Thursday, April 30, 2015

cannibal xerox.

Mondo Cannibale (AKA Cannibal Holocaust 2, Cannibal Holocaust: The Beginning, Cannibal World. 2003).
Dir: Bruno Mattei.
Cast: Helena Wagner, Claudio Morales, Cindy Jelic Matic, Antoine Reboul, Kevin Maxwell, Brad Santana, Michael Garland, Foster Howard, Eniko Bodnar, Zsilvia Chernel and Chan Le.

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Well, somebody had to buy it.


The harsh of face yet smooth of thigh TV journalist cum Fame-hungry celebrity Grace Forsythe (Wagner, daughter of the composer of The Ring Cycle possibly) is in a dilemma.

Her hard hitting real-life reportage/review show NewsMooth has been unceremoniously cancelled due in part to plummeting ratings but mainly due to its general crapness.

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Five fingers, never touched the sides.


Understandably angry (and a wee bit aroused judging by the sweat on her top lip) at the decision she storms the TV station in order to confront her Tefal browed studio boss Geoff Head (played by an angry testicle) about the situation.

But as the tempers fray and the voices raise the whole thing goes from bad to worse as Grace, whose narcissistic tendencies rival even those of pig-faced spunk-bucket Katie Hopkins, offers to let him stick it in her if he recommissions her show.

Classy.

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Beware the human testicles!


Sensibly holding out for a better offer (possibly a crack at her flaxen haired, Goddess like co-star Matic, I know I would) he manages to resist Grace's bullish charm but does offer her a lifeline.

If she can persuade her ex co-star - and former lover - Bob Manson (professional sexy man and star of Land of Death, Morales) to accompany her on a trip to the Amazon to film a no holds barred expose of cannibal rituals he'll commission a second series.

The only rule is that she mustn't be naughty and go around faking any footage or burn any villages downs.

With her pudgy little sausage fingers crossed behind her back Grace agrees.

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Five go mad on Meth.



With the contracts signed and the sun block packed our dynamic duo, along with their merry band of ratings hungry TV professionals (including the platinum princess of power herself Matic as ace troubleshooter Cindy Blair) in tow, the merry band excitedly descend into the Amazon jungle determined to find the worlds legendary last remaining cannibal tribe at any cost.

But first things first and there's just enough time for a wee bit of topless sunbathing and a chance for their native guide Brian to get all hot under the collar as he nervously rubs lard all over Grace's hairy back and arse.

It's a dirty, nay sticky job but someone has to do it.

And by rights it should be the lowliest member of the cast.

Unfortunately (for us) he gets sent off to perform some odd jobs before he can get round to oiling up Cindy (bah) and so with a heavy heart, heaving bosom and slightly damp undies the lovely ladies get - slowly - dressed before rounding up the troops (which before you ask isn't a euphemism for touching each others breasts) and venture forth into the unknown.

Which is lucky really, seeing as last time they ventured fifth and only won a coconut.

I thank you.

"And when I want a good mooth
shite-in I pull THIS face!"


As the team sweat and fart their way thru' the undergrowth (or in this case the garden centre behind Mr. Mattei's house) allegedly miles from civilization, you can understand why Bob is so surprised when a group of battle hardened soldiers suddenly appear from behind a bush.

Their camouflage must be bloody effective seeing as the 'jungle' is only about as big as a school gym.

It seems that they're members of some elite UN jungle protection force charged with stopping the locals eating each other and protecting the trees from loggers and the like.

But today is Wednesday which means that they can forget all that and spend a few hours hiding in the local fauna taking pot shots and the scantily clad, pot bellied natives.

Bob is appalled by such random acts of violence and in a manly display of testosterone fuelled righteous anger stamps his foot for a bit whilst tutting.

Grace on the other hand reckons that a wee bit of random violence is just what the show needs so she gives the soldiers 50 pence and a bag of Haribo Starmix each to continue shooting the 'savages'.

They greedily agree as Grace hurriedly sets up her camera. 

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Best. Caption. Ever.


With a tape full of killings and a promise of more gruesome goodies to come our intrepid band of bad men and ne'er do wells bed down for the night.

Their next stop, according to the map is a village of friendly tribes folk.

Understandably Grace reckons that this might be a bit boring for the viewers so suggests that they should set fire to the place before shooting all the old folk in the face and stealing all the kids sweets, Bob however, being a world weary and cynical type, thinks that there's enough violence in the world without causing any more.

Especially in the name of TV ratings.

Grace gently reminds Bob that he's getting paid at least £18 and all the Monster Munch he can eat for taking part in the programme so he'd better stop whining and start killing.

Thinking it over for at least a minute Bob sighs and gets to work polishing his massive weapon.

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Grace sneaked away from base camp
to scoff the gangs last Snickers bar.


Meanwhile back at the studio, Geoff Head is foaming (at least it looks like foam) at the mouth as he views the incoming footage before literally exploding with unashamed delight when the viewing figures are released.

It seems that everyone on the planet bar three people in West Bromwich (who don't have a television set because they swapped it for magic beans and a Britain First hoodie) are avidly watching the groups every move.

Geoff's dad (and owner of the station) is less impressed tho' feeling that what the audience really want is less violence and more novelty dog-based acts.

After a tense board meeting the old fool is sent packing as the entire committee contact Grace to demand more murders.

And maybe a side order of violent buggery.

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"Raugh row!"



Grace and company are more than happy to deliver and spend the next few days burning down villages, shite-ing in peoples gardens and parading old, shaggy breasted grannies before the cameras in between raping the odd virgin and skinning various animals, all in the name of entertainment of course.

Imagine a lower rent, slightly less patronizing version of Ant and Decs Saturday Night Takeaway and you're halfway there.

Everyone seems to be enjoying the ultra-violent holiday, egging each other on to commit more and more sordid and sick acts of depravity, except Cindy that is who, in a moment of clarity shouts the age old question "I wonder who the real cannibals are?" at the group as they roughly bugger a wee native girl.

As heartfelt as her question is, she really hadn't thought it thru', I mean the real cannibals are the ones in grass skirts that eat folk aren't they?

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Hats.


As the violence continues unabated and the studio demands more and more shocking images (some involving goats) the film crew approach the jungle home of the infamous man-eating, Grant Morrison worshipping  'Invisibles', the most primitive and savage tribe ever recorded.

I say recorded but obviously they haven't been (yet) or there'd be not point in travelling all that way to get exclusive footage would there?

Or am I being too literal?

One sure fact about the Invisibles tho' is that you can bet that they don't give a monkeys ball about ratings.

Or cutlery.

Will our merry band survive their descent into the green inferno?

And if so, what will be left of them?

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Sneakily promoted as Cannibal Holocaust 2: The Beginning in some territories (is this the most over-used title ever?), lo-fi exploitation king Mattei's homage (OK, shameless rip-off) to Ruggero Deodato's legendary mockumentary classic harks back to a more simple age of film-making when local video store shelves were stacked to bursting with low budget versions of hit movies and shit movies alongside cheap as fuck Brit movies of all shapes and sizes.

Actually they were all the same shape and size if I'm honest.

Except for the Betamax ones that were slightly smaller.

Oh yes and the Video 2000 releases which were fucking huge.

But I digress.

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A meaty Matic sandwich....yum!


Like most of the late, great Mattei's horror output (from Zombie Creeping Flesh to Zombies: The Beginning), the screenplay is an almost exact copy of the source material in question (in his career the director homaged everything from Aliens to Dawn of The Dead via The Archers - possibly) but as with nearly all of his later work, cheaply and quickly made on video in the Philippines with a core band of actors and technicians that he would use until his untimely death.

Which isn't a bad thing really seeing as it meant that we got much more of the great mans work than we possibly deserved, with his final four movies being some of his most entertaining.

And not just because they introduced audiences to the wonderful Ms. Matic as well as the kick ass Ripley wannabe Yvette Yzon.

And for these reasons alone we should be eternally grateful.

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"Ah fell aff mah beanstalk!"


But if you're worried that a drop in budget would somehow taint the great man's vision then worry ye not as there's plenty here to enjoy, from blood drenched breasts to flabby thrusting man ass via a tasteful pole-based abortion, Mondo Cannibale is the perfect date movie for those romantic nights in.

And who knows?

After sharing this with a loved one, you, just like the bouncy native girl chased thru the jungle by a horny Claudio Morales may get lucky too.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

general franco.

Another day, another Franco freakout.

Enjoy.

Devil Hunter (AKA Il Cacciatore di Uomini, Sexo Cannibal, Man Hunter, Mandingo Man Hunter. 1980).
Dir: Jesus Franco.
Cast: Al Cliver, Burt Altman, Aline Mess, Ursula Buchfellner, Gisela Hahn, Werner Pochath, Antonio de Cabo, Melo Costa, Robert (not the one from The Black Hole) Foster and Muriel Montossé.

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Primark's most popular leggings model, the Lego haired temptress Laura Crawford (ball faced former Playboy bunny Buchfellner) has everything, the prettiest frocks, the hunkiest boyfriend and the largest collection of slingback know to man.

The only thing she doesn't have (apart from any discernible acting talent obviously) is the respect of her long suffering assistant; brunette bombshell Jane (the terrifyingly tight arsed Hahn).

Not content with venting her frustrations the normal way (you know, like poohing in her bed or putting itching powder in her vest) the jealous witch hatches a frankly bonkers plan that involves getting Crawford abducted then legging it to Rio (or Saltcoats, whichevers cheaper) with the ransom money as soon as the world's fashion photographers/film producers pay up.

Or something.

Enlisting the help of her bad boy buddies led by the Skeletor like Vietnam vet Thomas ( actor and art director, Cabo from the classic Aberraciones sexuales de una mujer casada), they decide to forgo the usual kidnapping conventions of hiding the victim in a convenient bed and breakfast (or even a shed) and take her to a region of uncharted cannibal infested jungle instead.

As one would I suppose.

It's not long tho' before everyone involved is bored senseless with playing Twister and charades so reckon it'd be much more fun to tie Laura to a tree and touch her up a wee bit.

Could her day get any worse?

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Devil Hunter....fashion victim.


Umm.....maybe, because it appears that the aforementioned cannibal tribe worship an honest to Goodness scary monster.

By scary monster I actually mean a big black man, stark bollock naked apart from a pair of pound shop googly eyed glasses.

No, really.

The Devil (Altman from Zombie Lake) as he is known by the locals, spends his days wandering around the jungle shagging then eating (or is it the other way round?) any women he comes across.

Possibly in a quite literal sense.

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Cliver: A mooth made for Shite-in.


The scarily sexy cannibal high priestess (Diamonds of Kilimandjaro's Mess) keeps the horny devil's libido at bay by sacrificing various buxom ladies to him on a weekly basis in a ceremony that is as intricate and breast obsessed as it is unnecessarily long winded.

Firstly she hypnotises the unwilling victims with a sweaty lap dance before dragging them naked to a secluded lagoon where even more naked ladies scrub them clean and tie them to a tree ready to be diddled with  - in glorious technicolour - by Altman.

Which is nice work if you can get it.


And that's why mum goes to Iceland.


Laura’s producer pal has no option but to mount a rescue attempt and to this end hires hunky mercenary (and all round love god) Peter Weston (the legend that is Cliver) and his (big) hipped, manbreasted sidekick Jack (Foster - it's like a Zombie Lake reunion here) to fly in and seal the deal.

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"Laugh now!"


Having a limited running time tho' it's not long before the dynamic duo are facing off against the crazy kidnappers in a pitched gun battle, unaware that the horny Altman is slowly moving in for the kill.

Or at least a swift handjob off Cliver - I mean, which hot blooded male wouldn't?

After an indeterminable amount of shootings, chasing and gratuitous arse shots our heroes end up lost in the jungle (or the local garden centre, take your pick) but luckily find a mysterious - and topless - 'girl on a yacht' (button nosed beauty and regular Franco femme Montossé) who, after bouncing about on deck (and on Cliver) for a bit offers to help our heroes in their quest.


No matter how hard he tried Sam Jackson could never tune Scarlett Johansson to 6 Music.

Unfortunately for all concerned time is running out.

It appears that Altman has become bewitched by the blonde Laura and will stop at nothing in his quest to vigorously plant his rotten zombie seed inside her mysterious - and scarily overgrown - lady garden.

What follows promises to be an apocalyptic assault on the senses that will shred your nerves and possibly more than a few boxes of tissues.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"


After a girlie tiff with top producer Erwin Dietrich, Franco fucked off to the jungle in a strop and decided to film this masterpiece alongside the classic Mondo Cannibale, hence the appearance of the same cast, locations, shirts and obviously Caucasian actors blacked up pretending to be cannibals etc.

But whereas that movie has at least some redeeming qualities in it's (unintentionally) funny performances, Devil Hunter is played dead straight (tho' I use the word 'played' loosely, most of the cast look too drunk to do anything other than hopefully hit there mark and mumble banal dialogue that'll be overdubbed at a later date).

Even the usually fantastic Cliver can't save this one, reduced as he is to sitting topless on a boat, his hairy nipples erect and his luxurious moustache swaying in the cool breeze as he tosses bottles into the dirty water surrounding him, all the time looking like a condemned man praying for salvation.

Which, if I'm honest even he manages to make look sexy.

What a guy.


Spot the ball.


Always the auteur, Franco - in his infinite wisdom - decided to waylay the horror and violence and instead fill the movie with spasmodic zooms towards Buchfellner and Mess's front bums, hoping that these would stun the viewers into submission and detract from the frightening amount of scenes showing an Altman's eye view of a myriad of naked women of varied degrees of attractiveness running thru' trees whilst screaming badly.

Which is a brave move by anyones standards and whilst the thought of Franco following a variety of European non-actresses around, concentrating on their ample arses bouncing about as they go may sound appealing, the fact that every single one of these shots looks as if it's been filmed thru' a haze of green jelly only achieves the effect of making the viewer feel nauseous.

And filled with the urge to tuck into a massive sausage filled burger bun.

Erotic? racist? or just erotically racist?



Saying that, if you enjoy Franco's work (which frankly is all of us) then you'll at least find something to enjoy.

If only Cliver's comedy 'tache and Buchfellner's fright fringe.

Which is two more recommendations than you'd get for Sadomaster.


dog day afternoon.

Just finished up the Easter holidays so had a week of young master Cassidy taking charge of the teevee whilst his sisters run rampage in town*.

Well at least he's choosing something other than old Mister Maker episodes for a change.

"Come get me Yewtree I'm fucking untouchable!"

Sadomania (AKA Holle der Lust, Hellhole Women. 1981)
Dir: Jesus Franco.
Cast: Uta Koepke, Ursula Buchfellner, Ajita Wilson, Antonio Mayans (AKA 'Robert Foster'), Gina Janssen, Jesus Franco, Angel Caballero and a huge, horny dog.

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


Young(ish) and fairly groovy (for the west midlands circa 1974) newlyweds, Olga (pert of breast and flaxen of haired Koepke, best known for her performance as Kirstin in the classic Drei Schwedinnen auf der Reeperbahn) and Michael (Caballero from the brothel based drama L'oasis des filles perdues) are happily enjoying their South America honeymoon cum golfing holiday, which is always how these things start if I'm honest.

It's been sun, sand, huge amounts of cocaine, a wee bit of poverty and holes in one all the way so far and with a return home looming our loving couple decide to finish their hols with an idyllic picnic.

After packing the Tizer and egg and cress sandwiches they're soon on their way, taking a short cut to the beach thru' the grounds of the ominous Hacienda Blanco, notorious womens prison and general den of kinkiness.

As you can imagine this doesn't go down too well with the Hacienda's evil warden Magda (transsexual mega-star and Euro porn queen, the late great Ajita Wilson) who comes across the pair gobbling on some fruit.

Which reminds me of the reason I got expelled from school years ago.

Wilson: Like you'd have a choice.
After a quick telling off and a slapped wrist Michael is sent on his merry way but Olga on the other (slightly smaller) hand is charged with trespassing on private property and detained at (and for) the wardens pleasure.

Matron!

Surprisingly Michael sheepishly bids farewell and saunters off without even a hint of annoyance at the thought of having to spend the final nights of his honeymoon in the company of mother fist and her five beautiful daughters, leaving poor Olga to be (roughly) taken up the prison to be 'processed'.

Which is nice.

Arriving at the prison gates and with her only experience of prison being endless reruns of Prisoner: Cell Block H and Bad Girls, Olga is surprised to find that this alleged top security complex looks more like an end of days Butlins as imagined by a crack-addled Robin Askwith, housing as it does around 40 women - of various degrees of attractiveness -  who spend their days sweatily toiling in fields clad only in Daisy Duke style hot-pants whilst (topless) female guards with machine guns watch them from either horseback or home made chariots.

A wee bit like your mums old school.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

Lucky for Olga tho' who to be honest isn't the sharpest tool in the tin,  the prison rules are  simple enough for even her to understand.

And they go something like this:

 If a prisoner is caught trying to escape they are given a 60 second head start and then chased and shot (unless the inflatable Crocodiles don't get them first that is).

See?

I told you they were easy to remember.

Don't worry if shooting or being eaten alive aren't your thing as there is an alternative.

For example if the local politicians wife, the luscious Loba (swallowing superstar Janssen from the Story of Q) is in a good mood, hand-picked prisoners are taken to her villa for a wee kiss and cuddle with her impotent husband Jeff Mendoza (Foster from Oasis of the Zombies and Zombie(s) Lake sporting the worlds greatest comedy moustache).

Or if they're really lucky a wee bit of sapphic sauciness Loba herself.
Now which UK political party would be brave enough to bring this bill in?

I for one would commit a dozen acts of wanton burglary if I was in with a chance of an evening alone with Scottish Conservative badgirl  Ruth Davidson.

Well I'm only flesh and blood.

"Now ladies....who fancies a wee bit o' mooth shite-in?"
It's not all fun and frolics tho' as wicked warden Magda has a strict zero tolerance approach to fighting amongst the inmates and anyone who breaks this rule is punished by both parties being bundled into a ramshackle cage and forced to fight to the death.

Whilst topless obviously.

And what of the winner?

Well they get the special treat of spending the night with Mendoza's (over) friendly Alsatian, Butch and a once in a lifetime chance to enjoy his own special brand of 'meat treat'.

If, for some strange reason, none of this works to break the prisoners spirits, the worst offenders (or those with the perkiest breasts) are sold to the ferret-like Mr. Jorge Lucas (director Franco with trademark pube beard in tow) and put to work in his brothel in order to bring pleasure to the local mine workers and various salty sailor folk that pass thru town.

Exactly like your mums old school.

Who's best...Samantha Cameron or Miriam González?.....There's only one way to find out! FIGHT!

Anyway, back to the non lesbian/torture/dog sex plot of the movie (yes there is one) and poor Michael, outwardly beginning to show the faintest signs of guilt in regards to leaving his missis in such a god forsaken hellhole - but more likely just jealous of missing out on all this girl on girl action - decides it's time to mount a rescue mission (as opposed to mounting a rescue dog or your gran) and free Olga.

Yup, I know he's taken his time about it but they've got to stretch the movie out somehow.

But if he's ever to be re-united with his true love he must first face not only the wrath of Luba and her psycho-sexual perversions but the cunning wiles of the horny she-male Magda who, sick of sticking it in girls is searching for some fresh, virginal manass to corrupt.

Oh and don't forget Mendoza's dog.

Which would be quite difficult seeing as he's quite ruggedly handsome if I'm honest.

Well for a dog anyway.





Good old Jess Franco, director of such classics as Vampyros Lesbos and, well everything you can think of with the words nude, little or vampire in the title really - oh and that cannibal one where Al Cliver loses his arm - brings this shockingly brutal and realistic tale of loose women, perverted prisons and militant feminism to the screen in a blaze of cheaply made, poorly acted, S/M fuelled trashorama sleaze in the way that only he can.

But to be honest is this a good thing?

Franco-philes, as some enthusiasts like to be called - probably - claim that the great mans movies have a genuine and legitimate artistry to them as well as a strong moral message lurking behind the sleaze and violence but to be honest it's pretty well hidden here.

Maybe I should take a closer look as no doubt it's carefully hidden somewhere between the frankly bizarre cutaways to close-ups of a selection of wind-up tin toys when Mendoza's pup ravishes the foxy cage fighter and the bits prisoners get eaten by crocodiles.

Or maybe I'm just too thick to see past the exploitation excesses.

Most likely tho' is the fact that I really don't feel the need to over intellectualize my genuine love of saucy Euro-Trash and am quite happy to share it with anyone who'll listen.
Because let's be honest here, if I've got the choice of spending a Friday night watching Chiwetel Ejiofor being whipped by a bad man or a flee bitten Alsatian desperately trying to mount a visibly nervous Angel Caballero I know which one I’d go for.

And I don't care how hot Ejiofor looks topless and drenched in sweat.

Plus he's no Idris Elba is he?

Well, neither of them are really but that's a different topic altogether.


"Oh no! I have my woman's period".


Whilst obviously never reaching the dizzy heights of Franco's all time classic Bloody Moon (but then again, what does?), it still has much to offer the serious film connoisseur, from glimpses of how unattractive the majority of people in the 70's were when naked to a rare mainstream (sort of) performance by cult goddess Ajita Wilson, later to become Europe's highest paid transsexual porn star as well as my godmother.

Add to this the copious amounts of mindless violence coupled with the choice overgrown seventies bush on show and the oh so saucy hints of bestiality and you know you've got a winner on your hands.

Or at least a pitiful semi between your chubby little fingers.

You dirty, dirty boy.

What your girlfriend really gets up to on bingo night.












*By the way, before you complain to social services I was only joking about letting the wee fella watch Jess Franco movies, that would be just plain wrong (plus he's only half way thru' the Lucio Fulci back catalogue and I wouldn't want to confuse him).

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

rat arsed.

More holiday island based fun now with a look back at probably the most terrifying film ever made about a tiny toothed rat man...

Quella Villa In Fondo Al Parco (AKA Ratman, Terror House 1988)
Dir: Giuliano Carnimeo.
Cast: David Warbeck, Janet Agren, Pepito Guerra, Nelson de la Rosa, Eva Grimaldi and Werner Pochath.




Just behind the bins on what looks like exactly the same 'deserted' Caribbean island that features in every other Italian movie shot in the 80's, the local vet, mad as a bucket of spoons Doctor Gary Olman (Guerra whom you may remember from the fantastic Colpo di stato) no doubt sick of sticking his hand up cows arses and delousing sheep on a regular basis has decided to brighten up his day - and possibly revive his career - by combining the sperm of a rat and the ovum of a monkey in order to enter Britain's Got Talent, gain fame and fortune and possibly shag Amanda Holden in the bargain.

But not up the arse obviously.

Anyway after, ooooh what must be minutes of hard work - and with no time to do laundry by the state of his sweat, egg and rat semen stained shirt - Gaz finally succeeds with experiment and manages to create what looks like a greased up midget sex doll with chip-stick style fangs and massive finger nails that contain enough poison to kill a man in a few seconds.

Just like rats and monkeys don't.

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Beadle meets his hand twin.


Safely - yeah right - locking the beast in a rusty bird cage in his cellar, the doc excitedly prepares to sort out his passport and decide what song the duo should perform whilst leaving Ratty in the capable hands of his manservant cum cook Pedro.

Who to be honest looks like he'd have trouble wiping his own arse let alone babysit a new species, so with this in mind I can safely say that I foresee bad stuff happening.


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Strike a pose
(in this case, constipation).


But not just yet as it's time to meet camp as Christmas 'New Yoik' fashion photographer Mark (Shark Hunters Pochath looking scarily like an overcooked pork pie) and his 'hot' models who are busy shooting a sexy (well as sexy as you can be whilst clad in the most ill-fitting underwear this side of Belsen) photo-spread on the local beach.

I say beach but it's more likely the local quarry.

Pushed up breasts, boil washed bikinis and wiggling arses abound until one of the models comes across a dead body hidden in a bush.

A body covered in teeny tiny love bites.

Like the ones you would get off a particularly amorous rat.

Or a very horny monkey.

Or more likely if I'm honest your dad after a few too many shandies.

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Grimaldi: Jazzy hands, kissy lips.


Things soon go from bad to worse tho' when top model Marilyn (Eva 'I shagged Fred Williamson in Black Cobra' Grimaldi, owner of possibly the most luscious lips ever to grace the Italian cinema screen) goes missing.

But not until she's treated the audience to a completely unnecessary, soft focus shower scene.

Realizing his mistake at killing off such a fantastic actress so early on in the movie and now aware that there's no longer any female talent on screen to keep the viewers interested, director Carnimeo quickly introduces Marilyn's sister Terry (stern-faced star of 'Eaten Alive' Agren) who turns up on the island to investigate Marilyn's disappearance.

Agren: Torn faced, loose gown.


Within seconds of stepping off the plane she bumps into the well mannered yet vilely shirted man about town Fred Williams (horror god Warbeck, obviously needing the cash for a new suit) who appears to be hanging around the airport for no other reason than to skulk about the taxi rank and pick up girls.

Which is pretty lucky really seeing as Terry is female and also in need of a cab.

Not quite believing his good fortune Fred offers not just to split the fare with her but also to accompany Terry to the morgue to identify a body that may or may not be her sister.

Which as far as first dates go is a wee bit unusual but probably a damn sight more entertaining than some of the dates I've been on.


Scabs round mah mooth.



Luckily the body isn't Marilyn (so that's OK then) but an argument with the local detectives regarding their lack of effort - with everything from investigating her sisters disappearance to their fashion choices - reveals that this isn't the first body to turn up scratched and bitten recently.

In fact there seems to have been a whole slew of toothy attacks on the island recently.

The locals appear to be blaming them all on a tiny toothed hairy tramp who's recently taken to visiting the town at night ..but the detectives reckon that it's all just crazy talk and that the bites were either self inflicted or caused by angry badgers upset at the new road interfering with their sets.

Sets of what we may never know because torn-faced Terry and fright-shirted Fred have decided it's time to do some investigating of their own.

Investigations that will lead them nearer to the hideous secret hidden in the scientists house, a secret more shocking than 'Rat-Man' itself and twice as ludicrous.

But what of Amanda Holden?

You'll just have to watch it and find out.


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Warbeck and side-shed.

Giuliano (director of such classics as 'Anna: the Pleasure, the Torment' and 'The Case of The Bloody Iris') Carnimeo's tat filled tale of blood, boobs and tiny mutant rats narrowly escapes consignment to the cinematic sewer where by rights it should have been left and wiped from history, thanks mainly to the casting of the official 'Worlds smallest man' (according to the 1990 Guinness Book of World Records) Nelson De la Rosa in the title role*.

I say mainly but if I'm honest he's the only reason you'd ever dream of sitting thru' this abomination.

Well that and Grimaldi's arse.

And David Warbeck's shirts for the fashion (un)conscious obviously.



"LAUGH NOW!"


But back to De la Rosa who, at the height (sorry) of his fame measured 2' 4¼" and for whom the role of Rat Man was his big screen debut.

A debut that set him on a course for international stardom that culminated with him co-starring with (and almost getting eaten by) Marlon Brando in the 1996 remake of 'Island of Dr. Moreau' alongside the multi-chinned former Batman 'Val' Kilmer and David ("the kids school fees are how much?") Thewlis as well as inadvertently inspiring Mini-Me from the Austin Powers movies before dying at the shockingly young age of 38 from injuries sustained from falling off a Curly Wurly bar he was using as a ladder when painting the dolls house he lived in.

Shit, this is beginning to read like a proper film blog, better get back to some childish comments and puerile humour before Mark Kermode thinks I'm trying to steal his gig.

I mean I've already nicked his hair.

Admittedly both the concept and execution of the 'Rat Man' character leave a lot to be desired (a quick painless death being the most obvious), De la Rosa imbues the role with such a feeling of gleeful menace (and a nice line in teeth) that it's nigh on impossible not to get dragged kicking and screaming into the movie's rather madcap plot in much the same way as your dad does to your wee sister when he's having one of his 'turns'.

Possibly.

Whether he's scampering along corridors, perving over Grimaldi's arse whilst she showers or just popping up out of a toilet to bite some unfortunate girls arse, Del la Rosa's performance (and the state of his feet) is truly horrific.

Tho' not as horrific as the clip of him dry humping a floor and using a cheap pestle and mortar for a makeshift sex display on the hit Venezuelan teevee show Sabado Sensacional.

Which can be found here if you really need to see it.

just don't say I didn't warn you.


Grimaldi: Heart in velvet.


Totally lacking in gore, a sensible plot (which goes to show that even writers as great as the legendary Dardano Sacchetti have off-days), halfway decent direction or anything remotely resembling any talent behind the scenes whatsoever, Rat Man more than makes up for these minor faults by soaking it's audience with a veritable golden shower of 80's style breasts, an abundance of ill-advised crash zooms and freeze frames via an almost stalkerish obsession with long lingering shots of Grimaldi aforementioned (once or twice) arse, all topped off by a frankly magnificent synth score from Stefano Mainetti.

As a bizarre footnote Mainetti was last seen (heard?) composing the score for The Word of Promise, an American audio adaptation of the Bible featuring such luminaries as Jim Caviezel, Richard Dreyfuss, William Hurt and Lou Gossett Jr.

But unfortunately no Amanda Holden.

Well you can't have everything.

 Holden: Arse in parsley.








* That last sentence only really makes sense if the print you watch was called Rat Man obviously, if you're reading this and saw it when it was called Terror House then I apologize for the confusion, as for Quella Villa In Fondo Al Parco I really have no idea what that means so really can't comment.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

superfly poster guy iv: the crackdown.

Even more fantastic poster art from the wacky world of Ugandan and Ghanan cinema.....