Casting Trancers

Originally published April 2, 1993, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1011

The casting office was fairly small. Black-and-white glossies of hundreds of actors lined the walls and the floor, a permanent smiling audience.

The actor who had entered was a little taller than I was, and quite a bit slimmer. He was dressed in crisp black slacks and a black shirt buttoned to the neck. He had curly hair, a beard, and a face that was rugged, if not classically handsome. The casting director turned to me as the actor stuck out his hand to shake mine firmly. “Peter David,” said the director, “this is Ron Perlman. He’ll be reading for the part of Caliban. Ron, Peter here is the writer.”

“A fun script,” said Ron Perlman, in the voice that caused millions of female hearts to flutter for three years as Vincent, the man/monster hero of Beauty and the Beast. “I enjoyed it. Nice job.”

Yes, that’s right. Undaunted by the fact that I got my teeth kicked in last time, I have once again made a foray into the jungle of show business. It’s turning out a lot better. It’s also a lot weirder.

Long-time readers may remember my previous, somewhat disastrous, brush with Tinsel Town two years ago. At that time, my novel Howling Mad had been optioned by a movie producer who had (obviously) liked the book enough to give me money for movie rights. Not enough, however, to want to use any shred of the books’ actual plot. An associate producer, working with several other associates, developed a treatment for the film that bore no resemblance to the novel, even in name. They then handed it to me and said, “Write a script based on this.”

I did as I was told, figuring that, hëll, they’re the movie people and are far more experienced in these things than was I. This, unfortunately, ignored the admonition of writer William Goldman, who claimed that when it comes to movie making, “Nobody knows anything.”

This was certainly borne out when I finished the script, turned it in, and promptly had the associate producer’s boss reject it in its entirety, ripping it (not to mention my self-esteem) into small, bloody ribbons. Galling was the statement that the script’s major fault was that the story lacked the invention displayed in the novel. Gee. Imagine that.

Eventually all the associate producers who developed the misbegotten treatment were fired. At the point at which the option eventually expired, the entire company was expiring along with it. This made two movie producers who became involved with me and paid for it with the life of their company. (The first was some folks who had optioned Knight Life. Their only claim to fame was that they produced the “Ernest” movies—you know, Ernest Saves Christmas and the like. At the point at which their company imploded, they were contemplating trying to turn my King-Arthur-Returns novel into a vehicle for Jim “Ernest” Varney, with Varney himself as Arthur. To quote either Doctor Zachary Smith or ship’s counselor Deanna Troi, “The pain… the pain…”)

So, thus far, my experiences in Tinsel Town had been less than glittering. However, I am nothing if not—well, stupid, I guess. And when the opportunity presented itself to dabble once again in movies, I opted for it.

This time, however, things developed a bit differently. Rather than working with a property I had developed myself, I was flown to Los Angeles by an outfit called Full Moon Entertainment. Having obtained (through means too torturous to go into here) one of several scripts I’d written through the years, Full Moon CEO Charles Band decided that I’d be the perfect writer for his next major Blockbuster release.

When I say “major Blockbuster release,” by the way, I’m referring not to the film’s quality, but rather its method of distribution. Full Moon has carved a niche for itself as one of the major suppliers of films designed straight for video release (as opposed to films intended for theatrical release but which never quite make it, such as the wretched Captain America).

Its output is a variety of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and comedy. Full Moon’s backlist includes such films as Doctor Mordrid, Robojax, Dollman, Demonic Toys, Dollman vs. the Demonic Toys (crossovers are everywhere these days), and—most importantly for my purposes, Trancers I, II and III.

The first Trancers film, written by no lesser talents than Danny Bilson and Paul DiMeo (of Rocketeer movie and Flash TV fame), chronicled the battle by future cop Jack Deth (played by Tim Thomerson) against zombified creatures called “Trancers.”

There had been two more since then, and Charlie Band had decided that I would be ideal to write IV and V. They flew me out there and I pitched a variety of ideas. One of them involved refashioning the Trancers as a vampiric race on another world. In order to save costs (a major Full Moon priority) the whole thing was going to be filmed in Romania so, unsurprisingly, that was the concept they liked the best.

Having had projects blow up in my face before, I decided not to say anything publicly until matters were further along. Now, though, the scripts are done and approved, the director assigned, and I’m once again in Hollywoodland living the show-business experience. If it falls apart at this point, it would take the company’s falling apart to do it—which, admittedly, isn’t unprecedented for me.

The week before I came out, I spoke with the director, Dave Nutter, who sought my input for casting. “You know who we should get for Caliban (the main villain)?” I told him. “The guy who played Lex Luthor on the Superboy TV show.”

“Sherman Howard?” he said. “I’ll put him on my list.”

So now it’s several days later and here I am. I spend much of my first day in L.A. whipping the scripts into final draft form (or at least as final as these things ever are at this stage) and holding an informal read-through with star Thomerson to get a feeling for what lines he’s comfortable with and what lines he’d like to see changed. As I sit at a desk crammed into a converted film-editing room, pounding away at my laptop, Dave calls on the intercom and says, “Come on up to the conference room.”

I go upstairs and see that Lex Luthor is standing barely two feet away. He smiles pleasantly, which makes me nervous as hëll considering that, every time I’ve seen him smile in the past, it invariably meant the beginning of some nefarious scheme.

The experience gives me my first concept of what power is like, Hollywood style. I had idly mentioned someone whom I’d like to see considered for a role, and a week later the actor has shown up. It’s a heady feeling. At the same time, it gives me the slightest glimmering of how easy it is to get swept away in all of this.

Here a nothing writer (by Hollywood standards) asks to see someone, and, poof, there he is. How much greater a power trip is it for studio executives who can pick up a phone and “order in” some major name as casually as an ordinary mortal would call out to get a pizza delivered. It strikes me as a truly miserable way for an actor to lead his life: having to bend one’s schedule, one’s entire existence, around the whims (sometimes capricious) of Those in Power.

Talk about power, though. The power wielded in a casting session is truly astonishing. That, and the bizarre feeling of watching talented folks take the cold words that I’ve written and breathe life into them.

Actors fly in and out with blinding speed. They vary wildly in temperament and style. Some are confident enough in their interpretation of the character that they just jump into it.

Some have their entire audition pieces memorized. Others glance at the script for occasional confirmation. And one actress has to look down at every single typewritten line before she delivers it, making it an achingly long audition.

Some ask for input as to what we want to see in the character. Some immediately launch into the piece, while others take time to get loose, get into character, get into “the mood.” I don’t perceive any particular approach being “better” than any other. Whatever works.

Jackie Earl Haley reads for a supporting part and puts so much energy into it that it seems as if he’s going to blow holes in the wall.

The actor who played the lead villain in Lethal Weapon 3 reads Caliban with gusto and comes close to going over the top without actually hopping over. He speaks in a thundering voice that makes my little fantasy script sound like Shakespeare. I can’t believe it; I barely recognize my own dialogue.

An array of females read for the part of a slave girl pleading for her life, some of them so heart-wrenching that a couple of times we’re almost moved to tears. And what makes it truly wrenching is that, naturally, they can’t all be hired.

At least Full Moon and its casting people have tried to make the processes as painless as possible. I’ve heard stories about auditions held in stark rooms, with the casting people seated behind a large table like some sort of inquisition. The casting room at Full Moon is carpeted, pleasant. Dave Nutter, the casting director, and I lounge on couches and chairs, and there’s very much of an open feeling. Dave is uniformly complimentary—even to the achingly bad actress. Coming in and performing at the drop of a hat—trying, within the space of five minutes, to get a roomful of utter strangers to like you, is brutal enough. No need to make it a hostile environment.

I’m thrilled and amazed at the high caliber of actors who are parading through the door. I mean, this is not an actor’s dream job. The money is underwhelming. The features are for the straight-to-video market, which is not exactly high profile. And the shoot is going to be in Romania. There’s not a lot of upsides to it.

I’m told the times are difficult. That jobs and money are scarce, and the talent is willing to go where the work is. Nowhere is this more driven home than when Perlman walks in. I have friends who would kill to be standing as close to Perlman as I am at this moment. I resist the urge to drop to the ground and shout, “We’re not worthy!”

I tell Perlman as much as I can about Caliban and, when he does the reading of it, he is as wonderful as one would imagine. He starts out reserved but then builds in intensity, becoming more and more forceful. A wonderful reading. A great performance.

One of many. One of so many I see over the course of several days. It heightens my respect for actors. It seems a harsh process to undergo, this auditioning—yet a successful day for an actor is one in which he can subject himself to it several times. Because that increases the odds that he or she might get a job—increases the odds from “none” to “slim,” but increases them nevertheless.

As of this writing, I have no idea who will end up with what part. I can’t believe that a deal could be worked out with Perlman, who, as far as I’m concerned, would be ideal; then again, I can’t believe that he came in to read for it in the first place. And I did get to watch him perform one of my characters, even if it does wind up being just for five minutes. I can only hope for more.

Then again, Hollywood runs on hope.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, is impressed by how cynical children are getting these days. We were watching The Wizard of Oz. When Dorothy uttered the famous line “Somehow I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more, Toto,” 8-year-old Jenny responded with an acerbic, “D-uh!” Another movie moment shot to Hëll.)