Driving towards the Ohio border en route to Cinema Wasteland, the sky was an impossibly thick haze of impenetrable gray. The windshield wipers were bouncing back and forth at the kind of slow-and-steady place pace that could lull someone into a sort of rain-drizzled trance had they simply been sitting in the passenger seat letting their mind wander; thankfully, the spirited conversation between the four horror geeks therein was enough to fend off depressive memories of Frank Darabont’s “The Mist” as the car glided into the dreary flatlands of Ohio and towards the otherwise unremarkable town of Strongville - a small and inconspicuous suburb of Cleveland. Strongsville is a town whose sterile white heart is a two-level shopping mall that pumps the restorative blood of consumerism right back into the surrounding community. It’s not exactly the kind of place where one would expect to find one of the “leading movie and collectible conventions in the country,” but then again that’s all part of Cinema Wasteland’s charm: It’s a kind-of hidden refuge for the movie lovers who refuse to feel shame for their love of all things offensive and outrageous, a friendly gathering place for the folks who stubbornly resist the concept of the “Guilty Pleasure.”
 
The moment the hotel lobby doors hiss open and you first wade into that sea of black t-shirts, any sense of reality that existed when the wind was blowing on the back of your neck mere moments ago melts away to reveal a bizarre circus of morbid costumes, legendary cult celebrities, and more movie memorabilia than you can shake a severed limb at. Cinema Wasteland may not be the largest horror convention around, though it comes out on top in virtually all other aspects of comparison: The guests are phenomenal, the events are a blast, the screenings truly deliver, the sheer wealth of collectibles is genuinely dizzying, and the hotel lobby after midnight is truly a sight to behold.

Friday 4:35pm

Having just arrived at the Holiday Inn Select where Cinema Wasteland is being held, the first order of business was a simple challenge: Race through the dealer room and return to the front door with the most ridiculous (or coolest) item you can find within ten minutes. It wasn’t an easy task considering the sheer volume of movies, posters, t-shirts, zombie teddy bears, and other assorted oddities scattered through the main floor, and as I raced past Mink Stole, Tom Towles,Catriona MacColl, Dyanne Thorne, and Sid Haig I nearly melted into such a mess of quivering, star-struck gunk that I forgot my mission. Thankfully, on my way back to the door - still empty-handed and with only ninety-seconds to spare - I caught a glimpse of a no-budget shocker entitled Scrotal Vengeance and promptly made my purchase. It was a solid slice of cheesy sleaze, though my con-companions also had a strong showing with a copy of “Turkish I Spit on Your Grave,” a “Jaguar Lives!” poster, and a truly bad ass Christopher Lee patch.

Friday 6:00pm: Paura preview

My head was still spinning from the delights of the dealer’s room when it came time for the preview of “Paura,” the Lucio Fulci documentary by producer Mike Baronas. Whereas Mario Bava has Tim Lucas working diligently to keep his legacy alive, Fulci has Baronas. A humble and soft-spoken sort, Baronas was producing DVD supplements for companies like Media Blasters when he decided to write a book about the legendary Italian filmmaker. But when Baronas’ Fulci tome ultimately failed to materialize (at least as of this writing), the ambitious producer decided to focus his efforts on compiling the interviews he had conducted with many of the director’s contemporaries into a DVD centered around one question: “What is your fondest memory of Lucio Fulci?” According to Baronas it wasn’t an easy task either, as he and his producing partner Kit Gavin were frequently pointed down dead-end roads by jealous journalists while struggling to overcome a language barrier that may have dissuaded the less determined. Most disheartening of all, however, was the announcement that Baronas’ project had nearly been sidelined by none other than Fulci’s daughters Camilla and Antonella – who came up with a suspiciously similar project after being contacted by the resourceful biographer. Thankfully for every setback there seemed to be a decent leap forward, and with a little help from like-minded journalists like Stephen Thrower, Baronas and Gavin were able to assemble an impressive, heartfelt tribute to the man responsible for such genre classics as “The Beyond” and “The Gates of Hell.” Despite the fact that Fulci may not have been the most likable – or well-groomed - fellow according to the “Paura” highlights showcased by Baronas, it’s obvious that his contemporaries respected his artistry and creative vision a great deal.

Friday, 8:00pm: European Horror Panel with Catriona MacColl and Giovanni Lombardo Radice.

This was the event that the author was most looking forward to this oddball weekend - a rare opportunity to hear firsthand what it was like to work with some of the biggest names in Italian horror history from two of the actors that fans love best. Getting the discussion underway by asking the two actors about their initial impressions of Fulci, the moderators coaxed some pretty fascinating responses from their amicable guests. It had only been two hours since one of the interviewees on “Paura” had joked about Lucio Fulci’s notoriously awful personal hygiene by claiming that Fulci was frequently referred to by the nickname “Lucio Pulci” (”pulci” being Italian for “flea”), so it was amusing to hear that the usually unwashed director was actually well-dressed and on his best behavior during his initial meeting with MacColl – radiant in black at the evening’s proceedings. Radice’s observations seemed much more in keeping with common consensus regarding Fulci, as he recalled the director relentlessly berating his cast and crew before landing in front of Radice and gently asking how his day had been going. According to MacColl, Fulci didn’t suffer prima donnas lightly, and gleefully accepted every opportunity to take them down a peg or two. An interesting bit of trivia emerged when Radice admitted that he had beaten out Michele Soavi for the sidekick role in Ruggero Deodato’s “The House on the Edge of the Park,” though after a brief comment about all of the drugs and partying on that particular set things got fairly awkward when a rambling angel dust addict attempted to elicit rehab tips from the star. Later, Radice would go on to voice his distaste regarding both his character in Umberto Lenzi’s “Cannibal Ferox” and the film as a whole, colorfully musing, ” I didn’t know what to do with that fucking character, that guy was a piece of shit” before deriding the director for claiming to be “better than Capra” and the film as being both fascist and racist. MacColl too seemed to take issue with many of the movies she had appeared in, at one revealing that she visited a psychotherapist in an attempt to understand why she would agree to appear in such pictures. Surprisingly, MacColl would go on to rail against the effects of violent video games on impressionable children.

Radice’s favorite film that he appeared in from that era was Antonio Margheriti’s “Cannibal Apocalypse” due to its smart screenplay and carefully crafted allusions to the emerging AIDS epidemic, while MacColl’s was Fulci’s “The Beyond” for the film’s dreamlike atmosphere – a trait that she claims allows the viewer to read whatever they may into the proceedings. As she so poetically put it, “The point is not the object, but the eye watching that object.”

Friday, 9:00pm: Roy Frumkes introduces his new “ultimate edition” of “Document of the Dead.”

Frumkes seems like a hell of a nice guy, but I’ve seen the original “Document of the Dead,” and at the moment my gears were spinning much too watch a bunch of talking heads for ninety-plus minutes. I arrived late and left before the film started, thought it was interesting to hear some of Frumkes’ anecdotes regarding Wes Craven’s “Last House on the Left.” Back when the film was first released in 1972, Frumkes had written the director to express his appreciation for the controversial classic. Much to Frumkes’ surprise, a box arrived in the mail shortly thereafter containing all of the elements for Last House on the Left, along with a note from Craven that read, “If you like it so much, you can have it.” Years later, Frumkes would delve into his archives to discover that he was the proud owner of footage that most folks never even knew existed – including the film’s long-rumored sex scenes, which the producers had excised after deciding that Last House should be more a horror film than a sex-centric roughie. Those particular elements, only recently discovered after Frumkes thought he had unearthed everything he had, are apparently set to appear on a future DVD release of the film.

Friday, 11:30pm: Assault on Precinct 13 star Austin Stoker introduces a 16mm print of John Carpenter’s seminal siege-film classic.

Unfortunately the crowd was fairly sparse for this screening of the rugged, pan-and-scanned, pink-hued print of Carpenter’s influential action thriller, though a chance to see it in the company of star Stoker was a rare treat that the few who were present are sure to remember fondly. While it was obvious from the screaming bleeding through from the lobby there was much fun being had just a few feet away from our darkened screening room, the eager crowd was instantly transfixed from the first snares of the film’s distinct title theme (which was instantly and inexplicably dubbed “Cuban Sandwich” by the crew who couldn’t recall the actual title of the song – which, upon verification, was “Assault on Precinct 13 (Main Title).”) The movie itself may have looked like it was developed in a vat of Kool-Aid and later used to tow a boat to the beach, but damned if it wasn’t as entertaining as ever.

After the credits rolled, Stoker returned to charm his fans with a few anecdotes regarding the production: In addition to admitting that this was his personal favorite of all of his film roles, Stoker confirmed that a handful of actual gang members were employed as extras, and that he was unfortunately unable to appear in the 2005 remake due to the fact that the Canadian production had gone over its American quota. Before the projectionist rolled a killer collection of vintage trailers and cereal commercials, the owner of the print revealed that Carpenter had caught wind of the fact that this particular print was about to be screened and made a concerted effort to ensure that - due to the shape that the print was in - it never be screened for the public again.

Saturday, 10:00am:

The previous night, just as the dealer room doors were about to close, I had been drooling over a copy of Tim Lucas’ twelve-pound tome Mario Bava: All the Colors of the Dark; lamenting the fact that I was on a tight budget and wanted my daughter to receive a college education one day if she so desired. Just as I was about to walk away, the dealer mentioned that he could knock a tidy sum off of the asking price in order to move his only copy (chances are good the table would have collapsed if he had any more than one on display at a time, anyway). The moment the doors opened on Saturday morning, yours truly was the first in line - credit card in hand and eager to make the big purchase. Fortunately the book was still there, and well worth every penny. Thirty-one pages in to the stunning, 1125 page book, I’m still overwhelmed by the sheer volume of amazing photographs and loving attention to detail. Mr. Lucas really outdid himself on this one, and had I not been permanently banned from the Mobius Home Video Forums perhaps I’d convey this to him personally.

Saturday, 11:50am:

I’m still high from my big purchase when I walk by Mink Stole and accidentally make eye contact. As a lifelong John Waters fan I’m dying to tell her how much I lover her work, but I have a problem with dropping $20 for an autograph so I’m generally not one to approach the celebrity tables at these conventions. Still, I couldn’t resist after she flashed a warm smile, and I had to inquire about the possibility of Mondo Trasho ever being released to DVD. Unfortunately she doesn’t think that will ever happen due in large part to the music rights. Later, after relaying the fact that this was only her second convention appearance and that her first was a complete disaster, she asked if I wanted a signed photo.

Come on… could you resist this face?

 
Saturday, 2:30pm: The Ruins

After being in conventionland for the past twenty-four hours or so, it was time to head to the local megaplex to check out The Ruins. I was a big fan of the novel (what can I say, I’m a sucker for downers), and though the movie wasn’t anywhere near as hopeless and excruciating, it was just grim and gruesome enough to make me forget the wrist-slashing source material for ninety minutes or so. For my full review head over over here and click on the “Review” tab.

The rest of the day was largely spend ogling the various dealer tables and exercising as much restraint as humanly possible. As night fell over the Wasteland, the horror hounds came out in packs. The lobby after midnight is no place for the faint of heart, but for the real action you have to hang out with the smokers in front of the hotel. Thankfully the weather was accommodating, and when a bus pulled up carrying a crew of airline pilots and stewardesses, they received a hero’s welcome from a rowdy horde of black clad weirdos – poor bastards probably didn’t even know what hit ‘em, but they did seem to have a sense of humor about the whole thing and waved to the crowd like they were the guests of honor at a ticker tape parade.

Sunday, 11:00am

After an overpriced hotel restaurant breakfast it was time to hit the dealer room one last time before packing our bags and going home. “Cuban Sandwich” was still echoing through my brain as I walked past the autograph tables and locked eyes with Otis himself – Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer star Tom Towles. Still leery of autographs but unable to contain my glee over the fact that I was standing face to face with the man himself, I nodded my head, blurted out the first word that came to mind – “Genius” – and stood there like a brain-dead fanboy as he held out his hand and introduced himself (as if that was necessary). Ever the awkward one at the autograph tables, I shook his hand, hastily blurted out my name, and promptly disappeared into the crowd. What can I say, I didn’t have another $20 to drop for an autograph but I wouldn’t have had the willpower to say “no” had he asked.

In contrast to the rainy drive down to Ohio, we cruised back into Michigan under azure blue skies. Barely a cloud could be seen as we crossed the border, set the cruise control, and reflected on a weekend that was almost too weird for words. Should it be said that I’ve failed to capture the strangeness of Cinema Wasteland here, however, one can always experience it for oneself when the quiet town of Strongville – or at least the Holiday Inn Select – is once again overrun with the rowdy, horror-loving legions of the damned October 3rd, 4th, and 5th of 2008.