess what?

He isn't actually a giant at all, you see HE'S A MIDGET TOO!!!!!

Oh.

My.

Sides.

Whoever designed this cover I'd like to shake them by the hand and look them in the eye....before I hurl them of the tallest building I can find.

And with that out of the way, here's the science part.

By the late 70s and early 80s, the era of the sub-Bondian lo-fi double feature fillers was coming to an end.

Spies were old news and whilst the Roger Moore led Bond franchise was still alive (just), everyone else was just using the rudimentary cinematic coathanger upon which to drape the trappings of the genre of the moment, whether that be kung fu (the secret lair and undercover shenanigans of Enter the Dragon) or the soft-core capers in stuff like Licensed to Love and Kill (which at least has a great cast, I mean where else could you find the likes of Nick Tate, Deep Roy and Gareth Hunt in one place?), so it's no surprise that at some point someone would make an espionage exploitation epic featuring a midget lead.

I mean we knew disability wasn't untouchable as far as box office bucks go seeing as we'd already experience the faintly uncomfortable Mr. No Legs (AKA Gun Fighter) and the multi-media sensation that was/is Jay J. Armes but to be honest I'm just shocked it took so long and wasn't a semi-serious endeavor (or hit US teevee show) starring Hervé Villechaize, who was at that point a world-wide celeb thanks to Fantasy Island and had also faced off against Roger Moore in The Man With The Golden Gun.

Tho' there's still time for that to happen, I mean Peter Dinklage isn't that busy at the moment.

Unfortunately (as far as taste goes) the Filipino film industry - aided and abetted by American film producer Dick (of Dr. Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks and Pieces fame) Randall - got there first, casting the little known actor and martial artist Ernesto de la Cruz as the lead and with that the cult of Weng Weng was born with  de la Cruz going on to portray the suave super spy in two further films - The Impossible Kid and Da Best in The West.

If you've not seen them,  The Impossible Kid sees Weng Weng transferred to the Manila branch of Interpol (seeing as he's worn out all the ladies in Govan) and sent in pursuit of the notorious Mr X, a super villain whose head is covered by a giant white sports sock whilst Da Best in The West has Weng and sexy sidekick Gordon investigating the murder of Santa Monica’s mayor.

This movie has one of the greatest climaxes of all time, featuring as it does Weng armed with a Gatling gun mowing down hundreds of Mexican bandits whilst a tribe of dwarf tribesmen launch a counter attack with bows and arrows.

A wee bit like the end of Return of The Jedi but with less arse-banditary.

And wide brimmed hats obviously.

The first attempt at a Ninth Doctor action figure was abandoned after causing mass panic among under tens.

But sometimes truth can be stranger than fiction and there's no greater evidence of this than the fact that due to the  success of For Y’ur Height Only (and the rest), de la Cruz was made an honorary Philippine Secret Agent (and  be presented a custom-made .25 caliber pistol by then Vice Chief of Staff General Fidel V. Ramos) as well as being awarded a special citation for services to the Filipino film industry by the then-first lady (and famous shoe fetishist) Imelda Marcos.

Bizarrely and according to legend the pair got so drunk at the party afterwards that they ended up performing a karaoke duet of My Way in front of a throng of adoring fans.*

There's really not anything else I can add to that is there?**

Good day.

* An unauthorized recording of their performance was later released on bootleg cassette and sold 200,000 copies of which I own six.





**Well apart from the fact that in 1992, at the relatively young age of 34, Weng Weng died of heart attack, a common cause of death among those with dwarfism but I didn't want to end on a downer.

Which I now have.

Sorry.

romay holiday.

Finished up all the FrightFest art for this year so decided to fill my empty, meaningless life by tidying the house.

Yes I know.

Anyway just picked this up (the way one would a particularly vile STD) from behind Cassidy's bed and felt I had to share (ditto).


Les Amazones du Temple D'or (AKA Golden Temple Amazons, Amazons in the Temple of Gold, 1986).
Dir: Alain Payet (AKA James Gartner - yet credited to good old Jess Franco overseas).
Cast: J. R. Gossart, Analía Ivars, William Berger, Antonio Mayans, Stanley Kapoul, Olivier Mathot, Eva León* and Lina Romay.

“ I'm Rena and I will enjoy playing with you!”

Somewhere in the steaming hot jungles of the Amazon (or more likely the park behind the directors house) the sweaty, mouse like missionary Tom Godly (Bra maker Gossart) is surprised one morning whilst on his way to convert the natives when he comes across - stop it - a secret cave hidden in the mysterious Blue Mountains (no, not the ones from that Laurel and Hardy film) that is filled to bursting with large quantities of gold.

Returning to his jungle pad as fast as his skinny Christian legs can carry him and with his pockets bulging with a dozen or so Ferrero Rocher sized nuggets he excitedly tells his fright haired, tombstone toothed wife Greta (Franco's missis Romay in a scarily non-naked film role) that because they are now rich enough that they can give up this Holy lark and retire to Ibiza.

Cagney And Lacey: The Pikey Years.

What he hasn't realized, however is that the cave is in fact a holy golden temple belonging to the local tribe of topless, gold pants wearing Amazon warriors, feared amongst the locals and ruled with a rod of iron by their scary leader Stan Uruk (Berger from The Winds of War).

Well, it's an easy mistake to make.

These bewigged and busty warrior women, discovering that they've been robbed, follow Tom back home, demanding that he give them back the booty or else.

Tom chooses 'or else' much to the chagrin of their evil leader who being one of those guys that justifies every single one of his frankly bonkers - and often violent -  actions with some kinda religion reason (as is the way of these types), not too surprising kills poor old Tom and Greta in a hail of poison arrows and slow motion yelling, leaving their young daughter Liana (fish lipped Franco regular Ivars) to fend for herself in this hostile tropical hell.

Or Govan as we call it up here.

Luckily a friendly monkey and a local tribe take pity on her and help her out which is sweet in a kinda Disney way.

"Fiona! where's mah lunch?"

Jump forward a few years and the church have finally decided to send a new missionary (who scarily is the spitting image of Father Ted, not now obviously seeing as he's been dead about 20 years but you know what I mean) to discover what happened to Tom and Linda.

Better late than never I suppose.

Arriving at their dilapidated cabin he's surprised (there's a lot of it in this movie) to find Liana still living there in all her grown up glory, complete with a faintly embarrassing bubble perm and dressed in skimpy animal skins but luckily still resembling a startled haddock.

Despite being nubile and (half) naked, the missionary has no interest in Liana (well, she's not a wee boy) so he decides instead to read her fathers diary aloud, which as luck (or really atrocious plotting) would have it, conveniently explains all about the gold and her parents subsequent murder.

Which really begs the question as to why, after being run thru' with loads of arrows, he decided to write about it rather than raid the medicine drawer for aspirin or at very least a plaster.

"My dad told me about those cults.
People dressing up in black
and saying Our Lord's going to
come back and save us all".
"No, Liana, that's us. That's Catholicism".
"Oh right".

Upon hearing of her parents fate - she must have been busy when it happened, either that or she has the memory, as well as the looks, of a fish - Liana vows to have her revenge upon the evil Amazon women (and scary Stan) and immediately sets off towards the Blue Mountains, accompanied by her faithful pet chimp Rocky (himself) and a funny tribesman named Koukou
(Kapoul from the Andrea - Nights of Terror - Bianchi classic Maniac Killer).

It's going to be a long film.

Cue an endless nightmare of stock footage animals, Liana's breasts bouncing in slow motion and random shots of a monkey grinning like a loon for what seems like days.

Which is all well and good if you like that sort of thing but not too exciting if you enjoy interesting characters exchanging meaningful dialogue.

All that may be about to change tho' as our terrific trio come across (not literally, tho' in this case it might have been fun to see) a group of explorers out searching for the Golden Temple.

And one of them is played by Emilio Linder!

Now that makes all the difference.

"Laugh Now!"

Anyway back to the plot where I can safely say without fear of spoiling it for those who've yet to see it but they all get to the cave unharmed (and with nay hair out of place or slips of nipple) and with no sense of jeopardy or danger whatsoever.

Tho' this may be to lull us into a false sense of security (or a coma) seeing as soon as they set foot in the cave our motley band are almost instantly rendered unconscious by Stan's eggy fart gas and imprisoned by the Amazon women ready to be used as slave labour in Uruk's secret gold mines.

Or was that The Chuckle Brothers secret lemonade factory?

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

None of these questions will be answered however as there are  more important things afoot, like overly long and totally random scenes of topless ladies in tiny gold pants sword fighting under the watchful (and lustful) gaze of the bequiffed and eyepatched Rina (the frankly magnificent León, best known around here for her top rendition of the top pop tune Una Mujer on the TeeVee show El Hotel de las Mil y Una Estrellas and a woman whose performance alone raises this film to genius level if I'm honest.).

It seems that Rina is a tad upset at Liana turning up and wants her out of the way just in case there's any chance of Uruk choosing our haddock-faced chum as his successor instead.

Luckily Rina has a cunning plan to rid herself of Liana that involves smearing blood on her (stunning) breasts in extreme close up whilst licking soot off various stoned wannabe starlets.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Or just deeply tragic when you realise that this is the high point of the film.

Anyway, will our heroes escape?

And does anyone (except the investors) really care?

I love you.....could it be magic?

Aaah, you can't beat a wee bit of Jess Franco, the late great pensioner perv of quality Eurotrash, unfortunately tho' in this case he only seemed to be on hand to film the fleeting nude scenes (oh and his missis) which means that the usual Franco trademarks - sexy European girls with massive bushes writhing around on knock-off Ikea sofa beds whilst his other half licks tomato sauce of their thighs are all missing, replaced with director Payet's trademark 'point the camera randomly and hope something interesting happens' technique that he honed on such classics as Hitler's Last Train, Captive Women 5: Mistresses of the 3rd Reich, Confessions très intimes d'une petite fille and French Erection.

Eva León: Ask your granddad.

Luckily for us tho' he left his infamous Nazi porn chic obsessions at home this time, which would be OK if he'd at least attempted to add something (anything) else to the film other than a deep depressing hole that radiates out from the screen and into the pit of your stomach.

But why was Franco involved I hear you cry.

Rumor has it that he was just passing by the studio with his shopping one day and popped his head around the door to say hi.

But I like to think that maybe he was on holiday near the location and just stumbled across them filming.

Which would explain a lot.

Except that is why the whole thing look like a nursery school version of Raiders of The Lost Ark, albeit one with loads of wobbly breasts and some sporadic scenes of mindless violence.

Mumbled dubbing, a tinny synth score, a human/cod hybrid in a fur bikini and overlong slo-mo shots of topless women on horseback all add up to the celluloid equivalent of anal warts, just slightly more embarrassing to admit to having let alone enjoying.

I should start a support group.
































*Not this one:

beard of evil.

Just awoke to the news that José Mojica Marins AKA  Coffin Joe has died.

Which has kinda put the dampers on Mrs Unwell's birthday seeing as he's her real dad.

No seriously.

You should check her nails.

So anyway in tribute - and because loads of folk (well one) emailed to find out what happened to him post À Meia-Noite Levarei Sua Alma I thought it was time to review the fantastically monikered:

Esta Noite Encarnarei no Teu Cadáver (AKA This Night I'll Possess Your Corpse, Tonight I Will Make Your Corpse Turn Red, Tonight I Will Paint in Flesh Colour. 1967).
Dir: Jose Mojica-Marins.
Cast: Jose Mojica-Marins, Tina Wohlers, Nadia Freitas, Antonio Fracari, Jose Lobo, Esmeralda Ruchel, Paula Ramos and Tania Mendonça.

Mad as a bag of spanners undertaker Zé Do Caixão (AKA the late great but still warm seeing as he only died yesterday Coffin Joe) having pissed off everyone is his home town with his constant raping, killings and eating meat on holy days has run away to the local cemetery scarily pursued by ghosts (are you getting all this?) and, after hiding in the crypt of his murdered (by Zé obviously) best friend ends up scared shitless by the spirits of his victims.

The pursuing townsfolk arrive to find him lying in a pool of his own urine, all googly eyed and dribbling like a wean.

But, incredibly, still alive.

But still having to answer for all those killings (and rapes and mutilations) Zé is placed under arrest to await his trial.

Luckily for him (but of no surprise to anyone who's seen the first movie), the authorities have no hard evidence and have to let Zé go free.

Heading back to his (newly acquired) castle with his (recently hired) hunchback assistant Bruno Marrs (Lobo, not the DC Comics character) our undertaker pal quickly resumes his mission to find the perfect woman to give him a child.

But being the wacky outgoing guy that we all know and love, Zé forgoes the normal dating channels (such as the internet, Guardian Soulmates and the like) and decides that it'd be easier to just send Bruno out to kidnap the five best looking ladies in town.

Well, the four best looking and their lopsided mouthed pal.

OK if I'm honest he kidnaps the five actresses least likely to complain about having to show their nipples whilst wearing huge black pants.

"Fuck me it's Fred Titmus!"

Always the gentleman, Zé, taking a leaf from late but not lamented TeeVee show Big Brother waits till they've all calmed down and settled in before explaining his plans - which involves torturing them with big hairy spiders, threatening to let Bruno shag them and finally dropping the ladies into a pit filled with large, possibly phallic snakes.

I say possibly because I'm never too sure about that kind of thing, which is why I stick to films with killings in them.

At the end of all this general badness only one woman is left standing, a wealthy, blonde and scarily buxom widow named Marcia (Freitas) who is more than happy to oblige our hero in his quest for an heir.

Which begs the question why he didn't just ask the ladies politely to begin with?

"We've got some great photo's of you without the
hump showing but the bad news
is that we can't get the album shut".

Everything is going swimmingly for Zé and his new squeeze until one day, when our hatted hero is out picking flowers and stuff he bumps into the dark eyed and bullet breasted Laura (Wolhers, star of the underrated Amantes, Amanhã Se Houver Sol) who not only happens to be the daughter of a prominent town dignitary but is as completely fruit loops as Zé is.

Love is indeed in the air.

And from the look of the fog surrounding Zé's home so are a number of eggy farts.

Not too surprisingly her dad and family are furious (tho' not as furious as that fast film with Vin Diesel) so decide to take matters into their own hands hiring some bad men to 'duff Zé up'.

Don't worry tho' because as we all know by this point Zé's nothing if hard as nails and ends up killing them instead.

"Don't forget Zé, Graham and his
team are waiting backstage to help
you with your anger issues should the DNA results
reveal that the beard isn't yours!"

It's only a matter of time before Laura falls pregnant giving Zé an excuse to go into town, get pissed and hand out exploding cigars to everyone but whilst enjoying his new found status as daddy but whilst out enjoying himself he inadvertently discovers that one of the women he's offed earlier was pregnant and not just portly as he'd mistakenly believed.

The thought of killing a child sends Zé into a fit of guilt and rage that not even a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle can cure culminating in dreams of being dragged to Hell by a big, naked black man to witness the horrors that befall cursed souls.

Oh, and a load of buff, thong wearing muscle men with their arses painted red.

 

Inside Michael Gove's mind.

It's at this point that things start to go from bad to very bad for our coffin carrying chum as Laura loses the baby, causing Zé's somewhat tenuous grip on reality to slip even more whilst the local law enforcement folk start to put two and two together (finally) with regards to all the killings and general badness that's been occurring in the local area since Zé moved in.

There's only one course of action left to the top hatted terror and that's to scarper into the swamp....

But has Zé's luck finally run out?

"Tonight I will make your corpse turn red, but
not before I've turned your
mooth a shitey brown colour!"

The second part of Jose Mojica Marins 'Coffin Joe' trilogy offers more of the same mix of violence, philosophy, nudity and murder but on a much more polished scale.

Like a Marvel Comics re-imagining of the character of Joe, the movie adds a hunchback butler and spooky castle to the mix giving our anti-hero an almost Doctor Doom feel and the plot, whilst an almost carbon copy of the first movie, seems bigger and brasher expanding to a point where the character of Joe moves from being 'just' an evil bogeyman figure to become the whole reason for the films existence.

And the horror genre is all the better for it.

Everything about Esta Noite Encarnarei no Teu Cadáver is so unique and different from anything else being produced at the time, from the juxtaposition of the hand scrawled animated credits flashed over a frantic display of images against the classic gothic look of Coffin Joe himself, it becomes obvious that you're experiencing a film created by a true visionary and a master of storytelling.

And if any director deserved recognition outside his chosen genre then it's Jose Mojica-Marins, that brilliant yet utterly bonkers Brazilian eccentric, loved and hated in equal measures in his homeland where he's viewed as either a god or an living breathing incarnation of his on-screen persona.

The church to this day still vigorously attack his anti-religion stance and his ongoing theme of ethical beliefs and religious principles, and at the centre of this we have Coffin Joe and his quest to cement his ideal of man's place in the hierarchy of heaven and hell, violently confronting and challenging blind conformity and ultimately to prove man's superiority over God himself.

Pants.

Tho' Marins would quite possibly say I was talking utter bollocks and that he just makes the wee horror films to scare the weans shitless.

If this is the case then fair play to him, but I really do believe that we need directors like Marins working in our beloved genre.

And that the world in general deserves a character such as Coffin Joe, today more than ever.

God bless you sir, you will be missed.

13 March 1936 -
19 February 2020

in living colour*.

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

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

video naschy.

I love Paul Naschy.

I love Maria Kosti.

I love corpses.

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

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

I wont say too much about it tho' because:

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

B. I'll make it sound shit.

but more importantly

C. I really can't be arsed.

Enjoy.

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

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

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

Which is nice.

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

BBBBZZZZZ!!!!

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

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

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

And whores obviously.

Blood on mah thigh!

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

Or even the killer.

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

No, really.

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

Or any viewers left to care.

Title.

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

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

The result is, shall we say interesting.

George and Mildred: The Yewtree years.

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

Especially the ties.

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

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

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

Recommended.