THE EVIL DEAD IS NO EVIL DEAD

It took a long time and years of inner struggle but I’ve finally stopped rending my flesh and garments over remakes. It’s not like I can do anything to stop them and since nobody that matters asked for my opinion anyway. Reaching this peace required the recitation of the “Serenity Prayer” until my throat was raw. It also required my viewing, if not embracing, of less-than-stellar versions of classic horror “for the new generation”. I had to remind myself that The Maltese Falcon was shot at least twice before the definitive 1945 John Huston version, so was King Kong—hell, so was Casablanca, and there are always rumors of another coming our way. There always will be. Even though it’s counter-intuitive—your built-in audience, fans of the original, will always be disappointed in the new version and those younger viewers you’re aiming at don’t really care one way or another if the movie had previous incarnations—remakes and sequels are always considered safe money.

The best example, the one I always point to, is that they threw more money at James Gunn to remake Dawn of the Dead than they did for Romero to make an original franchise installment. The Dawn do-over was given more marketing money, more commercial time and it opened in far more theaters than Land of the Dead. Regardless of how you feel about either film, financially Dawn Redeux was the winner.

Therefore, when it was announced that instead of a long-desired Evil Dead 4 we were going to get a “reboot” of the first film, I met this news with neither surprise nor outrage. Maybe fleeting dismay at first, but once I learned that the guys who created the original film and made it what it was, Sam Raimi, Robert Tapert and Bruce Campbell, were on board 100%, my unease got squashed beneath the boot of the inevitable. A new The Evil Dead was upon us and there was nothing I could do about it.

Besides, like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies, Evil Dead II, the film I saw before the original and fell in love with, was more or less a remake itself. So who was I to complain? My only concession was to check with Tom Sullivan, the effects master who gave the original’s deadites their DIY charm. Once I learned he had been originally approached to do some design work (turning it down for his own reasons) and had not been shuttered out in the cold, I gave myself permission to go.

Fortunately, I was able to see it in a safe space. Opening weekend coincided with the Thursday night pre-kick-off of the 2013 Spring Cinema Wasteland show and I’d be among loved ones. Almost 20 of us marched into that midnight screening. The white dread on the faces of those already in the theater were priceless to behold. “Oh, no—those people”, that thundering horde that will no doubt ruin the experience for everyone with their talking and laughing and gum-chewing and delinquency! 

 [CW invades The Evil Dead: Colin Rodgers, So Phıa, Cindy Mullins, Mike Baronas, Tyler Baptist, Allana Sleeth, Carri Natarelli, Mike Natarelli,  

Mike Watt, Ken Leicht, Amy Lynn Best, Gregg Olheiser, Ally Melling and Michael Varrati. Photo by Jill LiXonline,]

I was completely unfamiliar with the new director, Fede Alvarez, best known for his internet-sensation short film, Ataque de Pánico!, which I hadn’t seen. The script was by Alvarez, Rodo Sayagues, and some notoriously “uncredited”, and barely-noticable, “additional dialogue” from the unfathomably-famous Diablo Cody. It started well: a witch-burning in the basement by some Spanish-speaking hillbilly cultists slammed into your eyeball right off the bat, along with plenty of foggy-forest atmosphere. So, cool.

The plot was a little more plotty than I expected, given that both the original and Evil Dead II had premises rather than stories: friends visit a cabin and unleash some nasty, evil Evil. Insert gore and/or slapstick here. In this new one, a group of friends go to a cabin for the express purpose of giving Tessa from Suburgatory (Jane Levy) a much-needed, but oft-repeated, intervention. Beginning by pouring her drugs into the cabin’s well and, therefore, poisoning their sole water supply, the intervention comes to a rather abrupt climax a few minutes later with Mia/Tessa almost immediately relapsing.

Okay, cool, some urgency here. A legitimate reason not to leave the cabin once it starts Evil Dead-ing out. Not sure how the others fit in or even know each other—one of them is her brother and the hippie-schoolteacher guy was apparently once in love with him, I think. Before long, they’re downstairs in that notorious root cellar, but this time, instead of random hanging gourds, they find a room filled with suspended cat corpses. And, of course, the Book of the Dead—returning to the original movie’s nom de biblio, “Naturom Demonto”, instead of the better-known Necronomicon ex Moris (loosely translated “Book of the Dead of the Dead”) from the later movies. You know that this is the big bad book because it’s wrapped in thick black plastic and barbed wire. Now every other animal on Earth would see this as a natural sign of “don’t touch”, but lovelorn hippy guy decides that the barbed wire is obviously a ribbon and bow and can’t wait to open his present. Fine, he doesn’t, we don’t have a movie. Please proceed.

As you’ll recall, the Tom Sullivan-designed Books of the Dead in the previous films are inked in human blood and wrapped in shriek-faced human flesh. Now, do you remember when Madonna put out a photography book called Sex and outraged the Tipper Gores of the world? Okay, remember when Linnea Quigley did something similar with a book called Skin, and the book cover looked like the stitched-together inside of Leatherface? Well, the new-and-improved Naturom Demonto looks just like Linnea’s book. The cover was a simple flesh-quilt that could have been made by any deranged first grader for his Phonics Book. Wrapping in plastic, barbed wire, in a room full of rotting cats, the most evil of all evil books not written by Harold Robbins, this Naturom Demonto was hardly impressive. Do better, movie.

Now comes the fun part, we’re all thinking. In the original, it was Scotty who plays a tape recording of Professor Raymond Knowby (played by Turner Movie Classic’s original host, Bob Dorian) reading the Kandarian incantations. In the subsequent sequel/remake it’s Bruce Campbell’s rock-headed Ash who lets the deadites out of the bag. But it seemed like those guys had an excuse. Ash didn’t know what he was doing; Scotty thought it was “wild” and a joke. Lou Taylor Pucci as Eric is feeling pretty sullen and broody at this point in the film. Judging by the very first few pages of the book—nowhere near as cool as Sullivan’s, which anyone with the special DVD releases can tell you—this Naturom Demonto seemed to have been illustrated by some high school kid in shop class. You know, one of those guys who was “really into” death metal vomit rock but didn’t really know anything about the genre. Screaming women engulfed in flames, missing limbs, etc., all rendered in colored pencil and surrounded by inscriptions in a foreign language. And on top of all that, scribbled in big angry letters, are dire warnings like “DO NOT READ THIS OUT LOUD!” and “QUIT READING THIS OUT LOUD!”

So what does long-haired hippie-freak Eric do? He does a few pencil rubbings to find some key words (presumably on pages torn out because the physics teacher caught the student doodling instead of taking notes) and, quite petulantly and with a voice booming with “Screw you, I’m doing this!” reads the key gibberish we all know and love so well—including the “Kanda” trigger word that means “Demons, c’mere!”. And his pronunciation is terrible. Then, as if on cue, the Shakicam rises from the mist and leaves and zips towards the house. I’ll be honest, my inner Evil Dead geek’s heart thrilled a little to this homage to Raimi’s spirited camerawork.

Now, for months, we’ve been hearing about a “female Ash” this go-around. I was totally cool with this and naturally assumed that Mia/Tessa would be said nigh-invulnerable hero/ine. But in a twist, she’s the first to feel the dead kiss of possession. She’s the one who has to be hurled into that root cellar, the door chained to the floor. Mia/Tessa is now Ellen Sandweiss’s Linda, taunting them from below. Neat.

Except now we’re left with her weak sister of a brother, Shiloh Fernandez as David, who is, in another knowing nod to the original, dressed in an approximation of Ash’s “undateable” look (i.e. the jeans and brown moccasins—in this case, work boots—that Raimi felt would never look dated). Up to this point, David’s been a wussy schnook, but to be fair, so was “Ashley” (as Cheryl called her brother) in the original. Remember, Bruce Campbell spent the majority of the first film trapped beneath a variety of book cases.

By this time, we’re all aware that the other characters, Jessica Lucas as Olivia and Elizabeth Blackmore as Natalie, are there simply to serve the movie as the recipients and delivery-mechanism of gore. Now that the titular Evil Dead force has been unleashed, the movie doesn’t skimp on the much-touted practical gore effects. There are hints of CGI but mostly in service of limb removal. Overseen by Jason Durey, the damage sustained to the human body is beautifully cringe-inducing. In particular, a shot where demon Mia licks the edge of a utility knife and slits her tongue down the middle, I flinched noticeably.

Once the gore really gets going—and it doesn’t take too long to arrive—the audience perked up, thrilling and cheering and laughing like the anti-social murder monkeys they were. Our group was no different, mocking it, lovingly for the most part, pointing out the little in jokes and gags peppered throughout, particularly the appearance of the Raimi “Classic” rusting away behind the cabin. Further down on either end of our row, though, I could feel some growing impatience.

So far, the movie wasn’t the “dick slap in the face” (to quote either Don May, Jr. of Synapse or Michael Felsher of Red Shirt Pictures, who’d attended the previous screening) that we had been dreading. Good gore, decent pace. Nothing too overtly stupid to provoke a walk-out. Things started to get a little ridiculous towards the end—something about the Big Bad needing five souls sacrificed in order to gain access to our world, but the movie had stopped playing by those rules by the third-act twist. I called bullshit on a character’s ability to pull her hand off—not severing it via any tool, that had already happened—but freeing it from a crushing object by just pulling free of all tendons, muscles, bones—in movies, you’re really only held together by pipe cleaners anyway. Look how easy a head comes off in a horror movie? Champagne corks are harder to pop!

Thanks to Don May, who’d read the screenplay beforehand, the ending was supposed to be very different than what wound up on the screen. The Big Bad beast that arose on paper consisted of parts of all the friends, similar to the giant face that confronted Ash at the end of Evil Dead II, but less Audrey II. The beast we got was more Sadako, all elbows and hair. I didn’t know how it figured into the story—was it the girl burned alive at the beginning, some shadowy aspect of Mia/Tessa? Whatever. It was a fine climax but it wasn’t the one I’d been waiting for. Even if Don hadn’t told me of what he’d read, it still wasn’t quite what I felt the movie had been building towards.

If you’re reading this, I’m sure you’ve already heard about or saw the post-credits tag. The nonsensical shot of Bruce/Ash turning to the camera and delivering his famous “Groovy” line. As I’ve learned, there was an original post-tag that had Mia wandering down the road and getting picked up by Ash, thus visually “passing the torch”. This bit was removed after a deal was inked not only for a sequel to this (Evil Dead 2 or 5?) as well as an Army of Darkness 2 that would link everything together. Okay. So Bruce’s little appearance at the end was basically his seal of approval and a nod to future things. Honestly, I was more jazzed at hearing the return of Bob Dorian’s voice-over during the credits. The Bruce thing seemed cute and unnecessary but it didn’t bother me.

It bothered a lot of other people. Not just the folks I saw it with but horror fans globally. Many of the people I talked to later that weekend felt it was a personal insult, an attack on the most loyal of fans.

Ultimately, I didn’t have an emotional reaction to the film one way or another. It certainly did nothing to supplant my affection for the original. Its existence, obviously, does not negate the existence of the original and I have three different formats to choose from whenever I want to revisit. As we filed out of the theater, discussing what we liked and/or (mostly and) what we hated about it, I found that I barely had an opinion about it.

When you get right down to it, The Evil Dead 2013 has some great gore effects. Really top-notch, cross-your-legs and keep-looking, the kind of which I hadn’t seen in quite a while. But there were no people in that film, just actors playing characters born of maybe a paragraph. When one died, I felt nothing. When one survived, I felt the same way.

The original Evil Dead is far from a perfect film but it had, as I said, charm. It had that do-it-yourself (and do-it-to-yourself) spirit that every at-any-cost indie movie has. You can see on screen the hell the filmmakers and actors put themselves through to bring this movie to you. Raimi and company made The Evil Dead because otherwise they would have died trying. There were no such stakes in this new one. Little thought had gone into it except to make it “extreme”. “The most extreme horror movie you’ve ever seen!” It wanted to live up to that boast and nothing more. So it didn’t try to do anything else.

Perhaps the film’s biggest fault lies not with what it is but with what came before it. The Evil Dead did for demonic possession what Night of the Living Dead did for zombies. It created its own sub-genre and thousands of filmmakers have followed in its path. Like Romero, Raimi created a style that could be imitated, lovingly or cynically. Before Burn Notice, Bruce Campbell was merely a working actor who was worshipped all over the world, because he was Ash and he put in the time to bring Ash to life. He’d inspired other lanky weirdoes to try their hands at becoming action/horror/comedy heroes. Most failed, of course. But the point is, there have been hundreds, if not thousands, of cabin-in-the-woods movies in the wake of The Evil Dead, including one produced by our current Fanboy Messiah, Joss Whedon, called Cabin in the Woods.

This new Evil Dead wasn’t anything new. It had a few clever tricks but to me it just felt like another homage to The Evil Dead. It wasn’t its own thing and it never once really tried to be. It wanted to be extreme and on that level it succeeded. It’s a perfectly serviceable, empty-calorie party movie. As far as in-name-only remakes goes, it’s a little better than most. It’s very well-made. The actors do their jobs. The camerawork is Raimi-esque. They could have done better than to desaturate the footage for “grittier” appeal, but that’s a stylistic choice and it remained consistent. I’d probably get it through Netflix when it’s released and I’ll probably moderately enjoy it, but probably less unless I can get my fourteen fellow-travelers back to recreate the experience.

But as far as the movie goes, I’d already seen it before a single frame appeared on screen. There was nothing new. It was just another Evil Dead-type movie. We’ve all seen dozens of those. This just had more money behind it.

To paraphrase one web reviewer, I’d give it a ‘meh and a half’.

Original EVIL DEAD (1983)

 

EVIL DEAD (2013)

 

Post-Wasteland Summations (as much as I can recollect)

Another wonderful Cinema Wasteland has come and gone and, as usual, I feel like Spring has finally arrived. Of course, the temperature plummeted from 80 degrees down to around freezing, bringing with it snow flurries, hail, frogs, locust, the usual lake-effect results. But did that deter any of us? Nay! Nay, I say!

By Sunday, all of us suffering from two-day hangovers were greeted early in the near-noon by the great big flaming ball of death we like to call The Sun (which is a mass of incandescent gas…), searing our blood-shot retinas and revealing to the world that those of us who hadn’t woken up in the same clothes had gotten dressed with the assistance of animated… not birds, the other things—boll weevils.

My personal highlight of the weekend was the surreal moment when mysterious bagpipers arrived and paraded through the bar. Nobody knew where these brave souls came from nor, later, where they went. Nor if they were indeed playing “Amazing Grace” or “Camptown Races”, NOR did it matter! Fortunately, my drunken shriek—“Oh, no! Terrible monsters are attacking those little old ladies!”—went unheard. No bagpipes were harmed during the making of that merriment.

Moments prior to the pipers and a mere half-hour before Jill of LixOnline asurped a corridor for some impromptu hula-hooping, there was some ill-advised inebriated rounds of Twister, wherein many a spectator learned that “Left Foot Red” and “barely-there thong” did not go, so to speak, hand in hand. The less said about the deafening echo the better, but a lightening storm of camera flashes lit up the lobby.

In the “I must be beloved or else I’d be pummel’d” Department, I twice discovered the nippy nature of the weather adverse to my liking, leading me to steal jackets right from the backs of exterior smokers—one person I knew, the other person I knew not. While I brought “borrowed” jackets right back upon my return from my car, I was met with only bemusement. That’s typical of the love amongst the Wastelanders.

My important lesson learned: never laugh while inhaling medicinal medication. It holds up the circle and yields much pointing and mocking. And you risk burning your fingers as you attempt to pass. Also, for future reference, it is ill-advised, after meeting 42nd Street Pete’s daughters, to refer to them directly as “The Spawn of Pete”. Neither of them appreciates it.

Amy and I participated in two film projects—a Canadian-helmed mockumentary starring Rachelle Williams and a non-mocking documentary about Chris Seaver’s Low Budget Pictures oeuvre. As a reward for our participation in the latter, we were given screener copies of two of the newest LBP productions, Deathbone and the oddly touching Geek War, both of which were written, performed and edited by Seaver and company in the car on the way to the show. Six more were filmed in the elevator prior to their screening of I Spit Chew On Your Grave.

All attempts for Michael Varrati, Amy and I to speak only in exposition were thwarted by the demons rum, vodka and “Shut the fuck up!”

The ever-ubiquitous Troma booth was oddly subdued, possibly due to the absence of your Uncle and Mine, Lloyd Kaufman. He was greatly, greatly missed by fans and friends and acquaintances alike. I myself missed being accused of homosexual activity any time I attempted to pass by. And I mean that with all of my heart.

Attention Tom Savini, we have your grandson. In case you were wondering.

To all bootleggers: while I neither condone nor condemn your behavior (not officially, anyway), the MPAA is not a law enforcement organization. If someone comes to your table brandishing an “MPAA Badge” and “confiscates” some of your product, it’s a scam. Please feel free to accompany them outside with your largest neighbors and reduce them to pavement stains. (Legally, I neither condone nor condemn physical violence. Assholery, on the other hand, is not something of which I am a fan unless I am the perpetrator. And even I have more class than that.) If they identify themselves as F.B.I. and their credentials look legitimate, I offer my congratulations for stimulating the economy in such a way that the big boys have taken notice—Kudos!

For Happy Cloud Pictures, it was a banner event, for we unveiled the 10^th Anniversary DVD of a little thing we like to call The Resurrection Game, along with the companion Dead Life Graphic Novel and annotated screenplay / scrapbook. Records show that we gave away more DVDs than we actually sold but that’s primarily due to the fact that nearly everyone in attendance had something to do with this release in one way or another. The included documentary features many faces familiar to the Wasteland family, including Mario Dominick (“Films on the Fringe”), Michael Felsher (Red Shirt Pictures), Art Ettinger (Ultra Violent Magazine) and the immortal 42^nd Street Pete. (If you haven’t ordered your copy yet, you’re the only one. And don’t you feel foolish?)

Mucho thanks extended to Ken and Pam Kish and all the Wasteland staff and family. The wait for October will be an eternity!

Even Manic-Depressive C'Thulu loves CINEMA WASTELAND! 

Brand New Blog for Your Time-Wasting Needs!

Now I know you're all agog with anticipation for the Cinema Wasteland premiere of Demon Divas and the Lanes of Damnation but here's a little something I like to call "Hey, Have You Ever Seen the Movie...?" It's a new blog dedicated to odd and hard-to-find movies.

DEMON DIVAS to premiere at Cinema Wasteland

Just got the news: DEMON DIVAS AND THE LANES OF DAMNATION will premiere at Cinema
Wasteland Saturday, October 3rd at 6:30 PM! This is a great slot and I can't thank Ken and Pam Kish enough for it. And as long as the donations keep rolling in (thanks everyone!) the 10th Anniversary DVD of THE RESURRECTION GAME will be on sale there as well. Wasteland is the patron saint of Happy Cloud Pictures!

The HCP Donation Drive started over at Facebook. If every one of my various 1,000 Friends over here at Myspace join the cause and Paypal just $10 to happycloudpictures@hotmail.com we'll have enough to put DD out on Blu-Ray, finish the 10th Anniversary DVD of The Resurrection Game and put together seed money for the still hush-hush new film currently in pre-production. Good karma and 10 years off of your Purgatory stay for anyone who donates. Not to mention our eternal, heartfelt love. ;)

Thanks to everyone who has supported us and HCP over the past ten years!

Cinema Wasteland Remembered

Briefly… It was another terrific Cinema Wasteland. Seriously, I almost wish Ken and Pam would put on one that sucked just to break up their record! But no, we had a vast amount of fun, made a decent amount of money and got to see our bi-annual friends and catch up with life. This trip we had a few "newbies"—Tara Cooper (who truthfully lost her Wasteland virginity in April), Tabatha Carrick, Nikki McCrea and Aaron Bernard came out to help us promote Demon Divas and the Lanes of Damnation and it was fun watching the madness unfold through their eyes. Seriously, how do you describe writer Joe Knetter ("Zombie Bukkake") without visuals? How do you explain the films of Bill Zeebub without the proper demonstrative tools? And since we had Henrique Couto with us, and his ever-present ukulele, that just added to the surrealistic nature of the weekend.

There was a last-minute snafu, however, that turned things on an interesting curve for us. Damian and Ed, the creators of the ubiquitous "Living Dead Dolls", had to cancel at the very last minute due to transportation problems. To keep from having empty spaces, Pam shuffled some of us around, putting the Teddy Scares folks in the corner usually occupied by "Living Dead Dolls" and moving us behind Art and Allana's Ultra-Violent table. So for the first time in, I believe, five years, we weren't facing the door.

Now you wouldn't think something as minor as that would be a disaster—and in truth, it wasn't. But it was a completely new perspective for us, facing the room instead of the door. Because Wasteland is one of our favorite places on Earth, we don't handle change well. Hell, we nearly wept when our directly-behind-us neighbors moved an aisle over for more space! Now where we were, we were given a bigger table and had all the space we needed to spread out (necessary, as we're behind-the-table slobs), but it was almost an alien perspective at first. I experienced instant paranoia, thinking people were sneaking up on me all weekend. Again, not a big deal except what we made of it. We were still there among the ones we loved and by 5:00 on Friday, we were used to the view, but beyond anything else, we discovered what creatures of habit we truly are.

I'm choosing to blame our Friday-night rule breaking on the new perspective, even though I should really pin the accusations on our own lack of responsibility. Friday nights we try to take things easy, get to bed at a decent hour and save our partying for Saturday. But the French Canadians—Simon, Hugo and Steve—were in the house as well, and they can drink us virtually under the table so… we slipped.

I didn't get hammered, but since my drink of choice is rum and coke, invariably, if I drink too much, the alcohol wears off faster than the caffeine. As a result, I spent much of the nocturne hours between 1:00 am and 8:00 staring at the blinking light on the smoke alarm, growing increasingly convinced that Dick Cheney was watching me. Amy and Tara fared no better. For some reason, the Holiday Inn chose to replace their downy comforters with something made either out of crinoline or old tambourines. Regardless of their composition, every move any of us made beneath those comforters would echo through the room. Madness, I tell you.

So as a result, we looked terribly hung over, minus the joyful memories of being drunk the previous night. All I wanted to do was crawl under the table and sleep, but the show must go on! And go on it must'vely.

Because of my sleep-deprived condition, I found myself reaching my maximum level of small talk quicker than usual. Perhaps the never-ending ukulele music wasn't assisting. Or perhaps it was the unusual amount of political banter surrounding me—yes, Sarah Palin is an empty-headed mannequin and John McCain is a pod person. I agree, go away—but by about 2:00 that afternoon, I was attempting to lure passersby into conversations about Proust, Billy Wilder and Marcel Marceau. I just couldn't talk about the election, torture porn or "Slaughtered Vomit Dolls" any longer. God help us all!

Oddly, because it's Wasteland, the movie and convention gods were on my side. Whenever I started to slide too far to either side of my homicide – suicide scale, someone would invariably swing by to cheer me up, whether it was Art Ettinger making another "Minutemen" joke about my name, Mike and Carrie presenting me with a genuine "Mike Watt" etched glass, or Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni giving me a personal introduction to Lamberto Bava. It's hard to have lowered spirits at Cinema Wasteland for very long.

Two other surprises were in store for me that weekend. The first was discovering that I was mentioned twice in the UK book "Zombiemania: 80 Movies to Die For", by Dr. Arnold T. Blumberg and Andrew Hershberger. The first was for writing Dead Men Walking and the other in a capsule review of The Resurrection Game. That the book is a ridiculously thorough look at zombie movies of all budgets didn't suck the wind out of my sails in the slightest. And the fact that they spelled my name as "Watts" should be more than enough proof that I am not affiliated with the writers and in no way cajoled them into including me.

The second surprise came from one of our fans and supporters and con friends who showed me a little souvenir thing he bought at Borders called "Whack-A-Zombie". It's a box that comes with a small inflatable bob bag with a zombie painted on it, so that you can slap it around to your heart's content. It also comes with a little book, a guide to zombies, zombie lore and zombie entertainment. In it, it has a short list of "the better-known" zombie novels available out there. Predictably, it includes books like "World War Z" by Max Brooks and "The Risen" by Brian Keene, but right there, at number five, is "The Resurrection Game", with my name spelled correctly. "Better known"? Thank you very much! So the authors of this little book are responsible for my tiny quarterly publisher's royalty check! I'm eternally grateful.

As usual, Sunday rolled around leaving us torn between wanting to go home and never wanting to leave. While we did achieve sleep Saturday night, we were all afflicted with a degree of hotel kennel cough, leaving us hoarse and exhausted. Amy, as we discovered, was developing a sinus infection that would chase her through the rest of the week. I just wanted to sleep for another month or so.

It took us a good hour to say our good-byes—always longer than the hellos. We got to hang out with Michael Berryman and Kane Hodder for a little bit, though, which was nice. And we made plans to try and get together with the Kishs and some of the other Wasteland crew who we've come to know and love. On the drive home, we looked back at the weekend, realizing that Tara makes a terrific personal assistant/one-woman personal support group, Henrique and Charles are a cool comedy team (that will someday result in a ukulele passing completely through Henrique's digestive tract), Tabatha and Steve are nauseatingly cute, Hugo can take a punch, Simon is hiding a very clever and very cruel streak that I hope to see come out more, and Rhonda and Kyle are more disturbed than I had even suspected. In short: another terrific Wasteland.

* * *

Don't forget, Sirens of Cinema 13 is officially available at fine stores or, more directly, from www.sirensofcinema.com It features a beautiful cover by Dave Stevens and a three-page memorial of his amazing artist. Other highlights include an exclusive look at the upcoming movie Bitch Slap, the completion of Justice Howard's Twisted Fairy Tales photo series and the first look at Demon Divas and the Lanes of Damnation. So don't miss out! You'll hate yourself. And we'll hate you more.

The Return From Wasteland

Last week, I sent out three copies of Splatter Movie: The Director’s Cut, started teaching at the Savini School of Digital Photography, wrote more of my new book, copied almost a hundred DVDs - none of that compared to the excitement of a new pending Cinema Wasteland.

Yes, this is another of those blogs that begins, "As you all know, Wasteland is our favorite show..." The Cleveland convention has always been a highlight of our year and this past April show was no exception. In fact, it was one of the best times we’d ever had, particularly as no one emailed me on Saturday to tell me that a company I was working for was no longer in business. Not losing a job first thing in the morning is a terrific way to ward off depression.

Wasteland is our "family" show. While we generally have an awesome time at every show, Wasteland is the show where we feel completely comfortable and welcome. The antithesis of the high school gym feeling you often receive at biz gatherings. If you’re a regular reader of this online screed, then you know how we feel about this show, Ken and Pam Kish the promoters, the staff, the hotel, the atmosphere, the humidity, etc. At the risk of alienating the new reader(s), I think I’ll forgo the Romper Room roster ("I saw Damien and Ed and Jill and Greg and Carrie and Mike and...) and just hit the highlights:

I somehow managed to con William Wright, one of my head writers at Sirens of Cinema, to drag his wife and young child (the amazingly friendly (clingy? Needy?) Harlan Hunter) 600 miles from Tennessee to join us in the insanity. Which was awesome. Hell, half the staff of Sirens was in attendance at this show, which was also, you know, awesome. Within seconds, Harlan had lept from mom Olivia’s arms into Amy’s, and then into Mink Stole’s. Mink’s response: "I love that fans are always giving me things at conventions."

I also loved that Mink loved the issue of Sirens containing her interview. (11, incidentally, with the Joe Jusko cover, still available through the site.) I hadn’t heard from her after what I considered to be the best interview I’d done all last year, so I was terrified I’d insulted her, etc. Turns out there was a family tragedy that kept her from responding. (What a relief!) So my terror was immediately replaced by, okay, guilt. Still, she liked the issue and that made me do the little "Happy Mink Stole Liked the Issue Dance". Not to be confused with the "Happy Wasteland Dance" and the "Happy Doughnut Dance". We do a lot of dances at Happy Cloud Pictures.

Five minutes before the dealer’s room opened on Friday, Ilsa herself, Dyanne Thorne, appeared in the doorway to introduce herself to the room and to wish everyone a terrific show. She looked amazing and that was a classy thing to do. One dealer grumbled, "Sure, that’s because she’s going to make all the money." He was summarily killed and eaten. We did the "Happy Devoured Grumpy Dealer Dance".

Sid Haig walked through the door and shook my hand instead of stabbing me in the throat with a letter opener. Not that he’s ever done this, but it always feels good when he doesn’t.

Henrique Couto arrived with a friend of his from New Jersey. Her name was Regina. She was dressed as a school girl. Eventually, she overcame her shyness and joined in on the fun. Henrique had dropped 30 pounds or so from the last time we’d seen him. He also never wore pants the entire time he was there.

Low Budget Pictures was represented this trip by Chris Seaver (genius director of Mulva 2), Travis (genius actor of Carnage for the Destroyer) and Josh (genius star of Film Crew and now legally allowed to travel within the state of Ohio once again). They yelled a lot and refused to give me a copy of Ski Wolf. No matter how much blow I hooked them up with.

We presented Tom Sullivan with the very Grendel mask he wore in Splatter Movie. He was pleased. Then he went back to constructing a seven-foot-tall manniquin of The Dread, from the film of the same name. Later, we learned he’d exchanged the Grendel mask for a taco and some duct tape. His partner, Pat Reese, stole the mask back and ate the taco.

Our executive producer, Fred Obermiller, gave us a copy of "Cinema Skin" that contained a rave review of A Feast of Flesh and two screen grabs of the ever-topless Rachelle Williams. I conned William Wright into going up to her in the bar to have her sign it. (Jeez, I can get him to do anything.) It was funny. She only slapped him twice before autographing it. He only slapped her once in return. Now they are legally married in Dubai.

Mike and Carolyn Haushalter joined us for dinner at Applebee’s on Friday, which rocked. The company and the food. As we were leaving, there were two hosts at the door talking as we left. As we passed the first one, he said, "Have a great night." The second one, thinking he was speaking to her, said "What?"

I said, "He said ’have a good night’."

She said, "Oh, no - I thought -"

"Oh, so I’m not allowed to have a good night?" I said. "Jeez, the service at this place."

She turned beet red. I did the "Happy Embarressed and Confused Applebee’s Hostess Dance".

David and Tara joined us on Saturday. They were supposed to join us Friday as well, but, fortunately, they were not killed on the way. Just delayed. We did the "Happy Still Alive David and Tara Dance" (that joke never gets old). Tara had created a Tara-sized shirt out of the Happy Cloud shirt we’d given her for Christmas. She’d snipped away almost three yards of material. Now it’s useless as a bed sheet. Jeez. Amy dragged them all over the dealer’s room to introduce them to all of our con friends. Tara met Unky Lloyd Kaufman and got all verklempt. (Tara gets star-struck during card tricks, though. She once met that guy who dresses in question marks and tries to sell you a phone book-sized tome on Free Money. It took her two hours to blink or breathe again, she was so impressed. She bought six books.) Unky Lloyd followed her around for several minutes trying to convince her to be in Troma’s new "Pornogeist". He wrote his number on the back of David’s head for her. Next week, we all drive up to New York to write our names on the side of the Troma building and then run. They’ll be awestruck by our penmanship!

Saturday night, Splatter Movie: The Director’s Cut (what I thought was the final version, but I found four bad sound cues) screened to a packed room. We were astounded at the amount of people in there. Some of them weren’t even in the movie! There were three guys in the back row talking back to the movie the whole time and were actually 93% as funny as the movie itself. Amy and I introduced the movie by saying "Not in the face," and then drinking every time we had a panic attack. It’s like "Quarters" for neurotics.

Al Tuskes, from Precinct 13, joined us for the screening and claimed to have enjoyed it immensely. He obviously wasn’t lying because he joined us for drinks afterwards. A lot of drinks. Apple Juice, ice water and bible passages.

"Bible Passages" is made with vodka.

At one point, I was talking to Regina and this dumb blonde dressed like Milia in Resident Evil came over to my table, looked at me, then took Regina’s arm and said "I HAVE to interview you for my show." Then proceded to yak at her in front of my table while I shouted "No, that’s okay. Ignore the guest and interview the attendee. Very classy, Queen of the Peroxide!" Actually, I didn’t shout the latter. But I thought it loudly. Later, said woman was found in the lobby covered in sperm and shame. I may have made that last part up too, depending on whether or not it can be construed as libel.

By Sunday, we’re usually ready to come home, but not this time. We were exhausted, from the drinking, the revelry and the corridor beer pong competition (combining man’s love of both beer and pong), but we weren’t ready to leave. But finally, we tore ourselves away. It took us over an hour to say our goodbyes - To Lixx Online, to Ken and Pam, to Charlie and Tim and Kate, to Carrie and Mike, to the Toe Tag folks, Art and Allana, Rob Lucas, Xploited, the Professor, Mary-Anne... A wonderful time was had by all. Or, at least, by us. And isn’t that what’s really important?

Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut - first trailer!

It took a while, but I was finally able to upload the first trailer for Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut.

Don't forget that you can check this out for yourself at Cinema Wasteland, Saturday, April 5 at 10:00 PM! Ken and Pam are screening the finished cut of the film in all its glory. We're not ready to start selling it from the site yet, as we're currently shopping it around, but we'll have a few copies available at Wasteland, while supplies last.

Feel free to grab this and imbed it on your own page!

The Memory Skips Away

We did get one piece of good news yesterday, as a matter of fact. A Feast of Flesh is playing Saturday, October 20, at 12:00 noon at the Rhode Island International Film Festival (preceeded by a shrot from Rue Morgue editor Rod Gudino)! This is a fairly big and really cool film festival that I wish with all my heart we could go to. However, Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut will be premiering at the Hundred Acres Manoron the 19th, followed by our wrap party, so there's no way we could fit it in. Still, it's there, it's playing and that's awesome.

* * *

After weeks of wishing that the weather would catch up with the calendar, the temperature finally dropped last night (just as my car's air conditioning gave out, coincidentally). As a result, more comfortable climes ... and a sinus headache that has spread through my entire body. So my winning streak continues. This weekend coming up is Rock 'n Shock weekend in Worchester, MA, just outside of Boston. I've never been to R&S, or Boston for that matter, so I'm really looking forward to it. It may be our last show of the year as well, the way things are looking. A Feast of Flesh will be on sale there too, so if you're in the area... Actually, even if you're not, you should make a special trip and come down. Although, I am a little nervous about the Red Sox game playing at home that weekend. Will that kill traffic or just kill attendence? Any insight there, Boston fans?

This past weekend was the wonderful world of Cinema Wasteland. As usual, a terrific time was had, though the show itself seemed a little "off". Nothing bad--not at all. But some vendors we expected to see, like Stanlee Houston and the Low Budget Pictures crew, were not present and others, like our usual neighbors, Frank and Steve and their classic monster designs, were in a different area altogther. This meant our comfort zone was shifted fairly radically right off the bat. And because the Indians were playing and doing, I'm hearing, well, a lot of the expected "waves" of bodies through the door were spread out more evenly. As a result, there was never that encouraging, though overwhelming, rush of people. Numbers weren't down, I'm told, and we did particularly well. But, just the same, slightly "off".

It was great to see everyone, though. Ken and Pam did their usual stellar job of putting the thing together. Staff Tom, Laura, Henry and Joe (and all the others, but those are the names I remember) did their own stellar job.

Our particular highlights: hanging with Wayne Allen Harold and Toby Radloff--right after Toby's 50th Birthday celebration--along with the guys from Cypography. Meeting, briefly, Tommy and Todd Brunswick from The Skeleton Factory (the former of whom I covered in Sirens of Cinema #8 (on sale now!)-- Thanks, John, for the intro! Giving Tom Sullivan his copy of Splatter Movie, albeit the cut minus most of the music. Meeting Ted V. Mikels (Astro-Zombies, The Corpse Grinders) again and him remembering me from my Femme Fatales days. Seeing Leslie Easterbrook again and cementing something really cool in writing (more to come on that hopefully soon). Dinner with Pam and Jeff from Hell's Orphans. Absinthe with Mike and Carrie of MNEtching. Drinks with Pete, Roland, Ron, Cathy and Joe Knetter...The list actually goes on.

Lowlights, unfortunately, started on Saturday when I checked my email and discovered that the last company I did PR for is closing its doors and, suddenly, I'm no longer a working publicist. Shock hit first (it was tempered by good news from Fangoria) then gloom settled over me a few hours later. Gloom turned into extreme frustration when I found myself encountering about a half-dozen "what have you done for me lately" type people--at least four reviewers and a good couple of indie filmmakers who take and take and never--ever--give anything back to me. All of a sudden, I was in a very dark place that refused to lighten no matter how hard I tried. I was feeling pretty good after dinner, with some booze in me, until a couple of guys I barely recognized invited me to do a shot.

Lemme tell you about my good friends Rum and Vodka. They love me but don't like each other. They fight over me. It makes me sad. Sad, coupled with career frustration and delusions that I am entitled to a thank you occassionally from people we've helped out, equals hysterical anger.

I wound up lashing out at a good friend who, I perceived half-correctly but mostly incorrectly, had slighted me earlier that day. Bad, bad scene. Couple this with memory skips. Sunday morning had more than its share of gray gaps between events--doing the shots, suddenly outside with Bryan and Nikki and Tom (formerly of B-Headed.com), suddenly at my car searching for... something, suddenly in a "what are you looking at?" loop with a skinheaded guy I didn't know (the loop, in case it isn't self-explanatory, was just me saying "What are you looking at?" in a demanding tone whether he was looking at me or not), then expressing my anger with the aforementioned wronged party, then, miraculously, Amy and I back at the room and in bed while the ceiling drifted in a lazy, counter-clockwise manner. Memory skips are the worst part of drinking. Hangovers I can deal with. You feel crappy and tired but that goes away. The memory skips are little holes filled with "Oh, fuck, what did I do?" I don't drink to the point of memory skipping that often. For precisely that reason.

Sunday, the low-level shittiness was upon me, along with remorse and dread. As usual, we just wanted to pack up the table and hang out. We might as well have. No one came to the table to buy anything on Sunday. Not a soul. Which is nobody's fault, of course. Sundays are always slow. Usually, we make a few extra bucks right before we leave, but not this time around. Which was fine. We'd done our share the two days prior--I'd love to say that we broke the bank with the new Feast of Flesh DVDs, but that just wasn't the case.

I walked around and got a few interviews for the upcoming Resurrection Game DVD -- hitting up Charlie Fleming and Tim Gross (The Bastards of Horror), Michael Felsher (Red Shirt Productions) and Art Ettinger (Ultra Violent). After that, I was ready to split. The trip home felt like forever, but we had dogs and cats and Boston Legal waiting for us, and it was nice to finally be home. And now I have the April Wasteland to look forward to (Dyanne Thorne and Jack Hill!!).

Weddings, FEAST, Scarehouse and Wasteland

Long week.

It started last week, actually, with the preparations for Mike and Carolyn's wedding - rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, pre-ceremony, ceremony... and then it was over. An eye-blink: some vows (including a sermon that made utterly no sense to me but was delivered in warm and even tones by Carolyn's brother, Lamar), a limo ride, some food, my brilliant toast (the bulk of which was conceived in the rest room just prior to delivery), a few dances then... the night was over. Amy and I took the gifts back to the home of the new Mr. and Mrs. Haushalter and joined them for brunch the next morning. It was nice. Our heads were spinning all day, but nice all the same.

The rest of this week was spent in preparation for Cinema Wasteland this coming weekend. It's no secret that this bi-annual event is my favorite show and I'm proud that we'll be unveiling a new issue of Sirens of Cinema (our Second Anniversary Issue with cover by Joe Jusko!), a work-in-progress cut of Splatter Movie (something we do with all of our movies to keep the buzz going and to get feedback from fans) and the brand new DVD release of A Feast of Flesh. Yeah, we're getting it out there prematurely, but I doubt it'll cause a ripple effect tearing apart the business. It's just a cool thing to have available. The menus are gorgeous, the original cover pic was taken by our good friend Dave Cooper, there's a montage of Mike Haushalter's on-set photos inside, our commentary is witty and urbane and it's getting good reviews so far.

Reviews like this one from Movies Made Me Do It:

There are times when I really get nervous before popping in a movie with the intent of reviewing it, and when it came time to watch A Feast of Flesh (formerly known as Abattoir), I have to admit that I felt that nervousness creeping up on me. Why? Well, mainly because I really enjoy director Mike Watt's work, and although I wouldn't go so far as to call us "friends" as I've never met the guy and I'm pretty sure that he doesn't even remember my name, we have had a couple of conversations in the past and I thought that he came across as a great guy with a genuine love for the business. So, where does the nervousness bit come in? Well, his latest film deals with vampires... need I say more? I truly despise the vast majority of the vampire flicks to come out of the last ten years, especially the ones that are as sex-charged as this one appeared to be based on the promotional materials. However, I popped it in anyway, and I was shocked to find that it wasn't all that bad; nay, scratch that, it was actually pretty damned good.

We begin the film by watching a man beating a woman in a dark alley, but before he can do much damage, a woman appears out of nowhere and literally rips his face off. Terri (Stacey Bartlebaugh-Gmys), the woman who was being beaten, is obviously a little scared at first, but this mysterious stranger makes it clear that she has no desire to harm her; in fact, she'd like to take her to a place where she'll be safe and never have to worry about this sort of thing ever again. The place in question turns out to be a high-class brothel known as the Bathory House which is owned by Elizabet Le Fanau (Amy Lynn Best), and right from the start, observant viewers will notice that this isn't your average whorehouse as all of the women inside are vampires. Talk about going out for a little sucky-sucky action, sheesh.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, friends John (Steve Foland) and Seth (Aaron Bernard) are kicking back a couple of cold ones in the local tavern when John invites Seth to come along with him and a couple of friends to the aforementioned brothel to forget about his woman troubles for a while. You see, Seth's girlfriend has recently dumped him and ran off to New York, leaving the poor guy heartbroken and constantly drowning his sorrows in liquor. He turns the offer down, but the rest of the gang decides that a little sex-for-cash action is more important than being there for poor Seth. Then, a revelation is made: John notices that one of the ladies working in the whorehouse is actually Seth's former girlfriend, and it doesn't take long for him to find Seth and fill him in on this piece of news.

The two plan to go back to the house and talk to her, but before they can do so, they're interrupted by Tom (Bill Homan), a gangster-looking guy who claims that their lives will be in danger if they pursue that plan. He takes them back to Sheridan (director Mike Watt, sporting a great Irish accent), a man who fills them in on a little information about the situation at hand, and before you know it, it's Sheridan and his boys versus a bunch of vampire vixens with these two guys caught in the middle. There's much more to it, of course, but I feel as though I've revealed enough as is. Also appearing in minor roles are Debbie Rochon and the husband-and-wife team of April Monique Burril and Jimmyo Burril (both of Chainsaw Sally fame).

What sets A Feast of Flesh apart from the thousands of other "hot women who also happen to be vampires" movies floating around out there is the fact that it actually has some steak to go along with its sizzle; I know, putting an actual plot in one of these movies is such a novel concept, right? Apparently, Mr. Watt (who also served as the writer here) thought so as well, and the result was a film that actually had me interested in both the storyline and the characters within. Keep in mind that when I reference the characters, I mean more than "who will pop their top next?", as there are some very well-written characters to be found here and I couldn't have been more shocked or pleased when I realized that.

Even when one leaves the plot out of the equation, there's some really neat ideas wrapped up in the running time for this one. One thing that I particularly liked was the "faith-based" system of vampire weapons; by that, I mean that things like the traditional cross and holy water relies on the weapons' wielder believing in it rather than just assuming that it works. You're a Catholic? Crosses are your best friend. Jewish? I guess you'd want a menorah, but sadly, we never got to find out about that one. Hell, one guy in here believed that money makes the world go 'round, and as a result, he was able to use a dollar bill as an effective weapon. I realize that it sounds silly on paper, but it worked out nicely on the screen and was a very interesting deviation from the usual vampire mythos.

A Feast of Flesh is a great vampire film, and this is coming from someone who normally skips over any DVD that even references another vampire flick. All of the things that one expects from this subgenre - blood, boobs, and beasts - are in ample supply, but those things also come with an inventive and intriguing storyline that will keep viewers hooked until the credits roll. 8/10.

Which I've read about eight times this week to keep my morale up.

So don't call me at home this weekend. Come visit us in Cleveland at Cinema Wasteland.

OH, and one last thing: I know I've been touting the good graces of The Hundred Acres Manor all year, but everyone within shouting distance should also drive down to Scarehouse in Etna. Run by our good friends Scott and Barb Simmons, with mucho make-up provided by Don Bumgarner (F/X wizard on A Feast of Flesh not so coincidentally), it's a hell of a ride and a really damned fun time. And there will be a certain very talented young directrix making a guest appearance on October 21 (check the site's calendar for more info...)

Checking in while I'm running out

The new job has me bound to my desk. I rush home and get about two hours of other work in before my tired old body gives out on me. The last few days have been devoted to completing the picture lock on Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut, so I've had time for little else.

Splatter Movie is almost there. Amy and I sat down and hammered out the structure while getting some good input from Jeff (Waltrowski, co-star and director of photography), Rachelle (Williams, co-star and trusted co-conspirator) and Fred (Obermiller, executive producer and trustworthy eyes and ears). Because it's set up as a pseudo-documentary (and not a "mockumentary" as some have called it... I like to think of it as a "splat-umentary"... "shock-umentary"? What's more appropriate?), it doesn't have a definite structure at all. It starts, it ends, then there's all this stuff in the middle. And it didn't fit together the way the script decreed it, surprisingly. But I think we have all the footage beaten into submission, so it's just a matter of chiseling away at it. Hopefully, all goes well, I'll have a working cut by the end of the month. Just in time, too, as we're starting to field a lot of requests for screeners. Despite the constant declarations of death (thanks to the failure of Hostel 2, apparently), the horror industry appears to be alive and only moderately ill.

Still, time continues to be a factor. So I'm only now getting around to letting everyone know that Amy and I will be guests at the Rotten Jack's Creep Show, and you can get the lowdown HERE or HERE. Our good friends JimmyO and April Burril will be there as well, so swing on down if you're in Buffalo.

And then it's the countdown to Cinema Wasteland, which is our big show of the year. If you don't attend Wasteland, truly, your life has no meaning.

We're also gearing up for a big DVD release party for A Feast of Flesh, which is officially released on November 6. There will be news as soon as humanly possible - we have a meeting tonight, as a matter of fact, to set things up. In the meantime, swing by Bloody Earth Films' site and check out the swanky artwork (photo courtesy of David Cooper and jazzed up by the B.E. magicians).

Oh, and Amy, Jeff and I spent a good part of last Saturday working with Eric Molinaris of MFX Studios on his new zombie movie. Check out photos and video HERE. Most of what you see was shot by either Jeff or I. (All the cool stuff is mine.) All the crowd scenes were organized and directed by Amy. Eric directed, conceived, wrote and did the effects and suffered sleep deprivation in the process. Lorena Cintron took care of administration and glamour make-up. A whole bunch of people, including Splatter Movie's Luke, Scott, Brandon, Steve and Jimmy, handled make-up. A whole bunch of people whose names I never learned star as the zombies and soldiers. The Donora Police provided the bridge and blocked off the traffic (until they got bored and wandered away, claiming "traffic accident" right at the end of the shoot - and suddenly we're dealing with old folks driving over the bridge one the way home from church or Bingo or whatever it is grumpy old people do on Saturday afternoons ...)

... Gads, there's so much more, but it's all "in the works". We have two movies planned for the next few months, one we're raising money for, the other I haven't even written yet! And we're hoping to return to shooting Professor Jack and the Electric Club after Christmas, but that may have to wait until Mr. Waltrowski wraps his super-secret feature in April. And despite my frustrations with the print industry, I may even release a book at the end of the year. Consider yourself threatened.

And good lord - I haven't even mentioned the official 10th Anniversary of The Resurrection Game or the commemorative DVD that's in the works! Ten years since we began working on that hateful, spiteful movie. That zombie movie sans zombies! The start of this whole painful, endless trip called "our careers"...

So stay tuned. Eventually I'll get to talk about all that stuff. In the meantime, keep watching the skies!

Quick catch up

A death in the family prevented me from updating this over the past few days - that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. So allow me to quickly say the following:

300... could there be a manlier movie? I asked Amy this midway through watching yesterday. She responded that "any minute now, I'm going to grow testicles!". I replied, "Any minute now, I'm going to grow ovaries!" I liked it. I didn't love it. And having studied Persian culture along with many others over the years, I think I can safely say that I recognized NONE of the costume designs as anything remotely Persian. Or Asian. Or... human. (And is The Island of Dr. Moreau located in the ancient Persian empire? What was with Frankenstein and the other human/animal hybrids throughout the movie?) And why was Xerxes conceived as a villain from Stargate? Anyway... during the middle part of the movie, I found myself mocking the narrator a little: "And Xerxes then sent his Immortals, then other waves of those under the God-King's Rule: the archers, the milk men, the babysitters, those who understood Trigonometry, and a league of men named Dave..."

* * *

Christopher P. Garetano's documentary, Horror Business, as exemplary as it is, should really have been titled Horror Dreamers or something more appropriate as it had so little to do with the "business" of horror filmmaking and everything to do with those whose passion it is to make horror movies. I question a couple of the people he chose to profile, but their dedication to their art cannot be questioned. I recommend to people who can't quite figure out why it is we no-budgeters do what we do. Oh, and some of us are less angry than Ron Atkins. Really.

* * *

Two weeks ago, Amy and I had the pleasure of working with Devi Sniveley of Deviant Pictures (Teenage Bikini Vampire) and Jane Rose (Heading Home) on a predominantly-female-helmed film called I Spit On Eli Roth. It was a labor-intensive two-day shoot at the fantastic "Hundred Acre Manor" in South Park (where I can't wait to shoot again). Expecting a very long two days with little to do, I brought a book. Due to some scheduling snafus on the part of one of the producers, I wound up the movie's director of photography. Quite the surprise, actually.

Ultimately, it's going to be a very fun little movie. Here's a pic:

That's Amy, Jane and Devi starting l-r on the far left.

Lots of blood and anti-social behavior inflicted upon someone who looks an awful lot like Eli Roth. You can allow your imagination to go wild as to why Eli Roth was singled out to be spit-upon. I like to think it was for Hostel, though there are those who would prefer he repent for Cabin Fever. Or his cameo in 2001 Maniacs...

* * *

Amy and I will be speaking at the I-CON 26 SF convention at Stonybrook University on Long Island this coming weekend. One of the panels I'm hosting is "Breaking into publishing for artists", which I know nothing about. I think my whole speech will be "Be a good artist that will give Sirens of Cinema a cover for the same price as a cheeseburger and I'll hire you." Which is exactly happened last year when I met Mike Lilly, Joseph Corsentino, Mike Okamoto and Scott Grimando. I hope to exploit many other talented artists this year.

Oh, and both Abattoir and The Resurrection Game will be screening over the weekend as well. Don't ask me when (and don't ask me why they call Debbie Rochon "The Geilgud of Bad Movies" either. That's just mean.)

* * *

And in case I didn't mention it a hundred times already, Abattoir will be screening at Cinema Wasteland, March 31 at 7:00pm. We're starting to get offers on this one, so we might have a winner on our hands. I know, I've said that too. And I mean it, dammit!

Malena Teves, exactly one-half of the duo that makes up Lorraine 'a Malena, the band that donated the song "Dark Sonnet" to our closing credits, mentions Abattoir HERE on her blog. Thank you, Malena. Everyone should thank her. And go buy a copy of "Mirror Mirror" from which the song was taken.

There should be more soon. Including, hopefully, an official announcement about our next production, some news about an old production, and why I love Terry Gilliam but don't want to be him.