playaway.

It's been a helluvah week here what with all three of the unholy tiny trio housebound suffering from some particularly virulent version of the Umbrella virus, Mrs. Lamont coughing and shaking in the corner and myself, whilst seemingly immune to the scabby plague sits feverishly and scared, attempting to find a cure as the undead hordes of Partick (that's in Scotland by the way) slowly lumber toward our crumbling castle home whilst bravely trying (and failing) to watch a few films from the ever increasing pile of shiny shite on the table.

Poor Cassidy was so feverish he attempted even to eat a Jess Franco box set mistaking it for a block of Galaxy chocolate.

Tho' he may have just fancied seeing some busty women being whipped whilst they lie bound in chains in a damp dungeon.

I mean, he is nearly four after all.

"He's no Jean Rollin Dad!"

Anyway, as I was about to consigned myself to a life free from celluloid stinkers I was surprised to find my doctor prescribing a course of early seventies Euro-porn vampire flicks as the only thing that would cure my malaise.

No matter how uncomfortable this treatment would be it was my last hope and if it did fail at least me and the little fella will get to enjoy some father and son time, bonding over a few 'arthouse' classics.

I mean you can't start a love of cult cinema early enough these days.

The Devil's Plaything (AKA Veil of Blood, Das Schloss der schwarzen Hexen, Den pornografiske jungfrun, Plaything of the Devil, The Curse of the Black Sisters, Vampire Ecstasy and probably dozens more. 1973)
Dir: Joseph W. Sarno.
Cast: Marie Forså, Nadia Henkowa, Anke Syring, Ulrike Butz, Nico Wolf, Flavia Keyt, Irina Kant and a few other folk with even higher Scrabble scoring names.

“The hour of the wampire draws closer.”

Opening with shots of a dark foreboding castle somewhere in deepest darkest Europe (I'm thinking Germany by the size of the lady gardens on show) and to the trippy sounds of a conga beat, we find ourselves privy to a groovy girls night-in being held in a cosy dungeon where a busty bevy of wobbly arsed women are undulating sexily (well kind of) to the tribal rhythms.

Leading the festivities is a big of hip, poppy of eyes and scarily simian faced woman named Wanda (Henkowa from the classic Bibi: Confessions of Sweet Sixteen and the not so classic Baby Tramp) whose idea of a good time seems to involve aggressively touching up women and shoving her ample arse into the camera at any given opportunity.

No complaints from the Cassman so far then.

The party reaches it's climax with the announcement of the evenings raffle draw and after yanking the winning ticket from between a black lasses buttocks, Wanda fetches the winner (a lovely dirty - in both senses of the word - blonde named Brenda) and lays her on the dining table before getting Brenda to masturbate herself silly with a big black dildo.

And all this before the opening titles.

I've no idea how they're going to top that but with the introduction of the blonde bucktoothed bimbette Helga (Forså, whose performance as Lajla the girl in aquarium in the smash hit Sex in Sweden is still talked about in hushed tones on the internet to this day) and the council estate Marlene Dietrich-alike Monika (Butz, star of Love in 3D and What Schoolgirls Don't Tell) you can kinda guess where they're heading.

How your Mum could afford your Christmas
presents when you were younger.
Happy now?

Turns out that this gorgeous (well, I say gorgeous...) pair are descendants of a lusty lesbian vampire cum posh bird Danielle Varga and our sexy strumpets are in line to inherit all her wealth.

Kerching.

But in order to collect their inheritance Helga and Monika must live in Varga’s spooky castle for a year, thus giving wicked Wanda plenty of time to seduce Monika and complete her plan of placing the revived spirit of Danielle Vaga inside the poor girls body.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well apart from Monika being completely straight and there being absolutely no hot girl on girl action in the next ninety minutes?

"Don't look down hen but wee
Jimmy Krankie is trying to shag your leg".

Before we get a chance to let the horror of that situation sink in, a battered old jalopy breaks down right outside the castles gates, I mean come on what are the chances of that?

Turns out that the car belongs to the local doctor (and expert in supernatural activities) Julia Malenkow (big haired Syring from Sexy Susan Sins Again) and her hunkily funky sideburned brother Peter (Confessions of a Sexy Photographer star and ex-Gladiator - possibly - Wolf) who decide, after a wee bit of uncomfortable flirting, to see if the castle has a phone that they can use.

Upon opening the door Wanda, now wearing a harsh school ma'am bun and a centre parting that looks like it's been burnt into her skull thereby revealing even more of her frightening monkey mouth introduces herself as the castles 'housekeeper' and invites the siblings inside to meet the house-mates and enjoy a nice bit of tea and toast.

Yum.

However, behind the smile (well grimace) Wanda is worried as to the real reason that a doctor of spookiness has turned up at the castle at the moment she's about to put her lesbian resurrection plan into operation and during supper she subtly asks Julia if she's just on holiday or if she's visiting because she think there's a bit of kinky vampirism afoot?

Julia, scoffing another Mini-Roll responds (rather enigmatically) by saying “I'm here to study the superstitious beliefs of the villagers.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow before deciding that Julia actually isn't too bad looking and she might enjoy a wee bit of the Sapphic action too.

A sly wink from Wanda is all that's needed for the local lesbian vampire coven (remember the pre-credits?) to begin seducing the house guests via the medium of modern dance and vaguely rude sounding German phrases.

The competition for Ms. Pikey 1977 was hotting up.

As the disco seduction continues the guests all become much sweatier and much more husky which, in turn means Wanda's powers of persuasion become stronger.

But not strong enough to seduce Julia.

Tho' she has started to rub her brothers inner thigh whilst licking her lips, which is nice.

By this time our heroine has begun to notice something is amiss (the fact that everyone else has begun mounting candlesticks and anything remotely cock shaped has probably given her cause for concern too) and takes the precaution of hanging a huge necklace of garlic around her brothers big thick neck before taking to stalking the castle grounds waving a crucifix around like some harsh faced middle-aged Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

On crack.

"It doesn't matter how hard I turn
the dial I can't get Radio One!"

So will Julia be able to resist her brother's yummy manliness?

Will Wanda's plan succeed?

Will the all girl vampire dance troupe decide to enter Britain's Got Talent?

And most importantly will Monika fix her make-up?

From the mind of 60's sex-ploitation legend Joseph Sarno, The Devil's Plaything takes the vampire genre by the scruff of it's neck whilst tugging hard on it's genitalia to produce a warm and sticky mix of sex, horror, more sex and dancing.

The more appropriate title of Vampire Ecstasy suits the movie's tone better tho' given the distinct lack of neck biting on show, replacing as it does the usual vampire bloodlust with an ability to control their victims minds via the power of pure sexual arousal.

Which shouldn't come as any real surprise seeing as the movie is really just one big lesbian porn film masquerading as a horror flick so as to not embarrass the producers parents.

This doesn't mean that the film isn't enjoyable (and sometimes even for the reasons the makers intended), it's heady mix of (hopefully intentional) stilted dialogue, none too subtle phallic imagery and desperate attempt to appeal to both the art and porn crowd raising more giggles than erections.

Tho' scarily there are a group of chin stroking movie critiquing no-hopers that harp on about how similar (and in some ways much more successful) Joseph W. Sarno's masterpiece is when compared to the works of Ingmar Bergman.

It's true, I've met some of them.

And yes before you ask, none of them have girlfriends.

"Ooh Vic! I've fallen".

Sweaty, sleazy and a wee bit queasy, The Devil's Plaything comes across as a better made, (slightly) bigger budgeted version of any Jean Rollin movie you care to choose but populated by far less attractive actresses wearing the type of nightmarish Bri-Nylon fashions that even your Gran wouldn't be seen dead in.

Damning with faint praise?

Well it is what I do best.