warts of the world.

Talking of which...

Porno Holocaust (AKA Insel der Zombies, Orgasmo Nero II 1981)
Dir: Joe D'amato.
Cast: George Eastman, Mark Shannon, Dirce Funari, Annj Goren and Lucia Ramirez.

Women! We must be crazy! You know what they say about women! They bring bad luck.

It's worse than that, Jacques. They're scientists. Can you imagine what kind of monsters they are?

Photoshop holocaust more like.

Warty scrotumed sea fairing sex god Captain O'Day (Mark Shannon) has been hired by the Dominican government to ferry a team of scientists (including mustachioed and man breasted D'Amato regular Eastman) to a remote tropical island that once served as a nuclear test site in the 1950's.

It seems that in the intervening years strange stories have surfaced regarding bizarre mutations that now live on the island and a scientific team led by Dr. Lemoine (Eastman) the physicist behind the original tests has been sent to investigate.

As is the way in porn/horror hybrids, the Lemoine's team consists of three fairly sexy (in a kinda kebab shop queue way), late 70's breasted nympho's and a dispensable old bloke with bad hair (professor Keller - no idea who plays him as he's not listed on the credits...yup his performance is that good).

Anyway, the rest of the group consist of granite faced Annie (Ramirez), who scarily fancies the captain, leathery lesbian Countess Dorcin (Goren) and Simone (Funari), Professor Keller's Sheena Easton alike wife and plaything of the Countess.

Saucy.

What was this film called again?

Before setting off to the island tho' there's just enough time for some nasty shagging.

Annie and O'Day head off into the countryside for some warty fun whilst the Countess pays a pair of local inbreds for an impromptu biology class (and I really do mean local....D'Amato allegedly payed two men he met in the street $25 to have sex with Goren on film).

This turns out to be the films most disturbing scene as the tombstone toothed twosomes attempts to stay aroused are thwarted by the omnipresent camera crew as Goren stares distastefully into the distance obviously annoyed that her career has come to shagging strangers in back alleys.

At this point I suggest a cold shower before continuing.

"Touch my warty scrotum....yesch!"

After all this nasty shagging everyone decides that it'd be a good idea to get to the island and start work (oh and start the films plot running good and proper) but all hope of this is dashed when, once again the kinky Countess and saucy Simone decide it'd be more interesting to have sex than indulge in scientific research.

Interesting to them perhaps but not this viewer unfortunately.

Not wanting to be left out, the Captain and Annie also rush off into the trees to find a secluded spot for a wee game of hide the warty wand, giving us a change to gaze in awe at Shannon's fantastically scary cum face in glorious wide screen.

He's thinking of your mum...

Deciding to make this section of shagging at least a wee bit different to what's gone before Simone, after her luscious lesbo licking session, returns to the boat to offer her boring hubbie a swift hand shandy.

Well would you say no?

After a few minutes in the company of mother fist and her five beautiful daughters and being a cleanliness obsessed kinda guy, Professor Keller wanders off to give himself a good scrub at the waters edge (how romantic).

However just as he's working on those hard to reach stains a freakily deformed, rag wrapped tramp (sorry...zombie) arrives and murders him.

Yay! finally someone died!

Not much you can say to that is there?

Hearing a muffled cry, Simone pops out of her tent (and her nightie) looking for her husband, failing to notice the terrifying tramp coming up from behind (ooeerr) before it's too late.

Forcing the terrified (well, I say terrified but to be honest she looks bored) Simone to her knees the tramp begins to choke her to death with his comedy rubber zombie cock.

"Zombie cock in mah mooth!"

Realizing that no-one has seen or heard anything from Keller or Simone for a couple of hours, Captain Cock-Rot, Lemoine (relax girls, Eastman stays fully clothed) and the Countess (who at this point looks like she's lost the will to live) decide to mount a search party (not literally but with this movie it wouldn't surprise me).

no sooner have they left the relative safety of base camp when they come across (again, not literally) Keller face down in a pool with his penis out and a naked and spunk encrusted (not to mention very dead) Simone.

Our heroic Captain comes to the conclusion that there must be another person on the island with them....either that or a pissed off lobster with a hard on.

Mark Shannon impressed the rest of the cast
by using his largest genital wart as a stool between scenes.

Whilst all this chat is going on (and trust me, it's a relief from all the ugly sex) our zombie pal has decided that the sexy shenanigans have gone on for far too long and has decided to kill off the remaining (but more importantly unattractive) cast members as quickly as possible.

That's Mr. Eastman screwed then.

When he finally catches up with Annie (who stumbles on a twig and bruises her ankle whilst trying to escape poor lamb) he bonks her on the head, binds her hands and carries her off to his lair.

Why? you may ask. It's not like he can choose to be picky about who he shags to death, seeing as he's dressed in rags with a face like a half chewed caramel, so they're must be another reason.

Plot development in a Joe D'Amato movie? Scary or what?

Here come the Belgians!

Leaving her lying against his favourite rock Mr. Zombie wanders off to kill an investigative reporter also on the island ( D'Amato himself) leaving Annie enough time to have a nosy around his groovy bachelor pad and find an old rucksack that will no doubt contain information about the zombie.

A rucksack like the one featured in the movie.

After much searching Annie finally finds the rucksack (it was just behind the bins next to the skull pile) and excitedly empties the contents onto the dusty cave floor.

Amongst the pile of tatty woman's clothes and various baby items Annie discovers a battered old diary with 'this book belongs to Antoine Demadura - do not read' scrawled on the inside cover.

Annie settles down ready to get the gossip.

Eastman: different film, same sweaty manbreasts.

Meanwhile back at the beach, Captain O'Day is slightly upset by the fact that not only has his entire crew been murdered and his squeeze has disappeared but his wee boat has gone missing too.

Stomping about manfully and splitting coconuts he has no alternative but to have sex with the Countess to cheer himself up.

Annie on the other hand hasn't had sex for at least twenty minutes as she's far too busy reading how poor local farmer Demadura, his wife and ickle baby had been accidentally left on the island prior to the nuclear tests.

The death of his wife and child (coupled with the radiation obviously) mutated and regressed the poor fella to a point where only his most basic animal desires survived. Annie has been spared the fate of her colleagues tho' because in a strange quirk of fate only found in movies such as this, she bares an uncanny resemblance to Demadura's dead wife. As if wishing to push this point even further (obviously for those members of the audience who find the lead actress looking at a photo of herself in a different outfit whilst exclaiming "Oooh...I look like his dead wife!" too dificult to understand) Demandura turns up wife his scabby head cleaned, the tufts of hair in his ears combed and clutching a bunch of flowers for Annie.

Awwww....what a sweetie!

Gently kissing his new love goodbye (well more like dribbles on her if I'm honest) he leaves the cave to look for the Countess. Is he going to invite her back to the cave too maybe to explain that the entire killing spree was a misunderstanding?

No, when he finds her Demadura knocks her unconscious and proceeds to shag her to death.

Oh well. It was nice whilst it lasted.

The binmen strike again....

The Captain, by now the only survivor and obviously gagging for 'the sex', reckons it's about time he went to search for Annie. Within a matter of minutes he's found Demadura's cave, untied her hands and dragged her off to the reporters boat for a quick getaway and a good grope.

Headfuck.

Just as our heroes approach the shoreline Demadura pops out of the undergrowth and makes a move toward Annie. O'Day shoots him with his handy speargun, only to see Demadura pluck the projectile from his body and move menacingly towards the captain, his cock swaying in the sea breeze.


Just as he lunges in for the kill Annie (remembering that she's still in the movie) calls out "No, Demadura! No!" whilst looking on in an uninterested manner causing his arm to fall off (no, really).

Howling with pain (or wind) as the memories of his previous life come flooding back to him Demadura collapses onto the golden sands and dies.

Annie and the Captain run hand in hand to the boat, cast off from shore and have a big shag to celebrate.

Joe D'Amato's companion piece to his sexy horror opus, Erotic Nights of the Living Dead, Porno Holocaust is more sex film than shocker, discarding the haunting voodoo menace of that movie for an atomic monster with a huge cock and a thing for colourful head scarves.

With it's uniformly ugly cast and brightly lit, almost clinical scenes of penetration and overgrown 70's bush the true horror comes not from the idea of being shagged to death by a large blue mutant but from the look on the cast members faces as the are forced to go thru the motions, their faces contorted and twisted in horrific fake 'cum faces' just to earn a dollar.

It's enough to put you off sex (especially with zombies) for life and after almost two hours of Mark Shannon's aforementioned genital warts I'd challenge you to ever eat a bramble again.

Those minor niggles aside it does feature the only full screen death by forced zombie blow job I can think of on film so that must count for something I guess.

Like shagging a bin or eating out of a trans gendered dwarf (or is that the other way round?) Porno Holocaust is something you must experience once before you die.

celebrity love island.

Another busy day of work, another repost of a quality Joe D'Amato 'classic' (I'm blaming that Evil Sex Trap nonsense).

You can think what you like tho, I'll admit to having a soft spot for Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi, it was one of those movies that always sat at the back of your 'nasties' cupboard when you were 15 (alongside the Malcolm McDowell masterpiece Caligula and Mad Foxes).

The 80's: That's how we all dressed.

It disappeared from my collection during one of my frequent moves during the late 80's but bizarrely enough a few yearss ago my dear father sent a DVD copy to me as a present (alongside a copy of the Anime series Sex Friend which he'd mistakenly purchased thinking it was called Sex Fiend but I digress) and the poor review has been sitting alone and unloved way back in the 2007 section.
 
So, let's revisit those heady days of Pop Will Eat Itself, Red Stripe in cans, starchy school uniforms and dodgy Marc Almond haircuts.....


Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi (AKA Erotic Nights Of The Living Dead 1980)
Dir: Joe D'Amato
Cast: Laura Gemser, George Eastman, Mark Shannon, Dirce Funari.

The plot (what there is of it) goes thusly.....

A salty Oirish seadog Captain 'amazing' Larry O'Hara (played by the half man half giant sweat gland that is D'Amato regular George Eastman wearing Al Cliver's beard and Auretta Gaye's breasts) takes a big moustached, 'sexy' American businessman/playboy/STD riddled sex tourist Mr. John Wilson (yes, the Man in Haini's Fantasy from Orgasmo Nero himself, Mark Shannon) and his 'girlfriend' Fiona (the fantastically named Dirce Funari from D'Amato's Porno Holocaust) to visit the remote island of Matoul (snigger) where the businessman is planning to build an exclusive holiday resort (presumably for big moustachioed playboys to have sex).

"Are you looking at my bra?"

After Much on deck shagging, drinking, comparing of man breasts and such-like they arrive at the island to be met by a spookily sexy voodoo lady (and I don't mean maybe) Luna (Gemser, ask your mum) and her bony old dad Geoff.

After a bit more sex (involving Gemser but not the old man unluckily) the trio are warned that the island is cursed and bad things (not including 70's style 'sexiness' and herpes) are going to occur if they don't scarper sharpish.

You see, this is an island of the dead and they don't take kindly to property developers disturbing their sleep (either by building or having sex a lot).

"Excuse me I appear to have accidentally stuck my cock in you".

After a bit (well a lot) more sex (this time involving Eastman and Funari then Gemser and Funari, bloody hell she should be knackered!), some character driven tension and a nice use of a fog machine and blue lenses the dead do indeed rise from the grave....intent on ridding the island of these kinky interlopers....

Phwoooaaarrr!!!

It's then that the movie goes a wee bit strange (which seeing as it earlier had a woman opening bottle of Champagne with her fanny is saying something)....Gemser turns into a cat (or a child's cuddly toy I can't really tell) and back again before biting Mark Shannon's cock off (well he really shouldn't leave it dangling about like that).

Eastman meanwhile runs into the water (giving us a chance to see his huge hairy nipples rubbing against his wet vest) screaming then runs out again and Funari sobs a lot.

After a while the zombies (all wearing huge nappies) kill them.

The end.

"Big Issue mate?"

Like his other genre buggering crossover gem Porno Holocaust (the two films were shot in the same Dominican Republic locations with only minor variations in cast and crew due to Tetanus jabs being required), it's difficult to see who D'Amato was aiming this film at (present company excepted).

The usual porn brigade are no doubt going to be put off by the scenes of undead induced violence whilst your everyday horror fan is probably not going to want to see Mark Shannon's wart-infested scrotum, taking it's place centre stage and in widescreen glory.

Possibly.

Is this a rare an example of the unsung genius that is D'Amato sneakily toying with the porn crowds enjoyment?

Probably not but it would be nice to think so.

"What's for tea?" "Fish fingers!"

Yet, despite all the crap shags, woeful performances and the aforementioned sight of Eastman's girlfriend opening a bottle of Champagne with her vagina, the Matoul scenes are steeped with a genuinely nightmarish atmosphere thanks to D'Amato's moody, if sometimes zoomtastic, cinematography.

Marcello Giombini's eerie score is suitably, um, eerie and the 'exotic' Laura Gemser is always worth a mention.

If not a quick hand shandy every now and then, especially if you're watching her fitness video.

Or so my dad says.

There is even the odd spooky scene along the way, as when Shannon, sceptical of the zombie curse, throws away a protective talisman only to see it transform into a cat as it hits the sand.

Pity this can't be said about the later scenes of zombies dropping from trees tho....

"Warty cock in mah exotic mooth!"

For all it's faults and uncomfortable moments of ugly warts, sagging arses and lopsided breasts (stand up and be counted Ms. Funari) Le Notti Erotiche Dei Mort Viventi comes across (quite literally) as the bastard, inbred offspring of Fulci's Zombi 2 and Jess Franco's Nightmares Come at Midnight with a wee bit of Ferdinando Di Leo's Klaus Kinski starrer Asylum Erotica thrown in - or up - for good measure obviously, I mean if you're going to steal steal from the best.

Plus it's slightly funnier than D'Amato's Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (and with less arse obsessed subplots) and a damn sight more erotically charged than Sophie's Choice.

And that isn't really such a bad thing if you think about it.

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.

a load of old sarse.

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

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

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

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

And after viewing the movies in question?

All I can say is God bless you sir!

SARS/SARS: The Dead Plague (2009)

Dir: J. R. Thomas.

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

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

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

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

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

Sad bastard.

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

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

And the result of all this biting?

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

Yes, the make-up is this shit.

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

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

As the DVD sleeve says:

Embrace the madness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is there no God?

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

Or was it this Thomas?

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

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

Thank you and good day.




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

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.

"Hello? French polishers? You might just be able to save my life..."

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.

"Oh no! Here come the Bin men!"

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.

"Shiiiiiiimmmmooooooooo!"

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.

"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.

snatch of the day.

Il Bosco 1 (AKA Evil Clutch. 1989).
Dir: Andreas Marfori.
Cast: The yumsome Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni, Diego Ribon, Luciano Crovato, Elena Cantarone and Stefano Molinari.

The nightmare that grabs you where you least expect it...Ipswich (possibly).

somewhere in a field in Europe (it's a small place) young master Terry Soontodie (what looks like a junked up Mark Hamill) is walking home from his job at Kwik Fit (he's still in his overalls bless).

Hearing a noise from the local church Terry decides to investigate and is surprised to find a young(er) Maureen Lipman sitting open legged next to a fountain.

Meow.

Being a hot blooded male (and obviously a fan of those old BT ads) Terry does what we'd all do and dives in for a wee bit of the sex.

And all this within the first seven minutes.

Blimey.

Unfortunately (for him and us) at the moment of climax young(ish) Maureen transforms into a pale faced, pointy toothed pikey and slaughters poor Terry.

Ouch.

Meanwhile back at the plot good and proper where pube haired Italian stud muffin Tony (Ribon best known for his performance as Bartolotto in De Gasperi, l'uomo della speranza) and his incredibly sexy (in a kinda eighties way) girlfriend Cindy (the second hottest actress in Italian cinema Coralina Tassoni) are enjoying a romantic city break in Venice, or they would be if they both didn't have an unnatural fear of water.

And Cornetto's.

Reckoning a wee change of scenery might just save the holiday from disaster the couple decide to pack up their stuff and go camping in the Alps instead but as is always the way with these things (holidays and Italian horror movies) the lovers leisurely drive into the mountains is rudely interrupted by the appearance of a frighteningly harsh faced woman named Arva (Year of The Gun's Cantarone) running along the roadside.

Cataldi-Tassoni: truly scrumptious.

Being a gentleman (well, smooth creep) Tony pulls over to offer assistance (and an excuse to pose with his hairy arm out of the window) to Arva, who claims she was almost bummed by a bin man in a nearby cemetery.

Feeling all manly Tony offers to check out the graveyard but can find no sign of any bin men or signs of bumming, tho' the place does give him a distinctly strange sensation in his pants.

Trying not to think about it too much Tony heads back to the car and offers to drop Arva off at the nearest (bin free) village, the mysteriously named Spent, a quiet local place know for it's luxurious bowling greens, traditional ice cream shop and friendly neighbourhood nutter; the amusingly monikered Algernoon (House of Pleasure for Women's Crovato) a retired, cancer riddled horror writer with a really high pitched electronic voice box.

Obviously the wooden handed dwarf leper was busy that day.

Clad only in a soiled raincoat and Panzer commander goggles, Algernoon spends his days riding around the town on a moped scaring the children.

And Arva by the looks of things seeing as soon as she sets sight on him she visibly shites herself and legs it into the bushes.

"Is it in yet?"

For some inexplicable reason best known to the script writers, Tony and Cindy decide it'd be really cool to hang out with him during their stay in the village and Algernoon, happy to finally have some company other than his pubic lice gives the lovers his fairly famous (and patented) guided tour of the town cum spooky ghost walk.

Kinda like a cut rate Derek Acorah crossed with a market stall speaking clock.

But less piss and shame stained obviously.

You see according to legend the outlying woods are said to be haunted by a scary sex demon who threatens to shag to death anyone foolish enough to venture outside the relative safety of the town.

Which is nice.

Derek Acorah after offering to be my 'custard cousin' not long after seducing recently widowed grandmother who'd seen his show at the SECC  Glasgow.

Understandably freaked out by such a terrifying tale (but more likely by Algernoon's voice) our delectable duo make their farewells and leave, hoping to save at least a smidgen of the romantic holiday they've waited all year for.

Driving out of town the pair notice how inviting the aforementioned woods look and soon pull over, quickly unloading their tent and stuff before heading into the trees to search for the local camp site.

But guess who's waiting for them at the picnic bench?

"Laugh now!"

Yup it's Algernoon, standing around in his pants and muttering something about dead sheep and filthy anuses.

At least I think that's what he was saying.

Cindy seems to be taking less notice of him than me tho' because no sooner has the mouldy mentalist opened his mouth than Cindy starts to angrily shout at him to sod right off and leave them alone, which he politely does leaving the pair to trot off into the undergrowth.

After wandering aimlessly for what seems like hours the couple then bump into Arva again (are she and Algernoon the only people that live in the town? Answers on a postcard please) but luckily tho' this time there are no randy rubbish collectors in sight.

Which is a blessing frankly.

Anyway, as a thank you for helping her out earlier that day Arva offers to show Tony and Cindy an abandoned church nearby that'd be a perfect pplace to spend the night.

Uh oh...sounds familiar.

After dumping their load on the steps and unrolling the extra large sleeping bag (specially made for Tony's ego), Cindy decides to step outside and watch the sunset to get herself in a romantic frame of mind in preparation for the damn good rogering she's expecting later.

Arva tho' has other idea's, hinting to Tony that she quite fancies snorting cocaine from between Cindy's butticks whilst Tony does them both.

Up the arse obviously.

"Where's me washboard?"

Tony, being a red blooded Italian male is more than up for a wee bit of group sex but he knows that Cindy may take a little convincing.

Especially when she discovers that Arva is, in fact, the infamous sex demon mentioned earlier.

An infamous sex demon with a hairy, three-fingered claw growing out of her vagina.

And a zombie helper out for blood...

"Shite in mah mooth!"

From the international man of mystery that is Andreas Marfori, the genius who would later think the unthinkable and team Traci Lords, Denise Crosby and the former Mr. Olympia winner Franco Columbo in the erotic thriller Il ritmo del silenzio comes this blatant plundering (OK, I'll be kind, loving homage) to Sam Raimi's classic The Evil Dead that manages to be not only cheaper than the original but also a lot less sexy.

Which is fairly difficult for a film with a horny succubus for a villain.

All the hallmarks of Raimi's movie; from a deserted house to a barrage of off-kilter 'shakycam' shots are present and correct, all that's missing is a halfway decent plot and any noticeable talent from anyone involved.

Even the usually fantastic Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni looks bored as she's made to wander around the directors garden in clothes that would make Cyndi Lauper puke.

There should really be a law against that.

Meow.

The most unforgivable crime the film commits tho' is the serious lack of potential victims on screen, meaning that Marfori has to pad out the majority of the movie's scant running time with endless scenes of people wandering around aimlessly looking for something interesting to do.

Luckily the film ups it's pace (and gore content) in the last thirty minutes with a mix of exploding heads, deadly fanny based shenanigans and in one particularly memorable scene has dear Coralina being chased by a zombie wielding a fishing rod.

Which must count for something.

Mustn't it?