The Devil's Cinema (14 page)

When his father died, Johnny moved back into the family home to care for his devastated mother. His presence gave the new widow much comfort. But after three years in the house, the draw of returning to his birthplace of Edmonton soon became too great. In 1998, Johnny left a pharmacy warehouse job for a new life in the booming prairie capital. He drove inland with a few buddies, hoping to become a helicopter pilot. Through mutual friends, Johnny reconnected with an old elementary school classmate, Dale Smith. He even convinced Dale to buy a computer as the two drew close, often talking on a daily basis and playing paintball together.

Johnny soon complained of the financial cost of getting a helicopter licence and his dreams found a way to change. After taking courses at NAIT, he landed a steady job at Argus Machine. He toiled in quality control at the manufacturer, a career spent confirming that the steel pipes and connections being hauled out the door were of the correct dimensions. “Measure measure measure … and measure some more” is how he described his usual 4:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. shift.

He was now in his late thirties. He often shaved his head to hide the fact that he was balding. Johnny had two good friends at work, Willy Stanic and Hans-Wilhelm Adam, who heard all about his dating exploits, often occurring online through websites. His failed wedding engagement, however, was one detail he did not share widely among his workmates. Having met after the relationship ended, Hans never knew his friend had once been so close to marriage.

In selling the ring online, Johnny returned to the newsgroup bulletin board services he had grown up using. Staring at the posting now available across
the Internet, Johnny knew he had reached an end – and a new beginning.

Of course, a relationship dissolves for more than one reason, but the issue of children, as he explained to a long-time friend, was central to the breakup and the return of the ring. He had made the decision long ago never to experience fatherhood.

Remaining childless, however, would have nothing to do with his own decisions. It would soon depend entirely on a complete stranger, a man who would enter his life swiftly and leave just as quickly, ripping every option from his grasp along the way.

As
THE FIRST SNOWFALL
was dusting sidewalks, a winter chill taking over as 2007 neared its end, Twitchell was told of an exciting, controversial new show on television. It was several weeks after he had won the Halloween costume prize. The novelty was fading, the money being spent, as his life returned slowly to the normal routine.

His friend Joss Hnatiuk had discovered the program. The web designer by trade recommended the show to Twitchell. “It's called
Dexter
. You
have
to watch it,” Joss insisted. “I think you'll love it.”

But he brushed off his friend's suggestion, having always been skeptical of recommendations and especially hard to impress when it came to TV shows. He looked up to Joss as a “big lovable dude” but privately found him to be far too “gullible.” For one, he regarded Joss as religious. It was a passion Twitchell did not fully understand. His interests lay elsewhere. Twitchell had just uploaded a sample movie trailer to YouTube for
Day Players
, which he had produced to help sell the potential film project to investors. He was thinking of his future – his wife, Jess, a child on the way, the fact that he needed to secure funding for his comedy feature and complete post-production on his recently wrapped
Star Wars
fan film. He just wasn't interested in introducing another element into his busy life just yet.

Members of his film crew, however, had joined Joss in following
Dexter's
violent storylines. Joss kept praising the show, thinking weeks of prodding would eventually convince his pal to take in the program. Finally, there came a day when Joss shoved a pack of DVDs into Twitchell's hands. He had studiously copied all twelve episodes of the first season of
Dexter
on to the pack of discs and presented it to his friend as a gift. With a sigh, Twitchell finally agreed to give the show a look.

Back at a rented townhouse, where Jess was nearly bursting as her due date neared, Twitchell chose to watch
Dexter
for the first time in secret. He settled into his couch alone to give the show his undivided attention.

In silence, Twitchell watched every episode in only four days.

He was mesmerized.

Dexter
focused on the bizarre double life of the fictitious Dexter Morgan. He was a blood-spatter analyst for the Miami police and a vigilante serial killer, going after criminals he deemed deserving of death. He had little empathy and would keep a blood slide of each victim as a souvenir. He liked to use a kill room, wrapping everything in plastic to contain all the evidence. All Dexter had to do was strap his victims to his table, perhaps torture them a bit, and then cut them into pieces, tossing their remains in garbage bags into the ocean. His knowledge of forensics, and his presence inside the police force, helped him continue killing largely undetected.

In one episode, Dexter stood in a comic book store shocked by the realization that his killings had become a motivation for storytelling. On the wall, a poster was tacked up for
The Dark Defender
, a graphic novel based on the unsolved killings in the region. The character had a hoodie pulled over his head. Most of his face was cast in darkness, except for his mouth and chin. He wore leather gloves and held an army-style blade. Dexter was intrigued that his own actions were inspiring others.

Twitchell was enthralled by the way
Dexter
presented a philosophical debate about justified murder. Sure Dexter was a monster, Twitchell thought, but he's “a self-aware one.” He appreciated the fact that Dexter was still a charming and witty character, even though he was deeply flawed.

Episodes were watched closely and repeatedly. Twitchell then bought the
Dexter
series of novels, by Jeff Lindsay, which had inspired the TV series. He saw how Dexter Morgan in the books wore a silk mask to hide his identity from his victims.

He thought the show was better than the books. Twitchell admired the writing, thought the show gritty and not too flashy. He adored the cliffhangers. The main actor, Michael C. Hall, was impressive in the role. His Dexter was more believable and more dynamic. Twitchell wanted to see Dexter's pathology transform. He felt the books kept him too static as “always the same old sociopath.” The books explained Dexter's “dark passenger” – his internalized desire to kill – as a near-supernatural force, while Twitchell liked how the show treated it more realistically as a psychological condition.

The discovery of
Dexter
complicated Twitchell's life. He suddenly had a new interest and he knew he had a tendency to dive deeply into his passions until they consumed him – as it did two years ago when his fan film dominated his schedule. Back then, in 2005, Twitchell had met Joss through the message boards on
theforce.net
. Twitchell had written a post asking for help with a fan film he was trying to create. He had written the script for
Star Wars: Secrets of the Rebellion
with a friend from the Midwest, and having moved back to Edmonton, he planned to shoot the feature-length film at his old college, NAIT, in front of a studio green screen. He was spending $60,000 of his own money to do it, hoping it would be a calling card for the industry. There was talk of top-notch costumes, computer-generated special effects, and plenty of lightsabers. It was a rare chance to get the
Star Wars
fan community in the region together, working on a single project. Joss read the post and loved the idea. He was in.

On the set of the fan film, Twitchell became good friends with Joss and others he had drawn in for the
Star Wars
experience: Mike Young, Jay Howatson, Scott Cooke. Some were associates from Twitchell's various sales jobs while others were from the sci-fi community. It wasn't long until the four of them became Twitchell's go-to film crew and his tiny circle of friends. David Puff, a local cinematographer and editor, was brought into the fold. Jason Fritz, an avid
Star Wars
fan and his roommate at the time, joined the cast to assist with fight scenes. Together, they would formulate ways of making Twitchell's large-scale concepts a reality. They also bonded over their shared sarcastic sense of humour and love of outlandish pop culture and fantasy. Some of them even carried lightsabers on their belts, breaking into pretend battles when the urge struck them. Growing up, they had been the fanboys on the fringe, finding acceptance not in the classroom but in online message boards. Twitchell had become a standout star among them. When his new friends gave him the nickname “Twitch,” he was more than thrilled.

The
Star Wars
project was elaborate and took years to film. Over the summers of 2006 and 2007, actors and performers from across Canada and the United States flew to Edmonton to star in the movie, news of the project spreading among sci-fi fans through the Internet. Eventually, Jeremy Bulloch signed up too. The cast was amazed because he was a living icon
from his role as bounty hunter Boba Fett in the original
Star Wars
trilogy. Twitchell had somehow convinced the actor to make a brief appearance in his fan film.

Twitchell's dreams were rising faster and higher than his crew could ever imagine. A confident man with a charm that drew others closer, Twitchell imagined his film career looked to be heading to Hollywood. His only demand was that he wanted to remain in control. His production company, Xpress Entertainment, would be behind his efforts and he would be the producer, the writer, the director – a triple talent. He felt he was born to deliver provocative content to the masses and considered himself to be “a young George Lucas.” His crew was brought along just to build sets, hold lights, work as production assistants, and follow his lead.

As shooting wrapped in the late summer of 2007, Twitchell declared how significant an achievement it had been. “It's going to be a surreal experience bringing those long awaited incredible stories to the screen and I'm blown away that it gets to be me to bring it to the world,” he wrote on his blog. “It feels like destiny.”

He also wrote of being a believer in fate. So what destiny was there now, if any, in stumbling upon Dexter Morgan at this exact moment in his life? Twitchell needed a team of 3D graphic artists working for free to finish his masterpiece of
Star Wars
fandom. He needed to convince investors to give him thousands of dollars so he could film
Day Players
. And with 2008 approaching, he was mere weeks away from becoming a father. He would need to keep working in sales to support his growing family with a regular income. But now, there was
Dexter
. The show engaged him deeply and ran the very real risk of taking up all of his spare time.

He was confident his efforts would be worth it. Television networks had already come down to his
Star Wars
film set and interviewed him, boosting his crew's belief each time that he could become something big with all this media attention. “A lot of people take it very seriously and they decide to go all the way with it and make it screen accurate,” Twitchell explained of his filmmaking philosophy to CBC television, the nation's public broadcaster.

At the end of shooting, he became even more upbeat and assertive as another TV news crew visited his production. “Word has gotten around that I'm making a one-hundred-million-dollar movie for sixty grand and
some production and directing jobs have already come my way,” he told the CTV network with a smile. “I'm going to be very busy. And everyone here who has shown their work ethic with me on this project? I'm taking them with me on a ride!”

With Dexter Morgan now in the picture, none of his friends realized just how foreboding his declaration would one day turn out to be.

A
T THE END OF
January 2008, Twitchell became a father. Together, he and Jess had been thinking of baby names before they were even married. They settled on Chloe when the child was born. Jess let her husband pick one of the baby's middle names, even after she learned his choice was taken from the expanded
Star Wars
universe. At least it was a name only hardcore fans would recognize: Jaina, the daughter of Han Solo and Princess Leia.

He celebrated the new arrival with a mass email. His happiness was clear in his prose. “She's remarkably easy going (just like her dad) and pretty much popped out already presentable with no conehead or misshapen body parts of any kind,” Twitchell wrote with his usual humour. “Welcome to the world kiddo.” He attached a photo of Chloe with Jess and another of his mother, Mary, giving a look of wonder only someone holding their first grandchild can give.

It was a joyous start to their new family for a couple who had been swept up in a speedy romance. In the beginning, having met on
plentyoffish.com
, Twitchell had actually forgotten about their first date and was heading to the movies when Jess called, wondering why he wasn't at the restaurant. After the shaky start, Twitchell became enamoured with her. Jess was a smart woman with a university degree who was three years older than him. He liked that. Yet, they appeared to be opposites. He was a big-picture thinker while she was detail-oriented; he was spontaneous and Jess was more of a planner; he saw how organized she could be while his life had always been more like organized chaos. She didn't share his intense passion for filmmaking,
Star Wars
, or fantasy. Jess cringed at the thought of violence. Despite these differences, they fell in love quickly. On a stroll through a park only months after meeting, Twitchell pulled out a ring and surprised
her with a proposal. He had picked out a diamond with a platinum band worth around $7,000. He later joked that he had given Jess “a promotion” to fiancé. The couple was in the highest of spirits. She moved in to his rented townhouse while his roommate, Jason Fritz, moved out. Theirs was a small wedding, with his sister, Susan, serving as best man. Their honeymoon took them to Costa Rica. And Chloe was born just after their first anniversary.