The really remarkable thing was that there were no lines between the on stage crew and the actors. I can't stress how unusual that is. Often, and certainly I experienced it on some of the other Trek shows, there is the cast, and then there is the crew, and never the twain shall meet. Maybe they'll say hi to you in the morning, but more often than not they'll just go about their business and look right through you. I can't blame them. Learning pages of dialogue every day, day in and day out, being at the studio before dawn, working late into the night, worrying about cutting it, no time for home life... That is a heavy burden. Yes, you are paid well, but at a certain point that doesn't matter. But TNG transcended that, and every actor knew every name. It wasn't just courtesy; it was a special chemistry. No, this isn't just that tired Hollywood hyperbole. It really was "lightning in a bottle." Even more unusual was that, the later the nights wore on, the more fun it became. The bridge became a high-tech night club, and there was huge silliness, with singing, wrestling matches, water bottle bowling with Frakes, Spiner practicing his Jimmy Stewart, and honing his phaser fast draw, and Patrick reciting Scottish poetry in the native tongue. I never watched them do a serious rehearsal, and an appreciative stage crew was usually roaring with laughter. But I'll tell you what... when the bell rang, and the clapboard clapped, they were right on the money. It was uncanny.
The crew saw me as "their Oscar winner." and loved teasing me about it, especially LeVar Burton. No matter where we were, or what the situation was, LeVar would announce my presence in his best emcee voice, and at the top of his range, "Ladies and Gentlemen! Academy Award Winner... DOUG DREXLER!" In fact, in general conversation, I was no longer Doug Drexler, but Academy Award-winning Doug Drexler. LeVar carried the joke through several seasons and never missed an opportunity. One day I was walking down the busy main drag in Studio City, when this guy running at full tilt around the corner runs headlong into me. I'm about to say, “Hey, watch it, bub!” when who does it turn out to be? LeVar! Who, without missing a beat, turns to one and all on the busy thoroughfare, and at the top of his lungs announces... you guessed it… "Ladies and gentlemen! Academy Award Winner... DOUG DREXLER!" It was not the last time I would be teased about the Oscar, and LeVar would not be the only devil to employ it.
I was in the TNG makeup lab, prepping some appliance molds, when
Mike Westmore dashed in, “Doug, the union doesn’t have any “body” makeup artists available today, so guess what?” Images of sugar plums danced in my head! What beauty would I be bronzing today! I’m the luckiest boy in the world! “It’s John de Lancie,” said Mr. Wes’mo, as my shoulders slumped. “He appears naked on the bridge, stripped of his Q powers by his fellow Q, and dumped on
The Enterprise.” “Very well, sir!” I respond dutifully. “Where to, and what with?” Mike hands me a Max Factor pancake and a sponge. “He’s waiting in his trailer.”
Tap-tap-tap on the Winnebago. “Come in!” I slowly open the door, and peer into the darkness. John is wearing a bathrobe, busy on the telephone, and quite involved in the conversation. He waves me to enter. I gently close the door behind me. I don’t want to interrupt him. I smile, holding up the pancake and sponge. He nods in the affirmative, and loses the robe. He’s wearing a modesty G-string that maintains the privacy of his forward plumbing. I get to work, wetting the sponge and applying pancake. I know it feels a lot like being licked by a big Saint Bernard… it’s cold and yucky for sure, but de Lancie pays it no never mind, as he continues his phone call. He’s aware of me enough to anticipate needing to lift an arm or turn his body, but other than that he is oblivious. One complete turn and I am done. There comes a sharp rap at the Winnebago door, the second AD sticks her head in and says, “We’re ready for John.” De Lancie dons his robe, as I follow him into the cool and dark of Stage 8. The stage smells of ancient edifices, fresh lumber, paint, and cat pee. It’s funny how those smells give me a rush of excitement, because I know what they mean. Ahead you can see the glow of that amazing, beautiful TNG bridge. To our unadjusted eyes, light pours from it. The wall to
Picard’s ready room has been flown out, and we cut through. It’s controlled chaos as grips, wardrobe, extras, construction and electric, criss-cross in front of us as we make our way.
By now our eyes have adjusted, and we can see the friendly and funny faces. “Grandfather” at his sound cart, Lovable Cosmo “Cosi” Genovese checking his script for continuity notes, Charlie “Chooch” Russo, polishing
Geordi’s visor. Suddenly; there is a huge crash to the left, and most don’t even look, because they know that Jonathan Frakes is bowling with empty Sparklett bottles. LeVar notices me come into the bridge, and he calls out loud enough for everyone to hear… “Ladies and gentlemen! Academy Award-winning makeup artist DOUG DREXLER!” I feel the blood rushing to my face. LeVar plainly knows he’s embarrassing me, and he loves it. The crew hoots and cheers their admiration. I wave like the mighty Casey, and then shake my fist at LeVar. Out of the corner of my eye I spot director Les Landau. Les and I have some history. He is observing me, and the adulation I am receiving with a mischievous smirk. I realize I am in trouble.
John hands his robe to wardrobe Jerry, and takes his mark on the bridge, buck naked. Landau approaches, looks at John’s naked butt cheek and yells at the top of his lungs! “MAKEUP!” I wear a tight smile that I cannot help as I walk over, because Landau has seen the opportunity for comedy, and there is no way he can pass it up. I know where he’s going, I think it’s hilarious, but I want to run away. As the entire crew turns to see what Les is yelling about, he points to a spot on de Lancie’s gluteus maximus and proclaims, “I think you missed a spot!” Wow! Everyone starts whistling, screaming and laughing as I stroke Max Factor pancake onto
Q’s bum. I’m smiling and shaking my head as I do my job with all the professionalism I can muster. Les plants one hand on his hip, presenting me with the other, and like a circus ringmaster proclaims: “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! ACADEMY AWARD-WINNING MAKEUP ARTIST, DOUG DREXLER!” The crew goes wild, as the bridge literally explodes with laughter and applause! Frakes roars! Patrick, loving me being humbled, grins like the Cheshire Cat. Dorn chants my name, "Drexler! DREX-LER! DREX-LER! De Lancie is still oblivious to me and everything else, as he is lost in memorizing his lines.
