So we finally got a chance to use our incredibly expensive film school education this weekend, putting our NYU Baseball tee on and hitting two IndieFest screenings in one day. And it wasn't just any day -- it was Superbowl Sunday. Needless to say, the fellow film fans in the seats could only be described as die-hard.

We signed up for the screenings that Larsen Associates offered credentials to but weren't already claimed by fellow 'Fisters. Which means we were given New York productions. Granted, we're the least removed from our days as L.E.S.-slash-Williamsburg hipsters, so it was only appropriate. While we joke that if you throw a rock in San Francisco you'll hit an independent filmmaker, only in New York City would we urge you to throw it hard.

Images from High Life and After the Apocalypse.

First off, we'd like to introduce you to the venues. The IndieFest screenings are all happening at one of three places: The Castro, The Roxie and El Edificio de Mujeres (which sounds so much more artsy than 'The Women's Building'). The Castro is obviously for the first-run, A-list s**t. Best seats, best concessions, best sound system, biggest screen. The Roxie is more intimate (and the popcorn and sodas cheaper), but no less a theater. The Women's Building offers, how shall we say, sincerity. The InFocus LP770 digital projector there was mounted on a standard Hollywood wooden painter's ladder. They get points for re-arrangeable seats, though -- affording SFist an opportunity to stretch out after a long day enjoying passive media consumption.

Our first flick was at The Roxie, and when we were told "This is perfect for you, with your NYC experience," we were immediately scared. High Life is a project film about a small group of artist-hipsters moving in and out of a Williamsburg loft during a single day. Workshopped three months by the cast and shot in one weekend, our first thought was "Mike Leigh." And our assumptions held, as while the action was shot during two two-hour takes on three cameras, it was obvious that what we were witnessing was an experimental theater piece on film. And that's not always a bad thing.

The festival host introduced it as "A quintessential indie film," which is meaningful on many levels. Digitally shot and digitally projected, it can't have cost much, that's for sure. It also reminded us of what independent filmmaking was like in the age before Ed Burns and 'IndieWood,' when crews were small and crane shots non-existent. What it lacked was an inspired production and a compelling narrative. What it had in spades was pretty, talented young actors from NYU's Expertimental Theater Wing. Okay, we have to disclose that we shared many a dorm meal with ETW students and now have a huge crush on High Life actress Sharon Eisman. That said, the performances by Michael Wiener and Priscilla Holbrook we felt were flat and affected, and we had a hard time empathizing with their characters.

If you can imagine a low-budget, less-sensational Kids crossed with a low-budget, less-British Mike Leigh film, you have a good idea of what High Life is about. Our feeling was that the drama never really reached a true emotional peak -- we were left cold to the machinations of most characters, and frankly found the "Is Bosco going to kiss Chris?" thread most compelling. While the archetypes were distinctly recognizable (one audience member remarked during the QA "They remind me of my friends in West Oakland"), we wonder if the film doesn't have veiled contempt for them. As director Lila Yomtoob admitted, "I work in the industry, but I'm not well connected. I'm not very schmoozy."

As Ms. Eisman remarked about the audition, "She [Lila] sat and watched me read the paper for five minutes." Our Mike Leigh influence assumptions were confirmed when the director asserted that while her film could have easily qualified for Dogme status, her influences were more Cassevetes, Leigh and McKay than Von Trier. After making the film, she looked to apply as a Dogme film, but was amused to find out that: "It's a total joke, they're making fun of themselves, very meta." Still, Dogme directors generally have a firmer handle on cinematography and sound than this film does.

Of course, after High Life we high-tailed it to our friend's house for wings, ribs and the Superbowl. Who knew that Janet Jackson's tittie would mean that someone would actually program tasteful artistry, otherwise known as Paul McCartney, for the Superbowl halftime show? SFist says "More of your mammaries, Ms. Jackson!" While we didn't watch the all-commercials aftermath on cable, we did catch the Simpsons featuring Warren Sapp of the Raiders, Michelle Kwan, and San Mateo's own Tom Brady. Of course, in light of our IndieFest coverage, our favorite was the production card for Ned's film which read "Monty's Cinematic Whimsies."

After a slice of Arinell and a martini at the Elbo Room, we bought a quart of Newcastle and headed to The Women's Building to catch our late treat, After the Apocalypse. Thankfully, both flicks managed to get in under our ninety-minute pet-peeve limit (what the f**k happenned to the ninety page script?). We were further encouraged by High Life's Michael Wiener appearing at the screening late, like us, and in a fake leopard-skin overcoat, not like us.

After the Apocalypse is a classic genre film. What High Life is lacking in cinematography and sound technique, this film has up the yin-yang. Don Hwan Lee and director Yasuaki Nakajima do an incredible job with the foley and other effects in this wordless narrative, and Hiro Ota's score is played largely on an appropriately post-industrial and haunting steel drum (and other found instruments, we presume). We assume that the film, which looked like it was shot on location in Brooklyn, was photographed digitally, but could have been photographed on black and white stock and transferred poorly.

By classic genre film we mean that the main character, played by the director Yasuaki Nakajima himself, opens the film by emerging from a bunker wearing a gas mask, in search of clean water. As the film progresses he meets a small number of other disaster survivors (the gas mask and subsequent events seem to make it clear that it was a biological as opposed to nuclear disaster), and one by one they die off in a disturbingly sexy way, including the protagonist. Hope is a woman's fertile loins, and we'll just let the post-feminists tear into that one. We aren't going there. Of course, just as we're leaving the theater, we see that in the credits is one John Gurrin, longtime NYU professor, as Post Production Consultant. Please, since we don't have a job in 'the industry,' can you stop taunting us?

Oh, and did we mention we have a crush on Sharon Eisman? Call us, Sharon!