Film Reviews by NP

This is a documentary written and directed by the acclaimed Werner Herzog, and focusses on his tumultuous relationship with volatile actor Klaus Kinski. Volatile might actually be an understatement for, as the very opening shots reveal, Kinski was a man of unpredictable temper. And when he let go of that temper, well …

It is impossible to review this without at least touching on some of Kinski’s personal peccadillos. In the 1950s, he was diagnosed with psychopathy and was unable to secure film roles. As a result, he twice attempted suicide. His career recovered somewhat, but his schizophrenic behaviour didn’t. After his death, there were various allegations from family members of sexual abuse.

Herzog, despite being labelled a megalomaniac (and other things) by Kinski, has lead a less notorious lifestyle. He has married three times, and has continued to direct to this day.

Featuring much behind-the-scenes footage of Kinski’s rages, Herzog’s personal anecdotes also feature a more measured human being, even suggesting someone who would instigate his tantrums as means of making sure everyone’s attention was focussed on him. Herzog would even provoke his star before a take, ensuring he had got it out of his system in time for filming! Steering Kinski’s volatility could never always be successful, of course, and it is with a vein of black humour that Herzog recounts tales of actually intending to kill his ‘best fiend’.

Two fascinating characters, then, who were often capable of greatness as a result of their explosive relationship. It would, of course, have been fascinating to have had Kinski alive at this time to provide his own reminiscences. But we are left with remembrances from those he worked with, my two favourites featuring one time when his co-star Eva Mattes won an acting award, and Kinski did not. I don’t need such accolades, he is said to have replied: I know I am a genius! Secondly, the two men were at such loggerheads that Herzog threatened to empty eight bullets into Kinski’s head, leaving the ninth for himself!

Who hasn’t got a fiend like that?

There’s a lesson here; always persevere with a film past the first fifteen minutes. On first attempt this seemed very much to me like an Italian production (it is actually Italian/Canadian) trying too hard to emulate a wholesome American ‘family’ horror – which it is in a way – but the results go beyond that kind of blandness.

Following the death of his wife, Craig and his mute daughter Jennifer (Aaron Stielstra and Eleonora Marianelli respectively) move into a dilapidated home. Craig looks and dresses very much like ‘your average guy’, and uses American slang, but has an accent, as all characters do. He also has a slightly manic edge to him. Jennifer is a sweet child, terrifically acted. Her sense of fear and unsureness is conveyed entirely through her eyes, and I would hope Mirianelli has a successful future ahead of her. Craig’s sister Susan (Désirée Giorgetti) provides scant, and often pretty unhelpful support. In flashbacks, wife Helen is played, rather stiltedly, by Sofia Pauly.

Craig seems to be sinking into his own private hell, exacerbated by his daughter’s increasingly dark dreams. As we learn a little more about him, we find he has a catalogue of failures behind him. The dream-like figure of The Blind King (David White), a chatty mummy-like demon, appears to be orchestrating Craig’s anxieties through shared dreams and threatens to engulf him completely. Or so it seems to me – a lot of this is open to interpretation, despite much psychological dialogue. This appears to be the curse of the underdog, the black sheep of the family, the loser.

This is a dark journey that runs out of steam a little toward the end. My score is 6 out of 10.

Hammer films made a massive impact with their horror output, beginning with 1957’s ‘The Curse of Frankenstein’, which made Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee into household names. It is quite astonishing to me that ‘The Abominable Snowman’ was released only a few months earlier that same year, but it could have been ten years before. This is no form of criticism – it just shows how bloody and revolutionary the style of the Mary Shelley adaption was in comparison.

It can’t be easy to make a film about a group of abrasive characters travelling across unforgiving wastes in search of the deadly Yeti so cosy, yet this is what Director Val Guest manages to do. The Buddhist monks are compliant and cheerful, the British characters are clipped, polite and stoical and the Americans are gruff and loud. All very well played, Forrest Tucker manages to make the irreverent Tom Friend dependable and appealing. Second-billed Peter Cushing and Richard Wattis (as authoritative Dr. Rollason and Peter ‘Foxy’ Fox respectively) are fussily excellent, and Maureen Connell makes the most of her role as Rollason’s wilful wife Helen, the only female in the picture. Wolfe Morris, who plays Kusang, also played another effective and rather chilling monk in the 1967 Doctor Who story ‘The Abominable Snowman.’

I used the term cosy earlier: again, this is no criticism. The camaraderie of the characters, despite their differences, adds much to this, as is the ‘old fashioned’ respect and politeness on display (when the characters are not squabbling, of course). Certainly a modestly budgeted British studio’s interpretation of the savage landscape is beyond criticism. Establishing footage of the terrain meshes very well with the very detailed, expansive studio sets.

This is, however, a very talky film. Despite the fine performances, it would be nice to have seen a little more of the titular Bigfoot. We are teased throughout – 16 inch footprints, eerie sounds, and then a clawed hand. There is a genuinely growing sense of tension as the vengeful creatures (there’s more than one) echo across the snow-scape – and the climactic revelation is powerful and poignant. My score is 7 out of 10.

I am not always a fan of the colourful, bright-red-blood-splashed world of director Lucio Fulci (or his fellow director of such films, Mario Bava) although it would be wrong of me to under-estimate how influential their projects have often been. Such extravagantly lit productions often rob the story of a sense of reality and, while they may be spectacular to look at, I can't always believe in them.

And so to 'The Black Cat'. Loosely based on the Edgar Allan Poe story, this production could be seen as an exercise in restraint - and it all comes together beautifully. Police Inspector Gorley is soberly played by David Warbeck as a kind of Roger Moore/Ian McCulloch hybrid. Mimsy Farmer is Jill Trevers, initially a bit too sensible for a horror run-around starring an aggressive feline. Both actors play things very much as real, which gives what could be an occasionally ludicrous story a sense of gravitas, leaving Patrick Magee to really go to town with the character of mad old Professor Robert Miles, who has a kind of connection with the titular mouser: the question is, who is pulling the strings?

I thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of this adaption. Fulci gives many scenes a looming, poetic quality without ever drifting into gaudy unreality. Various cats-eye views work well and the beautiful sleek feline(s) used here behave very well and genuinely have an unsettling edge (I say this as a cat lover). The enhanced sound of growling that accompanies the cat's every appearance also lets us know the creature is not to be messed with. All this, with various twists and turns and occasional shocking bouts of brief gore (with bright red blood of course), insures there is never an excuse to look away. Highly recommended, my score for this is 8 out of 10.

‘The Sacrament’ is one of those found-footage films that likes to push the boundaries of the formula. Or in other words, what we have here emerges as a hybrid of the found-footage convention and ‘traditional’ film-making. Scrutiny reveals that not everything could possibly have been recorded by AJ Bowen’s Sam Turner, despite imaginative efforts to get us to believe so. Equally, the addition of an occasional incidental score at moments of great tension seem to indicate either that the character’s added this in their own fictional post-production, or this is a regular project put through the found-footage ‘filter’.

I use the word ‘fictional’ – here again, nothing is that straightforward: although I didn’t realise it when watching, this is based on the 1978 Jonestown atrocity in which a charismatic cult leader orchestrated a mass ‘revolutionary suicide’. The leader’s name was Jim Jones; in ‘The Sacrament’, the actor playing the cult leader is Gene Jones. Ooyah.

I wouldn’t suggest that Jones was employed because of his name, however, far from it. His performance as ‘Father’, who benignly resides over the residents of Eden Parish, is excellent. Laconic and avuncular one moment, sharp and menacing the next. A tremendous character.

Amy Seimetz plays Caroline, who has transformed herself from a lowly world of drug abuse to the hippie heights of Eden Parish. Except, as her brother Patrick (Kentucker Audley) and film-maker Jake (Joe Swanberg) find out when visiting her, the gun-toting guards present an image that is anything other than peace and love. Jake’s wife at home, is pregnant. This informs the sympathy he feels a little mute girl who, alongside her frightened mother, implore the visitors to get them away from the place. As was ever pretty opbvious, there is an evil at the heart of Eden Parish.

Director Ti West makes an excellent job of this, with the cast all providing well-crafted and rounded characters, and a real sense of menace that makes the ‘tranquility’ enjoyed by all the collected waifs and strays perversely unnatural. The occasional moments of gore, mostly saved for the atrocities toward the end, are subtle and very effective. The sense of the scale of wilful disaster here is unsettling, all the more so as it is orchestrated by the caring resident nurse. An excellent film, not entirely surprising in the story it tells, but powerfully carried out. My score is 8 out of 10.

Detective Dave Richards (Mark Homer) is watching ‘Plan 9 from Outer Space!’ ‘Plan 9’ is a notorious low-budget film by the derided Edward G Wood. Fifty years later, low budget film Director Andrew Jones and his North Bank Entertainment company have made a name for themselves for prolific, and often successful, filmic output. Lack of finance hasn’t hampered his films’ ambitions, which is either commendable or foolhardy: it’s up to you to decide. For example, early on here, we have a nightclub, frequented by a crowd of about three people; a trip to a bar, frequented by about three people; a press conference, frequented – well, you know the drill. Would it have been better to modify these scenes to locations requiring less need for extras who clearly aren’t there? Possibly. Having said that, ‘Bundy and the Green River Killer’ is one of Jones’ more successful projects. Unlike his ‘Robert the Doll’ series, which is frequented by less and less realistic characters, here we have much more believable, rounded people. Therefore we can identify with them, are drawn into the drama and less inclined to mind the low budget trappings.

The cast are mainly very good, with a fair approximation of American accents. Homer leads them well, and it is good to see he has become part of Jones’ repertoire. Of the protagonists, Richard Mark makes a fine job of Ted Bundy. He may lack some of the brooding charm the part requires, but it is a good, solid performance in what is a surprisingly peripheral role (his helping the police to gain favour inspired the tales of Hannibal Lecter). I’m not quite sure what to make of Jared Nelson as Gary Ridgway – in early scenes he seems ungainly, almost comical, whereas later on he is impressively measured and menacing.

Of course, the film is talky and not given to huge scenes of action, which is a trademark of Jones’ work. Much of the dialogue is taken from taped interviews with the real Bundy during his time on Death Row. There is a loose approximation of 1982 USA rather than something that survives intense scrutiny (plenty of ammunition for those who wish to bemoan inaccurate fashions and wrong-shaped plugs!). Some will appreciate this, others will not (the film opened at #1 in the HMV Premiere DVD chart). For my part, I thoroughly enjoyed this and as always, look forward to Jones’ next adventure!

Andrew Jones’ prolific North Bank Entertainment dishes out another in the successful series featuring Robert the Doll. As with the previous couple of instalments his fictional creator, The Toymaker, has become a central character. It isn’t a great decision: Lee Bane is a mainstay of Jones’ productions and often turns in fine performances, but once again, he is buried under ‘old man’ make-up from which no-one could make much of an impression. The Toymaker’s look has been toned down, admittedly, but the character remains visually unimpressive and often absurd. Knowingly though, there is a thin line of dark humour present that invites the audience not to take things too seriously.

This is very much part of a series: there is little effort to explain any previous plot developments in the hope of converting those unfamiliar with Robert’s back-story. Events occur, but very little story seems to take place for a long while. Robert himself makes fleeting head-and-shoulders appearances (as do his friends, Cyclops and Kalashnikov), and any venue, whether it be theatre of public house, is noticeably free of people.

‘Robert Reborn’ is the fifth in the film series, and it appears to be the concluding chapter in wat has become the prequel trilogy (this is set in 1951). I’m not massively sorry about this. Robert’s origins could have made quite a pacey and entertaining story, but three films is stretching the idea beyond breaking point. And yet, this opened at #1 in HMV’s DVD Premier Chart, so it appears others are more enamoured of the little fellow’s beginnings than me.

I still think there’s mileage in the story. Images of a toy-room festooned with sightless, grinning mannequins will never not be creepy, and Jones’ productions have always bounced back despite occasionally uninspiring decisions.

‘Robert Reborn’ isn’t a bad film (the scenes aboard a plane heading for Moscow), but it exposes many weaknesses of a low-budget production without bringing anything particularly inspiring to the table this time around. My score is 5 out of 10.

Chace Crawford – a Hollywood name if ever there was one – plays Jacob Martin, a young man whose father has just passed away, leaving him $1.2 million. However, to avoid seven years of red tape regarding getting his hands on the money, he has to prove the death of his Aunt Genevieve (Nicole Forester), whowas committed to an asylum, and whose death certificate is held there.

Now, this is really just a convoluted way of giving ‘a group of friends’ a reason to break into and explore a spooky, abandoned medical facility late one stormy night. I’m quite happy with the fact that the actual reason for them being there doesn’t survive much probing, because the location is very creepy, and the cinematography really enhances that. Equally, the incidental score and sound design plays a huge part – in fact, Ronan Lander’s music might be my favourite aspect of the production. The storyline is pretty confusing, but again, I like something that requires the audience pays attention, even in this case, attention might not be enough to make sense of it all.

SPOILERS - Years ago, Jacob’s aunt was admitted to the asylum for her worsening schizophrenic outbursts. Flashbacks that seem to emanate from the building itself inform Jacob (and us) she was actually made pregnant by Robert Patrick’s pioneering but evil Doctor Greiss (either after her incarceration or before, this is not made clear) and to keep the liaison secret, the doctor orders the child destroyed. However, the child is rescued and allowed to escape the hospital, and grows up … to be Jacob. On returning to the asylum at his father’s last wish, Jacob is seemingly killed (we last see him being incarcerated in a morgue drawer, gagged so ‘he doesn’t wake the dead’), which somehow negates the child’s existence, or at very least, gets rid of the problem. There, is that clear? I haven’t made any kind of study of this, but that is my take on a story that leaves a lot to interpretation. Again, I have no problem with that approach, but there is a lot to take in here. For example, the room full of containers full of ashes, some of which are spilled, has some significance. As does the somnambulistic vagrant man who appears a couple of times. As does the nature of the seemingly shifting time lines. Answers on a postcard please …!

The fact that I am still trying to puzzle out some of these moments, and the fact that I will inevitably watch this again indicates that I care enough about ‘Eloise’, and I did enjoy the murky nature of the story-telling. Even the characters, who appear dull and unappealing at the beginning, grew on me. I’m giving this a 7 out of 10.

If anyone could manage to produce a jungle action/adventure for the price of a sangria, it would be Jess Franco. Even by 1971, he had carved out a name for himself as being able to make a virtue out of a microscopic budget. However, some films lend themselves better to that arrangement than others. For the dream-like 'horror' films he directed, such cut-price weirdness can actually enhance the overall mood - with a film such as this, where the dangers are more real, the constraints are more obvious.

'Flight to Hell' features prolific Spanish actress Esperanza Roy (as Anna Maria), who shows off a lot more than she did in possibly her better known role of Vivian, the second most glamorous character in 1973's 'The Return of the Evil Dead' (someway behind ruggedly coiffured hero Tony Kendall). There are also a number of faces here that are familiar from other Jess Franco films, most notably Howard Vernon, Paul Müller and Ewa Strömberg. Fernando Sancho is also notable as the dastardly Paco.

'Flight to Hell' is a nicely structured, although not hugely exciting, Franco jungle romp, with various plane crash survivors trying to stay alive in the tropics, whilst keeping their heads amidst greed and squabbles.

There's a fairly sexual lesbian scene involving Anna Maria and Lolita (an uncredited Beni Cardoso), who is introduced purely for that brief moment. This only goes to enflame the passions of Vernon's Pedro (it's a testament to Vernon that his character is pretty convincing despite a very false-looking moustache. His presence lifts any film he is in, even when playing a fairly minor role: this is no exception).

All in all, this will probably suffer the fate of many of Franco's projects - those unfamiliar with his work will note with disdain the constant zooms, meandering plot and murky pacing. Others, who have a fondness for Uncle Jess (like myself) will find the whole venture charming in its way, with a lot to enjoy. Not a major work from the director, this nevertheless entertains for its 86 minutes. My score is 6 out of 10.

Often referred to, when it is referred to at all, as a ‘video nasty’ from the 1980s, ‘Cannibal Terror’ is not the work, as some believe, of prolific Spanish Director Jess Franco. French Alain Deruelle can take responsibility for this: Franco was filming ‘White Cannibal Queen’ at the time, and when he stopped filming, Deruelle begun, using the same sets and some cannibals from Jess’s production. This even stars a few names from his repertoire, Pamela Stanford (as Manuela, sporting a black wig) and Antonio Mayans (as the diabolical Mario). Olivier Mathot is also on hand as the rather aged father of little Anabelle. The child is kidnapped (off camera, which is strange for a key dramatic moment), and the ensuing chase to sun-drenched outlands is what fuels the story.

Perhaps dullness is this film’s biggest sin. With such an emotive title, you would expect more spectacle than we get here. It might be unkind to suggest these three are the only actors in the production, but it would be true – and that includes those ‘voice artistes’ responsible for the dubbing. Other cast members are uniformly dreadful, clearly having a bit of a laugh rather than delivering anything, which is absolutely fair enough: view this film in the same way, and you may even enjoy it. But ‘a bit of a laugh’ is stretched following certain distasteful developments ‘Cannibal Terror’ has to offer, as well as the grisly gore close-ups (presumably involving animal innards replicating the human variety).

Purely from a practical view, if you are a fairly inept outlaw on the run with the kidnapped child of a rich family, one of the least sensible things to do is to brutally rape the young wife (Stanford) of the friend who is giving you refuge. This is what Mario does. A couple of scenes later, Manuela instigates a wild party with everyone, dancing and offering to strip and having a laugh. Has she forgotten her earlier trauma? Certainly Mario seems a little grumpy, but apart from that, it is business as usual. Bizarre.

The cannibals are a mixed bunch of awkward-looking, painted youths and middle-aged males, a fact conceded by Deruelle – who has never seen the completed film – who gave up any pretence at authenticity when he saw the paucity of the budget. Nice musical score by Jean-Jacques Lemêtre though, although his theme for the film is as far away from anyone’s idea of ‘terror music’ as you can get. That the cannibals turn out ultimately to be rather nice, especially the younger gang-members, should put a smile on the hardest of faces. My score is 5 out of 10.

Prolific Spanish Director Jess Franco’s comedies are far from my favourite films: ‘Kiss Me Monster’, ‘Trip to Bangkok, Coffin Included’ and ‘Red Silk’, to name but three, I find progressively challenging to sit through. It could just be that the humour is lost in translation. Whatever the reason, I much prefer his ‘serious’, more personal, projects.

‘Two Female Spies’, which begins very much as a comedy, features hapless strippers Cecille and Brigitte (Lina Romay and Nadine Pascal) who are released from prison in order to work undercover for the US Government. Pretty unbelievable, and presumably intended to be hilarious and farcical, their mission immediately takes on a far darker tone with the introduction of Adriana (Susan Hemingway), a very young-looking innocent who is hypnotised, kidnapped, tortured and in very protracted scenes, raped. That events continue to shift in tone in such a way throughout make this a truly unpredictable 96 minutes.

Always prolific, Franco may not have had the time to iron out a more consistent approach. Or, and this is not beyond the realms of possibility, the sudden lurching changes between silliness and horrifying cruelty might be entirely deliberate. In many ways, I like this discordance – you really don’t know what kind of story you are delving into. In other ways, it does make for a very choppy experience. And of course, following rape and torture with jollity and titillation is deeply distasteful – but then, this is Jess Franco, who always thrived on being provocative. Problem is, that approach comes at the expense of an involving story, and sadly, ‘Two Female Spies’ proves to be an ultimately dull experience.

The character of Milton (Mel Rodrigo) is most changed by the various different edits of this film (although other characters are deleted altogether). Introduced as an effeminate homosexual, he proves to be the hero of the piece, before renouncing his old sexual ways and vowing to marry Romay’s Cecille. The sight of Romay, dressed in very little but sandals and a shiny swimming cap, tottering over a rocky plain to a void a helicopter, is far from her greatest moment but once again proves that, whatever film she appeared in, she always entered into it whole-heartedly. Sadly her partner in this ‘romp’, Brigitte, succumbs to a fate which is probably the darkest moment this film has to offer. My score is 5 out of 10.

Phillippe Leroy plays Dr Sayer, a rich sadist who enjoys degrading and torturing women for kicks. Leroy bears a slight resemblance to latter-day James Bond actor Daniel Craig, which is interesting. Dagmar Lassander is Maria, a journalist who becomes the latest in a long line of females who are subjected to the exploration of Sayer’s virility.

This film has been compared to the works of prolific Spanish director Jess Franco, who specialised in low-budget exploitation. For a story about a sexual sadist, ‘The Laughing Woman’ is ultimately rather mannered, comparatively speaking; we must not forget of course, that Franco was – with all due respect – a joyous pervert. Piero Schivazappa (who co-wrote as well as directed this) seems, by contrast, to be accentuating the trippy, psychedelic wackiness of his story as opposed to the sexually gratuitous, despite a couple of stand-out scenes. One of these scenes involves Sayer, who seems to be getting some roadside relief, spying a passing train resplendent with flapping pink flags, packed with attractive young women blowing suggestively on saxophones. Another involves Sayer disappearing inside a huge polystyrene vagina, outsized legs either side of him.

The ending may not come as a complete surprise to the audience, but it does have a certain sense of satisfaction about it. Getting to that point though, after 108 minutes, is far too long a time for such a thin story. It emerges as a sexually orientated episode of latter-day ‘The Avengers’ (the 1961-69 version starring Patrick Magee), but with no real sense of heart, despite the fine performances. Jess Franco films, to mention him one more time, always had a sense of improvised danger, a natural eye for the unusual whether it be camera style or attention to surrounding detail. Schivazappa, by comparison, is rather more laid back in his approach. My score for this is 5 out of 10.

Ah, video-cam distortion. Where would films like this be without it? Actually, there aren’t many ‘films like this’, although the found footage genre remains a fairly popular one. Fifteen years before ‘Monster’, ‘The Blair Witch Project’ proved you could record a film cheaply from the point-of-view of the characters, and make a critical and financial success of it. Indeed, a common problem you would have if you *really* were to make a home movie in extraordinary circumstances, would be to have sound problems that rendered portions of the dialogue inaudible and lighting issues often making it impossible to work out what was happening. As a commercial venture such as this, these shortfalls just smack of bad film-making. And sadly, ‘Monster’ is a bad film.

The Asylum is a direct-to-video company who have had some success, and some notoriety, producing minimal-budget films in a bid to capitalise on major Hollywood projects of the time. ‘Monster’ is their version of ‘Cloverfield (also 2008)’, in which an outsized creature terrorises a city. Here, two silly girls travel to Japan to produce a documentary about global warming, a world-threatening issue reduced to a wacky school project. Whilst they are there, an earthquake occurs. We know this because there are plentiful overlaid sound-effects of carnage and a very un-Japanese-sounding people panicking. The video-distortion I mentioned kicks in at moments when otherwise we would be treated to a visual representation of the disaster, and saves the production team (if there is one) the trouble of providing any expensive set-pieces. You want a city being destroyed? Shake the camera and apply some break-ups and pixilation problems – that’ll convince the audience something terrible is happening. Of course, when things are calmer, there is no need for distortion and the visuals are as clear as can be.

It is the contempt in which the audience are held that disappoints. The project is massively too ambitious to ever work with such slender means, and to expect anyone to invest in what is at times a brazenly amateurish production such as this is either asking too much, or simply having a laugh.

Sarah Lieving and Erin Sullivan look as panicky and dishevelled as they can without it affecting their looks too much – they even get a ‘Blair Witch’-style moment to tell their parents back home (this is Tokyo, remember) they love them. Bizarrely, they are prone to announcing “We are American,” from time to time, as if their nationality should make them immune from this distress. My heart goes out them though; they do what they can. And to be fair to The Asylum, we do get about thirty seconds of monster action as a CGI tentacled thing makes a lot of noise toward the end. If I had stopped watching halfway through, I would feel very short-changed; hanging around until the end softens my heart towards the production a little. At least it gives us an actual monster, albeit very briefly. The problem is, to reach this point, you have to sit through 90 minutes of a cut-price disaster film that simply cannot produce the goods. My score for this is 3 out of 10.

Prolific director Andrew Jones has made a name for himself delivering minimally-budgeted projects for over ten years now, and with some success. Usually focusing on horror themes, he eschews spectacular scenarios in favour of telling more intimate character-based tales with a small collection of actors (although here, the cast list is a lot longer than is usual). With these war-based projects, he often chooses to tell stories of American soldiers, using English actors and locations. A recent example of this is 2018's 'Alcatraz' (which employs some of the actors featured here). So although his budget doesn't allow for big action adventures, Jones's ambitions are fairly broad. Whether the results mark this as a good thing or not is up to the individual - for me, it is a mixed bag.

With horror stories, it is easier to overlook slowly-delivered, perfunctory dialogue; this approach, together with occasionally challenging sound-design, can actually enhance the dream-like quality of what you are watching - Jones's series of 'Robert the Doll' films often work because of this. For a reality-based story such as 'D-Day Assassins', such restrictions are more glaring.

With his customary loose approximation of accuracy, 'The Filthy Thirteen' are shown in flashback, as gruff old veteran and survivor Hawkeye (Ryan Michaels) - so gruff in fact, he is sometimes difficult to understand - recounts to a directionless young man (Aaron Jeffcoate) stories of his war-torn youth. This makes up the bulk of the 77 minutes running time. All of this is handsomely filmed, making good use of the location, if rarely evoking the 'feel' of those days (everything is a little too bright for that). Viewers who are knowledgeable about weaponry and clothes used at the time might get a little irritated. For me, such things are not really a huge problem, as long as the story is arresting, which it is for the most part. Even then, although 'D-Day Assassins' is character-based, we never learn much about any of them, other than the struggles they are facing at the given time. My score for this is 6 out of 10.

(For anyone worried about the lack of regular Lee Bane - he's here, but you have to wait to see him, as the vicar and I believe the unseen lawyer right at the end.)

This, the sequel to the ‘Vampire Killer Barbys’ travelogue-style curio, comes 6 years after the original: time that has seen a further reduction in the typical budget of a typical Jess Franco film. As far as I can tell, only Billy King returns to play the same character as he did in the first film, although saucy Sylvia Superstar and the excellent Aldo Sambrell (in his last film) also return, playing different people.

We’re also joined here by Franco muse, the tireless Lina Romay as no-nonsense party-pooper Camarada Irina, and former underage ingénue Katja Bienert as Katia. Katia interviews various characters (including fake Dracula Peter Martell), but not The Killer Barbys, indicating her scenes might well have been shot independently from much of the film.

The afore-mentioned Dracula pretender is probably the most interesting character here. Full of indignant protests that he is the REAL Count, Martell’s cadaverous appearance works well wrapped in dark clothes and cape. He isn’t concerned with being out in daylight, but you wouldn’t expect him to be. There are even echoes of John Carradine about him.

All this is scuppered when the real Dracula (Kike Sarasola) turns up. It turns out he is a fan of bubble-gum pop, which is just as well, because this film is interspersed with many ‘live’ numbers from The Killer Barbys, or what remains of their number. Dracula is also unconcerned about appearing in sunlight, although the video filters added to some of his scenes might just be attempting to convince us night has fallen; it is difficult to tell. There’s a blind Doctor ‘Seaward’ character (Dan van Hussen), and even Bela Lugosi gets a mention. But we aren’t encouraged to worry too much about any of that – this is strictly superficial, one-shot silliness and pretends to be little else. Unlike the earlier film, there is no nudity and very little sexual suggestion (although there are a few expletives in the dubbed dialogue), indicating the project has been directed towards juveniles. Again, it is difficult to tell. Who cares really? As for the songs – I’ve heard a lot worse, which is just as well, because there are a lot of them.

Apart from directing, Franco also co-writes this (alongside Romay and José Roberto Vila). My score is 5 out of 10.