Conan is a make-up artist’s field-day. You can imagine the artists concerned waking up at some godforsaken hour of the morning, salivating at the prospect of pummelling some poor bastard with putty, ketchup and fake sweat, almost with a lascivious attention to detail. "Boy, I can’t wait to get my hands on that handsome actor and make him as hideous as hell..."

By the time I arrived on the set at Sofia’s Nu Boyana studios, to witness first-hand the start of shooting* on director Marcus Nispel’s revamping of the Arnold Schwarzenegger 1982 classic, most of the actors had already been subjected to four or five hours in the chair.

Unless one derives a masochistic pleasure from being transformed from a human being into a monster  – hirsute, sweaty, scarred, muddied and bloodied – then it cannot be much fun. A snag for a hapless visitor is that it is also difficult to recognise some of the characters beneath the horrific veneers.

Bumping into some of the actors in the lunch queue outside the canteen, I see a young, long-haired boy bedecked in fur skin, looking severely bruised, his face almost invisible. I take him to be an extra and engage him in small talk, only to find out that it’s none other than Leo Howard, the 12-year-old (going on 30) "wunderkind" currently with his own show on TV (Leo Little’s Big Show) and already the veteran of several movies and TV series. I am suitably chastened and find myself apologising to the 12-year-old in question. And it’s a long time since I apologised to someone 30 years younger than myself.

"Nothing to worry about, sir; it’s perfectly understandable," says Leo. I ask him if he gets nervous before a shoot. "No, it’s  a ball, sir, just an adrenaline buzz that’s really great," he replies with the confidence –  indeed the poise – of someone who’d make a young Jodie Foster look diffident. Show business can be scary.

The beast in the cave
Talking of scary, it was now my time to get nervous. I approach the door of a particular caravan marked "Conan’s father". I know who I’m looking for. And Nu Boyana’s helpful PR lady Dona Doycheva, who kindly arranged my trip, had "forewarned" my prey to expect a visit from a journalist. Nevertheless, I approach with some trepidation. I knock quietly. "Come in," booms a voice inside. I’m greeted by a real life Neanderthal – ginger-grey beard cascading down to his massive chest, arms like tree trunks, blood pouring from every orifice, wild-eyed, clad in armour, belts and bandages.

"Who are you?" bellows the broad-shouldered warrior, looking as though he would impale me on the wall with a spear for having the temerity to invade his dwelling. Instead he picks up a chicken bone from his lunch box and chews it pensively.

It’s none other than veteran actor Ron Perlman – indeed Conan’s father in the movie – star of the Hellboy movies and TV cult hit series Beauty and the Beast (from two decades back), opposite the beautiful Linda Hamilton. And no prizes for guessing which part Perlman played in that show.

Perlman is no stranger to Bulgaria, having filmed here once before. Yet when I interview him, Perlman, who, thanks to the talents of the make-up artists, looks as though he’d cheerfully chew someone’s testicles, becomes strangely shy. He won’t name the "Bulgarian" film in question or his co-stars. All I know is that he disliked the food on set – that much I gather from research on the internet. I remark on this little gem of hearsay to Perlman himself. "The internet is the bane of my life," he says under his breath.

When I press him once more to name the film he declines, saying he doesn’t want people to see it. I try once again; since I’m no Jeremy Paxman (British readers will understand the reference) this will be my final attempt but Perlman demurs again, half-shaking his head and averting his eyes. So I will spare his blushes and gallantly omit any reference to the film in this piece.

Thankfully, Perlman WILL tell me about one of his first breakthrough parts, as hunchback monk Salvatore in The Name of the Rose (1986) opposite screen legend Sean Connery. "I was a little in awe of Connery. I’d done very little in my career up to that point. Connery is one of the last remaining larger-than-life superstars from the old school. I learnt a tremendous lot watching him," he says.

After his hit TV series, gaining critical plaudits for his portrayal of deformed "beast" Vincent, Perlman branched out into innumerable supporting roles and has now acquired an ardent cult following among fans of a certain genre.

He only secured his role in Conan a few weeks ago, seemingly a last-minute replacement for Mickey Rourke. What drew him to his role – as the titular leader of a particular clan who raises the young Conan single-handedly? "It’s the script and the people involved," Perlman says. "You get a sense of the quality. You don’t want to be in something that’s too much of a ridiculous stretch of the imagination."

I find myself thinking that the apparition in front of me requires something of a "stretch", but even so...

An intensely physical actor with a booming voice reminiscent of Lee Marvin – coincidentally one of his idols – Perlman, who is now approaching 60, says that the whole process exacts a heavy toll on him. "Every day of filming leaves a ring on the bathtub and I find new bruises all over the place," says Perlman who is only in Bulgaria for 10 days. His car comes for him at his hotel at 5am, he notes wearily, puffing on a rolled-up cigar. A veteran of "heavy" roles requiring painstaking sessions – he was also in Quest for Fire as a Neanderthal – with the make-up department, Perlman says he finds it harder to put up with hours in the chair now that he’s older.  

Despite his reluctance to discuss his last Bulgarian project, Perlman says he knows Sofia well. He says he has covered most of the city on foot and claims to have visited most of its churches and museums.