Heavy Hands

Modus, Frankie and The Infinite Struggle.

Years ago on a planet called earth, in the great city called Milwaukee, I met a dude named Frankie Latina.

I had just gotten back from Alaska and read about Frankie and his film, Modus Operandi, in the Onion AV Club. I emailed him and we met and had a couple drinks at the Intercontinental, and through a course strange events, I decided to be a producer on the film.

At the time Modus had premiered in Las Vegas at the CineVegas film festival and was showing at the Milwaukee film festival a few weeks down the line.

I worked on a shoot with Mark Metcalf (of Animal House fame), helped with some T-shirts. Then basically went to a bunch of parties and shit.

What started at the intercontinental bar brought me to the AFI film fest in LA (where I saw The Fantastic Mr. Fox) to New York (to the IFC theater) where I may or may not have had to much too drink, to the Gene Siskel Theater in Chicago (where Roger Ebert was in attendance).

And World Wide Dirt has been a busy world lately, no doubt. We have a feature film on the editing table, a highly ambitious music video premiering in a month and a short film by Parker Winship that is gonna knock some socks off.

In many ways, things started for me when I met Frankie. I owe a lot of thanks to Frankie and how he's helped me along and looked out for me when he could.

Being a producer on Modus is something I’ll always feel great about and I cherish the friendships I’ve made because of it.

But besides all that, on this day, Valentines Day 2012, Modus Operandi is being released by Kino Lorber. Which means you can get a killer DVD through Amazon, Netflix and Kino.

So lets take a second to celebrate this accomplishment and give a solid WWD “Fuck Yea!” to Frankie Latina and his journey with Modus Operandi, which started long before we all knew his name - and will continue into infinity.

Heavy Hands fall 2012

The Hitcher - Marissa Nans

Loddy Lo

She plays songs that remind him of something in himself, of a dance behind a frosted, neon-glowing barroom window. A smokey place in the light of a Wurlitzer. And he wants to tell her, but he hears her voice, young and lively, and she's father away than ever and so is he. His room, the radio, that frosty barroom in a triangle whose three points expand away from each other at the same rate as the universe. He opens his mouth and wheezes.

Heavy Hands fall 2012

Nate Brown