FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA. A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. BOOK 3- PART 48.

drac 2 womenFANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 48.

Sir Blaise Carfax discarded his robe and stepped down, stark naked and holding his lighted cigar in his right hand, into the sunken bathtub at Madame Corinne’s brothel, or high-end establishment for Gentlemen and the Sons of Gentlemen as she preferred it to be known.

He heaved a huge sigh of relief as the warm water lapped around him, caressing and soothing his weary body. His favourite twins at Madame Corinne’s brothel, two exotic, tawny-haired beauties from the wilds of Romania called Demeter and Varna, stepped into the tub beside him, giggling and playfully splashing him and each other.

‘Mind the cigar, ladies, please,’ he scolded mildly, holding the cigar aloft and out of reach of the water.

The two naked women, slippery-wet already and gleaming all over their perfect bodies with water droplets that glittered like diamonds, continued giggling but directed their splashing away from the man who was paying big money for their time.

Blaise puffed away on his cigar, content just for the moment to enjoy the visual spectacle of a naked Demeter and Varna disporting themselves joyfully in the water and to think back over the last few dreadful weeks.

His younger cousins Athena and Abigail Carfax, each of them as pregnant as the other with Blaise’s infant (or someone’s infant, God alone knew how many lovers they’d had since landing on his doorstep a year or two ago, the little hussies!), had thankfully been despatched by now to the convent in the isolated little French village which would house them, safely and securely, till they had each given birth.

He had not travelled with them- Miss Cushing had gone with them, but only after he’d offered her nearly triple her usual pay for accompanying the Terrible Twins to their destination and remaining with them thereafter- but the Mother Superior of the Abbey had promised him faithfully by letter that the twins would be well looked after and carefully watched during their sojourn in the French mountains.

They would give birth to their babies and then return home, without the infants, after an appropriate period of recovery had elapsed. The infants, the Mother Superior had assured Blaise, would be placed with suitable families for adoption and Sir Blaise need never be troubled with the matter again, if such was his wish.

This was indeed Sir Blaise’s wish. He only hoped now that Athena and Abigail’s parents in Cornwall would never find out the truth about this dreadful affair. If needs be, he would inform them that their wayward daughters were holidaying in a little French villa with their governess but he would certainly prefer not to have to tell them anything at all, and to have them continue to believe that their daughters were safe and sound in Blaise’s London home, Richmond House.

The formidable Miss Cushing was under the strictest of instructions that Athena and Abigail were to write regular letters home to their parents, full of nice things and little endearments without, of course, breathing a word of their current situation. Miss Cushing would post them to Blaise in London, who would then re-post them on to the twins’ parents in Cornwall. That way, the letters would bear a London postmark and not be a source of worry and suspicion to the Cornwall Carfaxes.

‘Mmmm,’ he groaned now as one of the girls- Demeter, or was it Varna?- took hold of the pale, semi-erect stalk that dangled between his wet thighs and began to massage it to full stiffness. He tapped some of his cigar ash into the heavy crystal ashtray that sat on the floor beside the sunken bath-tub and said:

‘You wicked girl, what are you doing to me? You’re a very naughty girl, aren’t you?’

The twin giggled and continued with her expert ministrations, while her identical sister began to kiss Blaise’s bare neck and chest while her fingers twiddled with his surprisingly sensitive nipples. Blaise took a long satisfying puff of his cigar- Madame Corinne’s finest- and let the twins work their magic on his tired, aching body.

He missed his old friend Sir Daniel Rochester as well. He and Daniel had been to school together, and in fact had first bonded on the playing fields of Eton like so many of the sons of gentlemen did. Daniel’s murder-by-shooting a few weeks ago in his London flat was nearly more shocking than the abduction of Blaise’s sister Anna from her bedchamber by person or persons unknown a year or two ago.

The police were currently searching for a young nobleman called Sir Christopher Vine in order that he might, as they put it, ‘help them with their inquiries.’ According to the grapevine, however, this Vine chap, whom Blaise had seen out and about a few times with Daniel but to whom he’d never been formally introduced, was rumoured to have been Rochester’s lover and to have killed him in a fit of jealous pique over Daniel’s repeated visits to Madame Corinne’s brothel.

Blaise could not believe it of Daniel. Daniel, one of those homosexual chaps? Never in this world! Daniel liked women, he only fucked women. The women at Madame Corinne’s had practically queued up to be used and abused by the wealthy and darkly attractive Daniel Rochester. He may have left them bruised and bleeding sometimes but he always tipped them handsomely in return.

Now Daniel was dead and his father, one of the wealthiest men in England, had apparently dropped dead of a heart attack on hearing the news of his son’s murder. There were rumours circulating there too, nasty, ugly rumours, that Rochester Senior had set a private detective on his son to weed out evidence of homosexual tendencies, with a view to cutting his son out of his will if such evidence were uncovered.

Then, it was said, that Daniel had gotten wind of his father’s intentions and had broken things off with Christopher Vine so as to put himself in the clear and above suspicion. His father would have disinherited Daniel and maybe even disowned him as well if he’d uncovered proof that his son was a homosexual. Daniel had stood to lose a lot through such an unmasking. Vine had supposedly done Daniel to death then because he could not handle being jilted by his lover.

Blaise didn’t know what to believe. He certainly preferred to believe that Daniel loved women as much as he, Blaise, did. The good times they’d had boozing and whoring together at Madame Corinne’s, or losing huge sums or money carelessly together in poker games at their club, the Diamond! He would never forget those happy times and he felt sorry that his old chum, that friend of his boyhood years, had fallen so low.

Not so low as his own, Blaise’s, mother, though, thought Blaise as the twin who’d been stroking his penis to life straddled him now and lowered herself carefully down onto his fully erect member.

Lady Grace Carfax had so nearly disgraced herself utterly by agreeing to marry her son’s valet (valet!) John Harker, just because he was young and virile and, Blaise supposed, handsome after a fashion. Darkly saturnine and a bit sinister, that was how Blaise would have described the rogue, the rascal, the blackguard who’d tried to steal his mother’s heart and, without a shadow of a doubt, her not inconsiderable fortune as well.

But John Harker lay now in a pauper’s grave in a little churchyard not far from Richmond House, with a bullet in his brain and the worms feasting on his once-handsome face.

Lady Grace, distraught, had collapsed on hearing the news of her lover’s demise and had taken to her bed where she’d lain, under heavy sedation, ever since. Blaise had every hope for her recovery and, as long as she never found out just exactly who’d ordered her lover murdered in the coldest of cold blood, for their continued good relationship as mother and son as well.

These Romanian twins were doing a marvellous job of helping him to forget his troubles, though. With one twin sitting in his lap underwater riding his manhood while he rubbed his face against her splendid titties, and the other twin stroking and kissing him wherever she could reach while she waited for her turn to ride the cock-horse to Banbury Cross, he felt all thoughts of his worries drifting away for now.

Goodbye, troublesome cousins Abigail and Athena. Goodbye, Daniel old friend. Goodbye, John Harker, vile seducer of older women and would-be appropriater of their fortunes. Goodbye, goodbye all. For now, Sir Blaise Carfax of Richmond House, London had other things on his mind… and in his mouth…

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

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FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA. A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. BOOK 3- CHAPTER 47.

dracula groupiesFANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 47.

Count Dracula was in his element. He lay on the huge four-poster bed with a positive bevy of vampire beauties attending to his every need. Glamara, Grace, Lilith, Camille and Desdemona cavorted with him in the big bed and were taking it in turns to pleasure him.

Glamara was naked on top of him now, riding him as hard as she could towards his climax. Her long glossy black hair tumbled down as far as her waist and her large firm breasts bounced within reach of the Count’s wandering hands.

‘I love you, Master,’ she said, bending down towards him and brushing his face with her lips and hair.

Dracula ignored her endearments- so boring, he’d heard it all before!- and continued stroking the breasts and private parts of Grace and Lilith, who knelt excitedly by his head.

Desdemona was down at his other end, massaging his bare feet and kissing and licking his toes with an expertise born of long practice. She was helped by Camille, a vampire with honey-blonde hair down to her ankles. When it was Desdemona’s turn to ride on the Count’s enormously engorged organ, she whispered in his ear:

‘Murmurings from the village, Master. The villagers are up in arms about the disappearance of a serving wench called Tamsin Walton from Walton’s Tavern. There’s talk of them looking to this castle for answers to their pretty little puzzle.’

Dracula uttered an exclamation of disgust. Just when things were going well for him, just when he had that she-bitch Carmilla chained up in his dungeon for however long he desired it, the villagers were going to commence giving him trouble. Typical.

Never mind, it was nothing he couldn’t handle, nothing he hadn’t experienced before in other places. He liked it here though. Birney Castle in the middle of the English countryside was the perfect hideaway from which to conduct his business. And he had no intention of leaving England, as rich a source of untainted haemoglobin as any he’d ever known, any time soon.

If the villagers of Birney were going to make their little corner of England too hot to hold the Count and his entourage of naked bloodsucking female beauties, then he would just have to put an alternative plan of action into place. He wasn’t imbued with the accumulated wisdom of over seven hundred of years for nothing. Whatever happened, the Count would always look out for himself and his followers first and foremost.

‘Tell Igor to keep his ear to the ground,’ he told Desdemona now, knowing full well that the horny little slut would be straight down to Igor the gatekeeper’s lodge after he’d finished with her, eager as always to service the randy hunchback.

Igor, Dracula’s henchman and bodyguard, was an invaluable source of local gossip. How he picked it up the Count didn’t have the foggiest idea. All that was important was that he did it and what was more, that he continued to do it. If Igor said that there were rumblings, then rumblings there must undoubtedly be.

The Count knew that it was always a mistake to befoul one’s own doorstep with nasty sex-killings. Tamsin Walton had been such a lusciously-proportioned slut, however, that he had been unable to resist gathering her unto himself and drinking every drop of her delicious blood before giving her drained and dessicated corpse to Igor to bury in the depths of the forest.

There was a place hidden inside there so dark and frightening that no birds sang there and no little woodland animals dared to scamper. There it was that Igor buried the victims of the Count, and there had been many, many victims thus far, both from the village of Birney and the countryside thereabouts.

‘If it please my Lord,’ Lilith said now as she replaced Desdemona on the Count’s thick erect male member.

She began to ride him with the vigour and enthusiasm of long absence, given that it had been a while since the Count had sent for her for the purposes of permitting her the great honour of having sexual intercourse with him. She was certainly going to make the most of this prized opportunity. She placed his hands on her enormous breasts and moaned out loud when he squeezed her nipples hard.

‘I love you, Master, I adore you!’ she cried as she tossed her head and let her floor-length honey-blonde hair ripple becomingly around her.

The Count ignored her endearments the way he’d ignored Glamara’s. He’d thought that he had the problem of the villagers under control, that in fact there was no problem there at all. The castle had remained unbreached thus far and his privacy along with it.

But he found now, even as he submitted to the tender joint ministrations of Glamara, Camille, Grace, Lilith and Desdemona, that he was more worried about the situation than he’d previously allowed. As every inch of him was being kissed and licked and sucked and milked by his quintet of nude vampire beauties, his razor-sharp brain began to formulate a plan…

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

CARRY ON SCREAMING! (1966) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS.

fenella fieldingCARRY ON SCREAMING. (1966) DIRECTED BY GERALD THOMAS. PRODUCED BY PETER ROGERS. WRITTEN BY TALBOT ROTHWELL. MUSIC BY ERIC ROGERS. STARRING KENNETH WILLIAMS, CHARLES HAWTREY, JIM DALE, HARRY H. CORBETT, PETER BUTTERWORTH, BERNARD BRESSLAW, JON PERTWEE, TOM CLEGG, ANGELA DOUGLAS, JOAN SIMS AND FENELLA FIELDING. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

‘Foul feet

smell

something horrible…’

Where do I even begin to talk about one of the greatest horror comedies of all time? I’ve always been a huge fan of the CARRY ON franchise (31 classic British comedies made between 1958 and 1992) anyway, but this Hammer Horror spoof featuring some of the franchise’s finest actors and actresses really takes the cake.

It’s funny, glamorously gothic, mysterious and downright wacky all at the same time, with sparklingly witty writing, terrible puns and hilarious sight gags all chucked in for good measure. The blend of comedy and horror works so well, and I love the way that they’re both parodying the Hammer Horror movies of the day and also lovingly homage-ing them as well.

Let’s see now, where do we start? Well, at the beginning, I suppose, in Hocombe Woods in the time of horse-drawn carriages and gaslight, where something mysterious walks at night and carries off local damsels who are never seen again.

If it was a real Hammer Horror film, it might of course be Christopher Lee as Count Dracula who’d be doing the carrying-off. Well, in actual fact, it’d be good old Eddie Powell as Christopher Lee’s double who’d be doing it, as Chrissy had a trick back and couldn’t be humping women around like sacks of coal all the livelong day…!

But this isn’t Hammer Horror and, for once, it isn’t the horny, bloodthirsty Count who’s stalking the forest for comely female victims with bounteous bosoms and sturdy, pinchable hindquarters. But someone or something is kidnapping local women from Hocombe Woods and ‘disappearing’ them without a trace. The woods, a hotspot for courting couples, are becoming an increasingly dangerous place to be.

It falls to the lot of Detective Sergeant Sidney Bung, married to a battleaxe of a wife played by Joan Sims, and his bungling sidekick Detective Constable Slobotham to get to the bottom of the mystery, starting with the disappearance of a certain Miss Doris Mann from Hocombe Woods.

Doris’s boyfriend, Albert Potter, a randy tradesman, is outraged at her abduction, not least because he hadn’t managed to penetrate her well-protected virginity before she ‘opped it, so to speak. And after all the trouble he went to to deflower her, as well, only to be thwarted at the last hurdle…!

Jim Dale is marvellous as Albert Potter, the gormless lug who’s slap-bang on top of Bung and Slobotham’s list of suspects, until they find definitive proof that they’ve ‘fingered’ the wrong man and that the case might, in fact, have a supernatural element to it that they hadn’t bargained on…

Charles Hawtrey, a wonderful comic actor who only has to say ‘hello…!’ in that funny voice of his and you’re cracking up already, is superb as Dan Dann, the lavatory man, who runs a mens’ convenience and has some rather vital information to impart to Bung and Slobotham, but will he live long enough to pass on what he knows? That, folks, is the sixty-four-million dollar question.

The key to the mystery might just lie at Bide-A-Wee, a spooky gothic mansion in the heart of the forest that houses a right motley crew of Halloweeny-style weirdos. Bernard Bresslaw appears first as the butler Sockett, who informs the coppers and Albert Potter that the master of the house has been dead for some time but he’ll see if he can rouse him nonetheless… Talk about the bleedin’ Addams Family.

Kenneth Williams, a man who surely was born to make a snidey-comic remark with an accompanying snidey-comic facial expression, is brilliant as the not-quite-all-there Dr. Orlando Watt. He’s hard to keep track of because he just seems to keep coming and going, but you’ll get quite a charge out of him when you get to know him, har-de-har-har.

I’ve saved the best for last. Fenella Fielding as Valeria, Dr. Watt’s sex-pot sister, gives all the Elviras and all the Vampiras a run for their money. Oh yes she does, with her long lustrous black hair, her chalk-white skin, red lips and smoky voice, her hourglass figure in that delicious red dress with her fabulous boobies on a plate for all and sundry to drool over, and drool they undoubtedly do. I could quite go for her myself if I weren’t such a committed man-eater, haha.

Valeria, a sexually-assured woman with a wealth of wiles and experience at her painted fingertips, easily runs rings around the besotted Bung and Albert Potter. As if having the undying devotion and everlasting lust of Sockett and the hideous Oddbod weren’t enough for her, the saucy strumpet.

Bung will have his work cut out for him, trying to figure out why the basement of Bide-A-Wee is filled with strangely lifelike waxwork dummies and why, even more curiously, a mannequin that Albert Potter swears is the living image of his beloved Doris Mann has turned up in the window of a local department store.

Will Bung and Slobotham, the latter of whom cuts a rather charmingly matronly figure in a wig and corset, ever get to the bottom of the unorthodox happenings at Bide-A-Wee? Will Joan Sims ever stop nagging her browbeaten husband? Will Dan Dann be able to meet you sometime at his convenience and, most importantly of all, will the luscious Valeria ever stop smoking? It’s unlikely, dear readers, to say the least…

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

PARANORMAL ASYLUM aka THE REVENGE OF TYPHOID MARY. (2013) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

paranormal asylumPARANORMAL ASYLUM or THE REVENGE OF TYPHOID MARY. (2013) DIRECTED BY NIMROD ZALMANOWITZ. WRITTEN BY FRED EDISON. STARRING AARON MATHIAS, NATHAN SPITERI, LAURA GILREATH AND GRACE EVANS.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

This is by no means a perfect horror film. The script is needlessly confusing and has a half-finished feel to it, the acting is hammy and the dialogue clunky, and some of the scenes are downright unbelievable (half-naked Apron Meat Lady, I’m talking to you…!).

I still enjoyed it though. There was some gorgeous scenery on show, namely the abandoned castle on the island, and I especially enjoyed reading up on the background of the film’s sort of anti-heroine, Typhoid Mary.

Typhoid Mary, as the name suggests, was a real-life woman who was infamous for having infected up to fifty people with typhoid during her career as a cook during the latter years of the nineteenth century. She was born in Ireland (thanks a lot, Typhoid Mary, making us look bad in front of the bigger countries!) and emigrated to America when she was fifteen.

Poor old Mary Mallon, to give her her birth name, was an asymptomatic carrier of typhoid, the first on official record. While maintaining perfect health herself, she unknowingly (well, I’m assuming she couldn’t have known, how could she?) infected pretty much every family she worked for as a cook. They would have died horribly too, with fever and diarrhoea. Typhoid is not a pretty disease.

When the authorities eventually figured out that Mary was the common denominator in all these infection cases, they tried isolating her and making her promise never to work as a cook again, where her poor hygiene practices (lack of hand-washing, etc.) would have contributed greatly to the spread of the disease.

Mary was finally incarcerated for life on North Brother Island, after it was discovered that she’d gone back on her word and had started working as a cook again. Keeping her quarantined was the only way the authorities could think of to keep the public safe from her.

She died on the island in 1938 after years of quarantine. Live typhoid bacteria were found in her gallbladder after her death. It was a tragic waste of Mary’s life and the lives she (knowingly or unknowingly) destroyed with the disease she carried.

Typhoid Mary passed into legend after her death and her name crops up a lot today in popular culture. For example, she’s a character in a MARVEL comic now. Good for you, Typhoid Mary, good for you.

Anyway, in the film PARANORMAL ASYLUM, two college friends called Mark and Andy want to make a documentary film about Typhoid Mary’s incarceration and death. This seems to involve running here and there frantically to different places and setting up a live computer feed from a darkened corridor somewhere.

Andy’s girlfriend Michelle is supposed to be ‘helping’ them, but during a séance she accidentally gets herself ‘possessed’ by the spirit of Typhoid Mary. Whoopsies…! Now she is doomed to wearing a slightly darker wig for all eternity and cooking meat after a lifetime of being a committed vegetarian. Oh dear. How, um, awful.

Mark, who’s quite cute with his longish hair, his douchebag stubble and his silver rings, forms a dangerous habit of not reporting to the authorities the deaths of the people who croak in his presence. The woman Evelyn, though I’m not quite sure why she’s there, looks genuinely terrifying in her spooky make-up. She’d make a good madwoman in a film about, well, a mad woman. Other than that, the film is a bit pants.

It introduced me to the real-life story of Mary Mallon, though, the woman who’s described rather cruelly, I feel, as being ‘tall, heavy and single.’ Remember when Lenny Leonard from THE SIMPSONS was attracted to the online profile of a woman called Mary who was allegedly ‘single, heavy and ready to settle for less…?’ ‘This Mary’s got the whole package!’ Lenny crows delightedly. She surely does, Lenny. She surely does…

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

JOHN CARPENTER’S ‘THE THING.’ (1982) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

the thingJOHN CARPENTER’S ‘THE THING.’ (1982) DIRECTED BY JOHN CARPENTER. BASED ON THE NOVELLA ‘WHO GOES THERE?’ BY JOHN W. CAMPBELL JR. MUSIC BY JOHN CARPENTER AND ENNIO MORRICONE. SPECIAL EFFECTS BY ROB BOTTIN. STARRING KURT RUSSELL, KEITH DAVID, PETER MALONEY AND A. WILFORD BRIMLEY.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

It’s shocking nowadays to read over the bad reviews this film initially garnered on its release, and then to compare them with the rave reviews it’s received retrospectively and continues to receive to this day.

Either those early critics really, really got it wrong or it was simply a case, as some people think, of THE THING’s having simply found it too hard to compete with two other films that were released at the same time.

Namely, Steven Spielberg’s E.T. THE EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL, which of course presents an altogether different, more positive view of alien visitors from Outer Space, and Ridley Scott’s BLADE RUNNER. 1982 was clearly a good year for science fiction movies…!

Suffice it to say here that this film is widely regarded nowadays as one of the best horror movies ever made and John Carpenter, its creator, one of the best horror movie directors. Did I mention that I saw him perform his movie soundtracks live in Dublin’s Vicar Street last Halloween Week? I didn’t? Well, gather round, friends, and I shall tell you a wondrous tale…!

Haha, I’m only joking. I told that story enough last year. Today we’ll just talk about THE THING. So, um, well, here’s the thing, geddit? See what I did there?

 It’s the story of a highly malevolent, parasitic alien life form that somehow finds its way onto an American scientific research station in Antarctica, after thousands of years of being buried nice and cosy-like in the ice.

That’s a hell of a story, isn’t it? Something similar happens in the marvellous horror movie, HORROR EXPRESS, starring Hammer royalty Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing, and also TV detective Kojak, aka actor Telly Savalas. Who loves ya, baby?

Anyway, once the lads at the research station encounter THE THING for the first time (in their dog pound as it’s initially taken the form of a cute cuddly bow-bow), they still don’t even grasp the enormity of the situation they’re in. This is only the beginning of the horror for the men, whose lives on the station are probably isolated enough and tough enough as it is.

THE THING has the power to take on any life-form it chooses, but only if there’s already an existing life-form for it to take the shape and form of, if you get me. It sneakily decides to take on the appearance of various scientists at the station, and the only way for the other brainiacs to tell the difference is by doing a blood test, which isn’t always convenient:

‘Um, excuse me, Mr. Thing, would you mind awfully just taking a seat here and giving me your arm? It’s only a little prick, you’ll hardly feel it, and you can TOTALLY go back to killing us all afterwards, I promise! We even have lollipops here for anyone who gives blood. Hey, how about those Mets, huh…?’

Kurt Russell, deeply attractive in a full beard and with his thermal long johns on under his outer clothing, is the main character, R.J. MacReady, and the scientist who’s the most proactive in trying to track down and destroy THE THING. He’s (Mac) ready for anything, geddit? His answer to everything is fire. It’s hilarious.

Every time he spots anything that remotely resembles THE THING, he turns a flame-thrower on it and no exceptions. If he’s not careful, he’ll forget himself and end up scratching his arse with that flame-thrower or trying to turn on the TV with it. It reminds me of an episode of THE SIMPSONS where they’re trying to figure out something, I forget what, and Marge ends up saying ‘No fires!’ to all of Homer’s pyromaniacal suggestions.

The feeling of suspicion and paranoia that builds up in the station as the men all view each other now as potential enemies is so strong, it’s almost palpable. Everyone’s all, like, let’s just sit here, real nice and quiet-like, where we can all keep an eye on each other, real friendly-like.

No-one trusts anyone else and, when mens’ tempers are frayed in such an isolated and claustrophobic situation, things can be triggered almost accidentally, bad things.

Again, it’s like that episode of THE SIMPSONS in which Bart Simpson, Milhouse Van Houten and Martin Prince each have shares in a rare comic-book, the first RADIOACTIVE MAN comic or something, but they quickly grow to distrust each other, each thinking that the other is planning to commandeer the comic for itself. There are very few situations in life that can’t in some way be compared to an episode of THE SIMPSONS…!

The special effects in THE THING are amazingly good, stomach-turning and extremely gory. They’re so good it’s actually incredible to think that they were created a whopping thirty-five years ago and yet they’ve never been bettered since.

Please don’t argue with me about this. I am a woman. I am programmed to win every argument, without exception, and I fight dirty, too, and I’ll resort to tears if I have to, haha.

Although there are some excellent horror film franchises on the go today (INSIDIOUS, THE CONJURING, SINISTER, PARANORMAL ACTIVITY, to name but a few), no-one’s ever really managed to scale the dizzying heights that John Carpenter and Rob Bottin achieved together all those years ago. Maybe no-one ever will.

I read online that the film is screened every Winter, along with THE SHINING, for the lads at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station. That’s funny and kinda sweet but it’s also a bit like showing ALIVE as the in-flight movie on an aeroplane or a virus outbreak film in the hospital waiting-room to people experiencing, well, um, a viral outbreak. Funny but inadvisable, haha. Maybe even a little tactless…! 

I’m off now to make a nice cup of tea to settle my stomach after all those gory special effects. I only wish there were some way to do it where I didn’t have to get up from my chair, wash a cup, get the teabags, boil the kettle… Wait a minute. Where’s me flamethrower…?

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

THE WARSAW GHETTO aka THE COURAGEOUS HEART OF IRENA SENDLER. (2009) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

sendler 1-fullTHE COURAGEOUS HEART OF IRENA SENDLER aka THE WARSAW GHETTO. (2009) DIRECTED BY JOHN KENT HARRISON. BASED ON THE BOOK ‘THE MOTHER OF THE HOLOCAUST CHILDREN’ BY ANNA MIESZKOWSKA.

STARRING ANNA PAQUIN, MARCIA GAY HARDEN, GORAN VISNJIC AND STEVE SPEIRS. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

This is a surprisingly good made-for-television movie about one of the darkest periods in human history, the Holocaust, and one of the landscapes where the Holocaust took place, the Warsaw Ghetto. Hundreds of thousands of Jews were hounded and hunted into an area of German-occupied Poland, ie, this ghetto, that was too small for their huge numbers and where disease and starvation flourished.

It was from this infamous space that thousands of Jews were shoved onto cattle trucks and trains and sent off for so-called ‘re-settlement in the East,’ which we of course know now meant death by gassing in Treblinka or the other death camps.

This film has been likened to Steven Spielberg’s SCHINDLER’S LIST but in reality, it doesn’t come close to capturing the life of chaos, terror, deprivation and random executions that the Jews lived in this hell-hole. It does try hard, however, and I found it both entertaining and enjoyable, if one could ever be said to ‘enjoy’ a film about such a grim subject.

Anna Paquin seems to have recovered by now from the trauma of starring in a film which saw a naked Harvey Keitel being the direct cause of Paquin’s screen mother Holly Hunter having one of her fingers chopped off by an enraged and hearetbroken Sam Neill.

That’s Jane Campion’s exquisite film THE PIANO I’m referring to here, of course. Anna Paquin is now known for getting her own kit off as well in the hugely successful- and sexy!- HBO vampire drama TRUE BLOOD.

 THE COURAGEOUS HEART OF IRENA SENDLER, based on a true story, sees Anna Paquin playing a real-life Polish social worker who safely smuggled 2, 500 children out of the accursed Warsaw Ghetto during World War Two.

Her invalid mother is played in a nice understated way by Marcia Gay Harden, who once portrayed a religious nut trapped in a supermarket in the excellent film adaptation of Stephen King’s novella, THE MIST.

Anyway, Irena is appalled at the sheer scale of the suffering in the Ghetto. With several families crammed into the one room, with limited food and sanitation facilities, many Jews began to take on a gaunt and bedraggled-looking physical appearance.

This suited the Germans down to the ground, of course, as it only helped to perpetuate the myth that the Jews were dirty, lice-ridden creatures ripe with disease who should be exterminated like vermin.

In fact, typhus was one of the perils Irena had to face as she went into the Ghetto time and time again and came out with small children whom she placed with Polish families for ‘safe-keeping,’ as it were. The distress of the mothers who are having to part with their precious children in order to better ensure a future for them is shown very realistically here.

Stefan, Irena’s handsome dark-haired Jewish boyfriend and partner-in-crime, as it were, looks like Phil Dunphy from TV sitcom MODERN FAMILY. I’m just saying, haha. I loved Piotr, her big burly helper who shared the risks and the burden equally with Irena. I sure could use someone like him to muck in around the house.

I wonder if he survived the war, and how many of the children did as well? Have there ever been any reunions of the children saved by Irena Sendler, like we know there have been of the people now known as ‘Schindler’s Jews?’ It’d certainly be interesting to find out.

The bit where Irena is taken by the Gestapo and tortured is flippin’ terrifying, the tensest and scariest part of the whole film. The film is billed as a 12s, but I wouldn’t show those scenes to a twelve-year-old, especially if they’re in any way sensitive in nature.

This film, light on Nazis and concentrating mainly on Irena’s mission and the kiddies she saved, is an excellent tribute to the woman who smuggled so many children to safety right under the very noses of the leather-coated and jackbooted Gestapo.

The real-life Irena, who was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize in 2007 when she was actually still alive, appears in person for a moment at the end of the film talking about those long-ago but still relevant days, which is a lovely touch.

It might be a movie spoiler to say that our heroine went on to live a long and hopefully happy life after that terrible period in history was over, but if anyone ever deserved to, it was surely Irena Sendler. The film adds another layer, as it were, to our knowledge of what went on in German-occupied countries during the war and, for that alone if for nothing else, it’s worth watching.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

THE LODGE and THE WRONG HOUSE: A DOUBLE BILL OF HORROR FILM REVIEWS BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

househuntingnew1-600x253

THE WRONG HOUSE and THE LODGE: A DOUBLE BILL OF HORROR FILM REVIEWS BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

THE WRONG HOUSE aka HOUSE-HUNTING. (2012) WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY ERIC HURT. STARRING MARC SINGER, ART LA FLEUR, HAYLEY DUMOND, VICTORIA VANCE, PAUL MCGILL, JANEY GIOIOSA AND REBEKAH KENNEDY.

THE LODGE. (2008) DIRECTED BY BRAD HELMINK AND JOHN RAUSCHELBACH. WRITTEN BY DEB HAVENER. STARRING KEVIN MCCLATCHY, ELIZABETH KELL, OWEN SZABO AND MANDY KREISHER.

I picked up these two little horror finds at my local music/DVD store recently and made a night of watching them back-to-back. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience but, like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie. THE WRONG HOUSE is a million times better than THE LODGE, which I think we’ll start with.

It’s kind of a typical run-of-the-mill dopey-young-couple-holidaying-in-a-creepy-cabin-in-the-woods type of film, and I must admit that I wasn’t crazy about the couple involved, which makes it harder to properly engage with the film. Julia and Michael don’t seem to have that good of a relationship.

Michael, a dope-smoking Little Rich Boy with a wealthy Pops, seems to love Julia, at least, and he’s hoping to use the weekend away at an isolated mountain lodge as a chance to pop a certain question. He’s got the little box and everything.

Julia doesn’t seem to care about Michael too much, though, judging by the number of times she tries to get out of having sex with him. And surely a surfeit of sleazy vacation sex is the main reason for a young couple heading for the hills for a couple of days? But he’s a doped-up twat, so I can’t say that I blame her too much for that.

The titular Lodge is nice and spacious and comfortable enough, but how come the seriously uptight owner is hanging around the place like a bad smell instead of leaving the young ‘uns to their own devices as they’d- not unnaturally- been expecting? Henry is a decidedly odd fish but, to add fuel to an already over-stoked fire, there’s a shadow at the window and I think it wants to come in…

This is a pretty violent film, and there’s some sexual violence in there as well, deservedly earning the film its 18s rating. I could have completely done without the addition (more like tacking on) of a fourth person into the mix, however.

It took away some of the film’s believability and it looks like it was added because what’s a movie nowadays without a creepy mute of a long-haired girl in it, standing there in the corner like a spare part with her bedraggled barnet obscuring her mopey face? Bit of a spoiler there but I just had to get that off my chest…!

Believe it or not, and I’m sure you can easily believe it, there’s a creepy mute of a long-haired girl in THE WRONG HOUSE too, but there’s a perfectly satisfying reason for her not talking. Yes, it’s annoying that she’s there at all but in this case she’s serving a purpose.

Meh. I’m getting really tired of the creepy-mute-girl trope. Can’t they ever mix it up a bit? Have an overweight middle-aged garage mechanic or lollipop lady (or even a sarcastic hippopotamus wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase) standing in a corner blindly staring at nothing instead of a long-haired girl? Just for a bleedin’ change, you know…

THE WRONG HOUSE is also known as HOUSE-HUNTING. Two families, the Hays family and the Thomsons, each turn up at a remote countryside farmhouse at which they think is an Open Day, designed to let prospective buyers check the place over with a view to buying it.

Both the Hays family and the Thomsons absolutely love the place. And the house must really, really like them too, because when it’s time for them to go home, it won’t let them leave. All their attempts to go home leave them right back where they started, back at the house. The house has an evil purpose in mind. It’s called revenge, and it’s going to drive the two families clean out of their minds…

The two Dads, Marc Singer as Charlie Hays and Art LaFleur as Don Thomson, are absolutely excellent as the two alpha males who desperately try to hold their families together  while the house closes in around all of them like a ghastly inescapable fog that holds evil within it, terrible evil.

Victoria Vance as the domesticated Thomson Mom Leslie is wonderful in her moving portrayal of a woman who’s tragically lost a child and can easily be pushed over the edge of sanity because of it. The three young ‘uns (including Mopey Girl) I disliked intensely. What horrible bloody kids…!

The tension is ramped-up again and again as the families turn on each other and tear strips off each other, much to the delight, one would imagine, of the watching house. The house is always watching, by the way.

Watching and waiting. Just what you don’t really want in a house you’re contemplating buying, methinks. A know-it-all, smart-alecky house imbued with human reasoning and a malevolent sentient. What a pain in the ass…!

So the consensus is as follows. THE LODGE, meh. It’s okay but it’s only okay. THE WRONG HOUSE, excellent. Scary, well-paced with no droopy or flagging bits and with a satisfying ending that only disappoints if you’re, like, super-fussy and hard to please.

I loved this film, anyway. I always love films about evil houses that have pre-ordained, murderous agendas. They really float my boat. Float my boat good. Watch it and float with me. We all float down here, dontcha know…?

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor