Monkey Dust

From 2003-2005 the trusty, silky voiced, Queen's English BBC produced and released Monkey Dust.

If you haven't heard of it, go and find it at all speed.



A mix of animation styles from various studios, this sick, twisted, and wickedly funny comedy mish-mash knew no bounds. From paedophiles, cancer, suicide, and bestiality, to novice cottaging, telephone waiting queues, twats, and serial killers, no bar was too low, no line to far to cross, and recross, and the cross again for good measure.

Partly the brainchild of the late Harry Thompson (sadly taken from us by "Closure"), this epic series was trash in all senses of the word. And it had an epic soundtrack to boot. I'll never again hear Goldfrapp's Lovely Head without thinking of Clive up to his nuts in a King Charles Spaniel, or the denoument of Pulp's Sunrise without seeing Ivan Dobsky his... new... space-hopper...



And now, hopefully, neither will you!

Though some of the references are dated, and others peculiarly British, there's plenty here for all and sundry - provided they like the sickest of sick comedy.



A mildly amusing anecdote, if I may.

Some time after watching Monkey Dust, my kids got into a BBC kids show called Octonauts. When watching the Flying Fish episode, when confronted by an injured flying fish, I blurted out 'I never done it! I only said I done it because..." then realised where I was and who I was with. See for yourself (at about (3:44)...



#BBC #Bestiality #Jono #SickCartoons #SickFucks

Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band


I have seen the light. An atheist no more, I can say to you, hand on heart, that there is a God. And, what's more I can prove it.

If you're anything like me•, you've probably been wondering what would happen if Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees battled the combined evil forces of Donald Pleasence, Alice Cooper, Aerosmith, and, er... Frankie Howerd,


with a glorious medley of Beatles covers.

You haven't?

Well, I have for years. But how, in God's sweet everlasting everything, would I answer this particular conundrum?

Thankfully, less than a year after I was born (how serendipitous — it's almost as if a certain Big Man in the Sky knew I'd want to know in the future...), Hollywood power trio of Michael Schultz, Henry Edwards and Robert Stigwood ("Who?!" I hear you cry) were on hand to answer this question of the ages. In 1978 they directed, wrote and produced Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band!



Now before I go any further in this review, I would just like to reiterate the concept of this film. Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees battle the combined evil forces of Donald Pleasence, Alice Cooper, Aerosmith, and Frankie Howerd with a medley of Beatles covers.

Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees battle the combined evil forces of Donald Pleasence, Alice Cooper, Aerosmith, and Frankie Howerd with a medley of Beatles covers.

Peter! Frampton! And! The! Bee! Gees! Battle! The! Combined! Evil! Forces! Of! Donald! Pleasance!, Alice! Cooper!, Aerosmith!, And! Frankie! Howerd! With! A! Medley! Of! Beatles! Covers!

Has there ever been a more awesome premise for a film in the history of... well the history of blummin' everything???!!!

Why is this film not the ultimate box office master piece, the zenith of artistic endeavour, and still raking in unheard of profits in soundtrack sales, reissues, and remakes?

Well, because it's bloody terrible, that's why!

But, it's terrible to such an incredible degree, that it somehow transcends its innate badness and transforms into a kind of all consuming, anti-naff singularity that sucks all certainty out of mortal minds, and leaves the viewer in inner turmoil, staring, in some kind of twisted hybrid of awe and disgust, positive and negative, yin and yang, at the sparkling teeth and bright colours displayed on the screen (this would make the scariest ever 3D movie, by the way, on account of all the teeth on display) until the grand finale. This simply cannot be the work of mortal men!

So, what is it that makes it so bad?


You mean besides that?

Firstly, it consists of a veritable A-Z of singers who should never have acted in movies, and actors who have no place singing in one. In fact the singers '˜acting' is so bad that all of the spoken dialogue (not just the singers') has been either been overdubbed by George Burns' narrator (Mr Kite...), or cast aside to the editing room floor. There's no denying the talent on display, but sadly that talent is completely misdirected.

Secondly, as a musical, it's about as catchy as the Higgs-Boson - these people have made Beatles songs sound bad!

Thirdly, as a comedy, it's slightly less funny than the Battle of The Somme...

---

The plot, thin as it is, concerns Frampton's Billy Shears and the Gibb bros' Hendersons as the '˜new' Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, who live in twee Heartland USA, wearing their colourful dungarees and pastel shirts, gaily singing and swinging in a white-picket fence world. Soon, their popularity is so great, they are whisked away to the bright lights and hedonistic world of drink and drugs and groupies, as they sign for the villainous D.B. Hoffler (Pleasence), tempted by humorously oversized banknotes and Lucy (Dianne Steinberg) and the Diamonds (Stargard).

Meanwhile, with the Peppers trapped L.A.-L.A. Land, Mean Mr Mustard (Howerd) takes over Heartland by stealing the original Pepper's magical instruments — the only thing that keeps Heartland pure. But Mustard is merely a pawn, carrying out the machinations of the mysterious FVB (later unveiled as Aerosmith as the Future Villain Band), who want to brainwash the kids to get their money. They are helped by the sinister, brainwashing guru, Father Sun (Cooper looking every inch like Frank Zappa),


and the maniacal Dr Maxwell Edison (a scenery chewing Steve Martin cameo).

Can the wholesome Strawberry Fields (Sandy Farina) release the boys from temptation and save Heartland from corrup...

Ah, fuck it. It's completely anti-climactic, anyway. Here's Aerosmith singing ComeTogether, instead.



Let's face it, the plot is irrelevant to this turkey. What's important is the badness, the contrived crowbarring of Beatles' songs into a shitty narrative in a really ham-fisted way. There's greatness and badness in unequal measure, and in a truly surreal scene (which is saying something in the face of all this nuttiness!), Earth Wind & Fire pop up out of nowhere as themselves singing Got To Get You Into My Life!



There's awful comedy, and, more importantly, much funnier unintentional comedy. Best example of the latter being the sombre singing of Golden Slumbers at Strawberry Fields funeral that transitions into Carry That Weight as the pop pallbearers lift the coffin. How did no one realise the connotations of that song choice?

There's the jolly When I'm Sixty Four, turned into a pre-rape gloat from Mean Mr Mustard, there's Steve Martin's insane rendition of Maxwell's Silver Hammer.

There's Robin Gibb's gurning face, and there's Barry Gibb KO-ing Alice Cooper with one punch.

All of this and so much more, including what can only be described as an incredibly fruity rendition of Get Back by gold-clad occasional Fifth Beatle, Billy Preston, appearing as a reincarnated Dr Pep... I mean Sgt Pepper as deus ex machina.





Fruity

Then there's the grand finale. And what a finale it is!

Out of nowhere pop a studio full of '˜70s celebrities to sing Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise). And who are they? Well the full list looks something like this:

Peter Allen, Curtis Mayfield, Keith Allison, Cousin Bruce Morrow (Cousin Brucie), George Benson, Peter Noone, Elvin Bishop, Alan O'Day, Stephen Bishop, Lee Oskar, Jack Bruce, The Paley Brothers, Keith Carradine, Robert Palmer, Carol Channing, Wilson Pickett, "Charlotte, Sharon, and Ula", Anita Pointer, Jim Dandy, Bonnie Raitt, Sarah Dash, Helen Reddy, Rick Derringer,Minnie Riperton, Barbara Dickson, Chita Rivera, Donovan, Johnny Rivers, Randy Edelman, Monte Rock III, Yvonne Elliman, Danielle Rowe, Jose Feliciano, Sha-Na-Na, Leif Garrett, Del Shannon, Geraldine Granger, Joe Simon, Adrian Gurvitz, Seals & Crofts, Billy Harper, Connie Stevens, Eddie Harris, Al Stewart, Heart, John Stewart, Nona Hendryx, Tina Turner, Barry Humphries, Frankie Valli, Etta James, Gwen Verdon, Dr. John, Diane Vincent, Bruce Johnston, Grover Washington, Jr., Joe Lala, Hank Williams Jr., D.C. LaRue, Johnny Winter, Jo Leb,Wolfman Jack, Marcy Levy, Bobby Womack, Mark Lindsay, Alan White, Nils Lofgren, Lenny White, Jackie Lomax, Margaret Whiting, John Mayall, and Gary Wright.

---

So what, you say, has all this nonsense this to do with Jono finding God?

As I said before, nothing so cosmically awesome, yet terrible, could have been born of human hands, or even evolution. Only intelligent design could be responsible for this masterpiece of abomination. Everything about this film is at the same time terrible, and a thing of beauty. It truly is the epitome of the concept of '˜so bad it's good' cinema. It couldn't have happened by accident.

Yes, Sgt Pepper's is my proof that there is a God, and he is surely the very Devil himself - he must be, they do say he gets the best tunes, after all!

So, if your faith has ever been wavering, even in the slightest, here is the answer. Watch the fucking film, already!




•in need of some psychological help

#God #Jono #TheBeatles

A .45 from the Vigilante Man!

Well, here I am. Belatedly hopping on the intro train, as it leaves the station (and hopefully not fumbling my grasp on the rail, and spectacularly flailing for a few seconds, before crashing with a sickening thud onto the rails, and lying in a crumpled heap, wondering what's worse, the embrassment at the fall, or white-hot shoot pain of my fractured physical self...).



Basic facts - I'm a Geordie - technically that makes me English, but really I'm Geordie first and foremost. I live in New Zealand with Mrs M, and the three little M's - daughters all. Can't leave the house without tripping over hobbits, elves, and whatnot. It's a bloody pain when you're putting the bins out, I can tell you. The scenery is breathtaking, though - I've been here for more than a decade, and I'm still blown away when I look out of the window.

Oh, and we also have our very own white trash - The Bogans!
https://tvnz.co.nz/seven-sharp/makes-bogan-video-5519288

Me and pop-culture:
I was born the day after The King died, and sadly, rather than being The King Reborn, I have neither the musical ability, smoldering looks, money, or killer side-burns, that made a generation of ladies wet their pants and scream.

My formative years, in terms of pop-culture at least, were the eighties - a decade which has left an indelible mark on my psyche. A chance purchase of The Incredible Hulk #297 ignited an uhealthy interest of comic books (bear in mind that in the UK at the time comics were not at all cool outside a sub-culture of nerds, geeks and later goths), augmenting (with adamantuium, naturally) an already strong love of reading. Flights of fancy were further extended by film and TV. I love the escapism, and imagination.

I inherited my love of films, and the wide range of trivia that's lodged in my grey matter, from my dad. He introduced me to the world of 'so bad it's good', B-movies, and so on. He also gave me a good grounding in good-good stuff as well, and I'm one of the few people I know who likes films that are black & white, and even ones with subtitles! I'm a fan of pretty much anything, as long as it's entertaining. He also introduced me to a world of music that went beyond the pop crap of the day, and non-superhero comics - the likes of Robert Crumb, and so on.

I've never been the most social (I met my wife in a fit of uncharacteristically sociality), always on (or slightly off) the fringe of the social groups. Generally, that guy in the background who doesn't talk much to others and gets tongue-tied around girls was me. Other factors left me feeling like the man of a thousand faces, but never knowing which one was the real me. Not until recently, anyway.

Hmmm. This shouldn't be a sob story - that's uncalled for.

Me and trash:
I think my love of trash started back in the '50s, (although I don't look old enough). There's just something about that decade that just screams trash and sleaze to me. I think it's born of several factors, amongst which are chiefly:

1. The cracking veneer of respectability. People have always had dirty little secrets, but the explosion of TV, lurid magazines and the like, seemed to start breaking through in the fifties. The nuclear family of Mom, Pop, Junior and the chick seemed so outwardly proper, but just behind the facade Mom was screwing the negro gardener, Pop was hiring rent boys, Junior was mainlining H, and the chick was banging the biker gang.
2. The birth of Rock & Roll, the Beat generation, the burgeoning civil rights movement - times were starting to change, and people were starting to take risks - this echoed through art as well as society.

There are more, but that's perhaps something for another post, but I say there's no denying the influence had on trash luminaries - in cinema John Waters and David Lynch, literature James Ellroy, comics Daniel Clowes and Charles Burns, music Frank Zappa & The Mothers - all seem to have this '50s style, with the trashy uderbelly becoming exposed.

What I really vibe to is Exploitation cinema - not every kind, but it's just what I want to watch. Chop-socky, Bruceploitation, Blaxploitation, Revenge films, Zombie films, Gang films... I love 'em. I love the cheapness, the trashyness, the grittiness, the bad acting and FX, the killer soundtracks and lurid titles. Man, I'm getting shivers just thinking about it.

I tend go through stages of just being into one sub-genre, then I move onto the next - I've been on a horror kick for about 18 months, but at the minute, I've a hankering for Urban Violence - hence my role as the Vigilante Man.

Like many others, I'd love to create. I have a thousand ideas - from kernal to fully fledged - jostling for space in my cranium, and a million scraps of paper and Word docs cluttering up my space, both real and virtual, with a scribble or a doodle on. Some (admittedly few) I think are genuine contenders for being actually good, most are rubbish, and several have mated with each other and left bastard hybrid ideas gestating in my think-box. These thoughts cover a wide range of media - e.g. I have an entire comic-book universe, complete from 1930s - present day curdling away in there, next to a hundred film ideas, a soap opera (based on my and the wife's families), paintings, a prose & animated homage to Lovevraft, a LOtR rip-off fantasy trilogy, and many, many more. All share the fact that they'll probably never see the light of day, because I have a strong tendency toward self-doubt and procrastination.

I also do a fine line in voices - probably should have been a voice actor in cartoons, but, hey I got a steady job and a family to feed!

What do I want from this site?
A cool place to hang out online, with like-minded guys and gals. To find out new shit, to get some sweet recs, and generally have a good bit of craic. And hopefully I can contribute something similar to others. That would be nice. If nothing else, I reckon I'll get your word-count-per-post average up!

So that's me in a (large) nutshell. A comic-book nerd, poor(ish) social skills, trivia buff, and tenuous connection to Elvis. I'm like a latter day Clarence Worley, though I haven't married a call-girl, shot a pimp, found a suitcase full of coke, been chased by Sicillians, or lost an eye in a gunfight with police in a Hollywood director's hotel suite. I do love a Sonny Chiba Triple Feature, though...
https://archive.org/details/TheStreetFighterTrilogy

#Introduction #Jono #VigilanteMan