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November 2000
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So, Halloween has come and gone, and what do you have to show for it? A
fistful of candy, a few cavities, perhaps a mild hangover, and that's it.
Maybe if you're especially simple-minded, you have some vague memories of
teaching some ignorant lout the true meaning of Halloween, which is some
nonsense about Celtic spirituality and tree-hugging. Face it, kids, it's
Satan's special day and you wasted it either getting candy or praying to
some loser Wicca god like a refuge from a bad episode of Sabrina. And how
did I spend my Halloween 2000, you ask, perhaps in a tone of wounded pride
in your wannabe Druidic drawl? Dragging my friends through Hell and back, I
answer smugly from my high horse. See, this Halloween I wanted to do
something different aside from the usual couch-based film festival and
desperate grab for power via a Satanic blood ritual. So this year, instead
of making people come over and watch horribly offensive movies at my house,
we decided to buck the trend a bit and go watch horribly offensive movies
somewhere else. The somewhere else in this case ended up being a bar on
Saint Catherine St. in downtown Montreal, which incidentally has more porn
per square inch than the floor of my room, and that's a lot. I can't count
the number of paper-cuts I've received from the various issues of
Porntallica scattered around my room, but it's almost as many as the number
of strip clubs on any given block . Unfortunately, the bar we were at was
not a strip club, but it more than made up for it during the course of the
evening. See, the all-night line-up of films was the best of the Fant-Asia
horror festival that takes place every summer in Montreal. But the thing is,
these are not the horror movies that you and your loser friends watch for a
evening of Freddie Prinze Jr. and teen-speak. No no, these are the movies
that the 30 year-old guys who live in cellars and masturbate to live
operations on The Learning Channel watch, and you don't want to mess with
that. Note that I say 'you', because without revealing any person
information about myself, let me just say that The Learning Channel has a
slew of fine programming for all ages. So anyway, somehow I managed to
trick ten or so people into coming with me to the screenings, and once they
were done crying at the end of the night, I'm sure they were all anxious to
thank me. I wouldn't know, of course, because I had to rush home. Trauma:
Life in the ER was on.
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Cutting Moments: Apparently, nothing cures a failing marriage like gardening
shears and steel wool. This was the first film of the evening, and it
managed to clear out about half the audience, even though it was only a half
hour short. I'll never trim a hedge the same way again.
Santo Vs. the Vampire Women: The greatest masked Mexican wrestler of all
time, apparently, was a fat guy in a cape who lives in a cardboard version
of the Bat Cave and spends his spare time battling the forces of evil. I'll
never watch Mexican wrestling the same way again.
Aftermath: Necrophilia and horribly graphic autopsies, together at last.
I'll never sleep with another dead body the same way again.
The Convent: Greatest. Movie. Ever. Think Evil Dead in a nunnery. Plus, it's
got Adrienne Barbeau, who went from the bathing beauty in Swamp Thing to one
of the most mannish women on the silver screen. Quite gory, and absolutely
hilarious.
Zombie: One of the greatest zombie movies of all time, in glorious
Cinemascope. Plus it contains the greatest zombie battle ever, with a
long-dead underwater undead-er taking on a ten-foot shark. Priceless.
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- Make the same movie as the original, except ten minutes longer.
- Repeat.
- Repeat.
- Repeat.
- Repeat.
- Repeat.
- Repeat.
- Repeat.
- Repeat.
- Repeat.
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