The problem with the term ‘weird’ is that it represents the strange, fantastic and unexplainable of the world, and therefore having a word to describe it is decidedly un-weird.  This is the same linguistic paradox that bogs down the ubiquitous “street-cred” – the harder you try for it, the less of it you get.  By this logic, you’d better believe pretty strongly in the inherent weirdness of your film – or at least have a real sense of irony – to give it a name like Weirdsville.  In any event, this is exactly what Canadian Allan Moyle (Pump Up the Volume) decided to do.

Weirdsville is set in the fictional Ontario town of Weedsville and follows two stoner buddies, Royce (Wes Bentley of American Beauty) and Dexter (Scott Speedman of a little show I like to call FELICITY), on a night of lawless adventures. In attempting to score cash to pay off an angry drug-dealing mobster they run across blood-thirsty Satanists, pissed off mall security guards and a band of medieval dwarves.  And though ‘zaniness’ is like the Billy Baldwin of the weird family, there's enough here to earn Weirdsville at least a three on the weirdness scale.  Though, to me, it felt more like what you would get if you bought a computer at the boring store and typed “wacky/crazy” into Google.

What was truly weird about this film, however, is that it felt like four completely different films piled onto one another.  Not blended in any way, more just taking turns, scene for scene, with all styles carried out admirably.  It was like an experiment or something.  You had the buddy/adventure movie (Harold and Kumar), the caper movie (Lock Stock), the druggie movie (Requiem) and the love-on-the-run movie (Speed), all writhing together in an undulating cinematic love-in.  And that’s not meant to be some elaborate insult; it was actually kind of cool.

As a result of the ranging styles of filmmaking, the movie ends up with a combination of elements that make it fairly immersive in spite of the overreaching plot plays.  The druggie angle brings in trippy slow-mo images of crystalline snowflakes, while wise-cracking caper and buddy flicks bring passages of refreshingly clever dialogue.  A drug-addled Taryn Manning makes a perfect object of affection for our withdrawal-stricken anti-hero, even if she does talk like a hammered 4-year-old.  It all adds up to a movie that I would definitely not call great, but must admit I enjoyed.  The plot was so cliché and fragmented that it ended up feeling surprisingly disparate.  And yes, I suppose that would make Weirdsville pretty weird.  I’m now going to work on my street-cred.