Posts Tagged With: Severin

All That Zarjaz… FUTURE SHOCK! THE STORY OF 2000 AD Reviewed

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… wielding their gleaming tweezers, no doubt.

BD. Region Free. Severin. Unrated or BD. Region B/2. Arrow. 15.

The IPC comic Action (created by Pat Mills and published 14/02/76-11/11/77) specialised in, er, “adapting” the storylines of violent contemporary movies (Jaws, Rollerball, any amount of vigilante cop sagas) for a readership who were avidly discussing them in the playground but too young to sneak into cinemas and actually see the bloody things. In the process it garnered much hostile tabloid comment, anguished TV debate and the undying enmity of Mary Whitehouse’s National Viewers And Listeners’ Association. WHS and Menzies started getting cold feet and so did IPC, pulping the print run of issue 37 (an ultra-rare copy of which recently went for two-and-a-half grand on eBay!) and the comic lingered on for another year or so of declining sales in woefully bowdlerised shape. As a precursor to the “video nasties” witch hunt of five years later and indeed, as a social panic in its own right, the Action story deserves documentary treatment…

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In the absence of that, here’s Paul Goodwin’s 2014 documentary on Action’s spiritual successor, the rather more successful (forty years as “the Galaxy’s Greatest Comic” and still counting) 2000 AD. Mills’ new creation was seen as some kind of retreat on its inception. “Because it’s a Sci-fi comic, people thought that it would be nice and middle class…” he remembers: “Boy, were they in for a shock!” They sure were, with a continuing stress on “action” (which in Mills’ formula always equalled “violence”) and a new pantheon of iconic, anti-heroic characters such as Judge Dredd, Rogue Trooper, Strontium Dog, Halo Jones, The ABC Warriors and Nemesis The Warlock (2000 AD even revamped The Eagle’s venerable Dan Dare for a spell) running amok in hard-hitting strips that were Dystopianly satirical, sardonic and Sadean.

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Goodwin’s very welcome doc, adeptly handled for the most part, unfortunately kicks off with a couple of my least favourite lazy pop social history clichés, concerning the cultural climate from which 2000 AD emerged. The late ’70s was, by this account, a period of “social conflict” in the UK and the evidence wheeled out to support this trusty old chestnut is familiar stock footage of Arthur Scargill, aggro on the picket lines and bin bags piling up in the streets. OK, so working people at this time were achieving a measure of success in the struggle to advance their economic conditions by flexing their industrial muscle (nobody was going to hand them anything on a plate, where they?) and that apparently amounts to “social conflict.” By implication the current situation, in which the boot is very much on the other foot and being enthusiastically ground into the faces of the working poor, the disabled, the demented, immigrants and benefit claimants (when it isn’t pressing down on the accelerator of wealth transference to the 1% from the rest of us) must be seen as a period of relative “social harmony”. Tell it to the nurses queueing at food banks and the tenants of high-rise tinder boxes! So much for pop social history…

My other least favourite lazy cliché follows hot on the heels of the first and has it, in this instance, that 2000 AD drew its “grit”, “authenticity”, “street credibility” and any amount of other bullshit from the punk “movement” and the antidote it allegedly provided for the drippy hippy legacy of the ’60s. Well, the idea of punk as a street level / grass-roots tendency has always been laughable, considering that it was cooked up between a record industry hell-bent on cutting production costs and an elite circle of entrepreneurs who had been to Art School and thought (correctly) that they could use a dodgy strain of French academic theory (Situationism) to flog a bunch of stupid clothes to “the kids”. In point of fact, 2000 AD’s initial impact and impetus came from its adherence to the dark, taboo busting ethos of “drippy hippy” Felix Dennis’ Cozmic Comix, from which milieu the new title recruited such luminaries as Bryan Talbot, Brian Bolland and Dave Gibbons.

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The pre-titles sequence’s clumsiest moment, though, comes when the voice over is referencing a “clash of cultures” and we simultaneously cut to The Clash on stage, performing some cod “political” diatribe in their customary hysterical manner. Speaking of Da Clash, during (White Man) In Hammersmith Palais, Joe Strummer (aka diplomat’s son John Graham Mellor) warned us: “They got Burton suits, haha, they think it’s funny, turning rebellion into money”. The main thrust of Goodwin’s doc (which, it’s fair to say, improves dramatically after its glib introduction) is how the founders of 2000 AD overthrew the complacent likes of Eagle (which, if we are to pursue the putative punk parallels, might be cast in the infra-dig Emerson, Lake and Palmer role) and such anachronistic oddities as Whizzer And Chips, only to fall into old fartitude themselves as successive waves of young Turks arrived at King’s Reach Tower to redefine the cutting edge of comic cool, before giving way in their turn to further turks / future farts… while in the background the guys in suits continued to turn all of their respective rebellions into money.

Distinguished alumni interviewed here include Kevin O’Neill, Dave Gibbons, John Wagner, Alan Grant, Brian Bolland, Bryan Talbot, Carlos Ezquerra, Grant Morrison and David Bishop, plus the “comic activist” (whatever that is) and historian Paul Gravett, Alex Garland (who wrote the second, superior Dredd movie) and Karl Urban (who played the title  character in that) and fan boys including Scott Ian (the guy out of Anthrax with the silly beard) and some bloke from Portishead.

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Throughout this feature the rival factions diss each other (the only subject on which there seems to be unanimity is on how much everybody despises the character of Tharg, the comic’s notional alien editor) and big up their own credentials as true custodians of the soul and spirit of 2000 AD, with frequent interjections from founder and on / off contributor Mills, the Gordon Ramsey of the comic world… this is a man whose default emotional state appears to be “seething”. Of course he has a lot to feel angry about and one of Future Shock’s ongoing refrains is how disgracefully the creative talents have been treated by IPC and subsequent publishers. Shocking enough that writers and artists were expected to surrender all copyright in their work in perpetuity for a measly flat fee (as the late artist formally known as Prince once observed: “If you don’t own your masters, your masters own you”) but when Kevin O’Neill discovered that a) his story Shok! had been plagiarised for the Richard Stanley film Hardware and b) that he was being threatened with legal action by the film company’s layers unless he disowned any rights to the story… well!!!

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Neil Gaiman admits to shedding tears over the fact that Alan Moore (the most notable absentee from the interviewees here) abandoned The Ballad Of Halo Jones because of the shabby way he was being treated. When Brian Bolland defected to DC (specifically to its Vertigo imprint) he turned out to be the first of many. The second half of this doc details the subsequent decline in 2000 AD’s mojo and flirtations with closure. After the nadir represented by its ill-advised ’90s dalliance with the “lads’ mags” demographic, the only way was up and Future Shock! closes with the comic thriving under the safe custodianship of Rebellion Developments, still sending thrill-meters into meltdown across our and other galaxies. Meanwhile popular culture (have you checked out one of those Marvel movies recently?) and the world we inhabit have finally caught up with 2000 AD … kudos to Mills and co but perhaps, on reflection, this is not something we should be celebrating!

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Goodwin deploys flashy editing, groovy graphics and metal music in a style that suits his subject perfectly. It’s a subject he loves and the reverence he clearly feels for its protagonists means that interviews are occasionally allowed to go on a bit too long. At 110 minutes, Future Shock! would benefit from a bit of a trim, with more material allowed to spill into the off-cuts which form much of the generous bonus materials. Another nice featurette has Pat Mills revisiting King’s Reach Tower – well, standing outside it – and reminiscing in its shadow.

In terms of these supplementaries and their presentation of the main feature, there’s really very little to distinguish between the similarly impressive Arrow and Severin editions that recently arrived at the House Of Freudstein. You spends your Earth money and you takes your choice…

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Borag Thungg, Earthlets!

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Assassin Screed… THE KILLING OF AMERICA Reviewed

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BD. Region Free. Severin. Unrated.

“Oh, the history books tell it, They tell it so well
The cavalries charged, The Indians fell
The cavalries charged. The Indians died
Oh, the country was young, With God on its side…” With God On Our Side, Bob Dylan.

“A well regulated Militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed”. Second amendment to the Constitution of The United States.

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“Drop the gun!” a cop urges Sam Brown, the superfly San Diego sidewalk sniper in 1979. The unresponsive Brown (possibly musing over the important message he claims to have brought from aboard the Starship Enterprise) is shot down, point-blank. The first words we hear in The Killing Of America are effectively its message. But as we shall learn, things are seldom as simple as they seem…

TKOA’s status as the Mondo Movie that transcends Mondo, redeeming the genre from the questionable shockumentary practices of its founders Jacopetti and Prosperi by virtue of its ongoing relevance and unflinching verisimilitude (well, keep reading…) is even more remarkable when you consider that this 1981 effort was commissioned by producer Mataichirô Yamamoto in a blatant attempt to emulate the success of that most gonzo of Mondos, Faces Of Death (1978), which had outperformed Star Wars for 13 straight weeks at Japanese box offices. “His problem was that he hired a film archivist and a guy who did Art Films” says director Sheldon Renan, describing himself and writer / producer Leonard Schrader respectively.

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Not that it’s likely FODophiles will consider themselves remotely short-changed by TKOA… Thomas Noguchi, LA “Coroner to the Stars” and inspiration for TV’s Quincy ME appears in both and establishing shots here of mortuary workers matter-of-factly going about their daily business are pretty much interchangeable with those in “Conan Le Cilaire”s memorably revolting “video nasty”. Thereafter it’s the expected mix of newsreel footage, CCTV and some original material, all (and here, in the words of the doc’s opening caption, is the kicker) “… real. Nothing has been staged.” Hm…

The other thing that sets TKOA apart from the Mondo competition as worthy of serious attention is the serious Calvinist intent of writer Leonard Schrader (The Yakuza, Blue Collar, Kiss Of The Spider Woman, Mishima) and the attention to structure imposed upon it by renowned film archivist Renan. Starting with shots of America’s geographical scope and splendour (though unfortunately most of this stuff was cut from the American release) he pursues a historical tack (which identifies ground zero for an epidemic of American violence as the JFK assassination) and progressively narrows his focus through a succession of snipers, messianic assassins and serial killers until we find ourselves face to face with Ed Kemper in his cell at the California Medical facility, hear what he has to say for himself and get the chance to reflect on what we might possibly have in common with him.

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The structure and thrust of TKOA command respect, even where one might find oneself disagreeing with Schrader’s argument. For example he fetishises the slaying of JFK (difficult not to, I guess) but it’s unlikely that Sitting Bull and Geronimo, were they available to offer their opinions, would agree that American cultural violence was conceived in the room of a book repository or on a grassy knoll in Dallas, TX on 22.11.63. The Zapruder footage, duly trotted out, never loses its impact (though it’s interesting to hear Renan’s observations on the shocking condition that the original film had been “conserved” in), likewise the casual brutality with which South Vietnamese police chief Nguyễn Ngọc Loan executes  Việt Cộng member Nguyễn Văn Lém in the street. There’s further familiar footage of Bobby Kennedy’s death (and a mind-boggling interview with his killer Sirhan Sirhan, who offers: “I wish that son of a gun were alive… I’m not mentally ill, Sir, but I’m not perfect either”), the shooting of Ronald Reagan and crippling of George Wallace, protestors gunned down at Kent State, dramatic trial footage (the Manson family, Ted Bundy) and helicopter shots of Guyana littered with dead followers of the Reverend Jim Jones (scenes of Jones gurning idiotically as he does a wacky snake handling dance are particularly creepy, given what was to come)… and on and on…

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A Central Park vigil for the murdered peace activist (when it suited him) John Lennon suggests the potential for positive social change, until the dulcet tones of narrator Chuck Riley close the proceedings with the claim that two people were killed at the vigil and that “while you watched this movie, five more of us were murdered. One was the random killing of a stranger.” Sweet dreams, everyone.

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You might already be aware of this forbidding documentary from the Severin gang’s earlier DVD edition, when they were trading under the name of Exploited. They’ve hit the ball out of the park once again with this super spanky Blu, which not only serves up the main feature looking and sounding better than ever before, but incorporates as extras (aside from the expected trailer) Renan’s audio commentary plus interviews with him, editor Lee Percy and Mondo historian Nick Pinkerton (who’s been working about as hard as the Sevs on making sure that TKOA is finally seen where it’s most needed, i.e. the USA!) Along with the outstanding documentary they worked on, Renan and Percy’s contributions to this release represent something of a primer for any aspiring documentarian on how to set about making one, but be warned… both admit the adverse effects that making TKOA had on their own mental well-being.

As if all that weren’t enough, this edition includes an alternative Japanese cut of the doc, lasting 20 minutes (!) longer than the US version. Much of the additional material comprises a paean to the American way of life and some of its critics have speculated that Yamamoto felt obliged to somehow “soften” the film’s message out of some misguided sense of politeness. One could just as well argue that these glimpses of the American dream serve to throw the atrocities that litter the rest of TKOA into sharper relief… a legitimate approach, though not one which consistently comes off. There’s an endless sequence of clean-limbed young Americans relentlessly tossing frisbies, roller skating and generally pursuing wholesome leisure activities that almost has you wishing you were back in the morgue among all those cadavers. We also participate in a training exercise during which rookie cops must make split second decisions about whether to shoot or not. The Manson section in this version is prefaced by material about Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme’s attempted assassination of President Gerald Ford in 1975. We also witness Muhammad Ali talking down a would-be suicide, suggesting that celebrity doesn’t always have to be a malign end in itself, in stark contrast to one Robert Smith, who blew away innocents “to get known… I just wanted to make a name for himself”.

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Though far superior to the Mondo movies with which it is traditionally bracketed, even the original cut of TKOA is (like Sirhan Sirhan) not perfect.  There’s a sequence about the lives of social marginals on Hollywood boulevard that doesn’t really go anywhere and I’ve always felt that the addition of comic piano music to some of the footage detailing Richard Hall’s three-day ordeal at the hands of aggrieved bank customer Tony Kiritsis  (above) struck a jarringly bum note. I was further disheartened to learn from Renan’s contributions to this set that he dubbed dialogue over the shooting of the strutting Sam Brown that would tend to support the police’s (contested) version of how that lethal incident went down. Once a film maker has admitted to one such falsification … who knows?

Still, TKOA stands as disturbing yet compelling piece of work whose power hasn’t been diminished by one jot over the passing of the years. On the contrary… Pinkerton says he’s tired of hearing that TKOA is “more relevant today than it’s ever been” but come on Nick, if something looks, sounds and feels more relevant than it’s ever been, then it’s probably because it’s more relevant than it’s ever been. Some things really are as simple as they seem.

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“He Forced Me To Drink Ribena!”… RETURN OF KUNG FU TRAILERS OF FURY Reviewed

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Ooh, that’s gotta hurt!

BD. Regions A/B/C. Severin. Unrated.

No sooner have you stuffed your face with chop socky than you start fancying another helping… lucky you, because Severin have followed up their riotous Kung Fu Trailers Of Fury anthology with the imaginatively titled Return Of Kung Fu Trailers Of Fury. In conjunction once again with Bristol’s The Cube cinema collective, the Sevs have left no Coming Attraction unturned to bring you another golden harvest of 35mm trailers from the heyday of Hong Kong martial arts mayhem… that’s 35 trailers, which will take up approximately 134 minutes of your couch potato existence. Happy days!

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I was particularly pleased to re-acquaint myself with the spaz attack stylings of Ka-Yan Leung in the see-it-and-still-don’t-believe it cannibal kung fu comedy Thundering Mantis. Under a considerably more uptight regime than currently prevails at Nottingham’s Broadway cinema, the esteemed Steve “Nelly” Nelson and I were almost chucked out for laughing our asses of during a screening of this one. I’m open to suggestions, on the strength of this trailer, about what other reaction could possibly have been more appropriate.

Big Leap Forward appears to be a satire about HK TV ethics (“It’s new! It’s real! It’s funny!”) with pilfered Morricone music serving as its “original” sound track. It’s got Jimmy Wang-Yu but zero kung fu. The Story Of Chinese Gods (“China’s first full length colour animation feature… 3 years in the making”) is a cosmogonical cartoon caper. Aside from those, most of the films featured herein concern different ways of duffing people up a treat, be it in period costume or “modern” (the trailers date from 1973 to 1984) street wear.

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When they’re not trying out game changing new stances on each other, the protagonists of these things sometimes find time for more amatory physical pursuits. We are advised that Yellow Faced Killer features “another sterling performance from Sylvia Chang… is she good girl or is she very bad?” Well, she has a scene in bed with the ineptly dubbed and perpetually überhairy Chuck Norris, so there’s your clue. Elsewhere, Bruce Li gets some racy love scenes in Bruce And The Iron Finger (hang on, are you sure that’s his finger?) The Owl, an oriental Robin Hood type, also manages to get it on with a comely Maid Marianne equivalent. The Bomb-Shell is graced “with a special appearance by soccer star Hugh McCrory!”, who enjoys a close encounter with a sexy bird in a see-thru nightie. “He forced me to drink Ribena!” complains another lovely. What a cad… what an out-and-out bounder!

The Invincible Super Guy claims to be “China’s first film in Sensurround” and that might well be true, but personally I found myself more far intrigued by the antics of a crack team of kung fu eunuchs (“their victims will die for sure within 48 hours!”) and the exploits of the even deadlier six cymbal fighters (“the clashing of their cymbals confuses them. Their limbs get numb and they’re terrified to death!”)

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The concept of disability discrimination doesn’t seem to have really caught on in ’70s Hong Kong. After breaking the fan formation in Along Come The Tiger, Chow Wang Dao dishes out a kung fu whuppin’ to The Invincible Hunchback and in Kung Fu Master Named Drunk Cat (above) we are promised “John Cheung vs The Midget… Funny!” “Sharon Yeung Pan Pan vs Three Killers! Charming!” continues the blurb for this one… “Each kick, each hit, is filled with laughter!” Presumably when Ms Pan Pan kicks some hapless dude and he falls face first into a pile of dog shit we are supposed to find it “Funny!” and “Charming!”

Now we’ve touched on the non-PC nature of these films, it’s worth pointing out that the “humorous” stereotyping of gay characters in Shaolin Invincible Sticks is exactly the kind of thing that gets people writing angry letters to Dark Side magazine. This one also serves up some memorable dialogue exchanges (“Your hands are not nimble… you are not entitled to be our descendent!” “It is unreasonable of you to expel me out!”)

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“Aargh – dude, you could at least have washed it this morning!”

Two In Black Belt (above) is a kung fu versus karate duel (“Girl in danger… Severe!”) In Bloody Mission: “They kill viciously for fame! And they can’t control themselves!” White Haired Devil Lady was shot in some pretty amazing mountain locations (“Fates not yet made… the moon is sad!”) Revenge Of The Shaolin Kid aka Masters Of Death showcases “Chi-Kuan Chun and his Dragon-choking legs! Chan Sing and his petal-shattering palms! It’s good! It’s charming!” The Super Kung-Fu Fighter (“The nine labyrinth traps! The caterpillar claws formation!”) is “directed with confidence by Sun Yung”. In Snuff Bottle Connection (below) we are introduced to “The spear that can puncture your throat! The kung fu virgin child that stuns the Westerners!”

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Almost as common as people kicking each other around the head in these things is the frequency with which soundtrack music gets pilfered. The Young Avenger pinches Morricone’s idiosyncratic score from Duck, You Sucker! to baffling effect … all totally authorised, I’m sure. Jean Michele Jarre’s atmospheric back catalogue is ransacked for The Guy With Secret Kung Fu (“Watch Mang Fei with his deadly monkey pole! They fight the real life Invincible Hunk!”) and The Bomb-Shell  (“The creepy art of spiritual fighting! Did he get his dementia from watching too much TV?”)

Black Guide comes with a barrage of punchy shout lines (“They are cruel and senseless! But Kim Jin Pal will not falter! It’s a showdown between kung fu and violence! Fast paced! Fast action! Few dialogue! All action! Villains from different countries, with their different brands of kung fu!”) and the strident sounds of Larks’ Tongues In Aspic, Parts 1 & 2. Is King Crimson’s Robert Fripp (who successfully sued the producers of Emmanuelle for their misappropriation of Part 2) aware of this?

One Way Only offers “Hong Kong style romance? Nice! Natural comedy? Tasty! A new style of comedy? Unique!” and here’s its protagonist’s recipe for romance, Hong-Kong style: “The longest nose and the largest chest. That’s my stamp of approval on a woman!”

The Old Master, apparently, has “still got it at 76”.. cue unfortunate geriatric disco dancing sequences. Silent Romance is a live action manga that claims to be “more James Bond than James Bond” and then there’s Gambling For Head (make sure you don’t blow all your money!)

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Crazy Horse And Intelligent Monkey (above) boasts: “A fight among four tigers to right the wrongs! Chi Kuan-Chun with his deadly horse fists! Candy man charms her with looks and her kung fu”. The Instant Kung Fu Man (“Northern kung fu coming out of nowhere to impress”) features the insensitive observation: “Your armpit stinks… I can’t stand it!”

… and on and on it goes…

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Once you’ve enjoyed these you have the option to watch them all over again with an audio commentary from kung fu clever dicks Ric Meyers, Frank Djeng, Greg Schiller and Rick Stelow… if, that is, you can hear their sage comments above the uproarious laughter of your drunken mates.

“Family entertainment for the year of the lamb!” boast the coming attraction for Itchy Fingers and ROKFTOF is indeed jolly fun for all the family – my nearest and dearest are still hopping around The House Of Freudstein, in stitches as they attempt the Iron Finger Toad Stance from The Guy With Secret Kung Fu.

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Severin’s ROKFTOF is a more than worthy follow-up to their original kung fu trailer anthology which will also serve to whet your appetite rather nicely for their upcoming Bruceploitation documentary. Bring it on, gweilos!

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Facing The Black Sea And All Therein That May Be Explored… Mariano Baino’s DARK WATERS Reviewed

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BD. Region Free. Severin. Unrated.

The collapse of the Italian film industry in the mid-late ’80s was followed by an ever more significant one in the early ’90s, that of the Soviet Union. Energetic Neapolitan Mariano Baino had already moved to London in search of opportunity and made the short Caruncula (1991), on which Andy Bark served as editor. When the latter made contact with some of the new breed of Russian entrepreneurs, keen to invest in a motion picture, Baino didn’t need much persuading. Soon he, Bark (who would co-write the new picture), a couple of actresses and a small crew were Crimea-bound. They were young, talented, optimistic and enthusiastic. They had striking coastal locations and everything in The Ukraine was going to cost doodly-squat… what could possibly go wrong?

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Plenty, as it happened (much of which I’ve detailed elsewhere). A wild, wild East interpretation of entrepreneurship that extended to, e.g. film stock being pilfered and sold off before Baino could load it into a camera, coupled with a not exactly stringent work ethic, makes it miraculous that he actually managed to shoot anything at all, let alone a feature debut as promising as Dark Waters (1993). The story concerns Elizabeth (Baino discovery Louise Salter, who would appear in Interview With The Vampire and bag a substantial role in Our Friends In The North shortly afterwards), a young woman who goes back to Odessa to learn the sinister secret buried in her past. At the conclusion of a harrowing personal odyssey exceeded in weirdness and suffering only by the collective one undertaken by the cast and crew of this film, she learns the hideous truth and must decide to collude in or strive against the unleashing of a Cthulhuesque horror upon the Earth…

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OK, so Dark Waters is a triumph of visual style (the opening inundation of a church is a remarkable set piece… and Igor Clark’s lush orchestral score doesn’t hurt) over narrative content but that’s exactly the criticism that has been levelled at the likes of such previous Pasta Paura maestros as Argento, Fulci and Soavi (all of whom, incidentally, had nice things to say about Dark Waters and its director). In truth, Argento and Fulci were spent forces by the early ’90s and Soavi, the heir presumptive, was coming up hard against the fact that there wasn’t much Italian film industry left to work in… certainly in horror terms. Baino has found it equally difficult to pursue his Lovecraftian obsessions of twisted religiosity and perverse fairy tales on the silver screen. My last viewing of Dark Waters was in a Soho screening room, where author Graham Masterton had turned up to check out the film and discuss with its director a possible film adaptation of his auto-cannibalistic outrage Ritual. Now that would have been something to behold… and perhaps one day will be. It’s difficult to believe that we’ve seen the last from Mariano Baino, whose myriad cinematic talents are exceeded only by his moxy. Notable post DW credits include Lady M 5.1 (2016), starring Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni from Argento productions Opera, Demons 2 and Mother Of Tears, though you’ll never see my favourite Baino-directed effort… me and Mrs Freudstein’s wedding video!

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Incidentally, the eejit in his underpants, chewing on raw calamari in a rowing boat, is not only a nod to Mario Bava’s seminal Bay Of Blood but a role that was originally written for Yours Truly. I opted to skip the trip to Odessa and there’s nothing among the tales of woe about pain in Ukraine that abound among the bonus materials included on this set which could possibly persuade me that I made the wrong decision. However, as Baino’s short films are also included as extras you do get the opportunity to check out my show stopping turn as “cinema undesirable” in Caruncula and yes, if I ever write my memoirs I will be giving them the title Cinema Undesirable… but no, I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of boring people to death with memoirs culled from my übertedious life.

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MB (looking considerably svelter than last time I saw him) expresses gratitude here that Dark Waters is being afforded a second chance of discovery by horror fans. This Severin release is effectively a third chance, as after the 1995 UK video release disappeared without a trace (Tartan sparing every effort to get behind it) there was a rather nice special DVD edition from Italian outfit No Shame. This nifty looking Severin BD reprises the supplementary material from that (director’s intro and commentary track, deleted scenes and blooper reel, plus the 50 minute featurette Deep Into Dark Waters) and adds new featurettes Let There Be Water and Controlling The Uncontrollable, alongside those aforementioned Baino shorts.

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Grab this opportunity to immerse yourself in Dark Waters with avid alacrity. Revel in it. Buy multiple copies for yourself… your work-mates… your nearest and dearest… random strangers. I’m particularly keen to see Dark Waters rack up massive belated profits, because I’ve got points in it…

… and what do points make?

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A Zed & Two Noughts… Franco Prosperi’s WILD BEASTS Reviewed

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BD. Region Free. Severin. Unrated.

“Their madness engulfs everything and affects innocent victims such as children or animals…” Francis Thrive (Who he? *)

“I believe that research is taking place and it will show that these films (‘video nasties’) not only affect young people but I believe they affect dogs as well… it goes far too far!”  The ironically named Graham Bright MP, father of the 1984 Video Recordings Act.

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Nelly & pals pack their trunks and wave goodbye to the circus…

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Franco Prosperi and Gualtiero Jacopetti (above)… sincere and fearless proponents of the documentarian’s Art or shameless showbiz charlatans, devoid of any moral scruple in their ruthless determination to get bums on seats for their tawdry shockumentaries? As Blue Underground employees, Carl Daft and David Gregory played their part in the debate, amassing most of the relevant evidence for that label’s monumental 2004 box set, The Mondo Cane Collection. Now running their own show at Severin, the boys have settled the argument definitively, in Prosperi’s case anyway (Jacopetti went to meet his maker and account for his cinematic misdeeds in 2011) with this release of his 1983 directorial swan song, Wild Beasts (Belve Feroci), brought to you by the mighty Shumba International Corporation.

As well as generating mucho dinari and intense controversy (it’s safe to say that none of J&P’s documentary collaborations would ever find themselves being endorsed by PETA and there were serious concerns that some of the executions of hapless soldiers in 1965s Africa Addio had been arranged for the benefit of their cameras), the Mondo movies also spawned the Italian cycle of Third World cannibal movies that ran through the ’70s and ’80s. The best of that cycle, Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust (1980) critiques the dubious ethics of such mondo efforts and while nobody (OK, hardly anybody) was daft enough to claim that people were actually killed in it, Holocaust and its inferior imitators were content to render human carnage via the special FXpertise of Gino De Rossi et al, while doubling down on genuine animal abuse. Prosperi underscored the connection between Mondo and these maverick man munching movies in 1980 by producing White Cannibal Queen, Jesus Franco’s piss awful Deodato / Lenzi / Martino / D’Amato rip off (below), though to the best of my recollection (I’m certainly not planning on watching it again, any time soon), no creatures – great or small – suffered anything particularly outrageous in that one.

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Three years later in Wild Beasts (with Mondo Cane 2 editor Mario Morra along for the ride), it was a very different story…

Lulling the viewer into a false sense of security, Prosperi takes an eternity establishing his earnest eco-conscious credentials with shots of pollution in “a north European city” (looks like Frankfurt though most of Wild Beasts was actually shot in Rome, after Prosperi’s Africa Addio notoriety got him and his crew kicked  out of Zimbabwe, then South Africa in quick succession). Nor are there any grounds for optimism in the boring “human interest” stuff that follows, in which “Rupert Berner”, played by wild animal wrangler turned one-shot “actor” Tony Di Leo (aka “John Aldrich” and his dodgy moustache certainly suggests a fair resemblance to his near namesake, the free-scoring ’80s LFC icon) attempts, in vain, to chat up ice queen Laura Schwartz (Lorraine De Selle, who’s already had plentiful cinematic experience with such wild beasts as David Hess and John Morghen). Add all of this to Daniele Patucchi’s lame wallpaper jazz score and you could be forgiven for resigning yourself to another anodyne effort from the fag end of the Italian horror cycle … until somebody (who, why or how is never really established) slips a megahit of PCP into the city’s water supply and a bunch of elephants, big cats, polar bears, etc, all tripping off their furry faces, break out of the local zoo and embark on an evening of serious riot and rampage.

At this point you might reasonably raise the objection that PCP is supposed to tranquilise animals but before there’s any time to mull over such pharmacological niceties, we’re up to our asses in mondo carnage… a parked-up couple find their heavy petting session interrupted by ravenous  rats, who turn their carnivorous attentions to the emergency service personnel who attempt a rescue.  “Help… they’re attacking me!” points out one of their number, helpfully. Good job that in this “north European city” the emergency services are routinely equipped with flame throwers (for a minute there I thought I was watching a Bruno Mattei picture). Elsewhere a blind avant-garde composer, attempting to complete his symphony of animal noises, is dealt a devastating critical thumbs down when his guide dog goes all Dicky on him.

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While the lab team compete with each other to come up with the hippest street names for PCP (if you want a few more, season 4 episode 17 of Quincy – Dark Angel, directed by Ray Danton – comes highly recommended), a cheetah chases a dopey girl around in her vomit coloured car (serves her right for that eye watering paint job and for listening to a lame rap radio channel) until the inevitable pile-up ensues. Further RTA action is guaranteed as panicked livestock plus PCP-powered pachyderms promenade down main street and when the latter adjourn to the city airport, their presence on the runway causes a plane to crash into the city’s main power station (smart move to put that right next to a runway, right?) Among the general blackout mayhem, Laura’s subway train grinds to a halt and is soon attacked by tigers… what were the odds on that?

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When all that PCP has been successfully metabolised, the fugitive animals re-caged to contemplate their comedowns and the big clear up has commenced, it might appear that everything is done and, er, dusted but Prosperi still has one boffo twist up his sleeve. Laura goes to collect her bratty daughter from dance school, only to find that the tiny dancers who managed to survive a polar bear attack have, under the leadership of an insufferable little shit named Tommy, butchered their Terpsichorean tutor. Yep, fame costs and she paid in sweat and blood… never work with children or animals, eh? Then the most anticlimactic ending in living memory leaves us pondering further questions…

…. such as why, how and by whom was that PCP introduced into the drinking water? Why did it only effect the zoo inhabitants, those rats, that guide dog and those sawn-off Kids From Fame? Still, Prosperi has had way more troubling questions to respond to in his career, some of which he addresses on the bonus materials of this disc, stonewalling in the teeth (and bloody claws) of the evidence on view here that no animal was injured or killed during the making of his picture (!) and that all of them were handed back to the handlers when the cameras stopped rolling (some of them in considerably crispier condition than before they “starred” in Wild Beasts, he might have added).

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FP would prefer to talk about WB as a warning against pollution / drugs / terrorism / genetically modified crops… you name it… anything apart from an exercise in animal cruelty. He does admit, though, that “We’ve never been PC”. No foolin’…

Tony De Leo does admit to personal discomfort about the fate of some of his animal co-stars in Wild Beasts, when not flexing his muscles to prove “Ol’ Tony’s still here!” Form an orderly cue, ladies and casting agents… There’s also an interview with amiable circus hunk Carlo Tiberti, whose dad Roberto wrangled the unfortunate creatures in this film.

Mario Morra has a lot of interesting things to say about the personal chemistry and working relationship between Jacopetti and Prosperi (“those two scoundrels!”) and his own excursions into Mondo Africa. He retired from movie editing in 1994 (“… because of the arrival of the despicable computer!”) but is proud and happy to show off the moviola on which he cut Pontecorvo’s Battle Of Algiers (1966), among many other classic (and not-so-classic) pictures.

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Not to be bettered, Prosperi shows the men from Severin around his lavish country retreat in footage that was intended for a documentary that would unite him with his estranged collaborator Jacopetti, unfortunately scotched by the latter’s rapidly declining health. Chez Prosperi is predictably decked out with all kinds of non PC animal artifacts, pride of place among which must go to the genuine Triceratops egg. Just imagine the potential rampage should that one ever hatch… no doubt Franco still sits on it every night.

The way animals are treated in Wild Beasts is problematic, to state the bleeding obvious, but it’s difficult to claim the moral high ground if your shelves contain (as I suspect many of them do) copies of Cannibal Holocaust and / or Ferox… or even Argento’s Phenomena, given some of the revelations in the recent Arrow box set about how that poor chimp was “trained”.

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(*) As for the unanswered question which opened this posting… “Francis Thrive” sounds suspiciously like a clumsily literal translation of “Franco Prosperi”. Draw your own conclusions.

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The Other OTHER HELL Review… Bruno Mattei & Claudio Fragasso’s Jaw-dropping Spaghetti Exorcist / Nunsploitation Hybrid Arrives On Severin BD.

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BD. Region B. Severin. Unrated.

I previously dug up and reviewed the Redemption VHS edition of The Other Hell (1980) elsewhere on this site, where I rashly described it as Bruno Mattei’s “wildest and best” movie (or something along those lines… go click the link if you can be arsed, because I certainly can’t). Since then, courtesy of a clutch of fine Severin / Intervision releases, I’ve been able to spend some quality time with the gob-slapping cannibal / zombie / WIP atrocities that Mattei perpetrated in the last few years of his career / life and am obliged to reconsider my assessment of this one as Mattei’s finest hour-and-a-half…. or perhaps that should be twenty minutes, as much of the supplementary material on Severin’s spanking new Blu-ray of The Other Hell lends weight to ongoing speculation that its nominal director “Stefan Oblowsky” comprises something like one part Mattei to every four parts Claudio Fragasso.

Fragasso contributes an amusing, highly self-deprecating commentary track (sample quote: “Zombie nuns… that’s cool… because it’s blasphemous!”) He confesses that shots of a burning priest were bought in from the producers of The Legacy, drops the fascinating aside that at one point he was going to write a sequel to Bay Of Blood for Mario Bava and wonders: “Why is Umberto Lenzo always so angry?” Most memorably, one of the many faults he finds with The Other Hell is that it should have been a lot “crazier”… a mind-boggling judgement considering that the film’s pre-titles sequence – wherein a deranged nun, apparently having just carried out a gory abortion in an alchemist’s lab, rants about the genitals being “the door to evil” before stabbing one of her sisters-in-Christ to death, apparently at the psychic behest of a statue with red, throbbing eyes – is one of the more studied, subdued and subtle moments in this film, which subsequently relates the vain attempts of trendy cleric Father Valerio (Carlo De Mejo) to put these unfortunate goings-on down to psychiatric rather than Satanic malaise, while all around him bats attack crucifixes, nuns vomit blood after taking communion, stigmata rend every available inch of flesh, severed heads turn up in tabernacles, exorcists catch fire, devil babies are dunked in boiling water and psycho-kinetic sculptures force nuns to strangle themselves!

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Sinister gardener Boris (perennial Mattei standby Franco Garofolo) delivers an unsolicited soliloquy about how he prefers animals to people, then leeringly decapitates an unfortunate chicken (you guessed, its headless body proceeds to take a jerky tour of the barnyard). The wheel of karma turns full circle when Boris, after killing a witch’s cat, falls victim to his own guard-dog in a scene crudely cribbed from a certain Dario Argento picture. The film’s title is clearly intended to reference another Argento picture, although naming this farrago “L’Altro Inferno” makes about as much sense as calling Alan Briggs’ Suffer Little Children, another upcoming and suitably wholesome Severin (Intervision) release,  “The Other Suspiria”!

Nobody’s ever going to confuse The Other Hell with an entry in Argento’s “Three Mothers” trilogy (hang on, I was forgetting Mother Of Tears!) but its sheer go-for-broke audacity, its all-out  sense of accelerating, no-holds-barred delirium puts it ahead of even Joe D’Amato’s Blue Holocaust (from which it swipe its Goblin score, its fluffed “shock” ending and its female lead Franca Stoppi) in the see-it-to-believe-it sick puppy stakes.

Stoppi is probably The Other Hell’s trump card, chewing the scenery magnificently as Mother Vincenza. She comes across very well in the short interview on this disc, reminiscing about days spent shuttling back and forth between the sets of The Other Hell and Mattei’s True Story Of The Nun Of Monza topped off by evenings on stage! Sadly, stage fright ended her career prematurely but she reinvented herself as an animal rights activist (and no, she wasn’t at all happy about that chicken decapitation, though Fragasso describes it as “inevitable… chickens always end up like this!”) before sadly passing away in 2011. The featurette To Hell And Back comprises archive interviews with Mattei and Carlo De Mejo. Elsewhere Fragasso offers some interesting observations as to why the careers of both De Mejo and Garofolo fell short of what those actors might otherwise have achieved.

Inevitably when a film of this vintage and provenance is re-rendered in Blu-ray there’s going to be a certain amount of grain in evidence, but Severin have managed to keep this element within acceptable levels on a disc that cannot be denied a place on your shelf… Satan himself demands it!

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Incidentally, towards the end of Fragasso’s commentary track, he and his interlocutor are scratching their heads over the identity of the actor playing the priest in the film’s lame “twist” ending. Is it not (I could be wrong) “Mark Shannon” (Manlio Cersosimo), who starred in any amount of goofy horror / porno crossovers for Joe D’Amato? If so, he manages the unprecedented feat here of keeping his dick in his trousers when confronted by a movie camera. Thank heaven for small mercies, eh?

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Happy Birthday, Sweet Freudstein (With Big Thanks To Irene…)… THE 1st HOUSE OF FREUDSTEIN ANNUAL REPORT

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It’s turned into the purtiest Blog you’ve ever seen… and just a year old, today!

In the latter part of 2015 I was already doing a music blog, the now defunct Boot Room Of Ozymandias. Only available to a small circle of fellow Prog Rock enthusiasts, it was, frankly, a bit crap. It did, however, afford me the opportunity to learn the tricks of the blogger’s trade while dropping most of my clangers away from the public gaze.

The yen to do a film blog was kindled in me by none other than Irene Miracle. The lovely and talented star of Inferno, Night Train Murders et al was well chuffed with the interview we’d done (which appeared in issue #167 of Dark Side magazine) and wondered if there was any chance of getting it on-line. Her admirers around the world (particularly her fanatical Japanese following) would just lap it up, she assured me. I asked DS editor Allan Bryce if he would consider running this piece on the web site of his august organ but at the time he was experiencing some problems in that department and about to change web master. When I mentioned this to Irene, she asked me why I didn’t consider setting up my own film blog. Why not indeed…

At the end of 2015 I closed The Boot Room (though that re-emerged, mutated and upgraded, as http://www.theozymandiasprogject.wordpress.com in May 2016… I wish I could devote enough time to making that as it good as it should be but hey, I’ve only got one pair of hands and 24 hours in a day) and on 01.01.16 officially launched http://www.houseoffreudstein.wordpress.com upon an unsuspecting world, leading off with the aforementioned Irene Miracle interview. She wasn’t bullshitting about how well it would go, either. A year on, she’s still fighting it out with David Warbeck for the laurel of most-visited posting and yes, many of the days on which she’s scored particularly strongly seem to coincide with days when we’ve had a lot of Japanese visitors. A woman of indisputable discernment, here’s wishing Irene every success with the various projects she has in development, notably Bangkok Hardtime.

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(http://www.dawnland-movie.com/ChangelingTheMovie/IreneMiracle)

Me Me Lay (or Lai, depending on what source you consult) grabs the bronze, unexpectedly (to me, anyway) relegating Lucio Fulci to fourth place and our look at Soledad Miranda on Severin BDs registered as the fifth biggest draw for most of our first year. Any Severin coverage tends to generate a strong response, actually and their Barbara Steele triple bill BD leap frogged Ms Miranda on the day of La Steele’s birthday, 29.12.16. Soledad certainly did her ratings no harm at all by the imperious manner in which she shrugged her kit off in the gif we used to advertise that posting on social media. Oh go on then, here it is again…

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Our Top 10 postings for 2016 are rounded out by Torso (anything Martino and / or Fenech related seems to be well received), our survey of Italian Exorcist knock-offs and two more Severin releases. Gregory and Daft’s brain-boggling Zombi Holocaust / Doctor Butcher set narrowly edged out their Burial Ground for both the number 9 spot and our pick as HOF Release Of The Year.

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This just in from our medical correspondent… Butcher stuffs Strange!

You’ll be seeing a lot more of that kind of stuff in 2017… I can take a hint, you know! In the meantime it would be nice if some of our less favoured postings started to pick up a few viewings in the New Year… I was particularly pleased with my breezy account of the Freudstein family cinema outing to check out Doctor Strange (this at the behest of my rabidly Cumberbitch daughter)… currently residing at the very bottom of our chart!

Despite the odd minor disappointment it’s been a good year,  in which we’ve made a lot of new cyber friends (and even met some of them) and had rather a jolly time e.g. celebrating the month of Scalarama, reporting from Nottingham’s spiffing Mayhem Film Festival and mounting well received Weekenders devoted to Paul Naschy, David Warbeck and Sergio Martino (with preparations for new ones in 2017 already underway.) We’ve scoured every corner of the globe for cinematic treats ranging from the Art House (The Quay Brothers) to the outhouse (Jesus Franco), from gothique Italian horrors of the ’60s to contemporary releases like Attack Of The Lederhosen Zombies and leavened the mix with such occasional mainstream / big budget efforts as the aforementioned underperforming Doctor Strange. We try to cater for all tastes here at The House Of Freudstein…

… which means that in 2017, among more weekenders, major interviews, reports and reviews we’ll be hoping to cover a lot of stuff we haven’t really touched on in our first year… a few Spaghetti Westerns wouldn’t hurt… and  Poliziotteschi… yeah, you can expect a tidal wave of Crime Slime any time soon.

In the meantime, thanks for your support and Happy New Year from we Freudsteins…

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Thanks, Pal!

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Me Me Lai Vs The Satanic Majesty Of Wonderful Radio 1 … CRUCIBLE OF TERROR Reviewed, Pop-Pickers!

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DVD. Region 0. Severin. Unrated.

James Bolam is John Davies, a struggling art dealer… struggling with a terrible ’70s moustache as much as anything. His commercial fortunes, if not his grooming regime, seem set to improve when several punters take an interest in a beautifully fashioned bronze of a naked woman. But John’s alcoholic friend Michael Clare (Ronald Lacey) explains that the sculptor, his father Victor (Mike Raven), will never part with the piece… and with good reason. Before the titles we saw Victor using the body of Chi-San (Me Me Lai or Me Me Lay, as she’s identified here) as the armature for this piece. John’s not so easily put off though, even after one of his backers, while trying to half-inch the bronze, is suffocated with a plastic bag.

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“By ‘eck, lad!”

John bugs Michael into taking him and his girlfriend Millie (Mary Maude, last seen on this blog lustily administering corporal punishment to boarding school girls in Serrador’s The House That Screamed) out to Victor’s West Country retreat and it doesn’t take long too long to work out why Michael is such a booze hound. Victor is a loopy, domineering psychopath who uses his “artistic temperament” as an excuse to bully his family, flaunting his female conquests in the face of his long-suffering wife Dorothy (Betty Alberge) who’s senile, dresses like a little girl and carries a doll around with her. The whole set up plays like an indigestible mash-up of Mystery Of The Wax Museum, Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf, Whatever Happened To Baby Jane (*),  and The Old Dark House. I haven’t quite worked out exactly who Derek Guyler-lookalike Bill (John Arnatt) is or what he’s doing there (does Victor swing both ways?), suffice to say that this is one of the most badly miscast films I’ve ever seen.

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Anyway, various cast members who come too close to discovering the secret of that bronze are variously butchered, bludgeoned and drowned, then Vincent pursues Millie around some Cornish caves prior to preparing her to serve as the centrepiece of another sculpture. At this point the malevolent spirit of Chi-San manifests itself and Raven, over acting even more preposterously than in the rest of the picture, meets a suitably ironic and infernal fate. “She was very high up in a sinister religious sect…” Bill tells the traumatised John, while wrapping things up with an unlikely tale of reincarnation and possession “… and Evil is always more powerful than Good” (neatly reversing the more familiar Hammer formula there.)

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I originally intended to entitle this piece “Raven Bonkers” but soon-to-be Italo Cannibal Queen Me Me got the nod after a quick look at this site’s stats proved that  Ms Lai is its bronze medallist in terms of attracting hits, trailing only Irene Miracle and David Warbeck and yes, beating Lucio Fulci off into fourth place. One day some pervert sitting somewhere in his lonely room and cultivating his dubious niche fantasies will google “Me Me Lai beating off Lucio Fulci” and find himself reading these very words…

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Her brief but pivotal appearance in one-shot director Ted Hooker’s Mystery Of The Wax Museum variant Crucible Of A Terror (1971) is one of the minor points of interest of this engaging little oddity and erstwhile staple of late night regional ITV programing, but the flick’s primary appeal to students of Schlock Cinema – and indeed, of larger than life eccentrics – is the presence in it of Mike Raven.

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“All the world’s a stage…” as Shakespeare once pointed out, “… and one man in his time plays many parts.” Austin Churton Fairman worked as a photographer, conjuror, interior decorator, travel writer, flamenco guitarist, ballet dancer and presenter of religious TV programs and Woman’s Hour before emerging as “Mike Raven”, a Pirate DJ specialising authoritatively in blues, soul and RnB (that’s real, Booker T-type RnB, junior… as opposed to the tripe that gets passed off under that description these days.) Such was his expertise in this field that when Tony Benn closed down the pirates, at Raven’s door the newly minted and totally wonderful Radio 1 came rapping (cue Flowers In The Rain…) That’s him below in the Colonel Sanders outfit, front row, two places to the left of Peel.

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Perhaps it was due to the preponderance of black cat bones and John The Conqueror roots in all those old blues standards that Raven developed a growing interest in the occult (how unlike a Radio 1 DJ to have scandalous skeletons in his closet), started dressing entirely in black and adopted suitably sinister facial fuzz… or perhaps that stuff wasn’t entirely unconnected with an attempt to rebrand himself, yet again, as a horror film icon. His impressive physical stature secured him the role of Count Karnstein in Jimmy Sangster’s Hammer effort Lust For A Vampire (1971) after Christopher Lee had turned up his nose at it. Unfortunately Raven’s voice was dubbed and after you’ve seen Crucible Of Terror that won’t come as too much of a surprise, his stab at Boris Karloff coming across more like Bobby Picket of The Crypt Kickers.

In the same year he actually starred opposite Lee to tolerable effect in Stephen Weeks’ Amicus offering I, Monster, a film often cited as the most faithful cinematic adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr Jekyll And Mister Hyde… why all the characters’ names were changed remains a major mystery. It was all downhill after DJ Horrible’s Crucible Of Terrible though…  Raven pseudonymously wrote and produced, as well as starring in, Disciple Of Death (1972) which at least managed the mean feat of making Crucible look like a vaguely coherent film.

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Mike Raven never manage to claim that place on the Horror pantheon which he clearly coveted but his wayward mini-career in the genre constitutes a brief byway with which any self-respecting trash film fiend should be familiar, suitably commemorated in this spanky Severin release, “transferred in startling HD from the only known uncut 35mm print in existence, loaned to Severin by a Bodmin Moor coven!”

So… whatever happened to Mike Raven? In a spooky case of life imitating Art (or at least, imitating schlocky horror flicks) he did indeed relocate to Bodmin Moor to successfully pursue parallel careers in Art and sheep farming, completely unperturbed by the announcement of his death during Radio 1’s 25th Anniversary celebrations in 1992. Before his actual passing, five years later, Raven declared that his perpetual personal reinventions were an ongoing attempt to come to terms with his sexuality and his spiritual beliefs. He was buried on his beloved Bodmin Moor in a plot he had dug himself, something I’m sure all his Radio 1 peers really dug.

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore…”

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A good cast is worth repeating…

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(*) Bolam, of course, went on to star in Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads.

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If A Problem Comes Along, You Must W.I.P. It… THE JAIL – THE WOMEN’S HELL Reviewed

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DVD. Region 1. Intervision (Severin). Unrated.

We’ve already alluded to the gonzo career twilight of “Vincent Dawn” (and I’m using that line here because I gather it’s been vetoed as the title for my upcoming Dark Side piece) and considered some of the zombie and cannibal efforts perpetrated by Bruno Mattei in his unexpected (indeed unpredictable, unprecedented and arguably unwelcome) Indian Summer of shot-on-video atrocities elsewhere on this blog. The germ (in every sense of the word) of The Jail – The Women’s Hell was apparently a screening of Jess Franco’s 99 Women, introduced by its director, at a Festival dedicated to the memory of Joe D’Amato. Mattei attended (my God, what a Fest… where / when was it held? Why weren’t we invited?) alongside new screenplay collaborator Antonio Tentori and when the latter asked producer Giovanni Paolucci if his Japanese buyers might entertain a sleazy Women In Prison effort alongside all those zombie / cannibal gut munching extravaganzas, his answer predictably ran along the lines of: “Is a bear a Catholic? Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

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Yvette Yzon, subsequent star of Mattei’s swan song zombie brace, stars as Jennifer, whom we first encounter on a boat taking her and fellow female cons Lisa (Love Gutierrez) and Carol (Amelie Pontailler) to a prison camp in the remote Philippine jungle. An Oscar-worthy exchange of dialogue (kind of) establishes what they’re in for…

Lisa: “Dirty trafficking for dirty people!”

Carol: “I whacked my pimp… that bastard had it coming”

Jennifer: “I’ve done everything you said…and worse!”

Hard cases, for sure, but even they are chastened, on arrival at the prison, to witness a disobedient prisoner being pulled out from the confines of the camp sweat box and given 20 lashes… even though she’s already dead! Talk about flogging a dead whore!! This proves to be an appropriate welcome to what the guards describe as “The House Of Lost Souls”… no, there’s no mad scientist subjecting the inmates to bizarre evolutionary experiments, but the expected cohort of sapphic, sadistic camp director (Odette Khan), gun-happy governor (Jim Gaines, who would also appear in Island Of The Living Dead and Zombies The Beginning), lecherous camp doctor (David Brass), casually cruel guards and collaborationist fellow prisoners subject them to just about every other indignity that you could hope for in a W.I.P. … about none of which, to paraphrase Sir Allan Bryce, would Amnesty International be best pleased:

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… hosing downs, cavity searches, mandatory lesbianism, enforced participation in the sexy floor show of the burlesque club that seems to have been built on the side of the jail, , incarceration in that sweat box and / or a submerged rat cage… one unfortunate is even trussed up, semi naked and has a snake draped all over her. The reptile in question is clearly some kind of constrictor but apparently kills her with a venomous bite. I’m not going to quibble too much about because I was worried that this scene might take an exceptionally dodgy turn, only for Mattei to wind it up with an uncharacteristic fit of self restraint.

For the first hour of The Jail Bruno sticks enthusiastically but unexpectedly closely to the sleazy W.I.P. formula but as its final third looms, you sense that he just can’t control his eclectic itchings anymore and after a successful escape attempt, Jennifer and pals are pursued through the jungle in the best Most Dangerous Game style by Jim Gaines and pals, making the short hop from overacting, lip-smacking rapists to overacting, lip-smacking Count Zaroff types, keen to re-enact their favourite moments from Cannibal Holocaust and Emanuelle And The Last Cannibals.

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Indeed, there are even pop-up attacks from a troupe of South American cannibals who look like they took a wrong turn off the Orinoco somewhere. No zombies but, y’know, Mattei was probably writing / prepping / shooting / post-producing about five other movies that week and it must  have slipped his mind…

More gob-slapping than any of the by-the-numbers excesses of The Jail – The Woman’s Hell is its arbitrary and unbelievable conclusion, by which Jennifer, having escaped and alerted the authorities, is driven back to the jail in time to abort the imminent hanging of one of her mates and be installed as the new camp director as her predecessor is arrested and driven off… just like that! Say what you like about these developing nations, but they cut through that red tape like a dose of salts!

The Jail – The Women’s Hell isn’t quite as deliriously distracting as Mattei’s eleventh hour cannibal and zombie efforts but demonstrates that, even at this late stage in the game, when all of his more feted contemporaries had long given up, Mattei was unapologetic about serving up trashy exploitation… and God bless him for it! Maybe he, Joe D’Amato and Jesus Franco are together in heaven (or somewhere else) right now, planning the greatest sleaze portmanteau movie of all time. If only…

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Bonus materials comprise the expected trailer and two featurettes, Prison Inferno (in which Paolucci and Tentori recall the genesis of this project and look back fondly on their collaborations with the late Bruno Mattei) and Acting for Bruno, in which Yvette Yzon and Alvin Anson remember the shoot as a demanding but ultimately rewarding experience. Yeah, he was a shouty director but they’ve forgiven him. Aaaah…

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The Tao Of Cube Fu… KUNG FU TRAILERS OF FURY Reviewed

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“Burt Lenzi”, my arse…

BD. Regions A/B/C. Severin. Unrated.

One of the recurring gags in Severin’s marketing of their superior editions of a range of crucial genre titles is that they have been, e.g.

“… restored from a film element recently discovered beneath the floorboards of a Trastevere church rectory.” (Burial Ground)

“… remastered from materials recently seized in a Roskilde vice raid!” (The Sinful Dwarf),

“… restored from a 35mm print discovered in a Barcelona bordello.” (The Hot Nights Of Linda),

or even…

“… stunningly transferred in HD from vault elements recently unearthed in a Mongolian film depot! (Horror Express.)

Amusing stuff, if best consumed with more than a pinch of salt. As it happens though, Severin’s Kung Fu Trailers Of Fury compilation really was sourced from “original 35mm trailers discovered underneath the stage of a maverick UK cinema.” The maverick UK cinema in question is Bristol’s grass-roots labour of love collective The Cube, about which you’ll learn a lot more in the bonus feature The Way Of The Cube, specifically about the serendipitous discovery of the Coming Attractions in question.

There’s also A Brief History Of Kung Fu Movies, a self-explanatory title for a nifty featurette in which lead chop socky authority Ric Meyers (with the able assistance of Frank Djeng) sketches the history of kung fu movies from uplifting historical yarns of chivalric derring-do, through the cinematic supernova blazed by Bruce Lee in his quest to vanquish the myth of Chinese as “the sick men of Asia”, Lee’s tragic early demise and the unedifying “Bruceploitation” feeding frenzy that followed in its wake, the rise of comedy kung fu (as exemplified by Jackie Chan and the incredible Samo Hung) and Chan’s crossover into the Hollywood mainstream…

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… and oh, did I nearly forget to mention the trailers themselves? Over two hours of the buggers here, newly transferred in 2k from those rare original 35mm prints. They comprise (brace yourself, grasshopper!) … The Ways Of Kung Fu (“There are fights! There are laughs! There are surprises!”), Fists Of Bruce Lee, Kung Fu Vs Yoga (“He must face The Yinyang Shemale… The Powerful Monk!”), Death Blow (“Cunnig! Suspense! New Gimmiek”), Two Champions Of Shaolin (“Monkey Boxing vs Flower Boxing!”), Daggers 8, Secret Of The Shaolin Poles, The Happenings, Snake In The Eagles Shadow, The Story Of Drunken Master, Chinese Kung Fu Against Godfather (“Chinese bumpkin wreaks havoc in Europe! Starring the most popular actress in Holland, 1972!”), The Invisible Swordswoman, Return Of Bruce, Bruce Le’s Greatest Revenge (“See Chen Jun, the strong man of Asia! Upholding his pride, his heritage and his fighting spirits!”), Shaolin Iron Claws, Fast Fingers, Enter The Fat Dragon (“He’s Bruce Lee possessed with nunchuks in hand… thugs get to eat them for breakfast!”), My Kung Fu 12 Kicks (“Witness also the return of The Golden Turtle fist!”), The Brutal Boxer, Blacklist, Bruce’s Deadly Fingers (“Filled with fiery lust, the bad guys take on the weak!”), One-Arm Chivalry Fights Against On-Arm Chivalry (“Who will win? Who will lose? Why Did They Fight?”), The Damned, The Way Of The Dragon, Hong Kong Connection (“The slut who can’t control her lust and stirs up a storm… she’s the horniest of all!”), Chinese Kung Fu, 18 Shaolin Disciples (“With Yi Chang shaving his head for the first time!”), The Blazing Temple, Shaolin Wooden Men, The Magnificent Boxer and last, but certainly not least, Golden Dragon, Silver Snake (“Explosive Snake and Drunken Monkey styles!”)

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Not even their mother could tell them apart… then again, she is blind!

When not simply deploying this trailer loop as one of the coolest “party tapes” of all time, you have the option to learn something from it by paying attention to the informative commentary track by Meyers and fellow kung fu buffs Rick Stelow (from the Drunken Master Video label), Michael Worth (author of The Bruceploitation Bible) and Greg Schiller, a for-real martial arts instructor… I wonder how many of these gruelling / bonkers training routines he actually inflicts on his own students.

Remember kids, these guys are experts and you shouldn’t try any of this stuff at home…

“Buddha have mercy!”

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Categories: Blu-ray / DVD Reviews | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

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