You may have read in previous New Orleans Worst Film Festival diaries about the pleasures of this particular festival as compared to its older sibling, B-Fest: the warmer clime, the tourist-friendlier time and location, the more gregarious staff. You may also have read about some of its other features: rock-hard seats, sudden torrents of rain, and a shorter running time (only twelve hours instead of a full twenty-four). No matter your personal opinion on any of these aspects, they all remained true for the 2002 event. So it remains to tell you only a few particulars about this trip, the people who were there, and the movies that were shown.
For your convenience, we provide a magic link that takes you past the opening travelogue portion of this article and straight to the movie reviews. Those curious to know where else we went in New Orleans and what we did there may read on.
We Stompers arrived in New Orleans on Friday morning with Chris' wife Christina, and we were shortly joined by old friend and b-movie festival newcomer Niki Hord. Some baggage handling and a rental car trip later, we found ourselves enjoying a traditional late breakfast of beignets and cafe au lait at Café du Monde. We poked around the French Quarter for a couple of hours before the sky opened up on us. (No trip to New Orleans is complete without a quick soaking.) After drying off briefly under some awnings in the business district, we took the St. Charles streetcar in the direction of the Garden District. This quaint-yet-convenient transportation passes the stately mansions and the fraternal-twin campuses of Tulane and Loyola and beyond, but we disembarked at the bend in the tracks, where lies a dieter's worst enemy and one of New Orleans' best-kept secrets: the Camelia Grill. Fortunately, we set our calorie counters aside for the weekend and partook of cholersterol-laden burgers and such. Niki and Christina enjoyed the frankfurter, which is split into an improbable configuration on a hamburger bun and piled high with cheese and bacon.
To work off these extra calories, we took a somewhat shorter jaunt on the trolley to nearby Audubon Park, at the end of which was supposedly an aquarium – or so our trusty AAA map indicated. Our first stop in the park was across the creek from a rookery of swamp birds, mainly herons. There must have been a few hundred birds of various types hanging out in the mossy trees on the other bank. The rest of our hike took us down one side of the park that, again according to our map, would take us closest to the aquarium. Unfortunately, the map was not only wrong on the count of the aquarium (which is actually located on one edge of the Quarter), it also took us down the back side of the only thing worth seeing at that end of the park: the Audubon Zoo. By the time we retraced our steps to the Zoo's entrance, there was barely an hour left to spend with the animals, but we got in some good time with the monkeys, reptiles, and sea lions before the staff kicked us out.
By this time the hotel was ready for us to check in, so we summoned a taxi to return us to downtown, where we were greeted by the good Dr. Freex and his traveling companion, Dave. Since this pair had the "luxury" of traveling by land, they came loaded for bear: Freex with a pair of video tapes (Sesame Street with Star Wars characters, and Electric Company episodes featuring Spider-Man!), and Dave with a PlayStation 2. Apparently, if New Orleans failed to live up to its reputation, Dave was prepared to suckle at the electronic teat. (According to Dr. Freex's account of the weekend's events he needn't have worried, but it came in handy nonetheless.)
A few hours later we met with the ever-enigmatic Apostic and his lovely wife (Mrs. Apostic) for dinner at the Red Fish Grill. The Red Fish is a beautiful establishment with a vibrant atmosphere, a friendly staff, and prices that make you raise your eyebrows. This is perhaps not the place to go for down-home Creole cookin', but it suited our needs and no one died of shock when the bill came. Dinner ended at about ten, by which time relative latecomers Ken "Jabootu" Begg and his solicitor friend Andrew M (known previously as "Andrew with a blazer,") had checked into the hotel themselves. Christina, Niki, and Chris decided to pay their respects in the morning and departed for a Bourbon Street bar (later to be joined by the Apostics) before hitting the hay.
The year previous, an ill-fated trip to Cafe du Monde the morning of the festival resulted in a late arrival at NOWFF. Determined not to let that happen again, we sat down Saturday morning with Niki and Christina at the Half Shell restaurant, just around the corner from the hotel. Fate did not smile on us that day either, and our thickly Creole-accented waiter brought our breakfasts much later than expected, which of course meant that we were later than intended to NOWFF. We were still there in plenty of time to say our hellos and shake the right hands before handing off our door prizes and the advance copies of "Reel Shame" we brought to sell for charitable purposes.
On this point we must thank Alfred, Crystal, and others in the festival staff for kindly taking the sales of the book in hand. With very little notice they took charge of the book's sales for the day and we could only repay them with signed copies of their own and a portion of the day's take for the Second Harvester's Food Bank. A more modest sum than we had hoped to raise for them, but there was very little publicity for the book this time around, as we didn't even know if we would have advance copies until a week before the festival. Still, every little bit helps, and a few lucky souls got hold of our opus before the official pub date. The rest of you will just have to hold your breaths with anticipation until the official ship date.
With our pillows firmly beneath our assets and our snack foods in hand, we settled in for a long afternoon and evening of bad movies, beginning with...
The Evil Brain From Outer Space
"NOWFF, American Style" (their chosen theme for the year) began with a Japanese movie. A very, very Japanese movie. Evil Brain is actually three unrelated episodes of a Japanese TV series edited together into an incoherent story that features an evil brain that shows up only briefly and doesn't do anything. The evil brain is opposed by Starman, a leotard wearing space hero who can fly and hit people on the side of the head really well. Luckily most of the henchmen in the movie insist in wearing cowls, and therefore can't turn their heads to see Starman's lateral blows.
This movie is bad, but once you stop trying to make sense of it (ideally, you should do this by the end of the first scene in the police station) it's really quite fun to watch. There are plenty of really silly monsters, and a lot of stuff happens. In addition, it confirmed our suspicions that everyone who wears a white lab coat is evil.
The X from Outer Space
Another Japanese movie, but with the vital ingredient that makes Japanese movies great: a Giant Monster. In this case the giant monster is the adorable chicken-like monster Guilala. After breaking up with Tonya Harding, Guilala goes on a rampage in Japan until the sole American member of the cast (Peggy Neal) engineers a miracle substance that reduces the poultry terror to white foam.
That's the good part of the movie. Before that we had to slog through an hour of tepid romantic sparring and go-go music. The highlight was seeing Dr. Freex reduced to screaming hysterics by the Odious Comic Relief's second comic line.
Invasion of the Saucermen
An old favorite with b-movie lovers. It's really not that bad. On this viewing, we took the time to appreciate how well this movie foresees future developments in the UFO myth. things like the government covering up a crashed alien spacecraft and cattle mutilations show up in this movie, albeit in a comic form, decades before they would accepted as true events by the UFO community.
The Giant Gila Monster
This movie was on MST3K, which has caused the film to gain a reputation as being much worse than it actually is. As a matter of fact, other than the shoddy effects and the horrible "Laugh Children, Laugh" song that's repeated twice, it is actually quite watchable. No explanation is ever given for why a Gila Monster would grow to Mac truck size, but we guess that's just details. Eventually the docile lizard is blown to smithereens with nitroglycerine, making the world safe from oversized vegetarian reptiles.
Invisible Invaders
Our traditional run to the Chinese restaurant (as near as we can tell, the only eating establishment for miles around) was made during this John Agar film. We hear tell Agar shows up every year at the festival, but because it's always during our dinner hour we miss him.
Viva Knievel!
What exemplifies America more than jumping a motorcycle over random objects? Nothing! This movie actually stars Evel himself, playing himself, and then surrounds him the best cast of any film made between 1970 and 1979. Is that Gene Kelly as the drunken, washed-up, child-abandoning mechanic? You bet it is! Leslie Nielsen is the baddie, and Laura Hutton is the love interest. Marjoe Gortner is the Judas to Evel's savior, and Red Buttons and Cameron Mitchell have supporting roles. Then just to keep us entertained, Viva Kneivel wraps all the stars in the most garish fashions 1977 could produce. There was probably a plot here somewhere, but double-wide lapels kept blocking our view of it.
During this screening, we were summoned to NOWFF HQ (a bivouac behind the main screen with all sorts of video gadgetry) to discuss our introduction of Megaforce. Despite the fact that we chose to sponsor this film (on the good advice of Dr. Freex), we really didn't know much about it. We were delighted to find that Scott Foy, NOWFF regular, columnist on the NOWFF web site, and 2002 recipient of the Golden Sludgie award, had an entire script worked out. All that we had to do was give away a few door prizes (including, naturally, a couple of copies of Reel Shame). With that done (and a few sentimental tokens thrown our way by the good folks at NOWFF – we're almost done reading the novelization of Herbie Goes Bananas), we retired to our seats to take in the final cinematic train wreck of the evening:
MegaForce
All you need for a great movie is dirt bikes with rockets and dune buggies with lasers, right? That's the concept behind this highly promoted movie from 1982. MegaForce (led by Barry Bostwick as Ace Hunter) goes to a fictional but real-sounding country of Gambia to beat the crap out of ten or so WWII era tanks commanded by Henry Silva. That's about it. There's a very dramatic moment where MegaForce retreats from Gambia and Ace hunter has to fly his motorcycle into the cargo hold of a fleeing airplane. Despite the fact that the motorcycles must have been designed to do that, everyone acts like Ace made this up on the spot. To fill the time when nothing was happening we just made fun of the uniforms that MegaForce wears. Their dress threads are based on Captain Harlock, and Ace Hunter shows a predeliction for gold tights and a powder blue headband. We suggest he trade in the name "Ace" for another three-letter A word.
The evening wrapped up with the traditional NOWFF closer, Duck Dodgers in the 24th 1/2 Century, and suddenly another b-movie festival was over. We bid farewell to friends old and new and returned to our faithful hotel...
...for more bad movies! One of the axioms we have come to expect at these gatherings is that no set of movies presented at a festival is ever quite enough for the B-Masters; perhaps we need to inflict additional pain upon one another, or simply to socialize in a quieter venue with a b-movie providing fodder for the occasionaly joke. Whichever is the case, we watched the hilarious Sting of Death (thanks for bringing along a game machine that plays DVDs, Dave) until our eyes couldn't stay open any longer.
The next morning we gathered at the Court of Two Sisters for another annual tradition: the Grand Stuffing of Faces at a never-ending buffet of Southern cuisine. Between mouthfuls of duck a l'orange, biscuits, and omelet, we caught up on each others' lives, talked behind the backs of our fellow B-Masters (mostly to say that we wished they could attend), and enjoyed the jazz quartet that plays underneath the canopy of leaves (which conveniently mutes the sunlight or softens the occasional sprinkle of rain) in the courtyard.
Stomachs full and wallets somewhat lighter, we stumbled back out onto Royal Street for some sightseeing and shopping, eventually making our way down to Jackson Square, where we took our leave of Ken and Andrew. Freex and Dave headed off for the French Market to find baubles for their wives while the rest of us boarded a trolley bound for Harrah's casino. Neither one of us had been inside an actual casino before, and while our interest in gambling was low, our curiosity about the reality of a casino – as opposed to the fantasies seen in movies – was high.
As it turned out, we had a relatively experienced gambler in our midst. Niki was familiar with the rules of the house and soon showed us how to throw our own money away by feeding it into slot machines and the like. Of course, this also meant that Niki was the only one in the group (which also included Apostic, Jo, and Christina) who came away with anything left to cash out at the end of the visit.
The casino is separated into themed areas, each with its own class of patron. Chain-smoking matrons dominate the nickel-slot area devoted to TV game shows. Tourist couples with loud shirts and complimentary drinks permanently in hand hang out by the blackjack and craps tables. Well-dressed gentlemen, many of them Asian, sit at poker tables on a raised dais in the center of the casino before slipping behind the closed doors of the "Good Fortune" club, which is reserved for high-stakes gamblers. Despite this conglomeration of various people and activities, Harrah's casino is not a raucous place. All of the machines use the same set of musical notes for a steady, harmonious background hum. Whether the theme is space travel, pirate ships, or starry nightclubs, the color palette is the same. Sometimes the only clue that you've moved from one area to another is the difference in the gamblers themselves. It gives the overall impression of a carefully-planned, tightly-controlled playground for adults, which of course it is.
Still, it's not our cup of tea. With so much of the games controlled by chance, there's really no way to get better at any of them, and so the thrill of winning is subdued by the fact that those winnings don't represent any particular skill. And of course the only real winner is the house. So, as a place to meet or get drinks, Harrah's wins our approval. (The darkened bar with the false night-sky ceiling was gorgeous.) Gambling as a pastime, however, we will leave to those with better luck and less skepticism.
Our last hour in town we spent sitting outside the same Aquarium we had gamely tried to find on our first day, enjoying the sculpture and nursing our sore feet. Those of us returning to New Orleans felt good about seeing some new things and those of us who were new to the town had done the obligatory tourist attractions. None of us enjoyed ourselves to quite the same degree as Dr. Weasel perhaps, but that's probably for the best.
In the future, we would like to see more of our readers at these events. Are the B-Masters the only ones with the dedication to travel for their passion for b-movies? There must be some of you lurking in the state of Louisiana or parts nearby. Mark your calendars for next June, gentle people -- and come down to the front row to see us.
