The Invasion of Carol Enders. (1974) – Burt Brinckerhoff.

Brinckerhof's conspicuously small screen supernatural thriller is yet another in a long line to feature body-hopping tropes. Upon waking in this pallid Dan Curtis Production, distressed coma victim Carol (Meredith Baxter) adamantly believes that recently deceased Diana (Sally Kemp) is lurking within those mysterious bodily vectors any rogue spirit may choose to hide!!?? The main narrative gist being, Carol's dogged, increasingly precarious attempts to unmask Diana's killer, not the former Princes royal, I should hastily add! Routine spook-less shenanigans, and the mostly fine cast do their very best to imbue a semblance of life into a plot that had long since expired.

Chintzier than a macramé tea cosy, the soapy dialogue, and flavoursome lapses into outright camp provided for a modicum of unintended levity! The prodigiously gormless young fellow playing neurotic son Jason remains utterly tepid entity, exuding all the charisma of a budget Ikea desk lamp! As a teenager, I was hugely taken by Christopher Connelly's lusty performance in Deodato's entertainingly roustabout adventure Atlantis Interceptors, proving so indelible an experience, I have never truly been able to see him as anything but said stalwart Atlantean pugilist!

 Beyond The Limits (2003) – Olaf Ittenbach.

'considering you are a man of god, you are refreshingly ruthless!!!'

The lurid leviathan of psychotronic gore excess, amps up the lunacy in his proper mentalist horror/gangster/dark ages brain-fuck Beyond The Limits. Like an especially flavoursome, generously meaty splatter lasagne, each layer of Ittenbach's bloodthirsty action/gore-blaster is basted in a thick rue of gruesome ultra-violence, heretical head-lopping, eldritch lore, brutal torture, enthusiastic acting, and black-hearted duplicity. If you are a fan of cruelty, gruesomely bludgeoning death, bodies wracked in excruciating pain, ravaged by brutish battle-axes, Beyond the Limits provides gratuitously executed retrograde slaughter, remaining a veritable feast of frenzied, flesh-flaying mayhem. The levels of gore proved satisfying, and I enjoyed, shall we say, the unusually hybridic nature of Beyond The Limits deliriously epoch-spanning narrative. I couldn't be absolutely sure, but it certainly looked as though mighty Mathias Hues engaged briefly in a bloody bout with martial arts maestro Darren Shahlavi?

 Lycan Colony (2005) Rob Roy.

'A werewolf in cheap's clothing'

A disgraced dipso surgeon reluctantly moves his unhappy family to the backwoods of Podunk USA, discovering that the clannish inhabitants are all werewolves! While the odds of anyone finding an entire town populated by lycanthropes are astronomically high, making an implausibly inept film that proves hilariously watchable is simply beyond all reckoning! The rudimentary acting, conspicuously D.I.Y practical FX, Amiga computer graphics, and stupefying dialogue, are all somehow magically transformed by lunar idiosyncrasies into bad movie nirvana! Even as you are watching Lycan Colony, you still cannot quite believe what you are seeing, this is one of the rarest Z-Movies wherein you can not only witness patent evidence of Ed Wood's legend, one senses that his indomitable spirit is somehow guiding helmsman Rob Roy at this noble work! Thrillingly, at no point during Lycan Colony is there any hope of suspending disbelief, it is the absolute incongruity of almost everything you witness that generates true WTF supremacy!

If you began with the lofty psychotronic majesty of Howling II, and then descended precipitously into the ruinous slime at the bottom of the bargain bin, you might unearth the mouldering, protoplasmic goo that provided the active elements that begot Lycan Colony. I can readily handle the film's lunatic premise, yet the very idea that pop was at anytime a reputable surgeon is, for me, one step beyond the Twilight Zone, this galloping goof would have trouble winning a round of pinochle against a pickled fetus. Even as a card-carrying atheist, I can't believe that there isn't somehow a higher power at work turning something so howlingly absurd as Lycan Colony into Z-Movie gold, water into wine is tater tots in comparison. If ya' don't adore Lycan Colony as much as I do, there is simply no hope at all left for humanity. As a postscript, we demonstratively need Lycan Colony products, a super-plush Lycanthrope onesie with crimson-glow eyes, and photorealistic abs is a winning stocking filler!

 Mark of The Witch (1970) – Tom Moore.

'Time is nothing to the Devil's favoured child!'

This clearly low budget Texan supernatural shocker has Professor of occult sciences (Robert Elston), and his pretty student (Anitra Walsh) fall foul of a 16^th century witch (Marie Santell). One of horror's most immediately satisfying tropes is that of a vengeful witch, menacingly monologuing upon the gallows, and Santell rocks it like a blaspheming boss! While the film-making, photography, and prosaic text are flat and uninviting, the primitive electronic score, period acid-fuzz guitar, and showroom pristine period fashions remain lively.

As horror, Mark of the Witch is a hokily fun, but ultimately tepid summoning of evil, enjoyed as a kitsch B-Witch, it's a delightfully devilish distraction. Performances are uneven, but attractive brunette Anitra vividly invokes a luscious, altogether saftig witch host, and much of the archaic beatnik repartee is a gas! As handsome Anitra underwent her eldritch fireside boogie, she momentarily appeared to morph into an appetisingly corn-fed Bjork! I just wanted it noted that I heartily disapprove of spontaneously combusting an innocent budgie in order to make a point!!!! Budgie's are people too, guy!!!!

 Anthropophagous 2000 (1999) - Andreas Schnaas.

Teutonic Gore-master Andreas Schnaas's surprisingly faithful S.O.V tribute to D'Amato's controversial cannibal mood piece is arguably one of the more credible splatter remakes. Not completely successful, Schnaas's earnest attempt to recapture the malign spirit of the especially doom-laden original provides some palpable video nastiness. Due largely to its meagre budget, and the visual limitations of the video format, Anthropophagous 2000 doesn't quite reach the same level of wrenching, apocalyptic dread as Joe D'Amato's immortal Greek tragedy. George Eastman's iconic grimness remains untouchable, but the unknown cast do a mostly credible job of portraying their increasingly beleaguered situation, and the gut-busting gore proved satisfying. I had low expectations, as the original remains one of my favourite horror films, but Schnaas's genuine affection for The Grim Reaper is palpable, and while technically deficient, it cannot be faulted as a visceral tribute to a Euro-shock milestone. In terms of zealously unfiltered S.O.V ultra-gore Andreas remains in a Schnaas all of his very own!

 Adam & Nicole aka Erotic Inferno. (1976) – Trevor Wrenn.

'Oh! Adam, you've made me all wet!'

Featured players: Chris Chitell, Jenny Westbrook, Michael Watkins, Karl Lanchbury, and Jeannie Collings. Directed luridly by Trevor Wrenn. Music: KPM.

I would have got involved with Erotic Inferno at Music: KPM, all the scrumptious soft-core rumpy-pumpy is, of course, no small jiggly parts of the film's slap n' tickled, generously Brut-slathered allure. Plot is mildewed pottage about the reading of rich father's will, his son's excitable willies, and the 'lengths' these randy buggers will go to get their grasping meat-hooks on all his lovely lolly! It is impossible for me to disparage such a boorishly rampant example of 70s Brit-smut, especially one that includes the immortal utterance of 'I'm going to see your boobies, right now!!!', needfully delivered by tiny, yet titanically tantalizing temptress Mary Millington!!!

Like a goodly splatter flick, Adam & Nicole only infrequently let's the paltry chat interfere with the bountiful, if somewhat indifferently mounted bonkage. The pending death of the UK's once flourishing film industry was largely due to a grubby slew of prurient dross like Tony Wrenn's crudely smutty Erotic Inferno. When seen today, with its sublime period fashions, blithe misogyny, prodigious, largely female nudity, and undeniably righteous KPM boudoir funk, it is a bravura, boff-centric artefact from Great Britain's inglorious descent in exploitation grottiness! While any genuine erotica is pointedly absent, much less an inferno, it must be duly noted that Millington's scenes remain teasingly electric!

Return to Boggy Creek (1977) – Tom Moore.

I believe, most sincerely, if everyone in the world today returned to Boggy Creek at least twice, our ailing planet would be a far jollier place to live in. Sequels are problematic entities, even if the originator follows his, or her own work, happily the return of Boggy Creek's iconic bottom dweller is still in rude health! I'm always thrilled by the prospect of a monstrously hairy beast returning to terrorize the bottoms, but that's quite enough of my sordid peccadilloes. Moore's beloved original remains a classic creature feature no matter which way you part your hair, and his Return To Boggy Creek maintains the folksy charm of the original, keeping the legend of this balefully bellowing Bayou behemoth alive. As an ardent fan of all things boggy and sasquatchy, I got no complaints, guy, the cast are fine, with exquisite work from young Nancy Drew-wannabe Dana Plato, and charismatic arm-waving from Big-Footed Louis Belaire.

As a momentary aside, I always wanted to have confirmed whether notable thespian Timothy Bottoms was in anyway related to the Boggy Creek Bottoms? Like an unexpectedly warm autumn night, Return To Boggy Creek remains a treat for stalwart sasquatchers of all ages. Clearly, Return To Boggy Creek is a product from a bygone age, the unhurried pace, lack of screen violence, and wholesome hi-jinks, may, perhaps, appear anachronistic to contemporary viewers, but it is this warmly-fuzzy, time capsule aesthetic that I find so comforting. I'd actually forgotten that Sasquatch have a Jones for catfish Kool Aid, which, finally, and unequivocally reveals the origin of their legendarily far-reaching stink! It must also be stated that lovely Dawn Wells manifestly got that down-home Linda Ronstadt sexiness going on!