Ghoul School

Online and scimming the University of Alabama's student newspaper the other day, I happened upon a very interesting article. Apparently a faculty member from the English Department will teach an interim course devoted entirely to zombies. Devoted to learning about zombies, that is, not to teaching zombies new skills. God help us should they get any smarter than they already are.

Zombies! The Living Dead in Literature, Film and Culture (EN 311-001) will chart our fascination with the undead from their emergence in occult voo doo weirdness to their evolution as "fictional" devices and rapid rise as staples of pop-culture. Instructor Sean Hoade plans to offer every perspective out there, with attention to our shared subconscious fear of all things dead and undead.

This is a great idea. Wish they'd had something like this when I was there; I would've eaten it up like so many human entrails. Which they'll actually be doing. Hoade hopes to mimick the act of cannibalism with things like Jell-O brains (Bill Cosby's brain?) and flesh-flavored tofu (soy rack of Bill Cosby?).

Another class activity that sounds fun is loping around campus in full zombie makeup, moaning and lurching at "prey." Indeed, this could be a blast, but may just as likely lead to injuries and/or lawsuits as some grade-grubbers will undoubtedly take the matter too far and start biting with abandon. This is how Hepatitis spreads, people.

Still, the course premise is so strong it could easily expand into a semester-long affair. Hell, why stop there? How many young people know the basics for surviving an attack, like how to operate a shotgun or sucking the poison out of a zombie bite? My opinion: Form an entirely new Department of Zombology, purposed with defining, understanding, and combatting this long-ignored menace. Develop fields of study like zombie psychology, pathology, astrology and linguistics. Perhaps in the future, being pre-zombie will carry the same status as being pre-law or pre-med, and internships in zombie study centers and detention camps will be the norm.

Until then, this class is man's last best hope.

Matt

Wm. Moses Memorial F.A.Q.

History and culture are rife with legendary partnerships, team-ups, duos and unlikely alliances. Examples:

Barnum and Bailey – After spending years as competitors, P.T. Barnum and James Bailey joined forces and built what could only be described as a super circus, contracting huge numbers of previously unemployed clowns and monkeys. The U.S. economy soared and crime rates dropped.

Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis – Together the two were thrice as strong as the Rat Pack at its thickest, so 2(1) x 3 = 6 points against the 5 in the Rat Pack (with respect to Joey Bishop and the other guy) with a bonus point for Sailor Beware; decision: Martin/Lewis.

Hi & Lois – This Beetle Bailey spin-off concerned a husband and wife raising the quintessential 1950’s nuclear family; socially significant because in 1976 Lois became the first syndicated comic-strip character to be brutally raped.

Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox – Founded Canada.

Jake & The Fatman – Pretty boy Jake Styles did the legwork investigating murder suspects; DA Jason “Fatman” McCabe woke up in puddles of his own waste with bits of turkey mired in his teeth, lips dripping with Worcestershire sauce, thinking about maple syrup.

Billy and Jimmy Lee (the Double Dragon brothers) – Kicked ass, and right there in the name, Double Dragon, meaning twice the usual compliment of dragons.

Mork & Mindy – Usually more Mork, less Mindy, though Mindy lent a certain Je ne sais quoi to Mork’s incessant Na-nu Na-nu.

Hayley Mills and Hayley Mills as seen in the film Parent Trap – Not technically separate people but still more formidable together than apart.

rice and beans – A simple yet nutritious source of iron.

Simon and Garfunkel – The seminal folk duo taught us about silent sounds and forbidden MILF romance. Not to be confused with:

Simon & Simon – The brothers/detectives from the 1980’s TV show. Lived on a boat.

penis and vagina – For time immemorial, penis has sought vagina and vagina penis, though sometimes penis seeks penis and vagina seeks refuge.

Scott and I don’t qualify as legends, or celebrities, or people of note, but we are a couple of dicks. We had a storied partnership, and now it’s gone to ground. That is, we’ve reached an indefinite (possibly permanent) separation, and it's time to tell the kids. Wish I could say Wm. Moses Prods. went out in a hail of bullets like Bonnie and Clyde, but it’s more akin to plants dying by neglect, withering and going brittle for lack of water.

What happened? Find out below in the:

WM. MOSES MEMORIAL FAQ

• Why the split? Scott's priorities shifted during the months after the Tuscaloosa premiere. KW2 director Chris Merritt and producer Matt Stewart grew increasingly frustrated by mounting delays on the DVD. This culminated in a lengthy confrontation pitting Matt against Scott. Chris alone kept a level head, and gradually steered them to compromise.

• I thought KW2 was already finished; what’s wrong with the premiere cut? Certain external factors were at play, leaving us without a complete edit until just a day before showtime. Consequently, the final act lacked layers of polish afforded earlier scenes.

• What’s the current status of KW2? Scott is still implementing missing touches on the final act and hopes to deliver mid-March.

• Are you still releasing a DVD? Yes. When? Difficult to say. Lots of practical questions persist. Hopefully we’ll launch the DVD this summer.

• Will the DVD include all the extras previously mentioned? Yes.

• How will DVDs be distributed? TBD. The official KW website is all but a relic, but between Blogspot and Myspace, Facebook, Friendster, Friendspot, Facespace, and SpaceFace, there are ample outlets for arranging sales.

• I don’t give a shit; can’t I just watch KW2 online? Click here for the premiere cut.
  

• Are Scott and Matt now mortal enemies, à la Liu Kang and Shang Tsung? No. Scott initiated a heartfelt discussion in which the two patched things up and hugged it out. A Mary and Rhoda-type reunion isn’t out of the question.

KW2 Headlines: Wm. Moses Prods. Disbands

Wm. Moses Prods. has rung down the curtain. It's dead. Kaput. Deep-sixed. Run over by a car. Taken to go live on a farm with lots of space to run around and play in.

I won't elaborate just now. It's too soon. I need time. But the many people who worked so hard on KW2 are owed some sort of explanation, so expect a formal statement down the road. And a primetime newsconference with Wm. Moses' family.

It's certainly the end of an era. Scott and I were a movie-making team for six years. On hearing the death rattle, it didn't count for much.

Matt

Happy New Year!

I've arranged for a little holiday present for all 14 of our fans, as well as the rest of the internets... KW and KW2 are going to be presented uncut, for free, on google video. Progress has been slow on the DVD due to time constraints on my part and a certain degree of, well, uncertainty on all of our parts regarding how the DVD might be distributed. Hopefully putting it out there for all to see for free will go a certain ways towards making up for that. I've got some challenging projects on the roster for 2007, and thus will be reclassified to missing in action status by General William Moses. Rest assured that Chris and Matt have what sounds like a kickass DVD in store for the masses, which will drop just as soon as we've made a few tweaks to the film. Killer Weed 1 on Google Video Killer Weed 2 on Google Video Happy 2007! Scott

Ghost of Killer Weed Past

Back in 2003, Ham Bagby contributed his original song "Funky Scream" to the KW1 soundtrack. He also played a hospial patient-turned-zombie and bore the distinction of being beaten back to the grave with his own crutch.

I discovered this old footage of Ham playing his signature song late one night for Chris and the cast. He's still in full makeup, and wailing on Chris' old banjo. Just good times.



Congratulations to Ham on a new baby boy -- Matt

Apology Corner

Wm. Moses has a knack for conjuring enemies out of the ether. It's our habit to seize on minor offenses, then spew vitriolic hate speech until we feel better. Most of the time the ass-handing is justified and we're all too happy to dish out a written crotch-shot to the emotional testes, but it tends to get out of hand. It's with this acknowlegement that I issue the following apology:

Pot Zombies, I'm sorry.

About two months ago, Scott enabled the comments feature common to all blogs on Blogspot. Hiding under my "Pot Zombies" review since February was a short remark from someone affiliated with the movie. He had some choice things to say and went so far as to suggest we stole their idea.

Scott and I were ecstatic. The prospect of getting into a turf dispute with another dope-come-ghoul movie was irresistible. A public feud could mobilize the flagging Wm. Moses label and raise the profile of both movies. This would be akin to Armageddon getting into a scrapper with Deep Impact, or Infamous having a knife fight with Capote.

It seemed especially tantalizing as Chris was just moving to town and we would be at our most powerful, like when the Constructicons combined to form Devastator.

So I shot off a casual email to this guy simply saying "Are you serious?" hoping it would bait the whole PZ team into a cat fight. I didn't hear from him, but I did get a couple notes from Justin Powers, director, editor and co-writer of "Pot Zombies".

In paraphrase, the emails sought to distance the real players from the commentator and made it known that this guy barely had anything to do with the film. Turned out he's some goon brought in for sound mixing in the eleventh hour.

Justin expressed dismay that such a comment was floating around cyberspace and requested it be taken down, thinking it a poor reflection on Fringe Media. The overall thrust of his emails were friendly and informative, and I suddenly felt remorse for panning his abilities, especially in light of certain facts. Below I'll attempt to redress some misinformation that made it into the review.

I misreported the budget as being around $10,000, a figure extracted from an article by Brian Abrams. My advice: Never put your trust in the internet. Not for reliable data, not for "secure" credit card purchases, and certainly not for arranging anonymous meth-fueled orgies. I'd even discourage the reader from citing this blog or even the neutral Killer Weed website as sources of factual info, especially if making, say, a case for invading Iran.

Anyway, Justin said the real budget was somewhere around $1000. Boy, do I feel like a putz. Watching it I kept wondering where they'd spent the money. Was it the cool scene where they strung a guy up by hooks in his back? Was it for Lloyd Kaufman's towncar? Was it the impressive soundtrack? Or was it intercutting to the hot lesbian chicas going Hometown Buffet on each other?

Knowing the real budget almost turns PZ into a stellar achievement, particularly as it's Justin's first film. He clearly had to wrangle a lot of resources and call in a few favors, maybe scratch a few backs. And that's a talent unto itself, the networking, the canvasing, the begging, the sweet-talking and making nice, the game.

Couple other things to address. My mistake for claiming there were no credits. Apparently my download had the closing credits sheered off for space sake. I'm told they're laid over some neat behind the scenes footage of Rob Swarthout actually getting pierced through the back by the aforementioned hooks.

I also regret that the first few lines of my IMDb review became the defacto two-line for PZ on a few torrent sites. However, no one in my camp had anything to do with actually sharing their movie, as had been charged.

We can barely cope with our own workload.

Matt

Let the Circle Be Unbroken

Chris Merritt, director of “Killer Weed 2,” is currently driving the final leg of a 2,000-mile journey to the West Coast where he’ll live with Scott and me at the new Wm. Moses Compound in North Hollywood.

Chris’ move to California came as something of a surprise to me since he’d long derided the idea and set his long term sites on Australia. Don’t ask me why. I myself would prefer even the filthiest, sketchiest urine-stenched alley of delusion-addled dream-shredding la-la land over any given poison pocket in sweaty Australia.

But the option remains. Should Chris later feel a void that can only be filled by hot naked Abo-dancing I’d encourage him to go for it. For now, he belongs to me.

We haven’t lived in the same city for exactly three years. We left off on an up-tick, wrapping production on KW1 just as I scooted out of T-Town. Chris went into post-production with editor Will Wallace (Conspiracy Films) and I was side-lined for a good while, left to twiddle my thumbs in abject impotence.

Two years later, after intense cross-country collaboration on KW2, editor/DP Scott joined me in L.A., for once making Chris the odd man out. He was suddenly the one relying on scattered phone reports and hasty emails for updates.

Scott and I are eager to receive our old partner and friend, hoping to pad his landing with a cushion of living arrangements, eating arrangements, paying-job arrangements, floral and funeral arrangements, and Elgar’s Symphony No. 2 with a lovely arrangement by Mansel Thomas.

Tonight, neighborhood of 10 pm Pacific Time, Chris arrives and for the first time ever, he, Scott and I will be thrust together under one roof for a hilarious antic-laden five-month run. If this were a sitcom, Chris would be the guy tossed in mid-season to add a certain "Urkel" factor.

Matt

The Horror. Part I

Fuck DVDs.

One of the biggest pains in my ass at work is making these fucking things. Between all the variables that go into making them and the varying degrees of compatability between DVD players it’s almost enough to make you yearn for the days of VHS. I might’ve gotten carried away there but you get the idea. It’s absurd to the point that different brands of DVD-Rs can and will fuck you if you’re not careful.

I can deal with this shit when I’m at work. What I can’t stomach is that level of unreliability when it comes to a screening master for the premiere of our two year labor of love in front of 250 of our most favorite-ish people.

The 48 hours approaching the premiere were destined to test my nerves.

Wednesday, May 3th, 2006. K-Day -1. It’s around 6pm and Matt and I locked the screening cut for the premiere. We were done. We had plans to come back and clean up a thing or two a few months down the line for a proper DVD release, but as far as the premiere was concerned we’d gutted our last ghoul. We sent the film to the compression software for processing so we could burn it to DVD and rushed out for the now infamous (and forgiven) confrontation with musician pal Joe Evans. We got back, feeling like goons. Joe was so suspicious of us I was starting to suspect myself of being out to fuck me over. No time to think. Compression complete. Burn DVD.

Ten minutes later a DVD pops outta the G5. We test it out in Vazda’s playstation. Nothing.

An aside: I know it took precisely ten minutes for the DVD to burn because Matt was now pacing like an addict behind me. Season 2 of Lost was winding down and if we didn’t book it outta Birmingham like twenty minutes ago we were gonna miss that night’s episode. Chris and Karolyn were waiting for us back at her pad. Fuck.

Back to the non-functioning DVD. Pulses are pounding. Curses hurled. I’d played it safe all the way. Done everything by the book. Fuck the playstation, I said. Let’s try it in a regular DVD player. Matt and I marched down the hall to the conference room and held our breaths as the disc began to whir and chirp in the player. Then, zang! Credits and music. It was Nick Johns and it was the sweetest sound I’d heard since someone stole my copy of Curtis Mayfield’s greatest hits. Satisfied, we packed our things in a rush and flew outta there at full sprint.

I beat on my stepmom’s Camry (long story) like it was the General Lee. It was raining and rush hour in Birmingham and we had twenty-five minutes to get to Tuscaloosa before Lost came on. We beat the storm right outside of town and I was determined to stay ahead of it. We raced at speeds of up to 100 mph and in the end made it from Mountain Brook to Northport in 35 minutes. Matt only missed the first ten minutes of Lost.

I wasn’t yet a Lost fanatic at that time. But after watching a few minutes with Matt, Chris, and Karolyn, I knew it was something I had to check out. These guys were mainlining this stuff. It must be good. But I had no idea what was going on. I slipped out front to sip a beer, stretch out in the bed of Chris’ truck, and relax. I was exhausted, but couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph in having put the final pre-premiere nail in the KW2 coffin.

This sweet little taste of victory wasn’t fated to last. After Lost ended, we decided to pop in KW2. The DVD played OK in Turner’s playstation for about ten minutes and then started skipping like Judy Garland on Exctasy. Godamnit.

We ran through a variety of scenarios and backup plans. I would have to return to Birmingham the following day (the day of the premiere, mind you) alone and burn more DVDs as well as a mini-dv master that could be played with my camera if all else failed.

Fuck me. Less than 24 hours until the premiere and we had no screening master. Furthermore, I had no assurances that the DVDs I burned the following day would be any different, given I had no way of isolating the problem to begin with. I drown the butterflies in my stomach in domestic beer and put it outta my head. Chris and I hit up a party later on, but instead of basking in the pre-premiere buzz as usual, the hype began to make me nervous. Everyone we knew was chomping at the bit to see our baby, and it all came down to a tiny plastic disc and a piece of consumer-grade electronics. If I hadn't been dog tired and Boris Yeltsin level drunk I wouldn't have slept a wink that night. As it happened, I slept like a baby.

Good thing. Becuause the events of the day were destined to pale in comparison to what I experienced the day of the premiere. I was gonna need all the rest I could get.

To be continued...

Enter Nega-Duck

"In the end, there can only be one." -- Highlander

It's come to my attention that there's another Matt Stewart on the loose. And he blogs.

Click here for a full account of his recent steak dinner at Outback.

Not surprisingly, Bizarro Matt Stewart's posts are like a lot of live-journals out there. Random, mundane entries about work, friends and family. Unpolished anecdotes chronicling every fascinating detail of his day. Long meandering tales of minor non-adventures, like eating, sleeping and breathing.

Click here to learn how he was forced to replace his utility knife.

The aggravating factor is that this human echo provides zero context within any given entry as to who his friends are or why we should give a toss.

I know what goes on. I'm aware that many blogs have an intimate readership and that this is more of a diary than anything, but diaries are lame. (Apologies to Anne Frank)

Click here for "Matt's" unbridled exuberance over the latest Star Wars novel.

I know I can be cruel. I can be petty, belligerent and begrudging. And the plain truth is, this other Matt Stewart didn't do anything to me. He actually seems like a nice guy. The only cause for skewering him is that he shares my name and could easily ruin it.

Click here to read about the day he updated his website.

There's another possibility I haven't overlooked. Multiverse theory holds that everyone has an opposite self, with infintessimal variations there-between. Granted, Bizarro Matt Stewart looks nothing like me, but if you squint your eyes after gouging them out with an icepick you can kinda see it.

If this is true, if Bizarro Matt Stewart is indeed my counterpart on an alternate earth, then one of two things has occurred. Either:

A) We're caught in some kind of trans-dimensional blognet vortex meant to unite the two Matt Stewarts for the purpose of doing good (perhaps defeating another Matt Stewart?)
or...
B) This other Matt Stewart has travelled from his dimension to ours intent on killing and replacing the Matt Stewart you know and love. And I just can't have that.

Consider yourself warned, other me.

truly,
Matt

La Vita è Abominabile

I'm left with little to say. Virtually no work has taken place on KW2 over the past month and a half. A lot of outstanding business remains undone. This may come as a surprise since I spent my last post grousing about having nothing to do now that the movie is "finished".

It is finished as far as I'm concerned. It's Scott who bears the rest on his shoulders. Time was so tight leading up to the premiere that a few shortcuts were taken in post-production. He's got a number of things to tidy up, all of which seems super technical, possibly involving advanced telekinesis. I've said it before and I'll say it again, Scott's methods are a mystery to me, and trying to understand them is akin to figuring out a way to poop without peeing.

In any case, nothing's getting done. Scott's waiting on an external hard drive (containing all our media) to be shipped out from Birmingham where the premiere version was cut. Why the hold-up? Who knows. Scott keeps saying that it's "in the mail," but it's been long enough to where I'm wondering if he and Chris Merritt haven't shanghaied my movie and sold it to the godless Chinese (admitted film pirates and known zombie enthusiasts).

Sigh. I'm forced to occupy myself with the triviality of day-to-day life. Those who know me will tell you: I hate life.

And, for once, I'm not joking. I've got a few typical complaints like, "Life isn't fair," "Life's a bitch" and so on, but there's one thing I never say: "Life is too short."

I view life as an impediment to accomplishment. I often wonder how many zombie films I could produce if somehow I were to evolve beyond the need for food and sleep. I barely eat as it is, but if I can kick this pesky rest requirement I might someday rule the world. And you know what that means. Global nudity.

Then there's the administrative and maintenance aspects of life. I seem wholly incapable of paying bills until they're a minimum of one day past due. I pay no real attention to my health, preferring instead to let an apparent intestinal disorder go unchecked. My teeth, feet, and chest hurt, in that order. I can't be counted on to clean house, or do dishes, or wash my car, or get the oil changed, or keep non-industry appointments. Life is an inconvenience to talent, but there's simply no way to divide the two.

The completion of KW2 left a vacuum for sure. I whiled away the boredom for a couple weeks by inventing KW2-related work like Photoshopping a press kit and closing out the deliverables notebook. I helped crank out our first few festival entries. That kept me busy for ten minutes, then it was downhill again as I couldn't conjure up any more bullshit activities.

Later, a new reality would dawn: I might have to get a job. After spending months on the dole and essentially doing what I love to do, there's not a snowball's chance in Uruguay that I'll ever again buckle down for a longterm nine-to-five gig.

I got some freelance work as an illustrator for an upstart fashion designer, drawing up designs for her new line of lingerie. I've never worn lingerie (sober), so I'm not really wise to what's sexy and what's not. I do know colors. I was given a specific idea of what was wanted, then took over from there.

Pictured to the right is one such ensemble. Pretty hot. Now imagine it on a much better looking chick. Even hotter.

But before, during and after this, I was doing something I hadn't done in years. I was writing a feature-length screenplay. A horror film.

I spent three weeks in June vomiting out a rough draft, after which I brought in my five-year writing partner Allan McLeod for revisions. A brilliant guy all around, Allan corrected me on several loose areas and helped salvage an admittedly thin first act...

Interested parties are encouraged to invest in adult diapers.

Life sucks,
Matt