A bare-chested Charlton Heston sitting on a horse staring up at the Statue of Liberty. Naked high school girls frolicking in a locker room a moment before transforming into an unholy chanting mob of plug-it-up nastiness. Scorpio dementedly forcing a busload of kidnapped kids to sing nursery rhymes. And an ever so slightly chubby Kansas farm girl telling us there’s no place like home... Movies, eh? What would we do without ’em? Probably watch more TV shows for a start. Anyhow, this is a book for politically incorrect cinephiles, its collection of reviews, articles and drunken ramblings showcasing my love of mid to late twentieth century movies.

Chick flicks. Brokeback Mountain. Bollywood. Superhero movies. Sophie’s Choice. Ben Affleck and Sandra Bullock. Avant-garde musicals... If this sort of stuff is your cup of tea, then this isn’t the book for you. Blokey film enthusiast Dave Franklin instead concentrates on the politically incorrect delights of Coffy, Magnum Force and Boogie Nights while paying tribute to the likes of Christopher Walken, Paul Schrader, 70’s disaster movies and Brian De Palma. There’s even some tongue-in-cheek appreciation of the God-like Steven Seagal. So settle back, forget about identity politics and the prevailing lefty narrative, and immerse yourself in a book that values celluloid entertainment above all else. Or as Rob Reiner says at the start of the immortal Spinal Tap: “Enough of my yakking. Let’s boogie.”

“You like movies because you’re one of life’s great watchers.” So says Woody Allen’s irked, soon-to-be-ex-wife in Play It Again, Sam, obviously having had enough of his sedentary lifestyle. Hmm, I think she would have left me, too. But, hey, do a female’s myriad charms really stack up against the corny delights of Cocktail, the vicious cynicism of The Sweet Smell of Success, the dark ferocity of The Thing, the fantastic imagination of Westworld, the perverted milieu of Happiness or the heartbreak of Kes? For these are just some of the films covered in the fifth part of this lewd, politically incorrect guide to the treasures of twentieth century cinema. Author Dave Franklin also throws in a bevy of bitches, the worst-ever holidays and a tribute to old men feasting on teenage flesh.

I have of late, wherefore I know not, lost all of my mirth… Man delights not me; no, nor women neither. In my dreams (and increasingly during my more whimsical waking moments) I wander through Movieland. Sometimes I chat to Kelly McGillis about being in a 4G inverted dive with a MiG-28 while a strung-out Withnail stands close by complaining about going on holiday by mistake. At others a xenomorph near the bus stop rips off Forrest Gump’s head before being machine-gunned by the ED-209. I close my eyes, take a contented breath, and reopen them to see Frau Blücher upsetting the horses again as Tony Montana snorts coke and tells the permanently agitated Don Logan that this town is like one giant pussy waiting to get fucked. I wander and I wander and I never want to leave… Some movies, you see, contain magic. Magic that seeps into your soul and becomes a part of you. I mean, why waste your time travelling the world, having a career, nurturing dreams or taking a woman seriously? Such pursuits involve a great deal of effort and invariably end in disappointment. Surely it’s better to stay invisible at home while exploring a rich cinematic odyssey alongside the likes of Marty McFly, Jessica 6, the Black Knight, Bill Kilgore and a Stepford wife or two? Come now. Partake in the madness. Let me hold your hand and lead you nowhere.

From Peckinpah and Schwarzenegger to Ulzana’s Raid and Switchblade Sisters, Dave Franklin takes a politically incorrect look at the glories of twentieth century cinema. In this second volume of his Baby Ice Dog Movie Guide, he offers eight Fucked-Up Films, a bit of tit trauma, ten of the best starring debuts, a few macho idiots, a tribute to Michael Douglas’ prime, and a glance at the most over the top performances in movie history. Not to mention eco-horror, the odd catfight and a handful of ridiculous deaths. So grab a beer, settle back and enjoy…

This fascinating book is the first volume in a projected cultural history of the United States, from the earliest English settlements to our own time. It is a history of American folkways as they have changed through time, and it argues a thesis about the importance for the United States of having been British in its cultural origins. While most people in the United States today have no British ancestors, they have assimilated regional cultures which were created by British colonists, even while preserving ethnic identities at the same time. In this sense, nearly all Americans are "Albion's Seed," no matter what their ethnicity may be. The concluding section of this remarkable book explores the ways that regional cultures have continued to dominate national politics from 1789 to 1988, and still help to shape attitudes toward education, government, gender, and violence, on which differences between American regions are greater than between European nations.

A gobsmacked Charlton Heston staring up at the Statue of Liberty. Naked high school girls frolicking in a locker room a moment before transforming into an unholy chanting mob of plug-it-up nastiness. Scorpio dementedly forcing a busload of kidnapped kids to sing nursery rhymes. And a little Kansas farm girl telling us there's no place like home...Movies, eh? What would we do without 'em? Probably watch more TV shows for a start. This is a book for politically incorrect cinephiles, its collection of reviews, articles and ramblings showcasing my overwhelming love of the silver screen.