San Diego Comic-Con 2007 Confessions: The Masquerade

Part Two of my San Diego Comic-Con 2007 Confessions.

Confession: I’ve never played the Tomb Raider video games. I’ve never seen the Angelina Jolie films (though I’ve been to the Cambodian ruins where the first one was filmed). And yet, I agreed to dress in an Lara Croft costume, one of eight depicting the evolution of Lara Croft over the years, and promenade before thousands of people in the San Diego Comic-Con Masquerade.

To recap from Part One, on Friday my friend Rachel and I were accosted by a girl dressed as Lara Croft in the Comic-Con  exhibition hall. She said she desperately needed seven brunettes to don Lara Croft costumes for the Comic-Con Masquerade.

Rachel said Yes, Oh Yes! I took a little longer. When the girl—who I’ll call our Croftmother—agreed  to let our MIA friend Amanda participate as well, I relented.

We would meet the next morning for Masquerade Orientation. Our Croftmother handed us a paper going over our Lara Croft skit before disappearing into the crowd. I glanced at it. The first word I saw was trampoline.


Orientation: Songs of innocence and experience

“Raise your hand if this is your first time in Masquerade,” asked the M.C. leading the Masquerade Orientation.

A slew of hands clawed the air in reply, including ours—and the rest of the Masquerade participants gasped. I wonder what would have happened if I’d admitted I wasn’t just a Masquerade virgin, but a Comic-Con virgin as well. Would they have fainted?

The other Lara Croft wannabes and I half-listened as the M.C. rattled off Masquerade protocol and meeting times, while our Croftmother passed around an iPod so we could sample our skit’s soundtrack. As the iPod moved down the line, each girl would listen for a bit, and then burst into laughter.

My turn. I slipped the headphones in my ears and pressed play. I heard adventurous music. Jungle music. And then, about a minute in, a pause. And then. . .  Justin Timberlake’s “Sexyback”.


Backstage: What have we gotten ourselves into?

We flashed our backstage passes at the security guard manning the Masquerade backstage area, and we were instantly greeted with a menagerie of costumes. And believe it or not, they were best costumes I’d ever seen in my life.

There was Beetlejuice with inflatable arms and a diabolical carousel hat. All the characters from Jem, the 80’s cartoon, in neon spandex and rainbow-colored wigs. Transformers! Video game characters, movie characters, comic book characters. Best were the obscure anime characters: wigs with five-foot wingspans, teacup princess dresses, spiderleg hats, headpieces so elaborate they must have induced migraines. Spooky, intricate, Tim Burtonesque.

Last but. . . least, was our group: eight Lara Crofts. Our costumes were undeniably eye-pleasing, but when compared to the jaw-droppingly elaborate, Hollywood-quality costumes we saw around us, we felt like trick-or-treaters. Sexy trick-or-treaters.

Our Croftmother ran around like a madwoman, sewing, stapling, adapting her handmade costumes to fit seven strangers’ bodies. The “Tokyo” dress put aside for me was too large, so I swapped with Rachel for a pair of army-print gym shorts and combat boots. Next, we headed to the bathroom and applied face-melting amounts of makeup. We posed in front of the mirror. We sufficiently resembled Lara Croft. And we had guns!

But we had absolutely no idea what we were going to do on stage.

Our haphazard preparations for our Masquerade skit reminded me of rehearsing for skits in Junior High, in which your English teacher gives you half an hour to prepare before a petrifying performance in front of the entire class. In this case, the entire class consisted of five thousand people. Our Croftmother tried to choreograph a series of dance steps to make the most of “Sexyback”, and we bumped into each other and bopped around, and I tried my best not to complain.

Fortunately, the trampoline was retired.  


Zero Hour: Hold my hand, I’m frightened

We waited in the wings until our music began. In the darkness, we filed onstage. The music swelled. We spun around. And I’m pleased to say, the crowd went wild.
 
Amanda flipped the side of her dress to display her garter belt gun  I flaunted my guns and belly-baring ensemble. Rachel performed an impetuous booty dance. We executed our awkward, last-minute dance steps. And we were the clumsiest Lara Crofts imaginable. Our Croftmother’s eleventh-hour “fakeout”—which was supposed to include a surprise jaunt back onstage to “I Like the Way” by Bodyrockers—failed because the crew thought we really were finished, and the skit was cut short.

Backstage, out Croftmother was livid. Rachel, Amanda and I, however, were exultant.

So maybe we were the unqualified, wayward children of the 2007 Comic-Con Masquerade. Maybe I was a little bit of a wet blanket (though I still believe you can’t choreograph a dance involving eight non-dancers in twenty minutes—sorry, Rachel). Maybe no one will ever find us on YouTube.

But you know what? I’m glad I did it. Now I can cross “performing in the Comic-Con Masquerade” off my life list.

Though first, I’d have to add it there in the first place.

Read the rest of my Comic-Con adventures at San Diego Comic-Con 2007 Confessions: Going Geekstyle.