Wednesday, August 31, 2011

childcare for beginners part one.

Nuff said really.

night of the creeps.

Please, for the love of God make it stop.

Peeping Blog (2010).
Dir: Creep Creepersin. 
Cast: Ariauna Albright, Creep Creepersin and Elissa Dowling.

Welcome to the wild and wacky world of 'Peter The Peeper' (director Creepersin, AKA Skrotar the honestly), a softly spoken yet scarily sausage fingered voyeur who spends his days (and nights) following a short skirted, fairly harsh faced young lady named Ethel (Albright from Platoon of the Dead and the classic Caged Lesbos A-Go-Go) around town then writing about it on his blog.

Nothing like me and Megan Stewart then.

Everything is going swimmingly for our peeping pal until Ethel's sister (Dowling, sister of Big Brother's Brian and the star of Bloody Bloody Bible Camp) turns up in an even shorter skirt for a surprise visit.

Hiding behind the coat-stand Peter continues to film his intended victims.

Luckily for him tho' they both appear to be blind (and deaf) making the whole thing that wee bit easier.

I mean there's no other way these two girls could fail to spot a hugely overweight, bearded asthmatic with a camera hiding behind under a raincoat in the corner of the room is there?

"Laugh now!"
But it's not all plain sailing tho' as very soon (tho' not soon enough) poor Peter desperately needs a wee, leaving our Peeper with a difficult choice.

Should he piss in a nearby pot plant, leg it and risk getting caught by the fuzz (a painful experience or so I'm told) or should he give the sexy siblings a nice surprise by jumping out of the wardrobe and tie them up before threatening them with a massive rubberised dildo?

Can you guess which?

Your mum hard at work yesterday.

Can I just say here and now that I'm all for underground film making, the fact that these days it's even easier than ever for any Tom, Dick or Harvey to get access to a camera, cast, crew and editing software enabling them to make their own movie is a fantastic thing.

Most of the time at least.

But for every Gareth Edwards or Carlo Ledesma there are a dozen talent-less myopic hacks with more money and self importance than sense violently forcing their entertainment free and cheese tasting celluloid spunk down our throats like some particularly sadistic cinema sex beast determined to infect everyone they come into contact with with their own brand of cinematic-ally Transmitted Diseases.

you know who you are.

I wouldn't want one of them swimming up my arse.

Less of a movie and more like a straight to DVD dose of anal warts, Peeping Blog is desperate to want to be seen as some kind of real-time art house thriller but with its muffled dialogue, endless POV shots of a car sitting at traffic lights alongside interesting views of store front and random women drinking coffee.

Obviously wannabe Warhol Creep Creepersin is aiming squarely at the chin-stroking crowd with this beauty, unfortunately tho' it's so brain numbingly awful that it ends up more arsehouse than arthouse, a film so energy drainingly boring that I not only lost the will to live whilst watching it but actually lost the ability to shit too.
Seriously, I've been unable to pass a single stool since viewing this and believe me, it's really fucking uncomfortable.

Big plastic cock in mah mooth!

The human race is doomed and the earth finished.

Don't forget to turn the light off on your way out.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

beast wars.

Anthropophagous: The Beast (AKA The Grim Reaper, The Savage Island 1980)
Dir: Joe D'Amato
Starring: Tisa Farrow, Serena Grandi, Margaret Donnelly, Mark Bodin and Sir George Eastman.

Our tale of 'terror' opens on a grey and overcast Greek beach where a pair of unattractive German tourists are relaxing on vacation.

A girl in a horrible 70's style bikini swims out into the choppy waters, leaving her boyfriend listening to his unfeasibly large 'Walkman' and posing in his tiny Speedo's but within seconds, something pulls her down beneath the surface amid an enormous cloud of blood.

Unaware of his girlfriends murder the young man carries on frugging away to whatever it is German tourists listen to only to be rudely interrupted by a hatchet in the face.


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"Aya! my BCG!"

About a month or so later (trust me, it feels longer) American broad abroad Julie (a very bored looking Tisa Farrow) overhears a group of badly dressed, big haired holidaymakers talking about a boat tour of the Aegean they're organising.

This motley crew consists of Alan/Andy (depending on the dub), a hunky med. student, His sister (or maybe his ex girlfriend, again depending on the dub but I don't really care), Carol, new age tarot reading nutter, Danny, Italian stud muffin for hire, Arnold, mister 'no character traits' and his pregnant wife Maggie plus the boat owner and open necked shirt man Stephis.

Julie asks if they could take her to one of the nearby islands. You see she’s supposed to be visiting some friends there, but she’s running a wee bit late and managing to miss the last boat (what? no water taxi's? or phones?).

The group think "The sister of Mia Farrow and star of Zombie Flesh Eaters on our boat? Coolio!" and invite her along.

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Farrow: floppy fringed and bored senseless.

As they sail away, kooky Carol foresees disaster for Julie in her tarot cards. You see, Julie's future reading came out as an unintelligible load of old bollocks, which means (to us in the tarot know) that she has no future!

The others, however, just think she's barmy and chuck the cards overboard.

Arriving at the island Maggie 'trips' and twists her ankle and decides to stay on board with sweaty Stephis while the others explore but not long after a mysterious figure kills the open necked shirted one, kidnaps a screaming (and probably really dangerously hormonal) Maggie and sets the boat adrift.....

Meantime, the others explore the deserted island. Carol thinks she sees a figure at a window, but when they go to look no one can be found. All the signs lead to bad things, broken windows, a sign saying 'go away' and finally a horribly mutilated body – and that there is indeed badness on this island as Carol kept suggesting.

Not too surprisingly, everyone decides it's time to go.

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Yup...nothing to see here.

With darkness quickly descending and a storm brewing on the horizon they take refuge in Julie's friends' deserted house…The friends now have a choice of plan....snuggle up together quietly till morning or split up and explore with only a match to light their way.

Julie and Andy decide to take the exploring option.

It's all going well till a blind girl jumps on Andy screaming "I can smell him… I'm the only one who knows when he's coming. And I'm never wrong. He smells of blood…" Which doesn't say much for the killers choice of aftershave.

Julie recognises the girl as her friends daughter Ariette, so the threesome decide to head back to the house together.

Aw sweet.

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She's least she can only hear the bloody film.

Unfortunately Ariette's ramblings send Carole over the edge (probably because there's only room for one mad woman in the house) and she runs away sobbing like a big girls blouse.

As Julie follows in hot pursuit, Ariette senses the presence of (or just smells) the killer in the house…

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Can't decide what's more terrifying...
the neck wound or the hair.

Anthropophagous: the Beast is famous for three main reasons; it's genre God Joe D'Amato's first foray into 'straight horror' (after his 'gore porn' hits like Erotic Nights of The Living Dead), it has one of the best titles ever and was banned as a 'video nasty' during the 80's in the UK.

But more on that later.

D'Amato regular (and the movie's co-writer), the great George Eastman stars, alongside his colossal mantits as 'the beast' of the title, a shambling monosyllabic Max Wall gone to seed with a taste for human flesh, all trampy mullet, tight trousers, yellowy scalp and unbuttoned shirts.

It's so well realised that you can literally smell the piss and nob cheese thru' the screen.

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Eastman: sorted for gin and piss.

And like all D'Amato movies there are some moments of quality, the suspenseful chase through the woods, where Julie's face is illuminated by brief flashes of lightning showcases the directors (usually unnoticed) skill as a cinematographer to the sequence exploring the beast's shabby almost pathetic lair via the disturbing flashback explaining the beast's origins – shipwrecked with his family, he accidentally kills his wife whilst trying to calm her down after suggesting the eat the body of their dead son to survive - but these little touches of greatness do nothing to help save the rest of the film from being a shoddily made, boredom fest of a movie.

And the movie's most notorious scene - and it's reason for appearing on the DPP banned list?

Well that comes late in the film where, after killing Arnold, the beast proceeds to tear the foetus from a still screaming Maggie's belly and then eat it.

This caused uproar amongst MP's and journalist's alike in 1984, when (incredible as it may seem) many were convinced they were witnessing an actual snuff movie.

I will admit it took me over 20 years to finally view this scene, not I hasten to add because I was concerned by the graphic image of infanticide I would undoubtedly see, but because the rest of the film leading up to that bit is so arse numbingly boring.

Most of it is either shot in the dark or on what looks like out of date off-cuts of cheap market stall film stock, the cast's acting style is almost totally non existent (you know it's a lost cause when even Tisa Farrow is in a film for the money) and when the most terrifying thing in a film is an actresses almost obscenely hairy armpits (take a bow Ariette! I know you're blind but you could of at least had a feel under's like a forest) you know you're in big trouble.

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"Did you get me a Drifter?"

Anyway, I digress.

Back to eating babies and the infamy surrounding this scene (which is still missing from the UK cut of this film), when you finally summon up the courage to view it you can plainly see that Eastman is chowing down on a (dead) baby rabbit wrapped in bacon rashers.

How can anyone get a baby and a rabbit confused?

And confused enough to take it to court on obscenity charges?

I mean:

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Fluffy bunny wabbit (sans bacon).

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Small child
(also sans bacon).

If you make it that far tho' you're rewarded with a classic final scene where Eastman is stabbed in the stomach with a pickaxe and, not letting a cannibal trick go by, proceeds to scoop up his intestines and shove them back into the wound.

When this fails he decides it's easier to just eat them.

See? told you it was a quality movie.

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Tisa Farrow is shocked to discover
no-one eats a baby in her DVD copy.

Luckily Anthropophagous: the Beast is available in the UK for those brave souls that fancy it.

You're cheapest option is to search your local pound shop (no, really) as it's available on a double disc (but renamed The Grim Reaper) with Mario Bava's Daria Nicolodi starrer Shock (called Beyond The Door II on the packaging).

Unfortunately this version (and surprisingly the last US release) is missing the foetus eating scene and, it must be said most of the plot.

Thankfully tho' our German cousins (God bless 'em!) have recently released a fully uncut version and it's in the original 1.85:1 aspect ratio too.

As a downside it looks like it's been transfered from an old nth generation video copy meaning large amounts of the movie appear to be filmed in utter blackness.....

Well you win some you lose some.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

lost and found.

Found on a street in Glasgow, this cruelly discarded Aquaman sticker.

Look at the state of it, I mean who would want this now?

Minor superhero sticker abuse.

It must be stopped. NOW.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

evelyn whoaaar!

La Notte che Evelyn uscì dalla tomba (AKA The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave, The Night She Arose from the Tomb, The Night That Evelyn Left the Tomb. 1971).
Dir: Emilio Miraglia.
Cast: Anthony Steffen, Marina Malfatti, Erika Blanc, Giacomo Rossi-Stuart, Enzo Tarascio, Umberto Raho, Roberto Maldera and Joan C. Davis.

Welcome to the world of the filthy rich yet nutty as squirrel shit Sir Alan Cunningham (Steffen, AKA Antonio De Steffe, B-movie beefcake for hire) who, when not escaping from the local lunatic asylum on a monthly basis is hiring seedy down-at-heel hookers from down at the local docks for tuppence a time.

And the fact that Sir Alan uses fake number plates when picking up these sensuous ladies of the night really doesn't help the feeling that he may be after more than a wee bit of slap and tickle.

Arriving at his ramshackle stately home one night with a particularly rouge faced, ginger haired old slapper named Terri (no doubt played by your mum) Sir Alan leads her to a sumptuously seventies (in a kinda Roger Moore way) living room where he prepares a few glasses of J & B Whiskey (the Eurohorror drink of choice) while she slowly strips in an incredibly bored manner.

Bruce Campbell entertaining
a hunchbacked dwarf yesterday.

Stripped down to her market stall suspenders and big black Grannie pants she seductively follows Big Al into what she thinks is the bedroom.

So imagine her surprise when she discovers she's actually been led into a medieval torture chamber.

Before you can say bloodied breasts, Terri Whore finds herself strapped to a block of wood whilst Alan whips her before branding her soft white skin and finally stabbing her to death in a mentalist frenzy whilst screaming something about some woman named Evelyn.

Which is nice.

Early next morning Albert the grounds-keeper (Maldera, in a performance worthy of his own spin-off series), is angrily accosting Alan on the front lawn.

It appears that all the stabbings and torture kept poor Albert awake the night before and now he's too knackered to even consider mowing the grass.

Alan, being a considerate sort of chap gives Albert £30 in the hopes of winning him over (which indeed it does) so the crafty gardener heads into town to stock up on tissues and Pot Noodles, but not before a huge explanatory scene that serves to reveal that Evelyn was not only Sir Al’s (red haired) wife but also Albert's wee sister.

Stranger things are to come tho' as we discover that she died under 'mysterious circumstances' shortly after her husband became aware of the fact that she was having an affair.

Could this be related to the huge number of dead ginger whores in the cellar?

Blanc faced.

That night, craving a wee bit more of the old sex and violence (well, it keeps him off the streets I guess....oh right), Alan phones his equally as hatstand relative, George (the late, great Murdock star of The Etruscan Kills Again) to see if he fancies a night on the town.

George, next in line to the Cunningham fortune is the brains behind the operation, being the one that picks the 'nite spots' and back alley's that the duo frequent as well as deciding which red heads Alan should murder.

Which is more than any cousin of mine has done for me, except for that one time with the head in the fridge but that wasn't my fault.

All dressed up in the latest high fashions, the kinky pair head into town to the famous Barnsley Strip Emporium and Bingo Club where the harsh faced yet appealingly carrot topped stripper Susie (Blanc, the breast revealing star of A Dragonfly for Each Corpse and Will Our Heroes Be Able to Find Their Friend Who Has Mysteriously Disappeared in Africa?) is about to strut her stuff.

Oh, and get her tits out obviously.

Alan and George attempt to cover their tracks.

By the end of the evening, Sir Alan has hooked up with Susie, offering her a massive £1000 (in old money) to come back to his house for a stabbing.

I mean a shag.

Returning to Sir Al's pad, it's not long before Susie finds herself bra-less (tho' suitably huge panted), bound and standing in the middle of the torture chamber with Alan sweatily rubbing his hands together with glee as he approaches her menacingly.

A swift knee to the happy sacks gives Susie enough time to leg it into the garden, vault the fence and take refuge in a deserted chapel.

Within minutes the sinister sir has found the poor maiden, sinisterly approaching her, his arms outstretched and his feeble erection rubbing against the thin polyester of his loon-pants, for the kill.

Luckily for Susie he's overcome mid throttle by vivid visions of his dead ex missis.

Next morning Sir A goes about his business as normal with no mention or sign of Susie, which is a good job really seeing as he has an appointment with the head psychiatrist from the asylum he used to regularly escape from (Rossi-Stuart from Gate of Hell, War of the Robots, The Last Man on Earth and Kill, Baby... Kill! playing the Doc not the asylum, obviously).

It's a pity then that Doctor Timberlake, sorry Timberlane (for that is he) appears to be as nutty as he is.

Not only is he confused as to whether his former patient should really be going out butchering sleazy burds but he reckons that holding a séance to get in touch with Al's dead wife to let her tell her hubbie to move on would be a good idea.

This has come about due to Doc Timberlane discovering that Alan’s Aunt Agatha (Davis, looking more like Al's younger sister) is a bona fide psychic medium.

Matthew Waterhouse, up the casino 1982.

The séance (rather unexpectedly to them but obviously not to us) is a huge success with Evelyn hovering above the dining table, but as she goes to speak Alan has another seizure, making the idea of having another ghostly chat experience a wee bit of an embarrassing idea for all involved.

So it’s back murdering gin soaked whores for Sir Alan.

And where better place to start than a cheap and tacky high society 'do' organised by the always helpful George?

Everything seems to be going to hell in a handbag until George introduces Al to an incredibly beautiful yet frighteningly big chinned girl with the amusingly unsexy name of Gladys (Malfatti from All the Colors of the Dark).

Enjoying her excited chat and horse-like laugh it's obvious that Sir Alan is besotted, so much so that it comes as a shock to all involved when he gets down on one knee and proposes to Gladys there and then.

Gladys all over.

With a swing in his step and a song in his heart Alan begins to restore the family mansion and put his past life of whore slashing behind him, gathering his entire family (well, his aunt and cousin plus Albert) alongside a bevvy of saucy blonde maids to begin preparations for what could be a wedding to rival the late, great Jordan's for out and out freak value.

Unsurprisingly it's not long before things start to go wrong (and no, I don't mean that Al's fiancee is shite at cage fighting and wears a dress) when the theft of an an antique dinner service by a mysterious redhead dressed in a French maid outfit (wahey!) causes Alan’s Evelyn fixated hallucinations to begin again.

Putting two and two together to make 'random horror logic jump', Gladys begins to think that Evelyn might not be dead at all.

Is it wrong to find this photo sexy?

Sod stolen tea sets and wedding bollocks tho' because after the spate of prostitute murders in the films first half the audience is now gagging for some more killings (preferably by a black gloved mentalist).

Well don't worry we won't have long to wait.

First up poor Albert is attack with a big snake and buried alive after being rendered unconscious by the reptiles vile venom then Aunt Agatha has a housebrick dropped on her (bulbous) head before being fed to Alan's pet foxes.


How the story may have been reported by
the press if it were real.

And if that wasn't enough to keep the film lurching excitedly towards it's climax then the fact that glamorous Gladys has started seeing Evelyn floating outside her window at night  should make even the most jaded horror fan shriek with, oh I don't know...mild apathy I guess?

But what's this? Alan himself finally saw her too this time, so off he goes to the deserted chapel where her coffin lies.

Once inside, Alan is relieved to find not only the stolen dinner set (they're not cheap you know) but also Evelyn, who frighteningly still has a full curvy figure and ample breasts but a face of utter skull fuckness.

Like Skeletor's head stuck on Lorraine Kelly's body.

Feeling a tad better for seeing his dead wife's breasts again, Sir Al is just about to seal her coffin when Evelyn suddenly opens her eyes and sits bolt upright!

A by now even more unhinged Alan starts to dribble before dropping to his knees and pissing himself (with fright, not laughter), his mind totally broken by this supernatural act.

Stepping out of her coffin and wandering off into the night, Evelyn waits till she's out of her husband's field of vision before pulling off the shoddy skull mask to reveal......


It appears that everything has been a big elaborate (some may say over elaborate) plot by George to get his hands on Alan’s title and fortune.

The dirty sod.

Celebrating his new found wealth George takes Gladys to his secluded love nest just outside Bridgenorth to celebrate, but once a sly bastard always a sly bastard and he turns on the big chinned chick too, poisoning her Champagne.

As Gladys lies on the sofa, foaming at the mouth and pulling a scarily accurate Bruce Forsyth cum face (I know what that looks like, my nan told me), who should walk in but Susie!

Yup, she was working for George too.

For fuck sake this is convoluted.

Gladys, half dead yet still bouncy, picks up a handy bread knife and lunges at Susie, sticking it into her shoulder-blade, Susie retaliates with a broken bottle.

Soon both ladies are cutting chunks out of each other with various handy household items as George looks on with a kinda manic glee usually seen on your mum's face when your best mate visits after swimming.

It's not long before the pair of them are lying dead in a huge pool of their own blood, leaving George with no witnesses or loose ends, just a huge pile of cash.

Leaving his house to begin his newly acquired playboy lifestyle, George is shocked to find Alan standing in his flower patch cradling a huge bag of nitric acid fertilizer to his bosom.

It seems the madness (well some of it) was just a ruse to out George for the bad man that he is and now Sir Alan wants revenge...

"Look at the dog!"

My God, Miraglia what the hell had you (and not to mention co-writers Fabio Pittorru and Massimo Felisatti) been drinking when you concocted this massively brilliant mess of a movie?

I mean, it took longer to explain the plot than it did to watch the film.

What director today would have the audacity to have a lunatic, whore slashing inbred English aristocrat as the put upon hero?

Then cast a swarthy Italian to play him?

But as it stands the whole film is just an excuse for a variety of deliciously red-headed Eurotrash babes to get their kit off at every given opportunity whilst the rest of the cast wander around gaudy as fuck sets in outfits that Roger Moore's Bond wouldn't be seen dead in spouting inane dialogue with all the emotion and feeling of a bag of clothes pegs.

And really, you can't argue with that can you?

If that's not enough to convince you tho' there are some fantastically shot scenes of undisputed genius in the film as well (OK, there are two but who's counting? Oh yeah, me).

Alan’s maddening pursuit of Susie from the torture chamber to the chapel alongside Evelyn's resurrection from the dead are heart stopping moments of sheer terror that really need to be seen to be believed and the films dementedly mad plot and choppy editing actually add to the overall joy to be had from Evelyn (both before and after her rise).

Essential family viewing.


Been tidying Unwell towers recently and found this beauty (as well as a colourised Night of The Living Dead and a Betamax Blade Runner on Warners rental only label, fuck knows how much I owe on that) on good old VHS cassette.

So did it live up to my childhood memory?

What do you think?

Eaten Alive (AKA Death Trap, Starlight Slaughter, Horror Hotel, Horror Hotel Massacre. 1977).
Dir: Tobe Hooper.

Cast: Neville Brand, Marilyn Burns, Carolyn Jones, Stuart Whitman, Janus Blythe Betty Cole, Kyle Richards, Roberta Collins, William Finley, Mel Ferrer and Crystin Sinclaire.
"My name's Buck and I'm rarin' to fuck!"

Welcome to the small US town of Tossburgh (near Texas I'm assuming from the fashions and accents), it might not be much to look at but it has everything a weary traveller will need.

On main street there's the world famous Bad Place Brothel run by Miss Hattie (Morticia Addams herself, Carolyn Jones looking for all the world like a half melted Truman Capote waxwork), a bar cum diner that appears to have only one song on the jukebox and a, um, police station run by Mark Forrest from Invaders of The Lost Gold.

On one of his rare, sober days obviously.

If you need somewhere to relax after a hard days boozing and shagging then the town boasts a fantastic place to stay that's just a few minutes away, the fantastic Starlight Motel, located in an incredibly secluded wood (so secluded that it's actually in a studio, miles away from any live action shots and lit like a bad soap opera).

Run by the enigmatically bowl haired ex-soldier Leslie Judd (Neville Brand, star of Stalag 17 and father of Russell and Jo), the establishment boasts hot and cold running mentalism, flock wallpaper, an old sofa on the porch and a mini petting zoo consisting of a giant crocodile.

Just the place to take the kids.

Or it would be if Judd could go longer than ten minutes without offing somebody.

Anyway, on with the plot.

"Where's me washboard?"

Good ol' boy Buck(Sir Robert of Englund) is just about to get his end away with a pink babydoll nightied, bubble permed prostitute by the name of Clara (Death Race 2000's  Collins) on one of his frequent visits to the aforementioned Bad Place Brothel.

So far so seventies fashioned.

It's the poor gals first time tho' and Buck doesn't make it any better by roughly rolling her over and trying to do her up the arse, which as we all know is most definitely second date stuff.

Terrified and helpless Clara begs Buck to stop but our pervy pal is adamant that he wants his full hours worth of fun and tells her as much whilst trying to stick it in her.

Which would probably be a lot easier if he wasn't wearing his trousers and her a big pair of black granny pants.

But hey, that must be how they do things in the south.

Attracting the attention of Miss Hattie, Clara announces that she no longer wants to be a whore, most definitely doesn't fancy a wee bit of anal violation and wishes to return home.

Being a caring, sharing kinda boss, Hattie offers Buck a fantastic two for one deal before kicking poor Clara out into the street.

Jon Pertwee's initial costume choice was quickly vetoed by the producer.

With only some stamps, twenty pence and a hairy mint in her purse poor Clara trudges up the street in the hope of finding somewhere to stay.

cut to a dimly lit backlot and our failed floozy is soon outside the Starlight Motel and it's oddball owner.

All's going swimmingly (well as swimmingly as a conversation between a bewigged block of wood and a man so over the top he's in orbit can go) until Judd realises where Carla used to work.

Baring his yellowing teeth Judd picks the poor girl up off the floor and squeezes her arse before bludgeoning her to death with a scythe and feeding her whole to his croc.

And you thought they spat that bit out.

No sooner has Judd cleaned up the mess that was Clara's bowel than more guests arrive (albeit driving very slowly for fear of knocking down the cardboard trees).

Please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Des Functional, their daughter Angie and pet dog.

Liza Minelli-wigged Mrs. Functional (Marilyn Burns from TCM) desperately tries to hold on to an air of normality whilst her poppy eyed, crow faced hubbie Des (Finley from Phantom of The Paradise) minces around like a drunk Slinky whilst barking at the dog, much to the amusement (oh alright, total apathetic blankness) of wee Angie (latter day babe Richards).

Don't fret tho' cos it's not long before dad's dead, the dogs been eaten and mom's stripped down to her little white undies and tied to her bed, her mouth duct taped up and poor little Angie is trapped under the house whilst Judd menacingly waves his chopper at her.

Cliff Richard, up the casino, last week.

Judd's underage carnage will have to wait tho' as who should turn up next?

Only Clara's dad, the grumpy Mr. Harvey Wood (no shame Ferrer) and his terrifyingly plain younger daughter Libby (Sinclaire).

Father Harvey, obviously annoyed at how his career has gone after divorcing Audrey Hepburn starts shouting at Judd regarding the motel's wallpaper but just before a bit of full on topless old man wrestling can begin Libby calms the situation down.


Shuffling back to his car in order to get his luggage (which surprisingly isn't kept in the huge leathery bags under his eyes) Harvey comes across Sheriff Martin (movie icon and walking brewery Whitman) who kindly offers to help in their quest to find Clara.

Insert cock here. Again.

Harvey decides to rest up in the motel whilst Libby heads into town with Martin for a slap up meal and heartfelt chat at the local bar, giving her a chance to experience Buck's chat up skills and marvel at the frankly perfectly pert arse belonging to his date, the luscious lolita Lynette (the yumsome Blythe from The Hills Have Eyes and one of my first major movie crushes).

This sight is, by far the best reason to watch the movie.

You'd have to. Twice. Maybe three times on a Friday.

Unfortunately with no-one to stop them arguing it's only a matter of time before Judd and Harvey are back at each others throats, Harvey using a clenched fist and Judd his trusty scythe.

Unsurprisingly it's not too long before Harvey's bloodied corpse is chucked into the lake.

Bloody hell, that crocodile's gonna burst at this rate.

with Libby heading back to the motel for a snooze, Buck and Lynette heading over for 'the sex', poor Angie still stuck under the floorboards and mum desperate for a wee it can only be a matter of time before someone (anyone? Please?) discovers how far Judd is willing to go to keep his pet happy.

But who will survive?

And what will be left of their careers?

Tramp in mah big green mooth!

With a director and writer hot off the back of an all-time cult classic and an ensemble cast to die for, Eaten Alive should be one of the all time greats of the horror genre.

Unfortunately Hooper didn't so much as drop the ball than not actually have a ball to begin with.

Or any idea of what the fuck to do with the ball if it actually existed.

Unlike the hyper real Texas Chainsaw, which made it's lack of budget, non-actors and home-made sets a unique feature of the film, Eaten Alive seems strangely studio bound looking for all the world like it was shot for peanuts in the late sixties by a particularly ham-fisted Herschell Gordon Lewis wannabe; the plotting is nonsensical, the editing obviously done by a hook-handed child leaving long............ pauses in the middle of scenes and the scratched, outdated film stock (obviously found in a bin) and lack of continuity between studio and location work gives the impression of two different movies shoddily spliced together.

Unfortunately for us neither of them look any good.

Blythe: Nice, milky thighs you could ski down.

But it's not all bad.

I mean, with a cast as great as this how could it be?

Plus it does feature a tiny monkey.

And William Finley (sporting the greasiest barnet even committed to celluloid) barking like a dog in a vane attempt to get noticed by David Lynch and rescued from this madness.

Plus Janus Blythe's oft mentioned perfectly sculptured arse and silky smooth thighs.

And it's strangely hypnotic, like a particularly gruesome car crash drawing you in until you find it impossible to turn away, desperate to find out what Hooper will throw at the screen next.

Nowhere near as great as his Classic Lifeforce but still worth a look.

Especially if you suffer from sadomasochistic tendencies.

Or are a twelve year old boy.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

people you fancy but shouldn't part 32.

Sally Bercow, ex pot smoking, booze guzzling and shag crazy wife of House of Commons Speaker John Bercow.

Friday, August 19, 2011

gotta catch 'em all.

Finally after years of searching the internet, charity shops and my dads cupboard my Doctor Who collection is complete.

 Obviously I only have these for completist value.

A wee bit like K-9 & Company.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

everybody in the house of love.

Sorry about the lack of updates of late, been stuck in the middle of school holibags trying to juggle evil podlings whilst drawing sexy were-ladies and caped vigilantes.

It's a dirty job etc.

The Silent House (2010).
Dir: Gustavo Hernández. 
Cast: Florencia Colucci, Abel Tripaldi and Gustavo Alonso.

It's a lovely Autumn eve in downtown Uruguay (I think), the sun is setting, the birds are tweeting and the painfully hatchet faced Laura (Colucci, looking like a healthier, slightly less pie obsessed Sonia Jackson from Eastenders) is accompanying her grizzly Edward James Olmos-ish father (and collector of Henrik's department store staff lottery money) Wilson (the director of Rompenieblas, una historia de psicoanálisis y dictadura himself, Alonso) to their pal Jimmy Néstor’s (Tripaldi, misspelt brother of Peter) run-down old house, where they plan to spend the night for no other reason than it looks a wee bit creepy.

Oh and silent, obviously.

Néstor, being a nice guy, has bought along a couple of fluorescent lamps (you know, the ones bright enough to use a video camera with), a tinny off-tune medium wave radio and a few dog blankets for his friends to help them thru' the night.

No Bovril, booze or biscuits tho' the tight bastard.

Settling down on a couple of big dusky chairs for the night and with some frankly appalling Spanish language country music to help them get to sleep, Laura is soon (well, soonish I mean we have to put up with ten minutes of her aimlessly wandering the house and giving us a quick glimpse of bra strap first) disturbed by the sound of shuffling coming from upstairs.

"Look at the dog! Look at the dog!"

Finally waking her dad from his pneumatic breast obsessed dream he reluctantly heads upstairs to have a nosey about leaving Laura downstairs quivering like a very thin jelly.

A sudden bang followed by a manly scream informs Laura (and the viewer) that something nasty has happened to Wilson.

Well it's either that or he's tripped over an old paint pot but where would the tension be in that?

Cue an hour of Laura investigating every single inch of her immediate surroundings (and more) even after she discovers he dad's dead and bound body, revealing that there is every possibility of a mad mentalist murderer being in the house with her.

Women eh?

Laura visibly shocked by her dad's black trouser, brown shoe combination.

But don't fret tho' cos these aimless meanderings are often interrupted by the odd tin falling off a shelf, birds flying out of cupboards and big beefy hands grabbing for our heroine who, after about forty minutes of re-enacting cut scenes from Resident Evil, runs off screaming only to come across Néstor on his way back to the house with some pasties for supper.


Given the choice between going to the local police station or heading back to the house our kooky couple decide on the latter (as you would if you still had another twenty odd minutes of film to fill) giving the director even more opportunity for some scary jumps, Polaroid  flash fun featuring ghostly girls and ketchup covered killers and finally a bedroom wall covered in saucy pics of Laura, Néstor and her dad.


"It's the Gonch!"
It seems that young Laura and her dad's pal have a history of doing the (very) dirty together and with, it seems Wilson's blessing.

It's all like a slightly less entertaining episode of Jeremy Kyle.

But with more teeth obviously.

With her fathers body gone, Néstor missing, a ghostly girl wandering the hallways and only a few minutes left to build to a satisfying climax what will happen to poor Laura?

Will she be the killers next victim?

Is it all imagined?

Or will the director treat his audience like idiots and reveal that what we've just watched unfold in real-time is all actually utter bollocks and that Laura's been killing everyone off because Néstor made her get rid of their baby?

They wouldn't do that would they?

Fuck me Cheryl Cole's let herself go.

The biggest shock surrounding this movie is that it's from Uruguay, a country more famous for being the ninth "Most livable and greenest" country in the world and it's cannibalistic rugby team than for it's cinematic triumphs and judging by The Silent House's distinct lack of internal logic, any kind of consistent characterisation and a total disrespect for it's audience's intelligence it'll probably stay that way.

Florencia Colucci, possibly the one from the film, possibly not.

It's selling point as a one-take, real-time thriller is a lie (I spotted at least two edits in the first twenty minutes) as is it's purported 'based on a true story' credentials (possibly). In fact there's nothing here that we haven't seen a thousand times before.

Best of all tho' is the movie's post credits coda where, just to show how mental Laura actually is (because having her murder her dad and lover with a scythe obviously isn't enough) we get ten minutes of her skipping thru' the woods with an imaginary child whilst waffling on about canoes.

If you think I'm being a wee bit harsh (what? me?) it's only because that with a little more care and a lot more thought this could have been a great little spook flick.

As it is now it's just bloody annoying.

Well at least we have the remake with the Olsen Twins younger sister Elizabeth to look forward too.

Friday, August 12, 2011

plugger bugger.

Unveiling the OFFICIAL Grindhoose t-shirts.

Ltd numbers available on the night with orders taken.

A steal at only £10!

Thursday, August 4, 2011

people you fancy but shouldn't part 31.

The Bronte Sisters.

Especially Anne.

And who says this blog isn't cultured?