Although we bad movie buffs truly enjoy watching a Plan 9 From Outer Space or even an Empire Of The Ants, there are times when bad films can become not merely bad but torturous.  Especially when you watch a bunch of them at one sitting.  Especially when you watch them when they're... 

By CRYSTAL GUILLORY

This all started after a night out on the town with my girl friends one weekend. It was a wild night when Abita's Purple Haze and other drinks flowed freely that night

Early in the morning I was dropped off by the designated driver at my place and I crawled into bed. I then drifted off to a restless sleep which produced this bizarre dream. I dreamt that I, well, became an "ex-Crystal," in other words I was bereft of life, singing with the choir invisible and pushing up the daisies (ask your friendly neighborhood Monty Python fan to explain that sentence to you). I was going on to eternity.

However there was a oh-so-slight screwup in the paper work, for I wound up in a very warm place. At first I thought it was a typical summer day here in New Orleans, but the screams and the flames taught me otherwise. (And no, I wasn't being held prisoner in a Louisiana Hot Sauce factory, either.) I was in...well, the place Mom told me I'd go if I didn't stop watching all those awful horror movies.

As you can imagine I was a little more than freaked out by this situation, I had wondered why I was in this place. I'm a good girl...well, mostly. Upon reflection, I calmed down enough to look for my buddy, Baron Mondo Von Doren. I thought he'd be here for sure, and at least I'd have an in with one of the locals. Alas, I didn't find the Baron but did find his boss. Old Scratch himself. And he was glad to see me.

"Ah, I finally get to meet the wonderfully sarcastic Crystal Guillory of HORROR-WOOD," Satan gushed.

I was taken aback by this. "You get the Internet down here?" I asked.

"Sure! That AOL goes everywhere, except that the blasted service keeps going down! Just wait until those Time Warner execs shuffle off the mortal coil. Just wait!"

I chuckled to myself, but then remembered where I was.

"Okay, I have to ask.. what the (pardon the expression) hell am I here?" I demanded.

Beelzebub shrugged. "Relax. There's been a slight screwup with your paperwork, so we're holding you here for a while. You really don't measure up for eternal damnation, although some things in your past are rather interesting. Like your recent purchase of Hot Hard Firemen..."

Oh, come on! I did that in the name of patriotic duty! After 9-11, we should all honor those hunky, I mean, heroic firefighters."

El Diablo smirked at that comment. "Ah, yes, you take your patriotic duty so seriously that you also purchased Hotter, Harder Firemen. However, that's chump change down here. But I do have you for a few hours and I plan on making good use of that time."

A shudder went through my body, and it wasn;t due to the mention of Hot, Hard Firemen. Whatever could Old Nick mean? Was I to be tortured over a rack, forced to listen to Bananarama, proofread John-John's next article? The hellish possibilities for cruelty seemed endless.

A blindfold was put over my eyes and I was led for a long walk. Then I was stopped and instructed to take off the blindfold. When I took it off I got a very big surprise.

I wasn't in some dank and dark torture room, or some sulfurous pit of flaming strife. No. It was worse. I was in a multiplex theater straight from the crummiest strip mall imaginable.

I trembled with dread. Mine host laughed diabolically. "Yes, my dear.. welcome to the lowest level of Hell! Welcome to Hell's Multiplex! Where only the worst horror and monster films are played...endlessly."

"Um, listen, I already watch enough stink movies, and--"

"Silence! You should consider yourself fortunate that I have chosen you to test this new facility. I must know if it provides sufficient punishment and also if I put enough old bubble gum under the seats. It's so hard to gauge such things on your own."

I thought hard for a moment. Aw...just sitting through some movies. Now, really, how hard can that be? Then fear paralyzed me as I remembered that mine host had said the worst horror and monster films.

Old Scratch seemed to have read my mind for a big grin appeared on his face.

"Have a seat Ms Guillory. The show is about to begin!"

I slowly walked to my seat, struggling not to lose my shoes in the old bubble gum on the floor.

"Yes, I think I got that part of it just right," Beelzebub noted with satisfaction. "You must be thoroughly disgusted, Ms. Guillory"

But I just smirked at mine host as I sat down in the seat that all but dumped me on the floor. "A little, maybe, but I have been in theaters about this bad back at home."

Old Nick frowned. But you haven't seen what the concession stand sells. Stale Milk Duds. Burned popcorn with rancid butter. Watery Dr. Pepper."

"Hah! Sounds like that theater me and the boyfriend went to last week. You're behind the times, Satan. Movie theaters aren't nice places any more. And they charge up the wazoo."

I was determined to be strong and beat Old Scratch at his own warped little game.

"Humph! Well, you haven't see what's on the marquee for Hell's Multiplex this week!"

"Yeah? Bring it on!"

Beelzebub clapped his hands and the demon projectionist started the first feature which was:

Beast Of Yucca Flats.

This little "classic" starred the late, great wrestler/actor Tor Johnson as a Russian scientist defecting to America. This gentle soul is chased into the desert by enemy agents, where he encounters an atomic explosion, survives it, and becomes a murderous beast. Good thing this was a black-and-white movie so the producers weren't tempted to turn green and get sued by a comic book company.

Interesting fact about this movie--it has very few lines of dialogue. The soundtrack for this movie was lost, so the director (Coleman Francis) had to supply the narration. To say this was a slow movie would be kind, but I did not let that get to me. I struggled to keep from yawning. Then I decided to show Tor Johnson a little support. It was at this point where my host began to look annoyed. Gee, who would think the Big Guy would get upset by someone kicking her seat and chanting "Tor, Tor, Tor!" every time the lead appeared on the screen.

"You're enjoying this a little too much," he grumbled.

"Hell, yeah! We showed this at the New Orleans Worst Film Festival a few years ago, so this isn't a problem for me to sit through."

I then began to hear mine host curse loudly. Such language! I think I disappointed him that I didn't turn into a quivering mass watching probably the most boring "monster" movie every made. As if!

"All right, you made it through that movie," Old Nick admitted. "But I want to see you endure the next film...if you can!"

With an authoritative clap of his hands, he indicated to the projectionist to start the next movie. It was:

Teenagers From Outer Space.

This is a movie about a group of (rather old looking) teenagers from another planet who have brought herds of Gargon (giant lobsters) to Earth to raise them. One of the aliens, Derrek, thinks that this is not the place to raise the critters and that they should find a uninhabited planet. The others decide he is a traitor and sentence him to "tor-char," but Derrek escapes.

All kinds of zaniness occurs as Derrek finds out about Earth customs such as kissing and also tries to hunt down the main villain. Eventually, Derrek saves the day by making the supreme sacrifice. It's so dopey that four-year-olds get annoyed by it.

I further annoyed mine host by laughing through this turkey.

"What? This movie is not torturing you? The inane dialogue! The "death rays" that produce the same skeleton over and over again. The monster that's only a shadow projected on the screen!"

"Not a chance. I've seen it far too many times. I'm immune to it."

"Incredible!"

"Not really. That giant lobster does kinda make a hungry. I am from Louisiana, you know."

Satan's eyes glowed with anger when he realized that I had gone through this second torturous movie unscathed. He did not say a word as he signaled to the the projectionist to show the next movie:

Voodoo Woman.

The story concerns a mad doctor (or there any other kind in these schlock movies?) who is experimenting with voodoo and modern science to make a monstrous creature that would obey his will. Then along comes these two petty crooks who want to find some jewels. The mad scientist meets the female crook and there is magic in the air.. literally.

The scientist she's perfect to become that monstrous creature. I know finding the right someone could change a person, but that is tad bit extreme. She becomes a scaly monster, she kills the mad scientist, "Touch Connors" (TV's Mannix) saves the day and nobody in the audience probably cared even back when this turkey was released.

I could tell mine host was annoyed at me as I hummed along to the song "Black Voodoo" and chuckling at Marla English trying to come off as a tough broad.

"Let me guess...this movie did not do a thing to you?" Satan snapped.

"Aw gee, how could you tell?"

"The spastic "acting" of Tom Conway? The ridiculous "native" dialogue? The rubber-suited monster with the dime-store wig? None of that tormented your soul?"

"You mean the recycled monster from the movie The She Creature? I think it's kind of cute now. Of course, living in New Orleans, I know a few voodoo practitioners who would have had a laugh at this movie as well."

The Prince of Darkness muttered to himself. "But these are the worst films! The worst!" Then he motioned again, and the next film flickered on the popcorn butter-splattered screen. It was:

Attack Of The 50-foot Woman.

"The coup de grace!" Old Nick chortled. "Women hate this movie! Suffer!"

This flick tells the tale of a heiress who takes a drive to the desert because her abusive husband is mean to her and she encounters a UFO and a giant alien. The police and everyone else in town just think she's just been drinking (again). Then her lout of a husband gets an idea to drive her crazy so that he can get his hands on her money and share it with his trampy girlfriend.

However, our heroine is kidnapped by the giant alien and grows 50 feet tall while getting a makeover to boot! She then decides that it is time to kick her husband's butt. She does and tears up the town. To bad she ran into that high-voltage tower.

Mine host knew he had lost again when he saw me cheering the 50-Foot Woman on as she whupped her husband, his tramp girlfriend, and most of downtown. But he was happy when I got upset at the end of the movie.

"Ah, finally I have tormented you. Success! What was it? Allison Hayes' slavish attitude toward her husband? The fact that the only other major female role was that of a slut? What?"

"Oh, I just wished she had run off and formed a clothing company for extra "big and beautiful" women. She could have been there before Lane Bryant!"

Old Scratch snorted with disgust.

"All right, all right! You've asked for it. This next movie will definitely experience you to the tortures of Hell! Roll 'em!"

The room became dark again and my eyes grew wide when I saw the title on the screen:

Manos, The Hands Of Fate.

I started to shudder. I strove to hide my reaction from Old Scratch. Could this be the movie that would finally unglued me, make me beg for mercy?

This stinker is about a family who takes a drive out to the country (the longest drive ever) where they wind up at the creepiest Bed and Breakfast in the universe. There they meet up with this creepy guy named Torgo who keeps talking about his "master." Anyone would have driven out of there without a moment's hesitation. Naturally, this retarded family do not. Then the movie just dragged on and on. Nothing really happened. Just talking and cheap sets and soul-deadening ennui. This is the move that hurts those who watch it.

I was about to hyperventilate but then I remembered all the great gags from Mystery Science Theater 3000's coverage of this bomb and that got me through. It was a close thing, though.

No doubt I got on Satan's nerves by humming Torgo's theme over and over while enduring the film. Mercifully, the movie finally ended and I was still sane, more or less. Mine host however was on the edge of losing it.

"How could you survive that vile stench of a film?" Beelzebub demanded. "I've seen infomercials with far more action! That stupid catfight. scene alone should have had you begging for mercy!"

"Some of us can take it and some of us can't. If the film festival is over, I'd like to leave."

With a helpless shrug, Satan was about to open the door when a diabolical smile crossed his face.

"Of course! I now know what will destroy your will."

He walked over to his projectionist, whispered in his pointed ear, and another movie started up.

I screamed with every fiber of my being when I saw what he was going to show me! He was the most evil being in the universe after all! This monster was subjecting me to the most hellish cinematic experience imaginable.

Hell's Multiplex was now showing...Glitter!

Now I was doomed to watching Mariah Carey warble on and on for over an hour. I kept screaming while Satan laughed at my torment--

It was my own screaming that woke me up that morning, (or was it the neighbor pounding on my wall?).

I was relieved to discover that it was (everyone, now) all a dream. What a relief!

Then, as I rose from the covers, I discovered something lying at the foot of my bed. I picked it up.

It was Glitter on video. It seemed to burn in my hand. A heavy stench of sulfur filled my nostrils. Uh-oh...

I realized then that no one escapes from Hell's Multiplex.

(Crystal Guillory is vice-president of the New Orleans Worst Film Festival. Click here to read more about it.  You can contact Crystal personally here. )

Thanks, Crystal!  Golly, I knew Old Nick was capable of pulling some nasty tricks, like running Manos.   But to subject you to Glitter!  The fiend!  The arch fiend!   By the way, how stale were the Milk Duds? 

Article copyright © Crystal Guillory

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