
OFFKILTER
Founded in 2024 by creators Stefan Cozza and Colin Crothers, CroCo Productions is an independent team of creators fueled by a passion to bring their surreal and off-kilter stories to life. Outside the world of DIY amateur filmmaking, CroCo displays an array of multi-disciplinary artistry through their photography, poetry, and film critique and analysis.
Contending with Uncertainty
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Contending with Uncertainty *
Anyone creating, interacting, and even experiencing art, at the moment, is battling both an external and internal struggle against a vague yet bleak future. On one side is the homogenization and sterilization that comes from generative AI and the reliance on “what’s worked in the past.” On the other, the tumultuous climate of the globe, it’s healthbar always looming over our shoulder, or rather, cupped in our hands. It is this lack of “hope” that renders art paramount to culture. Right now, for many artists, being present with their craft is their only solace. It is the shadows around us that make it possible to isolate ourselves with our creations. The biggest challenge comes from knowing when it’s finished.
Our Shorts
Head over to our YouTube Channel to watch our earliest work.
“Good Friend, When Did You Start Smoking Again?
“Animals Will Remain Animals”
Our Third Short
Our Shorts
Head over to our YouTube Channel if you want to check out our earliest work. (Link in Footer)
“Avoidance”
One-Man Short
OUR THOUGHTS ON THE STATE OF FILM (THEN & NOW)
“The Monkey” & The Beauty of Absurdity
Osgood Perkins is a hot name in horror cinema at the moment. His rise has not been so meteoric as he has had a string of films up until this point. However, it wasn’t until 2024’s “Longlegs” that Perkins established himself as a new titan in the genre. He proudly wears his influences on his sleeve, maybe even flexes them. His worlds are drenched in a uniquely comedic macabre. With each film, it appears Perkins is inserting more and more of that humor, to the point it’s blackness is already a trademark. “Longlegs” had some of that comedic tone, but it was hidden well enough to subdue any laughter and replace it with gasps. Many were calling “Longlegs” the “next “Silence of the Lambs’” which is quite a statement, but not one that is all too uncommon. A24 marketed “Hereditary” as “the scariest movie since The Exorcist,” and that paid off splendidly, regardless of the validity of the comparison. “Longlegs” was brilliantly marketed, a tactic that the team at TEAM duplicated for this year’s “The Monkey.” However, whereas the horror was very much at the forefront of “Longlegs” marketing campaign, “The Monkey” lead with a lighter, more playful rollout. The audiences seeing the trailer already see the carnage ensuing, in fact, many of the kills are shown in part in the trailer (that can be seen as both a positive or a negative). The kills are part of the spectacle, no doubt, but the team expect the audiences to know they’re in for gore galore. The trailer leans heavily on the comedy, which is an angle entirely opposite “Longlegs.” With both these movies coming out within a year of one another, the tonal contrast positions Perkins in an interesting position. He is a bonafide genre director and is proud of it, and his balancing of craft with camp and straight-up fun is commendable. I hate the term “elevated horror,” because it’s definition gives the impression that all other horror films are “less than.” I also think there is too much overlap to label such and such films as “elevated.” Perkins is relying on his pure love for the genre and taking that passion and churning it into well-crafted, entertaining, and quirky horror stories for the modern age. There was absurdity and quirk in “Longlegs” and his previous work, but “The Monkey” turns the amp to 15. The kills are capital A Absurd, but that was a given going in, and they are all executed well. They might not be “Terrifier” level atrocities, but they’re bloody fun. Perkins also takes the King short and seamlessly blends the two worlds into one comedic hellscape. “The Monkey” never takes itself serious, nor does it ever want the audience to think it does. For me, that lets me breathe a sigh of relief, because it seems Osgood Perkins is going to be delivering the movies he says he will, and whenever someone is consistent in following through on a promise, they tend to garner a significant group of dedicated followers.
Featured Poetry
Filthy Work
I was there
We were all there
At our conception-misconception into famish
The pronged harness of meat that houses my neck
Was forged in a flame of leviathan lustfulness
Brewing in bellies where intestines battle the heartstrings
That make us sour, fruit that’s left unpicked
Decompose in
reverse, We are grounded pitless
Pulpy guts and all, phantom palpitations
A clock frozen a second before midnight i let out
A muted yelp, a knife piercing the silence
before i get down to the dirty earth
The grime of sewage boys and infestation of nasty things
Foul, the rotting stench of immobility opens my nose
And the senses of my cavities to the unforeseen
The physical body of my nightmares
The ghost of responsibility lurks with indecisive hands
Trembling over my scrunched shoulders
As i resume my daily routine, it reminds me
This isn’t my only work
I haven’t seen the dirt
The dirty deeds hiding under house stones and couch cushions
The whispers are cheap but they persist
Exist in permanence like the hands of their creator
Smirking in corners and cobwebs of thin houses
Cackling in tall grass
Exhaling the clouds that rained our bad seeds
Down to the soil
The stinking manure of our existence is proof
Baseline is the dirty work
This is the dark
Days of the Weak
On Mondays, i fly with fresh air,
white sneakers and cavernous
self-delusion
Teetering on an edge where rock becomes sea
A kettle whistling before it starts to scream
For Tuesday, there’s leeway and freedom to float
Or rather
Sink into the couch cushions while my shoes
Are still on, still pristine
Oh Wednesday, the moldy apple of the work week,
I dissociate and morph into my white screens, body
Parts mangled, written into code
And i wonder, am I ignorant
Unable to read a computer
Simply skimming through breaking news
Thursdays, my sneakers feel lighter
They’ve lost their glint, new lines are etched
Across my face and i fall into the tv’s haze
Hours and hours of brittle iced bones
Frozen passing glances, pupils running
Fast
Fridays are faster than eyes or my now faded
Sneakers, out of compulsion i count to thirteen
wet , my lids when they open, itchy
To find the day done
Waking on Saturday is hitting click on a stopwatch
I run my gray sneakers ragged in a rush
THE HEAT NEVER BOTHERED US ANYWAY
Is the faint memories of an ice cream man’s melody
Whimpered out of a dusty organ
The minuscule bike motor that runs my brain
can’t tell if its less bleak
Now that I know
it’s the fumigator finishing up
the apartment next door
TURPENTINE
Claw hands
I’m ballooning and seconds before a pop
Olive oil fingers running down a fever dream
When I speak i’m waddling through Jell-o
Slimy and chrome, nausea inducing
A vomit conductor of nastiness
Dainty lil specs defiled and waned out over the garage walls
Stick out to me while I pant down a sterile hallway
Indicative of a birth canal located in a hollow automaton
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