B-Fest '05 Part III

Ro-Man Rumble!

Yeah, boy. You lose all sense of time and space during B-Fest; e'yup, you feel like you've been in there for days. The Apple? That was at least three days ago. What came before that? I don't have a clue. And I can't really feel anything from the waste down or the neck up. 

Which is the perfect mind-frame for B-Fest's back stretch, and I'm doubly excited because I finally get to fulfill a life long dream of playing Ro-Man in front of an audience. Well, put a pillow over my head and chase a girl around stage and kill her while pretending to be Ro-Man.

Close enough for me!

One of my absolutely favorite films of all time makes a welcome appearance at B-Fest, where Ro-Man the Robot Monster lays waste to humanity with his trusty calcinator death-ray and death-bubbles. Lots of death-bubbles. 

All that's left are a small family, but they prove little match for the scourge of the galaxy. That is until he gets the mange and his circuits fuse because of the hu-man called Al-lice. Uh-oh. Will anything save our hero from those pesky hu-mans?

* * * *

I love this movie and all its glorious ineptness; it has enough sci-fi techno-babble to make even the most hardened Trekkies' head explode, and then in the end, when Ro-Man expresses his confused feelings over Al-lice, with the Shakespearean sincerity of Shylock in a Merchant of Venice, my head explodes. (And bravo Buckethead Tim for the Ro-Man Hamlet scenario.)

What always amazes me, though, is when you get past all that, is how unrelentingly bleak the whole movie is.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Phil Tucker is a genius. Or a certified wacko.

And, yes, during the scene where Ro-Man bear hugs the little girl to death that was me chasing Jessica on stage, catching her and carrying her back off stage (and all apologies to whoever I stepped on back there.) The plan was to head back up again and throttle Mike when Ro-Man kills Johnny, and then to die, myself, like a hu-man, but we couldn't get up there in time.

Since they were having trouble with the Robot Monster print, they bumped up this short while they tried to fix it:

A nun and a priest sing and genuflect at the altar of some church. Then they run outside into a phone booth and change into ersatz super-heroes of the Cloth. They then rush around slapping red "A"s on all the hookers, and do their darnedest to erase all traces of sin off the face of the Earth.

* * * *

What the -- What the hell was that?!

Did I really see this, or was it some kind of sleep-deprived, Twinkie and caffeine induced delusion?

Wow. The Roman Catholic version of Rat Phink a Boo Boo.

When a nuclear reactor leaks toxic waste into the basement of the local high school, the honor society transforms into a slobbering band of mutants. These mutants then sell toxic reefers to unsuspecting students; including our jock hero and his cheerleader girlfriend, who give birth to some kind of hell-spawn as a direct result of smoking it. (Just say no, m'kay.)

As the mutants trash the school while trying to kill our heroes, the mutant Baby Huey comes to the rescue, killing them all and reducing the school to rubble.

* * * *

I'm honestly not the biggest fan of Troma's canon, but this one was relatively harmless. At least they were still trying for legitimacy with this one. All the Troma staples are here: blood, boobs, bodily fluids, and a faint whiff of urine, all for my viewing pleasure. Thank you, Mr. Kaufman. Thank you.

The highlight of the screening was the audience joining in on the singing of the national anthem. So profane and out of tune it was I believe every American flag on campus burst into flames.

Cobbled together from several episodes of the old Lassie TV show, Neeka is an orphaned Indian living with his guardian; and always under the ever-watchful of eye of our canine hero. Inane doesn't even come close to describing the attempts at a plot in this thing. There's a haunted ghost town where nothing happens -- except the same dang tumbleweed keeps managing to scare them. Then Neeka blows up a truck and blames it on the dog. Then he meets a cranky old man who knows a lot about leaves, and baking bread, who almost drowns.

Lassie doesn't seem all that interested in the proceedings -- and I ain't either, really -- until he/she has to bail the little cretin out again and again. He/she has to, or Neeka will probably blame it all on him/her. 

And for the life of me, I can't remember how this dang thing finally ended. 

It did end, right?

* * * *

You know this one was pretty entertaining to watch while the sound was out of synch; but then they had to go and fix it. This was the back breaker this year for its refusal to end. How many "Is Timmy in the well" jokes can a guy make? I got a big laugh from Doc Freex when I tapped him on the shoulder, and asked if the old hermit was Sonny Chiba in reference to Message from Space; another movie that refused to end a few years ago.

Now, one of the themes at this year's B-Fest was the diabolical work of young cretins making bad situations exponentially worse, but then suffer no repercussions for their actions. That twit with the molotov cocktail in The Swarm, all 3 Ninjas, Johnny in Robot Monster, and finally, Neeka; who blows up a truck, which indirectly injures a horse, but all he gets is a pat on the head and a "Don't let it happen again" finger waived in his face.

Won't anyone think of the children?

After the great galactic war lays waste to the galaxy, the only thing worth anything is water, leading to roving bands of space pirates who raid ice space-convoys. And this is where we, Robert Urich, Angelica Huston, and the gal who shot J.R. enter the picture, looking for the treasure map to the fabled lost world of water hidden somewhere in Bruce Villanch's mouth.

Couple that with booger picking aliens, space herpes, and a robot that soils itself, and then top it off with the climatic battle in a space warp, where you age one year every 30 seconds, and you've really got something.

Exactly what that "something" is, though, is still up for debate.

* * * *

Did I mention that the same guy who directed this also directed Mac & Me and Tammy & the T-Rex?

This is the film that I helped sponsor through the BMMB, thanks to the diligent efforts of Tim. This really isn't Tim's favorite movie, though, and was fifth on the list of requests, so, of course, this is the one we got. Since I originally suggested this film last year, Tim blamed me for it. And that's why I got brained with a pillow about halfway through the screening. Then he slunk off into the darkness to settle up with the rest of the Board who voted for it before I could retaliate.

I won't say the audience embraced the film, but they didn't exactly riot either. And if that's not a resounding endorsement, I don't know what is?

Two more shorts to prolong the agony.

The first was a golfing short that started with golfing Indians, golfing Scandinavians on skis and then some yahoo showing off his trick shooting abilities. Which aren't that impressive after they show us how he cheated. 

The second was a vintage women's wrasslin' match. A couple of gals, I think one of them was Jessica, liven things up by having their own wrasslin' match on stage. 

A cadre of chain-smoking astronauts transport the lone survivor of the previous expedition back to Earth for court-martial when they don't believe his stories of a monster killing his crew. Their opinion quickly changes, though, when a stowaway strikes and kills a few of them.

All concerns for hull integrity are ignored as the crew attacks IT! with rifles, grenades, and bazookas to protect their precious cargo of cigarettes. 

Will anything kill IT!

* * * *

Yeah, but I'm not going to tell you how.

This is actually a pretty good movie, and considering its spot in the order goes over fairly well with the audience.

I ducked out to the bathroom and overheard three people saying they didn't want to sit through another '50s space movie like Project Moonbase. I wanted to tell them to give this one a chance, at least there's a monster, but considering my own stench at this point, all the Pringle bits in my beard, and the very large pizza stain on my shirt, I let it go.

The only unforgivable moments are the wimmen astronauts -- the doctor and the physicist! -- relegated to kitchen duties while the men lounge and the effortless idiotic romantic subplot.

Keinholtz? Keinholtz? Aaarrggh! Gino?

19 films down and one to go and, of course, it's another Golan-n-Globus musical. Gleaarrrrgghhgh!

Everybody returns from Breakin': Special K, Ozone and Turbo, and together, they try to stop a greedy land developer from putting the bulldozer to the local rec-center with the power of dance and really questionable Day-Glo fashion statements.

All together now: One, two, three...DANCE OFF!

* * * *

Remember when I wished I could live in the G-n-G universe? Just ignore me, please; I can't wear Day-Glo Green. And once again I'm so tired and wigged out on sugar I can't stop staring at Ms. Dickey's perkiness. Scott is absolutely right; we need American Ninja III next year to complete the Lucinda Dickey trilogy. I demand more Dickey!

This movie has something The Apple sorely lacked: charm, and a modicum of restraint. And sometimes that's all we ask. Kudos to all the breakdancers on stage, especially the gals who were sitting behind us who mimicked the dummy dance. That was great. 

Oh, man, I was doing so well until Skip drug Josh on stage by his feet to do a spinner, but instead wiped out and landed in a heap right on top of him. That was feakin' beautiful. After that, I couldn't stop laughing. Too much oxygen going out, not enough coming in, sent me into vapor lock. I surrender movie. I surrender...

Sadly, yes. Yes it is. B-Fest 2005 is over. Stick a fork in it. It's done. Finito. Kaput.

Thank god because my gas tank was on "E" and the peg done broke off. Since noon on Wednesday, I've been up for 70 of the last 78 hours. Like a junkie waiting for his next shot of methadone, I've lost my mind, but I don't want it to end. Spool something up. Let's keep it going...but it's over. Get a grip.

Poop.

You definitely leave a little bit of yourself behind in that theater, but it's well worth it as you come out a little stronger and wiser; (in this case Nietzsche was right.) The brain takes a few moments to reset before you start going through the motions to clean up after yourselves. Mike, Matt and I gather up our stuff and clean up our row as best we can. (God we were pigs this year. All apologies to the cleaning staff.) The BMMB gang gathers on stage for a group photo (and I kick myself later for forgetting take a picture for myself) and make plans for the rest of the evening. Goodbyes are said to Skip, Freex and the Stompers with the usual promises to see ya again next year.

Back to the hotel to regroup, shower, and a futile attempt to kick in the reserve tank. When we check back in and head to the room, Matt and Mike head to Tim's room to get the luggage they left there while I decide to jump in the shower before going out to eat. After they leave, there's a knock on the door. Now I assume this is M&M coming back...

    "Who is it?" I said.
    "Hotel services." a voice said, who sounded just like Matt. OK. I'll play.
    "Just a second."
 
More knocking.
 
    "Housekeeping."
    "Hold your water, I don't have any pants on."
    "Well put some on."
    "I'll tell you what. I'll put one leg in and leave one out. How's that?
    "No. Don't do that."
    "Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do."
    "Please don't do that."

I do do that and open the door and come face to face with the man from hotel services delivering the rollaway bed with my pants half on.

    "Oh. Hello."

Almost everyone is running on vapors, so our trek to the Chinese Buffet is scrapped for a convenient Deli for a sub and bowl of chili (but no pancakes). I wish I could remember more of the conversation, but there was a clock with flashing lights in my field of vision that was screwing with my head.

We found a creamery for dessert and tortured the help who had to sing a song for every tip they got. There were seven of us. Between that and the spit take when they demanded I sample before I buy, tells me I'd better find my bed more sooner than later. 

One more quick trip to the Barnes and Nobles, and a good conversation about the state of comics with Ray and Sean (who has his own comic label by the way. Check it out) then back to the hotel. There is talk about a room party, but everyone respectfully declines. Since we're all leaving at different times in the morning, the goodbyes are said in the elevator as we all peel off on separate floors.

I'm the last one on the elevator and get in the room a little after ten. Mike and Matt are already out. I kick off my shoes and crawl into bed for some much needed sleep, and to perchance dream of what A&O will try to kill me with at B-Fest 2006.

The next morning was pretty eventful. 

It begins as we're about to check out when Mike a/k/a Captain Wow Bockoven tries to show me a preview for something on the hotel's pay per view; but after pressing many buttons only manages to order the movie Ultimate Sluts. Did he order Catwoman? No. He ordered Ultimate. Sluts. My warning came too late but Captain Wow, realizing what he'd done, panicked, threw the remote at me, and told me to fix it before vacating the room. (He also mysteriously disappeared while I was explaining what happened to the clerk who was nice enough not charge us for it. But Matt and I told him it cost $15.99.)

Captain Wow almost struck again. After we successfully navigated our way out of Evanston to the Eisenhower Expressway, Matt was the only one who saw the red light and raised the alarm. The Captain slammed on the brakes. I wound up in the front seat, asses over elbows, with them but we got stopped in time. If Matt hadn't seen that light, we would have been pulverized by a very large Chicago Transit Authority bus. We owes you big, buddy.

After that, the rest of the trip home is relatively uneventful as we head west with Tim's mix CD playing (I haven't heard Mecco's Empire Strikes Back theme in years, and I've got to find out the story behind The Periodic Table song) and a brand new copy of Dope Fiends of the Zombie Cafe to get us through The Black Hole and home.

First off, as always, a big shout out to A&O films for putting on such a great show. By my math -- so somebody better double check it -- I believe 2006 will be the 25th Anniversary of B-Fest, so who knows what will be on tap next year; but I'm looking forward to it already.

Thanks to the whole BMMB gang who made it; Tim, Josh, Ray, Sean, Jessica, Skip, Lemur, Scott and Elizabeth thanks for such a great time. All the lurkers, don't be so shy. Doc, Scott, Chris and Joe, a blast as always. To those sitting around us I hope we weren't too obnoxious. (I hope I'm not forgetting anyone.)

And thanks again to Matt for saving our lives. I hope you had a great time. I know I did.

And finally a great big thanks to Mike. (And big thanks to his wife, Sarah, for letting me steal him for the weekend.) Over the course of the trip, Captain Wow had more than ample reason and opportunity to kill me, or at least kick me in the shins, but he's a better man than I am and got us there and back in one piece to do it all again next year.

See ya'll there.

Posted: 02/04/05. Copy and paste at your own legal risk.

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