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Movie: Gamera Vs. Guiron:
I really hate this movie. Two boys, Tom and Akiyo, find a
spaceship and fly it away. Gamera is trying to guide them back
to Earth when a remote control directs them to another planet,
Terra, on the opposite side of the sun from Earth. The only
inhabitants are two evil women who plan to eat the boys' brains
and then use the knowledge that gives them to take over Earth (I
think). They have a blade-headed monster named Guiron, whom we
see slicing a "space-Gaos" into steaks. But Gamera shows up,
fights Guiron, and saves them. At one point Gamera swings from a
bar like a gymnast, ha-ha. There's also a sister, a couple moms,
and a cop named Cornjob, but they never figure in. I really hate
this movie.
— Paul Chaplin
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Prologue 1:
Epilogue 1:
Prologue 2:
Epilogue 2:
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As the host of The Mystery Science
Theater Hour, people approach me all the time and say,
"Excuse me, where are the bathrooms?" (You see, it's just this
kind of joke writing that makes MST3K the Peabody Award winning
show that it is.) Actually, people want to know who that
annoying old host is and why, why in heaven's name did we choose
him? Well, the secret's out—I'm proud to say that
annoying old host is me! Okay, it's not actually a secret. My
name's been in the credits as the host since the beginning; it's
just that no one ever watched that far. But I kid The
Mystery Science Theater Hour.
The idea for the host of the The Mystery Science Theater
Hour was born out of the writers' deep and enduring love
for a cloying, tweedy septuagenarian by the name of Jack
Perkins. Jack is, of course, your warm and affable tour guide
through the sun-dappled libraries and the impossibly
ladder-cluttered back stages of the cable channel A&E. He is a
perfectly tailored, impeccably manicured, impossibly dignified
old bird whose on-screen mien suggests an inconceivably rich
family and social life. The plangent tones of his voice seem to
interact with the complex surfaces of an oxblood wing tip, the
sound diffusing and abfusing, becoming ever more amiable,
invitingly sagacious. jack is all soft tweed, supple leather,
and a whiff of peaty single-malt. Do not get the impression that
Jack is stuffy. Far from it. Jack is equally comfortable
enthusing on Blue Man Group as Gainsborough's Blue Boy.
His knowledge of entertainment is vast, his love for it
illimitable.
I met Jack Perkins in 1991 outside the Universal Hilton in Los
Angeles. He couldn't have been warmer as he asked me in essence,
"Who are you, and what do you want from me?" I told him I had
impersonated him on a television show. He told me he had never
seen or heard of our show. I explained it. He nodded and looked
at his watch. I walked away feeling like a boob. Jack walked
away and continued weaving the rich, varied tapestry of his
endlessly fascinating life. I imagine he discussed American
Buffalo with David Mamet over biscotti and strong coffee. I
had a couple of Ice beers and fell asleep in front of
Bloodsport III in my hotel room.
Well, we may not be able to share in life's rich bounty with
quite the same joie de vivre as Mr. Perkins, but we sure as heck
can make fun of him on our puppet show. Jack doesn't have a
puppet show. Poor dumb clod. Hey, Perkins, right here, pal!!
HAAAA!!! Stupid idiot. Hey, Perkins, I like your crappy
restaurant chain, you stupid jerk!! Haa haa haaaaaa!!! Dumb
bastard.
Sorry.
I hope my little lucubration on our thought process regarding
the selection of a host for The Mystery Science Theater Hour
has been helpful. Now, if I could take a moment and explain the
makeup procedure.
I would arrive at the Channel 11 studio in Golden Valley
fourteen hours before the scheduled start! But all the
doors were locked and I wasn't scheduled to start makeup for
another nine hours. So I'd go back home and go to sleep. I did
this every time we shot, which was six times over a couple of
months. I would then return to the studio, where I would be
barred entrance until, with enough identification and a dozen or
so phone calls, they established my identity and I was
grudgingly allowed to pass.
Crack makeup artist Crist Ballas and crack other makeup artist
Glen would begin by applying a thick, highly toxic coat of
naphtha right to my face, with special attention to the nostrils
and mucous membranes in the mouth. Crist claimed it was makeup,
but I knew.
Then he would get his specially designed Stinky Glue out of the
refrigerator, where he had it chilling, so it was more
uncomfortable. Tacky layers of this were then applied directly
to my hair until the mistake was discovered and scissors and
petroleum distillates were used to extract it. It was reapplied
to the perimeter of my huge, expressionless face, and a bald cap
was put in place. It was discovered early on that my body is a
thermal wonder, able to produce 300,000 BTUs consistently. This
played hell with the bald cap, causing unwanted wrinkles, so it
was anchored farther down my back (right above my calves) and
held in place with several bottles of Stinky Glue. If I lost
concentration, my head would snap back alarmingly and union
stagehands were hired at great expense to return my head to its
normal position.
With the bald cap in place, Grist and Glen were free to begin
applying more class-A carcinogens to my face and neck.
Rubbery-smelling makeups and pungent suspensions were daubed,
blotted, and brushed on. Foul unguents and mephitic salves were
poured into my ears and eyes. Latex things were adhesed to me.
Finally, I was the host.
I was also very hot. My head was hermetically sealed and I was
wearing a thick wool suit. It was the middle of summer and fire
hydrants were melting. Luckily, the shoots were only twelve
hours long, But we got a lunch break. It was very difficult to
eat with all that makeup on, and one afternoon, while eating a
chewy hoagie, I discovered I was also masticating my crepe-hair
mustache.
But finally the end would come. Getting the makeup off was
relatively easy. It was simply pulled off, taking most of my
hair with it. The remainder was melted with copious amounts of
citrus degreaser (this is absolutely true) that was scooped onto
my face and left to sit for twenty minutes. Mmmm. At day's end,
my face and back were hairless, red, and stinging. But we had
done our puppet show proud.
Looking back on the The Mystery Science Theater Hour, I
remember the good times. The hot, stinky, sweaty, poisonous, and
sore times. I hope that's how you remember them too.
— Mike Nelson
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