"Craze" (1974) d/Freddie Francis

Hearing  Jack Palance repeatedly say "Chuku", the name of the African idol he worships and murders for in tonight's review, in his inimitable breathy Anthracite coal country whisper through nicotine-stained teeth, is probably reason enough to give this, director Freddie Francis' second 1974 effort (the other being a comedy called Son of Dracula, with Harry Nilsson and Ringo Starr), a viddy, for any fans of the late actor's work. For those that do seek out this groovy British tale of witchery and human sacrifice, there's a mixed bag of actresses/victims that ranges from Miss Nroway 1962, Julie Ege and Italian genre favorite, Suzy Kendall, to former British sex symbol and femme fatale, Diana Dors, as well as cameos from Trevor Howard and Hugh Griffith. There's also a wooden fork-holdin' bruh in the basement you're gonna wanna check out for yourselves...


"After you finish your zany interpretive nude dance for Chuku, we could go out...for pierogies..."
Neal Mottram (Jack Palance) runs a quaint little curio shop in London, with the help of his young protege', a former rent boy,  named Ronnie (Martin Potter). He's also the head of a groovy coven of witches who worship a wooden statue of an African god named Chuku in the shop's basement. When an ousted spellcaster shows up claiming ownership of the idol, Neal goes loud and aggro, shoving her onto the large sharpened fork the yellow-eyed statue holds. After dumping the corpse in a nearby river, he finds a hidden drawer full of gold coins in an old desk he's about to sell off, and naturally attributes the sudden good fortune to Chuku and his impromptu sacrifice to the wooden brother. He burns a bit of sacrificial crumpet (Julie Ege) that he picks up in a club,  in the furnace downstairs,  after she refuses to dance for Chuku, and sells a pair of Ming vases he previously couldn't give away, prompting more weird alone time in front of the statue. Empowered with the belief that the god is protecting him and making him wealthy, he concocts an elaborate alibi involving broken down vehicles, drugging an old flame named Dolly (Diana Dors), throwing on tennis sneakers, and tube hopping, all to provide his idol with another sacrifice, this time, his elderly aunt, who he stakes in the neck in her front lawn after scaring the shit out of her with a rubber Halloween mask.


"Nevahmind dese boolshit-ass sacrifices...put some honey barbecued pig ribs on dis fork heah!"
With the Bill convinced that the antiques dealer is the main suspect in the growing list of ritualistic murders, but unable to make the collar, due to Neal's attention to intricate detail, the detectives lean on Dolly and Ronnie for information, resorting to gay bashing the young associate, who descends into a mire of double scotches at the pub while being tailed. Meanwhile, Neal's set up another sacrifice to Chuku (take a dramatic pause...then whisper along...Chuku) in the form of a call girl named Sally (Suzy Kendall), who he pays twenty quid to choke the fuck out. With the cops closing in, Ronnie tries to take an axe to the idol, earning himself a bloody grill from a furious Neal, who promptly lifts him over his head and chucks him out the shop window in broad daylight (!). If you thought Palance was unhinged before, wait 'til you catch him in the film's finale, spinning around like an axe-wielding top, screaming at the top of his lungs at oncoming policemen, before finally offering Chuku (...Chuku...) one last sacrifice. Roll 'em...


Off to Bedfordshire wiv 'yer: "I choke you for Chuku...he's cuckoo for cheeky muff..."
Francis would follow this one up with things like 1975's Legend of the Werewolf and The Ghoul, while Kendall appeared in such genre fare of the day as Psycho-Circus (1966), The Bird With the Crystal Plumage (1970), Torso (1973),  and Spasmo (1974), among others. Venicia Day was an actress whose roles ascended from "2nd African girl", to "2nd Black girl", to "African Girl", to "Dancer",  here. Former Bond girl Ege would also appear in Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires and The Mutations,  the same year. Diana Dors had to be one of the most beautiful blondes of the 40's and early 50's in my estimation, but she'd come a long way from that era by the time of this movie. Still always great to see. Craze is packed with Palance, pretty girls, painful seventies gear, and bright red stage blood and makes for a pretty good time if you're into it. Three wops.


"I couldn't find your... ribs... a slab of Ukranian ham, seasoned in Lattimer Mines...will have to do..."

"Death Shock" (1981) d/ Steve Perry, Frank Thring

A quick glance at the VHS box for tonight's review might lead one to believe they're getting vintage 80's zero budget S.O.V. slasher fare, and though, they wouldn't be entirely wrong to entertain such a notion, as there is a bit of that going on here (roughly ten minutes worth against the hasty forty-seven minute running time),  the vast majority consists of floppy British bangers of all sizes, arses, hairy fannies, and simulated sex scenes that come pretty close to hardcore in certain instances.


"It's nine'een-bloody-eighty-one, darlin'. Let me trim down that bush for yer."
So this bicycling bird hears some piped in chanting as she pauses her ride for some cheeky upskirt shot opportunities whilst climbing over a wooden fence, and when she investigates further, she stumbles upon some nude blokes in the woods 'aving one of those sacrificial ceremonies of sorts. Escape plans are for naught, as she's fetched and sacrificed in the nude herself, leading us into a freeze-frame title shot, like we've come to expect out of things like this. We're then introduced to three couples, one of which is a pair of topless lesbo-sunbathers, the other two of the traditional guy-girl variety, as they enjoy some midday balls-out sinning, completely nude, mind you, and inside and up against their motor, under a shady tree in the meadow. Just loverly.


Lovely weather for a naked group shag up against the motor,  out in the open,  in broad daylight, innit?
When their petrol pump quits, they're rescued by a vicar (one of the film's directors) who drives them to the nearby home of  the aptly-named Mr. Blackley, who likes to oil up his housekeeper's tits while she's tied nude to a support,  in the name of Satan, and squeeze them, continually. Meanwhile, the couples are off having a shag, though the lesbians' tryst is interrupted when the virge of the pair is scared off by a sizable dildo that her partner keeps trying to shove up her against her wishes. The jilted lover joins one of the hetero couples for a three-way, and then the housekeeper joins in on a foursome, while the virgin is forcibly strapped to an altar, as her tits are oiled up, naturally, and then she's sacrificed to Satan, while all of her friends get it on, oblivious to her fate. The next morning, they all leave together, after breakfast, unaware that their former virginal travelling partner is now the Devil. Pt two is promised during the equally minimalist end titles.


" 'Ere you are, Luv...chalice full of ceremonial banger-oil. Satan likes a bit of crumpet now and again, he does."
Linzi Drew shows up here, in her first go at acting (insert snickers here) as the busty housekeeper. You'll remember her (or not) as the busty porn star in the "See You Next Wednesday" sequence in An American Werewolf in London (1981). Her pillowy boobs would score her roles in everything from Aria (1987), to Ken Russell's Lair of the White Worm (1988), and even Jodorowsky's Rainbow Thief (1990). Bet you never imagined Russell and Jodorowsky getting mentioned in a review like this, eh? Overall, there's not enough gore or sex to please fans of either here, really, and why else would anyone have ever rented or bought something like this in the first place? Mostly a drag. One wop.


Witchcraft-hooligan chant: Get yer tits out, get yer tits out, get yer tits out for the dark lord n' mastah!(clap-clap-clap)

"Blueblood" (1973) d/ Andrew Sinclair

The first time I saw Ollie Reed, in Ken Russell's Tommy (1975), I didn't like him. Looking back, it was probably his greasy Teddy Boy haircut combined with his awful singing in the movie that put me off, but over time, I earned great respect for the man's approach to acting, partying, and life, in general. Tonight's review, a gothic tale of witchcraft and horror set in extravagant Longleat House, country seat of the Marquis of Bath (who co-wrote the often clever script),  is a great example of Reed, from frivolous to sinister in record time and back again, all the while affecting an accent that is as hilarious as it is unintelligible. Sharing the lens with Ollie are the likes of Emperor Cl-Cl-Claudius himself, Sir Derek Jacobi, the ever-scrumptious Fiona Lewis, and Anna Gael (who's also the wife of the aforementioned Marquis).


"Aristocrat or not, I've a lot of balls for wearing a coat like this."
Beate (Meg Wynn Owen) is a frumpy, traditional German nanny, the latest to be employed by foppishly decadent aristocrat, Gregory (Derek Jacobi), whose predatory wife, Lily (Fiona Lewis), is often elsewhere on singing gigs, and whose looming butler, Tom (Oliver Reed), is a subject of growing unease and mistrust for the new nanny. Her two young charges being the result of Gregory's efforts to provide a male heir to inherit the sprawling estate, with a private section cordoned off for the family, and a public one that includes a drive thru wildlife park(!) for the constant influx of gawking tourists, Beate soon finds her dreams have gone all witchy with a red tint, and Tom as centerpiece, decked out in red cloth, dramatically palming a sacrificial dagger, and so on.


"Lighten up, Ilsa. 'Ave a bang of this Moony Kush."
The nanny finds that her cautionary chat with her employer is for naught, as he's no more concerned with his children's welfare than he is with his own deviant perversions or growing dependence upon his equally deviant manservant, who has taken control of the estate and all within it through his late night, red-colored voodoo. While Gregory carelessly parties away upstairs with a gaggle of upper-class twits, Tom follows suit with the staff, drinking booze and blowing jibbers, doing pretty much whatever (and whoever) he bloody well pleases, even slapping a stifling headlock on his fey boss in front of his mistress (Anna Gael) with no repercussions to fear. It all ends badly for the spineless aristocrats, as the male heir eats a sacrificial shiv and Gregory is no less deceased himself, and all with Tom gloating over the spoils, with an obedient Lily by his side.


'Cor, Fioner. You're giving me a...great deal of pleasure while admiring this screen cap.
The film sat for two years before opening to few theaters and fewer positive reviews in 1975, but that's not a deserving epitaph for such a movie, I think. If you're a fan of Reed and Jacobi, both of whom are excellent here, or just enjoy well-crafted British horror, and you haven't caught this one yet, do so immediately. Novelist/Director Sinclair, who also wrote an episode of Hammer House of Mystery and Suspense, aptly blends elements of anxiety and comedy into an entertaining visual romp full of sex, blood, drugs, and magic; all the necessary ingredients to earn this particular witches brew an impressive score of three Wops on the rating scale. Recommended.


"I'll only take a ceremonial dagger-stirred Bloody Mary, y'know..."

"The Devil's Men" (1976) d/ Kostas Karagiannis

Despite the promise of the mint-looking advance poster and it's unquestionably Mentor-esque imagery (yeaaaasssh), tonight's review, edited and released in the States as "Land of the Minotaur", is more of a drag than it ought to have been, with silver screen legends Donald Pleasance and Peter Cushing, appearing together for the first time since 1960's excellent The Flesh and The Fiends, good and evil-style posturing against a bevvy of blonde beauties with a score by the legendary Brian Eno, but a hapless script, oafish pacing, amateurish direction, and an outrageously inept male lead performance by one Costa Skouras, who kind of looks like a less likable Greek Jay Leno, anchor this piece of late night tv filler as the second feature on a dreary drive-in double bill, and I don't know about any of you, but I'd usually be in the back seat, pistoning into some weepy young devotchka's gutty-wuts like Bill Laimbeer with two fouls, by that time, and not inclined to pay much attention to whatever the hell was going on up on the big screen outside. Therein lies my beef here, you see, as a lifetime horror nut, I would have waived the backseat time on Pleasance and Cushing alone, only to witness...


"But your eyebrows bring me to squirting climax..." quips Milo's squeeze (Jane Lyle).
On a remote Greek isle, nosy couples have been going missing while monkeying around some delapidated ruins, leading local priest, Father Roche(Pleasance), to surmise that something or someone sinister has orchestrated the disappearances. When three more visiting tourists vanish, Roche sends off a letter to New York, where his dubious detective pal, Milo (Skouras), is shacked up with a gorgeous blonde (Lyle), urging him to drop his metropolitan affairs and fly to Greece immediately and assist him in investigating the strange goings-on. When Milo inevitably arrives on the scene, he naturally slags off Roche's every suggestion as superstitious rubbish, causing the padre to wildly overreact to Milo's imaginary lead foot while driving (shoddy editing shows the car barely coasting). Then there's Laurie (Luan Peters), the distraught girlfriend of one of the missing men, who classically catches an ill-timed backhander across the face-piece when Milo misses his mark in a dramatic exchange gone awry.


"But I don't wanna 'come on and zoom-ah-zoom-ah-zoom-ah-zoom'!"
Enter Baron Corofax (Cushing), on exile from the Carpathians and heading a really splendid Minoan cult of Satan-worshipping pagans (eh, like I said earlier, the script is foggy) who wear satin robes and hoods and enjoy sacrificing people by the two's to an over-sized golden minotaur statue that talks and repeatedly blows flames out of it's nostrils. So there's that. Corofax also enjoys being chauffeured around the island in a limousine and bullying non-believers with a shotgun. Of course, Roche and Milo get themselves captured and dragged off to the cult's fancy subterranean digs, where the priest's visual premonitions of being shanked in the armpit on an altar nearly come true, except that he's equipped with a gaudy homemade-looking cross and container of holy water, which just so happens to be the only effective weapon against these nearly invincible evil-doers and their full moon-only time frame. You could almost predict exactly what's gonna happen in the climax, if you gave enough of a shit, that is...


"That is correct. Write a proper screenplay and I shan't be forced to blow your head off."
You'll remember Jane Lyle as the impossibly hot blonde lead in the Greek-lensed Island of Death the previous year. In fact, Bob Behling and Jessica Dublin, both also from the cult classic cast, are aboard here, but forgive my momentary lapse into a fucking caveman at the prospect of Ms. Lyle and her seldom seen-but-breathtaking physical endowments for a second, when I say yes, yes I most certainly would. She was a Top Five dish of the decade in my book. You're all entitled to your own personal favorites, but she was sweetly pretty, and I want to protect her. In my hypothetical drive-in trip earlier, I'd opted out of the back windshield steam for the sake of the big names involved, and ultimately, that particular sacrifice would not have been worth it, given the failure of the motion picture to generate little else but unintentional laughs. On the scale, Men manages a mere single Wop. Approach with caution.


Dig Donald's "I'm about to be shivved for Satan" expression.