I Was a Zombie on 'Crusade'

By SCOTT D. PIERCE, Deseret News television editor

You've got to get up pretty early in the morning to be a zombie -- like 5 a.m. Which is when a couple of TV critics found themselves driving to an industrial neighborhood in the San Fernando Valley for their big sci-fi debut on the new "Babylon 5" spinoff "Crusade."

Big debut is, well, a huge exaggeration. Rob Owen of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and I were extras in a couple of scenes in an episode titled "Appearances and Other Deceits." Our official call sheet -- the document mandating we be on the set by 6 a.m. -- referred to us as "guest reporters to be zombie crew."

Type casting, perhaps.

So there we are, on a warm January morning, wandering into what was once a factory that produced spa water pumps. And, despite the fact that we are dressed in "civilian" clothes, we simply exude a journalistic aura, apparently.

"You the reporters?" asks a crew member.

Then we spend a half hour waiting for someone to figure out what to do with us. We're invited to partake of craft services (drinks and goodies) and we wander from soundstage to soundstage, checking out the sets. Cool.

Then it's on to wardrobe -- a frightening prospect indeed. Although at this point I've lost 80 pounds from near-historic fatness levels, will the uniform fit?

Surprisingly, it does. More surprisingly, we are each given our own dressing rooms -- tiny, dusty rooms in a trailer. (Some enterprising crew member has even stuck a piece of tape on the door, inscribing it "Scott -- Universe Today.")

The uniform itself consists of a black jumpsuit emblazoned with various patches and badges (including an Earthforce Alliance pin familiar to "Babylon 5" fans). That and the green T-shirt were easy enough to put on, but the rather odd, soft, leather shoes were another story.

"Here, let me help you with those," says the wardrobe mistress as she proceeds to tie my shoes for me. (It was the first time in, oh, 3 1/2 decades anyone helped me get dressed.)

I don't think my uniform pegs me as particularly important. "I think I look like a 'Babylon 5' janitor," I say -- incorrectly, as it turns out. This was real officer apparel.

Rob is attired as a pilot but is thrown for a loop when, before we go on camera, his name tag is swapped for another. "Now I'm going to have to create a whole new backstory for my character," he quips.

Then it's off to the hair and makeup trailer. Hair doesn't take long, given that I don't have any to speak of -- but a very nice woman has to spend what seems like a half hour (it was really more like five minutes) to apply makeup.

Then, with a friendly publicist in tow, we got a really close look at the sets. This particular episode takes place entirely on the starship Excalibur, and the bridge is particularly cool. We tried to nonchalantly check out the instrument panels and, yes, try out the seats. (And, believe it or not, the captain's chair is the least comfortable of them all.)

But it's tough to act cool when, No. 1, you're wearing an outer-space uniform and, No. 2, there's a little kid inside of you jumping up and down with glee.

Then came the really scary part. We're called to the set for our big scene.

The setup: the crew of the Excalibur, exploring a derelict alien ship, inadvertently unleashes an alien force that is possessing members of the crew. The zombie crew has been sealed off from the rest of the ship by order of Capt. Gideon (star Gary Cole). And we're zombie crewmen. The wardrobe people come through and confiscate my watch (no Timexes in the 23rd century) but let me keep my wedding ring. Much more distressingly, they also take my glasses.

Apparently, 300 years from now they've cured blindness but not baldness. And, being that I'm extraordinarily nearsighted, Rob has to lead me around, warning me of steps and cables and so on.

In our scene -- which takes place in "Int. Hallway -- Deck 8 Comp" -- guest star John Vickery, playing the head alien/zombie, confronts Capt. Gideon through a smoked-glass door. We extras are supposed to, on cue, silently file out into the hallway and down the the door. We're supposed to clear the center of the hall for Vickery to move toward the door; then fill in behind him while he plays his scene; then move out of the way while he exits; then turn and exit ourselves.

Seems fairly simple. And our orders from an assistant director are pretty straightforward: "Don't look at the floor. Don't look at the window. Walk normally."

(Have you ever tried to walk normally? Have you ever thought about how you walk until someone tells you to walk normally?)

The first rehearsal doesn't last long. Another extra (not a TV critic) comes out walking like Frankenstein's monster. Cut!!!

The second rehearsal goes better. So we're ready for the first take. I'm following Rob, who -- being right in front of me -- is about the only thing I can see. And our directions to stare silently at Cole through the window don't do me much good -- I can't see him at all. (So, I stare at the back of one of Vickery's ears instead.)

Things really get bad when Vickery turns to leave and I don't get out of the way fast enough -- we bump shoulders. I, of course, make things worse by grimacing and rolling my eyes.

Not a take that's going to end up in the finished episode. And not a sign that I'm destined for screen stardom.

As a matter of fact, I'm expecting the next words after "Cut!" to be, "Who is that guy? Get him out of here!"

It doesn't happen, but it's a bit embarrassing nonetheless. Particularly considering that I'm a good 10 years older than any of the other extras, most of whom appear to be mid-20s at most.

(And, apparently, I look anxious. Chit-chatting with one of the real extras, I ask him how much you can make doing the job. He thinks I'm looking to open a new career.)

Being an extra isn't exactly glamorous. The real extras spend a lot of time sitting in lawn chairs in the parking lot waiting to be called. The director himself doesn't speak to them -- an assistant director does. Director Stephen Furst, who starred as Vir in "B5," does, however, chat pleasantly with the reporters for a few minutes when we're introduced. "Oh, I thought you guys were extras," he says by means of explaining ignoring us earlier.

Gary Cole has already said he doesn't want to do interviews -- he's deeply in character. Whether he ignores us because we're reporters or because he thinks we're extras is impossible to say. Cole does, however, stare menacingly at Rob during that scene in the corridor.

And this extra stuff turns out to be nerve-wracking. I ball my fists to keep my hands from shaking. It's hard enough to breathe normally, let alone walk normally.

All of which is sort of silly for someone who has no acting ambitions whatsoever.

"Me neither. But it's fun," says Rob, who seems much more at ease with the whole thing.

After four more takes and a variety of technical glitches ("Yeah, we're like a well-oiled machine," a crew member says sarcastically), the director is satisfied. When I get back my watch, I'm stunned to discover it isn't even 9 o'clock yet.

But then, we're TV critics. We do more before 9 a.m. than most people do all day.

Given that we're "the reporters," we are ushered into the offices of producer John Copeland and executive producer J. Michael Straczynski for interviews. And there's nothing that can make you feel more like a dork than doing an interview in uniform.

Perhaps most surprisingly, we're asked if we want do another scene. We even get fake lines, sort of.

It seems that Capt. Gideon decided to freeze out zombie crew members. Rob and I stand in a corridor and are directed to look cold. I'm supposed to zip up my jumpsuit from mid-chest to neck, we're supposed to rub our arms and silently mouth things like, "Boy, I'm cold!" Of course, those directions change a bit. Before the first take, the extras are told, "Really do it, do it big!" After the first take, we're told, "Bring it down. You don't have to do it as much."

We're also not quite sure how this sudden emotionalism fits with our earlier scene, in which we're stoic zombies. But ours is not to reason why, ours is to be "atmosphere" -- extras in the background while the real actors go by.

Our second scene ends with a huge feeling of relief. The sci-fi geek in me overwhelms the feeling that I've just spent half a day being a goofball. And the thought that, unless I end up on the cutting room floor, I'm now part of the "Babylon 5" universe forever is pretty cool. Heck, Rob and I joke about leaving our clothes in our dressing rooms and making a break for the car with our uniforms. We don't, but we're tempted.

We're professionals. We're reporters.

We're totally jazzed by the experience.