Review: "Pot Zombies"

This was bound to happen. While recently probing the internet, Scott stumbled across a movie similar (nay, identical) in concept to our own. "Pot Zombies" follows an irradiated strain of marijuana which, when smoked, turns hapless fat-heads into the walking dead. Sound familiar?

Besides the radiation angle, it's basically "Killer Weed" plus a lesbian scene. "Pot Zombies" was released the first week of February, 2006, meaning the original KW has two years on it, and anyone who's read the Production Report knows the concept is a decade old. But before we get into a pissing contest, let's assess the merits and shortcomings of our new rival.

"Pot Zombies" lays out its premise very blatantly (if un-creatively) in the title. There's pot. Then there's zombies. The origin of the "demonic chronic," to borrow from the dialogue, is neatly established during the opening credits. A mostly black-and-white sequence accounts for the pot's mysterious beginnings in what must be a clandestine nuclear facility. The accompanying credits are decidedly sparse, devoted solely to the production staff and musicians, which seems unfair because a lot of people clearly put an incredible amount of work into this.

I would soon have an answer as to why no actors’ credits were included: There are a shit-ton of main characters. The entire film plays less as a cohesive rounded story and more as a series of meandering vignettes, introducing new characters minute to minute and seldom revisiting anyone already established. The structure would be forgivable if only the filmmakers varied the formula from scene to scene. Instead, every eight minutes or so we get a warmed-over rehash of exactly what we saw a few moments ago, only with new characters and a different setting. On a $10,000 budget, and considering the amateur-hour acting, it's clear they couldn't pay their cast anything substantial, with the possible exception of the lesbians. Cause they deserve it.

In all reality, this movie could be five minutes long. Every setup, every gore effect approximates the one before and after it. We know how every scene will start, develop and end. To wit:

Scene 1: A group of hunters smokes a joint. They become zombies and turn on one another.
Scene 3: Two high schoolers smoke a joint. They become zombies and vomit profusely.
Scene 5: Three dropouts smoke a bong. They become zombies, vomit profusely, and devour a retarded pizza delivery guy, who somehow conned the DMV into giving him a driver's license.
Scene 10: Two lesbians smoke a joint. They get down and dirty before becoming zombies, then turn on each other. Great scene.
Scene the Last: A party. Seven or eight stoners smoke a joint. They become zombies and turn on one another.
Closing Montage: Scores of stoned zombies roam the streets unabated. No climax. No resolution. No credits.

That's the gist. There are, however, inspired moments where the dialogue takes a clever edge, ripe with authenticity, and the numerous characters shine. John Phelan stands out in his portrayal of a far-gone hippy attempting to assuage a suspicious policeman. A mohawked Rob Swarthout gets gruesomely strung up via fishing hooks by ghouls who've miraculously grasped the concept of pulleys and levers. And, of course, the lesbians.

While the movie's strengths lie in its premise and casting, its principal weakness is a spate of technical deficiencies. Director Justin Powers, who also edited, did at best a sub-standard job piecing the thing together. Every insert, every cutaway, every moment of shared silence lingers about ten seconds longer than it should, and in some instances longer still. Furthermore, he seems to have all the sound-mixing skills of a deaf-mute. Setting aside the rampant over-dubbing and out-of-sync speeches, simple audio transitions are virtually nonexistent. Glaring, vacuous pauses pervade, devoid of tone or even visual appeal.

The soundtrack works hard to mitigate the video, and features a few well-known musicians (DOA, The Dwarves, Electric Frankenstein and more). Along with the score by Mark D’Errico, the music helps hem the vignettes together nicely but ultimately can’t save the story. Thank god for the lesbians.

Likewise, some decent digital effects permeate the flick, already setting it apart. But, at best, the quality is inconsistent and sometimes these effects become over-pronounced and ugly. Several death scenes are supplemented by gaudy pink splurts of computerized blood. A more effective approach would have been to perfect directional blood bladders, which, admittedly, is very hard work.

The makeup is another matter still. It’s interesting that the unnamed makeup artist(s) defied zombie convention by painting the ghouls a flat pea green. Though very thorough and no doubt time-consuming, a more authentic approach would have been to replicate the off-white pallor of a real corpse. Nonetheless, some commendable work went into affecting bright glowing eyes during post-production. And the blood seems mixed to a reasonable consistency.

On the whole, “Pot Zombies” is worth a look. If not for camp-value then at least in appreciation for its zeal for the subject matter.

At fifty minutes total, it’s clear that “Pot Zombies” and “Killer Weed” have only three things in common: A great theme and longer-than-necessary running time. (KW times out at forty-two.) The third: emphatic disclaimers at the outset of both movies disparaging recreational drug use.

While “Zombies’” budget towers over both KW1 and KW2 by about $7,000, the makers did a poor job of putting the money on the screen. I would gladly lose a few of their special effects in favor of a good boom mic and a white balance card.

KW1 is guilty of the same, in all fairness. Out of an estimated $3,000, I recollect about two-thirds of that going to beer. The camera-work is stopgap; the sound crudely mixed; the lighting nonexistent. The impetus behind doing a sequel, partly, was to redeem the many technical errors plaguing film one.

We stretched every dollar to gross extremes, accruing supplies on the cheap or for free, and used leftover makeup from the first outing. Director Chris Merritt convinced his family to buy him a boom. Producer/editor Scott came equipped with a GL2 camera and the edit bay, always a constant. And I acquired skills and gear as needed to perform practically every job in between. Thank bog information is free.

The biggest distinction between the KW franchise and “Pot Zombies” is the latter’s total disinterest in plot/character development. “Zombies” discards characters and arcs with wild abandon, like a choose-your-adventure book minus the choosing. KW1 follows a compelling main character, the enigmatic 8-Toe’d Joe, and his colorful friends Chloe and Pope. KW2 revisits these same characters fifteen years removed from the horrors of film one.

“Pot Zombies” boasts no such claim. The characters are fleeting and unsympathetic. The potential for intriguing B-stories is overlooked in the race to introduce the next inconsequential set of ghouls-to-be. Then on to another set, over and over, only twice revisiting established characters. There’s no one to worry about, to root for.

Conclusion: “Killer Weed” kicks “Pot Zombies” ass all over the place, then pulls down its pants and pisses in their ear. Their soundtrack is a little better; our makeup is a lot better. Their casting is strong; ours is stronger. Their technical deficiencies could fill a balloon for all the dead air floating around; our technical deficiencies might fill a condom. A Magnum.

And, of course, we have no answer to the hot dyke action.

It may be bad form to criticize fellow C-grade zombie comedy enthusiasts, and I’m more than a little biased. But this reflects an honest appraisal of a genuinely likable little movie. If you’d like to see “Pot Zombies” visit www.myspace.com/potzombies to arrange a download. Also, the trailer.

Matt

For corrections to this article, see Apology Corner.

Essay: The Real 8-Toe'd Joe

This past weekend I returned to my work station after the Berkley trip with Scott, unsure of what to edit next. There are about nine segments similar in content to the one posted last week, but I've picked at them until there's nothing exciting left to do. The only items still untouched are several DVD easter eggs, one of which will document the inspiration for the 8-Toe'd Joe character.

Few people know (or care about) this, but the colorful goon introduced in "8-Toe'd Joe & The Army of Toes" and revisited in "Killer Weed" 1 and 2 is drawn from a real life figure.

I first met John Shirley two weeks after his shoddy lawn mower chewed off the two smallest toes on his right foot. The meeting was emblematic of his heedless, spit-in-the-wind attitude, foretelling a strange friendship.

Several friends and I gathered at our usual spot for hackey sack, a delapidated tennis court in southwest Decatur, Alabama. We hacked and hacked, unaware that John looked on from his Grandma's house across the street. Before long he hobbled our way, dragging a long crutch, and we stopped to welcome this stringy-haired, unshaven, tooth-missing triped. A thick bloody bandage shown from under his right sandal, and it took no time getting the story out of him.

He'd had a bad month. Within a week of moving to Decatur, his Grandpa died. (Or maybe he moved because his Grandpa died, to sit his Grandma. Can't recall.) Then in a park, drinking and mourning a few days later, the police arrested him for an open container violation. Then, the next day, hungover, he accidentally executed two of his toes.

We watched in morbid fascination as John, stumps notwithstanding, attempted to play hackey sack.

Well, as one can imagine, the game was offically over with the addition of this odd, tottering invalid. No matter; John's personality proved intriguing enough for us to engage him outside the court. He came to our parties and became a dear friend. My pal Nathan Wall, I believe, coined the moniker "8-Toe'd Joe," to which he still answers.

The common denominator between John my friend and 8-Toe'd Joe my character was an unfettered devotion to substances. And therefore an underlying theme of temptation pervades KW1, a gluttonous uncontrollable urge in defiance of consequence and penalty. This defines John but extends and relates to the millions of others also struggling with addiction.

In KW1, Joe's willpower fluctuates while grappling with his demons. If, like in the movie, the real John were offered killer weed (aware that it turns smokers into the walking undead), he'd probably start weighing the pros and cons of going zombie.

It's only with great reluctance and support from his comrades that movie Joe gradually turns a corner. This manifests itself most literally in a later scene when he, Chloe and Pope destroy a huge indoor killer weed crop in a blaze of fire.

However, on a metaphorical basis, Joe's redemption really happens during the climax. Having been pushed headlong into the still-sizzling grow room and presumably inhaling the pot fumes, Joe menaces his friends while they're restrained by a mob of ghouls. In a confusing but fun pay-off, 8-Toe'd Joe rips away the stray corpse-flesh disguising his face (a rouse to fool the mob) and rejoins his allies in battle.

It's the act of face-ripping that marks his true turnaround. Joe discards the detrietus, the decay from his old way of life and embraces the new, the immediate.

My friend John has had no such about face. While he's moderated his wanton lifestyle in recent years, he's still awaiting some seminal transformative event to change him, I think.

Best of luck, John.

Your friend always,
Matt

Currently...

Having just scored a commision to direct five pieces for Current TV, I had the pleasure of hiring none other than Mr. Matt Stewart to head up to Berkeley with me this weekend to profile revolutionary blogger Markos Moulitsas.

If you haven’t heard of Current TV, definitely check ‘em out. I’m not sure if the cable companies carry it down South, but that doesn’t mean you can’t submit your work. Did I mention that they PAY?















We just got back from Berkeley, where Matt was indispensable. He even plowed through roughly 60 miles of traffic jam (in the rain) on the way home.

We threw a rant piece together for Current a couple of weekends ago, Blocking the Picasso. It was written (by Matt) and shot/edited in one day. Check it out, sign up, and give us a greenlight!

Featured Making-Of Clip: The Script

Let's pause from post-production a moment and rewind to the opposite extreme. Writing the script took place over a period of two months in the summer of 2004.

Click on the image to learn more.

Matt

"Glib"

Filmed my interview for the Making Of a couple nights back. Scott ran camera and prompted me according to a list of questions I wrote and was dying to ask myself. But I became very evasive right out of the gate.

"So, why don't you start by telling me about our history. Is it true we're notoriously hard to work with?"

"No. Next question."

"That's actually both the first and second question."

"Turn off the camera!"

"Why are you being so difficult?"

"I thought this was supposed to be a fluff piece."

After some misfires, I/we got off to a nice stride. It was less an interview and more a game of Mad-Libs because most of the doc has already been edited. My sound bites are simply meant to fill in the blanks.

I work fast, so afterwards I dubbed off a VHS and began transcribing. It's weird writing out your own interview. You learn things about yourself that you'd rather not know. Below, a list of words I overuse:

phenomenal
essentially
invaluable
invariably
ultimately

If you ever hear me use these words in conversation or even on this site, consider it the greenlight for jabbing a chopstick in my temple.

Matt

.44 Reasons

Hat tip to Chris Merritt, Turner Mayo, and Tim Ros.
Nice execution. Click the image for a video clip.

Bring Me The Head of Jeremiah Jones

I'm looking into becoming a Muslim cleric so I can declare a Fatwa on the booking agent at the Jupiter. Everyone knows what a Fatwa is, right? First the offending individual shames Muhammad, or touches an unclean woman, or prays towards Boise instead of Mecca. After stoking the ire of denominational leaders, the individual is issued a Fatwa, then ostracized and shunned (if not hunted outright). Salman Rushdie has one; Osama bin Laden has one. And soon, so shall Jeremiah Jones.

It all started three weeks ago when our production staff sought to cement the movie's premiere date. Chris shot him emails, visited and called the venue repeatedly. And, really, the goal there was just determining whether April 20 was already booked. A simple YES or NO question. The reply could have literally been one character long.

Jeremiah made no indication that we were even on his radar. To be fair, I've since discovered that he prefers an AOL account to his work email. But then, why even have a work email? Why put it on the website, then not list the alternative one below? His later claim that he recieved no Chris Merritt emails, therefore, is moot.

Since Chris made no headway, I cast my line into the pond. Bear in mind, I'm still in Southern California, and Jupiter's still on the Tuscaloosa Strip, so I had to just call and hope he answered. I left a message or two, and he finally answered on my third try. (I'd obtained his private number through surreptitious means...) After an awkward, forced hello, he honed right in on what I was after, which told me he'd received the emails. He gruffly stated that April 20 was booked, then fell silent and offered no suggestions or counter-proposals. I could see that Mr. Helpful wasn't exactly teeming with ideas, so I arranged to call him back.

The next day, I raised him after a couple unreturned calls, meaning to book the thing for May 4. We set the calendar and discussed details, but he surprised me with a confoundingly excessive rental fee. I went ahead and made the book, but with the understanding that we'd talk further.

I related these findings to Chris, who found the figures baffling, particularly as he'd had ongoing contact with local musicians who'd used the venue in the past. We determined that I'd approached this all wrong, that I'd failed to clarify the profit potential. Once Jeremiah started "inventing" fees for sound considerations and trying to rent a room that should have been free, I stripped my proposal down to a bare bones presentation of the movie alone, no music acts. But my greatest weapon was having onboard two of the hottest bands in the Tuscaloosa music scene: Baak Gwai and Chinese Dentist.

Members of either band graciously offered to pick up where I'd left off in dealing with Jeremiah, essentially acting as a delegation. So, I called Jeremiah yesterday to set this up, telling him first that we had to renegotiate the terms. He responded in his flacid way that he couldn't wave the fees, that they weren't arbitrary numbers, and that the rental fee was what it was. Not good enough, I told him.

I wanted to make it plain that KW2 is a movie with a built-in following, that our track record should speak for itself. While in the middle of recounting our packed releases for KW1 and "Dude, Where's My Boat?" I felt a sudden surge of dead air on the line, even deader than his already vacuous personality. He had hung up on me.

Persistence is my strongsuit, so I called back. No answer. I tried again, but went ignored. After my fifth try he answered, pretending like nothing happened.

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you didn't just hang up on me."

"I didn't hang up on you..."

Didn't matter to me; if you're cut off in the middle of a civil conversation and they don't answer when called back (until being annoyed into doing so) that's still a hang-up.

I didn't care to argue the point. I simply tried to arrange a meeting with the delegation for some time in the next day or two, and that's when his volume really peaked.

"I don't have time to meet anyone. We got Kenny Chesney playing this week."

"We have time sensitive marketing considerations. You've kept us waiting long enough."

"Man, we got Kenny Chesney! Do you know who that is? You're asking me to worry about something going down in May, months away."

"Aren't you the one who told me you typically book shows 6 to 12 months in advance? Is this a business or isn't it?"

"Kenny Chesney!"

I wittled him down a bit, and he somehow found a way to reduce the trumped up fee, confirming our suspicions that he'd tried to fleece us. More than anything, he was clearly sick of being berated. He said he was trying to feed his baby daughter.

"This is rude. Do you know how rude this is? Bugging me when I'm trying to feed my daughter!"

"Let's review the definition of rude, shall we? In my book rude is not returning emails, not returning phone calls, and hanging up on someone when they're trying to make you money..."

We bickered another few minutes, then ended on a note of mutual loathing. He agreed to see my delegation, but on his terms, meaning I had two hours to get our players in position. The only musician available on short notice was Chris Johnson of Chinese Dentist (who also plays "Charles" in KW2). Johnson graciously obliged Merritt and I by meeting Jeremiah at the Jupiter yesterday evening.

The very first thing our shaggy friend said: "I'm not dealing with Matt Stewart anymore." It was with that abrupt declaration that Chris Johnson became our defacto distribution manager. They spoke amicably on the details, finally agreeing to a number sure to please everyone. (And far below the "bargain" he'd originally tried to bilk us into.) Special thanks to Mr. Johnson for making the deal.

But my emnity for Mr. Jones has still not past. It didn't help when I learned he'd called my office asking for me, and he left a message using choice language. So it's with deep regret and apologies to Western religions that I must now transform myself into a ruthless fundamentalist cleric. In good time, I will have climbed the ranks of a small but faithful congregation, winning their trust and respect and maybe even... their love. When they're prepared to die for me, that's when I'll mobilize the lot and start drilling them for the unholy crusade in which they're about to partake. Look out, Jeremiah. I'm about to go Jihad.

Matt

Premiere Date Set!

At long last, we've firmed up plans for the long-awaited debut of "Killer Weed 2":

Thursday May 4th
Jupiter Bar & Grill
On the Strip/Tuscaloosa, AL
(range of 9 to midnight)

The venue is set, money has been discussed, and the movie will be ready in plenty of time.

For anyone who's followed the depressing string of changes regarding the premiere, you know this wasn't our first choice. The dates were changed more often than an Elton John wig. A brief history of rejected dates:

SUMMER 2005 - Some people may think KW2 is now a pleasant memory, completed and premiered at the target date still blotting the end of our website teaser. Not so. The teaser is a left-over relic from secondary photography; a very optimistic time when we had every reason to believe we'd be done in August, at worst. We should've known that shooting would drag out; that we'd think of ways to prolong the process and frustrate our principles. But the single biggest determinant in axing the Summer launch was Scott's sudden move to L.A. in September.

1/06/06 - Once Scott and myself were living and working under one roof, early January seemed a more than reasonable pick. Post-production was chugging ahead despite busy day jobs, and the 6th corresponded with the tail end of our holiday trips home. Alas, we concluded that our audience would still be on vacation. And, naturally, when the holidays sprung up, there was still a lot to do.

MID-MARCH - So when visiting Tuscaloosa, the usual reply to curious fans wanting to know "When?" was "Sometime in March." While this deflected a lot of questions, it was really just a stopgap answer until we could come up with something more solid. Not almost sort-of solid, but solid-solid. Like a good stool sample.

4/20/06 - Somehow, no one hit upon this date until Scott was perusing his "Girls of the US Senate" calendar one day (looking for Barbara Boxer's birthday) and it leapt right out at him. Apparently April 20th is something of a soft holiday for potheads. And given all the soft mush in their brains, it's likely the easiest date for them to remember. Sadly, the venue was booked that entire week so we went with the next best thing...

MAY 4th, 2006 - This seems like the best fix. It falls within dead week at the University of Alabama -- right between classes and exams -- and gives everyone plenty of notice. What's more, we have a few extra weeks to polish the film and arrange merchandising. This just got serious.

Matt