This is the fourth of five posts about working on episode four, Paradise, during season four of Criminal Minds. I spoke with CliqueClack.com about some of my production experiences, and I have a gallery of images from the shoot at Flickr. Please note that I’ve done my best to recreate my interactions with the cast and crew, but this isn’t a perfect, literal translation of the entire experience.

My second day of filming was on a location that was very familiar to me. In Montrose, just a few miles down the hill from where I grew up in La Crescenta, there is a wonderful camp called Camp Max Straus. It was established in 1938, and is a nonsectarian camp for underprivileged kids. It’s an important place to me, because it isn’t just close to where I grew up, it also happens to be where my brother and sister in-law got married a few years ago.

We were shooting what’s called a “split,” where we start production about halfway through the day, so we could film some scenes in daylight, and get some night shooting done, also. Shooting splits is tough; we spend the first part of the day racing against the sunset, and the second part of the day racing against the dawn. By the time the deepest, darkest part of the night rolls around, a lot of us are on our way to Bat Country, and any production that shoots splits for several days in a row can develop a real morale problem. Luckily for us, we were only doing one split day before we went back into the studio to wrap up the week.

This was my first real acting day, and the only time I’d get to interact with any of the series regulars (in this case, Thomas Gibson.) Even though I’ve been acting as long as I can remember, and even though I’m certainly a veteran with a lot of experience, I was nervous. There’s a certain rhythm that series regulars have with each other and their crew, and as a guest star, I have to find that rhythm and adapt to it as quickly as possible. It’s kind of like rowing, I suppose, and I didn’t want to be the one guy who was out of sync. I also hadn’t been on camera in a long time (running in front of a truck the previous night doesn’t count), and though it’s very much like riding a bike, I didn’t want to waste a lot of everyone’s time while I remembered how to do it.

I prepared the scene in the usual way, and though I felt awkward during our first few rehearsals, everything came flooding back to me: how to unconsciously measure steps to hit my mark, how to make sure I’m finding my light without looking like I’m trying to find my light, how to make sure I hit the same position on every take so the focus puller doesn’t get any unpleasant surprises, how to remember the lines and keep them fresh every time I say them. I did all this while I was finding the truth of the scene with Thomas. It was a lot harder than it sounds, and I did the whole thing with the voice of self-doubt screaming in my head, “They’re all going to laugh at you! They’re all going to laugh at you! They’re all going to laugh at you!” I managed to pin it to a wall in a closet in my head, though, in a disturbing and poetic display of beautiful violence. Seriously, STFU, voice of self-doubt.

After we worked out the first part of the scene, we added the second part of the scene, which starts when the dad who is looking to stay the night comes into the office. The dad was played by Chicago Bears defensive tackle Tommie Harris. I guess Tommie is a huge fan of the show, and his people and the Criminal Minds people worked together to figure out a way for him to play a small part.

Um, in that spirit, I’d like to mention that I am a huge fan of How I Met Your Mother . I don’t exactly have “people,” but, you know, if anyone from that show wanted to get in touch, I’m pretty easy to contact. Ahem.

Tommie isn’t an actor, so he was slightly less uncertain about acting than I’d be about actually setting foot on a football field Wait. Check that. He was a little nervous, but not terrified, which is what I’d be if I was ever on a football field. I mean, I’m positive that even the cheerleaders could knock me to the ground and have their way with me with minimal effort.

Or, you know, a lot of effort. It’s pretty much up to them. The important thing is that I somehow end up buried under a writing pile of cheerleaders.

Anyway. Tommie was obviously as excited to be on the show as I was. Because I was the only actor he worked with, he ended up talking to me about all the things I’d just remembered how to do. To be honest, sort of teaching him how to hit his mark, find his light, and translating the industry shorthand we all take for granted into plain english helped me get my acting groove back, and by the time we shot the scene, I felt confident and in control.

We tried the scene a few different ways. Once, I was exceedingly friendly and chatty with Hotch all the way through. Another time, I was nervous, but just because I was socially awkward (this was a great take, and wonderfully challenging to achieve; there is a different kind of nervousness that comes from being socially awkward than the kind of nervousness that comes from being afraid the FBI guy is going to discover that you’ve trapped a couple in your torture cabin and are having your way with them.) I don’t know what ended up in the show (I’m writing this before the show airs) but I recall feeling that the best takes were the ones where I was a little quiet and uncomfortable at the beginning, friendly and chatty in the middle, and genuinely willing to help him by the end. Then, once he leaves and the dad comes in, I was impatient, irritated, sarcastic, and rude.

I remember thinking that it was strange that a little guy like me would be so obviously rude and nasty to a huge guy like Tommie, but when I discussed it with Erica and Deb, we thought that it illustrated just how fucking insane and dangerous Floyd really is.

“You know, it’s a little-known fact that serial killers have mysterious super strength.” I joked. “It’s one of the onlys way they can get people into the back of the white van with no windows . . . or get the Chicago Bears’ defensive tackle out of the motel office. Yeah, a lot of people don’t know that.”

There was much rejoicing.

While we filmed this scene, I learned that Thomas Gibson, though he plays a very serious and obviously-haunted character, is extremely funny and charming when the cameras aren’t rolling. He doesn’t goof off, which would be unprofessional and ultimately annoying (I’ve worked with people who goof off, and it’s never a good time) but he clearly enjoys himself. We had a lot of fun together, and I will admit that I envied the people who get to work with him every day.

When we finished, I was satisfied with my performance, and felt like I could trust John to put together the best parts of the best takes to create a memorable scene. One of the best moments of the day, though, came when Joe Mantegna came onto the set, and totally slimed Tommie Harris. I guess Joe’s a Bear’s fan, and he seemed to think it was rather cool that Tommie was working on the show.

In fact, just about everyone in the cast and much of the crew was excited to be working with Tommie. I kind of felt like I was on the outside looking in, because I’ve never been much of a football fan. Oh, don’t get me wrong: I enjoy watching close games, I love the playoffs, and I’ve even seen a handful of Superbowls in my lifetime that weren’t over by halftime, but I won’t drop everything to watch a random football game the way I will for a hockey game or a good Premiere League matchup (that’s real football, soccer to us Yanquis.)

I suppose I’ve never really cared about football because I’ve never had an emotional reason to care about a particular team. When I was a kid, the Rams were sort of local, but they were in Orange County, and unless you live in Southern California, you probably don’t understand why cheering for a team that plays behind the Orange Curtain is something we Angelenos simply do. not. do.

. . . we had the Raiders for awhile, but fuck the Raiders.

After I worked with Tommie, though, I had a reason, however tenuous, to feel a connection to a team. I can’t say that I “know” one of the Bears, but I can certainly say that I worked with one of the Bears, and though I’m certain he’s forgotten me by now, he was so kind to me, I’ll cheer for his team.

I’m sure all you die hard football fans are laughing at me about this, but it’s true, and when I explained this rationale to Tommie, he seemed genuinely surprised and pleased. Now that I think of it, what sounded crazy to me was probably mundane to a guy who regularly plays in front of thousands of people, many of them wearing nothing but paint and hard hats. In the middle of winter.

So if any of you Bears fans are wondering why the team is 4 and 3 this season, it’s because I’m a fan. You know what other Chicago team I really like? Yeah, that’s right: the Cubs. Sorry about that. (Yes, it’s all about me. I have the ability to make teams lose, simply by cheering for them. It’s my gift. It’s my curse.)

Anyway, back to work: We had lunch shortly after we completed that scene(it was actually dinner, but when you’re on the set you call every first meal of the day “lunch” and every second meal “fucking second meal” because it means you’ve been there for 14 hours and will probably be there for at least a few more), and then I had a few hours to kill while I waited for it to get dark, so I could run through the woods.

Anne was in the area, so she came over to the set and hung out with me for a little bit during lunch. I don’t usually let people come visit me on the set, and I don’t usually go to visit sets, because it is axiomatic in the entertainment industry that if you are not working on the set, you are, by definition, “in the way.” Since we’d just be hanging out around base camp (that’s what the area where the caterer, dressing rooms, makeup trailer, camera and grip trucks are) I wouldn’t feel like we were “in” the dreaded “way.”

“So how’s it going?” She asked as we settled down to nom nom nom nom nom on the best on-set catering – vegetarian or otherwise – I’ve ever had in my life.

While I told her every single detail about how much fun I was having, and how great the cast and crew were, and how cool it was to finally have a football team to care about, and how proud I was of the work, and how weird it was to be filming in the same place that my brother got married, she ate her entire meal. I think I stopped to breathe . . . maybe three times.

“Hey, look,” I said, “my food is cold. Turns out I talk a lot.”

When we finished eating, there were about ten minutes left in the lunch break, so I walked her over to the set, introducing her to the cast and crew when we passed them. They all said nice things about me. It was kind of embarrassing.

When lunch was over, Anne had to go home to feed the boy and the dogs. I walked her to her car.

“I’ll probably be rolling into bed around 4 or 5,” I said. “I’m in the last three shots of the day.”

“Okay,” she said. “Have fun!”

“I love you,” I said. “It was a real nice surprise that you could come by and visit.”

“Yeah, that was kind of awesome,” she said. She got into her car and started it.

“Drive safe,” I said.

“I will. I love you!” She rolled up her window and pulled away from the curb.

I walked back to my dressing room and worked on my scenes for the following day while I waited to get back to work. A couple of hours passed. I took a little nap. Another hour passed. I read whatever the current issue of Wired was. Some more time passed. I recalled a famous actor once telling a reporter, “I act for free. I get paid to wait.” There was a knock on the door, and I was called back to the set. It was about 2:30 in the morning.

Look, working at night usually sucks. You have to be quiet when you’re not rolling, you have to be quiet when you are rolling (unless you’re in the scene) and working nights means that you’re not going to see much of the sun the next day. While we were waiting between setups, I talked about this with Thomas and Shemar Moore.

“Have you guys done a lot of nights this season?”

Thomas nodded slowly and Shemar joined him. “We’ve done so many nights. We’re only a few episodes into the season, and it already feels like we’ve done more nights than we did all of last year.”

“Man, that’s got to be tough.” I said.

“It is,” he said, simply.

I realized that, though I’d been mostly resting for the last four or five hours, these guys had been working non-stop for all of them. Thomas had the same call as me, even. I decided that I wouldn’t bug them, and just let them conserve their energy. Shemar closed his eyes and leaned up against a tree.

“I heard you grew up around here,” Thomas said to me after a minute.

“Yeah,” I said, “this is pretty much my hometown, and my sister-in-law used to work at this camp. My brother got married to her here, actually.”

“Was it a good place to grow up?” He said.

“Mostly,” I said. “It’s one of those places that feels really far away from everything, but it’s only 25 minutes to Hollywood, and even closer to downtown.”

“Do you have a long drive home tonight?” He asked.

“Not really,” I said. “I’m in Pasadena, just about twenty minutes down the freeway. Actually, I think La Crescenta is 20 to 25 minutes away from everything. It’s a space/time continuum thing. Worm holes on the 2 freeway and such.”

One of the assistant directors called us back to the set before I could devolve into babbling geekery, and for the next hour or so they chased me through the same three hundred yards of woods for several different angles. Each time, I reminded myself that Floyd was pissed, and determined, not afraid. I didn’t know if anyone would actually see it, but it was important to me.

“When this is all cut together,” John Gallagher said to me between setups, “it’s going to look like they’ve chased you for a hell of a long way.”

“Oh that’s good,” I said. “Because I feel like they have!”

Around 3:30, we finally finished. I was home and in bed by 4. I think I was asleep by 4:03.

It was a tremendously satisfying day’s work, and I felt great about everything we’d done together. In fact, The following day, I wrote in my blog

I can safely say that working on this show, with this cast and crew, creating this character, has reawakened my slumbering love of acting … I miss the camaraderie of being in a cast, and I’d forgotten how good it feels to discover interesting moments with the director, writers, and other actors. I work best while collaborating, it seems.

Before Criminal Minds, I can’t recall any television work where I felt like I was truly collaborating with the production to bring the show to life. There’s always a sense of collaboration among actors, because we work very intimately with each other. Most, but not all, directors share that sense of collaboration with us, but there’s always an implicit understanding that they will have the final word on things. Producers and writers usually watch, but only talk to actors when they don’t like something. Criminal Minds was completely different: from the very first minute of the very first day, I felt like we were all working together toward a common goal. I felt like my input and contributions truly mattered to everyone involved. I felt like I was . . . well, I guess I felt like I owned part of what we were doing together, and that felt really great.

Next: The Big Day Begins

This is the third of five posts about working on episode four, Paradise, during season four of Criminal Minds. I spoke with CliqueClack.com about some of my production experiences, and I have a gallery of images from the shoot at Flickr. Please note that I’ve done my best to recreate my interactions with the cast and crew, but this isn’t a perfect, literal translation of the entire experience.

My first day of production on Paradise began just before sundown on a warm July evening. My only scene on the schedule was Floyd’s poetic demise, and we were filming up in Griffith Park, on a winding road above the Los Angeles Zoo.

I was beyond excited when I left my house, and drove into the setting sun, blasting Joy Division the whole way. When I got off the freeway and saw a yellow sign marked “CM” with an arrow pointing toward the location, my body shivered with antici . . . pation.

Ten minutes later, I was in my dressing room, putting on Floyd’s clothes. A few minutes after that, while I was in hair and make-up, one of the assistant directors pulled me out to go up to the set. “They’re blocking a shot, and the director wanted to talk to you about it.”

I rode in a van up the hill to the location. Crew members from all departments swarmed all over the place, setting up lights on cranes and getting the cameras into position. Some transpo guys lurked around the 18 wheeler that would be smearing Floyd all over the road in a few hours.

I hopped out of the van and walked toward the cameras. I’ve learned that, when I’m on the set and don’t know exactly where to go, heading toward the cameras is a good default. Someone will usually find me and point me in the right direction, or stop me before I get in the way. After a few steps, I was met by the second AD, who walked me over to our director, John Gallagher. He was talking with the first AD and the cameraman, right next to the cameras.

John is an extremely kind and talented director who masterfully balanced the creative desire to get good work finished with the practical need to keep moving and finish the day’s work. He shook my hand, and thanked me for being there (I noticed that there was a lot of gratitude to go around on this set, like everyone was genuinely happy to be part of this show, and genuinely appreciative of everyone’s work. It created a really positive atmosphere that I think comes through in the final product. CSI was the same way, with similar results.)

“So you’re going to come running down through those woods,” he said, pointing to some trees on our left, “and then you get hit by this truck. I didn’t want to lock you into something you weren’t comfortable with, so I wanted to see how you’d run down, where you’d land, and what you were planning to do with your body, so we can match the stunt double and the dummy to you, instead of the other way around.”

I was taken aback. Most directors would have just blocked the scene with the stunt coordinator, and told the actor where to land, how to land, and what to do. It wasn’t the biggest thing in the world, but it made me feel like I was a creative partner in the creation of the show, instead of just an employee.

“Oh, cool. I can totally do that,” I said. Yes, it sounded as stupid to me then as it does now. Good thing I already had the job!

We walked over to the edge of the woods, where the stunt coordinator and my double were waiting. We talked with them for a second, and then we blocked the shot. I went back down the hill and finished my hair and make-up.

Remember what it was like on Christmas when you woke up before your parents, and had to sit there and wait, knowing that just a few rooms away there was something awesome waiting for you? For the next thirty minutes, I felt that way, while I waited for them to call me back up to the set. When the AD knocked on my dressing room door, I pretty much flew out of the room and landed in the van without touching the ground.

I got up to the set, and took my place for rehearsal. Even though we were only filming me running through the woods, I still needed to do some acting. See, I figured that Floyd was pissed that he’d been interrupted, and was furious that the FBI was chasing him. He’d gotten away with his murders for so long, he fully expected that he’d continue to outsmart the authorities. He’d worked very hard to build his torture cabin, and now he’d have to start over, because of those assholes. So instead of running away and being frightened, (which is a legitimate, but I think less interesting, acting choice) I decided that he’d run away and be angry. I don’t know if it reads that way on film as clearly as I thought it might, but these are the things I do as an actor to keep myself entertained.

We filmed the scene from multiple angles. Between setups, I hung out with Deb Fisher and Erica Messer, who wrote Paradise. Though I was working there as an actor, I had a million questions about writing, and they patiently answered them all. Over the course of production, I spent a lot of time with the two of them (Criminal Minds fans call them “The Gruesome Twosome”), finding a million new questions to ask each day. They answered them all, and I grew a level in Procedural Drama Writing by the end of the show.

At one point, there was a setup that didn’t need me; it would just be the truck driving past the camera, so I headed over to craft service to look for a snack. While I browsed, they rolled camera, and I looked up just in time to see the truck drive past the camera . . . and see a body come flying out from behind it! It totally freaked me out. I didn’t know the stuntman was holding onto the back of the truck and would be letting go and rolling out for the camera, so the whole thing looked real in my mind. It wasn’t until several seconds later, when I noticed that nobody else was freaking out, that I realized it was part of the show. For those five or six seconds, though, I was certain I’d just seen someone get run over by a truck. I’d advise avoiding that feeling it it’s at all possible for you, as it’s very disturbing.

They filmed that a few times, then set up a dummy to be hit at full speed. While they shot that, the make-up crew covered me with all kinds of blood and gore for one final shot where I lay on the roadway and die. It was really late by this point, well after midnight, and it was cool up in the hills. The fake blood and gore was cold and sticky, and I couldn’t touch anything without covering it in bloody fingerprints. I’ve never been a big fan of fake blood, but I thought it looked really cool . . . and I don’t think there’s an actor in the world who doesn’t relish the opportunity to die a gruesome death onscreen.

For my final shot of the night, I got down onto the ground, put my head in a pool of fake blood, and did my best not to blink or breathe for several seconds at a time. “Stupid poetic justice . . .” I muttered at the end of one take.

It took me almost 20 minutes to wash the blood and gore off my face and out of my hair, and when I woke up the following morning, there was fake blood on my pillow and dried inside my ear, but I didn’t mind. It was a great first day.

Next: Production Continues

This is the second of five posts about working on episode four, Paradise, during season four of Criminal Minds. I spoke with CliqueClack.com about some of my production experiences, and I have a gallery of images from the shoot at Flickr. Please note that I’ve done my best to recreate my interactions with the cast and crew, but this isn’t a perfect, literal translation of the entire experience.

About a week before my episode began production, I was invited out to the studio for a table read. This is exactly what it sounds like: the cast, writers, producers, department heads, and other people involved with production get together around a big table to read the next episode on the schedule. This is a great way for the writers to hear if things need last minute tweaking, for series regulars to give some input on the script, and for guest stars to meet the people they’ll be working with. Not all shows do it, but I think it makes a difference.

We did the table read for Paradise during a lunch break while they were filming Minimal Loss. One of the regulars, I forget who, almost couldn’t make it, and Luke Perry was going to fill in for him. I thought that it would have been so cool to work with him, even if it was just a table read, but why in the world would he want to spend his lunch hour filling in for someone else when he wasn’t even in the episode? By the time I was done working on the show, I totally understood. The cast and crew of Criminal Minds made me feel like I was part of their family, and I never wanted to leave.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was the first actor to arrive, and I had about fifteen minutes to kill before they broke for lunch. We were going to do the table read in the same room where I had my audition, so I waited around in front of it, and tried not to look like I was waiting around in front of it.

Erica, who I read with during my audition, walked out of a nearby building and over to me. Again, I apologized for freaking her out during my reading, and again she told me that it was okay.

“You’re the first one here,” she said, “so if you want to go grab some lunch, it’s over there.”

She pointed to the catering truck. Over the next week, I’d eat the best food I’ve ever eaten on a set, and if I’d known then what I know now, I probably would have gone over and gorged myself, but at the time, I was too nervous to eat.

“I think I’ll just wait here,” I said. “I don’t want to go inside and be the first kid in the class, you know?” I laughed nervously.

She laughed. “That’s understandable.”

I pulled out my notebook while I waited and wrote down, “I feel like the first kid to come to class on the first day of school. And I’m new. Yipe!”

“So I hear that you’re a writer now,” she said.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“What does that mean for you as an actor?”

This is a question I’ve wrestled with a lot, and I haven’t come up with one consistent answer. “Um, I mostly write, and I only go on auditions for parts that I think are right, as opposed to going on everything that I can and hoping that something will stick.”

She nodded, as cast and crew started to come out of the stage and toward the trailer. A kaleidoscope of butterflies exploded in my stomach. This was really happening.

“I’ll see you inside,” she said.

“Awesome!” I said.

A weird and unexpected thing happened over the next few minutes: a whole bunch of people who work on the show walked over to me and introduced themselves. They were excited that I was working on the show! They read my blog! They wanted to say nice things to me! I was totally unprepared for this, and all I remember is trying not to stumble over my words too much while I said thank you.

After a minute, we began to file into the room. The same tables were there, but now there were place cards with names on them. Beneath the actor’s names, their character’s name was written. Production staff had their name and job description, and department heads had the name of their department. I found my name, back in the corner farthest from the door.

Before I could sit down, Paget Brewster walked up to me. Several years ago, Paget and I worked together on a live pilot presentation for a show called Celebrity D&D. It was a pitch for Comedy Central, I think, and it was hilarious. She and I and one other girl were the adventurers. An actor played the Dungeon Master, and lots of improvisers dressed up in silly costumes as they acted out the various scenes and challenges in a short, comedic dungeon crawl. We did it for a sold out theater, and they loved it. It was superawesome, and I was shocked that it didn’t get picked up, while dozens of less-funny, less-creative, totally stupid pieces of crap did that year. I wasn’t sure if Paget would remember me, so I had my “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me . . .” speech all loaded up and ready to run when she said, “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me but -“

“We did Celebrity D&D together!” I said. “I thought there was no way you’d remember that!”

She laughed and said, “I thought the same thing!”

We talked for a minute about actor things. She told me how excited she was that I was there, and gave me the inside scoop on all the different people in the cast and crew, which pretty much came down to “everyone here is awesome and we all like each other a lot. You’re going to have a wonderful time.”

I began to slowly trade my nervousness for excitement. I’d only been there for twenty minutes, and I already felt welcomed, and part of the team.

Paget was called away by someone from production, so I sat down, and opened my script. I looked at it for a moment, and there was a tap on my shoulder. I looked up and a smiling woman introduced herself to me.

“I’m Erica Messer,” she said, “I co-wrote this episode.”

I stood up, shook her hand, and thanked her for hiring me. She said some really nice things about my audition. I wanted to ask her a million questions about writing, but put that shit in check; I was there as an actor, and I could be a geeky writer some other time. (I wrote a little bit about this in a post called changing gears for criminal minds.)

We talked about Floyd’s pathology as the room filled up. I was pleased and relieved to discover that my take on Floyd was essentially in line with hers.

“This is going to sound really horrible,” I said, “but when I was a kid, I was just fascinated by serial killers. I think it’s because I grew up during the whole Night Stalker summer. When I was in my teens and early 20s, I read way too many true crime books, so I think I have a slightly broader knowledge of these bad guys than the average person.”

I don’t recall what she said, but she didn’t look mortified, which I took as a good sign.

“We’re really happy that you’re here,” she said, reaching up and squeezing my shoulder, “I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks!” I said. She walked over to the other side of the room, and I sat back down.

I felt a presence to my right. I looked over, and saw a beautiful woman with incredible red hair sit down.

“Oh my god,” I said. “Robyn Lively.”

She looked at me.

“It’s Wil Wheaton,” I said.

“Oh my god! It is!” She jumped up and hugged me. We knew each other when we were kids. We always seemed to end up at the same Teen Idol things, and I really liked her. She was normal, not into being famous, and was always incredibly kind to me.

“Are you playing Abby?” I said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Floyd.” I said. “I’ll be your kidnapper and torturer for the next five days and four romantic nights.”

We looked at each other for a second and giggled. Before we could say anything else, someone on the other side of the room called the table read to order, and we went around the table introducing ourselves. I kept it together, and my voice was steady when I introduced myself. We continued clockwise around the table. All the way down, on my left, an actor who I recognized but couldn’t recall in my mental imdb said, “William Mapother, playing Ian Corbin.”

“Hmmm . . . Ian . . . that sounds kind of like . . . Ethan! OMG ETHAN! That’s Ethan from Lost! CREEPY! AWESOME!”

Luckily, these were inside thoughts, and they stayed there. I may have surreptitiously scribbled “OMG ETHAN FROM LOST” in my notebook.

Once everyone was introduced, we began to read the script.

Floyd didn’t make his first appearance for several pages, so I was able to observe the room while everyone else did their thing. The regulars were relaxed, and cracked some jokes. In my notebook, I wrote, “Lighthearted – they do this every week.”

I noted that all of the actors were conserving their energy, reading their lines quietly, while my instinct was to project enough to the entire room. I thought about the differences between us: these guys work 10 to 12 hours a day, five days a week. They’re used to performing for the camera, which is considerably more intimate than what I’ve been used to. For the last couple of years, most of my performances have been on stage, to audiences that average a couple of hundred people. I was glad I picked up on this before I read my parts, because I think it saved me from what could have been some embarrassing over-projection.

The whole thing took about 45 minutes, and when we were done, I got to meet some of the cast who came in after I was in my seat. Kirsten Vangsness and Matthew Gray Gubler, it turns out, are real-life geeks who thought my “I’m uncertain about quantum physics” T-shirt was funny because it’s true. Joe Mantegna didn’t freak out at me when I slimed him – just a little bit – about playing Fat Tony. Thomas Gibson had a disarming kindness that makes the intensity he brings to Hotch even more impressive. I didn’t get to meet any of the other actors before the first AD called them back to work, but when I eventullay did, I wasn’t surprised that they were all as friendly and gracious and wonderful as the people I met during the table read.

It was going to be four or five days before I got to bring Floyd to life. I couldn’t wait. I felt like kid counting down to Christmas.

Next: Run Floyd, Run!

This is the first of five posts about working on episode four, Paradise, during season four of Criminal Minds. I spoke with CliqueClack.com about some of my production experiences, and I have a gallery of images from the shoot at Flickr. Please note that I’ve done my best to recreate my interactions with the cast and crew, but this isn’t a perfect, literal translation of the entire experience.

Working on Criminal Minds was one of the greatest experiences of my professional life. Over the next couple of days, I’m going to publish a series of posts here, in which I will attempt to document, as accurately and thoroughly as possible, what it was like to work on the show. I will begin with the audition.

I wrote a little bit about my audition right after it happened:

When I was in the room, I didn’t think about the people there, I didn’t think about what was at stake (directly or indirectly) and I just focused on the person I was reading with. I didn’t do anything fancy, just gave them my simple-but-deliberate take on this guy.

I felt better than I felt after I sucked out loud last week. I didn’t know if I nailed it, but I’d made my deliberate-but-risky choices, and I’d committed to them entirely. Whether I got the job or not, at least I had that to take home with me and keep in a box on the shelf for the weekend.

A few hours after I got home, my manager called me.

“Well, I have some feedback,” he said.

“That was fast,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess they wanted you to know right away that you’re hired.”

“Really?!” I said. I always say that, even though I know that my manager is never going to call me up, tell me a got a job, and then say, “Ha! PSYKE!”

“Yes, really.” He said.

Now that the show has aired, I can talk more specifically about the audition process. I prepared two scenes, the scene with Hotch where I totally fool him into thinking I’m just a normal, non-killing kinda guy who owns a spooky motel, and a scene where I’m about to do very bad things to Abby.

The audition was in a one room trailer at Quixote studios in Glendale. It was probably 30 by 50 feet, with several conference tables arranged around three sides. The writers, producers, casting people and the director were all behind one of them. The size of the room could have made it very intimidating, but everyone in it was friendly and welcoming as soon as I walked in. I should note that auditions are not as frequently like this as you’d think.

The audition scenes were very short and fairly simple, and I’d been able to memorize them[1]. After I said hello to everyone, I put my sides in my pocket, and began the first of the two scenes. They weren’t taping the audition, so I was free to move around and, as they say, “use the space” as much as I wanted.

In the first scene, I was friendly, I was concerned about these two people, and I made a genuine effort to be helpful, because that’s what I figured this guy would do if he was interviewed by an FBI agent. I felt the scene went well, and my Spidey sense told me that the other people in the room were pleased.

We moved to the second scene, where I do Very Bad Things to Abby. It was different in the audition draft of the script than what we eventually filmed, but the essence of the scene was the same. I was cruel, I was sadistic, and I enjoyed her suffering.

There was much less dialog in the second scene than there was in the first. I think it was just under a page and a half. I figured that this scene would really live in the gaps between the words, so I took my time when I performed it, and didn’t rush my reactions. Because I didn’t have the sides in my hands, I could move around a little bit, and I could be physically menacing.

There was one exchange where I ask her, “Are you ready?” and she doesn’t respond, so I ask her again, a little more forcefully. When we got to that part of the scene, I looked at Erica, the casting associate who was reading with me, and asked her the question. In my mind, I was planning some very awful things. I mean, I was disturbingly committed to this character. I could see the things I was planning to do. I could feel the excitement and satisfaction. It really lived in me, and I could tell that it made her uncomfortable. As Floyd, I enjoyed the hell out of that. It turned Floyd on. When she didn’t answer, I took a couple of steps toward her, crouched down close to her, and leaned in, so she was forced to look at me. This was an incredibly risky thing to do, because it nearly broke an unwritten rule about auditions: actors can interact with casting, but only to a point. But at that moment, I had let Floyd take over me.

“Are. You. Ready?” I said, Floyd’s pure evil flowing freely through me. She shook her head, and I saw tears forming in her eyes. As Floyd, that was awesome. I forget precisely how I reacted to it, but I let the moment linger, and then the scene was over.

“Very nice,” said Scott David, who is the casting director (and, coincidentally, one of my favorite casting people in the industry. He’s up there with Tony Sepulveda.)

Scott turned to the director, John Gallager, and said, “Would you like to see anything else?”

“No,” he said, “but why don’t you tell Erica something nice about yourself?”

The entire room laughed, like a huge release of tension. I was thrilled that I’d been able to create that moment. I smiled at her and said, “I’m really a nice guy! I’m a total geek, I have two kids, and I’d never hurt anyone, especially you.”

She blinked back tears and joined in the laughter.

I thanked everyone in the room, and Erica walked me out. As soon as the door closed, I said “I’m really sorry. I couldn’t have done that if you hadn’t given me so much to work with.”

“Don’t be!” She said. “Thank you!”

I walked back to my car. I felt good. I felt satisfied. My job as an actor is to go into that room and make an impression. I was pretty confident that I’d done that, and that the impression wasn’t “oh man, Wil Wheaton sucks!”

On the way home, I deconstructed the experience. I owe a great deal of gratitude to my friend David Lawrence for inspiring me to take such a big creative risk in the audition. David Lawrence is playing Eric Doyle on Heroes this season. He plays a very creepy, very evil, very bad man. Kind of like the character I played on Criminal Minds, maybe without the raping and torturing.

David had his Heroes audition right before I had my Criminal Minds audition. David and I rarely talk shop about acting, but when someone you know is on a show like Heroes, you kind of want to know how it all went down, you know? He told me how he created a very lucid reality in his head for his reading. He’d seen and felt what it was like to control people, and let that inspire and guide him through his audition. I thought about that level of total commitment a lot while I prepared my Criminal Minds audition. When I saw that I wouldn’t be stuck in the obligatory audition chair or tied to my sides for the reading, I decided to commit to the role completely, physically and emotionally, in ways that usually aren’t possible in auditions. I took a huge creative risk, and it paid off.

I’ve written extensively about how I believe actors have to find a way to enjoy themselves whether they book the job or not. I guess it’s kind of twisted to say that I enjoyed myself by being such an evil man, but committing to something completely, and refusing to look back until it was all over, was tremendously satisfying.

I would soon find out that I had the job before the door had closed behind me.

Awesome.

Next: The Read Through.

[1] We call this being “off-book” and though it’s not required, I prefer to be as off-book as possible when I audition, so I can make lots of eye contact and give something that’s closer to a performance than a reading. Sometimes, though, this just isn’t possible because there’s a lot of material or real life doesn’t give me enough time to rehearse it enough to feel like I can do it without referring to the sides. It can also really suck if I’m reading with someone who isn’t giving me anything to work off of, so even when I am off-book, I usually keep my sides in my hand.