I had never been much of a film buff for most of my life. In fact, I only saw one film in a theater during the entirety of 2000. (I think it was Gladiator, of all things.) At this point I had only been exposed to the films churned out by the Hollywood Movie-Making Machine™. Though there are quite a few gems still produced by Tinsletown, the vast majority of the films it produces are bland, insipid or just plain insulting. Just watch any stretch of programming on MTV and the movie trailers you see will no doubt impose on you a slow, painful process of dumbening. (Wait a minute, "dumbening" isn't even a word!) I was officially disillusioned.

I had all but written off the art of film, until I was introduced to a tall, dark and handsome lad by the name of Lawrence P. Raffel. A film school graduate and a long-time film devotee, Lawrence took me under his wing and showed me the seedier, grittier, gorier frequencies of the movie spectrum. One of my first lessons in alternative cinema came at the 2001 Philadelphia Festival of World Cinema in the form of the Canadian horror movie Ginger Snaps. Contrary to my expectations, the film was smart, suspenseful, even funny at times, and managed to completely avoid the trappings of its mainstream cousins. I was officially intrigued.

Further along in the festival, I attended a screening of Takashi Miike's outrageous yakuza parody Dead or Alive. Based on the venue (The Annenberg Center), I really didn't anticipate seeing the extreme amounts of violence, gore and depravity the film portrayed. But that's just what the film delivered, and I relished every second of it. This Miike fellow had taken all of the conventions and clichés of an entire genre and twisted them until they become cartoon-ish parodies of themselves; it was inspiring. Dead or Alive completely knocked my socks off, and I stumbled out of the theater in a slack-jawed stupor. I was officially hooked.

As you might expect, the 2002 Philadelphia Festival of World Cinema was met with eager anticipation. Our newly-forged Monsters At Play site was running smoothly, so Lawrence and I decided to broaden our horizons by writing reviews of the films we watched. The festival opened with a bang: a late-night screening of Takashi Miike's horror-comedy-musical hybrid Happiness of the Katakuris. I had read the synopsis in the program guide beforehand, but even that didn't adequately prepare me for the utter lunacy that followed. Happiness was yet another brain-busting film experience that just a few years prior I wouldn't have even suspected could exist. I was officially enlightened.

The 2002 program also gave me the chance to see eye-opening films like the gripping Trouble Every Day, the gruesome Suicide Club and the nearly unclassifiable Pistol Opera. Lawrence and I were so impressed with the entire Danger After Dark lineup that we decided to introduce ourselves to program director Travis Crawford. But in a weird twist, he made the first move after reading our festival coverage on Monsters At Play. Here is a seasoned film enthusiast and respected writer praising us for the work we were doing. Wow. Like Lawrence, I was officially flattered.

Of course, not all of the experiences were positive, as evidenced by the scathing vitriol I heaped upon the soul-stealing Chronicle of Corpses. (I'm still waiting for my 83-minute refund, Andrew Repasky McElhinney.) And I don't know if you've ever watched a film (Teenage Hooker, I believe it was) inside the International House on an unseasonably hot spring day with no air conditioning, but believe me when I say I was lucky to make it out alive. But suffering for one's work is what real journalists do, so I didn't let these little misadventures dampen my enthusiasm for the 2002 program. Despite some setbacks, I was officially satisfied.

Another long year has passed, and tonight I will attend my first film of the 2003 Philadelphia Film Festival. The roster of films has grown by leaps and bounds over the past few years, and I'm absolutely thrilled to see the Philadelphia Film Festival expanding to include such unique and diverse film selections. As a native Philadelphian, it also makes me proud to witness the recognition that the festival is starting to receive. And to think that a few years ago I wouldn't have even dreamed of attending the festival, much less covering it. In a few short hours I'll be waiting in line at the Bridge theater to see a screening of Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, the first of what is sure to be a host of memorable film experiences.

And yes, I'm officially excited.