Having recently discovered the joys of watching B movies while I work out, I’ve run through a fair number of them in the last few weeks. NovySan asked me last night if I was going to do something like Will and Annika’s 200 Westerns; I said I probably should, but I’m not at all sure I’m that organized. There’ve been a few highlights, though, that I’ll try to hit, at least briefly (Carnival of Souls, which might have been more interesting if A) I hadn’t already seen The Sixth Sense, and B) I hadn’t also read How to Survive a Horror Movie;The Lady from Shanghai, which didn’t need to be a B movie, but was; The Bad Seed, which isn’t really a B movie at all; the brilliantly creepy Spider Baby…)

But this post isn’t about any of those films. This post is about the Blood Island Trilogy, and I probably should have saved it until I’ve watched the third film, but they’re just too brilliant not to share.

Shot on shoestring budgets in the Phillipines, these are classic Man in a Rubber Suit Monster Movies with more blood and boobs than comparable Hollywood films could have slipped past the censors, even on a platter of entrails. There are man-eating plants (and a beautiful woman who screams and writhes under a puppet tentacle in a way that should have earned her an Oscar for screaming and writhing under a puppet tentacle); there’s the truly horrifying premise of Brides of Blood, that a native god called “The Evil One” is satisfying his lust on the women of the island, and tearing them to pieces in the process; there are atomic mutations that come and go, and somehow affect the island air; there’s a man poisoned by chlorophyll – the doctor’s instructions? “When he comes to, just give him some hot soup – and no green vegetables, of course.” There’s a young woman who “became a whore for love.” (Isn’t that something you wish you’d done yourself?) Oh, and there’s a very scary butterfly cut-out on a string, and a lot of orgiastic dancing. Because we all know how those exotic island women love to dance.

If you’d like a more coherent review, David Zuzelo’s done great write-ups on all three films here (with screenshots!), but if you’ve got an Internet connection and a few hours to kill… Just go wallow in Blood.

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Now, I want to write a horror movie in which the only victims are slender, intelligent white men.

Who’s with me?

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Maybe next week we’ll watch Apocalypse Now. Or something else that makes NovySan’s drop when I say “I haven’t seen that.”

Meanwhile, my friend Be the Boy posted a list awhile ago of Iconic Films He’s Never Seen (followed by lists of books he hasn’t read and band he’s chosen to ignore) – check it out, then tell me what cultural touchstone’s you’ve missed.

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Peter Hartlaub’s written a column on surviving a zombie invasion, which I discovered via a link from The Apocalyptic Workout, wherein the Slackmistress notes that some may wonder whether she will continue with her end-of-the-world fitness program now that the writer’s strike is over.

There’ve been several lovely zombie stories in Weird Tales recently, including zombie love stories by Joe R. Lansdale (“On the Far Side of the Cadillac Desert with Dead Folks”), Lisa Mantchev (“Six Scents”
), Carrie Vaughn (“Kitty’s Zombie New Year”) and Michael Boatman (“A Father’s Work”).

So I’ve been thinking about zombies.

Which is why, when a helicopter passed over just a few minutes ago, I tensed and wondered whether I could get to the machete in time.

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