After Will died, Larry — the talented swinger — went non-responsive. He shut down.
I had to find a builder who could help with my ventures, so I jumped online and scanned what I could.
There are a handful in the UK. The majority were very poor. They'll tell you they're making a replica, and it comes out looking like it was painted by a left-handed child who'd lost his glasses. Then on the other hand you get the very nesh ones — one might be brilliant at wigs, another at intricate painting, sculpting, or stitching the miniature clothes. You can't exactly walk into a hairdresser's and ask them to make a wig the size of an orange.
So after a while of searching, reaching out to maybe not the best, I'd get replies like "I only work in papier-mâché", or "Yes, I can do this for you" — but it would cost over the odds, with no track record in that particular medium.
One of Karl's associates reached out and said they had some sculpts Will had worked on, and asked if I wanted them. After a while I must have ended up on the mailing list. This smuk is gonna buy anything. So I jumped at the chance. As always, he overcharged me. The quality was alright — nothing you could use as is. But I had a perfect sculpt by Will
After some googling I found a place near me that specialised in props. They make them for theatre and TV. So I gave them a call, and it turned out he'd trained at the Little Devil Theatre. He was super enthusiastic on the project.
But I asked: did they work with fibreglass? There was a silence on the other end of the phone. "No. But we work with resin. Resin's as good as fibreglass," he told me. Repeatedly. I went back to him and said, sadly, that I'd need it produced in fibreglass.
He begrudgingly gave me the number of one of his contacts nearby who specialised in it. I sent over an email. Next day, a reply: ring me. So I did. We discussed the project and he said come down. So I did.
It was a big studio, surrounded by moulds of every size. He had a few that were three metres tall — for the theatre, he explained.
Over a coffee I showed him the heads. He explained what he'd do, and then did something nobody I'd worked with had ever done. I was shocked. He gave me a price, and then a time — an actual date the work would be ready. I was shocked again. I'd expected the price to be three times what he quoted.
A week later, the call: they're ready. This was an experience I wasn't used to. Someone sticking to a deadline.
I arrived. Everything was great. Exactly what I was after. He'd built up the back of the head, made the moulds, and cast four replicas in fibreglass.
As I was leaving, he told me he was retiring. This would be his last job in the studio. The rates had gone up and he couldn't justify the big space any more. Turned out he'd worked on tonnes of props too. He specialised in moulds — that was his bread and butter. He could do other bits and pieces. But the moulds were the thing.
I left that studio and couldn't believe my luck. I'd found someone who acted professionally. Right up to that point, I never had.