Romania Travelogue, Part 2

Originally published July 2, 1993, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1024

Continuing my journal of my stay in Romania during the filming of Trancers IV & V.

MAY 11–I continue to find the drive from Bucharest to the studio a bit unnerving, although not because of the apparent plummet in socio-economic status. Rather, it’s because the majority of the road is one lane in either direction. And since the road is studded with slow moving objects such as horse-drawn wagons or tractors, the main Romanian driving activity is passing the aforementioned vehicles. This, of course, means tons of driving in the oncoming lane.

Scooting back into one’s own lane takes a certain amount of nerve and acquired skill. Thus far I have no reason to question the various drivers’ talent in this matter; on the other hand, I have trouble ridding myself of the notion that dying in head-on collision fireball in the middle of Romania seems a rather pointless way to die. I hope this is simple paranoia rather than prescience.

I marginally accomplish things on the set today. Ran and fetched the make-up guy when a touch-up was needed; did a re-write on a section of the script that had to be changed to accommodate lack of the proper locale. Part of my inactivity is that the Romanians are a very proud people. The director was right a week ago when he told me they could use help; but even so much as my attempt to help them move a heavy prop was greeted with a quick, “No, we can do!”

Before I came, almost no one had anything positive to say about the Romanian people or their country. I am very much aware that I’m in a fairly insular environment, spending my time either in the hotel or at the studio. Still, that hasn’t stopped Americans from making sweeping disparaging statements. All I can attest to is what I’ve experienced, and thus far everyone has been uniformly friendly, polite and hardworking. Many apologize for what they consider poor English even though they’re perfectly comprehensible, as opposed to my command of Romanian which is so pathetic that my tongue still trips over the Romanian word for “Thank you.” I’m hardly in a position to criticize.

An interesting experience on the set today is the filming of a scene featuring a topless nude slave girl. What’s interesting is that I didn’t write any nudity into either film. It was utterly gratuitous, of course (I mean, the script worked fine without it, so when it was added that made it, by definition, gratuitous). The scene is mercifully brief, and about as tastefully shot as such things can be. And the actress is nicely built, I’ll admit. But this is simply a note to any of my more high-minded fans or friends–I didn’t put in the nude slave girl.

I am pleased to discover that the role of Farr, a wise man/mystic/seer, is being played by Alan Oppenheimer. I’ve been a fan of his ever since his days as inventor Rudy Welles on The Six Million Dollar Man, right up to his stint as recurring station manager Ray Kinsella on Murphy Brown. We wind up having dinner together back at the hotel, where he proves an utterly charming gentleman, along with an actress named Jennifer Nash (she played Captain Picard’s daughter on that episode where he wound up living a whole lifetime on a long dead planet. Don’t ask) who is appearing in another movie filming at the same time as Trancers. Oppenheimer fills me in on other fascinating career achievements, including doing the voice of Vanity Smurf and Skeletor (although never in the same cartoon, presumably). It’s bizarre to see a grown man suddenly talking like a Smurf. Then again, it’s merely the most recent of the various strange things I’ve seen.

MAY 12–Nostradamus is filming at the same studio. In every way, it’s the antithesis of our show (all movies are called “shows,” for some reason; I wonder if they call TV shows “movies”). Nostradamus is a $20 million feature film with such big names as F. Murray Abraham. (If I run into him, what do I call him? Mr. Abraham seems rather formal for show business. So do I say, “Hi, F!”)

This is as opposed to our show, with a budget one tenth that of Nostradamus, starring no one who is an Oscar winner or even an immediate household name. But I doubt that anyone could be working harder, with greater dedication, than our little crew.

The first serious action scene is filmed today. Tim Thomerson’s “Jack Deth” has a head-on collision/meeting with enemy-but-eventual-ally, Ty Miller’s “Prospero.” They slam into each other, hurling one another into a suit of armor, a wall, and through a heavy wooden door which slams shut behind them. They do it in one take. It’s the first time during the shoot that actors run over to the video tape monitor to see how something turned out.

I have my own collision once again with the Romanian pride/stubbornness. A sequence calls for a group of people to try and break down a door by throwing their weight into it. They can’t budge it… except the single Romanian stagehand, who looks to be about 70, isn’t managing to keep it closed against the pounding. I’m sent back to help him keep it from opening.

He’d been trying to keep it closed by–for some reason–lying on his back and bracing it with his feet. When I brace my shoulder against the door, he scrambles upright and starts yelling at me in Romanian and gesturing for me to get out of the way. The translator is telling me he wants me to get out of the way. Oddly, I had figured that out.

Now I’m stuck. On the one hand I’m supposed to help get us through this scene (and it’s already going on 9 PM); on the other hand, I don’t want to hack off the Romanian crew. So I back off and stand there with my arms folded, like Mr. Clean. I figure that by doing that, I can’t lose. If my presence gets him pumped up enough, maybe he can keep it closed. If not, then the next time the door is hit, he’ll probably be crushed against the wall, and he won’t be in any shape to give me grief.

As it is, he is apparently galvanized into action and stubbornly manages to keep the door shut against the pounding of three young American actors. The take is done to the director’s satisfaction. The stagehand gives me a look of triumph, and I reply with a thumbs up sign. It certainly gave him something to tell his family about.

The Romanian crew seems obsessed with all things American. A young Romanian guy offered, in very carefully phrased sentences, to trade me a “genuine Romanian hat” if I would give him my cowboy hat. The problem is, I don’t have a cowboy hat. He figured I had simply left it at the hotel. Now I feel bad. It almost makes me wish I’d brought a cowboy hat along. Certainly I can get one far easier than he.

We are trading useful language tips. I’m teaching them useful phrases like “How’s by you” and “Vamanos, mishuggenas.” And they’re teaching me Romanian profanity, which is nice since my various Romanian/English texts thoughtlessly left those out.

MAY 13–Mixed situations. The set is getting looser. I’m trading filthy jokes with the Romanian crew; apparently movie sets are raunchy places no matter where you are.

The situation, however, is getting dicier. The sets we’re using are also going to be used by Nostradamus. We had been told that we had to finish with all the scenes on the sound stage by next Tuesday. We are now informed that the Nostradamus folks are breathing hot and heavy down our necks; we have to be done by Monday. We are going to have to work Sunday. The crew is not especially jazzed by this notion; we’re putting in days of anywhere from twelve to fifteen hours, and shooting remains painfully slow.

Dave Nutter starts putting the pedal to the metal. The fight scene in the weapons room between Tim and Ty is cut down to bare-bones essentials, meaning an entire swordplay sequence is (you should pardon the expression) slashed. We have no choice. We have to make up time, because we had been falling behind.

The torture chamber sequence is slated for Friday and Saturday. Jeff Moldovan, the stunt coordinator, is developing a marvelous way to kill me. He and the effects folks are plotting my demise with such glee (blood spurting from slashes in my wrist and neck), I almost think they’re long-time Image fans or something. However I will not be surprised–nor would I blame him–if Dave drops the entire sequence for lack of time. Thus would my debut, and demise, be postponed until a later date.

MAY 14–I finally serve a function on the set. Oddly enough, it’s as a writer.

Dave Nutter is looking for ways to save filming time. He goes over two sequences with me: One involving a torture chamber, and the other involving a series of events that are presently slated for night. Night shooting, however, is more difficult and more time consuming. This is not the sort of situation where a film can run, oh, $1 million over budget and ten extra days of shooting. There is no margin for error.

Not a problem. I had thought that simply hanging around the movie set I wasn’t learning anything. But now I realize that’s not true. Looking over the torture chamber scene as written, I’m able to envision the number of camera setups that are going to be required. It’s too many. There’s also a moment where there are, essentially, two things happening at once. Photographing all that, in the cramped space we’ve got, is going to be dámņëd near impossible. I quickly suggest a restructuring that, on the surface, seems fairly minor. But it will, in fact, make the sequence much easier to shoot. In fact, I tend to think it strengthens it considerably.

I also solve the night problem, devising a fairly simple way to change the events to daytime. All it will require is changing a lunar eclipse to a solar eclipse (and since none of the optical work has been done yet, this is no problem) and writing a few quick lines that two actors will record for a transitional voice over sequence. Again, not a problem.

Dave is quite pleased with the changes. I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

Tim Thomerson continues to be the major crack-up of the set. Before and after the camera rolls, he zips through a dazzling array of throw-away jokes and impressions (such as John Wayne wistfully recalling a rather lewd encounter in the tropics with a young native boy). At one point his character, Jack Deth, is being chained to a wall. Thomerson is angry, defiant, utterly in character. The villain, Caliban, delivers the final lines in the scene… lines that make it clear that Jack will probably not be leaving the room alive. And the moment the director yells “Cut!”, Thomerson says into the camera, in a terrified voice, “What’s going to happen to Jack Deth now?! It doesn’t look good!”

Still haven’t met F.

MAY 15–Torture chamber sequence is, appropriately, torturously long to film. We don’t get all the way through it today. Jack Deth’s escape, killing the torturer and myself, remains unfilmed. It’s tomorrow or never… and I would not be the least bit surprised if my bit gets cut altogether. Kind of like ending up on the cutting room floor, but eliminating the middle man.

I do manage to provide myself with some amusement today. One remaining role in the film had been cast late, and the actor has just arrived. He’s being put up at the same hotel as me, and the assistant director asked me to drop off a call sheet for him (the call sheet being a sort of agenda for the next day’s filming: It lists when everyone is going to be needed, that sort of thing).

Now keep in mind: It’s Saturday night, I’m in Romania, fer cryin’ out loud, my family is thousands of miles away, and there is absolutely nothing to do.

I go into the hotel restaurant and hit paydirt: He’s having dinner with his girlfriend. I’m not entirely sure what possessed me, but I stoop my shoulders, look apologetic, and ask him in my best approximation of a Romanian accent, in broken english, if he’s this fellow on the cast list.

He corrects my mispronunciation of his name (“Laughlin,” which he pronounces “Locklin”), and I say, sounding like Andy Kaufman in Taxi, “I asked… give to you this. For…” and I paused, trying to call up the word, “tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he says. He speaks slightly slower so that I can understand, and says, “What’s your name?”

I hesitate only a moment, to figure out what he’s said.

“Vlad.”

“Oh! You’re our interpreter!”

I’d forgotten. Before anyone comes here, they’re given a list of names of various contacts, and one of them is an interpreter named Vlad. The country’s crawling with Vlads. So I quickly shake my head and say, “No, is other Vlad. My english…” and I think again, “not… good.”

“Oh, okay.” He shakes my hand.

“Buna Seara,” I say, wishing them “good evening” in Romanian,

I head up to my room, and giggle for several minutes.

I wonder how long I can carry this off.

MAY 16–I share a van ride to the studio with Laughlin and his girlfriend, having alerted the driver and translator seconds earlier.

Essentially, I have the same conversation with Laughlin that the young crew member had with me some days previous: I ask him if he has a cowboy hat, which I would happily trade for. I tell him I’m a big fan of Dallas. The Romanians play along beautifully. They even “translate” things Laughlin says for me to understand. I toss back a mishmash reply that means something like “Good Morning Thank you French Fried potatoes.”

We arrive at the studio, and I charge ahead, barely in time to alert the crew. Within minutes, everyone is in on it. They’re all calling me Vlad. While Laughlin is standing there, one of them shouts, “Vlad!” and says something I couldn’t begin to translate. I reply, in Romanian, that I don’t eat meat.

My short-lived encounter with Jack Deth is filmed. We scuffle in the torture chamber, my throat gets slashed, and I go down. End of scene. If the scene gets cut, I won’t be surprised.

By two o’clock, I’m readily answering to “Vlad.” The assistant director can’t believe it when he calls me by that name and I respond instantly. When we break for lunch, to the astonishment of everyone who is in on it (which, as I said, is everyone except Laughlin) I don’t sit with the Americans, but instead with the Romanian crew.

By late afternoon I’m shouting “Liniste Va Rog!” (“Quiet, please!”) at the beginning of every take. The crew is treating me better than they ever have, calling me over and having me help move things… which is rather impressive, considering the past run-ins I’ve had.

At about 7 PM, the elderly man whom I fought with several days ago about holding the door whispers conspiratorially, “Mr. Vlad! Come!” He brings me outside, where several of the crew are sneaking dinner. They’re about to dig into freshly cooked fish, covered with some bizarre tomato sauce. The head, looking at me rather annoyed, is still attached. They eagerly invite me to join them. I ask how fresh it is. They tell me very fresh… caught barely an hour ago at a nearby pond.

Terrific. The pond where kids were urinating hours earlier. God only knows what’s in this dámņëd fish, or how well it’s been prepared. But to refuse would be the height of insult. Without hesitation I eat with them. I make plans to skip dinner. If I come down with food poisoning, I figure the less I have in my stomach, the better.

As filming heads towards 9 PM, I’m getting good and sick of being Vlad. Either Laughlin is completely bamboozled, or else he knows but is playing along. The charade has served its purpose–it entertained the crew on an unwanted Sunday of shooting, and provided a challenge for me. I’ve conspired with Dave Nutter that, on the last shot, with the camera rolling, I’m going to tell Laughlin he’s been had. David thinks it’s a terrific idea…

And then forgets. He gets so caught up with a particularly difficult shot involving a carrier pigeon that he overlooks the plan and calls an end to the shooting day. Now I’m stuck being Vlad. I manage to get a ride back to the hotel ahead of them, because I don’t know if I can handle another full-length van ride with them.

If we’re going to do this on camera, it will have to wait until tomorrow morning. I know I can’t handle being Vlad for another whole day. Another 12 working hours where I can’t talk to anyone in fluent english? I’ll lose my mind.

However, I hope I’m able to make it back to the studio tomorrow morning with the façade intact. If I run into Laughlin and any of the other actors who are staying in this hotel, but aren’t in on this, I know they’ll blow it for me and the gag will be sunk.

(Peter David, writer of stuff [writing this close on June 4] is pleased to announce that the winner of the Rick’s Chachka’s contest has been selected. He’s already been contacted, so if you haven’t been called… you didn’t win. The full list of items will be given in two weeks. And to those entrants who managed to get their hands on an early draft of George’s master list, and used it to cheat… Nice try. It might have worked if I were, like, really stupid.)