Powersaw-wielding lesbians? Check. Excessive nipple-licking? Check. The worst hash browns in recorded history? Check.

That incomprehensible opening paragraph can only mean that the first night of screenings at the 13th Philadelphia Film Festival is in the books. After a year of anticipation, my favorite local film event has finally come 'round again to drag my lily-white keister out to the cinema. The time I spent covering last year's festival was probably the most fun I've ever had with a personal hobby, and I am eagerly looking forward to besting my efforts this year. Thirty films in twelve days await myself and Monsters At Play Editor-In-Chimp Lawrence P. Raffel, an all-time high for our grassroots non-profitable media conglomerate-in-the-making. With the opening night of activity still fresh in my soft human brain, let's take a stroll around the Philadelphia Film Festival through the eyes of an excited monster at play.

For starters, Lawrence and I decided to bail on our plans to see the Dutch fairy tale Grimm based on some negative buzz. Thank goodness for Internet nerds who have nothing better to do than complain! Instead we opted for Vibrator, a highly-acclaimed character study that has been widely praised as the best Japanese film of 2003. I'm obviously not qualified to make that bold a statement about it (you can read my review to see what I thought), though I can honestly say it was the best Japanese film that I saw that day. Honestly. Vibrator will mostly be remembered as the only film that I've attended with Lawrence that made him jump in his seat. That's right: long-time horror veteran Lawrence P. Raffel was startled when Okabe tossed a soda can at Rei. You figure that one out, because I certainly can't.

After the screening we had to come to grips with the newly-revised film festival ballots. After furrowing my brow in a vain attempt to understand the situation, I finally ended up tearing it in the general vicinity of the tab that reflected my feelings towards the film. I think. I might have ended up voting for John Street, I'm not really sure. Of course the ballot snafu was peanuts compared to the opening-night jitters the festival staff was going through. At least twenty people were turned away from the oversold showing of Vibrator. Ouch. I clutched my beloved press pass close to my chest after witnessing that. In any event, we left the theater to meet up with some of Lawrence's friends, though not before we stopped in the bathroom. Oh Jeebus, don't make me go in the bathroom!

If you read my first Turf Warriors article last year, you'll undoubtedly remember my vivid description of the restroom facilities at The Bridge: Cinema de Lux. Little has changed since then, except that the bathroom attendants have grown much more aggressive in their attempts to extort theater patrons. Call me crazy if you must, but I really don't like having a paper towel shoved in my face before I'm even finished washing my hands. This type of behavior is guaranteed to earn my ire, and I was half-tempted to swipe a dollar from the tip jar for my troubles. (Well, not really, but it felt good to type that line.) I sneered at some bozo who was fumbling with his wallet looking for tip money as I hastily exited the restroom.

We left that madness behind forever (or at least until the 10:30 showing of Haute Tension) and set out in search of food. Lawrence had made plans to meet some friends at a diner near the theater, which turned out the be the cleverly-named Philly Diner. Don't let the expertly-designed web site fool you, this place is every bit a dive befitting the sordid confines of University City. After watching the waiter screw up one-third of our order, I proceeded to choke down a rectangular brown wafer of what I'm told was hash browns. Now, I've met hash browns before, and you sir, were no hash browns. The offensive platter was completed by soppy toast and an omelette with a bacon density that far exceeded the federal limit. Our group marked its protest by leaving an excessively large tip. That'll learn 'em.

Back to The Bridge: Cinema de Lux for the French horror extravaganza Haute Tension (pronounced hote tawn-SHOON, or something along those lines), a non-stop rollercoaster of thrills, spills, chills and kills. Mostly the first and the last though. Lawrence is fielding this one with a full review, but I'll chime in here with some thoughts. First off, Haute Tension (which translates to High Tension in English) is perhaps the most aptly-named film I've yet watched in a theater. The last hour of this excessively gruesome cat-and-mouse thriller had me doing the "don't go in that door" dance on the very edge of my seat. I'm normally not much of a seat-squirmer (Irreversible's extended rape scene aside), but this taughtly-paced exercise in fear gave me fits and starts until the end credits. Great stuff. I've got some complaints about the climax, though my reasoning is probably different from the grumblings that everyone else has. Look for me in the VIP line if you want to discuss.

A quick shoutout here: Lawrence and I myself caught a ride home from some friends after the film, and I just wanted to say that you guys are kings (and queens) among men (and women). Thanks a bunch!

So now I'm sitting in my apartment on the day after, writing this feature, completely stoked about the next week-and-a-half of what is sure to be cinematic bliss. If opening night is any indication (and it probably is), then the 13th Philadelphia Film Festival is going to be a memorable experience chock-full of great films, awful food and crazy homeless people offering to buy Lawrence's digital camera. It really wouldn't be Philadelphia without that constant backdrop of colorful characters, now would it? In fact, I just returned from the local grocery store, where I encountered a pair of old ladies who were puzzled as to why they couldn't find the two-for-$5 ice cream special. Well, I guess that's what happens when you're using a flyer for an Acme Market to shop at a SuperFresh.

I've got a drain to unclog, so let me get out of here. Let's end this article with a pull-away shot that reveals we've been in a snow globe the entire time. Now that's entertainment! See you at the festival!