Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Down
on his luck and financially strapped low budget horror filmmaker Mandalor is
the laughing stock of the film community. His films are terrible and the
contrived, poorly done gore-effects make them unintentional comedies of the
cinema.

When
he presents his latest effort to sleazy, exploitation film producer Gelstein of
Gorrific Pictures with the hopes of getting a distribution deal, he is laughed
out of the screening room.

The ever-determined Mandalor, along with his trusty hunch-backed
cinematographer Rodney, set out to do another horror film but during the course
of filming, as he tries in vain to direct an intoxicated and uncooperative
actress he accidentally kills her. Rodney captures the dastardly deed on camera
and Mandalor includes the graphic footage in his film and screens it to an
impressed and delighted Gelstein who offers him a multi-picture deal toPie or a bootlegged Donald, it might be an
attempt at a generic cartoon bird but, whatever, it is not a good attempt. He
finishes his Coke, head back, Adam’s apple prominent on his long throat that is
mottled by the heat and by the bothering ruff of nylon feathers. He drops the
can into a bin by Islington Green and continues his measured walk northward, a
huge string puppet loping up the Essex Road.

After
a while he turns into a strange, winding little park, narrow and punctuated by
man-made rock formations. In the quiet away from the main road he can hear
children’s voices and, as he reaches the gate of the park, he sees them, a
dozen little kids in an old-fashioned playground, a rare playground without
chipped tree bark on the ground or machines made