Friday, October 21, 2016

flesh gore-dom.

Before we begin let me just get my favourite quote from this (any?) movie out of the way:

"She may not know much about chemistry, but in bed, her reactions are terrific!" 

Good, now we can begin.

Day 21 of 31 days of horror and we're bringing out the big guns.

And by big guns I mean Magrit Evelyn Newton's breasts.


Tho' I may actually be referring yo the M-16 assault rifles carried by Frank 'Garfeeld' and José Gras during the film.

You decide.

Zombie Creeping Flesh (AKA Apocalipsis caníbal, Zombi 5: Ultimate Nightmare, Hell of the Living Dead, Inferno dei morti-viventi, Virus, Cannibal Virus 1980)
Dir: Bruno Mattei (AKA Vincent Dawn)
Cast: Magrit Evelyn Newton, Frank 'Garfeeld', José Gras, Josep Lluís Fonoll, Gabriel Renom, Bob Carolgees and Selan Karay.

This cover scared the living shite out of me as a kid. Fact.

Somewhere (cheap to film) in sunny Papua New Guinea lies a top secret research facility called The Hope Centre where armies of underpaid and overworked Italian extras spend their days dressed in ill-fitting lab coats and children's Bob The Builder hats whilst ooh-ing and aah-ing over a variety of flashing lights and diode meters.

Which if I'm honest is possibly the best job in the world.

Well it would be if it weren't for the scary puppet rat that takes a fancy to one of the poor supporting artistes (who looks way too much like Harry H. Corbett for my liking) nostrils and in a vain attempt to have nose sex with him causes a gas leak that turns the entire staff into flesh-eating zombies.

Is there any other kind tho?

"There's a rat in the kitchen dirty old man!"

Cue the Goblin score to Dawn of The Dead coupled with some felt-tip titles that take us half way across the world - or 15 miles down the road - to some unnamed banana republic where the heroically chinned and scarily hairy backed Lt. Mike London (José Gras, the star of Mad Foxes) and his Quick Fit overalled four man anti-terrorist squad are being deployed to eliminate a group of sweaty, bearded working class types who've taken the directors family hostage inside the local council offices.

These tinker terrorists are demanding the closing down of every Hope Centre in the world due to them being a cover for something bad (probably), which of course both the government and the military deny.

Well they would wouldn't they?

Bored with sitting about looking manly, London and co. fire tear gas into the building before bursting in and machine gunning all the bad guys.

In the face.

Fuck yeah.

Children beware, their Jeep is not full of sweets.

Once the mission is completed and the bodies bagged our heroes receive an important communiqué from whichever fascist police state they work for informing them that all communication with Hope Centre has been lost and, seeing as this wannabe A-Team is a far as the budget can stretch when it comes to supplying a small army, they've to head out to New Guinea right away.

On arrival our oddly hatted he-men take in the scenery and wildlife as they drive aimlessly around what looks like a kiddies sandpit, failing totally to notice that a number of animals they encounter are all moving in slow motion on differentiating qualities of film stock whilst others just stand in the background as tho' stuffed.

An effect of the chemical leak surely?

There's unfortunately not enough time to discuss this because it's about now that we meet bubble haired journalist Lia Rousseau (Newton from Hunter of the Apocalypse) and her cameraman Barney (ex-Tiswas star Carolgees), who're busy chasing the same story.

I mean the Hope centre one by the way, not the actual film plot because that would be a waste of time and effort on all parts.

Anyway, London (the character not the city obviously), realizing that Rousseau's breasts will probably be the most entertaining things we're going to see in the next 90 minutes offers to take them along for the ride.

Magrit Evelyn Newton's tits yesterday.

As their journey takes them ever closer to the facility (encountering amongst other things, even more grainy and scratchy stock footage of animals and even grainier stock footage of African tribes plus a few - none stock footage - zombies), London's crack team come across (not in that way tho' it'd brighten things up) a native village that's been recently attacked by persons unknown.

No chance it could be zombies then?

Our haircut dodging heroes desperately need information on the attack if they're to stand any chance of completing their mission and as luck would have it, Lia not content with being the video nasty equivalent of Anne Diamond is also a trained anthropologist, specializing in the tribes of New Guinea.

How convenient is that?

As we all know, the best way to communicate with a primitive tribe is to strip stark bollock (or in this case boob) naked, cover your breasts and face in poster paint and then just waltz on into town.

Frank Sidebottom always enjoyed judging the annual Ms. Timperly competition.

You may laugh but it seems to do the trick, as the team are all invited for dinner and the chance to sit thru' some stock footage (surprise) of various tribal burial rights before rounding off the evenings entertainment with a wee bit of a dance.

Luckily some zombies turn up (finally) giving our heroes a chance to quickly drive away whilst the defenseless villagers are violently massacred.

Which is nice.

Stopping a short while later (far enough away that they can't hear the screams) London and his boys decide to rest up in a deserted plantation where hopefully they can find some supplies and maybe even a ballet tutu or two (too).


It seems that the bald pated Lt. Oswald Osbourne (Fonoll) has gone a wee bit fruit loops due to the intense heat and is desperate to find his feminine side.


Rooting around the building in search of some old ladies underwear to change into, Osbourne discovers whom he takes to be the plantation owner, a wrinkly old woman, asleep in a rocking chair.

Moving slowly closer (well your hole is your hole after all) our lewd Lieutenant is shocked to find that the uncomfortable hardness of his throbbing manhood isn't the only thing stiff in the room...the old biddy is dead and the rocking motion is due to an ickle pussy cat eating its way thru' her chest.

Gah indeed.

And just when you thought things couldn't get any more uncomfortable, the Zimmer using zombie stands up and slowly totters towards a visibly repulsed Osbourne whilst pulling a terrifying cum face.

It's like waking up with your gran's face buried in the damp muskiness of your crotch.


What your dad really gets up to on his darts night.

Screaming like wee lassies at a Gary Glitter concert the team barely make it out alive, in fact poor old Osbourne doesn't, he's unfortunately killed whilst wearing a top hat and a green ballet tutu as the house is quickly overrun - well as quickly as zombies can totter - by the undead.

Eventually, Rousseau, her bullet-like nipples rubbing against her rough yet functional cheesecloth blouse and the remains of London's team battle their way to a local boating lake cum kiddies paddling pool where, after commandeering a dingy begin the final leg of their journey to the Hope Centre.

And it's about fucking time if I'm honest.

Inside Michael Barrymore's mind.

Paddling ever nearer to the complex it soon becomes apparent (thanks to even more stock footage, this time of what looks like a school PTA meeting) what the Hope Centre project actually entails.

It seems that their top secret plan to alleviate world hunger actually involves harvesting the bodies of the dead as a cheap food source.

Soylent Green anyone?

Ironically tho', with the chemical leak causing the dead to rise the worlds starving will now devour us.

Hang on, that's a wee bit serious for this kind of film isn't it?

"Laugh now!"

Suffice to say that when they finally reach the centre things go from bad to very bad via a quick trip to badsville; the scarily Argento fringed Zantoro (Frank Garfeeld AKA Franco Garofalo AKA The Nipples from Naples) - after spending the rest of the film turned up to eleven finally blows - going so far over the top that his performance can only be viewed from the Hubble telescope whilst good old Mike London appears to suddenly gains 2 stone (pesky reshoots) which he then takes out on poor Lia.

If anything she should be angry seeing as his tits are now bigger (and considerably juicer) than hers.

Whilst all this sweaty arguing is going on, literally dozens (OK a few) zombies randomly jump out of lifts and cupboards (but obviously don't shout) picking off - and pissing on - the survivors one by one, leaving the zombie hordes to take over the world and Lia's head being used as a novelty bowling ball.

"Aye hen!"

Nothing like finishing on an upbeat note eh?

Different title, same movie, scarier cover.

Once again the late (as in dead, not that he's terrible time keeper) great Bruno Mattei proves to the world that a lack of budget, imagination and common sense are no boundary to producing a rip-roaring, terrifyingly taunt movie.

Unfortunately it just wasn't with this one, I must have been thinking of The Tomb.

Only joking.*

Working under the pseudonym Vincent Dawn - in a thinly veiled tribute to George Romero - Mattei would continue to use this moniker till the end of his career and what a career it was seeing as it took in everything from Lovecraftian mummies, Nazisploitation, saucy Roman epics, women in prison, combat shockers and big rats as well as the undead.

Plus in his later years he introduced the world the gloriously button-nosed Yvette Yzon in his Dawn of The Dead/Alien mash-ups Island of The Living Dead and it's confusingly titled sequel Zombies: The Beginning

Indeed this man achieved everything you could ever wish for basically.

Including bedding your mates attractive mum.


Bruno and his very own Ripley, the fantastic (and fantastically smooth thighed) Yvette Yzon.

Anyway, back to the movie in hand.

Lets be frank here, it's rare to get such a bad film that actually delivers the entertainment factor so perfectly - everything about it screams train wreck - from barely adequate gore effects, ludicrously stiff dialogue and stilted dubbing - "You're beginning to bug me, kiddo - just don't break my balls!" - unnecessary nudity, dodgy face-painting, a stolen score, stock footage pilfered from such places as Nuova Guinea: Isola Dei Cannibali and the directors holiday films via a fantastic collection of ill fitting hats.

This film has all this and more besides.

But despite (because?) of all this the whole sad affair actually works.


Scarily enough tho' the film was originally envisioned as a big budget ecological horror thriller - it's original draft features the entire third world becoming zombies taking on the armed might of the industrialized nations - think Soylent Green with zombies and the budget of Avatar, but - as is always the way with these things - when the producers discovered that between them they could only scrape together £6.80 and that Charlton Heston hadn't returned their calls they realized that a major rethink - and rewrite - would be needed.

Enter Mattei (not literally you sick bastard he's been dead for over 5 years) who alongside the hack-tastic master of the macabre Claudio Fragasso soon had the entire project re-jigged to more suit the more, um, modest budget assigned to it.

And more importantly got a cast that would work for food.

Or in José Gras' case cheap cooking sherry.


And from such problems a work of true cinematic genius was born.

An average Daily Mail headline yesterday.

The films troubles didn't end with it's budget problems, sub-literate cast and lack of suitable head wear tho' as upon release in the UK Zombie Creeping Flesh was quickly pounced on by the evil forces of the DPP and unfairly (and messily) tarred with the 'video nasty' brush before being bundled into a box next to an ex-rental copy of Night Train Murders.
Night Train Murders: A little bit of chicken in a box.
But like the zombies it portrays so realistically, the critics found Zombie Creeping Flesh hard to kill as over the years, it's somewhat tarnished reputation as a perfectly formed end of the pier style, totally craptastic shocker has grown to a point where it's fans now number in the dozens.
And what other movie has the balls to feature a ending where a zombie pushes its fist into the heroines screaming mouth, forcing its fingers up through her face before poking out her eyeballs?

Not Finding Dory that's for sure.

Top quality entertainment for all the family.

 *Or am I?

Thursday, October 20, 2016

gimme sum sugar baby....

Every opening to The Apprentice ever:

We're here at 10 Downing Street today, I’m sure you know who lives here. Now Theresa May is known for many things, but mostly people know her for her love of shitting in the mouths of the poor and pissing on human rights.

Oh yes....and hating foreigners.

So today we're tasking you to create a new fragrance for her.

Now the men's team this year is quite surprisingly not as shit as usual so to make sure the viewing figures stay up we're adding some of the women to the team to create a bit of drama but just in case some of the men aren't deterred by this change, I’m throwing them the most sensible one into the women's team so I can watch them get shouted at even though they'll be the only one with any rational ideas.

Off you go.

Did I ever tell you how I made my first million before the age of 12 by punting my arse out of the back of a wheelbarrow?

future tense.

Just because, a collection of retro sci-fi art.


golden oldie.

Day 20 of 31 days of horror and we're off to France (which is in Europe, near London for our American readers) for probably one of the greatest old folk featuring films ever.

Apologies for the shortness of the review but I've got stuff to do today.

Plus I really need the toilet.

So without further ado, laydees and gents I give you....

La Nuit de la Mor (AKA Night of Death! 1980).
Dir: Raphaël Delpard
Cast: Isabelle Goguey, Charlotte de Turckheim, Betty Beckers, Michel Debrane and Ernest Menzer.

 “What could go on in a place like this?”

Luscious librarian type and Nicola Roberts alike Martine (the copper topped, slinky hipped Euro-tottie Goguey, last seen in Paradigma) has just gotten a new job at a local old folks home, the not at all creepily named Deadlock House caring for - and occasionally cuddling - the elderly residents.

Arriving a day early, much to the chagrin of the home's director - the frighteningly efficient Hélène (the magnificent Beckers, all French fancy and no knickers, probably), Martine is introduced to her fellow carer, the leggy blonde Nicole (de Turckheim) who is, understandably, peeved that she's getting replaced without being consulted as well as the hulking, wooden of legged and bowl of haired handyman Jules (Debrane) before being sent off to the attic to unpack her bags.

It seems that bossy bitch Hélène has warmed to the thought of having Martine there a day or so early because it means she can put her to work without having to pay her.

Well, that's the French for you....and they wonder why Britain chose Brexit.*

Martine slowly parted Hélène's beefy curtains...

Joining Nicole on her rounds, our ginger princess is finally introduced to the residents, every single one of them an egg and cress sandwich short of a picnic basket.

Whilst all this cuddling and cuppa business is going on poor Jules stands in the background lusting quietly after Nicole whilst rubbing his thighs and trying to hide the smell of warm milk emanating from his crotch area.

Yup, most definitely French.

Apparently taking a shine to her new employee, Hélène offers Martine the night off to spend with her boyfriend before starting the job good and proper, which is nice because the rules say that she wont be allowed out for at least twenty eight days after her contract starts.

But that night, whilst Martine is doing the dirty in the back of her beau's Fiat Uno, Nicole is dragged from her bed in the middle of night by the ancient, turkey necked residents who, after stripping her naked tie her down to a picnic table and gut her before finally eating her whole.

Tho' they may have spat that bit out.

Aye Son!

With grass in her hair, egg in her pants and mud on her knees, Martine returns to the house the next morning and is surprised to find Nicole (and her collection of seventies cocktail dresses) gone, the result of a blazing argument over Nicole being prettier than her according to Director Hélène.

Thinking nothing of it, our red headed raver gets on with her chores, closely watched by jittery Jules in-between his daily burnings of mysterious bags of ladies clothes and whipping the residents.

As the days go by Jules it seems is becoming more and more obsessed with marrying our heroine (just as he was with Nicole), the old folk have taken to forcing Martine to drink what looks like fresh vomit at meal times and she's found the burnt remains of Nicole's suitcase behind the bins.

Suffice to say Martine (although not the brightest tool in the box) is by now beginning to suspect that there's more to Nicole's disappearance - and the batty old folk - than meets the eye and decides in her best Nancy Drew fashion (tho' not fashions which is a shame) to investigate.

""Can you smell petrol?"

As the clues keep a coming and the kooky crinklies get more crazy, Martine begins to understand the true meaning behind the bizarre lunch ritual that the potty pensioners partake in on a daily basis and discovers just why they're all so concerned about her weight.

And if that wasn't enough, there's also the little problem of the town's resident murdering mentalist, nicknamed The Golden Needle Killer for Martine to deal with,  as well as the most important thing in her life; deciding what film to go and see at the cinema with the local milkman on her next day off.


Coming across like a bizarre French adaptation of an unmade Pete Walker script, writer/director (and sometime actor) Raphaël Delpard's little seen La Nuit de la Mor is one of the creepiest, blackest (in both humour and atmosphere) films to come out of the early eighties and a surprising departure from what's normally associated with the French horror genre.

Imagine The House of Whipcord spliced together with bits of Rosemary's Baby and populated by an entire cast of Ruth Gordon's and your halfway to understanding the sheer genius of this movie, played just the right side of camp by all involved and directed in a pleasant, surprising non fussy style by Monsieur

Whilst there may be no real surprises in the plot, it's the sheer creepiness of both the characters and overall atmosphere of the movie that makes it so great.

Your dad's custard cousins yesterday.

And what characters!

From the brilliant Betty Beckers as the delightfully evil Hélène to the flame headed floosie that is Isabelle Goguey via Michel Debrane's jizz-stained Jules and the entire cadre of oldies everyone is perfectly presented in such a playfully perverse manner that you can't help but become involved in the whole sordid story.

For once a film that is totally and non-ironically highly recommended.

*Well that and the fact that it appears we're a country of xenophobic cunts.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

welcome to chimneys.

As a wee break from all this horror here's a wee tribute to the genius of Fred Dibnah.

"Hello chuck I'm Fred Dibnah!  A warlock specializing in pyromania!"

Click on the links below to enjoy:

Don't say I'm not good to you.

gnaw-ty boy.

Day 19 of 31 days of horror and it's time for Mrs. Rollie to choose a film.

No surprises here seeing as it's one of her favourite giant rat/huge toddler films.

Gotta love her taste in movies.

Food of The Gods 2 (AKA Gnaw: Food of The Gods Part 2).
Dir: Damian Lee.
Cast: Paul Coufos, Lisa Schrage, Réal Andrews, Frank Pellegrino, Michael Copeman, Stuart Hughes, Karen Hines and Colin Fox.

"The animals keep checkin' in,
but they don't check out, do they?
You're not a scientist, you're an undertaker!"

There's trouble afoot at Crapton University where a bunch of dirty hippie types are protesting against the pleasantly plumb and shiny of pate Professor Edmond Delhurst (Teevee stalwart Fox) and his habit of forcing Beagle's to smoke in the name of science.

If that wasn't enough tho', he's also secretly testing anti-balding drugs on Beavers and therefore become a very rich man.

And then buy a cake shop with the cash judging from the size of his waist.

Just to show us that all scientist aren't evil, the labs are also home to ex Tory love god and bio-chemist Dr Neil Hamilton (the instantly forgettable thick necked monkey man Coufos), a caring type who only experiments on plants and refuses to date anyone who's not taking his course.

Hang on, is that allowed?

Harry Potter: the pedo years.

Anyway, sod the character development we want to see Delhurst's stuff get smashed up.

And smashed up it is when the protesters (all five of them) break into his lab and see what the evil sod is doing to the furry ickle aminals.

They start by smashing his computer before burning all his files whilst good girl (and Neil's girlfriend) Alex (the bush headed, big chinned Schrage from Prom Night 2) begs them to stop whilst shouting "You said you were only gonna take some pictures!" in a really whiny voice.

So far so so.

Suddenly the plot (and the movie) takes an unexpected turn as one of Dr Neil's scientist buddies asks him to visit a giant toddler who's accidentally been given an experimental growth hormone instead of Calpol.

Dr Neil is amazed (if not a wee bit aroused - I know I was) by the size of the child and, grabbing a vial of the serum quickly fucks off back to his lab before the movie launches (or is that lurches?) into an exciting science style montage culminating in the dishy doc injecting a tomato plant with the growth hormone standing back and watching it grow to giant proportions.

It's that big boy that always
does stuff then runs away.

Deciding that it's gonna take more than a big horse to carry all this giant fruit and vegetables around the docs beaky assistant Joshua (Pellegrino from, um, some other stuff) suggests that they should try the growth serum on some lab rats.

Because as we all know, rats love carrying fruit.

Nothing like this ever goes according to plan tho' and just as Neil and Josh are about to begin their frankly loopy experiment who should arrive but Alex looking for a quick shag.

Josh, never having seen a woman naked before makes his excuses and leaves but not before popping the hungry rats in the same cages as the big tomato.

Tho' why you would store giant tomatoes in a big cage is beyond me, I mean it's not like they're going to escape and attack old folk is it?

Cue a bizarre sex act/rat eating fruit montage (they director does love his inter-cutting, bless) culminating in Alex giving us a frankly terrifying cum face whilst a rat burps.

Next night the lank haired protesters, still on a revolutionary high after smashing up Delhurst's lab, decide to break back into the building and have a nosy in Dr Neil's lab too.

Heeding the advice of sensible Alex our motley band have brought their cameras this time, which is rather lucky really especially when they spot the rather large, tomato faced rats in the corner.

Excitedly taking pictures they accidentally free the beasts when trying to dress them in hats and frocks, getting two of their gang killed in the process.

Tho' they were only art students so no great loss.

"Warts roond mah mooth!"

It's not long before the campus is buzzing with rumours of a big rat infestation, which takes the heat of Dr. Neil seeing as everyone has been spreading gossip about him shagging his students, leaving the Dean no alternative but to call the police.

Enter the hard drinking, trenchcoat wearing Lt. Weizel (Copeman whom you may remember from his performance as '2nd Man in Bar' in David Cronenberg's The Fly remake), a stereotypical flatfoot who seems more interested trying to wind Dr. Neil up at every given opportunity than trying to discover what killed the two students.

Luckily for us some plucky soul posts a couple of pictures of the giant rats to the Deans office and realizing that Weizel has no jurisdiction over rodents (no matter how large) grabs the phone book and hires a couple of pest control types.

Think Mousehunt but far less sexy.

Arriving in a big dirty van and armed with homemade flamethrowers the pair head down into the basement, tho' I'm surprised the rats can even fit down there seeing as the place is swarming with drunk and horny students, geeky janitors and thick security guards wandering aimlessly as they wait for a rat to jump on them.

On a plus point it does mean that we get a few good killings and a wee flash of lady breast.

By this point you would assume that good old Dr Neil has been working day and night in a desperate attempt to prove the existence of the giant rats he's inadvertently let loose on campus but oh no, he's too busy having wank fantasies about a red headed whore in his class called Angie (who to be fair has far shapelier thighs than Alex and looks like she'd make an effort).

He's put off his stroke somewhat when just as his pervy fantasy starts to get interesting Neil imagines himself growing to giant size whilst inside her.

This is quite possibly the most disturbing thing ever committed to celluloid.

If not the sexiest.

At home with The Krankies.

If all this furry death and sweaty sex wasn't enough, evil Edmund, on finding out about Neil's growth hormone sneaks into his lab (does he never lock the door?, not even whilst cracking one off the filthy bugger?) and rubs it all over his head hoping to cure his baldness, little realizing that a few drops have found their way into a paper cut on his hand.

Unlike rats and babies who just get bigger, the serum, when mixed with Edmund's patent bastardness (or something) causing his head to swell up like a giant wart encrusted testicle before exploding in a shower of puss.

Could the day get any worse?

Well that depends on whether the university's new swimming pool (which is having its grand opening today) can be accessed via the sewers by big rats giving them plenty of opportunities to eat the synchronized swimming team.

Well, what do you think the chances of that are?

Inside Michael Barrymore's mind.

All hail Damian Lee, Canada's king of straight to video and the genius behind Food Of The Gods 2 as well as the classic teen steam romp Ski School and the sci-fi spectacular Abraxas: Guardian of The Universe.

A quantum leap above the Bert Gordon original in as far as it features the requisite shoe-string special effects alongside such rare treats as long lingering shots of synchronized swimming and bizarre sexual growth fetishes, FOTG2 has moments of sheer terror and unmitigated cheesiness in equal measures.

As well as being the only film I can think of to feature a giant toddler in a terry toweling romper suit.

Interestingly for what is essentially an 80's slice and dice movie, dear old Damien has fun playing with the genre's conventions, gleefully killing off all and sundry eco-types and bad men but unusually leaving the sexually active and bare breasted teens alive and unsullied.

Well as unsullied as you can be after acting against a giant sock puppet rat.


But don't worry all you rodent lovers out there because Lee still finds time to use reals rats too, mostly climbing about a dolls house pretending to be the actual sets (with varying degrees of success) but at least his heart (if not his wallet or brain) was in the right place.


Can't believe that this has been the least abusive review so far....I must be getting old.

Either that or have a giant toddler fetish.

Answers on a....hang on, don't bother.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

dick dastardly.

31 days of horror day 18 (thought I'd remind you just in case you'd forgotten) and realized that I hadn't covered the fantastic found footage genre yet (or have I? I really can't be arsed checking).

I then remembered that I got Devil's Due thru' the post a few months back, no idea who from or why but if someone is kind enough to send me stuff I should be polite enough to watch it.

As you can guess, this attitude has gotten me into a shed load of trouble over the years.

Anyway, having a quick check online it turns out that it is in fact a found footage movie (huzzah) from 2014, directed by Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett and starring Allison Miller, Zach Gilford, and Sam Anderson.
Plus the poster looked scary.


As a bonus it has the word Devil in the title so it might fit into this whole 31 days thing.

Then again it might not.

Frankly by this point I've really stopped caring.

It's not all been a waste of time tho' as I've come to realize that sometimes more than one film can have the same title.

Who knew?

Devil's Due (1973).
Dir: Ernest Danna.
Cast: Cindy West, Andrea True, Davey Jones, Lisa Grant, Jamie Gillis, Andrea True, Gus Thomas (or is it?), Tina Russell, Marc Stevens, Darby Lloyd Rains and Georgina Spelvin and the Devil.

"My plans to teach sex education
were rejected by the parents!"

Brunette, big socked cutesy pie Cindy (West AKA Cherry Aims, Helen Highwater, Judy Otis, Terry Ruggiera, Linda Terry, Tania Tittle and Tammy Twat) is a sweet, shy (and more importantly) virginal high school senior cursed with a crushing shyness when it comes to even taking to the opposite sex.

Deciding it's his duty to help her overcome her fears the school principal (under the pretense of helping Cindy rehearse her valedictorian speech decides to drug the shy sweetie before man-handling her peachy bum, putting his (frankly massive) cock in her mouth and finally having the full sex with her.

And all this whilst pulling what I can only imagine is your granddads cum face.

Sore arsed, addicted to drugs and pregnant, it looks like things couldn't get any worse for poor Cindy.

I mean at least her loving boyfriend Willie Joe (Jones, from Seven Delicious Wishes and Maxine's Dating Service but not alas The Monkees) will stand by her wont he?

Um, no is the short answer leaving our heroine to look out her best buddy Barbie ( it matters) to cry on.

And of course, her loving dad who would never be such a sexist pig.

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

Yup, Cindy arrives home to find Barbie and her dad engaged in some of that crazy 'mouth/penis sex', the shock of which causes Cindy to become mute.

"That'll wash the taste of shite oot ya mooth hen!"

Cue the patented wibbly wobbly fading device and we end up at the New York Port Authority Bus Terminal (and not lying face down trying to slash our wrists as any sensible viewer would be at this point) as a beleaguered Cindy stomps off the bus uttering the immortal lines " Everything I knew to be decent and good turned out dirty and evil."

Could things get any worse?

Either on screen or off?

Well Cindy answers a flat share ad place by two wacky lesbians named Dawn (generously chested ginger bird True AKA Catherine Warren, star of such classics as The Erotic Adventures of Little Orphan Sammy, director of the fanny-tastic Once Over Nightly and singer of the mid-seventies disco anthem 'More, More, More') and Nicky (plain Rains from The Teenage Sexmaids and The Hooker's Convention) who, in their spare time "Work for the devil."
Impressed by their candor (and huge seventies bushes) a still mute Cindy hastily scribbles that she too wishes to be initiated into the coven.

Licking their lips the luscious lesbians agree.

The only Cindy West Google could find....
I think it might be the wrong one.

Blindfolded and taken to a deserted warehouse, Cindy is forced to strip naked (no change there then) and lie on a grubby altar hastily constructed from cardboard boxes and an old kitchen table whilst a gaggle of drunk, manbreasted extras in hoods (including horse-cocked dead porn legend Jamie Gillis) light candles and mumble.

Better the devil you know.

It's then that the evil, white robed and tennis shoed cult leader Kampala (who according to the credits is played by one Gus Thomas but I'm pretty damn sure it's a half cut Sonny Bono) appears, sitting in a crappy wicker garden chair shouting such classic lines as "I am all powerful! The spirit of Satan flows through my shaft!" before popping a dog collar around Cindy's neck and shooting his load onto her breasts.
Cindy, as you can probably understand, is not too impressed by Kampala and his so called 'devil cock' (which to be honest is the size of a shrivelled walnut) and angrily lectures Dawn and Nicky on the evils of men.

Surely being lesbians tho' they probably know all about that already?

"I got you babe....tied to a table".

"Just like all the other men who've tried to destroy my life he's just a dirty animal!" Cindy cries before deciding that the thrilling threesome should destroy Kampala and take over the coven.

But not until they've indulged in some celebratory lesbian sex.


Your mum and dad's wedding.

The following Thursday (which as everyone knows is Devil Day) dawn interrupts kampala's weekly wankfest with what is probably the most well written piece of dialogue I have Ever heard.

"Kampala! You’re about as powerful as your prick. Which isn't very powerful at all!"

Gripping stuff.

Shocked, stunned and fiddling uncomfortably with his by now flopping cock Kampala confronts Dawn regarding her nasty comments but our heroine has an ace up her sleeve (well if she were wearing anything she would so it's possibly stuck up her ample arse), she challenges Kampala to a satanic sex duel.

For those of you unlucky enough to have never been involved in one of these, this means that Cindy must dance provocatively in front of Kampala whilst he has to do his best to resist her charms.

But if he falls prey to her sweaty lady parts he loses the challenge and his top spot in the coven as well as most likely his wicker chair too.

Straddling Kampala whilst jiggling her breasts in time to a saucy salsa beat it's not long before the stony faced cultist can no longer control his base urges, he bites down on Cindy's left (left where? behind the bins?) boob before ejaculating his last and dying.

Just to make sure there'd be no rematch Cindy had covered herself in deadly poison oils before the ritual.

Now that's girl power.

But wait!

That's not all.

It seems that by finally overcoming the badness of man has enable Cindy to speak again!

And her first words?

To declare herself the high priestess of devilishness before leading her new found followers in a demonic orgy of satanic shagging.

Don't you just love a happy ending?

An apology if he's lucky.

From the pen (well crayons) of part-time writer and full time kitchen salesman Gerry Pound and director Ernest Danna (the man who gave us Like Mother, Like Daughter and My Husband, The Producer) comes this mighty fine example of the wholly seventies phenomena of cross genre porn.

No jokes, no irony, no mercy. Just ninety minutes of flaccid cock, unshaven fanny and the chance of a quick glimpse of some struggling bit-part actors genital warts as he thrusts manfully into whichever poor 'actress' has gotten of the bus this week looking for her chance of stardom.

I don't know about you but they're the things that keep me going back to this particular brand of seventies porn.

Well that and the fact that I've still not seen the one my dad's in.

And if that's not good enough an excuse you can always convince yourself that you're only watching for a glimpse of legendary porn goddess (and one of the officially voted
top 25 Adult stars of all time) Georgina Spelvin in an early role as 'Cult Member'.

See? this place isn't just entertaining, it's educational too.

A simple thanks would be OK next time tho', no more shite like this I mean I think I may have caught crabs from just reading the box.

Tomorrow some arse free 'orror.