Friday, April 29, 2011


Wow, can't believe Vice even had translated the first giallo reviews I did into French. Anyway, never mind that, here's a mixed bag of more recent releases.

Bedevilled (*****)
another modern Korean masterpiece; the beautiful Hae-won is forced to take a vacation on a remote island after troubles at her workplace and reunites with a childhood friend - the drama that unfolds is as unflinchingly violent and shocking as it is poetic and beautiful, whilst the film's ending is extraordinarily moving in its quiet nuanced symbolism; highly recommended

The Jail The Women's Hell (**)
even though the golden era for Italian sleaze cinema has, sadly, long since passed, it hasn't stopped Bruno Mattei, and you can't help admiring him for that; unfortunately, TJTWH never really transcends its cheap shot-on-video values despite an inordinate amount of women's prison fetishism, game participation by the Filipino girls used as extras, and even some nostalgic Deodatoesque elements of the cannibal genre thrown into the mix towards the end

Re-Cut (**)
you can't beat shaky-cam horror at its best, even the not-so-good ones are watchable, something I guess that has a lot to do with the self-imposed obstructions placed upon the format by definition (as with the Dogma rules, for example) - Re-Cut gets so much right for the first tense hour, as three film-makers go to investigate a macabre killing in Wisconsin, but when a simple resolution to the proceedings would suffice, everything gets very silly in an orgy of implausibility; interestingly, you can tell the that the movie's going to implode when a musical score is sneakily incorporated as the protagonists are rooting around an abandoned house

The Super (*)
dreadful worthless attempt at making old school grindhouse with a group of porn quality actors as totally unbelievable tenants of a New York tenement; also, if you're going down the retro path then at least use original film stock, the digital application of those grainy filters should be outlawed

Burlesque (*)
ever seen one of those SMS 'competitions' along the lines of: what is the capital of France a) Tokyo b) London or c) ***PARIS***? well, Burlesque is as insulting in the same way; the only reason for checking it out was for its frequently quoted comparisons to the incomparably brilliant Showgirls - and well, no, Showgirls, it most definitely ain't, and Aguilera and Cher are laughingly miscast as the female leads; by the way, still ranting, I call bullshit on burlesque - a practice for women (and men) who want to be ogled on a stage but are too self-conscious or ugly to strip


Wednesday, April 27, 2011

HK47 9

Cats, in my experience, usually hate having clothes and accoutrements foisted on them, and yet this handsome puss seems remarkably serene in this, quite frankly, ludicrous get-up.

HK47 8
HK47 7
HK47 6

Monday, April 25, 2011


(News Of The World, 25/4/11)
I've just discovered a load of old photos and letters proving that my girlfriend had secret sex with her lover in our bed. I'm gutted.
I'm 27 and my girlfriend is 24. Everything was fine at first but six months into the relationship she wanted us to split up. She started seeing another guy but ended it with him after a few months and we got back together.
We've been happy since and living together for two years, but we recently moved house and I found all these photos and letters while clearing out our bedroom. They proved that she was seeing this guy throughout the first six months we were together and having a full-on sexual relationship with him. She used her phone to text him under her best friend's name so I wouldn't find out. She used to sneak to his to see him. She invited him to all her family parties and even invited him to a ball. She had sex with him on so many occasions, often in the same bed we slept in. She'd kiss me goodbye, telling me she loves me and then catch a train to see him.
She took him to her brother's party even though it was on the same night I crashed my car. Even this didn't wake her up from her deceit. She's lied endlessly to cover this up but she can't deny it now. I'm heartbroken, humiliated and disgusted, but can't help loving her.
She says she is deeply in love with me and that over the last two years she has been open and honest with me apart from this. But I don't know if I can carry on knowing what I know. 

Am I a mug to stay with her?

Uncle William says:

(Daily Star 22.4.11)
There's a girl at work who I really fancy but I just don’t know where I stand with her.
She’s been working there a few months and we have been smiling and chatting to each other from day one. My workmates tell me that when I’m not in, she’s always talking about me. Recently I have been making excuses to go into her department and I cannot resist flirting with her.
Two weeks ago she gave me a cuddle and a peck on my cheek. I said that I’d give her a lift home after work and we chatted and got on really well. And last week I was getting a drink from the machine and she came over and gave me another cuddle. I said I’d take her home again and while I was driving, I suggested we went for a drink. She said she couldn’t that night as she was busy but she added: “I won’t say never.”
I’ve now found out from another girl in her department that she actually has a boyfriend, even though she’s never mentioned him to me. I’ve heard that they have been together for over a year and are going on holiday together this summer. So now I’m really very confused.
Our firm is closed for a few days over Easter so I won’t be able to ask her about her boyfriend. But I just don’t understand why she’s not been truthful. I don’t know where I stand and I think she’s just playing games with me.

Uncle William says:
First of all, her boyfriend is her problem and not yours.
But seriously, never mind that - it must drive women absolutely insane to hear guys come out with ' I don't know where I stand with her', 'I was looking for the right signal', and suchlike.
These are the very words of the revolving door practitioner, the gawping needy horn dog, the impotent circling bowfin, the backsliding doggie-dinner-bowl dime-a-dozen chump. Each and every one so desperate to get his very own chance to impress her, any her, with his small-talk prospectus of bullshit achievements, possessions, experiences.
It's a fatal human behavioural flaw that allows us to believe that if we play the numbers game of trying the same thing over and over, eventually we'll succeed. Fuck that shit, it doesn't work, it will never work. I had to learn that and so can you.
If you like someone enough, you just take them. You're courteous, relaxed, and fun to be with, right? Good. But above all, remember that word, take. You're going to find out if she's woman enough for you. You take the initiative, you take her by the hand, you take her some place, you take her in your arms, you take her sexually. You take her on an adventure.



What price a single letter. The 'christianos' reference in a passage from the earliest extant version of Tacitus' Annals has for so long, for believers, served as a singularly vital piece of 'proof' for a historical Jesus that can be invoked and relied upon. It's cited everywhere, by most academic publications, even ones you'd think should know better.

Of course, the Bible and related history books over the ages are so full of interpolations and deletions and forgeries and manipulations and alterations that, without discoveries such as the Dead Sea Scrolls or other original papyrological documents, it's extremely challenging to attempt to unravel who wrote what and when with any degree of scientific certitude. In fact Tacitus' 'torched Christians' passage may be entirely fake, his later one-sentence background reference to 'Christus' most probably is an interpolation, based on contextual and inexplicably erroneous factual elements contained therein. What you can be sure about is the ruthless intent to perpetuate beliefs in these fables over the centuries leading to today and beyond. The intent to make believe mythology as real history as a means of exercising power and influence.

In 2009, Erik Zara made a fascinating reinvestigation of the Tacitus reference where you can actually see exactly how the original  'chrestianos' (= the good) was worked over and by whom. Pious forgery at work.


Thursday, April 21, 2011


Uncle William
oops, this Uncle William business is getting a bit out of hand - the blog had about four times the usual number of daily visitors last Tuesday and there have already been several, seemingly genuine and sincere, emails from all over the place soliciting help

Cut Hands
preorders for the 23/5/11 official release date are now available from Susan Lawly, 2x special exclusive Cut Hands art postcards with each copy while stocks last - read more

Disco Caligula 4
in anticipation of his set at this year's Gallery Event Berlin a week on Saturday, DJ Benetti has just unchained (for those of us thus inclined) his new fourth Disco Caligula mix: a capricious new odyssey within the magical paradise of Rimini discotheques circa '83


Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Monday, April 18, 2011


(Daily Star Sunday, 16/4/11)
I’m only turned on by powerful men. It doesn’t matter how old, big-headed and ugly they are – if they wield authority then I’m hooked. I’m not interested in pretty boys or the geeks with “nice personalities” my friends are always trying to set me up with. I like a man with balls of steel and an utterly ruthless streak.
At the moment I’m sleeping with the head of our security division at work. He’s twice my age, overweight and vile but I just can’t resist him. No one else in our building can stand him and they call him The Rottweiler.
But I only have to catch sight of him storming down the office and I’m so turned on. We meet up for sex twice a week at a hotel in town. Our love-making is hard-core, passionate and strong. I get him to do impressions of himself shouting at my colleagues and it drives me wild. But the moment I’m alone again, I feel like trash.
My “tough guy” lovers are always married or in long-term relationships  – and they certainly aren’t interested in anything significant with me. Plus they’re not very nice men.
I’ve quickly learned you don’t get to the top of your game by being a pushover. I’ve been hurt and regularly get tossed aside by my power-crazed men once my usefulness is over. A lover at an old job once got me sacked because he was falling in love with me and didn’t need the distraction. I was quietly paid off and told not to talk about it.
Now I spend my holidays and birthdays alone as my lovers are tied up with work or family. My best friend keeps asking me why I make life so complicated for myself but I can’t help only being attracted to bastards.

Uncle William says:
Oh, give us a break, the overweight head of your 'security division' a powerful man? More total wanker than tough guy tyrant.
Despite their ostensibly being exceptionally conversant and fluent in the idiom of relationship issues, and despite conventional wisdom, women are betrayed by their cunts at least as easily as men are led by their cocks. Betrayed because the qualities that trigger to get you so helplessly wet now are those that later in that man, perversely, are going to seem so unappealing: insecurity, possessiveness, jealousy, pettiness, vanity.
While I understand that attraction is not a choice but something that happens, I'm not letting you off that easily while you're running this loneliness racket.
The problem is you. You're not very nice, are you? Even these losers you're shagging would want to stick around and spend time with you if you were likeable enough. Quit this fucking delusion, get yourself an honest personality makeover. That's when things will begin to change.


Saturday, April 16, 2011


Note the barely seething tone of HM Forces' official website's account of how our guardians of the high seas were compelled to hand the seventeen Somali pirates various freebies before escorting them safely back to shore. The bedevilled detail being 'in one case even a nicotine patch'.

As they stepped off the warship, Commander Wilkinson told the head of the pirate gang: ‘If you are a leader, go back and lead for good. If you are going to carry on in this trade, expect to find me and my colleagues waiting for you.And If I see you again, it’s not going to go well.’ 

Wilkinson's stern reprimand, undoubtedly delivered in a laughably cut-glass public school accent, isn't likely to give our delightfully badass picaroons many sleepless nights. However, I suspect the irony of this prime example of sad lonely posturing ex-imperialists thousands of miles from home will not go unappreciated.



The interview I did recently with Bang The Bore has just been posted.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011


It probably began the time that Jehovah's Witness started banging on my door attempting to get out. "How does this thing open? You're wasting my time!" Hey, hang on a minute, I'm wasting your time? Didn't you, unbehested, come to my house? Yet in a way, of course he was right, half an hour away as he was from becoming a born-again chimp.

Because problem now is Jesus Inc. must have put me on some kind of photographic hitlist register because, despite best intents, they no longer make street approaches. Maintaining friendly eye contact, smiling, slowing down to their pace, looking vaguely troubled; I've tried it all and none of it works to gain their glossy-eyed evangelising attention. Bugger.

Unlike Princes Street's red plastic anorak'd UNICEF brigade. Yes, they whose whiny soliciting only serves to fuel my intent to run off with their donations bucket in order to, like some modern-day anti-Robin Hood, redistribute it to far more deserving grown-ups.

I've now learnt the easiest and best way to deal with anyone who brings Christianity up in any kind of positive way in conversation is to treat them as one would when dealing with the dangerously mentally retarded: nod courteously whilst looking for the quickest exit strategy.

That good sense aside however, it is undeniably tempting to want to deploy some of the heavy ammo supplied from the pages of your shiny new copy of Steve Wells' highly entertaining Drunk With Blood: God's Killings In The Bible. Below are some examples that you may have forgotten about from Sunday School.

- God sent two bears to rip apart 42 boys for making fun of Elisha's bald head.
Can Oliver Stone please make this into a film?

- God killed Ahab for not killing a captured king, and then sent Jehu to kill all of Ahab's family and friends who had ever pissed against a wall.
OK, you lot, own up, who's pissed against a wall? You know I'm going to find out.

- God smote Philistines with haemorrhoids in their secret parts.
Bringing new meaninig to mysterious ways. And smite, smote, smitten - I love that most underused verb.

- God killed 450 religious leaders in a prayer contest and burned 102 men to death for asking Elijah to come down from his hill.
A prayer contest! I love this guy. And the cheek of the 102 that asked that old stormbringing bastard to come down from his hill to explain himself.

- God burned complainers to death, forced the survivors to eat quail until it literally came out their noses, sent fiery serpents to bite people for complaining about the lack of food and water, and killed 14,700 for complaining about his killings.
Literally? Until it literally came out of their noses? Oh, come now, surely there must be some metaphor in the Bible.


Monday, April 11, 2011


Here's your third weekly Tuesday dollop of DEAR UNCLE WILLIAM!

(Daily Star, 10/4/11)
When I first started going out with my girlfriend three years ago she was gorgeous. All my mates were jealous and I was made up. She was slim and had lovely long blonde hair. She always dressed provocatively and our sex life was sizzling. We’d have sex all over the house and, frankly, anywhere else. 
But gradually she’s really changed. She’s let her hair grow out. It is now brown and cut short. She’s ditched her contact lenses and wears glasses, and she’s put on about three stone. I look at her and wonder where the girl I loved has gone. She’s like a totally different person. 
I’m not shallow and know it’s not all about looks, but her personality has changed too. Instead of the bubbly girl who was always laughing, she now criticises me for everything. She moans all the time, compares me unfavourably to her previous boyfriends and if we have sex once a week I’m lucky. 
She isn’t the girl I fell in love with any more. I’ve been trying to end our relationship but she won’t listen.

Uncle William says:
She won't listen? Or you won't tell her in so many words?
If men have one primal fear with women, it's that of doing things that will disappoint.
In fact, to such an extent, and luckily only few women exploit this, that her referring to a guy's actions with words to the effect of 'I'm disappointed in you' or 'you disappoint me' contains extremely powerful behaviourally manipulative potential. It will, as if by magic, turn a dangerous snarling animal into a subservient puppy dog.
Cut out the murky nice-guy bullshit, man up, tell her it's over. It's too late. She's been testing you all this time, and the horrible cuntish way she looks and acts now is because you've been consistently failing. 



The Pom Pom Girls, 1976 (****)
Joseph Ruben, director of the classic subversive horror The Stepfather made this early gem, a prototype teen sex comedy filmed in an alluring quasi-documentary style, and one which has almost none of the self-conscious nostalgia and adult-imposed double standards of pervy antics versus uptight morality common to the genre in later years

Julie Darling, 1982 (****)
obscure creepy Canadian/German thriller full of delicious psychosexual tension as Julie uses her twisted teenage female imagination to plot the demise of her stepmother; quite possibly what many other girls in her place would at least contemplate

Fear, 1996 (****)
the bland title belies a taut high quality thriller as 16-year-old good girl Nicole falls for a charming psychopath on a night out with her friend; the film is full of finely observed details into the relationship between all the protagonists, in particular that of male insecurity and possessiveness

Return To Sleepaway Camp, 2006 (*****)
if only modern horror was even occasionally as remotely good as this unmissable direct sequel to 1983's Sleepaway Camp which, with exquisite respect, somehow manages to enhance the already genius original; another sequel is apparently on the way for later this year, canNOT wait

A Serbian Film, 2010 (*)
amateur try-hard shocker - look beyond the gratuitous visceral taboo-busting nature of the thrills and all you have is a Serb TV critic using his position to fulfil movie director fantasies; and that's not to mention all those gratingly ubiquitous MacBook Pro editing tropes, silly soundtrack, appalling acting, leaden script, all of which proves far more painful than anything suffered by the victims



With percussionist and composer Maurice de Martin in Marseille.

Friday, April 08, 2011


As a brief addendum to my previous posts regarding the nearby Humbie and the creepy Children's Village that used to be located there (now mostly redeveloped into new detached homes), I came across an extraordinary parliamentary document that details some of the scandalous goings-on.


Thursday, April 07, 2011


Official release date for the Cut Hands album (CD version, 16pp booklet, catalogue no. VFSL101) has now been set for May 23rd. Still can't believe it. Planning a special limited edition vinyl edition at a later date.


Tuesday, April 05, 2011


Another gratuitous helping of avuncular guidance.

(The Sun, 5/4/11)
My boyfriend recently bought an RS Turbo and openly brags about it being better than sex with me. This has really knocked my confidence. I am 18 and my boyfriend is 22. I have been seeing him since last summer and I really love him. It's really embarrassing when he compares it to me in front of his mates. I am sure I must be doing something wrong as he prefers driving about with just the car to spending time with me. I don't know what to do as I still love him.

Uncle William says:
First of all, cut the bullshit about loving him.
He's still a boy for whom feeling validated by impressing his pals is always going to win out over sex with an 18-year-old girl, however enticing she might otherwise sound to your average middle-aged menopausal embarrassing dad/divorcee. Above all, avoid guys whose conversation topics can be depicted on a fucking graph or chart.
You're only 18 years old: go out and sleep around a bit, be a slut, have some fun and find out what you really like and don't like. Then you'll know.


Sunday, April 03, 2011


The Slumber Party Massacre, 1982 (****)
dyke horror ftw: this sleazy slasher is a breath of fresh air achieved via the simple result of a subtle but significant change in perspective from having been directed and written by women; in the latter case, Rita Mae Brown of lesbian erotic romance Rubyfruit Jungle fame

Fast Times At Ridgemont High, 1982 (*****)
of course FTARH is not so much a rarity with such a stellar cast, but this fantastic slice-of-life teen comedy drama is worth including here anyhow, it packs so much in its fast-paced 90 minutes that you never want it to end; all the beautifully observed touches and realistic insights have a non-linear feel that works so well given its main context of adolescent sexuality

The Beach Girls, 1982 (**)
whilst you can't help liking its pro-weed, pro-sexual promiscuity, gentle anti-authority vibe, this T'n'A comedy is not nearly as good as its sister production Sunset Cove (aka Malibu Beach)

Night Of The Comet, 1984 (***)
the sexy and charismatic Kelli Maroney is the real star of a clever funny parody of 50s/60s zombie sci-fi apocalypse B-movies; it's all the more charming because it never pretends to be more than what it's parodying

Murder Rock, 1984 (**)
Fulci was never shy about cashing in on the latest craze, in this case attempting to merge a Fame or Flashdance danceflick into a giallo - unfortunately, despite how promising that sounds in theory, he commits that cardinal sin of letting the narrative get bogged down in detective-work drudgery

Chopping Mall, 1986 (***)
fun 80s B-movie about a bunch of horny teens trapped in a mall patrolled by wonky security robots; not as much gore or sleaze as you hope for, but still good fun

Slumber Party Massacre 2, 1987 (*)
a dreadful goofy zero-budget Freddy Kruger rip-off that fails on almost every level

Sorority House Massacre 2, 1990 (*)
zero-budget trash which does little more than sully the good name of The Slumber Party Massacre, from which it shamelessly steals excerpts

Death Spa, 1990 (**)
a trendy 80s health club is the perfect setting for lots of lycra-encased flesh and gory locker and shower scenes; half-way through a parapsychologist is dropped into the mix and what started out as a seemingly routine giallo-style horror gets COMPLETELY and INCOMPREHENSIBLY bonkers

Angel III: The Final Chapter, 1990 (*)
a third new face for Molly in another disappointing sequel that takes itself far too seriously and lacks even Avenging Angel's flashes of inspiration


Saturday, April 02, 2011

HK47 8

Unlike the infamous similarly-themed S&M room in the Japanese love hotel, you can't blame Hello Kitty for the terrible internal conflicts elicited. Speaking for myself, I cannot set eyes upon any roll of duct tape anywhere without imagining it being put to some darkly illicit use. I've never been nervous about buying condoms from a pharmacy, a contrast to my first ever purchase of Duck from a hardware store.

(thanks to Thomas!)

HK47 7
HK47 6
HK47 5