Random pix from the Random Lunacy experience

Charlie Smoke, our great host in Mobile, who introduced us to the brilliant Eugene Walter. (His gravesite below, right, with his eloquent epitaph.)

Charles Scavullo runs the Imperial...

...and is also a Rory Gallagher fan!

Hank Williams' grave

Stef w/ "Godfather of Soul"


In Mobile, gracious and historic lodging...........>

Who says barbecue is bad for you?

Montgomery, Alabama



4-H Clubbers enjoy the screening in Montgomery!

A rainy night in Georgia...

This image now appears often in our dreams...
in an endless loop.

Self -Portrait in men's room. Lousiville KY.





The memories will be enduring. We loved every minute of this tour. Thank you to Allen Bell and all our wonderful hosts.

Finally, our video finale.

Do Brad and Angelina travel this way?

THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED

As we began the final six-hour drive on the Tour, I reminded Vic of our first trip to the south over two decades ago. Way back then we’d decided we wanted to someday take an extensive journey through this history-steeped region, from the antebellum plantations, to the literary landmarks, to the bayou country. It was a dream deferred, but not anymore. And the icing on the cake – we were touring with our film, another dream deferred no longer.

Now, back in the corporate offices of Home Team Productions (tucked under the eaves in our attic, fondly known as the 7 ½ floor a la BEING JOHN MALKOVICH), letting reality back in a little at a time, regaining our equilibrium, the sense of jubilation and achievement grows deeper and sweeter. We feel blessed in a way mere words can’t begin to express. Jubilation – almost the same feeling you have after having a baby. We went the distance, and there were moments we didn’t think it would be possible.

As we left Mobile behind, covering ground, the road unraveling beneath and behind us like ribbon, we were quiet, contemplating where we’d been and what it all added up to. This had been our chance to travel as close to Poppa Neutrino style as we will ever have in our lives, and we knew it. I thought of Poppa’s notion of identifying and following your three deepest desires and choked up a little, knowing that at least two had just come true for us.

We drove on and on, passing through Mississippi and pushing on to Louisiana, trucker songs on the radio, mixed with a little Hank Williams and some gospel. The flat, boggy lowlands were dotted with vivid yellow wildflowers. I wondered why you never see hitchhikers anymore, and no sooner had the thought manifested than there he was, a young man with an old man’s face, sporting a straw porkpie hat and a shirt of Caribbean blue, holding a sign which read only “WACO.”

Hawks, which we’d seen in abundance the entire trip, were lazily wheeling and turning high above, looking endlessly for the next meal. (Kind of like us, we figured.) We hit Baton Rouge and turned north, stopping for lunch in a roadside Cajun joint, deep in the heart of the bayou country, Zydeco music cranking from speakers on the porch of the clapboard building which had once seen better days. The very menu lets you know that you’re not in Kansas anymore: frog eggs, frog legs, alligator, crawfish tails, and everything fried but the gumbo. Vic was considering having a ‘gator burger but feared an upset stomach for the Q&A, so we went with the less adventuresome choice of fried chicken with rice and beans. Back on the road, at length we saw the road sign: “Alexandria – 39 Miles.” It was then that it hit us – this was it. The last screening of the Tour.

Alexandria is a quiet town, and when we’d finished our traditional getting lost routine, we got ourselves to the venue, the Coughlin-Saunders Performing Arts Center. Impressive doesn’t begin to describe this 615-seat house, only four years old. Our host had told us that there was concern about the turnout – there was a barbecue festival in town for the weekend, with bands, including Blues Traveler, a huge draw in the area. To our happy surprise, we had a very respectable turnout, and once again, a great response and Q&A.

Later, we went back to the restaurant where we’d dined earlier – it had been the best meal yet, and my glass of wine had been divine, so it seemed a good idea to toast the occasion with a nightcap. The Diamond Grill had once been a fine jewelry store, complete with a vault, and the young manager and adorable bartender filled us in on the backstory of this beautiful old building, built in the twenties. As we chatted, I caught a glimpse of movement overhead from the corner of my eye. I glanced up. There was a dome above, with what I first took to be a mirror embracing its lower perimeter. Was that a reflection, or was somebody walking up there? It was just a split second’s look, and I registered only the lower portion of somebody’s legs. Maybe there was another dining room upstairs? Never mind. The conversation was interesting and I was sampling a Peter Lehman “Clancy’s” Shiraz/Cab/Merlot from Australia that was blowing my mind.

And I almost spit that nectar out when the bartender told us that the building was haunted. She offered to show us around upstairs, and recalled for us the time she and a friend were closing the restaurant, turned out all the lights, locked things up tight, left the building, crossed the street – and turned around to see every light on the third floor ablaze. That’s when the goose bumps popped on arms and neck, and there they were to remain for some time. One of the gentlemen who had been involved in the conversation got ‘em too – but “maybe it’s just cool in here,” he said. We both knew differently.

The resident apparition’s name is Stella, Brittany the bartender told us as we moved up to the empty third floor. Sometimes they use the rooms for private parties, but it’s very, very empty tonight, shrouded in shadow in spite of the overhead lights. The occasional mirror we passed spooked me badly. I kept thinking of those disembodied legs I’d seen, and surely didn’t want to spot something – or someone – in one of those dark corners, reflected behind me in the glass. “Stella” had been a lonely office worker, a maiden lady tucked unhappily away keeping the books, longing for love and never finding it. No one seems to remember what she’d looked like, back when the wealthy of Alexandria were purchasing baubles for their ladies in the best jewelry store around. No one remembers what became of her – perhaps she just continued gray and faceless, keeping her ledgers until her ultimate un-remarked demise.

The next morning we awoke, happy to know that there was a simple ten-minute drive to the airport. We hang a right out of the parking lot, a right at the Mobil station, and another right at the four way stop. And we would be there! Not so fast – that last look at the pretty countryside was woefully extended as we managed to get lost one last time. Somehow, as we always do, shamefaced and with our tails between our legs, we moped back to civilization and the airport, and boarded the plane hoping dearly that the pilot had a better sense of direction.

DON'T LOOK IN THE ATTIC

In Mobile, Alabama, Vic posed the question: "Is it me, or are some of the most interesting people in these Southern towns six feet under?" We were standing at the foot of the grave of Eugene Walter, one of the South's finest writers. He is resting here in a quiet cemetery, amongst a host of souls lost to a Yellow Fever epidemic. The kindly Charlie Smoke, of the Mobile Arts Council, gave us a capsule biography of this prolific and eccentric artist. In addition to his prose and poetry, Walter had roles in over 100 movies, including playing the part of a journalist in Fellini's 8 1/2. He had also appeared many times in cheap Italian horror films such as IN THE BELLY OF THE BLACK TARANTULA. This was our kind of guy, and his life story probably rivaled the tales he was inspired to tell. The words inscribed on his tombstone tell you everything you need to know: "When all else fails, throw a party."

The home of the Mobile Arts Council is itself an inspiring place. It functions as a gallery, among other things. A collection by the gifted photographer David Trimmier captured the haunted/haunting spirit of the gothic South. Mesmerizing and unforgettable images. Then there were the student pieces -- what a great way to give a nod toward the young artists in this genteel town, and to encourage the artists of tomorrow.

Having enjoyed our fill of food for the soul, it was time for more temporal nourishment -- the southern barbecue we'd been looking forward to since learning we were to join the Southern Circuit Tour. We were reminded of shooting a profile for Bravo on the esteemed Robert Duvall back in 2001, in which we'd included a scene about one of the actor/director's greatest passions. James Earl Jones, an interviewee for the film, had told us about being on location with Duvall and being hauled off to every good barbecue joint in the area, just so he could discover the joys of the slow-cooked meat. So we set out for the Brick Pit, the place recommended by cousin Bill back in Montgomery. Thanks, Bill! After a heaping platter of pulled pork washed down by sweet tea, we hitched up our bellies and headed off to our night's accommodations.

We were stunned (in a most agreeable way) when we arrived. The place could have been on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens. The ivy-covered Federal style twin buildings are connected by a walled garden courtyard, complete with a gurgling fountain. Exquisitely appointed within, it echoes the sensibility of the owner, whose atelier on the ground floor produces the finest haute couture.

It's been our experience in the south that our favorite places to stay seem to come with, um, otherworldly company, and this was no different. After exploring some of the city we returned to find on the heretofore pristine kitchen counter a mysterious old-fashioned skeleton key and a small, talismanic object -- a little silver bell-like thing with a slender bar through the top. Maybe it was a can opener or something, but we don't think so. No indeedy. Clearly, it was some kind of magick that had conjured these inexplicable manifestations. If you've been following our travels here, and have made note of NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET, SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE, and IN THE BELLY OF THE TARANTULA, you may deduce that we have been schooled. We saw this movie, and no way were either of us going to be dumb enough to pick up that beckoning key and bell (??), nor were we born yesterday re pulling open the attic door which fairly pulsated at us from the bedroom ceiling. No how, no way -- we know where these dangerous impulses lead.

We turned firmly on our heels and headed back to the leafy streets in search of further libation. A chance encounter on Dauphin Street resulted in our sharing a delightful oyster dinner with a very bright and ambitious young man, the son of one of the owners of the local minor league team. Sharing tales of the bush leagues with him gave us the peculiar and vertiginous feeling of having come full circle somehow; our first sources of inspiration came from the minor leagues, resulting in the documentaries CHASING A DREAM, which starred Cy Young Award winner Mark Davis, among others, and DIAMOND HEARTS, about the "Clown Prince of Baseball," Max Patkin (who was later to appear in BULL DURHAM), and Joe Buzas, a man who once owned all of the Boston Red Sox farm teams.

We thoroughly enjoyed our second day off on the Tour in this swiftly revitalizing city. The following evening we had a fine meal with the affable Tom, who heads the film program at one of the local colleges. He'd studied at NYU in the seventies, and we reminisced about the film scene back in the day, when hookers and pimps lined the gritty streets of the Forty Deuce, and grindhouse was king.

We were sorry to leave our beautiful digs the following day (skeleton key and talisman notwithstanding) and sorrier still to say farewell to our new friend, Charlie Smoke, who presented us with a delightful gift bag consisting of original recordings of Eugene Walter reading his work, as well as a CD featuring Irish music, which he knew that we love. These were to make our long, long drive to our next stop, Alexandria, LA, seem to go much more quickly!

STATUES AND MEDALS

Montgomery, Alabama. We'd tell you what day it was, but at this point we have lost all track of time as we knew it. All we know is that it was still daylight when we found ourselves in the lobby of the Capri Theatre, being greeted by our host, Martin. In short order he shared with us his own filmmaking background, including his foray into LA's feature film business. It only took this intuitive character six months to glean that Hollywood was not for him. He still managed to aquire some pretty lasting memories, however. His journey found him working for the legendary Roger Corman. His job on one low-budget classic, SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE, was to do the foleys, which means to create and edit sound effects for the film. He proudly gave us the recipe for the drill kill sound effect. It was something to do with placing a grapefruit in a blender, followed by pressing a two by four through the fruit and into the whirring blade. Apparently, the splintered wood and pulp made for a bone-chilling noise. It is no doubt that SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE's success was due to Martin's artisanal skills. You bet we tucked that tip away for future use -- you never know. Vic had in fact, early on in his career, worked on such drive-in classics as WOMEN IN CELL BLOCK SEVEN and THE BODYGUARD, with Sonny Chiba. Those works linger in his psyche -- I am still awakened in the night sometimes by his tossing, turning, and power-kicking, as his dreams are haunted by the Kung-Fu yelps and screams in his head.


Luckily for us, we arrived in Montgomery just in time for a whirlwind quickie of a tour. Martin entertained us with his wry sense of humor as we drove to our first stop, Hank Williams' grave. It appears that the intersection between music and film is not only something that's prevalent in our work, but has become a theme of this tour. The sun was shining and the birds singing sweetly in the wisteria scented air as we examined the box of Korean Twinkies some previous mourner had laid at the foot of the headstone. This made for an interesting sight, placed as it was next to the intricately carved white stone cowboy hat.


We then proceeded to the state government buildings, all very impressive, with the grassy grounds studded with statues of Alabama notables such as politicians, war heroes, and the piece de resistance, The Father of Modern Gynecology, J. Marion Sims.


Next to the Capri Theatre was a Mexican cantina, where inside we were re-united with Vic's cousin Yvonne, whom we'd not seen since her wedding thirty years ago. Her amiable husband, Bill, who reminded us of Albert Brooks, seems the perfect match for Yvonne, and they seem as in love with each other today as they did at their nuptials. Yankee transplants, they've made a wonderful life for themselves in the South.


Post-screening, we were greeted by an exuberant crowd. The 4-H Club had two busloads of high-school kids in attendance, and to our delight, they were enormously energized by watching RANDOM LUNACY. The Q&A went like gangbusters. Sometimes one kid would jump in to answer another's question. We're talking life and philosophy here. To know that we created something that touches people of all ages and provokes thought and passionate discussion is gratifying beyond words. We were also presented with a medal by the 4-H Club as the Alabama chapter celebrates 100 years.


In the morning, prior to our hitting the road again, Bill phoned us with a recommendation for some good barbecue in Mobile. We were locked and loaded for our next stop.

SMELLS LIKE INDIE SPIRIT

Columbia, SC. We arrived at the Nickelodeon, a funky little art house right in the heart of downtown. Larry and Andy, who run the operation, are true cinephiles. Their office (or perhaps more accurately, their lair) is in the basement of the theatre. Movie posters are plastered everywhere, even on the ceiling. We have a lot in common -- our office (or perhaps more accurately, our lair) is tucked under the eaves in our likewise dark attic, and we too plaster posters on the ceiling.

Larry and Andy are dedicated to bringing the ultimate indie experience to the Nick. And, they also bring a wealth of knowledge to the community; both teach film at the local university. Before long they were showing us a hilariously ironic trailer promoting their film festival, INDIE GRITS. The fest is known for its celebration of filmmakers who have a tie to the south. This prompted a lively discussion about film festivals in general, leading Vic to regale us with his perhaps all too vivid memories of the 2007 Portland Underground Film Festival, where RANDOM LUNACY was the Opening Night Selection. It was the next night, however, that Vic will never forget. A line of hippies, freaks and degenerates wound around the block and then some. As they waited to enter the theatre they were entertained by an oversized bicycle pulling a bed on wheels, upon which writhed a man and a woman simulating sex.

Inside the theatre, Vic was treated to a stage full of people stripping totally naked and dancing to the thump of house music before the curtain rose on that night's feature, BIKE PORN. The title says it all. Andy was properly shocked upon hearing about these outrages, but nonetheless, hearing that the crowd was SRO and hanging from the rafters, he thought it might not be a bad idea to reach out to Columbia's bike community and sponsor a race. A key to surviving both as an indie theatre owner and as an indie filmmaker is to be as creative as possible in trying to generate an audience. Andy is also currently working on an idea which would be a sort of open mic night for local filmmakers, who would be given an opportunity to screen ten minutes of their work one night a month at the Nick. The respect that Larry and Andy have for filmmakers leaves us no doubt that their INDIE GRITS FILM FESTIVAL is a very supportive and nurturing atmosphere for filmmakers to be a part of.

Larry took us to what would be the Nick's new location a few blocks away, a once grand old theatre that would require at least a year of renovation to be restored. But it's a huge space, and their new office would have the bonus of windows. It was a museum-like experience seeing the popcorn machine from the 30's, patiently waiting to pop again for patrons in a new century. Vic's grandfather owned movie theatres, so merely walking into an old projection booth is virtually a religious experience for him.

This was not our first trip to Columbia, and in the small world department, Larry actually knew the woman whom we'd fondly remembered all these years as Isabel The Filmmaker; we'd had lunch with her on our first trip to the south thirty years ago. It was then that Larry noted that we appeared decades older than most of the other filmmakers on the Southern Circuit. With that, Vic assured Larry that when the trip began a week and a half earlier, his now silvery head of hair had been a youthful brown. Truth is, our motto is, "They'd have to kill us to stop us."

SONG OF THE SOUTH

It was a rainy night in Georgia, rendering the streets of Augusta quiet and misty. We pulled up to the Imperial Theatre and a sense of pride overwhelmed us. This historic cinema, in a nod toward modernity, was displaying an electronic crawl across its marquee -- "RANDOM LUNACY Tonight!"

A gracious couple, exuding Southern gentility at its best, were the first patrons to arrive. They shared some of Augusta's stories. Another old theatre just across the street had premiered THE THREE FACES OF EVE. More imortantly to us, the Imperial had once found Charlie Chaplin himself selling war bonds from its very stage.

Our host, Charles Scavullo, added the footnote that none other than Frank Sinatra had graced this theatre as well. We felt that Poppa Neutrino was in pretty good company!

We enjoyed a decent turnout for a rainy Sunday night. Once again a lively Q&A, complete with the usual fireworks from an audience member who took exception to Poppa's free-wheeling life; she particularly didn't like the fact that he was uninsured. Later we learned that she sold insurance for that company with the quacking duck (Afleck?)

Afterwards, Charles brought us to his office, where he surprised us by pulling out of a desk drawer an old Rory Gallagher LP. WOW! Having familiarized himself with our bios, he knew that we'd made a film, SONGS & STORIES, about the legendary Irish blues guitarist. Like so many other Rory fans, Charles wanted to share his memories of the electrifying performer who'd put Ireland on the rock and roll map. Ironically, Charles had caught a Rory performance at New York's famed Bottom Line, many years prior to when we would storm that venue with our cameras and guerrilla crew to capture the tribute concert celebrating one of rock's great heroes.

Therefore it was only fitting that before we left town the next morning, we stopped in the center of town to snap pics of ourselves alongside a statue of the godfather of Soul, Mr. James Brown, who himself was a local Augusta legend.

ROAD WARRIORS (Road Worriers)

We left our lovely accommodations at Western Carolina University in Cullowhee -- amazingly, we had a charming four bedroom cottage to ourselves, a place we felt we could live happily in ever after. But duty called, and the next venue lay five hours down the road in one of our favorite cities in the world, Charleston, SC. By now, we were working on honing our road skills, trying to find other things to do while driving besides yelling and screaming at each other. So, we replaced those behaviors with singing badly at the top of our lungs. We also had a LOT of time to think, so we came up with a name for ourselves if we were an indie rock band -- and "SCHMUCK" was born. But we needed an opening act, and that was easy: "THE LOST MORONS," an outfit which would open for SCHMUCK. We would be both bands, and hope that nobody noticed.

We resumed our real identities as we rolled into our beloved Charleston, where we were quartered in the heart of the historic district, in a mansion on the campus of the College of Charleston. Another good screening at the Halsey Institute of Contemporary Art; another good crowd, gratifying since there were numerous other cultural events happening that evening in the same beautiful building, chock full of art.

The highlight was spending time with the charming curator, Mark Sloan, who is a kindred spirit, and as we were to learn, a man who has made a career of nurturing unknown, eccentric, and exceptional artists. He gifted us with two of his wonderful books. This is a man so committed to beauty and excellence that he had only just returned from Iceland, having met there with what he considered to be the best printer for his next book project. In all our time in the film business we have never encountered anyone who has come up with so many inspiring subjects that would lend themselves to making great films. One of our new goals is to produce something with Mark in the near future, and also move to Charleston. The city is seductive beyond description, even though the weather was uncharacteristically cold and gray. Nevertheless, our first "rest" day consisted of walking the pretty streets of Charleston for hours and hours, feeding our spirits, delighting our eyes and hearts.

RUNNING DOWN A DREAM (I Wanna Be Sedated)

Sitting in a great breakfast spot in one of our favorite cities in the world -- Charleston, SC. It's a great way to begin our first day off, as we have a joyous history in Charleston. The tour has been an insane whirlwind, so to sit with our coffee and blog is a welcome respite.

The first three days of the tour found us on six different airplanes, logging an extraordinary amount of terminal time. We longed for the bright southern sunshine we saw streaming through the terminal windows -- a tease indeed, as we'd come from eighty degree weather in Jackson MS and Jacksonville, FLA. (Oh, the feeling of deplaning in those towns, YEAH!! THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT! THEY CALL IT ENDLESS SUMMER, BABY!)

We were looking forward to our first roadtrip and just getting in a car and taking a look at the country. The itinerary called for us to drive from Louisville KY to Western Carolina University in Cullowhee NC. Mapquest had the drive logged at six hours straight up.

As we made our way out of town, the vista opened to what we'd imagined we would find in KY -- broad pastures, emerald grass, and yes, it did have a tinge of blue. But not a horse to be seen! It took hours, but when we finally spotted them, it was magic. For Stef, that is; Vic had already given way to exhaustion and was in deep slumber behind the wheel, adjusting his small pillow against the window from time to time.

But the horses-! Deep sable against that grass, those impossibly slender legs, almost slow mo as they moved, seeming to float like something in a dream.

On and on we drove, the miles unfurling behind us, and miles to go before we slept. Or screened, for that matter. Perhaps naively, we imagined ourselves arriving well before screening time, slouched in Adirondack chairs, legs stretched out to catch the rays (we really, really should have known better -- it had turned sharply cold in Louisville.)

Vic continued to drive in a zombie like state, as KY gave way to TN. In the distance now, the mountains were visible. As we neared the North Carolina border they came into focus, the craggy, looming hills sere and brown against the bluish peaks beyond. Evergreens were distinct on the hills among the deciduous tree yet to unfurl their leaves, like an unfinished painting.

We were nearing our destination, well behind schedule, and breathed mutual sighs of relief when we reached our exit, only to find that the mapquest directions we were given seemed to break down and disintegrate. We stopped in a convenience store for assistance and were given directions which took us back the way we had come, deep into the wilderness, farther and farther into the hills, a whitewater river running far below in a ravine, huge trucks passing us with a roar. And NO. PLACE. TO. TURN. AROUND. We were in Deliverance country, and fancied we could hear banjo pickin' as we remembered the curious stares of the local folk in the convenience store way back yonder. Or -- wait. WAS that curiosity? Hmmmmmm. (Later, our host was to say that back in the woods there if you hear banjo music you should head in the opposite direction. But then, we'd already done that.)

OK, we will 'fess up -- a touch of panic was ensuing as screening time was approaching rapidly. The sun was going down, and this was quickly beginning to morph into the plot of a horror movie. After some perspire-y calls to our contact at the college, we somehow managed to stumble back into civilization and onto -- whoa! -- a beautiful, modern college campus, nestled sweetly in those Carolina hills. We had been on the road a rugged nine hours.

The campus buzzed with vibrancy -- at the venue we screened at, there were young people bustling hither and yon, exuding creativity. Across from where we were screening there was an ongoing Battle of the Bands and music filled the halls. Sounded pretty damn good, too!

Luckily there were enough film buffs to fill the screening room, and the post screening Q&A was as lively as the ones which preceded it.

Remnants of that horror movie were still to linger however. As the lights went up, an old colleague of Vic's materialized like an apparition from thirty years ago. No, he was real, and he had started the University's film program when he split the Hollywood scene four years ago. Jack Sholder had gone from working on docs (that's where Vic met him in '78) to directing such classics as NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET II and THE HIDDEN. This blast from the past rejuvenated a half dead Vic, and we all then repaired to a right fine Mexican chowdown and a couple beers in a local eatery. We knew then that there would be a tomorrow.

These city kids are pretty impressed

We wish we could spend more time in Louisville. As we blog this we are in the Galt House Hotel, twelve stories above a sweeping river view. We felt the vibe of this town as soon as we drove in. History, art, culture, and character galore. Horses too, or at least portraits and statues of them!

The Kentucky Center for the Performing Arts is a magnificent venue, architecturally impressive, and a grand -- in every sense of the word -- place to screen.

After the screening, our gracious hosts took us to a bar/restaurant/art gallery which rivals anything in Soho or Chelsea. At that point we were definitely considering a move to Louisville, but we were pressed for time in terms of looking for a permanent place to live, since we have a six hour drive ahead of us for the next screening in western NC!

VVRRROOOOOOOM!

NOT SO TECHNICAL AFTER ALL

We landed in Jackson, Missisippi and were immediately immersed in the sweet summer air. Eighty one degrees and coming from a raw New York March, it sure felt good. But as is our wont, not three minutes from the airport we were lost. We flagged down a postal carrier who was a Mississippi sweetheart, and he set us straight in no time at all. A little gospel music on the car radio and voila! We were one with the American south!

In short order we were meeting our gracious hosts, Melissa Leo and Melissa Kelly of Millsaps College, and two of their young students, Sarah and Rachel, for dinner at their invitation. Vic, assuming we'd be having barbecue (with confident anticipation) was surprised -- turns out it was Middle Eastern cuisine, in a large, comfortable room complete with overhead fans and a wraparound porch. The food was great!

On to the screening on the bucolic Millsaps campus. It was a great crowd. Interestingly, they were mostly psych majors -- both Melissa's are psych profs, and felt that RANDOM LUNACY would be a good exercise for the students to examine behavior and try to assess what is "crazy?" Poppa Neutrino did not disappoint. The Q&A was lively and it was clear that thought was provoked -- concensus was that yeah, Poppa Neutrino is one complex character.

We write this from the hotel computer, badly pressed for time to get to the airport, as our best laid plans have been laid waste. Within a half hour of being in Jackson, Vic dropped the digital still camera into a full bathtub, rendering it unusable (we hope temporarily.) You will note there are no pictures with this blog.

Then, last night Vic proceeded to push every button he could find on his laptop -- the laptop has now gone from wireless to useless.

All that said -- we are having a great time; the screening last night in Jacksonville was wonderful. The crowd was very diverse, ranging from very young (a kid of about nine or ten) to not so young. They also responded thoughtfully and enthusiastically.

Now -- off to Louisville.

Southern Circuit Welcomes Victor Zimet, Stephanie Silber and "Random Lunacy: Videos from the Road Less Traveled"

Southern Arts Federation welcomes Victor Zimet and Stephanie Silber with their film, "Random Lunacy: Videos from the Road Less Traveled," to the 2008-2009 Southern Circuit Tour of Independent Filmmakers beginning Monday, March 9, at Millsaps College in Jackson, Mississippi, and concluding on Friday, March 20, at the Arts Council of Central Louisiana in Alexandria, Louisiana. Along the way, the film will also screen in Jacksonville, FL, Louisville, KY, Cullowhee, NC, Charleston, SC, Augusta, GA, Columbia, SC, Montgomery, AL, and Mobile, AL.

More about Victor Zimet, Stephanie Silber, "Random Lunacy" and the tour schedule

Web site for "Random Lunacy"

Audio interview with Victor Zimet and Stephanie Silber

Southern Circuit MySpace Page

RANDOM LUNACY GEARS UP TO HIT ROAD

It's five days prior to departure for the Southern Tour, and the run-up has been hectic. Podcasts! Live radio chat! Buying new techie toys to ensure that we can capture the adventure, from a new laptop, to a digital still camera, and the piece de resistance, the $150 flip camera to record video! We are particularly looking forward to capturing audience reactions post-screenings on that baby.

It initially struck us as ironic that we have garnered these goodies when one of the themes that RANDOM LUNACY touches on is the question of possessions. What are our needs vs. our wants? Our primary subject, Poppa Neutrino, chose to give up pretty much all that is material to live the life that suited him best; an ability to wake up every day and invent his life as he goes along. We can't all live like Poppa Neutrino -- but it begs the question. What has real meaning, real value, in this short time we're given on earth?

But while the acquisition of these new possessions at first seemed a bit at odds with the Neutrino philosophy, once we thought things through, we realized that these are tools of creation, much as Poppa's ever present video camera was as he recorded his adventures, footage we were lucky to have to cobble together our film. Now, in the coming weeks, we look forward to cobbling together our own adventure, Neutrino style.

Vic and Stef