cock robin.

Occasionally a movie comes along that is so magnificent, so splendid that you experience an almost religious awakening whilst viewing.

A film that can truly claim the title of cinematic perfection.

Ladies and gentlemen celluloid alchemy does indeed exist and its name is....

Robin Hood: Ghosts Of Sherwood (2012).
Dir: Oliver Krekel.
Cast:  Martin Thon, Ramona Kuen, Martin Hentschel, Kai Borchardt, Anika Neubauer, Dennis Zachmann, Kane Hodder, Dave Kaufmann, Carolina Grigorov and Lord Tom Savini.

"And I kill you now!"

Our tale begins in the mystical woods of Sherwood Forest (magnificently played by a children's playground behind the directors house),where a bedraggled group of homeless men in makeshift medieval uniforms (the tea towel budget must have almost bankrupt the production) stumble about aimlessly before falling down (quite carefully I must add, you don't want to get a splinter) in a manner usually reserved for a child’s deflating bop-bag toy.

Meanwhile, just behind the swings and across from the sandpit, another group of totally dissimilar medieval men are wandering around in what looks like an alcohol fuelled haze whilst attempting to construct a tent out of a washing pole and an old bed sheet as two disembodied voices explain the films storyline in the manner of someone who has only just discovered the ability to read.

But sod the speech we're here for the fighting and as luck would have it a small group (Re: three) of the king’s men are engaged in an exciting and incredibly well choreographed* sword fight against a band of angry tinkers.

Thankfully the director, being aware of how overwhelming such an incredibly exciting fight scene can be has thoughtfully placed the actors in such a way that the camera can just sit peacefully and capture the whole thing without needing to move from the old apple box that it's perched on.

This not only makes the whole thing much more peaceful to watch but ensures that our excitement levels don't get too high, leading to fainting and/or panic attacks.

The action hots up during the 1979 Cradley Heath dogging finals. If you don't believe me ask your dad (he came second).

But who is that dodging and diving 'tween the arse-kicking kingsmen?

Why it must be Maid Marian! (played it seems by Helen Hunt's younger, plainer sister, the real Ramona Kuen).

C'mon it's a Robin Hood story, I mean what other female do you know hangs around the park looking for groups of men?

Apart from your mum.

Anyway whilst kicking arse in a rather fetching knock-off Frozen dress from the market our bubble-bonced babe is being watched from afar by that lank-haired, pube bearded, jug-eared rocker dude that we all know from our college days.

Remember?

The one who was always trying to sneakily smoke hash at the back of the class and was forever doing the fish-lip face whenever Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen came on?

Oh no, hang on....it's actually Robin Of Loxley, the hooded man himself, Robin Hood (Thon, check out his frankly stunning show reel here).

T'was the lack of hood that confused me obviously.

And the lack of height.

And charisma.

Leaping (over the camera in an obvious homage to The Red Hand Gang) to her rescue our hero half heartedly kicks a few bad men up the arse before attempting to shoot them with his bow and arrow.

But lo! He misses because in a fantastic twist on the legend he's actually really shit with a quiver.

But dead handy with a ballpoint pen and a packet of Quavers.

Or so I'm told.

Insert cock here.

With the fight finished it's on to the plot good and proper and in a scene of soft-porn style overdubbing not seen since the heady days of Zombie(s) Lake  Robin discovers that Marian is actually the Sheriff of Nottingham's niece and that she's spent the last five years back-packing around Europe in an attempt to forge alliances and stuff. Liking her style (if not her scary inability to even breathe convincingly) Robin invites her back to his camp to meet his so called “merry men” who, in a change from accepted facts are no longer a hundred strong band of rough 'n' ready bandits willing to do anything for a righteous cause but are in fact a small group of  knitted trouser wearing homeless people sitting about on logs with their teeth blacked out pretending to chat after being promised a pork pie and a glass of Tizer.

Having never encountered women with bad teeth and hairy legs - not to mention short, beardy men with greasy barnets before (what did she have her eyes shut when she travelled thru' France?), Marian is intrigued to learn more of their customs but is shocked to find that the group not only don't work for a living and just sit about drinking (no doubt paid for out of their benefits) but supplement this by stealing stuff from the rich.

And I bet a fair few of them are immigrants too.

Bloody lefties.

Angrily confronting Robin about his frankly Pikey-like ways our hero responds with an impassioned (for a plank of wood) speech about international Marxism, the joys of commune living and eating toadstools which utterly convinces Marion to give up her rich kid lifestyle for a place amongst the Proletariat.

Right on.

Not only that but in a fit of zealot rage agrees to help Robin - alongside Friar Tuck (a man with a sinister lack of leg hair) and Will (son of Captain) Scarlet - to rob her uncle and redistribute his wealth by disguising themselves (via a face-changing magical potion no less - methinks certain cast members were busy this day) as monks before climbing up the toilet pipe and pocketing his gold.

It's not like he has any dignity left to steal.

Talking of absolutely no dignity it's at this point that The Sheriff of Nottingham himself finally makes an appearance.

In the form of the moustachioed god of gore (not to mention magician, photographer, pilot, highwayman, dentist etc.) himself Lord Tom of Savini.

With a Pittsburgh drawl, leather trousers and a beanie hat.

Genius.

SAVINI!

Obviously tho' (because the plan was conceived by madmen) this whole operation fails resulting in not only the deaths of Will and Tuck (thank fuck) but Robin getting a kicking before being hung on a wall like a discarded condom.

Which gives us just enough time to wonder why Marian needed to take the face-changing potion at all, I mean surely she wont have changed that much in five years?

Oh hang on it's because wannabe pop star and runner up of Kiddy Contest 2005 Carolina Grigorov was free for a few hours wasn't it.

Well fair play to them because she is fairly lovely.

In that mid 80's East Berlin kinda way.

Look what can I say? I went to art school in 1986....it's not my fault.

Can I also throw in at this point a totally random references to the town of Chestershire?

I don't see why not seeing as the cast seem to every five minutes.

Back to the action where, much to the guards confusion the face changing magic has worn off giving Robin a chance to escape  but not before being mortally wounded by some archers.

Of the bow carrying kind I mean he doesn't overdo the peach schnapps.

Tho' by this point I was on my third bottle.

Waking up in the lair of a sinister (is there any other kind?) witch (Marketing, Communications and Psychology graduate cum film producer Neubauer), Robin is mildly surprised to find that he's  been partially restored to life - which is twice as energetic as is usual and in order  to stay alive, he must relinquish his soul to the Devil.

But not for three years so that's OK then.

Robin, being a good guy is shocked by the thought of selling his soul to Satan (tho' obviously wouldn't think twice about selling his arse to sailors for loose change round the back of a supermarket) until that is the witch lets it slip that she has a potion for bringing the dead back to life.

But it will only work within the first 24 hours of death, otherwise the unfortunates will return as flesh eating zombies.

Remember this as it may be important later.

Possibly.

Swallowing his pride - which is much less salty that what he's usually guzzling - Robin takes the deal in order to save his friends and heads back to Nottingham to collect their corpses and bring them back to the witch where they are successfully restored to life.

"Shite in mah holy mooth!"

Back in Sherwood Forest life goes on as normal and Robin and Marian (now back to being played by Kuen), as is the way with the story, fall in love during a soft focus montage scored by the bastard child of Bryan Adam’s and Enya that was unfortunately dropped on it's head during its botched, backstreet birth.

Luckily all this mushy stuff (and ear rape) is interrupted when Robin casually lets slip about his deal with the Devil and Marian, none too happy with this turn of events storms off to the witches lair in order to bargain for Robin’s soul whilst our hero shuffles from foot to foot looking at the ground like a wee boy who's been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

Surprisingly enough Marian actually manages to make a deal with the witch which involves giving her a big bag of pennies in order to just buy replacement souls from greedy folk.

Brilliant.

Marion should really be on Dragon's Den, she's wasted in this.

As are most of the cast if I'm honest.

Skipping hand in hand from the witch’s cave and with nary a care in the world, Robin and Marian's happiness is shattered when the discover that the Sheriff’s men (all six of them) have stumbled across Robin's base camp and killed everyone.

To death.

Angrily attacking the evil knights Robin is soon cut down by a swathe of arrows leaving Marian - who by this point is hiding behind a tree - alone and without hope of help.

Or is she?

For out of the woods strides an imposing figure of a man with an infeasibly square head.

It's Little John back from the social and clutching an emergency  Giro.

And not only that but he's being played by Jason Voorhees himself Kane Bloody Hodder!

Obviously Derek Mears was busy.

That's probably not the only thing she blew for this role.

Marian, relieved to finally be sharing a scene with someone who has more than two facial expressions fills John in on the story so far before casually mentioning the witches abundant supply of the resurrection potion and the pair hurriedly head back to the cave, giving Hodder an excuse to beheaded the old crone before stealing it.

Which is nice.

Marian and John return to the camp (it's a wonder there's any grass left seeing as everybody always seems to be walking thru' the same bit of forest) and begin dosing the bodies with the potion before siting down to await the results.

Unfortunately the camp have been dead for longer than a day (see? I told you that was important) and in a howl of almost orgasmic grunting not heard since your dad was caught with the bridesmaid at your uncles wedding the by now even dirtier than normal Merry Men rise again...

as flesh hungry zombies!

"Spice Girls number one for Christmas....MONSTA!"

Realizing - in a bizarrely nonchalant fashion - their mistake Marian and John quickly rifle thru' the stolen magic bag in the hope of finding a spell or potion to aid them in their fight against the undead, first giving themselves "skin of stone" (which wasn't the only think hard at this point) then fighting back by turning rocks into explosives and creating a “rain of rockets” ("You know like the Chinese have." helpfully explains Marian) before finally deciding to trap the zombies in Sherwood Forest by means of a mystic forcefield.

As you would.

With the undead hordes contained the only thing left for Marian to do is deal with the evil Sheriff of Nottingham.

Oh yes and change back into Carolina Grigorov for no reason other than to placate my desires.

Thanks for that.

 As luck would have it he just happens to be passing by with several of his guards in search of his niece (which begs the question as to how long she's been gone....it's seems like months - no really - but must only be a few days which mean for all his faults Robin's a fucking quick worker).

She explains to her uncle that her and John had been verbally abused by some drunken football fans in the woods and that they should go and sort them out,  taunting Little John for being too much of a wuss for not dealing with it himself (and no doubt for appearing in Charlie's Farm) before heading into the woods to kick some arse.

Cue a sexily stifled moan followed by a scream and some top rock guitar (courtesy of Michael Donner) as the titles crash into view over a blurred still of a sunset thru some trees.

Fucking magic.

But no, there's more.

We cut back to Nottingham Castle where an scary witch with an even scarier accent is being questioned by Little John - who appears to have been elected the new Sheriff after Tom Savini went missing in the woods as the French knight from Monty Python And The Holy Grail skulks about in the background.

It appears that the potion supply is running low and he needs a witch to help make some more, agreeing to free her if she offers to help.

Although only being a YTS witch with only basic spell skills she readily agrees rightly thinking that anything is better than spending your days in stocks with your arse on view to all and sundry.

Tho' I'm not too sure

Anyway as John prepares to send a large group of of men bedecked in ill-fitting and mismatched armour into the forest (and possibly certain death) a forlorn  Marian gazes off into the middle distance, no doubt thinking about where it all went wrong after her talent show heyday.

And that's really the end

Honest.

SAVINI! on a horse!

For the first time ever I'm at something of a loss to fully do justice to the experience of viewing this film. Every fibre of my being is screaming out "Burn it now!" yet there's something almost otherworldy about the delights and sheer entertainment value it holds

Like a lobotomised, Disney-fied version of Excalibur violently bumming the best bits of Hawk The Slayer drunkenly filtered thru' the design (and dubbing work) of Burial Ground, Robin Hood: Ghosts Of Sherwood runs the giddying gamut of total shite to utter genius and back again thru' every part of its almost 2 hour running time, everything about it seems to have been roughly plucked directly from the screaming brain of a madman and I for one am very grateful for it.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Lazy camera work, inept dubbing, coma-inducing lift music, a cast with all the charisma of a bout of genital warts (with obvious exceptions) with a plot that doesn't as much meander as drag itself painfully across a glass strewn floor and a film so cheap that it manages to make the aforementioned Hawk The Slayer look like Kingdom of Heaven.

However none of this can dull the utter joy derived from the whole experience.

Oliver Krekel, I salute you.

Carolina Grigorov, I love you.

And Martin Thon?

Get a bloody haircut. 

As close to Godliness as cinema will ever get, this is the type of movie I dream of seeing.

And the fact that it was only a pound only adds to the joy.

Buy it now and demand a sequel.

The campaign begins HERE.

 

Thank you Poundland!

*For our American readers this is what we British call irony.

post mortem.

Another year and another Frightfest over so before I forget everything that occurred (tho' days after everyone else obviously) and by popular demand (OK one person asked my opinion), here's the mini round-up reviews type thing of the whole gory story.

The whole shebang was previewed back here so forgive any repetition and I'll try to keep things brief and to the point. 


Enjoy.

Going back to gory holes (sort of) the whole kit and kaboodle kicked of with a special Thursday night preview showing (for those of us not in the pub) of Jason (I wrote The Houses That October Built but don't hold that against me) Zada’s tree-based tummy troubler The Forest which headlines smirking sultress Natalie Dormer as twins (one has a comedy wig as to not confuse the audience) one of whom has gone allegedly missing in the spooky Aokigahara Forest.

I say allegedly as the nearest the production got to Japanese culture in any way appears to be playing Super Mario Bros. on the NES whilst masturbating to Harumi Asano videos.

Which there's no shame in but does mean that you wont be concentrating on putting together little things like a coherent plot or making sure there aren't any wee bits of clichéd racism in your script (Japanese food is gross! Look! as the camera lovingly focuses on a plate of sushi).

Luckily tho' they did have enough time to buy some Just For Men for hunky lead Taylor Kinney's frankly magnificent locks, just a pity that his T-Shirt was too small for him.

Seriously his nipples poked me in the eyes so much I had to wear a bandage across them for the rest of the weekend.

Which made viewing the other movies a tad challenging.

Hampered with dodgy dialogue, massively signposted scares and a script that requires the Dormer to have undergone a common sense removal operation before shooting, The Forest can only be recommended for those of you who enjoy camping equipment on the big screen or with a man-tit fetish.

Which means your dad would love it.

Natalie Dormer searches vainly for an original idea in The Forest. Well technically it's a hotel lobby but the film is entitled The Forest, no idea what the hotel's called.

The first film up on Friday was soon upon us in the form of The Hexecutioners, the latest tale of oddness from writer Tony Burgess, he who gave us the sublime Pontypool but not A Clockwork Orange as that one is dead.

Saying that tho' at the time of writing who's to say that this Burgess isn't fighting for his life somewhere? I mean we all face our own terrifying demons and battle against personal pain - both real and imagined - everyday.

A bit like the lovely, librarian-like and ravishingly redheaded - a theme that we will be returning to throughout the weekend - Malison McCourt (Liv Collins, daughter of Irish revolutionary leader Michael and actress Joan) in this movie.

See?

I'm not just rambling.

In a world where euthanasia is not only legal but a growing business, the mousy Malison, after suffering the indignity of having a dying woman vomit on her is teamed up with seasoned pro Olivia (all your school teacher fantasies made flesh Sarah Power) and sent to the remote estate of the high Scrabble scoring Milos Somborac, whose deathbed wish is to die via the Tibetan death ritual known as the Yotar Sky Burial.

Nicely written, played to perfection and with a fantastic central premise, the film is unfortunately let down somewhat by some unsure direction, a nervousness regarding its mix of scares and (very black) humour and more importantly by signposting its twists in neon ages before they happen.

Which is a shame as there are the seeds of a real gem here and the central performances from Collins and Power are fantastic.

As are Collins clothes.

Still worth a look - and miles more inventive than most mainstream horror around - The Hexecutioners has much to be recommended for.

Liv Collins, that is all.

From luscious librarians to loopy (young) lassies now with writer/director Sonny Mallhi's Anguish, the slow-burning, soulful story of troubled teen Tess d'Urbervilles (Ryan Simpkins, sister of the wee boy with the pudding bowl haircut and Autistic traits in Jurassic World) who suffers from a form of mentalism that causes her to struggle distinguishing between what’s real and what's imaginary.

I can relate to that.

Moving to a new town our batty-brained heroine is soon seeing spooky visions all around her that seem to be centred on a young girl whose life was tragically cut short in a car accident.

I say cut short but it's more like squashed flat.

Any concerns regarding another American movie about possession that alleges to be based on a true story are quickly laid to rest by Mallhi non-flashy direction which keeps the film moving at a slow and steady pace towards a genuinely surprising third act that totally fools your expectations.

Nicely underplayed and with a warm homely feel (thanks in part to a fantastically folky soundtrack and lush cinematography courtesy of Laid To Rest 2's Amanda Treyz) Anguish is one for anyone looking for a more sensitive and - gulp - mature approach to the paranormal.

Definitely a surprise and a director (and star) to watch.

On screen that is, I'm not suggesting you stalk them or anything.

Simpkins in a hat.

Next up - and giving the audience a well deserved break from full length fear-mongering were a trio of terrific shorts beginning with Jon Mikel Caballero's Cenizo, a brilliantly bonkers tale of eviction (yup, really) told from the viewpoint of a comic-reading young girl trying desperately to help her dad fend off an army of space nasties, which was frankly fantastic and thoroughly heart-warming (tho' the lead characters name may have help sell me on it).

Search it out now.

Adam Quintero: Specs appeal (sorry).

This was followed (as opposed to It Follows which as we all know is utter shite) by director/writer Katie Bonham’s menacingly mournful Mindless, a short yet shocking story of Peter (Nicholas Vince), a middle aged man on the edge of senility and his health visitor that packs more of a punch in it's scant eight minute running time than most features do in ninety and goes well to cementing Bonham as a Pete Walker for the new millennium.

Albeit less grumpy and with better taste in shoes.

Finally Burlesque bombshell and comedy writer Cat Davies’ cautionary tale of the dietary details of undead dating KEEN-wah hit the screen to much laughter and applause tho' to my mind it suffered from being a great idea let down somewhat by technical/make-up issues when compared to the previous two efforts and didn't reach its full potential.

Still, worth a giggle I guess.

What's new (pussy) Cat Davies?

And now to the dark horse of the festival, bravely replacing the Stephen King, John Cusak starrer Cell was Pandemic - a shoot em, loot em first person plague people vs Rachel (Continuum) Nichols actioner from director John Suits, he of the stylish 2014 thriller The Scribbler.

When a nasty virus (is there any other kind?) decimates humanity, former green-skinned Star Trek babe Nichols (as a CDC doctor not as herself obviously) is sent into an infected LA to retrieve a previous group with whom contact was lost shortly after reporting finding uninfected survivors.

But personal agendas and well kept secrets may jeopardise not only the mission but the very lives of those involved.

Incredibly intense in parts with a rough and ready guerilla edge missing from many movies of its ilk, it's eclectic cast and instantly recognisable - and relatable - characters means the movie grabs your attention from the start and never lets up.

Imagine The Crazies hotwired thru a PS3 and you're halfway there.

And to be honest that's no bad thing.

Welcome to Dudley.

From crazies to Cthulhu now as the fantastically funny Portal To Hell!!! burst onto our screens (well the GFT screens obviously).

A beautifully played homage to all things Lovecraft and featuring the final performance from the legendary 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper (plus sterling support from Laura Robinson who is, bizarrely enough the co-inventor of the best-selling game Balderdash - strange but true), Portal is just perfect.

Nuff said.

Rowdy Roddy reacts to the original They Live! reviews.

Wiping a tear from our collective eye (son) we sat in anticipation (which is the bar opposite the cinema) in readiness for Joe (Almost Human) Begos' brain-popping, bass pounding tribute to Scanners, the sublime The Mind’s Eye.

This 90's set telekinetic terror centres upon the misadventures of ESP-powered Everyman Zack Connors (Almost Human‘s Graham Skipper) who after being tricked to join a programme designed to help those with these 'special' gifts by the dodgy Doctor Michael Slovak (a scenery devouring performance from John Speredakos) discovers that not only does the doctor wish to steal these powers for himself but that he also has our heroes true love, the hotly mumsy Rachel (pear eyed poppet and star of Jug Face Lauren Ashley Carter) held captive.

Lauren Ashley Carter: Yummy quite frankly.

Proudly wearing it's influences on it's bloodied and torn sleeve and filled to the brim with gravity defying performances, exploding heads and a (not so) sly reference to everyones favourite CIA crazy John Rainbird, how much you love this will depend totally on how much you love the films it's celebrating.

And in this case it's a hell of a lot.

Oh and the score from Steve Moore of Zombi is pretty fucking special too.

And how do you follow that?

Well with Tyler MacIntyre’s heartfelt love letter to botched body swaps, social acceptance and true love, the brilliantly barmy Patchwork.

Mixing Mary Shelley with a dash of early Peter Jackson to wonderful comic (horror) effect, Patchwork is the story of three young women - work obsessed Jennifer (Tory Stolper), glitter loving airhead Ellie (Tracey Fairaway - so close) and the frankly perfect Madeleine (be still my beating heart, Maria Blasucci) who wake up after a night out to find themselves not only in a strange laboratory (which would be bad enough) but also hastily stitched together in one (fairly hot it must be said) body.

Charlie's Angels: The Pikey Years.

Discovering that they share thoughts as well as arms and legs (but not alas three arses) the trio must learn to work together if they have any chance of extracting shevenge on the person who did it.

Playing out at points like a Frank Henenlotter version of Inside Out (no, really) the films central concept of having three distinct and decidedly different personalities inhabiting one body gives Stolper, Fairaway and Blasucci the chance to really shine, giving a real heart and soul to a film that in less capable hands could become a trashy, offensive and unwatchable mess.

Great fun and genuinely touching Patchwork was, for me the surprise hi-light of the festival.

Maria Blasucci: Twice.

And with that Fridays turn ended with a bang leaving just enough time for a tearful wank, a Pot Noodle and forty winks (see? It does affect your eyesight) before rising early the next day (tho' not early enough to catch the first five minutes....damn you alarm clock) for the frankly fantastically monikered Roar (Cold Prey) Uthaug’s The Wave.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Norway's biggest hit of last year, The Wave finds pube-chinned geologist Kristian (The Revenant's Kristoffer Joner) in a race against time to save his family whilst attempting to convince the authorities that the country’s most unstable mountain is about to collapse causing a massive tsunami.

Which is nice.

An unashamedly old school disaster flick featuring great performances and top-drawer special effects (the wave itself is terrifyingly real), it may not add anything new to that well worn genre but when you're on the edge of your seat and willing our hero to pull thru' none of that seems to matter.

Well it does if you're an arsey film bore with no joy in your life obviously.

"Somebody help me! I can't seem to find a coherent plot!"

 And talking of joyless thinks brings us neatly to Southbound, the much hyped (by 14 year old boys) anthology horror from the folk who graciously gave us V/H/S.

Wonderful.

Tying together five stories (well I say stories but five hastily scribbled, half-baked ideas would be a more apt description) of guilt, horror and shoddily CG-ed ball-headed monsters via a stretch of desert highway, Southbound is the perfect example of (makeshift) style over (very little) substance, the cinematic equivalent of a drunken jam session between four fairly competent pub bands best known for covering Oasis as it's the only band they've ever heard.

True there are some great ideas on show but none are followed thru', everything just seems to stop with an uninterested  'meh' rather than a shocked gasp, saying that tho' maybe I'm being too harsh as I'm not the intended audiences seeing as I'm not 12 and I've actually seen a film before.

More like a synopsis on the back of a box than an actual movie, Southbound is the cinematic equivalent of your mum drunk trying to dance provocatively to Beyonce, interesting to look at for a while but ultimately forgettable.

Harumi Asano, just in case you were wondering what she looks like.

Which is the total opposite of the arse-kicking martial arts action hit SPL2: A Time For Consequences, director Soi Cheang's tale of 'orrible organ-leggers, crack-head cops, family ties and tiny children in hospital is an unashamedly old-school HK thriller that plays out as if there has been no other films made since John Woo's The Killer and is all the better for it.

The basic premise sees undercover Hong Kong cop and part-time junkie Kit (Wu Jing) sent to a terrifying Thai prison after his cover is blown during a botched operation  where he discovers that the jail is really a cover for an organ trafficking ring run by a Chinese David Bowie impersonator ably aided and abetted by a gravity defying, slick-quiffed prison warden and an eyebrow-shorn hitman with a line in deadly letter openers.

Luckily there's one honest guard in the prison (and he's played by Tony Jaa - how lucky is that?) named Chatchai how is painfully aware of all the badness and corruption going on around him.

Unfortunately his daughter has leukaemia and is in desperate need of a bone marrow transplant so our good guy guard is forced to remain silent, until that is he realizes that Kit is not only a cop but the perfect match for his daughters blood type setting the scene for an top-tier, turbo-charged excuse to watch grown men kicking seven shades of shite out of each other in a variety of ever more amazing ways whilst trying to get a signal on a mobile phone.


No really.

Played to straight-faced perfection and a with a deadly serious tone usually reserved for stuff like Schindler's List, SPL2 is a text-book example of why we fell in love with the likes of Chow Yun Fat and Sammo Hung in the first place.

Ball-breaking cinematic gold.

And yes there's an inappropriate pop song over the end credits.

"Does my skin look buttery?"

From chop-sockey trumpings to Indian summers now with The Other Side Of The Door, Johannes Roberts’ tale of totems, terror and antique tables where the Mumbai-based tat peddler Maria (Sarah Wayne Callies from The Walking Dead), distraught after losing (as in he died, not in a McCann way) her son discovers a dark rite (there's always one isn't there?) that will let her to say goodbye to her dead child and hopefully find closure.

Unbeknownst to her husband Michael (Jeremy Sisto) she travels to a remote temple where it is said that the barriers ’twixt the world of the living and the dead is at it's thinnest.



A wee bit like Dudley town centre then.

The land of the dead yesterday.

Being a girl tho' Maria messes up the ritual allowing the spirit of the evil goddess Myrtu to enter our realm and roam the earth once more leaving her no choice but to try and protect her daughter and husband from this netherworld nasty whilst trying to act like she's done nowt wrong.

Yup, typical bloody woman.

Although not the most original plot in the world, Roberts raises the movie above the norm with a great cast, a uniquely exotic setting and some genuine scares in a film that is as unashamedly British in feel as it is exotic.

Reminiscent (in tone at least) at times of the 1975 Tyburn Film The Ghoul, The Other Side Of The Door does exactly what it sets out to do and is an unapologetically old school chiller.

All the perils of double dating in one pic.

From subtle chiller to blood soaked thriller next with the première of Can Evrenol’s terrifyingly trippy Turkish delight, Baskin.

When a bus load of foul mouthed Turkish police officers answer a call for help from one of their colleagues they get more than they bargained for, stumbling headlong into a Black Mass being performed by a nightmarish cabal of subhuman cannibalistic freaks with a thing for gory blood ceremonies and bare arses led by a ball-headed boffin called simple 'Father'.

Almost impossible to describe but totally impossible to ignore, Baskin comes across like a primary coloured, living breathing arthouse vision of Hell as curated by Clive Barker, Lucio Fulci and David Lynch with tickets designed by Nicholas Winding Refn in a lock-up in Silent Hill.

Bloody good stuff.

"Boiled onions!"

The penultimate movie of the weekend was by far the most contentious, Kevin and Michael Goetz’s remake of Pascal Laugier’s comedy classic Martyrs.

'Serious' (I.E. those with poles up their arses) horror fans were enraged at the thought of an American remake of this 'classic' and weren't backwards in coming forwards (or over the seats in front) with opinions about it.

I, myself tho' felt rather different.

It's confession time.

You see, I don't actually rate the original.

True it has a brilliant premise, a fantastic beginning, beautifully twisted middle and a massive punch to the bollocks of an ending but then, unfortunately it has an extra 40 minutes of meandering and boring torture added to it for no reason other than shock value before dropping the ball completely by leaving the whole "Does God exist?" question totally unanswered.

Not even Star Trek V fell into this trap.

And as for the remake?

Well it's totally what you expect, a flashy yet vacuous retelling that replaces the originals religious overtones with a so-so strong woman revenge trope that is neither fleshed out enough to be engaging or different enough to warrant the film being remade in the first place.

The kinda film that your boringly haircutted workmate would find 'shocking' but in reality the cinematic equivalent of watching grey gloss paint dry.

Saying that tho' it does feature some of the most unintentionally hilarious CGI I’ve seen in a mainstream movie for some time alongside a blink and you'll miss it homage to Truman Capote's In Cold Blood.

Tho' that was probably an accident.

I'd say it's worth a look but as a horror fan you really have to see it to make up your own mind.

Not as shite as you feared but not as funny as it could have been.

But it is nice to see Big Trouble In Little China's Kate Burton back on the big screen.

The Ronko Wankaway proved a great success with young and old alike.

And now for a feast of sugary sweet fun from writer/director Sean Byrne, he who gave us the sublime The Loved Ones and introduced us to the ultimate maid of mentalism in the button-cute form of Robin McLeavy.

No pressure then.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you The Devil’s Candy.

Lank haired heavy metal loving art type guy Jesse Hellman (Ethan Embry), his wife Astrid (Ex-All Saint Shiri Appleby) and fellow metal-head daughter Zooey (Kiara - I belong to - Glasco) moves to a house in Texas, unfortunately (for them that is) the house has a violent past.

By that I mean that bad things happened in it and not that the actual house itself got up off its foundations and ran amok, tho' that would've be worth seeing and probably a lot more realistic than Martyrs.


But I digress.

It's not long tho' before his paintings start to take a darkly disturbing turn and when a drifter called Ray (Pruitt Taylor Vince from almost everything) turns up on their doorstep begging to move back into where his parents tragically died things start to get really strange.

Literally THE only still available from The Devil's Candy.

What could be seen as yer average 'family under siege' movie is immediately elevated to greatness by Byrne's almost uncanny ability to make even the most mundane and comical situations turn terrifying and it's this, couple with his skill at creating instantly likeable 'everyman/woman' characters, the relationship between Jesse and Zooey is absolutely beautifully played and it's this bond 'tween father and daughter that drives and informs the films darker elements.

Kudos too to Appleby and the always watchable Vince.

I for one can't wait to see it again.

And this time I promise to keep my trousers on.

So that's it for another year, strong, steady and infinitely enjoyable Frightfest Glasgow continues to go from strength to strength - roll on next year and hopefully a belated big screen showing of this classic.....

You have been warned.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 56).

The bespectacled bombshell of bespoke blouses herself, Lindsey Creel, Project Runway Season 14 designer.

pete tong.

Ye gads.

First Vanity and now Andrzej Żuławski.....The Arena is quickly turning into a cinema deadpool.

This time next week the whole thing will be full of hastily rewritten 'tribute' reviews in a vain attempt to get new (any) readers.

As is the norm, remember that this was first published in 2007 so apologises if it comes across as a semi-serious post.

I've learned my lesson since then. 

Possession (1981).
Dir: Andrzej Zulawski.
Cast: Sam Neill, Isabelle Adjani, Michael Hogben, Heinz Bennent and Dave The Octopus.

Bowl headed secret agent stick man Mark (dino' boffin and former Anti-Christ Neill) and his tres, tres foxy (if oh so slightly hat-stand) wife Anna (Adjani) live with their young (and even more bowl headed if that were possible) son Bob (Hogben) in the bleak and decaying yet painfully hip music video styled city of Berlin (playing itself).

So far so eighties.

Minimalist.

Mark, returning home after a dangerous mission harbours suspicions that his wife is conducting an illicit affair after coming across (not in that way, it wasn't that explicit) a love letter from a mysterious fella named Jeff Heinrich. 

His fragile state of mind isn't helped by the fact that Anna has recently confessed to having finding her hubbie boring as fuck.

Which is a fairly usual occurrence in my house.

Toothsome.

Deciding to try and talk thru their differences, Mark reckons it would be a great idea to go out to a local restaurant for some scrummy food and a chat  and even tho' he's booked two separate tables hopes for the best.

Or at least a wee fumble in the taxi home.

Unfortunately Anna admits to the affair during the main course (a really yummy looking seafood dish, I'll have to contact the director for the recipe someday) which unsurprisingly causes Mark to go absolutely bonkers, trashing the eatery and annoying the other couples with his pathetic wailing sound. 

Scarily Mark is actually surprised when Anna walks out on him, this time for good.

Taking this turn of events fairly badly - he's unshaven, stinks of piss and can barely speak without dribbling - Mark decides the best course of action is to keep ringing Anna and whispering "I love you!" to her every fifteen minutes whilst rocking to and fro in his bed like a big, dirty baby.

Albeit a big, dirty baby that once played Damien Thorn.

With all this family break up stuff going on you'd be forgiven for forgetting about poor wee Bob (tho' with that haircut it'd be bloody difficult), much like his parents have appeared to so it comes as a relief when Mark manages to pull himself together long enough to change his clothes, shave and feed the poor sod.

Bizarrely around the same time Anna suddenly remembers she has a son too and decides to visit.

Being the trouper that he is (or just a really bad actor) Bob sits thru his mum's return completely nonplussed, unlike his by now even more pathetic looking dad who spends the evening trying to convince Anna to leave Heinrich and come home to him and the boy.

Scarily this actually works and  after a reconciliation of sorts, Anna reluctantly agrees to Mark's embarrassingly snot filled demands.

Mark waits....and waits but Anna fails to come home.



Could things get any worse for our soon to be blockbuster starring paleontologist?

Actually no as things start to look up for Mark when he finds himself being drawn to one of Bob's teachers, the bookish Helen  who happens to be the double of his wife - except for her bright-and I mean bright- emerald eyes).


As you've probably guessed this is Adjani again, only this time in a pound shop wig and comedy specs. 

Genius.
 
Nothing says I love you more than an unhealthy obsession tho and although fairly attracted to Helen, Mark is still bloody annoyed at his wife’s infidelity so decides - in a fit of girly pique - to track down Heinrich and sort things out man to man.

Being a Eurotrash cum arthouse movie nothing is that simple and even tho' Heinrich (Bennent) looks like a camper, tubbier, gone to seed Udo Kier, he is in fact a completely fruit-loops karate kicking, bisexual mentalist who, after confessing to the affair kicks the absolute shite out of Mark.

Ouch.

Nursing a broken toe and a bruised ego Mark hurriedly heads back home with the fantastic plan of hiding under his bedsheets whilst indulging in a tearful wank and a Pot Noodle so is slightly pissed off on his return to find Anna sitting with Bob discussing the finer points of his dads masturbation habits.

As is the case in these situations a huge fight erupts culminating with the pair beating the crap out of each and Anna (very sexily) legging it up the street.

"It's ok hen, ya cannae see the join".

His grasp on reality growing ever thinner (much like his hair) Mark hires a private investigator to follow Anna home after her frequent visits to see her son whilst constantly begging and pleading with her to explain what's happening in their 'relationship'.

I've absolutely no idea how he's not figured out that she doesn't love him and is shagging someone else by now but hey, I once didn't realise that a girl I was seeing hadn't gone to the toilet during The Blob remake but was in fact having sex with a guy in the carpark even tho' the next time I saw her she was pregnant and engaged to him so there you go.

Obviously annoyed by all these questions (from both Mark and the audience) Anna decides to cut her throat with an electric carving knife. 

Mark, not to be outdone then slashes his arm with it.

Obviously unable to compete with this Anna grabs her jacket and flounces off but this time with the wedge-haircutted, Martin Fry-like PI in hot pursuit.

He sneakily follows her back to a dark, spooky apartment and, pretending to be some kind of expert on windows manages to gain entry to the flat. 

Once inside he starts to look for clues regarding Anna's secret life but is shocked (to say the least) to find not another man (or woman) but a gloopy, slimy, tentacled beast hiding in one of the darkened rooms, turning to leave he's confronted by Anna who then bludgeons him to death with a broken HP Sauce bottle.


Admit it, you never saw that coming.

Whilst all this is going on Helen visits to check on young Bob at home, giving Mark an excuse to go all weak kneed and puppy dog like. 

Which if I'm honest is way more stomach-churning than the bottling we just witnessed.

This visit seems to be a catalyst of sorts (either that or we've hit the halfway mark and there are no other characters to introduce) because suddenly he's getting more visitors than Blackpool Illuminations or your mum when your dad's away.

OK maybe not that many. 

Firstly Heinrich visits Mark, trying to find Anna, dancing about like your dad at a disco as he rants and raves about God and love (and possibly wittering on about the back catalogue of Man 2 Man and Man Parish) then Helen returns and strips naked in front of Mark for absolutely no reason.

And to make matters worse nothing happens.

David Lo Pan's dream date.

Amazingly up until this point Bob has been coping better than both his parents but what with his mum and dad slashing bits off each other, gay Germans prancing around the house in florid shirts and his teacher wandering around in the nude it was only a matter of time before he started feeling the strain too and suddenly starts crying in the corner whilst scoffing boxes of Mueller Lite till he's sick.
 
Mark, assuming this is a bad things lays off the obsessiveness for a while to spend some quality time comforting poor boy.

It's during one of these yoghurt-based bonding sessions the private investigator's business partner cum lover (literally) turns up looking for his man (which doesn't show his investigating skills, private or otherwise, in a good light really) and Mark, ever helpful,  gives him the address of Anna's apartment.

Anna was surprised at how
tall the new milkman was.

For a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown that shares a run down apartment with a tentacled cock monster Anna is quite friendly and polite to the 'tec, inviting him in and agreeing to take him to see his man friend, who she says, is in the same room as the slime covered beast.

Recoiling in fear (or maybe he's just jealous that such a skinny French bird could get all that cock) he tries to shoot Anna but his gun misfires and, screaming like only a mad woman can Anna wrestles the gun from him and 'pops a cap in his ass' as the youngsters say.

Meanwhile Mark is filing his days watching Heinrich's home video's of Anna at work at a ballet school, allegedly she's a top teacher but appears to spend most of her day abusing the students till they burst into tears, which causes Mark to think (now that's a first) that his wife may be suffering from some kind of mental illness (he's a perceptive one and no mistaking) and confronts her about this when she returns to his apartment looking for clothes.

Tho' surely he would have taken his keys back by now?

Never mind this is art we're watching, it's not meant to make sense.

A mad, mental (and very damp)
French woman yesterday.

Anna takes this very badly (no surprises there) and starts scratching herself violently, talking bollocks and indulging in freaky flashbacks that not only include her angrily grunting at a statue of Jesus in a church but also shouting and swearing in a deserted underpass whilst giving birth to a big red and black blob whilst oozing salad cream from every orifice.


Which, if I'm honest is quite possibly one of the sexiest things I have ever seen.

All this romantic chit-chat comes to an end when Heinrich phones Mark, it seems he wants Anna back too, so Mark obviously wanting to share the love gives him Anna's address whilst sneakily Mark forgetting to mention the breakdown, grunting, mutant baby birthing etc.

Yup, there's hope for him yet.

Later that day and armed only with a bunch of petrol station flowers Heinrich arrives at the apartment to get their relationship back on track.

I don't know what's more disturbing, the shitty flowers,
the white disco suit or the piss yellow flock wallpaper.

Anna appears happy to see Heinrich and invites him in for coffee, unfortunately she's forgotten that she's storing bits of bodies in her fridge and is living with a beast which means that Heinrich gets a wee bit scared when he goes to get the milk.

Being a woman and as always never one to overreact, Anna jumps on him and administers a good kicking before Heinrich manages to escape and call his new best mate Mark for help.

Come to think of it  the pair of them should hook up really, they've a lot in common.

Mark (having a window in his crying/whining/not having sex with his sons teacher diary) listens intently before formulating a frankly fantastic plan which involves turning up at Anna's apartment whilst she's at work and rigging the place up it with a shed load of dynamite before going to meet Heinrich in a seedy toilet to celebrate.


Heinrich by this point is a bit nervous, pissing uncontrollably over his shoes and demanding hush money from Mark.

Unfortunately he (and us if you're honest) have forgotten that Mark is a secret agent so his reply is fairly Bondian.

No he doesn't shag him to a lush John Barry score but beats him into unconsciousness before drowning him in a cubicle.



Then he blows up Anna's flat.

Chuckling happily to himself Mark returns home with a plan to relax with some more fast food fist fun but instead finds the babysitter dead on the hall carpet.

On the plus side tho' Anna is sitting seductively on the sofa and in need of the sex. 

Mark is happy to oblige but just at the moment of climax gets annoyed by Bob wandering in and screaming at the sight of Sam Neill's skinny pink arse thrusting atop his mum.

This turn of events causes Anna to run off.

Again.

As he's about to give chase Heinrich's mum rings looking for her son and Mark (forgetting to mention that he's killed Heinrich, look he's busy) quickly hangs up deciding that it's time to confront Anna once and for all and after getting Helen to babysit Bob (which is becoming a dangerous thing to do) arranges to meet Anna at Heinrich's pad.

yup....it's an eggy one.

Finding the door ajar and hearing a strange moaning noise coming from inside Mark sneaks into the apartment only to find Anna having sweaty, sticky (and very oozy) naked tentacled sex with the cock creature moaning "Almost....almost.....almost" repeatedly as it undulates and thrust upon her.....

"Put it in me!" "Which one?"

And if that wasn't enough to justify the rental fee, it now appears that Mark's spy bosses have decided that they want him dead (how's your luck?), cue an exciting chase scene that would make Jason Bourne green with envy which culminates with Mark, bloodied and broken calling on Anna for help.

She appears, her 'lover' in tow, only now it looks exactly like Mark.

And to make matters worse the shadowy assassins have also arrived, intent on killing the real Mark.....

Much has been written regarding director Andrzej Zulawski's genre defying Possession, mostly by people much cleverer and way better at spelling than me but heyho, I'll give it a shot. 

At once a perfect example of film as therapy (Zulawski is on record as saying the film was made to exorcise the demons of his recent divorce), a rallying cry against state sanctioned film production and a dry look at life in a fractured city, It's a film that challenges the viewer on every level.

Shit, did I really just type that?

This is beginning to look like an issue of Sight And Sound.

A pale French beauty...in ankle socks.

Sam Neill and Isabelle Adjani give absolutely magnificent performances, as does the great Heinz Bennent who is almost precursor to Frank Booth in David Lynch's masterpiece Blue Velvet whilst Carlo Rambaldi's humanoid/squid/cock hybrid makes you almost forgive him for unleashing ET on the world.

But not quite.

Anyway before any of you start to think that this is a serious cinema blog you have to imagine the effect the movie had on an impressionable 12 year old boy who sneakily got his hands on it after reading the rave review Starburst magazine gave it.

Sod the guff about art, cinema and challenging performances it had an exotic raven haired, pale skinned foreign actress having sex with a monster in it!!!

And for that I salute you Mr. Zulawski.

God bless and thank you.

spunky monkey.

Just heard this morning the sad news that former Prince plaything, lead singer with sexy supergroup Vanity 6 and latter day (as in later in life not as in Mormon) born again Christian Denise Matthews has died so I thought I'd dig up this review of possibly her greatest movie role in a way of tribute.

To be honest tho' it's the only film of hers that I’ve ever reviewed and I'm too busy today to go watch Action Jackson. 

As an aside it's from way back in 2009 before I realised that no-one actually reads my blog so excuse the fact that it's fairly well written and features absolutely no 'mooth shite' comments.

Ah youth.



Tanya's Island (1980).
Dir: Alfred Sole.
Cast: Denise Matthews (as D.D. Winters), Richard Sargent, Don McCleod, Mariette Lévesque, Donny Burns and a monkey.

Olive of skin and dusky of eye Tanya (the reason we are here) is looking to make it big in the film business. She has the attitude and the looks but alas, not the time keeping skills needed seeing as she's continually late on set due to her unhealthy obsession with power walking whilst listening to lush, sub Jerry Goldsmith style music.

For her big haired producer Kelly (French ex popstrel and star of the fantastic Sex in the Snow, Lévesque) this is the final straw, warning Tanya that her personal life (and her constant jogging) has to take a back seat if she wants to make it big in the business they call show.

If that wasn't enough to ruin her whole week then the fact that her bushily bearded beau Lobo (unfortunately not the Tor Johnson character from Bride of the Atom but bit part legend Sargent) has decided that this will be the best day to dump her might just clinch it.

Not too surprisingly a bloody big argument ensues, ending with poor Tanya storming (well jogging) back home to gorge herself on chocolate and watch a true life drama on Movies 24.

Well she is female.

Curled up on the sofa with congealed snot and melted Hagen Das all over her face Tanya begins to hear a strange grunting cum groaning sound from her bedroom (tho' it may be the sound quality of my ancient VHS) and in best Nancy Drew manner, tiptoes upstairs to investigate.

Upon opening her bedroom door she's shocked to find not an asthmatic intruder but hundreds of flickering candles leading to a soft core title sequence featuring Vanity rubbing her breasts whilst mouthing "Come to me...."

Which is nice.

...and her breasts, her frightening
bush and shiny flat tummy.

Waking as if from a (wet) dream, Tanya finds herself on an idyllic island paradise alongside hunky Lobo and a big white horse (did someone say symbolism?), where they apparently live a simple and carefree existence; Lobo spending his days painting and catching fish whilst Tanya idles away the hours riding around topless on the horse.

So far so erotically charged.

Probably.

After what seems like days of soft focus shots of Tanya jiggling on a pony in slow motion whilst Lobo looks on lustfully in his big white, homemade nappy our titular heroine, whilst exploring the jungle finds herself being pelted with fruit from the bushes.

Thinking that there may be a local shop just over the horizon (and needing some hairspray) Tanya decides to go take a look.

Stumbling sexily thru' the undergrowth she soon comes across a dark, foreboding cave which she cautiously enters.

Could this be a metaphor?

Well we've no time to think it thru' because no sooner has she popped her head around the corner that she meets the caves owner.

Which bizarrely enough appears to be Donald Trump.

No, my mistake it's actually a huge, man breasted Gorilla with an 80's soft rock mullet.

Easy mistake to make.

Tanya, frightened by the hairstyle on show runs away in terror but realizing that it's the first interesting thing to happen so far in the movie returns to the cave to let the big ape put flowers in her hair whilst stroking her fingers in a saucy (for a monkey) manner.

Tanya names the ape Blue on account of his bright blue eyes (luckily she hadn't seen his bright pink arse yet) and decides he's a far better conversationalist and not to mention a much less messy eater than poor Lobo whom she soon abandons to his fish.

The poor guy is distraught at the thought that his girlfriend may be secretly seeing someone else (you can tell he's in emotional turmoil because their frequent and unnecessary love making scenes have gone from loving slo-mo beach frolics to cum face close ups of him taking her from behind in a tent) so decides to follow her on one of her daily jaunts and discover the truth.

Vanity, up the casino, 1980....Yesch!

Lobo, doing what any sane man would do when faced with such a dilemma, builds a huge bamboo cage and traps Blue by constructing a scale model of Tanya out of bananas to lure him inside before banging the walls and slapping him with a stick whilst singing Daydream Believer.

Tanya is, not too surprisingly, upset by these turn of events and also a wee bit scared of Lobo's almost animalistic rage.

Tho' this may be a sign of discomfort and sore knees due to the constant shagging she's having to endure as he exerts his manliness.

Bored with spanking the monkey, Lobo insists that Tanya accompanies him to the other side of the island, as far away from Blue as possible so that they can carry on their simple life as before, but with the rougher sex obviously but Tanya refuses (her knees are red raw) and late one night frees Blue.

Lobo is furious, popping a saucepan on his head as a makeshift helmet before locking Tanya in the cage and dancing around like your dad at a wedding.

You can tell it's only a matter of time before someone's going to end up dead can't you?

Lobo is big leggy.

Blue who, up until this point has been the very model of decorum, has had enough of all this man-based mentalism thinking fuck you all before violently throwing loads of coconuts and mango's at the pair, forcing Lobo to hide in the cage too.

Who is the real animal?

Clue: that'll be the monkey then.

Will Lobo and Blue learn to share?

Will it all be a dream?

Or will Blue kill Lobo before chasing Tayna into the jungle howling, only stopping to jump on the poor girl before taking her up the arse whilst she screams in blue tinted slow motion?

And then it all be a dream?

Go on, guess.

No need.

Tanya's Island is a film that really needs to be experienced first hand as no amount of musings or reviews can ever hope to encapsulate the sheer ludicrousness and clumsy sixth form artistic pretensions on display.

Producer Pierre Brousseau's minimalist script comes across like a youth theatre version of Walerian Borowczyk's The Beast but without any of that arthouse cum sleaze epics genuinely erotic qualities, nightmarish visions of female sexuality and, more importantly minus it's fantastic 13 inch ejaculating rubber cock.

The film clumsily lurches from one scene to the next like some crippled drunk staggering home after a night on the tiles, director Sole (who made the fantastic Alice Sweet Alice) mistaking blurry shagging and lip biting for artistic erotica and deciding that a man in a monkey suit (scarily designed by Rick Baker and Rob Bottin on what must have been a slow day) wrestling a bearded bloke in a pair of dirty Pampers would be the subtlest way to show an audience that civilised man is but a savage beast at heart.

Sir, I salute you.

Which is more than I'd do to the cast, seeing as it's much like viewing three large pieces of plywood stomping around a garden centre with the subtlest performance being from a piglet that unfortunately gets killed less than halfway thru.

Sargent is all big kneed, pube permed and shouty whilst Vanity only seems to have been cast due to the fact that her breasts look not bad when sprayed with fake sweat and that she has no shame when it comes to feigning horror whilst being forcibly shagged by a gorilla.

Somehow she never mentions this movie in interviews and appears to be less embarrassed by the fact that she let Prince put it in her.

No wonder she was born again.

It's a strange old world.

profondo mondo.

For your listening enjoyment The Arena presents Profondo Mondo.

A cornucopia of cult cuts and black gloved beats celebrating the best of Eurotrash cinema and beyond.

Download here.

 

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