Mickey Z

Cool Observer

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Saturday, November 05, 2005

Billy Blanks owes me $150

Storytelling Saturday always makes Calvin a little wacky.

Once upon a time…

Like most martial artists of my generation, I dreamt of being the next Bruce Lee. The difference is...I went out and did something about it. As a result, I’ve actually performed in a dozen or so films (yes, I use that term loosely).

The first chop-socky flick I ever did was called Low Blow and featured none other than a pre-Tae Bo Billy Blanks. He and I went out to Stockton, CA, together to work on a project with a lunch budget that rarely went above the peanut butter and jelly sandwich level. Regardless, I did have fun with Billy. We worked out, gave a local seminar, and I even ended up lending him some cash when he ran out. Today, as I watch him prevaricate about both his age and commitment to family values while playing the devout Christian card in the name of exploiting foolhardy consumers and celebrities alike, I have only one thing to say: Billy Blanks owes me $150.

Over the ensuing years, I did manage to move...well, laterally, I guess. All the movies I worked on were filmed in the metropolitan area so at least I got to sleep at home after toiling all day as a muscular, celluloid ghoul or drug dealer or security guard. One oppressively warm New York City summer day in 1986, I got the call to “act” in yet another super-low-budget classic, Robot Holocaust.

I’d worked with the producers before: squished by a monster in Breeders and buried under two hours of special effects make-up as a zombie in Necropolis: City of the Dead. For Robot Holocaust, I got to work with my buddy, Fast Eddie Mallia (we lived in the same neighborhood and worked together as trainers at the Vertical Club). On the set of Robot Holocaust, he and I had dual roles. We played “air slaves” and robots. As air slaves, we fought to the death and that’s precisely why we were hired: we could fight and we looked good doing it in skimpy outfits. As robots, we were so thoroughly ensconced in rubber costumes, there was zero chance that any of the five people who actually ended up seeing Robot Holocaust would identify us as the loin-clothed gladiators who had just gotten zapped by a ray gun in the previous scene.

The air slave fight scene was filmed inside the squalid Brooklyn Navy Yard with minimal crash padding. By the time we finished the scene (garnering a long round of applause, thank you), we were covered in both dirt and bruises. After considerable complaining, we gained access to the showers, unaware that the drains were clogged and the cats kept in the building to keep rats away appropriated those same showers as their kitty pan. Within minutes, Eddie and I were in ankle-deep water with cat droppings floating by. I sensed this wasn’t how Brad Pitt got his start.

Back at the Navy Yard the next day, it was even hotter. The slightest motion initiated a gradual process of sweat drenching my frame. We donned the aforementioned rubber ensemble and there were problems: a) The costumes allowed no air to get inside; b) We had zero peripheral vision; c) We had to scurry up and down stairs for several takes; and d) Eddie was required to wield a real sword.

The director, who I’m sure has since found a new vocation, bellowed at us to proceed faster and look “more imposing” as we negotiated the steps, a pool of perspiration trailing behind us. This provoked more grumbling and, when our scenes were wrapped, a very odd thing transpired: the producers of Robot Holocaust cut us a check on the set. This was unusual as both Fast Eddie and I ordinarily pestered producers to pay us for work we did ages ago. At that juncture, we ascertained we would not become part of their celluloid repertory company. So we headed back to Queens for a (feline-free) shower and set out to meet friends at a Van Halen concert.

You can be certain our movie set anecdotes omitted any allusion to cat feces or our incessant whining (I still get queasy if someone mentions “kitty litter” and “shower” in the same sentence).

Although I did appear in one or two more flicks afterwards, my thespian career was essentially over with Robot Holocaust. I made the sensible (?) choice to focus on writing. As for Fast Eddie, well, brace yourself: he became a New York City cop, posed for Playgirl (both in and out of uniform), was pressured to resign from the force, opened a bar (Fast Eddie’s...what else?), closed a bar, moved to California (twice), moved back (twice), started his own line of athletic wear, and now has another bar (Vapor) in Manhattan.

He also braved the teeming rain to hear me give a talk in at the Brecht Forum when my first book, Saving Private Power: The Hidden History of The Good War, came out 13 years after the Cat Pan Incident™.

As for Robot Holocaust, well, you can try asking for it at your local video store. Last time I checked, both Eddie and I were still pictured on the box.

Eat your heart out, Billy Blanks…