you ain't seen me, right?

Stayed up last night to watch the UK election results just to see on a scale of 1-10 how utterly fucked we'd be this morning.

The answer is totally by the way.

Anyway I lost the will to live around 04:00 AM and decided I needed a movie to cheer me up.

Unfortunately I was tired and this was closest to hand.




Invisible Invaders (1959).
Dir: Edward L. Cahn.
John Agar, Jean Byron, Philip Tonge, Robert Hutton, John Carradine, Hal Torey Paul Langton, Eden Hartford, Don Kennedy and Chuck Niles.

Dear Lord, I pray that I am insane, that all that happened is only in my mind. I pray that tomorrow the sun will shine again on living things, not on a world where only the dead walk the Earth.

Welcome to the awfully atomic-obsessed 1950s where we join eminent science type Dr. Karol Noymann* (Carradine, covered in talc and wearing a tramps suit) just as he's killed in a huge explosion whilst trying to weaponise his farts to use against 'the Red Menace'.

Probably.

But the sudden death of this well respected and much-loved member of the science establishment shakes this close knit community to the core and prompts  his college Dr. Adam Penner (Tonge, father of Pete) to resign his position as chief weapons type bloke and call for changes to the governments atomic remit, hoping that the power will be used for good instead.

Obviously the military tell him to fuck off which he does, heading back home to ponder the fate of humanity whilst his scarily long-armed daughter Phyllis (TV stalwart Byron -  best known as Natalie Lane in The Patty Duke Show) gazes at him worriedly whilst making coffee.

The 2019 general election in a nutshell.

Things soon take a change for the weird tho' when just after Noymann's funeral, an invisible alien takes over his dead body and - after digging its way out of the ground obviously -  visits Dr. Penner at home to inform him that humanity must surrender all its atomic weapons and prepare to be ruled by his fellow aliens, failure to comply will be met by an invading force that will possess the bodies of the dead, set fire to all the community centres and kick the bins over.

As if to demonstrate their unearthly powers the alien makes what look like a jacketed spud wrapped in tinfoil appear from nowhere before vanishing into the night.

Obviously unnerved by this strange turn of events Penner nervously tells his daughter what happened before asking the eminent mustache expert Dr. John Lamont (balsa wood like B movie star Hutton, best known - God help him - for Torture Garden) to relay the alien's message to the US government.

It wont come as too much of a surprise when I say that the government ignores the warning whilst the fake news media accuse Penner of spreading some kind of anti-alien project fear.

Undeterred by this reaction Penner persuades Phyllis and Lamont to accompany him to Noymann's grave that very night in the hope of catching one of the aliens wandering about and bizarrely enough this actually works - the alien then helpfully explains everything again before shuffling off into the night.

Cue much stock footage of car and plane crashes as the aliens re-animated a variety of dead folk in order to infiltrate a couple of hockey games in order to announce their invasion plans to the world.

Oh and to also announce that they've just blown up Russia and Denmark.

Which is a unique way of doing it if nothing else.

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

With every major sporting event interrupted by the undead threatening violence,  the governments of the world have no choice but to listen and as these evil aliens possess more and more dead bodies and begin to blow up even more random stuff - depending on what disaster footage comes to hand - Drs Penner and Lamont alongside the ever more worried Phyllis are whisked away to a top secret bunker by the heroically handsome Major Jay 'Kay' (Agar from The Mole People) in order to find a way to stop the invasion.

Cue 30 minutes of sweaty lipped science based shenanigans alongside an ill-conceived love triangle 'tween Phyllis, the hunky Jay and cowardly Lamont as our heroes race against time - and acceptable skirt lengths - to find something to counter the alien attack with that doesn't involve a drunken - and naked - game of ping-pong.

The amount of fucks I give about this film.

Whilst in contact with Washington DC - in the form of Grouch Marx ex-missis Eden Hartford in a way too tight air force uniform and the stoic Lt. Gen. Stone (slick-haired Langton from Peyton Place) - Penner deduces that the aliens are highly radioactive and can be tracked using a Geiger counter but still has no idea how to capture one before it can jump out of the dead body it possesses.

Jay suggests that he could lie in wait till the corpse trundles by and furiously masturbate over it, causing the alien to become trapped by the quick drying semen but Phyllis - wanting to keep all that joy juice for herself - has another idea so to this end the fantastic foursome fashion a fast-setting paint gun from a fire extinguisher an old bicycle pump.

But who will test this devastating piece of technology?

Not Lamont that's for sure as he's too busy hiding behind a cupboard whilst lustfully gazing at Phyllis and Penner is way too old to be of any use to anyone which leaves  Major Jay the unenviable task so, suited up in his best bee keepers outfit he heads outside in order to capture one of the invaders.

As in one of the invisible aliens, not an episode of the Quinn Martin/Larry Cohen TV show.**

Hiding behind a convenient rock Jay waits patiently till an alien possessed cadaver stumbles by before jumping out with a "Gotcha!" and firing the sticky liquid all over the startled spaceman.

Unfortunately he's not quick enough and the alien gives him a swift kick to the nads before wandering off leaving Jay battered but ready to fight on.

"Fiona! I'm from Dudley!"

 Back at the bunker and with an ice pack clutched to his privates, Jay soon realises that rather than chasing the aliens about in the hope of bagging one, the easiest and quickest way to capture one of the creatures is to dig a big hole, fill it with the acrylic liquid and hope it just falls in.

Genius.

With the film lurching quickly toward it's climax this plan goes off without a hitch and soon our merry band have the alien confined to a handy pressure chamber ready to break it free from the rock solid acrylic in the hope of finding a weakness.

Alas nothing seems to work which frustrates an already edgy Dr. Lamont to a point where he breaks down in tears and tries to convince everyone to surrender to the alien oppressors but Jay in a rage filled Korean flashback slaps the sniveling scientist causing him to fall clumsily onto the bases radio set,  inadvertently damaging it to a point where the alarms go off.

It's at this point that they notice that the alien is rolling around on the floor clutching its ears and screaming.

No really.

"You'll never get your hands on me lucky charms!"

And with this new - and frankly unbelievable - information the gang frantically start to build a deadly sound gun in order to stop the invaders.

But the underground bunker has been discovered and an army of the undead are determined to break in....

Will Penner, Lamont, Phyllis and Jay complete the weapon in time?

Will Lamont start crying again?

Will we be subjected to any more real-life crash footage that although exciting at the time makes you feel a wee bit guilty when thinking about it later?

And will Eden Hartford ever face the camera?

From the pipe smoking former editor at large cum b-movie maestro Edward L Cahn comes this lo-fi sci-fi shocker that mixes the directors love of pulp science fiction thrills and undead menace - scarily 'tween 1955 and 1959 Cahn made  nine of these scifi shlockers - with a smidgen of atomic age action in a sweaty cauldron of cliched dialogue and ham acting that is as brainless as it is (fairly) entertaining.

Plus at 67 minutes it definitely doesn't outstay its welcome.

Unlike your Auntie Jean over Christmas.

Just because - Eden Hartford.

With its tiny cast of ne'er where's and almost rans, special effects that you'd be hard pushed to call effects let alone special and stoic sub-Plan 9 voice-over - that explains in painful detail almost everything occurring onscreen even as we see it - Invisible Invaders is at once an oddly charming yet instantly forgettable mash-up of the aforementioned Ed Wood classic and Robert Wise's The Day the Earth Stood Still as performed by a Methylphenidate soaked junior school drama class for an audience of gin-sodden scarecrows during a particularly offbeat care in the community awareness session that slowly drips into your very being with all the calming effects of a Pentobarbital shot to the eyes.


Seriously by the end of it I not only felt strangely calm and at peace but couldn't stand up and had shit myself.


Tho' that may just be my age.

God bless? - If there's any proof needed that he doesn't exist it's this movie.

Tho' as a plus point it's the only film I've ever seen where dialogue like this:

Phyllis: You killed a man in cold blood this morning, I keep seeing his face.

Jay: So do I, I fought all the way through Korea, probably killed a lot of men... but I never saw their faces. Dropping a bomb from a plane isn't quite so personal.

Penner: Can I make you some coffee?

is actually delivered convincingly.

Which probably says more about me than the movie.

And at the end of the day we can honestly say to all involved:***

Unlike Rian Johnson.

























*Or as the end credits actually list him "Carl Noymann" no idea if it's a continuity mistake or twins.

**Because it wasn't broadcast till 1967.

***Not really seeing as they're all dead but you know what I mean.

mary beard.

Been stuck in the house this week with a horrendous cold which means that I've gotten sod all done as everytime I try to work I end up covering the paper, my computer screen, the kids etc. with noxious green slime that seems to be constantly exploding from my nose.

Which is currently bright red and swollen.

Anyway in my weakened state this was the only movie I could reach to watch.


Hercules in the Haunted World (AKA Ercole al centro della terra, 1961).
Dir:Mario Bava.
Cast: Reg Park, Christopher Lee, Leonora Ruffo, George Ardisson, Marisa Belli, Ida Galli, Mino Doro, Gaia Germani, Franco Giacobini, Rosalba Neri (probably) and Ely Drago.

You know, I didn't think Hades would be anything like this.

After literally dozens of fantastically exciting (offscreen) adventures, legendary nappy clad strongman Hercules (English bodybuilder, businessman, actor and dad of Darth Maul, Park) is returning home to catch up with his girlfriend Princess Deianira (Ruffo from Pietro Francisci's fantastic Star Pilot where she plays the saucy space vixen Kaena) for a wee kiss and a cuddle.

And maybe a biscuit.

Custard Creams no doubt.

Yum.

But things are amiss in the city of Cleftpate - Deianira has been struck down by a mysterious malaise and her father has died leaving her uncle Lico (Lee, slumming it for fag money) to reluctantly - aye right - to take the throne.

And Hair styling tips from Dario Argento by the look of his barnet.

Fringe benefits.

Hercules, never one to give up so easily (ask your mum) quickly heads off to ask the saucy masked oracle lady Medea (Germani) for help.

Obviously Ms Teletext was busy.

And wouldn't you believe it, it turns out there's a cure for Deianira's condition (tho' not for her dad's obviously, Hercules isn't really that bothered about that tho' as he didn't want to fuck him), unfortunately it can only be found in the Underworld.

And by that I mean Hell, not the bar that used to be by Glasgow Central Station.

Tho' I did once bump into a man that looked like Christopher Lee in the toilets there once.

Or was it Christopher Plummer?

But that isn't important, unlike the fact that no mortal man has ever returned from that dreadful place.

Again it's Hell I'm talking about, not the Glasgow bar.

Or even the London one.

Born slippy.

Hercules as we know is no mortal man and eagerly agrees to take the challenge.

But first he'll need to get a crack team of heroes together to help.

Unfortunately everyone is busy so he's left with Aryan stud muffin - cum future sex criminal the way he's carrying on, it was a more innocent time etc. - Theseus (Ardisson, best known for Agent 3S3: Passport to Hell and Zorro the Fox) who, when we first meet him is busy trying to stick it in the ever more despairing Jocasta (Drago best known for playing a tourist in Avventura a Capri - aye me neither) and former animated kid sidekick and peeping tom Telemachus (comedy god Giacobini) who has been busying himself perving on Jocasta and Theseus as they go about their - dirty - business whilst telling anyone who'll listen that she is in fact his fiancee.

Honestly it makes more sense when you watch it.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

With his team assembled the first thing Hercules needs to do is find a magic ship capable of traveling to Hades and as luck (and dodgy plotting) would have it the local fisherman Brian has just such a vessel so Telemachus volunteers to go speak to him.

Comedy hi-jinks and almost bodily dismemberment ensues (turns out that Telemachus once tried to fuck his missis) resulting in Brian leaving the boat unguarded as he chases his beloved horses giving the team ample opportunity to steal it and sail to adventure.

Little do they realise tho' that Lico is actually the evil force behind the whole plot and he'll stop at nothing to make sure our heroes fail and secure his right to the throne.

Luckily his back up plan seems to involve leaving them to it whilst he struts about in a cape shouting in a badly dubbed American accent.

"Is it in yet?"

Their first port of call is a strange land ruled by purple tissue paper clad ladies who guard a magic apple that will allow Hercules to descend to Hell, luckily they don't seem to have a problem with him taking it and point him in the direction of the - albeit huge - apple tree in order to let him pick it.

Unfortunately tho' it's a magic tree protected by lightning and stuff that no-one has ever survived.

Hercules is made of stern stuff tho' and after telling his companions to go for a wee lie down he decides to climb the tree and grab the apple.

The girlie tribe tho' are ruled over by the evil Pluto who demands a sacrifice on occasions like this so sends Procrustes the giant rock monster to kill
Theseus and Telemachus whilst they sleep.

Gah.

"It could be you!"

As the rock monster (very) slowly approaches our prone pair Hercules is having trouble of his own, the lightning bolts keep breaking the branches he's holding on to and the small size of the set means that he appears to keep climbing up the same bit and never getting any higher leaving him - and the effects crew - no other option than to fashion a vine catapult capable of firing a polystyrene rock at the apple in the hope it'll fall down.

No, really.

Surprisingly this works first time and the lady boss excitedly tells Hercules that seeing as the apple is no longer on the tree that Pluto has no power over them and the ladies are now free of the patriarchy and the like.

If only it were that easy.

And as a thank you she explains that a rock monster is about to butcher his pals so Hercules heads off to save them, which he does by effortlessly lifting the beast and chucking it at a shoddily constructed wall which collapses, revealing the entrance to Hell.

Sorted.

"I am Groot."

Telemachus, being a wee bit more sussed than he lets on, volunteers to guard the entrance whilst Hercules and Theseus forge ahead soon coming across (not in that way but to be honest it's tempting) a naked lady chained to a tree begging for help.

Or at the very least a bucket to piss in.

Theseus is eager to help but Hercules reminds him of the oracles advice - 'believe not what you see'.

No me neither.

But there's no time to think about it as with that she disappears in a puff of smoke.

Which is a shame really as I'm sure she was portrayed by Rosalba Neri from Lady Frankenstein.

I mean according to various sources she is in the movie it's just that no-one seems to know where.

It's like Where's Wally but with nicer blouses.

Oh well.

What your mum really gets up to on bingo night.

This advice also helps when the pair are confronted by an imaginary but oh so terrifying - sea of flames blocking their path to the island of the magical stone of forgetfulness but not so much when they have to shimmy across a lake of molten lava as that turns out to be real when Theseus falls into it.

Don't get too worried tho' as by some bizarre quirk of fate Pluto was so annoyed at losing control of the ladies earlier that he totally missed Theseus dying so our (other) hero ends up safe and well in a paper-mache cave in the company of the beautiful Persephone (Galli AKA Evelyn Stewart from Fulci's The Psychic as well as Bava's The Whip And The Body) the mysterious and lonely daughter of Pluto.

It seems that she's bored of her pitiful existence and wishes to live in the mortal realm, much to her father's chagrin, and after falling madly - and quickly - in love with Theseus vows to accompany him home.

Theseus is sure Hercules will object so quickly stuffs her in his sock for safe-keeping whilst awaiting Hercules' triumphant return with the magic stone.

Look, it's not like we think he isn't going to succeed is it?

I mean fair enough they do try to add a touch of excitement by having the stone a wee bit hot so that Hercules burns his fingers every time he  tries to pick it up but he soon sorts this out by punching it till the glowing bit breaks off then wrapping it in his underwear to carry it.

Like I said, they tried.

There is such a thing as too much colour.

With apple and stone acquired it's time for our hero to head back to
Telemachus, stopping quickly to join up with Theseus - whom he just happily accept didn't burn to death in a lava pit for 'reasons' and then it's ship ahoy! for the trip home.

Theseus tells Hercules that he's very tired after his near death experience and retires below deck to 'sleep' leaving poor Telemachus to act as navigator, bosun and cabin boy as Hercules stands on the bow gazing into the middle distance whilst trying to move his nipples using only the power of the mind.

Luckily the crashing waves and howling winds cover the slurping noises coming from below as Theseus and Persephone go at it like (PG friendly) rabbits.

All this stormy weather is a bit worrying for Hercules as the purple ladies from earlier told him that the apple would grant him safe passage home, this is confirmed by Telemachus who surmises that there must be something/someone else onboard that shouldn't be there before dismissing this and going to ask Theseus for advice.

Theseus, wiping his engorged member on Telemachus' togo reckons it's nowt to do with him sneaking Pluto's daughter onboard so proceeds to throw the apple away which surprisingly does the trick and they make land without any further delay.

Phew.

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

But something is wrong, the local populace are leaving their lands as it's become dry and arid, their livestock is dying and a sense of fear perminates the whole area. Superstition has it that Pluto is angry with the mortal world, almost as if something has been taken from him.

Hercules doesn't seem to care tho' as he's more interested in getting his end away, as does Theseus so the pair head back to the city leaving Telemachus to get back to stalking Jocasta.

It's a hobby I guess.

With the special stone sought and delivered Deianira is soon back to her normal - albeit still wooden self - and eagerly planning her wedding to Hercules but Lico has other ideas, for during the upcoming lunar eclipse - due in part to Pluto's wrath - he plans to sacrifice Deianira to the god of darkness (or Dave as we call him), drink her blood and rule the world with the aid of a curtain clad zombie army he has hidden in the basement.

Hercules can't fight him alone but with Theseus busy having 'the sex' how can our hero convince his friend that the old adage of Bro's before hoes isn't actually just childish sexism but the key to saving the world?

Poster.

Hot off the heels of his first 'official' film as sole director - the magnificent Black Sunday - genre god Mario Bava was hired to direct (as well as do the special effects, double as director of photography and no doubt make the tea) the second of the Reg Parks starring/ Achille Piazzi produced Hercules movie providing he could do so whilst keeping the budget under 30 quid and shooting it in a (fairly large) shed.

Bava always up for a challenge agreed on the proviso that he could shoot at least a few scenes in the local park and that they'd supply the Quality Street wrappers he'd need for the FX sequences.

Luckily for fans of quality cinema Piazzi said yes and the resulting movie is a triumph of pizazz over pennies with all the charm, ingenuity and stylish set-pieces that became trademarks of the directors output present and correct, the movie could be nothing else but prime Bava and he knows it.

"It was THIS big...I couldn't walk for weeks!"

And it's Bava's absolute confidence in his directorial - and design - abilities that makes the movie such a joy to watch, raising it head and - muscular - shoulders above its contemporaries -  whether it be scenes of Hercules holding back four wild horses in a classic strongman pose or the gorgeously framed aftermath of the handmaiden's murder as the camera calmly pans from her throat to a pool of blood, revealing Lico’s reflection within (later homaged by Argento in Deep Red) almost every frame could literally be a work of art.

Seriously, say what you like about the - at times minimal - acting style and admittedly paper thin plot cos the whole thing looks bloody gorgeous and you can see only two films in to his illustrious career why Bava was and is still regarded as The Master.

spain oddity.

Was tidying up the scary cupboard yesterday in order to try and find some shite sci-fi I can review in the countdown to The Rise of Skywalker (as I mentioned yesterday, it might get me a few more readers) when I came across my copy of the craptastic Ghosts of Sherwood hidden under a pile of old copies of Titbits magazines.

As I held it fondly in my arms I remembered back to my review and how I thought I'd never seen a movie quite so shockingly awful ever again.

But guess what?

I was wrong.

So terribly, terribly wrong.

Total Retribution (aka Earthkiller, 2011)
Dir: Andrew Bellware.
Cast: Robin Kurtz, Walter Barnes, Joe Beuerlein, the directors family and friends, your dad, my dad and that scary woman that hangs about the corner shop who smells of bananas.

“humanity will end itself”

The time?

The future (sometime just after lunch possibly),

The place?

High above a children's sandpit.

The audience attention grabbing situation?

Well that'll be the sight of a milky thighed woman falling from the sky as the words “humanity will end itself” play out in a loop.

Now I'm intrigued.

Especially seeing as she's a ginger.

Crashing to earth in a burst of special effects of the kind not seen since I last booted up my Atari 2600 our mysterious heroine is soon found by two portly gypsies dressed in their dad's work overalls (and their little sister's Harry Potter cosplay capes) who appear to have an unhealthy interest in the huge chocolate coin she's wearing around her little bird-like neck.

It can't be that they're hungry - greedy yes, hungry definitely not -  so it must have another significance.

It's like a nursery school adaptation of Hardware but with pound shop glitter and glue replacing, well everything really.

Here come The Belgians!

Jumping forward two hundred years (well that's what it says on the caption) we find the very same woman now completely naked and standing in what seems to be a stationary cupboard aboard a high-tech space station that appears to have been rendered by a hook handed child on a V-Tech look and learn tablet.

Luckily she still has the chocolate coin tho.

The woman (whom we discover is named Helen and portrayed with all the charisma of a - fairly - annoyed geography teacher by Robin Kurtz who, truth be told is the nearest the movie will get to having a bona fide actor on screen so make the most of it), bored with standing around shivering in the obviously cold set (trust me you can tell) decides to have a wee peek outside the cupboard just in time to see a guard shot herself in the head amid a pile of Kwik Fit overalled corpses.

There's no time to rest tho' (or even admire the shoddily constructed cardboard sets) as no sooner has the poor woman's head hit the ground when a rag tag couple of military types turn up to wax lyrically about death and 'the scriptures'.

As you do.

Sauce.

With the set not being that big - and with Helen being fairly tall - our naked pal is soon forced out of hiding and into a playground style Mexican standoff with the soldiers before everyone involved gets bored and goes their own way, the duo off into a darkened corridor and Helen straight ahead giving the director a chance to linger on her brightly lit - albeit frighteningly skinny - arse.

It's not all religious chat and nudity tho' as Helen is soon back to her old hiding tricks when she stumbles across a couple of over enunciating maintenance men deep in conversation about some existential rubbish before one of them turns into a zombie and punches the other to death.

No really.

20 minutes in and with her nudity clause fully fulfilled Helen decides to head for the nearest locker room in order to find some clothes suitable for battling the great space undead.

Or at least stand a chance of winning third prize at a Resident Evil fancy dress parade.

And only then if the judges were blind.

As a plus point the 'Helen gets dressed' scene is probably the most dramatic thing you will see in the movie and get dressed she does in a fantastically futuristic ensemble that includes a black boob tube, some saggy arsed spandex cycling shorts, a sad, single child's skateboarding kneepad, a pair of orthopedic boots and a realistic leather effect belt like the one your granddad wears.

Nice.

"Freedom for Tooting!"

She's barely had time to adjust her crotch when the pal-punching zombie from earlier turns up (you can tell he's a zombie because he has red felt pen round his eyes and a mouth covered in strawberry jam) in order it seems to carry on his frankly mundane musings from earlier.

Perhaps the zombiefication is caused by an airbourne virus that reacts to how much bollocks you can spout in a 5 minute period?

Well it'd make as much sense as the rest of the movie.

Helen has no time for chat tho' and quickly dispatches the zombie by shooting him in the stomach.

Twice.

Which as we all know is the only way to kill the undead.

Not wanting the plot to be the only thing that's meandering, Helen wanders deeper into the space station before coming across (if only) a harsh-faced girl who is luckily on hand to explain the plot to those of us who haven't drunk themselves into a coma/slashed their wrists by now.

So pay attention, here's the science part:

It appears that Helen is actually an android and that the space station is the staging ground for a final battle between The Terran Special Forces and the stations very own Allied Airborne Battalion.

Why? I hear you cry.

Well the scientists aboard the station have discovered a process by which they can turn folk (but only the really unattractive and untalented ones by the look of it) into scribble faced zombies.

And if that wasn't enough it seems that the process can also be used to turn them into massive robot dogs.

Obviously the people of Earth need to put an end to such frankly ludicrous shenanigans as soon as.

Makes perfect sense when you think about it.

If the director can't be arsed then I'm not wasting my time thinking up an amusing caption.

Now you'd think that'd be enough to keep even the most dedicated hero busy but no there's more as the scientists have also aimed a massive laser at the planet too.

And not just any old laser oh no, you see this one is specifically designed to create wormholes in time and space.

Tho' why you'd threaten to destroy the only place that you can get subjects for your robot dog/zombie hybrid experiments isn't explained.

Or maybe I'm just too thick to figured it out.

And so begins a race against time - and good taste - for our trim tummied terminatrix as she desperately tries to discover her reason for being onboard and her connection to the project before the earth is destroyed.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Cue 40 minutes of arse-prolapsing dialogue (including a frankly bizarre conversation about Helen's undies), Nintendo 64 quality 'special' effects, the same animated GiF of gunfire used over and over, random blood splash photoshop effects whenever anyone gets shot and the biggest collection of badly painted pound shop Nerf guns ever committed to videotape.

Imagine Alien: Resurrection remade by a group of fish-eyed schizophrenics with only the contents of their dads garage for props and with a script written in shit by a club footed insomniac in exchange for a collection of vintage underwear ads and you'd only be half way to understanding the whole sorry mess.

But who do we thank for it?

Well that'd be writer/director/composer/actor/binman Andrew Bellware - the man who gave the world the definitive discourse of that famous Dane with his New York based 1997 version of Hamlet (no me neither) as well as such straight to torrent site shite as Prometheus Trap, Alien Uprising and Clone Hunter who with this brings us a film so inept, so threadbare and so mind numbingly awful that it managed to not only give my DVD player cancer but caused me to go blind whilst watching.

And it's not just that it's badly made, ill-conceived and horribly realised but the fact that none of it makes any sense and that no-one involved seems to care.

The 'actors' (save Kurtz) seem to be wandering around in a self conscious, charisma free daze - all that is except the thick-necked blonde space marine lady who delivers her lines with all the skill and charm of a menstruating traffic warden with delusions of godhood and unfortunately the mouth of a stroke victim -  almost as if they've been forced at gunpoint to appear in this travesty as some kind of sub-Saw revenge plot.

Come on....they can't have all fucked the directors dog so god knows what they did to end up in this.

If I'm honest I'm kinda worried at to what punishment Bellware will dish out to me if he reads this.

This makes me really sad.

It's not all bad tho' - no hang on it is actually tho' I will admit that had I not had the misfortune to sit thru this I would have missed how utterly woeful (re: fucking abysmal) the robo/dog/zombies actually are.

I'd try to describe them but a screengrab will have to suffice and not even that can do them justice:

No really, just fuck off.

Yes my friends I'm actually recommending that you do indeed sit thru this steaming pile of cinematic shite just to experience the absolute joy of this perfect example of computer-aided arse first hand.

I doubt you ever find anything else that even remotely comes close.

The cinematic equivalent of being clumsily bum-fingered by a jaggy nailed tramp, Total Retribution is less a piece of low-brow cinema entertainment more an evil endurance test designed by an insane sadomasochist with a spandex fetish.*

But don't take my word for it see for yourself......

You know you want to.


























































































*It still pisses over The Last Jedi tho'.

stryke it lucky.

Noticed that the pound shop Oswald Moseley, ferret-faced uber-racist and part-time hand model that is Nigel Farage has been trending on Twitter again.

Unfortunately it's not because he's dead but because it looks like our roly poly prankster cum (bucket) Prime Minister Boris Johnson has promised him a peerage for um reasons.

The scariest thing tho' was at no point during the conversation was it mentioned that BoJo and Nige actually have more in common that just being elitist tosspots who only think of lining their own pockets no matter what the cost to anyone else because you see they also scarily enough both have the same favourite film.

No seriously.

I once phoned in Farage's radio show to ask him about it.*

Johnson: A mooth made for shite-in in.

Obviously this shouldn't come as too much of a surprise when you realise that Zombie 4 is actually about immigration and foreign types and the like but under the guise of being an Italian zombie film.

Clever eh?

Oh plus it features Jeff Stryker and as we all know BoJo never says no to a wee bit of man-cock.

You can ask Carrie Symonds about that.

Anyway on with the review.

Zombie Flesh Eaters 3 (AKA Zombie 4: After Death. 1988)
Dir: Claudio Fragasso.
Cast: Jeff Stryker, Candice Daly, Don Wilson, Massimo Vanni, Nick Nicholson, Adrienne Joseph, Jim Gaines, your mom and some tramps.

But not Jeremy Corbyn obviously.

Or immigrants.

Touchin' our bane will feel our rain on the gain. It's a nightlife, whoa! Runnin' hard if you want it or not! It's a wild life, whoa! You can't stop. You must go on! I'm living after death! Living after death! I'm living after death! Living... Living... LIVING AFTER DEATH!

Somewhere on a remote South Pacific island (or more likely in the kiddies play park behind the directors house), a scientific research team have been working on a cellular regenerative thingy in the hope of finding a cure for ingrowing toenails and bad breath.

In an attempt to get the local (glam rock frocked) natives onside, top science bloke Dr. Godfrey Soontodie has offered to use this frankly bollocks scientific discovery to help cure the voodoo witch doctor's daughter of her terrifying bunions.

As is always the case in these situations the wee girl unfortunately dies.

It's off screen tho' so it's not that upsetting.

"Get your clothes off and your lips puckered....these babies aren't gonna suckle themselves!"

Not too surprisingly the witch doctor takes offense to this news and decides to put the famous 'curse of the dead' on the island, its visitors and inhabitants.

Which is understandable if not a wee bit annoying for the rest of the tribe.

With a wave of his mighty (and very beefy) arms and a flash of homemade fireworks (but not alas a flash of old man thigh) literally all hell breaks loose.

Well it would if hell consisted of an old lady in an ill fitting Halloween mask and a pair of Austin Powers teeth seemingly faking an orgasm whilst dancing like Ian Curtis (post suicide) on crack.

It's your nan at Christmas basically.

Laugh and indeed now!

It's not too much of a spoiler to say that the dead rise and kill everyone.

Well everyone that is except the lead scientists blonde moppet daughter, Jenny who survives the carnage thanks to a magic amulet given to her by her mother.

Well it's either actually magic or so cheap and nasty as to repel any self respecting zombie that sees it.

You can decide.

Flash forward 15 years later and a rescue team, led by the hunky Chuck (porn idol Stryker in a rare 'straight' role - ask your dad) is finally dispatched to discover why no-one has been returning their calls.

Well they took their time didn't they?

Also on the island (by some strange quirk of fate) is a by now all grown up Jenny (the late, great Daly from The Young and the Restless and Hell Hunters) accompanied by the slightly less attractive Louise (Joseph, mother of Birds of a Feather's Leslie), rentalunk Rod (Nicholson) and a couple of dirty mouthed gypsies.

Our Nige seen here reenacting his favourite scene from the movie. No, I didn't realize that it featured a bit where a bigoted halfwit almost gets garotted by a biplane either. Must have been cut in the UK.

Sod all this character stuff tho' we want to know what Team Chuck is up to.

Well, whilst wandering around in a polystyrene cave left over from Michele Soavi's 'The Sect' (no really) our hero comes across the mysterious Book of the Dead.

Which is a change from my boyhood years watching him coming across a variety of buff arses whilst pulling a face not too dissimilar to the one your grandad pulled when he had that stroke.

But enough of the homemade erotica you want to know how Chuck knows that it's the real Book of the Dead and not a shoddy knock-off one from down the market.

Well it does have the words BOOK OF THE DEAD printed on the cover in big bold letters so I guess that clinches it.

You can see why Mrs Unwell doesn't trust me to buy stuff off Ebay can't you?

"Shite in mah tramp bearded mooth!"

Anyway back to the plot (for want of a better word) where Chuck, in a vain attempt to prove he can read unaided - but alas proving that he's never seen a horror movie - begins to shout random passages from the book (intercut with him shouting "Yeah baby! You're so fuckin' tight!" and pulling his cum face - well in my dreams it is) not realizing that the words, when read aloud are capable of bringing the dead back to life.

This'll be the same living dead that have actually been wandering around aimlessly for the past decade and a half from when that witch doctor read the same book, remember?

The writer obviously doesn't.

Some immigrants stealing our jobs and benefits yesterday.

Within minutes our heroes (well the folk on screen) are running for their very lives as hordes (I say hordes but I mean dozens) of foul looking refugees and illegal Eastern European immigrants (possibly) begin to rise slowly from their shallow graves intent on tasting the legendary Jeff Stryker's ample meat.

Or something.

Meanwhile in the grassy bit behind the bike sheds, jumpy Jenny and co. have problems of their own (discounting the obvious ones like lack of acting ability and bad breath) when a lone, maggot covered tramp (obviously symbolizing Remainers) falls on them from behind a tree covering a hapless member of her party in sick.

Running away screaming they soon stumble across the deserted medical research facility (in reality the directors local scout hut) once run by Jenny's folks where they're soon joined (c'mon, the running times not that long) by Chuck who has managed to escape the scary flesh eaters by leaving his team to die whilst he sneaked away sobbing like a baby.

What a guy.

Bobby Davro, up the casino, Penrith 1985.....YESCH!

Luckily for the survivors this peaceful medical centre is chock full of weapons  giving the male cast members ample opportunity to pose in a topless sweaty manner whilst firing a variety of semi-automatic weaponry indiscriminately at various unpaid extras who are then expected to fall off roofs and be set on fire in the vain hope of securing a work permit or at least a new pair of shoes for their kids.

Ain't capitalism grand?

But the humans are fighting a losing battle as one by one they are overcome by the advancing dead.

Deciding the blow up the centre in an attempt to convince the zombies it's Bonfire night and thus giving the humans a chance to escape (plus they reckon it might add a wee bit of much needed excitement to the movie), sole survivors Jenny and Chuck make a break for the woods only to find themselves back in the very cave where the spooky witch doctor started the undead plague to begin with.

With the zombie army closing in and Chuck down to firing blanks, Jenny clutches the magic amulet, praying for a miracle.

Well it's either that or she's cursing her agent.**

Casual.

Will our toothsome twosome escape?

Will the UK rise up and actually take back control?

Will the zombie hordes attack Jenny and eat her whole?

Or will they spit that bit out?

Or will Chuck die whilst something slight and fairly incomprehensible happens to Jenny?

Go on, guess.

Not photoshopped.

Best known for it's frightening amount of alternate titles (After Death being the most common and Zombi 4 being the easiest to spell) as well as being shot on sets constructed for Michael Soavi's 'The Sect' and filmed entirely using camera's and equipment 'borrowed' from the set of Bruno Mattei's 'Strike Commando 2' (which was filming nearby), Claudio Fagrasso's -AKA Clyde Anderson - Zombie Flesh-Eaters 3/4 is the near pinnacle of bad movie making made flesh, a cinematic black hole so dire that not even light can escape from it's spiny celluloid fingers.

Imagine the most dangerous and sordid unsafe sex act you could ever indulge in with the most foul, STD ridden, crab-panted person - or animal - you can, then imagine that as you're about to cum (against your better judgement) you look down and realize that this pock marked, toothless crone you've payed £5 to probably catch sex death from is, in fact, your Gran.

You know...the dead one.

This is the effect After Death can have on a normal cinema goer.

But saying that, imagine how amusing it would be if you saw this happen to a friend.

And you just happened to have a camera handy.

So I guess you pays your money you takes your chance.

Funnel or tunnel?

Wise men say that you can't choose who (or what) you fall in love with tho' and like the three legged dog you should put down but decide to nail to a skateboard, After Death stays with you long after the DVD has been ejected, just like Hepatitis C or the feeling of shame you get after watching your parents home made porn.

Obviously just before realizing halfway thru' that you're actually the star, propped up on top of the wardrobe, drugged up to the eyeballs and wearing a dress.

But if like me you're one of the special few that actually enjoys Fragrasso's work - especially his top notch collaborations with Bruno ('Zombie Creeping Flesh' and 'Rats : Night of Terror') Mattei  - then jump in and enjoy.

I know I did.

But to be honest I really think that I should get out more.

And by that I mean out of the house not out of Europe obviously.

We wouldn't have stuff like this film if that were the case.

*And bizarre as it seems it's also Catherine Blaiklock's favourite film too.

You see it was actually her love of this movie that got her to team up with  Farage to form the Brexit Party in the first place.

**Tho' obviously not as much as she was after she left The Young and the Restless, when after being unable to find work ended up OD-ing in a rundown Los Angeles apartment on December 14, 2004, which kinda put the dampers on my 35th birthday I can tell you.

celebrity love island.

With it being the home stretch of this whole 31 days of horror fiasco I've decided that it's time to revisit this quality Joe D'Amato 'classic' as a way of 'celebrating'.

I'm blaming this on the fact that I rewatched Wild Beasts t'other day and felt like a frisky femme fix after the joy of seeing Lorraine De Selle strut her sexy stuff.

Don't be too harsh on me tho' when I admit to having a really soft spot for this film, it was one of those movies that always sat at the back of your 'nasties' cupboard when you were 15 (alongside the Malcolm McDowell masterpiece Caligula and Mad Foxes).

The 80's: That's how we all dressed.

It disappeared from my collection during one of my frequent moves during the late 80's but bizarrely enough a few years ago I was sent a copy in the post by my mad uncle Quentin - alongside an out of date condom and a copy of the Anime series Sex Friend which he'd mistakenly purchased thinking it was called Sex Fiend but I digress.
 
So saddle up and prepare to revisit those heady days of Pop Will Eat Itself, Red Stripe in cans, starchy school uniforms and dodgy Marc Almond haircuts.....


Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi (AKA Erotic Nights Of The Living Dead 1980)
Dir: Joe D'Amato
Cast: Laura Gemser, George Eastman, Mark Shannon, Dirce Funari and some other folk obviously but they're the most important ones.

Salty Oirish seadog, Captain 'amazing' Larry O'Hara (played by the half man half giant sweat gland that is D'Amato regular George Eastman, this time wearing Al Cliver's beard and Auretta Gaye's breasts) has been hired to take a big mustached, 'sexy' American businessman/playboy/STD riddled sex tourist Mr. John Wilson (yes, the Man in Haini's Fantasy from Orgasmo Nero himself, Mark Shannon) and his 'girlfriend' Fiona (the fantastically named Dirce Funari from D'Amato's Porno Holocaust) to visit the remote island of Briny Cleft where the businessman is planning to build an exclusive holiday resort.

Presumably one exclusively for the use of big mustachioed playboys wearing bri-nylon.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

After what seems like days of on deck shagging, drinking, comparing of man-tits and  the like they finally arrive at the island to find a spookily sexy voodoo lady (and I don't mean maybe) named Luna (Gemser, ask your mum) and her bony old dad Geoff waiting for them on the beach.

And they don't look happy.

Saying that tho' if someone told me I was going to have to put Mark Shannon's warty cock in my mouth for a measly 25 quid I'd be a wee bit pissed off too.

It appears that the island is cursed and bad things (other than the imminent risk of herpes) are going to occur if they don't scarper back to the boat pretty sharpish.

You see, this is an island of the dead and they don't take kindly to property developers disturbing their sleep.

Either by building stuff or having sex a lot.

Which is fair enough really.

"Excuse me I appear to have accidentally stuck my cock in you".

Obviously the only way to deal with this frankly terrifying revelation is to indulge in a bit - well a lot - more sex.

Which is nice.

And it must be our lucky day cos not only do we get to experience the sheer joy of Eastman's hairy arse thrusting up and down as he attempts to pleasure an obviously bored Funari but also the unbridled passions of Gemser and Funari (again - the poor girl will be knackered) as the pervy pair get down to some furious scissoring.

It's not all bareback bummings tho' because D'Amato knows what we're really here for.

Yup, the undead.

Oh go on then and took gaze in awe at the dusky and dirty pillowed Gemser.

But mainly the undead.

Who it has to be said do indeed rise to take revenge on the interlopers in a surprisingly tense scene that's actually quite cinematic and stylish thanks to the use of a fog machine and a couple of blue lenses.

Great cinematography in a Joe D'Amato flick?

Will wonders never cease?

Rrrrraaaaannnnggggeeerrrrssss!!!

It's at this point that the movie goes a wee bit strange - which seeing as it had a woman opening a bottle of Champagne with her fanny during the films opening is saying something - as without rhyme nor reason the lovely Gemser suddenly turns into a cat (or a child's cuddly toy I can't really tell) and back again before biting Mark Shannon's cock off as Eastman runs into the sea screaming before turning round and running out again.

Maybe it was too cold?

As a plus point it does give us a chance to see his huge hairy nipples rubbing against his wet vest so it's not all for nothing.

And what is the foxy Funari doing during all this I hear you ask?

Well she's sitting on the beach clad only in a massive pair of grey granny pants sobbing and snottering everywhere whilst the undead slowly creep toward her.

Will our heroes survive the zombie hordes and live to shag another day?

Go on, guess.

Like his other genre molesting crossover Porno Holocaust - both of which were shot over two weeks in the same Dominican Republic locations with only minor variations in cast and crew (mainly due to Tetanus jabs being required -  it's difficult to see who D'Amato was aiming these films at.

Present company excepted obviously.

The usual porn brigade are no doubt going to be put off by the scenes of undead induced violence whilst your everyday horror fan is probably not going to want to see Mark Shannon's wart-infested scrotum.

Possibly.It does beg the question is this a rare example of the unsung genius that is D'Amato sneakily toying with the porn crowds expectations and enjoyment by creating a genre defying work of cinematic art never since matched?

Probably not but it would be nice to think so.

Even for a short while.

"Put it in me!"

Yet, despite all the crap shags, woeful performances and the aforementioned sight of Eastman's girlfriend opening a bottle of Champagne with her vagina, the island scenes are steeped with a genuinely nightmarish atmosphere thanks to D'Amato's moody, if sometimes zoomtastic, cinematography.

Marcello Giombini's eerie score is suitably, um, eerie and the 'exotic' Laura Gemser is always worth a mention.

If not a quick hand shandy every now and then, especially if you're watching her fitness video.

Or so your dad says.

There is even the odd spooky scene along the way, like the one when Shannon, sceptical of the zombie curse, throws away a protective talisman only to see it transform into a cat as it hits the sand.

Pity this can't be said about the later scenes of zombies dropping from trees tho' seeing as they look exactly like what they are, which is groups of unfortunate drunk homeless men being pushed out of bushes.

Saying that it's probably better to be pushed off by D'Amato than wracked off.

Especially seeing as he's been dead nearly 20 years.

Funari: Smashing arse.

But for all it's faults and uncomfortable close ups of ugly warts, sagging arses and lopsided breasts (stand up and be counted Ms. Funari) Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi comes across (quite literally) as the bastard, inbred offspring of Fulci's Zombi 2 and Jess Franco's Nightmares Come at Midnight with a wee bit of Ferdinando Di Leo's Klaus Kinski starrer Asylum Erotica thrown in - or up - for good measure.

I mean if you're going to steal steal from the best.

Plus it's slightly funnier than D'Amato's Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (plus it hasn't got a bizarre arse obsessed subplot) and a damn sight more erotically charged than The Boy In The Striped Pajamas.

And that really isn't such a bad thing if you think about it.