Escape From ATL! - A Real-Life Layover Told in Fabulous Present Tense!

It's just turned 9 pm Eastern as I step off flight 1512 from Birmingham. This is Atlanta; my connector to LAX is due to depart exactly five minutes ago. I rush through Concourse B and realize I have a full four concourses to go before reaching my plane. I'm not worried. The Flight number for L.A. is 420. Seriously. I am not worried...

9:10 pm - GATE E27. Flight 420 taxies off the runway. I'm worried. A Delta employee tells me that's the last L.A. flight and to return to the ticket counter for rescheduling. All this because of supposed inclement weather. I'm looking out windows and recalling touchdown on 1512; there's no inclement weather! The pilot had explained this away as an FAA imposition; that it's the government overreacting and that Chicken Little apparently runs the show.

Great. Another reason to hate the government. First, a preemptive strike on Iraq, and now this.

9:41 pm - Navigating the labrynth back to the ticket counters takes an eternity, and no one seems to understand the concept of an escalator. It's not a theme park attraction. You don't climb on and ride while mechanized cherubs sing songs of global unity. You don't mount a space pod and dodge ray guns shot by the likes of Buzz Lightyear. There are no ticket-tables, no splash-downs, no height requirements and hence there should be no gawkers standing idle in my way staring at the walls like this is a frickin' haunted hay-ride. Move, lady!

10:00 - DELTA TICKET COUNTER/SW TEMINAL. I explain my situation to the helpless, uncaring screw at the check-in and it's clear she could give a toss.








"Next flight's at 8:30 tomorrow morning."

"Through no fault of my own, I'm trapped in a strange town with little money and no way home. What's Delta going to do about it?"

"We offer an inconvenience rate at the nearest Days Inn. Forty-five dollars."

"Forty-five dollars! Seems like zero dollars is a more appropriate figure. Hell, you should be paying me to grace the dump."

"That's the discount option, sir."

Can you believe this?

10:30 pm - HOULIHAN'S BAR. Last call. I say stuff Delta Airlines and stuff their fun-time buddies at the Day's Inn. I'm taking my $45 to the bar.I'm determined to stay at the airport, and a little Dutch courage should seal the deal. I've slept on cement floors, in closets, on benches, even standing against a wall, but never in an airport. But I'd rather suck down a quick mixer and pass out here than put more money into a room. The KW2 premiere trip (from which I'm returning) already bled me dry between travel costs and merchandising efforts. Damned if I'll give Day's Inn the satisfaction.

11:40 - ATRIUM. All the good spots are taken. I take an empty bench and begin writing this. My only pen pretends to be out of ink, taunting me. Write, damn you! I don't own any I-Pods, no discman to speak of; barring an unlikely flashback, writing this is all I've got.

11:55 - One last COFFEE FROM SEATTLE'S BEST. I see a pen dangling off the register. How to do this... Fortunately a toddler nearby starts screaming for no reason. Heads turn, and with no one looking, I make my move, snatching up the pen along with a napkin, making the theft at least half-legal. The perfect half-crime. My only regret is not causing the toddler to cry in the first place. Bonus points.

12:24 - MEN'S RESTROOM. Stinks in here. I have a serious phobia about bringing nonessential items into a public bathroom, things like luggage. Nonetheless, it's either this or risk my bag being detonated by the TSA.

No way my suitcase is touching this floor. I drag a "Caution: Wet Floor" cone into a stall, drawing looks, then balance my case atop it and against the wall. Set.

Takes me three tries to get a sanitary cover to come out in one piece. I sit down and try desperately to clog up the toilet with two days worth of bowel remnants, sort of a silent-but-deadly protest. No such luck. It all flushes down, automatically of course, so I don't even have the luxury of admiring my work. Makes me long for the days when flushing was optional. As if I could feel more powerless.

12:37 am - ATRIUM. Return here only to find my spot usurped by a fellow traveller. he's already asleep, so I move on instead of challenging him to a duel. And it seems every other cushy spot's accounted for. Blast it. I wander a bit and settle on a less glamorous seat beside a National Guardsman headed to Ontario. Let's hope he stays there.

1:10 am - BEDTIME. Very tired. I latch my bag handle to my wrist via elastic tags and start to drift off, buoyed only by the thought of the clasp-button pocket protecting my wallet....

1:25 am or so - SLEEP... Mysterious dreams of a man with eight toes....

2:30-ish - AWAKE to the sound of floor buffing. This has actually been going on for several hours, aggrevating the weary around me. I'm not kidding; this one guy is buffing the ever-living shit out of these floors, and we're paying the price in hours slept.

2:45 am - Got to pee. As soon as I rise at least two or three lurkers seem to spring from nowhere, anxious to get my chair. A guy asks:

"You still using that?"

"Yeah, actually, I'm just going to the can."

Well I get back and surprise, surprise, what looks to be the very same guy is now sleeping in my chair. Son of a bitch!

What happened to the Honor System! I contemplate tumping him over where he lies, then remember where I am. On top of which, I'm slowly noticing what looks like a pair of breasts on the dude. Either, I've got the wrong guy or I'm this close trading blows with a pre-op transvestite. I let it go.

2:45 - WENDY'S. I'm looking over the menu and it's all garbage. Seeing the chili pot has me speculating whether a severed human finger might help the taste, but that's not funny. It's clear I'm delirious.

I walk away with a side salad and a water, and for about five minutes this salad is my new best friend.

2:52 am - Looks like I've got to find a new best friend. And I am done with this USA Today; it's technically USA Yesterday by this point, and the articles are about as informative as a third grader's account of his day at the aquarium. If USA Today were to cover such a hypothetical field trip, you'd walk away knowing only that an aquarium holds fish and that refreshments were served.

3:22 am - ATRIUM. Aha! After attempting a nap on a cold, sticky marble bench, I see that some fool's left two cushy chairs vacant, and I'm all over it. Sucker. The floor buffer's still buzzing somewhere, but I'm so tired it may not matter.


3:40 am - It matters. By my rights, I'm going to scuff the f†®k out of these floors in the morning. Part of me wants to get up and do it right now, to go create some kind of floor-buffing emergency somewhere down-terminal where the noise won't carry. Crap, though. I'd lose my chairs.

4-ish - SLEEP...

5:30 am - AWAKE to the rap of a police baton. There are two lady cops saying, in rather unfriendly tones, that there's no sleeping in the airport, and something about "getting on a train." One asks when my plane leaves, and when I tell her she gives me a jolt by suggesting I hurry up. That got me up, at least until I looked at a clock and realized she must not be familiar with the concept of linear time.

5:38 am - COFFEE.

5:50 am - SECURITY. I usually brace up for deportation around this time, but I'm so tired I just sleep-walk through it.

6:07 am - TRAIN SHUTTLE between concourses. Got to play this just right. Hate touching the grip bars handled by filthy frequent fliers, hate touching anything touched by others. I spread my legs for the best balance, never grasping the polls, ready to fall into my suitcase for cushioning. Wonder if regimented hygiene and a heightened immune system will speed my recovery from a broken clavicle. I prefer a compound fracture to sharing slime with a fellow human.

6:19 am - GATE A-27. So far so good. Plane's on time. Now they've got two hours to invent delays before I get riled again. Sleep?

6:21 am - SLEEP, or try to.

8:00 am - All is well. Plane's on time, at the gate, passengers boarding. I've found a Pay-Day in my pocket; may've been there a while. A fitting breakfast... I am not worried....

Matt

Southern Exposure

We got more press than expected leading up to the KW2 premiere, which still wasn't much.

See Ben Flannagan's article in the Crimson White which maybe spends a little too much time comparing KW2 with its predecessor.

Luke Buckley gave us two full pages in TUSK (a weekly distributed with the Tuscaloosa News), a very nice piece. Scott has a lot of good quotes.

Besides a few blurbs in other weeklies, that's about it. However, there are a couple of items from Wm. Moses past...

Here's a review hot off the heels of KW1, from March 2004. Graham Flanagan wrote this one, and it's a little lopsided. Barely any mention of Chris Merritt.

Here's one CW write-up heralding the release of "Dude, Where's My, Boat?" from April 2004. Contributed by Dan Whisenhunt. A week or so later, a review appeared in the CW from Ben Flanagan. The title is just too much: Stewart triumphs Orson Welles-style with Dude Where's My Boat?

Matt

KW2 Headlines: Premiere Sees Record Attendance! Crowd Weeps!

Yesterday, 9:45 pm, May 4th, Thursday. Some 230 people sat transfixed during the final minutes of "Killer Weed 2: Sequel Ate My Baby"'s world premiere, wondering how this tangled odyssey might end. Already they'd seen zombie carnage, explosions, gun battles, flashbacks, time travel and a bus accident done with miniatures. Still to come was a massive fight scene, a father and son reunited, more chromakey magic, the ending from the first film, strange temporal autoerotica, and a walk down the dark side of Sesame Street.

Minutes later when the credits rolled, the applause spewed freely, people rising to their feet and exalting KW2 as a triumph; a divine fit of inspiration somehow bottled and metered out for mortal consumption; an intractable comedy battering ram jabbed in the barred doors of collective consciousness.

Okay, I'm getting pretentious, but suffice it to say that KW2 came out a total laugh-riot.
After issuing our special thanks and handling the raffle business, many people adjourned to the main room to see Chinese Dentist put on a helluva show. Not I. And not my fellow hucksters-in-crime Chris Merritt and Scott Draper.

Before joining the party we breathed a moment, exchanging silent smiles connoting our immense self-satisfaction. That's right; after working so hard and so long, practically without halt, we took a moment to actually be proud of ourselves. Our Frankenstein's monster had finally gotten its nascent jolt of lightning, came to life, and immediately set about terrorizing the village.

We soon joined the main room, but were far too busy soaking up compliments to really enjoy the show. Fans old and new kept tapping our shoulders and offering undeviating praise for something obviously requiring time, devotion, sacrifice, and in my case, hair loss.

I couldn't be happier with the fact that people actually got it. The coming hours brought a couple clarifications and what-the-fu©ks? but for once in my miserable life a script I wrote scored in the three departments that matter most: structure, clarity and comedy. But the real credit goes to the abundance of talent executing KW2. Vision-driven direction, precision editing, exceptional ensemble acting. Hats off, guys.

The premiere served as a defacto reunion for most members of the cast and crew. Drew Tompkins ("Pope") arrived in the morning at Chris' apartment to visit and help with merchandise. Later evening we met Jillian Fratkin ("Zoey") and Daniel Hudson ("Luke") for drinks at some pub, and that's the first time we'd all assembled at once since January 8th 2005.

Drew, Jillian and Daniel were almost as floored as the unsuspecting audience when it came to watching this sprawling, even, doting love letter to sequels at large. I'm thinking now back to my summer '04 phone conversation with Drew in which I sought his assurance that he'd indeed reprise his role in this Pope-driven story. I could feel his thoughts turning to summer '03 when we'd crapped out the first one, wondering if he was up for another spate of long nights and early mornings. He agreed of course, and as an added appreciation bonus we threw in a few extra long nights and early mornings. Good thing, too. Trying to imagine KW2 without the Pope is like imagining Rosie O'Donnel without any clothes on. Nobody wins.

Likewise, Jillian and Daniel showed nary a trace of regret. Production was hard on them, too, of course. To see themselves deliver such Grade-A work (drawn together so nicely by Scott's editing) surely justified the hard work. Both had substantial experience acting in student shorts prior to all this, but few amounted to more than a pile of dried poo next to KW2. I really think they liked it. Nay, loved it. If they could, I'm sure they'd arrange a group marriage.

I'd be remiss without mentioning other friends of the film who made the event. Karolyn Mayo (costumer/co-producer) clutched my hand throughout, tense, despite having seen most of the film. Her brother Turner Mayo (special effects) sat feet away, drinking it all in for the first time.

From parts north came both Kyle Everitt ("Dane") and Nick Anderson ("Doug"). Kyle especially was happy to see this so fully realized as he'd more than once compromised with us over the length and color of Jillian's hair-do. (Long theater department story...)


Tallie Kimble (grip/PA) and Amber ("Zombie 28") came from Atlanta, and decided to hug one another, which was hot.

Even C-Mo ("Jimbo") was there, famous for stoking the ire of William Moses in the Production Report.

Alas, one presence was sorely missed. Lauren Merritt. She played "Chloe" in film one and on December 22nd 2004 afforded us a day in which to shoot a scene with herself and Nick/"Doug". Travel from Manhattan proved impossible for Lauren, nearly devastating Drew, Chris, and myself. Her role, after all, defined a tone for both movies. And she would've had a better time at the premiere than she would've had eating foreign food, or whatever it is they do in New York.

In any case, Chinese Dentist obliterated the crowd in the main room, and before too long Baak Gwai followed. Absolutely incredible. I remember dancing. Drinking. At times both at once. And not much else...

Matt

Zero Hour

It's almost here. In one day, on May 4th, "Killer Weed 2" debuts at Jupiter Bar & Grill in Tuscaloosa. The program should be very straight forward. At 9pm we seal the room and strap our guests into restraints, careful to drop rewetting fluid into their eyes (pried open å la A Clockwork Orange). Once they've absorbed every minute, every frame, Chris, Scott and I take the floor for acknowledgements and a Q & A. After answering the question, "When can I go home?" a few times, we'll then move on to the raffle, which will be difficult to keep short and sweet given the sheer number of prizes being doled out.

Everyone in attendance will receive in exchange for the modest cover charge a free raffle ticket (with extra chances available for purchase). As many as twenty-five will get prizes ranging from an ultimate master package (soundtrack, poster, T-shirt, DVD, comic book) on down to simple soundtrack handouts.

At essence, the challenge will be picking out twenty-five lucky prize recipients in as short a time as possible, because the music acts will take the stage in the main room shortly after the film.

As noted elsewhere on this blog, Chris Merritt early on recruited Tuscaloosa favorites Baak Gwai and Chinese Dentist for the KW2 soundtrack. Not only are these groups prolific songwriters and performers but they're extremely generous and reasonable. Given the negative profit margin we now occupy, much thanks goes to Baak Gwai and Chinese Dentist for playing for next to nothing. KW2 is really a house of cards built on a foundations of self-sacrifice, and these guys are tossing themselves in the volcano yet again by capping off the show.

I arrived in Alabama Saturday morning and joined the other producers in a loaner edit bay at Vazda Studios. (Scott's still well-connected in Birmingham, though his influence is disappearing faster than an ice cream sandwich in the hands of Dom Deluise.)

Scott and I are sitting feet apart right now in fact; he edits as I write this. And there's a certain understated beauty about that, harkening back to the times of artisans and quatrocentro-era guilds. It's like he's a blacksmith over there smelting ore while I'm on-hand designing an exciting new horseshoe.

Chris will join us this afternoon, whereupon we'll get comfortable and review (possibly for the last time) the premiere cut for KW2. Final tweaks pending (e.g. credits, folie), we'll put a ribbon on her just two days before the big day.

Speaking of which, upon arrival it was interesting to see the reach of Chris' well-honed PR machine. Walking the Tuscaloosa streets one sees posters on most storefronts except those missing by theft (which are promptly replaced) The 250-count stickers which've been circulating since January now count out around two dozen, meaning there are approximately 200 stickers sutured to walls, buildings, newsracks and restroom mirrors.Chris has been smart about distributing T-shirts, tossing out a few to friends who make the scene regularly whom he trusts will wear them everyday until Thursday. In fact, that's the deal; if Chris's spies catch anyone not wearing the T in public, private, the shower, whatever, then said offender owes us ten smackers. Yesterday, before being sidetracked by more pressing business, Chris and I were en route to go ambush one such offender and pry a Hamilton from his clammy rigamortis-ridden hands if needed. It's worth chancing the murder charge.

On a less cost-conscious note there are also a hundred KW2 one-inch round buttons bought for a song (thanks, Brighid!). Chris's happy to hand over a pile or so to anyone, students, teachers, local merchants, and a few vagrants who thought it was change.

Despite these many developments, not everything is peaches on the venue front. Don't fear, everything's written in stone regarding when and where. It's "what" that may offer a shred of confusion as my favorite enemy Jeremiah Jones has struck again. (For a full account of my previous quibbles with the deceptive, tactless so-called booking agent at the Jupiter, see "Bring Me the Head of Jeremiah Jones".)

The exterior marquee display, for which Jones is responsible, cites only a Chinese Dentist/Baak Gwai dual show for Thursday night. There is absolutely no indication that a film will be shown. My own father (whom I'm putting through college) gleaned this yesterday while driving the strip and expressed his concern that the thing had been cancelled.

Now, this is a serious problem. I applaud Jones' decision to include the band names; their devoted followings may account for half the patrons, who knows? However, if KW1 fans rely on the marquee's version of events, they may stay home.

Chris and I attempted to address this yesterday. It was touchy, because officially I'm not supposed to have contact with this asshole after our February row in which he tried to pad the venue fee to insane extremes. Even so, I accompanied Chris Merritt to the Jupe around 5 pm, agreeing to let him address the matter with Jones while I stood silently by for muscle and good looks.

We found him leaning on the bar, chatting, looking every bit the prick I imagined him to be, though shorter. Chris did the talking as I looked on, arms bowed, my eyes secretly burrowing a hole in his head. Had to bite my tongue when he excused the marquee goof by claiming it simply remained unchanged from last week.

Let's consider this, shall we? He actually thinks we're such chumps we'd buy a line like that, knowing Chinese Dentist and BaakGwai have never played a joint show, as if we aren't firmly aware that this was a bold-faced lie. And more shocking still, it rolled off his tongue like scripture.

We came to the understanding that it'd be changed, to which my natural reaction would've been, "When?" were I not muzzled. The answer apparently isn't "today," because I just received word that the marquee remains unchanged. I'm exactly one phone call away from going absolutely apeshit on this useless, dodgy, crust of a human being. The fatwa continues...

But that cold place in my heart reserved for Jeremiah Jones is slowly being cleared for a new favorite foe, musician Joe Evans, who apparently overestimates his importance in the Killer Weed pecking order. But now is a happy time; I'll bottle my ire for the moment and be sure to rip this guy proper when I have more time and jokes.

Matt

Item: Small Puppets Set to Charm American Audiences

Life is good again. Flowers are blooming, birds singing, children laughing. I'm sailing down a caramel canal in a gumdrop gondola. The puppet bit is shot, over, done with. At last.

Six months I've spent shaving styrofoam and molding clay, twisting wire armatures and fretting about temperatures. Six months of my life where I've lived as a virtual shut-in, a stranger to family and friends. Wearing the same clothes for weeks at a time. Plucking energy bar crumbs from my thickening beard. At one point my schedule reduced me to an all-time low with the addition of a new favorite meal to my diet. I call it "sandwich-over-the-garbage-can". The recipe is very simple; you take a slice of cheese, a slice of ham, put 'em between two stale pieces of bread, then enjoy over the garbage can. Makes for easy cleanup.

It's been a long road indeed, and now it's over. This morning I woke at 6 a.m. to apply the "8-Toe'd Joe" makeup. As recounted in the Production Report, the whole process is a nightmare through and through. I started with a light base, darkened my eye sockets and jumped directly into the old-age liquid latex stipple. And that's the most tortuous part right there; having to contort your face into a wide-mouthed sneer for minutes at a time so as to stretch the skin. After stippling, drying and powdering a latex layer, you then let go, relieving a groundswell of agonizing tension. The end result always looks neat, and done in a less gory context it could pass for real. The trade-off is a day and a half of involuntary grimacing.

The day's first and only disaster came during my second application of latex. Hairdryers set on cool are often used to speed drying times. Well, I don't have any hair, hence I don't have a hair dryer and had to go buy one at the Goodwill three days back. I tested the thing in-store and it worked fine, but suddenly there it was sparking and wheezing smoke five minutes into my stipple session. Seriously, the thing nearly caught on fire and exploded.

After unplugging it, etc., I took a long look at it and determined it was a shredded wire at the base of the handle. I sat there considering my options. Should I let it air-dry, likely extending my agony for as long as it takes the face-curdling goo to do its work? Or, should I try to mend this hairdryer and risk burning down my apartment and all my precious belongings, possibly inviting third degree burns and a score of bacterial infections associated with recovery?

I grabbed the fire extinguisher and went to work rewiring the hairdryer, stripping the insulation, twisting the wires, using pliers. I found some electrician's tape in my bottomless cache of supplies, wrapped her up, and eagerly plugged it in. I took a breath, turned it on, and (to my surprise) it worked. It worked! I fixed the hairdryer! For a moment, I stood there feeling very manly, posing a bit, hoping, perhaps a little, that the NSA might be spying on me after all because wouldn't they be impressed. How handy of me... I'm like Thomas Edison... Today I am a man... These thoughts galloped through my head. For the first time in my life I could be proud of something I'd done in private.

Then I went back to putting my face on.

Stippling ate up the next two-plus hours, then another hour devoted to coloring it in. I was just getting to final touches when the first of the crew arrived.

Helping out today were several of my old friends from college, Alabama folks who've migrated west at wide-ranging intervals. On camera/sound/grip: Ben Morehead and Brack Bradley. On puppets: Brian Allen, Kate Turnipseed, Joe Borden and George Ritter. And on saxophone: jazz legend Charlie Parker.

When the moon is new and Jupiter is aligned with itself and the equinox falls on a Sunday, their powers unite to become Yellowhammer Films. I feel awkward it being brought up like this, but I've been stepping out on KW2 from time to time, moonlighting with Yellowhammer to act in comedy shorts. Usually just a weekend fling every couple of months. Baby, you know how it is.

But that's why I feel comfortable with this crowd; we've worked together many times before. Hell, most of us first met on a tiny movie set. These are my people and I trust them. Because Scott suddenly headed back to Alabama (to finish the movie with Chris, among other things), I needed a tried bunch of can-do e'er-do-wells, and that's Yellowhammer in sum.

All-call at my apartment was 11 in the morning. We spent an hour or two just trying to get our bearings, lighting and bouncing light as needed, positioning 8-Toe'd Joe relative the puppets and vice-versa, repositioning and positioning again. I consider myself very lucky to have had Yellowhammer on my side because I know kack-all about cameras, real cameras, cameras with more than six buttons.

We burned off a few takes, and the puppeteers were getting more and more in-step with the motions. We blew through several masters and ample coverage in no time flat.

And best of all, the puppets didn't fall apart! I was so afraid that they would chip or splinter or otherwise disintegrate before go-time. But my little buddies held up; they're tough, like their dad.

MEANWHILE, AT THE HALL OF JUSTICE...
...Scott Draper returns to Alabama, meeting with Chris Merritt in order to make final pinches on KW2!!! Details next issue!!!

Matt

I'm Your Puppet

Tomorrow marks the culmination of many months' work.

On January 8th 2005, Chris, myself and the other principles set out to accomplish the last ensemble shot (that is, one final scene with all four stars). For all intents, it should've been "8-Toe'd Joe's" last hurrah. I was returning to L.A. the next day and would be unavailable for any retakes.

On the night of January 8th 2005, Chris and I set out to review the footage, and to our horror, the tape came out corrupted. Audio was fine, but video-wise all was lost due to narrow horizontal strips running top to bottom. As Scott later explained, the problem arose from playing back the tape once too often; the time code had become too overworked. So, apprentices and humble journeymen, don't say I didn't warn you. No matter how bad you want to see playback in the field, avoid the temptation much as you'd decline a hummer from a sore-ridden hooker. Unless you have a clamshell or at least blacken the tape first, you're just setting yourself up for heartbreak.

Anyways, we were sunk. We couldn't reshoot the footage. Luckily, the scene had no bearing on the story whatsoever; it was a place-holder, an insignificant but funny beat that could easily be replaced. As the months drew on and principal photography wrapped, we still hadn't hit upon the right gag. Chris and I chewed over several ideas, but it wasn't until September that a sudden if insane flash of inspiration overtook me.

The voices in my head spoke, and all they said was, "...Puppets...".

Many moons later, I've constructed two fully functional dummies with working mouths and articulated arms, as well as highly potent reproductive organs. Yesterday, I dressed the set. Tomorrow, we film.

Without saying too much too soon, it's noteworthy that "8-Toe'd Joe" will be featured. Alas, this means I'll be rising at 6 a.m. to begin applying my 8TJ makeup, something I haven't done in nearly a year and a half. Stuff it all, this was supposed to be a simple pickup.

Sleep,
Matt

Open Letter From KW2 Star Jillian Fratkin!

Jillian Fratkin plays the heroine in “Killer Weed 2: Sequel Ate My Baby”. She recently drafted this open letter recounting her involvement. -- Matt

I remember KW2 being an awesome experience. A bit exhausting, sometimes, when calls ran late or tensions were high from travel, location, or outside obligations. All and all it was a great trip though. Everyone involved wanted to be there and make the best movie possible. Although I was not involved with the filming of “Killer Weed,” the first film, the DVD showed some good friends getting together and having a great time. You can tell it was fun shooting and mostly a learning experience. KW2, by contrast, was the real deal and Matt, Scott, and Chris didn’t let the cast and crew forget it for a minute. I always had this feeling that not only were the producers and director trying to have a blast, they were trying to make a good movie that people would respond to in an eager way. They were taking the first film to the next level and going all the way with it. I think they did a pretty good job, too. Right from the start – even in casting the film – everything just flowed. Daniel, Drew and myself worked very well together and were able to play off each other with growing zest as our on-screen (and off-screen) relationships grew from the many rehearsals and different takes. I’m sure editing was hard as hell with all the (expletive omitted – ed.) that got filmed! Matt was seeking perfection and Chris was going crazy with different directions and then Scott would chime in with this or that. Everyone’s creative energy was surging. Even on the rough days you couldn’t help but feel like something good was being accomplished.

This film was a huge project that took soooooo long to make. I can’t knock it, though. No one can, 'cause everyone who was doing this was doing it for free – out of sheer pleasure, out of wanting to give something to the cult audience Matt had been spooning since the first film. It’s been said that KW (the greater idea, not any single film) is Chris and Matt’s baby. Indeed. But for me, I remember seeing a poster from the first film on a window at Badass Coffee on the Tuscaloosa Strip. It was green with red silhouettes of the three heroes, topped by a huge spooky font with the movie’s title. I was so jealous. I wanted to know why I hadn’t heard about the project and lustfully told myself that I wanted to be involved in a movie like Killer Weed. I happened to be at the screening of the film weeks later (after a play rehearsal with the Rude Mechanicals, a Shakespeare troupe I belonged to at the time) which fed my hunger and curiosity even more. It wasn’t the film that I found surprising, but the community that had gathered to view the film, the people in it having such a good time, and most importantly, the creative heart and humor that was behind it all. It really struck a chord. The name Chris Merritt crawled into my brain and didn’t leave – ever.

Fast-forward a year or so later and my good friend Chris Johnson (of the band Chinese Dentist) plays matchmaker. On walking into The Wall skate park just outside Tuscaloosa, I meet the man who’s ego precedes him. As hanging out commences, Chris Merrit gets a phone call from Matt Stewart, the producer and genius godfather of Killer Weed. Stewart's called to tell Merrit that he’s decided upon a working story and the script is ready to be developed. As an overjoyed Merrit gets off the phone and announces his news I promptly give him my business card with headshot and contact info (After all, an actress never knows.) I ask Chris to consider me for the female lead and tell him to contact me for an audition. None needed. The serendipitous moment proved the only try-out I needed. You see, Matt had previously known me from his days as a University of Alabama Theater and Dance player and the two men instantly cast me as Zoey. They say that luck is a huge part of casting…

Let me tell you – I was thrilled. Zoey was a great part to play and being the straight man opposite the two funny men was so much…well, FUN. Daniel and I happened to be very good friends outside the film and have always gotten along quite nicely so to be able to spend my free time – which wasn’t really free because the film took so (expletive omitted – ed.) long to shoot (I’m not complaining mind you. Just stating fact.) – but to be able to spend time with Daniel was like combining my love of acting with paling around with an awesome guy. KW2 is actually the second time Daniel and I played opposite one another. Our friendship blossomed when we were both members of the aforementioned Rude Mechanicals group. Daniel and I were in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night playing Andrew Aguecheek and Toby Belch respectively (at least in KW2 I was able to be a girl).

Throwing Drew in the mix not only tied in the first movie, but also fueled something in all of us that resulted in HILARIOUS performances! I had so much fun with these guys. There’s a lot to be said for playing the simple straight man off two comedic hams. I hope in the final cut I can see these reactions and laugh at myself. Despite the stern edge to my character I hope her honest reactions to Drew and Daniel show.Another actor to mention is Kyle Everett, who played Zoey’s best friend Dane. Working with Kyle was wonderful because a) he’s also a great guy and a good friend, and b) his is my favorite character. Kyle and I had an early scene together that we ended up shooting at Scott’s house in Birmingham. It's one of my favorite shoots of all – and that’s including the dozen films or so that I have shot over these past two years – because everything was so chill. Mid-morning, Kyle and I drove up from T-town together, working on character development in the car and again as the guys set up at the house. The scene actually has some great improv stuff because Kyle and I were so at ease with each other, the script, and our acting techniques. Kyle was fantastic to play against. Chekhov has been noted as saying that the only actors are those that act for other actors, and I think this KW2 scene embodies that statement. It was just a pure joy to shoot. This is one scene that I’m looking forward to in the final cut just so I can see how Scott’s creative eye (as editor) mixes with the acting. I also remember this as being a day where Chris and Scott had a lot of fun.

Ok. I have to stop now because I am feeling a little too sentimental and have other “real life” things to accomplish. KW2 was a great experience and I wouldn’t change a minute of it. In fact, having thought about it, I also look forward to the film simply to see that cross-section of the Tuscaloosa community featured on-screen during the yearlong shooting schedule. ‘Cause that is what Killer Weed is: a community Chris and Matt have built. The people who appear on screen and helped make it behind the scenes got involved because this circle of friends, acquaintances and people whose faces were familiar in the little town of Tuscaloosa, Alabama had a common thread: love for the culture and the people. Why else would we all do this for free?

I can’t wait to see all that heart represented in the final cut and screening. HOOTY HOO! See you on May 4!

Jillian Fratkin
"Zoey"

A Day Without a Zombie

Filmed another pickup shot yesterday, one of those brief-but-important bits we'd all but brushed under the rug. A very simple task: collect a shot of a zombie doing yardwork.

I know, sounds ridiculous, right? Traditionally zombies have been of limited skillset, able only to lope, moan, feed, and in the case of Thriller, dance. Somehow gardening never quite made the short list.

Sunday I sat in my sculpture nook whereupon Scott knocked on the door, asking me if I wanted to shoot the thing. The lawn care zombie occupied the bottom of our short list of missing crud, and we'd long decided that I would play the part. With Scott filming and me running makeup (on myself) that paired it down to a two-man band. It therefore came as little surprise when Scott sprung this on me; it was merely a matter of having time and daylight.

Being a little rusty in the makeup department, and seeing as I was responsible for coating parts of my face I could neither see nor heretofore knew existed, makeup took a little over two hours. In my hey-day I could lick out three or four extras in that span. Old age, you know. Years from now, during the filming of "Killer Weed 41: Revenge of Step-Daughter of Half-Sister of Bastard Son of 8-Toe'd Joe's Accountant" arthritis will have so stricken my hands that I'll have to hold all the makeup sponges, brushes and powders between my tongue and lower jaw.

One thing I took for granted while dressing KW2 ghouls was the amount of discomfort the many layers of tissue and latex creates. Not to say I didn't slather my own face with old age stipple in playing elderly 8-Toe'd Joe; I've felt the putrid stench of drying latex wafting up my hooter. But having tissue and blood added into the mix is worse yet, not to mention the face appliances our guys were forced to wear. To have one's face constricted and skin yanked is perhaps the worse kind of torture, particularly if one gets the giggles.

Shooting commenced about three hours after we got the notion, and I took up my position in the garden below my balcony. Scott went high angle and never even had to leave the balcony. Outside, I was fairly conspicuous, hooking up a borrowed hose and drenching a bunch of flowers over which I had no domain. Scott could barely keep it together as he filmed the whole bit; some of the footage came out shaky.

Our Armenian neighbor-lady (who enjoys lurking on the stoop with other old ladies like this is 227 or something) witnessed the entire thing and even jerked a little when I passed her on the stairs in full costume. We think she called the super, because right when we finished Scott filmed them chattering full-gallop right near our watery blood stains. She seemed quite distressed. The super seemed to be laughing, and I think he liked what I did with the flowers.

Matt