FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA. A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. © BOOK 3- PARTS 36, 37 & 38.

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FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 36.

It was evening now and Jack Walton’s Tavern, the focal point of the little village of Birney, was full to capacity. Earlier, the villagers en masse had attended yet another funeral, that of young Millie Myers who’d disappeared while walking through the woods at night several weeks ago. In the absence of a body, a coffin filled with bricks had been lowered into the grave, while Millie’s distraught parents sobbed at the graveside, surrounded by neighbours.

Simeon Randall, her lover, was at the bar now talking to his younger brother Jamie, his partner in the coach business they ran jointly. Simeon, not normally given to expressing his feelings openly, was badly shaken by Millie’s disappearance.

If only she hadn’t gone home through that bloody forest! Every woman who’d walked through that accursed place in the last year or thereabouts had gone missing, vanished into thin air as if they’d never existed. No bloodied corpses had been found either, corpses that might have given the anxious villagers a clue as how the women had died.

First his brother Jamie’s lover Rowena Sampson, though no-one but Simeon knew that Jamie and Rowena had been sleeping together. Rowena’s father and brother would have torn Jamie’s handsome head from his shoulders for defiling Arthur Sampson’s youngest daughter.

Then, of course, Rowena’s older sister Jessie, married with a beautiful chubby baby daughter Tabitha, had gone missing. She’d gone out one evening to put flowers on Rowena’s grave, though as with Millie, no corpse lay in the coffin buried beneath the simple headstone. Jessie never came home. Her husband and child had been devastated by her loss.

Two or three more young women and girls had gone missing from the village after the two Sampson sisters, and then poor little Millie. Pretty Millie Myers with the tumbling curls and sparkly eyes, who’d only been courting with Simeon, a good decade older than herself, for a few months before her disappearance.

Now she’d gone the way of Rowena and Jessie and all the others, never to be seen again, a coffin filled with bricks marking the place where she’d probably never lie for real. Simeon drained his tankard of ale in a few gulps and signalled Tamsin, the barmaid, to bring the same again for himself and his brother. Tamsin smiled and nodded and went to fetch the drinks.

‘I’ll go to no more of those damned ‘funerals,’ Simeon told Jamie bitterly now. ‘I’ll tell you that much for nothing, brother. A coffin filled with bricks! How many more of these bloody disappearances will we have to bear? There’s scarcely a family left in the village that hasn’t been torn apart by ’em.’

Jamie nodded sympathetically and clapped his older brother on the shoulder. Jamie had been shocked to his core when his own lover Rowena had gone missing. He’d been consumed with guilt for months afterwards because he’d refused to walk her home through the forest after their love-making, when he’d tumbled her in his little bedroom beneath the eaves till they were both pleasantly sore and tired.

He’d been so tired, in fact, that he’d gone comfortably to sleep after their frantic coupling, leaving Rowena to hurry home through the trees. She’d been eager to get home before her father and brother found out she’d left the house and gone to Jamie Randall’s place. She’d never been seen again. For a while after he’d heard the news, Jamie had been distraught.

Now, however, he spent his evenings with Tamsin the barmaid, and life was definitely looking up. He’d climb the ivy up the wall of the tavern and clamber through her bedroom window. They’d spend an hour or two together as quietly as they could, on account of the fact that Tamsin’s father Jack Walton, the owner of the pub, slept just across the landing.

‘I blame them strange folks up at that there castle,’ said Arthur Sampson now, the father of Rowena and Jessie. Since the disappearances of his only daughters, he’d been a broken man. His thick brown hair had turned white and sparse and there were deep grooves now around his mouth and eyes. ‘Since they come ‘ere, there ain’t been nuthin’ but death and destruction come to our little village.’

‘Who owns it now, anyway?’ put in Jamie. ‘Is it still that Count fellow from foreign parts?’

Birney Castle at the edge of the forest had been empty, falling into rack and ruin, for many years. It had never been occupied in living memory of anyone in the village, as far as anyone knew. Then a nobleman from Romania called Count Dracula had come and leased the place, though in the year or so he’d been there, not a soul from the village had ever laid eyes on him.

The forest had become darker and more sinister than before, though, ever since this Count Dracula and his entourage had taken residence. No birds sang there any more and the sun shone there no longer. It was a dead place now, dead and evil, and there wasn’t a man in the village who would walk there alone, day or night.

‘It’s him all right, Count Whats-his-name,’ said Joshua Sampson grimly, a moustache of foam from his pint lining his upper lip. Joshua, a hot-headed lad of twenty-four- or-five, was Arthur Sampson’s son and the brother of the two missing sisters, Rowena and Jessie. ‘We should get up a party and storm the place, find out for ourselves what he’s done with our women.’

‘But we’ve no proof that it’s anything to do with the Count and whoever he’s got living with him at the castle,’ said Jamie, eyeing up Tamsin’s magnificent breasts in the low-cut blue dress, patterned all over with little flowers, that she was wearing tonight for work.

He couldn’t wait till closing-time came and he could climb the ivy up to Tamsin’s bedroom window. She might even be waiting naked on her bed for him with her legs accomodatingly spread for him. Tamsin hadn’t the prettiest face he’d ever seen on a woman, but her enormous breasts and general enthusiasm for his lovemaking compensated amply for any lack of looks.

‘What proof do we need?’ replied Joshua Sampson angrily. ‘Our women’s missing, ain’t they, and nothin’ like this never ‘appened before this Count came to the castle, did it?’

A general murmur of approval from the men in the bar greeted his words.

‘He’s right, Jamie,’ said Simeon, nodding his agreement. ‘I say we go up there and have a look around. Joshua’s right, after all. Until the castle was occupied, we never had any trouble around here. No women or girls ever went missing, that’s for sure.’

Again, the murmurs of approval and assent from the patrons of the bar, even from Jack Walton himself, the proprietor of the tavern. Jack had a daughter of his own, and was afraid of his life for his Tamsin’s safety.

‘Not tonight though, surely?’ said Jamie, disappointed. He had visions in his head of a lovely hour or two spent fondling Tamsin’s massive breasts and burying himself up to the hilt in her warm and oh-so-accommodating lady-parts.

However anxious he was to catch the perpetrator- or perpetrators- of these foul abductions, and he was as keen as anyone else in the village, Jamie did not want to spend the rest of tonight wandering around the gloomy forest up to his ankles in muck and thorns, not when he had the lovely Tamsin upstairs in her bedroom waiting for him. At least, she would be, as soon as this damned tavern emptied and the patrons stumbled drunkenly home.

‘Time now please, gentlemen,’ said Jack Walton, ringing the bell for closing-time as if in answer to Jamie’s prayers.

‘No, we’ll not go up there tonight,’ said Simeon thoughtfully. ‘We need to send someone up there first, during the day maybe, to scope out the lay of the land. It’d be madness to go tearing up there half-cocked tonight, in the dead of bloody night.’

‘Oh, absolutely, sheer madness,’ agreed Jamie, winking broadly at Tamsin as she ushered some of the patrons to the door, flapping their hands away smartly, with the ease of long practice, if they tried to grab her large plump bottom or a handful of soft white breast.

‘We’ll all make a plan,’ said Simeon, finishing up his ale and heading for the door.

‘Yes, a plan, good idea,’ echoed Jamie, his manhood already stirring in his breeches at the thought of Tamsin’s curvaceous body lying warm and compliant beneath his own. ‘Tomorrow, we’ll all make a plan…’

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 37.

Tamsin had already undressed for bed when Jamie entered by the window, clattering more noisily than was usual as he missed his footing and went sprawling awkwardly to the floor. He leapt up nimbly with a grin, the grin that had already charmed the undergarments off of more than a hundred women from the village of Birney to London Town, and not all of them from the peasant classes, either.

‘Are you trying to wake up Father?’ giggled Tamsin. ”Cause he’ll be in here in a flash, you know he will, if he thinks I’m up to summat. His bedchamber’s only down the landing.’

‘Don’t I know it?’ replied Jamie with a grimace. ‘You only remind me every time I come here to visit you.’

‘Well, you know how strict he is with me,’ said Tamsin. ‘I’m his only daughter, after all.’

She didn’t add that some evenings after the Tavern had closed, her father would take her across his knees for a painful, bare-bottomed spanking to punish her for being overly familiar or flirtatious with the customers, or for allowing them to fondle her ample breasts or backside.

Tamsin was a natural flirt with enormous breasts and round, curvaceous buttocks. She also supplied the patrons of her father’s tavern with a friendly face and a listening ear, which, combined with her physical charms, made her a very popular barmaid indeed with the customers. But Jamie was her favourite, always had been, and well he knew it.

Tamsin hadn’t been altogether disappointed when Rowena Sampson, who’d always given Jamie the eye, had been the first young and pretty woman to disappear from the village. As far as Tamsin had been concerned, the less competition there was for the handsome Jamie Randall’s attentions, the better she liked it.

‘That’s a pretty night-gown,’ he commented now as he swiftly disrobed. ‘Such a shame, really, that you won’t be wearing it for long.’

Tamsin giggled again, allowing Jamie to pull the peach-coloured, beribboned nightie over her head, leaving her as naked as the day she was born. The nightie was consigned to the floor and Jamie launched himself enthusiastically at the breasts and buttocks he’d been eyeing up all evening in the tavern. Oh, but she had some truly marvellous curves…!

‘What were you and all the other men plotting earlier, then?’ she asked him, enjoying the feel of his strong capable hands on her nude body.

Jamie grinned, but he kept his fingers busy while he answered:

‘There’s talk of getting up an angry mob to storm the castle, you know, pitchforks and blazing torches, the works. See if that’s where the missing women are being held. That’s if they’re still alive,’ he added, more seriously.

‘That place gives me the creeps,’ shuddered Tamsin as she wrapped her own capable fingers around the shaft of Jamie’s erect manhood and began to stroke it eagerly. ‘All those blank staring windows and crumbling chimneys. And the garden’s like a jungle, it is! God knows what’s crawling around in those thorny bushes. Probably a million rats. Eeuw.’

She shuddered again theatrically for effect. Jamie wondered briefly what was lurking behind those darkened windows, like dozens of bleak eyes staring at you. The place was an eyesore all right. He’d raze it to the ground if it were up to him.

‘Forget about that place,’ he urged his lover now as he mounted her and placed his swollen manhood at the entrance to her much-moistened lady-parts. ‘It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is this. Us.’

He entered her with one swift fluid movement that nearly took her breath away, then she moaned so loudly that Jamie clamped a hand down over her mouth in alarm.

‘You’ll have your old man in here if you’re not careful,’ he admonished her while continuing to thrust in and out of her so vigorously that she was nearly lifted off the bed with the ferocity of his movements.

‘Sorry,’ she giggled, trying her hardest to control her responses as Jamie’s love-making pushed her almost to the heights of ecstasy.

It certainly wouldn’t do to have her father come rushing in here now before she’d even attained her own climax. Jamie made her feel like a real woman, unlike some of the men she’d had in her bed before now. Boys and old men they’d been, just boys and old men, not a real man like Jamie.

She gasped involuntarily as his wicked fingers probed between her buttocks to find the secret hole that nestled there, while simultaneously locating her special lady-bud and rubbing it a bit with his knuckles. Ooooh, Jamie Randall, you devil! What are you doing to me? You KNOW what touching me there does to me!

As silently as she could manage it, she rode the crest of her orgasmic wave before collapsing, trembling, in Jamie’s arms. What a wonder he was between the sheets, her Jamie! What an absolute marvel. She was so very glad they’d found each other.

‘I’m coming now,’ he forewarned her, intensifying his thrusting as his handsome face turned red with his efforts.

With a grunt, he spilled his seed in her, breaking wind loudly then as he pulled out and rolled over onto his back, closing his eyes for a few minutes’ rest as he always does. His loud emission did not smell fragrant, but rather of the ale and pork pies he’d consumed with enthusiasm earlier, downstairs in the Tavern.

Holding her nose in distaste, Tamsin lay beside him and waited impatiently for him to rouse himself as she always did. Maybe her marvel of a wonder of a man could be persuaded into an encore before shimmying back down the ivy and heading for home.

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 38.

After Jamie had gone home, Tamsin stood by the open bedroom window, breathing in the refreshingly cool night air. She had every intention of leaving the window open until the smell of Jamie’s ale and pork-pies, coupled with his sweat, had disappeared completely from her bedroom. Tamsin adored the company of men but, as she’d remarked to herself on an occasion or two, they didn’t half smell rank at times.

She hadn’t bothered to put her peach-coloured and beribboned nightgown back on, and she greatly enjoyed her own daring in standing bare-breasted at the open window, letting the cool night breeze lap against her nipples and stiffen them. It was almost sexual, she thought, the way the breeze felt on her soft white breasts.

Her father would certainly punish her most severely if he knew that she was standing stark-naked at her window, having just been made violent love to by Jamie Randall, the village Lothario. It surely wouldn’t be just a spanking across his knees with the flat of his hand that she’d be getting, either. Not for something as serious as this.

No indeed, for something this serious she’d be hauled by the ear out to the little woodshed at the back of Jack Walton’s Tavern, and there made to take off her dress and drawers for a painful strapping on her bare behind from her father’s belt.

Tamsin may have been twenty-eight years old but she was still subject to the rules and regulations of her father’s house. He’d always been very strict with her, mainly because she was his only child and her mother had died when she was a baby. He was so protective of her.

Tamsin supposed that she could always marry and move away from her father’s house. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had suitors. But she liked it here in her father’s house, she reflected now as she leaned her elbows properly on the bedroom windowsill and gazed up dreamily at the night sky.

It was grand and comfortable here, and working in her father’s tavern meant that she could have a different man in her bed every night if she was so inclined, which she was. It might have to be the same man more than once, mind you, the village wasn’t that big.

But the life suited Tamsin well enough and besides, she thought now, unless she could marry Jamie Randall, whom everyone in the village agreed wasn’t the marrying kind, she didn’t want to marry anyone at all and that was a fact.

How beautiful the sky looked tonight, though! The moon was out and the stars had surely never looked more twinkly or brilliant. There was even a bat, she noticed in surprise, a big black bat seemingly hovering no more than a few feet from her window.

The real surprise was that she wasn’t screaming and slamming the window shut in a panic. She normally couldn’t abide bats, with their nasty flapping leathery wings and all. And this bat was positively gigantic, the biggest bat she’d ever seen in her whole life.

The strange thing was that she wasn’t remotely afraid of this bat. In fact, her mind was already framing the words ‘come in’ even as her body was stepping back to let it enter into her bedroom. It flapped over her head, but she was not in the slightest bit worried that it would entangle itself in her long tousled hair as she’d heard that bats were wont to do.

No, Tamsin was not in the least bit frightened of this bat. And even more strangely, when she turned away from the window to greet it properly it was no longer there. In its place was a man, a man much older and taller and even, dared she say it, more handsome than her Jamie, who’d always been pleasing to look upon.

‘Good evening, Tamsin,’ the man said in his cool, cultured slightly accented tones. ‘You’ve been quite the wicked little slut tonight, haven’t you?’

Tamsin flushed excitedly and whispered: Yes Master, a wicked, wicked little slut.’

‘And what happens to wicked sluts, Tamsin?’ continued the man, throwing off his black cloak and lowering Tamsin to her knees in front of him.

‘They are punished, Master?’ she breathed, her brown eyes wide as he adjusted his linen and removed from the folds of his clothing the largest, most impressive male organ she’d ever seen, and Tamsin had seen a lot of male organs.

‘Yes, my dear Tamsin,’ he said softly now, his dark eyes beginning to glow red in the gloom of her unlit bedroom. ‘They are punished. But not yet,’ he added almost mischievously. ‘First you will take this in your mouth and suck it. And suck, and suck, and suck…’

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

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA. BOOK 3- PART 35. BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

brides of draculaFANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 35.

Anna snuggled up to Count Dracula in the most blissful of post-coital dazes. The Count had made love to her no fewer than eight times in the last several hours, each time better than the last. It was a long time since Anna had felt this happy or fulfilled. No cloud marred her state of perfect happiness. No cloud but one, that was. A rather noxious cloud called Carmilla…

It was the strangest thing. The Countess Carmilla Karnstein had recently arrived at Birney Castle after the long journey overseas from Romania, but almost no-one save for the Count himself seemed to have laid eyes on her since her arrival.

She had not been introduced to Countess Anna, Dracula’s wife and the mistress of the house, a grievous social oversight, surely. Now Dracula was claiming that Carmilla was ‘indisposed’ after the difficult journey and unable to leave her bedchamber.

But Anna knew through her loyal handmaiden Valeria that the bedchamber that she herself, Anna, had ordered should be made ready for Carmilla had not been occupied. Anna smiled to herself as she recalled how she had assigned Carmilla a bedchamber as far away from the Count’s private quarters as she dared.

Anna was still not exactly sure how things currently stood between her husband and his cousin Carmilla from the old country. Did the Count still love his childhood sweetheart, his first ever love, or was the visit really just an opportunity for the two cousins to catch up, as Dracula had claimed? Anna wished she knew how much truth there was in his words.

But the bedchamber stood empty, and Anna was completely in the dark as to the whereabouts of Carmilla. Had Dracula and his cousin had a row, was that it? Maybe he’d been too proud to tell her that he’d squabbled with Carmilla and now she was refusing to speak to him, or be introduced to his wife Anna, the mistress of Birney Castle.

Anna knew the whereabouts of her husband perfectly well, however, for which she was immensely grateful. He slumbered naked beside her now, one arm thrown casually above his head. His long dark eyelashes cast shadows across his handsome face, which seemed younger and softer somehow in sleep.

Delicately, Anna trailed her fingers over his bare chest, entangling her red-tipped fingernails in the smattering of dark hairs that covered it. His nipples stiffened under her touch. She let her fingertips move teasingly down his belly to the triangle of thick black pubic hair at its base. His idling manhood jerked into life at the touch of her hand.

‘Who gave you permission to embark on such an obscene voyage of exploration?’ came the Count’s voice now, a layer of amusement beneath its customary sternness. His dark eyes had shot open and he was looking at his wife with one eyebrow quirked in sardonic inquiry.

‘No-one did,’ giggled Anna, wrapping her hand determinedly around his rapidly awakening manhood and beginning to manipulate him, with the expertise of many long hours of practice, to a state of full erection. ‘I acted solely on my own authority, dearest Count.’

‘I see,’ replied the Count, pretending to frown. ‘It’s a slutty little minx we have here then. Do you perchance know what happens to slutty little minxes who get caught with their hands in the metaphorical cookie-jar?’

Anna shook her head and giggled again, her blue eyes wide with mischief and happiness, the happiness of having her beloved Count’s undivided attention for once. She was forced to share him with so many women. It felt wonderful beyond words to have him all to herself.

‘No, tell me,’ she said delightedly. ‘What happens to them?’

‘I prefer to show you,’ said the Count, mounting her and pinning her suddenly to the bed with a speed and dexterity that took Anna’s breath away. ‘Actions, my dear Anna, speak so much louder than words, don’t you find?’

Anna gasped, unable to answer him as he entered her with one fluid movement. He began to thrust his now fully erect manhood in and out of her wet and welcoming lady-parts with an energy that would have put a much younger man to shame. At seven hundred years of age, the Count liked to think that he still had what it took to satisfy any woman alive, or Un-Dead.

Anna moaned and writhed beneath him rapturously as he plundered her feminine parts while fondling her breasts and pushing his tongue between her eagerly parted lips. She forgot all about Carmilla as they moved together towards a simultaneous orgasm that would leave them both spent and shaken.

Carmilla? As Anna gave herself up to the beauty and savagery of her climax, it was much more a case of Carmilla Who…?

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

brides of draculahttps://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

THE RAVEN, STARRING VINCENT PRICE AND BORIS KARLOFF. (1963) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

raven boysTHE RAVEN. (1963) AN AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL PICTURE. BASED ON THE POEM BY EDGAR ALLAN POE. PRODUCED AND DIRECTED BY ROGER CORMAN. SCREENPLAY BY RICHARD MATHESON. MUSIC BY LES BAXTER. EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS: JAMES H. NICHOLSON AND SAMUEL Z. ARKOFF.

STARRING VINCENT PRICE, PETER LORRE, BORIS KARLOFF, HAZEL COURT, OLIVE STURGESS AND JACK NICHOLSON.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

This quaintly charming horror film is a marvellous example of the work that Roger Corman and Vincent Price did together for AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL PICTURES. With a little help, of course, from a certain sombre-faced writer who went by the name of Edgar Allan Poe, haha.

THE RAVEN begins- and ends- with beloved horror icon Vincent Price actually reciting Poe’s famous poem of the same name and he really does the grim but beautiful words justice. In fact, if you’re going to get someone to read Poe’s words, you really couldn’t do better than have Vincent Price do the job in his deliciously distinctive spooky voice.

My wee son does an impression of the late Vincent Price’s voice that’s so like him it’s uncanny. I really must record him doing it one day for posterity…!

Anyway, in the film THE RAVEN, a rather splendidly-dressing-gowned Vincent Price, playing the magician Erasmus Craven, is sitting about at home when an actual raven comes tap-tap-tapping upon his chamber door, believe it or not. In point of fact, the bird comes to the window but I don’t think that there’s any mention of that in the poem, haha.

The wise-cracking bird turns out to be none other than Peter Lorre under a spell or ‘enchantment,’ put there by an evil wizard called Dr. Scarabus. Some highly hilarious rooting about for ingredients from his dead scientist father’s old laboratory leads to Craven being able to release the Raven, aka Peter Lorre as a boozy second-rate magician called Bedlo, from the spell. The insanity does not, of course, end there…

Bedlo stirs the pot big-time by informing a shocked Craven that he’s seen Craven’s dead wife’s spirit hanging around this Dr. Scarabus’s gaff. Now, Craven still loves the deceased Lenore with every fibre of his being and he’s hell-bent on charging around to Dr. Scarabus’s place to see if what Bedlo says is true.

Also, Bedlo wants his magic-kit back from Scarabus’s house where Scarabus is apparently holding it hostage. The pair high-tail it there in a carriage, accompanied by Craven’s beautiful daughter Estelle and Bedlo’s handsome but rather clown-ish son Rexford, played by a really young Jack Nicholson, long before ever he flew over the cuckoo’s nest to land head-first in THE SHINING…

Horror legend Boris Karloff is magnificent as the aforementioned Dr. Scarabus, a wizard with powers far superior to Bedlo’s but about equal with Craven’s. He greets the deputation with a fake hospitality, feigning polite surprise at their various complaints.

A little display of Dr. Scarabus’s powers over dinner puts Bedlo firmly back in his box. Craven will not be so easy to outwit. But Craven is horribly distracted by the shocking return to life of someone he was sure was dead…

The duel between the two wizards is superbly done and hilariously funny. Vincent Price can be awfully mischievous when he wants to be. The fun and games are wonderful to witness, although the outcome of the duel is never really in doubt. Or is it…?

Hazel Court is fantastic (and delightfully booby-licious!) as the lady whose name we won’t mention for fear of spoilers. Suffice it to say that she also plays a beautiful but duplicitous wife in the excellent horror movie PREMATURE BURIAL starring Ray Milland, a story also based on a work by Mr. Poe. He surely wrote a lot of grim stuff, didn’t he…?

It probably goes without saying that the three leads, Messrs Price, Lorre and Karloff, more than justify their places at the top of the horror tree by turning in warm, passionate and deeply humorous performances. Vincent Price in particular is just marvellous to watch. He’s just having so much fun with it and you can really tell.

As always with AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL PICTURES, the settings, furnishings and costumes are lavishly-gorgeous and rich and gloriously-coloured, with the lovely russets, reds and orangey-browns coming to the forefront as always.

Dr. Scarabus’s castle exterior takes the form of a stunning-looking painting and the shots of the sea are just beautiful. The film is quite similar to another horror film about the spirit of naughty deceased wives called THE TERROR, also starring Boris Karloff and a young Jack Nicholson. If you haven’t already seen this one, it’s well worth checking out.

THE RAVEN is a terrific watch, anyway. You should put it on one dark windy night when you’re all on your own in the darkened house. That way, when something sinister comes tap-tap-tapping upon your chamber door, it’ll turn the blood in your veins to ice just to hear it, and isn’t it just delightful to be scared stiff…?

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 BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI and ZULU: A DUO OF SUPERB WAR FILMS REVIEWED BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

Zulu-Screencap-michael-caine-2662240-500-289

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI and ZULU: A DUO OF SUPERB EPIC WAR FILMS REVIEWED BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI. (1957) BASED ON THE 1952 BOOK BY PIERRE BOULLE. DIRECTED BY DAVID LEAN. STARRING ALEC GUINNESS, JACK HAWKINS, WILLIAM HOLDEN, JAMES DONALD, GEOFFREY HORNE AND SESSUE HAYAKAWA.

ZULU. (1964) DIRECTED, CO-PRODUCED AND CO-WRITTEN BY CY ENDFIELD. STARRING STANLEY BAKER, MICHAEL CAINE, JACK HAWKINS, ULLA JACOBSSON, NIGEL GREEN, PATRICK MAGEE, JAMES BOOTH AND CHIEF BUTHELEZI. NARRATION BY RICHARD BURTON.

These are undoubtedly two of the best war films that have ever been made. I’ve loved ’em both since I first clapped eyes on them and I’m thrilled to be reviewing them together like this.

Starring some of the finest actors in cinema history, they’ve won a ton of awards between them and are always featuring on lists detailing the best films of all time. There are quite a few similarities between them as well, as it happens. Let’s take a closer look at both movies, shall we, and see what we make of ’em…

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI tells the story (fictional, but based on some fact) of a large group of British soldiers who are taken prisoner by the Japanese during WW2. They are sent to a prisoner-of-war camp in Burma and forced to build the titular bridge which will connect Bangkok and Rangoon when it is completed.

ZULU is a dramatisation of an actual battle, the Battle of Rorke’s Drift, that took place between British soldiers and the massive Zulu army in early 1879 in Natal. It was during the Anglo-Zulu War that it happened. In the film, the same Zulus have just massacred large numbers of the British force at the Battle of Isandlwana.

Now they’re coming for the one-hundred-and-fifty of Her Majesty’s soldiers, many of them injured and in the sick bay, who currently occupy the little missionary station at Rorke’s Drift. The odds against the British soldiers are impossible. They’re dead men walking now, surely…?

Both films portray the British soldiers as courageous hard workers who keep a stiff upper lip at all times and never abandon their principles. They’re true Englishmen, after all, from a civilised country where people drink a nice cup of tea and read the morning paper unhurriedly regardless of the situation. It’s a good way to be, eh what, chaps?

Alec Guinness’s stiff upper lip as Lieutenant Colonel Nicholson in THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI nearly gets him killed. He clashes with Colonel Saito, the man in charge of the Japanese prison camp, over a rather piddling matter of principle for which he’s (Nicholson) clearly prepared to die.

It’s almost a huge relief when eventually the equally stubborn pair put aside their differences and decide, for their mutual benefit, to build the best damn bridge they’re capable of creating between them.

Michael Caine is superb in ZULU as the posh privileged army officer with the fancy toff’s name of Lieutenant Gonville Bromhead. He comes from a family of army royalty and initially looks down on Stanley Baker’s Lieutenant Chard.

Chard is an engineer who, incidentally, is busily- and sweatily!- engaged in building a bridge when Bromhead swans up on his horse, as cool as the proverbial cucumber. What is it with army men and their little bridges…? The two men quickly learn to work together, however, when those pesky Zulus start swarming over the horizon…

Although my favourite characters from THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI are those of Nicholson and Colonel Saito, William Holden is top-notch too as the American prisoner-of-war, Commander Shears. He daringly escapes from the impossible-to-escape-from prison camp and then is horrified when he’s asked to go back there by Jack Hawkins as the English Major Warden, who has orders to blow up the bridge that his fellow Englishman Nicholson has so lovingly created. Blow up the bridge? Jolly good show, chaps. Jolly good show…!

Actor Jack Hawkins is another feature that both films have in common. He also stars in ZULU as the rather naïve Swedish missionary Otto Witt, father to the beautiful Ulla Jacobsson’s Margareta and a man who’s partial to a bit of a tipple.

I love when that fine South African-born British character actor Nigel Green (COUNTESS DRACULA with Ingrid Pitt) as the exceptionally stiff-upper-lipped Colour Sergeant Bourne tells the drunken Otto Witt to ‘quiet down now sir, there’s a good gentleman, you’re scaring the lads…!’

Nigel Green gets another great line when a green and terrified young soldier says to him as they quietly wait to be overrun by Zulus: ‘Why us, Sarge?’ Not turning a hair, the splendidly-moustached Colour Sergeant Bourne replies: ‘Because we’re here, lad. Because we’re here…’

In a nice touch of authenticity, the real-life Chief Buthelezi plays his own great-grandfather, the Zulu King Cetshwayo, in the film. Also, a lot of singing talent is on show here as the Zulus take on the Welsh soldiers in the regiment in a sort of THE VOICE OF WALES X FACTOR MEETS ZULU’S GOT TALENT type of thing so be sure and buy the soundtrack…!

There are lots of terrific actors in minor roles in both films too, such as James Donald as the infinitely civilised and reasonable but also pragmatic Major Clipton in THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI and another James, this time James Booth, from ZULU. He plays the malingerer Private Henry Hook, the guy with the bad attitude who rather surprisingly ends up winning an award for bravery along with no small number of his colleagues.

These are two cracking war films that’ll make great viewing if you were to watch ’em back-to-back some lazy Saturday afternoon, like I’ve just done myself. Don’t forget to maintain that stiff upper lip throughout, though, and keep a tight rein on any tears that might threaten to fall during your viewing of this truly smashing and emotional double-feature.

It’s just not the done thing to sob and sniffle like hysterical women in front of the ranks, you know. As to what exactly constitutes the done thing, well, you know what, old boy? In the words of a certain Colonel Nicholson: ‘I haven’t the foggiest…!’

Zulu-Screencap-michael-caine-2662240-500-289

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

HAMMER HORROR’S KISS OF THE VAMPIRE. (1963) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

kiss of the vampire showdownKISS OF THE VAMPIRE aka KISS OF EVIL (when shown on American television). (1963) HAMMER FILM PRODUCTIONS. DIRECTED BY DON SHARP. PRODUCED BY ANTHONY HINDS. WRITTEN BY ANTHONY HINDS UNDER THE NAME ‘JOHN ELDER.’ STARRING EDWARD DE SOUZA, JENNIFER DANIEL, CLIFFORD EVANS, NOEL WILLMAN, BARRY WARREN, JACQUIE WALLIS, PETER MADDEN AND VERA COOK. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

This is another fantastic entry in the Hammer Horror canon of DRACULA-slash-vampire films. It comes five years after Christopher Lee first donned the cloak and fangs to play Bram Stoker’s timeless horror creation Count Dracula for Hammer Film Productions, and a mere two years before Sir Christopher reprised his role again in Hammer’s DRACULA: PRINCE OF DARKNESS.

Neither Christopher Lee as the Count nor Peter Cushing as Van Helsing the vampire-hunter appear in KISS OF THE VAMPIRE, my only gripe with an otherwise perfect vampire film. Let’s take a look at the plot, shall we, film buffs…?

A young just-married couple, Gerald and Marianne Harcourt, are honeymooning in Bavaria, definitely a gorgeous spot for honeymooning. Except for the cult of bloodsucking vampires that occupy the castle overlooking the village where the Harcourts are obliged to spend several days due to motor-car trouble. See what you get for trusting so-called modern technology? You’d never have had that trouble with a coach and horses…!

The little inn where the young couple are staying over, rather ambitiously monikered the ‘Grand Hotel,’ is a quaint and charming wee place. The landlady, Anna, nurses a terrible un-named sadness, however, and her lovely old hubby Bruno, while suffering too, is just trying to get on with things. You know the way men are, haha.

An invitation for the young English couple to dine at the aforementioned castle, the property of a Dr. Ravna, is the source of much excitement at the little inn. Gerald and Marianne, in particular Marianne, are positively captivated by the charming doctor and his attractive and accomplished grown-up children, Carl and Sabena.

A party invite comes hot on the heels of the dinner invitation for the Harcourts. It’s a sexy masked ball and the booze is flowing, especially for the not-exactly-used-to-it Gerald, who wakes from a drunken-and-drugged stupor to find his wife missing. What’s more, the Ravnas are closing ranks and claiming that they know nothing at all about any so-called wife of his…

A friend of mine has remarked in the past that Dr. Ravna looks like Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing mashed together. Sometimes I see it, sometimes I don’t. I do think, however, that the rather wooden Marianne, she of the fixed expression and unmoving hairstyle, resembles no-one so much as Doris Mann, the blonde woman from the marvellous spoof horror film CARRY ON SCREAMING who gets turned into a mannequin. Even being turned into a vampire-hussy doesn’t cause her expression to change or her hair to move at all…!

I love Clifford Evans as the alcoholic Professor Zimmer, who has good reason to be hitting the booze so hard and so often. Under his sternly-bearded exterior, he shares a joint pain with Anna and Bruno, the inn-keepers. He might also be the only person who can help a shell-shocked Gerald to free his missus from the cult of the vampires.

I don’t know if I’d bother if I were Gerald. I’m sure that Marianne could be easily replaced at any good department store where mannequins adorn the window displays. Sorry, sorry. I love the film, but Blondie surely could have used some serious loosening up…!

The film is as gorgeously filmed and coloured as you might expect from any Hammer production, with stunningly beautiful costumes, scenery, settings and interiors. I don’t like KISS OF THE VAMPIRE as much as, say, BRIDES OF DRACULA or any of the Christopher Lee Dracula films, but it’s still a super-worthy addition to the Hammer canon of brilliant vampire films.

Stakes through the heart, black magic, a bloodstained chest (though not the kind you’re thinking of!) and a thoroughly unusual ending make for an extremely enjoyable watch all round. Vampirism is here depicted as a sort of social disease that mostly afflicts those enjoying a decadent lifestyle. Another reason to keep buying those Lotto tickets, so…!

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

HAMMER HORROR’S BRIDES OF DRACULA. (1960) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

yvonne monlaurTHE BRIDES OF DRACULA. (1960) HAMMER FILM PRODUCTIONS. DISTRIBUTED BY UNIVERSAL INTERNATIONAL. DIRECTED BY TERENCE FISHER. PRODUCED BY ANTHONY HINDS.

STARRING PETER CUSHING, MARTITA HUNT, YVONNE MONLAUR, DAVID PEEL, FREDA JACKSON, ANDRÉE MELLY, MILES MALLESON, MICHAEL RIPPER AND MARIE DEVEREAUX.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

Oh wow. This is one of my personal favourites in the Hammer Horror canon of DRACULA films. It might even be my favourite of the lot of ’em if it weren’t for the fact that Christopher Lee is noticeably absent from the cast.

Luckily for his fans, the devastatingly handsome and sexually magnetic six-foot-five actor agreed to reprise his role as the Prince of Darkness in the 1965 DRACULA film which was called, coincidentally enough, DRACULA: PRINCE OF DARKNESS. Wasn’t that a big coincidence?

As you can probably see, I’m something of a fan of the late great Sir Chris. I’ve always felt a little bit connected to him through a series of other little coincidences. As a matter of fact, I joined Facebook on his birthday without knowing at the time that it was his birthday.

If that doesn’t seem like a big deal, well then, get your laughing gear around this little fact. On the day he died (not the day on which his passing was revealed to the public), I emailed my novel in three parts (then only two!) to Mr. Lee’s agent with a note asking said agent nicely to pass it on to him personally.

Entitled at the time ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA, now updated to FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA, the lead character is modelled wholly on Christopher Lee’s Dracula in the Hammer Horror films of the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s. Only with- ahem- added sexiness and tons and tons of sex and spanking.

Naturally, he would have read it, loved it and proposed that I write the film script for it. And of course, despite his advanced years, he would have wanted to play the leading role himself. If only things had worked out differently for us…!

Anyway, you’ll have gathered that, while I adore this film, I don’t dig the Baron Meinster (David Peel) as the head neck-biter here. Whoever heard of a blonde-haired Dracula figure? It’s an abomination! Other than that one little gripe, THE BRIDES OF DRACULA is sheer perfection from start to finish.

The stunningly beautiful and, sadly, recently deceased Yvonne Monlaur plays Marianne Danielle, a young Frenchwoman travelling alone through Hammer’s gorgeously-imagined Transylvania. She’s on her way to take up a position as a teacher of French and Deportment at a posh swanky girls’ finishing-school.

She does no teaching worth a damn in the whole film, though. Circumstances see her breaking her journey overnight at the castle-in-the-mountains home of the Baroness Meinster, a magnificent old dame with more chutzpah than a whole bevy of finishing-school beauties put together.

She’s marvellously played by Martita Hunt, an actress who once went up in flames in the dusty old surrounds of Charles Dickens’ Satis House as the lovelorn Miss Havisham. That 1946 adaptation of GREAT EXPECTATIONS, also starring John Mills as Pip, was the first time I ever saw Martita Hunt act and I never forgot how wonderful she was. I absolutely adore her in BRIDES OF DRACULA.

The Baroness’s feisty exterior masks a terrible sadness and an even worse secret. Nosy little Marianne can’t, of course, resist poking her exquisite little French nose into the tortured old noblewoman’s business.

When she finds out what the Baroness and her loyal servant Greta have been hiding, she most unwisely sets their ‘secret’ free. Free to wreak the most unimaginable horrors on the people of Transylvania, that is. And neither Marianne nor her pupils at the school will escape unscathed…

Peter Cushing is fantastic as always as the impeccably-suited and beautifully-spoken Dr. Van Helsing, the authority on the ‘cult of the Un-Dead’ who are threatening to consume the little village in an orgy of bloodlust and godlessness. He handles himself with aplomb and undoubted gutsiness against the horrors of vampirism and those who practise it.

Freda Jackson does a terrific job of portraying the crazy-as-a-loon Greta, the faithful old servant of Baroness Meinster’s whose mind is destroyed by the turn of events. Kudos also to Andrée Melly and Marie Devereaux, who make stunning Brides for the evil disciple of Dracula’s.

Miles Malleson (1888-1969) is brilliant also as the fee-hungry Dr. Tobler who likes the odd tipple. Like, every five minutes, haha. He plays a dotty entymologist Bishop in the 1959 Hammer version of THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES (also starring Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing) who also likes a tipple. Very much so. A small sherry here, a small sherry there, they all add up. I wonder how much booze his on-screen characters consumed over the years…!

Miles Malleson was actually born the year that the scallywag known as Jack The Ripper cut a bloody swathe through the- ahem- working girls of Whitechapel, London. Isn’t that incredible, that he was born that long ago? It kind of boggles the mind to think that far back.

THE BRIDES OF DRACULA pre-dates all the nudity and sexiness of the Hammer DRACULA films from the ’70s, but it’s still more than sexy enough to satisy the naughty viewers who tune in to Hammer as much for the glamour as for the storylines.

The settings and costumes are, as always, fabulously-coloured and lavish, and it would be a Fussy Freddie indeed who doesn’t imagine himself back in nineteenth-century Transylvania when he watches the film. The film surely has that unmistakable Hammer Horror ‘feel’ and vibe to it.

And Yvonne Monlaur is surely one of the greatest beauties of the modern era. Those eyes and full, succulent blow-job lips…! Snigger. I mean that in the nicest possible way. She’s a knockout. And so is the film. Miss it, as they say, at your peril. And they’d be right. Un-dead right…

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 ROBE and DEMETRIUS AND THE GLADIATORS: A DUO OF BIBLICAL MOVIE REVIEWS BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

robeTHE ROBE and DEMETRIUS AND THE GLADIATORS: A DUO OF BIBLICAL MOVIE REVIEWS BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

THE ROBE. (1953) BASED ON THE NOVEL BY LLOYD C. DOUGLAS. DIRECTED BY HENRY KOSTER. STARRING RICHARD BURTON, JEAN SIMMONS, VICTOR MATURE, MICHAEL RENNIE AND JAY ROBINSON AS CALIGULA.

DEMETRIUS AND THE GLADIATORS. (1954) BASED ON CHARACTERS CREATED BY LLOYD C. DOUGLAS IN HIS NOVEL ‘THE ROBE.’ DIRECTED BY DELMER DAVES. STARRING VICTOR MATURE, SUSAN HAYWOOD, MICHAEL RENNIE, DEBRA PAGET, ERNEST BORGNINE AND JAY ROBINSON AS CALIGULA.

‘Were you… out there…?’

I know Easter was about a month ago but I’m still cheerfully riding that wave of great old Biblical epics, haha. THE ROBE and its sequel DEMETRIUS AND THE GLADIATORS have always been two of my all-time favourites, along with BEN-HUR, KING OF KINGS, THE TEN COMMANDMENTS, SPARTACUS and THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD, to mention but a few. Well, I think those are the main ones!

It was said of some guy once, I don’t know who, that ‘he killed more men than Cecil B. De Mille,’ referring of course to the number of extras used in this type of film. They all had a cast of thousands all right, along with camels and rolling hills and raucous open markets in which you could buy a nice living-room carpet and a pair of comely slave twins to go with your watermelon and jugs of wine. They’re all marvellous old films and you just don’t see their like anymore.

THE ROBE is the story of Tribune Marcellus Gallio, brilliantly played by screen heart-throb and two-time hubby of Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton. He plays a rich Roman soldier from a good family, a boozer and a womaniser who falls afoul of the Emperor Caligula and gets stationed in the back end of nowhere, otherwise known as Jerusalem, as a sort of pay-back.

While he’s there, he’s put in charge of the unit that’s responsible for crucifying a local troublemaker of note known as Jesus Christ. Yep, that Jesus Christ…! Not unnaturally, the crucifixion has a profoundly unsettling effect on Tribune Gallio.

Believing himself bewitched by Jesus’s robe, which he shamefully won in a card game, Marcellus sets out to find it and destroy it. Yeah, he obviously lost it again after he won it, haha. He nearly loses his mind with the strain of it all before miraculously converting to Christianity, much to the surprise- but not displeasure- of his childhood sweetheart Diana, played by the lovely Jean Simmons. (Mrs. Spartacus, remember?)

Demetrius, played by the beefy and burly Victor Mature, is Tribune Gallio’s slave and the star of the sequel movie, DEMETRIUS AND THE GLADIATORS. Demetrius, a handsome Greek, becomes a devoted follower of Jesus after witnessing the shocking events of the crucifixion alongside his master, Marcellus.

Poor Demetrius is captured and tortured by the Emperor Caligula, who is more than a little disturbed at rumours of an underground cult, ie, Christianity, that places another god above himself. Caligula’s ego is insanely over-developed and any suggestion that he’s not the one true God himself is like a red rag to a bull.

The actor portraying Caligula in both films, Jay Robinson, was only twenty-three and then twenty-four respectively when he starred in them. This is incredible to imagine as he is absolutely magnificent as the spoilt brat of an Emperor, who quite literally throws screaming tantrums when he doesn’t get what he wants.

‘I want Tribune Gallio! Bring me Tribune Gallio before morning or I’ll have you all killed!’ What did I tell you? Completely and utterly spoilt…

In DEMETRIUS AND THE GLADIATORS, our freed slave Demetrius finds himself in a school for gladiators run by Ernest Borgnine’s tough nut, Strabo. Demetrius attains such success in the arena that he attracts the attention of Messalina, the wife of Caligula’s doddery old uncle, Claudius.

Messalina, played by Susan Hayward, is a saucy temptress who has forced her aged hubby to wear the cuckold’s horns so many times that they’ve worn an actual groove across his bald pate. When a fatal incident in the gladiators’ recreation room causes Demetrius to reject his Christian faith, the horny little hussy has no trouble at all in luring the hunky gladiator to her bed.

Caligula takes an interest in the robe in this film, mistakenly believing that it imbues the wearer with powers of immortality. Huh. It’s not a flippin’ cloak of invisibilty or anything. It’s not a magic cloak or anything like that. Or is it…?

Anyway, he orders Demetrius away from his carousing and merry-making in Messalina’s love-dungeon and tells him to find the robe and bring it to him. Demetrius finds the robe, but he finds something else as well, something which will hopefully jerk him back to his senses in a big way. And after several months spent lying between Messalina’s alabaster thighs (nice legs, what time do they open…?), the randy sod’s gonna need some serious deprogramming…!

These old films are so special. They’re not just for Easter, either. Any Saturday or Sunday afternoon during the year would do for a good long viewing of a nice swords-and-sandals epic. Now bring me a mojita this minute.

That’s right, bring me a mojita right now or I’ll feed you all to the lions! Haha, I’m only joking, of course. I simply wouldn’t dream of channelling my inner Caligula (Caligulady, geddit?) around you guys. As if I’d feed you guys to the lions. But a mojito would be nice…

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