moonshed.

Last night was the night of our weekly FaceBook watchalong and this topped the online poll as to whayt we were to view* so thought I'd dig up this old review for anyone who joined in.

Or didn't.

Excuse the distinct lack of 'laugh now' and 'shite in mah mooth' comments as believe it or not this was originally written for publication in a proper magazine.

You know one with actual writers and everything.

Fuck knows how I got that gig.

Anyway as ever enjoy.

Moon Zero Two (1969).
Dir: Roy Ward Baker.
Cast: James Olson, Catherina Von Schell (AKA Catherine Schell), Amber Dean Smith, Simone Silvera, Warren Mitchell, Adrienne Corri, Ori Levy, Neil McCallum, Dudley Foster and Bernard Bresslaw.

"I'm always at a disadvantage when I haven't got any clothes on!"

The year is 2021.

Which is scarily nearly now.

Man has visited Mars (it was shut) so decided instead to concentrate on colonizing the moon, where regular shuttle flights bring prospectors from Mother Earth all hoping to lay claim to its mineral riches.

At the arse end of space type jobs are the hardworking crew of space tug Moon Zero Two; the sexy comb-overed, ex-astronaut William Kemp (seventies scifi regular Olson) and his porn mustachioed co-pilot, Karminski (Levy from Entebbe: Operation Thunderbolt ) who earn an honest crust salvaging space junk.

Tash, brash and a butchers shop window yesterday.

Landing at the originally named Moon City after picking up a satellite constructed entirely from egg boxes, Kemp comes across an old space captain pal (and useful fountain of exposition) from his space hero days who, after pointing out that Bill is the best pilot ever, offers him a job as a passenger pilot for the Corporation.

Being a cool rebel dude, Kemp flatly refuses the offer, saying he's happy as an intergalactic Steptoe (or Sanford for our American friends) and heads off for a shower, giving his pal enough time to bump into the rich, powerful (and patently evil) J.J. Hubbard (Alf Garnett himself, Mitchell) and his sexy entourage.

But more from them later.

With a running time of only 100 minutes and having a lot to fit in, Bill's shower is interrupted by the arrival of the shapely (and frighteningly torpedo breasted) Miss Clementine Taplin (uber sexy and doe eyed Schell, better known as Space:1999's Maya) who's turned up on the moon looking for her brother Wally.

Tho' why she thinks she'll find him between Bill's manly buttocks is anyone's guess.

Schell: I would. Twice. And my Granddad probably did.

Bill isn't too interested in Clementine's dilemma but realizing that she's the best looking (and least whorish) of all the girls onscreen he decides to give her not only the grand tour of the city but also takes time out to explain every detail regarding mining on the far side of the Moon before suddenly dumping her outside a space boutique.

This is because he has a previous engagement with his girlfriend (well, I say girlfriend but she looks more like his auntie), United Nations Bureau of Investigation Agent Liz Murphy (A Clockwork Orange's Corri) who's dead angry because she's spent the last two hours hanging about in her pants waiting for a shag and is now late for work.

It's for this reason (possibly) she threatens to ground his ship.

Being a real man Bill deals with this rejection by heading off to get pissed but is interrupted by a big butch bastard with a bowl haircut named Harry (Carry on God and former Ice Warrior Bresslaw), who insists on taking Bill to see Mr Hubbard.

But not up the casino.

It seems that Hubbard needs an experienced pilot to divert an asteroid (composed entirely of the ceramic crystalline form of corundum aluminum oxide - sapphire to me and you) so it'll crash on the far side of the Moon.

As you would really.

Tho' this would be breaking about ten very serious space laws, Hubbard sweetens the deal by offering Bill a brand new spaceship.

A big silver one with fins and everything, like on the poster.**

Hel-mets.

The next day, accompanied big Harry and the weasley Whitsun (Foster) Bill takes off for the asteroid in order to set up the three engines that will alter it's orbit and send it crashing into the moon.

The only problem is that because he got the engines from the pound shop, Kemp has to stay on the asteroid to fire them manually (well, hit them with a hammer) then jumping off the big lump of rock before it starts moving too fast.

This is called 'the science' and may come in useful later.

When Bill returns to Moon City he heads straight to the bar, finding a very worried (yet still incredibly sexy) Clementine drinking alone with neither hide nor hair of her brother.

Grateful of a sympathetic ear (and a shiny head to look at) she explains that nobody has seen her errant sibling for several months and unless he can register his recent mineral claim within the next forty eight hours he'll lose everything.

Batting her luscious eyelashes Clementine asks if Bill fancies taking her where the sun don't shine (the dark side of the moon, not up the shitter) to find out what's happened.

Our hero, obviously delighted at the prospect of taking Clementine over the craters agrees, however Harry has different ideas and a (very slow) fight ensues in which the bars gravity is turned off and everyone walks around pretending they have porridge legs.

"I wouldn't want that zooming up my arse".

Quickly leaving the scene of the crime, Bill and Clementine arrive at the local cash and carry, Farside Five and realizing the cost of the optical effects needed to fly the ship to Wally's land, decide to hire a moon taxi instead.

After a long and uninteresting journey punctuated by even more back story, the duo arrive at Wally's mining site, only to find his shed empty and his lunar digger covered in cobwebs.

Oh and his corpse standing behind a rock ready to fall on the next person who touches it.

What originally appears to be a simple case of bad luck takes a sinister turn when three garishly clad hitmen turn up and try to kill the terrific twosome, forcing Bill to unload his own weapon into their faces before stealing Wally's digger and quickly heading back to the shops.

Unfortunately the fan is broken meaning that Clementine has to strip down to her undies for a bit.

Arriving safely back at Farside Five (and now fully clothed), our heroes find a still grumpy Liz waiting to arrest them for taking part in the crap fight earlier.

Bill quickly explains that Wally Taplin has been murdered - to death - before forcing the tubby base supervisor into confessing that it was him what done it.

"Fuck me! a wasp!"

Just as the fat man starts to sing who should turn up but Hubbard ready to fill the rest of the cast in on the full story behind the asteroid job.

But not before he shoots lippy Liz (no loss there then) and threatens to fill Clementine's face with hot lead.

Bastard.

It transpires that the asteroid's final destination is slap bang in the middle of Wally Taplin's mining site, Hubbard paid to have him killed so that he can grab the claim for himself and be even richer.

His maniacal laughter is still filling the air as Moon Zero Two blasts off toward the asteroid ready to set the knock off engines for it's final journey to the moon's surface.

In a matter of minutes they've reached their destination, giving Hubbard another excuse to gloat whilst Bill fiddles about with some wires (and sweats a fair bit).

Karminski and Clementine, meanwhile, are struggling bravely to regain control of the ship.

This involves making it lurch a wee bit before shooting a couple of folk and staring worriedly at Bill who, remembering the trouble with the engine earlier, shouts "Look out behind you! Swans!" before slamming it with a wrench really hard and finally leapfrogging over Hubbard and Witsun leaving them hurtling towards the moons surface.

Sorted.

Heading back home and with his girlfriend dead, Bill's only option is to ask Clementine for some sex.

And the cash for a new spaceship.

"Sorry I farted!"

Riding on the coat tails of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Hammer Films one and only foray into the world of the space western features the two things that would elevate Kubrick's movie to classic status.

Namely a sexy lady in space undies and a crudely animated title sequence featuring two badly draw ball headed astronauts fighting over whose flag should be up on the moon.

I mean, imagine how much less pofaced Stan's film would be if the entire 'Dawn of Man' scene had been hand drawn by under fives.

And been given a swinging 60's beat.

Am I allowed to say sheer genius?

"Shite-ski in mah mooth-ski comrade!"

No big black Stickle Bricks, dodgy drug fueled trips and deep comments on mans place in the universe for this movie, just a good old fashioned jewel heist jazzed up with brightly coloured rubber spacewear, go go dancing, a variety curvy hipped 60's vixens in multicoloured wigs and a collection of oh-so slightly miscast British comedy stars in semi-serious roles.

Oh, and I'm not too sure if I've already mentioned it, Catherine Schell in a skimpy bra and pants.

And if nothing else, director Baker should be applauded for having the audacity to even consider attempting to make a huge space epic on a typical Hammer shoestring budget and, despite it's 60's paraphernalia and almost fetishistic use of plastic shiny thigh boots, at least trying to use a little bit of 'the science' in regard to the space travel bits.

Catherine Schell: Smooth milky thighs
you could quite happily ski down.

Brighter than Outland, sexier than Alien and considerably shorter than Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Moon Zero Two deserves to be seen by a much wider audience than it has till now, cos no doubt poor James Olsen wouldn't say no to the cash.





*This was the other choice.




**Look at it, I mean how cool is that?

cod only knows.

A few years back I came across (quite literally in this case) this little beauty looking all lost and forlorn on the shelf of my local charity shop and although I already own it (and let's be honest which self respecting film fan doesn't?) I couldn't just leave it sitting all alone so I just had to purchase it.

Plus I needed to break a tenner for my bus fare.

Anyway upon returning home I popped it on the shelf - in between Piranha 2 Flying Terror and Humanoids From The Deep if you must know - and promptly forgot about it.

Cut to today and I was at a loose end (due to no fucker wanting to hire me at the moment) so I decided to dust my shelves and voila!

Hope it's as good as I remember....

Creatures from the Abyss (Aka Plankton, 1994)
Dir: Al Passeri (AKA Massimiliano Cerchi)
Cast: Clay Rogers, Michael Bon, Sharon Twomey, Loren De Palma, Ann Wolf and the legend that is Deran Sarafian.

“Damn it! Who opened the radioactive container?”

Enjoying a quiet vacation (as our Yankee cousins say) in Florida, an infinitely punchable group of all American 'teens'; horrible haired geekboy Mike (Rogers looking for all the world like a genetic splicing of Simon LeBon and James Spader gone awry), mumsy Margareth (Twomey, she of All Creatures Great and Small, A Fish Called Wanda and the classic Spiando Marina fame), Shane Ritchie wannabe Bobby (council estate Zach Galligan, Bon), the peachy of arse yet scarily large of face Julie (Wolf) and her cutesy (in a human/My Little Pony hybrid way) Dorothy (DePalma - the director of Carrie dragged up for a rare acting role possibly) decide to hire a motorboat (well, a tiny dingy) and head out for a wee bit of salty sea based fun and frolics.

"Shite in mah....oh, right."

Running out of gas in the middle of the ocean things go from bad to very bad for our fabulously fashioned five as they're hit by a freak storm (well, buckets of cold water) then come across a floating plastic corpse that looks uncannily like Nigel Farage before almost crashing (if a dingy can crash) into a handy Oceanographic Research Vessel.

Which by the state of the decor is also used as a part time knocking shop.

Climbing aboard in the hope of getting dry, a free meal and, in Bobby's case, laid the teens discover that the entire ship is deserted save a pube bearded, meth-headed, fish fiddling tramp in a lab coat, a couple of dead scientists in a diving bell and a laboratory full of cheap neon tubing and shit loads of frozen, mutated cod.

And a haddock with a hard on.

No....seriously, but I'll get back to that later.

Not wanting to let such piffling details get in the way of a good time the girls decide to raid the kitchen and rustle up a tasty fish supper whilst the boys scout around the cabins looking for condoms, value label booze and crisps whilst posing in mirrors and flexing their muscles.

Laugh now.

Much later - and after gorging themselves on Aldi fishfingers, potato waffles and cheap gin our fabulous fivesome whilst having a(nother) nosy around discover the crews stash of shitey Euro-pop Cd's so decide to indulge (and debase) themselves further by having a makeshift disco, which if nothing else gives us a chance to admire Twomey's killer moves.

Oh and DePalma's fake tanned arse as it valiantly tries to break free of her tiny swimsuit.

Unfortunately the party is interrupted when the tramp (obviously sick of Margareth's appalling Wigfield impersonation) decides to violently (is there any other way?) bite her before legging it down a corridor whilst giggling like a loon.

Ouch.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Having avidly viewed every episode of Love Boat and thinking that this is a rather strange way to behave at sea, Mike heads off to the lab in order to find some answers.

Luckily he's studying Ichthyology at college enabling him to figure out that the photo's of fish playing cards and wearing hats isn't normal.

Could someone have been tampering with nature?

Meanwhile Dorothy has come down with a really bad case of sickness and diarrhea, puking and shitting dayglo vomit and wriggly sea worms all over the ships spotless bathroom.

The friends decide that all she needs is a good lie down (well, it works wonders for me when I'm shitting haddock) and after tucking her up in bed the pals go their separate ways; Julie finally slips out of her horrendous pink, polka dotted Bratz style swimsuit and into a soapy shower as bad boy Bobby grumpily wanders around with a bulge in his pants whilst heroic (alright, just plain nosy) Mike and Magareth head back to the lab in order to find out more information on the strange fish and hopefully advance the plot

"Kayleigh is it too late to say I'm sorry?
And Kayleigh could we get it together again?
I just cant go on pretending that it came to a natural end".

After what seems like an eternity of Mike examining hundreds of frozen (re: model) fish inter-cut with flashes of Julie rubbing her soapy breasts, something finally happens.

But probably not what you (or I) was expecting.

Margareth, believe it or not, is attacked by a mutant fish that flies (using it's fins - and some industrial thickness wires) out of a cupboard and attempts to have sex with her.

No, really.

This is the final straw for Mike, who goes a wee bit mental and starts smashing everything with a handy big stick, covering first Margareth and then Bobby in a sea of gooey white yoghurt.

Calming down, Mike reckons that they could all do with a rest and sends everyone off to their cabins before heading back to continue his research into what the hell's going on.

No need.

Finding a computer file cunningly named "What the hell is going on" Mike discovers the horrifying truth behind the bases experiments.

Now pay attention, here comes the science part.

According to the professor, the local fish have been lunching on radioactive plankton causing severe mutation as well as giving them hyper-sexual genitalia and a taste for human flesh.

In layman's terms this basically means that the whole place (or plaice) is full of horny, cannibalistic flying fish hell bent on shagging the arse off you before lunching out on it.

And if that wasn't enough to scare the bejesus out of Mike then the fact that the professor and his cohorts, when given the choice between destroying the whole shoal of them or injecting the plankton into themselves before indulging in a wee bit of swinging with the fish decided to choose the latter.

Which makes then either sick or pretty damn forward thinking depending on how much you find the thought of cuddling with a carp a turn on.

"Is it in yet?"

Whilst all that sick filth is being uncovered, Julie has decided that a wee bit of 'the sex' would cheer everyone (well, her and Bobby) up, so doing her best slinky walk (you know, cartwheeling down the stairs and the like) enters Bobby's room to see if he's up for it.

Snigger.

Coming across like a sweatier, less punchable Jeremy Hunt he works his magic on Ms. Moonhead as she stands giggling, coyly stroking a gnome shaped table lamp with a huge gold painted cock sticking out of it.

Just as you thought the sexual tension couldn't get any more electric the pair pounce on each other with a loud grunt and an almost inaudible fart.

Tentacle rape: It's Japanese for Hello.
Allegedly.

As the shagging gets noisier and squelchier and Julie's face goes from mild indifference to 'have I left the gas on' she begins to notice a rather rank and fishy smell in the room (judging from the look of her it'd make a change from stale piss and yeast) followed by loud plopping noises and throaty growls.

Looking up at Bobby she's fairly surprised to see that he's transformed from a jovial Alfie Moone-alike into a giant tentacled rape fish, dripping all manner of liquids as it thrusts stiffly at her naked and glistening spreadeagled form.

Luckily for Julie (not so for the Bob-beast tho') Mike and Margareth burst in at the moment of climax, scaring off the rape fish using a plate of chips and a salt shaker.

Mike, calm as ever announces that it would probably be in their best interests if they leave the ship quick-style, but as is the way in these situations, the fish have other plans.

And before you ask, yes I did feel strange typing that.

The storm outside is getting worse and, if that wasn't bad enough, it turns out that when poor Dorothy got bitten the fish passed on it's mutant cells to her via it's saliva.

Which begs the question, do fish actually salivate?

We may never know the answer to that age old question because Dorothy suddenly transforms into a freakishly horse-faced crab lady and tries to kill Mike.

It says a lot for De Palma (but more likely about me if I'm honest) when you realize that this is the most attractive she - or anyone else for that matter - has looked throughout the whole movie.

Julie, who's spent the last fifteen minutes searching for life jackets and tissues isn't doing too well either, noticing as she does that she's suffering from terrible wind and tummy ache, almost as if there was something growing inside her.

Yuck.

Sure as dammit it's not long till she starts firing forth hundreds of teeny tiny fish babies from her lady areas before collapsing in a sticky heap.

Now only Mike, armed with a few candles, some duct tape and a box of worms, remains alive to defeat the frisky fish menace....

Fonts.

I'd love to have been at the meeting when writer Richard Baumann pitched this idea to Massimiliano (director of such classics as Flight to Hell and, ahem, Satan Claus) Cerchi.

Imagine the scene; Baumann, his shirt undone to his navel revealing an undergrowth of dark, matted chest hair, his action slacks skin tight in all the right places stands with one leg raised on a chair, his musky man odour wafting thru' the room.

Cerchi, clad only in a pair of orange Speedo's, turns slowly in his chair, water glistening on his firm tanned chest.

"Hey baby" drawls Baumann, "do I have a great idea for you....We take the best aspects of The Thing plus Piranha 2: Flying Terror, add a dose of the sexy sexy stuff from Humanoids from The Deep but set it on a floating brothel".

Cerchi gently strokes his beard, beads of sweat collecting on his brow.

He leans forward, his mouth almost touching that of Baumann.

"It soundsa great Richie!" His hands reaches out to caress Baumann's smooth inner thigh "but instead of your normal monster can we have horny tentacled Cod that do the dirty, dirty with da laydees?"

Baumann shows him the story outline.

It's the very same idea.

Their lips touch and their tongues intertwine, rolling onto the heavy shag carpet of the office the taste of success mixed with saliva in each others mouths.

Or something.

"Howdya like dem apples?"
(by apples she means breasts obviously).

Shot like an early nineties soft core teevee movie and with acting to match, Creatures from the Abyss is a gaudy and tacky exercise in exploitation dressed in day-glo market stall clothes and poundshop Lolita-esque swimwear topped of with the finest collection of footballers perms this side of a Liverpudlian street market.

The uniformly harsh faced cast blindly stumble from one scene to another as if on a mixture of Prozac and crack, faces frozen in permanent surprised as they're asked to deliver reams of nonsensical dialogue covering everything from Porky Pig impressions to in-depth discussions on the sex drives of irradiated homosexual fish and all whilst attempting to look cool and sexy in a variety of outfits that would make a colourblind Barbie doll vomit.

Honestly the constant sex talk (which lurches drunkenly between person and fish based shagging) is about as erotic as the thought/memory of being roughly touched up by a drunken carpet fitter in a filthy, kebab strewn phone box.

By the end of the movie you're willing to sell your soul (and your arse...again) just to see these monsters that have cruelly violated your entertainment genes die slowly and painfully before your eyes.

The US DVD cover....
scarily managing to feature
someone even more unattractive
than the film's actual cast.

You have to give Cerchi and Baumann their dues tho' and not only because they had the balls to commit this to celluloid.

The aforementioned fish rape (a crime that in reality goes too often unreported)  for example is handled subtly and with a totally non-sensational approach whilst the bed wettingly realistic stop motion monster that menaces poor old Clay Rogers at the movies climax haunted my dreams for, oh, minutes afterwards.

Plus if the thought of a dumpy, moon-faced actress covered in KY jelly writhing under a huge foam latex Sea Bass with a cock the size of a small child thrusting erotically between her legs does anything for you - and who here hasn't imagined that at sometime? - then this may be your perfect film.

Buy it, watch it, enjoy it but don't tell your friends.

Hmm....I really should have thought of that before I wrote this shouldn't I?

bad monk house.

Got this as part of the Anchor Bay (RiP) boxset about 50 years ago but have never gotten around to watching it.

Until now.

True story.

Haunted House of Horror (aka The Dark, Horror House, 1969).
Dir: Michael Armstrong.
Cast: Frankie Avalon, Gina Warwick, Jill Haworth, Julian Barnes, Mark Wynter, Carol Dilworth, Richard O’Sullivan, Dennis Price, George Sewell, Robin Stewart, Veronica Doran and Clifford Earl.

"the way you dig blood you'd think you were a vampire."

It's 'swinging' 60s London and what better place to start our story than the hip 'n' happening Carnaby Street where the girls are all dishy dolly birds and the guys are all groovy go-getters.

And every single one of them looks like they're just the wrong side of their 30s.

Well it's either that or they've all had fucking tough paper rounds.

In the midst of all this mod-ish madness we meet the raven haired temptress Slyvia (Warwick - not the castle but an actress who once played a librarian in The Champions) who inbetween fixing the wigs on a variety of shop window dummies is desperately trying to find a way of convincing her OAP ex-beau, the sinisterly named Uncle Bob (Sewell on his day off from UFO) that she doesn't fancy him any more.

You see it seems that since the pair split up poor old lovelorn Bob has been following her about in his car whilst telling Slyvia that she'll never get away from him.

Obviously back in the 60s this kinda thing was just seen as playful flirty bantz and not the kind of behavior that, today, would get you locked up.

Ah more innocent times.

To add to her woes it also appears that the fella she actually does want to have stick something in her is actually dating another girl.

Enter - roughly and from behind - the boy in question, the swoonsome Gary (ex-popster Wynter)who is currently enjoying a coffee with the aforementioned girlfriend Dorothy (Dilworth who scarily looks just like Lucy Porter if drawn from memory which was quite disconcerting I can tell you and not just because I have a fairly unhealthy crush on her*) whilst discussing the party being held that evening by their American pal Chris (Avalon taking a break from all those Beach Party flicks by spending his days off in rainy Ealing, each to their own).

Unfortunately Gary remembers that he has a stag do that evening so Dorothy will have to go without him, tho' he promises to turn up late and not be drunk.

Porter - Cabin.

Later than evening and very drunk, Gary finally arrives at the party (after an incredibly realistic stag party that consists of 4 guys standing around a piano singing sub-Blur ditties whilst cradling glasses of bitter) and proceeds to collapse into a bed whilst his pals - including Peter (Robin's Nest star and Brit TV royalty O'Sullivan), his girlfriend Madge (Council estate Wendy Padbury Doran) and Henry (Stewart from Legend of The 7 Golden Vampires and Bless This House) - cover for him.

Dorothy meanwhile and none the wiser that her beau is back continues to stand in the corner licking piss off John Nettles.

Back at the creepy sugar daddy stalker subplot, Sylvia has also just arrived at the party thanks to a lift from Bob and almost immediately attempts to snog Gary but being a nice man - OK being really drunk - he refuses, offering instead to maybe shag her tomorrow when he's sober.

What a guy.

With Slyvia onto a promise she excitedly leaves the bedroom to enjoy the happening party atmosphere only to realise that everyone is sitting around bored senseless and getting totally shit-faced in an attempt to alleviate the boredom, you see it turns out that Chris' party is in fact utter wank and everyone is quickly losing the will to live.

Tho' to be honest I'm not too surprised seeing as they do only seem to have one record and then the only real entertainment seems to be watching Madge creepily undulate in what looks like your gran's babydoll nightie.

Luckily the sinisterly fey Richard (Barnes who you may recall as Jeff Gilbert in Crossroads for a few episodes in 1976) has a plan to add a wee bit of excitement to the proceedings - both on and off screen - and to this end suggests that they take the party to a nearby haunted house and tell spooky stories.

As you do.

So the (main) cast grab a few crates of booze and head out, much to the annoyance of Chris' girlfriend Sheila who, it turns out doesn't dig haunted houses.

Tho' she does like blood.

Which is fair enough.

So off they drive to the infamous - and deserted - Baldpate Manor ready to party, unaware that Uncle Bob is following them.

Thanks to the American producers interference this doesn't actually happen in the film, instead we get a shot of a fat lass dancing. Cheers!

It's not too long before the pals arrive at the rundown mansion and have soon broken in and settled onto some handy blankets to hear Richard's spooky story regarding the house, you see it seems that 20 years ago a member of the Baldpate family went mental, chopping up everyone else in the house with an axe before killing himself.

Tho' to be honest it'd be pretty difficult to do it the other way round.

Anyway it also turns out that the killer's ghost is supposed to haunt the old house.

This has an odd effect on Henry who excitedly exclaims "To hell with the drinks, let's all have an orgy!" before looking at a by now smiling Madge before quickly changing his mind and suggesting a seance instead.

A lucky escape there methinks.

Sylvia, being much more 'mature' than her friends (and by that I mean nearly 40) decides she's had enough of such childish things so elects to go home, Gary offers to take her as far as the front porch and with a kiss waves her off into the night.

With Bob in hot pursuit.

Which judging by his 3-piece suit, woolly overcoat and porkpie hat must be very hot indeed.

Don't get too concerned tho' as she's soon hitched a lift home leaving the pervy oldster to go back to furtively smoking behind a tree.

At least some lights are on.

It's all go back at the house tho' the rest of the gang ready themselves for the seance but upon realising that they have absolutely no clue what to do decide to just wander around the place looking for the ghost instead so off they trot into the dark for what seems like hours of folk popping out behind cupboards shouting "Boo!" whilst dropping their candles.

But not their knickers alas.

All this tomfoolery soon comes crashing to a close however when, out of nowhere, Gary is messily stabbed to death by an unseen assailant which kinda puts a damper on the whole evening.

Meeting up in the drawing room and with hysterical ladies slapped and sitcom star vomited (nice gag acting from O'Sullivan) Chris steps in to decide what to do and, after assuming that the killer is 'one of them' (as in a member of the gang not a homosexualist), reckons that rather than call the police and report a murder they must hide Gary's body in a field a few miles away and just forget it ever happened.

No, really.

Thanks to the power of the slow dissolve it's now 3 days later and the local police - led by the inappropriately named Inspector Manley (An obviously sozzled Price) are investigating the disappearance of poor Gary.

The reason that they're so interested in his whereabouts is due to the fact that the year before Gary was involved in a drugs bust where the police found 8 stone of crack in Madge's pants so assume it must be related so to this end they pull the gang in for questioning.

Meanwhile poor old - an I do mean old - Bob is in a right tizzy seeing as Sylvia appears to have lost the cigarette lighter he bought her and it maybe at the old house.

No, me neither.

"And this is all the fucks I give."

With a grumpy shout of  "If they find it it could finish us both!" he stomps off to his car and drives back to the house in order to find it.

And by find it I mean get stabbed.

To death.

As the pals show signs of cracking under pressure, Chris calls a meeting where Peter stiffly suggests that the only way to sort things out is to head back to the house and re-create the night in question.

But with less killings obviously.

And maybe a pot plant in the place of Gary.

Maybe.

Will our groovy gang discover the killer's identity before it's too late?

Is the missing lighter anything at all to do with the murders or just a way to off a cast member to keep viewer interest with a subplot that makes no sense?

Will Dennis Price appear in any scenes where he's not clutching a desk for fear of falling over?

And will the climax make any sense?

Edgar Allan NO more like.

From the pen (and eyes) of cult film royalty Michael Armstrong - amongst other things he's given us the Udo Kier classic Mark of the Devil (1970), the sight of David Warbeck's pert arse thrusting atop Diane Keen in The Sex Thief (1973), the Katy Manning starring sex comedy Eskimo Nell (1975), the Black Country based bad man movie The Black Panther (1977), the Vincent Price, Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing and John Carradine classic House of the Long Shadows (1983) he also worked as an uncredited script doctor on LifeForce (1983) as well as writing and directing the David Bowie short The Image - comes his first full length feature - from a script called The Dark - he wrote when he was 15.

I'll let that sink in, I mean what were you doing when you were 15?*

Exactly.

To be fair he did rewrite it 7 years later so any goodwill we could have is kinda pissed up the wall cos frankly it's pretty shite.

Tho' if you delve into the story behind it you get a tale way scarier - and much more depressing - than anything on screen.

Something about 'thighs' and 'limits' possibly.

Originally pitched as a story that explored "The dark psycho-sexual themes reflected in the current cynical underbelly beneath the superficial 60s culture." and with David Bowie penciled in to play the killer, the script was recommended to Witchfinder General and Repulsion producer Tony Tenser who immediately set up a deal with American International Pictures (famous for their Vincent Price starring, Roger Corman produced Poe movies) who after much thought and bags of potato chips insisted that it be shot (cheaply) in the UK, have a couple of American actors in it for 'international appeal', feature way more sexy stuff and star Boris Karloff.

Karloff would have played the role later taken by Dennis Price and not the sexy male lead obviously tho' being close to death at the time he turned it down.

Which was a blessed relief for him seeing as he got to make the slightly more entertaining Curse of the Crimson Altar instead.

Even tho' it was the year before.

I probably just mentioned it as no-one seems to have read my review.

Anyway for that part Armstrong suggested Ian Ogilvy but American cash meant an American lead so to this end Frankie Avalon was cast, scuppering any chance of an appearance by David Bowie in case the pair "didn't get on".

Tho' it was more likely that Bowie wouldn't have been seen dead in the collection of ghastly turtlenecks (topped off with a  nice mustard coloured V neck sweater) that Avalon is forced to wear.

Seriously he looks like the shittest Captain Kirk kissagram ever.

Even more so than Chris Pine.

Ask yer mum.

Further rewrites ensued as more and more saucy sex stuff was added and then removed (alongside most of the plot) until all that remained was an essence of the original psycho-sexual slasher hobbled by reams of stilted dialogue delivered by plum-mouthed posh types, one fairly gruesome murder scene and Gina Warwick in a pretty frock.

Which let's be honest isn't really enough to recommend it.

Plus the house isn't even bloody haunted.

What a swizz.

Saying that tho' there is - allegedly - a version where Gina Warwick (and Mark Wynter unfortunately) get sweaty and naked but to be honest I'm not that desperate.










*Lucy Porter that is, not Carol Dilworth, I mean she's old enough to be my gran.

avon's calling.

RiP Paul Darrow.

t-rextacy.

Originally released way back in 1994 on the ragged coattails of Jurassic Park, Tammy and the T-Rex is a bit of a guilty pleasure at Arena Towers - epitomizing as it does everything that was/is utter shit about mid 90s movies.

When I reviewed this originally way back in 2007 I remember saying (well typing but you get the idea) that it would probably fare a wee bit better - and receive a bit more love - if the director had just gone "fuck it!" and made it a gore soaked T-Rex 'n' sex based movie to begin with rather than a poverty row screwball comedy filled with cock jokes and hellish homosexual stereotypes.

So you can imagine my surprise - I'm easily pleased - when it was announced that an R-rated “Gore Cut” had been recently discovered and is getting a world premiere at the Cinepocalypse Genre Fest next month.

Which is OK if you live in the States I guess but not too good for those of us living anywhere else*.

Tho' if anyone would like to pay for me to attend in order to review it I'll be happy to oblige.

If not you'll just have to put up with the very old - and very creaky review from way back.

Don't worry tho' as it's really short, I mean if they couldn't put in the effort why should I?

For those of you reading it for the first time - enjoy, and for those of you re-reading it - I've added a few more "Shite in mah mooth!" captions for you so everyone's a winner.

Except Paul Walker obviously.

And not just because he had to spend the entire shoot encased in a dinosaur suit that the Pertwee era production team would think twice at putting on screen.

Tammy And The T-Rex (1994)
Dir: Stuart Raffil.
Cast: Denise Richards, Paul Walker, George Pilgrim, Ellen Dubin, Sean Whalen, Theo Forsett, Terry Kiser and a big dinosaur.

Fish lipped and shiny haired high school cheerleader Tammy (a pre-Bond - and pre-Botox - Richards) has fallen madly in love with the sensitive yet still manly football jock Michael (a pre-death Walker) and spend her school days gazing adoringly at him from afar.

Unfortunately tho' her mad as a bag of spanners, ex-beau Billy (Pilgrim, best known as the original AJ Chamberlain on CBS's longest running Soap Opera of all time, Guiding Light) is making her life a living hell, stalking her, phoning her and generally being a bad lad who takes particular offense to Michael's apparent interest in Tammy which culminates in a playground scrap where the pair roughly grab each others genitalia to see who will let go first much to the eye-popping amusement of Tammy's black and gay (wasn't it always the way in the 90s?) best friend Byron (Forsett, best known for Street Knight and Street Hawk - poor fucker).

Luckily this only brings the pair together and Michael finally asks her out for a picnic.


As in for sandwiches, crisps and pop 'n' stuff, not just to share a chocolate bar.

Glad that's sorted.

But Billy is lying in wait and upon discovering Michael in Tammy’s room later that evening explodes in a fit of jealous rage and chases poor Michael across town before beating the crap out of him and throwing his unconscious body into the lion enclosure at the local zoo.

Which seems a wee bit over the score if I'm honest.

Fast, furious and fish lipped.

As luck - and plotting - would have it Michael is only slightly (but not quite fatally) mauled and is rushed to hospital under the care of medical mentalist Dr. Wachenstein (TeeVee stalwart and Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood star Kiser giving it 110%) and his 'busty' German assistant Helga (Dubin from Napoleon Dynamite and your dad's bed).

Hearing the terrible news Tammy hurriedly squeezes into her best slut chic outfit and rushes to be at Michael's bedside only to find that Wachenstein - after having a wee fiddle with his bits because he's a bad man - has transplanted Michael's brain into the body of a ferocious T-Rex.

As you would.

Tammy does what any strong independent woman would do in this situation and faints.

As does Byron because he's gay obviously.


But what of poor Michael?

Waking up in his new (tiny handed) body he, quite understandably, goes on a mad killing rampage attacking Billy and his gang at a pool party before squashing the bully underfoot.

Luckily for the crew the 'delicate' animatronics didn't fuse in the water, tho' the fact that the dinosaur can only move it's head ala the Clooney Batman probably means it was a clockwork one.

Either that or a really awful Halloween costume.

There's no time to spend admiring the dino-suit tho' as we're about to strike comedy gold when Helga arrives at the scene and upon surveying the carnage decides to roll the squashed body of Billy up like a carpet.

Oh.

My.

Sides.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Realising that most of the subsequent dino attacks are probably going to end up on the cutting room floor director Raffil plows straight into the romance subplot so has Michael kidnap Tammy and take her to a secluded hayloft just out of town.

Tho' how he can pick her up in those itsy bitsy stick thin arms is never revealed.

It doesn't take Tammy long to figure out that the horny lizard rubbing against her leg is her beau and so begins a race against time (and good taste) to find Michael a more 'acceptable' body and one better suited to giving Tammy the love she needs whilst dodging the local sheriff and the mad doctor intent on reclaiming his latest creation.

Seriously you get the idea, can I stop now?

Laugh now!

From the director who gave us Mannequin: On the Move, The Ice Pirates and Mac And Me comes a movie that does for the dinosaur what Cruising did for random night club pick-ups.

Tho' to be fair at least after Cruising your dad decided to stay home a wee bit more at the weekend which probably helped save yer folks marriage.

At least till you left home and he moved out to share a flat with his pal Brian from work.

You remember, the flat you couldn't visit because it only had one bedroom so your dad slept on the couch.

Just me then?

No caption needed.

Anyway back to Tammy and the T-Rex - if I must - which is just like your dad's life choices is a cliche-filled, ultra-shite crapfest of equally baffling and oddly schizophrenic proportions that's neither funny enough or blackly comic enough to be any way successful tho' to it's - very mild - credit it does have some scenes that raise if not a wee chuckle then a little bit of bile at the back of your throat.

Yes, I'm talking about the bit where Tammy sexily strips to her 80s style white Madonna basque and suspenders - complete with white fluffy boa in front of a brain in a jar.

A brain she has just poured a glass of champagne over to 'get it in the mood'.

 which she has just poured a glass of alcohol on top of it.



And maybe, just maybe I'd have to mention the scene with the T-rex watching a funeral from behind a bush and maybe even the 'tender' love moments between Tammy and a large rubber dinosaur which were both vaguely amusing but that's about it seeing as most of the alleged comedy comes from some Chuckle Brothers style pratfalls and the fact that Tammy might be sleeping with a dinosaur, I mean just imagine the films standing if the director had show the balls to give us some foxy Denise on dino' soft focus, MOR scored loving.

Or is that just me that gets excited by that thought?

"Shite in mah huge Jurassic mooth you ape descended bastards!"

Worth it only if you're a crap dinosaur fan or get off at the thought of Denise Richards dressed up like your uncles new mail-order 'girlfriend' at Christmas whilst flirting outrageously with a rubber T-Rex.


Or if you have shit for eyes.










































*Tho' if you lived in Italy on it's original release you've probably seen most of the cut stuff seeing as the deleted scenes were reinstated there.

kiss my face.

What better way to relax on a Bank Holiday than with a top quality movie?

Pity then that we decided on this....

KISS Meets The Phantom of The Park (AKA KISS Meets the Phantom, KISS in the Attack of the Phantom. 1978).
Dir: Gordon Hessler.
Cast: Peter Criss, Ace Frehley, Gene Simmons, Paul Stanley (AKA KISS), Anthony Zerbe, Deborah Ryan, Terry Lester, Carmine Caridi, John Dennis Johnsto, Lisa Jane Persky and John Lisbon Wood.

"What do you compute, Space Ace?"
"Insufficient data at the moment, Star-Child!"

Welcome to Magic Mountain, the world's most unpopular and dare I say it, shittiest theme park where the frighteningly plain Melissa (infinitely forgettable TV stalwart Ryan) and her Lego-haired beau - and park employee - Sam (Ark II star Lester) are enjoying a romantic date wandering around the empty stalls and rides whilst holding hands uncomfortably.

It's not all stilted love stuff tho' as the park's business manager Calvin Richards (Caridi from shit loads of stuff) has begun to notice how much cash he's losing so in a fit of pique decides to book the world's (nay the universe's) biggest rock band, KISS to play three nights in the Magic Mountain car park.


This decision doesn't go down well with everyone mind, especially the park's head techie guy, general janitor type and all-around mad scientist, Dr. Abner Devereaux (the creepily craggy cult king Zerbe).

You see Abner is the creator of the parks frighteningly realistic animatronic exhibits (you remember, the ones that are losing them all the cash) and reckons that all the public really need for a good time is a quick look at his stiff, moth-bitten robot monkey jerkily rocking backwards and forwards like Norman Wisdom during his final days and not some spandex clad nonces letting it all hang out whilst wearing their mums shoes.

To prove he knows what he's doing, Abner plans to soup up a few of the parks rides (including the kiddies spinning teacups) with a kinda super-charged energy thing, which would've been a great plan had a group of bad men not decided to sabotage the bumper cars that very day almost killing a group of orphans and blaming the poor doc in the process.

Saying that tho' he may have hired them to do it, I wasn't really concentrating if I'm honest).

Not too surprisingly Calvin sacks him on the spot (but does let him keep the keys to his secret lab hidden below the waltzers, which is nice).

Insert cock here.

Stomping off like a stroppy teenager (or a substitute teacher discovering pics of themselves pissed on t'internet whilst looking up pictures of fluffy bunnies for her class) Devereaux promises himself revenge on the park and it's owners before locking himself away in his lair.

Whilst all this is going on, Mel and Sam are still wandering aimlessly around the park stuffing their faces full of candyfloss and firing airguns at ratty teddy bears.

Suddenly, as if he's just developed some kind of spider-sense, Sam announces that there's 'something wrong in the park.... something I don't understand' (could be anything, dating etiquette, personal grooming, hairstyles that suit a big square face...) and promptly leaves to check 'it' out.

Heading straight to the doc's underground lab Sam accidentally leans on a shelf revealing a secret door leading to an even more secret (and deeper underground) laboratory full of bits of old teevee's, glittery blouses, orthopedic shoes, wooden legs and the like.

What evil plan could Devereaux have up his sleeve?

By a strange (or convenient) stroke of luck, Melissa has been following Sam and she too happens upon the daffy doc's ultra-secret underground lab and is even greeted at the door by Devereaux himself.

Making his excuses and muttering something about brainwashing her date and building evil robotic replicas of KISS the doc sends her on her way. Being a girl she thinks nothing of it and continues her walk no doubt daydreaming about make-up, chocolate and stuff.

Just when you'd given up hope of them ever arriving (or at least checked you were watching the right movie) KISS finally turn up at the park, flying in from the skies and firing lasers from every orifice opening their killer 'set' with the top pop number "Rock and Roll All Night."

 

"KISS my hairy man nipples!"

Watching from afar is Melissa who, after spending a fruitless day looking for her man and forgetting to buy a ticket for the gig has decided that KISS may be able to help her find Sam.

Which makes you wonder why the McCann's never thought of this but heyho.

Unfortunately for her tho' the folk hired as security refuse to let her in (they say it's because she doesn't have a backstage pass but I reckon it's cos her hair looks so shite), just then Gene Simmons raises his head and booms out the words "Star-Child!" in a weird, wibbly wobbly voice, causing Paul Stanley to shoot crimson lasers out of his eyes that penetrate Melissa's mind.

KISS, never ones to desert a damsel in distress take Melissa under their wing (well, glittery capes) and offer to show her their magical talismen (talismen? talismans?....is it really that important?) that give them 'special' powers so reckon that this would be a good time to explain this to the audience.

And what are these powers, pray?

Well Gene (AKA The Demon) has the aforementioned scary voice power and can shoot fire from his mouth, Paul (AKA Star-Child) shoots lasers from his eyes that can read minds, eavesdrop on conversations and blow shit up whilst Ace (AKA Space Ace) can teleport, make bird noises and do handstands (do you have the feeling that they were running out of idea's at this point?) whilst Peter (AKA The Catman) has the ability to be redubbed and appear as a huge black guy daubed make-up and a leotard in longshot.

I'm assuming that these are his actual powers and not the effects of him being way to junked up to do anything other than dribble - and occasionally piss himself - during filming.

Gene explains to Melissa that without this collection of tacky trinkets that they'd become a group of powerless mere mortals with tiny cocks.

Probably.

Leaving the talisman on a shelf near an open window our heroes retire to bed.

Bag o' shite.

Later that evening Devereaux unleashes his secret weapon on the park, a giant robot Gene Simmons intent on smashing up the popcorn stand and abusing (but not in a Gary Glitter way thank heavens) the locals hired as security.

So it comes as no great surprise when the next morning Richards shows up at the bands hotel in a wee bit of a tizz.

Gene, who is busy sunning himself whilst wearing and a long, hooded, silver robe denies all knowledge of the attacks, telling Richards that he was in bed with a cup of cocoa by nine and the rest of the band agree leaving the bizarre question of who it was that really smashed up the park.

Leaving the band to prepare for that nights gig, Richards strikes a deal with the bruised and battered security guys, If they'll let KISS continue with the park shows, he'll let them get revenge on Gene during the after show party.

Could things get any worse for the band?

Well not as bad as it is for the poor sods watching obviously.

Surprisingly the gig goes off without a hitch and after a star-studded show the band retire backstage to entertain Melissa (yup she's still there) with a fantastic acoustic version of "Beth" and enjoy a massive bowl of Opal Fruits.

Little do they know tho' that a brainwashed Sam has been programmed to break into their room and steal the talismen.

The rotter.

Luckily they're protected by a mystical force field, giving KISS enough time to finish scoffing the sweets before giving chase.

After quite a leisurely jog the band break into the park (well, climb over the fence) to entertain the viewers at home with what seems like a six hour slow fight against a variety of robots in a shoddily unconvincing kung-fu style whilst a late seventies wah wah beat plays in the background.

Imagine a junior school version of The Raid that culminates with the good guys stomping on a robot monkey in a scene reminiscent of a high camp version of A Clockwork Orange.

Yup it's that good.

Anyway Devereaux sends Sam (this time armed with a force field nullifying laser gun) back to attempt to steal the talismen again.

Surprisingly this plan actually works leaving KISS (slightly less) powerful (kinda....it doesn't really make sense) and before long they're captured by robots things and locked in a cage where a gloating Devereaux excitedly tells the captive KISS all about his plan for world - well theme park - domination.

A plan that involves replacing the band with robots and giving them hypnotic powers which, when the crowd hears certain (added) lyrics will make everyone go mental and (wait for it) smash all the rides.

Which makes you want to ask, is it really worth it?

No, really.

....And one day we awoke to find that Nigel Farage was in power.

Leaving the talismen on a table next to the cage that KISS are locked in the doc heads off to the concert to oversee his plan as the evil robo-KISS head on stage.

Things don't start off too well tho' as the crowds jeer and boo the new lyrics but as Devereaux powers up his hypno-thing the gathered masses suddenly go silent before getting all jittery and start slashing the seats.

The real KISS, meanwhile, remember the fact that they still have some power even without their gaudy trinkets use psychokinesis to make the talismen spookily fly back in their possession ready to KISS some ass!

Not literally tho'.

Taking to the air with an 'up, up and away!' - helped in part by a fairly small CSO budget -  the band fly to the concert arriving just in time to stop the riot and take down their wicked robot duplicates.

The crowd, thinking it's all part of the show, cheer uncontrollably as eight tubby stuntmen in drag throw each other about by the hair.

Tearing the robots limb from limb before throwing them into the mosh pit, KISS encore with "Rock and Roll All Night" before tracking down Devereaux, who due to the radiation emitted by his hypno-ray has aged over a hundred years and is sitting helplessly in the corner of his lab covered in his own piss.

Some other stuff happens and then it ends.

There was a time (before Bill and Ted revived their fortunes - ask your mum) when KISS were the biggest band in America (over here we had Slade who to be honest could've kicked their arses).

Replacing any determinable musical talent with glittery space persona's and fright make-up the band had already signed to Marvel comics so a movie couldn't be far behind.

Hiring genre veteran Gordon Hessler (director of such classics as Scream and Scream Again, The Oblong Box, Cry of the Banshee and the fantastic The Golden Voyage of Sinbad) may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but on viewing his limp and turgid excuse for 'direction' you can tell his glory days were behind him.

Well either that or he just couldn't be arsed.

Co-produced by Hanna-Barbera (which is really all you need to know) and obviously seen as a way to showcase the band's love of sci-fi (good and bad) this is more panto than pathos with KISS doing little more than standing around whilst obviously ad-libbing most of their dialogue - at least I hope no-one got paid to write this shite - before a team of crap (sorry I mean crack) circus performers take over for the slow fighting scenes and Peter Pan style flying stuff.

Scarily Gene Simmons actually did go on to have an acting career (playing opposite Tom Selleck in the robot riot that is Runaway and as an evil drag queen in Never Too Young to Die) and is now best know for appearing on 'top ten celebrity shaggers' shows sticking his tongue out whilst hinting that he's had your mum.

Which of course is a lie.

It was mine.

Well at least the kids were amused.