Raw Meat

A movie with lots of porn and some weirdness glows at Churchill's.

A guy in the front starts laughing hysterically as the audience thins to about eight people, most of whom are smoking cigarettes, biting nails, or looking around embarrassedly. Dillard tries to entice more viewers. This time he's armed with a picket sign that includes the image of The Hempress (Troma star Debbie Rochon) mounting a pretty Southern belle, Jessie Bell Meat Weed, who is wearing a marijuana-embellished corset.

Sitting around the corner from me, a swoopy-banged, 27-year-old pretty-boy named T.V. does his personal rendition of Ebert and Roeper for a friend sitting next to him. "The shots are too tight and the actors are too heavy with their hand movements," he says. "You never see any wide shots, which gives the viewer time to think. That's important in a movie. And there's no silence."

"So I'm assuming you're not a fan?" I interrupt.

Aiden's work in the flesh.
Aiden's work in the flesh.


5501 NE Second Ave.

"I'd never be involved in this movie," he says through bee-stung lips. "I'm too conservative."

Conservative? Sure. T.V. is wearing a gray blazer, flip-flops, and what appear to be leopard-print chef pants. "The director also relies on the conformities of porn, but it's not sexy. If you're going to make porn, make it sexy. If not, make it disturbing," he continues.

Onscreen, a naked nun begs a bull-like creature with a giant cigarette for a penis to give her some of his "purple puss." Suddenly the bull splooges all over her chest.

A couple of people get up and walk out. Most of the audience, now about 50 strong, laughs.

The nun, now impregnated by the bull creature, yells for someone to get her a coat hanger but then gives birth to a bull-like creature that has cigarettes protruding from its face. Soon the baby crawls up the vagina of a terrorist, who just had lesbian sex with the nun, and begins growing. It's rebirthed as a giant cow head with legs. Both new mothers coo, cup their boobs, and ask their infant to "suck on these."


Dillard explains he built the creature out of papier-mâché in 2004, when he lived in a converted motel at NE 79th Street and Biscayne Boulevard. "I observed the seediest side of Miami — hookers and plenty of noises from my neighbors," he says. He also saw rich people who "owned a half-million-dollar condo which only their dog lived in."

This extreme separation in class is the inspiration for his next movie, Special Angel. The film, he says, "was shot on better equipment, and the actors are talented and less prone to take off their clothes."

Then the credits roll on Meat Weed America! I turn to Maurice, who's one of the few people who stuck it out for the duration. "How'd you like it?" I ask.

"It had a couple of good lines," he says, smiling and gazing at the topless women who wiggle about in the credits, "but it was the titties that were nice."

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