“No More Rock Stars Jumping on the Bed!”
Posted by terrance | Filed under The Devil's Carnival
As a writer, it’s always rad to have your words brought to life by a performer. Particularly when that performer is talented. Especially if you’re a fan of their work. On REPO!, I definitely had to repress a few fanboy outbursts over people involved with the project. It wasn’t easy. You try playing it cool when members of Jane’s Addiction and Bauhaus are playing your tunes!
Even though groupie gushing should be kept to a minimum when trying to come across as professional in the presence of one’s idols, I suppose this giddy enthusiasm about art and music is a big part of what drives me to create… and I’m happy to share that my latest musical project, The Devil’s Carnival, is not lacking in fanboy fuel.
A hearty helping of pinch-me-I-can’t-believe-this-is-really-happening occurred on the sixth day of filming when I stepped into one of our production’s make-up trailers to behold a literal row of rock stars being transformed into devilish carnies; characters that began in my brain, were scribbled onto paper, and are now committed to celluloid, soon to be shared with the world! And the most rad part of all was how professional, humble, down-to-earth, and enthusiastic everyone was.
This week, two music icons were officially announced as members of TDC’s eclectic cast: M. Shawn Crahan of Slipknot as The Tamer and Ivan Moody of Five Finger Death Punch as Hobo Clown.
Stay tuned ‘cause more exciting carnival news is coming your way!
RAISING HELL
Posted by terrance | Filed under The Devil's Carnival
It’s been almost a month since my last post. Sorry for the blog lag. 2012 kicked off with such intensity that I haven’t had a free moment to scribble little yellow reminders to eat, sleep, and breath, let alone time to journal. Although the whirlwind is far from over, I’m stealing a moment to share some of the exciting adventures of the last few weeks.
As many of you are aware, REPO! The Genetic Opera’s director, Darren Lynn Bousman, and I have teamed up to create another musical film project, The Devil’s Carnival. Principal photography on TDC began last week… hence the full plate.
Like with REPO!, preproduction on TDC included long nights in a recording studio tracking and comping actor vocals for playback on set. These recordings will also serve as lead vocals on the upcoming TDC soundtrack. Also like with REPO!, our cast includes a blend of seasoned singers and first-timers, so the process has been both exhilarating and challenging, but I couldn’t be happier with the end result.
The Devil’s Carnival was a night shoot—usually 6pm-7:00am, with regular 4-hour pre-calls for make-up and prosthetics. It was largely filmed outdoors, so our production braved not only long hours, but also the elements, which included bitterly cold nights and a windstorm that nearly shut us down. Human forces in the form of neighborhood hoodlums also attacked us. A gang of teenagers broke into our production trailers and stole valuables, including the set photographer’s camera equipment. As lame as this experience was, on a set representing hell, where the first week of filming included a full moon and Friday the 13th, a little burglary seemed par for the course.
Obstacles aside, being on set was magical. I had forgotten how cool it was to step into a world that previously existed only in my head and witness a crew of talented artisans and performers bring it to life. The concentration of talent, passion, and music on display reminded me of the on-set experience filming REPO!. Crew members walked around with smiles on their faces, humming the songs, and everyone seemed genuinely proud to be a part of the experience. This artistic camaraderie demonstrated its might and valor not only for the camera, but by chasing down the trailer bandits, catching them, and reclaiming all our stolen goods. To the brilliant cast and crew of TDC, thank you for your dedication and professionalism.
To everyone else, The Devil’s Carnival is coming soon and trust me, it’s gonna rock your socks off! If my blog posts continue to be sporadic as we edit and mix the film, you’ll know why. In the meantime, please enjoy some of the early production art above.
Fair And Rugged Fans Of Repo! The Genetic Opera…!
Posted by terrance | Filed under The Devil's Carnival
…And fans of all things dark, racy, and musical, I have a belated holiday present for you! Repo!’s director, Darren Lynn Bousman, and I have teamed up again to bring you an all-new melodious adventure, and this time… it’s in hell!
Allow me to welcome you to THE DEVIL’S CARNIVAL, a theme park like no other. Our gates will officially open in 2012, but there’s a sneak peak waiting and wriggling in your digital Yule stocking at www.TheDevilsCarnival.com.
Happy Holidays!
Dysfunctional Holiday Wrapping
Posted by terrance | Filed under The Molting Comic
Nothing screams “holiday” like dinner with a dysfunctional family… So what better way to celebrate the season than with “an engrossing, sinewy look into the life of an American family that is beyond the fringes of f**ked-up” (Comics Bulletin)?
In honor of this winter solstice, I’m having a holiday sale on my indie comic book series, The Molting. Pick up the first five issues—over 200 full-color pages!—of “one of the most creative and unusual comic books going today” (411mania) for only $19.99.
The dark adventures of The Molting’s Pryzkind family make for the perfect dysfunctional stocking stuffer, so order your copies today @ http://bit.ly/the-molting-sale
Happy Holidays, and thank you for your continued friendship and support!
Saving Face(s)
Posted by terrance | Filed under Happenings
My face-changing abilities are not nearly as flexible or impressive as that of Pavi Largo, but I can alter my appearance slightly by growing facial hair, or, if the theatrical occasion calls for it, through the use of mime paint, guyliner, and rainbow-colored hair extensions.
One of the most appealing things about getting to play a character like GraveRobber is the ability to take on another persona and, in some cases, completely transform physically through the use of wardrobe, make-up, and prosthetics.
A little over ten years ago, I was in a small theatre production of Beauty and the Beast. I played Beast. I got to sing, growl, and scare children, as well as rock a pair of furry, clawed gloves, a Michael Bolton wig, and a pretty cool prosthetic pout.
To construct the monstrous beast mask, the production’s make-up fellow took a mold of my face. This process of lifecasting was strange, claustrophobic, and meditative.
I was made to lie face-up on a workbench and breath through straws as the artist slathered cold goop over my face. The goop—dental alginate—eventually hardened creating an exact impression of my mug. The process took about forty-five minutes during which I couldn’t blink, swallow, or purse my lips. I had no choice but to succumb to the stillness of momentarily losing some of my senses.
When the process was complete, I remember gawking at what was basically a perfect bust, thinking, “Geez, is that really what I look like?” It was also a Hamlet-in-the-graveyard moment, gazing at the plaster face in my hands, contemplating mortality while cradling a lifeless version of my head.
I’m working on a new film project that I believe is going to make fans of my work (and singing voice!) very happy… and this project called for an updated lifecast. This time the casting included my entire head and shoulders, as well as teeth.
The mold was created late last night in a design studio in Sun Valley. The process was much more intensive than my Beast build, but still involved that cold, familiar goop. It squished into my ears, crawled down the back of my neck, and paved across my chest (which had to be lubed-up with Vaseline so that this body casting didn’t turn into a body waxing!).
The experience was like being entombed in cement. For as daunting as this sounds, it was actually a very Zen encounter, and when the mold cracked and was eventually pulled from my features, I experienced what it must be like to be birthed from an egg (as opposed to being jackal-born, which is how I came into this world on that cold sixth of June back in ’66). “Look at me, Damien! It’s all for you!”
I Rode My Bicycle Past Your Window Last Night
Posted by terrance | Filed under Random Musings
Even though I’ve spent the last three years weaving a protagonist whose main mode of transportation is a bicycle, it’s been over a decade since I’ve pedaled one. Through the process of inking Joseph’s two-wheeled adventures, however, across the panels and pages of The Molting comic book series, I’ve learned a thing or two about bike anatomy.
For example: the “top tube” is a parallel bar that distinguishes the sex of a bicycle. With boy bikes, the top tube sits a little higher on the bike’s frame so that should riders of masculine persuasion slip and fall forward, serious injury to their “meat and two veg” might be prevented.
I had a bicycle as a teenager, a beach cruiser, but as an adult living in Los Angeles – a city where nearly everyone drives – I haven’t had much occasion to return to my two-wheeler roots.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not, nor have I ever been, a car person. I’ve always viewed automobiles as a means to get from point A to point B in a city with a horrible public transportation system, so I’ve never cared about color, make, model, or any of the four-wheel fixin’s. Just so long as she ran and had enough room in the trunk for a stun gun, a roll of duct tape, a shovel, and a bag of lime, I was set.
Even if cars were my thing, my struggling artist lifestyle has never provided the financial means to purchase a nice car, so throughout my adult life I’ve been saddled with a series of beaters: rugged rides that usually lasted me a few years before going extinct. And I’m frustrated to report that the rusty steed that’s served me for the last five or so winters collapsed last week.
I wish I could tell you that she went out in a blaze of glory, shot down in a high-speed police chase or driven into an oncoming train with a cinderblock on the accelerator… but no, she went down rather quietly.
The vehicle had been nursing a mounting series of problems that I knew would eventually catch up with me. The inevitable death rattle came in the form of an explosion of white smoke that filled the cabin while I was driving. Escaping any personal physical demise, I had the wheezing wreck towed to a mechanic who informed me that the cost of fixing the damages exceeded the value of the vehicle. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
On one of my favorite live albums, Tom waits introduces his song “Get Behind The Mule” by saying, “This is a song about the very first vehicle”. Well, my first vehicle was a bike, and with the junking of my jalopy, I’m regressing to my teenage mode of transit… for the time being, at least.
My cycle shopping began on Craigslist where a strange encounter with a seller propelled me into my local Toys”R”Us in search of a non-used bike. I may not be able to afford a new car at the moment, but the aggravation of trying to negotiate with a stranger who brought up RuneScape within moments of our conversation about his bike-for-sale, convinced me that the subtle price difference between a new and used bike was worth the cost.
For the past few days, I’ve been using my brand new bike to run local errands and – aside from sore ass and hamstring muscles – I’m finding the experience to be thoroughly exhilarating. It’s forcing me to be more physically active as well as take notice of aspects of my neighborhood that were unrecognizable when viewed at high-speeds through a cracked car windshield.
Since I largely work from home, I’m thinking that a lifestyle that doesn’t include traffic jams, high gas prices, and parking tickets, may be the one for me. After all, if Kermit the Frog can ride a bike, play the banjo and make millions of people happy… can’t we all?
Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves
Posted by terrance | Filed under Random Musings
A few nights ago, some friends and I closed our favorite drinking haunt. Ritualistically, we congregated in the bar’s parking lot to say our good-byes for the night, when a strange woman approached us. It was apparent immediately that she suffered from some form of mental illness (most likely coupled with a brand of self-medication far more potent than the libations my comrades and I consumed throughout the evening).
Without hesitation, the lady wedged herself into our circle and began ranting about odd dreams that welled-up inside her head, fully realized “movie scripts” that appeared and then vanished without a trace. I remarked that she should write her thoughts down before they were lost, but my suggestion didn’t seem to register as she continued her relentless delivery without so much as a stutter.
I looked over to my friends whom had all but turned their backs on the woman by this point. Still rambling, she didn’t take their less-than-subtle hints. I then realized that this wild woman was talking only to me, not merely because my companions weren’t listening, but because she was staring directly into my eyes.
Unblinking, she motored on about the elusive stories swimming inside her skull. The crescendo was when she inquired as to whether Hitler might be able to extract lost data from the vault of her brain. Dryly, I replied that while I did not have a direct line to the Führer, I might be able to hook her up with Himmler or Eva Braun. This slowed her rambling… not at all.
I seem to attract strange strangers. Even in group settings, these unfortunate souls always find a way to lock in on me. Perhaps it’s because I don’t flee when they approach, or maybe they just know a mark when they see one. It’s also conceivable that they recognize a form of their crazy in me.
Whatever the reason, when these weirdos wander up, I try to hear them out; I politely give them the benefit of the doubt… even though these conversations almost always end uncomfortably (ever since that smote Gypsy cursed ma’s prize sow, I learned it’s better to be safe than sorry when dealing with rabid roamers). I also like to keep my eyes and ears perked for America’s Next Top Molting Character. And sometimes, just sometimes, I’m presented with an encounter that not only changes my perception about these whacky wayfarers, but also is worthy of a blog.
Years ago, during REPO! The Genetic Opera’s first staged run in Los Angeles, a homeless man named Bill would routinely converse with our cast and crew in the theatre’s parking lot whenever we were leaving a rehearsal or performance.
Bill was a tall, middle-aged black man. He was warm and would regularly offer to walk female members of our ensemble to their cars in what was a rather sketchy neighborhood. In exchange, he’d ask for a tip, but was never pushy. The few dollars we were able to throw his way often meant the difference between Bill spending the night in a low-rent halfway house, or on the street… so he quickly became REPO!’s unofficial security guard.
We’d frequently invite Bill in to watch our performances. He’d always decline, worried he might scare our patrons, but one night we were able to twist his arm. He wouldn’t sit in the designated chairs, but instead stood in the back of the theatre, looming out of sight, quietly watching our show. I had forgotten he was there until our curtain call, when I heard him burst into enthusiastic applause.
Following the performance, he and I shared a drink in the theatre’s backstage area. He was genuinely enthusiastic about our work, exalting that Shilo and Nathan knew they loved each other, but didn’t know they loved each other THAT MUCH. He was practically brought to tears by the sentiment.
We continued to commiserate and I couldn’t help but ponder how this intelligent, sensitive, and courteous man ended up on the street, so I asked him. In a flash, the floodgates opened and Bill told me the tale of his life, which was one tragedy after another. At one point, he pulled his shirt up to show me the surgical scars covering his torso that were the result of multiple gunshot wounds.
Yesterday, after dropping off some mail, I walked past an elderly woman stationed in the parking lot of my local post office. She was hunched over a cart selling sage and candles. With her wooden cane and earth-toned shawl, she looked like Central Casting’s version of a fortuneteller.
Even though she was tending to a customer, her head craned and her eyes followed me as I strolled past her en route to my parked car. As I drove from the lot, she hurried from her cart of wares, ran in front of my jalopy, and signaled for me to roll down my window. I complied.
As if peering into my soul, the old woman leaned her head into my vehicle. The next few moments were at once eerie and comforting as she spoke to me in an accent I couldn’t identify:
“You are an artist. You see the world different than most. It’s important that you never sugarcoat your stories. Try not to resent or judge others. They’re doing the best they can, even when they behave like children. At the heart of every man is a child, which is why men need women—even you, who are more masculine than most. Losing your father was harder on you that you’ve acknowledged, but do not despair, he was inspired by you, so keep doing what you’re doing.”
And with that, she brought her hands together in a prayer-like triangle, bowed slightly, and went about her business.
So… can your interactions with odd strangers top mine? Or are you the oddball flagging down buggies to impart passenger-side prophecies? Share some of your own adventures involving those gypsies, tramps and thieves below.
Lost in (disc) Space
Posted by terrance | Filed under Happenings
If you own a computer, it stands to reason that you’ve suffered at least one experience where some valued data was corrupted, deleted, or lost. Perhaps it was an important document or precious photo? Or maybe it was a monumental assignment that resulted in you being fired from your job or failing a class? Or maybe your go-to collection of snuff films and goat porn mysteriously disappeared from your digital desktop, leaving you checking over your shoulder for federal agents and ex-wives?
I’ve heard hard drive horror stories from screenwriters who’ve lost entire scripts and witnessed students breakdown in tears after losing a class project they stayed up all-night completing. I’ve observed real-life grownups screaming at their monitors as if they were cheating lovers that ran off with their digital belongs just to spite them. I’ve also had my share of small-scale system strokes over the years… but two weeks ago, I suffered a computerized catastrophe.
There’s never a great time for these sorts of mainframe malfunctions to happen, but the timing of this event seemed especially cruel: in addition to my typically tireless routine, I split open my toe on a metal bed frame, had a year’s worth of tax receipts to sort for the IRS, and was pages away from completing the drawing/inking process of chapter seven of my comic book series, The Molting, which had to be put on hold while I picked up the data processing pieces.
When I reach the final leg of each issue of The Molting, it’s not unusual for my computer to run slowly; I use it to house scores of hi-resolution reference imagery throughout the creative process. I also scan and store the completed, illustrated pages as huge, unflattened, megabyte-milking Photoshop files. This upcoming chapter is sixty-pages thick… so ‘puter puttering was an inevitable side effect.
During times like these, I routinely have to restart my computer and keep as few programs simultaneously running as possible. Fearful of calamity, I frequently save and re-save important work whenever my computer is behaving this way. Sometimes when I try to save these gargantuan files, however, I’m met with pop-up prompters informing me that I’ll have to “overwrite” the document to make room on my computer’s disc space. In other words, the existing file has to be completely deleted to clear storage space for the new, updated version. When this happens, I “force quite” any extraneous programs and then save, save, and save!
Last week, I accidentally “force quit” the program containing the open file I was trying to save. This meant that the file was closed, after it had been deleted for the over-writing process, but before it could be re-saved…. which meant that it was gone, baby gone.
It would be frustrating to lose any document, but this particular one was the culmination of over two-years of work. It was the unflattened Photoshop file of all of The Molting’s panel layouts: templates that I’ve been laboriously building and modifying throughout the lifespan of the project.
Every stencil I used to pencil page-spreads, gone! Every configuration of panel frames and borders, gone!! Every geometric grid I used to graph the adventures of America’s favorite dysfunctional comic book family, gone!!!
After a week of fruitless technical support phone calls and failed data recovery programs, I decided to move on and begin the brutal process of rebuilding the lost file. Although this was a major inconvenience, I’m happy to report that I’m almost back on course and ready to put this unfortunate experience behind me… right after I create back-up versions of the new file in at least three different places!
So… now that you’ve heard my techno-trauma story, it’s your turn to share. What computer nightmares have you experienced? Were these misadventures your fault, or someone else’s? Were you able to recover your lost files, or were they gone for all time? Did you learn from your mistakes, or are you a glutton for punishment? Share your data below… before it’s lost.
To Live And Die By The Paintbrush
Posted by terrance | Filed under Interviews, The Molting Comic
A couple of weeks ago, I sat down for an interview with Planet Fury. We discussed Repo!, The Molting, Cockroaches, and what was in my brown paper sack. The resulting article may be the nicest thing ever written about yours truly, with insight into my creative process and a tease about an upcoming project: http://www.planetfury.com/content/terrance-zdunich
“Absolutely Mind-Altering!”
Posted by terrance | Filed under Count Tarakan, Reviews
Houston Press exclaims, “They Might Be Giants, But Terrance Zdunich is The Bad Ass Russian!” Check out their review of my music video “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” to find out what Labyrinth, The Warriors, and Sucker Punch all have in common: http://bit.ly/badassrussian
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