Reviews written by registered user
|12 reviews in total|
Me and mummy were watching 'Scooby Doo and the Loch Ness Monster' in the TV, when a dinosaur came along to me and mummy. Mummy ran away, but I laughed and made the dinosaur go away, by pointing my remote control at it, and hitting the eject button, which ejected me and mummy back out of the TV and into the sitting room, where we had a cup of tea waiting for us brewed by Daddy. Daddy parped. Mummy laughed, because of her sense of humour, and banged her head. This made mummy sad, but I laughed so much that mummy laughed too. Then Daddy parped so much he nearly killed himself. "Sumbulumba!" I said, "Woe" said daddy, and sipped his tea contentedly.
I saw this movie in the front room of my house, a few years ago on VHS video. I watched it with mummy, who sat next to me drinking tea throughout and weeping into a box of tissues. I laughed. Mummy simply stared back at me with her mascara stained cheeks, and returned to her cup of tea, slurping noisily at the contents. "What a noise!" I said through puffed cheeks, but mummy laughed at me and continued to slurp. Again, I muttered "what a noise" under my breath, and then mummy wee'ed herself and blushed profusely. Spike the cat wee'ed himself too, and I was so amazed by what was happening, that I turned the TV off. Mummy was sad, but Spike laughed and I laughed too, and because i laughed so much, Mummy laughed too. "Sad, happy" said mummy.
friends, i am caked in chafe as i scribe these words, having recently experienced the horror of 'the thing in two heads' a tale of science gone mad, it shows us what will happen when doctors meddle with our genetic make ups, resulting in a monster of biblical proportions - a monster with two heads, one of these heads is a bird like skull with plastic beak skilled at pecking; the other a slavering wolf like critter, with menacing red eyes and teeth that have been perfectly moulded for chewing flesh and bone and gristle. as you can imagine, seeing this thing on its quest for meat is bone chilling and unorthodox. Half way through this film a strange thing happened to me. I looked up at the picture of me as a small boy on the mantelpiece and that boy, so unutterly unscathed by the ravages of time, smiled back and then his head turned 360 degrees around and around spinning and spinning out of the frame and towards me until only his face filled my room and it started screaming and screaming and in the end I shattered the night with a hammer and crawled into a white space where a peacock lived, and it whispered "that day you soiled your pants ... it wasn't your fault, Travis." The peacock then opened its feathers and my face as a boy was on each of its feathers.
Grrr good old Sylvester, looking good for his age. Not a bad little film this. Better than expected, though I did enjoy it more for the fact that you get to see Mr Stallone's ample muscles. Looking good Mr Stallone; what's the secret sir? Like Mr Stallone I like to keep 'trim', and the way I do it is 1 x bran flakes for breakfast with semi-skinned milk and a week old banana, for lunch a nice Caesar salad washed down with a pint of milk and for supper stomach crunches and a banana slim fast. Sometimes though I have a steak sandwich, and I have to whip myself for 3 days in penance. A message to Mr Stallone: you are the only man I love.
This is the film I had been waiting for for a long while. When it came out in the cinema I booked tickets for the first day with trembling hands, like I was unbuttoning a blouse. Then I bought myself a packet of skittles, some M&Ms, frizzlers and a box of bastards. With penetrating eyes I watched, and watched. When I came out I felt empty, akin to bandages wrapped around a cloud. I got home and rang my friends. "This troubled land," I whispered, my voice a disparate croak. "This troubled land." I think they understood, but there was a slight nuance to young Anthony's voice that made me think otherwise, that I was still there, beside Will, fighting those pomegranate faced funk trunks. Love?
I don't understand this film. The people in it aren't 'good fellows' at all. In fact they're despicable low life scum and if I was around when they were around I would give them all a good clip around the ear and teach them to show a bit more respect to people. Otherwise, a nice solid film. It inspired me and Clem to grow pencil moustaches and to tough up some of the local kids on our estate. Clem would bring them into my 'office' and we would give them 'advice'. I now hang around on corners 'staring'at people. I'm the daddy now, you see. I'm the egg on toast. I'm number one, get me? Soon this town will be mine. People will be eating out of my hands. I'm daddy-two bucks. I'm papa moses. I'm dick AND Dom. Loser!
A ghastly film that had my eyes quite literally popping out on their stalks. Beautifully acted, this grisly piece of art made me want to go out and eat someone. My best friend Clem came around to watch this one and at one point we held hands. The tension was unbearable! My favourite bit is the end in the cellar. The monster, Dr Freudenstein, reminded me of my gym teacher Mr Simons. Later that night I had a feverish nightmare - Freudenstein had crawled into my handbag, and as I put it over my shoulder, Clem screamed and his face turned red and broke up into pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle. Incidentally, I picked this film up in a car boot sale recently from a man with scaly fish hands. His bulbous eyes roved as I walked away, following me, following me, and his croaky voice whispered "have a lovely day...sir."
Before your funeral...Before you are buried...Before you are covered with the last shovelful of dirt...Be sure you are really dead! Ha ha, wise words there by the marketing men behind MORTUARY. All joking aside, it's a very good bit of advice; I certainly would like to be absolutely certain I'M dead before I'm buried anywhere. MORTUARY is not a bad little '80's number. Pretty watchable; Mr George is as good as ever in what turned out to be, sadly, his final film, or cinematic epitaph. I liked the use of Mozart in this film; it helped soothe my jangling nerves during some of the more nastier moments. The only thing that really disturbed me about my MORTUARY viewing experience was how I woke up naked by the end credits; I have no idea how this happened as I was fully clothed when I fell asleep.
Sorely underrated little film this, directed by the delicate brush strokes of Filippo Ottoni. Very few films make me openly weep. This one did. By the end my lip was trembling ever so violently, and my fluttering eyelashes prickled with tiny tears. Papa turned to me, quite abruptly, and said, "Travis, whatever is the matter?" "A fly," I whispered, my voice but a croak, "it flew into my orb." I couldn't be seen weeping in front of papa! The inestimable Christoper George gives another bravo performance. He rang me in the middle of the night after they'd wrapped, his voice quivering. "This is it," I remembered him exclaiming. "This is the one, Travis. This is the one."
Gruesome blood spurting nonsense from the pen of Herb Freed. Terror grips a small community as a killer prowls. I missed the middle section of this film as I had to take a rather urgent telephone call from Sir Chad Onions, but the film seemed to hang reasonably together, though Christopher George never did rate this as one of his best. After watching it for the 15th time the other night, I have to agree with him, it's certainly no Cruise Into Terror or Enter the Ninja, but it has its moments, and certain elements of the film creep unannounced into my brain in the deepest, darkest hours of the night, and I wake with the cold hand of fear wrapped tightly around my swallowing throat, and a damp patch in my pyjama bottoms.
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