*Some SPOILERS*
Oops, here's one not to rodomontade about too loudly. I saw it in four chunks over three days so I lost the plot a bit. No matter, it's a patchwork of other people's plots anyway, not least a chainsaw assault that kills the film's tenuous credibility stone dead. This sort of hokum needs a certain other worldly style to it rather than the bog standard Brit-cop TV approach we get, albeit with extra blooded lamb cutlets.
Does this matter? There is a fabulous amount of bonking in it. Craig Fairbrass, playing a journalist, is attractive and charming but grates with his less than beatific vocal style. He is the man with a bonking problem. The problem being he never gets a rest from it. So priapic is he that even in the rare moments of the film where he refrains from the afore-mentioned activity, that is unconcious, someone wakes him up and forces him to do it some more. Even when he's not doing it, he's dreaming about it. What really makes you turn against the film is he doesn't appear to enjoy it, apart from the first encounter on a living room floor with a women he's barely acquainted with. In one memorable scene he is serviced by this women in the most energetic display of rumpy pumpy since 'Last Tango In Paris', only to be forced to admit that he had not reached the peak, so to speak. We, the audience, are astonished. After all that, the earth should have moved for a paraplegic. In fairness, Mr Fairbrass has a great deal on his mind, not least the fact that certain inhabitants of Wales seem to sport eyeliner until well into their sixties, and that's just the men. Also, a sinister Detective Inspector that is the bane of his life is wearing an outfit not seen since Roger De Bris's assistant in 'The Producers'. How does he get away with being dressed like that down the nick? Dark forces are certainly afoot but seeing as Mr Fairbrass is permanently horizontal without clothes, how is he going to find out? In an amazing sequence, he is forced into another energetic round of 'hows-your-father?' By a bunch of slavering pagans on a make shift altar. Goodness, this low budget film is definately worth a deferred payment deal, but is Mr Fairbrass grateful? Does the earth move for him this time? Sadly, the painful and protracted gurning he displays suggests he is experiencing a vodka enema rather than the overdue release we are expecting from him. There is a reason for all this preoccupation with procreation, not least the lack of anything else to do in Wales. However, the knowledge of this is likely to set back the careful rehabilitation, nay acceptance of paganism ventured on such shows like 'Buffy, the Vampire Slayer'.
Overall, I can't see the point of this film or British films in general. Lets face it, the Americans do this sort of thing better and we'd be better suited spending time trying to sort out our NHS, which incidently gets treated with an almost uncanny documentary realism in 'Darklands'. Poor Mr Fairbrass is in hospitable after a dog bite, forcing him to be horizontal without any frenzied sexual activity for once. Goodness, how will he cope? A doctor walks in with two burly minders, squeezing a huge hypordermic and promptly attacks him. In a hilarious 'Carry On' sequence, Mr Fairbrass is chased along hospital corridors in a wheelchair, still pulling faces and looking thoroughly miserable. I'm was just thankful to see him sitting down. After all that bedroom activity he's a man that certainly needs the rest.
Oops, here's one not to rodomontade about too loudly. I saw it in four chunks over three days so I lost the plot a bit. No matter, it's a patchwork of other people's plots anyway, not least a chainsaw assault that kills the film's tenuous credibility stone dead. This sort of hokum needs a certain other worldly style to it rather than the bog standard Brit-cop TV approach we get, albeit with extra blooded lamb cutlets.
Does this matter? There is a fabulous amount of bonking in it. Craig Fairbrass, playing a journalist, is attractive and charming but grates with his less than beatific vocal style. He is the man with a bonking problem. The problem being he never gets a rest from it. So priapic is he that even in the rare moments of the film where he refrains from the afore-mentioned activity, that is unconcious, someone wakes him up and forces him to do it some more. Even when he's not doing it, he's dreaming about it. What really makes you turn against the film is he doesn't appear to enjoy it, apart from the first encounter on a living room floor with a women he's barely acquainted with. In one memorable scene he is serviced by this women in the most energetic display of rumpy pumpy since 'Last Tango In Paris', only to be forced to admit that he had not reached the peak, so to speak. We, the audience, are astonished. After all that, the earth should have moved for a paraplegic. In fairness, Mr Fairbrass has a great deal on his mind, not least the fact that certain inhabitants of Wales seem to sport eyeliner until well into their sixties, and that's just the men. Also, a sinister Detective Inspector that is the bane of his life is wearing an outfit not seen since Roger De Bris's assistant in 'The Producers'. How does he get away with being dressed like that down the nick? Dark forces are certainly afoot but seeing as Mr Fairbrass is permanently horizontal without clothes, how is he going to find out? In an amazing sequence, he is forced into another energetic round of 'hows-your-father?' By a bunch of slavering pagans on a make shift altar. Goodness, this low budget film is definately worth a deferred payment deal, but is Mr Fairbrass grateful? Does the earth move for him this time? Sadly, the painful and protracted gurning he displays suggests he is experiencing a vodka enema rather than the overdue release we are expecting from him. There is a reason for all this preoccupation with procreation, not least the lack of anything else to do in Wales. However, the knowledge of this is likely to set back the careful rehabilitation, nay acceptance of paganism ventured on such shows like 'Buffy, the Vampire Slayer'.
Overall, I can't see the point of this film or British films in general. Lets face it, the Americans do this sort of thing better and we'd be better suited spending time trying to sort out our NHS, which incidently gets treated with an almost uncanny documentary realism in 'Darklands'. Poor Mr Fairbrass is in hospitable after a dog bite, forcing him to be horizontal without any frenzied sexual activity for once. Goodness, how will he cope? A doctor walks in with two burly minders, squeezing a huge hypordermic and promptly attacks him. In a hilarious 'Carry On' sequence, Mr Fairbrass is chased along hospital corridors in a wheelchair, still pulling faces and looking thoroughly miserable. I'm was just thankful to see him sitting down. After all that bedroom activity he's a man that certainly needs the rest.