Fantastic Fest 2008

As you know, we fun-loving Americans long ago distanced ourselves from Mother England due to her stodgy, pinkie-extending, crumpety ways. But even a respectable nation will occasionally spawn a litter of rabid beasts. Such is the case with veteran Fantastic Fest attendee Jay Slater, as well as his colleagues-in-chaos who join us at the fest to raise a true, Texas-caliber ruckus.

We were excited to hear that Slater and co. kept a record of their misadventures at FF ‘08, and shocked when said document was deemed suitable for publication in issue 139 of UK horror magazine The Dark Side. Since none of us Austinites have the quid to shell out for a copy, we’re pleased to present the harrowing tale of…

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FANTASTIC FEST 2008
By Jay Slater, Ian Rattray, Jason Arnopp, James Moran and Sean Hogan

I love Fantastic Fest, a monster of a film festival. Held in Austin, Texas, the Alamo is one of the most impressive cinemas in the world where one can order a bucket of beer and a fillet steak. It’s also staffed by lovely people, especially the pretty girls. The festival is masterminded by Tim League, a little fellah with a big heart with exploitation movies running through his veins. Fantastic Fest (FF) is remarkable in the sense that is now one of the major film festivals in an incredible three years. Not only does Tim show the major movies and holds parties to die for, it has serious respect in the industry and every film critic worth their salt attends.

Rated as one of the ‘10 Festivals We Love’ alongside Cannes, Telluride and Toronto, FF was named as one of the ‘25 Festivals Worth the Entry Fee’ by Moviemaker Magazine. And from a festival standpoint, it has had two of the biggest success stories. It secured the world premiere of There Will Be Blood with director Paul Thomas Anderson in attendance. He chose Fantastic Fest because it was about the movies and not the politics and unpleasantness that surround a number of other festivals. Also, Magnolia acquired the world theatrical rights to Spanish cult flick Timecrimes during FF and was the first big sale out of the festival. Timecrimes had its world premiere at FF and generated a lot of buzz and got a great deal of buyer/acquisition interest in the festival. Tim’s plans are world domination with parties that the Marquis de Sade would have bottled out of and he’s going to do it on a grand scale. “Our plans for the future are to do what we have been doing, but do it better and better every year. We scour the globe for the best in genre cinema, and we travel more and deeper each year. We are also trying to build a community of like-minded movie-obsessed fans. We want everyone who attends the festival to have a chance to meet the filmmakers and feel like a VIP,” Tim says. “We are not significantly growing the number of films (we’re aiming to hold steady at about 65 features), but we will be increasing attendance this year and adding extra screenings of the films. On the party side of things, expect some really over-the-top themed parties with more booze, more fire and firearms, and more general mayhem.”

Am loving those apples. Yes, sir.

And what’s not to like? Amongst the sweltering heat of the Texan sun, glorious barbeques and the very best movies, new friendships are formed in an ever-growing community called the FFM, or alternatively the Film Fest Mafia where like-minded professionals (and Sean) bombard each other with e-mails to see who is going to a festival and to help with accommodation, nights on the lash, interviews, etc. It’s one huge family and it’s great to be a part of this dysfunctional community. Therefore, FrightFest godfather Ian Rattray, screenwriter Jason Arnopp, Severance writer James Moran (who also pens for the shit Dr Who), Lie Still director Sean Hogan and I refurbish an aging Lancaster bomber and fill the bomb bay with cans of Kronenbourg 1664 to take to the skies and hit Austin with British bravado and sheer fucking stupidity. As we take to the skies, we gladly accent Mission Certain Death. Roger and out. Adios, amigos.

DAY ONE: A FLIGHT TO HELL

Jay: Right, the Lancaster reference was me being colourful. Jimbo and Sean were very keen to get their flight tickets to Austin weeks beforehand whereas I leave it to the last minute. They fork out £700 each whereas Jason and I use our crafty contacts to bag a flight for £300. Nice. Jason and I enjoy some lovely early morning brandies and head to the States. I think the connecting flight was Dallas, but I can’t be too sure as the staff at British Airways kept pouring wine down our necks. We eventually arrive in Austin in the early evening, sharing the car with the actors from the effective horror The Wreck. On arrival to the Alamo, we meet up with the likely suspects; for some reason, Sean and Jimbo looked wrecked. We miss an outdoor screening of Mad Max 2 with beer and brisket, but end up meeting Olly Blackburn, director of Donkey Punch, and Mark Hartley, director of Not Quite Hollywood, for beers and hotdogs – lovely blokes, too. We also miss the Evil Dead 2 ‘quote along’ and are basically rambling wrecks as the jet lag and booze hits us with equal precision. Hartley calls me a poof for being tired. The British rat pack then head off home as the sun rises in our cozy wooden shack, not too distant from the one that Bruce Campbell had bad times in The Evil Dead. All is well till I hear that Sean and Jimbo shared their cab with sexy bombshell Amy Smart. I was not happy. When I edited The Butterfly Effect novelisation, I thought I’d be in with a chance when I’d give her a cheeky grin. However, but it was not to be. The bastards.

Ian: Over the years, I’ve attended many film festivals and made many festival friends. You meet them a couple of times a year at various events and you just take up were you left off. However, nothing had prepared me for FF. As Jay said in his intro, I help run FrightFest in London, which is why I go to FF. I had attended the festival for the first time along with my friend Paul McEvoy last year and had such a good time I booked up for a second trip. So there I was, standing outside the Alamo when out of the corner of my eye I noticed four men walking across the car park. They were striding out purposefully in step and almost in slow motion. It was getting dark and I had to look twice, but was instantly transported back to Leicester Square and FrightFest. Four ‘well-kent-faces’ as we say in Scotland were advancing towards me. Could you believe it, there they were, as large as life: Messers Slater, Hogan, Moran and Arnopp all standing in front of me. It was like I said to George A. Romero, exactly one year before, as we where downing our third vodka at 12.30pm – it’s all downhill from here.

Jason: Sweet lord above! Slater, Moran and Hogan have been rattling on about FF for two years now, since they first visited. So I have to get me some of that crazy action. The event had been built up so much in terms of praise, that I begin to wonder if FF could live up to it. Naturally, it can. For one thing, the Alamo is absolutely the best cinema I’ve ever set foot in. Anywhere. It’s almost amusing, too, that it’s the best by such a ridiculously huge margin. So why does it make practically every UK cinema look like a sardine-tin shithole? Because it actually cares about the customer’s movie-watching experience. That’s not a matter of space or expense: it costs very little. FF is characterized by a go-the-extra-mile attitude, from the comfortable environment of the cinema itself, to the fun events which surround the films. I don’t remember much about our first night at the event, thanks to jetlag, but thankfully Jay ‘Slatros’ Slater seems to have recalled the best bits above. Despite having the memory of a bleedin’ goldfish.

Jimbo: Jay only thinks Dr Who is rubbish because he doesn’t understand it, and is frightened by his arousal every time Daleks start shooting people. Me and Sean nearly missed the first day because our flight was a couple of hours early taking off; we had to run to make our connection in Toronto. I know this as I had a bag while Sean had a ladies’ trolley, which means he could go faster. By the time we get to the desk, I am puffing like Slater when the sailors are in town. We’ve missed the connection. “Never mind,” says the lady, “we’ll put you on the next flight… tomorrow.” One flight to Austin per day. I break down and cry, soiling myself and she relents, finding us a flight to Dallas and then Austin. I hug Sean in relief until he demands that I stop. We make it just in time for the Mad Max 2 screening. All is well with the world.

Sean: Talk about stitched up. Slater kept us dangling for weeks as to whether he was even going to show his booze-ravaged face in Austin this year, and then he goes and scores a cheapo plane ticket at the last minute. God loves a drunk, as they say. To add to this indignity, Jimbo and I are treated to a demonstration of famously laid-back Canadian attitude when we discover our Air Canada flight is already running two hours late the night before we are due to leave. In mortal fear of missing our connection, we plan to hijack the flight and take it straight to Austin, but the pilot takes one look at the toy sonic screwdriver Jimbo is employing as a weapon and wets himself laughing. Humiliated, we return to our seats only to find that the in-flight entertainment system is as dead as Tobe Hooper’s career. Jimbo retires to the toilet to play dress-up with paper lavatory seat covers and I order several beers, telling myself it’s all downhill from here. Thankfully, we make it into Austin only a few hours behind schedule. Well aware that Wicked Uncle Ian Rattray is on the loose at the Alamo, I fear for the safety of my lovely producer colleague Jen Handorf, who has travelled down from LA alone to meet us at the festival. Knowing what Ian is like in the company of attractive young ladies, I begin to obsessively replay the opening of Jaws in my mind. Gripped by a cold sweat, I find myself quite unable to join in with Jimbo as he spends the whole car journey to the Alamo staring at actress and fellow FF attendee Amy Smart, an unnerving smile on his face. Luckily, we make it to the cinema in time to save Jen’s bacon and catch Mad Max 2. Settling down with a bucket of cold beers, I realise how much I’ve missed Austin.

DAY TWO: SANTOS AND THE SHIT-EATING GRIN

Jay: I can’t get over the Alamo cinema and the sheer generosity that is on offer Texan style – it’s like I have returned home. And besides, the Texas girls are much better than English girls with well-placed hips, curves and lips that can suck pips out of an apple at forty feet. Plus they dig our accents – result! The movie of the day is the highly disturbing I Think We’re Alone Now, a horrific documentary by Sean Donnelly that focuses on two stalkers – one, a confused old man, the other, a queen – who profess their love for 80s pop icon, Tiffany. It’s scary stuff and genuinely frightening in that one of them may pump a 9mm slug into Tiffany’s lovely little head in the name of love. Jason and Jimbo then go to see Nicolás López’s Santos and it disturbs them greatly. Something about a character eating shit Pasolini style. Outside the Alamo we bump in to Mr Rattray and it’s great to see the fine fellow. After stopping off to buy crates of beer and a colossus bottle of Jim Bean Black whisky, he invites himself to our humble home with the lovely Jen for an afternoon party where horror soundtracks played and it all got very messy. As the late-afternoon sun beamed down, we head back to the cinema to see the magnificent Swedish romantic vampire flick Let the Right One In (it’s good, but not a masterpiece, Sean) before realizing that we missed out on a Donkey Punch boat party with loads of pretty girls. Fuck it – back to the cabin for a second session of booze. And Jimbo, I do understand Dr Who. He hasn’t got a gun, doesn’t booze or shag women: he’s a scarf-wearing talentless poof.

Ian: After getting a very pleasant first day under my belt, and my unexpected running in to the ‘The Boys’ from London, day two got under way with one of the more unusual films of FF: I Think We’re Alone Now. This is a deeply disturbing documentary that takes you into the world and obsessions of Kelly McCormick and Jeffery Deane Turner, who have been separately stalking 80s pop icon Tiffany for nearly 20 years. Funny and sad in equal measures, it was fascinating to watch. There was a rumour that ‘The Boys’ had been shopping. And they had a fridge full of beer. They didn’t need much encouraging and soon we were headed off across the railway tracks to the house that they were renting to have a go at denting their stash. Much fun was had and copious amounts of beer were drunk. Later, back at the cinema and a tad wobbly on my feet, I caught Donkey Punch that I had missed when it was released in the UK. I wasn’t expecting much from the film, but I was pleasantly surprised – a good-looking cast and a couple of good scares. Director Olly Blackburn had done a great job in turning out such a polished film on such a small budget.

Jason: It was indeed nice to hang out with Lord Rattray while he wasn’t preoccupied with running FrightFest. As Slatros says, we kicked off the day with a doozy of a doc in I Think We’re Alone Now. Director Donnelly managed to pull off the tricky feat of making the two, shall we say ‘enthusiastic’, Tiffany fans start out as freaky figures of fun, then eventually become people you actually care about – especially the confused Kelly, who’s continually upset when Tiffany doesn’t return her eternal love. A must-see film, for sure – and the rest of the day was a must-drink affair, all about the great social life which FF makes so easy. Uncle Jimbo and I were indeed bamboozled by Nicolas Lopez’s film Santos, about a comic book artist who lives a parallel universe as a superhero. It was all good fun, but we had no idea what was going on. I certainly remember one character who behaved just like a fly, and gave a whole new meaning to the term ‘shit-eating grin’. I also recall enjoying both a burger and watching Lopez pretend to roughly fellate FF supremo Tim League. Textbook.

Jimbo: I Think We’re Alone Now was indeed terrifying, but also surprisingly touching and moving. But mostly terrifying. You really do feel for the two main characters, they’re real and damaged people who just need some love. Like El Slatros. It was an extremely confusing day with two major boozing sessions making us lose all track of our time, location and sanity. The bizarre nature of Santos wasn’t helped by where we were sitting; the only two seats we could find were right in the front row on the extreme left. So the entire film was huge, distorted and at an odd angle. Add to that the incredibly strange visuals and our drunkenness, and it all felt a bit real and worrying. We kept glancing at each other, hoping the other one would know what the hell was going on. Luckily, we were able to escape once it was over and fall back into the safe, welcoming arms of booze.

Sean: As the boys have already stated above, I Think We’re Alone Now is a disturbing yet compelling movie; the real life King of Comedy, and well worth seeking out. But possibly the most disturbing aspect for me was observing Jimbo take notes throughout the screening, occasionally muttering “Amy” to himself. At which point I started to fear whether Ms Smart would make it back alive for Crank 2. Shaken up by the obsessiveness we’d witnessed (both onscreen and in the stalls beside us), we retired back to the cabin for some liquid refreshment. Ian Rattray started as he meant to go on by spending the afternoon drinking our booze and talking to Jen’s chest. But after a few days we’d all be speaking to Jen’s chest – a week in the woods with a cabin full of men can do that to you. Luckily, she was a good sport about it and only sprayed us with Mace on a handful of occasions. That evening brought a showing of Let the Right One In, possibly the finest genre movie of 2008. Slatros stared at the screen in incomprehension throughout, possibly confused by the subtitles. Eventually he passed out in a puddle of drool and red wine, exhausted by his reading struggles. Never mind, Jay! There’s a Hollywood remake due next year! (Jay: such bitterness as no one was bothered to see Lie Still).

DAY THREE: TIM LEAGUE IS VIOLATED BY THE RAPE SQUAD

Jay: Yeah Ian, I can sympthasise with you over Romero and gin as that happened to me when I interviewed the booze legend for Hotdog magazine some years ago. The day began with Mark Hartley’s Not Quite Hollywood and is a highly impressive film documentary that zips back and forth at breakneck speed. It focuses on the birth of the wild, untold story of OZploitation with some great interviews with Brian Trenchard-Smith and Quentin Tarantino amongst others and is simply a delight. With some inspired anecdotes and clips from classics such as The Man from Hong Kong, Roadgames and Razorback and obscurities like Next of Kin, it’s essential viewing. JCVD, the new satirical comedy starring Jean-Claude Van Damme, was surprising in that it’s good. Not only does the Muscles from Brussels crack one liners and fat lips, he gives an inspired and emotional five-minute shot on his real life outside cinema that had the audience cheering in support. The Burrowers, by J. T. Petty, writer for Ubisoft’s Splinter Cell series of games, is an effective and slow burner of a horror set in the Wild West where a rescue party are devoured by underground creatures. And nice it isn’t as people are ripped to bits and survivors slowly decompose, emitting a trail that leads the critters to them for feeding time. The atmosphere is thick as pea soup, and besides, we all love a good horror set in the Wild West. The evening saw the ‘Fantastic Feud’, a TV style game show where the Europeans and Commonwealth filmmakers and critics took on the US equivalent. It was a set up, of course, but we did good considering we didn’t cheat unlike our American brethren. Nacho Vigalondo of Timecrimes was overexcited – so much so that when Jimbo was asked to name a leading female actress and replied Gaylen Ross, Nacho spat at him. When I was asked to name a leading Australian horror and suggested Picnic at Hanging Rock when the answer was Razorback, the little Spaniard smacked me around the head. After our humiliation, we meet Richard Gale (with bares am uncanny resemblance to Henry Silva) who presents us with his hilarious short The Horribly Slow Murderer with the Extremely Inefficient Weapon – the killer does his work with the flat-end of a spoon. The evening ends with Tim leading a karaoke party with free beer and the entire audience doing their stuff on stage. It is here that a very drunk Tim is finger-raped by a leading filmmaker…

Ian: Oh my god, the wheels come off in spectacular style! The day started so well with a delightful documentary called Zombie Girl. Interestingly, Paul and I had met filmmaker, Emily Hagins, last year and we had no idea she had filmed a feature length film three years ago when she was twelve years old. Now fifteen and with a second film under her belt, you would have no idea that all this talent is within this quiet, well-mannered young girl when you talk to her. Second film of the day was JCVD. I had seen the film in Toronto and it was just as good the second time around. I then caught up with Natco Lopez who I had befriended last year when he was in Austin with his film Mirageman. This year he was back with his new film Santos. One of FF signature events is ‘The Fantastic Feud’ and karaoke party. I’d ducked out of this last year, allowing Paul to fly the FrightFest flag. On my own this year, I had no choice but to join in. What can I say? I blame ‘The Boys’, especially that Jay “I’ll have a beer” Slater. Call me a boozer. Talk about calling the kettle black. I was on the same team as ‘The Boys’ and we were humiliated. Even Emily Hagins who was on the opposing team knew more than us. I didn’t answer any questions correctly as I had drunk far too much. To cap it all, seemingly, and I stress the seemingly bit, I walked or staggered into a tree on the way back to the hotel. I have to say in my defence I have no injuries or bruises, so I reckon this is just a vicious rumour to deflect attention from some of the other very drunken high jinx. Thinking about it, none of us covered ourselves in glory, so I reckon that a curtain should be quietly drawn over the whole night and it should be allowed to slowly sink in to the mists of time.

Jason: Wow, just how good was Not Quite Hollywood? It hits you like a steam train driven by Slatros after a skinful and barely lets up throughout its running time. Besides being funny, it offers a great insight into the Aussie exploitation industry. It also reminded me how many Oz-made films in my ludicrous collection of pre-cert films on video that I should really get around to watching. Unfortunately, I couldn’t join the widespread fanfare for the Van Damme movie. I found it dull and self-indulgent – during the man’s much-lauded monologue-to-camera, I was seriously tempted to leave. Apart from anything else, the film looked terrible, all washed out and green-tinged. Grim. Thankfully, The Burrowers is a little gem that hopefully won’t disappear under the radar. I’m not a big fan of westerns or period pieces, but this one plays with some highly relatable fears – being paralysed, buried and slowly eaten, for instance. And yes, Richard ‘Henry Silva’ Gale’s short is a laugh-riot. See it!

Jimbo: Loved Not Quite Hollywood as everyone else did and immediately ordered Roadgames and Patrick on DVD when I returned home. Thought JCVD was excellent, incredibly surprising and moving. And quite silly, too, in a good way. The Burrowers was another highlight, a proper horror movie, thank god; really nicely played and paced with an interesting new creature to enjoy. As for the Fantastic Feud, we were stitched up like a kipper, good and proper. Extra points were given to the US team for a laugh and we were denied valid points, and there was no possible way for us to win. Luckily, we disguised this by pretending to be utterly useless, giving terrible answers and generally looking dim. Okay, that wasn’t really our plan: we sucked. But they still cheated. Even though we would still have lost massively otherwise. But still. It’s the principle. I demand the right to lose fairly.

Sean: By this point we’ve properly got our sea legs and are ready to live up to the scorched earth reputation that we’d acquired during our previous trip to Texas. The day starts innocently enough with Not Quite Hollywood, a look back at a simpler time in Australian cinema, when men were men and women were slightly hairier women, and an Aussie actor starring in Brokeback Mountain probably would have got him deported. The film is a treat and we follow it with JCVD (somewhat overrated, but still enjoyable) and J. T. Petty’s The Burrowers, a cracking horror western that Lionsgate in their infinite wisdom are sending straight to DVD. I ask the director about this afterwards and he seems saddened but philosophical about the whole affair. But at least he got to make the film, and it’s one that deserves support. High on a day of good movies, we prepare for that night’s onstage quiz and karaoke party. Like lambs to the slaughter. Taken in by our host Tim League’s cheery banter and apparent willingness to let us Brits drink him out of business, we were unprepared for the staggering display of bad faith and cheating that went on that night. Politely naïve and too well-manneredly English for our own good, but it was a good reminder as to why the rest of the world hates Americans. (And also proof that so-called genre expert Jay Slater knows less about horror movies than your average five-year-old knows about quantum physics.) A humiliation of a different kind swiftly followed in the form of a karaoke extravaganza. Mr League and his motley Alamo crew are more rabid in their adoration of the dubious art of karaoke than the Japanese and their tuneless renditions of Abba’s Waterloo and its ilk have disgraced many a bar around the world. A shocking journey into the heart of darkness followed, and only I survived to tell the tale. Needless to say (given the piss water that passes for beer in Texas), Tim League’s abilities as a quiz show cheat far outweigh his drinking prowess, and it wasn’t too long before we were having to hold him upright. However, Tim was less than appreciative of our efforts to help him maintain his dignity, and repeatedly insisted on trying to punch us in the face and groin. Obviously seduced by this display of tough love, Slatros then dragged him onstage for a homoerotic display involving several acts that are no doubt strictly illegal in Republican Texas. The spectacle of Messrs League and Slater bumping and grinding their naked beer-soaked torsos together is one that will haunt me to my grave. After an hour or two of this, Ian Rattray staggered off to bed looking a good bit older than his 70 years, and frankly, who could blame him? Tim eventually departed in the manner of a sack of spuds, slung over the shoulder of his faithful right hand man Devin. Jay staggered to bed to dream of beer-greased man flesh. And I ran to the kitchen and scrubbed my brain with bleach.

DAY FOUR: SOD IT, NO FILMS TODAY: IT’S BOOZE O’CLOCK

Jay: It’s Devin Steuerwald’s birthday and we’re going to go out with a bang. Devin is one of the major forces at FF and a loveable rogue to boot. A barbeque is planned round the Brit’s log cabin and I prepare my special spicy ribs that are marinated in honey, mustard, bourbon, chilli, coriander, ginger, garlic and other herbs. Later in the afternoon, birthday boy arrives with the FF posse and many beers are drunk in celebration. Also, my ribs are celebrated in a carnal bovine feast as I am more concerned dealing with the barbeque and patio that is in flames. Sod it, no films today – this is what festivals are all about in hanging out with like-minded people where friendships are formed. We later attend Tim’s award ceremony and then evening’s ‘100 Best Kills’ where the public can bring their favourite clips of cinematic access and murder. Fearing the worst, Sean and I are armed with choice cuts from Renato Polselli’s Delirium (the French cut, naturally), Patrick viva ancora, Giallo a Venezia and L’Assassino è ancora tra noi. Nice! And Ian was a lady for going to bed early.

Ian: I surfaced sometime in the afternoon and wandered over to ‘The Boys’’ house for a barbecue. It was Devin’s birthday and he joined us with his misses. Jay was cooking some of his very famous spicy ribs. I’m not going to fall out with him on the subject of whether they are actually famous or not, but I have to give him his due, they were very tasty, so that’s fine by me. Another very pleasant day, but I called it a night quite early on as quite frankly, I was fucked after the excesses of the night before. I am not as young as I used to be and don’t have the super human stamina of ‘The Boys’. I really needed my bed.

Jason: Not a greatly successful day for watching any films, then. But hey, it’s Devin’s birthday and we want to return some of that legendary Texan hospitality. Today is an out-and-out booze-fest, and as such I’m afraid I recall little. Apart from Jimbo and I refusing to share Pringles with anyone else, claiming that they’re “just ours”. It’s also nice to chat properly to new friends like writer Scott ‘Whinebag’ Weinberg and writer/producer/delight Jen ‘Auntie Sue’ Handorf. Aren’t we just a big, happy family? Makes you sick.

Jimbo: Films? Oh Christ, yeah, forgot we’re at a film festival. Oops. But it was a great day and we were determined to hang out with our mate Devin and show him a good time. The meat was indeed very good, although I later noticed that Mr Arnopp seemed to be missing half of his ribs with a gaping wound in his chest. The secret of Slatros’ special ribs is out. To make up for this, me and Mr Arnopp kept a whole pack of Pringles to ourselves, only begrudgingly sharing one or two when guns were drawn. The rest were just ours, and we scoffed them. Me more than him, admittedly. But there would be a price to pay for all this excess, the very next morning.

Sean: Not satisfied with all of the meat he got the night before, Slatros proposes we hold a barbecue. Although we are already reaching saturation point in our consumption of the staple Texan diet of flesh and beer, we eagerly agree, nearly burning down the house in the process. Then it’s off to the ‘100 Best Kills’ evening, hosted by cackling Alamo madmen Lars Nilssen and Zach Carlson. But what’s that nasally foghorn whine broadcasting from the back row? Oh Christ, it’s Whinebag Weinberg again, who insists on treating us all to the puddle-like depths of his knowledge by shouting out the title of each clip before anyone else can get a syllable in edgeways. That is, as long as it’s an American movie – the Yankee clown has no clue when it comes to anything European and is conspicuously silent when the evening concludes with the shocking rape/murder from Fernando Di Leo’s Avere vent anni. As the audience stare at the depravity unfolding onscreen with paling faces and trembling eyeballs, the two Alamo sociopaths relax back into their seats, a job well done. That’s entertainment.

DAY FIVE: BEING PUNCHED IN THE GOOLIES HURTS

Jay: An early start for Texas’ most famous barbeque house: Smitty’s. Tim was in his usual generous mood by taking his guests to the smoking house for the lip-smacking ribs (nearly as good as mine), steaks and sausages that oozed with juices. And all washed down with Lone Star beer – my kind of breakfast. As the beers flowed, we chewed the fat on Spanish horror with Vigalondo as well as talking nonsense with Jon Hewitt, director of Acolytes, and Ben Rock of Alien Raiders. The first movie of the day is South of Heaven, a character-driven piece set in the Wild West with minimal sets and colourful language. It’s a Tarantino heavy wannabe without the wit and punch of his best works, and although boasting some fine performances, sent the Brits in dreamland. It was good to meet laughing boy Yoshihiro Nishimura before his film Tokyo Gore Police splattered the silver screen in splatter. Now, this is great fun. A riff to Robocop set in futuristic Japan, the beautiful Eihi Shiina – who was such a nasty piece of work in Takashi Miike’s Audition – snuffs out crime and corruption with her samurai blade. To say that this film is überviolent is not doing it justice! We gave Jack Brook’s Monster Slayer a miss as most of us had seen it previously (and it’s a fine homage to the early creature features of the 1980s) before setting up shop with the ‘Fantastic Debates’ where I was in a boxing ring with fellow US critic Scott Weinberg to argue for and against horror remakes. I was against remakes, but Scott had the edge due to my bellyful of beer. Upon leaving, I was asked to sign a release whereby I was garbed in headgear and boxing gloves whereby Tim and I socked it out for three rounds. No head punches were allowed, but the sneaky fellah got one to my mush. I saw red and pummelled him, but to be fair, he got a beautiful kidney punch and I was in a world of pain for weeks afterwards. That said, Tim felt the true and superior force of South London grief. I learned two things from this shameful night: don’t box when half-cut on Stella, and being punched in the goolies hurts.

Ian: Refreshed from my early night, a quiet day was in order. The day started of with DVD shopping. There were almost fisticuffs in Best Buy between Jay and myself. One of the most anticipated DVD releases of the week for me – and it turned out Jay – was Savage Streets. By the time we all got to the store there was only one copy left. Let’s just say Jay got the copy, but it will be remembered. I did however pick up a copy of one of my favourite films of all time, Silent Running, which is unavailable in the UK on DVD. The ‘Fantastic Debates Party’ was themed like a Rocky movie complete with boxing ring, presidential podiums, announcer/moderator, smoke machine and glamour girls. Subjects debated were horror remakes and the pros and cons of CGI. However, the best and funniest by miles was the debate ‘Has George Lucas Lost his Fucking Mind’. The debaters where chosen from the many writers, critics and fans in attendance and included our very own Jay Slater. They were not given the choice of which subject they were to debate or what side they were to support. The final debate was about horror remakes and could not be settled by the normal volume of the audience response method, so it was settled with a boxing match between Tim League and Jay. The match was declared a draw in the end; a very entertaining and funny end to the day.

Jason: One of the real pleasures of this year’s FF surely has to be filming Slatros while he has the shit beaten out of him. Up until this night, in fact, it was one of my life’s ambitions, so it’s good to tick that one off. The Fantastic Debates event is a right old hoot – all good-natured wit and white-on-white violence. Smitty’s was also tremendous fun, unless, of course, you were an animal. Hell’s teeth, we also managed to watch some films today. South of Heaven is a low-budget, tongue-in-cheek thriller about quirky characters doing quirky things in a quirky town. It has a nasty habit of seriously over-extending its sub-Tarantino dialogue, which soon becomes testing. I can only assume the script editor was asleep throughout, but it’s not without its moments. Much more fun, though, is the horror-action hybrid of Tokyo Gore Police, which Slatros and I had a riot with. Limbs fly everywhere, blood spurts and one classic scene sees a young lady opening an umbrella to shield herself from a seriously colossal arterial spray.

Jimbo: Alas, I woke with the taste of Pringles and meat, and felt incredibly ill. I was unable to go anywhere and had to skip the barbecue outing, which I had been looking forward to for months. But the thought of eating made me want to throw up. I crashed on the couch, looking even paler than usual while the gang went to the meat fest. Several ibuprofen and anti-nausea pills later, I was just about able to go DVD shopping, picking up lots of good stuff including an uncut version of Ichi the Killer contained in a blood bag with actual blood. Well, actual fake blood, if you know what I mean. By the evening, I was able to have a couple of slices of pizza and skipped booze, so that I could stay on my feet long enough to watch Slater get pummelled in the kidneys. Magically, I then began to feel better. Now every time I feel ill, I pay someone to beat up Slater for my amusement.

Sean: It’s every man for himself in Texas and so we abandon the dying Jimbo to breathe his last, knowing that we can easily dispose of his spindly corpse by feeding it to the hobos camped out in the nearby woods. Dr Who’s loss is their gain. Despite now showing advanced signs of scurvy, we head off for yet more barbeque, piling our plates high with dripping slabs of meat. As Jen rips into a still-twitching hunk of beef, I remind her that her absent husband is a staunch vegetarian and would doubtless disapprove. She contemptuously spits a mouthful of cow blood in my face and giggles insanely. Texas will do that to you. Then it’s off for a Supermarket Sweep-style DVD rampage. Laughing at the feeble US dollar, we pile our baskets high with discs, just because we can. Slatros attempts to fight me over a pristine Gojira special edition, but I distract him by pointing to the nearby Hannah Montana standee. As the drunken pervert attempts to get it on with his cardboard Lolita, I make my escape. (Jay: To be fair, I did bag the Gojira boxed set!). But that day’s mayhem was merely a preamble to the evening’s big event, the Fantastic Debates party. Our very own Jay Slater had been drawn against the mighty mouth of Whinebag to debate the subject of Hollywood genre remakes: Scott pro, Jay against. As easy as shooting fish in a barrel, you might say. Not so for Slatros, who again shows an unerring ability to pluck defeat from the jaws of victory and lets his considerably more sober opponent talk rings around him. The Brits were to be disgraced once more, it seemed. But wait! Such is the rivalry between the two hacks that it’s decided this can only be properly settled in the boxing ring. At which point Scott realises that his pen is considerably less mighty than Jay’s fist and bottles out, pleading recent dental surgery. As we pelt the coward with beer cans, our gracious host Tim steps up to take his place. Perhaps looking forward to another bout of grappling with Mr League’s firm torso, an unhealthy gleams enters Jay’s eyes. Let battle commence! Despite being in no fit state to enter the ring, Slatros acquits himself manfully, and paints the canvas red with Tim’s blood. The partisan home crowd desperately attempt to sway the judges, but luckily no one is fooled by such raging bullshit and Slatros is declared a worthy winner. Jay proceeds to do a victory dance on Tim’s broken corpse and a little bit of dignity is restored to the Brit contingent.

DAY SIX: DAVID HEMMINGS, THE GOD OF BOOZE

Jay: Off to Tim’s for lunch where the wine flowed mercilessly (which is good as I hurt all over after the big fight with the little fellah). Not only that, we got to meet Brian Udovich, producer of The Wackness, before I interviewed Brian Trenchard-Smith on camera. The man is a god. Not only did he direct Nicole Kidman in BMX Bandits, this is the man that made Turkey Shoot and The Man from Hong Kong. And Leprechaun 4: In Space. The man is a hoot, intelligent and full of anecdotes such as where David Hemmings would drink a bottle of scotch by 6am. This may be a reason why people died during the filming of Race for the Yankee Zephyr when the loveable old soak was behind the camera ripped to the tits on booze. Although Jimbo hated Surveillance, an off-kilter thriller from Jennifer Lynch, I thought it was dark and wonderful, even if the surprise twist is obvious from the word go. Bill Pullman carves the ham thickly sliced and would appear to be having a ball in a small no name American town whose inhabitants are devious and twisted. Bleak, downbeat and extremely violent, Surveillance is a powerhouse of a movie. Go. Watch. Now. Astropia followed and is an Icelandic warm-hearted comedy with parallels to fantasy and contemporary trappings. Shot with a lick of gloss and sugar coated, it took me back to my Dungeon and Dragon days of youth before I discovered girls and beer. That said, Astropia is so-so hokum and Iceland should really have invested in their finances instead of little flicks like this before the credit crunch hit home. The Tingler! was a charming documentary on the life and works of William Castle and Ben Rock’s world premiere of Alien Raiders proved to be a hit. A homage to The Thing and The Hidden, the film is fast and furious where a hungry alien does its thing in a supermarket to feed on happy shoppers. It was time for an early night, so I skipped a screening of Feast 2* while Sean took in the glory that is The Man from Hong Kong. *Catching up with John Gulager’s splatter feast later, it’s more juvenile in execution than its acclaimed predecessor, but the gore flows like wine. And the ‘baby scene’ is something else. How I howled in laughter. But great it isn’t.

Ian: A bit of a quite day, but I bet I’m feeling a lot better than Jay today. After his fisticuffs with Tim League, let’s just say walking wounded would be an accurate description. Writers Jasper Sharp and Marc Walkow presented Behind the Pink Curtain, a retrospective of Japanese sexploitation movies. For the uninitiated, pink films give a fascinating incite into Japan’s character than the more mannered mainstream. They can be about anything, but must feature for a third of their running time, naked bodies and sex. Many of today’s best Japanese filmmakers got their start and honed their skills in the genre. As long as they delivered the required number and minutes of naked bodies on screen, the filmmakers could experiment to their hearts content. I found myself watching Gushing Prayer – Fifteen Year Old Prostitute. It’s a challenging watch. It’s about a young girl, already a jaded sexual veteran, who embarks on a voyage of self-discovery to find out where sex is. She never finds it, but does manage to have the mandated amount of sex required for pink films. I’m glad I made the effort and watched the film, but I don’t think that Japanese pink films are for me. Next was Astropia, which turned out to be my favourite film of the week. The first film by Icelandic director Gunnar B. Gunmundsson, it was heaps of fun to watch. When a high society socialite’s husband is arrested she has to begin to look after herself. With no other jobs on the go she takes a job in the local DVD and games shop called Astropia. Politically incorrect, Astropia is Monty Python meets the Office and is manna from heaven for anyone who has ever bought a comic or rented Cujo. The film played to a large and appreciative audience, and was then followed by an equally entertaining Q&A with Gunnar. What made Astropia so special was that I could see myself in the film. I was one of those geeks buying the DVDs and comics referenced so freely in the film in the local games shop back in Dundee years ago. Geek heaven.

Jason: Slatros and I get told off for drunkenly jabbering during Aussie horror Acolytes, having forgotten one of the Alamo’s main and most admirable rules: shut up when the films are on, you fucknut. It’s also unfortunate for Lord Hogan, who seems to be the only one of us enjoying this limp tale of teens attempting to blackmail a killer. I lose track of the number of times a musical sting is used as a substitute for a real, properly-earned jump. Terrible. But not as bad as our behaviour. Slatros and I promptly shoot ourselves in the elbows, as punishment. There’s no such rude banter during Surveillance, which is a pleasingly dark and taut piece from Jennifer Lynch. Really enjoyed it and one of the final act’s murder scenes lingers grimly in the memory. Always a good sign. Then there’s Alien Raiders, a film from director Ben Rock that truly belies its meagre budget and time restraints. A seriously fun romp, set in a supermarket, it sees shape-shifting aliens on the loose. We also catch nicely educational doc The Tingler! while Moran and I manage to stay up late enough to see the midnight screening of Feast 2. It’s rough around the edges, compared to the original, but some of those set-pieces make it worthwhile (the baby!). I exhibit hypocritical behaviour during its brief running time by walking over to a noisy couple and asking them to keep it down. Go, me.

Jimbo: I did indeed hate Surveillance, not even the always superb Bill Pullman could save this one. I found it laughable and amateurish, and was wondering what the hell the other boys saw in it, actually asking them at one point if they were simply winding me up. But no, they loved it, the madmen. The Tingler! saved me, a really fun documentary (three documentaries were the biggest hits, it seems), but then Acolytes stabbed me in the kidneys – a good idea squandered on limp execution and a story that goes nowhere for 85 minutes, and then suddenly-wraps-everything-up-in-about-four-seconds. Alien Raiders was great, a masterclass in how to make a good, solid, fun horror flick on a very low budget. And Feast 2 was worth seeing purely for the now infamous baby scene.

Sean: I still maintain that Acolytes got a bad rap from this bunch of fools. Not perfect certainly, and let down by a tacked-on happy ending, but an interesting attempt nonetheless. Certainly more worthwhile than cobbled-together piffle like Feast 2. (Jay: you never saw it). Then again, perhaps I was delirious due to lack of sleep. Tormented by the depravity I’d already witnessed that week, I’d tossed and turned all night. Further disturbed by the leering attentions Slatros and Jimbo had started to give poor innocent teenager Emily Hagins, I started to fear for my sanity and had an early night. Perhaps shooting some guns in the morning would make me feel better. It worked for Travis Bickle.

DAY SEVEN: JIMBO DOES THE MACHINE GUN CHA-CHA; SEAN DOES LA CAGE AUX FOLLES

Jay: Jimbo told me in strict confidence that if he had his way, his home would be wall-to-wall with machine guns, rifles, flame throwers and grenade launchers. Suffice to say the rat pack are in a shooting range, blasting away with an AK-47, Colt 45 and Magnum 45. But Jimbo can’t get enough as he sniffs in the cordite – he’s gone stir crazy. He would have popped hand grenades if he could have done. A fellow shooter generously offers Jimbo his deer hunting rifle to fire a round at what would appear to be a paper target no less than 100 miles away. The rifle is a monster, dwarfing Jimbo by a good six feet (he’s a little fellah, you see), and as he pulls the trigger, he fails to listen to my words of advice. “Don’t get too close to the scope, Jimbo,” I say as the recoil kicks into his little body, the scope sinking into his eye. A howl of pain and a black eye are the result and we have had a great time. Back at the cinema for the gruelling horror, The Wreck, by James Jones plays and it’s harsh stuff. Weaving a horrid tale of a couple trapped in a car, a scene where a character cuts his arm off with a pen knife is toe-curling in its unpleasantness. Then we’re off to Sixth Street for some beers and the Coen’s Burn after Reading (not their best) before ending the night in a party set in a bat cave some seventy miles in the Texan desert. And chewing the fat with Bill Murray. But it’s not to be. The party is oversubscribed and we are lost at sea, not knowing what to do as it might be a bad night if we go. Jimbo ‘tosses the hoodie’ and we end up drinking with the cinema girls into the early hours. It gets messy. A lady comes back to our pad that seemed normal at first but ends up being a mentalist. Not only did she try to force breakfast cereal into our mouths, she then broke down crying asking why we were so old and if we had childhoods. I booked her a cab with immediate effect. Sean returns mincing from his room in a hat and red deluxe feather boa draped round his neck ala La Cage aux Folles. It would have had disturbed David Lynch to tears.

Ian: I ducked out of the shooting, which is just as well as it turned out. You should have seen the state of Jimbo’s eye. I met up with my dad who had been with me all week. He had been taking in the local country and western music scene and we treated ourselves to a slap-up lunch. This was my last full day in Austin, so it was time for a bit of me time. I returned to the cinema to meet up with ‘The Boys’ who, after their High Noon stuff at the shooting range, slipped off downtown to catch up with Burn after Reading. It was a mad scramble for tickets to the closing party back at the cinema, but after seeing the crowd queuing up for the busses, there was a collective not for us, so we stayed behind and drank and partied with the cinema staff. And we probably had a better time than if we had gone to the party. I eventually poured myself back to the hotel, carefully avoiding any contact with the local forestry around 3am. A perfect end to a great week spent in the company of four great chaps. I look forwards to next year!

Jason: Oh, the guns, the guns. Never fired a hand cannon before, and the experience is a curious blend of fear and excitement. Very strange to hold a device that could blow someone’s head clean off – and fearsome to feel the severe kick when you shoot. A great laugh, though. Perhaps one of my favourite moments of the trip was driving to the shooting range (courtesy of our gracious host Eric) with twanging country music on the radio. Ludicrous. After this, we head over to a shop to buy a few DVDs, then visit the Drafthouse’s sister cinema, The Ritz, to see Burn after Reading. After the darkly gripping No Country for Old Men, it’s nice to see the Coens lighten up a touch, delivering a near-farcical ensemble piece – even if it does naturally still see people being shot in the face. Oh yes, we laugh a lot. Until we remember that the festival ends today. Then we weep, like broken orphans.

Jimbo: Despite Slatros’ repeated comments, I’m not a ‘little fella’. I’m about 5’9”. I’m not a giant, neither am I a child. I have no idea where this comes from and it baffles me so it does. Also, he didn’t say ‘watch out for the scope’, otherwise I would have realised that I should keep my eye away from it. And I didn’t howl in pain, although my head did snap backwards in a most amusing way (check out the video if you want a chuckle: http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=yNiDLoklI3U) and I was very brave about it. Even though it drove my glasses right into my face, cutting my nose and giving me a superb shiner for several days. The lesson learned? Never take guns from strangers. It is true though, I did admit to Slatros that if I lived in a place where guns were legal, I would be fully armed to the teeth, and would lie awake every night waiting for burglars to try their luck. Anyway, I was in a slight daze for a few hours until we hit the cinema and had a few drinks. And my favourite part of the festival was sitting outside the Alamo fuelled on beer with everyone who worked at the cinema – after all, they had looked after us so well all week. Fantastic, in every way.

Sean: And now, the end is near. We mark the occasion in manly fashion, not by hugging each other and crying, but by firing deadly weapons. Perhaps we’re dangerously repressed, but there’s something particularly satisfying about holding an instrument of death in your hand. Unfortunately, I prove to be a lousy shot and wound several of the other shooters during my first attempts. Luckily, they all laugh it off once they find out I’m a pathetic Limey. Eventually, however, I find my gun. Rubbing his 44 Magnum against his crotch, Jay sneers as I pick up the smaller Colt 45, but is quickly silenced as I proceed to blow the target to smithereens. I then turn and level the gun at his puffed-out chest. Sobbing, he promises to never make me watch another Turkish movie ever again. That evening promises a major blow-out at the closing night party, but being miserable old fucks, we are disgusted by the vast numbers of hip young teenagers queuing for admission and decide instead to hold our own private celebration in the Alamo after closing. Foolishly, Tim has left us alone with the keys to the booze supplies and we reward his good faith by leaving the last can of Texas pisswater for him. As we stagger home, the full realisation of what we will be leaving behind hits us and everyone’s spirits plummet. In a bid to cheer my comrades up, I don a hat and feather boa I find concealed in Arnopp’s luggage and sashay around the room. Judging by everyone’s affectionate laughter, my good deed seems to do the trick. Never let it be said I don’t have my friends’ best interests at heart. Saying that, Slatros seems slightly too keen on my new look and I make sure to firmly lock the bedroom door that night.

DAY EIGHT: IT’LL BE A REAL TEST OF HIS MEMORY IF HE REMEMBERS TO BURY IT

Jay: See that someone on YouTube referred to Jimbo’s sniper clip as ‘a fuckin tard’. Sean, Ian and Jimbo have returned to the UK, leaving Jason and I to trawl the streets like hobos. After Tim’s seafood brunch, we hit a few bars, poke at fried chicken in ‘The Broken Spoke’ country and western bar with sad faces and genuinely fall apart. We even order a salad. In the evening, we attend a final party at Tim’s home who confirmed he’ll pay London a visit in 2009 for FrightFest. We leave for Blighty the next morning with brains like soup and eyes as crushed glass. As we leave, we are alarmed to find that the huge bottle of Jim Bean is still quarter full of the good stuff. As a cure for Bad AIDS and beer cancer, we bury the bottle and its cherished liquid. We leave for Austin airport as shattered men, but what one hell of a party. Viva Fantastic Fest! And it’s only four weeks till the San Sebastian horror film festival. Sweet Jaysus!

Jason: Slatros and I are frankly lost without our departed blood-brothers, so clearly the only thing to do is drink heavily like some kind of baboons with a taste for alcohol. We’re also delighted to have a browse through Tim League’s film poster collection, and join in on a game that asks you to write fake Leonard Maltin film reviews. As the famously forgetful Slatros prepares to bury that scotch bottle on our last morning, there’s a truly tremendous moment. Someone comments that it’ll be a real test of Slatros’ memory if he remembers where the bottle’s buried in 2009. “It’ll be a real test of his memory,” pipes up Whinebag, “if he remembers to bury it.” Marvellous. So goodbye FF, goodbye Austin. You were utterly brilliant, and thank you for having us. Best festival I’ve attended, hands down.

Jimbo: An amazing week with amazing people and amazing films. I love it. I’ll miss you and Austin and can’t wait to go back. Sadly, my eighth day consisted of sitting on a plane for a million hours in my meat-fuelled madness. I’m afraid I killed and ate Sean halfway across the ocean. His next paragraph was have been written in advance, just in case something like this happened. Which it did.

Sean: Luckily, Jimbo had neglected to put his contacts in that day and instead ended up devouring a small child. He looked so happy gnawing on the toddler’s ankle that I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d made a mistake. The sobbing mother had to be taken away and sedated, but she can always have another one. So yes, that was it for another year and Fantastic Fest comfortably maintains its position as the best genre festival bar none – accept no substitutes. Many thanks to everyone who looked after us (special kudos to Jill, Devin and Eric), and a big shout out to the tireless Mr Tim League for putting up with such a shameless bunch of pikey blaggers. We’ll no doubt be back to take the piss all over again in 2009…

WHERE: Alamo Village on Andersen Ln
WHEN: Sunday, July 12 at 10:15 PM
HOW MUCH?: FREE!!!

There’s a rumor going around that REC is one of the most terrifying films of all time, and we’re pleased to report that those rumors are incredibly true. This film has long been on our Fantastic Fest wish-list, but circumstances have delayed an Austin premiere until now, a mere two days before it’s official U.S. release on DVD and Blu-Ray from Sony Pictures Home Entertainment. No matter, because we’re psyched as hell to finally screen this new terror classic at the Alamo (for FREE), and we insist – insist! – that anyone and everyone who loves horror films and loves to be scared witless in a movie theater must attend this special one-time-only screening. It may sound like we’re overselling this one, but trust us when we say that die-hard horror lovers the world over have loudly voiced their approval of REC, and to finally share it with you at the Alamo Drafthouse will be an experience in horror that no one who attends will ever forget. Believe us on this one.

Special thanks to our friends at Sony Pictures Home Entertainment.

This show is FREE, first come first served, but priority seating will be given to current Fantastic Fest badgeholders! Please bring confirmation of your FF badge purchase to the show to be admitted first!

“Skirts the edge without going over, and judging from the raucous reception, twisted auds clearly do exist for such blatantly ‘wrong’ material.” -Variety

“Teenagers face unique psychological and physiological disruptions that are ripe for tales of horror…DEADGIRL mines the recesses of the hormone-wracked mind to create one of the most original American horror films in recent memory.” -Rodney Perkins, Fantastic Fest

One of Fantastic Fest 2008’s most well-attended and controversial films returns for a special limited engagement at The Alamo!  Exploring an abandoned sanatorium while ditching school, two high school burnouts discover a seemingly incapacitated girl strapped to a gurney in a secluded chamber. As time passes, the teens make a series of questionable decisions that put them, their friends and the audience itself on the spot. Debut directors Gadi Harel and Marcel Sarmiento craft a new breed of teen angst drama set against a backdrop of humor black enough to make John Hughes retreat to a fetal state.

Director Marcel Sarmiento in attendance on July 24!

Get tickets here.