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Plan
Nine from Outer Space |
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Can
Hieronymous Merkin Ever Forget
Mercy Humppe and Find True
Happiness? |
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First
off. A Few Words from the Author:
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Thank
You All For Coming.
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As
I sit here, listening to Telstar-Man's
B-Fest CD, and type up this memoir, I keep
glancing out the window and watch the
snow fall as the first blizzard of 2002
hits. A grand total of one-foot of snow
fell from Colorado all the way to
Chicago, and I thank the cinema gods
that the inclement weather held off
until after B-Fest weekend was over.
This
was my first B-Fest.
We got there late, and we didn’t get to
sit with everyone else, which was
regrettable, but we made due. I got to
meet everyone and I hope that I didn’t
appear standoffish. Nothing could be
further from the truth. Folks, I was
overwhelmed by it and kept to the
fringes on purpose, so I wouldn’t
explode with giddiness -- an atomic
explosion of pure, unadulterated joy.
Sad,
but true.
I
didn’t take any notes, so all of these
recollections are taken strictly from
memory. Some facts may be skewered, and some
things might be slightly out of order,
but the overall insanity of B-Fest is
still there despite the factual errors.
Enjoy.
Chad
Plambeck
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B-Fest
Survivor
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The
Calm Before the Storm
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And
Government Cheese!
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So
I roll into Omaha around 4:30, Thursday
afternoon, and despite my dyslexically challenged directions, manage to wind my
way to the Bellevue suburbs and find the
home of one Paul Freeland -- anime
enthusiast, soccer nut and top wheelman
for 3B Theater -- with little incident. (A
good omen I’m sure compared to my last
trip to Chicago which was a geographical
nightmare. Read all about that fiasco
right here.)
Paul
had graciously volunteered his car for our
trek to B-Fest -- the premiere get together
for B-film fanatics, and a place where the
B-Movie Brethren can congregate and
actually meet each other face to face.
This was supposed to be my second trip to
B-Fest, but the 2001 expedition was
scuttled at the last moment due to some
work woes. Now, I was
already getting pretty jazzed by the
prospect of finally making it.
Planning
to debark for Chicago in the morning, we
head into Omaha proper and hit the
Suncoast Video where I picked up a copy of
The Man from Planet X,
Tombs of the Blind
Dead and
Children Shouldn’t Play with
Dead Things. We also hit the Barnes and
Noble and I indulged in my other passion --
World War II history, in particular the
ETO -- and picked up a copy of The 101st
Airborne in Normandy
and
The
Ardennes: The Battle of the Bulge.
After
spending entirely too much money, we made
our way into the Old Market area of town
and settled on The Spaghetti Works for
supper. The logical thinking was to pack
in the carbohydrates because we wouldn’t
be eating a whole lot over the next couple
of days because, allegedly (and
more
on this later),
there was no food or drink allowed in the
theater during B-Fest. While Paul wolfed down
some kind of green spaghetti, I
inhaled some fettuccini alfredo.
Stomachs
distended, we retired back to stately
Freeland Manor and watched the new Monty
Python and The Holy Grail
Special Edition
DVD. Man, sometimes you just forget how
funny that movie is. Watching the film
and all the extras, Paul then offered to pop in
The Last Man on Earth,
but I declined,
wanting to at least try to get some sleep
before the big day. This
was a little after midnight with a wake up
call set for 5:30 am. And I should have known
better. When I retired to one of the bedrooms,
I proceeded to stare at the ceiling for
about four hours. (I
work a graveyard shift, so my day usually runs from
11am to 4am.)
I did manage to catch a few Z’s before
Paul rousted me out.
We
hop into Paul’s car and I carve out a
niche in the back seat, hoping to catch a
few more winks. Stopping for gas, we also load up on pop,
Zingers, and I snagged a
couple Deli -- eat them at your
own gastrointestinal risk -- Express
ham-n-cheese
sandwiches for breakfast. I apologize to
Paul before hand, and then waited, inevitably,
for the government cheese on those things
to kick in. Chicago, here we come.
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B-Fest
or Bust
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And
the dreaded Black Hole of Des Moines!
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I
never could get Paul to pull my finger,
but before we even crossed the
Nebraska/Iowa border, the back windows
were already down. As I stretched out to try
and catch some more sleep, I’m jolted
awake by a string of profanities from
Paul. Glancing out the back window I see one of Iowa’s finest
wants us to pull over. Uh-oh, Rollers.
Lead-foot Freeland
got caught by the Iowa Sky (Nazi)
Patrol doing 84mph in a 65mph zone. To
be honest, as far as patrolmen go, this
guy was pretty nice and knocked the fine
down to something more reasonable. (And
in a strange ironic twist, I told Paul when
we started that I’d spring for gas and
his B-Fest ticket but for food and
speeding tickets he was on his own.)
Now,
there’s a funny thing I’ve noticed
while driving through Iowa -- right around
Des Moines, you run into some kind of...unnatural
phenomenon. I’ve dubbed
it The Black Hole of Des Moines,
and it’s
some kind of time/space distortion pocket that
sucks you in, where you drive around for 10
hours, and then it spits you out in the
exact same spot and at the exact same time
you entered it. And it moves! When
you’re traveling east it’s on the east
side of Des Moines, and while going west
it’s on the west side. Be proud, Iowa.
You have you’re very on Bermuda
Triangle.
Making
it out of The Hole, we stop in Davenport,
Iowa and meet up with
one of Paul’s soccer buddies for lunch. (Who
was a really nice guy but whose name
completely escapes me. All apologies
m’man.)
And who’d a thunk it, Davenport has an
authentic Japanese restaurant. Now I’ve had
Chinese, Greek, Jamaican and Vietnamese
cuisine, but I’ve never had "authentic"
Japanese food. I knew I was in trouble
when we pulled up and saw the name of the
place: Sayonara. I'm in serious trouble as we find a table and
I notice there is no silverware, only
chopsticks. Okay, I would probably have a better
chance of starting a fire by rubbing those
wooden sticks together than eating with
them, but I’m willing to try. Ordering
some Beef Teriyaki, after the
waitress brought it out, my task began in
earnest. I
harpooned what I could and discovered a
nasty little treat called wasubi. And
I’ll say it right now "HOW IN THE
HELL DO YOU EAT RICE WITH A COUPLE OF
STICKS!" My chopstick experiment
ended mostly in failure, and to be
honest, for the money, the portions were
pitifully small, but I knew in the back of
my mind that we needed to gas up yet and a
wonderful world of Twinkies, cookies and
beef jerky awaited me at the Kum-n-Go.
On
Paul's friend’s advice, we also make a course change. Instead of taking I-80
to I-55 and getting lost trying to get to
Lake Shore Drive -- like the last time I
ventured into Chicago, we found I-88, despite the
tolls, was a straight shot through the
heart of the beast that takes you straight
to Lake Shore. And from Lake Shore we find
Sheridan Road. And when we find that
we’ve found Evanston and B-Fest. (Wohoo!)
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On
the Toll Road Again
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Or:
So far so good!
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We
were actually making pretty good time, and according to my precise calculations,
we’d hit the Norris Center around 4:30;
plenty of time to meet everyone and get
acquainted. (And
yes, I allotted an hour to find a parking
spot. My cousin Roxie, a Chicago native,
is right about one thing -- a car in
Chicago is a complete nuisance.)
I-88
eventually merges into the Eisenhower
Expressway, which is kind of a misnomer
because the traffic moves anything but
expressly around four o’clock on a
Friday afternoon -- blowing my arrival
prediction to smithereens. We inched a
long and eventually dumped onto Lake Shore
Drive, which is as scenic as it sounds. We
found Sheridan Road and followed its
twists and turns, and as we lost daylight,
the map was becoming more useless, but
luckily, we arrived at the campus right at
5pm with one hour to spare.
Now
to find a parking spot.
HA!
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Parking
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Or:
But I don’t have a #*%@# Parking Permit!
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For
those of you who have never been to
Chicago, or any kind of big city, I will
tell you right now: Park your car at the
airport and take a cab to wherever you
need to go. There is no place to park in
Chicago. Period. Oh year, you can park -- but only during
certain hours on certain days, and then --
and
only then -- if you have a special permit.
And
that’s only good on weekends.
Aarrgghh!
After
wasting almost an hour, despite our lack of an
F-grade parking permit, we gave up and decided to
risk the parking garage that is
"relatively close" to the Norris
Center. We had five
minutes to show time so we’d go in, get
our tickets, and ask around to see if our
car was safe. Charging in, I plopped down
forty-bucks for both Paul and me, grabbed
a program, a nifty B-Fest cup courtesy of
my bosses at Stomp
Tokyo, then up some stairs and through the double
doors of McCormick Auditorium where Shangri-La, if you will,
and our home for the
next 24 hours, waited.
Stopping
for a moment to take it all in, I already
know this going to be great. I also noticed
several coolers, and that
everyone else had food and drinks. The
hell? We had nothing. Oh well, there’s
got to be some vending machines around
here somewhere.
I
hope.
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(Too)
Brief Introductions
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Or:
Hello,
My name is Chad.
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I
spot the good Dr. Freex by his trademark
cane along the side aisle and decided
that that would be the best place to
introduce myself to the Stomp
Tokyo gang. Handshakes are exchanged,
and he introduces me to Staff Sgt. Andrew
of Badmovies.org
who called me a Stomp Tokyo pod, as in pod
people, which I think is a
compliment. Several
members of the B-Movie
Message Board were there too. I spot
Tim "Telstar-Man" Lehnerer (great
CD by the way) by his spiffy green
mo-hawk, and between him and Skip "BBanzai"
Mitchell, I’m convinced that our car is
safe and will still be where we parked it
in the morning. Megalemur was there, too,
and I think there were more of you, but in
the rush, I’m drawing a blank. (Sorry.)
They
announce that the films will be starting
soon. Since it’s pretty crowded where
they’re all sitting, Paul and I
retreated to the back of the theater and
stake out some seats of our own. On the
way up the aisle, I run right into Chris
Holland -- one half of the benevolent
overlords of Stomp Tokyo. I quickly
introduced myself again (dang,
I wish we could have gotten here sooner),
and I promise to hopefully move closer as
the film-fest progresses. Taking some
seats dead-center in the back row, we let some other fellows in who are
hauling in quite a food stash, including a
bucket of hot wings from Hooters, just as
the emcee announces with a wink and a
nudge that no food or drink
is allowed in McCormick Auditorium. All I have is a
blanket, and in my bag are my gag papers to
give away, some dirty skivvies, my
migraine medication, and a small bottle of
warm milk in case I got to take them. And
here’s to hoping my head stays together.
(It
did. Note
to self: Next year, bring food.)
As
the
lights dim, I realize I'm about to pop my
B-Fest cherry.
Light
this damn candle.
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The
Crawling Eye
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And
Tojo's Revenge!
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Something
sinister is hiding in the fog up the
mountain, and it’s lopping people’s
heads off, so it’s up to Forrest Tucker (where’s
Larry Storch?)
and Janet Munro to save us all. Despite
its title and goofy monster, this is
actually a pretty good movie. Someone a
few rows up had a great line when the
monster is finally revealed through an
opened door and piped up "Excuse me,
is this the Dr. Who audition?" As the
good guys duck and cover, the Air Force
napalms the horde of Crawling Eyes into
oblivion.
The
crowd’s enthusiasm is very contagious
and I notice Paul has disappeared. (He
did this several times, and I finally
figured out where he went. He hit the
computer lab and was online. He saw the
movies he wanted to see and was happy
which made me happy.)
About
half way through the movie, the government
cheese, wasubi and Twinkies pushed my
intestinal fortitude past critical mass.
Time to find the john. (Am
I sharing too much here?) On the
way back in, I snatched another B-Fest cup
and will continue this snatch and grab until I
have a complete set to replace my fine
china. (Which means I can finally
retire my Burger King cups. Thank you
Stomp Tokyo.)
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Gymkata
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And
exact change please!
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This
movie kills me.
A
vehicle for gymnastic superstar Kurt
Thomas -- well, he would have been a
superstar if we hadn't boycotted the '80
Olympics in Moscow -- it’s amazing how
much gymnastic equipment mysteriously
crops up in ancient European cities. (Parallel
bars, a pommel horse, and the dreaded rings
of doom.)
Gymkataing his way into some ballyhooed
survival of the fittest contest, Kurt meets Hercules and they fight Nazis on the
moon, or something.
This
used to be a late night staple on TBS,
so I
took the opportunity to track down a
vending machine, bought a pop, and started
buying some peanut M&Ms. Got two
packages out,
put change in for a third and punched the
buttons, and when I looked over saw an empty coil
screwing. And that was the last of my exact
change. (*&^%$!!!)
Back to the theater and another B-Fest
cup, and I catch the end of the movie. And
a personal note of thanks to the film for encouraging the guy two
rows up, and five seats over on the left, to
shout "GYMKATA!" at the top of
his lungs for the next eight hours. Man, it was
funny for the first seven hours but eight was
pushing it just a little too far.
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What
is Communism?
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This
is Communism!
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A
nice little piece of cold war paranoia
left over from the 50s, with it, you too can spot a
godless heathen communist in seven easy
steps. And please, once you identify the
communist, shoot him or her on sight
before he converts you and yours. Even if
you’re only suspicious, shoot them
anyway.
Those
commies are sneaky and decevious little
bastards.
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Technical
Difficulties
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Please
Stand By!
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The
next movie on the slate was supposed to be
Battlefield Earth,
but when the projector
fired up, the film was not only upside
down but also backwards, which, not
surprisingly, brought a great cheer from
the audience. The lights came on and the
emcee announced that the film could be
fixed (dang!), but would take some
time so they’d have to juggle the
schedule around a bit to compensate.
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Hardware
Wars
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And
May Black-n-Decker be with you -- always!
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Long
before there was a Troops,
there was a
Hardware Wars.
A
long time ago...in another galaxy, later
that same day...Fluke Starbucker and Ham
Salad must save Princess Anne-Droid from
the clutches of Darph Nader. While R2-D2 is a
vacuum cleaner, Chowchilla, the wookie
monster, is a cookie monster puppet dyed brown,
and
the spaceships are made out of toasters,
waffle irons and bottle openers.
Somehow,
it all works.
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Message
from Space
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And
the natives get a little restless!
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While Message
from Space is usually confused as a Prince
of Space movie when,
in reality it is a bizarre combination of Fugitive
Alien, The Power Rangers and The Dukes of
Hazard. It also borrows heavily from Star
Wars and every other sci-fi movie from the
'70s. Personally, I like the movie
(and
will review it here one of these days.)
It has two of my favorite actors in it --
Sonny Chiba and Vic Morrow
(in a pimp
suit!), and lots of great miniature
work, eye-popping space battles and
general Japanese cinematic carnage, mayhem
and insanity. As
the movie played out, however, it soon became
quite clear that I was in the minority.
An
evil space overlord in Kabuki makeup
invades a peaceful planet of hippies.
Trusting in fate and prophecy, these
hippies launch a bunch of glowing space
walnuts that will find the chosen ones who will
deliver them from evil.
(Sure,
why not.) The chosen ones include
Chiba, Morrow and
Beebe-II, his Twiki-like robot. The rest are four young rocket
jockeys who spend most of the movie in a
highly agitated state (RE: spastic).
Following the hippie Princess and
her space boat to Earth by converting the
entire hippie planet into a rocket
ship(!), the bad aliens blow up the moon
to show they mean business. Eventually,
the princess rounds up
the chosen ones, and they eventually fight and
eventually destroy the evil Kabuki overlord.
Then all the
good guys board the space boat and head
off to parts unknown.
I
say "eventually" a lot, and
I think that’s why the audience
eventually turned
against the film. It does take it's own
sweet time, and once the film seems to
gain momentum it
would stop dead in its tracks and then
meander around for a while. And by the time it
reached the final battle, the audience
didn’t care and just wanted it to be
over.
As
the chants of "End!" started way
too early, I
laughed knowing we had a long ways to go yet.
Dang
space walnuts.
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The
Raffle Break
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Or:
Skunked Again.
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I
was just two numbers off from winning
The
Killer Shrews DVD.
During
the break, I started digging out my souvenir Y2k End of
the World Special Editions to hand out to
my peers. And a little explanation is probably
in order: I work in the composing
department for a newspaper and I got stuck
working New Years Eve during the whole Y2k
scare. So I conspired with a couple of
pressmen to print up a fake front page
declaring that the world had indeed ended.
Word got out through the B-Movie
Message Board about them
(for
the life of me I don’t remember how)
and I offered to bring some to
B-Fest
to
give away. While
I dug, I noticed Freeman "Dr.
Freex" Williams motoring towards me
so I presented him with a paper. Next came
Joe Bannerman of Opposable
Thumb Films. He got a paper and I got
a CD.
(Thanks
Joe!) We shot the breeze for a bit and
then wandered down toward the rest of the
Stomp Tokyo gang. There I meet the other
half of the benevolent Stomp Tokyo
overlords, Scott Thompson -- and Chris Diary
of a Tuber Magyar. I can't remember if
Filmboy
was there or not. Jeff if you were there, I
hope I said, "hi." (Government
cheese has rotted my brain.)
And
before I go any further, I want to say
this: The entire Stomp Tokyo gang, Chris,
Scott, Chris M, Joe and Freeman are
the most congenial and nicest frigging
guys you’ll ever want to meet. I’ll
admit I was a little nervous -- the bane
of social anxiety disorder -- but there was
no reason to be. Thanks one and all.
I’ll also give a shout out to the guys
and gals of the B-Movie
Message Board who attended; Skip, Tim,
Lemur and everyone else
(I can see your
faces but I can’t remember names. Think
Chad. Think.) who were also very
friendly and cordial and answered all my
questions.
I
made the rounds, handed out the rest of
the papers and had time to go and get
another soda pop and B-Fest cup before the
next film started. Heading back in, I met the gang from The
Brotherhood of Bad Movies and we
shared horror stories of Geocities Hell.
Nice guys -- go check out their site. I also
notice a lot of people are lying on the
stage as the lights start to dim. Curious,
I head
back to my seat, and as I opened another pack of M&Ms and settle
in, I’ve already
convinced myself that I can stay up for
the whole flipping thing.
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The
Wizard of Speed & Time
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Plus:
Time & Speed of Wizard The!
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We’re
starting to get a little surreal here. The
Wizard is a short film about a guy who
runs around at supersonic speed helping
ladies cross the street, among other
things. He books around the countryside, eventually tripping on a banana peel that
causes him to soar over a jet and fly into
a cave. And that it got weird.
I
noted how a lot of people were lying on
stage before the film started.
The Wizard
is a B-Fest staple, and at some point,
audience members started going on stage
and banging their feet in rhythm with the
soundtrack. Quite a sight. It's also a tradition to immediately rerun
the film backwards right after it
finishes. Again, quite a sight.
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Plan
9 from Outer Space
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'Nuff
Said.
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I
am honestly sick of this movie. I know it. Tasted
it. Backwards and forwards. When the film
cued up, I watched as the entire Stomp Tokyo crew
evacuated the theater to
parts unknown.
(Did
they know something I didn't?)
I
mulled for a moment on following them,
skipping Plan 9, and getting better
acquainted, but I’m glad I decided to
stay put. Once again, the crowd’s
enthusiasm won me over. The gentleman with
the hot wings was nice enough to loan me a
stack of paper plates to chuck during
strategic moments of the film.
I
stayed out of the whole wicker/rattan
debate, but gladly joined in on the
Bela/Not Bela and Tor chants. And the air was
soon filled with flying picnic accessories
to simulate the flying saucer attack.
Kudos to the A&O Film Crew for their
dramatic interpretations staged in front
of the movie screen. The two gentlemen
piggybacking in the sleeping bag, doubling
as Bela’s stunt-double, was priceless.
That was definitely worth sitting through the
Solarnite speech again.
We
of Earth may be idiots with stupid, stupid
minds -- but at least we know how to
throw a punch.
(Plus
five bucks says Eros is a communist.)
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What
Danger Lurks Beyond the Midnight
Hour? |
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Click
on Over and Find
Out in Part
II! |
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