Saturday, 21 June 2014

My idea for a sequel - Gremlins reboot/sequel

A lot of reboots are happening, and like some people, I think I can come up with a better idea. Here's my take on Joe Dante's 1984 classic Gremlins.

My take would be darker. I know it is a cliché to go darker on franchise reboots, but I would go for a much blacker vein of comedy. I would also drop somewhat controversially Gizmo, or reduce the character to perhaps a background gag.
It would be set in the same universe, but instead of Kingston Falls, it would be a prequel, and it would begin in the 1930s, in San Francisco. A British businessman, Herbert Winslow is in 'Cisco, looking for a bargain to give to his fiancée. He meets a market stall holder, a young Chinese man, who is in fact a young Mr.Wing. He gives him a box, a huge ornamental gold Chinese chest. Unbeknownst to Mr. Wing, there is a fur ball lodged inside. Winslow has it shipped to England, where the furball pops out. It is a small Mogwai. Cecily, Winslow's fiancée is scared off by the pest, and Winslow tries to drown it. He leaves in the local pond, where it rises, to reveal more Mogwai. A few months later, World War Two has been declared, and Winslow's house is now the site of a USAF base. WInslow and Cecily have married and moved to Mexico, and Memphis Belle-style, the heroes would be a group of United States Air Force pilots, on a bomber, including a teen who's lied about his age, Murray Futterman, the Dick Miller character in the original films. It would be a basic adaptation of the myths of Gremlins attacking planes, as they fly over Germany. The Mogwai are still furry, but a bit more feral, until they are found by a Nazi scientist who mutates them into true Gremlins. It would be similar to Zone Troopers (1986), where US soldiers in WW2 encounter aliens.

It would end in the present day, in Germany, Futterman (played by Dick Miller) visits a memorial. Suddenly, out of the memorial rises a horde of Gremlins who pull him into the mud, almost in recognition.

Tuesday, 17 June 2014

The Emperor and the Sword

This began as a fantasy fantasy film dreamt up by my dear firend Ed King, head of Horrorthon Film Festival in Dublin, on the Horrorthon Facebook Page.
He came up with the title, "The Emperor and the Sword", and the cast. I came up with the names, bar his suggestion of Roundtree to be the Black Knight.

Begins in war-torn Scandinavia, filmed at night to hide the fact that this is in fact a desert, possibly MEXICO or ISRAEL, anywhere with a good tax deal. We see flaming WOODEN CABINS, battering rams, catapults and men on horseback. There is a VIKING SHIP on a lake, tossing flaming arrows. Our hero, THE VIKING arrives in an INN, owned by a BOSOMY BARMAID with a Cockney accent. There, he meets his GENERAL, HEINEK who wants the Mongol hordes in the South to be destroyed. He also encounters a journalist-cum-minstrel, the CHRONICLER who sings songs of current events to local peasants. He is joined by DUIGAN, a Dutch mercenary and WHEELOCK, a cold, callous smuggler who sells pornographic woodcuts in exchange for the latest weaponry. They are both hunting down the Mongol leader, CYDRAX. They arrive in the kingdom of ARCADIA,  where they believe that CYDRAX is hiding. There, there is a royal parade featuring the beautiful virgin PRINCESS LYDYA. Her father, KING CEDRIC is outraged when CYDRAX kidnaps LYDYA, and offers the VIKING a million gold coins as a reward for bringing her back - ALIVE! He meets opposition in the KING's shifty, sinister ADVISOR, CHANCELLOR NAVON. And is once again followed by THE CHRONICLER. DUIGAN is killed at a convent, where he is unsuccessfully nursed by a warrior nun in diaphanous chain-mail habit, SISTER HELENE. She joins them, as "penance". She has a psychic vision that CYDRAX (who is not born Mongol,but a baby found among the construction site of the GREAT WALL OF CHINA by a builder) is trying to claim ARCADIA. To find the truth, WHEELOCK  suggests that they go to the MOUNTAIN OF WISDOM. At first, they are attacked by MOUNTAIN and SWAMP TROLLS, big men in big-eared green monster suits. They find the MOUNTAIN presided over by the mystical silver-armoured African WHITE KNIGHT, an ancient Immortal who tells them that CYDRAX is the mythical BLACK PRINCE, the older brother of KING CEDRIC, who was abandoned (in flashback) by their father, KING ALISTAIR, who had a vision that the older child would grow up to be evil, and lead to the destruction of the known world. He was forbidden to kill it, and thus abandoned it, giving it to MARCO POLO to bring to CHINA. THE CHRONICLER hears this, and brings the news back to CEDRIC, who says he's known, but likes to forget, and decides that if LYDYA is dead, war shall be declared. THE VIKING TEAM are guided to CYDRAX's mountaintop fortress, where WHEELOCK is eaten by a BUFFALO, and SISTER HELENE attacks giant snakes. THE VIKING has to fight CYDRAX to  the death. CYDRAX is bisected by a portcullis. LYDYA is rescued, but as she is brought back with HELENE and THE VIKING, NAVON instructs that the MONGOLS should take over ARCADIA, as the rightful KING, CYDRAX has allied with the MONGOLS. The crowds are then led by LYDYA, who push NAVON off the CASTLE, recited by the luting CHRONICLER.

The Emperor and the Sword, a sword and sorcery film to be made in 1983/84 with an incredible cast, Lee Majors as the viking hero, Linda Blair as the damsel, Sybil Danning as a warrior nun/prostitute, henry Silva as a Mongol, Christopher Plummer as the King, Richard Chamberlain as a magician/chancellor, Robert Vaughan as a smuggler, Richard Roundtree as a white (!) knight and possibly Roy Scheider and later John Vernon as the Viking general. It was to be funded by a consortium headed by an oil mogul. Originally, AVco Embassy were to fund the $9 million production to be filmed in Israel. However, Norman Lear took over Embassy around that time, and he wanted a bigger name than Blair, and also due to her drug habit, they got cold feet. They dropped the project, which was Jack Hill was scheduled as director, but turned it down. J Lee Thompson was eventually grabbed, and production was moved to Mexico. However, the Italian producer pulled out, believing that it needed Italian actors and the budget cut in half. Scheider probed unavailable, and John Vernon was cast instead. Production was finally set to begin at Churubusco, when the Italian financier returned, but they were moved aside for Dune. At one point, De Laurentiis was about to save it, but again wanted cast changed, and felt it too similar to Conan, and dumped it. Sandy Howard briefly had it on his slate, but by 1984, the sword and sorcery film was dead. J Lee Thompson did try to revive it at Cannon, who felt it too similar to their Sword of the Valiant.

Sunday, 15 June 2014

VILLAGE LIFE - an idea I had for a cracked satire of Irish life.


We see a  MID-90S HATCHBACK (something like a FIAT PANDA) driving through rain up a hill through a road caked with mud and on each side, lined with old cottages and patches of mud-plastered green grass. It's driven by CLEGG, a young man somewhere between twenty and thirty-five, large ears, not particularly attractive, average, nice enough, in a woollen jumper and navy raincoat, kind of nerdy, determined. As he drives up the hill, the car's engine explodes and the HATCHBACK pivots into a wooden gate and stops. CLEGG looks mildly disappointed. He sits for a while and sighs. Suddenly, as fog surrounds the HATCHBACK, a figure, somewhere between his thirties and fifties, massively built like a brick shitting-house, long straggly black hair, wet with the rain and a big black beard with bread crumbs seemingly sewn into it among the hairs. This is MICK.

MICK (his face pressed against the window of the car, genial, Irish)
Hello! Need help?

CLEGG (presses button, windscreen glides down)
Yes, this car is broken down.

MICK (nods)
OH, I'll tow it down.

CLEGG (grateful)
You a mechanic?

MICK (nods)
Yes, in the local village. I'll get me tow-truck.

CLEGG (nods, grateful)
Thanks, I'll pay for it later.

MICK (friendly)
No, it's on the house. It wasn't supposed to happen, so no need to pay. Name's Mick.

CLEGG (pleasantly stunned)
Eh, thanks. Call me Clegg.

MICK (confused)
Ah, is that your first name or your last name?

CLEGG (laughing)
Last, but John isn't a particularly unique name.


We see MICK, in a tow truck towing the HATCHBACK, CLEGG still sitting in the driving seat, faithfully by the car's side. Mick is bemused by the village's little quirks. They pass a GARAGE/SERVICE STATION, "STATOIL" that has fallen into disrepair. It lies between a church and a row of shops including a FLORIST'S, a HAIRDRESSER's, a CHINESE TAKEAWAY, a CORNER SHOP and a POLICE STATION that lead up to a large PUB, "THE MOLLY'S". On the other side of the road is a pub, "LEE'S" written in gold writing, beside another building also called LEE'S, that is clearly a funeral parlour. There is also a FISH AND CHIP SHOP-TAKEAWAY, in majestic red shopfront, a cheap lincoln green-fronted CAFÉ with a HAIRDRESSER'S UPSTAIRS, a small SUPERMARKET down a little lane, with a GREENGROCER's, BUTCHER's, a THRIFT SHOP and a third PUB/OFF LICENCE - THE RED  HOUSE (engulfed in gaudy red paint) further up. The TOW-TRUCK turns towards the LITTLE LANE and goes down it, where we see the SUPERMARKET, MICK'S GARAGE, A COMMUNITY HALL and a couple of old SEASIDE COTTAGES. MICK'S GARAGE is modest, a corrugated tin roof, baby blue paint covering the shed-like building, paint that is starting to flake away.

MICK (as he gets out)
This is the garage. Not much to look at, but it's home.

CLEGG (rolls eyes)
I see.

MICK (directs CLEGG to the pub)
Go into the pub, please. Wait. This may take a while.

CLEGG nods.


CLEGG walks into LEE's pub, a relatively plush gold-chandelier-lit, trim-carpeted "family pub". We see FAMILIES with small children eating chicken nuggets and chips in metal buckets, probably de-frosted, and a rowdy bunch of TWENTYSOMETHING RUGBY PLAYERS laddishly drinking beers in unison while singing "Fields of Athenry". We see two OLD LADIES, one refined, the other uncouth playing a crossword together. CLEGG looks almost crestfallen. We see a sunny, happy LEE, the local undertaker/barman, genial, forties, dapper, if not that attractive.

Excuse me, are the undertaker's and the pub the same company?

LEE (laughs)
Yes, family business. It is quite common in Ireland. You're not local.

CLEGG (laughs back)
Yes, I'm Clegg, John Clegg, but just call me Clegg. I'm from Surbiton, outside London. My car broke down. Don't worry, the mechanic is fixing it.

LEE (nods, jovial)
I see. I'm Lee, well Seamus Lee. What brings you to Ireland?

CLEGG (slightly nervous)
Well, I was in Dublin at a friend's stag night. I then planned to take the scenic route to drive down to Cork. My aunt is a nun, and she's at a convent there.

LEE (sighs)
Ah, well, there's not much in Kilcoole, nothing cool, there is a lot of killings though.

CLEGG (worried)

LEE (laughing)
And there's the killer now. Hello, Tommy!

We see TOMMY, an eccentric bald, wrinkled, wide-eyed man, dressed in green khaki-wear, about seventy, but still healthy.

TOMMY (gregarious, kind of eccentric, deep voice)
Hello, young Lee! I got some venison steaks for you and the wife and you can make some burgers for the kiddies!

LEE (friendly)
Tommy, this is John Clegg from London. He's here, because his car broke down.

CLEGG (shaking TOMMY's hand)
I see. So you're a poacher?

TOMMY (jovial)
Yes, indeed, young Clegg. Sorry for the circumstances that brought you here.

CLEGG (laughs)
It is okay. Adventure is the child of mistake.

LEE (curious)
You want a drink?

CLEGG (nods)
Yes, a water.

LEE (looks oddly)
You not a drinking man, then?

CLEGG (confused)
No, I'm driving!

LEE (awed)
Ah, see, sometimes we put an Oxo cube in the Guinness to mask the fumes for the breath test.

CLEGG (yawns, hands LEE five euro note)
Aw, I see. Here's the money. I'll have a cola please.

LEE (shakes head)
On the house, Clegg.

CLEGG (surprised)
But why?

LEE (genial if not slightly sinister)
Sure, you weren't supposed to break down, so you weren't supposed to end up here in the pub. Saving you the hassle.
MICK (comes in)
Excuse me.

LEE (friendly)
Hello, Mick. Your friend from outside London is here.

MICK (apologetic)
Yes, Lee. I have badnews, Clegg.

CLEGG (worried)
What happened?

MICK (down)
It might take a day or so for repairs. The engine's completely banjaxed out. Is this your car?

CLEGG (shakes head)
Yes, it's mine. I brought it over from Holyhead. I'll pay for the engine.

MICK (friendly but sinister)
No, no fee, so it didn't mean to break down!

CLEGG (rolls eyes, taken aback)
Thank you, you really shouldn't.

MICK + LEE (in unison)
Sure Ireland is the friendliest place in Europe!

Everyone in the pub bursts into spontaneous laughter.

MICK (deadpan)
It might take to next afternoon though. Don't worry, I'm sure we can find you a place to stay.

Suddenly, the lights go down.

CLEGG (confused)
What is happening?

LEE (genial)
It is after school now. We kind of serve as a youth club since the Community Hall is used for bingo for the auld wans.

The place is filled with make-up-caked, hoop earring-wearing tanned TEEN GIRLS. CLEGG looks out of his depth. He walks out. We can hear a gunshot from outside. MICK loooks stunned, as does LEE.

LEE (confused)
Where did he get the gun?

TOMMY (horrified)
Don't tell me he took mine!


We see CLEGG, looking hopeful in his HATCHBACK, with the new engine badly placed. The gunshot is in fact the exhaust. He slowly drives off to CORK.

CUT - A caption appears - 10 years later, and CLEGG is happily sitting in the village, by a bench, drinking a beer with a make-up-caked tanned GIRLFRIEND by his side. The village has taken him over.

Friday, 13 June 2014

The Deathcheater - A Men's Adventure tribute that somehow goes into script form halfway through

Commander Frank Glider was sick, sick of the way of life that he had been hopelessly peddling as what he believed was a worthy occupation for almost twenty-five years. He was approaching fifty, hair dyed platinum blonde to hide the almost identically coloured silver  grey hue beneath. He was a walking contradiction. His legs were fat even though his chest was incredibly chisled. His skin was saggy yet muscled and bronzed with a tan earned from travelling around the world, or at least travelling around Western Europe. He was a stuntman, not the kind of stuntman who worked on films, even though he began his career crashing cars into the Wicklow glens for an Irish television soap opera and had done the odd assistant job on a few motion pictures including "Sea Of Terrors", a co-production between Mexico, Canada, the United Kingdom and Italy. The plot synopsis was,  "In 1942, a British ocean liner named Triumphant gets blasted by U-boats and floats into the Bermuda triangle. The elderly Captain, Johnson, an American gambler named Chuck, a  young suffragette, Emily Peirce, an eccentric scientist named Professor Balfe, his young assistants Maria and Harald (a Jewish girl and a Hitler Youth reject), an elderly Shelley Winters-alike Jewish lady named Martha Phelps and an Oxbridge-type Simon Hurst leave in a lifeboat to find land. On the way, they encounter large plesiosaurs that eat Harald, and eventually enter a time-warp where they meet two aliens, the cold, callous, emotionless Viktor and the more sympathetic Rune, who are kidnapping humans using the Triangle to repopulate their planet. Balfe, trying to fiddle with the transportation device ends up sending all the collected humans on the Alien World back to Earth to their own time, but destroys the Alien World. Viktor gets into a rage, and shoots Professor Balfe. Hurst speaks up and rebels against him, and is killed by Viktor. Rune, meanwhile introduces Captain Johnson to the alien Zoo. Meanwhile, Emily Peirce and Chuck free a pirate named Long Fred West, whose buccaneering ways prove too much for the aliens. Chuck decides to escape, but is killed by a giant squid. However, Balfe wakes up and ends up finding a Viking ship. Together with Maria and Martha who he develops a love interest with, as well as a tag-along orphan named Wash who is the son of Long Fred, they sail on the ship out of the Triangle, only to find the force field. Balfe finds a wrecked spacecraft and among it, a broken turn-off button for the force-field. Meanwhile, the Captain, Rune and Emily Peirce manage to find a batch of frozen sailors, but are stopped by Viktor. Rune and the Captain combine to become a living bomb to stop Viktor, and they create a surge allowing  the button to work. This allows Peirce to return to the ship, while the Viking boat arrives with the other survivors on board." It was not great. It actually did star Shelley Winters as Martha, in a reprise of her role in "The Poseidon Adventure", except she did not die. It also starred Trevor Howard as the Captain, with Christopher Plummer as Long Fred West, James Mason as Balfe and a young Canadian actor, the unfortunately named Eldred Buttock as Chuck. Eldred had gone missing while swimming in the Gulf of Mexico. Glider was supposed to train him, and since that fateful event, had felt immense guilt. He felt blame for the death of that promising young actor, even though no body was ever found.

However, Glider was not a film star. He was a daredevil, the kind who took Evel Knievel as a model and then ran with it to the ultimate extreme. He was a pilot, a cyclist, a driver, a boat captain, a juggler, a skier, a swimmer, and sometimes a lounge singer and even a drag act. But the latter was a long time ago, when he had just left school, and had moved from his native Irish village of Buttevant, Co. Cork. He was in England, and the only job that he could find was wearing a mouldy flock-acrylic ginger-blonde beehive wig, long sharp earrings that resembled mirrored daggers and glittery frock. He was acting as "Norma", a stooge to an uncouth woman from Manchester by the name of Muriel Crabbe, who worked as a not exactly hilarious comedienne. However, he had since moved back to Ireland, after twenty years of travelling the world, diving into pits of flame, skiing on broken ice and other death-defying stunts. He had broken every limb at least five times, had four hundred stitches and had lost seven of his toes, and two fingers on his left hand. However, he was now on hard times. He was now reduced to touring around Ireland, around schools and supermarket openings. He often performed at village fetes and sports day ceremonies, in small towns with names like "Ballynook" and "Kilcleer". He currently had in his pocket an outline for a film that was being co-produced by the same Italian production company who had helped fund "Sea Of Terrors".

The idea for the film was a cross between the films "The Cassandra Crossing" (1976) and 1965's "Von Ryan's Express". It was called ExtroGen: Alien Nazi Death Train. The plot was: "An alien spaceship crashes at a World War Two POW (prisoner of war) camp. The alien is killed, but it spirit lives on in a Nazi guard who finds it who boards a train full of allied POWs coming from France. One of the soldiers, the American Frank removes the Nazi's gas mask, after a British POW, Carson opens fire on the Nazi. It turns out that the Nazi's face is deformed due to the alien virus which escapes. Frank takes control of the train and steers it back to the camp, when he notices that the alien ship has detonated and the camp is in ruins. There, he meets a young woman of the name Jane Morgan who has been sent to stop the alien, a lethal being, the last of his kind, looking for revenge, as he comes from a future in which humans punish criminals by sending them back in time. Jane reveals that she is immune to the disease as she is an android, a robot in the likeness of the daughter of a prominent Chancellor. The alien Extrogen virus spreads, killing and then leaving the dead body to infect someone else, especially when the train passes into France where they are captured by Nazis, who become infected and plan to use the disease to spread among the Jews. The Nazis and Jews  get into a battle, thus some are possessed, and those possessed enter a train, but must all be killed. So Frank, a British Colonel, the French Resistance and Jane plot a way of leading the train to a rickety bridge, killing everyone on board."

Glider found the idea a bit naff, but knew that it would lead him back into the spotlight of the international film industry. However, to save costs, instead of being made in Germany, the film was being produced in the small Eastern European country of Rostovia, whose Communist leaders had introduced attractive tax shelters to increase film production. Glider was unimpressed. He thought that it  was a load of loosely-connected cobblers rushed off to form something that kind of almost resembled a script. He was going to turn it down. He knew that Rostovia was a dangerous place to make a film in. Ethnic Rostovian rebels, descended from 5th Century Mongol settlers wanted to break away from the mainly European Rostovian population, and plotted to create their own republic, to be entitled the Democratic Republic of Tarmistan, in the Lugash Mountains, north of the Rostovian capital, Fraunkencaz. They were about to commence production and a group of production design assistants were at the state film studios, on the edge of the Lugash Mountains, when just as Glider got the script, Tarmistani commandos who were trying to set up the Democratic Republic of Tarmistan. The production assistants holed up in the studios, using props they had found in the archives as weapons. They were marooned for three days, until members of the Royal Rostov Guard arrived in helicopters, smuggling the trapped crew from the studios. However, the now empty studios was destroyed three days later when commandos struck back, and the Rostovian Civil War begun. Glider needed a new job.

One day, a mysterious gentleman of German extraction, tall, pale and elderly turned up at the door of Glider's maisonette in Donnybrook,Co. Dublin, dressed in a tweed coat and bow tie.

"I need your help." said the German, before shooting Glider with a tranquilliser gun.

He suddenly woke up in a corridor.


We see a long grey CORRIDOR, empty and dirty. Stretches of the linoleum floor are emblazoned with dirt, semen, God knows what, any type of dubious liquid. It looks as if it is possibly the seediest, dirtiest hospital that you have ever seen. We see COMMANDER GLIDER, seen only from the back. He is dressed in a beige COLUMBO-type trench coat emblazoned and dirtied with blood, sweat and mud. His hair is covered with a trilby hat. He is somewhere over forty. He walks quietly down the seemingly empty CORRIDOR. Suddenly, a door slides out of nowhere on the left side. The first ASSASSIN, "YELLOW PERIL", a tall, pale Asian man, greasy black hair, scars on both cheeks, dressed in a yellow sou'wester rain-coat pops out of nowhere, wielding a saw-blade, a flying guillotine. COMMANDER GLIDER walks past him, and then trips him up. YELLOW PERIL drops the guillotine, and then drops himself, his head bisected as it touches the fallen guillotine. COMMANDER GLIDER just ignores him, and thn we see the next ASSASSIN, "BLACK NARCISSUS", a short, fat figure dressed in a black KU KLAX KLAN outfit. GLIDER pulls out a cheap, squirty children's water pistol, the sort that contains less water than a starving child in Africa, and that costs 50p. It creates a puddle on the floor. NARCISSUS slips on it and falls down, snapping his neck, and his mask falling off.

CLOSE-UP - On NARCISSUS' unmasked head, on the floor, bleeding. He has green skin, and is seemingly already rotting.

CUT - COMMANDER GLIDER walks along, still no sight of his face. Standing ahead of him, we see the final ASSASSIN, "WHITE LIGHTNING", a fat, middle-aged, unhealthy, pathetic looking man dressed in a white leotard with a stripe of yellow lightning cutting through the white cloth. He wields a bottle of WHITE WINE.  COMMANDER GLIDER grabs the wine, smashes the bottle on "WHITE LIGHTNING"'s head, and then forces the little left in the bottle that isn't spilling out, down his neck. WHITE LIGHTNING collapses, and he hits the floor, his head explodes, just explodes, like a pumpkin filled with dynamite. Guts are all over the now almost entirely red TRENCH COAT. COMMANDER GLIDER rips it off to reveal a pristine, ludicrous green, white and orange IRISH FLAG on foil print jumpsuit with flared trousers, a zip at the front and the words "COMM. FRANK GLIDER, DAREDEVIL" written on the back in glitter. He takes off his trilby to reveal a shock of dyed platinum blond hair. He struts down the CORRIDOR, proud and confident, and opens the door at the end.


CUT - We see GLIDER burst through the door and enter a busy, dated room, a kind of amusement arcade-cum-low rent bingo hall and casino. OLD LADIES in twinset and pearls and cardigans of various sizes and colours are playing fruit machines while their husbands in scratchy uncomfortable suits play 1980s-era arcade video games. GLIDER looks crestfallen and surprised. He has an expression on his face, the sort that reads, "Am I in the wrong place?"

At the centre, there is the MISTRESS,  a seven foot tall drag queen in pierrot make up and giant knife-shaped earrings, ginger hair in a huge beehive. GLIDER looks harshly at this unique creature.

MISTRESS (camp English)
Hello, lovey!

GLIDER pulls the tranquilliser syringe out of his leg and throws it at the MISTRESS, a ninja-star slides out of the syringe and bisects the head of the MISTRESS, revealing the shrunken head of a young man beneath, that of ELDRED BUTTOCK. GLIDER looks confused.

THE GERMAN (rising out of a cake)
Mission complete!

Short story - The Two Interestigators

As Jimbo looked out on the view of Anderburg City, at the Dollar Dock, past the massive bronzed statue of the Anderburg Strongman, he noticed the plane fly past Phineas Brown Airport, the gas-guzzling cars in red, white and blue swiftly chasing each other. Then, the red phone rang. “Hello, this is Jimbo Johns, of the Interestigators. Who is this?” he asked.
“It is Mr. Dreadstone!” said the thick Liverpool accent on the other side of the phone. 
“Oh, Mr. C,” said Jimbo, “what do you want us for?”
“Oh, James, I want you to go to Romania. There’s a castle in Transylvania that’s been turned into a cheap motel. However, several guests have gone missing. Two American hikers, a Chris Ridley and a Joan Howley were out there, and vanished. They say it is all connected to Count Dracula. Where’s Dick?”
Dick was on holiday in Ireland, on the farm of his friend Grady O’Flynn. “The O’Flynns certainly know their way around a good soup!” Dick told the red-haired boy, as they rode on horseback.
“Yes, we are coming up to the ‘Molly Barn’.” Grady pointed out. 
“Why is it called that?” asked Dick.
“You English must know about the legend of the Banshee. It is a famous Irish legend.”
“Yes, of course, the howling lady ghost!” Dick commented, as he tugged his tartan jacket. 
“Well, we call her Molly. People have seen her in the shed. Even the old lady who lives on the edge of Ballin Farm saw it before it took her! Mrs. Killigan, she said it could be seen from Aberdeen!” 
“Again, it is only a myth!” cried Dick. “There is no sign that it exists. It could be your Uncle!”
“No! Look!” cried Grady, as he got off his horse and ran into the shed, pointing at a glow. A fat, red-bearded man in tweed came in, swelling up with hatred, his knitted sweater bursting due to weight. 
“Boy, Ballin Farm is mine, after your father died!” he snorted, like a fierce, mad warthog. 
“This is my Uncle Francis. He’s my father’s older brother.” Grady explained, looking scared.
Dick told Uncle Francis, “According to local reports, Grady’s father, Patrick O’Flynn died at the time the reports of the banshee came to surface.”
“It shows he was killed by the banshee. I saw it with my own eyes, I tell you!” Uncle Francis said.
“No, it proves you dressed up a scarecrow as a banshee and fooled the locals into thinking that you had not killed him but the banshee had! You wanted to build your theme park on Ballin Farm” Dick told him, as the Gardaí (police) came in. The tall, slim Garda Sergeant looked at Francis.
“It would have been a mighty great one, Leprechaun Land!” screamed Francis. 
“Thank you, Dick and Grady, you especially, and your granny will be chuffed!” cried the Garda Sergeant, as Uncle Francis was dragged away into the van. 
“I must be going!” Dick said, outside the village pub, waiting for the Garda Sergeant, a while later.
“Well, you were welcome here.” Grady said, as the Scotland Yard Helicopter arrived to collect Dick.
Dick entered the helicopter, and saw a familiar sight, a flaming red-haired, bespectacled woman, aged about sixty in a tartan headscarf, his Aunt Elsie! “Boy,” she said, “hurry up, we have to get back to Biltmore Grange. 
“Right, Aunt Elsie, but is there anything from a Carlton Dreadstone?” asked Dick.
“Oh, no, it’ll all be back at the Grange! I actually have to get back to Simpson Street. I am doing a big tea party. We all love tea in London!” 
“I know!” cried Dick. “I’m more of a ginger ale man, ale not beer, because there is no good thing about alcohol. Tea on the other hand, tea is the thriving business of the Thames-side area.”
“Yes!” exclaimed Elsie. The helicopter landed at the massive redbrick stately home of Biltmore Grange, filled with policemen, as it was the British Police base outside of London.
It was here that a police officer called Dick. “A telegram has been issued by Ramsey, sorry Mr. Dreadstone. You have been ordered to meet up with your friend, Jimbo. A Count Von Stormm is terrorising the British owner, Barrymore of the cheesy Dracula’s Castle Hotel. He apparently needs blood.” 
“Right!” cried Dick, as he was transported by another helicopter.
“Von Stormm was a Nazi, and he was put in deep freeze.” Jimbo realised, as he arrived at the cheesy, neon-bat-adorned hotel, the name in big red letters dripping in paint like blood. He had been told by a local peasant that “Von Stormm rules us.” 
As Jimbo entered the hotel, the elderly, monocle, moustachioed Barrymore told Jimbo, “Yes, I fought him in the war. Don’t know how he got out! My wife, she’s local tells us he is doom!” 
“He is the Devil incarnate!” screamed Mrs. Barrymore.
“It’s the only English she knows!” apologised Barrymore with a sad look on his aging face. 
An American man came in, looking tired. He was tall, with grey hair. He was about sixty. He handed in a card, reading “Harry Boyce, journalist.” “My voice is going a bit. I have a throat infection.” He explained. 
Suddenly, Dick came in. “Hi, Jimbo!”
“Hi, Dick!”
“What is it, Jimbo?”
“Nothing much, this is Barrymore. He owns the hotel. He is English.” 
“Yes, I am a former Brit. I can’t believe what an ex-Nazi is doing to my home” bemoaned Barrymore, “I am pained.”
“Oh, I know. That man, that must be a bite, is it not a vampire’s bite? My aunt tells me that the proper lust for a vampire is the blood of a werewolf, but it weakens them, making the vampire easier to stake. I suppose there are not many werewolves.” Dick realised.
Barrymore held up a newspaper. "Fleet Street werewolf! It's been snacking on spinsters."
Jimbo told Dick, "You should go over there. Simpson Street nears Fleet Street. We could catch the werewolf, well you could."
"I am worried about Elsie," said Jimbo, as he ran off, pained to the airport, "I want a quick one-way ticket to Heathrow please." He got the ticket. In the redbrick terraces of Simpson Street, red buses passed red phone boxes and red postboxes. It was a land of red. Elsie was drinking tea. Tea was being dropped off the Thames and being driven to the Simpson Street Tea Refinery. 
As Dick arrived, Elsie hugged him. "I know. You're on a werewolf hunt, aren't you? I've all my silver ready, in case you need it. Do you want tea?"
"No, I prefer coffeee." Dick added.
"Luckily I have some, but I have never seen the appeal of it." 
"Who should I call to help? Is Father alright?"
"Dicky, your dad is in Wales. I'll call Inspector LeStrade. He's a mumbler with a moustache, but he'll do his best and his worst!" 
LeStrade was rung up, and arrived. "Now, where's this wolf?" he rumbled in a Yorkshire accent. "I am not happy. Anyway, it is all publicity for the papers. I'm going out to ring the Crescent, the London Times, all of them!"
"No!" cried Dick, as LeStrade entered a phone box, only to feel something behind him.
"Is that your fur coat, Elsie?" cried LeStrade, only to be attacked by a fierce two-legged, long-armed, bony but tall werewolf, its jaw screaming.
Elsie ran out in her nightdress with a gun, and realised, as the wolf chased a bus, "Red's a trigger for his attacks. We have to paint the house grey." Soon, they did paint it, and once they fired the silver bullet, Dick noticed something. 
"It is a dog, a normal dog mutated!" exclaimed Dick. "I have to go." 
"Oh, don't, oh, yes, here's a bag for the wolf!" cried Elsie, bringing out a large bag. Soon, he returned to Romania.
"Oh, here he is!" cried Jimbo, as Dick returned. 
Dick took out the wolf remains, drained the blood, put it in a bottle and gave it to Barrymore. "We have to lure him."
"I am here!" cried Boyce, removing his wig to reveal he was in fact the disguised Von Stormm. "People hate me, so disguising myself is better. I all want to suck you, though I can't turn into a vampire, as I do need it to live, because of the Nazi experiments. 
"Here!" cried Jimbo, throwing blood on the floor for Von Stormm to slip on, and he fell, Barrymore throwing the stake in. 
"That was jolly!" cried Barrymore. "Thank you, boys!"
"It was welcome!" said both boys. They walked off, off to solve more mysteries. The end.

Sunday, 5 January 2014

Shitcake spy review - 9

Danger - Death Ray (1966)  - Awful Eurospy movie with ex-Tarzan Gordon Scott as Agent BartFargo! Killer waiter predates Diamonds are Forever.
A Man Called Dagger (1967) - Featuring a young Richard "Jaws" Kiel as a thug. Cheapjack setbound spy movie. Has a fight in abattoir. And Howard Hughes' ex-wife, Terry Moore.
Where The Spies Are (1966) - Proto-Casino Royale 1967 with David Niven as a spy directed by Val Guest. Also has Geoffrey Bayldon. And loads of British character actors, Le Mesurier, Davenport, etc.
Darker than Amber (1970) - Rod Taylor is an action-beach bum in Robert Clouse's sporadically action-packed thriller. Good fights.
Hammerhead (1968) - Vince Edwards as a cut-rate Matt Helm, while Judy Geeson looks on and Peter "Grouty" Vaughan acts rough. Diana Dors in her-not-too-fat stage is here too.
Agent for Harm(1966) - Shitcake spy film, set in Mission Impossible-esque Californian Eastern Europe.
Danger Route (1967) - Amicus spy-film with Richard Johnson - previously Bulldog Drummond in the Bond-chasing Deadlier than the Male (1967)/Some Girls Do (1969), both about dolly-bird armies (see also Morecambe and Wise as the Magnificent Two ("Oh I can't stand them!" says Mum)). This is more dour, and does not have Robert Morley as a cooking teacher or Leonard Rossiter. Does have an Amicus cast of Sylvia Syms, Diana Dors and Gordon Jackson, and like Agent for HARM, giallo regular Barbara Bouchet. Not good.