It all began after church.
In Sin City, of all places.
For young Ramiro Avendano, those Sunday afternoons with his grandmother, huddled inside a movie theater taking in double features, was when he began falling in love with film.
Avendano's enthusiasm for cinema grew as he grew up. He found his own creative outlet when he started making short films with his friends with his family's clunky video camera.
"We made movies on our free time," Avendano recalled. "We would build model spaceships and play Star Wars and pretend we were the heroes."
But to many members of the San Antonio film community, he's turned out to be the villain of his own story. A film project he spearheaded has created deep-seated controversy and animosity among his peers.
Instead of launching him into a directing career culminating with a shot at Hollywood, Avendano's Zombie Reign ended up dead on arrival. The ambitious horror flick, seven years in the making, is unlikely to ever see the light of day and has left Avendano fending off accusations of engaging in unethical, unprofessional and possibly illegal actions.
Avendano was born in San Antonio in 1970, but he moved with his mother when he was still a baby to Las Vegas, where most of his relatives lived. Years later, after several moves back and forth between SA and Vegas and limited by a lack of a college degree, he remained unsure what he wanted to do with his life.
John Lopez has known Avendano since they were 12. They went to Las Vegas High together in the late '80s. They still see each other occasionally when Avendano goes back to visit.
Not that Lopez seems to think particularly highly of his lifetime buddy. Or perhaps more like he's come to accept his troublemaking ways.
"I always knew what kind of character Henry was," Lopez said, using Avendano's childhood nickname. "He was the type of person that would steal tips off the table when we would go out to eat so he wouldn't have to pay for his food. I don't think he's ever changed."
Eventually, Avendano finally decided to make a go of his filmmaker career. He dug up a short story he had written back in high school to try to develop it into a full-fledged movie script. Thus Zombie Reign was born.
"It was like my dream was taking form," Avendano told the San Antonio Current in one of several interviews in February.
A pause and a sigh later, his next words foreshadowed the debacle of his high-stakes project — as well as his cinematic career.
"Maybe I bit off more than I could chew," he uttered.
Pipe Dreams
Rochelle Dernbach met Avendano in 2011 when they were both living in Las Vegas. She was 18 then. Avendano, 41 at the time, found her through Facebook, recruiting her for his fledgling movie. A self-described theater geek, Dernbach was tempted by the possibility of making a name for herself. She agreed to meet Avendano to talk about taking the lead female role.
Turned out she wasn't the first nor the sole person offered that gig. But she didn't know that at the time. All she cared about was getting her big shot, slated to perform opposite Avendano, who was not only directing but also playing her love interest. Dernbach said he compared their on-screen relationship as "being like Hans Solo and Princess Leia from Star Wars." She did start having second thoughts when Avendano tried to shove his tongue down her throat during rehearsal.
"I was unprepared for that and was not very comfortable," Dernbach told the San Antonio Current. "It was shocking and embarrassing." But since they were working without a script, it's hard to say whether Avendano was taking it too far.
But he did pick up on her hesitation and seemed none too pleased to learn later she was dating a member of the crew. So, apparently, she paid for it. Dernbach said she was demoted from lead actress to production manager.
At that point, in 2011, the project had already been in pre-production for four years as a TV series. He had auditioned and hired actors and actresses — informally, mainly promises of contracts and pay — to produce promotional footage. He told them he'd use the promos to lure investors willing to finance the show and then hopefully sell it to a network. Although no investors ever gave him money during that time, Avendano, who didn't have much experience in the TV or film industry, moved back to San Antonio in 2012, continuing to hold auditions and rehearsals. He even obtained a permit from the San Antonio Film Commission to shoot a promo in front of the Alamo — a controversial move, with people complaining that such triviality and gore disrespected the historical shrine.
After three years of holding out hope that Zombie Reign would turn into something real, Dernbach — who followed Avendano to the Alamo City — finally gave up on the stagnant project.
Taking a look back, she said she should have called it quits much sooner. In five years, Avendano had not raised any money and had not shot a single scene for Zombie Reign. What he had done was collect a roster-full of actors and crewmembers and promised those that stuck around that he wasn't about to give up — hoping they wouldn't, either.
But many former Zombie Reign cast and crew dropped out through the years, convinced there wasn't even a movie to make and that Avendano had been stringing them all along. Apparently, he did have a gift: Making people believe he was for real.
"He's played so many mind games with everyone, it's ridiculous," Dernbach said. "He has a superhero complex ... He would even refer to himself as the 'Tan Superman.'"
Funding? What Funding?
She may have been front and center in the rise and fall of Zombie Reign, but Dernbach is not alone. Over the last month, an investigation by the San Antonio Current, including interviews with a dozen former and current cast members, revealed many involved in the project said Avendano shafted them.
Several other young women said he turned rehearsals into personal make-out sessions, constantly demanding them to rework those scenes. Apparently, swapping spit with his actresses is but the tip of the iceberg in a long list of accusations.
Perhaps the most egregious charge against Avendano is that he lied to his cast and crew when he announced that an investor from Vegas was willing to plunk down a hefty $9 million to make Zombie Reign.
They said Avendano had them believe the movie was being fully financed by DK Productions, a seasoned film and video production company where Avendano worked as a production assistant years ago.
Avendano denies assuring anyone that DK Productions was funding the film. Yet that's precisely what he said publicly on at least a couple of occasions, such as during an interview at the Alamo City Comic Con last September with webcast AFK Show. Avendano said that Zombie Reign "got the green light to start filming in October" and was "being funded by DK Productions."
And in a separate interview with blog Von Ormy Star in October, he said that DK Productions is "funding us to make this big budget production happen" and "for them to trust me with their money on this is amazing."
Their involvement was news to folks at DK Productions.
Vice-president Kimberlie Chambers said in an interview with the San Antonio Current that she was nothing short of "mortified" after she heard Avendano's claims.
"We told him that if he was able to raise the funds for the film, we would consider producing it," Chambers said. "But the funding never happened over the course of two years, so it was all just talk as far as we were concerned."
Chambers denies ever working out an agreement with Avendano putting DK on the hook to finance, promote, produce or distribute the film.
Avendano countered that DK only backed out because of untrue rumors and innuendo surfacing about his trials and tribulations in making the film. Yet when asked if he could produce a contract or anything in writing confirming DK's participation, he shared a text conversation with Chambers.
She definitely expressed interest in the project and reiterated her call for Avendano to drum up a financial plan but she clarified he never convinced her that he had his act together.
"You can't go around saying you're making a movie unless you have a budget or the money to actually make the movie," a miffed Chambers said.
Yet that's precisely what he did, according to various cast and crewmembers. Avendano refused repeated requests by the San Antonio Current to share names of other investors he claimed had committed to backing his movie.
"It was still an undetermined amount, but they believed in us to help make it happen," is all he was willing to say.
And how did he come up with the $9 million budget, anyway? That was his "wish figure." He said he never promised he'd raise that much, but he remained optimistic some money people could come around since he was willing to tweak the script into any format they desired.
So even without any funding in place, Avendano continued to hold auditions, assuring his production team that "people were ready to invest" and that there was "enough money already in place to start filming." He also required actors to attend free acting workshops to get them ready for callbacks and for the actual shoot.
"We would have everyone work with our acting coaches," said Cynthia Aline, Avendano's current girlfriend, who also had a role in the film. "We were doing everything possible to set them up for success."
Andy Martin didn't consider himself an established actor, but he had been on a handful of TV shows and independent film sets before. When he was told he would have to take acting classes, he thought Avendano had it backwards. Plus, he said, the amateurish teachers reminded him of acting exercises he had done in middle school.
"The classes were a waste of everyone's time," Martin said. "You don't make actors take classes after you hire them. Ramiro was a nice guy, but he had no idea what he was doing. It almost felt like I was a part of an Ed Wood movie."
But even Wood's Plan 9 from Outer Space had a $60,000 budget in 1959. If Zombie Reign did have in fact a financing base, it would mean the cast and crew of 100-150 would get off volunteer status and be provided official contracts so they could begin filming and actually get paid.
It seemed that moment where everyone could breathe a collective sigh of relief had finally arrived in September, after Avendano held a red-carpet event at SA's Santikos Palladium to screen the latest promotional trailer. It was then when he announced that everyone was getting a contract. Actresses Mae McEntire and Aly Real thought it had all been worth it.
How Many Leading Ladies?
McEntire became the latest iteration of leading lady, cast for the role in March. At that time, she was told contracts would be distributed within two weeks. But it didn't happen. Avendano, in his perennially convincing ways, reassured her all was OK.
"He would say things like, 'Our investors are asking us to shoot one more scene before we can get contracts in,'" McEntire said.
Real was also offered a lead role. She was cast last summer and was also told contracts were on their way. Over the following months, Real met with Avendano to repeatedly rehearse kissing scenes. Investors needed to verify that she was right for the part, she said he told her.
"I remember once, there was a guy there filming us with an iPad. [Ramiro] kept saying we needed to have more passion and more tongue so we could get the character development right," Real recalled. "I honestly thought he was showing these videos to investors so they could see we had chemistry since they were putting so much money into the production."
No matter how many leading ladies he cast or how much tongue action took place, Avendano remained steadfast: It was all about the work. The scenes had to be right. He insisted that he kept it strictly professional, never doing anything inappropriate and always making sure there was someone else in the room during rehearsal.
His girlfriend, for one, didn't mind. She understood steamy scenes come with the territory in the world of filmmaking.
"Even Brad [Pitt] and Angelina [Jolie] had to have those kinds of screen tests before they did Mr. & Mrs. Smith," Aline said. "That is completely normal in a production."
Lingering worries for the actresses seemed to go out the window when Avendano presented them with contracts — $30,000 for Real and $48,000 for McEntire. They looked official and all, even listing for the first time actual production dates: October 26, 2014, to January 31, 2015.
"When he gave me the contract, I was like, 'Wow, he has money!'" Real said. "It was exciting."
It lasted for all of three weeks.
That's right. After all the ups and downs, months or even years with no pay, cast and crew still didn't get a buck. Avendano called a meeting at his home. He had some bad news: All contracts were "null and void." That's because his company, which he called RA Productions, was going to merge with DK Productions and create a new company to produce Zombie Reign. The move supposedly brought good news: The film's overall budget would increase and everyone would receive new contracts with higher pay.
Cue a collective roll of the eyes.
He may have completely concocted the whole story about the contracts or, again, he may have misunderstood certain conversations. Either way, perhaps not surprisingly by this point, his plan didn't pan out.
"There's no merger. There's no contract. There's no nothing," DK's Chambers said.
So did Avendano possibly break the law and commit fraud in drawing up those contracts?
Maybe.
According to Deena Kalai, an Austin-based entertainment lawyer, there are many issues at play. It's no simple matter.
For instance, Kalai said one decisive factor is whether "the original party to the contract may be able to assign that contract to another party — for example, if another entity is formed."
The Zombie Reign standard contract — the San Antonio Current obtained copies — did not include language about assigning it to another group.
Avendano deemed the first contract null and void because of an alleged merger. But Kalai said it could be a moot point because "assigning a contract ... doesn't deem it null and void. The contract stays alive and in effect. It's just that a new party steps into the assigning party's shoes."
Kalai said a contract could be considered fraudulent if there is wording lying about financing being secured. Although the Zombie Reign contract did not include language on financial backing, Kalai noted it remains a "grey area" because someone could also be held liable if they guaranteed financing was in place "during the negotiation of the document."
Faithful Hang On
The majority of his cast and crew eventually lost all hope of seeing the project come to fruition. So it likely comes as no surprise that Avendano has built himself quite a lengthy list of enemies — some may feel sorry for him while others liken him to a scheming scoundrel. But he still retains a tight-knit posse, diehard believers and close confidantes, who continue to support him and his Zombie Reign dream.
They're not easy to find. At least not in San Antonio's cinematic circles.
Actress Gigi Parker Hudnell, a makeup artist, continues to be impressed by Avendano's diligence as a director and screenwriter despite his lack of experience.
And, in what Avendano's critics would see as a slap to the face, she said he's been an open book. And that he deserves credit for not being a quitter.
"Ramiro has never once lied to us," Hudnell said. "He has been working on this thing since he was a teenager and immersed himself in this project. He is a creator. This is his life."
Summer Collett, another actress still involved with the project, said Avendano has taken a beating for working his ass off and bringing him down is akin to shooting the messenger.
He has been doing everything possible to lock down financing and she doesn't fault him for not having figured out a way to make it happen yet. So she's more than willing to keep working gratis.
"I've been with Ramiro for almost a year," Collett said. "In all that time, he's been trying to get investors involved, but it takes time. Nothing goes as smooth as you'd like, but that's part of life. Anything worth anything in this world is worth fighting for."
Fair enough. Most people would tend to agree that standing up for what you believe in is a good thing. But at what point does a likely foible become a self-fulfilling prophecy to the point where one could swear it's a true story?
It seems hard to argue that, whether completely done or not, the downfall of Avendano's once-ambitious dream is of his own doing.
If at no other point, the giveaway moment for those close to the project, as well as knowledgeable external observers, was October 26, 2014.
That was the date movie production was supposed to start, as confirmed in the later-nullified contracts. But when the date came and went and the movie still sat idle, that's when Avendano lost any remaining shred of innocence — and credibility — in many peoples' eyes.
For actor Scott Burright and many others, it proved that he intentionally misled everyone and that Zombie Reign was nothing but a charade.
"He never had any intention to make a movie or fulfill the terms of those contracts," said Burright, who was cast along with his wife Katherine in February 2014. "There is no evidence of him planning anything. It was all a hoax."
That's because certain steps must be taken to be ready for the first full of day filming. A basic structure needs to be in place.
Unanswered Questions Galore
San Antonio film producer Ralph Lopez, who has worked on numerous projects, said a legitimate film — particularly one with a multi-million-dollar budget — can't just come together out of the blue. It takes precise planning on every front: renting camera equipment, booking a craft services company, location scouting, hotel reservations for out-of-town talent, hiring a costume designer and countless details in between. For example, Lopez said, for director Ya'Ke Smith's 2012 feature film Wolf, which had a budget of about $50,000, pre-production lasted eight months.
Avendano's critics argue that if Zombie Reign really was going to begin shooting in late October, why hadn't anything been planned? And if there was a structure in place, why didn't he disclose any of the particulars?
When the San Antonio Current probed Avendano for such details, he was vague and unwilling to give specifics about pre-production. When asked about costumes for Zombie Reign, he stated that he already "had the wardrobe, which has accumulated over the years." What about a catering company to feed his cast and crew for the three-month-long shoot? No plan in place. "Food was coming out of my pocket or volunteers to help make it happen ... it was a team effort," Avendano said.
And on it went. Pressed for locations of rented spaces for interior shots, he said: "We were planning to film mostly outdoors. Houses and property were being donated to us."
He supposedly had A-list talent lined up. That's at least what he went around telling people. So who were they and what kind of commitment had they made to him? He said he had personally spoken to Ricardo Chavira — of Desperate Housewives fame — over the phone and was supposed to have a follow-up meeting in person. Never happened. And then there was Danny Glover, a known entity in Hollywood. Supposedly Avendano had "a great conversation" with him. Hard to tell how great it was, since nothing came of it.
And how about city permits for filming, did he have that all squared away? He said at least one downtown SA scene would require taking out a permit. But Drew Mayer-Oakes, head of the San Antonio Film Commission, said Avendano never submitted an application for approval to shoot during the contract-specified film dates.
Clearly, nothing was actually in place for production to start.
"Producing a feature film isn't something you can just throw together at the last minute," said Lopez. "And even if you did, it's not something you could cancel at the last minute. Film production is serious business."
Right. So was Avendano serious about getting Zombie Reign off the ground? Depends on whom you ask, but the consensus isn't in his favor. Was he mostly a well-meaning guy with plausible ambition simply over his head? Or has he been more of a cunning, deceitful sociopath desperate for attention, particularly from the female persuasion?
At moments during a series of interviews for this article, he seemed to open up to the point where one thought confession time had arrived. In one such instance, he declared the movie as "officially dead." But just a few days later, he recanted. Despite all the hits he and his project had taken, he said he still had fight in him. He was not quite six feet under.
"I've made my share of mistakes," Avendano lamented. "But Zombie Reign might still have a heartbeat. It just might."
And so, apparently, he may have created yet another self-fulfilling prophecy: He has so internalized and obsessed over this movie, his life's work, that he has actually turned into a zombie, oblivious to the real world around him. So Hollywood isn't likely to come calling anytime soon, after all. But hey, at least he pursued his dream — too bad he had to drag so many people down in the process.
