Non-British Rubbish - 2

I was going to write a review of Frank Sinatra heist movie "Assault On A Queen" (1964), a doomed Hollywood effort for Black British actor Errol John (Rudolph Walker's mentor), but nah, I'm not really into heist movies bar The Italian Job. They are formulaic and similar (even look at the posters for the attractive and rather more likeable Gambit (1966) and the style-no substance How To Steal a Million and Arabesque) and this case the difference is it is set on the Queen Mary, filled with Hollywood-based Brits.

The Worzel book has come out and I get thanked for contributing research - http://www.miwkpublishing.com/store/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=103


I've been watching bits and bobs of US soaps for influence. I had an idea for a sort of spoof serial, a sort of Two Ronnies-ish soap opera.

I was watching Dark Shadows, only bits. The idea of watching a thousand episodes of cheap 1960s shot on video TV is slightly intimidating, because it's a series that spends fifty episodes on one very crazy plotline. Shot on videotape TV is odd. I grew up in Ireland on British/Irish TV, which was mostly shot on video until the late 1980s. But Dark Shadows is American, and it is NTSC videotape, which looks cheaper and shoddier, and hence why all late 1980s TV shows now look ropey as string because they were edited on NTSC tape, hence why Victory at Entebbe despite its colossal cast looks even worse than a Play for Today, and looks like... well an episode of Dark Shadows.
But Dark Shadows in the brief form I have seen it has sort of enthralled me. People have called it a sort of US equivalent of Doctor Who in its shoddy ambitiousness, though like Who, people started on it, e.g. Dick Smith before his job on The Exorcist. Barnabas sort of leaves me cold. Jonathan Frid's style is slightly too mannered (although I recently discovered he was in the 1961 US TVM of Dorian Gray with John Fraser's Dick Smith makeup, George C. Scott, Star Trek green girl Susan Oliver, Louis Hayward, Robert Walker Jr, Paxton Whitehead and future Emmerdale's Frank Tate, Norman Bowler)). Thayer David, though I find entrancing in all his Charles Gray-esque glory. David I knew from his roles in The Eiger Sanction as albino Nazi "Dragon" and as Sacknussem in the 50s Journey To The Centre Of The Earth. He's quite Doctorish as Prof. Stokes (he in real life shared a wife with Jon's brother Michael Pertwee) and pantorific magnificence as Count Petofi whose hand gets revived by mad gypsy Magda played by Grayson Hall (alias regular Dr. Julia Hoffman). If I ever get into Irish soap writing, I'll try to make it more ridiculous and introduce the supernatural slowly. Dan Curtis is a god, not just for DS but for the commitment that he placed on the transatlantic bonkbusting destruction-porn of The Winds of War/War and Remembrance.
Here's a good beginner's guide.

And Yes, I did see the Tim Burton film. It was enjoyable but I resented its snotty-nosed tone, looking down on the series. Yes, the original series was a soap opera that could at times be torture, but there was an invention to it,  a nuttiness that few US TV shows have. Dan Curtis was a maverick visionary, in other words a mad genius of television. The Burton film was also quite boastful, especially in the "Nights in White Satin" train shot. And tonally, I felt Depp-Barnabas was at odds with the rest of the cast, which probably was intentional to show his outsider position, but it just didn't work. I feel that a more Frid-ish performance would have worked better to offset it.

I was also watching Falcon Crest, which like DS features David Selby. Unlike DS, FC is a primetime serial drama not a daytime soap, and unlike DS, was shown in Britain and Ireland. Some of my earliest memories involve FC, watching the titles in delight, and the music, but not much else. Created by Earl Hamner as a modern equivalent to his The Waltons, production company Lorimar changed it to something like their Dallas but with wine not oil and then became a parade of faded Hollywood stars coming and going and occasionally marrying leading lady/then Presidential ex Jane Wyman, the proto-Nancy Reagan whose casting suggested some kind of Reaganite undercurrent that I'm not fit to elaborate upon. I gave up after a while, as though some of the stories were ridiculous, e.g. Paul "Belloq" Freeman as a wine-making member of a Nazi dynasty obsessed with finding gold, and the whole "dressing up as a nun to kill your mum" storyline, it didn't go batty enough.

Sphinx (1981)

Lesley Anne Down goes off to Egypt playing a character clearly written as American (refs to Boston, Thanksgiving) but plays it with her own accent and refs to tea are inserted to make it clear she is British. While in Cairo, she meets Frank Langella as a Typhoo-drinking Egyptian playboy UN antique dealer (a role offered to the couldn't be less Egyptian Rutger Hauer!), Sir John Gielgud doing his Egyptian shopkeeper routine, Eileen Way as a mad Eileen Way-y Egyptian woman, John Rhys-Davies in proto-Sallah mode as a Greek, both Nadim Sawalha and Saeed Jaffrey and about half the cast of Raiders of the Last Ark after exploring the curse of King Tut. Filmed in Egypt. Enjoyable potboiler. Almost horror but not quite, (Gielgud gets semi-beheaded by a beturbanned Martin Benson - and Down is the witness - thus kicking off the spiralling plot) it revolves around a cursed statue relating to Howard Carter's expedition (with James Cossins and future Mrs. Steve Martin Victoria "William and Kate: The Movie/Inseminoid" Tennant as the Carnarvons in a flashback).
Down plays it as if she constantly feels sorry for herself. Langella's Egyptian sounds more Sean Connery (maybe he's a cousin of his character in Highlander) esp. in the line "Am I the rudest sonabitch you've ever met?" which he says to Sawalha's private eye wearing the same suit he did in The Spy Who Loved Me, before a quick cut to Down being picked up by Sawalha's arch-rival in the "dodgy middle-Eastern/Asian sort in British TV", Saeed Jaffrey, as an extremely Indian Egyptian guide who can't tell the difference between Ramses and Ramses I. On the tour, we meet William Hootkins giving it his all as a US tourist guide (I long thought this was made in Britain - look at the cast! But surprisingly the studio stuff shot in Hungary). Down is arrested and given some sub-Midnight Express brutality by the Egyptian cops, before Langella rescues her, as she is pursued by various dodgy sorts including Vik Tablian (the sinister Monkeyman in Raiders), Kevork "Mind Your Language!" Malikyan as a bellboy (he was in Midnight Express and Indiana Jones And His Dad, too) and Maurice Ronet as sinister Frenchman Yvon. Tutte Lemkow (no, Gatiss, he's not a woman!*) plays Gielgud's son who turns Down down. Down then has a romantic tourist-footage montage with Langella and then meets Eileen Way, as the mad bitey old bag widow of one of Howard Carter's Egyptian builders who provides the exposition of the curse.  Martin Benson disguises himself as Tutte Lemkow (almost as good as the twist in the not very good Brass Target where we learn that for half the film, Max von Sydow is posing as Bernard Horsfall)  and kidnaps Down who gets lost in the tomb, almost attacked by bats and then finds the hoarded treasure of Seti, from a tomb located beneath King Tut. She then is found out, sprains her ankle Doctor Who-companion style in a chase with Rhys-Davies, and we meet Yvon who slaps Rhys-Davies as they try to find who wants the statue. There's a chase through the streets and then we discover Frank Langella is Martin Benson's nephew and that Benson believes his nephew will ruin the family's name. They visit the tomb and get trapped within. Langella is flattened. Down escapes and feels sorry for herself.
Directed by Franklin J. Schaffner of Planet of the Apes fame. Some of his films can be great (Planet of the Apes, The Boys from Brazil) and sometimes they can be bloated (Patton, The War Lord). Sphinx lies somewhere between. As a friend noted on twitter, it's sort of like a US miniseries from the period. Based on a Robin Cook novel, it has that airport novel feel, and is not very cinematic despite the location shooting. The ending needed more surprise, and the lead character a lot more spunk so she wouldn't spend all day feeling sorry for herself in a jumpsuit with eternally flawless makeup. Nice score by Michael J. Lewis.

It is better than The Awakening, Orion's other Egyptian-shot curse-codswallop from the same period.

*Mark Gatiss on the League of Gents' commentary of Theatre of Blood thinks that Lemkow was a lady.

The Little Drummer Girl (1984)

The Little Drummer Girl (1984) - Directed by George Roy Hill. Diane Keaton plays Charlotte Cornwell off Rock Follies, sort of, as the character in the original book (by John LeCarre aka Cornwell's brother David). Watch out for a young Bill Nighy playing a jobbing actor alongside Fred Elliot's bigamist wife from Coronation Street. Diane plays a British-based American actress (presumably, she's done a Tales of the Unexpected) who goes to Greece for a job, gets caught up with Greek-Israeli Joseph (played by Yorgo Voyagis, best known for his role in Jesus of Nazareth where he was... Joseph) via a staged wine commercial. Klaus Kinski plays an Istaeli spymaster/nutter (it's Kinski, he's always nuts because he was more than nuts in real life) who employs among his men one of the kids from Lemon Popsicle. It gets rather slow and becomes more of a romance. David Suchet appears in his Middle Eastern mode. We get to see 1980s Fulham, including a "P*ki shop" run by Albert Moses from Mind Your Language in a flat cap and Leisure Video (which presumably like every good 80s video shop has An American Werewolf in London, Annie Hall, Lemon Popsicle and plenty of Kinski's oeuvre in stock). Le Carre himself turns up as a copper, and tonally, it's asll over the place - it ever so often feels like it will go into action-thriller mode and then dives into slushy romance. Yes, I know it's LeCarre not Jack Higgins, but LeCarre doesn't really work when it's not about middle-aged blokes challenging each other and talking in riddles.

Review - Black Sunday (1977)

Black Sunday (1977) - Kind of flat thriller - Bruce Dern is mad 'Nam vet/Goodyear blimp vet who joins Black September to become a suicide bomber and blow up his beloved airship on SuperBowl day. Marthe Keller is unconvincing as Palestinian, and Robert Shaw and Fritz Weaver as Mossad/FBI agents are sent to stop him. The climax is well-staged (they airlift the blimp away in front of panicked crowds) though Shaw's character's sacrifice-suicide is replaced by him hanging onto the helicopter, waving to the crowds as he flies away to safety. Walter Gotell appears in one of his myriad ethnicities as an Israeli. At least by having a non-American lead, it gets away with explaining what the Super Bowl is those not into American football. But its attempts to make the terrorists into sort of protagonists fail. Dern's too crazy and Keller is too cold. The barn explosion theme is good, esp. with the hard-helmet shaking on the unfortunate victim's head. But it's a film that thinks we want to spend time with a crazy man (then again, director John Frankenheimer was a bit of a crazy man, too) and a suicide bomber and not Shaw's cool, calculated Kosher calculator.

Review - The Thing with Two Heads

The Thing with Two Heads - Roosevelt Grier again, with Ray Milland's racist head grafted beside him (well sometimes, mostly its a Louis Tussaud's head of Milland). Kind of turgid - occasionally springs to life, eg with a motorbike race. The end theme is "Oh Happy Day", and Rick Baker appears as a two-headed gorilla.

Review - Skyjacked.

Skyjacked (1972) - James Brolin holds a plane full of Walter Pidgeon (as an old coot who goes "boating" with the POTUS), NFL legend/needlepointist/actor/Rev. Rosey Grier, Yvette Mimieux and Susan Dey hostage and only captain Chuck Heston can stop him. Rather slipshod, TV movie-alike semi-disaster plodder, a sort of bastard cousin of the Airport series - but John Guillermin adds some touches e.g. Brolin constantly having fantasies of being a hero to the Soviets, hallucinating medal ceremonies.  The end - set in a convincingly freezing-looking Soviet wasteland (supposedly Moscow Airport, actually Mojave, convincingly doubled via tons of realistically sludgy fake snow).

Another game I had - Rum and Raisin'

I wanted to write a videogame set in an English village, a sleazy Northern town with one foot in clubland gothic. It'll probably never be made, so here it is.

STORY

Begins in the seaside town of Rumchester, a grotty little town somewhere in Northern England. We see a seaside scene, it's getting dark and windy and a family, a grandfather in a knotted handkerchief and rimmed spectacles and his twenty-odd daughter, her thirty-something cravatted husband and their five year old son, Freddie. Freddie bathes in the sand with a sandcastle around him, a bucket on his head. Suddenly, a wave swathes over him and he rises out, screaming - covered in scars. A ghostly vision appears over the town and declares that "Bertie Breslin rises again".

You are Phipps, a ghost hunter based in a room above a pub, and you have to find the whereabouts of Bertie Breslin, who as the landlord, Huw Egg informs you, was a legendary music hall entertainer who was forced out of the town by landlords, and to become popular again, tried to add magic to his resume, made a pact with a warlock only to literally turn to stone on stage, as the myth goes, now his ghost - without a soul declares revenge on the town. You have to use a signaller device to find signs of his ghost to stop more events and have to lead his ghost into the music hall where he died, and along the way you need to find a person for Bertie to possess. In the end, once the possessed is in the music hall, you have to trick him into falling off the stage, so he can die a natural death. Once he is defeated, the possessed is freed.

EXT. BEACH, RUMCHESTER, NORTHERN ENGLAND - DAY, C.1979.

We see a beach, of a seaside town, a promenade, with a big grand redbrick hotel, and a theatre, "The Palace Theatre" and ice cream parlours (with names like Jaconelli's, Fulci's, De Leo's), amusement arcades etc.

THE CAMERA PANS DOWN TO:

The beach, where we see a young MUM, long-haired, blonde, hippyish, in a flowery maxi-dress, cradling her little blond son FREDDIE. In the background is a GRANDAD in a flat cap, knotted handkerchief, little grey tache, string vest and wire-framed spectacles. 

Freddie lies down in the sand, and jumps a bucket on his head. A wave of water splashes over him, and he rises up, screaming covered in red scars.

CLOSE-UP ON:

Mum screaming, hands on face.

MUM

(panicking)

Freddie!

Freddie is wailing, arms flailing.

FREDDIE

(screaming)

Mummy!

A huge image of a ghostly music hall entertainer, BERTIE BRESLIN appears above in the sky, which goes from blue to grey, emblazoned with lightning. He is a fat man in a pinstripe suit and straw hat, and cane, with a big fat face and shining metal teeth.

BERTIE BRESLIN

(deep Northern English voice, chuckle)

It's showtime for Rumchester!

Thunder strikes down and obliterates Bertie Breslin's ghost. An echoing laugh echoes as he is obliterated.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. TRAIN STATION, RUMCHESTER MAIN STREET, NORTHERN ENGLAND - EARLY EVENING. C.1979.

We see the exterior of a rubbish-looking train station, with a shuttered-up shop. Punk graffiti covers the walls. It is beside a bookie's and a hairdresser's called "Cut!". It is a cul-de-sac looking out to a rail-yard. Out of the station walks Phipps, an attractive young woman in her early twenties, in a black and pink dress and leather jacket. From now on, the player controls her.

PHIPPS

(enthusiastic)

I have to find this pub, "the Golden Rendezvous".

Arrows direct you, the player around the town, where we see a launderette, a corner shop, a greasy spoon café, all shut. As you reach the end of the road, A bald man in a trench-coat, fifties, horn-rimmed glasses, not unlike John Reginald Christie appears. This is HUW EGG.

HUW EGG

(Welsh, bluff, gruff)

You Phipps?

PHIPPS

(nods)

Yes.

HUW EGG

(quizzical)

The ghost hunter?

PHIPPS

(relieved)

Yes. I've come about the Bertie Breslin incident.

HUW EGG

(sinister but genial)

First thing to know is locals don't like to talk about that. Luckily, I am not from around here.

PHIPPS

(catches on)

You're the landlord, right...

HUW EGG

(smiling)

Yes, Huw Egg, of the Golden Rendezvous.

PHIPPS

Ah yes, I have a reservation in the rooms above.

HUW EGG

(sinister)

Good, but you have to know. Bertie Breslin was once this town's biggest export - comedian, singer, all-round entertainer. But the Palace theatre management didn't like him, and conspired against him. His popularity waned, so he made a deal with a warlock, in order to learn real magic, only to turn to stone on his next performance. The management took to the calcified Bertie with a pick-axe and splattered his remains into the road you stand on now.

PHIPPS

(unsure)

And now...

HUW EGG

(sinister, doomsayer)

His spirit will cause terror for this town, unless you can help. Luckily, I have some goods.

Huw Egg hands you a bag. You empty it out, a crossbow, a hose, a magnifying glass, a net and an ice-box, which immediately goes into your inventory.

PHIPPS

(grateful)

Thank you,  but...

HUW EGG

(knowledgeable)

Go on. Once you see something weird, try to use the crossbow to lock on a target that you can trick Breslin into possessing, then lead the possessed into the Palace Theatre, where you can defeat him.

PHIPPS

(unsure)

Okay.

HUW EGG

(worrying)

But be careful. Everyone is staying in. There may only be one or two people out.

You walk along, passing various shops. The street divulges in two ways, one leading to a shut-up school, "St. Clabbert's RC", itself a cul-de-sac, the other down to the seaside. We see an open takeaway that you enter.

INT. TAKEAWAY, - NIGHT. C.1979.

Inside the takeaway is JUDEE, a bored looking peroxide blonde with a ring in her nose in a silly blue Thunderbirds-type fast food worker uniform.

JUDEE

(bored, Brummie)

Do you want chips with that?

Suddenly, Judee's skin turns grey and her eyes a glowing red.

JUDEE

(deep, electronic Northern accent)

My wife likes onions. I like cheese. We're like a packet of crisps.

Judee is now possessed by Bertie Breslin.

You must take out the crossbow, the hose and smoke machine wrapped around it. There, we see a POV shot, you have to aim at Judee and press down from where a streak of lightning emanates. It hits Judee, who is freed from Bertie.

However, Bertie's ghost shoots out and escapes down the street.

EXT. STREET, RUMCHESTER - NIGHT, C.1979.

You must immediately immediately run down the street, down past more closed shops. There, you see a nerdy duffel-coated cyclist, DARREN PETHIG. You must catch the ghost of Bertie by freezing it, and then as Darren cycles past the theatre, a big grand Romanesque building facing the promenade, fire the frozen ghost at Darren. If you miss, Darren will cycle past again. Once you manage to get Darren possessed, he will turn sort of green-skinned with a shock of white hair, run into the theatre, it doors swinging open.

INT. PALACE THEATRE, RUMCHESTER - NIGHT, C.1979.

Inside the grand Victorian theatre, various porches and arches surround the grand stage. It is closed. 

An elderly, white-haired ARTHUR ENGLISH-type CARETAKER in brown overalls brushes around, whistling. You must chase Darren down to the stage, to the edge, where there is a white line. On the white line, as he walks on, you must aim the crossbow and fire smoke.

Suddenly, Darren turns normal again, runs out of the theatre in fear while the giant Bertie Breslin manifests himself and laughs.

BERTIE BRESLIN

(Northern English, mock-genial)

And you thought I were dead!

As you try to freeze Bertie once more, this time for good, he will cry more phrases and weak jokes.

BERTIE BRESLIN

(jokey)

My mother in law says that if I die first, she'll dance on my grave. I'm getting buried at sea.

BERTIE BRESLIN

(jokey, doesn't realise his jokes are sometimes brutal)

What do you call a cross between an English theatrical lord and an explorer. Lawrence of Olivier!

When you manage to finally give him a big enough freeze, he will fall off the stage and break into a million pieces - screaming.

Huw Egg will run in with the Roy Kinnear-esque LORD MAYOR in full Lord Mayor's regalia and give you a medal.

HUW EGG

(relieved)

Thank Christ you saved Rumchester!

CLOSE-UP ON:

Phipps smiles.

THE END.

The idea may have originated in an earlier short script I wrote.

EXT. ISOLATED COUNTRY ROAD, IRISH COUNTRYSIDE -EARLY MORNING.

We see a FUNERAL PROCESSION heading deep along an ISOLATED COUNTRY ROAD. MEN IN FLAT CAPS AND PRIMITIVE TWEED CLOTHING and WOMEN IN FLORAL DRESSES AND HEADSCARVES, wheeling a HORSE-DRAWN CART on which lies a crudely-put together WOODEN COFFIN. THE PROCESSION is captained by A PRIEST, FATHER DYER, pale, tall, in thick milk-bottle glass spectacles, with a huge tower of grey hair, a BANDOLIER OF SHARPENED PENCILS AND VIRGIN MARY-SHAPED HOLY WATER BOTTLES clung tightly around his CASSOCK. CHILDREN, BOYS in COMMUNION SUITS and GIRLS in WHITE DRESSES holding FLORAL BOUQUETS join THE PROCESSION on the FRONT.

THE PROCESSION reaches a HOLE in THE CRUX OF A CROSSROADS. THEY DROP THE COFFIN FROM THE CART into THE HOLE. THE COFFIN LID slides off. INSIDE is BIG JOE BARLOW, a skeletal ruin of a man, patches of torn skin hanging off his skeleton, a brown wig clinging onto the top.

FATHER DYER

(shrill, arch)

May with eternal rest shall Big Joe Barlow be punished for his innumerable sins!

FATHER DYER rips the various BOTTLES OF HOLY WATER from his BANDOLIER and empties all of them onto the corpse of BIG JOE BARLOW.

LAP-DISSOLVE - BIG JOE BARLOW's CORPSE sizzles with the HOLY WATER into piles of smoking ash, hissing maggots writhing out of the mounds.

THE ASH AND MAGGOTS drop into THE HOLE, and THE COFFIN is then dropped over them.

CUT - FATHER DYER looks determined.

FATHER DYER

(cold)

May the scum of the vampires be erased from the Earth!

FATHER DYER hisses and reveals he has FANGS.

EXT. SANTA MIRA HOTEL, SEASIDE TOWN, IRELAND, MORNING.

We see THE SANTA MIRA HOTEL, a crumbling little seaside BED AND BREAKFAST on the edge of a CORNER, in white plaster-cladding that is starting to fall off. It looks as if it was once a busy place, clearly has seen better days. However, it is now forgotten, and derelict, dilapidated, crumbling and clearly not in season. The tiny DRIVEWAY built in front of it is occupied by a battered old tangerine-coloured HATCHBACK, perhaps a FIAT PANDA or VOLKSWAGEN GOLF GTI. The weather is damp, WALLS OF FOG in the BACKGROUND.

INT. LOBBY, SANTA MIRA HOTEL - MORNING.

THE LOBBY is small, cramped and mostly beige. The dried paint is beginning to crumble and peel away, the brickwork being revealed underneath. Unrelated foreign holiday posters cover the walls, dated 1970s advertisements for THE SWISS ALPS, BENIDORM, AMSTERDAM. Bits of awful piped muzak, for example, "Un Homme et Une Femme", some GEOFF LOVE/JAMES LAST COMPILATIONS play overheard. ALICE, a young nervous girl, fun-loving, who can handle problems with handle and care, pretty, nineteen, dressed in jeans and check shirt is waiting. A MIDDLE-AGED COUPLE - MR. AND MRS. DAWLISH, dressed in tweeds and raincoats appear.

ALICE

(friendly, approachable)

  Oh, MR. AND MRS. DAWLISH? You're leaving?

MR. DAWLISH

(English)

Yes, we've decided to go on a hike up to the Head.

MRS. DAWLISH

We'll be camping.

ALICE

Oh, I hope you enjoyed your visit.

MRS. DAWLISH

Yes, we loved it.

MR. DAWLISH

We'll be back.

ALICE

You always are. As we say here, the season only ends when MR. AND MRS. DAWLISH leave.

MRS. DAWLISH

That's sweet.

MR. DAWLISH

Let's go, dear.

MR. AND MRS. DAWLISH leave. ALICE looks through some big LEATHER-BOUND BOOKS. Suddenly, BOBBY VELCRO comes in, a fantastically camp figure. He is dressed in a strange kind of adult communion suit, with indigo flares and jacket and a purple roll-neck jumper with rosette.

BOBBY VELCRO

(camp, Yorkshire accent)

Oh Calcutta, ALICE!

ALICE

(suspicious)

What's happened next?

BOBBY VELCRO

Your Uncle Andre's cousins are coming over.

ALICE

I thought all my father's cousins were dead.

BOBBY VELCRO

So did I. Ingrid never talked about them. Does the name Shackleton mean anything?

ALICE

That was my paternal grandmother's maiden name. Her nieces and nephews?

BOBBY VELCRO

I think so. His name is CURT. German, I believe.

ALICE

German cousins? Are you sure they're not trying to get a free room?

BOBBY VELCRO

Actually, I think I made a mistake. It is a wedding party. CURT is the father in law. The cousin in question is the father in law. He's from that London.

ALICE

Oh, do you mean Forrest? Yes, he came over for Uncle Andre's funeral when I was small. Owned a joke shop.

BOBBY VELCRO

That's the bugger. Yes, I know him. Annoying little twerp.

ALICE

So, what's the party?

BOBBY VELCRO

Well, it's small. CURT's wife, one Denise Mortlock...

ALICE

(raises an eyebrow)

Mortlock! That's an unusual name.

BOBBY VELCRO

They're minor aristocrats, whatever the Kraut equivalent of a baronet is.

ALICE

And...

BOBBY VELCRO

Well, she was murdered, apparently, found beheaded in Dusseldorf.

ALICE

Oh, that's a pity.

BOBBY VELCRO

Don't feel remorse. She was a prison warder in Spandau. They only have a daughter in her teens.

ALICE

Is she the bride?

BOBBY VELCRO

She's one of them.

ALICE

(surprised)

They're lesbians...

BOBBY VELCRO

Yes, and for some reason, Forrest is not bothered about it at all. Or CURT.

ALICE

Does CURT have a job?

BOBBY VELCRO

He restores mirrors.

ALICE

Right. Did they make any arrangements?

BOBBY VELCRO

Yes, I had to invite them.

ALICE

But they called up.

BOBBY VELCRO

They wanted me to send invites, to give some Germanic stamp of approval. In return, they sent two bags of soil back, and ordered me to sprinkle them on the lawn. Some German custom, apparently. I've never heard of that, though, and I lived there!

ALICE

When you were in your disco band?

BOBBY VELCRO

Yes, very fishy.

ALICE

I thought they were called "Pomegranate".

BOBBY VELCRO

(agitated)

Yes, I'm talking about the soil sprinkling and the invitations!

ALICE

How is Aunt Ingrid?

BOBBY VELCRO

Dead. Well, almost. As my good friend Nicky Mitch once said, he was married to his wife fifteen years, and then the marriage died, and what he divorced was a corpse waiting for God...

ALICE rolls her eyes. We hear a CAR pull up outside.

ALICE

(looking through the window)

There's someone outside.

Suddenly, FORREST SHACKLETON shuffles in, in flat cap and camel hair coat, gold chain around his neck. There is something sleazily working class about him. His wife EDNA is plain as day, short black hair, big glasses and wearing dumpy trousers - a kind of ROSE WEST figure.

FORREST SHACKLETON

(refined Cockney)

Is this the Santa Mira?

EDNA SHACKLETON

(throaty, Yorkshire accent)

Yes, it is. Didn't you see the sign?

FORREST SHACKLETON

Shut up, Edna! You've been eating Chicken Kiev!

EDNA SHACKLETON

No, I haven't, Forrest!

ALICE

Excuse me! You must be the Shackletons!

FORREST SHACKLETON

Indeed, I'm Forrest, this is my wife Edna, my daughter Bernadette is in the party with the others.

ALICE

Oh, I see. I am sorry to say Aunt Ingrid is ill.

FORREST SHACKLETON

The cow!

EDNA SHACKLETON

Don't be rude!

FORREST SHACKLETON

I'm not!

ALICE

Which room are you in?

BOBBY VELCRO

(calling)

The Golden Rendezvous.

EDNA SHACKLETON

(surprised)

The what?

BOBBY VELCRO

The Golden Rendezvous. Your cousin Andre named each suite or room after an Alistair MacLean novel. One of his little quirks.

FORREST SHACKLETON

Weren't you in telly?

BOBBY VELCRO

(smiling, pleased)

Yes, New Faces.

FORREST SHACKLETON

Weren't you in a band?

BOBBY VELCRO

Yes, we were called Pomegranate. Our big hit was "Jim Jones (No Heart, Just Stones)", a touching tribute to the Jonestown massacre.

EDNA SHACKLETON

(ignorant, admiring her face in a pocket mirror)

Right!

CUT - We see Edna's face reflected in the mirror, Forrest elbowing in.

ALICE

May I take you to the bedroom?

EDNA SHACKLETON

Yes, please!

ALICE

Now we have an all-inclusive breakfast and supper!

FORREST SHACKLETON

I thought this was a bed and breakfast!

BOBBY VELCRO

(catty, snobbish)

We prefer the term "guest house".

ALICE

Where's Rollo?

EDNA SHACKLETON

Rollo?

BOBBY VELCRO

(almost but not quite sarcastic)

Our bellboy, he's on leave.

FADE-OUT.

INT. DINING ROOM, SANTA MIRA HOTEL, SEASIDE TOWN, IRELAND - NIGHT.

We see ALICE and Bobby Velcro, in a floridly orange wallpapered, cheesy very 1970s DINING ROOM, a SODA STREAM in the corner, in front of THE WINDOW, VIRGIN MARY-SHAPED BOTTLES OF HOLY WATER, A HOLY WATER FONT beside the DINING HATCH. We see a GLASS CABINET full of unused "GOOD CROCKERY" and "GOOD" CHINA CUPS, PLATES, GLASSES AND DECANTERS that are never used. We also see paintings of JOHN F KENNEDY, POPE JOHN PAUL II and JESUS CHRIST with THE SACRED HEART aglow in his chest hung on the wall, PLASTIC SPANISH SOUVENIR BULL ORNAMENTS on THE MANTEL-PIECE (lined with TWO CHINA DOGS).

ALICE

How is it?

BOBBY VELCRO

Good, fine, perfect for the others.

Suddenly, the WINDOWS OPEN - "SALEM'S LOT" style, and MURIEL and BERNIE, two teenage girl VAMPIRES in white nighties, typical HAMMER-type VAMPIRE GIRLS crawl out.

BOBBY VELCRO

Look, it's the girls, they must be here for a fancy dress party!

Edna and Forrest Shackleton walk in.

FORREST SHACKLETON

Wot, them? No, they always dress like that.

Forrest and Edna show their fangs. BOBBY VELCRO flashes a glass decanter at them.

BOBBY VELCRO

(shocked)

But you have reflections!

FORREST SHACKLETON

We're human-born, therefore we have reflections. We can walk in the sun. We don't need to be invited into houses. That's why there were only two bags of soil.

BOBBY VELCRO

What did you do to Rollo?

EDNA SHACKLETON

(laughing, camp)

We drank him!

BOBBY VELCRO

Why are you here?

FORREST SHACKLETON

(laughing)

For Ingrid!

ALICE

(defensive)

Ingrid's lost most of her blood.

FORREST SHACKLETON

(smiling, sinister)

It's not her blood, silly. It's her parasite!

BOBBY VELCRO

What parasite?

FORREST SHACKLETON

Ask CURT. He knows. He and his kid are the ones who need it. They say it will give them reflections and the power to walk in daylight, allow them to blend into society without bleeding when they go to places uninvited!

Bernie and Muriel jump out and prepare to bite ALICE, who shoves a mirror in front of them.

We see in the mirror - Bernie is there, but not Muriel.

ALICE grabs a pencil and stabs it in Bernie's back. Bernie collapses. Muriel sweeps in towards ALICE's neck in revenge, but ALICE pushes her away, and Muriel falls onto Bernie's neck, accidentally biting her. The two girls turn white and then lose all distinctive features, as they melt into each other. They sink out of their dresses, the gloop bubbling outward onto the carpet.

Bobby Velcro drops THE HOLY WATER FONT and the BOTTLES OF HOLY WATER on Forrest and Edna Shackleton.

Edna Shackleton screams in horror, the holy water steaming on her body. Her jaw drops and she bends down. Her body contorts as it melts into a giant dough ball, made out of skin and liquidized bone. Her clothes are wrapped around the blob.

Forrest melts into his wife, enrobed in a yellow glow. He sizzles, like bacon in the pan, steam burning through his face. He collapses, his body falling into ash.

BOBBY VELCRO

(worried)

Oh no, we'll be considered murderers!

ALICE

(helpful)

Not unless we call the Vatican! They know this thing!

BOBBY VELCRO

(relieved)

You're right!

Suddenly, CURT appears, a NOSFERATU-type, bald, sinister, tall, large ears, dressed in a black cloak, the skinned bat-meets-scarab-like PARASITE clinging to his neck.

CURT

(Germanic, cloaked in shadow)

I've been expecting you! What a lovely (brief pause) treat!

ALICE rips the PARASITE from CURT's neck and stamps her foot on it. She then rams a pencil through CURT's neck. Bobby Velcro stuffs some garlic in the wound and douses holy water on the garlic. ALICE and Bobby Velcro run to the edge of the room, and lie down, expecting carnage.

CURT melts. His face runs like snot, his waxen visage dripping on the floor, what little he had of his hair sliding downward. The rest of his head, all red and bloody, devoid of skin, plops onto the floor. The skeletal remnants sticking out of his neck break like fragile glass, as his arms melt into his headless torso. His legs drip downward. Within seconds, he is now a gloopy mess. His skeleton is now white liquid, oozing, leaking all over. The blobby melted remains of the six vampires crawl and slide into one big multicolored pile of gloop. ALICE slams the last of THE HOLY WATER on the pile of gloop, which simmers. Smoke rises upward.

BOBBY VELCRO

(getting up alongside ALICE)

Well, we need to call the cleaners, not just the Vatican!

ALICE grabs the telephone.

ALICE

Is that the Vatican? Yes, there were vampires. Mortlock? Yes. Dead? He's melted. And the others, too. And the parasite. Thanks.

ALICE slams the phone down.

BOBBY VELCRO

Who was it?

ALICE

(matter of fact)

Cardinal Van Helsing. Said to blame a Father Dyer for it.

ROLL CREDITS.