Guam with the Pope & Vagrancy Films’s 6 Year Show

Last night Vagrancy Films hosted their 6th year show at Rainbow Cinemas, screening Duke Mitchell’s long-lost classic “Gone with the Pope” and featuring over 20 minutes of mind-altering trailers. One of the best shows I’ve ever attended: a crowded theatre (we need these shows packed, people!); lots of Vagrancy Virgins (call James a “scumbag” and you get in half-price); an early broken reel (o the joys of real film!); trailers that push the limits of black, child, and whale exploitation; heckling from the usual vagrants and Big Poppa Dump himself; plus a fresh print of a fucking fantastic movie (great music and editing, hilarious one-liners, one after the other, all the exaggerated racism and misogyny you’d expect from true 1970′s Grindhouse, and  surprisingly sensitive slower-paced scenes–adding a real sense of holiness to the film). What an exceptionally profound religious experience (and I’m not just saying that because I won an Ilsa press sheet).

The next Vagrancy event is Lucio Fulci’s HOUSE BY THE CEMETERY – FULL UNCUT 35mm 30th Anniversary, playing Saturday, October 22 at 11:30 pm, Rainbow Cinemas, London, Ontario. Don’t be a snobby fool; show up and support local grindhouse.

Narciso Ibáñez Serrador’s The Killer’s Playground (1976)

The Killer’s Playground (1976)

A.K.A.

• ¿Quién puede matar a un niño?
• ¿Ma come si può uccidere un bambino?
• Ein Kind zu töten…
• Island of the Damned
• Oi eglimaties tou etous 2000
• Vem kan döda ett barn?
• Who Can Kill a Child?

Dir. Narciso Ibáñez Serrador; Starring Lewis Fiander, Prunella Ransome, Antonio Iranzo

Based on Juan José Plans’s novel El juego de los niños, The Killer’s Playground is an easy film to fall into and enjoy—if you let it; the opening title sequence is rough and needlessly narrated, instantly spelling out the message that, of all the victims of war, children suffer the most in this world, largely due to human ignorance. Getting past the first few minutes may seem like a gruelling process—viewing stock footage of the 20^th century’s worst crimes against humanity—but the effort is well worth the while. The tired plot of young-couple-on-vacation is brightly revived by a middle-aged Spanish couple visiting an old island off the coast of Spain. Shot in Ciruelos, Granada, and the Balearic Islands (masking as Belvais and Almanzora), The Killer’s Playground is rich with culture. Trope would have it that Tom and Evelyn end up the only adults on an island sick with madness, but this madness presents itself in a particular and, for the times, rather unique manner: children are gathering together and killing all the adults. They are not an angry mob though; a little girl laughs whilst beating an old man to death with his own cane. These kids are having a good time at their new game.

Serrador’s direction is hardly subtle, for he quickly and clearly sets up a dichotomy between killing an adult—infected by humanity’s greed and capacity for evil—and killing an innocent child. For a child can be nothing but innocent, right? In contrast to Serrador’s fierce direction, the pace builds slowly and carefully. Aside from the opening title sequence, the action is akin to the first part of Rosemary’s Baby, complete with the light-hearted ambience. Nothing truly scary happens for the first forty minutes of The Killer’s Playground, yet the entire film seethes eeriness and atmosphere.

Lewis Fiander, as Tom, reminds one of Donald Sutherland circa Don’t Look Now. Sadly, while this appears too good to be true, Fiander manages to convey his emotions when it really counts. However, his pretty wife, Evelyn, pregnant with their third child, is excellently played by British actress Prunella Ransome. She carries the full weight and conviction of her character through this film’s toughest and strangest moments. And there are some downright creepy moments. The more you allow this film to envelop you, the more intensely you’ll experience its most horrifying scares; The Killer’s Playground is at once deliciously engaging and disturbing.

One of the details I enjoy most about foreign cinema from the 1970’s is that the composers know when to leave the film silent. Waldo de los Ríos’s understated score suits José Luis Alcaine’s photography, emptying the film aesthetically yet greatly enhancing the overall ghost-town-sense. Wandering through the beautiful village, Evelyn and Tom have far more architecture to study than people, slowly leading them to realize that although Almanzora is charming and attractive, it is also quite sinister.

Call me cold, but I find children inherently creepy, so this film has a one-up on me before it even gets going. Though the story may appear predictable, the final irony remains startling, unnerving, and relevant.

The Killer’s Playground @ IMDb

Ingmar Bergman’s Jungfrukällan (1960)

Jungfrukällan (1960)

A.K.A. The Virgin Spring

Dir. Ingmar Bergman; Starring Max von Sydow, Birgitta Valberg, Gunnel Lindblom

It is little wonder that Ingmar Bergman’s brilliant Jungfrukällan took best foreign language film at the 1961 Academy Awards; based on “Töre’s Daughter at Vänge,” a Swedish ballad from the 13^th century, the stark imagery and symbolism create a visually stunning, emotionally moving experience. Filmed in black and white, the cinematography stresses the conflicting spiritualities of medieval Sweden, from the pure white candles of Christian devotion to the dark hair and dress of the Norse god worshippers.

Jungfrukällan is an excellent introduction to Bergman’s work, for it is not as psychologically demanding as many of his other, later films. One of the few scripts he did not write, he instead employed Ulla Isaksson to adapt the simple ballad for the screen. The story follows a peasant family whose proud and beautiful daughter, Karin, is brutally raped and murdered by three herdsmen; seeking food and shelter, the men appeal to a farmer, unaware that he is Karin’s father, Töre. The herdsmen offer to trade Karin’s clothing for Töre’s hospitality and only then do the men discover each other’s identity. Violence controls the latter part of the film as Töre attempts to avenge his daughter’s life, but anger quickly turns to horror as he realizes that he too has become a vicious murderer. If one is familiar with the storyline, subtitles are not especially necessary to the strong imagery presented; in all languages we recognize grief. Bergman insists that the viewer both sympathize with and condemn Töre for his actions—we must feel and understand his anguish, yet at the same time require that he atone.

Though tame in the face of modern-day work, the film faced severe controversy and censorship due to its rape scene; as Bergman himself argues in a letter about his explicit filmmaking, “[i]t shows the crime in its naked atrocity, forcing us, in shocked desperation, to leave aesthetic enjoyment of a work of art for passionate involvement in a human drama of crime that breeds new crime, of guilt and grace.” He adds that in the search for truth, the viewer must “take part in the herdsmen’s crime, but we must also, in despair, witness the father’s evil deed” regardless of certain taboos. The restored version of Jungfrukällan, presented by The Criterion Collection, contains a booklet about the film, including essays, a translation of the original Swedish ballad, and Bergman’s letter in defence of his artistic vision.

Despite the heavy religious imagery and Töre’s plea for God’s forgiveness, it is insufficient to label Jungfrukällan as merely a religious film, as that narrows the scope of spirituality found in the story and its well-developed characters. Töre must ask for forgiveness not only from God, but from himself as well. Emphasizing the division between Paganism and Christianity in Sweden’s changing world, Bergman forces us to examine the human spirit and its capability for vengeance and compassion.

*          *          *

The Last House on the Left (1972), Wes Craven’s adaptation of Jungfrukällan, recoils from Bergman’s subtlety and delves head-first into horror with an exploitation film so shocking that the tagline reads: “To avoid fainting, keep repeating, ‘It’s only a movie… It’s only a movie…’.”

Updated to “present day” 1970’s, 17-year old Mari Collingwood is beautiful, charming, and sexually mature. It’s her birthday and she’s going to a rock concert with her bad-ass friend Phyllis Stone, but first the girls want to score some “good grass.” Unfortunately they ask the wrong people—recently escaped convicts—and are raped, tortured, and left to die. The convicts, needing food and shelter, appeal to a pleasant rural couple who just happen to be Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood. Cynthia Carr gives an especially gruelling and powerful performance as Mari’s anxious mother, desperate for retribution.

Some may question why this horror movie falls into the exploitation category; Craven exploits the contrast between hippie love and unmitigated violence, forcing the viewer to watch a scene that will have no happy ending and, at the same time, knowing that we won’t look away from what’s happening to these girls. Craven is exploiting his audience and our disturbed curiosity. We want just as much justice as Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood do, so our sympathies lie with their revenge, stepping back only after it’s too late.

Craven’s ending strays from the original, carrying less impact, for he does not use the same heavy symbolism that Bergman relishes. Additionally, some viewers, like myself, may find David A. Hess’s honky-tonk score too over the top; intended to sharply contrast the onscreen violence, the light-hearted music is often more distracting than effective. Like its predecessor, however, the final scene of Last House makes it difficult to determine exactly who we feel sorry for—and this vagueness is exactly what makes this film so important, paving the way for other ambiguous and open-ended films.

The Criterion Collection presents Jungfrukallan

The Last House on the Left on IMDb

August Underground and the Horror of Reality

The most deadly of all horrors is the horror within, not the horror that is unknown but the familiar, that which we recognize. And what is closer to us than our own bodies and the decay we witness in others and ourselves every day? Snuff films—or those cinematic experiments which purport to be snuff films—push the limits of what we will watch, what we choose to put our minds through as we see that decay amplified, exploited, and exhausted.

August Underground wants you to watch whatever the body will take—and we’re fascinated by the sickness, by the filmmakers, and by our own curiosity. Why are you turning away—and why are you not turning away? This is the closest we can get to death, that last great unknown, and we are reaching it through the body. Yet it is the body of another, turning us into voyeurs.

We live in a voyeuristic culture. Blogs, webcams, Twitter updates, FaceBook, MySpace—they turn us into peeping toms, and we get off on it, wanting more and basking in anonymity. Canadian writer Hal Niedzviecki calls it Peep Culture, as in, peeping into one another’s lives. August Underground’s handheld camera works on several levels: it creates the illusion that we are watching a private home video, something no one else was meant to see. This is exhilarating, to say the least, and also unnerving. The handheld also gives a very distinct point of view—specifically, one which the viewer can adopt. In the first of the AU trilogy we never see the “man behind the camera” and so we step into that anonymous role.

It is not merely the special effects which make AU films appear so genuine—though we must, in any discussion about snuff films, acknowledge the impressive effects: Toetag Pictures produces vividly lifelike severed limbs and bloody wounds, and it is partly the appearance of real violence done to the body which ensures the success of the films. It looks as real as we imagine death is. The other important part of the work, though, is the way it is done: the careful camera angles, the handheld shakiness. Many cinephiles argue that AU does not have good cinematography, that anyone can do what they do. The shots, however, are painstakingly thought out and edited, for proper blocking techniques with both bodies and objects are absolutely necessary to the effect; the result of what we do not see because of a carefully-placed killer’s back or because of the struggling “other hand” of the cameraman creates the illusion and sustains it.

Fred Vogel, the director, writer, and mastermind behind AU films, may balk at the suggestion of symbolism in his work, yet he deliberately includes short scenes where nothing violent happens, where we see the murderers carrying on their everyday lives. This heightens our sense that these are ordinary people who have daily routines and acquaintances. Amidst these scenes, character is developed and we are admitted into the true horror of the murderous deeds. In the first film, simply entitled August Underground (2001), the killer and his companion, the cameraman, visit a slaughterhouse and are given a quick tour by a friend. We see meat hooks and dead pigs and hear about the gutting process in unrestrained detail. Our expectations are high as we imagine what the slaughterhouse could be used for, but nothing gruesome happens. The cold, detached manner with which the scene plays out emphasizes the lack of humanity in the characters and the story. Another non-violent scene, similar in emotional starkness, demonstrates the killer’s power over the people he tortures; visiting “Little America,” a roadside attraction, the killer stands Godzilla-like over the tiny city, revealing how big he builds himself up to be, how much he loves to be in control.

Within minutes the second film in the trilogy, Mordum (2003), is harsher and more graphic than its predecessor as the killer and his buddies get bolder. The violence and the special effects are almost absurdly realistic; are we actually watching a guy cut off his own penis so that his girlfriend won’t get a knife shoved up her vagina? It is very easy to believe this is real, which is exactly what Vogel wants out of his audience: a belief in the horror he presents. Mordum has fewer symbolic scenes than the original AU, instead portraying unrelenting sadism and bloodshed for seventy-seven minutes—yet the final scene after the credits, the “epilogue,” if you will, serves as a sharp contrast to the brutality and the abnormality of the acts just witnessed. As the cat eats its freshly killed mouse, we see a natural murder within nature, as the food chain intends, which is a grim reminder that death surrounds us every day. By and large we don’t have a problem with the natural order in the food chain because it is about survival—but the cat plays with the dead mouse, as man has played with his victim. The difference remains that the cat eventually consumes the mouse for food, stressing the unnaturalness in the human murders.

The final instalment, Penance (2007), is probably the best-looking of trilogy; the quality of the picture is clearer, bringing out the fine details of the gore. The actors often place the camera on a steady surface, a welcome relief amidst the dizzying cinematography. Additionally, by using a still camera, action can take place slightly off-screen as the camera focuses on a wall, leaving the viewer to listen to vicious dialogue and use his or her own sick imagination. Penance reveals more character than the other films, exposing weakness as the killer states, “I don’t like myself” during an angry rant. We also witness, more than in the other films, the love/hate relationship between the killer and his girlfriend. Suddenly we are closer to the murderers because they are emotional and vulnerable, even if just for a moment.

The alligator and rat in Penance function similarly to the cat and mouse in Mordum, contrasting a kill for survival with a kill for perverse pleasure. Unlike the scene in Mordum though, we see the direct kill in the final film. Again, in comparison with the human murders, the animal chain of hierarchy seems tame and natural.

We must remember that these are works of fiction, for no “true” snuff film exists for universal entertainment; any such film would immediately be seized by authorities and destroyed. The question, then, remains: Why would anyone make a film like this? We must wonder why the filmmakers go to such extensive lengths with the special effects and cinematography, making the films look authentic, instead of creating a movie that is aesthetically pleasing and a plot with clearly developed characters—in short, how come Vogel and his crew don’t make a regular horror movie? It is the experience of the viewer, the manipulation of the audience, which makes the film a success, and this is accomplished through careful “bad” filmmaking, a home video gone horribly wrong.

These are not horror movies we can easily walk away from, like other films in the genre. Snuff films are too close for comfort. Whether it’s curiosity, research, entertainment, or otherwise, you have to really want to watch it to make it through one of these films. It does not make you brave, but it does take a certain amount of guts.

Look Ma, I’m a Vagrant!

I first hear about Vagrancy Films through my old roommate, who says, “They’re weird. Like you.” And so, my partner Thom and I attend our first show:

Andy Warhol’s Flesh for Frankenstein. January 18, 2008.

Not know there’s going to be costume contest that night, my zombie outfit fits right in. A strange man with flaming orange hair and pop-bottle glasses dances a hobo jig in the aisle. Someone yells, “VHS Trade!” and several guys start handing out old movies to random people. A slide show of vintage advertisements play on the screen while a crowd of 80 files into Rainbow Cinema’s biggest theatre.

James Bialkowski, head honcho at Vagrancy Films, is not what you’d expect. A giant man with crazy eyes and cartoon skeleton-patterned shoes, his deep voice welcomes the crowd through a megaphone and starts gathering contestants for best costume; first prize is $51. Cash. His creepy sidekicks, the Grim Brothers, begin verbally abusing us for not being rambunctious enough, and thus the heckling begins:

Watching a movie at Vagrancy is not simply about watching a movie. It’s about making fun of, reacting loudly to, and partaking in the experience as fully as possible. Throwing back to the golden age of Grindhouse, Vagrancy allows audience members to dress like Neon Maniacs, repeatedly yell “Fuck her in the spleen!”, or, as one man so chose, announce “All of you are sick, this is disgusting,” and storm out of the theatre. At Vagrancy there is something to offend everybody and that is why it’s so engaging.

I love James’s trailer reels; for me they’re the highlight of each show. Splicing old commercials, ads, and cartoons amongst original 35mm trailers, the ten-fifteen minute pre-show is unpredictably and creatively cut together. In the past year and a half, D and I have seen such previews as Sonny and Jed, They Call Her One Eye, The Black Cat, Telephon, Black Frankenstein, Tom Thumb, and Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS. During Flesh for Frankenstein, set in the charming countryside of old England, a subway train rips through the screen in a trailer for Der New York Ripper. My favourite promo, though, is The Exorcist seizure teaser trailer which premiered at Vagrancy’s Dirty Bird Pt. I in May 2007. One minute and forty seconds long, it consists of a demon’s face flashing in the darkness and is so terrifying that it was originally banned in some theatres.

Some pre-shows screen short films made by the Vagrants—promotional videos where they hunt for porn in the late Cinema City, a 3-year anniversary music video featuring Mr. Karaoke, and introductions to the feature presentation. After each trailer reel and before the main film, the ‘Restricted’ Vagrancy Cat runs across the screen; an old, animated ratings warning which portrays a blue cougar prancing through the vicious jungle, this is the Vagrancy mascot. He marks all merchandise, such as rare films and t-shirts, which are available during ticket sales.

James and his gang regularly hand out free posters and movies for answering film trivia, for being a newcomer to Vagrancy, or for no particular reason at all. They love introducing people to interesting and bizarre films from the horror, giallo, and exploitation genres. Upcoming shows include Wicked Wicked, Savage Streets, and the 4-year anniversary show in September.

Vagrancy@FaceBook

VagrancyFilms@MySpace

www.vagrancyfilms.com

Jess Franco’s “Mädchen im Nachtverkehr” (1976)

Mädchen im Nachtverkehr (1976)
A.K.A. Girls in the Night Traffic, Wilde Lust, Wild Desire
Dir. Jess Franco; Starring Kali Hansa, Diotta Fatou, Pilar Coll

Keeping in true Grindhouse tradition, Vagrancy Films offers a double feature from sexploitation master Jess Franco: Mädchen im Nachtverkehr, an X-Rated subtitled cut running just over an hour, and Wilde Lust, the 25-minute longer XXX German version. Mädchen im Nachtverkehr has better picture quality, but Wilde Lust definitely shows more, so Vagrancy kindly offers both in one package, courteously catering to their viewers. When the box art alone shows a bed full of naked ladies and some very sensual banana-eating, you know you’ve got a good deal.

We begin with said ladies who are actually high-class hookers, only it appears they have worn themselves out and are now resting; Franco opens with some bizarre music while the girls massage each other and discuss their clients. Using flashbacks amidst the slumber party, Franco wastes no time getting down to business; the women are beautiful, bushy pros who give their Johns exactly what they want, whether it’s plain ol’ missionary, role-playing as a corpse, or theatrical sex shows.

But when an erotic photographer turns out to be a kidnapping pimp, hijinks ensue. One of the hookers is taken to a Turkish brothel, where the workers appear far less interested in their jobs than the Swiss girls. Soon all of the friends are kidnapped and bored in the brothel, plotting revenge on their captor.

For the XXX cut, some die-hard fans might feel the need to brush up on their German, although the English subs are hilarious with such gems as “Willie is terrific” and “You have a plump bust.” Our opinion, however, is that the dialogue isn’t so important because Franco’s imagery is more than satisfactory for story-telling. The cinematography is very flowing and slow, giving the impression that we’re watching from a distance; though the actual cuts in the reel are sometimes jumpy, the lack of abrupt camera movement adds serenity to the experience.

Franco pumped out several exploitation and horror films a year and was already a veteran filmmaker by the time he made Mädchen im Nachtverkehr. With over 200 directorial credits to his name, the Franco legacy holds its own again the waxed and tanned hardcores of today; for a 1970’s porno, the women are actually real hotties. Music includes saloon-style ragtime, honky-tonk ditties, and horn-blowing.

No, really, there’s a saxaphone.

For sale from Vagrancy Films, $10.

www.vagrancyfilms.com

Jess Franco at Grindhouse Database

Ken Russell’s “The Devils” (1971)

Dir. Ken Russell; Starring Vanessa Redgrave, Oliver Reed, Dudley Sutton

Using Aldous Huxley’s The Devils of Loudun as his point of departure, Ken Russell gives a vivid and unsettling portrait of renaissance history: religious intolerance, repression, and corruption are at the heart of The Devils, an exotic film about the adulterous priest Urbain Grandier and his supposed possession of a local convent. Amidst the political turmoil of 17^th century France and Cardinal Richelieu’s desire for absolute power, Sister Jeanne of the Angels has become sexually obsessed with Grandier, and her sisters follow suit with mass hysteria; Grandier is charged with witchcraft and the nuns must be exorcized.

Forget Sean Penn. Forget Mickey Rourke. This is Ollie Reed in his greatest role, sweating and seducing and praying—and evoking the audience’s simultaneous empathy and disgust. His intensity never lets up for a moment, but then again, neither does Russell. Sister Jeanne’s wild dreams about Grandier are loaded with colour, biblical transgressions, and unsettling sexual imagery. Vanessa Redgrave’s Mother Superior will, in short, terrify and haunt you as few nuns can: be wary of her giggling piety.

Some may disagree with me, but I particularly like this depiction of the Loudun Possessions because Russell does not go over the top. Yes, the film is image upon image upon image, but he never decisively tells the audience how to feel about Grandier; Russell offers several options—admiration, sympathy, condemnation—yet leaves it to the viewer to decide. We are swayed from believing the heretical accusations to sensing it was a political ploy set up by Richelieu in order to desecrate Grandier’s reputation. After several screenings I still do not know, which is perhaps critical to the film’s beauty.

I have on good film-snob authority that Mark Kermode’s 2002 documentary Hell on Earth is “bloody brilliant.” Additionally, be sure that you see the uncensored print of The Devils with the infamous “Rape of Christ” scene. Controversy led to the film being re-rated, re-cut, and banned outright in many countries, and it is through Kermode’s perseverance that the deleted scene was recovered, although official copies of the film remain without it. But guess what, kids? Do you think Vagrancy would sell a censored version of one of the greatest films ever made? Certainly not.

Russell’s absurd portrayal of Louis XIII as a flaming homosexual provides some much-needed and well-placed comedy in an otherwise terrifying film about sexual and religious perversion. Although Russell has obviously taken some artistic liberties, the creepiest thing about The Devils is that it actually happened. Don’t heckle this one, you beer-guzzling buffoons; sit back in awe. One of the most disturbing films I have ever seen, my first viewing left me curled in a foetal position, horrified.

For sale from Vagrancy Films, $10.

www.vagrancyfilms.com

DIRTY BIRD 2: The Morning After

Those of you who were able to drag your drunken carcasses to “Dirty Bird 2” know that $10 is a steal. Last night Vagrancy upped the ante to a whole new level; this is the only place you are going to get over 65 splices of 35mm exploitation goodness, including but not limited to educational footage of incestuous Swedish siblings, cherry-popping of young wirgins, and “Jesus in some hairy guy’s taint” (if I’m quoting correctly).

The night started with two short films, “Blood Shed” (2008) and “The Dirty Bird” (2009). The first comes from the east coast and skilfully combines horror and comedy with its “nudity, profanity, graphic violence, drug use, mutilation, and fishing.” Jason Shipley’s 15-minute gore fest is both hilarious and disgusting, a sure sign it will go over well with vagrants. Well paced, clearly shot, and impressively edited, “Blood Shed” makes a sucker out of anyone who misses it.

As for the second short, I might be a bit biased, but it’s the new favourite in my house. Jake Grimbrother nods his twisted little head at Jess Franco with “The Dirty Bird,” meeting with screams of delight (mostly from Jerry) and excessive applause. Mix Hansel Hartleib’s startling score with Karate Pete’s killer moves, and you’ve got a great prequel to the infamous “Pussy Pound.”

Then the movie started. Or should I say, movies. Bilo’s selections for the night were seamlessly cut together by the Rainbow’s excellent projectionist. Beginning with mondo film “Sweden Heaven and Hell” (1968), it wasn’t long before the boobies were bouncing across the screen in Technicolor. I, for one, learned a heckuva lot about what to do if I’m a Swedish broad with urges of the dirty kind. Exploiting sex, alcohol, drugs, and children, we were then treated to parts of “The Sidewalk Cowboy” (1968).

Bilo’s trailers are rarely a let-down (I’m blocking out creepy Russ Tamblyn as Tom Thumb). On April 4th Vagrancy heads to Cleveland to screen “Anita: Swedish Nymphet” (1973) complete with Christina Lindberg in the flesh, so last night’s trailer reel included “They Call Her One Eye” (aka “Hookers Revenge” [1974]), “The Depraved” (1971), and “Maid in Sweden” (1971). We also got “The Photographer’s Models” (1974) and “Dagmar’s Hot Pants” (1971), plus some weird German soft-core. However, in my opinion, one of the best parts of the evening was the cartoon short: it featured Chilly Willy, who, by the way, is far cooler than that annoying woodpecker, though do not think for a second that I’m slandering the immortal and untouchable Woody. I love the juxtaposition of exploitation films with silly cartoons from my childhood. Delightfully inappropriate.

Finally, along with a special ladies night discount, we were able to purchase half-price pre-sale tickets for Vagrancy’s April 17th showing of “The Exorcist” (1973). Don’t miss the chance to see it, screening in the theatre for the first time in nearly ten years. And this is the uncut original, not the sissy version you’ll find on DVD. Advanced tickets go on sale March 24th at City Lights Books, Neon Crab Tattoo, and Grooves.

“Blood Shed” FaceBook Page

“The Exorcist” FaceBook Page

“Sweden Heaven and Hell” FaceBook Page

Vagrancy Films FaceBook Page

http://www.vagrancyfilms.com