Philadelphia #3
His phone buzzed again with a text. Sorry we couldn’t connect, Mr. Mackey. Here are your flight details. It was a private charter.
He texted Jules. Got the flight info. My own charter?
The TV played the trailer for The Rage of the Red Mage. Glenn pointed to it and gestured at the barkeeper.
“Hey, you want to know something?” Glenn said, not really asking. “My friend wrote that movie!”
“That’s nice,” said the barkeeper. “You going to order anything?”
Jules texted back. Well, you’re sharing it with staff and some lawyers. First rate, though!
Glenn ordered a beer and a nacho platter. The cheese on the nachos wasn’t melted but Glenn ate it anyway. He waited until the bartender wasn’t looking and then ran out without paying the bill.
Forty-eight hours later, jet-lagged and a little drunk from the onboard martinis, Glenn found himself talking about The Tempest once again with Hollywood superproducer Larry Pine.
“How did you approach Prospero?” Larry asked.
This was exactly the conversation Glenn hoped to avoid.
He wanted to ask about the brain-scanned characters, about how they trained them to act, but he held his tongue too long and now to fill the silence Larry pestered him with questions about process.
Larry was an extremely successful person who dressed like a divorced dad at his kid’s soccer game—cargo pants, Radiohead T-shirt, and a White Sox hat.
Glenn realized he probably was a divorced dad.
Larry terrified Glenn, who had never interacted with an actual rich person before, other than Jules.
He didn’t want to answer Larry’s questions.
They edged their way across a narrow dirt path, one side dipping down a perilously long and steep hill, and Glenn knew he needed to say something halfway intelligent.
Larry chewed gum, looking up at the trees.
Jules walked a few feet ahead, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Glenn focused on his feet.
“The thing to remember,” Glenn said, “is that Prospero is exhausted. He’s an old man just ready to be done with all the bullshit. So I leaned into that. I tried not to appear sad, exactly, but I played Prospero with a kind of resigned anger. A wizard who hates his own magic.”
It did sound intelligent. It was how the show’s director described Glenn’s own performance to him at the cast party, after his fourth drink.
Glenn wondered if he should get more specific with Larry, if he should talk about pulling his back into a crook and breathing heavily after any slightly strenuous motion.
Explain the technical preparation, learning the meter, when to breathe during a line.
Talk about making sure his hands had something to do besides always gripping a staff.
How important it was to maintain eye contact with your costars, especially as they spoke.
But Glenn knew Larry didn’t really want any technical insights.
He just wanted to kill time as they walked through the woods.
Larry nodded and adjusted his baseball cap. “That’s just fascinating,” he said. “I heard you really brought fresh energy to the part. How long have you been acting?”
“Professionally, since college,” said Glenn. “Ten years.”
The dirt path turned around a large bend, and after a few more minutes they began to descend. Jules guided them into a thick forest. A silent security guard brought up the rear of their little company, a dozen feet or so behind Glenn. He didn’t speak.
“Not far now,” said Jules. “If we see anybody at this point, just assume they’re in the cast.” He pointed to Larry’s hat.
“Ah,” Larry said, pulling it off and sticking it in his coat.
“Can’t have anyone knowing you’re a White Sox fan?” Glenn asked.
“Yeah, they’d be too disappointed.” He laughed.
The walk was easier now, over flat terrain.
It had been nearly thirty minutes since they left the cars, and a half-hour drive from the airport in Funchal before that.
Glenn had been expecting a hot tropical climate but Madeira was cool.
It rained off and on all morning and now the clouds were clearing.
Glenn wondered how much farther they had to go.
Jules and Larry didn’t want to explain any details about the studio’s new set, even after Glenn spent most of the flight signing NDAs.
They approached a low stone wall that stretched in a large arc through the woods.
“Okay, here we go,” said Larry. “We’ll circle around and you and Jules can continue onward. I’ll meet you on the other side.” He and the security guard cut around a line of trees to the right and vanished.
“What is this place, Jules?”
Jules set down the bag he had been carrying and pulled out two long cloaks. He tossed one to Glenn.
“You’ll see. Put this on. We’ll look like monks.”
Glenn flung the cloak over himself. It was made of wool and dyed brown, heavy and hot. Jules folded the empty bag and placed it in a large pocket inside his cloak.
“Ready to go through the wardrobe?” Jules asked.
They passed through a small stone gate. The cloak was difficult to walk in, Glenn’s strides short and awkward, but Jules moved quick.
Through the gate there were several wood-and-grass huts lined up in a row, each with a garden beside or behind it.
Past them was a grazing pasture, encircled by a wooden fence, where a dozen goats wandered.
They entered a small medieval village. Or at least what appeared to be one. At the center of this collection of homes was a stone square, with a little inn and a larger wooden building with a wide porch. A fountain sat in the square center.
“That’s the town hall,” Jules whispered, pointing to the wooden building.
Dozens of men and women wandered in and out of the huts, tending to their gardens, carrying baskets full of food, or otherwise engaged in talk with each other. There were no children.
“Recognize anyone?” Jules asked.
Glenn looked around. The people in the square did appear familiar.
One man, pushing a crate of apples, Glenn knew to have been on the cast of a network hospital drama.
And sitting on the porch of the inn, hunched over with a mug of ale in his hand, was Marvin Powell himself, dressed as his character Prion.
Glenn pointed at him. “Isn’t that…”
“Yes!” Jules whispered. “Refer to him only as Prion. He’ll be confused otherwise. Follow me and watch.”
Jules walked up to the man and bowed low. “Good day, sir.”
“I have had better,” Prion said, as he took a sip of his beer.
“A fair day, then,” Jules said, and pulled out a ring from his pocket, leaning toward Prion so he could see an emblem etched into it.
“Hrmph,” said Prion, who rolled his eyes and stood up. “Everyone seems to have one of those these days. This way then.” He walked through a door into the building behind them. Jules and Glenn followed. Prion led them down a narrow hallway and into a storage closet.
“Are there other accommodations that might be suitable?” Jules asked.
“This will do. What is your business?”
Prion arched his back and leaned against a pole. His mannerisms, his accent, his attitude—all just like Marvin’s in the films. Glenn wondered how much of it was genuine.
Jules pulled out a parchment scroll from his cloak, a red seal binding it shut, and handed it to Prion.
“New edict from the monastery.”
Prion took the scroll. “You are one of the old messengers. I remember you. Who is this?” He pointed to Glenn.
“He is a servant of mine.”
“Hmm.” Prion broke open the scroll and read. “The monks want me to continue to wait in exile? I am tired of this hiding. It is tedious.”
“It will not be for much longer. Rumor is there is a new evil massing beyond the Dark Rivers.”
“Bad news for the Malicarn if true.”
“Indeed.”
Prion rolled the scroll back up and motioned to the door. “Care for a drink?”
They walked into a larger hall with a fire burning in the center. A few hungover men lay passed out in chairs before it. Prion tossed the scroll into the flames, then pulled three mugs down from a shelf. A large cask sat in the corner and he filled up the mugs.
“Will you be staying here?” Prion asked.
“No,” Jules said, “we must head onward. The rest of the Council must be informed, as well.”
“If you see Heloise,” Prion said, “tell her that I am safe?” Prion looked almost wistful as he asked.
“Certainly.”
They drank the ale quickly—Glenn thought it was very watered down and did not taste good—and said their goodbyes.
“Be safe on your journeys,” Prion said to Glenn.
“And … I, too, to you,” Glenn responded, nodding and quickly turning out of the door before Prion could see the confusion on his face.
Once outside, Jules led Glenn toward the rear of the village.
When they were clear of any more people, Jules reached into his robe and pulled out his phone.
“Yeah, can you meet us back at the high ridge road? Yes, the one past the hill.” Jules hung up and looked over at Glenn. “So, eh? Pretty impressive, right?”
“Powell’s memory is still changed? Like in the movie? You didn’t restore him after it was over. And he’s just waiting in that Renaissance fair until you need him again?”
“‘Renaissance fair.’ Funny. But yes, he waits there. He’s under a two-year contract, and it’s easier just to keep him in character, along with everyone else.
It creates story challenges but it’s easier on the characters.
You know, we got some flak for writing the end of the movie as we did, with Prion deserting the army and going into hiding.
I agree it wasn’t totally natural, but we couldn’t have him resume his search for the Necromancer yet.
Imagine Prion traveling around the island?
Wandering into a grocery store? Hilarious, but potentially catastrophic for his personality. ”
They started up another hill. The sounds of the village fell away behind him.
“And was everyone else back there was, uh—”
“Neuroscanned? Yes, all of them. We’ve perfected the workflow. Nearly the whole cast will be scanned now, extras too. We contract with lots of out-of-work actors, but also fans and regular people.”
“It’s uncanny,” Glenn said. “Powell really seems like the character from the movies.”
“Well, he is the character from the movies. We’ll show you the tech. You do it right, have the right balance, they turn out okay. Act like you expect them to.”
“How many new characters are you planning?”
“The whole world, buddy.”
“Where’s Heloise? Prion mentioned her.”
Jules shrugged. “Nowhere yet. We’re still negotiating with Jen Blakley if she wants to be scanned as part of future projects. Legally we can’t force her, even though she’s under a five-film deal. So if she doesn’t agree, we’ll have to write her out somehow.”
“You’re going to build more, though? More towns and villages, and populate it with other characters, too?”
Jules smiled. “Here, follow me. Larry is going to meet us this way.”
Glenn was out of breath when they arrived at the top of the hill.
A little dirt road ran in front of them.
Jules crossed over the road and into a thick line of trees and bushes.
Emerging out on the other side was a steep, bare cliff.
And beyond, a wide valley. The Madeira peaks rose up in front of them, and a river weaved its way between.
“Much of this was government land. And there used to be some towns and villages down there, too. But you know, the trials of our times. Wildfires killed the tourist business. Budget crises. It became too difficult for the villagers to keep going or the government to maintain the parks. So the studio bought them.”
“The villagers?”
“No, the villages. For pennies on the dollar. All of the towns and all the state land, across about two-thirds of the island. We’re working on more.
It’s actually a great deal for Madeirans.
Lots of jobs coming in. Funchal is still the capital, we’re going to base a lot of administrative infrastructure there.
The Portuguese are being very helpful. Only a little local resistance so far.
Most of the work will happen out here. It was the right spot for it.
You know we shot a bunch of the previous films right here?
That village was an old movie set we repurposed.
There’s even the battlefield set from The Battle of the Morlon Kastaun still standing, north of here.
See down there?” Jules pointed below, to a small group of homes, surrounded now by bulldozers, earthmovers, cranes, and other construction equipment.
“The valley is empty of civilians now. We’re building a new valley, one just for the characters.
It’s going to be real, Glenn. It’s going to be the Malicarn. This is our new set.”
Glenn looked out over the land. If he ignored the construction or the few asphalt roads that squiggled along below, he could begin to see that, indeed, the Malicarn was before him.
The hills looked like what he remembered from the movies.
And the green pastures, too, were not so different from the many fields and plains where battles between wizards and dragons had been fought on screens for decades.
“So when there’s not a movie in production, they just keep living?”
“There’s always a movie in production, if you think about it. As long as they can continue to believe their world is real, we can continue to tell stories with them.”
“But what if they don’t do anything interesting? Or do something boring, something bad for a story?”
“We direct! We can do that through real actors, not scanned ones, helping guide the characters along. We write situations, they act them out, we ensure certain outcomes. There’s some improvisation, of course. But it’s still storytelling, at the grandest and most immersive scale.”
Larry and the security guard walked toward them from the path behind.
“A whole universe,” Glenn said.
“Exactly. And Glenn?” Jules clapped him on the shoulder as he turned back to the road. “We want you to be a part of it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Like I said, we need real people living on set to help guide the stories along. We want you to act. We want you to be a wizard.”