stars in their eyes.

Starry Eyes (2014).
Dir: Kevin Kölsch and Dennis Widmyer.
Cast: Alex Essoe, Amanda Fuller, Noah Segan, Fabianne Therese, Shane Coffey, Natalie Castillo, Pat Healy, Nick Simmons, Maria Olsen, Marc Senter and Louis Dezseran.

Skinny kneed wannabe actress Sarah (Essoe, a taller, skinnier, more highly strung version of Unwell fave Sally Hawkins) dreams of movie fame and fortune whilst spending her days waitressing (in what looks like a pair of painted on leggings) at a frighteningly depressing potato-themed restaurant named Big Taters.

Her scarily spud-headed boss Carl (the always great Healy from The Innkeepers) is slowly losing patience as more and more of her work-time is taken up with phoning and attending auditions as opposed to making potato-type puns and jutting her breasts out whilst her friend Erin (John Dies At The End's Therese) appears to be channeling Dynasty era Joan Collins, constantly trying to with her general bitchiness as she tries to undermine Sarah's confidence at every opportunity and attempting to steal any role she goes up for.

Saying that, she is really cute so I guess we can let her away with it.

You'd Fabianne her Therese. Probably.

The rest of her friends aren't much better seeing as they consist of a group of wannabe artsy types banding together thru' a shared love of interesting haircuts and tramps trousers.

Saying that tho' they're all  so painfully hip it's a wonder the can find any tramp trousers that fit.

In fact, the only decent folk amongst them is Sarah's doll-like roommate Tracy (Fuller, imagine an American version of Billie Piper - in a good way that is) and struggling writer/director cum Erin's fucktoy Danny (Days of Our Lives Conner Lockhart himself, Segan).

But he lives in a van so he doesn't really count.

You see whilst our American cousins may think this is really cool, in the UK we just call people like that Pikeys.

Before setting fire to their shoes obviously.

"Spuds in mah mooth!"

Good fortune (and the plot kicking in good and proper) appears to smile on our heroine one day when she's call up to  audition for a brand new horror epic entitled The Silver Scream, a new project being made by the world renowned  production company Astraeus Pictures.

A company that, due to it's name has either spooky mythological overtones pertaining to the Greek god of dusk and change (and father of the four wind deities) or was set up by a fan of Iron Maiden star Bruce Dickinson's much missed budget airline.

Tho' there's nothing stopping them being a fan of both I guess. 

With this information boosting her confidence Sarah excitedly attends the aforementioned audition only to have her (to my mind anyway) perfectly acceptable reading met with a wall of total apathy and boredom by the creepy casting director (genre favourite Olsen coming across like a scarier real life version of The Incredibles Edna Mode crossed with a shark) and her vaguely camp assistant (smooth chinned Senter).

"Hello French polishers? You may have just saved my life!"

 Sent home with a sigh, Sarah does what anyone would in that situation (if you're a mentalist obviously) would do and strops off to a nearby bathroom before proceeding to pull her hair out whilst screaming.

Which apart from being vaguely reminiscent of my nans stroke (in a totally non sexy way obviously....oh go on then it was a wee bit sexy) is enough to move the casting director to give her another chance.

Sarah that is not my nan, who's a bit too old to audition for a horror movie.

And probably a bit too dead as well.

Returning to the audition room Sarah begins to tear at her hair whilst pulling an 'I'm having a massive poo" face before passing out in a heap.

Not unlike a big bag of potatoes.

Cinematic symmetry eh?

She awakes to find she's been offered a callback to a second audition.

But this one will be slightly different in the fact that she wont need any of her clothes.

She needn't worry about feeling uncomfortable tho' because there'll be a huge fuck off strobe light in the room to help Sarah open up her potential to 'transform' whilst the casting director take pics.

Hmmm....sounds legit.

A pre-stroke, non dead gran yesterday.

Surprisingly Sarah is OK with this and is soon swaying provocatively to the click of the camera before finally entering a trance-like state of euphoria not seen since pill-popping posters 808state, A Guy Called Gerald, Ceephax Acid Crew and Mantra (possibly) last shared a make-shift stage in a deserted warehouse just outside Coventry.

Which to those readers who are too young to remember 'acid house' would be very euphoric indeed.

And probably result if the police driving a van into the speakers and arresting everyone.

But I digress.

Higher than your dads voice and feeling full of confidence Sarah quits her job at Big Taters and begins to prepare herself for soon to come stardom by acting mildly annoying around her friends and taking the piss out of them when they trip over.

Which would be OK if the fall in question didn't result in the groups most inoffensive member Ashley (Castillo) landing head first on a poolside and breaking her nose.

Called back to meet the films leathery necked producer, Peter Pervington (Dezseran), Sarah is shocked to find the saucy old goat attempting to pop his hand in her pants whilst explaining the plot and realizes, too late that she's expected to have some of 'the sex' with him to secure the role.

Balking at the idea of letting someone who looks like your dad put it in her (she doesn't know what she's missing, just ask your girlfriend) Sarah runs (well totters, her heels are quite high) home where she tells all to Tracy who, as friends do tells everyone else.

"It's a film about love, action, romance and maybe a wee bit of mooth shite-in..."

Feeling slightly humiliated by this turn of events Sarah has no choice but to beg for her old job and hope that Erin will soon find someone else to take the piss out of.

But seeing as none of her other pals are forced to wear leggings printed up like french fries on a daily basis I doubt this'll happen.

Everything comes to a head (quite literally) one night when, after a heart to heart with Danny, Sarah decides to bite the bullet (so to speak) and returns to the producers house where she apologies for running off before and offers to make amends by taking his flaccid member in her perfectly rouged mouth.

Which is nice if a little disconcerting when a group of black cloaked masked men appear from behind the curtains.

With her dignity gone and her friends alienated by her increasingly erratic behavior, Sarah first loses her job before losing herself in increasingly fevered visions of her as a glamorous movie idol with the producer at her side.

Suffice to say she's not a well girl.

But that's not the worst of it as just as she thinks things can't get any worse, she's woken one morning by horrendously painful stomach cramps and blood oozing from every orifice as the pungent smell of ripe onions emanates from her underwear.

Physically and mentally collapsing Sarah's life becomes a living nightmare as she realizes what she must sacrifice to see her dreams of stardom come to fruition....

...Talking of sexual favours for fame...

Inspired (consciously or not) in part by the Freddie Francis portmanteau Torture Garden and with hints of Rosemary's Baby thrown in, Kevin Kölsch and Dennis Widmyer's reversal on the well worn Faustian pact tale may not be the horror classic it's been hailed as and it's true that the films overt policy of showing and telling (the producers is wearing a pentagram and talking about having to sell things! What could he mean?) almost scuppers the genuinely uncomfortable atmosphere generated in the films first half when the mundane reality of Sarah's life intersects with the mysterious auditions but on the whole Starry Eyes is good solid entertainment.

Which is always nice to see.

They just need to realize that somethings are better left imagined.

Case in point is the build up to meeting the producer. The aforementioned performance by Maria Olsen is just the right side of creepy as to remain perfectly straight yet increasingly uncomfortable as she hints at what fame will cost Sarah, the visions of what a Satanic casting couch could involve racing thru' your head as Sarah becomes deeper and deeper involved in Astraeus Pictures plot.

What vileness could be in store for the poor girl?

Well, disappointingly the casting couch is just that, she actually has to blow an old bloke and after all that build up it's a wee bit of a let down.

For us obviously, no doubt he loved it.

"He did WHAT in his cup?"

I might sound harsh but it's only because the rest of the movie is so damn enjoyable.

Newcomer Alex Essoe is fantastic as Sarah, flicking effortlessly between put upon victim and psycho-bitch badness without a hint of panto villainy whilst remaining vulnerable on both counts, giving the film a real world heart that plays nicely against the uncomfortable schemes unfolding around her.

As ever Pat Healy is as watchable as ever as are the rest of the cast who give a genuine likability to what could have been a group of annoying cyphers, Noah Segan especially shines as Danny giving a real warmth to what is a tiny, yet important role.

Best of all tho' is Fabianne Therese who nails the bitchtastically evil Erin to perfection.

Hopefully Kölsch and Widmyer have got enough incriminating evidence to keep this cast together for their next project.

Or at the very least leak any pics featuring Therese drunkenly dancing in the bear suit.

Therese...Bear suit not shown.

With a touch of William Lustig as well as nods to classic John Carpenter in both Jonathan Snipes' pulse pounding synth score and Adam Bricker's lush Cinematography coupled with some great production design from Melisa Jusufi (who also worked on one of my favourite movies, Cats & Dogs: The Revenge of Kitty Galore), Starry Eyes is an old school shocker - in the best sense of the word - and well worth 90 minutes of your time.

I for one am looking forward to the directing duo's next movie.


Recommended.

let it go.

I think my love for Frozen is getting a wee bit out of hand....

cum as you ar(s)e.

Things that really don't need a porn parody part one.

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

In tribute to Eastenders 30th birthday we nominate Pauline Fowler herself, the late great Wendy Richard.

minaj au toy.

Been a wee bit bored here lately so here are some toys pretending to be Nicki Minaj.

Enjoy.

 

beetle's about.

To celebrate the upcoming release of Jurassic World here are some beetles dressed as the cast of the original film.

I'd say enjoy but no doubt the insects families will be in touch complaining about me taking the piss or being cruel to bugs or some such bollocks.

'ave a butchers!

Greetings dear reader(s)!

Been a busy month here at Arena Towers what with dodging angry cosplayers, actually doing some work and helping operation Yewtree with their enquiries (you're marked Ball) so I've been a wee bit worried that there wouldn't be any updates till at least 2023.

How great is it then that a loyal follower has come forward and offered to pen a review himself?

And it's written in English and everything.

Not like the normal shite I get sent.

Anyway, here's what he wrote:

Dear Dr. Lamont,

I like your writings on the films, you funny guy. I like writing on films too. You publish my writings on films and we both get along fine. You not and you be deader than Heath Ledger. When he died I said to my friend "Heath Ledger is died. Let us drink to him and his nights tail".

I say the same to you.

Love 

Jonathan.

So ladies and gentlemen please welcome this months guest reviewer Master Jonathan Butcher, aged 16 from sunny Korea.

Not too sure if it's the good bit or bad bit he's from but hey, beggars can't be choosers.


Fearless Tiger (1991).
Dir: Ron Hulme.
Cast:  Jalal Merhi, Bolo Yeung, Monika Schnarre, Jamie Farr and Lazar Rockwood.

 

Fearless Tiger is Z-grade movie alchemy - it should be steaming great dollop of celluloid turd, but it’s actually a block of screen gold. It's a kung-fu action flick that is astoundingly, perhaps cosmically flawed in every way, but somehow it always manages to keep me coming back, like a scab that won't heal.

The “star” (ahem) of the show is high-kicking short-arse Jalal Merhi, "Beirut's answer to Steven Segal" according to his self-scrawled imdb biography. Mr Merhi owns "Film One Films", and had until 2008 been writing, directing, producing and starring in ultra low-budget stinkers in a quest to keep the world’s bargain buckets filled to the brim. 

 Fearless Tiger was one of his first movies, and its extreme amateurishness combined with the enthusiasm of its cast, including Jamie Farr of Mash fame doing his best “indefinable Middle Eastern” accent, are what make it such a cracking watch.

 

Lyle, daddy and wife-to-be. Platform shoes, perspective and a big hat help to make Lyle appear marginally less tiny.

 

The story follows protagonist Lyle as he struggles with both ruthless drug lords and the English language. 

To explain the entire pothole-ridden plot would take too long, but suffice to say it involves tacky-looking opium-filled Buddha statues being sold as cheap souvenirs (?), police corruption, brutal underground martial arts contests attended by kids and their cardigan-clad mothers, monks, kidnapping, backstabbing prostitutes and sensei masters with ballet dancing sidekicks. 

 

Lyle's opium-peddling nemesis is Salamar, who resembles a crack-smoking Asian hair-metaller and states repeatedly that his kung-fu monk drug gang “The Black Pearls” don’t use guns. 

He demonstrates this by showing how mercilessly he deals with employees who steal from him, when he and his chunky monk assistant Boh do the only thing that ruthless drug lords do to traitors: they push a thief into some shallow water. 

 

The many hideous faces of Salamar, the rumoured offspring of Axl Rose and a bulimic cockroach.

 

 

When Salamar and Boh fly to Canada for a martial arts contest, the lives of Lyle and his even tinier Ronnie Corbett-sized chum Detective Peng are changed forever. 

After getting mashed by Boh, Lyle buys a crappy Buddha statuette from Salamar which inexplicably turns out to be filled with Opium, thus setting him on the path towards chop-socky glory. 

However, because at this point Lyle is completely devoid of kung fu mastery, Peng invites him to Hong Kong to sharpen his piss-weak fighting skills.

 

It's not long before an absolute legend pops into the picture: Mr Stan Channing. 

The Chan-man plays Bailey, a straight-talking, no nonsense, badass police chief who is giving Peng a hard time about the opium-smuggling case he's been working on. 

The only trouble is, Mr Channing looks less like a psycho and more like a frail, 60-year-old maths teacher whose pupils pelt him with spitballs and lock him in cupboards. 

According to Jalal Merhi, this endearingly dithering codger is actually a black belt in real life, but sadly we never get to see him whooping anyone.

The mighty Stan Channing, masterfully chewing out Peng. Cower, mortals!

  Lyle's yuppy brother OD's on the same opium he found in his Poundland Buddha statue, a new street drug known as "fish food", which is apparently "more lethal than guns". This makes me question its long-term selling power, but regardless, it's up to Lyle to abandon his affluent job and towering, long-faced supermodel fiancé to wreak revenge on the purveyors of fish food, by learning the deadly Tiger Claws fighting style in Hong Kong.

  Lyle's first teacher is Do Man, who seems to read his script phonetically and without any grasp of its meaning. After a stretch of thoroughly dull training montages, during which Lyle throws a massive blob-strop and tosses a load of paint over the floor, Lyle decides to compete in the "Beh Moh". 

This totally irrelevant plot distraction is a dangerous underground fighting contest with competitors that include a growling fat fucker with a permed mullet, a scrawny giant with a wobble-head and a balding, unhealthy looking American who looks like he’s accidentally wandered on set while looking for an AA meeting. 

Lyle once again gets his Beirut butt pummelled by Boh, who is coincidentally fighting here too.

 After the patience-testing and totally inconsequential Beh Moh segment, Lyle, Peng, the shortass alcoholic and a cartoonishly tall black fellow team up to take Salamar’s drug-peddling monks down to cripple-town. 

Lyle finally manages to achieve the Tiger Claws technique after having a boogie on top of a mountain with mulleted legend Bolo Yeung and a leotard-clad ballet dancer. 

This sequence is a whole other level of ill-advised drivel, descending into interpretive dance before rising like a shit, inbred phoenix to a sweepingly clichéd shot of Lyle trying to grab a ball out of Bolo’s hand. This, apparently, concludes his training.

When Lyle returns to Canada, his poor bemused fiancé is kidnapped by Salamar’s giggling cronies, a crime seemingly cued by Salamar unnecessarily leaping through a thick glass patio window. 

They’re desperate for a computer disk that Lyle found in his discount Buddha which contains the recipe for Fish Food. 

In one of the most baffling film sequences I’ve ever seen, Lyle meets the drug dealers in an art gallery to exchange his vast wife-to-be for the disk. 

However, the criminals and our would-be-hero are interrupted by an elderly woman who just wants to look at the pretty pictures, and the employees of the gallery who inform them that their dodgy deal is taking place right at closing time.

Somewhere amongst the mishmash of poor editing, pointless flashbacks, over-acting, under-acting and not-at-all-acting there is the greatest "fake limb" sequence in low-budget film history (closely followed by the suicidal dummy in Zombie Holocaust/Dr Butcher MD, whose arm pops off when it hits the ground, only to be miraculously re-attached when we see the corpse in gory close-up). 

 

Our guest reviewer Jonathan in all his Kung Fu glory!

Not to spoil the tension-free story (oh alright, I will), but Salamar and his cronies are in a car chasing Lyle and his lady, who are balanced on the back of a slowly-moving rubbish truck. 

 Salamar foolishly clambers out of the sun roof to get a clear shot at them (using firepower for the second time in the film, despite endlessly wittering on about his gang not needing guns). 

 When the car swerves, Salamar stumbles backwards, somehow managing to land head-first into the car with his legs flailing out the top. 

 The car skids and flips spectacularly with a preposterous-looking pair of dummy-double legs poking out of the sun roof for what must be ten full seconds’ screen time.

After the explosion, Salamar’s henchman Jerome and Lyle have the clumsiest fight of a film consisting solely of clumsy fights, and somehow Jerome ends up vanishing into a pile of garbage. Boh jumps over, clobbers Lyle , grabs the disk and wobbles slowly away, ready for the movie’s mind-blowingly anticlimactic climax during which Lyle lobs a TV at Boh, fails to use any of his training and then wanders gracelessly off into the sunset.

For trash aficionados, Fearless Tiger simply has to be seen. It’s a melting pot of directorial ineptitude, horrendous acting, tension-free storytelling, ludicrous-looking cast-members, and a script with more plotholes than plot. I would encourage any and all to track it down, watch it and then never speak of it again.