nip pinch and side shed.

Dr. Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks (AKA Frankenstein's Castle, Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks, Monsters of Frankenstein, Terror Castle, The House of Freaks, 1974)
Dir: Dick Randall.
Cast: Rossano Brazzi, Loren Ewing, Edmund Purdom, Simonetta Vitelli and her playful puppies, Christiane Rucker, Eric Mann, Luciano Pigozzi, Michael Dunn and Mr. Boris Lugosi as Ook.

Terror stalks the castle when the secret of life falls into the wrong hands.

Somewhere in deepest, darkest Europe a bunch of inbred local yokel types in designer footwear and tracksuits (we call them Neds) have decided, with it being a Sunday and all, to spend the afternoon stoning a topless, manbreasted Neanderthal (Ewing from Venus in Furs) to death.

No reason is given for this frankly loutish behaviour other that they must be a wee bit bored.

Fair enough then.

Luckily for our hapless brute, who should come a-riding past but the one and only Count Steve Frankenstein (Brazzi from such classics as South Pacific and The Italian Job obviously getting stung by his ex wife for a new swimming pool) who has other plans for the big man.

Yup you guessed it, the 'mad' scientist reckons this towering titan would make a great starting point for his latest experiment.

An experiment into the world of urban dance beats.


Probably.

"Mary Doll! whit's fae dinnah?"

However nothing ever goes smoothly for our favourite nutty professor as while he's performing (very complicated) surgery to transform his new plaything from a big beast into a fairly passable - and typical Glaswegian (complete with 'heid' bandage) who should turn up out of the blue but his sensible shoed yet large of breasted daughter Mary (Vitelli, ask your granddad), her hunky fiancé Eric (Mann the director of Manhunter and The Keep, possibly) and their dirty blonde and dirty pillowed anthropologist 'friend', Krista (Rucker best know by teevee fans for her long running role in Kottan Ermittelt) all intent on enjoying a holiday at Mary's old man's pad.


And his expense obviously.

"Now why don't you and your
little friend get wet n' naked before dinner?"

Playing the good host, Frankenstein wines and dines his guests, regaling them with funny science stories whilst secretly sending out his freakish posse (including Genz the necrophiliac porn dwarf fantastically played by Dunn) to steal more corpses for his experiment to recreate the entire rosta of BBC Scotlands' early 90's comedy talent.


Well he already appears to have Rab C Nesbitt.

"Whit?"

During one such midnight foray, the dim witted Hans (Yor's Pigozzi) forgets to clean away Genz' tiny footprints and, rather than admit his mistake, puts the blame on the little fella, causing the Count to banish him from his castle (of Freaks) without even having his supper first.



The size-ist bastard.


Genz, understandably annoyed by this (well, it was kippers on the menu) swears the wrath of the little people on the Count and begins to plot his revenge, luckily bumping into yet another Neanderthal named Ook (Lugosi AKA The Beast in Heat himself, Sal Boris ) who just happens to be prowling the woods for tottie.

Or at the very least for a pretty mooth to shite in.

"It's awight wee Jimmy, ah
checked the beanstalk".

Whilst all this is going on, Krista and Mary have discovered a soothing hot spring in the caves below the castle and have decided the best thing to do would be to get naked and go frolic in a sexy manner at any opportunity.

Obviously this adds nothing to the plot but it does mean you get quality dialogue like:

"This dress was designed to get out of quickly!"

and scenes like this:

and this:

Which is nice.

Anyway, back to the plot; Genz sneaks back into the castle (disguised as a small doll or a gnome no doubt) and frees a very angry Goliath (he looked in the mirror and was disappointed that he wasn't made to look like Wee Burnie) who then proceeds to smash the castle up and chase everyone whilst going "Gggrrraaaaahhhh" a lot.

Ook, meanwhile is slowly wandering through the dark tunnels below the castle looking for a quick shag and almost immediately comes across a naked, glistening (and very bouncy) Krista preparing for a soak.

Ook's leering grin, straining groin and outstretched hands say it all.....


Tissues ahoy!


Just as things couldn't get any worse the locals are still bored and have decided to organise another dads n' lads stoning and have decided that Frankenstein should be next on the list.

Wandering about the forest they soon come across Goliath (even tho' he looks completely different with his head bandaged) and give chase, following him into the caves where he hides behind a rock pretending to be a cat.

Surprisingly this ploy seems to work and Goliath is about to escape scott free (no idea what that means if I'm honest) when our brutish buddy spies poor Krista, covered in egg, sweat and semen (and on whom he has a wee bit of a schoolboy crush), being manhandled and arse whacked by the drooling Ook.

How can this horror end?

Rucker: bacony passage.

From the legendary director/producer/dwarf fetishist Dick Randall (the man who brought us Weng Weng's For Y'ur Height Only, Supersonic Man and Don't Open Till Christmas amongst other classics), Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks' appears to be the bizarre lovechild of the no-budget, lo-fi drive-in movies of the mid 60's and the studio bound Euro-exploitationers of the the early 70's, lurching as it does between Hammeresque horror and bouncy boob fun.

This schizophrenic approach coupled with a general sense of unevenness and a totally threadbare plot is made even more enjoyable when the action and horror is repeatedly hijacked by scenes of Christiane Rucker's ample arse and Simonetta Vitelli's glorious breasts.

"Laugh now!"

Quite rightly most of the rude stuff is instigated by the movies true star, the pixie like perv that is Michael Dunn. Whether he's pinching a dead woman's nipples or giving Ook a quick lesson in seduction using a kidnapped farm girl as an unwilling volunteer, Dunn's portrayal of the pube bearded, hunchbacked mini-molester is a riot of over the top twitches, snarls coupled with an overpowering sense of sexual deviancy.

It's like a pocket sized John Leslie is running around in your living room wearing your dad's pants.

Plus he has that wibbly wobbly run that's so endearing.

Frankly fantastic Friday night film fodder, plus as an added incentive to trawl thru' the bargain bins is that the UK DVD release on Something Weird Video is double boxed with the Victor Buono classic The Mad Butcher (AKA Meat is Meat).

And usually for under a tenner!

fish fang grrrrrrr!

What can I say?

The box art looked exciting plus it's from some of the folk that made Sharktopus so sue me.

And at least there'll be no footage of 14 year old abducted girls getting violated in this one.

Which is a shame really.

Dinoshark (2010).
Dir: Kevin O'Neill (not the one that drew Nemesis The Warlock).
Cast: Eric Balfour, Iva Hasperger (me too), Aarón Díaz, Dan Golden, Christina Nicole, Humberto Busto and Lord Roger of Corman.

"Welcome to the Endangered Species list, bastard!"

Our story begins off the coast of Alaska (or at the very least a lovely painting of it), where solo yachtsman Sevrin Seas (as himself) has managed to bump his boat into a particularly sharp bit of CGI iceberg.

Deciding to dive into the icy waters to check the hull for scratches it's not long before our salty pal is being stalked by something in the deep blue sea.

And no, it's not called 'Josh'.

Suddenly and without warning (apart from a whooshing sound) poor Mr. Seas (and his handy GPS) is swallowed whole by what looks like a huge, grey computer generated turd with fins.

And  a bad case of all over genital warts.

"Shark in mah mooth!"

Meanwhile in Mexico (just across the street from where they shot Sharktopus) the horse-faced and bullet nippled everyman Trace McGraw (Balfour from 24 and the Texas Chainsaw remake) having recently returned home from sailor school, as decided to put his training to work by running a tourist cruise throughout the holiday season in a kinda Carry on Cruising way.

Sun, sand, sexy senoritas and various STD's beckon.


Well it would be if the harbour patrol would let him live on his boat.

A sexy senorita (sans AIDS) yesterday.

Heading to his pal Jeremy's pub, The Salty Seaman, to drown his sorrows, a long (well longer than usual) faced Trace soon gets chatting the blonde bombshell, scientist and girls water polo coach, Carol Brubaker (Hasperger from the Billy Zane classic Vlad) who just happens to be a buddy of his bestest pal Rita (the mightily moustached and spud faced Nicole).

After a few drinks and a wee bit of character development, Rita makes her farewells and heads off to the beach for a swim leaving Trace and Carol to stare at each other giggling whilst trying to figure out who has the bigger chin.

Adrien Brody: the mooth shite-in years.

Making her excuses to leave (and no she doesn't just say "I have my women's period" and walk away) our brainy beauty heads of to meet hotelier and part-time dirty perv Mike (Bad Girls from Mars star Golden) who talks her into having her huge thighed female volleyball team hold an exhibition game in a canal that leads to open sea.

For no other reason it seems than to make for an exciting climax.

Whilst all this chat is highly commendable (and unusual) for this kind of movie, what we really want is gratuitous scenes of Frank Dinoshark chowing down on some olive skinned beauty.

Well we get half of our wish granted when poor Rita becomes the main course in our prehistoric chums Latino lunch.

Entrails on mah beach!

Worried (kinda) by their friends non appearance at dinner time, Trace and co. head out to look for her, finding instead our titanic toothed terror chomping away on a couple of non speaking extras dressed as rejects from Baywatch Nights.

What the fuck is this giant scaly beast? enquires Trent with the worried look of a slightly constipated beagle.

Luckily for us (and the plot) as well as everything else, Carol is an expert on badly rendered prehistoric shark type things and heads over to see her old friend, eminent marine biologist Dr. Frank Reeves (Corman himself looking as sexy as ever) to see if he has any idea how to make it die.

Call me stupid but it doesn't matter how old and grizzled it is cos at the end of the day it's only a big fish?

Why would she need to ask how to kill it?

I mean it's not like it's lead lined or made of gold.....surely bullets, bombs or a big net would do?

"Come my children...suck the movie milk from my man tits!"

Anyway, Trace and Carol decide it'd be wise to hunt down and kill poor Dinoshark before he has a chance to eat any more of the admittedly small number of tourists there for the resorts annual bring and buy sale.

So will our dynamic chinned duo manage to kill this titan of terror before the budget runs out?

Or will the swim team get eaten whole?

Well, what do you think?

"Laugh noooooooooo!"

Another day, another big shark and another SyFy original movie produced by Sir Roger of Corman on a break from counting his money, directed by the man that gave you Dinocroc (and did the effects on the Feast trilogy) and starring the pretty one from the TCM remake.

What's not to love?

Apart from the acting, visual effects and shoddy production values obviously.

Filmed in exactly the same locations - and with exactly the same script - as Sharktopus you kinda know what you're getting yourself into even before you've slapped a fiver down for this beauty in your local Morrisons and if you don't then it's no ones fault but your own.

And frankly you should be ashamed of yourself.

Rum, sodomy and the lash.

I mean come on, you know the CGI beast is going to look like a slightly spastic childs bath toy, that the performances will be pitch at comatose level and that the lead actress has been hired on breast size rather than talent but who the hell cares cos sometimes after a hard days toil you just want to see busty babes and comedy shirted men get eaten by monsters.

Admit it, you know it's true.

It's just a pity that Eric Roberts was busy.

storm in a teacup.

Been asked to review this terrifyingly realistic action flick for the dear Mr. Nick Frame but because his site is very grown-up and actually read by more than six people I've been asked to tone down the mooth shite-ing and laugh now's.

Gonna be a fucking short piece then.

Meteor Storm (2010).
Dir: Tibor Takács.
Cast: Michael Trucco, Kari Matchett, Kirsten Prout, Brett Dier and Emily Holmes. There are obviously a few more folk but I really can't be bothered listing them. What do you think this is? Halliwell's?

Sexy science type Dr. Michelle Lynman (pointy visaged Matchettan of Cube 2 fame) is getting fairly excited about a big meteor shower - sorry, storm -  that's due to light up the skies over San Francisco (expertly played by a bit of Canada), you see she's an expert on space rocks and stuff which may be useful later.

Like all good disaster movie heroines Michelle has a fraught home life, her two 'teenage' kids are visibly the same age as her whilst her husband Tom, a hunk-tastic Harley riding retired air force colonel and current head honcho of San Francisco's Disaster Management Agency (lucky that) is just about to finalise their divorce.

Poor lamb.

"Nope, no mooth shite-ing to see here!"

Anyway, enough clichéd background filler as we're here to see San Fransisco burn and burn it does as the aforementioned pretty lightshow turns into a full scale bombardment throwing large clumps of CGI building and all manner of toy cars heavenward as the poor lowly paid extras scream and point a lot whilst running for cover.

Confused as to why everything is exploding and angry at the fact that Tom didn't pick up the kids as promised (tho' I've no idea where he'd put them...in his saddlebags perhaps?) Michelle heads back to the observatory to run some tests or something as scientists are the want to do in these situations.

Probably.

Meanwhile her two annoying teens, Kara and Jason (the moon faced Prout and granite chinned Dier) are trapped on the river front as dozens of steaming computer generated turds rain down on them with one even hitting Kara's secret boyfriend in the arse leading to an exciting subplot involving them trying to get a comfy seat to sit on whilst they attempt to get him to hospital.

"I really don't think you should laugh right now".

Michelle is quickly grabbed by the military (which isn't as painful as it sounds) to try and come up with a reason for the bombardment whilst Tom is tailed by two fame hungry news reporters desperate to get the story of the century.

And if that wasn't enough to keep you glued to the settee in a way usually reserved for damp wank tissues there's also Michelle's sister nurse Laura (teevee stalwart, Mrs. Tom Cruise and fictional literary detective Holmes) who's decided to wetly drive around the city helping passers by find comfy chairs to sit in.

Marked for death anyone?

"How'm I gonna explain that to my nan?"

Working out some complex equations and 'hm-ing' a lot, Michelle figures that San Fransisco is now safe and that Denver (fantastically portrayed by Google Maps) is next in line for a computerised kicking.

So imagine her surprise (and the directors relief at not having to find any new locations) when at the designated meteor strike time even more rocks start falling on San Fransisco bay.

Almost as if the city was somehow being targeted.

Scary biscuits.

With time (and budget) running out and even larger bits of brick fast approaching it's up to Michelle to save the city and stop the army blowing shit up whilst Tom rides around aimlessly looking for the kids inbetween shouting at various folk to clear the city whilst standing against various green-screen shots of model buildings.

Will Michelle save the city and maybe the world in time?

Will auntie Laura survive or fall off a collapsing Golden Gate Bridge to sombre soundtrack music?

And will Tom save the kids before saving his marriage?

Well what do you think?

Font.

When he burst onto our screens back in 1978 with the almost Lynchian metaphysical music masterpiece Metal Messiah,  Tibor Takács became the darling of the lo-fi indie scene in his adoptive home of Canada (yes you can), his career taking in the lost classic I Madman before hitting the big time with the fantastic The Gate, launching the career of professional sexy man Stephen Dorff along the way.

So who the fuck did he piss off in Hollywood to end up making stuff like Ice Spiders, Mosquito Man and Mega-Snake for sweetie money on the SciFi channel?

Saying that tho' if his IMDB profile is anything to go by it's not affected his earnings that much seeing as he's obviously bought a huge pie shop.

"Don't worry, we'll CGI the phone in later".

Anyway, back to the 'film' (I know but I have to), it might be cliché ridden crap with an effects budget that doesn't even stretch to giving Kari Matchett a properly fitting bra, dialogue that a twelve year old would baulk at writing and acting so wooden I actually got splinters in my eyes but, just like that Gin sodden, overweight,  short skirted girl at the bar you always take home when you're feeling lonely it's a painless and fairly enjoyable to spend an hour and a half.

And is considerably less shameful.

Especially if you take a drink everytime something totally expected happens.

Tho' keep away from spirits as you'll probably die within the first fifteen minutes.

Which when you think about it is exactly what it's like when you take that girl home.

Hopefully his next movie, the Christa Campbell starrer Spiders 3-D will deliver more of the same.

reckless eric.

Sharktopus (2010).
Dir: Declan O’Brien.
Cast: Sir Eric Roberts, Sara Malakul Lane, Kerem Bursin, Liv Boughn, Héctor Jiménez, Blake Lindsey, Ralph Garman and 'Hand' Shandi Finnessey.

"Ladies and gentlemen there's a killer shark-octopus hybrid headed this way. So please leave in a timely fashion". 

Eminent genetic scientist and professional sexy man Nathan Rand (the living legend that is Eric Roberts) alongside his geekily librarian-like bespectacled daughter Nicole (Phraw Rak Kkhrap Phom's Lane) have been busying themselves creating a brand new bio-weapon for use by the U.S. Navy.

As one does.

The culmination of this work, codenamed: S11, is a terrifying mix of shark and octopus (oh and a wee bit of porcupine if the spikes are anything to go by but obviously sharktopineporkopus didn't fit on the box) controlled from dry land via a huge pair of snazzy earphones screwed into it's skull.

And it's ready for testing.

The lights are on...

 Obviously as is the way with these things, on it's first trip out it accidentally bumps into a speedboat snapping one of the leads and re-tuning it's command frequency to Jazz FM causing the poor sod to go crazy bat (shark?) shit mental and start swimming to Mexico.

Who saw that coming?

Imagine the shite it would take to fill that.

The Navy, led by the amusingly monikered Commander Cox are understandably furious (even tho' it was him that pointed poor sharktopus in the direction of the boat in the first place) and demand that Rand returns sharktopus to them within the next 48 hours, leaving the sexy scientist no choice but to grab the largest bottle of scotch the budget will allow, get pissed and head down to Mexico himself alongside a couple of folk in ill fitting shirts and his daughter.

Is it just me who thinks he's not really taking the situation seriously enough?

Meanwhile sharktopus is getting a wee bit peckish from all this swimming lark, so you can imagine how delighted he is (well as delighted as a computer graphic from around 1984 can be) to find the coastline littered with hundreds of plastic breasted, anorexic wannabe actresses not too ashamed to thrust their bony crotches camera-ward and a variety of middle aged, balding has been and ne'erwere hunks all decked out in Matalan Hawaiian shorts.

He surely is a lucky shark (topus).

"It'll eat me whole!" "don't worry it'll spit that bit out!"

Arriving in Mexico around the same time as a number of sea-based killings are occurring, Rand begrudgingly contacts the slick 'n' sexy Andy Flynn (Bursin, best know for his role of Grauss in the hit indie short Thursday and for keeping your mums bed warm after bingo),  a comedy hat wearing, lecherous former shark hunter cum soldier of fortune who also happens to be an ex-employee of Rand who was sacked for lighting his own farts in staff meetings.

It seems the drunken, shiny manbreasted arse is the only hope we have of catching the sharktopus before it's too late.

Frankly I think we're screwed.

"Look at the dog!"

Not too surprisingly, Rand and his erstwhile buddies aren't the only ones in pursuit of the beast, also hot on its tentacles are fright-chinned news reporter Stacy Everheart (Boughn from the upcoming Dinoshark), her cameraman Bones (Jiménez, best known for dancing on Yo Gabba Gabba) and a drunken, womanising fisherman who's seen the creature first hand.

And if that wasn't enough characters to fill such a threadbare plot there's also the pot-bellied local pirate radio DJ Captain Jack (Garman from Family Guy), who alongside his scarily Stepford-like assistant Stephie (former hostess for "The Firm Express" workout system infomercials and Miss Missouri USA 2004 winner Finnessey) who could give sharktopus a run for it's money on the scary teeth stakes if I'm honest.

"Put it in me!"

 Now that all the pesky character and motivation stuff is done and dusted we can sit back and enjoy  ninety odd minutes of titanium tittied, bikini babes and iron balled boys being eaten by the titular monster as they innocently sunbathe, search beaches for Roman coins and bungee jump as our heroes argue, look quizzically at laptop screens, shoot stuff and in Eric's case get more and more pissed on duty free gin as you try to forget your once Oscar nominated career.

"Rrrrrrraaaaannnngggeeeerrrrsssss!"

And for the ladies viewing?

The film even has a heartfelt (and incredibly realistic) burgeoning romance between Nicole and Flynn as they bicker, fight and steal lustful gazes at each other before eventually falling in love and gazing out over a CGI sunset just in time for the end credits.

Awe.

He can see you naked.

From the man behind Wrong Turn 3, Rock Monster and Learn The Game: The Big Football Game comes quite possibly the greatest hybrid shark/octopus movie starring the one-time Master from Doctor Who ever made.


Showing Jaws, Cloverfield and Jurassic Park how it should be done, fear-Meister O’Brien has crafted a tension filled, thrill a minute beast of a movie with performances so real and effects so perfect that you will honestly believe sharktopus exists.

No, really.

With a script that holds such gems as "The sharktopus is armed and dangerous!” and a lead in Kerem Bursin to rival Mark Hamill in the charisma stakes, Sharktopus is as near as cinema gets to perfection.

If you only purchase one shark/octopus hybrid movie this year make it this one.

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.

double trouble.

Shite movie, vaguely amusing backstory.

Prepare yourself dear reader for the truth behind... 

Dracula vs. Frankenstein (1971).
Dir: Al Adamson.
Cast: Anthony Eisley, Regina Carrol, Russ Tamblyn, Jim Davis, Angelo Rossitto, Greydon Clark, Anne Morrell, Forrest J Ackerman, John Bloom, Lon Chaney, Jnr, J. Carrol Naish and Zandor Vorkov.

“She used to have fantasies about being a freak…
Two heads, an eye missing, elongated spine.
Anything that was grotesque turned her on.”

Somewhere in California - the Oakmoor Cemetery to be precise - world famous lord of the undead Count Dracula (disguised by the look of things as an almost AIDS thin pedo with pubes for hair and played to almost cardboard perfection by 'Zandor Vorkov' AKA Roger Engel) is busy unearthing the remains of Doctor Frankenstein's monster.

What? You mean to tell me you skipped the part of the book where the creatures remains are secreted to the US to be experimented on?

Surprised to see a black satin clad sex offender digging around in the middle of the night the cemeteries lone security guard (the directors dad) comes to investigate, getting his neck nibbled for his trouble.

Pay attention at this part, as it's the only vaguely vampiric thing Dracula will partake in during the whole movie.

Meanwhile under Brighton pier a fairly foxy girl is nervously feeling her way thru' a fog of what can only be cigarette smoke before being suddenly - and unconvincingly -  attacked by an axe-wielding, alcoholic Lon Chaney, Jr.(who distressingly looks close to death).

The axe cuts short her scream.

And cuts off her head.

We cut too but fear not, for it's only a cinematic phrase meaning the action (well, I say action) is moving to somewhere else.

And that somewhere else is glorious Las Vegas, where glamorous grannie Judith Fontain (director Adamson's wife, the late Carrol, star of Satan's Sadists and official pin-up girl of raunchy rockers The Sleepfarmers) is performing her groovy nite-club act to a packed audience via the wonders of stock footage (well, takes up a couple of minutes running time) before retiring to her dressing room to let the air out of her breasts and check her fan mail.

Alongside the final demands, STD test results and court summonses is a letter from one Sergeant Martin Martin (Dallas star Davis) of the Californian Police Missings Persons Bureau (yup, that's the name on the envelope), informing Judith that her wee sister Jodie has gone missing.

Dracula, up the casino, 1973.....Yesch!

Judith, being a concerned sister and desperate to get the plot moving rushes to California (I'm assuming it's just down the road) in order to help with the police investigation much to the chagrin of the permanently scowling Sgt. Martin.

"Hey lady, the world is a dark place," Martin informs her as he switches off his desk lamp in order to batter the point home "If you have any wool I suggest you get knitting!" he suggests usefully before heading off to beat up some students.

Left to her own devices, our heroine wanders innocently into the dangerous hippie neighbourhood where her sister was last seen.

Entering the famous Hippie Hilton (500 McLaughlin Dr. Santa Cruz, CA 95064-1084, families welcome) Judith tries to ingratiate herself into the whole hippie thing by asking for a coffee whilst showing pictures of her sis to all and sundry but this only succeeds in getting poor Judith mistaken for a cop, leaving the owner no alternative but to spike her drink with LSD.

Cue much hair tugging, indiscriminate crash zooms and Judith writhing on a platform whilst wearing a white fishnet body stocking to a frantic bongo beat.

Far out.

Luckily she's rescued by nice guy hipster Clive Strange (hard working Clark, best known - to me anyway - for Without Warning) and his mousey girlfriend Samantha (Morrell, you may remember her as the floating harem girl in John Goldfarb, Please Come Home! or maybe not).

Lon Fancies a wee mooth shite-in....are you man enough for the challenge?

Meanwhile at the local chamber of horrors conveniently located on the end of the pier next to the bingo hall, the wheelchair-bound scientist and former member of NWA Dr. Drea (Naish, desperate to pay his medical bills) is busy attempting to perfect a special formula that will enable mankind to live forever and have perfectly coiffured  hair even after a heavy night out.

Unfortunately he can only make this formula by beheading people then bringing them back to life before finally lobotomising them.

Aided by urine stained imbecile Groton (that'll be Lon then, poor sod) and professional little person Grazbo (Rossitto famous for everything from Freaks to Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome via Galaxina), who've been promised physical and mental superiority once the formula is perfected, this dynamic duo find suitable candidates for experimentation via Grazbo's job at the box office, leaving Groton to chop them up.

"Laugh now!"

After one particularly heavy night of lobotomy-based fun, Dr. Drea is surprised when a strange man steps out of the shadows and demands to talk to him.

Examining the strangers ring, Drea identifies the visitor as Count Dracula, and Dracula not to be outdone, identifies Drea as the last of the Frankenstein family.

With Drea realising that his Colonel Sanders disguise is fooling no-one and Drac just relieved that he's finally met someone who doesn't piss themselves laughing whilst looking at him they pair settle down for an excruciatingly bad chat that although meant to fill in an important bit of back story just careers off on bizarre tangents.

None of this is helped by the fact that Dracula appears to have been dubbed by someone standing in a well.

"Ahm sorry hen....ave pished mahsel again!"

Anyway, from what I can gather (after rewatching the movie a few times) is that  Drea was adopted (which is why he's not known as Frankenstein and more importantly why he's considerably less hip than other Def Jam stalwarts) and that his work in monster construction was discredited by three evil doctors, one of which caused the accident that crippled him.

This man whom we shall call simply Dr. Beaumont (because that's his name) added insult to injury by stealing the Frankenstein monster and burying it in the graveyard from the films opening.

Luckily for all concerned the infamous Zornov Comet is rapidly approaching the Earth, heralding the beginning of the monster's second life cycle.

Look I'm just typing what was said.

Meanwhile junked up Judith suddenly wakes up in the bed of aged hippie Mike Howard (Eisely from Knots Landing), a local middle-aged guy who looks after the disenfranchised yoof in the area whilst dressed like a teenage rent boy.

Nope, nothing sinister about that at all.

Taking a shine to Judith (he's obviously bored with failing to score at the school gates so he's decided on someone nearer his own - old - age) the pair begin to discuss Jodie's disappearance, eventually coming to the conclusion that, being disabled Dr. Drea is behind it.

Cue hours of wandering around aimlessly back and forth to the house of horrors exhibit intercut with dozens of unnecessary appearances  by a chubby, shite bearded Russ Tamblyn playing an evil rapist biker named Rico.

Truly the man has no shame.

Or a fucking huge rehab bill.

Heath Ledger farted....and it was an eggy one.

Skipping forward a few chapters (look I'm only human) and finally Judith and Mike (after admitting their love for each other and having a wee kiss and cuddle) have decided to take one last look at Drea's horror show.

Only to make it more interesting they've turned up in the middle of the night.

Wandering around in the 'dark', they pair of wannabe investigators completely fail to see or hear Rico and his pals trying to rape Samantha and also miss Groton's subsequent slaughter of the bad boy bikers but, and give credit where it's due, Mike does manage to hear Groton quietly pull a chain that opens a trapdoor to Drea's lab.

Trying to find the source of the noise, the pair also manage to miss the three hacked to pieces bodies at their feet but do spot a teeny tiny locket belonging to Samantha buried in the sand.

I'll be honest, even I've stopped caring at this point.

"Fiona! Where's mah lunch?"

Drea, lying in wait behind a shady model of a giant monkey catches the pair as they sneak around the exhibits and manages to lure our loved up losers into the dank, dark basement below his lair.

If you could take a minute now to consider the layout of Drea's Chamber of Horrors.

If you've been paying attention you'll remember that it's built on a pier over the beach to give Groton easy access to the sands to kill women.

So how (and more importantly where) does the stone clad gothic basement fit in?

I have to be honest and say that at the time I totally accepted this without question showing the true extent of the films almost supernatural mind numbing powers.


It was only the following day that I realised that the whole thing was complete and utter shame trousered shite from start to finish.

Anyway, Drea explains the plot, Judith finds her naked sister in a big jam jar and Mike, being an all American hero type picks a fight with the dwarf, causing Groton's pet cat to fall down the trapdoor.

I kid you not, cinema hardly ever gets as exciting as this baby.

Tosser.

Much infant school slapping and grimacing ensues culminating with wee Grazbo falling onto an axe giving Judith time to escape to the roof.

Of a factory.

Mike however is trapped behind some boxes as an ever more excited Drea take potshots at his arse with an airpistol before giving chase in what must be modern cinemas slowest wheelchair versus middle aged man race ever.

All looks lost until Mike in a rare flash of intelligence, hides behind the monkey exhibit and shouts "BOO!" as Drea wheels by causing the scientist to shit himself, the runny consistency of which makes Drea slide off his seat and onto a prop  guillotine exhibit, which decapitates him.

Back on the roof Groton, pulling his best sex face, is closing in on Judith but just as all seems lost who should turn up but Sgt. Martin and Clive Strange back from discovering the three bodies under the pier.

Strange spots Judith running across the roof and Martin, desperate to shoot someone, opens fire on Groton.

"Put it in me!"

Running to the roof to comfort Judith, Mark seems to have forgotten one tiny thing.

The title of the film.

For waiting in the shadows Dracula is plotting a terrible revenge on those who have thwarted his plans.

A revenge that will at some point involve him bitch slapping a potato-faced monster whilst Judith's breasts look on in terror....

"I fang you!"

Where to start when it comes to the late king of exploitation Al Adamson and his work?

Director, producer, actor and writer Adamson directed an impressive (in quantity if not quality) thirty movies between 1961 and 1983 before retiring from films and getting involved in real estate.

Tho' probably not beach-front piers with stone basements.

Back to his movies tho' and whilst Dracula vs. Frankenstein is nowhere near one of his better efforts it does have the most comically convoluted stories behind it's journey to the big screen.

Beginning production in 1968 as The Blood Seekers with much the same plot and cast Adamson was reported as being unhappy with the finished product, feeling it lack a certain something and consequently shelved the entire movie, putting all his efforts into the other seven (?) he had in production at the same time.

Jump forward a few years and Al's producer pal Sam Sherman, is panicking into a bottle of Rum.

It appears that he foolishly signed a contract to deliver a brand new full colour Frankenstein film to the drive-in theatre crowd and, after spending the cash on crisps and fizzy pop has only days in which to find one before he gets his legs broken.

In an attempt to cheer his pal up, Adamson took Sherman to the cinema where the pair found themselves watching Paul Naschy's debut film La Marca del Hombre Lobo (AKA The Mark of The Wolfman) alongside Holiday on The Buses.

It was at this point Sherman hatched a cunning plan.

He would buy the rights to the movie and change the title to The Something of Frankenstein therefore filling his obligation and make a few bob on the side.

Unfortunately tho' Holiday on The Buses was too expensive (Hammer wanted £18.60 for the worldwide rights) to purchase so instead he ended up with Naschy's movie which he quickly retitled Frankenstein's Bloody Terror (despite it not featuring Frankenstein) before releasing it onto an unsuspecting audience.

The plan worked and to celebrate Sherman took Adamson out for a baked potato and a pint of cider and it was during this meal, as Adamson looked down on the cheese melting across his lumpy spud that the director realised what was missing from the Blood Seekers footage.

A monster with a potato for a face.

With a cry of "Eureka!" Adamson jumped from his seat causing the man sitting behind to accidentally spray tomato sauce of his wife's heaving bosom.

Noticing the red liquid dripping seductively down her swan-like (if a little too hairy) neck the film making duo looked at each other before both shouting:

"Dracula!"

And thus a legend was born.

"Wahey Blakey! I'm spunking tenners!"

But who had the gravitas to play such an iconic roll?

And who was brave enough to bring the Count kicking and screaming into the 1970's?

Sherman wanted genre veteran John Carradine, thinking that the actor would bring a noble gravitas to a portrayal of an older, more desperate Dracula, out of time and thrust into the modern world for one last attempt at immortality.

But Adamson had other ideas, he wanted someone young and sexy but more importantly he wanted someone with a beard.

A beard fashioned from pubic hair.

With this in mind he called upon his stockbroker Robert 'pubey' Engel who accepted the part on the spot.

Funnel or tunnel?

Renamed Zandor Vorkov (a partial anagram of Talentless tosser), his voicebox replaced with that of a bass-heavy transistor radio slightly off-tuned to medium wave and his skin bleached with ammonia, Engel's was ready to begin shooting.

All that was left to do now was to find and purchase a really big potato and find someone willing to put it on their head.

This job fell to the massive, slack jawed 7 foot, 4 inch bulkily hulky John Bloom. Known as Johnny 'Horsecock' Bloom to his friends, the actor had already appeared in such greats as The Incredible 2-Headed Transplant and Up Your Alley before Adamson came a calling and he too had unique ideas as to how the infamous monster should be portrayed.


As a club-footed tramp obviously.

And how did it all turn out?

Well I would usually say see for yourselves but frankly I'm not that much of an unfeeling bastard.

If you have already seen it there are groups out there to help you adjust back into normal life life.

And if not?

Just memorise this review and kid on that you saw it.

It's for the best.