children in need.

As part of the whole 31 days of horror thing I thought it'd be a good opportunity to rewatch/review  probably the greatest British slasher flick of all time.

But I thought fuck it and decided to watch this again instead...

Killer's Moon (1978).
Dir: Alan Birkinshaw.
Cast:  Anthony Forrest, David Jackson, Tom Marshall, Georgina Kean, Chubby Oates, Peter Spraggon, Paul Rattee, Nigel Gregory, Jean Reeve, Elizabeth Counsell, Charles Stewart, Hilda Braid, Jane Hayden, Alison Elliott, Jo-Anne Good, Jayne Lester and Lisa Vanderpump

"Of course it's a dream! And stuffed full of jailbait!"

Welcome to the Lake District in what must be - judging by the grey skies and even greyer fashions - the late seventies, where uptight spinster Mrs. Hargreaves (Reeve from the Molly Sudgen hit That's My Boy) and the bewigged Ms. Lilac (Counsell, the original teevee posh totty) are busy escorting a group of scarily ample breasted and peachy arsed school girls (resplendent in mini-kilts, thigh high white socks complete with blouses two sizes too small and expertly portrayed by the likes of Georgina Kean, Alison Elliott, the still very yummy Jo-Anne Good, Jayne "Mine's a short" Lester and bizarrely Baywatch Nights star Lisa Vanderpump who manages to make even a cardigan look sexy) to a choral concert in darkest Edinburgh.

As is always the way in these movies it's not long before the school bus breaks down leaving our barely legal babes with the prospect of having to stumble thru' the woods at night looking for a convenient hotel or cottage to stay in.

Don't worry too much tho' as they soon come across Bert the local gamekeeper (expertly portrayed by Stewart who, according to the internet is better known as King Charles I of England. Who'd have thunk it?) who grumpily leads them to the local hotel run by the kindly Mrs May (Braid best known as Nana Moon from Eastenders).

"Oooh Alfie the though of you in that leather jacket makes me so moist".

Offering them food, shelter and inane (possibly drunken ad-libbed) chat for the night there's nothing else for the portly driver to do than to go back and spend the night in his bus, free from the incessant chatter of a dozen school girls constantly interrupting him as he settles down to a quick (hand) shandy over the latest copy of Razzle followed by tears and a Pot Noodle.

This proves to be a big mistake tho' as no sooner has he stepped out of the hotel and into the bushes that he's beaten to death by an axe wielding mentalist who, alongside his three equally mad pals have escaped from a local hospital.

Which, it seems, is par for the course in such films.

It appears that these mentalist mates have been undergoing an experimental treatment for lunacy that involves sending the patients to sleep before doping them up to the eyeballs with large doses of LSD.

This has the effect of letting them live out their evil side whilst dreaming thus causing them to use up all their mentalism and wake up cured.

Or something.

Look it made sense at the time.

A Clockwork Orange: The Pikey Years.

Meanwhile in a nearby field, city whizz kids Pete and Mike (Forrest and Marshall from fuck knows what else, the bin round probably) are taking a well deserved break in the country shagging birds and jogging whilst wearing tramps tracksuits.

Robin Askwith was obviously busy.

It's not all fun and games tho' as no sooner has Pete pulled up his trousers and sent the huge pants wearing local barmaid Julie (Somebody's Daughter star Hayden) on her way when a blood encrusted, three legged dog turns up just as the boys axe disappears.

Could these things be related?

Anyway back to the plot where our frightening foursome - Mr. Jones (Spraggon), Mr. Muldoon (Rattee), Mr. Smith (K-9 and Company's Gregory), and Mr. Trubshaw (Blake's Seven star Jackson) - decked out in a collection of hand-me-down white boiler suits and in Trubshaw's case a bowler hat are slowly making their way toward the hotel, stopping only to invade the gamekeepers cottage and Julie's underwear, all the time encouraging each other to act out their most violent psycho-sexual fantasies.

It's all becoming a wee bit like a Derby and Joan version of A Clockwork Orange.

But with added bush.

Which is nice.

Possibly.

"Is it in yet?"

Arriving at the hotel it's not long before our psychotic stooges have broken in, killed Mrs. Hargreaves and begun molesting as many of the school girls as they can get their sweaty sausages fingers on.

When they're not ringing bells and - gasp - throwing sultanas at each other obviously.

Luckily the dynamic duo of Pete and Mike are on the case and armed only with a shotgun, some big sideburns and one of Ms. Lilac's wigs vow to save the remaining schoolies and their collective virginity’s from the raping rabble currently tainting the good name of the Lake District tourist board.

"Now I'm gonna show you how Pudsey Bear really lost that eye!"

Wobbling precariously on a tightrope straddling good clean fun and crass exploitation, Alan (Invaders of The Lost Gold, Space Precinct, Die Unbestechliche) Birkinshaw's loon filled Killer's Moon could possibly be seen as one of the most offensive and sexist British movies ever made, with it's totally unnecessary scenes of schoolgirl bush, mindless violence and raisin-based rape as well as giving us such breathtaking dialogue (from acclaimed novelist Fay Weldon no less) as:

 "Look, you were only raped. As long as you don't tell anyone about it, you'll be alright. You pretend it never happened, I'll pretend I never saw it, and if we ever get out of this alive… well, maybe we'll both grow up to be wives and mothers…"

Which is delivered with nary a hint of irony from one female character to another, minutes before they're attacked by a pitch-fork wielding nutter with half a face.

I said possibly because on viewing the things mentioned above become irrelevant because the movie is so bloody odd.

Yes it's true that most of the 'characters' (if you can go as far as to call them that) have to spout some of the most inane dialogue ever written and most of the actors seem to visibly have trouble walking and talking at the same time but somehow it all works, as if we've traveled into a bizarre alternate reality where Pete Walker made Carry On Camping from a script by Robert Bloch.

Yes the movie is really that good.

In a very guilty way obviously.

And the thing that makes the film so enjoyable must be the totally camptastic performances from Messers Spraggon, Rattee, Gregory and Jackson, hamming it up like there's no tomorrow and giving probably the sweatiest portrayal of mental illness ever captured on film.

Jackson's Mr. Trubshaw even gets to make a few jokes about the NHS before he's finally dispatched.

Now you wont find any of that in Darren Aronofsky's Mother! will you?

Cheryl Baker and Jay Aston decide whether it'll be tunnel or funnel onstage tonight.

Recently rescued from obscurity Killer's Moon has quite rightly gained something of a cult status over the last few years and frankly it's well deserved, all we need now is some enterprising cinema owner to show this and Horror Hospital as a Saturday night double bill, dress the ushers (male and female) in thin white nightshirts and the projectionist in an old pair of decorators overalls and you'd make a fortune.

Tho' it'd probably cost you a bomb to clean up afterwards.

So, who's game?

I am and I'll even supply the three legged dog.

Recommended.

Sort of.

gobble my neighbours.

31 days of horror day 10.....

Well that was short and to the point.

A wee bit like.....

Turkey Shoot (AKA Blood Camp Thatcher, Escape 2000. 1982).
Dir: Brian Trenchard-Smith.
Cast: Steve Railsback, Olivia Hussey, Michael Craig, Lynda Stoner, Gus Mercurio, Michael Craig, Roger Ward, Carmen Duncan, John Ley, Michael Petrovitch, Carmen Duncan, Bill Young, Dave Hill and Noel Ferrier.

'Disobedience is treason, treason is a crime, crime will be punished!'

Welcome to the whacked out, black clad and oh so slightly fascistic future world of 1995.

If it weren't the past obviously.

Just try not to think about it too much.

As I was saying welcome to a fascistic world where even having a quick peek at a police officer's squinty teeth can lead to a kicking and a stay in one of the state's creepy correction centres and a world where mild mannered antique toting tottie Chris Walters (the virgin Mary herself, Hussey) has found herself arrested for the heinous crime of having a criminal run into her shop to avoid a beating of a tomb-toothed copper.

Drugged, mugged and thrown into the back of a converted ice-cream van alongside the notorious pirate deejay 'pumping' Paul Anders (the legendary Railsback) and balloon breasted rent-a-whore Rita Daniels (Prisoner Cell Block H's Stoner), Chris soon finds herself transported to the infamous Camp Thatcher, a former Butlins holiday camp cum detention den specially built to re-educate societies deviant population.

Who seem to consist mainly of gingers by the look of those imprisoned there.

Ladies and gentlemen! Live tonite at Saltcoats Butlins....it's Bardot.

In charge of this hellish camp of cruelty is the notorious silver fox Charles Thatcher (teevee stalwart, Robert Kilroy-Silk impersonator and Doctor Who's 'Tonker' Travers himself Craig) aided and abetted by the arse obsessed man-vole Red (Cap' Daulton from Flipper himself; the late, great Mercurio) and the bald-pated, psychotic man mountain (with a nice line of Freddie Mercury moustaches) Chief Guard John Ritter (Australian acting royalty Ward).

Thatcher, it seems relies on all this heavy handed help in order to maintain his unbroken eight year run as the undisputed winner of the crazy camp commandant bastard competition (sponsored by Asda no less) and to this aim has devised a series of vaguely amusing 'Total Wipeout' style games that run alongside the daily beatings, rapes and shootings to keep the inmates entertained.

What a lovely chap.

"Can we fuck him up the arse with a tractor?" Asked Bob. "Yes we can!"

After thrilling his new captives with a special game of football featuring a small boy, two plastic bottles of petrol and a match and following Chris almost getting gang raped in the shower block, Thatcher invites our hero, the constantly crying Chris, slutty Rita, the camps bespectacled rent-a-nutter Dodge (Ley from BMX Bandits) and a politically motivated tall man named Griff up to his office for a friendly chat.

It appears that Thatcher has a proposal for the captive criminals (and surprisingly it doesn't involve screwing over the miners for once) and over cocktails and sausage rolls, excitedly explains it to all and sundry.

Turns out that he's really keen on organizing a special event for the visiting roly poly Secretary for Lard, Mallory Towers (the gravity defying Ferrier) and his recently arrived pals; the bearded mentalist Tito Jackson (Mike Raven wannabe Petrovitch) and the pigeon chested yet loveably loopy lesbian Jennifer (Duncan, best known for A Country Practice), so decides to up his ante (oooh missis), planning as he is a little game of cat and mouse for their entertainment.

By this I actually mean that he's about to blatantly crib from the Richard Connell short story "The Most Dangerous Game" obviously.

First filmed as The Hounds of Zaroff starring the milky thighed and fantastically breasted Fay Wray alongside a gin soaked Joel McCrea back in 1932, the novels well thumbed plot regarding a rich hunter chasing hunks and totty for cash has been remade almost every other year since under the guise of everything from Game of Death to The Running Man via The Beast Must Die.

Saying that tho' it is a very good plot.

Faye Wray: You would...and so would your granddad.

Anyway, back to this plot (which is still quite entertaining) and with our 'turkeys' given a three hour head start (and with a get out of jail free card if they survive till sundown), it's time to see what specialist death dealing devices our hunters have brought along to make things more interesting.

Whilst Mallory has a big, fuck off dart gun capable of stunning his victims into submission so that he can have 'the sex' with them (he'll be hunting Chris then) and Jennifer has a horse, a multi-function crossbow and a massive big black leather strap-on (hopefully she'll be wanting Anders if we're lucky....nope it's Rita. Damn), it's Tito that wins tonight's prize for greatest (and most amusing) hunting human kit pulling up as he does in a bright orange Bob the Builder tractor.

And (for no apparent reason) with a top hatted werewolf played by Slade's Dave Hill (possibly) and named Alf in tow.

When asked where he acquired such a companion Tito nonchalantly replies "The circus" and drives away.

No, really.

"Aright me chap where's me Cuppa Soup?"

It's bullets vs. brains in a jungle-based, testosterone fueled fight for survival and there can be only one winner.

Well, possibly two.

Or perhaps Anders might be lucky and free all the prisoners at some point so there could even be loads of winners in a kind of lottery survival syndicate.

 I didn't really think that last bit thru' did I?

In a blatant attempt to cash in on the early eighties violent dystopia genre,  Trenchard-Smith (director of the Nicole Kidman classic BMX Bandits and the fantastic Leprechaun 4: In Space) alongside writers Jon George and  Neill D. Hicks originally planned to mix the streetwise sensibilities of Mad Max with the literary goodness of 1984 and the human drama of Papillon.

Unfortunately for them (but not us) a major investor pulled out at the last minute (taking $700,000 of the film's $3,200,000 budget with them) causing half the script to be binned.

But only the boring character stuff and a helicopter chase so that's OK.

Adding tension to an already fraught shoot was perennial bridesmaid Railsback's intensely serious (and intensely annoying to the rest of the cast) acting style, a supporting cast made up entirely of the cream of Australian teevee's light entertainment and soap division and a female lead that refused to gut a fish and, after agreeing to a nude scene, would eventually only show her (albeit ample) arse on camera.

It's only after the fact that you begin to realize how lucky they were that the finished film turned out as downright enjoyable  - and watchable - as it is.

Arrow in mah mooth!

If anything Turkey Shoot is all the better for it's numerous back stage struggles, mutating as it does from a fairly serious social commentary style movie into an over the top camp as pants gore fest via an emotionally vacuous romance that ends up making the whole endeavor as wildly schizophrenic as Railsback's performance is comfortingly staid.

Posh and Becks: the pikey years.

Possibly the greatest thing to ever come out of Australia (definitely the greatest movie anyway), Turkey Shoot should be legally enforced viewing for anyone who's ever expressed an interest in film or film-making and refusal should be punishable by death.

Or at least a quick goosing from Alf the werewolf.

As our criminalist colony cousins would say "Fair dinkum mate!"

ghost in my house.

Day 9 of that whole 31 days of horror thing I force upon you every year and with this Halloween being the 25th anniversary of the first (and only) broadcast of Ghostwatch I thought I'd go all mockumental with Carles Torrens poltergeistastic Apartment 143 which is effectively a remake of that very show.

But without the child molestation obviously.

Or Parkie.

Unfortunately.

Or any of Ghostwatch's genuine scares, jumps or frightening bits.

Or even an ex-British Rail guard to fill in the backstory.

So, nothing at all like it really.

Sorry.

Apartment 143 (AKA Emergo, 2011).
Dir: Carles Torrens.
Cast: Kai Lennox, Michael O’Keefe, Gia Mantegna, Rick Gonzalez, Fiona Glascott and Francsec Garrido.

Meet the White family, normal in every way except that since Mrs White (not Betty) died they have been trapped in a violent turmoil of bizarre paranormal activity.

Poor dad Alan (Ex Eurythmics singer and D2 The Mighty Ducks star Lennox) looks like he hasn't slept (or washed) for six months, his pert arsed daughter, Caitlin (Mantegna, daughter of tough guy Joe so just remember that before you get any ideas) blames him for her mothers death whilst his young son Benny is convinced that dear old dead mum is haunting them.

It's like a Christmas day episode of Eastenders but without the sodomy.

Even moving house hasn't helped with the hauntings not only continuing but seemingly increasing in intensity.

Caitlin: Just begging to have the willies put up her.

Enter (tho' not all at once that would be sick - if not a wee bit impossible) our terrific trio of paranormal investigators, sexy scientist Dr. Alcass Helzer (Caddyshack's O’Keefe), token Oirish camera operator Ellen (the librarian-esque Glascott) and super cool Paul tech-guy (Looney Tunes mouse Gonzalez) who within minutes of arriving at the apartment are experiencing slamming doors, ghostly farts and all manner of pipe banging badness.

If this wasn't stressful enough for Alan to cope with, Caitlin spends her time either locked in her room shouting or wandering about the house in tiny hotpants whilst calling her dad an arse.

Teenage girls eh?

Can't live with 'em, can't keep them locked in your basement.

Being a nice man, Doc Helzer does his best to give Alan a wee bit of support whilst his erstwhile crew monitor, record and comment on everything happening around them.

But with both the ghostly entity and catty Caitlin going from bad to worse, Helzer has no choice but to call in the big guns.

And no, we don't mean Craig Charles.

A séance is planned and with the help of the enigmatic medium (tho' to be honest he looks an extra large) Michael Heseltine (Garrido, last seen in your mom's bed) and a couple of phone books the ghost finally materializes.

Unfortunately tho' it materializes inside Caitlin's sweaty, young, nubile body; screaming and shouting abuse before smashing a few pictures and disappearing out of her arse.

It'd be like mouth fucking a furry bowling ball. Probably.

All this dad-based badness leaves Helzer thinking that there may be more to Mrs White's death than meets the eye.

With Benny away at his granddads house and Caitlin sprawled on her bed listening to One Direction, the Doc has ample time to lean on Alan in order to get the truth.

I say lean on but what he actually does is shove a camera in his face whilst shouting "Tell me the truth you gangly bastard!" until Alan breaks down and reveals that his wife was a man hungry, cum guzzling slut who when not sucking on a cock was busy slurping vodka from a saucepan.

Alan, catching her in bed with the local fire brigade one night (whilst poor Caitlin stood in the corner watching) bitch-slapped her and drove away with the kids.

Off her tits and covered in yellowing man juice Mrs White gave chase before wrapping her car round a tree.

Which is nice.

And when I filmed something similar I got arrested.

With all the information to hand Dr Helzer comes to the conclusion that just like her late mother, Caitlin suffers from schizophrenia and that this alongside her burgeoning womanhood has manifested as your classic case of poltergeist activity.

Luckily in these modern times all this can be cured with a couple of aspirin and a good mooth shite-in.

The Katie Hopkins Ringu remake, less Sadako more sadagetthisuglyvileracistbitchoffmyteevee.

Relieved to finally have an answer the investigators, kooky Caitlin and dad prepared for a well deserved sleep but the happiness is short lived as without warning all Hell breaks loose as the spirit begins to not only destroy the house but trap poor Caitlin in her bedroom, throwing the child around like a soggy biscuit.

Welcome to fright night indeed.

"Put it in me!"

 After the abysmal Devil Inside and the cinematic abortion that was The Amityville Haunting, Apartment 143 is like a breath of fresh(ish) air.

It's well acted, relatively short, is pain free and has a nice - if predictable - twist at the end (yes William Brent Bell, a film with an ending!) plus it's got the added bonus of having Gia Mantegna grumpily stomping around in next to nothing.

God bless teen girls and their 'fashions'.

Mantegna: Relax guys, she's legal...and not dead. Sorry Megan.

First time Spanish feature director Carles Torrens alongside screenwriter Rodrigo Cortes make the best of their limited cast and locations, turning out an enjoyable little thriller that wouldn't be out of place as one of those much loved BBC ghost stories that were a staple of Yuletide teevee during the 80's.

A pity then that Stephen Volk's Ghostwatch got there first.

As a plus point tho' the teen girl in this is slightly hotter.

But if you can resist shouting "It's in the machine!" and "He's touching me!" at the screen every five minutes you'll be rewarded with a creepy, if inconsequential 90 minutes of fun.


Which frankly is better than a fist to the balls.

Or Kill List.

let's talk about sex.

The best thing about cable teevee (apart from the almost constant repeats of The Persuaders!, Hogan's Heroes and The Saint) is the oft derided Movies 24 channel.

For those who've never seen it, it's a channel dedicated to true life dramas (usually about alcoholic cheerleaders or abused step kids with titles like Pretty Girls in Boxes or The Silent Shame), bio-pics starring Patsy Kensit or Sherilyn Fenn and (after 11 PM) erotic thrillers usually starring Shannon Tweed and Eric Roberts.

Tweed: dirty cow.

As you can tell, it's the UKs greatest channel.

Unfortunately tho' it can be a wee bit of a distraction when you fire up the teevee to review a film for 31 days of horror and instead you get dragged into a touching drama about kids having 'the sex'.

It wasn't a totally wasted evening tho' as who knows, this review may save a life.

Or help you when trying to seduce that 14 year old who lives next door.

Or at the very least amaze you with it's casts (and directors) other work, it's like an Arena convention.

'It used to be when a girl refused sex, she had
society on her side, now culture screams "just do it.'

She's Too Young (AKA Teen Sex Can Kill. 2004)
Dir: Tom McLoughlin.
Cast: Marcia Gay Harden, Alexis Dziena, Mike Erwin, Miriam McDonald, Megan Park and Rowan McInnes.


14 year old buck toothed, pug nosed Hannah (Mimic 3's Dziena) is one of those annoying good girls that you always wanted to give a good kicking to in school, she plays cello in the school band, wears sensible cardigans and is proud of being a virgin.

Her bezzie buddies, the slutty Becca (Diary of The Dead's Park) and metal mouthed slightly sluttier Dawn (McDonald from the classic The Sea Beast and Poison Ivy IV) have different ideas tho', having discovered that the easiest way to be popular at school is to shag around like Harvey Weinstein let loose in a barnyard.

This is because they are blondes and therefore evil.

But the friendship is at breaking point due to these brash bimbettes spending every evening partying in sleazy hotel rooms and shagging (tastefully) on the bonnets of cars, leaving poor Hannah home alone with only her geeksome yet cute photography obsessed friend (one of the Jonas Brothers I think) for company.

Oh and her cello of course.

"Shmile!"

But an older boy on campus, the 17 year old mole chested stud muffin Nick (Erwin, the teen Bruce Banner in Ang Lee's Hulk and the voice of Speedy in Teen Titans) has taken a liking to Hannah and is determined to be the one to take her virginity.

Tho' where he plans to take it to is never explained.

Inviting her over to his house whilst his parents are out of town (using the excuse that he loves cello music) he manages to get her (but not the cello obviously) into his hot tub.


Surprisingly he doesn't make a move on Hannah, preferring to charm her with his amusing jock stories whilst wiggling his leathery nipples at her. It seems to do the job tho' as she ends up giving him a blow job during a scary Spanish werewolf movie later that evening*.

Nick Nips: who wants the first suckle?

Meanwhile back at school it seems that Becca has been suffering from a sore throat for weeks and has recently discovered some evil looking red spots in her mouth. Deciding to visit the school nurse she's shocked (and ashamed) to find that she's contracted syphilis.

But before you can spray dirty cow on her locker (or scratch it onto her forehead) it seems that almost the entire school is infected, due in part to all those sexy motel parties and hot tub sessions.

Hannah after a wee bit of high horse acting, comes a cropper when she too finds she has syphilis thanks to Nick and his filthy penis.

Doing what any of us would in this situation she goes out and gets rat arsed, returning home only to tell her overprotective (yet really hot in a frumpy kinda way) mum Trish (the poor man's Jeanne Tripplehorn, Harden from The Mist and Flubber) the good news.

After a fair bit of Emmy worthy shouting and blubbing Trish decides that the only way to deal with this outbreak of promiscuity amongst 'ver kids' is to form a 'sex in hot tubs and outside marriage is evil' committee, dedicated to wiping out syphilis, teen pregnancy, to raise motel room prices and to sew every single teen girls vagina (and possibly anus) shut.

Announcing her masterplan during the next PTA, Trish is upset to find that some of the parents think she may be going a wee bit too far.

"Hannah checks for mooth shite.

How could Hannah's life get any worse?

Well, because of her shag Nazi mum, no-one at school is talking to her (or asking for blow jobs, which is a pity because she has really nice full lips, a wee bit like your brother) anymore except that is for the gangly geek-boy from earlier who she whines at on instant messenger at every given opportunity.

Being a nice, sensitive guy (and possibly gay by the state of his hair) he invites Hannah over to cry on his shoulder (but not i hasten to add, shite in his mooth).

When she arrives tho' Hannah is surprisingly calm about the fact that her pals bedroom walls are covered in hundreds of candid photographs he's taken of her.

Tho' none of them show her giving head.

Unfortunately.

You know it would so be worth the jail term.

Snuggled up close on Jonas bed, his GI Joe bedspread wrapped are her shoulders it's not long before the pair are gazing into each others (dead, cold) eyes.

Hannah leans over and kisses him.

Whore.

Soon the horny teens are ripping at each others clothes, Hannah straddling Jonas like a big, lanky geek pony, her tiny trembling hands reaching for his bulging undies.

But geekboy has second thoughts and starts spurting not semen but horrible preachy bollocks like 'We have the rest of our lives to do this.....I respect you too much.'

Hannah, rather than be touched (phnarrr) by Noah's genuine love for her shows her true slut colours by jumping off him, grabbing her jacket and stomping off to the nearest sex party.

But not before uttering possibly the greatest line in teevee movie history.

"You don't want me because I have syphilis!"

Hmmmm, it might actually be because you're a spoilt, harsh faced whore, hen.

Hannah attempts to make steam
appear from my magic pipe.

Arriving at the party she immediately begins to look for Becca and Dawn (probably in the hope of at least getting a threesome in the pool) but they're nowhere to be seen.

Luckily, a wee boy named Harry Potter (I kid you not) is in attendance and points Hannah in the direction of the basement where he says she'll find Becca 'talking' to her new beau.

Slowly creeping downstairs she's shocked (if not a wee bit aroused by the look of her) to see some random creepy jock dude attempting to stick it in Becca without her consent.

As her friends lies crying with her jeans round her ankles and her soft cotton panties at her knees Jeff Badman turns to Hannah and whispers "You're next".

Who can save our whorish heroine?

Well wouldn't you know it, geek freak arrives just in time (I'm assuming he asked the host for directions to the rape cellar) and brandishing his camera phone offers the wanna-be rapist this chilling (and hilarious) ultimatum:

'Stop attempting to rape a wee lassie or I'll send this picture straight to 9-1-1!'

Yup, he'd obviously been there for a while taking photo's of the whole thing.

Dirty sod.

Jeff complies, leaving Hannah and Jonas to finally embrace whilst Becca wipes away the snot and tears before pulling her undies back up.

We never find out what Jonas does with the photo's but there's a good chance he wont have to sneakily steal any of his dads copies of Razzle for a while.

"He did what in his cup?"

Who'd have thought that dear old Tom McLoughlin, the writer and director of Mausoleum and Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives (plus being Jason's hand double in that very film) would end up becoming the king of the teevee movie true life drama?

So far he's given us everything from the Molly Ringwald AIDS weepie Something to Live for: The Alison Gertz Story to the high school student addicted to Internet porn shocker Cyber Seduction: His Secret Life via the controversy courting D.C. Sniper: 23 Days of Fear and much more besides. It seems that if it's got teen sex, shootings or drug abuse and it's vaguely based on a true story then McLoughlin's your man.

But out of everything he's made, She's Too Young is probably his best and most accomplished work so far.

If not the sexiest.

Coming on like the bastard offspring of one of those 1950's public information films that warned of evil crazed homosexuals hunting young boys and sailors with VD but cranked up to 11.

The girls are younger, the guys are hornier and the mums much hotter than their 50's counterparts but the scare tactics remain the same, even to the point of showing, in graphic David Cronenberg-esque body horror style, the effects of syphilis in full livid colour when Hannah goes online to research the condition.

Truly true life drama doesn't get much better than this.

Except of course the classic It's My Party when an HIV infected Eric Roberts kisses a pony.

Based (possibly) on the true story of an outbreak of syphilis amongst children in the well-off Atlanta suburb of Rockdale County in 1996 (or just on a normal day in Dudley) but with added shock value to scare teens into abstinence and force parents to chain their offspring to radiators till they're old enough to marry, the movie has too many great scenes to mention but top marks to the fantastic bit when Becca, Hannah and Dawn arrange a sleepover so that they can coach each other to improve their oral skills and the final scenes at the sex party, which come across as a high school version of Blue Velvet mixed with snippets from inside Gary Glitters mind.

Utter pants yet total genius.

Sir Tom of McLoughlin, I salute you.

But I wont be forcing your daughter to give me head anytime soon thanks very much.
























*Is it just me, or would you get fucking annoyed if a girl, no matter how hot tried to give you a blow job during a Paul Naschy film?

Honestly it's just not right.

titty titty bang bang.

What a better way to finish up week 1 of 31 days of horror than with a Simon Bates/Our Tune/Surprise Surprise style true tale to add a wee bit of human interest to the review?

Well it was either that or a few more mooth shite-in references.

You pay your money you make your choice.

Simon....Bates.

Anyway as some of you might be aware, I was away visiting the Fatherland a few months back to catch up with the infamous Lord Jay, he of the Mad Foxes/masturbation story and proud owner of genuine quads for Razorback and A Nightmare On Elm Street (yes we are both THAT old, we even saw Evil Dead 2 and Day of the Dead at the cinema on the first day of release).

This got me wondering if I could ever find a modern(ish) equivalent of the Foxes that I could secretly pop into the post to him so that he could relive those heady days of untamed gore and unacceptable levels of sexual violence, but this time without the fears of parents walking in mid shandy.

My friends, I may have found it.

In our local Chinese restaurant of all places, in a pile of VCD's on the counter.

Right next to the signed piccie of Jordan Chan.

On the downside it didn't have any subtitles so excuse any inconsistencies (or stuff just made up for 'comedy' effect) herein.

Leng xue ren lang (AKA Laang huet yan long, Cold Blooded Ape, The Bloody Beast, Horrible Mr. Tits, 1994).

Dir: Tak-Sing Tam and Chuen Yueng.
Cast: Lawrence Ng, Ka-Kui Ho, Siu-Ming Lau, and many others who should know better but not, surprisingly Anthony Wong who must have been busy or, God forbid, too expensive for this film.

Sickest thing about this is the logo colour scheme.

Bowl haired sad sack Chen Siu-Hsiong (Ng, the far eastern yet surprisingly less Jewish equivalent of Evan Almighty's Steve Carrell but with better hair) has had a pretty bad time of it in life.

You see after his dear mum die giving birth to his sister Ling, he's spent his entire life running around after both her and his sweaty piss stained father giving him no time to do normal stuff like look for a job, make friends, change his vest etc. leading to him becoming the laughing stock of the town and the perfect target for the bullying local children.

Even his dear old dad thinks he's an arse.

I know the feeling.

But if that wasn't enough to get him labeled 'Freaky Chen' by the local populace then the fact that a humiliating boyhood experience involving his auntie and breastfeeding has left him with a fetish for young, ample breasted mums just might.

Hmmm....this is beginning to sound quite autobiographical.

Probably.

One of these men is a masturbation obsessed pervert
with necrophiliac tendencies....
the other is Chinese superstar Lawrence Ng.

With that infodump out of the way it's time to start the movie good n' proper and with poor Chen banged up in prison and attempting to commit suicide by swallowing the contents of a dozen boxes of Persil washed down with his own urine.

Being the unlucky sod that he is tho', this - and further attempts on his life utilizing stuff like shoelaces, mousetraps, moldy bread etc - all lead to nowt, so pausing only to bite off a policeman's ear, Chen decides to sit nicely and share why he's been locked up for in the first place.

"Blood in mah mooth!"

Cue the good old fashioned wibbly wobbly flashback effect which takes us via the power of the basic dissolve to Chen's bedroom where our misunderstood hero likes nothing better than to relax by masturbating over seventies breasted porn magazines whilst burning thru' the pictures of ladies front bums with a ciggie.

Which is unusual (if not a wee bit dangerous) to say the least.

I know what you're thinking, he just needs to lay off the constant wankfest, get out more and meet a real girl, that'd sort him out.

Well don't worry, because he already has.

Unfortunately, the girl of his (very wet n' wild) dreams is his sister.

So when he's not spunking like a beast and mutilating magazines, he's hiding in the cupboard spying on his sister bathing or when she's 'having the sex' with her hunky beau.

Whilst tearfully masturbating obviously..

Followed of course by a Pot Noodle.

Thinking about it that sounds an almost perfect life.

Jackie Chan, up the casino, 1983....YESCH.

After much deliberation (and a wee bit more wanking) or hero decides that all this younger sister/masturbation/dreams of genital mutilation stuff he's obsessed with is possibly a wee bit unhealthy (you think so?) so reckons that a couple of long, lazy country walks will clear his head and take his mind of things.

Amazingly this seems to do the trick, until that is, one afternoon whilst sitting minding his own business Chen spots a woman breastfeeding her baby in an idyllic forest clearing.

Thinking it'd be a waste of an erection not to do anything about it he has a wee shufty around to make sure the coast is clear before pleasuring himself in the afternoon sun.

It's getting quite romantic now isn't it?

Some soapy girls in spa tub yesterday.

Forgetting all about his sister (who is, if I'm honest fairly whiny, even if she does look not bad all soaped up) Chen starts to spend more and more time on his walks hoping for a quick flash of mummy pillow action.

Unfortunately it's not long before he's wanting to take an, ahem, more (much more) active role in the baby feeding process and to this end, armed only with his favourite DIY hammer, Chen sets off on a quest for breast.

You can so see where this is going can't you?

A very different type of 'cracking one off'.

Searching high and low for the perfect perky breasts Chen soon comes across (not in that way, well not yet) a chubby, pigtailed young mum minding her own business on a bench.

Unfortunately there's a babies massive head blocking his view.

Not to worry tho' because with a swift swing of his hammer and a great left foot the screaming bundle of joy is soon dispatched over a hedge leaving Chen free to gorge himself on mothers milk before murdering his victim.

And then having a quick diddle with the corpse.

Obviously.

Well it is a CAT III film so what do you expect?

"Are you the EU? We've had a referendum by mistake!"

Cashing in on the success of Lewis Herman Yau‘s classics of exploitation, Bunman and Yi boh laai beng duk (AKA Ebola Syndrome - both starring mentalist for hire Anthony Wong - Tak-Sing Tam and Chuen Yueng's epic exercise in bad taste is the kind of movie that any self respecting 14 year old living in 80's Britain would kill to own.

Tho' teenagers today would probably kill each other for a bag of sweets - I blame violent video games myself.

So I had the choice of a graphic image depicting
violence against women and children or a
picture of some bint seducing a dog....no contest really.

But it's not all boobs and bloodshed tho' because Leng xue ren lang is also chock full of quality 'comedy' turns - mainly from the clichéd fat and thin police duo you always get in HK thrillers - and it's the film's detective duo that steal every scene they're in with their one note performances and habit of dispensing either comedy one liners whilst administering severe beatings to various suspects and occasionally falling over in an amusing manner.

Best of all is a scene when, after recovering a sample of Chen's sperm from one of his victims arses - in glorious close-up obviously - they decide that the best way to get a DNA match is to make a cell of sweaty suspects masturbate furiously over copies of the Chinese equivalent of Hello Magazine.

Which kinda gives it the edge of Lewis doesn't it?

Hat.

The perfect romantic movie for those who enjoy a quiet night of nasty necrophilia, unsettling infanticide or just a wee bit of incestuous perving.

beaches.

Day 6 of 31 days of horror and t's time to hit the beach and stain the sands red....

Take a minute to Savior that sentence because quite frankly that's as good as it gets. 

Blood Beach (1981).
Dir: Jeffrey Bloom
Cast: David Huffman, Marianna Hill, Burt Young, John Saxon, Otis Young, Lena Pousette, Darrell Fetty, Harriet Medin and Stefan Gierasch.

"Hey, Harry! What colour eyes your stewardess have... had"

Welcome to the wacky world of handsome Harbour Patrol officer, Harry Caulder (the late, almost great Huffman, teevee stalwart and ex-thesp) who, in between rescuing drowning dogs and making love to his leggy blond air stewardess girlfriend becomes embroiled in a bizarre missing persons case when his ex-girlfriend’s wacky (and fairly hot for an old bird) mom (Medin, Death Race 2000's Thomasina Paine) mysteriously vanishes from the local beach mere seconds after chatting to him about house insurance prices.

"Please sir! Can I go to the toilet?"

Unfortunately this is only the first in a whole host of bizarre disappearances that leave the locals in shock, the beach front shops almost bankrupt and the local coppers with permanently bemused looks on their faces.

Well all of them that is except the towns sexy Police Captain Pearson (Lord John of Saxon), who instead spends the movie with the look of a man haunted by ever increasing tax bills and outrageous demands from an ex-wife.

Aiding our beleaguered bobbie are the no-nonsense Lt. Piantadosi (star of teevee hit The Outcasts Otis Young) and the modern life loving Sgt. Royko (Rocky co-star Burt Young - no relation), a character whose whole demeanour and delivery makes it look as tho' he's accidentally  wandered onto the wrong set, his endless monologues regarding the differences between small town procedures and the LAPD coupled with his hard talking smart arse persona make you feel that he'd be more at home in Serpico or Cruising.

The film, not actually going out looking for no holds barred sexual encounters with big, buff muscle men, tho' each to their own.

Every time he appears onscreen you're immediately  dragged kicking and screaming out of a fairly generic monster movie to an uncomfortable place where you half expect Royko to glass the nearest child in the face and arrest them for aggravated arse burgalary.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Wandering around with absolutely no idea what's going on or causing the sand based shenanigans it's left to Caulder, his guitar playing pube haired side-kick Hoagy (Fetty from, um some other stuff) and the completely off his tits coroner Doctor Demetrios (Dark Shadow's Gierasch, channeling a cuddly paedophile), to look for answers.

Tho' when Demetrios starts ranting - with almost sexual fervour - about it most likely being an underground monster living in the sand everyone looks away uncomfortably and decides that it must be a rash of suicides instead, leaving the disheartened doctor to go back to prodding the corpse of a rapist that was found (minus his cock) on the beach that very morning.

It's not too surprising then that even more people keep vanishing, including  Caulder's current beau as she makes her way to our heroes house for some surprise sex.

"Would you like me to put it in you?"

But that's not too much of a bad thing seeing as whilst she was away doing stewardess type stuff his ex girlfriend Catherine (brunette bombshell Hill whose career spans everything from Star Trek to The Godfather via Batman) has arrived back in town to help look for her missing mum and on the night in question the pair were enjoying some fairly smelly seafood together.

Suffice to say she's not missed.

Deciding that the best way to solve the case - and also to avoid the resident mad bag lady - is by spending every waking moment in the local bar watching Hoagy murder various middle of the road country tracks, our doe-eyed duo seem to totally forget about the films plot as they rekindle their old romance and it takes Hoagy's death (obviously the creature has some music taste) to spur them back into action.

Well I say action when in actuality all they do is take a walk up the pier where they stumble across a half eaten victim of the beast who helpfully tells them where it's lair is before dying.

At least the poor sod was only involved in this shite for a few minutes, by this point I felt like I'd been experiencing the whole thing in real time.

"Shite in mah mooth you crustacean bastard!"

Informing the police of their findings our heroes stand back whilst the boys in blue rig up a series of explosives and cameras in the creatures lair, obviously hoping to get a few quid from You've Been Framed to top up their wages.

Obviously by this point in the proceedings John Saxon had decided to have it out with his agent with regards to the type of arse he was being offered at the time (Cannibal Apocalypse anyone?) and is conspicuous by his absence, leaving the obviously drunk and dangerously trigger happy Royko in charge of the big red button with the only voice of reason ("Think what we can learn from the creature" etc.) being the daft as a brush Demetrios.

Suffice to say Royko blows the fucker to kingdom come at the first opportunity before reaching into his egg stained overcoat for a creamcake and walking away to an early cholesterol fueled death safe in the knowledge that the town is safe.

Or is it?

As during the end titles featuring a pound shop selection of  scantily clad teens  frolicking on the beach, hundreds (well dozens) of tiny holes beging to appear in the sands.....

Unfortunately we'll never know the truth as a sequel is yet to be made.

Bugger.

Obviously (and quite possibly drunkenly) inspired by Jaws 2's tagline - which frankly should have set alarm bells going straight away - Jeffrey Bloom's Blood Beach is proof enough (if any were needed) that a massive shite will invariably still stink like a massive shite, no matter how much perfume you dowse it in or how many times you backcomb its luxurious locks.

Or is that logs?

Which in itself is scarier than the actual movie when you consider the talent involved.

I mean on screen there's the ever dependable John (the kids school fees are how much?) Saxon, Rocky and Amityville 2's living potato Burt Young, the yummy Marianna Hill looking all luscious and forlorn whilst Xanadu's Lena Pousette gets to wear the most hideous hat ever to grace the cinema screen.

Surely that should be enough to make it at least watchable if nothing else?

Add to that the behind the scenes presence of such movie legends a producers Irwin (Halloween) Yablans, Neil (The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension) Canton and an uncredited Sir Run Run Shaw, not to mention a distributor in the grindhouse god that was Jerry Gross and you begin to realize that the blame can only be laid at the feet of director/writer/ Bloom and his co-scripter Steven Nalevansky, the man who gave us the 1992 American teevee classic Prime Suspect, a movie that still holds the record for the most usage of the word "arse" on prime time US teevee.

Oh yeah, and let's not forget to apportion a wee bit of it to whoever thought that the monster should be portrayed as a giant paper mache venus flytrap sporting a rather fetching testicle for a tongue that even the 1960's Doctor Who production team would turn down for being utter shite.

Whoever designed this abomination your card is marked son, I don't care how long it takes you will pay for your crime.

"Laugh now!"

The perfect last request movie for anyone on death row due to its scant 92 minute running time seeming to magically stretch on for days, Blood Beach should serve as a warning to us all on the perils of letting a man named Jeffrey direct a horror movie.

something for the weekend sir?

...As a wee Friday treat here's a vintage death certificate handed out to patrons who attended this fantastic double bill from times gone by....

Unfortunately neither of these movies will feature in my 31 days of horror.

Sorry.