yor blimey!

Yor - The Hunter Of The Future (AKA Yor, The World of Yor, 1983)

Dir: Antonio Margheriti (As Anthony M. Dawson)

Cast: Reb Brown, Corinne Clery, Luciano Pigozzi, Carole André, John Steiner, Marina Rocchi, Sergio Nicolai Ayshe Gul and the legendary Aytekin Akkaya.

Kalaa: Why is Yor different from other men?

In a world where dinosaurs rule and bit part Italian actors roam the woods in flea bitten loincloths comes the mighty warrior Yor (ex pro-footballer, Captain America and deputy sheriff Brown); oiled, toned and muscled yet with the running prowess of a small girl.

He looks good in furry pants tho'.

Somewhere in the bushes Kalaa and Pag (ex Bond babe Clery and the tramp like Pigozzi) are hunting a piglet with wooden horns stuck to its body but as they grab the poor embarrassed animal a giant Cardboardasaurus crashes thru' the trees.

Kalaa is frozen with fear and Pag can only scream and wobble his man breasts as the beast lurches towards them...

Luckily Yor comes bounding to the rescue, beating the dinosaur around the head with a big stone axe till it falls over.

Phew.

"Yor going home in a St. Johns ambulance!"

As a way of saying thank you they invite Yor back to their village for a big party and, not having anything planned he accepts.

Enjoying an evening of mead and bacon (and with the chance of a shag from Kalaa who appears to be the only non-bearded woman there) Yor is understandably upset when a gang of face painted ape men gatecrash the party and set fire to the village hall before tossing Yor off a nearby cliff and kidnapping Kalaa.

The Pussycat Dolls tribute band
was a wee bit disappointing.

It seems that there are no ape women so every so often the scruffy ape men attack the friendly tribe looking for posh totty to use as 'lurve slaves'. Yor (who has climbed all the way back up the cliff) is adamant that if anyone is going to have their wicked way with Kalaa it's going to be him.

Yor heads off towards the ape lair with Pag in tow where, hiding in a tree they observe the scary (and somewhat arousing) sight of dozens of bikini clad ladies being oogled by the noisy band of cheeky (not to mention horny) monkeys.

"Laugh now!"

If that wasn't enough Ukraan, leader of the apes is rubbing his hairy palms together and licking his lips whilst advancing on a cornered Kalaa.

There's only one course of action open to our hero obviously so killing a nearby giant bat he uses the animals carcass to glide into the ape den and release Kalaa before smashing a nearby dike and flooding the camp.

Please note that he makes no attempt to rescue the other captives who obviously are either drowned or left to spend the rest of their lives having every one of their orifices violated by bananas.

What a guy.

Leaving the scene of carnage behind them Yor explains that he is trying to discover 'the secrets of his past' (and find out why all the other men look like lank haired bearded pikeys whilst he's tanned and blond) so must brave the dangerous desert to find the answers.

Kalaa decides to tag along (well, it's either that or sit on her own waiting for the dirty monkeys to turn up) and before long the stumble across a tribe sacrificing a nubile, pointy headed blonde on a bonfire.

Yor kills them all and rescues the lady who introduces herself as Roa (Gul), owner of a pound shop pendant not dissimilar to Yor's (the main character, not yours obviously. Unless you actually own one when it may well do).

"Do the monkey with me!"

Kala, unhappy with another female joining the group decides to kill her love rival but her plan is interrupted when a rather wet Ukraan turns up looking for revenge.

A fight ensues (again) but Roa is struck down before Yor can save her.

Which is good news for Kalaa.

"Hallo I'm superfluous, come sleep in mah bed".

Our terrific trio tut and shrug shoulders before continuing their journey into the desert and before long come across some folk being attacked by what looks like a large chicken with an umbrella stuck to its back.

Not having been involved in a fight for around ten minutes Yor kills the beast and gets invited to another party where yet another bikini clad lady fawns over him and wiggles her ample hips.

Understandably Kalaa is really pissed off at the fact that every woman on the planet wants a piece of Yor's prime ass but before she can attempt to kill this one the tribal chief arrives with information about Yor's origins.

It seems that every so often blond 'gods' wearing big medallions come to visit the villagers in flying boxes from a mysterious island hidden by a spooky dark fog.

Yor is convinced that the island holds the key to his identity so he steals a fishing boat to continue his quest, leaving the friendly visitors to be wiped out by the aforementioned flying boxes.

"Thanks for the pearl necklace Yor!"

With Pag and Kalaa as his loyal crew, Yor quickly makes his way to the island only to lose control of the boat when a violent storm whips up from nowhere. Yor is tossed overboard and washed up on a beach where he is almost immediately zapped by a guy in a leather jumpsuit and a gas mask.

Kinky.

Don't fret tho', Kalaa and Pag are safe too. They've been cast ashore further up the beach where they're accosted by a small group of cave dwelling tramps.

"You'll just feel a tiny prick...."

Yor meanwhile has been grabbed by the Overlord (sounds painful) as is looking on in mild apathy as the movies plot is explained to him.

It turns out that the film is set on a future Earth devastated by nuclear war where the majority of survivors have regressed to little more than savages.

A small group of scientists however tried to hold back the oncoming violent times by using space age technology and appointing an absolute leader (the aforementioned Overlord - the plywood like Steiner) who (and with a name like that you can't be too surprised) built an army of gimp suited androids and kick out anyone who disagreed with him.

Yor's parents were among those yellow bellied cowards that ran away, preferring to take their chances with the papier mache dinosaurs on the mainland, which was a bad idea seeing as they were almost instantly eaten leaving our hero an orphan.

Before they died however they gave baby Yor a present, the big gold medallion he wears which in reality is a high tech recording device (what for I don't know, why they never left him a note of how to work it, ditto).

Laughing (looking and possibly smelling) like an off season seaside town crossdresser on crack, Overlord announces that he has plans for Yor.....

"Juliet Bravo!"

Kalaa and Pag meanwhile are swapping niceties with the resistance movement who have told then much the same story, but adding the (fairly important) bit about Overlord planning to kill everyone else on the planet within the next hour or so.

They decide to attack Overlord's complex.

Whilst all this is going on. Overlord and his foxy assistant Ena (André) have strapped Yor to a dinning table and started flashing really hot disco lights at him in an attempt to steal his DNA which, when mixed with Kalaa's will become the genetic building blocks for Overlords new android army.

Just as it appears that Yor can't possibly sweat any more the stinky tramps burst in and free our hero as a battle of epic proportions ensues.

"Are you looking at my bra?"

One particularly stinking tramp manages to reach Overlords control centre and de-active his leathery android hordes whilst Yor plants a bomb inside the bases nuclear reactor.

With only minutes to spare before detonation Yor stabs overlord with a huge barbers poll and hounds the heroic rebel band into a conveniently parked spaceship, escaping the island with seconds to spare as it explodes no doubt showering a still recovering planet and population in all manner of dangerous radiation.

As our merry band fly off to an uncertain future, spooky voice over guy tells us of how Yor will "use his new found knowledge of mankind's past to protect the future".

"Yor the one that I want".

Originally made as a three hour SciFi epic for Italian Teevee, Antonio (I got to say I directed Andy Warhol's Dracula and Frankenstein but only for tax purposes) Margheriti’s fantasy classic is better known to fans of the fantastic in it's truncated movie form.

Even losing almost two hours of it's original running time the films sheer awfulness shines thru'. From it's ludicrous premise by way of the abysmal acting via trite dialogue, a distinct lack of a workable script and overall general shoddiness it's still top quality entertainment.

Look at Maurizio and Guido De Angelis's score, re-used ad infinitum in such blockbusters as 2019: After the Fall of New York and Raiders of Atlantis, and Lightblast) and the clever use of costumes left over from that other Corinne Clery SciFi masterwork The Humanoid (tho' it's more likely that she came free with the suits) not forgetting the star turn by the ultimate macho man that is Mr. Reb Brown.

Brown: Tight, athletic buttocks.

From his early work alongside soon to be Starbuck Dirk Benedict in the 1973 shocker Ssssss to his appearances as Captain America in two ill advised 1979 Teevee movies you can always count on Brown's frankly terrifyingly muscled arse to take your attentions away from any mistakes on screen, he's ably (and amply) supported by Euro art/sleaze star Corinne Clery doing her best as the vacant eyed bubble permed heroine with the hots for Yor and Italian 'B' stalwart (and owner of the droopiest man breasts ever) Luciano Pigozzi (star of such top quality hits as Alien from the Deep and Double Target) brings a Wilfrid Bramble like quality (and smell probably) to his role as uncle Pag.

Funnier than Margheriti's Cannibal Apocalypse and with better special effects and a fluid style of its own that features nods to the 60's Batman series with it's high angle camera work, good old over choreographed 'slow fighting' and an endearing kind of thrift shop feel that makes it a pain free enjoyable 90 minutes of cheesy entertainment if nothing else. Yor may make absolutely no sense at all but at least it's not too painful to watch.

Especially if like me you enjoy tight buttocks.

As a strange but true aside I'd just like to add that about five years ago I came across a Dutch version of Yor in a local charity shop for a pound and eagerly snatched it up (what can I say? I liked the cover illustration). Rushing home to see how it held up dubbed I was surprised to find that someone had recorded over the last ten minutes with what looked like home video footage of a deserted public pool where a scantily clad, blindfolded woman sat strapped into a chair.

After viewing this strange (yet somewhat disturbing) scene for a few minutes a man appeared from stage left wearing nothing but a clown mask and holding a kitchen knife. He proceeded to pinch the womans nipples and play with her hair for a few minutes before moving slowly toward her....then the screen cut to static.

I've always wondered if someone had accidentally recorded one of their home sex tapes at the end or if I'd stumbled across a scary snuff film, the killer desperate to recover the tape before his identity could be found.....

If you know (or are the person) that made this then feel free to get in touch.

Unless you are a mad mentalist murder obviously.

when cosplay goes bad part 24.

It's the Doctor Who special!

Unfortunately pictures of me in my Tenth Doctor outfit are currently unavailable.

As are the photo's of me as a 19 year old dressed as Sylvester McCoy.

hey ya.

Outcast (2010).
Dir: Colm McCarthy.
Cast: James Nesbitt, Kate Dickie, Niall Bruton, Ciarán McMenamin, Therese Bradley, Hannah Stanbridge, Daniel Porter, Andrew Martin, James Cosmo, Karen Gillan, some Neds and a big, bald pink man-dog with tiny girls feet.

The smooth of thigh and dusky of skin Romanian/Scottish bird Petronella Bugge (Stanbridge) is a poor 'schoolgirl' (yeah right) whose dreams are dashed by her living in Edinburgh.

Admittedly it is one of Edinburgh's better kept neighbourhoods, I mean there may be piss stains in the lifts, graffiti on the walls and burnt out cars in the gardens but at least the place isn't full of comedy accented junkies.

Unlike The Royal Mile on a weekday.

Anyway, Petronella shares a small rat infested flat with her frighteningly wrinkly alcoholic mother, Jitta (Bradley, who was once in Taggart) and her disabled brother Wilf, who you can tell is meant to have 'the special needs' because he's portrayed as fat with a greasy side parting, top button done up and a habit of sticking his tongue into his bottom lip when he speaks.

Nope nothing clichéd or offensive to see here at all.

You can tell they shot it in Glasgow tho', if it had really been Edinburgh that dog would be on bricks.

Late one night comedy voiced Oirish woman Mary (Red Road's Dickie) and her mono-browed, flat faced son Fergal (Bruton, looking like a cross between Frankenstein's uglier wee brother and a whippet licking a cancerous growth from a gammy leg) move into the flat next door.

But not before mental Mary torches their transit van.

“Begorah! dis be da end of ta line, to be sure!” whispers Mary as her son toasts some crumpets on the van's dashboard.

Poor people eh?

After pouring a Guinness and cooking a potato, Mary waits for her boy to fall asleep (making sure he doesn't hit any more branches of the ugly tree on the way down)  before removing her clothes and starting to paint circles on the walls whilst chanting some made up words and flashing her arse.

Which is nice if you like that kind of thing.

You can tell they're not really Scottish, if they were they'd have stolen the guys camera and sold it for skag by now.

It seems that these random doodlings are actually ancient protection charms, but what is our pikey parent protecting Fergal from?

The fashion police?

Accents are us?

Turns out she’s protecting him from two down and out Oirish wizards, Liam and Cathal (Primeval's McMenamin and the ladies favourite Sir James of Nesbitt), who've been sent on a mission to kill Fergal (to death) for some reason or other.


Before they can even think about stabbing the ugly boy (it'd be a mercy killing if I'm honest) tho,  creepy Cathal must take part in a naked tattooing ceremony that will grant him supernatural senses.

Tho' hopefully not an enhanced sense of smell.

Or shame.

But that's not all, because once he's completed his task, he will gain special magical powers, a wee bit like a hairier less punchable Paul Daniels.

"You'll never get yer hands on mah lucky charms ya bastards!"

Unbeknownst to our man-muck stained magicians (but known to us obviously) Mary knows that they're coming (and not just cos she can smell them) and has a sneaky plan up her sleeve.

Well, it would be up her sleeve if she were wearing clothes.

And what does this sneaky plan involve?

Well it better be something pretty damned impressive after all this nude painting, naked tattooing and bird sacrifice.

Yup, you guessed it, she decides to lock him in the house.

But not all the time obviously, or he wouldn't be able to meet Petronella, her brother and the local inbred bad-boys.

More importantly had he been locked up for good the running time would have had to have been taken up with even more shots of Dickie's pale and uninteresting arse.

"Fire engine!"

As is always the way in these stories, Petronella and Fergal begin to fall in love, much to the chagrin of scary Mary and Petronella's sort of boyfriend Wee Boab, who decides to get his revenge by attempting to finger fuck Petronella's pal Ally (Amelia Pond herself Karen Gillan) in a kiddies play park.

Between mad mothers, Oirish wizards, wandering hands and teen romance you'd be forgiven for thinking that the writers wouldn't have room to fit anything else into the film.

But then you'd be dead wrong and really embarrassed (but not as embarrassed as poor Karen Gillan must have been having to let a tiny Ned boy violently shove his sweaty fingers up her skirt) because that night, when Ally is walking home she's attacked and killed by a big monster.

Your mums cum face (trust me, I know).

With Petronella and Fergal's relationship moving every closer to a bit of 'the sex' (fantastically - and subtly - shown by having shots of Fergal sweating and grimacing in a dirty bath whilst Petronella flies ever high on a kiddies swing, the wind catching her tiny pleated school skirt until it rides up and reveals her big black pants - see screenshot below), our paddy practitioners of magic closing in one the tattie loving twosome and the mysterious beast taking out bewitched social workers (it's way too convoluted to go into, trust me) it's only a matter of time before Mary's spooky premonition that "It all ends here" becomes a violent truth...

It's just a pity it doesn't come to pass a wee bit sooner.

Petronella's big black pants, make sure you keep the remote control in your free hand.

From the director of two episodes of the soggy Mini Driver underwater travesty The Deep comes quite possibly the most depressingly clichéd and arse clenchingly embarrassing horror movie I've had the misfortune to see in a long time.

Well, since A Serbian Film back in December anyway.

One of it's main faults is that the movie appears to have no idea what it wants to be.

Is it a hard hitting social commentary on working class Scotland?

A supernatural romance? 

A murder mystery?

A creature feature?

Or a messy mish-mash of all of the above?

I have a feeling that not even the writer and director know for sure.

Myleene klass: The pikey years.

Maybe I'm being a wee bit harsh tho' and the film isn't really aimed at me but at that small section of Middle England that has only ever seen poor people on television documentaries, think The Bill is cutting edge drama and who think that the last horror movie made in the UK was Carry On Screaming.

And those Americans who try to convince themselves that they're in fact Irish because their granddad wore some green trousers once.

If that is the case then can I just say now that you're welcome to it.

But can we have James Cosmo back when you're finished please?

"The most original horror since Let The Right One In" says the poster.

Original?

Nope, but horrific?

Fuck yes but unfortunately for all the wrong reasons.

It may only be January but I'll stick my neck out and say that I doubt anything else will come along this year to take Outcast's well deserved 'what's the fucking point?' crown.


And I'm definitely sure we that no other film this year will feature such an unintentionally amusing monster, the fucker looks like Ren Hoek from Ren and Stimpy on steroids.


I haven't laughed so much since the dead baby swapping storyline in Eastenders.



Well at least the year can't get any worse.

Can it?

a load of old sarse.

A close acquaintance of mine, Sir Nick of Frame, whom you may know from his sickeningly popular and incredibly well written blog, the fantastic DVD Trash, handed me these two beauties a few months back because as he put it:

"I'm really busy at the moment reviewing all the limited edition gold plated, hand etched screener DVD's I get sent on a daily basis, these two films are really good, honest and I think it would take an intellectual giant such as yourself to do them justice...and you never know the director might read it and then you'll at least double your readership."

Obviously I jumped at the chance, knowing full well that he only gets sent the best stuff to watch.

The man whose life you want: Sir Nick of Frame yesterday.

And after viewing the movies in question?

All I can say is God bless you sir!

SARS/SARS: The Dead Plague (2009)

Dir: J. R. Thomas.

Cast: Michael Cooper, Ashley Mullis, Aaron Meade, Aubrey Davidson, Allie Stapelton, Meg White (not that one) and Tony Anthony.

Pray for the dead? Pray for the unfortunate fucking viewer more like.

Back in the year 2005 that nasty Avian Bird Flu finally turned up in the good ol' US of A (it probably took it that long to get thru customs) to mild apathy from the locals.

This is probably because most of them were too fat, too busy shooting each other or too busy riding about in big gas guzzling cars whilst eating potato chips to notice.

Or in the case of director (and I use that title very loosely) JR Thomas, too busy in his parents basement masturbating over pictures of Amanda Bynes whilst listening to Slipknot.

Sad bastard.

Amanda Bynes: scarily an anagram of 'shite in mah mooth'.

By 2009 however the disease had mutated to a point where it now infected insects who in turn bit lots of kiddies who then bit their parents.

And the result of all this biting?

Well by 2015 everyone who's ever been bitten, scratched or shag their weans have transformed into zombies.

Yes, the make-up is this shit.

Unfortunately a small number of non-actors, friends of the producer and piss stained tramps (male and female) have survived and must now struggle to live in a world overrun by the undead.

Oh and one that features stolen footage from the Dawn of The Dead remake and, a fucking abysmal 'nu-metal' score and it's entire running time shoddily cut together from various quality (from shit to really fucking shit) Youtube shorts.

As the DVD sleeve says:

Embrace the madness.

See what they did here? Yes, the world is bad.

Finally I can die a happy (if not slightly soiled) man for I have witnessed a film so bad, so pointless that I am certain that it can never, ever be beaten.

Unlike the director who couldn't be beaten enough for my liking.

Saying that tho', perhaps I'm missing the point and the obvious lack of plot, acting talent or make-up skills on show here are intentional and this is, in fact a really, really clever art movie.

I tried to contact the director to ask him but to no avail.

Tho' thinking about it, the chances of him replying by email are very slim.

I mean that would involve him learning basic communication skills and at the very least how to form words because if this script (what?! You mean there was a script?) is anything to go by he has trouble even attempting to bash the keys into a cohesive sentence.

A man named J.R. Thomas yesterday. Did he 'direct' this shite?

The most grating thing about this whole sorry affair isn't any of the things I've already mentioned (surprisingly) or even the fact that the entire thing was lit with a torch and a strobelight.

No, it's the fact that the first one was popular enough to warrant a sequel.

Is there no God?

I mean come on America, you'll shoot someone as hot as Gabrielle Giffords but you let this guy live?*

Or was it this Thomas?

The only thing we can do is to buy up every damned copy and burn them before they fall into the wrong hands.

Because if we don't it's our children who will suffer.

Thank you and good day.




*By the way, I'm not really advocating murder (I'm not Sarah Palin for one thing) but I wouldn't say no to anyone who fancies giving him a swift knee to the balls.

when cosplay goes bad (part 22).

Enjoy.

anthony and the (lack of) johnsons.

W is For WAR! (1983).
Dir: Willie Milan (as Wilfredo Milan).
Cast: Anthony Alonzo, Anna Marie Gutierrez, Alicia Alonzo, Ada Alberto, Jonee Gamboa, Renato del Prado, Edwart Bronet, Paul Vance, Al Alonzo, Linda Castro, Den Montero, Rommel Valdez, Bing Davao and literally dozens of other folk that frankly I really couldn't be arsed looking up. You want a full cast list? then fuck off to Sight and Sound or somewhere like that.

Oh go on then, Jimmy Santos is in it too.

And token Yank Richard Jones.

"I put my ass on the line while you sit back and polish your medals!"

The time: the near future (by way of the stunning disco-fied late seventies) and the mean streets of Manila are under threat from an evil gang of guitar strumming, leather clad, slap-headed, motor-biking drug pushers (phew) who like nothing better than driving into the city centre to have a dance.

Oh yeah and sometimes deal arms.

One afternoon during a particularly complicated dance off the local police, led by
sexy sergeant Wally Lucas - codename: W2 - (moustachioed action god and former councillor of Quezon City, Alonzo) 'accidentally' shoot one of the gang in the face as he performs the macarena, leaving W2's boss, the permanently grumpy Chief Doug Medina (Daddy Di Do Du's Gamboa) with no choice but to suspend W2 from the force and hope the whole thing blows over.

I really had trouble suspending my disbelief at this point, I mean as if the police would go about shooting innocent bystanders in the face eh?

Boyzone: The S and M years.

Unfortunately the dead man in question was the brother of the gangs notoriously family orientated leader, the vile despot Terry Nesfero (Montero in his one and only screen role, which is a shame as I could imagine him making a bomb in the gay porn scene), who not too surprisingly declares all out war, vowing revenge on W2.

Bored with not being able to go around bullying old people, shout at small children and shooting folk indiscriminately W2 decides to break the boredom of his suspension by marrying his mono-browed squeeze Vera (Gutierrez, the hamster faced star of For Your Height Only and Scorpio Nights) in a quiet little ceremony at the local scout hut.

Aw, how sweet.

If not a wee bit cheap.

But you never know, he might have spent all the money on a fantastic honeymoon.

Relax ladies, he's single (and been dead since 1998).

Arriving at the local out of season Pontins, W2 and Vera are unaware that that shiny light they keep spotting in the distance isn't the local dance hall's disco ball at all but is, in fact the sun reflecting off Nesfero's bald pate as he and his squad of camp commandos watch them from a distance.

After a spot of dinner and a bottle of Merrydown in the camps fish and chip shop, our horny honeymooners head back to their caravan for a night of hot love and Barry White only to be interrupted mid thrust by Nesfero and his lecherous henchmen.

Obviously turned on by bushy eyebrows and forest like lady gardens Nesfero violently violates Vera's arse before offering his entire posse a shot of sloppy seconds as W2 looks on helplessly.

What an utter bastard.

But Nesfero has one final act of revenge to perform and in a scene that would make even George Eastman cringe he pulls out a rusty tin opener and (messily) castrates our hero.

Ouch.

"I spy with my little eye..."

Waking up in the hospital, W2 is horrified to discover that not only do his trousers not sit right but that he'll never be able to make love to his wife again (or ever if we're honest).


Depressed and with a slightly higher voice than normal W2 slowly heads home for a life of (non masturbationry) teevee watching and big packets of Dorito's.

Nothing is ever simple for our sackless superstar tho' when one morning he accidentally walks in on his wife pleasuring herself with the showerhead, causing him to fly into a violent rage run off into the bushes where he conveniently runs comes across (he wishes) Nesfero and his band who've been sitting around waiting to hijack the local opium delivery van.

Imagine it....it'd be like shagging Patrick Stewart up the arse but without having to worry about giving him a reach round.

Enjoying himself so much last time, Nesfero gets straight down to torturing our hapless chum, stringing him up before hanging him upside down between four wooden poles whilst projecting dodgy home-made porn at him.

Luckily when Nesfero goes out for a pee, W2 is rescued by a disillusioned member of the gang, the strangely attractive (in a kinda smooth skinned, kissy lipped lady boy way) Pratings (Alberto, an actress so famous she has a Resident Evil character named after her, well it's one more than Julia Roberts has).

Her ample breast trying it's damnedest to break free of her tight fitting leather waistcoat Pratings breathlessly explains to W2 how, thanks to the evils of drugs  Nesfero has gone from being a slightly camp street dancer to an evil rapist with delusions of devilness.

See kids, drugs DO screw you up.

Worried about the whereabouts of her husband (but making sure she's finished herself off good and proper first) Vera heads into town to visit the funky cold Medina who quickly assigns special agent V1 (Davao, best known as Matt Cordero in the hit teevee show Kung tayo'y magkakalayo) to the case, ordering him to get to the bottom of W2's disappearance.

However good he is in the field doesn't make up for V1's apparent hearing problems tho' as the next thing we know he's hard at work getting jiggy on Vera's ample bottom.

An easy mistake to make.

Unfortunately for the dirty duo just as V1 is about to fire a pint of his stale smelling mayonnaise-like gunk up Vera's shit encrusted pack passage, who should walk in but W2.

And he's not a happy man.

Shouting like a very loud shouty thing, he chucks his wife out into the street before turning his attentions to a by now floppy V1 who stands there trying to look defiant whilst attempting to stop a handful of spunk trickle down his wrist.

Anthony Alonzo enjoys a good ear fisting from Jeanette Krankie. But then again, who wouldn't.

But before we get any man on man wrestling action, Pratings bravely steps in and informs the boys that Nesfero's opium shipment is due in the next hour, giving W2, V1, Pratings and some other alphabetised crime fighters time to organise a plan and steal the shipment.

I say organise a plan but the basically turn up at the rendezvous point and shoot everyone which pisses of Nesfero's boss, the evil Harry Praxis (Ninja Warriors Vance) no end.

Slowly losing the (admittedly wafer thin) plot Nesfero decides the best way to get (even more) revenge on W2 is to take an entire Catholic school (but the only one in the world devoid of sexy schoolgirls) hostage,  threatening to kill all the kiddies unless Medina hands over both the the opium and W2.

Oh and sends in a crate of Tizer and some salted nuts.

W2, obviously having had enough shit for one lifetime let alone a weekend, decides to lock himself in his garage to get slowly drunk and maybe do some DIY.

But when local (in all senses of the word) news reporter Alice's (Alonzo's real-life sister Alicia) rash attempt at trying to get an interview with the vile villain gets both her and her hostage daughter killed, W2 comes out of hiding and, armed with only a home made rocket launcher, clad in body armour made entirely of saucepans and driving an second hand taxi covered in old soup tins, decides to face off to Nesfero and his gang one last time....

Nuttier than squirrel shit, cheaper than your mum and with a script written by a committee of horny, 14 year old boys (and one angry lesbian disguised as a horny boy) W is for War! is quite possibly the loopiest action movie ever to escape from the far off land of the Philippines.

Trust me I know, I've even seen The Twilight People.

Directed (loosely) by the legendary Willie Milan (of Ultimax Force fame) and edited by a blind hook-handed sailor, the film manages to cram in more outrageously bonkers ideas than you'd get from a roomful of crack-addled quantum physicists being poked with frozen twine yet still make more sense than an average episode of Hollyoaks.

Which is no mean feat in itself.

"Aya! mah BCG!"

From it's castrated leading man to the gayest post-apocalyptic warlord ever seen on celluloid, W is For War! has something for the whole family to enjoy;

Hilariously stilted (and oft repeated) dialogue? Check.

Mindlessly messy violence? Check.

Infanticide? Check.

Skin tight, flesh tone Speedo's and large steel helmets? Of course.

Add to that already heady mix a selection of the most cack-handedly edited sex scenes of all time and the close-up and personal sight of our heroes crotch, taped down as to appear ball-less whilst clad in tiny briefs and you know deep down in your soul that you're watching a thing of rare beauty.

Quite possibly the greatest action movie ever made and definitely worth selling your kids for.

people you fancy but shouldn't (part 24).

Especially for Master Jamie Bridle (14) of Braunton, the, um, 'lovely' Miranda Hart.

Enjoy.

compost corner.

I've been told I'm not been reviewing enough utter shite recently, meaning people are starting to think this is a serious film blog.

Well, I'll soon fix that.

Thanks to Mr. Dissolvedpaul for aiming this abomination my way.

Bastard.

Born of Earth (2008).
Dir: Tommy Brunswick.
Cast: Daniel Baldwin, Brad Dourif, James Russo, Randall Godwin, Jennifer Kincer and Shannon Zeller.

Five years ago, bearded behemoth Danny Kessler (the fat Baldwin, literally oozing alcohol and shame thru' the screen) witnessed the murderous mutilation of his (admittedly fairly plain) wife and kidnapping of his unpleasant looking and chronically overacting children by a group of rubbery (why thank you!) shite-covered, nappie wearing underground beasts who then disappeared into his rose bush.

The local authorities, assuming that the poor bloke had lost it, blame the killings on a rampant weasel family, leaving a distraught Kessler to leave town to try and rebuild his life.

Nothing like a happy opening is there?

"I bet you a tenner I can make this table move without using mah hands!"

Since all the killings and alongside his gin-soaked hobo lifestyle, Kessler has been researching the whole monster killing/wean kidnapping phenomena and has recently discovered that eminent Doctor of stuff, Professor Terry Niceman (Godwin from the Jeff Daniels hit Escanaba in da Moonlight) has written quite a thick (and therefore very intelligent) book on the subject.

Heading off to meet him at a nearby signing, Kessler is shocked to see how many other people share the same story (tho' why it should be such a surprised when he's spent the last five years reading about it is one mystery the movie doesn't address) and attempts to fight his way thru' the, ooh, dozens of extras queuing patiently to meet the Prof.

But Niceman's burly bouncer has been given the job of turning anyone who looks a wee bit like a nutter away.

Which counts the sweat stained Kessler out then.

Luckily he has something that no other person there has.

And no it's not a Screen Actors Guild card.

It appears that Kessler is the only person ever to have been bitten by one of these beasts and survive.

Well, whoopie fucking doo.

"Quick! to the AIDS Mobile!"

Niceman is suitably impressed, closing the signing early and taking Kessler for a coffee and a cream bun to discuss his scars in more detail.

Referring to his notes Niceman realises that it's always the same date every year that these creatures take the children and in the five years since Kessler's kids were taken the number has been multiplying at a huge rate.

Scribbling some rubbish on a napkin the professor is alarmed to discover that if his calculations are correct the creatures will attempt to abduct every child in America this very evening.

Yup, even the really fat ones.

Making his excuses, Kessler decides to finally face his demons and return to his former hometown in the hope of saving his sister-in-law Kelly (fish lipped and boss eyed Kincer from Unbeatable Harold) and her (by the looks of it) middle aged daughter Haley (the hamster like Zeller, best known for her standout performance in Shoot First and Pray You Live- Because Luck Has Nothing to Do with It).

Christ I've seen some shite.

Finishing his drink and saying something profound to his team, professor Niceman decides to follow.

"Can mooth shite-in get me pregnant mum?"

Arriving in town just before teat time, Kessler pops in to see his sis-in-law and fill her in (ooeerr) on his theories whilst Kelly, arms flailing like an epileptic windmill desperately tries to remember her lines.

Giving Kelly the book to read Kessler makes her an offer she can't refuse.

And before you asked it's not a bit part in next years Celebrity Rehab but a chance of a free night out at the funfair.

The deal is that if those pesky beasts attack they'll all be safely out of town (and sugared up to the eyeballs on candy floss) but if they don't attack they'll at least have had a nice night out.

Never one to turn down a freebie, Kelly agrees, giving Kessler a couple of hours to go visit the cemetery.

But not before he's stolen some flowers from a neighbours garden to put on his wife's grave.

No doubt he'll keep a few back to put on the remains of his career.

But not everyone is pleased to see our portly pal, as we discover when the local sheriff (Russo from Argento's Trauma and Donnie Brasco, looking like a man whose ex wife is after extra cash) interrupts a major business meeting between some cardboard Jehovah's Witnesses and the mayor (Dourif wearing one of Sylvester McCoy's old suits-as well as his wig).

The pair decide it would be best to pick up Kessler and run him out of town.

Why?

Well your guess is as good as mine, seeing as it turns out that the mayor is as much in the dark about the creatures as anybody else and his 'shady' business deal is trying to get a swimming pool for his new house on the cheap.

"Laugh now!"

As the plot screeches to a halt to allow sheriff Reeser to drive back and forth (whilst looking troubled), pick up Kessler, then question him, then getting the deputy to drive him out of town, the films major excitement revolves around Kessler's niece dating a 'punker guy' and the conversations she has with her mum regarding safe sex, guys in make-up and cannibalistic underground monsters.

But try as they do to build the tension, that prize is taken by Professor Niceman as he and his team try valiantly to find the road that leads into town before they run out of petrol.

Edge of the seat stuff I'm sure you'll agree.

"Jings an' crivens it's tha' Siiiiiiiiibearmon!"

Taken up the city limits in the back of a police car (it's alright for some), after first being shocked unconscious with a Tazer (is this A Serbian Film or what?....no, hang on this is fairly enjoyable), Kessler is rudely awakened by the patter of tiny clawed feet on the roof of the car.

Oh and the smell of fresh shite.

It seems the creatures have begun to rise from the earth and are looking for food.

And weans.

But on finding neither they settle on chowing down on the deputy, giving our hero enough time to steal his car and drive back to town.

Where all hell is breaking loose.

Well, I say all hell but to be honest all that's happened is that one of the creatures is eating the mayor's new doors whilst a few others are rubbing their arses on Kelly's freshly cleaned windows.

Will this excitement never start?

Brad Dourif, up the casino, Ipswich, 2008....YESCH!

Rushing to the mayor's luxury pad just in time to see him getting rendered limb from limb by a couple of shoddily superimposed tramps, sheriff Reeser has a change of heart (and character) radioing Kessler to apologise for being grumpy before heading over to Kelly's house.

Screeching to a halt on Kelly's newly mowed lawn and right next to Kessler and the prof, our heroic duo get a chance to quickly shoot some stuff before Niceman (being the voice of scientific reason) suggests that they should leave town immediately.

Obviously he's worried that if anything exciting happens the audience may not be able to cope.

Driving into the town centre, our creeped out chums can' believe the sight that greets them, for where there once stood shops, a bookies and an off license now there's only a crappily digitised photo, animated GiF fires hastily added and green-screened, mouldy tramps tottering around the bottom of the screen.

A veritable cheaply realised FX hell on (HD) earth.

Insert cock here.

Knowing that effects of this calibre wouldn't convince a dead blind man (or his wooden pawed dog), the group vote to continue their journey in the sewers.

Which are underground.

Which is where the creatures come from.

Go figure.

But not before the prof has his  face bitten off.

Lucky bugger.

Heading into the towns (very clean) sewer system our merry band of ne'er do wells must fight monsters, hackneyed dialogue and the urge to wander off for a piss (no, really) if they hope to make it to the city limits before time (and audience patience) runs out....

Hmmm...Photoshop.

My word, where to start?

Well imagine, if you will all the crappier bits of Nightmare City, The Gate and Demons mixed with a smidgen of Jaws and Hollyoaks and an added touch of Tremors for flavouring. Boil until shapeless then sprinkle with a dash of shame and egg white, leaving the whole thing to fester for a month in a tramps pants and you're someway to appreciating the celluloid shite-box that is Born of Earth.

Directed (if that's the word) by horror cinemas very own big bad mama, Tommy (Thomasita) Brunswick and backed with the stiffest actors this side of a porn film, the budget can barely stretch to keeping poor Daniel Baldwin sober and watching the poor sod emote for all his worth, convinced this is his great comeback is probably the most frightening (and uncomfortable) thing on screen.

Kelly's fridge: The best performance in the film.

The rest of the cast just seem to stand around either looking smug (stand up Professor Niceman's assistant) or comatose, the exception being Sir Bradley of Dourif who just stands around being, well Brad Dourif really.

Fuck knows how Brunswick got him onboard but I for one need to see the incriminating evidence for myself because whatever she's got on him must be really bloody juicy.

To be honest she could have caught him shagging her kids but come on lady let the punishment fit the crime because no-one deserves this on their CV.

Not even Simon Philips.

As for the rest of the poor sods on show here there's much fun to be had trying to figure out just who is really the older (and most human) out of mother/daughter team Jennifer Kincer and Shannon Zeller.

What with Kincer's almost radioactive orange skin, carp-like lips and jerky body movements coupled with Zeller's hugely out of proportioned moonhead, stringy, greying  old lady hair and ruddy almost burn victim complexion, both actresses are far more terrifying than the actual monsters on show in the movies finale.

Ah and what monsters they are.

I have to admit that there's some kind of perverse genius at work from whoever decided to cast skinny homeless children as the creatures, covering them in green emulsion before tying a pair of huge grannie pants to them, shaving their heads and gluing a selection of knock-off Lord of The Rings Orc masks onto their heads.

I've heard of folk being arrested for less.

No doubt social services were busy investigating that Serbian rubbish that day.

"If you were a bottle of meths I'd drink you hen!"

To be fair tho' I did experience a kind of dirty pleasure when watching this movie. You know, the kind of feeling you get when you secretly piss in your pants when you're at the theatre or in the cinema when you know no-one will notice and for that I can only be thankful.

 Just please don't make a sequel.

I don't think my bladder (or my laundry bill) could cope.