Bloody hell. This review was originally intended to celebrate the 50th posting at cinemasodomy.com, but we don�t have very good luck with webmasters these days. So I am instead donating this review to my good buddy and partner in pan-dimensional marauding, Anubis. The sentence �sleazy, grimy, blasphemous, perverted little corner of cyberspace� was used in my original opening for this review, and it applies here too, so I�m going to leave it, even though this sentence is no longer connected to anything else. Um�nevermind. Anyway, to provide you with all the sleaze, blasphemy, and perversion you can handle, I give you Island of Death, the Greek do-it-yourself guide to being a sick, sick fuck.

Chris and Celia, two presumably healthy and perfectly sane *giggle giggle* young lovers arrive on Mykonos, a Greek island paradise. They get themselves a house and mingle with a few of the locals, a diseased brew of icky icky things boiling just beneath the surface. And what, you may ask, is our first clue as to C&C Murder Factory�s sickness? Why, Chris calls up dear ol� mom from a phone booth in town so she can hear them making the sign of the triple-humped couch weasel. The reason for this being really nasty will arise later, but the more astute members of the audience have probably already figured it out. What�s this!? FBI Agent Foster has bugged dear ol� mum�s phone! He�s on his way to Greece to catch the fornicating crazies.

Who have in the meantime began their quest to cleanse the peaceful island of perversion and leave it for the innocent to enjoy. How, you ask? By, of course, being more perverted than perversion itself and killing everyone they don�t like. Ah, hypocrisy at its finest. Reminds me of the 700 Club. First victim on the docket � Jaque, the stereotypical French painter who Chris catches ogling Celia in a restaurant. She seduces him, and then Chris strangles him with some rope, nails him to the ground with roofing spikes, and forces him to drink a bucket of paint. Oh, and I forgot to mention, while all this is going on the hostess who owns the house Chris and Celia are staying at has found the corpse of the goat Chris fucked and slaughtered that morning to alleviate the P.M. Woody that Celia was too tired to tend to. And yes, it did make cute little baby goat noises the whole time. Does that make you horny, baby?

On the way back to their apartment, Big Gay Paul invites them to his engagement party. They presume it�s an innocent invitation by a nice man until they find out he�s�gasp�marrying a BOY! EEEEEE*not that there�s anything wrong with that*EEEEEWWW! Of course Paul and his lover don�t even get to enjoy their honeymoon, as Celia blows whatshisslapasspenishead�s brains out all over the wall with a revolver while Chris chases Paul down and disembowels him with a sword.

Oh no, it�s FOSTER! He�s tracked them to their apartment, but they�re waiting to surprise him. He follows them back to his plane, where they whip a noose around his neck, jam the rope in the door, and play Dangle the Black Guy until Ceila cuts the rope and Foster does a three-point triple-gainer crap-my-neck-is-broke-and-I-can�t-swim into the big blue salty.

Celia is getting bored. They�re getting sloppy and she�s afraid they�ll be caught, and she�s starting to feel bad about murdering all the nice people on the island. Chris will hear none of it, and it�s off to whack the 60-year-old village bicycle who was putting the moves on him at the engagement party. At which point I have to say�.FUCKING VOMITIZATION! A WRINKLEY BAGGY OLD SEX-FIEND WITH BOOBS TO HER KNEES AND A PISS FETISH!!!! BLLOUAAAAAAAARRRRGHFFFF! Yes, this movie has it all, folks. And you know what, you�re just as bad as the people in it, because you WANT TO WATCH IT NOW, don�t you? That�s right, caught you with your dick in your hands, didn�t I? So, on to the death. Chris beats the hell out of her when he realizes she�s getting off on his golden shower, and then he decapitates her with a fucking bulldozer. This is what the word overkill was invented for, ladies and jellyspoons.

The next day, Celia stays home while Chris goes out to buy a speargun to �go fishing� with (yeah, right). Two redneck tourists decide this is the time to �put it to her�, but before they can finish the deed, or even get their pants undone (which is apparently a monumental task for these mind-bogglingly stupid individuals), Chris arrives with his new purchase. Ka-choong (that�s my impression of the sound of a speargun firing into the belly of a stupid fucking redneck)! The other gets drowned in the toilet. The attempted crime draws the attention of amateur novelist Dimitri (in a painfully badly acted cameo by director Mastorakis), who is on Mykonos working on a novel about crime and tourists. Um�aren�t novels fiction? Wouldn�t that be a non-fiction book? Oh, who cares. On to more perversion and killing! WOOHOO!

Leslie the heroin-addicted lesbian bartender must go, even though Celia is getting more and more distraught about their activities. But Chris is older and wiser, and let�s just do it his way, huh? So Celia goes home with Leslie and has sex with her while Chris takes pictures through the window (they photograph all their killings and masturbate to the pictures later, eat your fucking hearts out, Natural Born Killers). Then, while Leslie is on an afterglow heroin trip, Chris comes in, gives her a massive overdose, and burns her face off with a makeshift spray paint flamethrower.

At this point, Chris is getting a little crazy (well, given his previous craziness as a starting point, the needle�s starting to tick waaaay over into the red line). So much so that he doesn�t even dispose of the body, and leaves an empty film box outside Leslie�s apartment, which that damn snoopy Dimitri discovers and calls the police. The baconmobile arrives just as Chris is trying to rape their hostess, who almost gets away. I say almost because in his frustration, Chris rams the scythe he was carrying through the door she was hiding behind, pinning her there Halloween-style.

He and Celia manage to evade the cops and escape into the countryside, where they meet a shepherd who speaks not a lick of English. He gives them food and shelter for the night, but Celia is worried. She�s been dreaming about a man who kills Chris and rapes her, and this is the guy. Chris calms her, saying he�s the type of simple, innocent person they�re trying to clean up the island for. Of course, the next morning the sheep just won�t do when there�s a woman in the house. The shepherd takes Celia while Chris wakes up and refuses to help her, taking pictures instead. Then the shepherd goes after Chris, and all of a sudden it ain�t so funny anymore. The herdsman attacks Chris with a flying donkey-punch and proceeds to Kentucky plow him around the room on his face while Celia looks on, amused. They dump Chris into a big pile of limestone and bury him, and then go back into the hut for some more downhome lovin� as Celia has decided to stay with the relatively innocent shepherd instead of her�here it comes�brother. Wait, you probably figured that out before, didn�t you? Why else would mom have been so disgusted? So, the rain starts to pour and Chris melts in the acidic water/lime reaction while Little Boy Blue with the stained underpants gives Celia the mustache ride of her life. How ironic that Chris was eventually doomed by the very innocence his diseased little mind sought to protect. Let that be a lesson to you, Billy Graham and Co. One day the shepherds will rise up, fuck your women, and melt you in a big vat of acid.

Holy fucking Moses on a pogo stick, what a ride that was. And as much imagery as there was in the movie that could be taken as symbolism and social commentary (and we all know how welcome that coffee-house beatnik bullshit is around here), I have it straight from the director�s mouth that this movie was filmed solely to make some money by out-grossing Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Talk about passing with flying colors. I can�t think of a single disgusting, offensive, and perverted thing that wasn�t represented in Island of Death�s 105 minutes. I mean, I�m sorry I wasn�t really all that funny during the review, but I was just having too much fun describing all the ickiness. There is one interesting phenomenon I�d like to talk about for a bit, though. The phrase �they don�t make �em like that anymore� applies to 70�s splatter flicks more than anything else I can think of. It�s just a combination of the grainy film, the bad but somehow perfectly natural and convincing acting, and the odd and out of place but somehow very sinister-sounding music (in this case, the songs were written specifically for the movie) that all adds up to one big, beautiful, grotesque ball of perverse fun. It�s difficult to describe exactly the feeling a good, gritty exploitation movie gives you, but I�d liken it to having really good sex while covered in silty mud and falling at terminal velocity from somewhere immensely high.

And finally, for a quick reference for those too lazy to read the whole review and find out what the actual PLOT of the movie was, here in a shameless Joe Bob Briggs rip off are those Drive-In Totals.

10 dead bodies. Promiscuity. Incest. Crucifixion. Strangling. Forced paint-drinking. Bestiality. Animal cruelty. Horrifying stereotypical gay men. Lesbian sex. Brain-splattering. Disemboweling. Hanging from a plane. Drowning. Masturbating to murder photos. Rape. Spear-gun to the stomach. Swirlie of death. Acid body melting. Flamethrower to the face. Wrinkly old woman with piss fetish. Heroin overdose. Decapitation by bulldozer. Fucking while on the phone with mom. Horribly acted director cameo.

If I forgot to mention anything, e-mail me and I�ll add it.

Perversion wins the day. I don�t think there�s much more to say other than don�t let your mommy catch you watching this. I can�t imagine explaining why you think watching an old woman get pissed on and decapitated is entertainment would be all that easy. Unless your mom is just really really cool. While it�s not as gory as it could have been, it�s not really needed because of all the other nastiness on display. Guaranteed something to offend everyone!

This review � copyright 2004 Brother Ragnarok and The Brotherhood of Bad Movies�, and is used by the Tomb of Anubis� with express written permission. No duplication of this review in part or in whole is allowed without the same permission. Contact the Tomb of Anubis� for permission and information on doing so. If you're not interested however, then why the Hell are you reading all this crap? Do you have a legal fetish? Does that little copyright symbol get your juices flowing?! GO AWAY!