can i tell you a story?

Earlier today, a really fun memory surfaced that I wanted to share, because I haven’t had an opportunity to tell a story in a little while. It’s an older memory, so I’m sure some of the specifics aren’t entirely correct, but this is way I remember it.

In the early 2000s, I worked on a couple of movies that were direct-to-DVD, low budget versions of successful, big budget movies of the moment. Call it the Roger Corman model.

In the first one I did, Deep Core, the whole Earth is going to explode or something, unless an unlikely band of misfits can drill to the Deep Core of the planet and set off the bomb or whatever. It’s sort of like Armageddon but underground, and also like The Core, but for about sixteen dollars and some wire from the bin behind the hardware store.

Now, having said that, it’s a charming and silly and extremely fun movie where my character eventually turns into a flaming skeleton with the help of an unexpected gout of magma in the third act. It understands the assignment, because we all understood the assignment. It was a fun set, where we got to just play our scenes to the best of our ability.

And I got to work with some lovely castmates. The unlikely band of misfits, collected from an oil field of questionable legality, were played by me, Craig Scheffer, Bruce McGill, and Terry Farrell.

At some point in the story, the four of us are in this drilling machine thing that looks suspiciously like a shuttlecraft from a popular 1990s science fiction program. It’s a practical set that comes apart in the middle, longways, and is set atop a system of boards and other boards that create a poor man’s gimbal to simulate the exciting motion while we are flying through space drilling toward the Deep Core. It was cool, especially for a low budget set. You could only see some of the nails, and the parts that weren’t supposed to wobble mostly didn’t. I recall the console having lots of practical toggles and buttons, which is always a lot of fun.

We filmed in this thing for about a week. On the first day, during our first rehearsal, those extremely safe and union-approved levers were tested out while we all sat in our places. Terry and Craig were in the driver’s seats, Bruce and I faced away from each other down the sides of the thing, behind them. I liked to imagine I was the Spock of this crew.

So the director gets us all together on the first day. We talk about the whole “drilling Deep into the Core ” of it all. He says, “So this isn’t a smooth ride, as you drill through the rocks. We’re going to move the set a little bit, but you’ll need to sell it with your own motion.”

Craig asks what that motion should look like and the director says it’s sort of like being in a tank over a dirt road.

At this point, I look at Terry over my shoulder, and find that she is already looking at me.

“So you think this is about a 3?” She says.

“Yeah, that seems about right,” I agree, and we both turn back to take our positions for rehearsal.

This is when Craig holds up a hand and says, “Hold on. What was that? You two just communicated something to each other, using words I understand, and I have no idea what you said.”

Terry and I burst out laughing.

“It’s the Star Trek shake scale,” I tell him. “When there are nine actors in a scene and we get hit by a photon torpedo, we all need to react with the same intensity, so we have the scale.”

“We weren’t even on the same show, and we both use the scale,” Terry added.

“Yeah, it’s standardized across all series,” I said. “First week at the Academy stuff.”

This makes Terry and me laugh, all over again.

“So are you guys going to teach us?” Bruce asks, his voice bright with amusement.

Terry and I look at each other and play out the bit just a little longer. “Sure,” I say, “a 3 looks like this.” I nod at Terry and we both start doing an identical level of shimmy and shake. “This is a 6,” she says, and we both flop over our consoles before we right ourselves.

“Damage report!” I say. As I remember this moment, even though my memories are a quarter century old and I’ve certainly gotten some of the specifics wrong, I can so clearly see and feel how much fun we had while we were doing this. When I talk about how Star Trek is a family that you never leave unless you want to, this is what I am talking about. Moments like this that only a few hundred people, in the history of the world, have experienced in this specific way. It’s such a blessing, such a gift.

At this point, the director and the whole crew are watching us. The director asks us for a 1, and we do it. Bruce asks for a 5, and we shake side to side before we steady ourselves on our consoles. Someone asks for a 10, and in the literal blink of an eye, we silently agree we are not doing that. They can’t handle a 10. They think they can, but they have no idea.

“Sorry, that only happens when we crash the Enterprise,” I say.

Everyone laughs, and the first AD asserts that we have to get to work, guys. The director gets ready to call action on rehearsal.

“Okay, everyone,” he pauses for a moment, then continues with purpose, “this is a 3,” he says. “And, action!”

I glance over my shoulder and see Craig is doing about a 2, but he’s getting there. Bruce is a solid 3, cheating a little bit with a sideways glace toward Terry, who makes it look easy.

I suppress a grin and gently rock side to side, as I match their tempo, a perfect 3.

I’m glad you’re here. If this is your first time, or your first time in awhile, you are invited to listen to It’s Storytime With Wil Wheaton. Tell your friends! If you’d like to get these blog posts delivered to your inbox, here’s the thing: