Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Meka Nism's debut music video for 'Bring the Sun Back' from the EP, 'The Dance at the End of the World'- available on iTunes- http://tinyurl.com/nujyyag
CD Baby- http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/mekanism2
Official Website- http://www.meka-nism.com
Copyright © 2013 All of the Above Entertainment, LLC
All Rights Reserved
Directed by: Vincent Demarco
Produced by: Dark Elf Films / DeMarco Films
Producers: Valensky Sylvain, Robert Keller, Vincent DeMarco, Manuel Cortinas, Jeremy Wood, Sam Sylvain
Edited by: Lorena Abreu
Video Special Effects by: David Coalter
Makeup and Special Effects by Miss Williams' Blood & Gore Boutique, Inc.
Heather Williams - Makeup design, makeup artist, and special effects
T-Bone - Assistant makeup artist, assistant special effects
Melissa Feyereisen - Assistant makeup artist
Tracy Purple - Assistant makeup artist
Megan Hogarth - Assistant to makeup and effects department
Director of Photography & Camera A - Navid Namazi
Gaffer & Camera B - Manuel Cortinas
Camera C - Joey Garcia
Production Designer - Chrissy Rosatone
Production Coordinator - Angie Allison
PA's - Belen McCormick, Jarred
Bobby "The Ripper"
Reed "Freedom" Tyack
Dancers & Audience:
Hai "Dizzykid" Duong
Sushi Girl Review by Frank Tobin aka Cluster Duck
About 3 years ago I saw a trailer for a movie. I had no idea what the
plot was, who wrote it, or who directed it. It sorta just coalesced
out of the indie film ether. A patchwork amalgamation of niche genres
and indie tropes. It mesmerized me...
The song is perfect. The visuals are strikingly grind-house. The girl
is exquisite... and, wait, was that... Luke Fucking Skywalker?! And
Candyman? And Machete? Dwayne Hicks?! What is this nerdgasm,
physically manifested on my video-sharing website of choice? It
appears to ape, at least in spirit, Reservoir Dogs, and 70's
exploitation flicks, and the kind of gritty crime dramas made
mainstream by the likes of Tarantino himself.
Must. Watch. Now.
Fast forward ahead 3 years... A lot of shit happened, horrible movie
schlock was watched, and... that one cool looking indie grind-house
flick, what was it called, fuck, Fish Lady? Salmon Female? Erin
Well whatever it was called, I completely forgot about it. Shit, it
took them a dog's age, it seems, to even get a limited release. So I
After the movie was filmed, the director Kern Saxton and his
production crew raised the money for a premiere on Kickstarter.
And was met with mixed reviews. But, seeing as I consider myself, at
least, a tourist in genre subversive independent film peeping, I
decided to finally give it a whirl.
How bad could it really be? Well... I was underwhelmed, to say the
least. It's hardly a cinematic abortion *cough, all Adam Sandler
films, cough* but the overly derivative nature of the narrative kept
it from reaching god-tier.
Let me explain; as is the case with any film, there's a right way, and
a wrong way to tell a story. And any story can be interesting, it just
boils down to execution. In the case of SUSHI GIRL (finally remembered
the damn name), the lurid, seductive, visually entrancing, memorable
opening pulls you in better than any indie flick I've seen in a while.
I mean, it's got Sonny Chiba chopping up raw fish and placing it on a
chart-topping unknown sex-exuding vixen (READ: the actual sushi girl).
The perfect curves of her naked flesh laying on a table, centered
amidst a Japanese themed hole-in-the-wall (which Mark Hamill's
character, Crow, sarcastically points out is more Ming Dynasty in its
design), effectively sets the mood for what's to come. It's a
fantastic opening sequence... but then the characters start talking.
Tarantino perfected gangster speak in Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction
in such a fashion that, even though his characters are vile, mostly
immoral, scumbags, you actually enjoy hearing their diatribes. It's
one of the highlights of his films. Here, it just plays like a
hackneyed imitation, devoid of any genuine thought or cleverness.
Clunky is a good word for it.
Continuing with that theme, as the plot chugs along, and you start to
understand why these characters are meeting in a dive, partaking of
the delicious spread, you realize what you're in for... Now, if I
weren't dead inside already, I'd call the torture scenes graphic,
gory, and ultimately unnerving. But alas, my imagination, and ability
to suspend my disbelief, is so shot to shit that nothing grosses me
out or unsettles me (unless I'm looking in a mirror... GET A TAN, FOR
FUCK SAKE). Horror movies bore me, unless they're hilariously gory.
Torture porn is a big yawn. But thankfully the story is written in a
way that, as you piece together where it's all going, the twist ending
actually slaps you in the genitals. You forgot about the bad jokes,
and forced genre dialogue. It was so memorable and out of left field,
I honestly want to watch it again.
Great music, pointless, albeit appropriate, cameos by horror and
grind-house regulars, excellent cinematography, subpar performances,
with a few bright-spots here and there, and an unexpected twist, Fish
Lady (pretty sure that's what it was called) was a surprising treat
that unfortunately wasn't necessarily worth how long I waited to see
it. But then again, that was my own dumbass fault. I recommend it.
Now if I could only eat some SUSHI off a beautiful GIRL...
Friday, June 14, 2013
Zero Dark Cinema and Dark Elf Films presents
Soul Switch "Saving Me" Music Video
Starring: Tom Huestis, Cameron Gagne, Ali Roberts, and Soul Switch
Directed by Adam Arnali: www.zerodarkcinema.com
Produced by: Valensky Sylvain - www.darkelffilms.com
Associate Producer: Kevin Welch
Director of Photography: Brandt Hackney
Production Designer: Elyssa Bloom
Make up & Hair: Whitney Costner and Rachel King
Grip & Electric: Navid John Namazi & Samuel Fontanez
PA's: Amanda Blake Sutter & Emile Gerne
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Monday, February 11, 2013
Dark Elf Films/August Moon/Demarco Films Production presents…“Justice”
A NON-PAID UNION/NON-UNION CASTING CALL
1) John - early 50s, male, gruff, bald, beard, race undetermined.
2) Heidi - early 20s, female, needs tremendous emotional range.
3) Beckley - 30s, male, Spanish, Euro trash, slick backed hair.
4) Bartender - 20s, male, Mohawk, skinny, multiple piercings, cocksure.
5) Two Bricks - 20s/30s, male, physically fit, able to take a punch and give one out, bouncers.
6) Young Heidi - 10 years old.
7) Heidi's Mother - 30s, female, needs to be okay with rape scene.
8) Extras - male, female, socialites, bar sluts, druggies, trashy VIP lounge dwellers.
Feb 17th, 2013. 12 pm to 5 pm
End of February
4401 S Orange Ave
Orlando, Fl 32806
Please send head shot and resume:
Please include role and film that you are auditioning for in the subject
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Dark Elf Films & Detour Entertainment Presents
Cinematic Haiku Hard Malice
A day in the life of two seemingly harmless video game nerds and their take on how the gaming industry has influenced society.
Directed by Chris Greene
Written by Frank Tobin
A Cluster Duck Article
I’m a simple man; I enjoy playing video games (AKA getting verbally accosted by racist twelve year old suburban brats), procrastinating to do important things, going out of my way to limit my physical activity, stuffing my face with saturated fats and carcinogen-filled Twinkies (rest in peace, you little delicious cylinders of impending obesity and eventual death). Ya know, true red-blooded American type stuff.
So imagine my delayed surprise after the words “yeah, that’s sounds fun” escaped my lips in response to being asked to run (that’s right, I said run, as in walking so fast you’re not walking anymore) in a 5K; an obstacle littered, volunteer-zombie chasing, pretend you’re in a post-apocalyptic backwater barren wasteland (or Clermont, for short), no hope for survival unless you can outrun your attackers, three mile hike. Kill me. Please.
Now, you may be saying to yourself “wow what a lazy jerk it’s just a three mile run who cares I do that stuff all the time it’s called being active and exercising.” To which I reply, “I hate run-on sentences.” And also, I’M A SLOBBINGLY INEFFECTIVE TROGLODYTE. I’m not built for this, at all.
These events are reserved for young athletic rapscallions, active runners, and people who actually walk down their driveways to check the mail. In other words, everything I stand fundamentally opposed to.
But it was done. I’d sealed my fate. In six months, I was to take part in the “outdoor experience” with other people; living, breathing, socially adept and physically trained, human beings. Excuse me; got vomit in my throat.
What was I to do? I couldn’t back out of my obligation; my word is as good as the paper it’s printed on; which isn’t worth much, but I was trying to turn that around. Can’t be a crass, cynical, lazy prick my whole life… or can I?
The decision was made, pretty early on, that I was to (gulp) get in… shape. Which, a decade and a half ago, wouldn’t have been a problem. I mean, there was a time when playing marathon games of basketball was the dominant time-suck in my day, and the sun and I were on speaking terms. A rambunctious little blur of twitchy energy would have been an apt description of me. Hell, I even had calf muscles (aw yeah, ladies). But those days died off faster than a [insert appropriate analogy here… I suck at these].
Fast-forward five and a half months: I’ve been jogging, doing jumping-jacks, eating “healthy” (READ: fast food two nights a week instead of five), and just making an effort to power through the burning lungs and wet noodle legs from my body’s stubborn insistence to convince me that this was the worst idea in the long, sad history of bad ideas. It didn’t matter, though; I was going to throw a 12-inch knife into this 5K’s sternum and quip “stick around”, Dutch-style (uncomfortable knee pat to anyone who gets that reference).
The actual event itself was a mix between outdoor concert festival and Ninja Warrior tournament. They had it all; live music, fried foods, scantily clad middle-aged men, and the kitchen sink! It was sort of infectious. The enthusiasm, the energy from a throng of younglings with their whole lives ahead of them, older folks with an ironclad grasp on their health, was starting to inspire me.
My inner pep talk was the stuff of legends: “Now it’s time to see if you have the heart. Now is the time to prove to yourself and to everyone out there that even though you are woefully out-of-shape, you are somebody. You are worthy of something… Are you ready to go out there and take what’s yours? What you’ve worked hard for? (Well actually, I didn’t work THAT hard.) Are you ready to accept the challenge?” And yes, before you ask, I ripped that off from Dwayne Johnson’s seminal classic, Gridiron Gang. But nevertheless, I was pumped, primed and ready to… puke, apparently (pro-tip: Don’t eat greasy food before exercising).
I kid you not, a half mile in (a three mile hike, a three hour tour [couldn’t resist]) I hit the wall; in the worst way. Ya see, the way everything is set up, you have obstacles (mud pits, freezing cold water you have to wade through under ACTUAL barbed wire, low voltage fencing, climbable walls, and did I mention a kitchen sink at one point above?) and freaking-frocking zombies trying to steal your flags! I had waking nightmares of being harassed by the bigger kids during middle school bouts of “kill the man with the ball” except this time I had three flags (which represented my health bar) and I didn’t cry (much).
Remember when kids liked Physical Education?
I was out for the count; expended what little lung capacity I had from my years of smoking on the first leg of the first mile by sprinting, and expertly dodging (I juked a few undead out of their socks, literally) every zombie I passed. I had to take a knee. My head was swirling, my legs wobbly, my chest tight…
Then it happened, after what seemed like a lifetime, through the muddy slog, the blood, sweat, tears and low voltage shock treatment, the obstacles, and embarrassment from losing my cool so early in the race, I crossed the finish line. Even though I lost all my flags, even though I was physically, mentally, emotionally, metaphysically, philosophically, ethologically (you get the point) EXHAUSTED, I’d finished; completed an event meant to promote physical wellness and fun through outdoor activity.
And I had a load of fun doing it. The event was executed without a hitch. The volunteers were friendly and hysterical (a particularly whimsical “fairy” zombie actually muttered to her fellow undead “aw, let him pass, he only has one flag.” YAY FOR ZOMBIE PITY). Come next year, after I pretend to get in shape, I’ll be doing it again, make no mistake.
After struggling to finish, I received a medal, took in a show, relaxed, and that night asked myself just one question: “How freaking badass am I”?
Answer: I ran a two and a half hour 5K, so not that badass. Figures.