One thing...ONE THING that I look forward to, all year...and all these fucking humans have to go and fuck things up.
Seems to me that, if you are the kind of person that is going to go, not only to a film festival, but one based around the works of a lesser-known author (much less one that lots of people can't really read due to his vocabulary), that you are going to have a certain level of intelligence and respect. I'd think that you'd be the kind of person who is here to mingle with like-minded people and enjoy the films that are few and far between, keeping in mind that most of them are not recent, and as such will not be up to present standards of effects, script, and cinematography. As a fan of cinema, one would figure that you'd have a basic level of theatre etiquette.
Apparently, I'm wrong, on all counts.
First night of the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival, one of the only things I look forward to all year. Three days of enjoyment, to not only get excited about but to think back on for the next year. it even started with the best possible opening that could have been, namely Andrew Migliore (founder of the festival) stopping to shake my hand, remembering me and chatting for a moment.
Two films tonight. First up, The Last Wave, a film from 1977 and only peripherally related to HPL's work by the concept of 'The Dreamtime'. Not a great flick, and one that should have probably elicited a few odd laughs. No worries, except for the old fuck sitting right behind us, heavy-breathing like an obscene phone caller, keeping up a running commentary about what was happening to no one in particular, and rummaging in a plastic bag for something, over and over again.
next though, a film well worth the viewing, The Resurrected, the most faithful adaptation of a story by HPL ever put on film. This was a bit of an event, since it hasn't been shown at the Film Fest before, due to trying to get a print worth viewing. However, it took about 5 minutes (or less) before some jackass that reminded me of Comic Book Guy from "The Simpsons" started to not only laugh at all kinds of (non-funny) things, but did it loudly, eventually getting more and more people joining him until, by the end of the movie, most of the theatre was laughing at this film.
WHAT THE FUCK?!?
A theatre full of early 20's goth-punks and trendy coffee-shoppe fuckers...I should have seen it coming. I hoped that these would be like-minded types, there to share in the appreciation of the art. Instead, I got a room full of the Lost Members of the Peanut Gallery.
Yeah, I'm mad. My one anticipated event has been corrupted. I don't have anything else left: I left my band behind, I don't have gamers, my truest friends START at 200 miles away, and then shift to 1000 and up. So, yeah, having it fucked with really PISSES ME OFF...especially when it's not only accepted and condoned, but encouraged and followed.
Fuck you all, humans. Just don't bother. Like Markoff Chaney, I declare war on you all.