Hey:

So, finally, my death scene approacheth. Death by digitized snakehead. It's always interesting to think back to what you did in the audition and compare it to the reality of filming. A lot of times it's something as simple as being in the actual location or even say, the actual other actor being there and farting during your lines. (Thank you, Nick Nolte) When you audition you usually stand there and read and they either like you or hate you. A lot of people don't know that sometimes when you're on tape for an audition, the directors and producers fast forward through the tapes only stopping to listen to the ones that fit with what they had in mind for the part. I've auditioned for the part of a dad and I just know that they take one look at the military haircut and go, "Fast forward!" You either get the job or they never contact you again.

Or, in my "Snakehead" case, I was second choice for the part so I heard from them but they were actually counting on never contacting me again. It was like finding myself at a small dinner party and one of the guests is a woman that I dated and then never called again. Suddenly she's seated next to me and all I can think of is that I never called her. We both know it and can't wait for the evening to be over, but for now we have to make agonizing small talk.

Not that that's ever happened to me.

I think on my last day of filming I was on time. At least I didn't hear any derisive, "Where the hell have you been?" comments from the make-up gal. When I got to the location of my death scene, I couldn't believe my eyes. As mentioned before, I was the dufus who dumped all the human growth hormones into the lake. Well, the local sherrif was on to me and so I had to get rid of the evidence. I decided to bury the couple of cannisters of the drug. Okay, if it was any normal person, they would dig a hole about two feet deep, throw the cannisters in and be done with it.

Apparently not.

I approach the set to find a pre-dug hole that was so wide and deep that it looked like the result of a plane crash. There were maybe four cannisters each the size of a two litre Tropicana juice container. Meanwhile, the size of the hole I'd "dug" looked like I was about to bury a race horse. I actually walked down into the pit and realized I was chest-high. Of course, the hole was this big for filming purposes and so that they could later add the computer-generated snakeheads that I would try and beat to death with a shovel. It's a good thing they gave me a real shovel this time and didn't force me to mime it.

After I had gotten my bearings in this World War II crater, I was then introduced to the snakehead...

puppets.

Yes, puppets. I met with the "snakehead wrangler" and he showed me a couple of the big puppets that were going to feast on my guts. One was operated by his assitant with wires attached to a set of triggers that would open and close the mouth and turn the head from left to right. The other puppet was just a long snakehead with a massive hole in the ass into which the puppeteer jammed his entire arm so that he could operate the fish like some hideous sock puppet.

It's kind of hilarious when it comes to your big scene and there's just a pile of people standing around waiting to do their particular job. The lighting guy just wants to light it well, the camera guy just wants to get the right camer angle, and so on down the crew list. And this particular crew is one that I have yet to scream my guts out in front of. I didn't have to worry about Paul Ziller because he had seen me scream a bunch of times and plus, his face was buried in the tiny monitor that he was carting around.

The moment arrived and I screamed and screamed and then beat the ground, the ground that would later be swarming with computerized snakeheads, with a shovel. I felt like an arse. But I had to do a good job because for one thing, Alehandro was watching. I had to prove to him at least that I was worthy of this job. Scream. Beat. Scream. Beat. Scream. Die. I had to pretend that a snakehead snuck by me and got me by the ankle and dragged me down. Not sure of the physics of one fish dragging me down but hey, it's sci-fi. You fill in the blanks.

Squatch would've been proud.

So then I was dead. Lying on my back in a cold, damp pit. That's when the rain started. Ever tried lying in the rain and not let the rain make your face twitch? Try it. Anyway, then came the bottles of blood poured all over my belly and shirt. Just when I thought they couldn't possibly pour any more blood on me, I heard Paul Ziller requesting, "Can we have some more blood?" Yes. Yes, they could have more blood. I started to think that maybe I would die of drowning in fake blood as opposed to being eaten by fake fish.

Then they buried my right arm up to my elbow in the freezing dirt. They then attached a fake half-chewed forearm and laid it on the ground. More blood on my arm. More rain. More cold. More blood.

Meanwhile, the guys operating the snakeheads were crushed in beside me moving the snakeheads as they feasted on me. Everybody said that it looked great and I simply had to take their word for it.

Finally the scene was over and my work in the movie was wrapped. Everybody applauded, even Paul Ziller, who tucked his littel monitor under his arm to clap his hands. I was tajen back to the little motel room where I peeled off my freezing, sticky clothes and then stepped into a scalding hot shower that hasn't felt so good since. The fake blood peeled off me in sheets and swirled down the drain. I was done and I was going home. Yes, it was an hour and a half drive home but still, I was going.

Once I was cleaned up and had signed my time sheet, I was driven to the parking lot where all the crew's cars were. As I mentioned earlier, it was in a provincial park and so I got the driver to let me off before the entrance to the park because I knew that my car was nearby.

I said goodbye and the driver roared off into the night leaving me alone in a wooded area with a short walk to my car. I thought of phoning my wife to tell her that I was on my way but then realized that I couldn't when I saw that my phone didn't get reception that far from Vancouver. So, I started up the car and head out the exit of the park...

which was locked.

And when I say "locked," I mean locked in the way that Nazis "locked" roads at checkpoints in and out of Germany with those huge, long metal swing gates that are painted red and white. The driver was gone, I was alone in a provincial park that apparently had a curfew time on its parking lot and Alehandro had not given me his cell number.

Alehandro!

What to do? What to do? Aha! Drive around to see if there's another exit.

And there was!

And it was locked, also!

Alehandro!

So here comes the weirdest and most retarded part of the whole adventure. The park had no fence because it didn't need one. It was surrounded by trees. I got out of my car, spread my arms across the hood to measure the width and then walked like some sort of zombie in and out of the trees to see which trees were far enough apart for me to drive my car through. It took me about 20 minutes to find a couple of saplings that I could squeeze between. Just.

I slowly drove my car over and crept between the chosen trees. Branches scraped the side of the car and I did have to negotiate a shallow ditch but...

I DID IT!

I made it through, I got onto the road and gunned it. I don't know for sure but I could've sworn the roar of the engine whispered...

"ALEHANDROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Hey:

Second choice to play William B. Davis' brother on Snakehead Terror.

The thing is, it's awful to walk around with that information because it means that the director didn't really want me. It was him going, "I can't have the giant? But I want the giant. How come I can't have the giant? I really can't have the giant? Seriously? Okay, fine, get me the circus midget. He'll have to do. But I want to go on record that I really wanted Squatch, not Squatch-ish."

So, days later, I get a call from one of the A.D.'s named Alehandro. In the film, I would get killed by Snakeheads. In real life, my nemesis would be Alehandro. I'm not sure how much A.D.-ing this guy had done previously but suffice to say, things would not go that well for me in my dealings with Alehandro. Nice guy and everything and pleasant enough on the phone, but a disaster as an A.D. In the world of film and TV, A.D.'s are your lifeline to the production. You can't ask the director for directions to set because he tends to be busy like, making the film. The A.D. will give you your call times and make sure you have maps to set locations and answer any questions that you have.

So, the first thing Alehandro mentions to me about the shoot, that's happening the next day, is that it's an hour and a half drive away and I'm staying over in a hotel for two nights.

I channeled Paul Ziller and said, "Huh?" Staying at a hotel? Where the hell is this thing being shot? Turns out it's being shot at Cultis Lake near Chilliwack. Suddenly I have to scramble to get childcare and make sure that my other kids are taken care of because my wife works and I'LL BE OUT OF TOWN FOR THREE DAYS!!!

Okay, fine. I deal with it. Alehandro tells me that my calltime for tomorrow, my first day of shooting is 8:30 a.m. at Cultis Lake. I tell him that i will be arriving at the hotel late because I have all this stuff to do beforeI go. Once my kids are tucked in their beds, I'll leave for Cultis. I won't be there till 11-ish. He says, "Fine." I once again confirm that my calltime is 8:30 a.m. and he confirms my confirmation.

I arrive at the hotel and when I check in, the concierge hands me a package from Alehandro. In it is my callsheet and at the top of the sheet in big, red marker, it says, ALL CALLS PUSHED 1/2 AN HOUR. That means that the cast and crew can show up 1/2 an hour later. So, my call is now 9:00 a.m.

I wake up at 7:45, have a shower and go eat a leisurely breakfast. I go over my lines for the day and then head out for the set, which is minutes away, at 8:45. I park in the provincial park parking lot and wander over to the hair and make-up room which has been set up in the cabin of an ancient motel. I check in with the 3rd A.D. at 9:00 a.m. and am met with a frantic, "Where the hell have you been? You've held up production for half an hour! You were supposed to be here at 8:30!" As my knees buckle, I counter with, "But the call was pushed 1/2 hour." He says, "You were supposed to be here 1/2 an hour ago, that's all I know. They're all waiting for you."

Oh, yeah. That's always good for the old confidence. Paul Ziller didn't want me in the film in the first place and now I'm making him sit on his arse while I take my time getting to set. Yeah, that's good.

I rush into make-up and the make-up girl says, "Hi. So, you're the guy holding up production?" Her make-up sponge slides all over my flop sweat causing the entire process to take even longer. I try to tell her weakly that the call was pushed. "Wasn't it?" I plead. She shrugs. I fume. How the hell could I be late...?

Alehandro!

Repeat that name but now say it like Jerry Seinfeld hissing, "Newman!" Teeth clenched and fist balled. I had to talk to Alehandro before I got to set. My make-up smeared on, I head to the minivan that will take me to the lake and a pissed-off Paul Ziller. On the way, I literally walk right into Alehandro. I grab him and grill him about the call time. He says, "You were supposed to be here at 8:30." I go, "Yeah, but you gave me a callsheet late last night that said all calls were pushed 1/2 an hour! That made my calltime 9:00!"

"No, no. 8:30 included the 1/2 hour push, man," says Ale-fucking-handro. So, now I have to go to the set and look like either an idiot who can't read a callsheet or an arrogant prick who doesn't care if he holds up a film production.

As I arrogantly and prickishly strolled onto the set, I saw Paul Ziller. He was walking around with a hand-held monitor that he clutched with two hands. He never took his eyes off this thing except to briefly looked up to say, "Hi," and then instructed me to drive the battered Toyota truck into the scene, park and get out. I did this a number of times and Paul Ziller never took his eyes off that small monitor. It was like he was watching the film except that he was actually making the film. I guess he wanted to see what the film would finally look like as it pieced together.

I did my day, trying to be as un-Squatch-like as I could. It helped that I was half his height so we could never be mistaken for each other. When I left the set, I found an A.D. since I couldn't find Alehandro, and secured my calltime of 8:00 a.m. I went back to the hotel and I called my wife. It was late and she says, "Alehandro just called here for you."

Huh?

"Alehandro called our house looking for me? I've just been working with the guy all day," I say. My wife says, "Maybe he thought you drove home after the shoot."

"But I'm booked into this hotel," I incredulously. "I know. That's what I told him," she continued, "I told him to maybe give you a call in your room. In the hotel."

"What did he say?" I asked.

"He said, "Oh, maybe I should do that," said my wife. She then added, "Is this thing pretty low-budget?"

'Nuff said.

Alehandro didn't call. The next morning I got up at 6:30 and worked out before breakfast. I wanted to make sure that I was sharp and on time. At 7:40 I was driving to the set because I wanted to even be early to soften some of that earlier arrogant prick mojo that I'd been sporting. I get to the set and...it's deserted. There are no trucks, no crew, no-one is there. But, wait! Someone is sweeping. Sweeping up because...THE SET IS EMPTY!

Where the hell is everybody? It's now about 5 minutes to my calltime and I have no idea where I'm supposed to be. I grab the nearest sweeper and inquire as to where the prodcution is.

"Oh, they're shooting over at the Armoury."

"The Armoury? What Armoury? Where the hell is the Armoury?"

"It's back in town. Didn't you get a map from Alehandro?"

"Alehandro!" Hiss the name, clench the teeth, ball the fist.

So, now, driving frantically back into town, I prepare myself to once again become an arrogant prick who doesn't care that he's holding up a film production. I manage to find the Armoury ten minutes after my call time and I'm once again greeted with, "How come you were late again?" from the make-up girl. Paul Ziller is, I'm convinced, cursing Squatch's conflicting schedule.

Let me digress here a moment and give you a heads up on my character. I play this guy who runs a crappy bait and tackle shop at the lake. It seems that the lake got over-fished and so the town's main economy, sport fishing, is dying. The town is becoming a bit of a ghost town. William B. Davis plays the town doc, my brother. He and I conspire to get the town's economy back up and running. He gives me cannisters of human growth hormone and I dump it into the lake. This will hopefully make the fish that are still in there grow really quickly, thereby reviving the sport fishing industry and making me a millionaire from selling bait and tackle. Sound retarded? It was.

Anyway, I thought that my character was kind of central since I'm the one who dumps the growth hormones into the lake resulting in these hideous snakeheads growing huge and killing everything in sight, including me. (More on that later. Or should I say, moron that later?)

When we shoot the scene of me picking up the huge cannisters of the growth hormone, Paul Ziller shoots a master shot and that's it. He doesn't shoot any close up's of me to let the viewer see me or see what I'm up to. Just a far off master shot in which the camera is behind me. I thought for a second that Jeff Fahey was directing me, but no. (See my blog entitled, "See You On The Other Side). As soon as I was out of camera frame I watched Paul Ziller directing and he never took his eyes off that tiny, hand-held monitor as he followed the camera around.

I spent the rest of my time on set trying to find Alehandro to ream him out about not alerting me to the location change. Strangely enough, he was nowhere to be found.

Maybe I should've called his house back in Vancouver.
Next installment? My death scene.

Cheers,
Jonesy

Hey:

I once worked on a film called, "Snakehead Terror," that aired on the Sci-Fi Channel. It was a horror film based on these real fish that have become an official, "ecological disaster," in the southern states. I remember reading an article about this Asian businessman who brought a couple of these uber-exotic fish over from China to beef up his exotic fish collection on his estate. Kind of a, "Pimp My Pond," sort of deal.

These are not handsome fish. They are a cross between a piranha, a carp and a dogshark. Basically, if you pulled one in, you'd get out of the boat. They eat everything in sight, essentially destroying and decimating whatever life form exists in whatever body of water they happen to be in. And when they're done? Well, they just CRAWL OUT OF THE POND AND CRAWL INTO THE NEXT POND. Yeah, these fish have powerful pectoral fins that they use to walk with. Oh, and plus they breathe oxygen for a short period of time. Now the Fish & Wildlife guys in Georgia sit in their trucks at night with flashlights strapped to their shotguns and when they see some carpy shapes humping across the road at night, they blow them away. So, that's the backstory to my backstory.

You gotta know that when I got a call to audition for something called, "Snakehead Terror," I just rolled my eyes and thought, "Well, it's still good practice to audition no matter what the piece of crap about to stink up the screen is." I laughed reading the audition script, even though it was a death scene wherein my character gets eaten alive by these fish. But hey, I'm an actor so it was my job to go there and act.

I walk into the audition space and freeze. From behind the door comes a blood-curdling scream that denotes an actor trying to convince the director of how he would die being eaten alive by snakeheads. As usually happens, all the other guys in the waiting room make eye contact, smirk and secretly think, "There's no goddam way I'm gonna sound that lame when it's my turn."

And, of course, they all do. Including me.

Finally, I go in and the scene calls for me to be digging a pit to bury some evidence. I have to mime the shovel and the digging.

Miming.

Ass clench number one.

Then I have to stop when I think I hear something and look around. Of course, for a moment there is nothing so I go back to miming digging...I mean, clenching my ass. Then I have to spot the first snakehead fish slithering towards me and then I spot the rest and my eyes turn into saucers of fear and panic. Then I have to mime hitting the mime fish with my mime shovel. Then one fish slithers in and grabs my ankle and I panic and fall over and the fish go at me, ripping me to mime shreds. All the while I'm screaming really...

lamely.

Ass clench number two.

I can almost hear the smirks cranking up out in the waiting room.

And then I have to pretend that I'm dead for a sec. I'm against the wall and the director, Paul Ziller, is just staring at me. He says nothing to me.

I look at him and say, "Ish."

He goes, "Huh?"

I go, "Ish. You know, that's how I would sort of do it. What I just did-ish."

He goes, "Oh. Thanks for coming in."

I ask if he wants to see anything different and he tells me no. So I leave and walk back into the waiting room where all eyes avoid mime. I mean, mine.

Ass clench number three.

So, I go home and wait for the call that I got the part because for some reason, I now have to do this film. I can't not do it. It's too campy and I've never done a scene like that before and all my friends will laugh their asses off when they see me being eaten alive by computer generated fish.
I wait for the call that never comes. I bug my agent. Nothing. Then, a callback.

A callback?!!

They didn't just hire me? I have to go back and do all that mime shit again? Yes, I do. And I do. But here's the thing, when I go back, it's just me and another guy. This is not like Stargate when I was the only guy they called back for the part of the "Technician." When you're the only one called back, that's also known as, "You've got the part unless you go in and kick a producer in the teeth while you're there." So, now this was a 50/50 chance of me getting it. Usually, I see the same guys at the same auditions and a lot of times they're physically in my ballpark. Not this time. The other guy called back was a local comic by the name of Dave Ward. Nice guy but just to put his size in perspective, he garnered fame locally by appearing in a series of beer commercials as...

"Sasquatch."

I'm 5'7". He's Sasquatch.

You know that actor Brad Garret, that played Ray Romano's cop brother on, "Everybody Loves Raymond?" Squatch (his nickname is Squatch) kind of looks like him except with a bad, blonde perm.

And we're called back for the same part. It gets better. The part we were vying for was for the brother of the local town doctor, played by William Davis. For those of you unfamiliar with his name, he also appeared in the, "X-Files," as the character, "Cancer Man."

That guy.

So, depending on who gets cast, Willam Davis will have a brother who's either 5'7", 155lbs or 7'10", 380. (Okay, he's not that huge but seriously, what the hell were they thinking?)

Just as I arrive, I hear Dave "Squatch" Ward in the room screaming like a nine year old girl at her first sleep-over. The smirk makes an appearance. (Note to self: Do not, repeat do not, scream as high-pitched as Squatch.) Squatch ambles out of the room, looks at me and rolls his eyes. It's the universal, "We have no shame," look that actors give each other when asked to do things at auditions that are ass-clenchingly humiliating.

So, I go in and again, Paul Ziller stares me down. It un-nerves me and causes me to scream like a nine year old girl at her first sleep-over during the scene. When I finally open my eyes again after the death scene, there's this huge, uncomfortable pause where Paul Ziller says nothing so I say, "That was a little Snakehead acting for yah."

Paul goes, "Huh?"

I go, "You know, ish."

Paul goes, "Oh. Thanks for coming in again."

So then I go home and wait for the phone to ring yet again. I bug my agent yet again and yet again he tells me that they're still trying to make up their minds. Make up their minds? What's there to make up? They either go with the circus midget or the giant. Pick one! And while you're at it, pick the circus midget because I really want to work on this film.

Finally, I get the call that I've been cast. Finally! I beat out Dave "Squatch" Ward for a part. Yes-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s! I'm first choice, baby!

So, I go in for my costume fitting and I'm happy as a lark. The costume girl is great and she's hemming up my pants as I look around the room. My eyes light on the cast photos on the wall. This part is always great fun because that's when I get to find out who else is in the film, especially the local actors that I know. So, I'm checking out all the pics and they have their character names beside them and when I get to my character's name, my ass clenches once again when I see a picture of...

Dave "Squatch" Ward beside it.

I go, "Hey! What the hell is Squatch's picture doing beside my character's name?"

The costume girl says, and I quote, "Oh. You weren't supposed to see that."

I go, "Huh?" in my best Paul Ziller impersonation. The costume girl then tells me that they originally hired Squatch but he had a scheduling conflict so they went with their second choice.

"I guess that's you," she says.

More Snakehead to come.
Cheers,
jonesy

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