Jacob Kelly's Funeralopolis Vol. 1 Issue 6

In this weeks issue:

'Barbarian is This Years Facemelter'

Our big new movie of the week is Zack Creggers surprise hit, which the director has described as 'Fincher upstairs, Rami downstairs". A strict warning is given to avoid this review until you have seen the movie to avoid what really happens in that dingy Detroit basement.

'It's A Sin: West Trades Porn for MGM Parody'

Finally, Ti West's prequel to X is out. Against Kelly's desires he's traded the sexual liberation commentary for a parody of old MGM movies like Wizard of Oz and Singin' in the Rain. This results in a massive rant about the best and worst of musicals and dance movies. West's slow burning atmosphere is under fire. Also, this week Kelly finds himself unexpectedly in the Peak District.

'A Trip to the Death Match Factory'

A viewing of Crazy Thunder Road spirals in to Japanese proto punk, industrial music and architecture. Dive into the world of Gakuryu Ishii, known as 'The Godfather of Japanese Cyberpunk'.

'Charlie Sheen Calls the FBI'

Just why did Charlie Sheen call the FBI back in 1985? A wild journey through the infamous Japanese faux snuff Guinea Pig series with several detours along the way, dropping in to '60s roughies and 2000s torture porn.

'Kiefer Sutherland is Jack Bauer'

Welcome to your new post 9/11 action hero. He is Jack Bauer. He will defend America at all costs. Cast your eyes away whilst he does what must be done to preserve your safety. A companion piece to Charlie Sheen Calls the FBI about how torture porn can slip in to television. In the TV of the Week section, we have the pilot of Kiefer Sutherland's hit show 24.

'Choke on it You Little Cunt'

Is it the end of the line for gonzo porno? The notorious Max Hardcore is under the spotlight. Innovative filmmaker or a nasty piece of work who belongs behind bars? Perhaps worse, both?

Don't you dare read this unless you've watched the movie. If I catch you doing that, you will receive a slap. Go in blind. Letting it unravel on you moment to moment is the fun of the game. On the facemelter scale, we're talking high, especially for todays standards. The kind of facemelter you come out the cinema wanting to shadowbox in pure excitement. Last year it was Bob Odenkirk in Nobody, this year it's Barbarian. I came out the cinema and went straight to the boozer and got so drunk I was chatting some birds head off about how The Three Gorges Dam is a powerful contraption. A film like this will do that to you. You'll want to roundhouse kick anyone in the nearest five feet. So unless you're looking to throw some hands, stay back. Stay back! Cause Kung fu Kelly is activated. I'll keep this one short cause even having seen it, talking too much would ruin the simple visceral impact. This is just quick high energy cinema. Is it good? It's very good.

Barbarian is Hostel for the Airbnb generation. The scars of the Reagan administration loom large. Got to be the most twisted take on the old myths of Halloween and decent conservative family values (discussed in issue #5) I've seen in a while. A repackaged and equally raw love letter to The Hills Have Eyes. Ok maybe not that raw and punk as that one, especially with its polished use of synthesisers. Industrial Techno artist A001's track Necro is excellently used to the point you'd think it was the score. That was always the delight of torture porn that no one ever touched on. Former Nine Inch Nails man Charlie Clouser was a master on Saw of amplifying and distorting sounds to the point you couldn't tell what was screams, clanging metal and simply the score. A cacophony of sound indistinguishable as to whether it is diegetic or non diegetic. Completely irrelated to torture porn but I recently saw the incredible Richard Stanley's Hardware. My Lovecraft boys may know him from his recent Colour Out of Space but back in the '90s, Hardware was his Terminator rip off and you know what, it's fucking great. Much better than Bruno Mattei's cheesy Cameron homage Shocking Dark. Reason I mention is because, he uses this track from Public Image Ltd, 'Order of Death', smartly as a John Carpenter style theme for his movie. In the last issue, I mentioned I was wanting horror to move on from the synthesisers and embrace newer sonic developments in metal.

This Years Facemelter

Truthfully though, I don't think it's that I'm tired of hearing synths in horror. Always loved the synths. No, more accurately, I'm tired of hearing unprofessional knock offs that aren't fit to tie Johnny C's damn laces. However, if you want to use some actually talented musicians and pre existing songs rather than these lousy composer bums you hear too much from nowadays, count me in. The beauty of the A001 track is how atmospheric the fucker is, once you hear it, you're wondering down those basement steps and roaming the corridors of the underground floors. It's not just a jolly 'how good were the '80s man?!' Typical score you get all too often from the last few years.

Musical deviation aside there, it may be a little too well done to be Hills Have Eyes but it sure does capture you in with its crazy situation involving a fucked up family for its full run time then spits you back out rather suddenly. This time our fucked up family lives in Detroit. Although, I've never been to the place, based on cinematic representation it is now in my head: the place of where awful rappers spawn out of trailers and become huge popular shock artists. It is the home of street cops who are not adverse to breaking in to mansions in Beverly Hills and squatting. A location where people hate their union more than their boss and will try to steal back what they're owed due to the corruption. Somewhere that old people take Asian boys under their wing and deal with their 'nam guilt by teaching decent American values and bullying the other local ethnic minority the blacks. If you have sex there, a demon thing will literally follow you round and murder you much like aids. Oh yeah and who could forget, Spiderman comic fans who are so depressed they need their bosses to buy them call girls and they will literally fall in love with a woman overnight, fantasise about airports and kill, steal and deal their way on to the plane. After Barbarian, we can now add on the lesson of don't buy real estate there. Why does cinema hate this place so much? Apologies to those from Detroit for their insane cinematic representation.

Let me tell you something, it makes up for the flaws of the last few Jordan Peele movies. Imagine if Us was great. It would be this. Even has parallels with dudes living underground, except this one has the good sense to keep things restricted to Detroit and contain its allegory. The director here, Zack Cregger, who I've never even heard of, neatly described it as "David Fincher upstairs, Sam Raimi downstairs". I approve of this well disciplined structural balance. By this what is meant is a gritty controlled realistic thriller at top level and a chaotic evil monster jam at bottom level. Come to think of it, I feel a strange kinship with this set up, which could possibly be due to my brain being organised in quite the same way. Except with myself the foundations aren't so strong and the two filter in to one another.

Seen a few comparing Barbarian to Don't Breathe. They are both in fact set in Detroit and display some respectable suspense. However, there is an element in which they do differ. Don't Breathe set up this slightly futuristic apocalyptic decaying society in which people are being forced to abandon traditional values in order to survive an economic crisis. A situation, which actually made the gangster pictures like Scarface, Little Caesar and The Public Enemy so popular during the great depression in the early 1930s. Barbarian also has these aspects linking it in to repercussions of Reaganism like Halloween and all the '80s slashers. Now where they differ is that, Barbarian can confine itself to this basement. That's where your mind goes and more importantly stays. Whereas, Don't Breathe suffers from the same flaw as the first movie in The Purge series. Your mind can't help but wonder what is happening outside.

Storytelling is a real strong suit here. You're riding it out with the double booking to the trip down to the basement, watching the madness unfold. Honestly, this was horrible to endure because I needed a piss the whole time that clown dude from IT disappeared down the steps. Begging the difficult question of how on earth do you go the toilet in a movie where you just know once it turns, it's all kicking off and it's not a stopping.

Barbarian had the feel of a real rollercoaster. The BnB scenes merely the queue for what is to come. You just had that instinctive knowledge that this one was going to explode. But which first, the movie or my bladder. The absolute downside of Rambo reviewing. Oh well, it adds to the suspense. Fair play to these guys though for not showing too much in the trailers. I don't think I'm alone in saying we were all wondering what the fuck is down in that basement and where is this one going to go.

Respect as well that it went The Grudge route with the Pulp Fiction like episodic jumps and character switches on the narrative. All of sudden we start following Justin Long and it has the balls to just roll with it. Out of nowhere, right when we're about to address just what the fuck is in the basement around the half way point, we have a Psycho moment and the new main character is now a disgraced actor caught in a rape allegation. Whilst it doesn't become this zeitgeist exploration of the MeToo movement just the insanity of being thrusted in to this new situation is overwhelming.

Trapped in the intoxicating clutches of the media, Long decides to hide out in one of his owned properties, which of course happens to be this BnB in Detroit. Doesn't take him too long to realise he could have squatters. This struck me as odd because I thought Detroit denizens normally squatted in Beverly Hills. Maybe that's just Axel Foley. Barbarian is actually something of a buddy cop movie too. Yes, Justin Long and his tape measure. Name a better duo. That shit had me in stitches. Another reason, I'm a big Barbarian man. Finally, a film that gives me what I've always wanted. Justin Long being tortured and made to do weird things. You don't know how long I've wanted this. My man just has a face you look at and you're rubbing your hands together like, "Right, time to absolutely bully this man". The baby bottle and mangled boob sucking. Oh God this is some sicko shit. One for Castle Freak fans. Couldn't stop laughing in the cinema. Thought the dude next to me was going to have a word. You don't get enough horrors these days utilising the comedy. That's how it's meant to work. You tense them up with the suspense, you relieve them with the comedy and boom you hit them with the real scare.

Strongest part of the movie for me was the switch back to the '80s. Adore my horror when it gets all audacious switching between times, characters, locations and even aspect ratios. Barbarian goes at that without even looking back, which is what I really admire about the storytelling. It never asks, "Do you mind if I do this for a bit?". It just fucking goes for it like a David Lynch movie in to next direction it wants to go in. Barbarian doesn't care if you hate where it wants to take you, it still takes you there as a willing or unwilling passenger.

In the '80s segment there's a gorgeous stylistic changeover on the aspect ratio and an incredible choice to keep the camera behind Richard Brake as though following his every move, a silent witness. Purely voyeuristic. A wicked thrill. Richard Brake though. What a man. Generally in this industry, he's underused and undervalued. Known to all Rob Zombie fans. He makes even his weaker films like 31 great by stealing the show. This dudes like an even more twisted Hugo Weaving looking motherfucker. No word of a lie, I could watch a whole movie of this mad bastard just listening to the radio, ignoring his neighbours, shopping and preparing various mischief. My grindhouse boys who be loving shit like Maniac and Henry will be all over this. This is first person serial killer shit. Fanfuckingtastic. Repercussions of Reaganomics on the radio is such a vibe. As Killing them Softly did with Obama on the radio acknowledging the consequences of the 2008 Wall Street crash and pretending there's still a united America, this does something similar. Likewise, this too does have a focus on the housing market.

After all its praises, now for the weakest side of this movie. Barbarian comes armed with a solid dose of the sick shit but not enough gore for me. In that regard, it's a little too well behaved. Didn't mind the Maniac throwback section lacking violence because that was part of the thrill just following a mad man going about the most banal activities and that little window unlocking said it all. Mischief.

However, you cannot, and this is a big one, you cannot have that bold and striking image in the room with the camera, bed and bucket and then not show us the footage. How fucking dare you! No ones saying you have to ruin the strength of the image by showing everything that occurs in that space. I acknowledge that the mind is always more powerful than the image but come on just a few hints please. They had the opportunity to give you flickers though when Justin Long accesses those videotapes. Was half convinced I was witnessing what it was like for older horror fans who'd had to endure cut versions of their favourite films with blatant scenes missing.

This is where the film comes a little up its own arse in a modern way that nearly ruins the movie. Clearly, it wants to comment on torture porn and found footage, two of the most recent popular horror trends, but wants to avoid or even be above that kind of spectacle and the criticisms those genres face. Exactly, the shit that pisses me off about Michael Haneke's movies. Get your head out your arse and get your damn hands dirty, you cowards! What kind of perfect individual do you think you are to believe you are so much better than your material? There's a real arrogance in it that rubs me the wrong way. As though discrediting other people's works and saying you will do it right this time because you are a more decent individual. That's backing down before you even begin to me. A director can comment on filth and depravity all they like but they should never see themselves as above it.

They're so fucking lucky that image of the room itself is so haunting and now etched in my brain that you can fill in the blanks to some degree yourself. In a weaker directors hands who fails to get such a disturbing image without the perfect colour palette, I'd be even more disappointed. Imagine if they gave this script to Eli Roth though. Christ that would be 5 fucking stars.

Cannot leave without commenting on that ending. Plot finishes. Credits roll. Now that I've got respect for. None of this false ending shit. When the movies over, it's over. Get the written and directed by in and call it a day. Pack in the pussyfooting. It's time to go home. No one ever really came to a horror movie for that last overly long scene in which it reconfirms that the characters lived long happy lives and everything turned out okay.

Barbarian gives us a strict lesson in this discipline. It refuses to lower its fast paced high energy for some corny bullshit and in doing so leaves you ready to bust out those moves you've been working on in the dojo. My kind of cinema. And what a way to end it hey? With one of my all time favourite songs and one which sure as hell summed up what this fuckers about. BE MY BABY. Fucking hell, the adult babies are going to love this, aren't they? They may have a new favourite. Someone tell Neville Southall the adult baby take over is back on.

Oh no, Ti West's phenomenal Boogie Nights meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre slasher X from earlier this year receives a rapid follow up with the much talked about prequel Pearl and it is akin to a modern tragedy. Only way to describe the experience is that I'm feeling you have to be a huge Wizard of Oz fan to be really in to this. Me? I just like porn.

West had us all fooled in to thinking the days of exploitation filmmaking were back. A time when filmmakers could go out and make a film in just a few short weekends and get that shit pumped out to a hungry cinema audience wanting bloodshed and chaos. Those days are not back. This is a W for theatre kids, those bellends have hijacked my porn picture. Honestly, any cunt that likes to break in to musicals spontaneously and be the centre of attention when the spotlight comes down better stay out of my way for the next few weeks. Otherwise it's Fists of Fury, baby! Understand this is not particularly an attack on musicals as a genre (there's some good ones out there) but the weirdos who are obsessed with them. So next time you're thinking of humming Hamilton with your Airpods in, make sure it is far, far, far away from Mr J M Kelly, until I can move on from potentially the biggest disappointment of the year.

Perhaps, I would be alienating myself If I said even other horror musicals such as The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Little Shop of Horrors are pretty lame too. May as well start blasting out Queen with that shit. You're on the same slippery slope. I still would love to kill whoever came up with the concept of the rock opera. No one needs to give their ears a pummelling with that rubbish. Beetlejuice does have a hilarious central character but that one's directed by Tim Burton, which makes it automatically wank. Cabaret should be the greatest one with its provocative story set in the early days of Nazi Germany but it's a shoddy attempt at transgressive art. Literally, the drama kids view of controversy. At least Burlesque and Coyote Ugly (belters) have the decency to deliver on the pop appeal rather than resorting to unbearable amounts of pathetic cringe.

It's A Sin: West Trades Porn for MGM Parody

Don't even talk to me about Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera, The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins or Dreamgirls. There was never any hope for them. Also, how on earth did they make Jersey Boys so bad? Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons fucking slap. Doo Wop legends. The Wanderers, now that's a movie which used those bangers well. Why don't musicals use actual songs rather than resorting to plot singing? Maybe just do the lip singing of hits and keep the dance routines. They're hits for a reason! Use them. Do we really need to hear what the cast sounds like with their abysmal renditions? Always eludes me as to why that isn't common practice. Probably why I've always preferred dance movies like Footloose, Flashdance, Saturday Night Fever and yes, Staying Alive to shit like Funny Girl or A Star is Born . I'm here for the cheesy '80s montages. What are you here for?

The breaking of the film world and narrative pauses, which are regular criticisms of the genre have never bothered me. All for montages and endless dance sequences. They're just the set pieces the film seeks to communicate itself through. They are not what disrupts the movie or takes me out of the experience. It's the aforementioned plot singing instead of classic hits and its show offy singing style. Oh look at me, I have an incredible voice! Shut up, sing with a sore throat that's battered from too many cigarettes and play 3 fucking notes on the guitar like normal people.

Alright, so what musicals do you like Kelly you fucking incessant wingebag? Elvis movies of course! John Waters's Cry Baby and Hairspray. That's the original Hairspray, which was once described by David Edelstein as being a "family movie both the Brady's and Manson's could adore". Not this commercialised crap they're passing off nowadays without any of the originals grotesque soul. As I said, generally I prefer pre recorded songs without the cast singing. However, If you have to go that route, I welcome the ones where the actors either can't sing or sounding incredibly pissed like Mamma Mia and Jesus Christ Superstar, which defy all rating systems.

In particular, Pearl parodies the old MGM musicals. Unlike my man John Waters though, I've never really cared for Wizard of Oz. Hold your horses, before you get too excited, I don't hate it either, which for some of these films is a massive achievement, I guess. One for the kids and so let them have their fun. Singin' in the Rain is easily the peak of those MGM musicals with the titular track and 'Good Morning' being certified bangers. Honestly though, Smauel Goldwyn Production's effort from 1955 Guys and Dolls wipes the floor with any of the MGM offerings. Brando and Sinatra? Yes, please.

West takes the overly colourful glitzy glamy period of the MGM musicals and combines it with his typical slow burning atmosphere and horror. All proves too much for me in its descent in to quirky and quaint nonsense. Recently, I rewatched X and it added to my suspicions that Pearl would be about the religious cults opposing sexual liberal liberation shown in brief segments on televisions. I assumed Pearl was the daughter of one of these anti sex maniacs, who had run off and gone rogue. Rejecting that upbringing in the most extreme way by getting involved in the porn industry. That would have been cool, like an extension of Boogie Nights opening act exploring what causes people to gravitate towards pornography. Unfortunately, we never got that movie and instead its some farm freak with dreams of being a film star.

Pearl seeks to cater towards that egotistical star bullshit as though it’s a dream everyone shares. Sure, I'm a cinephile but I've always been in to championing directors and in particular smugglers. Those who make genre pictures and hide in messages over really obvious and self satisfied dramas that you figure out from the trailer. Actors are just tools or pawns and you can fight me on that. Actors think they are the movie and rarely understand what the pictures about. I mean just watch them do interviews or even direct themselves. They think their role is the movie. I will not apologise for my auteur purism.

A director that sneaks his thoughts into genre pictures and admire, Martin Scorsese has gone on to praise Pearl for being "powered by a pure undiluted love for cinema". Maybe it is but it’s a side to cinema I'd be lying if I said I had much time for. Mia Goth, who does indeed look as sexily deranged as Shelley Duvall, can act but we've known this since Nymphomaniac Vol. 2. Fucking hell, how I wished Pearl was more like that movie. It could have so easily been if they sacked off all the musical meanderings and maintained stricter focus on sexual liberation like the first movie. The purpose of Goth's performance is lost on me here and the 10 minute monologue summarises everything I hate about it with its disgustingly self centred attitude and nature of the performance it attempts to champion. Some will say the simple set up and low budget is admirable as a Covid production but it only makes it resemble cinemas ugly sister: the theatre. For the nerds that sorry, can't approve.

Pearl's titular character has already gone down in history as a cinematic girl boss. Easy to understand why with her 'chaotic energy' that becomes increasingly drawn out when having to deal with male characters, which no doubt will appeal to women. Strangely, I found that side to the movie rather humorous, especially the moment when she starts cry screaming "Why are you leaving me!" As a sexual partner gives her the cold shoulder. Can't believe I'm saying this but we could have had more of that. Less drama kid antics, more feral girl.

None of West's mixing of horror and musical ever comes close to the home invasion sequence in Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange , which successfully subverts Singin' in the Rain with nightmarish results. Always find West's slow burning atmosphere hit or miss to begin with. Either it's ground breaking or boring. Pearl, I'm sad to say falls in to the latter with its stale drama. Don't you just hate it when the golden boy misbehaves?

When it comes to West's slow brooding approach, on dark conversations using found footage with The Sacrament, it works. When he's subtly mapping out locations like The House of the Devil , it works. As a means to combine Psycho/Eaten Alive southern gothic styles with Giallos like Suspiria on X, it works. Often, I reckon this dude needs a good score or music track to fill the gaps, otherwise I find them dull and unengaging like The Innkeepers

Naturally, as Ti West is arguably the best US horror director right now or at least emerging as one, there are some commendable areas of Pearl, which would be foolish to ignore. As expected, it has some real technical moments of awe with its skilled compositions. When his images of the lake begin playing with X, had my attention. They will surely affect now how you watch X in future. Editing is a real weapon in West's hands with his notable methods of experimentation with time. He will briefly return prior images from the previous scene and have them flash on screen, despite the next scene having commenced. All this borders on avant garde, yet it never threatens to destroy the commercial appeal and integrity for a wider audience. Respectably, he picks his moments well, exposing people to techniques they might not normally be acquainted with, whilst not alienating them in process. Undeniably, this is completely admirable.

Overall though, I found Pearl too plastic and fake to be effective. You could say that's kind of the point with the MGM throwback but I don't think West succeeds in doing his own thing with that either. Much has been said about the ending/final credits taking influence from Indiana Jones. This didn't win me over as it should have and just reconfirmed for me that this wasn't a movie but a failed stylistic exercise.

Right Kelly are you quite done moaning about musicals? Yeah, maybe it's about time I just moved on and got on to the Kelly/Bonehead adventures section. Well, this week I was kidnapped. Or that's what Bonehead Bill seems to think any way. I maintain that it was more of an elaborate prank than a full on abduction. When did this happen? A Sunday afternoon. I was coming out of The Light Cinema having seen Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery, which I will review next issue. Upon making it to Trafalgar Street, which runs parallel to the road Corp's on, out of nowhere, I was rudely jumped. A sack was put over my head and my hands tied behind my back by some unidentified individuals.

They were too quick for me and my thoughts were too distracted by the Glass Onion to be on the lookout for assailants. Looking back, all I can think of now is where on earth did they get a sack from? Obviously, though this was not on my mind at the time. Instead, my thoughts were on working out who the fuck had just jumped me and thrown me in the boot of a car. Who could I have possibly pissed off this much to warrant such actions? The list was endless.

During the drive, I ran through the names of all the people who could be involved on this one. Attempts were made at doing what they do in the movies with 'busting out the tail lights' to attract rear drivers attention. Turns out if you've got a sack on your head and you've turned in to a god damn contortionist cause you can't fit in to the boot comfortably, this is rather difficult. It only just dawned on me now, that there was actually a better way out of this. A simple voice activated, "Ok Google" and phone call to a trusted companion might have quickly resolved this situation. Will store that one for next time.

Finally, the car pulled over and the engine stopped. The boot pops open and a voice calls, "Get out" "I fucking can't", I stupidly replied in response to my claustrophobic conditions. Not the best answer to give cause this meant I was dragged out. My repeated shouts of "Careful, Careful!" Were not really listened to and resulted in many grazes to the elbows.

Having been dragged to my feet I was made to walk a good hundred yards or so. It became clear that we were no longer walking on road and that the terrain had definitely changed. Other than that getting a sense of location without the eyes was near impossible. Eventually, we stop and I feel an arm on my shoulder halting my movement. The idiot had given his position away. An image of Lt. Aldo Raine headbutting that Nazi soldier in Inglorious Basterds entered my brain. However, having not ever been one for the headbutt attack, I opted for a double dropkick that Eric Cantona would have been proud of. As the man's screams hit my ears, so too did a flash of light. That was when I realised the sack had half slipped off my head and I was gifted with the power of sight once more.

Looking around, I was able to gather that we were somewhere in the peak district and that I knew the two people in front of me. "Oh thank fuck, it's just you two", I called out relieved. "And what do you think you mean with that?" was the reply. Standing in front of me were The Pseuds. Arms and body aching from the journey, I decided to get down to business and ask, "Right let's get this over. What do you guys want then". "To talk", said one of them smiling as he did so. "To talk? What's with the Breaking Bad routine? We couldn't have had this conversation back in the city centre?", I queried. One of my attackers responds with, "the countryside helps me think". It hits me that this guy wants to joke around so I play along, hitting him back with, "I don't disagree but I didn't bring my walking shoes". To which he replies, "For someone in your position, you shouldn't make so many jokes". A one sided jester it appeared. He must not be one for the back and forth.

Struggling not to laugh, all I could think to say was, "Ok" and look around awkwardly awaiting this guys next move. After an age of silence, he mutters, "Look. We know it wasn't you that defecated his ride. Since we couldn't get hold of that mate of yours, we thought we'd come after you. And you could tell us where he is". So what we had here was a two man operation. One guy doing all the talking, he was the confident one. His mate, Pseud number two, who's ride it was, he still seemed in a daze from a good Kelly drop kick. Glad to know that one still does some damage.

Unwilling to give up my accomplice, I stalled them with, "How'd you find me?". The one doing all that talking takes control again, stating, "that was easy. Asked everyone at the Halloween party who you were. None of them had heard of you. All we heard was you were running around screaming about some Japanese horror movie whilst breaking things and stealing beers". Nodding along I had to agree and declared, "yep that sounds like me". My captor ignored this and went straight into saying, "we thought to ourselves, where do all the scum of Sheffield like to congregate? The Washington between the hours of 12 and 3. The only bar in Sheffield open that late on a Friday. So we went looking. Couple of weekends go by, you don't show up"

I breathed an even bigger sigh of relief than when I realised it was these two idiots behind this pathetic attempt at an abduction. "Oh thank fuck, I thought you were going to suggest I was a regular then. Mate, I literally go once every blue moon", I retorted, feeling the need to explain myself. This didn't please Pseud number one, who quickly came out with, "I'm not your mate. That's when Louie here " . "Louie?", I asked baffled as to who he was referring to and added, "Who the fuck is Louie?". "Me, you fucking stupid cunt", said Pseud number two angrily, whilst still gripping his injured chest. Pseud number two speaks, I remember being rather shocked by that. Wasn't long before Pseud number one regained control, clarifying that, "He's Louie, I'm Seb. Right so he gets this bright idea and says isn't this guy supposed to love movies. He suggests we look outside cinemas on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. Drive by a few times. Eventually we caught you coming out The Light".

"Fuck me fellas, you guys have got too much free time on your hands", was all I could think to say after hearing their detailed plans. Hit hard by a stroke of embarrassment and feeling the need to justify himself, 'Seb' returns with, "I just don't take too kindly to people shitting in my friend's cars. We'll make you a deal. You tell us where we can locate your good for nothing friend and we'll let you go".

Pseud number one feels the need to follow up quickly with, "so, any ideas as to the whereabouts of Bungalow Bill?". This caught me so off guard and without really knowing what to say just returned, "Bungalow Bill?". From somewhere Pseud number two plucks up the courage to join in the conversation, adding, "It isn't Bungalow Bill. That's that guy from The Beatles song. It's something like Buffalo Bill" "Louie shut up! You're thinking of Silence of the Lambs", clarifies Seb, giving his pathetic partner a scolding. This Louie doesn't get the message and continues with, "Am I? No, wait. I got it. It's Bushwick Bill"

Putting the moron out of his misery, I explained that it was, "Bonehead Bill" Unexpectedly Pseud number two starts jumping up and down like a child, screaming, "That's it! That's it!" Pseud number one is a real no nonsense man and goes straight back into questioning with, "how'd you end up hanging around with a disgusting toerag like that anyway?". I recalled the initial meeting, stating, "Some beer garden. I was practicing my drunken boxing technique and he came over like what the fuck is that?" "What the fuck is that?", interjected Seb. Casually, I explained like a true sensei, "Catches your opponent off guard. The movements are too hard to predict. It's a legitimate thing. I haven't made it up. Goes back to the 18th century. Where it was said 8 drunken monks used it. You can google it. Maybe if you untie me, I can show you".

I knew that was a long shot but couldn't help mentioning it. Pseud number one shut me down with, "not happening. Unless you want to tell me where I can find Bonehead Bill. You gonna tell me where he is?" "Nope" was all he got with me alongside a smile. You'll never guess what happened next. Pseud number two finds his balls and starts saying, "He isn't going to tell us shit. Let's just leave him here". I was low key proud of this little runt suddenly growing a pair. Well done, well done Pseud number two!

My excitement and enthusiasm at Pseud number twos noble character development did not last too long, as I really was left out there. Half expected Pseud number one to hit me with a Jigsaw style, "Game Over" but instead he just tossed me a pair of scissors and said, "should take you about 4 and a half hours to get back from here. Unless you've got money for a bus". He took my silence as a no and added, "best get started on those bindings then". The Pseuds were long gone before I could cut through the bindings. I'd been tempted to ask for a lift back but somehow I didn't feel they were in the generous taxi service kind of mood.

Once untied, the next job was figuring out my bearings. These fools didn't know I knew the peaks like the back of my hand. Truly, the Crocodile Dundee of these lands. A couple of short cuts and I could probably hack this journey in about two and a half hours. Always loved a good hike me. Even had my headphones in as rule #2 is always carry headphones, you never know when you may need them! All these boys had done was mildly inconvenience me. I was enjoying the refreshing countryside, singing along to 'Easy' by Commodores and loving life. The joke was on them.

These feelings all suddenly subsided when it became apparent, I was lost. Decided to call Bonehead Bill and use our new codeword for becoming stranded and needing a lift. "Cast Away" I blurted down the phone multiple times to illustrate the nature of the emergency. Normally the 'Cast Away' was used when attending a gaff and becoming lost/stranded the next morning. We could now add kidnapping to the list. Although, I'm still not convinced it was a kidnapping. A poor excuse at best. Sloppy, you could tell it was amateur hour. Bonehead tells me, he's at work and can't get off right now. In my state of shock at being lost in the wilderness, all I could keep saying was, "on the day of the lord?"

During these horrible circumstances, I did at least find out Bonehead Bill's profession. The man's a mechanic. Who knew? After pleading with his boss Barry, he managed to get off his shift early. It would still take him a good hour to meet me, so I decided to keep walking and head towards an agreed spot, which would be St Swithin's Church in Holmesfield. Those two bastards had taken me somewhere near Baslow, had they staged their little 'talk' around Eyam or Hathersage, I would not have had this problem. Those routes are engrained. Baslow was new to me. Never even heard of it. According to wikipedia, one notable resident, Frederic Barker. Who the fuck is that?

Around this time, I recall going in to a fit of rage as the sun began to set and darkness fell upon me. Those fucking early winter sunsets impeding my mission. Nature hated me. What had I done to deserve such a fate? Spent the majority of the evening cursing the England football team because originally I had planned to see Glass Onion on the Friday night. Forgetting England were playing those losers the USA. Thought we'd give them a good game. Nope, we embarrassed ourselves against a bunch of geezers who be calling it 'soccer'. Would rather lose to Iran than endure a goalless draw with the yanks ever again. Disgraceful. As you can see it was England's fault, I was put in this position. Damn you, Gareth Southgate!

In defeat and absolutely knackered from getting lost several times, when I did actually make it to the church meeting spot, all I could do was lean against the wall and hope Bonehead wouldn't be long. A passerby made the joke of, "a bit late for Sunday service?". Was this a sign? Was I meant to have made it to the church at exactly this time. There was no spiritual awakening. God could wait, I had burgers to get home to! Sat tight for what seemed like an eternity until that familiar fusion red Dacia Sandero appeared. Once it did pull up, the days events had rattled me that much, I briskly headed towards the car and without so much as a word opened the door and fixed my seatbelt. Bonehead Bill sensing the situation, realised now was not the time for a debriefing and drove the Sandero away from the confines of the church and into the pitch black night.

One film I haven't managed to get out my head the last week is Gakuryu Ishii's Crazy Thunder Road. As the name suggests it's Bruce Springsteen on acid. I can't stop thinking about it. At first, I was telling myself, don't get too excited, easy to overrate something like this and get lost in the ecstasy of it. A fun hangout movie that wins you over from the outset with non stop music and fighting. Turns out its so much more than that. This is not a movie but a way of life. Either you take the Crazy Thunder Road or you don't. Personally, my life's been so much better since I hit the highway. No regrets!

Found this whilst watching a few films in his catalogue. His most known and most decorated film is August in Water Released in 1995. Imagine Free Willy but given the shoegazey new age ambient touch. Has all these existential dabblings inspired by JG Ballard and Phillip K. Dick but inside this coming of age movie. The literary influences getting me on board and the teenage twee elements making it a Letterboxd favourite. Much of it reminded me of Takeshii Kitano's Kid's Return and A Scene at Sea except as intellectually stimulating as it is emotionally stirring. If it sounds like Gregg Araki's Mysterious Skin, that's because it is a whole like that but the images are slo mo'd as though directed by Wong Kar Wai. Deserves the same kind of praise as Alphaville for making a science fiction movie with a low budget. Taking advantage of architecture, atmosphere and editing. All the tools available for those technically gifted. Effortlessly, it suggests a future in which the apocalypse nears due to water shortages, disease, aliens and meteorites.

As a lover of police procedurals and thrillers in the same vein as Seven and Silence of the Lambs, his 1994 highly regarded piece Angel Dust certainly appealed. You can't pigeon hole this Ishii guy. We've all seen a few procedurals that don't play by the rules and diverge in to character studies and observations of the towns affected. Memories of Murder , Zodiac and L'Humanite have all been discussed in previous issues of Funeralopolis. Angel Dust makes a habit of going even further in to the unpredictable in a manner you've not seen before.

A Trip to the Death Match Factory

There is still the nods to Alphaville and Blade Runner with the art direction, except on this occasion, you witness some of the more ill disciplined aspects of Ishii's punk era. Yes, before all this cleaner respectable stuff, this man had a wild period in the early '80s, which would later earn him the title of 'The Godfather of Japanese Cyberpunk cinema". So if you're looking for something as outrageous as Tetsuo; The Iron Man to sink your teeth in to, I've found you your guy. Angel Dust retains some of those punk filmmaking sensibilities inside a more high arty package. There's all the weighty topics from August in Water such as the intoxicating relationship between the self, partner and environment. However, the musical explosions of big beat and trip hop will keep you on your toes. It’s a rare situation of a director in full control. Knows his genre inside out and then at any moment he chooses, decides to apply his own personal touch.

Industrial advocates may actually have heard of this nutjob because he directed the Einsturzende Neubauten film Halber Mensch. Another film obsessed with architecture, featuring the band in the ruins of old ironworks scheduled for demolition and clattering all and any objects they can find. Mr Ishii is exactly the point at which film, music and literature interact with environment. Considering the similarities with Tetsuo though, it was inevitably that his circles would cross with a few musicians in the industrial scene.

Blew my head off to read that at one point he was supposed to adapt a William Gibson project that was to be titled 'Cyber Cowboys' and star Blixa Bargeld, Nick Cave and Peter Murphy. Why didn't we allow this to happen? Don’t think I'm alone in saying that would be the best movie of all time. In my head, there is a vision of Wim Wenders's Wings of Desire but a rougher industrial cut. Aroused at the very thought such a film.

With each new story I've read about this Ishii character my appreciation for his work has only grown. He could be the most outrageous guerrilla filmmaker I've come across since Jim Van Bebber (Deadbeat at Dawn, The Manson Family). Funeralopolis approves, adores and endorses all guerrilla filmmakers. Here's one for you about the conditions under which Crazy Thunder Road were made back in 1980. It was made as his thesis during his time at Nihon University. However, they soon kicked him out when it became clear that this King had asbolutely no intentions of actually graduating. Van Bebber and Ishii, brothers in arms when it comes to stealing university equipment. The manifesto has always been make your movie by any means possible. We respect those that follow the code and take to the streets, especially in this economy. This is how we lock the big boys in their studios.

Alright so what is Crazy Thunder Road about? The story is simple. A biker gang leader gives in to a case of the romance and steps down from his position. Thus, leading them exposed to rival right wing gangs and potentially being crushed. Meaning we spend the next 90 minutes just watching dudes meeting up on bikes and in cars to have massive scraps with fascists. Combat zone locations include: 'Battle Royale Square' and 'The Death Match Factory. Ladies and gentlemen, we've found it, the coolest film of all time.

Plot isn't really the point of this movie. It's all culture and attitude. Biker film fans, naturally you're going to warm to this. Has Mad Max's raw power with the musical worship and desire to explore contemporary movements evident in Quadrophenia, Easy Rider and Scorpio Rising. Take note though, our soundtrack has no doo wop or American Rock'n'roll. Instead, we get what we've never heard before. Japanese proto punk. Ever since hearing this stuff, I've been seeking more of it out. It’s that kind of movie where you do that. Doesn't end with the movie. Leads you into all new places. Love movies like that! Although, these song titles are hard to find, some absolute chieftain has compiled a few of them as a playlist on Spotify. Honestly, it's changed my life. If I had to describe these Japanese artists output it's like a mixture of Orange Juice, Talking Heads and Bruce Springsteen. Funky, punk and powerful.

Preferred this film to his more lauded works like Angel Dust and August in Water. They may be technically superior with greater quality craftsmanship but there's something about Crazy Thunder Road. It's got heart! Where it lacks skill, it’s got will. That's what we turn up for. We all know Taxi Driver, Raging Bull and Goodfellas rank among Scorsese's best works, yet you can't help but keep coming back to Mean Streets. The same is true here. Ishii may have gone on to make better movies but you can't get past these strange and unexplainable feelings you have for the flawed early material.

It's the same for me with Wong Kar Wai's As Tears Go By. Never encountered anyone who shares the same passion I have for that movie. These are the low budget imperfect films that really inspire you to do the same, just pick up a camera, cast caution to the wind and go for it. No care in the world for the consequences. Being won over that way always gets me excited in a manner no studio big budget film can. The flaws are irrelevant. Alternatively, they may even improve the film with regards to the whole context. I tried to not rush in to giving this film a perfect score because the effect of a good hangout film like this is that it's meant to leave you on cloud 9. Therefore, you shouldn't rush to rate it. It's an emotional response. It’s pure feeling. Which is not to say that type of movie should be ignored from serious conversations. Only that you need to let that sink in and see if it was a quick fix or if you're still thinking about it weeks later. Well here I am and reading about it further and how it went on to inspire so many Japanese directors to get into filmmaking, who still include it in their top ten lists when asked, has only made me fall for it more. Do yourself a favour, take the Crazy Thunder Road. End destination may be unclear but any film which puts people on the road to rapture like this deserves infinite respect. I can give it nothing other than 5 stars.

Bonus Points:

A film in which Japanese proto punk plays constantly and a biker gang beats up fascists. Do I need to say anymore? Overall Score:

Charlie Sheen Calls the FBI

The Japanese Guinea Pig series remains amongst the notorious underground of cinema. An inevitable development of the found footage genre. In future, concepts would be expanded around particular subcultures and myths. For example, the many films which purport to being the supposed Manson Family snuff footage buried in the desert. As well as, The Alien Autopsy video pretending to be a released recording of government approved doctors examining the remains of the strange suspect that crash landed in Roswell, New Mexico back in 1947. In actuality, it was shot in some London flat using animal organs. Most of these seem like edgy experiments built up by the media (and the filmmakers) to be disturbing real horror shows when in reality, they're just hilarious hoaxes not worthy of taking too seriously.

The first entry in the infamous series was Guinea Pig: Devils Experiment, which hit the streets in 1985. In total the series is made up of 6 or 7 movies. The exact amount is unclear with 'Lucky Sky Diamond' from 1989 being put out under the banner as a later cheap marketing strategy but not necessarily considered to be included by fans and those involved in the making of them. Such are the tactics of those wanting to pump out faux snuff footage. Since day one, going right back to Michael Findlay's Snuff. Originally titled The Slaughter. A movie so shit, the producers shelved it for a while and then when snuff became hot topic, went back and added an extra scene where the crew making the film murder one of their team. And wallah! an urban legend was born. Did they really just create a snuff film? Nope but by the time that was proven, the film had achieved its infamy.

Genuinely, saved the movie and made its money back. You have to admire such a stupid idea for working as well it did. Baffling how such a bad movie has maintained a place in history as a pure cultural document. The conversation surrounding it being vastly more important than the quality of the movie. Potentially, Findlay's worst film becoming his most known.

Now, if you ever do happen to watch that movie out of nothing other than intrigue, please do not judge my man Michael Findlay too harshly on the technical abilities of that one instance. I want to say his filmmaking is normally better than that but this may not be true either. I will amend my statement to, he is normally a lot less boring. I remain a huge admirer of Findlay's work. He was 42nd Street local living amongst the filth and churning out films faster than you could say "Give us another one Michael!". Together him and his wife Roberta Findlay were referred to as "the most notorious filmmakers in the annals of sexploitation". For some unexplainable reason they're not as well known as exploitation legends such as Russ Meyer, Roger Corman, Doris Wishman and Herschell Gordon Lewis. Totally unacceptable, I will not rest until they are spoken about in the same breath.

None of his films are as shocking or extreme as they were made out to be. Certainly not as gruesome as his death, in which at the age of 39, he was killed after a helicopter crash landed in to him with the spinning rotors literally ripping him apart. Although a tragedy, it does seem strangely appropriate for a man of his nature. A totally unhinged unbalanced wacko that only comes around once every generation. True genius. Given the warrior's death. He was a man who made many softcore sleazy pictures that could be considered 'roughies'. A genre which really began with The Defilers and peaked with Bad Girls Go to Hell. Once again, roughies is a term, which sounds more violent than it was. This was still the '60s and his films were basically S and M movies, cheesy by todays standards.

What distinguishes this debauched character from other softcore artists was his work had a recognisable and charming style. Those unacquainted should begin with The Flesh trilogy. My favourite being the final film, The Kiss of her Flesh. The final 10 minutes of that is some of the most manic shit you will ever see. Just absurd antics.

His signature on these is mainly making them silent movies but then he adds in narrative voice over, revealing the central character's seedy thoughts. Economic reasons guiding the production decisions but ones that ultimately pay off in making them unusual. Unfortunately, it's not really until the second film where the sense of style is fully established. That's the point at which it essentially embraces a serialised format. Each new film showing us more of our favourite misogynist 'Jennings' going about his missions of getting revenge on all women. Findlay turns this sadist into a James Bond character with a little rattle on the score as his theme song. The director even plays 'Jennings' himself and seems to relish embodying this naughty character on every outing. His methods involve torture of women through use of 'lobsters' and other ridiculous means. Jenning's voice over narration making it all the more amusing. In one scene he burns a female's clothes and we hear his thoughts through narration as he says, "Burn slut, burn. Burn you symbol of women".

If this brand of nonsense sounds appealing and you become converted by Findlay's campy over the top sadomasochism then next you should check out Joesph P. Mawra's Olga's Girls trilogy. Ladies, be aware Olga, along with Ilsa She Wolf of the SS, is the OG girl boss. She runs a tight narcotics business and a white slavery ring. Her posse of female prostitutes she keeps in line with a strict regime of constant heroin. This trilogy is the same as the Flesh one, where it doesn't get better until the second one, so maybe just start with that. The second film, Olga's Girls is my favourite of the three. Here, they try to incorporate red scares. Always a tactic that's sure to amuse me.

In Olga's Girls, we have an informant in our midst. And naturally, our Queen is going to weed them out with various ingenious forms of torture. At first you'll be a bit on the apprehensive side, thinking maybe this woman likes to play a little rough. However, after about 15 minutes or so you'll be joining in shouting at your screen "WHO'S THE INFORMANT? YOU DO THAT AGAIN AND I'LL GO AT YOUR TITS WITH THE BLOW TORCH. HOW DARE THESE BITCHES MAKE OLGA'S JOB DIFFICULT". Trust me, you'll get super in to the silliness.

And that brings my overly long distraction into my (not so) guilty pleasure of the 'roughies' to a close. Back to the Guinea Pig series. Right Devil's Experiment is the most realistic of all of them. Marks for it if nothing else go to the authenticity of the set up. There isn't much in the way of plot and is an early found footage experiment positioning itself as a document found of a woman's torture. It's nowhere near as campy and funny as anything in the Olga's Girl's trilogy and had it not been as famous as it now is, some parts could fool me into believing it was real. These boys maintain believability by keeping things simple. The majority of the film rather than violent torture is mainly pointless abuse such as repeated slappings, chair spinnings and music deafening. Mainly just irritating bullies suffering from boredom as they continue to dish out these acts with over a hundred reps of each. Literally just a slightly more extreme extension of pulling pranks and winding your mate up. The victim looks mainly pissed off rather than in pain. Somehow adds to the realism.

The latter of which seems only more interesting when thought about along with the CIA's tactics in Guantanamo Bay and Abu Ghraib. Perhaps, they are fans of the film. Couldn't help but think the actress in this got off lightly with a looped sound. She could have been subjected to the CIA's horrendous playlist featuring numerous Eminem tracks, which could have only come from the mind of a sadist whose evil we can't even comprehend. Honestly, if the CIA ever come for me, I'm opting for suicide any chance I get. Those guys are the sickest people on the planet. These shitty faux snuff filmmakers are nothing compared to the CIA. They're the true masters of torture. Somehow Bush and his boys got away with this shit along with the waterboarding after 9/11, referring to them as 'enhanced interrogation techniques' rather than torture because they leave no long lasting effects. If anyone forced me to listen to Eminem that long, the damage would be irreparable. I'd be walking round like Jack Nicholson at the end of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest . Purely defeated by that monster Nurse Ratched and a shell of my former self with only my native American friend to put me out of my misery.

Little was it a surprise that in the wake of all Bush's 'enhanced interrogation techniques' post 911 a new genre would arrive by the name of torture porn. Some would call it spectacle horror to spin away from the original names reductionist approach to the genre. Personally, I've never had a problem with the term torture porn, it is what it is, ugly, and it spawned from something even uglier. No need to apologise for it. The genre came a site for the American's to confront what they learnt about themselves and to remember the violence their country was founded on. Whilst the examples of the genre weren't always pretty of technically speaking good, they remain interesting. Whether they intended to address the things they did is questionable but America's consciousness slipped in to those movies making them some of the most important movies of the 2000s. The critics will downplay it but it's just as relevant as the horrors such as Night of the Living Dead, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Last House on the Left, which followed in the aftermath of Vietnam and America's exposure to the violence on television. This is not me saying a lot of these movies measure up to those classics but that it is a legitimate area of study, despite the critics telling you otherwise.

Hostel in particular has always addressed America's ignorance to foreign countries and even xenophobia. Wolf Creek becoming a sort of parody of that too. Saw emphasised the nature of the traps as set pieces and orchestrated it as a game to be played to both punish and enhance the self into enlightenment. As did Martyrs just in a more high art way. American Mary took the enhancements theme one step further into body horror as a form of capital. Arguably combining In My Skin and The Godfather in being about the body becoming stock to be bought and sold by illegitimate businesses as a by product of capitalism. In the process, exposing the hypocrisies of legitimate businesses practises in the process. Chained went fully in to Freudian territory. The Woman and Hard Candy both use the genre as a means to comment on misogyny. Candy borrowing elements from the rape revenge format. High Tension was equally playful in its deconstruction of the final girl theory. Ok, maybe that ones twist was silly but Aja's film remains a 90 minute thrill ride.

8MM would pursue the subject head on with a detective's investigation becoming immersed into the production of an underground snuff films. To this day, it still seems one of the best attempts to visualise what such a market would look like in terms of the manufacturing and distributing of these dirty goods. However, as is often the case, it would take an outsider to show the yanks how to do their genres. The same is true when the Italians showed them how to do westerns and the French gave them a lesson in noirs.

I'm still waiting for the same to happen with these superhero movies that have dominated our screens since 2008. Weirdly enough, the director who made what I believe to be the king of torture porn, Demonlover, also made a couple of flicks, which could be conceived as what the international response to superhero movies should be. Olivier Assayas's Irma Vep and Clouds of Sils Maria are alternatives to the MCU and DCU, which parody and push forward that superhero nonsense. However, they seem to have fallen on death ears because they've barely made it out the arthouse circuit and haven't had the influence they should have.

Superheroes aside, my reasoning for Demonlover being the peak of the torture porn genre is in it literally incorporating all the most interesting debates that emerged from these films and all completely intentional too. Demonlover is comparable to Lost in Translation in its attempts to lose itself in the dreamy noisy soundscapes of Tokyo and struggle for true companionship. However, Demonlover is much colder lacking any feeling of humanity as it confronts our inevitable globalisation. All this technology arrives to connects us and all it really does is alienate us further. The internet blurring the very idea of the real. Assayas even brings in video games, an art form constantly looking for expansion, which may one day, if it hasn't already and much against my wishes, become superior with regards to capabilities. Proving Roger Ebert's essay 'Why videogames will never be an art form' completely useless, illconceived and limited in scope. A take, which he may have jumped on too soon during the art forms infancy.

Did I mention Demonlover also has spies? Like how can they make it any cooler? Yeah we'll just have spies fighting over pornography. Who's the star of the film? None other than Connie Nielsen, who is one of the most underrated female action stars and more than proved herself capable in Soldier, Gladiator, Hunted and Basic Occasionally, she plays the love interest given little to do in the likes of 3 Days to Kill and Nobody This frequently annoys me because I know for a fact this bird could beat the living shit out of both Kevin Costner and Bob Odenkirk given the opportunity. Her casting, the spies, the globalisation, the video games and the dark corners of the internet give the film such an immediacy sitting neatly as pure pop art. First and foremost, what drives the torture porn genre is fear of the other and the ability to slip into both roles of tortured and torturer embracing one's own obsession with violence. Demonlover has all of that in abundance.

The way it observes cinemas past and looks to its future makes it completely groundbreaking. It seeks to be a modern update of Videodrome and succeeds at this massively. There's an ending that will send your head for a whirl when it's revealed one of the people involved in viewing and accessing these materials online is a child. All this hits hard and doesn't come off anywhere near as cheaply as the final scenes of Eden Lake. One of those repackaged '70s Bronson movies like Harry Brown made for Daily Mail readers. Old geezer's fearing the youth of today. Proper right wing fantasies about taking a gun into poor communities and taking aim at those in hoodies. Still enjoy them for being silly but the thing with Demonlover's ending it doesn't seem silly at all. Unlike the other torture porn movies it actually hammers home everything it goes for.

Ok, so Guinea Pig 1 is nowhere near as intellectually driven. Any admiring of it mainly comes for its silliness. It would be extremely difficult to tie it in to any specific national traumas. Mainly, it belongs to the label of Asian weirdness. A category, which could be considered racist. As is often brought against the distribution company Tartan Asian Extreme, who seek to deliver to the oddities of Asian cinema to other continents.

To deem such categorisation as racist is messy too though. These filmmakers do seek to market themselves this way and it does grant them exposure across the world. It's a complex argument, which does have its positives as well as negatives. All these movies are great and we might not have seen them otherwise though so generally I'm going to have to say I'm all for it. Especially, when the filmmakers aren't objecting.

What does confuse me is Letterboxd recently taking a stand against Gonzo porno, when I asked them why they wouldn't let me add some of those films on to the site my requests were rejected. On what grounds I asked them. Apparently, these films 'lack narrative structure'. What the fuck does that mean anyway? How can they have films on there such as the first two Guinea Pig movies and still take this stance? Koji Shiraishi's Grotesque was banned from release in the UK because and I quote, "Grotesque features minimal narrative or character development". Yet, that's on there too.

Most amusing are the hypocrisies that such a system of judgement presents. Should we remove all films without obvious character development? This seems such a restricted way at looking at films to me. Many of the torture porn movies have faced this criticism at one point or another. It would be difficult to defend Grotesque as a good movie, it isn't and I'm mainly just happy any worldwide notoriety gets Shiraishi bigger budgets and greater access to whatever he needs to make decent movies like Noroi: The Curse and Occult. However, there is some form of narrative in the sense that Grotesque is a parody testing false commitments made by partners in the early stages of a developing relationship. Does it do a good job of looking in to that? No but that seems to be an intention. Or rather a minimal excuse for the torture involved.

Unfortunately, the deriders of torture porn on the whole tend to dismiss the set pieces ability to navigate the films themes visually (hence why they tried to call it spectacle horror). A common mistake in horror. Happened with slashers, happened with paranormal films. Problem is too many lazy filmmakers begin to capitalise on the new set pieces of genres without writing a movie around them. Regardless, even using this method, the subconscious does often slip in making them interesting be it either as individual films or as a whole genre.

As has been proven, Funeralopolis does not support Letterboxd's one dimensional view of cinema. We are under the belief that it is dangerous to dictate what cinema is or any art is for that matter. Undertaking in this way will only lead to narrow understandings of cinema and will squander all that it is capable of. However, we do draw the line at actual snuff films.

The first Guinea Pig movie saves its wildest set piece for the end, in which the abusers cut out the victim's eyeball. Structurally strong in the way it doesn't go in to too many absurd and difficult set pieces that push you to the edge of 'believability'. Does a decent job in setting up the 'realness' of the events with the video being sent to the producers via mail. Having a random run time of 40 minutes is clever as a rejection of a typical feature. The big give away though seems to be in how well shot the final scenes are and the staging of it. There's some filmmaking experience in there that you wouldn't get in an amateurish production.

Despite the first film being the most realistic, it would be the second one, Flower of Flesh and Blood which would blow up in America. Who caused such an explosion in exposure? That would be super grass Charlie Sheen. Somehow a copy found its way in to this seedy fuckers possession and he goes and reports its to the FBI believing it to be actual snuff footage. Attracting attention that it otherwise wouldn't have got. Of course, it would be Mr Sheen that would find such a thing as this. A man who it would appear is not adverse to dangerous underground subcultures. According to the Two Corey's he's a nonce rapist involved in Hollywood's paedophile ring. Hasn't been proven as of yet but most of what those guys said over the years has all turned out to be true. Crazy if true though, considering his father has this idealised image amonst the US people as the true president of USA from his role in The West Wing

I remain lost as to how Charlie was convinced by Flower of Flesh and Blood being genuine snuff. First one, ok maybe I'll let you get away with thinking that but this sequel. There's literally a dude in a samurai outfit pretending to be a doctor chopping people up. Could it be any campier and absurd?

Our sequel is mainly a copy of the first with 40 minutes of torture.

Except this time, it gets a whole lot sillier. The violence actually gets bloodier but the tone more comedic. Placing this one in splatterfest territory. Hats off though to the gory special effects, which would definitely make the likes of Tom Savini both shocked and impressed as to just how they were done. As with Cannibal Holocaust, the law had to contact the filmmakers and weren't satisfied until the magician's tricks were revealed and they could prove how they pulled off such feats.

With the FBI now off their backs and their notoriety at an all time high, the Japanese filmmakers proceeded with the third film in the series, He Never Dies. Several directors would be used across the films but the original concept was birthed by manga artist Hideshi Hino. The purpose being to adapt his manga work into shorts. Not overly familiar with any manga other than the Lone Wolf and Cub series. Only reason I know that is because it led to one of the grindhouses greatest gifts, Shogun Assassin. Those who grew up listening to GZA will know it instantly from the samples on his Liquid Swords album. Losers who overrate the filmmaker known as Sam Mendes may know it through his adaptation converting it into a western mob movie, Road to Perdition (easily his best film).

On He Never Dies, they lean more in to the manga format that inspired the series to begin with and turn this into a sort of aimless and unconnected set of 40 minute shorts that when compiled together form a kind of anthology of horror weirdness. Take it in the same way as the VHS series, discussed in the last issue. Even though, they depart from the originals concept of edgy realism, they still retain some of that edge through the punk filmmaking style. Difficult to compare to the first two, those have an envelope pushing appeal in their testing of the mediums capabilities. Instead, the third goes for all out ridiculous. Gone is the desire to appear real. There is no longer much need. The hard part of gaining attention has been achieved by the filmmakers and here they seem to be having fun. I want to call it lighter and somewhat commercial but there's still lots and lots of blood and you could never call it commercial.

Guinea Pig 3 is the kind of movie you could find yourself watching at 3am. It sits on that level of insomniac viewing where one is neither awake or asleep and wondering what led you to such unusual viewing. Envision it as a Sam Raimi style satire of workplace politics and relationships. We actually get something of a clear story on this occasion. I think the second one was about samurai doctor making his masterpiece like Buffalo Bill out of human body parts. There may have been subtitles but I couldn't fully work out what this chief was trying to achieve but he seemed like he was enjoying himself at least.

In part 3, We are introduced to a man caught in the 9 to 5 taking sick days to recover. His depression grows as he finds out his girlfriend is dating another man. Therefore, he decides to take his own life. Except, there's one problem he can't. That's not to say he hasn't got the bottle. Nope, this fucker cannot die. Hence the appropriate title, 'He Never Dies'. He cuts and cuts, gives it the slice and dice, blood squirts but he survives. He is a trapped prisoner of this world. What unfolds is Nausea writer Satre directing Evil Dead 2. A total blast not to be missed by gorehounds.

Guinea Pig 4: Devil Woman Doctor features a quack drag Queen going about causing mischief. This series loves quack doctors it seems. Many people find this film funnier than me. Switched off a little here in a few its slower boring moments. Mentioned that the series feels like an anthology, this is the only that becomes one. Splits it up too much with mixed sections. Without a doubt too many shorts given the run time. Rather they just focused their attentions more on one or two scenarios. Still, a quack drag queen behind so much chaos does have its comedic value. Drag Queen die hards stay tuned, next issue will review this seasons The Boulet Brothers' Dragula.

Couldn't tell you why but even Guinea Pig fans don't have much love for Guinea Pig 5: Android of Notre Dame. As a dwarf cinema appreciator, I'm fully behind this movie. It's some Sinful Dwarf meets Frankenstein madness. Could also be a live action Dexter's Laboratory. All I know is that dwarf put in a fucking shift. Amazed how he didn't become a star like master dwarf, Peter Dinklage. Ok, maybe it's a little hard to match the master but he is talented. His line, "did you know that the Hunchback of Notre Dame was an Android?" is bad line poetry delivered excellently.

Finally, we get to the last one

Guinea Pig 6: Mermaid in the Manhole. Would you believe me if I told you that this series suddenly elevates itself in to high art? Believe it! Manga man Hideshi Hino gets back in the director's chair and makes unquestionably the best one. I'm not suggesting you go out and watch all these films. Just this one, it could well knock you off your feet as it did myself. Last thing I was expecting from this series was this sudden emotional U turn.

Bear witness to the array of colours, the explosions and the commentary on loss and obsession. This is the longest film of the bunch at an epic length of 63 minutes. Takes a while to get going but that’s part of the magic. On this occasion, an artist dealing with the death of somebody close him, takes a trip in to the local sewer. Down here he happens across an injured mermaid, whom he rescues and brings back up to his flat. Upon resting the mermaid in the bath, he begins to draw her picture. Making this the real auteur banger of the series that utilising the filmmakers interest in drawing.

Those who gravitate towards art and painting, an area I have limited knowledge on but has intrigued me as of late, will adore this film. A rare movie in which the process of painting drives the story. This is my Portrait of a Lady on Fire Cute, adorable and well intentioned as that romance was with some notable skills narratively speaking in the way the painting leads the story in to new places, the slow pacing put me to sleep and other than the powerful ending it was a rather dull affair wasted on myself. Guinea Pig 6: Mermaid in the Manhole is more my cup of tea.

What draws me to a movie like Mermaid in the Manhole is how wrongfooted you feel by it. Constantly, you wonder what line it’s going to walk between high art and low art. You've got this great gothic romance going on between the artist and his subject. Plus the Artist's tragedy in his past seeping in to the page. Tetsuo's monochrome is replaced by dayglo. All this grotesque puss spurting out the injured Mermaid. That could never be considered traditionally beautiful or respectable high art.

I couldn't even begin to tell you whether this movie is revolting or stunning aesthetically. However, the emotional impact it has is undeniably felt. At every stage it is a very self aware film following on from the exploitation classics Colour Me Blood Red and Bucket of Blood. You get the sense that filmmakers are cheekily mocking themselves, their image and their critics. Later, the yanks would jump on this series and do their very own American Guinea Pig. Not seen the US counterparts but looking forward to what they have to offer. There's even a potential 7th Japanese film, an unofficial sequel, which they lumped in to give a shit film a bigger chance. The less said about that one the better. It'll have you screaming at your screen, "Woman I know you're being tortured but can you scream less loudly!"

Guinea Pig 6 serves as my recommendation and my score is purely for this one. It is a rare experience that has to be seen. Be patient at the start because what you get here is something really special. An artwork which builds itself in front of you, right before your very eyes. Part way through it will hit you that you're on a journey to somewhere provocatively alluring. Right inside an artist's budding mind that transcends past, present, reality and fiction. The evidence of that plain field smack in that painting being drawn over the course of the movie. Unexpectedly, they managed to eventually write a film around the twisted set pieces. Why or how the sixth film of this silly series came about and went in this direction, remains unknown. But it did happen. It did happen.

Sutherland is Jack Bauer

Get that fucking shit ACDC song 'Big Gun' from Last Action Hero blaring because we've got a new all American badass on the scene ready to keep the streets safe. Everyone his name is Jack Bauer and he's going to torture the terrorists every week to protect the western way of life. Your freedoms will prevail in exchange for their freedom. A fair deal right? Righhhht. God forgive if he ever got the wrong man and attacked the innocent. But Jack Bauer would never get the wrong man. Jack Bauer always gets the right man. While the American citizens look away, he does the dirty deeds that have to be done to preserve his country's safety.

Dumb right wing fascist action entertainment is the fuel that drives me through the working week. 24 is a real landmark in being some of the ugliest aspects of that jingoism following 9/11. You could well describe it as TVs answer to torture porn. However, along with Zero Dark Thirty you would never see US critics describing this central character as anything other than a hero and his actions justified. What made Sicario such a hoot was it critiquing such dodgy practices so head on and having the most intentionally cold characters you've ever seen. Anyway, Jack Bauer comes from a long line of masculine American heroes dating back to when big John Wayne dominated the west. The villains always get changed with time depending on who the Americans are currently at war with from native Americans to the Germans, to the Russians and now in 24, it’s the middle east. You could genuinely work out who the US's enemies were at any one point in time by tuning in to an action movie or TV show. As always, it's pure wish fulfilment and never fails to amuse Mr J M Kelly. Usually results from dudes down bad trying to present everything as merry on the screen.

Ironically, if it’s your Jack Bauers or Jack Ryans the torture is justified. Your US critics won't call it torture porn but quality television. If anything it's even more disturbing that these guys will defend it under the fact it has a narrative, context or justification. Like yeah relinquishing civil rights is fine if you suspect terrorism.

Surely the shittier torture porn films are less offensive than this as they only want to deliver on stupid sleaze? Plus, there's the fact most of them are arguably just a country dealing with the consequences of its government rather than strictly endorsing it as 24 does? Who knows though maybe 24 navigates the complexities well and is nuanced in its arguments. All I watched was the pilot and am mainly going off Jack Bauer's reputation.

I can't say I saw much in the way of torture in the first episode. All I got was Bauer knocking out a potential mole in the CTU (Counter Terrorism Unit) with a dart gun. Meanwhile the terrorists blow up a 747. Not good enough Jack Bauer! Since, they don't want to get too much into providing all the thrills this early, they resort to the classic manner of how to drag a TV show out: random family drama. Remember in Breaking Bad when they just awkwardly brought Jesse's little brother out the woodwork? Where do these guys spawn from? They dig these guys out of nowhere normally as a mid season subplot. Here we have it right from the start. Love it.

What would Jack Bauer's family drama be? Same as all these men of action. Can't maintain a marriage to save their life. Too much time spent in the office and a couple of affairs with co workers. On top of that he's got the wayward teenage daughter taking advantage of her parents relationship on the ropes. His daughter played by Elisha Cuthbert is an absolute beauty. Obsessed with her barnet in this one. Bring back that length hair and those curls. Her rig out though is the most early 2000s thing you've ever seen. She somehow makes it hot. In fact, all the 2000s cultural relics were down right charming. Bauer has to balance his operations hunting for his mole with locating his daughter. At one point he phones up her ex boyfriend who mugs him off whilst playing on PlayStation 2. You won't see any complaints from me for using Tricky's 'Christiansands' for the climax of the episode, which cuts across the multiple story lines in the episode using some gorgeous split screen.

That brings us to the stylistic touches of 24. Its strongest selling point is in how each episode plays out in real run time. The pilot being 12AM til 1AM. They even write in the ad breaks as episodes run for about 45 mins to fit an hour slot. Every season is 24 episodes long and takes us through the action one hour at a time. You have to wonder when this Jack Bauer sleeps. Assume the seasons, even though called Day 1, Day 2 etc are not consecutive days. Then again wouldn't surprise me if they were as justice never sleeps.

No wonder his wife's wanting to leave him and he's having affairs at the office. Never leaves the place you can just tell. His life is his job. His job is his life. Country first, family second. The ultimate patriot of the US of A. If a dudes gonna put in a shift like this then I believe he is worthy of my time. I will be tuning in every week to see this lionheart stick it to the terrorists. Bring on the torture!

Bonus

us with a new form of action 'hero' to laugh at as a result of

The Lost Boys and Stand By Me '80s King Kiefer Sutherland being more than up to the task

A decent concept in the real time prospect. Praise to the writing The scene in which he's given his mission: to find the mole involved in a potential assassination of a black future president and told to "trust no one" The attractive Elisha Cuthbert and her barnet The now charmingly outdated attempts to embrace 2000s culture

Choke on it You Little Cunt

Had this lined up for a while now. Half dreaded, half curious. Welcome to the pornos of filmmaker Max Hardcore. To David Foster Wallace readers this name may be familiar. Max was the subject of Wallace's article titled, 'Big Red Son', that you can find in his book Consider the Lobster. Or you can listen to it for free currently on YouTube. Not to be confused with that God awful silly DCAU Superman film Red Son. That's the one where they re imagine the origin story of Superman if he was to fall in communist Russia rather than US soil. An interesting concept with absolutely no thought put in rendering it completely useless but there is a scene where the Man of Steel executes comrade Stalin which is just hilarious.

Do advise that you seek out Wallace's essay, which alongside Hunter S. Thompson's 'The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved' ranks amongst the finest examples of new journalism. An essential text for any persons who considers themself a Gonzohead. In this piece, Wallace in first person mode of course, takes you through the entire experience of the 15th edition of the AVN Awards held on January 10th 1998. For those unaware, they're like the Academy Awards of the pornography. Hilariously, Wallace begins by mentioning the declining Oscar viewers even back then and that this is an even more exclusive event. He takes you through the ins and outs, describing everything in the most absurd way. There's so many little details that you could genuinely make a movie out of this essay and I'm surprised it's never happened.

Highlights of the event are Wallace learning all the insider terms of the industry, awaiting the arrival of his ex student the porn obsessed Paul Thomas Anderson and my personal favourite, David Cronenberg's Crash randomly winning an award despite being released 2 years earlier just to top off the proceedings. Interestingly, he discusses the trajectory of porn and the new guys who are taking over and making it smuttier than ever. Familiar names of the '90s gonzo porno pop up regularly. Through his describing of these characters in fedoras and smoking cigars, even the writing begins to suggest an apocalypse on the horizon. The very event itself captures the change occurring in pornography.

Everyone involved is a perverted outcast of society and this location is the only place their behaviour is normalised. Becoming something of a freakshow. A cult of wrongens all gathered together with no place else to go. Rejected from all previous dwellings. This fits in with any documentary on pornography. Pornstars always mention that these awards evenings become their true homes and these their people. The question remains does society draw them to these ritual like gatherings or is it once that they join they are ostracised from wider civilisation. Perhaps it's both. One thing is clear though, all ties become disconnected.

Before Anderson Lee Aldrich was involved in this recent horrific shooting, it was revealed his mother changed his name in attempt to distance them from Dick Delaware's history in porn. Little has changed in the 21st century with regards to the acceptance of pornography. The effects on individuals and family members evidently still a problem. Porns reputation was never good to begin with but this homophobic killing spree does it no favours.

Wallace's essay comes all the more relevant now in that it sits right at the brink of pornography entering a very nasty and controversial phase. He points out that if it ever had any respectability or charming innocence it was slowly becoming lost. Max Hardcore is identified as the face of its descent into unsalvageable problematic realms. During the Awards, Hardcore is sneakily and seedily attempting to shoot a new porno then and there. There's no confirmation on who's to star in it so everyone is on high alert, passing on secrets and doing anything they possibly can to raise their stakes of being cast in said film. Crowds follow Hardcore around the place as he cockily wanders about handing out gonzo lectures on his latest theories to anyone and everyone who will listen. Hardcore sees himself as something of a patriot and an artist advancing technoly's capabilities all at the same time.

Based on the Big Red Son essay, Wallace has Max Hardcore pinned down as a fraudulent cartoonish buffoon. An image that would be somewhat hilarious and make you want to defend him in an ironic way if the guy didn't have his irrefutably sordid past. Decided it was time to encounter this psychopath's work and find out for myself. First off that meant putting his past to one side and openly taking in what he has to offer. According to the internet one of his most lauded projects is Extreme Volume 4. So off I went to go check this title out.

Almost no website on the internet has the full version. Debated buying a copy since this was so decorated by AVN after all. Well, it's out of print and can't be bought anymore because all copies were seized by the FBI during a raid on the offices of Max World Entertainment. What for you ask? The city of Los Angeles charged him with child pornography and distribution of obscenity. Yeah so, kind of hard to separate his work from his reputation, considering you can't even access the thing because of his reputation. Hard to argue with that one if one literally impacts the other.

As for that case, he got off with it based on the fact it was proven the actress involved was 18, she was just playing a character younger and that's where the obscenity charge comes in. Max's solution was to involve the free speech coalition. The free speech coalition pops up a lot in porn court cases. Knew I'd heard of these guys before and hilariously, Wallace mentions them in Big Red Son. He states that all pornographers use it as the get out of jail free card. In this case, I'm sure I read somewhere Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet was brought in to the defence. The early Dicaprio hit from 1996. Obviously, in the original text Juliet is meant to be 13 years old, which is something that is worked around in newer productions or simply not mentioned. Absolutely blows my head off that Big Baz had to be brought out in this one.

Hardcore would later refer to the court case as a "frivolous waste of public resources". Not sure it's that simple or clear cut. Whilst it definitely seems wrong to police kinks explored by consenting adults, this has got to be one of the more twisted fantasies out there. Probably doesn't help that this Max Hardcore is just about the most detestable character you could come across. In real life just as nasty as the character he plays. Before you could think as to whether you could actually defend it, you realise you hate the man and struggle to care. That isn't going to stop the ardent hard line free speech advocates though is it who'd be like "Today it's his freedom, tomorrow it's yours! You must defend it at all cost, regardless of whether you agree because it's the principle!"

There's also the two separate things I guess, as the US tends to distinguish between the consensual events that take place in a single room and the wide distribution of materials. The former is not really cared for and I can get that.

Did you know his real name is actually Little? The dudes definitely compensating for some kind of small man mentality. Unable to find the title in question, I flicked through scenes that were available from it and his other series. Let's just say far from pleasant viewing. His style is that he tends to play these violent types, a million miles away from the softcore cheesy roughies of the 60s. Usually he is in a position of authority either the law or a school teacher. And you guessed it more often than not some women need a good sexual punishing. Without fail, he's just the man to do it. Never without his cowboy hat you could mistake him for a Texan or deep south kind of guy but a google search confirms he's a Midwesterner from Racine, Wisconsin.

Storylines of his work tend to focus on sadomasochism and some are so extreme they delve in to rape fantasies. Typically, there are three types of women you could see in a Max Hardcore porno. There are those that fight back and play just as rough. There are those that become placid and simply endure the endeavour. Finally, there are those that scream and writhe in pain non stop.

My first introduction in to the world of Max Hardcore was him grabbing hold of a co star and just shouting, "Choke on it you little cunt". This was within the first few minutes. There was no mistaking it, this was the man, this was his work. Those who engage in the old 'dirty talk' in the bedroom may find some new aggressive phrases to throw out on sexual partners. Have to say, some of these recurring aspects can be very amusing. The type of exchanges you just roll your eyes at and go "That's Max Hardcore". Pretty much in the same way you do when any auteur does something so typically them like a Mexican standoff in a Tarantino movie or a twist in an M. Night Shyamalan movie.

Unfortunately, even if you could forget some of his more uncomfortable dodgy underage fantasy series like Extreme Schoolgirls exist and you could handle his boundary pushing sadistic series like Planet Max and Maxed Out there is still the problem that some of his actresses involved genuinely look in pain. Now, I haven't seen this but I've read some reports of actresses whispering to actually stop and tame it down. Considering the nature of the material, as a viewer it can be hard to distinguish AVN award winning acting and real cries to stop. Plus, there is that argument of you shouldn't tell an actress what her limits are. Some think that's just as bad as forcing them to do a scene. With all this in mind though, it can't be avoided that a lot of his behaviour has isolated him in the industry and many have turned on the controversial figure. I'm sure many more will continue to do so in the future. Although, he continues to operate, he is a lot less popular than he was when he began. The consensus is that most prefer his early work when it was just gonzo s and m being a little bit naughty rather than what it has become.

Eventually all his extremity came back to haunt him and he was sentenced to 46 months in prison. Bizarrely, this was not for women coming forward and accusing him of bad practice, it was not for having child characters. No, it was for engaging in and distributing fluid play. A few have featured faecal fetishes, where he fully immerses himself in the misogynist role and makes his actresses eat their own shit and drink their own vomit. Yet, this seems just about the least worst of Max Hardcore's crimes. Maybe it’s time for a break and a return to innocent softcore for a while? After all, Christmas is coming!