Caligula

I’ll cheerfully admit it, I’ve watched the film “Caligula” more than ten times, and right after that I’ll say that its a bit of a flawed fuckup of a film. This is not the slightest bit surprising. What is surprising is that through the thick cludgy layer of fuckup, a very decent, and rather powerful film lies waiting for those willing to look past the obvious and see the real.

“Caligula” started in the mind of Bob Guccione, publisher of Penthouse magazine (a somewhat racier version of “Playboy”) when porn was printed on paper and the internet didn’t exist. Put bluntly, “Penthouse” was making money like crazy and Guccione was looking to expand into a new market. He decided that an erotic film that had the credibility to play in mainstream theatres could bring in money the way that “Deep Throat” or “Behind the Green Door” had – and “Deep Throat” had been the Mafia’s biggest earner the year of its release. He thought a lot and decide that Ancient Rome was the perfect “frame” for his film; being historical it had credibility and gravitas, and anyway none other than Federico Fellini had recently made an “Adult” film about Rome which had received high praise and Guccione thought it could have been made far ruder – after all, why should the public have to use their imaginations? Wasn’t that what erotic literature like “Penthouse” was all about anyway?

And so, like some mutant ‘Frankenstien’, “Caligula” was born. Who would direct? Fellini, the maker of “Satyricon” was in his eighties, very strong – minded and insulted by the approach. The second choice was Tinto Brass, he was Italian and credible, with a big portfolio of “naughty Italian romp” films in his back catalog, also being far less successful than “Il Maestro” he couldn’t afford to be picky. And so it was, the film went ahead, bankrolled by Penthouse, to be directed by Tinto Brass who, Guccione thought, “had gotten the idea.”

Penthouse magazine spruiked the coming film for literally months, until anticipation ran at fever pitch. Then the film arrived and the shit hit the fan. “It wasn’t any good!” howled the critics. It wasn’t even “dirty” moaned eveyrone else who’d been primed to expect the greatest porn extravaganza, since, well, ever. Bob Guccione was hopping mad. The magazine’s cash reserves were gone and he had doodly squat to show for it, and it was all the fault of that wop, Tinto Brass who’d gone off to make the “Gone with the Wind“ of porn – and forgotten to put the porn in. Guccione used his magazine to howl down curses on the Italian director – who simply responded that he did not make shit. If Guccione wanted shit, he said, he should make it himself – he was doing a fine job with his shitty magazine, he said; and the newspapers, who loved a nice public fight, printed it. Guccione responded with some unprinted but imaginable oath, and shot hard core porno sequences, which he cut into the film, making something closer to what he’d wanted all along. Tinto Brass just about shit a brick, very loudly and very publicly. The media went into another frenzy. ‘Current Affairs’ shows like “Willesee at Seven” conducted interviews with exiting patrons – the new version won the grudging support of people who’d seen both. It won my support too. The original film was truthfully pretty dull, but jazzed up with racy bits, it fairly bounced along from one moment of outrage at the decline of modern civilisation to another, and, amid all the hoo-ha it seemed that very few people noticed the solid script, great cast and thundering performance of Peter O’Toole as Tiberius. In fact if you’re enough of an adult not to have an attack of the vapours at the rude bits, “Caligula” is a rare gem, and to be treasured.

Copyright(C) Alex Rieneck 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Short Story

Class Warfare

“Maxwell.”
“Max!”
Max was curled up in the tiny corner in the hallway where the bottoms of the French doors almost met the thin carpet. It was an artfully chosen spot and it must be said one of his many afternoon favourites. The curtains were burgundy red and covered the whole length of the glass panelled doors, except for a height of perhaps an inch-and-a-half at the bottom. In this space Max could only be seen, or perhaps guessed at, as a darker patch of shadow, but only then by those who looked closely, and those who looked closely might be rewarded with the realisation that the small dimple in the bottom-edge of the curtain and the small grey shape that caused it, was in fact the grey furry ear of Max the cat protruding into the North hallway to give warning of the approach of those who might cause disturbance to the delicate territorial boundaries of a meditative cat.

In this case the warning system seemed to have failed due either to encroaching deafness on the ear of an adult tabby cat in the prime of his life or some other unquantified at failing that, had it been put into words would perhaps have reflected poorly on the character of the cat in question.
“Max!!”
“Yes, Lady Burbage?” One front paw projected from under the curtain when it reached full stretch, it gave a politely short quiver of pleasure and then retracted far enough that the personage who owned it might consider putting weight on it. Unlike the paws of many (perhaps the majority) of cats called “tabby” this paw featured no white at all. In fact none of Max’s feet had white ‘socks’ – where “God had run out of paint”. Instead, all his feet were brown grey tabby – the same colouration, as it happened, of a standard issue mouse, but with black stripes though this similarity of colouration as had benefitted no member of the rodent species since Max, though well fed by his human acolytes, took pleasure in keeping the larder, the kitchen, the wine cellar and the library free of those he termed “little scuttlers”, a mission in life that earned him a position in Lady Burbage’s retinue somewhere between highly-valued retainer and the kind of long-term houseguest who had their regular place at table for meals.

After a long moment, three further paws, each of similar colouration protruded from under the curtain, stretched taut, toes and claws splayed, quivered and relaxed. After a further small disturbance behind the curtain Max’s sleek feline head appeared, eyes slitted as the lower edge of the curtain passed across them, and as his upper whisker array bent down and popped back up. His spine made a small dimple in the curtain as he passed under it and a larger one as his mostly vertical tail popped through. Max walked several steps into the hallway, looked up at his human and slitted his eyes slightly in pleasure and greeting. Lady Burbage flitted her eyes slightly in return. Max almost quivered in joy. Lady Burbage’s understanding of the protocols of the dance of life – apparently innate – set her aside from the vast ruck of humans, who could only try.

“Good Afternoon Maxwell, I trust the day is treating you pleasantly?”
“It is Mam, that it is, as a matter of fact that is a very pleasant spot, just enough sun through the glass to keep the topside warm, while the gentle cool breeze from the gap underneath the door provides both pleasant fresh air from the garden and a cool waft up the fur offset by the warmth of the sun. Also, at this time of year the sun is at the correct angle to refract through the bevelling of the window pane and cast the most delightful rainbows on the white inner lining of the curtains. Quite wonderfully thought provoking!”
“Oh. I had rather thought you were asleep!”
“Lady Burbage if there is one thing I hope you have learnt from me is that all sentient beings do most of their thinking while they are asleep – the most important stuff anyway.
“Surely that means that there is then, at least half the time, being the waking hours left to think?”
“In my experience ma’m the waking hours are devoted to thought all too rarely indeed.”
“Judging by the quality of the conversation tendered by my last few luncheon guests, I can but agree.”

Max stretched his front paws forward, sunk his claws into the Axminster, and pulled hard against the resistance of the rest of his body, the effort made his tail arch upwards and the fur on his rump stand on end. When he spoke, it was with difficulty. “Precisely. I’ve been thinking you ought to draw the catchment area for your guest list rather wider than available local churchmen.”

“Be fair Maxwell.” They’re the only people in the area who can be relied on to be even slightly educated. For the most part the county is very rural and reading is regarded as a suspicious new invention.”
“Yes and in the village the comparing of phlegmy noises is regarded as conversation.”
‘I know what you mean.”
“It’s doubly disturbing when you travel as close to the ground as I do.”
“And in an odd kind of way Max, that brings the subject of conversation around to my reason for seeking you out and awakening you.”

Lady Burbage sank herself onto the green velvet upholstered red cedar occasional chair that stood in the hall, mainly for riders who needed help removing their boots and looked down expectantly at Max. Max took two steps and sprung into the hammock of her lap.
Lady Burbage had fat warm thighs and favoured long skirts and Max loved her for it. He arched his neck and daintily touched the tip of her nose with his. His nose was cool and polite.
“Yes, your Ladyship?”
“Max there’s not really polite way to broach this rather delicate subject-“
“But Max did you – ah –mess in Mr Wymss’ shoes?” Lady Burbage very gently stroked the top of Max’s head, all the way down his spine so delicately that his fur was scarcely compressed to his body.
Max arched slightly with approval, Lady Burbage was about the only human permitted such liberties.
“Yes Ma’m I must confess that I did.”
“Why on Earth would you commit such a barbarous and uncouth act Max? And on Mr Wymss, too, our esteemed under butler!”
“Well Lady Burbage, not to tell tales out of school, I must say that my revolutionary activities were undertaken by way of revenge.”
“Revenge on Mr. Wymss? For what?”
“Well, the night before last, Monday I think people call it, I’d decided to go hunting in the wine cellar. There’d been a delivery of a couple of barrels and changes in the environment usually put the scuttlers off centre. So I sneaked in as the cellar men took the cart away and I started hunting. Within an hour or two I’d caught eight. I only ate the heads; I like the crunch and because if I’m too full I can’t hunt and pounce properly.”
Lady Burbage queasily considered how close Max’s mouth had just been to hers.
“Anyway I was starting to think that eight was enough or perhaps even more than enough when I realised that what I wanted more than dead squeakers was a nice chair somewhere upstairs and a bit of a think. So in the crack under the cellar door I see a light moving. Its a hand-held lamp and keys are jingling. Its Wymss doing his lock up round. So I wait till he’s right outside the door and I shout, “Hey Wymss! I’m stuck in here! Let me out!”
“And he didn’t hear you?”
“Oh no he heard me alright – he replied, and I quote; ‘Fuck you cat! always sneaking around where you aren’t supposed to be, you want to be in there? You can spend the night!’ And he walks off. The mice are all jumping up and down and taunting me and laughing while I tried to think.”
His voice became a fair imitation of a mouse squeak;
“Cat! Cat! You keel my mother! Cat! Cat! You keel my seester! Cat! We poisons your foods! Cat! Hey Cat! Cat! We poisons your meelky-weelky! All night. Sometimes they even ran over my tail and interrupted my thoughts. Ned opened the outside door about four AM for a small cask of Malmsey; I was out of there like a rocket, and straight to Wymss’ room. Did you know he leaves his shoes outside his room for the maid he’s seeing to clean? Charlotte? No? Anyway it was too easy, I had a bowel full of mostly digested mouse-heads and I’d been dreaming of my target all night. So: I confess and throw myself of the mercy of the court.”

(c) Alex Rieneck
2019

Treasure Trove repository of cinematic Perfection

“The Ballad of Cable Hogue”
Some SPOILERS

A truly wonderful film few people have ever heard of.
Directed by Sam Peckinpah, (under the influence of Sergio Leone, this film stars Jason Robards, Stella Stevens, David Warner and bySlim Pickens Strother Martin. The story concerns Cable Hogue , a grizzled no-account who is abandoned in the desert by his two treacherous companions After long days, or perhaps weeks of wandering the desert he finds water! The water gives him life, but more importantly, the water gives him Alife-one that he had never dreamed of. Over the decades, the water (and the desert that surrounds it, give him everything.He lives a long and happy life and at the end of the film, he, and the audience are transfigured.
I watched it again last night, for at least the tenth time, and I cried my eyes out at the end, as I always do.
A Real Classic. If you’ve seen it before, watch it again.
ReviewCopyright(C)2020 Alex Rieneck All Rights Reserved

Salyut 7

The Soviets started the space race by putting the World’s first satellite, Sputnik into orbit in 1957. The first living creature Laika the dog followed scant months later. The first landing on the moon the unmanned Luna 2 was also a Soviet first. The U.S however, at least as far as the Western world was concerned, always won the Propaganda war, racing to put men on the moon, at any cost, a mere twelve years after Sputnik, but such was the Western media that only Soviet space accidents were known, the death of Vladimir Komarov being front page news in the 1970s when it was belatedly admitted by the soviet government and became public in Australia.

While the world wallowed in the drama of Apollo 13 while it was happening, and was treated to a big -budget film on the subject, nobody heard of Salyut 7– Until now! As a factually accurate big-budget film on the subject arrives on iTunes to educate and wow the pants off audiences worldwide.

“Salyut 7” is a Russian film starring Vladimir Vdovichenkov, Pavel Derevyanko and Aleksandr Samoylenko and directed by Klim Shipenko from a script by Aleksey Chupov Natasha Merkulova Aleksey Samolyotov and Klim Shipenko with English adaptation by Jeffery Hylton.

In 1985 the Soviet space station Salyut 7 is quietly orbiting the Earth, minding it’s own business, unmanned and totally under ground control when it is unexpectedly hit by a cloud of micro meteor and breaks. As a matter of national prestige, a repair mission is assembled and packed off to dock with the spinning-out-of-control station. Real actual excitement happens repeatedly since you (the audience) have no idea how things are going to turn out, at any point, an advantage that “Apollo13” lacked.
Let it be said too that the special effects are easily the best “Earth Orbit” stuff I have ever seen, with state-of the -art CGI rendering everything else(even the great “2001”) very old hat. Throughout this film I kept having flashes of real sorrow that Kubrick never got to play with CGI – This film is that good. In Short, if you’re a fan of space, or of adventure, or of very good solid drama- this film is a real winner.
iTunes movies 19.99 to buy- 7 to rent; as usual buying is a better deal- in this case very much so. You’ll probably watch it multiple times.

[https://youtu.be/nuohk0jJ2Nc]

Russian with English subtitles review

Copyright 2020 Alex Rieneck All Rights Reserved

Salyut 7 Review

#Salyut 7 Review

The Soviets started the space race by putting the World’s first satellite, Sputnik into orbit in 1957. The first living creature Laika the dog followed scant months later. The first landing on the moon the unmanned Luna 2 was also a Soviet first. The U.S however, at least as far as the Western world was concerned, always won the Propaganda war, racing to put men on the moon, at any cost, a mere twelve years after Sputnik, but such was the Western media that only Soviet space accidents were known, the death of Vladimir Komarov being front page news in the 1970s when it was belatedly admitted by the soviet government and became public in Australia.

*While the world wallowed in the drama of Apollo 13 while it was happening, and was treated to a big -budget film on the subject, nobody heard of Salyut 7*- Until now! As a factually accurate big-budget film on the subject arrives on iTunes to educate and wow the pants off audiences worldwide.

“Salyut 7” is a Russian film starring Vladimir Vdovichenkov, Pavel Derevyanko and Aleksandr Samoylenko and directed by Klim Shipenko from a script by Aleksey Chupov Natasha Merkulova Aleksey Samolyotov and Klim Shipenko with English adaptation by Jeffery Hylton.

In 1985 the Soviet space station Salyut 7 is quietly orbiting the Earth, minding it’s own business, unmanned and totally under ground control when it is unexpectedly hit by a cloud of micro meteor and breaks. As a matter of national prestige, a repair mission is assembled and packed off to dock with the spinning-out-of-control station. Real actual excitement happens repeatedly since you (the audience) have no idea how things are going to turn out, at any point, an advantage that “Apollo13” lacked.
Let it be said too that the special effects are easily the best “Earth Orbit” stuff I have ever seen, with state-of the -art CGI rendering everything else(even the great “2001”) very old hat. Throughout this film I kept having flashes of real sorrow that Kubrick never got to play with CGI – This film is that good. In Short, if you’re a fan of space, or of adventure, or of very good solid drama- this film is a real winner.
iTunes movies 19.99 to buy- 7 to rent; as usual buying is a better deal- in this case very much so. You’ll probably watch it multiple times.

*Russian with English subtitles
review Copyright2020*Alex Rieneck All Rights Reserved

vintage Blog.the truth can only exist in the past

Report From Interzone
By Agent

What a week it”s been! Or has it? well, if you follow the normal media, it’s been just about the most pants-shittingly important week in history. But stripped of all the hyperbole and the poetic sentimentalising by journalists far overestimating the extent of their talents; what has actually happened? Well, shorn of all the crap, the story went that the rather odd leader of a peculiar little country miles from anywhere developed an edema that rendered his shoes far too small, and smiled all like, evil when his minions built a knewkular bomb. It was a knewkular bomb bigger than the one dropped on Hiroshima in World War Two (cue grainy black-and-white footage of  America’s one undeniable wartime success). Show maps, cities with superimposed circles of theoretical damage if such a bomb was set of in said city. Finish by calming the peasantry with the announcement that (at present anyway) the bad man had no way of “delivering” such an unwelcome gift.
After a few days announce that the said bad man has his minions were experimenting with rockets (cue shot of rocket whooshing up in some foreign, presumably evil sky). Calm the more hysterical among the viewers by saying that the said rocket has a range capable of reaching only other foreign slant-eyed yellow devils (and not us). Turn heat back up a notch by saying that the bad man undoubtedly regrets this shortcoming and is probably devoting his evil to remedying it by extending the range of his evil rockets; and anyway, he probably can’t put his bombs on his puny rockets anyway (like we have – yay us).
After a short break – announce that the evil man has now been upgraded to nemesis level. He *can* put his bombs on his rockets! and his bombs just got bigger! And biggerer! (Cue more maps and circles for the believers to dutifully pore over). Calm the masses by segueing the news to some theoretically important sporting fixture that keeps the Neanderthals off the street and in the arenas where they belong. After said fixture is over, release more film of rockets, more maps, more circles and an army of experts who know everything about the small far-away country and its lambently evil leader.
Ignore the fact that a good percentage of these experts have apparently never learned to comb their own hair but bombard the dutiful media consumer with so many conflicting opinions that they simultaneously feel “informed” and inclined to spend long periods deep in basement carparks sitting on a box of tins of beans. Then, when all appears beyond saving, announce a super-top-level summit between the American President and the evil head of the secretive nation. Have saturation coverage of every aspect of preparations for the meeting. Try to imbue this momentous event with the same sort of suspense usually reserved for Royal Weddings. Pretend that the President of the U.S.A. does not look like 140 kilos of condemned veal in a shiny suit topped off with a wig fashioned from an orangutang’s pubic hair and somehow profanely imbued with sufficient intelligence to at least sit for the entrance exam for the village idiot’s guild.

Have the paid shills show shock when the condemned veal and the mystery meat shake hands and (peacefully) display their fangs. Announce singing and dancing in the streets instruct the girls of marriageable age that they should don such clothes as are normally reserved for festivals of great rejoicing. Let the bells of the halls of pederasty ring forth with great joy.

That, at least, approximates the public story. But like all big stories, closer examination and clear (ahem) thought can deliver dividends which in turn lead to productive trains of thought of their own, so if you’ll stay with me a little longer consider this; contrary to the opinion of one “expert”, the condemned veal was far from “democratically” elected – in fact that election was subverted in about as many ways as there were individual votes cast (somewhere between five and ten at a guess). Putin definitely saw an advantage in playing geopolitics against 140 kilos of condemned veal as opposed to either of the alternatives; (at least probably believing that his bear sodomising masculinity would be vitiated by arguing with a woman). As for Bernie Sanders, well, there was an awful possibility that he might have lost sometimes.
But of course all of this is just ink in the water, produced by some irritated octopus. Only those who live deep under the largest rocks still truly believe that heads of state in so called democratic societies are anything more than than figureheads of the consortiums that use them as puppets. In Australia the “Liberal” party accuses the Labor party of being a wholly owned puppet of the labour unions while keeping quiet about its own relationship with big business and the predatory banking system. To some extent, it is the same in every country the world over; an uneasy truce exists between those who enjoy telling people what to do, and those who “have” to do as they are told. One camp apparently cannot exist without the other  since an army consisting of no-one but officers is nothing but a gang of shouting fools and an army without officers usually becomes a large party. Both sides always take great pleasure in reminding the other of this.

So-? let’s look a little deeper while staying with the ‘army’ example a little longer. Armies do not exist in a vacuum, they are one aspect of society. In a monarchy, they fight at the whim of the king – though of course the king is subject to the blandishments and blackmails of his closest power-brokers and courtiers – people who most directly affect his mind and opinions. The same of course goes for queens and never let it be said that women in positions of great power aren’t almost as bloody awful as men. Though Catherine the Great and Queen Victoria lacked the overtly genocidal tendencies of Stalin, Mao and Hitler they did their best with expansionism and economic strangulation. Hitler worked hand-in-glove with the big German corporations. The entire Nazi state was Capitalism, in its purest form, run riot. The concentration camps and the SS itself were run as profit-making arms of government, not unlike a successful state owned railway, post office or phone company. The SS would tender for large government contracts, for example the digging of a road tunnel through a mountain from Germany to France. Their tender would win because it was by far the lowest since they would not have to pay (or even feed) their workers. The same went for armaments manufacture. All for the bottom line. If, as Lenin had it, “imperialism is the highest stage of Capitalism, in order to become imperialist a state must first enter a state very like Nazism”. During the recent U.S invasion and occupation of Iraq, the U.S government operated hand-in glove with the “Halliburton” and “Blackwater” corporations which, being private “security” contractors and not soldiers, were not subject to the “rules” of war, the Geneva Convention or any other legal constraint on their activities.  Exactly like the SS they lived up to this status, with enthusiasm.
Nothing changes. The same largely invisible powers that manoeuvred Donald Trump into power by ignoring the popular vote and using the Electoral Colleges to project their puppet into power have done it before – both Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush arrived in the Oval Office the same way – by subterfuge Their methods of consolidation of power look to be similar too. It may have slipped the popular memory but George W. Bush was a very unpopular president – until 9-11. Then America was “under attack” – it became so unfashionable as to be almost illegal to criticise the man. Almost overnight the country flowered with an ocean of “I Support our Troops” flags. 9-11 was not only a sea change in geopolitics, it was also a political gift from heaven for the Republican incumbent.

Can I be forgiven for rolling my eyes, when another “long shot” Republican incumbent barely surviving in office is rewarded with another “attack” – one that he can apparently solve single-handedly? Especially when this said incumbent shows every sign of being approximately as intelligent as the average beaver?

The simple truth is that America is not a democracy as per the common pretence. It is a Plutocracy, with figureheads being guided into place at the whim of powerful and very secretive cadres, call them the “Skull and Bones Society” the “Builderburg Group” or the “Illuminati”, but they’re getting sloppy enough to pull the same trick on the same peasants only ten years apart, and its common knowledge what happens when the peasants lose patience with their masters – look at what happened to Gaddafi, though of course he was thrown to the wolves by the same powers I’m talking about here. If you’re in the mood, it can be said that the forces turned on Mussolini at the end of World WarTwo— something that the Stauffenberg bomb that almost killed Hitler was driven bythe same “Top Down” Forces Hitler had feared since the beginning. He had no illusions that he was expendable to his puppet masters; and only almost impossible luck preserved him as long as he lasted. Filthy Creature.

Invisible Man (2020) Review

The invisible Man (2020)
I make no bones about having misgivings at starting to watch this film, the trailer a publicity had made much of its foundations in the “me too” era- an abusive man stalking his ex girfriend with murderous intent- and the ability to turn himself invisible! Being a white male I found I had minimal desire to sit through two hours of accusatory man-bashing- because, of course, such input might react negatively on my delicate male ego, a nd cause disquiet

I was pleasantly surprised- after the grinding slow first hour- anyway. a quick rundown of the plot. -Should be spoiler free. Girl lives with boy in minimalist concrete seaside mausoleum/mansion one night, girl runs out on relationship, hides in a different town with supportive people. Strange things start happening. Girl feels that she is being stalked, but no-one is there! What can be going on? To be truthful, what is going on is the feeling that you are being forced to sit through a whodunnit called. “The Butler did It”- There is suspense but no the suspense of waiting for discover but the kind where the audience(me) is wishing that the director would stop pissing around and get to the point. After all, the film is called “the invisible man” the only real available suspense is waiting for the bastard to become visible, and wondering whether the wait is going to be worth it.

I’m happy to report that at least in my case, the wait was worth it. Once Elizabeth Moss actually starts acting and the climax gets underway the film contains more than a few nasty moments- possibly too many as a matter of fact; I can remember saying out loud; “How much longer can this shit go on- and sitting through the final twenty minutes with something of a chip on my shoulder, because, rest assured; ”The Invisible Man” is shit but as far it goes it is good shit, delivering sensible invisibility science, thrills, blood and the odd nasty shock all in time with “ominous music” loud noises and screaming. And what American film has ever ended without someone getting shot? I can’t think of one since “Dumbo”(unless you count peanuts)

Verdict: Its pretty good shit, but art it ain’t
3/5
Copyright (C) Alex Rieneck 2020 All Rights Reserved

Invisible Man (2020) review

The invisible Man (2020)
I make no bones about having misgivings at starting to watch this film, the trailer a publicityhad made much of its foundations in the “me too” era- an abusive man stalking his ex girfriend with murderous intent- and the ability to turn himself invisible! Being a white male I found I had minimal desire to sit through two hours of accusatory man-bashing- because, of course, such input might react negatively on my delicate male ego.

I was pleasantly surprised- after the grinding slow first hour- anyway. a quick rundown of the plot. -Should be spoiler free. Girl lives with boy in minimalist concrete seaside mausoleum/mansion one night, girl runs out on relationship, hides in a different town with supportive people. Strange things start happening. Girl feels that she is being stalked, but no-one is there! What can be going on? To be truthful, what is going on is the feeling that you are being forced to sit through a whodunnit called. “The Butler did It”- There is suspense but no the suspense of waiting for discover but the kind where the audience(me) is wishing that the director would stop pissing around and get to the point. After all, the film is called “the invisible man” the only real available suspense is waiting for the bastard to become visible, and wondering whether the wait is going to be worth it.

I’m happy to report that at least in my case, the wait was worth it. Once Kate Moss actually starts acting and the climax got underway the film contains more than a few nasty moments- possibly too many as a matter of fact; I can remember saying out loud; “How much longer can this shit go on- and sitting through the final twenty minutes with something of a chip on my shoulder, because, rest assured; ”The Invisible Man” is shit but as far it goes it is good shit, delivering sensible science, thrill, blood and the odd nasty shock all in time with “ominous music” loud noises and screaming. And what American film has ever ended without someone getting shot? I can’t think of one since “Dumbo”(unless you count peanuts)

Verdict: Its pretty good shit, but art it ain’t
3.5/5

(C) Copyright 2020 Alex Rieneck All Rights Reserved.

goldilocks and the three strikes: A Rude Fairytale Rated Adults Only

A Rude Fairy tale

One day in the early Autumn, Goldilocks left the little house where she lived with her Aunt and Uncle and went out for a walk on her own in the woods. Goldilocks got her name from her beautiful golden blonde shimmery hair, it was the first thing about her that people noticed and they always commented on it, to the point wherein had become something of an obsession with her. She would fiddle with it, winding it around her fingers while gazing into the mirror above her dresser. Occasionally a little ditty would appear in her mind. This had of course created in her the belief that she was a gifted poetess, even though she had only once ever written down one of her poems before it vanished into the ether. Anyway on the morning of this lovely early Autumn day she decided that she would take a juicy red apple for lunch and her notebook to write down poems when they occurred to her, as she was sure they would, and she’d go off into the woods over the back fence and she’d walk and let the rhythm of her feet on the stately woodland paths do the rest. As far as some things went, Goldilocks was a very sensible girl.

So Goldilocks walked alone through the woods which were only just starting to turn brown for the Autumn and as the breeze caressed her hair, a song started to take shape in her head. It was still far too early to consider writing it down because it was still so inchoate that it didn’t exactly consist of words, just yet anyway, simply the music that words ride along on top of like a rowboat on the gentle swell out from the shore, but Goldilocks was very happy and quite – abstracted, when she followed a turn in the path around a thick patch of shrubbery and came across a little house, as deep in the woods as she had ever been.

The house was little and built from the kind of rounded stones that made Goldilocks think there must be a river or stream nearby. It had one storey and another, smaller one stuck up high under the steeply angled roof. The roof was made of wooden shingles, the chimney showed no sign of smoke and was made of the same kind of stones as the walls. Two delightful bay windows looked out on the pretty flower garden that was separated from the rest of the forest by a rickety looking picket fence made of unfinished wood. To the side of the flimsy looking front gate stood a letter box with an angled roof and a slot for letters. The slot was empty and on the otherwise blank front of the box there was a single paw-print in black paint and the word “Bears” also in black paint. She noticed that the writing was Wrong. In the childish capitals, the letter”S” was the wrong way around. Goldilocks clicked her tongue and pushed the gate open. When she got to the little front door, she rang the bell, even though she had no idea of what she was going to say if anyone answered it. The bell seemed to ring far away even though it was such a tiny little house. She needn’t have worried because no-one came to the door to answer the bell and her knocking went unheeded too. When she pushed at the door and discovered that it wasn’t even latched, let alone bolted, she pushed the door all the way open and walked right in. She was that kind of girl.

The house seemed to be empty and the hallway certainly was. The place was very neat and smelled very clean but under the smell of freshly vacuumed carpet and the faint smell of bleach that Goldilocks guessed must come from the bathroom, or the laundry, there was another smell faint, but still primal, raw and undeniable. Suddenly Goldilocks was much less sure of herself and there was a falter in her voice when she next called “hello?”
Nothing happened, no-one answered her call. And the house continued to give every appearance of being empty, so it wasn’t long before Goldilock’s natural optimism resurfaced, about the time that she saw the reflection of her hair in the dark parts of a glass-covered picture of an important looking bear. Before much more time had passed, she was slowly waltzing around the sitting room of the house, gently stroking the furniture that she passed with the tips of her fingers because aside from anything else, as spying, sticky-beak poetesses went, she was very tactile.

Mr Bear wasn’t happy to see her. He stood, almost completely filling the open door to the hallway and Goldilocks almost waltzed full length into his furry chest!
Mr Bear gave a deep low grumble from somewhere inside all the fur and bear. It was a grumble, not a growl, but Goldilocks could tell that a creature who could grumble like that could easily produce a very impressive growl. It was an instinctual understanding. So she smiled apologetically, took one step back and curtsied, using her pretty frock to its best advantage. Perhaps unsurprisingly her placatory gesture failed rather spectacularly, since bears are very territorial and far less impressed by apologies than they are by territorial encroachments, especially the sort that has inquisitive, cheeky girls pulling the cutlery out of drawers in the sideboard, touching it and then putting it back, hopefully in the right place. Mr Bear gave vent to his feelings. He didn’t growl, he came forth with a full throated roar, and he jumped on Goldilocks! Goldilocks screamed, sure she was going to be torn to pieces, and tried to fall in a dead faint onto the floor, to lie in a puddle of her own pee, but Mr Bear snatched her out of mid-air, bent her over the thick oak dining table, threw her pretty frock up over her back, forced down her pretty frilly panties, and grabbed two big handfuls of her golden hair and fucked her vigorously, until her screams of terror changed and became far too politically incorrect to be set down here.

Before too long, Mr Bear tired of exacting his revenge on Goldilocks and drew his big penis out of her vagina with a loud schlepping noise that was matched by Goldilocks’ moan, that to the unbiased ear, seemed to be pictched somewhere in the narrow territory between relief and disappointment. Mr Bear picked Goldilocks up as if she weighed no more than a blank postcard, carried her across the room and dropped her on top of Mrs Bear who was lying on her back on the floor in front of the fireplace wearing nothing but her fur. Goldilocks’ face landed directly between Mrs Bear’s legs, with her mouth and nose becoming buried in her most secret place. Goldilocks gasped as Mrs Bear’s cold snout buried itself in her vagina which was still scorching hot from Mr Bear’s frenetic attentions. When Mrs Bear started licking hard and fast at her wet honeypot, she screamed with joy directly into Mrs Bear’s clitoris and started to return the favour, with dedication.

Goldilocks enjoyed herself very much but after awhile, perhaps jaded by too much of a good thing in too short a space of time, started thinking that despite her present activity being a great deal of fun, that something was missing, and her eyes rolled up to where she could see baby bear standing in the doorway watching g\Goldilocks and his mother on the floor. His eyes were bulging out of his head in a way that would have comical if it had not been so disconcerting. He was masturbating, very fast and with great motivation.

Of course “baby” bear was not really a baby, more of a teenager. But since bears lifespans are typically shorter than human ones, a stage of mid-late curling or teenager hood can draw the nickname “Baby” in the same way a college freshman can, when addressed by a gum chewing teenybopper calls her beau “baby” while ruffling his hair in between the pops of bubblegum bubbles.

Goldilocks pounced forward like a praying Mantis in her preying in less time than it takes to write, and even in less time than it takes to read. Goldilocks was sucking on Baby Bear’s penis with a mouth that was still redolent with his mother’s precious fluids. In a time commensurate with Baby Bear’s age and lack of experience in such matters, he ejaculated directly down Goldilocks’ throat and urgently arranged himself prone on the floor to catch his breath. In no time at all, he was sleeping and soon after that he was snoring.

“Well, if that isn’t just typical!” Said Goldilocks thought butshe had no idea if it was or not, and she stood up, wiped her lips with a napkin from the pile on the dining table, straightened her clothes with her hands, opened the front door and went out, where she was immediately arrested by the Bear Police, and charged with aggravated burglary, indecent assault, and acts contributing to the moral delinquency of a minor, all exacerbated by offending the judge with a palpable lack of contrition. She was sentenced of prison where continuing minor infringements of the rules saw her living, somewhat happily until the end of her days.

Behemoth the Sea mMonster (!959)- review

Behemoth the sea Monster(A.K.A) The Giant Behemoth. (1959) -Amazon Prime.

There is a lot of “classics” on Amazon, which is to say the place is a veritable treasure trove of old crap. I recently discovered this, and having always wanted to see the long-lost British classic; “Gorgo”- decided to watch this instead. I was far from disappointed.

The thing is old films, science fiction and horror in particular, frequently don’t age well and are funny. If you encounter such you have not lost out by the easy laughs and odd cheap shot at the dialogue. For example if you get a chance to see either “ The Purple Monster Strikes” (1945) or “The Giant Spider Invasion” (1975), leap at it; ‘Bad’ does not come worse and there are laughs aplenty for the sardonically inclined. On the other hand mere age does not betoken ‘bad’ and “Nosferatu” (1922) might well leave scars that last years, and the “Cabinet of Doctor Caligari” (1920) is still a very creepy experience.

So I figured with “Behemoth the Sea Monster”, I’d either get a piece of vintage classic or laughably undrinkable vinegar. Either way it’d be interesting and either way it’d keep me away from possible sources of the plague. Such are the times we live in.

In any event the outcome was somewhere in the middle. At the very beginning after a Cornish fisherman beaches his boat and addresses his beautiful blonde daughter in the impossibly cultured tones of a BBC Radio announcer, the viewer is rendered somehow devoid of cutting remarks, especially since considering that the dialogue, if clunky, is actually very well written and acted. This film may be dated, but it was a quality production at the time of release. Through the film the science (aside from the actual behemoth itself), is rock solid and forms an interesting foundation to the film -especially when you consider that this film was made post Nagaski at the height of M.A.D. and even the average viewer would have been awash in a tidal wave of information about Atomic energy, and would have smelled bad science a mile off. The film does its level best on that front and is, if less funny, worthy of some respect. That said the Behemoth itself is predominantly jerky stop-motion animation and really pretty bad, but is worth remembering that this was undoubtedly one of the films that inspired the immortal Ray Harryhausen to think, “Hell I can do better than that” – and for that, if little else, we owe “Behemoth the Sea Monster” a debt of great gratitude. Pretty good but far from great.

(c) Alex Rieneck, May 2020