back to the future (part two).

The story so far, I've been offline whilst on the run from 'da law'. Finally holed up in a safe house somewhere in down-town New Yoik it's time for me to update the Arena with a few tiny thumbnail reviews of films what I've seen during downtime for those three folk that read it.

The Fright Fest crowd getting into the spirit of things.

Back to Fright Fest with the film that everyone was talking about (well, nearly everyone, OK then four people queueing for the toilet said it looked good and that exploitation king (and ex Paul McCartney group) Wings Hauser was in it.

"That chicken was rubbery". "Why thank you!"

Rubber (2010).
Dir: Quentin Dupieux.
Cast: Thomas F. Duffy, Roxane Mesquida, Stephen Spinella and 'Wings' Hauser.


Cleverly dubbed 'latexploitation' by some bloke much wittier than myself, Rubber charts the adventures of a psychic car tyre named Robert who finds himself achieving a kinda semi-sentience (and telekinetic powers) whilst lying in a mound of dirt in the Australian outback.

Meanwhile a group of paying onlookers are watching the mayhem unfold thru' rented binoculars and commenting on the action from a nearby hilltop.

Fantastic premise with a brilliant opening followed by a superb first twenty minutes.

Which is a pity then that the pube bearded Mr. Dupieux had to go spoil it by adding an arse cletchingly, desperate to be hip yet ultimately meaningless extra ninety minutes to the end of it.

One for those who thought that Donnie Darko was mind-blowing.

And particularly stupid dogs.

Tho' Hauser was good but not as good as he was in Vice Squad.


Territories (2010).
Dir: Olivier Abbou (bless you).
Cast: Roc LaFortune, Sean Devine, Nicole Leroux, Cristina Rosato and Michael Mando.

Bananarama: The Blackpool years.

From the producer of La Horde and the guy who built the shelves for Inception comes the hilarious tale of five friends who, when driving back home to the good ol' U.S. after attending a wedding in Canada (yes you can son), get stopped by a pair of wackily moustached Border Police.

These crazy coppers, looking exactly like an arse-sex obsessed Laurel and Hardy (yes, they are that hot) check and double check their IDs whilst questioning the pals on all manner of subjects before shouting at them for having a broken headlight.

Things go from frayed to shot to fuck when our potty police find a stash of the hash hidden under a blanket in the back of the car belonging to the token deaf teenage brother of one of the group and to teach him a lesson shoot his dog.

Which is fairly unexpected.

Unbelievably the situation turns even more sinister with a couple of strip seaches and an anal probing or two before spiralling completely out of control when the friends are arrested and taken to a ‘special’ prison camp deep within the forest.

Humiliation, dental abscesses, subtle hints of man-love and (unfortunately) heavy handed political allegories ensue.

Not bad but I did wish someone had have thrown a pie at some point to lighten the mood.

Or at the very least angrily violated the deaf boys oh so pretty mouth.

Talking of violation brings me to what could possibly be the biggest cinematic abortion since Outcast.

From the talentless team behind the movie equivalent of weeping anal sores,  Jack Brooks: Monster Slayer comes a film so dull it can only be likened to being forced to sit in a pitch black room for ninety minutes whilst a stinky tramp pokes you in the shoulder with a stick whilst whispering "Hello hen....hello hen" ad infinitum.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

The Shrine (2010).
Dir: Jon Knautz.
Cast:  Aaron Ashmore, Cindy Sampson, Meghan (Insecticidal) Heffern
, Trevor Matthews and Vieslav Krystyan.

"Put it in me!"

When an American backpacker goes missing in 'the Europe' (fantastically portrayed by the directors garden) a motley band of journalists led by the scarily squared faced, Real Doll made flesh Cindy (Swamp Devil, High Plains Invaders) Sampson trace his last known whereabouts to the small Polish village of Alvaina.

Aye, right.

Arriving in the village our wooden topped trio fail to notice not only it's similarity to Ohio but also the fact that the residents (all eight of them) are speaking in a made up language.

They do, however manage to spot a huge CGI fog bank hovering in the distance tho' when they try to ask the locals about it they’re chased away to cries of "Ooglestamp!".

Nope not even worth shite-ing in.

Taking this to mean 'go and take a look at the demonic papier mache monster statue that will possess you in the fog' the three head off to the spooky mist bank where, surprise surprise a couple of them get possessed and stuff.

Cue fifty five minutes of absolutely fuck all and and ending so obvious you could see it from space.

Note to Mr. Knautz, please just stop.

De Mornay: you would. Twice.

From the depths of the cinematic sewer to a surprisingly good re-imagining of a 'B' roll classic. Well I say classic, the film no-one was excited about but everyone loved;

Mother's Day (2010).
Dir: Darren Lynn Bousman.

Cast: Rebecca De Mornay, jaime King, Shawn Ashmore, the absolutely yumsome Deborah Ann Woll and Patrick Flueger.

Geri farted...and it was an eggy one.

Fleeing from a botched bank robbery (is there any other kind?) the notorious Koffin brothers; Ike, Johnny and the lead-filled stomached Addley brothers are racing back to their mums house for tea and sympathy.

Unfortunately the non too bright bro's have forgotten the slightly important fact that poor old mum’s house has been sold to a slightly annoying yuppie couple who just happen to be holding a housewarming party that very night.

What are the chances eh?

Taking the house-guests hostage and smashing a vase, the boys lock them in the basement before indulging in a spot of humiliation and mentalism as they wait for the arrival of mummy dearest and their incredibly hot (and not to mention incredibly ginger) sister Lydia.

Deborah Ann Woll: fitter than Jesus.

It's only on mum's arrival that the battered, bewigged and bruised guests realize that she’s the family’s most dangerous member who'll do anything to protect her kin.

Taking the originals title and binning the rest, Bousman surprises us all after directing the yawnful Saw II, III and IV by showing he can, in fact make a rip-roaringly intense shocker that's as fun as it is foul-mouthed.

Perfect for those family get togethers, your gran would love it.

Unless she's dead obviously.

And now we reach the weekend's final treat, the full length version of Jason Eisener's SxSW Festival winning fake trailer featuring the adventures of a stinky bum and his shiny gun.

Hobo With A Shotgun (2010).
Dir: Jason Eisener.

Cast: Rutger Hauer, Gregory Smith, Brian Downey, Nick ("I've, er, made a mistake".) Bateman and cute just not as much as Deborah Ann Woll tho' I wouldn't kick her out of bed for soiling my sheets Molly Dunsworth.

Lord Jamie of Bridle taking a photo of a man having his photo taken with director Eisener and therefore braking down the fourth wall.

Those of us worried that a one joke trailer wouldn't stretch to a full feature had our fears alleviated within minutes of Eisener's lo-fi lampoon of rowdy, rampage, revenge flicks starting, largely thanks to the directors infectious intro but mainly due to the movie being bloody good fun.

Brightly coloured and noisy as hell, the plot follows the (mis)adventures of Hauer's nameless, lawnmower obsessed tramp who, on arriving in a new city via The Littlest Hobo express, finds himself trapped in a quagmire of rampant criminality and urban chaos overseen by the deliciously evil and scarily slick quiffed Drake.

Dunsworth: tight creamy tummy and legs you could ski down.

Trapped in an urban landscape filled to the brim with with corrupt cops, big hatted pimps, under-age prostitutes and paedophile Santas, Hauer decides to clean up the streets the only way he knows how; with a second hand 20-gauge shotgun.

"You chase me now!"

Aided by the plucky ex-prostitute Abby and his unnerving knowledge of bears, it's not long before our homeless hero has to face the dastardly Drake in an arena of death where only one man will be left standing.

Oh and with a head.

Funnier than bowel cancer and twice as colourful, Hobo With A Shotgun won over it's audience with it's cheap and cheerful charm alongside the directors obvious love for cinematic cheese.

Toptastic.

Still to come:

A long list of dead folk and some more film stuff.

timewaster.

And for those of you who were wondering how I filled my interwebless time?

You're welcome.

back to the future (part one).

In the words of the late, great Paul Gadd “Hello! Hello! It's good to be back!”.

After what seems like an eternity in the interwebless wilderness Virgin Media have decided that it's finally time to reconnect me to the world wide web, which means everyone else's connection speed will drop dramatically (again) as I cruise the ether catching up on all the dodgy cinema, comic porn, dead celebrities and piss fetish films I’ve missed over the last few months as well as recounting my various cinematic adventures at Fright Fest, why Kucch To Hai is possibly the best remake ever made as well as the pro's and cons of having a six foot stone swastika from Outpost 2 in your garden. 

"Did you miss me?"

So without further ado here's a quick catch up for you all beginning with:

Glasgae's very own Fright Fest '11 threw up (literally in some cases) a few shiny gems and a film so arse numblingly atrocious that it even beat Outcast in the "what's the fucking point?" case.

Not only that but it caused a cripple to stand up from his wheelchair and walk out of the cinema.

No, really.

This years line up consisted of:

Little Deaths (2010)

Dir: Sean Hogan, Andrew Parkinson and Simon Rumley.
Cast: Luke de Lacey, Siubhan Harrison, Holly Lucas and a dog.

"Shite in mah mooth now you bastard!"

Three films about violent shagging, mentalists, spunky stains, men with monster cocks and Nazi sperm banks. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on who you ask, which in this case was the audience) I missed this classic as I spent the entire running time trying to get served at the bar.

But fear not because I did catch:

I Saw The Devil (2010).

Dir: Kim Ji-woon.

Cast: Byung-Hyun Lee and Min-Sik Choy.

Much like having a drunken, stereophonic bar room brawl forcibly projected onto your retinas, Mr. Kim's black as Shaft serial killer cum raving revenge saga begins with sexy secret service agent Byung-Hyun Lee's fiancée being savagely murdered by that teddy bear faced bloke from Old Boy (Min-Sik Choy). 

Which was nice.

But tracking down the killer isn't enough for our hero who, using some nifty miniature spy gadgets begins to track the mangy mentalist, jumping in to kick seven shades of shit out of him just as he's about to commit any more crimes.

For ninety minutes.

Bonkers, brutal and barking in equal measures, a cold shower is recommended after viewing to clean away the grimy residue that the movie leaves on your skin.

And I mean that as a compliment.

"It's not an automatic is it?"

Rounding off Friday night was the frankly fantastic Machete Maidens Unleashed, director Mark (Not Quite Hollywood) Hartley's loving tribute to the Filipino exploitation genre that defined cult cinema for those of us of a certain age.

This ocumentary had it all; the one and only Weng Weng, shitly constructed monsters and Pam Grier with a flick knife!

Plus vaguely amusing comments from Sir Roger of Corman, directors Eddie Romero, Steve Carver and Jack Hill plus hotties Celeste Yarnall and Colleen Camp. 

Perfection.

Relax guys, they're old enough to be your mums.

Join me tomorrow for the Saturday selection, tonnes of stiffs and the genius that is Meteor Storm.

Or Metron Storn as the screener disc proclaims.

Missing you already!

movin' on up.

Just to let regular readers (if there are any) that the Arena will be a wee bit quiet over the next month or so due to moving house.

Yup, it's got to a point where Unwell Towers is so packed to the brink with DVD tat (and the neighbours are threatening to set fire to us) that we're having to relocated to somewhere with an underground vault.

Unfortunately Joseph Fritzl's house has been sold but we did get a great deal on this nice little property.

See you all as soon as they decide to reconnect my broadbean!

demoni daze.

Who lives in a house like this?

Find out this coming April.

hey ya.

Outcast (2010).
Dir: Colm McCarthy.
Cast: James Nesbitt, Kate Dickie, Niall Bruton, Ciarán McMenamin, Therese Bradley, Hannah Stanbridge, Daniel Porter, Andrew Martin, James Cosmo, Karen Gillan, some Neds and a big, bald pink man-dog with tiny girls feet.

The smooth of thigh and dusky of skin Romanian/Scottish bird Petronella Bugge (Stanbridge) is a poor 'schoolgirl' (yeah right) whose dreams are dashed by her living in Edinburgh.

Admittedly it is one of Edinburgh's better kept neighbourhoods, I mean there may be piss stains in the lifts, graffiti on the walls and burnt out cars in the gardens but at least the place isn't full of comedy accented junkies.

Unlike The Royal Mile on a weekday.

Anyway, Petronella shares a small rat infested flat with her frighteningly wrinkly alcoholic mother, Jitta (Bradley, who was once in Taggart) and her disabled brother Wilf, who you can tell is meant to have 'the special needs' because he's portrayed as fat with a greasy side parting, top button done up and a habit of sticking his tongue into his bottom lip when he speaks.

Nope nothing clichéd or offensive to see here at all.

You can tell they shot it in Glasgow tho', if it had really been Edinburgh that dog would be on bricks.

Late one night comedy voiced Oirish woman Mary (Red Road's Dickie) and her mono-browed, flat faced son Fergal (Bruton, looking like a cross between Frankenstein's uglier wee brother and a whippet licking a cancerous growth from a gammy leg) move into the flat next door.

But not before mental Mary torches their transit van.

“Begorah! dis be da end of ta line, to be sure!” whispers Mary as her son toasts some crumpets on the van's dashboard.

Poor people eh?

After pouring a Guinness and cooking a potato, Mary waits for her boy to fall asleep (making sure he doesn't hit any more branches of the ugly tree on the way down)  before removing her clothes and starting to paint circles on the walls whilst chanting some made up words and flashing her arse.

Which is nice if you like that kind of thing.

You can tell they're not really Scottish, if they were they'd have stolen the guys camera and sold it for skag by now.

It seems that these random doodlings are actually ancient protection charms, but what is our pikey parent protecting Fergal from?

The fashion police?

Accents are us?

Turns out she’s protecting him from two down and out Oirish wizards, Liam and Cathal (Primeval's McMenamin and the ladies favourite Sir James of Nesbitt), who've been sent on a mission to kill Fergal (to death) for some reason or other.


Before they can even think about stabbing the ugly boy (it'd be a mercy killing if I'm honest) tho,  creepy Cathal must take part in a naked tattooing ceremony that will grant him supernatural senses.

Tho' hopefully not an enhanced sense of smell.

Or shame.

But that's not all, because once he's completed his task, he will gain special magical powers, a wee bit like a hairier less punchable Paul Daniels.

"You'll never get yer hands on mah lucky charms ya bastards!"

Unbeknownst to our man-muck stained magicians (but known to us obviously) Mary knows that they're coming (and not just cos she can smell them) and has a sneaky plan up her sleeve.

Well, it would be up her sleeve if she were wearing clothes.

And what does this sneaky plan involve?

Well it better be something pretty damned impressive after all this nude painting, naked tattooing and bird sacrifice.

Yup, you guessed it, she decides to lock him in the house.

But not all the time obviously, or he wouldn't be able to meet Petronella, her brother and the local inbred bad-boys.

More importantly had he been locked up for good the running time would have had to have been taken up with even more shots of Dickie's pale and uninteresting arse.

"Fire engine!"

As is always the way in these stories, Petronella and Fergal begin to fall in love, much to the chagrin of scary Mary and Petronella's sort of boyfriend Wee Boab, who decides to get his revenge by attempting to finger fuck Petronella's pal Ally (Amelia Pond herself Karen Gillan) in a kiddies play park.

Between mad mothers, Oirish wizards, wandering hands and teen romance you'd be forgiven for thinking that the writers wouldn't have room to fit anything else into the film.

But then you'd be dead wrong and really embarrassed (but not as embarrassed as poor Karen Gillan must have been having to let a tiny Ned boy violently shove his sweaty fingers up her skirt) because that night, when Ally is walking home she's attacked and killed by a big monster.

Your mums cum face (trust me, I know).

With Petronella and Fergal's relationship moving every closer to a bit of 'the sex' (fantastically - and subtly - shown by having shots of Fergal sweating and grimacing in a dirty bath whilst Petronella flies ever high on a kiddies swing, the wind catching her tiny pleated school skirt until it rides up and reveals her big black pants - see screenshot below), our paddy practitioners of magic closing in one the tattie loving twosome and the mysterious beast taking out bewitched social workers (it's way too convoluted to go into, trust me) it's only a matter of time before Mary's spooky premonition that "It all ends here" becomes a violent truth...

It's just a pity it doesn't come to pass a wee bit sooner.

Petronella's big black pants, make sure you keep the remote control in your free hand.

From the director of two episodes of the soggy Mini Driver underwater travesty The Deep comes quite possibly the most depressingly clichéd and arse clenchingly embarrassing horror movie I've had the misfortune to see in a long time.

Well, since A Serbian Film back in December anyway.

One of it's main faults is that the movie appears to have no idea what it wants to be.

Is it a hard hitting social commentary on working class Scotland?

A supernatural romance? 

A murder mystery?

A creature feature?

Or a messy mish-mash of all of the above?

I have a feeling that not even the writer and director know for sure.

Myleene klass: The pikey years.

Maybe I'm being a wee bit harsh tho' and the film isn't really aimed at me but at that small section of Middle England that has only ever seen poor people on television documentaries, think The Bill is cutting edge drama and who think that the last horror movie made in the UK was Carry On Screaming.

And those Americans who try to convince themselves that they're in fact Irish because their granddad wore some green trousers once.

If that is the case then can I just say now that you're welcome to it.

But can we have James Cosmo back when you're finished please?

"The most original horror since Let The Right One In" says the poster.

Original?

Nope, but horrific?

Fuck yes but unfortunately for all the wrong reasons.

It may only be January but I'll stick my neck out and say that I doubt anything else will come along this year to take Outcast's well deserved 'what's the fucking point?' crown.


And I'm definitely sure we that no other film this year will feature such an unintentionally amusing monster, the fucker looks like Ren Hoek from Ren and Stimpy on steroids.


I haven't laughed so much since the dead baby swapping storyline in Eastenders.



Well at least the year can't get any worse.

Can it?

people you fancy but shouldn't part 26.

Catriona Shearer; full time Scottish news reader and part time rock chick.