When it comes to bizarre films, Pashto movies are in a class by themselves. The cheaply made products of a once-thriving Pakistani industry have an unmistakable style, slathered in operatic overacting, automatic weapons and strange song-and-dance numbers -- they're like the twisted step-cousins to Bollywood features. We Westerners would instantly call them "cult". Australian artist George Gittoes would call them home. In the chaotic, entertaining Miscreants, Gittoes continues his mission to deliver art in the world's danger zones, setting up Pashto productions on deadly Pakistani ground for two years, flaunting a love of cinema right under the Taliban's nose. Sure, it's an act of bravery, but it's also one of substantial ego, which Gittoes -- Miscreants' star, director and co-writer -- has in spades. Onscreen, Gittoes uses that confidence to his advantage, mixing a flair for the dramatic with great humility and compassion. As a director, his bravado yields a raw, unapologetic look at some of the most culturally oppressed parts of the planet; he has the gall to imagine himself being shot (fake) while photographing a dangerous political conflict at a mosque (real). With his white beard and longish hair, he comes across as a hippy version of TV's Dr. Danger. But Gittoes' aim is true. He intends to expose the ways in which widespread control of media and arts can destroy an entire society. Smartly, he digs deep within the Pakistani culture, befriending one of the local DVD shop owners, talking with straight men who secretly engage in gay relations, and interviewing Peshawar intellectuals who have clear theories about the downfall of art and thought. It adds up to an illuminating look at street-level extremism, far from the evening news. And it's all told with ridiculously crude editing and graphics, much like the populist Pashto films themselves. Gittoes really connects with these movies, seeing their big energy and freakish humor -- dwarves are a mainstay -- as a smack in the face to conservative thought. Upon developing a warm kinship with "Taliwood" actor-director Javed Musazai, Gittoes has an idea: For about $7000, he'll fund two feature-length movies, keeping Musazai and many others working in an industry that's all been squashed by religious heavies and an uncooperative government. The two movies, entitled Servants and Fire, appear to be fun cultish trash. But Gittoes shows us the journey to completion is far more vital than the films themselves. Since Pashto movies demand unique exteriors, the cast and crew participate in forbidden activities like dancing, in open areas of the country highly populated by Taliban and al-Qaeda. Gittoes is sure to remind the audience of the inherent dangers; but he's also smart enough to admit on camera when he's terrified. For those interested in guerilla filmmaking, Miscreants provides one of the most intriguing insights you could imagine. And that includes a peek at Gittoes' own style, as he sets up additional takes of his fictional films to make statements for the documentary, wrapping the two wildly disparate genres into one. More ego, but certainly more engaging too. As Gittoes' friendship with the magnetic Musazai grows, the number of Pakistani DVD shops continues to dwindle, with many turned into carriers of propagandist content instead. By first describing the shockingly brutal subject matter, and then showing it (barely), Gittoes appropriately keeps the region's terror at the fore of his often humorous chronicle.