feminist views of the family

I've not been myself lately. I've been Monsieur Pepe, a Frechman with a nasty virus, a broken nose, impaired fashion sense and a major, major skin condition. Pepe's pretty scary to look at, but that's the point.

As part of a group of folks invited to be "scare actors" for one night at Universal's Halloween Horror Nights, Pepe learned the ins and outs of frightening a mostly willing audience Thursday night.

Our aim is to populate une petit Scare Zone, one not found on any map. The backstory: French countryside gone horribly wrong. The transformation begins with wardrobe. The pants' tag indicate they were cut for a pirate. They're matched with Igor's peasant blouse, a heavy-duty poncho and a long rugged vest. Apparently layering is important in Universal's French countryside.

On to the makeup chair, where the first stage makes me feel very Phantom of the Opera. The appliance goes around my right eye, across the forehead, down the cheek, curves back around the mouth and nose. There's ample adhesive and dabbing with a sponge. Josh Counsel, who has worked with prosthetics for Universal for six years, instructs me to keep my eye shut.

"Otherwise, it will be glued open," he says. That's one effective warning. He asks if I want treatment on the other side of the face, maybe a pustule or somesuch?

"Boil me up," I say.

Latex secure, the colorization begins. More dabbing, then airbrushing. Eyes still closed, but I hear I need more burgundy. The airbrushing is soothing on my face -- until it hits nostril. That's like drowning and being tickled at the same time. For good measure, my exposed arms are painted to match the face and fingernails morbidly blackened. Pepe's not having a good go of it.

After 50 minutes, I'm told I look horrible -- in a good way. Face itch? Don't scratch it, they say. Instead, gently tap the spot. Digging in could rip the handiwork and the epidermis.

Colleen DeFeo, a Universal talent coach, briefs us villagers on how to behave. Act big. Pick your victim. Make sudden movements. Use teamwork and distraction. Timing is everything. Don't make contact. Lurch but backtrack. As the public service announcement says, know when to say when. Safety first.

Have fun.

Pepe, Suzette, Francois, Genevieve, Marquis, Louis and Claudette are escorted to the designated zone, a stretch along the wall of pumpkins leading to the Animal Actors stage. It's foggy and high traffic.

I try out choices I've dreamed up. For a while, Pepe is a bit of an asthmatic beggar (wheezing, palm extended). Then there's the fetal period, crawling along knee-high to theme-park patrons.

Our coach wants more. "Act big," she demands. "I want to hear your voice."

As it turns out, I'm not a screamer. My holler is neither menacing nor convincing. My gift is the quiet creep-out, where I glide up stealthy to potential victims ... And stare.

Pepe's face is his strongest scary suit, so I try to stand in the best lighting so folks can see the handiwork. There's not many prosthetics in this year's Horror Nights -- a stray hare, a lion or witch here and there -- so it's extra eye-catching.

A stand-out bit relies on teamwork. Claudette chases Pepe, who serves as distraction because he's much taller. The flurry worries the guests, who don't always spy Claudette until she screams in their faces. Awesome.

After two stints of scare acting, I am spent. I'm overly aware of all the crud on my face and sympathize with people who wear it for eight-hour shifts.

Backstage it takes two people 20 minutes to de-boil me. Crew members from two haunted houses, Interstellar Terror (jumpsuits) and Body Collectors (long, black robes), take breaks but rarely intermingle. A flying monkey turns in his uniform. The treacherous Tin Man removes his hats and boots. Just another day at the office.

On the drive home, I remember -- too late -- a song learned in eighth-grade French class. Pepe should have belted that out. Now that's scary.

I sleep well. No nightmares. But maybe, if lucky, Pepe caused some.

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