While it storms outdoors, Clif Childree slathers white paint on the concrete walls of a Wilton Manors warehouse. His Converse sneakers are splattered, and his normally spiked hair is pasted to his head with sweat. Gone are the antique coffins, the handcrafted carnival rides, the smell of fresh-cut lumber, and the Pan-Cake makeup. Although Childree's dream world has been gutted of its thespian magic, he's not lamenting. "I've got the film," says the self-taught moviemaker with a sated grin. "That's... More >>>