Aside from this car nonsense (still no news other than it being at a pound; I'm waiting to hear from an insurance appraiser) it's been a pretty good week.



Saturday Steve swung me a pass to Flashback Weekend, a local horror-movie con. Highlights included meeting George Romero, who along with four Day of the Dead cast members introduced that film, which played at a makeshift drive-in in the hotel parking lot; and "Boomstick!," the Army of Darkness musical put on by the folks who did Evil Dead: The Musical last year. I also saw Tobe Hooper's new Toolbox Murders (at the drive-in) and Joe Bob Briggs doing an informed and informative commentary on I Spit on Your Grave. Much of his commentary was devoted to refuting Siskel and Ebert's claims that the film sides with the rapists. I'm now in Joe Bob's camp that it's trying to be some sort of feminist statement. I think it fails miserably as such, but still.



Sunday was a gathering at Dee's; raucous goofing off and eating.



Monday was That Fateful Day, and what brought me there in the first place was a screening of The Brown Bunny, the new Vincent Gallo movie. You may remember the 2003 Cannes Film Festival, when a 2-hour cut of this movie (guy who can't get over ex-girlfriend, played by Chloe Sevigny, drives cross-country, then meets up with her and receives apparently-real oral gratification) got a disastrous reception, and touched off a very funny feud between Gallo and Roger Ebert.



I really hated Buffalo '66, Gallo's directorial debut. It's one of three movies I ever shut off. I lasted about 30 minutes, but my good will went south much earlier than that, with the scene at the men's room. The whole "quit looking at me!"/"But it's so big!" exchange seemed to sum up Gallo in a nutshell, and it just turned me off. Yeah, we're supposed to pity your wounded little soul and still be impressed by you. Whatever. Kiss my ass.



So this version of BB clocks in at 90 minutes, roughly a half hour shorter than the Cannes cut. I must admit that the payoff at the end (and I'm not referring to That Scene) was quite good. But not worth the interminable crap beforehand. I swear his journey from New Hampshire to LA was shot in real time. I have a like/dislike relationship with Two-Lane Blacktop, the classic existential road movie which can be as monotonous, but the Monte Hellmann flick is at least shot beautifully. Most of Brown Bunny is either out of focus or closeups of Gallo while driving, so we have intimate knowledge of his pores, ear and greasy-ass hair.



But Gallo did a Q&A after, and I have more respect for the guy. Still didn't care for this movie, and probably won't revisit Buffalo '66, but he's engaging and not the pretentious dick that his reputation would have one believe.



Tuesday was the Prince concert make-up date. We had fifth-row seats by the aisle where they enter the arena. Great show all around, and as a bonus, The Time opened up. What more could one ask for? Hmm...how 'bout Ballad of Dorothy Parker, Irresistible Bitch (not likely given his cleaned-up show), When You Were Mine, and Starfish & Coffee. On the other hand, he played 17 Days, which is probably my favorite Prince song.



Wednesday was a screening of Open Water, which is a damn fine suspense film except for one completely subjective thing: I'm not that afraid of sharks.



Don't get me wrong, I would be afraid of getting up close and personal with one, make no mistake. But they aren't the stuff of my nightmares. I've lived in the midwest most of my life. While I've been to beaches on both coasts, the mundane threat of leeches gives me the willies much more than something that could devour my leg, just because I'm more likely to encounter them in my existence. Also, diving looks like fun, but seems to me an extravagance I'm not likely to spend the time or money on. Meanwhile, I've got friends with such strong shark phobias they refuse to watch JAWS even at home in broad daylight.



Being stranded somewhere with no supplies is a more accessible fear, and Open Water delivers on that count. The shaky, sometimes blurry DV cinematography is disorienting and claustrophobic even though they're miles from anywhere. The absence of musical stings was welcome.



I've read complaints that the film's protagonists (Daniel Travis and Blanchard Ryan as an overworked yuppie couple) are unlikeable. I tend to disagree. Perhaps they aren't people I'd care to know in real life, but it isn't like they had me rooting for the sharks. And their relationship felt lived-in. Their squabbling was either well- written or well-improv'd. Maybe I didn't like them, but I bought into them. Can't possibly live up to the Blair Witch-style buildup it seems to be getting, but it's definitely worth a look.