Framed to Perfection XXXV

MANOS: THE HANDS OF FATE (1966)

Director: Harold P Warren

Cinematographer: Robert Guidry

I swear, if Manos: The Hands of Fate had been produced half a century earlier as a silent film in black & white, then it’d still be studied in film schools to this day as one of the greatest motion pictures of all-time. Sadly, however, it was made in the 1960s, when sleeker production values, even for low-budget efforts, and more complex themes, had become the norm.

It’s a strangely cosy horror film, probably due to its soft jazz soundtrack, warm locations and visual palette, gentle pace, and the fact that nothing scary happens at all. There’s also a campy vibe to the whole thing, which aids my enjoyment immensely. From the father character’s lovely cardigan and fey handling of a pistol, to the diva quality of the mother’s fits of despair. Not to mention the bitching wives of The Master and their childish catfights.

The star of the whole affair, in terms of actor as well as character, is John Reynolds AKA Torgo.

Reynolds’ performance was very much dictated by his real-life use of illicit drugs, which adds a tragic quality to what you see. You are witnessing a man literally losing his mind onscreen. If this turned out to be footage from the deplorable MKUltra human experimentations, in which the American government did more damage to its own citizens in the name of anti-Communism that actual Communists could or would even want to do, then I wouldn’t be surprised one bit.

Torgo’s unfair treatment at the hands of entitled yuppy-dad Michael makes Torgo even more sympathetic. Torgo is allowing the family to stay at The Master’s compound out of pure generosity. Money does not change hands and no contracts are signed, so quite why Michael believes he has the right to bully Torgo around like a slave is horrible. I guess some people are just arseholes like that.

I’ve met one or two.

Released only a few years before the Manson Family murders, Manos: The Hands of Fate, about a cult leader coercing his followers into committing violent crimes, is tragically prophetic. What small audience Manos had at the time must have thought its plot ludicrous. How unprepared they were for what was to come over the following 60 years! The twist ending is also delightfully dark, which would certainly sit well in a modern horror film.

Certain notoriously “bad” horror movies are so unintentionally-surreal, due to the filmmakers’ apparent-incompetence, that they come back round to being genuinely terrifying. Robot Monster and Troll 2 are cases in point. These are not movies I would watch if my mental state was a little on the weak side.

Oh and “manos” can mean both “hand” and “power” in Latin, so “Power: The Hands of Fate, actually makes perfect sense.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Intermission V

You may or may not have noticed that the subjects and wording of my posts have become more and more strange and erratic of late. I have noticed this too. While my mind is most likely slipping away, due to life-long mental illness, I am at least aware of something strange happening.

My anxiety levels are also at a level where I am unable to deal with them anymore. I should call my doctor about this, but said levels are affecting my ability to communicate with the outside world. There is call waiting and apathetic receptionists and month-long appointment waiting lists in-between me and help. Instead, I just keep drinking and drinking and drinking until I feel an unnatural calm.

I do not see any future anymore, and I am too anxious to think about the past or present. I just feel as though I do not have long left in this life.

At this point in one of these posts, I would wax lyrical about things I’d like to be doing and that I would or may perhaps get back to doing them. But I do not have these feelings anymore.

I have so much love to give, but nobody to give it too. My desire not to pass on my incurable disability means I have no children to pass on my interests and possessions to. I think I would have been a cool dad, but I guess I will never know 

I don’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t feel natural. Perhaps my cyclothymia has tipped over into schizophrenia, due to my isolation and alcoholism.

If this is my last post, please let it be known that I tried to recover and seek help, but help is not available for shy, awkward, lonely nerds who cannot communicate with the outside world anymore.

I just failed, like I have done with everything else in my life.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Framed to Perfection XXXIV

THE BOY IN THE DRESS (2014)

Director: Matt Lipsey

Cinematographer: Andy Hollis

If there’s a better image encapsulating British life in the 2000s, you’d be hard-pressed to find it.

The Boy in the Dress is the TV movie that made me finally come out of the closet about my transgender side, which I had been quietly contemplating for a few years prior to. I had no secret life. I wasn’t prancing around in a ballgown anytime my girlfriend left the house. I went straight to her and told her how I felt. The first time I wore women’s clothing, in this instance just a pair of trainers, was the first time I made anyone else (outside discrete online advice forums) aware of it. I thank star Billy Kennedy for giving me that strength, and I will do until I depart this life.

Sadly though, this bold honesty didn’t pay-off at the time, so me and my girlfriend split-up not long after (although we remained the best of friends). She just thought it was the weirdest thing ever.

Not all coming out stories have a happy ending.

I remain somewhat in the closet now, feeling that my feminine side is happy being very much a mental thing. The women I look up to the most are generally tomboy lesbian pixies anyway, so why does this shy, awkward, lonely nerd need to dress differently than he/she/whatever already does? If transgender rights is about not having to dress how people tell you to dress, then why should I dress like a woman just because I feel like a woman today?!

Fuck it.

I’m a man who identifies as a woman who identifies as a man. I’m the one who has to deal with that. Not you. Call me whatever the fuck you like. Freedom of speech and all that.

While this TV movie isn’t visually flashy, it hits its comedic beats perfectly. Beauty shots are hard to find, but interestingly-blocked ones are. It’s sweet and funny and also makes for an alternative Christmas movie. It also opens up the viewer’s mind to finding overweight, bald, middle-aged men sexy, which is no bad thing. Steve Speirs is just gorgeous as Dennis’ troubled father, who ends up bagging the fabulous Meera Syal.

Similar to Billy Elliot, only with football instead of ballet and way more little boys wearing pretty dresses.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Subtitles OFF: Terrore nello spazio (1965)

Much like the Rosetta stone, which provides the same information in one Greek script and two ancient Egyptian scripts, the disc for Terrore nello spazio AKA Terror in Space AKA Planet of the Vampires offers three versions of the same movie: the foreign language version and two different English versions. Assuming “version” means “cut”, I decided to play it safe and watch the Italian original.

So, here we are, another instalment of the stranger of my blog series, in which a visually impaired idiot (me), tries to understand a foreign film without resorting to an English dub or subtitles, the latter being because it’d take me a day to read them all. For real. This film felt particularly apt as a “Subtitles OFF” entry, as I genuinely had no idea the damn thing existed until two days ago, therefore my guesswork is very much from scratch. All I had to go on was the English release title, “Planet of the Vampires”, which ultimately did not help at all.

So, patient reader, here is my attempt at a synopsis for you…

A bunch of astronauts land haphazardly, or crash entirely, on a foreign planet. After fighting amongst themselves for a bit, they begin to get picked-off one-by-one by an elusive alien entity, with some of the victims’ bodies vanishing mysteriously. Sound familiar? That’s right, this film was eventually remade in the US as “Mrs Doubtfire”.

But seriously…

After halfway through the runtime, our leather-clad BDSM protagonists go exploring, only to find an incomprehensible native computer. Or something. The alien entity then appears to take over or brainwash some of the crew, leading to more infighting. The last few survivors eventually takeoff with ease, although why they didn’t just do this 90 minutes ago I have no frigging idea, where there’s one last threat just when you think the coast is all clear.

Yes, this is Forbidden Planet meets Star Trek TOS meets Solaris meets Alien, only way cooler because it’s made by and with Italians. Even the male actors are able to pull-off the figure-hugging costumes. Can you imagine pudgy Brits in the same costumes?! Ha! I don’t think so, honey.

Right, I’ve given what I believe to be the goings on, so now let’s be all scientific and read a proper synopsis…

…one second…

…oh right, yeah, this is exactly Alien, to the point where I’m surprised that the latter production hasn’t been sued for tons of sweet cash. Wow. The only major thing I got wrong is that there are two ships that crash land, with one crew being taken over by the aliens while the other tries to fight them off and repair their ship. Golly, there’s even.an apparent-distress signal that lures them there and an ancient alien spacecraft (filled with giant skeletons) that the humans explore!

No chestbursters though, unfortunately.

I’ll add Invasion of the Body Snatchers to my list of films this has influenced and/or been influenced by, as the humans being taken over by aliens is a major part of the story and final twist.

It’s a claustrophobic film, with impressive but dour lighting throughout. Not one smile passes an actor’s face either, which adds to the suffocating atmosphere. No pun intended! The minimalist but evocative production even makes me think this could be a fine stage play.

The potentially-cheesy acting, costumes, sets, props, and special effects are all aided immensely by cinematographer Antonio Rinaldi’s eerie lighting. The man deserves as many awards as the industry can possibly throw at him.

It’s a true work of art, so goodness knows why I hadn’t heard of its existence at all in the first 45-fucking-years of my life.

For shame!

I’ll endeavour to watch the English-language version so I can soak up more of the drama, and certainly will be imitating this scene from Family Guy for the rest of the dd.. we… month.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Ciao!

Framed to Perfection XXXIII

STAR GAMES (1997)

Director: Greydon Clark

Cinematographer: Nicholas Josef von Sternberg

Strangely enough, this is not a horror film.

Well, depending on your point of view.

Essentially an overblown home movie, in that most of the cast is related in some way to the director, Star Games is a so-bad-it’s-good movie in the truest sense of the, erm, phrase. I discovered it through the fine folk over at Rifftrax, a satirical commentary troupe comprised of ex-MST3K members, and I urge you to watch their version.

And donate to their website, even though what they do can now be done by any bored 8-year-old in between school and their evening meal.

Yikes, I guess I’m in one of those moods. I apologise, Rifftrax! I’m still leaving my offhand bitchiness in though, since it’s lovingly in the spirit of what you also do.

To say the acting in Star Games is bad is an insult to bad acting in general. The two teenage leads can barely be understood, leaving you wondering whether they’d actually communicated with another human being before. Saying that, I’m sure my acting would have been just as bad at that age. Or the age I am now. Still, the amateurish acting is at the very heart of what is so joyful about this movie. And the cheesy 90s special effects, which would have been considered poor even at the time.

Who knows whether or not Tony Curtis knew where he was or why during the shoot, but he puts the effort in like a fucking pro.

An absolute delight that had me laughing and laughing and laughing. Except when the creepy clown was onscreen. Despite the low budget running-around-in-the-woods antics, there’s enough strangeness from scene to scene to keep you engaged and highly amused.

I took the above screenshot not knowing what to do with it. I just knew it had to be taken. Then I remembered I did this blog series. Hey, give me a break, alcoholism has it’s downsides too, you know!

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Happy New Year!

I’m much more a fan of New Year’s Eve than Christmas, at this point in my life. I put this down to: a) being nonreligious b) being all grown-up and c) being single and living alone. Like many similar crazy shut-ins, I do find myself having to “white knuckle” things until after 25 December. After that, it’s like a great weight has been lifted. Then it’s on to NYE, where I get to celebrate wiping the slate clean and giving life another try.

I’m sure I’ll still manage to fuck up 2026 though.

It has become a tradition for me to watch the 80s Star Trek movies as part of my celebrations, with me now onto The Search for Spock as I type. It’s certainly the best looking of the six. I always forget Christopher Lloyd is in this one. He makes a wonderfully dastardly villain. I still miss Kirsty Alley, but Robin Curtis makes a fine replacement. Apparently, Kim Cattrall’s Valeris in The Undiscovered Country was supposed to be Saavik too, but I’m guessing Kim didn’t want Alley and Curtis’ sloppy thirds. I can understand that. I refer to II, III, and VI as “The Genesis-David Trilogy”, but I’d have been okay with expanding that to “The Genesis-David-Saavik Trilogy”.

Bit of a mouthful though!

My least favourite is The Voyage Home, since it is essentially a retread of The Motion Picture and a silly fish-out-of-water comedy to boot. It’s a fine film, but just not my cup of tea. I enjoy The Final Frontier more than most, as its plot, about a cult leader hijacking the Enterprise to go and find the creator of the universe, being a classic Star Trek storyline. The brainwashing scenes also provide powerful acting moments for our three leads. The campiness of the whole thing is great too, with Uhura’s “sexy” fan dance being the stuff of gay legend. 

I used to watch The Lord of the Rings trilogy as my end of year marathon, but I retired them after awhile. Perhaps I’ll retire Star Trek I-VI eventually too. I wonder what I shall replace them with. Hmmm…

I’ll start partying once I’m well into The Undiscovered country, as I know I’ll pass out before midnight if I begin too early. I know what I’m like.

I hope you all have a great 2026 and are enjoying a marathon of your own!

Live long and prosper, darlings.

Toodles!

Becoming Led Zeppelin (2025) - an emotional reaction

For Rob and Michele Reiner

I thought I would dedicate this to the above recently and tragically departed couple, as the subject of Becoming Led Zeppelin was surely an inspiration for Rob’s very own This Is Spinal Tap and its sequel, now his final work.

When people ask me the ultimate question of musical gender identity: “The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?”, I generally answer: “Led Zeppelin”. I mean, of course it’s partly to be a contrarian prick, for which I am known throughout the lands, but it’s true. My classic rock band of choice was, essentially, a supergroup of hardworking session musicians, bored of the daily grind in the muzak studio, who all wanted to try something more exciting.

We’ve all been there.

I’m not sure how many documentaries I’ve seen about Led Zeppelin, but it’s probably a lot. This one really didn’t provide me with anything new in terms of backstory, but what it does have that no other Led Zeppelin documentary has had before, is bringing Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Paul Jones, and John Bonham out of the shadows and finally having them give their version of events. Which, I must say, makes a nice change from the usual smug music journalists and historians.

I don’t know why I just called them “smug”, but it felt apt. I’m sure they’re all lovely people.

The second half of Becoming Led Zeppelin sags somewhat, due to its heavy reliance on concert footage and, in some cases, playing certain songs in full. Like a video game that relies heavily on “cutscenes”, you start to forget why you sat down in the first place, and so drift off into thought. Well, at least I did. This approach to the final hour means things just sort of fizzle out, with the story of the band ending on a high - their Albert Hall concert - rather than delving into the notorious days of excess and tragedy. Actually, you could quite easily compare this to Supersonic, the documentary following Oasis’ rise and… well, that’s it.

I guess we’ve all heard about the negative stuff, which we can all do without at this stage in our lives.

Page is always a delight to listen to, as he’s such an adorable nerd. He’s certainly not what you’d expect from one of the fathers of hard rock. I could listen to him talk about mic placement and cross-fades all damn day. It’s also nice to finally hear him explain his famous aversion to releasing singles, which makes perfect sense to me now. Sort of. Plant always makes me want to give him a hug, as there’s a contradictory quietness to him that I find heartbreaking. I did want to learn more about his homeless days, having faced the same myself 15-years-ago, but he is noticeably brief on the subject. It’s a dark place to delve into, so I can understand his reticence to elaborate. John Paul Jones is a sweetie. Very posh, although they all are really. It’s heartwarming to hear him talk about his father and how proud the man was of him. You can tell that that has meant more to him than fame and fortune combined. Bless. But, hey, isn’t our parents’ pride what we all want? John Bonham’s echoes from the past are very touching. He sounds like an unpretentious chap. I assume all drummers are, given their profession. Being a boozer myself, I can’t help but sympathise with whatever pain drove him to such extremes. It can happen to the best of us. What a legacy he left though! So nobody can be too judgemental and dismissive of him for his fondness for the odd slurp.

Led Zeppelin and their Albert Hall concert inspired me to pick up guitar again in my mid-20s. I’d learned formally as a kid, but subsequently gave up and forgot everything I’d been taught after my interest failed. I could actually read sheet music too, so you can imagine how much I regret turning my back on it. Oh well, doing bugger-all else seemed like a good idea at the time.

The story of Led Zeppelin isn’t particularly inspirational, given each members’ relative success already by the time they got together, but this documentary is a quaint trip down memory lane for everyone involved and everyone watching. Plus, witnessing Page reclining on his throne in his castle is a true reminder of how fucking massive Led Zeppelin were and are and will always be.

I would say this should act as a good primer for aspiring sound engineers, as there are so few documentaries focussing on that side of the music industry. Which is a shame. There’s only so much concert and tour footage I can take, quite frankly.

I didn’t want to call this a “film review”, as I simply wasn’t in the mood to be so formal. And anything to do with music should be something that reflects your mood. I’m not always one for obligation, so my attitude this morning should come as no surprise.

Well, I feel as though I’ve said enough. I seem to be losing my battle with alcohol at the moment, with today being a slight reprieve, so I’m not sure when I’ll write coherently again. I’m just finding words too devastating to impart right now, as melodramatic as that sounds. There is a chance I think too much about things and wish to drown out the agonising noise, although this film has given me pause for thought on my lifestyle.

Peace and love and good mental health.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!