20 Years of Delightful Crap

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In 1990, the Main branch of the Kansas City Kansas Public Library unceremoniously launched the Bad Film Festival in the tiny AV auditorium nestled next to the children’s department.  Word of mouth advertising supplemented by library fliers yielded only a handful of die-hard Ed Wood, Hammer Horror, and MST3K fans, but each year attendance grew, producing a loyal following complete with yearly regulars and coverage on the local NPR station.  A free ticket, the promise of lukewarm Kool-Aid and stale popcorn, and Tor Johnson as the mascot has continued to bring wisecracking C-, D-, and F-movie fans to the hardbacked chairs year after year.  Since its inception, the festival has gotten a bigger, better auditorium and enjoyed far more success than anyone expected.

And it’s all due to the loving care of its founder.  Mark Ingersoll has spearheaded the project for the last 20 years and the playbill is always made up of hand-chosen gems from his personal (and extensive) collection of movies.  He’s produced the extravaganza all on his own (fellow librarian Gary Huggins helped from 95-01), and he’s collected quite a number of thank-you-this-is-awesome gifts (including 10 volumes of “Jingle Bells” on cassette and a tiny model of a scene from Plan 9 from Outer Space [which they're remaking, heaven help us all]).  He even wrote a song for year 16 showcasing Night of the Lepus and explaining how we’ll all die from killer bunnies.

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And why, aside from this being a hilarious and fascinating aspect of cult culture, do I care?

Well, because Mark’s my dad.

I was five when the first Bad Film Festival went live, and nearly every year since then my brother and I have been (cheerfully) subjected to the painstaking behind-the-scenes process of choosing the best worst features, shorts, cartoons, and music to accompany each ridiculous theme.  We’ve watched everything from Hillbillies in a Haunted House to Wild in the Streets to Santa Clause Conquers the Martians to Nightwarning to Little Red Riding Hood and the Monsters. If it had a guy in a rubber monkey/sheep/octopus suit, we saw it.  And we loved it.  Dad’s made sure that we know the difference between good stop-motion animation and the stuff that makes Ray Harryhausen spin in his grave.  I always get excited when we come over and see the living room floor strewn with strange tapes and (later) DVDs because it means another night full of Clutch Cargo and intermission animations.  For him, the festival has been his chance to show the world what he knows and expose neglected beauties uglies to the middling light of a theatre again.  Dad has always loved doing it, even though he occasionally griped about being out of ideas (for like six years in a row), and it’s always held a very special place in our hearts, almost like a third kid that’s just so nerdy we can only let him out once a year.

But this year is the last year; Behind Locked Doors Plan 9 on Wednesday is the final screening of the Bad Film Festival.  After two decades of TOR WANT YOU, he’s hanging it up.  Somewhere in the back of my head, I always knew it would happen, but when I got the flier (Dad makes sure to mail us one every year now that we’re grown) I was still caught offguard.  There’s hardly a time in my life that the Bad Film Festival hasn’t been there.  All 20 playbill posters are hanging up in his bathroom, for chrissakes.  For it to be all over is the closing of a big dorky chapter in my life.

But, while the festival may be over, the movies live on in all their craptastic glory.  Maybe next November, we’ll stay home and celebrate the first year off by watching Doom, Alexander, and Max Payne – I’m pretty sure those are some wretched movies that Dad’s never seen.

Bad Film Festival Reviews

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Edited: November 23rd, 2009