nun too happy.

It's Thursday which means it's the podlings day to pick the film up for review.

Seeing as the laydees are away at the shops it's left to Cassidy to choose.

Again.

Satan's Baby Doll (AKA La Bimba di Satana, A Girl For Satan. 1982)Dir: Mario Bianchi.
Cast: Jacqueline Dupré, Mariangela Giordano, Aldo Sambrell, Joe Davers, Giancarlo Del Duca, Alfonso Gaita and Marina Hedman.

Somewhere in the polyester hell that is seventies Spain, the wealthy yet scarily swarthy landowner Antonio Aguilar (Sambrell) is mourning the death of his wife Maria and trying to figure out how he can sneak young girls into the house now that he's got his teenage daughter Miria (Dupré, the 'actress' not the famous cellist) to look after.

Du Pré: Overjoyed to be featured on this blog.
Or she would be if she were alive.

Things begin to take a sinister (yet vaguely amusing) turn when, during the funeral service, just as Miria is gazing doe eyed at her mum, the body begins to shudder and shake in an alarming display of eurotrash style climax acting.

Obviously Miria finds this sight terrifying as do the majority of mourners tho' I must admit it was kinda sexy in an old lady stroke kind of way.*

Returning home to their ancestral castle we discover that disco dancing dead mums and sweat sodden dads are the least freaky of the family when compared to Antonio's paraplegic, four-wheeled brother Ignazio, his big haired, bold hipped carer and nun-in-training Sol (Amazonian thighed sleaze bucket Giordano from Nights of Terror) and the shiny headed wooden toothed servant Isidro.

Tensions are high between Sol and Antonio and to make matters worse Ignazio has the hots for Sol, taking any opportunity he can to squeakily follow her round the house (well, the downstairs rooms at least) and spy on her in the shower.

"Cock in mah mooth!"

Miria, not too surprisingly, seems to be quite depressed due to her mum's death and Isidro, with all his talk of Maria's spirit not being at rest and other superstitious bollocks isn't helping matters.

he's convinced that Miria's dead mum is attempting to possess her daughters body toward some foul act of revenge or maybe just for a laugh.

Who knows?

Late one night Miria is awoken by her mothers voice whispering softly in her ear and ordering the confused teen to visit the family crypt. Being a good girl, Miria obeys her mum only to come across Isidro frantically fiddling with a big cock whilst trying to invoke some nonsensical supernatural protection rite.

Max Wall: The final interview.

Drawn towards her mother's corpse as if pulled by some strange, talent draining force Miria is horrified to find Maria's cold dead eyes staring back at her.

Miria - being a lady - screams and faints.

Bless.

Concerned by his daughters behavior (but not, it seems by his handyman's predilection for choking chickens) Antonia arranges for a doctor friend to visit Miria.

Oh and to embalm Maria whilst he's at it.

Much to her dismay, the doctor recommends that Miria should go on holiday for a few weeks and try to forget the spooky voices and bird based violence she's been experiencing. Miria huffs and stamps her feet like a typical teen but Antonio and Sol agree with the doctor and begin to pack her bags.

Everything seems to be back to normal, Ignazio is following Sol around the house with what looks like a dead rat poking out of his lap, Sol is cutting Antonio filthy looks, Isidro is polishing a pair of gorgeous brass knockers and the doctor is embalming Maria in the crypt.

It's a wee bit like Eastenders only better scripted.

Especially when Maria returns to life and injects preserving fluid into his neck.

Miria was shocked to find that her real father was
the third, slightly less attractive Chuckle Brother.

Going down to the cellar with some crisps and a can of Fanta for the doctor, Antonio is shocked to see his friend lying stiff as a board with his dead wife's body astride him holding a big needle. In a bout of panic he decides that rather than call the police it would be easier to torch the car before dumping both it and the doc's body in the local canal.

Sol, either pissed off at the situation or annoyed that this is the longest she's ever gone in a movie without stripping to a pair of cream stockings and sharing her ample bush with the audience, finally loses it with Antonio shouting "You dirty old sod!" at him whilst waving her fists in the air.

But this only helps fan the fire of his insane lust for her and he storms out of the crypt shouting "I promise you this, you little whore....I will eventually have you!"

Oooeerr missis.

Is it in yet?

As the days go by it seems to all concerned that Isidro's hunch about Maria taking over her daughters body was correct (who knew?) as with each passing moment Miria is morphing more and more into her dead mum, revealing secrets about her life as yet unknown to poor Antonio.

You see, behind the safe, floral dressed mumsy exterior Maria was a sex obsessed pervert due, in part to Antonio's drug induced impotence but mainly because she was a dirty lady like the type your gran told you to stay away from. It seems that no one was safe from her ungodly desires and that she'd been shagging everyone from the recently deceased family doctor and a pre-accident Ignazio as well as having a long term lesbian tryst with Sol.

Each to their own.

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

Antonio, however has more important stuff to deal with and totally ignoring the fact that his nympho dead wife has return from the grave decides that this would be the best time to kill his brother and Sol. Coming up with a plan to wall them both up in the crypt.

For what reason I have no idea, I mean I've had girls knock me back before and I've never had the urge to bury them alive in my garden.

Well maybe just the once.
But whilst he puts his fiendish plan into action Maria has taken total control of Miria's (scarily gravy hued) body and is intent on revenge herself....

Malabimba - not you.

Dismissed by many as an inferior remake of the 1979 erotic horror classic Malabimba (albeit with nicer wallpaper), Satan's Baby Doll is a near perfect example of everything that's right (and in some cases so wrong) with the Eurotrash genre.

The film is virtually plotless, existing only to showcase a few cheap scares, some high fashion trousers, a couple of scenic locations plus a fair bit of female nudity from Mariangela Giordano (playing the same role in both films - tho' it would be nice to see her fully clothed for a change seeing as she resembles that drunken auntie you always see at weddings) and the flat faced, lazy eyed Jacqueline Dupré (in her only film role).

I almost feel sorry for her in a way, I mean, imagine being so charisma free as to make a sleazy lesbian love scene appear boring - at least Malabimba's Katell Laennec tried frowning every so often, tho' from the look of her she was thinking about cakes during the sex scenes.

Whatever she's asked to do her expression never changes from one of mild apathy.

You should be lusting after her yet all you want to do is give her a blanket to cover her modesty and a hug.

If you're still around Jacqueline please get in touch to say you're OK.

"Pull my nightie down when you're done".

At just over an hour and ten minutes in length Satan's Baby Doll is mercifully short and, if you're a fan of Mariangela Giordano (and frankly who isn't?) must be deemed an essential purchase.

And that, my friends is the scariest thing about it.






















*I miss Helen Daniels.

the late late deadfast show.

Been n the garden today lazing about and imagining what a post-Covid world would look like.....

Warriors of The Year 2072 (AKA Fighting Centurions, Rome, 2072 A.D., The New Gladiators. 1984).
Dir: Lucio Fulci.
Cast: Jared Martin, Fred Williamson, Howard Ross, Eleonora Brigliadori, Cosimo Cinieri, Claudio Cassinelli, Al Cliver, Haruiko Yamanouchi, Penny Brown, Valerie Jones and Donal O'Brien.

"It was math that saved us!"

It's the near future (2072 to be precise but I guess you knew that) and  - after a nuclear war probably - all of planet Earth's major cities have been rebuilt using Lego, egg boxes and toilet rolls, topped off with Christmas tree lights.

The only outlet for the citizens of this new square world order are violent teevee shows (well two of them) broadcast daily to keep the populace subdued and entertained.

Purves: Purveyor of teevee violence and fan of Steven's tailor.

The biggest of these is 'Death Bike', a cross between Junior Kick Start (albeit without Peter Purves) and a Friday night out in the centre of Dudley where a bunch of mad men on motorcycles kick seven shades of shite out of each other until only one is left standing.

Well, sitting actually.

On a bike.

Obviously.

Undefeated world champion of Death Bike is the enigmatically bubble-permed Drake (Martin, pigeon chested star of teevee's Dallas, War of the Worlds and Fantastic Journey) but more of him later.

The other show is called 'Pretend Scares' or something similar and features (from what I can gather from the little amount of it shown) a sweaty woman with hi-tech wires attached to her head watching clips of old Fulci movies and having to pretend that:

A. It's real.

and

B. She's not really scared.

It'll come as no surprise to find that ratings for this have been slipping more than Michael J Fox on an icy path, so the makers of 'Pretend Scares' (after failing to get 'Bastards Hole' past the pilot stage) decided to resurrect the age old idea of the gladiatorial arena.

Huge cotton bud or tiny lady?

This ultra-violent battle of the damned (but not featuring Dave Vanian) will see twelve convicted killers (minus Brandon Flowers and Dave Keuning obviously) slug it out in a modern day Roman Coliseum until only one survives.

To make certain it'll be a sure fire ratings winner, the slimy teevee executive in charge, Bob Cortez (an unusually clean shaven Cassinelli) decides to firstly employ Chris Chibnall as show runner before hiring what looks like Spandau Ballet to murder Drake's hot young wife and then framing him for their subsequent murder.

Really it does make sense when you watch it.

Bigger than Trumps.

Taken in chains to the training area before being given a sexy bracelet (tho' no pearl necklace) that can administer pain, Drake is introduced to his fellow combatants including genre king Al Cliver as the hunky Kirk, The Last Hunter's Yamanouchi and Fred Williamson as the super suave Tommy Abdul.

There are a few other folk but frankly none of them are that memorable.

Under the auspice of evil trainer Frank Raven (Ross from such classics as The New York Ripper, Naked Werewolf Woman and Poppea: A Prostitute in Service of the Emperor) Drake endures, oh, minutes of torture and bench presses before he begins to break the corporations programming.

It seems that he's starting to realise that he didn't kill Tony Hadley and co. after all and that it may a massive conspiracy.

Luckily the janitor of the faculty, an ex-racer named Monk (Doctor Butcher himself, O'Brien), is an old friend of Drakes who had to leave show business after accidentally melting his face in a freak infomercial recording and who now along with his sexy computer boffin sidekick Sarah (the fantastically fringed ultra-MILF Brigliadori from Beyond Kilimanjaro, Across the River of Blood and, um, my dreams) have decided to investigate Drake's story, uncovering as they do a plot by Junior (the sentient computer that runs the station) to do some bad stuff to folk.

Oh yes and take over the world.

Luckily our heroes have a plan.

"OK muthafuckas! Who's
ready for a mooth shite-in?"

Whilst Sarah goes to visit Junior's creator, Monk makes our hero swallow a magic silver Lego brick that enables him to open doors and turn off force-fields by simply pulling his cum face and it's with this special gift our hero plans his escape.

Whilst all this sex face fun is going on, Sarah has gone to visit Professor Towman (Murder Rock's Cinieri, tastefully covered head to toe in gravy and with a red spot daubed on his forehead), the inventor of Junior to see if the computer could really be mental.

He reckons not but gives Sarah a special key to his control room and a box of plans to turn him off just in case.

Which is pretty bloody lucky seeing as the next instant he's shot and killed as is - the not as attractive as Sarah - Sybil (Brown, the costume designer on Fatal Frames) a bad lady that was sent to follow our heroine (to pick up fashion tips I reckon).

Would you believe it tho' because Monk was also following Sarah (and by default Sybil) and manages to sneak Sarah out of the building under his coat and back to the studio in time to see Drake and his merry band recaptured and made to do sweaty press-ups over an electric floor as punishment.

"And here come the Belgians!"

As the clock counts down and the contestants are preparing for battle, Sarah races to find the key to stopping Junior and save humanity from death by crafty computer....

His slash-tastic horror tendencies exhausted (for a short while at least) after the sleazy hate-fest that was The New York Ripper, Lucio Fulci decided to take time out from spooky scares and throat cutting (well, maybe not from throat cutting) to bring us this fantastically accurate prediction of the rise of reality teevee and corporate whoredom, never realising how prophetic the films concepts were to become.

His trademark visual style, surreal plotting and (sometimes over) use of extreme close-ups (usually of actors pulling what appear to be officially termed their 'sex faces') are all present and correct, adding a sense of the comfortable to the otherwise alienating futuristic feel of the film and Fulci's predilection for copious amounts of blood and violence firmly place the characters in the here and now for it seems that no matter how shiny and silver the future will become blood will always be deep red.

The cast with it's familiar Fulci regular faces and smooth, mini-skirted thighs (yes, that's you Eleonora Brigliadori) play their roles with a stoic, earnest conviction rarely seen outside the Hallmark Channels true life drama output whilst Fred Williamson, so obviously on autopilot whilst awaiting his delivery of malt beer and cigars, is still better than any number of similarly disinterested actors not named Fred Williamson tho' if I'm honest it's scary to see chisel jawed sex pest Al Cliver slowly morph into a puffy cheeked hamster during the duration of a movie.

Eleonora Brigliadori today,
just because I can.

Three years before Arnie became The Running Man, Jared Martin was The Biking Bully and Fulci was showing the world the future as would be.

Genius? Prophet? Mad man or just lucky?

Or a mix of all four?

YOU decide!

horsing around.

As a teen the cover for this was the second most terrifying piece of pre-cert VHS art ever (after Zombie Creeping Flesh obviously) so for years I stayed away from it due to total fear and worries over my mental health.

Mainly because of the really odd angle of the girls head.

But in part because it didn't feature any of 'the horror' tho' it did feature ladies kissing each other which frankly the thought of terrified my tiny 12 year old mind.*

But seeing as I'm bored during lockdown I thought I'd throw caution to the wind and give it a shot.

Plus it's under a different title with totally different art now which made it easier.


The Coming of Sin (AKA Visita del vicio, Violation of the Bitch, Sex Maniac
Sodomia. 1978).
Dir: José Ramón Larraz.
Cast: Patricia Granada (As Patrice Grant), Lidia Zuazo (As Lydia Stern), Rafael Machado, David Thomson, Lea Candle, Daisy Jules and Montserrat Julió.

Somewhere in the lush Spanish Countryside, the fairly harsh faced but extremely wealthy painter Lorna's (Manchester-based TV studio and star of the classic Más allá del deseo, Granada) quiet life creating those pictures of dogs playing poker and drinking gin is rudely interrupted when her pal Doris asks her to look after her 17 year old orphan house maid, the thinly mustached and illiterate (it's like character cliche bingo here) Triana (Zuazo from Consultorio sexológico and your dad's bed) while Doris and her husband head off on holiday to Tenby for a fortnight.

Bored with having no-one to talk to (or to clean up the mess) Lorna excitedly agrees, happy to take Triana under her wing but as she begins to prepare the guest bedroom Doris warns her that the sultry gypsy girl is a wee bit mental and suffers from recurring dreams about being bummed to death by horse riding binmen.

Lorna - being either a nice lady or totally self absorbed - doesn't seem to mind and welcomes Triana into her home.

But not her bed.

Well not yet.

But you can kinda tell that will happen later.

Paddington.

The pair hit it off almost immediately tho' with Triana expressing admiration for Lorna's painting skills and Lorna enjoying her guest's guitar playing prowess and arched eyebrows but although things seen to be going swimmingly, Triana is still dreaming of a naked (bin) man astride a big (in every way) black horse stalking her around Lorna's estate.

And by that I mean the countryside and not her lady garden.

Scarily Triana soon realises that the topless man is real (I knida figured that she already knew that horses exist) when she comes across him one day whilst she's emptying the bins.

As anyone would do in this situation, Triana grabs a rifle and tries to shoot him much to Lorna's chagrin and our artsy pal angrily tells Triana that it's bad manners to shoot at random people on horseback and not to do it again.

Which is Brexit in a nutshell really.

As the pouting pair share long lingering looks over the spaghetti meatballs their relationship takes a turn for the - slightly - Sapphic when Lorna takes Triana into town to buy her a pearl necklace obviously to make up for the fact that she can't furnish Triana with a homemade one herself and the pair excitedly head home for crisps, fizzy pop and a movie.

Later that day tho' when she's sneaked out for a crafty fag Lorna too spots the naked man on a horse and immediately becomes transfixed by him and in an attempt to cool her ardour Lorna dresses up in her dads suit and gets Triana to pencil in her mustache so the pair can go out flamenco dancing together without raising any suspicions of lady love amongst the god fearing locals.

 Fuck me this is convoluted.

Bardo have let themselves go.

Returning home the pair enjoy a nice cup of hot chocolate (and a Kit Kat) before retiring but Lorna's sleep is interrupted when Triana appears naked at the bottom of her bed allegedly to clean Lorna's shoes.

Realising that as excuses go that one sounds a bit shit Triana jumps into Lorna's bed where a wee bout of big bushed 70s style sexiness does indeed ensue.

Twice.

The next day and in order to clear her head after such a marathon shagathon, Triana decides to go for a leisurely stroll in the local woods but who does she find standing by the stream?

Only the horse man.

And this time he's stark bollock naked.

And he has a massive erection**.

A massive erection that he's determined to put in Triana whether she agrees or not.

What a rotter.

Luckily she's stronger than she looks (plus her massive grey granny pants appear to be welded on) and she easily fights him off, finally subduing him by beating him around the head with a handy polystyrene rock.

With his cock in one hand and cradling his bleeding bonce in the other he wanders off to the lake giving Triana ample time to run home and into Lorna's arms.

Lorna seems unconcerned tho' and tells Triana to grow up and stop snottering on her shoulder before brusquely heading into the kitchen to prepare lunch as they're expecting a guest.

It comes as no surprise to find that the guest is in fact the rapey young bloke himself.

As he sits down on the sofa (whilst thankfully keeping his penis in his trousers), Lorna explains to Triana that Chico (council estate Michael Brandon, Machado)  lives in a shed near to her property (as in her house not her lady parts) and has helpfully offered to give Lorna horse-riding lessons.

Obviously unable to resist his charms - or his horse -  Lorna eagerly agrees and is soon ordering poor Triana around the house to fetch cakes and coffee as she (stiffly) flirts with Chico.

Triana is not a happy bunny.

As night falls Triana heads of to bed where her Chico-centric dreams take a more sinister (if that were possible) turn as she imagines herself strapped into a big gold horse with her ares hanging out as a naked Chico circles her on a (naked) horse.

I think this may be symbolic - or sort of sexual - but I can't be sure.

Answers to the usual address.

And with that the scene is set for 40 odd minutes of knowing looks, creepy fortune tellers, drunken threesomes, huge amounts of 70s bush and a wee bit of rough sex that culminates with a very sweaty Triana hiding in a bush wielding a shotgun.

Just like your mum and dad's 25th wedding anniversary party.

Yer ma's taking the divorce well.

Hot off the heels (well not that hot seeing as it was 4 years later but heyho it's just cliched review speak) of his saucy 1974 leg-twitcher Vampyres, José Ramón Larraz presented us with another nice hot pie slice of eroticism - this time swapping the damp English countryside for a sun-bleached Spain and replacing the girl on girl bloodletting for girl on girl flamenco dancing before adding some obsessively erotic equestrian action years before My Little Pony made it mainstream to lust after horses.

For its miniscule budget the film looks very nice tho' I'm never sure if that's due to Fernando (Cannibal Apocalypse) Arribas' soft-focus camerawork or the fact that the DVD transfer I watched was oh-so slightly out of focus (tho' not having my glasses on probably didn't help), either way I challenge you to find another film where a gypsies arse looks so peachy and sun-burnt whilst still maintaining an air of mystery.

Your mum and your Auntie Jean getting ready for bingo.

As another plus point the cast (what little there is) are great - Lidia Zuazo is all dusky and mysterious (or is that bored?) and raffish Rafael Machado comes across like an evil Jacko from Brush Strokes but with sharper nipples whilst Patricia Granada plays the beige-clad brush wielding Lorna to perfection.

A pity then that the dubbing director decided to use the cast of the Jim Davidson comedy classic Up The Elephant And Round The Castle to supply a couple of the voice artistes.

I mean there's nowt like someone shouting "Jellied eels!" at the point of climax to spoil your enjoyment of a movie.

Still if you're really bothered about being put off your stroke by the sound of bow bells you can always turn the volume down.

Recommended for fans of 70s front bums and Black Beauty.






































*By that I don't actually mean just ladies kissing but kissing in general. What can I say? I was a shy child.

** Seriously it looks like someone has strapped a babies head to a hosepipe.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 94).

Parker Posey's (more) evil twin, Gigi Goode.

 

Nuff said.

 

 

meat is murder.

It's June and to celebrate the third month of lockdown - and the fact that wqe've trimmed our garden back - I present a film resplendent with untamed (lady) bush.

Enjoy.

Mondo Cannibale (AKA Cannibals, Barbarian Goddess and White Cannibal Queen among others. 1980)
Dir: Jess Franco.
Cast: Al Cliver, Sabrina Siani, Lina Romay, Anouchka, Robert Foster, Shirley Knight, Pamela Stanford and Olivier Mathot.

Where the natives are pleased to MEAT you!

Famous researcher of 'things' Dr. Jeremy Taylor (Euro-god Cliver, unfortunately for him being out-acted by his trademark beard), his scrummy wife Elisabeth (Stanford sans son) and his young, pug faced daughter Lana (Anouchka - that wee girl from Zombie Lake) are traveling along a treacherous stretch of the Amazon River (played in this instance by the coast of Spain) said to be inhabited by a tribe of bloodthirsty cannibals (fantastically essayed by a squad of tubby, bequiffed Frenchmen in kiddies facepaint).

No sooner has the salty boat captain finished spinning a lurid tale about these savages when a group of them sneak aboard his vessel and start slaughtering the crew before turning their lustful gaze toward Taylor's missis.

After a valium-tastic slo-mo feeding frenzy in which Cliver gazes into the distance manfully as the brutish savages eat his wife we suddenly find ourselves on the banks of a tiny garden fish pond where Taylor's daughter is lying unconscious.

But still with a pug face obviously.

(multicoloured) shite in her mooth.

Scooping her into his arms like a rickety old dumper truck the toothless tribal chief (who looks uncannily like Max Wall) takes the young girl home and declares her a sacred white goddess before adopting her into the tribe.

Which is pretty lucky considering the alternative.

Taylor on the other hand is less fortunate seeing as he's quickly captured, has one of his arms chopped off and eaten in front of him and finally being trussed up like a sexy yet still attractively skinny pig.

Before the tribe can get to work on the rest of him tho' he manages to escape into the undergrowth and is soon rescued by a couple of blokes in obscenely tight jeans driving a jeep.

Caught wanking by your mum....again!

Ending up in a New York hospital with amnesia (and no shirts that sits right), he is nursed back to health by the buxom, bouncy lipped Ana (Romay billed here as Candy Coster which going by the amount of shite she's appeared in under her own name shows how truly awful this film is) a foxy doc who has spent the last 10 years sitting at his bedside trimming his beard occasionally.

Feeling much better (but unfortunately unable to return all the pairs of gloves that well-wishers have sent him), Taylor heads off to the world famous Shelton Foundation, funders of the original expedition in the hope of securing backing for a second trip into the jungle to find his daughter.

Unluckily for our hero it turns out that the foundations head Barbara (Knight) and her camp British boyfriend Charles (Mathot, bless you) are more interested in taking the piss out of Taylor, accusing him of hiding his arm behind his back (hmmm...they have a point) and wearing a stick on beard.

Taylor leaving the office with a loud 'fuck you' decides to go to the Amazon anyway and with Ana in tow, goes about securing the services of a guide, however seeing as they only have about 60 pence to their name this proves a wee bit difficult.

Life is cheap down south but not that cheap.

But just as Taylor is about to give up and go home he runs into Charles and Barbara, who've come to South America with a group of posh pals in the hope of finding the one armed doc, you see they want to apologize for all their nastiness and have decided to bankroll his trip, provided their group of friends get to join in the fun.

Don't worry hen....he's 'armless.

A grimly serious Taylor warns them that it'll be a dangerous journey into uncharted cannibal country, waving his stump around as proof but the drunken toffs just giggle and start packing their swimming trunks, wide brimmed hats and sunblock.

Heading out into the jungle (well, the local park) the party come across the folk (bits of them anyway) that rescued Taylor in the movies opening.

Now you or I may see this as a sign to turn back, but not Taylor and co. who continue further into the unknown, stopping only to adjust their lip gloss.

It's not too long tho' (thank Christ) before the members of the expedition are being picked off and butchered one by one in particularly gruesome ways (well in slow motion whilst members of the crew throw offal around) by the bloodthirsty savages till only Taylor Ana and some disposable young guy (whose name escapes me) are left.
Captured and bound they're taken before the tribes whitey-hating leader Jeff Yakaké (Foster) and his harsh faced yet surprisingly pale skinned wife (Siani, 'star' of Fulci's Conquest and your Granddads bed).

Could this be Taylor's missing daughter?

"I wanted to be a tiger!"

Whilst Ana is dragged off by the cannibals (sounds painful) Taylor has the idea of asking his daughter to untie him and his mate so that they can escape.

Her expression is one of either faint recollection or boredom but either way she sneaks out of her hut that night to free her dad who promptly slings her over his shoulder and legs it into the trees speedily pursued by his irate son in law and his pals.

Watch out watch out....Ross Thomson's about.

Will Taylor, his pal and his daughter manage to escape from this tropical hell or will they be forced to partake in a post pub style fisticuffs match in a small stream?

Will Taylor shed even one solitary tear over Ana's death?

And will Siani ever change her slightly bemused expression?

Also known by an obscene amount of alternate titles ranging from names like Barbarian Goddess to Mondo Cannibale (see how many more you can find dear reader there may be a prize!), Jess Franco's second foray into the world of the cannibal (his first was the sleaze-tastic 1973 'epic' Bare Breasted Countess) came about when producer Marius Lesoeur approached the sleaze guru with regards to him producing his own spin on the by now lucrative flesh eating film fad.

Casting cult idol and not to mention dirt cheap Cliver (with whom Franco would go on to make the classic 1980 film The Devil Hunter with) and his own missis should have meant that Franco had more cash left to put towards some breath taking special effects and lush locations but unfortunately (due in part to Lesoeur only managing to raise a budget of £75.81) this wasn't to be.

The West Bromwich Olympic
hopefuls - led by Tom Savini -  go thru' their paces.

The usually top drawer Cliver sleepwalks thru' the movie, his 'severed' arm obviously hidden down his shirt as he struggles to hide his embarrassment as he is poked and prodded by the most bizarre ethnic mix of cannibals ever committed to celluloid. Chubby, pasty faced Frenchmen, slick haired Latinos and even a couple of Japanese folk fill out the tribes numbers, forced to jump about in tiny leather thongs and blackface.

But not even that can prepare you for the sight of a wooden topped Sabrina Siani*, her face smeared in blue gloss paint, her nipples (only just) covered by her blonde mane and her (albeit) peachy arse exposed for all the world to see uncomfortably jerking from scene to scene like an anorexic Bambi on amphetamines.

Yes it really is a performance to remember.

Arse.

The films one saving grace tho' is the always reliable Lina Romay in a role that actually allows her to act for a change as opposed to standing around with her kit off showing her frighteningly furry 70s bush to the world.

Which is one reason to see it I guess.

Nothing like damning with faint praise is there?
















































*Want to know more? then click here for my exclusive 'interview' with her.

Well I say interview.

radio daze.

Day 667 of the whole Covid lockdown thing and rumours are afoot of the schools reopening in August which is nice.

So as a tribute to the younger generation I thought I'd re-review (after re-rewatching obviously) a film featuring 'the weans.

OK, just one wean.
And she's really not that creepy.

And only in it for about 10 minutes max.

To be honest I've not really thought this thru', I might have well said today's film features a house cos I spend all my time in one.

Bloody lockdown.


Ghost House (AKA La Cassa 3. 1988).
Dir: Umberto Lenzi.
Cast: Lara Wendel, Greg Scott, Mary Sellers, Ron Houck, Martin Jay, Kate Silver, Alain Smith, Kristen Fougerousse, Susan Muller and Donald O'Brian.

Who are you? What do you want? For God's sake... somebody help me... help... aarghh!

Somewhere just outside sunny Boston the pigtailed, pug nosed and prepubescent princess Henrietta Baker (Fougerousse, bless you) is celebrating her birthday by pounding her pussy to death in the cellar.

Which got my attention and, it seems the attention of her God fearing father Sam (former Interzone dwarf Smith) who fires off a few Jesus based insults at her before turning off the lights and locking her down there.

Luckily she has a (quite possibly demoniacally possessed) clown puppet for company.

Back upstairs Sam continues to rant religiously whilst his hard done to (and harsh faced) wife (Muller whom you may recall as the voice of Muriel in Cenerentola '80) just nods her head and frowns.

Michaela Strachan realizes too late that Jimmy Savile's van is not full of sweets.

Suddenly things take a change for the bizarre, firstly the dining room light bulb starts to warp before exploding, poor old Sam has an axe put thru' his skull whilst the mirror explodes leaving Mum (who if I'm honest was no great looker to begin with) with her face full of broken glass.

Don't worry tho' as help is on hand to ease her pain when an unseen assailant kindly cuts her throat.

Meanwhile in the cellar Henrietta sits hugging her clown.

"Aye hen!"

Jumping forward in time (with a wheezing, groaning sound) 20 years and the frighteningly plainly dressed Martha (Wendel best known as the sexy teen in the tiny skirt from Tenebrae and who scarily seems to turn up quite a lot on this blog, go on see if you can find her - there's a prize) is on the phone to her boyfriend Paul (Star Wars video game voice Scott), a ham radio enthusiast cum computer programmer desperately trying to organize what time she should head round for dinner.

Exciting stuff I'm sure you'll agree.

But Paul has other things on his mind as it appears that the previous night he picked up a strange message on his radio, a mysterious voice shouting 

"Who are you? What do you want? For God's sake somebody help me!....."

followed by an ear piercing scream.

Luckily the same message is broadcast again that night allowing Paul to record it, giving him ample opportunity to discover where the broadcast came from, which by some strange quirk of fate (or storytelling) is the old Baker house from the films opening.

How weird is that?

Dominic Cumming's fancy dress outfit was a big hit at the local school Christmas party.

After picking up (and dropping off) a jive talking, satin jacketed hitch-hiker our daring duo arrive at the house to find not only a bow-legged loon named Valkos (Doctor Butcher himself, O'Brien) tending to the weeds (in between threatening folk with a spade obviously) but a radio set up in the attic.

Spooky.

It appears that this radio belongs to fellow broadcaster Jim (singer cum producer Jay, who's worked with everyone from Take That to Cockney Rebel) who along with his pals, the brassy biker chick Susan (Stage Fright and Eleven Days, Eleven Nights vixen Sellers), ginger prince Mark (Ex-cartoon chihuahua Houck from the Christopher Cazenove sitcom Ticket To Ride) and his troubled teen sister Tina (Silver, a kinda sexier, sleazier Hilary Swank with a fine line in stone wash denim) are enjoying a weekend camping out the grounds of the house.

I say camping but they're all living in a van about the size of my house parked on the front lawn, kids eh?

Kate Silver, a chin made for chiseling and a mooth made for shite-in. In.

 After explaining the whole situation Paul is confused to discover that although it sounds like Jim on the message he couldn't have sent it, seeing as he hasn't as yet set up the antennae.

 Oeerr missis.

After a few minutes collectively rubbing their chins the group comes up with a plan to try to figure out the strange radio message and, no doubt seal their fate.

Is it just me who thinks that things are going to go very bad?

Well let's see what Paul's plan involves shall we?

He decides that himself,  Susan and Martha should drive a couple of miles up the road (?) and listen for the signal from there whilst Jim, Mark and Tina split up and wander around the house in the dark.

"Guess what? I'm 15 and love Linkin Park too...now get your webcam on and your top off!"

It doesn't come as too much of a surprise when the message turns out to be some scary premonition from the future, a future where poor old Jim is downed by a ghostly fan blade, Mark is menaced by a horny looking Doberman and an already shot to fuck Tina is chased by an axe wielding Valkos.

Luckily the dog (being short sighted) mistakes a table leg for Mark giving him time to escape thru' an upstairs window and chase Valkos into the bushes just as Paul and company return.

Phew.

After following Valkos to his shed, the mental muckraker manages to overpower Mark and pin him to the wall with a pitchfork but as he goes in for the kill (or a sneaky kiss...who knows?) Paul bursts in and renders Valkos unconscious with one well placed punch to the kidneys.

And with this everyone heads back to the house to find out where Jim has gotten to, giving the gruesome gardener ample time to escape into the trees.

"Put it in me!"

Searching the house Martha finds herself in Henrietta's bedroom where after rummaging thru' an old toy box she comes across (not in that way, tho' it'd be worth a shot) the creepy clown doll from the movie's opening.

As if by magic (or wires) the room bursts into life as the clown attempts to strangle our heroine and various toys buzz around the room in a fairly slipshod manner reminiscent of a school production of Poltergeist.

Or what the actual film would have been like if Tobe Hooper had really directed it.

Paul - being the films hero - hears his girlfriends screams and arrives in time to save her from a deadly death by clown whilst the others are lucky enough to be the ones to find Jim's still warm (and oozing) corpse.

With all this death and the like going on it's not long before our motley crew decide to call the police, who turn up and tell the kids off for trespassing before blaming Jim's death on poor old Valkos who it transpires is a former mentalist who was given the groundskeeper job upon leaving the local asylum.

Well, if you skip the opening sequence and forget about the haunted radio signal and demonic clown it kind of makes sense in a Scooby Doo way I suppose.

Emu's revenge on Rod Hull was not a pleasant sight.

Bidding their farewells and heading back to Boston, Paul remains unconvinced with the police's explanation of events so sets out (much to Martha's chagrin) to discover the house's horrible history  and the relevance of the creepy clown whilst back at the house Mark, Susan and Tina are having troubles of their own.

Nightfall is approaching, the van wont start and Tina needs a poo.

Unfortunately the only working toilet is in the (ghost) house.

As Paul and Martha race back to the house with vital information regarding the haunting, Mark and his buddies find themselves trapped whilst somewhere in the bushes a vicious Valkos is determined to kill anyone who has appeared on screen for no other reason that it'd be a laugh.

Expect bloodshed and bad hair.

Released in Italy as La Casa 3 to cash in on the success of the first two Evil Dead movies (La Casa and La Casa 2 respectively), exploitation god Joe D'Amato (uncredited as producer) and director Umberto Lenzi's threadbare classic Ghost House is one of those rare movies that is as incredibly creepy as it is utterly fucking terrible at the same time.

Which is an amazing feat.

Coming across like a Spielberg-less Poltergeist, rewritten for a teevee budget by the producers of Scooby Doo, the movie has everything you'd expect from the lower end of late 80's Italian horror cinema; wobbly lightbulbs, ghostly girls, hideous wallpaper and seas of man-melting yogurt violently juxtaposed with a fantastically frenetic synth score, an overuse of stone wash denim and acting that veers wildly between awake (Kate Silver) and the front window of a taxidermist shop (Lara Wendel and the rest) via booze sodden madness (Donald O’Brien and his haunted leg).

A special mention must go to  Willy M. Moon whose performance as the practical joke playing backpacker Pepe is a joy to behold and worthy of his own movie.

But what makes this performance really stand out is the fact that his character has no reason to be there at all, he adds nothing to the plot apart from a fine taste in red shiny jackets and joke skeleton arms.

It's like Richard Blackwood turning up halfway thru' The Exorcist to perform a 10 minute stand up routine.

Actually come to think of it that would make it a much better movie. 

But obviously it wouldn't happen because he was only one at the time. 

Look just forget I mentioned it and move on.

"And I'm spent!"

Worth a look to see the house from Fulci's classic The House by the Cemetery lit badly if nothing else, Ghost House wears it's heart and it's influences proudly on it's sleeve, pity then that it's a huge pink floppy wizards sleeve belonging to that 60 something widow that lives on the estate you keep hearing about.

And like her it's well worth a quick visit.