SLAMDANCE FILM FESTIVAL: THE BIG SHORTS COMPENDIUM (2025)

366 Weird Movies may earn commissions from purchases made through product links.

Short films are a delight for me—whether they be hit-and-runs from artists I may not stumble across ever again, or “business cards” for up-and-coming feature film directors. Today we dive into a one-and-a-half-feature to explore this year’s animation showcase and a few of the experimental selections from SlamDance 2025.

CARTOON CORNER:

MIMT (dir. ; 4 min.)— I swear I’ve seen this animator’s work before. Simple computer graphics (think Glory Days of MS Paint), whose basic nature allow for innumerable flights of form. I recently adopted a cat who seems to be part snake—thanks to Ted Wiggin, I can visualize how that could happen.

Gemini (dir. Jamie Griffiths; 7 min.)— Back in ’82, the Alan Parsons Project used this title and created a wistful, float-y musing. There’s a bit of that sensation in Griffiths’ cartoon here, with its shapes, spirals, and a double cat who has a penchant for pranking its owner in a subtle manner. We all have a reflection.

mnemonic (dir. Raffaele Gans-Pfister; 6 min.)— Described in the digital program as “Building thinks thought, has realization. Landscape in translation.” Can’t say I can improve on that. The animation’s means for this nebulous plot are mesmerizing clay works complemented by pen-scratch 2D representations. Not sure what I saw, but it was gratifying to see it.

‘Never Fall In Love’ (dir. Lucy Sao Wa Lao, Angela En-Yu Lao; 6 min.)— Hate to hate on things, so I’ll just say that this was the only short among the dozen which disappointed. Dog and cat, doomed romance, with one interesting thing barely emerging from the back-ground: what’s up with the merged and split flags? I’m sure I’m missing some political connotations.

Tunnel Wandering (dir. Li Zehao; 10 min.)— Blue ink, or blue water-color? …Not to mention that Windows® dungeon screen-saver interlude. I may never find out what this (mostly) first-person journey is about, but at least I’ll have good company: the character wandering these tunnels doesn’t guess the right answer, either, and never gets past the giant naked woman.

Croûte-mousse (dir. Badminton Plus; 4 min.)— Copyright? On this thing? You better bet your bottom dollar that Badminton Plus ain’t having none of that. Day-Glo tinted TV samplings skitter along, all bound by Day-Glo frames. I believe the title might translate into “bread pudding”, but considering what B-Plus is laying down, most bets are off.

Weirdest!Birth Controlled (dir. Isabela Fraga-Abaza; 5 min.)— Following the school of ugly imagery, this slice of feminist commentary hits the mark—no surprise seeing as the protagonist is a dead-eye shot in the great game show of sex, birthing, and oblique oppression. Violent and graphic, and Continue reading SLAMDANCE FILM FESTIVAL: THE BIG SHORTS COMPENDIUM (2025)

POD 366, EP. 107: SO MANY MOVIES, 2025 EDITION

366 Weird Movies may earn commissions from purchases made through product links.

Discussed in this episode:

Disembodied (1998): A mad scientist checks into a hotel and sets up a lab to turn people into slime before eating them. Sounds like a cheesy horror premise but there’s more to it than that: it’s a serious, if direct-to-video, artsploitation effort by director William Kersten, who’s also a stop-motion animator and classical music composer.  Buy Disembodied.

Furious (1984): A kung fu master battles supernatural baddies to save the world. With a new age band, a rendition of the McKenzie Brothers “Great White North” theme, and a strange “go home” scene, this oddity appears to be a lost absurd comedy more than a discovery. Buy Furious.

Gwen and the Book of Sand (1985): A teenage girl and a 173-year-old nomad quest to save a kidnapped boy in the endless desert of the future. Lost post-apocalyptic French animation resurrected by the weirdos at Deaf Crocodile. Buy Gwen and the Book of Sand from Deaf Crocodile.

Hukkle (2002): A series of bizarre vignettes set in a remote rural Hungarian community where murder is afoot. ‘s first feature is nearly dialogue-free (but hiccup-full) and has never been released on Blu-ray before this newly restored Dekanalog release. It includes a pair of Pálfi short films. Buy Hukkle.

The Ice Tower wins Silver Bear for for Outstanding Artistic Contribution: As stated in the title, ‘s “Snow Queen”-based fairy tale starring won a special award for “Artistic Contribution” (which means, essentially, that while not winning one of the three major prizes, the jury felt obliged to recognize it for its art direction and production design). Also, the film has been acquired for U.S. distribution by Yellow Veil. We’re getting excited for this one. Berlin Film Festival winners at Deadline.

Jacker (1993)/Jacker 2: Descent to Hell (1996): The original is a no-budget direct-to-video tale of a serial killer/carjacker; the more interesting-sounding sequel has the title character returning from a budget-conscious surreal Hell to possess others. From DTV revivalists Saturn’s Core. Buy Jacker/Jacker 2: Descent to Hell.

The Last Circus (2010): Read Gregory J. Smalley’s festival review. An upgraded Blu-ray edition of ‘s violent clown allegory that includes a new commentary track from author Shelagh Rowan-Legg and other odds and ends. Buy The Last Circus.

Performance (1970): Read the Canonically Weird entry! The gets their hands on the Mick Jagger-fronted psychedelic cult movie; includes multiple new documentary features on the film. In 4K+Blu-ray or solo Blu editions. Buy Performance.

Rats! (2025): Read Giles Edwards’ festival capsule. Absurd, anarchic comedy about a teenage graffiti artist in a neighborhood of “perverts.” Now in limited theatrical release. Rats! official site.

Street Trash (2024): Read Giles Edwards’ review. The socially-conscious but still gross South African remake of the underground classick about melting the homeless comes to Blu-ray. Buy Street Trash.

NEPOTISM CORNER:

Alex Kittle has been keeping busy with weird-movie based artwork, providing the image for Little White Lies’ commemorative essay on Wild at Heart (which you can check out here) and illustrations for Marya E. Gates’ new book on female directors, “Cinema Her Way.” Alex also hosts (or co-hosts) two upcoming events at the Brattle Theater in Boston: three days of True Tales of Wonder Women! from March 7-9, and a seminar on Agnes Varda’s Vagabond on March 18. Unfortunately, no weird movies in the slate, but don’t let that stop your estrogen binge.

WHAT’S IN THE PIPELINE:

As mentioned in the podcast, we will (probably) have no guest on next week’s Pod 366, but Greg and Giles will return with a look at what’s weird for the week. In written content, Sunday sees the big announcement for 2024’s Weirdcademy Award winners (so this weekend is your last chance to vote for shorts or features). We’ll also have Giles Edwards‘ report on Slamdance 2025 shorts (and possibly something else from Giles); Shane Wilson stays late to cover another assignment that Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue as he reports on the time-traveling teenagers of Detention (2011); and Gregory J. Smalley takes a second look at ‘s surreal debut, Fando y Lis (1968). Onward and weirdward!

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: KUSO (2017)

366 Weird Movies may earn commissions from purchases made through product links.

BewareWeirdest!

DIRECTED BY: Flying Lotus (credited as “Steve”)

FEATURING: Bethany Schmitt, Ouimi Zumi, Iesha Coston, Zack Fox,  Shane Carpenter, George Clinton, , voice of

PLOT: Survivors of an L.A. earthquake are stricken by disease and experience bizarre events.

Still from Kuso (2017)

COMMENTS: “Kuso,” the Blu-ray’s liner notes explain, is Japanese for “shit,” and you’ll see plenty of kuso in the course of Kuso. The film opens with a shot of maggots wriggling in trenches spelling out the film’s name, followed by a shot of a jerking seismograph. That intro segues into the opening sequence, in which two straight-laced white news anchors reporting on an earthquake are interrupted by a black man in putty-makeup who performs a free jazz scat explaining that “no one will save you” (among the more coherent lines). Then the kuso-show begins in earnest.

The brief earthquake mention is about all the context we get for the segments that follow, which are intercut together and interspersed with surreal (and usually obscene) collages and animations. There’s a couple with a pus-based love life, a flatulent bald kid in a dunce cap who finds a giant anus in the woods, a woman who loses her baby in a hole, a stoner girl who lives with two fuzzy Muppet creatures with TV monitor faces (and who has an exceptionally tasteless date rape/abortion subplot), and a man who undergoes scat therapy to cure himself of his fear of breasts. It’s not clear that all of these characters live in the same universe, except on one occasion when two of them meet and converse in a doctor’s waiting room.

None of the individual stories have much structure or go anywhere interesting, and none of the individuals have any characterization beyond their surface deformities. The lack of storyline and of characters of course contribute to Kuso‘s surprising dullness, but there’s also the lack of variation in the suffocating atmosphere: there’s no real humor, no joy, just endless darkness, cruelty, and a fetishistic focus on disease and bodily fluids. There’s no tonal contrast in the film, which is surprising for a director who’s a musician. It’s no symphony, but instead the cinematic equivalent of a 90-minute bass solo.

There is so little African-American surrealism out there that it’s a crime that this lump ends up as one of the more prominent examples of the form. The film seems pointless, never applying its vision to any end beyond the most juvenile variety of shock possible. It depicts a world of cruelty and disease unrelieved by any sort of thought or emotional investment. That is a sort of vision. But it has nothing to do with Flying Lotus’ anarchic but groovy and joyful music, which is experimental and challenging but harmonic—unlike Kuso, which is a harsh blast of formless noise. Because Lotus is so talented, I hope that he will aim higher in future filmic excursions, and that one day we’ll look back at this movie as a lonely misfire in his artistic catalog. But as it stands, Kuso does a great disservice to weird films. , and their brethren often shock, but you never doubt that deep down the fillmakers actually like people. Kuso has nothing good to say about our species, and actually appears to actively hate humanity—including, by extension, its audience.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…inevitably whets the appetite of people who 50 years ago would have been lining up for their 10th viewing of ‘Mondo Cane’ — the sort of audiences forever on the lookout for something weirder or more extreme to make them go, ‘Ewwwww!’ Those viewers, as well as some among the habitually-stoned, will constitute the primary fans of this first feature… Everybody else is going to want to take a wide detour around this insufferable mishmash of interwoven segments — aimless in themselves, even more so as a whole — almost entirely concerned with bodily functions and bodily fluids.”–Variety (festival screening)

(This movie was nominated for review by “Dan M.”, who said “I’m assuming somebody else has already suggested it but there you go.” Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THE POSSESSED (1965)

La Donna del Lago

366 Weird Movies may earn commissions from purchases made through product links.

DIRECTED BY: , Franco Rossellini

FEATURING: , Salvo Randone, , Pier Giovanni Anchisi, Virna Lisi

PLOT: A writer visits a childhood vacation spot at a lake and investigates the mystery of a missing acquaintance.

Still from The Possessed (1965)

COMMENTS: “It’s difficult to look inside oneself honestly, eh?”

Is this why award-winning author Bernard (Baldwin) claims to have never written anything autobiographical? His friends seem skeptical. He returns to a lakeside village to begin work on his next book, one inspired by memories of his childhood summers. But instead of writing, Bernard begins a routine of gossiping with the locals and spying on the staff of his hotel, “a hotel. . . filled with memories,” where “everything seem[s] normal on the surface.”

Moody black and white photography heightens the suggestion that everything isn’t quite normal in this unnamed locale. The cinematography emphasizes shadows; picturesque tree-lined lanes become sinister and otherworldly. The light dappling the lake’s surface could be the sun or the moon. The immersive sound design features a menacing whisper of wind which begins at Bernard’s first sight of the lake.

It’s the off-season, and characters furtively scurry about, either to escape from the cold or from prying eyes. The camera slides around corners, rendering the layout of both the town and the hotel endlessly labyrinthine. It sidles up to the cracks in doors, providing his point of view whenever Bernard’s voyeurism in the present day is intercut with his memories of Tilde, a beautiful blonde chamber maid (Lisi). As we search through the hotel and the village along with him, we quickly come to realize that, though he never fully admits it, Bernard is completely infatuated with the memory of Tilde.

After mistakenly following another woman, he discovers that Tilde died under mysterious circumstances since his last visit the year before. Determined to find out what happened to her—was it suicide or murder?—Bernard enlists the help of Francesco (Anchisi), a cynical local photographer. He willingly shares photographic evidence along with his own theories, but becomes increasingly reluctant to dig too deeply into the mystery. As Bernard becomes ever more obsessed with Tilde, he begins having nightmares about her case. Gradually he comes to suspect the hotel owner’s family must be somehow implicated.

When it was first released in 1965, La Donna del Lago (“The Lady of the Lake”) was poorly received. Italian critics lambasted its art-house style, including the use of washed out high-contrast in dreams and flashbacks, and creative editing that consistently blurs the lines between past and present. Cultural and historical baggage may also have sunk it. The screenplay is loosely based on a novel of the same name, which was in turn was inspired by a true crime1.

News of the actual case was still fresh in the popular consciousness while the film was being made, but if the filmmakers had hoped to cash in, they misread their audience. By the mid ’60s, color was in, and The Possessed seemed hopelessly pretentious and out of date. Instead of a typical crime thriller, it’s an Expressionist and hallucinatory fever-dream tour through the corridors of memory and imagination. Like Last Year at Marienbad, only with faster pacing and moments of ian suspense, The Possessed is both beautiful and occasionally confusing to watch, but it’s never boring.

Later rebranded as a giallo, The Possessed features some tropes of the genre, but even though pretty girls are dying mysterious deaths, there is no black-gloved killer (and the young women may not have been murdered at all). The writer protagonist is a familiar figure, the outsider trying to carry out his own investigation while becoming further mired in mystery. Renzo Rossellini’s orchestral score swells to ironic crescendos whenever Bernard fails to uncover any meaningful clues. There are plentiful red herrings: ambiguous photographic images, scraps of paper scrawled with obscure sentence fragments, women who wear each other’s coats so they become unrecognizable when bundled up in scarves against the wind. Ultimately The Possessed resists easy genre categorization, and for this reason its hybrid qualities make it weird-adjacent. It conjures a pervasive unsettling atmosphere, even though nothing overtly surreal appears on screen.

The fact that the screenplay was originally drafted by (Death Laid an Egg, If You Live, Shoot) may account for some of the film’s more unusual qualities, and makes The Possessed of interest to Questi completists. The original novel by Giovanni Comisso describes a writer’s journey to the scene of the crimes where he receives psychic impressions of the suspects, and Questi focuses heavily on this aspect. Cues such as the high contrast lighting and a repeated mournful bird cry provide hints for interpreting Bernard’s thoughts, imaginings, memories, and dreams, but in the end these images from inside his head all become tangled up together. Anyone familiar with the story’s background would of course already know who the killers will turn out to be, but Questi’s script isn’t a whodunit. He isn’t afraid to leave questions unanswered. As Bernard is subtly implicated as an unreliable narrator, a true crime story becomes a study of subjectivity and desire.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“The story’s a feverish dream-narrative in which Bernard is often literally fevered and dreaming… For its amplified layers of bafflement within its hallucinations, I prefer [the title] The Lady of the Lake to The Possessed, but this highly polished mirror of uncertainty and obsession is a lovely discovery under any identity.”–Michael Barrett, Pop Matters [Blu-ray]

1 The Alleghe killings were a series of murders that began in the 1930s in a small village in Northern Italy, and after being interrupted by WWII, they continued, still unsolved, into the 1950s. The case had been closed, then reopened, and the killers were only convicted in 1964.

Celebrating the cinematically surreal, bizarre, cult, oddball, fantastique, strange, psychedelic, and the just plain WEIRD!