San Diego
“Run it again. It should work. No? Shit. Hold on.”
Terry opened his banking app and kept his hand steady, waiting for the face ID to recognize him—didn’t matter how sweaty he was, it always worked—and then waited a few more seconds for the account balances to load. There was enough money, he knew there would be, but—
“The room is ready, right? I know I’m early.”
“Normally, check-in isn’t until three. But you can check in early if—”
“Okay, okay,” Terry said. “It’s two hundred ten, right? Even with the taxes?”
“Plus fifty dollars a night for incidentals,” said the clerk.
Well, that would do it. Incidentals. The two hundred thirty-three dollars in his checking account didn’t include incidentals.
“But those come off after you check out,” the clerk said, “if you don’t use them.”
“Well, I’m not going to use them, so that’s fine. You don’t have to include it.”
“Oh, I have to include it.”
“But I’m not going to get room service or use the minibar or anything. I won’t even ask for more towels. You can just not charge it.”
The clerk sighed, and Terry was pretty sure there was at least one person waiting in the line behind him who sighed as well. He had already blown extra money on an Uber from the airport, trying to get downtown faster. The hall was opening soon, and he was still here. It was going to be too late.
“Can I use more than one card?” Terry asked.
“I can’t do that, it’s policy, I—”
“Well, can I leave my bags here?”
“Only guests can—”
“I’m a guest! I have a reservation! I’ll be back to check in at the normal checking-in time.”
The clerk didn’t really want to argue with Terry anymore, and let him leave his suitcase to get him out of his hair.
Terry had one hundred and two dollars on his American Express and forty-three dollars still on the Capital One card.
So he could Venmo Geoff, text Geoff to Venmo him back, and once the money hit Terry would put the cash straight into his checking account.
Even with the credit card fee and the instant-transfer fee, that would cover the hotel.
He could scrounge for meals some other way. Maybe use those incidentals.
By the time he got to the convention center, the line for Hall H was already out the front door.
Terry hurried to registration, got his badge with the Special Access sticker, then rushed to the early entrance line, which itself was quite long.
But the hall hadn’t opened yet. He wasn’t late. He would be able to get in.
There were, it turned out, several Even More Early Access and More Important People lines which were served first, some from interior hallways and caverns Terry was unable to see, so his line still waited for over an hour to enter.
He high-fived a cool-looking cosplayer and gossiped with a few of his fellow line waiters about what they hoped to see.
They weren’t there primarily for the Malicarn session, but they were interested at least in what was coming.
By the time he was seated, Terry was about halfway back in the large hall.
But with the giant screens on either side of the stage, he didn’t worry too much about being able to see.
The woman who sat next to him commented on his shirt—“I have the same one!”—but she was with a boyfriend or someone, so Terry didn’t talk to her much.
He got two texts, one from Geoff (Money sent. Send me pics, dude) and one from his mom (Bobby might have an interview for you. Restaurant Supply store in Rosemont). He ignored them both but transferred the money out of his Venmo. Then the lights dimmed and the crowd cheered.
The trick with Comic-Con’s Hall H was to get there early no matter what.
The whole day would be full of sessions for various movies, series, franchises, and properties, but even if you didn’t care about one or two or all of them, if there was even one panel you wanted to see—needed to see—then you had to wait.
Once the day started, the hall would be full and there was simply no way to guarantee you would ever get in.
So Terry spent the morning hearing about superheroes and spaceships and animated comedies and theme parks and horror spectacles and listened with interest and even in some cases delight—Terry did consider his taste quite broad, of course—but the whole morning and afternoon were mere preludes for Terry’s main event.
At about three, right when Terry realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day except for the pretzels on his early-morning flight, the screens flashed up a logo in that familiar scribal font: “The Malicarn.” A low drone over the speakers, the first notes of the indelible “Heroes Theme” from the early films, and on the main screen above the stage began a montage of famous moments from the Malicarn film series. Cheers erupted. Terry hooted.
When it ended a second montage began to play, this one acting as a bit of background on the entire Malicarn film series.
There were a succession of black-and-white photos of a young man in Paris, smoking a cigarette, and some prerecorded narration about Jean-Danton Souard.
Terry recognized him, of course, and could even speak fairly knowledgeably about his life and accomplishments, but (and he never liked to admit this, especially around other fans) Terry had never actually read the Malicarn books.
He tried, of course, but he was always comparing them to the films and, inevitably, got a bit bored with all the landscape descriptions.
He didn’t really read much in general. His mother blamed his ADHD.
The video then walked through each of the Malicarn films, cutting between some behind-the-scenes footage and interviews with the filmmakers.
It was mostly recycled stuff. For example, Terry had seen the old clip of producer Rex Donaldson before, where Donaldson clapped his hands together and said “Boom! It was like the big bang!” when he described the impact of the first film.
The clips from all of the films—and the panel’s organizers had selected choice, fan-favorite scenes—did provide Terry a nice reminiscence.
He recalled the first Malicarn film he ever saw, at age eleven in his cousins’ basement, which was The Malicarn Ends, the climax to the first tetralogy, but which of course was far from the last film.
Terry remembered going home and begging his parents to watch all of the other films. He remembered sitting next to his dad as they binged them over one weekend, and he remembered sitting next to him in the theater as each new film came out, and sitting next to him in the hospital as they rewatched some old favorites on Terry’s laptop, how he did nothing but watch them over and over again the summer his father died, how watching them freshman year of college led him to make friends, how arguing about trailers and leaks and casting rumors online got him through sophomore year when he wasn’t attending classes and the next year when he sat at home and lied to his mom about looking for work.
The audience cheered for each previous film in the franchise as its title flashed across the screen, though the enthusiasm did dim a little bit as they moved on from the original books, through the adaptations of the books written by Jean-Danton Souard’s son, and on to the more recent “originals” that the studio had been putting out, including the new prequel series.
“So what’s next?” a voice-over intoned over a dark screen.
A talking head faded in. It was Daniel Souard, keeper of his father’s legacy, author of over a dozen Malicarn books himself, and executive producer on the films. He was an old man now, speaking slowly, as if always about to lose his train of thought.
“I’m so proud to be able to keep this story alive,” Daniel said. “In the end, it’s not my story or my father’s story. It’s your story. And we want to give it to you.”
The next talking head was Jules Walker, a young, nerdy, but confident man.
Previously a screenwriter for the films, Jules was now leading the next generation of Malicarn showrunners and producers.
Some fans were skeptical of his creative decisions, but Terry had never doubted him.
His interview intercut with shots of a new film set.
On location in the mountains, castles and villages being constructed.
“We’re not just making films anymore,” Jules said.
“The next step is to create entire worlds. We’ve had a long and productive partnership with the Portuguese government, shooting on the island of Madeira for over twenty years.
People travel to the island just to see locations from the films.” A brief montage of tourists snapping pictures in front of familiar mountains, waterfalls, leftover sets in grass fields.
“Last year was another devastating year of wildfires in Madeira”—a montage of fires, decimated forests, people crying outside their burnt homes—“and we feel it’s our responsibility to give back to this community which has given us so much.
That’s why, in partnership with the local government and citizens, we are turning the island into the actual Malicarn. ”
“It’s a living set,” said a construction foreman, standing in front of a medieval mill being built by his crew. “Everything here is going to work just like it would in the Malicarn. No electricity, no modern technology.”
“And the best part”—the speaker was Daniel Souard again—“is that it’s going to provide us with new stories. Genuine stories. Stories for years to come.”
Terry’s phone buzzed. A text from his mom. Did your plane land? Are you alright?
“The whole way we tell stories is changing,” said Jules.
“People don’t want to just watch a story, they want to live it.
And with our newest technological innovations we can populate this world not just with actors but with people who really are from the Malicarn, who live here and work here.
If they can exist in an actual living world they understand, then we can create stories for them, too.
Challenges to face, evils to fight. And the audience will come along, more than ever. Because the story will be real.”
Images of people, dressed as if they live in the Malicarn, riding horses, swinging swords, drinking ale in pubs. They laugh, they hug.
“This is not a theme park. At Disneyland, Mickey Mouse takes off the mask when the day is over. But here, everyone is in character all of the time. We can place cameras and microphones all over, like a reality show. But the characters won’t ever see them.
They’ll never know. And then we direct the story.
Things happen, characters react, it’s all real.
And finally we edit the footage we capture, shape them into films and shows.
“But it’s not reality TV. It’s storytelling, at the grandest and most immersive scale.
Imagine going to see a Malicarn movie and knowing that this really happened.
What’s more exciting: a real train, or a CGI spectacle of a train?
” A short clip of Buster Keaton in The General, followed by a badly rendered digital train, flashed up on the screen.
In the next talking head, Jules Walker looked right at the camera. Terry felt like he was looking straight at him.
“You may be wondering, where do all these characters come from? Well, that’s simple. They come from you, the fans. Do you want to stop watching The Malicarn and start living it? This is your chance.”
Terry’s phone buzzed again. Terry?
“In our new pilot program, you can join up and become a character on our set. It’s a minimum six-month commitment, but you’ll get free room and board as part of your storyline.
And when it’s over you’ll be able to watch a movie where you are a real part of the action.
People always say that their fandom is their life. Well, now it can be.”
A scientist stood in a lab, showing off a big piece of equipment sitting on a table.
It looked like an old computer hard drive.
“It’s proprietary technology we’ve bought from the US Department of Defense and negotiated with Portugal for its use exclusively on the island of Madeira as part of the living set.
You will be given the memories and personality of a Malicarn character.
I can’t say too much about how it works, that’s part of the magic, but don’t worry.
You’re still you. When the story ends, you’ll always remember what it was like to live in the Malicarn. ”
A shot of a man, sitting with his wife and kids on the couch at home, watching a movie where he himself was the star, dressed as a Malicarn knight fighting a troll. The man ate popcorn, his kids laughed.
Terry wept.
“I think about my father,” Daniel said, looking wistfully into the distance, “and how much of himself he put into this world. Imagine the ability to actually enter it for real, to be a part of something that was only in your imagination. It’s miraculous, in its way.
I can’t wait to see what stories it lets us tell. ”
“If you’d like to learn more,” Jules said, “we’re ready to hear from you. Representatives from the studio are taking applications right now, and spaces are limited. If you want to become part of the Malicarn, don’t delay. Make the fantasy a reality. Apply now.”
The lights went up, Jules Walker himself walked onto the stage holding a microphone. “How about it, huh?” he shouted, pumping his fist. Hall H exploded, cheers and applause shaking the seats.
Another text. Terry! Are you OK!?
He would be.