Behind the scenes of “Reverse the Curse,” one of the horror shorts premiering at Damnationland on Friday. Photos courtesy of Damnationland
Damnationland and Indie Film were born at the same time.
I took over this odd little Maine-centric movie column in 2010, the very same year that Allen Baldwin and a few others in the local film scene decided to send out a call for Maine filmmakers with a penchant for the spooky and unnerving to make a series of all Maine-made shorts. Presented in one glorious, varied and scrappily entertaining package as Damnationland, and premiering at Portland’s own State Theatre, that initial showcase became a genuine Maine institution, with 2023 marking the 13th annual Damnationland – premiering Friday (the 13th, no less) at that same State Theatre.
Needless to say, I jumped on the Damnationland train early and have never gotten off. Same goes for Baldwin.
“It is special, man,” said Baldwin, now the head of his own sought-after professional film production company, Stobo Films, and still intimately involved as co-creator of Damnationland. “One of the crown jewels of this year’s program is Rebecca and Emily Myshrall’s ‘Sweet Meats,’ (profiled in this column last week), and I met Rebecca on an earlier Damnationland production four or five years ago when she was 18 or 19. And now she’s making one of the best movies of the year. These are people who were 10 years old when the first Damnationland came out – not second generation per se, but kids who grew up seeing this thing, seeing that this is where people in Maine make a movie and show it and think, ‘Oh, we can do that.’ I just love that idea.”
If the proud father of two actual children sounds like he’s talking about a third, perhaps weirder, but no less exceptional offspring, well, he should be. Having seen every Damnationland since 2013 (except for the pandemic-shuttered year when even Maine horror got scared away from public gatherings), I can honestly say it’s the Maine film event I look forward to more than any other. As Baldwin said, “The cool part is not trying to tell people what to do, letting them make whatever they want to make.” (See this year’s cracking, AI-inspired trailer from Baldwin and Maine filmmaker Ricky Lorenzo, if you dare.)
Of course, Damnationland’s mission statement calls for chills and thrills, and this year’s 90-minute program of six shorts and six even-shorter interstitial films are the usual, delightfully eclectic stew of straight-up horror, dark comedy, startlingly innovate visuals and effects, and the best local actors, directors and film professionals around. With Baldwin showing me a rough assembly cut of the entire feature, I can honestly say that this is my favorite of the Damnationlands I’ve seen (which, recall, is all of the Damnationlands). There are no outright clunkers (hey, in an anthology format, it happens), and Damnationland 2023 presents some truly impressive – and wildly different – dark delights, from start to finish.
I’m not going to spoil anything in advance of Friday’s debut (with further public screenings coming up all over Maine in the weeks to come). I will say that Baldwin’s right about Rebecca Myshrall’s “Sweet Meats,” a strikingly strange and pointed battle of the sexes set in a ghoulish alternate universe where gender roles are not so much reversed as turned inside out. Hannah Perry-Shepherd’s “Blood, Sweat and Tears” digs a wrenching, symbolic take from similar ground, while Erin Enberg’s rousing demonic musical battle “Reverse the Curse” features two Maine performing legends, Viva and Samuel James, tearing the house down.
A scene from the short film “Still Life.”
There are philosophical hitmen, eerie art pieces coming to life, a face-painted serial killer facing off against Portland’s finest, and lots more, with this year’s short-short interstitials all tackling the often terrifying truth behind those old wives’ tales (don’t spill salt, no indoor umbrellas) you’ve always, unwisely it seems, laughed at. (If you’ve never heard the superstition about “no bananas on a boat,” then the short “Musa” will make sure you never forget it.)
Summing up this year’s signature blend of scares and dark drama, Baldwin said, “It’s a weird year, sort of a slow burn. It’s interesting to see how every year tends to have these things that are universal. If I had to define it, I’d say this year sees sort of a Lovecraft-style ‘horror of ennui.’” I can see his point – if you throw in the occasional (amazing practical creature effect redacted because it’s too out there to spoil). Adds Baldwin, “When we came back from the pandemic year, there was more comedy – I think people wanted to come back together in a big theater and laugh. This year, maybe people were ready to start thinking about deep things again.” Baldwin also notes how Damnlationland continues to be a place where all Maine filmmakers can truly and safely express their more dangerous sides, noting that all this year’s films but one feature a female main character, and that there’s “always sort of tinge of feminist anger in Damnationland – it’s becoming a really cool part of our brand.”
For Baldwin, the annual return to Damnationland represents a respite from the sometimes wearing nature of working as an independent commercial filmmaker. “It’s been really good for me this year,” said Baldwin. “I don’t think it’s a secret that this has been a rough year for the local production scene, and I think Damnationland is always a good family moment for the community. There are no clients. We take the money we make on each year’s film and use it to make next year’s, so we can focus on the work we want to make and not the money. It helps remind us, ‘This is why we got into this world. This is why we do it.’”
Damnationland’s 13th annual world premiere will take place at Portland’s State Theatre on Friday at 7:45 p.m. Tickets are $15 in advance, $20 on show night, and $10 for students (box office only). This year’s Damnationland runs a crisp and creepy 90 minutes and would likely be rated R for violence, language, sexuality and some stuff even the MPAA wouldn’t know what to do with.
Dennis Perkins is a freelance writer who lives in Auburn with his wife and cat.
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