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Land of the Lost :: Lost Film Festival founder Scott Beibin takes on the Church, the G8, and Skull and Bones

By Ashlea Halpern   Photography by Ted Adams

09/15/07 :: URB 149

 

Scott Beibin must make a decision. Either he can hang out in Philly, catch a Manu Chau show and
do this “interview-y thing,” or he can fire up the van, stock it with energy drinks and drive to Atlanta for the U.S. Social Forum. Such are the conundrums of the self-made VJ.

As the curator and host of the Lost Film Festival, Beibin travels the globe preaching the good word about our social and gubernatorial ailments. “Basically, I set up a video projector in the middle of the room and tell stories to contextualize the films,” says Beibin. “It’s all really funny and pranky and smart. It’s trouble.”

Founded in Philadelphia in 1999 and touring since 2000, the Lost Film Fest follows an anything goes credo. It shows flicks such as Scott Calonico’s Mondo Ford, a conspiracy-theory gag picture that suggests Gerald Ford was behind the murder of John F. Kennedy; Richard Pell’s Don’t Call Me Crazy on the 4th of July, a shock-and-awe cut about the CIA’s MK-ULTRA mind-control program; and Norwegian rap group Gatas Parlament’s controversial “Anti-American Dance” video, which puts a bounty on George W. Bush’s head. Past gatherings have attracted Ian MacKaye and Jello Biafra and boasted such diversions as bike jousting and vegan cheesesteak stands. The TV Sheriff and The Yes Men are staples, and there’s never any shortage of anti-capitalist protest footage.

The venues Beibin ambushes are equally guerrilla: rooftops, warehouses, backyards, empty lots and even other film fests (Cannes, Sundance, etc). When the 2005 G8 Summit was held in Scotland, he invited Seattle’s now-defunct Infernal Noise Brigade, a 25-person punk-rock marching band, to join him in the protests. They rented a double-decker bus and set out to rabble-rouse. The demonstration ended in a haze of helicopters, horses, attack dogs and pepper spray. Most notoriously, Beibin used the hallowed exterior of Yale’s Skull and Bones building as a projection surface. When the cops rolled up and asked what he was doing, Beibin shrugged and said, “Showin’ some movies.” The officers chuckled and drove away. That’s not to say everything Beibin does is overtly mutinous. In 2004, he embarked on a swing-states tour by posing as a youth pastor. He booked himself at churches and presented a program called “A Spiritual Approach to Understanding the Election.” The reaction surprised him. “I thought I was gonna be run out of town by people with burning sticks,” says Beibin with a laugh. “But they were really receptive. In fact, the farmers were more familiar with the IMS and World Bank than city liberals.” (They then proceeded to call him naive for worrying about movies when the Rapture was coming; but hey, take it where you can get it.)     Nowadays, the 35-year-old also runs a grassroots-marketing agency. Although he’s toying with the idea of reviving the weeklong festival in Philadelphia, which he folded due to rising costs and dwindling attendance, he’s more psyched than ever about the road tours—and the ability to drop everything and drive to Atlanta on a moment’s notice.

“Lost Film Fest is really an extension of the spirit of do-it-yourself punk,” says Beibin. “I want to introduce people to cultures that otherwise they wouldn’t know anything about. I want to tear down those barriers.”