I mentioned before that I started showing the script for OUAT around, fairly tentatively at first, but when people didn't openly ridicule it (that came later, when we were making it) I started showing it to everyone I knew. A recommendation. Don't do this. You'll need to keep a couple of friends aside so that you can show them the second draft. You'll also need a couple of friends to show the third draft to. And then, there will be the friends you want to show the fourth draft to, and the friends who would be delighted to watch the first cut of the film, the second cut, and the final cut before the soundtrack is added, not to mention the final cut of all bar the one that you do at the last minute to eradicate a particularly reprehensible joke that made it all the way through to the editing.

If you use the same friends for the first, second, third, fourth and fifth drafts, and then press upon them the importance of the astonishing variety of cuts of the product, even if you are very enthusiastic and they have a known addiction to chocolate, they can get... well... a little jaded.

So, as I was writing, I had a couple of people in mind for the various roles.

Jon Blum was a shoo-in. Firstly, he had directed and acted in short films himself. Acclaimed short films. I met him through work, but the circumstances were rather contrived, as I had heard that he was a published author, and I had heard that he was really rather good, as well.

In fact, my friend Dave had already read all his books and was astonished that he actually worked in the computer industry. Jon was perfectly happy to encourage my little mad efforts, as he rather enjoyed making short films as well, and you can never have enough enthusiastic people around when you are doing such things. And he graciously agreed to be Player A, even after he had read the first draft of the script. I didn't have strong feelings initially as to who would be Player A - I wrote the part for Jon or myself, with the intention of having the other doing Player B if necessary.

Alistair Rigg was a shoo-in. I'd been friends with him at work for a while, thanks to a common interest in nerdy stuff like Dungeons and Dragons, computer games, science fiction, and beer. Um, nerdy beer, that is.

Alistair is a somewhat frightening person, very loud, very enthusiastic, very opinionated, and very dominating. He's tall and large, and he looks somewhat like a football hooligan. In Liverpool (I think), where he's from, he was known for his triple headbutt when he got into fights. I figured his larger-than-life presence would carry over well into film, and I really think, based on the end results, that it did. He loved playing the villain, and his enthusiasm levels didn't drop for the entire shoot. The part of Player D was written specifically for Alistair.

Simon Abernethy was a shoo-in. I've known Simon since 1988. I met him at James Cook University, playing a game of Illuminati, as I recall. We were friends pretty much through uni, lost touch when I went to Adelaide, and then got in touch again when Simon moved to Canberra and I to Sydney.

Simon really is a great big pussycat (sorry, Simon). I figured he would play a fantastic underdog kind of character, and he did. The part was especially written for him, but I would like to point out that he isn't really like the character of Player C, as in the games that we did play, he exhibited a wily imagination and a devious cunning that his gentle continence belies.

Ted Nielsen was the second replacement for a character who I almost thought I'd have to run myself. Firstly, I wrote the part for, and offered it to, Dave Versace.

However, while Dave (like Simon) lives in Canberra, he had many more commitments and had just entered into a passionate relationship with somebody who was not in Sydney, so after the first script meeting, he very slightly regretfully, but with an additional tinge of relief, bailed like a pikey-piker and ran screaming from the project. Dave is a professional cynic. I then offered the part to Chris Fellows, genius extra-ordinaire, who initially kinda accepted under extreme pressure and then did an about face just because he had a very young child that was rather incompatible with short film making. At this point I was considering doing the thing myself, but fortunately, I met Ted, quickly and cynically cultivated a friendship for the purpose of using and discarding him, and shanghaid him into the film by promising to let go of his throat (note: while this account is a complete fabrication, it also contains no elements of truth at all. However, it is a convenient fiction that covers up the ghastly truth of the affair, and the less said on the matter the fnord better.) Ted rose to the occasion magnificently and was quickly assimilated into the project. He also proved to be a one-take wonder, giving perfect readings almost every single take. He was genuinely bemused when we leapt and sprung about excitedly in reaction to this.