DavidAtkins.co.uk

Chinese New Year, Nottingham Uni

2012-01-29T22:55:00.000Z

Photo Diary : Winter Sun

2012-01-29T14:29:00.000Z

Photo Diary : Christmas 2011

2012-01-03T22:02:00.000Z

Photo Diary : Perfecting the Fedora Fling™

2011-06-22T20:26:00.000+01:00

Step 1: First choose a hat. I've gone for the straw fedora because it makes me look proper tourist. Once you've chosen your target take some time to calculate distances, throwing angles, wind resistance and potential for damage to the villa owner's property. Loose fitting clothing is also suggested - as you can see i've gone for the Robot/PJ combo.

Step 2: Adopt the throwing stance and if possible pull a ridiculous horse face. Empty your mind and try to forget that you've already been explicitly told by your mum not to throw hats at the villa owner's creepy possessions.

Step 3: Success! You have hit your target. Celebrate by necking a glass of €3 Cava and run around the room making Zoidberg noises.

Photo Diary : Date Set, Invites Sent

2011-05-20T22:11:00.000+01:00

After 8 years of being engaged we've set a date for the wedding. On October 8th 2011 we'll have an intimate (i.e. small) gathering and tie the knot. And I couldn't be happier.

Photo Diary : Geocaching around Blackbrook Reservoir

2011-05-02T22:31:00.001+01:00

Geocaching we found another awesome site a few miles away from our house - Blackbrook Reservoir. The reservoir was constructed in 1976 to feed the local Charnwood Forest Canal. It's now a Site of Special Interest as fossils discovered there were the first to be identified as 'macroscopic remains of Precambrian life', what ever that means (GC10GBA).

Photo Diary : Geocaching around Whitwick Quarry

2011-04-26T21:08:00.000+01:00

This is a slightly obscured view of Whitwick Quarry, the water more blue than any other lake i've seen in England. It's also only a short walk from the hidden gem that is Mount Saint Bernard Abbey. We're really lucky to live so close to these picturesque views. Photo taken from near cache GC1CJD3.

Video Nasty #41 : Don't Go In The Woods

2011-01-18T21:44:00.000Z

Synopsis: Two teenage couples are hiking through a beautiful wooded mountain range whilst, unbeknownst to them, everyone within a five mile radius are being killed in horrible and contrived ways by a grizzly survivalist. When the mad man finally catches up with our heros they must fight for their lives.

If I was pushed to say something positive about Dont' Go In The Woods, it's this backhanded compliment - like Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, it's proof that you can't boil a genre down to its basic components, repeat them ad-nauseum and expect to make a good film. The director of DGITW decided that as long as a slasher flick had as many ludicrous and violent deaths as possible it was a guaranteed hit. This film has 13 deaths, all evenly spread across a short running time of 82 minutes (that's one death every 7 minutes, maths fans). And yet, like Michael Bay's literally action-packed Transformers movie, it's just a shallow, boring mess. It has taken me a 4 weeks to get through this movie. And during that time I had a week off work.

Not that the deaths aren't fun, in isolation. The Crazy Frog was mildly amusing the first time you heard it, right? Bear Traps are an underused if slightly preposterous weapon (the exception being Andy Nyman's brilliant amputation in Severance), and nothing is more preposterous than seeing a bear trap very slowly swinging from a tree towards a redshirt so terrified he can do nothing but keep his head perfectly still and aligned with the oncoming jaws. Whilst our killer isn't setting up ridiculous traps he keeps himself busy, be it rolling an inhabited VW campervan down a hill (which inexplicably explodes), hanging an inhabited tent from a tree and beating it like a blood filled Piñata, throwing an elderly lady off a cliff, or in my favourite scene, decapitating a man who's sitting in a wheel chair admiring the sunset. The fact that we've previously watched this victim struggle to ascend the hill against all odds only adds to the tragic humour.

What are ostensibly the main characters are lost in the murder mélange; it's difficult to connect with any character when most are slaughtered mere minutes after their introduction. Once i'd figured out who the main characters were (i.e. the ones that weren't dead yet), it was really hard to care, especially as they were particularly dumb. Running away from a ruthless serial killer with super-human strength? Why not light a big fire and have a kip or, even better, take shelter in the murderer's corpse filled nutty room. The killer himself is similarly underwritten. Normally the monster being ruthless without an explanation or motive can make them even more terrifying, but when some beardy local suddenly starts killing sort of explanation would be useful. Instead, all we get is a a man wailing his way around a forest looking like a klingon obsessive who finally flipped because he didn't get in line early enough to see the Star Trek panel at Comicon.

The final word on the film should really go to film2000, the movie's UK distributor. I'm not saying they haven't watched the film, but it's telling that the back-cover has the synopsis and endorsements for a completely different film ('Creepier than the Blair Witch Project'). The annoying thing is, that mis-googled film, In the Woods, actually sounds far more entertaining than this cack.

2010 Memory Dump

2011-01-06T20:51:00.000Z

This is my annual memory dump to free up more space for film trivia and remembering all the special moves in Dead Rising 2.

Last year I made two new years resolutions. The first was to revisit my nemesis after a ten year absence.

I didn't get on with my dentist when I was growing up. I had countless fillings and a lot of teeth pulled to make way for braces. The bastard even tried to fit head work at one point, something my parent's thankfully decided wasn't worth the years of abuse and difficultly getting past airport security. It was, of course, all my fault. Like most kids i'd only really brush my teeth properly the morning before a check-up, vainly hoping a ten minute brush would somehow restore the enamel i'd steadily destroyed with chomps and ice poles. If i'd had a pressure washer then, I probably would of tried it on my teeth before an appointment. So, despite the empty nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach I booked a checkup and vainly hoped for some masochistic epiphany, like the Bill Murray character in Little Shop of Horrors.

The day came and ... everything was fine. No teeth to pull, no fillings to fill and more importantly, no me channeling my 10 year old self, quivering and trying to make sad eyes at the dentist to convince him that my rotten teeth really will be fine if we just leave it be and I brush extra hard that night. Walking out of the dentist that morning was the most elated i'd felt that year. When I was a kid I always prayed to some higher power that if my upcoming dentist appointment was fine, i'd start brushing properly. I didn't pray this time and everything worked fine, once again proving that if god does exist, he/she is a sadistic jerk.

The second resolution was my public commitment to watch and review every one of the so-called video nasties. Watching 72 films in a year seemed like a reasonable commitment, after all that's only 140 hours worth. To put it in to more understandable terms, that's the same as watching 56 weeks of Hollyoaks every weeknight, which i've shamefully achieved many years previous. What I didn't count on was how long it would take to review each film, after all there's only so many ways one can elegantly discuss another shitty cannibal film. Furthermore, I spent a few months of spring using my spare time to prepare for a new job, something which seemed slightly more important. Nethertheless, I think my writing is improving as a consequence, and my ultimate aim of watching all 72 will have to be a resolution roll-over.

The activity has led to some nice off-the-list discoveries, which I guess was always the intention. The best film I saw this year, Dario Argent's Susperia, was due to watching its listed sequel Inferno and a half-remembered quote from Juno. I aso dragged Jen along to Day of the Undead, a zombie film festival at Leicester's brilliant Phoenix Square cinema. Watching The Living Dead at Manchester Morgue in a packed screening was my favourite cinematic experience of the year (soon followed by an all-time low, paying to watch a Danny Dyer zombie flick).

We discovered the newly built Phoenix Square as it was the venue for BUG, a music video showcase presented by Adam Buxton earlier in the year (here I discovered one of my favourite songs of the year, Ready Able by Grizzly Bear. As usual, I was late to the party as the song was released in 2009). There weren't many other gigs. We saw Midlake at the tiny Musician in Leicester, a band who really deserve to be on a bigger stage, despite their new album being a slight retreat from the mainstream promise of Vanoccupanther. LCD Sound System were hypnotic under the giant disco ball at Birmingham's O2 Academy, regardless of the disappointing new album. Flight of the Conchords were better than expected at the NIA, despite being just two guys with guitars in what Damon Albarn referred to as a 'giant cow shed'. Gig of the year was Gorillaz at the same crappy venue, the huge eclectic revolving (not literally) band proving that Albarn really is a bit of a genius. The only comedy we saw was Dan Antapowlski in less than desirable circumstances, one of an audience of 15 in a 200 seater venue. Somehow I was the only one he didn't talk to. Must be my permanent scowl. The best (and only) theatre production I saw this year was the initial run of Ghost Stories at Shepards Bush Lyric Theatre, a tense fingernails-in-the-legs production that's the closest i'll ever come to seeing a live horror film.

Music has been a bit odd this year, thanks to the brilliance of Spotify and its endless supply of randomness. Stand out albums i've stumbled upon have to be Becoming a Jackal by Villagers (should of won the mercury), Odd Blood by Yeasayer (mainly for the singles), the aforementioned Veckatimest by Grizzly Bear, the eponymous album by The Invisible (little heard, what I'd imagine a good prince album sounds like), Plastic Beach by Gorillaz (as interesting and cohesive as Demon Days), Man Alive by Everything Everything, Forgiveness Rock Record by Broken Social Scene (The first 'side' is amazing), Tones of Town by Field Music and everything by Laura Marling, Laura Veirs and The National, especially Boxer.

The summer weather was great, and to make the most of it I spent five weeks procrastinating the construction of a white pebbly path in the garden. It looks nice, but I didn't realise i'd have to spend twenty minutes every week cleaning it by hand due to a solitary ant making the brilliant white stone look messy. Pipe dreams of sustainability didn't progress much from the non-stop courgette supply of last year, except we managed to grow 10 strawberries and due to bad planning a 3 month supply of lettuce was ready to eat in one week.

There were two weddings this summer, first my sister Kim married Sam, which I blogged about here. Later in the summer Ben, my three year flatmate at university, married Hayley. Ben's wedding was the closest i'll ever come to inhabiting a Richard Curtis version of England. And I mean that in a good way, i'm not saying there was an overwhelming amount of smug self-indulgent overlong schmaltz. Instead, it was truly picturesque and evoked all that is beautiful about England; be it the church next to the rolling cornish sea, the speechs at Morwenstow's 13th century tearooms or the garden party in Ben's parents' village (above).

Our main holiday this year was to Madrid, which for reasons that weren't Mardrid's fault, was a bit of a nightmare. Never have I been that close to booking a plane home early. I won't forget why, so no need to write it here. Madrid itself is an understated city that really comes to life at night. Unfortunately I think i'm past the days of staying up till the sun rises with tapas and the mint floating around in Mojitos my only sustenance. The Mojitos were brilliant though. We also took some random weekend breaks, one to a beautiful cottage in Dorset and another to Cardiff, mainly because we'd never been to Wales before.

And as the year starts, so it ends - complete travel chaos caused by the white fluffy stuff. In January the snow and my weak bladder was a good excuse for causing a minor car accident. Unfortunately I had no such excuse when I had a minor collision with a Motorbike in November. This year was the first white Christmas in memory, and yet this mythical event was just the sweet icing on an spoilt christmas cake - Jen was ill from Christmas Eve to New Years day, and on Christmas Day my Grandfather passed away. Yet despite this, there was still much to be thankful for. Jen and I are as happy as ever, I got some awesome presents, and on Boxing Day we had some quality time with my Brother, psuedo Brother, Sister, Mum, Dad and Nan. Which after years of tense Christmases, was joy.

It's official. Sam won Christmas.

2010-12-31T18:05:00.000Z

Not that it's a competition, but if it was, Sam won Christmas this year. His gift to me was a bespoke blood-red Evil Dead print, pictured below. As he said, it should offset the girly flower mural in our hallway.

You can see more of Sam's annoyingly good work at pixelsbeatpaper.co.uk, including a similar and equally brilliant typographic Smiths poster.

Photo Diary : What's that coming over the hill, is it a Santa?

2010-12-17T21:53:00.000Z

Spent the day wandering around London with Sam and Jen and bumped into this. Luckily I haven't been naughty this year.

Video Nasty #40 : The Living Dead at Manchester Morgue AKA Let Sleeping Corpses Lie

2010-12-04T11:53:00.000Z

Synopsis: After Edna's brother-in-law is killed by a previously dead tramp Edna's druggie sister Katie is the prime suspect. Only Edna and George, her unlikely amateur-misogynist companion, can stop the zombie uprising and prove Katie's innocence.

As a premature-climax to my languishing affair with the video nasty list last week I attended Day of the Undead, Leicester's finest zombie film festival. The event opened with The Living Dead at Manchester Morgue, a rare chance to see this classic but undeservedly lesser seen zombie film on the big screen (Props to Zombie Ed and the team at Terror4fun for organising the awesome event, even the Danny Dyer film didn't put too much of a downer on the day). I have seen the film once before in equally rare circumstances, with Matt the night before his wedding.

The film is driven by its characters, blunt embodiments of the key socio-political movements of '74, to the point of caricature. The protaganist George is a long haired post-hippy environmentalist with a healthy disdain for the man. The Inspector is the man, a proto-fascist authoritarian who hates fun, happiness and the progressive youth. 'You're all the same the lot of you' he spits at George 'with your long hair and faggot clothes. Drugs, sex, every sort of filth! '. Whilst George is convinced that the government's agricultural experiments are causing the dead to rise and kill, the Inspector prefers his equally outlandish explanation for the murders - George and Edna are devil worshipers. These two are the stars of the film and I could watch George antagonising the increasingly manic and righteous Inspector all day.

The cause of the zombie uprising, man playing god, still feels incredibly fresh, probably because its now the defacto explanation for the undead bastards. The details themselves are slightly preposterous, but no more than being bitten by the hybrid off-spring of a monkey raped by plague rats. The government are experimenting with a device that attacks insects' nervous systems and turns them into manic cannibals, effectively wiping out all vermin within a five mile radius. Unfortunately, corpses degraded nervous systems are similar to ants, hence the walking homicidal undead. In a inspired move the logic is extended to baby's undeveloped nervous systems, giving us zombie babies 30 years before the Dawn of the Dead remake.

The zombies themselves are brilliant, and due to their limited number they're given enough screen time to become distinct characters. True to Romero's vision they stumble and crawl at sub-tortoise speeds, always catching the slightly retarded scream-rather-than-run hares. They're also (according to Zombie Ed) the first zombies to much on intestines in full colour, surely a film milestone. The film's high point for gore and low point for decency has to be the infamous involuntary breast reduction, a scene that feels oddly beneath the film, added as a a concession for the gore hounds (IMDB trivia tells us that the director 'cast an actress known for having a flat chest'. If this is what you're known for you're doing this acting thing wrong).

It may be the portentous circumstances (to me, a sad film geek, a zombie film festival is a life milestone) but The Living Dead at Manchester Morgue has to be one of my favourite horror films. Unlike most efforts in the genre, it isn't really a zombie film, it's a film that happens to have zombies in it. Following Romero's lead director Jorge Grau has made a film with great acting, effects, laughs, violence, intelligence and, albeit unsubtle, subtext.

And the ending couldn't be anymore satisfying.

Video Nasty #39 : The Devil Hunter AKA Sexo Caníbal

2010-11-09T21:27:00.000Z

Synopsis: When model Laura Crawford is kidnapped Peter Weston and his vietnam-vet side kick are sent to a remote South American island to bring her back, preferably with the large ransom the kidnappers have demanded for Laura's release. After the exchange goes disastrously wrong the kidnappers retreat to the jungle and straight in to the grips of 'the devil', the island's resident cannibal overlord.

Just when I thought there couldn't possibly be anymore cannibal movies on the list I find The Devil Hunter, a deceptively titled cheap horrible exploitation smear on otherwise useful celluloid. This film is so awful my laptop's DVD player rejected the disk, shaking and wailing at volume for every second it was forced to decompress, decrypt and de-interlace; as if it couldn't comprehend why its state of the art technology was being used to watch something so horribly lo-fi.

The Devil Hunter is the work of the infamous Jesus Franco, a man who has made an astonishing 160 films, mostly filth (The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein, Vampyros Lesbos, etc.). Not to renege on his reputation The Devil Hunter may as well be called 'Mr Cannibal's Sexy Weekend', as many long scenes are spent watching the afro-caribbean 'natives' and Ms. Crawford writhe in agony whilst thrusting their gyrating crotches in the direction of the shamelessly leering camera. These scenes are so long and blatantly sexualised even a pubescent 16 year old boy would find it a little too slimy to be erotic. Although one could write-off Franco's obsession with nudity as harmless, it's a little more difficult to justify the point of a casual rape scene, as the rapist's girlfriend complicity watches in a hammock ("you're a son of a bitch, but I love you". yay for feminism!).

It's not as if these scenes are required to pad the film out, at 102 minutes long the film is a chore; so much so that I had to watch it in twenty minute chunks, taking rest breaks as if I was revising for some hellish a-level. Unfortunately the promise of gorey cannibal carnage isn't really followed through; the titular devil is a naked dude with ping-pong ball eyes (literally) who likes chewing on necks and covering his victims in a weird powder-based orangey-red paint and placing a few raw sausages around their belly button. When the cannibal isn't on screen we're treated to the tiresome vaseline lensed 'cannibal-cam', complete with heavy breathing smothered in token 80's pop reverb.

That fucking reverb. Enough. It's not scary. It's shit. Stop it.

I could go on but this has just become an unhinged rant. All you really need to know about The Devil Hunter is that it's an awful film. Quite possibly the worst of the #39 i've seen so far. And i've seen Cannibal Terror.

Video Nasty #38 : House by the Cemetery

2010-10-17T21:19:00.000+01:00

Synopsis: After Dr Peterson kills himself and his lover, it is left to Norman Boyle to continue the Dr's ground breaking research into, of all things, suicide. To pick up where his college left off Norman moves his family to the Dr's residence, a dilapidated house by an equally dilapidated cemetery. Norman soon discovers that a creepy graveyard is the least of your worries when there’s a crypt in your living room and an un-dead in the cellar...

House by the Cemetery sees Fulci returning to the Nasty List, after the impressive and gut-wrenchingly gory The Beyond. This isn’t the only connection between these two films, as they form two parts of Fulci’s ‘Seven Gates of Hell Trilogy’. Where as The Beyond is a dreamy ethereal and ultimately unremittingly bleak film, House by the Cemetery is, despite the director’s meagre efforts to suggest otherwise, a relatively straight forward monster-in-the-basement roller-coaster ride. Not that i’m complaining, of course.

The most interesting aspect of House by the Cemetery is how little Fulci relies on gore for scares. Sympathetic to the PG-13 connotations of the plot ('monster in the basement' would be the perfect title for a kid-friendly horror movie), Fulci uses flowing and lush cinematography to wring all possible tension out of some frankly hackneyed scenarios. These scene's are all horror movie staples - eyes glowing in the dark, bumps in the night, little kids being creepy and creaking door’s slamming shut to entrap a victim in the monster’s clutches. The later is particularly tense, even after its third copy-paste reprisal in the script.

Of course things don't stay PG-13 for long; in Little Monsters Fred Savage never had a knife jammed through the back of his skull or his throat ripped out (although i'm still hopeful for a director's cut). The most bloody scene of the film is unintentionally hilarious as Norman is attacked by a bat that looks like a Goonies prop reject. The bat latches itself to Norman's hand and the scene plays like a Bruce Campbell body acting masterclass, Norman running around the house desperately trying to dislodge the flying whilst decorating the house with an inhuman (or inbat) amount of blood . Purposefully hilarious or not, seeing the shell-shocked family sprayed with blood was my favourite moment of the film.

Whilst the bat is the unintentional star of the film, the monster is for the most part an un-seen entity, only revealed (as in all good monster movies) in the last ten minuts of the film. Unlike most monster movies, the undead professor is in the full flesh still as creepy as the glimpses of limbs and glowing eyes we've had through-out the film, looking like a prune with eyes (definitely not a raisin, he wasn't poncing around in shades singing 'Heard It Through The Grapevine').

If I had to criticise the film it would be that Fulci can't help but put some inexplicable mysteries into the film, as if he's worried about betraying his Giallo origins. Most are unexplained, and add nothing to the film other than confusion - why did the babysitter clean up after the monster, why did people say Norman had visited the house before?, and what was the ending all about, complete with incorrectly attributed quote? None of this stuff really matters, it's just a shallow attempt at depth that is so ineffectual it doesn't really detract from the main show. Like a plot in a porn film.

House by the Cemetery is great. If you like your monsters grim, and your gore even grimmer, you'll love it.

Video Nasty #37 : Pranks AKA The Dorm that Dripped Blood

2010-10-04T22:14:00.002+01:00

Synopsis: Joanne and three friends are clearing a university dormitory in preparation for its demolition. Unbeknownst to them they are being stalked by a shakey-handed camera man with a full concert orchestra in tow. Can they stop their assailant before he permanently stops them? (i'm so sorry, writing a snappy synopsis is difficult).

As slasher films go, Pranks is at best mediocre. The direction is uninspiring, the script lame and acting sub-standard. It does however have a few redeeming features - an absolutely epic score, Princess Vespa from Spaceballs head popping like a balloon, and a surprisingly vicious ending.

In stark contrast to the home-movie cinematography the film's score is the work of an accomplished composer. As the camera lumbers after a chosen victim it's accompanied by plinky plonky staccatto piano, portameto timpanis, crashing cymbals, a full string section and a xylophone. Unfortunately as great as the score is (by Christopher Young, composer on Hellraiser, Drag Me To Hell & Spider Man 3), it's a little too bombastic for this small slasher flick, sapping the film of any tension the dreadful direction hasn't already wrung out of the script (Imagine John Williams scoring The Texas Chainsaw Massacre).

Despite the clunky visuals, the directors at least deliver on the absolute basic slasher requirement - inventive, original and above all else, horrible kills. Despite increasing their chance of being captured ten-fold any self-respecting slasher wouldn't be caught dead with something as dull & efficient as a gun or an, urm, atomic bomb. The best of these prolonged kills has to be Daphne Zuniga's character being knocked unconscious, dragged onto the road and a van reversing over her head (this is after the killer has murdered both of her parents, ever the completist). Although we don't see the cranium collapse, the comedy pop noise is satisfying enough. Other unfortunates are boiled alive, drilled and, in the sombre finale, incinerated.

And on that point; the ending. Through-out the film we're led to believe the killer is the local hermit; who may as well be dressed in red fish costume wearing a sign saying 'i'm a herring'. The killer is in fact Craig, one the characterless flesh-bags that has somehow managed to appear throughout the film without me ever really noticing. This makes it particular infuriating when he says to Joanne, and by extension the audience, 'Don't you understand, it was me the whole time', as if we're stupid for not spotting all the clues liberally sprinkled through out the film (of which there are none). He then goes onto explain how he executed the killings which isn't impressive or relevant, because a) it wasn't exactly difficult and b) as most of the film is unintelligible I couldn't care less. The reasons for his killing are stereotypical but nonsensical in the context of the film. The murderer was secretly in love with the Joanne, the final girl, and he killed everyone else to keep her to himself (this doesn't explain why he killed the janitor and the family who were leaving the university).

Despite this the film ends on a surprisingly sombre and unnerving note. The police arrive but are tricked into believing Craig is a victim. As they celebrate catching the wrong guy Craig carries the unconscious Joanne in his arms and bungs her in the incinerator. This is a surprisingly bold turn, and despite Craig's transformation from forgettable normo to forgettable psycho, the shot of him carrying Joanne to the incinerator is pretty creepy.

So, Pranks is a bit of a mess. Despite its inventive kills and big-budget score it's mostly a badly shot emotionless bore. The biggest problem is that for a film where characters are stalked around a building there's no real sense of geography to the place they inhabit, making it difficult to understand what peril the characters are in (surely a building of this size would have multiple exits?). Along with the poor camera work, direction, acting and cinematography the non-existant tension is completely smothered by the over the bombastic score. Sometimes silence can be scary.

Video Nasty #36 : Mountain of the Cannibal God AKA Primitive Desires

2010-09-29T22:49:00.000+01:00

Synopsis: Susan Stevenson (Ursula Andress) has flown to Generic South American Country to search for her Husband, who hasn't been heard from since disappearing into the jungle in search of uranium. Joined by her brother and a local expert Susan heads to the jungle and unknowingly towards the Mountain of the Cannibal God.

I can't help but audably sigh when I realise there's another cannibal movie on the list that i'm yet to watch. It's a lousy genre, and one that was completely bled-dry during the video nasty hey-day. Given my love for all things zombie, this disdain may seem surprising; surely a zombie is just a really hungry angry cannibal? Well yes, it's not the monster at fault, it's the unwritten genre rules. Where as zombie movies are fun and ridiculous with a sincere yet often shallow, pretentious social-science a-level subtext, cannibal movies are about shock, animal cruelty and natives with no clothes on. (I'll begrudgingly admit that zombie movies have also out-stayed their welcome after the post 28 Days Later resurgence)

Given my contempt for the genre I was pleasantly surprised by Mountain of the Cannibal God. That is of course, a back handed compliment. To say this the best cannibal movie i've seen is like saying the best food poisoning i've ever had or the least painful kick in the nuts. The film does have all the halmarks of a cannibal movie - Unnecessary animal slaughter (an iguana being torn apart is almost a genre all-time low), casual sexism ('It's hard enough for a man, for a woman it would be almost impossible') and excessive nudity.

Despite it ticking most of the genre boxes the idiot director did neglect a few. For example there was no back of the cigarette packet script, incongruous stock footage of wildlife and a general disdain for the viewer. Mountain of the Cannibal God feels a little like Indiana Jones, albeit being released three years before Raiders of the Lost Ark. Rather than focusing on the cannibals the film is more of a jungle adventure with inventive traps, rafting through crocodile-infested water and exploring huge caves. Unlike Indiana Jones these boys-adventure elements do have a violent sting in the tail. One trap is essentially a wooden iron maiden, tenderising the victim in preparation for the cannibal BBQ and the crocodiles somehow manage to tear a guide's arm off.

Although the cannibals do pop up every so often as our hero's mysterious adversaries (looking like Naan Bread from The Mighty Boosh), they only really come into play in the final act. If there's one thing i've learnt from the previous #35 films, it's that regardless of what has come before if you can deliver a barmy ending the viewer will walk away happy (Well, unless they have to write a review and realise they've been hoodwinked). Mountain of the Cannibal God ends with some images I don't believe i'll ever see (or want to see) on film again. In the climax Ursula Andress is declared a goddess, tied to a poll and sexually abused by a cannibal. Said cannibal then has his cock cut off and amongst an orgy of masturbation and sex the film delivers its Pièce de résistance - a cannibal fucking a pig.

So it's not exactly a struggle to figure out why the film was listed. Mountain of the Cannibal God is an OK film, but its obscurity really isn't surprising. Despite the frankly childish climax the film is far more entertaining than it should be, and is put together with a confident and expert hand.

After all, even I have to admit that the man porking the pork was very well lit.

Video Nasty #35 : Tenebrae AKA Unsane

2010-09-27T22:23:00.000+01:00

Synopsis: As horror writer Peter Neal arrives in Rome he is greeted by his latest novel incarnate; young promiscuous women are dying in horrible ways at the hands of an obsessive serial killer. When the murderer sends Peter a note the local police take a leaf out of the Scooby Doo Big Book of Law Enforcement and ask him to help with the investigation. As the bodies pile up and the inept police are without a clue it's up to Peter to put an end to the killing.

After the supernatural classic Susperia and its interesting yet ultimately dissapointing sequel Infero, Argento returned to the genre he helped define, Giallo, with Tenebrae. Giallo movies are highly stylised pulpy Italian crime mysteries, often including extended and bloody murder sequences. And on the later point, Tenebrae does not disappoint.

The murder scenes are probably the most remarkable thing about Tenebrae. The most effective set-piece, the murder of a young lesbian couple, includes a two and half minute crane shot; sweeping around the couple's home as they are unknowingly stalked by the killer. It's a technically stunning shot (especially consider the clunky technology of the time) and its creeping pace perfectly leads into a gruesome double murder. Despite the technical brilliance of these scenes, I think their length are ultimately detrimental to the rest of the film. Too much time is spent introducing characters that are blatantly victim's to be, stretching the film's runtime to a slightly flabby one hour fifty. Despite the length it's worth the wait for the finale's blood fountain, gushing from a post-arm stub. It's so ridiculous I couldn't help but laugh-out-loud. Loved it.

The story is twisty, unpredictable and ultimately satisfying. The protagonist's novel acts as a meta-commentary of the film itself, both being concerned with the attitudes to what some might call sexual deviance, and others would call 'being yourself'. This affords Argento an excuse for lots of female nudity - not that an 80's Italian pulp director ever worried about narrative justification to show a bit of boobage. Despite the awkward miscast of Anthony Franciosa as the lead (I can't help but think the role was written for someone younger), the rest of the cast is great, especially John Saxon as Neal's over-effervescent agent.

The one thing that Tenebrae will rightly be remembered for (other than the masochistically difficult crane shot) is the unsurprisingly awesome soundtrack by Goblin. The title track is so good I was already firing up Garageband to knock together a remix (to facilitate my long-deserved breakthrough into the electro scene). Unfortunately I discovered that french-electro-bastards Justice have beaten me to it with the frankly brilliant 'Phantom' on their debut album 'Cross'. Oh well, guess i'll have to continue work on my drum'n'bass opus based on the theme tune of 'The Boogeyman'.

Compared to it's company on the list, Tenebrae is a masterpiece. Compared to it's company in the history of film, it's alright. The script is great, the acting pretty good and the visual's gorgeous, but it's let down by its slightly self-indulgent length and a lead character that doesn't quite work. I suspect this film marks one of the few peaks of genuine enjoyment i've had since starting this movie marathon. I worry that i'm heading for a deep sustained trough.

Video Nasty #34 : The Boogeyman

2010-09-19T11:28:00.000+01:00

Synopsis: 20 years after witnessing the murder of her abusive step-father Lacey is still haunted by the past. In an attempt to rid her demons she returns to the scene of the crime and accidentally breaks a mirror, unwittingly releasing the evil spirit of her late surrogate father. Silly cow.

The 80's were responsible for some really terrifying celluloid incarnations: pizza-face Freddy Krueger and his razor gloves, machete weilding Jason Voorhees and his iconic hockey mask, Tina Turner with electrical-incident hair and her fucking Thunderdome. None of these compare to the terror that is The Boogeyman - A dude with some tights on his head, making his nose look a bit squidgy (think Owen Wilson, but without tights on his head)

Thankfully (yet somewhat surprisingly) you only see the Boogeyman's physical form during the opening scene (which is then scattered through-out the film in pointless yet time-consuming flash-backs). For most of the film the b-man is a malevolent poltergeist trapped in shards of glass. As shitty as that sounds, the film's premise - a murdered psycho returning as a supernatural being to take revenge on his killer - greatly pre-dates the similar and far superior Nightmare on Elm Street. Unlike Nightmare, the Boogeyman's motivation to return and kill anyone who get's near his funky mirror is never really rationalised. This problematic because of all the people he murders, he pretty much ignores his killer.

So the script is pretty awful. But like all good horror b-movies the creaky script and rubbish acting is inconsequential if there's some inventive gore and an absolutely insane finale. As a poltergeist the Boogeyman takes no prisoners, flinging garden forks and knifes at anyone who gets in the evil mirror's reflection (yes, I realise how stupid that sounds). The Boogeyman's most entertaining kill has to be the young couple immortally held together in a kiss via a bbq skewer thrown through their heads (shown above).

The ending is a blinder (although not quite as mad as Evilspeak). Under possession of the Boogeyman Lacey jams a piece of the haunted mirror in her eye and starts levitating. The local vicar attempts to rid Lacey of the evil spirit (how come all clergy in horror films know how to perform exorcisms?) but unfortunately has his face melted off and knives thrown in to his back. Lacey eventually overcomes the evil glass and throws it down the well, which then explodes. But we could all see that coming, right?

The Boogeyman is a good idea, executed very badly. It's presence on the DPP list is baffling, but as this is true for most of the films on the list i'm not that surprised (I can only assume it's on the list due to the implied child-abuse at the start of the film). The film ends with a requisite opening for a sequel, which was unfortunately made and also ended up on the DPP list, probably for crimes against cinema. I'll let you know when and if I find a copy.

Video Nasty #33 : Dead & Buried

2010-09-11T19:25:00.003+01:00

Synopsis: After a series of grisly accidents, Sheriff Gillis suspects foul play. As the accidents continue the dead and buried are inexplicably sighted around town. Welcome to Potter's Bluff : A new way of life!

Dead & Buried is by far the biggest budget movie on the list, and accordingly it's team is also of the highest calibre. Co-writer Dan O'Bannon worked on Alien and went on to write one my favourite zombie movies, Return of the Living Dead. O'Bannon was joined by the his co-writer on Alien as a producer, as celebrated/exploited on the poster. Horror legend Stan Winston (Aliens, Predator, The Terminator) also provides special effects for many of the film's 'accidents'.

What they and director Gary Sherman created is a tonally-unbalanced yet surprising, gory and darkly funny original movie that deserves to be better known than it is. This isn't helped by the lousy DVD transfer; many scenes are too dark and most of the audio is time shifted as if all the actors are performing an elaborate ventriloquist routine. Spoilers ahead.

The plot itself owes somewhat to Invasion of the Body Snatchers (feel free to pick any version), although in this case the alien plants are replaced by a nutty mortician who can use makeup, embalming fluids and a bit of voodoo to quite literally bring corpses back to life. Unlike Invasion, there isn't any subtext (lack of freedom, communism, blah blah blah), instead the plot is milked for all its paranoid and gloriously gory potential.

And god bless Stan Winston is this gory. Much like the film's tone the effects vary, ranging from vicious realism to intentional silliness. The most memorable scenes are head-meets-acid (not very well done, but A+ for effort), a needle being jammed into a completely incapacitated burn victim's eye (ewwww!) and the utterly insane prehumous embalming. Things get a little silly when Sheriff Gillis' collision with an undead results in a dismembered hand getting stuck in his car's grill, the hand still wriggling like Ash's bird-flicking paw in Evil Dead 2.

And this alludes to probably the only major issue with the film. In parts the film is deadly serious yet as the admittedly daft plot gathers momentum it feels like there's some resistance to embrace the potential for humour (unlike the similarly gory and funny Strange Behaviour).

Regardless, Dead & Buried is worth a watch if only for the third act's plot twists that are so good they'd make Shyamalan jealous. It's films like this that make my idiotic year long movie-night worth it.

Video Nasty #32: Don't Look in the Basement AKA The Forgotten

2010-09-10T17:15:00.000+01:00

Synopsis: Nurse Charlotte has arrived for her first day of work to discover that Dr Stephens, her would be employer, was recently killed in a tragic 'accident'. Under the watchful eye of the Dr Geraldine Masters, Nurse Charlotte discovers that accidents aren't uncommon at the Sanitarium. Maybe giving an acute paranoid schizophrenic an axe as part of their treatment isn't such a good idea.

Regardless of any merit in Don't Look in the Basement, the debut and last notable effort of 'classic horror director'* S.F.Brownrigg, it has to be acknowledged that its treatment of mental health is incredibly offensive. A few of the film's i've previously reviewed have dared to go 'full retard' (see I Spit on your Grave), but this film makes them look like One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest in comparison.

The mental patients of Dr Stephen's sanitarium are one-dimensional plot fodder, painted using the full gamut of mental health cliches. There's Sergeant, a man who recently returned from an unspecified war and is now permanently guarding the house from the telephone repairmen. Judge, permanently laying down the law and dishing out draconian punishments. Allyson, a nymphomaniac who takes her top off at the drop of a, well, top. Sam, a post-lobotomy man-child with a predilection for popsicles. And that's only half of the sanatarium's occupants; the full set is available as part of 'Mental Patient Top Trumps', available in the foyer and all questionable toy shops.

Oddly, the way it mishandles mental health is part of its charm. The patients are ill-informed caricatures played wonderfully and with full conviction by a bunch of unknowns who probably weren't aware of the career kamikaze they were partaking. The most offensive turn has to be the film's finale, where all the patients turn on the mad matron and literally tear her apart. The assertion that anyone with a mental health issue is one plot twist away from cannibalism is so patently ridiculous it makes me want to tear the writer limb from limb and eat his guts. The insensitive bastard.

Offensiveness aside, the script is actually quite good and deserves better treatment than this low-budget grindhouse effort. The twist of the film, if you haven't figured it out, is that the hard-nosed matron that rules over the Sanitarium is in fact a patient, something which Nurse Charlotte discovers in the third-act. And, much the like the inexplicably inferior Shutter Island (SPOILER AHEAD), there's even a sub-plot suggesting that Nurse Charlotte was one of the patients all along, an intriguing idea that unfortunately fades a little too quick.

What the film lacks in quality film-making, it makes up for in silly gore. The film opens with a doctor being axed and later on a spike is jammed in a patients head, an old woman's tongue is cut off for talking too much and the grand finale sees the man-child Sam axing 6 patients to death whilst they're too busy tearing the matron apart.

I can't say I wholly recommend Don't Look in the Basement, but if you want to sample a slice of low budget exploitation, you could do a lot worse.

* As the DVD cover declares

8-Bit Fridge

2010-09-09T17:56:00.000+01:00

Whilst on holiday in Madrid we picked up some magnetic 'pixels' in the cool Reina Sofia shop. Here's our new 8-bit fridge:

Video Nasty #31 : Bloody Moon

2010-08-22T22:40:00.000+01:00

Synopsis: Five years ago the severely burnt Miguel murdered a girl in a fit of insanity. After receiving the all-clear from his psychiatrist Miguel has been allowed to return to the scene of the crime, the accurately yet egregiously named 'International Youth Club Boarding School of Languages'. As the new term starts girls start dying, all witnessed by our heroine Angela. Is pizza-face really the killer, or is he being framed by his incestuous sister as part of an overly complex scheme to take ownership of the school?

Bloody Moon is a run-of-the-mill Slasher movie, as interpreted by italian exploitation director Jesus Franco. Think Friday the 13th with incest and even more nudity. Franco's oeuvre includes the infamous Vampyros Lesbos, which I think makes him partly responsible for the tosh James Cordon vehicle/train-wreck Lesbian Vampire Killers. Bastard.

It's difficult to be too offended by the overt sexism. Much like the american slasher films it emulates, Bloody Moon treats women like a pubescent adolescent, obsessed with boobs and innuendo - filthy but fine. The most potentially offensive scene featuing a women being stabbed directly through her breast is so hammy and dumb I think even the most militant feminist would just sigh, tut and worry about the film's on the list that really are misogynistic (see Gestapo's Last Orgy). After all, both the hero and evil mastermind of Bloody Moon are women.

This shallowness is prevalent through out the film, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's nice to watch an old-skool slasher free from the irony that the post-Scream hollywood demands. Bloody Moon follows the unwritten rules; anyone who has a minor indiscretion with our heroine or even thinks about doing the dirty-dance quickly cops it. Unlike most slashers the storyline ludicrously complex, at one point there being five characters implicated as the murderer.

Despite the complicated plot, Bloody Moon manages to deliver some memorable moments including death by circular-saw, bear trap on the head, scissors, spike through the throat and the 80's perennial, chainsaw. The circular-saw death is film's most infamous death, although the quick-cut from live actress to mannequin decapitation is more comical than terrifying. Despite the imaginative array of murder weapons the most memorable scene has to the film's opening, where Miguel kills a women wearing a Mickey Mouse mask. Memorable, because I can't believe Disney's army of lawyers let them get away with it.

Bloody Moon is late-night post-pub fodder. Despite its unnecessarily complicated story if you go in with low expectation it's enjoyable b-movie trash.

Photo Diary: Bit of the Old Ultra-violent

2010-08-20T20:32:00.003+01:00

Video Nasty #30 : Last House on the Left

2010-08-18T22:45:00.002+01:00

Synopsis: On the eve of their daughter's seventeenth birthday the Collingwoods are preparing a surprise party whilst Mari, the birthday girl, is in the city for a gig. As they're raising the bunting and baking cake the parent's are blissfully unaware that their daughter has been kidnapped, abused and raped by a gang of escaped convicts led by Krug, the psychotic ring-leader. When the gang inadvertently seek shelter at the Collingwood's, the parents slowly realise that they are in the company of their daughter's murderers and, despite their seemingly harmless facade, go Old Testment on Krug and co.

It's remarkable how sometimes despite the constituent parts being unbalanced, un-conventional or even amateurish, a film can really get under you skin. The first time I watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre I distinctly remember a feeling of dread that stuck with me for a few days, as if the film had left a dirty imprint on my sub-conscious of leather-face waiting around every corner to drag me into a makeshift abattoir and hang me on a meat hook. Like Texas Chainsaw Massacre, despite its countless missteps and unconventionalities, Last House on the Left has a similar emotional resonance, albeit a more seedy and depressive funk.

Which is impressive, because there are countless elements in Last House that really shouldn't work. Whilst Wes Craven's idea of intercutting between the rape of Mari and the victim's parents preparing her party is crushingly effective, his attempts to intercut between a later rape scene and the comedy japes of the sheriff and his idiot sub-ordinate is excruciatingly embarrassing. Not only is the broad comedy incredibly insensitive when juxtaposed with scenes of abuse, it's also deeply unfunny (coincidentally an increasingly emphasis on comedy instead of horror is what ruined Craven's most famous creation - Freddy Krueger).

The odd mash of horror and variety-show lightheartedness is also evident on the soundtrack, with mixed results. The whimsical music accompanying some of the horrific acts works in an odd way, much like Kubrick's use of rousing classical music to score the old ultra-violent in Clockwork Orange. When the soundtrack doesn't work it's as embarrassing as the attempts at comedy, most notably the bluegrass/folk song chronicling Krug's exploits in the film.

Despite these missteps, Last House is a film that looks incredibly fresh, despite the fact it's almost 40 years old. Craven's cost-cutting idea of using a document crew gives the film an air of realism that makes every horrific act all the more believable, even during the parent's almost comic book revenge of emasculative fellatio and a fifty year old man setting home-alone style booby traps.

Craven and producer Sean Cunningham wanted to deliberately challenge Hollywoods consequence-free violence, and accordingly there's no hero in Last House. Everybody looses. The parent's revenge is ultimately self-defeating, as is painfully clear in the final shot of the film, the dejected parents standing in their destroyed home awaiting arrest. Their family unit is irreparably destroyed, and no amount of revenge will ever change that.

Like The Exorcist and Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the film's long term ban is proof of its unnerving and distributing quality. As Mark Kermode points out, Deep Throat, a hardcore porn film in which the lead allegedly had a gun pointed at her head to perform, is released uncut, yet Last House on the Left was, up until 2002, not certified for release in the UK.

Last House on the Left is not a film I could recommend to anyone, apart from film students or a completist horror fan. Nethertheless, it's an important film, and for once, it's infamy and entry on the Video Nasty list is fully deserved.

Video Nasty #29 : Don't Go Near The Park

2010-08-07T17:58:00.001+01:00

If there's one thing you have to know about Don't Go Near The Park is that towards the end a man starts shooting lasers out of his eyes. It's pretty impressive. I sense you don't believe me. Seriously. It's So Cool. Look:

This screenshot perfectly summarises Don't Go Near The Park. Look at it. It's insane. There's Captain Caveman shooting a teenager in the face with perfectly rendered eye-lasers in an arid cave that's somehow on fire while his 10,000 year old sister is writhing in the agony after a sibling eye based attack. Unbelievable, this screenshot makes as much sense as anything else in the film. In fact, it probably makes more sense then most of what preceded it.

Don't Go In The Park is an incredibly poor film. It's so concerned with telling it's painfully linear yet dense story that it never has a chance to develop a character. Despite the plodding story telling, the plot itself is absolutely insane. Here's the crib notes for when Don't Go Near The Park ends up on the GNVQ Filmmaking for Fucktards course:

The film opens thousands of years ago inside a hallow volcano. A mysterious elder with a reverb pedal jammed down her throat is cursing her son and daughter for feasting on the innards of the village children. Eating warm human halts the aging process, dangerously 'destroying the balance of nature'. As punishment they must live & age for 10,000 years. At this point they can guarantee youthful immortality by munching on a virgin descendent of the village (I won't insult you're intelligence by pointing out why this punishment is so contradictory). After the mother has given punishment she mysteriously dies.

Flash forward to the 1960s. The brother realises he needs to spawn a child as an entree for immortality in 16 years. He seduces his landlady, they marry and have a baby. Flash forward 16 years (yawn!). The brother and his wife have an argument at a pool party and the father leaves. In the melee his now teenage daughter runs away and takes refuge in a van with three yoofs. They attempt to rape her but thanks to her giant red magic medallion their van go alls KIT and crashes into a bridge, killing the three boys. The daughter wakes up far away from the accident. Then blah blah blah blah...

If you want to know what happens, you can borrow the DVD. In fact you can have the DVD. This is quite possibly the worst film i've ever seen. Worse than Cannibal Terror. Worse than Nightmares in a Damaged Brain. I'm beginning to think that the true legacy of the Video Nasty scandal is the undeseved infamy it has provided to some truly awful films, forever to be exploited by low-budget film distributors who label the misrepresentative DVD covers with the titillating promise of 'Previously Band' and 'Completely Uncut!'. Word's can not describe how dreadful this film is. So why carry on this review?

Video Nasty #28 : I Spit On Your Grave AKA Day of the Woman

2010-07-31T12:20:00.002+01:00

Synopsis: In search of peace in which to write her first novel Jennifer has left New York and rented a house in redneck country. Before long she has caught the attention of the dim-witted locals, who, as to justify their atrocious sexual desires, selectively interpret her outgoing personality as a sexual game. After being raped and left for dead, Jennifer survives to take the ultimate revenge.

If you google for reviews of I Spit On Your Grave you'll find most reflect one of two opposing opinions; there's those that think the film is depraved misogynistic filth, and those that think it's a misunderstood pro-feminism gem. I was going to write a review that straddles both those opinions. I do believe that despite the poor script and acting, the director had good intentions. I also believe that if violence in a film is shot in a way that is utterly repugnant I don't see how, morally at least, a bad thing. I started writing a review in this vein and realised that firstly, it was predictable and secondly, I could of written the review without watching a frame of the film. Here's the honest truth:

I'm lying on bed, attempting to piece together a review of my usual mediocre standard. After a brief period of struggling to spell 'misogyny' I had something of an epiphany. The TV's on, and i'm being treated to 'The Best Of My Supersweet 16'. If you're not familiar with the programme, it follows spoilt middle class idiot-holes planning lavish sixteenth birthday parties, all at the expense of their painfully useless parents. And as I was watching a self-agrandising spoilt cunt have an x-factor style audition to choose who's worthy of attending his public ego-inflation, I realised that i was actually shouting at the TV. Yet during a the ten minute rape scene in I Spit On Your Grave you could of looked at my indifferent emotionless counternance and assume I was watching something as emotionally vapid as TV static or an episode of Scrubs.

I am a little concerned about the complete lack of effect the film had on me; after all the film is a bunch of violent reprehensible acts strung together with a script less nuanced than a Tesco's Value ham sandwich. Maybe my video nasty marathon is finally taking its toll and I was inadvertently proving Mary Whitehouse right by becoming a desensitised degenerate who is more upset by some spoilt kid than a woman being raped. Or maybe I Spit On Your Grave is so badly made, scripted, shot and generally realised that any emotional attachment I may of had to the ghastly acts were constantly destroyed by the fact I couldn't watch a minute of the film without expecting a boom-mike to fall in shot or one of the actors to start laughing.

There are some potentially interesting elements in the film, but somewhere between the original idea and script the original intention was lost and absorbed by the pulpy dumbness of the final product. For example, one of Jennifer's attackers is mentally handicapped and forced into raping her by his so-called friends. The fact that Jennifer chooses to kill him first is a deliberate decision by the script writer, asking the audience to consider if revenge is justified in extreme circumstances, even when it is ambiguous whether the target understood the crime they committed in the first place. Unfortunately, the director decided the character should be played full-retard, complete with comedy glasses and fishing hat. The ridiculousness of this offensive caricature detracts from the issues the character was meant to raise.

There's a good, interesting and intelligent film in the idea behind I Spit In Your Grave, it's just not delivered in the 1979 film. Maybe, and i'm amazed that i'm actually saying this, the upcoming remake will actually deliver where the original could not.

Photo Diary : LDN

2010-07-19T21:23:00.003+01:00

Visiting Kim and Brother-In-Law (weird saying that) this weekend. Still obsessed with Hipstamatic.

Photo Diary : BBQ in Sepia

2010-07-11T22:07:00.004+01:00

I love 'Hipstamatic' for the iPhone. I love the perversity of making a photo taken on a state-of-the-art phone look it was taken on a thirty year old disposable camera. This weekend we had a BBQ, here's the Hipstamatic results:

Photo Diary : Geocaching Shepshed & Grace Dieu Priory

2010-07-04T19:26:00.000+01:00

This creepy tunnel is part of the Charnwood Forest Railway (GC10M51)

Viaduct near Grace Dieu Priory. No pictures of the priory itself due to family fun day in and around the ruins ruining the mood. We did manage to score some monk honey though. That is not a euphemism. (GC29VFC)

Photo Diary : Crop Memories

2010-07-03T17:45:00.002+01:00

I fear I may of been slightly exaggerating when talking to my friends about the size of the first courgette i've grown this year. It isn't really growing exponentially, and I don't really believe that if it gets any bigger I won't be able to open the door to the garden. But given the lack of success previous years I was genuinely excited to grow something that meets my expectations (i.e. looks like the stuff in the Sainsburys).

Eating something you've grown yourself is incredibly satisfying. Only now do I understand the pride in my Nan's voice when she proclaimed before a sunday roast that all the vegetables were 'fresh this morning from Gramp's garden'.

Photo Diary : Cropped Memories

2010-06-28T22:19:00.001+01:00

One of the nice things about my current job is that, despite being on an industrial estate, it's flanked by fields and woods to walk around at lunch.

This photo isn't a true reflection of walking through the field; to the left there's a craggy horizon of warehouses and to the right there's a busy A-road, soundtracking the walk with the constant rumble of lorrys.

I start a new job next week, on an industrial estate in the middle of a busy town. There's a few things I really don't like about my current job, but i'm learning to not let slight negativity burden otherwise good memories. Like the photo above, i'll just crop them out.

Video Nasty #27 : Contamination AKA Alien Contamination

2010-06-26T10:35:00.002+01:00

Synopsis: After a ghost ship arrives in a New York dock Lieutenant Aris is sent to investigate, quickly discovering its cargo of mysterious green glowing egg-like lifeforms. Before you can say 'I've seen this somewhere before' the eggs burst open, causing those who come into contact with the psuedo-yolk to explode, chest first. Can Aris and Colonel Holmes from the secretive Special Division Five uncover the true origins of the alien eggs (*cough* Ridley Scott's Alien *cough*) before they are distributed across the planet?

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. The problem is, when money's involved imitation becomes a thin line between flattery and plagiarism. Superficially Contamination is a cheap Italian rip-off of the seminal Alien, released to quickly cash in on its phenomenal success. Actually, other than the iconic eggs and its short lived title of 'Alien 2', Contamination has far more in common with camp 50's b-movie sci-fi then the haunted house atmosphere of Alien.

The plot is silly, but bumbles along quickly enough. I think the film was made to appeal to an American audience, and in many ways fits into the cookie cutter template of an early 80's action flick - The unlikely love affair between the quarrelling leads is very Indiana Jones, and the evil corporation's elaborate and presumed successful attempts to kill our heros is textbook Bond. In a way these elements make the film comfortably predictable, like a pair of manky slippers you wouldn't want anyone else to see you wearing.

Special mention is deserved for the sets of Special Division Five's laboratory, almost exclusively built using hexagons, because, you know, architecturally awkward six sides shapes that don't fit together are soo futuristic. Wrongly I assumed the set was a homage to cheep and cheerful b-movies, the sliding door's jerking movement and cardboard aesthetic a deliberate decision. Unfortunately, after listening to the director discuss the timeless quality he was trying to achieve in the movie (hahaha!) i'm not so sure.

Whilst the film's sets are unimaginative, there is glimpses of the film-makers true vision in the quirky costumes and special effects. Some of the effects are realisticly gorey (I will never get tired of seeing people explode), and others are hilarious but enderaring, such as the mother alien locked away in the evil organisation's basement. Cameron's sequel to Alien introduced the terrifying queen, where as Contamination has a green octo-thing with a huge glowing yellow eye and extended osmosis tube that eats its victims whole, like a snake. Possibly the most hilarious shot is that of the Alien cave on mars, filled with hundreds of eggs - it's clearly a scale model of peas in a paper mache diorama.

I really liked Contamination. It was rubbish, but had enough fun moments to keep me hooked. Despite the sometimes poor effects, at least the director tried to deliver pay-offs instead of relying on stock footage and reaction shots. Its biggest downfall is its (admittedly underplayed) efforts to cash in on Alien; It's easy to blame the poor quality of the film on age, but when you remember it was released after Alien the age cannot mitigate the lack of quality. Contamination is cheap, cheerful and, I think, is just intended as a bit of escapist fun. A rareity on the list.

Photo Diary : Gloucester Cathedral

2010-06-20T18:48:00.004+01:00

On the way back from Cardiff we decided to follow the most exciting brown sign. Gloucester Cathedral won.

Photo Diary : Cardiff

2010-06-20T18:34:00.008+01:00

We went to Cardiff, because we could.

An inexplicable memorial to Ianto Jones, a lame character in the lame sci-fi series Torchwood. You have to admire the amount of (presumably ironic) effort put into celebrating mediocrity.

Video Nasty #26 : The Witch Who Came From The Sea

2010-06-15T22:40:00.006+01:00

Synopsis: Molly is not well. Struggling to come to terms with her horrific upbringing, she has developed an alternate personality that avenges her Father's despicable crimes by seducing, castrating and killing men. As her memory's protective facade begins to drop Molly must face the truth of her childhood and unconscious revenge.

One of the most interesting and disorientating aspects of watching an obscure film from the early 70's (and i've done this a lot recently) is that one rarely has any realistic preconceptions. Other than the title, video cover and promise of something potentially offensive, it's difficult to know what to expect. The Witch Who Came From The Sea is the epitome of not judging a film by its cover. The title, pulp video cover and tag line ('Molly really knows how to cut men down to size!!') suggests camp horror, when the film is actually a slow paced character study exploring the psychological scars of child sex abuse, the title begin derived from the main character's obsession with a mermaid. Watching the film was akin to entering a ghost house and the train immediately stopping in a large lecture theatre where the riders are subjected to a two hour lecture from captain smug himself, Richard Dawkins - I could stomach the lecture, but I really just wanted rubber skeletons and bats on strings.

Sexual abuse is a difficult subjet to tackle in a (predominantly) entertainment medium. It's something that many other films on the list have approached with blood-tinted exploitation glasses, their slightly off-hand dealing with the subject leaving me more than a little sour. Thankfully the The Witch... doesn't trivilise the subject, painting a subtle portrait of a woman in denial.

Molly has rewritten her childhood, believing her perfect father is lost at sea and one day may return. Her need to accept this fantasy is reinforced by her less than supportive sister ('You could be a top waitress, even a bunny if you put your mind to it'), the constant presence of her beloved nephews and all them men in her life being part-time misogynists. In moments of clarity Molly has flashbacks of her father's dispicable acts, soundtracked by the white noise of waves crashing, a reminder of the sea that has, in her mind, taken her father and childhood.

As the frequency and intensity of Molly's flashbacks increase so does her alternate personality's appearances and more men, as the tagline has it, are cut down to size. Every girl remembers her first castration, and Molly's is a doozy, luring two major league footballers to a hotel room, tying them up and administering some permanent contraception. Aside from the scene being rendered almost unintelligible by heavy 'we're all stoned' reverb, It's difficult to believe that the rather plain looking Molly managed to seduce the two men, let alone the film star she seduces later (unsurprisingly Millie Perkins, who plays Molly, was married to the writer). Despite the relatively graphic scenes of violence, I suspect the film earned its blacklisting due to the horribly effective scenes of child abuse. The haunting image of a grown man's legs grinding on top of child's in bed is deeply unpleasant, but how can child abuse be anything but?

I feel the biggest problem with The Witch... is the dichotomy of it trying to be both a gory horror film and an earnest character piece. I couldn't warm to Molly, and aside from a very silly fantasy sequence of bodybuilders being violently contorted around their gym gear, there was very little in the way of the silliness promised by the title, cover and tagline. The film's biggest failure is its final emotionally charged scenes, which falls completely flat because I really couldn't care about the tortured lead. Despite its flaws, The Witch... has soul, which is a rare quality for films on the list. As Mr E. would say, it's a beautiful freak.

Video Nasty #25 : Snuff

2010-06-08T22:10:00.001+01:00

'Cut & Shut' is a term used to describe a composite automobile that has been created by welding two cars, often write-offs, together. Snuff is a 'Cut & Shut' film, 90% a low budget unsuccessful horror flick, and 10% a freshly shot piece of marketing genius. It's essentially a Lada with the rear end of a Lexus.

In 1971 Roberta and Michael Findlay wrote and directed Slaughter, a low budget horror film inspired by the Manson Family murders and shot in Argentina. The film achieved little distribution and quickly disappeared into the obscurity it probably deserved. Five years later, to the surprise of the Findlay's, Slaughter was re-released in cinemas with a new ending and title - Snuff.

Snuff was the illegitimate child of soft-core film producer Allan Shackleton. After reading lurid tales of real-life murder films shot in South America, Shackleton spotted an opportunity to exploit the outrage and perverse interest in these so-called 'Snuff' movies. He knew that if he could release a film and convince the right people it was a real snuff movie the inevitable moral backlash would create free publicity and an 'event movie' that will have curious punters flocking to their local grindhouse. But Shackleton still needed a film, and how could a mock Snuff movie be dragged out for more than five minutes without the viewer, after the initial burst of adrenaline and curiosity, suddenly realise that what they were watching wasn't only disgusting but, frankly, boring? Shackleton then devised his master stroke - take an existing, preferably cheap film and after ninety minutes insert a new ending, purportedly real footage of the crew killing one of the cast members. The film would keep the audience in the cinema for ninety minutes, eager to see the hyped finale, and most importantly, the whole venture will be extremely cheap. Shackleton choose Slaughter, presumably because it did very little business on its original release and, consistent with the Snuff legend, was shot in South America.

On release Shackleton hired fake protesters to hook the media, which led to legitimate protests from Women Against Pornography. The Findlay's, obviously pissed with the fact Shackleton managed to make good money from their crappy movie, sued and settled out of court. Bizarrely, Michael Findlay later died on top of an NYC skyscraper from lacerations caused by a tipping helicopter's blades.

Slaughter, or what of it is in Snuff, is a badly scripted, badly shot, badly scored, badly dubbed, badly acted, yet bizarrely watchable film. The film follows Satarn (subtle), the male leader of an otherwise all-female cult. His followers will do anything to apease him, which alternates between sadist sexual favours and murder. It's essentially male wish-fulfilment bullshit. The misogyny runs through out the film, a later scene having a nymph explain that her sexual needs are the result of being repeatedly raped as a child, something she partially enjoyed. Despite the moral questionability of the film, it's difficult to be offended by something so poorly put together.

And then Slaughter abruptly and prematurely ends, leading into the newly filmed Snuff footage. Presumably there were only a few minutes of Slaughter left, which annoyed me. Despite it making as much sense as the appeal of colonic irrigation, I actually wanted some closure on the mad storyline.

The new footage is, compared to Slaughter at least, quite convincing. This is aided by the jaring and slightly disorientating sudden cut, dragging the viewer through the fourth wall, with crew and lighting now visible. One of the actresses from Slaughter (not actually the same actress, but lets ignore that) is led to a bed by a crew member and convinced to 'fool around', all under the watchful eye of at least four crew members, one of them still filming. The women is quickly tied down and with the acquiescence of the crew she has a few fingertips snipped, her hand jigsawed and finally her stomach disembowelled. At this point the film seemingly runs out and the screen is left a brilliant white, with the sound of crew members planning their escape fading to silence.

The idea is pretty smart, and the execution (sorry, bad pun) isn't too bad. Unfortunately, there's numerous indicators that give the game away. Ignoring the normal found-footage screw-up of multiple inexplicable camera angles, the effects just aren't good enough. During the disembowelment the woman's chest is ridiculously elongated and where she ends and the special effect stomach begins is blatant. Despite this many swallowed the lie whole, and this inevitably led to its banning in the UK.

Snuff is an intriguing yet ultimately dull film. One has to admire the audacity of Shackleton's plan, and for that the film deserves at least some of its infamy. Much like Faces of Death, the film's legacy is in the camp-fire stories of real snuff films it has perpetuated.

Mr & Mrs Manser

2010-06-02T23:00:00.005+01:00

On a sunny and slightly breezy 30th May 2010, Kimberly Christa Rebecca Atkins married Sam Manser, forming what can only be described as Samberly, a visualisation & fancy dress expert with emo tendencies and a penchant for girly drinks (that's mostly Sam, to be fair). This of course means that both of my siblings have got engaged and married during Jen and I's protracted but perfect engagement.

Although they've been planning the wedding for well over a year (in typical Kim fashion, she's got through three wedding dresses in this time), the whole thing snuck up on me a little, probably because we live nowhere near any of my family and have had the luxury of avoiding involvement with what was surely lengthly and arduous planning. For this reason, the emotional weight of it all hit me randomly on the day, like a sack full of sweetly scented rocks. First was during my dad's amazing father of the bride speech and secondly was (admittedly after quite alot of drink) watching Kim and Sam dancing and holding back the man-tears. I blame Pixar's Up, before that film I hadn't openly cried since watching My Girl when I was 10.

I can only apologise that this well-intentioned post is sandwiched between reviews of 'Cannibal Man' and, in due course, 'Snuff'. As some kind of weak mitigation I came up with the following analogy: Life is generally a lot of rubbish with some wonderful moments in between. Kim and Sam's wedding was, and this is not hyperbole, perfect. Apart from everyone's inability to pronounce my sister's full name, the day couldn't of been better. Kim and Sam deserve it. It's clear how wonderful they are as both people and as a couple by the warmth of the family and friends that surround them.

One day like this a year will set me right.

Video Nasty #24: Cannibal Man AKA Apartment on the 13th Floor

2010-06-01T22:30:00.000+01:00

Synopsis: After accidentally killing a taxi driver the only way Marco can avoid capture is to reluctantly silence those who discover his secret. Whilst Marco's self-preservation is leading him to relentlessly hack away at his family tree, a mysterious male admirer is watching his every move.

Experience has taught me that any film with 'Cannibal' in the title is inevitably going to be so painfully dull it will, somewhat ironically, make we want to chew my own arm off. Cannibal Man disproves this conjecture, but only because the title is pure marketing tosh. There is a man, but he is in no way a Cannibal. In fact, i'm not even sure he's a meat eater.

Misleading title aside, Cannibal Man is something of a hidden gem. The film's plot is refreshingly simple, affording the director time to focus on the slow-burning mental collapse of our anti-hero, Marco. Unsurprisingly, Marco's brooding hardman facade quickly dissolves after he's killed his girlfriend, brother, brother's girlfriend, father-in-law to be and a local waitress.

Although the plot sounds darkly comic, almost cohen-esque, the film is primarily a tragedy with only a few subtle nods to the humour that can be found in the slightly ludicrous story. Marco is a reluctant, almost accidental serial killer. As if trying to justify the kills to himself, he always offers his victims a way out, as if their persistence makes them fair game. Marco exhibits further denial by positioning the corpses of his brother and his girlfriend in a naturalistic loving embrace.

In the third act Marco finally succumbs to the advances of his over-friendly neighbour Nestor and, oddly, joins him in a homo-erotic splash in the local pool. After a sexy soft-lense shower scene Marco returns to the Nestor's apartment, situated in a modern tower-block that shadows Marco's dilapidated cottage. Nestor confronts Marco about the killings he has witnessed through binoculars and, unlike anyone else in the film, offers to help. Marco is a knife's edge away from killing the only person that's tried to help him and, in a moment of clarity flees and confesses to the police. There's clearly a subtext regarding social divide, but despite the writer's obviously strong conviction it wasn't entirely clear to me. Further reading has filled in the gaps - knowing about the huge gap between rich and poor under Franco's rule helps provides a much clearer context for the film.

Despite the high quality of filmmaking on display, some of the film's dialog is shocking, I suspect due to bad translation and dubbing. My favourites include Marco's tirade against the taxi driver who objects to Marco having sex on his back seat - 'Haven't you been with a girl before, what are you? Some kind of homosexual!? ... My suggestion to you is, shove your taxi'; and Marco's response when his girlfriend asks if there's anything in the paper about the taxi driver they killed the night before - 'No. Not at all. Oh, there was one thing - the man died'.

Cannibal Man is an atypical video nasty, probably finding its way onto the list due to its blunt title rather than the relatively moderate content. it's nice to watch a listed film that is engaging and attempts to provide an underlying subcontext, even if it's intentions are never quite successfully expressed. Whilst most of comically bad dubbing in euro-trash films makes them more watchable, it only hinders Cannibal Man; I wish I had seen a subtitled version that, I suspect, would provide better dialog and, in turn, better reflect the subtle naunces of the story.

Also, thanks to its misleading title I can continue to further recycle my mediocre 'chew my own arm off' gag in future Cannibal movie reviews. Hooray!

Photo Diary : Mount Saint Bernard Abbey

2010-05-23T19:39:00.006+01:00

Today we discovered that a few miles from our house is the astonishing Mount Saint Bernard Abbey, a working Monastary of trappist monks. In the blazing sun and beneath perfect blue skys it felt more like Italy than England.

Video Nasty #23 : Killer Nun

2010-05-22T15:30:00.000+01:00

Synopsis: When patients at a religious hospice start dying somewhat prematurely Sister Gertrude is the prime suspect; her rule has become increasingly dictatorial and she suspiciously blacks out before every death. Doubting her own sanity, Gertrude can only find solice in mental torture of the patients, large helpings of self-medicated morphine and humiliating her doting and obsessive lesbian roommate. Is Gertrude being framed or is she really the Killer Nun?

No. It's the lesbian roommate, stupid.

Killer Nun is one of many nunsploitation movies, following a sister's fall from grace into a secular swamp of feminism, lesbianism, sadism and murder (If there was ever a film genre that was named before a film existed, it has to be Nunsploitation). I'd guess that the sexualised element is clearly playing to man’s apparent desire for a good girl gone bad, after all, nun to scum is more of a moral swing than Harold Shipman doing a fun run for Help the Aged.

Given the bluntness of the title I expected Killer Nun to be a fun throw-away movie with some unsubtle criticism of religion, the later presumably leading to its treasured place on the video nasty black list. Instead, I got a dull trashy movie that didn't work on any level; the script meanders, the kills would only mildly excite a gerontophobe and the sex scenes are about as erotic as a scat movie narrated by Werner Herzog.

Gertrude, the nun recovering from potentially botched neuro surgery is played reasonably well by Anita Ekberg, but the script gives her little to do other than look distressed, confused and angry, mostly in that order, ad nauseam. Gertrude's nihilistic fall from grace leads to some incongruous but bizarrely entertaining scenes, such as Gertrude smashing on an elderly woman's false teeth during dinner, and later forcing her lesbian roommate to wear nothing but stockings and repeat the phrase 'i'm the worst kind of whore'. Gertrude's dictatorial treatment of the patients is one of the more interesting aspects of the film, especially as the patients appear to have complete contempt for their self-appointed guardians' religion. Unfortunately, like anything potentially interesting in the film this falls along the wayside in favour of the suprisingly dull murder mystery.

One would think that the taboo of a nun murdering her flock would be interestingly subversive, but the lack of inventiveness and visual flaire reduces most of the kills to something that wouldn't look out of place in an episode of murder she wrote. It's clear that the protagonist is being framed, and the heavy handed attempts at misdirection to implicate Gertrude are transparent and tired.

Despite the promise of its explosive title, Killer Nun is a disappointing movie that fails to effectively exploit all the interesting ideas a morphine addicted, lesbian, murdering nun raises. To be honest, i'm mostly disappointed that I didn't manage to fit a 'kick the habit' pun into the review.

Photo Diary : Geocaching in White Horse Wood, Shepshed

2010-05-16T16:00:00.001+01:00

Video Nasty #22 : The Funhouse

2010-05-07T23:04:00.001+01:00

Synopsis: After enjoying a potent combination of marijuana and candy floss, four teenagers decide to have a sleepover in the carnival's ghost train. Hidden amongst rubber skeletons and cheap animatronics they witness the murder of an (evidently rubbish) fortune teller. Stalked by the deformed killer and his surrogate father the teens must escape the ironically named Funhouse.

Teenagers in horror films are always doing stupid things, be it running up stairs to an inescapable first floor, screaming their lungs out instead of quietly sneaking away, or using close visual inspection to ensure the bad guy's dead rather than putting a bullet in their head for good luck. I think deciding to stay the night in a ghost house is on a par with these perennial stupid decisions. You wouldn't stay the night in a hotel ran by carnies, so why stay in one of their many attractions/death traps? Nevertheless, if characters didn't make stupid decisions most horror films would follow a bunch of teenagers having good but legal fun and getting an early night; maybe with a closing shot of a glum psychotic killer sitting dejected in his nutty room after a non-starter of an evening.

Stupid decisions aside, The Funhouse is solidly made yet marginally disappointing film. The film looks and sounds great. For me, it finally proves that Tobe Hooper is a quality director, something I was unsure of after watching the grimy silliness that is Death Trap and the controversy surrounding his actual contribution to Poltergeist.

Hooper is at his best creating an unsettling calm before the storm, making the ordinary feel, often inexplicably, not quite right. As the teens explore the carnival only Amy, the film's lead, notices there's something creepy, almost malevolent about the Carnival's inhabitants. A barker's fixation on Amy, the deformed animals in the freak show and an old lady screaming bilious religious hatred at the girls all contribute to an unsettling atmosphere, creating a slow-burning dread of the inevitable events to come. Unfortunately, the time spent on this and the pointless subplot of Amy's brother running away means the teenagers don't get into the titular Funhouse until forty minutes into the film.

Once in the tardis of a funhouse the proverbial excrement really hits the rotating air conveyance device, as the teens witness a murder and are quickly discovered by the deformed killer and his creepy guardian. The duo are classic Hooper, a mentally handicapped freak (see Leatherface) and his loving yet psychotic father figure (see Leatherface's father). The killer appears early in the film shuffling around in a full frankenstein costume, complete with a snot covered rubber mask and a heavy laboured wheeze, making him suitably creepy and mysterious. Unfortunately, as with most movie monsters, when the mask is removed the killer's true form is not quite as effective or believable as whatever our imagination has concocted, despite being an impressive piece of practical effects.

The remainder of the film is satisfactory, but the by-the-numbers third act doesn't live up to the genuinely creepy lead up to the carnage. Maybe Hooper lost his nerve, or maybe their was too much pressure to produce a commercial horror film. Regardless, I'll definitely watch The Funhouse again, which isn't something I would happily say for almost all of the previous twenty one films.

Video Nasty #21 : Terreur Cannibale AKA Cannibal Terror

2010-04-30T14:55:00.010+01:00

Synopsis: After a child kidnapping goes wrong two criminals venture in to the jungle to lay low. After being raped by one of the kidnappers a women informs the child's parents of the criminal's location, leading to a deadly chase through cannibal country.

Terreur Cannibale is made by filmmakers with so little respect for their audience that they think its ok to make up the script as they go along. Therefore, in the spirit of not caring about plot, structure, entertainment value or quality, I've decided to use my unedited viewing notes as a review...

Opens with upbeat music, sounds like La Bamba. Dubbed a little girl with a grown woman's voice! Mouths not even moving when dubbing. At least dub using voices that match the face! Decide to hide in an indian forest. No reason to run away but do anyway. Dubbing just shows that no one gives a shit about this film, quick cash grab. Border guard seduced by the plainest most unremarkable brunette. 'That's what I call a nice piece'. Obligatory stock wildlife footage. 20 cannibals next to the road. Cannibals clearly westerners. Is that offensive? Main cannibal wearing a wig. Dancing around a tiny fire. Cannibals probably called Hank and Bob, directors friends, taking a break from trucking. Footage eating innards playing ad nauseum. Nudity. Camera doesn't know what to look at. Women clearly not tied up properly. Oh, he's a rapist now? Miming guitar playing. Knocking out epic solo whilst he's playing the chords to Wild Thing. House owner goes away for two days, as soon as his wife is raped he makes it back 'sooner than I thought' (20 minutes). She didn't seem to mind being raped, has a dance party with rapist. Showing pants. Five second shot clearly a photo of one of the actors. ugh. Man ripped open by cannibals. Cannibal shot dead. Editor desperately trying to make a film out of this incongruous mess. Camera work is a mess. A practical master class in shitty film making. Cannibals are skinny white guys with canes making weird noises at each other, adorned with Fisher Price face paint. Plastic skull on sticks. Ironic that a cannibal film is so bad I want to gnaw on my arm. No women in tribe. Oh, there's one! Bullshit rituals, all they do is dance around making noises, must get boring. Man shot. And another. This jungle has mowed grass? One cannibal wearing bermuda shorts. Really dull. 15 minutes of stalking through woods. 10 minutes of dancing around, nothing happens. 5 minutes of yanking on innards. Shit shit shit.

Video Nasty #20: Evilspeak

2010-04-24T22:05:00.012+01:00

Synopsis: Coopersmith (or Cooper-dick to, well, everyone) is the least popular cadet in military school. He's bullied daily, despised by the soccer coach and forced to clean out the church's catacombs by the pastor. Whilst cleaning out the crypt Coopersmith stumbles upon the art of black mass and, in a heartbeat, decides that the only way to get revenge on his bullys is to enlist the help of Satan. After all, revenge is a dish best served disproportionately.

I was never really persistently bullied at school, despite being an obvious target. My teenage attempts to grow locks was scuppered by my hair's ability to disregard gravity, growing away from my head but never downwards. For many years I belligerently sported a ginger afro in the misguided belief that one day my muscle-hair would give up and relax. Being a red-head was reason alone to be abused, making my noggin the size of a Space Hopper just made me an even easier target, literally. Afro aside, I was also a 'greb', a derogatory term used for anyone in our school that was in a band, read NME, knew the lyrics to Polly by Nirvana and thought most chart music was shit. I was a prime target, but for some reason I was spared from sustained bullying. I was shouted at most days and one evening attacked by ten or so yoofs in the street, but it wasn't part of any persistent campaign. The only consistant bully I had was myself, with the constant self-loathing I knew I had to perfect if I ever wanted to grow up like my miserable idols.

Despite this, I have experienced many adrenaline-fuelled moments of reverie imagining overblown retribution against some jerk that pushed me over in the school corridor or reminded me, for the two hundredth time, that my hair is still ginger. Unlike Coopersmith, the anti-hero of Evilspeak, even in my darkest moments I had never considered a black seance to harness the power of Satan. It just seems a bit mental.

Coopersmith is bullied more than your average kid. As if the archetypal teenage bullies killing his puppy wasn't bad enough, the entire military school staff despise him. The soccer coach encourages others to inure him so he can't play in the big game, the head teacher will moan about him being a welfare case to anyone who'll listen and Sarge, the drunk who lives beneath the church, repeatedly calls him a cocksucker (although given that he calls everyone a cocksucker, I suspect Sarge may have tourettes). The film is so occupied with Coopersmith being emotionally crushed by every person in his life (as mitigation for the events to come), even I felt like I should join in and give him some abuse.

When Coopersmith isn't being bullied, he spends the film typing dubious satanic latin into an even more dubious monitor sized super computer. Like all good celluloid computers, Coopersmith's PC is more powerful and advanced than Stephen Hawking after a voice upgrade. The computer perfectly translates the book and, once parsed, starts guiding Coopersmith through the satanic rites, flashing 'Blood Consecrated Host Required' like a psychopathic edition of Microsoft Windows. When he finally delivers the last ingredient (that dead puppy came in handy) the screen prints the ominous 'Data Complete' and switches to its extravagant tron-like pentagram screensaver. Unintentionally, Evilspeak's use of a computer to summon evil is a pretty prescient analogy of the how the media currently views computers. The Internet is, after all, the 21st century Video Nasty, blamed for everything broken in society like the comics, videos and computer games that came before it.

When Coopersmith finally gets his retribution it's satisfying, if not a little ridiculous. All of his fellow pupils are in the church for a pre-soccer game rally from the Priest. As Coopersmith completes the ceremony he rises through the floor from the crypt below, sword in hand and killer pigs in tow. As the crowd scrambles we're treated to Coopersmith floating around the hall mashing up people's heads with a sword and hell's pigs tearing people limb from limb. The Pièce de résistance has to be the nail in a crucification effigy becoming supernaturally dislodged and flying through the priest's forehead. As deserved as the revenge is, it is quite boring after the initial onslaught. The wire work is particularly rubbish, making Coopersmith look more like a wonky marionette then a levitating force of evil.

Evilspeak is enjoyable enough, saved from banality by a solid and empathetic performance from Clint Howard (Ron's brother). Even though the film takes a while to get going, the retribution finale is cathartic whilst being unintentionally hilarious. I can only assume the film was deemed offensive as the story is basically an unabashed endorsement of using violence for revenge, made worse by the fact that the big guy himself, Satan, is sold as an anti-hero. You know what, hats off to the filmmakers for taking a stand. The media are always vilifying Satan. Poor guy.

Video Nasty #19: Faces of Death

2010-04-24T10:08:00.001+01:00

Synopsis: Pathologist Dr. Francis B. Gröss thinks that to truly understand death, we must face it in every possible form. To this end the good doctor has travelled the world, amassing enough footage for a feature length snuff compilation. Genocide? check. Suicide? check. Eating a live monkey's brain? check. And you thought 'You've Been Framed' was a barrel of laughs!

Faces of Death was the film on the video nasty list I was most reticent to watch. I don't find real footage of death particularly enjoyable (assuming everything in the film is real) and, ignoring the questionable morality of a snuff mega-mix, a film comprising disjointed scenes of death just sounds dull. Faces of Death did, to a degree, surpass my low expectations. That's not to say it's a good film, it just isn't as morally bankrupt or boring as i'd expected. If I can say one kind thing about Faces of Death, it's that it isn't Transformers 2.

Despite my expectations, the film does have some cohesion between scenes, provided by the narration and philosophical musings of the fictional pathologist Dr. Francis B. Gröss. The voice over is surprisingly well written, making the piece more like a morbid discovery channel documentary than the low budget exploitation it really is. Some of the learned doctor's utterances almost provide an educational slant to the sick side show, such as Gröss' cowardly but identifiable admission that if he had to work on the animal slaughter production line he revels in showing us, he'd stick with the Nut Roast (the hallal slaughter of a cow is particularly grim and bloody). Other narration is less grounded though. Gröss suggests that cancer is a manmade desease that could be erradicated through sociological changes; the motivations of a human who takes their own lives is still a mystery; and the allies quickly beat hitler's army (maybe from an American point of view they did).

I have to admit that some of the footage is genuinely exciting, but it is mostly stuff that could and should be seen in good documentaries. Open heart surgery is fascinating (ignoring the filmmakers' cheap trick of pausing the footage to imply the heart has stopped beating) and some of the real nature footage is far more interesting than the staged footage of a man being eaten by a crocodile. The footage showing the aftermath of a 727 (PSA Flight 182) crashing over San Diego is morbidly fascinating and surreal, parts of plane and bodies strewn across the well kept lawns of suburbia.

As should be expected, the handling of some footage is in very poor taste. Although I can forgive the banjo music soundtracking the headless chicken 'dancing' around (it's just a nerve reaction after all), soundtracking real footage of a person jumping to their death with Dixie Land Jazz music is horribly disrespectful. Despite being accompanied by a rightfully somber narration, holocaust footage made me extremely uncomfortable, although I suppose genocide has to be acknowledged as one of societies many unnatural causes of death.

So is Faces of Death real or fake? I spent some time researching the legitimacy of the film before I watched it, mostly as an emotional safety net for some of the more infamous scenes. Regardless of what I discovered, I was always going to watch the film, uncut, because it's the only fair way to make a judgement on the Video Nasty furore at the end of this obscenity marathon. In true mondo tradition the film is a mix of fact and fiction, with no clear indication of what is real and what is fake. The Internet puts the figure at 40% fake, which seems reasonable. The fake footage is very well shot and as such i'm not sure how I would of reacted if I saw the film in '78 on a grainy VHS, especially as I wouldn't of had the detailed film geek analysis a few mouse clicks away. Obviously no person was killed for the film, and the infamous monkey antics is a certified hoax.

There's no denying that Faces of Death is made for a juvenile audience; IMDB's forum is mostly people reminiscing about watching the movie at sleepovers and believing everything was real. Despite the target market, the film is put together with some competency and, thankfully, it's clear that no person or animal was harmed for the sake of entertainment, something which cannot be said for other films on the DPP list (Cannibal Holocaust). Faces of Death isn't a good film, It just isn't as obscene as I expected.

I think i'll pass on the three sequels.

And His Soul Danced

2010-04-17T10:33:00.001+01:00

Last weekend someone said something to me that i'd only expect to read in a book or hear in a film. 'Playing the fiddle', he said, 'makes my soul dance'. This struck me as a beautiful expression and something I can really identify with (to music in general, not my violin playing. Despite many years of lessons my violin playing couldn't even make my soul nod its head).

I think that it's a shame that people don't talk more like they do in films, emotionally unconstrained & straight from the heart, forgetting inhibitions and dropping their social facade.

Now I think about it, he may of been quite drunk. So maybe what i'm actually saying is, let's all drink more.

Video Nasty #18: Possession

2010-04-17T10:08:00.001+01:00

Synopsis: After working away from home for a mysterious organisation Mark returns to Berlin to find his marriage in ruin. Whilst trying to salvage his relationship with his wife Anna, Mark makes some startling discoveries. Aside from his wife's affair with Heimrich, a new age martial artist, she's also having sexual relations with a man-eating tentacled thing.

Possession's appearance on the DPP list is something of an anomaly, like funny dialog in a Rob Schneider movie or Stevie Wonder playing a BNP fundraiser. The film doesn't belong, and as such provided a welcome break from the mostly low-budget exploitation of the previous 17 films. One its most appealing aspects is that it's difficult to pigeon hole. The first third of the film is a miserable relationship drama, with very little respite from the couple shrieking at each other. Once Mark dispatches a private detective to follow Anna the film enters horror territory; the detective and his partner being killed by Anna and fed to a slimy octopus like beast in a run down apartment. After more shrieking it is hinted that the entity isn't a monster but a malevolent manifestation of the hurt caused by the emotional breakdown, the incarnate loss of hope and faith. The remainder of the film enters typical Lynch territory, disregarding any semblance of a linear or sensical story in favour of emotional and surreal vignettes.

There are large chunks of the film that are dull, which isn't helped by the deliberate overacting of the two leads. Whilst Isabelle Adjani's (Anna) break down remains convincing Sam Neill (Mark) pushes it a little too far, becomes a melodramatic caricature, so emotionally and physically intense I spent most of the film waiting for his eyeballs to pop out under the pressure. In parts the dialog is wonderfully cryptic and philosophical, but it's mostly incoherent rambling. I think the leads are intentionally unlikeable, wallowing in self pity and sixth form philosophy whilst the most important thing in their life, their young child, is suffering.

Despite the individual scenes never quite coming together as an enjoyable whole, the film does have some great moments. The design of 'monster' is outstanding. Like The Thing, the 25 year old puppetry trumps anything computer generated. Nothing is more of a testament to this then the scene of Anna making love to the undeveloped entity. It's a scene that could of easily looked ridiculous but was actually skin crawlingly creepy. Another stand out scene follows Anna in a subway station having a complete mental and physical breakdown. For minutes she smashes her body against the wall, finally kneeling on the floor with milk and blood poring out of her head. It makes no sense, but it's horrifying.

I'll concede that i'm sure there are themes and ideas in the movie that i could only begin to comprehend after multiple viewings. I'm sure there is significance to the characters living next to the Berlin wall, and Mark's mysterious government job is clearly linked with the entity somehow (oddly, the clue to this is pink socks).

I don't have a problem with the non-traditional, avant-garde nature of the film. I really love Mulholland Drive, a film which, much like Possession, starts as a linear understandable piece and after 40 minutes suddenly shifts into incoherence for the remainder, as if the director suddenly had a massive mental breakdown,. Unfortunately, Possession is too flawed to keep my attention, especially over the seemingly unending 123 minute runtime. Possession is a film that, despite its many flaws, has to respected for the fact it doesn't conform and does something truly different. Also, this is the only film i've seen where someone is killed using just a shoe, feather and a toilet boll? (answers on the back of a postcard)

Video Nasty #17: Inferno

2010-04-08T21:35:00.007+01:00

Ironically, the best horror film i've seen so far this year is from the '70s, but not on the DPP list. Argento's Susperia is a wonderful film, a Technicolor nightmare soundtracked by Satan himself on the keys (AKA Goblin). The film is rightly revered by horror fans because it's so boldly different from anything else in the horror genre; Argento's cinematography is bold, saturating every frame with primary colours to add an otherworldly quality to the horror fairy tale. From the outset the soundtrack is unrelenting, grabbing the viewer and beating them around the head with a constant unnerving drum beat that underlies the whole film. Although Susperia isn't on the list of Video Nasties, the second part of the Three Mothers Trilogy it began, Inferno, is.

As a stand-alone film, Inferno is frustrating. It has moments of brilliance, but these are let down by poor pacing and an almost episodic script. The film repeatedly introduces a character, lets them make an expositional discovery and then kills them off, making it hard to care about anyone in the film. It's almost as if the director decided to start-over every fifteen minutes. In fact, the story is so fractured and confused I couldn't figure out how to write a synopsis for this post.

Where as Susperia's equally baffling script could be excused due its astonishing cinematography, most of Inferno's visuals are oddly flat and uninspiring. The bold blue and red colours that washed the Argento designed art-deco sets in Suspiria look misplaced against the more familiar New York architecture, to the point of distraction. Thankfully, the cinematography comes to life when Argento's dark imagination flourishes, the visuals imbibed with the atmosphere of an otherworldly fairytale.

One of the most effective scenes follows a resident of the accursed New York building entering a metaphorical rabbit hole in the basement to discover the identity of her house-witch. Through the hole she enters a flooded ball room adorned with a portrait of her landlord, Mater Tenebrarum, the Mother of Darkness and Shadows. The scene is claustrophobic yet serene, the woman holding her breath inordinately as if she was in another world, free of natural constraints like gravity and the need to respirate. The calm actually heightens the tension as she inevitably discovers she is not alone in the ballroom.

A later scene alludes further to Grimm's dark and ironic stories, a deserted Central Park providing a moonlit woodland lake. After being tormented by the witch's cats, the local occult antiques dealer has collected a sack full ready for drowning. Struggling to keep the sack of cats underwater he slips and the local population of feline fearing rats pounce and tear him apart (that's irony!). As he calls for help a local hotdog vendor runs on top of the water and finishes him off, as if possessed.

Other than these two stand-out death scenes the rest are lacking, almost deliberately restrained, as if to distinguish the film from it's prequel's epically choreographed kills. The aforementioned rat scene is creepy, but the follow up death-by-cats is laughably unconvincing, especially as you can see a hand throwing the terrified domestic cats at the victim.

Inferno is Argento's difficult second album, forever destined to be compared to it's successful big brother. I think the ultimate problem is pace, Susperia comes out starting blocks at speed and continues accelerating where as Inferno never finds its footing, too concerned with exposition that, I suspect, was mostly retroactivity continuity for a trilogy that may of not been considered when making the first film. Inferno is a must watch for a fan of Susperia, but enjoyment is probably limited for someone not familiar with the far superior predecessor.

Video Nasty #16: Visiting Hours

2010-04-01T12:00:00.005+01:00

Synopsis: After being attacked in her home TV reporter Deborah Ballin is recovering on the ninth floor of the local hospital. As neighbouring patients are brutally murdered it becomes clear that Deborah's attacker is determined to finish the job. Another night at the hospital may be the death of her.

The poster for Visiting Hours is great but completely misleading. The skull rendered using room lights and the tag line 'So frightening you'll never recover' suggests that the film is a supernatural horror, when it is actually a tense thriller with more in common with Silence of the Lambs than Halloween.

Michael Ironside's portrayal of Colt, the woman-hating psychopath literally kills all competition in the movie, his near mute performance captivating yet mysterious, something which is impressive considering his predominant screen time. Celluloid psychos need a creepy hook, and Colt delivers; photographing his dying victims and setting up a snuff gallery in his house, the centrepiece of this nutty room being a mosaic of photos forming a monochrome skull. Refreshingly Colt appears to be aware of his anger problem and as such is constantly squeezing a stress ball, the psychiatric equivalent of prescribing a cancer victim Paracetemol and a good night's rest.

All other performances in the film are perfectly fine but pale is comparison to Ironside. Lee Grant's TV reporter is a solid performance, but disappointingly the script doesn't provide much more characterisation then her feminist anti-violence media facade, something which itself is never fully explained. Sheila, the vigilant nurse on Deborah's ward, actually steals the show and towards the end of the film, the murderous desires of Colt. William Shatner makes a small appearance in a marquee filling role, reminding us that he can put in a perfectly good performance when he wants to be.

Although the film lacks in blood and guts, it deliver some powerful scenes of violence, proving that you don't need a bucket of fake blood and half a pint of hydrochloric acid to shock and repulse the viewer. Colt's kills are brutal, and even when he kills the wrong person he is completely unaffected, taking the time out for a Kodak moment plus safety shots. In a predicable ironic twist the only large amount of bloodshed is the ending of the film, when the anti-violence reporter's hands are, literally, covered in blood.

The film does have a few problems. Colt's repeated kills in the hospital after numerous security reinforcements become increasingly ridiculous to the point of annoyance, and the finale's extended chase scene around the bowels of the hospital was predictable and dull stuff. Despite this, Visiting Hours is a solid serial killer flick particularly memorable for Michael Ironside's terrifying performance. Its presence on the DPP list only acts as a reminder of how arbitrary the selection process was, informed more by hearsay and promotional materials (that poster is scary) than the film's content.

Video Nasty #15: The Beyond

2010-03-30T18:20:00.002+01:00

Synopsis: Welcome to Louisiana's recently refurbished Seven Doors hotel. Breakfast is served 8 till 10, Checkout is at 11. The gym's on the first floor and the gateway to hell is in the basement.

Although i’ve only seen a few of Fulci’s movies (there are three on the DPP list), I can understand why people often refer to The Beyond as his masterpiece. The Beyond is a nightmare committed to celluloid, set pieces of incredibly visceral and inventive gore bound together with a storyline that is set in the same waking nightmare, not constrained by conscious reasoning and the earth bound laws of nature. I can understand why some people would take issue with the story's apparent plot-holes and inconsistencies, but when has a nightmare ever made sense?

The film opens in sepia toned Louisiana, a torch wielding mob storming the Seven Doors hotel to take their revenge on the warlock in room 36 who they believe has damned them all. From the outset Fulci is keen to let the viewer know he means business; The artist’s flesh is lacerated with chains, his body crucified in the basement and covered in boiling acid. All of this is done with unflinching voyeuristic camera shots, which left me feeling slightly disgusted but also perversely impressed. Unfortunately in taking their revenge for the warlock's unspecified sins the locals have opened one of the seven doors to hell (It sounds like hell seriously falls foul of fire exit regulations).

The film then moves to the now past present (1981) and we follow Lisa, the hotel’s new proprietor, as she starts renovating the seventh gate of hell for new guests (to be fair, i’d take my chances with the seventh gate of hell over Premier Inn any day). Whilst everyone involved in the venture is dying in horrible ways Lisa continues to investigate the mystery of room 36, helped by an apparently non-existent blind girl and the local doctor.

Although I’ve seen films that are, in terms of gallons of blood shed, far more bloody than The Beyond (Peter Jackson’s Braindead is untouchable in this respect), I can’t think of a film that has as many effective hands-in-front-of-eyes sequences. Fulci is a master of gore and his sick mind seems to come up with ever inventive and horrible deaths. His eye gouging obsession aside (the retina removals in this are far more effective than the infamous splinter sequence in Fulci’s previous Zombi 2) there are some nightmare inducing scenes, including a paralysed man being attacked by flesh tearing tarantulas, sulphuric acid melting an unconscious woman’s face and a girl being chased by a pool of her dead mother's blood.

Towards the film’s climax I was slightly concerned that Fulci had backed himself into a corner. Given how powerful the evil is, it seemed unlikely that the lead characters could possibly over come it. And, thankfully, Fulci doesn’t deliver anything like a happy ending, but something that is as ambiguous and unexplained as the plot that came before it. This is ultimately what makes the film work. Aside from a few nods to plot, there’s no attempt made to explain what is happening, or to understand the malevolent force at work. Evil can’t be explained, it just is.

Video Nasty #14: The man from deep river AKA Deep River Savages

2010-03-24T22:21:00.003Z

Synopsis: John's living the colonial English man's dream. He's been accepted as warrior by a jungle tribe, he has a beautiful & permanently naked native wife and is the only one in the village who doesn't think throwing spears at helicopters is a good idea. Now he just has to meet the neighbours, a bunch of blood thirsty cannibals.

Deep River Savages is often credited as the first in a long run of italian produced cannibal movies, the people-eater prototype. Given this, it's surprising that the titular savages are actually on screen for less than five minutes, barely eating more than a bit of arm and breast. The film is really a soft-core mondo love story, with large helpings of real animal torture thrown in for cheap thrills.

After killing a man in self defence John charters a boat into deep jungle territory, using his day job as a photographer as cover for going on the run. After some reverie about the foggy streets of London and half a bottle of Jim Beam, John awakes to find his guide missing and some pissed off natives with spears. The tribe take him prisoner because, he believes, they have mistaken him for a fish ('I'm a man!, not a fish!').

Then follows 20 minutes of cruel and unusual rituals, including what I have now termed human piñata and blow-dart carousel. Once John has survived these unexplained rituals he is accepted in the tribe, destined to carry logs around for the remainder of the film for no notable reason. I think i'm right in assuming that most, if not all of the rituals in the films are made up by a naive westerner. Some, such as voodoo dolls, i'm sure are not attributable to asian tribes and others are just plain mad.

When a women's partner dies they seem to have a few ways to pick a new partner. The first is for the woman to have tag team sex with multiple men on her dead husband's ashes, presumably picking the one with the best moves. The second sees the woman sitting blindfolded in a room, deciding on her man according to who touches her up best through a hole in the wall. Naturally our hero John wins his women Maraya by not grabbing her boob like all the neanderthal tribe men, but instead stroking her arm. He's obviously playing the long game. Perv.

Other than the extraordinary way in which John 'wins' his woman, the remainder of the film is a plodding mediocre romance with lots of slow motion frolicking in the jungle. Maraya learns english surprisingly fast, especially considering John's rubbish definitions (a car is a box that makes a noise, apparently).

We only get to see the real savages in the last fifteen minutes of the film, eating one of John's tribe and then going on a rampage in their village. John manages to save Maraya, but she then dies after giving birth to his child, leaving John to turn his back on the western world (literally, he hides from a rescue helicopter) and to take charge of rebuilding the village. And that's it, the film ends with me looking a bit confused, expecting at least twenty more minutes of cannibal mayhem.

Cinematically Deep River Savages looks great, has a nice soundtrack and what we do see of the cannibals is fun. Unfortunately it's a painfully slow movie, which is a surprise considering the amount of torturous rituals and animal cruelty. I suspect that it began life as a soft-corn porn exploitation love story, but to get the horror crowd in the director added a bunch of shocking animal cruely and a few cannibals. Which is a shame, because without the cruelty and cannibalism I wouldn't of had to watch it.

Video Nasty #13: The House on the Edge of the Park

2010-03-20T18:47:00.005Z

Synopsis: Mentally challenged Ricky and his psychotic italian american friend Alex have been invited to a middle class house party after fixing the host's car. Quickly annoyed by frustrating sex games and a rigged game of poker, Alex holds the party hostage and takes revenge in the most despicable manner.

Like Night Train Murders, The House on the Edge of the Park is a 'rape revenge' movie clearly inspired by The Last House on the Left. In fact, David Hess all but reprises his role from Last House on the Left as the ring leader of the atrocities when the party goes wrong. And it doesn't take long. The condescending guests cheer the mentally incapacitated Ricky on as he boogies and strips to the cheesy disco, desperate to impress his new friends. Alex is clearly disgusted with their behaviour, and turns his attention to the advances of Lisa, the blonde who invited them to the party. Lisa's sexual games frustrate Alex, and when he discovers the party guests have conned Ricky out of money in a bent game of poker a lame fight kicks off, with Alex and his switch blade coming out as the winner. Ricky thinks they should leave but Alex makes it clear they're in for the long haul 'You must be cartooning', he says, 'the best is yet to come. Now we're gonna have some fun with these cunts'. And so begins Alex's prolonged torture, mutilation and rape of the guests.

The next 40 minutes are very tense, the guest's lame attempts to escape always foiled at the last second. An astonishing 11 minutes and 43 seconds were cut from the later half of the film to satisfy the BBFC. The story remains mostly intact, the biggest consequence being the the film's only murder being mostly left on the cutting room floor, creating some extremely annoying and incongruous cuts. I can only assume that I had same issue with the film as the BBFC. I was slightly perturbed by the way the female characters were represented in the film, they all appeared to be sluts and after a struggle enjoying being raped. Thankfully, my concerns were mostly resolved by the nonsensical twist at the end of the film.

The House on the Edge of Park has one of the dumbest twists i've ever seen on film, and i've seen M. Night Shamalan's back catalogue. Just when it seems that all hope is lost, one of the guests reveals a gun and shoots Alex in the leg. He explains that Alex raped and killed his sister last year (something we see at the start of the film), and that the whole party has been an elaborate ploy to take his revenge on Alex, making his eventual murder look like self defence. This explains the sexual teasing, apparent enjoyment of rape, and fixing the card game; it was all done to make Alex flip. Here's the stupid thing: For some unknown reason they'd let Alex rape, mutilate and, in one case kill so they could take their revenge safe from prosecution. And they never explained how they knew it was Alex who had killed his sister.

As with the director's previous film, Cannibal Holocaust, we are treated to some unsubtle dialog to hammer home some of the psuedo-intellectual themes of the film; the true cost of violent revenge and if enjoying it makes us as bad as our enemy. 'It's all over', the brother says after killing his sister's murderer. 'But at what price?' his girlfriend replies (rape, mutilation and death, btw.). Just incase you don't get the message, he replies 'but you found it exciting didn't you?'.

Despite the ridiculous ending and the fact I was watching the heavily censored BBFC approved cut, I really enjoyed The House on the Edge of the Park. The film is shot well, manages to maintain tension through out and has surprisingly good performances, especially from Giovanni Lombardo Radice (Ricky) and David Hess (Alex). Now I really need to watch The Last House on the Left

Video Nasty #12: Zombie Creeping Flesh AKA Hell of the Living Dead AKA Night of the Zombies

2010-03-19T20:55:00.004Z

Synopsis: The HOPE project have been secretly working on a solution to the rapid growth of the third world - a well controlled zombie apocalypse. When something goes wrong a bumbling SWAT team is sent into the Zombie infested jungle to investigate, unwillingly teaming up with a TV reporter and her cameraman.

Zombies. They are by far my favourite movie monster. More terrifying than Vampires, Werewolfs, Frankenstein and Rob Schneider. And the reason is simple, literally. Zombies don't have gimmicks; they'll come into your house without invitation, they can eat after midnight and garlic only improves the smell of their rotting flesh. They have one function, to eat and subsequently infect. Like the proverbial rice on the chess board one zombie spawns two over breakfast, its offspring creates four over brunch and by dinner the population of a small town looks like the queue outside the post office on pension day, stumbling, dead eyed, stiff-jointed coffin dodgers.

Zombies are universally scary because they play on the most ubiquitous of fears, dying. They are a walking reminder of our mortality, that all we have to look forward to is decomposition and, if the outbreak affords us resurrection, chewing on some unlucky bastard's guts. They're Aesop for adults, no matter how fast you run you'll always need to sleep, and the zombie will catch up. You can't rationalise with a Zombie, they'll just stare at you blankly and then bite your nose off.

In Romero's Dawn of the Dead a priest declares that 'when there's no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth'. Although I don't buy the heaven/hell system, I like the idea that Zombie's are the inevitable response to man's sins on earth. Mother nature always finds a way, and when it can't reduce our bourgeoning population with Swine Flu what better solution than a new type of virus, turning us on ourselves?

I think that the simplicity of Zombies can also be their undoing. All you need to make a Zombie film is a few willing friends, some blue face paint and a gallon of fake blood. Therefore, when Romero had success with Dawn of the Dead studios were falling over themselves to buy up Zombie films, regardless of quality. Zombie Creeping Flesh is one of the films rushed out to cash in on Dawn's success, and it shows. Like Dawn the main characters are a SWAT team and a TV reporter. Like Dawn the film is soundtracked by Zombi. Like Dawn it has moments of (attempted) humour amongst the blood shed. Unlike Dawn, it is rubbish. In fact, Zombie Creeping Flesh is a cinematic perfect storm, a film that is so bad it's good. It is an awful yet strangely entertaining mess.

The script is laugh a minute, especially the forced and unnatural macho banter between the members of the SWAT team. I struggle to believe that a member of an elite military unit would say 'When did you start worrying about our balls daddy?' to his commander. The dialog is made all the more comical by the poor dubbing and the voices clearly not belonging to the actors on the screen. The story isn't much better either - it's never really explained what the SWAT team are doing, why the scientists working on the genocidal virus are surprised by what happened when it leaked, and how the reporter worked out the truth with absolutely no evidence.

The SWAT team really do put the special in 'special forces'. They wear a navy blue uniform throughout the film, even though most of the time they are on stealth operations in the jungle. Despite the 'one in the chest, one in the head' mantra, the team seem to think pounding a body full of semi-automatic fire will do, even after one them points out that the only way to kill the undead is a head shot. When they split up to explore a mysteriously deserted house one decides to put on a tutu, top hat and dance around with a cane, only to end up as an extra in Thriller. Another jumps in an elevator full of zombies, presumably because it was quicker than the stairs.

The film is notable for the shameless amount of incongruous stock footage it recycles. In between shots of the SWAT team driving around the jungle we see grainy footage of wolfs, bats, elephants, pelicans, cranes and monkeys, not once aligning with the shots of the SWAT team. If this isn't bad enough the producers sink to a new low by exploiting footage of natives. Real footage of tribal burial ceremonies are used a precursor to the dead rising and celebrations are repurposed as tribes running away from hordes of the undead. If this wasn't exploitative enough, the film has the funniest and most blatant piece of titilation i've ever seen. When the reporter and SWAT team arrive at a native village the reporter tells them she'll go in first, as she's familiar with their customs. Cut to a perfectly framed shot of the women's norks as she takes her top off and then stands there, boobs aplenty for at least five seconds.

But as I said before, these flaws make the film watchable and ultimately enjoyable. The gore is quite impressive, the finale seeing the female reporter's tongue being ripped out and her eyes poked out of their sockets from the inside. If you want a silly gorey movie, Zombie Flesh Eaters is it. If you want something you can really get your teeth into, stick with Dawn of the Dead, its far superior inspiration.

Video Nasty #11: Lisa, Lisa AKA Axe

2010-03-12T11:49:00.002Z

Synopsis: After a bit of the old ultra-violence, three inept criminals are on the lam. Deciding to get off the road, they forcefully take refuge in an isolated country house occupied by Lisa and her incapacitated Grandfather. It looks like the jerks may of chosen the wrong 13 year old to mess with.

Lisa, Lisa is a dark but mostly benign little film. In fact, given its 65 minute runtime it's more like a TV movie, or an episode of Tales of the Unexpected. From what I've read it was made on a miniscule budget to appease drive-in distributors, hence the short runtime. Given that, I think it's quite an achievement. Not that I won't rip into it...

The film open with our bungling criminals waiting in a flat for the cross-dressing owner to return. In this short period the film establishes the three main character's traits with broad strokes. Steel is pure evil, worse than Sauron, Hitler and the dark lord himself, Robert Kilroy Silk. He's so evil, you have to wonder how he's made it this far in life without stabbing himself in the face for making eye contact in the mirror. Lomax is a cigar smoking rotund idiot who rubs his leg incessantly when he's horny, extinguishing both the cross-dresser's life and cigar in one blow by jamming it down the victim's throat. Finally there's Billy, the soft spoken good boy gone bad whos heart's not really in it. I call him the Honey Monster, as he has more hair on his face than skin. After the initial murder the criminals go on the run and in a slightly tarantino-esque scene torment a girl in the local mini-mart, making her strip and take part in a Wlliam Tell reenactment, bow replaced with gun.

Lisa looks angelic but is clearly troubled. She lives to care for her paralysed grandfather, collecting eggs, killing chickens and constantly making tomato soup, although there's some implication that the rich red colour may not just be from tomatoes. Her grandfather sits in his chair all day, happily watching static on the television. When the criminals arrive and start taking liberties (two try to rape her) Lisa retaliates and using her apparent super-human strength hides the bodies in inexplicable places, including the chimney.

Despite the low budget aesthetics, there was clearly a lot of effort put into the soundtrack. There are recurring themes such as the bad guy's percussion shuffle, and the scenes between Lisa and her Grandfather are scored by probably the only Stlyophone opus ever written. The sound is particularly crummy, dialog often barely audible or badly dubbed. Despite this, the sound effects used in fight scenes have a particular charm, every punch accentuated by a huge crash, thwack or thud, like a Hannah Barbara cartoon with blood.

The worst thing about the film has to be the editing. In the opening scene there were 55 dialog-free quick cuts between the criminal's faces and the door the victim was about to walk through, presumably to build tension. The final frenetic rate of the cuts had me literally laughing out loud.

Lisa, Lisa has to be praised for its achievement on a miniscule budget, and does provide a satisfyingly dark ending. Despite its placement on the DPP list it has little to offer in the way of gore or shock. I'm not watching the film again but if you fancy it you can pick it up as part of Poundland's hardgore series. I shit you not.

Candle Envy

2010-03-12T10:29:00.006Z

'My mum told me that everyday is my birthday. It turned out she was addicted to beer and cake' - Sarah Silverman

When I was a kid I decided to learn an instrument, so I enrolled in lessons and began a concerted five year mission to avoid playing the violin. During that time my nan made me an awesome violin shaped cake. For some reason I went balistic because someone else had the audacity to position the candles on my cake. Luckily i'm a mature 28 year old now, so when Jen surprised me with a cake adorned with pre-positioned candles this morning I buried that rage deep inside and smiled like a grown up.

If I ever go postal, it'll be caused by years of suppressing candle envy.

Video Nasty #10: Strange Behaviour AKA Human Experiments AKA Dead Kids

2010-03-09T20:37:00.001Z

Synopsis: When teenagers start dying Sheriff Brady suspects foul play at the college's psychological research department, who he also blames for his late wife's death. Little does he know that his son has enrolled in the college's medical research programme for some quick cash. Can the Sheriff solve the murders before his son becomes the next victim of the human experiments?

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list. Click here for an explanation.

Strange Behaviour is a solid piece of work, well directed, effectively soundtracked by Tangerine Dream and co-written by an oscar winner (how many other video nasties can claim that?). Although it's sold as a teen slasher, it mixes elements of horror and sci-fi, supported by mad scientists, exhumed bodies, remote controlled chickens and teenagers reprogrammed to kill. It's pretty funny in places too. After a victim identifies the killer as an overweight teenager, a policeman visits the college to retrieve all student records. When asked what he's doing with them the cop replies, completely dead plan, 'we're looking for the fat ones'.

The film is actually a slightly tongue-in-cheek homage to 50's Sci-fi, possibly set in the 80s. Whenever it's meant to be set it has a great look, a weird mash up of the two decades; wood panelled station wagons, spontaneous synchronised dancing at fancy dress parties, wood clad bedrooms and huge hair.

The mad scientist plot is particularly fun. We're introduced to the pyscology department's mind control experiments in a lecture by the late Doctor Le Sange, delivering a posthumous discourse via a huge black and white projection. He leads the lab hand to demonstrate what is essentially a remote controlled chicken, the animal lifting his legs at Le Sange's command. The blatantly evil Gwen Parkinson is continuing his work, and pays the local kids to take part in experiments in her cavernous Jame Bond-esque laboratory. The experiments have a few side effects - short periods of high intelligence, pissing blood and incontrollable killing sprees.

The film delivers on gore, but nothing to deem a banning. Arms are chopped off, knifes are jammed in achilles and, in a true hands-in-front-of-eyes moment a 6 inch needle is jammed into an eye socket.

Unfortunately the film runs out of steam towards the end, despite an unexpected smart twist. There's also a complete misfire of an epilogue, providing completely unnecessary emotional resolve to the underplayed father, son and step mother relationship issues. Regardless of this, I think Strange Behaviour is something of a hidden gem. If you can find it, it's well worth a watch. Even if just for the joke about the fatties.

Surely this should be dead by now?

2010-03-07T17:11:00.002Z

It's tempting to keep it going for next December.

Video Nasty #9: Nightmares in a Damaged Brain

2010-03-06T23:45:00.005Z

Synopsis: After leaving a mental asylum George is making the long journey to Florida to see his estranged child. As he starts racking up a body count the doctors realise they may of made a slight mistake. Can they get to George's family before he does?

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list. Click here for an explanation.

Nightmares is something of a cult classic, gaining particular infamy as one of the film's repeatedly vilified by the media during the Video Nasty furore. This is not without reason; there is some extremely bloody violence in the film (after all, horror effects legend Tom Savini did act as an advisor). I'll admit that the film did make me very uncomfortable, but not in an emotional sense, more an impulse-buy Ikea dining room chair uncomfortable. The film is so dull I actually felt physically ill, fidgeting in my seat, desperate to make it to the end as not to cop-out on my self-inflicted curse of watching this crap.

I don't understand how acting can be so dreadful. Acting can't be that hard, can it? Maybe the producers had a challenge to see if they could cast an entire film using people with less acting chops then a mountain goat. If that was the idea the film was, in its own way, the film is a triumph.

The most annoying aspect of the film is its attempt at broken-family drama, which unfortunately dominates the film. The wife is torn between her boyfriend and children, the kids are running amok and the youngest is developing his father's less desirable character traits. I guess the viewer is meant to care for the family, contributing to the slow crescendo of tension as the demented father gets ever closer. Unfortunately the combination of poor acting and appalling dialog meant that I ended up hating the family, wishing the dad would just give up on the slow burn, jump on a plane and dispatch these morons.

Thankfully there were a few moments of unintentional light relief. My favourite occurs after the son's friend has been murdered. A police officer suspects the kid of foul play, so he takes the corpse out the back of the ambulance, puts it on display and in front of news crew's cameras grills the poor kid. This scene would be the undoing of any other film, but in Nightmares it was a highlight. What a disappointment.

Video Nasty #8: Blood Feast

2010-02-27T18:13:00.000Z

Synopsis: Local caterer and occult obsessive Faud Ramesis has been asked to cook for Mrs Fremont's dinner party. He's planning an egyptian feast, something which hasn't been attempted for thousands of years. Unfortunately Tescos is all out of female body parts, so he takes it upon himself to hunt the local free range birds.

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list. Click here for an explanation.

Blood Feast (1963) is the original splatter movie, making its director, Herschell Gorden Lewis, the godfather of gore. Lewis' previous films were mild skin flicks, and as such Blood Feast has the aesthetic and quality of a low budget soft-core porn movie; everything is shot on a single camera and the three wall sets are gloriously poor, spoilt by the sound stage making all dialog echo unnaturally for such a small room. The low-rent quality of filmmaking actually compliments the script, which is more camp than a carry on film made by John Waters. The dialog is dumber than a Michael Bay first draft and the actors would be relegated to 'second sheep' in a primary school nativity play. But that really doesn't matter, because Blood Feast isn't a serious film, it's a bloody, silly, splatter flick made to make the drive-in audience simultaneously scream and howl with laughter.

The gore is so ridiculously it's sublime. Legs are dismembered and skin-flick beauties are decapitated, all with the camera lingering on the gore for far longer than required, like a kid poking a dead body with a stick. My favourite sequence shows Ramesis ripping out a victim's tongue. After he's yanked it out we see an excessive amount of blood pouring from the victim's mouth, the flow clear helped by the actress' still attached tongue, clearly in cheek. It's obvious that the film's miniscule budget has gone into the special effects, and the film's better for it. It's in no way realistic, but then what fun gore film is?

Faud Ramesis is the star of the piece, hammed up wonderfully by Mal Arnold. As if his huge hypno-caterpillar eyebrows rendered purple by the technicolor wasn't odd enough, he has a Keyser Söze style limp, making escape from the scene painfully slow. Ramesis wants to bring his beloved Egpytian god Ishtar back from the dead, which requires a blood feast of women's body parts. When a customer asks him to arrange a dinner party, he can't belive his luck. 'It's a sign to begin' he effuses to his Ishtar effigy, ignoring the fact that as he is a caterer this is hardly an infrequent event.

The two inept detectives are on the puzzling case of the murders, spending most of their time on an echoey soundstage discussing how horrifying it all is. Serendipitously, Detective Thornton has been attending weekly egyptian history lecturers with his girlfriend Suzette 'All these murders take the joy out of everything' Fremont, which still doesn't help him solve the murder until the last few minutes of the film. The paucity of investigation could be excused if the book 'Ancient Weird Religious Rites' written by Ramesis hadn't been found at the scene of the first murder.

Much like the greatest film ever made, Evil Dead 2 (obviously), Blood Feast doesn't take itself seriously and manages to use gore in a fun slapstick way. There's little surprise that this is cult film, and it's definitely something I'll be watching again in the future (not a huge undertaking, considering the 65 minute runtime). It's a shame that much of the work in the genre this film defined only takes inspiration from the gore, leaving the fun behind.

Video Nasty #7: Cannibal Holocaust

2010-02-23T22:55:00.000Z

Synopsis: Four young documentary filmmakers venture into 'The Green Inferno', an area of the Amazon inhabited by cannibal tribes. When they fail to return, an NYU anthropologist leads a rescue mission to find the missing group, or at least what's left of them. The professor returns to New York with reels of film that hold the horrifying and troubling truth of the filmmakers' disappearance.

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list. Click here for an explanation.

I really loved aspects of Cannibal Holocaust. It was far gorier and shocking then any of other nasties i've watched so far, and it was put together with aplomb. Although this wasn't the first film to use fake documentary footage, it's incredibly realistic and undoubtedly bought the technique to a mainstream audience influencing, if not directly, The Last Broadcast, The Blair Witch Project and Cloverfield. Much like The Blair Witch Project, it was deliberately implied during promotion of the film that the four documentary filmmakers were not actors and that the recovered footage shown in the film was real. Unlike The Blair Witch Project, this claim is slightly preposterous as half of the film is shot in a traditional cinematic way.

The gore in Cannibal Holocaust is at times incessant, but still manages to maintain its realism and shock factor. One infamous scene shows a woman impaled on a tall wooden stake, the spike protruding through her mouth. The effect was so realistic the filmmakers had to explain how it was achieved in court to avoid a murder charge. The marketing trick of blurring the line between fantasy and reality obviously worked on the Italian authorities.

Cannibal Holocaust is a damning criticism of the media's tendency to focus on horrific images when covering war and violent conflict. At the time various news agencies had been accused of faking such images to improve ratings. More broadly, the film questions who is more uncivilised, the cannibals with their unusual and primal rituals, or the civilised filmmakers who exploit them for ratings and cheap shocks?

Although often lacking in subtlety, Cannibal Holocaust's script makes its point well, especially during the last half of the movie when the viewer is shown the recovered reels of films. These scenes are narrated by the disapproving Professor, ensuring that even a ten year old can understand the underlying point of the film. The documentary makers not only exploit the tribes by filming their day to day rituals in a lurid manner, but they also interfere, terrorise, murder and rape the tribe's people to elicit responses for them to film. When the documentary makers discover the woman impaled on a spike the cameraman has to tell one of the men on film to stop smiling; he can't help showing his glee at finding something so horrific to capture on celluloid.

The original cut of the film lingers on a depressing amount of animal cruelty, presumably because it's a cheap way to make the viewer question what is real and what is fake. After all, these crazy uncivilised tribes will cut anything up for some wacky ritual or a quick bite, the film's just showing what happens in the real world, right?

And this alludes to my problem with Cannibal Holocaust. How can one point the finger at media for exploitation when the filmmakers themselves think it's acceptable to film an extended sequence of giant turtle being caught, decapitated and gutted, just for a cheap thrill? How can they justify cutting a live monkeys face off (twice, to get all the shots required) in the name of art or to make a political point? The filmmakers are either completely naive or, worse, making a film they know is exploitative and immoral, using the political message as a get-out clause, something to excuse the barbaric and stupid, stupid, stupid animal cruelty. It's heartening to read interviews with the directors and actors expressing remorse for using animal cruelty, but this doesn't excuse it.

Cannibal Holocaust is in parts a fun film, but it can't escape its own hypocrisy. It's a shame that the animal cruelty happened, because without it the film would be a sure fire classic.

Mini B.

2010-02-16T19:25:00.000Z

This year was my tenth valentine day with Jen and to celebrate we spent a long weekend in a cosy cottage in Dorset. Sometimes I forget how beautiful this country can be and thanks to the Internet one can find some pretty amazing accommodation for the same price as a shitty chain hotel (someone should tell Lenny Henry).

Jen found a fantastic cottage near Lyme Regis which according to a fountain on the grounds was built around 1826. The main room had an open fire which, despite being lovely to sit by, contributed to my ongoing emasculation as all fire building was begrudgingly conceded to Jen. My scout leader would be very disappointed.

We were warned that the grounds was the domain of a human hating pheasant which had a habit of attacking anyone who got near it. Luckily we avoided the misanthropic bastard and instead stumbled upon a deer resting a hundred metres from our cottage. Of course it bolted as soon as it saw us, but it really was something to behold.

On the way back we stopped in Wells, the smallest city in the UK and also the setting for the fictional 'Sandford' in the movie 'Hot Fuzz'. Wells cathedral domineers the surrounding landscape and it's a little awe inspiring to see it rise on the horizon when driving towards the city. We managed to find most of the major locations from the film - the village square, the church where Tim Messenger lost his head and, most importantly, the local supermarket. At this point I realised I could no longer call myself a film geek as I had too much self respect to take a photo of the busy Somerfields car park. Wells is a small city yet a big village and it's interesting to see how the geography a film creates can be completely different to real life.

I couldn't recommend the cottage enough and the owners were lovely. Click here to find out more.

Video Nasty #6 : Night Train Murders (AKA Late Night Trains)

2010-02-15T18:40:00.002Z

Synopsis: Two friends are on a long distance train journey to visit parents for Christmas. Unfortunately they choose to share a carriage with a couple of psychopathic thugs and a nympho who subject them to rape and fatal torture. When the murdering trio find themselves in one of the dead girl's parents' house the newly bereaved are left with a choice - either hand the murderers over to the police or make them suffer like their daughter.

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list. Click here for an explanation.

If the synopsis to Night Train Murders sounds familiar, that's because it's a slightly smudged carbon copy of Last House on the Left, a film that was made 3 years earlier and also features on the DPP list. Last House on the Left is itself a retelling of Bergman's The Virgin Spring

'Rape & Revenge' is a genre that despite some recent attempts at resurgence has been relegated to exploitation infamy. There are variations on the above plot (see I Spit On Your Grave), but the films all claim to explore the old testament notion of an 'Eye for Eye'. Is it right to reciprocate a violent act with more brutality, or does that just further perpetuate the notion that violence is ok if the person committing it believes they are morally justified? No where is this question more contentious than the scenario of a parent having the chance to avenge the rape and murder of their daughter.

It's an interesting yet tough subject to explore, especially when the film will most likely end up being labelled horror, immediately restricting its primary viewership to adolescent teens and film geeks (i'm guessing i'm the later). Unfortunately, one has to question the morality of the filmmakers when most of the movie is slick stylised violence and the little dialog that addresses the central thesis could of been written by a fourteen year old emo.

Technically Night Train Murders was fine and the cinematography exceeded most other films on the list. The characters were introduced efficiently and, where required, likeable enough. The fact that the upper class female instigates the violence and eventually avoids persecution due to misplaced preconceptions of the parents provides an interesting commentary on how we judge others with respect to class.

I especially enjoyed the way the two male villains were introduced, robbing Santa Clause in broad day light. The only more ham-fisted way to exemplify their evil trait would be to have them beating up the Easter Bunny, or possibly punching a nun.

I suspect Night Train Murders was banned for the same reason Straw Dogs was out of circulation for so long. An early scene in the film shows what begins as a rape turning into consensual sex, which is clearly obscene given the DPP's definition. It should be noted that the equivalent scene in Straw Dogs was far more ambiguous and regardless, that was a really good intelligent film.

As i've alluded, my biggest problem with The Night Train Murders was the lack of intelligent exploration of its supposed thesis. When the violence in your film is more despicable than most exploitation movies (which I think is required to elicit the required response from the parents and the viewer) it has to be balanced out with something approaching intellectualism. If it isn't you end up with a film that is far more offensive than any of the so-called unintelligent nasties. Despite the interesting social commentary on class and preconceptions, the film doesn't really address the central issue of revenge.

The parent's discover they are harbouring the murderers eight minutes from the end of the film, giving very little time to explore the key issue. In fact there were only two instances of dialog that came close to exploring the theme. The first was at a smug dinner party, where there was a brief discussion about society breeding violence (this was the point when I knew exactly how the rest of the film would play out). The second was just before the father executed the second man. His wife screamed the utterly cheesy line 'Hasn't there been enough violence?'. Yeah, she's right. There was enough violence. Just not enough of anything else.

After thought: On reflection I think i was expecting too much from the film, after all, it is an exploitation revenge movie. With this in mind, the pay off is surprisingly tame and just wasn't satisfying enough.

Video Nasty #5 : Don't Go in the House

2010-02-07T18:52:00.008Z

Synopsis : After Donnie Kohler's mother dies, the voices in his head tell him that he is free to do all the things he's always wanted to do. He can turn music up loud, jump on the furniture and lure women back to his house, cover them in petrol and light them up with a flame thrower. Ah, the incandescent joys of being young and single.

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list. Click here for an explanation.

Making a good film about a serial killer is difficult, especially when the murderer is the protagonist. The lead character of a film normally has to be engaging and interesting, something which is easily achieved by making them likeable or somebody the viewer can identify with. Unfortunately it can be difficult to empathise with someone who thinks a normal night in is hosing down his next victim and then slapping on some makeup and tucking his cock'n'balls between his legs.

Such films normally address this problem by making the killer so dislikable and abhorrent that the viewer is determined to see them die in a way far more grissly and torturous than his victims endured (Night of the Hunter, Death Proof, Eaten Alive). Another approach is to make the killer likeable or even justifiable, but the film is then walking a fine line between good gory fun and material that is at best morally questionable and at worse (to use a very loosly defined term) obscene. Basically, the film becomes the sort of thing Mary Whitehouse and her cronies were, in their eyes, trying to protect us from.

Most of the low budget serial killer films exist because it's an easy way to get the blood flowing and to scare the audience silly. To avoid the moral quandary of making a serial killer the leading role the filmmaker normally throws in some half arsed exploration of what drives the person to kill, mother issues being the pedestrian but oft-used explanation. In this case you can almost guarantee that the dead mother is decaying in her Sunday best in her favourite chair in the basement, bedroom or attic.

Given this, I had to groan when five minutes into Don't Go In The House the main character's mother dies and he starts hearing voices. Regardless of how good the film is, in my mind it was never going to recover from this tired cliché.

Donnie is obsessed with fire. But unlike most pyromaniacs he's only happy when using a human being as an organic tinderbox. The idea was kindled by his mother, who burnt the evil out of him as a child. When she passes he's set free to carry on her good work, and converts a room of his house in to a metallic fire proof chamber. His victims are women he lures into his solitary house on the hill, and he keeps their flambéed remains like his decaying mother, in a comfy chair in a pretty dress. His house becomes reminiscent of a life size doll house that's been set on fire by a kid playing with matches.

There is very little violence in Don't Go In The House, but the few moments of violence are particularly shocking. There is one scene that undoubtably got the film listed on the DPP's array of nasties and it has now been burnt into my memory, laying dormant for when horror films finally turn me into a murdering nut job. If videogames don't do it first. Or comics. Or the Internet. Or the next big technological advancement that our moral guardians don't understand and don't want to understand.

Donnie's first victim wakes up stripped naked, her hands chained to a hook in the roof. Wearing a flame retardent suit he covers her in petrol and despite the woman's pleas he sets her alight with a flame thrower. The camera then lingers on the poor women dying with surprisingly effective special effects. This is a horrible act of violence and is filmed effectively well, immediately making me hate the previously mild mannered and quiet Donnie.

How anyone could watch something so totally repellent and be inspired to go out and do the same is unimaginable. The whole point of the DPP list was to stop this 'filth' corrupting children's minds. One has to question why it's deemed unacceptable to show something that is filmed to make the violent act so clearly abhorrant when its ok for people to watch Schwarzanneger heriocally mowing down 100s of people with a machine gun.

Despite this truly effective moment, the rest of the film is relatively dull. The Donnie character is played well, but I found him too weedy and pathetic to be a really interesting character. The highlights of the film has to be the fleeting shots of his decaying mother's corpse watching over him, or a dream sequence where he's dragged into a hole by his crispy victims. In a fun sequence at the end of the film the mother and victim's corpses return to life to ensure Donnie's inevitable fire based demise.

The only other thing of note about the film is the Disco soundtrack. Films that use popular music on the soundtrack date fast, especially when the music is in a relatively new genre (disco, electro, grunge, metal etc.). The film was made in 1980, such that the soundtrack probably made the film look dated the day it was released. Despite the music showing the film's age the disco was a fun backing to the seriously demented main character. In one memorable scene he smashes a glass candle holder in a woman's face at a disco because she was coming too close to seeing his childhood burns. The brutal act becomes slightly surreal because it's soundtracked by the most upbeat music ever written.

Don't Go In The House isn't a bad film, it just isn't particularly good. It's quite dull, which is impressive for a film that's 80 minutes long. Coincidentally, Don't Go In The House is one of many films with instructional titles on the DPP list. We're not just told to avoid the house, but also Don't Go In The Woods, Don't Go Near The Park, Don't Go In The Basement and Don't Stick Lego Up Your Bum (I may of made the last one up).

Video Nasty #4 : Driller Killer

2010-01-29T21:10:00.002Z

Synopsis - Reno lives with his girlfriend and her other lover in a dilapidated apartment building in New York. He's been working on his masterpiece for sometime, inexplicably a painting of a giant buffalo, whilst his partner makes ends meet. His emasculation, the failure of his art and the success of those less talented then him heat the slow boil of Reno's rage until he finally snaps and in a fit of insanity takes to the streets to kill the very people he is fearful of becoming, the homeless.

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list. Click here for an explanation.

Driller Killer is a hard film to classify. Its aesthetic is too grimey and cheap to be classed as an art house movie, but it's too ambitious and difficult to be labelled a slasher film. After all, no one is killed until fifty minutes into its relatively short running time and of those who do succumb to Reno's Black and Decker (11 by my count), not one is a woman. With that said, the film doesn't pull its punches when it comes to gore which matches the best (or should that be worst?) nasties.

There's never really an explanation as to Reno's weapon of choice. Maybe it's a phallic symbol, a desperate assertion of his dwindling masculinity. After all, his girlfriend not only supports him financially but also has to turn to another women to fulfill her carnal needs. Or maybe he chose the drill because it makes a cool noise and requires very little effort on his part. After all, killing ten people in one night with a knife would be exhausting. Whatever the reason, when Reno sees a portable power supply advertised on television his eyes light up. One can only assume his previous killing efforts could only happen within a two metre radius of a plug.

The killings are surprisingly unsettling and perfectly timed. The camera will linger on a vagrant shuffling along just long enough for the viewer to relax, at which point Reno will come sprinting into frame, jamming his drill into the poor victim's chest. These mostly bloodless kills are pretty shocking due to their sheer ferociousness. Well, they were until I realised that they reminded me of the scene in Monty Python's Holy Grail where Sir Lancelot is slowly advancing towards two guards only to suddenly appear and stab them. As soon as I'd made the Python connection I couldn't help but giggle whenever the killer came flying in to the shot.

Other than the fact that the film's called Driller Killer (a title which I can't help but think was meant to be funny), there's one scene in particular that got the film on the DPP list; a quite nasty prolonged shot of Remi giving a 6mm frontal lobotomy to a suprisingly static tramp. He doesn't even finish the job off with a Rawl plug, which in my opinion is sloppy workmanship. A still of this scene was the cover of the original VHS cover, providing the final screw in Driller Killer's DPP coffin.

One thing the film does particularly well is capture the sleazyness of New York in the 70s. Aside from the odd synth, the film is mostly soundtracked by 'Tony Coca-Cola and the Roosters', a shitty punk band (aren't they all?) who live in the flat above Reno and sound oddly like The Kings of Leon. There are numerous uncut full performances by the band, providing little apart from boredom and irritation. Driller Killer opens with the text 'This film should be played loud'. Maybe the director wanted us to be driven as mad by the crappy music as Reno was? If so, it worked.

For most of the viewing I was unsure of what to make of the film, I was struggling to understand if the filmmaker had something interesting to say, or the dialog was just foreplay to Reno's power tool penetration (I promise i'll not mention my phallic symbolism theory again). Any doubts I had were quelled by the final scene. The director applies remarkable restraint when a normal horror hack would of exploited the situation for all it is worth. The film ends with something that would normally be considered a cop-out in low budget horror: implied violence. The viewer is plunged into darkness and we can only imagine what actually happened.

I'll leave the final word to Steve, a school child from Coventry allegedly* questioned for the Parliamentary report 'Video Violence And Children'.

I like the bit in Driller Killer where he puts a man up on sticks and then he gets a drill and puts it through his stomach and he screams for ages

Me too little man, me too.

* This is from the excellent 'Seduction of the Gullible' by John Martin. The report quoted Steve from Coventry, even though no schools in Conventry were involved in the survey.

Video Nasty #3 : Eaten Alive AKA Death Trap

2010-01-26T21:14:00.006Z

Death Trap opens with Buck, a young pre-Krueger Robert Englund, taking liberties with a newly recruited prostitute ('My name is Buck and I'm here to fuck'). The girl is fired for not indulging in Buck's rear-end shinanigans and is advised to stay the night at Judd's. Before leaving she's warned not to let Judd know she worked at Miss Hattie's, he doesn't take kindly to sinners!

Judd's motel is seemingly located on a smokey low rent sound stage. As if the constant country music and ramshackled rooms weren't enough of an attraction, Judd's hotel has a zoo comprising of a dead monkey and huge man eating african crocodile. Before you can say 'rubber reptile' Buck has beaten the ex-whore to death with a rake and thrown her to his pet crocodile. The film then follows a parade of guests inexplicably renting a room at Buck's and most of them meeting a grissly end, before the inevitable and predictable demise of Buck.

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list.Click here for an explanation.

Eaten Alive is a gory exploitation movie and for the most part good sleazy fun. It's a perfect example of the style Rodrigeuz and Tarantino were trying to capture in their ridiculously expensive homage to exploitation cinema, 'Grindhouse'. In fact, Tarantino quotes the first line of Eaten Alive in Kill Bill (the aforementioned chat up line from Buck). Eaten Alive has an aesthetic that thankfully wasn't ruined by the supposed digital mastering; the scratches on the film are still clearly visible, constantly breaking the blood splattered fourth wall. One could easily imagine a drive through full of teens in the 80's screaming and cheering when the unfortunate guests are fed to the croc. I like to think that in a cinema full of like minded people, I'd be cheering too.

The hotelier Judd is the star of the film, in terms of appeal and screen time. He's a protagonist you really love to hate. We were both shouting 'kill him' at the TV when ever the opportunity arose, which has to be the mark of good bad guy. Basically, Buck is your run of the mill hollywood pyschopathic extreme rightwing nazi christian. He despises prostitutes and spends a lot of his time grumbling whilst using a magnifying glass to read porn magazines on his swastika adorned arm chair. I think the original intention of the film was to try and expand on the Judd character, but on a production fraught with problems something was lot in process (The film had a total of six producers and director Tobe Hooper eventually walked off the set). The Judd character was inspired by the serial killer Joe Ball, a bar owner who also had five pet alligators. When confronted about several missing women, Ball shot himself.

The gore is silly and good fun, but what else would you expect from a movie where the main murder weapon is a ten foot 'invincible' crocodile? The Croc is put to good usage, ripping heads off and even eating a girl's cute furry dog. Judd does his best with his trusty sythe, jamming it in people's necks and dragging them into the pool. Realistic, this is not.

The movie was directed by Tobe Hooper, whos previous film was the the seminal Texas Chainsaw Massacre (TCM). Coincidently, although TCM was banned, it never appeared on the video nasty list itself. Apart from being in the same genre, TCM and Eaten alive have very little it common. TCM was and is still a visceral and intense movie, leaving a lasting imprint on the viewer. It is a masterpiece of suggestion; how else could a film with hardly any blood, no swearing and no nudity receive an 18 certificate when finally released on DVD? Eaten Alive on the other hand is a big dumb gore-fest, where nothing is left to the imagination. One has to wonder if Hooper only made TCM so sparse of gore for budgetary reasons. Although I think it's more likely that Hooper originally expected TCM to receive a PG certificate (this is true).

Maybe I'm being too kind to Eaten Alive because it's the first movie i've watched on this stupid endurance test that's actually been as I expected, not that it was a particularly memorable film. I wouldn't recommend it to everyone, but if you like a bit of silly violence and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, it's probably worth checking out just to see what Hooper did next. There's no reason this film should ever of been banned, but I can understand how it got caught up in the Video Nasty fiasco far more than Unhinged due to the sheer amount of gore. Regardless, it's far too silly to be taken seriously.

Video Nasty #2 : Unhinged

2010-01-24T13:00:00.001Z

Synposis: Three teenage girls are travelling to a music festival when they crash their car into a ditch, most likely because they're being pursued by a camera man in a helicopter playing cheesy synth music. They awake in a mysterious Mansion, inhabited by a spinster and her man hating mother. One by one the girls are stalked by a mysterious sexually repressed killer, who reveals his true self in an utterly bizarre climax.

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list.Click here for an explanation.

From the outset Unhinged has all the classic hallmarks of a Slasher movie. There's unnecessary nudity and as soon as the DJ on the crackly car radio has warned the girls of unexplained disappearances in the local area, they crash the car. And all of this happens within the first ten minutes. Unfortunately, instead of maintaining the momentum the films slows to a crawl and never really gets back to walking, or more suitably, stalking pace.

The lack of pace is surprising considering the film's attractively short running time of seventy nine minutes. I think the directory and his script monkey made two mistakes. Firstly, if you're making a slasher film you really need more than three people to kill. Secondly, write more then twenty minutes worth of a script. Rather than writing more dialog then your average Pingu episode, the film makers decided to flesh out the film with excruciatingly slow shots of, well, nothing. One could argue that the intention of such languid shots were to deliberately build tension. If that's the case then it's ruined by the Rick Wakeman wanna-be noodling on the 303 whenever there's some dead air to fill.

The acting was worse then one could expect from a low budget film, the three girls focus so much on their lines that they forget to act. The stand out performance has to be the scene stealing eldery mother, who has two fantastically melodramatic Jekyll and Hyde scenes at the dinner table. When talking to the girls she's a loveable grandma figure (with bizarre Shatner-esque intotation), but when talking to her daughter she's a physco man hater, venting her misandry at her 'slut' of a daughter. As if the barn storming schizo act wasn't enough she sporadically stops mid speech and becomes enticed by small silverware in front of her, grasping at them for some inexplicable reason (see picture).

Other than the mad mother the only other redeeming factor of the film is its ending. We discover that the mother has a son who lives in the shed due to her irrational hatred of cock bearers. The brother is obviously the killer and as he chases the Final Girl she shoots him dead. In a fit of rage the sister then reveals herself to be the killer and also a man, before bludgeoning the remaining girl to death with his hair chest on display. What I love about the reveal is that the he-she's voice literally drops three octaves (think Judy Dench suddenly talking like Brian Blessed).

The film really is dull and despite a few bizarre moments (the mother, the ending) I can't say I'd recommend that anybody watch it. As a physcological thriller it's poorly acted and follows a mostly predictable path. As a horror film the horror is almost non-existant, a five year old wouldn't find this scary. There was promise with the first kill, carried out by an ominous death character (see picture). Unfortunately the film makers didn't capatilise on this truly scary image and instead settled for a P.O.V. axe murder and a shemale axe attack.

I have no idea why this film is a video nasty, although I do agree that the public do need protecting from films as bad as this. To label it obscene wrongly gives it credit for achieveing something on an emotional level, which it clearly doesn't. I've been more emotionally affected by burning a piece of toast.

Video Nasty #1 : Anthropophagous (AKA The Grim Reaper)

2010-01-17T11:15:00.015Z

Synopsis: A bunch of twenty-something Americans who are less likeable than the Manson Family charter a boat to a remote Greek island to meet up with their English friends. When they arrive on the island it is seemingly deserted apart from a mysterious (i.e. old) woman who keeps popping up in windows and disappearing. One by one the jerks are killed by a heavy breathing beardy cannibal (If you're going be stalking people, work on your cardio). Towards the end of the film we discover that the man was driven to cannibalism after accidentally killing and eating his wife and son.

In 2010 i'm attempting to watch and review all of the films on the DPP Video Nasty list.Click here for an explanation.

You know when you wake up after a night out and realise that you've agreed to do something stupid in a drunken stupor? I had that exact feeling when I received my first three Video Nasties in the post. Staring at the man with his head imprisoned in a bamboo box on the cover of Deep River Savages I didn't know whether to feel more sorry for him or me - Yeah, you're about to a human entree, but at least you don't have to watch Killer Nun. Regardless, I committed to this stupid endeavor and im going to finish it.

Anthropophagous eased me into the process gently and I actually enjoyed it much more than I could ever of expected. The production values are relatively high (emphasis on relative w.r.t. the list) and it moves along at a decent enough place. The film is directed by Joe D'Amato, who's name pops up on the DPP list a few times. The man has directed 196 movies, although the word 'Movie' is a probably a little kind considering most of them have titles like Sexy Treasure Hunt Show and Robin Hood: The Sex Legend. Like many horror films of the era the script isn't the film's strongest point; the dialog is forced and unnatural, especially when exposition is involved.

The soundtrack is heavily orchestrated, which would be impressive if it didn't sound like it has been lifted from a Thundercats episode. The biggest problem was the lighting. I wouldn't be surprised if the lighting guy had an Alsatian in a high vis. jacket. There are a number of scenes where someone is carrying a candle in a dark house. The lighting solution to this was to shine a torch in the actor's face. If this wasn't bad enough the torch was being held by someone with a hand shakier than Jimmy Saville.

Something that really distracted me was the eponymous beast. He reminded of someone and it took a while to figure out who. At first I thought it was Björn Ulvaeus from Abba, but then I realised. It was Non, one of the three evil Kyrptonians in Superman 2.

My favourite scene involves a disembodied head in a bucket. Not because it was scary, the head looks like a rejected prop from Wurzel Gummidge's head shelf. The writer obviously had an idea that he thought would be terrifying: A female puts her foot in a bucket of water only to find the captain's head in it. How terrifying! Unfortunately to get this convaluted scene to work an actress has to pull up a bucket on a rope onto the boat, put the bucket on the floor and then put her strained ankle in the bucket, all without looking at the bucket. Because the woman's eyes were fixed on the middle distance through out the scene it was entirely predictable and all the more hilarious.

So why was it on the list? The two scenes that probably earned it a reputation as a Video Nasty were cut from my version of the film (apparently the distributor mistakenly submitted the heavily cut version to the BBFC). The original ending had the beast being disembowled and eating his own intestines, which makes sense really. If I was a cannibal i'd like my last meal to be myself - I've been rearing this livestock since I was born, I don't want some other cannibal getting a slice. I'm pretty sure this scene would remain uncut by the BBFC as eating innards is the mainstay of most zombies films since Dawn of the Dead. I don't think the other scene would get passed the BBFC at all, which sees the reaper pulling a featus out of a pregnant woman and chomping on it like it was a happy meal (the effect was achieved using a dead rabbit).

Personally, I think the biggest factor in its banning was probably the VHS cover. Due to the general furore over Video Nasties, many were added to the list for arbitrary reasons, not least of which the VHS 'big box' covers. With the home market being flooded with low-budget horror imports the small independent distributors had to rely upon advertising and video artwork to get their videos sold, always trying to outdo their competitors on the gore stakes. And as you can see from the original video cover above, it's a pretty fantastic and gory cover.

One down, 60 to go.

This blog is obscene

2010-01-13T21:59:00.000Z

All video recordings sold in the UK must be classified by the Board of British Film Censors (BBFC). The BBFC have the power to refuse classification, effectively banning a film from release. I think the BBFC do a pretty good job and it's not one I envy.

I'd imagine that when someone takes a job at the BBFC they'd be thinking 'Ace, I get to sit around watching movies all day before they've been released, uncut!'. Little do they release that 10 years later they'd be sat in a small screening room watching a marathon of Dad's Army episodes. (In case you're interested, the boxset is 80 episodes. Therefore at 8 hours a day that's a whole working week of back to back Dad's Army). It would be like hell programmed by UK Gold.

The BBFC have only had the remit to classify videos since the introduction of the Video Recording Act 1984. Before this the sale of a film on VHS could only be blocked using the Obscene Publications Act. According to wikipedia, the act defines 'obscene' as something that will "tend to deprave and corrupt persons who are likely, having regard to all relevant circumstances, to read, see or hear the matter contained or embodied in it".

Local police forces used this somewhat broad definition to carry out raids on video stores, seizing video's that their bosses deemed to be obscene. In one case Dolly Parton's 'The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas' was seized as pornographic material. Because of the varied interpretation of the law the Directory of Public Prosecutions made a list of films that had been successfully prosecuted under the Obscene Publications Act or were awaiting to be tried in court. After Mary Whitehouse coined the term 'Video Nasty' the list came to be known as the DPP list of 'Video Nasties'

The list itself is a mixed bag of up to 72 films (the list changed over time). Some films clearly shouldn't of been in the list ('Evil Dead': a slapstick over the top horror comedy), some to this day are questionable ('Faces of Death': A compilation of snuff footage, mostly fake) and some are just plain sick ('Last Orgy of the Third Reich'). Of the 72 films, 61 have been released in some form or another (no surprises that 'Last Orgy of the Third Reich' is still banned).

So why am I telling you, the single person who reads my blog, about this? I've decided that i've needed something other than my uninteresting life to blog about, and the list of 61 films is it. I'm going to attempt to watch all 61 released films by the end of the year, and write a review for each one. If Mary Whitehouse was right, by the end of the year I will be a disgusting broken husk of a man who can only express himself through violence, sex and swearing. If i'm right, i'll spend the year watching some brilliant, some bizarre but mostly poor films.

Full disclosure. Of the 61 films i've seen 5 before (mostly good) and I already own 2. As I can't bring myself to contaminate our Love Film rental list i'll be buying most of the films, as cheap as possible. This shouldn't be difficult. The first film I typed into play.com (Obviously 'The Anthropophagous Beast' AKA 'The Grim Reaper') was £1.00 delivered. If anything, I'm going to have some cheap nights in.

Stuck on the motorway and desperate for the toilet? Try hitting a car

2010-01-10T22:49:00.000Z

One of my many New Year's resolutions for 2009 was to write a weekly diary entry on my blog, mainly because I have the same memory limits as a Commodore 64. I had forgotten so much about my life up to that point and I knew my memory was only going to get worse. I needed to record what was happening somewhere, otherwise all these things would be lost in time, like tears in rain. Also I like writing even if no one reads or enjoys what I write (I can't blame them, considering the incredibly nerdy way I misappropriated a quote from Bladerunner at the end of the previous sentence).

Like most New Years resolutions I started with conviction, managed a few months and then gave up. The problem is that most of my life is mundane, such that writing and reading about it was a dull experience. I suppose that if this was an unpublished diary I could of written some really interesting stuff. But I like my friends and family and wouldn't want to upset anyone.

I'm starting to think that writing a blog could become the replacement for the country's most popular New Year's Resolution: 'Going to the Gym'. I've looked at a few random blogger accounts and it seems that most people started out in good spirit, managed a few posts and then gave up (Hi Sam!). At least with a failed blog you don't have a direct debit entry on you monthly bank statement for the next year, mocking your pathetic lack of will power.

So this year I haven't set myself any blogging target, I'll just do it when I think i've got something interesting to write about. In fact, I have no news years resolutions. Oh, apart from getting Married. That's quite a big one, although someone's already agreed to marry me, so the difficult part is sorted.

If one of my News Year's Resolutions was to not cause car crashes, I would of failed within the first five days. Driving to my first day of work of 2010 I managed to hit a car from behind at a roundabout. Thankfully it was at very low speeds and no-one was injured (in fact, i'm pretty sure there was no damage to either car, but I can't blame the other person for claiming on my insurance, i'd probably do the same). Unfortunately I couldn't blame the 'big freeze' that had unexpectedly hit the country. Presumably the snow was unexpected because we hadn't seen weather like this since, well, roughly this time last year.

Normally i'd be mortified that i had caused an accident (sorry, collision. accident implies someone is to blame), but I have a water tight excuse - my bladder.

My bladder has always been useless to the point that I think i really should speak to a doctor about it. Before hitting the car in front I'd been sitting in a queue for two and a half hours on the M1. It had got to the point that the pain had turned into cramping, like my body was warning me about the long term damage i was about to cause.

I was so desperate for a wee I'd already formulated a plan of action. Costa Coffee cup? check. Blanket to cover little D, avoiding embarrasment from passing motorists? check. Moved sun visor to stop lorry drivers looking in? check. Fiddled with all seat controls to ensure optimal 'run-off' angle in case of spillage? check.

When the accident occurred I was only (theoretically) a few minutes away from work so I decided my McGyver like plan could wait. Because I was so desperate to visit what was at that point the most beautiful urinal in the world I wasn't focusing on driving properly. I saw a clearing on the round-about ahead and accelerated. Unfortunately, the person in front of me didn't.

Fortunately, I did learn something from this experience. If you are ever in a car and desperately need to go toilet, I can wholly advise causing an accident. You totally forget about needing to wee for at least fifteen minutes.

I'm mad as hell, and i'm not going to take it anymore

2010-01-10T12:04:00.002Z

Recently I watched the excellent Network (1976), a satire on television in the US, or really anywhere in the world.

As a young'un I found it quite difficult to get into films made before I was born, generally because older films weren't pieced together with quick cuts, short scenes and the general kineticism of modern movies (is kineticism even a word?). I've always loved film, but I had a habit of watching the 'classics' without really giving them the full attention they demand and deserve. They are not Terminator 2; they insist some degree of concentration from the viewer. Films had more talking, more raw emotion and less explosions. And this, I now know, is a good thing.

I'm often bowled over by how edgy films from the 70s can be. I don't think it can be a coincidence that all of the great films from the 70s were so intelligent but unrelentingly harsh and visceral: Apocalypse Now, Clockwork Orange, Exorcist, Taxi Driver, Staw Dogs ... the list goes on. I suspect this is for many reasons, not least the fall-out of the Vietnam War and the political changes at the time.

Or maybe it was that films would always be like this if the 80's hadn't happened. The 80's was the decade of excess; everyone wanted to forget about the 70's and the cold war, something which is reflected in the movies of the time, there were alot of disposable feel good rom-coms or chuck norris beating the shit out of Russians. This was also the decade of affordable VCRs, with which came straight to video movies and public outrage over 'video nastys', because films that could only previously be seen in the cinemas could now be watched at home by kids. Consequently, The prequel to my favourite film ever, 'Evil Dead 2' was branded a video nasty and only re-released uncut in 2001. Anyway, enough amateur (and probably a bit incorrect) film history.

Ironically, maybe the real reason film has changed so much since the 70s was the hypothesis at the heart of Network. As media becomes too influenced by business (especially big business), it is inevitably compromised. And the 80's was, after all, the decade of the corporation. Huge conglomerates were desperate to be involved with all areas of business, and their board of directors only cared about one thing. And for the movie studios they purchased, it wasn't artistic integrity.

Spoilers on Network from here in...

Network begins with a news anchorman being given his weeks notice due to his nightly news show having a poor audience share; he's past it and they need fresh blood. The anchor responds by announcing on the evening news that he will kill himself live on the air next week. The film follows the reporter's subsequent rehiring as the 'Mad Prophet of the Airways', when the network realise that the reporter's subsequent expletive laden outburst on the air gained them a higher audience share.

The one part of the film that is eerily prophetic is how the conservative 'just the facts' nightly news slowly changes into 'News Entertainment' program, fronted by the Mad Prophet's ramblings who now has a mantra: "I'm mad as hell, and i'm not going to take it anymore". News reports are replaced with a psychic trying to predict next week news and seeing if their previous week's predictions were correct. Time is given to a segment called 'vox populi' (Voice of the People), which presumably gives air to the opinions to the (mostly) uninformed people on the street.

Essentially, ignoring the psychic, the film invented a 'News Entertainment' format that is very similar to a lot of news programming now on the air. No where is this more apparent then the Murdoch owned Fox News (US), an incredibly right-wing news station that reports republican opinion as fact, with Glenn Beck acting as Fox New's Mad Prophet.

Coincidentally, the only reason that the Murdoch owned Sky News isn't more like its American counterpart is that Ofcom ensures news is reported impartially. It is widely accepted that a Cameron government would greatly reduce Ofcom's powers and in return the Murdoch owned newspapers (e.g. The Sun) will switch their allegiance from Labour to Conservative for the next election. As we've seen in the last few months, Murdoch's kept his part of the deal.

Network ends with producers deciding to assassinate the Mad Prophet live on air due to falling rating. Recently the presenter of a Brazilian Crime TV show was accused of ordering assassinations to boost his TV shows ratings. He was caught out because his film crew were consistently arriving at crime scenes before the police.

Network is a brilliantly written film and well worth a watch, although I've ruined the ending now. Of course, the writers of Network managed to summarise my ramble into a few sentences:

You're television incarnate, Diana: Indifferent to suffering; insensitive to joy. All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality. War, murder, death are all the same to you as bottles of beer. And the daily business of life is a corrupt comedy. You even shatter the sensations of time and space into split seconds and instant replays. You're madness, Diana. Virulent madness. And everything you touch dies with you. But not me. Not as long as I can feel pleasure, and pain... and love.

I may regret this...

2009-11-29T17:04:00.005Z

Beth Orton once sang 'What are regrets? They're just lessons we haven't learned yet'. This line never made much sense to me until recently. I interpreted this literally, my understanding being that regrets were just things we hadn't got round to yet, which I knew wasn't true. I've regretted lots of things i've done in the past that couldn't be undone.

And these things are all pretty stupid and trivial.

I regretted sulking my way around a Tunisian castle as a kid only to realise when I got home that Life of Brian had been filmed in the very castle i'd been ignoring.

Whilst playing in the school band in the Efteling theme park, Holland, to a non-existant audience, I regretted saying (very loudly) 'If I was in a theme park I wouldn't be watching us', which lead to me getting evils from everyone else in the band.

On the same trip, when fronting our sixth form band I regretted singing something like 'I don't speak Hollish' and getting the finger from all the Dutch people in the crowd.

I regretted not taking socks out of my jeans before I throw them on the floor. This lead to me walking around Tescos a few weeks ago with a sock hanging out the rear of my jeans, like I had a smelly cotton tail.

I regretted getting smashed on Somerset Cider at Glastonbury 2003, making the Radiohead headline slot I'd been looking forward to for a year a complete blur. I regretted that the only memory I have of the gig was chastising someone who'd never heard a b-side they decided to play.

Amazingly the Radiohead thing actually really hurt me and I could never bring myself to watch the BBC footage and enjoy it. This was a band that i'd been obsessed with since their first (admittedly dodgy) album. 8 years later I had the chance to see them for the first time, at a once in a lifetime gig and I inexplicably got pissed and deleted the whole thing from my brain.

Anyway, enough embarrassment. I've only recently realised what Orton was harping on about, I'd simply not managed parse the the grammer properly. To paraphrase; If you're still regretting something, you probably haven't learnt your lesson yet. The thing you regret was a lesson in itself, and if that thing didn't happen, you wouldn't be the person you are today.

All of these silly regrets are generally quite funny, and everyone has done similar things. When I was telling some friends about the sock incident Jen and I were in tears, struggling to breathe through the laughter. Laughing that much and that hard has to be a high point in life and this would never of happened if my underwear hadn't been on display during the weekly shop.

So I don't really regret anything, mainly because I think it's all pretty funny and I have learnt my lesson - Stop being stroppy, engage brain before talking, consider that saying something you think is funny might be offensive to someone else, take your socks out of your jeans before throwing them on the floor and finally, live for the moment. Even if you don't remember the moment once it's passed.

Right, erm

2009-11-26T21:21:00.005Z

Christ! I haven't written anything on here for a over a month. My New Year's Resolution was to write something on here every week. I think I lasted about 10 weeks before I realised that over the course of a week very little of interest happened. Still, for a while I managed a few posts a month. And now I'm down to one a month. That's 12 a year. My blogs are now less regular than a DFS Sofa Sale.

My blog must feel like a dejected gadget you get for Christmas. At first you think how on earth could I ever live with out this? Within about a month you realise you can clearly live without it, and 6 months later it's chucked in the drawer and never used again. This blog is like a sandwich toaster. As always, television can explain this far better than I ever could:

Daisy: In the end, our relationship was just like a sandwich toaster. You know, you just forget you've got one. And it just sits there on the top of the cupboard collecting a layer of greasy fudge. And even if you do see it you just assume it's broken, you think if it's working I'd be using it all the time, but you don't and it just sits there. Then one day, you get an overwhelming desire for toasted sandwiches, you know? And you get it down and it works, and you can't believe it, you know? And then you make every kind of toasted sandwich there is, you have toasted sandwich parties. You make Marmite and cheese, chocolate and...

Tim: Pilchards.

Daisy: Banana and...

Bilbo: Acorns.

Daisy: Acorns. And then as quickly as the desire comes, it just goes. And then you put the toasted sandwich maker away. And, you know what?
Tim: What?

Daisy: You don't miss it.

Bilbo: So what you're saying is 'Don't hide the toasted sandwich maker away, use him regularly and you'll get the most out of him'.

Tim: No, she's saying 'Chuck your boyfriend, have a sandwich'. (Spaced)

Of course, that analogy doesn't really work, because I'm not going to go mental and write every kind of post you can think of, or have a blog party where everybody groups around and laughs/crys at my cynical, irregular and miserable commentary on 2009. Maybe I should do a Peter Kay and start re-releasing old blog posts in a slightly different font.

That is all. I only wrote this because I felt bad for leaving it so long. Maybe i'll sneak something in before Christmas.

Another Day, Another Website

2009-10-25T22:45:00.011Z

In early September we attended to Becky & Matt's wedding at the pituresque Rushton Hall. RNIB had owned and ran the country estate as a school for the blind since 1957 but decided to sell it on in 2003. To be fair, i'm pretty sure the ornate interiors were lost on most of the students (yeah, i'm going to hell).

I've actually visited the estate before in its former guise, as part of the Montagu School Band to perform christmas carols to the kids. We were told that after our performance one child who hadn't spoken for years uttered 'more'. But my black heart just cannot believe something so beautiful and uplifting could be true. Lying bastards.

I stupidly offered to create a website such that everyone can see pictures from the day. I say stupidly, because sometimes I forget that i'm not a web designer. The term web designer is generally (and incorrectly) used for anyone who works on a website, even though the design of the site is only one part of piecing the technical jigsaw together. I'm a Web Developer or (according to my employee) a Systems Analyst Developer. I'm not a graphic designer.

Because of this I agonised over the design of the site for hours plonking things on the page with no real concept of the complete design or understanding of how colours and shapes fit together to create an aesthetically pleasing site. That's probably why the end product turned out pretty simple. Luckily I think my hours of throwing stuff on a page ended up looking ok, but I can't help but think that a professional designer could of knocked it up in 10 minutes.

Anyway, have a look yourself here - www.mrandmrsshort.com. According to my mum, I don't look good with a bow tie on. How rude.

I'm Sorry, We've Ran Out of Home Made Pasta

2009-09-27T17:20:00.002+01:00

Early September is always Holiday time for Jen and I. The kids are back at school (i.e. not where we're going), the weather in Europe isn't too hot, and the hope of any decent weather in England is officially on hiatus until 2010. We've been to Barcelona for the last two years, and despite us being able to taste Sangria on our lips (it's cheaper than Blossom Hill) we decided to go to Rome.

As usual, we left booking the holiday until a few weeks before we left. After days exploring Expedia it appeared that must hotels in central Rome were last refurbished in the early 80s. We ended up staying in a hotel that was on the outskirts of the city centre but only a 5 minute walk away from the Metro (a walk which, according to many reviews, passed a number of hooker hot-spots). We were initially sent to the wrong room, probably scaring the life out the person inside when I was trying to force the door open. I inadvertently had my revenge on the staff by constantly pulling on the emergency alarm in the bathroom for 10 minutes (I was trying to turn the non-existent extractor fan on), leading to Jen getting a confusing phone call about trouble in the bathroom from reception. The hotel was very contemporary, having not only a bidet but, next to the bidet, a telephone. And I thought ringing someone on the toilet was weird.

Rome is a deceptively small city and it's easy to stumble upon a breath taking view whilst aimlessly walking through the city (Rome's Metro doesn't stop at many of the big sites; they're building a third line but progress is slow as every time the tunnel advances they unearth some hidden treasure). For example, in the first 20 minutes of exploring Rome we walked down an insignificant backstreet and stumbled upon a beautifully decorated cross road:

Although it is one of the most well known sights of Rome, Fontane de Trevi is a perfect example of a monumental sight unexpectedly crammed in a tiny out-of-the-way square. Unfortunately the tiny square was permanently rammed with huge crowds whenever we walked through it, watched over by the fountain police (to stop people jumping in, apparently). Throwing a coin in the fountain is meant to guarantee a return to Rome. We chucked in 10 cents, so evidently we weren't that bothered. We attempted to take some photos of us sitting on the edge of the fountain, unfortunately this put us directly in the line of fire from small bits of metal flying from the crowd so the photos were a little rushed (hence, not shown).

The most iconic sight has to be the Colloseum, and like the immigrants flogging umbrellas and faux gladiators selling picture opportunities, it jumps out in front of you when you leave the Collosso Metro. Due to the pillaging throughout centuries the Colloseum looked far more impressive outside than in.

We made a habit of using the Collosso Metro at night, as the view on the road walking towards it is amazing. We'd first pass the Monument to Victor Emanuel II, and then walk down a long road flanked by the Forum and ruins of Ceaser's house, with the lit up Colloseum approaching on the horizon.

Anyone who knows me well knows that, much like everything in and attached to my body, my bladder is small but perfectly formed. Rome and I suspect Italy do not do public toilets. One night walking to the Metro I was so desperate I had a cheeky pee half way up a dead-end stair case. Luckily the wall was just above groin height. This has to be the most picturesque toilet experience i've had in my life (not difficult), I felt like Caeser having a cheeky wazz on his was to the Forum. To be fair, a pigeon had pooed on my head a few days previously, so I was just muddying up his turf as revenge. For cover I pretended to take some pictures, one of which is below. Unfortunately, as the camera was merely a prop in my cunning deception, the photo is rubbish. Regardless, here it is:

Although there seemed to be less beggars, dodgy street merchants and theft than in other major cities, those that did it were full on. Beggars were one of two types, either young pregnant girls asking for money to support their bambino or old ladies, hunched over with a stick stumbling around and incoherently mumbling whilst rattling a mini Pringle can full of change. The later were genuinely scary, you could imagine them grabbing your arm and placing a curse on you if you dared to put less than a euro in their retro-fitted savoury snack container.

The scariest beggar we saw was a hybrid of the two types, a scary pregnant old lady (we think the bump was fake). For some inexplicable reason she was wearing a glittery dome shaped hat, looking like she'd been involved in an accident involving a badly secured disco ball. When a waitress tried to shoo her away from an establishment the begger turned, looked the waitress in the eye and made an un-earthly wail at the top of her lungs. After a few seconds of wailing she turned around and continued mumbling at scared Americans. From that point on Jen and I referred to her as Mumm-raa, and regularly ran away if we saw her stalking a square.

Gingers have a lot in common with Vampires - pale skin, fear of the sun and despite all logic, they are deeply attractive to the opposite sex. Well, maybe not the last point, but the Sun is a bitch. And Rome in September gets a lot of Sun, ruining every other photo we took. E.g:

The food in Rome is great and unlike Barcelona the bill isn't full of mystery surcharges. We were genuinely shocked when we got the bill for our first meal and were asked to pay for what was written on the menu. The one night we decided to get food in the hotel we were told that they'd ran out of the home made pasta. We didn't that mistake again. The thing i'll miss the most is the amazing ice cream, which we stuffed in our faces daily.

After four days of walking the city and countless museums history fatigue began to settle in and apathetically it became difficult to be impressed by another gold leaf 20m2 fresco or a monument that only 50 people probably died building. Luckily we ordered things such that we visited the epic Vatican Museum towards the end of the trip.

I had to stop taking photos of the frankly awe-inspiring testament to the Catholic Church's greed and excess as I was concerned that carrying the camera over the border would infringe on the Obscene Publications Act. It is a huge place, and room after room is quite literally jammed with statues, paintings and frescos such that you become desensitized to the beautiful craft exhibited. If you gave every piece the attention it deserved you would never leave. I actually felt bad that I wasn't more interested in large bodies of work - it must be like Disney Land for a historian. Despite Scott's suggestion I didn't get round to asking the staff where the Nazi Gold was hidden.

The Vatican Museum houses the Sisteen Chapel, or as it should probably be called the 'Nippon Sisteen Chapel'. Nippon, a Japanese Company purchased the video and photo rights to the chapel in exchange for paying for its refurbishment. For that reason, photography is forbidden, a rule which is strictly enforced by the Vatican's miserable fun-sponge guards.

The 'Rough Guide to Rome' describes the Vatican staff as

'unsmiling suited functionaries that appear at every turn. A care free experience it is not'

We saw a Japanese couple being marched out of the Sisteen Chapel for taking a photo, a women being dragged away from St. Paul's because skirt length infringement and, ironically, an elderly lady being pulled from her knees for daring to try and pray at the tomb of Pope John Paul II.

Ironically, I think we saw my two favorite things about Rome on the first day. The first was The Capuchin Crypt, 6 rooms entirely decorated using the remains of 4000 monks. Oddly, it was more impressive than morbid. The Crypt's intention was to remind the viewer of the impermanence of life, which is very Buddist for a Catholic Church. No photos were allowed, so here's some I found on the 'nets.

The second was 'The Allegory of Divine Providence' a breathtaking fresco in Palazzo Barberini. I actually found it more impressive then the Sisteen Chapel, more alive, more vibrant, brighter and more awe-inspiring. The fact we were alone in the room and not being shouted at by the Vatican Police probably improved the experience. Something which doesn't come out in the photos is that the fresco looked 3d, the arches in the corner had amazing depth to them, despite the fact it was simply paint on plaster.

Bring on the wall, again

2009-08-19T22:11:00.011+01:00

A while back I blogged about painting a pretty large flower pattern on our stairs' wall, aided by a laptop, GIMP and a projector. I mentioned that my Dad painted an awesome Star Wars mural in mine and my Brother's bedroom, free hand, making our monotone technologically assisted job seem a bit weak. Here's a picture Mum dug out:

The Ewok's village has unfortunately been cropped by the 80's lense, but rest assured Wicket was standing there, spear in hand. For added awesomeness, the Death Star and X-wings were painted using glow in the dark paint.

Dad's skills didn't stop with the Empire. Checkout this Thomas the Tank Engine and Postman Pat mash-up, a pre-teen equivalent of Alien versus Predator:

And as if that wasn't good enough, he built us a friggin' fort from bits of an old shed! I don't think I realised how lucky I was when I was a kid, having parents putting this much effort into making sure we had fun. Here I am looking pretty chuffed ruling the fort with my Brother* defending with a Shield, also made by Dad. There was even a trapdoor inside the fort so we could make a quick get-away into the bush behind.

I wish that fort was still there. I'd love to stand on top of it doing my best worst french impressions, shouting python insults at anyone who would listen. You English pig-dog!

Now go away, before I taunt you for a second time.

* We've decided that in this picture my Brother looks like a cross between Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Milton from Office Space

My Hometown is a Joke

2009-08-03T22:30:00.002+01:00

I was born and raised in Kettering, a medium sized town in Northamptonshire, roughly in the middle of England. It's famous for shoes and being a bit of a Joke. Literally I mean. For some reason Kettering is funny.

The first use of Kettering in humour (that i'm aware of) is in Monty Python's Travel Agent Sketch, in which Eric Idle talks about being 'carted around in busses, surrounded by mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry'. Since then (maybe in part due to the Python reference) there's been countless mentions of the town in mainstream British comedy.

A whole episode of Peep Show was spent in Kettering, mostly at the souless head office of Mark's employer. An entire episode of angry man sitcom 'One Foot in the Grave' revolved around a contrived joke about mishearing 'She's in Kettering' as 'She's in Catering'. There's even a classic comedy fanzine named 'The Kettering'. I've been trying to figure out why people find Kettering funny.

Maybe it's the word itself, Ket-err-rin' (as we from k-town say it). There must be something to this, as Douglas Adams & John Llody used it in 'The Meaning of Liff', a dictionary of words that haven't been invented yet. Kettering is defined as:

'...descriptive of the marks on one's bottom caused by sunbathing in a wicker chair'.

Personally though, I think what's funny about Kettering is what it represents. Kettering is funny because it's a town that has ideas above it's station, it's trying too hard to be something it never will. It has visions of grandeur, despite the fact it's always going to remain an insignificant smudge on the map between Leicester and Northampton. What other town would throw money at building an amphitheater jut down the road from a street where every other shop unit looks like it's been hurriedly deserted hours before the economical storm hit town, the remnants of the businesses once occupying the shops obscured by the 'closing down' graffitti painted on the inside of dirty windows. A road where, believe it or not, even charity shops are going out of business.

It's odd, because if you believed what you saw on the TV or road signs, you'd think Kettering was a bustling up and coming town. It's always on the ITV regional weather looking sheepish next to City's like Nottingham and Leicester. It's on sign posts miles away for no discernible reason. I live in Loughborough and Kettering is signposted on the A6, despite being a good 50 minutes away and 'Rock and Bowl' being one of its primary night spots.

The thing that perfectly sums up this desperation is Wicksteed's Park. Wicksteed's Park is the (i.e. only) theme park in Kettering. I'm not sure what the theme is though. Wicksteed's used to be fun, when there was an element of danger. The original rollercoaster had wooden carriages with no harness or belt, just a metal bar to hold onto at the front, perfectly positioned for smashing your teeth on. They had a centafugal death trap that stuck punters to the wall and pulled the floor away. Seeing someone vomit in it was always a treat, because one person to the left would be the unwitting receiver. A bit like a Newtonian version of Russian Roulette. Wicksteed's Park will never be able to compete with the big boys because Mr Wicksteed left what was then an expansive park with gentle boat rides to the people of Kettering, by way of a charitable trust. Wicksteed's spin is:

'Wicksteed Park is unique in that, unlike other parks, you don’t have to pay for the rides if you’re not going to use them'

But this is only because they have no right to charge. Wicksteeds is a nice park, in the traditional sense of the word, but it's tainted by its attempts to be a mega-attraction, with over priced food, tame rides and a lame mascot (Wicky Bear, whos clothes look suspiciously like Super Mario's outfit)

I think the writers of Peep Show picked Kettering because, like the character Mark, it is trying hard but always failing to be something it never will. At one point in the episode Mark and Jess visit Kettering's (fictitious) strip joint 'Lap Land' (Kettering does actually have a Lap Dancing club but it's called 'Cleopatras' and is above a working man's club). There's a huge sign on the wall, reading 'Lap Land, Kettering'. This sign is, possibly not deliberately, a perfect summation of the funny desperation of Kettering. Given how shit the club is, there has to be only one Lap Land in the world, yet the try hard Ketteringite who owns the place wanted to subtitle the name with 'Kettering' to make it seem like a chain, more important then it really is.

I think you can see a bit of Kettering in everyone. If they're naked, sunbathing on a wicker chair.

David Atkins comes from Kettering and lives in a house with Jen in Shepshed. He spends his days programming and pressure washing. He trys to write like a proper journalist, but really isn't good enough. He's a true child of Kettering.

Jen, Music, Good Films, A Lawnmower with a Bag and a Pressure Washer

2009-07-15T21:49:00.007+01:00

I think about three years, I realised that I really don't need a lot of money to be happy. My happiness list was, in this precise order: Jen, Music and Good Films. All of which is pretty affordable. Apart from Jen, obviously. She's not for sale (that didn't sound right, it's not like I own her. Or could put a value on her. Look, she's not yours. I have got a VHS copy of 'The Big Lebowski' going free though if anyone wants a good film).

In the last few weeks I've found two things to add to the list: A lawnmower with a bag and a pressure washer.

I heart my pressure washer. I'm going to clean everything with it: the patio, the car, neighbour's cats, my teeth. For the first time in my life I actually left work early because I was looking forward to cleaning something. I'm a changed man.

So, that's my happiness manifest : Jen, Music, Good Films, A Lawnmower with a Bag and a Pressure Washer. Try it yourself. You'll need to find your own Jen though.

Jack Russell in a Pram

2009-07-04T18:05:00.024+01:00

I last went to Glastonbury as a wide-eyed clean-shaven twenty one year old. It was essentially the last gasp of my student life; I had found out my degree results a week before and decided to start looking for a job as soon as I got home (I actually received a phone call from my Project Supervisor the Monday after Glastonbury asking if I was interested in a Research Position. I am a jammy bastard).

My first Glastonbury didn't quite go to plan. In 2003 it sold out fast and as all my friends had jobs I was the only one to be on the phone early enough to get a ticket. I ended up going with Kim's then boyfriend and his mates who were all five years younger than me. Don't get me wrong, they're cool people but spending the final weekend of my student life with a bunch of people who couldn't legally drink wasn't exactly what I had intended.

I remember the precise moment that I really got Glastonbury. It was when Doves were playing 'Satellites'. I think it was probably a mixture of the beer, lights in my eyes, tiredness and loud music but I was suddenly blown over the by the whole thing. Unfortunately it was about 11pm on the Sunday so I didn't have much time to make the most of my new found Glastonbury Zen.

I know what I really got wrong with Glastonbury that year. I treated it as just a music festival. After all, Loads of my favourite bands at the time were playing - Radiohead, R.E.M., Turin Brakes, Doves, Macy Gray, Manic Street Preachers. Because of this most of my time was spent walking between the Pyramid and Other Stage rather than exploring the vast site. Another mistake was the three pints of cider before Radiohead. The only thing I can remember about the gig was having a go at some strangers because they didn't recognise the b-side 'Talk Show Host'. What a Twat.

This year getting tickets wasn't difficult at all, probably because the process is now akin to getting a applying for a passport (except cheaper*) and demand is lower as every farmer and his dog have setup a festival. And when I say dog, I mean money-grabbing corporate-sponsored opportunistic events management team. Unlike 2003 the lineup wasn't perfect, but still better than most which meant there was loads more time to wonder around and take everything in. I'm not sure if writing this up chronologically would be interesting, so here's some random thoughts:

Randomness : Rihannon was convinced that she saw an evil Jack Russell being pushed round in a pram. We all mocked her for seeing things, it turned out to be true. Seeing a man climb a flag in the Jazz World field; as he reached the top it started bending to the floor, with him clinging on for dear life and hitting the ground at speed, huge cheer. Everybody at the Park Stage going mental when ever the sound check guy said 'Mike's Mike'. Hearing about MJ's death emerging from the tent early Friday morning for the long walk to the toilets and hearing a 'Shamone Muther Fucker' from every fifth tent.

Standing in a crowd with Maximo Park behind us watching Thriller on a big screen and everyone having a go at the zombie dance.

Beetle Juice singing Lionel Richie's 'All Night Long' in the Queen's Head.

Human Sized milk carton walking past us while watching Blur. Being accosted by the Green Police (see 'Staff'). Blokes walking around in their boxers and tight t-shirts - did someone steal their clothes? Trying to wave some friends over and having two blokes walking up and asking what we wanted. After we explained that we weren't waving to them they told us get over to the Dance Tent quick to see East 17!?. Getting a coffee Friday morning there was a man asleep on a chair that had fallen over, back to the floor. He suddenly jumped up and said 'right i'm off mate' to nobody and stormed off. Food stall selling the interestingly named 'Growler', dedicated to Pauline Fowler. A friend successfully walked a sizeable amount of 'treats' into the festival. Unfortunately they forgot they had them and left and re-entered the festival the next day when they were searched and the 'treats' were confiscated. whoops. Meeting some people at the front of the Pyramid stage Sunday 4:30am who were saving a space for Tom Jones. I think they may of been lying.

The mess in front of the Pryamid stage early sunday morning that was so disgusting it was almost beautiful

Being chased around Shangri-la by weird monsters barking at us.

Music : Managed to fit in alot of stuff. This is everything we saw in order.

Friday. Dan Black, Rumblestrips (Opening song 'Girls and Boys in Love' was brilliant. Left a few songs later when the lyrics descended into 'my first song' territory, I kid you not - 'I'm lying on my back, looking at the clouds, Lying on my back, looking at the clouds (x3)'), Fleet Foxes (I don't think the music scaled well to such a huge crowd), Friendly Fires (Amazing, loads of energy and the best/worst dancing you'll see from a front man since Ian Curtis), Lady GaGa (Not the car crash I was hoping for expecting. Left early so didn't get to enjoy all of GaGa's pointless anecdotes about being off her tits on acid), Fairport Convention (I wouldn't normally listen to folk-rock, but I did enjoy that song with 12 versus and one chorus. Kept having to restrain Jen from doing comedy barn dancing), Animal Collective (Saw them play 'My Girls' and 'Summertime Clothes' and then conceeded that we weren't drunk or high enough to get into it so headed for sleeping bags).

Saturday: Theoretical Girl (As John said, sounds like the Smiths if Morrisey was a girl), Eagles of Death Metal (good mix of The Eagles and Death Metal), Spinal Tap (including little-people dancing around a henge of stone), Dizzee Rascal (huge!), La Roux (we took a chance based on a few singles. can't win them all), Florence and the Machine (climbed up lighting rig wearing heels, crazy woman), Bon Iver (sounded amazing), African Sound System, Keith Allen (4am in Arcadia. He was going at 10 cpm (c*nts-per-minute) and spent 10 minutes plugging his keyboard in).

Sunday: The Rockingbirds (Unintentional listen. I would never of thought Country & Western would of made me fall asleep so quickly. Heard them laying on a hill in The Park having a sleep in the rain), Tom Jones, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Ladyhawke (Storming set, was worried about being disappointed but Pip Brown was on form), Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds ('Stagger Lee' was the most filth I've ever heard sang to a family crowd, loved it), Blur (Never listened to Blur much first time round, this was epic).

Staff : Nicest staff ever! Every person we talked to were nothing but lovely, always hoping we have a good festival. A toilet cleaner even offered to hold a lock-less toilet door closed for us. For unpaid volunteers, the spirit of them was amazing. That said, we did get accosted by the Green Police, 10 men and women dressed up as fairies telling us not piss in the bushes. This was outside a toilet block so I can't help think that they were preaching to the converted.

Driving : Driving to the festival was the only really affordable way of getting there. We set off first thing Thursday and arrived at 12pm at which point the heavens opened and Glastonbury Festival FM (the most amateur radiostation you'll ever hear) informed us that all camp sites were full, not the ideal start. Luckily mates had saved us tent space. We didn't quite consider how far the car park was from the camping when we packed. I swear on one of our three trips to and from the car my body was preparing itself for a blackout. It took 3 hours to get out of carpark Monday early morning and we got back at 9am. I have never been so terrified driving as I was for the first 20 minutes on the motorway. It wasn't that I was sleepy, I was just concentrating so hard on not having an accident it was inevitable i'd plough into the back of the car in front of us. Thank god for sleeping in service station car parks.

So did I get Glastonbury this year? Yeah, I think so. It was midday Thursday just after the first sip of Cider in the beating sun with my mates.

* HA HA! Biting Satire.

2009, Week 14 & 15

2009-04-22T22:30:00.005+01:00

I can't work out whether my posting has slowed down due to a) not doing anything interesting to write about or b) me being too lazy to be bothered. I think it's mostly laziness, which ironically is the reason for me not having anything interesting to write about. Not having anything interesting to write about has never stopped me before though I suppose?

Our house is pretty ugly, but I like to think its oddness is part of its charm. Who else can say they have a 2 x 3 meter room attached to their bedroom that is referred to as 'the void' on the blueprints? It's especially ugly from the front, an 80's affront to architectural beauty, with no redeeming features and an afterthought of an extension. It's our house though and I love it. I think I have a lot in common with it; born in 1982, aesthetically odd and probably vastly over valued.

There are two weeks of the year when the house does look marginally attractive, when the tree in our front garden blossoms. To counter that I have to spend two weeks driving around in a Skoda covered in girly pink petals.

This week I finished reading 'Book of the Dead', the complete history of zombie cinema. It's a book I've been wanting to buy for ages and was well worth the wait. For example, did you know there are zombie films named 'Urban Scumbags vs. Countryside Zombies' (German), 'Space Zombie Bingo' (Troma) and 'Nudist Colony of the Dead'. Ironically, the next book on my list to read is the 'Tibetan Book of Living and Dying'. Sounds similar, but it probably doesn't give any analysis on the implicit social commentary of 'Dawn of the Dead'.

I very rarely watch a film that affects me emotionally, and I watch alot of movies. The last film that caught me off guard was United 93. Before I'd watched the film I was very cynical of the whole idea, I couldn't believe that hollywood could tell the story in a tasteful and non-exploitative way. By the end of the film I was mentally and, to a degree, physically destroyed. I don't know why but I can feel when a film's got to me, normally about 10 minutes before the emotional crescendo that has been building through out the film peaks. When the film does reach it's inevitable climax it's like a punch to the stomach. And it makes me well up a bit.

Last week I watched 'Waltz with Bashir' and it completely bowled me over, much like United 93. It's amazing filmmaking and I think pretty groundbreaking for an animation (more so than any Pixar film of late). If you read this, please go watch Waltz with Bashir and United 93. If you're lucky there may be one copy amongst those 200 'Epic Movie' DVDs in your local blockbuster.

2009, Week 12 & 13

2009-04-06T22:29:00.002+01:00

I hope I haven't offended The Elders of the Internet by not posting a weekly ramble last week. Some stuff happened that my head is struggling to filter properly. If this was a private diary I would probably write about it, but it's not. I've always said this diary/blog was to act as a memory warm-up in years to come, and i'm pretty sure that I've said enough to bring things back. Needless to say, if God does exist, he/she/it can go fuck himself/herself/itself with a big stick.

We've got a new family on the street and they've moved into our loft. For the last two weeks we've been woken up at 6am by birds scratching on the roof of the bedroom. Banging on the roof seems to stop the scratching for a while. A few minutes later the noise promptly starts up again, just as you get to that sweet spot when your minds starts drifting into dreamy nonsense.

One Sunday we were woken at 6am and I snapped. I stalked around the bedroom in my pants (good look) trying to work out exactly where the avian arsehole was. Once I found the bastard I smaked the roof, hard. There was silence for a few seconds and then all hell broke loose, baby birds screeching and the mum going crazy. Jen's taken to hitting the roof before we go to bed, see how they like being woken up! I really hope for our sanity and our loft's hygene they go soon.

The weekend before last was dominate by weddings. Saturday was my Cousin's wedding in Great Misenden and probably the first time I've seen almost all of the extended family for years. I'm quite anti-social, generally avoiding contact with people I don't talk to much (less anti-social, more lazy-social) but I think I had a brief conversation with everyone, which is an achievement for me. I forget how cool they all are. I think I'll make more of an effort from now on.

Sunday was a wedding fayre at the now dead-cert wedding reception venue. We keep flip-flopping between having a large invite-everyone-we've-ever-met wedding and having an intimate, close family and friends wedding. It's looking likely that we're going for the later. I think it's a mistake when a wedding becomes more about making other people happy, especially when many of those other people aren't (comparatively) that important to your life and relationship. Also, there's more money to spend on the Honeymoon and as we want to get half way round the world for at least 3 weeks we need all the money we can get.

This weekend Martin & Sarah came up and we all went out for some Japanese, Cocktails and Dancing. Well, lack-lustre dancing in a pretty much deserted Echos. Going to a night club at 11pm is a really bad idea. Especially because when you're literally the first people in the place the booze fueled facade doesn't exist. I can understand the toilets looking a state at 3am once it's been assaulted by inebriated students, but it's a bit worrying when there is mud coated up one of the cubical doors when you're the first person in. And where does the mud come from? the place is in the middle of a decidedly concretey town centre. Maybe they ship it in from Manchester to complete the shitty indy club from the early 90's look. Quality establishment.

As usual my head was banging the next day. People always say don't mix your drinks, so what idiot invented cocktails?

2009, Week 11

2009-03-23T20:48:00.010Z

Short entry this week. It's a predictable and well versed observation, but hangovers get a lot worse, a lot quicker once you hit a certain age. Two days after going out, I still feel like crap.

A few days after my Birthday, I learnt that your mental powers start declining at 27. I have now reached my mental peak and it's all down hill from here. I regularly walk around looking for keys that are in my pocket. My brain is at its optimum. I watched an hour of TV yesterday and realised in last ten minutes that I've seen it before, very recently. If I can't get into MENSA now, I never will. I'm afraid. I don't want to be anymore of an idiot then I am already.

To help my body on its way to terminal idiocy we 'got our binge on' Saturday night under the guise of post birthday drinks. So that's Orange Tree, Moon & Bell and then everyone's favourite sticky floored club, Echos with Jen, Scott, John and Becky.

As usual John got me into trouble by telling Jen things that were only meant to be between him and me. That is, something I wrote on the blog last week. Apparently the term 'clam-fest' could be construed by some as offensive, so I shall not be using it again. I don't think it's wise to say something that could potentially cause offense, I'd much rather be sure of it.

As I was waving goodbye to the 26 year old me, I decided to also say goodbye to some treasured frequencies by standing next to the world's worst speaker in Echos. For the first and very probably the last time in my life (I'm not a slut, it just doesn't ever happen) I 'shooed off' a woman who asked John and I to dance by derogatorily waving my hand at her. My reasons were honourable, I don't think Jen should come back and see me dancing with some random girl. And she was rotund. She gave me a dirty look, some sort of 'don't go there' palm and walked off, which I think was fair enough. John's classic response was 'well, that didn't go well for any of us'.

And that's it for this week. I could rant about Tescos and my scratched up copy of Fallout3, but I really don't have the energy. If you ever have a scratched game, go to Blockbusters and they'll repair it for a few quid. Just don't shout at the staff when they ask you if you moved your xbox when it was on. You may know that you're joking, but the person behind the counter hitting the panic button doesn't. They give you funny looks and it makes you feel a little bit smaller inside. I blame my newly initiated mental decline.

2009, Week 10

2009-03-16T22:49:00.005Z

Birthday Week!!! 4 day weekend!!! Unnecessary exclamation marks!!! Despite the excitement I expertly portrayed in the previous sentence, I had forgotten it was my birthday and continued to forget when it arrived. That's not really a surprise as I spent half of last year thinking I was 27 until Jen pointed out that I was 26. That really made my week.

For our birthday weekend we had a mini-break in London Village. We left late Wednesday evening and crashed at my sister's flat in Peckham, which is unfortunately not in the classy Nelson Mandela House (one can only dream).

On the over-ground in to London Thursday morning we had a Mary Poppins style welcome, as we watched some mad gypsy dancing with an umbrella outside of his caravan. I reckon this is the Mayor's new initiative to welcome tourists to London, paying gypsies to relive famous London scenes. Hell, it was more entertaining then a Routemaster that transformed into a, erm, Routemaster with its top floor blown off. Rewatching and describing that video, I've just realised how unintentionally offensive it is.

We'd hired an apartment for a few days. The first apartment we checked into had no hot water and a broken TV. After a wait for someone to turn up we were moved into a two bedroom apartment which was huge and had two bathrooms. We could both go toilet at the same time! Happy Birthday Us! The apartment was in a great location - This is the view of The Old Bailey we had 20 seconds from the apartment.

That evening we went to see Dirty Dancing - The Classic Story on Stage, my present to Jen (both the tickets and me sitting through it). It was, to say the least, the complete opposite of a sausage-fest. Let's call it a clam-fest. The show itself was technically smart but I think for someone who is not a fan (ie me), overlong and badly scripted. All the XX chromosomes' seemed to have fun though, whooping at the exemplary word-smithery such as 'I carried a watermelon' and 'Nobody puts baby in the corner'. Oh and fake-Swayze looked worrying old to be seducing a teenager. And he had funny hair.

Next day I dragged Jen on a walk around The Cirty, checking out St. Pauls (Huge!), The Globe Theatre and the current Turbine Hall exhibition at the Tate Modern, 'TH 2058' AKA 'Big Scary Spider and some Bunk Beds'. Here's some piccys.

Before lunch (a wise move) we went to The Hunterian Museum, a collection of various animals and body parts, mostly in Jars, collected by John Hunter throughout his life. It was fascinating, but unfortunately somewhere in the Royal College of Surgeons dinner was being served. So whilst we were viewing the insides & outsides of featuses, babys and adults, humans and non, we were getting a lung full of pie and mash. The shear scale of the main 'Crystal Gallery' finished us off and we had to get out for some fresh air and some tapas. On reflection, The Hunterian Museum was a bit like anatomical tapas.

In the evening we went to Adam Buxton's 'Out of Focus Group C' at the BFI Southbank. It is, as Buxton puts it '...basically an excuse for me to show some old and new video morcels I’ve made in between live performances from myself and other more talented actors, comedians and musicians'. And it was hilarious. Special guests were Doc Brown (comedian/rapper), Young Knives (who played 'Terra-forma' and 'Turn Tail', before backing Famous Guy for a rendition of 'I Like to Rock') and Kevin Eldon.

We finished the weekend by Chilling back at sis' and watching the ridiculously entertaining 'Taken', where Liam Neeson beats the shit out of anything on two legs for a few hours. I think he might be the new Seagal.

On our travels we had a new RCS (Rubbish Celebrity Spotting) to add to the list - that bloke off of that program in the flat with Samantha what's-her-name and that guy called Martin. Or, after some research, Ben Chaplin from 'Game On'. This spot is almost as good as Tim Vincent at a petrol station. Almost.

2009, Week 9

2009-03-09T21:53:00.007Z

It's been one of those weekends that feels like it's over before it's began. That's probably down to lack of sleep, much alcohol and the take-away sweats.

John, Jen and I went to see Watchmen on Friday at Vue, Leicester, a cinema I loathe yet keep going back to. John's twisted mind can make the pre-trailer adverts entertaining, if not a little wrong on all levels. If you ever wanted to make an anti-advert, one which ensured no one bought your product, John is your man. Also, he made quite possibly the funniest ghost train related joke. Unfortunately I think If I committed it to the Internet's It guaranteed me an appointment with Beazlebub for eternity. Or maybe the big G likes paraplegic based comedy. Better not risk it.

Watchmen was long yet entertaining, if not a little tonally unbalanced. I think Snyder had a difficult Job; either make a film that is true to the novel yet a bit of a mess or radically veer away from the source material to make a more cohesive and ultimately accessible film. Either way you're going to piss off the fanboys or the critics. Despite the change to the ending (for the best I think) the film kept as close to the comic as possible for a big budget movie (ha! i said comic, not graphic novel. in your face fanboys!).

As Jen was wedding dress shopping on Saturday I had a loose end. I ended up in a Garden Centre with the 'rents which oddly enough it was my suggestion. The 21 year old me would be severely disappointed by my over enthusiasm to buy rhododendron compost. In fact the 26 year old me is very disappointed.

Saturday night was a pre-birthday pub crawl. Does 3 pubs count as a crawl? OK, pre-birthday pub stroll. I haven't seen Christof or Chris since my brother's wedding and I could quite happily talk rubbish with them into the early hours. Which I did, although according to Jen towards the end it was mostly me talking rubbish at them when everyone wanted to go sleep. Over excited I guess. As usual I put my foot in it, joking with Chris that the good thing about Game Station stores (one of which he manages) is that unlike every Game store I've ever been in it doesn't smell so bad that you gag when you walk in. Unfortunately, I completely forgot his girlfriend who was sitting next to him works in Game. I've done much worse though, some of which I'm too embarrassed to write down. If you want to know ask me about the drunk guy at the Who gig. We can go to hell together.

We had quite a few drinks in the Old Market, Kettering's most alternative alternative pub. Although maybe I need to re-evaluate that, because for at least two hours it was, erm, 'eclectic', at one point pulling out the Hammer & Ice combo of 'Can't Touch This' followed by 'Ice Ice Baby'. The audacity. And there was also a complete pub sing along of Chas & Dave's 'Rabbit', which was beauty in its purist form.

I'm too tired to write anymore, I'm almost 27 don't you know?

2009, Week 8

2009-03-01T22:56:00.004Z

To misquote the seminal work of the early 21st century's portentous rock poets Sum 41, this week is 'all filler, no killer', in that bugger all happened. This was, I like to think, by choice. As we have big plans for the next few weekends Jen and I decided to laze around the house, watch films, drink wine 1 and eat Jamie Oliver's Tiramisu2.

My new keyboard turned up this week. Stupidly, I didn't consider that it would be the same width as, if not wider than an actual piano. Because of this I've struggled to find it a permanent home. It's great though, and I wish i'd of got one when I started self-teaching last year. It's got USB MIDI, which let me hook it up to Garageband in minutes and take advantage of the great instrument sets such as 'Nature Sounds', 'Comedy Noises' and the must have 'Applause and Laughter'. I am the master of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I own that bitch.

As preparation for our trip to London Village in a few weeks I got a copy of the 'Rough Guide to London'. It's amazing how little you really see in a city without a guide book. I've spent many days aimlessly walking around central London yet upon looking at the guide book I realise that I've missed so many interesting things. For example, did you know that there is a lamp post near The Strand that is powered using methane collected from the sewage system? I thought not my friend, and you thought the Houses of Parliment are impressive? You fool!

Every so often I re-discover an album that I've bought and never really got into the first time round. Oddly enough, these albums tend to go on to become the ones I really love. I think this is because music that is initially difficult to get into or challenges the listener's conceptions ultimately has a greater pay off when you finally 'get it'. In the last few years this has happened with Midlake's 'Van Occupanther' (which I now adore) and Animal Collective's 'Strawberry Jam'. The last few weeks I've really got into the second Hot Chip album 'Made in the Dark', which I've had since release. I was initially disappointed with it, I think mainly because the lead single 'Ready for the Floor' was a bit too mainstream and that stupidly put me off the album. On reflection though, the album really is a funky bitch.

I've come up with a new nick name for Jen and it's a personal fave. I'm pretty sure in every relationship there are weird nicknames used to refer to either partners, which make absolutely no sense to anyone else. What is odd with Jen and I is that the names seem to change every month. For example, here's all the ones we could think of from the last few years: Jen, Jen-Meister, Jenny, Jennifer, Jennifer Jayne, JJ, JBoss, Abraham, JJ Abrahams, Jabraham, Jabraspam, Jables, Balls, Jables Power, Gorper-chov and my new personal favourite, J-Chops.

I'll finish with some wise words imparted from my soon-to-be brother in law.

Wise man say even crouching ginger can't hide because of his carrot topped shame

1 - Man on Wire (great), Strangers (not bad, first half tense but looses its way) and Hunger (brilliant, but really hard work)
2 - Not literally his, I wouldn't mess with the mockney chef. Him and his Toploader pals would beat me to death with drumsticks and then dance on my corpse in the fucking moonlight.

CNPS: 15

2009, Week 7

2009-02-23T22:15:00.004Z

For a few hours this week, there was a big chance that I had been horribly killed. Well, at least from my from Mum's point of view, as there was a car accident in Loughborough and she happened to hear about it. I'm not complaining, it's nice to know that someone is thinking about you. I do feel sorry for my sister who lives in South London, she must get the 'just checking you're not dead' answering machine message twice a day.

Talking of the afterlife, it turns out that our potential wedding venue, Leicester's Guild Hall, is the most haunted building in Leicester. So haunted in fact that Yvette Fielding and a bunch of morons paranormal researchers have paid it a visit (you can watch the footage on youtube, although you really must have something, anything better to do, don't you?). There's also 'The Best Paranormal Evidence' which was shot at the Guild Hall, which is essentially sped up footage of sun light moving across a floor. These ghostbusters would shit themselves if they ever saw a disco ball in full swing. Oh, and if you really do buy into most haunted, you really have to read this expose of Derek Acorah, it's hilarious.

There's a weird looking monument that we drive past everytime we goto Loughborough, and I really wanted to go check it out this weekend. It's called the 'Temple of Venus' and sits solitary on a hill next to the A512 (picture here). I know it's on the Garendon Park estate which has partly public grounds, but there are no noticable footpaths near the monument. The only useful bit of information I could find was from the knowhere guide:

the venus temple, ... the farmer. whenever u try to cross his field to get to it, he fires his fucking gun! wanker.

Unsurprisingly, I rain-checked the idea and watched The Wire instead. Me being shot dead would only upset my mum and put a real downer on the weekend.

This weekend I really wanted to fix the floorboards in the bathroom. At the moment standing on them feels like being on a ship in stormy weather. It turns out this is because they're badly fitted and dangerously thin. Basically, until I fix them we need to introduce a weight limit on the bathroom. Until normal service resumes, fatties will be redirected to the shed with a bucket. As usual though, I procrastinated upon this all weekend and got absolutely nothing done.

My little sister was annoying me with compliments this week. She'd been listening to my 6th form band demo CD and asking why I don't record songs anymore. Buoyed by her encouragement I restrung my guitar (previous strings were 4 years old) and wrote a song about how I shouldn't write songs anymore. Unintentionally, It was actually a meta-song in that the song itself proved the point of the lyrics. Nevertheless, I ordered a shiny new 88 key 'stage piano' (i.e. keyboard) to try and start learning piano again, something which I started a year ago and quickly abandoned, blaming my previous keyboard and its sticky keys.

Plan next week? Putting some good time into procrastinating about floor boards and pro-actively planning my excuse for giving up on the piano again. After all, you've got to plan if you ever want to get anything done.

CNPS: 15 (stuck)