what if...

Nicolas Cage had played E.T?

(more) box art (frenzy).

More fantastic artwork from the heady days of VHS.

Enjoy!

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 45).

To celebrate the release of Skyfall, it has to be the sexiest Bond babe ever.

I know I would.

Twice.

coincidence?

i think not.

slasherific.

Not one to usually review documentaries (they're really hard to add 'shite in mah mooths' and 'laugh now!' to, let alone it's almost impossible to add in crude jokes at the plots expense) but this is a special case.

Slice and Dice: The Slasher Film Forever (2012).

Dir: Calum Waddell.
Editor/ producer: Naomi Holwill.
Associate producers: Nick Frame and Justin Kerswell.
With, well almost everybody who's anybody related to the slasher genre.

"Nobody mows a lawn with a chainsaw!" - Jeffrey Reddick, Creator: Final Destination film series

 Being lucky enough to see a sneak peek of the production before it explodes (in the most blood drenched manner possible) on the festival circuit, Slice and Dice: The Slasher Film Forever is not only the definitive record of that much maligned (but much loved genre) but quite possibly the most entertaining movie documentary I've ever had the pleasure of sitting thru'.

And that's not just because I'm a card (well, machete) carrying slasher fan either.

Frankly it's all down to the High Rising Productions team headed up by director Waddell and editor/ producer/animator extraordinaire Holwill and their genuine love and respect for the subject matter.

Honing their craft producing the supplementary features for Arrow video's award winning horror releases, the high regard and professional courtesy they have obviously given their interviewees over the years has certainly paid of here, rarely have I ever seen such a mix of horror legends (from both behind and infront of the camera) speak so openly and so passionately about the slasher movie.

Feldman: Chatty.

From the opening salvo from the Voorhees vanquishing cult king Corey Feldman to soundbites from the usually reclusive Norman Warren via all points inbetween, it's almost as if everyone featured was actually sitting on your sofa having a good old chat with you.

Which I must admit was fairly disturbing during the Alex Chandon sections as I swear I could almost taste his Pagan Man aftershave burning the back of my throat.

But then again, it's all worth it when the fantastically gorgeous Felissa Rose (I'm an 80's guy, what of it?) turns up talking about nuns and night shoots.

Rose: I would. Twice. Maybe three times on a Thursday.

Slice and Dice comes into it's own not just because of the quality of interviews presented but by the sheer quantity of those being interviewed, I lost count in the mid twenties, taken aback as I was by the abundance of clips illustrating the genre's history.

From Psycho to The Boogeyman and even (gulp) Cradle of Fear, if a movie features virgin flesh being violated by a blade then you'll find it here.

And more besides.

Warren: Specs appeal.

A frankly magnificent and unmissable trip thru' the celluloid slash-scape, Slice and Dice is a must for, well everybody if I'm honest.

Recommended. A lot.

Just you're average email.

just received this email at The Arena.

 

Fuck knows why.

 

But saying that it's better than the usual death threats.

 

Probably.

 

Rupert Grint: A warning.

Rupert Grint’s gargantuan hands reach out and shove you back into the chair, hairy knuckles squeezing your shoulders painfully at the end of his gangly arms. “Oi’ve hit me puberty,” he intones in his gravelly new voice, “so now oi’m the man!” He stands upright, towering over you, and leans his head back to let you appreciate his first claim to adulthood: the rudiments of a scraggly beard appearing along the line of his jaw. He twists one between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it gingerly. “Cor! ‘at’s a right pisser, ‘innit?”

You don’t have time to answer before he shifts his attention downward, to the fly of his jeans. He lifts his Hogwarts jersey and, with a few deft movements, it stands before you: his thick, unclipped, distinctly British hog. This is not the dainty, elegantly tapered ginger morsel you remember. Brackish pubes menace from his distended scrotum, curling outward at you. The sack itself has taken on the appearance of Mickey Rooney, seemingly aging a lifetime in mere months, and his penis has exchanged its youthful pallor for a yellow-brown tinge that reminds you of overripe fruit.

“‘orright mate, get to work, get to work! I’m not gon’ta’ wank i’!” He bellows his baritone commands at you expectantly, even as the monster begins to take shape. As if awakening for the first time in its wretched existence, his meaty chud rises off his balls with a malevolent swagger. He lets it brush against your cheek and leans backward, allowing you one last, furtive glimpse of the boy you once loved.. and the abomination he has become.

Steeling yourself, you return your eyes to the task before you. He is ready now, you realize, his slit glistening with precum, his shaft twitching with his heartbeat. This is it. You detect the scent of fish and vinegar on the air, and it reminds you of better times. It seems so long ago….

 

 

something for the weekend?