‘Let the girl ping…!’

‘Henry’s in the cloud now…’

‘Now fill me up with duct tape. Quack quack…!’

Humph. When I was a young ‘un, we sat sedately indoors all the time, embroidering elaborate tapestries, playing the harpsichord and singing to demonstrate our accomplishments, giggling behind our fans and waiting for Messrs Darcy and Bingley to come along and validate our very existences by, to put it bluntly, putting a ring on it. It was the done thing back then.

Kids today, however, are all about their gadgets. My son texts me from upstairs to order a snack sent to his room at 11.40pm. There’s nothing at all wrong with his legs, by the way. I’m not your fucking butler, I mutter as I struggle with the tray on the stairs and add a single flower in a jam-jar for decoration and fold a napkin expertly into a flock of graceful swans. In flight. Over Greenland. While the Aurora Borealis is fully visible. Well, I have certain standards to uphold…!

Dottie, the little girl in SHE MADE A MONSTER, is no less of a gadget fiend, only she has a decidedly scientific mindset as well. One day, tooling about on her laptop and home-made teleporter after sacrificing her sister’s hamster to the gods of progress, Dottie accidentally creates a bonafide JURASSIC PARK-style T-Rex from a harmless movie dinosaur.

Methinks I recognise a scene from the fabulous 1925 movie, THE LOST WORLD, based on the writings of one Arthur Conan Doyle, who also penned a little-known series of detective novels about a gumshoe called Sherlock Holmes. A lot of potential in those novels. Shame they never took off…

Anyway, now Dottie’s got a genuine Tyrannosaurus Rex in the back garden, to the discomfiture of her angry big sister, the gothic Kate, and her easygoing but slightly bemused Pops. (‘If that’s Sam Dietle’s dog again, I’m calling the animal warden…!’)

You will, of course, recognise the T-Rex from his numerous cinematic roles. You know, big scary razor-teeth, short little arms, terrible trouble jerking off? Yep, that’s the one! I wonder, I really wonder, what God was thinking when he made the biggest most fearsome animal the world has ever known and then gave him arms too short to scratch his balls. Maybe he was feeling playful, or was having a mischievous day…?
Anyway, now the killer dinosaur is on the rampage in small town America, eating goats (I see you, JURASSIC PARK!) and terrorising the Led Zeppelin out of the ageing rockers who don’t know whether to shit or go blind when they see what’s ambling down the highway in their direction.

All hell is definitely breaking loose as Dottie and her dotty family high-tail it to Grandma’s house to see if she has enough, erm, tinfoil, to vanquish the dinosaur. Don’t ask, lol, just watch!  

There’s so much humour in the film. There’s the old couple who think they’re still high as kites when they see the dinosaur disporting himself merrily around town: ‘Ah toldja we shouldn’t be smoking in the daytime!’

I also love the old geezer who stands and faces the marauding monster with the immortal words: ‘Buddy, I’ve been to ‘Nam. I seen worse‘n you…!’

And the poor paraplegic guy in the wheelchair who’s trying but failing to commit suicide by the railway tracks: ‘God, Laura’s shacked up with the mailman, ya took mah legs, the least you can do is gimme a natural death…!’ Then he looks up and sees 65 million years of history rumbling down the track towards him and he looks up and says: ‘I’ll give ya this, you’re creative…!’

Faith Kester as Dottie is adorable and extremely confident, as you’d expect from the kids of today. Don’t get me started. Entitled little know-it-alls, every one of them. Look at them crooked and they’re calling Childline.

But Dottie is likeable and funny, so much so that you could nearly forgive her for unintentionally unleashing a beast from the Jurassic era on her sleepy little hometown. I said nearly, mind you. Nearly. Something tells me that there’ll be a yard sale in said hometown pretty soon with a gosh-darn home-made teleporter as the piece de resistance…

Aw, shucks! This film is funny and clever and will totes remind you of the time when you were a kid and you bought the little dinosaur sponges in the KWIK-E-MART and then, when you got them home and poured water on them, they grew into a gigantic dinosaur that roared fire and gobbled up your little sister until nothing was left of her but a scrap of red dress and a string of pearls. No, wait, that was THE SIMPSONS. Still a good memory, though. It’ll also put you in mind of the movie, THE FLY, in all its superb ickiness.

Anyway, I understand that SHE MADE A MONSTER is currently doing the festival circuit and could conceivably be coming to a screen near you sometime soon. Do watch it if you can. It’ll only take up about twenty minutes of your time that you were probably going to piss away anyway. Ah, don’t take offence, shure I’m the exact same. I’m going off now to sneak in a quick nap before lunch. (Mindy, the Simpsons again, lol.) Happy watching.

PS, There will be a memorial service tonight at the community centre at 123, Fake Street for Henry the Hamster. Henry was a beloved member of his community and leaves behind a grieving wife and four hundred and seventeen children, all of whom will dearly miss their wonderful ‘Pops.’

The family have requested that mourners who would wish to honour Henry by bringing flowers ditch that idea and bring enough cheese, pumpkin seeds and gnaw sticks for four hundred and eighteen hungry hamsters instead.

Anyone who wishes to remember Henry in poem or song will be given the opportunity to do so. The memorial service will last from 7pm to 9pm. You are asked to leave the hall as you found it, and to please watch out for next door’s cat, who’s a proper c*nt. God bless us every one.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, poet, short story writer and film and book blogger. She has studied Creative Writing and Vampirology. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, women’s 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:
Her new book, THIRTEEN STOPS EARLIER, is out now from Poolbeg Books:
Her debut romantic fiction novel, ‘THIRTEEN STOPS,’ is out now from Poolbeg Books:
The sequel, ‘THIRTEEN STOPS LATER,’ is out now from Poolbeg Books:


a room to die for



I loved this one. A young couple moves into a rented room in an old couple’s house because they’re flat broke. Marcus is an unemployed stand-up comedian. Of course he’s bloody well unemployed. There’s only money in stand-up comedy if you’re Michael McIntyre or Peter Kay or someone like that.

He’s not even a good stand-up comedian, if ‘Glitter Pussy’ and ‘Danger Wank,’ his two big jokes, are anything to go by. Has he ever even heard of the word ‘punchline,’ never mind the actual concept? Somehow I doubt it. You must have a punchline, otherwise you’re just leaving your audience hanging, hanging and dissatisfied.

He’s a wimpy, spoiled immature little boy who stays in bed ogling porn while his beautiful and much more responsible girlfriend Jill goes out to do a tiresome job in a call centre, trying to flog life insurance to old people who don’t want it but do just want to hear a human voice every once in a while.

They’ve taken a room in Henry and Josephine Baker’s house because they’re stoney-broke, as I’ve said. It’s a lovely old house that looks like it should be called The Old Rectory because of its gothic church-like appearance.

The house on the DVD box is a different house, by the way, a more American-looking haunted house, just in case you’re looking at it and saying to yourself in disgust, this doesn’t look like a lovely British rectory, lol.

Henry and Josephine seem like a lovely old couple, even though moving in with them makes Marcus feel like he’s back home with his parents. And that’s not a good thing. You move out to get away from your parents, lol.

Henry in particular clearly doesn’t think that stand-up comedy is a real job. Jill is keeping Marcus, to all intents and purposes, and Henry thinks that Marcus is much less of a man because of it. He imposes petty rules on Marcus’s meagre attempts at housekeeping and nags at him to clean up his mess until Marcus feels like he wants to lamp Henry one, right in the kisser.

There’s something strange about Henry and Josephine. They claim to have a newborn baby, for one thing, even though they’re easily in their sixties. Henry is, anyway. The actress playing Josephine is using a bad blue-grey rinse in her hair to make her appear older than she is. This mysterious baby is a baby whom Jill and Marcus never see, but its crying can be heard at odd hours throughout the day.

There’s even something odd about its crying as Marcus, who has absolutely nothing to do all day, discovers to his unease. The unseen baby cries for the exact amount of minutes each time. Twenty minutes each time, to be precise.

What does this suggest to you guys, because it suggests to me that this baby, for some reason, is no more than a recording. But why? Why go to all this trouble to pretend that there’s a baby in the house?

Jill and Marcus squabble constantly as the strain of living in Henry and Josephine’s admittedly lovely house begins to take its toll on the young couple. It’s not until they’re each tied to a chair in Henry and Josephine’s basement that they finally realise the real reason why the older couple were so keen to have them living in their house. Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetops…

I love Henry. He’s a brilliant character, a right old rascal. Jill’s superior arse of a brother Jason is a great character too. He doesn’t think that stand-up comedy is a proper job either and he makes Marcus feel about two inches tall when he boasts about his own inflated pay-packet. Jason brought Jill up himself after the deaths of their parents and I think he really thinks that she can do better than Marcus the big loser. I agree, lol.

I love when Josephine asks Henry if the nosey Jason is going to pose a problem for them when the young couple go missing, as they’re- Henry and Josephine- clearly operating outside the law, and Henry merely smiles and says: ‘I think you’d better put down some more plastic sheeting, dear.’ Henry is a boss, the best character here by miles.

There’s violence and even rape in the film but I could have done with a nice supernatural element to things as well. A nice bit of devil-worshipping and the presence of the Man Down Below, you know, the guy with the horns and forked tail?

That would have kicked ass, especially in view of the house’s lovely gothic appearance. This is still a great film though. I only came across it by accident but I’m very glad I did. We’d better all shush now. The baby’s trying to sleep…


Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger, poet and book-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:

You can contact Sandra at: