Synopsis:

Max Silva and Freddy Fallow went to high school together in the small town of White Hills, California. Upon graduation, they took their ragged garage band, Blue Tile, and became a sensation... and just as quickly managed to fade away. Max lost himself into rock star excess as Fred kept plowing ahead and eked out a tidy living playing guitar.

Years later, Fred reluctantly meets up with his old friend Max, who insists that he’s being haunted by the ghost of a boy from their high school class who was brutally murdered... and whose killer was never caught.

Fred comes to believe Max after witnessing supernatural events firsthand, much to his own amazement. They determine that both Fred and Max are being haunted, with others from their high school either targeted or tormented by the lethal entity who has taken the form of a beautiful, deadly girl who seems to know them all too well.

They decide to confront whatever demons still lie beneath the surface of their hometown by performing one last show as Blue Tile... and somehow destroy this entity haunting their lives.

Argument:

I’ve always been fascinated by the darkness lurking just beneath small towns. I believe this darkness - a profound strangeness captured so brilliantly in David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, for instance - is as American as barbecues and ball games. It can go overlooked and unseen... and can burst through from just under the surface, where it usually resides.

BLUE TILE is my attempt to capture what it feels like to have been part of the early-Nineties high school generation in a darkness-infested small town. I was a freshman when Kurt Cobain killed himself. I remember when Pearl Jam’s Vitalogy first came out. I saw Pulp Fiction in the theater when I was 16, and it changed the way I looked at movies - and at reality itself. High school was a daily psychic battle, it seemed, played out in unspoken body language and death stares from seniors.

What if that now-forgotten garage band had hit big, though? And what if success was just another indignity? What if we had to measure our best selves against what we are capable of when we’re at our weakest?

This, in the end, is what BLUE TILE is really about. The sins of the past might just seared into our genetic memory. Sometimes they come back, and how we face our demons shows us who we really are.