What a difference a... aww, screw it. I'm fucking pissed off.

Day number 5 at the 12th Philadelphia Film Festival started off on a sour note. Gravely tired from the previous evening's festivities, I woke up very late at 9:02 am. Apparently my alarm clock has turned on me, the worthless bastard. I'm supposed to be at work by 9 am, and I really needed to get in there early today due to a mid-afternoon screening. I frantically threw on some clothes, took a quick Irish shower and stormed out the door with a furious scowl on my face. Of course, that look promptly disappeared when I arrived at the office and found that hardly anyone had arrived yet. I had gotten lucky this time, but I'd need to be sharper in the future. My mood lightened a teensy bit.

The morning passed with little to remember, and by noon I had completed a detailed (if uninformed) review of Dark Water. Lawrence and I are pumping out reviews, editorials, and photo journals with amazing alacrity during this year's festival, and I can't imagine too many sources who can compete with this type of constant coverage. Allow me to put this into a more proper perspective: Lawrence and I hold full-time jobs and are covering the festival strictly in our spare time. We do not receive a thin dime in return, though these shiny Press Passes go a long way in balancing things out (thanks guys!). In any event, I think we're doing a damn fine job.

Such is our dedication to this festival that we even requested special clearance to attend a few lunch-time screenings. The first of which, Eternal Blood, took place earlier today. Lawrence and I are both employed as web developers at a 3rd and Market firm, whose proximity to the Ritz movie theaters is a godsend at this time of the year. We simply walked the 3.5 city blocks over to the Ritz East and prepared ourselves for the delight of this Chilean vampire tale. I might as well mention that I'd been singing the words "Eternal Blood" to the tune of Guitar Wolf's Roaring Blood all week. (Wild Zero, remember?) Though the film had its own title-chanting theme song, I liked my version much better.

Lawrence will tell you all about Eternal Blood, to which I can add very little. I'm not a huge fan of vampire flicks, and I usually like my ultra-violence with a dash of humor. With that said, there were a few noteworthy elements that made the film appealing, despite its excessive length. Director Jorge Olguin was in attendance, though there were very few patrons in the audience to ask him questions. Lawrence and I regret that we couldn't stay for the Q&A session afterward, as we simply had to get back to work. Alex de la Iglesia was also in the crowd filming some documentary footage (I think) and generally having a good time. Alex, you're the king.

After the screening we're both famished so we stop off at our favorite food truck, conveniently located at the corner of 3rd and Chestnut. I don't know the name of the man who runs this mobile establishment, but I've faithfully been patronizing his business for the past three years. He has had many assistants in that time, but he remains a rock-solid neighborhood figure who is there every morning, rain or shine. Some of my favorites are the cheesesteak with fried onions and hot peppers, the $2 meatball sub and the sausage, egg and cheese breakfast sandwich. The food is so good that I've been known to walk to the truck on a Saturday morning just to purchase a delicious breakfast. Food truck guy, you're also the king.

We arrive back at the office to find that no one has missed us, let alone question our absence. It must feel good to be missed, but I wouldn't know. I tear into my meatball sub and chase it down with a Cherry Coke, then pass the afternoon with a meeting. Some blather about Mutant Action pops out of my fingers right before it's time to leave for our evening screenings. On the docket is Come Drink With Me, the first of the Shaw Brothers films to be shown at the festival, and the first one I've ever seen. It seems I'm getting a different theatrical cherry busted on a daily basis at this festival.

Like most of the Shaw Brothers films, Come Drink With Me is playing at the infamous International House. If you read my review of Teenage Hooker from the 2002 festival, then you already know about the maddening conditions inside the venue. Appropriately enough, very little had changed since the last time I was in there. Even on an unseasonably cold day, the International House managed to stay toasty warm (much like a sauna) and once again I found myself sweating bullets before the show even began. I would not be defeated this time around however, as I purchased some bottled water (which was curiously only a buck for a big bottle) and stripped out of various layers of clothing (to the tune of that Nelly song that Lawrence is always singing). Finally, at long last, I was comfortable in the International House.

This lasted for about five minutes. The other gigantic problem with the theater is that the seats are ergonomically designed to induce back ache and restless leg syndrome. Achieving a satisfying position is like trying to convince left-wing hippies that the war in Iraq is absolutely necessary. It just ain't gonna happen. Your best bet is to alternate between two semi-comfortable stances, which is the technique I used during tonight's screening. To balance out all this awful wailing, I should probably mention that Come Drink With Me was highly entertaining, in no small part due to the lady samurai who steals the show. There are few things that are sexier to me than a calm, assertive woman who wields deadly force with grace and style. Rreeowwr.

After a swift El ride in which I was tortured by the visage of yet another gorgeous Asian girl, we arrive at 2nd Street station. Before we can exit, however, we stumble upon an old man attempting to go through the turnstile. When we try to squeeze past the lumbering man he lapses into insanity (or is it senility) and proclaims "Don't walk all over me!" I can't replicate the effect in a text-based article, but trust me when I say it was one of the funniest things I've heard in a long time. Lawrence and I were instantly mimicking the old man in our most dessicated voices. I'm sure I've mentioned many times before that we're immature idiots who don't deserve to have jobs, and this proves it. So that was all too funny, but what came next, however, wasn't.

The ten o'clock showing of Takashi Miike's Graveyard of Honor, a drop-dead serious yakuza gangster movie. I was hoping I wouldn't have to live through a repeat of the deplorable behavior shown by last year's Miike audience. (Re-read my review of Happiness of the Katakuris if you need some background material.) I was not prepared for the depths to which humanity has sunk, and you'd think this movie was a comedy judging from the ridiculous amount of laughter coming out of the Ritz East. I'm talking full, belly-shaking laughs during scenes that depicted the most shocking and brutal acts of human violence. There isn't a single moment in Graveyard of Honor that is funny, so, logically, there should be no laughter for the duration of the film. To reasonable people like you and I, this makes perfect sense. I know the festival won't post any rules of etiquette for attending their screenings, so I've come up with a list of my own.

Let's begin. When the movie starts, shut the fuck up. Shut your fucking faces while the movie is playing and don't open them until it is over. Keep your unfunny remarks to yourself, because NO ONE wants to fucking hear them. Sit the fuck still. If you can't sit still, DON'T BUY A TICKET. For the love of God TURN OFF YOUR FUCKING CELL PHONES. Nobody fucking cares that your ringtone is the theme from Sanford and Son. Turn it the fuck off, fuckface. If it rings during the movie, fucking KILL YOURSELF. DO NOT drop things during the movie. DO NOT drop the lid to your Snapple bottle on the floor. DO NOT drop your gigantic water bottle on the floor and let it roll down the aisle. If you drop something during the movie, promptly take a pen and JAM IT INTO YOUR EYE(S).

Let's continue. DO NOT LAUGH WHEN SOMETHING SERIOUS IS HAPPENING. DO NOT laugh when human beings are being brutally raped and murdered. DO NOT laugh when non-American people change their facial expression. DO NOT laugh when someone shoots up with a needle and their eyes roll back in their head. DO NOT laugh when a man is viciously stabbed with a knife. DO NOT laugh when a man savagely kills an entire room full of men with a metal pipe. If at any time during a serious event you feel the need to laugh, please SNAP YOUR OWN NECK. If you are one of the many people who laughed at any inappropriate time during Graveyard of Honor last night, do the right thing and ELIMINATE YOUR WORTHLESS SEED FROM THE PLANET. FUCK YOU.

Surprisingly, I don't feel any better after that tirade. My viewing experience with Graveyard of Honor (one of the films I was REALLY looking forward to) was completely ruined by a theater full of fucking children. How can I possibly write a coherent review of the film when a band of ignorant apes was hooting and hollering during the most poignant scenes? Let's forget the review for a second: how am I supposed to even enjoy the movie under these circumstances? If I had purchased a ticket I would have demanded my money back. Jesus H. Christ, when is this shit going to stop? When will you goddamned assholes grow the fuck up? Why are you going to a film festival if you can't appreciate film? Why are you allowed to live in the same society as productive, responsible people like myself?

Day 5 sucked balls and it didn't have to. I saw some fine films but the movie-going experience has been horrendously sullied by a bunch of shit-eating hipster doofus assholes. I simply cannot understand how people who are supposed to be adults can behave in such a manner. I wanted to save this for the end of the festival, but I'm so fucking angry that I'm whipping it out right here. For being the worst crowd in the history of the Philadelphia Film Festival, tonight's Ritz East Graveyard of Honor audience wins the 2003 Monsters At Play Golden Douchebag Award. Good job, you fucking worthless douchebags. Goddamn it you fucking suck. I hope you all die.

I'm turning my computer off now, since I'm just growing more and more agitated. Perhaps a good night's sleep will make a difference.