Showing posts with label the horror. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the horror. Show all posts
Friday, May 27, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
demon daze.
A sneakie peek for you enjoyment, presenting the first three pages of Whatever Happened To Rosemary Baby? issue 0 written by Demons star Geretta-Geretta, illustrated by yours truly and with a soundtrack by Dissolved.
Unveiled at Chiller Theatre this month but for those who missed it they'll be more information on ordering soon alongside news on regarding the ongoing series.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
back to the future (part one).
In the words of the late, great Paul Gadd “Hello! Hello! It's good to be back!”.
After what seems like an eternity in the interwebless wilderness Virgin Media have decided that it's finally time to reconnect me to the world wide web, which means everyone else's connection speed will drop dramatically (again) as I cruise the ether catching up on all the dodgy cinema, comic porn, dead celebrities and piss fetish films I’ve missed over the last few months as well as recounting my various cinematic adventures at Fright Fest, why Kucch To Hai is possibly the best remake ever made as well as the pro's and cons of having a six foot stone swastika from Outpost 2 in your garden.
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| "Did you miss me?" |
So without further ado here's a quick catch up for you all beginning with:
Glasgae's very own Fright Fest '11 threw up (literally in some cases) a few shiny gems and a film so arse numblingly atrocious that it even beat Outcast in the "what's the fucking point?" case.
Not only that but it caused a cripple to stand up from his wheelchair and walk out of the cinema.
No, really.
This years line up consisted of:
Little Deaths (2010)
Dir: Sean Hogan, Andrew Parkinson and Simon Rumley.
Cast: Luke de Lacey, Siubhan Harrison, Holly Lucas and a dog.
Cast: Luke de Lacey, Siubhan Harrison, Holly Lucas and a dog.
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| "Shite in mah mooth now you bastard!" |
Three films about violent shagging, mentalists, spunky stains, men with monster cocks and Nazi sperm banks.
Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on who you ask, which in this case was the audience) I missed this classic as I spent the entire running time trying to get served at the bar.
But fear not because I did catch:
I Saw The Devil (2010).
Dir: Kim Ji-woon.
Cast: Byung-Hyun Lee and Min-Sik Choy.
Much like having a drunken, stereophonic bar room brawl forcibly projected onto your retinas, Mr. Kim's black as Shaft serial killer cum raving revenge saga begins with sexy secret service agent Byung-Hyun Lee's fiancée being savagely murdered by that teddy bear faced bloke from Old Boy (Min-Sik Choy).
Which was nice.
But tracking down the killer isn't enough for our hero who, using some nifty miniature spy gadgets begins to track the mangy mentalist, jumping in to kick seven shades of shit out of him just as he's about to commit any more crimes.
For ninety minutes.
Bonkers, brutal and barking in equal measures, a cold shower is recommended after viewing to clean away the grimy residue that the movie leaves on your skin.
And I mean that as a compliment.
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| "It's not an automatic is it?" |
Rounding off Friday night was the frankly fantastic Machete Maidens Unleashed, director Mark (Not Quite Hollywood) Hartley's loving tribute to the Filipino exploitation genre that defined cult cinema for those of us of a certain age.
This ocumentary had it all; the one and only Weng Weng, shitly constructed monsters and Pam Grier with a flick knife!
Plus vaguely amusing comments from Sir Roger of Corman, directors Eddie Romero, Steve Carver and Jack Hill plus hotties Celeste Yarnall and Colleen Camp.
Perfection.
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| Relax guys, they're old enough to be your mums. |
Join me tomorrow for the Saturday selection, tonnes of stiffs and the genius that is Meteor Storm.
Or Metron Storn as the screener disc proclaims.
Missing you already!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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!" |
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). |
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?
Monday, January 17, 2011
planes, pains and awful mobiles.
Found this review loitering around the bottom of my in progress folder since I first watch the movie way back in October.
Yup, it's that good.
I've tried to make it as painless (and as short) as possible so apologies for anyone expecting the normal ranting and excessive sweary words.
Altitude (2010).
Dir: Kaare Andrews.
Cast: Jessica Lowndes, Landon Liboiron, Julianna Guill, Ryan Donowho and Jake Weary.
After witnessing her mother die in a flashback plane crash and deciding to face her fear by learning to fly herself, box chinned wannabe pilot Sara (90210's council estate Michelle Ryan, Lowndes) has agreed to take her frighteningly clichéd college buddies; the toothy blonde bombshell Mel (Friday 13th's Guill), monobrowed, flat faced dumb as fuck drunken Jock Sal (Weary from As The World Turns), lovesick Emo Cory (Donowho...indeed) and Sara's freakish, comic book geek boyfriend Bruce (Degrassi: The Next Generation's Liboiron) away for a weekend of soft rock, hard cock and drink induced sickness.
Teenagers eh?
Unfortunately as soon as they take off things start to go wrong, a big screw falls out of the wing and jams Sara's flaps (snigger), a pissed up Sal decides to argue with his missis and the plane starts ascending in a fairly uncontrollable manner.
Could it get any worse?
Well, funnily enough it can as from out of nowhere (I say nowhere but it's out of the sky obviously) a huge black cloud cum terrifying lightening storm appears and causes all the planes instruments (except Cory's guitar unfortunately) to start sparking before stopping working completely.
Oh yeah and Sara forgot to fill the plane up with petrol before they left.
Well, they say it it never rains...
But obviously in this case it is.
In fact it's not only raining cats and dogs but giant octopus tentacles too.
Yup you read that right.
It's as if the writer (hang your head in shame Paul A. Birkett) reckoned that all the other (impossibly clichéd) happenings were obviously not exciting enough to make the film even vaguely interesting so he thought he'd throw a gigantic (and admittedly well realised), fanny mouthed Lovecraftian monster into the mix for good measure.
Now if only he'd gone the Japanese tentacle route the whole thing would have brightened up no end.
Cue forty five minutes of screaming, bitching, mid air attempts at screw removals, and overdose, a totally unnecessary comic book mutilation (the films most disturbing scene) and the revelation that one of the passengers holds a dark secret that could mean the difference between live and death...
But will it be enough to save the audience from terminal boredom?
Possibly if you've never heard of The Twilight Zone.
From Kaare Andrews, ex Marvel artist, scribe and award winning Hulk cover doodlier comes a tale so threadbare and devoid of any surprises that even M. Night Shyamalan would knock it back before scrubbing his hands with bleach for even touching it.
And remember, this is the man that made The Happening.
And The Last Airbender.
As a plus point it does feature the most punchable cast ever to be seen in a horror movie and a twist so ludicrous and so obvious as to appear almost ironic in it's execution.
I can safely say without fear of spoiling it for any masochistic mentalists who having read this far that don't worry, it's not that it's all a dream.
Indeed the ending isn't that original.
Saying that tho' the monster looks good.
Which is a wee bit like letting Fred West off for being not bad at plastering.
Yup, it's that good.
I've tried to make it as painless (and as short) as possible so apologies for anyone expecting the normal ranting and excessive sweary words.
Altitude (2010).
Dir: Kaare Andrews.
Cast: Jessica Lowndes, Landon Liboiron, Julianna Guill, Ryan Donowho and Jake Weary.
 |
| “Where the hell is the ground?” |
After witnessing her mother die in a flashback plane crash and deciding to face her fear by learning to fly herself, box chinned wannabe pilot Sara (90210's council estate Michelle Ryan, Lowndes) has agreed to take her frighteningly clichéd college buddies; the toothy blonde bombshell Mel (Friday 13th's Guill), monobrowed, flat faced dumb as fuck drunken Jock Sal (Weary from As The World Turns), lovesick Emo Cory (Donowho...indeed) and Sara's freakish, comic book geek boyfriend Bruce (Degrassi: The Next Generation's Liboiron) away for a weekend of soft rock, hard cock and drink induced sickness.
Teenagers eh?
Unfortunately as soon as they take off things start to go wrong, a big screw falls out of the wing and jams Sara's flaps (snigger), a pissed up Sal decides to argue with his missis and the plane starts ascending in a fairly uncontrollable manner.
Could it get any worse?
 |
| "Tell Richard Baker that I've found the turkey mountain!" |
Well, funnily enough it can as from out of nowhere (I say nowhere but it's out of the sky obviously) a huge black cloud cum terrifying lightening storm appears and causes all the planes instruments (except Cory's guitar unfortunately) to start sparking before stopping working completely.
Oh yeah and Sara forgot to fill the plane up with petrol before they left.
Well, they say it it never rains...
But obviously in this case it is.
In fact it's not only raining cats and dogs but giant octopus tentacles too.
 |
| "Shite in mah mooooooooooooth!" |
Yup you read that right.
It's as if the writer (hang your head in shame Paul A. Birkett) reckoned that all the other (impossibly clichéd) happenings were obviously not exciting enough to make the film even vaguely interesting so he thought he'd throw a gigantic (and admittedly well realised), fanny mouthed Lovecraftian monster into the mix for good measure.
Now if only he'd gone the Japanese tentacle route the whole thing would have brightened up no end.
 |
| I wouldn't want that swimming up my arse. |
Cue forty five minutes of screaming, bitching, mid air attempts at screw removals, and overdose, a totally unnecessary comic book mutilation (the films most disturbing scene) and the revelation that one of the passengers holds a dark secret that could mean the difference between live and death...
But will it be enough to save the audience from terminal boredom?
Possibly if you've never heard of The Twilight Zone.
From Kaare Andrews, ex Marvel artist, scribe and award winning Hulk cover doodlier comes a tale so threadbare and devoid of any surprises that even M. Night Shyamalan would knock it back before scrubbing his hands with bleach for even touching it.
And remember, this is the man that made The Happening.
And The Last Airbender.
As a plus point it does feature the most punchable cast ever to be seen in a horror movie and a twist so ludicrous and so obvious as to appear almost ironic in it's execution.
I can safely say without fear of spoiling it for any masochistic mentalists who having read this far that don't worry, it's not that it's all a dream.
Indeed the ending isn't that original.
 |
| Someone farted...and it was an eggy one. |
Which is a wee bit like letting Fred West off for being not bad at plastering.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
the ellen degenerazione show.
As is tradition, Mrs.Lamont and myself always spend the evenings running up to Christmas indulging ourselves with a variety of portmanteau horror classics of varying quality.
Everything from Dr. Terrors House of Horror to The Monster Club gets a rewatch, dragged and dusted from the cellar.
So you can imagine our delight when we stumble across this rarity on New Years Eve.
Not too in-depth a review I'm afraid cos frankly most of the stories only last a few seconds, all are bonkers and most are really not that good.
Oh, and I was very, very drunk.
On a plus side Asia (the first person to wish me happy birthday this year don't you know) Argento is in it smoking a fag whilst wearing fishnets so it's not all bad.
Enjoy!
Degenerazione (1994).
Dir: Antonio Antonelli, Asia Argento, Pier Giorgio Bellocchio, Eleonora Fiorini, Alex Infascelli, Antonio Manetti, Marco Manetti, Andrea Maula, Andrea Prandstraller, Alberto Taraglio and Alessandro Valori.
Cast: Pierpaolo Trezzini, Asia Argento, Giorgio Tirabassi, Alberto Rossi and Patrizia Sacchi.
Our movie opens in the movie memorabilia festooned office of a sweating bald man in an ill fitting suit anxiously chatting to someone (his agent? Your mum?) on the phone about various important film type stuff whilst he furtively looks around for any signs of oncoming badness.
So far so intriguing.
Suddenly the oncoming badness bursts in to the room in the form of three pikeys clad in ill-fitting Halloween masks and a nice selection of Degenerazione t-shirts as some kick-ass 'rawk' music plays on the soundtrack.
Yup, definitely an Italian horror movie then.
Jumping from his window to save himself from whatever these masked mentalists have in store for him, Mr. Sweaty's ample arse gives him a soft landing plus the extra bounce needed to send him running merrily down the high street.
But those pesky psycho pikeys are in hot pursuit.
"My word they've disappeared!" He exclaims (it's fansubbed, I'm sorry).
"No we haven't" says a mysterious masked man armed with a big gun next to him.
The Degenerazione boys (after magically re-appearing) look on menacingly as the poor guys screams...
...before jarringly cutting to an antique shop where the middle-aged owner is getting phone hassle from a customer who wants an Ottoman delivered.
Convinced that this story is related to the fat bloke I begin to take notes.
Paying far too much attention I find myself being unwittingly dragged into the ensuing argument where it seems that young and hip honey June (some photo-fit blonde in a flimsy blouse) wants her new piece of furniture delivered earlier that agreed.
You see, it's her boyfriend Terry's birthday and she thinks he'd be well pleased with a huge piece of antique furniture for a gift.
My word she knows men so well.
Anyway, after much to-ing and fro-ing between shopkeep and lady the item is arranged to be delivered at 6 o'clock that evening.
But June has to promise that she'll be at home because the delivery man (who looks like the illegitimate child of a mouldy potato and an angry bassoon) is very grumpy and determined to get back as soon as possible as to not miss the new episode of Loose Women on teevee.
June gives her word but as soon as she puts the phone down her best friend Margot calls in a state of distress meaning that June, like a typical woman, forgets everything she's just said and heads straight out to go comfort her.
Returning home from work, birthday boy Terry (played by a pube headed lollipop in spectacles) begins to prepare a scrumptious meal whilst dancing like a tit to clichéd eighties soft rock when he's suddenly disturbed by the doorbell.
I mean it rings, not that it jumps on his and tries to fuck him with it's cold hard doorbell cock.
Tho' that would be fairly exciting.
Nope it's just our delivery spud growling menacingly and saying stuff like "I'm here to get you....let me in so I can stuff my box in your lounge!" and the like meaning that, quite understandably Terry gets the wrong end of the stick and thinks a mad killer has come to get him.
If only June had left a note.
But it's too late for that now so let's sit back and enjoy 20 minutes of Sam Raimi inspired violent lunacy coupled with a smidgen of breast grabbing across the Ottoman....
...Which leads us nicely to the home of Mr. Dirk Handsomestranger, a hunky lunk who, being in need of a drink and a wee bit of buggery, decides to visit Waxy O'Shinty's sailor themed gothic gay bar just along the beach from his house.
Well, he is European.
Ordering a Campari and soda, our studly pal can't help but notice a flamboyantly dressed older gentleman (who has a frightening resemblance to everyone's favourite Irishman Louise Walsh) sitting in the corner of the room nursing a tomato juice and fancying a bit of old man cock saunters over to join him.
Overpowered by the smell of sweaty leather and cheap aftershave (and not to mention being a bit tired of having to shout over the X Factor style Bauhaus tribute band) the pair decide to retire to Dirk's palatial love pad for more drink, less music and maybe, just maybe a sausage shafting session of the highest order.
With the booze and chatting flowing like so much horse semen into an aged prostitutes swollen stomach our frill fronted fop admits that he's no normal man and that he has a dark secret.
And it's not that he dyes his hair or has his habit of furiously masturbating whilst listening to One Direction.
Probably.
Nope, it turns out that his is, in fact a lonely old vampire, eager to impress with his tales of bloodlust, sodomy and working with Sharon Osbourne.
But as Dirk listens intently to his guest it becomes apparent that he may have a dark secret too...
...Meanwhile back in the big city, Mr. and Mrs. Middleincome are off out for a night of food, wine and depressingly middle class chat, leaving their cutesy-pie daughter home alone with only her homework and the brand new Teevee for company.
Unfortunately when they went to the shop to buy it they mistook 'includes evil child killing demon type' for '44" plasma screen and Teletext'.
We've all been there.
Prepare for a night of child based terror as the killer telly (complete with the worlds longest extension cable) trundles loudly around the (stairless, that was lucky) house attempting to murder a small girl before zooming forward in time to experience a Blade Runner-esque future world where a massive lottery win can make you lose your head (literally) and women keep their hubbies on dog chains for some reason.
Oh yes, it's a subtle role reversal take on sexism.
Clever that.
Needing a drink top up, a wee and a fag (but not all at once) I returned to see a naked (apart from a bus conductors hat) man persuading a young woman to hold his big umbrella before the wind took her (and it) flying across the fields before landing (with a psycho-sexual) bump in the city of Milan, where Terry the taxi driver is all set to go home after a hard days, um, taxi-ing.
Did I imagine the last bit or really see it?
Answers on a postcard please.
Anyway, after phoning his missis to see if she needs anything from the all night garage, Terry returns to his cab only to hear a voice from the back seat telling him not to turn around and just drive to a given destination.
Feeling oh so slightly uneasy about being mysteriously ordered about, Terry can't help but look round only to find that the back seat is empty, save a small briefcase.
Is Terry going mad or is he just over tired?
Jumping out of the cab to clear his head, El Tel is forced to confront the bizarre truth of the situation when the disembodied voice angrily shouts at him to get back in the car.
It seems the mysterious presence has a job to do and time is running out...
Portmanteau part-work plots don't get much better than this story, which is a shame really as we've still to to make the acquaintance of a sickeningly loved up couple who between renovating their new home and uncomfortably suggesting that they have sex, experience violence filled nightmares where they try to kill each other.
And the cat.
Which brings us kicking, screaming (and sobbing) to our final tale.
A story of a normal man being stalk by a punk-tastic group of film makers intent on making him the star of their new snuff movie.
Yikes.
Ignored by the police and left to fend for himself, it's not long before our hapless hero has been beaten with a shovel and tied to a chair ready for his big close-up.
Luckily for him the designated sound guy is incapable of keeping the boom out of shot and this coupled with an impromptu shoot out and an unscheduled appearance by a nunchaku-wielding ninja may just be the the thing he needs to plan his escape.
And even maybe get the girl.
Who in this case is a leather skirted, fish-netted Asia.
Bastard.
With plots, acting and direction this diverse, you can't accuse Degenerazione of being boring and with it's frenetic mix of straight forward shocks, twisty-turny endings and highly eclectic story telling techniques you at least know that if you're not enjoying the current tale there'll be another one (or even two) along in a few minutes.
Shot for free by everyone involved, Degenerazione is an incredibly enjoyable mess of creativity over cash, putting to shame most no budget horrors of the last decade or so thru' sheer cheekiness alone.
Oh and did I mention Asia Argento is in it in fishnets?
Worth tracking down for the taxi segment (titled India 21) alone, Degenerazione played the film festival circuit before disappearing into oblivion alongside Tom Savini's Vampyrates and the third series of The Tripods, never to be seen again.
Until now obviously.
Unless I dreamt it that is.
If you have seen it give us a shout so I know I'm not going mad.
Cheers.
Everything from Dr. Terrors House of Horror to The Monster Club gets a rewatch, dragged and dusted from the cellar.
So you can imagine our delight when we stumble across this rarity on New Years Eve.
Not too in-depth a review I'm afraid cos frankly most of the stories only last a few seconds, all are bonkers and most are really not that good.
Oh, and I was very, very drunk.
On a plus side Asia (the first person to wish me happy birthday this year don't you know) Argento is in it smoking a fag whilst wearing fishnets so it's not all bad.
Enjoy!
Degenerazione (1994).
Dir: Antonio Antonelli, Asia Argento, Pier Giorgio Bellocchio, Eleonora Fiorini, Alex Infascelli, Antonio Manetti, Marco Manetti, Andrea Maula, Andrea Prandstraller, Alberto Taraglio and Alessandro Valori.
Cast: Pierpaolo Trezzini, Asia Argento, Giorgio Tirabassi, Alberto Rossi and Patrizia Sacchi.
 |
| It was either this or Jools Holland. |
Our movie opens in the movie memorabilia festooned office of a sweating bald man in an ill fitting suit anxiously chatting to someone (his agent? Your mum?) on the phone about various important film type stuff whilst he furtively looks around for any signs of oncoming badness.
So far so intriguing.
Suddenly the oncoming badness bursts in to the room in the form of three pikeys clad in ill-fitting Halloween masks and a nice selection of Degenerazione t-shirts as some kick-ass 'rawk' music plays on the soundtrack.
Yup, definitely an Italian horror movie then.
Jumping from his window to save himself from whatever these masked mentalists have in store for him, Mr. Sweaty's ample arse gives him a soft landing plus the extra bounce needed to send him running merrily down the high street.
But those pesky psycho pikeys are in hot pursuit.
 |
| Bob Hoskins, up the casino, Tamworth, 1987.....YESCH! |
Unfortunately our chubby heroes escape route radar is only attuned to cakes and after much frenzied wobbling he finds himself trapped in a back alley behind a bakers with the rubber-faced rotters slowly closing in...
Closing his eyes and hoping for a quick death (or a not too sore arse pummelling), chubs is fairly surprised to see his assailants have disappeared.
"My word they've disappeared!" He exclaims (it's fansubbed, I'm sorry).
"No we haven't" says a mysterious masked man armed with a big gun next to him.
The Degenerazione boys (after magically re-appearing) look on menacingly as the poor guys screams...
 |
| "Laugh now!" |
...before jarringly cutting to an antique shop where the middle-aged owner is getting phone hassle from a customer who wants an Ottoman delivered.
Convinced that this story is related to the fat bloke I begin to take notes.
Paying far too much attention I find myself being unwittingly dragged into the ensuing argument where it seems that young and hip honey June (some photo-fit blonde in a flimsy blouse) wants her new piece of furniture delivered earlier that agreed.
You see, it's her boyfriend Terry's birthday and she thinks he'd be well pleased with a huge piece of antique furniture for a gift.
My word she knows men so well.
Anyway, after much to-ing and fro-ing between shopkeep and lady the item is arranged to be delivered at 6 o'clock that evening.
But June has to promise that she'll be at home because the delivery man (who looks like the illegitimate child of a mouldy potato and an angry bassoon) is very grumpy and determined to get back as soon as possible as to not miss the new episode of Loose Women on teevee.
 |
| Shite in his mooth, blood on the thistle. |
June gives her word but as soon as she puts the phone down her best friend Margot calls in a state of distress meaning that June, like a typical woman, forgets everything she's just said and heads straight out to go comfort her.
Returning home from work, birthday boy Terry (played by a pube headed lollipop in spectacles) begins to prepare a scrumptious meal whilst dancing like a tit to clichéd eighties soft rock when he's suddenly disturbed by the doorbell.
I mean it rings, not that it jumps on his and tries to fuck him with it's cold hard doorbell cock.
Tho' that would be fairly exciting.
Nope it's just our delivery spud growling menacingly and saying stuff like "I'm here to get you....let me in so I can stuff my box in your lounge!" and the like meaning that, quite understandably Terry gets the wrong end of the stick and thinks a mad killer has come to get him.
If only June had left a note.
But it's too late for that now so let's sit back and enjoy 20 minutes of Sam Raimi inspired violent lunacy coupled with a smidgen of breast grabbing across the Ottoman....
 |
| "I'll get you Tiger Ninestein!" |
...Which leads us nicely to the home of Mr. Dirk Handsomestranger, a hunky lunk who, being in need of a drink and a wee bit of buggery, decides to visit Waxy O'Shinty's sailor themed gothic gay bar just along the beach from his house.
Well, he is European.
Ordering a Campari and soda, our studly pal can't help but notice a flamboyantly dressed older gentleman (who has a frightening resemblance to everyone's favourite Irishman Louise Walsh) sitting in the corner of the room nursing a tomato juice and fancying a bit of old man cock saunters over to join him.
Overpowered by the smell of sweaty leather and cheap aftershave (and not to mention being a bit tired of having to shout over the X Factor style Bauhaus tribute band) the pair decide to retire to Dirk's palatial love pad for more drink, less music and maybe, just maybe a sausage shafting session of the highest order.
With the booze and chatting flowing like so much horse semen into an aged prostitutes swollen stomach our frill fronted fop admits that he's no normal man and that he has a dark secret.
And it's not that he dyes his hair or has his habit of furiously masturbating whilst listening to One Direction.
Probably.
 |
| "Aye (s) Son!" |
Nope, it turns out that his is, in fact a lonely old vampire, eager to impress with his tales of bloodlust, sodomy and working with Sharon Osbourne.
But as Dirk listens intently to his guest it becomes apparent that he may have a dark secret too...
...Meanwhile back in the big city, Mr. and Mrs. Middleincome are off out for a night of food, wine and depressingly middle class chat, leaving their cutesy-pie daughter home alone with only her homework and the brand new Teevee for company.
Unfortunately when they went to the shop to buy it they mistook 'includes evil child killing demon type' for '44" plasma screen and Teletext'.
We've all been there.
Prepare for a night of child based terror as the killer telly (complete with the worlds longest extension cable) trundles loudly around the (stairless, that was lucky) house attempting to murder a small girl before zooming forward in time to experience a Blade Runner-esque future world where a massive lottery win can make you lose your head (literally) and women keep their hubbies on dog chains for some reason.
Oh yes, it's a subtle role reversal take on sexism.
Clever that.
 |
| Louise Walsh: He's got something to put in you (allegedly). |
Needing a drink top up, a wee and a fag (but not all at once) I returned to see a naked (apart from a bus conductors hat) man persuading a young woman to hold his big umbrella before the wind took her (and it) flying across the fields before landing (with a psycho-sexual) bump in the city of Milan, where Terry the taxi driver is all set to go home after a hard days, um, taxi-ing.
Did I imagine the last bit or really see it?
Answers on a postcard please.
Anyway, after phoning his missis to see if she needs anything from the all night garage, Terry returns to his cab only to hear a voice from the back seat telling him not to turn around and just drive to a given destination.
Feeling oh so slightly uneasy about being mysteriously ordered about, Terry can't help but look round only to find that the back seat is empty, save a small briefcase.
 |
| Asia: She wished me happy birthday...Did you? |
Jumping out of the cab to clear his head, El Tel is forced to confront the bizarre truth of the situation when the disembodied voice angrily shouts at him to get back in the car.
It seems the mysterious presence has a job to do and time is running out...
Portmanteau part-work plots don't get much better than this story, which is a shame really as we've still to to make the acquaintance of a sickeningly loved up couple who between renovating their new home and uncomfortably suggesting that they have sex, experience violence filled nightmares where they try to kill each other.
And the cat.
 |
| Hat. |
Which brings us kicking, screaming (and sobbing) to our final tale.
A story of a normal man being stalk by a punk-tastic group of film makers intent on making him the star of their new snuff movie.
Yikes.
Ignored by the police and left to fend for himself, it's not long before our hapless hero has been beaten with a shovel and tied to a chair ready for his big close-up.
Luckily for him the designated sound guy is incapable of keeping the boom out of shot and this coupled with an impromptu shoot out and an unscheduled appearance by a nunchaku-wielding ninja may just be the the thing he needs to plan his escape.
And even maybe get the girl.
Who in this case is a leather skirted, fish-netted Asia.
Bastard.
 |
| No caption required. |
With plots, acting and direction this diverse, you can't accuse Degenerazione of being boring and with it's frenetic mix of straight forward shocks, twisty-turny endings and highly eclectic story telling techniques you at least know that if you're not enjoying the current tale there'll be another one (or even two) along in a few minutes.
Shot for free by everyone involved, Degenerazione is an incredibly enjoyable mess of creativity over cash, putting to shame most no budget horrors of the last decade or so thru' sheer cheekiness alone.
Oh and did I mention Asia Argento is in it in fishnets?
Worth tracking down for the taxi segment (titled India 21) alone, Degenerazione played the film festival circuit before disappearing into oblivion alongside Tom Savini's Vampyrates and the third series of The Tripods, never to be seen again.
Until now obviously.
Unless I dreamt it that is.
If you have seen it give us a shout so I know I'm not going mad.
Cheers.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
golden oldie.
Been tres busy here with birthdays, virginal sacrifices, re-watching old Amicus portmanteau movies (a December tradition) and preparing for Christmas.
Normal service will resume soon.
Until then here's a yummy little movie from 'The France' with probably one of the greatest titles ever.
Laydees and gents I give you....
La Nuit de la Mor (AKA Night of Death! 1980).
Dir: Raphaël Delpard
Cast: Isabelle Goguey, Charlotte de Turckheim, Betty Beckers, Michel Debrane and Ernest Menzer.
Luscious librarian type and Nicola Roberts alike Martine (the copper topped, slinky hipped Euro-tottie Goguey, last seen in Paradigma) has just gotten a new job at a local old folks home, the not at all creepily named Deadlock House caring for - and occasionally cuddling - the elderly residents.
Arriving a day early, much to the chagrin of the home's director the frighteningly efficient Hélène (the magnificent Beckers, all French fancy and no knickers, probably), Martine is introduced to her fellow carer, the leggy blonde Nicole (de Turckheim) who is, understandably peeved that she's getting replaced without being consulted and the hulking, wooden of legged and bowl of haired handyman Jules (Debrane) before being sent off to the attic to unpack her bags.
It seems that bossy bitch Hélène has warmed to the thought of having Martine there a day or so early because it means she can put her to work without having to pay her.
Well, that's the French for you.
Joining Nicole on her rounds, our ginger princess is finally introduced to the residents, every single one of them an egg and cress sandwich short of a picnic basket whilst poor Jules lusts quietly after Nicole, rubbing his thighs in the corner whilst trying to hide the smell of warm milk emanating from his crotch area.
Yup, most definitely French.
Apparently taking a shine to her new employee, Hélène offers Martine the night off to spend with her boyfriend before starting the job good and proper, which is nice because the rules say that she wont be allowed out for at least twenty eight days after her contract starts.
But that night, whilst Martine is doing the dirty in the back of her beau's Fiat Uno, Nicole is dragged from her bed in the middle of night by the ancient, turkey necked residents who, after stripping her naked tie her down to a picnic table and gut her before finally eating her whole.
Tho' they may have spat that bit out.
With grass in her hair and mud on her knees, Martine returns to the house the next morning and is surprised to find Nicole (and her collection of seventies cocktail dresses) gone, the result of a blazing argument over Nicole being prettier than her according to Director Hélène.
Thinking nothing of it, our red headed raver gets on with her chores, closely watched by jittery Jules in-between his daily burnings of mysterious bags of ladies clothes and whipping the residents.
As the days go by Jules it seems, is becoming more and more obsessed with marrying our heroine (just as he was with Nicole), the old folk have taken to forcing Martine to drink what looks like fresh vomit at meal times and she's found the burnt remains of Nicole's suitcase behind the bins.
Suffice to say Martine (although not the brightest tool in the box) is by now beginning to suspect that there's more to Nicole's disappearance - and the batty old folk - than meets the eye and decides in her best Nancy Drew fashion (tho' not fashions which is a shame) to investigate.
As the clues keep a coming and the kooky crinklies get more crazy, Martine begins to understand the true meaning behind the bizarre lunch ritual that the potty pensioners partake in on a daily basis and discovers just why they're all so concerned about her weight.
And if that wasn't enough, there's also the little problem of the town's resident murdering mentalist, nicknamed The Golden Needle Killer for Martine to deal with, as well as the most important thing in her life; deciding what film to go and see at the cinema with the local milkman on her next day off.
Coming across like a bizarre French adaptation of an unmade Pete Walker script, writer/director (and sometime actor) Raphaël Delpard's little seen La Nuit de la Mor is one of the creepiest, blackest (in both humour and atmosphere) films to come out of the early eighties and a surprising departure from what's normally associated with the French horror genre.
Imagine The House of Whipcord spliced together with bits of Rosemary's Baby and populated by an entire cast of Ruth Gordon's and your halfway to understanding the sheer genius of this movie, played just the right side of camp by all involved and directed in a pleasant, surprising non fussy style by Monsieur
Delpard and whilst there may be no real surprises in the plot, it's the sheer creepiness of both the characters and overall atmosphere of the movie that makes it so great.
And what characters!
From the brilliant Betty Beckers as the delightfully evil Hélène to the flame headed floosie that is Isabelle Goguey via Michel Debrane's jizz-stained Jules and the entire cadre of oldies everyone is perfectly presented in such a playfully perverse manner that you can't help but become involved in the whole sordid story.
Highly recommended.
Normal service will resume soon.
Until then here's a yummy little movie from 'The France' with probably one of the greatest titles ever.
Laydees and gents I give you....
La Nuit de la Mor (AKA Night of Death! 1980).
Dir: Raphaël Delpard
Cast: Isabelle Goguey, Charlotte de Turckheim, Betty Beckers, Michel Debrane and Ernest Menzer.
“What could go on in a place like this?”
Luscious librarian type and Nicola Roberts alike Martine (the copper topped, slinky hipped Euro-tottie Goguey, last seen in Paradigma) has just gotten a new job at a local old folks home, the not at all creepily named Deadlock House caring for - and occasionally cuddling - the elderly residents.
Arriving a day early, much to the chagrin of the home's director the frighteningly efficient Hélène (the magnificent Beckers, all French fancy and no knickers, probably), Martine is introduced to her fellow carer, the leggy blonde Nicole (de Turckheim) who is, understandably peeved that she's getting replaced without being consulted and the hulking, wooden of legged and bowl of haired handyman Jules (Debrane) before being sent off to the attic to unpack her bags.
It seems that bossy bitch Hélène has warmed to the thought of having Martine there a day or so early because it means she can put her to work without having to pay her.
Well, that's the French for you.
 |
| Martine slowly parted Hélène's beefy curtains... |
Joining Nicole on her rounds, our ginger princess is finally introduced to the residents, every single one of them an egg and cress sandwich short of a picnic basket whilst poor Jules lusts quietly after Nicole, rubbing his thighs in the corner whilst trying to hide the smell of warm milk emanating from his crotch area.
Yup, most definitely French.
Apparently taking a shine to her new employee, Hélène offers Martine the night off to spend with her boyfriend before starting the job good and proper, which is nice because the rules say that she wont be allowed out for at least twenty eight days after her contract starts.
But that night, whilst Martine is doing the dirty in the back of her beau's Fiat Uno, Nicole is dragged from her bed in the middle of night by the ancient, turkey necked residents who, after stripping her naked tie her down to a picnic table and gut her before finally eating her whole.
Tho' they may have spat that bit out.
 |
| Aye Son! |
With grass in her hair and mud on her knees, Martine returns to the house the next morning and is surprised to find Nicole (and her collection of seventies cocktail dresses) gone, the result of a blazing argument over Nicole being prettier than her according to Director Hélène.
Thinking nothing of it, our red headed raver gets on with her chores, closely watched by jittery Jules in-between his daily burnings of mysterious bags of ladies clothes and whipping the residents.
As the days go by Jules it seems, is becoming more and more obsessed with marrying our heroine (just as he was with Nicole), the old folk have taken to forcing Martine to drink what looks like fresh vomit at meal times and she's found the burnt remains of Nicole's suitcase behind the bins.
Suffice to say Martine (although not the brightest tool in the box) is by now beginning to suspect that there's more to Nicole's disappearance - and the batty old folk - than meets the eye and decides in her best Nancy Drew fashion (tho' not fashions which is a shame) to investigate.
 |
| ""Can you smell petrol?" |
As the clues keep a coming and the kooky crinklies get more crazy, Martine begins to understand the true meaning behind the bizarre lunch ritual that the potty pensioners partake in on a daily basis and discovers just why they're all so concerned about her weight.
And if that wasn't enough, there's also the little problem of the town's resident murdering mentalist, nicknamed The Golden Needle Killer for Martine to deal with, as well as the most important thing in her life; deciding what film to go and see at the cinema with the local milkman on her next day off.
 |
| "It's CCCCCHHHRRRRIIISSSTTTMMMAAASSS!!!!" |
Coming across like a bizarre French adaptation of an unmade Pete Walker script, writer/director (and sometime actor) Raphaël Delpard's little seen La Nuit de la Mor is one of the creepiest, blackest (in both humour and atmosphere) films to come out of the early eighties and a surprising departure from what's normally associated with the French horror genre.
Imagine The House of Whipcord spliced together with bits of Rosemary's Baby and populated by an entire cast of Ruth Gordon's and your halfway to understanding the sheer genius of this movie, played just the right side of camp by all involved and directed in a pleasant, surprising non fussy style by Monsieur
Delpard and whilst there may be no real surprises in the plot, it's the sheer creepiness of both the characters and overall atmosphere of the movie that makes it so great.
 |
| Your dad's custard cousins yesterday. |
And what characters!
From the brilliant Betty Beckers as the delightfully evil Hélène to the flame headed floosie that is Isabelle Goguey via Michel Debrane's jizz-stained Jules and the entire cadre of oldies everyone is perfectly presented in such a playfully perverse manner that you can't help but become involved in the whole sordid story.
Highly recommended.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
first blood.
Caught this little gem t'other day and thought I'd share.
I'll try not to give too much away because it's actually worth seeing.
Enjoy.
Rammbock (AKA Siege of The Dead. 2010).
Dir: Marvin Kren.
Cast: Michael Fuith, Anka Graczyk, Theo Trebs, Sebastian Achilles, Carsten Behrendt , Melanie Berke, Emily Cox, Mila Gach, Harald Geil and Jörn Hentschel.
The morosely miserable Michael (the sensible jumpered Fuith, looking like cartoon dog Droopy made flesh) has recently (and unceremoniously) been dumped by his long-term girlfriend Gabi (moonfaced Graczyk whom you may recognise from Das letzte Versteck or then again, you may not) via a phone-call.
Bitch.
Arriving in Berlin and using the frankly feeble excuse of having to give her the house keys back as a reason to see her (and hopefully win her back) Michael is surprised to find not his true love at home but a fat sweaty builder and his young YTS apprentice Harper (Trebs from the enchanting Lilly the Witch: The Dragon and the Magic Book), who are incredibly busy moving stuff around and painting doors.
Well Harper is.
His bouncy boss appears to be trying to have sex with a radiator.
Must be a German thing I guess.
Michael nervously asks if either of them have seen Gabi or know her whereabouts garnering only a groovy non-committal shoulder shrug from Harper and a loud grunt from the big man followed by him tearing the radiator from the wall and trying to brain his poor assistant with it.
Yup, definitely a German thing.
Managing to wrestle the deadly decorator out of the front door and down the stairs, michael and Harper hastily barricade themselves inside Gabi's apartment just as the whole world outside seems to go to hell in a helmet.
Running to the window to see the cause of the commotion the hapless pair can only look on in horror as the building is suddenly surrounded by hordes of foaming mouthed mentalists with only one thing on their mutated minds.
Man meat.
Finding a radio, Michael and Harper sit in shock as they listen to the news reports. It seems that this isn't an isolated occurrence and all of Germany is affected by this sudden outbreak of munchy filled madness.
Reaching for his phone to try and call Gabi, Michael notices it's not in his pocket.
suddenly there's a ringing from outside the front door.
After much deliberation and armed only with a makeshift slingshot and a pair of rubber gloves our heroes attempt to reclaim their only link to the outside world.
And Michael's only way of contacting Gabi.
After much sneaking and shiftiness our dou manage to locate Michael's phone but not before the entire apartment is overrun by blood hungry freaks, leaving Harper and Michael trapped in the bedroom with only a wardrobe, rabbit hutch and a drinks cabinet to keep the door jammed shut.
But at least they can phone home now and tell their loved ones that they'll be late home for tea so it's not all bad.
Sticking the phone out of the window to try and get a signal, Michael notices the group of surviving neighbours across the courtyard all gazing from their balconies, desperate for information and maybe even a glimmer of hope that someone, anyone can help.
With food and medicines in short supply and the infected hordes moving ever nearer the survivors know they can’t remain in their homes indefinitely.
So Michael, still obsessed with Gabi's safety, hatches a plan to escape the besieged bedroom,rescue his true love and find a way of reaching the other survivors before it's too late.
First up, please don't be put off by Revolver Entertainment's bloody abysmal, lowest common denominator re-branding/retitling of Rammbock (they must have spent all their cash on the upcoming release of A Serbian Film, it's got a booklet and everything) as Siege of The Dead, with it's photo-shopped publicity still zombie and non appearing helicopter gunships, burning buildings and the slightly important fact that the 'infected' in the movie aren't actually dead because if you do you'll be missing a really effective little movie.
I say little because having a running time of just over 60 minutes, I can't decide whether to class it as director Marvin Kren's debut short feature or his forth (albeit longer) short film.
Saying that tho' he manages to fit more action, scares, giggles and pathos into it's meagre running time than most film's twice it's length.
Or three times it's budget.
Blessed with a fantastic cast and superb pacing, particularly during the film's second half, Kren adds just enough touches of his own to the proceedings to lift it above yer normal running zombie straight to DVD fare and puts most of the UK (and US) undead output to shame.
Plus it has one of the funniest bear suit moments I've ever seen.
And whilst Rammbock doesn't re-invent the genre or stray too far from the 'under seige' formula, what it does achieve with it's tiny budget, cast and running time is nothing short of marvellous.
So basically, if you only see one subtitled film distributed by Revolver in the next few months make sure it's this one.
Right, I'd better get back to watching shite and typing laugh now....feeling all funny here.
I'll try not to give too much away because it's actually worth seeing.
Enjoy.
Rammbock (AKA Siege of The Dead. 2010).
Dir: Marvin Kren.
Cast: Michael Fuith, Anka Graczyk, Theo Trebs, Sebastian Achilles, Carsten Behrendt , Melanie Berke, Emily Cox, Mila Gach, Harald Geil and Jörn Hentschel.
The morosely miserable Michael (the sensible jumpered Fuith, looking like cartoon dog Droopy made flesh) has recently (and unceremoniously) been dumped by his long-term girlfriend Gabi (moonfaced Graczyk whom you may recognise from Das letzte Versteck or then again, you may not) via a phone-call.
Bitch.
Arriving in Berlin and using the frankly feeble excuse of having to give her the house keys back as a reason to see her (and hopefully win her back) Michael is surprised to find not his true love at home but a fat sweaty builder and his young YTS apprentice Harper (Trebs from the enchanting Lilly the Witch: The Dragon and the Magic Book), who are incredibly busy moving stuff around and painting doors.
Well Harper is.
His bouncy boss appears to be trying to have sex with a radiator.
Must be a German thing I guess.
 |
| "Hello? French polishers? You might just be able to save my life..." |
Yup, definitely a German thing.
Managing to wrestle the deadly decorator out of the front door and down the stairs, michael and Harper hastily barricade themselves inside Gabi's apartment just as the whole world outside seems to go to hell in a helmet.
Running to the window to see the cause of the commotion the hapless pair can only look on in horror as the building is suddenly surrounded by hordes of foaming mouthed mentalists with only one thing on their mutated minds.
Man meat.
 |
| "Oh no! Here come the Bin men!" |
Reaching for his phone to try and call Gabi, Michael notices it's not in his pocket.
suddenly there's a ringing from outside the front door.
After much deliberation and armed only with a makeshift slingshot and a pair of rubber gloves our heroes attempt to reclaim their only link to the outside world.
And Michael's only way of contacting Gabi.
 |
| "Shiiiiiiimmmmooooooooo!" |
But at least they can phone home now and tell their loved ones that they'll be late home for tea so it's not all bad.
Sticking the phone out of the window to try and get a signal, Michael notices the group of surviving neighbours across the courtyard all gazing from their balconies, desperate for information and maybe even a glimmer of hope that someone, anyone can help.
 |
| "It's Julian Assange, he says he's shagging your mum". |
With food and medicines in short supply and the infected hordes moving ever nearer the survivors know they can’t remain in their homes indefinitely.
So Michael, still obsessed with Gabi's safety, hatches a plan to escape the besieged bedroom,rescue his true love and find a way of reaching the other survivors before it's too late.
 |
| Rick Melton must have been busy. |
First up, please don't be put off by Revolver Entertainment's bloody abysmal, lowest common denominator re-branding/retitling of Rammbock (they must have spent all their cash on the upcoming release of A Serbian Film, it's got a booklet and everything) as Siege of The Dead, with it's photo-shopped publicity still zombie and non appearing helicopter gunships, burning buildings and the slightly important fact that the 'infected' in the movie aren't actually dead because if you do you'll be missing a really effective little movie.
I say little because having a running time of just over 60 minutes, I can't decide whether to class it as director Marvin Kren's debut short feature or his forth (albeit longer) short film.
Saying that tho' he manages to fit more action, scares, giggles and pathos into it's meagre running time than most film's twice it's length.
Or three times it's budget.
Blessed with a fantastic cast and superb pacing, particularly during the film's second half, Kren adds just enough touches of his own to the proceedings to lift it above yer normal running zombie straight to DVD fare and puts most of the UK (and US) undead output to shame.
Plus it has one of the funniest bear suit moments I've ever seen.
 |
| Up the arse from an undead Wendy Richards....every man's dream. |
And whilst Rammbock doesn't re-invent the genre or stray too far from the 'under seige' formula, what it does achieve with it's tiny budget, cast and running time is nothing short of marvellous.
So basically, if you only see one subtitled film distributed by Revolver in the next few months make sure it's this one.
Right, I'd better get back to watching shite and typing laugh now....feeling all funny here.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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!" |
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!" |
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!" |
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!" |
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.
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