World of Forms was shot in two days in a small room against one wall. Several crew members lost their minds during the shoot.
Produced by Aligned Creative
Director: Ben Donnellon
Cinematographer: Cai Hall
The Middle Eight
Kimberlee Walker
Kathrine Chant
Joe Kavitski
TRT: 3:53
General Ripper of the U.S. Terror Force irrationally releases a deadly rabbit/nuclear bomb hybrid to stay a step ahead of the terrorists.
Here Group Captain Pancake discovers Ripper’s insanity, and attempts to stop him before it’s too late.
Produced by Aligned Creative
Director: Ben Donnellon
Cinematographer: Ben Donnellon
General Ripper: Joe Kavitski
Group Captain Pancake: Ben Donnellon
TRT: 3:54
“Remember when I went to prick your eye with a hair pin and you started crying and I said to shut your socket or those tasty tears will soon crimson into droplets of blood as I scoop those baby blues out of your skull? Remember that?
“I must have gotten a dust particle in my eye today. The robots that scanned my pupils did not see innocence, only the burgundy coating of a dust particle hellbent on dilation. I blinked fervently and when one robot inquired as to if I was making a pass at it’s lubricated tube, I winked and said, “Not unless you scan it to be,” at which point the robot took it’s handclamp and systematically pried my eye open under the bright florescent light before scanning it with laser beams as red as the scarlet liquid which had tendency to congeal around your rosy cheeks under the smooth, pale skin. The robot said, “No, Human. Indeed I do not scan it so,” then dropped the clanking gruel cup of mushed memories forever frozen at my feet…and rolled away.
“I want you to know I would have never popped your sight balloons. I would not have been able to handle the air that escaped those peepers, but I would have inhaled, breathed it in. I will not deny that.
“I was quite satisfied with the way you looked for the most part, and I would not wish to gaze upon a melted vanilla scoop with strawberry syrup drizzling down your creamy complexion. Back then, Beauty was ice cream.
“But Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder, and today, Beauty is a dust particle. Lashes to ashes…lust to dust…”
TRT: 4 min 20 sec
Saaremaa Valss is an experimental short film about a man that reminisces about the past in a tanning salon.
TRT: 3min 29sec
Alex Gaylon, an adopted student at the University of Wisconsin in Madison, looks for his birth-mother and films the process for his documentary film class. He gets advice from his parents, his film crew, a fellow adoptee, and finds his birth-mother’s information on Google.com. Finally, he attempts to contact his birth mother through the telephone, and what he finds on the other end of the phone line is much more than he ever could have expected…
Filmmaker Therese Shechter heads to Turkey for a much-needed vacation. She also plans to interview young Turkish women for a documentary on feminism. Instead, she becomes fascinated with the men. And they are fascinated with her.
This true story is a twisted travelogue chronicling one woman’s obsession with Turkish men. Her attempts to understand their language, culture and psyche leads to a revealing exploration of cultural cliches, the ‘exotic other’ and the aphrodisiac properties of a US visa.
Therese Shechter: Writer, Director, Editor, DP and Producer
Andrew Kines: Assoc. Editor
Paul Ruest: Sound Editor
“How I Learned to Speak Turkish” won the jury prize for Short Documentary at the Atlanta Film Festival.
Lost lore of a lass a seldom soul knows
Most melancholy misery mixed with more woe
Thou countenance considers, curiosity flows
Mystique and intrigue so steadily grows
For message and moral thy tale whilst show
Why winds whistle and blow, bellowing, “Scarlet Rose!”
She, pale as marrow in beauty, yet blessed
Flaxen hair, skin fair, ne’er sun caressed
Vanity vacant, detached and depressed
O’er agony asunder, aghast, Oh! Obsessed
Pricking edges of thorns ‘gainst ivory flesh
Whilst ruby blossoms bash thy bare breast
Now, lost in the night, or so it doth seem
Orb bound in flight, illumining beams
Sleeping in spite of disheartening dreams
She screamed at thy sight; crimson on cream!
Betwixt of thy blight, red on white, still she screams
“Oh! What a sight! And still it doth stream!”
Lying in life, feeling foolish, a kern
Choking and coughing, her stomach doth churn
As hands clasp her throat; clocks tock and turn
Time fleeting and bleeding, she yelps and she yearns
The memories resurface, resound, and return
Reminiscing doth she, her heart starts to burn
Twas in the mid of summer’s day
Her lover beside her, in fields they lay
Glorious rapture, both blissful and gay
When suddenly something somewhere would stray
He’d flee; She’d be bleeding and broken, betrayed
As sun turns to tempest, her light fades away
Yet before his depart be dismal and dour
He turns to sweet Scarlet in this; their last hour
For inside of a moment, the present is power
And future, though fleeting, he fixed with a flower
Said he, “I’ll return to thee Ivory Tower.”
Then left her alone amongst icy cold showers
Now, lonely and lost within mental abyss
Nebulous nothings that cease to exist
Mourning and moaning of memories missed
In agony and anger hands clenched in a fist
Screams pierced the air; thorns pierced thy wrist
Forgetting the future of fate with a twist
As sanguine Scarlet closes her eyes
Tears sting her soul, which ne’er can dry
Flooded with fantasy, lost within lies
Lamenting illusions, grieving goodbyes
In this early evening, she withers and dies
And Scarlet rose to the Heavens while the scarlet rose cries…
TRT: 4 min 21 sec
An experimental film on Bike Kill, an annual event where steampunks and bicycle gangs create mutant bikes to ride and smash.
Short
Experimental
2 min.
Directed & Edited by Zack Wilson
Travel dead roads
Clear our minds of civilization
The future is silent
And the night needs heroes
In desolation destiny is manifest
And it speaks in smoke
The past doesn’t disappear
The shavings are real
A tracing of time cannot brush this off
The memories aren’t what they used to be
The nightmares of what I’ve kept bottled inside are returning
And sleep, if it comes at all, is something I’ve begun to dread
I used to hide there, in my dreams, from hysteria, casting out the doubts, a little princess with a magic wand that could change reality into something I could tolerate
But now the echoes of forsaken loss chill me to the core
I know not where the waking is beyond this fragile dance
We will never be that innocent again
I can see right through you now that the Truth has come to Light
While the feelings finally fade
And fade away it does
Everything becomes erased
It fades from history
It fades from memory
And it fades
So slowly…
TRT: 2 min 59 sec
