If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor (49 page)

I called up gagmeister pal Ron "One-liner" Zwang, and invited him over for a brainstorming session in my backyard. Together, we hashed out a seaworthy version of the classic Abbott and Costello routine, "Who's on First?" and renamed it, "Who's on Deck?"

On location in Mexico, before the talent show was filmed, I approached my fellow navy costar, French Stewart (of
Third Rock from the Sun
).

Bruce: Hey, French, I was thinkin' about this talent show...

French: Yeah, we're on stage together. What's up with that? What are we supposed to do?

Bruce: I have no idea. I'm afraid we're gonna have our thumbs up our asses.

French: No shit. Got any ideas?

I sold French on the new routine, and we pitched it to director Bryan Spicer to get him "on board." Brian appreciated our efforts, but we had to get it past star and coproducer Tom Arnold as well. French and I "ran it up his flagpole," and he gave us the nod.

Armed with the approval of the director and coproducer, I approached the costume designer and asked him to scare up an officer's uniform like the one worn by Captain Binghamton (played by veteran Dean Stockwell).

Operation Screen Time was complete -- the only thing to do now was shoot the sucker. In the completed film, French and I wound up out of focus
over Tom's left shoulder
for the duration of our little act. Well, ya gotta try, right?

In case you're interested, here is the routine in its entirety:

NOTE:
The setting is my character Virgil, imitating Captain Binghamton ("Bingy"), as he indoctrinates a young recruit (played by French).

"WHO'S ON DECK?"

BINGY: Sailor let me see your Duty Roster. Did you clean the Mess Deck?

SAILOR: No, sir.

BINGY: Why not?

SAILOR: Well, say I spent twelve hours a day cleaning the Mess Deck from top to bottom. What would it be?

BINGY: The Mess Deck...

SAILOR: Right. So why bother?

BINGY: Where's your dingy, sailor?

SAILOR: Uh, where it always is, sir.

BINGY: Is it tied off to the Masthead?

SAILOR: That was just a one-time hazing prank, sir.

BINGY: Has your dingy been shellacked?

SAILOR: Uh... Don't ask don't tell?

BINGY: Did you hook up the Bending Shackle to her Breast Line?

SAILOR: I tried sir, believe me!

BINGY: And you had a good grip on your Jackstaff?

SAILOR: Like my life depended on it, sir.

BINGY: Where was your Chafing Gear?

SAILOR: Definitely broadside...

BINGY: I'm assuming you tightened up the Ram Tensioner...

SAILOR: Well, sure, a guy's gotta pace himself.

BINGY: What about the Ground Tackle?

SAILOR: I don't go in for that rough stuff, sir...

BINGY: Did you hold her forward, double up, and heave?

SAILOR: Well, we never got to heaving.

BINGY: I hope you took liberty...

SAILOR: Every chance I got!

BINGY: Are you prepared for launch?

SAILOR: Yes, sir, I had a light breakfast...

BINGY: You, sailor, are an idiot.

SAILOR: I'm not as big of an idiot as I used to be.

BINGY: How is that possible?

SAILOR: I lost weight...

McHale's Navy
forced the sailors of Tom Arnold's crew to become method actors -- each day, we had to concoct dialogue for ourselves. Some days it was easy, and other days it was like pulling teeth.

Brian Haley, a unique stand-up comic, was great at coming up with gags, but sometimes they were too elaborate for his own good. I first met him on the flight down to Mexico, and for some reason, we enjoyed tormenting each other immediately. Brian had been in the film
Baby's Day Out
-- a bomb in the States, but a big hit in places like Mexico, where it was known as
Bebé Suarto.

The airline stewardess recognized Haley and made a fuss about how famous he was. Brian, always at the ready, produced an eight-by-ten photo.

Brian: Hey, Bruce, you see that? She wants my autograph. I'm not so good at Spanish. What should I write on it?

Bruce: How about,
Best Wishes, Señor Cajones
(testicles).

Brian: What does that mean?

Bruce: It means you're a strong man.

Brian: That's perfect! Thanks, pal...

Haley proudly scribbled it on the picture and handed it over to the stewardess, who immediately giggled and showed it to her coworkers.

Brian: Hey, they
like
it.

Bruce: Yeah, they seem to get a real kick out of it.

Haley wasn't so pleased when he found out what it really meant.

Brian: Goddammit, Campbell, I'm gonna kill you! I can't believe you let me write that on that lady's picture!

Bruce: Get used to it, Haley, this is gonna be a long, hot summer -- we're gonna need all the gags we can come up with down here.

The next gag was on me -- at the Manzanillo customs office. The system in place was supposedly impartial. Each passenger pushed a button near the exit of customs and activated a light -- if it was green, they could pass without question, but if the light was red, they were subject to having their bags searched.

As I approached the button, a customs officer waved a hand at me. "Uno momento, por favor, señor."

Other passengers filed in front of me, and each time I attempted to push the impartial button, the customs officer gave me the same line until everyone had exited before me. Maybe it was the seven shipping cases that tipped off the customs officers, but it became very clear that I was not going to get a green light -- under any circumstance.

Soon, the other actors became aware of what was unfolding and began to crowd around the exit. Haley led a chant:

"Red light, RED LIGHT,
RED LIGHT
..."

The customs officer finally gestured to me and I pushed the button. I don't think a single person in the building was surprised to see the light flash red and the actors erupted in a cheer.

"Yeah, laugh it up, assholes," I said, producing a stack of paperwork.

Fortunately for the payoff of the gag, I had heard tales of questionable Mexican customs and had taken every precaution to defend myself.

I tend to take my life with me on the road, so I had unusual travel items in my bags. To head off potential problems, I generated lists of everything I brought, complete with make, model and serial number. In addition, I got a letter from a "Hollywood" doctor, explaining why I needed particular food items like Turkey Jerky and dried mango, then translated everything into Spanish. It was a scam of major proportions, but I figured,
Why not fight fire with fire?

Eventually, by the third case, the customs official threw up his hands and waved me through. The crowd of jeering actors parted as I stepped through.

"Who's laughing now, funny men?" I winked.

Gags were the only thing that got us through the three-month schedule. Haley would often come up with what we coined "the Haley button" -- the final gag in a scene. In many cases, it was a good "ender," like the protein powder choke, or the ventriloquist dummy made out of coconuts, but Haley was also prone to overachieving.

One scene required all the sailors to perform manual labor on the base. I was content to slowly paint a fence in the background, but Haley insisted on an elaborate gag.

Brian: Okay, get this: it looks like I'm wearing a white T-shirt, but it's really just painted on...

Bruce: Gee, Brian, that sounds like a pain in the ass to me...

Brian: No, it'll be great -- that's what my character would do.

Bruce: Okay, but how will the audience know?

Brian: They won't, but it doesn't matter.

Bruce: Hey, knock yourself out...

My favorite image of the day was Haley, slumped over at lunch, realizing that he had to be covered with latex paint all day in 100-degree weather.

IT'S THE ROLE, STUPID...

Actors make decisions all the time and some are abysmally bad. On many occasions, I've taken a part because it was the only thing available, and was grateful for the work, but after being in a string of stinkers, I decided that some discretion was advised. This has had uneven results career-wise, but for me it was all about peace of mind.

I put my new theory to the test when I got a script that could be described as
Die Hard
on a space station. Hardly original, but it intrigued me enough to consider the part of the Bruce Willis-type hero. As I thumbed through the script, it occurred to me that the hero had the worst part of all -- his lines, never more than two at a time, were always in the vein of, "Get down! Wait here. C'mon! Let's go! Now!"

I did notice, however, that the bad guy in this script had eloquent speeches -- he was witty, urbane and seemed to be having a lot of fun. Call me crazy, but I took that role instead.

I also decided to take roles regardless of the budget, since having a lot of money is no guarantee of a good product. I did buddy Josh Becker's independent film,
Running Time,
which, at $120,000, was virtually unreleasable. I say this not because it was bad in any way, but because it violated the Hollywood "Three Strikes" law by being 16mm, black-and-white, and only seventy minutes long.