Magic Mountaineering
A guerrilla filmmaker takes a bite out of Hollywood's amusements in Reflections of Evil

By Cheryl Eddy

IF HOLLYWOOD WAS behind a title like Reflections of Evil, you'd be looking at either a horror flick about a haunted mirror or yet another Lifetime thriller about a woman in peril. Fortunately, this particular Reflections of Evil comes to "Other Cinema" at Artists' Television Access directly from the mind of crazed maybe-genius Damon Packard. The result is a Los Angeles-set nightmare that grinds through and then regurgitates – like a broken garbage disposal, which may or may not be one of the sounds reproduced on the film's jarring soundtrack – the concept of "movie magic," both in form and content.

To summarize this 118-minute epic is nearly impossible. Mostly, Evil follows the uneventful adventures of morbidly obese watch peddler Bob (played by Packard), who shambles around downtown L.A. alternately avoiding and engaging in the current of anger bubbling just below the surface of everyone he encounters. (The film's most-repeated line, by Bob and all others, is "I'll fucking kill you!") Violent arguments and fistfights, bloody puking, and furiously barking dogs are recurring motifs. Bob's a perpetual pedestrian in a car-happy city, and his only human contact comes from the homeless men who hover threateningly at every turn (Packard has admitted that most of Evil's street scenes are staged, but his "actors" are thoroughly authentic) – and from his grandmother, whose sole purpose seems to be to nag Bob about his spectacular junk-food habit. A surreal meal at Canter's Deli culminates with Bob cramming his maw with a half sandwich while Grandma opines, "Maybe going to jail would help.... You'd lose weight!"

Bob's pathetic existence is further troubled by three things: the memory of his sister Julie, who overdosed in the 1970s after a trip to Universal Studios and a subsequent encounter with the Golden Guru (complete with extended drug freak-out scene); the ever hovering Los Angeles Police Department; and, conveniently mirroring one of Packard's own admitted obsessions, Steven Spielberg. At least a third of Evil takes place in flashback, as Julie and a younger Bob and Grandma ride the tram tour at Universal. The visually dense Evil further cements the nostalgia vibe by splicing in old television clips (Wonder Bread ads, The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau, promos for Love American Style), Carpenters videos, and other Me Decade detritus.

The Spielberg fascination surfaces at various points throughout the film, most amusingly when Julie stumbles across the young director (portrayed spot-on by Dean Spunt) as he ineptly supervises Something Evil. But he's everywhere: on Grandma's television, guiding a grown-up Bob (on a return trip to Universal) through the E.T. Adventure, and ghoulishly providing a conduit to purgatory via Schindler's List: The Ride. And in case you were wondering: yes, Packard did film a good portion of Evil – as inconspicuously as he could, considering his cast includes a ghostly girl in a nightgown and a 400-pound sugar addict – at Universal, as well as at Magic Mountain. And no, park security at either place was not amused. The adjective "guerrilla-style" finds new meaning with Packard, who was banned for life from Universal for his enthusiastic pursuit of shooting on location.

As it turns out, Universal isn't the only showbiz entity that's royally pissed off at Packard. The filmmaker's unusual distribution scheme, launched in 2002, involved blanketing L.A. with more than 29,000 Reflections of Evil DVDs, surreptitiously leaving them around UCLA's film school, atop ATM machines in Malibu, on car windshields, and so on. Most notably, Packard went on a mass-mailing binge after obtaining hundreds of private celebrity addresses; his Web site, www.reflectionsofevil.com, gleefully documents the responses: outrage, accusations of stalking, confusion, and scattered words of encouragement.

Much to Packard's annoyance, though, his bid for attention was largely ignored; in an interview with Australian horror zine Crimson Celluloid, he marvels at the "brain-dead" response from the audience he targeted with such determination. Indeed, after watching Evil, one might be less than tempted to contact its creator – especially if one were a movie star. Not only is it an indictment of cookie-cutter megaplex cinema, but it's also a truly disturbing, relentless assault on the gag reflex, the part of your brain that wonders, "What the fuck?," and the ears, thanks to an overdubbed sound mix filled with growls and screeches straight out of The Exorcist. Also, Evil is way, way too long and so repetitious that it becomes excessively tedious at times.

Despite all this, and fortunately for Packard, Evil has cultivated something of a following – though not, as he'd apparently hoped, in Spielberg's crowd – as experimental, hard-to-watch insanity does have its place. Evil picked up the "Most Groundbreaking" prize at the 2003 FantAsia film festival (beating out no less than Takashi Miike's Ichi the Killer). The enigmatic Packard appears in person this weekend at Evil's screening; in addition to the feature, he's bringing a collection of shorts (including his most recent work, the George Lucas-spearing "Untitled Star Wars Mockumentary"), behind-the-scenes tales of amusement park terror, and, hopefully, news of more psychotic, panic-inducing cinematic weirdness to come.

'Reflections of Evil,' with shorts and director Damon Packard in person, plays as part of "Other Cinema," Sat/21, 8:30 p.m., Artists' Television Access, 992 Valencia, S.F. $5. (415) 824-3890.