It seems that April has a reputation for dreary weather, and thus far it has been living up to that billing with a vengeance. It's Wednesday evening, and it has been raining here in Philadelphia since Sunday. Varying from a mild sprinkle all the way up to a soul-soaking torrential downpour, this nearly unbroken stretch of rainstorms has become a constant companion on our film festival adventures. After a sunny start the festival has quickly become characterized by gloom-filled days and ice-cold evenings. You can imagine that it's a lot harder to generate enthusiasm to fulfill an all-day screening schedule when even your underpants are dripping wet.

But Lawrence and I are gluttons for punishment if nothing else, and we reluctantly slogged through the insufferable weather this past Monday to see no fewer than four films. We had originally planned on seeing a fifth, but a precious few hours of sleep and writing time seemed far more appealing than You Can't Stop the Murders. I'm comfortable with our choice. The first stop on our day-long cinema sojourn is A Good Lawyer's Wife, an erotic drama that film connoisseur Travis Crawford proclaims to be the best film in this year's lineup. *gulp* First Vibrator, then Lightning Bug and now this. Don't we have any films with vampire chicks or martial arts for me to talk about? Yeesh!

So what to say about Im Sang-soo's film? A thoughtful review is beyond my limited editorial capacity, as discussing this film requires a level of cinematic sophistication that I simply do not possess. (I loved that nude nocturnal stretching routine, that's for sure!) Allow me to summarize my experience like this: I now know how Homer Simpson felt as he watched a parody of Twin Peaks in an episode of The Simpsons. On his TV set, a man dances with a horse underneath a traffic light hanging from a tree, while narration talks about "damn fine coffee". With a blank look on his face, Homer slowly applauds and says "Absolutely brilliant" and then adds "I have absolutely no idea what's going on". Neither do I, Homer... neither do I.

After the film we leave the Ritz East and hit the cold, slippery pavement of Old City. We're out in the miserable mire only briefly before we jump into a cab and head for the stately Prince Music Theater. We're there to see The Legend of the Evil Lake; like many of the features we've seen thus far, this swordplay epic is teeming with both pluses and minuses, and it's difficult for me to give a hearty opinion either way. Boo to cheesy computer effects, yay to Jaunbie (the super-cute Kim Hyo-jin). If you're a fan of these types of movies then you've probably already seen better, especially if you caught any of the Shaw Brothers retrospective at last year's festival. And honestly, the lake really didn't look all that evil to me.

Out on Chestnut Street it is pouring, so LP and I eagerly duck our heads into another taxi and head for our cinematic waterloo, the International House. *shudder* Long-time readers should know all about our disdain for this University City venue, but suffice it to say that we'd rather be just about anywhere else on this dank Monday evening. But our spirits are brightened as we partake of Slasher, a raucous John Landis documentary depicting the life of a totally in-your-face car salesman. Lawrence's review will tell it like it is, so I'll just add that this is the type of documentary I can enjoy: a frank look at a subject that is free of any underlying agenda. Throw in a great rockabilly soundtrack and you've got yourself a fast, fun film that made me forget about the horrid seating at the i-House.

We're outside again, and guess what? It's still raining. Didn't see that one coming, did you? It seems to be coming down heavier than ever, so we hasten our trek over to The Bridge: Cinema de Lux for our 10pm show. But before we get there we decide to tempt fate by patronizing the golden arches of McDeath. It had been a full year since I had eaten there, but the painful memory of my last meal at this particular establishment was still fresh in my mind. I take the initiative by ordering first this time, which does wonders in preventing any sort of fast food armageddon. We would be here again the very next night, eating against a backdrop of constant radio-like chatter streaming from a raving derelict on the other side of the restaurant. Good times.

After our non-Super Sized meal we head to the theater and freshen up in the bathroom. It's unusually crowded, and I decide to cut my "efforts" short when my stall door pops open on me. Thank you, and goodnight! We stake out our territory in the VIP line (it's good to be da king) and enter the theater for our night capper, Acacia. I would really like to watch this film again, because by the time I sat down to watch it I was preoccupied with my enormously heavy eyelids and the noticeable aches in my waterlogged joints. But Acacia has a lot going for it, and much of it reminded me of one of my all-time favorite works of interactive entertainment, Silent Hill 2. This sobering tale of family tragedy is quiet and creepy, but follows the growing trend of failing to knock me on my ass. There's got to be a Pistol Opera or 2LDK in this festival, there just has to be!

The next night we were at it again, this time bagging our first two scheduled screenings in favor of sweet, nutritious sleep. Again we made the right choice, which left us fairly fresh for our two evening features. There isn't much to say about King of the Ants (good) and Moon Child (not so good) so I'll skip right to the quirky details of our day. That is why you're reading this, right? Unless you want me to sing the lyrics to the King of the Ants theme song for you: "He's the king of the ants... the king of the ants... he's wearing the pants... he's going to France... he's taking a chance... he's finding romance... he's taking a stance..." It goes on like this for several more verses, but I think you get the gist of it. It's just that easy to write a song, folks.

The climax of Tuesday evening brought us to the end of the most grueling part of our schedule, and we were both miraculously still alive and somewhat coherent. That is until Lawrence fell in love with Morton, the voice behind the automated ticket machine at the FreshGrocer parking garage. (His name is Morton, I asked.) That may seem bizarre and upsetting to most people, but if you've braved the wretched weather over the past few days to see as many movies as we have, then it really isn't too much of a departure from the norm. And if these past two days are hinting at things to come, then a love affair with parking garage machinery will be the most mundane thing you read about, I promise.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got an entire Stanley Cup Playoff game to watch. (Thank heavens for On Demand, huh?). Let's end this article with a montage that tells you what happens to each character after graduation. Set to the tune of Louie Louie, of course!