A few months ago, I wrote in this space about a brand-new film festival debuting at the city-owned Plaza Theatre in Garland, Texas. I published the article enough in advance of the first (but hopefully far from last) annual It Came from Texas Film Festival so that any readers who were interested could snag festival passes at the early-bird, discounted rate.
I enjoyed attending the fest so much – I made all but two of the eleven feature presentations; one because I had already screened it in preparation for my piece in September, the other because it started at eleven P.M. and I am very old and tired – that I wanted to provide an overview of the experience.
I got instant confirmation that the folks behind It Came from Texas were committed to ensuring a good time was had by all when I saw the fest’s founder, Kelly Kitchens, in the lobby meeting and greeting all comers. If you know Kelly at all, you’ll know what I mean when I say her 1000-watt smile and joyful, outgoing personality were present and accounted for.
After exchanging pleasantries with Kelly, securing my press badge, and having a quick look around, I settled into one of the seats in the charming and spacious Plaza Theatre. I was ready for the first offering from the fest: a double feature of Zontar: The Thing from Venus and the infamously terrible Manos: The Hands of Fate.
“Welcome back, my friends
to the show that never ends.
We're so glad you could attend!
Come inside! Come inside!”
(photo by the author. words by Emerson, Lake & Palmer.)
Like every film screened at ICFT, at least some portion of both movies (and I believe for these two particular titles, the entirety of them) were shot in the great state of Texas. As he did numerous times throughout the fest, Gordon K. Smith, the “unofficial” historian of B-movies made in Texas, introduced Zontar by talking about its shooting locations and other interesting background information.
Smith informed us that Zontar was cranked out as a cheap color remake of a black-and-white counterpart, because television stations at the time were clamoring for color content as a response to most of the country having had adopted the technology by the mid-1960s.
As a lover and obsessive of all things film history, I looked forward to each of Smith’s introductory insights. Plus, these little bits of programming before each feature should be mandatory for any film festival. It makes each screening feel special and part of a larger whole, giving the festival its own personality and making it memorable.
Zontar was a complete hoot. The campy tone of the movie, which set the tone for most of the entire festival, was not lost on the audience. The movie involves a NASA scientist named Dr. Keith Ritchie who has made contact with a creature from Venus using radio transmissions. This alien being, Zontar, has convinced Ritchie that it can solve every problem of humanity, if only Ritchie will lay the ground work on Earth for Zontar’s arrival as its new ruler.
What could possibly go wrong?
The first chuckles from the audience started when it became evident that Ritchie was completely deranged by his obsession with Zontar. My personal favorite was Ritchie’s wife, whose sole purpose in the movie was to hang around the house and, once every other scene, harangue her husband about the terrible thing he was doing, while never actually doing anything to stop him. A highlight of the screening was hearing an audience member at one point exclaim (in an excited whisper), “Hey! That’s Casa Linda!”
Manos was…Manos. If that last sentence confuses you, get thee to the proper episode of MST3K. I was glad I got to see Manos on the big screen, and sans the MST3K commentary. That’s not because I don’t love the show or that episode in particular, but because seeing Manos by itself made me realize how completely bizarre this movie really is. The plot is, bewilderingly, a family of three driving on a road, the husband misses a turn, they come upon a house “that wasn’t there before,” then, as soon as they pull into the drive, the movie becomes a non-stop descent into a black hole of WTF. Filmed in El Paso – the city is thanked in the closing credits – I spotted a Texas car registration sticker on the sole vehicle in the movie.
The three P.M. showing of Rondo and Bob, a documentary overview of the life of Robert A. Burns – the man who served as art director on The Texas Chainsaw Massacre – and his passion for 1930s and ‘40s monster movie actor Rondo Hatton, was the film I had already seen. I took the opportunity to slip over to a nearby restaurant for a late lunch, but not before checking out the shorts that screened before Rondo and Bob.
These shorts were made by students in Garland High School’s Reel Owl Cinema program, and they were a delight. A few of the shorts that were screened before features during the fest were so good that they made me want to contact the program’s director, Thomas Schubert, in order to find out if I could get my hands on a copy of them to show some friends. These first attempts at filmmaking from some very clever students were that entertaining.
As part of the fest’s community-centered vibe, Kitchens had arranged discounts for festival badge holders with a few eateries also located on the square. As a result, I got 10% off my check at one restaurant, and, on the second day of the fest, free chips and a drink with the purchase of a sandwich at a BBQ joint a few doors down from the Plaza Theatre. (The BBQ was excellent, if you’re wondering.) The only thing that would have made it better would have been a printed list with all my discount options, since I could never quite get the QR code on my badge – which was supposed to take me to a page with supplemental fest info – to work.
The marquee film of the first night of ICFT was, naturally, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Seeing it on the big screen as a 43-year-old was as mesmerizing as the first time I saw the movie, on the small screen, over two decades ago when I was a much less cynical teenager. A highlight of the fest was the fact that two people who worked on Texas Chainsaw were in attendance and participated in a Q&A for the audience. A cowriter on TCSM, Kim Henkel, joined the film’s Production Manager, Ron Bozman – who went on to win an Academy Award for producing The Silence of the Lambs – to give us insight into their experiences on making the genre-redefining micro-budget slasher classic.
Kim Henkel and Ron Bozman, both on the left. (photo by the author)
Day two of It Came from Texas was as much fun as day one. A few Spooky Season-movie enthusiast friends of mine – Hi, Nancy and Doug! – joined me for the opening double feature, Beyond the Time Barrier and The Amazing Transparent Man. The afternoon brought me a second double feature consisting of The Eye Creatures and The Killer Shrews. Giggles from the audience abounded.
This is film historian Gordon K. Smith. If film historian Gordon K. Smith sees you using your phone during the screening, he’ll unleash The Killer Shrews on you. Don’t make him do that. (photo by the author)
I need to mention the Plaza’s concession stand for any budget-minded readers out there. Snacks at a chain theater, like Cinemark or AMC, can get absolutely ridiculous. Order a popcorn – which, at these mega-chains, come in sizes that can most easily be described as a percentage of an industrial-sized garbage bag – a fountain drink, and, as an Arrested Development character might say, a thing of candy, and you’ll pay, at a minimum, 20 or 30 bucks. For one person.
Since the Plaza is owned and operated by the City of Garland, they are able to defray the costs of the concessions using city funds (or so I assume). I bought a small bag of popcorn – enough to scratch the itch of wanting popcorn without having to waste any – a bottle of water, and two – count ‘em, TWO – candies (peanut M&Ms and a Snickers bar, if memory serves) for a grand total of $7.00. Seven bucks, y’all, in this, the year of our Lord, 2023. What I’m saying is, if you’re anywhere in the neighborhood, make the Plaza Theatre a regular entertainment go-to even when there’s not a film festival happening.
The closing night event for ICFT was a laugh a minute. As I described in my first piece for the festival, it was a live-riff of the Texas-made schlock-fest The Giant Gila Monster by the good folks of The Mocky Horror Picture Show. A collective of disciples of the comedy style popularized by Mystery Science Theater 3000, MHPS took the piss out of The Giant Gila Monster with expert precision. The audience howled, as did I.
The MHPS screening was a delightful, irreverent close to a quirky little independent film festival that will hopefully shine a spotlight on Texas-made films for years to come. With the advent of streaming, and the collapse of physical-media sales, we risk movies disappearing from circulation if and when the streaming giants decide a certain title isn’t profitable any longer and simply pull it from their service. Film festivals are the first line of defense to keep lesser-known films alive and available for audiences to discover. It Came from Texas can play a vital role in that effort.
The chance to take home this master woodsman could have been yours with the purchase of a raffle ticket that supported the Reel Owl Cinema program. (photo by the author)