Sunday, May 29, 2011

thought of the day.

  
You will never lovingly embrace a naked Sofia Coppola in a pool.


box (art) frenzy.

For your enjoyment, a selection of quality covers from the late, great Video Classics collection that will (and have) served as inspiration for many a struggling young artist.

If only today's covers had half the flair.


















Friday, May 27, 2011

the price is right!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

tough on crime...

Captain Marvel tells it like it is.


Tuesday, May 24, 2011

people you fancy but shouldn't part 29.

Guardian teevee critic and all round clever lady Grace Dent.

I'll let our Dutch pals sum her up:

Ze studeerde Engelse literatuur en werkt sinds 1996 als freelance journalist en columnist voor jongerentijdschriften, zoals CosmoGIRL! en kranten als The Guardian, The Daily Mirror en Glamour.

Roughly translated:

Meow!







Monday, May 23, 2011

fish fang grrrrrrr!

What can I say?

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

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

Which is a shame really.

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

"Welcome to the Endangered Species list, bastard!"

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

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

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

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

And  a bad case of all over genital warts.


"Shark in mah mooth!"

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

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


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

A sexy senorita (sans AIDS) yesterday.

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

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

Adrien Brody: the mooth shite-in years.

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

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

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

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

Entrails on mah beach!

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

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

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

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

Why would she need to ask how to kill it?

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

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


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

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

Or will the swim team get eaten whole?

Well, what do you think?

"Laugh noooooooooo!"

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

What's not to love?

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

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

And frankly you should be ashamed of yourself.

Rum, sodomy and the lash.

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

Admit it, you know it's true.

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

more things you don't expect....

...from your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.


Sunday, May 22, 2011

adventures of a (not too) private dick.

After all the death threats and hate mail I received after reviewing Megan is Missing (she says 'Hi!' by the way) I thought I'd better stick to something a wee bit safer next time.

See what your comments made me do?

Little did I know it would be the sofa.

Asian Noir No.6: Evil Sex Trap (2008).
Dir: David Aaron Clark
Cast: Ange Venus, Mr. Marcus, Coco Velvett, Destiny, Lana Violet, Myla Montez and Dick James.




Hard boiled (and shiny dome headed) LAPD detective Terrence Trent (the smooth sex superstar Mr. Marcus from The World's Luckiest Black Man) wakes up one evening to find himself face down of the floor of a deserted room in the wrong part of town and suffering from a really bad case of amnesia.

Tho' not I hasten to add crabs, which in his line of work should be a given.

Clad in his best Billy Dee Williams suit and with only his toy police badge and big silver gun for company, our sexy Tec is desperate to find out what has happened and why he's there.

Oh and when he can start shagging a few fit (and clean) birds.

Suddenly his mobile phone begins to ring and, on answering our hero is bombarded with the drunken ramblings of the infamous Lady Wu herself (the flat faced, AIDS thin porn goddess that is Ange Venus from My Mom's First Black Cock and Mini-Van Moms 2), who promises to reveal to Trent but only if he makes his way to her thoroughly evil sex trap warehouse cum knocking shop (fantastically played by the directors mum's condo in north Hollywood).

His curiosity aroused, Trent has no choice but to obey.

"Excuse me...is this the way to the mooth shite-in suite?"


Arriving by taxi (and sexy voiceover) at the aforementioned evil sex trap type place, Trent soon realises that things aren't quiet what they seem.

For one thing it's not him indulging in the sex but a spookily dressed black guy and an evil looking black undied Asian girl (You're On Trial singer Dick James - possibly -  and My Daughter's Fucking Blackzilla! star Lana Violet) with noisy abandon on a nice MFI leather sofa.

Let's hope they have a good cleaner.

Under the pretence of being a good detective (and not you understand because he fancies a cheap thrill) Trent sits back and watches the show, until that is things start to get a wee bit ugly and Trent feels he has to step in.

Which is a bad move if you think about it as the whole messy (in both senses of the word) situation ends up with the girl vanishing into thin air and Dick murdered to death by Trent's own hand.

How's he gonna explain that to his nan?

"You're on Trial" which is sex industry slang for you're on my massive black cock bitch! obviously.

Cradling Dick's stiff in his arms Trent begins to experience erotically fuelled (and tit filled) sweaty flashbacks to, um stuff that maybe important later.

Or may just be flashy porn scenes for those who get off on such stuff.

Either way it's nicely lit.

Moving deeper and deeper into the evil sex trap warehouse (yes I know it's a mouthful), Marcus comes across (literally) loads more sexual encounter between various big black blokes and a number of fairly tiny tattooed Asian babes occasionally interrupted by even more of Lady Wu's drunken ramblings.

Imagine a twelve tissue version of Lost Highway with a cast constructed entirely of silicone and you're halfway there.

Still intrigued  as to why he's there (and no doubt enjoying the sight of so many jiggly jubbly jugs) our sun-kissed sex machine finds Wu's saucy suspender clad secretary Lana (fresh faced and smooth arsed Velvett from Hit Me with Your Best Squirt) bending over a filing cabinet at the end of a long hallway.

Coco Velvett: Just add water.

Deciding to fill in Trent (and us) on what the fuck is going on, Lana explains that the building is home to not only a classy brothel but also an Import/Export business and a porn studio based in the cellar.

Which is nice.

obviously keen on seeing a few more spunk covered arses, Trent heads to the lift double quick his manly hand clutched tightly around his massive weapon just in case of trouble.

And trouble he finds, in the yumsome form of the mysterious Bella Emberg (Mini minx Montez fresh from Black Dick Too Boo-Coo 4), who frankly makes no effort at all to seduce our police pimpmiester, she basically just flashes her arse and our hero does the rest.

The Wanko novelty sofa cushion...available now!



Whilst all this bum humping is going down Lana has fallen asleep whilst going (as opposed to coming) over the clients figures and is currently having a fairly erotic cum scary dream about Trent and his weapon to a sexy sax solo.

Trust me, you can almost taste the Brut aftershave.

Finishing up by wiping his cock on the curtains, Trent fails to notice that Bella has wandered off (probably to clean herself up before she starts sticking to things) but being a detective, the Trent-inator follows her snail-like trail upstairs where he's shocked (and let's admit it, if he's anything like my missis slightly aroused) to find Lana being chocked/bummed to death by a mask wearing, strap on thrusting succubus (Destiny in her motion picture debut).

"I can see your house from here Peter".

Starting to lose his cool due to all the shagging and eighties style pop vid' lighting, Trent just stands there looking bald (but still sexy as fuck) in the vain hope that someone (anyone) will explain the plot to him.

Luckily Lady Wu finally makes an appearance, floating into the room on a cloud of poppers and shame to inform Trent (after having sex with him of course) that he once committed a bad murder and that the masked strap-on succubus, Bella and Lana aren't really harsh faced porn stars but are, in fact, an trio of evil and fairly vengeful spirits hellbent on punishing Trent for his various misdemeanour's.

And yes that does include messing up the curtains.

With his memories now restored (and his huge uncircumcised penis cocked and ready) Trent realises the true nature of the evil sex trap....but is it too late to save his (arse) soul?

Mr. Marcus: he's shagging your mum.


From the slightly Asian babe obsessed mind of the late, great David Aaron Clark comes (literally) this bizarro mix of softly lit porn, Outer Limits homage's and kinky hair whipping that would shame even the legendary Joe D'Amato and his back catalogue of horror/porn crossovers.


And probably make him green with envy at the fact that Clark could get so many fairly attractive actresses for so little money whilst he was stuck with George Eastman in a vest.




Eastman: Sweaty sac.

Coming across like a buffer, less hairy version of Richard Roundtree mixed with the sheer animalistic rutting power of Bobby Blake, Mr. Marcus (real name: Marcus Frank Spencer) gives a fairly competent performance as an amnesiac copper with a constant hard-on, spending as he does the majority of the movie wandering through a spooky building and occasionally having sex with a number of Botoxed babes.

His real talent tho' lies in the sheer number of radically different cum faces he manages to pull during his many climaxes. Each one as different as they are strangely attractive.

I for one could happily watch him rutting my mum for hours just to gaze on his furrowed brow as he expels his mighty man-muck into her every orifice.

Megan's pal Amy devastated that she decided to turn down this movie.


On a downside some of the make-up FX are frankly shite and most of the editing (credited to one Hasiell Damnett who I'm fairly sure isn't using his real name) looks like it was done using scissors and glue by a boss eyed hook handed toddler, but I can probably say that most viewers will be more interested in counting Ange Venus' ribs that checking out the continuity.

Except that is for the scene where Destiny's sex-mad, strap-on wearing succubus is killing Lana. I for one was shocked to see the bastard had completely ruined the scene by shodilly intercuting it with footage of (gasp) some common or garden conventional sex therefore destroying the illusion of any supernatural occurrences at all.

Big thumbs down (and one right up the shitter) to the director for allowing this to happen.

But saying that he's dead now so I reckon one of my digits up his arse is the least of his worries.

Friday, May 13, 2011

going postal.

Expecting the new Doctor Who DVD from Amazon this morning, come home to find this instead....


Thank you whoever you are for sending me this empty DVD case with an enclosed note which reads "You're next".

I think.

Monday, May 9, 2011

blind date.

Occasionally dear reader a film comes along that is so powerful, so disturbing that it leaves you speechless.

This is one such movie.

Tho' possibly not for the reasons the director intended.

Megan is Missing (2010).
Dir: Michael Goi.
Cast: Amber Perkins, Rachel Quinn and Dean Waite.




Opening with a very serious title card that informs us that the movie we are about to see is based on a true story (scary), the film then hedges it's reality bets and throws all hope of suspense to the wind by revealing this:

And not a single fuck was given.


Yup, two minutes in and we already know the ending but we can still live in the vain hope that we'll probably get some top-notch Larry Clark 'Kids' style acting or at the very least shots of Megan stripping seductively for her mysterious online stalker Josh or even some fumbling girl on girl action between the leads.

But all chances of these things happening quickly disseminate into the ether when the film starts good and proper and you realise that you're about to experience an incredibly dull seventy odd minutes of the horse faced, Bratz doll made flesh Megan (Quinn from Gene DePaul's Chicago-based stage version of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers) whining constantly about school, her hair, parties, boys and the sex.

In arse numbingly graphic detail.

Amazingly all the close-ups of Megan's luscious lips and scarily elongated face as she chats in-depth about blow jobs, descriptions of spunky undies and tales of underage nookie to anyone that's listening are so tedious as to make the thought of doing anything remotely sexual again (especially with any abducted teens you may have in your cupboard) nay on impossible thanks to her nasally voice as it burrows ever deeper into your brain like a bloated cranium worm.

Cheers for that hen.

"You want me to do WHAT in your cup?"


And rather than make us care about Megan with all these heart felt teenage chats, writer/director/closet fetishist Goi only succeeds in making her not only totally repulsive but also deserving of a bloody good kicking.

To be honest you actually start counting down to her abduction, knowing that you'll finaly get a break from her constant, self-absorbed bollocks.

At one point I honestly thought that moon-faced best buddy Amy had done it just so she could get a word in edgeways the poor cow.




"Crap chat police! You're under arrest sugar!

Anyways, between all this talking shite and applying lipgloss it appears that Megan has been flirting online to a hunky skater-boi named Josh and has arranged to meet him.

Surprise, surprise Josh is a bad man who violently snatches Megan away never to be seen again.

And worse than that is the fact that Josh isn't even his real name!

The bounder!

She might look upset now but just you wait till arse banditary starts.



Amy upon realising that she has no idea how to start a conversation now motor-mouth Megan has gone decides to turn all Nancy Drew on us (minus the pop socks obviously) and investigate the disappearance of her pal.

Weeks later tho', Amy also vanishes.




So far, so TeeVee movie of the week but hark! the director has one final trick up his sleeve.

 You see it appears that after weeks of searching that the police have discovered Amy's camera in a bin.

And someone seems to have been posting vaguely embarrassing pictures of what could be Megan on a bizarro bondage fetish site.

"Shite in mah whiny American mooth!"

Bring on the real-time footage of Amy, stripped to her undies, caked in mud and chained up in a cellar as she's systematically abused, raped and sworn at by 'Josh' in gloriously unflinching eighties nasty style sleaze-arama.

But if you think that this is all a wee bit too exploitationy for a public service mocumentary then you ain't see owt yet because dirty boy Goi has an ace in the bag.

Or more precisely Megan's rotting corpse in a barrel.

Which I'll admit was unexpected.

Bored by all this torture and tears, Josh decides to pop Amy into the barrel too as our family friendly director closes the film by filming Josh's feet as he digs a hole big enough to put the barrel in as the soundtrack is filled with Amy's screams.

for almost twelve and a half minutes.

"Laugh now!"


Like a living, breathing copy of Chat Magazine with it's wholesome, family friendly tales of holiday rape and cheery infanticide stories, Megan is Missing seems to exist in a bizarre void where public safety films and early eighties sleaze, both drunk on cheap gin and high on poppers have shagged each other senseless in a grimy back alley before spewing forth an ultra-foul, faux Cinéma vérité baby, misshapen, and twisted yet still managing to vomit ill-conceived torture porn cunningly masquerading as scaremongering public service propaganda from it's lipless mouth.

Available from all good newagents!


Utilising the by now criminally clichéd found footage scenario, Megan is Missing is made up of around 70% camcorder and mobile phone stuff, 20% CCTV footage and news reports with the final 10% appearing to be the directors private fantasy files made flesh.

Possibly.

If so then he wont have been the first director to put his wildest sexual dreams on film but at least the others were a wee bit more honest and didn't wrap them in public service cotton wool.

Tho' maybe I'm being too harsh about the poor guy (harsh, me?) and Michael Goi  did actually have his heart in the right place whilst making this.

If that's the case then it's just a pity he appeared to have his free hand shoved firmly down the front of his underpants for the last twenty or so minutes really.

Fuck I really need a bleach shower now.