ALUCARDA
Dir. Juan Lopez Moctezuma
Mexico, 1975
Digi-beta 85 min.
Juan Lopez Moctezuma's excessive, bloody and sacrilegious oddity has been enjoying a recent renaissance thanks to the efforts of Pete Tombs' Mondo Macabro label, and is an integral component of Mexican horror history fitting neatly between the Santos films and the Rene Cardone catalogue. When young Justine is sent to the secluded convent of St. Archangelo, she forms an immediate bond with a very peculiar young girl named Alucarda. Their friendship (in true nunsploitation form) inevitably transgresses the boundaries of propriety and they find themselves condemned by their fellow sisters. The next logical step is to turn to Satan for reassurance, which leads to a lengthy ritual pact-forming sequence that sees abundant nudity coupled with Alucarda's incessant screaming. Seriously folks, the screaming fit here is rivalled only by Isabelle Adjani's performance in Possession. The costumes (what few there are) are incredibly weird: the nuns' habits look like - no shit - bloody bandages! As Alucarda spins out of control, terrorizing the other nuns in a relentless Don't Deliver Us From Evil fashion, the film escapes the confines of narrative and immerses itself in full-on blood-bathed sublimity.
--Kier-La Janisse

Preceded by BESTIA (9 min. 35mm), Jakob Bastviken's melancholy puppet show muses on the fate of a lonely monster.

BLOOD FEAST 2: ALL U CAN EAT
Dir. Herschell Gordon Lewis
USA, 2002
35mm 96min.
"There’s something just so right and good about waiting forever for a sequel, and then -- when it finally arrives -- finding that the sequel rocks. Cult god Herschell Gordon Lewis has come out of retirement to craft a sequel to the film that started the gore genre and became an object of worship to the underground-pop-culture elite, Blood Feast. Very wisely, Lewis has opted to basically remake the first picture, preserving all the elements that made the first Blood Feast so great yet taking advantage of some of the advancements in film production that have occurred since 1963. All the good stuff is there; the mindless gore, the black humor, the dangling bits of leftover continuity, the sub-par acting, the boobies. What’s added is simply better film stock, better production values (but not ever crossing the line into good production values, mind you!), better acting (in just the right places), and much better sound and music (the latter courtesy of Southern Culture on the Skids). Once again, Ramses’ Exotic Catering is open for business. Fuad Ramses III, the grandson of the original, quickly falls under the spell of the evil goddess Ishtar and begins preparations for the ritual feast of blood. The characters are all memorable, from the two-dimensional Michael Myers (the cop) to the soon-to-be-dismembered wedding party (the girls have names like Misty Morning and Lacey Undies) to the surprise (and delightful) John Waters cameo as the local priest. It’s ironic to see Waters in a film that is more like his own work (apart from the splatter sequences) than anything he’s made in years. Lewis proves, even in the age of imitators such as Troma, that he is still the master." (Film Threat)

Preceded by GRAVEYARD (20 min. DV) Ed Brisson's comic zom-fest starring local cult personalities Jon Mikl Thor (Zombie Nightmare), Joey Shithead (D.O.A.), Toren Atkinson (The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets) and James McBurney (Waydowntown).

CELLULOID HORROR
Dir. Ashley Fester
Canada, 2003
DV, 90 min.
Fester's documentary about Cinemuerte (her feature directorial debut!) has been several years in the making and captures some crucial behind-the-scenes hysteria, including Udo Kier's live translation of Black Belly of the Tarantula, the failure of prints to arrive, and the Jean Rollin 'Superbugs' dilemma. Loyal patrons of the fest will likely spot themselves being geeky, while I run around like a maniac in the background wondering why the sound is so fucked up. Greycat Films' David Whitten and the Incredible Film Fest's Anthony Timpson take on the 'cinema purists' debate, arguing from opposite sides as to whether the cinema experience is based on social grouping or pristine 35m film prints. Somebody faints during Cannibal Holocaust. My giant face is in the movie so much (no doubt with an Emerson, Lake and Palmer soundtrack) that I'll be across the street getting drunk while y'all have a good laugh at my expense. But that's what I have to say...
-- Kier-La Janisse

"The CineMuerte International Film Festival is the result of ine woman's passion for film coupled with an irrepressible personality. With no prior experience and little money, and in a short three years, Kier-La has pushed, prodded and nurtured CineMuerte from a 16mm and video projection fringe event into a fantastic and shocking cinematic experience that has earned the respect and admiration of filmmakers, distributors and festival organizers around the world - and without a cent of public funding. Celluloid Horror explores Kier-La Janisse's unique appreciation of shocking and horrific films and her compulsion to entice others into at least considering her views as it documents her most odds-defying achievements. You are invited to spend 90 minutes in her company as she struggles to propel CineMuerte toward greater acceptance without sacrificing its or her integrity."

MOONLIGHT SONATA
Dir. Olli Soinio
Finland, 1988
35mm 90 min.
Finnish with English subtitles
A female fashion model (Tiina Björkman) takes leave from the fashion business and goes to Finland's Lapland (a wilderness region in Northern Finland, better known as the home of Santa Claus) for a vacation. Little does she know that there's a totally lunatic bunch of local hillbillies living in a nearby farmhouse. The plot thickens as one of the residents begins to harass Anni, who is left alone in the wilderness with only her dog to protect her. Too bad for her that her dog turns out to have divided loyalties..
Finnishness and its stereotypes have typically been constructed in the capital city of Helsinki, but the substance of Finnishness has been collected from the countryside; since the identity of Helsinki has been thin and the urban culture in Finland weak, the raw material for Finnish identity has been sought in the historical counties. The mythical stereotypes of city (a place of corruption) and country (a place of innocence) were mostly abandoned by the new wave of Finnish cinema from the mid-1960s onwards; in some cases the earlier opposition between city and country was completely reversed, with films describing the adventures of urban people in a strange rural environment. Strangers are not always accepted easily in closed rural communities, at least not in the realities of some Finnish films. The urban-rural myth lives decades later, but there are more conscious - and also ironic - reinterpretations of it. In Moonlight Sonata, the landscape looks idyllic in a setting of sparkling snow. At first, the wilderness seems to be the perfect solution for the girl to solve her problems and find some peace, but soon the peaceful countryside turns to a topophobic place. The fear of the backwoods has a long-running tradition in American cinema as well, and renders Moonlight Sonata a fitting complement to films like Deliverance, Just Before Dawn and Wendigo.

THE COLLECTOR
Dir. Auli Mantila
Finland, 1997
35mm 98 min.
Finnish with English subtitles
Auli Mantila is considered the most promising and original film director to have emerged from the 'new wave' of Finnish cinema in the latter half of the 90's, and her debut thriller The Collector is an uncompromising foray into the mind of a disturbed young woman. Celebrated Finnish theatre actress Leea Klemola plays the awkward, tomboyish Eevi with a chilling credibility; as she desperately strives for approval and love, her frightening aggression leads to one rejection after another, and to violently unpredictable behavior through which she alienates herself from her peers, and from society at large. When her sister ejects her from their shared apartment so that her lover can move in, the expulsion takes on a cataclysmic significance for the obsessive-compulsive Eevi, and after trying to set fire to the apartment she hits the road for a 'holiday' that entails petty theft, kidnapping and murder. In the words of film critic Helena Ylanen , she becomes "a serial killer that leaves her victims suffering. Horrible and typical for her is the way she steals the lives of her victims, their homes, possessions, hobbies and loved ones." There is a disarming sentimentality in the relationship between the two sisters, but what sinister secrets they may share are never divulged. We only know that their relationship is burdened by a certain co-dependence, but director Mantila cleverly steers clear of exposition. As an ironic counterpoint, the film is strangely dotted with contemporary Finnish versions of '60s pop hits, including the Walker Brothers' "Sunny".
--Kier-La Janisse

THE GEOGRAPHY OF FEAR
Dir. Auli Mantila
Finland, 2001
35mm 95 min.
Finnish with English subtitles
Based on Anja Snellman's controversial bestseller, Auli Mantila's follow-up to The Collector won best screenplay at Cannes in 2001 and continues on The Collector's obsession with female violence.
The Geography of Fear opens with the investigation of a drowned man drifting ashore near Helsinki. Oili Lyyra is the forensic dentist assisting in the case who discovers that the man's death may be connected to her sister's new circle of friends -- a group of radical female vigilantes. In both cases, groups of characters are set at odds, and events play out to inevitable, violent, and gripping conclusions. In place of salvation, which never arrives, we have ongoing tribal warfare between men and women, or between order and chaos. Neither side fully wins. At best, characters have their eyes opened a little, begin to see what their opponents see. The most tragic characters remain blind and singular. In a public statement about the film, Mantila concluded that "The Geography of Fear is a story about the choices of an individual and about the individual's right to make choices. It is also a story about the conflicts arising from an one person's decision to use that right. The violent events in the film could happen when women get tired of yielding and tolerating."

LEMORA: A CHILD'S TALE OF THE SUPERNATURAL
Dir. Richard Blackburn
USA,
16mm 113 min.
Lemora is a fascinating, low budget horror film with an intelligent script, inventive visuals and sound, and strong performances. It functions as both an atmospheric and genuinely frightening horror film, with enough subtext to keep any Freudian happily writing. The film begins with a 1930’s fedora-capped gangster smashing into a room and shooting his wife and lover dead in gangland style. The scene cuts to a Baptist church meeting, with a reverend (played by director Blackburn) giving his sermon of the day while the gangster's beautiful 13 year-old daughter Lila Lee (Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith) sings in his church. Lila gets a letter from a lady named Lemora (Leslie Gilb), telling her that her father is with her in a town called Asteroth and that he wants to see her before he dies. She leaves the ministry on her own in search of her father, getting there by way of an eerie bus ride where she is the only passenger and a harried, unkempt driver alternates between being her protector and aggressor. Everyone seems to want a piece of Lee’s virgin body, first the reverend, then a man she attempts to hitch a ride with, the bus ticket vendor, the bus driver, and ultimately, Lemora. In one of the best and most sexually charged scenes, Lemora, who eventually vampirizes Lila, gives her a bath while contemplating Lee’s crucifix bearing neck. The film is reminiscent of Jacques Tourneur’s 1943 I Walked with a Zombie (scenes of a woman walking through isolated backwoods area, zombie-filled woods, tenebrous lighting) and Bob Clarke's 1972 Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things (pasty-faced zombies, use of slow motion), while doing what Eyes Wide Shut tried to do but more successfully: a character walking through their own sexualized dreamscape. The film is full of subtext, and can be read, along with a straight ahead cracker of a horror film, as an adult Little Red Riding Hood, or Freudian tale of a girl’s coming of sexual age. (Donato Totaro)