FILMPHLEGM™: Brand Upon The Brain! Live in Chicago

Saturday night it was off to the Music Box for one of the live performances of the new Guy Maddin film Brand Upon The Brain!, a silent movie with a soundtrack by live musicians, foley artists, a Canadian castrano, and narrator (or "interlocutor" for all you fact-checking academics out there) Crispin Glover. It was sold out, which meant having to stand in line even though we already had will call tickets, so one of us had to stand in line to get the will call tickets while the other one stood in the long line to get in, because once you got your will call tickets they wouldn't just let you into the theater, you had to then go stand in the same line as everybody who was buying tickets at the door -- because the will call ticket person was (I guess) physically unable to rip your ticket in half. Genius!

Once we were in the theater we were treated to a dazzling array of characters who were there to see the performance. First there was The Neck Massage Couple sitting a few rows in front of us; the man in the couple had his arm up on the seats invading the personal space of the people behind him, and was violently massaging the neck of his ladyfriend who sat quietly while receiving a very public rolfing. Directly in front of us sat The Hot And Cold Germans, a couple with thick German accents who alternately told people the seats next to them were being saved or not being saved depending upon whether or not they liked the cut of the enquirer's jib. Crispin GloverLover was a young man of about 21 years of age who was obviously there because he eats, sleeps and breathes Crispin Hellion Glover's particular brand of affected weirdness. Rocking small round wireframed glasses, long hair greased back into an oily mullet and "if this were the 80s I'd really be into Adam Ant instead of just occasionally noticing him on VH1 Classic" dandy clothes, he went to great pains to make eye contact with everyone within twenty feet of him in order to more effectively announce to the world "I am unique because I enjoy Crispin Glover's eccentricity more than you do!" Then there was The Unpleasant Old Woman In Sweat Pants whose frantic, overly-pushy cries of "Are these seats open?" prompted several responses of "Not for YOU!" in my brain. And although I could go on and on, finally Exasperated Middle-Aged Hands On Hips Man wore a black short-sleeved collared shirt tucked into his pleated black slacks, sighed and put his hands on his hips every time he was made to stand up to let other people enter or exit the row he was sitting in.

Any goodwill I had built up during the film (which was good, but not as good as The Saddest Music In The World) was instantly shattered when, as the performers were taking their bows, Crispin Glover chose to crassly scream over the warm accolades of the audience, "I'll be back in November with my own movie!" before rushing off to the autograph table to make his cab fare back to the hotel by autographing Crispin GloverLover's frilly shirt.