bee best.

Just a thought but if Trump is beaten by Biden in November and carted off to prison then Melania is going to need a new job and I can think of much worse things she could do (or has done for her green card) than maybe appear in a remake of this classic.

I mean it's practically her life story already.

Delirium: Photos Of Gioia (1987).
Dir: Lamberto Bava.
Cast: Serena Grandi, Daria Nicolodi, Vanni Corbellini, Karl Zinny, Lino Salemme, Sabrina Salerno, David Brandon, Capucine and George 'The Body' Eastman.

''a woman's anger can be very bad''

Terrifyingly breasted Former model cum part-time porn princess Gioia (Grandi, the big faced star of such quality movies as Anthropophagous: The Beast, Angelina: Lady of the Night and Frivolous Lola), has finally hit the big time with the publication of her cutting edge 'fashion' magazine, the aptly titled Pussycat.

To celebrate, our dirty pillowed darling has hired her hunky photographer brother Tony (Corbellini whom you may recognize from his star turn as Gualtiero Di San Casciano in the fantastic TeeVee miniseries Black Arrow....or maybe not) and his camp as pants assistant, Roberto (Brandon from, um, Beyond Dark) to re-imagine some of the risqué images that made her world famous (well they helped your dad thru' some lonely times) but this time using a hot new lady-model.

Your mum last Saturday night.

Everything goes swimmingly (and I must admit, quite sexily in a kinda eighties way) and the shoot wraps without a hitch, unfortunately, shortly after leaving Gioia's villa little miss model (we'll call her Babs) is brutally (and not to mention bloodily) slain with a rusty pitch fork.

Ouch.

Luckily (for the police, not the model, obviously) this wicked act is witnessed by Gioia's wheelchair bound young neighbour - and part time stalker - Mark (Zinny, long faced star of Bava's Demons and Graveyard Disturbance) thru his telescope that he just happens to have had trained on the swimming pool all day.

Dirty wee sod.

Yes it is Sabrina - you know the one that sang 'Boys -Summertime Love' and the Stock, Aitken and Waterman classic 'All Of Me' - being touched up by mummies in case you were wondering.

Being a nice guy he immediately phones Gioia -rather than the police- with the news.

Tho' it's a surprise that he can find the telephone under the pile of crusty tissues in his room if I'm honest.

Unfortunately our busty babe, thinking it's just another of Mark's pervy phone calls (he doesn't get out much) hangs up on him.

Thinking nothing more of the situation Gioia goes back to work preparing the next big issue (of Pussycat magazine, not the paper that the homeless sell) and trying to contact Babs to offer her another job (this time advertising the cut price undies for the Aldi catalogue no doubt).

With her phone ringing out constantly and no-one having seen her for weeks, Gioia assumes that poor old Babs is on holiday, but this idea is cruelly shattered when not only does her body turns up behind some bins but also an envelope arrives at the 'Pussycat' office containing photographs of the murdered model posed in front of a huge blow up piccie of our Gioia.

"Eye hen!"

From then on it's murder after murder as more and more models on the Pussycat books start turning up dead - and in poses that'd make a whore, or your mum, blush - meaning it's up to police inspector Corsi Manlove (Salemme, another refugee from Graveyard Disturbance and latterly a star of The Passion of the Christ) to find this mammary minded mentalist behind the deaths before it's too late.

Too late for what I have no idea, but you have to admit it sounds good.

Manly.

Corsi is convinced that the killer must be harboring a grudge against Gioia (no shit) and is probably someone very close to her.

Figuratively speaking that is, I mean not actually standing behind her or something.

But who?

Could it be mustachioed man-breasted Alex? (genre god Eastman in a small but perfectly formed cameo that involves him having soapy sex with Grandi in a bathtub) or is it kooky Evelyn? (the ever wonderful Nicolodi, who is never anything other than perfect).

Possibly not.

So how about Roberto who's been seen cruising around the streets at night looking for a nice bit of manarse (and we all know that according to giallo rules homosexuality equals evilness) or is it Mark, driven insane by the constant night time visits by Mother Fist and her five beautiful young daughters?

And don't forget Gioia's bitchy lesbian publishing rival Flora (Capucine from Fellini's Satyricon) who's trying to get her bony old lady fingers into both Gioia's magazine and her silky undies.

Or is it someone else?

But let's be honest here, do we really care?

Once seen, never forgotten - a bit like when you catch your parents having sex - Lamberto Bava's Delirium plays out like some bastard beast-child that sprung from the (sweaty yet gloriously smooth and tanned) loins of Jackie Collins after a particularly heaving drink and drugs session with Joe D'Amato's pet dog.

Whose name I believe was Pascal.

Originally conceived as a star vehicle for one time 'sexiest woman in Italy' Serena Grandi (at that point more famous for her 39D boobs than any of her acting roles), Delirium was written to showcase her fantastic acting range as well as her pendulous breasts and peachy arse, therefore mixing emotional, heart felt drama with a bit of soft core nudity.

Oh yes and lots and lots of blood.

But it's not all killings, cod-psychobabble and boobs tho' as the film has a pretty unique ace up its wizard-like sleeve.

Namely the fact that the killer (due to some freaky medical condition that is never explained) sees all his victims as tho' they have huge comedy paper mache carnival heads.

No, really.

Yup, for no other reason than the joke shop next door to the studio was having a closing down sale the murderer sees one of his soon to be victims with a giant cyclops face (and a nasty seventies bun hairstyle a wee bit like your gran) and, in a scene that will live in cinema as a perfect example of celluloid genius long after you and I have passed on, sees another as having a big furry bee head.

Oh and scarily pointed breasts.

But I have a feeling those are real.

I don't know what's freakier,
the big bee head or the shocking pink wallpaper.

But it's these scenes of bloodletting, bizarro bonces and bouncing breasts that are the films saving grace, because if it wasn't for them breaking the arse numbing tedium of the movie every five minutes you'd have to concentrate on what passes as the plot.

"I'm sorry I have my womans period!"

If, however you manage to make it to the movies end then you'll be happy to know that it climaxes (oooerrr) with a dribbling man cutting off Grandi's flimsy garments whilst pervily whispering ''I want to see you in the nude, one last time''.

And after the amount of times she's flashed her (slightly soiled) wares during the proceeding ninety minutes the promise of no more nudity seems like a godsend.

One to keep you entertained during lockdown.

Or if you're missing your gran.

root it oot.

Since lockdown I seem to be spending far too much of my time wandering around the local woods with our youngest.

Somehow it seemed appropriate to watch this today cos it was really rainy and we couldn't go out.

The Forest (1982).
Dir: Donald M. Jones.
Cast: Dean Russell, Gary Kent, Tomi Barrett, John Batis, Ann Wilkinson, Jeanette Kelly, Corky Pigeon, Becki Burke, Tony Gee, Stafford Morgan, Marilyn Anderson Jean Clark and Donald M. Jones.

'If you go down to the woods today... You might never get out alive.'

Somewhere in the American great outdoors an unnamed couple of the type you only get in early 80s horror movies that have only relatives and neighbours to cast from - you know the types, long, horse like faced women with Farrah flicks and middle-aged guys with stud beards grey chest hair poking thru' an open necked stonewashed shirt a size too small for him - are having fun hiking thru' the woods whilst attempting to chat in a non-stilted manner as an instantly forgettable MoR rock track plays in the background.

Everything is going smoothly, well as smoothly as two non-actors trying to recite dialogue whilst not slipping down muddy banks can go, until that is the lady (Anderson whose post Forest career peaked with an appearance as a Receptionist in a 1983 episode of Dynasty*) gets a feeling of impending dread and a notion of them being watched from the trees.

Her husband (Morgan, best known for his spot on portrayal as an engineer in Die Hard 2: Die Harder), being that kind of guy, poo-poos the idea but in order to placate his missis (in the hope of some tent based todger tickling later) allows her to walk ahead of him so she'll feel less threatened.

No me neither.

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

We don't have to much time to worry about such trivialities tho' as the pair have soon been dispatched by an unseen assailant with a big knife as an even more forgettable MoR track with lyrics about spooky forests blurts out over the credits.

Which I have to admit feature one of THE best home made fonts of all time.

And here it is:

Genius.


Anyway we're soon with the plot good and proper where best buds - handsome hunk Steve (mustached macho man and council estate Tom Selleck, Russell) and the ferret like Charlie (Batis who I think went into Christian-based arts as far as I remember, I'd check but to be honest I can't be arsed) are busy planning a boys weekend away camping in the woods much to their girlfriends - Teddi (Poundshop Cheryl Ladd, Wilkinson - and the thin lipped Sharon (Ex stunt person Barrett) - chagrin.

It seems that the laydees are a wee bit pissed off at the fellas constant digs at women's lib and the like so the pair decide to play them at their own game and go camping by themselves.

Or is it with the guys?

It's kinda confusing if I'm honest.

Anyway the next morn the girls drive off toward the forest but as they chat it becomes increasingly apparent that neither of them have any idea about camping and were only saying they did in order to come across as equal to the men.

Because feminism.

Or a glib generalization of what feminism is according to the (male) director obviously.

Meanwhile the boys are running late due in part to the car breaking down but mainly because it took Steve and hour and a half to fit into his crotch revealing denims so by the time they arrive at the campsite the girls have already set off into the woods, failed to put up a tent, broken a nail and been visited by two mysterious kids and a woman.

Oh and been attacked by a portly tramp named John (Kent, stuntperson and hubbie of Barrett) who murders Teddi before carrying her off to his cave to eat.

Which is nice.

Sharon, in case you're interested escaped by jumping off a (small) cliff into a lake by the way.

Which is probably why they cast a stunt type person.

"To me!" "To you!"

Anyway as night (and the rain) continues to fall Steve and Charlie are still frantically searching for their lady friends but decide that because it's so wet to hide out in a cave till morning and it's here that they too come across (but not in a sexual way, well not yet) the weirdy beardy John who's just finished cooking Teddi and offers the pair a nibble, proclaiming that it's actually a deer.

As the trio tuck in, John begins to tell his tragic tale of woe and how he came to be living in a cave in the woods stinking of piss, you see it seems that a few years back when he worked as a traveling rubber nipples salesman, his - nameless because this film has a really healthy view of women - dear wife (Kelly in her only film role - surprise) spent her days shagging anyone who passed by the house.

Repair men, post men, the paperboy - you name it she let them put it in her which wasn't until one day John came home early to find her in bed with the refrigerator repairman who, bizarrely enough and after an uncomfortable scene reminisce of when my mum got caught with the Jehovah's Witness in the conservatory by my uncle Peter actually pulls on his trousers and does indeed proceed to fix the fridge.

That's your mum that is.

This wanton display of multitasking masculinity sends John over the edge and after beating his wife to death with a table lamp chases the fridge guy around the garden brandishing a variety of sharp edged gardening tools (and a bicycle) before gutting him on a lathe as his children - John Jr. (Pigeon who scarily went on to have a huge career and is best known for playing Freddy Lippincottleman in the hit teevee sitcom Silver Spoons as well as drumming with top pop combos MXPX and Reel Big Fish) and Jennifer (Burke, who may now be working as a customer Account Manager at Aaron’s Sales and Lease Corporation in Texas) look on in apathy.

From there on in he's been holed up in a cave with only his baseball cap and by now very stiff pants to his name.

Bless.

And on that note the boys unpack their sleeping bags and quickly fall asleep.

Which is what I wanted to do at this point thanks to the films 'leisurely' pace.

Less Grizzly Adams more slightly peeved Pete.

 

As morning dawns the pair wake to the sight of John standing over then licking his lips as he gently cradles his man package so making their excuses Steve and Charlie quickly pack up and head of to find the ladies soon finding their destroyed campsite and discarded belongings.

Because lets be honest, it's quite a short film.

"Oh Vic...I've fallen!"

Deciding that something terrible must have happened to cause the girls to leave their make up bags behind the pair split up to continue their search.

Meanwhile down on the riverbank Sharon is busy finding out more about the plot from the pair of spooky kids she met earlier, who it transpires are ghosts.

Fair enough.

It seems that getting bored with living in a cave with their deranged dad and living solely on wild berries and hikers  the pair killed themselves but are now trapped in limbo being chased by the ghost of their mother.

And this, coupled with marrying a whore caused John to turn cannibal.

No, really.

Man murders folk?

Blame a woman.

Or if that doesn't work blame his kids.

"Is it giro day?"

Realizing that the film is almost over the director decides to add a wee bit of excitement so to this end Steve falls down a hill and hurts his leg whilst Charlie stumbles around getting steadily sweatier and more simpering as he goes.

Just when all thought of absolutely anything entertaining happening is forever destroyed who should pop out from behind a tree but the ghost of the dead wife   who - quite politely for a dead slapper I reckon - asks him where her children are.

But as he goes to answer John too jumps out the bushes and attempts to stick his chopper in Charlie, causing ghost mum to vanish and our hero to experience a wee bit of chafing round the thigh area.

As the pair (slow) fight to the death John explains that he's not really a mentalist and only kills campers during the winter when it's too difficult to get to Asda to buy pork, which is OK then I guess.

And with that he drowns poor Charlie in the river.

Which given the state of the film so far is a mercy killing.

Dollar - The Pikey Years.

As John attempts to carry Charlie's body back to his man cave who should arrive but Sharon who, being a girl is quickly is overpowered by John (tho' it may have more to do with his onion breath than his strength) but just as he lunges in for the kill his ghostly weans turn up and beg him to let Sharon live.

And with that he lets her escape.

Will Sharon find Steve or will John go a bit mad again at the thought of lunching out on her tender thighs?

Will anything happen in the scant running time remaining to make watching this anything other than an utter waste of time?

Who knows/cares.

Not director/writer/tea boy Don Jones that's for sure.

From the man behind The Love Butcher, Sweater Girls and Schoolgirls In Chains (oh and who also did the sound on Switchblade Sisters and The Swinging Cheerleaders) comes probably one of THE most incoherently plotted, woodenly acted and crappily directed movies if not ever then definitely of the 80s.

But saying that at least it's in focus and does feature David Somerville 'singing' the fantastically cringe inducing "The Dark Side of The Forest" (with lyrics by Stan Fidel who wrote "Best of Friends" for Disney's The Fox And The Hound fact fans) over the credits so you win some, you lose some I guess.

But if you fancy 80 odd minutes of barely bargain basement gore effects, ghostly kids with haircuts that'd make even Jimmy Savile think twice, bizarro voice overs, a woman who looks like your auntie whoring it up on a camp bed and what seems like hours of footage of two guys arguing in/about traffic then The Woods may just be the film for you.

But I doubt it somehow.

Flick.

It's almost like Jones is purposely trying to scupper any chance the film has to shine, whether it be the almost DOA pacing, aimless wide shots of trees or just the entire nonsensical nature of the plot, at every turn just when you think something interesting might happen the film, like some drunken bloke stumbling home from the pub with a greasy kebab in hand,  just fumbles and staggers across the road before dropping meat onto its shoes and collapsing in an alley.

Probably to get bummed by a tramp in the early hours of the morning.

Only Jones wouldn't show that bit, he'd cut to an empty taxi rank round the corner.

Tho' he'd probably dub the sound of foxes playing in a garden over the footage just to stop you falling into a coma.

Scarily according to the cast he actually remortgaged his house to pay for this so either he was really fucking delusional or he really hated the wallpaper and reckoned that losing his home to the bank was a better option than just burning it down.

Put it in me!

But who knows perhaps the film is actually really meta and is in fact just playing with our preconceptions of what makes a good slasher - I mean we all accept Jason wearing a hockey mask or Leatherface wearing your mums mug so why not a terrifying mountain-based cannibal in a child's baseball cap and a mantit hugging T-shirt?

And sure after The Evil Dead we were spoiled with Raimi's patented 'shaky-cam' and wall to wall grue but who's to say that overexposed static shots of random trees and stock footage of traffic jams isn't the next leap forward in tree-based terror?

Plus after axes, chainsaws and fingerblades what's stopping a jam covered pen knife being a terrifying weapon of death?

Indeed maybe this film is actually cinematic genius and it's me who's wrong.


What the truth is we'll never know for sure cos I'm fucked if I'm going to lose any more sleep thinking about it.



Good day.


























*And I only know this as I own the entire run on DVD.....sad but true.

wet dreams.

Been stuck in the house so long I'm dreaming of holidays which is scary as I usually don't like to leave the house, so thought I'd watch a movie featuring one to remind myself of why I hate them so much.

The Slayer (AKA Nightmare Island. 1982).
Dir: J.S. Cardone.
Cast: Sarah Kendall, Frederick Flynn, Carol Kottenbrook, Paul Gandolfo, Alan McRae and Michael Holmes.

"Dreams don't drag men out of
bed in the middle of the night!"

Copper-topped Kay (Kendall, later to appear in the pivotal role of 'the stewardess' in The Karate Kid Part 2) has been feeling a wee bit down in the dumps the last few months, suffering as she does from almost constant from panic attacks and bad dreams.

Her condition isn't helped by her insistence on wearing Grannie style turtle neck sweaters under tent like jumpers and the fact that her uncontrollable mass of bright ginger hair makes it look like someone has planted a huge red bush on her head.

Luckily her loving hubbie Doctor David (McRae, best known as Parker Simonson in the hit teevee show Santa Barbara and Sam Douglas in the Three Ninja movies) has an idea to cheer her up, so alongside her rat faced brother Eric (directors fave Flynn who also appeared in the Leif Garrett starrer Thunder Alley) and his wife Brooke (the director's wife, the former actor and now producer of such quality fare as 8MM 2 , Alien Hunter and The Covenant, Kottenbrook) decides to organize a holiday  - to a deserted island no less -  to try and shake her malaise.

Which would possibly be a nice idea if she actually wanted to go in the first place.

Eric, being a practical type thinks her mental health problems stem from the fact that her art career is waning but David thinks that it's because of her nightmares.

But we all know that it's that hairstyle that's causing the damage.

I mean I'm only looking at it thru a TV screen and it's scaring the shit out of me.

Not even with your dads.

Anyway arriving on the island by a plane piloted by the creepy ball headed Kim Marsh (Holmes from everyone's favourite Black Day Blue Night ), Kay is shocked and disturbed to discover that she's been there before.

Not in reality but in her dreams.

Scarier still is the fact that the island was the basis for her last few paintings.

Creepsome.

The others tho' are more concerned with the fact that they've to carry their own bags the two miles up the beach to the house that they've rented.

You can tell it's going to be a long week.

"Hey sexy lady! Fancy a wee bit o' mooth shite-in?"

After what seems like days of the foursome whining and walking, intercut with Kay looking spookily off into the middle distance whilst muttering "I've been here before" they finally get to the house.

David and Brooke are content to slag off the paintwork whilst Eric gives us his best rodent toothed smile when he discovers a packed drinks cabinet and a fridge stocked with Petit Filous.

Kay on the other hand is content to stand in the corner shaking like a tall and lanky ginger tree in the wind.

Settling in for an evening of Scrabble and snacks the fun is well and truly ruined before it starts by the re-appearance of Mr. Marsh, who appears to have flown all the way back to tell everyone a storm is coming and they should probably leave.

I'm not too certain but I'm sure he's using the storm as an excuse to warn them about something else, tho' why he didn't just tell them that there was a killer on the loose when they went to book it I just don't know.

Your mum's cum face, trust me I know.

Meanwhile back on the beach the local wino/fisherman/molester of young boys Terry No-Name (former Middle Earth wizard Gandolfo) is busy gutting a carp whilst chatting to himself about getting either a woman or a dog for companionship (pity he's not met Kay, the best of both worlds there) but alas we never find out which he chooses because the conversation is cut short when someone puts a paddle thru' his head.

Ouch.

Not wanting to give us too much excitement we quickly cut back to the holidaymakers who are sitting on the porch sharing booze and thinly veiled insults before bedtime.

Eric is slagging off his sisters paintings, David is looking concerned and nodding sagely whilst Brooke stands around looking fairly plain.

Not wanting to have too much (or any really) fun, Kay just sits there talking about the cat she had as a child.

Seems that a week after she got it the poor kittie was found in the freezer.

She blames a big monster, Eric is sure it was her.

What do you think?

Well, an hour in and the only death has been a tramp on a beach, hopefully the oncoming storm and the broken lift hatch will provide a wee bit of gore soaked entertainment soon because frankly all this artsy angst is giving me stomach ache.

And piles.

Plus the kids are so bored they've taken to rummaging thru the pile of Jess Franco films.

Which is never a good sign.

It's almost midnight (in the film that is not in reality tho' it does feel like it) and the storm rages outside whilst the wind and rain lash against the window panes like a terrible piss stream from an over excited toddlers tiny todger.

David unable to sleep due to Kay's incessant farting decides to get up and have a wander around the cellar hoping to find the source of the loud banging noise.

Don't worry, it's not Eric and Brooke he's already checked.

Heading down to the basement it's not long before poor Davey boy has got his head stuck in that aforementioned hatch before getting it ripped off by some unseen assailant.

On a brighter note it does give Kay a chance to experience a Lamberto Bava based dream sequence so it's not all bad.

So many mooths, so little shite.

Waking the next morning to no sign of David (or any blood), Eric is convinced he's gone to the beach with 'all his cameras' but Kay is sure he's been murdered.

After all, she did have a severed head sex dream.

But then again haven't we all?

The day goes by and David still hasn't returned meaning that the terrific trio finally begin to be a wee bit worried, deciding to search the island for any sign of him.

Or maybe even any sign of a halfway decent plot.

Eric takes the beach and Brooke looks in the bushes whilst Kay checks out the deserted old theatre they passed on the way to the house.

You remember, the one she painted from her dream.

"Put it in me!"

When inside it comes as no surprise to find that hanging in the upstairs room is what remains of her husband, gutted, plucked and swaying in the breeze.

Running screaming to the others it's left to Eric to take charge and find a way to survive this nightmare until help arrives from the mainland.

But who (or what) is the killer?

Could it be freaky Mr. Marsh?

Has Kay finally lost the plot and decided to act out her dreams?

Is it old man Whethers that owns the funfair?

Or has a hideous dream demon of 'laugh now' proportions escaped from Kay's subconscious to wreak terror on the island?

Go on, guess.

Insert choice of laugh or shite based caption here.

The feature debut of workaholic writer, director and producer J.S. Cardone, The Slayer is a nice little non-offensive spooky slasher that would have possibly faded into obscurity had it not been bizarrely placed on the DPP banned list during the 80's video nasty scare.

Pre-dating A Nightmare on Elm Street's dream based monster plot by a few years, Cardone (and co-writer William R. Ewing) go the psychological thriller route rather than Craven's original dream within a dream headfuck, being as they are more interested in the slowly dissolving mental state of Kay than in cheap thrills and gore but feel that the audience would be upset if it didn't feature a wee bit of both.

Whether this approach works or not is up for debate tho the kids thought it was utter bollocks.

The film's biggest stumbling block to greatness (or even averageness) tho' is that there appears to be a huge charisma-free black hole where the lead actress should be which doesn't help with the films pacing, given as we have to endure some pretty long scenes of Sarah Kendall 'emoting' whilst staring into space.

Unfortunately, as interesting as its premise is, it's just too slow for it's own good and you wonder with a better cast and sharper editing what could have been achieved.

Tho' seeing as Cardone went on to direct 8MM2, Shadowhunter and Wicked Little Things as well as writing the abysmal remakes of The Stepfather and Prom Night it's probably for the best if we don't.

axe the family.

Not sure if this movie can be classed as part of the whole Coronovirus blogging thing I'm doing at the moment but I did watch it during lockdown last night and it did give me a headache.

The shitting blood may just be normal for a man of my age tho'.

A lady shopping in Glasgow yesterday.

Edge of the Axe (1988).
Dir: José Ramón Larraz (as Joseph Braunstein, go figure).
Cast: Barton Faulks, Christina Marie Lane, Page Moseley, Christina Lane, Fred Holliday, May Heatherly, Patty Shepard, Elmer Modlin, Joy Blackburn and Jack Taylor.

Insert memorable quote here....oh hang on there aren't any.

Welcome to the tiny Northern Californian community of Big Bear Lake - famous for its big bears, its, um lake and the world renowned Sparkle Car Wash.

And it's at the aforementioned Sparkle Car Wash where our story begins with the harsh yet strangely attractive nurse Mirna Dobson (Lane - but not the one who wrote Comfort and Joy: Cooking for Two and blogs about food obviously) who, after a hard day wiping old peoples arse and cleaning sick off walls has decided that her grimy but reliable Lincoln Mark VII LSC needs a good clean, so to this end pays the $3.60 for a drive thru (car) shampoo.

Unfortunately she never lives to see the sparkle of the by now spotless bonnet as halfway thru' the wash cycle a masked mentalist brandishing an axe appears from behind the giant brushes and hacks her to death.

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

After that wee bit of bloodshed it's time to start up the plot good and proper so we're quickly introduced to the human pipe-cleaner Gerald RR Martin (Oscar winning Coen Brothers film and star of Freeze and Future-Kill Barton Faulks, looking for all the world like Mark Hamill drawn from memory) - a geeky obsessed with computers who has recently moved to town and who lives in a huge potting shed owned by a beardy old bloke named Brock (Modlin, from loads of stuff including The Story of O 2 and Rosemary's Baby).

Reading this back I've realised that I'm giving these characters way more background than writers Joaquín Amichatis, Javier Elorrieta, José Frade and Pablo de Aldebaránever (yes, it took fucking four of them to write this) did but that's lock-down for you.

Anyway when not spending his time 'online surfing the interwebs' Gerald works alongside professional stud-muffin Richard Simmons (Mosely from such varied fayre as Quantum Leap, The Jigsaw Murders, What's Love Got to Do with It and Melrose Place as well as your Auntie Jean's bed) in his extermination business.
And it's whilst on the way to an extermination job at a local tavern (which it must be said appears to be made of matchsticks) that we find out a wee bit more in regards to everyone's character and motivation as well as discover the huge swathe of latent misogyny running thru' the script like Jimmy Savile running thru' a school shower block.

You see it appears that Richard is unhappily married to local businesswoman Laura (US born Eurotrash star Shepard who appeared in everything from Hannah, Queen of the Vampires to Slugs via the Terence Hill/Bud Spencer classic Watch Out We're Mad) who he admits to only marrying for her money because "She's way too old for anything else!" (the actress was 43 at the time) and whom he hates because she has male friends she does business with. Obviously - he surmises that because of this his habit of sticking his cock into anything female that moves - or doesn't move fast enough - is also her fault.

Because women.

"Is it in yet?"

And with that the pair arrive at the tavern where the owner has reported a bad smell (that surprisingly isn't related to Richard's attitude) in the basement.

A basement that scarily for viewers in The Scotland has a Tennent's Lager poster on the wall.

Can I can't?

 

Poking about in the dark our delightful duo soon come across (not in that way tho' with Richard's attitude to women I wouldn't be surprised) the rotting corpse of a missing barmaid named Mary West, whose body has been jammed into a cupboard alongside an old copy of Razzle and some old crisp packets.

Obviously the barman phones the local police who decide it'd be easier to say she killed herself before hiding in the cupboard and leave it at that.

She is only a girl after all.

Deciding that a beer or two is in order to calm their nerves after such a gruesome discovery, Richard and Gerald head over to the local lakefront bar where not only is Laura out fishing with her business buddy Christopher (genre God Taylor - seriously his CV is cinematic gold - Exorcismo, The Ghost Galleon, Dr. Jekyll vs. The Werewolf, Female Vampire, Marquis de Sade's 'Philosophy in the Boudoir' and the all time classic The Vampires Night Orgy among others) but Susan (Blackburn, best known for her stand out role as the Concession Girl in Anguish), the only barmaid in town that Richard hasn't fucked yet, is starting her afternoon shift.

Leaving Richard to rub his knees violently as Susan bends into the car to hand him his drink Gerald decides to head to the lounge for a few shots on the bars video game machine because if you remember he's a geek and this was the fashion.

Well, it was about 5 years previously but there you go.

That's not a joystick and she's not a real welder.

His high scoring prowess is soon spotted by the bars owner, the button-nosed Lillian (Lane in her only film role) and the pair soon bond over their mutual love of all things computer-based culminating in Gerald offering Lillian his old computer so that they can 'connect' online too.

Which is nice but let's be honest we're here for the killings and we don't have to wait long as, later that night after a few drinks and lewd suggestions in (another) local bar the town beautician cum prostitute Rita Miller Exterminators of The Year 3000 'star' Moro) is brutally murdered while walking along the railroad tracks.

This time the police are actually slightly concerned (well concerned enough to involve folk dressed like extras from a Thomas The Tank Engine fan film) but only because it means that their wives will start being suspicious that all the men are now staying in, even when they interview one of her main clients - the hammer carrying handyman Beardy Pete he's painted as the true victim and Rita as the evil seductress extorting money from the weak willed menfolk.

Seriously the film is less of a throwback to a bygone, more sexist era and more of a manifesto of mad misogyny that would do Trump proud.

And no-one, I mean no-one wears a bra.

It's like they were banned on set.

"Oh no!" said Thomas, "Sir Topham Hat's wife is a dirty whore!"

As all these bad murders continue so does Gerald and Lillian's burgeoning, stone wash clad romance, tho' Lillian is a wee bit concerned that Gerald's computer contains a list of the women killed so far but luckily he explains that he just likes collecting data for a laugh.

So that's OK then.

With a fairly short running time and more murders to fit in we've soon jumped forward to night-time where during a terrible storm another woman is attacked and killed by the mysterious mentalist.

Luckily tho' to differentiate this one from all the others it features some pigs in a barn.

And with that out of the way we can get back to the more important plotline regarding Richard's attempts to shag Susan on a boat.

Well we never know if he does or not as just as the pair start getting frisky the severed head of another victim bobs up in the water next to them resulting inscreams from Susan and many manly stares from Richard.

Well either that or he's holding in a really big shit.

Your mum looks nice tonight.

Realizing that they've killed a woman off-screen (which frankly just isn't on) it's full scream ahead for the next murder, which this time is of the - sensible shoed - leader of Lillian's church choir, Anna Bixby (Heatherly from Cannibal Apocalypse, where she was treated way better it must be said) who after returning home to find her dog bludgeoned to death is stalked around her house for a bit in the hope of creating some (any?) tension before having her fingers cut off and finally being hit repeatedly with a foam axe.

And if that wasn't enough the killer also trashes her fishtank.

Bastard.

All this murder isn't getting in the way of Lillian and Gerald's ever growing romance tho' (I mean it's only women getting killed, not real people after all) and the couple are wiling away the afternoon playing on a kids swing.

As grown adults are known to do obviously.

The to and fro motion has a strange effect on Lillian tho' who suddenly starts screaming "Charlie! Charlie!" before storming off in a huff.

Giving chase Gerald soon catches up with her and begs her to explain what's going on, turns out that she's just discovered that her cousin - the aforementioned - well screamed Charlie - has been recently released from a mental hospital following a head injury he received as a child when Lillian violently pushed him off a swing.

No, really.

Bobbins.

But that's not all, as Lillian suspects that it is in fact Charlie who is responsible for the killings.

Because reasons.

With the girlie hysterics over and done with the pair head back to Gerald's shed for a Cuppasoup and some crisps.

And maybe even a scotch egg if there are any in the fridge.

As the pair sit scoffing Lillian asks Gerald if she can use his computer to look up plastering course at the University of Portland as she's decided she no longer wants to be a pipe fitter, Gerald reckons being married to a plasterer would be pretty cool and leaves her to it as he goes to make some coffee.

Little does he realize tho' Lillian is actually looking up the names of local psychiatrists dealing with swing-based head trauma.

To be honest, reading this back it makes even less sense than when I watched it, which is pretty worrying.

Boris Johnson farted....and it smelled of egg. And shame.

With the climax lurching drunkenly into view it's time to go back to Laura and her 'friend' Christopher - partly because that subplot seems to have been forgotten about in the middle of all this woman hating but mostly because they're paying Jack Taylor as shed-load of cash for doing absolutely fuck all.

He is a legitimate actor you know.

Except get more and more drunk that is as poor Laura complains that her investments have gone wrong and she's now bankrupt.

Morally and monetarily if this film is anything to go by.

The pair leave the bar and Laura offers Christopher a run home but just as you think he's going to pull some smooth, sexy moves he actually pulls a dog blanket up from the floor and falls asleep before letting out a fart so noxious  that she crashes into a tree.

Stumbling into the woods to look for help she soon gets bored and returns to the car only to find Christopher's body gone and the mad axe murderer sitting in his place, she runs screaming, the killer runs after her, the cameraman tries to track them both in the dark and eventually the killer catches up with her and she dies.

Don't get too upset tho' remember she was old and her hubby only married her for her money so now she's skint it's probably for the best.

Or so the film would have us think.

I mean the next morning, Richard angrily turns up at Gerald's complaining not that Laura is missing but that the money out of their bank account is missing and when her body is found you can tell that all he wants is to search it for loose change.

And you're sure that in this script the police would let him.

Interestingly as soon as Christopher's body is discovered everything changes and the local police suddenly decide that there's a killer on the loose that must be found.

Hang on, I know I said that there was a (very) thinly veiled streak of misogyny  running thru' the movie but I may be mistaken, maybe they're just all gagging for a prime piece of man-ass and the ladies were in the way?

Whichever it is the police find a badge from the Lillian's dads bar on Christopher's lapel so decide to head over there as soon as enough time has passed for Lillian to hear noises in the bar as she's home alone.

Taxi for Castlemilk.

Upon investigating the aforementioned noise, she is surprised to find - a really sweaty - Gerald skulking about behind the bins.

Terrified for her life - and no doubt for her career -  Lillian angrily accuses him of actually being her cousin Charlie, who has return to extract his revenge for the terrible swinging incident.

Moving slowly toward her Gerald begins to explain that after researching her background on his computer (as you do) he has discovered that Charlie is actually a figment of Lillian's imagination - it was actually her that fell off the swing and banged her head causing a spate of mentalism that required her to be hospitalized.

No really.

But if that wasn't enough it turns out that each of the victims were either hospital employees involved with Lillian's recovery or women who had attempted to shag her dad.

The new Erasure video looks a bit shit.

Being female and mental (or is it just female?) Lillian attempts to kill Gerald with a handy axe before running into the carpark with Gerald in hot pursuit shouting "I love you Lillian!" just as the police turn up.

Seeing Lillian jiggling and crying and Gerald not jiggling and sweating they decide to shoot him dead.

Just because that's how apprehending folk works in America obviously.

As the police secure the crime scene, the sheriff consoles Lillian with a big hug not noticing her "I'm a bit mad me!" smile to camera....

It has to be said that by far the most terrifying and disturbing thing about Edge of the Axe is that it was directed by José Ramón Larraz, the masterful Spanish film maker behind such classics as the fang-tastically erotic lesbian vampire cum National Trust camping advertisement that is Vampyres thru' to the equestrian-bothering The Coming of Sin (which still has one of the scariest film posters of all time) and the pyscho-sexual scare-fest Symptoms - all of which  tended to feature acts of startling - and disturbing - sexuality and wanton acts of violence set against an idyllic backdrop of everyday British (or in the case of The Coming of Sin) or Spanish life.

So fuck knows what he was thinking when he decided to direct this.

His usual interesting take on the power of female sexuality is replaced by basic unreserved misogyny, the flirty and confident (and sometimes uncomfortably damaged) females of his previous films are replaced with denim clad, bra-less stereotypes of whores, harridans and faceless bimbos whereas the men strut around with permanent erections and too tight jeans and are shown to be straight up bullies and sex beasts unlike the pitiful testosterone-fueled caricatures of his other work - spending the whole film as they do fucking, flirting and complaining their way thru' a plot so threadbare as to almost disappear in a puff of in-consequence long before the frankly ludicrous reveal.

And it's the cheap laziness of everything on show that, if anything, is what saves it from being just downright offensive.

I mean it took hours to even remember anything of consequence that happened in it - and I'd taken notes. 

Anulka Dziubinska and Marianne Morris - not in this film.

Put it this way, when the most memorable bit of a slasher movie is the use of a wide-angled fish-eye lens during a funeral service (for no other reason it seems than to show up the pores on Jack Taylor's nose) then you know you're in trouble.

It's almost like he sobered up at this point just long enough to remember what he was doing then quickly fell back into a coma whilst leaning on the camera enough to point it vaguely in the direction of the actors.

And I use the term 'actors' loosely.

I mean come on they even pronounce Icarus incorrectly.

Grimmer than your dad's post-divorce dating history and flimsier than your aunties baby-doll nightie she wears when you visit Edge of The Axe is at least fairly short which is a blessing.

Unlike this lockdown which means that there'll be more like this to come.

Joy.

warlock homes.

Bizarrely getting ready for a weekend of quality horror films by watching a few quality horror films.

 I really have no social life do I?

Anyway today's story opens in an - amateurishly lit - school corridor with sound recording that appears to have been done in - and on - an eggbox where an unnamed girl (Zerrienis...bless you) is wandering around in a tiny skirt whilst clutching the worlds brightest candle before being brutally slain by a weirdy beardy with an axe.


And cue spooky music cos it's time for.....


Warlock Moon (1973).
Dir: William Herbert.
Cast:  Laurie Walters, Joe Spano, Edna MacAfee, Harry Bauer, Joan Zerrien, Charles Raino, Ray K. Goman, Steve Solinsky and Richard Vielle.

"It's an old family recipe. I call it hunter's stew. It'd spoil all the fun if I told you how I made it."

Cutesy college student Jenny Macallister (The 'Slim, pretty, and appealing' Walters - well that's how IMDB describes her - who once appeared in a bathtub with Don Johnson in “The Harrad Experiment”, they were both naked fact fans) is wandering the campus minding her own business after spending a busy morning studying deviance's such as homosexuality and cannibalism when she's approached by an bowl-haircutted wannabe newshound wearing a creepy mask and a flasher mac named John (Spano from top TV tec trailblazer Hill Street Blues looking for all the world like John Amplas with a Greggs fetish).

By the way I mean he's named John, not the coat.

Following her around campus - in a totally non-freaky way obviously - whilst regaling her with amusing jokes in a variety of comedy accents is enough to wear her down enough to accept a picnic date with him and the pair are soon driving off thru' the countryside ready for a slap up feast of egg sandwiches, fizzy pop and pickled onion Monster Munch.

He's a smooth operator and no mistaking.

"Do you wanna come sit in me motor so I can bite you?"

After a lovely afternoon snacking n' chatting and being stuffed to the gills and drunk on fun the pair decide to call it a day and head home but a wrong turn leads them to an eerie old rundown spa.

As in a health club cum holiday camp, not the supermarket.

Which is actually spelled differently.

Anyway being a horror movie they decide to explore it.

As they wander thru' the dilapidated buildings they soon come across (in a non-sexual way obviously) an old woman by the name of Agnes Abercrombi (creator of that anti-virus software and star of Dirty Mary Crazy Larry, MacAfee) who still lives in the abandoned spa.

Sounds legit.

Not you.

 

Being a total and utter not at all sinister old lady, she invites the young couple to stay for tea and biscuits but as soon as Jenny takes a sip she begins to feel unwell and has to lie down, leaving John and Agnes to take the tour of the building alone whilst the poor girl lounges on the sofa, grabbing her tummy and farting.

Which if I'm honest sounds like a normal night in.

As the pair rummage around in the old ladies rooms Jenny amuses herself by cheekily rifling thru' Agnes' drawers where she discovers a shed load - well drawer load - of medical paraphernalia including syringes and vials of 'special' medicine.

Which is nice.

As she continues raking thru' a strangers possessions (and a stranger that's been dead nice to her seeing as she was caught wandering around her house, how's that for grateful?) Jenny is suddenly shocked - well as suddenly shocked as a very thin person can be -  to see the ghostly apparition of a woman in a wedding dress float passed the window below.

"Would you like to put it in me?"

Say what you want about the overall quality of this movie (yup, it's crap) but they're not skimping on the plot points.

Despite all the weirdness going down, John manages to persuade her to return the next week as his editor thinks an interview with dear old Agnes might be of some enjoyment to the readers.

Or at the very least some - tasteful - snatch shots.

Say what you want about John's fright-fright and piggy eyes, his persuasive pulling powers are second to none so I reckon he could convince her.
 
Arriving before him (hey he let the lady come first, what a guy) Jenny decides to go and find Agnes but is surprised that there's no sign old woman or of any of her belongings.

Even the faint smell of piss and gin has gone.

Suddenly an old man with a shotgun pops out from behind a tree and introduces himself, he's local postman cum part-time hunter Bernard Sexington (Bauer, I can't be arsed checking if he was in owt else sorry) who - in a stunning infodump -  informs Jenny that the resort was closed down in the 1930s in tragic circumstances.

It seems that the owners had decided to host a ball for their newly married daughter but she went missing just before the party.

Presuming that she was away having 'the sex; with her new hubbie the guests started the party without her and proceeded to enjoy the slap up nosh served by the (female) chef.

It was only much later (well around the cheese board) that everyone realised that the chef was in fact a mentalist who had killed the bride and used her body as part of the main course.

Obviously they didn't eat her whole as they spat that bit out.

I thank you.

Noticing how upset the story makes Jenny he decides to tell her it's all bollocks, bids his farewells and leaves.

Only to be killed by a mad axeman a few minutes later safe in the knowledge that his job of filling in the backstory of the spa is done.

"Blood in mah mooth!"

 Jenny misses all of this tho' as she's finally found John and Agnes who has reappeared alongside all her stuff.

 Confused by this and after John convinces her that she's imagining things Jenny meekly sits down for a cup of Mrs. Abercrombi's tea,  only to start feeling a wee bit woozy again almost immediately after.

Hmmmmm.

As John and Agnes retire to the garden to conduct the interview Jenny suddenly hears the spooky voice of the ghostly bride calling to her, she follows and is led  to a room with a creepy sacrificial altar laid out in its centre.

You know, just like the one in your Auntie Jean's basement.

That's not all tho' for as she's examining it closer who should appear but the scary bearded bloke form earlier, swinging his mighty chopper around with gay abandon as he tries to stick it in poor Jenny.

Much chasing ensues and what sounds like the noise of a tortured cat is played on the soundtrack before Jenny - being a mere girl - faints.

Inside Prince Andrew's mind.

 Mrs. Abercrombi and John soon find her tho' (well it is nearly the end of the film) and are shocked to hear that there's a mad bloke running around killing folk but when they go to investigate there's no sign of anyone else around.

Jenny tho' is convinced but both Agnes and John put it down to her feeling unwell, insisting that the best thing for her is to stay overnight in Mrs Abercrombi's house.

But first it's time for dinner.

And another cup of her sweet smelling tea......

From writer/director/producer William Herbert comes this little seen lo-fi classic of creepy cults and cannibalism that belays it's pound shop roots with some (slightly over the) toptastic performances and a general air of menace not usually found in what would normally be the bottom half of a drive-in double bill.

And whilst it is admittedly  a wee bit shaky at times with sound quality verging  on the indecipherable the performances from the leads pull it back from the brink and make it such a joy to watch with some great (semi) improvised stuff that's as hypnotic as it is bizarre.

Take for instance the scene where John - in an attempt to woo Jenny - performs a one-man horror movie of the mind where he plays both monster and hero, defeating himself before planting a kiss on Jenny's lips and then, without warning flips again as he menacingly stalks Jenny armed with nothing but a big stick and a scary stare.

On paper this sounds ludicrous whereas on screen it's electrifying.

Your Nan's cum face (trust me I know).

Also worth the admission price is Edna MacAfee's almost Warholian non-performance as Agnes Abercrombi.

All pursed lips and pinched cheeks it's almost as if they just plucked a mad bag lady off the streets and let her loose.

Similar in ideas - if not in execution - to it's - slightly - more famous contemporary 'Folks At Red Wolf Inn' (release a year earlier), Warlock Moon straddles that fine line 'tween B movie drive-in fodder like Blood Feast and the oncoming storm of cinema-verite violence ushered in by the likes of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and it's influence can be seen everywhere from the Ti West Classic House of The Devil to most of Rob Zombies output.

Which is a shame but there you go.

Well worth a looksie.