What is James Caan—Oscar-nominated Godfather icon, generally respected character actor of 50-plus years—doing in a film with the unpromising title Sicilian Vampire? Why would it be programmed as the opening-night film of the Big Apple Film Festival? What is the Big Apple Film Festival? Answers were not immediately forthcoming at Manhattan’s Village East Cinema on Wednesday night, where a surprisingly substantial audience gathered to watch the story of a New York mafioso who turns into a bloodsucker after being bitten by a bat. At least 50 people had come to attend a film that, in all probability, most of them had never heard of.

Far beneath the world of movies you’re probably or possibly aware of—mainstream multiplex offerings, art-house indies, festival films that don’t get distribution (if that’s your aesthetic calling)—exists a different and dreadful world of movies that shouldn’t exist. This isn’t the realm of direct-to-DVD-and-TV schlock, which makes economic sense—dreadful as the latest Steven Seagal film might be (yes, he’s still grinding them out annually), these kinds of movies are generally pre-sold to various platforms and territories before production starts. That means as long as you stay on budget, the profit’s already made. But then there are hopeless dramas and mirthless comedies featuring non-performances, financed by someone with more money than judgment. You’ve never heard of any of them; as a freelance film critic, I’ve seen dozens. The more money you’re willing to waste, the relatively bigger names you can get: Michael Madsen appears in about a dozen no-profile films a year. With no sane distributor interested in acquiring these films, their makers resort to the practice of “four-walling” (paying theaters to show a film) or submitting their work to low-/no-profile festivals more interested in raising money from submission fees and sponsors than the caliber of what’s being shown. There are far more of these than you’d suspect.

Sicilian Vampire star/director/producer/musician Frank D’Angelo is a more-than-usually egregious creature of these overlapping worlds. Notorious in Toronto and virtually unknown elsewhere, D’Angelo is a dubiously talented businessman (his spotty track record was explained in this fine 2007 profile) with a lot of cash to throw around, primarily (presumably) thanks to D’Angelo Brands, a company whose wares include the energy drink Cheetah Power Surge. Since 2010, he’s also been the host of The Being Frank Show, a late-night talk show taped weekly at the Forget About It Supper Club, one of D’Angelo’s two restaurants. It looks like a real show but it’s really just an infomercial D’Angelo has paid for, interrupted only by commercials for his own products. He’s also cranked out a series of albums in the Seth MacFarlane–big-band vein and claims to have written 500 songs.

In 2013, D’Angelo decided he wanted to make films and he started with Real Gangsters, a mob film starring himself whose general tenor can be gathered from this opening snippet of dialogue: “The finality of life, it sucks big fuckin’ cock.” Sicilian Vampire is his fourth film, a feat of productivity made possible by D’Angelo’s decision to shoot all his films in five days or less. Will Sloan has written an amusing overview of what he calls “The Frank D’Angelo Cinematic Universe,” a world in which continuity errors, plot inconsistencies, and baffling incompetence reign supreme. All of these films cost at least $5 million Canadian (about $3.7 million U.S.), with actors paid in cash. Given the low time commitment, prompt payment, and well-catered dinners that come with participation, it’s not surprising that a small repertory company of actors whose name value isn’t what it once was—Eric Roberts, Margot Kidder—have repeatedly returned to the trough.