Slam in the Sun
MIFF gets MUFFed — Again

Who murdered whom is a question only a pervert would pervert to his own nefarious ends.

By John Hood

Any film fest worth its weight in power and prestige spins off an antagonist. Sundance did it in Park City with Slamdance, and Miami International has done it here with Miami Underground.

Created just last year by Rafael Diaz Wagner to put forth an ultra-indie agenda, the Miami Underground Film Festival has already tripled in size, Diaz Wagner says. Whether the increase can be attributed to the visibility brought about by MIFF, the need for more forums for film or the gusto of Diaz Wagner, is a guess best left to the guessers. We’re thinkin’ it’s a bit of all three, and then some.

MUFF opens tonight at the Miami Beach Cinematheque (512 Española Way), continues Friday with a fistful of shorts preceding Mark Hammond’s dispeaceful Johnny Was and closes Monday with Joe Ostrica’s scary-cool The Horror Convention Massacre. Here are a few highlights:

Who Killed the White Llama? (¿Quién mató a la llamita blanca?): Fronted by a pair of rascally robbers nicknamed Los Tortolitos (the Turtledoves) who are hired to run drugs by a blond gringo named El Negro, Rodrigo Bellott’s Bolivian farce is as fierce as it is absurd. It is also smart and, by necessity, political, with a subtext of smirk and smile. Produced by renegade Donald K. Ranvaud, who counts The Constant Gardener and Farewell My Concubine among his many achievements, in conjunction with the Cochabamban film school La Fábrica, this late add to MUFF’s slate has just been adjudged the most successful film in Bolivian history.

Johnny Was: Whatever Johnny Doyle was, at least it’s well behind him. Or so he thinks, till his hell-bent former mentor Flynn makes his way outta the joint and into his not very safe house. Sandwiched between a Rasta pirate radio station and a crack-dealing West Indian Yardie would be enough to unnerve even the nerviest of thugs; to be so stymied while scheming to bomb away the peace process might sever all nerve completely. Add a spree-starting love triangle and you’ve got a rapid-fire flick worthy of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Guns of Brixton.

Pervert!: Things aren’t hunky-dory at the remote canyon ranch where James has decided to spend his summer. There’s the erotic, the erratic and the twisted. Then too there are the dead. Who murdered whom is a question only a pervert would pervert to his own nefarious ends; it also happens to be the kinda question it’ll take a pervert to answer. Jonathan Yudis’ flick is the sorta campy obscene fun for which midnight showings were made.

Plagues and Pleasure on the Salton Sea: That barren slab of soaked sand 227 feet below sea level and smack in the middle of the Southern California desert wasn’t always so barren, or so kooky. Created by an accidental overflowing of the Colorado River and shepherded into “Riviera” status during the ’50s, the once teeming inland ocean is fading at a fast clip. Still a huddle of oddballs hunkers on, determined to save the sea even Sonny Bono thought worth saving. Narrated by John Waters with music by Friends of Dean Martinez, this is about as American as America gets away with getting.

Phone Sex: If you ever wondered how folks such as Margaret Cho and Ron Jeremy would answer the question “What is sexy?” then Steve Balderson’s foray is right down your curious alley. Coming off like Karen Finley’s idea of Nam June Paik reporting for Kinsey, the many-media doc and drama might be amiss if it weren’t so damn entertaining.

A full schedule can be had here: www.miamiundergroundff.com.   Call 305-673-4567. Comments? E-mail letters@miamisunpost.com.