Buzz Drainpipe midnight reel

🎥 Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One (1968) –
William Greaves drops you in a Central Park film set that eats its own tail. It’s a movie about making a movie about making a movie, and every layer is bleeding contradictions—actors nervous, crew mutinous, Greaves pretending to be incompetent but really running a higher-order jazz experiment in perception. It’s cinéma vérité caught in a feedback loop, like a cassette that’s been taped over too many times until the hiss becomes the message. A paranoid workshop masquerading as a film, or maybe vice versa.


🎥 The World’s Greatest Sinner (1962) –
Timothy Carey, patron saint of Hollywood weirdos, bankrolls and directs his own psychotic gospel about an insurance salesman who rechristens himself “God” and builds a cult out of rock ’n’ roll, sex, and cheap suits. He struts like a back-alley Elvis possessed by a Pentecostal fever dream, all while a pre-Zappa Frank Zappa scores it with gnashing, dirty guitar squall. It’s amateur, electric, borderline unwatchable—and that’s the juice. A true gutter scripture, the Book of Carey according to himself.


🎥 W.R.: Mysteries of the Organism (1971) –
Dušan Makavejev cracks Wilhelm Reich open like an egg and smears the yolk across politics, sex, and Cold War absurdity. Half documentary, half surrealist punk collage: Reich’s orgone box, Yugoslav satire, ice skaters, and a severed head rolling across the floor. It’s Marx and Freud in a blender, poured into a tall glass with vodka and Viagra, topped with Lenin’s ghost as the garnish. The film plays like a pamphlet hurled through a Molotov cocktail—half laughing, half screaming.

💀 The Buzz Drainpipe Diagnosis:
This triple feature is a psychotronic initiation ritual—from Greaves’ recursive camera trap, through Carey’s blasphemous backyard apocalypse, into Makavejev’s sexual-political exorcism. The connective tissue? Disobedience to form. Each film says: “Cinema is not your entertainment—it’s the splinter in your palm, the infection in your head.”

You don’t watch this bill—you survive it, and if you’re lucky, you stagger out the other side changed, grinning, maybe speaking in tongues.

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