Dir: Michael Reeves.
Cast: Barbara Steele, John Karlsen, Ian Oglivy, Mel Welles, Jay Riley, Richard Watson, Edward B. Randolph, Tony Antonelli, Peter Grippe, Lucretia Love, Kevin Welles and Woody Welles
"What's troubling you? For running over a chicken
you won't get more than two years."
you won't get more than two years."
Transylvania, 1765 and X Factor Hobbit Eoghan Quigg (or a really scary lookie-likie) stumbles thru' the bushes towards the local church.
It appears a wicked witch (with eyebrows that even angel voiced mentalist Susan Boyle would die for) has kidnapped his sister.
Goaded on by a pervy priest and a dwarf in what looks like a Santa suit, a squad of gypsies decide to confront the aforementioned witchy woman at her house.
I mean cave.
Vardella (for it is she), is (quite rightly) bloody furious at having the Emmerdale omnibus interrupted by a bunch of pikeys so decides to teach them a lesson by attempting to bite their faces off with her scabby, shite filled mouth.
"Shite in mah...."
fuck it, you know the rest.
fuck it, you know the rest.
Fighting a losing battle, our hairy eyed chum is dragged kicking and screaming to the local lake where she's tied to the unholy Seat of Chastisement (Ikea, $649) before having red hot nails hammered into her hands and finally being dunked repeatedly into the dark, icy water until she drowns.
A wee bit like Noel's House Party but funny.
But before she breaths her last, Vardella curses the villagers....and their descendants.
Spooky.
Quigg: enough to make a pedo vomit.
Jump forward two hundred years and newlywed groovers Veronica (Steele - meow) and Philip (Ogilvy - easy tiger) are enjoying a driving holiday in evil Communist-controlled Transylvania, a country "full of weirdies and werewolves." if Veronica is to be believed, tho' from the evidence on show it appears to be chock-a-block with old men riding bicycles.
Badly.
Meow.
Studly Philip, feeling a steamer coming on decides that they should rest up at the local hotel and on arrival, get chatting to the lecherous, alcoholic, rapist of an owner, the fantastically named Mr. Ladislav Groper (Welles of The original Little Shop Of Horrors and Lady Frankenstein ) about good places to sight see, which of the local teens are the easiest to get drunk and molest and the dish of the day.
Our dashing duo also come across the famed demon hunter and faded aristocrat Count Von Helsing (a pissed Karlsen), who takes a break from hanging around the local kiddies play park to regale them with tales of vampires and the like.
Retiring for an evening of rumpy pumpy (and luscious close-ups of Barbara's milky white and incredibly smooth topside of breast) Philip and Veronica's sexy shenanigans are rudely interrupted by Groper sweatily wanking outside their window.
Feel free to go get tissues and a Pot Noodle,
I'll still be here when you're done.
I'll still be here when you're done.
Furious, Philip asserts his manliness by kicking the shite out of the hotel owner and leaving first thing the next day without paying the bill.
Driving along the deserted country roads and enjoying a giggle after seeing the funny side of someone sneakily cracking one off over a half dressed Barbara Steele (look we're all guilty of it) the couples Volkswagen inexplicably goes out of control, weaving from side to side before narrowly missing a lorry full of chickens and ending up in a lake.
The very lake that the angry villagers drowned Vardella centuries before.
Double spooky.
Babs was shocked to find Simon
Templer swimming out of her arse.
Templer swimming out of her arse.
Philip, with the help of the lorry driver, manages to make it to shore, but Veronica is nowhere to be seen (hint: try the passenger seat or behind the sofa, that's where I usually find stuff) leaving Philip to pass out whilst sobbing like a wee lassie.
Taken back to Groper's and but to bed, Philip is unaware that a second body has been dragged from the lake and is currently dripping all over the sprouts in the kitchen but it isn't Veronica.
Can you hazard a guess as to who it is?
Yup, it’s Vardella, back from her watery grave and all set for her revenge (and a fair amount of mooth shite-in if she's lucky).
Luckily schoolyard stalker and ghost buster Von Helsing (remember him?) is quick on the scene to fill Philip (phnarrr) in on the back story and point out to anyone who'll listen (which is no one frankly) that "Vardella has returned and she's chosen to possess Veronica's spirit".
"How much longer till you show me your puppies?"
If this wasn't drama enough, back at the hotel Groper is drunk and attempting to molest his niece (Love, from the Pam Grier classic Naked Warriors in a blink and miss it cameo) whilst Fred the chicken van owner is worried the police will arrest him for causing the accident with the car in the first place.
Remembering that this is, in fact a horror movie, the Count has a plan that will restore Veronica’s identity (and shapely figure) and lift the witch’s curse once and for all.
All he has to do to accomplish this is stick his pinky finger in her eye thereby releasing the maggots trapped in her skull and bringing her back to life.
He can then chase her around town and hopefully persuade her to sit back on the big chair to get redunked in the lake.
I bet you all saw that one coming.
Ian Ogilvy, up the casino, Benidorm, 1966.
But with the local fascist bootboys on their tail and Groper hungry for ass (man or otherwise) will our heroes be able to destroy the witch and repair the trusty VW before, well before Vardella does any bad stuff?
Steele: no excuse needed.
Boy genius director Michael (Witchfinder General, The Sorcerors) Reeves first movie, The She Beast may look like a slipshod low budget shlocker but peel back the thin net curtain of shoddiness and there's a real gem underneath.
Unfairly dismissed by arsey Reeves fans and the type of folk that talk loudly about film in cinema foyes, it's true that the film is crudely made and cursed with a (occassionaly misjudged) vein of comedy that is in danger of capsizing the whole proceedings at any moment, but as far as debuts go, it's gloriously watchable and hideously silly at the same time.
Shot on the cheap (and on the sly) in Italy after the wily producers had managed to convince the local authorities that they were making a documentary therefore enabling them to apply for the lowest location rates, and with a screenplay (of sorts) written by Reeves but under the alias of Michael Byron (to make the crew look larger) the director cast his best mate in the lead role and shot all of Steele's footage in a single 22-hour-long period as to reduce the actress's cost it takes a director of rare talent to produce something as enjoyable as it is under those conditions.
And enjoyable it is, from it's camp as pants cast to it's moments of sly humour and gore that culminates in a 15 minute (!) car chase tribute to the Keystone Cops The She Beast never outstays it's welcome and, like the awkward best friend you only used for sex when you were younger or the local Tesco home shopping van, never fails to deliver.
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