Artichoke – Full On (2002)

It was November 2002, I was in London visiting a good mucker and to see ZZ Top at the Hammersmith Odeon (or Hammersmith Butterkist Alhambra or whatever the fuck it’s called now). It was a great gig and the next night we headed to The 12 Bar Club on that street that’s full of overpriced guitar shops (Denmark Street?) for a local punk night. We clocked it as one of those gigs where the bands were probably too young to be in the venue when we saw a couple of these hard rocking mofos, guitars in hand, being dropped off by their mum.

The 12 Bar was a cool wee place. Normal bar to one side and bizarre little venue space to the other, complete with a balcony which, if you stood under it, was so low it obscured your view of the bands from the waist up. We nipped back and forth to the bar as the youngsters played for their pals and then, mid-bill, were knocked out by an unexpectedly grown up crew (in their 20s, mind) who sounded like a mix of The Slits and Fugazi. They played a cracking set and then came through to the bar where we got talking. Bought their EP, got them to sign it, rest of the night’s a pleasant blur.

At one point we got to talking about Fugazi. I mentioned that I’d had a ticket to see them the previous week but couldn’t go (sometimes the world was just a bit too much and even a Fugazi gig couldn’t pull me into it); they had a spare ticket to the London gig, did I want to go? Of course I was on the bus home the next day so missed out on that one as well but that’s the way of these things.

Over the next while I followed Artichoke on what I suspect was probably MySpace. They changed their name to something I’ve forgotten, put some tunes up online and then faded away. Or maybe it was me who faded away.  A shame either way, I’d have liked to have seen them again.

Sadly, if I kept copies of that online material I’ve no idea what I’ve done with it. That leaves me with the EP, Full On. Five songs, 16 minutes of post-punk excellence on a nicely presented CDR. The band is billed here as: Suzy Cargill on drums/vocals, Joe Scannell on bass/vocals, Nadya Ostroff on vocals/guitar and Christian Kramer on guitar/vocals.

Opener Down and Out barrels along on a beefy bass riff and angular chord work, showing that strong Fugazi influence. My recollection from the gig is that the lead male vocalist was guitarist Christian so that would be him singing this one. Although Fugazi remains the most obvious influence throughout including on the next track, Now We Know, Nadya’s lead vocal offsets that with a clear nod to the other primary influence here, The Slits, sounding at times uncannily like Ari Up. Johnny and The One carry on in kind with finisher Like You, a co-lead vocal, having a touch more of the straight ahead early 2000s alt-rocker.

I’d imagine this would be a tricky one to track down but grab a copy if you get the chance. I’ve no idea what the various band members are up to now, though I think I spotted Nadya playing guitar in a later lineup of The Slits, fittingly enough.

Anyway, yeah. Artichoke. Good stuff.

Full On

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King Kong (1976)

Slippery Big Oil man Charles Grodin out of Filofax leads an expedition to an unexplored pacific island in the company of stowaway hippie palaeontologist Jeff Bridges out of Nadine and castaway starlet Jessica Lange out of Rob Roy. Once on the island, it turns out there’s not much to offer in the way of oil, so they take home a giant apelike creature instead. While being put on public display in New York, said giant ape expresses its general displeasure by breaking loose and going completely mental.

The first remake, then, of Merian C. Cooper’s 1933 original which has long been considered a classic and rightly so, with its legendary stop-motion animated effects and creature designs still holding up well today. It does have its problems though, particularly the pacing. The first half of the film is downright boring, with nothing much to hold the attention until Kong finally puts in an appearance. The 1976 iteration has no such problems – beautifully shot by Richard H. Kline, the first half of the film looks great and is always entertaining. It sounds great too, thanks to John Barry’s score. Its real problem is that, although the pacing holds up, once Kong finally appears the special effects are a huge let down and they continue to jar somewhat for the remaining running time.

I think I saw this Kong Kong at the cinema when I was wee and then again on the telly in my teens. I was prompted to revisit it for the first time since then, on DVD, after rediscovering Bruce Bahrenburg’s excellent behind the scenes book The Creation of Dino De Laurentiis’ King Kong. As a snapshot of the clash of Old Hollywood and the emergent major independent producers of the ’70s it’s a great read.

A lavish Dino De Laurentiis production, this was one of the most expensive movies ever at that point and much was made at the time about the 50 foot-tall mechanical Kong that would be used in the production. It even gets its own onscreen credit. However, impressive as it is, the mechanical Kong actually only puts in a few seconds of screen time, played for the rest of the film by an obvious man-in-a-suit, and a giant mechanical hand. The De Laurentiis production was up against a rival remake in preproduction at Universal, and so the film was shot on an unrealistically tight schedule. Problems with the mechanical Kong couldn’t be ironed out in time and so the man-in-suit solution, in the shape of future makeup effects guru Rick Baker, was arrived at. The end result is an odd clash between a very handsomely shot, lavish production and something that at times just looks cheap and silly. However even the “suit” sequences do have their moments with an attack on a city train being particularly impressive, as is the surprisingly bloody climax set on the twin towers of the World Trade Centre.

Scripted by master of high camp Lorenzo Semple Jr. (the ’60s Batman TV series, 1980’s Flash Gordon) and directed with a sure hand by John Guillermin, there’s a great cast of ’70s character actors and supporting regulars at work here (Jack O’Halloran, Renee Auberjonois, Ed Lauter), as well as the three main stars on the rise. Grodin lends depth to his corrupt, ambitious company man and it’s hard, from a post-Big Lebowski vantage point, not to view Bridge’s charismatic turn as a peak at The Dude’s younger years.

In one of old school Hollywood’s last attempts at classic star building, this is former model Jessica Lange’s first film appearance. The camera, of course, loves her but it would be disingenuous to say that she has “Oscar winner” written all over her at this stage. She acquits herself well, though, largely replacing Fay Wray’s incessant screaming from the 1933 film with satirically inclined feminism-lite dialogue of its day (“… you male chauvinist ape!”).

Though perhaps not the all-conquering blockbuster De Laurentiis had been hoping for, it did well enough to merit a belated sequel, the now largely forgotten King Kong Lives (1986). The original has been remade twice since, in 2005 and 2017. The 2005 effort is a complete misfire, overlong, overblown and over reliant on CGI, with a poorly designed Kong to boot. The 2017 take, Kong: Skull Island is actually a lot of fun, completely reinventing the Kong story while getting the CGI and creature designs right.

The 1976 film sits somewhere between its two descendants if, like them, falling shy of the original. Hampered by its schedule and the FX technology of the day, it is still hugely entertaining and often gorgeous to look at.

mde

Tim Curry: Read My Lips (1978)

Quite the mental album this one and one of the most played records on my shelf ever since I was sixteen or so. The first of three albums Tim Curry recorded for A&M, Read My Lips is still something of an obscurity, having never been re-released in any form until just last year.

Produced by Bob Ezrin, it shares the sonic DNA of two of his earlier and best production jobs, Lou Reed’s Berlin (1973) and Alice Cooper’s Welcome to My Nightmare (1975), not least due to his signature use of atmospheric sound effects. Ezrin also plays keyboards here as he did on those earlier releases with the rest of the principal players on Read My Lips made up of Berlin/Nightmare guitarist Dick Wagner, Michael Kamen on keyboards and Bob Babbet on bass alongside some top session players of the day as well as some interesting guests.

Curry wasn’t writing songs yet so the focus here is on his vocal interpretations and the fantastic Ezrin/Kamen arrangements. The set is a mix of cannily chosen covers with a couple of exceptional originals from Ezrin/Kamen and jobbing singer songwriter Tony Kosinec, here playing acoustic guitar.

Recorded in part in Ezrin’s native Canada, there’s a clear Canadian influence throughout, starting with the choice of a cover of Rough Trade’s Birds of a Feather as the opener. Literate hard rock with added horns, it’s good stuff. A pointer towards the relatively straight forward classic rock treats ahead? Well, no, not so much.

Now, remember, way up there in the first paragraph, when I said this album was ‘mental’? Just the second track in and it really earns those stripes. Wake Nicodemus is a 19th Century ballad about an African slave, written by Henry Clay Work. An abolitionist involved with the underground railroad, Work was also American, which makes the crazy-mad-bonkers arrangement here (by Ezrin and Stu Day) all the more of a mystery. With the help of The Regimental Pipers and Drums of the 48th Highlanders of Canada, what we have here is an epic piece of heavy rock conceptual storytelling in full Tartan face. Completely Scottished up. Wagner’s guitar affects a bagpipesque drone while Curry adopts a burr of heroic proportions. In fairness, his attempt at a Scots accent isn’t entirely cringe-inducing and though the track could have been an embarrassment it manages to pull all of its absurdities together and rock out royally.

A touch of whimsy follows as the Lennon/McCartney tune I Will is given a mellow reggae makeover. Still with the unfortunate accent choices, here the vocals are in a kinda-sorta Jamaican style but it stops mercifully shy of being offensive. The whole thing stays interesting by adopting a slightly Cajun flavour complete with Nils Lofgren on accordion, before left-turning into Brontosaurus, a slowed down, weirded up version of The Move’s late ’60s psychpop hit. Layered slabs of guitar, speeded up voices and industrial drum sounds all come to bear on this one, resulting in a psychedelic stoner rock fun time.

The left turns keep on coming – Kosinec’s Alan could be straight from a broadway musical, with Curry’s actorly delivery bringing its quirky lyric to life. The arrangement is all woodwind and piano with a fantastic turn from Wagner on lead guitar and the overall result is genuinely affecting.

Opening side two, Joni Mitchell’s All I Want is cheerfully re-imagined as a straight forward rocker which is cool and all but it provides no kind of preparation for the emotional sucker punch of the next tune. Written by Ezrin & Kamen, Sloe Gin is something special.

On this fragile, melancholy modern blues, Wagner’s guitar is masterful, Kamen’s Fender Rhodes part is perfectly judged and Curry’s edge-of-breaking interpretation, whether arrived at through experience or performance, is devastating. With its repeated refrain of “I’m so fucking lonely and I ain’t even high/I’m so fucking lonely and I feel like I’m gonna die”, the song taps into what seems like a very real vein of deep depression. It’s desolate and beautiful; you have to remind yourself to breathe while listening.

Sloe Gin fades into a soundscape of street noise, traffic and sirens before bursting into the bait-and-switch arrangement of Irving Berlin’s Harlem on My Mind, moving from heavy blues rock to 1930s pastiche without blinking an eye. The ’30s section features welcome guest turns on trumpet and violin respectively from jazz legends Max Kaminsky and Joe Venuti (in one of his last studio performances), the ideal match for Curry’s Noel Coward-meets-Al Bowlly vocal turn.

The album ends on a high with Anyone Who Had a Heart, an early ’60s Bacharach & David tune which was a hit in the USA for Dionne Warwick and for Cilla Black in the UK. Here, Curry absolutely owns it, his impassioned torch song delivery perfectly complimented by a full orchestral arrangement which reaches John Barry levels of Bondian pomp. Lovely stuff.

Curry followed Read My Lips with two more albums, Fearless (1979) and Simplicity (1981), both of which featured songwriting contributions from the man himself (an earlier, originally unreleased album had a digital-only release in 2010 as … From the Vaults). They all have their strengths but for me, this is the best of them. It really does hold its own against its “older brothers”, Berlin and Welcome to My Nightmare.

For a while there it seemed that its legacy would be limited to the fact that a painfully shallow, neutered cover version of Sloe Gin has become well enough known in recent years to ensure that pub rock bands the world over now murder it by rote on a weekly basis. That would have been a real shame. Happily, last year all three of Curry’s A&M albums appeared on CD for the first time.

I’ll be checking out the reissue of Read My Lips soon enough, given the snap, crackle and pop my LP has developed after thirty-odd years of service – you should too, unless of course you can find yourself a decent vinyl copy.

Read My Lips

The Who: Live at Leeds (1970)

It’s Halloween and the obligatory horror movie viewing is on its way but there’s time first to revisit some classic sounds. Live albums are for some an acquired taste – for me they’re often as not the high water mark of an artist’s output and this is the fucking king of them all, The Who’s Live at Leeds.

Over the last decade or two this album has been revamped and re-released several times. The thing about live albums, particularly from ‘back in the day’ is that limitations of space on vinyl – even double albums – would often lead to large parts of a set list being left off of the finished result. Now by my reckoning, this was no bad thing for the live album as a format.

Particularly in the world of rock music, the live gig is more than “just” the music. In fact, even at a great gig the music may well be slightly compromised by a physically demanding performance, not to mention the missing visual and visceral impact of a spectacular light show. Lasers. Fireworks. That sort of thing.

Don’t believe me? Then try listening all the way through pretty much any live version of the guitar solo from Led Zeppelin’s Dazed and Confused without recourse to Jimmy Page’s theatrics or the fancy laser show. Seriously. Mind, that’s not so much a recommendation as a dare.

So, trimming out these numbers from a live recording can lead to a more cohesive listening experience – a better album. Adding tracks from original concert recordings back in to a live album reissue has become common practice over the years and, while good for completists, it’s not always the best thing for the album itself.

Among the most notable Live at Leeds reissues is a great mid 1990s expanded version presenting the complete kinda-sorta first set played on the night. That’s the version I’m most familiar with … and it is awesome. Then there’s the twice-as-long-again version from the early 2000s which features the entire kinda-sorta second set which is a performance of Tommy in its entirety. I’d avoided listening to that one for a very long time indeed (too much, I felt, of a good thing) but finally checked it out recently … and it is awesome. Since then it’s had the full box set treatment with a whole other concert from the same tour added. I haven’t heard that one … I expect it’s awesome.

Here’s the thing, though. Live at Leeds has long been held as one of the very best live albums, often cited as the greatest of them all. That reputation didn’t come from any digitally remastered two hour spectacular; it came from the original single album, a mere six tracks long.

I have the original tape release here, still sounding great. The CD reissue opens with a phenomenal version of Heaven and Hell which isn’t on the original at all. Yes, I miss it, but this kicks off with Mose Allison’s Young Man Blues, a real gut punch of a slab of heavy electric blues at its most brutal. It sets up the album perfectly and all these years later begs the question, why isn’t Pete Townshend’s rep as one of the great ’60s/’70s guitar heroes more in line with the giants of that scene – Clapton, Beck – yes, even Hendrix? Here, Townshend’s playing is phenomenal (lead and rhythm both). Savage and attacking like virtually no other player of the day – it really doesn’t get better than this. An epic take on My Generation brings the first side to a close (the tape’s running order being different to that of the LP) while Side Two opens with The Who completely owning another couple of covers – an explosive version of Eddie Cochran’s Summertime Blues and a gloriously sleazy Shakin’ All Over (originally by Johnny Kidd & the Pirates). Back to the Townshend originals for definitive takes on Substitute and Magic Bus, each member of the band at the very top of their game.

Here in its original form Live at Leeds is a wonder. At well under 40 minutes it is barely more than half the length of the running time of that terrific ’90s reissue but the sheer impact here is undeniable. “The Greatest Live Album Ever”? Not the kind of terminology I like to apply to music but in this instance, I’m not going to argue.

Live at Leeds

Original Motion Picture Score: Ned Kelly (1970)

This is an unfairly overlooked album, representing a pivotal period in the Outlaw country scene. The original Outlaw movement is generally attributed to Waylon Jennings, who did the actual rebelling-against-the-Nashville-mainstream-from-within-the-system that led to the scene’s ascendance, though both Kris Kristofferson and Willie Nelson were more than doing their bit from outside Nashville (and Johnny Cash had been all along). Other established acts soon followed their lead, including Bobby Bare, whose finest moment must surely be Lullabys, Legends and Lies, his 1973 double album of songs by Shel Silverstein.

Silverstein, it seems to me, is the great unsung hero of the Outlaw scene. He wrote for, and with, various outlaw-related artists including Jennings, Kristofferson and Cash and apart from supplying Bare’s best material, he did the same for Jennings’ cohort Tompall Glaser who also released a full album of Silverstein songs with Put Another Log on the Fire appearing on the the seminal Wanted: The Outlaws album.

In later years Silverstein supplied the songs for the Old Dogs album, a sorta-kinda Outlaw supergroup featuring Jennings and Bare with Merle Tillis and Jerry Reed. But back in 1970, pretty much Outlaw Year Zero (also released that year were Waylon’s transitional Singer of Sad Songs and Kris’ debut, Kristofferson), he wrote the song score to the movie Ned Kelly, starring Mick Jagger as the infamous Australian criminal. And you thought I was going to say “outlaw”.

The album credits Waylon Jennings as the main performer – in fact while he sings the lion’s share of the tracks, Kris Kristofferson takes three, stealing the show on Son of a Scoundrel while fledgling Nashville journeyman Tom Ghent handles the movie’s end title song Hey Ned. Jagger’s underwhelming onscreen performance of The Wayfaring Stranger also features, sounding out of place not least because it’s sourced from the mono location recording and processed for stereo here.

Silverstein’s songs are terrific, with the production (by Ron Haffkine) and arrangements absolutely in step with Jennings’ burgeoning movement. The lyrics reflect the film’s narrative but the songs work independently of the source material, together serving as a concept album.  Shadow of the Gallows and Lonegan’s Widow are wonderful tracks, which would and should belong on any “Best Of Waylon Jennings” compilation. Waylon’s singing on Pleasures Of A Sunday Afternoon is gorgeous, a reminder of just how technically good he was. Son of a Scoundrel is an unsubtle, raucous take on Australian ancestry with Kris on fine form, as he is on The Kellys Keep Coming, an atmospheric spoken word piece with a barroom crowd chorus.

The LP cover is quite the piece of misdirection, utilising the movie poster to the effect that you’d be forgiven for thinking this was a Mick Jagger album (a cynically packaged CD reissue in the mid ’90s repeated the conceit without even the excuse of using the original poster). I don’t think the album is currently available but it is absolutely worth tracking down (prices for the vinyl seem to start at around £20, which is roughly what my copy, in excellent condition, set me back a couple of years ago).  It’s a hell of a record, ripe for rediscovery.

Ned Kelly

The Marine (2006)

Super Marine John Triton (John Cena off of the wrestling) is discharged after heroically but illegally rescuing His Men from some swarthy foreigners who prove no match for his enormous arms. After a stint as a security guard goes amusingly pear-shaped due to fighting, his missus is kidnapped by that Terminator who could turn himself into vinyl flooring (Robert Patrick) and that naked guy out of Spartacus (Manu Bennett) after a bunch of explosions and some fighting. After that, it’s all fighting and explosions.

The Marine

This one is almost derailed at the off by the cheesy title card which is a beyond camp live shot of Cena in full US Marine dress uniform (one of the great unintentionally funny military getups) standing to attention in front of the Stars’n’Stripes before snapping off a salute. Oh dear. The opening rescue mission sequence, right out of the mid-’80s Chuck Norris playbook, doesn’t entirely help matters, being most reminiscent of the Charlie Sheen/ Michael Biehn “classic” Navy SEALS. Clearly, this could go either way.

Happily, once Triton is returned to civvy street and everybody stops saluting, the film hits its stride, turning out to be a total ’80s/’90s action movie throwback, solidly directed by first-time helmer John Bonito. There are ’90s-style “big-bang” heists, great effects and stunt work. Those effects are mostly practical – shit blows up for real – and a succession of satisfying fight scenes deliver a mix of old school duking it out, martial arts and of course, pro wrestling moves.

Even if the script does go from “dumb-but-entertaining” to just plain “dumb” here and there, the pace never lets up so by the time you’ve spat your beer out shouting, “no, hang on a minute”, there’s another explosion and all’s well.  The bad guys are played mostly for laughs, complete with some sub Carry On-style music cues. As the big bad, Robert Patrick is on particularly fine scenery-chewing form.

As befits an early WWE Studios production, the soundtrack features the Smackdown-friendly likes of White Zombie while end credit tune If It All Ended Tomorrow is credited to John Cena and Trademarc – serving now as a reminder of Cena’s old wrestling gimmick (as a rapper – he was on Top of the Pops!). Cena is fine in the action hero role here, handling most of his own stunts and comfortable with the straight-man dialogue.

The Marine was successful enough to spawn several DTV sequels, none of which featured Cena, who went on to make the similarly received, Renny Harlin-directed 12 Rounds.  Since then, his wrestling schedule appears to have largely taken precedence.  Recently though, he’s been picking up critical praise for his comic turns in Trainwreck and Sisters, and this year’s dramatic role in The Wall. Surprisingly director Bonito only seems to have completed one other project, 2011’s Carjacked.

A film I never saw new, and was only vaguely aware of, I picked this up as part of an irresistible “4 DVDs for 99p” charity-shop deal and had no real hopes for it. Turned out to be just-under-25p very well spent. If you find yourself hankering after the likes of Raw Deal or Cobra of an evening, The Marine could well be the very thing.

The Marine cover

 

The Dark Power (1985)

A group of college students decide to move into a house together, little realising that this is the burial site of some Native American sorcerers (yes, sorcerers). It’s all tits and carnage until an ageing, whip-wielding Texas Ranger comes to the students’ aid.

The Dark Power is a regional horror movie, a sub-genre of US zero budget indies best known for The Evil Dead. This one is in truth pretty shoddy but worthy of interest due to a star turn for Lash LaRue, B-movie cowboy legend from the era of Roy Rogers and William Boyd. It’s also known for its box art, a cheesy classic of its kind. The movie was directed by Phil Smoot (a name to be reckoned with) whose only other director’s credit is for the same year’s Alien Outlaw, also featuring LaRue.

LaRue is a fascinating character – his onscreen persona in B-movies of the ’40s and ’50s was a man-in-black, brandishing a bullwhip. He appeared in over thirty of these low budget spectaculars with titles such as Mark of the Lash and King of the Bullwhip and even had his own long-running comic book series. In later years, after a long break from movies spent as a lay preacher in repentance for his unwitting appearance in a soft core porn film, he continued to take the odd B-movie role. His legitimate expertise with the bullwhip also led to him performing in circuses and carnivals during leaner times. Curiously, in 1986, he featured on the back cover of Heroes, the only album ever recorded by Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash as a duo (LaRue, also known as a musician, doesn’t appear on the actual recording although his signature does adorn a brief poem on the sleeve). He also appeared in a couple of the late ’80s “Highwaymen” TV movies (Stagecoach and A Pair of Aces). As mentioned, LaRue’s classic movie image was that of the original “man in black” so perhaps this was an influence on Cash. Most interestingly, he was apparently the inspiration for Indiana Jones’ use of the bullwhip in Raiders of the Lost Ark and its sequels and served as Harrison Ford’s trainer.

Dark Power Heroes https://ritualobjectsofsightandsound.wordpress.com

All of which serves to make his appearance four years after Raiders in this weird little horror movie seem quite unremarkable. He’s in his late sixties here, grizzled, game and the only pro in the room.  He’s on the scene as a zombie fightin’ whip crackin’ Texas Ranger, leading to the occasional great quote (“Feel my whip, you son of a bitch!”) and a properly mental scene where he faces down one of the ancient evil sorcerers (yes, sorcerers) with, “Alright, you demonic bastard! Let’s take this outside!”  – and they do! An unlikely whip duel ensues.

The sorcerers (yes, sorcerers) are something special. Presumably there was no costume budget, so it looks like the actors (yes, actors) have been let loose on the dress-up box from an impoverished secondary school theatre arts department. They end up looking like a cross between Klytus from Flash Gordon, Mr. Punch, Wurzel Gummidge and nobody’s idea of a samurai. One, credited as “Tomahawk” (Jerry Montgomery) is, surprisingly for a thousands-of-years-dead Native American, a martial arts whiz. This leads to a fair amount of unintentional comedy with Tomahawk breaking into elaborate displays of axe-twirling karate moves before getting his kill on. Also, in a literally staggering display of racial stereotyping, these fellows enjoy a drink. Apparently, after centuries in the grave, your average Native American wizard (no, sorcerer) likes nothing more than getting a bit rapey after partying with the old fire water. All the more surprising as they start out as the most polite movie monsters ever, accessing the house by actually knocking at the front door.

The Evil Dead ‘presence in the woods’ POV camera shot is copied wholesale, the film is poorly paced, there’s an incredibly tame looking pack of wild dogs and some exceptionally inept production. During the initial bout of standard horror movie mayhem, which takes place at a party with loud music and all, one of the student tenants is being distracted from her studies. “All this partying’s enough to wake the dead!” she shouts – a quality comical line, clearly, because, you know, they actually have woken the dead. Brilliant. Unfortunately the filmmakers forgot to add any party sounds in the edit, meaning that she delivers it to an entirely silent house. On the plus side, there is a decapitation-by-bullwhip scene.

Dark Power dogs Dark Power Heroes https://ritualobjectsofsightandsound.wordpress.com

A terrifying pack of wild dogs.

If nothing else, The Dark Power is of interest as a historical curio, a just about watchable example of regional horror providing a glimpse into the wayward career of a golden age B-movie star with a few accidental laughs thrown in. And that schlocky box art does look good on the shelf.

Dark Power ritualobjectsofsightandsound.wordpress.com

UK big box ex-rental VHS tape picked up online for about £7 all-in.