{"id":656,"date":"2018-10-26T18:30:20","date_gmt":"2018-10-26T18:30:20","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/?p=656"},"modified":"2018-11-23T23:06:34","modified_gmt":"2018-11-23T23:06:34","slug":"twins-against-evil","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/?p=656","title":{"rendered":"Twins Against Evil"},"content":{"rendered":"

[essay]<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I have been cast in my first television acting job exactly the way I never imagined.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you go to Atlanta this June?\u201d my twin sister Barbara asked. \u201cDana wants to put us in his show.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dana is Dana Gould \u2013 comedian, actor, long-time writer for The Simpsons<\/em>, and my sister\u2019s beau. The show is his creation, Stan Against Evil<\/em>, a horror-dramedy series on IFC where demons frequently explode. \u201cCan you go to Atlanta this June?\u201d suggests the possibility I\u2019d turn this down for anything else \u2013 a day job, childcare responsibilities, any one of my zero other acting commitments.<\/p>\n

Although I\u2019ve never claimed acting as my profession, I\u2019ve served my time on the audition circuit. In Los Angeles, it\u2019s considered civic duty. Paragraph five in the charter states: \u201cAll citizens must complete no fewer than six months attempting to work in the field of Performing Arts (television, film, commercial, theater), with a minimum of two (2) auditions per week at the expense of five (5) hours per audition in total time preparing \/ driving \/ waiting \/ acting \/ accepting rejection. Each citizen must have on hand the following looks: upscale casual, business casual, rural, clown, goth, priest, lab coat, 1950s, mom \/ dad, authority, workout, bathroom, PJs. But no costumes (too desperate).\u201d<\/p>\n

Only once did I book a job via audition. Barbara and I were to be extras in a soda commercial; specifically, club kids at a \u201cfoam party.\u201d The pay was one hundred and fifty dollars, nearly three times the normal rate. If that didn\u2019t set off alarm bells, the requirements of \u201cNo open-toed shoes\u201d and \u201cBring a change of clothing\u201d should have. Several hours of dancing-around-in-toxic-foam later, we snuck out of the basement set.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe haven\u2019t wrapped yet,\u201d a coordinator warned us.<\/p>\n

\u201cAsthma attack,\u201d I wheezed.<\/p>\n

Believe it or not, one\u2019s ability to act one\u2019s way out of a paper bag is, like, the fifth reason you\u2019re accepted or rejected. Too tall, too thin, looks like director\u2019s ex-boyfriend, already had an Asian actor this season. Barbara and I were once called back for a twin role where we seamlessly finished each other\u2019s sentences. Certain we\u2019d nail round two, we delivered a performance even sweeter than the first, only to learn the executives had already cast a man and a woman. They\u2019d just wanted to see what we\u2019d done in person, so their actors could copy it.<\/p>\n

Likewise, my comedian husband Blaine Capatch once caught wind of an audition for a \u201cBlaine Capatch-type.\u201d Blaine Capatch was not hired.<\/p>\n

Our auditions were set up by Tarragon Talent, an agency that specialized in \u201calternative\u201d performers. Tattoos, weird hair, weird faces, too many piercings. Burlesque dancers, nerds, hipsters. White dudes with afros and ironic porn \u2018staches. Girls with micro-bangs and thick glasses. The genetically identical. We got the in from our comedic actress friend who stood three-foot-ten. A hundred years ago Tarragon would have scouted for Barnum and Bailey, which I\u2019m pretty sure was also non-union.<\/p>\n

Their office was located in the penthouse of a theater building on Wilshire Boulevard. It\u2019s a gorgeous if crumbly relic of 1930s Art Deco Los Angeles, dwarfed by the cylindrical phallus that is Hustler Magazine\u2019s nearby HQ. The first and last time we met with co-owner Mrs. Tarragon was our initial interview, where we donned matching dresses and proudly showed off our homemade portfolios. After that we interacted solely with Mattie, the receptionist\/assistant. She was a little younger than we, and had clearly grown up in the San Fernando Valley.<\/p>\n

\u201cTuh-AIR-agon,\u201d she answered each call, pausing briefly, I imagine, to remove her gagging spoon, \u201cthis is Mmmm-AT-aaaaay.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was Mattie\u2019s job to match the actors and models with various casting calls. Several times a month, week, or even day, she\u2019d leave us a message: type of job, where to go, what to wear.<\/p>\n

Because Barbara and I were non-union, all of the auditions save those for \u201ctwins\u201d were cattle calls. That means a room full of people who sort of fit a general description. It\u2019s the auditioning equivalent of throwing spaghetti at the wall, and a painful process for actor and casting agent alike. Think public service announcements, music videos, low-budget local advertisements. Whereas a union commercial could net tens of thousands of dollars, a non-union commercial was more like tens of tens of dollars. And the actor is valued accordingly. Could I wait forty-five minutes to mime peeking over a bathroom stall? Could I film stuff for a director\u2019s reel and get paid in experience? Could I be the most convincing at chasing an imaginary pig? And more importantly, was the pig\u2019s management looking for new talent?<\/p>\n

My last audition via Tarragon began pleasantly enough. I ran into my friend Dave, there for the other campaign the room was hosting. And so I had an audience when I discovered, through the process of elimination, that I was not there to try out for Hipster Dad, but for the coveted role of Ugly Girl.<\/p>\n

Ugly Girl is on a cruise, a dream vacation for which she\u2019s no doubt saved many years while working as a church bell ringer, paper bag model, or radio personality. It\u2019s a singles cruise (naturally), and in a fit of hubris, she believes an eligible gentleman is waving to her. When she discovers her mistake, she mercifully tosses herself overboard like so much unsightly garbage.<\/p>\n

\u201cNeptune Society,\u201d I imagine a calm yet authoritative Allison Janney assuring us over a final shot of idyllic waves. \u201cYou\u2019re never too young to join.\u201d<\/p>\n

To give the actors a sense of space, they\u2019d constructed a small set with a plank deck and a railing. Just kidding, we were in a nearly-bare office \u2013 just me and three casting people in plastic chairs. There were no lines, and no other actor to work off of. The only props were hope and desperation. I was simply to pantomime the entire interaction, including the leap. A better actor would have relished the challenge, and I nodded enthusiastically as the head casting lady kindly explained what was expected of me. And yet my mind kept drifting back to one thing: Ugly Girl?<\/p>\n

Not Awkward Girl, nor Shy Girl? Not Not-Conventionally-Attractive Girl?<\/p>\n

Consider the decisions that led up to this moment. A lowly copywriter pitching the concept. A team of ad execs high-fiving its approval. Who was the new millennium\u2019s answer to Don Draper? Some bro with an open collar and Dockers, a Bluetooth flashing like a douche-beacon? Surely at some point, he\u2019d<\/em> made the connection between the abstract concept and the real-life, feelings-having woman who\u2019d come to embody her. Acting and thick skin go hand-in-hand, what with the unrelenting judgment inherent to the job. But in what other industry would this kind of description be acceptable?<\/p>\n

\u201cNow what do you think qualifies you for Smelly Pharmacist?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have five years exper\u2014 I\u2019m sorry, did you say smelly<\/em> pharmacist?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. I thought this was just a regular pharmacist job. Like, based on my pharmacizing skills. Do you think maybe we could just leave the \u2018smelly\u2019 part off?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo can do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr change it to Disheveled Pharmacist? My kids\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want this job or not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay. The thing is, I don\u2019t think I\u2019m actually \u2013 you know \u2013 smelly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you for your time.\u201d<\/p>\n

(Lowers voice) \u201cWould it help if I farted?\u201d<\/p>\n

Then there was Mattie, perusing the day\u2019s casting calls, her eyes alighting on this one. Wracking her brain for an appropriate candidate. Dialing my number.<\/p>\n

She\u2019d had the balls to send me here. I\u2019d show her who could fart up an interview. Take after take I gurned unattractively, waved to no one, self-jettisoning over an invisible railing.<\/p>\n

\u201cGreat,\u201d the lady said. \u201cLet\u2019s try one where you\u2019re nearly in tears.\u201d<\/p>\n

Way ahead of you.<\/p>\n

And wouldn\u2019t you know it \u2013 I landed the part. Just kidding, I lost it like all the others. We only got one call from Tarragon after that, this time from Mr. Tarragon. A celebrity client was looking for women to lie naked in an art gallery for a number of hours. Immediately he thought of us.<\/p>\n

The last time I\u2019d been nude near Barbara, we were bathing in the kitchen sink. \u201cMaybe we could keep our eyes closed?\u201d I asked her weakly. I\u2019d taken the call at a training session for our Mexican wrestling matches, the costumes for which we vigorously reinforced with Velcro, snaps, hooks, and laces. Not flashing the audience was kind of our thing.<\/p>\n

Barbara\u2019s response skewed more towards \u201cfuck never.\u201d We rejected the coveted roles of Naked Floor Girls, and with it, my pursuit of television acting. Until now.<\/p>\n

<\/figure>\n

We are ten days out from the shoot. Thus far, I\u2019ve been treating it like any truly exciting event \u2013 not thinking about it so that it can\u2019t disappoint me. This works wonders for parties and concerts and trips to Disneyland, but less so for a job that requires the exact recitation of many, many words.<\/p>\n

Barbara and I have further complicated matters with two ambitious upgrades to our characters. Firstly, we\u2019ve decided that all our lines should be accompanied by coordinated hand gestures. \u201cBibi\u201d and \u201cFifi,\u201d as they are aptly named, are inspired by Japan\u2019s 1961 Mothra<\/em> film, wherein a giant moth is summoned to battle Godzilla by two tiny fairies. These are we.<\/p>\n

Originally, they were portrayed by the rock duo The Peanuts, identical twins named Emi and Yumi Ito. More than singing together, the two moved together, overlapping their arms and clenching their fists in perfect synchronicity. The difficulty of this was underlined in the sequel Godzilla vs. Mothra<\/em>, when the Itos were replaced by non-twins, AKA filthy singletons. Apparently, lacking a lifetime of togetherness, it\u2019s not so easy to do the exact same thing at the exact same time without looking at one another. Weird.<\/p>\n

The second complication is Barbara\u2019s genuinely brilliant idea. In keeping with the original inspiration, we will be recording two entirely separate sets of lines. The dialogue as written will be looped \u2013 or recorded at a later date – over different lines that we\u2019ll perform on set. The end result will make us appear poorly dubbed.<\/p>\n

The problem is, the new lines still have to convey the proper intent, so that our acting \u2013 and that of the actors we\u2019re acting at \u2013 will make sense. Seven days before the shoot, we hole up in my bedroom and begin the process of rewriting everything in what we\u2019ve come to call Twinglish.<\/p>\n

We\u2019re frequently asked if we had our own special twin talk as children. The answer is no; we developed ours as adults. Twinglish is a highly specialized dialect, evolving from unsettlingly high-pitched baby talk to a full-on language. Sentences might be peppered with our own childhood vocabulary (\u201cbecept\u201d \u201cfing\u201d \u201cganks\u201d), with common typos (\u201csmae\u201d), abbreviations (\u201cI need coff.\u201d) or randomly butchered (\u201cDid you go to a?\u201d) Structure often borrows from our study of French, Italian, and Russian (\u201cI very like cigarettes.\u201d) or the small children in our lives (\u201cPeas is my hatest food!\u201d \u201cI love you all the day.\u201d)<\/p>\n

Portmanteaux are essential. Did your stomach problems go away? That\u2019s \u201cBye-arrhea.\u201d Are you answering a question in the affirmative? Try a \u201cYes-soeur\u201d or an \u201cOcake.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nouns are verbed, and vice versa. Sloppy homonyms rule (\u201cShall I leaf now?\u201d \u201cYes, combover!\u201d). Articles a\/an\/the are used in \u201ca\u201d excess \u2013 or not at all. \u201cTraffics\u201d and \u201chappies\u201d are quantifiable. And that fart I mentioned? It\u2019s a \u201csqueaky air poo.\u201d<\/p>\n

So then, \u201cYou\u2019re upsetting him!\u201d becomes \u201cYou do a upsets on him!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it is not Kenny who was supposed to possess the relic,\u201d becomes \u201cFor a actually a rel owner dude should be it that guy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t make the rules,\u201d becomes \u201cPfffft.\u201d<\/p>\n

In other words, perfectly simple sentences become ridiculously nonsensical. And those are the ones we\u2019re memorizing.<\/p>\n

This panics me mildly. \u201cGood thing they\u2019re dubbing us,\u201d I say. \u201cIf we forget our lines, we can just repeat \u2018four score and seven years ago\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe won\u2019t forget them,\u201d Barbara says, full stop. She\u2019d spent several years taking acting classes, auditioning, performing in showcases. She\u2019d done a number of true crime dramas that had aired on actual television sets. Whereas I\u2026 hadn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re right,\u201d I say, so convincingly I believe it.<\/p>\n

I am on my way to acting.<\/p>\n

<\/figure>\n

Six days before shooting, I figure it might be a good idea to watch the show. Owing to my lack of cable television, I haven\u2019t kept up past the premiere. A huge viewing party at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery screened the first couple episodes against a wall. Hundreds of people attended. Blaine was working late, so I brought my son Oliver, then three. I\u2019d packed up a picnic basket and carried him past headstones and mausoleums, hugging him tightly against the chilly October air. So what if I saw no other toddlers in tow? I was Cool Mom. Two decades prior, my gothed-out boyfriend and I were posing for glamour shots in front of these tombstones. Besides, Stan<\/em> was comedy. There\u2019d be spookiness, but nothing a quick hand across the eyes couldn\u2019t fix.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that goat a bad guy?\u201d Ollie asked, a half-hour in. The animal was trotting jauntily across screen, a man\u2019s decapitated head swinging between his lips.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo! He and the head are friends!\u201d I whispered back.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey are?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean, the head has no legs, right? He\u2019s helping him get around?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ollie burrowed farther into my neck.<\/p>\n

The premise of the series is as follows. In 1692, the constable of Willard\u2019s Mill burned a hundred and seventy-two witches, thus cursing their souls to demon-hood. They\u2019ve killed every authority figure since — except for Sheriff Stan Miller. Why? His wife secretly protected him. Unfortunately, a demon has killed her<\/em>. Stan makes a scene at her funeral and is ousted from his post. Enter new sheriff Evie Barret. Together they fight the demons. Demons that frequently explode.<\/p>\n

Or as Dana sums it up, \u201cWhat if my dad was Buffy the Vampire Slayer?\u201d And who isn\u2019t familiar with that weapon-wielding cheerleader? Simply swap her with an elderly New Englander who pronounces \u201cqueer\u201d with two syllables and you\u2019ve got the idea.<\/p>\n

With all this in mind, I sit down and watch the first two seasons. I note not just the storylines but the style of acting, the timing of delivery, the lighting, the costumes, the visual cues. I dissect the show down to its elements. Stan\u2019s squinted his eyes. Evie\u2019s upside-down smile. Do the giant fork and spoon on the kitchen wall get even gianter? Are everyone\u2019s teeth perfect, and do I need to fix mine?<\/p>\n

I text a friend who just fixed her teeth. Her dentist can\u2019t see me for two weeks. Shooting is only four days off now, so I vow to do the next best thing: learn my lines.<\/p>\n

The last time I\u2019ve memorized anything important was probably in college. So ripping a page from that overpriced textbook, I commit the dialogue to flash cards. One side holds the line before ours, the other our gibberish. I get maybe half of them under control before I plateau.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey need context,\u201d Barbara explains the morning of our flight to Atlanta, two days from filming. Actual actors use the actual script, reading themselves in with the previous lines while covering their own. She\u2019s right. Even the visual helps jog the memory.<\/p>\n

We set out for our Fly-A-Way bus to Los Angeles International Airport, dragging suitcases and carry-ons. As usual, I\u2019ve overpacked. All Dana had requested we bring were our black bob wigs. The dresses and hats have been hand made by the costume department, beautiful and eerie replicas of Mothra originals. So replicated, in fact, that I fight sending an anxious email to Dana about possible copyright infringement. I picture the episode about to air when Legal steps in.<\/p>\n

\u201cNice try,\u201d they chuckle, \u201cbut we\u2019re not risking a lawsuit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t there anything we can do to save the episode?\u201d the producers beg.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, you could cut out every last frame of those twins, Barbara Ann and Vera Duffy…\u201d<\/p>\n

Little do I know that the week I\u2019m fretting over lines and teeth, they\u2019ve been filming a different episode about a red-headed paranormal investigator and her trench-coated male partner. Also, it\u2019s called \u201cThe Hex Files.\u201d So if a hit television show is fair game for parody, a Japanese monster movie from the 1960s practically cries for it.<\/p>\n

I vow to keep studying my lines on the plane but opt instead for a Bloody Mary and some HBO. I notice the older bodybuilder-type seated next to Barbara is traveling with an avocado, which I desperately hope he\u2019ll peel and eat off the pit. Instead he produces a plastic knife and gets to meal prepping on his tray table. This requires more room than his personal space allows, so he sticks some of his garbage into Barbara\u2019s seat-back pocket. She hands it right back.<\/p>\n

I admire my twin for literally taking no crap. Or in Twinglish, \u201cdoing a avocad-no.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/figure>\n

Dana meets us at the airport. I politely look elsewhere as he and Barbara have kissy time. They\u2019ve been separated for two weeks, with three more to follow. Such is the downside of producing television in Atlanta. The tax breaks make it preferable to Los Angeles, but non-natives pretty much have to uproot for the duration. I play it cool until he asks how I am.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is the most exciting thing I\u2019ve ever done,\u201d I gush.<\/p>\n

We drop our stuff at our rented condo, then head out to dinner. Despite the late hour and nearly-closed restaurant, the waiter recognizes and addresses Dana as \u201cMr. Gould.\u201d<\/p>\n

Well that\u2019s some Southern charm,<\/em> I think, basking in his reflected fame.<\/p>\n

We are joined by Ken Daly, who has just wrapped \u201cThe Hex Files\u201d episode. He\u2019s been acting since childhood, a career spanning four decades. You might recognize him from an 80s McDonald\u2019s Shamrock Shake commercial, or as the Hungarian translator in \u201cThe Usual Suspects.\u201d These days he\u2019s the full-time assistant to a comedienne who\u2019d nearly lost her livelihood posting a photo with Trump\u2019s severed head. Here\u2019s something I didn\u2019t know: death threats can be robocalled.<\/p>\n

And yet acting\u2019s on the back burner?<\/p>\n

\u201cAuditions aren\u2019t like they used to be,\u201d Ken tells me. \u201cI can\u2019t take the cattle calls.\u201d<\/p>\n

Our waiter serves the main course and tells Mr. Gould he\u2019ll see him Tuesday. It\u2019s then we realize he\u2019s also a sound intern on Stan<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Dana asks him how he likes it.<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople can\u2019t believe how much we get done in a day,\u201d he replies. \u201cAnd the hours aren\u2019t even that long!\u201d<\/p>\n

Dana modestly chalks this up to a tight budget. Also, filming on location as opposed to on a sound stage, Stan<\/em> is at the mercy of the South\u2019s fickle weather. That, I\u2019ll shortly discover firsthand.<\/p>\n

<\/figure>\n

Dana, Barbara, and I spend a lazy Sunday brunching, getting massages, and strolling through the Nature Conservancy.<\/p>\n

\u201cOoh, tomorrow we should ride bikes!\u201d Barbara muses dreamily. I\u2019m not sure I can, having brought mostly dresses, but Dana has other ideas.<\/p>\n

Like filming the show.<\/p>\n

Our plan to rehearse in front of Dana has already fizzled. He doesn\u2019t seem concerned, and I guess it rubs off. My biggest worry now is getting up the next day. A 1st Assistant Director had called the week prior to confirm our 5:48am pick-up. He just said it like it was nothing. No \u201cLook, I\u2019ve got some bad news,\u201d or \u201cI\u2019m going to need you to sit down.\u201d And that is leaving-for-set time – not rolling-out-of-bed time. For a life-long insomniac who\u2019s only recently discovered sleep-inducing edibles, this is torture, especially as I could not bring my sleep-inducing edibles across state lines. And so I set my alarm for 4:45am and hope for the best.<\/p>\n

At 12:30am, I\u2019m jolted awake when my friend with the fixed teeth texts that her tooth has re-broken. At 1am she texts a photo of the tooth under a water glass, and at 1:15am, a photo of the glass under a bowl.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s three hours earlier in Los Angeles, <\/em>I tell myself. She doesn\u2019t know I\u2019m in Atlanta. Trying to get sleep. For my first on-camera acting job.<\/em><\/p>\n

Then again, what\u2019s a couple more broken teeth?<\/p>\n

<\/figure>\n

By 6:30am we\u2019ve arrived at Lithia Springs, a tiny town some twenty miles west of Atlanta. We are dropped in a maze of trailers in a church parking lot, surrounded by trees. The wardrobe department descends first, sending us off to try on the costumes. There\u2019s barely a moment to admire the star on my door when Hair and Make-up beckons. A friendly gent named Lance has a special system for applying wigs, involving an altered stocking cap, a bucket of gel, and approximately ninety bobby pins. That wig\u2019s not going anywhere \u2013 today, and possibly all this week. The make-up lady is a Georgia native who\u2019s done the Los Angeles hustle and is happy to be home. When she\u2019s finished spackling on a coat of humidity-defying foundation and 60s-rific black eyeliner, she sets my marabou-trimmed hat on my head.<\/p>\n

And there she is: Fifi. That character from Stan Against Evil<\/em>. Aside from the fact I\u2019m whiter than a polar bear drinking milk in a snowstorm, I feel strongly the Ito twins would approve.<\/p>\n

Back in our trailers, I gaze wistfully at my union-mandated breakfast but instead choose to glue on sparkly fake fingernails and rehearse with Barbara. My stomach is in knots anyhow. I pull up some screenshots of Emi and Yumi on my phone and we work out some of their hand gestures. Then we drill lines. We gesture and drill and gesture some more, stopping when we\u2019re sure \u201cwe\u2019ve got it.\u201d Then we do it again.<\/p>\n

It is 8:30am when we\u2019re shuttled over to set. Except it\u2019s not a set. It\u2019s an actual house. For the past three summers the residents have rented it out to production. Every last molecule of furnishing has been cleared to make way for its painstaking transformation into the Miller residence. No detail is spared, from the family portraits lining the stairway, to Stan\u2019s dilapidated arm chair, to the blood spatter on the foyer wall that will never quite wipe clean. The house is roomy, charming, a hundred and six years old, and I wish I owned one just like it in Los Angeles, where it would fetch a million dollars as a tear-down.<\/p>\n

Barbara asks if I\u2019ve met the director, Rob Cohen. \u201cThe character design for Milhouse from The Simpsons<\/em> was based on him. You\u2019ll see.\u201d I look for a yellow child with blue hair but reality is far more shocking. Coke-bottle glasses, neatly parted coiffure, and perfectly rounded nose comprise a six-foot Milhouse, all grown up and cool. Not, like, Rihanna cool. Life-long-nerd-who-embraced-his-nerdiness-and-is-now-directs-a-show-about-exploding-demons cool.<\/p>\n

Do I understand he\u2019s not actually Milhouse? Eighty percent. Do I care? I\u2019m enchanted.<\/p>\n

Milhouse and crew are ready for us at 10am, when we\u2019re summoned to the front door. Here I meet Stan himself, John C. McGinley. He is gruff but polite, all sideburns and professionalism. Also in this scene is Deborah Baker Jr., who expertly embodies his woman-child of a daughter Denise. She seems to delight in our freakish twinness and introduces us to our uncredited co-star, the train that runs at all hours just beyond the front yard. Nothing like the ker-CHUNK ker-CHUNK of a twenty-car locomotive to unexpectedly spice up the audio track.<\/p>\n

Our first shot will be John opening his front door to find us, two life-sized fairies. It\u2019s filmed over his shoulder, angled at our faces. The living room, hallway, and dining room are jammed with people and gear. Outside is just twins. We rehearse a few times, then the door is shut.<\/p>\n

It is so peaceful out there, alone on the porch, that I experience a kind of weightlessness. Like I\u2019m floating in the cosmos, waiting to be shot back to civilization. The days leading to this moment drift away in the bright summer ether. Everything is on the other side of that door.<\/p>\n

I do not look at Barbara. I don\u2019t have to. We bring our hands up, listening for the faraway call of \u201cAction.\u201d<\/p>\n

The door opens.<\/p>\n

\u201cA Stan is where?\u201d we ask, spreading our arms.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell is this?\u201d John barks. \u201cEveryone knows twins aren\u2019t real!\u201d<\/p>\n

Hands reset. More forcefully: \u201cA Stan is where?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Stan!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen where the hell the rel?\u201d<\/p>\n

We push past John and Deborah, scampering past the camera and trying not to make too much noise or knock into crew.<\/p>\n

\u201cCut!\u201d calls Milhouse.<\/p>\n

Et voila<\/em> \u2013 I am a television actress.<\/p>\n

<\/figure>\n

The next location is Denise\u2019s bedroom. Though clearly in her thirties, the character\u2019s tastes glided to a halt somewhere in late elementary school. Toys occupy every crevice: musty, outdated, distressing. Plush monsters on her dresser grimace with human teeth. A single lavender roller blade sits mid-floor, all the more peculiar for being covered by webbing. It \u2013 and everything else in the room – is engulfed in caterpillar silk effects, a combination of sickly yellow plastic and a filigree of hot glue.<\/p>\n

This includes another guest actor, Dave Koechner. Playing Evie\u2019s ex-husband Kenny, he is tucked in Denise\u2019s bed in his underwear. Well, Wardrobe\u2019s underwear. Kenny has been cursed by our ancient relic intended for Stan and is now transforming into a \u201cKennypiller.\u201d<\/p>\n

At \u201cAction,\u201d we scurry in. Koechner jolts awake and says, \u201cAnyone know what\u2019s going on here?\u201d Or, rather, he\u2019s supposed to. While everyone awaits his triumphant first line, a gentle snore emanates from the bed. He is fast asleep.<\/p>\n

Koechner shared our ungodly call time. He\u2019s in the middle of a multi-city comedy tour. He\u2019s in his knickers in a literal cocoon. And I have a new goal for confidence on set: unconsciousness. Milhouse softly wakes him and we go again. This time he\u2019s sentient, and hilarious. Even when he doesn\u2019t hit a line, his ad libs are frustratingly golden.<\/p>\n

Goal #2: if I can\u2019t memorize, say stuff that\u2019s even funnier.<\/p>\n

We break for lunch, a buffet arranged in the yard next door. The sun blazes so relentlessly I worry for my bare shoulders. And yet before the hour ends, it\u2019s sprinkling. Adding to my discomfort is my headache-inducing wig, the scratchy mic pack Velcroed to my thigh, my long, uncooperative nails. And we\u2019re only half-way through the day. But the adrenaline is still pumping. It keeps me restless, wandering the house while I try to stay unobtrusive. I\u2019m afraid to bother John in the dining room as he studies his lines through perched reading glasses. I\u2019d prefer to wander the woods, choked with kudzu vines like Mother Nature\u2019s The Blob<\/em>, but some primal fear stops me. I later learn its name is Lyme Disease.<\/p>\n

After lunch is our first scene with Janet Varney, who plays Evie. She\u2019s a Lucille Ball-type \u2013- beautiful, effortlessly comedic, able to contort her face like a fistful of plasticine. Evie is confronting the Kennypillar, who is now more \u2018pillar than Kenny. There is so much webbing that to get to my mark, I must shimmy gracelessly over ropes of the stuff. Milhouse offers to carry me, princess-style, but I demur. I feel like a sick child visited in the hospital by Ironman or Wonder Woman, and I\u2019m afraid the joy might stop my heart.<\/p>\n

Towards the end of the scene, as the Kennypillar reveals the extent of his secret plan, we twins are supposed to get excited. So, we smile and giggle. Between takes, John comes over with some direction: go nuts. Don\u2019t mind if we do. For the next version, we hop, clap, laugh, roll our eyes with delight. I channel my five-year-old. I look ridiculous. I love it.<\/p>\n

Before I know it, we\u2019ve arrived at our last scene of the day. Bibi and Fifi are casually hanging in the kitchen, holding coffee cups and discussing insurance policies. Stan and Evie enter and we zip back into character, sheepishly placing our cups to the side.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s the relic?\u201d Evie asks.<\/p>\n

Our response as written is \u201cKenny ate it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Twinglicized version? \u201cIt\u2019s a pre-poop.\u201d<\/p>\n

In preparation for this scene, the prop guy asks if we\u2019d prefer to be drinking coffee or tea. \u201cNothing, thanks,\u201d we tell him. We try to explain we\u2019ll be placing the cups on the counter without looking and are worried we\u2019ll spill on our dresses.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, but you have to have something. Water?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt affects the way you\u2019ll hold the cup\u2014 \u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t want it, thank you,\u201d I say with finality. Prop guy goes away. I wonder how many actors have had similarly frustrating conversations with crew before, and whether or not I am now officially \u201cdifficult.\u201d The prospect is thrilling.<\/p>\n

But a little while later, after wrapping the shot and heading back to the shuttle, Prop Guy tells us we did great. Props from Prop Guy; the perfect end to a perfect day. Apparently, my notorious difficultness is less on his mind than the lightning warning, which has sent the crew scrambling to capture the last scene. Potential hazards include electrocution, burns, fire, and glowing your skeleton through your skin. If lightning is detected within ten miles, protocol requires the immediate and complete shutdown of production. Game over.<\/p>\n

As our shuttle pulls away and the rain begins to pummel the roof, we hear cheers from the house. They finished just in time.<\/p>\n

<\/figure>\n

Tuesday is a \u201chold\u201d day while they film other people (yawn), so Barbara and I explore Atlanta. Strong recommendations include Doll\u2019s Head Trail (just how it sounds), the Center for Disease Control Museum, and the Atlanta Prison Farm. Limited by walkability, we choose the Center for Puppetry Arts.<\/p>\n

Winding our way to the entrance, we pass lines of school children on field trips. \u201cDid you see all those Olivers and Olivias?\u201d I gush to Barbara, every child a stark reminder I\u2019m far from my own. If that sight doesn\u2019t give me the bittersweet cozies, the \u201cNo weapons allowed\u201d sign in the Center\u2019s window certainly does the trick.<\/p>\n

First stop is the International wing, where I learn every country on Earth is capable of producing terrifying hand-goblins. The other exhibit is all Muppets, with whom I endure a love\/hate relationship. The animal-themed ones like Kermit and Rowlf are cute. But they are grossly overshadowed by such humanoid monstrosities as Beaker and the Swedish Chef. And no, these views are not up for debate. If you feel otherwise, you are mistaken.<\/p>\n

Still riding the high of yesterday, I\u2019m willing to overlook the yuckiness. I read every last display of history. I marvel at the canisters of flock. I sit by myself and take in the behind-the-scenes presentational videos. One ends with the closing number from 1979\u2019s The Muppet Movie<\/em>, a film in which Kermit travels cross-country to become a movie star. His sound stage \u2013 and presumably, dreams \u2013 have just been destroyed. And yet the newly formed hole in the ceiling bathes him and his pals in rainbow.<\/p>\n

\u201cLife\u2019s like a movie,\u201d he begins to sing, \u201cwrite your own ending.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKeep believing, keep pretending,\u201d the others join in.<\/p>\n

The camera widens as the voices grow in strength and number —<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve done just what we\u2019ve set out to do!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2014 and we see it\u2019s not just the stars of the movie \u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks to the lovers, the dreamers, and you!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2014 it\u2019s every Muppet that\u2019s ever existed, and it\u2019s breathtaking.<\/p>\n

I am deeply moved by the obvious metaphor. This swarming mass is no monolith; like my life, it\u2019s comprised of the good, the bad, the appallingly hideous. The end result is impressive and uplifting, but for every sweet Big Bird and sassy Miss Piggy, there\u2019s a drug-addled Floyd Pepper, a stark-raving-mad Beaker. Yes, we lost that twin audition to non-twins. But then Dana wrote our first TV roles just for us. And would I have felt so free to cut loose and \u201cgo nuts,\u201d as John directed, if I hadn\u2019t known the distaste of faux-suiciding off an invisible cruise ship? Also, how are all those Muppets moving by themselves, there\u2019s not a puppeteer in sight. Are they coming to kill us? Should I warn my family?<\/p>\n

In summation, Yin and Yang. Keep believing. Keep pretending.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will, you freaky abominations,\u201d I whisper, eyes brimming with joyous tears. \u201cWith God and Jim Henson as my witness: I will.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/figure>\n

Wednesday, we film outside at the O\u2019Neal Plaza in Douglasville. The apex of the episode involves a fully metamorphized Kennypillar, an angry birthday party ape, and a four-foot high cardboard replica of Willard\u2019s Mill. Ready at 11am, Barbara and I spend the next six hours lounging in the cooling tent, chatting with other actors, snacking, and milling aimlessly about. We are only needed for the very last scene, a sweeping shot of the (spoiler) decimated diorama with the entire cast smiling and waving. We couldn\u2019t be more Muppety if there were hands in our squeaky air poo-ers.<\/p>\n

It is nearly 5:30pm when they\u2019re ready for us. At the same time, the first warning ripples across the square. Lighting approaches. The sky takes a dark turn and from seemingly nowhere bursts a torrent of rain. Cast, crew, and equipment cram under sun tents. The cardboard town begins to sag. It is too wet to film, but we\u2019re losing daylight and the lightning is getting closer. Considering the elaborate set and all the actors, there\u2019s zero chances this can be reshot another day. This time tomorrow we\u2019ll be back in LA.<\/p>\n

The rain subsides for just a moment and we fly into action. Dozens of extras gather at the back of the town while the principals line the front. We can\u2019t quite hear Milhouse\u2019s direction over the mild chaos, and the first take immediately goes off the rails. Lightning is nearly within range. We reset as quickly as possible and go again.<\/p>\n

And that\u2019s a wrap.<\/p>\n

In the shuttle back to the trailers, Janet sums it up best: \u201cWell that\u2019s another five-minute shot I thought would take two hours.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barbara and I sign our paperwork, peel off our costumes, and bid our little trailers good-bye. It is pitch black now, and drizzly. We walk the short distance to the parking lot, Dana and Barbara, and Milhouse and I. To our right is an abandoned prison facility. To the left, a straight-up graveyard. It\u2019s romantic, no question, and I\u2019m struck with a deep longing for my faraway family. Milhouse hasn\u2019t seen his wife (Lisa?) or little boy for weeks. This is day four and my heart is breaking.<\/p>\n

I hope this is a problem I\u2019ll be lucky enough to have again. There aren\u2019t, to my knowledge, an excess of twin roles out there. I count one set of dead-eyed killers, two swindling skateboarders, and a couple of identical music-store owners, all confined to the works of Vince Gilligan. None of them are ladies, but hey, maybe he just hasn\u2019t found the right ones yet? We don\u2019t have to crazy-talk in Twinglish or scamper like imps. We can act normalishly. You won\u2019t have on you a disappoints!<\/p>\n

Not that I\u2019ve seen our work in its final form yet. I am equal parts excited and nervous as I wait for the grand televised premiere. But Dana did show us that last shot. The darkness, the imperfections, the race against time: none of the stuff I worried about is there. It\u2019s nothing like how I imagined and so much better.<\/p>\n\"Facebook\"<\/a>\"twitter\"<\/a>\"reddit\"<\/a>\"mail\"<\/a>\"twitter\"<\/a>\"rss\"<\/a>\"instagram\"<\/a>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[essay]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":658,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[3],"tags":[54,21,55,53,56],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/656"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=656"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/656\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":666,"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/656\/revisions\/666"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/658"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=656"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=656"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.deuxfilles.net\/veraduffy\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=656"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}