tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62685898324616300742024-03-20T16:38:57.386+10:00Schlock TreatmentDrive-In Movie Double and Triple Bills hosted by Trash Video's Andrew Leavold, every Friday 8.30pm on Brisbane's Channel 31!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-67068560425250544712013-03-27T10:48:00.001+10:002013-03-27T10:48:33.406+10:00THE SEARCH FOR WENG WENG: Kickstarter Week #2 update!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuqy8tUATW-RCJPRPb_0_nt5Ih63oyWmgVsefFBHbBbHBrZlTW4XGQ7IoE354oO47LoOBcmJBJIoDVt4w1mCyqsHjy0eBiCp4f2njeERnaZZJTPd5eIyKHFm54BHh-nWOv8-zMaJLRpo/s1600/Search+For+Weng+Weng+small+poster+75dpi.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuqy8tUATW-RCJPRPb_0_nt5Ih63oyWmgVsefFBHbBbHBrZlTW4XGQ7IoE354oO47LoOBcmJBJIoDVt4w1mCyqsHjy0eBiCp4f2njeERnaZZJTPd5eIyKHFm54BHh-nWOv8-zMaJLRpo/s400/Search+For+Weng+Weng+small+poster+75dpi.jpg" width="304" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Dear friends and colleagues,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As you may have heard, I'm currently running a crowdfunding
campaign to finish my THE SEARCH FOR WENG WENG documentary -
<a href="http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/210613803/the-search-for-weng-weng-1">http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/210613803/the-search-for-weng-weng-1</a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The film has been a labour of love since I started filming
in 2006. In short (no pun intended, I swear), it's a guerrilla-shot chronicle
of my obsessive quest to find the two-foot-nine James Bond of the Philippines.
Funnily enough, THE SEARCH FOR WENG WENG is shaping into a film as much about
obsession and following one's passions to extremes as it is about its
two-foot-nine subject.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">With over 100 hours in the can, it's finally time to deliver
a 90 minute documentary feature. The $30,000 we're asking for from Kickstarter
pledges is to pay for its post-production and, down the track, touring the film
internationally. The idea is to fund its completion in the same way it was
filmed - guerrilla style - to retain as much control as possible over the
project. The finished film will subsequently be released in this country
theatrically and on DVD by Monster Pictures in Melbourne
(<a href="http://monsterpictures.com.au/features/the-wild-wild-weng-weng/">http://monsterpictures.com.au/features/the-wild-wild-weng-weng/</a>).</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">At two weeks into the eight-week campaign, we are currently
more than a third of the way towards our goal, and that's a very encouraging
beginning.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">However, there's a long way to go, and for that reason I'm
asking for a personal favour from each of you.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Could you please visit the link, watch the video, and then
forward the link and this blurb to anyone who might be interested. This would
include:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">- would-be investors, both small and large (and with a huge
list of incentives on offer, even a $10 pledge to Kickstarter receives a VIP
ticket to its Australian premiere);</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">- media outlets (newspapers, TV and radio stations,
bloggers, social media);</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">- family and friends;</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">- and overseas distributors, exhibitors, film festivals etc.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I apologize for imposing on your valuable time, but I really
believe you will recognize in this venture the tenacious spirit of independent
filmmaking alive and kicking. Needless to say there is a lot riding on this for
me, both professionally and personally, and I hope I can inspire you into
coming along with me on my adventure of a lifetime.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Thank you for your time and attention. I look forward to
continuing this conversation here, by private message, or via email at
andrewleavold@gmail.com.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Warmest regards,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Andrew Leavold (Writer/Director, THE SEARCH FOR WENG WENG)</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-20920371735445669752012-10-17T20:45:00.004+10:002012-10-18T09:45:42.175+10:00End Of The Wicked (1999) NEVER BROADCAST<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5H-1VkTKUaAz9jkf7eMSpndddC1UpBRmas2wVaIPFunGQu5dmab2RWbWsu2V8joaqujPpFHuw0BTJXGvB4soFn0fqyPwkZHiO6Y-A90RGSp6axATjovc-tm7t2aBjm-rWnF8hWB42PPs/s1600/End+Of+The+Wicked+poster.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5H-1VkTKUaAz9jkf7eMSpndddC1UpBRmas2wVaIPFunGQu5dmab2RWbWsu2V8joaqujPpFHuw0BTJXGvB4soFn0fqyPwkZHiO6Y-A90RGSp6axATjovc-tm7t2aBjm-rWnF8hWB42PPs/s400/End+Of+The+Wicked+poster.png" width="340" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;"><b>End Of The Wicked</b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Nigeria
1999 colour</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Director</i> Teco Benson </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Cast</i> Hilda Dokubo (Stella), Ramsey Nouah (Emeka), Charles
Okafor (Chris), Alex Usifo Omiagbo (Beelzebub), Patience Oseni (Mama Chris),
Helen Ukpabio (Pastor)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-OShblOauNPqOS4oZpOFZMBYPVeUFw91tL1EBlUOv8HSENR00z86wC28oM89XN_wdo0CVwwu3TMqOqfmo7-Ck4peN3sQ-0_nH3kZlCEVlTbF26RmwmKNhJBOnfUsRyXzX90QBAAd3b1k/s1600/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-OShblOauNPqOS4oZpOFZMBYPVeUFw91tL1EBlUOv8HSENR00z86wC28oM89XN_wdo0CVwwu3TMqOqfmo7-Ck4peN3sQ-0_nH3kZlCEVlTbF26RmwmKNhJBOnfUsRyXzX90QBAAd3b1k/s200/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+1.jpg" width="200" /></a>Is there such a thing as an evil film?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It can be argued that Leni Riefenstahl's <b>Triumph Of The
Will</b>, a propeganda film which helped usher in the Nazi Party's rise to power,
or <b>The Eternal Jew</b>, an apology piece for the impending Final Solution, are by
association imbued with an aura of evil and wickedness.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If such a list exists, I would also add <span style="color: red;"><b>End Of The Wicked</b></span>
from Nigeria as one of the
most sinful films of the modern era, a movie implicated in the murder of
thousands of children across West Africa. And
also tonight's entertainment here on Schlock Treatment. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzeCtje9VqFAy6enP_R0SH0jK9jPlEy4XmDjNiKcxt70iYZ6Yl1QDp4D2n6G28RWV6zppDu9AiIIwASK7PvAr4c7PyYvmKdK_hEWupnzmNFnjf9u2HPpfZE2v4ZAiB7L2tlWGkdGLjkE/s1600/Helen+Ukpabio+photo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzeCtje9VqFAy6enP_R0SH0jK9jPlEy4XmDjNiKcxt70iYZ6Yl1QDp4D2n6G28RWV6zppDu9AiIIwASK7PvAr4c7PyYvmKdK_hEWupnzmNFnjf9u2HPpfZE2v4ZAiB7L2tlWGkdGLjkE/s320/Helen+Ukpabio+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Helen Ukpabio in mid-protestation</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nigeria's odd hybrid of pentecostal Christianity and
deeply-rooted pagan beliefs in black magic or "juju" has evolved into
a Medieval world view, in which demons and witches are all around us, and are
responsible for all ill-will or bad luck. One of the largest and loudest of
these fundamentalist organizations is the Liberty Gospel
Church, run by Helen
Ukpabio, a determined and influential preacher with a commanding presence,
although her appearance in <span style="color: red;"><b>End Of The Wicked</b></span> would deny it. Her published bio
states she was initiated into a Satanic cult at 14 and was groomed to be
Lucifer's bride, so when she speaks of demons, you simply must BELIEVE. Over
twenty evangelical films are credited to Liberty,
since the late Nineties, but none have been more far-reaching and with such
catastrophic results as <span style="color: red;"><b>End Of The Wicked</b></span>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgezs5Mh89iGUKyARqUCNl62tmfFIcBkn_RcouIwff6Q4iBVidpt1SMj5Hjrscnb1XSxW8d2K2huynLiUTbP2aL2QZzA0QLIThTZm5dPmuVsl1touP9tTEQ9idEk1whKDQHOLMCJf6-iWM/s1600/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgezs5Mh89iGUKyARqUCNl62tmfFIcBkn_RcouIwff6Q4iBVidpt1SMj5Hjrscnb1XSxW8d2K2huynLiUTbP2aL2QZzA0QLIThTZm5dPmuVsl1touP9tTEQ9idEk1whKDQHOLMCJf6-iWM/s320/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhea7NaQA-hbHz7_R6QlTo6WdzyZSKpd3jxPgctTpPZE6jdeXlt8s98Q0zZxWQ6E3XEFKcaWr8XeQFd_eWS0xaR80nOHc5xgg3isxOYG-e-ELtzkN5LbAa3b7GkCqW_W5ZCcV4vPOOgxJo/s1600/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhea7NaQA-hbHz7_R6QlTo6WdzyZSKpd3jxPgctTpPZE6jdeXlt8s98Q0zZxWQ6E3XEFKcaWr8XeQFd_eWS0xaR80nOHc5xgg3isxOYG-e-ELtzkN5LbAa3b7GkCqW_W5ZCcV4vPOOgxJo/s320/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpMvrcuQ02vkdW1ysV8xLre0y0rRgi5FMRot9wKFStEpnDO_ypCWy3Kc0aHGLTaySrYmjUUS-6Wu8Uhs4OIjsPOT0M44LNTRO6ZD6RphZZwv4y2Vlyuia63W1GMt3G7DT5Bem6laNIM48/s1600/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpMvrcuQ02vkdW1ysV8xLre0y0rRgi5FMRot9wKFStEpnDO_ypCWy3Kc0aHGLTaySrYmjUUS-6Wu8Uhs4OIjsPOT0M44LNTRO6ZD6RphZZwv4y2Vlyuia63W1GMt3G7DT5Bem6laNIM48/s320/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Central to Helen Ukpabio's evangelist crusade against
witchcraft and "wickedness" is the idea that children are the most
susceptible to demonic possession. If something bad happens, goes the theory,
blame those unable to articulate their innocence. The result is a generation of
children bullied into believing they are witches, cast out of villages, or
worse: tortured confessions, beatings, mutilations, live burials, burnings and
more. The symptoms, according to Ukpabio? Walking or talking in their sleep,
persistent crying, poor health. From her book, “Unveiling the Mysteries of
Witchcraft,” she states “if a child under the age of 2 screams in the night,
cries and is always feverish with deteriorating health, he or she is a servant
of Satan.” That Ukpabio's tiny victims are from the more impoverished parts of Nigeria
is a given. Whatever the circumstances are of an unhappy and/or impoverished
childhood, it sounds like you're damned if you do ANYthing.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7beXxEyE6QPiiA5ZmwXWvudmgYPf73IV1I8FytvmGl3XXVXTJTS2uKAqxoX5C6GeSgYy4CCDeV2UE8ESmR62hZi-oKvCyjbs1UDmVXsjCileH_xNm23DYQml1DUaERjKoE6ygmcy7dOw/s1600/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+7.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7beXxEyE6QPiiA5ZmwXWvudmgYPf73IV1I8FytvmGl3XXVXTJTS2uKAqxoX5C6GeSgYy4CCDeV2UE8ESmR62hZi-oKvCyjbs1UDmVXsjCileH_xNm23DYQml1DUaERjKoE6ygmcy7dOw/s200/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+7.jpg" width="200" /></a>Which brings us to <span style="color: red;"><b>End Of The Wicked</b></span>, a foaming-at-the-mouth
diatribe against the presence of demons and witches in our midst. Watching the
procession of the damned is Beelzebub himself, white faced with a vivid crimson
Van Dyke, sitting on his Evil Throne surrounded by shape-shifting crones.
"Dance the seduction dance!" he booms, trying to get the party
started. "The most sexy dance on Earth!" The ignomies pile up - in
the Torture Department a damned man's eyeballs pop out of his head and swing on
the end of stalks. One witch has possessed the wife of another doomed villager,
then shapeshifts into his mother, grows a ten inch penis and rapes the sleeping
wife. The village children too are taken from their beds and dragged to
Beelzebub's throne to do his bidding - See? It's all the proof you need that
children are EVIL!!! But still, Beelzebub is never satisfied, and like the CEO
of Qantas, keeps screaming "We must increase our wickedness!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEu1c7lEIZFPHijxWkpaOgAeTAtK0AeBn0Ze9J1vuwMP13dOkkRLn3UZGsP9ld5253pDE0xveTeQNNFSKOR-BAGA_xmXtlES-8Ii8UlM3TR4cEJQY6Ynu0k7h6yfu167_6B95_mVNEXoE/s1600/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+6.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEu1c7lEIZFPHijxWkpaOgAeTAtK0AeBn0Ze9J1vuwMP13dOkkRLn3UZGsP9ld5253pDE0xveTeQNNFSKOR-BAGA_xmXtlES-8Ii8UlM3TR4cEJQY6Ynu0k7h6yfu167_6B95_mVNEXoE/s200/End+Of+The+Wicked+image+6.jpg" width="200" /></a>We've played several Nigerian Godsploitation films before on
Schlock Treatment, so regular viewers will be prepared. For the Nollywood
novice: only God will save you from the yelled dialogue in quasi-English, the
garish home computer effects, and the hateful breath of fundamentalist
Christianity fogging up every minute of its litany of horrors. At the centre of
<span style="color: red;"><b>End Of The Wicked</b></span> is Ukpabio herself, wielding her Sword of Righteousness
against the infant armies of Beelzebub in one hand and clutching a mountain of
"Get Out Of Hell Free" cards in the other. Back in the real world,
each time Ukpabio is investigated she cries religious persecution or plays the
racism card. But the statistics speak for themselves - from the late Nineties,
there are believed to be over 2000 deaths in Nigeria
alone, and many more in other parts of Africa.
Liberty is not the only church to squarely lay the blame; exorcising witch
children is big business, and despite laws prohibiting the torture and
execution of Witch Children, the African landscape remains dotted with 21st
Century Matthew Hopkins, the smoke from charred infants swirling around their
feet. And with that imagine firmly implanted in your brains, I sentence you to
the Torture Department to watch <span style="color: red;"><b>End Of The Wicked</b></span>.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-27296053307515856402012-10-17T20:22:00.000+10:002012-10-17T20:22:48.813+10:00Commando (1988) NEVER BROADCAST<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOv7SY7FHbQOBrA4YPQ0hd5ShPLRPYg5Q8cFYlqGkWDlrtUocKP7dACptJ697ByPwgTa-zzB4UD0lGqGzXU2B5slFt6dbL_bN8meq4VlXKabC8HbhQgVq1bRwbu45ST9fQ1OHHH-IdJg/s1600/Commando+DVD+cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOv7SY7FHbQOBrA4YPQ0hd5ShPLRPYg5Q8cFYlqGkWDlrtUocKP7dACptJ697ByPwgTa-zzB4UD0lGqGzXU2B5slFt6dbL_bN8meq4VlXKabC8HbhQgVq1bRwbu45ST9fQ1OHHH-IdJg/s400/Commando+DVD+cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Commando</b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">India
1988 colour </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Directors</i> Rajesh Singh, Yash Chouhan, B. Subhash <i>Writer </i>B.
Subhash</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Cast </i>Mithun Chakraborty (Chandu), Mandakini (Asha Malhotra),
Shakti Kapoor (Inspector General), Danny Denzongpa (Ninja), Amrish Puri
(Marcelloni), Bob Christo (Assassin)</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLLOF_NL9XDzuoDlMmox9BcfqQxSTePs_q_uhppShH_gdjtFmj6T8pdH9I70l3zbsfmt3vYhgC62vLB7QQ8KsNzlswDu3RwK90JsZkxlM8gBwuMbtOhDul2NK0xEA_SGYHZP1ZGqfw4ac/s1600/my-friend-ninja.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLLOF_NL9XDzuoDlMmox9BcfqQxSTePs_q_uhppShH_gdjtFmj6T8pdH9I70l3zbsfmt3vYhgC62vLB7QQ8KsNzlswDu3RwK90JsZkxlM8gBwuMbtOhDul2NK0xEA_SGYHZP1ZGqfw4ac/s400/my-friend-ninja.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ah, the Eighties, the Golden Age of cheesy action flicks.
Rambo avengers, M16s. Red ninjas, white ninjas. Musical numbers.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yes, we've unearthed for your viewing pleasure a Bollywood
Ninja film, courtesy of the team who brought you <span style="color: red;"><b>Disco Dancer</b></span> and the <span style="color: red;"><b>Gunmaster
G9</b></span> series of Disco James Bonds, and starring the King of Curry Puffs himself, Disco
Dancer Mithun Chakraborty. It's <span style="color: red;"><b>Commando</b></span> ("Commandooooooooooo!") from
1988, and if any mad masala takes its cues from the Cannon Films' ninja cycle,
the music from <b>Star Wars</b> and <b>The Good The Bad And The Ugly</b>, steals the name of
a Schwarzeneggar film, and restages the entirety of the 1968 Clint Eastwood war
film <b>Where Eagles Dare</b>, you know you're in for a wild cable car ride.</span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxcuCmgtOP6jzEmAvoafpy_mxKPEmuf3QFLv_S9KnunasKXvJQXGeKwb6a2NxxLi8ZVlUyE-Aq25qQQY_ahTyDCB1qBPp1ClUOllo9GIAP-6NDmqYH5Tzr5plqDgdo4yjjbfxz5TdJD4/s1600/ninja-camp.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxcuCmgtOP6jzEmAvoafpy_mxKPEmuf3QFLv_S9KnunasKXvJQXGeKwb6a2NxxLi8ZVlUyE-Aq25qQQY_ahTyDCB1qBPp1ClUOllo9GIAP-6NDmqYH5Tzr5plqDgdo4yjjbfxz5TdJD4/s400/ninja-camp.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Commando</b></span> opens with ten year old Chandu training with his
soldier father to a musical montage. Sometimes son, the message goes, you must
sacrifice yourself for your country's greater cause.
"Commandooooooooooo………." Fate swiftly shows its hand - Father takes a
bullet for Indira Gandhi, the Indian prime minister who had been assassinated
in real life just four years prior to the film's release. Father is soon
smoking on a funeral pyre, leaving behind one mad, babbling wife and a
smouldering son who grows up fiercely patriotic, militaristic, and intent on
getting revenge. </span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTh0hrwJHanLscrMZ6bLEoNNoE0vVOdJRnNMACr9iMS6bM3rV-LR6QX-A7bUNAbubjORJEvhNR3KgtO21V4xek5xdSWpN5_O0OoflEEk26TU7SyFN4-x40hqjH0_2K5oa_V8S5ySrQOnk/s1600/Mithun-versus-ninja.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTh0hrwJHanLscrMZ6bLEoNNoE0vVOdJRnNMACr9iMS6bM3rV-LR6QX-A7bUNAbubjORJEvhNR3KgtO21V4xek5xdSWpN5_O0OoflEEk26TU7SyFN4-x40hqjH0_2K5oa_V8S5ySrQOnk/s400/Mithun-versus-ninja.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The headstrong adult Chandu is posted at a munitions
factory, and despite being set up for the death of his comrades, he wins over
the platoon and the heart of the factory's owner Asha (the stunning Mandakini,
also in Mithun's<span style="color: red;"><b> Dance Dance</b></span>), prompting more musical numbers from the Disco
Dancer hit factory of Bappi Lahiri. He soon discovers, however, his employer is
the same supplier his father's killer buys his guns from. And what a villain -
Masaloni is some kind of Euro-Pakistani crypto-facist who hides in a mountain
lair across the border, surrounds himself with a cabal international terrorists
(read: white neo-colonialists), and has his own ninja school for the express
purpose of bringing down the Indian way of life. At stake is more than national
security as Chandu braves wave after wave of ninja assassins to bring down
Masaloni, save his sweetheart and avenge his family's honour.<span> </span></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIjm-KZzYA3EC_cVpTM08kCjIiLj0v6O55X1CsgwyHz9NQi4dfbeXdXDQEpaMDRtFzw2nwzgEwZ5eN7noCze8-lK18AhBkY9uPdT34e8m-CGpzpq10A23Easwt6RtOfpk6gzBrz153cZ4/s1600/Dhum-Dhum-and-Zum-Zum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIjm-KZzYA3EC_cVpTM08kCjIiLj0v6O55X1CsgwyHz9NQi4dfbeXdXDQEpaMDRtFzw2nwzgEwZ5eN7noCze8-lK18AhBkY9uPdT34e8m-CGpzpq10A23Easwt6RtOfpk6gzBrz153cZ4/s400/Dhum-Dhum-and-Zum-Zum.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One steadfast rule with Hindi films is that they dare not
break their caveat with the audience. The romantic plot, with its endless
twists of fate and musical interludes, is as important as the action narrative
and is given equal screen time. In a sense, Bollywood gives you more than two
movies in one - a comedy, a melodrama, a martial arts film and a musical. Trust
me, at two and half hours we've been spared, as <span style="color: red;"><b>Commando </b></span>could have been much,
MUCH longer. Keeping up interest is the way the film plays with populist Indian
notions of Pakistani aggression and global conspiracies; Pakistan is
never mentioned directly, only as a "neighbouring country" (very
diplomatic). I also love the scattered, hair-brained way <span style="color: red;"><b>Commando </b></span>buys into the
whole Eighties Sho Kosugi ninja franchise - not that any royalties were paid
for any borrowed merchandise - and introduces India's own Kosugi, Danny
Denzongpa, an Indian from the Himalayan state of Sikkim (hence his trademark
Asiatic features).</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwoJkvn-ticiJU4_XUaH4w18aCf_N0Tfn882Hm1J5LVGCrl4DK7hV5ovH9jA1aphMUEjKB3Ux3GOzBCG7Pfye0TSV-ppOozrOrSShZlIqw3kKmVV07lTPDtyvM3q1vPwPBVQg3QxnNrvQ/s1600/ninjas-on-a-hill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwoJkvn-ticiJU4_XUaH4w18aCf_N0Tfn882Hm1J5LVGCrl4DK7hV5ovH9jA1aphMUEjKB3Ux3GOzBCG7Pfye0TSV-ppOozrOrSShZlIqw3kKmVV07lTPDtyvM3q1vPwPBVQg3QxnNrvQ/s400/ninjas-on-a-hill.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Oh, and another word to the wary and soon to be weary: the
subtitles vanish half an hour before the end. Not that they're needed; by then
it's just one exploding bus after another. Thank you Mr Disco Dancer, you've
done it again, introducing us to the world of Bollywood Ninjas with <span style="color: red;"><b>Commando</b></span>oooooooooooo!</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-13024422872506706232012-10-17T19:51:00.003+10:002012-10-17T20:01:57.904+10:00Avenging Woman Warrior 2 (1991) NEVER BROADCAST<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Avenging Warrior Woman 2</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Mexico
1991 colour</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>aka </i>La Guerrera Vengadora 2</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Director </i>Raul Fernández Jr <i>Writers </i>Raúl Fernández Jr,
Rolando Fernández, Carlos Valdemar </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Cast </i>Rosa Gloria Chagoyan, Rolando Fernandez, Edna Bolkan,
Jorge Vargas, Tun Tun, Carlo East</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QOnGA0Fit7cOyjxBUXpsbkRP3K2Y08u9HKp1jnqwA_3GTVtE60ayLTliWw7D8CoH3MVZEsPzjT85DVVbQP46OexuL4P04gm84yFCjEL759VDGdv2duYMPaeYfVHfd1zWjNbPLEgzh1E/s1600/Rosa+Gloria+Chagoyan+cheesecake+photo.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QOnGA0Fit7cOyjxBUXpsbkRP3K2Y08u9HKp1jnqwA_3GTVtE60ayLTliWw7D8CoH3MVZEsPzjT85DVVbQP46OexuL4P04gm84yFCjEL759VDGdv2duYMPaeYfVHfd1zWjNbPLEgzh1E/s200/Rosa+Gloria+Chagoyan+cheesecake+photo.jpg" width="155" /></a>In the Seventies, Mexican pulp cinema took a turn down a
dirt road and left the masked mexican wrestlers and silver-suited alien women
behind. Dubbed "Narco Cinema", the films were cheaper, nastier tales
torn from tabloid headlines: of cocaine barons and vigilantes, of police raids
on crack dens and Robin Hoods of the drug-ravaged wastelands. One early Narco
classic was<span style="color: red;"><b> Lola La Traiera</b></span>, or "Lola The Trucker", from 1983, in which the
daughter of a trucker gunned down by a drug cartel takes her revenge. Lola had
long legs, big hair, big wheels, and that smoking Latino sensuality, and turned
former soap actress Rosa Gloria Chagoyan into a bona fide ass-kicking icon of
South-of-ze-Border action films. Lola reportedly became the biggest grossing
Mexican film to date, and started a trucker craze which, not surprisingly
included several more Lola sequels starring Rosa Gloria.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguubV-bmliYYzvY8DoIFHQwksjC1sCr2wq0V5L5HsRpD0xo2mI4hEsU3bH1fv9xqC3FlDX3zdnIXv2zw7Bu2yNHO-Tsp8DxD13MQ7NTv-U8XQlg9q42ntlbuOOT0SdBIdVpl2AaM1oNJ0/s1600/Avenging+Warrior+Woman+1+poster.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguubV-bmliYYzvY8DoIFHQwksjC1sCr2wq0V5L5HsRpD0xo2mI4hEsU3bH1fv9xqC3FlDX3zdnIXv2zw7Bu2yNHO-Tsp8DxD13MQ7NTv-U8XQlg9q42ntlbuOOT0SdBIdVpl2AaM1oNJ0/s200/Avenging+Warrior+Woman+1+poster.jpg" width="146" /></a>Lola wasn't her only successful franchise. <span style="color: red;"><b>Avenging Warrior
Woman</b></span> from 1988 struck a similar chord with Mexican audiences, featuring Rosa
Gloria as Ana Rosa, a kind of Charles Bronson/Sidney Poiter hybrid: high school
teacher by day, weapon-toting vigilante by night, and aided by her omnipresent
dwarf butler Reintegro, or "Refund". In the first film she takes on
another drug cartel and wins, leaving their boss in a wheelchair; in the second
film our heroine has amped up the odds and her weapon's store, and in a triumph
of cinematic chutzpah, thwarts a bank robbery on her motorbike equipped with
triple-barrelled machine guns. Voom! Right through a plate glass window, white
jumpsuit dazzling and barrels a-blazing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Of course, not everyone believes she's a hero, but luckily
her boyfriend works for the police department and can keep her identity a
secret. As mild-mannered high school teacher she takes a pregnant student under
her wing, only to find her butchered by the cartel's assassins on her lounge
room floor. "She was pregnaaaaaaaaant!" Rosa Gloria enunciates with
all the chops her soap opera background has provided. "Bastards! Killers!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9-BW21PXJn80TLBujO7zCTw1tqUE8u-x01DoaZmLTb2GO3XsqFFAat49upK96lh_2IBqRYflFQ_wc5p937qqPobbLPPE7qUCep_Osplsqd8vOqBdYK6q35P2WB1u1lc9YByCykfRwpY/s1600/Avenging+Warrior+Woman+1+bw+still.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKXdoOs8aIvFDcNtVq5Guj8wMfksgrd9YDImBa9gdIh7u9FpjIDl6xf8z6SBUTaIcHHIGHfUWQAXsTR6D-NurYbixKcfuYidEx65vqtt_NhMSNEgZU0Q9_XveU7leYqN7R_VUWvBQBpg/s1600/Avenging+Warrior+Woman+2+still+6.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKXdoOs8aIvFDcNtVq5Guj8wMfksgrd9YDImBa9gdIh7u9FpjIDl6xf8z6SBUTaIcHHIGHfUWQAXsTR6D-NurYbixKcfuYidEx65vqtt_NhMSNEgZU0Q9_XveU7leYqN7R_VUWvBQBpg/s200/Avenging+Warrior+Woman+2+still+6.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></span>She then goes deep undercover to find El Pregno's killers.
The cartel then kidnaps a nosy Senator's daughter and has the police department
in a frenzy, but not Avenging Warrior Woman, who smells the work of her
now-chairbound nemesis. She has her enormous arsenal - I repeat, enormous
arsenal - to draw upon, which includes a seemingly endless supply of guns,
grenades, and explosive arrows from a laser-guided crossbow. And let's not
forget her secret weapon Refund, who's often more of a liability - take for
example the moment he slides down a chute into a French restaurant's kitchen,
and is chased around the floor mistaken for a flour-covered rat - but he does
come in useful doing the cooking and cleaning, or whenever she needs a small
step-ladder.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Avenging Warrior Woman 2 </b></span>has everything you could want in an
80s or 90s action movie - ludicrous stunts, bullet storms, outrageous
violencia, and loud dumb explosivos, and oh, that pair of dancer's legs
reportedly insured for a million bucks, wrapped around a motorbike while chased
by a helicopter. Viva the glorious Rosa Gloria in <span style="color: red;"><b>Avenging Warrior Woman 2</b></span>.</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-54929892830598320532012-10-17T12:23:00.004+10:002012-10-17T13:01:45.647+10:00Ghost Of Guts Eater (1973) NEVER BROADCAST<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Ghost Of Guts Eater</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Thailand
1973 colour</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>aka </i>Krasue Sao</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Director</i> S. "Nawaraj"/Naowaratch</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Cast</i> Sombat Methanee (Muang), Pisamai Vilaisakoi (Bua Klee)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9lkmaEWMX5v5Msu3AIw8Cp5CWUZ1mEhpK3jN3U8WsQZPJB7cND-ps9OFnLu1WMivZclDx0zW7XtRjQm8Zjao8GBcajbsGvit2p2getam5T7NgZzjLqKm_uCGMbUuIGYj2DsoArgU7AG0/s1600/Ghost+image+8.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9lkmaEWMX5v5Msu3AIw8Cp5CWUZ1mEhpK3jN3U8WsQZPJB7cND-ps9OFnLu1WMivZclDx0zW7XtRjQm8Zjao8GBcajbsGvit2p2getam5T7NgZzjLqKm_uCGMbUuIGYj2DsoArgU7AG0/s400/Ghost+image+8.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Welcome to the lurid universe of pulpy Thai horrors, and our
rarer-than-rare krasue film <span style="color: red;"><b>Ghost Of Guts Eater</b></span>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This is a film that definitely needs some context. The
krasue is a peculiar South East Asian variation of the vampire myth, believed
to be Hindu or Buddhist in origin, and takes the form of a curse or case of
demonic possession. The difference is that head detaches itself from the body
and flies off looking for food, carrying with it the oesophagus, stomach and
intestines. In Indonesia
it's known as the Leak, in Cambodia
the Ap, Phi-Kasu in Laos
and in Malay as the Penanggalan. As with western vampires the krasue hunts for
blood or flesh at night - although in Asia it
favours new born babies and their placenta. The flying head may also be trapped
by thorns, and must return to its resting place - or in the krasue's case the
neck! - before cock crows.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj488O6Ch7INYnvDh0dpxs74s8TJMiIHNkh2ondR4GO2d6ejc8Kk3qgBlofT-ZiyQQWD2yKxUC_Fn7fHiXIfP-2oL09pr_SOLn-UX0d21EHCWF8KdTJyQd66LHjNzJkIc6SxsLTeutOIKk/s1600/Ghost+image+7.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj488O6Ch7INYnvDh0dpxs74s8TJMiIHNkh2ondR4GO2d6ejc8Kk3qgBlofT-ZiyQQWD2yKxUC_Fn7fHiXIfP-2oL09pr_SOLn-UX0d21EHCWF8KdTJyQd66LHjNzJkIc6SxsLTeutOIKk/s400/Ghost+image+7.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Witch With Flying Head" films are a staple of
Asian horror, particularly in Thai cinema, and <span style="color: red;"><b>Ghost Of Guts Eater </b></span>from 1973 is
the earliest surviving example. <span style="color: red;"><b>Ghost...</b></span> doesn't waste any time opening, maybe not
kicking but certainly screaming, with a flying witch on the loose in the
chicken house of a tiny Thai hamlet. Yes, there it is: the detached head with
guts a'flying, surrounded by what looks like a flashing police light, making it
a somewhat easy target for the villagers trying to whack it like an unstable
pinata. Fatally wounded, the head rejoins the witch's body, but not before she
passes the curse to her only relative, her glamorous granddaughter Bua Klee,
via her precious ring.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqr98KdCXL2NIAlg2o_3sSVL6kJuw5OyiepX0FrykPkNukmSvGLP8eYFcQ12hRfdxHbOckE1bNBoEleWcoYXG-PINlm1V-UujALyzNhPNMumVHNupLZRseDuFSZ0D4uqQzAf3YGzt5hGk/s1600/Ghost+image+3.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqr98KdCXL2NIAlg2o_3sSVL6kJuw5OyiepX0FrykPkNukmSvGLP8eYFcQ12hRfdxHbOckE1bNBoEleWcoYXG-PINlm1V-UujALyzNhPNMumVHNupLZRseDuFSZ0D4uqQzAf3YGzt5hGk/s400/Ghost+image+3.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Time passes, and Bua Klee marries sweetheart Boon Muang
(that's Thai superstar Sombat Metanee). They settle into domestic bliss, except
for Grandmother Chim's voice from beyond the grave reminding her she's hungry
for blood. Suddenly - the new blushing bride completely loses her head. One
aborted trip to a couple's placenta chest later, the village accuse her of
witchcraft, and the couple plus best friend move to his Uncle Moedy's village
to start a new life. And at this point, my friends, things get really weird.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfCWWQh5ByLjTTkkqj1VkT5dYS4wlf3k-th2jyYp7iCb6qLL8D1s4RNISHoHPN_9lLsP5tzak8b2K8DadyFjJjMww2jXy1gccVF7IHrQ13Jk1DXjtsD_G0TDjzQg-vZVemIE3TJT5VigU/s1600/Ghost+image+4.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfCWWQh5ByLjTTkkqj1VkT5dYS4wlf3k-th2jyYp7iCb6qLL8D1s4RNISHoHPN_9lLsP5tzak8b2K8DadyFjJjMww2jXy1gccVF7IHrQ13Jk1DXjtsD_G0TDjzQg-vZVemIE3TJT5VigU/s400/Ghost+image+4.png" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On one level, <span style="color: red;"><b>Ghost Of Guts Eater</b></span> is a touching melodrama,
and a neat slice of rural life. There are soap operatics, some gentle humour,
and is for all intents good solid populist pulp, showing a sophisticated level
of filmmaking technique. Then there are the love potions, jealous screaming
harpies, giants guarding treasure, a half-naked wizard with a messiah complex,
and a second flying head from a rival witch. Picture this: one flying head
biting the other on the intestines. "She bit me in the ass!" the second
head complains without a trace of irony or potty humour. If this doesn't make
your head spin off your own neck, then you're already dead. I swear, it's movie
moments like this I feel glad to be alive. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGSKBVzXYh4Og-laC8hZd5od37yKK5fGIzYSwbHkYI7suIGAM-BitzNCwrQLUFGd5jgt4HlBc6-fxPyqsrI3rWq7Kz1wpRZooU-MHU1FyKmEQd0UOdp4vwyOTMJ3jWrO2m0GpSuS3cygk/s1600/Ghost+image+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGSKBVzXYh4Og-laC8hZd5od37yKK5fGIzYSwbHkYI7suIGAM-BitzNCwrQLUFGd5jgt4HlBc6-fxPyqsrI3rWq7Kz1wpRZooU-MHU1FyKmEQd0UOdp4vwyOTMJ3jWrO2m0GpSuS3cygk/s320/Ghost+image+1.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhel_W0lEdh-FMR0T-SHKQvGyzlnByNs15FpprchB8CwrV3mcmfxgwjbznyCi6Md91DuDMl7YiTWuPVIzlindXT7N20oFEXJryUIHwWTW6bHDYcq1zEO7P-PEauDCIcAevFd3WqentlsuQ/s1600/Ghost+image+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhel_W0lEdh-FMR0T-SHKQvGyzlnByNs15FpprchB8CwrV3mcmfxgwjbznyCi6Md91DuDMl7YiTWuPVIzlindXT7N20oFEXJryUIHwWTW6bHDYcq1zEO7P-PEauDCIcAevFd3WqentlsuQ/s320/Ghost+image+2.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBrOvH2xbhZ8zcQnQN_pCBm71gpooSIhu6baTlLUu8uBVR0JnjSVv74DkNqt6QZi8HB_WeaxEPEtloKv2S-ho_vu0UeqGdMICO6J1yomSSfvb2Ef9LB2nthAbhyphenhyphenW0LIYv5suq4XpnvZg/s1600/Ghost+image+5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBrOvH2xbhZ8zcQnQN_pCBm71gpooSIhu6baTlLUu8uBVR0JnjSVv74DkNqt6QZi8HB_WeaxEPEtloKv2S-ho_vu0UeqGdMICO6J1yomSSfvb2Ef9LB2nthAbhyphenhyphenW0LIYv5suq4XpnvZg/s320/Ghost+image+5.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAjDDQymaiXze-bGt-xKn4jYYSLU-7IC9rUwD7wpfCkkq3X55S4aiw5IglFXIwDs24pxdQs3GbG9yOGEys0cNa_5ELsZxY0qmRLdIu7X5vFlYQ6ByGRbEyg2CDQ-PVfo3oRv_cKxIbLmQ/s1600/Ghost+image+6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAjDDQymaiXze-bGt-xKn4jYYSLU-7IC9rUwD7wpfCkkq3X55S4aiw5IglFXIwDs24pxdQs3GbG9yOGEys0cNa_5ELsZxY0qmRLdIu7X5vFlYQ6ByGRbEyg2CDQ-PVfo3oRv_cKxIbLmQ/s320/Ghost+image+6.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzHn-WhrDXBVGfXf11NkkPxc6slH3Quyn7o6LOCqqJNzjSqnLWTB7ELXIKHFplvqKBXOJEcvf0FWWt4tagy_fTlKtJPE71T2ptqW4KWV2w_7_3-2pWbIZ3oCzx0jEvrDZDGFe6knof4o/s1600/Ghost+image+9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzHn-WhrDXBVGfXf11NkkPxc6slH3Quyn7o6LOCqqJNzjSqnLWTB7ELXIKHFplvqKBXOJEcvf0FWWt4tagy_fTlKtJPE71T2ptqW4KWV2w_7_3-2pWbIZ3oCzx0jEvrDZDGFe6knof4o/s320/Ghost+image+9.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2Uat_l5bqF7wl2XlNKjF0P7wQF0OV4o51Bxy-u1k65dUbPMIuDoitdLxL9DyINJSgiOKe04EAqsf774786361nFaoiqHIsGiN-PEd8FYT11pLtIBDV5Hvt86mo5ReJKFXQgc2gHx1JM/s1600/Ghost+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">If you're new to this South East Asian madness, I welcome
you to our humble abode. Sit comfortably cross-legged on the bamboo mat and
pour yourself a steaming bowl of <span style="color: red;"><b>Ghost Of Guts Eater</b></span>.</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-28044166528313130502011-10-25T16:38:00.003+10:002011-11-04T13:27:45.959+10:00Schlock Treatment returns in January 2012<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLGcD4-RdvURtbc6VfLUh6xxfdc1xjAlfyEfnupOtMkzQISuSda87MH75DOwwTTU8bRohhPndxSZmTW-d2fdAHUWJhawjH9rFdGixSoYmgLXR0UqR1Mz8yqhBOgRAQtysEVRGPv5VoN8/s1600/Ghost+Of+Guts+Eater+Thai+poster.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 253px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLGcD4-RdvURtbc6VfLUh6xxfdc1xjAlfyEfnupOtMkzQISuSda87MH75DOwwTTU8bRohhPndxSZmTW-d2fdAHUWJhawjH9rFdGixSoYmgLXR0UqR1Mz8yqhBOgRAQtysEVRGPv5VoN8/s400/Ghost+Of+Guts+Eater+Thai+poster.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667315925946780754" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">SCHLOCK TREATMENT </span>returns to Briz 31 in January for a brand new thirteen week, programmed and hosted by Trash Video's Andrew Leavold.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style=" mso-bidi-font-weight:bold;font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >We can promise you: the Brazilian Planet Of The Apes, the Turkish Exorcist, the North Korean Godzilla, Puerto Rican Sixties sleaze, Bollywood ninjas, more Nigerian godsploitation, demented German and Taiwanese kiddie matinees, Thai flying-heads-with-guts-attached, dwarves, zombies, outrageous gore and more!</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-12804169164812748182011-06-02T16:33:00.002+10:002011-06-02T16:35:50.082+10:00Little Boy Blue, Tiny Terrestrial (1991)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eSRYUgF_Tk7igFcWsi4OJg-eSVp9lGu90zl_qnApvzJq6RGlGI_nmIxxTL2MZdsYL8qQTrs-QvAPeVbcsO7bkyI50IR2Q0YJDFA4FBEC_UAMUjDlixS6eMQM-2R2BooPn5RsCJEgHVs/s1600/Little+Boy+Blue+cover.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 191px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eSRYUgF_Tk7igFcWsi4OJg-eSVp9lGu90zl_qnApvzJq6RGlGI_nmIxxTL2MZdsYL8qQTrs-QvAPeVbcsO7bkyI50IR2Q0YJDFA4FBEC_UAMUjDlixS6eMQM-2R2BooPn5RsCJEgHVs/s320/Little+Boy+Blue+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587058027485782546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Little Boy Blue, Tiny Terrestrial</span></span> </span><br /><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Philippines 1991 colour<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Director </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Eddie Reyes </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Writers</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> Joey de Leon, Tony Y. Reyes</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Cast </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Atong Redillas (Ato), Jay-Are Reyes (Empoy), Jen-Jen Otico (Neneng), Luz Fernandez (Lola Panchang), Joaquin Fajardo (Crocodile Danding), Joey de Leon (Professor Presto), Rene Requiestas (Stallone), Richie D’Horsie (Kuya Freddie)</span><br /></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqtCl5qiBuwCyDKG2aADYc4FWjSIP3I-Fqz7ABGEBYt-XOWWNxw-eaYgHGodZFrQ1xlBe__cY9hAMgmH_cUoGSaEyKvttPAsDF0oeXmT6jwoIlaMyzG7F8M5QgmcamuGHI54Hqyrqk74/s1600/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+15.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqtCl5qiBuwCyDKG2aADYc4FWjSIP3I-Fqz7ABGEBYt-XOWWNxw-eaYgHGodZFrQ1xlBe__cY9hAMgmH_cUoGSaEyKvttPAsDF0oeXmT6jwoIlaMyzG7F8M5QgmcamuGHI54Hqyrqk74/s320/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587057541028081922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">We here at Schlock Treatment like to dig deep. Deeeeeep. So when Little Boy Blue suddenly appeared on the radar out of nowhere, believe me it’s an obscure one: a childish Catholic-laced E.T. ripoff from the Philippines, featuring a large blueberry that’s been molested by a Teletubby. Painful, infuriating, and at times like trying to stop a runaway bus with your teeth, it is nevertheless lovably dumb and, as far as lovably dumb Pinoy parodies go, one of the dumbest.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7ixMb1_MbYVzMncjbZ6xz5UCjwkvynvESlUrtMEL1b4uWq68I8pqBnaL5mr5oHAuxCKtSkxPO_Vn6B2I_cMj2fvUjgVw6XmdCU7Bye9Nf07mEOGUpo-GpKn7nLB56VL3qDPBg6pVEoE/s1600/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+14.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7ixMb1_MbYVzMncjbZ6xz5UCjwkvynvESlUrtMEL1b4uWq68I8pqBnaL5mr5oHAuxCKtSkxPO_Vn6B2I_cMj2fvUjgVw6XmdCU7Bye9Nf07mEOGUpo-GpKn7nLB56VL3qDPBg6pVEoE/s320/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+14.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587057543225752434" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">A squat stopper-shaped spaceship is spotted over Batangas, practically over the heads of three pre-teen cousins living in a simple nearby barrio. After their extended prayers – this is a devout Catholic family, you’ll need to remember - the kids beg their grandmother Panchang to tell stories of aliens – unbeknownst to them, at the same time the strange craft lands in the jungle. Aliens, says Panchang, descend from the heavens to punish the wicked. Just like Jesus, or, come to think of it, like Santa Claus. Back in the jungle the spaceship opens and out bounces a round rubber blue thing covered in squid suckers, and it takes refuge in the kids’ barn. The two young boys, Ato and the twitchy Empoy, are woken by strange sounds and uncover the creature scoffing the family corn. And what a creature it is: a head somewhere between a Gremlin and bloated Yoda atop a furry scrotum and Big Bird feet. And blue: all fluro blue, and emitting sounds like a mid-butchered veal (“Nyip! Nyip! Nyip!”). They argue over what to call it. “Do you remember the film ‘Extra Terrestrial?’” asks Ato. Tiny Terrestrial, they agree, or TT for short. “You’re just jealous,” they yell at their female cousin Neneng, the Drew Barrymore of this bizarre parallel universe, “that we have a TT [“titi” being Tagalog slang for penis] and you don’t.” They also settle on Little Boy Blue, and Neneng bonds with the gentle creature by pressing her finger lightly against TT’s rubber prong. It’s a touching scene in more ways than one, aiming for the emotion of Spielberg’s original but marred somewhat by TT’s high pitched bleating.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphjaeRoGcWni5HrZBJMw11ThYNvKYMJ-kYsHiKFEWGie-Jx-Fbsa8q2tCaZSj49b5hwCRagMfisr2eJJrdqQBHJKbxtKU7HFNHU6SH0muplyp3AZVASg5eq_I3aue9oCQ69XP1z_iyOU/s1600/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+10.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphjaeRoGcWni5HrZBJMw11ThYNvKYMJ-kYsHiKFEWGie-Jx-Fbsa8q2tCaZSj49b5hwCRagMfisr2eJJrdqQBHJKbxtKU7HFNHU6SH0muplyp3AZVASg5eq_I3aue9oCQ69XP1z_iyOU/s320/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587057729065079970" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Of course you can’t have an ET clone without the meddling adult scientists, and at alien research group PAGNANASA’s headquarters, pretty young scientist Dr Delgado (and by young, I mean seventeen or eighteen) runs TT’s craft through a battery of tests. She believes the ship has emerged from inner space, not outer, and may be a relic from the lost city of Atlantis, thus proving the ranting renegade Dr Galileo’s theories correct. In Little Boy Blue there’s much discussion about Plato, and how the destruction of Atlantis is comparable to the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah. Huh? Don’t worry, it makes more sense soon… Dr Delgado’s limp-wristed boss Zarate orders her to head a team to capture the alien and perform further experiments. Her final analysis: TT is “gentle and very easy to love”. In another section of the scientific community the insane Galileo pays a goon squad headed by “Crocodile” Danding to kidnap Little Boy Blue and show the world just how sane he really is. Try to find the creature, however – TT spends much of his Earth time running around the village draped in a sheet or at the nearsighted Grandma Panchang’s house learning how Jesus is “God to all peoples”. Before you can say “Hail Mary” he’s kissing rosary beads and crossing himself, and in the film’s most uncomfortable moment, has a religious epiphany whilst comparing his own suffering to a wooden Jesus on a crucifix. You can imagine when he returns triumphantly to his home planet, like a round blue Conquistador, there are going to be conversions a-plenty. </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgItno26x9upuJFlw9d0h11AqzOeatXydH6vOxPspJ4zP6NJtHxzkWbUxsFmVzyX0tsquFwtsv0rrrpLAki3rKPya2_CHcT-UNop89QD1sk34gdgnqsOI1r8JJoP9tPuiStr_MXLoeXfgk/s1600/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+7.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgItno26x9upuJFlw9d0h11AqzOeatXydH6vOxPspJ4zP6NJtHxzkWbUxsFmVzyX0tsquFwtsv0rrrpLAki3rKPya2_CHcT-UNop89QD1sk34gdgnqsOI1r8JJoP9tPuiStr_MXLoeXfgk/s320/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587057738479502162" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">A lame-duck Sunday School pantomime, or a Spielberg spoof that landed eight years too late? I’m having money each way. For all its inherent absurdity and ecumenical leanings, Little Boy Blue is a feeble-minded effort, a throwaway project clearly written on the hoof by the team who brought you the (ahem) superior Alyas Batman En Robin. I’d say it’s an easy bet that Joey de Leon and Tony Reyes don’t even remember flipping this cheap quickie off; at the time, writer/director Reyes and comedian Joey were the busiest creative unit in Filipino comedy, clocking in at around ten features each per year, and considered the top box office draw of 1989. Not everything they touch turned to gold, however, but they certainly give it the old Quezon City try, and for marquee value Joey phones in a cameo as PAGNANASA’s Professor Presto (he’s been peering at Venus – not the planet but his new secretary, fnyar fnyar). The usual suspects are rounded up and given their regulation two minutes of screen time: toothless and heartbroken Rene Requiestas is a barrio bum named Stallone who sees little blue monsters even before his first sip of Tanduay, and TVJ’s regular sidekick Richie D’Horsie strums a tasteful song about dying of cancer. </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIp2WPKu7SHMHE5UfTO_xnzwxiQNG6bumnjY8syDhtCuo2lla16b0ShLwl92J3yEBYZ9Q8w8kMVo6YxEGqkvNms-OwX0KtGJmqdNWYmpBsqVm6rf0_WGgAp-qfsALjHqdjSoFP5gLaq4/s1600/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIp2WPKu7SHMHE5UfTO_xnzwxiQNG6bumnjY8syDhtCuo2lla16b0ShLwl92J3yEBYZ9Q8w8kMVo6YxEGqkvNms-OwX0KtGJmqdNWYmpBsqVm6rf0_WGgAp-qfsALjHqdjSoFP5gLaq4/s320/Little+Boy+Blue+photo+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587058021970482626" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">The film’s major flaws are its leaden pacing courtesy of director Eddie Reyes (son? Brother? Of Tony), its sledgehammer morality, and discomforting attempts at toilet humour aimed at an older demographic than its intended audience of under-tens. None of this is meant as harsh criticism, of course, and the gaping wounds are an essential part of its charm. When I use words like “unbearable”, I mean it with a father’s love for his hopelessly naïve and sugar-addicted infant. For me, I don’t know who’s more unbearable, and I love them equally and unconditionally – the child actor playing Empoy (another of the ubiquitous Reyes, this time Jay-Are), who delivers every line like he’s sleepwalking and trying to create static electricity by brushing both ears, or TT himself, the nyipping testicle betraying not a single emotion from under its rubber mat. His one discernable word – “Bye!” – comes not a moment too soon, and I for one wish Little Boy Blue so long, bon voyage, and thanks for the screaming.</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-45826957754659526512011-05-24T18:03:00.006+10:002011-05-24T18:15:10.321+10:00Arcana (1972)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEino0ASkpPkmPTAcTiQbyYI2SuUPT9eNiaWe8guDUByKSoaDxoMGoZWyTsTo361ORrMnLl-wsWn4fngRZovOXflt3fVSmMyqJbW9OlFKLEjC-EFJajfQKN3D1noFKewmAltDcHKcitzoFo/s1600/Arcana+small+poster.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEino0ASkpPkmPTAcTiQbyYI2SuUPT9eNiaWe8guDUByKSoaDxoMGoZWyTsTo361ORrMnLl-wsWn4fngRZovOXflt3fVSmMyqJbW9OlFKLEjC-EFJajfQKN3D1noFKewmAltDcHKcitzoFo/s320/Arcana+small+poster.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610190636401197314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:180%;" >Arcana</span> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Italy 1972 colour</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director </span>Giulio Questi<span style=""> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Writers </span>Giulio Questi, Franco Arcalli<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Lucia Bosé (Mamma), Maurizio Degli Esposti (Son), Tina Aumont (Brenda), Renato Paracchi</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-_MEIb8iP_PrXUHUfyXAx8_CEVbPA9gO1APgQQL-YVMabf4IuC-VxoMbzSRUI5OtzatyhYnov_XuZRs3qZK1TReOkiQh6pOwr0v1txkE8agxss8pILcCZknsEELQ6noxLNH19O_f9gA/s1600/Arcana+Giulio+Questi+photo.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-_MEIb8iP_PrXUHUfyXAx8_CEVbPA9gO1APgQQL-YVMabf4IuC-VxoMbzSRUI5OtzatyhYnov_XuZRs3qZK1TReOkiQh6pOwr0v1txkE8agxss8pILcCZknsEELQ6noxLNH19O_f9gA/s320/Arcana+Giulio+Questi+photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610190630649020594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Giulio Questi</span></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“The bones, the bladder..” whispers a midget into a young man’s ear, while a woman licks a doorway. Yes, I’m proud to say, it’s going to be one of those nights as we delve into the bizarre world of renegade Italian director Guilio Questi and his strangest film of all, the 1972 horror movie <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Arcana</span>.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-_MEIb8iP_PrXUHUfyXAx8_CEVbPA9gO1APgQQL-YVMabf4IuC-VxoMbzSRUI5OtzatyhYnov_XuZRs3qZK1TReOkiQh6pOwr0v1txkE8agxss8pILcCZknsEELQ6noxLNH19O_f9gA/s1600/Arcana+Giulio+Questi+photo.jpg"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5yRR9sc-WaehifhmP1duQbOOmB7vyfTLU9UM9T6puOx-FaD6f1fEq1LqF87YNYo5C94mcthlNzsqXI-Z2-EVLECJqQINMLzPKOmfvCfVwr-GVCEM_X82hu8Z8eWeohUeH5VFll9kWedA/s1600/snap10p.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 179px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5yRR9sc-WaehifhmP1duQbOOmB7vyfTLU9UM9T6puOx-FaD6f1fEq1LqF87YNYo5C94mcthlNzsqXI-Z2-EVLECJqQINMLzPKOmfvCfVwr-GVCEM_X82hu8Z8eWeohUeH5VFll9kWedA/s200/snap10p.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610190874712475314" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijOS1Rod0sL7cCyewVFjicaxMdA475mb2RZEtgIT3clrom9vGvAvC7OvIfHAk63akVFtng3U3ew5Ac_NKYlUdC86LQ2lPk5LNLpUWfhCo7S_EyiuZZlq86RMY86HRvkPmwol_4mrYf8m8/s1600/snap04.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 179px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijOS1Rod0sL7cCyewVFjicaxMdA475mb2RZEtgIT3clrom9vGvAvC7OvIfHAk63akVFtng3U3ew5Ac_NKYlUdC86LQ2lPk5LNLpUWfhCo7S_EyiuZZlq86RMY86HRvkPmwol_4mrYf8m8/s200/snap04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610190863318504946" border="0" /></a></p><p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Questi is a fringe figure in Italian cinema, creating films which straddle the populist genre and elitist art divide and finding himself an outsider in both worlds. In a career since the Fifties he’s completed no more than five theatrical features, working in television and documentaries. A self-avowed anarchist, his radicalized politics is ever-present in his grimmest film, the apocalyptic spaghetti western <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Django Kill</span> from 1967, and in his capitalist giallo thriller set on a chicken farm from 1968, the appropriately named <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Plucked!</span>, or <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Death Laid An Egg</span>. His is an uncompromising stance, and is thus: never let the audience, or a logical story for that matter, get in the way of the pursuit of one’s art.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1s3sOf_INtTjRkLEJDBlcXhT5SGI7DPCR23khpM0nwVyugUAGjcuHkB6WeYz88lxid2z5BiNnKKjNT90CtL0EqrWRS7bAqBkcwfvRoNPJN6u96JdeFdIm1JrZfTPuAWkrgiqhu-3d62Q/s1600/snap14.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1s3sOf_INtTjRkLEJDBlcXhT5SGI7DPCR23khpM0nwVyugUAGjcuHkB6WeYz88lxid2z5BiNnKKjNT90CtL0EqrWRS7bAqBkcwfvRoNPJN6u96JdeFdIm1JrZfTPuAWkrgiqhu-3d62Q/s200/snap14.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610191049450137074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">Curiously, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Arcana</span> – on the surface his least political film - has dropped out of circulation since its 1972 premiere, and one can only wonder what a cine-literate Italian crowd weaned on Fellini’s eccentricities would have gleaned from it. The film starts off benignly enough in a Rome apartment occupied by a fortune teller. On the surface she’s a charlatan, milking good lire from her customers from carefully-staged group psychodramas – a kind of primal scream therapy, only with pissing and shitting – presided over by her freakishly insightful son Mario. He truly has inherited his mother’s divine gifts, but manifests them in more disturbing fashions. His myriad of unhealthy obsessions include dead animals or animal parts, visiting the subway tunnel his railway worker father died in, stealing photos and objects from his mother’s customers and creating elaborate charms with them, and crawling into bed with his mother or slicing her breast with a kitchen knife. A visit from a young woman engaged to an older man and worried about her future seals her fate, and in her Mario finds himself the perfect doll to stick his pin in. Figuratively speaking, of course.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYC3RzAAVoODfP7ndHb2o9sFv5PAXOW9jIpEPrxwJtIevkE20SmHWd3AEbceBV16eKvpEGD_7djHIiUh90dmmTbLfUPPc49girVRHoL2hAsWeoBCGOnrcK6N9ZL8qdVyp04KFnJ-8-7DM/s1600/snap02.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYC3RzAAVoODfP7ndHb2o9sFv5PAXOW9jIpEPrxwJtIevkE20SmHWd3AEbceBV16eKvpEGD_7djHIiUh90dmmTbLfUPPc49girVRHoL2hAsWeoBCGOnrcK6N9ZL8qdVyp04KFnJ-8-7DM/s200/snap02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610190854167924754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">The key is in the film’s title – arcane, or esoteric, or more specifically the major and minor arcana making up the deck of Tarot cards, used for divining and revealing hidden knowledge. The film, Questi states in the opening, is “not a story, but a game of cards”. Both the start and the epilogue, he continues, are not to be believed; as the film is spilt into two parts, like the Tarot itself, one might suspect that the entire narrative is a lie. “You are the player,” says Questi, suggesting everything contained herein has a hidden meaning to be decoded. “Play smartly and you’ll win.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" face="arial" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho58wI0vyBC8jdAPYI15YwXx67B-6qLKcpIgI5QUaO5M0Ghyphenhyphen8gKN51t4wjTUKqv3kJ_zIFV5Q7Dzu_3tIsybyPx4IyajyLfsdVngMWFROe1c2ZRiHNtaTzPCEdpE9d7O_yPuvTb741pDA/s1600/snap17k.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 132px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho58wI0vyBC8jdAPYI15YwXx67B-6qLKcpIgI5QUaO5M0Ghyphenhyphen8gKN51t4wjTUKqv3kJ_zIFV5Q7Dzu_3tIsybyPx4IyajyLfsdVngMWFROe1c2ZRiHNtaTzPCEdpE9d7O_yPuvTb741pDA/s200/snap17k.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610191061510773874" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9WnKiSE2jw4-eoZRogBHGdwTwVWHcZF2Ot0hHc75xhGiPxnMns7gi7L7LfW_-eGCb3HQ-ZHwYbJzWF_zrnKIv0XH36B127-4GfXKQoZM_yqMoy8oLAPpG8APZ-WGg_fgPLHe2RnhKOQ4/s1600/snap12a.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 178px; height: 132px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9WnKiSE2jw4-eoZRogBHGdwTwVWHcZF2Ot0hHc75xhGiPxnMns7gi7L7LfW_-eGCb3HQ-ZHwYbJzWF_zrnKIv0XH36B127-4GfXKQoZM_yqMoy8oLAPpG8APZ-WGg_fgPLHe2RnhKOQ4/s200/snap12a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610191043180483010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" face="arial" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" face="arial" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" face="arial" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Arcana</span> is as much a horror film as David Lynch’s Eraserhead. While Lynch’s brand of nightmarish surrealism has found its way into post-modern pop culture, the eternal fringe-dweller Questi’s is of a much darker, more unsettling variety. Just when your feet are back on surer footing, the flowers start to die, the cards flip themselves over, children worship eggs or stick skewers in a bread homunculus, a donkey is hoisted up a building, and you are left the Hanging Man of the Major Arcana deck, caught halfway between revelation and damnation.</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkFPaWhYE6ke4ulgQrCNTE1aMchtbUlY2TVW56k6AQHbBnO6nB69_sy3jcLFwnpKHMyCkvv6dVWOY_qpDHFbkiANpuos27mPrqve1efCvUkpKDpuOLLYClSPnSNDArJTxLpbmVzVUKX8/s1600/snap11i.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkFPaWhYE6ke4ulgQrCNTE1aMchtbUlY2TVW56k6AQHbBnO6nB69_sy3jcLFwnpKHMyCkvv6dVWOY_qpDHFbkiANpuos27mPrqve1efCvUkpKDpuOLLYClSPnSNDArJTxLpbmVzVUKX8/s200/snap11i.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610190885878057426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Arcana</span>’s a rough ride, at times a Freudian avalanche-of-conscious imagery, and it’s in the second half the film veers off its rails and plows into much darker territory, past Fellini and into the domain of Bunuel, a universe of sex, death, politics, decay, deformity, and the “other world” which hangs over the film like a funereal veil. If you’re not a fan of demented art cinema of the Seventies, we’ll see you next week. For those with more metaphysical tastes, we invite you into the hidden world of<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> Arcana</span>.</span><br /></p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span></span> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-35465138025640644952011-05-15T22:24:00.011+10:002011-05-15T22:43:53.179+10:00Gunmaster G9 In Surakksha (1979)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-family: arial;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAs7M8UOwgBu-N_CA3IVcjvYcB8Jz305fOTT1XC1Kkp8ANXYmp4M3TkzYWhNihyphenhyphen6M4TUfglF5Wdy8vg0WzCAQTaCCtBYqODcHmkL2i7g7SQ7NI24gh6zk2oajKqKKEOFRir-GytZ5MXY8/s1600/Gunmaster+G9+poster.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 237px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAs7M8UOwgBu-N_CA3IVcjvYcB8Jz305fOTT1XC1Kkp8ANXYmp4M3TkzYWhNihyphenhyphen6M4TUfglF5Wdy8vg0WzCAQTaCCtBYqODcHmkL2i7g7SQ7NI24gh6zk2oajKqKKEOFRir-GytZ5MXY8/s320/Gunmaster+G9+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606919068906632546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" >Gunmaster G9 In Surakksha</span> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">India 1979 colour</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director </span>Raveekant Nagaich <span style="font-style: italic;">Writers </span>Rajvansh, Ramesh Pant</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Mithun Chakraborty (Gopi, Gunmaster G9) With Ranjeeta, Jeevan, Aruna Irani</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenb6o6b8PoN-Gb5Za0eXw96mobKRSuHJ_E89ZELonGc03I9DR8hJ0txjCzbVEE2h7euJAT1pc6yJzD-fMcQsIiMGJqdTOuLJ_na2jhraC_JPru3N9t3MIWJqYwkL2cF30uKDTO1vijLQ/s1600/2prwuoj.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenb6o6b8PoN-Gb5Za0eXw96mobKRSuHJ_E89ZELonGc03I9DR8hJ0txjCzbVEE2h7euJAT1pc6yJzD-fMcQsIiMGJqdTOuLJ_na2jhraC_JPru3N9t3MIWJqYwkL2cF30uKDTO1vijLQ/s320/2prwuoj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606920606591063698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">Those of you who know me are aware of my obsession with Indian pulp movies of the Sixties and Seventies. One of my all-time favourite Bollywood films is <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Disco Dancer </span>(1982), a low-rent tribute to Saturday Night Fever made five years late, by which time disco had truly died the death of a thousand cuts. But no, there was Mithun Chakraborty, in wide lapels and flares, strutting his dancefloor grooves through a Bolly mangling of “Video Killed The Radio Star”: tack heaped upon glorious tack, deliriously absurd, and one movie you must see in case you dismiss an entire subcontinent’s B grade treasures. To this day, Bengal-born Mithun is a golden idol of the cinema, now in his sixties with over 250 films under his belt, and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Disco Dancer</span> is celebrated in the same way Dirty Dancing is in Western culture minus the ironic sneer. In fact a friend of mine was trapped on a bus worming its way through the Himalayas, and the only cassette on the day long journey was the soundtrack to Disco Dancer. Doug now has “I am a disco dancer (pam-pam-paddup)” etched indelibly into the memory bank, and ever the cinematic sadist, I like to pop it on the CD player whenever he’s in the room. Yes, I too have the soundtrack; it does things to me that Patrick Swayze singing “She’s Like The Wind” can never achieve.</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenb6o6b8PoN-Gb5Za0eXw96mobKRSuHJ_E89ZELonGc03I9DR8hJ0txjCzbVEE2h7euJAT1pc6yJzD-fMcQsIiMGJqdTOuLJ_na2jhraC_JPru3N9t3MIWJqYwkL2cF30uKDTO1vijLQ/s1600/2prwuoj.jpg"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwmITaYSLr4ROUdYaUvjq8UQkaFtOkUPVLIEBcIYpzYk24OUW5s919KM71_bzyMhak4EVHZQbotlJpFPpv66XtMwiFV53wb9Mq6e5moUnhNwixNY-Sn1_NAgznktzLMZQ8d9p_ciW4y0/s1600/2pzw3na.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwmITaYSLr4ROUdYaUvjq8UQkaFtOkUPVLIEBcIYpzYk24OUW5s919KM71_bzyMhak4EVHZQbotlJpFPpv66XtMwiFV53wb9Mq6e5moUnhNwixNY-Sn1_NAgznktzLMZQ8d9p_ciW4y0/s320/2pzw3na.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606920835064227202" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">…which is a roundabout way of saying how much I love the rat-arse end of Bollywood cinema. Imagine my joy, therefore, to discover the Disco Dancer himself was the Bollywood James Bond in a previous incarnation. Yes, that’s Mithun Chakraborty as<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> Gunmaster G-9 In Surakksha</span>, or “Protection”, his first smash hit and the first of two G9 adventures. As much as I love Disco Dancer, I have a horrible feeling it’s been replaced – <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Gunmaster G9</span> is pure, unadulterated, ghee-coated 100% Bolly Gold. For starters, we have the genuine article, a disco era artefact with its ghastly fashions and insidious musical atrocities intact. No sooner are the credits over, Mithun is straight into said disco number about how irresistible he is to women. As Gopi, codename G9, his satyric wanderlust is a problem to his spy career, as he just can’t seem to keep his little Gopi in his flares. “It’ll be the reason for his death,” says the Mumbai version of M, head of the CBI, as he orders G9 to investigate a dead airline pilot and missing map to a diamond mine. And the pilot is not the only Indian male in this movie to be led astray by the gorgeous but treacherous Neelam, Bollywood’s own Pussy Galore in her red boots and vinyl hotpants. </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJuCW92H8HES9xEJ3v4zVNwlDhoGqHI9L2EATPbjq9TGP1U2XXsRc9ihikZz7EeRMAJPoPkbH3TfuStR_WjVwxI09fPgiRF2LQaAtBAFjYM8evSv4PKkbY0qphonHJ6580xdL4Bj4KasY/s1600/mj0o7l.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJuCW92H8HES9xEJ3v4zVNwlDhoGqHI9L2EATPbjq9TGP1U2XXsRc9ihikZz7EeRMAJPoPkbH3TfuStR_WjVwxI09fPgiRF2LQaAtBAFjYM8evSv4PKkbY0qphonHJ6580xdL4Bj4KasY/s320/mj0o7l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606919692056568754" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Neelam and the silver-haired gangster Hiralal are also behind the disappearance of fellow agent Jackson (no last name), whom his family believed to be dead, as his body was delivered to their front door in a crate! Believed, that is, until Gopi pries open his coffin and finds a skeleton with some elaborate plastic surgeon performed on it. His frantic search leads him and his comic disciple Kabadi to the beautifully aloof Priya – no mere conquest this time, as Gopi falls deeply and desperately in love - and to the real brains behind the criminally awful Shiv Shakti Organization. And a suitably over-the-top Bond villain he is: perched in his underwater lair, surrounded by kung fu experts and zombie butlers, Dr Shiva is a self-proclaimed genius with one eye and metal hand who declares himself more powerful than all gods, Shiva included, and intends to destroy the world – but not before he demands our hero dance for his life in a contest with the surprisingly musical Hiralal!</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-VwdaPPyRpTNSdE_vdmiu_BaYPSWaLJ48pOUKvJwjBy2rZC3ZPEpr8dbf5DerzOhxYeqiQyPLo-Ivd-GgCwOv7ybzVCsSbPeoB1nLtNwFQSWQAensPcPQM-Ygq3KjGmTwJAbdZ2EEjA/s1600/cinemachaat00089.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-VwdaPPyRpTNSdE_vdmiu_BaYPSWaLJ48pOUKvJwjBy2rZC3ZPEpr8dbf5DerzOhxYeqiQyPLo-Ivd-GgCwOv7ybzVCsSbPeoB1nLtNwFQSWQAensPcPQM-Ygq3KjGmTwJAbdZ2EEjA/s320/cinemachaat00089.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606921152085793762" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">The first thing you notice about this Bond-on-a-hundredth-the-budget clone is its incredible array of miniatures which put Thunderbirds to shame, setting fire to toy cars and planes and throwing them off a dirt hill. What are very real are the snakes: one found in Gopi’s dinner tray, and hundreds of them in tanks, all slithering to life during a smash-em-up kung fu battle at a water snake farm. The great leveller in that particular scene, for me, is the moment when Gopi’s opponent falls into a giant vat – only to be menaced by the same rubber shark I owned as ten year old. Dr Shiva’s lair itself is a masterpiece of modernist pap, a triumph of bullshit over budget, and quite simply the most implausible Bondian villain’s lair committed to celluloid, from its glass wall showing dangerously magnified goldfish to Shiva’s wall of clunky 70s TV sets – all six of them, the wood veneer types with the chunky channel dial. This is one underwater layer whose sinking wouldn’t raise a fart bubble in a bath tub, and believe me, this is a supreme compliment.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:100%;" ><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguncWEMgGHIqT5r2nsnsQlAc7RbUqW5FpEOG7ooIWWwenzcjolYB8lhrdcW4YhjTdCbL_FuYq3iATJ2efirdJwXgHyas2tvbP3ogK5c8I6Cz0X93AhSuNJkBCoZs8olGHa_ui-rpH_hR0/s1600/10h68eh.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguncWEMgGHIqT5r2nsnsQlAc7RbUqW5FpEOG7ooIWWwenzcjolYB8lhrdcW4YhjTdCbL_FuYq3iATJ2efirdJwXgHyas2tvbP3ogK5c8I6Cz0X93AhSuNJkBCoZs8olGHa_ui-rpH_hR0/s320/10h68eh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606920914411501042" border="0" /></a></span><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxFt_G_gKyqdGhxucNl9lIrT4zbxLGFhiX0SQjROc1AcFkehDvCHBTJpEiQfjcBqxwv1fgjHg-6GTnw77EEjavPm0ICwpLQLldq6mV3DTe4PiMA-5xnvjQFuAMZN6MMRiiLbDuRz4680/s1600/krew2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxFt_G_gKyqdGhxucNl9lIrT4zbxLGFhiX0SQjROc1AcFkehDvCHBTJpEiQfjcBqxwv1fgjHg-6GTnw77EEjavPm0ICwpLQLldq6mV3DTe4PiMA-5xnvjQFuAMZN6MMRiiLbDuRz4680/s320/krew2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606919679650406306" border="0" /></a>Gunmaster G9 has everything you want in a James Bond movie. Comedy! Romance! Musical numbers! Try spotting every intentional reference to a Bond film: the underwater lair from Spy Who Loved Me/Dr No, the poison string routine from You Only Live Twice, the funeral procession from Live And Let Die, and Goldfinger’s card game via binoculars… I’m sure I missed a few too, and please let me know what you discover. Best of all, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Gunmaster G9 </span>races along like a runaway Datsun and clocks in at just over two hours with nary a dull moment – a rarity for Mumbai’s regulation three hour masala marathons. </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPT9OuftCzaR7fbxzD69AlzQ3reWRvKzdRsf9TbP2WsudiMfeQAKX0V5553MVscLv3V7LBNXtvweQK9gm4h8I5YQGXnivmmAnNj_eAhpok0nta5-FhwAyc-SrNnUcjYIMtU4T0aZ7I5Jw/s1600/death-ray-thingy.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPT9OuftCzaR7fbxzD69AlzQ3reWRvKzdRsf9TbP2WsudiMfeQAKX0V5553MVscLv3V7LBNXtvweQK9gm4h8I5YQGXnivmmAnNj_eAhpok0nta5-FhwAyc-SrNnUcjYIMtU4T0aZ7I5Jw/s320/death-ray-thingy.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606921032936154274" border="0" /></a>Gunmaster G9 will return to Schlock Treatment in the near future in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Wardaat </span>from 1981. Meanwhile, settle back, put your eye patch on and your BeeGees album on 45 as we watch our favourite Bond moments forced through the Bollywood mincing machine in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Gunmaster G9 In Surakksha</span>!</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-78945533753684683102011-05-02T23:09:00.010+10:002011-05-03T08:59:38.426+10:00Titans Of The Ring (1973)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsA6z3zAYQ1UlBlPbbABDaI1bsPspTt99bX1Ndp5LvtgfejzCN9xMiSEJCvW41liLteMi8fvPlm8U6-qX_s3lhWsUkgeYK01DOiNMRALoghn9HCYdgkOfs2g3JbKZmlMxoeL10DitOec8/s1600/Titans+Of+The+Ring+poster.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsA6z3zAYQ1UlBlPbbABDaI1bsPspTt99bX1Ndp5LvtgfejzCN9xMiSEJCvW41liLteMi8fvPlm8U6-qX_s3lhWsUkgeYK01DOiNMRALoghn9HCYdgkOfs2g3JbKZmlMxoeL10DitOec8/s320/Titans+Of+The+Ring+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602106080504622850" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGTd_K6XV0l5nozG82fjRP-leW2Fh6dspRGNq22NWtkMKi7glXYL2dFvTFC-spXnwTQxh9_5xcRHSfgr0hvcCw1fcHAGBzofuFYml8z1ZHpcm9B2LS3f3Vrcmku1EhXRywflFojJcuQc/s1600/karadagian.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 155px; height: 155px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGTd_K6XV0l5nozG82fjRP-leW2Fh6dspRGNq22NWtkMKi7glXYL2dFvTFC-spXnwTQxh9_5xcRHSfgr0hvcCw1fcHAGBzofuFYml8z1ZHpcm9B2LS3f3Vrcmku1EhXRywflFojJcuQc/s200/karadagian.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602107555338063314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:180%;" >Titans Of The Ring</span> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Argentina 1973 colour</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka </span>Titanes En El Ring</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director/Writer </span>Leo Fleider</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Martín Karadagián, Ovidio Fuentes, Gloria Raines, Dakar </span><br /></p><a style="font-family: arial;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhts3ag4WHXIg93jV785Y7p5cs9lrWMO5D4kvpaiE0XqvEtIAOLodRlEg5Nb0CZJzFO8CdulJxFQ8DFEtY06SCMbD77Sk_JWXWmQVI7u5RWB7OMc9Wd8ERfxDC6N6Eo9aunjR02t6k4jSQ/s1600/cr.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 146px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhts3ag4WHXIg93jV785Y7p5cs9lrWMO5D4kvpaiE0XqvEtIAOLodRlEg5Nb0CZJzFO8CdulJxFQ8DFEtY06SCMbD77Sk_JWXWmQVI7u5RWB7OMc9Wd8ERfxDC6N6Eo9aunjR02t6k4jSQ/s200/cr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602106612866808674" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >Long before WWF turned the noble sport of wrestling into an elaborate parody, Central and South American were already elevating their masked wrestlers dangerously close to sainthood. Mexico in particular named their greatest ever luchadore El Santo or The Saint, and his funeral in the early 80s (mask still firmly in place, of course) resembled the passing of Pope John Paul II. In Argentina, wrestling would evolve into a different and far less reverential form of pop culture phenomenon, one in which historical figures wrestle space creatures, and long dead mummies. With <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Titanes En El Ring</span>, or <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Titans Of The Ring</span>, the circus had truly came to town!</span> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KVpiEYXTlHegWEJtvJ9q97MzMAr36X896Mq2c9emggmGHkELZiG4jqCKFAfPPKL3GJg6iAxDIHI3-n0RiB0RhS7sE_oSDuAI3PY58UoKrZCCuOhxMUZTKPhXfuJEtowSTX18m8b3UmA/s1600/TITANES_LOGO.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KVpiEYXTlHegWEJtvJ9q97MzMAr36X896Mq2c9emggmGHkELZiG4jqCKFAfPPKL3GJg6iAxDIHI3-n0RiB0RhS7sE_oSDuAI3PY58UoKrZCCuOhxMUZTKPhXfuJEtowSTX18m8b3UmA/s200/TITANES_LOGO.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602107570642090146" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Its founding father, part-Armenian wrestler Martin Karadagian had spent over twenty years on the professional circuit as a rudo or heel, unleashing his dirty bag of tricks onto his much bigger and faster opponents, and was remembered as much for his tall tales as for his wrestling prowess, which even he would admit wasn’t spectacular. But he was a showman, and the self-aggrandizing jibber-jabber was all part of the show. By the early 50s, wrestling in South America was bigger than ever thanks to TV’s all-present eye, but as a small-screen fad had worn out its welcome by 1962. It needed a facelift, and one of Karadagian’s publicized stunts led to Channel 9 in Buenos Aires offering him a TV contract. Wrestling was cheap to produce, and in theory was easy to capture the public’s imagination. Thus, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Titanes En El Ring</span> was born.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhvbBzGIFQdXq1I6jDR6Bw6LyCZR5XDEJrIhPSiFWQY37AZV4rF5ufKYcSMGN972lJmw0DxZpCjRAVDzG_JSOIRRKciWkbczXgQHjg5orgXDl_v8oVPjB4sF8ri03Uq2Uq0t_86D3nB8/s1600/A-7.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 145px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhvbBzGIFQdXq1I6jDR6Bw6LyCZR5XDEJrIhPSiFWQY37AZV4rF5ufKYcSMGN972lJmw0DxZpCjRAVDzG_JSOIRRKciWkbczXgQHjg5orgXDl_v8oVPjB4sF8ri03Uq2Uq0t_86D3nB8/s400/A-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602106775552738530" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">As the show grew, so did the stable of eccentric characters cooked up by Karadagian. By 1964, Titanes… no longer resembled wrestling, but rather epic cartoonish battles of good-vs-evil, and no more silly than La Momia who debuted in 1965, a deaf-mute monster wrestling in full bandages, and whose limited trademark moves included a washboard backhand to the opponent’s skull. The kids loved it, purists despised what had become of their beloved sport, and by the early Seventies Titanes En El Ring had became the most-watched TV show in Argentina, now on Channel 13 on Friday nights, and squeezing 2000 fans into its tiny studio. Critics loved it too, praising the revamped show for its “originality, vitality, and innovation, condensing surrealism – primitive yet genuine - into its wildest state.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaMsyh5ZM-gBT5xfSm9X2wsi3DaaNaSLdQLtc61_ixr2TeJbWHgzBR0dj3WATXPG-EbcGg8ZOiyfzO7_CgplaIq0ZYkHOMlCv96_ENXFLEy08awOuvsaPu31fv8YJ2Q-lBPrsS3ztQBw/s1600/717746titanes.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaMsyh5ZM-gBT5xfSm9X2wsi3DaaNaSLdQLtc61_ixr2TeJbWHgzBR0dj3WATXPG-EbcGg8ZOiyfzO7_CgplaIq0ZYkHOMlCv96_ENXFLEy08awOuvsaPu31fv8YJ2Q-lBPrsS3ztQBw/s320/717746titanes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602106903995914082" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">It is fitting, then, that <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Titanes En El Ring</span> made its big-screen debut in 1973, and that its main protagonists are two children, Miguelito and Carolina. Naturally they’re the show’s biggest fans, and sit in the audience in rapture while Karadagian parades his cavalcade of wrestling oddities, each with their own theme tune: literary figures Don Quixote (in full armour!) and Sancho Panza, the topical Hippie Hair and Hippie Jimmie, and Cucumber The Clown, whose grease paint and baggy pants compound the circus atmosphere. An alien in a helmet and bright yellow outfit would periodically emerge from a space ship lowered into the ring in a flurry of smoke. Then of course there’s La Momia – friend to all children! – going slap-happy on Karadagian the Armenian, whose ringside persona by now slips effortlessly between good guy, villain and carnival barker.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTnEcvmMxeLBT4Z-Cgv1BN_hao7ZKRR84aDNB5fhTePAP9Iv1HNWT66UJf1V-AjnPYeknKYwAKrbzhuzrYuA-AhXejp_M_n1wYQ26rughuysWnxR8QHf5oSk1KEVrPS0LzzQCzgpoRmw/s1600/titanes04.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTnEcvmMxeLBT4Z-Cgv1BN_hao7ZKRR84aDNB5fhTePAP9Iv1HNWT66UJf1V-AjnPYeknKYwAKrbzhuzrYuA-AhXejp_M_n1wYQ26rughuysWnxR8QHf5oSk1KEVrPS0LzzQCzgpoRmw/s400/titanes04.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602106343248196562" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Miguelito constantly brags about knowing the Titans in an effort to impress his young girlfriend. To save face, his father convinces Karadagian to let the kids hang out at their training session. “Why are there good and bad Titans?” they later ask their new friend over sodas. The wise Armenian describes his show as a microcosm of the world – the universal struggle between light and shadow – and not just grown men in silly costumes throwing shit around and beating each other into meat. By mid-movie we’re treated to a rock and roll number and very little plot to speak of; luckily Carolina’s father is kidnapped by goons, and the Titans rally to the rescue. And that’s it. As a movie it’s candyfloss, all sugar and asbestos and little substance, and screw you for wanting anything more. The crowd shots of adoring young kids’ faces – that’s your demographic right there, the young, and the young and cheerfully dumb at heart.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-hTKUW7muN9igN9aVftvvNgM6zdyfJEeP5mu2WxGL-TmmCfNz5tUNl4ESms5qPnNO71JythYx6vp2dmm2aiaBD_rUt3exz1Kx06cvEr4iobHT3qImQiFTElaDX8Ws1CPYx1mPfT6uQVU/s1600/titanes4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 332px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-hTKUW7muN9igN9aVftvvNgM6zdyfJEeP5mu2WxGL-TmmCfNz5tUNl4ESms5qPnNO71JythYx6vp2dmm2aiaBD_rUt3exz1Kx06cvEr4iobHT3qImQiFTElaDX8Ws1CPYx1mPfT6uQVU/s400/titanes4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602106338694880850" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">As for the Titans, their peak in popularity in the early 70s translated to a long and painful decline until the show was cancelled in 1988. Karadagian lost a leg to diabetes several years before but would still hobble around the outside of the ring pulling pranks on both tecnicos and rudos. One time he threw his cane away, and announced dramatically to the audience, “I am alive! I don’t need the cane because the ring and the fans keep me standing.” His words proved to be prophetic, and he passed away three years after the show’s end, a thin and frail little man living in a convent infirmary, and a far cry from the king Titan we witness tonight. Prepare yourself for a unique peek into Argentinian pop culture circa 1973, with <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Titanes En El Ring</span>, or <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Titans Of The Ring</span>.</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-38127978303246390232010-12-23T14:24:00.006+10:002010-12-23T14:34:00.527+10:0026th December 2010: Santa And The Ice Cream Bunny (1972)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3BPNGAwTyCgSM4CA9xy2hrt1rKKEY6V97Ov7-QAn3foJN4PT6jZxvUYIkA5fu4Rt_QWEQfkKXVilWhqxd_kimPOd4aGk3z2_Cp39YefiyUyO7pvahs6sjJeiH132kPNE8P-ols_UE_c/s1600/6a00d83451c29169e200e54fbc8a7b8834-800wi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3BPNGAwTyCgSM4CA9xy2hrt1rKKEY6V97Ov7-QAn3foJN4PT6jZxvUYIkA5fu4Rt_QWEQfkKXVilWhqxd_kimPOd4aGk3z2_Cp39YefiyUyO7pvahs6sjJeiH132kPNE8P-ols_UE_c/s320/6a00d83451c29169e200e54fbc8a7b8834-800wi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553729199698536978" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceType"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceName"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="State"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Santa And The Ice Cream Bunny</span></span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1970/1972 colour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Directors </span>Barry Mahon, R. Winer<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Jay Clark (Santa Claus), Shay Garner (Thumbelina), Pat Morrell (Mrs Mole), Bob O'Connell (Mr Digger)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOs71aBlOtQwIGKNTfL4z7iYQI2MPEg2fJOElQZZr_1hkqiqNq78WCZioOmXabJU5IpKnG_zDy9y-MFRzBDYKLCNPjBG68eqxHROtQKHY4xbjlDy1sjWPl9vFCVPrV4lBFTyu-yu10cM/s1600/title.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOs71aBlOtQwIGKNTfL4z7iYQI2MPEg2fJOElQZZr_1hkqiqNq78WCZioOmXabJU5IpKnG_zDy9y-MFRzBDYKLCNPjBG68eqxHROtQKHY4xbjlDy1sjWPl9vFCVPrV4lBFTyu-yu10cM/s200/title.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553729443622212322" border="0" /></a>Ladies and gentlemen, we have discovered the entrance to Hell, and it’s an amusement park in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Florida</st1:place></st1:state>. And it’s here we’re spending Boxing Day – and the end of the current season of Schlock Treatment – in the torturous sands of <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Santa And The Ice Cream Bunny</span> (1972). You’d assume, in this season of giving, that we’ve saved the best of Schlock for last, right? Well, our film tonight is not so much a movie as a kind of wretched wrapping paper around a not-so-wretched short. In fact, Santa’s mulligan stew of school play, tacky home movie footage and amusement park advert, could be a new genre: the panto-mercial, of which its single entry <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Santa And The Ice Cream Bunny</span> is clearly its outstanding example. To rub salt into our bleeding eyes, it displays a common trait amongst the kiddie matinee films, and that’s naked contempt for its audience, whom the filmmakers believe will watch any old horseshit, so long as there’s a candy cane parked in the top. [sound of crickets…]</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRkL0B18NpNufR2QwSWgtpRTNW9CgZVVwmEzilYKkNoka3fvaxLikuNNHYkTZHRkf62Bo9IKtThKYt14-qV5NVnMfPUKYcz1ireRYED7v1Q2mN1NhD02A9iVCEnA40tvoTArRRbqfPtA/s1600/icecream6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRkL0B18NpNufR2QwSWgtpRTNW9CgZVVwmEzilYKkNoka3fvaxLikuNNHYkTZHRkf62Bo9IKtThKYt14-qV5NVnMfPUKYcz1ireRYED7v1Q2mN1NhD02A9iVCEnA40tvoTArRRbqfPtA/s200/icecream6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553729356039558018" border="0" /></a>But hey kids, it’s Santa Claus! Wait…oh no! He’s stranded in the sand dunes of <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Florida</st1:place></st1:state> and his sleigh is stuck without his reindeer. The kids from the neighbourhood heed his distress call, and empty what seems like the entire menagerie of a petting zoo to help pull the sleigh. There’s a cow, and a frightened sheep, a guy in a gorilla suit – this is all filmed, by the way, in excruciating detail – and even a donkey, but Santa’s clearly no Baby Jesus. Meanwhile, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn just happen to be floating down the <st1:place st="on">Mississippi River</st1:place> (cue “Old Man River” on kazoos), and offer their angry raccoon from the safety of some bushes. From what we can gather from his litany of clichés, Santa’s frustrated with his lot, but the world’s children need their toys, greedy little selfish bastards that they are . Never give up, Santa tells the wilting kids, have faith and BELIEVE. And, since Santa’s footage is almost an hour short of feature length, here’s a story to hammer the point home…</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjQzS9ehN0rOAfdNuLMUnn5xfOdIJ5PXy6JGDwMk3POGUbTAK0yVcU5cUxx8IcCgqdcE3xBsT2v4DyOLZ5_kdUt6tGF0NOTzAoBNudgrahXR5wKdXgompXG8bo8qCWeqdJ2_DqO3Jxt1M/s1600/gtwabg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 155px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjQzS9ehN0rOAfdNuLMUnn5xfOdIJ5PXy6JGDwMk3POGUbTAK0yVcU5cUxx8IcCgqdcE3xBsT2v4DyOLZ5_kdUt6tGF0NOTzAoBNudgrahXR5wKdXgompXG8bo8qCWeqdJ2_DqO3Jxt1M/s200/gtwabg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553730013332655970" border="0" /></a>And so we arrive at our film-within-a-film, which comes with an interesting legacy. How did the director of <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">A Good Time With A Bad Girl</span> (1967) come to make kiddie horrors? Barry Mahon is one interesting cat. An American World War 2 fighter pilot shot down over <st1:place st="on">Europe</st1:place>, his POW experience later inspired the Steve McQueen movie <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Great Escape</span>, but it’s his adventures in Filmland that most interest us here at Schlock HQ. By sheer twist of fate <st1:city st="on">Mahon</st1:city> became Errol Flynn’s manager and directed his rancid swansong <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Assault Of The Cubal Rebel Girls </span>(1959) which, along with the ill-fated Flynn vehicle William Tell, scuttled any chance at a serious career in <st1:place st="on">Hollywood</st1:place> A-films. Instead, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">White Slavery</span> (late 50s), a movie he shot in Tangiers while he and Flynn were laying low, sealed his fate, and he began a series of nudie cutie films, some with Playboy bunnies sourced by glamour photographer Bunny (“I shot Bettie Page”) Yeager. As the Sixties progressed, the benign nudie antics of <st1:place style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Pagan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Island</st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> </span>(1960) and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Girls On Tiger Reef </span>(1965) gave way to notorious “roughies” like <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Beast That Killed Women</span> (1965) and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Sex Killer</span> (1967), and then POOF! Like a third-rate magic act the pornographer disappeared, and Mahon the Kiddie Matinee King took his place: six shortish films in rapid succession around 1969 and 1970, and mostly shot at a doomed Florida amusement park called Pirate’s World, a place remembered more for its rowdy concerts by The Doors and Iron Butterfly than any of the buccaneer-themed rides.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqqvNQJ3SeZdBLR-6rVR-8G3tCGdgGmxPSehRw5vd6_osxcPxl8Di4ZS-ljDerFCIYcCJSPtXUt801yyx4Ie7sbbe3SLH-FM3IlmlzJRAObEsTOnLgPkQZZcN06CzUr07g7lkt49tm3Q/s1600/icecream9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqqvNQJ3SeZdBLR-6rVR-8G3tCGdgGmxPSehRw5vd6_osxcPxl8Di4ZS-ljDerFCIYcCJSPtXUt801yyx4Ie7sbbe3SLH-FM3IlmlzJRAObEsTOnLgPkQZZcN06CzUr07g7lkt49tm3Q/s200/icecream9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553729440839413042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Thumbelina</span> (1970) was <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mahon</st1:place></st1:city>’s cardboard rendition of the Hans Christian Andersen tale, a burnt-out fluro nightmare lit sparingly with dayglo splashes by a filmmaker who clearly didn’t have a clue what the word “psychedelic” meant. Its two inch heroine suffers all manner of ignomies – sleeping in a walnut, kidnapped by frogs, pimped by a widowed mole and railroaded into marrying her octogenarian neighbour – and all with customary good cheer and boundless optimism. Indeed, every human-sized creature, or man-sized anthropomorphic puppet with flapping yapping mouths, wants a piece of Thumbelina, or to at least feast on her innocence. That is, until a thawed out bird gives her a glimpse of freedom AND true happiness, prompting yet another ghastly unmusical musical number. It’s like the rock opera Hair before it hit puberty and was still high-pitched and hairless. Sure, Thumbelina is a step up in production values from the Santa footage, but when you’ve hit rock bottom, you’ve nowhere else to go. What ever you do, don’t drift off to sleep and let its hideous tune about “twelve pennies” soak into your brain-sponge.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dPch4B6_Cto3mJcywt97ZODpJV6dDQJOGOXvH4Ig3SSWYaNcgjygP3yDBTQ3P9JuLYvIE3rZdY2aHBhho8Pe_W3CFjyzursOU2iV5Yj8ZbUwZx_IDfLl69QxxxYDNdb9chy2VH0FtfM/s1600/icecream8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dPch4B6_Cto3mJcywt97ZODpJV6dDQJOGOXvH4Ig3SSWYaNcgjygP3yDBTQ3P9JuLYvIE3rZdY2aHBhho8Pe_W3CFjyzursOU2iV5Yj8ZbUwZx_IDfLl69QxxxYDNdb9chy2VH0FtfM/s200/icecream8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553729361848860738" border="0" /></a>As <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Thumbelina</span> draws to its depressing conclusion, it’s back to The Suck, and a sand-bound Santa still cursing his existential funk via a stream-of-consciousness gibberish issuing forth from his sweat-stained beard. I have absolutely no doubt there won’t be one single viewer left sitting by the end of the film, so I can safely give away the ending – Santa’s sleigh is saved by the Ice Cream Bunny, a pathetic seven foot threadbare creature even Jimmy Stewart in a percodin haze couldn’t have conjured. I can only assume it was the park’s mascot, as it drives the kids for a victory lap in a vintage fire engine past its numerous rides and attractions. It can perform only two functions, driving and winking like a dead, rotting, reanimated and fur-covered Marilyn Monroe. I swear, if anything screams Christmas more than the Ice Cream Bunny, I’ll happily choke on a homeless man’s sick, with the film’s “Jingle Bells” for kazoo playing as my funeral dirge. Happy Christmas everybody, and see you sometime in 2011 for the next season on Schlock Treatment as we leave you with the 1972 <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Santa And The Ice Cream Bunny</span>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AH3jXnz3kPEuWSRdSfByK-TqYyOlUp9D_aeopAAN3MuBkuVNbCErACihnNpoocZ07101WPu0IPMvvUq-u-48zo5ST_N665qp32KtIxaAexQZVSpLSGbyrHEtmsUxWTmnw0QZN4-uaNI/s1600/santaandtheicecreambunny1972.0108.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AH3jXnz3kPEuWSRdSfByK-TqYyOlUp9D_aeopAAN3MuBkuVNbCErACihnNpoocZ07101WPu0IPMvvUq-u-48zo5ST_N665qp32KtIxaAexQZVSpLSGbyrHEtmsUxWTmnw0QZN4-uaNI/s320/santaandtheicecreambunny1972.0108.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553729141030079426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">The Ice Cream Bunny winks out in Morse Code "Happy Christmas, Schlockateers!"</span>
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-63631307799916760132010-12-23T14:11:00.002+10:002010-12-23T14:17:20.225+10:0019th December 2010: War Of The Zombies (1964)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzrKuNNGOhYXARetEX_lZZOtLMAxaZMswdJnzfnTbkN07IWT8fSdhjC7EhKlCBC7d3CM5T_M77m8GDZ1QLwR1vwbqHBFy_SLTuWIxaUWElj3PnIxd1CaA81_vJgSZtbuhKIAETY9dcPU/s1600/War+Of+The+Zombies+half+sheet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzrKuNNGOhYXARetEX_lZZOtLMAxaZMswdJnzfnTbkN07IWT8fSdhjC7EhKlCBC7d3CM5T_M77m8GDZ1QLwR1vwbqHBFy_SLTuWIxaUWElj3PnIxd1CaA81_vJgSZtbuhKIAETY9dcPU/s320/War+Of+The+Zombies+half+sheet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553726032271813714" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >War Of The Zombies</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Italy</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1964 colour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >aka </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Rome Against Rome, Roma Contro Roma, Night Star: Goddess Of Elektra<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Director </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Giuseppe Vari <span style="font-style: italic;">Writers </span>Ferruccio de Martino, Massimo de Rita, Piero Pierotti, Marcello Sartarelli<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Cast</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> John Drew Barrymore (Aderbad), Susy Andersen (Tullia), Ettore Manni (Gaius), Ida Galli (Rhama), Mino Doro (Lutetius), Ivano Staccioli (Sirion), Philippe Hersent (Azer)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEBS3mCmtZTfGD7o4r9eQTtsLrPDpSKYE1PDJrG9h_s9Yd7qW3LsFhj6WmG4BvRXCdeyuHkKd7_mS-6Je-v_wcwKou4SFDUL2fS0M1kx72FrFp43k3qhwuJ68UWqgMjMv3mKPxa1g0Go/s1600/war-of-the-zombies-movie-poster-1020357152.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEBS3mCmtZTfGD7o4r9eQTtsLrPDpSKYE1PDJrG9h_s9Yd7qW3LsFhj6WmG4BvRXCdeyuHkKd7_mS-6Je-v_wcwKou4SFDUL2fS0M1kx72FrFp43k3qhwuJ68UWqgMjMv3mKPxa1g0Go/s320/war-of-the-zombies-movie-poster-1020357152.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553726021770767506" border="0" /></a>“Unconquerable warriors of the damned!” screams the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region> poster for<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> War Of The Zombies</span>. “SEE the undead cross swords with the living! SEE the goddess of the night whose gaze mummifies men!” Sounds to me like the premise for one of the most incredible horror films ever. Imagine then your reaction when the film unspools and it’s YET ANOTHER ITALIAN SWORD AND SANDAL MOVIE! As if American theatre screens and televisions weren’t inundated enough in the early to mid Sixties with peplum-themed product, the films’ distributors – in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">War Of The Zombies</span>’ instance, American International Pictures – were forced, as the peplum cycle was grinding towards its demise, to primp up or flat-out lie about their content.
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<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fnx72kqbplEamEWoOCDUsysuGSnywaH5KARcWHing9CG8os6GOpA2Orz2rVreiwq2ntYSFp__WFLmX1OVf9H3W57DIM8lmwEeydl7tz3ZrvfK1GLeSbxaUlf6Oemtp8JoZcac7AxKtU/s1600/rome-against-rome-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fnx72kqbplEamEWoOCDUsysuGSnywaH5KARcWHing9CG8os6GOpA2Orz2rVreiwq2ntYSFp__WFLmX1OVf9H3W57DIM8lmwEeydl7tz3ZrvfK1GLeSbxaUlf6Oemtp8JoZcac7AxKtU/s320/rome-against-rome-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553726036589509138" border="0" /></a>Luckily <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">War Of The Zombies </span>from 1964 is not just another Sons of Hercules muscle-fest, but an ambitious fantasy-horror ranking comfortably near Mario Bava’s <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Hercules In The Haunted World</span> and Riccardo Freda’s <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Witches Curse</span>. In <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">War Of The Zombies</span>, however, there’s no Hercules, Samson or Ursus as the beefcake-flavoured focal point. Instead the film’s hero is Roman centurion Gaius, sent without his troops to the troubled Salmacia province to investigate <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Rome</st1:place></st1:city>’s missing tribute. In the opening sequence Roman troops carrying treasure from Salmacia back to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Rome</st1:place></st1:city> are butchered by barbarians, stripped of their armour and their bodies stolen by deformed scavengers. It appears the entire province, including its weak Roman pretern Letitius and his double-crossing snake of a wife Tullia, is under the spell of a devilish cult dedicated to the Moon Goddess and “daughter of Isis”, whose Oath of Blood is performed under the blazing high beam of its enormous stone bust’s single Third Eye. Through Letitius’ slave girl Rhama, held in a trance by the cult’s high priest Aderbad, Gaius learns of its plan to revive the spirits of the dead Roman soldiers and lead them into an ultimate showdown against their own living comrades.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNSTm7tGYF0IhvZX4mRPvbg03fHMUq3RngyMYZlYyJlVEF-BTamHhFUabcLzRLoEEysRCU354AnohVcE1q6Qtee1y5yOkEefqeW80ZT9jG3IiEe3Bw8G_uqzZx274wpX25nQdtioGWzg/s1600/rome-against-rome-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNSTm7tGYF0IhvZX4mRPvbg03fHMUq3RngyMYZlYyJlVEF-BTamHhFUabcLzRLoEEysRCU354AnohVcE1q6Qtee1y5yOkEefqeW80ZT9jG3IiEe3Bw8G_uqzZx274wpX25nQdtioGWzg/s320/rome-against-rome-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553726728627168402" border="0" /></a>Sounds incredible, and to a certain extent it is. This IS a peplum, let’s not forget, and as such there are dry patches of wooden dialogue and stiff-as-corpses emoting to suffer. Once we wade through the regulation courtships and betrayals, however, we’re presented with the payoff: a magnificent low-rent but surprisingly effective battle between the living and the dead, smothered with superimposed colour swirls of saturated reds and blues (Mario Bava’s favourite palette for supernatural effects). Rather than rotting corpses, the Moon Goddess’ army is presented as ghostly figures, their otherworldliness underscored by slow motion cameras and an eerie echo-laden soundtrack. Just as impressive is the over-the-top performance of their leader, high priest Aderbad, played by John Drew Barrymore (son of John Barrymore, father of Drew Barrymore) in one of his numerous Italian film appearances between numerous cocktails in the early Sixties. Quasi-psychedelic, and several notches above your ordinary Italian sword and sandal, is the zombie-themed peplum chiller <span style="font-style: italic;">Rome Against Rome</span>, or <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">War Of The Zombies</span>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;">
<br /></p><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTym9b4JgpZfX_kgFhcuAcDia_tCpbswxHuPQNO2qeaQG3VjRtFxH3Z3KKzB4-103JDHZrLfOoLsYMpWxup6K8IU-hdRq0gmY2-cOuQ5o0XMfoj4vNnPPuWcf4gZs08k8hDFzr_vEKQ4/s1600/War+Of+The+Zombies+one+sheet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTym9b4JgpZfX_kgFhcuAcDia_tCpbswxHuPQNO2qeaQG3VjRtFxH3Z3KKzB4-103JDHZrLfOoLsYMpWxup6K8IU-hdRq0gmY2-cOuQ5o0XMfoj4vNnPPuWcf4gZs08k8hDFzr_vEKQ4/s320/War+Of+The+Zombies+one+sheet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553726029932061314" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-3820427353367572202010-12-23T13:55:00.011+10:002010-12-23T14:07:37.257+10:0012th December 2010: Revenge Of The Zombies (1943) & Valley Of The Zombies (1946)<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceType"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceName"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="State"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemfWlq2RFKLPuVIv5gtrsBoHGMv74d1qUrNF7f6SNn6V-wFSa22wAuP4U-5wTo3KI7viybrmCxrFoE-zUNwbpaBVv89jiCohbeJm6acNZSHzDBjxYK7L5hkGH7HOf6fVdqJ0O_trryhc/s1600/revenge-of-the-zombies-movie-poster-1020251451.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemfWlq2RFKLPuVIv5gtrsBoHGMv74d1qUrNF7f6SNn6V-wFSa22wAuP4U-5wTo3KI7viybrmCxrFoE-zUNwbpaBVv89jiCohbeJm6acNZSHzDBjxYK7L5hkGH7HOf6fVdqJ0O_trryhc/s320/revenge-of-the-zombies-movie-poster-1020251451.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553722703949630818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: arial;font-size:180%;" >Revenge Of The Zombies</span><o:p style="font-family: arial;"></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo7NnB9ok6sxl3xOUoZvd0HuI5FTgkGYkyVYntzHekPruUyjjko4XgqARpVkTBuFfCggfRpFIq8vyCEA0aFExiKueawxdeAUhmQhQB6-O-0iGOVJ8tBBIyoE4f2VYyyJW4NY51DlyxJUk/s1600/affiche.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 121px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo7NnB9ok6sxl3xOUoZvd0HuI5FTgkGYkyVYntzHekPruUyjjko4XgqARpVkTBuFfCggfRpFIq8vyCEA0aFExiKueawxdeAUhmQhQB6-O-0iGOVJ8tBBIyoE4f2VYyyJW4NY51DlyxJUk/s320/affiche.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553723577505561522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1943 b&w<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director </span>“Steve Sekely”/Istvan Szekely <span style="font-style: italic;">Writers </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Edmond</st1:place></st1:city> Kelso, Van Norcross<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast</span> John Carradine (Dr Max Heinrich Von Altermann), Gale Storm (Jennifer Rand), Robert Lowery (Larry Adams), Bob Steele (Sheriff), Mantan Moreland (Jeff), Veda Ann Borg (Lila), Mauritz Hugo (Scott Warrington, Lila’s brother), Sybil Lewis (Rosella), Madame Sul-Te-Wan (Mammy Beulah)</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<br /><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">I’m sure many of our viewers are familiar with the old Universal terrors of the Thirties and Forties, the domain of Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Lon Chaney Jr, John Carradine and many other classic <st1:place st="on">Hollywood</st1:place> boogeymen. Those old guys didn’t just survive on big studio meals, however, and were just as busy in the lower strata of the film business, the much more threadbare B programmers of rattier studios such as Republic Pictures and Monogram. Dismissed by many as mere el-cheapo crowd pleasers, I find the B pictures enjoyably cheap and formulaic, relatively fat-free quickies with a charm all of their own.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyTNhIwweFTFl98Uj2wIpKnCddYxVeKH3IkuFqJIpVsNvlMj0iCjmKH02Tm17DY8BaH0obLVqKs5iuRsd5vNroBh_nYgd891EmLQ9dH7LhCBV0Z-ZH8zRkCPxirYpBEOpVLlZ1XZGK8I/s1600/revengeofthezombies1943.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyTNhIwweFTFl98Uj2wIpKnCddYxVeKH3IkuFqJIpVsNvlMj0iCjmKH02Tm17DY8BaH0obLVqKs5iuRsd5vNroBh_nYgd891EmLQ9dH7LhCBV0Z-ZH8zRkCPxirYpBEOpVLlZ1XZGK8I/s320/revengeofthezombies1943.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553722694365413810" border="0" /></a>Monogram Pictures’ <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Revenge Of The Zombies </span>begins deeeep in the fog-shrouded <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Louisiana</st1:place></st1:state> swamps, to the call of the zombies (“Ar-Wooooooooooooooooooooo!”). Dead bodies are rising from their coffins and crawling around the estate of the insane scientist Dr Max Von Altermann (a low-key but still menacing John Carradine). His wife’s brother has learnt of her sudden and inexplicable “heart attack”, and he and his police buddy arrive to investigate, only to discover Von Altermann’s experiments are in creating an army of unstoppable, unkillable undead <span style="font-style: italic;">ubermentsch</span> for his Nazi overlords. You can even hear him train them in his basement – “Ein, schwei…” – and yet his ultimate enemy may be the steel will of his own dead wife…</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1N5uiRmoZEds-I9TekhlrXfmxH3eLJy51382Dn_tLy7EnoIRdEZhkjhwqTApOJeXhxwAd0DyyL7UHhV3l_Q9gJxlXd9KRSxQOcOGMFAWUCogB0x-guGqzF5FrEr8xKX5LdzoJm-7VcE/s1600/revzom.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1N5uiRmoZEds-I9TekhlrXfmxH3eLJy51382Dn_tLy7EnoIRdEZhkjhwqTApOJeXhxwAd0DyyL7UHhV3l_Q9gJxlXd9KRSxQOcOGMFAWUCogB0x-guGqzF5FrEr8xKX5LdzoJm-7VcE/s320/revzom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553723099252781490" border="0" /></a>Intended as a sequel to the 1941 <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">King Of The Zombies</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Revenge</span>… is more of a revamp utilizing some of the cast, and its adherence to elements already poached from Bela Lugosi’s <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">White Zombie</span> from 1933. Returning is Mantan Moreland, comedian from all-black vaudeville known as the Chitlin’ Circuit; as in King Of The Zombies and his long-running stint as Charlie Chan’s chauffeur, Moreland essays his driver role as the bug-eyed, superstitious and terrified comic relief, and like his contemporary Step’n’Fetchit, a wholly un-PC example of pre-Civil Rights Hollywood. Conversely the film’s most interesting character is Von Altermann’s old African-American servant Mammy Beulah, played by Madame Sul-Te-Wah (also from King…), a D.W. Griffiths stalwart from such early epics as <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Intolerance</span> (1916) and that grand ol’ ole to the KKK, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Birth Of A Nation </span>(1915). Unlike the “lordy lord” antics of the exasperating Moreland, there’s depth and a quiet dignity in Madame Sul-Te-Wah, not easy to maintain amidst the chorus of massas and sho ‘nuffs. The anti-Nazi propaganda may seem forced, but <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Revenge Of The Dead</span> was after all released in the opening phases of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s involvement in World War 2, and is infinitely more subtle than Hungarian-born director Istvan Szekely’s other film from the period, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Hitler’s Women</span> (also 1943).</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRjEc2nt6_XyaryGEXZtvT71etMnNAdazFvjagMeAwzNIfRpilcFvmJ7RBj1Z45qgA4fIDI9vn_1ppQrFex-hPAT9ek5WS2dZlO0OIndQjCumVMVTKWCmltMWeIv5AqurQkkGhEAJa_K8/s1600/319d_12.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRjEc2nt6_XyaryGEXZtvT71etMnNAdazFvjagMeAwzNIfRpilcFvmJ7RBj1Z45qgA4fIDI9vn_1ppQrFex-hPAT9ek5WS2dZlO0OIndQjCumVMVTKWCmltMWeIv5AqurQkkGhEAJa_K8/s320/319d_12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553721866136263202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Valley Of The Zombies</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1946 b&w<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director </span>Philip Ford <span style="font-style: italic;">Writers</span> Dorrel McGowan, Stuart McGown<o:p></o:p></span></p> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link style="font-family: arial;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Robert Livingstone (Dr Terry Evans), Lorna Gray (Nurse Susan Drake), Ian Keith (Ormond Murks), Thomas Jackson (Detective Blair)</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj518R18sbNKFeaeOkLd8osQVZIgS2aOcW0GwTvQQFov5cRLw0T7lPhFXoYxI3N9hEdIj55X-iRqcmq8Edhyphenhyphen6yjd1gvT3ifz0ZVBv-yYQ_cFLBTaZ-oBhyaDMZGzrBMNSmsg1mplH3dhbc/s1600/valley_0001_NEW.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj518R18sbNKFeaeOkLd8osQVZIgS2aOcW0GwTvQQFov5cRLw0T7lPhFXoYxI3N9hEdIj55X-iRqcmq8Edhyphenhyphen6yjd1gvT3ifz0ZVBv-yYQ_cFLBTaZ-oBhyaDMZGzrBMNSmsg1mplH3dhbc/s320/valley_0001_NEW.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553721871194316482" border="0" /></a>Both <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">King</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Revenge Of The Zombies</span> must have made enough cashola for rival company Republic Pictures to release the exploitatively-titled <st1:place style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Valley</st1:placetype> Of <st1:placename st="on">The Zombies</st1:placename></st1:place> in 1946. The film certainly wastes no time in plunging straight into the guts of the story: a tall figure in a top hat and cloak breaks into a doctor’s office at the hospital’s morgue and demands a supply of his rare blood type, only to reveal himself as Ormond Murks, the insane criminal mind the doctor had committed several years before for claiming to have found the secret of eternal life. Murks was later pronounced dead and interred in his family crypt, but has since existed somewhere between the living and the dead by stealing packaged supplies of his precious life fluid…until now, he decides, that fresher really IS better. Thus begins a string of murders throughout the city, all strangled, drained of blood and then meticulously embalmed. Chief suspects are the morgue’s resident couple Dr Terry Evans and Nurse Susan Drake, a wise-cracking pair of amateur sleuths equally at home prowling around mausoleums at midnight or napping on the morgue’s slab. Naturally they’re two steps ahead of the bumbling Irish-American cops, which means the ditzy Nurse Susan is a sitting target for Murks’ dastardly plans.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchCQWaWiJ67MzQPV_zfLKqp7RaG29GOhWGGNbUxBK9HXXtczX9dpF1tXr7_9O_Xp3Kfjexg00sJVT2OktlNbq-QaVL41h2kezwWNQTANgh2dMmipjp5fhlJgjwm1Eiddc1R9LevbzvfU/s1600/vlcsnap-1066549.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 141px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchCQWaWiJ67MzQPV_zfLKqp7RaG29GOhWGGNbUxBK9HXXtczX9dpF1tXr7_9O_Xp3Kfjexg00sJVT2OktlNbq-QaVL41h2kezwWNQTANgh2dMmipjp5fhlJgjwm1Eiddc1R9LevbzvfU/s200/vlcsnap-1066549.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553721993922457874" border="0" /></a>If ever there was a film screaming out for a name actor to carry it, it’s <st1:place style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Valley</st1:placetype> Of <st1:placename st="on">The Zombies</st1:placename></st1:place>. The role of Murks would have usually been reserved for Boris Karloff; instead we’re given Ian Keith, a salted plum of a stage actor who was once in the running for Bela Lugosi’s <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Dracula</span>. Here he’s more Tod Slaughter than Lugosi, an adequate by-the-numbers villain who sadly only ever hints at the evocative Valley in the title, its voodoo rituals and Devil’s potions the source of his secrets. Thus we’re treated to one zombie-like scientist, and one hypnotized broad who acts like the living dead. Thanks, Republic, you suckered us alright. Still, <st1:place style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Valley</st1:placetype> Of <st1:placename st="on">The Zombies</st1:placename></st1:place> is brisk, ghoulish fun, in the tradition of many B detective serials of the era, and a throwback to a pre-George Romera era when the word “zombie” had an air of mystery about it.
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<br /></p><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFNh1bUSe7ByAsAqXAoIgRyyqREPaon8qiRj4HwWI0cIudE-EaCydyWc4v56E-smyEeVHoudBT4cyUnf0oI3x42pu8tX3Tn8IlxGjFW0LX3r9_mjVsMASeG5QnMM7k0n4__IhVL03h7l4/s1600/y1ZGJ8PMiIlvVzQ.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFNh1bUSe7ByAsAqXAoIgRyyqREPaon8qiRj4HwWI0cIudE-EaCydyWc4v56E-smyEeVHoudBT4cyUnf0oI3x42pu8tX3Tn8IlxGjFW0LX3r9_mjVsMASeG5QnMM7k0n4__IhVL03h7l4/s320/y1ZGJ8PMiIlvVzQ.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553721887282031074" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-91339355689507052662010-12-23T13:40:00.003+10:002010-12-23T13:47:53.006+10:00Sunday 5th December 2010: Return Of The Evil Dead (1973)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHCkdphsHAYr52DqyJKOBOMfOQwPzDjgKSvyhJEdPzeMi6eVyzuPfbS2FfX7oO4T8HsEy9oNFQmCRF9Bnkq99s2aaVtp1nHYiwz2ZdXWwfb9j6hzpaBgMOftfBQ0qXf_88bw3O8U5Zn_I/s1600/tombs_of_blind_dead_poster_01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHCkdphsHAYr52DqyJKOBOMfOQwPzDjgKSvyhJEdPzeMi6eVyzuPfbS2FfX7oO4T8HsEy9oNFQmCRF9Bnkq99s2aaVtp1nHYiwz2ZdXWwfb9j6hzpaBgMOftfBQ0qXf_88bw3O8U5Zn_I/s320/tombs_of_blind_dead_poster_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553718080929272818" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Return Of The Evil Dead</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Spain</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1973 colour<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka </span>El Ataque De Los Meurtos Sin Ojos/“Attack Of The Eyeless Dead”, Return Of The Blind Dead, Revenge Of The Evil Dead<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director/Writer</span> Amando de Ossorio<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>“Tony Kendall”/Luciano Stella (Jack Marlowe), Fernando Sancho (Mayor Duncan), “Esther”/Esperenza Roy (Vivian), “Frank Blake”/Franco Brana (Dacosta)</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJdm3QnidfmyoIoxdLDaY7_ukKUCmyVVzSsSFx-ItBUJ42wT2yQxJF3vbpShTSNaP3hOXnoDvvddIU2CwfNqVcH2Ed8hOffwnYp4f860gpX9QIDAzKmS3oddvi_VW5eLm7Otjx7FG-3I/s1600/returnevildead1uu7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJdm3QnidfmyoIoxdLDaY7_ukKUCmyVVzSsSFx-ItBUJ42wT2yQxJF3vbpShTSNaP3hOXnoDvvddIU2CwfNqVcH2Ed8hOffwnYp4f860gpX9QIDAzKmS3oddvi_VW5eLm7Otjx7FG-3I/s320/returnevildead1uu7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553718066059289682" border="0" /></a>Just as George Romero changed the face of zombie cinema with his groundbreaking <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Night Of The Living Dead</span> (1968), Spanish director Amando de Ossorio gave them a distinctly European neo-gothic makeover in a series of<span style=""> </span>four films from 1971 to 1975. Known as the Blind Dead Quartet, the films feature the reanimated skeletal remains of the Knights Templar, keepers of the secrets of eternal life and now unstoppable killing machines on undead horses and clad in their Templar garb. Their skull features blazing empty eye sockets require them to find their victims entirely by sound...the trick is to not scream their lungs out at their ghastly appearance!</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORPS5FYvnr7bECXfVw0mLKETPVUk27PB0Guw1sfb4vkR4a_E6CcHuQmHTRYnwcbYtCXYd5V6w9i_P-eFkIzN_rTVShMf_QIOVVwEmxDZSyuuSjNqtnqQn8q1FCFeFX4oEUOE320fR1rc/s1600/return_ofthe_evil_dead-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORPS5FYvnr7bECXfVw0mLKETPVUk27PB0Guw1sfb4vkR4a_E6CcHuQmHTRYnwcbYtCXYd5V6w9i_P-eFkIzN_rTVShMf_QIOVVwEmxDZSyuuSjNqtnqQn8q1FCFeFX4oEUOE320fR1rc/s320/return_ofthe_evil_dead-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553717837891424466" border="0" /></a>Tonight's film <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Return Of The Evil Dead</span> is the second in the Quartet, following on the bony heels of <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Tombs Of The Blind Dead </span>(1971), while completely reinventing its Templar back story, as the whimsical de Ossorio did with each entry. This time the blood-drinking, human sacrificing Templars are holed up in an Abbey in the Spanish town of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Berzanzo</st1:place></st1:city>, their eyes burnt out by angry villagers and set on fire – but not before a curse falls upon their descendants. Five hundred years later and the townsfolk of Berzanzo are happily celebrating the anniversary of scouring the Templar devils from the face of the Earth. Night falls, dry ice oozes from the ruined Abbey, and skeletal hands covered in rotting cowls slowly emerge from their tombs...
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9GseccXWztocZTgOOkkvEM35kj29WnehYtzVrId3IKWz-Mie958RU27jLRSbkXvo2nOfg1JIxoAY-ggrTp56N6jZyFWnffSkh4gUuBbyQkBKUVYKxk-NVI8BGN6Hq78FVFW_HKgL_9I/s1600/returnevildead4lq5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9GseccXWztocZTgOOkkvEM35kj29WnehYtzVrId3IKWz-Mie958RU27jLRSbkXvo2nOfg1JIxoAY-ggrTp56N6jZyFWnffSkh4gUuBbyQkBKUVYKxk-NVI8BGN6Hq78FVFW_HKgL_9I/s320/returnevildead4lq5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553718064481899186" border="0" /></a>Back in Berzanzo, it's certainly no Fourth of July Picnic. The town's corrupt Mayor is busy ordering his goons to beat up Jack Marlowe, the American fireworks technician and ex-lover of local sexpot Vivian, whom the Mayor and at least one of his goons have their greasy eyes on. As the Templar's mummified army reaches the town square and hacks its way through the festivities, the core survivors seek sanctuary in a church, and then turn on each other one by one. It's like Hitchcock's <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Lifeboat </span>(1944) – the tight confines bringing out the characters' latent jealousy, greed, selfishness and inhumanity – if zombies were clutching at the side of the raft. Particularly repellent is the Mayor, who thinks nothing of using his constituents as Templar bait. Vindication is the Templars, and the world finds itself a few assholes fewer.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5K35gkMHvb1bioGhoUdjqx2uAP_ClM7CJTCkjcxxWb1VB0nlDRjnXYt9yov4WYKDCTJ_lcUGa3wU6TLt5Pb6B5bEoKUFBYioNGe8f5-88pYI_ddj14DBXyL6U_gqNyYIjeKjlN2919Ys/s1600/return_ofthe_evil_dead-3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5K35gkMHvb1bioGhoUdjqx2uAP_ClM7CJTCkjcxxWb1VB0nlDRjnXYt9yov4WYKDCTJ_lcUGa3wU6TLt5Pb6B5bEoKUFBYioNGe8f5-88pYI_ddj14DBXyL6U_gqNyYIjeKjlN2919Ys/s320/return_ofthe_evil_dead-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553717842291678114" border="0" /></a>As a film, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Return Of The Evil Dead</span> is much more suspenseful than a skeleton army in sackcloth should engender. The very appearance of the undead Templars and their modus operandi (blind but not deaf, my sweet pointed coccyx!) require a very serious leap of faith on the part of its audience, and yet, with those iconic soiled hoods and grinning skulls, they can't help but disturb. De Ossorio recycles many of the first Blind Dead's aural and visual tricks, such as the jarring slow-motion shots of the Templars on zombie horseback reinforcing their otherworldliness, and the soundtrack dripping with low moans and pitch-shifted bells. The set pieces are nothing short of fantastic: the village square massacre, the fate of hunchbacked cripple Murdo, and in an obvious nod to another Hitchcock film <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Birds</span> (1963), the young girl's heartstopping walk through the zombie sentinels (ALWAYS remember that in the case of an undead Armageddon, children are the weakest link). There are moments of intentional humour – the scenes with the governor and his saucy maid are nicely handled – but overall the tone is grim to the point of apocalyptic, and like other Spanish horrors of the early Seventies, equal parts gothic atmosphere and modern gore-soaked shock tactics.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjibFsHdC0HlMe6SUKOy81geu8w5Ino6n1St9K-ZKNv61v8y2kV5GknS_9TP8lPPjF6RSgL7m1YgSEL58wSEfb3Y5RHK1EcT99miadM_kf_cniRhJm7NmTe6ez_Y8bTPCY4NvXmWPfSNig/s1600/ReturnOfTheEvilDead6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjibFsHdC0HlMe6SUKOy81geu8w5Ino6n1St9K-ZKNv61v8y2kV5GknS_9TP8lPPjF6RSgL7m1YgSEL58wSEfb3Y5RHK1EcT99miadM_kf_cniRhJm7NmTe6ez_Y8bTPCY4NvXmWPfSNig/s320/ReturnOfTheEvilDead6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553718068162051906" border="0" /></a>“You have to be quiet!” yells one character, and I hope you do the same. Sit very still, and don't utter a sound until the end of <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Return Of The Evil Dead</span>.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2LwKWrAaqCiGQY0nJRzj0CiYIRN_rGBuX7h7m2EVoS6HKRrv1vz96VQcnp9FYJOHZI9nsRj_7NJRhvREMmSnBVVMZxIXgTbsW8_BHIjWQR6fTnTFsQ_9VCGhJH3FSf7NcfciIQk-CXA/s1600/return_of_the_evil_dead_poster_01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2LwKWrAaqCiGQY0nJRzj0CiYIRN_rGBuX7h7m2EVoS6HKRrv1vz96VQcnp9FYJOHZI9nsRj_7NJRhvREMmSnBVVMZxIXgTbsW8_BHIjWQR6fTnTFsQ_9VCGhJH3FSf7NcfciIQk-CXA/s320/return_of_the_evil_dead_poster_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553717829350333010" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-6281484611594529412010-12-23T13:28:00.005+10:002010-12-23T20:08:54.231+10:0028th November 2010: The Lady Of The Black Moons (1971)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV0r_dk5zSSdRlVE-Z7hTIbrogRKCkTxT7-sid89__FS_8G0ENLIezkNaxEQa_a897gHTGhj9ThR5rTs0mSFTpX_dfL8xacD5zx79KJiRDC4lPDRoZTjKgswuFvBH5LKVqjDgd7B5fvXY/s1600/Lady+of+the+Black+Moons+cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV0r_dk5zSSdRlVE-Z7hTIbrogRKCkTxT7-sid89__FS_8G0ENLIezkNaxEQa_a897gHTGhj9ThR5rTs0mSFTpX_dfL8xacD5zx79KJiRDC4lPDRoZTjKgswuFvBH5LKVqjDgd7B5fvXY/s320/Lady+of+the+Black+Moons+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553714607640636786" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >The Lady Of The Black Moons</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Egypt</st1:place></st1:country-region>/Lebanon 1971 colour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka</span> Sayedat Al Akmar Al Sawdaa, La Dame Aux Lunes Noires<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director/Writer</span> Samir A. Khouri<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Nahed Yousri (Aida), Hussein Fahmy (Omar), Adel Adham (Sami Bey)</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p face="arial" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3x-1Sm38KZjY7HM5n086iNj4_dZFuTUPPqESPPxt7HBsKUkFov1aPImNfQyQ0UO6vFzTn49ooPI1SAmZAu-WC8571oH_qJGAlRjhMQliT84DorbGsbpfaiCubdQYYwoKIeTZARGTdMk/s1600/Queen+Of+Love+poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3x-1Sm38KZjY7HM5n086iNj4_dZFuTUPPqESPPxt7HBsKUkFov1aPImNfQyQ0UO6vFzTn49ooPI1SAmZAu-WC8571oH_qJGAlRjhMQliT84DorbGsbpfaiCubdQYYwoKIeTZARGTdMk/s320/Queen+Of+Love+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553714774303965538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Poster for Nahed Yousri's <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Queen Of Love</span> (1971)</span></p><p face="arial" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p face="arial" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvk-tAsepGrkPQFQBYlB30o7zS4kfApMHZ0zdJII_cK7LJBtIYBG3zWXS_cpFtvOvFG00DV_aNaPlAck1p9BMYflQTvReweMejs3ZC1I1Ibv-cOtntGkrZVtAVp4ca8iJr3lh1RIxVoVQ/s1600/PDVD_005-5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvk-tAsepGrkPQFQBYlB30o7zS4kfApMHZ0zdJII_cK7LJBtIYBG3zWXS_cpFtvOvFG00DV_aNaPlAck1p9BMYflQTvReweMejs3ZC1I1Ibv-cOtntGkrZVtAVp4ca8iJr3lh1RIxVoVQ/s320/PDVD_005-5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553817120317104082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">Six months ago we screened our first ever Egyptian cult movie on Schlock Treatment called </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: arial;">The Kuwait Connection</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> from 1973. Those who saw it will have to admit it was baffling attempt to stitch together the horror, sexploitation, art film and political thriller into one strange mutant monster. It was one of two films which book-ended Egypt's brief flirtation with erotic cinema, a two year period of relaxed censorship restrictions between 1971 and 1973 during which Egyptian filmmakers made the country's most scandalous and salacious movies. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: arial;">The Lady Of The Black Moons</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> was the first, filmed in Lebanon and directed by </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: arial;">The Kuwait Connection</span><span style="font-family: arial;">'s Samir A. Khouri, and featuring gorgeous and talented (not to mention adventurous) actress and superstar of Egyptian cinema, Nahed Yousri, as its lead.</span>
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p face="arial" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJdoyniXnU0fXfBiKltShMsQj8AegPXz2la9PcdsLnrhr7d9q8ct4gXCCpPmycyLMxgsQ2DvwDdO7exeuCyqmQAQoODvv67nSvCXT1i2tXq47ZET7XDbt_SVNiRIQSDIsVVildgHfnQRo/s1600/Hussein+Fahmy+photo.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJdoyniXnU0fXfBiKltShMsQj8AegPXz2la9PcdsLnrhr7d9q8ct4gXCCpPmycyLMxgsQ2DvwDdO7exeuCyqmQAQoODvv67nSvCXT1i2tXq47ZET7XDbt_SVNiRIQSDIsVVildgHfnQRo/s320/Hussein+Fahmy+photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553714770903719170" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Hussein Fahmy today</span>
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<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIuFu5nwBKDWRvjC2r4E6XUVusfRw01sk9l3aPfGdt0_T7D9CLtWgMmYsaOLRNbSERjTzhVP66oSUfGWNqFq7bpJNGBWTV6NAkGmKT0Yo31ArxUlEg9Or_8VUjcI_0bF8oHIXyxN-JP8/s1600/PDVD_001-9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIuFu5nwBKDWRvjC2r4E6XUVusfRw01sk9l3aPfGdt0_T7D9CLtWgMmYsaOLRNbSERjTzhVP66oSUfGWNqFq7bpJNGBWTV6NAkGmKT0Yo31ArxUlEg9Or_8VUjcI_0bF8oHIXyxN-JP8/s320/PDVD_001-9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553817114662818866" border="0" /></a>It's one of those films that throws you in the deep end of a pool after midnight, turns off the lights and watches your death throes while sipping a warm martini. The opening fractured montage eventually pieces together a disconcerting tableaux of a bored, well-to-do housewife in feathered mask bedding strangers in a house of ill-repute during a full moon; the woman, the film reveals in excruciatingly slow flashback, is Aida, married to successful, cold and cruel businessman Sami Bey, but tortured by memories of her lost love, their chauffeur Omar. Unable to embrace a man after her stepfather raped her at age ten, it takes a drunken Omar to open her rosebud; regardless, she chooses wealth and position over desire, and despite her valiant efforts to keep the affair alive, Omar ultimately rejects her, sending her into a downward spiral of depression and self-destruction. Her illicit attempts to recreate her beloved Omar out of strangers always end in castration – symbolically, the film suggests, despite the metaphor being hammered home several times with disturbing realism.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmMx6aLAS53Y4mfASmp1G-YpNxeQN8NglkzmtB7cYNSkKNM7C61I_FtsSsrQ71UAAaDqT1toEfO7lO1TZjeYG7PQK9S7g_ilW8fj1uGfrpu5gLZg_0ZL1Co7hMnNtHE9kxODloPh8SLDg/s1600/Nahed+Yousri+photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 144px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmMx6aLAS53Y4mfASmp1G-YpNxeQN8NglkzmtB7cYNSkKNM7C61I_FtsSsrQ71UAAaDqT1toEfO7lO1TZjeYG7PQK9S7g_ilW8fj1uGfrpu5gLZg_0ZL1Co7hMnNtHE9kxODloPh8SLDg/s320/Nahed+Yousri+photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553714773399817970" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Nahed Yousri</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHMI0RfZUPtI8aqLRVekoMFm0gVUfonsFCTSt96gqSJK5uxiyTsfYGyF82ftOfIvafMsAQN6-ehgHvjEXURfLlUI7TL0P1lpsPfyP6Dw-16KR8N1g4v_Dk834HRQMLcs-zli_ODGw75Y/s1600/PDVD_006-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHMI0RfZUPtI8aqLRVekoMFm0gVUfonsFCTSt96gqSJK5uxiyTsfYGyF82ftOfIvafMsAQN6-ehgHvjEXURfLlUI7TL0P1lpsPfyP6Dw-16KR8N1g4v_Dk834HRQMLcs-zli_ODGw75Y/s320/PDVD_006-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553817124909381122" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Lady Of The Black Moons</span> is mostly early Seventies melodrama peppered with tease, violence, sexy smoking, ape-hair chests and the kind of flaming arch-pretentiousness that filmmakers managed to hold in reserve until the start of the Seventies. Symbolism abounds in its ragged, overt imagery and faux-poetry-as-dialogue, and even if at times our director isn't being deliberately oblique, it's tempting to look for meaning, however cracked, where no meaning can possibly exist. In key scenes the stench of pretension is impossible to miss: Sami's father, a wily trickster with a grotesquely over-developed sense of irony, gives Sami and Aida a distorted mirror as a wedding present. “Ugliness,” he reasons, “is but the mirror of the soul” - this nugget of wisdom coming from the chap who plays happy tunes under blown-up polaroids of the Hiroshima and Nagisaki blasts. Then there's the portrait mounted above Aida's bed of a white horse flanked by two brown horses; Aida later rides a white horse down the beach in her underwear, is met by Omar, and are filmed making sweet filthy love through the shimmering heat of three fish (that's THREE fish, remember) poaching over a fire. The horse, I'm certain, represents Aida's freshly unbridled sexuality, but what about the fish? Are THEY symbolic, and could they possibly be cyphers in an Islamic reinvention of the crucifixion triptych? Is it ALL, for that matter, just a load of symbolics? Has Meaning finally skewered itself in a bizarre piscine version of hari-kiri and now stares us down through parboiled eyes?<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAJWu7rW_OBA99KchwgiRBeApAKml-Kj_jjO_JOE43EpQ4GWky9XjoTqWs37gv4T7g4tJbqMsn5Q0QJWhed83sQGOz-S4Q-B5_n-V01ND0CYf5zcR8NRG9tz2IXRbMXwxskkIsV6w_YhA/s1600/Adel+Adham+photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAJWu7rW_OBA99KchwgiRBeApAKml-Kj_jjO_JOE43EpQ4GWky9XjoTqWs37gv4T7g4tJbqMsn5Q0QJWhed83sQGOz-S4Q-B5_n-V01ND0CYf5zcR8NRG9tz2IXRbMXwxskkIsV6w_YhA/s320/Adel+Adham+photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553714766499883026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Adel Adham in action</span>
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<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIliv1Tadfk88BuCCE0kB9VxAssQLxlUyWUnjwEs29SmBN2bmrayMlO0nUK3bGEeOBgS7cYlEclvuGyxCAw1YuClVVGs1Ogv1BQjSM0SLrc3RMQLl5p_vjvWuutzoRDhA6GMmH_mDXQ0/s1600/PDVD_003-7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIliv1Tadfk88BuCCE0kB9VxAssQLxlUyWUnjwEs29SmBN2bmrayMlO0nUK3bGEeOBgS7cYlEclvuGyxCAw1YuClVVGs1Ogv1BQjSM0SLrc3RMQLl5p_vjvWuutzoRDhA6GMmH_mDXQ0/s320/PDVD_003-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553817112397995458" border="0" /></a>I, for one, get high on misguided art cinema, particularly if the “art” is nothing more than tarted-up sleaze. One one level it's the work of a filmmaker in a repressive regime given permission by authorities to test the limits of control – and he certainly does, although his <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Kuwait Connection</span> from 1973 helped slam the window of opportunity shut again. On another level, it's a morality play from the Muslim world in which wickedness is ultimately punished (“I'm a slut dirty!” Aida's subtitle proclaims) but not after the privileged audience cops one steaming eyeful of said wickedness after the other. On final scrutiny, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Lady Of The Black Moons</span> is like many of its European contemporaries, a simple soap opera gussied up with tits and art; to his credit, Khouri indulges in the same highbrow pulp as prolific Spanish cinemaniac Jess Franco, with only a whiff of Franco's customary surrealism and deranged psychedelic visuals that go full-tilt in Khouri's next film <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Kuwait Connection</span>. It's imaginatively photographed, sadly nowhere near as sleazy, violent or weird as its follow-up, and at times threatens to collapse under the weight of such turgid lines as Omar's when driving past a cemetery: “Can they keep loving each other after death?” Not only that, you have to admit that Nahed Yousri makes a fantastic slut dirty. Time to cover the windows with cardboard and take out the lightbulbs with hammers as we visit <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Lady Of The Black Moons</span>.</p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-41465225753504227182010-12-23T13:16:00.007+10:002010-12-23T13:24:25.847+10:0021st November 2010: 666 The End Is At Hand 2 (2007)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgSHYGQ_OkUSMl1_2y55KpzZlI71ZeXkmeAV578gKnnkwZUURezXeouHxE1ojYtm8bAqQaLG0jS6PpippUq_YGectalvoAPZRzNxHX_JRhpmgnktIQP0bzybxpEgnTh4xV7qYSnOA6Ec/s1600/30t1a2q.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgSHYGQ_OkUSMl1_2y55KpzZlI71ZeXkmeAV578gKnnkwZUURezXeouHxE1ojYtm8bAqQaLG0jS6PpippUq_YGectalvoAPZRzNxHX_JRhpmgnktIQP0bzybxpEgnTh4xV7qYSnOA6Ec/s320/30t1a2q.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553711683851503250" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">666: The End Is At Hand 2</span></span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDd87WzW0woxuTlioA_bjCDgfrB6W9P2Y-JnCJspZpj1U1hubtY6jtPHvxk9G_kilP9SarbT83_you1uucZfbMVPTm-pC_TTxWgKQWP3nbkesjLwkXdGLsgpDLPo1DsM9Hl7WRFpeTfj0/s1600/666+2+tiny+poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 98px; height: 132px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDd87WzW0woxuTlioA_bjCDgfrB6W9P2Y-JnCJspZpj1U1hubtY6jtPHvxk9G_kilP9SarbT83_you1uucZfbMVPTm-pC_TTxWgKQWP3nbkesjLwkXdGLsgpDLPo1DsM9Hl7WRFpeTfj0/s400/666+2+tiny+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553712054630270514" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Nigeria 2007 colour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director </span>Ugo Ugbor <span style="font-style: italic;">Writer</span> BobEmmanuel Anosika<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Emeka Ani, Pastor Kenneth Okonkwo (Pastor Chucks), Clems Ohameze (Pastor Ken), Fred Arico </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDsMuH9_FMEI0ff1Xt_byRjsYb17tnA-N3-jRmgGAjSL3SjfqzuCQiG4DKl6_TA8qAh6n04ZzLSJsZp2mv36qGAqZZubYgcCQBpblHJvUJ8njtQ_kdsoU2lpQc2vGjEAl82uhvek50Fc/s1600/rcon0z.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDsMuH9_FMEI0ff1Xt_byRjsYb17tnA-N3-jRmgGAjSL3SjfqzuCQiG4DKl6_TA8qAh6n04ZzLSJsZp2mv36qGAqZZubYgcCQBpblHJvUJ8njtQ_kdsoU2lpQc2vGjEAl82uhvek50Fc/s200/rcon0z.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553711842945643282" border="0" /></a>Greetings, Schlock Fiends, as we take you kicking and screaming back to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Nigeria</st1:place></st1:country-region> for a second dose of Nigerian or “Nollywood” Godsploitation. Last Christmas we showed you 666: The End Is At Hand, a delirious take on The Omen series by foaming-at-the-mouth evangelists; in the sequel, we're pleased to tell you that the midget Antichrist from <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">666</span>... is alive, well, still under four foot tall, and drinking, smoking Guinness and whoring his way across <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Lagos</st1:place></st1:city>.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZANQNhzPfAEyJZWmzpOn63p6DKpXEzwI7wzrpKZDqT6URr-JKWPxbiW8QHXB-7BMWIuMmEfgaIuvnt-zFog8CP36PTWruULPESAhs7xWH1LX5vInIOusbvIlXMqo6BmUpEAz8Kd8n2NI/s1600/j8muck.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZANQNhzPfAEyJZWmzpOn63p6DKpXEzwI7wzrpKZDqT6URr-JKWPxbiW8QHXB-7BMWIuMmEfgaIuvnt-zFog8CP36PTWruULPESAhs7xWH1LX5vInIOusbvIlXMqo6BmUpEAz8Kd8n2NI/s200/j8muck.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553711849116571586" border="0" /></a>Did I say midget Antichrist? You'll remember the Son of Satan from the first film, an angry little “kid” in a David Beckham jersey who spends much of his screen time glowering under a polystyrene horn with CGI eyes. It turns out the junior Antichrist is played by Musa Ibrahim, popularly known as Ibro, a popular midget actor in his early twenties who shot to fame several years ago in a film called Baby Police. While nowhere near the giddying heights of fame reserved for Nollywood midget celebrities Aki and Paw-Paw, this feisty Gary Coleman-in-training has all the hallmarks of a bona fide superstar. Seriously, this little guy has chops: within fifteen minutes he has already garrotted a priest, and at the thirty minute mark he's just sprayed “666” on some comely wench's forehead and is lying back on the bed literally with The Horn. Praise Ibro!</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNxvfo7RZjjtlrVvOkQtsVJDJ7hYg0H8nE-28d8Epgnz8ADbNnbxv-VrQPLV9CZu-FRgTI7zYp3Ue4DhTKZCZFBZ1nTUHknesPbe5r2owDc2AiXF03aXJyHLeBRnHDeilB03I1oYOa3Y/s1600/2rn77fk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNxvfo7RZjjtlrVvOkQtsVJDJ7hYg0H8nE-28d8Epgnz8ADbNnbxv-VrQPLV9CZu-FRgTI7zYp3Ue4DhTKZCZFBZ1nTUHknesPbe5r2owDc2AiXF03aXJyHLeBRnHDeilB03I1oYOa3Y/s200/2rn77fk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553711986231224930" border="0" /></a>You'll also remember Pastor Lazarus from the first film, the preacher trawling through the poorest parts of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Lagos</st1:place></st1:city> preaching de Word of God. In the sequel, he passes the torch to New Preacher On The Block, Pastor Chucks, played by the franchise's producer Pastor Kenneth Okonkwo, who clearly felt the series needed some Ken Power. Pastor Chucks thus spends much screen time on endless sermonizin' (read: pointless padding) at the expense of some much-needed religious weirdness. Trust me, however, the Weird is still with with us... Satan, that rolly-polly Louis Armstrong, remains in his gymnasium surrounded by his she-demons, dragging down one soul at a time to increase his kingdom – ONE AT A TIME. Once again, the actor playing Satan is given free rein on his dialogue, which here is less than inspired, and reduced to an emphatic “I am Lucifer. I AM LUCIFER! ..... ahahahahahahahaha!!!!”</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1NLrEw4F48U5bPT1Da500fR0cE3GcvQooh1itDaJTpmcSdCrTdJmxjbA_mnG4NAezQY4qjEapXZkLtaV3vvMSn50FFa3bu49ReJFU31JgfnYXklkbVBjHYK6kgQ9AIrIAVP3AzH-rrw/s1600/344dp9y.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1NLrEw4F48U5bPT1Da500fR0cE3GcvQooh1itDaJTpmcSdCrTdJmxjbA_mnG4NAezQY4qjEapXZkLtaV3vvMSn50FFa3bu49ReJFU31JgfnYXklkbVBjHYK6kgQ9AIrIAVP3AzH-rrw/s200/344dp9y.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553712816516669010" border="0" /></a>At the half-way point the Antichrist upgrades to an adult's body, and the series bids adieu to Ibro while wishing him all the success in his proposed <st1:place st="on">Hollywood</st1:place> career. Antichrist Mark 2 takes on the guise of Pastor Ken, referred to by his congregation as “our Lord”. Part of his ecumenical duties is to dress like a pimp, and to impregnate bored rich housewives (“Praise be to Jesus!”), his Demon Seed thus ensuring a part 3 and 4 - or more accurately, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Signs Of End Time</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">1</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">2</span>. Are we really that sadistic to play two more of these Nollywood Godsploiters? See you at Easter time, sinners!</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mBvFKd6edUFkiL9OUSOfKHmRuTPl5GhjxLJq_TdSsaZnFXe9mJdzLeM3g3f12A4uTiDs5XfHCZeoUF4SxlUhbG-083EzzBgJbj53FkdoptPw7fDSWX0-Zjf3mBFwd_2xvuX42Kup40Y/s1600/1ihpwl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mBvFKd6edUFkiL9OUSOfKHmRuTPl5GhjxLJq_TdSsaZnFXe9mJdzLeM3g3f12A4uTiDs5XfHCZeoUF4SxlUhbG-083EzzBgJbj53FkdoptPw7fDSWX0-Zjf3mBFwd_2xvuX42Kup40Y/s200/1ihpwl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553711981200029650" border="0" /></a>If this all looks and feels like a home movie or student film, do not be deceived: Nigeria is one of the largest film industries in the world, generating billions from its staggering output of 1000 to 2000 features per year, mostly shot on digital cameras and edited on home computers. Nollywood has its own pantheon of stars, its own international distribution networks, and its own mutant genres (of which the “juju” or religious horror film is just one), all of which operate as if Hollywood doesn't even exist; in Africa they pirate their own movies, and snub the cultural hegemony of Angelina Jolie and company. It's a brazen revolutionary stance, a “DIY Or Die” to the Western Monolith of Media Mediocrity, which Schlock Treatment salutes. I assure you it will take a while to adjust your filmic sensibilities to the Nigerian aesthetic – the accent for one, the shouting of improvised lines, the primitive video production, the computer-generated effects and soundtracks – but like evangelical Christianity, once hooked you're snared forever. We hope you see the Nollywood Light with <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">666: The End Is At Hand 2</span>.</p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-50822021215470466062010-12-23T09:05:00.009+10:002010-12-23T09:20:44.005+10:0014th November 2010: Magic Of The Universe (1986)<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9TG1qQ_lXwdENZBE937y0kdDhBwylh-5lLasHfK8El5SCKq_hR8IpZdWgBUxT3l9MFmNiSmPh7snqffAIZzWQXeaYTaroI-nl_hYxHl8D7EV6OR8Ma6V19maYUd2R9Sxb0fEVN2-T8g/s1600/Magic+of+The+Universe+Thai+poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9TG1qQ_lXwdENZBE937y0kdDhBwylh-5lLasHfK8El5SCKq_hR8IpZdWgBUxT3l9MFmNiSmPh7snqffAIZzWQXeaYTaroI-nl_hYxHl8D7EV6OR8Ma6V19maYUd2R9Sxb0fEVN2-T8g/s320/Magic+of+The+Universe+Thai+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553648029692563554" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link style="font-family: arial;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype style="font-family: arial;" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype style="font-family: arial;" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype style="font-family: arial;" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Magic Of The Universe </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgiyylbrreIFw3LbmiabV5GejYgeln8Rd_2HEjfNiyqhkVicFwYD9P35k0PC2ELNYfFZkrGvNlKBeJghSTEdD7Qa9f-irQHvsdpRtyqrkMviuHpKaRN4MIW6Ai8L6hGmzixF8MGQDkcc/s1600/Salamangkero-86-+Michael+de+Mesa-sf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgiyylbrreIFw3LbmiabV5GejYgeln8Rd_2HEjfNiyqhkVicFwYD9P35k0PC2ELNYfFZkrGvNlKBeJghSTEdD7Qa9f-irQHvsdpRtyqrkMviuHpKaRN4MIW6Ai8L6hGmzixF8MGQDkcc/s200/Salamangkero-86-+Michael+de+Mesa-sf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553647380588490194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Philippines</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1986 colour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >aka</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> Salamangkero: The Magician, Monster Of The Universe<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Director </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Tata Esteban </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Writers</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> Tata Esteban, Grace Hill Serrano <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Cast </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Michael De Mesa (Lolo Omar/Professor Jamir), Tanya Gomez (Lovina), Tom Tom (Bojok), Sunshine (Freza), Armida Siguion-Reyna (Mikula)</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnK_T6apiHLf7nSePeQCf9weafUd0W5QAWLSrdx3amDMjeDD_YmofIQ9_BMms25aCiH_qmYRm9jPOJp6q0w9oeFuLvcyhVwb-dN-Z9bFVwO9H6wey1wIk2vkpWA-VgNOEF0sGZGrCJQk/s1600/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 147px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnK_T6apiHLf7nSePeQCf9weafUd0W5QAWLSrdx3amDMjeDD_YmofIQ9_BMms25aCiH_qmYRm9jPOJp6q0w9oeFuLvcyhVwb-dN-Z9bFVwO9H6wey1wIk2vkpWA-VgNOEF0sGZGrCJQk/s200/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553648319493636946" border="0" /></a>What is known of Filipino director Tata Esteban (real name Steve Regala) has been coloured by his own much-publicised personal narrative, carefully constructed following his conversion to revivalist Christianity as an almost cartoon-like fall from Grace and subsequent redemption and salvation. A “hardcore womanizer, flesh trader and shabu addict”, he is described on a Christian ministry's website, “promiscuous since he was 13, and constantly wallowing in money as he traded and bedded women, and showed off their wares in his hit nightclubs and movies...” A stroke, several heart attacks and his two year-old son asking for a hit of daddy's Shibu, reportedly turned his life around in 2000, before a final heart attack in 2003 claimed Esteban for good; friends and colleagues remember him prior to his conversion as a talented if troubled artist whose personal demons no doubt got the better of him.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrhmk2R5072nMGBagzHpX0XVjofcyT7KpAXOUMrxWd2u0tHF4CRmTU8_W3d-l3kFi6_x0Eobwz9F43rKsonyKZKIaMaFkwMAakoz3dFCVJgunw1TrytZtzc0ZzvqWJsu5QmreyYzZT_Rw/s1600/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 92px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrhmk2R5072nMGBagzHpX0XVjofcyT7KpAXOUMrxWd2u0tHF4CRmTU8_W3d-l3kFi6_x0Eobwz9F43rKsonyKZKIaMaFkwMAakoz3dFCVJgunw1TrytZtzc0ZzvqWJsu5QmreyYzZT_Rw/s200/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553648522359440626" border="0" /></a>It's tempting to draw parallels between Esteban's turbulent private life and his skewed filmic fantasies. Starting with the demented sex-horror <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Alapaap</span> (aka Clouds) in 1984, his work tended toward the erotic, and is most notorious for the samurai sword-in-vagina sequence from<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> Hubo Sa Dilim</span> (aka Naked In The Dark, 1985). In context, Esteban's startling filmography makes his 'kids' fantasy <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Magic Of The Universe</span> that little bit disconcerting.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0c4Q_wqEfjtf3OU05hbtti5z-SKnUmdRzUA4muuN0b7DY44Kde5VARBO3UKAGOEHZxriOcTVOVyd6roMX1q1ivsaXO30ONE3RMUFugbewscLdBKLNM7-w_w6QmIodnSglvjcCwHs0N8/s1600/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 147px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0c4Q_wqEfjtf3OU05hbtti5z-SKnUmdRzUA4muuN0b7DY44Kde5VARBO3UKAGOEHZxriOcTVOVyd6roMX1q1ivsaXO30ONE3RMUFugbewscLdBKLNM7-w_w6QmIodnSglvjcCwHs0N8/s200/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553648312156748418" border="0" /></a>Esteban cast two of the leads from <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Alapaap</span>, Michael de Mesa (son of Rosemarie Gil, brother of Cherie Gil) and bold star Tania Gomez, as Jamir the Magician and his wife Lovina. The film opens at a circus with Jamir's vanishing act going horribly wrong – their daughter Freza (Sunshine) has truly disappeared without trace. The couple venture deep into the jungle with their tubby child assistant Bojak (played by Tom-Tom – and no-one properly explains where HIS parents have vanished to) to consult a shaman. He proceeds to carve up one of his monkey companions with a machete, and invites the party to scoff fresh steaming brains out of the convenient monkey-skull desert bowl for divine inspiration. The child, it appears, has slipped into another more magical realm, and Lovina soon vanishes too, leaving Jamir and Bojak wondering what to do with their ever-diminishing family act.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhXRUDTzLZgMnFKF2lb9_E8ECR73ejvOmsT6sX16q87HlLlGWH_GOYpSYoSCBIcLfAF9AtJyQyYzaORQcDN2uLFktvMqx718xzU5j0WigtkO4CHWJzWrOITMdUHcPj2QYwgw2bUJD3b0/s1600/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 92px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhXRUDTzLZgMnFKF2lb9_E8ECR73ejvOmsT6sX16q87HlLlGWH_GOYpSYoSCBIcLfAF9AtJyQyYzaORQcDN2uLFktvMqx718xzU5j0WigtkO4CHWJzWrOITMdUHcPj2QYwgw2bUJD3b0/s200/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553648541778022770" border="0" /></a>Jamir is visited by the spectre of his great grandfather Lolo Omar (also played under a landslide of latex by Michael de Mesa). He tells Jamir of the family's mystical lineage, and how Omar's black-hearted acolyte Mikula - the Root of All Evil - is holding the Magical Realm hostage. The audience's descent is sudden, plunged head-first into a universe resembling a Duran Duran filmclip by Russell Mulcahy (but in fact co-designed by Magic's AD and future auteur Brillante Mendoza), populated with slobbering pig-people, monkey-men and dwarves in white-face, and presided over by the demented Mikula, she with the domed skull pulsing so wildly it threatens to send her headdress into orbit. “I am an animal, it's true,” Mikula declares to her court's menagerie, “but I RULE!”
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfp1ieziFy1XYO3Ygp9RkXAXfGXng_e67n4RkxxpstNRTWnLziBexYMX915-kmZWYk6-D_3oEXlOaZIlMT6YgJNl0-Dxb3Kxt2ONcMxzyzHUi0nFHtUk9HCW4lik9NeMvaetosK9YPIo/s1600/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 147px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfp1ieziFy1XYO3Ygp9RkXAXfGXng_e67n4RkxxpstNRTWnLziBexYMX915-kmZWYk6-D_3oEXlOaZIlMT6YgJNl0-Dxb3Kxt2ONcMxzyzHUi0nFHtUk9HCW4lik9NeMvaetosK9YPIo/s200/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553648309546392434" border="0" /></a>It's a strange amalgam of influences at work in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Magic Of The Universe</span>. From <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hollywood</st1:place></st1:city> comes the sinister, otherworldly nightmares of <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Dark Crystal</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Labyrinth</span>, with more than a nod to the title of <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">He-Man And The Masters Of The Universe</span>. Closer to home is the reinvigorated horror and fantasy industry courtesy of Peque Gallage and Lore Reyes (<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Shake Rattle And Roll</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Once Upon A Time</span>), following on from such successful fantasy franchises as Carlo J. Caparas' Ang Panday series (1980-1983), Ramon Revilla's anting-anting films, the Seventies revival of Darna and company, and if one follows the trail far enough back, to the original<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> Darna </span>(1950) and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Djesebel </span>(1953).</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3nLAmO8FwQZ2hEN6fky5MDzuEz4mFFQSr9M7NzUJVyBt7XKQ55I8o4X-jN99uWtn_hNybkLDd1Krgnc79WxTTYhD0woVNPLXmQ77yPFf7920agjMGnaAVTuWV6brY6xDNiU9RWzl2W8/s1600/Monster+Of+The+Universe+poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 125px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3nLAmO8FwQZ2hEN6fky5MDzuEz4mFFQSr9M7NzUJVyBt7XKQ55I8o4X-jN99uWtn_hNybkLDd1Krgnc79WxTTYhD0woVNPLXmQ77yPFf7920agjMGnaAVTuWV6brY6xDNiU9RWzl2W8/s200/Monster+Of+The+Universe+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553647391789416722" border="0" /></a>There are serious pacing issues, not to mention large fissures in the film's internal logic which prevent it from straying too far from the mundane. Its 1986 Metro Manila Film Festival slot, and the economic imperatives that come with such a responsibility, also tend to dampen Esteban's darker impulses, which are naturally given full rein in his more adult features. There's also a regulation stream of superfluous name stars who serve little more than marquee value: Dick Israel as forest dweller Arbutus with his stone wife Madera (Odette Khan), Liza Lorena as Kleriga, Mikula's wildly painted nemesis, and Gina Alajar as Siddha, the grail keeper of the Regalia, a wand designed to defeat Mikula and thus restore the balance of Goodness and Justice in the Magical Realm.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKex9x5NcY2f9KIS20JadZyoL8NlF3NC5Xe3B2g3CrjELibCsnMF93MHOWNZsSyWy-zwCbLNTme28-BPWTWk1kfFw6Mz5UrBTJgYUbheNOL9hBJlpxsTgFX-fL6ehHrQeEY80yVfAdHo/s1600/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKex9x5NcY2f9KIS20JadZyoL8NlF3NC5Xe3B2g3CrjELibCsnMF93MHOWNZsSyWy-zwCbLNTme28-BPWTWk1kfFw6Mz5UrBTJgYUbheNOL9hBJlpxsTgFX-fL6ehHrQeEY80yVfAdHo/s200/Magic+Of+The+Universe+photo+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553648321550705666" border="0" /></a>The film has moments of intentional absurdity: Mikula's court suddenly drops everything for an Oingo Boingo-styled musical number, the singer in snake dreads gargling San Miguel beer for vocals, and guitars made from human bones. For the most part, however, it's a grim affair, and far too grim to be considered 'light entertainment'; poor eight-year old Sunshine looks genuinely terrified for her entire performance, and I'm certain she's not that intuitive an actress. Severed heads are boiled for Mikula to absorb their strength – and let's not forget brains slurped out of monkey skulls! Then there's the goofy muppet Gondo, a jibbering flap-eared vision from my own personal Hell draped around a black and white TV, which I assume is both his torso and narrative function. For a tittering gargoyle it's given a fair amount of screen time, and presumably Esteban didn't want to waste a single inch of his Satanic-inspired rubber creation.</p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-65868098442647593042010-12-23T08:38:00.005+10:002010-12-23T08:44:47.667+10:007th November 2010: Child Bride (1938)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVubNvWqus_t0cOtd2of356zNz5NS_y-lEp0M_QEsFYVFSFWbY9E_KKk_Xe00bSFuAtMvZiGlWEd71Mf7ekbhrdGLyqju9_bCpNLzKsUP8-86cQWFawD8vRryvLucYH7UmHRbiLOS31mc/s1600/child-bride-movie-poster-1020264851.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVubNvWqus_t0cOtd2of356zNz5NS_y-lEp0M_QEsFYVFSFWbY9E_KKk_Xe00bSFuAtMvZiGlWEd71Mf7ekbhrdGLyqju9_bCpNLzKsUP8-86cQWFawD8vRryvLucYH7UmHRbiLOS31mc/s320/child-bride-movie-poster-1020264851.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553639955172182498" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Child Bride</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1938 b&w<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka </span>Child Bride Of The Ozarks, Dust To Dust<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director/Writer </span>Harry Revier <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Shirley Mills (Jennie), Bob Bollinger (Freddie), Warner Richmond (Jake Bolby), Diana Durrell (Miss Carol), “Don Barrett”/Angelo Rossitto (Angelo)</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">Tonight we have finally uncovered a film so inherently evil, even WE had to censor it: from a world which believes that ten year old fruit are ripe for the plucking comes the 1938 <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Child Bride</span>.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OWeQHGkNdNRnjKPZm2zxgqLI4kzXJkD3ECshvbF9HTP4N5C54hlDXhES56Fc2WxxUbJPos2PauwfjuIrES5Ic503pyBiRCO2rcIXFdseBCwjmV78fC86BYrZVvYBpn01c3vjyELDGxY/s1600/1938childbride2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OWeQHGkNdNRnjKPZm2zxgqLI4kzXJkD3ECshvbF9HTP4N5C54hlDXhES56Fc2WxxUbJPos2PauwfjuIrES5Ic503pyBiRCO2rcIXFdseBCwjmV78fC86BYrZVvYBpn01c3vjyELDGxY/s200/1938childbride2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553640126858045362" border="0" /></a>“We aim neither to ridicule nor defend their way of living.” So begins one of the most hateful examples of hicksploitation from 1938, posing as a plea to outlaw child marriage amongst hillbillies - the po' White Trash huddled in mountain communities far away from civilization's disapproving gaze. Popular culture had just discovered these modern primitives with their own customs, a black economy founded on moonshine – yep, these people are dirt poor, with an emphasis on the dirt, and according to <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Child Bride</span>'s litany of cliches, a simple-minded goat milkin', wife beatin', infant lovin' folk emitting a stink worse than the charred, piled-up remains of Lil' Abner, Ma and Pa Kettle and the Beverly Hillbillies combined. At least those folk were cheerfully innocent rubes that even the most unimaginative city drones could feel superior to; no, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Child Bride</span>'s cast of miscreants are truly ugly people living in a squalid hellhole that God, in His infinite wisdom, has chosen to forsake. <o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcs_IVwPoB897mnh517YdJXNU7ZZSqR9E0SovG14ljfC8Dhkwn_x9-cjAgyfQuPmE4wnaG9tzept9j8FBE32Suj6YGMg9ahGMk871pt2LvhKSXP8G2ez5M8BCrJ-FwnKua9xbyzo8nG0/s1600/Child+Bride.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcs_IVwPoB897mnh517YdJXNU7ZZSqR9E0SovG14ljfC8Dhkwn_x9-cjAgyfQuPmE4wnaG9tzept9j8FBE32Suj6YGMg9ahGMk871pt2LvhKSXP8G2ez5M8BCrJ-FwnKua9xbyzo8nG0/s200/Child+Bride.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553640221049815650" border="0" /></a>One of <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Child Bride</span>'s opening scenes shows a pig wallowing in the mud – shades of the shitstorm to come for ten year old Jenny and her family. Her pa Ira works at an illegal moonshine still with the mean and covetous Jake, a snake with one eye on the till, and the other roaming eye for Ira's daughter. Then there's Angelo the Dwarf (played by the ubiquitous Little Guy Angelo Rossetti), and a simpleton named Happy, a magnificent figure in Gilligan hat and joke-store teeth. They bunk together, work the still, are a kind of mutant Greek Chorus, and are about the most sympathetic characters we're going to subjected to.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ87I5h4wOGxIken_ADhChEHZuXPqEn-kDqcavGKRB2hwlh82aU1_a3nFuC283I_PF0eyRJBgVSQ5FVjh3czsXelkduvVt_9Euk7o9bIirtpEW7xFbJQEFE_OTsACtJzzT1Q40b1kfs2s/s1600/1938childbride5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 145px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ87I5h4wOGxIken_ADhChEHZuXPqEn-kDqcavGKRB2hwlh82aU1_a3nFuC283I_PF0eyRJBgVSQ5FVjh3czsXelkduvVt_9Euk7o9bIirtpEW7xFbJQEFE_OTsACtJzzT1Q40b1kfs2s/s200/1938childbride5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553640222342898546" border="0" /></a>On the other side of the mountain is the school presided over by Miss Carol, a local lass who'd managed to escape to the Big City for some educatin', but still believes in “my people, my blood”, and is filled with missionary zeal to reform the critters from trading in their poor clapped-out wives in their thirties for a much younger model. Understandably the menfolk don't take too kindly to her meddlin' and putting ideas in the young un's heads, and anticipate a whole mess o' trouble; the womenfolk, all haggard former child brides themselves, are too set in their ways, or browbeaten to even raise an eyebrow in protest. Jake heads up a lynch mob to dispense some good ol' fashioned Mountin' Law, and argue whether to tar and feather the pesky teacher, or boil her in oil. Happy and Dwarfy save her in the proverbial nick, but not before the stage is set for a ghastly tale to unfold of Biblical proportions.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1-tBsvjrZrFVIJzCNn4Xl16SW7u4bLY4Ajf_GTbUso1FvEWhSjSKpGQVItapqov19goJ6v3cac_o2dzF6qg0pUWGwYowKoiOEOYoGL_XUSWB9n9wGk1_X3CWwMLRV30QSdqtLdKg-8M/s1600/1938childbride4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 142px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1-tBsvjrZrFVIJzCNn4Xl16SW7u4bLY4Ajf_GTbUso1FvEWhSjSKpGQVItapqov19goJ6v3cac_o2dzF6qg0pUWGwYowKoiOEOYoGL_XUSWB9n9wGk1_X3CWwMLRV30QSdqtLdKg-8M/s200/1938childbride4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553640132045863682" border="0" /></a>So where does this leave young Jenny? Naked, for one thing, and swimming with her German Shepherd under the watchful gaze of her would-be beau Freddy and a peeping Jake. It's at this point the film steps way over the point of acceptability under any circumstances, and was the film was usually sheared of ten minutes' footage by like-minded authorities. If you ever wondered where we at Schlock Treatment draw the line, it's RIGHT HERE. As a result you'll only see a black screen, and please don't let your imaginations fill in the blanks. It's also a black flag for poor Jenny's doomed family, and without spoiling the ending, let's just say, “Do you take this girl-child...” are some of the most sinister words I've ever heard uttered by a man of the cloth. <o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: arial;">Child Bride</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> is just one example of a peculiar kind of exploitation film from the Thirties and Forties: like the VD scare films and drug horrors of </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: arial;">Reefer Madness</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> and co, it's leering, spiteful pseudo-propaganda wallowing in the exact kind of filth it purports to condemn. Sometimes I suspect that we, the Schlock Treatment audience, are just like the pig in </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: arial;">Child Bride</span><span style="font-family: arial;">'s opening sequence, wallowing in filth – but then I remember that we are, in fact, that child-like innocent in the Gilligan's hat. See y'all later, y'all after the 1938 </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: arial;">Child Bride</span><span style="font-family: arial;">.</span><span style=""> </span></p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-33640681343536640232010-12-22T23:18:00.004+10:002010-12-22T23:31:54.922+10:0031st October 2010: Horror Express (1972)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJd1S4jm0iTmR-AO3pttbt7RPCus9jWoMesHYMa80DHw_zZz9wfqx1SnyQKD-QJYQXvbuVFBCZIu3MhVb9vLNK4VUmhoaq5pUaWNuKgfXA4fu8tCj6kN6yEIIrHppqarSeDRvOekVNMLc/s1600/French+poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJd1S4jm0iTmR-AO3pttbt7RPCus9jWoMesHYMa80DHw_zZz9wfqx1SnyQKD-QJYQXvbuVFBCZIu3MhVb9vLNK4VUmhoaq5pUaWNuKgfXA4fu8tCj6kN6yEIIrHppqarSeDRvOekVNMLc/s320/French+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553497300643406706" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Horror Express</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Spain/UK 1972 colour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka </span>Panic In The Trans-Siberian Train, Pánico En El Transiberiano<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director </span>“Gene”/Eugenio Martín <span style="font-style: italic;">Writers </span>Arnaud d'Usseau, Julian “Halevy”/Zimet <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Christopher Lee (Prof. Sir Alexander Saxton), Peter Cushing </span><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><span style="font-size:85%;">(Dr Wells), Alberto de Mendoza (Father Pujardov), Silvia Tortosa (Countess Irina Petrovski), Telly Savalas (Captain Kazan), Helga Liné (Natasha)</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzfkb16UcDVuhMti1X29tA6pW0nlL6rLfpWqzllSmJsEfujP2Yw9Mr8H0FrO8sse3RDYPW51et5temOqXn5spzyDy-nV1Islisz8cUyWNYrrc1r970VlQ1jJd0cI3U5DC2v26-YX60gr8/s1600/Horror_express_%2528spanish%2529.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzfkb16UcDVuhMti1X29tA6pW0nlL6rLfpWqzllSmJsEfujP2Yw9Mr8H0FrO8sse3RDYPW51et5temOqXn5spzyDy-nV1Islisz8cUyWNYrrc1r970VlQ1jJd0cI3U5DC2v26-YX60gr8/s320/Horror_express_%2528spanish%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553497489174219986" border="0" /></a>Tonight's film takes me all the way back to 1979, when I was a nine year old kid living in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bahrain</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Betamax had arrived in the Middle East, and suddenly all of the films I was previously denied access to were there, on seventh or eight generation dupes, distributed though the network of pirate video stores I would later call the Betamax Grapevine. Horror was the vine's forbidden fruit, and I started to gorge myself: slashers, Italian gore movies, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Texas Chainsaw Massacre</span>, and then Hammer films, and those of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Britain</st1:place></st1:country-region>'s horror superstars Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. No matter what dire projects they lent their marquee value to, Lee and Cushing would always give their roles a certain class and gravitas, and in the midst of the filmic chaos a dignified retreat. It was early in this voyage of discovery that I stumbled upon the two playing turn-of-the-century scientists battling a brain-sucking Neanderthal on the Trans-Siberian Express. The film was called <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Horror Express </span>from 1972, and I went bananas over it.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdljCbZz4uzmPDSvXI5AwS5KgCzYCnjYSAIhjbLI4oMQct8o-IY6NIIM72wW7TkPIcSyBRJE1l4M46c-EUqQvMHQi-sYundqVuxPKWAjkHAvxsdtyvmojiorrsItm3HY6T_1SH0YUSb5M/s1600/hexpress_shot3l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdljCbZz4uzmPDSvXI5AwS5KgCzYCnjYSAIhjbLI4oMQct8o-IY6NIIM72wW7TkPIcSyBRJE1l4M46c-EUqQvMHQi-sYundqVuxPKWAjkHAvxsdtyvmojiorrsItm3HY6T_1SH0YUSb5M/s320/hexpress_shot3l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553497312144089634" border="0" /></a>
<br /><o:p style="font-family: arial;"></o:p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgl3_5WzyFqLlj0ljH4QfYG5cR0WKuRqPP4s7bfaQqnB7slaQD5EVmkap8tiOL7NnDyQBoC7DBpTst3QHZvL8uP5jeWbqnlq5PX6KUnYHPCKvnj7fJrR9ZIqjeHaEnOTwzpK48cMxGu8/s1600/horror+express+jacked+eyeballs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgl3_5WzyFqLlj0ljH4QfYG5cR0WKuRqPP4s7bfaQqnB7slaQD5EVmkap8tiOL7NnDyQBoC7DBpTst3QHZvL8uP5jeWbqnlq5PX6KUnYHPCKvnj7fJrR9ZIqjeHaEnOTwzpK48cMxGu8/s320/horror+express+jacked+eyeballs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553497474449898386" border="0" /></a>It's always a terrifying moment going back to those defining moments in your childhood, only to discover you were so far off the mark. Not so with <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Horror Express</span>. I hadn't seen the film in thirty years, yet I remembered it almost scene by scene. It's every bit as bizarre as I recalled, and just as classy. Christopher Lee is note-perfect as a humourless fossil expert Alexander Saxton jealously guarding his latest acquisition in Arctic Siberia – the intact body of a primitive man encased in ice. It arouses much interest, not least from a nosy fellow scientist Dr Wells played by Peter Cushing, with whom he reluctantly ends up sharing a carriage on the Trans-Siberian Express back to Europe. A thief at Shanghai's station, then a baggage attendant, quickly discover the body is no longer frozen – and whose glowing eye sucks out their memories, leaving the victims' eyes white and ringed with blood, and their brains smooth as an egg. Agh, those eyes! They've haunted me since childhood, and no matter how often the brain-suckling scenes are repeated, they still unnerve me.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcVIvPRCfvf8ew8YRIVOBBIKaF1JURJP4c4Msimg455orQ7Rrxc0p3dgmv4dRl-ZrejJPrDJ8Qij3lU8jDIFWN9edfVLPuUOEBlE2KJNsQeGluJ67rrt_nqgvkiLI6oRpaIQNvnvUubg/s1600/hexpress_shot1l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcVIvPRCfvf8ew8YRIVOBBIKaF1JURJP4c4Msimg455orQ7Rrxc0p3dgmv4dRl-ZrejJPrDJ8Qij3lU8jDIFWN9edfVLPuUOEBlE2KJNsQeGluJ67rrt_nqgvkiLI6oRpaIQNvnvUubg/s320/hexpress_shot1l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553497307069866882" border="0" /></a>It's an alien intelligence in the body of the caveman, or possibly something much darker. The first person to notice the stink of true Evil is a Rasputin-like monk with more than a passing resemblance to the late great Paul Naschy, little more than a trained monkey in the employ of a Polish Count and his flirtatious wife, who spends much of the film's running time throwing herself at the disinterested Lee right under her husband's nose. The wide-eyed mystic believes the creature in the trunk is Satan himself walking amongst mankind, and readily abandons his faith to learn the creature's power and drink greedily from its endless well of knowledge. “Science is immoral”, the Countess reasons with the amoral Darwinist Lee, and it's this clash of Godless science and faith, superstition, and the age-old belief that knowledge is inherently evil – the apple in the Garden of Eden, the hidden eleventh branch on the Kabbalah's ten branch Tree of Life, the yawning Abyss representing the absence of God and thus Satan himself<span style=""> </span>- that gives a counterweight to the rest of the film's jibber-jabber and brain sucking.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcT_eaiBdtpPDB_5ibX4iq8ObSY_fl3YBMjg626vQONQtc4opuXuwzcFpCXuWoAA267pILgXR30MZWNqIP4iweSUK11Pve_B71BoSWaXp6TMMnFoOZnU_Hz1w4FdS7jvb93B6PWiJclRs/s1600/horror+express+savalas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcT_eaiBdtpPDB_5ibX4iq8ObSY_fl3YBMjg626vQONQtc4opuXuwzcFpCXuWoAA267pILgXR30MZWNqIP4iweSUK11Pve_B71BoSWaXp6TMMnFoOZnU_Hz1w4FdS7jvb93B6PWiJclRs/s320/horror+express+savalas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553497486648093042" border="0" /></a>The real revelation of <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Horror Express</span> is Kojak's Telly Savalas as the cossack officer, and quite possibly steals the show screaming “Peasants!” at the passengers and gargling vodka like listerine. For a cheaper, less polished version of Hammer's more distinguished productions, the period detail is extraordinary, particularly in the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> station sequences, and as expected Lee and Cushing's presence balance the film's spiralling lunacy, the strain almost palpable as they soldier through the polyphonous babble of pseudo-science and peer through microscopes at line drawings of pterodactyls. And as if it couldn't get any stranger comes an ending so out of left field, and such pure Grand Guignol, it firmly cements the film as one of my favourite horror films of all time.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNcvefdSAWcCHwHXMlYIeviSAGFpmLete-auah7PYoVBvsyosKU0EpezgFBvyb83b9y0y79JnFplXLwCCSNUNWmdOo-xWJz0uAVDwSdX6JmNg4c4HZ6lcVSwK6XIKKhtciqHuf27jFHaM/s1600/horror+express+triptych.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 119px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNcvefdSAWcCHwHXMlYIeviSAGFpmLete-auah7PYoVBvsyosKU0EpezgFBvyb83b9y0y79JnFplXLwCCSNUNWmdOo-xWJz0uAVDwSdX6JmNg4c4HZ6lcVSwK6XIKKhtciqHuf27jFHaM/s400/horror+express+triptych.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553497094692042226" border="0" /></a>Sometimes it's good to revisit an old friend, especially on those special times of the year. From all of us at Schlock Treatment, Happy Halloween everyone, happy All Saints Day tomorrow, and have a ghoulish Day Of The Dead on Tuesday, as we take you for a night journey on the <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Horror Express</span>.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDhTibn_6mdv4hgmtwaRX_9_QgJCuCs_QKqBp3d1TxIhy9vpt6Gb6H3SA62jeaJLnlDFTaDMivAmAKf1UNYgEE94cMNGCvJfWEEnqQyisgQVHI0MC2vRCv4WFAdv_HgUF3n1vTucR05ns/s1600/2584401020a12uk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDhTibn_6mdv4hgmtwaRX_9_QgJCuCs_QKqBp3d1TxIhy9vpt6Gb6H3SA62jeaJLnlDFTaDMivAmAKf1UNYgEE94cMNGCvJfWEEnqQyisgQVHI0MC2vRCv4WFAdv_HgUF3n1vTucR05ns/s320/2584401020a12uk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553497305905386674" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-65900239196075414252010-12-22T22:58:00.006+10:002010-12-22T23:12:14.485+10:0024th October 2010: Puss 'n Boots (1961)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyr4vUTVruuKyFPggqq2raASskAAWM_7l_xFECCXwwElnxTOyMFV5xPO_b-IEG7iUliefBf32ulnD-RKdLtuDX26RQ3oWtIeJcccTPFt9TOdGgYWknNyjKAVaLp5eyjRDKiwYIEoYoutU/s1600/boots2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyr4vUTVruuKyFPggqq2raASskAAWM_7l_xFECCXwwElnxTOyMFV5xPO_b-IEG7iUliefBf32ulnD-RKdLtuDX26RQ3oWtIeJcccTPFt9TOdGgYWknNyjKAVaLp5eyjRDKiwYIEoYoutU/s320/boots2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553492377196138114" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Puss 'n Boots</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1961 colour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka </span>El Gato Con Botas<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Directors</span> Roberto Rodríguez, [uncredited] Manuel San Fernando <span style="font-style: italic;">Writer </span>Ernesto Giménez Caballero <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast</span> El Enano Santanon (El Gato), Antonio Raxel (El Rey Serio), Humberto Dupeyrón (Juanito), Edmundo Benitez (El Gallo)</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgEjU15JWpy0KW1oNnTk5PwncSLWEBf7pO3EEe5xVzc0VID_Dq2t7yeFkYqyFhHOLHJrNPH_Tm9jKgw60c0QxX3aJ2crjnoXUi01S5R70AQkNPq72mPs-23auTQF-4YY3_c90GJEbKhpI/s1600/puss01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgEjU15JWpy0KW1oNnTk5PwncSLWEBf7pO3EEe5xVzc0VID_Dq2t7yeFkYqyFhHOLHJrNPH_Tm9jKgw60c0QxX3aJ2crjnoXUi01S5R70AQkNPq72mPs-23auTQF-4YY3_c90GJEbKhpI/s320/puss01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553492385912442002" border="0" /></a>There are a number of rules for a children's film to succeed as a miserable failure, and thus reaching the hallowed “schlock” status. For one, the movie must patently stink as entertainment for its (by now alienated) primary audience. Secondly, it must disturb and unnerve – not in an obvious manner, but in a creepy, not-good-touch fashion. And thirdly, it must be shoddily dubbed, thereby hammering home its “unworldliness”. Musical numbers, unable to match the mouth movements with musical syncopation, subsequently crash and burn, and are reduced in minutes to smouldering ash. The agony! The ecstacy! And remember, kids, don't ever take ecstacy if you're feeling depressed or not in the care of an irresponsible adult.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8XWXFH3HApNg7dUuE8ZWudLBasrNZkqiIgfWrnfeKjiesdIhW2T64MkNhxkPutgicInUGqtzoBTtFewgFiN0eqx3hh3tSnSjtqScd3uhp-6-jcjJa0rfvE0OIHw4tqIMK4s8j1ffk3uQ/s1600/puss05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8XWXFH3HApNg7dUuE8ZWudLBasrNZkqiIgfWrnfeKjiesdIhW2T64MkNhxkPutgicInUGqtzoBTtFewgFiN0eqx3hh3tSnSjtqScd3uhp-6-jcjJa0rfvE0OIHw4tqIMK4s8j1ffk3uQ/s320/puss05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553492545706050514" border="0" /></a>Once these three simple rules are in place, it's a joy to uncover an entire industry of psychedelic pseudo-kiddie horrorshows which sticks desperately to the rules like a drowning fat kid to his donut. It ain't a life raft, Tubs, and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Puss 'n Boots</span> from 1961 is clearly not for twinkywinks. Originally titled <span style="font-style: italic;">El Gato Con Botas</span>, it's just one of a series of Mexican fairy tales from the early Sixties produced and directed by Roberto Rodriguez, and then reworked for an American audience by the dubbing factory of Florida-based K. Gordon Murray. His successes repackaging Mexican wrestling and/or horror pictures was matched by his Saturday Matinee circuit; Murray's fabled double bills of weirdly-reworded German and Mexican programmers were augmented with live appearances of “your favourite characters brought to life” - men in animal costumes representing Stinky the Skunk and the Big Bad Wolf. Plush memories, I'm sure, buried by an entire generation of post-Baby Boomers only now coming to terms with the deep psychological scars.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoyQPo2YvlQjfPHFcJ8E9ei-coKNYew3sUeB88mNl6qv_CWWv_55COMIgyLdMAgh-SxKb7I9aqfpbQ8toxzYGyMh-geDorRXselbyBGmH9wO7tQ-RTXIGRkKSZajfN86aQB2BP7iVFvh4/s1600/puss07.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoyQPo2YvlQjfPHFcJ8E9ei-coKNYew3sUeB88mNl6qv_CWWv_55COMIgyLdMAgh-SxKb7I9aqfpbQ8toxzYGyMh-geDorRXselbyBGmH9wO7tQ-RTXIGRkKSZajfN86aQB2BP7iVFvh4/s320/puss07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553492547191288562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Puss 'n Boots </span>is set in a magical kingdom under the spell of a terrible ogre, the genetic result of Genghis Khan being raped by Vikings, who has bled the Royal Treasury dry and now demands the hand of the King's daughter for his oafish son. The Kingdom, it has been foretold, can only be saved by one who is pure of heart: into the forest prances Randy the Sheep Herder (thank you K. Gordon Murray for showing such restraint), and into the hidden sugar-cave of kindly old Mother Time. She hands Randy a miniature hat and boots, which fit his pet cat like a charm. Before you can say “aye chihuahua”, the puss is transformed into El Gato, a midget in a cat costume (and if you dig below the furline you'll find the hunchbacked dwarf from our previous film <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Santo & Blue Demon vs The Monsters</span>!), an amphetamine howl on legs whose demented stream-of-consciousness babble is punctuated with a stabbing series of “mrow's” and “meowmeowmeow's”. The Prints (as in “Paw Prints”) and the Pauper team up with a talking chicken who claims to be of royal lineage – both Cat and Chicken become locked in a battle to see who has the most grating voice, and I suspect it's the same one! - and together they set out to save the kingdom AND the chastity of Princess Jane with cunning, lies, a pure (if somewhat deceitful) heart, and a full load of catnip.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9VZk8tp5brxDT5ikTo-n1SQaGx4hRnGdm_kpOis5P2TQ47iFlwUOrIAryBddzqvPEdTel6mSwJT8SqYIYQR6Bek30_KRq6dkAoJ9omQSdLV-bBZ334abtQa135vX-8KHsggPQHZGid9U/s1600/puss06.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9VZk8tp5brxDT5ikTo-n1SQaGx4hRnGdm_kpOis5P2TQ47iFlwUOrIAryBddzqvPEdTel6mSwJT8SqYIYQR6Bek30_KRq6dkAoJ9omQSdLV-bBZ334abtQa135vX-8KHsggPQHZGid9U/s320/puss06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553492546873240706" border="0" /></a>“The mercy and charity of God is infinite,” says Mother Time, echoing the film's Catholic overtones and Inquisition-like intensity. For us, however, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Puss 'n Boots </span>offers no mercy, and is proof that God has left the cinema, leaving us perpetual five year olds trapped in an existential filmic Hell. For one we're subjected to one of the most excruciating musical scores in the K. Gordon Murray catalogue, a caterwaul of cat's claws on blackboards (“Who dares raise his voice in song?” asks the King, and no-one's willing to own up!). Then there's the scene of the Chicken pleading to the court not to be eaten, echoing the undercurrent of sadism in both Puss In Boots the fairy tale, and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Puss 'n Boots</span> the Mexican torture show. There are dwarves dressed as clowns, fat kids in puffy pants, and El Gato attempting to seduce a real-life pussy... “This pretending is grotesque”, the King so accurately puts it, and the sum effect is like having an injection – it stings like a motherfucker and the sight of steel penetrating the skin chills us to the soul, but we can't look away. Watching <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Puss 'n Boots</span> from one set of credits to the other is like a whole series of injections that have perforated the skin all the way around your arm so you can tear it off like a postage stamp. Now take that arm and beat yourself to death with it.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmzjbw-jbsBGubbjTlbh9MVgS8A6g79wtYj1WOWTfNjJsMnSJZN2CFakCgasT1yudz1z9Wv4NXQtFIfnIq6m_3kwoL2xQGh-HGyzFvUuYoCUhUQ2e7bhSMqGCR9N-HpCb3ny9207Bigo/s1600/puss08.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmzjbw-jbsBGubbjTlbh9MVgS8A6g79wtYj1WOWTfNjJsMnSJZN2CFakCgasT1yudz1z9Wv4NXQtFIfnIq6m_3kwoL2xQGh-HGyzFvUuYoCUhUQ2e7bhSMqGCR9N-HpCb3ny9207Bigo/s320/puss08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553492682007753682" border="0" /></a>Feeling better? Thought you might. Or, just record tonight's movie and watch it twice. Please enjoy the 1961 <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Puss 'n Boots</span>.</p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-30072437337470890182010-12-22T22:44:00.006+10:002010-12-22T22:54:30.115+10:0017th October 2010: The Mexican Batwoman (1967)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1a8sT3oiqyK652Zk1rqbHuZeb5EG2AAnKUX5HOni2FvtIJWpyucbjS09kP0YECSG7bK9DOqSHOSxcVfoguLzASZg0KGF7N39dwc9MqNdy2fUKwvy4yu560sdnS67hI0XbJNbpCwF6syw/s1600/MP1398%257ELa-Mujer-Mercielago-Posteres.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1a8sT3oiqyK652Zk1rqbHuZeb5EG2AAnKUX5HOni2FvtIJWpyucbjS09kP0YECSG7bK9DOqSHOSxcVfoguLzASZg0KGF7N39dwc9MqNdy2fUKwvy4yu560sdnS67hI0XbJNbpCwF6syw/s320/MP1398%257ELa-Mujer-Mercielago-Posteres.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553487170333557778" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="State"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Batwoman</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1967 colour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka</span> La Mujer Murciélago <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director</span> René Cardona [Sr] <span style="font-style: italic;">Writer </span>Alfredo Salazar <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Maura Monti (Batwoman), Roberto Cañedo (Dr Eric Williams), Héctor Godoy (Mario Robles), David Silva (No. 1/José)</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFNTfveaTJBFmBxFbvj6smpmQbeKLjCRWO4E5UVsDoX1DTnx7lWDLRM6NukR_8Pz9nWWYrKyxT3LMhPwTnYIOxCWdcbJBT-EaLuxROmC649F6l9dpXorLIu0k1CEBm2slczqnODH8-66I/s1600/4499024924_071af181f5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFNTfveaTJBFmBxFbvj6smpmQbeKLjCRWO4E5UVsDoX1DTnx7lWDLRM6NukR_8Pz9nWWYrKyxT3LMhPwTnYIOxCWdcbJBT-EaLuxROmC649F6l9dpXorLIu0k1CEBm2slczqnODH8-66I/s320/4499024924_071af181f5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553486932768308178" border="0" /></a>Here's a fascinating and practically seamless experiment in film genre, splicing Sixties Batmania to the Masked Mexican film. An infinitely more glamorous character than Santo, Batwoman stars Maura Monti, the tall gorgeous actress of Italian descent who featured in a phenomenal thirty five films in her four year film career before she disappeared. Usually playing in tandem with other actresses, or second-billed to wrestling superstars Santo and Blue Demon, her chance to strut her costumed stuff came in 1967 with the lead role in <span style="font-style: italic;">La Mujer Murcielago</span>, or the Mexican <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Batwoman</span>.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPzXAwzfYYy-pstlMEm4Gswy9DKVu_3iC67LSdl4uJhzVG_37jm99xe1dBDFsc75XtT6A4pFWbbM3x-v-8gYfvJZJNObFOuYfwnABdI6jKbwO-cYFXtTDcEEiiEfbY-Lx2Y-mDazWBgw/s1600/vlcsnap-114770.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPzXAwzfYYy-pstlMEm4Gswy9DKVu_3iC67LSdl4uJhzVG_37jm99xe1dBDFsc75XtT6A4pFWbbM3x-v-8gYfvJZJNObFOuYfwnABdI6jKbwO-cYFXtTDcEEiiEfbY-Lx2Y-mDazWBgw/s320/vlcsnap-114770.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553487259078114034" border="0" /></a>The body of yet another drowned wrestler is discovered by fisherman off <st1:city st="on">Acapulco</st1:city>, hot on the heels of a number of similar murders in Hong Kong and <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Macao</st1:place></st1:state>. Autopsies reveal that in each case the juice of the wrestlers' pineal gland has been drained. Police bring in secret agent Mario Robles to solve the mystery; he in turn calls in his own secret weapon Gloria, the beautiful, rich, crime-fighting female wrestler and caped crusader La Mujer Murcielago, or as we would call her in the English speaking world: Batwoman. Her anonymity allows numerous costume changes under her omnipresent Bat Mask, from wrestling sweats to braces, and the ever-popular Bat-Bikini, as she stalks her prey with bat-like stealth. Hot on her radar: famed Neurosurgeon (Clue Number One!) Dr Williams has just sailed his boat the Reptilicus (Number Two!) from Hong Kong and Macao (THREE!) with his collection of fishtanks (...anyone still counting?).</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47kc_fDLUg4Ej2z1ENlAPGlMGzHwfp2XzWL95mu7OKAKS0_lmd2dOeldR94mPOaiJI2iJQk7dL8z3bkVCRtKtEP6wEMDQ8JQCtoUsXgG0Q3qFmAGgYOaL8Z6xOd6uvzegldrhbzOI-PQ/s1600/The_Batwoman_%2528M%2529.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47kc_fDLUg4Ej2z1ENlAPGlMGzHwfp2XzWL95mu7OKAKS0_lmd2dOeldR94mPOaiJI2iJQk7dL8z3bkVCRtKtEP6wEMDQ8JQCtoUsXgG0Q3qFmAGgYOaL8Z6xOd6uvzegldrhbzOI-PQ/s320/The_Batwoman_%2528M%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553487174351199858" border="0" /></a>Williams' attempts at creating a hybrid Fish-Man, it seems, have been thwarted by the lack of perfect human specimens, which the Mexican wrestling circuit is only too happy to supply in spades. What starts off as a curious experiment involving a fish tank, an Action Man doll and a goldfish (true story), evolves into an aquatic fetus in a plastic bottle, placed on the ocean floor and radiated into a life-size Gill Man the mad doctor calls Pisces (though in Spanish the word rhymes with 'feces'). “My vengeance will be terrible,” yells Dr Williams, “TERRIBLE!” as he plots the beginning of his unstoppable army of amphibious fin-soldiers controlling the High Seas – Peeces would need to be mated, of course, with an Gill Woman, and guess whose heaving Bat-Cleavage he has his scientific gaze squarely on...</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshlH_GVJ-B6zjzLogZTZXKBuEuraNsINjVjp3gFLQYXYSoNKqAikgQ0ocFEyIoclpS_5xVzEFt3MuQx2JrwzuUrEJFLgUAuhdvUN5-aFWzoQq3Uq1y83v0zE86DFIzE6CoVp55ogG7fo/s1600/vlcsnap-113935.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshlH_GVJ-B6zjzLogZTZXKBuEuraNsINjVjp3gFLQYXYSoNKqAikgQ0ocFEyIoclpS_5xVzEFt3MuQx2JrwzuUrEJFLgUAuhdvUN5-aFWzoQq3Uq1y83v0zE86DFIzE6CoVp55ogG7fo/s320/vlcsnap-113935.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553487178472080018" border="0" /></a>Competently directed by one of the Granddaddies of Mexican Pulp, Rene Cardona Sr avoids, to his credit,<span style=""> </span>the usual Batmania cliches of Penguins, Riddlers, and cartoon henchmen in striped sweaters, and plays his goofy-looking Creature From The Black Lagoon riff relatively straight-faced. Cardona gets more than his pesos' worth out of the underwater footage, and let's not forget the masked wresting sequences. In any other costumed superhero film these would seem extraneous - here they are a positive boon, though Mara Monti's stocky wrestling double is so glaringly obvious, even the blind guy in the audience can tell she's packed on more than a few excess pounds between shots.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cauXF-Ot_p2B4l1JIefUF9pN4Koq70NOK3JW5DE4bZsggm66J3zEwnRbUR7ZnN6U1MqkoJuEyUw8-eTNH7wIzCSPYobu7rEq4mtI6V2HiUYip3Ll4S8dkauS0B3Pgs9-Bufb5BpSPSc/s1600/vlcsnap-115087.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cauXF-Ot_p2B4l1JIefUF9pN4Koq70NOK3JW5DE4bZsggm66J3zEwnRbUR7ZnN6U1MqkoJuEyUw8-eTNH7wIzCSPYobu7rEq4mtI6V2HiUYip3Ll4S8dkauS0B3Pgs9-Bufb5BpSPSc/s320/vlcsnap-115087.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553487263170531154" border="0" /></a>So here we have Batwoman going eye-to-fish-eye with a creature sporting the body of a goldfish, the super-grip of a GI Joe, and the pineal juice of a Swedish wrestler, in <span style="font-style: italic;">La Mujer Murcielago</span>, or the Mexican <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Batwoman</span>.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >AND BECAUSE THERE CAN NEVER BE ENOUGH <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">BATWOMAN </span>POSTERS....</span>
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<br /></p><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMiJMeqz5PPe3yaObBry2uL8sPnwjxBYho5Q-CrOMtimIYQpJPbBMynV2Dx8ycRVWiHAG9swjh8GNc-498utE9ivfY6d6r8iYmVC2ICk_hIpbnhaJJvpDwcJ4_BgtHPp_3adIaYzyNFhw/s1600/La+Mujer+Murcielago2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMiJMeqz5PPe3yaObBry2uL8sPnwjxBYho5Q-CrOMtimIYQpJPbBMynV2Dx8ycRVWiHAG9swjh8GNc-498utE9ivfY6d6r8iYmVC2ICk_hIpbnhaJJvpDwcJ4_BgtHPp_3adIaYzyNFhw/s320/La+Mujer+Murcielago2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553486948509360050" border="0" /></a><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIndV43Nn1jY_Ut8YV4k8SNtWzAZdA0e-i5TXCXzh6xjl0heUZe_Np9wbu6IRFobjUt3hpP4yZpYvAKZTwz9B1du2dZghN02XP0tjRyxyTeQX0JlhXPUvwj6lGLmJKGa0WqMuBjh_pQPY/s1600/d49166363ab71a04db4f10c5e05a0bacc0d73807.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 167px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIndV43Nn1jY_Ut8YV4k8SNtWzAZdA0e-i5TXCXzh6xjl0heUZe_Np9wbu6IRFobjUt3hpP4yZpYvAKZTwz9B1du2dZghN02XP0tjRyxyTeQX0JlhXPUvwj6lGLmJKGa0WqMuBjh_pQPY/s320/d49166363ab71a04db4f10c5e05a0bacc0d73807.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553486943293592770" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiryn4hxeIgqWKZoNCdK54e6CWzz-svt6H9fiV-2d9-qFS-d2Z1zc2oTP_pT9t_DDEAVGZKY4VK_e-Dsf-o9_tkXDdOWpu9hJf1svzZb_0FUtfGkCcfNnd8z_-rr77PKSImR3m-mFJ7q4/s1600/Batwoman_1968.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 219px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiryn4hxeIgqWKZoNCdK54e6CWzz-svt6H9fiV-2d9-qFS-d2Z1zc2oTP_pT9t_DDEAVGZKY4VK_e-Dsf-o9_tkXDdOWpu9hJf1svzZb_0FUtfGkCcfNnd8z_-rr77PKSImR3m-mFJ7q4/s320/Batwoman_1968.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553488258932706306" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-DWrcu34gAQvEc-xgH3dZu2hZTnU_2nYo59r7Ej9vG8cdiRLu_97AHcPHaGlc086ScY7O912UX5kVaN0-VcSlA4H6JFkrrVu1otaTZZnhHp_bjeOeFG7PP25cTI6mSgKK0nDEp9661A/s1600/a2b266337f37bbc4190005d00fb96cadc3f31007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-DWrcu34gAQvEc-xgH3dZu2hZTnU_2nYo59r7Ej9vG8cdiRLu_97AHcPHaGlc086ScY7O912UX5kVaN0-VcSlA4H6JFkrrVu1otaTZZnhHp_bjeOeFG7PP25cTI6mSgKK0nDEp9661A/s320/a2b266337f37bbc4190005d00fb96cadc3f31007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553486938060384338" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-84925405544023683142010-12-22T22:25:00.004+10:002010-12-22T22:36:37.253+10:0010th October 2010: The Curse Of The Crying WOman (1963)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQ5sl0x0x6UiWdfp4Dp1tJ9X8Pwz0UzRl8Z0dTkjg_Dw_KkvXiBOo6AwcaI3fzBvuNGZpAZqcEd_coi8OfbikcqtUOGEwiiDWa-vrtUDjNydAfXg9FEtyoaAQ8eL2z07fazfjXk-N2Ag/s1600/La+Maldicion+de+la+Llorona+poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQ5sl0x0x6UiWdfp4Dp1tJ9X8Pwz0UzRl8Z0dTkjg_Dw_KkvXiBOo6AwcaI3fzBvuNGZpAZqcEd_coi8OfbikcqtUOGEwiiDWa-vrtUDjNydAfXg9FEtyoaAQ8eL2z07fazfjXk-N2Ag/s320/La+Maldicion+de+la+Llorona+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553483101773095074" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >The Curse Of The Crying Woman</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1963 b&w<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka </span>La Maldición De La Llorona <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director</span> Rafael Baledón <span style="font-style: italic;">Writers </span>Rafael Baledón, Fernando Galiana<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast</span> Rosita Arenas (Amelia), Abel Salazar (Jaime), Rita Macedo (<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Selma</st1:place></st1:city>), Carlos López Moctezuma (Juan)</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusIFYG4E6IPNWhAK05cKA3MHhGrXYH2uBxTB3vHD1KjYFCpXoUZjRfoK2Fgobmu52DYS85sdObZS8dpDn6qTeb0LNoBH1ml8olANcOnuQZHBjaCNqYXzuETVXunJwZfKuJTdaaoC1qkE/s1600/curse+of+the+crying+woman+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 305px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusIFYG4E6IPNWhAK05cKA3MHhGrXYH2uBxTB3vHD1KjYFCpXoUZjRfoK2Fgobmu52DYS85sdObZS8dpDn6qTeb0LNoBH1ml8olANcOnuQZHBjaCNqYXzuETVXunJwZfKuJTdaaoC1qkE/s320/curse+of+the+crying+woman+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553482979821791778" border="0" /></a>Tonight we revisit the world of Mexican Gothic, a glorious period in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region>'s horror cinema from the late Fifties to early Sixties, after which the intrusion of colour cheapened its brooding black and white aesthetic. <st1:country-region st="on">Mexico</st1:country-region>'s was an idiosyncratic take on the vintage Universal horrors and the ghoulish terrors of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Britain</st1:place></st1:country-region>'s Hammer films and their European partners-in-crime. One of the truly memorable moments from this brief window in time is the image of La Llorona or the Crying Woman, obsidian eyes blazing and smile like a fatal slash across her cruel white features, holding onto three rabid and almost skeletal hounds straining at their leashes, while her crippled servant Juan dispatches an entire carriage of innocents to their demise. It's the critical point at which Mexican folklore collides with full-tilt Horror, and that moment, along with <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Curse Of The Crying Woman</span>'s many other iconic snapshots, is breathtaking.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskeHXngfgCm4ERHyIYM9JbG_4YrEw_pZCtYhB_eLF-5bPK4XZZfmwiePznmDHWvlcRTIE12raJqhEtHhKLv6bF0BpKcSMiU-fHRXLfXGUJvsWI1MTucpHrk1AFpytA2FyMXgApGr-oN0/s1600/La+Maldicion+de+la+Llorona+lobby+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskeHXngfgCm4ERHyIYM9JbG_4YrEw_pZCtYhB_eLF-5bPK4XZZfmwiePznmDHWvlcRTIE12raJqhEtHhKLv6bF0BpKcSMiU-fHRXLfXGUJvsWI1MTucpHrk1AFpytA2FyMXgApGr-oN0/s320/La+Maldicion+de+la+Llorona+lobby+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553483098471623362" border="0" /></a>La Llorona the Crying Woman is an old Mexican tale of a peasant woman who gives birth to a rich man's child, only to be spurned for a more acceptable new bride. The woman then kills the baby and commits suicide, leaving her wailing ghost to roam the countryside looking for her lost child. The much-told story is often associated with that of Dona Marina, an Aztec princess who bears the child of Hernan Cortez; the scars of class-bound shame are thus stitched to the deeper wounds of the Spanish invasion and colonization. In other versions, La Llorona is a supernatural predator, a witch who had possibly died during childbirth, and thus feasts on the misery of dying infants.
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<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rK5UK7O4BLMW9Qc-jPK1Bjb4FXyYeZi11NuEHAWnxRc0Tw8x_0rDkeMHsYDXZehyphenhyphenGgwMZjbcInM6RaN9zDT6yP16IUfc3k6sqPUY71NZsFzN84hhi0WqDxNpCBkKzA4ISemnbcRDxhE/s1600/curse+of+crying+woman+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rK5UK7O4BLMW9Qc-jPK1Bjb4FXyYeZi11NuEHAWnxRc0Tw8x_0rDkeMHsYDXZehyphenhyphenGgwMZjbcInM6RaN9zDT6yP16IUfc3k6sqPUY71NZsFzN84hhi0WqDxNpCBkKzA4ISemnbcRDxhE/s320/curse+of+crying+woman+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553482973878651506" border="0" /></a>It's tale often filmed, either as a traditional ghost story, or by exploiting the brand name in a tenuously-linked narrative. In <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Curse Of The Crying Woman</span>, the figure of La Llorona is no longer looking for her own child, and is instead an otherworldly superwitch, possessing the souls of her descendants. The spirit is still wailing and quite supernatural to the point of vampiric<span style=""> </span>– her possessed relatives avoid daylight hours, won't cast a reflection, salivate at the sight of blood, and perform the old Bela Lugosi trick of walking straight through cobwebs.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjgXCvkFBmuk9fjL4pC0Hx5W4KlYS_7OeU6I82YFEkixQpCr-oMp1RkL28pns5xBmiDUdsKpfKdKoramcXjkrC0QKCCgttM2qlPGRKVqHgmf_nD4QJuZhEyvIlkAIr9ky48XJdj8NxkbQ/s1600/8450232.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjgXCvkFBmuk9fjL4pC0Hx5W4KlYS_7OeU6I82YFEkixQpCr-oMp1RkL28pns5xBmiDUdsKpfKdKoramcXjkrC0QKCCgttM2qlPGRKVqHgmf_nD4QJuZhEyvIlkAIr9ky48XJdj8NxkbQ/s320/8450232.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553482973962264578" border="0" /></a>Fate and enduring evil are just two themes at work in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Curse Of The Crying Woman</span>.<span style=""> </span>The young and beautiful Amelia brings her new husband Jaime to meet her long-estranged aunt <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Selma</st1:place></st1:city> in her isolated mansion deep in the woods. She discovers <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Selma</st1:place></st1:city> looks exactly as she did fifteen years before, is now widowed – or so SHE says – and draped in black, and is deep in research into the Black Arts. So deep, in fact, that she keeps the desiccated corpse of Dona Marina herself, their long-distant relative, stretched on her Aztec torturer's wheel with a long spear through her accursed heart. The malevolent presence Dona Marina is everywhere, from the skulls and black orbs staring out of mirrors, to the wailing of an unseen presence filling the empty hallways. It's no coincidence that Amelia has reunited with her bloodline, as legend has it that Dona Marina makes her triumphant return that midnight. Fatalism descends upon Amelia like a black shroud as she awaits the family curse to unfold; not so Jaime, who has clearly heard of what happens to male members of the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Marina</st1:place></st1:city> clan, and is determined to break the cycle of damnation and death.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqPyKgmVIpEagba4aycPib3sdh8RXl8us43yABMrZDET1FWOzDA0icEEzgHWd9taaCpr9q6JxPFP9WBNebmDL9P6VkLj_jBcoz1E2Hkd_z3-Jm_fKStJwanl7DPi1rpOlkEruqeY9KMg/s1600/la-maldicion-i1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqPyKgmVIpEagba4aycPib3sdh8RXl8us43yABMrZDET1FWOzDA0icEEzgHWd9taaCpr9q6JxPFP9WBNebmDL9P6VkLj_jBcoz1E2Hkd_z3-Jm_fKStJwanl7DPi1rpOlkEruqeY9KMg/s320/la-maldicion-i1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553483105616990850" border="0" /></a>Abel Salazar as Jaime is always a welcome face in Mexican horrors, and takes on the producer's reins as he did in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Vampire</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Brainiac</span>. As Aunt Selma, Rita Macedo is perfect at containing her inherent evil and thirst for power behind her beautifully benign mask. The house itself takes on a menacing role, a secluded mausoleum straight out of Poe's Fall Of The House Of Usher, and its ultimate demise is nothing short of spectacular; even the studio-bound forest takes on the ever-present threat of death, as in another snapshot moment of Amelia surrounded by hundreds of eyes staring accusingly from the branches.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYNtw2-_w6h3mK2-y_pe4xoUHvYTfQz2opfYvuVsse3TFDg6HEqMlG1M0duKtqwO_8AjQTNVspBzFVMM23NBkmEfh3zpbLsQZ_bLaXG158lJn99VCyVi6t_IHgZXl9nYhhVDRa6eA-8o/s1600/curse+of+the+crying+woman+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYNtw2-_w6h3mK2-y_pe4xoUHvYTfQz2opfYvuVsse3TFDg6HEqMlG1M0duKtqwO_8AjQTNVspBzFVMM23NBkmEfh3zpbLsQZ_bLaXG158lJn99VCyVi6t_IHgZXl9nYhhVDRa6eA-8o/s320/curse+of+the+crying+woman+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553482984439312242" border="0" /></a>All the elements are in place – bloodsucking beauties, bats in the bell tower, the Thing in the attic, and those black, black eyes – for a bona fide masterpiece of Mexican horror. I hope you are suitably unnerved by <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Curse Of The Crying Woman</span>.</p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-13901694761927737192010-12-22T22:07:00.006+10:002010-12-22T22:21:00.153+10:003rd October 2010: Santo And Blue Demon vs The Monsters (1969)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihB9eBP8k2Q5m6ishtq1pjToGGGj60ZpyVsUDUAWAF7SRp8cxxyYcb4NWThQKgLIP5GOiHQI2xkNW4yqUCOZlN8F6jOKoooYC-nimqTXAOhVRukT-eTiEdldFYJzmaSh_xJkdnDbGeKbc/s1600/Santo+And+Blue+Demon+vs+The+Monsters+1969+POSTER+USE+THIS.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 207px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihB9eBP8k2Q5m6ishtq1pjToGGGj60ZpyVsUDUAWAF7SRp8cxxyYcb4NWThQKgLIP5GOiHQI2xkNW4yqUCOZlN8F6jOKoooYC-nimqTXAOhVRukT-eTiEdldFYJzmaSh_xJkdnDbGeKbc/s320/Santo+And+Blue+Demon+vs+The+Monsters+1969+POSTER+USE+THIS.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553478031994862162" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Santo And Blue Demon vs The Monsters</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1969 colour <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka </span>Santo y Blue Demon Contra Los Monstruos <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director</span> Gilberto Martínez Solares Writers Rafael García Travesi, Jesús Sotomayor Martínez <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Santo El Enmascarado de Plata (himself), Blue Demon (himself), Jorge Rado (Otto Halder), Carlos Ancira (Bruno Halder)</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZbzE21X74oqKKGc7yNepNDYgMg2ljWhauF1rILvTM3Hx00GsATGdRMlx5rjG2ypeYEZz2rmJYdPqqbp9T9k4cMOi_YThIjTPuR6xEztgr45vWqYhf9d7mN31UAEpztAlIttd5zn44VU/s1600/santobluedemonmonsters3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZbzE21X74oqKKGc7yNepNDYgMg2ljWhauF1rILvTM3Hx00GsATGdRMlx5rjG2ypeYEZz2rmJYdPqqbp9T9k4cMOi_YThIjTPuR6xEztgr45vWqYhf9d7mN31UAEpztAlIttd5zn44VU/s200/santobluedemonmonsters3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553479256030928930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Santo And Blue Demon vs The Monsters</span> is just one of the many successful pairings of masked wrestling superstar Santo and his rival (in the ring at least) Blue Demon. From the late Sixties until Santo's death in the early Eighties, the two seemed almost inseparable, fighting everyone and everyTHING from Dracula, Dr Frankenstein, the mummies of Guanajuarto, fishmen from Atlantis, aliens, Nazis... and in this outing, practically the entire back catalogue of Universal's horror series from the Thirties and Forties. Did someone say “copyright infringement”? Apparently you just stick on a goatee and no-one will notice...</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCQMtI3OacZVlCIMiLGd_sF_zuGMN1-7euv90vIXVJXwo1MKZv4IzagLmLXgQnCdX5oF4MAaHj8zwUOUgmX0gcknNqQuDQ8FzkYj5U0pa8DETTyIWecTuQ9vkW_7d0nly6K0D1RliTFo/s1600/santobluedemonmonsters7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCQMtI3OacZVlCIMiLGd_sF_zuGMN1-7euv90vIXVJXwo1MKZv4IzagLmLXgQnCdX5oF4MAaHj8zwUOUgmX0gcknNqQuDQ8FzkYj5U0pa8DETTyIWecTuQ9vkW_7d0nly6K0D1RliTFo/s200/santobluedemonmonsters7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553479267322811058" border="0" /></a>After the necessary tag-team introduction, the film proper begins with the “funeral” of the presumably mad scientist Dr Halder. It's more of an exhumation, as his coffin is hauled back to his castle by a mourning squad of zombie criminals, under the direction of a hunchbacked dwarf in a bowler hat with bald head and bad teeth (luckily for him, the dwarf Waldo has retained his sense of humour). Halder's request for his body not to be mutilated pays off, and he is brought back to life by his own machine in the castle's laboratory by gleeful lever-jockey Waldo. The vinegar-filled Halder has plans to revenge his brother and niece Gloria, for reasons lost to the sands of Time, AND to seek vengeance against his sworn enemy Santo, who just happens to be dating the niece. Halder initially kidnaps Blue Demon and clones him as a robotic assassin to use against Santo, with expected results. Undaunted, he then resurrects a small army of horror icons Halder picked up in his travels through Transylvania: the Vampire, the Mummy, the Wolfman, and The Cyclops, a scaly one eyed amphibian from Sotomayor Pictures' own 1960 picture <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Ship Of Monsters</span>. Add a pair of vampirized chiquitas and the menagerie is almost complete; oh, and keep your lychees peeled during the laboratory scenes for an unidentified “observer”, also a leftover from <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Ship Of Monsters</span>, who looks like an angry tiki mug with a brain sombrero.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tYqoXA2F1Mwb3HBmuFPVtrgaoH3Lm9b2Uxg_wfJF5EsD25IrEMl6Wj9U3bOjaFU9dddqhjbd4dMGpl7lrAoCG5a_BUEWHlPCHDkimn16kXSmEz6ePwrUMzRNOR7iVqU90YTkAndc2eU/s1600/santobluedemonmonsters5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 136px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tYqoXA2F1Mwb3HBmuFPVtrgaoH3Lm9b2Uxg_wfJF5EsD25IrEMl6Wj9U3bOjaFU9dddqhjbd4dMGpl7lrAoCG5a_BUEWHlPCHDkimn16kXSmEz6ePwrUMzRNOR7iVqU90YTkAndc2eU/s200/santobluedemonmonsters5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553479264567736146" border="0" /></a>And so Halder's Chamber of Horrors is unleashed upon the countryside, several times recycling the same introductory footage. The Vampire is less Bela Lugosi and more German Robles as “El Vampiro”, in a pale imitation of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region>'s own horror icon from late Fifties. Frankenstein is more ludicrous than ever thanks to his Fu Manchu facial hair, and as for the Wolfman – well, let's just say the miserably inadequate day-for-night footage makes both El Vampiro and the Wolfman's full-moon antics completely redundant.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6rKRTHeTLSpYjL9muAW8jvJoB18nT37m482ykCCDbtNIlygYFtwAuWsjbxygoATYdyen4WLfmGfOlN1dB1Y294Uu9A8oDDyZ4MWS0NP2lrhlMsed8FS-dcnz1z5p-StdPDXl178Zf_k/s1600/santobluedemonmonsters4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 136px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6rKRTHeTLSpYjL9muAW8jvJoB18nT37m482ykCCDbtNIlygYFtwAuWsjbxygoATYdyen4WLfmGfOlN1dB1Y294Uu9A8oDDyZ4MWS0NP2lrhlMsed8FS-dcnz1z5p-StdPDXl178Zf_k/s200/santobluedemonmonsters4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553478760302424594" border="0" /></a>If this Santo film looks slightly more cheap and tacky than his usual offerings, send a letter of complaint to Sotomayor Pictures. Both Santo and Blue Demon were on loan to the rival company for a number of films, and so ditched their usual creative team of craftsmen for Gilberto Martinez-Solares, who also directed them in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Santo And Blue Demon In The Land Of The Dead</span>. Now, Martinez-Solares was no slouch at directing, but even he must have had a Percodan slipped into his <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Corona</st1:place></st1:city>. Did he notice in the restaurant scene, for instance, that the musical number is taking place on a stage FOUR TIMES the size of the entire restaurant? Even the wrestling scenes – obligatory set-pieces in Santo films, and pretty much their raison d'etre – are strangely over-lit and under-attended.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCATf_upx1UiVKUPqtz-Cd13khaisnfkyKEAfT5FEwb8H7mFzhRp43AKxOfuTccmT0huQ3hMsnyfbYw8XpeL1laCeFIy2laF4T9-Kq_mQSF0yDPe-q711D8jjxXktRImt1qEDcUjfuXCI/s1600/santo2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCATf_upx1UiVKUPqtz-Cd13khaisnfkyKEAfT5FEwb8H7mFzhRp43AKxOfuTccmT0huQ3hMsnyfbYw8XpeL1laCeFIy2laF4T9-Kq_mQSF0yDPe-q711D8jjxXktRImt1qEDcUjfuXCI/s320/santo2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553478026425574642" border="0" /></a>Yes, it's a sloppy production, and one can sense a growing desperation on the producer's part to keep its audience entertained by topping previous outings. The film purports to be a sequel and constantly refers to a previous episode, and yet there IS original; the effect is like being thrown into the deep end of a swamp and wondering “who ARE these creatures, and why do they want to kill me?” The thought is then replaced with a screaming case of deja-vu. Santo and Blue Demon complement each other well, even if Blue Demon spends most of the film trying to tear his friend's head off; but their partnership was becoming increasingly part of a cookie-cutter formula of multiple wrestlers battling pre-branded “monstruos”. The trade-off is quantity over quality, and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Santo And Blue Demon vs The Monsters</span> is almost bursting its stitches with ideas, both good and awful.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW33h68hz93HRaUriq4qFJpQxrf1309XItClHCZHxJ8VogJcHV14GYGLhxGU2BupGlfeaucu0tPorih_mtC2kX1edWwtLKSub_yCRy_QCDz3Jy0mg7HG8I8gt_i3yEsRzim_atTPwjM6U/s1600/Santo+And+Blue+Demon+vs+The+Monsters+1969+lobby+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW33h68hz93HRaUriq4qFJpQxrf1309XItClHCZHxJ8VogJcHV14GYGLhxGU2BupGlfeaucu0tPorih_mtC2kX1edWwtLKSub_yCRy_QCDz3Jy0mg7HG8I8gt_i3yEsRzim_atTPwjM6U/s320/Santo+And+Blue+Demon+vs+The+Monsters+1969+lobby+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553478030093006962" border="0" /></a>On the plus side it's punchier than Santo's ring buddies, zips along at an unnatural pace, and for a film aimed at twelve year olds of all ages, surprisingly bloody – there are some graphic shots of a young man's face being crushed under Frankenstein's giant boot, and the vampire girls are dispatched with a steady flow of the red, red vino. The switch to colour in the late Sixties wasn't all wine and rosaries, however, and in the faces of Walder's zombies you can see where the green paint finishes.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsqtjakxOgzgsVQvFvjrkvosrDgy7PyFiW9xQC1hSOCAYW5CoBm-zEDEaFLLDchnVpxG4KTWJojYVsDBcg3-hNzKm_8NtDberob1NUWkJDmTO3UVliy1NFNGzvikbgkhbCN_1URfGxaCs/s1600/santobluedemonmonsters6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 136px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsqtjakxOgzgsVQvFvjrkvosrDgy7PyFiW9xQC1hSOCAYW5CoBm-zEDEaFLLDchnVpxG4KTWJojYVsDBcg3-hNzKm_8NtDberob1NUWkJDmTO3UVliy1NFNGzvikbgkhbCN_1URfGxaCs/s200/santobluedemonmonsters6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553479266901517138" border="0" /></a>Keen-eyed Schlock watchers please note: Frankenstein is played by stuntman Manuel Leal, later in wrestling tights as Tinieblas, and our lovable hunchbacked dwarf, one of the busiest Little Guys in Mexican cinema named Santanon, is the guy in the plushy suit in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Puss In Boots</span> (1961) in three weeks' time. Til then: hola hola rock y rolla, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Santo y Blue Demon Contra Los Monstruos</span>!</p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-9915454321137975512010-12-22T21:51:00.004+10:002010-12-22T22:01:12.352+10:0026th September 2010: Psychomania (1973)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YYNzT960xDzlOpCgsrSvD3J1mRtQTstYVfiCR1RTYjnMhB6mngmNtVzgcsrjuUx2H9wpSvpbCgRwjFIKb7dy5cgy2tQC-PXOnC15qQ9ZSmDjmonFmnDBMkZUIKW3r9Ks8cUc9Q9zX-Q/s1600/psychomania.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YYNzT960xDzlOpCgsrSvD3J1mRtQTstYVfiCR1RTYjnMhB6mngmNtVzgcsrjuUx2H9wpSvpbCgRwjFIKb7dy5cgy2tQC-PXOnC15qQ9ZSmDjmonFmnDBMkZUIKW3r9Ks8cUc9Q9zX-Q/s320/psychomania.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553473919453483042" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Psychomania</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkE237LNlOgWtQ94mGCePTNobzejm71IxDlC5SxoMG-eHswV9k5krmSaAPomRtGcQTIi_Y6K3R41R2mrfLOBELuTih9VnDLUJCK5PZWpfQIEvEidIDAWuvRz2ltflNdA455R14H9QYS0/s1600/Psychomania1973.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkE237LNlOgWtQ94mGCePTNobzejm71IxDlC5SxoMG-eHswV9k5krmSaAPomRtGcQTIi_Y6K3R41R2mrfLOBELuTih9VnDLUJCK5PZWpfQIEvEidIDAWuvRz2ltflNdA455R14H9QYS0/s200/Psychomania1973.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553474774690727506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">UK</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1973 colour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka </span>The Death Wheelers, Psychlo-Maniacs<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director</span> Don Sharp <span style="font-style: italic;">Writers</span> Julian Zimet, Arnaud d'Usseau<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Nicky Henson (Tom Latham), Mary (Abby Holman), Ann Michelle (Jane Pettibone), <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Roy</st1:place></st1:city> Holder (Bertram), Robert Hardy (Chief Inspector Hesseltine), Beryl Reid (Mrs Latham), George Sanders (Shadwell)</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">There's an apocryphal tale of British actor and self-proclaimed Professional Cad George Sanders completing the shoot on his final film and, having witnessed just how low his career had sunk, committing suicide afterwards. Reportedly in poor health, Sanders checked into a hotel in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Spain</st1:place></st1:country-region> and downed a lethal dose of sleeping pills. His three-sentence suicide note began with “Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored.”
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57A5Zz5MvxqQSHS7eJMZvvdn4FUJb6IE21CnJb4WKQvjjiRFMLqpsoEXpI2xvC5DGikLjM4vxdMw5LI768ZTVOGQ10WOc2U0PA_1owEDOLris098ElSro7P1GYVSm65K0vf-6it5zwqE/s1600/vlcsnap-00024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57A5Zz5MvxqQSHS7eJMZvvdn4FUJb6IE21CnJb4WKQvjjiRFMLqpsoEXpI2xvC5DGikLjM4vxdMw5LI768ZTVOGQ10WOc2U0PA_1owEDOLris098ElSro7P1GYVSm65K0vf-6it5zwqE/s320/vlcsnap-00024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553473931503935186" border="0" /></a>The film in question is the British zombie biker flick <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Psychomania</span>, released after Sanders' death in 1972. Now, I'd certainly hate to spoil a great story; after a long and distinguished run in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hollywood</st1:place></st1:city>, Sanders' career was indeed on somewhat of a downhill slide, and his last few films were hardly earth-shattering. But <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Psychomania</span> is, in my humble opinion, a superb swansong, and Sanders should be hung for suggesting it, even apocryphally. Combining the JD thrills of British pulp novels like Skinhead, Terrace Terrors and Angel On My Mind, and the early Seventies' pop culture obsession with Dennis Wheatley and Alistair Crowley, it stars Nicky Henson, perfectly cast as the smug, cocky anti-hero Tom. He's the leader of a British biker gang called appropriately enough The Living Dead, well-versed in the Black Arts thanks to the creepy relationship with his spiritualist mother (Beryl Reid) and her mysterious and somewhat ageless butler Shadwell (the aforementioned Sanders), and obsessed with the idea of “crossing over” and returning from the Other Side, a feat attempted by his late father with dire results.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZOba4J79RWD9gJq-vHKxI6ED2aoRAgC-jZBM-3dqcNoThd4fdRI-jsoX-66KRBnuGQOnSXC3g4O91nExUh3Tj9oyz0jaOOGL6ApZFOFg6pVNuDUmTHf5QEGEjKdYuI4Q6EPIUti95TQ/s1600/psychomaniagrave.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZOba4J79RWD9gJq-vHKxI6ED2aoRAgC-jZBM-3dqcNoThd4fdRI-jsoX-66KRBnuGQOnSXC3g4O91nExUh3Tj9oyz0jaOOGL6ApZFOFg6pVNuDUmTHf5QEGEjKdYuI4Q6EPIUti95TQ/s320/psychomaniagrave.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553473926225453762" border="0" /></a>All you have to do, it seems, is believe you're coming back, click your biker boots three times, and bingo! Tom's fresh corpse is buried by his faithful gang near their regular meeting spot, a druidic circle of rocks named the Seven Witches, seated on his bike in full Living Dead regalia; at the witching hour, Tom drives out of the grave at full throttle, stops at the local pub for a quick one, then phones his Mumsy to tell her he's back in one piece. Splendid! He's back alright, and like the angry kid in Stephen King's <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Pet Sematary</span>, he's obviously seen some unmentionable horrors. And, without the fear of death hanging over him he's utterly fearless, not to mention heartless, ruthless, and cold as the grave. He then invites the rest of the gang to join him: as regular hooligans the Living Dead are strictly second-rate, knocking over traffic cones and bags of groceries for childish kicks, and they're terribly English - you'd never see a Hell's Angel in America stop their bike and comb their hair - but once they've all “crossed over” there seems to be no end to their reign of terror.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPfoImChBtCWYpZ0QpZnbtTnOgKk6xPI1GNTq9luMIOPS0-xQLUIz5h4kYgSlLK1_N8moen9WZxuhxm6RedQQ5BxSzg2aOdSYTqGO9dgQGmx93VSGIVg17H87fGVyQookBxppH6aCXE8/s1600/Psychomania4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPfoImChBtCWYpZ0QpZnbtTnOgKk6xPI1GNTq9luMIOPS0-xQLUIz5h4kYgSlLK1_N8moen9WZxuhxm6RedQQ5BxSzg2aOdSYTqGO9dgQGmx93VSGIVg17H87fGVyQookBxppH6aCXE8/s320/Psychomania4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553473661550730050" border="0" /></a>There's so much more to recommend about <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Psychomania</span> than its surface eccentricity. True, the film is more preposterous than genuinely chilling, and at times played for as much gallows humour as can be wrung from the material by one of the strangest casts assembled for a British B film; veteran British actor Robert Hardy plays a Police Inspector investigating the pile of bodies left in the Living Dead's wake, and joins Reid and Sanders in trying to keep a professional mask amidst the bare-faced absurdity. The music has dated gloriously along with the rest of the film: from fuzzed-out bogus psychedelia to the funeral's Satanic hippy dirge, a wondrous pile of muddle-headed plop that equates death with freedom from Squaresville. Thankfully Australian-born director Don Sharp, himself no stranger to ludicrous genre scenarios (<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Face Of Fu Manchu </span>and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Curse Of The Fly </span>[both 1965] to name just two), keeps the action taut and the visuals intriguing, from the opening shots of riders in skull-like helmets gliding through a mist-shrouded field, to an weirdly effective frog motif which, in occult circles, represents life and rebirth.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLybLWsjNRKOSdBD0MKnBeSU2K4qvTfD7tVH8EHPvcHlcrDAw_k2MhKcfnFKArCJvbFSdFWAvOuk5Gn5lmDipVYZF9RhITq6ZMgtom19N2FmiCpEb3h_A1HiwfdisJunfk3tXkCIX8sKE/s1600/psychomania2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLybLWsjNRKOSdBD0MKnBeSU2K4qvTfD7tVH8EHPvcHlcrDAw_k2MhKcfnFKArCJvbFSdFWAvOuk5Gn5lmDipVYZF9RhITq6ZMgtom19N2FmiCpEb3h_A1HiwfdisJunfk3tXkCIX8sKE/s320/psychomania2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553473657851400178" border="0" /></a>Is this the only British zombie biker film you're likely to witness? Sadly the answer is yes, and it's a doozy. So let's warm up the engine, spit the dirt from our mouths, then surge forward at full throttle into the 1972 <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Psychomania</span>.</p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268589832461630074.post-16977592872217142172010-09-23T16:12:00.005+10:002010-09-23T16:19:27.542+10:0019th September 2010: Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street (1936)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFg5iaSTASxaKGBqQNLSyxDIzlVxw3x2YQYnHaDDVOI0ce2YBEQmtpeLcIzWYhuXoD5rTjri_mOiaZW5lshmn_GqS0dQA_qGnWMCgPHCQFFhlqWAeRi54FBO3ZnRDSYbxAtJY3AD_6RDI/s1600/Sweeney+Todd+poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFg5iaSTASxaKGBqQNLSyxDIzlVxw3x2YQYnHaDDVOI0ce2YBEQmtpeLcIzWYhuXoD5rTjri_mOiaZW5lshmn_GqS0dQA_qGnWMCgPHCQFFhlqWAeRi54FBO3ZnRDSYbxAtJY3AD_6RDI/s320/Sweeney+Todd+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519988382791828450" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstumpy%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">UK</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1936 b&w<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">aka </span>The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Director</span> George King <span style="font-style: italic;">Writer </span>Frederick Hayward<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast </span>Tod Slaughter (Sweeney Todd), Stella <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Rho</st1:place></st1:city> (Mrs Lovatt), Johnny Singer (Tobias Rag), Eve Lister (Johanna Oakley)</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BRkKupGlno4COKurj8cc0nqQlb2DtwJ3USacVZy37lyHEZhntDxhckaxgoVNf6-sgKgmGIv_E1vhdJYdf3nsuzE9pikBKJgpfgnRr1W7MCrWRayHLSvOBGy89sNyCzI-TeEKBm1Q1c4/s1600/Sweeney+Todd+title+card.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BRkKupGlno4COKurj8cc0nqQlb2DtwJ3USacVZy37lyHEZhntDxhckaxgoVNf6-sgKgmGIv_E1vhdJYdf3nsuzE9pikBKJgpfgnRr1W7MCrWRayHLSvOBGy89sNyCzI-TeEKBm1Q1c4/s200/Sweeney+Todd+title+card.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519988498451347410" border="0" /></a>Tonight we visit Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. For those one or two of you expecting the recent version, I'm sorry to say there's no Johnny Depp and THANKFULLY no Helena Bonham Carter, no Tim Burton visuals, and not one single musical number. Instead we give you Tod Slaughter's 1936 adaptation - BLOOD and THUNDER, madness, greed, murder and a hint of cannibalism.
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<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LH9DDIQ7KjWqEGOtzwaEUPhV9fI0SpgT7qq9ea9jXod0hp40Va66W6lFQoW6oq-fJ5RmRNQLMAZkXcSA4ibjO57WNELhQpNMFQj7QtBsj1OK_U5XO7Xlpy_3Sgmc-TBUhYK0x-HZfL8/s1600/Sweeney+Todd+photo+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 158px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LH9DDIQ7KjWqEGOtzwaEUPhV9fI0SpgT7qq9ea9jXod0hp40Va66W6lFQoW6oq-fJ5RmRNQLMAZkXcSA4ibjO57WNELhQpNMFQj7QtBsj1OK_U5XO7Xlpy_3Sgmc-TBUhYK0x-HZfL8/s200/Sweeney+Todd+photo+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519988804209739186" border="0" /></a>It's the second Tod Slaughter film we've brought you on Schlock Treatment, and for the forgotten anti-hero of British pre-war horrors, it's one of his most fondly remembered. An ageing <st1:place st="on">East End</st1:place> impresario and renowned stage villain specializing in lurid Victorian-era melodramas, Tod Slaughter (real name Norman Slaughter) made the transition from theatre to film in 1935 with his most iconic stage performance in Murder In The Red Barn. The problem with film, of course, is that it's forever, and so Slaughter's stage rendition became old quickly. So Slaughter raided his somewhat limited box of tricks, and as a follow-up filmed his equally rousing performance as the slash-happy <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> barber for Sweeney Todd in 1936. An unmitigated drunkard and attention whore, Slaughter would prop himself against the bar during intervals and continue to give his theatre audience the evil eye. Now that's dedication to your craft!</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_-V3qT-a625u0D0onvTQWM2kzNgk-zV3GlR02Q__a0SVSuh643t88xhbEplJKG2xy9iDs_s30hM3z0xHVGl2Kv3WIm24Jl-BFxjHXJr3xwPNLJ6jZwaIJ4tBQpfpdZ356jIH5PQtGt0/s1600/Sweeney+Todd+photo+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_-V3qT-a625u0D0onvTQWM2kzNgk-zV3GlR02Q__a0SVSuh643t88xhbEplJKG2xy9iDs_s30hM3z0xHVGl2Kv3WIm24Jl-BFxjHXJr3xwPNLJ6jZwaIJ4tBQpfpdZ356jIH5PQtGt0/s200/Sweeney+Todd+photo+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519988502615079890" border="0" /></a>Slaughter as demon barber Sweeney Todd prowls around <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>'s dockside looking for custom for his Fleet Street shavery. He's suitably sleazy and greasy to the point of redefining the term “obsequious”, and on the scrounge for lost souls with a few quid in their pockets ripe for the taking. “I loooove my work!” he oozes, and his fetish for bared throats is clear, as is his predilection for easy pickings. Once in Todd's flippable barber chair, the hapless victim is quickly dispatched to the cellar, where the body is stripped of cash and jewels and Todd's partner in crime, neighbouring pie maker Mrs Lovett, finds a way of dealing with the unwanted bodies. Theirs is an uneasy alliance in greed and one can only assume unrequited lust, at least on the part of poor jealous Mrs Lovett; once Todd slaps his varnished eyeballs on Joanna, daughter of a shipping magnate he's planning on fleecing, his tidy arrangement starts to fall apart at the seams. Enter a suspicious orphan apprentice and Mark, Joanna's betrothed, and it's clear that Sweeney will be, in his words, “soon polished orff”.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0Pr1vKtj6WTHeKEBjuHc91BG1Rkvzshud561ZpjketsWHgsD7mkTe_OpvarpBmEXhYzFdAZgp8jcBeuOodKwWuiJXXqFwJ2UhX2IzaxyY97V3bdpYTKApkGg8SdIlY1fKKJLlM0vL2k/s1600/Sweeney+Todd+photo+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 152px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0Pr1vKtj6WTHeKEBjuHc91BG1Rkvzshud561ZpjketsWHgsD7mkTe_OpvarpBmEXhYzFdAZgp8jcBeuOodKwWuiJXXqFwJ2UhX2IzaxyY97V3bdpYTKApkGg8SdIlY1fKKJLlM0vL2k/s200/Sweeney+Todd+photo+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519988799885140434" border="0" /></a>The stagebound film version of Sweeney Todd deviates very little from the play that had done the rounds of Victorian stalls since in the mid Nineteenth Century, and that includes Slaughter in the title role. It's clear Slaughter is relishing every moment playing his beloved Sweeney with his broad grins and grimaces, sinister brow-arching, cackling and sideways glances to the camera standing in for his audience, all gloriously intact. It's a wonder he didn't trade in the theatre schtick for a film career sooner, as he possesses all the trappings of a silent movie villain minus the top hat and twirly mustache. It was indeed a limited box of tricks, and was ultimately Slaughter's downfall once he's exhausted his stage repertoire; his post-war career was patchy to non-existent, and he died penniless and forgotten in 1956.</p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal">Thankfully film IS forever – not every film of course, but Slaughter's back catalogue is still with us and ripe for the plucking. Here's to you, you sozzled limelight hog, as you tread the boards once more in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street</span>. And now Inspector – arrest that woman for being deliciously filling!<span style=""> </span>Take that man away for making a dishonest crust!</p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17556748701863554140noreply@blogger.com0