Dir: Massimiliano Cerchi
Cast: Clay Rogers, Michael Bon, Sharon Twomey, Loren De Palma, Ann Wolf and the legend that is Deran Sarafian.
“Damn it! Who opened the radioactive container?”
Enjoying a quiet vacation (as our Yankee cousins say) in Florida, a group of cliched all American 'teens', horrible haired geekboy Mike (Rogers), Margareth (Twomey, she of All Creatures Great and Small and the classic Spiando Marina fame), Shane Ritchie wannabe Bobby (Bon), peachy arsed and moonheaded Julie (Wolf) and her cutesy but horse faced sister Dorothy (DePalma - the director of Carrie dragged up for a rare acting role) decide to hire a motorboat (well, a tiny dingy) and head out for a wee bit of salty sea based fun and frolics.
"Excuse me Shane but you've got shite in your mooth".
Running out of gas in the middle of the ocean things go from bad to very bad for our fabulously fashioned five as they're hit by a freak storm (well, buckets of cold water) then come across a floating plastic corpse that looks uncannily like Geoff Hoone before almost crashing (if a dingy can crash) into a handy Oceanographic Research Vessel (and by the state of the decor, part time knocking shop).
Climbing aboard in the hope of getting dry, a free meal and, in Bobby's case, getting laid the teens discover that the entire ship is deserted save a fish bearded, meth-headed tramp in a lab coat, a couple of dead scientists in a diving bell and a laboratory full of cheap neon tubing and shit loads of frozen, mutated cod.
And a haddock with a hard on.
Seriously, but I'll get back to that later.
Not wanting to let such piffling details get in the way of a good time the girls decide to raid the kitchen and rustle up a tasty fish supper whilst the boys scout around the cabins looking for condoms, gin and the like.
Bobby Sands new career as a superstar
DJ hit a few problems when he mistakenly played
The Sash instead of the oft requested Sasha.
DJ hit a few problems when he mistakenly played
The Sash instead of the oft requested Sasha.
Making the best of the situation by dancing badly to shitey Euro-pop, the party is interrupted when the tramp (obviously sick of Margareth's appalling Wigfield impersonation) decides to bite her before legging it down a corridor giggling like a loon.
Ouch.
"I wouldn't want one of them swimming up my arse".
Thinking that this is a strange way to behave at a party Mike heads off to the lab in order to find some answers. Luckily he's studying Ichthyology at college enabling him to figure out that the photo's of fish playing cards and wearing hats isn't normal.
Could someone have been tampering with nature?
"Laugh now!"
Meanwhile Dorothy has come down with a really bad case of sickness and diarrhea, puking and shitting dayglo vomit and wriggly sea worms all over the ships spotless bathroom.
The friends decide that all she needs is a good lie down (well, it works wonders for me when I'm shitting haddock) and after tucking her up in bed the pals go their separate ways; Julie finally slips out of her horrendous pink, polka dotted Bratz style swimsuit and into a soapy shower as bad boy Bobby grumpily wanders around with a bulge in his pants whilst heroic (alright, just plain nosey) Mike and Magareth head back to the lab to find out more information on the strange fish.
"Kayleigh is it too late to say I'm sorry?
And kayleigh could we get it together again?
I just cant go on pretending that it came to a natural end".
And kayleigh could we get it together again?
I just cant go on pretending that it came to a natural end".
After what seems like an eternity of Mike examining hundreds of frozen (re: model) fish inter-cut with flashes of Julie rubbing her (albeit ample) breasts, something finally happens.
But probably not what you (or I) were expecting.
Margareth, believe it or not, is attacked by a mutant fish that flies (using it's fins) out of a cupboard and proceeds to chow down on her neck.
No, really.
This is the final straw for Mike, who goes a wee bit mental and starts smashing everything with a handy big stick, covering first Margareth and the Bobby in a sea of gooey white yoghurt.
Calming down Mike reckons that they could all do with a rest and sends everyone off to their cabins before heading back to continue his research into what the hell's going on.
No need.
Finding a computer file cunningly named "What the hell is going on" Mike discovers the horrifying truth behind the centres experiments.
Now pay attention, here comes the science part.
According to the professor, the local fish have been lunching on radioactive plankton causing severe mutation as well as giving them hyper-sexual genitalia and a taste for human flesh.
In layman's terms this basically means that the centre is full of horny, cannibalistic flying fish hell bent on shagging the arse off you before lunching out on it.
And if that wasn't enough to scare the bejesus out of Mike then the fact that the professor and his cohorts, when given the choice between destroying the whole shoal of them or injecting the plankton into themselves before indulging in a wee bit of swinging with the fish decided to choose the latter.
Sick bastards.
"Is it in yet?"
Whilst all that sick filth is being uncovered, Julie has decided that a wee bit of 'the sex' would cheer everyone (well, her and Bobby) up, so doing her best slinky walk (you know, cartwheeling down the stairs and the like) enters Bobby's room to see if he's up for it.
Snigger.
Coming across like a sweatier John Leslie he works his magic on Ms. Moonhead as she stands giggling, coyly stroking a gnome shaped table lamp with a huge gold painted cock sticking out of it.
Just as you thought the sexual tension couldn't get any more electric the pair pounce on each other with a loud grunt.
Tentacle rape: It's Japanese for Hello.
Allegedly.
Allegedly.
As the shagging gets noisier and squelchier and Julie's face goes from mild indifference to 'have I left the gas on' she begins to notice a rather rank and fishy smell in the room (judging from the look of her it'd make a change from stale piss and yeast) followed by loud plopping noises and throaty growls.
Looking up at Bobby she's fairly surprised to see that he's transformed from a jovial Alfie Moone-alike into a giant tentacled rape fish, dripping slime as it thrusts stiffly at her naked and glistening spreadeagled form.
Luckily for Julie (not so for the Bob-beast tho') Mike and Margareth burst in at the moment of climax, scaring off the rape fish using a plate of chips and a salt shaker.
Mike announces th t it would probably be in their best interests is they leave the ship quick-style, but as is the way in these situations, the fish have other plans.
And before you ask, yes I did feel strange typing that.
The storm outside is getting worse and, if that wasn't bad enough it turns out that when poor Dorothy got bitten the fish passed on it's mutant cells to her via it's saliva (do fish salivate?) and whilst Julie is off looking for life jackets and kitchen roll Dorothy transforms into a freakishly horse-faced crab lady and tries to kill Mike.
It says a lot for De Palma when you realise that this is the most attractive she's looked throughout the whole movie tho'.
Julie by this point has noticed that she's suffering from terrible wind and tummy ache, almost as if there was something growing inside her.
Yuck.
Sure as dammit it's not long till she starts firing forth hundreds of teeny tiny fish babies from her lady areas before collapsing in a sticky heap.
Now only Mike, armed with a few candles, some duct tape and a box of worms, remains alive to defeat the frisky fish menace....
"I said I wanted to PAWN mah earings!"
I'd love to have been at the meeting when writer Richard Baumann pitched this idea to Massimiliano (director of such classics as Flight to Hell and, ahem, Satan Claus) Cerchi. Imagine the scene; Baumann, his shirt undone to his navel revealing an undergrowth of dark, matted chest hair, his action slacks skin tight in all the right places stands with one leg raised on a chair, his musky man odour wafting thru' the room.
Cerchi, clad only in a pair of orange Speedo's, turns slowly in his chair, water glistening on his firm tanned chest.
"Hey baby" drawls Baumann, "do I have a great idea for you....We take the best aspects of The Thing plus Piranha 2: Flying Terror, add a dose of the sexy sexy stuff from Humanoids from The Deep but set it on a floating brothel".
Cerchi gently strokes his beard, beads of sweat collecting on his brow. He leans forward, his mouth almost touching that of Baumann.
"It soundsa greatRichie!" His hands reaches out to caress Baumann's smooth inner thigh "but instead of your normal monster can we have horny tentacled Cod that do the dirty, dirty with da laydees?"
Baumann shows him the story outline, it's the very same idea.
Their lips touch and their tongues intertwine, rolling onto the heavy shag carpet of the office the taste of success mixed with saliva in each others mouths.
Or something.
"Howdya like dem apples?"
"If by apples you mean your breasts then
thanks to Photobucket I'm not allowed to see them!"
Shot like an early nineties soft core teevee movie and with acting to match, Creatures from the Abyss is a gaudy and tacky exercise in exploitation dressed in day-glo market stall clothes and Lolita-esque swimwear topped of with the finest collection of footballers perms this side of Liverpool.
The uniformly harsh faced cast blindly stumble from one scene to another as if on a mixture of Prozac and crack, faces permanently surprised as they're asked to deliver reams of dialogue covering everything from Porky Pig impressions to in depth discussions on the sex drives of irradiated homosexual fish whilst attempting to look cool and sexy do nothing but bring back deeply hidden memories of the first time you were touched up by a drunk old man in a phone box and by the end of the movie you're willing to sell your soul (and your arse...again) just to see these monsters that have cruelly violated your entertainment genes die slowly and painfully before your eyes.
Give Cerchi and Baumann their dues tho' because it's not all bad. The aforementioned fish rape scene is handled subtly and with a totally non-sensational approach (yeah right) whilst the bed wettingly realistic stop motion monster that menaces poor old Clay Rogers at the movies climax gave me sleepless nights for, oh, minutes afterwards.
Plus if the thought of a portly, man faced actress covered in KY jelly writhing under a huge foam latex Sea Bass with a cock the size of a small child thrusting erotically between her legs does anything for you (and who here hasn't imagined that at sometime?) then this may be the perfect film for you.
Buy it, watch it, enjoy it but don't tell your friends.
Hmm....I really should have thought of that before I wrote this shouldn't I?
"If by apples you mean your breasts then
thanks to Photobucket I'm not allowed to see them!"
Shot like an early nineties soft core teevee movie and with acting to match, Creatures from the Abyss is a gaudy and tacky exercise in exploitation dressed in day-glo market stall clothes and Lolita-esque swimwear topped of with the finest collection of footballers perms this side of Liverpool.
The uniformly harsh faced cast blindly stumble from one scene to another as if on a mixture of Prozac and crack, faces permanently surprised as they're asked to deliver reams of dialogue covering everything from Porky Pig impressions to in depth discussions on the sex drives of irradiated homosexual fish whilst attempting to look cool and sexy do nothing but bring back deeply hidden memories of the first time you were touched up by a drunk old man in a phone box and by the end of the movie you're willing to sell your soul (and your arse...again) just to see these monsters that have cruelly violated your entertainment genes die slowly and painfully before your eyes.
The US DVD cover....
scarily managing to feature
someone even more unattractive
than the film's actual cast.
scarily managing to feature
someone even more unattractive
than the film's actual cast.
Give Cerchi and Baumann their dues tho' because it's not all bad. The aforementioned fish rape scene is handled subtly and with a totally non-sensational approach (yeah right) whilst the bed wettingly realistic stop motion monster that menaces poor old Clay Rogers at the movies climax gave me sleepless nights for, oh, minutes afterwards.
Plus if the thought of a portly, man faced actress covered in KY jelly writhing under a huge foam latex Sea Bass with a cock the size of a small child thrusting erotically between her legs does anything for you (and who here hasn't imagined that at sometime?) then this may be the perfect film for you.
Buy it, watch it, enjoy it but don't tell your friends.
Hmm....I really should have thought of that before I wrote this shouldn't I?
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