Showing posts with label bizarre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bizarre. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
going postal.
Expecting the new Doctor Who DVD from Amazon this morning, come home to find this instead....
Thank you whoever you are for sending me this empty DVD case with an enclosed note which reads "You're next".
I think.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
things i get sent (part something or other).
Genuine message I received thru' Facebook this morning:
Dear Dr. Lamont,
Let me first say that I think your blog is OK and sometimes even a little bit funny but not always.
The reason I'm messaging you though isn't to stroke your obviously massive ego but to ask your advice.
Imagine this.
You are attracted to women, like you are now (emotionally and sexually), but they do not exist.
They existed a long time ago, and no one knows what they looked like (They have a pretty good idea from the fossils, however), but they do not exist anymore.
That means, not only do you know there will never be any possibility of you
having sex with one, but there’s not even a possibility of you ever seeing one in real life.
Everyone else, however, except for a very few, are not attracted to women,
they are attracted to something else entirely.
So in other words, you will never find any porn anywhere on the internet, only non-sexual pictures of women.
Everyone you have told about your attraction to women think it’s disgusting.
To relieve yourself, you get off on the non-sexual pictures of women, knowing it will never get any better.
That’s what life is like to me.
I am a degree 6 Zoosexual, sexually and emotionally attracted to Tyrannosaurs and nothing else.
Women don’t even do it for me. I am cursed to live my life in the misery that my most powerful emotional fantasies will never be even close to coming true. Life is like hell to me.
I will never know true love.
So can you recommend me any good Dinosaur movies?
Yours ____________________
 |
| He needs your help! (and not just in a fashion sense). |
OK readers it's over to you.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
timewaster.
And for those of you who were wondering how I filled my interwebless time?
You're welcome.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
"cos i wear these toggles!"
Don't say that this blog isn't up to date....Went to see Monsters on Tuesday but got the date wrong so was desperately trying to find a suitable replacement to review.
Hope this will suffice.
Island of Terror (AKA Night of the Silicates/The Night the Silicates Came/The Night the Creatures Came/The Creepers. 1966)
Dir: Terence Fisher.
Cast: Edward Judd, Peter Cushing, Carole Gray, Eddie Byrne, Sam Kydd, Niall MacGinnis, James Caffrey, Liam Gaffney, Roger Heathcote, Keith Bell, Shay Gorman and Peter Forbes-Robertson.
On the remote, tinker packed Petrie's Island, well meaning science type Dr. Lawrence Phillips (the chief Sea Devil himself, Forbes-Robertson in a blink and miss it cameo) is about to unveil his life's work; a cure for cancer.
Unfortunately rather than produce it in easy to swallow pill form (or even a nice orangey syrup) he appears to have stitched two giant warty testicles together and stuck a hoover pipe into the middle of it.
Oh and given it a taste for bones.
Is it just me that thinks this experiment may go slightly awry?
No time to think about it tho' for no sooner has he flicked the bollock enlarging switch than his lab explodes in a dazzling cartoon explosion leaving him and his scientist pals dead.
And the warty walnuts free to roam the island....
Off home after a heavy nights drinking and Pot Noodle session with 'the boys', duffle-coated local farmer and part-time bin man Ian Bellows (Eastenders Gaffney) finds himself caught short on the way home and decides, as you do, to relieve himself against some handy polystyrene rocks.
No sooner has he unsheathed his mighty manhood than the silence is broken by his horrific screams.
And what sounds like someone farting in the bath.
His lovely (well harsh) wife Morag surprised at not being pawed awake at three in the morning and finding her nightie still round by her ankles and the bed sick free worriedly contacts local copper (and town chiropodist) John Harris (Brit teevee and movie stalwart Kydd) at the local constabulary in the vain hope that her hubbie has fallen asleep there or at the very least been arrested (again) for cow violation.
Unfortunately Harris hasn't seen him since they left the pub but offers to go out and look for him, if only to get the babydoll nightied, horse thighed harridan off his doorstep.
I'm not saying she's scary looking but you can actually see the milk in the jug on Harris' table turn when he opens the door.
Wandering aimlessly thru' the brightly lit studio backlot (sorry, I mean darkened woods) he soon comes across (leaving an unsightly streaky pattern) the fake rocks and is horrified to see Bellows' lifeless (and boneless) rubbery corpse propped up against them like a big fleshy trifle.
Terrified (and a wee bit aroused by the sight of the poor fella's gaping and somewhat inviting mouth), Harris swiftly (well as swiftly as a half cut, short arsed Oirishman can) runs to fetch the islands top Doc and resident posh bloke Dr. Reginald Landers (Star Wars' General Willard himself Byrne).
But despite his university education and fine line in tailored overcoats, Dr. Landers is fucked if he can determine why the dead man is completely without bones so decides to travel to the mainland to seek the help of severe cheekboned pathologist and horror legend Dr. Brian Stanley (Cushing, all praise to him).
Like Landers tho', Stanley is totally at a loss at to what could have possibly caused such injuries, so the pair head round to the groovy penthouse apartment of the suavely sophisticated Dr. David West (Judd star of everything from First Men in the Moon to Coronation Street), the worlds leading authority on bones, bone diseases and boning in general.
And boning appears to be what's on his mind seeing as he's currently attempting to get into the (very tiny yet tastefully lacy) undies of the voluptuously hipped, wealthy jetsetter Ms. Toni Merrill (Gray from The Young Ones with Cliff Richard who, to our American readers is the true king of rock 'n' roll).
Banging on his door just as West is about to start banging Toni, our middle-aged medics waste no time in explaining their predicament to West, even tho' there's a lady present.
Intrigued by the problem and knowing full well that he can't perform in front of an audience, West agrees to accompany them to the island and Toni, up for a wee bit of orgiastic pikey sex and a chance to undermine feminism in all it's forms offers the use of her dad's private helicopter in order to get back to the island (and the plot) that wee bit quicker.
Only thing is that he needs it back by three so he can go to Waitrose for his monthly food shop, effectively leaving the fantastic foursome stranded on the island till the bin men arrived the following Thursday.
On arrival their first stop (after getting their inoculations against foot and mouth and general Oirishness) is Phillips' secluded castle laboratory where they find the poor scientist and his colleagues all dead and floppy.
Just like your dad when he used to sneak into your room after the pub.
Deciding that whatever caused the deaths must have come from the lab, West, Stanley and Landers (Ms. Merrill has the most important job, which is to sit in the car and keep the seats warm) gather up all of Phillips' belongings (including his ladyboy porn stash, fags and notes) and head back to the hotel to 'study' them and, over a few pints of Guinness catch up on the plot so far before discovering that Phillips had inadvertently created a new lifeform by accidentally splicing the silicon atom to a pair of giants gonads.
Meanwhile PC Harris, thinking that the boffins are still at the castle arrives there to report on a boneless horse that's been found behind the youth centre.
Intrigued by a locked door with a sign that reads 'Killer testicles keep out!' he heads inside only to be attacked and killed by a huge, rubbery tentacle.
In his mouth.
Back at the hotel, it's discovered that these creatures, dubbed Silicates by West and Stanley (Ms. Merrill wanted to name them Testiclons, bless), kill their victims by injecting a bone-dissolving enzyme into their bodies and sucking the resulting goo thru' their arses.
Not only are the Silicates the most pant wettingly scary creature ever to appear on film but are also bloody hard to kill as Landers discovers when he tries unsuccessfully to kill one with an axe only to have it retaliate by forcing a tentacle up his arse.
The poor man screams for help as the rest of the cast look on with expressions of mild apathy.
And in Stanley's case a wee hint of jealousy.
With one of their number down and the Silicates multiplying like rabbits, West and Stanley head over to the house of local big man (and the islands unofficial king) Roger Campbell (Zeus himself MacGinnis) in the hope of recruiting the islanders to repel the massive man-sack menace.
After convincing him that the creatures are of English origin and being a typical Paddy Campbell jumps at the chance of a fight and quickly phones his loyal assistant (and owner of the local newsagent) Peter Argyle (former actor and current alcoholic drink Caffrey) to round up the townsfolk and arm them with anything that comes to hand.
Which, being Irish means bullets, petrol bombs, exploding pigs and dynamite.
God bless them!
None of this seems to have any effect on the Silicates tho' and after a couple of minutes of loud bangs and random people shouting things like "Begorah!" and "Oh no! annudah baybees died!" the creatures get bored and go to sleep.
But not before splitting into two and doubling their destructive force.
Yikes.
With the battle quickly becoming a lost cause and with nowhere to turn the fate of the island looks bleak. Until that is West and Stanley hear reports of a Silicate found dead on the beach after eating a stray dog that had inadvertently consumed a sandwich containg a rare isotope called Strontium-90.
Could this be the key to Petrie's salvation?
With time running out and the Silicate threat growing, Stanley and West must venture back to Phillips' laboratory in the hope of finding enough isotope to destroy the Silicates once and for all....
Back in the swinging sixties when Britain actually had a film industry and companies like Hammer Films, Amicus and Tigon kept the locals on the edges of their collective seats with a constant stream of horror classics but from those heady bygone days there's one company that lies forgotten and dejected, even tho' they released one of the most terrifying films ever made.
That company was Planet Film Productions and the film was that forgotten classic of science gone wrong that was, is and always shall be Island of Terror.
Unless you live abroad that is where it's known as the slightly less gruesome Night of the Silicates.
Or something.
God knows how much the budget was but most of it seems to have been blow on winter coats for the actors, which amazingly helps to show who's in charge of who in the cast; ordinary islanders wear donkey jacket style attire whereas the more important community members wear duffle coats, mainlanders are bedecked in Crombie's whilst Roger Campbell (being the big man) has a dufflecoat with toggles and a sweater modelled from what looks like stringy cottage cheese.
Design genius I'm sure you'll agree.
Then there's the almost Lynchian direction and scenes of unnerving bizarreness on screen.
Examples include the fact that every time a car doors slams it does so to the exact timing of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, the fact that local copper Harris, in a sign of almost Wicker Man-esque Lord Summerisle adoration of Dr. Landers, dutifully follows the physician around whenever he's onscreen, helping him into his coat, bowing graciously and even following him around with his trilby like a dutiful footman.
And taking of headware, the mighty Peter Cushing adds a subtle touch to the oncoming danger, donning a variety of more and more darker hats (and matching shirts) as the movie progresses.
Ah good old Peter Cushing, probably the scariest thing is how such a threadbare company as Planet were able to afford such a prestigious actor.
The same goes for director of Terrence Fisher’s standing.
I've no idea what incriminating photographs Planet's head had of the pair but I for one would love to see them.
Ripe for re-release and begging to be remade (but on the same budget obviously) Island of Terror is a remarkable experience that will alter the way you look at your testicles for years to come.
And there aren't many films you can say that about.
Hope this will suffice.
Island of Terror (AKA Night of the Silicates/The Night the Silicates Came/The Night the Creatures Came/The Creepers. 1966)
Dir: Terence Fisher.
Cast: Edward Judd, Peter Cushing, Carole Gray, Eddie Byrne, Sam Kydd, Niall MacGinnis, James Caffrey, Liam Gaffney, Roger Heathcote, Keith Bell, Shay Gorman and Peter Forbes-Robertson.
 |
| John, I've just found one of my horses dead. At least, I think it's my horse. It's all soft and flabby. |
Unfortunately rather than produce it in easy to swallow pill form (or even a nice orangey syrup) he appears to have stitched two giant warty testicles together and stuck a hoover pipe into the middle of it.
Oh and given it a taste for bones.
Is it just me that thinks this experiment may go slightly awry?
No time to think about it tho' for no sooner has he flicked the bollock enlarging switch than his lab explodes in a dazzling cartoon explosion leaving him and his scientist pals dead.
And the warty walnuts free to roam the island....
 |
| Radiation room? or dodgy porn stash? |
Off home after a heavy nights drinking and Pot Noodle session with 'the boys', duffle-coated local farmer and part-time bin man Ian Bellows (Eastenders Gaffney) finds himself caught short on the way home and decides, as you do, to relieve himself against some handy polystyrene rocks.
No sooner has he unsheathed his mighty manhood than the silence is broken by his horrific screams.
And what sounds like someone farting in the bath.
His lovely (well harsh) wife Morag surprised at not being pawed awake at three in the morning and finding her nightie still round by her ankles and the bed sick free worriedly contacts local copper (and town chiropodist) John Harris (Brit teevee and movie stalwart Kydd) at the local constabulary in the vain hope that her hubbie has fallen asleep there or at the very least been arrested (again) for cow violation.
Unfortunately Harris hasn't seen him since they left the pub but offers to go out and look for him, if only to get the babydoll nightied, horse thighed harridan off his doorstep.
I'm not saying she's scary looking but you can actually see the milk in the jug on Harris' table turn when he opens the door.
Wandering aimlessly thru' the brightly lit studio backlot (sorry, I mean darkened woods) he soon comes across (leaving an unsightly streaky pattern) the fake rocks and is horrified to see Bellows' lifeless (and boneless) rubbery corpse propped up against them like a big fleshy trifle.
 |
| "What we have here is the severest case of mooth shite-in known to man". |
Terrified (and a wee bit aroused by the sight of the poor fella's gaping and somewhat inviting mouth), Harris swiftly (well as swiftly as a half cut, short arsed Oirishman can) runs to fetch the islands top Doc and resident posh bloke Dr. Reginald Landers (Star Wars' General Willard himself Byrne).
But despite his university education and fine line in tailored overcoats, Dr. Landers is fucked if he can determine why the dead man is completely without bones so decides to travel to the mainland to seek the help of severe cheekboned pathologist and horror legend Dr. Brian Stanley (Cushing, all praise to him).
Like Landers tho', Stanley is totally at a loss at to what could have possibly caused such injuries, so the pair head round to the groovy penthouse apartment of the suavely sophisticated Dr. David West (Judd star of everything from First Men in the Moon to Coronation Street), the worlds leading authority on bones, bone diseases and boning in general.
And boning appears to be what's on his mind seeing as he's currently attempting to get into the (very tiny yet tastefully lacy) undies of the voluptuously hipped, wealthy jetsetter Ms. Toni Merrill (Gray from The Young Ones with Cliff Richard who, to our American readers is the true king of rock 'n' roll).
 |
| Gray: Sexier than Jesus. |
Banging on his door just as West is about to start banging Toni, our middle-aged medics waste no time in explaining their predicament to West, even tho' there's a lady present.
Intrigued by the problem and knowing full well that he can't perform in front of an audience, West agrees to accompany them to the island and Toni, up for a wee bit of orgiastic pikey sex and a chance to undermine feminism in all it's forms offers the use of her dad's private helicopter in order to get back to the island (and the plot) that wee bit quicker.
Only thing is that he needs it back by three so he can go to Waitrose for his monthly food shop, effectively leaving the fantastic foursome stranded on the island till the bin men arrived the following Thursday.
On arrival their first stop (after getting their inoculations against foot and mouth and general Oirishness) is Phillips' secluded castle laboratory where they find the poor scientist and his colleagues all dead and floppy.
Just like your dad when he used to sneak into your room after the pub.
Deciding that whatever caused the deaths must have come from the lab, West, Stanley and Landers (Ms. Merrill has the most important job, which is to sit in the car and keep the seats warm) gather up all of Phillips' belongings (including his ladyboy porn stash, fags and notes) and head back to the hotel to 'study' them and, over a few pints of Guinness catch up on the plot so far before discovering that Phillips had inadvertently created a new lifeform by accidentally splicing the silicon atom to a pair of giants gonads.
 |
| "In mah mooooooooth!" |
Meanwhile PC Harris, thinking that the boffins are still at the castle arrives there to report on a boneless horse that's been found behind the youth centre.
Intrigued by a locked door with a sign that reads 'Killer testicles keep out!' he heads inside only to be attacked and killed by a huge, rubbery tentacle.
In his mouth.
Back at the hotel, it's discovered that these creatures, dubbed Silicates by West and Stanley (Ms. Merrill wanted to name them Testiclons, bless), kill their victims by injecting a bone-dissolving enzyme into their bodies and sucking the resulting goo thru' their arses.
Not only are the Silicates the most pant wettingly scary creature ever to appear on film but are also bloody hard to kill as Landers discovers when he tries unsuccessfully to kill one with an axe only to have it retaliate by forcing a tentacle up his arse.
The poor man screams for help as the rest of the cast look on with expressions of mild apathy.
And in Stanley's case a wee hint of jealousy.
With one of their number down and the Silicates multiplying like rabbits, West and Stanley head over to the house of local big man (and the islands unofficial king) Roger Campbell (Zeus himself MacGinnis) in the hope of recruiting the islanders to repel the massive man-sack menace.
After convincing him that the creatures are of English origin and being a typical Paddy Campbell jumps at the chance of a fight and quickly phones his loyal assistant (and owner of the local newsagent) Peter Argyle (former actor and current alcoholic drink Caffrey) to round up the townsfolk and arm them with anything that comes to hand.
Which, being Irish means bullets, petrol bombs, exploding pigs and dynamite.
God bless them!
 |
| "Help mah boab!" |
But not before splitting into two and doubling their destructive force.
Yikes.
With the battle quickly becoming a lost cause and with nowhere to turn the fate of the island looks bleak. Until that is West and Stanley hear reports of a Silicate found dead on the beach after eating a stray dog that had inadvertently consumed a sandwich containg a rare isotope called Strontium-90.
Could this be the key to Petrie's salvation?
With time running out and the Silicate threat growing, Stanley and West must venture back to Phillips' laboratory in the hope of finding enough isotope to destroy the Silicates once and for all....
 | ||||
| A testicle carrying a designer handbag yesterday. |
Back in the swinging sixties when Britain actually had a film industry and companies like Hammer Films, Amicus and Tigon kept the locals on the edges of their collective seats with a constant stream of horror classics but from those heady bygone days there's one company that lies forgotten and dejected, even tho' they released one of the most terrifying films ever made.
That company was Planet Film Productions and the film was that forgotten classic of science gone wrong that was, is and always shall be Island of Terror.
Unless you live abroad that is where it's known as the slightly less gruesome Night of the Silicates.
Or something.
God knows how much the budget was but most of it seems to have been blow on winter coats for the actors, which amazingly helps to show who's in charge of who in the cast; ordinary islanders wear donkey jacket style attire whereas the more important community members wear duffle coats, mainlanders are bedecked in Crombie's whilst Roger Campbell (being the big man) has a dufflecoat with toggles and a sweater modelled from what looks like stringy cottage cheese.
Design genius I'm sure you'll agree.
Then there's the almost Lynchian direction and scenes of unnerving bizarreness on screen.
Examples include the fact that every time a car doors slams it does so to the exact timing of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, the fact that local copper Harris, in a sign of almost Wicker Man-esque Lord Summerisle adoration of Dr. Landers, dutifully follows the physician around whenever he's onscreen, helping him into his coat, bowing graciously and even following him around with his trilby like a dutiful footman.
And taking of headware, the mighty Peter Cushing adds a subtle touch to the oncoming danger, donning a variety of more and more darker hats (and matching shirts) as the movie progresses.
 |
| Insert slimy tentacle and/or cock here. Please. |
The same goes for director of Terrence Fisher’s standing.
I've no idea what incriminating photographs Planet's head had of the pair but I for one would love to see them.
Ripe for re-release and begging to be remade (but on the same budget obviously) Island of Terror is a remarkable experience that will alter the way you look at your testicles for years to come.
And there aren't many films you can say that about.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
moose flesh.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
wtf?
It might be because it's early and I'm poorly but I really don't have any idea what the fucks going on in this pic.
I do like it tho'.
I do like it tho'.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
malko in the middle (east).
Welcome to the world of Austrian prince and part-time CIA agent Malko Linge, creation of the infamous French writer, journalist, editor and outspoken (far) right wing loon Gérard de Villiers.
With their title taken from the French equivalent of His Royal Highness (Son Altesse Sérénissime) (SAS) is the French version of HRH; the novels (of which over 171 have been published) have also hit the big screen with 'B' movie God Miles O'Keefe taking on the role of Malko in the 1983 movie S.A.S. à San Salvador and then with cheeky chappie Richard Young (the fedora man from Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade) in 1989's Eye of the Widow.
Both are shite.
But we're not here to discuss the merits of a series of shoddily written right wing macho wank fantasy novels that are only available from airports and railway stations (seriously), only to gaze in awe at some of the fantastic gun toting totty featured on the books covers.
Like you expected anything else?
With their title taken from the French equivalent of His Royal Highness (Son Altesse Sérénissime) (SAS) is the French version of HRH; the novels (of which over 171 have been published) have also hit the big screen with 'B' movie God Miles O'Keefe taking on the role of Malko in the 1983 movie S.A.S. à San Salvador and then with cheeky chappie Richard Young (the fedora man from Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade) in 1989's Eye of the Widow.
Both are shite.
But we're not here to discuss the merits of a series of shoddily written right wing macho wank fantasy novels that are only available from airports and railway stations (seriously), only to gaze in awe at some of the fantastic gun toting totty featured on the books covers.
Like you expected anything else?
Monday, August 16, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
fumetti farm.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
glad to be geisha.
Been catching up on a big pile of stuff in the corner (films, laundry, work, kids etc.) and went for this first cos it had a pretty laydee on the cover.
At least I'm honest.
And don't worry, seeing as it's fairly new(ish) i'll not give too much away to the six of you who haven't seen it yet.
Robo-Geisha (2009)
Dir: Noboru Iguchi
Cast: Aya Kiguchi, Hitomi Hasebe, Yoshihiro Nishimura, Takumi Saito and Taro Shikagi.
After saving an important politician (FX whiz Nishimura in a neat cameo) from the clutches of an evil cybernetic Geisha assassin and her deadly breasted, sword wielding minions, the mysterious saviour of Japan, Robo-Geisha begins to tell (in true Marvel Comics style) the grateful and very sweaty would-be victim her secret origin story....
Time to fetch the tissues.
Welcome to the (not so) wonderful life of the cute as a button and pigtailed Yoshie Kasuga (former gravure idol and tarento turned actress Kiguchi), destined to live forever in the shadow of her bullying (and fairly harsh) older sister, the top geisha Kikue (Battle Royale II and Ultraman Max's Hasebe).
After an accident involving peppered dough balls, hot soup, a cucumber in the mooth and Kikue administering a severe kicking to her sister, poor Yoshie angrily tears a phonebook in half, catching the attention of super mulleted pretty boy Hikaru Kageno (fish lipped Saito from Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl), spoiled son of the vaguely camp and bequiffed multi-millionaire steel tycoon Mr. Kenzan Kageno (Japan's very own Shakin' Stevens, Shigaki) who invites them both to dinner.
As the pair of them both think he's a sexy man (if a little wet) they excitedly accept his invitation and make their way to his home, a bizarre hybrid of temple, factory and James Bond villain lair by way of the Eurovision Song Contest set circa 1987.
I'd move in there like a shot.
Even if I had to have a daily pleasuring from Hikaru and his dad.
Little do the sisters suspect that behind the almost ladyboy smile and kissy lipslurks the heart of a very bad man because Hikaru (and his dandy dad) are planning to build an army of deadly robo-geisha’s (to work alongside their deadly breasted elite Tengu assassins) in an attempt to seize control of Japan...
...with Yoshie and Kikue the latest recruits.
Soon the sisterly slaggings and slaps become more and more dangerous as the pair are pitted against each other (in full geisha make-up and big pink pants) in a fight to the death.
Although small in stature Yoshie is big in battle skills and, after a wee bit of a kicking easily defeats her sister, causing one of those nasty not talking phases between the pair.
Which is quite possibly the least of their worries seeing as Hikaru is hoping to use their new found sibling hatred to aid his plan to transform them into the most efficient killing machines ever created.
Augmenting their (silky smooth) bodies with everything from armpit swords, breast mounted machine guns and napalm hair, Yoshie and Kikue soon become the number one and number two assassins in Hikaru's organisation but when Yoshie is ordered to assassinate the families of those Hikaru has kidnapped and transformed into his cybernetic army our maiden of metal has a crisis of conscience.
Betrayed and left for dead, Yoshie is rebuilt by the very same concerned relatives she was programmed to destroy our heroine decides to make a stand for all that's good and decent in the world, even if it costs her the sister she secretly still loves....
From the smoking quill of Noboro Iguchi, the man behind Machine Girl, Sukeban Boy and the upcoming Mutant Girls Squad comes yet another panties and prosthetics filled tale of love, family honour, city stomping robots and ludicrously large guns.
Well you know what they say, if it ain't broke dinnae fix it.
To take it too seriously (as many folk seem to have) is to miss the point, as Robo-Geisha is nothing more than a cheap and cheerful comic book of a movie just to be enjoyed on the most basic of levels not over analysed and chin stroked.
Folk should realise this as soon as swords appear out of the (shapely) arses of the Tengu assassins.
I mean, it's not deep and it doesn't want to be clever, it just wants to be fun, fun, fun.
Iguchi directs like a child raiding a chocolate box, you never know what you're going to get next.
Mouth mounted buzzsaws?, arse-blades?, armpit swords?, acidic breast milk? sister on sister bickering? It's all here in one dizzily silly and childish mix topped off by acting so over the top it's a wonder none of the actors got nosebleeds, pre-Playstation effects and a score that purposely rips off everything from Godzilla to Live and Let Die.
Oh, and numerous shots of big pants and a secret base that turns into a dancing robot intent on blowing up Mount Fuji with a big gold bomb.
Need I say more?
At least I'm honest.
And don't worry, seeing as it's fairly new(ish) i'll not give too much away to the six of you who haven't seen it yet.
Robo-Geisha (2009)
Dir: Noboru Iguchi
Cast: Aya Kiguchi, Hitomi Hasebe, Yoshihiro Nishimura, Takumi Saito and Taro Shikagi.
"I knew it would rotate!
Shit! Help me!"
Shit! Help me!"
After saving an important politician (FX whiz Nishimura in a neat cameo) from the clutches of an evil cybernetic Geisha assassin and her deadly breasted, sword wielding minions, the mysterious saviour of Japan, Robo-Geisha begins to tell (in true Marvel Comics style) the grateful and very sweaty would-be victim her secret origin story....
Time to fetch the tissues.
Welcome to the (not so) wonderful life of the cute as a button and pigtailed Yoshie Kasuga (former gravure idol and tarento turned actress Kiguchi), destined to live forever in the shadow of her bullying (and fairly harsh) older sister, the top geisha Kikue (Battle Royale II and Ultraman Max's Hasebe).
After an accident involving peppered dough balls, hot soup, a cucumber in the mooth and Kikue administering a severe kicking to her sister, poor Yoshie angrily tears a phonebook in half, catching the attention of super mulleted pretty boy Hikaru Kageno (fish lipped Saito from Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl), spoiled son of the vaguely camp and bequiffed multi-millionaire steel tycoon Mr. Kenzan Kageno (Japan's very own Shakin' Stevens, Shigaki) who invites them both to dinner.
"Blades in mah face!"
As the pair of them both think he's a sexy man (if a little wet) they excitedly accept his invitation and make their way to his home, a bizarre hybrid of temple, factory and James Bond villain lair by way of the Eurovision Song Contest set circa 1987.
I'd move in there like a shot.
Even if I had to have a daily pleasuring from Hikaru and his dad.
Your mum at work yesterday.
Little do the sisters suspect that behind the almost ladyboy smile and kissy lipslurks the heart of a very bad man because Hikaru (and his dandy dad) are planning to build an army of deadly robo-geisha’s (to work alongside their deadly breasted elite Tengu assassins) in an attempt to seize control of Japan...
...with Yoshie and Kikue the latest recruits.
Soon the sisterly slaggings and slaps become more and more dangerous as the pair are pitted against each other (in full geisha make-up and big pink pants) in a fight to the death.
Meow. Thrice.
Although small in stature Yoshie is big in battle skills and, after a wee bit of a kicking easily defeats her sister, causing one of those nasty not talking phases between the pair.
Which is quite possibly the least of their worries seeing as Hikaru is hoping to use their new found sibling hatred to aid his plan to transform them into the most efficient killing machines ever created.
"Put it in me!"
Augmenting their (silky smooth) bodies with everything from armpit swords, breast mounted machine guns and napalm hair, Yoshie and Kikue soon become the number one and number two assassins in Hikaru's organisation but when Yoshie is ordered to assassinate the families of those Hikaru has kidnapped and transformed into his cybernetic army our maiden of metal has a crisis of conscience.
"You raff....you RUSE!"
Betrayed and left for dead, Yoshie is rebuilt by the very same concerned relatives she was programmed to destroy our heroine decides to make a stand for all that's good and decent in the world, even if it costs her the sister she secretly still loves....
From the smoking quill of Noboro Iguchi, the man behind Machine Girl, Sukeban Boy and the upcoming Mutant Girls Squad comes yet another panties and prosthetics filled tale of love, family honour, city stomping robots and ludicrously large guns.
Well you know what they say, if it ain't broke dinnae fix it.
To take it too seriously (as many folk seem to have) is to miss the point, as Robo-Geisha is nothing more than a cheap and cheerful comic book of a movie just to be enjoyed on the most basic of levels not over analysed and chin stroked.
Folk should realise this as soon as swords appear out of the (shapely) arses of the Tengu assassins.
I mean, it's not deep and it doesn't want to be clever, it just wants to be fun, fun, fun.
Iguchi directs like a child raiding a chocolate box, you never know what you're going to get next.
Mouth mounted buzzsaws?, arse-blades?, armpit swords?, acidic breast milk? sister on sister bickering? It's all here in one dizzily silly and childish mix topped off by acting so over the top it's a wonder none of the actors got nosebleeds, pre-Playstation effects and a score that purposely rips off everything from Godzilla to Live and Let Die.
Oh, and numerous shots of big pants and a secret base that turns into a dancing robot intent on blowing up Mount Fuji with a big gold bomb.
Need I say more?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
ghana no do that.
Scarily I got a paid gig the other week, which meant having to brave public transport on a Saturday (Glasgow becomes a wee bit New Barbarians come the weekend).
Whilst waiting patiently for the train to Innsmouth I couldn't help (well I could but I'm nosey) but notice a hideously middle class, born again Christian couple discussing how they spend their holidays in Ghana (that's near Europe I think) handing over bags of old clothes to the locals whilst posing for photo's in a condescending manner whilst no doubt imagining that they're Brad and Angelina.
Some moderate Christians yesterday.
After hearing how poor and how grateful the locals are for the visits from the concerned western folk and how God helps them survive their pointless and dusty lives (plus how luxurious the local hotel complex they stay in is) I realised that not once had either of them even mentioned Ghana's burgeoning horror film industry.
Now pay attention, here's the science part.
Not long after the (non literal) home video explosion of the early eighties and the reduction (relatively) in price of home recording equipment and portable cameras (which gave birth - not like Splice so stop panicking - to the mobile cinema phenomena in a number of West African countries), the African film industry jumped at the chance to produce affordable (re: dirt cheap) movies with a local theme aimed squarely at the home market, taking in themes such as devout Christianity, gangsters, devout Christianity, possession, people trafficking, devout Christianity, police corruption, devout Christianity and fat ladies waving their arms about whilst crying.
Oh, and did I mention that the majority of the movies feature at least a wee bit of devout Christianity?
And one of the most successful films in what shall now be called the Ghanian 'Godly Horror' genre is C'Emeka Uba's Abro Ne Bayie.
A film so terrifying that it had to be split into two parts!
Enjoy.
Tho' don't expect too much seeing as half the dialogue and the credits are in Twi, a language that we failed to cover at The Dormston School.
Damn you teachers!
Abro Ne Bayie.
Dir: C'Emeka Uba.Oh, and did I mention that the majority of the movies feature at least a wee bit of devout Christianity?
"Not more bloody foreigners with
their second hand football strips!"
their second hand football strips!"
And one of the most successful films in what shall now be called the Ghanian 'Godly Horror' genre is C'Emeka Uba's Abro Ne Bayie.
A film so terrifying that it had to be split into two parts!
Enjoy.
Tho' don't expect too much seeing as half the dialogue and the credits are in Twi, a language that we failed to cover at The Dormston School.
Damn you teachers!
Abro Ne Bayie.
Cast: Anita Acheampong and some other people.
Hunky, grey suited and shiny of shoed Vincent Opoku (apparently portrayed by Ghana's very own Wickey Will Smith) is an successful businessman and devout Christian (told you) with everything to look forward to in life.
He's rich in both monetary terms and his love for God, has a really hot (and incredibly bootylicious) fiancée named Brenda and a really nice car that isn't pulled by a donkey.
But his perfect life is about to take a nasty turn for the (supernatural) worse tho' seeing as his massive headed mum Dufie (not the Welsh singer) has made a pact to deliver her son's eternal soul to the Satanic underworld in return for a new dress and some cha-cha heels.
"Ah fell aff mah beanstalk Ian!"
Her plan to achieve sartorial ecstasy involves persuading poor Vincent to fall out with Brenda and start dating the black clad (and even more bootylicious if that's humanly possible) Natasha, who in reality is an evil sex demon in human form.
So he has the choice between the attractive yet staid Brenda, who even tuts at the thought of kissing before marriage or a leather clad, very dirty pillowed nymphomaniac she creature from Hell who gives out on a first date.
Hmmmm.....tricky choice.
Natasha: up the casino.
Within, oh minutes, Vincent is totally under Natasha's spell with her promises of letting him bite her in the back of his motor and a quick touch of her baps (chicken), leaving poor Brenda crying into her Pot Noodle and his evil mum organising a dinner dance (with Bingo) to reveal her new look.
Can anyone save Vincent (and his soul) from an eternity of forced and meaningless hot sweaty sex?
Luckily for Vincent (depends on your definition of luck tho' doesn't it?) his dad Tony and the local priest, Father Dennis Kwabina are ready to take on the hordes of Hell in an attempt to save Vincent's very soul....
And his reputation as a good boy.
"Laugh now!"
Clocking in at an arse numbing two and a half hours, Abro Ne Bayie may be cruder than your Grannie on Meth, shot as it is in harsh natural light with a bunch of non-actors obviously rounded up at the local job centre and effects achieved on an old Amiga. Cheap it certainly is but none of this stops it being bloody enjoyable.
But the greatest (and most refreshing) thing about Abro Ne Bayie is despite the films budgetary shortcomings the theme of demonic possession and temptation is played in such a deep and serious manner.
Almost as if this were a public information documentary on the evils of Satan.
And frankly, if I've got the choice between the ultimate evil looking like Linda Blair masturbating with a crucifix whilst Max Von Sydow wets himself over a big stone dog or the Devil and his minions on show here - some chubby bloke in a second hand Jedi cloak wearing a novelty old man mask from the market, a child in a skeleton suit, covered in facepaint with a plastic horn staple to his head and a really fat person covered in what looks like fresh cow shite in a Dolly Parton wig - I know which I'd pick.
Plus I reckon naughty Natasha would be worth it.
Just remember to get your Tetanus jag first.
"Shite in mah mooth!"
If only half of Hollywood's output was this entertaining (and had as many shaved small boys in facepaint throw around rooms by Vicars) then the world would be a much better place.
Tho' as a downside the thought of every major film using (the free demo of) Adobe Premiere's Eye Candy for their special effects is kinda disconcerting.
But that's a chance I'm willing to take.
Who's with me?
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