What a difference a day makes! Less than 24 hours ago I was lying in the emergency room at Pennsylvania Hospital wondering if I would live through the night. It felt like I was having a heart attack and a stroke at the same time, with symptoms like numbness, blurred vision, hearing loss and slurred speech. A few hours later I felt fine, and the doctors dismissed my near-death experience as an anxiety attack. What, me worry? Apparently those 20 hour workdays really did take a toll on me.

Or perhaps this was all caused by excessive gas from that El Fuego burrito I had ingested the night earlier?

In any case, I'm alive and well and once again ready to delight you with my unique brand of occasionally humorous editorials and semi-informed film reviews. Before planting our flattened behinds in our favorite suicide bar seats at the Prince Music Theater, Monsters At Play Editor Lawrence P. Raffel and I ventured up to the Arcadia Skybox to attend the opening night reception. We're really not the schmoozing types normally, but we just can't say no to an open bar and buffet. A few drinks and a few dipped vegetables later, we're ready for action.

Alex de la Iglesia is still the master of politically incorrect genre cinema. ¡Alex, usted es el rey!

Photo courtesy of the Philadelphia Film Society

The 14th Philadelphia Film Festival kicked off with the latest film from 2003 Phantasmagoria Award winner Alex de la Iglesia, Ferpect Crime. Much more a strict comedy than any of his previous offerings, this department store crime caper is still very much an Iglesia film at heart as sex, violence and politically incorrect humor abound. Check out Lawrence's review of Ferpect Crime for the full scoop on this opening night crowd pleaser.

Alex was on stage after the screening to field questions from the audience and once again showed what a warm and humble person he is. Through his self-deprecating wit and unique take on the English language, Alex entertained as he educated, and hinted at some homosexual shenanigans involving his writer Jorge. That's fine by us, just don't tell the strippers waiting at his hotel room about it.

We made our way out into the rain-soaked night and waited for a trolley to take us to the after party at Top of the Tower. High Society, here we come! Once there we attempted to "mingle" with tight-shirted gay men, shrill female socialites and wave after wave of HQT (or "high quality tail", if you catch the vernacular). A dance floor called out to us briefly, but we decided to snap photos and make fun rather than participate. I'm comfortable with our choice.

In search of some grub, the Head Vampire and I were accosted by one of the servers, who mistook us for a pair of auto mechanics fresh from the garage. Granted, we don't usually dress up for these type of events, as our photo page will attest to, but it's not unreasonable to believe that psuedo-journalists like ourselves live by a different dress code. Lawrence exacted some measure of revenge by pointing out the difference between his press badge (which says Lawrence) and his jacket (with the name tag Ted).

The server's response? "You've got issues." Thanks for the free psychoanalysis pal! Now gimme some more of that green goop.

The two of us then made the rounds from one end of the floor to the other, waiting in excessively long lines to obtain alcoholic beverages on several occassions. The choices seemed curiously thin, with only a single variety of beer, wine and hard liquor to go around. This upset international playboy Travis Crawford more than anyone, who reckons himself quite the Scotch connoisseur. Don't worry buddy, we won't tell anyone you resorted to drinking raspberry vodka. Your secret is safe with us!

Lawrence takes full advantage of his opportunity to eat shellfish at the opening night after party. Save some for the rest of us!

We then met up with TLA Media Relations Director Andrew Preis, who gave us his uncensored take on some of the films we were planning to see. Thanks for the advice Andy! We were dismayed that Alex de la Iglesia chose not to attend the late-night festivities, as we'd hoped to congratulate him on his latest film, as well as snap a photo to go along with our keepsake from 2003. Oh well, I'm sure he had just as good a time with a hotel room full of young ladies versed in the art of disrobing. God bless that man.

Several hours and countless drinks later (okay, maybe three or four) we decided to call it a night. Poor timing caused us to miss some choice photo opportunities, not the least of which involved a certain black-clad festival programmer shaking his moneymaker to the tune of The Rainbow Connection, a Kermit the Frog classic. Oh, there was a woman passed out covered in her own vomit that we somehow managed to miss too. The fun never stops at Top of the Tower!

Content with the opening film and our evening of marginally social activity, Lawrence P. and I headed for home. The 14th Philadelphia Film Festival is off to a fabulous start and looks to be an improvement over the 2004 program in just about every way. As long as the rain subsides, then expect your faithful festival correspondents to regale you with the most thorough genre coverage in the city that loves you back. Opening night gets 12 thumbs up.