Nightlife
and Comedy Picks
There's not much I like more than hitting the sauce while
"looking at pictures," as my Pappy used to call it. Something
about the spirits just makes cinematic squibs go down easier.
And like I noticed when I eased the pain of The English
Patient with some anesthetic courtesy of Dr. Tanqueray,
heh--at a certain point enough fermented goodness makes anything
great, even if it has Ralph Fiennes lisping through it.
So God bless Alex Mayer and his ultra-cheapo end-of-the-world-strikes-Seattle
(and-the-rest-of-the-Pacific-Northwest-roars-in-approval!)
rock and roll exploitation flick Doomed Planet.
From the look of the trailers, this dramedy of cults battling
for control of last-days Jet City, which was cut for under
$10K with a digital camera, a Mac and some voluntary imbeciles,
is a work of remedial genius. Best part: At the flick's
Portland debut at Berbati's on Thursday, you can
get wasted while enjoying the acting exploits of grunge
retread Tad and the psycho-karaoke of Pleaseeasaur,
a musican as lobotomized as most of DP's cast.
The scenario's appeal isn't lost on Mayer, a graphic designer
who scratched together Doomed Planet's tale of cult
vs. cult from the ambient atmosphere of millennial hysteria
and his own feeling that Seattle's a city of wackjobs and
new-rich arrivistes in search of an identity. Well, actually,
that's Max Malt's feeling, but Mayer seems to agree.
"There's a bunch of freaks out here," Mayer says from the
HQ of his company, Massive Media. "I defy anyone
to tell me anything cool that happened here before grunge
and the Internet explosion. What, Boeing?"
This rootless weirdness contributed to Doomed Planet's
grade-Z sensibility. "It's an exploitation film," Mayer
says with anti-cinephile pride that should earn him a medal
from some Art Sissiness Destroyers Guild. "This is really
a midnight movie, but unfortunately that scene just doesn't
exist anymore. So the only way to go is treat it like it's
an unknown band and take it on the road with Pleaseeasaur."
The film's already drawn hate mail from some family-values
wankers upset that the flick "markets satanism, cultism,
cross-dressing, alcohol and drug consumption, violence,
etcetera to a broad audience including minors." So it's
already my favorite film of 2000, even though I've seen
only a few clips, one of which depicts two rival doomsday
cults battling with Frisbees at Bruce Lee's grave.
The clips also contain acting of extreme intentional badness,
bizarre editing styles and a commercial for a "broccoli
substitute" called Broccolium 2000.
Doomed Planet's touring the Left Coast down to San
Diego. Mayer and his compadres plan to close the bars and
sleep on floors like any self-respecting rock road warriors.
It's similar to other no-budget projects around the country--like
the stoner-punk Texas crime epic Rock Opera
and the Seattle rock-scene noir For the Cash--that
snatch independent film from the hands of the art-school
crowd and celebrate pure trash. These days, that's a hell
of a lot cheaper to do than it used to be.
Mayer says he's already planning his next Northwestploitation
movie, Potlatch. "Back in the days before the white
man spoiled the Puget Sound, the Indians were so prosperous
that they'd hold parties just to burn and smash shit," he
says. "The next project's going to take off on that. There's
not enough sex and violence in Doomed Planet--that's
my major disappointment. There'll be more in Potlatch."
And the winner is...
NIGHTLIFE
PICKS
DOOMED PLANET
with music by PLEASEEASAUR
Berbati's Pan
231 SW Ankeny St., 248-4579
9 pm Thursday, Jan. 27, $4
www.doomedplanet.com
COMEDY
PICKS
JOHN FOX
R-rated adult humor and explicit language! "T&A-oriented!"
Harvey's Comedy Club 436 NW 6th Ave.,241-0338
8 pm Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday; 8 and 10:30 pm Friday;
6:30,
9 and 11:30 pm Saturday, Jan. 26-30.
$8-$10.
COMEDYSPORTZ
Competitive improv.
1963 NW Kearney St., 236-8888
9 pm Friday, Jan. 7 7:30 and 9:30 pm Saturday, Jan.
8
Cover
BRAINWAVES
Improv theater.
Artists Repertory Theater 1516 SW Alder St., 796-9550
8 pm Tuesday, Feb. 1
$7
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Willamette Week | originally
published January 26,
2000
|
