I Smell Burnt Toast: Ash At SPASM.
In the Quebec horror scene, the SPASM film festival is like Fantasia’s drop out younger brother. It’s shorter, smaller, and more easily entertained by blood and anal sex jokes. But like a drop-out younger brother, it’s way more fun to hang out with, since it’s got all kinds of modeling glue and paper bags and can shotgun two cans of Labatt 50 without breathing. Plus, it’s got enough testosterone and alcohol in its system that it seems it would be easy to convince the festival to take the pickup truck out after midnight to teach that uppity Brandon Teena a lesson. Focusing entirely on short Quebec horror films, every screening is sold out, and takes place at large clubs that serve cheap booze, which means that everyone has a good time except whoever has to clean the washrooms after the drunk metal-heads in corpse paint finish pissing in the sink. I checked out the Grande Soiree D’Horreur last night, which featured about 20 short films of various, but generally high, quality, though all were shot on a low budget. Highlights included the strange, octopus-centric Factuer Pulpe, Les Pleures des Rafael Park, and Head. The latter two films had no surprises plot-wise, but had some really inventive effects. Also, I’m not quite sure who that strikingly handsome, deviously intelligent, and hysterically funny young fellow who walked off with the Grand Jury Prize and (co)-Audience Award for Best Film was, but someone should definitely give him a three-picture deal with Miramax. In other news, I hear there’s a really cool festival happeneing in Alameda this weekend, especially this Monday, as well as Rojo Sangre in something called ‘Argentina’ that I’m sure all film fans will want to attend.