"The Oregonian," by Calvin Lee Reeder Refusing to slot comfortably into any recognizable genre, "The Oregonian" teases us with horror and amnesia-mystery conventions without sealing the deal either way. From a commercial standpoint this is more than a little risky, encouraging nonplused critics to dust off the "experimental" tag that sends most moviegoers running for the hills. Yet this first feature from Calvin Lee Reeder (who also wrote the story, such as it is) doesn't feel like an experiment; it feels like a journey whose destination was firmly predetermined. Which doesn't mean that it's in any way comprehensible, so let your brain off the hook and surrender to a sensual experience that's the opposite of ingratiating. From the moment our unnamed heroine (Lindsay Pulsipher) awakens in a wrecked car on a deserted country road, we are plunged inside her head: a jangled soundscape of twanging guitars and partly tuned radio stations, heavy breathing and desperate screams. Bloodied and bedeviled by random flashes of white light, the young woman staggers off in search of help, her progress marked by increasingly odd encounters: a crone flashing a dead smile; a weirdo wearing a green plushy costume. Is she a victim of concussion? Or just too many Luis Buñuel movies? Creepy, silly, startling, irritating, and black-vomit-and-multicolored-urine disgusting, "The Oregonian" wears out its welcome within 30 minutes. Yet the film's casual embrace of dream logic - a visual loop of prone bodies and trashed station wagons - and impressive sound design linger. I sure hope that fuzzy green monster doesn't do the same.