If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor (42 page)

Coming attractions for the new show ran not only on the Fox network, but in conventional movie theaters as well -- "Event television" became the mantra.

On several occasions, we were summoned before call time to hawk the show to global markets as well as national -- try saying something clever to Israel at 6:27 in the morning.

More grassroots events came in the form of mall appearances, fairs, haunted houses and, of course, rodeos.

The week of shooting usually wrapped up late on Friday night, sometimes 3:00 in the morning. A car would come to pick me up at 6:00 A.M. that same morning and whisk me off to the airport so I could promote the show in some far-flung region.

Getting home Sunday night, I'd learn my lines, and be on set the next morning at 7:00 A.M. The saying, "Be careful what you wish for..." began to echo in my head.

Going to rodeos were particularly fascinating, since I'm not a cowboy. Growing up in suburban Detroit, my idea of horsepower was to look under the hood of my dad's Chevy Impala.

The persona of "hero cowboy" was taken a little too seriously at these functions. I turned down all "team roping" events, since three cameras and half a day of clever filmmaking were the only things that would allow me to bring down a single calf. I usually wound up parading around the ring on a horse provided by the rodeo, giving away free tickets to something, and even that wasn't always a good idea.

At a rodeo in Chicago, the ring leader introduced me to "a nice, quiet horse." I later dubbed him "Widow Maker," since he did his best to kill me at every turn.

It was a kick to meet real cowboys who rode the bulls and roped, but they weren't as impressed with me. After a brief introduction, the conversation generally took a nose-dive -- my phony-ass pretend world was so far removed from these legitimately tough guys that we had nothing to say. I'm not usually one to come up on the short end of a conversation, but I'll be darned if I could get these cowboys to even
look
at me, let alone discuss the finer points of securing a flank strap.

RIDING INTO THE SUNSET

Try as we did to let the entire world know about
Brisco,
the inevitable happened -- the ratings started to slip. When a show is a hit, everyone is a genius. When a show drops in the ratings, the analysis begins:

Exec #1: Should the scripts be funnier?

Exec #2: Maybe they're too funny.

Exec #1: We need more action!

Exec #2: But the show is already too damn expensive!

Exec #1: Maybe the actors aren't making the emotional connection they need to.

Exec #2: Friday is the wrong night for the show -- people still go bowling, you know...

To explain why a TV show is canceled is almost impossible. Ironically
Brisco,
with its off-kilter humor, wouldn't have been developed on any other network, yet the appeal of "Westerns" was still rural -- not the side Fox's urban bread was buttered on.

Weekend promotions continued, but the quality of the venues became more suspect. The end of the line came when I found myself signing autographs in a Reno pawnshop. There are many times when actors can kid themselves about their glamorous life, but this was downright embarrassing.

I got the news of our cancellation while recuperating at a remote bed and breakfast in Texas. I could lace this part of the story with all the bittersweet emotions that race through an actor's head, but frankly, after I hung the phone up, I danced a jig. The gilded cage had been flung wide open -- my life had been handed back. It was a time to reflect, sure, but it was also a time to
sleeeep.

Oddly enough, my
Brisco
days weren't over yet -- months prior, I had been booked to host a local Emmy award show in Cleveland. I contacted them, assuming the engagement was off.

"Hell, no, we'd love to have you!"

"Yeah, but the show is canceled," I reasoned. "Seems kind of anticlimactic, doesn't it?"

"No, here's the gag. We just dumped Fox! Our station is ABC now -- let's all have a night of fun at their expense!"

The check had already cleared, so I dusted off my spurs and headed to Cleveland. Upon arrival, they informed me of a particularly grand scheme.

"Get this... well cue the music, hit the spotlight and you'll ride into the ballroom on a horse!"

"A... horse?"

"Sure. Piece of cake, Bruce. We've got this nice, quiet horse for you..."

Images of "Widow Maker" flickered before my eyes. I'm not one for premonitions, but I was doing an untested horse gag for a show that was no longer on the air, for a station that was no longer part of Fox.

I could see the headline...

I'm relieved to say the event came off very well and actually helped put a little humor into the cancellation of the show.
Brisco
was a wild and woolly ride -- without a doubt, the longest and most exciting year of my life.

39

BE QUICK, OR YOU'RE DEAD

During
Brisco's
run, Sam Raimi landed his first A picture. With a cast like Gene Hackman, Sharon Stone, Russell Crowe, and Leonardo DiCaprio,
The Quick and the Dead
couldn't have been much bigger.

In this world, however, Sam found himself dealing with elements that were out of his control -- elements like Movie Stars.

Gene Hackman was an actor who insisted on respect. The first day of shooting, Sam explained what he had in mind.

Sam: Okay, Gene, when you come out that door, I'd like you to tip your hat to the guy across the street, then come over here and sit in this chair. Now, I know this isn't scripted, but I'd like you to lean over to this guy and whisper, "What are the odds on the kid?"

Gene looked at Sam in silence for a beat.

Gene: I'm not doing any of that.

Cut to Sam, turning white -- fortunately, he is extremely prepared.

Sam: Well, you don't have to tip your hat, but I already got a shot of Pat Mingle across the street reacting to you. You signal the gunfight, so it can be whatever you want, a wave or a nod --

Gene: All right, I'll tip my hat, but I won't sit in that chair.

Sam: Hmmm -- well, the reason I thought you might want to sit, is because you're the king of this town -- the king sits. I've got the extras all standing like peasants.

Gene: All right, I'll tip my hat and sit in the chair, but I'm not gonna say that line.

Sam: That's fine -- you don't have to, but later on, when the audience realizes that you are the kid's father, they'll think back and say, "Cool, he really did care about his son."

Gene looked at Sam in silence again. Sam smiled at me as he popped a VHS tape of dailies into his machine. I watched Gene Hackman walk outside, tip his hat, sit down, and whisper the new line.

"Huh? Who's the boss?" Sam asked, jerking a thumb at himself.

John Cameron was Sam's assistant director, and his personal cross to bear was Sharon Stone. His challenge came in trying to get her on her mark.

Bruce: So, you couldn't boss her around, eh?

John: I'd get irritated -- we'd have rehearsed it, she's all ready, she's touched up, she'd be on the mark. I'd say, "Stand by." She'd step off the mark, "Oh Sally, you know for tomorrow the dinner with Frank..." -- you know, that kind of thing -- talky, talky, talk.

Bruce: So what did you do?

John: So you would just roll, and she'd be like, "You rolling?" I said, "Yeah, we're rolling. Ready when you are." She goes, "Goddamn it, stop rolling without me being ready and when I'm ready, then you can roll." So I said, "How in the hell am I supposed to know you're ready? You're on your mark, we're ready to go and you know we're ready." I was, like, mad and she goes, "Oh, when you need me on that mark, I'll be there." You know it was calling on the professionalism thing. We got along just okay.

The Quick and the Dead
even managed to torment me. I came to visit Sam on the set when I had just a few days off the
Brisco
shoot -- all I wanted to do was hang out behind the monitor with Sam and crack jokes, but he had other ideas.

The minute he saw me arrive on set, his face lit up -- it wasn't that he was glad to see me, it's just that I represented a solution to his current problem.

Sam: Come here, you, I'm gonna put you in this film.

Bruce: No, really, Sam -- I just want to --

Sam: Shut up and come with me.

Sam dragged me to the wardrobe trailer and shoved me in.

Sam: Hey, gals, I'd like you to make this guy look like a loser -- like he used to be rich, but now he's a nobody. Make the clothes dirty and rotting a little bit.

When I was done with the impromptu fitting, Sam pushed me into the makeup trailer.

Bruce: Sam, this is great, but --

Sam: Shut up. Mike, make this guy look like a bum -- like he's got some horrible disease. Give him a sore on his lip and everything.

Bruce: Oh, Sam, I don't --

Sam: Shut up, it'll be great. See you out there...

About a half hour later, an assistant director came to find me.

"They're ready to shoot with you now, Bruce."