That Night At Cinema Subterrain

Last night, for the first time in years, I re-watched this little video I shot and edited depicting the Saturday night in November of 2005 when cinema showman supreme Dion Conflict presented his Hunkajunk Vol. 4 screening at Skot Deeming's Cinema Subterrain in London, Ontario. Skot, longtime friend and sometime ESR contributor, is a twenty-year veteran of the independent scene, who has dabbled in zines, moviemaking, film distribution, and VJ-ing. In 2003, he had moved from Toronto to take a job in his native London. Within a year, never one to rest on his laurels for long, Skot began the monthly Cinema Subterrain screenings in the city's L.A. Mood Underground, the basement of the L.A. Mood comic and game shop. (The space was also being used for role-playing games and poetry readings.)

Dion Conflict has programmed cult and ephemeral cinema prints from his own collection since the 1990s. In the early 2000s, he was doing bimonthly "Conflict Archive" screenings at the Royal Cinema on College St., and publishing a zine Konflikt in the Kino in concordance with those shows. During this time, he also revived the Hunkajunk series that he had done way back when at the Rivoli. True to the name, these programs were a potpourri of educational shorts, training films, movie trailers, TV commercials and what have you: all in all, entertaining decoupages of past pop culture artifacts. Skot happened to be in Toronto on the same weekend that Dion premiered Hunkajunk 4 at the Royal in December of 2004. We attended, and in our herbal euphoria giggled and heckled through the proceedings, providing Dion the audience participation that he wished for. At that screening, Skot had decided to bring Dion to London to present Hunkajunk at Cinema Subterrain. The two men finally met after several months of my trying to get them together in the same room (it was an ongoing joke how these two guys kept "just missing" one another at various events). A deal was made, and nearly one year after it had premiered (in the interim, showing in North Carolina and Finland), Hunkajunk unspooled in London, Ontario, one crisp autumn evening.

On this same weekend in 2005, I had finally fulfilled a promise to visit Skot in London and check out his screening series. Because I had spent half the previous night in the collision centre filling out accident reports (a truck had rear-ended my rental car within fifteen minutes of driving it off the lot), and because of a last-minute emergency at work which forced me to cut short my visit and return at the crack of dawn on Sunday morning, my nerves were so frazzled, that I couldn't then fully absorb this experience. Somehow, despite all this fuss, I had the last-minute foresight to bring a video camera to record the event, for which I later became very grateful. Upon reviewing the footage, I vicariously relived the moment, and appreciated its true worth.

Even though the camerawork wasn't all that great (not helped by my anxious mental state and the absence of any game plan), I felt there was enough there to cut together a little movie. The nine-minute film comprises of several sequences: Skot and his friend A.W. setting up the show; Dion doing his introduction; brief clips of what is being shown (with the necessary audience guffaws on the soundtrack); and a wrap-up of people just hanging out afterwards with Dion selling his wares. This whole project was just a toss-off that would only ever be seen by the people involved, but warts and all, I'm proud of the little thing. The grainy Hi-8 look and hand-held work indirectly added an authenticity to it.

After seeing it again for the first time in seven years, I realized that perhaps it is time to revisit the footage, clean up the audio, and put together an extended cut. The crux of the movie is obviously Skot and Dion, but there is much more going on under the surface of this little epic that could be fleshed out. After absorbing the central story and the technical stuff in the first view, I re-watched it several more times last night for the ambience, and to remind myself of what more I had shot that could be added in.

This movie has the potential to be more about than what the two guys are putting onscreen: it could include more footage discussing the L.A. Underground space and how it is used, the communal effort by many people who helped behind the scenes, and especially the interesting regulars who would come to support this venue. It preserves a little moment that most of the people involved have likely forgotten. It is a document about a space that every month or two became a little piece of culture where people could celebrate some unique programming and hang out with other individuals looking for something out of the mainstream. It is also about a piece of time that is truly dead: Skot and Dion have moved on to other things, and many of the people involved have parted ways. Cinema Subterrain would cease the following spring. (The Hunkajunk screening was the first night that Skot's shows went bimonthly, until he finished in May of 2006.) And sadly, it is also a representative look at many similar micro-cinemas that are fast disappearing in the onslaught of urban gentrification.

Over the winter, I'll be reviewing and recapturing this footage to work on this extended version, and attempt to realize what more this little movie has the potential to stand for.  

Below is a sampling of shows that were put on by Cinema Subterrain. (If you have a micro-cinema like this in whatever city you're in, get out and support it, because you'll miss it when it's gone!)

These two images represent the "audience choice" screenings, where patrons voted beforehand which of the two programs they wished to see that night. Sadly, Cinema Subterrain ended before this show materialized, but Horror Mexicano was winning.

VHS on the Street

It all began as a joke, said over lunch with David Faris at (the now deceased) Joe Mercury's on the Saturday of Canada Day weekend. "Hey let's do a special issue of ESR all about VHS, and we'll call it VHS R.I.P." Sometimes things said with tongue in cheek and on the fly do evolve into wonderful events. (A similar thing happened earlier this year: Beatnik Movie Night, the one screening I planned as a joke became my best seller to date-- go figure.)

Anyhow, I put a call for submissions to the regular troops and some new friends along the way. The response I received was quick, and giddily enthusiastic. Despite the sardonic nature of the title "VHS R.I.P.", the resultant articles which appeared in my in-box were anything but. A quick read between the lines of these pieces, each documenting a peculiar aspect of how VHS infiltrated pieces of our culture, showed a reverence for the lovable ol' half-inch tape, and even a defense for it, in light of the digital revolution. In twelve weeks, "VHS R.I.P." was ready to hit the streets.

I had wanted something new for Word on the Street, knowing full well that my ongoing Spaghetti Western project was yet again not going to be ready for the fair, and thus was delighted that this project managed to slide in (literally) just under the radar to be ready for the fair. It was my hope not to turn this thing into a "night before" project, but sadly, it happened anyway, purely out of circumstance. My day job (yes readers, it's true, I don't do ESR for a living) had gotten insane in the week leading up to the fair. Having suddenly a sister company to contend with, my workload doubled, not helped by having to move out two office spaces, it was a crazy five days that I care not to relive anytime soon, but happily, I managed to get the issue out on time.


The novelty for "VHS R.I.P." was that each copy of the issue came with a different "mystery VHS Tape", whose identity was hidden behind a white cardboard sleeve. Since most of ESR's contributors are incurable collectors, I felt this was a fun way to pass onto the readers the "Hey look what I found" ideal that is so often found on these pages. The cool-looking cover for the issue was, ironically, an eleventh hour thing. The original idea for the cover was to have a snapshot of the writers in black coats and ties, as though they were mourning at a funeral, but conflicting schedules made it impossible to get everyone together, so I scrapped the idea (the gag doesn't work just with two people in the photo). And so I spent two nights futzing around with Photoshop until I wound up with this comparatively minimalist design that serendipitously complimented a secondary theme of this whole issue. The cover is rather mysterious, giving away nothing of the personal content that fills the pages in between. (And indirectly, it flirts with Brian Random's article "VHS as Object of Mystery") And even the benign white box in the bag behind the magazine appears monolithic, giving viewers little precedence as to what can be found inside.

This issue also features a record number of contributors for ESR- perhaps more than the average issue of "CineAction"... maybe even "Cinema Sewer." And so without further ado, I'd like to give my thanks to David, Brian, Jonathan Culp, Will Sloan, Jason Pankoke, Simon St. Laurent, Skot Deeming, and Dion Conflict... congrats for helping to make this all happen.

ABOVE: The G-Man in action.

And so, even on the Sunday morning of Word on the Street, I'm still scrambling to get things done, cursing and sweating all the way, and so when I arrived on the grounds at 9 AM, that feeling suddenly flashed back through my veins, reminding myself why I do this. Seeing my publication's name on the tent, looking around Queen's Park with my Tim Horton's coffee as publishers much more "pro" than I are equally immersed in setting up, I remembered that notion: "Wow, I'm here." Sales on the day were steady up until the last half, when business was down to a crawl. During the day I met some interesting people (further reminding me why I do what I do), shot the breeze with regular supporters like Brian, Dave Lamb and Barry Smight (who took my picture, above), and began to ponder why sales plummeted in the last half. My suspicion was that this year's edition of Word on the Street was a week later than usual, hence during the weekend of Nuit Blanche. Those who stayed up all night probably never got out of bed, and I'm assuming that's the reason why my help never showed up to watch the stand so I could take a break. Thank God someone from my day job showed up, so I could quickly dash to take a pee. Otherwise, no chance to shop for anything than other what was in the same tent as mine. (But hey, I did get a Guh CD for three bucks.)

Susan, God bless her soul, helped me set up at the very beginning, and then came by to guard the stuff while I went to fetch the car. Driving back to the tent, through the maze-like patterns of roadblocks and incorrect signs, I was surprised at how quickly night fell, only one hour after the fair officially ended. In sixty minutes, I felt like I was in a different world- how rapidly the environment had changed, from light to dark, bountious to empty. I was strangely moved seeing the construction guys starting to deconstruct all the tents so quickly after the sale. It was as if no one had previously existed there. This haunting feeling reminded me a lot of the ending of Fellini Roma, as the bikers move their way through an empty courtyard, accompanied only by the ghosts of memory. Similarly, I drove home a little melancholy, playing "Don't Dream It's Over" again and again on the CD player, with the window down, and the cool air hitting my face.

ESR REALLY IS A SCREENING ROOM

Not that you may have missed us, but we're back. After a perfectly dreadful first half of 2005, which featured a couple of personal meltdowns, general malaise, compounded with "What Now"isms at my day job, I've completely lacked motivation- not only for writing ESR, but working on the show, and doing a couple of other writing projects I've committed to.

I've decided to finally pick myself up from the floor and make sure that the final six months of this year don't go for naught. The first six months were quite arid; however, there is one shining moment to talk about, and it is long overdue for my inclusion on this page.

In the past calendar year, ESR has expanded its operations into other media in order to reach out to this ragtag film community in order to try and form a sense of, well, community. Last fall, we released our first DVD, Retro Shorts #1, which was a hit at a couple of fairs I attended in 2004.

On Tuesday Feb. 22nd, I pushed ESR into another direction by holding our first ever screening in order to get people out to pick up a new issue of our fine publication. Thanks to the fine folks at Innis Town Hall, namely James King and Danielle Dornellas, we were able to hold a fun evening of films: Brian Random's mockumentary POP CARTS, Skot Deeming's collage film P2P, John Reed's FUDDLEBE and Bill Heath's POROROCA: SURFING DOWN THE AMAZON filled the first hour. Since these were all DVD's that were projected, I made sure that the last half of the evening featured something with sprocket holes. (People know my general dislike of video projection, but I will concede that it is getting as years go by, and if there's no film print to show instead, well it's better than nothing. However, I do tip my hat to Innis, for their video projection system is brilliant!) Thus, thanks to the assistance of my good friend Dion Conflict, we were able to show a 16mm print of the Roger Moore peplum ROMULOUS AND THE SABINES.

Both of my faithful readers might recognize the name of Skot Deeming, who has been a semi-regular contributor to our publication. His short film P2P was a collage of footage featuring space or extraterrestrial phenomenon appropriated solely from file sharing. Skot showed me this film two years ago, and I still think it's his best work that he's done to date. His was a last minute addition to the programme, and I was happy to screen it- however I can help to get more people to see this unique movie. Anyway, last December Skot and I bumped into Brian Random at Dion's "Hunkajunk" festival at The Royal. Brian (one of my best customers) invited us to his place, and showed us his recent work, POP CARTS- a hilarious mockumentary of some bored Brampton youths who bring some meaning to their life with an unusual urban sport.. I won't ruin the gag-- just see the bloody thing.

Last December, I happened to witness Bill Heath's spellbinding half-hour documentary POROROCA on his showreel (about world-class surfers who brave the mighty waves of the Amazon river), and he graciously allowed me to show it for this evening. The "draw" for the show was surely John Reed's beautiful short film FUDDLEBE, a breathtaking melange of German Expressionism, Tim Burton, and Guy Maddin, done with the perfect balance of black humour. Since this was a premiere for its cast and crew, they were the ones who made up most of the 70-odd spectators. (In fact I overheard one whining thespian grouse at the beginning of the night- "How many films do I have to see before this one?") Thus, at half time, there was a mass exodus, as I predicted there would be, and perhaps one to two dozen brave souls stuck around to see the gloriously cheesy sword and sandal epic ROMULOUS AND THE SABINES.

This peplum, featuring Roger Moore paying his dues way before The Saint and 007, is full of bad dubbing, heavy-breathing dialogue, and a real "huh" of an ending to keep us giggling for an hour. The people whom I spoke with seemed to have a good time throughout the evening, and if anything, this, forgive me, "eclectic" cross-section of pictures demonstrated my own philosophy that "all film matters", and even though I knew a picture like Skot's would be the least audience friendly, it is testament to my insistence that people be introduced to all aspects of cinema.

On top of all that, we had giveaways- congrats to Betty Pearson, Barry Price and John Porter (one of ESR's best customers), for they will receive a year's worth of ESR delivered right to their doors.

To be sure, this very first screening was a trial by fire, as I knew it would be, but I learned a whole lot and had a great time. Somehow the issue got done in the days prior to the screening during my really bad cold, but I survived. Oh yes, one weirdo coincidence before I go-- the Sunday night before the screening, I watched GODS ANGRY MAN twice. This Werner Herzog documentary about the hotheaded televangelist Gene Scott was reviewed for that issue. I later found out he died the next day.

PS- in my four-year uphill battle of keeping this publication afloat, despite the support from my contributors and readers, it took this screening for me to receive something in my PO box that I had never ever gotten before... I got a thank-you card from one of the performers in FUDDLEBE.

It's worth it.