adventures of a (not too) private dick.

After all the death threats and hate mail I received after reviewing Megan is Missing (she says 'Hi!' by the way) I thought I'd better stick to something a wee bit safer next time.

See what your comments made me do?

Little did I know it would be the sofa.

Asian Noir No.6: Evil Sex Trap (2008).
Dir: David Aaron Clark
Cast: Ange Venus, Mr. Marcus, Coco Velvett, Destiny, Lana Violet, Myla Montez and Dick James.

Hard boiled (and shiny dome headed) LAPD detective Terrence Trent (the smooth sex superstar Mr. Marcus from The World's Luckiest Black Man) wakes up one evening to find himself face down of the floor of a deserted room in the wrong part of town and suffering from a really bad case of amnesia.

Tho' not I hasten to add crabs, which in his line of work should be a given.

Clad in his best Billy Dee Williams suit and with only his toy police badge and big silver gun for company, our sexy Tec is desperate to find out what has happened and why he's there.

Oh and when he can start shagging a few fit (and clean) birds.

Suddenly his mobile phone begins to ring and, on answering our hero is bombarded with the drunken ramblings of the infamous Lady Wu herself (the flat faced, AIDS thin porn goddess that is Ange Venus from My Mom's First Black Cock and Mini-Van Moms 2), who promises to reveal to Trent but only if he makes his way to her thoroughly evil sex trap warehouse cum knocking shop (fantastically played by the directors mum's condo in north Hollywood).

His curiosity aroused, Trent has no choice but to obey.

"Excuse me...is this the way to the mooth shite-in suite?"

Arriving by taxi (and sexy voiceover) at the aforementioned evil sex trap type place, Trent soon realises that things aren't quiet what they seem.

For one thing it's not him indulging in the sex but a spookily dressed black guy and an evil looking black undied Asian girl (You're On Trial singer Dick James - possibly -  and My Daughter's Fucking Blackzilla! star Lana Violet) with noisy abandon on a nice MFI leather sofa.

Let's hope they have a good cleaner.

Under the pretence of being a good detective (and not you understand because he fancies a cheap thrill) Trent sits back and watches the show, until that is things start to get a wee bit ugly and Trent feels he has to step in.

Which is a bad move if you think about it as the whole messy (in both senses of the word) situation ends up with the girl vanishing into thin air and Dick murdered to death by Trent's own hand.

How's he gonna explain that to his nan?

"You're on Trial" which is sex industry slang for you're on my massive black cock bitch! obviously.

Cradling Dick's stiff in his arms Trent begins to experience erotically fuelled (and tit filled) sweaty flashbacks to, um stuff that maybe important later.

Or may just be flashy porn scenes for those who get off on such stuff.

Either way it's nicely lit.

Moving deeper and deeper into the evil sex trap warehouse (yes I know it's a mouthful), Marcus comes across (literally) loads more sexual encounter between various big black blokes and a number of fairly tiny tattooed Asian babes occasionally interrupted by even more of Lady Wu's drunken ramblings.

Imagine a twelve tissue version of Lost Highway with a cast constructed entirely of silicone and you're halfway there.

Still intrigued  as to why he's there (and no doubt enjoying the sight of so many jiggly jubbly jugs) our sun-kissed sex machine finds Wu's saucy suspender clad secretary Lana (fresh faced and smooth arsed Velvett from Hit Me with Your Best Squirt) bending over a filing cabinet at the end of a long hallway.

Coco Velvett: Just add water.

Deciding to fill in Trent (and us) on what the fuck is going on, Lana explains that the building is home to not only a classy brothel but also an Import/Export business and a porn studio based in the cellar.

Which is nice.

obviously keen on seeing a few more spunk covered arses, Trent heads to the lift double quick his manly hand clutched tightly around his massive weapon just in case of trouble.

And trouble he finds, in the yumsome form of the mysterious Bella Emberg (Mini minx Montez fresh from Black Dick Too Boo-Coo 4), who frankly makes no effort at all to seduce our police pimpmiester, she basically just flashes her arse and our hero does the rest.

The Wanko novelty sofa cushion...available now!

Whilst all this bum humping is going down Lana has fallen asleep whilst going (as opposed to coming) over the clients figures and is currently having a fairly erotic cum scary dream about Trent and his weapon to a sexy sax solo.

Trust me, you can almost taste the Brut aftershave.

Finishing up by wiping his cock on the curtains, Trent fails to notice that Bella has wandered off (probably to clean herself up before she starts sticking to things) but being a detective, the Trent-inator follows her snail-like trail upstairs where he's shocked (and let's admit it, if he's anything like my missis slightly aroused) to find Lana being chocked/bummed to death by a mask wearing, strap on thrusting succubus (Destiny in her motion picture debut).

"I can see your house from here Peter".

Starting to lose his cool due to all the shagging and eighties style pop vid' lighting, Trent just stands there looking bald (but still sexy as fuck) in the vain hope that someone (anyone) will explain the plot to him.

Luckily Lady Wu finally makes an appearance, floating into the room on a cloud of poppers and shame to inform Trent (after having sex with him of course) that he once committed a bad murder and that the masked strap-on succubus, Bella and Lana aren't really harsh faced porn stars but are, in fact, an trio of evil and fairly vengeful spirits hellbent on punishing Trent for his various misdemeanour's.

And yes that does include messing up the curtains.

With his memories now restored (and his huge uncircumcised penis cocked and ready) Trent realises the true nature of the evil sex trap....but is it too late to save his (arse) soul?

Mr. Marcus: he's shagging your mum.

From the slightly Asian babe obsessed mind of the late, great David Aaron Clark comes (literally) this bizarro mix of softly lit porn, Outer Limits homage's and kinky hair whipping that would shame even the legendary Joe D'Amato and his back catalogue of horror/porn crossovers.


And probably make him green with envy at the fact that Clark could get so many fairly attractive actresses for so little money whilst he was stuck with George Eastman in a vest.

Eastman: Sweaty sac.

Coming across like a buffer, less hairy version of Richard Roundtree mixed with the sheer animalistic rutting power of Bobby Blake, Mr. Marcus (real name: Marcus Frank Spencer) gives a fairly competent performance as an amnesiac copper with a constant hard-on, spending as he does the majority of the movie wandering through a spooky building and occasionally having sex with a number of Botoxed babes.

His real talent tho' lies in the sheer number of radically different cum faces he manages to pull during his many climaxes. Each one as different as they are strangely attractive.

I for one could happily watch him rutting my mum for hours just to gaze on his furrowed brow as he expels his mighty man-muck into her every orifice.

Megan's pal Amy devastated that she decided to turn down this movie.

On a downside some of the make-up FX are frankly shite and most of the editing (credited to one Hasiell Damnett who I'm fairly sure isn't using his real name) looks like it was done using scissors and glue by a boss eyed hook handed toddler, but I can probably say that most viewers will be more interested in counting Ange Venus' ribs that checking out the continuity.

Except that is for the scene where Destiny's sex-mad, strap-on wearing succubus is killing Lana. I for one was shocked to see the bastard had completely ruined the scene by shodilly intercuting it with footage of (gasp) some common or garden conventional sex therefore destroying the illusion of any supernatural occurrences at all.

Big thumbs down (and one right up the shitter) to the director for allowing this to happen.

But saying that he's dead now so I reckon one of my digits up his arse is the least of his worries.

river shitty.

Just noticed that this fine review of an even finer film was lying unloved way back on page 346 so I thought I'd add a few Mooth Shite-In captions and repost it for a new generation of readers.


Well, it saves me having to think about anything else after that fucking SARS movie doesn't it?


Enjoy.

Nightmare City (AKA City of the Walking Dead, La Invasión De Los Zombies Atómicos, 1980).
Dir: Umberto Lenzi
Cast: Hugo Stiglitz, Laura Trotter, Francisco Rabal, Mel Ferrer, some bouncy breasts and a few other body parts usually attached to people.

In a nameless city somewhere in 'Europe' (tho' from the state of the haircuts and trousers it looks like the West Midlands circa 1985) a terrible nuclear accident has sent the populace reeling into panic.



Bouffanted and bearded ace reporter Dean Miller (Stiglitz from Alcoholics Anonymous and that film where the boat capsizes and they eat the dog ) is assigned to interview eminent scientist Otto Hagenbach (bless you) who just happens to be flying in from the accident site that very morning.



Lucky eh?



But when the plane arrives it contains not only the grey haired boffin but a cargo full of bloodthirsty, spud headed 'atomic zombies'.



'Atomic zombies' intent on murder!!

"You chase me now!"

Whilst all this scary shite is going down (as you kids say) Mrs. Miller (Trotter from Only Fools and Horses) is busy making her rounds at the local hospital (don't worry, she works there. It's not like she's skulking about chasing ambulances).



But things are a mite strange there too as she realises when visiting a young patient named Phil.



When our bubble haired heroine, trying to pass the time, innocently asks him "Well, how are you feeling today?"


His frankly worrying reply is "I feel like somebody who's waiting for the hatchet guy to chop off his head, doctor."




Which is nice, if delivered a little stiffly.




To make matters spookier, another patient, this time a small broken legged football loving wee boy, has been having nightmares about bad men cutting his leg off.





Could this be related?

Mel (not Kim).

Well there's no time to worry about such trivialities as meanwhile at a top secret army base, military top brass Major Holmes (Rabal, all rugged with a silver quiff and a sexy sculptress girlfriend) and General Murchinson (Mel "I was married to Audrey Hepburn and the alimony bill is forcing me to appear in utter shite" Ferrer) are discussing the breaking emergency.



Please join us for a fantastic piece of choice dialogue as the body of one of the attackers is being examined :




Murchison (obviously reading from cue cards): Your autopsy categorically excludes an extraterrestrial being. It's molecular structure clearly establishes him as a member of the human race. A paradox when you consider what they've been doing....



Donohue (a 'scientist'): The examination of the various tissue samples that we have taken from the body reveal a high level of radioactivity, far superior to the level normally tolerated by the human organism. In addition we have found more or less recent hyper-tissue regeneration.



Murchison (bored now): Can you make that a little simpler Colonel? Some of your colleagues may not have the same technical or theoretical background...




(what? a technical background in talking bollocks? does that exist?)



Donohue (he's making it up now): In other words this individual and others like him have been subjected to strong doses of atomic radiation which increase their physical capacities beyond the norm.



Holmes (in a way only a man of a certain age can): How far beyond the norm?



Donohue (he's on a roll!): It's impossible to say. But it is a fact that these cells, subjected to almost every treatment we know, have proven to be almost indestructible.



Holmes: In short it's a kind of superman…?



Donohue (very excitedly): Much more than that… the victims of these creatures are contaminated even if they only suffer minor injuries.....



Murchison (losing the will to live): Then they can reproduce themselves… say indefinitely?



Donohue (jumping up and down waving his hands like a loon): That more or less… is correct!



Still with us?



Good because after this fantastically written exchange Murchison elects to put plan 'H' into effect (no idea what's wrong with A thru' G), giving his men the unforgettable order to "Aim for the brain".


The race is now on to save humanity!

Mr. Potato Head need love!

Can Dean persuade the tee-vee station heads to cancel hit show 'Dance Party' and broadcast his warning to the city and still have time to rescue his wife?



Will Sheila the sculptor survive in the coal bunker?



Will Mrs. Miller (not the cult recording star, the doctor remember?) ever stop waxing philosophically about the situation or will Dean just slap her and will the once great Mel Ferrer have to spend his twilight years in the hell that is the Italian 'B' movie ?

"Touch my hairy face!"

Director Umberto Lenzi's warning against the dangers of science gone mad is (according to the director) based on 'true events'.



That's right! Lenzi reckons this really happened! and is actually proud of this film, hailing it his 'masterpiece' comparing it's plot to that of Jonathan Demme's Philadelphia for it's portrayal of the effects disease has on the populace.



The joke was on us, we thought we were watching a cheap and cheerful zombie movie, when Lenzi has actually produced a document that could change lives and save our planet!


His off screen battles to complete his vision are well documented, from producer Luis Mendez refusing to let him cast a 'name' actor in the lead role of Dean Miller (Lenzi favoured either Franco Nero or Fabio Testi whereas Mendez insisted on a Mexican lead to appeal to the movies co-funders who eventually cast alleged lush and professional hairy woodsman Stiglitz) to what appears to be an imaginary 'female executive' forcing him to tone down the films many gore scenes.

"Oi Umberto! NO!"

Unfortunately (for Lenzi) the finished film is in fact utter shite.



But for us it's one of the most enjoyable pieces of shite you'll ever see (ask Robert Rodriguez, he allegedly based his Planet Terror on this movie).



From the moment the plane lands the screen is awash with a crimson hue only a cheap blood substitute has, the rampaging 'atomic zombies' look like their heads have been covered in PVA glue and then dipped in a cesspool whilst Lenzi's latent misogynism surfaces as female character after female character all seem to trip over, whimper and lose their tops before being killed.



Stiglitz and Trotter run aimlessly around the countryside with no other purpose than to occasionally bump into a group of infected killers then run away again.



Trotter (a doctor don't forget) persuades the hairy one that a church is the best place to hide because the virus/plague/whatever won't enter the house of God.....Much to her (but not the audiences) surprise the church is full of spud-faced loons out for blood.

Mulder and Scully: the pikey years.

Exciting subplots include General Merchinson trying to get his daughter to the (relative) safety of the base whilst she'd rather go camping with her fella and the silver fox that is Major Holmes attempting to save his (almost pre-teen) girlfriend.

If I'm honest then the sight of the mahogany tanned and leathery faced Francisco Rabal running his tongue over the chest of someone young enough to be his (grand) daughter is probably the most unsettling and nightmarish thing in the whole movie meaning this image (and the sight of him in a scoop-necked too tight green 'army' t-shirt proudly displaying his curvy man-breasts) will stay with you long after the film has ended.

A leathery man yesterday.

And oh boy what an ending!

After everyone else seems to have died, the Millers escaped to a seemingly deserted fairground.

Suddenly they are surrounded by the infected....Dean and Anna head for safety atop a rollercoaster (?) the bad men in hot pursuit.

A helicopter appears on the horizon lowering a ladder the pair climb to safety, only for Mrs. Miller to lose her grip (on the ladder, not reality) and plummet to her death in a kind of floppy way only a shoddily made dummy can.

Dean screams and suddenly.....

Like I'd spoil it for you.

You'll haveta go out and buy it now, you know you want to.

documental.

Sorry for the lack of updates of late but people keep offering me money to draw stuff rather than sit at home watching cinematic shite.

Either they think I'm a huge talent or someone is really fucking desperate to stop me writing this blog.

Anyway, I came across this little chiller over Crimbo and thought I'd share.

Enjoy.

And please, don't have nightmares.

Haunted Changi (2010)
Dir: Andrew Lau, Tony Kern (uncredited).
Cast: Andrew Lau, Audi Khalis, Farid Azlam and Sheena Chung.

Singapore's famous (in ghost hunting circles) Old Changi Hospital has, for years been the focal point of hundreds of paranormal investigations by psychical researchers from both home and abroad.

Save for Yvette Fielding, who's unable to fly to Singapore due to unpaid library fines and crimes against swimsuit fashion.

Probably.

Anyway, the history of  the hospital gives an interesting insight into just why the site is claimed to be so haunted; originally commandeered as headquarters for the Japanese Military during World War 2, rumours circulated that the Japanese had built a number of barbaric torture chambers below the building in concealed tunnels as well as executing hundreds of POW's in  the hospital grounds.

Which is nice.

Yvette Fielding:  mottled thighs, beef curtains.

Not long after the war (we won by the way) the former hell hole was cleaned with disinfectant, given a fresh lick of paint and turned into a public hospital.

Obviously the local council thought that this would make everyone completely forget about the buildings notorious past.

Surprisingly this plan would have worked if only someone had decided to tell the myriad of ghosts, spectres and various Pontianaks (a Malay vampire fact fans) that haunt the building.


Typical local authority eh?

Not ones to let things lie, the snub nosed locals decided that no ailment or illness was worth visiting haunted Changi Hospital for so whilst the staff sat about twiddling their tiny thumbs the local residents limped about and tried not to complain to much about their sore throats, various cancers and ingrowing toenails.

A wee bit like Govan then.

In 1997, the government had had enough and finally closed down Changi,  relocating it to Holby City, leaving site open for numerous ghost-hunters, thrill seekers and vandals to visit in the hope of encountering any supernatural creatures or even Derek Acorah cracking one off in the basement.

Oh go on then, especially Derek Acorah cracking one off in the basement.

Changi Hospital: twinned with Fred West's house.

And this, dear reader is where we come in.

You see, groovy movie director Andrew Lau has decided to film a documentary about the infamous hospital, recruiting the pixie-like poppet Sheena Chung to produce his epic and hiring top sound-man (and sound man) Farid Azlam and his cameraman buddy Audi Khalis to act as crew.

The brief is simple, with the documentary starting out in standard style with lots of creepy time lapse shots of the building, various talking heads interviews, a wee bit of wandering about the building during daylight hours and background info  finally culminating in an all night vigil alongside the local paranormal group.

What could possibly go wrong?

"...and this is where I take off my zombie mask and shite in the tramps mooth".

with all concerned not taking the shoot too seriously (indeed, Khalis is more interested in using the night vision camera to gaze at young girls breasts in nightclubs), the crews mood is pretty playful with even Andrew admiting that they may edit in some homemade 'spooky stuff' to give the audiences a thrill.

Their day time jaunts to the hospital and evenings spent in the editing room show a group of close friends laughing and joking, sometimes at each others expense but all committed to making the best movie that they can.

try to imagine Cannibal Holocaust's lost footage revealing that the crew were busy helping the natives build rafts and knit jumpers before wandering off happy and content and you're halfway there.

But not too surprisingly, all that is about to change.

Watch out...Beadle's about!

Checking thru' the latest footage Andrew spots a ghostly, shadowy hand resting on Sheena's shoulder and if that wasn't enough to put the willies up our team then the headless shadows appearing against the hospital walls must surely serve as a warning of bad things to come.

Luckily for us it doesn't otherwise it'd be a really short film.

As the night shoot beckons Andrew appears to be somewhat distracted but no-one really notices seeing as the local paranormal group have turned up with a wee boy in tow.

It seems that whenever they go on an investigation (or 'vigil' as they call it) they drag the group leaders son along and make him go into the building first.

Seemingly if he doesn't get eaten, possessed or buggered by trees then the ghosts are friendly.

Phew, glad that's sorted.

A saucy Pontianak yesterday.

Everything is going swimmingly until the poor little sod is sent up a darkened corridor leading to the toilets.

Within seconds of him touching the door handle (and cloth) he runs screaming out of the hospital and off down the road causing the investigators to hastily agree that they have enough evidence to suggest that yes, the hospital is probably haunted.

And with that they leave.

Unperturbed by this turn of events Andrew and co. soldier on, getting plenty of spooky footage and scary noises to spook the thrill-seeking public but when they return to the relative comfort of their studio, Andrew seems a little distracted.

It appears that a few days earlier when exploring the hospital Andrew discovered a Chinese national (who'd unwittingly been duped into working in Singapore's burgeoning sex trade - it's happened to us all), the exotically monikered Xiao Juan, had been living rough on site for the last six months and our main man has been secretly interviewing her about the site. 

Insert cock here.

Obviously his pals are oh so slightly pissed of that he's been keeping secrets from them, especially Sheena who having a crush on the cheekie chappie flies off in a jealous rage causing Andrew to storm out of the studio to a rousing "Fuck you!" whilst carrying a huge bag of tapes out to his car.

Which doesn't really bode well for the rest of the shoot.

The crew, being nice folk decide to give him time to calm down.

Bless.

"What do you mean I raff I ruse?"

After a few weeks of unanswered calls and sitting about randomly looking at blank monitors Sheena decides that they should maybe go and visit Andrew but on arrival at his house none of them are prepared for the stench of stale sweat, semen and shame emanating from his kitchen.

Stumbling from the bedroom covered in sticky filth and weeping sores, it appears that Andrew has spent the intervening time hanging around the hospital alone, filming extra footage and 'probing' Xiao Juan for information.

Classy.

Some filthy, AIDs ridden (non Chinese) prostitutes in my house yesterday.

Andrew, completely obsessed with both his new squeeze and the secrets of the hospital, begs his colleagues to join him for one last night shoot where he promises to reveal the truth behind the hauntings once and for all...

"Ssssshhhiiiimmmmooooooo!!!"

Appearing almost from nowhere late last year, US born Singapore based Tony Kern's mockumentary shocker has been unfairly judged as a late bloomer Blair Witch/Paranormal Activity rip off.

Mainly, it has to be said by folk who haven't seen it yet.

But look passed the few (well one) similarity (the all pertain to be real) and a surprisingly effective little ghost story awaits.

Following the blueprint set by his first full length feature, A Month of Hungry Ghosts in which Kern's takes the celebrations surrounding the seventh-lunar-month Hungry Ghost Festival and adds a few supernatural events of his own, Haunted Changi's real-life hospital setting and history - it's reported to be Singapore's most ghost filled location alongside The Old Ford Motor Factory on Upper Bukit Timah Road, Fort Canning Park and the pontianak riddled Old Commando Jetty near Changi Beach - is used (and abuse)d as a basis for a good old haunted house tale which is as rewarding as it is scary.

Like one of those seldom repeated Christmas ghost stories of old so loved by the BBC or a particularly gruesome episode of Tales of The Unexpected, Haunted Changi builds slowly yet creepily towards it's shock climax, a lean mean tale of caution that works not only as a ghost story but also as a modern equivalent of an old fashioned folk tale akin to Hansel and Gretal.

Not bad for a film that probably cost less than the photocopying budget of Avatar.

George Takei, up the casino, Luton, 1967.....Yesch!

With it's likeable cast, genuinely freaky locations and simple, scare filled agenda Haunted Changi is worth searching for in much the same way as the intrepid film makers hoped to search for ghosts.

Only with less chance of catching the clap of a dirty Chinese whore.

Let's hope this is just the beginning of a sexy Singapore shocker scene.

video naschy.

The strangely hypnotic Vicar of VHS and his evil cohort in cinematic sin The Duke of DVD have graciously asked me to take part in the first ever Paul Naschy Blogathon that they've unleashed (from beyond the grave obviously) over at their frankly magnificent MMMMMovies blog.

And not only did they ask very politely but they said that if I agreed they would burn both the set of photo's and the negatives.

So dear reader how could I refuse?

But which film to pick?

Well, after a random, blindfolded grab at the shelf (which first brought forth Banda Darwaza, different country completely but still subtitled) I reckoned it was probably easier to put all the Naschy stuff together before picking (otherwise I'd be here all night).

With that done my sticky little paws found themselves drawn to...

Curse of the Devil (AKA Return of the Werewolf, El Retorno de Walpurgis. 1973).
Dir: Carlos Aured.
Cast: Paul Naschy, Fabiola Falcón, Maria Silva, Ana Farra, Fernando Sánchez Polack, Maritza Olivares, José Manuel Martín, Ines Morales and Eduardo Calvo.

Damn the Exorcist! The Devil won't let go!

Returning home after a busy night working as a Sir Lancelotagram, Irenius Daninsky (the late, great Naschy AKA Jacinto Molina Álvarez and the reason we are here) is surprised to come upon his evil rival in the kissing knight business,  Baron Barry Bathory riding toward him across a deserted field.

Furious at the thought of such a second rate snogger (and crap dancer) stealing his work Irenius has no alternative but to challenge the beastly Baron to a full on Knight Fight.

With the sound a cheap tin on plastic filling the early morning air it's not too long before our hero has bested (tho' thankfully not beasted) the vile Baron, taking his large comedy proportioned head as a souvenir.

But the smell of blood, sweat and shame has driven Irenius into a righteous fury that the life of one bad Bathory isn't enough to quell.

Raising (and rousing) his most trusted men he decides to march on Bathory Towers, where he is certain that the Baron's wife, the professional vixen and part-time bad girl Elizabeth Bathory (a behatted and narrow of hips yet still quite fit for an old bird Silva) is holding a Black Mass.

Crikey.

Just in case you forget what we're talking about.

Entering the castle just in time to catch mad Lizzie cutting an oil-covered naked gypsy girl's throat cut, our Christian crusaders waste no time in taking the whole coven into custody and, after the shortest (and by the looks of it the most legally dubious) trial in the history of Witch-Finding hanging them from the bridge at Daninsky's castle.

Which, admittedly is a good use of space which really adds contrast to the stark brickwork.

All that is except Elizabeth who, being the leader of the coven (and more importantly the only real actress in the scene) is tied to a stake and set alight.

Which (unfortunately for Irenius and his kin) give her just enough time to curse his family with what must be the most convoluted threat ever made by a burning witch.

With her dying breath she explains that one of his descendants will, at some point accidentally kill one of her descendants, thus setting the (most probably) vile curse in motion.

And you wonder why you're girlfriend wont invite you home to meet her folks?

Now the back story is done and dusted we can all flash forward a few years and meet the mournful and slightly melancholic Waldemar Daninsky (It's Naschy! Again!), the last of the Daninsky's, his roly-poly housemaid Malitza (Ana Farra but not the one from Scary Movie) and 'man-servant' Maurice (Cannibal Man's Polack).

Imagine Bruce Wayne with a third of the cash but twice the charisma, topped off with William Shatner's hair and you're halfway there.

Naschy: Dreamy.

Being a closeted, rich type, Waldemar spends his days moping around reading poetry and taking long walks in the woods While his servants try (in vain) to get him to take up a hobby or talk to girls.

Things seem to be turning round for our troubled hero tho' when one day, completely out of the blue he asks if he can join Maurice on a hunting trip.

You see, it appears that a wolf is loose around the forest scaring the local farmers chickens and it's Maurice's job (seeing as he's the only person with a gun license) to kill it.

Armed with a swanky new Chinese fowling piece (made in Birmingham, England naturally) and bedecked in his best tweed jodhpurs, Waldemar throws himself whole heartedly into tracking a wolf, letting out a loud "Woohoo!" when he finally bags the beast.

Imagine then his surprise when on closer inspection of the body he discovers that it wasn't a wolf at all but a man!

And he wasn't even that hairy.

He couldn't have been a Werewolf could he?

Well if he was his gypsy brethren (who aren't at all named Bathory oh no) aren't saying, seeing as they're too busy being huffy and refusing money from Waldemar whilst trying to sell pegs to all and sundry.

Whilst all this soap-like drama is going on the gypsy elders, hidden deep within a nearby cave, are busy summoning the Devil himself in order to set the second part of the Bathory curse, which seems to involve a spandex clad mime taking various busty gypsy wenches up the arse to see who has the sexiest cum face, into motion.

Which is nice work if you can get it.

Ines Morales, up the casino, Benidorm, 1973....Yesch!

Thru' all the grunting, groaning and cross-eyed lip biting it's Ilona (scrumptious Necrophagus star and another survivor of Cannibal Man, Morales) that comes out on top (albeit with slightly scuffed knees) and, posing as a helpless lady with a low cut dress, manages to worm her way into Waldemar's home.

And his king sized bed.

After on particularly heavy night of love making, Ilona, clad only in an old ladies chiffon nightie sneaks back into our unlucky chums room clutching a wolf skull and a pen knife.

Unluckily for Waldemar this isn't some kind of proto-Basic Instinct shagathon but the final rites in the dreaded Bathory curse.

Finally.

Slitting her wrist and wiping the fresh blood over the skull Ilona plunges the little wolf teeth into Waldemar's ample manbreast before disappearing into the night.

But just to show that bad things do happen to bad people she's soon hacked to death by a passing axe wielding mentalist.

So that's ok then.

Waking up on the bedroom floor with a terribly itchy tit, Waldemar is helped back to bed by Maurice and an overly concerned Malitza.

It seems that last night was the eve of Walpurgis and being of good old fashion pikey folk, Malitza has an inkling of what may have been done to poor Waldemar.

There's no time for Malitza to voice her fears tho' as no sooner has Waldemar got up and gotten dressed than the local police type bloke turns up to inform him that the axe murderer that killed Ilona appears to have set up home in the woods and is intent on annoying the neighbours.

A prayer before mooth shite-in.

If all that wasn't enough to keep everyone interested then the fact that a famous Belgian industrialist, his blind wife and beautiful young(ish) daughters have moved into the house a the edge of the woods (tho' not at the edge of the park unfortunately) it at least cheers Waldemar up and he decides to go for a walk in the hope of coming across them.

The daughters that is, I mean if he came across the mum she'd probably think it's was just raining or something.

Tiptoeing thru' the tulips Waldemar hears a cry from in the distance and runs toward the noise only to find older sister Kinga (the permanently middle aged star of National Mechanics, Falcon) teetering precariously on a ledge after attempting to pick some flowers.

As our hunky hero helps the poor maiden down their eyes meet and it's love at first sight, much to the annoyance of the rabbit toothed yet incredibly bouncy breasted younger sister Maria (the pixie-like Olivares) who, quite understandably, fancies a wee bit of Naschy nookie for herself.

"Awight hen....who's first for a suckle?"

As the romance blossoms and the full moon rises so does the body count, the locals (and police) blaming these lunar head loppings on the murderer still at large in the woods.

So why is it that Waldemar keeps waking up with dirty feet?

Whatever Malitza knows she isn't telling.

Smiling for the first time since the film began and preparing to announce their engagement Waldemar receives a letter from his bride to be asking to meet at their secret love nest (a cottage at the edge of the woods) and hoping for a bit of pre-nup rumpy Waldemar quickly washes himself.

But he's in for a shock on his arrival seeing as that's where the axe man is hanging out.

And the note was sent by Maria, not Kinga.

It's like a less fantastical Eastenders isn't it?

Arriving just in time to see the killer attempting to stick his chopper in Maria Waldemar jumps into the fray, beating the badman within an inch of his acting ability before stabbing him with a letter opener and throwing him out of an open window.

Turning to Maria for an explanation he notices two quite important things.

1. she's naked.

and

2. Her breasts are indeed much perkier than her sisters.

Five fingers, never touched the sides.

It seems that far from being the flirty little whore we mistook her for (which is a shame) Maria just wants to be loved and is sick and tired of being treated like a child.

Bless.

After pouring out her heart she turns to Waldemar and confesses "I came her a virgin and don't intend to leave one".

Waldemar, being a strong upstanding guy does the right thing and sticks it in her.

And before any of you start tutting we've all done it at some point or another if we're honest about it.

What we haven't done tho' (probably) is transformed into a Werewolf during intercourse and bitten the throat out of our partner.

Which is unfortunately, what occurs here.

Arse.

With the room (and Maria) awash with blood, hair and semen Waldemar leaps from the window ready for the hunt, leaving Malitza to come out of hiding and tidy up the mess.

Bless her, I mean who wouldn't like a granny that did that for you?

The locals (being country bumpkins and therefore thick as pig shit) are still intent on blaming the escaped axe man for the crimes, until that is they find his corpse rotting away in a barn with a letter opener bearing the initials WD sticking out his chest.

This (fairly circumstantial) evidence couple with the man sized paw prints and hairballs scattered about immediately points to a Werewolf wandering around the place and by a using a complex method of elimination it's decided the real killer is none other than Waldemar Daninsky himself.

To prove this the villagers indiscriminately murder Maurice before heading into the woods with pitchforks aloft and shouting loudly.

As the rampant mob gather numbers, smashing letterboxes and upturning flower pots as they go Kinga realises that there is only one thing she can do to save Waldemar's eternal soul...

But does she have the courage and love to see it thru?

"Blood in mah big hairy mooth!"

Back in the days before t'internet (and, gulp even video) the only way you could find out about new (ok let's be honest here, any) horror movies was from local library books (usually written by Leslie Halliwell, a writer whose own ideas of good horror once noted that Night of The Living Dead had killed the genre and nothing of any worth had been made since) or one of the very few genre magazines available (stand up and be counted House of Hammer and on the rare occasions it got imported to a wee newsagent nearby Famous Monsters).

As a precocious seven year old force fed a Saturday night teevee double bill of Universal and RKO classics these greats of film literature were a godsend to me and I would spent all my spare time pouring over grainy black and white shots of  Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. as the tragic Lawrence Talbot.

Bejesus and Mary Chaney.

I'll never forget tho' (I have a good memory) that one particular issue had a photo of the Wolfman I'd never seen before, true it was labelled 'the Werewolf' and although the accompanying picture of a fraught young man had a hint of Chaney about him his name wasn't Talbot.

It was Daninsky.

Like any curious kid of that age I examined the picture for a few minutes before completely forgetting about it and turning the page to reread an article on what looked like the greatest monster movie ever.

Ah Crater Lake Monster where are you now?

The love of horror stayed with me (as did the love of Universal) and thanks to magazines like Starburst information became easier to find, the Saturday night double bills sometimes featured the films of Eddie Romero alongside the old faithfuls and movies like Dawn of The Dead and Phantasm had fuelled my geek gene, forcing me to learn more about the directors and their influences.

As a teenager you can probably tell I was never asked out on dates.

The strange sad faced man with the foreign name seemed to have disappeared without a trace tho' and whilst Coffin Joe was being photographed with Christopher Lee at swanky Parisian horror conventions it would take a controversial censorship bill of epic proportions to bring the legendary Paul Naschy to the attentions of young horror fans in dear old blighty.

Yup, I hate to admit it but it's thanks to the 1984 'video nasty' furore and the inadvertent banning of Naschy's 1975 monster mash The Werewolf and The Yeti that finally introduced me to the great man's work.

And oh boy did I hate it.

Bizarrely enough, of all the films I devoured at the time this is one of those that I have only the vaguest recollections of; something about the infamous Abominable Snowman playing the bagpipes during a fight scene and being sent out of the room to get biscuits when Naschy got involved in a wee bit of threeway action comes to mind.

But the most upsetting thing about it, and I'll admit this stayed with me for years, wasn't the gore or the sex (or even the lack of decent biscuits at my nan's).

It was because this young upstart seemed to be taking all the ideas, the drama and heartache (plus the dissolve effects) of my beloved Universal movies and trying to make them his own.

How very dare he.

The second most terrifying VHS case of all time.

So being the sensible and knowledgeable film connoisseur that I was (you know, the way you can only be when you're 14) there was only one thing I could do.

Laugh loudly at the screen and flounce back to my 'serious' horror movies, tutting audibly at anyone who even mentioned that film.

Looking back I find myself dying a wee bit inside at the thought of being such a know all little brat, so caught up in my own (movie-based) importance that I totally failed to see the irony in the situation.

The whole fact that they reminded me of the Universal series was that Naschy was a fan too.

It's just that he knew how to have fun with his 'fannishness'.

And there's no better example of that than Curse of The Devil, taking as it does it's basic storyline from the Universal Wolfman (well it was written by Curt Siodmak so you might as well steal from the best), the mad witches and mysterious castles from Poe era Corman and it's copious amounts of tit and fanny shots from early seventies Hammer before mixing the whole thing together with a continental flair usually kept for high quality Euro-porn to make something so comfortable yet so unique that you can't help but fall for it's charms.

A wee bit like the ladies round the great man himself.

And talking of the great man, it's true that it looks like most of the scant budget went on styling his hair (both as Daninsky and the Werewolf) but the lack of polish and (sometimes inappropriate) use of library music only adds to the enjoyment factor.

Yes you may have seen it all before but never quite like this.

If you've never experienced the joys and heartache of  Waldemar Daninsky them I suggest you use the Christmas holidays to catch up and to Mr. Naschy a (slightly late) but heartfelt apology.

Sorry I never got the joke sir, I was too busy trying to get my head round the exploding doorknob in Suspiria at the time.

And at least I grew out of that serious geek phase.

I hope.

let's talk about sex.

The greatest thing about cable teevee (apart from the almost constant repeats of Doctor Who, The Champions and The Saint) is the oft derided Movies 24 channel.

For those who've never seen it, it's a channel dedicated to true life dramas (usually about alcoholic cheerleaders or abused step kids with titles like Pretty Girls in Boxes or The Silent Shame), bio-pics starring Patsy Kensit or Sherilyn Fenn and (after 11 PM) erotic thrillers usually starring Shannon Tweed and Eric Roberts.

Tweed: dirty cow.

As you can tell, it's the UK's greatest channel.

Bored one night over Christmas, Rollie happened across this gem and although drunk thru' most of it I felt that I had to share it with you.

Who knows?, it may save a life.

Or help you when trying to seduce that 14 year old who lives next door.

Or at the very least amaze you with it's casts (and directors) other work, it's like an Arena convention.

'It used to be when a girl refused sex, she had
society on her side, now culture screams "just do it.'

She's Too Young (AKA Teen Sex Can Kill. 2004)
Dir: Tom McLoughlin.
Cast: Marcia Gay Harden, Alexis Dziena, Mike Erwin, Miriam McDonald, Megan Park and Rowan McInnes.


14 year old buck toothed, pug nosed Hannah (Mimic 3's Dziena) is one of those annoying good girls that you always wanted to give a good kicking to in school, she plays cello in the school band, wears sensible cardigans and is proud of being a virgin.

Her bezzie buddies, the slutty Becca (Diary of The Dead's Park) and metal mouthed slightly sluttier Dawn (McDonald from the classic The Sea Beast and Poison Ivy IV) have different ideas tho', having discovered that the easiest way to be popular at school is to shag around like Matt Damon let loose in a barnyard.

This is because they are blondes and therefore evil.

But the friendship is at breaking point due to the blonde bimbettes spending every evening partying in sleazy hotel rooms and shagging (tastefully) on the bonnets of cars, leaving poor Hannah home alone with only her geeksome yet cute photography obsessed friend (one of the Jonas Brothers I think) for company.

Oh and her cello of course.

"Shmile!"

But an older boy on campus, the 17 year old mole chested stud muffin Nick (Erwin, the teen Bruce Banner in Ang Lee's Hulk and the voice of Speedy in Teen Titans) has taken a liking to Hannah and is determined to be the one to take her virginity.

What a bad lad.

Inviting her over to his house whilst his parents are out of town (using the excuse that he loves cello music) he manages to get her (but not the cello obviously) into his hot tub.


Surprisingly he doesn't make a move on Hannah, preferring to charm her with his amusing jock stories whilst wiggling his leathery nipples at her. It seems to do the job tho' as she ends up giving him a blow job during a scary Spanish werewolf movie later that evening.

Is it just me, or would you get fucking annoyed if a girl, no matter how hot tried to give you a blow job during a Paul Naschy film?

It's just not right.

Nick Nips: who wants the first suckle?

Meanwhile back at school it seems that Becca has been suffering from a sore throat for weeks and has recently discovered some evil looking red spots in her mouth. Deciding to visit the school nurse she's shocked (and ashamed) to find that she's contracted syphilis.

But before you can spray dirty cow on her locker (or scratch it onto her forehead) it seems that almost the entire school is infected, due in part to all those sexy motel parties and hot tub sessions.

Hannah after a wee bit of high horse acting, comes a cropper when she too finds she has syphilis thanks to Nick and his filthy penis.

Doing what any of us would in this situation she goes out and gets rat arsed, returning home only to tell her overprotective (yet really hot in a frumpy kinda way) mum Trish (the poor man's Jeanne Tripplehorn, Harden from The Mist and Flubber) the good news.

After a fair bit of Emmy worthy shouting and blubbing Trish decides that the only way to deal with this outbreak of promiscuity amongst 'ver kids' is to form a 'sex in hot tubs and outside marriage is evil' committee, dedicated to wiping out syphilis, teen pregnancy, to raise motel room prices and to sew every single teen girls vagina (and possibly anus) shut.

Announcing her masterplan during the next PTA, Trish is upset to find that some of the parents think she may be going a wee bit too far.

"Hannah checks for mooth shite.

How could Hannah's life get any worse?

Well, because of her shag Nazi mum, no-one at school is talking to her (or asking for blow jobs, which is a pity because she has really nice full lips, a wee bit like your brother) anymore except for gangly geek-boy who she whines at on instant messenger at every given opportunity.

Being a nice, sensitive guy (and possibly gay by the state of his hair) he invites Hannah over to cry on his shoulder (but not i hasten to add, shite in his mooth).

When she arrives tho' Hannah is surprisingly calm about the fact that her pals bedroom walls are covered in hundreds of candid photographs he's taken of her.

Tho' none of them show her giving head.

Unfortunately.

You know it would so be worth the jail term.

Snuggled up close on Jonas bed, his GI Joe bedspread wrapped are her shoulders it's not long before the pair are gazing into each others (dead, cold) eyes. Hannah leans over and kisses him.

Whore.

Soon the horny teens are ripping at each others clothes, Hannah straddling Jonas like a big, lanky geek pony, her tiny trembling hands reaching for his bulging undies.

But geekboy has second thoughts and starts spurting not semen but horrible preachy bollocks like 'We have the rest of our lives to do this.....I respect you too much.'

Hannah, rather than be touched (phnarrr) by Noah's genuine love for her shows her true slut colours by jumping off him, grabbing her jacket and stomping off to the nearest sex party.

But not before uttering possibly the greatest line in teevee movie history.

"You don't want me because I have syphilis!"

Hmmmm, it might actually be because you're a spoilt, harsh faced whore, hen.

Hannah attempts to make steam
appear from my magic pipe.

Arriving at the party she immediately begins to look for Becca and Dawn (probably in the hope of at least getting a threesome in the pool) but they're nowhere to be seen.

Luckily, Harry Potter (I kid you not) is in attendance and points Hannah in the direction of the basement where he says she'll find Becca 'talking' to her new beau.

Slowly creeping downstairs she's shocked (if not a wee bit aroused by the look of her) to see some random creepy jock dude attempting to stick it in Becca without her consent.

As her friends lies crying with her jeans round her ankles and her soft cotton panties at her knees Jeff Badman turns to Hannah and whispers "You're next".

Who can save our whorish heroine?

Well wouldn't you know it, geek freak arrives just in time (I'm assuming her asked the host for directions to the rape cellar) and brandishing his camera phone offers the wanna-be rapist with this chilling (and hilarious) ultimatum:

'stop attempting to rape a wee lassie or I'll send this picture straight to 9-1-1!'

Yup, he'd obviously been there for a while taking photo's of the whole thing.

Dirty sod.

Jeff complies, leaving Hannah and Jonas to finally embrace whilst Becca wipes away the snot and tears before pulling her undies back up.

We never find out what Jonas does with the photo's but there's a good chance he wont have to sneakily steal any of his dads copies of Razzle for a while.

"He did what in his cup?"

Who'd have thought that dear old Tom McLoughlin, the writer and director of Mausoleum and Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives (plus being Jason's hand double in that very film) would end up becoming the king of the teevee movie true life drama?

So far he's given us everything from the Molly Ringwald AIDS weepie Something to Live for: The Alison Gertz Story to the high school student addicted to Internet porn shocker Cyber Seduction: His Secret Life via the controversy courting D.C. Sniper: 23 Days of Fear and much more besides. It seems that if it's got teen sex, shootings or drug abuse and it's vaguely based on a true story then McLoughlin's your man.

But out of everything he's made, She's Too Young is probably his best and most accomplished work so far, if not the sexiest.

Coming on like the bastard offspring of one of those 1950's public information films that warned of evil crazed homosexuals hunting young boys and sailors with VD but cranked up to 11.

The girls are younger, the guys are hornier and the mums much hotter than their 50's counterparts but the scare tactics remain the same, even to the point of showing, in graphic David Cronenberg-esque body horror style, the effects of syphilis in full livid colour when Hannah goes online to research the condition.

Truly true life drama doesn't get much better than this.

Except of course the classic It's My Party when an HIV infected Eric Roberts kisses a pony.

Based (possibly) on the true story of an outbreak of syphilis amongst children in the well-off Atlanta suburb of Rockdale County in 1996 but with added shock value to scare teens into abstinence and force parents to chain their offspring to radiators till they're old enough to marry, the movie has too many great scenes to mention but top marks to the fantastic bit when Becca, Hannah and Dawn arrange a sleepover so that they can coach each other to improve their oral skills and the final scenes at the sex party, which come across as a high school version of Blue Velvet mixed with snippets from inside Gary Glitters mind.

Utter pants yet total genius.

Sir Tom of McLoughlin, I salute you.

But I wont be forcing your daughter to give me head anytime soon thanks very much.

devil gate drive.

It gives you a warm fuzzy feeling inside when people go out of the way to suggest things (other than to fuck off obviously) to you, so on the recommendation of the lovely Screamstress and the manly Mr. Dissolved I popped this little gem in my film slot t'other night.

The House of The Devil (2009).
Dir: Ti West.
Cast: Jocelin Donahue, Tom Noonan, Dame Mary of Woronov, Greta Gerwig, AJ Bowen and Dee Wallace.

I spy Norman Price's handiwork.

Button nosed and boyish hipped beauty Samantha (Donahue, last seen covered in dirt in the JT Petty classic The Burrowers) is just a normal, everyday college girl trying to make her way in life, juggling with her coursework and saddled with a man-faced whore of a room mate whilst trying to make ends meet.

But an end to her flatmate troubles may be in sight when Samantha finds a perfect house for rent. It's homely and the landlady (the fantastic Wallace in a blink and miss it cameo) is desperate to give Samantha a chance.

The only problem is that she can't afford to pay the rent.

Aw, it's heartbreaking I know.

Heading back to campus with a heavy heart (and a nice line in knitwear) Sam notices a flyer advertising for a babysitter pinned to the notice board.

It doesn't pay much but it'll help towards her dream house (note: dream house, not devil house) so Sam calls the number.

The phone is answered by the softly spoken Mr. Viv Ulman (genre giant Noonan from The Monster Squad, Manhunter and Robocop 2 amongst others) who quickly accepts her offer and arranges to pick her up so she can get acquainted with the wee bairn within the hour.

Nothing like being keen I guess.

Rushing excitedly to the front steps of the building Samantha sits and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Being nice but dim it takes our heroine about 4 hours to realise that she's been stood up by the mysterious Mr. Ulman but being a sassy kinda gal, Samantha cheers herself up by sharing a pizza with her best bud Megan (indie chick type Gerwig who, for once is fully clothed and not playing the trumpet in a bath).

Heading back to her smelly, semen encrusted room and prepared for a night of study and soda, Samantha is surprised to find that Ulman has left her a message apologising for the earlier mix up and is wondering if she's still free for babysitting.

That very night.

It seems that Mr Ulman and his long suffering wife Tracy (Amazonian uber-MiLF Woronov) have some very important business to attend to that can only be done during that evening lunar eclipse. Their regular babysitter has let them down and they'd be more than happy to double Samantha's pay if she'll say yes.

To the job that is, not just say yes randomly on the phone.

"Hat on mah heid!"

Samantha quickly phones Megan for a lift (the Ulman's live in the middle of nowhere, what a surprise) and seeing as she has no pressing nude scenes that night, she agrees to take her pal to the Ulman residence.

Once at the house the girls are met by the peg-legged Viv who, after some stilted small talk about pizza and the price of cheese makes a strange admission.

You see it appears that when Mr. Ulman said he needed a sitting for his wee baby what he really meant was that he needed someone to sit in the house and listen out for his mother in law who, after a stroke (of the non sexual kind obviously) has been left bedridden (sort of) and occasionally requires a cup of tea taken up to her (probably).

"But don't worry" coos Viv, "you won't actually have to make her drinks because she's asleep, so you can spend the night watching teevee and eating pizza".

And on that bombshell he offers Samantha 400 bucks and a Kinder Surprise from the attic.

Beard of evil.

Hesitating whilst she weighs up the pros ($400, free pizza) and cons (this bloke's a nutter, he's insistent that Megan goes home) Samantha is finally persuaded to take the job when Mr. Ulman starts crying and jigging about on his good leg.

Pushover.

But saying that, what could possibly go wrong?

A house (of the Devil) yesterday.

Take a smattering of goodness from the frequently overlooked late 70's/early 80's Demon possession genre, mix with a smidgen of babysitter under siege and marinate with a healthy dose of video boom nostalgia and you're someway to creating something as creepily enjoyable as Ti West's horror love sonnet The House Of The Devil.

Given his previous track record (Cabin Fever 2, a movie that not even Lion's Gate can be arsed releasing? how scary is that?) I'd have usually given a film like this a (very) wide berth had it not been for the wise words of the two aforementioned folk who's choice of films (if not in Mr. Dissolved's case his choice to wear his dads grey Hush Puppies when his feet are sore) I don't baulk at.

And I'm glad I did.

Shot in a perfect copy of that stark cold eighties style, West's genuine admiration for that particular time in film making is obvious from the first frame, capturing as it does (and in perfect detail) the whole look and feel of that bygone time without once descending into kitsch or parody and with neither a wink nor nudge.

It's like a breath of fresh air blowing away the rancid belch breath of Hollywood horror.

"Is that a knife in your hand or
just a strange shaped erection?"

Starting quietly and slowly building toward it's climax, The House of The Devil is more about the nail biting tension and the uncomfortable mood created by the journey rather than the destination and whilst the pay off is somewhat obvious from the start, it's played with enough conviction by the cast as to not really matter.

"Blood in mah mooth!"

A freaky flashback to times gone by for all of us on the wrong side of 30 and a fantastic lesson in minimalist chills for all those poor youngsters force fed a diet of Hostel clones and Halloween remakes.