Metro Weekly


Tuesday, Oct. 22, 7 p.m.
Lincoln Theatre, $9


Short films always run the gamut. But you may want to run far away from this gamut of films, a collection that ranges from mild incompetence in filmmaking to complete and utter incompetence in filmmaking.

The program’s one saving grace is Touch (trangletrangletrangletrangletrangle), a deeply disturbing tale about an abducted teen who comes to believe that the only love is the kind administered with a beating to the brow. It’s a shocking and powerful motion picture, directed with a Seven-like sordidness by Jeremy Podeswa and boasting a haunting performance from Brendan Fletcher.

Foucault, Who? (trangle) is a 15-minute borefest that is a testament to bad acting, bad directing, bad plot twists you can see coming from a mile away. Bondage Television (trangle) assembles scenes of bondage and torture from classic and modern day movies, but the parody wears out quickly due to inept execution. Ha! Ha! Ha! (trangle) is three-minutes of animated annoyance, much like a brief but painful rectal itch. Poor Mr. Potter (trangle) is poor, indeed, the story of a meek and mild gay man and the raging sociopath he lets into his life. And the self-infatuated, experimental queer punk thesis The Salivation Army (trangle) have the feel of a bad student film that goes on for 20 minutes too long (its running time is 22 minutes). Sunday Morning (trangletrangletrangle) has a little merit in that it actually manages to surprise you with its kicker ending.

And then there’s Piss (trangle), without doubt the most shameful short to ever pass through the Reel Affirmations selection committee. What COULD they have been thinking? The film is a series of close-ups of several not-especially-attractive penises relieving themselves in the direction of the audience. Now, I’m no prude, but the value of Piss completely escapes me. But the film says it best by concluding with the sound of a toilet flush. Piss is the absolute must-miss of the festival. — RS