Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Tonight Will Be Forever
There are two events every year that I look forward to more than any others. One of these is Scav Hunt. The other is B-Fest. B-Fest is the world's premiere B-movie marathon, a rump-numbing, brain-melting "24 Hours of B-Movie Madness!" as the advertisements correctly claim. Some people would consider being trapped in a theater for an entire day watching the very worst movies ever made hell incarnate. Even Joel and the 'Bots only had to withstand one experiment a week, after all, and even that drove them over the edge in a few cases (Red Zone Cuba comes to mind). Well, imagine 24 straight hours of Red Zone Cuba. Yeah. Daunting as such a prospect may seem, there are a few stalwart, some would say mad, souls that flock to this event with unbridled glee. I am proud to count myself among their number. This will be my fifth B-Fest, giving me more than a fair amount of street cred, but still causing me to bow my head in reverence to the noble oldsters who've been going since the 80s. Oh, but I kid--there's nary a scrap of reverence of any kind to be found at this event. The whole appeal is sitting through and mocking the heck out of bad movies. Most comments fall flat, but every so often there's an absolute gem, and it only takes a movie or two before the running gag for the whole Fest is established. People are also prone to jumping up on stage for visual gags and skits, with similar uneven results (some people prepare material for these ahead of time, and those are generally pretty funny.) And the whole crowd gets into the act for the annual midnight showing of Plan 9 From Outer Space, with the eternal wicker vs. rattan, Bela vs. Not Bela, and day vs. night shout-outs. TOR! is something that everyone can agree on, though. Add to that a hailstorm of paper plates thrown into the air whenever a "flying saucer" appears on the screen and you've got B-movie bliss, mister.
Last year, in a truly unprecedented turn of events, the Fest sold out, almost leaving me and my associates high and dry (and madly scheming to sneak in through the ventilation ducts.) If anything, this year was projected to be worse, so I made sure that I got my tickets on the first day of sale. Yesterday I made the trek up to Northwestern to buy my ticket. As they often do, the Fates conspired against me, placing a 45-minute wait on the chill Belmont platform in the way of my destiny. I laughed at their attempts, even as two, five, finally ten Brown Line trains rolled through the area that is nominally "Brown and Purple Line Trains." When I finally slumped my frozen carcass into the Linden-bound car a feeling of warmth, great weight, and general bliss washed over me. There's only one reason to get on the Purple Line, and that's to go to Evanston. And for me, there's only one reason to go to Evanston. (Of course, those feelings are also indicative of terminal phase hypothermia, but I was pretty sure that wasn't the culprit this time around.) As I stepped out of the train station at Northwestern, I found myself leaping, even bounding with glee (and partially out of a biological imperative to escape the subzero ambient temperature) along the timeworn trail leading to the student center. At several points I feared euphoric overload, and had to remind myself that I was just buying the tickets, not actually going to B-Fest. When the true night comes, I may well be vibrating at a wavelength invisible to the human eye. So I get to the box office and, as predicted, find out that they have already sold well over half the tickets. I commended myself for my uncharacteristic non-procrastinatory behavior and clutched the prize: the blue rectangle granting passage to a world far stranger and more wonderful than our own. And, I might add, it was not just any ticket, but the coveted ticket #1: Ticket Prime! Why the #1 ticket should be of any import, I don't know, but as you should have deduced at this point, the nigh-religious fervor with which I treat this event causes me to lend mystic significance to any Fest-related omen, and as omens go, obtaining Ticket Prime is a biggie. I take it to mean a bumper year for Festive merriment. The lineup is certainly promising in that regard:
6:00 p.m.
Intro
6:05
The Island of Terror
7:35
The Apple
9:10
Mystery Short
9:25
The Swarm
11:25
Raffle for Door Prizes
11:45
The Wizard of Speed and Time (short)
midnight
Plan 9 From Outer Space
1:20 a.m.
Black Belt Jones
2:50
Mystery Short
3:05
Beauty and the Robot
4:40
Death Wish 3
6:15
Project Moonbase
7:20
3 Ninjas: High Noon at Mega Mountain
9:00
breakfast break
9:30
Robot Monster
10:40
Class of Nuke 'Em High
12:10 p.m.
Mystery Short
12:25
Lassie: The Adventures of Neeka
1:40
Ice Pirates
3:15
Earth vs. The Flying Saucers
4:40
Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo
The capstone of Electric Boogaloo is pure poetry, and a great surprise to me, as it was rumored for years that film prints were impossible to find. Kudos to the A&O folks for disproving that legend. And I am particularly psyched out of my mind for Three Ninjas: High Noon at Mega Mountain. That's Three Ninjas 4, by the way, the one with Loni Anderson, Jim Varney, AND Hulk Hogan. Hulkamania and B-Fest go together like peas in a pod. And to anyone who thinks otherwise, or doesn't understand the love behind any of what I just wrote, I can only say that you of Earth are idiots. You have only yourselves to blame, and your stupid minds! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
There are two events every year that I look forward to more than any others. One of these is Scav Hunt. The other is B-Fest. B-Fest is the world's premiere B-movie marathon, a rump-numbing, brain-melting "24 Hours of B-Movie Madness!" as the advertisements correctly claim. Some people would consider being trapped in a theater for an entire day watching the very worst movies ever made hell incarnate. Even Joel and the 'Bots only had to withstand one experiment a week, after all, and even that drove them over the edge in a few cases (Red Zone Cuba comes to mind). Well, imagine 24 straight hours of Red Zone Cuba. Yeah. Daunting as such a prospect may seem, there are a few stalwart, some would say mad, souls that flock to this event with unbridled glee. I am proud to count myself among their number. This will be my fifth B-Fest, giving me more than a fair amount of street cred, but still causing me to bow my head in reverence to the noble oldsters who've been going since the 80s. Oh, but I kid--there's nary a scrap of reverence of any kind to be found at this event. The whole appeal is sitting through and mocking the heck out of bad movies. Most comments fall flat, but every so often there's an absolute gem, and it only takes a movie or two before the running gag for the whole Fest is established. People are also prone to jumping up on stage for visual gags and skits, with similar uneven results (some people prepare material for these ahead of time, and those are generally pretty funny.) And the whole crowd gets into the act for the annual midnight showing of Plan 9 From Outer Space, with the eternal wicker vs. rattan, Bela vs. Not Bela, and day vs. night shout-outs. TOR! is something that everyone can agree on, though. Add to that a hailstorm of paper plates thrown into the air whenever a "flying saucer" appears on the screen and you've got B-movie bliss, mister.
Last year, in a truly unprecedented turn of events, the Fest sold out, almost leaving me and my associates high and dry (and madly scheming to sneak in through the ventilation ducts.) If anything, this year was projected to be worse, so I made sure that I got my tickets on the first day of sale. Yesterday I made the trek up to Northwestern to buy my ticket. As they often do, the Fates conspired against me, placing a 45-minute wait on the chill Belmont platform in the way of my destiny. I laughed at their attempts, even as two, five, finally ten Brown Line trains rolled through the area that is nominally "Brown and Purple Line Trains." When I finally slumped my frozen carcass into the Linden-bound car a feeling of warmth, great weight, and general bliss washed over me. There's only one reason to get on the Purple Line, and that's to go to Evanston. And for me, there's only one reason to go to Evanston. (Of course, those feelings are also indicative of terminal phase hypothermia, but I was pretty sure that wasn't the culprit this time around.) As I stepped out of the train station at Northwestern, I found myself leaping, even bounding with glee (and partially out of a biological imperative to escape the subzero ambient temperature) along the timeworn trail leading to the student center. At several points I feared euphoric overload, and had to remind myself that I was just buying the tickets, not actually going to B-Fest. When the true night comes, I may well be vibrating at a wavelength invisible to the human eye. So I get to the box office and, as predicted, find out that they have already sold well over half the tickets. I commended myself for my uncharacteristic non-procrastinatory behavior and clutched the prize: the blue rectangle granting passage to a world far stranger and more wonderful than our own. And, I might add, it was not just any ticket, but the coveted ticket #1: Ticket Prime! Why the #1 ticket should be of any import, I don't know, but as you should have deduced at this point, the nigh-religious fervor with which I treat this event causes me to lend mystic significance to any Fest-related omen, and as omens go, obtaining Ticket Prime is a biggie. I take it to mean a bumper year for Festive merriment. The lineup is certainly promising in that regard:
6:00 p.m.
Intro
6:05
The Island of Terror
7:35
The Apple
9:10
Mystery Short
9:25
The Swarm
11:25
Raffle for Door Prizes
11:45
The Wizard of Speed and Time (short)
midnight
Plan 9 From Outer Space
1:20 a.m.
Black Belt Jones
2:50
Mystery Short
3:05
Beauty and the Robot
4:40
Death Wish 3
6:15
Project Moonbase
7:20
3 Ninjas: High Noon at Mega Mountain
9:00
breakfast break
9:30
Robot Monster
10:40
Class of Nuke 'Em High
12:10 p.m.
Mystery Short
12:25
Lassie: The Adventures of Neeka
1:40
Ice Pirates
3:15
Earth vs. The Flying Saucers
4:40
Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo
The capstone of Electric Boogaloo is pure poetry, and a great surprise to me, as it was rumored for years that film prints were impossible to find. Kudos to the A&O folks for disproving that legend. And I am particularly psyched out of my mind for Three Ninjas: High Noon at Mega Mountain. That's Three Ninjas 4, by the way, the one with Loni Anderson, Jim Varney, AND Hulk Hogan. Hulkamania and B-Fest go together like peas in a pod. And to anyone who thinks otherwise, or doesn't understand the love behind any of what I just wrote, I can only say that you of Earth are idiots. You have only yourselves to blame, and your stupid minds! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
Comments:
Stupid idiot earthlings. I don't think I ever realized that there was a Three Ninjas 2 or 3 for that matter.
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