Stille Nacht - Happy Christmas (War Is Over - Temporarily - A Century Ago Today...)

Stille Nacht by Franklin Marsh

(Illustration by Rog Pile)


The mournful notes of the harmonica drifted on the air. All of the lads thought of back home. Wives, girlfriends, parents, grandparents. Decorating the tree, putting out the presents, cooking the meal…

Sergeant Croker spat out his roll-up, and looked out across No-Man’s Land. Mist drifted across the small strip of mud , bordered by barbed wire. It was quiet

Croker squinted. He thought he could see movement. What were they up to? Not an attack? Not tonight?

He unshouldered his Lee-Enfield, and aimed it between two sandbags, out across the partially obscured terrain, towards the enemy.

“Trouble, Sarge?” a voice breathed in his ear. Corporal Gibbs.

“Movement, “ whispered Croker.

The mouth organ had fallen silent, and the sergeant was aware of an increasing tension within the trench. He heard small sounds; helmets being placed on heads, rifles cocked, bodies moving forward to look out of their stronghold.

Croker’s finger tightened on the trigger. It took an incredible effort to control it as an item flew out of the mist and landed in the mud in front of them. The sergeant was frozen. He became aware of exhalations of relief around him.

“If it’s a bomb, it’s a dud!”

“I thought is was a ‘ead!”

“Don’t move, lads,” he whispered.

A flare rocketed up from their opposite numbers, exploding an unearthly whiteness across the sky, harshly exposing the wasteland before them.

“It’s a football,” gasped Mathers, the young private with the harmonica. “Sir? Do you think they want ….a game?”

“Keep still,” said Gibbs, quietly, but with an undertone of menace.

Croker increased the pressure on the trigger of his rifle as the figures began to appear from within the mist. He could hear laughter, words drunkenly spoken in a foreign language. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

The flare, fizzing and burning brightly under its little parachute, hit the ground. The light now came from beneath the figures standing in front of the trench, giving them an unnatural appearance.

Croker brushed away the sweat and frowned. He couldn’t quite make out the faces under the helmets. Were these men mad? He should open fire, and order Gibbs and the lads to do the same, but something about these….things made him hold back. They seemed unarmed. They had just upped and walked over from the other trench….or had they? He’d only seen them emerge from the mist.

His hands on the rifle began to tremble.

One of the mysterious figures threw something into their trench. The soldiers drew back.

“What is it?” Croker practically screamed. Mathers gingerly prodded the package with his rifle.

“Well?” grunted Gibbs.

“It’s….it’s….sweets, Sir.”

The young man sounded almost embarrassed.

“What?” ejaculated the sergeant.

“Sweets.”

“What sort?”

“Don’t know, Sir. They’re not marked. Just little things wrapped up like….sweets.”

“Don’t touch ‘em!” barked Gibbs. “Might be poisoned.”

The figures in front of Croker almost seemed to float within the mist. One would eddy toward him. He’d re-aim his rifle, the figure would drift back and another would edge forward. He couldn’t keep tabs on them all simultaneously, and, as a group, they all seemed to be nearer to him.

“Corp,” he said, “ shoot one of ‘em.”

“Sir?”

Gibbs sounded hesitant.

“Shoot one. Now.”

“Sir.”

The corporal hefted his rifle and took aim. The creatures backed away, but not too far. The report from the rifle was curiously muffled. Croker watched one of things jerk back. It screamed. Hideously. In the shadows under the wraith’s helmet, Croker could see a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. It wasn’t human. And it remained standing.

The other things had circled anxiously after the shot and flinched at the sound of their comrade’s pain. Emboldened by his refusal to fall, they all spread their arms, like Death Angel wings, and advanced upon the trench.

“Rapid fire!” bellowed Croker. “Mark your targets!”

The small band of soldiers didn’t move. The sergeant looked round in despair.

“Come on, lads! I said….”

He felt the cold hand of Death upon him and turned to confront the thing that seized his tunic. The mouth opened obscenely and unnaturally wide, stinking stringy saliva dripped from the fangs.

He forced his head to the side, to see his paralysed troops being overwhelmed by the gliding creatures, sighing more than screaming as the things covered them.

Croker didn’t feel any pain, more a weakening, as if his life essence were being drained. He looked back across the mist-shrouded No-Man’s Land, and saw more of the creatures descending into the enemy’s positions. The enemy? They had a common enemy. He must inform….

Darkness descended.

Bad Film Boogie - what exactly constitutes a "bad" film?

Godzilla Vs The Smog Monster

Black Cobra

The Incredible Melting Man

Ulli Lommel’s Black Dahlia

Plan 9 From Outer Space

I watched all of the above five films recently. All could perhaps be swept into the garbage pail of “bad” films. Indeedy, my interest in Godzilla Vs The Smog Monster was piqued by it’s inclusion within a tome entitled The Fifty Worst Films Of All Time. I didn’t necessarily agree with the authors selection, as at least two of the fifty (Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia and The Omen (1976)) would have featured high on a list of films that I appreciated. The articles describing GVTSM and a 1930s all-midget western called The Terror Of Tiny Town made me laugh out loud.





Channel 4 showed 10 films that represented “The Worst Of Hollywood” circa 1983 complete with abysmally patronising comments. My brother, my friend and myself would hie us to the pub and roll back smashed to jeer this tosh. I have a low alcohol threshold which was exceeded on the night GVTSM was screened so I completely missed it, although I believe C4 may have had technical problems that night, and only showed about half the film.

I didn’t actually get to see it until hordes of original Godzilla flicks were released on video in the UK, and I picked up this Holy Grail. Much to my surprise I thoroughly enjoyed it. It’s mixture of men in rubber suits slugging it out in dioramas, pseudo-60s psychedelia and heavy-handed anti-pollution messages were right up my street, and I felt proud that World Cinema could be so accessible. I recently revisited it through a Korean DVD. Expecting the film to be in Korean, I activated the English subtitles only to be confronted with an English dub. Much to my delight, the film’s already surreal visuals were accompanied by subtitles that only matched what was being said around 50% of the time. The other half either directly contradicted what was being said, or went their own sweet way, my favourite being a Japanese military commander’s barked “Damn’ fool!” being translated as “Stupid bastard!”

Can’t think why I wanted to see Black Cobra, unless it was a desire to take a look at a recently discovered new subgenre entitled “Poliziotteschi”, or violent Italian police thrillers. I’ve enjoyed a few spaghetti westerns, Italian Zombi films, gialli etc, so a 50 pence DVD with Fred Williamson on the cover seemed to say ‘Give us a go!’
My version was a transfer from NTSC video and apparently censored, so I didn’t get the full benefit. In fact the only saving graces seemed to be Fred Williamson, especially in his Tonik suit at the end, and a nifty reversal of sexism scene. I’ll obviously need to seek out other versions of this particular genre, and I don’t think Black Cobra 2, Black Cobra 3 or Black Cobra 4 will help.

I saw The Incredible Melting Man at the cinema twice in one week back in the day. I watched a knackered Vipco DVD which was better quality than I expected and was transported back to my wide-eyed youth. I can understand why people wouldn’t like something like this, but I found it fascinating. The adventures of the severed head in the stream, and the completely gratuitous exposure of Rainbeaux Smith’s chest make films like this transcend any form of criticism. You honestly don’t need good scripts, Oscar-winning acting, crisp cinematography and all that hogwash, do you?

I also don’t quite know how Ulli Lommel’s serial killer cheapo straight to DVD series garnered my attention, unless it was the hatred, bile and sheer venom they inspire on IMDB, especially from eejits who’ve been suckered into watching them thinking they were a different (more big budget) film, in the Asylum style.

I’d suffered Son Of Sam, rather enjoyed The Raven and was equally entertained by Black Dahlia. I liked Ellroy’s book and Brian De Palma’s film too. Like most of Lommel’s work of this period, it seems to be shot very cheaply on a camcorder, features actors of no discernable skill, and special effects that are less than special. But it holds the interest. I don’t know why. I think any film that provokes a reaction and ‘reviews’ of the calibre of “It’s shit!” or (groan) “I’ll never get that (fill in feature running length or amount of expenditure) back!”

Which brings us to Plan 9 From Outer Space.Held up against Black Dahlia, it honestly is a quality film. Entertaining on any amount of levels, it’s a proper Hollywood production compared to contemporary DTV films, Wood’s dialogue is brilliantly unbelievable, and, like good ol’ Godzilla Vs The Smog Monster, it carries an important message about man’s inherent capability to destroy his planet.

Bad films? They each have something to offer in their own innocent way.

H R Giger - prog rock and b movie inspiration

“Don't be so gloomy. After all it's not that awful. Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce The cuckoo clock.” said Harry Lime (Orson Welles) in The Third Man.

Well good old Switzerland also produced H R Giger, a-1 nutboy and biomechanical artist whose dark sexual paintings can’t help but affect anyone who sees them.

My father used to play darts at a local pub. Apparently there was some sort of recording studio nearby, and some young lads who worked there would often bring in LPs to use as prizes in competitions. Dad picked up a few of these, so you would have the anomaly of flicking through his record collection of Roy Orbison, Tom Jones, Englebery Humperdinck, Marty Robbins, endless Max Bygraves sing-alongs and suddenly come up short with something like Ahh The Name Is Bootsy Baby (funk?!?!?) or Brain Salad Surgery.

I miss LPs in that they were a lot bigger than CDs so you could get the full effect of magnificent artwork, such as that of Giger for the ELP album. A biomechanical skull embedded in earthy metalwork, topping a circle that revealed what appeared to be a normal woman’s mouth. The cover opened up to reveal an odd cobra woman. This painting was as startling as the music.

Of course, at the time I didn’t know this was by Giger. It wouldn’t be until Alien that his weird world would properly come into focus. I did have The Book Of Alien and the Cinefantastique Alien edition that drew one into his world. Can vaguely remember the controversy surrounding the Dead Kennedys inclusion of a poster of HRG’s Penis Landscape with their album Frankenchrist, and something like Time Out printing the picture, in those halcyon pre-Internet days.

The obvious tribute (Should I be so maudlin and pretentious) would have been to watch Alien, but, me being me, I watched Species, an hilarious B Movie with A Movie ambition, featuring Sir Ben Ghandi, Forest Twitaker, Alfred Molina as a Harvard anthropologist with a marvellous fruity Brit accent and Michael Madsen as the requisite bit of rough to deal with the action sequences. Giger’s alien design is used sparingly and is inevitably derivative, but the film as a whole is ludicrous fun, teetering on the brink of (possibly intentional) comedy.

Scream Of The Wolf

With regard to my earlier comments about David Case's The Hunter, thanks to e-bay and a kindly Australian gentleman, I finally got to see the 1974 ABC Movie Of The Week version, starring Peter Graves as Wetherby and Clint Walker as Byron. You'd think with Richard Matheson writing the screenplay and Dan Curtis directing, we'd really have something here, but it doesn't quite materialise. We start off dodgily in sunny Californ-aye-ay, but with a couple of eerie fog-bound killings. It seems these killings precede the inevitable commercial break, and you can bet your bottom dollar that we'll be back after the fade out with hordes of police cars. This is at first amusing, then annoying. The police are baffled and call in Wetherby. He's baffled as per the original story to the exact nature of the beast. Byron is refusing to get involved. Wetherby's part-time girlfriend (Jo Ann Pflug) doesn't like him anyway. He has a habit of turning up at odd moments, watching the confusion with a detached bemusement. I mistook Clint Walker's hulking size and slow delivery for dimness at first, but as the film proceeds, it really makes a mark. Byron is far more in control than anyone else. Matheson has the good taste to bring in a scene directly from the original story where some know-all challenges Byron's somewhat primitive outlook on life, and the result is amusing and worrying. The second half of the film is much better, embodying some of the claustrophobic nature of Case's writing, and the ending is well-handled and offers more closure than the tale, perhaps in keeping with US TV. Much better than I expected

The Pit....And The Pendulum

Recently watched The Pit (1962) a short ( just less than half an hour) experimental film, funded by the BFI, based on Edgar Allan Poe’s short story. Filmed in black and white with a very discordant score, it’s extremely creepy and a very good take on that particular tale.

As a result I reread EAP’s story and was very disappointed to find that although replete with horror and menace, Edgar’s version had a happy ending! Sellout!

‘Twas but a short step to the Roger Corman outing. Although Richard Matheson more or less jettisoned the story, it’s an amazingly atmospheric piece of work. There’s a castle, full of torture instruments, cobwebs (although this may be the only Corman Poe film that doesn’t feature the obligatory tarantula), secret passages. It’s by the sea (apparently representing the unconscious) so there are lots of wonderful waves-crashing-against-the-rocks shots. And there’s Vincent Price (who, like the tarantula, only missed one of the series). People have criticised his madness as being, well, a bit hammy, but, goodness gracious, we all go a little mad sometimes, and I’m all for my madmen and women being totally MAD.

There’s a storm at the end too.

2000 Maniacs/2001 Maniacs

How far have we come in 40 years? What makes a good remake? Can you call someone being ripped apart by four horses going in four different directions entertainment?
Herschell Gordon Lewis' gore films aren't particularly good, but they're great examples of exactly what it says on the tin. If you know his name, you know what to expect.
Brought to my attention as one of the so-called worst directors of all time by the Medveds in The Golden Turkey Awards, then given tantalising glimpses of his actual films (along with those of Russ Meyer and John Waters) by Jonathan Ross in his Channel 4 series The Incredibly Strange Film Show, I didn't think I'd ever get to see any of his pictures, but the video and then DVD revolution changed things completely.
I sat through dodgy tapes of the pioneering Blood Feast, followed by The Wizard Of Gore and The Gore-Gore Girls. I later obtained official 18 certificate vids of She-Devils On Wheels and 2,000 Maniacs - the latter being completely shorn of what I expected to see - so last night's screening of the DVD was the first time I'd seen the thing in its entirety.
Terrible sound and unconvincing acting couldn't detract from the prurient tension in awaiting the gore scenes. And the whole thing had a kind of terrible inevitability about it, the ending even adding a delightful supernatural touch (and Brigadoon comparisons). The blood letting seems rather odd - tame by today's standards but, taking into account when it was made, at the same time excessive. Made in 1964, reticent about the race angle (apart from possibly the children's little string nooses), the Southern resentment of the North put into perspective by the Civil War backstory. Ill-executed (sorry) but somehow more interesting than you'd think.
In fact, probably a better film to remake than the so-called classics, be they Frankenstein and Dracula, or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Hallowe'en or A Nightmare On Elm Street.
A bad start for 2001 Maniacs, foregrounding the War Between The States during the credits, and then into the inevitable college kids stupidity. Still, it'll be enjoyable watching these dickheads get theirs, more so than the innocuous twenty-somethings of the original.
Once our Spring Breakers head into Pleasant Valley, things begin to pick up - Deliverance has been mentioned, there were a couple of nods to TCM, and then there's Mayor Buckland (played by a hamming Robert Englund) complete with Stars and Bars eyepatch. There's the expected profanity and sex absent from the previous entry, and race issues are brought up, albeit in a kind of deliberately politically incorrect way,
Despite the modernity, even 2001 can't help dragging a bit in places, but it's a lot of fun, acknowledging HGL's work and taking it further. Heck, there's even a Gone With The Wind reference.
The two films compliment one another - one's enjoyment of 2001 enhanced by knowledge of 2000. Some of the later film actually makes the earlier one look better.

Bollock Brothers - Mythology

Another load of old testes from Jock MacDonald. There’s something about them that fascinates. Perhaps it’s because, as the Trouser Press reviewer states, there’s no-one else quite like them, and they’re not easily categorised – apart from those who’d label them ‘crap’ which seems to be all but a few.


To set the scene –

The news that the Bollock Brothers (or is it those two French DJs?) are playing in London this Friday (June 11th 2010) got me to thinking about them and the 4 Be 2s. First heard of Jock MacDonald in connection with trying to organise 1,000 punk a side football matches and tug o’wars as the 1970s faded into the 1980s , and later as a purveyor of dodgy vinyl Pistols bootlegs such as Anarchy In The UK and Never Trust A Hippy.

Someone pointed me in the direction of the 4 Be 2s first single (One Of The Lads) a bizarre dub rock effort which was catchy (though I couldn’t really take to the B side (UmmBaba). The picture cover featured blokes wearing horror masks and military uniforms. My guide pointed out that one was Jimmy Lydon (John’s brother) who had a penchant for German WWII memorabilia and you could see his dodgy eye behind the mask, as someone had whacked him for wearing an Iron Cross (Don’t know if that was true). Their second single Frustration was a brilliant ska style singalong about being gaoled for murdering your girlfriend. The B Side was equally brilliant – a cover of The Who’s I Can’t Explain which sounded like Bowie’s version from Pin-Ups – but speeded up and on steroids. Their final effort was an instrumental reworking of their first single this time called All Of The Lads in aid of youngsters killed in a disco fire in Dublin. The B-side featured a dreadful mysogynist dirge called Bitch, and another cheery ska hopalong called Jimmy Jones about the nutter who got all those folk over to Guyana then had them commit mass suicide by drinking poisoned Kool-Aid.

Saw them at the Lyceum supported by other North London stalwarts Infa-Riot and The Dark. (and Chelsea). Just remember Jock (?) calling for a minutes silence for the perished youth of Dublin, mass audience speculation as to whether one of the many figures in shadow back stage was John Lydon, and hordes of pogoing and congaing Arsenal skins as Jimmy (in a bright green suit) led the festivities. Mind you, being a devout coward I left early as there were loads of less than happy West Ham skins up the back.

I know they played a St Patrick’s Day hooley at the Rainbow, supported by The Bollock Brothers and Pope Paul & The Romans.

The BBs recorded career seems long & dubious. I bought The Bunker and wasn’t surprised that it didn’t feature in the Anthony Hopkins as Adolf Hitler TV movie. I bought The Act Became Real (about Ronnie Reagan) but it didn’t seem to be much of an improvement. They did their version of NMTB with Palace Prowler Michael Fagan – I saw them at The Marquee – masses of tourists going bananas to the Pistols songs. A review in Sounds consisted solely of Jack Barron phoning the Marquee for a free ticket then playing Space Invaders. Journalists, eh? They then seemed to latch onto the Batcave thing and pretend to be Goths – using Horror Film imagery on their 12 inchers. The B Side of The Slow Removal Of Vincent Van Gogh’s Left Ear featured ‘Paul Gadd Jr’ singing Rock ‘N’ Roll. Bizarrely they seemd very popular in Europe. I was surprised to find The Last Supper on CD in Germany.

We’ll Be There (by Rabbie Burns & The Ticket Touts – a refusal to accept the blanket ban on Scotsmen at Wembley after they trashed the place in ‘75) as the cover featured Jock and a bemused Lydon – the latter to the outrage of the English music press. Other one-offs included the now outdated Why Won’t Rangers Sign A Catholic Centre Forward (a collection of pro-Celtic, anti-Rangers chants set to punk thud ‘n’ blunder with a synth burbling over the top) by Pope Paul & The Romans, and a (Chelsea supporting) acquaintance of mine owned Good Old Arsenal by The Sex Bristols. (a retread of Frustration, encompassing pro-Arsenal, anti-Tottenham chants – which I believe led to Messrs Lydon and McDonald being prosecuted for something like incitement to racial hatred, and Jock appearing in the witness box to explain that a certain three letter word beginning with Y wasn’t a racial slur on Jews but an expression for a follower of Tottenham Hotspur.)

Ever read Johnny Rogan’s examination of The Smiths – Morrissey & Marr : The Severed Alliance? It mentions Morrissey fronting the Nosebleeds (bet he was no Ed Banger) and supporting the BBs in Belgium (surely the nadir of his musical career?)

Also check out Prince Charming – one of those cheap paperbacks rushed out the celebrate the fleeting fame of pop stars (the only other people who seem to merit this cut and paste storytelling are serial killers) in this case Adam Ant. It documents the bizarre episode of Top Of The Pops where, the audience contained many sprightly young men in “I’ve Been Hit By A 4” Be 2” “ t-shirts (I had one!) attempting to hog the camera, and the tabloid aftermath on the morrow, where Adam (and at least one Ant) had been assaulted by these yobs.

So. Mythology

GDM – Jock prowls the streets of London and beyond, looking for handsome young men to lure between his sheets. Apparently an answer to the German electro-pop tune No GDM by Gina X, itself a reference to Quentin Crisp and no Great Dark Man (according to what I googled.)

Spooky

Beats Of Love

GDM, Spooky and Beats of Love are all Euro-Disco stuff, and not the BBs I really get on with.

Dinner With Dracula – this is more like it! The familiar sub-Pistols drone, overlapped with thunder, tolling bells, what sounds like voice-over merchant Bill Mitchell impersonating Bela Lugosi (rather badly), Hammer music and then a description of the approach to Castle Dracula – by a distorted voice. If I can find my old Hammer/Christopher Lee Dracula LP I’ll have to check if that’s where the BBs nicked it from. Their single (under the Red Lipstique alias?) Return Of The Vampyre is alleged to feature Sir Chris

My Fair Daughter – Jock’s daughter reciting London Bridge Is Falling Down for 20 seconds. Oh dear. Possibly a parody of The Clash or Psychic TV.

Monster Mash – a rather leaden cover of Bobby ‘Boris’ Pickett’s classic made infinitely worse by seguing into the original at the end.

Wiped Out – More sub-Pistols posturing, through the Surfaris Wipe Out – sadly misses the drumming , but a good grind nonetheless.

For Your Blood – Another crappy pseudo-Goth Disco cover, this time of For Your Love by The Yardbirds. It’s preferable to the first three, but not by much.

Wilde Mythology – now, along with Dinner With Dracula, this is a good one. Jock and a EuroLady sing the praises of Oscar (or possibly Oskar) Wilde and his search for beauty.

Legend Piano Mix – someone playing the piano quite well.

Slim pickings here unfortunately, but three of ‘em are worth what I paid for it.

Zodiac Mindwarp & The Love Reaction - Hoodlum Thunder

Thinking of Alice Cooper always puts me in mind of Zodiac and his cohorts. The first time I saw Alice live (The Nightmare Returns, Wembley Arena ’86?), Zod was supposed to be supporting. Brother and I built them up to our two fellow gig-goers as something stupendous, and one of these lads was horrified when Dr And The Medics took to the stage, the good Doctor explaining that ‘Mark’ (aka Zodiac, like Alice is ‘Vince’) had fallen off stage the night before so they were standing in. Weirdly, over 20 years later, the last time I saw Alice live (a couple of Hallowe’ens ago at the Roundhouse), Zodiac did turn up.

As I said at the time ‘four men walk to the front of the stage, hands on hearts as Matt Monro warbling Born Free blares from the sound system. Two are young, thin, long-haired; the other two are fat and old. I hadn't seen Zodiac Mindwarp & The Love Reaction since the Marquee was in Charing Cross Road but here they were, back with a vengeance and half of them larger than ever (shurley life?). The two new boys drummer The Cat aka The Sexiest Man In The World and bassist Head Boy (?) were good but it was grizzled veterans the silly Zod himself and geetarist Cobalt Stargazer (soon to revealed as Co-bald Stargazer ) who inevitably stole the show. They kicked off with Live Dangerously But Not Pretty, but the next two numbers (High Priest Of Love and Backseat Education) really let the good times roll. Top stuff - funny, moving, ridiculous. They did the one that got 'em in the charts, on TOTP, and into my heart : Prime Mover.’

Zodiac and Alice co-wrote Feed My Frankenstein (which both outfits recorded in their own way) too.

Which leads us to the fact that, after rejuvenating my adrenalin levels with Alice’s Constrictor, I pulled Zodiac’s second album from the shelves, and put it onto the cranked up sound system. Wow! I thought it didn’t quite recapture the power, speed and grandeur of their debut (Tattooed Beat Messiah) it’s been so long since I listened to this stuff, that I was delighted to be completely blown away.

Elvis Died For You – “Whether you’re black or white, young or old, country redneck or freak….Elvis Presley will still be the King Of Rock ’N’ Roll’ says the opening, presumably sampled from some interview from ’77, and we’re off with the Love Reaction storming through a perverse tribute to Elvis. Mention of Roberto Duran, F1-11 fighters and lines like ‘Poetry howls like Ginsberg’ never fail to excite.

Tomorrow Belongs To The Love Reaction – it should have done. Anthemic celebration, with menacing spoken word section. 2 out of 2.

Feed My Frankenstein – there you go!

Trash Madonna – must we fling this filth at our pop kids? Disgraceful pornography with a good beat – ‘Bend over, Windsor’ growled Zod at the Old Trout Psychedelic Dancehall. Them were the days.

Airline Highway – it’s not all sleaze and cartoon pulp imagery, as the band lay into corrupt TV evangelists.

Chainsaw – the kind of woman only Zodiac could create.

President Of The United States Of Love – fantastic! If this doesn’t have you punching the air (and thinking of Bill Clinton), you’re dead.

Dr Jekyll And Me – a walk on the dark side (but still tongue in cheek)

Hoodlum Thunder – apart from Prime Mover, possibly the greatest song ever from these buzzards, and this is serious, I think. A seething rage against the atomic bomb and those who would use it. If Oppenheimer did say ‘Thank God it wasn’t a dud’ when The Bomb hit Hiroshima, which God was he thanking?

Meanstreak – the gloriously slow comedown – Zod’s own Sympathy For The Devil.

Alice Cooper - Constrictor

Alice! First seen circa ’71 via Reveille or (ahem) Titbits magazine at our cousins in Oxfordshire. Outrageous scenes of blood-filled dolls being ‘corrected’ with a hatchet. During said sojourn in the countryside Mr Cooper popped up on Top Of The Pops with School’s Out, bursting bubbles with a rapier. Brother & I thought him great. Our older relations jeered that he couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding. And so began an on-off love affair with the man, his image and his music that lasts to this day.


I’ve always meant to pick up this album, and the fact that it arrived yesterday wrenched me from a slough of despond. Like David Bowie, Alice has always been a bit of a chameleon, adapting his sound to suit the times. Not always successfully, but then he’s never rested on his laurels, and always proved willing to take a chance.

After problems with the booze and (allegedly) recording around three albums he couldn’t remember recording, the Nightmare returned with this stonking set of 80s blaring feelgood metaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal. I was fortunate enough to see him live for the first time during this comeback, and he lived up to every expectation

Teenage Frankenstein – Rock ‘n’ roll! I think this was the one where he built up some boxes on stage and …they came to life! Terrific evocation of the awkwardness of those difficult years.

Give It Up – Slating the life of the normal (even if I’m living it) is always a tonic, and this is so rousing

Thrill My Gorilla – the very title of this song propels this album into classic status.

Life And Death Of The Party – Phew! After three jet-propelled rockers, it’s time to stand back a little and reflect, with a dash of the old morbid Alice.

Simple Disobedience - Indeed

The World Needs Guts – back to blasting, stand-up-for-yourself rawk– greatness.

Trick Bag – still fun, but lacking some the sheer verve of its predecessors.

The Great American Success Story – Yippee! Apparently an unwanted or discarded theme for Rodney Dangerfield’s film Back To School, it’s great.

He’s Back (The Man Behind The Mask) – What a way to finish! Synth heavy, but with a bit o’ geetar in the middle, this is AC stalking the graveyard once again. F13 VI was top stuff, with Jason shedding the serial killer mantle to become supernatural, resurrected by lightning in the middle of a rainstorm. The film also featured a Karloff’s General Store ISTR. Crikey, Dokken churned out a theme for A Nightmare On Elm St III (and Alice (or at least his voice) actually turned up in ANOES IV – with Iggy singing the theme), the Ramones gave us Pet Semetary and The Dickies Killer Klowns From Outer Space. This is what we want.

David Case - The Hunter

The Pan Books Of Horror were a rite of passage for my generation, similar to the next generation and video nasties. We had to read and use our imaginations.


The Twelfth Pan Book Of Horror (with a cover featuring a skeleton emerging from ice) featured a long short story (sic) called The Hunter. In fact, it takes up about half the book. It's a wonderfully English tale set on Bodmin Moor so I was very surprised to find out that David Case was American.

You wouldn't know it from the story, apart from a God-Damn and an I guess.

A penny-pinching hiker is perambulating across Bodmin Moor when he discovers a body, brutally savaged - and headless.

Cut to Wetherby in The Venturers Club, both a little past their prime. Our man has retired from big-game hunting and the club is now open to long-haired youngsters who don’t share the same passion for the hunt or exploration as the original members.

His quiet evening is interrupted by the arrival of old member Justin Bell. Bell is a no-nonsense copper whose membership only just got though on the basis of (or despite) his job.

Bell clues Wetherby in on the savage killing in Bodmin. The police are baffled (?!) and Bell thinks his old friend’s skills will help. Coincidentally, there’s another Venturer, the enigmatic Byron, who lives nearby. He has declined to assist the Old Bill.

Wetherby, enthused by the chance to reignite his old way of life, and intrigued (though not surprised) by Byron’s refusal to help, agrees to assist – and they have to set off earlier than expected because there’s been another savage killing.

A commercial traveller had run out of petrol not far from the scene of the first killing, and upon leaving his car in the pouring rain, met with a bloody end and the loss of his head. I like what Case did with this character, a reversal of the usual commercial traveller arc.

Wetherby and Bell investigate. It seems that the creature walks bipedally towards its intended victim, charges on all fours to the kill, slashes away with savage claws…but how does it decapitate the target so cleanly….and what about tracks away from the corpse….?

A journalist shows up, fomenting disdain amongst the investigators (Case does a good job of humanising him) and, knowing the sort of hysterical headline his editor wants, begins to suggest lycanthropy. Anyone familiar some of Case’s other work (The Cell, Among The Wolves) will know that this may not be too far from expectations.

We have a pub called The King’s Torso with irascible landlord, a scene that really frightened me as a nipper – the discovery of the third victim, and Wetherby’s realisation that perhaps it’s been too long, and his idea of patrolling the moor alone at night to draw out the beast was not such a good idea.

It’s a cracking tale, full of nostalgic goodness for me. Probably unworkable these days due to mobile phones, although the remoteness of the moor might bugger up signals.

Byron, with his peculiar philosophy of what living means, meanders through the story, highlighting Wetherby’s decline and normality, and giving off an aura of Nietzschean superpower.

The ending is somewhat anticlimactic but it’s a great journey.

I’ve managed to track down a US TV movie based upon the story, called Scream Of The Wolf. It doesn’t seem to be highly thought of, despite the involvement of Dan Curtis and Richard Matheson. We shall see.

Before Dawn - Paddy From Emmerdale's Zombie Tale

Before Dawn


I mentioned at the end of the waffle about Disciple Of Death – could a crackpot vanity project like that get made these days? Well, not sure about the crackpot, but yes, a similar sort of thing is possible.

When my Mrs used to watch Emmerdale I always used to like the characters Paddy and Marlon. They had a hapless, it’s-all-going-to-hell-in-a-handbasket kind of outlook that wasn’t a million miles from mine. Turns out that actors Dominic Brunt and Mark Charnock (who I shall continue to refer to as Paddy and Marlon because that’s how I think of them) are big fans of horror films especially those featuring zombies – so much so that they organise an annual Zombie Film Festival in Leeds.

Paddy has taken this a step further by actually making one. His actress wife is none too keen on the gut-munching aspect of these films, so became involved in trying to …er…flesh out the story.

So….with a micro-budget and the assistance of the Emmerdale bosses re time off etc., the intrepid Pads and Mrs P have fashioned a curious little tale of the disintegration of a marriage with a couple of zombies thrown in.

With her mum (who hates him) looking after the kids, the couple get away from it all in a remote Yorkshire cottage. Signs that all is not well are picked up along their journey, but they’re for the audience’s benefit. It’s soon clear that, as far as she’s concerned, it’s all over but he has a desperate hope that’s there’s till something.

She awakens refreshed after a night’s sleep, while he’s struggling downstairs after a night on the sofa and the booze. She’s off for a run, whilst he prepares a conciliatory fry-up. And then the fun starts…

Well, it does if you’re keen on zombies. The film is so resolutely small scale it seems almost trivial, but there’s that nagging thought that this could be going on somewhere in the country. It doesn’t really hang together as a whole, but has some effective moments (mostly in the build-up , and the first zombie appearance) and I’m pleased for Paddy that he got to do it.

If you find the zombie groanings intensely irritating, they’re provided by Paddy and Marlon (and someone called Tony Earnshaw).

I have to take whoever designed the DVD cover to task as well – I hope no-one pickes this up expecting a ruined city, a shotgun and 30,000 zombies. There’s an isolated cottage, some kitchen utensils and a crowbar, and six undead

Mike Raven - Disciple Of Death

Austin Churton Fairman – crazy name, crazy guy. Better known to hordes of little boys who became enamoured of Horror Films, especially British ones, from the Golden Age of 1955 – 1976 (roughly spanning Hammer’s horror output from The Quatermass Xperiment to To The Devil- A Daughter – or some might chart it from The Curse Of Frankenstein (1956-7) to Pete Walker’s rise circa 1974) as Mike Raven. Good old Mike. He was a bit of a figure of fun, as a wannabe horror star who couldn’t quite make it. Check out it his Wikipedia entry if you’re unfamiliar with him, because he led quite an extraordinary life.

His British Horror credentials rest on four films –

I, Monster. It’s an Amicus film featuring Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing in a slight variation on Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde, so that’s pretty good stuff from the off. Mike doesn’t have a lot to do apart from chat to Peter Cushing.

Lust For A Vampire – a Hammer Film – so Mike’s still in the big league. This sequel to The Vampire Lovers extrapolates the further adventures of Carmilla (now Mircalla) Karnstein. Mike’s role as a kind of demonic supervisor is rather undefined, and he’s further hampered by having his voice dubbed by Valentine Dyall and his eyes by Christopher Lee. Apparently not a happy experience for him.

Crucible Of Terror – an independent production featuring Mike as a mad sculptor in Cornwall. He subsequently moved to Cornwall and became a sculptor, eschewing the madness. A nutty little film, which features James Bolam, and some actors and technicians who would join Mike for his swansong –

Disciple Of Death – The one of Mike’s films that had eluded me until last night. Mike, Tom Parkinson and their collaborators seem to go for broke on this one. It’s often jeered for being a somewhat shambolic, virtually am-dram production, financed by the participants, lurching from a fairly decent period horror piece to outright comedy (whether intentional or not) via all manner of WTFness. Like some of Jess Franco or Richard Dricoll’s work, I do enjoy a film that, even as you’re watching it, makes you disbelieve what you’re seeing.

Plotwise, it concern’s a young farmboy in love with the Squire’s daughter. Unable to plight their troth because of class barriers, financial problems and the burden of living in a small village, our unrequited lovers decide a cutting-of-thumbs blood pact will have to suffice – a drop of blood falls upon the ground, an satanic lord of the manor Mike is freed from Hell to cause mischief, mayhem and murder amongst the unsuspecting villagers.

The opening credit of 'Once upon a time...' sets the scene. Ronald Lacey (one of the Crucible refugees) shows up in an amazing wig - and those eyebrows! He's like a cross between Peter Bull and Joe Pesci as David Ferrie in JFK. His line 'A DWARF!' is one of the best, topped by an incredible performance in his church - growling 'There is evil abroad, my children' as he climbs onto the coffin of the deceased whose funeral he's supposed to be conducting, whilst Mike grins wickedly in the doorway and practically gives a tip of the hat. There's mucho Georges Melies special effects, Raven horse-riding around like Matthew Hopkins and coming out with those fantastic mid-line mood swings at the end - after bellowing about 'RACKING TORMENT!!!' he switches to ' Well, I'll be off then' with a classic '...'til we meet again (pause) IN HELL!!!' before shaking his fist melodramatically.

Could this sort of crackpot vanity project get made these days?

Clive Barker's Salome - wild, but ...Wilde...?

It's not often I'd advocate YouTube for anything other than popular music videos (how archaic is that?) but when I discovered a very young Clive Barker had made a version of Salome I was intrigued. Finding out it was a short, I thought the 'Tube might be the best place to try it out.
I discovered a 17 and a half minute version last night. Although apparently ambient music has been added I was forced by circumstance to watch it silent, but the imagery more than made up for any deficiency in sound. Gloomy, spooky, projecting a dark beauty at times, it was inventive and absorbing,

 Can't say whether there was any of Oscar in it - apart from the story line I didn't pick up on anything in particular. Interested to read that Clive cited Kenneth Anger as an influence. I was most reminded of Abel Ferrara's The Addiction which I saw recently. No particular reason other than morbid monochrome perhaps. The dance of the seven veils - if that was what was being represented - was especially emotive.

They were so lucky to have that cellar to use.

Your Face Here - British Cult Films

Your Face Here - Ali Catterall & Simon Wells
Fourth Estate Paperback 2001

British Cult Movies since the Sixties.

Ali & Simon examine 12 British Cult movies by talking to the people who made them, quoting from other sources and visiting the locations where they were filmed. They've also given me the impetus to watch these 12 films. One of them  I haven't seen before, and one I currently don't own a copy of, but hope to remedy soon. Some are based on books, some have boffo soundtracks, all have an essential Britishness and there's a terrific smorgasbord of music, sex, violence, alcohol, drugs, horror, laughter, weirdness, crime, sacrifice and murder.
All in a day's film-watching. Wales and Northern Ireland don't get much of a look-in, Scotland is well represented, there's predictably plenty of London but there's also Newcastle and Brighton and Liverpool by proxy.
Some great stories, some great talent, some great (and not so great) acting, and a verve, energy and wit that exhilarates.
There's also a sense of peeling back the exterior and giving the viewer a glimpse into worlds we would not otherwise (and might not want to) see.
Here's the list =
A Hard Day's Night
Blow Up
if...
Performance
Get Carter
A Clockwork Orange
The Wicker Man
Quadrophenia
Withnail & I
Naked
Trainspotting
Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels

So that's The Beatles, The Yardbirds, Robin Askwith, Mick Jagger, Alf Roberts, Fred Elliott, Sir Christopher Lee, Sting, Uncle Monty, Mike Leigh, Dale Winton and Vinnie Jones. See you (t)here.

Wild About Wilde - Wilde (2007)

I've often crossed paths with Oscar Wilde. The novel and a few film versions of The Picture Of Dorian Gray. The playscript (illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley) of Salome, Steven Berkoff's bizarre almost slow-motion stage version at the National Theatre, and good ol' Ken Russell's barking Salome's Last Dance (made as part of a bet that Ken could deliver a film for under a million pounds - he lost)

Last night I goggled at Stephen Fry's portrayal of Oscar in a film that played against expectations in part. The wife watched the opening and groaned 'Not a Western!' After watching Oscar eye up a few sweaty buff, stripped to the waist miners in the US of A, it's back to England for a whirlwind romance, marriage and two children.

The film is structured around Wilde's children's story The Selfish Giant, which comments upon proceedings.

When Brian Clough/Tony Blair/David Frost/the leader of the Lycans Michael Sheen turns up, it's not long before our Irish playwright is introduced to the wonderful world of homosexuality. He loves his wife and children, but his pursuit of youth and beauty leads him to pleasures forbidden by the normal world. In addition to Sheen, he lays beside Ioan...Ioann...you know Hornblower (sorry) and then a prominent member of the aristocracy Jude Law - where his problems really begin.

Two wildly (stop it!) successful plays (do West End theatregoers still call Author! Author! on first nights?) and Oscar's on top of the world, but Bosie is intruding upon his thoughts and time.

Lord Douglas' father (You are a sod...and a BUGGER!) loathes Wilde despite a relatively pleasant meeting. He attempts to control his family - with tragic results - and Oscar feels Bosie's pain in lack of family love in spite of the young man's spite, childishness, promiscuity.

The famous court case is dealt with in an unsensational manner, and Fry really excels here, exhibiting courage, honour and a belief in the higher nature of man. His lawyer remarks that the maximum sentence for gross indecency is two years hard labour, and men of their ilk could not take more than 9 months.

Oscar is made of stern stuff and bests the treadmill, with heartwarming support from his wife of all people (and Mr Sheen). Fry has displayed some terrific Wildean haircuts, and his prison hedgehog and boiler suit reminded me that I'm probably one of the few people who saw poor Stephen in Cell Mates before he contracted stage fright and fled to Belgium.

Wilde beats the system, but loses his wife, then his children. There's only Bosie left.

Jude Law has often proved a surprise and here he plays Bosie to the hilt, but the film is Fry's.

Fairport Convention - Farnham Maltings

Dragged the Mrs out a while back to see Fairport Convention when I was going through a bit of an electric folk stage, prompted by a band called Circulus.


After their BBC 4 documentary and gig at the Union Chapel, she was up for seeing them again, but was unfortunately taken ill on the night.

I set off alone for the Maltings in Farnham. It was pitch dark and pouring with rain. As I approached Farnham the police had blocked off the main road and were send us all to the right. I ended up lost in narrow back streets and then in a dead end. After a 180 point turn I somehow found myself in Castle Street and the car took over, whizzing straight to the Maltings car park.

Unable to flog the spare ticket, I took my seat (in the front row!) Dave Pegg appeared on stage sounding terrible and confirming the rest of the band were suffering from the lurgi. I noticed his arm was in a sling. Ulp! Yes, he’d suffered a bizarre dishwasher accident involving a glass, severing a tendon or two. Fortunately, his son is a very adept bass player and had stepped in to save the day (and tour).

Dave introduced support act Edwina Hayes, a Northern lass who, despite claiming her material focussed on misery, proved cheerfully upbeat and was joined by FC for her final number.

And onto the Fairports...

I could only stay for the first set but ‘twas an hour of sheer pleasure -


Jewel In The Crown - great opener, extolling the virtues of Great Britain with no disturbing nationalistic overtones.

Doctor Of Physick - the wicked Dr Monk in a Gothic tale.

I’m Already There - pleasant song (featuring a vicar called Franklin) of a trek from Canada to Oxfordshire and introduced by Chris who mentioned Banbury to little or no reaction. My maternal roots lie in a nearby village called Bloxham (apparently violinist Ric Sanders lives there!)

Home - a new song.

Theodore;s Song - another charming one from Chris about an Oxfordshire eccentric

Dirty Linen - highlight for me, a boffo jiggy instrumental introduced by Simon Nicol as Dirty Crockery as a tribute to Dave’s accident. So fast and furious, Matt (Dave’s son) had to go for lie down afterward.

Cell Song and Mercy Bay finished a great (if short) evening

 

Punk Rock Sex : Ramones - The Ramones

Punk is a difficult thing to define. Like many genres, it mutates and is formed by mutation so there is no definitive…er…definition. Were The Ramones punks? The word punk comes from America ISTR and , in my view described a crummy JD, a ne’er-do-well, a kid in a black leather jacket who hung around on street corners. He was so far out of fashion he was in fashion. He looked menacing but was a nice guy underneath.

The Ramones couldn’t put a foot wrong apart from never being successful, making more than three studio and one live album(s), and their core members dying. In a reversal of Spinal Tap mythology, the drummers survived.

Let’s hark back to their first fab waxing, recorded by turning the metronome up to its fastest level, putting the bass & guitar through different speakers, but centralising the vocals and drums – just like The Beatles in their early days.

1. "Blitzkrieg Bop"

Blitzkreig is German for lightning war and describes the initial Nazi assaults during their invasions of their European neighbours. Bop (possibly an abbreviation of bebop, a fast tempo jazz) can signify dancing, or hitting someone or just music. What a title! Loud fast aggressive music with punch. Indeedy. And the first line is Hey Ho, Let’s Go. 1-2-3-4 and Gabba Gabba Hey were to follow, but we have a band-defining Ramonic statement with the first line.

The kids then form in a straight line, go through a tight wind and lose their minds. They pile in the back seat, generate steam heat and pulsate to the backbeat. Phew! Not sure about shoot ‘em in the back now but ‘ What they want I don’t know, they’re all revved up and ready to go ‘ is about as perfect a description of being a teenager as I’ve heard.

I’m exhausted and we’ve only done song one.

2. "Beat on the Brat"

I like to think Joey wrote this as a reaction to going shopping and having some appalling child run riot. I filled in the final piece of my punk jigsaw by actually going to see some of the bands live. At approximately the same time I started attending football matches. When an opposition player was injured there were generally two chants – ‘Bring on the Bostik’ or ‘Hit him on the head/hit him on the head/hit him on the head with a baseball bat/oh yeah’. Did the Ramones attend a football match when they visited Britain? Or did football fans adapt and speed up the song? Adam Ant wasn’t keen if B-Side Baby is anything to go by.

3. "Judy Is a Punk"

They said punk! A fantastic song – the essence of The Ramones – and those lyrics – Second verse, same as the first … Third verse different from the first – Dumbness = Brilliance and proof that Americans are au fait with irony. The mention of the Symbionese Liberation Army – horribly dated or crystallising a moment in time? The Sex Pistols did the same thing with the MPLA in Anarchy In The UK, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

4. "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend” Charming romance, nifty change of pace

5. "Chain Saw" Horror film reference! With Sound Effect! Eerily prescient of The KKK Took My Baby Away.

6. "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue"

Hysterically irresponsible – the sort of thing that, were it drawn to their attention, would have politicians foaming at the mouth and blaming all the ills of youth on the songsters when the next line ‘Now I wanna have something to do’. provides the answer. It’s the solvent rejoinder to Lou Reed’s Heroin. Weird to think kids actually did this (and may still do for all I know – where’s that Evostik?). We do have a 1-2-3-4 but it’s in the middle.



7. "I Don't Wanna Go Down to the Basement" More horror via minimalist lyrics.

8. "Loudmouth" This is the weak one for me

9. "Havana Affair" America’s ongoing obsession with Cuba reflecting perhaps Cuba’s ongoing obsession with America.

10. "Listen to My Heart" 1-2-3-4! Beautiful heartbreaking song. Played at 100 mph.

11. "53rd & 3rd" Ever wanted to be a pimp? It’s a dangerous occupation. New York location. And the ‘what God forbade’ and ‘proved I’m no sissy’ expressions give it a bizarre innocence although it’s far from that.

12. "Let's Dance" Now that’s what I call a cover version. Cheesy organ! Going from the seedy environs of 53rd & 3rd to Chris Montez’ plea for dancefloor action hopefully leading to something else is a masterstroke.

13. "I Don't Wanna Walk Around with You" Yes. And seguing directly into….1-2-3-4….

14. "Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World" More dubiousness what with the rise of the Right in the 1970s, but hey, this isn’t meant to be taken seriously. (I hope) Our generation were brought up on WWII films and comics. Seymour Stein’s alleged complaints don’t seem to have made an awful lot of difference – transforming ‘Baby’ into ‘Schatzi’ just makes it more surreal. Eins-zwei-drei-vier and a feedback finish – couldn’t ask for more.



Possibly the greatest debut album in the world. And at less than half an hour long, it sure doesn’t outstay its welcome.

Teenagers From Outer Space

What’s it going to be then, eh?

There was me, that is Franklin, and there was a veritable Himalayas of books, CDs and DVDs. ‘Cos that’s my life. Films, stories and music.

It’s too easy these days. You can download everything. There’s no effort involved. In the coming days, I’ll be attempting to scale some heights and plunge some depths of this motley collection.

I had grandiose plans for the inaugural posting. But I ended up watching Teenagers From Outer Space.

My first encounter with anything to do with TFOS was via The Meteors. They were a group who played rockabilly style music with an edge, their songs were about horror and sci-fi subjects. They played with punk groups at the Lyceum ballroom in the Strand on a Sunday night. My brother had their first album In Heaven (the cover being a spot on parody of a dime novel) which contained their vibrant song – possibly based on the film. I have a compilation CD of their early stuff entitled Teenagers From Outer Space – which doesn’t feature the song.

So to the film. It opens with a nice shot of a famous observatory (Griffith?). We cut inside to a man looking through a telescope. He’s convinced he’s seen something unusual. Another man, obviously a scientist according to his glasses and abysmal beard, isn’t convinced.

We then go outside to see a flying saucer land, and four strapping young fellows with nifty tracksuits, high-top sneakers and greasy quiffs step out. It soon becomes clear that these aliens intend to utilise the Earth as a breeding ground for their food monsters, the gargans – but there’s dissension in the camp. One alien, with the unlikely name of Derek (honestly) has been reading a book, and is disenchanted with the aliens clone-like upbringing and fascistic outlook. He wants his fellow ETs to leave Earth alone and find somewhere else. Thor (that’s a bit more like it! Pre-Marvel but post Nordic myth) disagrees. He’s in possession of a pistol-like torch which lights up and has already reduced an inquisitive Earth pooch to a pile of bones. In the ensuing fracas, Derek escapes, Thor sets off in pursuit , and the others stash a tiddly gargan in a nearby cave and bugger off to collect their fellow space travellers bringing the gargan herds. There’s a complication in that Thor musn’t dematerialise Derek as he’s the Leader’s son – even though he doesn’t know it.

Derek has retrieved the disintegrated dog’s collar ID and wanders into a nearby town, the gas station attendant admires his uniform, and thanks to the dog tag, directs him to Betty and Gramps place, where, synchronicitycally, there is a room for rent.

Thor meanwhile has been given a lift (and an impromptu driving lesson) to the gas station where things have got out of hand and he’s reduced the attendant and the car driver to skeletons (possibly the same one – if the makers only had one skeleton to use they certainly got a lot of mileage out of it)

Betty takes a shine to Derek, kits him out in Earth clothing, takes him swimming as her pal Joe couldn’t make it – he’s an ace reporter and there’s been a double murder at the gas station – news travels fast in a small town. When she realises that Del is in possession of a dog tag – that just happens to be from her dog – she is too upset to go swimming and insists that the stranger show her the bones.

So far things have moved along quite slowly. The aliens talk in a slowed down robotic fashion and events take their time. Now we’re moving at an alarming rate. Thor arrives at Betty’s friend Alice’s swimming pool and skeletizes her – actually in the pool – boffo stuff – that skeleton is really earning his money! Betty and Derek go to the cops. Thor kidnaps Gramps and ends up taking a few bullets during a shoot out at City Hall, not before turning a couple of law enforcement officers into gun-toting skeletons (not at the same time – our friend has now made about five appearances – and he’s not done yet!)

The ace reporter and another lawman have made their way out to the dog’s last resting place in search of Betty, and the copper blunders into the cave containing the stashed gargan which eliminates him (off-screen but you can hear screams and bones crunching).

The gargan grows huge in a trice and goes rampaging across the countryside. Derek has the torch ray gun and by wiring it into some electrical power lines as a panic –stricken Betty engages the assistance of a handy deux et machina man at the power station, they’ve a chance to save humanity, or at least the town..

I couldn’t make out what the small gargan was at the beginning of the picture, but the giant one seems to be a lobster – a real lobster held close to the camera to give it gargantuan proportions with odd screaming sounds dubbed over the top.

If you’re having trouble coping with all this excitement, brace yourself, because an enormous fleet of spaceships containing the Leader and the gargan herds are approaching planet Earth. This being a low budget production we won’t actually see them, although when they come crashing down to Earth there is a brief piece of stock footage showing smoke pouring from a volcano to illustrate this colossal destruction.

It would take another 30 years until  CGI heavy productions such as Independence Day and Mars Attacks would actually show the full glory of starship invasions (OK, there’s the Star Wars films) but I have to give Tom Graeff full credit for his imagination. He produced, directed, wrote and appeared in the film as the newspaper reporter.

Intriguing to see Civil Defence sirens used and people advised to take to their cellars or bunkers, placing this firmly in Cold War paranoia territory.

Franklin Marsh Esquire

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