If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor (40 page)

Next, we talked about hats, since we both agreed that Smitty was "a hat guy." Richard brought out a stack of hats and I tried on each one until we found several that were perfect. I didn't say much during these sessions, because he knew what was right. By the time we were done, I had three outfits that fit both my body and my character.

When filming began, all of my scenes were with Jennifer Jason Leigh. I knew my way around a film set and had performed some difficult tasks, but nothing was as challenging as keeping up with her. Jennifer was an acting machine -- she knew every one of her voluminous lines from day one of rehearsal and never tripped up, not even once. I hadn't been nervous like that in a long time and I liked it.

Whether you like the Coen Brothers' films or not, you've got to hand it to them --
Hudsucker
was a long way from Joel's beginning in the
Evil Dead
editing room. I've always been impressed by how ballsy the brothers are, and I think it's allowed them to get where they are today.
Hudsucker
was a good example of this: they had turned down numerous offers to make the film at other studios, but declined in each case because the budget wasn't enough for them to make the type of film they had envisioned. They would rather not make the film if it couldn't be done right -- how many filmmakers can say the same?

THE FOX WHO ATE MY HAT

While shooting
Hudsucker,
I filled my free time by peddling around Wilmington -- it's a flat city, just right for two-wheeling. I rode my bike to rehearsals every day, carrying my script in a blue vinyl backpack.

One Sunday afternoon, I rode away from town on my single-gear dork bike. In a half hour, I got to the city limits where the industrial areas on the outskirts of town began to decline.

Scrub was on my right. In the low, level woods to my left, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a fox. I was familiar with the lanky gait of a coyote, and I knew it was some sort of wild creature, so I stopped the bike. Sure enough, it was a fox, with a pointy nose and red tail.

I figured I might as well watch for as long as I could until it ran away, but to my surprise, it did nothing of the sort -- in fact, the fox seemed positively relaxed as it rooted in the ground for something. When it spotted me, I figured that was game over, but the fuzzy creature approached and then stopped at the opposite side of the road.

I was surprised when, without hesitation, it crossed the road and approached the back end of my bike! I lowered it slowly to the ground and the fox began to chew delicately on the knobby rubber.

Eventually, the fox worked its way toward me, but stopped within about five feet, sniffing the air. I had worked up a sweat riding on this hot day, and I'm sure I put off a pretty good scent. I removed my J. Crew hat and tossed it gently to the ground in front of me and the fox surprised me again. He came right up to the hat and started rooting inside the sweaty rim, then grabbed it in his teeth and sprinted off about fifteen feet, thrashing it side to side like a rag doll before dropping it -- he was playing just like a dog would.

I slowly moved toward the hat, talking calmly the whole time, and picked it up. The fox circled around behind me, so I turned and tossed the hat again. The fox grabbed it again, but this time he took off across the road and entered the fringe of forest on the other side.

Oh, great,
I thought,
there goes my new J. Crew hat,
but the fox stopped about ten feet inside the forest and dropped my hat again. I figured if this game was going to continue, the little bugger needed a name. I worked for the Fox network once, run by a guy named Sandy, so thereafter he became "Sandy."

I walked over and picked up the hat, but this time I hung it from a branch about three feet off the ground to see how interested he really was. Apparently, Sandy was still game, because he rose on his haunches and snatched the thing off the branch. This time, Sandy began to chew on the adjustable strap and before I could do anything, he snapped the back band off.

I was a little surprised and pissed, but I didn't think there was any point in saying "No, Sandy,
bad
fox!" Sandy then felt compelled to mark my hat, and as he hunkered down into a squatting position, I stepped in and shooed it away -- this was cute, but enough was enough.

Even though he no longer had a hat to chew on, Sandy didn't feel the need to leave, so he stretched his legs and relaxed in a patch of grass. That looked like a good idea, so I sat down and we hung out for about twenty minutes.

When I got back to civilization, I was surprised at the reactions of people -- most didn't believe me and those who did scolded me.

"That thing probably had rabies -- you shouldn't have gone near it. I wouldn't have..."

All the more fox for me,
I thought.

38

LIFE IN THE FAST LANE:

THE RISE AND FALL OF BRISCO COUNTY, JR.

"Hud"
was in the can,
Army
was about to hit the theaters, and I had just landed a new talent agent -- things were looking up. My first audition as their client was for the lead in a new Western TV show.

With a television series, you don't just "get" the lead part, you've got to "earn" it, and landing the title role in
The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr.
was a journey of its own.

Audition #1 was for the casting director. Their job, among other things, is to separate the chaff from the wheat and send only the best actors to the next level. Actors all look for a way to leave an impression on casting directors to avoid being lost in the shuffle. One audition piece for the show involved some fighting -- there wasn't much I could do in this small office, so I fell back on an old "Bonzoid Sisters" routine and flipped myself, head over heels.

"Oh, my God!" the casting director screamed, as he lurched back in his chair.

Fortunately, this left a favorable impression and I was able to audition for the producers. They carry a large amount of weight when it comes to who gets cast for what, but in this high-stakes chess game, producers are not the final word -- not by a long shot. With a reading and another flip, I cleared that hurdle...

Audition #3 was with the producers again. More of a work session than anything, it was to prepare me for the Warner Bros. TV execs.

Audition #4 was in a room full of attentive, quiet people -- among them were the one or two individuals who could send me up to the next level. Just before the audition, the casting director cornered me. "Bruce, you're gonna do that flip thing again, aren't you?"

"Yeah, sure," I said. "As long as the back holds out..."

Audition #5 was the big one -- this was for an even larger group of quiet people. The freaky thing about network auditions is that you have to prenegotiate your deal -- you have to hammer out every detail, down to plane tickets and per diem, with agents, lawyers and business affairs people, and you still might not get the part. Networks had obviously been in the awkward position of approving someone and then failing to close a deal.

After the audition, which I could do in my sleep by that point, I decided to give the network brass a little speech. Actors aren't encouraged to interact with them, but I thought,
The hell with it, they should know who they're getting into business with.

"Look, uh, I just wanted you folks to know that if you cast me in this part, I won't stab you in the back. I'm a hard worker and I'll do everything I can to help you make this show a success. Okay, well, I guess that's it. Thanks for your time..."

Driving home that night, I got "the call." I'll spare you the descriptions of how I whooped and hollered -- it's far too embarrassing.

THEY "SHOOT" HORSES, DON'T THEY?

This old dog was about to learn some new tricks -- I had to become a cowboy.

"Can you ride, son?" asked head wrangler, Gordon Spencer.

"Heck yeah, I rode a lot in the last film I did."

"Good, why don't you hop up on that horse there and take him for a spin."

I cantered around the corral a few times and when I stopped, I noticed a big smile on Gordon's face.

"Not bad, eh?" I asked.

"Son, you look like a monkey humpin' a football."

What followed was a month of trying to conquer what cowboys call the "ass/saddle battle," and learning how to ride for real.

Horses are large animals that aren't as dumb as people think. They know when a rider doesn't know what he's doing and they'll take full advantage of it. Early on, I had a great deal of trouble with control -- I couldn't get my horse to go, and when I did, I couldn't get him to stop.

"Hey, Gordon, this horse is being a pain in the ass. What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know, let me get on him and take a look."

The instant Gordon got on the horse, he would behave beautifully, following every command.

"Yep... must be the horse," Gordon said as he dismounted.

Eventually, I learned that with riding, "pilot error" was the problem ninety-nine percent of the time. In the show, Brisco and his horse had a close relationship -- almost like siblings at times. In order to pull this off, I had to develop a decent relationship with the main trick horse, Strip.

Strip did all of the head nods, hoof steps and lip quivers for scenes where we had to interact. Like actors, Strip worked on the reward system -- only he liked grain. I had a special pocket sewn into the inside of my leather jacket just for that purpose, so we got along fine.

Strip was a great horse, but you wouldn't want to ride him -- trick horses are too fidgety. The bulk of my riding was on a horse called Copper, otherwise known as Lead Belly -- he had a very smooth gait and never got overly excited about anything.

Copper was a trustworthy horse, but he knew just when to step on my foot -- it was always early in the morning when it was cold outside. This only happened a couple of times, but it felt like someone had backed a 747 over my instep. The only thing I could do when this happened was punch him in the shoulder as hard as I could until he moved.