Out of more than 1000 films submitted to the Los Angeles International Short Film Festival in 2002, my film God Squad! was not only an official selection, it was chosen to open Program 18 in Theater 4 at the LA Film School.
That was the coveted opening slot before Bikini Bandits, a feature-length film with a dozen celebrity cameos that had been heavily advertised and promoted. It was guaranteed to draw the perfect “underground” crowd for my short.
Bikini Bandits was throwing money around the festival, giving out free booze, hosting parties, staging stunts with bikini-clad models, and playing the role of a big-shot sponsor of the festival. I couldn’t believe my luck. People had warned me about doing a “Devil movie,” saying they’re notoriously cursed, and that bad luck follows anyone who touches on the subject. But at the time, I was feeling anything but cursed.
My invited guests had all arrived for the official premiere of my film, and many of them had purchased tickets. As the crowd was preparing to enter the theater, the director of the cheesy sexploitation flick, Steve Grasse, suddenly showed up with Robert Arentz, the festival’s founder. They stood before the doors to announce that my film had been canceled.
I pushed my way through a growing mob scene and, as calmly as I could, asked Arentz, “What do you mean my film is canceled? All my friends and family are here. The cast and crew are here...”
As the crowd was preparing to enter the theater, the director of the cheesy sexploitation flick, Steve Grasse, suddenly showed up with Robert Arentz, the festival's founder. He stood before the doors to announce that my film had been canceled.
Grasse interrupted, “Who are you, exactly?” Arentz told him that I was the director of God Squad.
“Oh, hey man, how are you doing? I’ve heard good things about your film. I’m Steve,” he said, offering me a handshake.
I stared at his hand like it was covered in dog shit and then looked him square in the eye, “I asked a question, Steve, what do you mean my film was canceled?”
“We paid good money for all of this, as you can see,” he said. “We’ve spent thousands of dollars on advertising, we have celebrities and Hollywood bigwigs here waiting to see our film, and we’re not just going to share our screen with anyone, especially for free!”
Arentz backed him up and told me they could reschedule my film, maybe even show it later in the evening in a smaller theater.
I told him, “No fucking way, my film was selected to open for this stupid bikini girl movie, and it will screen today!”
Corey Feldman stepped up with his girlfriend in tow and gave me the stink eye, “Is there some sort of problem?” he asked. I gave him an even stinkier stink eye and said, “This is none of your business, Mouth.” I then pulled Arentz aside.
After making my case again, he told me that Grasse had threatened to withdraw as a sponsor and cancel the big after-hours party if he didn’t get his way. Negotiations were over. My film would not screen in the theater before Bikini Bandits.
The only way to fight money is to have more money, and I was broke. So, a compromise was reluctantly agreed to. The small theater directly adjacent to Theater 4 was open. They announced that my film would start in a few minutes and would play ahead of Bikini Bandits in a different theater.
Anticipation grew as the room filled to capacity. Dee Dee Ramone was there, Maynard James Keenan, MTV News, several Playboy centerfold models, and even Hank the Angry Drunken Dwarf from the Howard Stern Show. We settled in to watch my film. The lights lowered, and then nothing but static “snow” filled the screen. My goddamn master tape was blank.
I ran to find one of my producers and asked him for a backup tape. He said he hadn’t bothered to bring one because “you never need a backup tape.”
“I told you over and over again to bring two backup tapes. Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I should be thankful that I didn’t stroke out at that moment. It felt like my head was going to explode.
As the bewildered crowd filed out of the theater and the lights went dark, so did my spirit. I was humiliated beyond belief. My film never would have shown that night, even if everything had gone according to plan. It was an absolute catastrophe, and I looked like a fucking idiot.
Steve Grasse came over and handed me a bunch of passes to his big after-hours party, “Here, Jon, please be my guest tonight. Sorry about all that.” I thanked him and went outside for some fresh air.
I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate Bikini Bandits’ successful showing, but I needed a drink, and it was an open bar. I grabbed a few friends, and I joined the party. Before too long, I forgot all about being snubbed.
My film was rescheduled for the festival’s last day and squeezed into a screening with four other films. The theater was completely packed, even the standing-room areas. And as much as I had looked forward to showing my film to all the “cool kids” and impressing some B-movie fans, this mainstream crowd turned out to be the perfect one for my film filled with F-bombs and twisted dark humor—these people didn’t know what hit them.
Corey Feldman stepped up with his girlfriend in tow and gave me the stink eye, "Is there some sort of problem?" he asked. I gave him an even stinkier stink eye and said, "This is none of your business, Mouth."
I stood at the theater’s rear and watched them squirm uncomfortably in their seats. There were a few nervous laughs and gasps of shock, and soon, many were laughing at every joke, every twist. My film was pulling their strings, poking them with a stick, and pushing their buttons. I couldn’t have asked for a better crowd. It was beautiful.
At the end of the program, all directors were asked to come up on stage to discuss their films and answer questions. I wasn’t expecting it, but I stepped up gladly. I was seated on the far left of the other four. The contrast between myself and my fellow directors was as pronounced as our films had been. They were all dressed in suits with their hair done perfectly, sitting up straight in their fold-out “director chairs,” and there I was, a long-hair, wearing a 1970s powder blue leisure suit and a beat-up trucker hat, complete with a skull and crossbones on it, slinging low in my seat.
As the questioning moved right to left, I was uniquely positioned to deliver a punchline at the end of every round. I was still playing the audience, just as my film had, and it felt great.
Finally, they asked us directors what our plans were and what our next project would be. The other directors said the same thing: “I’m looking to make connections here in Hollywood, and I want to make a feature film.” Then it was my turn.
The Master of Ceremonies asked me, “What are your plans, and what is your next project, Jon Kinyon?”
“I’m hoping to start dating a bikini model, and I’m in the market for a 1960s muscle car,” I said. “My current project is a theater production called Waco the Musical, starring Johnny Depp as David Koresh and Sigourney Weaver as Janet Reno.”
That was an extremely risky joke at the time, and of course, it paid off in the night’s biggest laughs.
It was a true Hollywood ending.
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Wow!