We’re running out of patients!
I’m going to break out the world’s smallest violin here.
I was due to spend this Christmas with my family in Scotland. This, at the best of times, is a horrifying prospect, involving arguments, enough Scotch to kill a small island, more arguments, shite food and I have to take the train for the privilege. However, due to a contact lens related disaster, I had to disembark the train at Newcastle and go to casualty. The lens had gone bad, and had sealed itself to my eye. As such, it had gouged the surface of my cornea, and I couldn’t get the bastard out. Anyhow, the Doctor removed it (made a sound like velcro when he took it out), gave me a telling off, and made me come back in the next day (Christmas Eve).
So, what has this got to do with a shady little B-Movie? Simple, he prescribed me three sets of eye drops and ordered me to stay up 24 hours putting them in every hour on the hour. This would, I felt, be a challenge as I was bound to be half cut and ready for bed. There was but one solution: watch any old bollocks on TV and hope for the best. So, at 2AM on 24th December, your humble narrator was sitting in a severely uncomfortable chair, shivering in a room with no heating watching Candy Stripers on The Horror Channel. This is by far the most stringent test that I’ve ever put a schlock vault entry through. The goal was simple: Candy Stripers had to be entertaining enough to stop my dozing off. Read More…
Every week after I publish the censorship essay, I’m going to look at 1 film that fell foul of the Great British Censor. Last week’s topic was the sweaty-palm inducing sex, available here, and so this week I’m reviewing a film that upset the BBFC and had serious problems obtaining a certificate due to sexual content. As attitudes have changed, almost all of the films on this series have a received a full uncut release, but at the time they were either banned outright, banned on video, or slashed to ribbons. First up is pretentious French art-house soft-core porno Emmanuelle.
Never underestimate the power of cheer!
Back when I reviewed Bring it On for my birthday series, I seriously spent a large amount of time fantasising about what if this vacuous crap was actually a slasher movie and a big lug in a melted William Shatner mask would jump out and slaughter the cast of single-dimensional tarts in the film. And lo, as if by magic, someone called Kerry Beyer heard my prayers and decided that he would reinvigorate the tired slasher genre by, er, remaking Friday 13th but with a camp full of cheerleaders.
This should be joyous, surely?
Contains an inexplicably large dildo and spoilers below. Read More…
You had your cherry popped
This should be gold.
Yes, that’s right, I’m wallowing in the grimy pit of modern grindhouse again, because I clearly haven’t learned my lesson from recent fiascoes such as Hobo with a Shotgun, Nude Nuns with Big Guns and so forth. Given my utterly atrocious track record picking films from this sad and benighted genre, you’d think I would have stopped. Except I keep seeing exceptional posters for them, such as the one above, and I instantly forget about the maxim “never judge a book by its cover”. In my defence, though, this is billed as a rip-roaring revenge tale about a stripper on the warpath, which does sound right up my alley.
Contains an enormous hitman with an inexplicable afro and spoilers below. Read More…
Time to expand on my new Return of the Living Dead hypothesis. I think it’s kind of anti-Star Trek. The theory goes with Star Trek that only the even numbered ones are any good (I heartily dispute this regarding part 4: Save the Whales), and Return of the Living Dead is the opposite. So far, 1 is gold, 2 is garbage, 3 is Silver, 4 is utter garbage. So presumably, following on, 5 (Rave to the Grave) will also therefore win a medal of some description, possibly a bronze. Well, no, it’s not that good. However it did at least make the final and hasn’t embarrassed itself in any way. For a start, it does actually resemble a Return of the Living Dead film, and while I hate the central character Julian (John Keefe from Part 4) the presence of gore, comedy and nudity automatically raise it above the quite filthy depths that Necropolis had sunk the series to.
This is a Return of the Living Dead film, so nudity, gore, laughs and Spoilers lurk below. Read More…
BRAAAAAAIIIIIINNNNNSSSS!!! The Return of the Living Dead Series. Part 1: Jarv looks back at Return of the Living Dead 1-3.
Next up on my quest through horror movie series is the incomparable Return of the Living Dead. The original Return of the Living Dead (here on referred to as ROTLD)was one of my first Vault reviews from way back in the Summer of 2009, and to be honest, it doesn’t read anywhere near as well now as I thought it did. I followed this with ROTLD 2 in November 2009, and again, it’s not my most sophisticated piece of criticism ever. I finally took on ROTLD 3 last year, as part of my quest to watch every Brian Yuzna film ever made, and the review is a bit better. But what is Return of the Living Dead, I hear you ask?
Stalker is another film that our very own Col. Tigh Fighter found the location for, so as such I almost feel duty bound to review it, especially when I also interviewed producer Jonathan Sothcott for Pop Culture Ninja on White Collar Hooligan. So, here we go, another of the seemingly endless chain of UK Horror movies that have sprung up like toadstools after rain since 2010. This time around, the pedigree isn’t too bad with former Spandau Ballet and Eastenders escapee Martin Kemp helming, Sothcott producing and Jane March, Billy Murray and Colin Salmon in prominent parts. It’s also “inspired by” the only British film to ever make the video nasty list, the repugnant (or so I am informed, I haven’t seen it) Exposé, also known as The House on Straw Hill.
Contains a very strange floater and spoilers below Read More…
Welcome back to the Birthday Series. This time around, I have, as noticed, developed a far more high-brow list than the previous run. So, I’ve endured the quirky melodrama of Almodovar, and now I’m girding up my loins to take on the master of surrealist incomprehensibility, David Lynch. The film in question was the surprise Palme D’Or Winner, and features one of Nicholas Cage’s most definitively crazy performances: Wild at Heart (24th August in the UK, 17th August in the USA). Variously described as being the bastard lovechild of Badlands and the Wizard of Oz, Wild at Heart is an iconic American road trip movie; a star-crossed love-film languishing amongst the freaks and degenerates of an American underclass overlooked by most film makers.
May contain one of the most spectacular head explosions ever filmed and spoilers below. Read More…
Hehehehehehe. To quote the not-forgotten monkey: BOOBS, ASS, MINKY! FTW!
Color of Night (release date 19th August in the USA) is a monumentally dumb film, so dumb in fact that it forgot the definite article at the start of its title. It’s also a hilarious one, but don’t let that distract you from the fact that on almost every level this is a cinematic stinker, a borderline skin-flick with a plot that would get laughed out of even the worst airport fiction. It’s so blazingly and crushingly inept, actually, that it doesn’t belong here and should live in the vault along with the other dregs of cinema. That it doesn’t is that it was directed by Oscar Nominated Richard Rush, and stars (check this out) Bruce Willis, Jane March (who incidentally, and quite understandably, hates it), Lesley Ann Warren, Scott Bakula, Brad Dourif, Ruben Blades, Lance Henriksen, Eriq LaSalle and Kathleen Wilhoite. Holy shit, what a cast, and what a fucking laughably awful film. I think the best word for it is “risible”.
Absolutely under no circumstances does this contain Bruce Willis’ cock, but it may contain spoilers below. Read More…
Get a fuckin’ job!
I haven’t done a vault review for a while, due to being perpetually distracted by the Birthday series, and as a result I’ve partially forgotten the format for these. So bear with me a bit on this one. My research this morning has told me that Street Trash is considered by many to be a masterpiece of “grindhouse”, a slick and gory black comedy made for peanuts; an archetype of modern exploitation that transcends its humble origins and becomes something more despite the almost total absence of budget. I’m not so sure I agree.
Contains melty tramps and spoilers below.