Arena Of The Unwell

by the way, hope you all have a....

2010-01-01T11:26:00.000-08:00

sin-sational.

2010-01-01T03:00:00.000-08:00

A brand new decade but the same old shite in my DVD glory hole.

Well, I might as well start as I mean to go on.

Which by the looks of things will be hunched over a keyboard frantically cracking one off to dodgy sixties soft core porn but there you go.

The Girl from SIN (1966).
Dir: C. Davis Smith.
Cast: Jackie Richards (AKA Joyana) , Barbara Kemp, Bob Oran, Carol Evans, Mary O'Hara, June Roberts and others.

Panda eyed and pendulously breasted villainous vixen Poontang Plenty (AKA Agent 0069, played to pouting perfection by Richards, the star of such hits as Dominique in Daughters of Lesbos and She Came by Bus) is crime syndicate SIN's top terrorising tottie who, alongside SIN's pot bellied leader, Dr. Jeff Sexus (mega man breasted producer Oran), plans on taking over the world from inside the local Chinese restaurant using only the power of 'the sex'.

Oh and professor Charlie Drake's (director Smith) invisibility pill obviously.

Yup, using only an old fridge, some spark plugs, a Mickey Mouse Club torch and the fuse from a discarded the nutty professor has managed to created this marvel of science inadvertently testing it on his mousy secretary when, in a blind moment of panic she takes the pill after being scared by a mouse.

Charlie is hoping that his invention will benefit all mankind (in what way is never explained tho') but SIN it seems have their own immoral ideas.

Ideas that involve all manner of gratuitous tit shots, mouldy back room massages, shoddy seduction techniques and craptacular kung-fu fighting.

But ain't that always they way?

He looks pretty pleased with himself at the
moment but just wait till the fisting starts.

Meanwhile back at the plot and the producer has realised that there might not be quite enough mileage for skin within this spy plot so the movie takes a quick detour into suburbia where we're introduced to henpecked hubby Henry - a character so wet and inconsequential that the actor isn't even credited.

A greasy balding fuck suffering from penile dysfunction caused, in part by pock thighed, lard arsed wife insisting on doing everything from knitting to cooking naked, Henry has a dark secret that no-one, not even his spotty spouse knows.

Can you guess what it is dear reader?

Yes, Henry collects model ships and boats.

It's only the first of January and I'm already losing the will to live.

Attending a 'model auction' one day, Henry ends up inadvertently bidding on a big trunk he thinks contains a huge model of the Bismarck constructed entirely from the teeth of dead tramps but after returning home and excitedly open the box he's disappointed to find not and enamel warship but Drake's diary and invisibility formula.

Henry suddenly realises that this could be the answer to all his problems. You see, his local GP has just written him a prescription for adultery in the hope of curing his limp dick so the by now very horny Henry decides to use the invisibility pill in order to spy on his hot neighbour Ginger.

The only problem is that whenever he sneezes he reappears.

Seriously you couldn't make this shit up.

How will these plot threads collide?

Will Poontang Plenty keep her clothes on for longer than ten minutes at a time?

Will there be any more frankly disturbing scenes of her giving a toe job to a really sweaty man with bunions?

And more importantly will any of the cast actually speak?

Your mum in the outfit I got her for Christmas.

All round odd job man, disciple of Dame Doris of Wishman and part-time director (and I use that term lightly) C. Davis Smith's pervy panto of heavy petting is a sensationally skuzzy piece of no-fi nudie trash from the age that cellulite forgot that's about as erotic as catching your Nan blowing the dog and as funny as a cancerous cock.

And that's being kind.

Too cheap to have a dialogue track, the entire sordid tale is told in a monotonous voice-over supplied by Smith himself, filmed on location in somebodies shed and populated by a cast of has beens and never weres seduced from the aforementioned Wishman's regular bunch of actors with promises of cheap booze and crisps.

Standing out (actually just standing about if I'm honest) amongst this Thespian forest of MDF mediocrity are big Bob Oran, all high waist silky Aladdin trousers, hairy shoulders and a face like a bulldog licking piss of a broken bottle whilst the single syllabled, double barrelled Joyana is a vision of milky thighs and wobbly sixties breasts topped off with the face of a council estate scrubber, he black rimmed dead eyes not unlike those of a hungry shark. The kind of girl you can imagine sharing a kebab (alongside bodily fluids) with, the grease dripping down her neck as you rut like beasts against the piss covered wall behind the taxi rank on a particularly drunken night out.

Germs.

Saying that tho' it's still worth sitting thru' (but please skip the 8 minute silent seduction/assassination scene that opens the movie if you want to keep your sanity) especially if you're a fan of Joyana (AKA Jackie Richards, Maxine, Lorrie Saunders, Lee Taylor and your Mum probably) and her dirty bird ways and of ugly people dancing and having sex.

Hmmm, just me then?

tis the season....

2009-12-23T15:57:00.000-08:00

jailhouse shock.

2009-12-23T03:41:00.000-08:00

Between birthdays, getting set for Crimbo and a houseful of vomiting children I've had precious little time to watch anything of late meaning there's a huge teetering pile of dodgy dvd's just waiting to crush any unsuspecting wean that bumps into them.

So I've decided to ease myself slowly and carefully back into cinematic hell (I'm not well enough to view my new Jess Franco 8 disc box set in one sitting) and what better way to start than with this sweet little story about the ups and downs of life in a women's prison.

Imagine Porridge but with big 70's bushes and a guest appearance by the monkey faced Scandinavian sex kitten, Brite Tove.

Nu ji zhong ying (AKA Bamboo House of Dolls. 1973)
Dir: Chih-Hung Kuei.
Cast: Lo Lieh, Brite Tove, Wang Hsia, Li Hai-shu, Terry Liu, Niki Wayne and Roska Rozen.

It's sometime during the long hot summer of 1942 (but by the state of the lead actresses hair and make up it's more like 1972) and the world is at war, somewhere in Asia (my geography is very rough - a bit like your mum) a crack squad of hardened Japanese soldiers are in the midst of a battle to the death against a gaggle of sandal wearing, knee revealing Chinese resistance fighters in a red cross hospital.

Well as Davey Stott said, there's nothing like starting with a little explosion.

Officially looking for a downed American pilot but obviously out for revenge against the creepy communists for daring to rip off Ultraman with the abysmal Shaw Brothers travesty Inframan, our Japanese chums begin their copyright controlling assault by first shooting the lovely Hong Yulan's husband in the arse before bayoneting all the injured and old folk, finally standing over a pile of corpses lustfully gazing at all the sweating, shot to fuck Chinese ladies left cowering in a medical cabinet.

Whilst all this butchery is going on, Mr. Yulan, with his dying, fish smelling breath has managed to pass a secret message to his wife.

The whereabouts of his secret schoolboy porn cache however he takes to the grave.

Whilst carrying off the screaming Chinese ladies the Japanese troops hear a faint crying noise from behind a big beefy curtain, and on parting the beef curtains are amazed to discover a handful of huge breasted European nurses in torn uniforms all huddled together in the dirt.

The quick glimpse of big pants is too much for the token Bald of head but magnificently moustached Japanese captain, who orders his men to take this group of second rate Europorn starlets to the local prison camp too.

The weekly Belsen knobbly knees contest was
always a hit with the under 12's.

On arriving at the prison (which bares a scary resemblance to Maplin's holiday camp from top Brit shit-com Hi-De-Hi!) the women are called to attention by the evil camp commander Inoue (Hsia, Mr. Wang from A Better Tomorrow), it appears he has something special to show then to get them all into the holiday mood.

What a thoughtful man.

He orders his men go and fetch a poor unfortunate prisoner he keeps in a corrugate metal shack know as 'the box', you see it appears that this woman was caught trying to sneak copies of Heat Magazine (or something) into the camp and, being an Take A Break reader the warden wants to make an example of her.

He orders his men to string her up by the wrists and (slowly) remove her dress in preparation for he punishment.

Enter (yes please) the foxy, tight uniformed and knee-high booted Mako (slinkily smoothed thighed Liu, the star of Concubine and The Girl With Long Hair - worth a look for the cinematography alone), the whip wielding lesbian warden who angrily orders one of the other prisoners to beat the gossip rag reader to death.

At this point I had to pause the movie to check the heating as it appeared to be getting uncomfortably hot in my house.

Being a weak girlie, the other prisoner refuses so Mako (whilst licking her full, red lips) gives her a good beating until she breaks down in tears and decides to go along with the whip-based fun, which is all well and good till the unfortunate girl dies.

Oops.

Overcome with grief (either that or the actress is having a stroke) the whipper (is that even a word?) starts crying and with the snot bubbles running down her face, runs off before throwing herself onto the electric fence, putting a damper on the whole affair.

There's always one who takes the joke too far.

After witnessing this vile scene the rest of the ladies (and most probably the crew) are increasingly desperate to escape from this living hell, except for the odd few who fancy a wee bit of dirty girl on girl action obviously.

"And that's Numberwang!"

Forced to work in the blistering sun sorting out stones into big plastic buckets whilst wearing shite covered mini-dresses and skimpy pants, it's not long before our cute captives begin plotting an escape but, being girls any chat relating to this soon degenerates into inane talk about make-up and idle gossiping as to who's going to get voted out of The X Factor.

But the girls' frustration soon comes to a head when during lunch they discover that the canteen is all out of those Skinny Latte things that they drink in Sex and The City turning a silly girlie strop into a full-blown, food based brawl.

Luckily for the cleaners commandant Inoue has just the thing to calm the prisoners tempers.

You see a group of Japanese soldiers are soon to arrive at the camp for some well deserved rest and recreation and it'll be the prisoners job to look after their every need during their stay.

Cue twenty minutes of family friendly rape based hilarity as one Japanese soldier, waving his his samurai sword around like a mentalist chases a poor unsuspecting barefooted girl around a (hellishly patterned) carpet covered in broken glass whilst another of the prisoners (Wayne in her only film role, pity) is so up for a bit of man loving she ends up being pleasured by a whole gaggle of greasy, tomb-toothed extras after her libido scares her original suitor away.

Just in case you were under the misapprehension that this was, in some way making light of sexual violence, one unfortunate lady just lies there, stiff as a board whilst wee Jimmy Japman grunts like an asthmatic pig and wiggles his tanned, peachy arse.

And my word what a great arse it is.

Whilst this saucily speeded up shagfest is taking place, blonde bombshell Mary (Rozen) is hand picked by Mako to be her special love slave.

Mary however doesn't seem that pleased and needs to be held down as Mako, wearing nothing but a pair of shiny boots and a smile (oh, and a huge black leather strap-on) slinks towards her.

Cue much groaning and moaning and a fairly arty silhouette sex scene all played out to a soft core jazz score.

Nice.

Anyway, now the sex is out of the way the producers reckon we can get back to the plot such as it is.

Yulan (remember her? - no me neither) has befriended the feisty Jennifer (top billed Tove from such classics as Danish Pillow Talk, Sexy Girls of Denmark, Bedside Headmaster and Swedish Fly Girls amongst others - ask your dad) as well as the whorish Elizabeth, the dirty Mary, ethnic Brenda and a token (yet instantly forgettable) blind bird whose name escapes me.

Being the named cast, our chained chicks battle against bitchy cat-fighting, electric nipple torture and gratuitously soapy shower scenes in order to plan an escape route to freedom.

Or at least to the nearest Butlins.

"Where's the soap?" "It does, doesn't it?"

As luck would have it, one night the camps (big) cook Ben corners Yulan and admits to being a Chinese spy who has actually infiltrated the prison in the hopes of busting her out.

Why? you may ask.

It seems that the secret message her hubbie passed onto her at the films beginning was the location of a load of gold he'd half inched from the Japanese earlier that week and the resistance wants to break her out in order to get access to the bootie so they can all fuck off to Majorca or something.

So, throwing caution (and their dignity) to the wind the ladies decide to mount an escape attempt that very night.

Seducing the guard with promises of sex and chocolate they bludgeon the poor sod to death whilst Big Cook Ben breaks into the power generator room and using only a wooden spoon cuts the wires powering the lights and electric fence enabling them to run off into the night.

"Gun in mah mooth".

Whilst all this escaping is going on, Ben is grabbed by the guards (which is painful believe you me) enabling us to marvel at his close quarter bitch-slapping skills for a few minutes before he too mounts the fence and disappears into the night.

But as he approaches the girls a load of Japanese soldiers jump out of the bushes and surround them.

Ben bravely tries to help the girls but is cruelly gunned down, collapsing in a pool of blood mixed with baking soda and cherries.

Jennifer runs to his aid but it's too late.

As Ben lays there dying he gazes wistfully at her heaving cleavage and whispers that there's another Chinese spy in the camp who's willing to help them but the ladies must be on their guard as he's sure that one of their number is a filthy spy.

Returning to the camp Jennifer (very quickly, tho' to be honest we are halfway thru' the film) discovers that the camp’s ultra cool, aviator shaded, Elvis quiffed second-in-command, Cui Guodong (Hong Kong's answer to Timothy Dalton, Lieh - a man so sexy he could even persuade Nick Griffin to take it up the shitter) is the other spy.

It's not too surprising them when juicy Jennifer and gorgeous Guodong start indulging in a few candle lit sexy scenes under the pretence of planning another escape.

But time is, as they say, running out as the unknown collaborator is slowly but surely bumping off various prisoners in order of attractiveness.

Jennifer should be safe for a while then.

"Careful with Ms. Mako's love egg you little tinker!"

Next day it's business as usual; another escape followed by another recapture and finishing with a wee bit of torture (like a weekend in the West Midlands if I'm honest).

Only this time it's a bit more serious than a quick whipping by a big uniformed dyke as all six girls: Mary the lesbian love slave, Jennifer the chimp, Elizabeth (the nymphette), Yulan, Brenda and the blind one are spread eagled and staked to the ground in the boiling hot sun.

And just to add to their discomforted the other prisoners can see up their skirts.

How evil is that?

As they lie there baking in the sun thoughts turn to who the traitor could be and it's not long before everyone has decided it must be Mary due to her love of ladies (and huge leather strap-ons obviously).

Frankly I find this ludicrous, I mean if a love of anal or vaginal violation by means of a bit of dead cow were cause for suspicion we'd all be locked up.

Especially your dad.

So promising to be good and never to try and escape again our heroines are set free and sent back to work, stopping only occasionally to slap Mary around a bit.

But the commandant has had enough of these fiery fillies and is making plans to off them one by one.

Will they survive till the Chinese resistance arrive to save them?

Griffin: loves the cock.

Described as both cruel and demeaning to women (tho' not to the viewers intelligence surprisingly) the late, almost great Chih-Hung Kuei's (of Corpse Mania, Coward Bastard and Enter the Seven Virgins fave) sexploitation classic Bamboo House of Dolls is way too camp and trashy an experience to be offensive to anyone but the most soulless, big booted feminists and their joyless pals.

Oh and possibly your Granddad if he fought in Asia during World War 2, tho' even he might change his mind when the girl on girl action starts.

As an excuse for ninety minutes of in (as opposed to over) your face sex and comic book violence Bamboo House of Dolls certainly doesn't disappoint and what it loses in historical accuracy (huge breasted, curvy Eurostars sporting arse revealing flimsy, blue t-shirts pretending to be starving prisoners and Alvin Stardust-alike spies in tight trousers plus a fantastic Wah Wah jazz score) it more than makes up for with it's speeded up comedy shagging, a uniformed lesbian dominatrix and blood splattered scenes of machine gun action.

And that's just in the first twenty five minutes.

And that feeling of teen boy fantasy gone mad runs throughout the whole movie, packed as it is with shootouts, Kung Fu kicking, pantie wearing girls fighting Japanese soldiers, copious amounts of breasts and overgrown bush and even a slow motion car stunt.

Really, what's there not to love?

"I can't find the car keys!"

The most surprising thing about it tho' is how good the cast are. Simian saucebox Brite Tove is actually not too bad as the strong heroine whilst sexyy action god Lo Lieh seems to be having a ball as the heroic stud muffin of the piece, imagine Big Roger Moore with high hair, sprayed on trousers and a pair of market stall shades and you're halfway there.

Trust me, you need this.

delite.

2009-12-12T14:02:00.000-08:00

More Eurotrash graphic fun, this time it's kiddies comic craziness Depredador (Predator) from sunny Spain.

Beats Arnie wrestling a vagina faced alien any day.

charity begins at home.

2009-12-09T02:36:00.000-08:00

Dropped the podlings at school and nursery and was out perusing the local charity shops when I found these beauties for a quid each.

Bargain.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 15).

2009-12-08T14:55:00.000-08:00

Top funny woman Jenny Eclair. I'm sorry but I would, you would, we all would.

Twice.

Three times on a Wednesday.

animal tragic.

2009-12-08T10:07:00.000-08:00

Rolled in around 2 AM last Saturday after spending the evening dressed as the 10th Doctor (photo's to follow if requested) to celebrate my rapidly approaching descent into middle age and being either:
A. too drunk

or

B. too tired

to turn over the teevee I was lucky enough to catch this gem on the Horror Channel.

Did I say lucky?

Dr. Moreau's House of Pain (2004).
Dir: Charles (mighty, fallen) Band.
Cast: John Patrick Jordan, Jessica Lancaster, Peter Donald Badalamenti II, Lorielle New, Ling Aum, B.J. Smith, Debra Mayer, Laura Ushijima and Jacob Witkin.

“My surgical skills might have been a bit sharper
if you hadn’t have cracked my skull open.”

Square faced second rate pugilist Eric (Jordan, soon to be seen in Porky's: The College Years) is sitting in an old convertible outside a sleazy nightclub, desperately trying to find his brother Roy, who's disappeared at some point.

The film isn't that specific as to say where or when, I have a feeling it might not be that important.

Along for the ride are the harsh faced ace girl reporter Mary Ann (the poor man's Debi Mazar, Mayer from that horror opus Decadent Evil Dead and Eric's girlfriend Judith (Lancaster, who's bound to have been in some other stuff, not counting that video she did for her 'uncle' to pay the rent back in her student days).

Or was it the other way around?

It seems that Roy spent most of his nights here watching one stripper in particular and Eric is determined to find out why.

Or at the very least get to crack one off in a private booth.

Entering the club and taking a stage-side seat, Eric uses his not inconsiderable charm in an attempt to pump the barkeep for information concerning his missing bro'. All he gets tho' is "Your bruvva pure fancies the next stripper by the way....she's dead young and shapely...oh and it's four quid for the Babycham".

So, who is this beauty that every man seems to fall madly in love with at first sight?

Enter the illustrious Alliana (and from the look of her resume you wont be the first), a skinnier scarier poor man's Faye Dunaway writhing around like an epileptic on crack whilst attempting to give a 'seductive' glance towards Eric but only succeeding in looking like she's mid stroke.

But not that kind.

An arse in parsley yesterday.

After sitting thru' the entire rosta of acts (including a magician and chicken shaver) Eric sneakily follows Alliana out to her car only to be accosted by an evil gangster type, Jeff Badman who also has a big girly crush on our stripping pal (must be slim pickings around there).

Feeling particularly manly and after delivering a swift kick to Eric's nuts Jeff attempts to force himself on Alliana only to have her snarl like a wolf and put her fist thru' his head.

Eric, shocked and maybe a wee bit aroused by this grabs the women folk and runs back to his car, following Alliana back to an old, crumbling asylum on the outskirts of town.

Unfortunately for the film makers the town is in Romania where this was shot not Hollywood as we're meant to believe.

Mary Ann kindly fills them (and us) in with the history of the place, from the mad mentalists that stayed there to the rumours of satanic parties held in the cellar.

Which is nice.

Having served her purpose as Ms. exposition, Mary Ann is promptly grabbed by a big hairy, cat faced man-beast before being dragged kicking and screaming into the darkness.

Rum, sodomy and the lash.

Meanwhile back at the plot Alliana has taken delivery of the gangsters body to one Dr. Moreau (the homeless yet still leathery of balls Sean Connery lookalike and recovering alcoholic Witkin from Showgirls), who ably assisted by his two favourite 'manimals' the aforementioned kitty masked Peewee (Smith) and a whiny voiced dwarf in a pig costume named Gallagher (Badalamenti II: Electric Boogaloo - but no Simon McCorkindale alas) are on the lookout for spare body parts to help accelerate the transition of his genetically altered manimals to full human status.

As one does.

Unfortunately for all involved, Jeff Badman had a shocking dose of the clap when he died rendering his organs useless so it's a good thing that Alliana's been followed by the hunky Eric and co. isn't it?

I mean, there's no way they'd have any STD's and the like.

Well, except Jessica Lancaster obviously, I felt unclean just looking at her if I'm honest.

Up the casino for coppers? Yesch!

In between all this furry back biting and faintly embarrassing animal acting it transpires that poor old Moreau’s not actually in charge of this so called house of pain and it's the manimals (all three of them) that are pulling the strings, each with their own convoluted agenda.

Firstly Alliana, who it turns out is actually a humanised leopard, wants a young studly mate, Peewee (half mountain lion, half carpet) wants to break stuff and cheeky little Gallagher is constantly horny and just wants somewhere to put his teeny tiny cock.

So who's got there eye on Eric and who's got there eye on Judith do you think?

Your mum, having a stroke.

If that wasn't enough to keep you interested there's also a shady Chinaman named Pak Mon (Aum) drunkenly stumbling around the asylum whilst carrying a big stick in one hand and a huge oven chip on his shoulder.

You see, he was once Moreau’s assistant back in the 'Island of' days when Moreau (for a laugh obviously) experimented on Pak's young daughter Gorgona (Ushijima, bless you), leaving her stuck with half a fish-face and a mouldy oven glove for a hand.

Back in the basement (and seemingly unconcerned by Mary Ann's disappearance) Eric and Judith continue to wander around aimlessly until they're captured by a still horny Gallagher and an incredibly frustrated Peewee; it seems he accidentally crushed Mary Ann's ribcage whilst trying to unbutton her blouse, meaning the poor lovelorn sod has taken to sulkily carrying her bloodied corpse around on his shoulder whimpering like a small girl.

Realising that there haven't been any gratuitous tit shots for about twenty minutes, Alliana takes Eric back to her boudoir for a bout of sweaty naked cat sex, which comes across about as erotically as watching your Gran shagging one of your school chums.

All I could think of was how much Alliana looked as if she could do with a pie.

Oh, and how I'd never tire of kicking Eric in the face.

I'm sorry, it was one of those days.

Jade Goody: From beyond the gravy.

Whilst Eric heads back to his cage and Alliana lies purring whilst wriggling around in the damp patch Pak and Moreau are enjoying their weekly debate about the ethics of biosynthesis (or some other bollocks leaving that wee tinker Gallagher attempting to woo Judith with a bowl of soup and an offer of an escape route.

All she has to do is stand in the corner and do a little striptease whilst the pig-faced one enjoys a crafty Barclays and she's home free.

Judith, after much deliberation accepts his offer and slowly shows her big black pants.

Admit it, you've done much worse when you've not had your taxi fair, I know I have.

Her leopard super sense tingling added to the noticeable waft of damp yeast eminating from Judith's cage sends Alliana into a shag frenzy (what? again?) and, stopping only to dress up as a whores Christmas tree she chases after Eric for (sloppy) seconds leaving poor Judith, stripped to her suspender belt and with her newly paid for breasts hanging limply like rocks in a rucksack at the mercy of Gallagher.

It seems that our porcine pal has changed the deal and is already tearing at his trousers with his stinky trotters in anticipation of this little piggy squealing all the way home....

And if this indignity wasn't enough for poor Judith, it appears that Pak has persuaded Moreau (by hitting him repeatedly over the head with a wine bottle) to use her body to repair the damage done to his daughter.

But alas not get rid of the smell of fishpaste that follows her around.

Will Eric have enough energy left to rescue Judith?

Will we actually get to see the oft promised girl on pig action rather than it keep cutting back to two old men arguing?

Will Alliana ever put some clothes on?

I'm not telling, I mean I sat thru' the whole fucking travesty so you can too.

"Shite in mah mooth now you porky bastard!"

Ah Charles Band, boyhood hero to any self respecting cult film fan growing up in the eighties. Amongst the many classics he brought us were lo-budget gems like Trancers, Robot Jocks and Laserblast (my first CB movie, show way back in '78 as a double bill with The Muppet Movie) and his production company gave us From Beyond and Re-Animator to name just a few.

Which makes it all the more tragic that he's been reduced to churning out hideously average shite like this.

An unofficial (you're kidding me) sequel to the HG Wells classic novel with a budget that can only stretch to three Halloween masks and one actual actor in the cast, House of Pain is hellishly performed by it's minuscule cast of never-beens and wannadies, horribly lit in bright primary colours (imagine a hyper-active child remaking Suspiria and you're a third of the way there) with actors so uniformly unattractive that you begin to start fancying the poor sod in the fish mask by the movies end, just because the quick glimpse you get of her right breast shows that it's the only non-augmented, natural thing in the film.

Fuck, even the brick lined cellar is plastic.

"Laugh now!"

But (and there's always a big but - just not on any of the emaciated female cast) it turns into a wee bit of a car crash, you just can't turn away or turn off.

Or maybe that was just the amount of cheap sherry I'd necked previously.

I'm just glad it's over if I'm honest.

when cosplay goes (really) bad part 10.

2009-12-08T01:32:00.001-08:00

lady ga ga.

2009-12-07T11:13:00.000-08:00

Dreams do come true!

After accidentally sitting thru' Species III recently then bemoaning the fact that I hadn't yet seen Species IV you'll never guess what turned up on teevee t'other night.

God bless you ITV 2!

Species: The Awakening (AKA Species IV. 2007).
Dir: Nick Lyon.
Cast: Ben Cross, Roger Cudney, Helena Mattsson, Dominic Keating and Marlene Favela.

Unrated? unnecessary more like.

Tefal headed, blonde poppet Miranda (Mattsson, soon to be seen in Iron Man 2) is your normal everyday swotty student. Orphaned when her parents died in a bad smash she lives with her horse faced, doting uncle Tom Hollinder (Cross whose ex-wives must have been begging for extra cash that month), a professor of clever things at the local university.

Miranda it seems is getting very excited for not only are they moving to The England (that's in Europe near France for our American friends) in the summer but she's got a hot date with the gorgeous Ted Sexington that very night!

Nervously combing her hair forward to hide her massive brow, Tom looks on proudly (but not perversely, well not yet) at his niece as she takes those first faltering steps into adulthood.

Aw, sweet.

Ben Cross? I'd be fucking raging.

But this is a Species movie so it comes as no surprise when Tom wakes the next morning to find Miranda's room empty.

Where could she be?

Well, it seems that she's turned up stark bollock naked in a park, unconscious and covered in big green veins a wee bit like a lump of milky white smooth cheese.

Luckily a passing jogger (a blink and miss it cameo from the fantastic Gregg Lucas, who you may remember as the catering assistant on the Vin Diesel epic Pitch Black) finds poor Miranda and carries her to the local hospital.

At least I hope it's local cos her head must weigh about the same as a really big melon.

Fearing the worst (and anxious to get the plot moving) Uncle Tom (no, not this one) rushes to the very same hospital to see if she's there.

Whilst he sweatily drives across town it seems that Miranda has gone all green, gooey and bullet nippled, running round the wards and butchering anyone she comes across in a flurry of cheap CGI carnage.

Which is nice, if a little unexpected this early into the movie.

"Sssshhhhiiiiiimmmmooooooooo!"

Tom arrives just in time to find a sweaty Miranda, her ample arse pointing skyward lying face down in the ladies toilet. Quickly injecting her with what looks like washing up liquid he scoops her into his arms, pops her in the back of the car and drives away towards Mexico.

Where it's cheaper to film shite like this obviously.

Waking up on the back seat and confused as to why she's covered in egg, semen and blood Miranda, looking for all the world like a freshly molested kitten demands her uncle tell her what the hell's going on.

With a sharp intake of breath and wearing a face of pure fizz, Tom explains to Miranda that she isn't really his niece and that she is, in fact the last of the three alien/human embryos created all the way back in the original Species.

To be honest this could all be utter tosh because all I remember from the first film is the alien having a wet dream about Michael Madsen (haven't we all?) and the aforementioned actor wandering about with a shitty wee gun whilst sweating like a cornered rapist.

Ben farted and it smelled of egg.

As if suffering from plot point diarrhoea Tom goes on to admit that he sneaks into her room at night to inject her with his 'special serum' to keep her alien half under control but that recently it appears not to be working that well.

No shit.

Anyway, it's not all bad because Tom's old workmate, a piss stained jolly old Oirishman named Forbes (Keating from Enterprise and 80's shit-com Desmonds), may have the answers to whatever it is that's wrong.

Or something.

"Tongue oot mah mooth!"

It's not long before our duo arrive in Mexico and, after booking into a grubby hotel, Tom puts Miranda to bed and heads out into town to look for his old pal. Realising that nothing of any consequence has happened for about 10 minutes a fairly foxy if milky eyed nun (the cheesily cheerful Favela) jumps off a building and lands directly in front of Tom before licking her lips in a provocative manner and pointing her breasts in his general direction.

Tom, a little surprised by these turn of events legs it back to his hotel with the nun (whose name is Azura by the way) giving chase and, after an irritating subplot about her, an old Texan man with horses teeth and a mutant cabbie (not as amusing as it sounds I'm afraid) our hero finally tracks Forbes down to his warehouse lovenest where we're introduced to the greasy little fella as he's gyrating away under Azura whilst shouting "Oh begorah!" a lot.

Inside John Leslie's mind....again.

Finishing his sexy business and wiping his cock on a tea towel, Forbes gives Miranda a thorough once over, discovering that she urgently needs a blood transfusion from a human lady to curb her alien-ness.

Yup, makes perfect scientific sense to me.

Forbes suggests they go kidnap a woman and perform the operation right now.

After a fair amount of macho posturing and heated argument Tom gives in and heads off to the local discotheque in order to find a donor.

Dancing like your dad at a wedding and drinking sherry by the bucketful, Tom quickly pulls a pure local stunner but having about as much luck on first dates as Phil Spector does It isn’t long before she has him pinned to a wall with his trousers down and threatening to shove a steak knife up his arse.

Luckily Azura comes to the rescue, knocking the woman unconscious and carrying her back to the car ready for her to feel Forbes little prick.

Of his needle that is.

Forbes and Tom (sweatily) complete the transfusion and just like in the other Species movies, Miranda cocoons herself into a giant wet leathery testicle, waiting to be reborn.

flopping suggestively out of the heaving ballsack and covered in slime, Miranda strides confidently over to Tom and Forbes, her shoddily moulded alien cheese nipples glistening in the moonlight and demands some of the sex.

Beware the stare of Subo!

Tom flatly refuses to oblige and Forbes, not wanting to upset Azura says no too, leaving Miranda to quickly fondle Azura's breasts (wahey!) before storming grumpily off into the night for an evening of shagging and murder....

Will they find Miranda before it's too late?

Too late for what I'm not sure.

Will she and Azura go head to head in a rubber suited slimy alien lesbian shagfest?

Or will mankind be destroyed by an ever increasing army of extra terrestrial shag whores?

Admit it, even a quick titfuck would kill you.

I hate to admit it but Species: The Awakening is by far the best chapter in this whole sorry saga, gone is the cod seriousness that blighted part one and the rather unpleasant air of misogyny that permeated the second film is no more and by ignoring the continuity wankfest that was part three The Awakening comes across as more of a relaunch than a bona fide sequel, dragging the ultimately 'B' movie premise (sexy aliens want to shag and kill you!) kicking and screaming from A list land to the silicon enhanced, dirty back alleys of direct to DVD Avenue.

Right where it should be.

Everything about the film is a constant; the acting from everyone involved is uniformly bad as are the effects, fake breasts and even faker accents but in context you'd be disappointed were it otherwise. Obviously it never reaches the dizzy heights of such scifi/horror hybrids as the fantastic Contamination or even Xtro, if you have a wee boy in the family (or living nearby or even that you chat to online whilst pretending to be a 14 year old girl) this is the perfect introduction to the genre we call 'shite-fi'.

Hats of to director Lyon (who, according to that bastion of truth the IMDB, enjoys painting, sculpting, writing, music, theatre, photography, philosophy and even performance art) and the fact that he's not half the tortured artist or cinematic genius he thinks he is.

Can I just add tho', before I sign off, that although I appear to have made out that this film is in fact not too bad and, gulp, fairly enjoyable it is at the end of the week a pile of utter shite.

Phew, glad that's sorted.

november stiffs.

2009-12-01T05:41:00.000-08:00

The Grim Reaper appeared to be busy going thru' my DVD collection last month cheekily stealing the souls of a good few Unwell movie favourites including the star of the greatest Spanish movie ever, Antonio Mercero's fantastic La Cabina. So no more missed calls for the great José Luis López Vázquez de la Torre alongside African American storyteller, actor, street performer and star of Romero's Arthurian biker epic Knight Riders, Hugh Morgan Hill, (AKA Brother Blue).

Toho stalwart Hisaya Morishige, most famous for his roles in the comedy epics Shacho and the Ekimae series laughed his last as well as Hong Kong hardman, Shaw Brothers star and famous garment magnate Chan Hung-lit (AKA Chen Hung-lieh and Golden Chan) and Eurotrash star Tony Kendall (AKA Luciano Stella). Formerly a model for Italian Fumetti comics, Kendall appeared in such classics as Brennus Enemy of Rome, the Kommissar X series and Return of the Blind Dead to name a few.

November also saw the death (but not by fire) of the legendary Edward Woodward, best known as the star of the top teevee spy drama Callan, US vigilante show The Equalizer and most famously as Police Sergeant Neil Howie in the 1973 cult British horror classic The Wicker Man.

Finally there were tears aplenty at Unwell Towers upon hearing of the death late on Sunday night of Spanish movie actor, screenwriter and director Paul Naschy (AKA Jacinto Molina).
His portrayal of numerous classic horror figures including the werewolf Waldemar Daninsky (whom he played in twelve movies), medieval warlock Alaric de Marnac and Count Dracula himself earned him recognition as the Spanish Lon Chaney culminating with King Juan Carlos I presenting Naschy with Spain's Gold Medal Award for Fine Arts in 2001 in honor of his work in the horror field.

danny boy.

2009-11-26T14:00:00.000-08:00

Christmas has come early at Unwell Towers with the arrival of one of the best cross-dressing/Nazi comedies ever thru' my letterbox.

Whilst my dear old Granddad introduced me to the joys of Saturday night B & W horror double bills as a child it was my Nan (she of Cannibal Ferox and not murdering wee boys fame) who opened (some would say poisoned) my young mind to the joys of Dick Emery, Norman Wisdom, Lord Bruce of Forsyth and the fantastic Danny La Rue.

You see, in her younger days she worked at the local theatre cum 'entertainment' club and would often chat away to these Gods of British comedy whilst selling fags in a strange hat.

Which as a small child made summer trips to Blackpool interesting as you'd never guess who'd accost her in the street next.

One day it'd be Tarbie the next 'Mad' Max Bygraves.

Tho' I feel I must confess that none of them ever gave me sweets or commented on my kissy lips.

Bastards.

And you wonder why I grew up the way I did?

Our Miss Fred (AKA Beyond The Call of Duty, Operation: Fred. 1972).
Dir: Bob Kellett
Cast: Danny La Rue, Alfred Marks, Lance Percival, Lally Bowers, Frances de la Tour, Walter Gotell, Jenny Twigge, Frank Thornton, Cyril Shaps and Barrie Gosney.

"You're all woman and something more!"
"You're right!"

Pretty of mouth and slender of hip Thespian Fred Wimbush (the worlds greatest female impersonator and my real Dad La Rue) is busy preparing what will undoubtedly be the greatest ever performance of Hamlet for the British publics viewing pleasure but, as is always the case in these situations, those pesky Germans decide to start the Second World War forcing our hero to do the right thing and join the army as a manly (albeit grease covered) mechanic type.

Your Granddad did. Twice.

Although Fred enjoys his oil covered antics, banging his tool and cracking his nuts all day, he misses the roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd so decides to join one of the army's stage troupes.

Unfortunately the only place left is that of a female impersonator.

What are the chances?

Swallowing his pride (and tucking his ample tackle between his smooth thighs) Fred throws himself wholeheartedly into the role and soon finds himself shipped off to France to 'entertain' the troops.

Everything is going swimmingly until one night, halfway thru' Fred's rousing melody of Cher hits a squad of Jew hating, minority exterminating (yet incredibly well dressed) Nazis burst in and take every single one of the soldiers prisoner.

Everyone that is except Fred.

You see, his drag act is so convincing that the Germans have mistaken him for a real woman!

Seizing his chance, Fred totters out of the theatre in an attempt to evade capture (and possibly a severe arse shagging) by the nasty Nazi's and get back to dear old Blighty before his true gender is discovered and he's shot as a spy.

And then arse shagged.

"The gas bill's HOW much?"

Dodging horny, garlic eating Frenchmen and randy, sausage guzzling German soldiers along the way, Fred finally joins forces with two upper crust English schoolteachers, Miss Flodden (Harry Worth sidekick Bowers) and Miss Lockhart (Rising Damps Ms. Jones, the horse faced yet vaguely erotic de la Tour) plus their group of sex starved schoolgirls (none of whom are under 25) stuck in Paris after a trip to the Louvre.

Or something.

Comme quoi se sent-il pour
être merde dans la bouche?"

This causes even more problems for poor Fred, you see even tho' he's camp as pants with scary blue rinsed man-gran hair he is, in fact the most heterosexual man on the planet and can barely control his almost John Leslie-like urges and stop himself from jumping on the schoolies, ripping off their flimsy white cotton shirts before cupping their smooth, budding breasts and knobbing them senseless.

Especially as the script has then continuously bending over and exposing their huge blue pants and formidable 1970's arses.

Which I'll admit had me fairly aroused but Danny La Rue?

Sometimes you just find it impossible to suspend your disbelief.

Somewhere to leave your Grifter.

Suddenly veering from trannie-based action movie to tragically camp holiday sightseeing film with endless scenes of Fred and co. travelling thru war torn France on a lorry singing the classic schoolyard (well, it was if you attended Hogwarts like me) ditty Hitler Has Only Got One Ball, the pace suddenly picks up with the introduction of Fred's nemesis, the evil, Gerbil cheeked General Brincker (Brit Teevee stalwart Marks) who (not too surprisingly) falls for Fred's ample charms (and curvy buttocks) and invites our hero to join him for a romantic dinner in a scene so great that it was copied (sorry, homaged) in the criminally underrated 2001 Stefan Ruzowitzky movie All The Queen's Men.

Only this time the pairing was of a tarted up Matt LeBlanc (who actually looked hot as fuck) and the world's sexiest man, Dame Udo of Kier, dressed to the nines in a gorgeous white SS uniform.

My pants have never recovered.

But I digress.

"Believe us, you wouldn't survive the titwank!"

Discovering that the have a transvestite and a group of young girls trapped behind enemy lines (and needing a way to steer the movie to a climax that doesn't involve Fred being forced to fellate a Luger whilst a trouser-less and scarily aroused General Brincker orders his troops to violently deflower the defenceless schoolgirls), the British Army have no choice but to send their best man in to rescue them.

Enter (roughly from behind obviously) the Rat-faced upper crust air force officer Colonel Smallpiece (Percival) who, knowing Fred's true identity (if not his sexuality) rushes over to France to save his friend and hopefully score some underage tail for himself in the process.

But will he get to Fred before General Brincker discovers the truth?

What your Gran did during the War.

Written specifically as a vehicle to launch top Teevee 'comic in a frock' Danny La Rue onto the big screen (his only other movie role was in the Freddie and The Dreamers fiasco Every Day's A Holiday), Our Miss Fred is a gentle enough comedy that's as harmless as it is inconsequential.

At the time criticised due to the problem of tailoring an entire script around a man whose talent was the very theatre friendly art of female impersonation, La Rue does a good enough job of holding his own whilst the dependable Teevee friendly cast fire a volley of sub Talbot Rothwell Carry On gags at all and sundry.

Plus good old Danny has a stunning set of pins that even the most hetero of man would be hard pushed not to want to ski down.

And you can't say fairer that that.

sexohot!

2009-11-26T07:10:00.000-08:00

monkey trouble.

2009-11-24T06:15:00.000-08:00

Nuff said.

when cosplay goes bad (9).

2009-11-24T06:12:00.000-08:00

I'm running the gauntlet with this seeing as my birthday's gonna be fancy dress but I couldn't resist.

"By the power of Gayskull!"

devil gate drive.

2009-11-23T10:06:00.000-08:00

It gives you a warm fuzzy feeling inside when people go out of the way to suggest things (other than to fuck off obviously) to you, so on the recommendation of the lovely Screamstress and the manly Mr. Dissolved I popped this little gem in my film slot t'other night.

The House of The Devil (2009).
Dir: Ti West.
Cast: Jocelin Donahue, Tom Noonan, Dame Mary of Woronov, Greta Gerwig, AJ Bowen and Dee Wallace.

I spy Norman Price's handiwork.

Button nosed and boyish hipped beauty Samantha (Donahue, last seen covered in dirt in the JT Petty classic The Burrowers) is just a normal, everyday college girl trying to make her way in life, juggling with her coursework and saddled with a man-faced whore of a room mate whilst trying to make ends meet.

But an end to her flatmate troubles may be in sight when Samantha finds a perfect house for rent. It's homely and the landlady (the fantastic Wallace in a blink and miss it cameo) is desperate to give Samantha a chance.

The only problem is that she can't afford to pay the rent.

Aw, it's heartbreaking I know.

Heading back to campus with a heavy heart (and a nice line in knitwear) Sam notices a flyer advertising for a babysitter pinned to the notice board.

It doesn't pay much but it'll help towards her dream house (note: dream house, not devil house) so Sam calls the number.

The phone is answered by the softly spoken Mr. Viv Ulman (genre giant Noonan from The Monster Squad, Manhunter and Robocop 2 amongst others) who quickly accepts her offer and arranges to pick her up so she can get acquainted with the wee bairn within the hour.

Nothing like being keen I guess.

Rushing excitedly to the front steps of the building Samantha sits and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Being nice but dim it takes our heroine about 4 hours to realise that she's been stood up by the mysterious Mr. Ulman but being a sassy kinda gal, Samantha cheers herself up by sharing a pizza with her best bud Megan (indie chick type Gerwig who, for once is fully clothed and not playing the trumpet in a bath).

Heading back to her smelly, semen encrusted room and prepared for a night of study and soda, Samantha is surprised to find that Ulman has left her a message apologising for the earlier mix up and is wondering if she's still free for babysitting.

That very night.

It seems that Mr Ulman and his long suffering wife Tracy (Amazonian uber-MiLF Woronov) have some very important business to attend to that can only be done during that evening lunar eclipse. Their regular babysitter has let them down and they'd be more than happy to double Samantha's pay if she'll say yes.

To the job that is, not just say yes randomly on the phone.

"Hat on mah heid!"

Samantha quickly phones Megan for a lift (the Ulman's live in the middle of nowhere, what a surprise) and seeing as she has no pressing nude scenes that night, she agrees to take her pal to the Ulman residence.

Once at the house the girls are met by the peg-legged Viv who, after some stilted small talk about pizza and the price of cheese makes a strange admission.

You see it appears that when Mr. Ulman said he needed a sitting for his wee baby what he really meant was that he needed someone to sit in the house and listen out for his mother in law who, after a stroke (of the non sexual kind obviously) has been left bedridden (sort of) and occasionally requires a cup of tea taken up to her (probably).

"But don't worry" coos Viv, "you won't actually have to make her drinks because she's asleep, so you can spend the night watching teevee and eating pizza".

And on that bombshell he offers Samantha 400 bucks and a Kinder Surprise from the attic.

Beard of evil.

Hesitating whilst she weighs up the pros ($400, free pizza) and cons (this bloke's a nutter, he's insistent that Megan goes home) Samantha is finally persuaded to take the job when Mr. Ulman starts crying and jigging about on his good leg.

Pushover.

But saying that, what could possibly go wrong?

A house (of the Devil) yesterday.

Take a smattering of goodness from the frequently overlooked late 70's/early 80's Demon possession genre, mix with a smidgen of babysitter under siege and marinate with a healthy dose of video boom nostalgia and you're someway to creating something as creepily enjoyable as Ti West's horror love sonnet The House Of The Devil.

Given his previous track record (Cabin Fever 2, a movie that not even Lion's Gate can be arsed releasing? how scary is that?) I'd have usually given a film like this a (very) wide berth had it not been for the wise words of the two aforementioned folk who's choice of films (if not in Mr. Dissolved's case his choice to wear his dads grey Hush Puppies when his feet are sore) I don't baulk at.

And I'm glad I did.

Shot in a perfect copy of that stark cold eighties style, West's genuine admiration for that particular time in film making is obvious from the first frame, capturing as it does (and in perfect detail) the whole look and feel of that bygone time without once descending into kitsch or parody and with neither a wink nor nudge.

It's like a breath of fresh air blowing away the rancid belch breath of Hollywood horror.

"Is that a knife in your hand or
just a strange shaped erection?"

Starting quietly and slowly building toward it's climax, The House of The Devil is more about the nail biting tension and the uncomfortable mood created by the journey rather than the destination and whilst the pay off is somewhat obvious from the start, it's played with enough conviction by the cast as to not really matter.

"Blood in mah mooth!"

A freaky flashback to times gone by for all of us on the wrong side of 30 and a fantastic lesson in minimalist chills for all those poor youngsters force fed a diet of Hostel clones and Halloween remakes.

bonnie.

2009-11-20T11:53:00.000-08:00

Perusing my local charity shop again today and I came across (quite literally) this for one measly quid.

Bargain!

As an aside, who knew Bonnie Langford had such a great arse?

hungary like the, um, snake?

2009-11-18T15:16:00.000-08:00

From 1987, the first part of the Hungarian bootleg Cobra comic adaptation.

Enjoy!

Obviously it helps if you speak Hungarian.

yellow peril.

2009-11-13T03:27:00.000-08:00

Another year, another Argento film released to mild audience apathy and a hostile reaction from the critics.

Unfortunately my 'press credentials' (a cut out Daily Bugle card stuck in the side of a trilby and a cardboard box painted up as a camera) weren't enough to get me in to see it at it's Edinburgh premiere earlier this year, so I've had to wait with baited breath for a screener to arrive.

Well, was it worth the wait?

Giallo (2009).
Dir: Dario Argento.
Cast: Adrien Brody, Emmanuelle Seigner, Elsa Pataky, Valentina Izumi, Linda Messerlinker, Taiyo Yamanouchi, Giuseppe Lo Console and Byron Deidra.

The cosmopolitan city of Turin, where two foxy girls about town, the teeny tiny Keiko and her man chinned pal Marjorie are enjoying a (fairly stilted) night at the opera.

Realising that this is an Argento movie and that watching a fat bird sing is, in this situation a fair way to get killed (or at the very least shat on by crows) they decide to bid their farewells and hit a local discotheque instead, hoping to find some hot tunes and even hotter men.

Fat chance of that seeing as the place is full of greasy haired, tight t-shirted 80's throwbacks dancing badly to cheesy Europop, including one poor sod wearing a t-shirt with a suit and bow tie printed on it.

If anyone in this movie deserves to die then it's him quite frankly.

Nice legs, shame about the imminent face cutting.

When Keiko manages to pull the only bloke in the place under fifty, Marjorie reckons she'd have better fun with the wobbly plastic pal she keeps under her pillow so decides to head back to the hotel.

With brightly lit rain pouring down in that heavy, Suspiria fashion and Marjorie having a high, hairsprayed bonce, she quickly flags a passing taxi and jumps into the comfy back seat, little realising that the cab driver is a notorious kidnapper and mutilator of fit young birds.

Arse.

"Teeth in mah mooth!"

It's not long before she's being taken down a deserted alley (which is, I must admit better than being taken up the casino) and jumped on by the driver.

Which is nice.

Tho' not as nice as the beautiful catwalk (as opposed to Airfix) model Celine (Beyond Re-Animator's Pataky), who is counting the hours (and pretty frocks) till she can head home to see her older, harsher sister Linda (Mrs. Roman Polanski, Seigner), recently arrived from America on a visit.

Wouldn't you know it tho' but on her way back to her apartment, Celine has the bizarre misfortune of hailing the same taxi as poor Marjorie, soon finding herself injected in the face with drugs, her expensive shoes stolen and a final indignity waking up in a dirty, egg stained, spunk encrusted basement owned by a Mister Tony Yellow.

A moon faced slobbering beast of a bloke so named because of his yellow jaundiced skin.

Before we move on I'd just like to point out that Mr. Yellow is portrayed by one 'Byron Deidra' (which could be an anagram of the lead actors name if I'm not mistaken) in a frankly magnificent tour de force performance the like of which hasn't been since Lord Udo of Kier fondled a sheep's innards during Flesh For Frankenstein.

Showing us all just why he won nine awards (including an Oscar) for his heartbreaking turn as Wladyslaw Szpilman in The Pianist, Brody (wearing a fat suit, dirty vest and a Bo Selecta! Mel B. mask) brings a truly subtle sense of realism to Yellow. Whether he's mumbling profanities at various chained women or simply having a sly wank whilst staring at photographs of his victims, the performance is truly terrifying.

No, really.

It's as if that Brody, for a giggle during rehearsals decided to do a drunken Robert DeNiro impression to amuse the crew and, not wanting anyone to steal his crown as the giallo joker, Argento called his bluff and told him that it would be a perfect way to play the villain.

Obviously neither of them wanted to admit defeat so the performance stayed in.

"Laugh now!"

Anyway back to the plot.

When Celine fails to return home, a worried (I think she's worried, tho' she does spend a fair amount of the film frowning) Linda heads over to the local police station, where she ends up interrupting an important pizza delivery much to the annoyance of the desk sergeant who hurriedly sends her off to the cellar, hang out of the maverick no nonsense inspector Enzo Avolfi (Brody).

Moody, mysterious and armed with a sexy beard (and with a great line in 1980's blouson jackets), Avolfi is a cop on the edge, haunted by the death of his mother at the hands of the bald bloke from Do You Like Hitchcock? and obsessed with finding the maniac responsible for this recent spate of murders.

"Wahey! Stop starin' at me tits mon!"

"Kiss kiss no more... wakey wakey!"

But time is running out for Celine and as more and more bodies begin turning up in the city, the only clue to the killers identity is a word whispered by a dying Japanese victim....

"kiiroi".

"This is the most extreme case of
mooth shite-in I have ever seen!"

After the cinematic abortion that was the final ten minutes of The Third Mother and the pantomime villainy of The Card Player you'd be forgiven (by some people but not me) for thinking the the master of the home haircut, Mr. Dario Argento had lost his mojo.

I say lost but from the evidence it seems more likely that it was violently removed from his chest with the same rusty nail scissors he cuts his fringe with.

I'll be the first to admit that the performances veer wildly from the kite flying, crack fuelled excesses of Adrien Brody to the almost narcoleptic lows of Emmanuelle Seigner and yes, the labyrinthine Argento plots of old have been replaced by characters randomly shouting out facts for no other reason than to get the story done and dusted but what the Hell I loved every minute of it.

Coming across like a cut price, lobotomised version of Tenebrae, it's true that it lacks that certain 'something' that made Argento's earlier such a joy but how much of that is down to the director and how much is down to the well publicised studio interference?

"I can see your house from here Jesus!"

But come to the film with the right mindset (or a head full of red) and there's plenty to enjoy.

Including the earlier mentioned masturbation scene, which is well on the way to becoming the greatest cinematic wank since Harvey Keitel cracked off a Barclay's in The Bad Lieutenant and, on a more serious (if less sticky) note, Frederic Fasano's lush cinematography coupled with the Danny Elfman-esque score from Marco Werba.

Guilty pleasures don't come better than this.

sports for all.

2009-11-12T11:17:00.000-08:00

I've never been the sportiest of folk so I must admit I do love a chance to take the piss out of misguided attempts to make the idea of big muscled men kicking balls about and showering together cool......

Way back in 1992 there was a vaguely amusing Nike commercial featuring Godzilla and a giant-sized Sir Charles Barkley (or was it a normal sized Barkley, a man in a rubber suit and a miniature cityscape?) playing basketball in the streets of Tokyo.

As funny as it was (slightly at best) God only knows why Dark Horse decided to stretch it out to 48 arse numbing pages in this full colour one off.

Tho' as a plus point it did feature Godzilla wearing a pair of trainers 'slam dunking' (as those pesky Americans say) a ball.

Marvel obviously had to go one better.

Nuff said?

spider (non)sense.

2009-11-12T08:09:00.000-08:00

No idea why but it made me chuckle.....

web swinger.

2009-11-11T05:56:00.000-08:00

Regular readers of this blog (or should that read the regular reader of this blog) will no doubt be aware that it's very unusual for me to have a nice word to say about anyone or anything, unless of course they're:

A. Bigger than me.

B. I owe them money.

Or (and this is the most important reason)

C. I'm involved in some (however small) way and fancy a wee bit o' hero worship (as opposed to the usual death threats and the like).

Glad that's all sorted then, now pay attention cos here's the science part.

Welcome to 'sunny' Glasgow, the largest city in Scotland and third most largest in the United Kingdom.

A city with a history of engineering, shipbuilding and science and a present filled with superheroes, demons, vampires and gangsters.

Welcome to the world of Night is Day.

Sexy laydee splash-page
by a very sexy man from
the online strip 'Tales of Demons'.

Originally broadcast on the web, the series has spawned spin-off comics (with some frankly fantastic artwork) and an ever growing worldwide fan base (including some major cult celebs oh, and Peter Davison) culminating with the entire first season being made available on DVD.

Bad guy Mr. Philips might look like an evil
bastard now but just wait till the fucking starts.

With a second series currently nearing completion there's never been a better time to explore the world of reluctant hero Jason Mackenzie, an everyday kinda guy with everyday problems.

Oh, and the supernatural powers of a demon.

Interested?

Well head over here for more info.

Can I have my kids back now Fraser?

the parahandy experience.

2009-11-09T15:55:00.000-08:00

Everyone and their dog seems to have an opinion on Paranormal Activity right now with camps split between 'it's class' or 'it's pants' - and with a tragic few more interested in the size/shape of the lead actresses arse.

Yes, I did say actress because, contrary to what some sad individuals on IMDB think, it's not real.

The film I mean, I'm assuming the arse is.

Reportedly made for just $11,000 over a period of seven days, does scarily monikered Oren Peli's debut feature live up to the horrible hype or is it just some kind of phantom menace?

Welcome to fright night!

Paranormal Activity (2007).
Dir: Oren Peli.
With Katie Featherston, Micah Sloat, Mark Fredrichs, Ashley Palmer and Amber Armstrong.

What happens when I sleep?
farting mainly.

Young, upwardly mobile (and sickeningly loved up) couple Katie (shelf shouldered, trailer park Katie Perry-alike Featherston) and Micah (rat toothed, bowl headed Sloat) have recently moved into a rather palatial house together after dating steadily for a few years.

Hang on, it's no' one o' them lassies films is it?

Luckily the paint isn't even dry on the walls before the couple begin to experience strange paranormal type bangs and crashes around the house, you know the score; lights blinking on and off, doors slamming, toilets flushing etc.

Micah, like any normal guy rushes out and buys a huge, fuck off camera in the hope of:

A. Getting some evidence of the spook on camera

and more importantly

B. Filming Katie with her kit off.

"I kissed a girl then was damned to Hell".

It turns out that poor Katie is no stranger to world of the strange, having had the willies put up her for the first time as an podgy ickle eight year old, when she had a shadowy night time visitor who enjoyed nothing more than scaring the shite out of her and her wee sister.

This came to an end tho' when the family home mysteriously burned to the ground.

Nice.

Ever since then, the mysterious 'presence' has followed chisel chinned Katie wherever she goes, making itself known by standing over her bed and breathing heavily.

A bit like your dad used to do to you when drunk.

Obviously Micah is oh so slightly annoyed that she never told him any of this before they moved in together but soon comes to see the possible haunting as a new hobby, taking over from his usual masturbation based, Pot Noodle sessions in front of his big teevee whilst watching Pimp My Mooth on MTV, which can only be a good thing really.

"I'm Katie, come sleep in mah bed".

Katie, getting slowly more shot to fuck as the film progresses (you can tell because her shorts keep getting tinier and tinier) persuades Micah to let her invite an eminent ghost-science type, Dr. Jeff Psychic (Bayouth from Wristcutters: A Love Story) around to check all this strange shit out.

Micah, busily nibbling on cheese and dodging next doors cat agrees to the visit but is understandingly shocked when the doctor decides that what they’re facing isn’t a ghost at all but a nasty demon, intent on dragging Katie to Hell.

Hang on, that's another movie sorry.

Recoiling in horror from the flock wallpaper (yet cunningly blaming on the evil energy in the house) Jeff makes his excuses and leaves but not before giving the hapless couple a few useful tips regarding demon possessions (as in if you're possessed by one, not how to take care of their pets, clean their shoes, water their plants etc).

And the phone number of his best mate, Professor Emilio M. Demonologist.

This tips, if you're interested include:

Don't run screaming from the house to a nearby hotel, if you do the spirit will just follow you and possibly shit in the Jacuzzi.

The Demon feeds off negative energy so under no circumstances start swearing at it whilst indulging in a spate of manly posturing.

And most importantly don’t even think about buying (or borrowing) a Ouija Board and trying to contact it, cos if you do, much badness will follow.

Seems easy enough to remember so it's just a pity that mousy Micah was too busy running around in a wheel to pay any attention then wasn't it?

By now Katie is shaking like a jelly and has given up on shorts completely, preferring a large pair of grey granny pants, whilst Mighty Micah, being manly and all, has decided to handle the demon in his own studly manner.

Yep, he's taken to wandering round the house in his boxers shouting "Is that all yo' got fucker?" whilst making fist gestures at the ceiling.

Hmmmm.....I have a feeling that this isn't going to end well at all.

"Fuck me! It's John Leslie!"

Made way back in 2007, Paranormal Activity seemed to appear from nowhere a few months back, hyped to buggery and with a poster quote from Steven Spielberg to boot.

The squinty eyed bearded one, (most famous for taking absolutely no responsibility for Vic Morrow's death at the hands - and rotor blades - of coke monster John Landis, even tho' he was the producer in charge of Twilight Zone The Movie, oh and directing some films as well), reckoned it was the most disturbing movie he'd ever seen (tho' I'd have thought this would come close), not only that but it was reported how his toilet door would mysteriously lock itself after he'd viewed it.

Fact?

Or Hollywood bullshit?

Well, whilst in no way 'one of the scariest films of all time', Paranormal Activity still manages to deliver some finely realised chills by cunningly exploiting the universal fears of the dark and of things unknown in the shadows, cleverly concentrating on the subtle and unseen, strange noises and sounds and the effects on the couples relationship rather than on cheap scares and chills.

And whilst I can appreciate how our American cousins have gone crazy for the film, being as it is an antidote to the seemingly endless glut of anaemic remakes and teen friendly horror fodder blocking up the cinema cistern at the moment, British fans may find the whole thing disturbingly familiar to the classic BBC Halloween spooktacular Ghostwatch broadcast way back in 1992.

Roland Rat and Kevin the Gerbil:
The mooth shite-in years.

from the stories structure and setting, thru to the way information is leaked to the viewers via the use of a 'spooky' area of the house where vital evidence is found (in this case the attic, replacing the Ghostwatch 'glory hole') both are frighteningly similar in both style and substance.

Tho' Ghostwatch, climaxing as it does with it's cross dressing pedo poltergeist molesting a pyjama clad pre-teen in a cellar has the edge over it's American counterpart.

Oh, and it's also got the chat-tastic Michael Parkinson in it too, possessed by the aforementioned spook and whispering nursery rhymes to the viewers.

No competition really.

If there's any criticism of Paranormal Activity it's that after such a slow, atmospheric build up, the shoddily added subplot regarding Micah finding a Youtube video of a previous possession by the same demon jars hideously with the realism of the rest of the film.

The 'secretly' shot film with it's hastily face-painted demon girl and fake severed limbs is laughable at best but at worse goes a long way to destroying the air of tense foreboding that the director had managed to build during the previous hour.

Then there's that ending.

Rumour has it that the film actually has three (the original, a test screening one and a cinema ending), the one that I viewed, with a possessed Katie killing Micah (offscreen) before returning to the bedroom to sit and silently rock herself is fine as it stands but the addition of a couple of gun-happy coppers bursting in and shooting the poor cow seems just too much.

Like the rest of the film, director Peli should've remembered that less is more.

The same goes for the hype and PR surrounding Paranormal Activity because, sadly this nice little scare movie that should have been a surprise Halloween treat has been blown out of all proportion and couldn't possibly live up to the publicity attached to it.

Which is a shame.

So forget the hype, leave it for a year or so then surprise yourself with it on DVD.

Just don't watch Ghostwatch first.

super fly (poster) guy.

2009-11-08T07:11:00.001-08:00

Found these on my (internet-based) travels and had to share (a wee bit like I would if I had crabs).

Pay attention, here's the history part.

In the dim and distant 1980's the uprise in video cassette technology gave birth (not literally in a kind of David Cronenberg way - that would be sick) to the mobile cinema phenomena in the West African country of Ghana.

These touring cinema's (usually created by hooking up a TV and VCR to a portable generator) would travel from village to village using large barns or even tents as temporary venues.

In order to promote these showings, local artists were hired to create large advertising posters of the films. These were usually painted on used canvas flour sacks with the artists working from very little - and in some cases no - reference materials at all meaning that they often added elements of their own baring no relation to the actual movie.

The mobile cinema craze sadly began to decline in the mid-nineties with the greater availability of television and video to the countries populace and, as a result the groovy painted film posters were replaced with shoddily photocopied versions of the actual covers and advertising artwork.

So here, for your enjoyment are a few examples from that bygone age.

Enjoy!

I shall stop now before anyone begins to mistake this for one of those 'proper' film blogs with well researched posts etc. I mean, I'd hate you to come away from here thinking you'd learned something.

something for the weekend sir?

2009-11-06T08:51:00.000-08:00

...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....