Viewings: September 2024

At last, a month stacked like Sydney Sweeney! Two problematic oldies appeased my degenerate taste; namely, Shanty Tramp and Guest House Paradiso. As for modern times,  Kneecap proved to be my favourite comedy released so far this year. Coralie Forgeat's stylish body horror The Substance was a significant step above practically everything else I've watched. Therefore, it wins the Dada Debaser Film of the Month™ and then some.

Film:

Guns, Girls and Gangsters (Edward L. Cahn, 1959)* 

Stark Fear (Ned Hockman, Skip Homeier•, 1962)*

Shanty Tramp (Joseph G. Prieto, 1967)*

The Bat Woman (René Cardona, 1968)*

Beware the Black Widow (Larry Crane, 1968)*

Scars of Dracula (Roy Ward Baker, 1970)

Bat Pussy (Unknown, 197?)*

Blood from the Mummy’s Tomb (Seth Holt, Michael Carreras•, 1971)

The Hitcher (Robert Harmon, 1986)

Death in Brunswick (John Ruane, 1990)*

Pump Up the Volume (Allan Moyle, 1990)

Return of the Living Dead III (Brian Yuzna, 1993)

The Doom Generation (Gregg Araki, 1995)

Guest House Paradiso (Adrian Edmondson, 1999)*

The Convent (Mike Mendez, 2000)*

Hendrix (Leon Ichaso, 2000)*

47 Metres Down (Johannes Roberts, 2017)*

The Coffee Table (Caye Casas, 2022/2024)*

The Crow (Rupert Sanders, 2024)*

Kneecap (Rich Peppiatt, 2024)*

MaXXXine (Ti West, 2024)

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (George Miller, 2024)

Sasquatch Sunset (David Zellner, Nathan Zellner, 2024)*

Subservience (S.K. Dale, 2024)*

The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024)*

Uglies (McG, 2024)*

Television:

Doctor Who - Day of the Daleks (Sydney Newman, 1963-2024)*

Hammer House of Mystery and Suspense - Black Carrion (John Hough, 1984)*

Hammer House of Mystery and Suspense - The Late Nancy Irving (Peter Sasdy, 1984)*

Hammer House of Mystery and Suspense - Czech Mate (John Hough, 1984)*

The Misinvestigations of Romesh Ranganathan - The Death of Jimi Hendrix (Chris Cottam, 2022)*

America's New Female Right (Layla Wright, 2024)*

Mastermind - Episodes 4-6 (Bill Wright. 2024/2025)*

UEFA Nations League: Republic of Ireland vs England (2024)*

*First time viewings.

•Uncredited.

Dada Debaser Notes:

• Don't think The Coffee Table will ever be completely wiped from my memory.
  
• Undoubtedly, one for the hipsters, but Sasquatch Sunset did contain some genuinely emotional moments outside of a family of Big Foots mostly pissing, shitting and wanking for comedy.
  
• I reviewed The Empire Strikes Back of the unofficial Christian Slater trilogy.
• Waxed lyrical on one of my favourite zombies turned MILF.
• M3GAN Fox may have hit the wall ages ago, but she was still perfectly cast as a sexy, emotionless robot in Subservience. The film equivalent of Milo Manara's temptation illustration.
  
• Had no idea the notorious Bat Pussy was a pornographic film, along with it being the worst I've ever watched.
• For a film which states in the opening titles "A heterosexual film by Gregg Araki", The Doom Generation is still a remarkably gay offering. I am a big fan of Rose McGowan in it, though. Funny seeing Perry Farrell's cameo after his recent onstage outburst.
  
• Death in Brunswick was fine, but I can't help wishing it was all about Sam Neill's mate Dave instead. Top class Aussie.
  
• Furiosa was even better the second time around; MaXXXine wasn't, sadly.
• My copy of The Hitcher arrived over the weekend. How did I not realise it was inspired by The Doors song Riders on the Storm? John Ryder! "If you give this man a ride, sweet memory will die. Killer on the road".
  

Lastly: RIP James Earl Jones! Blessed with a voice perfectly suited for one of the greatest sci-fi villains, along with playing the O.G Skeletor - Thulsa Doom; another classic baddie.

Iron Maiden - Rock in Rio, 1985.

It's Coffin Time

Ever since Sergio Corbucci's popular, ultra violent western, Django (1966) graced the silver screen, a plethora of other films would feature the titular hero (eighty-five films, apparently) in one way or another cashing-in on the name. There was only one official sequel, when Franco Nero returned decades later to reprise the role that brought him fame in the Rambo-esque Django Strikes Again (1987).

 

Gianfranco & Gianpiero Reverberi - You'd Better Smile

Preparati La Bara! AKA Django, Prepare a Coffin, OST (1968)

Of all the unofficial sequels, I do have a soft spot for Django, Prepare a Coffin (1968), AKA Viva Django! It's because I always found its lead, Terence Hill, Italy's third most waspy-looking actor (after Al Cliver and Ray Lovelock), versatile at playing both serious and comedic parts while still maintaining a cheeky, badass persona. It's also because it sees the return of the character's trademark Mitrailleuse volley gun kept inside a coffin. Another reason is because I love the vowel chewing main song, You'd Better Smile, equally as much as Louis Bacalov's original theme. 

Anyone who copped the video game Red Dead Revolver (2004) would have heard it there, too; albeit, the instrumental titled Lucas. The game's soundtrack was a veritable goldmine for soundtrack fans like me, as it served as the definitive Spaghetti Western compilation which wasn't chock-full of Ennio Morricone hits, and it had me seeking out a bunch of films because of it. Sadly, its sequels didn't follow suit.

Gianfranco & Gianpiero Reverberi - Nel cimitero di Tucson

Preparati La Bara! AKA Django, Prepare a Coffin, OST (1968)

Even if you've never seen Django, Prepare a Coffin, or heard its soundtrack, you'll probably be familiar with Nel cimitero di Tuscon on account of it being sampled by the group Gnarls Barkley for their hit song Crazy in the mid-noughties. Despite being played ad nauseam ever since, in retrospect, it probably did us a favour as it kept Quentin Tarantino from recycling it anytime soon for one of his films.

Beauty is the Beast

The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024) 

Our celebration of beauty and youth is hardly a new concept; they've been well documented in art, literature and music throughout our history. Achieving such perfection often comes at a high price. Coralie Fargeat critiques these impossible standards in the satirical body horror that is her sophomore film, The Substance (2024). All this, while waving the tricolore flag as the true queen of New French Extremity.

Much like her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, celebrity aerobics instructor Elizabeth Sparkle's career (Demi Moore) has lost its lustre. The knives are out for the fifty year old fitness guru. Eavesdropping her obnoxious slime boss Harvey (Dennis Quaid), the search is on for a young and attractive replacement for Elizabeth as she will be unceremoniously carted off to the knacker's yard. The distressing news leads to her being involved in a car accident. Whilst at the hospital, she learns from a member of staff there of a wonder treatment simply known as the Substance.

"Have you ever dreamt of a better version of yourself? Younger, more beautiful, more perfect. One single injection unlocks your DNA, starting a new cellular division, that will release another version of yourself. This is the Substance. You are the matrix. Everything comes from you. Everything is you. This is simply a better version of yourself. You just have to share. One week for one and one week for the other. A perfect balance of seven days each. The one and only thing not to forget: You. Are. One. You can't escape from yourself."

Elizabeth's desperation leads to crawling below a roll shutter in a dodgy backstreet alley where it leads to a brightly-lit, Kubrickian white room. With no other human interaction, this mysterious area is where Elizabeth obtains the black market miracle drug known as the Substance. Resembling Herbert West's fluorescent green serum from Stuart Gordon's classic film Re-Animator (1985), the wonder drug comes with a bunch of vacuum packed plastic utensils that ordinarily be off-putting for anyone. The procedure is almost fetishistic adds and highlights the ridiculousness procedure involved to be young and beautiful again.

The film firmly arrives at destination body horror when Elizabeth injects the serum into her body, and in the first of many Cronenberg inspired scenes, gives birth to her younger and improved genetic double. The execution of this sequence is sublime. The mononymous Sue (Margaret Qually) is the Mr. Edward Hyde to Elizabeth's Dr. Henry Jeckyll. Whilst one of them is active, the other is in a catatonic state. Sue requires a daily stabiliser to keep going; essentially the spinal fluid she retrieves from Elizabeth.

While not stating the obvious, the pair are remarkably different in behaviour. While Elizabeth is timid and uncertain, Sue is confident and brash. People don't see Sue and bump into her without giving her a second look; her younger version has slack-jawed men dumbstruck by her beauty. Needless to say, she lands the aerobics job as Elizabeth's replacement. The Substance holds no restraint in its critique of society's idolisation with beauty and youth. Sue's aerobics show is far more lurid in comparison to her predecessor's routines. Stylistically speaking, it's evocative of the risqué dance music videos which were popular in the noughties. The camera is completely and utterly fixated over Sue's fit and supple body. No complaints from me.

At its core The Substance has a similar structure to Forgeat's impressive debut, Revenge (2017), as they both feature a small cast, along with being films which blend the fantastical with reality. This is all about  satirising both the beauty and entertainment industries in an extreme fashion. For this reason, The Substance comes across as cartoonish on the surface, yet completely fathomable with our assumptions of these fields. The outrageousness style is further reinforced in the film's aesthetic production design, as well as its obnoxiously loud EDM soundtrack..

Possibly Demi Moore's best performance captured on film, as she's perfectly cast as an ageing beauty. The obvious cosmetic work on her face only reconfirms the film's commentary on our obsession with capturing our prime again. One scene in particular, where she's getting ready for a date, is almost as disturbing as the grotesque body horror scenes elsewhere in the film, as she's in complete distress trying to look good to validate herself. Her dysmorphia reveals her complete fragility as she tears at her hair and face in anguish. Qually, on the other hand, is equally effective playing the ultra desirable femme, since she also exhibits personality flaws as well; notably her greedy selfishness to extend her allotted seven days, which is detrimental to the older host which sustains her. Thus the Jeckyll and Hyde parallel becomes more symbiotic and extreme.

Fargeat takes a huge risk in the third act by going in a direction which might lose folk who didn't pick up on the film's intentional humour. Without giving away any spoiler details, the film goes completely off-the-rails, albeit in an outlandishly spectacular way; evoking notable films by Brian Yuzna and Brian De Palma. The icing on the cake is how it leads to a deeply poetic scene right before the end titles. 

Regardless of the cinephile fodder which rear their heads around this season, The Substance is undoubtedly one of the biggest highlights for me this year. It won me over by completely catering to my love for genre cinema, and based on my observation at my screening, entertained me about as much as the turd wave feminists who were also in attendance. It earned my respect for putting a huge smile on my face, making its epic two hours and twenty minutes run time (which was admittedly off-putting, initially) completely fly by.

The Substance is a deeply impressive sophomore film and a grotesque work of art.

Coffee Break

Can definitely see Caye Casas' The Coffee Table (2022/2024) being nominated as one of the most disturbing films this year.

Not going to spoil, or link any trailers and clips, as it's best going in completely blind. However, here's the film synopsis:

Jesus and María are a couple going through a difficult time in their relationship. Nevertheless, they have just become parents. To shape their new life, they decide to buy a new coffee table. A decision that will change their existence.

I will add that its writers must be twisted individuals for even conceiving such a premise, let alone make such a deeply uncomfortable comedy out of it.

Currently available on Shudder.

Can You See Me?

"Hey (Prop) Joe, where you goin' with that gun in your hand?"

Had no idea there was a Jimi Hendrix biopic that came before the soporific Jimi: All Is by My Side (2013), starring André 3000.

Hendrix (2000), which I watched for the very first time this week, is only a fraction better than the above. Wood Harris looks absolutely hilarious while wearing a bunch of party wigs. He earns points for getting some of Hendrix's mannerisms right, however. The rest of the film is both flat, one note and let down by a poor supporting cast (Billy Zane is really bad and equally comedic in a Chop Top toupee), so you're mostly spending your time shaking off the immersion breaking sight of Avon Barksdale with a rubbish looking afro.

Being the anniversary of Jimi Hendrix's death today, I fear we'll never get a quality film about the rock god, as we'll probably get the utterly insipid Justice Smith miscast as the eponymous music legend. What feels like a lifetime ago, my personal choices were Laurence Fishburne or former England defender Des Walker (he was a dead ringer during Italia '90).

No idea who would fit the role today, but I do know what I want in another biopic. Here are five scenes I want to see in a Hendrix biopic:

1. On the day of Cream disbanding, the BBC news being delayed while Hendrix paid tribute to them during his live set on the Happening for Lulu TV show.
2. Hendrix covering for sixties crooner Engelbert Humperdinck's guitarist not showing up and performing behind a stage curtain. Hence, the photo of the pair backstage, along with Cat Stevens holding a gun.
3. A young Ian Kilmister AKA Lemmy working as Hendrix's roadie and doing LSD with him.
   
4. Gered Mankowitz's photo shoot where Hendrix posed for his most iconic photograph.
5. Denny Dent's incredible speed painting of Hendrix, from my old Jimi Plays Monterey VHS tape, being incorporated in the end credits of the film.
   

It's an absolute insult that the only thing that's Jimi Hendrix related during his anniversary is a rubbish episode of The Misinvestigations of Romesh Ranganathan which pretends to investigate whether foul play was the cause of his death. Alternatively, you can just watch that old The South Bank Show episode about him featuring actual people who knew Hendrix (most of them long dead now).

Native Tongues

Kneecap (Rich Peppiatt, 2024)

Despite being drawn to the trailer and a handful of preview clips, my enthusiasm over Kneecap (2024) hit the backburner once early reviews were comparing it to Danny Boyle's Trainspotting (1996); a film which really made me feel I was in Bizarro World after all the unworthy praise it received. Thankfully, Frankie McNamara, the most entertaining culture critic from the Emerald Isle since Tom Paulin, gave the film his glowing approval. This was the impetus I needed to get off my arse and check it out.

Set in Belfast, Northern Ireland, this raucous comedy/docu-drama is essentially a semi-fictional origin story of the rap group Kneecap. Introduced as two young lads up for the crack, Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap are ceasefire babies - the common description of the generation grown up during Northern Ireland's more recent and peaceful period. The duo have been inseparable tearaways since they were wee weans putting weed in the Catholic priest's censor. In young adulthood, they are lairy and shell-suited street kids.

When the pair aren't dealing or partaking in various narcotics, they're making rap music in their indigenous language. Their insistence to rap in Irish serves two reasons: the preservation of their mother tongue and an act of defiance to the Northern Irish authoritarians. A noble cause which is shared with school music teacher JJ Ó Dochartaigh, who, after being summoned by the local police to serve as a translator, winds up becoming the third drug-binging member of Kneecap. Thus, donning his trademark tricolour balaclava as DJ Próvai.

At this point, I'm compelled to reveal my complete ignorance of Irish Rap; save for the confession that I copped the CD single Ship Ahoy back in the day by commie Hip-Hop group Marxman (in hindsight, the band’s name and their debut album cover were glaringly obvious). It were the love of Irish flutes and Sinead O' Connor's angelic singing on the chorus, Your Honour. They alone had me overlooking the painful, vowel-chewing rhymes of these rappers, and the rest of their horrid music. Really regret not climbing over the greased metal railings back in 1990 when myself and a bunch of mates snuck into Highgate Cemetery. If it weren't for the graveyard scene in The Omen (1976) being burned in my brain, where Gregory Peck caught his sleeve on an iron spike while a pack of rabid rottweilers were gnashing at his legs, I could have climbed over and pissed on Comrade Karl's grave and avenge the millions who perished from his ideology.

 

Back to the film. Kneecap is something of a gem on account of not dwelling on its subplots longer than necessary, which keeps the film moving at a breezy and entertaining pace. This is perhaps one of its greatest strengths. It's both satirical and slapstick; able to mock what some might consider sensitive issues, whilst also indulging in juvenile humour - especially when it pertains to drug consumption. A prime example is when the band mistakenly consume ketamine before a gig and Móglaí Bap's face turns into Sinn Féin's Gerry Adams. The anarchic group are caught in the crossfires of both the Belfast Police and the fictional paramilitary organisation known as the R.R.A.D (Radical Republicans Against Drugs), which leads to hilarious shots at both sides.

The supporting cast are particularly strong. The film's most recognisable star is undoubtedly Michael Fassbender as Móglaí's estranged father, Arló Ó Cairealláin; a paramilitary who faked his own death to avoid capture. Amazingly, Fassbender managed to carry the swagger of a bad ass, despite his scraggly ginger beard and wearing a pair of sandals. The gag Bobby Sandals was not lost on me. The affect of him being in hiding for so many years has had adverse affects on his family. His wife, Dolores (Simone Kirby), has become an agoraphobic and is literally a prisoner in her own home. Jessica Reynolds plays Mo Chara's love interest Georgia, a Protestant girl whose dirty talk during sex is both hilarious and messed up. She could pass for Annabelle Wallis's younger, brunette sister. Can definitely see her as a star in more mainstream films in the foreseeable future.

A huge shame the band's music isn't my cup of tea, however. For a bunch of rowdy rap lads with such immense energy, I kind of cringed to their EDM beats and awkward rapping. Obviously, their music is meant for less discerning broccoli-haired zoomers than an old git like myself, but it does set an obvious barrier. I suppose the concert performance scenes in front of a jam packed and completely rocking audience might be akin to Public Enemy's legendary Hammersmith gig to young 'uns, but the quality of their music is nowhere near in the same universe to a boom bap dinosaur, sadly. This is the one real drawback of the film. Kneecap isn't a band whose music I like enough to buy. Kneecap is a film I like enough to cop on blu-ray, however.

It might offend some for its colourful language and heavy drug use, but Kneecap contains plenty of boisterous energy and smart social satire that you can't help being won over by it. Much like Baz Luhrmann's Elvis (2022), Kneecap is another musical biopic which kept me entertained throughout its run time.

Highly recommended.

Saints and Mostly Sinners

Shanty Tramp (Joseph G. Prieto, 1967)

Respect to Nicolas Winding Refn for curating and restoring a bunch of lost films from the dingy annals of B-movie cinema. Joseph G. Prieto's extreme slice of Southern Gothic melodrama, Shanty Tramp (1967) is one such forgotten entry. Bereft of a modest budget, and a cast possessing an ounce of acting talent, the film is a riveting viewing experience, thanks to its gritty atmosphere and a sleazy plot that chaotically descends into unexpected and shocking direction. This exploitation cinema of its era that still packs some potency today.

Emily Stryker (Eleanor Vaill; credited as Lee Holland) is the titular scrubber in question, and much like the the Rising Sun, has been the ruin of many a poor boy. From the God fearing simpleton to the corrupt and sleazy minister; Emily gets a kick out of teasing men and having them lusting over her. Bizarrely, she hardly looks the southern belle type like Daisy Duke, therefore, it's both equally amusing and perplexing watching men fawning all over her. Despite Vaill's only landing the lead for her nonchalance in getting her kit off. She's surprisingly convincing delivering the odd line or two.

The film's opening titles has the titular character strutting her stuff while a bombastic rendition of the hymn When the Saints Go Marching In is sung. Sardonically, it sets the tone of the film, as male bar patrons ogle at Emily's round derrière. The song gets rinsed again once it jumps to Preacher Fallows (Bill Rogers), the travelling minister, swindling his geriatric congregation to chip in some dough for his collection basket. Unsurprisingly, the conman evangelist has carnal desires for the flirtatious floozy attending his night time sermon and wants to show her "the power and the glory!" in the back of his caravan.

Despite warnings from his religious mother, country bumpkin Daniel  Smith (Lewis Galen) falls victim to the tawdry thirst trap. Like a knight in shining armour, he rescues the wicked wench from a potentially serious encounter involving the Chuck Connors-lookalike biker Savage (Lawrence Tobin). Unbeknown to Daniel, there's a revenge attack at his home while he's busy gooning for the salacious stop-out. Succumbing to Emily's temptations in a barn, he quickly regrets slapping cheeks with the heinous harlot as the pair are caught by her drunken white trash of a father (Otto Schlessinger; credited as Kenneth Douglas). "Blasphemy!" he yells. Falsely crying she was raped, Daniel is now on the run. Since Daniel is black, and Shanty Tramp is set in a Dixie town, you can put two and two together and see where this is headed.

Worth noting Shanty Tramp was released in the same year as other and more familiar Southerns: the racially charged In the Heat of the Night and the prison drama Cool Hand Luke. The micro-budgeted Shanty Tramp isn't anywhere near the level of competency of those two films. However, it does have them beat with a whole array of Southern preconceptions of the region. Nearly every southern film cliché is check marked: the trashy temptress; the inebriated and abusive patriarch; rampant racism; the innocent black victim; the police manhunt, replete with tracker dogs; the bible thumping evangelist; the moonshine distillery in a rickety shack; the elderly eccentric with an Old Testament sounding name, like Ichabod or Jeremiah. All of those elements are herein, painting a rich canvas.

Some flaws, like the unprofessional actors' bad performances, don't inadvertently lend to the film's charm. An important loose end involving Savage's biker gang is left completely unresolved. Without giving away too much, it's a crucial element, which was either edited out, or completely forgotten about during the writing process. Much of the dialogue sounds like it was recorded in a bathroom during post-production; it's out of sync with the actors' lips. There are also noticeable jumps in some of the dialogue scenes, which suggests that some of the derogatory racist language might have been edited out, although, according to Refn's restorationists, there doesn't seem to be a stronger cut of the film in existence. It is jarring in the film, however.

The cast might be relative unknowns, but Shanty Tramp's director is a name I'm somewhat familiar with, having seen Joseph P. Prieto's feverishly bizarre horror Miss Leslie's Dolls (1973). What's puzzling about this director is he might be an alias to Joseph P. Mawra; the director who helmed the notorious Olga roughies from the sixties. Although, there's no solid confirmation available online to confirm this, Google and MUBI lists Mawra instead of Prieto as Shanty Tramp's director. What is for certain is Shanty Tramp's second unit director is none other than Bob Clark; who went on to direct personal faves Black Christmas (1974), Murder by Degree (1979) and Porky's (1981).

Unsurprisingly, Shanty Tramp never earned any plaudits for its handling of social political issues; especially ones engrained in America's turbulent racial history. Realistically speaking, the film was made to court controversy in the aid of getting bums on seats. Almost sixty years on, and it still packs some punch to the easily offended today. However, for those of a less sensitive disposition, Shanty Tramp excels at weaving an entertaining exploitation romp; comparable to southern trash masterpieces Two Thousand Maniacs! (1964) and Mudhoney (1965). For this reason alone, Shanty Tramp is an uncouth, yet beguiling film that is definitely worth checking out.

Peak Era #3

Melinda Clarke

Rewatching Return of the Living Dead III (1993) over the weekend reminded me how hot Melinda Clarke (credited as Mindy Clarke in the film) was as the tragic, grungy femme Julie Walker; both before and after her exposure to the zombie gas Trioxin. Way hotter than Linnea Quigley's Trash from the first film, in my honest opinion. The concept of being eaten alive by the undead is absolutely terrifying, but I’d rather it be Julie chomping on my noggin than that horrifying CeeLo Green looking zombie in Zombie Flesh Eaters (1979). Every self-respecting horror film aficionado ought to include Julie Walker when compiling their Greatest Zombie Characters lists.

It's an absolute travesty that the best scene in the film; the part where Julie prepares for battle by piercing her face and body with pieces of sharp metal and glass to fight against the evil thug Santos and his street crew (perhaps the most middle-aged looking Latino gang on film), is only available on YouTube in its censored version, and to rub further salt to the wound, a poor quality VHS  rip. For shame!

From Julie Walker to Julie Cooper, Melinda Clarke managed to draw me to the naughties teen drama The O.C. (2003-2007) as the show's resident Alexis Colby. Melissa had aged like fine wine and reached upper echelon M.I.L.F status during her tenure on the show. Her come-to-bed eyes could bring any man to ruin. Little wonder she turned gold digging into an art; like marrying her best friend's mega wealthy, old dad, cheating on him with her daughter's boyfriend, and conspiring with his murder.

To emphasise what a veritable fox she was during this period, ruminate over this: when Melinda Clarke hit her forties, she looked like this. Can't say the same about her ex co-stars nearing the same age today; including the once great Olivia Wilde.

Bottom >>>> Bottoms

Guest House Paradiso (Adrian Edmondson, 1999)

To the uninitiated, Adrian Edmondson and the late Rik Mayall were two of British alternative comedy's shining stars from the eighties and nineties. Along with their comedic talents exhibited in the classic sitcom The Young Ones (1982), they were core members of the collective known as The Comic Strip. The pair really shone as a couple of crude and juvenile lowlife flatmates in the sitcom Bottom (1991-1995). 

Guest House Paradiso (1999) features Bottom's comedic duo; albeit with minor changes to their surnames: Rik Mayall's Richard "Richie" Richard is renamed to Richard "Richie" Twat, while Adrian Edmondson's Edward "Eddie" Elizabeth Hitler becomes Edward "Eddie" Elizabeth Ndingombaba. The changes are never explained. However, other than this change, both characters' are indistinguishable from their TV counterparts. Thus, the spirit of Bottom is more than evident during the very opening scenes. Guest House Paradiso would be Mayall's second feature film role after his transatlantic outing in Drop Dead Fred (1991) - embarrassingly not seen it. Edmondson makes his film debut in this film and not make an appearance again until his bit part in the franchise killer Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017).

Guest House Paradiso is loud, crude and unapologetically juvenile. Witnessing Eddie and Richie administering Looney Toons level of violence to one another is like watching Laurel and Hardy ramped up to eleven. The film isn't only reliant on its cartoonish violence, it also possesses some truly idiotic dialogue, like the Richie having to repeat 'it's pronounced "Thwaite"' whenever trying to correct anyone from saying his surname as Twat. Much like Hyacinth Bucket has to endure. The styles of humour don't just end there, as the film as the film doesn't shy from Mayall acting like a sexually depraved individual, along with gross out vomit comedy in the film's final act. Very much in the spirit of Peter Jackson's early films.

Simply put, the premise of the film is essentially Fawlty Towers (1975) with Eddie and Richie running the worst hotel in Great Britain. It's built on top of cliff and adjacent to the phallic looking nuclear power plant. It's a miracle the pair even manage to retain any staff, like their Romanian chef Lardy Barsto (Steve O'Donnell), let alone any paying guests due to their obnoxious behaviour. A subplot involving famous, Italian actress Gina Carbonara (Hélène Mahieu) jilting her playboy, racing driver fiancee, Gino Bolognese (a fish out of water Vincent Cassel) on the day of their wedding and hiding out in the grotty establishment adds a welcome layer to the film. The G.O.A.T comedy Carry On Screaming's Fenella Fielding plays the senile guest Mrs. Foxfur, while Simon Pegg makes his film debut as the timid, but closeted pervert, Mr. Nice. An unforgettably cringeworthy scene involves him being hoisted with a fishing rod whilst asleep via his nipple ring. Two other cast members from Shaun of the Dead (2004), Bill Nighy and Kate Ashfield, play an adulterous couple whose romantic getaway is ruined at the hotel.

Written by both Edmondson and Mayall, the idea came to them whilst in various hotels during Bottom's live tour. The pair had written three and half-hours worth of comedy material for their first treatment. A revision of it had shaved it down to two and half hours, which was still too lengthy. Mayall had just recovered from a coma due to a quad bike accident in 1998. During this period, he had urged Edmondson to go it alone with a further rewrite to a more acceptable run time during his recuperation. With a final script completed, the producers of the film got Edmondson to direct the film. The result is an unapologetic gross out comedy and a surprisingly stylish one, too.

Worth praising Guest House Paradiso's art direction as its sixties pastiche give it a vintage Ealing Studios vibe. The production sets look suitably old and grotty. The hotel itself, is very much a major highlight as it's reminiscent of Man and Woman's dwelling in Wes Craven's The People Under the Stairs (1991). The secret passageways within the walls and various crawl spaces of the hotel, are what spark this comparison. As a matter of fact, Guest House Paradiso, could have very easily been a horror film given all the various elements mentioned.

Guest House Paradiso was released in 1999 with little fanfare. It was largely panned by the critics; Poncey Pete over at The Guardian likened it to "a Jim Davidson 'adult pantomine'". Fast forward several decades, and he's positively gleaming over the played out goofiness of last year's nauseatingly overblown Bottoms (2023). The comedy might not be a classic, but it absolutely stomps Emma Seligman's boring writing that qualifies as zoomer humour. Similarly, an Empire critic no one knows was turned off by the film for being too puerile, despite being aware of its creators' comedic style and the source material. Worst of all, are the legions of wannabe Roger Eberts on Letterboxd offended over its irreverent humour. When mankind turns its nose at comedy at its most honest and base level, then the human race is definitely doomed.

Surprised by Guest House Paradiso receiving the boutique blu-ray treatment when it's usually focused on the serious cinephile and genre ends of the spectrum, but it makes absolute sense after seeing it. The slapstick comedy and gross out scenes are written and performed by absolute legends of the British comedy industry, not to mention it being far more deserving of some high definition love and fancy packaging than the average Troma film and long forgotten straight-to-video comedy for trash movie aficionados with money to burn. Like Kolobos and Freeway II: Confessions of a Trick Baby, Guest House Paradiso is another film from 1999 being discovered decades later that's turned out to be an unexpected gem. 

Rick Mayall passed away from a heart attack in 2014. Tragic how he was far more talented and deserving of success across the pond compared to insufferable comedians Ricky Gervais and Russell Brand. 

R.I.P Rick Mayall.

It's a Right Royal Cockney Barrel of Monkeys

Guy Richie isn't a director I'm particularly fond of. His success can be attributed to mimicking Quentin Tarantino’s whole style and filling the void left behind from the dying Britpop zeitgeist. I do enjoy a bunch of songs which were new to me from his films, though.

The Castaways' Liar, Liar is a prime example. It’s heard during the poker scene in Richie's mockney, gangster film Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998).

The Castaways - Liar Liar

Liar Liar/Sam single, 1965

The Castaways · Liar Liar

It wasn't until finding a YouTube clip of The Castaways performing the song in the film It's a Bikini World (1967) when I realised the high pitched voice on it was a bloke and not a woman after all these years.

Other songs I've discovered in Guy Richie films:

Wanda Jackson - Funnel of Love (1960)

The Pretty Things - Rosalyn (1964)

Kim Fowley - The Trip (1965)

The Sonics - Have Love, Will Travel (1965)

Nina Simone - Take Care of Business (1965)

David Axelrod - The Mental Traveller (1968)

George Guzman - Banana Freak Out (1968)

Dusty Springfield - Spooky (1970)

Roxy Music - In Every Dream Home a Heartache (1973)

Cymande - Brothers on the Slide (1974)

War - Outlaw (1982) 

E-Z Rollers - Walk This Land (Remix) (1996)

Klint - Diamond (2000)

Electrelane - Atom's Tomb (2005)

Mattiel - Count Your Blessings (2018)

Can't hate on some of Guy Richie's music inclusions, but I can shake my head in dismay at the undeserved success of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch (2000) when they were nothing but inferior Brit flicks compared to Croupier (1998) and Sexy Beast (2000) during that period. Well ow ov aw-da, innit?

Juvenile Hell: Part 8

Pump Up the Volume (Allan Moyle, 1990)

Needed to cleanse the palate after watching some absolute abominations last month. Allan Moyle's Gen X classic Pump Up the Volume (1990) is the perfect solution. This is the second entry in what is unofficially dubbed the Christian Slater Holy Trilogy around this part of the internet. The other films being Heathers (1988) and True Romance (1993). Being that True Romance doesn't fit in this Juvenile Hell series, and skipping Massacre at Central High (1976) for its spiritual ancestor, is akin to running before learning to walk, the sensible option is to revisit Happy Harry Hard-ons pirate radio shenanigans. Besides which, the Heathers 4K I ordered the other week hasn't arrived yet.

If ever a film encapsulated the pent-up frustrations of the disillusioned generation beset by conservative authoritarianism, Pump Up the Volume would be it. Set in a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona, lonely newcomer Mark Hunter (Christian Slater), turns his parents' basement into a pirate radio show where he anonymously expresses all his teen angst and and music tastes over the radio waves. His fellow students of the oppressive Hubert H. Humphrey High School are eager listeners of the show and tune in every night to hear his antics.

The increasing popularity of the pirate radio show encourages the students into becoming more expressive and rebellious. The results range from suburban white kids gathering around a tape deck and nodding in appreciation to Ice-T's explicit Girls L.G.B.A.F, to the school's very own Claire Standish hilariously blowing up her parents' microwave, to that one random black student always in the background eventually wearing a kufi on his head. In the case of  Hubert H. Humphrey's resident Pam Ayres, Nora Diniro (Samantha Mathis) AKA the "Eat me! Beat me!" Lady, it's sending dirty poems and being potential serial killer bait to Happy Harry Hard-on with letters like this:

"You're the voice crying out in the wilderness. You're the voice that makes my brain burn and my guts go gooey. Yeah, you gut me. My insides spill on your altar and tell the future. My steaming, gleaming guts spell out your nature. I know you, not your name, but your game. I know the true you. Come to me, or I'll come to you."

Other than that one strike against her, Nora is pretty much the dream around the way emo girl from this era: Angela Franklin may have been demonically hot, but  I'll take Nora being everyday hot and not having to worry for my life; plus, she still looked art school bird fit even in old granny dresses and striped stockings; also, she didn't have dandruff like Allison Reynolds. Thus, Nora Diniro is the gateway goth girl of that era. The only other major drawback is the sad reality of her being an entirely fictional character. It's the only explanation as to how any person living in their parents' basement with a penchant for chronically fake fappin' and dry humping a dress for the entertainment of their listeners, manages to land a beauty like her - even if they're cool like Christian Slater. Only in the movies. Interestingly, Slater and Mathis were already a couple during the production of the film. That explains their chemistry feeling so authentic.

The plot involving a tyrannical school regime, headed by Principal Loretta Creswood (Annie Ross) suspending and expelling potential problem/underperforming kids and syphoning their funds to achieve the school's impeccable record, is very much secondary in the grand scheme of the film. It's really all about how one voice can rally others against their oppressors. This makes the film still poignant today. Alternatively, it's also all about Christian Slater's incredible charisma and acting chops. Interestingly, Slater's earliest films performances often draws comparisons to Jack Nicholson. This is the perfect litmus test for any seventies baby, as he comes across as a hyper-realistic version of the actor.

Young ‘uns, take note: the film's social message comes well before the rise of dullards posting cat memes and the existence of echo chambers. Therefore, if scenes of H.H.H and Nora broadcasting in a jeep to outwit the Federal Communications Commission (F.C.C), sounds a tad far fetched and antiquated for you, then please consider, that's far more noble than terminally online folk pretending to care about our freedoms.

Other noteworthy scenes and observations related to the movie are: the fat, entrepreneurial kid selling tapes of the show for $5 while Above the Law's Freedom of Speech is playing on the school speakers; a very young Seth Green not being annoying as his mate; the superior Pixies' Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf) heard in the film; the dumb Pauly Shore lookalike getting punched by Principal Creswood's rottweiler; and finally, the girl who played Cheryl Biggs (Holly Sampson) eventually winding up as an adult film actress.

Pump Up the Volume may be regarded as a nineties classic, but it's timeless for me as it became the go to movie whenever your host was undecided about what to watch to kill time. It was a staple, until my DVD got lost when lending it out to a mate. The disc was already out of print at the time, and it was far too expensive to replace. The pain. From that point on, I stopped lending any films out. Fortunately, I managed to eventually replace it with a a blu-ray upgrade (albeit, a bare bones disc), that was released last year. It's a treasured film here at Case de Spartan.

An undeniable classic.