Behind the Seen
A Silly Story on the Set of Stargate
My heart was pounding so hard, I heard nothing beyond the throbbing in my head, and could see nothing in my near blackout. I stood a moment in the middle of the large production lot with my eyes closed, taking deep breaths, practicing the positive self-talk that all the self-help books suggest during panic episodes.
“No one can see me. No one can see me.”
I continued silently chanting my mantra as I slowly made my way to the nearest wall for support. Receding back into my chest, my heart no longer commanded attention. The sky became bright again. Trembling, I continued breathing slowly and deeply as I looked about. Quite a number of people were walking towards my left, heading for a door that was in the wall I was holding up.
As each face walked by, I searched for some sign of suspicion. Moving my head to try to intercept eye contact with no luck, I found myself offended by the apparent rudeness. I giggled aloud at my reaction. Just then the eyes of a young man moved in my direction as he walked past. I held my breath and shrank back against the wall. His gaze went long and to the left of me, as he proceeded through the door. Letting out my breath, I reminded myself that even though I could not be seen, I could still be heard.
Taking my best chance, I dodged between two people and slid into the doorway right behind them as the door slammed shut. I found myself in relative dimness after the bright sunlight. Realizing that I was blocking the doorway, I moved aside to allow my eyes to adjust and take in the surroundings.
I was in a vast warehouse-type building, with ceilings higher than one would expect. There were areas of brightness with people bustling here and there, and equipment and props everywhere. There were several sets in the space, mostly empty and unused. The one closest to me had some people painting walls, the plywood backsides contrasting with the perfectly painted fronts. There appeared to be shooting activity in one set farthest from where I stood. As I walked along the dim periphery—more to keep from being run into than to keep from being seen—I spied a familiar sight.
Off to my right, in an unused set, stood the huge gray ring. I made my way over to it, having to dodge someone only once, and stood at the foot of the ramp looking up. The Stargate was much larger than I expected. I walked slowly up the ramp, and placed my hand on the ring itself. It was not cold metal as it looked, but rather some synthetic resin painted to look like metal. The red lights on it reminded me of the plastic coverings on tail lights. I wondered if I were messing with my future enjoyment of the show—some things were just not meant to be seen close up.
Laughter caught my attention, and I turned. Far off I could see overly-lit actors in a scene being shot. I walked down the ramp and headed in that direction. About halfway to the other side of the warehouse, I smelled food and my stomach growled in response. I realized in all the excitement that I had not eaten all day. I walked up to a long table set out with sandwiches and fruit, with an attendant arranging the food. I wondered. Would satisfying my hunger result in a scream of terror from the attendant as he watched a poltergeist sandwich floating through the air? Not wanting to draw attention, but suddenly needing immediate sustenance, I carefully touched a roast beef sandwich on a Kaiser roll. Nothing happened. I wondered. I very slowly and carefully worked my fingers under the sandwich without moving it too much. Then when the attendant was not looking, I lifted it slightly off the platter. The sandwich vanished. I smiled. I moved away as the attendant headed towards where I had been standing. He placed a new sandwich in the hole he had missed.
With my plunder in hand, I found an unoccupied chair just outside the hub of activity on the set. As I took my first bite—which resulted in mustard all over my lip since I could not see what I was doing—I caught sight of them. Where there had been stand-ins before, now there were the actors. I could see why they called them stars—they were more brightly lit than all the people around them, who were shrouded in dimness. General O’Neill was saying something loudly to Daniel, as Colonel Carter looked on over Daniel’s right shoulder. I sat there for I don’t know how long, wide-eyed and mesmerized, eating my sandwich which I learned to feel with my fingers to avoid the mustard situation. I had forgotten a napkin, but used my sleeve without concern.
Fully satisfied that my groaning stomach would not give me away, I stood to get a closer look. As I walked between the cameras, my heart was pounding as it had earlier. But this time I was excited, not scared. I had the confidence of knowing I had fooled dozens of others in the past hour. I carefully stepped over cords and kept away from people. I was within a dozen feet of RDA. Richard Dean Anderson. MacGyver. Jack O’Neill. He looked older in real life.
My heart was pounding so fast that I swore my palms must be sweating blood. I looked down in the direction of my hands, but could neither confirm nor disprove it. Deep breath. Just do it. Now or never. I giggled at the cliché’s. O’Neill would appreciate them.
Each step an eternity, I found myself within the scene. I wondered if I cast a shadow with the bright lights. I wondered how actors could act with these huge suns surrounding them. I looked at Daniel first as he was speaking loudly to Jack. Way cuter than on television. Then I walked around him to see Carter. So I am taller than Amanda Tapping! How funny. She looks older too. We’re the same age; I wonder if I look as old as she does. Her makeup was thick and fake-looking—maybe that was it.
I walked back around until I was right next to O’Neill. His hair looked like a Schnauzer’s. I could not resist reaching out to touch it, just to see if it felt like my old dog Barney. It did. Just then he reached up to scratch his head and I jumped back with a start and a giggle. No one heard it though, because in my haste, I tripped over the lighting cord and fell backwards. The pain in my backside as I landed on the foot of a camera tripod would have paled to the pain of the large black boot heading for my stomach. For my tripping had toppled the light, and as if in slow motion, it fell down towards O’Neill, who leaped to avoid being hit. Unfortunately, his leap was in my direction. Taking my cue from previous episodes, I pulled a roll to the left, just in time to miss the boot. The light crashed to the floor and went dark.
There I lay, tightly curled up in the fetal position, pain searing my backside, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping that I was out of the way. The chaos that ensued included someone yelling, “What the ‘ell happened?”
“I don’t know! It just fell!”
“Those things don’t just fall! Did someone kick it? It almost hit Rick!”
“I’m fine. Just set it up again.”
Realizing that I was hampering the production of Season Nine, I thought I had better get out of there. I had seen enough of the scene without being seen. I slowly got up. Limping, I carefully made my way around the outskirts of the sets to the exit. I did not care about anyone seeing the door open by itself as I went outside. Finding a bench to sit on—very gingerly—I slid the ring off of my finger. I decided it was about time to return it to the Lord of the Rings props department.