Getting Humiliated at Minneapolis’ Strangest Film Festival

About six months ago, one of the administrators of the “Scream It Off Screen Gong Film Festival” reached out via Instagram, inviting me to submit one of our short films to their monthly competition. Excited by the prospect, I looked into the festival’s format—an unpredictable, audience-driven event where films of 15 minutes or less face the ultimate judgment at the three-minute mark. At that point, a red light flashes, and the crowd decides: “Gong!” to stop the film or “Let it play!” to keep watching.

Was it risky? Absolutely. But Luke and I were ready.

We decided to submit one of our favorite recent works, Kurt and Waylon, a goofy short about an idiotic fraternity guy disastrously attempting to flirt with a sorority girl while she studies with his roommate. It was absurd, ridiculous, and fun, which seemed perfect for this kind of festival.

Going into the event, we were apprehensive—not about our film’s quality, but because this was only our second film festival. We brought my girlfriend, Sarah, and our lead actress, Kaitlin (who played Alexis in Kurt and Waylon), who met us at the Parkway Theater. Despite our excitement, the evening quickly took a questionable turn.

We arrived 45 minutes early as recommended, only to find ourselves paying $18 per discounted ticket (which barely saved us from the standard $20 fee). Not much of a filmmaker discount. Still, we took our seats and waited for the show to begin.

Then, the host arrived—a blonde, 30-something guy who seemed far more invested in promoting a local sourdough bread business than in the films. The first ten minutes of the festival were dedicated to bread, handed out by the festival’s mascot, “Screamy”. A strange, but harmless gimmick, I suppose.

And then, the first film of the night was announced, with the least amount of enthusiasm imaginable.

“Kurt and Waylon.”

I got up, walked onto the stage in front of 200+ people, and gave a brief introduction. One of the veteran filmmakers had advised me to engage with the audience beforehand, so I did my best, presenting Kurt and Waylon with as much confidence as I could.

But as the lights dimmed and our film began, I braced myself. Even though this was only our second festival screening, I still cringed when the opening scene played, anticipating the worst.

And oh boy, the worst came quickly.

The audience seemed somewhat engaged—there were a few chuckles, nothing outright negative—but as the three-minute mark hit and the red light flashed, nearly every single person in the crowded theater yelled “GONG!”.

It was instant death.

It was humiliating.

And honestly, it was a little hilarious.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer brutality—there was no hesitation, no debate, no mercy. Kurt and Waylon was obliterated. Not a single voice fought to let it play.

I was then given the option to appeal, but based on the unanimous rejection, I simply replied: “Hell no.”

And that should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Instead of introducing the next film, the host resumed his monologue about sourdough bread for another five minutes.

And suddenly, something clicked.

We had been set up.

Our film wasn’t just the first of the night—it was the sacrificial lamb. The festival organizers knew we were newcomers, and placing us first ensured we would warm up the audience for the night. It felt intentional. A throwaway slot.

At that moment, I muttered, “This is a waste of time,”—quietly enough that only those beside me heard.

Luke was just as frustrated. He suggested leaving, but Sarah reminded us they might call us out for walking out early. She then excused herself to the bathroom, but Luke, not realizing, followed her, assuming we were making our escape.

I turned to Kaitlin, thanked her for coming, and apologized that her role in Kurt and Waylon was gonged before she even got a line of dialogue. She was gracious about it, choosing to stay, so I nodded and finally left.

Outside the theater, the first thing I said was, “That was a colossal waste of time.”

Luke agreed.

We had expected to get gonged. That wasn’t the issue—we had unknowingly submitted the film before we fully understood the three-minute cut-off rule.

What angered us was the fact that we were manipulated and simultaneously scammed. Our placement wasn’t a coincidence—we were thrown into the lineup first, fully intended to be the warm-up act before the real films rolled in.

And to prove the festival wasn’t based purely on merit, Kaitlin later sent me a video. The next film was episode 10 of a car care series, which—shockingly—did not get gonged. She told me that two great films were shown that night, and the ones that survived the crowd’s judgment had gimmicks.

So here’s my final takeaway:

If you’re an emerging filmmaker with a low-budget production, do not waste your time submitting to “Scream It Off Screen”. While the submission may be free, the tickets are overpriced, the audience’s sense of humor is wildly subjective, and—most importantly—the festival feels less about showcasing real talent and more about the spectacle a known gimmick.

However, if you have high production value, know the people behind the festival, or simply want to experience the chaotic energy of a room full of people yelling over films, this might be your kind of event.

For us?

As I said to the crowd of 200+ people,

"Hell no".

It was a set-up—one we won’t be falling for again.

It was a colossal waste of our time and money.