Easter dinner out in Pitt. I am running on three hours of sleep (tops) an egg and a coffee. I have an understandably large headache.

But it's all good in the sense that last night was spent watching some of the most bizarre shows ever made. I know that Grae has intenetions to post a thourough review of the evening, but he always has intentions.

It all started with Slade in Flame. I kind of liked this non-sequitor movie about a glam band from the UK (Slade plays the band Flame... I know, I know). What little plot this movie did have (the record execs stage a radio station hostile takeover, the record exec has his daughter kidnapped over a stolen contract, the two timing groupie, the left at home wife, etc.) did not string together. the film quality was horrible and the lighting was some of the worse I've seen in a long time. It could be because of the projector or the footage used, but there were scenes that were full black with a headlight dot of white. I liked the absurdity and shear lack of plot. I would have hated it had it not been for the surroundings of the Torture Garden. A room with only people expecting the worse and getting what they asked for.

Next up was the shorts program. And by "shorts" I mean "insanity". Serge Gainsbourg's Melody had me laughing the hardest. A psychedelic display of the story of Gainsbourg and a ficticious character by the name of Melody Nelson (note to self: hilarious online name forming--as well as Alan Smithee) and their short-lived relationship. It was a television special in France (Jinny TV) in the early 'seventies. Anyway, the "Melody" character gyrates and spazzes in what is supposed to be in the fashion of "Go-Go" dancing. All I could think about was how high one would have to be to truly understand "the movie within the movie" with this one.

And Corey Haim: Me, Myself and I was priceless. I think it is one of those things you need to see for yourself. But let's just say that it is the ramblings of a washed-up desparate drug-recovering TigerBeat actor as he begs and pleas for a future in fame. Hilarious. I think Grae can describe it better. It also helps I am exhausted and can't really remember a lot of last night.

There is a lot to write about but I think something needs to be said about the puppet porn and the Deafula.

Black Devil Doll from Hell was filmed on a home camcorder in 1984 by one Chester N. Turner. Woo. This has quite the odd cult following online (do a Google search search to get a good idea about the movie and the content). Puppet porn at its finest. While there were some seriously funny parts, what could have been a short was turned into a feature (read: extra) length movie. The panning in this movie was obscene (not like puppet-sex obscene, but rather fat man in a speedo obscene). what could have been a couple quick shots of the Helen Black's apartment turn into half the movie. What could have been a quick snipet of pedestrians walking becomes the other half of the movie. Excruciating and a cruel movie for the 3:30-5am slot.

Even worse was the 5-7am slot. Deafula. Dracula in sign language. And I don't mean a women in the lower corner signing the dialogue. I mean the dialogue is all signed. There is overdub of what they are signing, but, as expected, Deafula is not dialogue/handy heavy film. The girl next to me was snoring and I think four people stayed awake for the whole night (including yours truly--Grae nodded off in Deafula).

And at 8am I went to bed jittery with cola.