naked video.

Everybody's been talking about it, t'interweb's full of it and some folk have even seen it.

But is V/H/S really the pervy pinnacle of found footage horror or a straight to video vagabonds breakfast?

A word of warning by the way, this review may contain spoilers.

And nuts.

V/H/S (2012)
Dir: David Bruckner, Glenn McQuaid, Radio Silence, Joe Swanberg, Ti West and Adam Wingard.
Cast: Calvin Reeder, Lane Hughes, Helen Rogers, Hannah  Fierman, Joe Swanberg, Adam Wingardand, Sophia Takala and load more other folk but seeing as this isn't the IMDB you can look them up yourself.

"I like you".

So, what does happen when a gaggle of indie horror directors (and their pals) get together to create the ultimate found-footage anthology?

Apart for copious amounts of boozing, competitions to see who has the coolest beard and giggling at topless girls obviously? 

Well in this case we get five short vignettes tucked up snugly between a perfunctory  linking tale involving what seems like the Jackass teams more punchable relatives attempting to steal an old man's video collection on the orders of an unseen benefactor.

In between them pissing up peoples doors, making rude phone calls and ripping ladies tops off.

This is cutting edge and rebellious film-making after all which means we're gonna get served up a more Rock N Roll style version of the kinda movie Amicus used to churn out but this time featuring homages to everything from 80's slashers, to the spooky occult genre via a wee bit of torture porn and haunted house hijinks but with the added bonus of breasts and bush.

Excited?

My nan is.

I wish that was all it took.

Anyway back to the wraparound where Jimmy Knoxvale and his funny frat buddies  are currently searching the old (and fairly dead) mans abode for his video stash.

There are cassettes everywhere covering everything from Diff'rent Strokes to The Royal Wedding but the tapes they're required to steal feature something special.

Something unique.

The Tenth Planet episode 4 anyone?

As our bad boy band begin to view each tape, they fail to realize that a dark and sinister plot is unfolding around them and that by morning they may all be as dead as Betamax.

Or at the very least have really sore backs from sitting hunched up on the floor whilst peering at slowly unfolding tales in the dark.

They'll all need glasses if they're not careful.

A wee bit like geeky Clint in the first tale.

Only his hide a sneaky webcam.

And the reason for this?

Well it appears that the aforementioned Clint, alongside his friends Shane and Patrick have rented a hotel room for the night with the sole intention of bringing back boozed up birds that they can film having 'the sex' with.

No idea what excuse they'll use for having to share a pair of specs tho'.

A hint of pant yesterday.

The three amigos decide to hit the town where sexy Shane almost immediately meets a squint eyed sauce-pot called Lisa and, after a few Bud Lights begins flirting as only men in movies can.

He isn't alone tho' as specky Clint soon notices a painfully Pre-Raphaelite-like brunette giving him googly eyes (not literally mind you that would be just sick) from the bar whilst constantly mouthing "I like you..." at him.

With Patrick unable to even pull a muscle the guys decide to head back to the hotel with Lisa (cross-eyed) and Lily (big-eyed) in tow, entertaining themselves along the way with a big bag of cocaine and a CD of abysmal MoR rock.

"Tracking's dodgy ain't it!"

No sooner have they opened the door and piled into the room than Shane starts writhing about on the bed, a wee bit like your mum and dad after a tipsy new year, with Lisa who luckily for all involved soon passes out with an almighty fart.

And you thought romance was dead.

Patrick, sprawled across the sofa with his pants round his knees finds the whole situation fairly amusing which annoys Shane no end (you can tell this by the fact that his facial expression goes from slightly constipated to  straining hard), especially when loopy Lily makes a move on dear old Clint.

Shane, frustrated at the fact that he has a mild erection and nowhere to stick it decides to he wants a wee bit of Lily lovin' too causing the chivalrous Clint to head off to the toilet for a pee.

What a guy eh ladies?

Giving it a good shake he returns to the wannabe orgy to find Shane waiting for him to start undressing Lily on camera whilst, in the background Patrick rubs his legs in the manner of a cold sprinter.

Erotic does not even begin to describe the scene.

"Is it in yet?"

With the room awash in testosterone, sweat and stale semen, our horny heroes fail to notice that Lily has grown a giant pair of comedy chicken feet and that her back is starting to sprout hair, being more interested in staring at her (admittedly shapely) breasts than anything else.

Except Clint that is, who needs the toilet.

Again.

Unable to piss due to the slopping noises from the next room, Clint reckons his best option would be to hide in the toilet till everyone’s asleep then skulk off home for a (much safer) tearful wank and a Pot Noodle.

But his dream of a quiet evening of onanism and starchy snacks is ruined by Patrick, who bursts into the toilet screaming that Lily has bitten him.

What a girl.

Suddenly the whole apartment is filled with even more screaming, this time from Shane due to the fact that Lily has accidentally bitten his face off.

Patrick, still nude and standing proud, grabs the shower curtain rail from the bathroom and takes a run at the by now blood soaked beast babe (and yes, her breasts are bloodied) in a frankly ludicrous attempt to at least put something in her, but to no avail as Lily makes a grab for him as he advances and kills the poor bloke to death before eating his cock.

Tasty.

Clint meanwhile, being one of the few males on earth not totally turned on by the thought of shagging a flesh-eating succubus runs to the door and makes a run for the motel stairs but not too surprisingly makes an arse of it and falls down them breaking his wrist in the process.

And yes dear reader, it is indeed his wanking hand.

Luckily a now naked and blood encrusted Lily has appeared and, after telling him again how much she likes him, attempts to give the understandably nervous guy a blow job.

She must have taken lessons from FHM's babe of the year, the honey skinned X Factor judge Tulisa Contostavlos tho' seeing as rather than giving Clint a lapful of cum she just causes him a faceful of tears.

Bless.

Tulisa: Put your lips together and blow.

Devastated by Clint's lack of response, Lily scuttles into the corner and starts crying (hang on, are you sure it isn't actually Tulisa?) giving Clint enough time to waddle into the carpark and beg a passing extra for help.

His feeble attempts at escape have been in vain tho' as a now bat-winged Lily swoops out of the sky and carries Clint off to her (quite literal) love nest.

And all this in under 15 minutes....phew.

After a patchy pre-credits/wraparound section (featuring the most unrealistic gang ever to grace the screen),  director David Bruckner starts proceedings good n' proper with his wildly entertaining tale of terrifying tottie that plays out like a classic EC strip dragged kicking and screaming into the digital age and features possibly the sexiest split-headed hairy hoofed succubus ever to appear on the big (or little) screen courtesy of a fantastically freaky performance from Hannah  Fierman.

Imagine a demonic, sexed up love child of Shelley Duvall and Barbara Steele on crack and you're halfway there, I could have watched her chewing on naked jocks all night.

Which is a pity really
for no sooner have we begun to truly appreciate how good a skinny girl can look covered in blood that we're back to the Red Hand Gang in the house gurning at a couple of off-tune monitors.

Don't worry too much tho' as next up is another pert arse, this time belonging to Sophia Takal and directed by the toptastic Ti West.

What could possibly go wrong?

Fierman: Don't mention the war.

Ladies and gentlemen please welcome drippy married couple Sam and Stephanie, the wettest things I've seen on screen since they found Natalie Wood's slippers.

Our cardboard couple are heading 'out west' for a second honeymoon, taking in  Wild West themed towns, sandy mountains and creepy mechanical fortune tellers along the way.

Popping a coin in the fortune tellers greasy slot Stephanie is told that she will be visited by a loved one very soon, which is odd seeing as she's with her doting hubby.

You don't reckon that this could be one of those 'let's kill off a hated partner and run away with a lover' scenarios could it?

"Shite in mah shiny plastic mooth".

Later that very eve the couple are visited (off camera) by a strange woman trying to sell them some pegs but Sam, being a cautious type comes up with some story about being scared of gypsies and quickly slams the door.

Thinking nothing of it the pair go to bed for the evening but are later visited by an unseen assailant who decides to have a wee bit of fun with their video camera.

Must be giro day.

After stealing cash from Sam's wallet and cleaning the toilet with his tooth brush the mystery figures disappears into the night, leaving our drippy duo none the wiser but $100 dollars poorer.

It's not all bad tho' as it gives Sam a reason to bitch at Stephanie (in between standing on rocks) the next day.

Beware the binmen!

That very night, the masked stranger returns to their room but this time they have more than dental hygiene on their mind.

Sneaking over to a snoring Sam the intruder stabs him in the neck before waking Stephanie for a quick snog and a wee fondle.

But that's not all.

The killer is a lady and saucy Stephanie's one-time lesbian lover, yup she'll be the loved one that the fortune teller spoke of.

Spooky.

The tarty twosome leave the motel together for a life of cats and scissoring as  Stephanie reminds her lover to erase the tape.

Hmmmm....tricky.

I haveta admit that i simply adore West's other work and was more excited about this section than any other,  the set-up for the tale is great, everything unfolding in the director's trademark leisurely style but then it's almost as if he remembers he's making a short then BLAM! it just ends.

Less of a shock climax more of a why the fuck rather than what the fuck, like getting a sharp poke in the ribs off a fat man sitting down in the seat beside you just as the movies starting.

Must Ti harder.

Sorry.

Watch out John Leslie's about.

It's a quick revisit to the video watchdog gang before we're off for a weekend in the woods and our next terrifying tale, this time it centres around the toothsome Wendy and her pals  Joey, Spider and Samantha.

Planning to spend a drunken weekend in the woods near Wendy's house, our freaky foursome totally fail to notice the dead bodies that keep appearing at random intervals on their camcorder being more interested in skinny dipping and smoking the marijuana.

At least until Wendy deadpans that they're all going to get killed.

To death.

Crazy.

Trainspotting: All talkin' Scotch.

Yup, turns out that it's a year ago to the very day that wacky Wendy was attacked in the woods by a bad man who, rather impolitely massacred her pals and now she's returned with a handy bunch of new victims to draw the killer out into the open so she can extract her revenge.

But that's not all.

You see it turns out that the killer is, in fact made up entirely of 6th generation video tape static, meaning her can appear from nowhere and fast forward around the place like a lo-fi Road Runner.

Which is nice if not a little far-fetched.

Cue a couple of gruesome teen murders coupled with a collection of  William Heath Robinson style traps courtesy of Wendy and a(nother) nihilistic ending that leaves the viewer with a terrible feeling of apathy.

By this point, Everyone Dies at The End would be a more appropriate title, but at least segment director Glenn McQuaid (yup, he who designed the titles for The Innkeepers) tries to make the whole thing look interesting.

Just a pity it's over so quickly.

Oh and so inconsequential obviously.

"I'm 14 and love Justin Bieber too! Now get your webcam on and your shirt off!"

Hopefully director Joe Swanberg (Sam from the Ti West segment) can liven things up with his tale of spooks, spirits and Skype.

Troughton haired tottie Emily spends most of her waking time on video chat (ask your teenage neighbour) to her medical student boyfriend James, partly due to her being incredibly wet and needy but mainly due to the fact that she thinks her new apartment is haunted.

James being the sensible type (you can tell by his Cosby style sweater) reckons she's talking shite but humours her all the same.

Obviously he's wanting a shag on his next visit and who could blame him? There's a distinct lack of skinny, mentalist librarian types on the market these days.

Anyway back to the plot where, as well as the spooky noises and banging doors Emily has found a strange lump on her arm and is sure there's a ghostly child in her bath.

Even tho' her landlord has denied any murders or deaths in her house and James still thinks she's imagining stuff he agrees one night to lead Emily around the house by her webcam whilst she keeps her eyes closed.

Can anyone else see this ending badly?

Rogers: Just wait till the fucking starts.

Of all the segments this is the one that works best, with a climax that comes straight out of nowhere (hence my not giving it away) and that's genuinely scary.

 The Twilight Zone on Meth is the best way of summing up this little piece of horror heaven that marks Swanberg as a man to watch.

"It's CCCCHHHHRRRRIIIISSSSTTTTMMMMAAAASSSS!"

 We're on the home stretch now and it's Halloween night 1998 where best buddies (and geniune nice guys for a change) Chad, Matt, Tyler and Paul are preparing to spend the night at a party on the other side of town.

 Arriving at the house the group are surprised to find it empty but thinking it's all part of the Halloween spirit decide to take a look around, the moving plates and spooky noises convincing them that it's actually all been rigged up as a rather fantastic (if not slightly over the top) haunted house attraction.

Hmmm...you think so?

Hearing chanting from the attic the friends mount the stairs and get set to party but unfortunately rather than a room of beer, babes and bostin' tunes they accidentally  interrupt a group of people seemingly abusing a nightie clad young blonde girl tied to a cross.

Yikes.

Laugh now.

Thinking it's part of the show the pals soon realize the truth when the leader of the gang (no, not that one) starts floating around like a pikey balloon, strange hands emerge from the walls and the other cult members are pulled up to the ceiling by their belt loops.

Being heroic types the guys decide to beat the baddies and rescue the girl, not realizing that there was probably a good reason for her being tied up in her night clothes in the first place.

As they reach the front door the whole house goes creepily crazy; plates fly around like flying saucers, the walls start doing impressions of Repulsion and a cat shits on the carpet causing our heroes to smash in a few back doors (ooeer) before racing to the car.

Insert cock here.

Driving away they begin to question the woman, who much to their surprise disappears from the backseat before re-appearing in front of the windscreen, all big hair and open mouthed screaming scary nonsensical words at them.

Which I'm assuming is not what they were expecting.

Suddenly the car starts to move by itself and the friends what as the witchy  woman disappears  into the night.

Realizing too late that their car is on the train tracks the brickin' it buddies desperately try to break free as the 10:15 from Manchester approaches whilst back at the tramps house, someone is offing the video pirates one by one.

The final story, from the video collective known as Radio Silence is a hellzaboppin' cinematic ghost train ride that ends the movie on a much deserved high.

Well it would if we didn't have to go back to the piss poor framing story and one final 'shock'.

Possibly a better use for old VHS tapes.

It was always obvious that V/H/S would never live up to the hype surrounding it, unless you're a 15 year old Rob Zombie fan that is but as an experiment in pushing the boundaries of the found footage genre it can't be faulted for trying.

Which is more than can be said for it's execution.

For one it's this very format, coupled with the portmanteau approach that provides the biggest hurdle to the movie.

The nature of both genres meaning that precious screen time has to be taken up with various bits of character exposition and story set up, writers like Rod Serling and to a lesser extent Amicus' Milton Subotsky excelled at producing clear, concise characters and scenarios. True sometimes they were clichéd but at least they worked within the script.

The problem here is that on a few occasions the set up is dispensed with completely leaving us with a 20 minute tale featuring lowest common denominator stock characters who wander around swearing before being violently killed.

After the third of fourth time we've experienced this it all gets a wee bit tiring – let alone by the time you get to the fifth.

Fierman: Don't mention the boots.

As with all anthologies there are a couple of stories that stand head and shoulders over the others whilst one (or two) seem only to be there cos the directors bothered to turn up.

Still it's worth seeing if only for Hannah  Fierman's scary demon feet, possibly the most erotic thing I've seen onscreen this year.

Just one thing still bugs me tho'.

Who the fuck filmed the gang filming themselves filming the tapes?

Answers to the usual email.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 44).

Ever since I first saw her wandering around Wolverhampton in the mid eighties looking like some Pre-Raphaelite goddess made flesh, thru' to her wittily sexy columns for The Times via Naked City (I even put up with the smug and supercilious Johnny Vaughn for a glimpse of her artful form, that's how dedicated I am).

Ladies and Gentlemen I give you feminist perfection personified.

Ms. Caitlin Moran.

Meow.

 

Now if only I'd been brave enough to buy her that drink in Birmingham all those years ago....

seperated at birth?

That Snooki(?) bird and an Orc, suggested by reader Val Guest.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 43).

German volleyball goddess Laura Ludwig.

sad single women - an apology.

In my review of Cool for Cats I mistakenly wrote the phrase: Shoddily made shite for sad single women when in fact I obviously meant to write Shoddily made shite for single women's sad cats.

My inbox have been literally overwhelmed with complaints from hundreds of obviously not at all sad single women (some with cats) so I'd like to not only apologize for any hurt or insult caused but also present my handy visual guide to women with (and without) cats.


Enjoy.

Normal lady with cat (not sad).

Sad cat.

Sad lady (with bag cats).

Sad lady (without cat).

Bat-Cat (without lady, he works alone).

Normal lady (without cat) yesterday.

Hope that clears everything up.

pussy galore.

Less a review more a horrified rant.

Was rifling around my local charity shop t'other day when I came across this beauty.

Literally.

Yes dear friends I have seen pure evil and it's name is...

Cool for Cats (1992)
Dir: Liam Dale.
Cast: Peter Neville, some cats and a dog.

Before I start I'd like to admit that I have never owned, flirted with or shagged a cat but a friend of mine has two.

Two cats that is, not two things on the list.

So, as a good friend I purchased this for her, assuming this is the kinda thing felines watch.

You see, according to the back cover, this video is 'officially good feline therapy' and looking over host Professor Peter Neville's credentials who am I to argue?

Neville: Just the pussy he's been looking for.

Not only is he a Companion Animal Behaviour Therapist but was also a Clinical Professor at Miyazaki University and an Adjunct Professor at the Dept of Animal Sciences at The Ohio State University.

 Besides all that he also writers books about famous fascists.



Tho' I have no idea if he links these two hobbies together.

Mussolini: Pussy not shown (or shaved probably).

Before viewing I decided it'd be a good thing to immerse myself in cat culture to have a better idea of what to expect, obviously I personally wouldn't be able to experience the unique visual and aural frequencies (only heard/seen by, you guessed it, cats) used in the presentation but was intrigued as to why the video was labelled 'revolutionary'.

Did it contain hidden messages that will make my cute house cats turn raunchy revolutionaries with big guns?

Three boxes of tissues and a Pot Noodle later and I was ready to go.

A cat yesterday. Sort of.

After a short introduction regarding dormant cat hunting instincts from the Crippenesque Professor Neville, (more Dr. Shipman than Dr. Doolittle), the action really starts as we (humans and cats) are subjected to a 60 minute equivalent of the Ludvico Technique as interpreted a drug-fuelled ADHD suffering Mr. Tumble after spending three weeks on the isle of Lesbos.

And not in a good way.

"I'm shagging your weans!"

Whilst the frankly terrifying sounds of animals rutting fills your ears, your eyes are viciously assaulted by random shots of birds OD-ing on patio's plus panicking mice; both the real kind and occasionally some truly frightening fake ones that look like they've been stitched together from rotten, gangrenous flesh by hook handed Polish orphans, plus various types of fish banging their heads against the walls of their tanks alongside almost subliminal shots of bizarre wooly balls hanging limply from threads.

Oh yes, and frogs.

But that's not all.

Occasionally, after lulling our feline friends into a false sense of security, random images of dogs would appear intercut with almost pornographic footage of cats licking themselves as superimposed blurry blue dots move randomly around the screen.

I don't know if it's meant to affect mere humans but after only 30 minutes I discovered that I'd shat a kidney.

And can still see the blue dot weeks later.

Almost as if it's following me, telling me to do things.

Bad things.

To your mum.

Cat porn: Ban this sick filth!

  Shoddily made shite for sad single women, the greatest piece of arthouse cinema ever made or a feline version of the video from Ringu?

YOU decide.

But be warned, after viewing Cool for Cats your life (and sanity) may never be the same again.

"Laugh now!"

By the way, can you smell fish?

dead air.

After nigh on 25 years I've decided to get re-acquainted with an old friend.

Well I say friend.

The Video Dead (1987).
Dir: Robert Scott
Cast: Michael St. Michaels, Thaddeus A. Golas, Sam David McClelland, Al Millan, Roxanna Augesen, Lory-Michael Ringuette, Jennifer Miro, Rocky Duvall and Vickie Bastel.

"You don't understand he likes to go into the woods and try to mate with skunks only skunks don't like to mate with poodles so they spray him and then he really gets turned on!"

Gin soaked writer Henry Jordan (St. Michaels best known for his portrayal as the  Inter-Security Guard in the Mrs. Z episode of Diff'rent Strokes) awakes from his piss stained sleep one morn to find that a television set has been delivered to his house without him ever remembering ordering one.

But saying that, from the state of the arse on his trousers he doesn't remember when he last wiped his backside either.

Realizing that a free teevee means a daily dose of luscious Lorraine Kelly he readily accepts, only to discover that the sole programme the television picks up is a tedious black and white zombie movie excitedly entitled "Zombie Blood Nightmare".

 Which is nice, if a wee bit harder to wank over.

Lorraine: Kind hearted, problem solving MiLF muck bucket.

Despite his best attempts to turn off the teevee (even going as far as to unplug it), the set keeps broadcasting, bring the undead ever closer to the screen till one day, in a bravado display of torchlight and fag smoke the Zombies manifest in the real world.

Spooky.

Would you believe it? Turns out that the dopey delivery men had delivered the set to the wrong address, it was meant to go to the Institute for Paranormal Research next door!

Not that it does Henry any good seeing as the pair find him tied up in the hallway of his house decked out in a party hat and rubber galoshes.

And  dead as disco.

"Laugh now!"

Jumping forward in time (but not space unfortunately) three months and the world's oldest (and squared chinned) teenager Zoe Blair (Augesen in her only screen role) arrives at the house.

It seems her parents have purchased it at a knock down price to celebrate their return from  the Middle East after some hush hush business affair and it's Zoe's job to get everything ship (or house) shaped before they turn up festooned with bizarre rugs, stuffed animals and deadly toy donkeys.

 Also there to help is her cool 'punker' brother Jeff (Duvall, now Artistic Director at Dance Arts Conservatory) who, rather than tidy up and clean the toilet decides to chat up the local bequiffed rich bitch and professional dog walker April Ellison (stone wash queen Bastel, most famous for appearing on all fours in the fantastic coke n' kinky sex whore scene in The Bad Lieutenant, you know the one where Harvey stumbles about with his cock out), inviting her in for 'drinks' and a chance to admire his fluffily spiked, rodent like hair.



 Ah true love eh?

"One day, if I'm lucky, Harvey Keitel will cum on my arse." See girls, dreams CAN come true!

Unfortunately just as Jeff is about to show her his Adam Ant coloured vinyl collection (ask your parents) the dog (a feisty little thing named Chocolate, played here with stunning realism and charm by Bachelor in his only screen role) escapes into the woods behind the house where it unfortunately comes across a zombie that just happened to be wandering around.

For the last three months.

With no-one noticing.

Not too surprisingly the zombie kills the dog, leaving not only April in trouble with the owners but with Jeff the chance to show off his wacky sense of humour as he devises an oh so amusing reason to explain the dogs death.

Obviously eaten by zombies doesn't ring true in this part of America whereas chocking on a teenage boys ball does.

Filthy pervert.

Daniels: Tiny hat.

Anyway back to the plot where that very afternoon, a chubby cowboy in a tiny hat by the name of Joshua Daniels (McClelland, nothing worth mentioning, sorry Sam) comes to the Blair's front door looking for the television set.

He claims that he bought it at a carboot  sale but mailed it to the Paranormal Institute after it killed his wife.

Sounds plausible.

Not to Jeff tho' who turns him away before heading into the cellar to look for the magical teevee for himself.

What a rascal.

Dragging it back up to his room and armed with tissues and 'the pot' Jeff turns the teevee on (saucy) and settles down to enjoy the zombie mayhem.

Just as it looks as tho' the plot might kick in the screen goes all wibbly wobbly and the zombies are replaced by the image of a stunning blonde bombshell in a shear black nightie (ex Nuns founder, the late, great Miro) beckoning seductively to Jeff and our troublesome teen, not believing his eyes gives a double take that'd do Les Dennis proud.

In a flash of light (bulbs) this vision of beauty is made flesh and before long is snogging the face off lucky Jeff.

Miro: a mooth made for shite-in in.

But like most blondes she disappears just before the moment of climax leaving Jeff confused, angry and with a glistening dampness on the end of his penis.

We've all been there.

Hiding his erection with a copy of Titbits whilst gazing at his new lady friend back on the screen our teen tearaway is shocked (kind of) when a sweaty tramp appears behind her and cuts her throat, revealing her true for of that of a hideous rotten zombie.

Still with great tits mind.

The man introduces himself to a still reeling (and erect) Jeff as "The Garbage Man," and warns our hero that the only way to prevent more zombies from entering our world (and probably our pets) is to tape a mirror to the teevee screen.

I'll buy that.

Titbits....articles and the like.

This is all well and good but for those of you who've been following the plot you may remember that a few of the zombies (the ones they could afford make-up for) are already shambling about in the woods.

And have chosen the very next day to attack.

Arse.

"I've got something to put in you".

Morning comes (unlike Jeff who just lay awake halfheartedly fiddling and adjusting his boxers as he wondered if his sister would notice the stain when she came to wash them) and the zombies arrive on the street, first making short work of April's dad and his manly maid before moving on to their next-door neighbours and finally laying siege to Zoe and Jeff's house.

Obviously they're making up for lost time.

Luckily our teen trio (April has come to stay due to the fact that her bedroom is covered in bits of her father) have help, for who should return but Cowboy Daniels, tool up, pissed up and ready to fight the good fight.

Yeeha!

Ronnie Barker: The return.

Joshua, being the only semi-literate member of the cast explains to the others that the zombies, being in a flux state between life and death, kill humans out of jealousy and will only attack if they sense fear.

So far so good.

Mirrors, he adds, repulse them because it reminds them that they're actually dead (you think the smell would be a giveaway) and they can be destroyed by trapping them in an enclosed space, which causes them to go full on mentalist and eat each other.

It's almost as if the writer has taken the time to think this bit thru.

Which, frankly is a terrifying thought.

Determined to last out the night Jeff and Zoe begin to barricade the house, unfortunately they board up everything except the front door which allows a Serious Moonlight era Bowie zombie to sneak in and kidnap April.

 Our heroes decide to do nothing until morning, which is nice.

If you say run, I'll run with you
If you say hide, we'll hide
Because my love for you
Would break my heart in two
If you should fall
Into my arms
And tremble like a flower

The sun rises and Joshua and Jeff head into the woods to finally hunt down the zombies.

About fucking time.

Approaching an abandoned kids camp (complete with burnt bits of paper, some jazz mags and various bits of poor April spread around the place) Joshua has a quick scout around before deciding that it would make a perfect spot to ambush the undead.

Before busying himself setting up a sniper den Joshua has the fantastic plan of hoisting Jeff up on an old tree swing to use as bait for the zombies.

Jeff, none too surprisingly is not happy.

Davros: The wedding.

Anyway, back to the action where zombies are slowly converging on the camp as a trigger happy Joshua takes them down one-by-one with a toy bow and arrow.

Indeed this is the most action packed movie ever.

As is the way in such films, one of the zombies escapes the ensuing massacre, and Jeff and Joshua, high on bloodlust and paint fumes head off in hot pursuit only for Joshua to get munched on and a shot to fuck Jeff to get stuck in a handy bear trap.

Could it get any worse?

Well indeed it could seeing as the zombies suddenly realize that they are in fact undead (as opposed to um, dead-dead?) get back up on their feet and converge on Jeff, killing him to death.

Next stop; the house and a chance to feast out on Zoe's warm, smooth thighs.

It doesn't matter how hard you brush, you'll never get the taste of this shit script out of your mouth.

Zoe's no fool tho' and remembering that the zombies only attack when they sense fear, opens the front door and invites them in.

 Party time.

Not only that but she makes them snacks and drinks before inviting them into the basement for a dance.

She is good.

Just no idea who she's gonna smooch with to Spandau Ballet's True at the end of the night.

We'll never no the answer tho' as no sooner has the music started playing that our fearless floosie legs it up the stairs and locks them in.

Result.

As predicted the zombies go crazy ape mental and eat one another.

The End.

Or is it?

Timothy Spall: The pikey years.

Jump forward again and poor Zoe has been institutionalized (no doubt for crimes against denim) and after spending at least a fortnight dribbling over her shirt she's awoken in time for her parents (finally! they're here!) to visit and, lucky her, they've brought her a surprise.

Yup, it's the battered old teevee set from the house.

A friendly orderly pops it on the end of her bed and turns it on and after a flicker of static  "Zombie Blood Nightmare" begins.

A terrified Zoe, frozen with fear and dried spittle can only watch as the zombies turn to face her and begin to advance toward the screen.

 

A huge hit on it's home video release (thanks in part to it's fantastic EC style cover art and it's titles resemblance to The Evil Dead) Robert (Now a major teevee assistant director working on everything from House to Heroes) Scott's first excursion into cinema may be a heady brew of trashy gore, cut price Halloween masks, ne'er been actors, atrocious continuity and a script so badly constructed it's a wonder it didn't collapse the first time anyone breathed on it with the added bonus of the most annoying farty synth score since 1972 Doctor Who story The Sea Devils but surprisingly (and frighteningly) it works.

Sylvester McCoy prepares for an appearance in the Doctor Who 50th anniversary story....but first the dole office!

With an estimated budget of only $80,000 (the majority of which must have gone on Vickie Bastel's hair), Scott throws caution (and and any sense of logic) to the wind filling the movie with enough humour (intentional and otherwise), home-made gunk, accidental pantie shots and admittedly bright ideas to shame most big budget horror epics.

Yes I'm looking at you Resident Evil series.

Again.

But  please, no Bluray release.....I doubt the zombies could take it.