We live in a late-capitalist hellscape, a stupefied dystopia in which art must be monetized and entertainment is algorithmically generated for maximizing the return on the shareholders’ investment. Hollywood and the streaming giants churn out a ceaseless, undifferentiated mass of comfortable billion-dollar tentpoles while this generation’s most talented creators die slow deaths of the soul, whiling away their lives in cubicles or call centers or — the highest hope for a filmmaker right now — using their talents to add glisten to cheeseburger commercials or remove the pimples from celebrities’ foreheads in promo reels.

In this nightmare world, though, there are still some outsiders out there, street-level weirdos who shed their blood, sweat, and tears to make movies from from deep down inside their ancient lizard brains — no focus testing, no market research, just their pure lizard-brain subconscious vomiting out raw, inaccessible, zero-quadrant anomalies with warts and rough edges and miserable profit potential, and cacophonous throbbing hearts, cinematic abominations that stand in glorious, delirious tribute to the human urge to just fucking MAKE SOMETHING!

BizarroLand welcomes these beautiful weirdos with open arms.