Firstly, continuing the ongoing saga of the company I work for and their relentlessly humourless policy on the Internet. The following arrived on my desk this morning

Please remember that it is a disciplinary offence to use cc:mail to send inappropriate mail. Due to a number of transgressions of this policy recently, outgoing as well as incoming mail is now being closely monitored especially those with attachments. You should not be using cc:mail/internetmail to send or receive bitmaps of your favourite scanned picture, or forward jokes on to friends. To do so is to breach company policy.

Yes, it is now apparently a breach of company policy to tell a joke. I don’t really think I need to say much more, except that my paranoia was exacerbated when the next piece turned up, just before home time that same day:

We have been informed that maintenance work on the Internet Mail Firewall will be performed this coming Saturday, August 1st. The work is planned to take 1 hour and will be performed between 09:00 and 10:00 BST. During this time no Internet mail will be processed. Mail items will be queued on both sides of the firewall and be transmitted once the service is restored. A member of the Messaging Products Team will be on site to ensure that the gateway is functioning following completion of this work. We apologise for any inconvenience that this may cause.

Coincidence? I think not — more likely to be another set of snooper programs going in there, to trap the evil wrong-doers who dare to rebel against the all-seeing powers of The Company. Still, nothing that can’t be bypassed in a million subtle ways — not least, by holding them up to ridicule here. Well, it makes me feel better about things, at least…

Onto lighter things. Specifically KILLING lighter things, and the joys of ‘Rocky Mountain Trophy Hunter’, a delightful little computer program picked up in Montreal during last month’s excursion. Part of a suite of programs that also includes the innocuous ‘Sporting Clays’, and the not-quite-so-innocuous ‘Deer Hunter’, this is the piece de resistance of the collection, allowing you to track down and shoot a wide variety of animals in the comfort of your own home, using anything from a bow and arrow up to a shotgun — sadly, flamethrowers and napalm are not available.

This ‘interactive big game hunting’ experience is wonderfully tacky. You must first select your equipment from a range of lures, calls, bait and other accessories, and are then taken to a map round which you must wander (in a virtual sense). When you find some tracks, you can switch to landscape mode, and pan round, looking for things to slaugh…hunt. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a deer, elk, or maybe even a bear wandering across the screen. Click a button and the cross-hairs come up, jiggling slightly to add that random factor. Wait as the animal drifts closer, unaware of the savage fate which awaits. Wait…and wait…and wait…and then, in most cases, watch the goddamn animal as it scampers away, spooked by your scent — or more likely, some random-number generator. Sigh manfully, and begin the process all over again.

Which is the other thing. It is also wonderfully addictive, in a deeply annoying sort of way, especially if, like me, you are more used to playing slaughterfests like ‘Doom’. It would undeniably be much easier if the animals were to steadily advance towards you in rows, a la Space Invaders — but they don’t in real life, and this game captures this spirit with (probably too much for my tastes) accuracy. So far, I have been as much threat to the local wildlife as Brigitte Bardot, save for one elk (I think — maybe it’s a deer — how do you tell these things apart, anyway?). This was gunned down in the back as it ran away, an unfortunate victim of a very lucky shot, fired more in aggravation than with any hope of hitting it. Still, they all look the same hanging on the wall of the trophy room. Oh, yes, the trophy room: this additionally tacky touch displays the heads of your three most recent kills, together with their size and the date/time. Luckily for me, it doesn’t describe the manner in which they were gunned down.

The label on the box informs me that the program rates a ‘3’ for violence from the RSAC, who presumably monitor such things, on the grounds that it “rewards injuring non-threatening creatures”. One wonders what it would take to get a ‘4’; presumably ‘Sim Death Camp’ might just. Of course, technically ‘Rocky Mountain’ rewards KILLING non-threatening creatures, though you can injure them — then you get to follow the blood trails in the direction the animal ran off. “Sometimes..the animal will recover and keep wandering”, says the manual, which is a nice, heartwarming, feelgood note on which to finish this review. ‘Rocky Mountain Trophy Hunter’ is, I guess, available from the usual PC outlets — or more likely, the usual extremely non-PC ones…

And, in a lame attempt to justify the heading of this editorial, I want to recommend the Shooting Star pub in Middlesex Street, near Liverpool St station. They have an endearing policy of scissoring off neck-ties deemed to be particularly offensive, and pinning them up on the wall along with the perpetrator’s business card. Suffice it to say that there is a little corner of the pub which will remain forever Trash City. Readers may care pop in and see if they can spot it…

That British culture is not really compatible with the great outdoors, is the inevitable result of a number of factors. For example, to get pavement cafes to work, you need…well, pavements. Unfortunately, most British pavements are somewhat unsuitable for sitting on, being about 18 inches wide, and thus not ideal locations for leisurely taking in the scenery. As Soho demonstrates, you inevitably spend the time being cursed by passing pedestrians who have to walk into the road to get round you, while you sip an exhaust-fume contaminated cappuccino.

So it is with the drive-in cinema, which singularly has never been a crucial element of growing-up in Britain, in the same way it was in America. The reason here is quite simple: weather. We have it, while the parts of America in which the drive-in flourished has CLIMATE. “We have two seasons”, says American ambassador Chris, “summer and waiting-for-summer” and there’s no denying that given this, open-air cinema has more inherent appeal than trying to peer through a steady drizzle towards a fog-bound screen.

However, Friday night demonstrated that, given the opportunity, there is no specific reason why it shouldn’t work, in the right circumstances, as a crowd estimated at 10,000 people thronged Battersea Park for ‘The Fifth Element’, part of the 1998 Stella Screen Tour. Two reasons for this popular appeal should be mentioned: a) it was a lovely evening for it, and b) it was free. The former have been notably in short supply this summer, and offering the latter was thus always likely to be a success.

I got there just after nine; housemates had arrived earlier, and established a bridge-head at the, er, walk-in cinema, spreading out a rug and marking territory. For the next hour, we were subjected to an annoying asshole DJ from Kiss FM, playing crap music and trying to whip up the crowd into an entirely unlikely state of frenzy. Sensibly 99% of the audience weren’t having anything to do with it, and the main result of his actions was to make the DJ character in ‘The Fifth Element’ eventually appear to be a sympathetic and restrained individual. He was, admittedly, not the only asshole there. In no specific order:

• assholes with laser pointers
• assholes who decided to bring their bikes with them. Through the crowd.
• assholes with inflatable sofas

The DJs other purpose appeared to be to remind us that the event had been brought to us by STELLA ARTOIS, and that STELLA ARTOIS were also selling us cans of STELLA ARTOIS for the very reasonable price of Ł1.50 per can of STELLA ARTOIS — available at the back, near the giant inflatable STELLA ARTOIS can. Now, I actually *like* Stel…the beer, but even I found this wearing, and neither am I stupid enough to pay 50% more than the price in my local off-licence. Fortunately, I’d been down the pub beforehand, and so was quite well enough lubricated, thank you.

Before the film we were even treated to the new St*ll* *rt**s TV advert. Er, except someone had forgotten to rewind it after the previous night’s screening, so we got the reverse version, before someone realised what was going on and pulled the plug, to much laughter from the viewing public. [They played it again after the film, but said public were too busy trying to make their way home to pay attention]

The movie started. Great picture, shit sound — it all appeared to be coming out of one speaker. However, it’s surprising what you can get used to, and after twenty or so minutes, you didn’t notice any more, and just kicked back in the ambience. Which was, it has to be said, remarkable to be part of possibly the biggest cinema audience ever in Britain, under a sky shading from pink to deep, dark blue. Concorde flew overhead, its bass roar adding to the low rumbling of the PA system. The odd star twinkled through the fluffy cloud cover overhead, lending the film a depth and sense of scale which was largely missing when seen indoors.

Bruce Willis was cool, Milla Jovovich was WAY cool, even Gary Oldman (in perhaps the silliest haircut of a career which has seen some stonkers) was cool. Just as food always tastes twice as good when eaten al fresco, I think films perhaps seem better when seen in the open air. This is especially true when they are grand cinematic follies like ‘The Fifth Element’, where the self-indulgences have room to breathe. As I write this, they are showing ‘Jurassic Park’, which would, I think, probably be similarly impressive.

The two hours flew by — or perhaps I was just distracted by trying to find a comfy position on the very hard turf. Ten thousand people stood up, stretched their legs as one, and tried to find taxis home. It was a grand experience, though it’s maybe not something I’d want to do all the time, because of the unreliable British weather. Still, maybe they could just work the program round it — but then, who’d REALLY care to see ‘Waterworld’ every Friday night?

That British culture is not really compatible with the great outdoors, is the inevitable result of a number of factors. For example, to get pavement cafes to work, you need…well, pavements. Unfortunately, most British pavements are somewhat unsuitable for sitting on, being about 18 inches wide, and thus not ideal locations for leisurely taking in the scenery. As Soho demonstrates, you inevitably spend the time being cursed by passing pedestrians who have to walk into the road to get round you, while you sip an exhaust-fume contaminated cappuccino.

So it is with the drive-in cinema, which singularly has never been a crucial element of growing-up in Britain, in the same way it was in America. The reason here is quite simple: weather. We have it, while the parts of America in which the drive-in flourished has climate. “We have two seasons”, says American ambassador Chris, “summer and waiting-for-summer” and there’s no denying that given this, open-air cinema has more inherent appeal than trying to peer through a steady drizzle towards a fog-bound screen.

However, Friday night demonstrated that, given the opportunity, there is no specific reason why it shouldn’t work, in the right circumstances, as a crowd estimated at 10,000 people thronged Battersea Park for The Fifth Element, part of the 1998 Stella Screen Tour. Two reasons for this popular appeal should be mentioned: a) it was a lovely evening for it, and b) it was free. The former have been notably in short supply this summer, and offering the latter was thus always likely to be a success.

I got there just after nine; housemates had arrived earlier, and established a bridge-head at the, er, walk-in cinema, spreading out a rug and marking territory. For the next hour, we were subjected to an annoying asshole DJ from Kiss FM, playing crap music and trying to whip up the crowd into an entirely unlikely state of frenzy. Sensibly 99% of the audience weren’t having anything to do with it, and the main result of his actions was to make the DJ character in The Fifth Element eventually appear to be a sympathetic and restrained individual. He was, admittedly, not the only asshole there. In no specific order:

• assholes with laser pointers
• assholes who decided to bring their bikes with them. Through the crowd.
• assholes with inflatable sofas

The DJs other purpose appeared to be to remind us that the event had been brought to us by STELLA ARTOIS, and that STELLA ARTOIS were also selling us cans of STELLA ARTOIS for the very reasonable price of £1.50 per can of STELLA ARTOIS — available at the back, near the giant inflatable STELLA ARTOIS can. Now, I actually *like* Stel…the beer, but even I found this wearing, and neither am I stupid enough to pay 50% more than the price in my local off-licence. Fortunately, I’d been down the pub beforehand, and so was quite well enough lubricated, thank you.

Before the film we were even treated to the new St*ll* *rt**s TV advert. Er, except someone had forgotten to rewind it after the previous night’s screening, so we got the reverse version, before someone realised what was going on and pulled the plug, to much laughter from the viewing public. [They played it again after the film, but said public were too busy trying to make their way home to pay attention]

The movie started. Great picture, shit sound — it all appeared to be coming out of one speaker. However, it’s surprising what you can get used to, and after twenty or so minutes, you didn’t notice any more, and just kicked back in the ambience. Which was, it has to be said, remarkable to be part of possibly the biggest cinema audience ever in Britain, under a sky shading from pink to deep, dark blue. Concorde flew overhead, its bass roar adding to the low rumbling of the PA system. The odd star twinkled through the fluffy cloud cover overhead, lending the film a depth and sense of scale which was largely missing when seen indoors.

Bruce Willis was cool, Milla Jovovich was WAY cool, even Gary Oldman (in perhaps the silliest haircut of a career which has seen some stonkers) was cool. Just as food always tastes twice as good when eaten al fresco, I think films perhaps seem better when seen in the open air. This is especially true when they are grand cinematic follies like The Fifth Element, where the self-indulgences have room to breathe. As I write this, they are showing Jurassic Park, which would, I think, probably be similarly impressive.

The two hours flew by — or perhaps I was just distracted by trying to find a comfy position on the very hard turf. Ten thousand people stood up, stretched their legs as one, and tried to find taxis home. It was a grand experience, though it’s maybe not something I’d want to do all the time, because of the unreliable British weather. Still, maybe they could just work the program round it — but then, who’d really care to see Waterworld every Friday night?

When nostalgic cult movie fans gather, talk sometimes turns to the golden age of British horror festivals: Shock Around the Clock, Splatterfest, Black Sunday. “Ah, those were the days”. However, anyone feeling overly nostalgic should head to Montreal, where Fant-Asia proves that the genre is not as dead as it might first seem. But you probably know this already, going by the orgy of coverage the 1997 festival got, which continues to this day in places like ‘The Dark Side’. So this piece will not be the last you’ll read about it. But it might be the FIRST, as the festival is still in full swing, having just completed the opening week.

Though I could only spend a few days there, I had a real blast, thanks largely to co-organiser Mitch Davis, whose knowledge of cult films is exceeded only by his enthusiasm for them. This is the man who, along with Karim Hussain, entered genre legend during the 1997 event, by acting out, to rapturous applause, an entire reel of Argento’s “Deep Red”, after it failed to turn up at the cinema. The man is a dude.

As the name suggests, the festival started off concentrating on Hong Kong and other Eastern delights, but the programming has now spread to cover every corner of the globe, and classics both past and future. This gives the lie to the much touted myth that there just isn’t the material out there to support such events any more: the organisers clearly aren’t making these films up as they go along. The main reaction on looking at the program is “Why can’t we have something like this?”

One thing that does help in Fant-Asia’s favour is having a venue like the Imperial cinema. Entering it is like a flashback to the glory days of the Scala: it has the same musty air, uncomfortable seats and sticky carpets, all that’s missing is the cat wandering round. Its location is rather better than London’s King Cross, being fifty yards off St. Catherine’s, which is the main street running through downtown Montreal, within easy reach of pretty much everything you could want.

And the audience is similar too, a mostly young, enthusiastic crowd who are more than willing to show their pleasure (or otherwise) at the product on offer: cheers, laughter and applause are the order of the day, regardless of whether its “appropriate” [at least one director has been freaked as his harrowing scene is greeted with whoops of delight]. But this is also an audience with respect, and the film-makers who turned up to say a word or two before the film were always heard in grateful silence.

The sheer eclecticism of the programming is a joy to behold. Japanese splatter rubs shoulders with sword-and-sandal epics, the only unifying theme seeming to be that one or other of the people involved in the festival cared enough about the film to get it to Montreal. The guest list is equally as impressive: Tsui Hark, Jim Van Bebber, William Lustig, Richard Stanley and Brian Yuzna.

Having to come back after the first few days, and miss out on so much cool stuff, was a deeply aggravating experience, and I’m vowing that next year, I’ll be back for longer. It’s going to be very interesting, in the light of my experiences in Montreal to attend the Fantasm festival at London’s National Film Theatre next weekend. Fant-asia proves that a genre event CAN work, and be a massive success, even in a comparatively small market like Montreal. Will Fantasm be as good? We shall see…

The following film reviews were based on just the first four days of Fantasia:

• Airbag
• The Black Sheep Affair
• The Blade
• Drive
• Gonin
• Hitman
• Kung Fu Cult Master

Check out the Fantasia site!