Featured Image -- 1515

THE ORPHANAGE. 2007. EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: GUILLERMO DEL TORO. DIRECTED BY J.A. BAYONA. STARRING BELEN RUEDA, FERNANDO CAYO AND ROGER PRINCEP. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

Originally posted on sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris:

kid_Orphanage-431x300

THE ORPHANAGE. 2007. EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: GUILLERMO DEL TORO. DIRECTED BY J.A. BAYONA. STARRING BELEN RUEDA, FERNANDO CAYO, ROGER PRINCEP, MABEL RIVERA, MONTSERRAT CARULLA, ANDRES GERTRUDIX, EDGAR VIVAR AND GERALDINE CHAPLIN. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

I was utterly blown away by this film. It’s a perfectly formed and executed ghost story that simultaneously made me think, made me cry and also frightened the living daylights out of me. It’s beautifully shot and set in a magnificently eerie old house and grounds that most horror fans would kill to live in. I’m thrilled that I was persuaded by a friend to sit down and watch this film a few days before Halloween. My horror education would have been sadly lacking without it.

The plot is as follows. Thirty-seven-year-old Laura Sanchez was brought up in an orphanage. Now she’s all grown up and has returned to live in the fantastic old building…

View original 766 more words

fifty really random horror film reviews to die for...

FIFTY REALLY RANDOM HORROR FILM REVIEWS TO DIE FOR… THE NEW BOOK BY SANDRA HARRIS!!!

fifty really random horror film reviews to die for...

kid_Orphanage-431x300

THE ORPHANAGE. 2007. EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: GUILLERMO DEL TORO. DIRECTED BY J.A. BAYONA. STARRING BELEN RUEDA, FERNANDO CAYO AND ROGER PRINCEP. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

kid_Orphanage-431x300

THE ORPHANAGE. 2007. EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: GUILLERMO DEL TORO. DIRECTED BY J.A. BAYONA. STARRING BELEN RUEDA, FERNANDO CAYO, ROGER PRINCEP, MABEL RIVERA, MONTSERRAT CARULLA, ANDRES GERTRUDIX, EDGAR VIVAR AND GERALDINE CHAPLIN. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

I was utterly blown away by this film. It’s a perfectly formed and executed ghost story that simultaneously made me think, made me cry and also frightened the living daylights out of me. It’s beautifully shot and set in a magnificently eerie old house and grounds that most horror fans would kill to live in. I’m thrilled that I was persuaded by a friend to sit down and watch this film a few days before Halloween. My horror education would have been sadly lacking without it.

The plot is as follows. Thirty-seven-year-old Laura Sanchez was brought up in an orphanage. Now she’s all grown up and has returned to live in the fantastic old building with her husband Carlos and her young son, Simon. Laura and Carlos are good people. They intend to turn the old place into a home for differently-abled children. During their opening day party, however, Simon disappears. Simon is no ordinary little boy. He is both adopted and HIV-positive, and he also has imaginary friends whom his mother Laura has reason to believe might be more than just figments of a small boy’s imagination. Friends who all live within the orphanage walls…

Months pass and there is no sign of Simon, until one day, Laura and Carlos finally catch up with an old woman who might just hold the key to his disappearance. The woman is called Benigna and it turns out that she once worked at the orphanage when Laura was living there. Benigna, who dies in a car crash just as Laura and Carlos find her again, had a deformed son called Tomas, who was made to wear a sack over his head to hide his deformity. Tomas died when some of Laura’s little pals played a mean trick on him, though they hadn’t intended things to go that far.

A psychic is called in who tells the couple that their house is haunted by the ghosts of little children who died horrifically after being poisoned. Carlos decides that he’s had enough of all the hocus-pocus and he tells his wife that they must leave the orphanage- and its ghostly occupants- for their own sanity. Laura tells him that he’s free to go but that she still has things she wants answers to. Convinced that the little ghost kids can lead her to Simon, she has made up her mind to see things through to the end, no matter how grisly things get.

While her husband is gone, she finds the remains of several young children in the furnaces out in the shed. She is forced to come to the conclusion that Benigna murdered the children whose callous prank led to the death of her son, Tomas. Laura knows that she must make contact with their ghosts. She kits out their old dormitory the way they would have known it years ago and she dresses herself in one of the old uniforms. She cooks them a dinner and sits their old dolls round the table and waits in agonies of impatience for them to show themselves.

Finally, in desperation, she plays a game she used to play with her little chums, and one by one they show up in the darkness behind her back. She’s got guts and balls to spare, this woman, but then she’s a mother, isn’t she? There’s nothing she won’t do to find out what happened to her precious little son. The ghostly children lead her to a room deep under the house that she’d forgotten was there, that’s if she ever knew about it at all. What she finds there is both chilling and heartbreaking. The ending left me blinking away tears, it was so powerful. I’m not going to go into detail about it here. I don’t want to spoil the ending for anyone who might want to watch the film for themselves.

There isn’t a single false note in the whole film. The suspense and tension is maintained superbly throughout, from start to finish. Not every horror film can manage that. The shots of the exterior of the house in the rain will take your breath away. The interior is quite simply gorgeous. I used to mostly dismiss modern horror movies, preferring to look to the past for my thrills, spills and spooky scares. This film changed my mind about that. If you’ve seen it, you’ll know exactly what I mean.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based performance poet, novelist, film blogger, sex blogger and short story writer. She has given more than 200 performances of her comedy sex-and-relationship poems in different venues around Dublin, including The Irish Writers’ Centre, The International Bar, Toners’ Pub (Ireland’s Most Literary Pub), the Ha’penny Inn and The Strokestown Poetry Festival.

Her articles, short stories and poems have appeared in The Metro-Herald newspaper, Ireland’s Big Issues magazine, The Irish Daily Star, The Irish Daily Sun and The Boyne Berries literary journal.

She is addicted to buying books and will swap you anything you like for Hammer Horror or JAWS memorabilia, and would be a great person to chat to about the differences between the Director’s Cut and the Theatrical Cut of The Wicker Man. You can contact her at:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

http://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

mummy 2

BRAM STOKER’S LEGEND OF THE MUMMY. 2001. DIRECTED BY DAVID DECOTEAU. STARRING JEFF PETERSON, TRENT LATTA, ARIAUNA ALBRIGHT, RUSSELL RICHARDSON, MICHELLE ERICKSON, BRENDA BLONDELL, MICHAEL LUTZ AND CHRISTOPHER CULLEN. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

mummy 2

BRAM STOKER’S LEGEND OF THE MUMMY 2. DIRECTED BY DAVID DECOTEAU. STARRING JEFF PETERSON, TRENT LATTA, ARIAUNA ALBRIGHT, RUSSELL RICHARDSON, MICHELLE ERICKSON, BRENDA BLONDELL, MICHAEL LUTZ AND CHRISTOPHER CULLEN. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

I wish I could say that I’ve seen worse horror films than this one, but I was brought up to tell the truth and so I can’t, in all conscience. It’s a pretty bad film, people. In the right hands, it could have been good. We’ve all seen good ‘mummy’ movies. Boris Karloff in the original and maybe best ‘mummy’ movie. Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing in the excellent Hammer version. Even the Brendan Fraser ‘mummy’ films from the late Nineties, early Noughties are a bloody fantastic roller-coaster romp through Ancient Egypt and are films I’m happy to rewatch every Christmas after putting away a turkey dinner and my own weight in mince pies. This film, however… Oh dear.

Here’s the plot. A group of all-American archaeology students are spending the summer in their otherwise deserted college. Along with their professor, they are working on an exhibition, the pièce de resistance of which is a mummy. That’s right, folks. A genuine, bona fide, fully-preserved mummy found in the remains of an ancient Aztec temple. The students and their teacher, Professor Cyphers, are going to study and exhibit the mummy. Fair enough. That seems like the right and proper thing to do with mouldy old archaeological remains. Sigh. The best-laid plans and all that…

One of the students, a big handsome jock called Morris, steals a priceless amulet off the mummy’s body and gives it to the chick he wants to bang, Janine. Ooops, sorry for the crudeness. The language of the film’s rubbing off on me. Another student, a weedy little nerdlinger called Norman, just so happens to be the descendant of a long line of Aztec priests, however, and brings the mummy back to life and sends it toddling off, its bandages trailing, to go get back the amulet.

You can probably guess what happens next. The mummy runs amok, killing first poor old Professor Cyphers before then dispatching Morris and pretty little Janine to their eternal rest. And the horny pair never even managed to get laid before they croaked, either. Aw, shame! Egged on by Norman, the most unlikely candidate for world domination ever to don a pair of unflattering spectacles, the mummy continues to cut its ‘evil’ swathe through the remaining students. Why the use of sarcastic apostrophes, I hear you ask? Well, because I’ve had out-of-date food in my refrigerator more terrifying than that mummy, that’s why.

Arlando and Scott are next for the chop, and the movie ends when a student called Don saves another student called Stacey from the clutches of megalomaniacal Norman and his pet pile of rags. Don somehow manages to kill the mummy, but not before the mummy turns on its master and slashes at him until he falls down stone-dead. That’s about it, really. Don and Stacey leg it away from the scene of the not-half-gory-enough crimes and then, mercifully, the credits roll.

Sadly, there’s an almost total lack of spooky atmosphere in the film. The writing and acting are poor, to say the least, and the mummy isn’t even remotely scary. He’s a bit gross and disgusting-looking, to be sure, but not at all scary. On the plus side, some of the Egyptian-style sound effects were pretty cool, the student called Don had very nice teeth and the film ended a full ten minutes before it said it would on the back of the DVD box. I’d definitely call that a result. Wouldn’t you…?

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based performance poet, novelist, film blogger, sex blogger and short story writer. She has given more than 200 performances of her comedy sex-and-relationship poems in different venues around Dublin, including The Irish Writers’ Centre, The International Bar, Toners’ Pub (Ireland’s Most Literary Pub), the Ha’penny Inn and The Strokestown Poetry Festival.

Her articles, short stories and poems have appeared in The Metro-Herald newspaper, Ireland’s Big Issues magazine, The Irish Daily Star, The Irish Daily Sun and The Boyne Berries literary journal.

She is addicted to buying books and will swap you anything you like for Hammer Horror or JAWS memorabilia, and would be a great person to chat to about the differences between the Director’s Cut and the Theatrical Cut of The Wicker Man. You can contact her at:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

http://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

scream

SCREAM. 1996. DIRECTED BY WES CRAVEN. STARRING DREW BARRYMORE, NEVE CAMPBELL, COURTNEY COX, DAVID ARQUETTE, MATTHEW LILLARD, ROSE MCGOWAN, LIEV SCHREIBER AND SKEET ULRICH. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

scream

SCREAM. 1996. DIRECTED BY WES CRAVEN. STARRING DREW BARRYMORE, NEVE CAMPBELL, COURTNEY COX, DAVID ARQUETTE, MATTHEW LILLARD, ROSE MCGOWAN, LIEV SCHREIBER AND SKEET ULRICH. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

On the one hand, this film struck me as being one of the daftest, most unbelievable couple of hours ever to be committed to celluloid. On the other hand, however, it references about a dozen iconic movies in the horror canon, from PSYCHO and THE EXORCIST to NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET and HALLOWEEN, so I guess it’s all good.

A serial killer known as Ghostface is cutting a bit of a bloody swathe through the teens of Woodsboro, a small(ish) fictional American town that looks a lot like the town in NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET, which is not surprising seeing as both films were directed by Wes Craven. Pretty blonde Casey, played by Drew Barrymore, and her boyfriend Steve are the first to be bumped off by the instantly recognisable guy in the black robe and the scary mask. A rampage through Casey’s house leaves the poor teenager strung up on a tree in the back yard and her boyfriend tied to a chair, dead as a doornail.

The killer, who’s a bit of a bungler and is not immune from being kicked in the crotch and whacked in the face with things, thereby rendering him about as scary as hot buttered toast, then concentrates his attentions on Sid, played by Neve Campbell. (What? He’s a total klutz, this guy. You don’t see Michael Myers from HALLOWEEN falling on his ass every five minutes, do you? That guy’s got more class and style in his little finger than Ghostface has got in his whole body. There, I’ve said it. Judge me harshly if you want.)

Sid has a complicated back-story. Her mom was raped and murdered a year ago by an unknown assailant. A chap called Cotton Weary (God-awful name) was put away for the crime but some people don’t believe in his guilt. People like pushy news reporter Gale Weathers, for example, who’s mad-keen to break into the big-time and thinks she can do it with this story of the slaughtered teens.

Along the way, incidentally, Gale, played by FRIENDS actress Courtney Cox, manages to fall in love- or at least lust- with her husband in real life, David Arquette. He plays Deputy Sheriff Dewey, who’s not the sharpest tool in the box but he does get the girl in the end, so there you go.

There’s not much more to say about the film, really. The teens of Woodsboro hold a big house party at which Sid’s best friend Tatum encounters the killer and dies an interesting death in the garage door. Sid has sex for the first time- naughty Sid!- with her super-hot boyfriend Billy Loomis, played by Skeet Ulrich. (Loomis, geddit…???) Unfortunately for Sid, Billy is revealed to be the killer shortly after her deflowering. Don’t you just hate that? You give your most precious possession to a guy, and then he tries to kill you just because your mom was the reason that his Dad left his mom.

Yep, it seems that Billy-boy was the unknown assailant responsible for the death of Sid’s mother. He doesn’t get away with his dastardly deed, however. He gets shot by Gale Weathers- don’t ask- and that, thank God, is the end of that chapter. Sid’s okay, her dad’s okay, all’s well that ends well, etcetera.

I loved the clips from HALLOWEEN and the scene where one of the teens is talking us through how not to get killed in a horror movie. I enjoyed seeing ‘Fred’ the janitor cleaning the school in his battered hat and stripy jumper (remind you of anyone?), and also clocking the frequent references to famous horror movies. The final scenes were a bit of a laugh too, I suppose. Not entirely a dead loss so, you could say. I probably won’t watch it again, though. Once was enough.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based performance poet, novelist, film blogger, sex blogger and short story writer. She has given more than 200 performances of her comedy sex-and-relationship poems in different venues around Dublin, including The Irish Writers’ Centre, The International Bar, Toners’ Pub (Ireland’s Most Literary Pub), the Ha’penny Inn and The Strokestown Poetry Festival.

Her articles, short stories and poems have appeared in The Metro-Herald newspaper, Ireland’s Big Issues magazine, The Irish Daily Star, The Irish Daily Sun and The Boyne Berries literary journal.

She is addicted to buying books and will swap you anything you like for Hammer Horror or JAWS memorabilia, and would be a great person to chat to about the differences between the Director’s Cut and the Theatrical Cut of The Wicker Man. You can contact her at:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

http://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

Hammer-Horror

ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA… PART 37. AN EROTIC HORROR TALE BY SANDRA HARRIS. © STRICTLY FOR OVER-EIGHTEENS ONLY.

Hammer-Horror

ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA… PART 36. AN EROTIC HORROR TALE BY SANDRA HARRIS. © STRICTLY FOR OVER-EIGHTEENS ONLY.

“Where have you been?” snapped Anna, her blue eyes blazing as she whirled to face her lover, Count Dracula. “I haven’t seen you for nearly a week. I’ve been going out of my mind, locked up here with only Valeria and your handmaidens for company.”

“I’ve been busy,” replied the Count abruptly. He removed his long black cape, tossed it on a chair and began to disrobe, ignoring Anna’s indignant glare.

“Busy?” echoed Anna. “Doing what? And where? What can have kept you so busy that you disappear for days and nights on end?” She was conscious of sounding shrill but she didn’t care. Without the Count to whip her and make love to her nightly, she was bored, agitated and unfulfilled.

Valeria administered the whippings to her in the Count’s absence, the whippings the Count deemed necessary to her education as a woman. Valeria even made love to Anna illicitly with her fingers and her lips and her tongue but, when all was said and done, she was a woman, albeit a vampire woman, and most of all she wasn’t Count Dracula. It was he whom Anna needed, to mete out pain and pleasure in equal amounts and to make her experience sensations she’d never even dreamed of in all of her twenty-two years.

“That is none of your affair,” Dracula said coldly, pausing in the act of undoing his cufflinks to fix her with his sternest stare. “If you are wise, you will hold your tongue and question me no further.”

“Is it something to do with your brother Nikolai?” Anna said slyly. “Valeria told me you’re not happy about his leaving Romania and coming here to England.” Dracula crossed the room in two quick strides and took her by her shoulders.

Anna was shocked at the anger she saw in his face and realised immediately that she had been wrong to bring up the subject of his brother, of whom the Count had never before spoken to her. Valeria had warned her to remain silent about the matter and now, looking up at him nervously, Anna wished that she’d heeded the warning.

“How dare you mention that name in this house?” hissed the Count, shaking her by her shoulders till her head wagged back and forth helplessly. “Valeria was wrong to speak of him and, believe me, she will be severely punished for it.”

“I’m sorry,” gasped Anna as the shaking continued. “Please, Master, let me go. Please.” With a snort of contempt, Count Dracula released her and she fell backwards onto the bed, her long blonde hair dishevelled and her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Naked to the waist, the Count picked up the whip that habitually rested on the dressing-table.

He expertly flipped Anna over so that she lay face-down across the edge of the bed. Then he straightaway brought the whip down savagely some fifteen or twenty times on her naked back, buttocks and thighs, ignoring her cries of pain and pleas for mercy. When he was done he threw the whip across the room with a grunt.

“I see that discipline in my castle has become lax in my absence,” he remarked as he finished disrobing. “Well, now that I have returned, my little Anna, you may be assured that order will be restored without delay.” Fully naked now, he climbed onto the bed and stretched out full-length beside the trembling Anna.

“Go away, I hate you,” she sobbed as he lightly stroked her injured back and bottom and kissed her lingeringly all over her face.

“Do you?” he said softly as he slipped a hand between her thighs and began to lazily caress the tiny sensitive nub secreted between the moist lips of her sex. “Do you really hate me, my little Anna? What about now?” he added, increasing the pressure of his probing fingers on her most secret place. Anna moaned. “Do you hate me now, Anna…?” The cry she gave was torn from her with a great wrench.

“No!” she sobbed. “You know I don’t. You know I love you more than anything else in the world. You know that I cannot even conceive of an existence without you.”

“That’s what I thought,” murmured the Count, satisfied. In one fluid movement, he mounted her and prepared to make his entrance.

This story is a work of fiction and comes (almost!) entirely from the imagination of Sandra Harris. Any resemblance to any persons living or un-dead is purely coincidental.

This story is copyrighted material and any reproduction without prior permission is illegal. Sandra Harris reserves the right to be identified as the author of this story.

Sandra Harris. ©

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based performance poet, novelist, film blogger, sex blogger and short story writer. She has given more than 200 performances of her comedy sex-and-relationship poems in different venues around Dublin, including The Irish Writers’ Centre, The International Bar, Toners’ Pub (Ireland’s Most Literary Pub), the Ha’penny Inn and The Strokestown Poetry Festival.

Her articles, short stories and poems have appeared in The Metro-Herald newspaper, Ireland’s Big Issues magazine, The Irish Daily Star, The Irish Daily Sun and The Boyne Berries literary journal.

She is addicted to buying books and will swap you anything you like for Hammer Horror or JAWS memorabilia, and would be a great person to chat to about the differences between the Director’s Cut and the Theatrical Cut of The Wicker Man. You can contact her at:

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

http://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

Featured Image -- 1460

FIFTY FILTHY-DIRTY SEX POEMS YOU MUST READ BEFORE I DIE. BY SANDRA HARRIS.

Originally posted on sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris:

FIFTY FILTHY COVER

A collection of short, rude funny sex-poems. No stone left unturned in this hilariously bitchy and wickedly honest look at sex today. No, that’s it, nothing else. Just sex. Well, maybe a few bizarre fetishes, but that’s still just sex, isn’t it…? We’ll go with sex. Let’s just say sex. This book is about sex. It’s a sex-book…!

BUY IT WHILE IT’S HOT!!!

View original