Ah, B-Fest. 24-straight hours of butt-numbing, sleep-depriving and mind-melting cinematic cheese. 

Since I had so much fun last year, I decided I'd go back to the annual event for some sloppy seconds. I had penciled in my vacation request earlt and was pretty gung-ho about returning. And then it lost a little thunder when I saw the line-up for this year's B-Fest -- and it just didn't have the same, stinky allure of last year's schedule. I hadn't seen over half the films featured last year, which was a big selling point, and this year was ripe with atrocities from the 1980's but I'd already seen them all save one -- Warlords of Atlantis. And, aside from Flesh Gordon, it didn't have the same sleazy overnight punch as last years either. 

At that I point, I was even contemplating backing out. A trip to Chicago for the fest is no small task. Basically an 11-hour drive in, 24-hours of films, and then an 11-hour drive right back. You'll notice sleep is nowhere in that equation. Is it worth it? Yeah. Yeah, it is. 

First, my good buddy Paul Freeland, who attended with me last year, was ready and willing to go again, then the B-Board promised to be well represented and it was a golden opportunity to hang out with the whole Stomp Tokyo crew again. So, schedule be damned, I'm going. We also picked up another victim -- Mike Bockoven, a friend and co-worker who is a fine connoisseur of cinema cheese with a major in Troma releases. His lovely wife Sarah contemplated going with us but a scheduling conflict prevented this.

The plan was to leave Grand Island at the butt-crack of dawn Friday morning, swing through Omaha and pick up Paul, then off to Chicago to hopefully arrive at the Northwestern University campus around 4pm. The weather for B-Fest weekend called for cold and snow in the windy city. The cold didn't bother us as our own current temperature hovered around minus-7 degrees. The snow wouldn't be a problem either as Sarah graciously offered her Jeep to transport us. So it was all set.

I give up the idea of sleep at 3am. Hungry, I cook a frozen pizza and eat. I recheck my bag of goodies and make sure I've got my maps and directions to Paul's house, then shower up and wait for Mike.

Mike's having the same thoughts I am. We're going to Chicago. And the early hour and lack of sleep has us giggling like a couple of kids sneaking into town on a learner's permit. Once we hit the road, he reveals the real reason why Sarah isn't going with us. They've just found out she's pregnant, they're gonna have a baby, and that scheduling conflict was a doctor's appointment. Giving Mike a hearty congratulations as we press on, I silently pray that I don't get him killed. We make our way to Omaha and pick up Paul with a minimum of wrong turns. And we all say a prayer as we cross the river and head into Iowa where I explain to Mike my theory on a little time and space anomaly called...

I talked about this phenomenon in last year's memoir. To sum up: While driving through Iowa via I-80, right around Des Moines, you run into some kind of unnatural distortion in the space/time continuum that I’ve dubbed The  Black Hole of Des Moines. When it sucks you in you drive around -- for like, ten hours -- 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. I'll say it again, be proud Iowa, you have you’re very own Bermuda Triangle.

We make it out of the anomaly unscathed and stop in Iowa City for some gas and food. Keerist it's cold. Our schedule is holding up fine. We should still hit the auditorium parking lot around 4pm where we know it's safe to park -- unlike last year, when we wasted an hour trying to find a parking spot because we didn't read the fine print on the parking signs. Mike asks me if we have tickets. I say No; we'll buy them when we get there. He asks What if they're sold out? Well, that would suck. 

Morale is high as we listen to several odd recordings, including Dr. Demento's 20th Anniversary collection and a compilation of people reading the works of Edgar Allan Poe, and this gets us all the way into Chicago proper. We get on the Eisenhower Expressway that isn't really moving expressly, but we're moving and the traffic is actually less congested than last year. After we get into skyscraper territory, we do a little stair-stepping down to Lake Shore Drive, then follow the lake until it ends and dump off onto Sheridan Road. We follow it's twists and turns until we get to Evanston and the campus where we pull into the parking lot a little after 4pm. 

That was too easy, he thinks. And we'll probably pay for it later. 

Yes, kids, that's called ominous foreshadowing.

Telstar-Man gives us all a B-Fest 2003 mix CD, and we ask if we can get tickets yet. The box-office doesn't open till five but we can stash our stuff in the theater if we like. We make our way up the stairs and into McCormick Auditorium where a few people are already milling around. Paul, Mike and I talk it over and decide to commandeer the back row again. We leave our stuff and head back out to get more acquainted with the newbies. Pulling up some chairs by the others, Paul is the smart one and hits the cafeteria for some food. What was I thinking? Hecubus shows up and I'm disappointed to find out that Cliffie isn't going to make it. More luminaries show up. I spot Ken from Jabootu and Nathan from Cold Fusion Video and was about to go and introduce myself when they were swarmed over by others, so I decided to wait and do it later but then never got around to it. My bad, fellas.

At five, we wandered back to the auditorium and got our tickets, programs, poster and official Stomp Tokyo B-Fest cup. Everyone else started filtering in too. Freex and Chris give us hell for sitting in the back again, but I joked I had to have the head start to beat Freex to the donuts in the morning. He responded by shaking his cane at me. He also revealed that this was finally the year when Forever Evil would be released on DVD. I can't wait for that. He also has a present for me. We had shared some e-mail correspondence when I reviewed some Spanish Loony Tunes a while back and he gave me a tape of Looney Tunes that were dubbed in Chinese that he helped put together plus some bonus oddities. Can't wait to take a look at this when I get home. Thanks, Doc. 

Doing her best to hush the buzzing crowd, the emcee welcomed and thanked us all for coming. She gave a quick rehash of the rules for audience behavior and apologized beforehand for any technical glitches that might occur. As the lights dimmed and the first feature spooled up, Mike asked if I had any last words of advice as he broke open a bag of Oreos. I just told him to go with the flow and follow the audience's lead. 

I’ll try to sum up each film in one or two paragraphs that will make less and less sense as my sleep-deprived brain -- buzzing on too much soda, body funk, and sugar -- tries and fails to keep things in focus, so bear with me because B-Fest is about to kick my ass again. Let's get to it. You wanna live forever?

Our first film opens with a Trekie's wet dream: Captain William Tiberius Shatner riding on a noble steed, in slow motion even, thunders onto the scene to save us all much to the audience's delight. Wild Bill plays a veterinarian whose town is inexplicably overrun with rogue, low-angle POV-shots until the little bastard arachnids reveal themselves. They work their murderous rampage up the food chain, but no one pays attention until poor Woody Strode is killed.

Two reasons you need to see this movie. First, Strode's widow fighting off a spider assault with a pistol -- including blowing one off her own hand, and second, when Shatner, in a brief fit of stupidity, can't figure out what the noise in the air-vent is so, being a genius, opens up the vent. Instant spider-shower!

As Mike and I debated over how many socks Shatner stuffed in his polyester pants, we steeled ourselves for the next feature. Gack! God help us all and deliver us from Rob Van Winkle...

Rob Van who? Well, he's the artist formerly known as Vanilla Ice, and this is his movie. Basically, a rhyming stick-boy with a bad haircut delivers pasty-white fists of fury while dispensing justice from his Chiquita Banana-Mobile. Go ninja! Go ninja! Go!

That may be oversimplifying things just a tad -- but not by much. Vanilla falls for the daughter of Michael Gross who just happens to be in the witness protection program. He mistakes Vanilla for one of the mafia hoods who are looking for him and some money. Thus, he forbids Vanilla from seeing her. Will true love survive? How many "cool" felonies can our hero commit before getting arrested? And who won the Tecmo Bowl game? Watch and find out. I dare you.

Yo-yo-yo, keep it real to my peeps. I've been zeroed and hit with the hero. Dig it, part of this film plays out like a commercial for some pharmaceuticals -- or one of those new car ads. You know, the ones where people just kind of run around and pose, music blares, and you have no idea what the advertisements for. As the hero of the picture, Mr. Ice is very brave. Not many people can pull off wearing yellow pants like that. Hehehehehe. 

What's this? A musical extravaganza tacked onto the end? Wow. Never saw that coming. Break it down, yo! Yeah, booyeee...

...

...

EEEEENNNNNNDDDD!

Thank you.

Okay, enough with the camera flashes already during the credits. Every time Freddy Mercury sang the word Flash, a dozen cameras would pop-off -- all aimed back toward us. Thank you, I'm friggin' blind. 

We all know the story. Dr. Zarkov kidnaps Flash and Dale and they rocket off to Mongo to save the Earth. There, they try to unite the various kingdoms into rebelling against the tyrannical Ming the Merciless. Through some trickery, timely subterfuge, and little old fashioned butt-kicking, the universe, and Dale, are saved.

This movie kills me and is an absolute riot to watch. Dino de Laurentis stopped making JAWS rip-offs long enough to try and cash in on Star Wars by using some left over sets and costumes from Barbarella with hilarious results. Actually, the retro sci-fi set designs, costumes and props are one of the big plusses of the film. And with such an outstanding supporting cast, where in the hell did they dig up Sam Jones for the lead? I enjoy Sam's performance, but he is kind of a dope. The movie also contains one of my favorite battle sequences of all time: When the Hawkmen attack Ajax's ship while the whacked out soundtrack blaring, is friggin' brilliant. Playing King Vultan, what keeps the excitable Brian Blessed head from exploding is also one of life's great mysteries.

Mike was amazed that Topol was in this movie, so I told him to wait until you see who they got to play Ming. I also had some soda come out my nose during Flash's execution scene. We get a close up of his rear in those leather shorts and Mike blurts out "ASS! AAAaaAAAUUGGGHH!" Great. Now everything smells like Diet Dew. Thanks, Mike.

Only three films in and my head is already in a fog. I determine, much to my regret, that I'll never be able to stay awake for the entire festival. While the emcees call out ticket numbers, no where near mine, I consult the schedule and determine that Dementia 13 is the shut-off point. Determined to at least make it that far, I cracked open another soda to add to my caffeine buzz. I also take the opportunity to wander down the aisle and sheepishly ask Mitch O'Connell, B-Fest artist extraordinaire, to autograph my program, which he graciously does and even doodles a Tor for me. Thank you, sir. 

When I think of B-Fest, I think of this trippy little short about a wizard with supersonic speed, racing across the countryside, followed by a bizarre stop-motion musical number of dancing film cans and cameras that tends to creep you out and mess with your sleep-deprived head. To compound this, they immediately rerun the short -- only in reverse, so the guy is running backwards making it Time & Speed of Wizard The.

The Wizard is truly a surreal experience. Audience participation during the fest is encouraged, but during this particular short it reaches its zenith. When the film started, Megalemur, decked out in his spiffy Wizard outfit, led the charge as people stormed the stage, laid flat on their backs and stomped in unison with the speedy wizard until he tripped on a banana peel and flew out of control. I really laughed when they had trouble with the projector until Lem stood up and worked some hoodoo on it, and then the film magically came to life. Outstanding work, young man.

It's midnight. I've been up for 36-straight hours. Wait. Midnight? Crap. *sigh* Solarnite speech.

I've only been to two B-Fests now, but this one seemed to be plagued by technical glitches. Not a complaint, just an observation; besides, it's fun to wail and stomp when things go wrong. 

Case in point, the crowd cheered when the lights went down at midnight in anticipation of the movie. Hands clutching those paper plates, ready to let the discs fly, when the first reel spooled up and we see Conrad Brooks and Paul Marco running around the grave yard complaining about spook details...That's the wrong reel. And the audience roared until it stopped and started over at the beginning. The film never really recovered.

My brain was already misfiring and this film didn't help. I remember watching this film. I was there. And my eyes were open, but nothing registered. I sorta remember Lynn Redgrave as an albino with a funny accent, and Richard Lynch showing up out of nowhere. And haven't we seen that jogging scene already? Oh, I bet those are cops. This is a sting. Hey! They're jogging again. Wake up, Mike, you're missing a great movie!

The Happy Hooker is one of those films whose titles promises a lot but fails to deliver anything and felt like a TV-movie of the week. Isn't anybody going to get naked? The answer was a disappointing no.

The technical difficulties continued as an entire reel of the movie was left out. No wonder it felt so disjointed, but no one really noticed and no one cared except for the fact that the film ended rather abruptly. Then they started to show the omitted reel after the closing credits, but no one seemed all that interested so they stopped it and just ran The Wizard of Speed and Time again -- both ways, to appease the audience.

By 2am, the Norris Center building was locked up, so we were essentially trapped there until the next morning. People were dropping like flies where they sat. Others took to the stage and stretched out. Later, Dr. Freex made the brilliant observation that the theater was starting to resemble the harrowing scene of Confederate wounded lying around the train yard from Gone With The Wind.

Six films down, nine to go. Are there any Oreos left?

A wave of disappointment hits me as this year's mystery short, A Language All My Own, spools up and I see it's only a Betty Boop cartoon. Nothing against Ms. Boop, it just means no midget short this year. No midget Hitler. No Midget of Speed and Time. *sigh*

As for the cartoon short itself? The Fleischer brothers were on drugs. It's the only rational explanation.

Finally, the naughty portion of our program. If you haven't figured it out already, this was an X-rated parody of Flash Gordon where almost everyone’s naked, including the robots. Despite its adult themes, the special-effects and production designs are really quite good. And dare I say, better than the Flash we saw earlier? When given a chance, it proves not half as bad as it’s notorious reputation. Honestly, porn has no business being this good.

Okay, black dots obscuring your vision isn't a good or a healthy thing right? My brain is gone. I can't remember what's next. Using the blue light on my watch I consult the program. One more film to go before Dementia 13. I can stay awake for one more film. Yeah, but with Doug McClure in the lead it ain't going to be easy.

As the film started, I realized, to my mistake and delayed joy, that I in fact had seen this film before so I wouldn't fight off sleep if it comes and takes me.

McClure and company are testing a new diving bell. I spot Felix from the old Bond films, and John Ratzenberger as members of the crew. Once submerged, the diving bell is attacked by a giant sea serpent until they can electrocute it. Up above, a mutiny is interrupted by a giant octopus attack that drags everybody underwater to the undersea kingdom of Atlantis. And the Atlanteans aren't real happy to see them, so they're all thrown in the dungeon. There they sat until the castle is attacked by a couple of giant horned-frogs. As the critters scale the castle walls, the prison walls come a tumbling down aandddzzzZZzZZz...