I take my work very seriously. You should know that.
You’ve probably seen me on midnight movies, schlocky drive in films that recall nights of amorous young adults too consumed with one another to pay attention to the screen. On that note, maybe you haven’t seen my work after all. Lair of the Annelid? Night of the Were Leopard? Nothing? I’m not surprised. Real Grade Z crapfests, but hey work is work. Maybe I can forge myself a cult hero status or something.
Anyway. So my agent calls me, tells me he’s got me an audition for “The Werewolf Stalks at Dusk“. Typical. I mean, who makes movies like this anymore? And guess which role I’m up for. But whatever, I could use the work but like I said, I take my craft seriously. I’m a method actor. So to prepare, I go out and buy a cheap wolf mask. It being mid September, I didn’t have to look very hard. Some eye black to hide my face, a few rips in my shirt and pants (if I get the part, I can always buy new ones) and I’m ready to go! I figure a tragic figure like a reluctant man-beast would be in constant pain so I throw a few sharp pebbles into my shoes to make the pain as genuine as possible.
I set out into the night and for the next few hours, MacArthur Park was MY territory. I stalked around the grounds, leaping out of the brush at hand locked couples by the pond, lashing out wantonly at passerby. I WAS stalking at dusk and nobody could stop me! Well, except the cops. How could I expect them to understand?
The audition went well. The casting director loved my wild eyed ferocity and stated that the “insomnia look” lent some authenticity. Seems my five nights of self imposed sleeplessness had paid off. I got a call back, so I decided it was time to up the ante! I would make this role mine and everyone will remember my name.
Phase two would consist of me delving into a primal state. No more hokey wolf mask or ripped clothing. No more wolf “man”. Now’s the time to be 100 proof authentic.
After I got home, I had a delicious meal of raw beef. A wolf wouldn’t have the luxury of cooking his meal, would he? Nor would he embrace the facets of human comfort such as clothing or shelter. I stripped off all my clothes (it was rather chilly, but great art demands sacrifice) and ran off into the night. On all fours, naturally. That part took a little practice.
The park was my domain again and I felt… free. I bayed with reckless abandon, I drank from the pond, I rolled in the filth. Why was I doing this again? Oh yeah, the role. Well, I think I have it down pat. But there’s one last aspect of primal, savage life I have not experienced…
The two women are too busy chatting with one another. I see my opening and snatch the child away, paying no heed to the frightened squeals. I use only my teeth to shred and rend which is rather difficult. Still, I manage to successfully land a kill and my one regret is that I have no pack to share the food with. The women are screaming now and one of them slips in the red slicked grass. I chuckle but then recall that a wild beast has no sense of humor.
I snarl and lunge at the interlopers and then –
A loud crack. A heavy impact on my chest. A foe I had not noticed approaching from my side, clad in a dark uniform. Another impact and I drop, adding to the growing red river in the grass.
I felt no regrets. I had lost myself in the role and I couldn’t be prouder of my work. I’ll be hailed a hero to many! Although I doubt this performance will be recognized by the Academy, I rest easy knowing that nobody will ever forget my name or my legacy.