Zero Hour

It's almost here. In one day, on May 4th, "Killer Weed 2" debuts at Jupiter Bar & Grill in Tuscaloosa. The program should be very straight forward. At 9pm we seal the room and strap our guests into restraints, careful to drop rewetting fluid into their eyes (pried open å la A Clockwork Orange). Once they've absorbed every minute, every frame, Chris, Scott and I take the floor for acknowledgements and a Q & A. After answering the question, "When can I go home?" a few times, we'll then move on to the raffle, which will be difficult to keep short and sweet given the sheer number of prizes being doled out.

Everyone in attendance will receive in exchange for the modest cover charge a free raffle ticket (with extra chances available for purchase). As many as twenty-five will get prizes ranging from an ultimate master package (soundtrack, poster, T-shirt, DVD, comic book) on down to simple soundtrack handouts.

At essence, the challenge will be picking out twenty-five lucky prize recipients in as short a time as possible, because the music acts will take the stage in the main room shortly after the film.

As noted elsewhere on this blog, Chris Merritt early on recruited Tuscaloosa favorites Baak Gwai and Chinese Dentist for the KW2 soundtrack. Not only are these groups prolific songwriters and performers but they're extremely generous and reasonable. Given the negative profit margin we now occupy, much thanks goes to Baak Gwai and Chinese Dentist for playing for next to nothing. KW2 is really a house of cards built on a foundations of self-sacrifice, and these guys are tossing themselves in the volcano yet again by capping off the show.

I arrived in Alabama Saturday morning and joined the other producers in a loaner edit bay at Vazda Studios. (Scott's still well-connected in Birmingham, though his influence is disappearing faster than an ice cream sandwich in the hands of Dom Deluise.)

Scott and I are sitting feet apart right now in fact; he edits as I write this. And there's a certain understated beauty about that, harkening back to the times of artisans and quatrocentro-era guilds. It's like he's a blacksmith over there smelting ore while I'm on-hand designing an exciting new horseshoe.

Chris will join us this afternoon, whereupon we'll get comfortable and review (possibly for the last time) the premiere cut for KW2. Final tweaks pending (e.g. credits, folie), we'll put a ribbon on her just two days before the big day.

Speaking of which, upon arrival it was interesting to see the reach of Chris' well-honed PR machine. Walking the Tuscaloosa streets one sees posters on most storefronts except those missing by theft (which are promptly replaced) The 250-count stickers which've been circulating since January now count out around two dozen, meaning there are approximately 200 stickers sutured to walls, buildings, newsracks and restroom mirrors.Chris has been smart about distributing T-shirts, tossing out a few to friends who make the scene regularly whom he trusts will wear them everyday until Thursday. In fact, that's the deal; if Chris's spies catch anyone not wearing the T in public, private, the shower, whatever, then said offender owes us ten smackers. Yesterday, before being sidetracked by more pressing business, Chris and I were en route to go ambush one such offender and pry a Hamilton from his clammy rigamortis-ridden hands if needed. It's worth chancing the murder charge.

On a less cost-conscious note there are also a hundred KW2 one-inch round buttons bought for a song (thanks, Brighid!). Chris's happy to hand over a pile or so to anyone, students, teachers, local merchants, and a few vagrants who thought it was change.

Despite these many developments, not everything is peaches on the venue front. Don't fear, everything's written in stone regarding when and where. It's "what" that may offer a shred of confusion as my favorite enemy Jeremiah Jones has struck again. (For a full account of my previous quibbles with the deceptive, tactless so-called booking agent at the Jupiter, see "Bring Me the Head of Jeremiah Jones".)

The exterior marquee display, for which Jones is responsible, cites only a Chinese Dentist/Baak Gwai dual show for Thursday night. There is absolutely no indication that a film will be shown. My own father (whom I'm putting through college) gleaned this yesterday while driving the strip and expressed his concern that the thing had been cancelled.

Now, this is a serious problem. I applaud Jones' decision to include the band names; their devoted followings may account for half the patrons, who knows? However, if KW1 fans rely on the marquee's version of events, they may stay home.

Chris and I attempted to address this yesterday. It was touchy, because officially I'm not supposed to have contact with this asshole after our February row in which he tried to pad the venue fee to insane extremes. Even so, I accompanied Chris Merritt to the Jupe around 5 pm, agreeing to let him address the matter with Jones while I stood silently by for muscle and good looks.

We found him leaning on the bar, chatting, looking every bit the prick I imagined him to be, though shorter. Chris did the talking as I looked on, arms bowed, my eyes secretly burrowing a hole in his head. Had to bite my tongue when he excused the marquee goof by claiming it simply remained unchanged from last week.

Let's consider this, shall we? He actually thinks we're such chumps we'd buy a line like that, knowing Chinese Dentist and BaakGwai have never played a joint show, as if we aren't firmly aware that this was a bold-faced lie. And more shocking still, it rolled off his tongue like scripture.

We came to the understanding that it'd be changed, to which my natural reaction would've been, "When?" were I not muzzled. The answer apparently isn't "today," because I just received word that the marquee remains unchanged. I'm exactly one phone call away from going absolutely apeshit on this useless, dodgy, crust of a human being. The fatwa continues...

But that cold place in my heart reserved for Jeremiah Jones is slowly being cleared for a new favorite foe, musician Joe Evans, who apparently overestimates his importance in the Killer Weed pecking order. But now is a happy time; I'll bottle my ire for the moment and be sure to rip this guy proper when I have more time and jokes.

Matt

Item: Small Puppets Set to Charm American Audiences

Life is good again. Flowers are blooming, birds singing, children laughing. I'm sailing down a caramel canal in a gumdrop gondola. The puppet bit is shot, over, done with. At last.

Six months I've spent shaving styrofoam and molding clay, twisting wire armatures and fretting about temperatures. Six months of my life where I've lived as a virtual shut-in, a stranger to family and friends. Wearing the same clothes for weeks at a time. Plucking energy bar crumbs from my thickening beard. At one point my schedule reduced me to an all-time low with the addition of a new favorite meal to my diet. I call it "sandwich-over-the-garbage-can". The recipe is very simple; you take a slice of cheese, a slice of ham, put 'em between two stale pieces of bread, then enjoy over the garbage can. Makes for easy cleanup.

It's been a long road indeed, and now it's over. This morning I woke at 6 a.m. to apply the "8-Toe'd Joe" makeup. As recounted in the Production Report, the whole process is a nightmare through and through. I started with a light base, darkened my eye sockets and jumped directly into the old-age liquid latex stipple. And that's the most tortuous part right there; having to contort your face into a wide-mouthed sneer for minutes at a time so as to stretch the skin. After stippling, drying and powdering a latex layer, you then let go, relieving a groundswell of agonizing tension. The end result always looks neat, and done in a less gory context it could pass for real. The trade-off is a day and a half of involuntary grimacing.

The day's first and only disaster came during my second application of latex. Hairdryers set on cool are often used to speed drying times. Well, I don't have any hair, hence I don't have a hair dryer and had to go buy one at the Goodwill three days back. I tested the thing in-store and it worked fine, but suddenly there it was sparking and wheezing smoke five minutes into my stipple session. Seriously, the thing nearly caught on fire and exploded.

After unplugging it, etc., I took a long look at it and determined it was a shredded wire at the base of the handle. I sat there considering my options. Should I let it air-dry, likely extending my agony for as long as it takes the face-curdling goo to do its work? Or, should I try to mend this hairdryer and risk burning down my apartment and all my precious belongings, possibly inviting third degree burns and a score of bacterial infections associated with recovery?

I grabbed the fire extinguisher and went to work rewiring the hairdryer, stripping the insulation, twisting the wires, using pliers. I found some electrician's tape in my bottomless cache of supplies, wrapped her up, and eagerly plugged it in. I took a breath, turned it on, and (to my surprise) it worked. It worked! I fixed the hairdryer! For a moment, I stood there feeling very manly, posing a bit, hoping, perhaps a little, that the NSA might be spying on me after all because wouldn't they be impressed. How handy of me... I'm like Thomas Edison... Today I am a man... These thoughts galloped through my head. For the first time in my life I could be proud of something I'd done in private.

Then I went back to putting my face on.

Stippling ate up the next two-plus hours, then another hour devoted to coloring it in. I was just getting to final touches when the first of the crew arrived.

Helping out today were several of my old friends from college, Alabama folks who've migrated west at wide-ranging intervals. On camera/sound/grip: Ben Morehead and Brack Bradley. On puppets: Brian Allen, Kate Turnipseed, Joe Borden and George Ritter. And on saxophone: jazz legend Charlie Parker.

When the moon is new and Jupiter is aligned with itself and the equinox falls on a Sunday, their powers unite to become Yellowhammer Films. I feel awkward it being brought up like this, but I've been stepping out on KW2 from time to time, moonlighting with Yellowhammer to act in comedy shorts. Usually just a weekend fling every couple of months. Baby, you know how it is.

But that's why I feel comfortable with this crowd; we've worked together many times before. Hell, most of us first met on a tiny movie set. These are my people and I trust them. Because Scott suddenly headed back to Alabama (to finish the movie with Chris, among other things), I needed a tried bunch of can-do e'er-do-wells, and that's Yellowhammer in sum.

All-call at my apartment was 11 in the morning. We spent an hour or two just trying to get our bearings, lighting and bouncing light as needed, positioning 8-Toe'd Joe relative the puppets and vice-versa, repositioning and positioning again. I consider myself very lucky to have had Yellowhammer on my side because I know kack-all about cameras, real cameras, cameras with more than six buttons.

We burned off a few takes, and the puppeteers were getting more and more in-step with the motions. We blew through several masters and ample coverage in no time flat.

And best of all, the puppets didn't fall apart! I was so afraid that they would chip or splinter or otherwise disintegrate before go-time. But my little buddies held up; they're tough, like their dad.

MEANWHILE, AT THE HALL OF JUSTICE...
...Scott Draper returns to Alabama, meeting with Chris Merritt in order to make final pinches on KW2!!! Details next issue!!!

Matt

I'm Your Puppet

Tomorrow marks the culmination of many months' work.

On January 8th 2005, Chris, myself and the other principles set out to accomplish the last ensemble shot (that is, one final scene with all four stars). For all intents, it should've been "8-Toe'd Joe's" last hurrah. I was returning to L.A. the next day and would be unavailable for any retakes.

On the night of January 8th 2005, Chris and I set out to review the footage, and to our horror, the tape came out corrupted. Audio was fine, but video-wise all was lost due to narrow horizontal strips running top to bottom. As Scott later explained, the problem arose from playing back the tape once too often; the time code had become too overworked. So, apprentices and humble journeymen, don't say I didn't warn you. No matter how bad you want to see playback in the field, avoid the temptation much as you'd decline a hummer from a sore-ridden hooker. Unless you have a clamshell or at least blacken the tape first, you're just setting yourself up for heartbreak.

Anyways, we were sunk. We couldn't reshoot the footage. Luckily, the scene had no bearing on the story whatsoever; it was a place-holder, an insignificant but funny beat that could easily be replaced. As the months drew on and principal photography wrapped, we still hadn't hit upon the right gag. Chris and I chewed over several ideas, but it wasn't until September that a sudden if insane flash of inspiration overtook me.

The voices in my head spoke, and all they said was, "...Puppets...".

Many moons later, I've constructed two fully functional dummies with working mouths and articulated arms, as well as highly potent reproductive organs. Yesterday, I dressed the set. Tomorrow, we film.

Without saying too much too soon, it's noteworthy that "8-Toe'd Joe" will be featured. Alas, this means I'll be rising at 6 a.m. to begin applying my 8TJ makeup, something I haven't done in nearly a year and a half. Stuff it all, this was supposed to be a simple pickup.

Sleep,
Matt

Open Letter From KW2 Star Jillian Fratkin!

Jillian Fratkin plays the heroine in “Killer Weed 2: Sequel Ate My Baby”. She recently drafted this open letter recounting her involvement. -- Matt

I remember KW2 being an awesome experience. A bit exhausting, sometimes, when calls ran late or tensions were high from travel, location, or outside obligations. All and all it was a great trip though. Everyone involved wanted to be there and make the best movie possible. Although I was not involved with the filming of “Killer Weed,” the first film, the DVD showed some good friends getting together and having a great time. You can tell it was fun shooting and mostly a learning experience. KW2, by contrast, was the real deal and Matt, Scott, and Chris didn’t let the cast and crew forget it for a minute. I always had this feeling that not only were the producers and director trying to have a blast, they were trying to make a good movie that people would respond to in an eager way. They were taking the first film to the next level and going all the way with it. I think they did a pretty good job, too. Right from the start – even in casting the film – everything just flowed. Daniel, Drew and myself worked very well together and were able to play off each other with growing zest as our on-screen (and off-screen) relationships grew from the many rehearsals and different takes. I’m sure editing was hard as hell with all the (expletive omitted – ed.) that got filmed! Matt was seeking perfection and Chris was going crazy with different directions and then Scott would chime in with this or that. Everyone’s creative energy was surging. Even on the rough days you couldn’t help but feel like something good was being accomplished.

This film was a huge project that took soooooo long to make. I can’t knock it, though. No one can, 'cause everyone who was doing this was doing it for free – out of sheer pleasure, out of wanting to give something to the cult audience Matt had been spooning since the first film. It’s been said that KW (the greater idea, not any single film) is Chris and Matt’s baby. Indeed. But for me, I remember seeing a poster from the first film on a window at Badass Coffee on the Tuscaloosa Strip. It was green with red silhouettes of the three heroes, topped by a huge spooky font with the movie’s title. I was so jealous. I wanted to know why I hadn’t heard about the project and lustfully told myself that I wanted to be involved in a movie like Killer Weed. I happened to be at the screening of the film weeks later (after a play rehearsal with the Rude Mechanicals, a Shakespeare troupe I belonged to at the time) which fed my hunger and curiosity even more. It wasn’t the film that I found surprising, but the community that had gathered to view the film, the people in it having such a good time, and most importantly, the creative heart and humor that was behind it all. It really struck a chord. The name Chris Merritt crawled into my brain and didn’t leave – ever.

Fast-forward a year or so later and my good friend Chris Johnson (of the band Chinese Dentist) plays matchmaker. On walking into The Wall skate park just outside Tuscaloosa, I meet the man who’s ego precedes him. As hanging out commences, Chris Merrit gets a phone call from Matt Stewart, the producer and genius godfather of Killer Weed. Stewart's called to tell Merrit that he’s decided upon a working story and the script is ready to be developed. As an overjoyed Merrit gets off the phone and announces his news I promptly give him my business card with headshot and contact info (After all, an actress never knows.) I ask Chris to consider me for the female lead and tell him to contact me for an audition. None needed. The serendipitous moment proved the only try-out I needed. You see, Matt had previously known me from his days as a University of Alabama Theater and Dance player and the two men instantly cast me as Zoey. They say that luck is a huge part of casting…

Let me tell you – I was thrilled. Zoey was a great part to play and being the straight man opposite the two funny men was so much…well, FUN. Daniel and I happened to be very good friends outside the film and have always gotten along quite nicely so to be able to spend my free time – which wasn’t really free because the film took so (expletive omitted – ed.) long to shoot (I’m not complaining mind you. Just stating fact.) – but to be able to spend time with Daniel was like combining my love of acting with paling around with an awesome guy. KW2 is actually the second time Daniel and I played opposite one another. Our friendship blossomed when we were both members of the aforementioned Rude Mechanicals group. Daniel and I were in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night playing Andrew Aguecheek and Toby Belch respectively (at least in KW2 I was able to be a girl).

Throwing Drew in the mix not only tied in the first movie, but also fueled something in all of us that resulted in HILARIOUS performances! I had so much fun with these guys. There’s a lot to be said for playing the simple straight man off two comedic hams. I hope in the final cut I can see these reactions and laugh at myself. Despite the stern edge to my character I hope her honest reactions to Drew and Daniel show.Another actor to mention is Kyle Everett, who played Zoey’s best friend Dane. Working with Kyle was wonderful because a) he’s also a great guy and a good friend, and b) his is my favorite character. Kyle and I had an early scene together that we ended up shooting at Scott’s house in Birmingham. It's one of my favorite shoots of all – and that’s including the dozen films or so that I have shot over these past two years – because everything was so chill. Mid-morning, Kyle and I drove up from T-town together, working on character development in the car and again as the guys set up at the house. The scene actually has some great improv stuff because Kyle and I were so at ease with each other, the script, and our acting techniques. Kyle was fantastic to play against. Chekhov has been noted as saying that the only actors are those that act for other actors, and I think this KW2 scene embodies that statement. It was just a pure joy to shoot. This is one scene that I’m looking forward to in the final cut just so I can see how Scott’s creative eye (as editor) mixes with the acting. I also remember this as being a day where Chris and Scott had a lot of fun.

Ok. I have to stop now because I am feeling a little too sentimental and have other “real life” things to accomplish. KW2 was a great experience and I wouldn’t change a minute of it. In fact, having thought about it, I also look forward to the film simply to see that cross-section of the Tuscaloosa community featured on-screen during the yearlong shooting schedule. ‘Cause that is what Killer Weed is: a community Chris and Matt have built. The people who appear on screen and helped make it behind the scenes got involved because this circle of friends, acquaintances and people whose faces were familiar in the little town of Tuscaloosa, Alabama had a common thread: love for the culture and the people. Why else would we all do this for free?

I can’t wait to see all that heart represented in the final cut and screening. HOOTY HOO! See you on May 4!

Jillian Fratkin
"Zoey"

A Day Without a Zombie

Filmed another pickup shot yesterday, one of those brief-but-important bits we'd all but brushed under the rug. A very simple task: collect a shot of a zombie doing yardwork.

I know, sounds ridiculous, right? Traditionally zombies have been of limited skillset, able only to lope, moan, feed, and in the case of Thriller, dance. Somehow gardening never quite made the short list.

Sunday I sat in my sculpture nook whereupon Scott knocked on the door, asking me if I wanted to shoot the thing. The lawn care zombie occupied the bottom of our short list of missing crud, and we'd long decided that I would play the part. With Scott filming and me running makeup (on myself) that paired it down to a two-man band. It therefore came as little surprise when Scott sprung this on me; it was merely a matter of having time and daylight.

Being a little rusty in the makeup department, and seeing as I was responsible for coating parts of my face I could neither see nor heretofore knew existed, makeup took a little over two hours. In my hey-day I could lick out three or four extras in that span. Old age, you know. Years from now, during the filming of "Killer Weed 41: Revenge of Step-Daughter of Half-Sister of Bastard Son of 8-Toe'd Joe's Accountant" arthritis will have so stricken my hands that I'll have to hold all the makeup sponges, brushes and powders between my tongue and lower jaw.

One thing I took for granted while dressing KW2 ghouls was the amount of discomfort the many layers of tissue and latex creates. Not to say I didn't slather my own face with old age stipple in playing elderly 8-Toe'd Joe; I've felt the putrid stench of drying latex wafting up my hooter. But having tissue and blood added into the mix is worse yet, not to mention the face appliances our guys were forced to wear. To have one's face constricted and skin yanked is perhaps the worse kind of torture, particularly if one gets the giggles.

Shooting commenced about three hours after we got the notion, and I took up my position in the garden below my balcony. Scott went high angle and never even had to leave the balcony. Outside, I was fairly conspicuous, hooking up a borrowed hose and drenching a bunch of flowers over which I had no domain. Scott could barely keep it together as he filmed the whole bit; some of the footage came out shaky.

Our Armenian neighbor-lady (who enjoys lurking on the stoop with other old ladies like this is 227 or something) witnessed the entire thing and even jerked a little when I passed her on the stairs in full costume. We think she called the super, because right when we finished Scott filmed them chattering full-gallop right near our watery blood stains. She seemed quite distressed. The super seemed to be laughing, and I think he liked what I did with the flowers.

Matt

Fast Tongue, Lazy Eye

Today is March 30, marking approximately one month 'til the KW2 premiere, and boy am I nervy. There's still mounds to do, though mostly just inserts and transitions.

For Scott, the major hurdle is finishing the chromakeying. I won't pretend to understand what goes into all that. For all I know, keying involves recitations from sacred scrolls and ritual incantations over a freshly slaughtered lamb glazed in the blood of a firstborn Persian prince.

Compared to all that, fishing out inserts amounts to child's play. (Even the three as-yet unshot bits don't hold a candle.) As assistant editor it falls on me to sift through our pile of tapes and track down missing pieces of what has become an increasingly elaborate puzzle. This is like a Rupik's cube wrapped inside one of those 3-D puzzles put inside a box of Legos that's missing the directions.

Luckily, I took great care in logging most of our 24 tapes, so, allowing for a few timecode discrepancies, culling shots should be an evening's work, tops. Must admit, when I hunkered down to document every pertinent tape, I never envisioned the logs being so useful as they've become. They've saved time when it's really counted, from capturing and recapturing footage to picking out the money. Take heed, paduans. Ample records is not the exclusive domain of documentarians and court reporters. The computer age has opened the gates to petty nitwit filmmakers, too.

Likewise, the logs should prove valuable in sorting through select tapes after the edit's done. Scott wants to review these to make sure we haven't missed any shiny gems. No doubt we'll find some real knockouts and slap ourselves for not having used them, then turn around and realize there's just cause. This is usually a continuity issue, sometimes audio. Occasionally we've dropped a shot because of lighting concerns, or because "my character's" lazy eye was caught wandering.

Confound my lot. The Stewart gene-&-cesspool gave me ample intelligence but no sense of sight, smell, taste or hearing to speak of, not to mention this pair of googly eyes bobbing around at right angles.

Matt

Sandi You're a Dandy

As previously noted there are a handful of shots that are as yet unfilmed. Puppets notwithstanding, these are all simple bits amounting to about one minute of screentime, tops. Most are B-roll, video-only.

Tuesday last week we accomplished the longer of the two non-B-roll shots: a three-sentence block of dialogue to be situated in the middle of "Killer Weed 2". Nothing outlandish, just three lines read by the talented Erica Goings. Explaining the context would spoil the surprise. I'll say only that this figures into 8-Toe'd Joe's designs on world conquest.

The location was Scott's new work place, a post-production facility in Studio City. He's worked there as senior editor for all of two weeks but already seems to have his boss licking gravy off his palms. Scott's just that good.

Bossman was nice enough to grant us afterhours access to his office, which was ideally suited to the scene at hand. Thank you, Bossman.

After a few setting and wardrobe tweaks, Scott rolled camera on "Sandy" and I got to play director for a moment, which is always fun. Still wish Chris Merritt could've been there; he would have truly appreciated Erica's zest for the role. She lit up the screen with her vivacious presence and easily bested the two schmos playing like-parts. She was like a young Judy Garland, minus the glossy eyes and the midday mimosa clutched in her thirsty claws.

Very tired now,
Matt

Sound Off

Time's been scarce lately owing to my new job on a movie set. Every night I return home and do what I can in the way of audio mixing for the Making Of. Scott (my unofficial post-production mentor and spiritual leader) once said that editing is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent brain-sucking minutiae.

Now I understand what he meant. The list of mundane tasks includes not only audio but video transitions and motion attributes, all of which require time and concentration. I make no secret of my lacking technical skills. I've always been the creative hand of Wm. Moses Group. When it comes to things like mixing sound, I'm like Helen Keller on oxycontin.

Luckily I've long had a facility for boring repetitive work, so once I get into the rhythm of the math, it's more a matter of forcing myself to stop. The perfectionist in me won't sleep knowing that a single decibel peaks out or even reads a little hot.

My meticulous compulsions detract from other things I could be doing. There are still the puppets, after all, which is why I take advantage of each and every render break. While rendering video I step over to the sculpture studio (a small table exactly two feet behind my computer) and pick up with the remaining puppet head. I'm usually able to knock out a strand of hair or something before going back for more punishment at the cpu.

And the cycle begins anew. At this rate I should have a full head of puppet hair by decade's end, and two fully functional puppets by the time my grandchildren are impeaching Jenna Bush.

Matt

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