Wednesday, November 28, 2012

turning japanese.

As a change from the usual Fumetti filth I normally share around the arena, here's some tasteful Japanese Gekiga for your enjoyment.

For those of you not au fait with the history of Japanese comics, Gekiga literally means dramatic pictures  and was originally coined by artist Yoshihiro Tatsumi to differentiate his more adult work from the more widely read manga.

And who said this blog isn't educational?

Really glad I scanned these now seeing as they appear to have gotten very sticky.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 46).

It's that time of the year when we pick our favourite business babe from this years Young Apprentice and this time round there can be only one, apprentice letting agent with Martin & Co (Rotherham), the bootilicious  Ms. Ashleigh Porter-Exley.



children in need.

After sitting in a box for nearly ten years (the film not me) I've finally gotten round to watching probably the greatest British slasher flick of all time.

Oh yes and I also got round to rewatching...

Killer's Moon (1978).
Dir: Alan Birkinshaw.
Cast:  Anthony Forrest, David Jackson, Tom Marshall, Georgina Kean, Chubby Oates, Peter Spraggon, Paul Rattee, Nigel Gregory, Jean Reeve, Elizabeth Counsell, Charles Stewart, Hilda Braid, Jane Hayden, Alison Elliott, Jo-Anne Good, Jayne Lester and Lisa Vanderpump

"Of course it's a dream! And stuffed full of jailbait!"

Welcome to the Lake District, England in what must be judging by the grey skies and even greyer fashions the late seventies, where uptight spinster Mrs. Hargreaves (Reeve from the Molly Sudgen hit That's My Boy) and the bewigged Ms. Lilac (Counsell, the original teevee posh totty) are busy escorting a group of scarily ample breasted and peachy arsed school girls (resplendent in mini-kilts, thigh high white socks complete with blouses two sizes too small and expertly portrayed by the likes of Georgina Kean, Alison Elliott, the still very yummy Jo-Anne Good, Jayne "Mine's a short" Lester and bizarrely Baywatch Nights star Lisa Vanderpump who manages to make even a cardigan look sexy) to a choral concert in darkest Edinburgh.

As is always the way in these movies it's not long before the school bus breaks down leaving our barely legal babes with the prospect of having to stumble thru' the woods at night looking for a convenient hotel or cottage to stay in.

Don't worry too much tho' as they soon come across Bert the local gamekeeper (expertly portrayed by Stewart who, according to the internet is better known as King Charles I of England. Who'd have thunk it?) who grumpily leads them to the local hotel run by the kindly Mrs May (Braid best known as Nana Moon from Eastenders).

"Oooh Alfie the though of you in that leather jacket makes me so moist".

Offering them food, shelter and inane (possibly drunken ad-libbed) chat for the night there's nothing else for the portly driver to do than to go back and spend the night in his bus, free from the incessant chatter of a dozen school girls constantly interrupting him as he settles down to a quick (hand) shandy over the latest copy of Razzle followed by tears and a Pot Noodle.

This proves to be a big mistake tho' as no sooner has he stepped out of the hotel and into the bushes that he's beaten to death by an axe wielding mentalist who, alongside his three equally mad pals have escaped from a local hospital.

Which, it seems, is par for the course in such films.

It seems that these mentalist mates have been undergoing an experimental treatment for lunacy that involves sending the patients to sleep before doping them up to the eyeballs with large doses of LSD.

This has the effect of letting them live out their evil side whilst dreaming thus causing them to use up all their mentalism and wake up cured.

Or something.

Look it made sense at the time.

A Clockwork Orange: The Pikey Years.

Meanwhile in a nearby field, city whizz kids Pete and Mike (Forrest and Marshall from fuck knows what else, the bin round probably) are taking a well deserved break in the country shagging birds and jogging whilst wearing tramps tracksuits.

It's not all fun and games tho' as no sooner has Pete pulled up his trousers and sent the huge pants wearing local barmaid Julie (Somebody's Daughter star Hayden) on her way when a blood encrusted, three legged dog turns up just as the boys axe disappears.

Could these things be related?

Anyway back to the plot where our frightening foursome - Mr. Jones (Spraggon), Mr. Muldoon (Rattee), Mr. Smith (K-9 and Company's Gregory), and Mr. Trubshaw (Blake's Seven star Jackson) - decked out in a collection of hand-me-down white boiler suits and in Trubshaw's case a bowler hat are slowly making their way toward the hotel, stopping only to invade the gamekeepers cottage and Julie's underwear, all the time encouraging each other to act out their most violent psycho-sexual fantasies.

It's all becoming a wee bit like a Derby and Joan version of A Clockwork Orange.

But with added bush.

Which is nice.


"Is it in yet?"

Arriving at the hotel it's not long before our psychotic stooges have broken in, killed Mrs. Hargreaves and begun molesting as many of the school girls as they can get their sweaty sausages fingers on.

When they're not ringing bells and - gasp - throwing sultanas at each other obviously.

Luckily the dynamic duo of Pete and Mike are on the case and armed only with a shotgun, some big sideburns and one of Ms. Lilac's wigs vow to save the remaining schoolies and their collective virginity’s from the raping rabble currently tainting the good name of the Lake District tourist board.

"Now I'm gonna show you how Pudsey Bear really lost that eye!"

Wobbling precariously on a tightrope straddling good clean fun and crass exploitation, Alan (Invaders of The Lost Gold, Space Precinct, Die Unbestechliche) Birkinshaw's loon filled Killer's Moon could possibly be seen as one of the most offensive and sexist British movies ever made, with it's totally unnecessary scenes of schoolgirl bush, mindless violence and raisin-based rape as well as giving us such breathtaking dialogue as:

 "Look, you were only raped. As long as you don't tell anyone about it, you'll be alright. You pretend it never happened, I'll pretend I never saw it, and if we ever get out of this alive… well, maybe we'll both grow up to be wives and mothers…"

Which is delivered with nary a hint of irony from one female character to another, minutes before they're attacked by a pitch-fork wielding nutter with half a face.

I said possibly because on viewing the things mentioned above become irrelevant because the movie is so bloody entertaining.

Yes it's true that most of the 'characters' (if you can go as far as to call them that) have to spout some of the most inane dialogue ever written (and most of it by esteemed novelist Faye Weldon no less) and most of the actors seem to visibly have trouble walking and talking at the same time but somehow it all works, as if we've traveled into a bizarre alternate reality where Pete Walker made Carry On Camping from a script by Robert Bloch.

Yes the movie is really that good.

In a very guilty way obviously.

And the thing that makes the film so enjoyable must be the totally camptastic performances from Messers Spraggon, Rattee, Gregory and Jackson, hamming it up like there's no tomorrow and giving probably the sweatiest portrayal of mental illness ever captured on film.

Jackson's Mr. Trubshaw even gets to make a few jokes about the NHS before he's finally dispatched.

Now you wont find any of that in yer Wrong Turn 2 will you?

Cheryl Baker and Jay Aston decide whether it'll be tunnel or funnel onstage tonight.

Recently rescued from obscurity Killer's Moon has quite rightly gained something of a cult status over the last few years and frankly it's well deserved, all we need now is some enterprising cinema owner to show this and Horror Hospital as a Saturday night double bill, dress the ushers (male and female) in thin white nightshirts and the projectionist in an old pair of decorators overalls and you'd make a fortune.

Tho' it'd probably cost you a bomb to clean up afterwards.

So, who's game?

I am and I'll even supply the three legged dog.


Sort of.

Friday, November 16, 2012

it's a knockout.

It's a little known fact outside Take A Break Magazine that every seven years, thirty of the world’s best (and sexiest) assassins all descend upon an unsuspecting town somewhere to spend twenty-four hours drinking, smoking and trying to kill each other.

To death.

And the point of it all is?

Well The last contestant standing receives a whooping $10 million cash prize, a fridge freezer, a lifetimes supply of Cheese Strings and the title of Top Assassin ever.

Well until the next meeting obviously.

Betting on the outcome is a group of mysterious billionaires (with wobbly man tits as big as their wallets) who watch the entire proceedings on a wall of shiny widescreen teevee's in a smoke and whore filled room whilst professional Oirishman and sexy bugger Liam Cunningham keeps everyone up to date with the scores, the weather reports and impromptu impressions of 1970's celebrities.

Welcome my friends to...

The Tournament (2009).
Dir: Scott Mann.
Cast: Robert Carlyle, Kelly Hu, Ian Somerhalder, Liam Cunningham, Ving Rhames, S├ębastien Foucan and Scott Adkins.

"What's the matter, Mr. Harlow? Are you out of bullets? Why, here, have some of mine!"

...Which this time around is being brought to you live from the glamourous northern town of Middlesbrough, the birthplace of such fantastic celebrities as Chris Rea, Journey South, magician Paul Daniels and Over the Rainbow quarter-finalist Jessica Robinson.

Tho' the thing that sums up the town best is that it's twinned with Dunkirk.

Which means that any mayhem and destruction that's caused during the competition will almost certainly go unnoticed.

Journey South: That'll be up the shitter then.

Just to make absolutely sure tho' the town’s phone lines have been re-routed to prevent calls to the emergency services and just to make sure that the investors get their moneys worth (and experience all the action) every CCTV camera has been hi-jacked for use by the tournament.

If that wasn't enough, every contestant has had a pesky flashing tracker device surgically implanted under their skin so that not only can the tournament’s organizers follow their every move but so can their opponents.

It's a wee bit like that old ITV show gameshow Interceptor but without former tennis goddess Annabel Croft's fantastic arse or an annoying fucker from Bellshill running around brandishing a toy gun and acting the hard man.

Robert Carlyle, as we all know, is from Maryhill.

Tho' he does at one point brandish a gun.

Any other similarities are up to you.


I quite like the bloke, plus he occasionally shops in my local Sainsbury and looks like he can handle himself.

I'm not stupid.

Carlyle: Handy.

But I digress.

Anyway, a tournament of such ferocity is nothing without the right contestants and the latest seems to be the best mix yet.

There's the cutesy Chinese killing machine with a mysterious past, Lai Lai Zhen  (Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan's Hu); badass mofo Joshua Harlow (Rhames, taking a break from murdering Romero remakes) the games previous champion on a mission to discover who killed his wife, Anton Bogart (stuntman turned actor Foucan) the parkour obsessed Frenchman and the dog murdering Texan Miles Slade (Somerhalder from teevee's Lost) as well as a motley assortment of bearded Russian's, tubby Chinamen and a variety of Etchasketch villains in market stall hoodies.

Oh yes, and a drunken Catholic priest Father MacAvoy (Carlyle playing, well Robert Carlyle but that's no bad thing), suffering from a crisis of faith who accidentally digests one of the trackers whilst trying to sober up after a particularly heavy night on the slash.

Hu: Would.

Cue 90 minutes of shootouts, hotel room finger removals, a fist fight in a church that culminates in a grenade throwing match, a gunfight in a stripclub and a ludicrously enjoyable climax which pits Carlyle's bus stealing vicar and Hu's sweaty cleavage against an indestructible Ving Rhames on a glamourous sliproad just off the M28.

And all this whilst a skinny French bloke bounces his way around a drizzly Middlesbrough like a crack fuelled Tigga and the predominantly Brit cast chew gum and pretend to be American.

Yes I'm looking at you Andy Nyman.

C'mon, what's not to love?

"Shite in mah mooth or pish in mah bottle?"

True the whole thing is utterly ridiculous from beginning to end with plot holes big enough to drive the aforementioned bus thru' but when a movie is this much fun does it really matter?

And who'd have thought that after some of the abysmal shite that's come out of the UK in the last few years (Kill List, Little Deaths, The Children and the rest) that it'd be an ex-director of teevee's Stars in Their Eyes that would end up the saviour of British cinema?

Scott Mann, we salute you.

Cunningham: Happy days.

Yes, I know The Tournament might not be the most original movie ever made (and I reckon the cast and crew are aware of this too) but if you crack open a beer or two and let yourself go with the flow you'll be rewarded with an hour and a half of nicely choreographed ultra-violence, some strong all round performances, some great stunt work and the added thrill of gazing whistfully at Kelly Hu's luxurious hair.

What more could you ask for?

On second thoughts don't answer that.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

what if...

Nicolas Cage had played E.T?