people you fancy but shouldn't (part the 13).

Dot Matrix from Reboot.....

Admit it, you would too.

Feel free to make lewd comments about upgrading her software, plugging her USB port etc.

I know I have.

even more classic moments from comicdom.

Nuff said.

can u dig it?

The Burrowers (2008).
Dir: J.T. Petty
Cast: William Mapother, Doug Hutchison, Sean Patrick Thomas, Laura Leighton, Karl Geary, Clancy Brown, Alexander Skarsgard, Stan Burd, Robert Richard and Galen Hutchison.

It's 1879, somewhere on the dusty plains of Dakota (that's in America for our European - and probably quite a few of our American - readers) nice but dim Irish immigrant Coffey (Mimic: Sentinel star Geary, a dead cert to play Cassidy in the Preacher movie I reckon) is skipping merrily toward the Stewart family homestead after finally building up enough courage to ask for their young, flaxen haired daughter Maryanne's hand (and the rest of her obviously) in marriage (and hoping her tough as nails dad will agree).


Expecting to see his beloved running thru' the wheat fields to meet him, he's surprised (to say the least) to find a destroyed and blood soaked cabin, the family gutted (literally) yet no sign of his missis to be.

As is the way with these cowboy types, the local tribe of badboy Injuns are automatically blamed for this vile case of white woman rustling and a rescue party, led by the smarmy Parcher (cousin of Scientology stooge Tom Cruise and star of Lost, Mapother) alongside his lady friends teenage son Dobie (Hutchison) and grizzled nice man John Clay (professional everyman and Santa-alike Brown) is hastily dispatched to find Maryanne before the wicked red skins do anything rude to her.

"Do you think they'll eat her whole?"
"No, I've heard they spit that bit out".
(This 'joke' only really works if you say it
out loud. Sorry).

Heading off into the brownly barren territories our motley crew soon come across the mad as a lorryful of spanners Cavalry officer Henry Victor (X-Files very own Victor Tooms himself Hutchinson) and his band of brothers, who happily drop everything to join in a wee bit of native bashing, starting with the first one that they find.

Yup, this Victor fella's a bad man and no mistaking.

And a rather sweaty one too.

When slicing his feet, cutting bits of him off and name calling fails to draw a confession from the poor guy, Parcher decides to offer him a nice cup of coffee and ask him nicely if he knows the whereabouts of the missing woman.

The Indian brave still denies having nothing to do with the abductions but begins to rant about a group of strange burrowers whom the Indians (especially the mentalist Ute tribe) have encountered years before.

Spoiling for a wee massacre, Victor assumes that these 'burrowers' must be an evil tribe and begins to prepare his lynching equipment and furiously sharpening his knives.

Parcher on the other hand isn't so sure, you see he's knows about stuff so reckons that if the Ute know anything at all it's probably best to go see them.

But not before an evening of manly chat, strong coffee, filter-less fags and much pissing in bushes.

It's during the night that things start to get a bit strange.

Soldiers keep falling into holes, there's a strange whistling in the air and a load of weird mini-crop circles with tunnels in the middle keep appearing from nowhere.

If that wasn't enough, when daybreak finally comes a few of Victors men appear to have run off during the night.

Or could something more sinister be afoot?

Frankly bored by Vile Vic's bonkers macho posturing (and no doubt disgusted by his stale man smell) Parcher and co. (now joined by disgruntled army chef Walnut Callaghan - Thomas from Teevee's The District) decide to go it alone.

Parcher's official Princess Diana novelty
table was always a big hit at parties.

As our merry band cautiously set off toward Ute territory, they rather unexpectedly find an abandoned wagon and stopping to see if there are any crisps and pop in the back stumble (quite literally) across a half buried (and three quarter dead) young girl in a bush.

Which is unusual (if not a little unnerving) for everyone involved.

Wanting to be the returning hero himself (and obviously not wanting to upset his missis), Parcher orders young Dobie to take the wagon to the nearest outpost whilst the real men continue on the quest.

Heading further and further in hostile territory, the group have to deal with not only random violent attacks from unfriendly locals resulting in a sudden and unexpected death, but the knowledge that the mysterious burrowers may be something more than just a mysterious native tribe but marginally less than human...

Fancy a Coffey?

As a native Squaw found nursing her dying husband after encountering the Burrowers explains to Coffey when he asks why they've never encountered these things before, she replies "...You white men killed all the buffalo.....so now they have to feed on something else.”

Visibly shaken by this revelation but more determined that ever to find his true love, Coffey heads even deeper into the unknown....

"Aye hen".

After bursting onto the scene with one of the best debuts ever in the sublime Soft for Digging, JT Petty kind of fell off the radar somewhat, only resurfacing with the (fairly decent for straight to dvd) Mimic 3 and a dozen video games to his credit.

Luckily for us he hit back in recent (well, I say recent) months with the double whammy of S&man and The Burrowers, cementing his talent as one of the most thoughtful and lyrical directors working in the genre today.

Playing out like a stripped bare version of The Searchers as re-imagined by Joe R Lansdale, The Burrowers uses it's low budget to it's advantage, high on dialogue and characterization and builds uncomfortably toward it's climax like a slow moving dark behemoth whose shadow casts ominously across it's characters from the very moment they decide to discover the truth behind poor hapless Maryanne's disappearance, rewarding the viewer with an almost Brothers Grimm style climax in one of the best low budget horrors of the past ten years.

Oh and if that wasn't enough it does indeed have monsters in it!

What's not to love?

Pity then that Lion's Gate have chosen to unceremoniously dump it straight to DVD in the states, meaning we'll be lucky to find a copy for sale anywhere over here.

Bastards.

the gore the merrier.

Catching up on dozens of draft reviews here so stick with me as I unblock my B movie back passage.

It may get a wee bit messy.

Anyways, you've prolly all seen this gem by now but for those who haven't I'll not give too much away.

For a change.

Tōkyō Zankoku Keisatsu (AKA Tokyo Gore Police, 2008)
Dir: Yoshihiro Nishimura.
Cast: Eihi Shiina, Itsuji Itao, Yukihide Benny, Ikuko Sawada, Jiji Bū, Tak Sakaguchi, Keisuke Horibe, Shun Sugata and Cherry Kirishima.

Welcome to Tokyo of the near future where the police force has been privatized, turning your average copper into a Samurai style armoured-clad killing machine more interested in wholesale slaughter (and bizarre facial expressions) than old-styled policing.

Dixon of Dock Green it ain't.

If that wasn't scary enough the city streets are teeming with bizarre 'engineers', mad as spanners mutant killers who can grow bio-morphic weapons (and huge cocks) when attacked.

Such an unusual enemy needs a special kind of police officer (clad in tiny skirts, knee high boots and suspenders in some cases) to battle them, specially trained in the art of butchering big burley beast things.

The best of the bunch is the doll like Ruka (the yumsome Shiina from Takashi Miike’s Audition), sexy as hell (in a kinda mad bird way) with a dark, tragic past, a penchant for self harm and a love of sword fighting.

Plus she looks great in a kimono.

The perfect girl if I'm honest.

Meow.

Being so successful at her job has made Ruka quite a few enemies, the most dangerous of which is the notorious Key Man ( Itao from The Great Yokai War and Death Note: The Last Name), the loopy scientist actually responsible for the creation of the engineers in the first place (accidentally I must add, you know how it is with these science types) who is intent on infecting the general population (well, ponytailed schoolgirl hookers and pube haired Yakuza types mainly) by inserting a fleshy 'key' into their arms.

Which is nice and kinda make sense of his name too.

As the Key Man’s reign of terror continues unabated, Ruka’s investigation's lead her to realize that her past and that of the Key Man are inexorably linked by a distant tragedy.

Oh, and lots of yucky bodily fluids obviously.

Your mum, sister and gran earlier today.

What can you say about TGP that hasn't been said a million times before (and in Japanese, natch)?

FX God Yoshihiro (Machine Girl, Meatball Machine) Nishimura certainly delivers the icky sticky goods when it comes to sick and twisted fun, whether your tastes lie with giant machine gun penises, living femi-chairs that rain gallons of piss over rapt audiences, schoolgirl mutants with acid spraying breasts or half (sexy) laydee/half crocodile women there's something for the whole family here.

But luckily for us, Nishimura manages to hold the whole thing together with some semblance of a plot.

And a very entertaining one to boot.

So wrong, yet strangely so very, very right.

Bit best of all are the random infoblips squeezed in between the heartbreaking storyline and copius nude scenes; fast, furious and funny as fuck fake adverts ranging from right wing police propaganda to ads for designer self harm knives and the best sword for committing hara kari.

Try to imagine, if you will, a well made Robocop or a wavy Davy Cronenberg film with a budget of twenty quid and a sense of humour to match and you're halfway there.

And at the centre of it all is the utterly yummylicious Eihi Shiina, all long legs, waif-like looks and carrying a big sword, spouting stilted videogame dialogue whilst fighting a quadraplegic bondage monster in a gimp mask.

What's not to love?

bongo in the congo.

I've been putting it off for years but due to a few begging emails I've decided to rewatch and review this infamous shocked up exploitation crassic.

And please, no death threats this time, remember I only watch this shite so that you don't have to.

Addio zio Tom (AKA Goodbye Uncle Tom. 1971)
Dir: Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco Prosperi.
Cast: Some fat, bad toothed Italians, some thin, bad toothed Italians, some black folk and a butchers dog.

We're gonna go back, way back in time to the groove-tastic year of 1971 and whilst we're enjoying Slade and Love Thy Neighbour our America cousins are caught up in a terrifying race war.

African Americans, tired of the evil white man and empowered by the words of Malcolm X (tho' luckily not Jason X) and LeRoi Jones, are rising up to make one final bloody stand for justice.

Or something like that, I'm assuming the film isn't entirely truthful.

Deciding to explore the origins of all this race fueled badness (and having nothing to do till the pubs open) a group of brave documentary filmmakers decide to travel back in time for a close-up look at the slave trade, its bosses and the slaves themselves.

In an totally non exploitative way of course.

Next stop....nineteenth century New Orleans!

Less Doctor Who, more
Doctor whatya talkin' about Willis?

Arriving at a convenient plantation and at a time when the place wasn't full of tragic Anne Rice fans, the crack camera crew happen across a huge dinner party hosted by none other than (the neither fat nor Italian) Harriet Beecher Stowe, the author of Uncle Tom's Cabin (which scarily had a pub in my home town of Sedgley named after it, fact fans).

Sitting around a table eating veal and drinking cheap port, her guests enthusiastically defend the slave trade whilst tossing food scraps to a group of wee black boys hiding under the table.

After stuffing their faces with food (well this time travel lark is hungry work) and obviously bored with the after dinner entertainment (which involves watching one of the boys reading from the Bible whilst wearing a tie) our merry band decide to visit a slave ship fresh from the dark continent (Africa not Birmingham) and stuffed full of malnourished and abused soon to be slaves.

Hmmm....could this slavery thing be bad?

The crew still need convincing.

"Laugh now!"

Wandering around the docks and killing a few minutes shooting footage of big fat greasy Italian men licking their lips whilst eying up young boys as a lady in boots whips a black man with a riding group they soon come across (not literally but you never know, I mean she looks up for it) the local House Momma (not top comedy star Martin Laurence but a humongously breasted big black woman whose job it is to 'supervise' the slaves).

Genuinely intrigued as to what this entails (other than standing on a chair shouting 'Thomas!' by the look of her) she happily lets them follow her about for the afternoon as she physically and mentally abuses both her black and white charges (not to mention the viewer with her hellish voice) before sending off a group of bounty hunters to catch a few runaway slaves.

Still not entirely convinced they head off to visit the local doctor for a dose of much needed 'science'.

Using only a chalkboard, an eggcup and a handkerchief he explains (in simple terms) how black people don’t have any feelings and therefore it’s okay to make slaves out of them.

Phew, glad that's all sorted.

"Shite in mah big racist mooth!" and
yes that is the horse from Emanuelle in America.

Needing a break to get their heads round all the scientific 'facts' flying about our heroic news hounds head over to the local whorehouse just in time to see a gaggle of young black women dressed up in a variety of starched undies and bonnets being paraded around for the enjoyment of a group of overweight horny extras waving their (somewhat surprisingly) flaccid cocks around whilst leering in much the same way as your dad does when the papergirl arrives on Saturday morning.

The angle you always saw your local priest from.

And the film carries on in this vein for what seems like days, only stopping for the occasional quick glimpse of bush or copious amounts of close-ups of fat men eating with their mouths open.

Luckily, it has an ace up it's sleeve (and a neck of pure brass) when at the films climax we're 'treated' (if that's the right word) to a gore-rious modern day re-enactment of the story of Nat Turner.

For those of you not up to speed on your American history (tho' if you find books without pictures a challenge - which if you're here probably isn't surprising - there is a comic adaptation of the story by Kyle Baker available), Turner (no relation to Truck or Ted) infamously led a slave rebellion in Southampton County, Virginia that resulted in the slaughter of fifty five white people.

This is shown in the movie by having Turner sitting on a beach watching a nice, middle class family at play before he violently bursts the sons beach ball and slaughters the family in their kitchen whilst loud Wah Wah guitar music plays on the soundtrack.

"Leathery balls.........yesch!"

Art or complete and utter arse?

YOU decide!

Actually don't bother because if I'm honest it's complete and utter arse.

Goodbye Uncle Tom is the defining moment in the sleazy and sordid careers of those idiotic Italian ignoramuses of the mondo movie scene, Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco Prosperi.
The universally derided duo that single (or is that double?) handedly kick started the cycle of 'mondo' shockumentaries of the sixties with the joyless (or is that Godless?) Mondo Cane.

Don't all thank them at once will you?

Knowing a good thing (and a fast buck) when they saw it, the pair followed this up with the (oh so slightly) contraversial Africa Addio, an allegedly hard-hitting look at life in Africa that seemed to consist only of gratuitous scenes of animal cruelty and a bunch of people getting violently killed (onscreen of course) in a variety of painful ways.

Worried that they were begining to be seen as talentless hacks pandering to the voyueristic tendencies of humanities baser elements Jacopetti and Prosperi decided the time was right to bring a big budget adaptation of Voltaire's Candide to the screen.

Unfortunately they only had about twenty Lire to their name so had to make do with unleashing Mondo Candido, the clap riddled whore of exploitation cinema on an unsuspecting public instead.

Which was very nice of them.

As a plus point tho' the movie did give it's name to a rather fine compilation CD of hip n' happening lounge Nu-Jazz and electronica tracks (with a fairly attractive lady on the cover) a few years back so I guess we should be kinda grateful.

She may look happy now but just
you wait till the dirty Gypsy fisting starts.

But all this fades into oblivion when compared to Goodbye Uncle Tom. Although some people will try to convince you that it's an unflinching look at the real horror of slavery (you can tell these folk, they're the ones who've never had to sit thru' it) both you and I know that this is utter bollocks because it's really just an excuse to watch a load of corpulent red faced old men chasing young black girls around a variety of hastily constructed sets before dribbling all over them whilst squeezing their breasts.

I'm not saying this is a bad thing (well I guess I am, sort of) but it'd be nice if they'd be honest about it.

I feel all dirty now, gonna haveta cleanse my soul with Porno Holocaust before bed....damn you Gualtiero and Franco.

whacked.

Been away visiting the fatherland, hence no recent updates but whilst wallowing in the nectar-like taste of Banks' Bitter and dodging fried pork rinds I found this classic bio-pic on sale in the Aladdin's cave that is the Dudley branch of Cash Converters.

Under the circumstances it was a given that I had to purchase it...

And yes, it was complete shite from start to finish but I thought I'd better post something in case you all thought I'd died.

Man In The Mirror: The Michael Jackson Story (2004).
Dir: Allan Moyle.
Cast: Flex Alexander, Frederic Tucker, Krista Rae, William S. Taylor, Barbara Mamabolo, Samantha Kaine, Gerrick Winston, Eugene Clark, Lynne Cormack, Brennan Gademans, April Telek but surprisingly not Billy Dee Williams.

"Why can't you share your bed with someone?
The most loving thing you can
do is share your bed with someone".

God bless VH1, for their first foray into movie making what else could they choose but the fantastically freaky and lusciously lurid tale of the self proclaimed King of Pop Michael Jackson?

Well, if I'd have been them I'd have picked a subject better suited to the poverty row budget this production obviously had.

Welcome to Gary, Indiana (which is in America, near Canada for our European readers) where fuzz haired wonderboy Michael (Gademans, from the - believe it or not - unofficial Diff'rent Strokes bio-pic) lives with his freakish family and overbearing dad Joe - not the guy who sang Is She Really Going Out With Him- (Tucker so memorable in Vampire Cop).

Lenny Henry, up the casino
and covered in flour yesterday.

Luckily these 'poor but happy' shenanigans are glossed over fairly quickly, just giving us enough time to see Joe being strict, MJ's mum looking concerned and the production team to get their money's worth out of the pound shop afro's they've bought before jumping Back To The Future like to various points during the grown up Michael's (now played by Alexander, star of Snakes on a Plane and The Hills Have Eyes 2) life.

But obviously only the bits that can be filmed cheaply.

Cue ninety minutes of money, the price of fame (which by the budget of this movie is about eight quid) and sharing a bed with the wee boy from Home Alone.

Hang it out a window, wipe it's arse or shag it...
what's a guy to do?

Yup, the movie (quite rightly) spends very little time on MJ's most musically productive period, not even trying to restage the Thriller video (I'm sure John Landis would have turned up - via a helicopter obviously - to play himself) so as to spend more time on the important stuff like his slumping record sales, getting married to Lisa Marie Presley (the man-chinned Rae from a load of Sci-Fi channel stuff like Andromeda, dragged up like your dad dressed as Madonna) and Debbie Rowe (Telek, another Sci-Fi channel veteran, all frightening breasts and bleached blonde hair completely unlike the bulldog browed real Rowe) and those aforementioned pesky accusations of buggering wee boys.

Obviously there aren't any such sexual shennanigans on show but you can imagine them if you're so inclined.

She's all smiles now,
but just wait till the fucking starts.

Racing (well, hobbling) towards it's exciting climax we can all experience the pain of Michael's descent into freak-dom, culminating in his interview with Martin Bashir (not played by Dr. Bashir from Deep Space Nine but a guy from the new Stargate series) and his decision to face the music (as it were) and go to court to defend himself against the beasting charges.

And it's scenes like this that magically transform what could be a trite and cheap bio-pic designed to cash in on some poor sods troubles into a work of Pinter-esque genius and all thanks to such stunning dialogue as in the scene where his family are helping choose a good lawyer:

"Michael, Johnny Cochran is the best criminal defense atourney in the country"
"But I'm not a criminal!"
"That's just what they call it Michael"
"Well change it! It sounds ugly!"

"I'm shagging your weans!"

Yes indeedy readers, it's dialogue like this that raises The Man In The Mirror: The Michael Jackson Story above such lesser films like A Beautiful Mind and Walk The Line and although it's easy to slag off the producers for refusing to spend any cash on it (as I did earlier) you have to admire their gall.

Or blatant disrespect for the viewing public.

The casting is so random and out there that I'm surprised that they didn't bump into the Jupiter 2 at some point, Flex Alexanders portrayal of Jackson, decked out in a sailor suit and white face paint is either comedy gold or really offensive, I just can't decide whilst Frederic Tucker spends most of the film polishing an Uzi whilst shouting "This is mah house Michael!" at every given opportunity.

Of the other 'stars' Mamabolo as Janet Jackson and Cormack as Elizabeth Taylor appear to have been cast because they just happened to be passing by the studio on the day of shooting seeing as neither of them look or act anything like their real life counterparts, tho' to be fair, Krista Rae has Lisa Marie Presley's doe eyed look to a tee.

It's a pity then that it's staring out from such a big face.

Can I stop now?

people you fancy but shouldn't (part the 12).

Meryl Streep in Mama Mia. Never ever until that movie (not even in A Cry in The Dark).....
and now all I hear is "meow" when she speaks.

Please don't let me be alone on this one.