Yesterday morning, Mr. W and I brought our free passes we got in the mail over to Universal Studios Themepark, Hollywood, arriving over half an hour before the park opens. That’s life with the W — always cracking the whip in the morning panicking about being “late,” always waiting at the destination having arrived overzealously early. I have to say, though, that I enjoyed Universal Studios so much more than I’d enjoyed Disneyland. I think it has better rides, better special effects on the rides (well duh, it’s Universal Studios with Hollywood magic), and less people! Best of all, less kids! They also let you bring in your own water and provide cooling spray misters and roof overhangs/awnings so we’re more comfortable in line. Disneyland has virtually no shade and no trees near lines and no misters in order to force its customers to buy water, ice cream and sodas at its strategically placed concession carts. Because of the uncrowdedness in the earlier half of the day, we were able to get on every ride we wanted by noon with lines of 5 minutes or less. “Jurassic Park, The Ride” was a first for me. And might I say — KICK ASS! They say it’s “now wetter than ever,” and they were right! They accomplished that by having dinosaurs pop out of the water at random points of the river coaster and spray us directly with their mouths! We also duck under trickling waterfalls, and there’s a big, GIANT splash at the end that got me completely by surprise. Water hit me directly in my face and on my body for long enough that my brain went through this, “Okay, now I’m getting wet. Gotta close my eyes. I’m still getting wet. What the heck, it’s just coming down!” and I yelled, “Oh my GAWD!” while covering my face with my hands at this point. And then the water stopped. I realized as I climbed out of the ride that the way the ride loads, it’s specifically designed so that the people getting into the raft as well as the people waiting in line for the ride can not see the drenched riders getting off. Such is movie magic, and the element of surprise maintained by controlling the audience’s perception. (Seriously, click on the link. You’ll see the short 15-second video.)

Some other noteables — our first ride of the day was “Back to the Future, The Ride,” and it’s a simulated flight ride in a large projection screen room much like Disneyland’s “Star Tours” and California Adventure’s “Soaring Over California.” We’re in a convertible DeLorean and it seats four across the front, four across the back. We got put in a group with a robust dad, corporeal mom, their two substantial kids, and another adult couple who are the family’s corpulent friends. The 4-member family took up the front row with the 2 kids in the center seats, and the back row from left to right was me, Mr. W, male friend, female friend. The joint lap bar that had to be lowered over everyone together across our row stopped at my chest level, leaving a good foot-and-a-half gap between it and my lap. I’m not blaming the strangers for being physically configured so as to stop the progress of the bar early. I’m just saying that I feared for my life as the topless, side-less DeLorean pushed forward toward the screen and the floor dropped away beneath us, and the ride began its shaking, rocking, jolting simulated journey. I also couldn’t see what was coming because I was behind the father and despite the size of the screen, his back and head blocked most of my view.

Oh, I was also an official actress at a real studio with real cameramen and special effects crew yesterday! While standing in line waiting for the next “Special Effects Stages” show to begin, Mr. W suddenly started raising his arm and jumping. I looked to the front and there were 2 workers in blue vests looking around. Apparently they’d asked for something. Were they asking for a party of 2 to fill in some seating somewhere? We were selected and Mr. W, pulling me to the front of the line, said, “Is that okay?” “Is WHAT okay?” I asked him as the worker said, “Thanks for volunteering!” We were shuttled inside the building as everyone else remained outside in line, and Mr. W was handed a waiver form. The worker quickly explained that we’re going to be on 10-foot high platforms and Mr. W would be chained to a wall groaning in pain and I would be screaming and moving “heavy” foam blocks from one side of me to the other. Eh? Well, I don’t get to do THAT at work!
Turned out we were being used to demo the special blue-screen effects used in Universal Pictures movies and TV shows. After the audience was situated, Mr. W and I were instructed to leave the actors’ fold-up chairs we were in, and I went onstage as the audience was viewing an old 50’s movie clip that showed a woman looking out her living room window and seeing a huge cat face taking up the window, and she was doing the 50s hysterical screaming with hands to her face. I was handed a curtain string, and the demonstration guy doing the show asked me before the audience, “Are you scared of cats, Cindy?” If you know me, that’s the last thing I’d be scared of, so I hesitated, and decided upon the answer, “Um, I can be.” The audience laughed and the guy said, “Good answer, actress! Okay, when I say ‘action,’ pull the string, opening the curtain. Look out the window, and you’ll see a huge cat head. If you look at the monitor, you’ll look about 6 inches tall, and this cat will be pawing at you and batting. Scream, and keep screaming like a scream could save your life. Let’s do a scream now for practice.” He leaned back, covered his ears, and I did my blood-curdling horror movie death scream while covering my face like the black and white actress, stopped abruptly, and grinned at the audience, changing my expression completely. The audience laughed and cheered. The presenter complimented my scream, I was told to remain standing on the “X” on the floor, and ‘action’ was called. I screamed, ducked, screamed some more, raised an arm to block my head from the giant fuzzy paw on a stick that Mr. W was holding to bat at me off-stage, screamed, tried to push the paw away, screamed. The audience was really impressed and cheered and applauded, but I had no idea what the finished product looked like, since I was too busy screaming at the giant cat.
Next, I was placed in a chair onstage as the presenter explained that they were about to see a clip from the upcoming sequel of “The Nutty Professor” starring Eddie Murphy. All actors in the clip are in place except for one, which I will be bluescreened into. Turned out it was the dinner table scene. They rolled the clip, and I was instructed to wave to the camera. So all of a sudden, in the monitor, there I was seated at the dinner table with a family stuffing their face and waving at the audience. I was handed a plastic turkey leg and told to gnaw at it like a Neanderthal, go! I held it in both hands and gnawed like it was corn, and I appeared in the shot in mid-action and the audience busted up. Then I was told to wag an index finger back and forth in front of me and lip sync the words, “You betta mind yo’ own business, grandma!” with attitude. So I appeared and I mouthed the line with a snobby expression on my face while doing the “sista-head-action.” The audience roared.
The last thing was the 10-foot platform scene we were prewarned about. We were put in ancient Egyptian garb and walked up stairs backstage. Mr. W was chained ankles and wrists to a stone wall in front of the audience, and I was walked a few steps down past him in between two stacks of foam bricks. He was instructed to moan and groan in tortured pain, and the presenter at the lower stage said, “Go ahead and give us a cry of pain, [Mr. W].” Mr. W let out two or three noises, and the presenter retorted, “I said CRY OF PAIN, not MOAN OF ECSTASY, [Mr. W]!” as the audience laughed. I was an Egyptian slave who was taking the large “heavy” foam blocks from my left and placing them on my right, and “action” was called. I struggled and yanked the first block, barely slid it off the stack as I fell to one knee with the weight, then moved it to my right, placing it above the other stack. Turning back to my left for another block, I saw the second director yelling at Mr. W to moan louder, look more tortured, as Mr. W moaned like I’d never heard him moan before. =P On the monitor, we were bluescreened into the movie “The Mummy.” I struggled and managed to yank another block over to my right, topping over the rest of the blocks, and then lightning struck Mr. W and the studio went dark. In the darkness, a presenter said, “What happened? Okay, just a minute folks, nothing to be worried about, we’ll have our lights working shortly.” The lights came on, and the presenter at the lower stage looked up at us and yelled, “OH my GOD!” Everyone looked over to where Mr. W was, where there is now only a skeleton strapped to the wall. Everyone laughed. The second presenter ran up to the bones. “Is he alive?” the first presenter called from the bottom. “[Mr. W]! Can you hear me?” the second presenter yelled at the skeleton while giving it a backhand pimp slap. The audience laughed. The second presenter walked sadly to the front of the elevated stage, looking down. “No, I’m afraid he isn’t,” he announced. I put my hands together in a delighted clap, jumping up and down lightly. The audience laughed again. “Is CINDY alive?” the first presenter, who was out of view of me, asked. The presenter on the stage with me said, “I’ll check” and turned to me with his arm up like he was about to give ME a back-hand, too. The audience gasped and I dropped my jaw in mock horror, and the 1st presenter yelled out right in time, “NOOO!” The 2nd guy froze. I was then walked down to join the audience in a special VIP seating area to enjoy the rest of the show. Alone. Since Mr. W was struck by lightning onstage and died.
In the next show segment, the presenters of the special effects told us about the fake blood that Hollywood had used through time, how it used to be chocolate syrup in the black and white days, and then red-colored water in the Jaws days. One presenter raised a large jar with some crusty red stuff in it. “I’m out of fake blood,” he announced, “So I’ll have to use REAL blood for this demo. Where can I get real blood?” All of a sudden the wall behind him rotated and Mr. W came spinning into the room screaming bloody murder, bound to the wall. “Oh my GOD! He’s been brought back to LIFE!” the presenters said in joy. They grabbed his arm, put it in a sink, and the monitor over them showed a knife sinking into his arm with blood gushing out. Mr. W screamed. The kids in the audience whimpered. I laughed. And then they showed how it was done as they raised the knife with the semi-circle cut into the edge. Then they cleaned the “blood” off his arm, returned him into the audience, thanking the heavens that he was brought back to life “altho Cindy didn’t even seem to care. She was like, ‘Eh. Whatever.’ ” Well, he SIGNED a WAIVER.