Phillip Lee Duncan

Ex-American G.I returns to Germany after 20 years to make a film and oddly enough winds up homeless on the streets of Berlin. While there, he ends up discovering secrets about himself and his past family history.

Love is a dirty business. The lack of love even dirtier. You can scrub and sing all day until your skin is as red as a valentine. But they will never return. This same body that moved them to tears, this same body that warmed them… is now frozen inside a song.

Duncan and Scheimberg with no money, no time, no script, and with one barely working camera, have tried to create a poetic look at loneliness in America. And by poetic I mean desperate, sad, cruel, and funny and by loneliness, I mean total self-absorption and rampant solipsism, and by America, I mean, everywhere. People will, more than likely, not relate to this film. They will feel infinitely superior to the trashy losers, mama’s boys, and genuinely evil mind-fuckers that populate this film. So… that’s something. It’s a start… Right?

"I'm Sure You're All Wondering, What Kind Of Project This Is. A Film?...A Play?...An Event Of Some Sort? Well, Fuck You! Because You Don't Get To Know That Yet...You're Not Even Human Yet...You're Just Three Filthy Dead-Eyed Animals Waiting To Be Slaughtered As Far As I'm Concerned. Any Questions?"

Ex-American G.I returns to Germany after 20 years to make a film and oddly enough winds up homeless on the streets of Berlin. While there, he ends up discovering secrets about himself and his past family history.

Ex-American G.I returns to Germany after 20 years to make a film and oddly enough winds up homeless on the streets of Berlin. While there, he ends up discovering secrets about himself and his past family history.

Love is a dirty business. The lack of love even dirtier. You can scrub and sing all day until your skin is as red as a valentine. But they will never return. This same body that moved them to tears, this same body that warmed them… is now frozen inside a song.

Duncan and Scheimberg with no money, no time, no script, and with one barely working camera, have tried to create a poetic look at loneliness in America. And by poetic I mean desperate, sad, cruel, and funny and by loneliness, I mean total self-absorption and rampant solipsism, and by America, I mean, everywhere. People will, more than likely, not relate to this film. They will feel infinitely superior to the trashy losers, mama’s boys, and genuinely evil mind-fuckers that populate this film. So… that’s something. It’s a start… Right?

"It's All True...It's All True...It's All True!"

A Podophiliac Triptych By Phillip Lee Duncan.

The Chronicle Of A Reunion.