These same games also usually had Obi-Wan playing a crotchety old man who turned the hose on anyone who tried to get into the Rebel base, and Boba Fett as a kamikaze guy whose rocket pack was not a rocket at all, but a bomb strapped to his back. He would blow himself up at the base, but have just enough muscles left in his butt to crawl back to to his assistant manager, the Imperial Stockbroker.
Looking back, I'm a bit amazed that we had such a good sense of the absurdity and inherent comic possibilities of mid-level management meatballs, and while taking some pics of the new Rebels figures with the old guys, I found that the hang-dog expression on the Imperial Stockbroker's face was a gold mine. Taking shots of him is WAY more fun than taking selfies. So here are some emotive portraits, taken around town in the last couple days, when I've had about three days of continuing tour work, which I've been documenting on my instagram.
PORTRAITS OF AN IMPERIAL MID-LEVEL MANAGER:
Imperial Commander cruises through the galaxy, looking for the heart of Saturday night.
With an Olmec head that has roughly his same expression as him.
"So, it was like the Death Star of Chicago?" Imperial Commander at the site of the H.H. Holmes "Murder Castle" in Englewood.
Paris Street, Rainy Day
In an early 19th century painting.
"Yes, m'lord. The Empire must establish an outpost in Canada..."
"He'd look good in a hologram."
Diagon Alley, London. Lots of people trying to scare me with their sorcerer's ways...
Off to the next adventure...