ignorance is bliss.

The Barras Market in sunny Glasgow, £5.

Sorted.

weekend at wee burnies.

Well, with Glasgow's very own Frightfest well and truly over and having (almost) recovered from what felt like my first anal raping ever by a movie I reckoned it was about time I started pretending that this was a real film-type blog and write a little report, even giving a wee synopsis of the films and stuff, just in case you fancy any of them.

Don't worry tho' I wont give too much away.

So I think I should start with a little bit of scene setting.

Welcome to Glasgow, a city of smoke and fog, science and superstition, of shite football teams and track-suited, piss stained neds (two of which will later be ejected from the cinema for attempting to steal a Kit Kat from a girls bag, inadvertently causing something interesting to happen during Peter A. Dowling's snoozefest Stag Night).

Glasgow, birthplace of Taggart, heroin, Irn Bru and Bible John.

And for the last weekend in February, home to Frightfest, an off-shoot of the larger London event held at the world famous (and oft mentioned around here) Glasgow Film Theatre, a quaint and perfectly preserved 850 year old cinema and gladiatorial complex slap bang in the heart of the cities underground mining area.

Entering the building via one of it's many utility lifts I arrived at the screening suited, seated, clutching a flask of weak lemon drink and a bag of Wine Gums, ready and waiting for some blood drenched fun.

First up (after a bizarre yet instantly forgettable Curling/zombie short) was Adam (Hatchet) Green's latest snowbound chiller.

Frozen (2010)
Dir: Adam Green.
Cast: Kevin Zegers, Shawn Ashmore, Emma Bell, Adam Johnson, Ed Ackerman, Rileah Vanderbilt, Chris York and Peder Melhuse.

Best buds 'Steeley' Dan (Zegers - tall dark and hunky) and Kenny Lynch (Ashmore - blond and geeky) are all set to hit 'ver slopes' (as you youngsters say) for their traditional boys only ski weekend but much to Lynch's chagrin Dan has invited his harsh faced, piggy eyed (and non ski-ing) girlfriend Parker (Bell) along as well.

now there is a mooth made for shite-in in.

After a wee bit of character defining/building bitching, Parker shows her worth by conning a fat, bearded resort employee out of a cheap chairlift ticket and our teen trio head up mountain for a day of ski-ing, sexy banter, snowboarding, silly hats and cool MOR sounds.

After retiring for pizza and man-chat (which is overheard by Parker - oops), Dan decides to make it up to Lynch by joining him on one last run on the big boys slope before bed.

Parker, feeling guilty for making them hang around all day with a safety helmeted girl who keeps falling over offers to come too.

Rushing over to the bearded man (who even after a few hours has got considerably fatter) the pals persuade him to let them have one more ride to the mountain top before bedtime, slowly heading upward toward ski-central, excitedly preparing to race each other all the way back down.

And this is where the fun begins as due to a series of unfortunate misunderstandings and events beyond anyone's control, our merry trio inadvertently end up stuck halfway up the mountain when the lift is shut down and all the employees head home for the week.

Arse.

Rum, sodomy and the lash.

Trapped on a windswept chairlift and in desperate need of a toilet, Dan, Lynch, and Parker face a fight for survival against not just the biting cold and the local wildlife below but also the fears and prejudices the hide from each other...

Adam Green's second feature Frozen is a gem of a movie to be relished and a truly inspired choice to open the festival.

Never has a movie set in such an open and wide environment had such a crushing sense of foreboding and claustrophobia, the three actors (almost constantly on screen for the films entire running time) are totally believable, eliciting a real emotional response to the situation as the bickering, bitchy buddies, always staying just the right side of punchable.

I can't really say much else except see it.

Next up was a film from a man of such standing, talent and general niceness that after a few minutes of speaking to him a lame man was able to walk for the first time ever and a leper was cured just by standing next time.

And I'm not just saying that cos he's commissioned artwork from me.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you Lord Tim of Sullivan's...

2001 Maniacs: Field of Screams (2010).
Dir: Tim Sullivan.
Cast: Bill Moseley, Lin Shaye, Christa Campbell, Kathryn Le, Katy Marie Johnson, Asa Hope, Ahmed Best, Andrea Leon, Nicola Rae, and Trevor Wright.

Sick of having to make excuses every time a group of Northerners get themselves killed whilst visiting Pleasant Valley, the local sheriff decides to close the detour used by the cannibalistic townsfolk to ensnare victims into their twisted revenge plan.

Obviously Mayor GW Buckman (Moseley) isn't too pleased with this turn of events so, after first despatching the aforementioned law enforcement agent in a big spike-lined barrel decides to take the towns special brand of hospitality on the road like some twisted, (even more) inbred Partridge Family.

Nice firm breasts, face of utter fuckness.

Meanwhile, airheaded heiresses Tina and Rome Sheraton (Johnson and Hope) plus their (motley) Teevee crew are ready to kill (and in some cases shag) each other as a result of spending weeks trapped in a semen stained, hash stinking van whilst travelling cross country making the hit reality series Road Rascals.

But thanks to a miss timed blow-job and a burst tire, our Hollywood pals end up surprise guests of Buckman's celebrations.

Celebrations that will culminate in an orgy of sex, blood, cannibalism and political in-correctness gone mad.

I'd scream if my bra and pants didn't match too.

What can you say about Sullivan's Looney Tunes inspired sequel to his earlier love letter to Herschell Gordon Lewis apart from that it's crude, lewd and drop dead funny featuring as it does more taboo breaking bits (and general bits breaking) than any movie since, well the first 2001 Maniacs.

Plus this time we get added bestiality, some studly hunks for the laydees plus the wonderful Lyn Shaye delivering a doozy of a masturbation tip.

As the director himself so eloquently put it:

"If the original didn't secure me a warm spot in Hell, this one sure will!”

Which leads us nicely to Stag Night, which will no doubt get director Peter Dowling a one way ticket to Hades.

Just not for the reason he was expecting.

Stag Night (2008).
Dir: Peter A. Dowling.
Cast: Kip Pardue, Vinessa Shaw, Breckin Meyer, Scott Adkins, Karl Geary, Sarah Barrand and Rachel Oliva.

New York nice guys Karl Mike and Joe (Pardue, Geary and Adkins) are enjoying a drink fuelled (yet very polite, I mean these are modern men) stag night when ne'er do well sibling (I can't remember who to) Tony (Robot Chicken stalwart Meyer) gets them chucked out a nite club due to his loutish ways.

Heading home for bed via the subway, Carl decides to try and chat up a lovely laydee (well, drunken whore type) he met earlier that evening but his chances of true love are dashed by Tony who not only offends her pal by calling her a bitch (oooh he's a bad 'un) but gets the group pepper sprayed for their trouble.

Vinessa Shaw realises too
late that this isn't Deathline.

For no other reason than to further the plot the group force open the train doors and end up standing around arguing on an abandoned platform that hasn't been used since the '70's.

Round about the same time this plot first surfaced.

To everyone's (except the viewer and the two drunks fighting down the fronts) surprise the train pulls away leaving this merry band stranded and bickering.

All that is except that is for Nick who's finally managed to finally pull the aforementioned drunken whore.

Result.

Leaving the loved up pair behind so they can rut in peace on the filthy, shite encrusted platform (aw...how romantic) the others (as in other ciphers/characters not the Christopher Eccleston movie) make their way down the subway tunnel in the hope of finding help.

Or a half decent plot.

Breckin Meyer, up the casino, 2008.

Eventually coming across a couple of tramps raping a drinks machine, the pals (and the nice non whore) are horrified to then witness the long haired, fish bearded pikeys slaughter a subway guard using nothing but some rusty tins and their sharp rat like teeth.

Yup our heroes soon realise that they're about to be hunted down like (and with) dogs by a crusty, subway dwelling cannibal clan.

Shaky-cam, scrappy editing and shoddy plotting ensues.

The directorial debut from Peter A. Dowling, the writer of the Jodie Foster film Flight-Plan (of which he seemed uncomfortably proud), one audience member remarked that the movie came across like Creep (the Chris Smith snoozefest that managed to make the yumsome Franke Portente look plain) on steroids.

I beg to differ.

It was more like Deathline with Alzheimer's.

Cliche riddled, lazily plotted with a been there done that attitude that showed nothing but contempt for it's audience, the director deciding that migraine inducing camera work is an acceptable substitute for a good story or scares.

Oh and that surprise shock ending (one of them is still alive!) was rubbish too, tho' director Dowling seemed to be under the misapprehension that it had never been done before.

Bless him.

Contemplating the next days viewing.

Saturdays feast of fun began with what was advertised by Optimum releasing as the first ever showing of their remastered, complete and uncut (and not to say definitive) version of the Lucio Fulci giallo classic A Lizard In A Woman's Skin, tho' as it turned out this was a lie of Suspiria showing proportions.

As the wee girl from Optimum pointed out, between her homework and paper-round she'd not had time to finish putting it all together yet and add to that she'd run out of glue to stick the subtitles onto it.

Or something.

Then proceeded to show a DVD copy of a VHS rip of a puppet show version of the film before promising that the new version would be better and come in a box with a picture on the front and everything.

If they could scrape the money together for photocopying that is.

"The new print fell aff a beanstalk!"

A Lizard In A Woman's Skin (1971).
Dir: Lucio Fulci.
Cast: Florinda Bolkan, Stanley Baker, Silvia Monti, Jean Sorel and Leo Genn .

Saucy socialite Carol Hammond (bouncy bad girl Bolkan) is suffering from sixties style, sleazy sex dreams centred around her decadent neighbour Deborah (Monti).

Her psychiatrist (who, if he isn't cracking off a few to her sordid fantasies should be) insists that there's nothing to worry about but when the nymphomaniac neighbour is murdered during an LSD fuelled sex orgy things start to get complicated.

You see Carol had already dreamt that this would happen.

And the she herself would be holding the knife.

"Is it in yet?"

Is Carol really capable of murder?

Is she being framed by her wandering eyed husband?

Or by someone else?

And what secret does the ginger hunchback hold?

A perfect piece of giallo goodness that sets out to do exactly what it says on the tin.

But if you read this blog you'll already know that.

Next up was the film that everyone had been waiting for, Helene Cattet and Bruno Forzani’s loving tribute to the giallo genre that perfectly recreates the age of the classic Italian thriller.

A virtually dialogue free fable of sexual obsession and black, leather gloved murders played out to a classic soundtrack score of Eurohorror themes.

The one, the only Amer.

Unfortunately I was in the bar so I missed it.

Unlike the Spanish spook sequel [Rec]2, Jaume Balaguero and Paco Plaza's follow up to their real-time roller-coaster of terror [Rec] (obviously).

Pay attention, here's the science part:

[Rec]2 (2009).
Dir: Jaume Balaguero and Paco Plaza.
Cast: Manuela Velasco alongside Leticia Dolera, Ferran Terraza, Juli Fabregas, Pep Molina, Oscar Zafra and Alejandro Casaseca.

Beginning seconds after the original movie ended with toothsome cutie Manuela Velasco being dragged kicking and screaming into the darkness by a giant possessed child, whilst down in the lobby a small group of anti-terrorism police are charged with taking a government scientist into the building to discover the cause and maybe even a cure for the outbreak.

But how do you cure a virus borne of evil itself?

"Oh no! it's the Ninky Nonk!"

Whilst never reaching the dizzy heights of the original (but did we think it would?), [Rec]2 is still a thrill-a-minute, non-stop suspense ride that packs more imagination and scares into it's first ten minutes than in the whole of the next movie.

I still feel violated.

Splice (2009).
Dir: Vincenzo Natali.
Cast: Adrien Brody, Sarah Polley, Delphine Chaneac, Brandon McGibbon and diddy David Hewlett.

Groovy science types Clive and Elsa (the obviously skint Brody and pretty Polley, still paying penance for the Dawn of the Dead remake), after genetically engineering a big brown turd that can be harvested for aspirin or something, decide to go one better and splice together human and animal DNA in order to create a new life form that may hold the cure for cancer.

Possibly.

After messily popping out of a huge birth sac in a flood of KY jelly and warm milk, Dren (as she/it will come to be known) rapidly grows from a little pink and floppy CGI mong-headed cat thing into a bald (and still pink) CGI chicken child (with a cleft palette throw in for good measure).

"Laugh now!"

So far so po-faced.

Anyway whilst all this super accelerated growing is going on there are some boring sciencey type things happening whilst Brody (in a Patrick Troughton wig and wee boys clothes) talks endlessly about ethics, in between trying to kill Dren and trying to have sex with a positively middle aged looking Polley.

The Jade Goody clone was finally revealed.

It's not too long tho' (it just seems like it) before Dren has morphed into a saucy (yet still bald) CGI augmented winged chicken woman with a poisonous tail and long thin turkey legs.

Oh, and shiny plastic nipples.

Not too surprisingly, Brody decides not to try and kill it but to have sex with it instead.

It was at this point that I started shaking uncontrollably and sobbing like a baby, which was a little unfortunate seeing that I'd been mistakenly seated in the 'reserved for guests' section and had found myself in a very drunk and totally incoherent state, sat next to one of the films producers.

This may have come about after my impromptu art signing session at the main guest table the night before so if anyone was wondering who I was can I just apologise and say a nobody.

Sorry.

She mistook my alcoholic state for sheer terror at the movie unfolding before me and leant over to ask if I was OK.

This had the effect of rousing me from my nightmarish slumber and caused me to inadvertently soak her with Lucosade whilst shouting 'Mum! what is it?' in a child-like voice.

Suffice to say she wont be offering to produce Anne Frankenstein any time soon.

I really don't have the words to sum up how utterly arse clenchingly bad Splice is, just that I haven't been this upset by a film since waking up during a midnight showing of Communion just in time to see the aliens were bum raping Christopher Walken.

Is that a recommendation?

Who knows?

Gunnar Hansen: Mmmmmmm Bop!
(or is that Ssssshite mooth?).

It'd be nice to say that they saved the best till last but unfortunately  Harpoon: Reykjavik Whale Watching Massacre was saved for us instead.

Harpoon: Reykjavik Whale Watching Massacre (2009).
Directed by Júlíus Kemp.
Cast: Pihla Viitala, Nae, Terence Anderson, Miranda Hennessy, Aymen Hamdouchi, Carlos Takeshi, Miwa Yanagizawa, Halldóra Geirharðsdóttir, Guðlaug Ólafsdóttir, Snorri Engilbertsson and Gunnar Hansen.


A group of (one dimensional) tourists, so cardboard that it's a wonder that they don't blow off the pier in the wind and float away to sea, embark on a sightseeing trip aboard an ex-whaling vessel captained by the Santa-like Pétur (Gunnar - Leatherface, leatherier balls - Hansen) and co-piloted by a would-be rapist bad boy who you can tell is a bad 'un as we see him punch a disabled man in the films opening scenes (the rapist angle tho' is only there so that the director has an excuse to include some shots of Pihla Vitala's breasts later on which is nice) to go see these magnificent creatures in their natural environment.

But the merry bands plans go awry thanks to a drunk passenger (Hamdouchi) who manages to spear Pétur to the deck and causes Johnny Rapist to sail away in the boats rubber dingy.

But not before smashing the radio and spunking in the sugar bowl.

Shite in mah, well shite everywhere really.

Luckily (well for the plot I guess) it's not too long before the day-trippers are rescued by a local fisherman who (due to a big storm approaching) doesn't take them to port but to his hidden whaling vessel where his brother and mum are lying in wait to kill the whole damn party.

why?

Something to do with Greenpeace and tourism or something.

The plot may be wafer thin but it's an excuse for poor old Pihla Viitala to get her tits out again.

And this time they're covered in fish oil and paint.

Iceland's first foray into horror movies (not counting those Kerry Katona ads) has all the hallmarks of an exploitation classic yet its unsure tone, wildly random subplots and lack of any real meaning torpedoes the idea somewhat leaving it dead in the water.

Twelve year old boys will love it but for the discerning horror fan it came across as lacking in depth, leaving it scuppered and listing heavily toward starboard.

And yes, I do realise the last bit makes no sense.

Saying that tho' you have to give kudos to a director who decides that although he obviously can't afford to film the movies Killer Whale versus American screamer on a life-raft ending, that he's going to do it anyway.

Even if the effect is achieved by an all too obvious wooden fin and grainy stock footage.

Hang on did I say kudos?

I meant a kicking.

So there you go, Glasgow Frightfest 2009.

Where else on Earth can you get eight films, dozens of trailers, sneaky peeks and the unforgettable sight of a former Oscar winners pale buttocks thrusting upon a computer generated chicken for only £40?

Cheaper than your mum and twice as much fun.

fist of fright.

Sorry all (three of you) for the lack of updates recently due in part to my PC eating three reviews (including a particularly good one of House On Straw Hill that involved me having to sit thru' a grainy VHS rip whilst attempting to block thoughts of Fiona Richmond's frankly frightening bush from my mind) and preparing to attend Glasgow Frightfest.

Reviews, gossip, loveliness and the tale of how I'm responsible for the alternate 2001 Maniacs DVD art to follow.

pieuvre pics.

It's mid-term break here so between rampaging podlings and heavy research into Aryan cattle I've not really had time to watch anything of much consequence recently.

But I have come across (quite literally in some cases) even more of those family friendly funny foreign comics.

Enjoy!

more or hess.

Even more good news for fans of 'the films' here in sunny Scotland.

Following on from the Edinburgh David Hess event it's good old Glasgow's turn to fill it's collective trousers with fright, as this March finds the scrummy Glasgow Film Theatre opening it's (curvaceous) doors and welcoming three cult icons of fear for a weekend of wanton wickedness !

Now pay attention cos here's the science part:

Friday 12th March

A double bill of the very wonderful "House of the Devil" and the original cult Craven classic "Last House on the Left" with special guest 'dangerous' David Hess in attendance doing a Q & A afterwards plus he'll be signing autographs for a small fee (and maybe a wee kiss on the cheek)!

Saturday 13th March

Those oh-so sexy folk at Arrow Films present a Fulci phantasmagoria with "The Beyond" followed by "City of the Living Dead" shuffling undead-like behind it.

And if that wasn't enough, Cult cinema whipping boy Giovanni Lombardo Radice will be attending an after show Q & A alongside the ultimate scream queen herself, Ms. Catriona MacColl.

Why are you still ready this?

Go book your tickets NOW!

playaway.

It's been a helluvah week here what with all three of the unholy tiny trio housebound suffering from some particularly virulent version of the Umbrella virus, Mrs. Lamont coughing and shaking in the corner and myself, whilst seemingly immune to the scabby plague sits feverishly and scared, attempting to find a cure as the undead hordes of Partick (that's in Scotland by the way) slowly lumber toward our crumbling castle home whilst bravely trying (and failing) to watch a few films from the ever increasing pile of shiny shite on the table.

Poor Cassidy was so feverish he attempted even to eat a Jess Franco box set mistaking it for a block of Galaxy chocolate.

Tho' he may have just fancied seeing some busty women being whipped whilst they lie bound in chains in a damp dungeon.

I mean, he is nearly four after all.

"He's no Jean Rollin Dad!"

Anyway, as I was about to consigned myself to a life free from celluloid stinkers I was surprised to find my doctor prescribing a course of early seventies Euro-porn vampire flicks as the only thing that would cure my malaise.

No matter how uncomfortable this treatment would be it was my last hope and if it did fail at least me and the little fella will get to enjoy some father and son time, bonding over a few 'arthouse' classics.

I mean you can't start a love of cult cinema early enough these days.

The Devil's Plaything (AKA Veil of Blood, Das Schloss der schwarzen Hexen, Den pornografiske jungfrun, Plaything of the Devil, The Curse of the Black Sisters, Vampire Ecstasy and probably dozens more. 1973)
Dir: Joseph W. Sarno.
Cast: Marie Forså, Nadia Henkowa, Anke Syring, Ulrike Butz, Nico Wolf, Flavia Keyt, Irina Kant and a few other folk with even higher Scrabble scoring names.

“The hour of the wampire draws closer.”

Opening with shots of a dark foreboding castle somewhere in deepest darkest Europe (I'm thinking Germany by the size of the lady gardens on show) and to the trippy sounds of a conga beat, we find ourselves privy to a groovy girls night-in being held in a cosy dungeon where a busty bevy of wobbly arsed women are undulating sexily (well kind of) to the tribal rhythms.

Leading the festivities is a big of hip, poppy of eyes and scarily simian faced woman named Wanda (Henkowa from the classic Bibi: Confessions of Sweet Sixteen and the not so classic Baby Tramp) whose idea of a good time seems to involve aggressively touching up women and shoving her ample arse into the camera at any given opportunity.

No complaints from the Cassman so far then.

The party reaches it's climax with the announcement of the evenings raffle draw and after yanking the winning ticket from between a black lasses buttocks, Wanda fetches the winner (a lovely dirty - in both senses of the word - blonde named Brenda) and lays her on the dining table before getting Brenda to masturbate herself silly with a big black dildo.

And all this before the opening titles.

I've no idea how they're going to top that but with the introduction of the blonde bucktoothed bimbette Helga (Forså, whose performance as Lajla the girl in aquarium in the smash hit Sex in Sweden is still talked about in hushed tones on the internet to this day) and the council estate Marlene Dietrich-alike Monika (Butz, star of Love in 3D and What Schoolgirls Don't Tell) you can kinda guess where they're heading.

How your Mum could afford your Christmas
presents when you were younger.
Happy now?

Turns out that this gorgeous (well, I say gorgeous...) pair are descendants of a lusty lesbian vampire cum posh bird Danielle Varga and our sexy strumpets are in line to inherit all her wealth.

Kerching.

But in order to collect their inheritance Helga and Monika must live in Varga’s spooky castle for a year, thus giving wicked Wanda plenty of time to seduce Monika and complete her plan of placing the revived spirit of Danielle Vaga inside the poor girls body.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well apart from Monika being completely straight and there being absolutely no hot girl on girl action in the next ninety minutes?

"Don't look down hen but wee
Jimmy Krankie is trying to shag your leg".

Before we get a chance to let the horror of that situation sink in, a battered old jalopy breaks down right outside the castles gates, I mean come on what are the chances of that?

Turns out that the car belongs to the local doctor (and expert in supernatural activities) Julia Malenkow (big haired Syring from Sexy Susan Sins Again) and her hunkily funky sideburned brother Peter (Confessions of a Sexy Photographer star and ex-Gladiator - possibly - Wolf) who decide, after a wee bit of uncomfortable flirting, to see if the castle has a phone that they can use.

Upon opening the door Wanda, now wearing a harsh school ma'am bun and a centre parting that looks like it's been burnt into her skull thereby revealing even more of her frightening monkey mouth introduces herself as the castles 'housekeeper' and invites the siblings inside to meet the house-mates and enjoy a nice bit of tea and toast.

Yum.

However, behind the smile (well grimace) Wanda is worried as to the real reason that a doctor of spookiness has turned up at the castle at the moment she's about to put her lesbian resurrection plan into operation and during supper she subtly asks Julia if she's just on holiday or if she's visiting because she think there's a bit of kinky vampirism afoot?

Julia, scoffing another Mini-Roll responds (rather enigmatically) by saying “I'm here to study the superstitious beliefs of the villagers.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow before deciding that Julia actually isn't too bad looking and she might enjoy a wee bit of the Sapphic action too.

A sly wink from Wanda is all that's needed for the local lesbian vampire coven (remember the pre-credits?) to begin seducing the house guests via the medium of modern dance and vaguely rude sounding German phrases.

The competition for Ms. Pikey 1977 was hotting up.

As the disco seduction continues the guests all become much sweatier and much more husky which, in turn means Wanda's powers of persuasion become stronger.

But not strong enough to seduce Julia.

Tho' she has started to rub her brothers inner thigh whilst licking her lips, which is nice.

By this time our heroine has begun to notice something is amiss (the fact that everyone else has begun mounting candlesticks and anything remotely cock shaped has probably given her cause for concern too) and takes the precaution of hanging a huge necklace of garlic around her brothers big thick neck before taking to stalking the castle grounds waving a crucifix around like some harsh faced middle-aged Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

On crack.

"It doesn't matter how hard I turn
the dial I can't get Radio One!"

So will Julia be able to resist her brother's yummy manliness?

Will Wanda's plan succeed?

Will the all girl vampire dance troupe decide to enter Britain's Got Talent?

And most importantly will Monika fix her make-up?

From the mind of 60's sex-ploitation legend Joseph Sarno, The Devil's Plaything takes the vampire genre by the scruff of it's neck whilst tugging hard on it's genitalia to produce a warm and sticky mix of sex, horror, more sex and dancing.

The more appropriate title of Vampire Ecstasy suits the movie's tone better tho' given the distinct lack of neck biting on show, replacing as it does the usual vampire bloodlust with an ability to control their victims minds via the power of pure sexual arousal.

Which shouldn't come as any real surprise seeing as the movie is really just one big lesbian porn film masquerading as a horror flick so as to not embarrass the producers parents.

This doesn't mean that the film isn't enjoyable (and sometimes even for the reasons the makers intended), it's heady mix of (hopefully intentional) stilted dialogue, none too subtle phallic imagery and desperate attempt to appeal to both the art and porn crowd raising more giggles than erections.

Tho' scarily there are a group of chin stroking movie critiquing no-hopers that harp on about how similar (and in some ways much more successful) Joseph W. Sarno's masterpiece is when compared to the works of Ingmar Bergman.

It's true, I've met some of them.

And yes before you ask, none of them have girlfriends.

"Ooh Vic! I've fallen".

Sweaty, sleazy and a wee bit queasy, The Devil's Plaything comes across as a better made, (slightly) bigger budgeted version of any Jean Rollin movie you care to choose but populated by far less attractive actresses wearing the type of nightmarish Bri-Nylon fashions that even your Gran wouldn't be seen dead in.

Damning with faint praise?

Well it is what I do best.

skid row.

Check me reviewing the 'modern' films and trying to be down with 'ver kids'.

Yup, must be that midlife crisis rearing it's ugly head.

That and the fact that Caroline D'Amore's frighteningly poppy eyes are spookily hypnotic in their intensity, almost as if she could see me undressing thru' the screen.

Sorority Row (2009).
Dir: Stewart Hendler.
Cast: Briana Evigan, Leah Pipes, Rumer Willis, Jamie Chung, Margo Harshman, Audrina Patridge, Caroline D'Amore and Dame Carrie of Fisher.

"Ellie, I love you because you're always
there to help with homework.
You're like a spellcheck with a nice rack".

Welcome to the Theta Pi sorority house where a group of twenty something pneumatic actresses desperately trying to pretend that they're teenagers are enjoying one of those big parties that only American kids seem to hold.

I mean we were lucky if we were able to sneak out for a crafty fag after lights out without Matron catching us.

This is a great excuse to not only meet our main cast (and get a glimpse at their 'characters') but to see some pert bummed young actresses bouncing around on trampolines in their pants whilst listening to Get U Home by top pop combo Shwayze.

Ah bliss.

Between the amusing drinking japes and topless dancing we're introduced to our six sexy sorority sluts; the soon to be dead Megan (The Hill's Partride), the Acromegaly headed Ellie (the chisel chinned yet curvy of breast Willis), caster legged loose lass Chugs (Run of The House's Harshman - who is neither harsh nor a man), token Asian babe Claire (Chung from Dragonball: Evolution), queen bitch, group leader and possessor of a strange old/young face Jessica (Pipes, daughter of the Ghostwatch baddie and star of far too many American shit-coms to mention) and nice girl (with a boys name) Cassidy (Evigan, daughter of the great god Greg Evigan and star of the Linkin Park video for their single Numb).

So, can we get back to the plot now?

Thank God they've got legs, I mean imagine
the mess they'd make if they were snails.

Well it seems that Megan's beau the rat-like Garrett (who is also Chug's brother) has been having it away with another girl and our cheeky chicks are planning the revenge to end all revenge.

This involves pretending to drug Megan so she falls 'unconscious' then have her vomit up chicken soup halfway thru' foreplay.

If that wasn't complicated enough the girls have rigged up a camera so they can record the whole thing for posterity.

Everything is going according to plan and, on cue Megan sits up, barfs and the collapses as her friends run in screaming as Garrett wets himself in the corner before stomping off to the toilet for a cry (and no doubt finish himself off).

"I don't mind touching his corns but hairy or not
there's no way I'm shite-in' in his mooth".

Reckoning that they could take this fabulous joke even further, Jessica persuades Megan to start dribbling in an attempt to convince poor Garrett that he has, in fact killed her.

And you wonder why I think all blondes are evil.

Driving to a deserted old mine in the middle of nowhere the girls pop Megan on the floor as they discuss who's going to cut the body up, where they should hide it etc., occasionally looking over at Garrett and sneering as he gets more and more hysterical and pissed stained.

They can't have been paying to much attention to him tho' as the next thing you know he's buried a tire iron into Megan's chest in an attempt to clear her lungs of air so she'll sink quicker when throw into the nearby lake.

Quite understandably the poor guy is fairly surprised when, at the point of impact Megan sits up screaming as torrents of blood shoot from her chest cavity.

Jessica decides that now would be the best time to tell Garrett that it was all a practical joke and that Megan wasn't really dead.

As you can probably guess, Garrett fails to see the funny side of the whole thing and continues to cry whilst the girls argue amongst themselves as to what to do.

Luckily good old (yet young faced, remember?) Jessica has a plan and using her amazing powers of persuasion (and bitchy bullying tactics) convinces everyone that they should dump their pals body down a mineshaft and continue their lives as normal.

Cassidy, being a good egg with a cool name disagrees, trying to get everyone to go to the police and explain what happened.

Jessica takes a moment to think it over before threatening Cass with a bloody good hiding and, to keep her quiet, gets Chugs and Claire to wrap Megan's body in Cassidy's coat so as to keep her quiet.

Admit it, you would,
if only to get to meet her dad.

Jump forward eight months and it's time for our girls to get ready to bid farewell to college life. Cassidy is no longer part of the cool gang, devoting her spare time to charity and voluntary work (seriously they even make a point of mentioning it about three times) and hanging about with her gorgeous (and not mental, oh no) boyfriend whilst the bitchiness goes on as normal for the other Theta Pi gals.

Everything is going swimmingly until half way thru' the ceremony Megan's spooky eyed, square faced sister, Maggie (Pizza Connection heiress D'Amore) appears in a slo-mo windswept haze that freaks out the already jittery Ellie and sends Chugs off to find solace between the legs of a hunky jock.

I think this is what they call foreshadowing or something.

"Shhhiiiiiiimmmmooooooooooo!!!!!"

Understandably freaked out by Maggie turning up out of the blue (and the fact that when she speaks to them her eyes seem to pop out her skull and wander around on their own) the girls call a conference in the kitchen, partly to remind those watching (you know the ones with low attention spans) that they killed her sister but mainly to showcase Rumor Willis' fantastic ability to cry on cue whilst still pointing her milky white breasts at the camera.

Which turns out to be a good thing because then you don't have to look at her face.

Deciding that the excitement of the day is causing them to be over-sensitive, the girls vow to kick back and enjoy themselves but at that very moment everyone's mobile phone begins to ring.

Well, everyone in the room I mean, not worldwide that would be too spooky.

Tho' at that point I did get a text message from a friend wanting to borrow Sadomaster. Not related but considerably more interesting than the movie so far.

Answering their phones our teen temptresses are shocked to see that someone (or something....nah, scratch that, it's someone) has sent them a picture of the tire iron used to kill Megan.

Someone knows what they did last, um, semester and is planning revenge.

But who?

Could it be the by now loony tunes Garrett?

Is Megan still alive?

Or has someone else found out the girls secret?

Well, at least we know that Cassidy's normal and not mental Beau will have nothing to do with it.

But the girls are living on borrowed time because within minutes of the texts someone has taken to running around in long black college robes, shoving wine bottles down folks throats and throwing modified tire irons at various cast members with unnerving accuracy.

"Eyes hen!"

The original 1983 version of House on Sorority Row is a nice little revenge thriller with a neat(ish) twist that's by no means the worst slasher ever made but as far as re-imaginings go Hollywood must be scraping at the bottom of the horror barrel with it's broken, dirtied fingernails if it thinks that what the world needed was a big budget remake of it.

But remake they did and surprisingly it's not that bad.

Well, apart from the final twenty minutes where the whole damn thing falls apart and melts into a cheaply made porridge of over-acting and wild eyed lunacy.

Short film director (and director of short films) and ex member of Blue by the look of him Stewart Hendler builds on the atmospherics and (unintentional) hysterics that he began in his first major feature, 2007's Josh (Lost) Holloway starring heist/kidnap/devil child hybrid Whisper and certainly has an eye for murder set pieces with the black gloved, Giallo inspired killer using everyday items like wine bottles, Jacuzzi's as well as a custom made, multi-bladed tire iron to dispatch members of the teen cast.

Which frankly is why you're watching in the first place.

Duncan from Blue,
up the casino, 1989....yesch!

A huge surprise tho' are the amount of references to the 1983 version to be found within the script (I'll give you "I'm a sea pig!" but you can find the rest yourself) which frighteningly for a slasher remake kinda hints that the writers Josh Stolberg and Pete Goldfinger must be fans of the original.

Or at least seen it once whilst scribbling away in a kiddies notebook.

Sexy, bitchy and stylishly shot, in the end Sorority Row is ultimately as vapid and transparent as it's lead characters, so like poor old Chugs in the movie worth fiddling about with for an hour or so on a drunken Saturday night but there's no way I'd take it home to meet my folks.