What a difference a couple of hours makes.

When I arrived home late Sunday night the weather was certainly a titty bit on the nipply side, but I never expected the sight that awaited me when I arrived at work on Monday morning. It was snowing. Scratch that, it was blizzarding. Snow flakes the size of ping pong balls were steadily streaming down and accumulating outside on Market Street. It seems that spring, summer and autumn have all come and gone, and now we're right back to cruel, merciless winter again. I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. After all, this festival has already shown me plenty of perplexing, hilarious and downright surreal things. Toss this apocalyptic climate change onto the pile.

Let's backtrack to last night for a moment, shall we? As Press Pass holders, Lawrence and I are entitled to two tickets to each screening we choose to attend, and we exercised this privilege by inviting John Barbetta to the Saturday screening of Beyond Re-Animator. John's a cool guy who is fun to hang out with, plus he's always good for a McChicken sandwich or two. Last night Lawrence invited another friend of his, Eric Fisher (you can check him out on the photo page from Day 3). Though Eric is a dapper fellow, he has the uncanny ability to enrage and annoy Lawrence like no one else.

I meet up with Lawrence and Eric at 6th and Chestnut, the usual gathering spot for treks to the Prince Music Theater. We were on our way to see 800 Bullets, the latest film from Spanish filmmaker Alex de la Iglesia, who was also present to receive the TLA Phantasmagoria Award. While walking on Chestnut Street, we are treated to many wondrous sights, including signs advertising Claire's Wig and Dan's Shoes. Uplifting, to say the least. We arrive at the theater, snag our tickets, then head outside to snap a staged photo. Before we do so we're spotted by our favorite festival celebrity, Travis Crawford.

After a brief chat about Love Object we leave him to finish his intro speech in peace. It's flipping cold out on the street, and my hands turn into ice blocks before I can finally snap an acceptable photo of Lawrence and Eric "arguing". I shouldn't really complain, because the shot turns out fantastic and is probably the best photo from the festival so far. Back inside, we relax briefly before getting in the VIP line. Some putz in the regular line tries to tell us there's only one line for the film. Huh. I suppose he missed the fact that everyone in the VIP line had a shiny badge around their neck.

We rush into the theater and secure the best seats in the house: first row center of the rear section, right in front of the "suicide bar". I can see you're confused, so allow me to explain. The first movie we ever saw at the Prince was A Chronicle of Corpses, and during the film we searched frantically for a way to dull the pain. Suicide seemed a very attractive option at that point. At the next Prince screening we sat in the aforementioned front-center-rear seats, and I remarked to the guy sitting next to me that if he didn't like the film he could just bash his head on the railing until he drifted off into unconsciousness, sweet unconsciousness.

Luckily we would need no such escape on this night, as Alex de la Iglesia's 800 Bullets was a fantastic (if a bit lengthy) film. Once again Lawrence is fielding this one, but I'll chime in here. I liked nearly everything about the film, from the super cast to the excellent action set pieces to the awesome, awesome opening credits. My favorite scene, predictably, depicts the very young Carlos poking, rubbing and otherwise fondling the naked breast of call-girl Sandra (played by the utterly delicious Yoima Valdes). This is all her idea, mind you (to make him a man, I suppose), and the next morning he wakes up in bed next to her completely naked body. WOW.

Folks, you won't see sights like this at your local megaplex, and that's why the festival is so valuable. Many of these films won't be screened in this country ever again, so if you miss them here you likely miss them forever. Lawrence and I will be seeing Iglesia's Mutant Action Monday night at The Bridge: Cinema De Lux, though we will unfortunately miss the other films that were late additions to the lineup. That's a shame, but is unavoidable as we have to sleep some time. Hopefully a few screeners will become available to the Monsters At Play staff at some point, as I'd love to check out more of Alex de la Iglesia's work. ¡Él es fantástico!

After the screening the director conducted a brief Q&A session, switching freely between English and Spanish. The crowd was far short of a sellout, and more than two-thirds of them left before the questions began. As one of the few attendees left I felt compelled to ask him a question to break the ice (and I did have a decent inquiry about the cast), but I pussed out. Oh well, I'll speak up the next time Alex de la Iglesia is in town to receive an award at the Philadelphia Film Festival. Er... crap. Well, I'm no journalist anyway, so I guess it doesn't make any difference. The film was great and that's all I really cared about.

I should probably mention that Lawrence was having ungodly trouble with his camera during the Q&A session. Some frantic battery swapping saves the day (at least temporarily) and he snaps a hasty shot before the men walk off the stage. Huzzah, or something. The session ends and the remainder of the crowd spills out onto the street. It's after midnight and we're all eager to get home and get to bed. Well, except for Lawrence, he's got a review to write. Our moronic nature gets the best of us as we decide to snap a photo of Claire's Wig. The sign, not the actual wig. The door is closed, or else we would have photographed the actual wig.

Day 3 was less eventful than the previous two but was no less willing to yield its fare share of memorable stories. This festival is shaping up as one of the most enjoyable experiences I've had in the past few years; let's hope it continues down that road. One final note: I have no shame in admitting that my computer stores several racy photos of a lady who bears a striking resemblance to Yoima Valdes, so you can imagine how I spent the rest of my evening. Wink, wink.