The Film Killer 

 

I was recently invited to participate in a 48-hour film festival and got to meet a bunch of great local Portland folks. However, most of them were pretty green to the craft, and I soon realized that I could have easily made myself unlikable by being that bigshot guy on the set who thinks he knows everything. So, I was humble and shared bits and pieces here and there. It was fun, and I made some friends.

 This experience reminded me of a filmmaking story I never wrote about but always wanted to.

 “Take 22,” my feature comedy made for exhibition back in 2000, was a phony documentary about the making of a feature film. This fictitious feature film, “Sequestered,” never saw the light of day; only the supposed documentary survived. Take 22 tells the horror story of a debacle film shoot that spiraled into oblivion and was never to be seen. It was a ton of fun to direct, and the talent was outstanding.

 After completing the film, I heard through the grapevine about a real-life “Take 22.” I was told of two brothers who were filmmakers, one good and one evil.

 Without naming names or films, the story went like this: The good brother was making his first feature film (I saw the doc that was made about it). It was an indie, and it looked like the budget was not half-bad.

 Then the bad brother came on set. He was the devil incarnate. He played the bigshot and systematically dismantled each department’s positive energy. To him, everything they were doing was wrong. He took the wind out of their sails and blew shotgun-sized holes in their practices and procedures. He killed the picture in its tracks, and production was shut down. The movie never saw the light of day, but, like “Take 22,” the documentary did - albeit briefly.

 I met the documentarian in his dimly lit, dingy apartment. He was so depressed and wanted me to hear his story. Besides himself and a handful of others, I might be the only one who knows what happened.

 I told you I saw his doc on the making of it. It was jaw-dropping and brilliant! You could not look away. It was like watching a slow-moving train wreck, with the devil brother cruelly spinning his web of doubt and seeing them all caving one by one, all caught on a behind-the-scenes camera. The poor brother watched his dream crumble. It was a moving and interesting documentary.

 After viewing it, he told me the Santa Monica Film Festival was all over it. He was looking at a possible win here. Then the devil brother got wind of it and threatened the festival and his brother with a lawsuit if they showed it. The festival caved, and his documentary was cut from their lineup, never to be seen again.

 Once again, evil had triumphed. No wonder he looked so depressed and lost. I shook his hand, but what I really wanted was to give him a big hug.

 Cut to six months or so later: My good friend Jim Hagopian, who shot “Take 22,” asked me to help on a film. He was doing DP work on a film starring John Ritter. Of course, I said yes, and I was there. It was so cool getting to meet John Ritter. He asked me all about Take 22, and we discussed the art of improvisation for about thirty minutes. What a legend.

 This Ritter project was a 24-hour film. They shot the whole film in one night with a bunch of camera operators, and I was lucky enough to be one of them. It was called “The Man of the Year.”

 So, get this - about 2 AM, the devil himself comes strolling in. It was the evil brother in the flesh! I desperately tried to tell Jim who he was, but failed miserably. Jim didn’t really understand the weight of the moment like I did. How the heck was this devil brother involved with John Ritter? Why was I the only one on set who knew who he was? “Crap!” I thought. Was I supposed to stop him?

 This was right before John Ritter’s untimely death, so in hindsight, the moment was heightened, knowing it might have been Ritter’s last film or close to it.

 I secretly followed him around the house, watching and listening from the shadows. He was doing it again! But this time, he was undermining John Ritter’s film. Like Tarantino’s Jew Killer, he was the Film Killer and now had Ritter’s film in his thirsty crosshairs.

 But I did not play the hero. I too caved and didn’t do anything. What could I do? I was too far from the top to say anything to anyone to make a difference. I was just a friend of a friend on set and had little agency. I quietly had to know and shut up.

 I knew who he was and what he was doing. Who knows, maybe that knowing, that awareness, and concerned intention were enough to put his evil on display for the universe and allow for his karmic destiny.

 But seeing this evil on display and knowing its power is daunting. Humans can be horrible. Mostly, we witness this kind of horror from a distance. But to see it in action is something I’ll never forget. I hope the good brother finally got to make his film or a film. I’d give anything to know how he’s doing.

How The Hell Did This Happen?

Just before the pandemic hit, a good filmmaker friend of mine, Aaron, was having a lot of success with his screenplays in film festival competitions.  I thought, what a sense of validation it must be. I observed him nail one festival after another, congratulating him each time along the way. I marveled at his success and was vicariously feeling his excitement. 

Aaron urged me to try it with my screenplays as we’d worked together as filmmakers on several past projects. But after almost succumbing to cancer a few years prior, I’d kind of given up on ever doing anything related to filmmaking again. So, I told Aaron my screenwriting days were behind me. 

I had been through the mill with this disease. First, it was open chest surgery at UCLA to get a fist-sized malignant tumor out of my chest cavity. Then a year after that, I had my entire esophagus removed. Cancer again. It was a miracle I got through it at all and each day was progress for me just to stay alive. And my life-long attraction to filmmaking was not high on my priority list anymore - besides I was still making a pretty good living as an artist. 

Aaron then said something to me that stopped me in my tracks. “Mike, if it’s in your blood, it’s pointless not to.” 

That messed with my head big time. Aaron was right. 

It’s ironic, really - here my dad, who was in the movies, and had given my brother and me a wonderful childhood, was the one who had planted the movie bug in my brain to begin with. Yet every time I dabbled in any acting, screenwriting, or filmmaking, he’d gaslight me saying I didn’t know what I was doing. He literally referred to my first film short as “The Piece of Shit” – no kidding. But I kept coming back to it. It was in my blood.

So, I decided to return to screenwriting. I soon realized, after almost dying, that fear was not a factor for me anymore and neither was my dad. Now well into his nineties and having bouts of dementia, the gaslighting had subsided. A weight was lifted. I figured I really had nothing to lose. I had a second chance and I wasn’t going to blow it this time. 

It was Halloween time and I was working on a series of corn maze illustrations for a client. While rendering these illustrations, it seemed my brain had begun spinning a corn maze tale. It began coming to me in dribs and drabs. As an artist, I’ve learned to recognize inspiration and act on it. So, I dove into the deep end and began to write. 

I was having a blast. The first incarnation of it was a seven-page short screenplay called, “Scared. To. Death.” It was a Halloween, flavored tale of a corn maze and its haunted history. It seemed to just spill out of me and I had so much fun writing it. I shared it with my kids who are my toughest critics. 

They unanimously loved it and so did my wife, Kim, who traditionally doesn’t enjoy horror at all. It gave me so much confidence. I dreamed of maybe trying it at a festival or two like Aaron had. Even though I was like an excited Golden Retriever, I wanted to see if it could be developed into a feature-length screenplay. 

Christmas came and Kim gave me a Masterclass. “Wow!, All my heroes are right here,” I thought. 

There I was, with the likes of Aaron Sorkin, Dan Brown, David Mamet, and Ron Howard. I immersed myself in Masterclass - taking lots of notes. 

The pandemic hit. I was quarantined at home so it was actually perfect timing to pen a ninety-page manuscript. The first half of every day I would write. While I would sleep at night, my brain seemed to work on the story and plotting. I’d wake up in the morning with a new idea in my head that was already worked out and it usually fit like a dream. It was crazy!  Kim was a rock, fielding an array of my ideas ranging from the good, the bad, and the ugly while doubling as my logic cop. She tolerated a lot and kept me focused. I am forever grateful for that. 

A month later, CornStalkers the feature screenplay was born. But the moment I finished it, the Golden Retriever in me was back. I excitedly sent it off to dozens of festival screenplay competitions and spent a lot of money that Aaron warned me not to do. It pretty much crashed and burned garnering only one quarter final nod from the StoryPros film festival competition. Full stop.

Time to retool. Back to the drawing board. What was I doing wrong? Aaron gave me notes. I bought coverage several times through WeScreenplay. Then my good friend Richard Christian Matheson helped me proof it and wound-up teaching me the laws of mystery. I was learning the secrets of the writer’s Universe from both him and the dogma of his late father, the great Richard Matheson senior. 

Between Aaron’s notes, Matheson’s lessons in building mystery, and an incredible final proof and edit by Maayan Schneider, a sharp-as-a-tack resource for screenwriters, emerged my 2nd and final draft. It was my pandemic baby. I had birthed a horror film. It was finally done and time to let it out into the world.     

It did so well in festivals – I was truly blown away. It actually won almost ten screenplay competitions around the world, and placed in over thirty – some were top festivals too. I had a client of mine who owns a popular restaurant in Santa Barbara offer 300 to 400 thousand to put towards the budget. What the hell was happening?

I brought on my good friend, David M. Mathews. He’s a director and producer and he agreed it was worth trying to produce and thought the screenplay was certainly good enough to go the distance. We got the film budgeted and began the process of trying to raise 6 million dollars. 

I produced and directed a trailer with a few actors in a cornfield that I developed from scratch. I edited it and did all the sound too. I posted this on its own web page, including two different posters, a deck, and a licensing video. I set my intention on making the film and directing the movie. I was living the words of Basil King who said, “Move boldly and mighty forces will come to your aid.”  

Then I lost my dad - we all knew it was coming. I felt a sense of forgiveness overwhelm me. Maybe it was my emotions subconsciously striving for some semblance of closure. I will miss him. He opened the door to the power of storytelling for me and I will always be grateful for that.

A year passed. Nothing. No mighty forces came to my aid and no one was beating down my door to make CornStalkers either. We were dead in the water. I felt like I was the scarecrow out in a lonely cornfield, hanging out on a cross with my award-winning screenplay flapping in the wind. 

Then I got a random freelance job through a high school friend of mine from over fifty years ago. Judy Heller was my leading lady in my high school play, “David & Lisa.” It was her brother, Mark, she referred me to. Mark wanted a poster and set design created for a play he was writing and was being produced for off-Broadway. We became fast friends and he asked to read CornStalkers.

He enjoyed the screenplay very much he said. But the job was completed and I didn’t hear back from Mark until the beginning of 2024 when he texted me something very interesting; It seems his good friend was an entertainment attorney he went to UCLA with. This attorney was invited to pitch horror properties to some major distributors and he thought I might want to offer CornStalkers. Of course, I was interested. 

Cut to several hour-long Zoom meetings later, Mark’s attorney friend had connected David and I to an Executive Producer who was also a Casting Director. She was savvy and experienced. She had cast and gotten funded many B features as well as having established relationships with many talent agents and distribution companies. 

David and I watched the connection grow into both of us actually signing contracts with her to move forward with CornStalkers. The property is now at half a dozen major horror distributors throughout Hollywood. I’m beside myself with excitement. Unfortunately, this is all the story I have to tell. This is where we currently are. April, 2024. 

If nothing else happens, I knew I had to write about it, even so. It’s been such a journey of life, death, and awakening. 

Hopefully, my dad’s looking down on me and changed his tune a bit. Hell, he might even be cheering me on.        

The Gift

 

My dad was this larger-than-life figure - literally and figuratively. He was John Wayne’s stuntman. Six foot four. The last of the blood and guts cowboys. Played Jason Vorhees in Friday the 13th the final chapter. 

And he was as fierce off-camera as he was on. Our family used to drive down Ventura Boulevard in the San Fernando Valley, looking for a place to eat - somewhere he hadn’t gotten into a fight and destroyed half the bar. I was afraid of him, but so was most anyone with a pulse.

 

Don’t get me wrong, he had a playful, and loving side as well. But respect from his sons was something he not only expected, he demanded it. It was yes sir and no sir and if we got in trouble we’d see the back side of his belt. Because of this fear, I never really felt I could speak my mind to him. 

 

But growing up in a Hollywood family did have its perks. When I was seven my family got to go on location to Kanab, Utah with the Daniel Boone show. It was a TV show that aired back in the ’60s. Fess Parker played the lead role of Daniel Boone, Ed Ames played the Native American, Mingo, and my dad, Ted White, was Fess Parker’s stuntman.

They were shooting at the Boonesborough fort there. My brother, Ted, and I, and other kids from the production company, got to play background settler’s children. It was an exciting time and even better, we were going to be on TV!

Then I was whisked away from all the other kids - no one told me a thing but I knew something was up. I was off to the wardrobe department. I turned in my settler kid outfit and instead, I was dressed as a Native American boy, or as they used to say, an Indian boy. Now dressed in leather and beads I was escorted to the hair & make-up department. I was then fitted with a black wig that dawned long braids on either side of my head. I finally emerged looking like a mini-Mingo! As you can imagine, I was on cloud nine.

 

When I walked back onto the set the crew swooned over me. Son of Cochise had arrived. My Dad came out dressed as a Native American too, with Charlie Horvath, another stuntman. It was finally sinking in: I was playing a part in the Daniel Boone TV show with my dad! Oh my God!

I’m guessing I was given this opportunity because my dad knew I was a big ham. At the age of five, I remember entertaining my parents and their friends in the living room lip-syncing Monster Mash. So, if the moccasin fits … 

 

The set photographer put me up on a ladder to get stills of me. It was that hero-up angle and my dad even joined in for a few shots. I hadn’t even done any acting yet and they already wanted my photograph - I would have been happy if the day had ended right there - but it was just the beginning.

Daniel Boone joins us and we traveled to a beautiful outdoor location with a grass-covered hill and a large oak tree. My dad and Charlie were playing bad-guy Native Americans. And they had me, prisoner, with leather ties around my wrists.

I wondered, what was the story here? But there was no script. I mean, shouldn’t I know something about my character? Like, was I a runaway from my reservation or something? What did I do wrong? Did I bring friends home and mess up the teepee? I didn’t know.

 

So, my dad and Charlie lead me down this mountain and as we pass under this large oak tree, Daniel Boone jumps down, bulldogging my dad and Charlie to the ground. Then dispatches them both with a series of set punches. Boom, boom, boom! Oh, and of course, my dad doubled for Daniel Boone doing the jump out of the tree. 

 

The scene ended with Boone running up to me, pulling his enormous bowie knife out from his moccasin and cutting my ties.

 

I turned and ran like the wind into the proverbial sunset. Whatever I had done to deserve being tied up, Daniel Boone knew I was innocent and that was good enough for me. I knew the audience at home would undoubtedly be clapping like crazy. 

That was my first taste of show business. It was officially in my blood. There I was, at all of seven years old - and it was the best day of my long and storied life. 

 

After we returned home, every Sunday night you could find me parked in front of the TV set - waiting to see my acting scene. It never aired. My big foray into show business was a bust. My career as an actor was over. It was so pathetic; I was completely and utterly crushed.

Luckily, I had a fallback position - my mom. Rosemary was a fashion illustrator and taught me everything about art. Because of her, I had a wonderful career as an artist, but as the years passed, I was drawn back to the entertainment and storytelling side. I began storyboarding, writing screenplays, acting, and filmmaking. After all, it was in my blood. 

I wanted in the business but I wanted to tell the stories. I wasn’t like my dad in a violent way at all. I was the sensitive artist type. He’d just look at me with his hockey mask on and say, “Where have I failed you?”

My Dad’s run as a stuntman blossomed into playing bit parts and bad guy roles.  He found himself acting in movies like Romancing the Stone, Against All Odds, and Starman, sharing dialogue scenes with big movie stars like Jeff Bridges and Karen Allen. He was really good too.

 

I began showing my dad my screenplays and movies that I was working on. From his pat negative response, I quickly realized there was only room for one person in show business in our family, and it wasn’t me. 

 

Cut to years later - waiting to leave for our family Christmas dinner over at my dad’s house. Before we left to drive over, I found myself remembering back when I was that little Indian boy on the set of Daniel Boone. I thought, why did that episode never air?

 

I dimmed the lights in the living room and quieted myself in a wingback chair. I closed my eyes and I regressed back to when I was seven years old again. There I was - that little Indian boy with Daniel Boone and my dad, filming the scene. Wait a minute. Were we actually filming? In my meditation, in my mind’s eye, I slowly turned around and the truth became painfully obvious - there were no cameras! That’s right. There were no cameras at all. Not one. Not even any crew members. 

 

That night at dinner, I asked my dad point blank. “On the Daniel Boone show, with me as the Indian boy, was that ever actually filmed?” After a long pause, my dad said, “Nope.” I asked him why he never told me. He leaned forward and said, “I didn’t want to break your heart, Mike.” 

I left there just shaking my head, thinking, “Jesus Christ, how did I not know? He could have at least told me.” I just tucked it away with all my other feelings.

 

I always told myself after he passed, I was going to give him a piece of my mind at his gravesite.   

When he entered his nineties, he began slipping into dementia and recently, as of this writing, has passed. Thinking back now - to when I was that little Indian boy on the mountain with my dad and Daniel Boone, I finally realized what that day meant. That day was a gift for just me – just me and him – not the masses. What a cool thing to do for a kid. 

My planned speech at his gravesite was foiled. All the angst I carried with me my entire life seemed to forget - and forgive.

Instead, I choose to remember that day we spent together – a day playing pretend - with my dad and Daniel Boone - somewhere on a mountaintop in Utah. Godspeed pop.

"It Is Written"

 

In the old Sinbad movies, some bearded actor always said, “It is written”. Like on some ancient scroll somewhere, there was some ultimate law or rule that was the gospel by virtue of the fact it was merely “written”.

Nothing is written.

I’m an artist by trade. My mom was a fashion illustrator. My dad was a Hollywood actor/stuntman. I developed a love for both art and movies and storytelling really seemed to be in my blood.

I made my career as an artist, but I kept bringing my screenplays to my dad. I needed his approval for some reason. We’re all hard-wired to our parents, I guess. But, that was the roadblock. I believe my Dad’s fear of being overshadowed by his boys, kept my brother and me down - so obvious now in hindsight for so many reasons.

The pandemic, the above realization, and the support from my wife, Kim, and good friends, have allowed me the time and permission to write again. I had such a great time. It was way too much fun. I drenched myself in Masterclasses and allowed my story the time to bake in the oven. The process was magical - I can’t say enough good about it. A feature horror film screenplay now exists, and it’s completely exhilarating for me. I feel like I just emerged from a bunker.

But it’s surprising to me how, in the eyes of a few, doing something different like this, doesn’t seem to be okay. “Why?” I ask, thinking, is it written that I can only be an artist? Hell, no. Maybe it’s a telling reflection of what those people couldn’t achieve themselves? I’m no therapist, but if that’s true, it’s sad.

Here, I want to share my excitement, and instead, I’m either told to dial it back or not to be taken seriously. Talk about dealing with the forces of negativity, man. Maybe the Universe is trying to tell me something. Thank God for professional industry screenplay coverage tossing me out a few positive tidbits.

The bottom line; I’m left not knowing my own worth as a writer. So I entered some competitions and I wait. I wait for validation. Or humiliation. One or the other is coming, but nothing is written.

Magic!

My earliest memory of being introduced to magic was when my dad returned home after having been gone for six months working on Hatari in Africa. He arrived home with a large white box from Burt Wheeler’s Magic Shop on Hollywood Boulevard. It was a deluxe magic set. Now, this was not a present for my brother or me. My dad had bought this for himself! Here’s this six-foot-four, badass stuntman who just returned from hunting the most dangerous animals in the world with John Wayne, and what does he do? He buys himself a magic set! Ha!

If I was smart I would have threatened to tell his stunt buddies about it and he probably would have given it to me to save himself the embarrassment. But I was not smart, I was six. I was also the best audience in the whole house because he could trick me with no problem whatsoever. I was amazed at all of his tricks and the box filled me with a sense of wonder like no other thing I could have ever imagined. This box was the gateway to all of life’s greatest mysteries as far as I was concerned. It held the secrets to the whole world and the higher up the shelf he hid it from me, the more I wanted it.

My father’s tricks tortured me. There was this “India Vase” that poured a seemingly unending amount of water. My dad made up an entire story about a tribe of thirsty soldiers who were traversing the Sahara Desert with no water left and only this magic man among them to produce water with the wave of his hand whenever they needed a drink.

He would also place two little, blue, foam rabbits in my closed hand that would make babies and multiply magically. There were the Linking Rings, a rope that would magically get as rigid as a stick, the Hindu Coins, and, best of all, was Glorpy, the ghost who lived in a handkerchief! Glorpy would rise up by himself and somehow vanish into thin air when my dad lifted the handkerchief! This tore my brain out. I wanted to know the secret so bad it actually hurt my head to think about it.

There had to be a law against such child abuse. I remember going into my dad’s bathroom while he was taking a bath and begging him for a peek inside the box. He finally looked me in the eye and said, “You really want it that bad?

I said “YES!” with resounding confidence. I’ll never forget this moment; he looked at me and slowly smiled and said, “Okay, I’ll sell it to you.” I thought,

What?? Sell it to me? I hardly knew what money was. The concept of money was so strange and completely unfamiliar to me. He wanted ten bucks for it. It might as well have been a million dollars. It seemed so unattainable and futile that my hopes and dreams were dashed to pieces.

I left the steamed-up bathroom dejected and sweaty but not before my dad did another mind-blowing magic trick for me from the bathtub. And, by the way, who takes magic tricks with them to take a bath I thought?

But strangely after that, I seemed to be offered a dollar here and a dollar there for chores around the house that I usually didn’t get paid for. I started doing the math and it was actually adding up. Saving up ten bucks for the secrets of life started to make good sense to me. The closer I came to my goal, the more I wanted to help out around the house. I was a regular little workhorse.

It had caught on around our neighborhood that my dad could do magic. Our neighbors, Harold and Lorraine, had a daughter, Carol, who was turning sixteen and having a birthday party with all her friends over. On the spur of the moment, they invited dad to come over to entertain at the party. They didn’t know he had been drinking while watching a football game and was pretty much in the bag.

He arrived with his magic box of tricks wearing a black cape. I came along for the ride to see him in action in front of a crowd. He did his usual tricks that, by now, I

had pretty much seen a dozen times or so. The girls were all amazed and he was eating up all the attention he was getting. I think at that moment in time if you asked him if he wanted to go professional, he would have said yes.

But then he said he was going to hypnotize Carol. What? What was he doing? This wasn’t part of his routine. At least not any routine I was ever privy to. Carol excitedly sat on the arm of her couch and my dad situated himself across from her. He borrowed a medallion on a long necklace from one of her girlfriends and began to swing it in front of her from side to side. He told her, “Keep your eyes on the medallion. Your eyes are getting very heavy. You’re getting very sleepy.” And sure enough, she seemed to really be going under. I was fascinated by how quickly it all happened. Had my dad hidden some mysterious talent from me all these years? At that moment, I got my answer when Carol passed out and fell backward off the arm of the couch, and hit her head on the floor. Her friends screamed in shock. Her mother ran to her, yelling, “Oh my God, Carol! Are you okay, honey!?”

Carol was out cold and drooling like a wet fish. My dad desperately tried to laugh it off and backpedal out of the awkward situation. They got a bag of ice for Carol’s head was quickly developing a nasty lump on it. She groggily came to as my dad quickly packed up his magic tricks and took off, leaving behind looks of disdain and confusion.

He had gone from hero to zero in a heartbeat and left without having cake. His magician days went up in smoke like flash paper. That was the day my dad gave up magic and passed the torch over to me. Yes! The magic box was finally mine. I still had to cough up the ten bucks, though.

The magic set consisted of the kind of tricks that if you read the instructions, anybody could do. There are basically three areas of magic. 1) Tricks anyone can do; 2) Tricks that involve dexterity skills, like sleight-of-hand or prestidigitation and 3) real magic. (If you believe in that.) Real magic is that stuff you see in the movies—the dark forces. Whether it’s real or not, I don’t care to know because it usually involves opening a door that can never be closed again. No thanks. I did almost cross this line once but I’ll get into that later.

The kinds of magic consist of close-up magic, parlor magic and stage magic, all involving different proximities to an audience.

When I was about seventeen, I was introduced to sleight-of-hand or close-up magic. For me, this was love at first sleight. I was six again. Michael Hutton, a friend from high school and the manager of Lil’ Elmo, my band, offered me lessons and I was a sponge. I soaked up everything Michael would teach me and I began building a library of magic tricks. Coins, cards, ropes, and impromptu magic—I loved it all. In fact I still, to this day, carry several Kennedy half dollars with me and an East African copper coin and my color-changing knives. This type of magic takes tons of practice to pull off.

Misdirection, patter and presentation all play an important part in close-up magic. Anyway, I became obsessed with it—annoyingly so. After I started working at NBC, everyone became a target for me to fool or perform to. There I met John Shrum, the Art Director for the Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. I did a lot of the art and graphics for The Tonight Show.

I got to know John quite well. John was instrumental in my magic journey as he was also affiliated with The Magic Castle in Hollywood. I was too young to become a member because you have to be at least twenty-one to join and I was only eighteen. John asked me to illustrate the poster for their annual It’s Magic! show. It’s Magic! is a big stage show held yearly by The Magic Castle and I was so honored to be asked to do it. (All my posters currently hang in The Parlor of Prestidigitation at The Magic Castle, which I couldn’t be more proud. This job became my gateway into the private club for magicians and their guests. By the time I was 21 I had done several posters for both John and Milt Larsen, the owner, and I bartered my way into a life membership that normally cost big bucks to attain. I was very lucky.

50th-anniversary poster for The Magic Castle’s “It’s Magic!” show

While I was at NBC, another Art Director named Ray Klausen approached me about doing magic at a huge $400-per-plate charity function at The Beverly Hills Hotel called The Bagpiper’s Ball. He asked me to do it a year in advance so I couldn’t say, Gee, wish I could but I’m busy on that date. So I committed to doing it. All he originally needed was a roving magician to do close-up magic during dinner— no problem.

Then he came to me later and told me the theme for the evening was going to be Magic and would I be able to do a stage illusion. Well, stage magic never really appealed to me because there are so many ways to trick someone thirty feet away. The challenge for me is being right up in someone’s grill and blowing their mind.

So, I had to find someone who did stage magic to help me out. There was this arrogant guy named Pat who worked at the local Magic shop and I asked him if he could help me out. He did stage magic and said he would but he wanted to get paid. I was doing this for free, as it was a charity event, but I got Pat paid as he wished.

We settled on Houdini’s Metamorphosis as the illusion we would do. During rehearsals, Pat would lock me in handcuffs inside a tied sack, then lock me in this large trunk. He would then stand on the trunk and pull up a sheet covering both him and the trunk and on three I would pop up and lower the sheet, unlock the trunk and reveal Pat locked in cuffs inside the sack. That’s what was supposed to happen, anyway.

We were to have two lovely female assistants on the night of the performance. Pat was to hand the key to the trunk to one of them and her job was to later give it to me so that I could unlock it, revealing Pat. During rehearsals, the assistants were not present, so Pat would just put the key in his vest pocket.

The night of the performance came and The Beverly Hills Hotel was packed. This was an elegant, black-tie event with a full band and a lineup of top-notch entertainment kicking off with our magical illusion.

Pat and I successfully pulled off the close-up magic part of the evening roving around the dinner tables and performing with no problem. While guests dined I would do card and coin tricks, vanish cigarettes and produce half dollars from dinner rolls. It was a blast.

Then came the main attraction—the illusion. The lovely assistants joined us and Pat got on the mic and began presenting the illusion to the audience. He locked me up in cuffs, put me in the sack, and then locked me away in the trunk. Through the muffled sounds of the trunk, I could hear Pat charming the audience. Everything was going according to plan.

I was doing all the secret stuff I can’t really discuss here or I would get tracked down by the members of the Magic Castle and really be locked away in a trunk. He handed the mic to one of the assistants, jumped up on top of the trunk, pulling up the sheet around him, and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Houdini’s Metamorphosis! One, two, and three!” Pat ducked down and I popped up revealing Pat had vanished. The audience applauded and loved it. I grabbed the mic and looked to the assistant and asked, “Can I please have the key?” Bewildered, she said, “He didn’t give me the key.”

“Well,” I said, “Maybe he gave it to the other assistant.” I approached the other assistant and asked her the same question. She too, replied, “He didn’t give me the key, either.” There I was, in front of maybe a thousand people or so, waiting for me to open the trunk and reveal Pat. So I began to vamp.

“Wow, nobody has the key,” I said. The audience laughed thinking it was all part of the show. Inside I was thinking, WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO!? Then, I remembered Pat putting the key in his vest pocket during rehearsals. So I approached the trunk and said,

“Let’s see if Pat has the key.” I put the mic to the trunk and the muffled sound of Pat’s troubled voice could clearly be heard. “What the hell’s going on?!” Again the audience laughed, thinking it was all part of the show. I replied, still vamping for the audience, “Well, Pat we’re looking for the key. Is it in your vest pocket?” I pointed the mic at the trunk and then clearly audible came his reply, “OH MY GOD!” He put the key to the trunk in his pocket. The audience roared with laughter. Instantly, I realized this was the out I needed. I bowed and said, “Thank you very much!”

I quickly ran up to half a dozen large men near a front table and asked them to quickly get up and help me out. They all picked up the trunk with Pat inside and carried it off stage. Everyone thought it was part of the show.

When I opened the trunk backstage, Pat emerged

with his arrogance now a bit more tempered. I just smiled at him and said, “Well done, Pat.”

In 1976 when I finally did turn 21, John Shrum arranged for me to visit The Magic Castle officially as a member. I had been there several times delivering my posters to Milt Larsen, but this was official.

I brought a date with me and she was duly impressed. We had dinner there and during our dining experience, a round, old magician approached our table. I immediately recognized him as the world-famous Albert Goshman. Now, in magic circles, Albert Goshman is to magic like Paul Newman is to movies—or salad.

He explained that John had sent him as a surprise for my maiden voyage to The Magic Castle. He sat down at our table as I told my date how lucky we were to be graced by this master magician’s presence. He proceeded to blow our minds with his famous salt and pepper shaker routine followed by a sponge ball routine that I have never forgotten to this day.

For years I had heard that The Magic Castle had the most extensive, private magic library in the world. But it was only available to regular members and I was an associate member. In the coming year, I did another It’s Magic! poster for Milt and was granted a regular membership in exchange for my artwork. The minute my status was changed and I got my new card I went to The Castle with one thing in mind, the library.

The reason why I wanted to visit the library so badly was that I had heard it contained a locked bookcase that housed books on real magic— the dark stuff that was taboo to dabble in according to most magician circles. But, I had to admit: this fascinated me to no end. I had to see if it was there. I didn’t know what I would do if it was, but I had to find out for myself. I was just so thrilled to finally have access.

The castle is not only a private club for magicians and their guests but it’s a formal club requiring suits and ties for men and gowns or evening dresses for ladies.

So there I was, dressed to the nines by myself in The Magic Castle private library. There were several large, round felt-top, padded tables for practicing tricks surrounded by bookcase after bookcase of magic books. The secrets were mine. I had come a long way since that white box of tricks I had bought from my dad for ten bucks when I was six.

I slowly scanned the huge antique bookcases. All eight volumes of Tarbell’s books were there. The Stars of Magic, featuring the professor of magic, Dai Vernon, Books on Houdini, The Royal Road to Card Magic, Modern Coin Magic, the works. You name it, they had it—even very old books on magic from all over the world.

My eyes fell upon an ornate, antique bookcase filled with old books. I approached it and found it locked. This must be it, I thought.

On the fourth floor in the Castle are the production offices. I asked an older woman there about the locked bookcase and if I could open it. She looked me up and down and then slowly said, “Okaaaay.” She opened her top desk drawer and held up an old antique key. It seemed to sparkle in the light. She laid it carefully in my hand, looked at me, and said,

“Please, don’t forget to return it,” I assured I wouldn’t.

I had it in my hand now. I was so close. My mind was reeling with wonder as to what I might find. I reentered the library with the key in hand and slowly approached the bookcase. It had two, ornate, beveled glass doors. I felt a bit clammy and wanted to loosen my tie. I did, and then slipped the key in, and turned it. It clicked and unlocked. I slowly opened the squeaky cabinet door. It smelled of dust and some other vague scent I couldn’t pinpoint. This was the moment I had waited for. I figured I would pick a doozy since I had my freedom of choice. I found a book entitled, Demonism and Spiritualism.

I carefully pulled it out and walked it over to one of the tables there and sat down. I opened the book to the first page, which was blank. The next page carried a small block of copy on it that read: If your interests do not solely lie in what you believe to be the content of these pages, do not go any further. I stopped. These words were meant exactly for people like me. My throat was dry and I tried to swallow but couldn’t. I slowly closed the book, put it back, locked up the bookcase and returned the key. I have never been up there again.

Now I know why the private magic library upstairs at The Magic Castle is private. Suffice it to say, I am just fine with a few cards and coin tricks.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0692341226

Getting Credit

As an addendum to my Paranormal Activity story, I wanted to share one last detail. On the set, the day I filmed on Paranormal Activity, another actor was there too. I won't mention his name or the role he played but you can probably figure it out on your own. He was to perform with us in the scene. At that point, I hadn't seen the film yet so I didn't think anything about it. But after seeing the film at the end of the day it was clear his character did not want to set foot in that house ever again. So why Oren had him there in the house to play off me seemed odd at best. The difficult part was that this actor was a complete scene hog. In every take, he took the scene over and edged me out. Remember this was all improvisation. I was waiting for the Director to say something but he never did. I wanted to strangle this actor! After doing the scene over and over again I did feel there were enough juicy bits to edit with and a good outcome would result from it.

In the days to follow, I made sure I added my name to the IMDB on Paranormal Activity. I wanted credit for this. I carefully added my name and the character I played (The Demonologist). A few days later I was added and it was official - I was in the movie.

The movie's release was imminent. I still hadn't found out the bad news that I was cut from the film nor did Oren know what DreamWorks was doing with the added scene yet. I checked back on the IMDB and something had changed. Somebody had altered my character's name! It wasn't by me, that's for sure. I was now listed as the guy playing the role that the scene hog had performed! I didn't know what to do. Should I correct it? I opted to leave it since I had nothing to do with this mystery edit on IMDB.

The day the film was to be relaesed I still didn't know the crushing truth about my scene. As you can imagine DreamWorks did a massive PR blitz on this. When I began looking through all the various posts Dreamworks had released, there were 3 names associated with the film; Katie Featherston, Micah Sloat, and Michael Bayouth! What the hell?! My name was everywhere. If you Google the name of the movie with my name and you'll see what I mean. It was crazy!  

The PR firm DreamWorks used to release the film must not have done any fact-checking and probably just went from the IMDB. Not only was I getting credit for the scene hog's performance, but I was getting top billing with the main actors who carried the entire film.  Ironic that the guy who wanted more screen time wound up getting aced out of the credit. But even crazier was that here I was cut from the film and was still getting top billing with the main actors. 

The night I went to see it I still did not know the ugly truth about the fate of my scene. I couldn't have been any higher. I took a good friend with me to the opening night premiere. For all intents and purposes, I felt I was starring in a DreamWorks movie and was about to be jettisoned into stardom. 

As the final credits rolled by my friend and I sat quietly while the theatre emptied out. No words could have reversed the all-time-low I was feeling. I was a pallbearer at my own funeral. I limped back to my truck and went home. 

I'm thankful I have this story to tell. My name might not be up in lights but it's all over the internet. At least I got the credit. :)

Paranormal Activity

It all started at a Karaoke bar back in 2007. A group of us all went out for a drink after our performance of a local stage play we were doing. Everyone was signing up to sing his or her favorite songs. Since I’m not a singer someone suggested I sign up for Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made For Walkin',” and do my Chris Walken impersonation. So I did. It went over like gangbusters and we all had some laughs.

Well that opened a door that led me to become involved with a stage show on Hollywood Boulevard called “All About Walken.” This play seemed to really become a social phenomenon and my signature “Boots” song became the Walken show opener. We got rave reviews in all the local rags and it was a total blast as you might imagine. I even got an acting agent out of it, which moves this story forward.

Karl at Synergy Talent began sending me out on auditions, which I pretty much sucked at. It wasn’t until he sent me out on a top-secret audition, which was all improv that I really came into my own. Improv, I felt more comfortable with. After all, I had directed and produced my own feature film that was all improv (Take 22). I’m sure that was Karl’s thought behind sending me or maybe it was the Walken show, which was largely improv as well.

What was this top-secret audition for? I started to Google around and low and behold it was for DreamWorks! They had purchased the Slamdance Film Festival award-winner, Paranormal Activity and were looking to add a scene to it that introduced a new character: The demonologist. That was what I was auditioning for. To say I was excited was an understatement. This was big for me.

Karl told me the casting agent was one of the biggest indy film casting directors in the business. I met her at the audition upstairs in a nondescript building in Hollywood. There was no script. In my audition I was telling a young troubled couple (Katie Featherston and Micah Sloat) that they needed an exorcist.

We ran the improv scene several times and I could feel an influx of energy come into the room after each read. My heart was racing. Something was happening. But they shook my hand and sent me on my way.

I was almost to my car when the casting agent yelled down at me from the window to come back. I ran like a gazelle. Thoughts raced through my head as I sprinted back up the stairs.

I did the scene again and that was it – I was cast. I went from zero to hero in a heartbeat. What a crossroads. Was I meant to be an actor, not an artist? The tank turret took a grinding shift in direction and before I could say “Paranormal” I was headed to Long Beach to film with the principal actors and the director, Oren Peli. Wow.

When I arrived at the modest townhouse neighborhood location where they had shot the film, it was obvious something had occurred there. Holes in the ceiling were still gaping open where Dreamworks had Katie’s character crawling up and down the walls on a cable for their big Hollywood ending they added. Originally DreamWorks didn’t even want to distribute it. All they wanted to do was buy it and shelve it. Then they would create their own big studio version of it.

But some executive convinced the higher-ups to at least have a screening and see how an audience would react to it. The screening proved to be so successful DreamWorks instantly buried the notion of redoing it and launched into creating their release campaign of Oren’s brilliant creation.

On the set of my scene, I picked Oren’s brain all day about what he had done and his amazing accomplishment of practically creating a new genre. We shot all day and Oren operated camera. It was a blast.

He offered to show me the film after we finished shooting. I was so blown away he offered and eagerly accepted. Katie and Micah stayed as well to see it again. I felt very special to get a peek at it, besides Oren wanted my take on DreamWorks’ alternate ending.

After it ended I told him it was incredible. But I was honest in saying that DreamWorks big CGI wall-crawling ending was a bust and he whole-heartedly agreed.

After it was all over, I felt like he regarded me as a filmmaker and an actor. I was very flattered and lucky to be there. It was pure movie magic and I was part of the ride. The whole drive home I had a smile plastered all over my face. My life was just beginning!

Then Dreamworks cut me from the film.

Just like that, it was over and I was back to zero. Oren said DreamWorks felt it disrupted the pace of the film and that was it.

But it wasn’t “it” for me. I had the paranormal bug. Who wouldn’t after that experience? So I finally made my own film I had been brewing on inspired by “Blair Witch,” called “Reel 3.”

After getting actor, Patrick Wilkins on board and Producers Ryan Ball and Writer / Producer Jarrod Roggenbuck, “Reel 3” became “1013 Briar Lane.” We shot it on a shoestring budget and filmed it in Santa Ynez, California. I can’t tell you about the location because I agreed not to, but it was haunted. In fact, someone prominent had died there and on top of that we found out the house was used for demonic rituals by the prior owners. Great.

The filming was difficult. Relationships drew tension and I felt I got sick every time we shot there. As amazing as it was to create and produce, it was tense and there was an invisible force that didn’t want us there.

SAG contracts were never obtained, as it would have been financially prohibitive to make. But my plan to do a retro SAG deal dwindled as my relationship with the actor continued to do the same. After principal photography was completed and it was edited, I shelved it - until now. This social media screening will be the only way to ever view this film.

So there you have it. The story of how 1013 Briar Lane came to be. Or didn’t.

Thanks to all who helped make this possible including Patrick, Ryan, Jarrod, consultant Barry Taff our two grips, and Howie Askins for his final edit. It was a cathartic ride for many of us that ended on a very low note. We all learn our lessons. I know I’ve learned mine. All in all, I'm glad I have this time capsule to remind me of this period in my life. I was so lucky to get a glimpse of that world and still feel such a gratifying sense of validation - even though it ended as fast as it began.

I hope you enjoy the movie.

"Getting Credit" - The IMDB "Paranormal Activity" sister story.