H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival and CthulhuCon: An Experience
by Robert Brouhard
Last night, on October 1, 2010, I went to my first film festival / convention; the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival and CthulhuCon. It was the first night of the festival, and it was very well organized and put together. Come with me on my journey…
October 1, 2010
5:00 AM: My 5 year-old child wakes me up out of a dead sleep and claims that he isn’t tired anymore and wants to go play. My wife rolls over and moans, “Wha’ crubbin’ time izit?” I ignore her question knowing she will fall back asleep in a matter of seconds. I manage to mumble, coherently enough so my son understands, “Sure, but please play quietly.” I can feel his grin of joy in the dark. His loud footsteps running down the hall back to his room could wake the dead… and his little sister. The baby’s cries fill the room through the monitor next to my head and I sigh in resignation. My day has begun in the usual way.
8:00 AM: The kids are dropped off at their respective school and daycare, and I am excited about the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival and CthulhuCon which is happening an hour away from my home and starts at 6:00 PM. Too excited. I can’t concentrate on anything.
9:00 AM: I suddenly find myself behind the wheel of my car heading for Portland. I’m listening to the Crash Test Dummies’ new album “Oooh La La!” and singing along, poorly due to the extreme bass-baritone voice of their lead singer that I can only sound like when I have a chest cold.
10:00 AM: Ah, Portland: Land of dreams and culture, home of unique individuals and microbreweries, and best of all, home of Powell’s Books. I quickly find a parking garage near Powell’s Books’ Burnside location, and quickly trot toward Everyday Music. I purchase two used Sergio Mendes albums and then head toward Powell’s. I manage not to stop at P.F. Chang’s for my guilty pleasure of their Ginger Beer. I want to have a clear head as I search through the abundance of Powell’s bounty.
10:30 AM: The magical doors of Powell’s are open before me. I step inside.
1:00 PM: In a dazed haze I emerge from the land-o’-books. I feel like I have just made love for hours to the hottest woman alive… okay, it doesn’t feel that good, but I feel satisfied. I look at the bag in my hand. Somehow, amazingly, there is only one book in it (“The Zombies of Lake Woebegotten” by “Harrison Geillor”… sometimes I get a hankering to read about ordinary, yet above average, folks leading mostly ordinary lives). I controlled myself. During the last few hours, there were times where I had four or more books in my arms, but I needed to save the little money I had for the great Cthulhu Convention.
1:30 PM: I am now in Eastern Portland… closer to the Hollywood Theatre, but many more streets away than I expected. I had been given piss poor directions to the wrong theater by an employee of the Burnside Powell’s. Instead of the Hollywood Theatre, I am in front of the Bagdad Theater in the Hawthorne district of Portland. That is when I notice the Hawthorne Powell’s Books is across the street (damn that sneaky bastard employee, feeding my addiction).
2:30 PM: I leave the second Powell’s, happy and very hungry. There is a Hot Lips pizza close by, and I stop in to see what they are like.
3:00 PM: Two of the best slices ever and a blueberry soda from-the-tap later, I feel alive again. I call my wife and get real directions to the Hollywood Theatre and make my way there. I find it and I travel around looking for a spot that isn’t marked “1 hour,” “2 hour,” or a place I’d have to pay for.
3:45 PM: I found a spot, and it is close! I am still early so I grab my new book and look for a place to sit and read. I notice a Starbucks Coffee is a block away, and I head there thinking about the Starbucks gift card that has been in my wallet since my birthday. Yay, I get to save my cash for the convention. Great Cthulhu be praised!
5:00 PM: I have a semi-clear view of the Hollywood Theatre from my table in Starbucks…. Just past the very un-passable transvestite and three homeless men. The book has been interesting, and so have the customers. I notice a couple of people hanging around the front doors of the Hollywood Theatre including a man handing out what looks like newspapers and going in and out of the front door. I throw away my empty Venti Pumpkin Spice Latte cup and head for the Hollywood Theatre.
5:10 PM: I am standing in line to buy a ticket. I am the third person in line. Casual small talk and nervous joking occur with the strangers in line. I feel very alone and nervous about the possibility of meeting some of the people who are scheduled to be there. I buy my ticket and make my way to the back of a second line (I’m about the seventh person in this line). Non-guests and non-vendors will not be allowed inside until 6:00 PM on the dot. I look at the newspaper thing that I was handed, “The Daily Lurker: The Official Program of the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival and CthulhuCon. It has a schedule of the events and times the movies will start, and it is also filled with information about the films, shorts, and guests. I see James R. Beach’s (of Dark Discoveries) name along with a picture that looks like it was possibly taken in the 1980’s. I hope that I’ll recognize him if I see him. I bury my nose in the schedule and read whole-heartedly. I recognize a few people who pass by and into the theater from the small black and white pictures in the program. Like Wilum Hopfrog Pugmire in a lovely shade of green makeup. I keep my eyes out for William F. Nolan and Stuart Gordon. I look through the Guest List again and make mental notes of who I want to meet and talk to: James R. Beach, Victoria Blake (of Underland Press), Cody Goodfellow, Caitlín R. Kiernan, Ellen Datlow, Jemiah Jefferson, the Dark Horse people, the Eraserhead Press people, and others.
6:00 PM: The doors to the Hollywood Theatre are open. The line behind me goes back at least one city block. I really can’t see back that far to accurately assess it. I go inside. They are handing out t-shirts and lanyards to the will-call full weekend people. I only have a day pass and make my way deeper into the venue. Two book venders are standing outside the entrance to the main theater hawking their wares. I can tell by the books they have on display that they are Rose O’Keefe (with Jeff Burk) of Eraserhead Press and the other one looks like makeup artist Rick Baker, but his magazines tell me that he is James R. Beach of Dark Discoveries and he looks almost nothing like the picture in the program. I casually go up to Rick…er… James and shake his hand. He seems confused as I introduce myself as “Robert Brouhard.” Seeing his confusion, I add, “AKA ‘Antmusic’ on Mark Sieber’s Horror Drive-In.” Realization enters his eyes and the hand shake becomes more enthusiastic. I look over his magazines and books that he has on display as we talk and I slowly make a small pile of four books and his latest magazines.
6:20 PM: Caitlín R. Kiernan and Ellen Datlow pass me by on multiple occasions but they seem unapproachable to me and have a posse around them like famous celebrities. I make eye contact and smile, but that is about it. They are busy, and I don’t want to interrupt. I meet a supposedly random guy and we strike up a conversation. He tells me about the stories he has written, and I am surprised to find out that I own an e-book by him called “Painter’s Green” from Damnation Books. He is Cyrus Wraith Walker. He has a handful of physical copies of his book, and he signs it to me. I strike up a small conversation with Rose O’Keefe and she seems a little surprised I recognize who she is. We talk a little about how cool Alan M. Clark is. The conversations lulls to an awkward, yet somewhat comfortable silence…. Which Rose is more than comfortable to point out. I’m still nervous as all can be and I can barely make conversation. After finding out where I am from, I am asked on multiple occasions if I know Jonathan Reitan; which I don’t, officially, except for a few Internet conversations… not that we haven’t tried. I eventually pay for the books and magazines from James R. Beach. I also purchase 3 books from Eraserhead Press’ table.
6:40 PM: I make my way upstairs to the “main” vendors’ area. Underland Press isn’t up there. Victoria Blake isn’t up there either. I am saddened by this. I was looking forward to finally meeting her. I don’t see Jemiah Jefferson anywhere, and Cody Goodfellow is in a deep discussion with someone. Jerad with Centipede Press is there, and they have a copy of “Artists Inspired by H.P. Lovecraft” on display. THAT is the nicest book I have ever seen (and now touched). It is HUGE. The signature BOOK from the 3 volume version is amazing, and it is art unto itself. I could never justify buying one for myself as much as I’d like to. I am in LOVE with the 3 volume version of that book, and a lot their other books. If you have the money, GET IT!
I look around at the other vendors. There is art, shirts, comics, and more. There is some great looking stuff, but nothing I’d really buy.
7:00 PM: Time for the “Opening Invocation” in the main theater. The place is packed, but I find an empty seat in the third row. Andrew Migliore goes up on the stage and talks about how this is his last run as director of the festival. The “Lurkers in the Lobby” give him an awesome trophy. Robert M. Price invokes Cthulhu’s blessing upon the audience and the short films begin starting with “Frank DanCoolo” directed by Andrew Jones
“Frank DanCoolo” is a laugh-a-minute and high-tech-looking amazing work. The audience and I are having a lot of fun with it. At eight minutes, it ends too soon
For the next nineteen minutes, the audience and I have to wade through Christopher James Jordan’s “Roe.” I want to MST3K the heck out of it because it needs it. BAD. I find it very hard to stifle my giggles and guffaws at some of the unintentionally (?) hilarious parts of it. Why do I want to stop myself? I know that the filmmakers of these shorts are probably in the audience, and may even be sitting next to me. The audience and I clap when it is over, but it is a very polite clap.
Our next short is “To My Mother and Father” from the Turkish director Can Evrenol. This is good. Damn good. There comes a point where I know I can’t “un-watch” the extreme horror that is happening on the screen. Strong visuals and filmmaking makes the next 9 minutes go down smooth and refreshing. Washing the audience of the residue of “Roe,” and the audience’s enthusiastic applause proves it.
“DERAILED” from French director Nicolas Simonin comes next and it is in French with subtitles blocked by the tall man with the large hat sitting in front of me. One minute into it, I realize I need to pass my Venti Pumpkin Spice Latte. I vow if I am reminded of “Roe” in any way, I’ll get up. Luckily there isn’t much dialogue, and the film is excellent, freaky, and unique… which isn’t lucky for my bladder. The audience loves it too.
“1200 AM” from David Pryor is next and it is also great. John Billingsley’s role in it surprises me. My need to urinate has increased ten-fold. Enough so that I actually fear I may piss myself with fear if there is a scary enough scene. There are a few great jumps, but nothing, thankfully, trickle- or stream-inducing. Overall, the film feels like a great start to something epic. I feel like I just watched a piece ofa great film.
The lights come on and four of the filmmakers come up on stage before I have a chance to sneak out. Christopher James Jordan is not there... or he has chosen not to admit that he is there. The audience is prompted to ask questions, and they do. In reality, there aren’t many questions asked, but to me it feels like the questions go on and on and on. I am interested in the questions, but my back teeth are starting to float. I just can’t bring myself to get up and go because I am in the third row.
9:30 PM: The questions end, and everyone is given a break to peruse the merchants’ wares before the next set of films start. I move quickly toward the bathroom. A line greets me unlike any I have ever seen for a men’s restroom.
9:50 PM: Twenty pee-pee-dance minutes later, I am at the front of the line and I can see why there was such a wait. Three stalls, but one has an “Out of Order” sign on it and another one is being used by someone making a lot of gaseous noise with no intention of stopping. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out as I wait. It is a text from my wife telling me that our baby has a 102 degree temp, but I shouldn’t worry about it and have fun. I put the phone in my pocket and take my turn at the toilet as I start to worry.
9:55 PM: I tell James R. Beach and Cyrus Wraith Walker that it was fun meeting them. Another merchant passes by smelling horrendously of marijuana. In five minutes, the next sets of films are going to start. My worry gets the best of me and I leave without much pomp or circumstance.
10:20 PM: Interstate-5 is closed except for one lane for nighttime work. I continue worrying as I sit in the freeway parking lot.
11:50 PM: I walk into a quiet house and find my wife reading in bed, and I lie down next to her and read some of my new purchases. The baby is quiet except for soft snores on the monitor.
October 2, 2010
1:45 AM: My wife is sleeping soundly, and I know that I should too. I turn the light out and I barely notice when consciousness leaves me.
5:30 AM: Someone taps my head repeatedly and with growing force.
“Ow! What the crub? Oh... What is it big guy?”
My son, in a loud whisper, responds in the darkness, “Daddy? You’re home! Did you have fun at the horror-or-or carnival?”
“Festival,” I correct, “and yes, I did.”
“Can I go play in my room?”
“Sure, dude, but please be quiet, Mommy and Baby are sleeping.”
“Okay, I will.” His thunderous feet raise up his baby sister, as expected, and her cries come over the monitor.
My wife’s voice comes out of the darkness next to me, “Hey, he let us sleep in.”
I chuckle, give her a kiss, and then get up to take the baby to another room.
5:45 AM: I sit in the family room with my daughter and son playing as we let my wife sleep in. As they get more and more distracted in their imaginations, I get up and grab my laptop. I turn it on and watch them play as it loads up. I start my word processing program and begin typing, “Last night, on October 1, 2010, I went to my first film festival…”
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