tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24915199169649431882024-03-28T00:43:11.417-07:00The Psychotronic KinematographGlen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-11829316095211368342024-03-22T12:26:00.000-07:002024-03-22T12:26:23.550-07:00Purple Playhouse: Dracula (Jack Nixon-Browne, 1973)<p>I have seen a lot of <i>Dracula</i>s. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCxQ4bUmKYgiy_vz4ZkyNVleTEHJRLTI_58Hhzc_B50QN01iDfvmxYPi0oC5dPIPrBJuWQO4OEm_8RO-BEGplmY_XgQ0qcU_J1KmWOByKfMRPYMsgCKmpiJjAk4tbRJx51BBwSYoWT-Ok1Krr9m4S9DzO05BicX_bCaPe39RJKLLoPtJFgf0ubQEJbAi0t/s705/OIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="474" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCxQ4bUmKYgiy_vz4ZkyNVleTEHJRLTI_58Hhzc_B50QN01iDfvmxYPi0oC5dPIPrBJuWQO4OEm_8RO-BEGplmY_XgQ0qcU_J1KmWOByKfMRPYMsgCKmpiJjAk4tbRJx51BBwSYoWT-Ok1Krr9m4S9DzO05BicX_bCaPe39RJKLLoPtJFgf0ubQEJbAi0t/w430-h640/OIP.jpg" width="430" /></a></div><p>Bram Stoker's classic tale of the undead Count is one of the most adapted novels in the history of the visual medium, with cinematic and televisual renderings numbering well over 270 and counting - making Dracula the second most portrayed fictional character after Sherlock Holmes. And possibly Jesus.</p><p>And so it's always fun and interesting to track down a rogue iteration that has thus far eluded me. My trusty copy of Stephen Jones' <i>The Illustrated Vampire Movie Guide </i>has proven invaluable in seeking out strange new flicks from new civilisations (another example is the 1971 <i>Hrabe Dracula </i>from the pre-velvet revolution Czechoslovakia which is waiting on a flashdrive to be watched; I only put that one off because I have little to no Czech in my lexicon and it lacks subtitles), and I have long wanted to see this 1973 Canadian TV production which has intrigued me since I first read about it more than a decade ago.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgPYowmK1P2zPpmezKZjr1GikaJzPihlrD2aQ09_Icoq44ASRwnoAx5lFC4ED-vXI4wye922slHYESG2FwODFzsJz3k6e7OOsa4kbYDIcFTtOZxdjesTI7dAghWOsGpQzZfNRxZu5xAxuB6WXzzl0Y-RcQKV7IhaVvlz4j00pmZUlgCmKL-IZ19D33WxbP/s480/Purple-Playhouse-Dracula-4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgPYowmK1P2zPpmezKZjr1GikaJzPihlrD2aQ09_Icoq44ASRwnoAx5lFC4ED-vXI4wye922slHYESG2FwODFzsJz3k6e7OOsa4kbYDIcFTtOZxdjesTI7dAghWOsGpQzZfNRxZu5xAxuB6WXzzl0Y-RcQKV7IhaVvlz4j00pmZUlgCmKL-IZ19D33WxbP/w400-h300/Purple-Playhouse-Dracula-4.png" width="400" /></a></div><p><i>The Purple Playhouse </i>was an hour-long (though, being North American TV, that's inclusive of commercial breaks - something that those of us raised with a love of the BBC [hurr hurr] find it hard to wrap our heads around) eight episode drama strand that ran on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation from February to May 1973 as a mid-season replacement. Adapting works such as <i>Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street </i>and <i>The Corsican Brothers</i>, the series embraced the over the top <i>grand guignol </i>melodramatics deliberately implied in its name; 'purple playhouse' being the dramatised equivalent of purple prose, with all of the florid outrageousness conveyed by that concept.</p><p><i>Dracula</i> was of course a stage dramatisation shortly after being penned as a novel in 1897, Bram Stoker holding a stage reading of the book at his workplace the Lyceum theatre to a distinctly unimpressed Sir Henry Irving - the venue's star actor and Stoker's physical model for the Count - who reportedly left the building intoning "Dreadful!"; the actual stage play version by Hamilton Deane would debut in Derby in 1924 and on Broadway (with Americanised [or rather 'Americanized'] amendations by John Balderston) in 1927 before becoming the basis for Tod Browning's stagey 1931 movie.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnPMe6u2gljc6reBUeVFemtaeLbNeC5sGMTeXMHVJISRIOaeuiv3PzFd_H2oq9ys5m2_a34vM9bsPWl0fznyOoc17gdwkfATdEbnikfAzpwi6bGzKH9j0moLwibprTp0-NUgacghrdM8IF0lkIWUjuYzb4_a7LJ1JndvOL8-wbWlcIyBXa5yfmjSWOlYr/s480/hqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnPMe6u2gljc6reBUeVFemtaeLbNeC5sGMTeXMHVJISRIOaeuiv3PzFd_H2oq9ys5m2_a34vM9bsPWl0fznyOoc17gdwkfATdEbnikfAzpwi6bGzKH9j0moLwibprTp0-NUgacghrdM8IF0lkIWUjuYzb4_a7LJ1JndvOL8-wbWlcIyBXa5yfmjSWOlYr/w400-h300/hqdefault.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>This theatrical pedigree therefore behooves (is that the name of a <i>Friendship Is Magic </i>character? Let me know, Bronies [no kink-shaming here]) a multi camera setup videotaped television production to lean into the artifice and be a televised play, which suits the Purple Playhouse modus operandi. So let's raise the curtain and watch through the limelight-lit proscenium arch of the television (or computer monitor in this case, as Youtube seems to be the only place to see it).</p><p>Adapted by writer and actor Rod Coneybeare (whose voice acting roles include both the 1960s <i>Thor </i>and 1990s <i>X-Men </i>animated series, True Believers!) and the debut directorial credit for Jack Nixon-Browne, who would go on to helm episodes of child-traumatising Canuck canine export <i>The Littlest Hobo</i>, the action of the novel is telescoped down to a brisk hour (that's a North American TV hour, so inclusive of commercial breaks - in reality it's really about three quarters of that hour; IMDb of course lists it as 30 minutes, showing themselves to be as reliable as ever). </p><p>Beginning with an opening caption declaring it to be 'Sunday at Nine' - presumably Purple Playhouse's regular slot - we then get a brief introductory interluditude* from Robertson Davies, Canadian 'man of letters' and author of the acclaimed <i>Deptford Trilogy </i>(not to be confused with Robin Jarvis' <i>Deptford Mice </i>trilogy, which is better, probably) among many other works. Mr Davies goes on to claim that the universal appeal of Dracula is not "melodramatic" (presumably he hadn't pre-screened the piece he was introducing!) but that he represents the Devil "sucking out our blood or some other form of vitality". I knew someone at college like that. No, you can't have her number. Just watch Jess Franco's <i>Female Vampire </i>(a.k.a. <i>The Bare Breasted Countess</i>) if you're too naive or sheltered to know what I'm winking (not a typo!) about, or see my review of it <a href="https://wearecult.rocks/the-bare-breasted-countess-on-dvd-reviewed" target="_blank">here</a>). After Davies' rambling intro, in which he even manages to get the publication date of the novel wrong saying it came out in 1894 rather than 1897, we begin with the promise that "what you are about to see is faithful to the original <i>Dracula</i>).</p><p>After a brief title sequence consisting of the Purple Playhouse Presents logo and then a red-scrawled 'DRACULA' superimposed over a shot of a castle turret with one illuminated window, we dissolve into the videotape world of the interior, where solicitor's clerk Jonathan Harker (Dan MacDonald, the Reverend Matthew Dawson himself from Canadian <i>Dark Shadows </i>knockoff <i>Strange Paradise</i> - which I only got round to seeing last year, and so smiled at the sight of this journeyman actor like spotting a friend) is being framed in an artsy shot through the glass of a brandy balloon clutched in the taloned hand of an extraordinarily pallid and white-haired - no moustache though, marks off for that - Count Dracula (Norman Welsh, in whose career's coffin this was to be the final nail; even though he apparently lived til 2008 there are no further credits. Perhaps he crept the boards in his age?). They succinctly cover the Count's purchase of the Carfax estate and his impending preparations to move to England before Harker is startled by the howling of a wolf outside and breaks his glass, cutting his finger. This leads to a rather amusing reaction from Welsh's Dracula as he licks his lips like a pervert outside the school gates. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUUgbRxsYfzS7zctaXTxJst_Nj87hKTbD07XaPtUB1wTZAh7rHLyn1ZsbbcY7iJnJMVFqqDlXMRisnPtf9RFNAkfG2mtE8DtXZKQEhyLK5CYiMVitxDNrReRVkW_cpRS99VWvqD1SFHLWml3Z3JlyHztt8mqCVHAdiUiQyU-v_NpGfxUKlXuiTvBLI172/s720/MV5BMjZkMGE0YmEtNDVmYy00NDk5LThlMzMtYmQ0NzVkMGFlNjlhXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTMzNjg0ODY@._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUUgbRxsYfzS7zctaXTxJst_Nj87hKTbD07XaPtUB1wTZAh7rHLyn1ZsbbcY7iJnJMVFqqDlXMRisnPtf9RFNAkfG2mtE8DtXZKQEhyLK5CYiMVitxDNrReRVkW_cpRS99VWvqD1SFHLWml3Z3JlyHztt8mqCVHAdiUiQyU-v_NpGfxUKlXuiTvBLI172/w400-h300/MV5BMjZkMGE0YmEtNDVmYy00NDk5LThlMzMtYmQ0NzVkMGFlNjlhXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTMzNjg0ODY@._V1_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>We cut to Harker tossing in his bed restlessly, as well he might as the spectral Brides (played by the exotically-named Marie Romain Aloma and Marcella Saint-Amant. I have no idea which is which, but the one in the green dress beguiles me: I for one would certainly be happy to remain in the castle and be drained dry by her. The slightly taller, more regal looking one is very nice too, and sports a kickass and stylish diadem. I believe the kids call it 'the drip'. The drip <i>of blood</i>, amirite?) - only two of them here rather than three; we are on a budget after all - whisper of having him all to themselves once the Count is gone, with "kisses for us both". I sense a very bloody double blowjob coming in his future. Jess Franco has warped my tiny fragile mind. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcXWDYREwyvjafJTFKNwPEjRISpFIJ4AmEf5RB325PBkWef8kl-S8AUDp7HnqMTAmNarBIVXx4wqpWqscS4CNygDP_mhNfl4Z8mtFevFryQXx4YHqqD_iAjlwsM4bA0F9BIP1JLxizYqWUyiY5VNlHTN2ZG1lLelpRS9-DCpgLBKx-EYzpFlTmKJ4TFIf/s474/OIP%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="296" data-original-width="474" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcXWDYREwyvjafJTFKNwPEjRISpFIJ4AmEf5RB325PBkWef8kl-S8AUDp7HnqMTAmNarBIVXx4wqpWqscS4CNygDP_mhNfl4Z8mtFevFryQXx4YHqqD_iAjlwsM4bA0F9BIP1JLxizYqWUyiY5VNlHTN2ZG1lLelpRS9-DCpgLBKx-EYzpFlTmKJ4TFIf/w640-h400/OIP%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>As Drac crawls down the face of the castle wall Nicholas Hammond-style - or maybe that should be Adam West-style? (Not the first occurrence of this scene from the novel in visual form; at least Hammer's 1970 <i>Scars of Dracula </i>had essayed it previously) - leaving Harker alone with the Brides, we suddenly cut to black in what I assume to be the original TV broadcast's commercial break, before returning with a time jump: Jonathan is now back on English soil, in the care of Dr Jack Seward (Steven Sutherland, who despite being Canadian appears to be no relation to Donald) and Professor Van Helsing, played by Nehemiah Persoff (Israeli-born all-purpose 'European' / 'ethnic' actor - presumably the go-to guy when Oscar Homolka was unavailable [were they ever seen in the same room at the same time? Closest thing off the top of my head would be them both guesting in separate episodes of the '70s David McCallum <i>The Invisible Man</i>] - who guest starred in pretty much everything; most recently sightings of him in our house have been in episodes of <i>Honey West </i>and <i>Alfred Hitchcock Presents</i>). Apparently both Seward's fiancee Lucy (Charlotte Hunt, in her sole imdb credit) and Harker's wife Mina (Blair Brown, the only person in this other than Persoff [and MacDonald, I guess] to have a significant career; I'll always remember her as Emily in Ken Russell's amazeballs psychedelic <i>Altered States</i>, especially the final A-ha's 'Take On Me'-inspiring scene) are being predated upon by a creature of the night, and Van Helsing suspects that the culprit is a vampirism-infected Jonathan.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_zhjVKIqLnXlYfxfQLrWwF2UdRTVIMXIKC9eRqXGzJkWpUiE6Q6UQxNeHRA1awkEeU44V4yQSTJuDAKqZ4gh6uffUtA5a8hvlFDLoj8qaQ6S-S3WA7vDiwimGetFHA_V8eYusrrn-o7mSpS0AeejsRaLD2DVfMxRkRNXkzosAHqaYsqSydYe4_MVqh-e/s474/OIP%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="296" data-original-width="474" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_zhjVKIqLnXlYfxfQLrWwF2UdRTVIMXIKC9eRqXGzJkWpUiE6Q6UQxNeHRA1awkEeU44V4yQSTJuDAKqZ4gh6uffUtA5a8hvlFDLoj8qaQ6S-S3WA7vDiwimGetFHA_V8eYusrrn-o7mSpS0AeejsRaLD2DVfMxRkRNXkzosAHqaYsqSydYe4_MVqh-e/w400-h250/OIP%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>When these suspicions are allayed by Harker (who refers to the brides of Dracula as "the furies" from whom he managed to escape - evoking the Erinyes of Greek myth) snatches the cross proffered by the Prof and weeps for forgiveness for conveying the Count to Carfax; "Carfax?!? That adjoins this property!" splutters a splenetic Seward through his moustache. Realising that Mina has been left alone and unprotected, they race up to her room only to find her bed empty, for the runaway bride is out for a mesmerised moonlit stroll in the graveyard outside Lucy's tomb - which is strangely emblazoned with the family name of Murray rather than Westenra, so presumably Lucy and Mina are sisters in this version like the 1977 BBC <i>Count Dracula</i>...? Maybe? We're definitely missing some information and a lot of footage here, I feel certain of that. As Harker, Seward and Van Helsing arrive on the scene Mina is approached by two lovely Alsatians portraying wolves who dissolve via the magic of a cross-fade (or is it a 'roll back and mix'?) into the vampirised Lucy and Dracula himself. Wielding a large silver cross each, the dynamic trio force the bloodsuckers to retreat: Dracula to vanish and Lucy to retreat into the vault. Ordering Harker to take the somnambulistic Mina home, Van Helsing leads Dr Seward inside in order to enact a tame and bloodless (this is TV, I suppose) version of the familiar staking of Lucy scene as Seward reads out the prayer for the dead while Van Helsing pounds a length into the supine blonde. The dirty old bugger.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-G3vUiLZkPfdDxtEXxWb9SEN2ldYnTplW9Y4RLEwdUtdK00KEqzOHBmTzfiO5M2bM4ZXeTHc4j6v_yAB5XFNpXDxQvwDx8Q5ZcBRMTa8zx6c9IZWYDo1sr_2I0mFVy6i2N0DXGYu077G0VgkTakfOLQdGv3EBRd9HXJqtXb51yGWs7QoXH6Fa76hW9ur/s480/Purple-Playhouse-Dracula-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-G3vUiLZkPfdDxtEXxWb9SEN2ldYnTplW9Y4RLEwdUtdK00KEqzOHBmTzfiO5M2bM4ZXeTHc4j6v_yAB5XFNpXDxQvwDx8Q5ZcBRMTa8zx6c9IZWYDo1sr_2I0mFVy6i2N0DXGYu077G0VgkTakfOLQdGv3EBRd9HXJqtXb51yGWs7QoXH6Fa76hW9ur/w400-h300/Purple-Playhouse-Dracula-5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>After another cut to black for commercials, we have another and more sudden time jump: Mina is now in the Count's thrall and sporting a cruciform burn mark upon her forehead and Van Helsing is hypnotising her in order to try to trace Dracula to his resting place. There's definitely footage missing here - the time jump after the first break actually worked and was covered in the dialogue of the ensuing scene, whereas here it's just too sudden and garbled even for someone like myself who knows the story and a myriad adaptations inside out. There must be about 15 to 20 minutes missing, which does make a thorough review difficult and can't help but mar the ending of what had thus far been a far from perfect but certainly interesting and enjoyable version of the well-worn tale. So instead of covering the last act in detail, I shall simply include a link to the version I watched on Youtube and enjoin fans of the Count to give this rarity a go (I'm sure ardent Drac acolytes can spare the 35 minutes) with the proviso that it does seem incomplete. It would be nice if a complete and restored print (ideally without the studio timecode) were to surface someday, but I shan't be holding my breath. Some things don't return from the dead.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FLNrRITJKi4" width="320" youtube-src-id="FLNrRITJKi4"></iframe></div><br /><p>(*No, that's not a typo for 'interlude', it's from <i>Blackadder</i>. 'Tis a common word, round our way)</p>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-34058037368289648892024-02-19T03:58:00.000-08:002024-02-19T03:58:00.150-08:00Three Faces of Dr Jekyll (Lucius Henderson, 1912; Herbert Brenon, 1913; Allen Reisner, 1955)<p>Edinbugger Robert Louis Stevenson was quite a radgie gadgie. The author of 1883 pirate romp <i>Treasure Island </i>- which begat the legendary Long John Silver - and 1886's Jacobite adventure <i>Kidnapped</i>, in that same latter year he would legendarily be roused from a nightmare by his wife only to tell Fanny (by gaslight, no doubt) that she should not have woken him for he was "dreaming a fine bogey tale". This night terror induced phantasm of a man changing his face (unconsciously inspired, perhaps, by the previous century bogeyman of his native city Deacon William Brodie, who lived a dual existence: respectable gentleman and cabinet-maker [indeed, Brodie had made the wardrobe that stood in Stevenson's childhood bedroom] who mixed with polite society including poet Robert Burns by day whilst shedding the veneer to be a housebreaker and robber by night) would go on to become one the classics of Victorian Gothic horror. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8kDHFdOBSJoShdmFkc1hOd1Irf1QVhCE6vQxT0j3CYeh4oeeclukIjreiZXX5SfViT_A8te4-a37__fhnC7nOj2y2fy2w-i9b4JkCf-_TKnVkBwuRTymoXrAfMr1S6OA_ljewkKECRq5s1BTDs_4RjX4ITZWgL4CHiGqV-sknsU5jLeaZPp2FnQCEwhn/s740/DJMH1912_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="740" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8kDHFdOBSJoShdmFkc1hOd1Irf1QVhCE6vQxT0j3CYeh4oeeclukIjreiZXX5SfViT_A8te4-a37__fhnC7nOj2y2fy2w-i9b4JkCf-_TKnVkBwuRTymoXrAfMr1S6OA_ljewkKECRq5s1BTDs_4RjX4ITZWgL4CHiGqV-sknsU5jLeaZPp2FnQCEwhn/w400-h275/DJMH1912_2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><i>The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde </i>would be embraced by the emerging medium of the cinematograph, the first public showing which by the <i>freres</i> Lumiere would happen a scant nine years later. Already a mainstay of the stage from 1887 courtesy of actor Richard Mansfield's barnstorming rendition, creeping the boards as Hyde and achieving the metamorphosis purely through physical performance and lighting changes (an audience-traumatising spectacle that would have the show closed during its 1888 London run after suspicions arose that the man who could so easily and effectively become a monster must be Jack the Ripper himself), the move to the silver screen came in 1908 with not one but two film versions - fitting, given the story's theme of duality. The first was produced by 'Colonel' William N. Selig's Polyscope Company and starred Hobart Bosworth in the title roles, and debuted Betty Harte as love interest Alice (a role absent from the novel, a female romantic part debuted in Mansfield's stage version and became a mainstay). The second, produced by Kalem Films and starring Frank Oakes Rose is, like its predecessor, a lost film with no known extant copies. Another brace would emerge in 1910: the first version filmed in the U.K., titled <i>The Duality of Man</i>, was directed by Harry Brodribb Irving (son of noted Victorian actor-manager Sir Henry Irving, on whom his employee Bram Stoker would base the physical appearance of Count Dracula); the second was a Danish production by Nordisk Film produced by Ole Olsen (sadly not the same Ole Olsen who starred in 1941's <i>Hellzapoppin' </i>alongside Chic Johnson) helmed by August Blom and starring Alwin Neuss. This iteration of the tale was marred by the addition of a cheat 'it was all a dream' ending. Once again, both films are no longer extant.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOu11wUkriPqpp5UQvfYmkiybF4nSkoiEzWC2_N5ZHHgYPU_hVE5za6g1jRaLkCiMCR-4-J2vrIRIOMGF8ADqCE6GKooAHSbZ_rimcZVt7tZnkExPuXd0wny0coRVilUX-gGRY8YQVZ1STd8RwFLeRHJX5dsNaPCM0btRz3s3z2L7z_NQzuRDPwCCdBXlv/s1280/jekyll%201912%20ii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOu11wUkriPqpp5UQvfYmkiybF4nSkoiEzWC2_N5ZHHgYPU_hVE5za6g1jRaLkCiMCR-4-J2vrIRIOMGF8ADqCE6GKooAHSbZ_rimcZVt7tZnkExPuXd0wny0coRVilUX-gGRY8YQVZ1STd8RwFLeRHJX5dsNaPCM0btRz3s3z2L7z_NQzuRDPwCCdBXlv/w400-h225/jekyll%201912%20ii.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>1912's one-reeler iteration of the tale - titled, as are the vast majority of adaptations, <i>Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde </i>and directed by Lucius Junius Henderson<i> </i>- begins with our good Henry Jekyll (James Cruze, who as well as an actor was an accomplished director having helmed the landmark 1923 Western <i>The Covered Wagon -</i> widely considered to be the first epic Western and the first U.S. epic to be directed by someone other than D.W Griffith [that film also co-starred Charles Ogle, the first screen Frankenstein Monster]), portrayed book-accurately as an older gentleman (something rarely seen in adaptations: I can think of Paul Massie in Hammer's 1960 <i>The Two Faces of Dr Jekyll </i>and the 1980 BBC television version starring David Hemmings as others which have an older Jekyll becoming a younger and more athletic Hyde off the top of my head. Oh, and Malkovitch [Malkovitch, Malkovitch] in <i>Mary Reilly</i>), hard at work in his laboratory - or 'cabinet'. Perusing the text of a tome entitled <i>Graham on Drugs</i> (which of course conjures "This is your Graham; this is your Graham on drugs", which might have livened up televisual excrement <i>Blind Date </i>a bit had the unseen 'Our Graham' been off his mash in an altered state of consciousness) which states that "<i>The taking of certain drugs can separate man into two beings - one representing EVIL the other GOOD</i>" as if 't'were scientific fact. I do hope that this work was properly peer reviewed.</p><p>Undeterred by considerations such as sense, our white-coiffed and distinguished prober into the unknown reaches of science mixes his medicines and tastes the secret sauce of life much to his immediate chagrin; collapsing into a chair immediately after quaffing the draught and transfiguring into a nasty brutish and short snaggle-toothed specimen with dark bedraggled hair (played in certain shots by Harry Benham, eschewing the usual convention of having both Jekyll and Hyde portrayed by the same performer - which is actually quite effective in that we clearly see that Hyde is a more diminutive figure than the patrician Jekyll [as in the original text] as he regards his new form in the wall-mounted mirror, which wouldn't be nearly as effective with Cruze simply hunching over) in a jump cut; no slow lap dissolves or Mamoulian-esque bravura transformations here. After physically expressing his unalloyed glee at existing (that sounds dirty in my head for some reason) Hyde downs the reflux elixir and melts back into Jekyll, who excitedly scrawls down the results of the experiment.</p><p>We are then treated to the intertitle informing us that Jekyll has become the accepted suitor of the minister's daughter; surely everyone's true burning ambition. That sarcastically said, I definitely would have swooned at the chance to suit one of the Haworth minister's daughters what with being a fully paid-up Brontesaurus and everything. Jekyll and his fiancee (Florence Le Badie) - who goes unnamed as women couldn't afford names in the olden days - take a lovely walk whilst sporting splendid hats and the good doctor shakes his prospective father in law (actor uncredited) warmly by the hand, before another intertitle informs us that it is now months later and the transformation has begun to happen without the aid of the elixir. After suddenly taking a turn, the bestial Hyde dons his jaunty titfer and tears up his good self's notes before going outside on a spree of kicking small girls (Marie Eline) and then retreating to his laboratory sanctuary and changing back to his more respectable form. Later, whilst on a romantic stroll with his sweetheart, the change comes again and Hyde attempts a forcible romantic interlude on the unwilling lady and when her pastoral pater intervenes bashes him senseless with his stick - the vicar here being a clear analogue for the novel's Sir Danvers Carew.</p><p>Pursued by a passing policeman ('Ello, 'ello, 'ello), Hyde races back to Jekyll's home and makes a hurried intrusion via the rear entrance (ouch) - by the time the officer of the law makes a more conventional and vanilla entrance to the abode via the front door he is met by a bewildered and apologetic Jekyll. Realising that his supply of the drug is rapidly diminishing and that soon he will be forced to exist as Hyde permanently, he decides to tell his lady friend that he is going away. After going through the ultimate metamorphosis and being faced with and axe-wielding worried butler, the policeman, and a small crowd of onlookers breaking down the laboratory door Hyde ends it all by drinking poison. No post-death transition back to Jekyll, Hyde is found self-deaded and presumably presumed to have done away with the doc. At a brisk twelve minutes, this is certainly an interesting curio that concertinas the tale down to its barest essentials. As the earliest surviving Jekyll and Hyde film, though, 'tis a treasure.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYQXOzNFS4VR9k9Y0PlyWJ1PeKiBANsXfiiiaf1NwXjzgc_5Tyj_dRuvlgYUiyp37qErMGC7LKTF_Yu-s6_eMN4Xv4CqkrIKy3XX8uqhXk8XHGzHYXYKEwyr0Ra7YgT_aPsQD_Lmofy1iD3AFNIHWB3h9sMa7iMC84gsPO2CJwlUY9xt9oHpVHwi2s569/s500/41AA6FwVS2L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYQXOzNFS4VR9k9Y0PlyWJ1PeKiBANsXfiiiaf1NwXjzgc_5Tyj_dRuvlgYUiyp37qErMGC7LKTF_Yu-s6_eMN4Xv4CqkrIKy3XX8uqhXk8XHGzHYXYKEwyr0Ra7YgT_aPsQD_Lmofy1iD3AFNIHWB3h9sMa7iMC84gsPO2CJwlUY9xt9oHpVHwi2s569/s320/41AA6FwVS2L.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p>1913 saw the next retelling in the form of Herbert Brenon's two-reel production for Carl Laemmle's fledgling Independent Moving Pictures (IMP), soon to become Universal Pictures. Starring the cinema's first star leading man King Baggot as the dual leads (in point of fact the opening title proclaims "Starring King Baggot in a Dual Role"), the film begins with Jekyll asking the father of Alice, Jekyll's fiancee, played by Matt B. Snyder - who I assume is no relation to Matt Snider a.k.a. DJ Schnootz as he shows zero proclivity towards acid trance or techno music (presumably preferring a nice string quartet) - for the hand of his daughter (Jane Gail, who had made a brief and uncredited appearance as an extra in the 1912 film), who has the same moniker as Jekyll's fiancee from the earliest Hobart Bosworth production. </p><p>We have here the cinematic debuts of the characters of Dr Lanyon (Howard Crampton) and the lawyer Mr Utterson (William Sorrel) - referred to as 'Lawyer Utterson' as though it's his given name - who confide and chide - it's like wining and dining with more upbraiding - the diffident Jekyll for his "unheard of" experiments. After a hard days' charity work tending unpaid to the sickly poor, Jekyll decides "in the dead of night" to carry out his experimental self-abuse - presumably no longer necessary after the wedding - and unleash and indulge his primal side that his ego can override. Locking himself into his laboratory, he necks the potion and transforms via a slow dissolve into a Hyde form curiously similar to the Cruze/Benham version, with mop out tangled black hair, crooked protruding teeth (were the Americans mocking British dentistry from the dawn of the 20th century?) and stooped posture; Baggot's Hyde walking with a crouched gait reminiscent of Torgo from <i>Manos: The Hands of Fate.</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesULmEzXCqOmPBwr2EzkgV_4Q-QS26ys-daawYq2xRGrq8mi06BD8viu-xOYTW7onckYTGA0ojuL8Z7EMVli-3BoTgt8LMRa1M4IKpqZKASVXzMRYBqYo-efRCgFpyeorzvAKfYVNO274vlydMG8G2kg9gh7hjuiCdfUqmYS7Htto1hlb7VxI5XdL4QId/s703/OIP%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="474" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesULmEzXCqOmPBwr2EzkgV_4Q-QS26ys-daawYq2xRGrq8mi06BD8viu-xOYTW7onckYTGA0ojuL8Z7EMVli-3BoTgt8LMRa1M4IKpqZKASVXzMRYBqYo-efRCgFpyeorzvAKfYVNO274vlydMG8G2kg9gh7hjuiCdfUqmYS7Htto1hlb7VxI5XdL4QId/w270-h400/OIP%20(2).jpg" width="270" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Handing his startled butler a note from Jekyll stating "the bearer Mr Hyde is my best friend, treat him as myself", the unbridled Hyde'll not be questioned by the household staff and dashes out into the night for an evening's carousal. No, I don't mean a merry-go-round, that's a carousel. After picking a fight in a pub, Hyde decides to a take a room at a disreputable lodging house - though honestly I've stayed in worse Airbnbs. This one looks less like it smells of sex and desperation and would get a better Tripadvisor or Trustpilot review than some of the dens of iniquity I've had to crash in. Hyde then goes out on a nocturnal spree, including assaulting a disabled child (a boy here, rather than a young girl as in the original text. I can't believe that the 1913 internet [made of a kettle and some string] didn't go into meltdown over this gender switching of in important character) by knocking away his crutch and giving a few whacks with his cane. When an outraged crowd (no, not the aforementioned outraged internetters: there's nobody blaming Kathleen Kennedy for everything) quickly assembles, Hyde has to agree to pay for the child's injuries. Leading the throng to the back door of the laboratory and paying them of with a bag of coinage he is spotted by a passing and perturbed Utterson, absorbing some of the plot points of is literary kinsman Mr Enfield. Changing back to his courtly self, Jekyll vows never to repeat his mistakes but as he sits and thinks of Alice - to whom we intercut in a nice shot that puts me in mind of the Hutter/Ellen interaction from a distance in Murnau's 1922 <i>Nosferatu</i> - he undergoes an unwanted and unsolicited Hyde-ing. <p></p><p>Calling in Utterson and Lanyon, Jekyll makes out his last will and testament with the codicil that in the event of his sudden disappearance all his possessions should pass to My Hyde. Then a visit from Alice makes our repressed gent come over all funny, taking a turn for the worse and snarling at Alice, Lanyon and Utterson through the window. After Hyde has, once again, clubbed Alice's father with his walking stick, the desperate monster engages a messenger boy to convey to his scientific peer Dr Lanyon a note from Jekyll begging him to retrieve the boxes of chemicals from his (Jekyll's) laboratory - <i>"My liberty, my life, my honor </i>[sic] <i>and my soul depend on you. My messenger will call at midnight"</i>. The famous scene then plays out with the misshapen Hyde calling at the witching hour and decrying the befuddled Lanyon as "unbelieving" as he mixes and downs the mixture and changes before his very eyes back to Jekyll in one sustained and unbroken take - no cuts or dissolves. Admittedly it's a tad less impressive than that sounds, as the scene starts with Hyde facing away from the camera, masking the fact that Baggot isn't in full make-up, and when he'd doubled over in the agony of the metamorphosis he removes the wig unseen. Still a feat for the time though, I suppose, and a memorable screen first; as is the film itself for managing to convey all the novella's main story beats into less than half a hour - the film ends as the story does with a desperate Hyde, out of antidote and out of luck, trapped in the laboratory and ending his life by poison. </p><p>Herbert Brenon would that same year direct Baggot in a feature-length (a whopping 48 minutes in four reels!) adaptation of Sir Walter Scott's <i>Ivanhoe</i>, one of the earliest Hollywood pictures to mount an overseas location shoot filming around Chepstow Castle in Monmouthshire, Wales, Ingerland. As the U.S. crew may have thought of it (no, seriously, it was trumpeted as "the biggest venture of its kind attempted in England"!).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYykXdgblra9kf278_bPzGsJ65_JHyqK922pIcwpexxMGdIzmQOhu6eq-Doxgq81xCgCL_4yymVKtKo8-877dtqRaazud4IC0HlOT9HZZ61KV9b0MFiDw7myvILpkerzjAu-KGrmA_HnDGmtW74Yt_8bCphvrj99aqZhP0e_3t_vq78yCTexpR-VwcSrN/s550/OIP%20(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="329" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYykXdgblra9kf278_bPzGsJ65_JHyqK922pIcwpexxMGdIzmQOhu6eq-Doxgq81xCgCL_4yymVKtKo8-877dtqRaazud4IC0HlOT9HZZ61KV9b0MFiDw7myvILpkerzjAu-KGrmA_HnDGmtW74Yt_8bCphvrj99aqZhP0e_3t_vq78yCTexpR-VwcSrN/w239-h400/OIP%20(3).jpg" width="239" /></a></div><p>In 1955, the anthology television show <i>Climax! </i>(that's not an order despite the imperative exclamation mark; I am not commanding you to 'arrive') - which had also given the world the live action debut of Ian Fleming's agent 007 James (well, 'Jimmy') Bond the previous year: see <a href="https://psychtronickinematograph.blogspot.com/2016/02/casino-royale-tv-william-h-brown-1954.html">here</a> for review - decided to give Stevenson's schizophrenic saga a go as the thirty-fourth episode of its premier season, directed by series regular Allen Reisner from a script by Gore Vidal. In the lead role(s) was British star of Robert Wise's 1951 sci-fi classic <i>The Day the Earth Stood Still </i>Michael Rennie, the six foot four Bradford born and bred actor becoming one of the first U.K. performers to essay the role on screen since Irving (perhaps beaten only by Dulwich's own Boris Karloff in 1953's <i>Abbott and Costello meet Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde</i>). </p><p>Opening as per usual with the <i>Climax! </i>Mystery Theater [sic] introductory spiel - "live from television city in Hollywood" and sponsored by the Chrysler automobile corporation - from regular host Bill Lundigan (who pronounces Jekyll correctly as "Jeekill" but oddly pronounces co-star Cedric Hardwicke's name as "Seedrick"), we begin the tale with Dr Jekyll's faithful manservant Poole (recognisable to <i>Star Trek </i>fans as John Hoyt, the starship <i>Enterprise</i>'s first C.M.O. Dr Boyce, making a good go of an English accent) anxiously visiting legal eagle Mr George Utterson, Esq. (Hardwicke, second son of a Baron Frankenstein and father of a Dr Watson) to tell of the good doctor's prolonged absence, and how he and the household staff have spent two weeks preparing meals and leaving them at the laboratory door for unseen collection and consumption by the occupant: either Jekyll or, as Poole nervously states, "the other".</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ4J-JFkjT-LDARpSP2I2E5Na7cuf5n7-YGMlApx05TI2cyQsd-fbgIOppIQft_3lHSvwVL-bpkTpjYM47L8ty0gdGbqDMbwABbGceeS9LWw5qvq5WfgNyL0o_shrKvd3-stN1567gp8AORQ8FeXGrc4wGBRquihmea8f5c1LdVf-1iiEr9kR8kERzWv24/s1000/climax%20jekyll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1000" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ4J-JFkjT-LDARpSP2I2E5Na7cuf5n7-YGMlApx05TI2cyQsd-fbgIOppIQft_3lHSvwVL-bpkTpjYM47L8ty0gdGbqDMbwABbGceeS9LWw5qvq5WfgNyL0o_shrKvd3-stN1567gp8AORQ8FeXGrc4wGBRquihmea8f5c1LdVf-1iiEr9kR8kERzWv24/w400-h338/climax%20jekyll.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Utterson dismisses the suggestion, saying that Mr Hyde vanished a year ago and wouldn't dare return to town with the police after him. Poole however insists that he has come back and possibly done some harm to the doctor. Taking the precaution of arming himself with a pistol, Utterson accompanies Poole to the lab; within stirs an agitated figure, face unseen (Rennie), who prowls like a caged panther whilst ransacking the room. When the solicitor and servant join forces to force the locked door, the stranger crouches before pouncing and receives a fatal bullet. Judging the dead man to indeed be the fugitive Hyde, Utterson sends Poole to fetch the police. Looking over the wrecked laboratory, he comes across Jekyll's notebook which bears a note addressed to Utterson stating that the book should be read in the case of Henry Jekyll's death or disappearance. As he peruses the tome we dissolve to a flashback (presumably either a rare pre-recorded section of the scene played in, or Rennie made his way off set and onto the other out of camera view, given the live nature of the broadcast) to two years previously, when Utterson arrived at Jekyll's house to find the urbane scientist quarreling with their mutual friend Dr Lanyon (Lowell Gilmore, no stranger to dramatisations of Victorian gothic fiction having played Basil Hallward in <i>The Picture of Dorian Gray </i>ten years previously) over Jekyll's 'fantastic' (in the unbelievable, rather than the Eccleston sense of the word) theory about dissecting the soul to bring out both the angel and the monster that dwell within. And I always thought it took gamma rays to unleash the raging beast that dwells within.</p><p>Turns out it actually takes a liquid suspension of certain salts with an added secret ingredient - not the Colonel's secret sauce as it's a powder delivered by the dutiful Poole - as we see Jekyll's self-inflicted experimentation one night in the lab. Draining the draught he collapses in a fit of spasms and we get a subjective trick camera shot of the room whirling (really, there must be a few pre-records in here, what with the transformations and all - there's no way they could have had the make-up on and off several times during a live one hour show) before he sees his nasty and brutish - but unlike life in Hobbes' <i>Leviathan</i> not short given Rennie's stature - new face: Rennie's savage mono-browed Hyde make-up is curiously similar to Lon Chaney Sr., as the mute ape-man creation of Dr Lamb (also portrayed by Chaney) in 1922's <i>A Blind Bargain</i>, Wallace Worsley's adaptation of Barry Pain's <i>The Octave of Claudius</i>.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTGAqPy_zdrJiIp5qv_KtCr7U5vTJlZ4S15nM2dJaB-K-axY5A5bZqST4HaIsJypj_Wdw80UUci3kTEIWxvJkDq55ZmBU4IrWxHLmoPT1exsVPcRCW2jApPTpnSs32QqKXC_zU3v5M6chhoh1kCowd2Kn2IBSUKqfpK7TRBqTKB7NSWqOLzVZYMKmwq9a/s640/ClimaxDrJekyllAndMrHyde537_flv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="640" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTGAqPy_zdrJiIp5qv_KtCr7U5vTJlZ4S15nM2dJaB-K-axY5A5bZqST4HaIsJypj_Wdw80UUci3kTEIWxvJkDq55ZmBU4IrWxHLmoPT1exsVPcRCW2jApPTpnSs32QqKXC_zU3v5M6chhoh1kCowd2Kn2IBSUKqfpK7TRBqTKB7NSWqOLzVZYMKmwq9a/w400-h285/ClimaxDrJekyllAndMrHyde537_flv.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Realising that he has freed not the inner angel but "the monster from its pit", he adapts quickly to his new double life and identity and cruises the darkness on the edge of town frequenting low establishments and getting into scraps with the local toughs, taking names and taking their ladies (possibly of ill repute). Threatening "gentleman friends" with a good glassing - he'd really fit in down the Bigg Market on a Friday night, this lad - he manages to pull (unwillingly and problematically) a nice young lady played by Mary Sinclair, who struggles gamely with the accent despite the hindrance of not even being given a character name. One would almost think that Gore Vidal wasn't all that interested in women or something We get the standard story played out, with a regretful Jekyll tossing the ingredients into a furnace and then finding himself unwillingly transforming without the aid of the potion (with an odd focus on the mole on Hyde's cheek appearing and disappearing; honestly, I've never seen such focus on a mole outside of <i>Bloodbath at the House of Death </i>or <i>Austin Powers</i>). Eventually, obviously, we loop round to the beginning to witness the good doctor's and bad man's impending ending. It's... interesting, certainly.</p><div><div>In another instalment of<i> Climax!</i> titled 'Strange Sanctuary', Michael Rennie played a character referred to throughout as 'Mr O' Connor' - despite the name of the character inexplicably being given in the closing credits as 'Irish Sean Dillon'. 'Mr O' Connor', of course, was the moniker of the Hyde form of Conrad Veidt's Jekyllish Dr Warren in F.W. Murnau's copyright infringing 1920 <i>Der Januskopf</i>: obviously the gateway drug to the hard stuff of 1922's <i>Nosferatu </i>and Max Schreck's Count Dra... erm, Orloff!</div></div><div><br /></div><div>It's a funny old world, whatever name you're using or face you're wearing.</div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-13347950832383329072024-02-07T01:57:00.000-08:002024-02-07T01:57:40.405-08:00Purple Noon ([a.k.a. Plein Soleil] Rene Clement, 1960)<p>It took the discovery that Netflix are mounting a new adaptation of the misadventures of Patricia Highsmith's roguish antihero Tom Ripley - in the form of the prosaically-titled <i>Ripley</i>, starring Andrew Scott of <i>Sherlock </i>and <i>Fleabag </i>and unnervingly high forehead fame (seriously, why haven't Marvel cast him as the Leader? Just paint the lad green, no CGI enhancements required) - to finally prompt me to get round to sitting down and watching "the original, you might say". Yes, I typed that in the voice of Richard Hurndall. This Netflix series apparently premieres (or 'drops',as we say these days about television shows as well as music [I am so down with da yoof]) this April 4th, which - should I make it that far - will be the day after my 45th birthday. Will it be a wonderful belated present or an unwanted gift? Time will tell, I suppose.</p><p>It always does.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDA8khCnkmpcRVrQQAgovteEi2VKYEPG5F0SMhifQRa_i1NE-d7ZCWVogWxiIIhTUeE3GydtCjmr1GJl5U3oB3Gi9eR6B3uVQ_mGuvz2E9ihV1O6SWz-5yHsOOe7GczHLn9hJmE_2_9xIqlYffFEeeoTsKyCG3MSfo9ptmRPaYoqZZApWb5IgmQWZQOR4_/s1363/noon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1363" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDA8khCnkmpcRVrQQAgovteEi2VKYEPG5F0SMhifQRa_i1NE-d7ZCWVogWxiIIhTUeE3GydtCjmr1GJl5U3oB3Gi9eR6B3uVQ_mGuvz2E9ihV1O6SWz-5yHsOOe7GczHLn9hJmE_2_9xIqlYffFEeeoTsKyCG3MSfo9ptmRPaYoqZZApWb5IgmQWZQOR4_/w294-h400/noon.jpg" width="294" /></a></div><p>Having read all five of Highsmith's Ripley pentalogy (<i>The Talented Mr Ripley</i>, <i>Ripley Under Ground</i>, <i>Ripley's Game</i>, <i>The Boy Who Followed Ripley </i>and <i>Ripley Under Water</i>) in the early 2000s in the wake of Anthony Minghella's celebrated Matt Damon-starring 1999 movie of the first in the series - which, much to my <i>chagrin</i>, didn't spawn the requisite sequels I was awaiting unless one counts the unrelated 2002 variation upon <i>Ripley's Game </i>with John Malkovitch (Malkovitch Malkovitch); it does seem somewhat <i>de rigueur </i>to skip the second novel, as <i>Ripley Under Ground </i>was skipped in between the days of Rene Clement's 1960 <i>Purple Noon </i>and Wim Wenders' 1977 <i>The American Friend</i>, and again between 1999 and 2002 although there was a belated 2005 adaptation from Roger Spottiswoode that I always forget about, as seemingly does everyone else) - I have of course been meaning to watch the first cinematic version of Ripley (there had been a televised one hour live performance in January 1956 as an episode of the anthology series <i>Studio One </i>which sadly seems not to have been preserved as a Kinescope recording) for two decades now. It does sometimes take me a while to get round to things. </p><p>Procrastination's what you need if you want to be a record breaker, as Roy Castle never sang.</p><p>Hands up in honesty, though - who amung* us didn't look at the cover art of The Smiths' <i>The Queen Is Dead </i>album when young and want to be Alain Delon when they grew up? I know I did.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2dsUVwZnPATJApvnyu0Q6w_70jUJ_zm2_rEEsBEY1APCUhWUY6_ERDCJ-GG_OQjcK6PU8BQkK92aPMRU8hyphenhyphenj9tgIFKHShOr3VEMHLeLZm8RxuU3TxyHT6hu_A5yeMfzVGmnGswwdistcKUvXqMrrAHIEAJ4Q2cqMcIS4rvGI27aDWnO9nR0Fj9p5lHab/s1200/purple-noon-1200-1200-675-675-crop-000000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2dsUVwZnPATJApvnyu0Q6w_70jUJ_zm2_rEEsBEY1APCUhWUY6_ERDCJ-GG_OQjcK6PU8BQkK92aPMRU8hyphenhyphenj9tgIFKHShOr3VEMHLeLZm8RxuU3TxyHT6hu_A5yeMfzVGmnGswwdistcKUvXqMrrAHIEAJ4Q2cqMcIS4rvGI27aDWnO9nR0Fj9p5lHab/w400-h225/purple-noon-1200-1200-675-675-crop-000000.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>So, briefly for those who don't know the story, the wealthy Boston Greenleafs (Greenleaves? You do me wrong) hire Tom Ripley (Delon) to fly to the Med to bring back their errant son Philippe (<i>nee</i> Dickie, played by Maurice Ronet) who is living the high life of the idle rich being elegantly wasted around the Italian Riviera. Quickly becoming quite taken with this louche Ligurian luxury lifestyle, Tom worms his way into the elite existences of Philippe and his girlfriend Marge (Marie Laforet) as well as their occasionally appearing friend Freddy (Billy Kearns) and his entourage of girlfriends - one of whom is an uncredited Romy Schneider of <i>Sissi </i>fame (she was da bomb in Visconti's <i>Ludwig</i>, yo): wouldn't we all like to spend five nights at Freddy's?</p><p>After larking about on the town and engaging in such shenanigans as buying a white cane from a blind man (Jess Franco regular Paul Muller), Philippe Marge and Tom embark on a recreational yacht trip so dripping with sexual tension that they should definitely have just organised a thrupple or a threesome or a <i>menage </i>or whatever and just got it over with. This boat badly needs some bisexual lighting. Wait - is that the purple that the English language title refers to? MIND BLOWN.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZqhTdpZNUYmeK9-jrLX7cfuHZZK-uSj-wCvdUpCUEm6ptobC3i7pQLNM7VqwZOBW86cv820X4_0n9ldTxaXQMr8m_ctP8rWkeI_fZNW3EV61cHGC3WmW9t64lgvxIE70h3MEOxbB_5fJlHnC2JGdWA32poEZU8_Ake_VbbhOR2s9HduSdYi8YSwUL8VE/s220/mindblown%20(purpl%20noon).gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="145" data-original-width="220" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZqhTdpZNUYmeK9-jrLX7cfuHZZK-uSj-wCvdUpCUEm6ptobC3i7pQLNM7VqwZOBW86cv820X4_0n9ldTxaXQMr8m_ctP8rWkeI_fZNW3EV61cHGC3WmW9t64lgvxIE70h3MEOxbB_5fJlHnC2JGdWA32poEZU8_Ake_VbbhOR2s9HduSdYi8YSwUL8VE/w400-h264/mindblown%20(purpl%20noon).gif" width="400" /></a></div><p>Anyway, Tom winds up stabbing Philippe in a different way than the tension might lead us to suspect - i.e.: fatal rather than fun - and pitching the body overboard wrapped in a tarpaulin and weighed down with the anchor before taking his inveigling to its <i>ne plus ultra </i>by assuming the late Mr Greenleaf's identity and habits, gaslighting Marge into a relationship along the way, whilst dodging the suspicions of Freddy and the police (didn't they have a hit with 'You Were Made For Me'?).</p><p>Expertly directed by Clement (who, hopefully, didn't get too handsy with any of the female talent like he allegedly did with Jane Fonda), who sustains the suspense and tension admirably throughout as Delon's Ripley coasts through on his looks and insuppressible charm, the film is marred only by an ending that can't help but feel like a cop-out as our antagonist/protagonist exits the movie (sadly not pursued by a bear) walking into a police trap - feeling a bit like those Hong Kong movies with a mandatory 'the police must arrest anyone who breaks the law during the film' closing sequence. An undoubtedly excellent adaptation of both Highsmith's novel and character with a mark deducted for cowardice in the face of the finale.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEAzF8_LHRGzchnB_ZPP30i0C445jDFYsNCGo-5QHjKQ7ZHhsmRSxRQmCIgaH1JCeIrWNCLKh4AZYTz3LkFQ1JI4MHe3d0kxOu06W5OG2A5wKrILK6LCvhHP6SVD4Ng1Uz_pVHYxdgHzShdp1_D6tNJvu2UpnZGXTZwey1zgehrr2nJOUfgzlxSRn5545J/s1802/R%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1802" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEAzF8_LHRGzchnB_ZPP30i0C445jDFYsNCGo-5QHjKQ7ZHhsmRSxRQmCIgaH1JCeIrWNCLKh4AZYTz3LkFQ1JI4MHe3d0kxOu06W5OG2A5wKrILK6LCvhHP6SVD4Ng1Uz_pVHYxdgHzShdp1_D6tNJvu2UpnZGXTZwey1zgehrr2nJOUfgzlxSRn5545J/w400-h240/R%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>(*Yes, of course I spelled it like that deliberately. I can be a silly creature of whim sometimes. You should know that by now)</p>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-45871486161592459932023-11-22T08:25:00.000-08:002023-11-22T08:25:02.647-08:00Doctor Who - The Barbara Benedetti Years (1984 - 1988)<p> <i>(Given the title of this piece, it would be fitting, probably, to picture us beginning with a title sequence consisting of a cube - each facet of which contains an image of Barbara Benedetti - rendered in loving early 1990s Quantel; all the while Keff McCulloch's 'Latin version' of the theme batters your brain with it's sick Calypso beats)</i></p><p>We all remember when BBC TV's titular Time Lord regenerated into the form of a blonde-haired woman, right? No, not Jodie Whittaker. Before that. Before Cybermen. Before Iceworld. Back, back to your beginnings! Sorry, I managed to segue from Fenric into Morbius there. I think I really must have an undiagnosed villain complex. That explains so much...<i> </i>Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes. There really was a female incarnation of the Doctor before Jodie Whittaker. Not Jo Martin (though, both canonically and chronologically [chronologically in-fiction, that is, but I'm being Doylist here rather than Watsonian just for a change] that would be a right answer) - I'm talkin' 'bout Barbara Benedetti. "Who?" you might ask.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3fg29vkAAb1xlkMJFI6UKRKrd7S8adsQY0rjPvnfCIE099m_Cr6vRWhSBAF2J01P4zjxFWRqwo4JZYxdDrB9qElgSXyE1HitoXUImG-mm-sGyke-hZ0fzO1aWyxcL2p-_8Hqd-mv5lIh5a210ngZlp8ZFCN6MD13KGqjacPr-iDH3HcX2wpT0bNcNmp0/s640/benedetti1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3fg29vkAAb1xlkMJFI6UKRKrd7S8adsQY0rjPvnfCIE099m_Cr6vRWhSBAF2J01P4zjxFWRqwo4JZYxdDrB9qElgSXyE1HitoXUImG-mm-sGyke-hZ0fzO1aWyxcL2p-_8Hqd-mv5lIh5a210ngZlp8ZFCN6MD13KGqjacPr-iDH3HcX2wpT0bNcNmp0/w400-h300/benedetti1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>"The Doctor - that's Who!" being my tiresomely predictable retort. I can't help myself, it's an illness, probably.</p><p>In these days of part of <i>Doctor Who </i>fandom losing its shit (what, really? That never happens!) over the upcoming brave new era of the show being produced with a distribution deal in place with - and input from - Disney+, the attendant angst over thoughts of the show being 'Americanised' and 'going Hollywood' have emerged to give me serious mid-Nineties flashbacks. When the 1996 TV movie (which I still like to think is titled 'Starring Paul McGann', since that's the first caption appear onscreen after <i>Doctor Who</i> during the title sequence) was a thing that was happening, there were extremely similar 'concerns'. Would the integral Britishness of the show be lost now that we were adventuring in a suspiciously Vancouver-looking San Francisco instead of a quarry in Gerrards Cross or a Victorian museum village in Shropshire? Would the Doctor be stepping out of a Coke machine TARDIS with a cute furry robotic companion into a story that was unrecognisable, like some kind of <i>X-Files </i>meets <i>Voyager </i>meets <i>Airwolf </i>mash-up in a crack lounge? What would a North American made <i>Doctor Who </i>be like? Well, let's take a look, shall we? Like the foundations of the series itself, let me take you on an educational (in true Reithian BBC style) and perhaps (?) entertaining adventure back trough space and time to a far and distant destination...</p><p>Early 1980s Seattle.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZko0A1Fql-9ukuvhQHq_bTeaqMqMETOmi4wlsmVEio5IyW1hjGRKOHO1-EgmrJ_TjJvavIVeu36dYSAYSsCSJXKwXHU3YoSZq3BGfwg64X42k8oAswnmAbIJcBTAn-TBeawV85oETKIOx-pekrMkpkfO3sY4j55UIoRfvWkEuzGWefhJ1xkruauFydeV/s474/benedetti3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="474" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZko0A1Fql-9ukuvhQHq_bTeaqMqMETOmi4wlsmVEio5IyW1hjGRKOHO1-EgmrJ_TjJvavIVeu36dYSAYSsCSJXKwXHU3YoSZq3BGfwg64X42k8oAswnmAbIJcBTAn-TBeawV85oETKIOx-pekrMkpkfO3sY4j55UIoRfvWkEuzGWefhJ1xkruauFydeV/w400-h289/benedetti3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Independent outfit Seattle International Films, headed up by Anglophile Ryan K. Johnson, were already a going concern that had made 16 mm short films such as the one-minute parody <i>Escape From Seattle </i>(with lead character 'Slug Plissken' - can you tell what it is yet?) and were in the midst of what would become the 20 minute epic set in a men's toilet cubicle (?) <i>Kill Roy</i> when Johnson became a fan of <i>Who </i>through the PBS runs of the Tom Baker stories in 1983. Discovering that the 1984 World Science Fiction Convention (WorldCon) was to have a film contest judged by a panel including Gary Kurtz of <i>Star Wars </i>fame (is he still of <i>Star Wars </i>fame these days, or has everyone forgotten who he is in these days of just slagging off Kathleen Kennedy as the Antichrist?), he made the decision to dive into the Whoniverse with an episode of his own, shot in sunny (ha!) Seattle.</p><p>The result of his toils was <i>The Wrath of Eukor </i>(written by Ryan K. Johnson, script edited by Cheryl Read [credited writer], Linda Bushyager and Deb Walsh, directed by Ryan K. Johnson, 1984). Our adventures begin with a glimpse of the Seattle International Films logo over a nice vista of the city with the Space Needle prominently visible, before we are taken to a dark street with the caption 'London, 1911' explaining the need for all the fog machine-generated swirls of mist: we are in the American idea of an Edwardian pea souper. We hear a voice singing the lyrics to the 19th century song 'Benny Havens, Oh' as a chirpy Cockernee chimney sweep emerges. This jaunty singer and whistler is Carl Evans (played by Randy Rogel, who has gone on to have quite the writing career in the field of animation, with credits on <i>Batman: the Animated Series</i>, <i>Animaniacs</i>, and <i>The Legend of Tarzan</i>).</p><p>Carl stops as he hears a woman's voice in the darkness. "Too soon... must get back... three times in as many years... it's too much." He notices blood on the pavement and follows to trail to the newly-regenerated Doctor (Benedetti), dressed in the Sixth Doctor's outfit and obviously in a state of confusion - possibly at the fact that this is chronologically only the second ever pre-titles sequence in <i>Doctor Who</i>: three years after 'Castrovalva' and predating 'Time and the Rani', both of which were also regeneration sequences. Carl offers assistance to this strange lady, who seems surprised to see her reflection in a shop window ("The DNA matrix must have failed! The nose is an improvement.") and wants to get back to her 'ship' but - as he points out - is heading in the opposite direction to the harbour. When they arrive at what Carl recognises to be "just an old police call box", despite the MacKenzie-Trench box design not coming in for another 18 years (foreshadowing of a Susan and Nyssa style incipient telepathy on Carl's part? No. To be fair, police boxes were around before 1911, just not this particular kind, so let's be charitable and put it down to Carl being able to read the signage [though I'm not sure of the literacy levels among early 20th century chimney sweeps] and being familiar enough with the concept) he asks the eccentric stranger worriedly "Did they just let you out?"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-QSuIBAtVfzz2r44-ZvsFvtbGWSDNtWHiajp0JQXf2PuvEkZMqQf2cNxJBGKHD01Iv8uGQKTdM9QOVGKvRc_r81TijHID_Sp3VoHwfJ0DLo4jHa5bWubJTrBOK2aBoXRmMkhF28M0LlunAMIiCbtuQl9cPET6s5vsF_IQqzYxilX-VS_It3ehgY7QMKw/s480/benedetti4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-QSuIBAtVfzz2r44-ZvsFvtbGWSDNtWHiajp0JQXf2PuvEkZMqQf2cNxJBGKHD01Iv8uGQKTdM9QOVGKvRc_r81TijHID_Sp3VoHwfJ0DLo4jHa5bWubJTrBOK2aBoXRmMkhF28M0LlunAMIiCbtuQl9cPET6s5vsF_IQqzYxilX-VS_It3ehgY7QMKw/w400-h300/benedetti4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>"No. I escaped. I barely got out. Not alive, though." I really want to know the circumstances of the Sixth Doctor's death in this particular time track; it certainly seems a damn sight more dramatic than banging his head on an exercise bike due to tumultuous buffeting.</p><p>They then enter the TARDIS together, Carl helping her through the doors to the swelling sound of Paddy Kingsland's regeneration reprise theme from 'Castrovalva'. I'm already pretty sure I love this. We then crash into my childhood version of the opening titles and music - namely the Sid Sutton starfield (I'm glad I don't type with a lisp) accompanied by the Peter Howell rendition of the legendary Ron Grainer theme; the infinite universe opening up before us to the <i>oo-ee-oo</i>s of a Jupiter 4 (my favourite Sharon Van Etten song, incidentally). As we proceed past the new Doctor's face forming from the stars, the neon logo and the story title and writer's credit as standard - so far, so very 1980 to 1984 <i>Doctor Who </i>- we arrive in a leafy forest in Washington state, where Vince Wallace (Tom Lance), a reporter from the <i>Seattle Times</i> is attempting to get a story on a group of Vietnam war veterans (you don't get this sort of <i>The Deer Hunter</i>-cum-<i>Born on the Fourth of July </i>stuff from Eric Saward, do<i> </i>you?)<i> </i>who are holed up in the woods and living a life separate from the rest of humanity. The group's leader, Grant (Jim Dean) and his shades-bedecked henchman Tate (Michael Smith) are quite keen on sending Wallace packing with knife-wielded death threats, whilst their cohort Harris (Keven McCauley) seems quite jumpy and nervous, claiming to sense some sort of malevolent presence all around them.</p><p>As this is occurring, the TARDIS arrives with its (her) customary <i>vworp vworp </i>wheezing groaning sound. The Doctor - who has changed out of Colin Baker's Technicolor dreamcoat into a new outfit of a vaguely military-looking beige getup replete with epaulettes - attempts to convince Carl that they have most certainly moved in time and space and are no longer in London Taaahhn: "Well, the foliage is greener", she says whilst examining the local flora, but thankfully not feeling the need to eat and of the soil. Carl expresses the belief that 'old Mr Wells' would give a pretty penny to see the wonders of TARDIS travel, to which the Doctor replies that she "did show H.G. the TARDIS once - he said it would never work", canonising 'Timelash' before it was even broadcast. Wibbly wobbly... No. Stop that. It's silly.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIZabEwiu2TWEOZWm4YswxTzP5TslWGh1tAamJ3OJSc-UxDXGdHSHZ3YDEXydSRauQ29BH54OqFOQM0S6WNUY6hAV3FNSnKYm_FKf23ptb18kl43TU0mvuKynTjb4Mtyt6PydQ4Arbs997yiVr_MfSsJnoNwSD1OyxURth5WrsVtKh_CkN6rG_v38LRc4/s341/benedetti2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="179" data-original-width="341" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIZabEwiu2TWEOZWm4YswxTzP5TslWGh1tAamJ3OJSc-UxDXGdHSHZ3YDEXydSRauQ29BH54OqFOQM0S6WNUY6hAV3FNSnKYm_FKf23ptb18kl43TU0mvuKynTjb4Mtyt6PydQ4Arbs997yiVr_MfSsJnoNwSD1OyxURth5WrsVtKh_CkN6rG_v38LRc4/w400-h210/benedetti2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Wallace emerges from the trees and tries to warn the time travelers off before the 'Nam dudes find them and become unfriendly to strangers in finest rural pub tradition, but the Doctor remains jauntily defiant and prescribes a brisk walk through the undergrowth to the synth strains of Peter Howell's score for 'The Leisure Hive'. When Vince panics and runs off, he drops a metallic object that the Doctor quickly studies and finds maddeningly familiar but can't recall from where ("The body's fit, but the mind isn't"); dashing after him the Doctor and Carl find him lying dead and are surrounded by the army dudes who want to know why they "greased" him. The Doctor swiftly establishes her authority, tapping Grant some blows with her umbrella and deducing that Wallace was killed by a massive electrical shock and that whatever did it is out there in the forest and might strike again.</p><p>While this is going on, we cut to another member of the Vietnam vets, Francis (George Catalano), fishing in the river. Hearing a noise, he gets up and calls out to his comrades, only for something unseen to rush towards him from the underbrush in an <i>Evil Dead</i>-style P.O.V. shot. Tate splits off from the group to have a scout around, and comes across a clearing in which stand some strange alien obelisks of such a shape and design that one expects a culturally appropriating William Shatner to emerge from one shouting "KIROK!" He too is soon pursued and killed by the free-floating Evil Force, and the rest of the group - now down to just Grant and the jittery Harris, led by the Doctor and Carl - follow in his footsteps to the obelisks. Harris can feel an intense energy in the air, but Grant puts it down to the presence of the power plant nearby. The Doctor recognises the writing on the obelisks as Darnian, and informs us that the inhabitants of the planet Darnia were beings of conscious energy who at one time made it to Earth and imprisoned one of their own here. As she is imparting this information, Carl feels compelled to hold the metal object dropped by Vince against the block where it is revealed to be a key, opening the Darnian prison and releasing the otherworldy convict ensconced within.</p><p>This act of foolishness leads to Harris [? I think. Frankly, the whisky was kicking in by this point] immediate possession as the unleashed being - Eukor - gets all up inside him and wears him like a glove (to quote the Spirit of Jazz from <i>The Mighty Boosh</i>)</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_X5ewP2JUjwQ3Lc38c5XvOAuuhRAf5lHdlJWo6Mi0RQh2O0yHXll7EHTWJtMCqXe1R_3Z1pNYSU5dxqk79n0Cu3N0arJQsbIDInTXbG4gDLpejq-X2m2xX_gBTtYkiKS4ukIzkkiJ22KIJC9bEXQW1CzjBCb9OSFppVdt0ELq_uLPqI8E9CuQFdRgsPk1/s474/benedetti5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="474" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_X5ewP2JUjwQ3Lc38c5XvOAuuhRAf5lHdlJWo6Mi0RQh2O0yHXll7EHTWJtMCqXe1R_3Z1pNYSU5dxqk79n0Cu3N0arJQsbIDInTXbG4gDLpejq-X2m2xX_gBTtYkiKS4ukIzkkiJ22KIJC9bEXQW1CzjBCb9OSFppVdt0ELq_uLPqI8E9CuQFdRgsPk1/w400-h290/benedetti5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />When Eukor arrives at the power station: they can hear it through the wires, they can hear it through the lines<p></p><p>The Barbara Benedetti Doctor returns in <i>Visions of Utomu </i>(written by Ryan K. Johnson with input from Linda Bushyager, directed by Ryan K. Johnson, 1986), <i>Pentagon West: A Doctor in the House </i>(written by Ryan K. Johnson, directed by Howard Carson, 1987), and <i>Broken Doors </i>(written by T. Brian Wagner, directed by Steve Hauge [not a typo, rhymes with "howdy"],1988) - which I will doubtless get round to covering in the future. Or was it the past...?</p><p>Oh, and incidentally, a very happy 60th <i>Doctor Who </i>anniversary to all of you at home!</p>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-91027302130010517852023-11-08T06:23:00.001-08:002023-11-08T06:23:16.263-08:00Dr Hackenstein (Richard Clark, 1988)<p> <i>I couldn't quite decide which quote to open this with - it was a tie between "We don't care about live people - we only fool around with people who are dead!" and "He wants your body for his wife... he wants to bring her back to life!", the latter being from the rather extraordinary theme tune by Claude LeHanaff and the Hard Roaders. I should like a band name like that.</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLANx6auhQkvlMoiXO57AyHrb9C062SNXaIsfoPFRCuMw1_8qQder69HQ5GMc-Xm5Dg6RSR30S9AwJSQGHO00uTsuFAsavQN_VRc7Qn1cLxXLcanWGylXr_nppWAOEG0YphCKHuHGLXUV6d_RzggiRuw1Y9BA2eTbFO3LFOjnMQprO-zpQzyv9Fumce9j/s500/hack1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="320" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLANx6auhQkvlMoiXO57AyHrb9C062SNXaIsfoPFRCuMw1_8qQder69HQ5GMc-Xm5Dg6RSR30S9AwJSQGHO00uTsuFAsavQN_VRc7Qn1cLxXLcanWGylXr_nppWAOEG0YphCKHuHGLXUV6d_RzggiRuw1Y9BA2eTbFO3LFOjnMQprO-zpQzyv9Fumce9j/w410-h640/hack1.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Well, my 'Ten Days of Halloween' plan (to review a horror movie a day for the last ten days of October) got well and truly scuppered - as do most of my damn fine plans - by poxy real world concerns. Never mind, though, I'm still going to do all of the films I had planned. Maybe eked out over the run up to Christmas. Hey, if the celebration of the birth of a man that millions genuinely believe dies and then rose from his tomb like Dracula and the Blind Dead isn't spooky, I don't know what is. So - on and on, and on to the next one, as Dave Grohl so wisely sang.<p></p><p>Mary Shelley's tale of <i>Frankenstein </i>has gone through many cinematic permutations over the last century or so (113 years since the first silver screen version, if we're being pedantic [and I'm in that sort of mood, so I am]), from James Whale's legendary Boris Karloff-starring Universal classic through Gary Conway's 'teenage' monster to Toho's gigantic Baragon-battling kaiju version and many many others. One variation on the Frankie theme that I was intrigued by as a youth was <i>Dr Hackenstein</i>, the VHS box for which I often saw on the video shop shelf but never saw. I think I tried once, and when the store owner pointed out that I couldn't rent it because it was rated 18 and I was clearly under ten I angrily protested that I'd been getting 18 certificate films from his shop since I was six - which prompted a shushing that I shouldn't say that when there were other people in the shop and I was palmed off with a free lend of <i>American Rabbit </i>or somesuch. Anyway, here we finally are.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHKkOZCm3WEY4qorT9cI7O0-_WN42pNiXiY8PR-XwqbixwUq5O0LPW7SJSPFvt-w6CdF8mgDWPiSWHqCVHNzqyb3O4c4_Ly_RXBSth126vvoFQMQUsF6OWeFJuiCnb61WuuSfwZywWXa9hTaebR1R8OXW-GGSfgrkKS6Xnf50Y8sXSOR4kIRPvWyp44pK/s480/hqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHKkOZCm3WEY4qorT9cI7O0-_WN42pNiXiY8PR-XwqbixwUq5O0LPW7SJSPFvt-w6CdF8mgDWPiSWHqCVHNzqyb3O4c4_Ly_RXBSth126vvoFQMQUsF6OWeFJuiCnb61WuuSfwZywWXa9hTaebR1R8OXW-GGSfgrkKS6Xnf50Y8sXSOR4kIRPvWyp44pK/w400-h300/hqdefault.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Not really worth the 30-plus year wait is the short review. But it was a laugh so we'll try like the good doctor himself to stitch a bit more flesh on the bones than that.</p><p>Helmed by first time director Richard Clark (and his only directing credit until the short <i>Bookworms</i> a decade later, which was his last), our story opens in 1909, at what the captions helpfully inform us was the 'dawn of modern science', where our eponymous antagonist/protagonist Dr Elliot Hackenstein (David Muir) is getting up to some very Herbert Westian shenanigans reviving a stitched together hairless rat. To briefly address the Lovecraftian nightmarish elephantine beast from beyond the limits of fragile human understanding in the room: this film is obviously inspired by Stuart Gordon's masterful rendition of <i>Reanimator </i>of a few years earlier (seriously, why aren't I reviewing that instead? Maybe in the new year I'll do a piece on the whole trilogy), but in timey-wimey (stop that at once! - Ed.) fashion is more similar to <i>Bride of Reanimator </i>which wouldn't emerge until two years later.</p><p>Skipping ahead to 1912, we meet the awful Trilling siblings Wendy (Dyanne DiRosario), Leslie (Catherine Davis Cox) and Alex (John Alexis) who with their likable cousin Melanie Victor (Stacey Travis, who two years later would go on to star in Richard Stanley's brilliant <i>Hardware </i>[no really, why aren't I reviewing that instead? (Because you actually like that film and would have to do more than make some crap jokes?)]) are drunkenly tooling around the country lanes in a sprightly vintage roadster (copyright Terrance Dicks, like so much of my standard phraseology) just like McCulloch, Carlson, Bastedo et al at the outset of 1975's <i>The Ghoul</i>. Just like that party of passengers, vehicular bother leads to them seeking shelter in the nearest Old Dark House.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cgvBuCsExHCyDJhaAGYCHV7Vl9p14sIYnwn9-LIh4U248pxSteuD7EMJkmBo257M_rEn1Jop5YRIin4MReY_KBK0LctKZYqmeqnYAO_-Nm90RUW1mY4c8qE0la8s2A1VH12VPEjm1a8LMufxx9_7YhZfRIS5LuY0Ojagv8G9Tnfz-grB6X34UTBUbarw/s300/DR_HACKENSTEIN_IMAGE3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="300" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cgvBuCsExHCyDJhaAGYCHV7Vl9p14sIYnwn9-LIh4U248pxSteuD7EMJkmBo257M_rEn1Jop5YRIin4MReY_KBK0LctKZYqmeqnYAO_-Nm90RUW1mY4c8qE0la8s2A1VH12VPEjm1a8LMufxx9_7YhZfRIS5LuY0Ojagv8G9Tnfz-grB6X34UTBUbarw/w400-h347/DR_HACKENSTEIN_IMAGE3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>This is of course the rural residence of the hack-happy doctor, who welcomes in the trio of nubile young ladies - and the unfunny injured comedy stooge they're bearing - without mentioning the preserved head of his late wife (who he claims lost her life and the rest of her by falling into the sea during the maiden voyage of the <i>Lusitania </i>and getting minced in the ship's propeller, whereas she very much lost her head at her husband's hands) kept in cold storage in his upstairs laboratory with which he frequently has conversations like a cross between Baghead Jason from <i>Friday the 13th Part II </i>and Ed Gein (or Ezra Cobb from Alan Ormsby's <i>Deranged</i>, to continue the movie comparison). Elliot is very soon eyeing up the young ladies - and who can blame him? - for parts to stitch together a new body for Sheila's bonce: he sets out to take Wendy's legs, Leslie's arms and has his eye on Melanie Victor's eyes. I guess because Bette Davis' and Gary Gilmore's weren't available.</p><p>Whilst all off this is going on, we have comedy from Logan and Anne Ramsay (yes, she of <i>The Goonies </i>and <i>Throw Momma From the Train </i>fame, sadly in her final performance - the film being released posthumously and carrying a dedication to her [I'm sure she'd be thrilled]) as a comedy graverobbing / bodysnatching couple, similar to the characters played by Dennis Price and Joan Rice in Hammer's 1970 <i>The Horror of Frankenstein</i>, silent comedy-style slapstick with Hackenstein's deaf and mute maid (Cathy Cahn) and a shrill turn from Phyllis Diller as the Trillings' overbearing mother. I mean, I say "comedy" but the quotation marks are appropriate.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QdG-Ytj8DwlIXX0qN-yZ-92aNcLAqzQ3YUo4lN4v3-Q7Nt2ljs7_Z5H8EMWeFuz3bnriENf9a8S-Fg127P7lnDO4d9KNM-1Vm1P80bBWl2w0uVipDVpVYkqGJNTeh-oBLNUMaSQ8uUiq_Txzp4rF-TdEoFSdOnIzwYNKIQ14qYuhI6rCycKGF405aXnn/s300/DR_HACKENSTEIN_IMAGE2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="300" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QdG-Ytj8DwlIXX0qN-yZ-92aNcLAqzQ3YUo4lN4v3-Q7Nt2ljs7_Z5H8EMWeFuz3bnriENf9a8S-Fg127P7lnDO4d9KNM-1Vm1P80bBWl2w0uVipDVpVYkqGJNTeh-oBLNUMaSQ8uUiq_Txzp4rF-TdEoFSdOnIzwYNKIQ14qYuhI6rCycKGF405aXnn/w400-h347/DR_HACKENSTEIN_IMAGE2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>All of it - basic plot, gore effects, humour - were done far better in <i>Bride of Reanimator</i>, frankly. Still, at least I've finally seen it. One more off the list.</p>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-27558678616514881332023-10-22T13:51:00.008-07:002023-10-26T10:34:52.704-07:00Night of the Beast ([a.k.a. Lukas' Child] Eric Louzil, 1993)<p>When trying to figure out what horror film one should select from their vast collection of genre cinema that mostly remains unseen to watch for the very first time with the fresh eyes of a newborn babe, I find that the best approach is to ask oneself "Do any of these feature a porn star trying some 'straight' acting within the genre?" And you know, it's surprising how many times that comes back with a "yes". My review of David DeCoteau's <i>Creepozoids</i> - which co-starred Ashlyn Gere - is one that springs to mind (as an M. R. James-style warning to the curious, that review can be found <a href="https://psychtronickinematograph.blogspot.com/2019/10/creepozoids-david-decoteau-1987.html">here</a>). And so it follows, quite naturally enough if you're mental, that I asked myself if I had to hand a horror movie that I had yet to view that also starred a classic '80s American porn star. No, not Jeff Stryker - I've seen <i>Zombie Flesh Eaters 3 </i>more than enough (at least twice: the second time was to check that it was as bad as I thought it was [note: it definitely is]). No, not Amber Lynn - I don't actually own a copy of <i>Things</i>, and judging by every review I've seen it might be awful enough to jeapardise my already fragile mental health.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNbPI-k0nP2AfroMV8ovOlAu5rha1oEMezTfenS5J6YUW3fW-_BME2PL-upyZTwhfAvVIXZWEbk9QzWrw2bbq1pkYmBWo88BfGYH0Se4gOAeFeN34V8qwmeve36GHcKWTCBJdxfK5fusqgJGXnlTJxWufn9E4DW6YRFRLUgHVWjPPW92DMPvdHC__Pg8zo/s281/night-of-the-beast-1993.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="190" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNbPI-k0nP2AfroMV8ovOlAu5rha1oEMezTfenS5J6YUW3fW-_BME2PL-upyZTwhfAvVIXZWEbk9QzWrw2bbq1pkYmBWo88BfGYH0Se4gOAeFeN34V8qwmeve36GHcKWTCBJdxfK5fusqgJGXnlTJxWufn9E4DW6YRFRLUgHVWjPPW92DMPvdHC__Pg8zo/w270-h400/night-of-the-beast-1993.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Shanna McCullough it is then! Now, obviously my appreciation for vintage 1980s pornography is retrospective - but only because the internet wasn't around then - so my coming across / discovering the lovely flame-haired Ms McCullough was comparatively recent, and I found myself quite enchanted and intrigued. Not just because she almost has the same surname as me; I mean, same surname, alternate spelling. Obviously her porn star name isn't her actual name. Not that any of this matters one iota.</div><p>Probably best we move on from this.</p><p><i>Night of the Beast </i>- also known under it's shooting title (shooting title? Are you implying that actual work, thought, and the normal filmmaking process were involved in the creation of this?!?) of <i>Lukas' Child</i> (no, it isn't a sequel, even in name only, to the 1986 Corey Haim classic <i>Lucas</i>) - opens with a gathering of a Satanic cult, the members of which dress in regulation hooded cloaks and skeleton masks and as a result look highly reminiscent of the supernatural army from Jess Franco's <i>The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein</i>. Their leader, Lukas Armand (Robert May), is to be charitable a portly older gentleman who sits smoking a cigar like a bored businessman in a strip club whilst an 'exotically' dressed (breast-baring fetish wear, thigh high boots and a rather fetching diaphanous cape) dancer terpsichores for him and his minions in their neon bulb and candle-lit dungeon lair. Neon <i>and </i>candlelight? Surely a faux pas?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3wCutrkkZHAPscEY5OSi06lAVNtmTprq1rJ_sPhyphenhyphenz0W-nwojvzNPbcibXHR9zDSiojnGyIelAgDP62jxJkLVRSR2zlPav5TyESWP-Ep_ssqpTXkefT4LAqZX6_H22wrBAl54vo-ALA1W_EGYPRj5ftq9XOl-XAs_PpN_Zb4hui2EX8Q8-4WNJwDlrP_CG/s200/night%20of%20the%20beast2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="145" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3wCutrkkZHAPscEY5OSi06lAVNtmTprq1rJ_sPhyphenhyphenz0W-nwojvzNPbcibXHR9zDSiojnGyIelAgDP62jxJkLVRSR2zlPav5TyESWP-Ep_ssqpTXkefT4LAqZX6_H22wrBAl54vo-ALA1W_EGYPRj5ftq9XOl-XAs_PpN_Zb4hui2EX8Q8-4WNJwDlrP_CG/w290-h400/night%20of%20the%20beast2.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><p>A nubile young scantily-dressed sacrifice is brought in, and Lukas informs her that "You have broken the Code of Conduct, and cannot be forgiven!" I wouldn't mind if she violated my CoC. Anyway, the young lady, dressed in some lovely lingerie, is swiftly dispatched. Which seems a shame. Is that what 'pantywaist' means? Lukas cackles with his stripper henchwoman, who seems very much the Evil Lyn to his Skeletor. This young woman isn't the first victim to have been captured by Lukas' cult, of course, and Detective Steve Anderson (Gene LeBrock, in the penultimate role of his thankfully brief career) is on the case, ably assisted by Detective Susan Wesley (Shanna McCu... oh, wait... Marcia Gray. Because what a piece of cinema to go legit in). Susan has discovered a medallion bearing a five pointed star in the home of the most recent missing girl.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwHsekVUSZbPakCtwYr7htQNtn5Tgsxbs_0uHC8tJR44lveZz87rPrl1k7kxjLTJhYmKtT9g055hEKczS9zMXdIoky0KmY7k_xV5xCoUf4sevG3h-LzqCPdnVOUT3vHXo92UFjm8wbMN90YdGEdi6NZHKk3CNyCyviSKrMX0qQBOWfEuSM7tJMg5zGgnE/s2046/night%20of%20the%20beast3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="929" data-original-width="2046" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwHsekVUSZbPakCtwYr7htQNtn5Tgsxbs_0uHC8tJR44lveZz87rPrl1k7kxjLTJhYmKtT9g055hEKczS9zMXdIoky0KmY7k_xV5xCoUf4sevG3h-LzqCPdnVOUT3vHXo92UFjm8wbMN90YdGEdi6NZHKk3CNyCyviSKrMX0qQBOWfEuSM7tJMg5zGgnE/w640-h290/night%20of%20the%20beast3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>"It's a pentacle, it's used in witchcraft... to ward off evil spirits" she helpfully informs plank of wood Steve and the thicker members of the audience, whilst proving her credentials from the Slaughtered Lamb Police Academy. And so Steve is hot on the trail of the missing aspiring actresses who have all mysteriously vanished after auditioning for a part in a horror movie - auditions which always seem to end with the bookcase of the room sliding back to reveal Lukas sitting in his wheelchair like a Satanic cross between Ironside and Nero Wolfe, and deciding to sacrifice these nubile twentysomething clothes-allergic ladies to his 'son' - a behorned and bewinged daemonic monstrosity whose prosthetics are quite good to be fair. If you can imagine the Unnameable's cheaper cousin, you're there.</p><p>When two more girls go missing, one whom's father is, according to Susan, "a cop in the Hill Street division" (boy, he must be feeling pretty blue) Steve gets right on the case by sleeping with two of the witnesses. In his defence one of them if played by fetish wresting starlet Tori Sinclair, but still - unethical, right? But by gritty determination... no, outright luck, and the assistance of two random boys straight out of either <i>The Goonies </i>or <i>The Return of Swamp Thing </i>(more the latter, really. And Monique Gabrielle probably should have shown up in this film, too) he manages to solve the case, rescue the surviving scantily-clad captives, and defeat the bad guys. Just like a proper hero cop on a mission who lives his life on the edge (who sleeps with every woman he meets apart from his far more attractive partner) should.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZCufPc6NG-SUqv9ev3ChKLgtH_XlZDM7BySSRkVxZVKsmiQxMe_FJiVhSa3dAXqk35xvxKrQ8FeTPx8XNAqrHehjR6nJxhqQKMwa-u6F3eLmzM78bg1ATsiv0ZntQUwKV2E8Lmrb-IORcVkaNu3AZCG_30cU9ezy50YjkBv0plV43KN4alxKua2fblu9/s2046/night%20of%20the%20beast4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="2046" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZCufPc6NG-SUqv9ev3ChKLgtH_XlZDM7BySSRkVxZVKsmiQxMe_FJiVhSa3dAXqk35xvxKrQ8FeTPx8XNAqrHehjR6nJxhqQKMwa-u6F3eLmzM78bg1ATsiv0ZntQUwKV2E8Lmrb-IORcVkaNu3AZCG_30cU9ezy50YjkBv0plV43KN4alxKua2fblu9/w400-h180/night%20of%20the%20beast4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>I can't in any form of honesty pretend this is a good film or recommend it to anyone.</p><p>As spurious reasons for T & A packages as horror films go, I think I preferred <i>Burial of the Rats</i> in all honesty. Maria Ford's no Shanna, but at least she had the common decency to wear a sexy outfit. Seriously, who hires a genuine porn star and AVN Award winner and she's the only actress in the entire movie to keep her clothes on throughout? Looks like I'm going to have to get round to watching <i>Pornogothic</i> after all. Don't expect a review of that one though, because Shanna + goth = I'll probably be blind by the end of it.</p>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-69336537777675678312023-10-21T12:55:00.006-07:002023-10-25T22:05:07.168-07:00Slugs (Juan Piquer Simon, 1988)<p> 'Tis the season to be spooky, as they say (whoever 'they' are), and so I thought it might be an idea to spend the last ten days of October watching and reviewing horror movies - a deadly and deathly delight for the last decade of the month. Ideally, of course, it would have been Thirteen Days of Halloween, but I've been ill the past few days and I never plan ahead, so ten it is. These will probably be slightly shorter, more off the cuff reviews than I usually attempt - yes, believe it or not, I do mostly try and put effort into this stuff - and so may even be an improvement. Mind you, when I just go with my instincts, it can lead to terrible things happening. Not that I'm likely to spontaneously ask any of you dear readers to marry me or anything.</p><p>Probably.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8i5leU0zU7hif-BS84P0nKA4fIWOU64ct7dV5dYt7bonXD2s_YTz-TNY9bpw28OVh_Rn5g6m4iJ-Tg-J0e0reMQyzV-650rIDoM0_b25obaZr14CnpC9P0WIA6wxxiUrdLJSQc1r63dG9WZwF2JHc-T7P18xq5cJoS0qmJnJ-Ftk2Si6YNoZVxALs7Ha/s1285/slugs1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1285" data-original-width="736" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8i5leU0zU7hif-BS84P0nKA4fIWOU64ct7dV5dYt7bonXD2s_YTz-TNY9bpw28OVh_Rn5g6m4iJ-Tg-J0e0reMQyzV-650rIDoM0_b25obaZr14CnpC9P0WIA6wxxiUrdLJSQc1r63dG9WZwF2JHc-T7P18xq5cJoS0qmJnJ-Ftk2Si6YNoZVxALs7Ha/w366-h640/slugs1.jpg" width="366" /></a></div><p>True story: in recent months, the changeable weather up here in the sunny (ha!) North East of That There England has led to a surfeit of slugs (I assume that's the correct collective noun) appearing in our front and back gardens. Real big buggers in all sorts of disgusting hues of brown, grey, sickly off-white... you name it. The bit that really freaked me out, though, was seeing a particularly large and menacing specimen in the cat's bowl, actually eating a piece of cat food. The thought that we were somehow breeding a species of carnivorous slugs in our garden naturally turned my mind to Shaun Hutson's schlocky '80s horror paperback (of which my childhood self owned a few, including the extremely icky and maybe not to be read by eight year olds <i>Spawn</i>), but more particularly the film version, Having not seen it since its BBFC truncated UK VHS release, it seemed as good a time as any for a revisit.</p><p>Helmed by Spain's Juan Piquer Simon - probably best known for the 1982 slasher classic <i>Pieces</i>, and possibly 1990s <i>Abyss </i>/ <i>Leviathan </i>/ <i>Deep Star Six</i> a like <i>The Rift</i>, but also tragically for the dreadful 1981 <i>Jules Verne's Mystery on Monster Island </i>(which not only wastes the talents of genre stars Peter Cushing, Terence Stamp and Paul Naschy, but is as Jules Verne as the horrendous Canadian movie <i>H.G. Wells' The Shape of Things to Come </i>is Wells) and MST3K trash classic 1983's <i>Pod People</i> - the film transposes Hutson's grimy little tale from Merton. England, to Ashton, U.S.A. - doubtless the kind of summer town where the authorities won't close the sewer system during the season.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejPIl6SB3tb1mxDqeu928mqCQVYfj0zDnoPm48OqRohA6EZ8ai6htcaNBhS_7ysUZYTuzS2PMQPRGmBjn4iEawPp-Kn22QQL3AWX6AzowIGQYgTn24EgzPOhL_oJ-KC4u1KYpqECDmCfxUlgixI27YgWfIOM8i0BCLWsM_7vmeMHu0f8DxxeLS7O8in_i/s499/slugs2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="299" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejPIl6SB3tb1mxDqeu928mqCQVYfj0zDnoPm48OqRohA6EZ8ai6htcaNBhS_7ysUZYTuzS2PMQPRGmBjn4iEawPp-Kn22QQL3AWX6AzowIGQYgTn24EgzPOhL_oJ-KC4u1KYpqECDmCfxUlgixI27YgWfIOM8i0BCLWsM_7vmeMHu0f8DxxeLS7O8in_i/w240-h400/slugs2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>We open with Wayne (Eric Swanson) and his girlfriend (Karen Landberg) messing about in a boat on the Ashton reservoir. The young lady wishes to go for a swim but Wayne demurs, having spotted a sewage outlet pipe (he should try living in 2023 Britain - our rivers are all made of faeces). He does, however, dangle a foot off the boat into the water and is soon pulled in by "something slimy" and very shortly is reduced to a bubbling crimson cataract of blood. Cue credits.</p><p>We are shortly introduced to the town's health inspector Mike Brady (Michael Garfield, in his first credit since 1979 cult classic <i>The Warriors</i>) who is having drinks with his lovely wife Kim (the lovely Kim Terry), the local schoolteacher known to her wretched pupils - seriously, unlikable youths were a staple of '80s horror, weren't they, but were they always this bad? - as "the wicked bitch of the North", who manifests her wicked side by donning sexy black lingerie for fun bedtimes with her husband. If only they'd invested in some green body paint for a truly <i>Wicked </i>session. Sorry, there's my Elphaba fetish poking out. I'll just tuck that discreetly away. Mike and Kim are out with their friends David (Emilio Linder) and Maureen (Alicia Moro) Watson and trying to politely ignore lush (in more than one sense) Maureen's alcohol-induced misbehaviour. Excusing themselves for an early (sexytimes) night, on their way out they bump into Don Palmer (Philip MacHale) the town's sewage inspector who apparently now earns half the salary working for the civic authorities as he did as a plumber.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZK-VR43kw5Ncof0dNG-KS7cW3uJpcxVYHtEWpw4sKoDCEhlWFHQAlTyIO3GbzctXC3wFALRbtjFOnfFIwS9My-4nIKHYvOeEgJsFomLL7IhRv17NOhv-Wl_9zeQrujmE5pawDUBHJY-gPsqyHcaVOJDjPHtvkSri1c02J_Y9IQcOkBXK5uX6RGDsiLZSh/s474/slugs3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="474" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZK-VR43kw5Ncof0dNG-KS7cW3uJpcxVYHtEWpw4sKoDCEhlWFHQAlTyIO3GbzctXC3wFALRbtjFOnfFIwS9My-4nIKHYvOeEgJsFomLL7IhRv17NOhv-Wl_9zeQrujmE5pawDUBHJY-gPsqyHcaVOJDjPHtvkSri1c02J_Y9IQcOkBXK5uX6RGDsiLZSh/w400-h288/slugs3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p> Mike is working with the truculent Sheriff Reese (John Battaglia, who I could have sworn was the same guy that played Tex in <i>Robot Jox </i>but apparently not. I swear I've seen him elsewhere though, despite what IMDB says) to evict local drunk Ron Bell (Stan Schwartz) from his condemned home, only to find that the unfortunate down and out gentleman has been consumed by flesh eating slugs - something that the sheriff, with his cry of "What next... demented crickets?!?" (look dude, don't give the 'when nature attacks' genre ideas. Plus, hasn't that been done?) fails to fully believe at first.</p><p>We get a series of great gory kills, such as when Maureen doesn't notice the overgrown slug in the lettuce she's slicing for the dinner salad, leading to David being internally consumed by slug blood parasites and his face exploding during a lunch meeting with clients; one of which is played by <i>doyenne </i>of '70s Euro horror Patty Shepard in her penultimate role before her sad early death from cancer. Then we have two of Kim's students: there's the brunette Donna (Kari Rose), who is enjoying some illicit sexy times with her douchebag boyfriend Bobby (Kris Mann) whilst her parents are out when the bedroom becomes rife with ravenous gastropods that strip the flesh from their naked bodies, in a scene that was cut from the '80s UK release but can now be enjoyed in all its gory glory. Bobby had earlier been introduced taunting the unfortunate Ron before his demise, so fuck him anyway. Then there's the blonde Pam (Tammy Reger), who has to escape the clutches of a jealous classmate-cum-skull masked attempted rapist by jumping down a sewer outlet only to be consumed by the vicious molluscs. The rapist dude never gets held to account either. Fucksake.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2XfqKLpL04TN1NmaIIfSH46K2NPPofGOoahhM7sN3VSLUNbgq-A5p8gJ_tsrbagBoABTTy0r1Hezn_HONeJEse45koKYOJAFJnTLrj_Xc8ujcXvp6JgIy2UQhrKRuZGmhyD2k0h-TNz14HXO2AF8wNuUCclQCvoAaz2KjSwqQp2tRzkErf1khGaIazYmt/s720/Slugs-198806446715-58-41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="720" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2XfqKLpL04TN1NmaIIfSH46K2NPPofGOoahhM7sN3VSLUNbgq-A5p8gJ_tsrbagBoABTTy0r1Hezn_HONeJEse45koKYOJAFJnTLrj_Xc8ujcXvp6JgIy2UQhrKRuZGmhyD2k0h-TNz14HXO2AF8wNuUCclQCvoAaz2KjSwqQp2tRzkErf1khGaIazYmt/w400-h223/Slugs-198806446715-58-41.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>But the best bit of the film, for me, is when Brady goes to the town authorities and tells them to disconnect the water supply or he'll declare a health emergency and is told by the officious Phillips (Frank Brana) "YOU AIN'T GOT THE AUTHORITY TO DECLARE 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY'! NOT IN THIS TOWN!" Magnificent. Anyway, obviously Mike and Don have to team up to rescue the town from these slugs transformed from the norm by the nuclear goop. With some degree of sacrifice involved. I would and do highly recommend <i>Slugs</i>, both book and film, to any and all connoisseurs of the exploitative and goopy. You'll have a great time. I did, at both eight and forty four. I should probably grow up one of these days.</p>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-8265668442898596712023-08-26T07:45:00.001-07:002023-08-26T07:45:18.753-07:00Sexangle (John Jesnor Lindsay, 1975) [NSFW]<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRixLAhfzOyRteOcgpNp57UC56x2X_mZrZrZFJ6eA-bpuXdoDmlw5SWm3iZ0hSD_czvIjFSAqebDhS8n4oiovJE4BA44etDlt3nfCLI8vqovxt7vP85e8mQ-sfp-ncldKBkvYpfhgHeLa88pHWPyc3TBBFHnmTW9092QzkEcl13li5-_CBD0xDdW49xku/s200/box.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="144" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRixLAhfzOyRteOcgpNp57UC56x2X_mZrZrZFJ6eA-bpuXdoDmlw5SWm3iZ0hSD_czvIjFSAqebDhS8n4oiovJE4BA44etDlt3nfCLI8vqovxt7vP85e8mQ-sfp-ncldKBkvYpfhgHeLa88pHWPyc3TBBFHnmTW9092QzkEcl13li5-_CBD0xDdW49xku/w288-h400/box.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><p>(NOTE: This concerns a 1970s grot loop and as such will contain NSFW elements such as sexual references and - in the words of Simon Bates - sexual swear words. Such as "fucknut" and "arsecandle". Probably.)</p><p>From Hull it came.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkX_PkTzHBTpcAeQz9Vw3rX3V5wE7FPLSG9U8SLE-Dp9p1IN_kO6l1BEH_or8_EyP-YL2pBlpLfVc5-EwaLFMztaxiQoXE4Ebk6POnFAg5y-jxyhcpSJ_1Vziqw2GTaCv0s35hlIBkVCR7Ns248Amgojbv3TmPY1JRZcpouQo4IDkOaIwZYzgyMbKsgyR/s736/e7a869ac8ee14a4ae9b0e9a9c8769160--throbbing-gristle-punk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="736" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkX_PkTzHBTpcAeQz9Vw3rX3V5wE7FPLSG9U8SLE-Dp9p1IN_kO6l1BEH_or8_EyP-YL2pBlpLfVc5-EwaLFMztaxiQoXE4Ebk6POnFAg5y-jxyhcpSJ_1Vziqw2GTaCv0s35hlIBkVCR7Ns248Amgojbv3TmPY1JRZcpouQo4IDkOaIwZYzgyMbKsgyR/w400-h246/e7a869ac8ee14a4ae9b0e9a9c8769160--throbbing-gristle-punk.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>One of two short (under half an hour) grimy porn loops made back-to-back (or, as Stanley B. Herman's legendary Uncle Hank would yell in Darren Aronofsky's 2000 soul-gnawing mindfuck <i>Requiem for a Dream</i>, "Ass to ass!") in 1975, along with <i>Health Farm </i>- both movies featuring the character of Lady Samantha as played by attractive but elusive performer 'Debbie', this twin-spin of sin being her only two known roles - this would be a point of interest in director John Lindsay's celebrated grot career for one reason that I shall express in three words.</p><p>Cosey. Fanni. Tutti.</p><p>Yes, you read that right. The sometime singer and guitarist from post-punk industrial noiseniks Throbbing Gristle (birthed into this sick world as Christine Newby in the Kingston-upon-Hull of 1951) has an unashamedly extensive resume in the pornographic sphere if you didn't already know: her decidedly feminist and empowered take on the male-ruled heteronormative realm of the patriarchal porn of the '70s included COUM Transmissions' 1976 art installation-cum-exhibition (cum exhibition?) entitled <i>Pornography </i>at the London Institute of Contemporary Art displaying many of her jazz mag photoshoots framed as museum artworks.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvrK8QIb2NlPrY1cTKJLLiictePNJsrHBn7Jn5q9TDtNa6tM7HgCgxDzctaTcJdeU3ALJNM8H4BRd-v3dpUqQfH_SFW3gg4OtwNs42u18rASlUN1lSTWOBtduRYi2j3fcTCsPdSaUpBfCNew5bq5SXDBdZ2UnskC1A3gETKaCKNohtc2tcJ5IuoOMbPefo/s698/tumblr_ng4cx9iEIp1sfsm57o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvrK8QIb2NlPrY1cTKJLLiictePNJsrHBn7Jn5q9TDtNa6tM7HgCgxDzctaTcJdeU3ALJNM8H4BRd-v3dpUqQfH_SFW3gg4OtwNs42u18rASlUN1lSTWOBtduRYi2j3fcTCsPdSaUpBfCNew5bq5SXDBdZ2UnskC1A3gETKaCKNohtc2tcJ5IuoOMbPefo/w458-h640/tumblr_ng4cx9iEIp1sfsm57o1_500.jpg" width="458" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not called Tessa. Not from Sunderland.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Director John Lindsay was by this time well underway in his smut career, having started in 1970 with a series of 8mm shorts beginning with <i>Miss Bohrloch</i><i> </i>starring future star of the sex scene bombshell Mary Millington in her debut performance. After graduating to series of 'nymphette' or 'Lolita' scenarios - loops featuring grown women dressed in schoolgirl outfits - such as 1974's <i>Jolly Hockey Sticks </i>(starring future therapist and doctor of sexology Ava Cadell - also star of Norman J. Warren's <i>Spaced Out </i>[a.k.a. <i>Outer Touch</i>] and at least four of Andy Sidaris' frankly mind-boggling 'Bullets, Bombs and Babes' movies) Lindsay graduated to not-quite feature length (just over 20 minutes apiece) with the double feature of <i>Sexangle </i>and <i>Health Farm </i>in 1975.</p><div>We open with Lady Samantha Huntingdon (the aforementioned Debbie) looking lovely in a green dress as she makes a telephone call from her stately manor to the 'international design centre' where she confirms to the receptionist (Suzette Sangallo, whose only other credit is in the George Harrison Marks joint 'Come Play With Me' alongside the lovely Mary Millington, a flick that ran continuously in a West End cinema from 1977 to 1981 - that's a lot of stained macs stickying up those seats) that it's fine for the appointment to take place at Huntingdon Towers today (actually, it's called Uplands House according to the signage). When the girl confirms that both she and Mr Purkiss (I <i>think </i>that's the name - the sound quality on the copy I tracked down isn't exactly the best), Lady Sam hangs up the phone and we see her friend Suzie (Cosi herself) finishing removing her clothes and announcing "Sorry, darling - I'm having a shower now". Just as we begin to enjoy her soaping her very nice mammaries beneath the cascading waters, Lady S. has to descend the stairs to answer the door (you just can't get the help these days) to Mr Purkiss (?) (Timothy Blackstone, who amidst a career in suspect '70s fare like <i>Confessions of a Driving Instructor </i>and <i>The Hot Girls </i>made appearances in legit stuff such as <i>Colditz </i>and as a Thal soldier in the classic <i>Doctor Who </i>story 'Genesis of the Daleks') and his assistant. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOGLKkmE0joh_r3UGzxTyX_hVEADIM8ULRbfvwSIIYfSo4gBtRQkMCexw-km7kHYPPZW-BTj_6TBkeJTaTsIqxQEJZaAtDiRpzAkYwx3K-eTwa8g76hUmuEHJVOylrqFA5EzO2rkW-qwqvPUFR70U5Ip389yci2Etn_un-2-Y4BKY3eZEeAeCx4qEfMEI/s640/cosey3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOGLKkmE0joh_r3UGzxTyX_hVEADIM8ULRbfvwSIIYfSo4gBtRQkMCexw-km7kHYPPZW-BTj_6TBkeJTaTsIqxQEJZaAtDiRpzAkYwx3K-eTwa8g76hUmuEHJVOylrqFA5EzO2rkW-qwqvPUFR70U5Ip389yci2Etn_un-2-Y4BKY3eZEeAeCx4qEfMEI/w400-h300/cosey3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>Showing them up to the master bedroom, the stately Lady states that her boudoir is the room that she would like decorated first. One assumes she means 'decorated' as in 'festooned with bodily fluids' considering the events that are obviously about to unfold. Suzie really should have waited to have that shower, she'll just need another one shortly along with the other three. Mr We're Just Going With Purkiss says that he will have to "take some measurements, first" - I bet you will, my son - and so his assistant Miss Waugh (I'm pretty sure on that one: they pronounce it like people say Evelyn Waugh, which really annoys me as they always say 'Evil-Lyn War' and I reckon it should be pronounced 'Evellin Woff') accompanies Lady Samantha, who tells her "I want to show you the bathroom".</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9MNe-Fgbr1l1ctRGOH1wWzz6MQZrwA2EDgepFnDhu4K9WLCRq1b6XAMB713CLDShy_b_p3ebh_AtTlCZoaSYKvc5jcCjQJEtMslTWQsbvN36tJlevPZ930Aly1SXp2fDSkIYiMDWpXEA4PLUPCnc8yRm3VVTpdKozImfRS7a1OWIGDrvK0S1rSc55JOH/s750/cosey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="499" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9MNe-Fgbr1l1ctRGOH1wWzz6MQZrwA2EDgepFnDhu4K9WLCRq1b6XAMB713CLDShy_b_p3ebh_AtTlCZoaSYKvc5jcCjQJEtMslTWQsbvN36tJlevPZ930Aly1SXp2fDSkIYiMDWpXEA4PLUPCnc8yRm3VVTpdKozImfRS7a1OWIGDrvK0S1rSc55JOH/w426-h640/cosey.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div>Of course, Suzie is still showering, but the blithe and spirited Samantha merely introduces her as her "friend" before leaving Miss Waugh to take notes on the renovations even though her gaze seems more fixed towards Cosi's cosy looking muff than her notepad. As Suzie emerges all dripping wet nature takes its course as it surely must when two sexy brunettes are left alone together, and when Lady S. pokes her head round the door to show them Purkiss' designs she is greeted by the sight of them indulging in their designs on each other with their tongues down each others' throats. Other orifices shall doubtless soon also get a lingual lashing as we progress. But I digress. Clearly delighted with developments, Our Lady of the Immaculate Wide-On returns to Mr Purkiss and offers to help him with the measuring, but first "I'll just take orff [she's very posh] my dress - mustn't get it creased" and removes her smashing frock to reveal an even more cracking green satin corset and sheer stockings.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kRfumVOeZz7CSEqg_BMq3ctKrDTQvt-2NjK0s3uIlaSkvMXveVx90wcbPn9uGBcimJeuvbchS4sWHas6S1Tv6DN0DDwUizPBa89GFEtwiFXP_rM6doTzdBpwuZjhbBE-mmXEsT-LwFV8iGG0BBzijfdPmFLqQyvV9RKxXtAyw_mYPpEGecyndkYN3EHo/s450/986_450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="316" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kRfumVOeZz7CSEqg_BMq3ctKrDTQvt-2NjK0s3uIlaSkvMXveVx90wcbPn9uGBcimJeuvbchS4sWHas6S1Tv6DN0DDwUizPBa89GFEtwiFXP_rM6doTzdBpwuZjhbBE-mmXEsT-LwFV8iGG0BBzijfdPmFLqQyvV9RKxXtAyw_mYPpEGecyndkYN3EHo/w281-h400/986_450.jpg" width="281" /></a></div><br /><div>Declaring "Mr Branson," - oh, he's called Branson now? Definitely didn't sound like that earlier - "come over here" she literally reels him in with the tape measure to her bed where he immediately begins feasting on her baps: "Oooh, that's super! I <i>love </i>my tits being sucked!". Meanwhile, Suzie and Miss Waugh have made their way from the bathroom to the corner of the bedroom, where Suzie sits in a chair legs akimbo whilst Miss Waugh proves herself a very cunning linguist eliciting the deathless line "Please, please, stick your tongue right up!" in a voice that I strongly suspect isn't Cosi's own. The ADR / looping on this is absolutely, hilariously terrible by the way - dialogue often coming in when people's mouths aren't even moving. It's genius. Some of the extreme close-ups of the labial lapping are positively gynaecological. Branson or Purkiss or whatever the hell he's called has by now progressed, like an excited teeneger, to the stage of some light fingering of which the Lady approves but she soon hoiks his trousers down with a "Now let's see what you've got... Oh, super! Just what I want" and begins slurping on his sausage.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLNoOY_HtampRzJs-l-vw5S5r-6ZAiqQboaK-R6CNkiWXh9jDVivgRFiNJsdkqQo6uOK7MMC7Z6MrLgKelwHOD7k1qeQ_98vlo7-uNb0u1YD99YHuWTIRSCZgMazoWZQwMHiJMiNzH9007aRNKvf9DUDuZJphnarIT0OcFD6By-9ddM2xMOYedsBzDt7-O/s901/Cosey-Fanni-Tutti-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="580" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLNoOY_HtampRzJs-l-vw5S5r-6ZAiqQboaK-R6CNkiWXh9jDVivgRFiNJsdkqQo6uOK7MMC7Z6MrLgKelwHOD7k1qeQ_98vlo7-uNb0u1YD99YHuWTIRSCZgMazoWZQwMHiJMiNzH9007aRNKvf9DUDuZJphnarIT0OcFD6By-9ddM2xMOYedsBzDt7-O/w258-h400/Cosey-Fanni-Tutti-21.jpg" width="258" /></a></div><br /><div>Suzie (well, whoever's providing her voice) declares "I want to kiss you now!" and snogs her own pussy juices out of Miss Waugh's mouth before laying her down on the floor and stating that she wants "to kiss your slim body all over". Brankiss or whoever seems to soon tire of being fellated by a beautiful lady - the silly sod - and declares "What lovely big tits. I want to fuck them." in a voiceover with all the unbridled passion of the bored voice at the other end of the drive-through speaker. Still, he gets his wish for a titwank - the jammy sod - and the accommodating Samantha continues to lap at the tip of his glans with each upward thrust. Suzie and Waugh are still literally munching on the rug, but have progressed into a 69 by this point.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Stick your big hard prick right up my juicy cunt. Oh, lovely. Super. Harder. Put it right up." There's something quite odd (and profoundly arousing) about hearing a line like that in a plummy cut-glass accent. Clearly I don't move in the right circles, unlike Mr Whomever, who is indeed right up the lady as she shifts from cowgirl to reverse cowgirl and does indeed seem to be enjoying herself definitely creaming (you can't fake that) before taking his load over her face and wabs in glorious slow motion, accompanied by a cacophonous wall of noise of wails that sounds like something off a Goblin soundtrack.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwpkwcPC8WzNr7Jp2SxOrm5Bb8vhJL8gntmUPDqaAdlY3D_bFU6gnQMiXKP9Cj03cZTIVMxfxSfmaYVoojW8Jo9NTwGTY3Tt_PqrEaZkS1G_MrSQW95oz3VZFdxGyCLyngZchzQz64sQ-TBNd9zFKpRBRIoMremOawSOZ0_e0aFhfbBY6JXcW7IzekNo0/s320/sexangle1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwpkwcPC8WzNr7Jp2SxOrm5Bb8vhJL8gntmUPDqaAdlY3D_bFU6gnQMiXKP9Cj03cZTIVMxfxSfmaYVoojW8Jo9NTwGTY3Tt_PqrEaZkS1G_MrSQW95oz3VZFdxGyCLyngZchzQz64sQ-TBNd9zFKpRBRIoMremOawSOZ0_e0aFhfbBY6JXcW7IzekNo0/w400-h225/sexangle1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>We then suddenly cut to what is clearly a different day as a chauffeur (performer unknown, name not listed on any credits I could find) who is loading the Lady's baggage into the back of the car (licence plate 'Sexy 1' of course)as she and Suzie come down the stairs and kiss each other goodbye. Giving Suzie the keys to look after the house, Lady S. climbs into the open-topped vehicle and is pretty much open-topped herself, her diaphanous blouse blowing open in the wind and displaying her decolletage. After she has been dropped off at wherever she was going, the driver heads down a country lane where he encounters a girl (wait, is <i>this </i>Suzette Sangallo? She's credited as 'Girl', rather than Miss Waugh and only she, Cosi, Debbie and Blackstone are actually listed as credits. I'm so confused) walking down the road in very short hotpants and knee-high boots. This causes an exclamation of "What a lovely bit of cunt. This is too good to be missed" as he sets off in pursuit, which isn't very MeeToo is it? Removing his chauffeur regalia, he picks her up and asks her back to "my place" for drinks, arriving at the Lady's manor as if he owns the place. It's under these false pretences that he lures her inside and asks her if she's a student. "No, you silly boy, I'm a dancer" she declares, which does explain the hotpants and go-go boots, and gives him a brief demonstration of her moves, prompting an "Ooh, you sexy bitch, come here!"</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8eWa0gkogyIoRTvYhf6W3USduKGdICxRplFYZeC6qT4Pqd29PZ6fJcTKhvagqkcg-oYLX3rpU79PbvKSLUWub7wVnBfksCPLqTSlYU4EKBMIwbr0AbwM6lNZSrk2pXjO1KpSQk2b3x_cdwjv1E3BQ01nMFZIIeuGRh6-2amVnKSq6POd1xgLhcRKiH26f/s300/sexangle4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="219" data-original-width="300" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8eWa0gkogyIoRTvYhf6W3USduKGdICxRplFYZeC6qT4Pqd29PZ6fJcTKhvagqkcg-oYLX3rpU79PbvKSLUWub7wVnBfksCPLqTSlYU4EKBMIwbr0AbwM6lNZSrk2pXjO1KpSQk2b3x_cdwjv1E3BQ01nMFZIIeuGRh6-2amVnKSq6POd1xgLhcRKiH26f/w400-h292/sexangle4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>The hotpants are soon off and the cunnilingus begins when Suzie enters and after a surprised "What's this?" swiftly sheds her dress and in just panties and high heels declares "Off!" and bundles away the hired help to kneel between the legs of the hitchhiking hottie and take over tonguing duties.herself. Not to be deterred, the driver slides down Suzie's lingerie and his a bit of a lick and a finger himself. Very soon, he's the one on the receiving end of Suzie's oral action, the girl swiftly joining in to make it a double BJ, "OK lovers, let's see what you can do" sayeth Suzie, and the lucky bastard of a chauffeur gets to shag first the hitchhiker and then Suzie herself, banging away at her and ejaculating over her stomach while she and the girl indulge in some passionate deep French kissing before like him the film swiftly ends.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXPeUm4bO7124Q99cfmc10c07a97GdVP911WVLIeg_l9BTBF3FPVkYIiGUkmF8WRiiLFNS8JE1UFBSd2TXwtU4q5KR76zLd9b9Uq1YKiCIKP1AoQgLu0l7J5ED6KjvIX0Y_Xb3KyHVANP9TcB_gVnYMyvjgzEDj_J5KPRGMIlxh5vQWpvF9cE_I2y7XxZ/s320/sexangle2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXPeUm4bO7124Q99cfmc10c07a97GdVP911WVLIeg_l9BTBF3FPVkYIiGUkmF8WRiiLFNS8JE1UFBSd2TXwtU4q5KR76zLd9b9Uq1YKiCIKP1AoQgLu0l7J5ED6KjvIX0Y_Xb3KyHVANP9TcB_gVnYMyvjgzEDj_J5KPRGMIlxh5vQWpvF9cE_I2y7XxZ/w640-h360/sexangle2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Very much a game of two halves; I think I enjoyed the first scene a little more despite Cosi doing boy-girl in the second part. Recommended to anyone interested in the adventures of Ms Fan Tutti (who I discovered whilst writing this has a small role in Ken Russell's <i>Gothic</i>, which gives me an excuse to watch that film again Not that I need an excuse. I love that movie) or the 1970s porn scene in general. It was absurdly poorly done in places, but it did succeed in getting my gristle throbbing.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyI9NKdXM5Ik6cd4oHXth4v0B-jptvAA6S3wJtX71Vfebq2Cdc41d945JHJcZyWdzZPDtlLrdYNLArtBeiseLyW8a_8AWBiGYhi1SK83Vv9t8LMtnFjKlNWCa5tmM1B-OZlC6aTgWuBrj0lqh-NnK6Rd8Hobm5ex722xEG2fLxuz0CWuUxRwwno78YMZlJ/s1024/throbbing_gristle__greatest_hits.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyI9NKdXM5Ik6cd4oHXth4v0B-jptvAA6S3wJtX71Vfebq2Cdc41d945JHJcZyWdzZPDtlLrdYNLArtBeiseLyW8a_8AWBiGYhi1SK83Vv9t8LMtnFjKlNWCa5tmM1B-OZlC6aTgWuBrj0lqh-NnK6Rd8Hobm5ex722xEG2fLxuz0CWuUxRwwno78YMZlJ/w400-h400/throbbing_gristle__greatest_hits.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-8327634323007849852023-08-09T12:48:00.001-07:002023-08-09T14:19:58.220-07:00The Legend of El Hombre Lobo (Dorian Cleavenger, 2019)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN2uPWSClbYp7h_GfDzlxzOzNdpreHesxdqBqfFygSkBAPm1Zm0c8Z7ZJOv-IAhRm7z6UbANGfGqcq1ext8UAd_rdxNklC6B7JVYfHetgkxzaJsfH_bLYy_wrqByDolbBOXIwvaQbB7jktJF_UL9G8esp95ffcJu2mA7YKIPI0YXXF9poIR9qMM-yISd9z/s640/hombre%20lobo1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="426" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN2uPWSClbYp7h_GfDzlxzOzNdpreHesxdqBqfFygSkBAPm1Zm0c8Z7ZJOv-IAhRm7z6UbANGfGqcq1ext8UAd_rdxNklC6B7JVYfHetgkxzaJsfH_bLYy_wrqByDolbBOXIwvaQbB7jktJF_UL9G8esp95ffcJu2mA7YKIPI0YXXF9poIR9qMM-yISd9z/w426-h640/hombre%20lobo1.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><p>Having grown up as a fan of Eurotrash, Euro-slash and all things Euro-sleaze (I'm fairly sure I was the only person at my school with a VHS copy of Jess Franco's <i>Vampyros Lesbos</i>, as evidenced by the amount of my fellow pupils who asked to borrow it) I've always had a soft spot for the horror emanations of the Iberian peninsula; whether it be the works of Franco, Amando de Ossorio, Leon Klimovsky or Jorge Grau. I was so there for it as I'm sure the youths still say. That being the case, the works of Paul Naschy (or Jacinto Molina Alvarez to his mum) hold a very special place in my blackened heart as Naschy's name conjures so many joyfully ghoulish images to my mind, whether it be Morgue-dwelling hunchbacks, headless mediaeval sorcerers or (and especially) the tragic Polish lycanthrope Waldemar Daninsky (a.k.a. El Hombre Lobo). Naschy's most famous role of the many he essayed in his multi-decade career, Daninsky partook of his carnivorous lunar activities over eleven - or twelve if we are to believe in the mythic 'lost' 1968 entry <i>Les Noches del Hombre Lobo </i>(<i>The Nights of the Werewolf</i>) - movies between 1968 and 2004</p><div>And so it was a happy surprise of serendipitous proportions when one evening roaming about the byways and highways of the interwebs I stumbled across the Youtube channel of Eric Yoder, a make up effects guy and short film maker. Among the lovingly-crafted brief but brilliant tributes to classics such as William Lustig's <i>Maniac </i>(<i>Night of the Maniac</i>), Frank Henenlotter's <i>Basket Case </i>(<i>Belial</i>), Lucio Fulci's <i>The New York Ripper </i>(<i>The Los Angeles Ripper</i>), Sam Raimi's <i>The Evil Dead </i>(a spot-on trailer titled <i>Within the Woods) </i>and John Carpenter's <i>The Thing </i>(<i>Who Goes There</i>) I found, to my delight, a 40-minute tribute to Naschy's lupine alter ego and his adventures: the appropriately reverently-titled <i>The Legend of El Hombre Lobo</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>As someone who finds joy in retro minutiae such as "They got the font right!" or recognising a familiar musical cue or even film stock/grain, whether real or digitally achieved (as you can imagine, things like Tarantino & Rodriguez' <i>Grindhouse</i> project or even the <i>Stranger Things </i>opening titles moistened my eager gusset), I was almost clapping with glee as the film opened with appropriately applied film scratches and the caption 'Baliavasta, Transylvania - 1972'. Baliavasta is, I guess, to Naschy's wolfman what Vasaria was to Lon Chaney and the Universal monsters. Opening with a sequence of grave robbers in a moonlit, fog-shrouded cemetery who inadvertently revive the werewolf (just like in the 1943 <i>Frankenstein meets the Wolf Man </i>as well as Naschy's 1970 <i>Assignment Terror</i>) by removing the silver cross of the Mayenza chalice from his heart and get appropriately slaughtered for their troubles, we cut to a daylight drive through the rural Romanian woodlands where Paul (Matthew Thomas Stallings, also of other Yoder vids such as the aforementioned <i>The Los Angeles Ripper</i>), Jasmine (Anna Townsend) and Anna (Reese Gizzarelli) are searching for the last resting place of Jasmine's late parents.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7R8gjWLhCuM" width="320" youtube-src-id="7R8gjWLhCuM"></iframe></div><br /><div>After an encounter with a local villager who warns them away from the old cemetery as it is the cursed burial place of Count Vladislav (Cody Ruch) who was executed for witchcraft and vampirism - a sort of spear (as opposed to distaff) version of Patty Shepard's Countess Wandessa. Of course they ignore him and go, where we find out from the tombstone that Jasmine's deceased mother's name was Elvira Shepard: after both Naschy's wife - and a frequent female moniker throughout his filmography - and Patty Shepard, the titular Vampire Woman of <i>The Werewolf vs the Vampire Woman</i> a.k.a. <i>Werewolf Shadow</i>, and her father's name was Leon: possibly a reference to Oliver Reed's Leon Corledo from Hammer's 1961 <i>The Curse of the Werewolf</i> - the pioneering Spanish werewolf. Whilst Anna finds herself irresistably attracted the Count Vladislav's Black Castle on the hill, Paul and Jasmine find themselves victims of Imre and Justine's fate in <i>Dr Jekyll and the Werewolf </i>- Paul is murdered by robbers who then attempt to rape Jasmine, who is rescued by a bearded Waldemar Daninsky (Shane Ronzio, who was cinematographer on Yoder's <i>Thing </i>tribute <i>Who Goes There</i>, going from camera man to wolf man). Anna finds the tomb of Vladislav and manages to cut her hand and bleed all over it, prompting a prompt resurrection for the vampiric villain who looks a little like Bruce Payne's Nosferatu-styled Harker from <i>Howling VI: The Freaks </i>in a monk's habit. As she is baptised in blood to become a sexy vampiress, Jasmine awakes to find herself tended by Waldemar and his elderly housekeeper-cum-witch Uswika Bathory (Nicole Albert).</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklXg9RtvimirJfu9yt0Il_WiW9KAkvUTkKheqMR5cf_wMebw6xUS9BuqINwKu5bBZZaJ75OxwgBV2xlXwVLuxYL1WYkqBjFlNRs576ZNOgdsham2JqncKecafvE4n_UlFfBk5ANhcf4BWCeLiekdWfzrtvZBanD-Nu62txon4hoTH6Bu4OnZ0SxbHng6o/s1600/hombre%20lobo2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1066" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklXg9RtvimirJfu9yt0Il_WiW9KAkvUTkKheqMR5cf_wMebw6xUS9BuqINwKu5bBZZaJ75OxwgBV2xlXwVLuxYL1WYkqBjFlNRs576ZNOgdsham2JqncKecafvE4n_UlFfBk5ANhcf4BWCeLiekdWfzrtvZBanD-Nu62txon4hoTH6Bu4OnZ0SxbHng6o/w426-h640/hombre%20lobo2.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div>When the vampires hunt Jasmine and wolfy Waldemar goes on the prowl (complete with red tinted lycanthropic POV shots reminiscent of Freddie Francis' <i>Legend of the Werewolf</i>), obviously the undead and the lupine clash but I really don't want to go into detail on the last part and spoil the end. Rather, I urge genre fans to seek it for themselves. It's 40 minutes of your time well spent that you could have wasted on some copaganda or lame spin-off show. Plenty of those about. But if anyone has affection for Gothic Euro horror - and in particular <i>Werewolf Shadow</i>, <i>Dr Jekyll and the Werewolf </i>or <i>Night of the Werewolf </i>- I think you'll love this. I wonder if Rod and Troy from the Naschycast know about it?</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, and I must mention Mr Yoder's short <i>The Old Man in the Rocking Chair</i>, probably in both versions.<i> </i>It hits all the right giallo notes, with characters called Dario, Daria, Lucio, Lenzi and Mr Bava. <i>Tres gialli</i>. I think I slightly prefer the original 2019 version to the - admittedly better made - 2022 remake, if only for the superior use of Fabio Frizzi's 'Voci dal Nulla' from <i>The Beyond </i>at the climax. Though the remake does boast a brilliantly Fulci-esque eye trauma. I wonder if Katie of the Night and Sweet 'N Spooky Celise know about these flicks? Not that I internet stalk women who are into Euro horror. What? I <i>don't</i>!)</div><div><br /></div><div>And I look forward to <i>Walpurgis Night</i>, in the hopes that it sees release, still being credited as being in post production on imdb. This looks like it sees Ronzio return as Daninsky in a full-blown <i>Dr Jekyll and Werewolf </i>remake. I do hope it sees the light of day. We need more Daninsky in the world.</div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-69640692899895713652023-07-26T04:40:00.000-07:002023-07-26T04:40:43.137-07:00Beckett on Film: Catastrophe (David Mamet, 2001)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSqp27DK7JUsb4qPcspAdjpZxxhcI3XkIDsvfX2maPV7-PzWt3f8zKzOZRrmPd_8iAHTAmGsED-AuFSpdpYCO0wWc6tqQbXS7EeAw0MYEraHyMpEDX_fOnKtw8-RE9Y3LYOGL2WKS5y_7W8LvHP6UkiOdGoTtkW3RCkwf1lYcqrneNRJZMbNcMBnymGq8/s460/catastrophe1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="460" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSqp27DK7JUsb4qPcspAdjpZxxhcI3XkIDsvfX2maPV7-PzWt3f8zKzOZRrmPd_8iAHTAmGsED-AuFSpdpYCO0wWc6tqQbXS7EeAw0MYEraHyMpEDX_fOnKtw8-RE9Y3LYOGL2WKS5y_7W8LvHP6UkiOdGoTtkW3RCkwf1lYcqrneNRJZMbNcMBnymGq8/w640-h384/catastrophe1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p>The UK's Channel 4 - which thankfully at time of writing remains unscathed from the depredations of Conservative governments, despite the best (?) efforts of the spectacularly dim Nadine Dorries (how did that creature ever hold a remit that put her in charge of the country's culture?) to destroy it for her petty ideological reasons despite not understanding how it's funded - provided me with a lot of educational entertainment in my life, especially in the late '90s and early '00s. No, I don't mean hungover university Sunday mornings watching Alexa Chung and Miquita Oliver introduce <i>Hollyoaks </i>through a foggy haze - well, that as well - I'm talking about things like the <i>Eurotika!</i> strand that introduced me to such fun as Jess Franco's <i>Female Vampire </i>(if anyone wants to know my thoughts on that gem, I think I did a <a href="https://wearecult.rocks/the-bare-breasted-countess-on-dvd-reviewed">review</a> on We Are Cult), as well as slightly less prurient but just as great stuff like the Beckett on Film season - a well worthwhile collaboration between Channel 4 and the Irish Film Board.</p><p>It was timely, as I was at the time just familiarising myself with the works of Samuel Beckett (who, lest we forget, never made the leap home) through performing, if that's not too strong a word, in <i>Waiting for Godot </i>on my university drama course. I can't in all conscience say it was any good, but since we'd convinced the proprietors of the nearest pub to the theatre to let us perform it in there - I think some guff about "placing and spacing" was invoked - it was at least amusing as most of the small cast got progressively smashed on Harp and Guinness between scenes. Durty Nelly's is a nice looking hotel now. I hope they got rid of the smell of vomit.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2u3XVNnCGyGgljsuyg-8OpRXTGg718S2SGnuSlNIh8fFj72uZiwK0LpRm9VqGAzORUqqZebai8gs7UIZ318a-CVmD-PZToPoU6am_RrHAasEeYIBuzZ73yuLUUN5pyoaiwLSXqImMj_lF7OaccU3bKE_2w76iGXKYJykXSlNCmdD1G-NMnyWD84Zr17Bl/s1200/R.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2u3XVNnCGyGgljsuyg-8OpRXTGg718S2SGnuSlNIh8fFj72uZiwK0LpRm9VqGAzORUqqZebai8gs7UIZ318a-CVmD-PZToPoU6am_RrHAasEeYIBuzZ73yuLUUN5pyoaiwLSXqImMj_lF7OaccU3bKE_2w76iGXKYJykXSlNCmdD1G-NMnyWD84Zr17Bl/w640-h336/R.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Anyway: just as I was plunged into the works of aforesaid Irish wordsmith, this season of the works of Beckett committed to celluloid became a thing that was happening. The one that I clearly recall sitting down to watch was the brief (under seven minutes) piece 'Catastrophe'.</p><p>Our<i> mise-en-scene </i>is a theatre, in which an officious Director (the legendary Harold Pinter, who despite the rumours was not in the Doctor Who story 'The Abominable Snowmen' - though his <i>The Caretaker </i>was obviously far superior to that of Gareth bloody Roberts) barks orders to his Assistant (the lovely and talented Rebecca Pidgeon, no relation to either <i>Forbidden Planet </i>star and gas station blowjob aficionado Walter or to occasional 1970s <i>Doctor Who </i>guest star Frances, but married to playwright and director David Mamet - helmer of this piece. She's in most of his stuff, before anyone cries nepotism. Bloody good singer, too: her rendition of 'Wouldn't It Be Nice?' is my second favourite Beach Boys cover; only because Frank Black's 'Hang On To Your Ego' cannot be beaten) to continually rearrange the placing and spacing of the living art installation that stands upon the stage. This is the Protagonist (legend of stage and screen [and Chelsea public conveniences, being fined £10 in 1953 for "persistent importuning" during the bad old days when men who loved men had to conceal their sexuality in the twilight world of toilet trading. One hopes it was a tenner well spent - most people only spent a penny] Sir John Gielgud himself, star of <i>Caligula </i>and<i> Arthur 2: On the Rocks</i> and other stuff, in his final role - dying mere weeks later), an elderly and infirm silent man who remains immobile with his eyes downcast as the Assistant continually adjusts his clothing, posture and stance upon the podium he occupies on the barked orders of the impatient Director who informs us that he has a caucus to attend.</p><p>"Sure he won't utter?" asks the Assistant.</p><p>"Not a squeak." growls the Director, certain that he has a submissive and acquiescent spectacle for whatever audience is to arrive.</p><p>After ordering the indignities of having the old man stripped down to his underclothes and continually posed like a mannequin, the tyrannical Director commands the the flesh be bleached before instructing the unseen Luke (a lighting assistant who - Godot-like - never appears) to show "just the head".</p><p>Luke drops the lights and lights only the old man's head on command, at which point the Assistant hesitantly dares to venture a suggestion of her own:</p><p>"What if we were to raise the head - just for an instant? To show the face? Just for an instant?"</p><p>"<i>Raise his head?</i>" roars the Director.<i> </i>"What next? Where do you think we are - Patagonia?!? 'Raise his head'... For God's sake. No, that's our catastrophe in the bag."</p><p>And in the darkness, the Protagonist - silent and unprotesting until now - shifts from the cowed and bowed position into which he has been manipulated by slowly lifting his head and defiantly meeting our gaze.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg05nMQqBlsPikqFBg6KEnDdVCZFl5x4umU0BzI2ZGWAIqb7uU-SmMNAOQ7OQV7P9etrYHJ2o3lXVMJ13qUJySATRA106D8D-reuVmA2FfNDuBQdTQ-qTf5PzqX7OgTjSAO4lwmz-Iuh61ARRgQxr9T3YJ5e3CLMO1FMrkp3BuigyvOwb_rCTvfJx_V_Ivz/s480/catastrophe2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg05nMQqBlsPikqFBg6KEnDdVCZFl5x4umU0BzI2ZGWAIqb7uU-SmMNAOQ7OQV7P9etrYHJ2o3lXVMJ13qUJySATRA106D8D-reuVmA2FfNDuBQdTQ-qTf5PzqX7OgTjSAO4lwmz-Iuh61ARRgQxr9T3YJ5e3CLMO1FMrkp3BuigyvOwb_rCTvfJx_V_Ivz/w640-h480/catastrophe2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Beckett - Pinter - Mamet: a trifecta of titans of theatre; the Holy Trinity of 20th century drama, perhaps. </p><p>And perhaps in these current times of the U.K. Conservative government giving increasingly dictatorial edicts and clamping down on such basic rights as the simple freedom to protest, it behoves us to take the message of Gielgud's enfeebled but unbowed Protagonist and defiantly raise our heads into the light and look our oppressors in the eye now and then.</p>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-17883701032907144682023-06-15T01:56:00.003-07:002023-06-15T01:56:32.856-07:00The Making of Monstrous Me: The Earliest Horror Films of My Formative Years (That I Remember, At Least...)<p style="text-align: left;">Right... deep breath. Firstly... are you okay?</p><p style="text-align: left;">Well, hello there. It's been a long time since I've posted here in this
crepuscular crypt of cinematic suffering. It's even longer since I had to think
of a way to start a blog piece - the last few bits 'n' bobs that have gone up
over the years since 2019 have been things I had saved as rough drafts because
they had been started and written to a greater or lesser extent before then,
and it was just a matter of finishing them off and posting them when I felt able
to. Sorry if they weren't up to my usual standard. "Don't be silly," you reply in
unison, "you don't have standards!" Quite right. I'm sure most of us have had a
rough time of the last couple of years, so I'm not going to harp on about it and
relay a litany of woes, but it has been more than a bit shit. So now the illness
and grief is over (mostly), I find writer's block a thing. Weird that something
you could once do without even thinking about it - even if that meant the
results were crappy - can become so difficult and one finds oneself gripped with
anxiety when faced with the tyranny of the blank white screen demanding to be
filled with words. On which note, if the very nice James from We Are Cult sees this: I shouldn't have submitted the first part of a multiple part piece at
the time I did. That Part One must be lonely, waiting all this time for its
siblings to join it. Maybe I'll get in the Guinness book for the longest
interval between an opening chapter and the rest appearing. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Procrastination's
what you need, if you want to be a record breaker.</p><p style="text-align: left;">So I was wracking my brains trying to think of something to write about to break myself back in to blogging, as well as getting back up to speed to be able to finish the longer pieces I'd been in the middle of before everything went heinous, when I stumbled upon a video on the HorrorHands Youtube channel titled 'The First Horror Movies I Ever Saw'. A very good watch it was, too - but mostly the concept caught my eye. Or my brain. Or my MIND'S EYE, as M*ry Wh*t*h**s* might screech. I thought "Nice idea. I'm going to steal that". Thanks for the inspiration, Bryn. This is an <i>homage</i>, not a rip-off.</p><p style="text-align: left;">So I'm going to run with that concept and wrack my ailing brain for the earliest examples of the genre I recall beholding. Since my parents were generally cool with me watching horror so long as it wasn't too extreme by their random standards (as we shall see, there was at least one occasion where a movie crossed their arbitrary line), I decided to make it a Top Eight - 'cause we like a list, us fans, don't we - and also make them all things I saw before the age of eight. That might seem random in of itself, but I made 1987 the cut-off point for this list because I have very clear memories of a lot of the movies I saw that year and you never know, stuff like <i>Hellraiser</i>, <i>The Lost Boys</i>, <i>Evil Dead II</i>, <i>A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors </i>and <i>The Monster Squad </i>might get (a) blog post(s) of their own one day. If I ever get my shit together.</p><p style="text-align: left;">So, if you're slitting comfortably, we'll begin:</p><p style="text-align: left;">In no particular order, we come firstly to <i>The Burning.</i></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IiYdNd0mtDs5C7uF9HS40RY1kBEm_KCg5cHtAXbzfSXv2Mz50H6KoH6kC9TVgaMYVXe41OYipmhtYONMhcAlubNisvL8lQtyzLop-vlJAv1Xxf2J5L2EKre9JM9Lt6ksLWd2AlG83f-Os5jRjN6OlolOq_EO3RkNDfDnn1k9af2PeKOiy1ebgwMLPQ/s572/burn1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="327" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IiYdNd0mtDs5C7uF9HS40RY1kBEm_KCg5cHtAXbzfSXv2Mz50H6KoH6kC9TVgaMYVXe41OYipmhtYONMhcAlubNisvL8lQtyzLop-vlJAv1Xxf2J5L2EKre9JM9Lt6ksLWd2AlG83f-Os5jRjN6OlolOq_EO3RkNDfDnn1k9af2PeKOiy1ebgwMLPQ/w229-h400/burn1.jpg" width="229" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Yeah, it's a shame that looking back at it from a modern perspective it's tainted by the involvement of Harvey Wankstain. That aside, the tale of Cropsy the incinerated camp caretaker and his revenge wreaked upon the staff and inmates (wait - 'inmates' is the wrong word, and probably just me projecting harshly on unbeloved memories of a week at Thurston as a kid. Attendees?) of a summer camp is an absolute classic of the slasher subgenre, and in my own opinion the absolute benchmark of the summer camp slasher sub-subgenre. Sorry <i>Friday the 13th</i>: you might have won the race get to the screen first, but Tony Maylam's 1981 flick is the far superior for my money even if it didn't go on to spawn a litter of variable sequels. And what a cast, with such 'will soon be too famous for this genre' faces as Holly Hunter, Fisher Stevens and Jason Alexander. And I'm assuming it was lingering memories of this movie that made me find Leah Ayres so familiar when I saw <i>Bloodsport </i>at around ten, even though I couldn't quite place where I'd seen her before. It's not like I'd have seen her in anything else.<p></p><p style="text-align: left;">There's not really a lot to say about <i>The Burning </i>that hasn't been said many times before and more eloquently by others, so I'll just mention the maggoty skull at the beginning that freaked me out, "Like a fucking Big Mac - overdone!", that scene with the canoe and the raft and what happens when secateurs meet fingers, and Rick Wakeman's haunting theme - right up there in my top horror music themes of all time. We'll be getting to another of them later in the list. I still have a pre-Video Recordings Act VHS of the movie (hopefully I'm not doxxing myself here as owning something illegal, since the film's now un-banned and available in all its unexpurgated gory glory on DVD and Blu-Ray). It's not the one I saw before I was five or so, when it was banned; the only way I'd still have that is if my parents had failed to return it to the video shop. No, it's a copy I bought from a gentleman named Brucie - no, not Forsyth, I'm not that old - at university for a curry and some cans. Cheers, Brucie. Less cheers for spiking my drink that night, leading to an incident in which only the fact I was friends with the barmaid meant that the bouncer was stopped from throwing me down a flight of stairs because I was apparently "chewing my face off". Appreciate the video, didn't appreciate almost being killed.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Glad I got that off my chest. Apologies for the slight segue. Back to movies.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOs4-8rEzMPz-KGIH6ceAwpIzM-DzO4nejP8P_jP7NBJOOjGupEOhI0-BawGTaHWQ1mAFJeD-jpr9lt7zccoZO_y8xGWXkVzEtT9bqKXX_W4GKr2AZFnE36K6kHIFLmAeRYR6rfUr1dWA-irgE3T5bBxLHg7QYV3iEfybiTLd-a6xowGs_v6DBwhNAg/s720/abe862cebadea040cb07a19f710d7fe7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="720" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOs4-8rEzMPz-KGIH6ceAwpIzM-DzO4nejP8P_jP7NBJOOjGupEOhI0-BawGTaHWQ1mAFJeD-jpr9lt7zccoZO_y8xGWXkVzEtT9bqKXX_W4GKr2AZFnE36K6kHIFLmAeRYR6rfUr1dWA-irgE3T5bBxLHg7QYV3iEfybiTLd-a6xowGs_v6DBwhNAg/w400-h301/abe862cebadea040cb07a19f710d7fe7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">At number two we have a bit of a cheat with Wes Craven's 1972 grimy grindhouse grimfest <i>The Last House on the Left.</i> I say a bit of a cheat because although I definitely saw some of it as a young kid - this being another work that fell foul of the Department of Public Persecution's 1984 'video nasties' banfest - I only saw it as far as the bit where Krug and the gang (they had some good tunes, that band) capture Mari and Phyllis, and the latter is instructed to piss her pants, at which point my dad leapt up and roared "Get this shit off!". Interesting that although my parents were fine with me watching the other things on this list, enforced urination crossed some sort of line. Perhaps he found it triggering or something.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And so it wasn't until about fifteen years later that I got the chance to actually watch the entire film. I like to think of it as the longest intermission in film history. Most people don't need a decade and a half to go for a wee or get a choc ice. I understand if anyone thinks that should disqualify the movie from being here since I only initially saw the first... I dunno, twenty-five minutes (?) of it whilst an actual child (you know, if I was doing due diligence and being less lazy I'd actually check how far into the film the peeing bit is, but I'm guessing roughly half and hour-ish), but that scene and the whole incident meant it stayed with me for a long time. Along with the resentment at not getting to see the rest of it. My father had been dead for about seven years before I finally got to watch it the whole thing. I'm not sulking anymore, Dad, we're OK.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7RdDbFKcf6PLoLpe1if-Hy3ct2w5-M526SHviHvBcjFOZaSSQ8xE4RrRpz3U7J6VWNzQcsFXBmczOuQGtaeShU0OKLVek7Hbp5lxhFffDW5o8JXEPysEWiM2TPuk5AYxTU57coxEH66psy_-8BcZUbvgttoYHub2oF6bS9lZ8TLcZwTuwM6ns_v-WA/s640/s-l640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7RdDbFKcf6PLoLpe1if-Hy3ct2w5-M526SHviHvBcjFOZaSSQ8xE4RrRpz3U7J6VWNzQcsFXBmczOuQGtaeShU0OKLVek7Hbp5lxhFffDW5o8JXEPysEWiM2TPuk5AYxTU57coxEH66psy_-8BcZUbvgttoYHub2oF6bS9lZ8TLcZwTuwM6ns_v-WA/w300-h400/s-l640.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Next up, probably the first film I watched enough times to commit the majority of the dialogue to memory: John Landis' 1981 legendary lycanthropic tale of carnivorous lunar activities <i>An American Werewolf in London. </i>I was always intensely interested in change and transformation in film, making werewolves and shapeshifters in general probably my absolute favourite cinematic subjects. Of course Rick Baker's groundbreaking and Oscar-winning (an accolade that the horror genre doesn't get to boast very often: off the top of my head the only other Academy Award winners in the genre that occur are Fredric March and Anthony Hopkins; both winning the Best Actor Oscar for 1932's <i>Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde </i>and 1990's <i>The Silence of the Lambs </i>respectively and showing the gulf of years betwixt the genre getting a nod in one of the big, non-technical categories) make-up has rightly been hailed and lauded; I wonder how much Rob Bottin regrets turning down the gig and letting his assistant do it?</p><p style="text-align: left;">Depicting the change from man to animal (a bit like <i>Manimal</i>, a TV show whose brief run I loved for much the same reasons. I've still got the annual, somewhere) in visceral and eye-watering bone-crunching detail, the transition was so complete and convincing it allowed the viewer to still see David Naughton's doomed David Kessler in the puppetry-animated monstrous dire wolf that wreaks its carnivorous lunar activities upon the capital in the film's carnage-filled climax, and feel empathy in its unavoidably tragic conclusion. That bit where the lovely Jenny Agutter tries to talk to the lupine beast in the darkened alley, getting in between the werewolf and the armed police team itching to destroy this thing that was the man she loves, fair broke my little heart. Still does, every time. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjptTULU8EcUrAWejKzY3wNgiJWomvQ04IoKXM8Oddb1SzbT7rwI1N14_yeTY_RY56KXpV0pyfM2-zoGzkChwl2rM7gPqg0bGjl57w1QF_dzHLPLjkNE7bVs3Xk58Sjc6Y4ykFHQEcagtAwmpEdeae4fyjMKagrrARFi1UsNvFDp5rZjhnmVL0uGE8Evg/s1881/ZOMBIE-FLESH-EATERS-STAR-BASE-VIDEO-AUSTRALIAN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1471" data-original-width="1881" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjptTULU8EcUrAWejKzY3wNgiJWomvQ04IoKXM8Oddb1SzbT7rwI1N14_yeTY_RY56KXpV0pyfM2-zoGzkChwl2rM7gPqg0bGjl57w1QF_dzHLPLjkNE7bVs3Xk58Sjc6Y4ykFHQEcagtAwmpEdeae4fyjMKagrrARFi1UsNvFDp5rZjhnmVL0uGE8Evg/w400-h313/ZOMBIE-FLESH-EATERS-STAR-BASE-VIDEO-AUSTRALIAN.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Lucio Fulci's <i>Zombie Flesh Eaters </i>is the only film on this list to have also ranked on Bryn's video, and for a moment I thought of missing it off but that moment of madness - akin to a politician caught "looking for badgers" on a heath - passed quite quickly when I realised there was no was I could honestly compile this docket of dread without it. Emerging into the world in 1979 like myself, <i>Zombie Flesh Eaters</i> (or <i>Zombie 2</i>, or just plain <i>Zombi</i> depending upon your regional variations) upped the ante on the shambling cannibalistic undead template set by George A. Romero initial two - and best - entries in his own series by making the anthropophagous revenants truly foetid and putrescent, carrying the rank stench of mouldering burial vaults as they feast upon humanity's warm flesh and blood. The opening sequence made me very trepidatious about setting foot aboard boats. Not that we had a lot of cause for going on yachts when I was younger, but if offered I'd have refused lest a burly bald undead (like a cross between Tor Johnson, Quito from <i>Strange Paradise</i>, and Gluttony from <i>Se7en </i>[yes, I still insist on pronouncing it 'seh-seven-en' because I think it's funny]) come shambling at me out of the dark.</p><div><div><br /></div><div>And a Fulci film wouldn't be a Fulci film without some eyeball trauma, 'cause Fulci gonna Fulci. The scene where Olga Karlatos' Mrs Menard has her head slowly pulled towards a splintered piece of wood and the camera lovingly lingers, unflinching, on the shot of her eye being impaled gripped me was fascinated horror. Movies could <i>do </i>that? Truly, of all the things little me beheld, this may have been the single thing that warped my tiny mind and got me obsessed with cinema and how it was made. Responsible for a lot, that shot. Oh, and the film has an underwater fight between a zombie and a shark. That short sequence would be the pitch for an entire film these days, though it would be made for SyFy and drenched with crappy CGI rather than drenched with Fabio Frizzi's evocative electronic score (though my absolute favourite of his scores has to be Voci dal Nulla from <i>The Beyond</i>).</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDbNp5-sN0a8jR9tJ3zBMrNsZekzh9qqHeBrFKfFYUBvvCbvqjhxxsVhGr94xe82W6c_jqZSWVddjRp58DK9uX7cHi0hBYNnQ4tDmAfVuNUVxKzr8hjvcoQlNgIp303PtkxB0-NdmnMShFqdg2weU_iKadQQ27jMODblUWoCeCxnc-XJvnbX4l8RolA/s2435/avhs%20(28).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1699" data-original-width="2435" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDbNp5-sN0a8jR9tJ3zBMrNsZekzh9qqHeBrFKfFYUBvvCbvqjhxxsVhGr94xe82W6c_jqZSWVddjRp58DK9uX7cHi0hBYNnQ4tDmAfVuNUVxKzr8hjvcoQlNgIp303PtkxB0-NdmnMShFqdg2weU_iKadQQ27jMODblUWoCeCxnc-XJvnbX4l8RolA/w400-h279/avhs%20(28).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>Coming in at number five we have <i>Curse of the Devil</i>. Another werewolf flick, this one if from 1973 and is the sixth (or seventh, depending on whether or not you believe <i>The Nights of the Werewolf </i> ever existed) entry in the Waldemar Daninsky saga of Spanish horror star Paul Naschy. Directed by Carlos Aured, who also directed Naschy joints such as the Gothic <i>Horror Rises from the Tomb </i>and the splendid giallo <i>The Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll </i>(a.k.a. <i>House of Psychotic Women</i>), this differs from the usual Daninsky entries in that it has a late 1890s period setting rather than the present day. Oh, and in that it was the first of Naschy's films I ever saw.</div><div><br /></div><div>Rented from the Video Centre rather than our usual EB Video, I distinctly recall choosing this film because I confusedly thought it was <i>The Evil Dead </i>due to their deceptively similar video covers (that, combined with a title and a trailer selected to play up a spurious link with <i>The Exorcist</i>, make it seem like the distributors were desperate to hide the fact that it was a werewolf movie. I guess the loup-garou was out of fashion for a while until the early '80s double-team of <i>American Werewolf </i>and <i>The Howling</i>) and was a tad disappointed when the movie started and obviously wasn't Sam Raimi's famous video nasty. In the words of Bob Mortimer, "I did it out of ignorance". However, disappointment soon turned to joy as the film went on and it began to dawn on me that we had a wolfman on our hands. Naschy's classic-style werewolf being a sort of Lon Chaney Wolf Man updated for '70s Euro horror with its attendant full colour gore was what I imagined Hammer would have done if they hadn't stopped at <i>The Curse of the Werewolf </i>and had a series of werewolf films to accompany their Dracula and Frankenstein sagas. It would be a few years before I would catch another Naschy film, but I've made up for it since, as I now own... (quickly counts on fingers) twenty nine of his oeuvre. Still a lot to see, mind.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbh4IQ5qEJTsB6_Uwo2nWThoC-qMI__h_1uOhm9WMo7IUeWMItLXeWhSFaqT358km2uhneh7e61XSA4fDRdJvzF8_kkQcGj8sCDGFGUJeN_462IVzypoRobOHEgVODNBkW7IYL8VfywvCEKjLVDwruho1P9zlU6cMHZRpwcfy62NVnekNCba07wSFWw/s600/fiend1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="600" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbh4IQ5qEJTsB6_Uwo2nWThoC-qMI__h_1uOhm9WMo7IUeWMItLXeWhSFaqT358km2uhneh7e61XSA4fDRdJvzF8_kkQcGj8sCDGFGUJeN_462IVzypoRobOHEgVODNBkW7IYL8VfywvCEKjLVDwruho1P9zlU6cMHZRpwcfy62NVnekNCba07wSFWw/w400-h280/fiend1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>Baltimore's Don Dohler had already established himself as somewhat of a local cottage industry by the time of 1980's<i> Fiend</i>, after writing, producing and directing a number of shorts in Maryland before breaking into the feature-length scene with <i>The Alien Factor </i>in 1978. Even though he would go on to make such lo-fi schlock classics as the 1982 <i>Nightbeast </i>(one of the first Troma releases I ever saw, not counting Belgian baffler <i>Rabid Grannies</i>) and yet another 'alien invades the Maryland countryside single handed' flick - Don not being most famous for his variations of storytelling/scenarios - in 1985 with the astonishing <i>The Galaxy Invader</i>, <i>Fiend </i>was the one my sister and I watched as kids and the one that stuck with both of us.</div><div><br /></div><div>Being I suppose at least a slight spin on Dohler's favourite format, while <i>Fiend </i>deals with an evil entity that descend from the sky at the outset this is a supernatural creature rather than an extraterrestrial - a malevolent glowing thing this floats over a graveyard before inhabiting and reanimating the corpse of Mr Longfellow, who must replenish himself by feeding on the life force of others. Remembered by Gaynor and myself chiefly for having a red glowing line around him "like an evil <i>Ready Brek </i>man" (boy, that's a dated reference - will anyone get that?), the Fiend himself troubled my imagination long after the tape had been returned to the shop. Except I wrongly remembered him as having a beard and wearing a cape and top hat instead of a moustache and black suit. Obviously I caught a glimpse of Jose Mojica Marins' Coffin Joe at some point and mashed them together in my head like a horror movie villain Build-a-Bear.</div><div><br /></div><div>On second thoughts, it might have been the Hobgoblin from <i>The Moomins.</i> Yeah, there's more of a chance of that spooky fucker being glimpsed by my child self in the UK of the early '80s than Coffin Joe, probably.</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCHi1qJ2s_SBkuZ6MBc-IMucPrKuTp049IPAdRoQd45X-CQAQoDSvUKb6cIc9kQ_nsaaxmjUkWpmpITPlWi4jUAsmwk4rKFSFEduWi7Ybj7mOeLyepNb3oTHr1aLVHJOFLPkfrDPGPHk8RUcR3kII-OrviAFDupIx-TomEZLcV8mDWWoQi_tk6W17og/s1142/The_Incredible_Melting_Man-874580624-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="826" data-original-width="1142" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCHi1qJ2s_SBkuZ6MBc-IMucPrKuTp049IPAdRoQd45X-CQAQoDSvUKb6cIc9kQ_nsaaxmjUkWpmpITPlWi4jUAsmwk4rKFSFEduWi7Ybj7mOeLyepNb3oTHr1aLVHJOFLPkfrDPGPHk8RUcR3kII-OrviAFDupIx-TomEZLcV8mDWWoQi_tk6W17og/w400-h289/The_Incredible_Melting_Man-874580624-large.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVxeKXozfEF19J-ol3Yi8TpuMOPR-4wVbtVX9hP6uSF9-OjVhWih080t8JGtFAD6qnO4k33ncfeoBKhEOaSjhOVVEM37XuVSASuMlXGGe5T0vkLCAE-vEZ-OLZ4IEwnsLdO79G_qFaH0VNdaQB_Dv-qK0VRvAMAyp8rwQKywcmDq8207xUr7FOVT_aA/s516/the%20incredible%20melting%20man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVxeKXozfEF19J-ol3Yi8TpuMOPR-4wVbtVX9hP6uSF9-OjVhWih080t8JGtFAD6qnO4k33ncfeoBKhEOaSjhOVVEM37XuVSASuMlXGGe5T0vkLCAE-vEZ-OLZ4IEwnsLdO79G_qFaH0VNdaQB_Dv-qK0VRvAMAyp8rwQKywcmDq8207xUr7FOVT_aA/w233-h400/the%20incredible%20melting%20man.jpg" width="233" /></a></div><i><div><i><br /></i></div>The Incredible Melting Man </i>is a film that I remember far more from the 1978 novelisation by Phil Smith than from hazy recollections of William Sachs' 1977 gloopy grindhouse rendition of a 1950s atomic horror / man into monster movie. It's amazing, in retrospect, what types of films would get an accompanying paperback novel - from Alan Dean Foster's adaptations of such things as <i>Star Wars </i>and the <i>Alien </i>trilogy to Shaun Hutson of <i>Slugs </i>and <i>Erebus </i>infamy doing his own spin on James Cameron's <i>The Terminator </i>(there was an alternate novelisation by Randall Frakes and Bill Wisher, but I preferred the Hutson, probably just because of the more familiar horror name).</div><div><br /></div><div>Presumably picked up by my mother while browsing a second hand shop or market stall, said paperback opened with a great scene of a nurse being chased down a darkened corridor by our titular dissolving dude, which my imagination rendered as a kind of <i>Halloween II</i> if Michael Myers had consisted of glistening grisly gristle. The corresponding scene in the movie was definitely a bit of a let down; the eternal problem of reading the book before seeing the film: it's almost always better lit and directed in the MIND'S EYE. The photos on both the cover and the inset bunch of pages in the centre of the book (in FULL COLOR) were certainly evocative, detailing the tragic astronaut's gradual gory degradation like an American Victor Caroon. The film itself couldn't help to be a slight disappointment, despite featuring a small role for the late and lovely Cheryl 'Rainbeaux' Smith - I was too young to appreciate that anyway though.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7HLT1hFck6cCD9LTwRWrNet1nGzRu9FPz8nWt12LPJykhHiVJuTP_RUlOdPUW0KOU1_xcTSfTt-g1BbE0wSryJ0Cyi6J8Zjvs1DVklcgd2D8vF2Wg4rDxItkRU88fRSu61YhlLGvcsvmYJNRcoCjzeOh-cn3usjTDU2CntRITF78tiGStgu1kjHLUQ/s411/keep2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="317" data-original-width="411" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7HLT1hFck6cCD9LTwRWrNet1nGzRu9FPz8nWt12LPJykhHiVJuTP_RUlOdPUW0KOU1_xcTSfTt-g1BbE0wSryJ0Cyi6J8Zjvs1DVklcgd2D8vF2Wg4rDxItkRU88fRSu61YhlLGvcsvmYJNRcoCjzeOh-cn3usjTDU2CntRITF78tiGStgu1kjHLUQ/w400-h309/keep2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">I definitely appreciated and retained memories of </span><i style="text-align: left;">The Keep,</i><span style="text-align: left;"> though. Michael Mann's 1983 Nazis versus even more malevolent ancient evil tale was another EB Videos rental just like </span><i style="text-align: left;">The Incredible Melting Man</i><span style="text-align: left;"> (in fact, according to memory, they sat alongside each other on the shelf - along with </span><i style="text-align: left;">The Stuff </i><span style="text-align: left;">and </span><i style="text-align: left;">Street Trash</i><span style="text-align: left;">. Likewise, I recall </span><i style="text-align: left;">American Werewolf </i><span style="text-align: left;"> being in the vicinity of </span><i style="text-align: left;">Caravan of Courage: The Ewok Adventure </i><span style="text-align: left;">of all things. Possibly that was the furries special interest shelf).</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, <i>The Keep </i>and its perils that lay within the tomb of Rasalom (or was that 'The Five Doctors'?) has its own review on this here blog, so I won't waffle on about it as anyone interested in my opinions and thoughts on the movie can see that entry <a href="https://psychtronickinematograph.blogspot.com/2018/01/the-keep-michael-mann-1983.html" target="_blank">here</a> . It makes this list mostly for the reason of standing in the video shop and looking at its box art being a particularly strong early memory of mine.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, there we are: my very own hateful eight (I don't hate 'em, I loves 'em) horror films that I gleefully and ghoulishly reveled in and played no small part into making me the gruesome spectre of the macabre with a fascination for film that I am. Wouldn't have it any other way. I'm sure that most of us could recall a litany of the things in our formative years that had an impact on our lives. This one is mine.</div></div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-29913072687708808742021-12-31T06:55:00.001-08:002021-12-31T06:55:14.576-08:00Don't Open Till Christmas (Edmund Purdom, 1984)'Tis the season, as they say. Whover they are.
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As a preface to discussing this little morbid delight, I'd just like to stop, take stock and reminisce (as one is often wont to do at this time of year, 'twixt the Yuletide and the dawning of the new) of the time I almost saw this movie on the big screen. By 'almost', I mean that I was there in the cinema as it unfolded on the silver screen - or at least I was physically present. I don't mean at the time of its original cinematic release, of course: I have no idea how lax cinema staff were in 1984, but I doubt that a four or five year old would have been allowed in. No, I speak of a time about five or six hazy years ago when the Tyneside Cinema was showing it as part of a horror season, and I was showing myself up by going whilst collossally pissed and falling asleep through most of the film. For this rather vulgar display right in the middle of about a decade of pretty solid drunkenness, I'd like to take the time to apologise to anyone who was there at the screening who I may have annoyed by snoring throughout, in particular to Darren Buck who I'd agreed to see the film with and who's evening I probably ruined (soz Daz), and in general to everyone else I've annoyed, alienated and broken friendships with over the past ten or so years. I wish I could make it up to you all.
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Still, now that I'm not drinking, let's have some fun. <i>Don't Open Till Christmas</i> is a classic Dick Randall joint (has anyone ever used that phrase before? If not, why not? Answers on a postcard please) with all that entails - following on the heels of the gloriously sleazy <i>Pieces</i> and possibly upping the exploitation a notch from that lovely little slice of grue, we know we're sure to have a fun time.
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Directed by and starring former and fading fast almost idol Edmund Purdom - who was on a second wind of his career in mainly Italian-based cheapo cinema at this juncture, including gems like Joe D'Amato's <i>Absurd</i>, Sergio Martino's <i>2019: After the Fall of New York</i> and the aforementioned <i>Pieces</i> - this is a tale of a serial killer stalking the mean streets of London's Soho and targeting elderly chaps dresed as jolly old Saint Nick for the festive period. After a rather gripping opening sequence wherein a guy in a Santa suit climbs into a parked vehicle (Marty, it's not like I've never parked before) to let his lady love get to grips with his Yule log only for them both to recieve a stabbing, we get a sort of sub-<i>Halloween II</i> title sequence with a plastic Father Christmas slowly melting to the strains of a severely monged rendition of 'Jingle Bells'. We then cut to a Chrimbo do at which another Santa is offed in front of his distraught daughter Kate Briosky (Belinda Mayne, real life daughter of the legendary Ferdy Mayne and star in her own right, as featured in this, <i>Alien 2: On Earth</i> and the titular Chimeron queen of <i>Doctor Who</i>'s 'Delta and the Bannermen'. That's all I've seen her in anyway - I'm sure she's done other stuff).
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Kate and her street flautist (?) boyfriend Cliff Boyd go to New Scotland Yard's... err... finest, I guess - Chief Inspector Ian Harris (Purdom) and his long-suffering subordinate D.S. Powell (Mark Jones - Keeler from 'The Seeds of Doom'!) to solve the case, as more and more festively-garbed gents are offed in various creative ways such as stabbing, garrotting and shooting right through the gob - possibly the best of which is a toss-up between the genial old horny duffer who meets his unhappy ending in a strip-club wank cubicle whilst talking to the lovely Sherry (Kelly Baker, who's sadly short list of credits includes Randall production <i>Slaughter High</i>, co-directed by this flick's effects supervisor Peter Litten - who never directed a <i>Doctor Who</i> film after all), the drunken Kringle chased by a gang of punk rockers (remember them? I barely do. I think they're extinct now, like glue sniffers and Iguanadons) into the London Dungeon to be terrified and taunted before his ultimate disembowellment, and the stage door Johnny Pere Noel who winds up treading the boards post-mortem as his corpse rises through the stage trapdoor and rather rudely interrupts the divine Caroline Munro (appearing 'as herself') during a storming rendition of 'Warrior of Love'. Bastard.
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Throughout, we have the subplot of Sergeant Powell being contacted by a shady character identifying himself as 'Giles' (Alan Lake, who sadly self-departed this realm before the film's release after the death of his wife, Diana Dors) who continually casts shade on Inspector Harris and gets Powell to doubt his superior's real motives before kidnapping Sherry as a sacrifice and outing himself as not only the real killer but Harris' secret brother, driven mad as a child after witnessing his Santa Daddy (that sounds like it's a real sex thing. It probably is a real sex thing) cheating on and then murdering their mother. Understandable motivation, surely.
Riven by behind the scenes problems such as Purdom quitting as director partway through shooting, being briefly replaced by scriptwriter Derek Ford (who was then fired and replaced by a pseudomymous Alan Birkinshaw) before returning, <i>Don't Open Till Christmas</i> is a bit piecemeal and you can kind of see the joins once you know. Nevertheless, it's great fun for anyone who can find themselves enticed by the lower grade and gruesome. If one harbours a penchant for '80s big hair, that's a bonus. And I, for one, could watch Sherry running up a spiral staircase in her leather miniskirt all day. She could have played Tegan in 'Frontios'. Look, that's just how my brain works, drunk or sober. We'll both have to deal with that.
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Happy New Year.
Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-73989550803818335932021-09-11T06:55:00.001-07:002021-09-11T06:55:30.961-07:00Baffled! (Philip Leacock, 1973)<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaZM0sdBih0dMLLblPIPZGgw5qzJ-IzyZyF3tpruB_7pCCFj2QA5mcUQHvRn_vMor0IEwFr7bNqfZIteFHQPtNDo07kCup6VsFF3ZzhWqeqjjyz0T-SjmVOLk3hcd-DwxjzD4hTJwLKOJ/s460/baffled5.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaZM0sdBih0dMLLblPIPZGgw5qzJ-IzyZyF3tpruB_7pCCFj2QA5mcUQHvRn_vMor0IEwFr7bNqfZIteFHQPtNDo07kCup6VsFF3ZzhWqeqjjyz0T-SjmVOLk3hcd-DwxjzD4hTJwLKOJ/s400/baffled5.jpg"/></a></div>
A while back I scribbled a piece for the rater wonderful website We Are Cult detailing the various projects that <i>Star Trek</i>'s Big Bird Dog of the Galaxy Gene Roddenberry worked on in the 1970s lacuna coil between the demise of TOS ('69, dudes!) and the Trek franchise's silver screen resurrection in the form of Robert Wise's <i>Motion Picture</i> which emerged - just like I did - in 1979.
<a href="https://wearecult.rocks/after-trek-what-roddenberry-did-next-part-one"></a>
<a href="https://wearecult.rocks/after-trek-what-roddenberry-did-next-2"></a>
Whilst mulling over mean Gene's assorted abortive efforts such as <i>Planet Earth</i>, <i>Spectre</i> and <i>The Questor Tapes</i> I chanced upon a non-Roddenberry project that I'd never heard of before, but which starred Mr I Am Not Spock himself Leonard Nimoy. This sweet little obscurity carried the delightfully exclamation pointed title of <i>Baffled!</i> (and anything's better if it ends with a bang), and I made a note to track it down sometime. It may have taken over a year to get round to it, but once I set my mind to something I usually do it. Just not anything resembling immediately or ever soon, on occasion. Look, 2020 was weird for all of us and, frankly, I've had a heap of faeces on my plate since about 2016 so it's been a queer old quinquennial. Don't cry for me, I'm already dead.
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Made, like the others, as a pilot film for a subsequent series that never materialised <i>Baffled!</i> managed to intrigue me when I made a quick scan of its plot details: a man is involved in a car crash and subsequently finds himself subject to psychic visions which draw him into a supernatural web of crime, mayhem and intrigue? My immediate thought was to wonder a young Stephen King might have caught this airing on television and - consciously or not - filed it away in his brain to come back down the line in the form of <i>The Dead Zone</i>. Superficial sounding similarities aside, however, the adventures of Tom Kovack are very different to the trevails of the troubled Johnny Smith (whether one is imagining Walken-flavoured or of the Hall variety).
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Opening with a racecar (palindrome alert!) derby, supposedly taking place in Pennsylvania but shot like the rest of the film in benighted Blighty with standard resident North American actors like Shane Rimmer to add a bit of verisimilitude, we meet racing driver Tom Kovack (Nimoy) hoping to add another win to his current medal-winning lucky streak when strange sounds ("It's Wyndham in Devon, dear" says a woman's voice) and visions(a gravel road leading to a large manor house, a screaming woman) assail his brain and cause him to veer off the track. Surviving the crash miraculously unscathed, Kovack good-naturedly speaks of his psychic experience during a post-race television interview and attracts the attention of watching extra-sensory perception expert Michele Brent (the radiant Susan Hampshire, who had just played the second imcarnation of Elsa the Lioness' mum in <i>Living Free</i>) who immediately gets in touch with him with a view to harnessing his nascent abilities. Demurring at first, Kovack soon has a change of mind that evening when the view from his apartment window suddenly switches from a panorama of nighttime New York City to a daylight perspective of the same Wyndham House in that there Devonshire. After hooking up with the perky Ms Brent, the paranormal pair make their way to ye jolly olde England and book rooms at Wynham House whose owner Mrs Farraday (Rachel Roberts, whose career spanned Karel Reisz' 1960 <i>Saturday Night and Sunday Morning</i> to Fred Walton's seminal '79 thriller <i>When a Stranger Calls</i> before her tragic suicide by self-poisoning a year later) lets rooms at the stately home to summering holidaymakers.
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Also staying there are a motley assemblage including Hollywood actress Andrea Glenn (<i>Psycho</i>'s sleuthing sister Vera Miles) and her teenage daughter Jennifer (Jewel Blanch) who are perplexed at the non-arrival of absent husband and father Mr Duncan Sanford, blustering Italian Mr Verelli (Christopher Benjamin, and if you exclaimed "It's Henry Gordon Jago!" you don't get a prize, but if you said "Potter!" you do) and furtive honeymooning couple George and Peggy Tracewell (Ray Brooks - the boy with <i>The Knack</i> - and OG Demelza Angharad Rees). Also on hand nearby is suspiciously friendly wheelchar-bound pensioner Mrs Louise Sanford (Valerie Taylor, seemingly having a ball giving a dotty and eccentric yet menace-tinged final performance) and a man (Mike Murray) who hangs around the property at twilight having furtive meetings with young Jennifer and claiming to be the father she's never met, furnishing her with a mysterious wolf's-headed amulet which he instructs her to wear secretly without telling her mother of his presence. Soon the occult begins to occur, with young Jenny's behaviour changing from sweet young girl to teen hellion whilst the dowdy Mrs Farraday seems to become younger, more vital and more MILFy cougar keen to get her claws into Kovack with each passing day. When Andrea is poisoned, our dynamic duo find themselves drawn into a kind of cabbalistic <i>Cluedo</i> in a big country house populateed with secretive oddballs with agendas as a truly diabolical scheme unfurls, masterminded by Jenny's fake father - in reality ex-actor, master of disguise and full-time diabolist John Parrish, in a Satanic scheme to transfer life energy and bump of a starlet for her bank balance.
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Energetically directed by Philip Leacock, whose career seems to have mainly been in television on both sides of the Atlantic after a flurry of Forties and Fifties films (including 1956's <i>The Spanish Gardener</i>), <i>Baffled!</i> is an interesting artefact of a programme that never was, though it's easy to imagine Nimoy (clad in his very '70s turtleneck sweater and jacket combo a la <i>In Search Of</i>) and Hampshire embarking on a series of paranormal escapades and spooky whodunnits for at least a season. Certainly a diverting and enjoyable ninety minutes of genre-flavoured fun that bears investigation.Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-2455396707115377812021-04-17T04:42:00.001-07:002021-04-17T04:45:55.945-07:00Freddy's Nightmares: No More Mr Nice Guy (Tobe Hooper, 1988)<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5bt6_7zMlFmhcZn2LlEguaMyS-O6v-NmSN1JdPTRtbQpDj7z_-xPW56kWRCeF6C4nzE7v-YIs4ygrJvNj2HkmfpraFZQvBIxTvsYB_cMVxUlst_qH63FPA9F646Be5Lhpy7tqLO2fJYZL/s1024/freddy_s_nightmares_season_1_vol__1_dvd_cover_by_derrickthebarbaric_d9jc5g9-fullview.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5bt6_7zMlFmhcZn2LlEguaMyS-O6v-NmSN1JdPTRtbQpDj7z_-xPW56kWRCeF6C4nzE7v-YIs4ygrJvNj2HkmfpraFZQvBIxTvsYB_cMVxUlst_qH63FPA9F646Be5Lhpy7tqLO2fJYZL/s400/freddy_s_nightmares_season_1_vol__1_dvd_cover_by_derrickthebarbaric_d9jc5g9-fullview.jpg"/></a></div>
Confessional time: "Father, forgive me, but I never got round to watching <i>Freddy vs Jason</i>.
Blesphemy, of course, especially coming from someone such as myself who grew up excitedly renting each instalment of those respective frachises as they hit the video shop shelves (although actually, it would have been my parents doing the renting. Intensely chillaxed about the age certifications the guy in our local shop could be, I think even he would have balked at renting out<i> Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood</i> and <i>A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master</i> to an exciteable and bloodthirsty nine year old. Maybe).
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Is there a reason I didn't bother with <i>Freddy vs Jason</i> either at the time or in the subsequent intervening years? Well, disillusionment and apathy with both series I suppose. Having found 1994's <i>Wes Craven's New Nightmare</i> interesting but hugely flawed and both previous Voorhees instalments (the 1993 <i>Jason Goes to Hell</i> and 2002's <i>Jason X</i>) shockingly dire I wasn't really in the mood in 2003 - just a year after the spaceborne antics of Jason (wait... Jason Space Bourne?!?) the wounds were too raw for me to contemplate it. And y'know, I was in my early twenties and doing stuff that seemed more interesting at the time. Looking back though, it seems a shame: little kid me would have jumped for joy at the prospect of a meeting between these two titans of terror - like a Bropnze Age version of the Golden Age's <i>Frankenstein meets the Wolf Man</i> or the Silver Age's <i>King Kong vs Godzilla</i>.
So I thought maybe it was time. Also, Katherine Isabelle's in it, which is a good if prurient reason for watching. But I thought I may as well make a thing of it. Why not do a rewatch of both franchises to lead up to finally seeing the team up movie? It's been many a year since I've seen quite a few of 'em, and 2021 is sucking enough balls to encourage ignoring it and jumping into some '80s nostalgia. So let's lacquer our hair up big and hit 88 miles per hour to get back in time!
And so we begin not with a movie, but with a televisial prequel to the <i>Nightmare</i> series courtesy of the opening episode of the short lived <i>Freddy's Nightmares</i> syndicated anthology show wherein the cackling Mr Krueger would act as the Crypt Keeper style horror host introducing each week's tale.
This opening prequel instalment showing the secret origin of Freddy Krueger may have a bit of horror cache by dint of being directed by Tobe Hooper, but we're definitely more in the area of <i>The Mangler</i> Tobe Hooper than <i>Texas Chainsaw</i> (or <i>'Salem's Lot</i> or <i>Poltergeist</i> or <i>Lifeforce</i>) Tobe Hooper. Shot on shiteo (the late '80s US NTSC TV video is crap enough, made worse by the copy I'd obtained by... uh... scrying glass), we blurrily see the pre-trial hearing and subsequent release on a technicality of Springwood's premier paedophile child slayer Mr Fred Krueger and the mandatory "Is this justice?" outraged parent lynch mob - Mrs Lovejoy would be proud: oh, won't somebody think of the children?!? - as they mete out some good ol' fashioned private justice. Obviously, we don't have John Saxon here, so as a stand in we have police Lt. Tim Blocker (Ian Patrick Williams) who moved out of New York to escape the muggers and the rape and the C.H.U.D.s to take his family to the white picket fences and PTA meetings of Springwood only to have his twin daughters Lisa and Merit (the strangely named Gry and Hili Park) almost becoming the latest victims of Freddy.
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Feeling culpable for Freddy's release having not correctly read the villain his rights during his arrest, Blocker at first attempts to talk down the torch-bearing mob of villagers before eventually joining them and taking the lead in dousing Krueger with petrol and burning him alive, as Freddy gleefully laughs and declares that he's "rather burn than fade away!" Obviously, death doesn't quite take and the Springwood slasher soon returns to haunt Blocker in his dreams before driving him to a death via toothache and a dentist's drill-tipped variation on his famous razor glove.
Englund's charisma pretty much single-handedly carries this otherwise pretty insipid instalment, which not only drags under the usual demerits of a prequel (having to hew to a pre-laid out road map and therefore somewhat lacking in surprise) but also the strictures of TV and sluggish direction (barring maybe one pretty effective kill scene). Is it canon? The lack of Saxon's Lt Thompson kind of says no. Maybe we can look on it as a sort of 'What If...?' / 'Elseworlds' sort of semi-sequel. A sidequel.
Christ, I'm overthinking this.Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-38938402014218667112020-12-01T04:19:00.004-08:002020-12-01T04:22:25.718-08:00Constantine: City of Demons - The Movie (Doug Murphy, 2018)<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHeI5Zyml88ttW0zNwEqbtVQS0op8h-xwTeJgnDfCWVQuLb0-aqZjUAqW9tvlSbZxlqtKKQrVDS9LdGOfcnw_b30wW-Q2MRCNvGdoxCgG6zzJWv6HT1-Hl5khHpUhDp4XPuxzQ9mgcTc8/s450/Constantine_City_of_Demons_The_Movie.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHeI5Zyml88ttW0zNwEqbtVQS0op8h-xwTeJgnDfCWVQuLb0-aqZjUAqW9tvlSbZxlqtKKQrVDS9LdGOfcnw_b30wW-Q2MRCNvGdoxCgG6zzJWv6HT1-Hl5khHpUhDp4XPuxzQ9mgcTc8/s320/Constantine_City_of_Demons_The_Movie.jpg"/></a></div>
As an avid comic book reader between the ages of around six and sixteen (after that, oh what a falling off was there... I guess I just drifted away from the whole scene in the mid to late '90s; There was a lot of crap around at the time), one of the best things - in my humble opinion o' course - was the DC Vertigo imprint and it's late '80s precursors. Comics such as <i>Swamp Thing</i>, <i>The Demon</i> ("Etrigaaaan!"), <i>Blue Devil</i>, Neil Gaiman's feted <i>The Sandman</i>, <i>Shade: The Changing Man</i> and others piled up upon my adolescent-to-teen self's shelves alongside other favourites like <i>Web of Spider-Man</i>, <i>Ghost Rider</i> and <i>The Incredible Hulk</i> - but one of the firm faves in the firmament of Vertigo's vertiginous variations was <i>Hellblazer</i>.
Created by comic book/graphic novel (delete as per snobbishness) doyen (I was going to attempt a "doyen of comics"/doyenne du comice joke, but I think i've been found guilty of more than enough misfiring gags over the years, so we'll leave that particular partridge in a pear tree alone) and full-time maniac Alan Moore during his legendary run on <i>Swamp Thing</i>, the character of John Constantine soon span-off into his own title: a daemonic noir saga of the trenchcoat-clad investigator transplanted to the rainswept concrete mise en scene of Thatcher's late Nineteen-Haties Britain and tackling less the standard gumshoe tropes of marital intrigue and petty murder and more the extrusions into our dimension of primal evil forces from the Outer realms. Which is pretty cool work if you can get it. With a litany of writers over the years including, but not limited to: Moore, Garth Ennis, Grant Morrison and Neil Gaiman and artists numbering among them John Ridgway, Simon Bisley and Dave McKean, <i>Hellblazer</i> was a spellbinding and spell-casting monthly addiction for young me and quite possibly shaped my tastes/warped my fragile young mind (again, delete as per opinion). The character of Constantine - cool, shifty, and dangerous to know - was visually modelled upon Gordon Sumner aka Sting (of not very good songs and Dune's "I WILL KILL YOU!" fame) and his iconic spiked hair and long trenchcoat possibly contributed to my squee-ing when David Tennant was unveiled as the new Doctor Who in late 2005 and had opted to portray another fantasy hero of mine with spiked hair and a long trenchcoat. Shame that he opted to play it with an Estuary accent. If he had to forsake his native Paisley, why not a Scouse twang? It didn't go wrong for Paul McGann.
Still, we have Matt Ryan these days, so all is right with the world. (No, of <i>course</i> Keanu Reeves doesn't count. Tilda Swinton ws the only thing even remotely of interest in that non-canon abortion of a film [which is almost exactly what I thought about the <i>Suspiria</i> remake, to a slightly less vehement and venomous extent. At least that film had the grace to do something interesting with its source material]).
Oh, on a slight <i>Doctor Who</i> note: as a child it irritated me to look up the titles of previous Who stories and note that there were two stories titled 'The Seeds of Death' and 'The Seeds of Doom' respectively. The similar-but-different dissonance betwixt the twain irked me. Similarly, the redolence of the titles of <i>Hellblazer</i> and Clive Barker's horror franchise <i>Hellraiser</i> got on my nerves, especially when Marvel's Epic imprint began a series of <i>Hellraiser</i> comics that could be found right next to <i>Hellblazer</i> on the alphabetically-arranged shelves of comic stores. If anyone was ever in the Newcastle branch of Forbidden Planet circa 1992 and saw a twelve or thirteen year old boy standing with a comic book in each hand and a scowl upon his face, consider the conundrum of a couple of decades confirmed. Apologies: I can't help having always been an anal fan. By which I mean both a fan who is anal, and also a fan of...
Anyway. Let's get on with the review, shall we?
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When NBC commissioned the sadly short-lived (only thirteen episodes, we hardly got to know and love thee: though thirteen's a good occult number I suppose) <i>Constantine</i> TV series in 2014 starring Matt Ryan as the eldritch sleuth things seemed to be looking up only to be foiled by network cancellation. Our hero, however, transcended the axe of death and appeared in the CW's <i>Arrow</i> before becoming a fixture in the Arrowverse as a permanent crewmember of the Waverider in the delightfully unhinged <i>Legends of Tomorrow</i>, as well as transferring to animated form (still voiced by Ryan) firstly in <i>Justice League Dark</i> and then in the web series <i>City of Demons</i>, later re-edited into a full length feature.
When Constantine is contacted by his old cab-driving pal Chas Chandler (Damien O'Hare taking on voicing duties of the character named after the bass player of Newcastle's own The Animals - my ma was asked out on a date by the real Chas, she reckons. That's my rock 'n' roll claim to fame) after many years with the news that his young daughter Trish has suddenly lapsed into an inexplicable coma - driving his marriage with wife Renee (Emily O'Brien) onto the rocks - John feels the need, weighted mostly by guilt, to try to help. Attending the hospital bedside of the insensate child he summons the aid ("I'm calling in a specialist") of the Nightmare Nurse Asa the Healer (Laura Bailey) - a demon who takes on the rather fetching form of an alluring fetish nurse replete with PVC uniform. Which is nice.
(I now have Genesis' 'Here Comes the Supernatural Anaesthetist' stuck in my head for reasons unknown - which is slightly less nice)
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With their only lead being the address of '1247 Enstrom, L.A.' Johny and Chas leave Trish and Renee in the hands of Asa who vows to guard the soulless Trish from any malevolent spirits or demons who might try to inhabit her shell, and take the night flight to sunny California where they spot news headlines of a 'coma plague' spreading through Los Angeles as more and more people are being mysteriously stricken. Making their way to the address, they find a mansion wherat they are greeted at the door by a pig butler (I've always wanted a monkey butler myself) who quotes Dracula's "Enter freely of your own will" before amusedly chuntering "I've always wanted to say that". Entering the enchanted edifice, Constantine meets the demon Beroul (Jim Meskimen) - a hellspawn crossbreed of Sydney Greenstreet and Zero the Hutt who admits to being responsible for the wave of comas and taking the souls of its victims inclusing Trish, and seeks to make a deal with our Scouser warlock in exchange for the child's essence. Leaving Beroul's ghoulish pool - a literal swimming pool filled with dismembered body parts - they make their way through the house to the ballroom wherein the demon has arranged a musical soiree: humans being tortured and their essences torn from them to the sound of music played by a band straight from Pandaemonium itself. Some call it witchcore.
Agreeing to the terms of the demon who he unflatteringly but accurately refers to as 'Mr Blobby' - that is, to eliminate five demons Beroul sees as rivals to his scheme of reaping the souls of the city - Constantine informs Chas that Trish and the other comatose patients' "souls are fuelling the engine of Beroul's magic, like batteries" and that the deal must be fulfilled quickly. This arrangement is, however, like many a devil's bargain not all as it seems: for 'Beroul' is but a skin suit ("a convenient mask") for the high demon Nergal - Constantine's nemesis who was summoned fifteen years prior in a Satanic ritual in the basement of Newcastle upon Tyne's Casanova Club. This Luciferian liturgy 'neath a Geardie goth den resulted in the young child Astra Logue being taken into the bowels of hell by the beasts of Nergal, an event which sent Constantine to an asylum in Ravenscar and set him on his path of magical warfare against the darkness.
After being mysteriously guided to Guadalupe's Bar, John makes an intimate encounter with a seductive being named 'Angela' (Rachel Kimsey), the self-titled Queen of Angels and living embodiment of the psyche of the city itself who asks for his help against Nergal but has in fact made a pact with him and is willing to allow his schemes so long as the five competitor demons are slain. Constantine finds himself having to summon the aid of Mictlantecuhtli (Rick D. Wasserman), the Aztec death god, as part of a stratagem to wipe out the daemonic quintet before having to make a huge sacrifice in order to free Trish's soul from Nergal's clutches. I don't want to go too in depth with spoilers or anything - I highly recommend that anyone interested in the character and/or subject matter check it out themselves. For a comic company who've spent years floundering behind Marvel on the live action big screen, DC have been working absolute wonders in the animated medium. This is another good 'un.
In summation - much better and far less disappointing than <i>Penny Dreadful: City of Angels</i> as far as franchise revisits go.Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-15583212659989803542020-09-21T07:29:00.000-07:002020-09-21T07:29:11.935-07:00King of the Rocket Men, Chapters Ten to Twelve (Fred C. Brannon, 1949)<p> <b><i>Chapter Ten: The Deadly Fog</i></b></p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyAtV1wb1m_ZIbRFwJml_V0QNE1Ai9gVlFubbna7KktKzR006QIw_aWFSoxY7gvmYIirEN_YMQj0yX6PFQtmKEDvwGEdQO29ee7YhYKUFCTLdMeV3coO27GVCS2d5ZYsl8k1cKT3UgLU6/s1280/king1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyAtV1wb1m_ZIbRFwJml_V0QNE1Ai9gVlFubbna7KktKzR006QIw_aWFSoxY7gvmYIirEN_YMQj0yX6PFQtmKEDvwGEdQO29ee7YhYKUFCTLdMeV3coO27GVCS2d5ZYsl8k1cKT3UgLU6/w400-h300/king1.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></div><p>...and we get another turn by our old friend the reprise reprieve, as the recap shows us that as Rocket Man shuttles into Durken's decimator death trap, he regains his consciousness and footing enough to leap to safety between Durken taking a dive and the bomb-clock striking ten and taking the truck to bits. I know it's a trope I need to deal with and get over, but grrrr.</p><p></p><p>Shrugging off his umpteenth near death experience, Jeff abandons pursuit of the three fugitives (say, that would make a good name for a movie!) and junior birdmans his way back to the cave lab, whereupon he's surprised mid-unmaking by Burt; the wary PR guru making a very gee-whiz "So you were the Rocket Man all the time!" exclamation upon discovering confirmation of the totally bleeding obvious. Jeff decides to fill Winslow in, prompting a clip show flashback montage from previous chapters of the serial. This is very much 'The One With The Backstory Of Rocket Man' in <i>Friends </i>parlance, King providing brief bits of narration over the older footage and prompting variations of "So <i>that's </i>what happened!" from Burt as he's gradually brought up to speed. Practical and probably necessary as a glimpsed once to probably never be seen again part of a thirteen-week run in the pre-video age, but not the best episode to sit through when watching the serial in quicker succession.</p><p>The duo do though come to the conclusion that Dr Vulcan is definitely a choice between Professor Bryant (I. Stanford Jolley) and Dr Graffner (Marshall Bradford), and that the villain has been seated at their conference table alongside them the whole time, being part of all their top secret discussions and planning. Realising that either of their eminent suspects is more than capable of shielding the thromium waves of the decimator and therefore making it impossible to track, they know that time is of the essence in capturing the real Vulcan before he can utilise the device. Meanwhile, the sinister Vulcan plots in the shadows and informs Durken that he plans to deal with Jeff King once and for all and has to this end arranged for King to take a trip into town on a decoy rendezvous. As King takes a taxi for his appointment at the Oasis Hotel with Professor Moore on"a matter of vital importance" the cab driver henchman leaps from the moving vehicle, leaving King locked inside as Vulcan taunts him via the radio speaker that he is guiding the car via remote control - as the car fills with clouds of gas - on Jeff's "last ride" and that "even the Rocket Man cannot help you now"...</p><p><b><i>Chapter Eleven: Secret of Dr Vulcan</i></b></p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDum4YacsllXes5-m80A8nhkCX18SywQrYKjGFyVvBGFEvwUhJeJ4oM7uNzw0mYczKw2zt8UCuuYdmwEnnNkMGcASjWyc-_Hp-eVqgZ9cVEybgor8DhR-gZLoA4S0LudbDwfXF8lxh-JJs/s800/king2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="800" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDum4YacsllXes5-m80A8nhkCX18SywQrYKjGFyVvBGFEvwUhJeJ4oM7uNzw0mYczKw2zt8UCuuYdmwEnnNkMGcASjWyc-_Hp-eVqgZ9cVEybgor8DhR-gZLoA4S0LudbDwfXF8lxh-JJs/w400-h281/king2.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></div><p><br /></p>...and the reprise reprieve strikes yet again, as we are shown this time how after Jeff had turned down an offer from Glenda and Burt to drive him to his destination Ms Thomas had glanced back to see the cab driver's dive and the pair raced back to their car to take off in hot pursuit of the hackney cab of death. As the fumes consume Jeff to his doom, Glenda pulls her car alongside the taxi long enough for burly Burt to take the leap between moving vehicles, gain access to the driver's seat and pull over. As the gasping and coughing King is pulled from the "gas chamber on wheels" as Glenda so colourfully puts it, the consternated Vulcan and Durken watch on as Jeff asserts that their cunning opponent may have finally overplayed his hand - he recognised the smell of the gas as Fuminol: a rocket fuel that will lead them to whomever placed an order for the substance and thus trace Dr Vulcan. Durken is duly dispatched by his dire director to the Hunter Chemicals factory in order to get there before the heroic trio and destroy all records of the Fuminol purchase order.<p></p><p>As Jeff, Glenda and Burt arrive at the Hunter plant, they are just in the nick of time to catch Durken and a confederate about to leave - leading to the regulation two-fisted punch up that quickly becomes a gunfight. In the yards of a chemical plant, firing bullets from behind and towards various crates and canisters. man, these guys really are harbouring a wish for self-immolation. Good thing Glenda decided to stay in the safety of her car.</p><p>Realising that they can't make it back to their own getaway car, Durken and his henchdude decide to hijack the nearest truck and make a break for it with an uninvited passenger as Burt makes his second heroic traffic leap of the day and boards the back of the lorry as the villains pull away and leaving Jeff and Glenda to resort to a vehicular pursuit. As they race to catch up, though, Burt is swiftly overpowered and Durken lights the incriminating purchase papers on fire before untrussing the canvas roof of the truck so that it flies off in the window and blows onto the windscreen of Glenda's car - blinding her and King and causing the car to veer over the side of the road and into the river below...</p><p>...and just when I'm about to sigh and moan about yet another cliffhanger followed by a "but you didn't see this!" resolution, that isn't the end of the episode, and we see King and Ms Thomas swimming to the surface and safety. Elsewhere, Vulcan receives the glad tidings that the papers have been disposed of, but also the news that his lackeys have Burt Winslow captive. Spurning the request that Burt be dispatched, Vulcan seems delighted and remarks that he could be of great use as live bait for King, and contacts Jeff with the offer of a meeting if he values his friend's life. Placing the hog-tied and gagged Burt in a room, the door of which his been rigged with machinery to deliver a massive volt shocking surprise to anyone who enters via that portal, Vulcan and his goons await King's arrival. But Jeff has donned the rocket suit in order to jet to the assignation early, and enters in through the window (intruder window!) to be confronted by the villain face to face. As Bryant gloats that he took the name of Vulcan to symbolise his dreams of conquest through "the power of steel" he forces our hero at gunpoint back towards the electrified entrance... </p><p><b><i>Last Chapter: Wave of Disaster</i></b></p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7O8KhC7YuMW6C1d7KuXXIUSc7tSEkXOjy9-eXhrSbFL5oryqmXY2nK3kQMgdvCbyKL4ggW3g5mjIpD6pVMuCRUYZldiPz-KY7ychDiZRiQetE0r1qhVbvJKJdQw68L-0gFEpPc2eEpIi9/s2048/king3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1584" data-original-width="2048" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7O8KhC7YuMW6C1d7KuXXIUSc7tSEkXOjy9-eXhrSbFL5oryqmXY2nK3kQMgdvCbyKL4ggW3g5mjIpD6pVMuCRUYZldiPz-KY7ychDiZRiQetE0r1qhVbvJKJdQw68L-0gFEpPc2eEpIi9/w400-h310/king3.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></div><p><br /></p>...and just as he is about to step between the electrical arc machines, Burt manages to use his freed feet to kick the unnamed (his shirt may even be red for the all the monochrome film tells me) co-henchmen straight past him into the sparks of death, allowing him to leap to safety. Untying Burt as Vulcan and Durken flee the scene, Jeff determines to alert the authorities as to Bryant's identity and get them to put out a dragnet (<i>Dunn-de-dun-dun</i> - just the facts, ma'am) and Burt informs him that he overheard their plans to utilise the decimator in some fantastical supervillain extortion plot involving the city of New York. Ransacking the place, they find a receipt for a plane ticket bought by Bryant direct to the city that never sleeps and fear that they may already be too late.<p></p><p>Repairing to Science Associates' administration building, the pair along with Glenda discover that the diabolical duo took off in a small plane heading for the Big Apple, and determine that the authorities there must be warned, and that they might just make it there ahead of the villains using an airliner. Soaring into NYC, they convince the chairman of the civil defence committee to heed their dire warnings about a weapon that can reduce mountains of stone into running rivers of molten lava just as Dr Vulcan's ransom demand over the city for <i>one beellion dollars </i>(honestly, post-<i>Austin Powers</i>, is there any other way to be able to hear a line like that?) arrives. Refusing to give in to the blackmail demands of a madman, the councilman determines to wield the entire police force to discover Vulcan's lair.</p><p>Landing on his secret hideaway on Fisherman's Island, 300 miles out from New York harbour, Bryant/Vulcan trains the decimator upon the undersea geological faultline between the island and the city, ready to unleash the molten fury of the ocean bed if his demand is not met by 2 P.M. As time ticks, the police sweep of the city has failed to find any trace and - his ransom unpaid - Vulcan fires the device. As the resultant underwater earthquake sends a tsunami rolling inland, the panicking authorities order an emergency evacuation of the city, directing the fleeing inhabitants to head to the Westchester hills. As the incoming wave of destruction causes first the shoreline and then the city's mighty skyscrapers to buckle and fall in an impressive model effects sequence*, Jeff determines Vulcan's likely location upon the island and dons the rocket pack to jet there ahead of the fleet of bomber planes dispatched in a last-ditch attempt to destroy the decimating device. Taking out first the villains and then the machine (with his trusty ray gun), King takes off again just in time as Vulcan's lair is blown to smithereens and flies from the exploding wreckage back towards the major city whose shoreline and skyline has, like the sky that Ben E. King looked upon, crumbled and fallen into the sea. Which is a bit bleak, really. </p><p>*A note on the NYC destruction sequences: this was footage originally filmed back in 1933 for the Pre-Code RKO disaster film <i>Deluge. </i>Republic had purchased the footage (not the entire movie, just the model effects sequences) for use in their own works, and the scenes were incorporated into the self-explanatory 1939 movie <i>S.O.S. Tidal Wave</i> as well as the 1941 serial <i>Dick Tracy vs Crime Inc</i><b style="font-style: italic;"> </b>and eventually this serial. Not many years later, <i>Deluge </i>was considered a lost film and these effects sequences were all that remained. Happily though for those of us who mourn the very existence of the concept of lost films, an Italian-dubbed print of the picture was discovered in the 1980s in the basement of a house belonging to Italian exploitation film director Luigi Cozzi. The subsequent subtitled re-release would have been marvel enough, but as recently as 2016 a nitrate negative of the film with its original English language soundtrack was located in France and the movie was fully restored and released the following year. Now there's a happy ending. </p>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-77854815082316841292020-08-30T05:00:00.004-07:002020-08-30T05:01:36.982-07:00The Fantastic Four (Oley Sassone, 1994)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK74EFYzQ6snHxDJZoVUhq8hOBXCZ5DKLgcRSLtDcNjqRxW_1EuAJiuIi2yvH2qtHEQ9Rsl3JUwacUzsDpyy9K980g2Z59H1hsJ5lMMDyMUlFQcA7Zzn7yOWg8nDPbn3BqyW9WBHIq8INx/s2048/fanfour1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1329" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK74EFYzQ6snHxDJZoVUhq8hOBXCZ5DKLgcRSLtDcNjqRxW_1EuAJiuIi2yvH2qtHEQ9Rsl3JUwacUzsDpyy9K980g2Z59H1hsJ5lMMDyMUlFQcA7Zzn7yOWg8nDPbn3BqyW9WBHIq8INx/s640/fanfour1.jpg" /></a></div><div>Marty Langford's <i>Doomed!: The Untold Story of Roger Corman's The Fantastic Four </i>is a fascinating documentary that gives a glimpse into the behind the scenes shenanigans and Machiavellian escapades that can bury a motion picture - much to the understandable chagrin of all the people (both cast and crew) who put the hard work and time into creating a film that would be sabotaged by higher-ups sucking on the schlong of Mammon.</div><div>When German producer Bernd Eichinger, head of New Constantin Films, acquired the rights from marvel Comics to make a movie of <i>The Fantastic Four</i><u style="font-style: italic;">,</u> he had until the end of 1992 to begin physical production before his option on the property lapsed. Hurriedly shopping the project around some of the cheaper/lower-end studios such as Lloyd Kaufman's Troma (Kaufman ultimately balking at the thought of the fan uproar at anything they'd be able to put out for the stipulated co-production budget of $1 million) before reaching a deal with the legendarily able to put out a film with a weekend and some spare change Roger Corman of Concorde/New Horizons. A similar situation was simultaneously unfurling across the pond, where Peter Litten and George Dugdale were frantically trying to get production started on their long-gestating <i>Doctor Who </i>film (their production house going through various name changes from Coast-to-Coast to Green Light to God knows what between 1988 and 1994) before the rights reverted to the BBC. Unlike Litten & Dugdale, who were unable to make the prescribed start of filming date, Corman's low budget powerhouse managed to get a draft script written, undertake a frantic casting process and assemble a crew by cut-off point of December 1992; the main shoot would be over before the end of January 1993 with only a very brief break for Christmas.</div><div><br /></div><div>Director Oley Sassone had previously shot music videos for acts such as Bruce Hornsby and the Range, Juice Newton, Wang Chung and Mr Mister (including the classic [sic] 'Broken Wings') before helming his debut feature with 1992's <i>Bloodfist III: Forced to Fight </i>starring kickboxing champ Don 'The Dragon' Wilson and <i>Shaft </i>himself Richard Roundtree.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Aehytq1zx86wHYoL585UFzP24uDtPBVInqaLioidcwEywpVIKpoibaeJUT9dHtLNaFy8PWnVfvgvfEOnKKd9pcJxxFhFl522yWY_i3vvLAv41GCO_nNFv93lFNralJycVtWoeCnkSGzg/s720/fanfour.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Aehytq1zx86wHYoL585UFzP24uDtPBVInqaLioidcwEywpVIKpoibaeJUT9dHtLNaFy8PWnVfvgvfEOnKKd9pcJxxFhFl522yWY_i3vvLAv41GCO_nNFv93lFNralJycVtWoeCnkSGzg/w512-h384/fanfour.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><div>Starring Alex Hyde-White (the time travelling star of the 1986 classic <i>Biggles: Adventures in Time</i>) as Reed Richards, Rebecca Staab (who has a long list of credits, but who I best know as the ill-fated Daphne Collins in the early '90s re-version of Dan Curtis' goth opera <i>Dark Shadows</i> [on the subject of which: RIP Barnabas Mk II Ben Cross; you were also great as Other Sarek in the 2009 <i>Star Trek </i>and Other Running Bloke in <i>Chariots of Fire</i>) as Susan Storm, Jay Underwood (the titular <i>Boy Who Could Fly</i> from the '80s) as Johnny "Flame On!" Storm and Michael Bailey Smith (who would inherit the role of the cannibalistic Pluto from pop-eyed icon Michael Berryman for the 2006 remake of <i>The Hills Have Eyes</i>) as Ben Grimm, the film charts the youthful university-set exploits of science boffin Richards and his best frenemy and rival Victor von Doom (Joseph Culp, son of veteran thesp Robert Culp) as they strive to capture and harness the energy of a spacial phenomenon known as Colossus ("A radioactive comet-like energy source travelling in ten-year orbits", as their professor played by George Gaynes - <i>Police Academy</i>'s Commandant Lassard himself - puts it).</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7axm-4ucyWGAq3qSZbca9MQ2kHH9QzL7gCHUX7td3cahQDbbXst6v1IJ3ERqSD8axl3Am77BCsNyqdK9JRRAOqO1v_oHncInHQXjefotm9l9137g_lRSjJzCJ08n6dc1uGhXkVcF11uXZ/s350/Doom.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7axm-4ucyWGAq3qSZbca9MQ2kHH9QzL7gCHUX7td3cahQDbbXst6v1IJ3ERqSD8axl3Am77BCsNyqdK9JRRAOqO1v_oHncInHQXjefotm9l9137g_lRSjJzCJ08n6dc1uGhXkVcF11uXZ/s0/Doom.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div>When the attempt goes haywire causing Victor to absorb a ..uh... colossal amount of mysterious space radiation that also burns him into a human cinder and his 'remains' go missing from the hospital morgue - spirited away by his Latverian henchmen and rebuilt inside a metallic armoured suit as the throne-dwelling supervillain Doctor Doom - Reed devotes the next decade to re-enacting the experiment and getting it right in the name of the friend he believes to have perished. Deciding this time to go to Colossus rather than trying to siphon its energies Earthward, Richards takes his three-man, one-woman crew on a shuttle ride into orbit where all four of them find themselves bathed in the strange radiation. Reed becomes the super-elasticated Mr Fantastic, Sue the Invisible Woman with the abilities to vanish and generate unseen force fields, Johnny the pyrokinetic propensity to become a twisted firestarter and turn into an anthropomorphic flame named the Human Torch, and Ben is transformed into the monstrous craggy rock hominid the Thing (Carl Ciarfalio in an animatronic suit that's not half bad for the era and budget - it's features are certainly expressive and it's actually a physical presence rather than today's CGI).</div><div><br /></div><div>Using their new-found powers, the team must stay together in order to battle not only the megalomaniac plots of Doom (Culp giving a splendidly melodramatic performance that projects to the back row through the inexpressive metal mask) but also the mole man-like Jeweler (Ian Trigger, like a stunted cross betwixt Leprechaun and Freddy Krueger) and his abduction designs upon Ben's blind sculptress girlfriend Alicia Masters (Kat Green). Let's say it all together: <i><u>"IT'S CLOBBERIN' TIME!"</u></i></div><div><i><u><br /></u></i></div><div>Indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGhSP2JQApZQNGtZNF6N6lFFCUR72wgfDCKVk0p1sqiO1tgzi8AEvHml0LwtDFKlUA3Ili8ogta6yOHmeyumEeF1kmM4xihJ8dxAItqF9iukAHAG7xZpSa2qD2TRzfz9n61OFENzWtUZb/s1024/fanfour4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGhSP2JQApZQNGtZNF6N6lFFCUR72wgfDCKVk0p1sqiO1tgzi8AEvHml0LwtDFKlUA3Ili8ogta6yOHmeyumEeF1kmM4xihJ8dxAItqF9iukAHAG7xZpSa2qD2TRzfz9n61OFENzWtUZb/w512-h341/fanfour4.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><div>The hard work was to be undone by Marvel movie honcho Avi Arad and executive producer Bernd Eichinger, who made a deal over the heads of the production team to cease and desist all publicity and bury the flick in favour of doing multi-million bucks business with Twentieth Century Fox and Chris Columbus. The cast, led by Hyde-White, had been doing rounds of publicity on the convention circuits on their own dime when the edict came down from above to stop and the anticipated premiere at the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota was promptly cancelled. The finished prints of the film - which had only been completed by Sassone and editor Glenn Garland sneakily completing the editing themselves whilst working on a subsequent project - were seized (Sassone and Garlnd's illicit night time torchlit prowl around the production facility to try and grab the reels before they vanished being too late and finding them already gone) and presumably languish somewhere deep in the Fox vault, <i>Wicker Man</i>-reminiscent rumours of the cans being buried somewhere in Kentucky persisting.</div><div><br /></div><div>Their devious deal done, Fox and Eichinger would take just over a decade to put out their preferred version of the film, that thing with Jessica Alba as Sue and the bloke from <i>Nip/Tuck </i>as Doom that cost a hundred times more and is a tenth as enjoyable, and after the sequel to that effort the property would be rebooted once again in the absolutely disastrous 2015 omnifuckery hallucinated by Josh Trank.</div><div><br /></div><div>It may be a low bar to vault, but of the four (to date) Fantastic Four movies, the early '90s flick is by far the most enjoyable and the one most faithful to the spirit of the Lee and Kirby comics. For my money, anyway. Hopefully one day some coke-addled exec will see a flash of sense and get the negatives dusted down and cleaned up. With luck, they can involve the still-enthusiastic Sassone and maybe spruce up the edits, effects and vocal dubs to the standard that they always should have been. Get it out there. It's doing nobody any good mouldering in a vault. I can buy the Reb Brown <i>Captain America </i>films and the Peter Hooten <i>Dr Strange, </i>why can't I see this?</div><div><br /></div><div>Sod Tim Story, and definitely sod Trank.</div><div><br /></div><div>#ReleaseTheSassoneCut</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoiCD8y7q4o8l-Dl6_yYrf7WhVN81oHldOYYG74pQ_fvNuyiAuSmjGlcDhZ7OUFQHg_ccgJNEm096qrmC9UH6-TUxlqFACcj2_Nt-XqqEL458-XqfY_8Vw1kmPzv0Dk9h9khYzEzA2Iuu/s1300/fanfour3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="1300" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoiCD8y7q4o8l-Dl6_yYrf7WhVN81oHldOYYG74pQ_fvNuyiAuSmjGlcDhZ7OUFQHg_ccgJNEm096qrmC9UH6-TUxlqFACcj2_Nt-XqqEL458-XqfY_8Vw1kmPzv0Dk9h9khYzEzA2Iuu/w512-h288/fanfour3.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-6113801018042038752020-08-12T00:58:00.004-07:002020-08-12T00:58:49.690-07:00Werewolf (David Hemmings, 1987)<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitdAs2Q0ztHz6hYT-Dhw-zvdqDqNRGSVIzbAhOQuG_ErIoffz_bhNKlFz62XMF2VnFCpA8J-1_6UPFSP_k-ylHMW7cUYYymzjeeW0NP4fsS_vvi38LBAF6k0JQ21qeUTlwOHCG-T-WdHYG/s320/Werewolf-show.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitdAs2Q0ztHz6hYT-Dhw-zvdqDqNRGSVIzbAhOQuG_ErIoffz_bhNKlFz62XMF2VnFCpA8J-1_6UPFSP_k-ylHMW7cUYYymzjeeW0NP4fsS_vvi38LBAF6k0JQ21qeUTlwOHCG-T-WdHYG/w400-h300/Werewolf-show.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>"There are two kinds of people in this world: those who believe in flying saucers, and those who don't."</i></div><div><br /></div>The video age of the 1980s and early '90s was a great time to grow up as a fan of horror, fantasy, and science fiction movies. The ongoing sagas of the<i> Friday the 13th</i>,<i> Nightmare on Elm Street</i>, <i>Halloween</i>, <i>Howling</i> and <i>Hellraiser</i> series were a constant stream of fear and thrills for one thing, and now and then another thing would pop up unexpectedly (and I don't just mean my private parts whilst on public transport, though I did have to carry my rucksack in front of me a lot in my early hormonal teens). Way back in the hazy mists of the late Nineteen Haties, I embarked upon my usual crusade to the video shop (how arcane!) and espied a cover entitled merely <i>Werewolf.</i> As one of my favourite films as a child was John Landis' <i>An American Werewolf in London</i> (my parents had a strange attitude towards what constituted appropriate viewing for a five year old), and i'd seen Joe Dante's <i>The Howling</i> as well as stuff like the Stephen King adaptation <i>Silver Bullet</i>, another lycanthropic legend seemed logical. Also, the fact that the font in which the title was emblazoned on the cover was quite like the recently-released (we're talking 1990, here, I was only ten or eleven) Patrick Swayze vehicle <i>Ghost </i>made me think that perhaps this was part of a franchise - maybe there would be a movie next year called <i>Vampire</i> with similarly elongated lettering upon it's frontage.<br />
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I had no idea that I was watching anything other than a movie, rather than the pilot episode of a TV series - helmed by David Hemmings, former star of Antonioni's <i>Blow Up </i>(1966) and Argento's <i>Profundo Rosso / Deep Red</i> (1975), turned director of many a television piece from <i>Follyfoot</i> (1973) to <i>Quantum Leap</i> (1989-1993) - but it worked in of itself, much like the pilot movie of the Bill Bixby <i>The Incredible Hulk</i> (1978-1982), and it would appear on first glance the subsequent series would share many similarities.</div><div><br /></div><div>Created and written by the rather appropriately-named Frank Lupo (ex of <i>The A-Team</i>), our story begins in the very Eighties locale of the <i>Fantasia</i> nightclub wherein the big haired and rolled-up sleeves clientele are boogieing the night away to 'Silent Running' by Mike and the Mechanics when an even scarier presence is wending its way between them. From a subjective tracking camera P.O.V. shot we see the killer as he eyes up his prospective victims, as it flashes between normal vision and a sort of werewolf-vision; less the thick red filter of <i>Legend of the Werewolf</i>'s werewolf-cam and closer to a hazy heat-seeking <i>Predator</i>. As the unseen lycanthrope scopes out the bar, we are treated to our first sighting of his hand - the palm cross-crossed with scar tissue in the form of a five-pointed star, a pentagram which quickly begins to bleed (don't pick at your scabs, kids). Outside in the car park at midnight (that should be the title of something), a yuppie couple wend their loved-up way to their overpriced rollerskate of a vehicle to head back home for some doubtless coke-fuelled lovin' when our wolfman, now transformed and in the mood for some carnivorous lunar activities, decided to make three a crowd and tears both them and their car asunder.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning, we flash to the lifestyles of the rich and idle as we are introduced to our protagonist Eric Cord (U.S. soap opera veteran John J. York a.k.a. Mac Scorpio), who since being orphaned at a young age has been living with the well to do Nichols family and spends most of his free time lounging in their swimming pool and pursuing the lovely Kelly (Michelle Johnson, who would soon after star in Anthony Hickox' 1988 <i>Waxwork</i>, and go on to co-star in <i>Dr Giggles </i>and <i>Death Becomes Her</i>), sister of his best friend and also sort of semi-adopted sister. Incest for the wincest! Not eager to inform Mr Nichols that he's knocking boots with his precious daughter, Eric ducks out of staying for dinner to head off to the flat he now shares with Kelly's brother Ted (keep it in the family, yeah?) and heads there in his roll-top convertible as evening falls listening to Timbuk 3's '(The Future's So Bright) I Gotta Wear Shades'. Because it is the 1980s. Arriving to find all the lights off in the apartment and Ted (a brilliantly nervous and twitchy performance from Raphael Sbarge) sitting in the darkness loading a revolver, Eric is understandably a bit worried and perplexed. Begging his friend to tie his to a chair and keep him from leaving before midnight, Ted explains that the gun contains silver bullets and that not only is he a werewolf and responsible for the recent spate of killings in town, but that he wants Eric to kill him - something that he insists to his incredulous pal that he will be willing to do once he sees what he becomes.</div><div><br /></div><div>As time ticks past, the restrained Ted tells his tale: that when working a summer job on a trawler for a Captain Janos Skorzeny (a nice reference there for the genre conversant - that being the name of the vampire villain of the 1972 Kolchak pilot movie <i>The Night Stalker</i>) he was attacked by a strange animal when heading homeward at night through the docks: </div><div><br /></div><div><i>"I'm seeing these eyes - these yellow... demon</i><i> eyes."</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWIGj7x4JGL8QzAxGTf42r2VFGzdqszI_UfDnW3_eLnmNb3Qp1ppSHbIGseEsfQXpvaEu5aJjEkc3lYeJhGSR6V5WV5Hp9T5itKfzSh2B52AythG9DumOiYc7v-IOyh57BNtTmvLnQ9p9/s500/416full-werewolf----------------------------------%25281987--1988%2529-photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWIGj7x4JGL8QzAxGTf42r2VFGzdqszI_UfDnW3_eLnmNb3Qp1ppSHbIGseEsfQXpvaEu5aJjEkc3lYeJhGSR6V5WV5Hp9T5itKfzSh2B52AythG9DumOiYc7v-IOyh57BNtTmvLnQ9p9/s0/416full-werewolf----------------------------------%25281987--1988%2529-photo.jpg" /></a></div><i><br /></i></div><div>After recovering from the creature's assault, Ted has slowly come to understand what he now is and - having failed to trace the wolf that bit him, the originator of the lycanthropic bloodline - has resorted to ending it all. Eric obviously doesn't believe a word of this, but round midnight (Miles Davis title drop!) something comes over brother Theodore and a startling metamorphosis occurs. Splitting out of his clothing Hulk-style and easily shredding the ties that bind him, Ted his now a huge bear-sized bipedal wolf that attacks his roommate and Eric, after sustaining a gnawing lovebite on the shoulder, gives in to the dying wish for suicide by friend (as opposed to cop) and uses the silver bullets. When the commotion brings the neighbours from the adjoining apartments inquiring, the sight of a bloodstained Eric holding a gun and his naked deceased flatmate sprawled on the floor are obviously grounds for suspicion and the injured party finds himself under arrest for murder. </div><div><br /></div><div>After suffering some <i>American Werewolf</i>-style hallucinatory nightmares in his hospital bed, Cord is convinced that he is now the bearer of the curse. Even though his slaying of her brother has obviously damaged the already awkward relationship with Kelly and her father, she comes to Eric - who has managed to secure bail thanks to an aggravatingly quippy bondsman played by Ethan Phillips (<i>Star Trek</i>'s very own Jar-Jar Binks Neelix) - with an audio cassette Ted mailed to her before his death confessing his story to her and his plan to get Eric to kill him. I wonder what's on the other side of the tape? Probably 'Somewhere In My Heart' by Aztec Camera or Prefab Sprout's 'King of Rock 'n' Roll'. Anyway, this is enough for Kelly to decide to try and help Eric and they leave town to track down Captain Skorzeny (looming 6'5'' Western star Chuck Connors) whom they have determined to be the O.G. progenitor werewolf. However, this entails skipping bail and missing a court date and so bounty hunter Alamo Joe Rogan (Lance LeGault), rather non-politically correctly referred to as "the Indian" despite only being part Native American, is dispatched on their trail. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQ0GRfvc4_yUZeaKTkWalwpkMxtx_5c1Le4U5UBuQJb6KVa0SZDypaZUSuaOXo9OuW5ckQpiHBH2yktuzV-DRRFVJxz0i7xwkFSGtCHjiw80FkcL4kT0QAQkLk4gGjtw2DmLh3oggSfUA/s801/Janos_Skorzeny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="535" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQ0GRfvc4_yUZeaKTkWalwpkMxtx_5c1Le4U5UBuQJb6KVa0SZDypaZUSuaOXo9OuW5ckQpiHBH2yktuzV-DRRFVJxz0i7xwkFSGtCHjiw80FkcL4kT0QAQkLk4gGjtw2DmLh3oggSfUA/w342-h512/Janos_Skorzeny.jpg" width="342" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>When the pair manage to locate the creepy one-eyed Skorzeny, the realisation that it is going to be the night of transformation (the changes in this mythos not being predicated on the cycle of the full moon, but more random) causes Eric and Kelly to head to the nearest Big Six Motel where she ties him up in the bathtub (kinky stuff again) only for the predatory Skorzeny to swoop in and snatch her before the powerless Eric's eyes - whisking her away to his nearby forest cabin-cum-lunchplace, decorated with the skulls and remains of his previous victims. Alamo Joe appears just as night falls and failing to listen to his helpless and hog-tied bounty's protestations about a kidnapped girl throws Cord into his van to take back to town where a cell's waiting for him. However, the change overcomes Eric and as the beast within emerges he breaks his bonds and tears his way out of the hunter's truck to head off to rescue his mate and take on the evil alpha male. Arriving just as Skorzeny too transforms before the traumatised valley princess - a truly creepy transition involving tearing away his own skin a la Neil Jordan's <i>Company of Wolves</i> - the pair of <i>canis lupus sapiens</i> duke it out in a duel of tooth and claw which ends only when an upturned lantern sets the cabin ablaze.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7EcliV5-NQBCkRe-18I5cMfEtXJKGQ_vMlT3Pw8A0dheGI4SN1gv4OX2ZSfASTpgKzYQgSmdhgI463OKdGWOjEwvWSPdqDTcDiOJuH4uZB29Ern_ENkevDnftiwWHv8N3o-aVOAqSpHX/s704/werewolf3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="704" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7EcliV5-NQBCkRe-18I5cMfEtXJKGQ_vMlT3Pw8A0dheGI4SN1gv4OX2ZSfASTpgKzYQgSmdhgI463OKdGWOjEwvWSPdqDTcDiOJuH4uZB29Ern_ENkevDnftiwWHv8N3o-aVOAqSpHX/w512-h384/werewolf3.png" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Waking in the morning amidst the wrecking, Eric determines that both Kelly is safe (if shellshocked by her recent ordeals) and that Skorzeny has got away - paving the way for a future in which he hunts his own One-Armed Man in the form of a one-eyes werewolf whilst a fugitive from the law himself, with a relentless lawman (his very own Sam Gerard) on his tail. Setting up a sadly short-lived (a further 28 half-hour episodes followed this full length pilot) <i>Fugitive</i>-cum-<i>Incredible Hulk </i>TV series, this is a decent little werewolf film in its own right. Passing by breezily at under 90 minutes its good recommended fun for any connoisseur of those things that walk (whether on two legs or four) when the wolfbane blooms and the moon is full and bright. Or, you know, whenever you get a pentagonal scar on your hand that starts bleeding. That works too.</div>
Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-14508426844098720742020-08-11T06:08:00.003-07:002020-09-21T05:13:28.279-07:00King of the Rocket Men, Chapters Seven to Nine (Fred C. Brannon, 1949)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeB550LRxpG8_iprBnz-ZevfdssgQ0C064FBdXdgBLAiDu74nh1kco68h-PN2hkxfrDIvh_Qwn0QV7zsMbzD5fWOopluyfCdbwcO6HppIM0aSi7p10BFS80-RKms3kPgw2SQ-GeI2uYWY-/s480/king1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeB550LRxpG8_iprBnz-ZevfdssgQ0C064FBdXdgBLAiDu74nh1kco68h-PN2hkxfrDIvh_Qwn0QV7zsMbzD5fWOopluyfCdbwcO6HppIM0aSi7p10BFS80-RKms3kPgw2SQ-GeI2uYWY-/s0/king1.jpg" /></a></div><p> <b><i>Chapter Seven: Molten Menace</i></b></p><p>...and yet, in another of those "well, you just didn't <i>see </i>this last time" twists that I so know and love (like a mutant stepchild kept in the attic), we see that Jeff recovered from the gunshot long enough to leap from the truck inside the warehouse just before the driverless vehicle caroomed - yes, that's a word - to its doom. Happy that at least Vulcan didn't manage to get his hands on the device which now languishes at the bottom of the river, Jeff and Prof. Millard head back to the cave where after laughing that Dirken must now be convinced that King is not the Rocket Man (maybe that was the title of Tristram Coffin's first volume of autobiography, a la Leonard Nimoy's <i>I Am Not Spock</i>) Millard bemoans that it's the superior intellect of the malignant Vulcan that is keeping him languishing in this subterranean haven and that finding Vulcan's weakness must be their priority. As Millard has finally completed his work of the experimental sonic decimator - which he demonstrates by utilising its beam of 'thromium waves' to melt a thick bar of manganese steel, "One of the hardest metals we know" - they decide that the time will soon be right to try and draw Vulcan out using the machine as bait. But first, suggests Jeff, the time has come to take Burt and Glenda into their confidence.</p><p>Jeff tells his friends the truth and arranges for them to take his completed X-22 launcher to the Rocket Cave (which, we discover, is located "near Hermit Mountain") while he, anticipating being tailed by Dirken and his hoods, will head in the opposite direction. However, the wily Vulcan intercepts a radio transmission from King's car transceiver to Millard and orders his goons to turn around and trace the cave. As Winslow and Ms Thomas arrive with the firing mechanism, Millard has scarcely just incorporated it into the decimator when Dirken and his men arrive to seize what is now "one of the most deadly machines ever devised". As Jeff busts the rocket suit out from the boot of the car and jets to the cave, a struggle with the villains results in the decimator being activated and the haywire machine causing the inner walls of the cavern to begin melting into running lava...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe4zStolyHxXIuODwDLR4LL8wR5Ts-WPkcyRZplmeELxfgZYeS16d1A7q1ALuQbPq6nkEIArJf3eFJ9e1rtRsOdnYvGg8oxzDJpUBWsNrDi1w79G5zh9UCC2oH_-PWni2yqCTBVysH095Y/s584/king-of-the-rocket-men-chapter-8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="584" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe4zStolyHxXIuODwDLR4LL8wR5Ts-WPkcyRZplmeELxfgZYeS16d1A7q1ALuQbPq6nkEIArJf3eFJ9e1rtRsOdnYvGg8oxzDJpUBWsNrDi1w79G5zh9UCC2oH_-PWni2yqCTBVysH095Y/s0/king-of-the-rocket-men-chapter-8.jpg" /></a></div><p><b><i>Chapter Eight: Suicide Flight</i></b></p><p>...and as Millard struggles valiantly with the out of control device, Jeff rescues Burt and Glenda from their bonds and they flee down the cavern corridors pursued by the molten magma flow. Spotting an open air shaft in the side of the mountain (what is this, a pyramid or something?), Rocket Man ushers his charges through the tunnel and they break on through to the other side into the open air as the bubbling lava stream sweeps through the caves.</p><p> Back at Science Associates Administration, Jeff confesses to the rest of the board that yes, he knew that Millard has survived the initial attempt on his life by Dr Vulcan and that he had kept his secret while he worked underground (quite literally) to complete his life's work. His fellows show understanding, but comment that it was all for nought as the decimator has now been destroyed - to which King declares that as he had worked alongside Millard in the artefact's development he may be able to recreate it. This gets his fellow members to stand to attention (that gag will never get old, because I will never grow up), and many of them offer and assistance and expertise that he may require in making the machine. Thanking the group, he says that he will be in contact should he require anything and as the meeting breaks up moves to place the designs for the decimator in the office safe. When Burt comes over and asks whether he thinks it wise to leave the plans here, King declares that it's the safest place that he can think of loud enough for any and all of the departing experts to overhear.</p><p>When later that evening a shadowy behatted figure makes its way into the room, opens the safe (constantly muttering the combination as if 'twere an incantation) and removes the plans, Jeff and Burt pounce on him to find that it is Dr Von Strum. As they begin to interrogate the suspected villain, they begin to realise that the terrified Teuton is under the influence of a malign mesmerism and has no idea why he was there or what had befallen him beforehand. Jeff resolves to pursue the only clue that they have: Von Strum's only memory is to deliver the papers to an address at Mink Shoals (Or: considering the whole enemy destroying a country from within angle - Moseley Shoals? Eh? Eh? Amirite? Tell me why does the river run red?).</p><p>Leaving the recovering Von Strum at Glenda's apartment to recuperate and recover his wits in the care of Glenda and Burt, King locates the assigned address and finds a house on a lonely road wherein Durkin dwells. Disappointed to find the monkey rather than the organ grinder himself, Jeff gets into one of his regulation two-fisted dust-ups but comes off second best as Durkin flees with the information that Von Strum lives and that Dr Vulcan is compromised. Tracing the errant professor to Ms Thomas' building, Vulcan decrees that Von Strum must be destroyed before his memory returns and he can finger the Vulcan (if you're having bad thoughts about T'Pol right now, you're a very naughty nerd).</p><p>Bursting into the apartment and overpowering Burt, Durkin and his co-conspirators prepare to execute the inhabitants when a roaring of engines alerts them to Rocket Man's rapid approach. As the airborne ace jets towards the windows, the gunmen level their weapons at the approaching target and open fire...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZL8wUUv6MGqFmGu46mXBY1rl9hm8SaVnqm35GQbUjvl4kG349AyqxZK_oyPCYf-SYHUrVTsHIPsPAbfZ0EcAG9TrFlc1zoD2M5kdDBmUlQdc2VmipS31Qs-ADOfW0FEhiXrKBX7jJ6oE/s322/king2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="322" data-original-width="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZL8wUUv6MGqFmGu46mXBY1rl9hm8SaVnqm35GQbUjvl4kG349AyqxZK_oyPCYf-SYHUrVTsHIPsPAbfZ0EcAG9TrFlc1zoD2M5kdDBmUlQdc2VmipS31Qs-ADOfW0FEhiXrKBX7jJ6oE/s0/king2.jpg" /></a></div><p><b><i>Chapter Nine: Ten Seconds to Live</i></b></p><p>...yet somehow our hero manages to outmanoeuvre the oncoming hail of bullets and lands on Glenda's balcony. Realising that the jig is up, Durkin and his men hare out through the apartment door pausing only to pump a couple of slugs into the prone Professor Von Strum. As Rocket Man makes his entrance onto the scene of the crime Bury is already checking the fallen scientist's vitals and pronounces him dead.</p><p>"I'm sorry," says our tardy hero flatly over the corpse. "If I could only have gotten here sooner, I might have prevented this."</p><p>Oh, you think?!?</p><p>Back at S.A. H.Q. (which in my head is pronounced exactly the way that the CPU says "SARK!" in <i>Tron</i>), King also has to face the quite correct accusations of the board when the coroner's verdict of homicide comes in and his co-workers opine that had he let some of them in on his plans Dr Vulcan may not have made such a gambit and Von Strum might still be alive. Acquiescing, Jeff states that in future he will report any and all further progress with regards to the decimator - adding as an aside to Burt after the meeting breaks up that they might be surprised just how soon that may be.</p><p>At the new Rocket Cave (the original having been destroyed by magma), Jeff shows Burt the completed decimator but seems unsure as to whether it can be safely tested without devising some kind of shielding - as the thromium may be detectable even beneath the ground. Meanwhile, Dr Vulcan is unveiling his own device to Durkin (tee hee): a machine that can track the thromium waves from a distance. He gives the tracer to Durkin and instructs him to locate the secret hideout and the decimator. When Durkin's mooching around the entrance sets of a proximity alarm, Jeff and Burt make their way outside just in time to see one of Durkin's confederates zooming away on a motorcycle. Falling for the decoy they hop in the car and head off in hot pursuit, tailing the biker around the mountain road until King gets off a well-aimed gunshot that propels the fleeing felon over the side of the cliff to his certain doom. Our hero once again, ladies and gentlemen.</p><p>As Killer King and his accomplice return to the cave, they realise they've been had when they find the decimator predictably gone. Checking the secret camera hidden outside, they get a good look at the getaway van that the villains have mounted the errant device inside and Jeff changes into the rocket suit to head heavenward to give chase. Reaching their rendezvous with another of Vulcan's goons, Durkin and his pal load the machine from the van into another car before setting a bomb with a ten-second fuse in the van. As Rocket Man arrives and enters the truck hoping to find his invention, the vehicle is blown to smithereens...</p>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-57513574675594618272020-08-07T07:55:00.002-07:002020-08-07T07:55:14.475-07:00Cannibal Apocalypse ([a.ka. Apocalypse Domani] Antonio Margheriti, 1980)<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivpdD87kDJQilrPGSZfGJILTGkZsWTf0ROAh3THBHjx_HiHry-tqkK6x28FsGqB6MhcV6cRHuvq2Ec-6tDSbaeN9TXTtyw02bNtufZXyqgvbFsn85eWNrKNXlW6XkhLILM1qf1iN4qJ9f9/s500/can1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivpdD87kDJQilrPGSZfGJILTGkZsWTf0ROAh3THBHjx_HiHry-tqkK6x28FsGqB6MhcV6cRHuvq2Ec-6tDSbaeN9TXTtyw02bNtufZXyqgvbFsn85eWNrKNXlW6XkhLILM1qf1iN4qJ9f9/s0/can1.jpg" /></a></div></div><i><div><i>RIP John Saxon</i></div></i><div><i><br /></i></div><div>The world of genre cinema lost a legend recently with the sad passing of John Saxon's shade beyond the veil. Though he'll be forever remembered for the role of Nancy's dad in Wes Craven's seminal frightfest <i>A Nightmare on Elm Street</i> and Bob Clark's pioneering slasher <i>Black Christmas - </i>alongside early appearances in horror/sci-fi flicks like John Gilling's 1965 <i>The Night Caller </i>(a.k.a. <i>Night Caller from Outer Space</i>) and Curtis Harrington's Martian vampire tale <i>Queen of Blood</i> the following year - the artist formerly known as Carmine Orrico graced many Italian exploitation movies with his presence, working with greats such as Mario Bava (<i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i>, a.k.a. <i>The Evil Eye</i>, 1963) and Dario Argento (<i>Tenebrae</i>, 1982).</div><div><br /></div><div>Betwixt these twain, Saxon worked with spaghetti splatter maestro Antonio Margheriti (who was operating under his usual <i>nom de guerre </i>of Anthony Dawson - not to be mistaken for the Dr. No-serving British character actor of the same name) on the notorious <i>Cannibal Apocalypse </i>(alias <i>Apocalypse Domani</i>: literally <i>Apocalypse Tomorrow</i>, in an amusing Coppola-baiting move; alias <i>Cannibals in the Streets</i>; alias <i>Invasion of the Flesh Hunters</i>), one of the DPP's infamous "Video Nasties" rounded up by the likes of professional God-bothering busybody Mary Whitehouse and idiotic Tory Graham Bright. Now, since I were but a wee youth i've been fascinated with horror movies, and the Nasties in particular: it's the sweet tang of the forbidden, combined with a natural inclination toward the contrary which has always made me want to do anything The Authorities tell me not to. Which explains all the killings, probably. Anyway, over the years i've managed to see quite a few films on the DPP's famous list - many of them now freely available and uncut, and leaving wondering what all the panic from the 'moral' minority was about in the first place - and the only one that I definitely <u>don't</u> want to see again is Ruggero Deodato's infamous 1980 real animal slaughter fest <i>Cannibal Holocaust.</i> Seen it once, never want to see it again. We've all got a line we've got to draw somewhere, right?</div><div><br /></div><div>So it was with a slight bit of trepidation that I approached its fellow Italian cannibal stablemate <i>Cannibal Apocalypse.</i> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiXOCikPddPjPcUPnqvF_RtAPTC9-Vavs9bLxNrCDB5hmcfb_dWNkw0UaZ8Wrme1zSoJSoamshQD46oFYTuyzgYiqDS3RtTm5udP517XpnLUYoxN44mP0TJufo75b42jMmtmp-975wH6Ya/s776/can2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="473" data-original-width="776" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiXOCikPddPjPcUPnqvF_RtAPTC9-Vavs9bLxNrCDB5hmcfb_dWNkw0UaZ8Wrme1zSoJSoamshQD46oFYTuyzgYiqDS3RtTm5udP517XpnLUYoxN44mP0TJufo75b42jMmtmp-975wH6Ya/w512-h312/can2.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div>The screenplay, by reliable Italian splatter stalwart Dardano Sachetti, begins back in the 'Nam a green beret Captain Norman Hopper (Saxon) braves hails of bullets and shards of spiced-in stock footage (the grainy 16mm film of helicopters sticking out like much more of a sore thumb on a cleaned-up Blu-Ray than it would have done on an original grittier grindhouse print in 1980) on his mission to rescue two of his fellow soldiers who've been captured by the Viet Cong. Fighting his way through explosions and insurgents, Hopper locates his home town boys - Tom Thompson, played by Tony King, and the amusingly-named Charlie Bukowski played by one of sleaze cinema's all time heroes Giovanni Lombardo Radice under his John Morghen pseudonym. Bukowski and Thompson have been held down a bamboo-barred pit, an <i>oubliette </i>of starvation wherein they have been left without food for a tortuous amount of time. When during the raid-cum-jailbreak one of the female Vietnamese plunges into the prison pit (on fire), the starving men eagerly pounce upon her and feast upon her flesh. Nothing like having a cooked meal delivered to you, I guess. As Hooper reaches down into the hole to rescue the men, Thompson sinks his teeth into the Captain's arm - </div><div><br /></div><div>- only for Hooper to awaken in his own bed alongside his wife Jane (Elizabeth Turner) years later, still haunted by the nightmares of his wartime trauma, the scars on his arm a constant and indelible reminder. When Bukowski, on finally being released from the Hospital for Nervous Disorders onto the streets of Atlanta, gets in touch with his old war buddy and reaches out to meet up with each other Hopper demurs - the sound of Charlie's voice triggering him with flashbacks and giving him strange carnal urgings for the flesh of his teenage neighbour Mary (Cinzia De Carolis, credited as the more Anglophonic Cindy Hamilton) and not in a sexy way. Or maybe in a sexy way, if longpig is what strums your strings. The dejected Bukowski, looking more and more like a cadaverous Travis Bickle, seeks haven in a cinema but the young couple getting frisky in the row in front of him provokes more than an annoyed tut: his suppressed cannibalistic desires suddenly overwhelm him and he takes a bite out of the girl's throat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg50PFt4ruleAAhHcak5_UdumUZYXNoDxX3PT4UDejZGGdwSJoFg4iVh3Ji0psKLMO374uR4s2hUiQtb4I6cKPm_RNO4PmeNrkhgdk41LeckaPIksZr7st_d7VlBVQXNJ_b3zylZJsodzmb/s776/can4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="776" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg50PFt4ruleAAhHcak5_UdumUZYXNoDxX3PT4UDejZGGdwSJoFg4iVh3Ji0psKLMO374uR4s2hUiQtb4I6cKPm_RNO4PmeNrkhgdk41LeckaPIksZr7st_d7VlBVQXNJ_b3zylZJsodzmb/w512-h317/can4.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div>Fleeing the shocked theatre, Bukowski is pursued by an enraged mob of bikers and holes himself up in a grimy strip mall raiding the huntin' 'n' fishin' section to arm himself and get involved in a shootout that culminates in police siege. As his ex C.O., Hopper volunteers to go in and negotiate a de-escalation of tensions and finally convinces Charlie to give himself up, but not before he gnaws into the hand of one of the police officers as he's bundled into the wagon (<i>"GET IN THE BACK OF THE VAN!"</i>). Taken off to be incarcerated in the nearest psych ward, Bukowski makes eye contact and implied psychic contact with a fellow inmate: his ex-pitmate Thompson. When Thompson bites May Heatherly's Nurse Helen as he's strapped down to a gurney, the contagious and transmittable nature of the cannibal transmission becomes clear when she bites out the tongue of her co-worker (though she doesn't bite off his penis as per the original screenplay, the actress asking for the scene to be scaled back a wee bit) and sets Thompson and Bukowski free.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the cannibal plague spreads, the police station also becomes a scene of gore when the bitten cop goes rabid and tears off the breast of a female officer and eats it before being dispatched by a bullet to the head. When Hopper too finally gives in to his long suppressed hunger for human, he joins his war buddies and the nurse to go on the run. After a communal bonding feast together on a garage mechanic who Bukowski gleefully carves for dinner with a power saw, the group (what's the collective term for cannibals? A cluster? A chowdown?) head down into the sewer system beneath the contaminated city. Hooper's command authority enables him to somewhat rein in and marshal his 'troops' as they revert to their wartime mentality to survive - a cadre of veterans against the outside world, their perverse killer instincts brought back from the killing fields to the urban jungle marking them out as outsiders that the authorities must ultimately destroy. Obviously I don't want to delve right into the climax for those who have yet too experience the movie, but caught like hungry rats amongst the actual hungry rats and cornered by the cops, this does not end well.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmg-6HTI-NpaNgzmourDCyAJGZazFPplcqe1tGVdw4C_grLic9RuJeEl5CyJVdn99KbrhF-GjLi0gJ1aWr1dCWJgZmxTFWqDL3YNeWmPwin6t3IOfVtY3M_1bVpHMok55pGVawTTTPJPN-/s460/can5.png" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmg-6HTI-NpaNgzmourDCyAJGZazFPplcqe1tGVdw4C_grLic9RuJeEl5CyJVdn99KbrhF-GjLi0gJ1aWr1dCWJgZmxTFWqDL3YNeWmPwin6t3IOfVtY3M_1bVpHMok55pGVawTTTPJPN-/s0/can5.png" /></a></div><div>In summation, <i>Cannibal Apocalypse </i>is a much better film (better acted, better directed, better budgeted) than i'd expected. I suppose the real grime is to come when I finally subject myself to stuff like <i>Cannibal Ferox. </i>I'll get round to that one day, probably. But here we have something approaching a meditation (albeit a deliciously exploitative one) on the after effects of war, post-traumatic stress and the outsider in society wrapped in a bow of celluloid stitched together from Cronenberg's <i>Rabid</i>, Romero's <i>Dawn of the Dead</i> and Cimino's <i>The Deer Hunter.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Plus, y' know, blood and guts and stuff.</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't take as long as I did to actually get around to watching it.</div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-80841477287233191082020-08-06T08:51:00.004-07:002020-08-06T08:52:12.141-07:00Star Trek: Lower Decks - Episode One 'Second Contact' (Barry J. Kelly, 2020)<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-eldqfF3zLghwVLuOMqphWFwcQvoi-PbeEDl6mu1QUCvaixXBr7WmL_zLGKqyiN7hzptSCAQMhvCXuEbztR8PfVbkS2zEFj1GGGAySejW0aRu4xWOWzMI3LCf8l3I5r0yaZCUuPRe1Aq/s1400/decks1.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="1400" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-eldqfF3zLghwVLuOMqphWFwcQvoi-PbeEDl6mu1QUCvaixXBr7WmL_zLGKqyiN7hzptSCAQMhvCXuEbztR8PfVbkS2zEFj1GGGAySejW0aRu4xWOWzMI3LCf8l3I5r0yaZCUuPRe1Aq/w512-h161/decks1.jpg" width="512" /></a></div></div><i>Obviously, ahead may well lie spoilers for anyone who's not seen it yet...</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div>After the long dark drought of any televisual <i>Trek</i> in the great Ginnungagap between <i>Enterprise</i>'s end in 2005 and the DISCO getting started in 2017 (the big screen JJverse trilogy [which looks not to be expanding further than the three, sadly, in their perverse I: good, II: shit, III: good reversal of the commonly accepted ranking of ST movies] notwithstanding) now comes the deluge. We've had two - soon to be three - seasons of <i>Discovery</i>, the second of which set up the forthcoming Pike-centric <i>Strange New Worlds</i>, the first season of <i>Picard</i>, a brace of the anthological minisodes (oh that word, what have you done to my brain, fandom?) <i>Short Treks</i>, a prospective <i>Section 31 </i>show covering the darker sides of Federation espionage and now the animated series <i>Lower Decks.</i></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Zx7Glqce0TRmMkm4HPfjEa4AT5TcL2OAApRDpjmv733FtAOxxiLkG84thyphenhyphenymMXzLOs5pMd8ubGKEpBsBn486eVr2uM5SsAjrbUwn5lLjlXvprhVhwURWnDtTCgCY88DkfVuloJ9NCGbJ/s1200/decks2.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Zx7Glqce0TRmMkm4HPfjEa4AT5TcL2OAApRDpjmv733FtAOxxiLkG84thyphenhyphenymMXzLOs5pMd8ubGKEpBsBn486eVr2uM5SsAjrbUwn5lLjlXvprhVhwURWnDtTCgCY88DkfVuloJ9NCGbJ/w512-h384/decks2.jpg" width="512" /></a></div></div><div>As only the second animated venture into the Great Bird's galaxy after '73-'74's (there's <u>almost</u> a Connells song in there, but not quite) explanatorily-titled <i>Star Trek: the Animated Series</i>, and the first to have input from a writer best known for comedy rather than drama - the show's creator being Mike McMahan of <i>Rick & Morty </i>- I suspect that I wasn't the only one looking slightly askance at this when it was first announced. I dig <i>Rick & Morty </i>myself, but knowing that there are a lot of reactionary and conservative members of fandom (witness some of the online rage at aspects of <i>Discovery </i>and <i>Picard</i> over the last few years) it was always going to be... interesting, so say the least.</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of Connells - we've got one here, namely Jerry O'Connell of <i>Sliders </i>fame (or <i>Joe's Apartment</i> fame. Or <i>Kangaroo Jack </i>fame if you really must) alongside other names I recognised such as Jack ('son of Dennis') Quaid off of <i>The Boys</i> and veteran voice actor Fred Tatasciore. With animation from Titmouse studios (of <i>The Venture Bros.</i>, among others) very much in the style of <i>Rick & Morty</i>, the episode opens with the starship <i>USS Cerritos </i>docked at Douglas Station which bears a great resemblance to Spacedock of <i>Star Trek III: The Search for Spock</i> - as well as Starbase 74 of the TNG instalment '11001001' - earning the episode its first "Squee!" from me. Here we are introduced to our Lower Decks protagonists: the stickling and command hungry Brad Boimler (Quaid) and the can't-be-arsed fun times lovin' Beckett Marriner (Tawny Newsome, whom I was previously unaware of, but on the basis of such a fun performance i'll have to rectify that) who appear on first impression to be the Rimmer and Lister respectively of this craft - the bottom of the power ziggurat, doing the menial work that keeps the spaceship running, to the disinterest and non-recognition of the main crew.</div><div><br /></div><div>After Marriner, drunk on Romulan ale ("You'd think it would be green - but it's BLUE!"), finishes her bout of roundly mocking Boimler for wanting to reach the echelons of command that she's been busted down from by accident stabbing him with a bat'leth belonging to a one-eyed Klingon general (Martok?!?) the pair make the acquaintance of new crew member D'Vana Tendi (Noel Wells) an eager beaver ensign of the green-hued Orion race. Sadly, she's wearing full uniform. Darn. We're also introduced to our other main character, engineering ensign Sam Rutherford (Eugene Cordero) who is adjusting to his newly-installed cybernetic head implant (like a cross between DISCO's Kayla Detmer and the full Airiam) which keeps fritzing into a Vulcan-like logic over emotion state and jeopardising his upcoming date with a sexy Trill coworker.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAy6ceLKb46OxrzTSE9E8vStaNs2SLBpYteRVPAaSdlgRy4n1luajM0XdocaKwLYHzZ4ggJFCoao6vUwjAjya9lSi5MHvkZYxKTlaVSAoCPPg20UVsg1fyUceOWR019tbwIZfWGxHW-Hl2/s620/decks3.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="620" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAy6ceLKb46OxrzTSE9E8vStaNs2SLBpYteRVPAaSdlgRy4n1luajM0XdocaKwLYHzZ4ggJFCoao6vUwjAjya9lSi5MHvkZYxKTlaVSAoCPPg20UVsg1fyUceOWR019tbwIZfWGxHW-Hl2/w496-h330/decks3.jpg" width="496" /></a></div><div>As these are our main characters, the main crew of the ship including Captain Carol Freeman (Dawnn Lewis) - who is [SPOILER ALERT!) Marriner's mother and constantly frustrated by her wayward rule-breaking daughter, butch Will Riker-alike First Officer Jack Ransom (O'Connell) and Chief Medical Officer T'Ana (Gillian Vigman) - who is of the feline Caitian race as a nod to TAS's Lt M'Ress, are very much in the background making the big decisions and causing the havoc that our lower decks guys have to deal with. This includes making Second Contact - the form-filling, box-ticking bureaucratic also-ran to the prestigious First Contact - with a race that i'm sure were called the Caladonians. I may have misheard. They certainly didn't look very Caledonian: i've met many inhabitants of Bonnie Scotland and none of them looked like these misshapen purple betusked characters. The again, i've still never been tae Fintry.</div><div><br /></div><div>While Ransom and other members of the command crew unwittingly bring a mutagenic pathogen aboard the <i>Cerritos </i>that leads to outbursts of murderous violence and attempted cannibalism, Boimler has to try and follow the captain's instruction to keep an eye on Marriner and make sure she doesn't deviate from Starfleet protocol as the pair are pursued through the alien jungle by an immense creature. Meanwhile, Tendi is co-opted by Dr T'Ana to assist with the medical emergency, having to palpate the exposed heart of her immediate superior whilst a virtual zombie apocalypse of black bile-spewing infected occurs around her, and Rutherford's Dax-y date culminates in a spacewalk across the ship's outer hull to reach safety. Chaotic and hilarious, <i>Lower Decks </i>had me alternating between squeeing at such fannish stuff as equipment designs and title fonts and cackling at the rapid-fire gags. Quick-paced and full of character and humour, i'm sure stick in the mud devotees of such staid and beige stuff as <i>Voyager </i>will hate it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Which, from me, is a big recommendation.</div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-14175699762119982102020-08-02T03:30:00.003-07:002020-08-02T03:31:09.550-07:00King of the Rocket Men, Chapters Four to Six (Fred C. Brannon, 1949)<div>Time for more Rocket Man!</div><div><br /></div><b><i><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZDhCpLlxvS5FRiYCSSiptD4Uv_Yn1GEdg3sNNMEkRc8X11jyZD0vLMKYXqquC9ken1RkqNIEtJ24VygJ0GLZTWW08jKtmqSGxs187Bx-2SHbxWMDJoTa0Wf29DnOB7AgSYZdlApDBguy/s1103/King-of-the-Rocket-Men-1949-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="738" data-original-width="1103" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZDhCpLlxvS5FRiYCSSiptD4Uv_Yn1GEdg3sNNMEkRc8X11jyZD0vLMKYXqquC9ken1RkqNIEtJ24VygJ0GLZTWW08jKtmqSGxs187Bx-2SHbxWMDJoTa0Wf29DnOB7AgSYZdlApDBguy/w512-h342/King-of-the-Rocket-Men-1949-3.jpg" width="512" /></a></div></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div>Chapter Four: High Peril</i></b><div><b><i><br /></i></b><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX_kiAYSf6YEwL1eIMlGM6Lm40qYyYsaGg8mU2Dy_4Buc-nCzKQJKWIfoUPrPFgv8wfLc4QpOrk-aiKjJqybYTa1q7U4mhFH33_1_iGI2CEga-1KY04SpPvWnMa-XMM6QMUrM0Aq0-EgA2/s575/KINGOFTHEROCKETMENLC5BR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="575" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX_kiAYSf6YEwL1eIMlGM6Lm40qYyYsaGg8mU2Dy_4Buc-nCzKQJKWIfoUPrPFgv8wfLc4QpOrk-aiKjJqybYTa1q7U4mhFH33_1_iGI2CEga-1KY04SpPvWnMa-XMM6QMUrM0Aq0-EgA2/s0/KINGOFTHEROCKETMENLC5BR.jpg" /></a></div><i><br /></i></b></div><div>...and Jeff returns to the realm of the senses just in time to get up off the floor and dodge outside, just before the chemist's shack goes up in a ball of flame, causing more harmacy than your usual pharmacy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back at the Science associates Administration building, Jeff and Burt Winslow discuss how the crooks gained entry - Jeff pointing out that they definitely had an inside man who gave them access. Burt concurs, saying that "If Dr Millard were still alive" (which we, dear watchers, of course know that he is) he would say the same thing, as he was convinced that Dr Vulcan was a member of the board. As they mull over which of professors Conway, Bryant, Graffner or Von Strum are the most likely candidate, the devious Dr Vulcan is listening in by hacking the radio in the boardroom. I don't think even Hardison from <i>Leverage </i>could manage that level of techno-botch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Via the power of flashback, Jeff recalls catching a glimpse of the hand of the inside operator and that he was wearing a distinctive signet ring. Figuring that a criminal mastermind is unable to perform the fairly simple task of removing an item of jewellery from his person, he puts all his eggs in the basket case of using the ring to identify the culprit. At the next day's S.A. general meeting, King asks his fellows to place their hands on the table so that he can inspect them - a somewhat strange request with which they comply. Spotting the ring on the hand of Professor Conway, Jeff fingers him as the traitor; an accusation to which Conway responds by producing a pistol from under his hat (said titfer is resting on the table, so sadly it's not as ludicrous a scene as that may sound) and yells that Jeff is determined to pin Vulcan's misdeeds on anybody and that he isn't about to be made the scapegoat. </div><div><br /></div><div>Conway flees in his car, and King dons the Rocket Man suit to soar into the big blue in search of the errant academic only to lose track of him - as flyboy scans the rocky roads (not to be confused with pornographic performer Rocki Roads, nee Mary Ann Bradley, whom I have visually scanned a few times) the prof eludes him via the fairly simple method of parking 'neath a tree. When the rocket recon proves a bust and he flies, off Conway heads to the nearest phone box and calls the shadowy Vulcan for help, being directed to the Hotel Mesa. Here he meets with the man he was told will help him: Durken, who forces him at gunpoint to write and sign a confession taking the blame for all of Dr Vulcan's crimes. When Rocket Man arrives through the tenth storey window and disarms Durken, Conway begins to spill the beans - telling him that the ring he wears is a marker of a scientific fraternity and that one other member of S.A. has one. Just as he is about to confess Vulcan's secret identity, Durken knifes him in the back and knocks King out the window, sending him spiralling towards the pavement far below...</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Chapter Five: Fatal Dive</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div>...but his death dive past the rear projection screen is swiftly halted by igniting the rocket pack to re-orient himself and fly off as Durken has already fled from the scene of his crime. Back at the Rocket Cave (i'm going to keep calling it that. I am determined to make it A Thing), he consults with Millard and they come to the conclusion that the late patsy Conway (doesn't that sound like a dead Country and Western singer? "The late Patsy Conway") was persuaded by the real Dr Vulcan to wear the ring to the meeting in order to take the fall. Jeff realises that the only person at Science Associates with whom he's shared any of his intel is Burt Winslow, and begins to grow suspicious of the genial PR man.</div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, Burt and Glenda are listening to a radio bulletin which informs all that the police have accepted the confession found in the same apartment as Conway's corpse as genuine and are closing the books on the matter with the dead man painted as an agent in the employ of an unfriendly power. Maybe he worked for Huawei or something (TOPICAL REFERENCE ALERT). Glenda is adamant that Conway was the fall guy - and now I have that theme tune stuck in my head: "I'm the unknown stuntman..." - and reckons that Jeff King is the most likely suspect to be the genuine article, much to Burt's disbelief.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back at S.A. HQ, Jeff locates the concealed transceiver in the boardroom's wireless and stages a phone call for the benefit of the listening-in villain to the effect that he is going to illicitly sell one of his own inventions - an experimental firing tube - at the old Barnes ranch at 4 PM that afternoon. Also overhearing are Glenda and Burt, who have headed to the lab in order to ascertain Jeff's guilt or innocence and now think him at the very least a traitor in a misunderstanding of sitcom proportions. Following him to the ranch with the intention of foiling King's un-American activity of selling his own property, the confused twosome wreck the plan to hand Durken a package containing not a firing tube but a homing device that would have made Jeff able to trace Vulcan's secret lair. As the misguided Burt engages our hero in a dust-up in the barn, Glenda jumps into Durken's getaway plane with him as he takes off. When Vulcan announces that he's detecting radio transmissions from the aircraft, Durken ditches the parcel out of the plane and attempts to make Glenda follow suit. As Jeff, having finally managed to get a word in edgeways and persuade the punch happy Burt that he's a good guy, rockets to her aid, Durken grabs a parachute and bails out leaving the roving reporter and the airborne adventurer in a plane hurtling towards the rocks...</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Chapter Six: Mystery of the Rocket Man</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqp6701RTkJEkY_ghohe7vCkRH7AZigmsXmqBw2f1U45qlZDZJcnXOfM1lup5qvvts7PCwLQuXvzVd5mTXKEFJO2WR2rr2hTJDB3rfK-XBMtI1fptqaOTPZsEVBw6zHqdEi_JZfrGER7cg/s480/king2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqp6701RTkJEkY_ghohe7vCkRH7AZigmsXmqBw2f1U45qlZDZJcnXOfM1lup5qvvts7PCwLQuXvzVd5mTXKEFJO2WR2rr2hTJDB3rfK-XBMtI1fptqaOTPZsEVBw6zHqdEi_JZfrGER7cg/s0/king2.jpg" /></a></div><i><br /></i></b></div><div>...but the quick-thinking hero manages to get Glenda strapped into the spare parachute and bundles her out of the aircraft before jetting towards Terra Firma himself, leaving the empty plane to sunder on the terrain below.</div><div><br /></div><div>After ensuring our plucky gal reporter's safe landing and making sure he can make her way back to town, he returns to the Rocket Cave and commiserates with Millard that were it not for Burt's well-meaning but bullish interference they would know the identity of the dastardly Dr Vulcan by now. Millard's pining to see the outside world including the sun and the moon, once again is tempered when King points out that until Vulcan is stopped knowledge of Millard's survival and of his work on the sonic decimator (now there's a coo, name for a sonic device - put that in your screwdriver and smoke it, Doctor!) must remain secret.</div><div><br /></div><div>Durken's next communique to Dr Vulcan opens with the rueful henchman vowing revenge on Jeff King, to which the wily Vulcan replies by determining that King and the Rocket Man are one and the same (SPOILER: so are Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde), and that they can deal with two birds with one stone. Meanwhile, the board at S.A. are discussing the fact that the boardroom had been bugged by a confederate of Vulcan, causing the members to stir uneasily (heh) since an experimental drone is due to be transported from their Eastern laboratory - a drone that would be valuable to any foreign power. Citing King's good record thus far as Head of Security, Jeff is put in charge of oversight of the weapon's conveyance.</div><div><br /></div><div>Waylaid by kidnappers outside his apartment building, Jeff struggles valiantly against them but even n appearance by Burt (who had arranged to meet Jeff to discuss the transportation), who is as per usual more than willing to wade into a punch-up, proves futile as Winslow is knocked to the pavement and King is bundled at gunpoint into his own waiting vehicle to be whisked off. Struggling to his feet and cradling his jaw, Burt heads for his car and attempts to give chase only to be shaken off when the kidnap car jumps a railroad crossing in front of an oncoming express train which cuts Winslow off until they're out of sight. Prisoner in his own car, King offers his captor a cigarette as a pretext to activating the modified car lighter - now a secret radio transmitter which relays their conversation back to Dr Millard. Overhearing the information that the new weapon is about to fall into the hands of Vulcan, Millard dons the rocket suit himself and jets in the direction of the Eastern Electronics warehouse where Jeff is being forced to sign over the truck containing the drone to Durken. Surprised and undelighted at seeing the arriving Rocket Man and Jeff King in the same place, Durken and his goons begin a gunfight inside the warehouse culminating in King commandeering the truck only to be shot through the windscreen by one of the goons and the lorry crashing out of the building and into the river below...</div></div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-26347242695132170712020-07-27T03:25:00.001-07:002020-07-27T03:25:23.759-07:00The Legend of King Arthur (Rodney Bennett, 1979)<i>"Bright Caliope, come from Helicon[...] Tell, Caliope, so that I might tell again as you relate; (whence the Britons came, what the origin of their name was, whence noble Britain had its kings); who Arthur was, what his deeds were, what his end - and how an unlucky nation lost its kingdom."</i><br />
<b><i> - </i>William of Rennes, <i>Gesta Regum Britanniae (The Deeds of the Kings of Britain)</i>, c. 1236</b><div><b><br /></b>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcz5O_qsz5SmcO3BIbIEgc2dBq-YW1xC-7h22Msh1lkZKQWIoV_wxW1Bb3gHOBSJEUygo-gn3gUlJVBe93a1KBBceKgYmcXbHWJW3WdRXPPHWX0YlIlTCfLkHf1ZTWD6nSYSK_9dOtwAZs/s1200/art2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="630" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcz5O_qsz5SmcO3BIbIEgc2dBq-YW1xC-7h22Msh1lkZKQWIoV_wxW1Bb3gHOBSJEUygo-gn3gUlJVBe93a1KBBceKgYmcXbHWJW3WdRXPPHWX0YlIlTCfLkHf1ZTWD6nSYSK_9dOtwAZs/w263-h500/art2.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><b><br /></b>I think, looking backward into the deep dark abysm of time, that my fascination with Arthuriana began when I was ten years old. 1989's 26th season of the BBC's <i>Doctor Who</i> opened with the story 'Battlefield', which was a tale of knights from a parallel dimension led by the witch queen Morgaine (a delightfully evil turn from the great Jean Marsh) and my youthful self was entranced with words and phrases like "the Forest of Celyddon" redolent of some kind of ancient mysticism - much as I would be later that same season with 'The Curse of Fenric' and its lexicon that included "the Well of Hvergelmir" that sparked my equal preoccupation with Norse mythology. Seriously, that year's run of <i>Who </i>led to lots of trips to the library and much poring over of tomes. Educational as well as entertaining, indeed. Positively Reithian, dear boy.<br />
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I soon found myself pretty much wearing out an off-air VHS recording of John Boorman's 1981 <i>Excalibur </i>through repeated viewings, under the spell of Nicol Williamson's enigmatic Merlin and Helen Mirren's seductively evil Morgan, and over the years have accrued an Arthurian library encompassing everything from Thomas Malory to T.H. White to Chretien de Troyes and large (and expensive!) volumes of the mediaeval Vulgate Cycle. Oh how my bookshelves yawn and creak like the ancient oak tree of some grove-dwelling Druid. Obviously, i've also seen a great many filmic and televisual versions of the tales, from the high fantasy of <i>Excalibur </i>and <i>Knights of the Round Table </i>(Richard Thorpe, 1953 - notable mainly for Ava Gardner's Guinevere and Gabriel Woolf - "Neil before the might of Sutekh" himself! - as Percival) to the mud-soaked post-Roman grit of the 1972 HTV series <i>Arthur of the Britons </i>(recommended to any fans of archive telly) and Antoine Fuqua's 2004 Clive Owen vehicle <i>King Arthur </i>(disappointing). I haven't watched Guy Ritchie's 2017 <i>King Arthur: Legend of the Sword</i>, because it looks and sounds rubbish. You've burned me too many times, Ritchie. Beep, beep.<br />
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Anyway, one TV adaptation that until now i'd never seen (but long wanted to, ever since I read about it in Mike Ashley's <i>The Mammoth Book of King Arthur</i>, which is well worth the purchase price) is the 1979 BBC eight-part series <i>The Legend of King Arthur</i>. Like the coming of the <i>rex quondam, rexque futurus </i>himself - the time is finally at hand!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCn7Ca0ujvstukvhRXIC6cR2syzMjJuuQd-6IBVD3FToTN0xIOri-RU1iErxRXAcLMyTj4jCjcRHds-fhEXr4sJxQnxqDyalZytP8ksiuB2mHdkvIc7f2irwXQcqb5UjYtZOUSuscv5Ab/s699/art1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="436" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCn7Ca0ujvstukvhRXIC6cR2syzMjJuuQd-6IBVD3FToTN0xIOri-RU1iErxRXAcLMyTj4jCjcRHds-fhEXr4sJxQnxqDyalZytP8ksiuB2mHdkvIc7f2irwXQcqb5UjYtZOUSuscv5Ab/w250-h400/art1.jpg" width="250" /></a></div><div><br />Adapted in serial fashion (rather than the episodic 'adventure of the week' format of <i>Arthur of the Britons</i>) in eight parts by none other than Mr Adaptation himself Andrew Davies - long before he was spinning Machiavellian webs with Francis Urquhart or bestowing us with the vision of a wet Darcy (though, personally, i'll most remember [and never forgive] him for <i>Badger Girl</i>) - the story follows all of the main story beats of <i>Le Morte d'Arthur</i>. Filmed in the '70s BBC standard format of videotape for interiors and film for exterior shooting, the production nevertheless does not look cheap, being a co-production betwixt Auntie Beeb, Time-Life Television and the ABC (that's the Australian Broadcasting Commission, as opposed to either the American Broadcasting Company or the old Associated British Corporation).</div><div>
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Eschewing the mediaeval knights in anachronistic shining plate armour aesthetic of so many other Arthurian productions, this is rooted firmly in a post-Roman Dark Ages waste land of broadsword-wielding Brythonic barbarians in bearskins and breeches; a realm where chieftains rule from timbered longhouses rather than faerie kings and queens reigning from dreaming-spired castellations. Opening with the brutish warlord Uther Pendragon (Brian Coburn) demanding ownership of the lady Igrayne (Anne Kidd) from her husband Gorlois of Cornwall (the late genre veteran - and father of the next generation's genre veteran Mark - W. Morgan Sheppard) and triggering civil war, the stage is set for the tale to come. After Gorlois is slain by Uther in battle, the ire of the young Morgan (a spirited performance from an eleven year old Patsy Kensit) is raised against both her new stepfather and Uther's spawn: her baby half-brother Arthur. Pledging herself to the ways of magic under the wary tutelage of Merlin (a well cast Robert Eddison, who would ten years later play the aged Grail Knight in <i>Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade</i>), Morgan le Fay grows into a red-maned witch clad in the robes of a nun (<i>Doctor Who </i>veteran Maureen O'Brien) with her sights still obsessively fixed upon her semi-sibling's ruination. <br />
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When Arthur (Andrew Burt, memorable as Valgard in <i>Doctor Who</i>'s 'Terminus' and lamentable as Jarvik in <i>Blake's 7</i>'s cringe fest 'The Harvest of Kairos') reaches maturity as king, riding into battle against the rebellious chieftains fighting under the banner of Jon Croft's Lot of Orkney whilst wearing a battle helmet strikingly similar in design to the famous Sutton Hoo helm, Morgan sets to work along with her dwarf minion Branic (Peter Burroughs) and the embittered knight Accolon of Gaul (Anthony Dutton) to destroy the incipient Order of the Round Table. As the story follows the outline of the Malory tale, Arthur and Bors (Godfrey James) are slanted and enchanted by the witch in the woods and Excalibur stolen away and given to the treacherous Accolon who then challenges the king to a duel - with the recreant traitor wielding the blessed blade. Though the trap is overcame and Accolon defeated, the Queen of Air and Darkness remains steadfast in her desire for Arthur's death and continues to weave her web of traps - including exploiting the love of the steadfast Lancelot (David Robb) for the fair Queen Guinevere (Felicity Dean) and turning the minds of Agravain (Niall Padden) and Mordred (Steve Hodson), brash and reckless younger sons of Lot, against the champion and his perceived infidelity. When the fellowship of Camelot is sundered by warfare and Lancelot's dalliance with Eleanor of Escalot (Amanda Wissler) the lovesick and half sick of shadows Lady of Shalott which leads to her grief-stricken suicide, Morgan's plots comes to their fruition as Mordred frames the queen for murder and turns all the court against one another in a strife that leads inexorably to the carnage of the Battle of Camlann and the twilight of the Arthurian world.<div><br /></div><div>A triumph of 1970s BBC television ingenuity and a valiant attempt to compress Malory's sprawling collation of tales into eight half hour episodes, <i>The Legend of King Arthur </i>surpasses - for my money, anyway - Boorman's <i>Excalibur </i>as the finest example of the Matter of Britain on film (and videotape, natch).</div><div><br /></div><div>Now if you'll excuse me, i'm going to climb into my coracle and sail across the sundering sea to the misty vales of Avalon.</div></div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-74970728236749700892020-07-17T22:32:00.003-07:002020-07-17T22:34:55.841-07:00King of the Rocket Men, Chapters One to Three (Fred C. Brannon, 1949)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMM_B1S-elMeyhvgg2DEsOAzytaAuzrViLPCbIae9-SyufCHaabVzDIA9CGS794WAYsTEyRTlO-zwrUEoUesPtX6UWrVojOE1lBXExryxXcOqwQR3s_oVdF9VpOMIb581xBJ5_j_GLpmA/s2048/King_of_the_Rocket_Men_FilmPoster.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1075" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMM_B1S-elMeyhvgg2DEsOAzytaAuzrViLPCbIae9-SyufCHaabVzDIA9CGS794WAYsTEyRTlO-zwrUEoUesPtX6UWrVojOE1lBXExryxXcOqwQR3s_oVdF9VpOMIb581xBJ5_j_GLpmA/w329-h625/King_of_the_Rocket_Men_FilmPoster.jpeg" width="329" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Time for another olde-time serial chapter play again kids. Let's party like it's 1949 matinee mornings, after the Pathe newsreel and cartoon but before the main feature. Having already tackled this serial's semi-sequel (try spraying that with a lisp) <i>Radar Men from the Moon</i> it seems high time to go back, back to the beginning to check out the onlie begetter of the Rocket man's jetpacked adventures, <i>King of the Rocket Men.</i> Yes, to my fannish brain it seems crazy not to have done things in chronological order, but here we find ourselves. I had at least partially seen this story a long, low time ago (when people talked to me) when it ran on weekday mornings on UK TV - either Channel 4 or BBC2, memory fails - and so lucked out on being ill for a week or so. If i'd been at school i'd have remained oblivious of the joy of serials for years.<div><br /></div><div>Directed, like the three sequel chapterplays, by veteran Republic serial helmer Fred Brannon it stars Tristram Coffin (replacing Kirk Alyn, who had incarnated the first live action Superman the previous year [and yes, i'll get round to covering that one too]) as the titular Jeff King - the first man to strap on the jetpack and helmet of the iconic Rocket Man. And so here we go with the Secret Origin of the Rocketeer...</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Chapter One: Dr. Vulcan - Traitor!</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgBEJinSxmfMftLMnE06hE-sNR2uUyBndi3bAGwLomSDVYFJybKCAXHnAqSTUKEX3SRXbPzQCJxCyKRTWmG8JJxMyQFpNa48yPBHkdgGCHzLpoZ3NhyO-fHl-heWct4601Ia6hd3aqPmz/s254/kingo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="254" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgBEJinSxmfMftLMnE06hE-sNR2uUyBndi3bAGwLomSDVYFJybKCAXHnAqSTUKEX3SRXbPzQCJxCyKRTWmG8JJxMyQFpNa48yPBHkdgGCHzLpoZ3NhyO-fHl-heWct4601Ia6hd3aqPmz/w318-h248/kingo.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><i><br /></i></b></div><div>When a series of mysterious "accidents" - including a plane crash claiming the life of noted chemist Paul Kenyon and an explosion which wrecks an experimental nuclear fission laboratory - occur in rapid succession, the brains trust Science Associates (a clique of the top minds in various fields such as metallurgist Prof Bryant, atomic boffin Martin Conway, aerodynamics wizard Dr Graftner and Teutonic physicist Gunther Von Strum) begin to worry. The grip of fear on the egg-headed backroom boys tightens when Associate member and cyclotron expert Dr Drake finds himself locked inside his own car and spoken to by a sinister voice over the car vehicle - a disembodied presence identifying itself as Dr Vulcan - and his car driven by remote control over a cliff edge in another manufactured tragedy. When Professor Millard (James Craven) is also contacted by the mocking voice of the invisible menace whilst working in his lab just before a blast wrecks the building neither any trace of he nor any of his secret experimental work can be found in the wreckage.</div><div><br /></div><div>Investigative reporter Glenda Thomas (Mae Clarke - Elizabeth from James Whale's classic 1931 <i>Frankenstein </i>of course, but she's perhaps less well known as Myra in the same director's pre-Code version of <i>Waterloo Bridge </i>earlier that same year; a role portrayed by Vivien Leigh in the better known [though less good, in my own opinion] 1940 remake) of <i>Science Data Magazine </i>is hot on the case, having her inquiries as to whether an outside party could have engineered these incidents fended off by Science Associates' PR man Burt Winslow (House Peters, Jr.) when she meets rocket propulsion expert Jeff King (the moustachioed and splendidly-monikered Tristram Coffin) who has been nominated by his peers to supervise the safe and secret transportation of a rocket for the group's next guided missile test.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the unseen Dr Vulcan contacts his chief henchman Durken (Don Haggerty), he commands him to break into the files of Dr King (not that one - though this one does have a dream, too) and search for any notes that may have been passed on by Professor Millard - who is still though to have passed on. However, they find nothing more than King himself who is happy disprove the scoffing assertions that "these scientist guys are all brain and no brawn" by engaging them in a two-fisted punch-up before they flee the scene with tails betwixt legs. Next morning, King makes his way to the secret cavern where the not-so-late Millard has set up his new laboratory to report on his unwelcome uninvited guests. Millard is eager to get out there, confident that he can unmask the true identity of the villain, but Jeff persuades him that for his own safety he must remain securely "dead" for the time being. </div><div><br /></div><div>Millard announces that he has finally completed work on the experimental rocket suit on which the pair had been working ("to change men into human rockets"), consisting of an atomic-powered jet pack attached to a leather coat and an aerodynamically-designed helmet. Jeff takes the suit, vowing to test it himself out in the open, and stows it in the trunk of his car as he sets off for the top secret warehouse where the secret missile is being stored. Or, rather, not that top secret, as he arrives just as Vulcan's goons hijack the truck carrying the rocket. Swiftly donning the untested suit, Jeff takes to the skies in hot pursuit (he truly is King, of the Rocket Men, see?). Manipulating the "nipple, nipple, tweak, tweak" chest-mounted controls, he shoots into the back of the van and brawls with a pair of thugs; yet a shove into the back of the missile's tripod mounting results in an unexpected launch.</div><div><br /></div><div>"If that torpedo" says King, bizarrely not understanding what a torpedo is, "lands in a populated area, you'll be guilty of mass murder!" He then blasts off in hot pursuit of the buzz-bomb as it hurtles towards the city, taking it out with a blast from the laser gun tucked into his belt - but the resulting explosion sends him falling to the ground far below...</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Chapter Two: Plunging Death</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsF3BCNz8C-5ppGaopUj0EEbPgGho1euoKcJZbKD5J2CsvCuy7GobgcmadP25gKDm4ucA4BaWTOLnFb_jh_S4H-WmOwB5qXfjkG4VkhUyT1R7x-AUJdHG6pDuzgOhdI7FzF1nX42oKGup/s480/king1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsF3BCNz8C-5ppGaopUj0EEbPgGho1euoKcJZbKD5J2CsvCuy7GobgcmadP25gKDm4ucA4BaWTOLnFb_jh_S4H-WmOwB5qXfjkG4VkhUyT1R7x-AUJdHG6pDuzgOhdI7FzF1nX42oKGup/s320/king1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><br /></i></b></div><div>...but just in the nick of time he tweaks the controls and fires up the rocket pack, righting his trajectory and flying off into the skies. Returning to the safe haven of Dr Millard's cave lab, Jeff and the Prof listen to a radio bulletin about his saving the city from the so-called "aerial torpedo" wherein he is dubbed 'the Rocket Man' (and also described as a "strange human-like object" and speculated to be a visitor from another planet). They discuss how only the members of Scientific Associates knew of the transportation of the missile, and arrive at the conclusion that the villainous Dr Vulcan must be one of the group. Fearing that Jeff's life is in danger should Vulcan suspect him to be Rocket Man, Millard advises him to be circumspect at any board meetings.</div><div><br /></div><div>King goes about this be arriving at the next meeting and immediately asking if anyone suspects him of being the Rocket Man. Way to not draw attention to yourself, dude. However any inklings are interrupted by Winslow arriving with news that lady reporter Ms Thomas managed to get a snap of the junior birdman in flight. King advises that he will personally inspect her negative (I bet he will, the mucky sod) before granting permission for publication.</div><div><br /></div><div>While Jeff and Burt head off to meet Ms Thomas, the shadowy Vulcan contacts Durken and grasses the address of Glenda's gaff so that he can get to her Piedmont <i>pied-a-terre</i> before them and grab the negative. As the goons rifle through her stuff, they have to duck into an adjoining room as Glenda arrives with Winslow and they wait for the tardy Jeff. Coming up with a bright idea, Durken grabs a telephone and gives the operator the address, asking to test whether the phone's ringer is broken. When the unwitting operator complies and the phone in the living room rings, Durken is connected and atests to being King, unavoidably detained, and asks that Glenda bring the negative to the S.A. lab. As she retrieves it from her hollowed-out book hiding place, the goons burst out and assail them. When Burt goes down with a chair smashed over his head, Durken grabs the film and dashes for it with the dogged Glenda in hot pursuit. </div><div><br /></div><div>When the dallying real King arrives, Burt informs him of the situation and that Glenda is after Durken and the film in her car. Grabbing the jet suit from his own auto, he dashes into a nearby alley for a quick change and soars skywards. As Glenda burns rubber to catch up with the thief, the all-seeing Dr Vulcan (who is watching on his monitor that he can tune to focus on anything, anywhere, because SCIENCE) manipulates his magic remote control machine and causes her car to crash out of control. As Rocket Man land son the roof of the vehicle and climbs inside to valiantly wrestle with the steering wheel the car careens over a precipice to crash and burn in the valley below...</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Chapter Three: Dangerous Evidence</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoynbei559nI0tGaTOYy0aJANx7cbFxT9LPhcUCt51ksxd2dXNWIPvB-PwA7x2L75gk4L1c-aVEOT8M2VIHHz4OTUuwJ58dYAVLIhgEASL6fxTJIWWoRnvtURfWnwpVLz4OzqgEMV-h22g/s1600/king2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1252" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoynbei559nI0tGaTOYy0aJANx7cbFxT9LPhcUCt51ksxd2dXNWIPvB-PwA7x2L75gk4L1c-aVEOT8M2VIHHz4OTUuwJ58dYAVLIhgEASL6fxTJIWWoRnvtURfWnwpVLz4OzqgEMV-h22g/s320/king2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><br /></i></b></div><div>...only to survive via the method of pulling that hoary old trick that enraged me as a child - the footage that we didn't see last time of him yelling "Jump!" and the two of them bundling out of the car just before it soars <i>Thelma and Louise</i>-style over the edge.</div><div><br /></div><div>Still feels like a cheat all these years on. The flame of ire still burns brightly.</div><div><br /></div><div>When Glenda follows thanking her saviour with an interview request she is swiftly spurned - Rocket Man informing her that in his quest to rid the world of the menace that endangers the nation he needs zero publicity. He then informs her than the inter city bus runs along the road on which they stand and that one should be along shortly, before shooting off. Back at the Rocket Cave, King and Millard muse that the villains cannot be allowed to enlarge and inspect the photograph - for even though the masked Jeff can't be recognised the rocket suit will be identifiable by all as the same prototype that they had been working on. Since this will either finger Jeff or reveal that Millard is not as dead is everyone currently thinks, Jeff resolves to come up with a scheme to prevent Team Vulcan from blowing up that pic.</div><div><br /></div><div>When Durken reports back to Vulcan that he is finding it impossible to find a supplier willing to sell the specialist type of film needed to develop the negative, the unseen menace replies that Science Associates has a small amount in stock and that he can arrange an inside job; Durken should get to the premises at 9.00 PM where he will find the gate unlocked. The stooge and another man of hench slip in through the shadows easily, getting their grubby mitts on the coveted Micro-Film 247. Confronted by an armed King who demands to know who allowed their entrance, the pair manage to catch him unawares and get away with their prize.</div><div><br /></div><div>Blasting off after them, King follows their tracks to a remote cabin where Durken has a lab-coated science guy to process the photo. Landing in the woods and for some reason deciding to strip off the Rocket Man outfit and stash it in the shrubbery, he approaches the hideout as his usual civilian self (and hold on a minute - it's weird enough that he he wears the whole tight leather coat over his business suit, but where the hell was he keeping his hat?). Confronting Durken and taking on both him and the lab goon in a fist fight that quickly reduces the place to rubble, Jeff is knocked unconscious and left in the burning shack as a shattered jar of acid ignites a crate marked CHLOROMITE: DANGER - EXPLOSIVE...</div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2491519916964943188.post-55445629460052963562020-07-13T02:13:00.001-07:002020-07-13T02:13:10.244-07:00Oh My Goddess! ([orig: 'Aa! Megami-sama!'], Hiroaki Goda, 1993-1994)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6F80uNuJSiRn9DaOD0zcPUiUMrWGZM_oUM0_Om8T0igUdQ1WsN2UK6UuwMW_bRhFoHPSuKE2_frwoDk_CGVefeRphkQUGcokkJBl66CWrT0owTjQEZfDgt-GSbkE7d5OtHEPULzErVrh/s461/OMG_OVA_series_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="461" data-original-width="340" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6F80uNuJSiRn9DaOD0zcPUiUMrWGZM_oUM0_Om8T0igUdQ1WsN2UK6UuwMW_bRhFoHPSuKE2_frwoDk_CGVefeRphkQUGcokkJBl66CWrT0owTjQEZfDgt-GSbkE7d5OtHEPULzErVrh/w295-h400/OMG_OVA_series_cover.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Kosuke Fujishima's manga series <i>Oh My Goddess! </i>(or the minutely different <i>Ah! My Goddess! </i>in some transliterations) began in 1988 as a serialised story in the anthology collection <i>Monthly Afternoon</i>, making the leap from the printed page to the screen at first in the form of a short series of OVAs (original video animations for the uninitiated: animated shorts created solely for home video - and later DVD - distribution rather than being aimed primarily at the television or cinematic market) beginning in February of 1993 and concluding with the fifth chapter in May 1994. The franchise would continue with a 48 episode anime TV series from 1998 to 1999, a cinematic movie (with the perhaps obvious title of <i>Ah! My Goddess: the Movie</i> in 2000, two further TV series (<i>Ah! My Goddess! </i>in 2005 and <i>Ah! My Goddess: Flights of Fancy </i>in 2006) as well as two more OVA runs (the two-part <i>Ah! My Goddess: Fighting Wings </i>in 2007 and the three-part <i>Ah! My Goddess: Together Forever </i>from 2011 to 2013), throughout all of which the original <i>seinen </i>manga continued to run before concluding in 2014 after almost a quarter of a century of publication.</div>
<br />
Such a vast franchise is kind of beyond the purview of a blog that i'm already quite behind in updating, however, and we concern ourselves here with the original five-part series of OVAs from the '90s - which i'm pretty sure, after <i>Devil Man</i>, was one of the first OVA I ever saw thanks to the remarkably extensive set of anime in South Shields library. Clearly a member of staff was a fan, and my young self shall forever be grateful since my other main source of VHS perusal (my local video shop: remember those?) had a pretty limited selection.<div><br /></div><div>So, anyway, let's dive in!</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Part One: Moonlight and Cherry Blossoms</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32yWbSUCAVf_roLVIVoqYYMjULamlsmsVcLv5pEJ1qYLzP4OvtiNwiUMK9S1JDuy6tQWTIie0jLMMCH0csIqmk63ekkU-6on2ZuLF-gNxIRPt4iMTMF-0QQVjdhoTwAWBASRCYAAVO-ML/s897/Belldandyinanime.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="763" data-original-width="897" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32yWbSUCAVf_roLVIVoqYYMjULamlsmsVcLv5pEJ1qYLzP4OvtiNwiUMK9S1JDuy6tQWTIie0jLMMCH0csIqmk63ekkU-6on2ZuLF-gNxIRPt4iMTMF-0QQVjdhoTwAWBASRCYAAVO-ML/s320/Belldandyinanime.png" width="320" /></a></div><i><br /></i></b></div><div>It all begins so unassumingly on an ordinary day with student Keiichi Morisato stuck in his dormitory digs fielding phone calls and taking messages for his older and more senior dorm-mates (I don't think <i>"Notice me, senpai!"</i> necessarily means "Get me to be your answering service"). Growing hungry but unable to leave and frustrated at the restaurants he phones either not delivering during the day or not answering, Keiichi mis-dials and through the tangled lines of the Fates somehow gets a trunk call patched through the world-tree Yggdrasil to the Goddess Help Line.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the goddess Belldandy (an understandable Japanese transliteration of Verthandi - the Norn of the occurring present) appears through his mirror, all wide shimmering purple eyes and bright expression, offering to grant whatever wish he desires, our boy Keiichi is understandably gobsmacked. Believing himself to be being pranked (or Punk'd, if that's even still a thing?) by his roommates and embarrassed by his singleton status, he wishes that the radiant remain with him as his girlfriend forever - a blithely-spoken heart's desire that is quickly and irrevocably granted. This, however, sets powerful and immutable forces into motion - such as his roommates quickly returning and throwing him out for violating the rule of never having a girl within the dormitory. </div><div><br /></div><div>Suddenly down and out and on the streets, the despondent lad is cheered by the effervescently upbeat magic dream girl that's landed in his lap. Belldandy advises that fate will provide them with accommodation to the west, and so they mount Morisato's motorbike and continue stabbing westward through the nighttime rain until they reach an old abandoned temple; the crumbling edifice is soon restored to its former beauty by Belldandy reaching out to the building and asking it to remember what it used to be. In the morning, as the new couple settle into their appropriate abode for an angelic occupant, Keiichi's younger sister Megumi arrives on their doorstep and announces that she'll be staying with them for a while until her college course kicks off. Thus the stage is set for what I assume will be a Manga-style magicom along the lines of <i>I Dream of Jeannie</i> and <i>Bewitched</i> - a magical girl, an ordinary boy and the hilarious consequences that thus arise.</div><div><br /></div><div>Breezy and charming with some surprisingly touching moments (Belldandy's communion with the temple took me quite by surprise with how nonchalantly affecting it was), this first episode is a highly enjoyable scene setter.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Part Two: Midsummer Night's Dream</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii07gmgmEkMfQXfgDRrkzIZKmhY4sETROWMJ5qzi36VXDiMqMvJTkyZwyNXQWGK22NzHw7rphwGoXvwIbZoyL3-CQ-a1zPjbnz1NIgHHG46w1zi6VBieRc7_GU8ZCkJmNTJn-EwtIwQRou/s340/Urd_892.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii07gmgmEkMfQXfgDRrkzIZKmhY4sETROWMJ5qzi36VXDiMqMvJTkyZwyNXQWGK22NzHw7rphwGoXvwIbZoyL3-CQ-a1zPjbnz1NIgHHG46w1zi6VBieRc7_GU8ZCkJmNTJn-EwtIwQRou/s320/Urd_892.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><br /></i></b></div><div>Having settled well in and enjoyed five months of domestic bliss - somewhat ameliorated by the friendly needling in ways only a sibling can of Megumi - in 'Morisato Mansion' (as the sign hung on the temple wall now calls it), Keiichi and Belldandy's still somewhat platonic relationship receives what could either be a shot in the arm or a bullet in the throat when Megumi convinces them that a holiday by the seaside would be a good idea. Masking his fear due to his inability to swim because of Belldandy's enthusiasm at actually getting to see the ocean, Keiichi agrees to go and his day only begins to get entangled further in a web of weirdness and neuroses (I can so relate) when he receives a mysterious VHS tape in the post. Waiting until Bel and Megumi have gone out shopping, he opens the parcel to find a VHS tape titled <i>Goddess Films: Sexy Dynamite!! Part II.</i> Obviously, he immediately breaks out the box of tissues and puts it on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't judge. I'd do the same, and I suspect you would too.</div><div><br /></div><div>Things begin to turn and face the strange when the sexy white-haired lady (no, it's not GILF stuff, she just has hair that's white) breaks the fourth wall be emerging from the TV, bare anklet-clad foot first. Yes, this caters to my fetishes. No, it's not a Tarantino movie. This is Urd, the Fate of things past and Belldandy's older sister, who has grown tired of watching Keiichi's fumbling overtures and wants him to become a pouncer (though not of the Sylvia Daisy kind). Urging him on to take Bel to the beach and make his move, she instigates a series of unfortunate events with hilarious consequences (which sounds rather like a bad pitch for a Lemony Snicket sitcom, now that I read it back) through her matchmaking efforts - including giving Keiichi a love potion that will make him fall hopelesslty in love with the first person that he sees upon awakening. Alas, this turns out to be his rich spoiled bitch classmate Sayoko rather than Bel, who walks in on the scene of the hopelessly devoted to her Keiichi declaring his undying burns-hotter-than-a-thousand-suns amour for Sayoko.</div><div><br /></div><div>Shakespeare could easily have written <i>Three's a Crowd</i>, you know. There's always some kind of misunderstanding.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, Keiichi's hunk o' hunk o' burning love for Bel gets him over the spell, but just as things appear to be getting on track as they finally admit out loud their feelings for each other, Urd is thrown to Earth with a thundercrack (I mean an actual crack of thunder, not that film) and a message from the All-Father declaring that <i>"It is evident that the Ultimate Force system has crashed due to your tampering. Until further notice, the goddess Urd shall be banished to the mortal plane."</i></div><div><br /></div><div>And so Keiichi finds himself with another extra lodger. Sharing a house with two sexy goddesses. I wish I had that guy's problems.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Part Three: Burning Hearts on the Road</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikUfmZPuY-cHA9D0FgqHABwmTR93QAl14E0FZYPJuczfDZwiNEhBFvZppcRkvKPKzBD2EUHKDF2zOf_x_3e1DKK1Kpo1-uKq0x4zhBit2iUfG3UG-b7_7nTyu5lXYhb5DM_ML_RJ4KNamS/s483/skuld.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="483" data-original-width="316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikUfmZPuY-cHA9D0FgqHABwmTR93QAl14E0FZYPJuczfDZwiNEhBFvZppcRkvKPKzBD2EUHKDF2zOf_x_3e1DKK1Kpo1-uKq0x4zhBit2iUfG3UG-b7_7nTyu5lXYhb5DM_ML_RJ4KNamS/s320/skuld.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div> Opening with a pre-title sequence introducing us to the younger sister of our trinity of Norns - Skuld, Fate of things yet to come - as she races around the heavenly realm frantically playing whack-a-mole with spider-legged leporine abominations with her trusty croquet mallet , the third instalment sees Keiichi in a bit of a bind as his fellow students have entered him as the Nekomi Tech contender in the intercollegiate drag racing festival. Sitting amid the yet-to-be-assembled parts of the twin engined bike that he's meant to race on trying to put them together like Dave Lister with his space bike and being more hindered than helped by Urd (her attempted spell to bring the parts together on their own quite literally blowing up in both their faces), Keiichi resolves to take a bath.</div><div><br /></div><div>This endeavour at simply relaxing goes as astray as all else, however, when the reflective surface of the bathwater acts - like the mirror and the television screen - as a divine conduit for Skuld to emerge much to the surprise of both parties. Perhaps more so for Keiichi as the impetuous young Skuld's immediate reaction to a naked bathing male is to scream "Pervert!" and serve him up a concussive crack on the cranium. Skuld is unhappy at having to manage goddess business on her own without her big sisters, and Bel's devotion to "K" makes him the unfortunate recipient of the tyro's ire. After the temple abode (would it be wrong to want to call it the Goddess Cave? Maybe. I think i'll reserve that as a pet name for a paramour's genitalia) is paid an uninvited visit by Toshiyuki Aoshima, the equally vain and spoiled cousin of Sayoko who has set up his own rival college motor club and makes sickening overtures towards the lovely Bel replete with flowers and poetry that put even my own clunkiest fumbles at romance to shame, Skuld concocts a plan to make Keiichi lose the race in the hope that Bel's ardour will be doused - paving the way for her to return home.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the gang assemble the motorcycle via the medium of a montage and get ready for the race, it seems that events will not transpire in Keiichi's favour until Bel openly rejects Aoshima's advances and makes a rousing speech to the race team about the goddess of victory (Nike: just do it) smiling not on the prideful, but on those with burning hearts. Of course true love sways and Keiichi wins the race, garlanded not only with the winner's medal (by Urd, very fetching as a grid girl) but with Bel's love. For a moment it seems like Skuld has been swayed over to team Keidandy, but she swinftly abandons that 'ship, declaring "You know, I really hate you!"</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Part Four: Evergreen Holy Night</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i668z5ycENHKW0p9PJzQoaPv1G_GqPTntsYQ147CtdDYHIPHHCfuq2ka_MNTJEheCnqQG9n3YYw4wPCubmEiv6RlelzaOoA-ho4E7C1FIkxWOAY0xHjcp_JdCQ9dwF5-E3Ayuhe_CBP8/s350/keiichi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="225" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i668z5ycENHKW0p9PJzQoaPv1G_GqPTntsYQ147CtdDYHIPHHCfuq2ka_MNTJEheCnqQG9n3YYw4wPCubmEiv6RlelzaOoA-ho4E7C1FIkxWOAY0xHjcp_JdCQ9dwF5-E3Ayuhe_CBP8/s320/keiichi.jpg" /></a></div><i><br /></i></b></div><div>In which we begin with Keiichi finally pledging his love to Belldandy by giving her his ring (no, not like that - get your mind out of the gutter!), only for her to react by sprouting feathered wings and floating away on the winder wind telling him that the force of Destiny cannot be defied forever ad that she must return to her Heavenly home. Which probably wasn't the reaction the guy was expecting. Of course, 'tis all but an anxiety dream and he wakes screaming just like Jesse Walsh from <i>Freddy's Revenge.</i> Bel is still by his side of course, but the thought that their "we shall never be apart" promise may not last begins to gnaw at him.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is four days 'til Christmas at the Morisato Mansion, and going outside the star-crossed couple find the temple grounds completely bedecked with festive snow - and Urd and Skuld magically outdoing themselves in the sibling rivalry department when a snowball fight magically escalates into the creation of a gigantic living Ymir of a snowman. Figuring he'll have to put snow chains on the wheels of his bike, Keiichi goes to see how blocked the road is only to find that the snow has fallen solely on the temple and its environs. General bafflement at this mysterious and mystical weather phenomenon is disrupted when Skul espies a "bug" - of of the spider-legged rabbit creatures she had spent her time swatting in the nether-realm - and sets off in hot pursuit after it across the pristine snows before pummelling it with her trusty mallet: a pest extermination which results in the frozen tundra vanishing as instantly as it arrived.</div><div><br /></div><div>Quickly determining that the infestation are quite literally bugs in the divine system (bugs which "aren't supposed to show up here in the surface world; something must really be wrong <i>up there</i>"says Skuld) and that they have to do something about it, things become curiouser and curiouser when a series of unfortunate events occur to Keiichi in rapid succession culminating in his suddenly becoming magnetic and drawing all the breakfast cutlery to his body including a Bottomesque frying pan to the face. Skuld locates the portal facilitating the bugs' arrival to have manifested between Keiichi and Bel - any contact between the two of them is making things worse.</div><div><br /></div><div>K has a nervous bug in his system, which makes him edgy and afraid as it looks increasingly like his dream was less pathetic and more prophetic: something which seems to become certain when Bel is contacted by her heavenly father and told that a Recall Notice has been issued and that she has only three days before the gate will open and she must return home. Having to remain physically apart lest more accidents be caused by the system glitch an increasingly despondent K attends school without Bel and finds himself on the receiving end of Sayoko's unwanted attentions as she makes it abundantly clear that if Bel is no longer dating him then she'll be predating upon him.</div><div><br /></div><div>This stressful day comes to a peak when Urd and Skuld identify the energy source that is the main attractor of the bugs - a tall and forbidding gnarled cherry tree by the temple, the sight of which causes Belldandy to recoil in abject atavistic terror.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Part Five: For the Love of Goddess</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0t9xyFDvJlp-Lohp5DNB4bZ7S8AQ4DU3CzUORIUnyFhB2KkiXedJxtlQr53e9y-TC8729pwVeZAtUOMQD-yGj7K81qJXMzAJaddY1kdQBc1NdeJ5kYeTBPa26ZVUnSa5jhchidi2brqOe/s640/goddess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0t9xyFDvJlp-Lohp5DNB4bZ7S8AQ4DU3CzUORIUnyFhB2KkiXedJxtlQr53e9y-TC8729pwVeZAtUOMQD-yGj7K81qJXMzAJaddY1kdQBc1NdeJ5kYeTBPa26ZVUnSa5jhchidi2brqOe/w400-h300/goddess.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i><br /></i></b></div><div>Another new dawn breaks, and with only two days until Bel is recalled Urd and Skuld are hard at work trying to find a festive miracle to get all of them out of this predicament. Alas, the malfunction sin the Heavenly paradigm caused by the bugs is even ruining communications with the other side, as Goddess Second Class, Limited Licence Urd finds when she tries to place a call to their father (though the bored secretary voice that answers with "Heaven, can I help you?" is pretty damn funny even as she puts Urd on hold and refuses to connect Urd to the main office). Determining that they have to deal with the cherry tree and the energy sealed within it to deal with the system imbalance, Urd encourages Skuld to aid her in utilising an Ultimate Magic Circle to negate the power that feeds the tree.</div><div><br /></div><div>As a mutually heartbroken Keiichi and Bel deal with their enforced social distancing - Keiichi by staying away from the temple all day working a series of zero hour contract jobs that he was set up with by his college senpais (including window cleaning, directing traffic and pizza delivery) originally with the aim of earning enough money to buy Bel the engagement of of their dreams - Skuld is hard at work on the calculations needed to deal with the system bugs. When K collapses of exhaustion after working from dawn til dusk he finds himself riding the night mare as some serious REM dreamscapes come during the night seemingly taking the form of flashbacks from long ago as though Bel were always with him since his youth. I guess they'll at least be together forever in eccentric dreams. As this occurs, Bel self-isolating in her room feels some kind of powerful movement in the Force, reacting with "His memory is returning... There's still time."</div><div><br /></div><div>As Christmas Eve begins, Bel is busy sadly erasing all traces of her mortal life including all mementos such as photographs of her time with Keiichi, as she can leave him no reminders of the nine months they've spent together after her ascension. Keiichi frantically rushes home with the promised ring just as the clock strikes the 10.00 A.M. deadline, to be met with the sight of Bel raising her pretty fists like antennas to heaven and the sky cracking asunder to welcome her as she floats into the firmament. Luckily, Urd and Skuld are just finishing the ultimate circle incantation and the energy unleashed disrupts the sky portal just as Keiichi's buried memories of his childhood encounter with Bel and their youthful promises to each other return. As a message from the All-Father arrives cancelling Bel's recall and also grounding Urd and Skuld to Earth for unauthorised meddling arrives, Bel finally wears the ring and they are together forever in love.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because if a trio of goddesses can't bring about a Christmas miracle, who can?</div><div><br /></div><div>A simple story well told with solid animation, a good English dub voice cast and a suitably upbeat yet emotive soundtrack, <i>Oh My Goddess! </i>is a great example of accessible anime recommended for any fans of the genre or animation in general. Or even just viewers in search of something breezy and romantic.</div>Glen McCullahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10852390016175036244noreply@blogger.com0