Chris Herrington, Contributing Writer
I just couldn’t help myself. I don’t think of myself as a mean person, and I don’t think I usually go out of my way to make things difficult for others. I would like to think that I leave things better than I found them, and that when I go to visit people over night they don’t tend to think of me as a diva who leaves a mess. That being said, when I left shooting as a zombie extra in the film, “Christmas with the Dead,” a Lansdale/Lansdale production, at 3:40 in the morning on Saturday, I headed straight over to Whataburger for breakfast, in full makeup and wardrobe.
Okay, I approached the window with caution, so as not to be seen directly. I admit that I leaned away from the window and had spun the review mirror so that I could see the window from a head-tilted position. Yes, I had a solemn dead glare on my face so that I stared directly into the eyes of the window clerk without saying a word and my sunken eyes were as lifeless as fish bait. Okay, I used a voice that was as deep as the stain in a new white rug left after an evening of heel scuffing, trying to get the excess East Texas road tar off of your tennis shoes. It was evil, and I admit it.
The crack in the voice of the window server…priceless. But he did not miss a beat, “That………………will be $4.36.” And then he left, his eyes peeled open and his jaw slightly lilted like a compound fracture. He then handed me off to a woman who was sweeping, but she was in no hurry to speak and stood there with her hips frozen, broom bristles spreading as she learned firmly on the handle; her lips were pursed but not puckered. As she moved on, the server who was to hand me my 2 taquitos with potato, no cheese, had a less forgiving and more weary look, a stare really, trying to see if there was someone behind those deep set globes. “He had a dead, sour, wooden face,” William Burroughs called it.
All in all, I guess it was not so mean a thing to do as an extension of my being in character, and taking my work home with me. And the others were just as amazing, in Zombieville, Texas last night. It’s been a fun experience, being a part-time thespian. I’m not really a public person, per se. Being in makeup helps to cover my shyness. Actually, I am not at all shy to play harmonica in front of 500 people at a bar or a party. I’ve done hundreds of poetry readings, on many occasions and in different settings like bars and book stores. I can talk to an auditorium of students with complete ease, and I taught in a classroom for NISD for a third of a century, so I am not a complete shutdown. But, I don’t do adult audiences with confidence, without makeup.
That being said, I think I can safely say that I scared the B-Jesus out of that poor guy at Whataburger. If nothing else, he could tell his wife that he had a different experience at work, “Oh, yeah, and then after about three o’clock, there was this dead guy that ordered breakfast. He was just staring at me!!!! Jesus!” I couldn’t help myself.
But I wanted to talk about making the film. No, I’m not going to tell you anything new, no juicy tidbits that you can clean from your teeth with a broken fingernail. It’s not all glamour and doing fun stuff like terrorizing the town or anything so easy. It’s the heat, the waiting, and the number of people it takes to put a show together. I was pretty sure that it took a bunch of people to be in the movie, granted we had a cast of about 40 people there at 3:00 am. But there were people serving food, moving cameras, assistants of all kinds, and the makeup staff was totally engaged for days on end before, during, and after the shoot to get things ready, making sure everyone was looking his or her worst, touching up and redoing as we went, and costumes…..the whole thing was totally coordinated, like a funeral meant to make sure that the casket made it into the grave and stayed in the grave. That camera is going to be cut and stay cut.
By the time that the director yells, “Action,” and the actors are done with a scene, the scenes have been called, about 11-teen people have noted that the cameras are on, the scene is moving, the actors are set in motion, the process is underway, and the lighting has transformed the location into a walking, slithering, creepy, foot-dragging, jolting mesmerization. We worked it until we were told, “Cut!” And then I fell over on the ground. We had gone after it for like 4 straight hours. I was literally dead on my feet. This was no longer acting. I wasn’t just playing dead. And I can tell you, Friday night was not Christmas; it was June 17, 2011. My face melted off, and we were all dripping with makeup and blood and sweat.
This was not my first rodeo, at least not being on a movie set. But it was the first time in front of the camera. They worked us, but I never got the feeling that we were working, and they, the crew, were on a vacation. And the director and his crew were thicker than victims in a body bag, making the whole thing happen on time and with as healthy and hopeful a schedule as possible. All-in-all, it was a great experience.
I have to say though, I might have quit my day job, since I retired this year, but I’m not heading out to Hollywood to stand out in the blazing heat and act all dead and stuff as a full time zombie or whatever. The only way that’s going to happen is if my neighbor comes over and bites me, but that’s never gunna happen on my little road, out in the middle of nowhere, far from town…..oops, gotta go. Someone’s scratching at the door, and I gotta see who it is. What in the world are people doing out here at this time of night?
runningturtle87
Having completed 33 years of public school service, Chris Herrington lives, with his wife, in Appleby, Texas, and his writing consists of blogging and essay writing concerning an array of topics including education, mediation, self-development, and human interests.
Chris Herrington can be reached at herrington@everythingnac.com
