Dementia 13 is hard to describe because it doesn't make a lick of sense. I have a copy of this film at home. I've tried to watch it a couple of times but I can never make it to the end. I either fall asleep or the film loses me and I wander off. 

The dubious directorial debut of Francis Ford Coppola, Roger Corman sent him off to Ireland with about a $1.50, no script, with orders to make a film using a castle. And you wonder why it didn't make any sense. So I finally saw the end of this tale of family trouble, and axe murderers, but now I can't recall the beginning -- so it still doesn't make any sense! *sigh*

As I glance at my watch, it pains me to think how long I've been up without any real sleep. My brain is buzzing, my stomach is nauseous because I've had no real food since Arby's yesterday in Iowa. And what's the cure for nausea? Why a combination of Oreos and Pringles. Duh.

I head back to the seats to dig out some more junk food. Mike hears me and wakes up, disoriented and out of sorts. I tell him he's just in time for the gawdawful -- even for a wrasslin' picture -- piece of "dookie" known as...

No Holds Barred

(Aaaaaaaarrrrrrggggghhh!)

The Hulkster has some problems with an evil cable mogul who wants to start his own wrestling channel. Wanting Hogan to be his centerpiece, the wrestler refuses by stuffing the ill-tempered mogul's check into his mouth, quipping he won't be around when it clears. The first of many poop jokes to come, I'm afraid.

I'm not even going to touch the romantic subplot with Joan Severance. For God's sake, they were aping It Happened One Night. And Hulk, puts some pants on -- we can see your little Hulkamaniac for cripesakes! Yikes. It could have been worse. It could have been back to back episodes of Thunder in Paradise with Chris Lemon and that insipid talking boat. Okay, we all know the evil mogul is supposed to be Ted Turner, who was trying to start his own wrasslin' franchise at the time. Hulk, along with Vince McMahon, were the producers here and they pull no punches on poor old Ted -- wait?! Didn't Hulk eventually defect to the WCW in real life? Say it ain't so, Hulkster? Say it ain't so.

At this point, my rational brain surrendered and shut itself down for the rest of the film fest. My non-rational brain was now in complete control and was laughing at my reason centers, and poking them with a sharp stick. In a state of half-giggling consciousness I endured. Maybe this was some kind of psychological defense mechanism? Well, at least I had abandoned the idea of running head-first into the wall. Mike is about as coherent as I am, and together, we skewer the movie without mercy over a can of Pringles. So the Hulkster stops a $300 cafe robbery by doing at least $50000 in property damage? 

Aaauuuuuurrrrgghhh!

When the lights come up again, we were ahead of schedule, thanks to The Happy Hooker fiasco, so the breakfast break would be longer than expected. Wandering out of the theater toward the cafeteria area, Mike gets in line for a bagel and some coffee but I've had enough to eat and drink for awhile. I find a table and try and get my head together, pinching myself hard to make sure this wasn't all some fever dream brought on by The Black Hole of Des Moines. Megalemur, sans his wizard robes, joins me and we discuss the social and political ramifications of No Holds Barred, and we both concurred that it would be impossible that a pure, and noble spirit like Hulk Hogan should have blood on his hands. So the filmmakers made the right choice having the media mogul kill himself. He also explained that during an earlier scene, the bad guy who had crapped his pants had said it was "dookie" not "pookie" in his pants. Ah, that makes perfect sense now.

I had planned ahead and brought my own donuts this year. Breaking them out, I took a seat on the floor near our seats and stretched out for a bit. My knees were holding up remarkably well, but as I munched on one of Old Home's finest crullers, I regretted that we didn't have any Skittles to throw at the screen. Why? Because it was time for a noxious little E.T. rip off called...

Mac and Me

(...And the Ovipositor Hokey--Pokey!)

We open on a planet in a galaxy somewheres else. As a family of thee ugliest alien critters clumsily stumble around the lunarscape, they come upon a probe from Earth that's busy collecting rock samples. When it cranks up a vacuum cleaner to collect more, the curious aliens prove extremely malleable and are stretched out, sucked in and compressed into a holding tank. And then the probe rockets back to Earth (I'm assuming several years have past during transit) where the aliens are uncorked and manage to escape the high-security facility. Somehow, I don't remember too much 'cuz I was laughing so hard, the littlest alien winds up in the minivan of our protagonist -- a wheel-chair bound kid whose name escapes me. It's not important. Much insanity ensues as the little critter becomes addicted to Coke, Skittles and McDonald's fast food.

And I can smell the synapses in my brain frying shut during the "hide the alien in the teddy-bear pelt" scene before they spontaneously combust into a dance number at Mickey-D's where Ronald McDonald approvingly looks on. *shudder* Near death, the alien family is reunited out in the desert and brought back to life by the power of Coke. Then they all blow up, but the critters prove fire-proof too and manage to resurrect the wheel-chair bound kid who was caught in the explosion. And in the film's final insult, the alien family is rewarded for their good deeds with American citizenship. Okay. Do they have any appreciable skills other than whistling and making obscene hand gestures? 

Bleaugh! This thing is so saccharine it will give you diabetes. Watching Mac & Me is the cinematic equivalent of getting kicked in the groin. Repeatedly. Was anyone else really creeped out when that thing was dancing? Mike and I were having a blast voicing over the mute little alien cretin as if he were Hitler's evil spawn. Deciding that this is what a Jawa looks like without his robes on, he sounded like Meatwad of the Aqua-Teens on a really bad day. "Give me Coke! Now! Or I will keel you hu-mans. Eat my frigging death-ray!" Or, when he was wearing the bear suit, "You will pay for this indignity hu-mans! I will call in the mother ship and rain death and fire on you all!" And when they all gathered around the hero to bring him back to life, we were praying that they'd finally bring out their ovipositors and lay some eggs inside the little creep. This quickly prompted the invention of The Ovipositor Hokey-Pokey: "You put your ovipositor in, you pull your ovipositor out. You put your ovipositor in and you shake it all about. You lay your eggs inside the host while they are still alive! Hey! That's what its all about!"

Props also must go out to the B-Boards very own Hecubus who rolled across the stage out of control in his own wheel-chair simulating what was happening on screen. That was beautiful. Hee-hee. The power of Coke compels you. The power of Coke compels you...

 

The Last Dragon

(Sho' 'Nuff!)

It's almost noon, and aside from that abortive nap, I've been up for almost 50-hours. Two whole freaking days! All apologies, but the rest of the films are kind of a blur, including this one.

I do enjoy this movie. It's a great film and was a welcome respite, but, dang it, Where was the pain this year? When I was complaining about the line-up earlier, my major beef was that the films in this year's line-up were just too good. Sure, Mac & Me was soul-suckingly awful but nothing compared to the vileness survived last year.  I complained a lot about Merkin and The Lonely Lady last year, but the experience is something I intend to tell my grandkids about. This year's films were loopy enough, but not all that painful and I won't be carrying any emotional scars or trauma like last year.

End of rant. Back to the film...The Last Dragon focuses on Bruce Leroy, a young man from the ghetto, who has completed his kung-fu training and spends the rest of the film searching for a new master. When he's not searching, he keeps saving Applonia from another evil media-mogul who wants the Veejay to play his girlfriend's video on her popular show. The evil mogul's normal goons (including Chaz Palmentari and William H. Macy!) are no match for Leroy so he hires the ultimate bad-ass, the Shogun of Harlem (who went on to play Lord Bowler in Brisco County.) Along the way, Leroy finally discovers who his true master is, saves Applonia and his little brother, and learns how to glow in the dark and vanquishes all the bad guys with true fists of fury. 

Like I said, a great film, so we just sat back and watched and cheered. My stomach's rumbling for something more than Doritos and Oreos, so I ask Mike and Paul if they want to head to the cafeteria for some grub. Mike declines, saying he's going to try and catch some more sleep. We stick around long enough for the next film to spool up, 'cuz there's one more thing I got to do first before we eat.

 

It Came From Beneath the Sea

(While I Went to the Cafeteria!)

I waited until the credits rolled by and gave the recently departed Ken Tobey a salute, then excused myself from the theater. Paul followed and we had to go around Knot-head and his D&D players, black and white film after all, who had reformed in the entrance and headed to the cafeteria. Paul is braver than I am and samples the Japanese cuisine, while I settled on a couple of plain cheeseburgers. I contemplate getting a soda, but think better of it; I have a feeling that I'd bleed soda pop right now if someone punctured me. Grabbing a seat, manners dictate that I wait for Paul before gorging. Chris Holland motored by and offers to come and sit with them over by the window, hoping to get better reception on his tri-corder. I pick up my plate and follow. We pull a couple of tables together and the roll call as we go around the table includes myself, Seraphim Jones (another member of the B-Board), Paul, Chris, Doc Freex, Skip "BBanzai" Mitchell and his lovely wife George. We swap more war stories of anti-Communist film shorts, why you can't get good sushi at the grocery store, the joys of Mystery Science Theater and why Clean Slate was inferior to Memento.

Paul almost tricks me into sampling some wasubi, but I won't fall for that trick again. As everyone finishes up, we peel off one by one and mosey back to theater just in time for the octopus attack on San Francisco. I was in San Fran earlier this year and drove right by the clock tower the creature destroyed, and I'm still kicking myself for not getting a picture of it. Eventually, the octopus is nuked and the world is once again safe for democracy. Way to go, Mr. Tobey.

For more thoughts on It Came from Beneath the Sea, you can check out my review of it right here. Right now, I got find my pad and pencil because I'm about to learn...

What is Communism?

(This is Communism!)

This is another traditional short at B-Fest. A Cold War relic that helps you spot the lying, deceitful, murdering, dirty international criminal conspirators in six easy steps. Trust no one, and kill them before they kill or enslave you. Your country's depending on you, comrade.

Yeah, that was us humming "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" from the back row.

 

Supergirl

(...And I Have Reached a New Level of Semi-Consciousness!)

Superman's cousin, Kara, comes to Earth to retrieve the incandescent and amazingly colossal gobstopper that her uncle, Peter O'Toole, lost. Landing on Earth, she first survives a rape attempt by Matt Frewer, and then goes about establishing a secret identity, befriends Jimmy Olson and Lois Lane's younger sister. We then hear over the plot specific radio channel that Superman will be off planet to solve some galactic crisis, and since he won't be around to solve any local crisis, it's up to her to save the world from Faye Dunaway, who has commandeered the amazingly colossal gobstopper, and her henchwoman, Brenda Viccaro. To do this she survives a trip through the Phantom Zone and a runaway steam shovel auditioning for Killdozer II. The End. I think.

What a truly dreadful movie. I really don’t remember that much about it except that I didn't recall Helen Slater filling out those blue-jammies that well before. (Forgive me for that piggish statement, I was really tired.) Despite the intake of food, my buzzing brain was soon replaced with an aching one from whiplash. As I kept nodding off, thinking I was falling, I'd jerk back awake.

With sixteen films down and one to go, Paul brings word that the Weather Channel says the weather between us and home is deteriorating rapidly with heavy snow likely. Well, so much for sticking around for awhile after the festival ended. The emcee comes on the stage one last time and thanks us again for attending. She also asks that we clean up after ourselves. We give her, A&O films and Stomp Tokyo a big round of applause for making all this happen.

Then the lights dim for our last feature...

 

Godzilla 1985

(Brought to You by Dr. Pepper!)

It’s a tradition to end the festival with a giant monster movie of Japanese origin. This year was Godzilla 1985. He’s back, he’s bad, and he’s got a thing for bird calls.

After disappearing for a number of years, Godzilla returns to wreak a little havoc. While he attacks a nuclear reactor and absorbs the radiation, a scientist and his plucky assistants observe that the monster is distracted and follows a flock of birds back into the sea. Since conventional weapons have no effect, a plan is hatched to duplicate the bird-signal and lure Godzilla to an active volcano and dump him in it. Meanwhile, Godzilla attacks Tokyo and the government sics the Super-X on him. And the hi-tech battlewagon actually takes Godzilla out but then those stinking, lying, commies launched a nuclear missile even though Japan asked them not to. Luckily, the Americans intercede and intercept the missile over Tokyo with their own rocket. Unfortunately, all the nuclear fall-out revives Godzilla -- and he's kind of pissed. He quickly takes out the Super-X, but the scientist perfects his bird call just in time, luring Godzilla away from Tokyo -- right when he was about to flatten his perky assistants. Luring the monster all the way to the volcano, explosives are detonated under his feet and he falls to his death into the molten lava.

Back in the American command post, Raymond Burr, who they dug out for just this occasion, waxes philosophical about Godzilla in a speech that would have made Criswell proud, and then chugs a Dr. Pepper.

Godzilla 1985 isn't the best Godzilla movie, but it still delivers the rubber-suited goods and was the last theatrically released Godzilla movie in the states until Godzilla 2000. I feel bad because I was only half paying attention anyway as we packed and cleaned up our area up in the dark, planning to evacuate as soon as the big guy finished stomping Tokyo flat. His dirty deeds done, the lights came up, and sadly, B-Fest 2003 has come to an end. I was a walking zombie at this point, but despite my reservations about the line-up, lack of sleep and sitting next to the "GYMKATA!" guy for awhile, I had an outstanding time. But, as the poet Frost said (sort of), with miles to go before we sleep, we said some quick good-byes to Chris, Doc, Marlowe, Hen, Skip and the others and apologize profusely for having to run off so quickly again.