B-Movie Reviews from a New Zealander with too much time on his hands. SPECIAL EVENT: The 2004 V Movie Marathon
"What a difference... a day makes. Twenty-four little hours..."
Early in 2004, I logged onto the website of the Becks Incredible Film Fest to find out if this years schedule had been finalised yet. It was not to be a happy day, though. The site major headline was an obituary... the Incredible Film Fest was dead in the water, killed as a stand-alone event by financial concerns. The Fest was instead assimilated, Borg-like, by the International Film Festival in a special "That's Incredible Cinema" section. (Meaning for once I didn't read the Festival Guide, get depressed at the thought of people paying real money to watch 3-hour-long subtitled, depressing, talky, bore-me-out-of-my-brain pieces of cinematic bullshit and toss the entire thing into a convient fireplace.) What WAS depressing was the fact that the Movie Marathons I had attended in 2002 and 2003 seemed to have been consigned to history. While my ass thanked me for not spending 8-hours plus on the Civic theatres' Seats of Death, for a B-Movie fan, it was kind of like having a puppy kicked to death in front of you. Plus it made the final line of my 2003 Report ("We're doing it all again next year...") kind of nonsensical.
Flash forward to early October. 2am. I'm putting the finishing touches on a page for "Crab Chips", the B-Movie Review Collective I maintain, however infrequently. Before shutting down for the night, I check my e-mail. And there in my inbox is a message from Ant Timpson. The first line? "Are you attending the Marathon this year?". I was pretty darn happy.
Okay, that's an understatement. In truth, when I found out the Marathon was going to run for 24-hours this year, I spontaneously danced a jig. Maybe I DO need to get a life one of these years.
V Minus 12 Days and Counting
And so, 12 days out from my biggest test as a B-fan, let's begin the diary. My ticket is assured, with Ant once more comping me on the promise of a lengthy report once I recover. Thanks heaps, man... you know I'd write one of these whether I had to pay for my ticket or not, right? (Not that a free ticket is something I'd ever turn down, though.) And with less than two weeks to go, one thing is becoming very clear.
I could be attending the Marathon solo for the first time. Rick, who went to the '02 Marathon, is working exceptionally long hours as a chef. My workmates think I've gone clinically insane for wanting to watch "Bad Movies" for a day. My wife remains neutral to B-movies, and will be studying like a demon that week for a Cutural Anthropology exam. And the crew I attended with last year (Ben, etc.) remain sketchy. Mandos, who missed last years show thinks he might make "some" of this years. We'll see what happens.
Regardless, I've already begun stocking a small chillybin with assorted on-special junkfoods. (AKA The Eski of Discounted Delights.) A full listing will be added to this diary, mainly so I can determine if I'm stocking too much or too little for (*fingers crossed*) next years show. I was aiming for a Zen-like balance of the four major Junk Food Groups. (Sweet, Salty, Sour and Chocolate.) In the end, I decided "Sour" was asking for trouble, due to my urgently needed dental work, and substituted the unlikely sub-group "Fruit" instead. (Healthy snacks? I should be ashamed...)
V Minus 5 Days and Counting
Monday. Still no fellow-V-goers from either friends or workmates, despite a few tentative queries. (Mainly "What movies are they showing?" and "Have you gone insane?") Dawn, my long-suffering girlfriend-turned-wife even contemplated coming.. for about 24 hours or so. Then she decided she'd probably die of geek inhalation and chose to stay home with the cat. Mandos and co. have maintained an eerie silence. Remind me to phone tonight and hassle the hell out of them.
The last mailout advertiser dropped the name of a film and the plot of another. Luckily, I've never heard of the film mentioned. (And will refrain from Googling it... I prefer to play B-Movie Stud, folks.) The other film mentions "Puppet Sex"... so it's either Meet The Feebles or Let My Puppet Come. (A film that traumatised the B-Fest audience a few years back.) If so, I'm torn between "Oh, Good Lord" and "Yeah, bring it on!". (*Future Skeeter* I was wrong on both counts. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed.) The Eski of Discounted Delights is nearly full with the addition of a large pack of Pringles.
On the boring, nobody-cares, get-a-blog-you-loser home news, I picked up a DVD copy of The Beast From 20, 000 Fathoms at Borders for nine bucks. I love a bargain. (Pristine transfer, too.)
V Minus 4 Days and Counting
Ate the Pringles. Damn. Back to the supermarket on Friday, it seems.
V Minus 3 Days and Counting
Ben e-mailed back. He's having a house-warming on Saturday night. There's the possibility they may show Sunday, though. But at this stage, I'm probably going stag. Looks like some group of total strangers is going to be the beneficiaries of my non-stop bad puns and lame running gags.
V Minus 1 Days and Counting
The Eski is full again.Let's check out the supplies.
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The Eski of Discounted Delights
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6 cans Vanilla Coke
2 small squeeze-packs Ribena
1 6-pack Tasti Chocolate Fudge Muffin Bars
1 Family-sized bag Pascalls Fruit Bursts (Original)
1 pack Starburst Fruit Chews
1 box Heards Fruit Refreshers
1 bag Allens Grubs Alive
1 bag Allens Spelly Jellies (A bit pointless, as it'll be too dark to spell out profanities with them prior to consumption. But hey, I LIKE Spelly Jellies.)
1 pack Arnotts Mandarin Slice biscuits
1 Large tube Pringles. (Texas Barbeque Sauce flavour)
2 bottles of water, frozen. (To serve the dual role of slika pads and provide cold H20.)
1 12-pack Bluebird Museli Snacker Bites (Choc-mint flavour)
1 bunch seedless Grapes
A couple of bananas
NON-EDIBLES
1 box Mylanta Extra-strength (At movie marathons, Antacids are your friend... or so I've read)
1 2-piece mini toothbrush and 1 mini tube of toothpaste (Sourced from the vending machine at work.)
A couple of Neurofen tablets
1 clean T-shirt
1 change of socks
A torch
A notebook and pen.
===========================
V Day!
Well, it's a dull grey day in Auckland. Like that matters to people about to lock themselves in an old movie theatre for 24 hours. (Sounds like the plot of a lame horror flick.) After much debate on my personal seating arrangements, I took a tip from Ken Beggs 2003 B-fest recap (http://www.jabootu.com/bfest03.htm) and picked up a folding camp chair at Briscoes for 16 bucks. Ten minutes later, I of course saw the exact same chair in Foodtown for $9. Dammit! But, it seems comfortable enough for the long haul. (And comes complete with a buiilt-in drink holder. Now all I need is a hat covered with fishing flies and a six-pack and I'm set.)
I'm dressing for confort, rather than style tonight. Tracksuit pants, the "V" t-shirt and watch I won at last years show, and my worn-out Nikes. (Which I'll probably ditch into my bag once we get under way. Hence the change of socks for the comfort of my fellow marathoners.) I was going to pick up a 2 Dollar Shop glow-in-the-dark Halloween hockey mask, but they were sold out. It's probably a good thing.
6:45pm: Okay. I've showered, shaved, and had my last hot meal for a while. Time to pack the last of the provisions and hit the road. Wish me luck folks, I'm going in.
Prologue: Many Meetings
I arrived at the Hollywood around 7:15pm. It's an amazingly old-school theatre, with very few things that look like they've been updated since the 1950's or so. Especially the power-flushing toilets in the Men's Room... everytime someone pulled the chain, it sounded like a moster truck race was starting outside. Scared the hell out of me the first time I was in there. I cooled my heels at the ticket desk/candy counter while the owner checked up on my comp ticket. (I'd been left off the Freebie List.) A quick check with Ant and it was all good, though. I picked up my Marathon Goodie Bag... including a 48-Hour Film Progect DVD (Score!), Tangy Fuits (Uneaten by the days end), Optrex eye drops (Partially used), bumper sticker and a refreshing eye mask. (Unused after watching "Good Morning" film critic Stephen Grey demonstrate it's use during breakfast.
Inside, I staked out a spot for my junk. (I wasn't the biggest film geek there, but I think I was the most prepared.) I ended up on the left-hand side of the theatre, where I introduced myself to my neighbours, Paul, John, Nadine (Of the green fuzzy slippers) and one other young woman who's name I never learnt. Ahead of us was the marathoner I thought of as Thomas the Serious Film Fan. (Thomas was so well-versed in alternative cinema he whooped at the title of a new, though obscure, recent film most of the audience had never even heard of.) I apologised in advance for my bad punning and lame jokes.... but the line-up this year meant they got off pretty lightly.
Halfway through the fest, I met another solitary marathoner, James the British Backpacker. I migrated between the two groups for the rest of the show, watching the serious, recent flicks with Pauls group, and cracking wise with James during the cheese-fests. It seemed to be the best arrangement to avoid annoying anyone too much.
On the stroke of 8, Ant Timpson hit the stage for a well-recived intro. He still seems worried that he's "selling out" by playing new, less crappy flicks, but frankly I think it's the right direction for the Fest. (More on this later.) He gave away the first of the prizes, whereupon I became the recipient of a pair of lime-green V Marathon Pajamyas for remembering a previously-screened Marathon film. (Fish in a barrel, man. Fish in a barrel.) I wore the top half for the rest of the show, of course. Fifteen Minutes later, the lights dimmed, the screen flickered into life... and so it began.
Part 1: Shag-pile on the Barrowdowns
Saturday, 20:15-THE CREEPING TERROR
We kicked off with a flick I've been wanting to see for YEARS! One of the classics of Bad Cinema, this one has a lot to love. The pretentious narration, added after the film-makers lost the original soundtrack. The "Special Effect" of a spaceship landing... potrayed by NASA launch footage played in reverse.(!) And, just a few minutes in... the MONSTER! Prepare yourself for the unimaginable horror that is...
...A carpet. No two ways about it. A long, shaggy carpet attached to a headpiece that looks like a Mutant Gumby doll. I especially loved the tiny, useless-looking arms that waved about as it moved. (I had the mental impression that it was an Alien Al Jolson Impersonater singing "Mammy! Mammy!" as it crawled around the woods.) And I mean "crawled"... propelled as it was by college students concealed under the rug, our less-than terrifying invader attacked and consumed various extras at sub-walking pace. Luckily, the local inhabitants proved to have the survival instincts of a bran muffin, helpfully standing in place while the Sheepskin Rug of Doom approached, then all but climbing inside the critter to end their fledgling movie careers. ("It's coming! Walk briskly away!")
We also got to see a hero who does Jack Squat for the entire film, then gets one, last-gasp cahnce to save humaity. And fails miserably. We witnessed the elite military tactics of the U.S Army in the 1950's. ("Approach slowly in a tightly-bunched group, men! It'll be easier for him to eat all of you at once!") On the other hand, of you want tree branches cleared off your driveway, they're your guys. We enjoyed the sight of the whitest people in the history of human pigmentation dancing the Twist. Several times. ("Jerry Lewis is having a siezure!") There was the unexpected fist-fight at the dance that seemed to have been edited out of sequence. (Wouldn't the huge alien that's slowly eating people be of more concern than the petty squabble over a girl?) And of course the irony of a creature who flies billions of miles to earth, then dies in a traffic accident?
Other Highlights: Pipe-Smoking Unconcerned Witness Guy. The Obese Guy. (Really the only character that the Terror SHOULD have been able to catch!) Make-Out Chick, and her incredible lung power. (She was still screaming while 95% of the way down the terrors throat.) The endless Stobe-Lights-and-Star-Trek-Sound-Effect button-pushing scenes that went nowhere. The worlds clumsiest grenade attack. The rockin' "Hootenanny"! The couple who quit the picnic, while everyone waves at them. ("Have fun having sex, you crazy kids!") The man who defended his fellow picnicers with his guitar. ("Pete Townshend to the recue!") The spray-on skin-tight pants of a twist-er. (Paul: "They don't make 'em like that anymore!" Me: "I never knew they did!") The couple who stand watching the Terror eat the dancers, but never think of exiting the hall throught the patently wide-open door. And the start of the 2004 "V" Movie Marathon Running Theme List!
WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: Yes, in spades.
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: One kid gets eaten. Offscreen, though. Pussies.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: Yep, Morbidly Obese Guy certainly qualifies. He keeps his shirt on, thankfully.
Incidently, I thought the Creeping Terror would have to go into hibernation following THAT meal.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: Yes. Action music during "dialogue" scenes and tons of mis-placed stock music, too.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: No, but you'd need dialogue for that.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Our incompetant hero's ducktail could lubricate a Buick.
NUDITY WATCH: It's the 50's man. Although the underwear-clad Make-Out chick got the best reception of the flick.
Final Thought: A great start!
Part 2: Nerd Up!
Saturday, 22:00-ish-Napoleon DYNAMITE
This was the movie that Thomas reacted to during the credits. A recent MTV production I'd never heard of, I went into it cold. Basically a slice-of-life high-schoool comedy, told from the Geek Perpsective. It's the tale of the wonderfully named Napoleon Dynamite, his laid-back-to-the-point-of-a-coma friend Pedro, Kip, Napoleons' equally-nerdy (Or possibly even nerdier) brother and their stuck-in-the-80's uncle. A low-budget production, it turned out to be the kind of film where very little actually happens while still being remarkably entertaining. (The polar opposite of this would screen just over 12 hours later.) Not a lot of joking around from the assembled crowd, who really do seem to sense when to riff and when to just watch and appreciate.
By the way, was I the only one left cringing at the random acts of bullying? Yes, that kind of thing happened to me at school. A lot. I could have used Pedros' cousins, man.
WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: The "Happy Hands" Club: Most Certainly. Does Napoleons' climatic dance number qualify? Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: No, although Napoleon could have killed someone with his tetherball skills.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: None that I recall.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: Nope.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Several, all between Napoleon and his uncle.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Yes, until Pedro's trimjob at the three-quarter mark.
NUDITY WATCH: Nada.
Final Thought: Decidedly watchable. Can Freaks and Geeks: The Movie be far behind?
Part 3: America... FUCK YEAH!
Saturday, 23:15-TEAM AMERICA, WORLD POLICE
On to the highlight of the night. The only movie announced prior to the show. The film that my notes referred to as the "BEST MOVIE EVER!". Matt Stone and Trey Parkers' Team America: World Police. The only thing I heard about the film before it hit the screen was during a conversation with Paul, who asked if I'd been disappointed with the Thunderbirds movie. Dude, I was so off-put by the Thunderbirds TRAILER that I didn't even bother with the flick. But he was right... THIS film was the way it should have been done.
If you've been living under the same rock I obviously was the last few months, Team America is Matt Stone and Trey Parkers' tribute/spoof to the Thunderbirds... a feature-length puppet film.In typical South Park style it parodies current events, pokes a hell of a lot of fun at celebrities and politicans, and of course... is a musical. (Including the hilarious song quoted above, and Kim Jong Il's heartfelt ballad "I'm Ronrey".) There's also tons of smutty gags, the best puking scene since The Excorcist and the funniest sex scene in YEARS. (Despite the lack of genitalia, meaning my pre-planned line of "He's got a full-on puppet chubby!" had to be jettisoned.)
I also spent most of the movie marvel at the incredible set designs, and grinning wildly at the loving homages to the source material. The visible strings, the silly walks, even the fact that the puppets heads were slightly too large for their bodies. (Harking back to a time when the electronics used to move their mouths and eyes were too bulky to fit in a perfectly-proportioned head.)
There's a lot I could say about this, but it all boils down to "See it. Several times if possible". With much of the dialogue lost in the audiences' laughter, this one is already on my list of DVD's to buy... and it hasn't even started it's run in the cinemas here.
WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: White puppets dance. Badly.
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: In the opening scenes, yes. And when the Team start defending democracy, EVERYONE'S in danger.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: Micheal Moore fits the bill. Plus Kim Jong Il could stand to lose a few pounds.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: Dramatic, but in the right way. A kickass soundtrack.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Nope.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Does lying in puke count? If so, yes.
NUDITY WATCH: Only the entire Marionette Karma Sutra, baby!
Final Thought: Matt Damon!
Part 4: The Easiest Review Ever.
Sunday, 01:00-SAW
Ahh, Saw. What can I tell you about Saw?
Dude... I ain't telling you word fucking one about Saw.
No, don't look at me like that. There is so little I could tell you without giving away the plot that it's not even worth trying. I'm not kidding.
Here's all I'll say. It stars Carey Elwes, one of my favourite actors in a rare leading role. Danny Glovers in it. It's a Pyschological Thriller. Some people might make comparisons to Sevenand Cube. And frankly, they wouldn't even be in the same fucking time-zone. That's all you're getting
WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: No.
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: Yes
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: Yes
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: No
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Yes
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: No
NUDITY WATCH: Slight
Final Thought: I've said too much already. See it. Let's move on.
Part 5: Car-Crash Cinema
Sunday, 02:40-TOYS ARE NOT FOR CHILDREN
Ever seen something so horrible you just couldn't look away? Well, whatever it was, Toys is worse. Much worse. In fact, all anyone was capable of saying afterwards was their personal variation of the phrase "That was wrong. So very, very wrong.".To give you an indication of the scale of this thing, I took no notes on most of the films except their title, the time they started, and maybe a one-line description of the film. (eg. Napoleon Dynamite: "Tales From the Dorkside") For Toys Are Not For Children, I filled two pages of my notebook with scribbled notes. It was a trainwreck, and we couldn't tear our eyes away from the screen, folks.
Things started off on the right foot. It had the look of a 70's drive-in flick, making me flashback to Bonnies' Kids from '02. There's vauge nudity in the opening scene, as we watch our heroine Jamie getting intimate with herself. While carressing a childs toy. And moaning... "Daddy".
Better buckle up folks, the next ninety minutes are going to be a bumpy fucking ride.
For all intents and purposes, bar one little twist, the plotline of the film was pretty straightforward for a 70's exploitation flick. Jamie, a young, naive girl gets married to her toystore co-worker. But as it turns out, she's bringing a couple of issues into the relationship. Okay, more than a couple. What's that pyschiatric term again? Oh, that's right, she brings a shitload of issues in. You see, Mom's a hatchet-faced bitch-queen who spits out lines like "Daddys' not coming home. He doesn't love you anymore" to a 6-year-old, and insinuates that he was doing the nasty with Women of Negotiable Virtue. (Okay, flat-out TELLS her dad's a career John.) Meanwhile, Dad's been AWOL from the family home for years, but still sends Jamie toys for her birthday. And Jamie herself is totally unable to get horizontal with her new hubby. He's understandably upset with this development, but their joint solutions to the problem sew the seeds for the horror to come.
He starts sleeping around. She becomes a prostitue.
"And?" you say. Sounds perfectly 70's-ish, right?
Well, you see... Jamies got an ulterior motivation. Because the prostitute that takes her under her wing... is one of Daddys' Little Ho's. And Jamie keeps asking where dad's living these days...
Are we getting the picture?
"So, there's an incest sub-plot?" you ask. Nope. No fucking "sub" about it.The Game the Whole Family can play IS the plot, my friend. Oy. frankly, this flick could stand a full review (And, since it's available on DVD(!!), it may someday get one. But to avoid this recap getting so long I have to have it serialised, I'll just sum up some Random Thoughts on the thing.
The film broke. For a while we wondered if it was just some wierd, Tarrintino-esque ending. Then they got it rolling again. Guess not. I guess it was a morality tale. The moral being, never sleep with loose woman without insisting on a paternity test first, or someone's going to get killed. WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: Fuck, yes. Final Thought: Incest, toys and endless arguments. Absolutely bananas. And who exactly WAS the target audience for this film, anyway? After a quick "Best Marionette Walk" contest, we rolled into the film that got the biggest groan of recognition: Part 6: Original Concepts Need Not Apply This was pretty much summed up at breakfast by Ant with the simple comment "Wasn't Anacondas a piece of shit?". That's a pretty accurate assesment, dude. Absolute Hollywood paint-by-numbers film-making at it's finest. Sure, they tried to mess around with the cliches a little. But trust me, when you have an Annoying Comic Relief character that's as annoying as this one was... he's not MEANT to survive! How much did I have to bribe the snakes to eat his stupid ass? Why wasn't the Bitchy Capatalist Woman even nibbled? Why the hell didn't Kiwi actor Andy Anderson ever get to appear on-screen with another human being? (While playing a loud-mouthed Australian drunkard. Gee, there's a stretch.) How many fucking lives did that stupid monkey have? Was it's constant reaction shots that valuable that it had to have superhuman.. uhh, supersimian powers of survival? How the hell do gargantuan snakes move at 300 miles an hour? Who's brilliant original concept was it to have the Stuffy English Guy prove to be the villan? Why were half these people even ON the expedition? The couldn't even get along with each other for two seconds, let alone conduct ground-breaking scientific research! Did the scriptwriter watch the original film and go "Okay, charatcer paralysed by a wasp sting becomes character paralysed by a spider bite. Middle-Aged Stuffy English Guy becomes Twenty-Something Stuffy English Guy. Ranting John Voight becomes the Steroid-ed Up Crocodile Hunter. Okay, I'm done, where's my cheque?". WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: Sadly, no. Final Thought: Neeh. Next, please! Part 7: The Feel-Good Family Film of the Year! One more film to take us to the half-way point. And I have to say... interesting choice, Ant. A quickie exploitation movie, hashed out at warp-speed to cash in on the Jonestown massacre, this started with a chunky-style rasperry-jam-loaded suicide, followed by a droning sermon by our.. uhh, hero... James Johnson. To which we listened. And listened. And listened. For ten full minutes.(!!) At the end, I would have drunk anything he handed me if he'd have just shut the hell up. Of course, during the next two hours, we'd hear speech after speech from this guy.. but as it did, the plot began to spin wildly out of control. Basically, by the end of the film, you'd have to believe that his followers would have risen up and beaten him to death with his own shoes, rather than listen to his paranoid ranting a second longer. But I should probably run down the plot a little for you. Charasmatic cult leader, James Johnson (Stuart Whitman) leads his followers to Guyana, where they hope to be safe from the forces he thinks conspire against them. Number one question this raises... why did they change his name? Were they afraid Jim was coming back from the grave to sue? Admittedly, it did give ample opportunity for "Johnson" jokes. ("Get your filthy hands off my Johnson!") Question number two. Did anyone else think he looked like the Evil Roy Orbinson? Anyway, within minutes, the happy folks at Johnsonville are toiling for hours in the hot sun, being subjected to long-winded speeches, eating meagre rations and torturing their children for stealing food. (Including the unbelieveable sight of a ten-year-old getting a Power-Johnson. That kid STILL won't have gone through puberty, methinks.) Meanwhile, his adult followers fare little better. One couple break the "no-nookie-without-the-Big-Johnsons-approval" rule and suffer the consequences. "You will have sex with a well-endowed black man in front of everyone, woman!" Oddly, she didn't look THAT upset. Maybe she had the secret hots for Lazarus the Man-Beast? After that line, I quipped "And you sir, shall ALSO have sex with a man!". Only to hear the Rev. Johnson order the guy to "perform a sex act with a man!". Shit, I COULD be a charasmatic cult leader. And to think I studied Physics, instead. Midway through the film, a disturbing new trend emerged. That of men hugging men for long periods of time. The instigator was Jims' doctor and Kool-Ade maker, who insisted on getting in a clinch with his patient for a disturbingly long scene. Dude, if you swing that way, have unauthorised sex with a chick and get caught. Then maybe you'll get to go a few rounds with Lazarus. About now I popped out to use the facilities, and was shocked to see daylight outside. Time does fly when you're being mentally scared for life. Finally, after ninty minutes of bad 70's fashion and talk, talk, talk, we made it to the two money scenes. The first being the shootout, featuring the worlds' least effective Security Force. Which was followed by an inordinately lengthy "Aftermath" scene. Yes, the Senator got cacked. We get it. Yes, it's sad. I said we get it.Yes, we understand that getting shot hurts, too. Can we move along, please? In fact, after nearly 12 hours sitting in a camp chair, fueled only by Muffin Bars (Made entirely out of half-baked cookie dough, it seems), Coke (gassy), Mandarin Slices (Very sweet) and Fruit Bursts, my stomach was a biological disaster area. This would have the effect of making the Eski of Discounted Delights a HUGE overestimation, as I was only able to lightly snack throught the rest of the day, ending up carting 80% of my junk food back home. My wife and I will be good for snackage for some weeks to come, I believe. The antacids helped, but the last 20 minuites of the film were an agony for me. Still, It was kind of appropriate that I was having stomach cramps... during the wonderful and life-affirming Mass Suicide Finale. Yes, we got to see, in graphic, loving detail, the exploitation version of the Jonestown Massacre. Of course in real life 95% of the cult memebers lined up quietly, sang hymns and chugged their Kool-Ade. In the film version? Screaming, jugular-slashing, shootings, children having poison forced down their throats, more screaming, moaning, twitching, the works. The only laugh I got during the climax was the child actor playing the Little Johnson, who just couldn't grasp the concept of being poisoned. His mother basically had to pull him down to "die", making it look like he was reluctant to take a nap. But at long, LONG last, everyone was dead, the lights came up and it was breakfast time. I'm thirsty. Who wants a cup of Kool... uh, actually, I'll just stick to coffee. WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: Ever seen a Bible Revival group get down? Yep, that badly. Final Thoughts: Nice to see a massive human tragedy translated into a tawdry money-maker. The director (who also made Tintorrea) died in 2003. I refuse to believe he didn't have enough time for a rushed-to-production 9/11 film. INTERMISSION We adjourned to the Spotted Frog Cafe across the street for a breakfast buffet. (Covering all the major Breakfast Food Groups... Fat, Salt, Bread and Burnt Crunchy Bits.) I hung out with Ant and company for a while, with most of the conversation relating to Toys of course. Ant was getting worried that we we running behind schedule, and thought he might have to drop his yearly Bigfoot flick. I think we were all happy that that didn't happen, due to the sheer.. "quality" of that particular film. Post-breakfast, some marathoners headed to the nearby park for a little fresh air and sunshine. I, meanwhile, brought a heavy-duty rubbish bag from the local dairy and returned to the theatre... to witness a scene so horrific it made Johnsontown look like a Sunday School picnic. INTERLUDE: Or. Never Shake Hands With a Pilot. You see, in between the features, a DVD called Lost and Found Video Night had been playing. This had clips from strange/funny/bonkers TV shows, music videos and just-plain bugshit videos. During the 24-hours, we saw clips as varied as: -Mr. T's Be Someone, or Be Somebody's Fool! and much more. But the few of us in the theatre right after breakfast saw the ultimate in on-screen terror. Penis-Pump Man! Yes, we sat in numbed horror as a man demonstarted proper use of your Power Penis Pump! I can only assume this was the "How-to" video that shipped with the device, as he went on the demonstrate proper cleaning proceedures, too. (Yeah, that's what I needed to see that soon after breakfast.) Afterwards, he dresses (In a pilots uniform, no less.) and departs... leaving most of us in stunned silence. To those that missed this guy, and went home thinking that "Fanny Fart" woman who could blow out candles was the wierdest thing on those DVD's I say... YOU GOT OFF EASY! NOTE: If anyone wants to check out what they missed, you'll find the DVD's at www.5minutesonline.com Part 8: The Ballad of Di and Dodi To kick-start things again, we had another premiere, this time the Cole Hauser film Paparazzi. With a plotline loosely based on the death of Princess Di, it's the story of a rising Hollywood star who becomes the target of a group of the sleaziest paparazzi in the history of gutter journalism. (After popping their leader, played by Michael Masden, in the face.) Things turn to custard for all concerned after the paparazzi cause a horrific traffic acciedent, involving Our Hero's wife and son. Are we sensing the subtle parallels yet? From then on, it's One Man on a Trail of Bloody Revenge. Since I don't want to give away too many plot points, I'll just list a few Things I'll Remember About Paparazzi. **The running gag of bashing the Baldwin family (started in Team America) continues, with Daniel Baldwin's credit getting hissed.(!) I'm guessing that was you, Mr. Grey? WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: Afraid not. Final Thought: A pretty decent revenge flick. But aren't the old, shitty films meant to break, not the pristine new prints? And now. The film that nearly broke me. The Evil Bastard of Celluloid that is... Part 9: DEEP HURTING! A personal aside: A few days after the Marathon, I looked this film up on the IMDB. The one Reader Review lamented the fact that this "obscure gallio" wasn't available on DVD or video, and wondered why. Because it sucks. End of story. It's the Black Hole of gallio. The Street Wars of late-60's pyschadelia. And the most painful way to spend ninety minutes, short of having the Jackass crew taking turns to kick you in the crotch for an hour and a half. Ant was later to describes this film as the "Zone-Out" flick, there to allow people a chance to sleep. I wish he'd told me that. Instead, being a dedicated and willing reviewer, and, by extension, a fucking schmuck, I watched this piece of crap in it's entirety, straining to make sense of it's wafer-thin, though mind-boggling plot. Bar a couple of five-second micro naps, I watched practically every frame of this film. I think it lasted nine hours. For those interested, I'll sum up the plot. It started so promisingly, with a pre-credits dream/trip sequence with random couples having sex in front of our Hallucinating Heroine. (My public comment of "I don't know what it is, but I like it!" sure came back to bite me in the ass, didn't it?) After some 1969-vintage credits and theme song, we find out she's the daughter of a high-ranking official in Rome. Within minuites (or possibly hours) she gets caught in a police raid on a local whorehouse. (No, it's not her occupation, it's her jerkwad boyfriends' idea of a good place to have pre-marital nookie.) To avoid the negative publicity, "Daddy" (Yes, that's the name he was given in the opening credits. Toys Are Not For Children II, anyone?) takes the unusal step of tossing his little girl into a mental hospital. Presumably the papers reading "Local Businessmans' Daughter a Fruit Loop" was better than "Local Businessmans' Daughter a Cheap Slut". Because it's that kind of a movie, our Perfectly Sane Heroine returns from the nuthatch as a giggling, overly-cheerful pycho. (I forget her name, but I'll just call her Insane Sixties Chick or ISC for short.) Because it's a late 60's movie, this is symbolised by a edited-to-within-an-inch-of-its life sequence of cuts. All of which show ISC against a plain background, some of which pan off her, only to find her on the opponsite side of the shot. I didn't know if she was going insane, or appearing in a advert for Fashion Week. This technique would be used again and again, with siezure-inducing editing of the most vital, plot-advancing moments. (For instance, the wonderful "ISC shops for hats" montage.) On the other hand, this movie was made in Italy. Meaning two things. 1) Characters called "Mario" and 2) "Artistic" moments. Moments where nothing happens. At all. For ages. The scene where we meet ISC's family is a masterpiece of meaningful looks, without so much as a single word of dialogue for minutes on end. Excuse me, Mr. Director? You're not Fellini. Get over it. The middle third of the film is filled with the most random plotting I'd ever personally witnessed. The script seemed not to have been written, but dialed up on a Oujia board. ISC wandered from scene to scene, accompanied by The Insane Italian Slappers Harpsichord Theme. Personally, I've never really equated harpsichords with homicide. Hearing one now MIGHT send me on a killing spree of overly-pompus Italian hacks, but I digress. Our plot lumbers back into action (There's a word I didn't think I'd use in this review) as ISC re-hooks back up with her oily boyfriend. (Through the time-tested romantic approach of pointing a gun at him.) She then begins the gradual (Okay, glacial) process of seducing her sisters husband. In between pointless bouts of 60's-ness. (Such as the much-needed "ISC throws sheet music around while laughing" scene in the music room.) By this time (Two weeks into the film, or thereabouts) everyone in Johns' party was sound asleep. I joined James on the left-hand seats and we began the monumental task of working out what the hell was going on. ("So, in the 60's you got the money to make your film, no matter if you had a plot or not?") I was also popping Myltanta tablets like jellybeans. Yes, this film was causing me physical pain. Anywho, ISC's seduction of her sisters' husband was somewhat more complex than she had used on her boyfriend. First, she let him perve at her in her bikini. That could have been enticing, if the scene hadn't gone on for days with nothing happened beyond a few smouldering looks. I apologise to anyone I woke up with my frustrated cry of "DO SOMETHING!" at this juncture. (It did spur the happy couple into a bout of overly-public making out, at least.) The second part of the plan? Electrocuting him, of course. (As recommended in the book "Men are From Mars, Woman are Random-Acting Pycho-Bitches".) Of course, Sis's slightly-parboiled husband doesn't really put two and two together, sticking around for more punishment. And so we go to Seduction Phase 3: Random Nudity. Followed by Random 60's Music Interlude and Freakout. (If that was the Strawberry Alarm Clock, I officially hate them.) Followed by Phase 4: Random Seduction of a Nerd. Followed by Phase 5: Overly-Complex Ways to Kill Off Characters by Proxy. (Why the hell DID she cap her boyfriend?) Followed by Phase 6: Overly-Complex Ways to Kill Your Relatives. But by now, events were moving in Bullet Time. Every scene wound out for an eternity. Minutes turned into hours. Even the random sex scenes were just not doing it. By the time every major character bar ISC and Daddy had either died or brought a clue and run away, I was like the most eager guy in Johnsontown, going "Just give me the entiore bucket Doc, I'm REALLY thirsty!" But finally, it ended. Boy, did it end. After a magnificantly long (And dialogue-free) Daddy-daughter dinner sequence, ("If we have to watch him eat dessert, I'll kill him myself!") ISC looks meaningfully at Daddy and... does the Tom Jones "seductive-eating" trick. (The audience reaction, post-Toys, was predictably loud.) And finally the camera pulls back. Back. Back. Further back. End. Back. END! END, FILM, END! I think the cameraman must have had to show his passport to the Swiss border patrol by the time he was allowed to fade out. WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: Nerdy Italian Guy had to be seen to be believed Final Thought: Too few psychouts and damn few murders. Final Complaint: Afterwards Ant told me this film had been subbed for his first choice, Bobby Joe and the Outlaw... a 70's drive-in classic featuring a very young (and very naked) Lynda Carter. Excellent. Now I'm REALLY happy I watched that film. *sigh* Part 10: Don't Go Messing with a Country Boy Time for a little Nature Run Amok. (Or so the title seemed to indicate.) We remain deep in the 1970's, and once more we have a faded-to-purple print. The cheap-ass opening credits fade up along with... The Stars and Stripes Forever? How... patriotic. (It's a ballsy flick that uses public domain music and adds a "Music by John Phillip Sousa" credit.) With a title like Fangs, I was betting we had a fairly generic Killer Bear movie on our hands, probably shot a year or so after Jaws. But I was wrong in many, many ways. Bizarre, wonderful ways. Let's go to the Bullet Points! To explain that comment... Nice, Normal Schoolmarm had a slightly... unconventional kink. How do I put this subtly? Nope, there's no way to be subtle about this film. Nice Schoolmarm likes to use the Slithery Dildo. And I'm not talking a grass snake, either. I'm talking about "Lucifer", a nine-foot python. The only good thing about this bonkers revelation... it was all implied with shillouettes. Thank you for that small mercy, movie. Post-Python Pounding, we'll return to the plot. WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: If marching counts as dancing, then yes, sir! Final Thought: Who would have thought I'd write the longest review of the night about a film where nothing happens for an hour? You're my hero, Snakey Bender! Part 11: The World Premiere! or I Doubt That's Gettinga good Review on Good Morning With just over six hours to go, I experimented with the two-piece toothbrush (Worked beautifully), changed my shirt and socks (Too little, way too late perhaps) and migrated to the floor for the first (And only) Kiwi flick for the night. (Reminder for next year: Pack a pillow. At least I gave my back a rest.) Set in Auckland, Spooked had the advantage of allowing me to play "Spot-The-Location". (And, as I work there, "Spot-The-Skytower".) The major DISadvantage the film had? One of the most ridiculously far-fetched plots since Brain Dead... and that was meant to be far-fetched. I'll admit, it's a ballsy move to make a high-tech, conspiricy-theory, world-spanning political thriller, set in New Zealand, and based on fact. (Oh, fucking sure, dude.). But once the main plot development kicked in, the writing was on the wall... at least as far as this particular audience was concerned. International arms smuggling? In New Zealand? Our entire military prescence is 3 and a half frigates and a a box of spare parts that used to be Skyhawks, for Gods' sake! Our Light Armored Vehicles need jumper leads and a steep hill to trundle into battle! Believeability aside, I was fairly well entertained by the film. (Possibly as a result of not sleeping through Psychout For Murder... anything was entertaining after that drivel.) Plenty of familiar faces in the cast, with practically every Kiwi actor working today popping up at some stage or other. (Plus a couple of comedians. And yes, I think Raybon Kan WAS acting, thank you Mr. Grey. Or at least, acting like an actor.) Some nice moments of comedy, especially in the classic scene where our hero tries to arm himself. (Now THAT'S the New Zealand I know and love... your choice is either an air gun or a paintball rifle unless you're a farmer with a major possum problem.) And a cameo appearance by Vincent Ward, who directed a film my sister starred in back in the 1980's. And yes, I can confirm that Vincent LOVES locations that seem inaccessable to sane human beings. (But that's still no reason to kick him off River Queen, you money-minded pricks.) I was actually hoping the whole film would turn out to be a paranoid delusion on the part of our hero, which would have made more sense in the long run. Sadly, that was not to be. But personally, I kinda liked it. Just don't expect Stephen Grey to give this film a good word on TV... his profanity-filled appraisal of the flick was a running gag throught the last few hours. WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: There's a titty-bar scene with some pretty white dancing. Final Thought: Well, its no Never Say Die. But it's no Chicken, either. It's not even a Send a Gorilla. Part 12: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Sasquatch Will Never Hurt Me. 4:20, dude! Smoke 'em if you got 'em! In fact, this was the second film to start at 4:20. Coincidence? I don't think so... Anyway, our final Creature Feature started promisingly. Nature footage. Pompus voice-over narration. Crude titles. Such wonderfully cheap footage. And then... the Monster appeared. I have never laughed so hard in my fucking life. It's like someone looked at the Creeping Terror and went "Fuck, I can make a crappier-looking critter than that! Someone get me a threadbare bearskin! John, your moderately-talented eight-year-old likes making papier mache, right? Get him to whip us up a Bigfoot mask!" "The kid says he can only make a half-assed koala, Bill!" "Close enough!". Then, once the masterwork of craptitude was assembled, they shot it in broad daylight, and gave it plenty of lingering close-ups. I couldn't have laughed harder if I'd been watching Georgina Bayer sodomising both David Lane and Brian Tamaki with an eighteen-inch strap-on. I wasn't the only one somewhat amused by this less-than-terrifying creature. 22 hours into the show, the typical Kiwi "Dont draw attention to yourself" mindset had broken down. Quips and catcalls were being hurled at the monster with wild abandon. On-screen, a 70's housewife appeared, engaged in the typical housewife-ly task of hanging out clothes. And so began the longest "stalking' scene in recent motion picture history. Cut to the "Bigfoot". Cut the the housewife. Cut to her dog. (A golden labrador, one of the less-intelligent members of the canine race.) Cut back to the creature, still shuffling through the woods. Back to more thrilling clothes-pin-related action. The dog barks. The creature stumbles on. ("Run, lady! He's made it to the neighbouring county!") She pours her dog a bowl of milk. (James: "That's the biggest bowl of milk I've ever seen for a dog!" Me: "And we're going to watch him drink every single drop!") The Sasquatch stalks through the same glade he stalked through five shots ago. The dog finishes his milk. More threadbare shambling. ("This guy makes the Creeping Terror look like a fast worker!") Eventually, the dog barks, the housewife looks up, screams and... We cut to a highschool class, watching the same footage we were. Their teacher switches it off, stands framed by pictures of mythalogical monsters and announces "This is an example of the classic Hollywood monster!" After those $9.99 K-mart Halloween costume-level special effects? Best reaction of the night to a line of dialogue. Ant had warned me at breakfast that the film had a great start, followed by a tough second reel. Understatement like that is an art... as the next ten minutes was devoted to a thorough backstory of our Hairy Antagonist. We learnt the legends about him. We found out about how his environment is being destroyed by mankind, forcing him into populated areas. And what did we watch while we were told this? Stock foot age of lumberjacks. I think I now know more about the logging industry than every resident of the provence of Manitoba combined. Suddenly, we were shocked at the sight of footage actually shot exclusivly for this production. In a quasi-flashback, we met the first men to have a tragic meeting with ol' Bigfoot. (Judging by the 70's haircuts and fashions, we'd only flashed back a week or so.) Two men (One a wolly cap-wearing guy with pointy ears I nicknamed "The Christmas Elf", the other a long-hair, droopy-moustached, perpetually-stoned looking dude. "It's Peter Frampton!") catch a brief glimpse of a large, hairy creature ducking into the woods. Christmas Elf goes to investigate. In fact, while Peter Frampton stands by the truck and gets stoned-looking reaction shots, ("Whoa. Dude.") Christmas Elf scours every square inch of the Californian forest. Well, at leats that's ten MORE minutes of the running time eaten up by a weassly-faced guy wandering aimlessly in the woods. ("Dude, come back, you just crossed into Utah!") Finally, after no less than eight shots of big, hairy feet, Christmas Elf and Budget Bigfoot are glimpsed in the same shot for the first time. And then... Something happens. Off-screen. Yes, that's the payoff. One short scream, Peter Frampton walks in to the woods to investigate, looks slightly shocked, ("Duddddde!") and we cut back to the class. Umm, Mr. Director? Low-budget or not, this isn't a radio play. Visuals, man, visuals! Anyway, back in the classroom, we tread water for a while with some Student Komedy. Abrubtly, the teachers Special Guest Bigfoot Expert Speaker arrives... a guy so nerdy even Napoleon Dynamite could probably beat him up for his lunch money. He takes center stage, address us direct to camera and begins his tale... And suddenly it's 1958. And I mean that literally. I'm serious, all of a sudden we're in a movie shot at least 15 years before the thirty-odd minutes of footage we've been subjected to! And that's what we'd watch for the rest of the movie. Cinematic Recycling at its' finest, my friends... Blend a few minutes of guys wandering in the woods, ten minutes of stock footage and apply to an aging, sixty-minute B-feature and BAM! A whole new film! Money in the bank! Interestingly, the old film matched the new footage pretty well. There was a younger, but equally nerdy main character. There was copius amounts of padding. And there was a laugh-out-loud Bigfoot with a face that looked like a possum that had run repeatedly into a screen door. Of course, we didn't get to see the bigfoot for the best part of an hour, but talk is cheap and makeup is expensive, I guess. In fact, the first twenty minutes of the "new" film was less of a creature feature than an educational film on Archeology. Our Nedry hero and his six overly-enthusiastic college kids were shown the fascinating ins and outs of the science, guided by the wonderfully-named "Bill Wyman". (Rolling Stones jokes abounded after that character was introduced. "Screw the archeology, who wants to hear me play "Satisfaction"?" "And here we find the mummified corpse of Keith Richards!") Bill happily showed the kids centuries-old Indian rock carvings... which they proceed to lean up against(!) while having their picture taken. (Way to treat those priceless artifacts with due care and dignity, pal.) Bill's favourite thing to show off... his ancient "Prayer Sticks". (So ancient they still appeared to be oozing sap.) These remakable artifacts were rudely received by the remaining marathoners. (With Stephen Grey sounding personally insulted with his extremely-loud comment of "It's a fucking STICK!" from the back row.) The ancient Native American scraping-rock wasn't much more of a crowd-pleaser. Finally, after watching some unconvinging archeology, and an even-less convincing lunch-and-harmonica session, ("It's a Hootenanny!") the plot rumbled back into life. (Although not before I fufilled my Bad Pun Allotment by pointing to an actor partially obscured by the tents main support and saying "I guess that guys' a Pole." I don't think anyone found it funny but me, but I have no problems with amusing myself from time to time.) After a stonkingly-long and not-overly-exciting "climbing" sequence, the kids find a mummified corpse, lying in suspended animation. (Well, the MALE students find it... being the 1950s the female student do bugger all for fifty minutes, then get to scream a few times before the credits.) Some time later the mummy revieves, due to a combination of Movie Coincidence and Dodgy Scientific Bullshit, and is revelaed as a Sasquatch "Rampage Time!" you think. Nope. The creature immediately flees into the surrounding orange groves. The next twenty minutes involve people searching the woods. (Probably our heroes, but it could have been anyone. Low-budget film or not, could we have sprung for some lights? One light? A flashlight and a candle, for fucks sake? What the hell is going on out there? Who are those vauge, shadowy people out there in the murky gloom? Are they even in this film?) At last, a Cunning Plan is put into effect. The local Sherrif becomes bait, wile everyone else hides behind an Imposing Barrier of... eight hay bails. The sight of this tiny structure, with 8 people squeezed in behind it, proved to be the second-funniest sight in the film for me, sending me into an obnoxiously-loud, caffine-and-sleep-deprivation-fuelled rant extolling it's protective qualities. ("Alcatraz! Valhalla! It's impentrable!") Bigfoot, of course, never even approaches it, mauling the hell out of the sherrif instead. The geeky students chase down the lumpy-faced and slightlybalding beast, turning it into Bigfoot Crispies with a handy can of gasoline. And instantly it's "THE END". Well, it was fun while it lasted. WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: Some bad harmonica playing only. Final Thought: That Geeky 70's Guy mentioned that 3 of his students were in nuthouses after seeing Bigfoot. But in the 50's movie, they saw it for a grand total of ten seconds before killing it. I call shenanagins! Part 13: Do Ya Wanna PARRR-TY?! 22 hours down. I did a quick dash around the theatre to collect the debris of the marathon. (And to the popel who left early, leaving their crap on the floor, you're off my Christmas Card list, assholes.) The last of the PJ's were given out... proving how much this thing takes out of you, Ant hardly had the co-ordination to flig them into the balcony anymore. One flick to go. And from the moment a sign for "Uneeda Medical Supplies" appeared on-screen, the crowd was jacked. (I'll admit, it wasn't until the guy playing "Fred" was first shown before I twigged as to what film it actually was.) Out of 13 features, this final flim was the only one I'd ever seen before. In fact, I'd watched it on MGM just a few weeks before. And I have to make a confession here. A fact that I confided in James, but no-one else at the show. I don't really like this movie. There, I said it. I know it's regarded as a low-budget, 80's classic. I know it has the hilarious "split dog vs. crutch" scene. But, frankly... I find the rest of it kind of annoying. The over-acted (or just plain BAD) performaces, the endless scenes where everybody shouts at once, the lot. There is one redeeming feature, however. [Sexist Bastard Mode ON] In 1985, Linanna Quigley had tits that would make God nod sagely and say "Jesus, did I do a good job of those, or WHAT?" And Jesus would have nodded and replied "You sure did, Dad. A++ on the tits." [Sexist Bastard Mode OFF] So, while the rest of the audience hooted their approval and recited lines along with (And occasionally BEFORE) the cast, I just chilled, tried to tune out the hideously wooden acting and waited for Linnea to do her thing. (Luckily, it's like 12 minutes into the flick.) This scene was greeted by a fairly-well respected (And slightly tips... okay, pissed) film critic screaming "TITS!". Tres' classy, dude. The remainder of the film became a game of "Spot the Perky Ass"... and the larger screen-size makes that a lot easier than on TV, I might add. (There was at least three scenes I'd never spotted her character in before. I guess it helps when her boobs are suddenly two feet high.) I did get one jump from an off-screen sound effect, though. I think I was woolgathering between Linnea scenes. WHITE PEOPLE DANCING BADLY?: Just a naked Linnea, baby. Final Thought: Ahh, Linnea. Epilogue: The Aftermatch Finally, after the Explosive Finale, the lights came up, and it was all over. Probably better than 50 people had lasted the duration, out of the hundred-plus that had started the thing. We tidied the place as best we could, said our goodbyes, collected our belongings and stumbled out into the cool of the evening. I found my wife, waiting in the car a few meters up the raod. The first words she said as I opened the door? "What the HELL are you wearing?". Maybe the PJ's were just a little too lime-green for her? It turned out she hadn't managed to fall asleep until nearly 6am Sunday morning. (We've been living together for nine years, and in that time we've only spent three nights apart in that time. And the events of all three of those nights are documented in my V marathon reports.) Since we were both tired (me slightly more than her) and hungry, we headed to the Thai Gardenia resturant in New Lynn for some take-out Panag Gai. Interestingly, while I was able to place my order quite coherantly, I was totaly unable to work the doorhandle of the mens bathroom. Sleep deprivation is a funny thing. After dinner I hit the shower and headed for bed. But, in a show of defiance to my lack of sleep, I decided to read as much of the Judge Dredd 'Apocolypse War' comic until my eyesight went blurry. I think I lasted 11 pages. And so, at 9:30pm, I fell asleep for the first time in 31 and a half hours. And slept for 13 hours. Sleep is good. ===================== My Thoughts on the Fest "selling out": No way. The line-up this year was excellent. The new films were a welcome addition to the old and the bizarre. Switching from a scratched, faded drive-in print to a pristine print of something like Team America not only helped rest the eyes, it added a layer of depth to the show, and makes it much more accessable to more than just the hard-core B-fans. Sure, it it becomes ywenty-four hours of Ben and J-lo flicks, we've got a problem, but in all honesty, I doubt that's going to happen. Keep things fresh, keep them intersting, keep the surprises coming... and the fans will go home happy. Tired, but happy. It's now 1am, Monday the 8th of November. In the days following the marathon I felt like my ass had been run over by a stagecoach. My back was sore. I gave myself a stinger reaching under a chair to retrieve an empty V can during The Curse of Bigfoot. I shouted myself hoarse, thus leaving myself wide open to the sore throat and headcold that's turned me into Skeeter the Snot-Monster since Tuesday. I've spent nearly a week writing this review, which numbers around 12, 800 words at the last count. (With the free ticket as my "pay" for this report, that works out to 3.2 cents a word.) I still have to HTML it before it can go on my website. My workmates still think I'm nuts. But would I do this again? Oh, hell yeah. In fact, at the end of the show, I was discussing the future of the marathon with Stephen. I mooted 16-hours as a 'compromise' between the hardcore marathoners, and the 600+ that attended the 10-hour shows. In retrospect, let me say this to the organisers. Fuck that. 24 hours or bust, baby! And anyone who falls asleep before breakfast is a pussy. Over and out, and (hopefully) I'll see you at the "V" in 2005! ============== Ant Timpson: Once again, huge thanks for the ticket, and for having the balls to make this thing a reality. You and snakey Bender are my heroes, man. The Staff and Owners of the Hollywood: Thank you for putting up with a horde of unwashed, unruly film freaks for 24-hours. I promise I'll watch as many films there this year as I can afford. V: The offical caffine-is-good energy drink of Skeeter. The Staff of the Spotted Frog Cafe: Especially the person responsible for making 40+ coffees in less than 40 minutes. As a cafe worker myself, that is NOT an easy task, I tell you. And of course, Dawn: For putting up with my annual bout of Geeky Cinematic Insanity with love and good humour in equal amounts. Steve "Skeeter" Skeet
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: Only in the pyschological sense.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: Max never took his shirt off. Thank you for that small mercy, movie.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: Oh, yes.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Every ten seconds or so.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Exxon and BP are probably contesting the right to drill in Eddie's 'do as we speak.
NUDITY WATCH: Two pairs boobs, one kid in a bathtub. And hairy-chested seventies hubbys ass for the ladies. *shudder*
Sunday, 04:20-ANACONDAS: HUNT FOR THE BLOOD ORCHID
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: Reckless Monkey Endangerment count?
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: In a recent Hollywood flick? A fat person? Get real.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: I never even noticed.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Plenty.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Hey, they're sliding around in mud for most of the movie. So, yeah.
NUDITY WATCH: Not so much as a nipple.
Sunday, 06:00-GUYANA: CRIME OF THE CENTURY
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: Uh-huh. Kid covered in snakes, kid in the ducking pool, and of course, Testicles-of-Power Kid.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: Johnson was never going to die of anorexia, if you get my meaning.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: But of course.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Yes. Very few about the whole "group suicide" thing, oddly.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: It's the 70's, dude. Take a guess.
NUDITY WATCH: One set boobs, three pre-teen asses and a skinny, hairy 70's guy. I need a shower.
Sunday, 08:00-BREAKFAST BREAK
-An early (And I mean REALLY early) AC/DC video.
-A music video about scary clowns by Crispin Glover(!)
-Dance numbers from Turkish movies
-A Metallica air-drummer
-The worst stand-up comedian in history
-The brilliant "My spoon is too big!" animation
-The lowest-scoring "Gong Show" contest ever.
-52 Japanese schoolgirls leaping in front of a train from Suicide Circle. (Thomas knew the title, of course. I knew it as that "wierd Japanese movie")
Sunday, 08: 50-PAPARAZZI
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: Yes, indeedy.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: Hello, Daniel Baldwin.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: Seemed appropriate enough, I guess.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Nah, but a few spousal glares were used.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Most of the paparazzi fit the criteria, yes.
NUDITY WATCH: Zippo
Sunday,10:25-PYSCHOUT FOR MURDER
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: No children were involved in this film. They'd have been in high school by the time it ended.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: Moron Hubby was no freakin' Kate Moss.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: Dear Lord, yes.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Just the whole freakin' film.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Italian men. 1970's. So, "yes", then?
NUDITY WATCH: Quite a bit. Too bad the print had faded to such an extent everyone looked like they'd been dipped in plum juice.
Sunday, 12:20-FANGS
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: Not unless the snakes were underage.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: It was like a three-for-one Flabby Actor Special.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: I thought J.P. Sousa was entirely appropriate. But then, I'm a bit mental.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Several.
<GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Pretty much everyone.
NUDITY WATCH: 1 pair Schoolmarm Boobs. But honestly, would you have wanted to see ayone else in the cast get nekkid?
Sunday, 14:00-SPOOKED
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: Nope. In fact, that theme seems to have run its course this evening.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: One large bouncer, one heavy-set flatmate. Shirts on, though.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: Seemed okay to me.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: A couple.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Not that I recall.
NUDITY WATCH: Minor. The titty bar seemed a little tacked-on, in truth.
Sunday, 16:20-CURSE OF BIGFOOT
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: Nah, the "students" were in their early twenties.
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: Bigfoot was shirtless, but was actually pretty tall and skinny.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: Stock music all the way, baby.
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Not a one.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Who could tell with that lighting?
NUDITY WATCH: In a re-cycled 50's film? Not likely.
Sunday, 18:15-RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD
RECKLESS CHILD ENDANGERMENT?: There was one short Zombie, but I think it was a midget. (A Mombie?)
REALLY FAT GUYS, PREFERABLY SHIRTLESS?: Plenty of them.
OVER-DRAMATIC/INAPPROPRIATE SCORE?: "Do ya wanna PARRRRTY?!"
DOMESTIC ARGUMENTS?: Lots of shouting, yeah.
GREASY-HAIRED GUYS?: Back from the grave and greasy as hell!
NUDITY WATCH: I was watching, believe me.
The Final Final Thoughts
=====================
The Thank Yous
==============
posted by Skeeter @ 12:49 AM
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So, on the way home from the Family Picnic of Tediousness, Rack runs into Sherrif Donut-Mucher, who's found Colbys car. The rescue crew is having trouble retrieving it, as it's gone down a bank. The Sherrif complains that he's going to "break his nexk" climbing down, so Rack leads trhe way. When in doubt, call a veternarian, I always say. The Sherrif kind of looks like a big sissy-girl, really, as the "descent" is a dirt bank maybe fifteen feet high. Sherrif Wussbag. When they make it to the bottom of the "cliff" (*PHEW*), they actly like manly-men to lever open the door of Colbys truck. Cue the Rapoidly-Appearing Corpse Trick, so beloved of film-makers since, oh, "Jaws" first srcreened. 
