I’ve only recently finished recovering from the malnutrition and insomnia of last year’s festival, and what with my new colonic and vitamin injection program, I’m feeling funky fresh and ready to spend the better part of a sunny summer month holed up in the stinky Hell…I mean Hall… building peeping flicks until my eyeballs turn to jelly.
But, like last year, I’m not doing it alone. Johnny and his lovely wife Michelle are horror jet-setting, coming to Montreal to handle the opening weekend coverage. In addition, we recently held open auditions for Fantasia Idol, and our lucky golden ticket winner is none other than Paul McCannibal. He’s got all the requisite skills: a pasty Scottish complexion well suited to a damp, dark theatre, time off from his job, a cushy padded bum, and a love of horror films verging on the lunatic fringe (Paul’s got a moldy VHS collection of some of the foulest stinkers you’ve ever seen). And now, a word from Paul…
Andy felt the need to point out that I own a veritable worst-of-the-worst collection of VHS duds. It’s true. I have a deplorable stash consisting of sunbleached boxes culled from corner stores where you just know the bulk in trade is cigarettes and porn mags. It is in these dark corners of the urban sprawl where I unearth forgotten travesties that are failures on every conceivable level. That in itself is a success, and if I stand alone in this unique style of appreciation, so be it!
It follows I’ve got an eyeball out for the cheap, cheerful, and sleazy. I’ll be there to see if they’re handing out wet-naps to people entering the Sukeban Boy screening, and it’ll be interesting to see if porn mainstay Jamie Gillis can make a mainstream crossover via Die You Zombie Bastards. I’m still wondering how he ducked an Oscar bid for his leading role in Joel Reed’s eternally memorable Night of the Zombies! In other sleazy business, can Nicholas Refn actually out-slum himself with Pusher 3? I know it ain’t horror, but if it’s like the first 2 films, it’ll be grueling and bloody. I’ll be on the case and if I go missing, you’ll know that Milo got to me before Dread Central could!
That’s just the tip of the frozen blood-berg. There’s a lot of quality looking horror stuff this year in myriad genres and styles. My rancid, blackened heart is pumping puss through my veins with renewed vigour. Many thanks to Johnny Butane, Michelle, and Evil Andy who I will dutifully serve alongside. Let’s do this!
Back to Andy… So here’s the plan: we’re gonna see somewhere in the region of 30-40 films over the span of the festival’s 18 day run. We’re gonna miss work, we’re gonna risk our health eating buckets of take-out, drinking heart-stopping amounts of coffee, and smoking more cigarettes than Hard Core Logo. I can’t even think about the liquor intake yet, but suffice it to say…our livers are in great jeopardy.
So, to all you sorry bastards unable or unwilling to make the pilgrimage to Montreal, sit back, eat a carrot for me, and enjoy the coverage. Oh, and get off your asses and book your trip for next year. You ARE missing out… More pics of the opening night shenanigans follow!
Actual VIPs in the VIP lineup. Karim Hussain, Douglas Buck, Patrick Tremblay, and Mitch Davis make with the pretty.
The party was chockablock with fine ladies. Red latex with a big old skull on her chest and stiletto heels, nuff said.
This nearly naked girl was swinging around like a sexy white monkey all night.
These girls blew minds. You’d be minding your own business, and they’d just walk up and do the craziest shit right in front of you. I think they might have been sisters, which is, you have to admit, insanely hot.
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