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

Since I had so much fun last year, I decided to go back to the annual event for some sloppy seconds. I had penciled in my vacation request and was pretty gung-ho about returning.

It lost a little thunder when I saw the line-up for this year's B-Fest. 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. This year the filmfest was ripe with atrocities from the 1980's but I'd seen them all but one, Warlords of Atlantis. And, aside from Flesh Gordon, it didn't have the same sleazy overnight punch as last years either. 

I was even contemplating backing out. A trip to Chicago for the fest is no small task. It's basically and 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, it is. 

First, my good buddy, Paul Freeland, who attended with me last year, was ready and willing to go again, 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 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 it's 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. It was all set.

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So Thursday finally arrives. I learned a valuable lesson at last year's B-Fest. No food or drink allowed in McCormick Auditorium was a sign of suggestion only. More like “just try not to spill anything.” So I headed to the grocery store to stock up. This year I would enter the colossal marathon more prepared with a bag full of chips, beef jerky, cookies and a butt-load of caffeine-saturated drinks.

I give up the idea of sleep at 3am. I'm hungry so 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. I shower up and wait for Mike.

Mike's having the same thoughts I am. We're going to Chicago. The early hour and lack of sleep has us giggling like a couple of sneaky kids who are driving into town on a school 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 going to have a baby. The scheduling conflict was a doctor's appointment. I give Mike a hearty congratulations then we press on as I pray that I don't get him killed. We make our way to Omaha and pick up Paul with a minimum of wrong turns.

We all say a prayer as we cross the river and head into Iowa as I explain to Mike my theory on a little time and space anomaly called -

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I talked about this phenomenon in last year's memoir. To sum up; while driving through Iowa, right around Des Moines, you run into some kind of unnatural distortion in the space/time continuum. I’ve dubbed it The Dreaded Black Hole of Des Moines. It sucks you in and 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 hit the auditorium parking lot around 4pm where we know it's safe to park, unlike last year, where 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 Anniversary collection and a compilation of people reading the works of Edgar Allan Poe. 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.

We get into skyscraper territory and do a little stair-stepping down to Lake Shore Drive. We 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. We pull into the parking lot a little after 4pm. 

That was too easy. We'll probably pay for it later. 

Yes, kids, that's called ominous foreshadowing.

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I spot TelstarMan from the B-Board and he comes over and greets us. We mosey over to the table and I introduced Paul and Mike to everybody. There are some unfamiliar faces but not for long. I meet Marlowe, and Hen and Jen Grenade and who's that in the Wizard of Speed and Time costume? Could that be Megalemur. Yep, it sure is. What's with the strange names? Well, they're our tags from the Message Board and they're easier to remember than our real names.

TelstarMan gives us all a B-Fest 2003 mix CD. We ask if we can get tickets yet. The box-office doesn't open til five but we can stash our stuff in the theater if we like. We make our way up the stairs and into McCormick auditorium. There are few people there 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.

We pulled 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 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 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 and headed inside. 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. 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. 

The emcee did her best to hush the buzzing crowd then 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. Mike asked me 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. 

The lights dimmed and the first feature spooled up. 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. B-Fest is about to kick my ass again. Let's get to it. You wanna live forever?

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Our first film opens with a Trekie's wet dream; Captain William Tiberius Shatner riding on a noble steed, in slow motion even, thunders into 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. Strode's widow fighting off a spider assault with a pistol - including blowing one off her own hand - or 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 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.

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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? 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. 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 it 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. Yeah, booyeee.

...

...

EEEEENNNNNNDDDD!

Thank you.

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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 towards 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 tyrant, 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 a riot to watch. Dino de Laurentis stopped making Jaws rip-offs long enough to try and cash in on Star Wars 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. With such an outstanding supporting cast where in the hell did they dig up Sam Jones for the lead? I enjoy Sam here but he is such a big dope.

The movie also contains one of my favorite battle sequences of all time. The Hawkmen attack on Ajax's ship with that whacked out soundtrack blaring is frigging brilliant. What keeps the excitable Brian Blessed as King Vultan's 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! AAAaaAAAAAUUGGGHH!"

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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. I crack open another soda to add to my caffeine buzz determined to at least make it that far.

I 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. 

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When I think of B-Fest, I think of this trippy little short. It's 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 run the short again 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 his ju-ju and 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.

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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. 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. The audience roared until it started over at the beginning. The film never really recovered.

This film needs no plot description. I swore off this movie a long time ago. I stuck around long enough to jettison all my paper plates then evacuated, dodging all the other airborne paper projectiles simulating the flying hub-caps on screen, and lit out to the lobby, where I was safe from the dreaded Solarnite speech.

I stumble back into the theater just in time to hear Criswell warn us about future events being futurely important in the future or something. Mike is as sleepy drunk as I am. Paul is off to parts unknown. I shovel in a hand full of Doritos and a long drag off my soda. I can sense that wall is close and I'm about to slam right into it.

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

The Happy Hooker is a film 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 the film ended rather abruptly. They started to show the missing reel after the closing credits but no one seemed interested so they stopped it and just ran The Wizard of Speed and Time again, both ways, to appease the audience.

By 2 a.m., 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. Dr. Freex made the brilliant observation that the theater was starting to resemble the harrowing scene of Confederate wounded lying around from Gone With The Wind.

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

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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.

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Finally, the naughty portion of our program. If you haven't figured it out already, this is 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 quite good. Dare I say better then the Flash Gordon we saw earlier? When given a chance, it isn’t half as bad as it’s notorious reputation. Porn shouldn't be this good.

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. I use the blue light on my watch and consult the program. One more film to go before Dementia 13. I can stay awake for one more film. 

With Doug McClure in the lead it ain't going to be easy though.

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As the film started I realized, to my mistake and joy, that I had indeed seen this film before so I won'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. The diving bell is attacked by a giant sea serpent until they electrocute it. Up above, a mutiny is interrupted by a giant octopus attack that drags everybody underwater to the undersea kingdom of Atlantis.

The Atlanteans aren't real happy to see them so they're all thrown in the dungeon. There they sit 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 anddddddzzzZZZzzzzzZZZZzzzzZZzzzzZZzz...

ZZZzzzzZZzzzZzz...

zzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZzzzZZzzZZzzz...

ZZZZZzzzzzZzz...*snort* 

Huh! whuuzaat! FOOTBALL PRACTICE! Ow! My foot. Who's stepping on my foot. Oh, the gal we let in needs to get out of the row and I was the last obstacle blocking her path. I let her out and stare at the screen. McClure is shooting at a giant whatsawhosit.

I spy a nice piece of empty real estate at the bottom of the steps that leads out of the theater that's begging me to come and occupy it. I grab my pillow and blanket and scrunch up next to the wall. McClure is shouting, the monster is roaring and more shots are fired. I pull the blanket over my head trying to convince my buzzing brain to shut back off.

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