Thursday, January 19, 2017

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 66).

In tribute to the inauguration of Trump and the end of civilization as we know it let's hark back to simpler - and way sexier - times.

Ladies and gentlemen I present  Alice Roosevelt. 

Daughter of Teddy Roosevelt and the first princess of America.







Tuesday, January 17, 2017

roy castle.

Not one but two Barbara Steele's.

And one is in a blonde wig!

What's not to love?

Apart from the nonsensical plot obviously.

Nightmare Castle (AKA The Faceless Monster, 1965).
Dir: Mario Caiano.
Cast: Barbara Steele, Paul Müller, Helga Liné, Marino Masé, Rik Battaglia

and Giuseppe Addobbati.

You, I will kill you, you tart, you. You and your filthy friend. But death, my dear, must come to you only after I've torn from your bodies all the suffering and pain a human being can stand, and you don't know yet how long it takes to die of pain!



Full-time mad scientist cum part-time street dancer Dr Stephen Arrowsmith (Surrealist horse-visaged Müller from Vampyros Lesbos)  and the stunningly beautiful - and filthily rich - Lady Muriel (Genre Goddess Steele, no introduction necessary) are trapped in a loveless marriage, their bouts of arguing and sniping punctuated by long, uncomfortable silences and knowing looks from their geriatric (tho' she may just be maid of Plasticine it's hard to tell) maid Solange (the luscious Liné from The Loreley's Grasp).

Reminds me of my childhood.

Without the hot German help obviously.

Ours was Swedish.

And a man as I found out on my 15th birthday.

But I digress.

Obviously then our high-cheeked hottie is very happy to find that her horrid hubbie is going away to Edinburgh for a week long mad scientist conference giving her plenty of time to indulge in copious amounts of 'the sex' with David the hunky gardener (billiards-derived indoor table game and star of Yellow Emanuelle, Battaglia).

Which is nice.

As Stephen heads off to Edinburgh Muriel excitedly - and quite saucily for the early 60s - slips into her best flowing nightie and makes her way to the greenhouse to await for David to work some of his green-fingered magic on her lady garden.

Well it does look like her bush needs pruning.

Sorry.

Stills don't get more erotic than this.



Unfortunately neither Muriel nor David realize that Stephen suspects their indiscretion and has been secretly hiding behind the bins waiting for a signal from Solange and catching them In flagrante delicto (which I'm assuming is a fancy word for a greenhouse) springs his trap.

In a metaphorical way that is, it's not like he has some huge Heath Robinson contraption rigged up behind the rose bushes tho' given his bizarre torture methods later I wouldn't be surprised.

Chaining the couple up in the basement (ah memories) an angry Arrowsmith proceeds to beat the couple with a riding crop whilst waxing lyrical about the nature of love pain and death for what seems like hours before finally tying Murial to a bed before dripping acid onto her favourite dress.

The scoundrel.

But Muriel is defiant to the last, taunting her husband with the fact that she has left her entire fortune to her insane step-sister Jenny.

If she dies then sinister Stephen is out on his ear and penniless.

Unfortunately (for Muriel and David that is) Stephen doesn't care and happily kills the adulterous couple.

His excuse?

He needs their blood for his anti-aging experiments and his supply of frog plasma has run out.

This is important because he's promised to rejuvenate Solange as a thank you for spying on his wife.

Sounds legit.

Here come the Belgians!


But what about the will I hear you cry/type?

Stephen has it all in hand as within a few days of his wifes death he's gone to the local asylum and taken Jenny's hand in marriage.

Tho' seeing as she too is played by the lovely Babs (in a fetching blonde wig) he'd be a fool not to want the rest as well.

Solange is obviously not happy about this - you see she reckoned that now she's all young and sexy again that she’d have the doctor all to herself.

But Stephen is playing the long game.

As in he has a fairly complicated plan not that he's re-watching the rather insipid Christopher Eccleston Doctor Who episode where Simon Pegg takes his orders from a roof mounted CGI shite.

Mixing up a powerful hallucinogen in his lab (as you do) he instructs Solange to pop it into Jenny’s bedtime brandy, hoping that this little mix will kickstart her mentalism sending her screaming back to the funny farm whilst he laughs all the way to the bank.

Give him his dues as a doctor tho' because the homemade druggy draught appears to have the desired effect, as that night poor Jenny has nightmarish visions that would put William Burroughs (or Micheal Barrymore) to shame as the deafening sound of heart beats echo around the castle walls our maid of mental illness 'wakes' to find herself trapped in a stone sarcophagus only to be 'rescued' by the ghostly figure of Dave the gardener who then proceeds to ravish her with soft kisses.

Just as you think there might be a chance of a quick peek at Bab's slender thigh tho' a scarily stocking faced man with a riding crop appears and begins to beat David around the head.

With the strength of a woman possessed  Jenny attacks this masked menace only to wake suddenly with her hands clamped around Stephen's scrawny bird-like neck. throat.

Quickly slapping some sense into her Stephen heads off to his lab, pleased with the effect of the drug on Jenny.

Tho' in my experience if he'd have wanted to make a woman act like a total fruitcake he'd have been cheaper just buying her a bottle of cooking sherry and 10 Silk Cut before taking her to the local kiddies playpark for the evening.

As a teen this scenario always ended with me tied to a swing whilst my date flicked matches at me.

Which explains a lot.

"Brexit means Brexit!"


Discussing the previous nights madness with Solange, Stephen is shocked to discover that the mucky maid - being female so obviously unable to follow simple instructions - actually gave Jenny a totally harmless sugar solution by mistake  so the drippy doc deduces that just being married to him and living in her dead sisters house may be enough to trigger her breakdown.

Jobs a good 'un as they say.

But this is a spooky ghost type mystery and we're only half an hour in so - against all laws of logic and common sense - Stephen for reasons best known to himself and director Mario Caiano and writer Fabio De Agostini (he of the expensive partwork fame) immediately summons the suave science guy Dr. Derek Joyce ( Masé AKA Lawrence Clift whom you may remember as John in Tenebrae), who is not only a dead ringer for Matt LeBlanc of Friends/Top Gear fame but also  Jenny’s old psychiatrist, to the castle in order to observe her condition.

Oh and hopefully strip naked and cover himself in chip fat whilst dancing provocatively.

No?

Just me then.

"Aye son!"
 
But with Stephen being a (mad) man of science and Solange being, well a bit fick the pervy pair totally fail to grasp the fact that  Jenny’s descent into madness may in fact be caused by the ghost of her sister and her lover.

But to be honest if I was in their situation I probably wouldn't see that coming either.

Tho' if I were married to Barbara Steele beating her to death with a poker would be the last thing on my mind.

Before long, Dr. Joyce too is witnessing strange phenomena in this nightmare castle - from blood dripping from the pot that holds Muriel's ashes to the dual heartbeats echoing thru' the walls via badly dubbed laughter echoing down the corridors and strange shadowy figures behind the gooseberry bushes.

Throwing caution - and science - to the wind Joyce is soon convinced that someone or something has supernatural designs on Jenny.

But to what end?

As all these supernatural shenanigans are going down (as the kids say) Stephen and Solange have altered their plans, deciding to kill Joyce as well as Jenny and as our hero prepares for a long hot soak before bed Stephen is busy electrifying the bath.....

Will Joyce save Jenny or will he fry like a massive man-titted haddock?
 
Will Stephen explain how he manage to discover that frog blood can make ladies younger?

And will anyone asked about the double heart family crest that Stephen is so keen to show everyone?

Laugh now.


Mad, bad and dangerous to view (especially in the aforementioned truncated version, writer/director Mario Caiano (AKA Allan Grunewald) has everything required to produce a top-notch Eurohorror - a sexually charged plot festooned with vengeful spirits, a mad scientist attempting to hold back death, an insane hottie in a sheer nightie and a big scary castle.

And all shot in glorious black and white.

Add to this a cast that includes the frankly fantastic Barbara Steele at her otherworldly best ably supported by the camp as pants Paul Müller alongside the gorgeous Helga Liné and topped off with a lush Ennio Morricone score and you should have an instant classic.

But whilst enjoyable enough in its own way Nightmare Castle lacks a certain something in its execution, the direction is flat, the script is nonsensical and the air of kinky menace the film teases us with disappears almost as quick as Helga Liné's comedy 'old lady' make-up.

As a plus point it does feature Babara Steele stripping down to a magnificent corset before donning a blonde pound shop wig only half as ludicrous as the one Asia Argento sports in The Stendahl Syndrome so it's not a total loss.

Which if I'm honest just about sums up my life in a nutshell.

Be seeing you.

Monday, January 9, 2017

sin-sational.

A brand new yeare 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 terrorizing 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 vacuum cleaner the nutty professor has managed to create the ultimate covert accessory.

Totally by accident of course.

You see he was actually working on a pill to cure hemorrhoids but his plain-Jane secretary, in a blind moment of panic after seeing a mouse scuttle across the lab floor took the pill to calm down thinking it was a tranquillizer.

Sounds legit.

Being a clichéd film inventor 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, moldy 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.


Anyway it's back to the plot where the producer has realised that there might not be quite enough mileage for skin with all these spy shenanigans 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.
Henry by the way is 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.

Just like your dad.

And don't forget that dysfunction is hereditary.

You're welcome.

Henry tho' 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 9th 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 realizes 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.


Your mum in the outfit I got her for Christmas.


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?







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 (well 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.

She's 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.

Exactly like your mum if you're honest.

Ask your 'Uncle' Jack if you don't believe me.

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.

Oh yes and if you find the thought of really ugly people having sex and dancing badly a massive turn on.

Hmmm, just me then?

Sunday, January 8, 2017

bible belt.

Just thought I'd point out that this'll be a shorter review than usual (thank fuck I hear you cry) but frankly there's really not much plot here to spell out and I really wanted to use this as a warning to others.

I received this thru' the post from a pal for Christmas (thanks Hernandez) who knows I like 'the wee comic books' and thought I'd enjoy this live action version of the infamous Tijuana Bible.

I really wish he hadn't bothered tho', life is really too short.

For those of you of a sensitive disposition (or who have a life outside this seedy world of zed grade movies and general badness) here's the science part so pay attention.


The Tijuana Bible, the granddaddy of all of man's masturbation material, appeared long before the nudie cutie magazine and the stag film and usually consisted of a lewd 8 page strip small enough to hide in your trouser pocket.

If you want any more info ask your granddad.

Or better still your nan because I have a few that she modeled for.

Well way back in 1973 someone decided that what the world of entertainment needed was a living breathing version of this very thing.

God help us.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you:

Sex in the Comics (1973).
Dir: Eric von Letch.
Cast: Reggie Balls, Bella Bush, Rick Cassidy, Orita De Chadwick and Cyndee Summers.



Blonde bombshell journalist Helen Flange is preparing to interview the famous cartoonist Terry Quim about his vast body of work but, on arriving at his 'studio' (in reality some poor sods shed - it may be the one from The Girl From SIN) Quim is more interested in lecturing Helen on the history of the Tijuana Bible.

Slightly disappointed to not be getting her interview (tho' it would be a different film if she did) the artist tries his best to persuade her that the history lesson will be even more fun and, after a few minutes she's willing to let him give her one.

Replacing Michael Myers with the ghost of Tommy Cooper was the final nail in the coffin for Rob Zombie's Halloween franchise.



Cue the world renowned wobbly-O-screen effect - or it may just be a crap transfer I don't know - as the entire film reforms in a haze of marker pen scribbled, brightly painted scenery into a world populated by pointed breasted, big hipped whores and fat, skinny legged men wearing sinister giant papermache heads who spout arse numbing dialogue lifted directly from the 1930's comics.

It's like a junior school version of The Benny Hill Show with a script by an exceptionally overactive 5 year old.

But with much more (and much hairier) bush.

Obviously.

John Leslie - The park-keeper years.



But the scary surrealism doesn't stop there, it continues into the multitude of sex scenes too.

In one vignette the penis of one particularly bulbous headed men grows to such a huge size that it starts to pop in and out of an unfortunate girl's mouth, later on a porn mustached, cock nosed lifeguard (baring a frightening resemblance to one of the Chuckle Brothers) is driven into a sexual frenzy by a hula dancers erotically charged ukulele playing whilst, in my personal favourite scene some carnie bloke gets his heaving, sweaty testicles caught up in tattooed woman's overgrown lady garden.

Ken Russell's version of The Rainbow this aint.

Well, obviously not, seeing as this doesn't feature Paul McGann's thrusting buttocks.

McGann's arse: bigger on the inside.



But if all this wasn't enough to give you sleepless nights then the film's drug addled editing just might, full as it is of slash-tastic jump cuts, cat scratches and bizarre freeze frames thrown in at random intervals obviously just to scare the audience awake whilst the 'artist' delivers a - factually accurate, I kid you not - voice-over discussing how the politics and the culture of the period affected the creation, growth and eventual demise of the Tijuana Bible phenomenon.

"You want to do what in mah mooth?"


I really don't know what's more frightening tho', the fact that this ever got a green light or the fact that someone, somewhere has a wee Barclays to this on a daily basis.

Sleep tight.

Friday, January 6, 2017

forbidden fruit basket.

Finally finished the Bowie visuals so am currently awaiting a couple (any?) new contracts to appear so as a treat I was about to dive head first into the cinematic sludgepile teetering on the edge of our table when I thought, just for a change from the usual horror rubbish Rollie and myself usually end up watching (or is that enduring?) why not have a bit of a spooky space night, settling on one of the good Alien films.

This caused no end of problems seeing as my better half loves Aliens, wrongly thinking it's the best one whereas I'm one of those truly insightful folk that know for a fact that Alien3 is by far the superior movie.

After much fisticuffs, burning stuff and shouting we agreed to compromise and settled on...

Forbidden World (AKA Mutant, Subject 20. 1982)
Dir: Allan Holzman.
Cast: Jesse Vint, Dawn Dunlap, June Chadwick, Linden Chiles, Fox Harris, Don Olivera, Raymond Oliver and Scott Paulin.

"Let's go bag ourselves a Dingwhopper!"



Studly space hunk and beige clad gun for hire Mike Colby (rodent faced teevee stalwart Vint) is woken from hyper-sleep by his bucket headed, muffle moothed robot sidekick SAM-104 (voiced by FX man Olivera and played by a child in a cheap Stormtrooper Halloween outfit) to the news that a squadron of cut-throat space pirates are trying to blow them up to the score from 2001.

Not noticing that the monitors are in fact just replaying scenes from Battle Beyond The Stars our hunky hero presses some flashing buttons making random things explode whilst his plastic pal mumbles incomprehensibly.

But there's no rest for the wicked (or the just really incompetent) for no sooner have the space raiders been defeated than an emergency call comes thru' from a genetic research station located on the distant desert world of Xarbia  run by the permanently angry Dr. Gordon Hauser (Chiles, yet another teevee veteran) who in turn is aided and abetted by the one lunged chain smoker Dr. Cal Timbergen (Harris from Repo Man) and posh totty Dr. Barbara Glaser (Chadwick from 'V' with a visible pantie line that almost bursts forth from the screen, God help anyone watching this on a wall mounted plasma, tho' the chances of them getting foreign matter on the screen during the sexy bits will drop sharply).

There are a few other folk but none of them are really that interesting.

Except that is for the cute as a button and scarily shelf arsed Tracy Baxter (played to Formica perfection by the pudgy cheeked and often naked star of Barbarian Queen and Les Ombres De L'été plus former tyre manufacturer Dunlap).

Two puppies fighting in a binbag yesterday.



Arriving at the base and immediately catching the (boss) eye of the sex starved Baxter, Colby is introduced to everyone before being taken up the laboratory (steady) by Dr. Hauser to stare at a room full of dead rabbits and what looks like a big stringy shit in a Perspex box.

Colby, not too sure how to react and being slightly pissed off that he hasn't shot or shagged anyone for at least twenty minutes just looks at it in a quizzical manner.

Oh yes, and occasionally frowns.

But as Dr. Glaser breathlessly explains, this is no common or garden shit but an experimental life form that they've (snappily) named "Subject 20".

Well, it was either that or Lindsey.

"Fuck me! It's Fred Titmuss!"



It appears that the clever old science types have created a brand new synthetic DNA strain - or Proto B as it's more commonly known - in order to rid the galaxy of all famine, unfortunately tho' they accidentally impregnated one of their co-workers with it (during what I can only assume was a really drunken Christmas party) causing it to eat her whole (tho' I think they said it spat that bit out) and kill all the bunnies onboard before covering itself in bright pink faeces and falling asleep in a fishtank.

As you would.

Colby decides the best course of action would be to shoot "Subject 20", have sex with Barbara (and/or Tracy), have a quick bite to eat and leave.

Surprisingly the scientists disagree (except for the food bit and probably the sex too) and persuade Colby to retire to the mess for a bag of Johnny Onion Rings and a Pot Noodle before taking any action.

Whilst the rest of the group head off for some tuck, young Ricky lab tech is left in charge of cleaning up the dead rabbits and told, in no uncertain terms not to poke the giant pooh or get any of it in his eyes.

Or his mooth.

"Shite in mah mooth!"



It'll come as no surprise then when Ricky, bored with scraping animal intestines of a bench with a toothbrush, decides to see what happens if he sticks his head in the shit-case and give it a wee tickle.

Much screaming (and much, much more mooth and shite interfacing) ensues.

Rushing into the lab to see what all the shouting's about (and spilling curry sauce down his shirt in the process, which makes a change from the stains left by shame I guess) Dr. Hauser gets even angrier than normal when he discovers that the creature has escaped into the air-vent.

However he soon cheers up when he realizes that Ricky isn't really dead but is being kept alive by the bit of "Subject 20" that fell on him, meaning that when he recovers Hauser can give him a damn good thrashing for ignoring the rules.

Poking Ricky with a stick whilst trying not to let her pendulous breasts droop into the slimy hole that was his face, Barbara makes a horrifying discovery of her own. It seems that the mucky mutant is actually absorbing Ricky and mutating him into another creature.

Yuck.

"I wouldn't want that swimming up my arse".



With everyone upset and the food having gone cold Dr. Hauser suggests (in a rare show of humanity) that everyone should have an early night and worry about the mess in the morning, Barbara has other ideas tho' and persuades Colby to indulge in a game of hide the (undoubtedly moldy) hot dog with this choice piece of chat up dialogue:

Bubbly Babs: "I hear you're the biggest trouble shooter in this part of the galaxy".
Cool-cat Colby: "That's what they tell me".
Bubbly Babs: "Well how'd you like to see some........trouble?"

Bizarrely this movie was cruelly overlooked at the 1982 Oscars, losing out on best Original Screenplay to Chariots of Fire.

Like has anyone ever heard of that let alone seen it?

Anyway, back to the plot and whilst Colby and Babs are getting down and getting dirty, the stations head of security (Late Review's Paulin) sweatily sits back and enjoys the show.

Luckily for us (and the station's cleaners) he's disturbed mid-stroke by a strange grunting noise coming from the cargo bay.

Like all good security types he decides to investigate.

Alone.

As you can probably guess, it's not long till his dying screams are heard throughout the base causing everyone to wake up in a startled manner but more importantly causing Colby to shoot off early, covering Bab's knees with space spunk.

How will he explain that to his Nan?

"Laugh now!"


The next morning Colby puts his fantastic monster catching plan into operation.

This involves him skulking around the base in a very suspicious manner whilst pointing his gun at stuff.

Well they did say he was the best of the best.

By some strange coincidence he just happens across Tracy whilst she's enjoying a naked steam bath and it's not long before she's persuaded him to get naked too.

How the fuck does he manage it?

Unfortunately for Colby (but fortunate for those of us not turned on by old man cock) just as he's about to stick it in Tracy the monstrous mutant drops out of an air-vent and waves it's flaccid, KY Jelly encrusted tentacles in a vaguely camp manner.

Tracy's ear bursting screams bring the rest of the crew (including a really angry and by now ready to explode with sexual frustration Barbara) running in just in time to see the beast scuttle away into a nearby airlock before bobbing away across the planets surface.

Realizing he's not going to get a proper shag till the thing is dead, Colby suggests that the men folk head outside to hunt it down whilst the ladies make a nice strong cuppa or something.


How your girlfriend manages to pay for all those expensive birthday gifts she gets you.



Decked out in sci-fi head scarves, a couple of second hand gimp masks and some Wellington boots our luckless band (and Sam the robot) wander aimlessly around the studio backlot before coming across what looks like a giant paper mache testicle hanging from a rock.

Sam - being jealous of not having man-parts - shoots it Whilst Dr. Hauser screams something about having much to learn from it and how we should all be friends and stuff.

Before he gets too annoyingly preachy the beast turns up and bites his face before darting back into the airlock with his still twitching body.

Heading back inside (and thus filling the movies meager running time with lots of corridor shots) Colby and co. are just about to explain what's happened when Hauser reappears, all melty faced and dripping shit for every orifice.

As is the way in these situations, he falls on poor Tracy getting her all slimy and sticky meaning that she needs to take a bizarro sonic shower straight away.

Oh yes, and she needs Barbara to join her so she can make sure all the slime is washed off.

No. Need.


It's during this completely non gratuitous and important scene that Barbara realizes that she has the solution to the monster problem.

And no, it's not have slimy tentacle sex with it unfortunately but instead the pair of them decide to don arse revealing bathrobes, head on down to the lab that it's hiding in and have a friendly chat with it.

What could possibly go wrong?

Within minutes Babs is bent over a computer desperately trying to communicate with the beast whilst hoping (in vain) that the cameraman can't see what she had for lunch.

Deciding to ask "What do you want?" the creature pauses for a moment to think of an intelligent answer before replying (in the movies most erotic scene) by shoving one of it's tentacles right up Barbara's arse and out of her mouth.

Tracy runs away screaming, her breasts bouncing like a couple of playful beagles in a bag as she goes.

With only Colby, cough-pot Timbergen, Tracy, her aforementioned breasts and ample arse left alive the chances of anyone surviving to the films end looks bleak.

But Timbergen has a secret weapon and the only thing that can possibly kill a beast capable of instantly adapting to the DNA of its victims.

Other than a nuclear bomb or a big fire obviously.

Yes, you guessed it, he's going to feed it his cancerous stomach tumour.

The only problem being that it's still inside him and Colby is the only person not shot too much to fuck to cut it out.

But as Colby prepares for the operation, the beast slithers ever closer....



With everyone from Luigi Cozzi (the egg-tastic Contamination), Norman Warren (Inseminoid) and Harry Bromley Knight (Xtro) picking over the corpse of Sir Ridley of Scott's big budget seminal sci-fi shlocker Alien, it was only a matter of time before king of the B's Lord Roger Corman got in on the act, first with the James Cameron designed Galaxy Of Terror and then (using the same sets, costumes, etc.) with Forbidden World.


Galaxy of Terror: Slimier monsters, faker breasts.



Directed by the former (and latter) editor Allan Holzman - best known for his work on Crazy Mama and Battle Beyond The Stars - after winning a bet with big Rog that he could shoot and edit enough rough footage in a day to make a coherent scene (that actually ends up as the films opening), Forbidden World may be cheesier than a tramps feet and cheaper than your girlfriend but it possesses a trashy heart (and neck of pure brass) that raises it above much of the competition.

The fact that it features some of the lamest excuses for nudity ever and a monster that the seventies Doctor Who production team would knock back as being too cheap doesn't do it any harm either.

"Put it in me!"


Shamelessly ripping off everything from Star Wars to 2001 via Silent Running along the way, Forbidden World proudly wears it's influences on it's sleeve, almost boasting how it had (metaphorically) bummed Alien for a fiver then stolen its shoes, in equal parts enjoyable, laughable and as entertaining as watching your Dad drunkenly fall down the stairs whilst pissing himself.

Plus it has the audacity to cast big headed, baby doll Dawn Dunlap as a scientist and expect us not to laugh.

With balls of solid steel and a budget of less than a fiver Forbidden World delivers more scares, shocks, bare arses and laugh now moments than any other film with the same title plus it has slightly more natural breasts than the frighteningly pneumatic pair on show in Galaxy of Terror and for that we should all be grateful.


Thursday, January 5, 2017

oi! donald!


I think I've found your hackers......*








*With thanks to ‏@PulpLibrarian

buio vista sociopath club.

Taking a break from mixing visuals for the Bowie tribute night alongside creating frankly magnificent mash-ups for top popsters Agents Of Evolution by revisiting one of my fave romantic comedies.

Enjoy.

Buio Omega: Beyond the Darkness (AKA Blue Holocaust , The Final Darkness. 1979).
Dir: Joe D'Amato.
Cast: Kieren Canter, Cinzia Monreale, Franca Stoppi, Anna Cardini, Lucia D'Elia and Sam Modesto.


"All right little boy, no one will touch your baby doll".


Welcome one and all to the sad, mad and thoroughly bad world of the slightly intense and incredibly lonely freak boy Frank Willer (Eroticoblues flaxen haired Canter) who  since the recent and not to mention mysterious death of his beautiful partner Anna (the lovely Monreale from The Beyond who bizarrely enough owns a piece of my artwork - small world) spends most of his days skulking around his huge villa with only his frightening taste in late seventies fashions, a pair of patent leather Kickers and his Mrs. Doyle-like, potato head onion odoured housekeeper Iris (stern faced Stoppi, star of Emanuelle fuga dall'inferno, The Other Hell and the underrated Bestiality among other things to gruesome too mention here) for company.

Being too rich (and too wet) to work Frank spends most of his - non whining - time either attempting to perfect his hobby (which is taxidermy, this may become important later) or suckling on Iris's left breast as she strokes his hair and calls him "Her little Frank".

Just like your mum does when you go to visit.

Stoppi: A mooth made for shite-in in.


If you think that's a wee bit strange - or even a little arousing, I wont judge - just wait till Anna's funeral, when just before the ceremony Frankie boy sneaks into the funeral home and quietly injects her corpse with an embalming liquid.

Either because he's having the service on the cheap or that he has other plans for his dead missis.

Which do you think?

Unbeknown to Frank, Mr. Kale (flash in the pan/cum in my pants Modesto) the friendly neighbourhood funeral director sees the whole thing.

Gah.

Obviously not wanting to spoil the funeral he keeps quiet and heads off home for a drink or three which allows Frank to sneak (he does a lot off that during the film) back that very night and exhume Anna's still fresh, yet slightly stiff body, bundle it into the back of his Ford Transit and head home.

But you know what they say about best laid plans and all that, 'cos the journey home is a disaster of Last of The Summer Wine comedic proportions with Frank first having to endure a flat tire followed by a run in with the police before finally coming across an obscenely chubby and squint eyed 'cock-er-nee' (the dubbing director must have been either very drunk or very bored) hitchhiker named Jan (D'Elia) who won't take no for answer.

Or by the state of her that bag of chips away from her mouth.

Falling asleep in the van after one too many pasties, Jan is oblivious when Frank  drags Anna's corpse into the basement and then slicing her open from boob to bush to remove her vitals before finally sucking her brain thru' a tube up her nose.

Which is fairly lucky really because no doubt that greedy bitch Jan would've probably tried to scoff it all.

His luck can't last tho' and just as he's popping Anna's glass eyes into her exquisite skull Jan stumbles into the basement - obviously drawn by the smell of fresh offal - to find Frank covered in blood, sweat, shit and shame whilst bending over the corpse.

Jan screams but as she turns to run the friction of her thighs rubbing together causes a bucket of intestines to fall on her, giving Frank enough time to beat her to death with a rolled up copy of Stuffed Bird Monthly.

Which is better than she deserved if I'm honest.

Which I am.

Always.

Eamon Holmes and Kate Garraway's Strictly Come Dancing routine failed to impress a stern-faced D'Arcy Bussell yesterday. Or was that today?



Iris, no doubt at a loose end after polishing off the china (and Frank) is soon on the scene to help tidy up the mess before helping Frank to carry Anne to the bedroom, dressing her in a lovely nylon nightie and painting her finger and toe nails a luscious deep red colour.

Which actually improves her look no end, complementing as it does her massive blotchy chin.

As a new day dawns Frank sets about his daily routine as if nothing untoward had happened.

Which is probably a good thing seeing as her has an urgent appointment with  Mr. Kale who wants his baboon stuffing.

But Kale has other things on his mind.

And it's not discovering the secret of how baboons manage to keep their arses so red and peachy.

You see it seems that word has gotten out that someone stole Anna's corpse and Kale suspects Frank of the crime and in a sneaky plan that Columbo would be proud of arranges for a mutual friend to discuss the project whilst he sneaks into Frank's basement.

Alas Kale doesn't come across any corpses - he's probably still spent from doing that at work on slow days -  but does find a necklace belonging to Anna.
Spookily it was the one she was buried in.

Tho' Kale ignores this fact and goes home.

No doubt to search T'internet for ape porn.

He must have really loved that baboon.

Boiled onions!


We've no time for monkey sex tho' (which is unusual for D'Amato) because Frank still has a body to get rid of.

Waiting till nightfall (and till his loyal housekeeper has done the dishes) he gets Iris to pop Jan's body in the bathtub - don't worry, it's a bloody big bath - and cover it in acid before pulping the remaining lumpy bits with a hammer.

The sight of Iris taking such pleasure from her work (well it's either that or the smell from her breath) is enough to make Frank vomit but luckily Iris is more than willing to 'take him in hand' and make it all better.

Which in case you found that too subtle means she gives him a handjob whilst pulling a face like your nan when she wins at bingo.

Cardini: your dad did. Twice.

The next day Frank understandably decides to go driving to help clear his head.

And hopefully get rid of the memory - and smell - of Iris' beefy fingers.

It's not long tho' (it is a fairly short movie) before his mind is completely cleared of all things murder and old lady sex related thanks to the sight of an ample arsed, poodle haired jogger sitting at the side of the road suggestively rubbing her swollen ankle and Frank, being the gentlemanly type immediately offers to take her up the villa for a thorough bandaging.

The woman (Cardini coming across like a slightly saucier version of top 70's teevee star Susan Stranks and one of the few actresses to get a 4 out of 5 'nice feet' rating on Wikifeet) obviously attracted to Bri-Nylon leisure wear, accepts his offer.

No sooner have they arrived at Frank's pad than the pair of them are kissing, cuddling and engaging in general fondling on the sofa and Frank, happy to be finally pulling someone fairly attractive (as opposed to dead old or just dead) drags his new lady friend off to the bedroom for a quick shag.

You remember the bedroom don't you?

You know the one where he keeps his dead wife.

Everything is going swimmingly till Frank decides, just at the moment of entry, pulls down the bedsheets revealing Anna's corpse.

The juicy jogger turns her head and upon seeing this completely different kind of stiffie leering over her begins to scream.

Frank has no choice but to kill her.

And stupidly before he's even climaxed.

Luckily Iris is on hand to (eventually) clean up both messes.

"Sssssh! You'll wake me mam!" - That's you losing your virginity that is.


Obviously jealous at the thought of Frank shagging someone his own age (and someone who's breathing) Iris decides that the best course of action would be to get rid of Anna's body and persuade Frank to marry her, promising him a lifetime of vinegary hand-jobs and leek soup.

Frank not too surprisingly isn't too keen on getting rid of Anna but scarily agrees to marry Iris (the sick fuck) and even offers to make her the mistress of the estate.

If it were me I'd rather carry on shagging the corpse.

Any corpse.

Even your nan's.

Again.

Desperate to keep her hands (and black toothed mouth) on Franks manhood she begrudgingly agrees, promising to look after both Frank and his 'baby doll'.

I've already done a 'mooth shite' caption.....damn.

After excitedly buying a new dress and washing her bun Iris invites her family over to dinner in order to celebrate her engagement to Frank but things get off to a sticky start when the groom to be storms off in a huff, locking himself in his bedroom with Anna, professing his undying love for her whilst gently stroking her golden hair.

Which is kinda sweet if I'm honest.

Annoyed at her fiancés no show, Iris storms upstairs in an attempt to finally persuade Frank to get rid of Anna causing our hero to finally see the error of his ways.

By that I mean agreeing to shag a pensioner, not sharing a bed with a corpse obviously.

As the argument becomes more heated Frank realises that punching Iris in the face whilst calling her a dirty old whore isn't really going to help matters and the pair decide to call it a day.

Well Frank decides to call it a day, Iris on the other hand has gone totally fruitloops and she's decided to call it a strawberry.

Whilst all this shouty stuff's been going on, Mr. Kale (remember him?) has been keeping his beedy eye (as opposed to the weeping squint one) on Frank and all the creepy goings on at the villa.

Between perving over primates obviously.

But just when Frank (and the audience) don't think the situation can get any worse (or convoluted), who should turn up but Anna's never before mentioned twin sister Elena (Monreale again) in order to pay her respects to Frank.

She was obviously too busy getting her nails done to attend the funeral.

In reality she's only turned up to give the director an excuse to send everyone off the deep end and into the murky waters of mentalism in preparation for a blood soaked climax.

So will Frank come to his senses and end up marrying Elena?

Will Iris ever wash?

And more importantly will Kale ever get his hands on that stuffed baboon?

Answers to the usual email address.




The late 70’s to mid 80’s was a prolific time for the European horror genre and is seen by many as the career high point for such directors as Lucio Fulci, Dario Argento, Luigi Cozzi and Umberto Lenzi, their work constantly pushing back the boundaries of cinema with increasingly bizarre plots and simply lashings of gore in such masterpieces as Zombie Flesh Eaters, Tenebrae, Contamination*, The Beyond and Cannibal Ferox.

But the genres most underrated (and under appreciated) director must be the late great Aristide Massaccesi  (AKA Joe D'Amato, the man I share my birthday with).

Best known as a soft core porn director, he also contributed to the Euro-horror genre with such ‘classics’ as Anthropophagus: The Beast (starring Mia’s one eyed, ex cab driver sister Tisa Farrow) before wowing audiences worldwide with his fantastic forays into goreporn Erotic Nights of The Living Dead, Emmanuelle and The Last Cannibals (both starring dusky eyed beauty Laura Gemser) and  the subtly titled Porno Holocaust.

But perhaps his most accessible (and definitely least sordid) work is the wonderful Buio Omega: Beyond The Darkness.


With it's genius examples of Eurocentric 'panto acting, surrealist dubbing coupled with scenes of uncompromising violence and cheap gore the film stands up as D'Amato's most accomplished movie.

For one thing it has a vague semblance of a plot (usually his movies go: opening titles, shagging, murder, shagging, talky bit, shagging, misplaced 70's synth score, murder, end credits), a particularly strong lead performance from Kieren Canter (the only one he ever gave if I'm honest), a fantastically evocative score from Goblin, adequate - tho' barely - special effects and some even genuinely creepy moments.

Tho' it must be said that the best of these are when Iris attempts sexiness.

Gah indeed.



But just imagine tho' how much greater still it could've been in the hands of a more capable director (the bloke who directed Lord of Tears perhaps or Eli Roth?)**.

I'm sure there's a really bizarre alternate film universe where this is seen as a definitive Eurohorror classic, a kind of Italian Psycho or Peeping Tom. 

As it stands we have a sometimes tense, slightly vile but entertaining movie with a heart as black as Iris' tightly curled pubes. 

And for once D'Amato resisted using actors with porn mustaches, frightful chest wigs and a bad case of genital warts, for which we can all be thankful.































*OK maybe not Contamination. 


**For my American readers this is what we call irony.