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     Phang Nga Bay, Thailand

     Thursday, 13^th April 1995

     “YOU’RE DANGEROUS!”  Someone bellowed at me on a bullhorn.

     I was standing in the wheelhouse of a rotting, sinking, Malaysian junk totally mystified.  Was he really addressing me?  How in hell could I possibly be “DANGEROUS”?

     Glancing around, attempting to figure this dilemma out, I happened to notice that all the other extras had flattened themselves onto the deck behind crates. 

    One of them looked up at me and muttered, “For Christ sake you’re ‘DANGEROUS,’ dummy!  You’re in the shot...get down and hide!”

     And at this juncture, dear reader, no doubt you’re wondering what in hell have I gotten myself into now?  In my defense, may I backtrack?   

     While enjoying my role as a beach comer at Patong Beach, Phuket, waiting for the next flying job to pop up, once again the “circus” came to town.  This time it was led by actor, director, and writer Jean-Claude Van Damme, launching the filming of his script entitled: The Quest.

     Naturally they needed European looking extras, so I answered their “cattle call” and got cast as one of rouge-captain Roger Moore’s (the actor) cutthroat pirates.

     At last, dear reader, people I can genuinely relate to.

     On my first day I was loaded on a songtaew, an ISUZU truck with merely an open-air wooden frame built onto its back, having two wooden benches running down both sides.  Going like a bat out of hell in the dark, at 4:30 A.M., in this flimsy, rattling vehicle with the other extras was quite scary.  If this idiot driving us hit anything, we’d all end up dead in a gigantic pile of splinters!

     I’m just certain, dear reader, the film company carries insurance for this type of disaster.

     Reaching Laem Phrao Marina on the northern tip of Phuket Island, we were then transferred to a humongous, motorized catamaran, the Diamond II.  

     This puppy looked as though it could hold over 250 people.  As we pulled out of the marina at 5:30 A.M., we extras assembled in the main salon for a buffet breakfast.  Later I followed the extras to the bow where the costume wardrobe had been set up.  Being new, I trailed behind, watching the other extras and mimicked them.  A Thai lady gave me a shirt, trousers, straw hat and boots; ordering me to change. 

     After doing so, I was told to report to the second deck where makeup had set up shop in the stern.  As I straggled in dead last, discovering I wasn’t the only one running late that morning, I came face-to-face with the coke-addicted, bipolar, “Muscles from Brussels,” Jean-Claude Van Damme himself.  

Van Damme’s Mug-Shot. After being busted for DUI.

     He was stretched out in a barber’s chair, where his personal makeup artist applied numerous cuts and contusions from recent “Hollywood combat.”

     For some bizarre reason, Van Damme happened to glance my way, spotted me, then pointed at me and remarked to his makeup man, “Now there’s a real Dutch Pirate!  All pasty white!”

     He was referring to my fair complexion, which I diligently protect by seeking refuge in the best bars on Patong Beach, safe from the melanoma-inducing rays of the tropical sun.

     I grinned and nodded, as Van Damme and his makeup man chortled at his remark. 

     Due to his bipolar, coke addiction, dear reader, I felt it best not to pull the pin on the grenade.  I let the insult slide.

     Then I noticed a makeup stool was empty, and a Thai makeup lady was motioning for me to join her.  I sat down on the stool and placed my back to Van Damme, who sat at a 90-degree angle to me.  The Thai makeup lady immediately began dabbing cosmetics with a sponge to my shaved head – giving it an instant “Hollywood tan.”

     “That’s it!  That’s good!” Van Damme exclaimed. “Cover up that chrome dome or the camera will lose me in the glare off his head!”  He then laughed and clapped me on the shoulder good naturedly.

     Once again, dear reader, I refused to pull the pin on the grenade.  Instead, I gave him a chuckle in reply.

Me between two “Cutthroat Pirates,” with my “Chrome Dome” covered in makeup.

     Forty-five minutes after departing the marina, on Phuket’s north coast, the catamaran arrived at the shooting location in the heart of Phang Nga Bay (pronounced Fang Naa).  This is a bay packed with hundreds of magnificent islands, having sheer limestone karst-cliffs, jutting vertically out of the water, topped with emerald green jungles.  Because of its exotic backdrops, it has for years seduced movie companies to shoot their films here: The Man With a Golden Gun, Heaven and Earth, Cutthroat Island, The Quest, The Phantom, The Beach, etc., to name a few.

     As for the set, it consisted of a wooden Malaysian junk and an iron Turkish coastal freighter lashed together side-by-side.  

     The catamaran dropped us off on the junk, and then hightailed it for parts unknown, so it wouldn’t appear in any of the shots.

     The plot behind the scenes we’re about to shoot, was simply this: It’s 1925, and stowaway Van Damme is held in chains as a captive in the bowels of the freighter. 

     Rogue Captain Roger Moore and his cutthroat-pirates (that’s me) on the junk decide to take the freighter as a prize.  Ergo we board the freighter and a brawl takes place, whereby Van Damme, still in chains, is inadvertently freed and joins in the fight (of course).

     Cry “Havoc!” And let slip the dogs of war, dear reader!

     I observed take after take, as a manacled Van Damme escaped from the freighter’s hold, while camera crews, extras, technicians and actors sweltered under the tropical sun.  

Film crew setting up for the next shot.

     They were shooting this movie at the wrong time of the year, for this was the dry season with little or no rain.  When the farmers burned their fields and filled the hot, humid air with dust and smoke, exactly comparable to smog on a Burbank back lot. 

     So much for the exotic scenery, dear reader, as it was cloaked in smog and barely visible in the background.

    Had they bothered to research the weather here, and shoot this film in September to November, during the wet season, their shots would have been beautifully spectacular. 

     So explain it to me, dear reader, why bother to come to exotic Thailand in the first place.  If you’re that disinterested in the weather, or the shots, why not save the money and shoot the movie in a tank on a smoggy Burbank back lot?  Who says movie people are totally nuts?

     Lunchtime occurred in the broiling, smoggy, tropical sun, and from out of nowhere the gigantic catamaran appeared once again alongside the junk.  A gangplank offloaded us and we assembled in the main salon for a buffet lunch.

     After lunch, I wandered up to the top third deck, where I found pages of the script lying cast aside on the floor.  After scanning the half-dozen pages, I came to the conclusion it was written by a twelve-year-old. 

     Whoever told Van Damme he could write, dear reader, was obviously no friend.  And, although Van Damme was getting the director’s credit, from what I saw Peter MacDonald was doing all the director’s heavy-lifting, and would merely receive an executive producer and second unit director’s credit for his efforts. 

Peter MacDonald (blue shirt) doing the “heavy-lifting.”

     Even so, my left testicle told me this film was a “stink-a-roo” destined to bomb at the box office.  Future history would prove my testicle was correct.

     After lunch, back on the junk and the freighter still lashed together, the battle scenes continued.  Van Damme had a stunt-double who was a teacher from Australia, an exact replica of Van Damme, only a tad shorter.  During one scene the stunt-double did this outstanding back flip off a crate, and then used his chains to bring down a huge Turk three-times his size.  

Stunt Double on the left, Van Damme to the right.

The Stunt Double’s back flip. Note the paintball gun in the background; firing black balls that explode with a flash and smoke; giving the impression of bullet strikes. More Hollywood magic.

Completing the back flip the Stunt Double wraps his chain around the Turk’s throat.

Then takes the huge Turk down!

     After several takes, the stunt-double stepped out of frame, Van Damme took his place, was sprayed with water for sweat, acted as though he was out of breath, then had his close-up, as if he’d just performed this back flip and take down.

Stunt Double stepping out of frame in the foreground; Van Damme preparing for his close-up in the background.
     Oh, dear reader, how the “movie magic” disappears when observing reality.

     After this, throughout the rest of the afternoon, the fight sequence laboriously evolved, prompting the occasional “cattle call,” whereby all the extras were required to assemble at the junk’s bow.  The stunt coordinator was looking for “fresh meat” to place in the upcoming shots.  During which I made it a point to crouch at the rear of the mob, wear my ridiculous straw hat, and act like a total nerd.  My “disguise” worked for the stunt coordinator never “fingered” me to go forth and swelter under the merciless tropical sun with the other unfortunates.  Afterward, gratefully, I’d scurry back to my shady rathole in the junk’s wheelhouse.

     Around three P.M. we got another “cattle call”, and all the extras assembled at the bow.  I took my usual position at the rear and hid as best I could.  The stunt coordinator stepped up, scanned our sweat streaked faces, suddenly froze, and, to my astonishment, pointed at me as he bellowed, “YOU! The big bald guy in the back!  Where the hell have you been all day?”  The extras in front of me parted similar to the Red Sea in The Ten Commandments, leaving me exposed to the full intensity of the stunt coordinator’s glare.  My hand shot to my head.  I had forgotten to wear the nerdy hat!  Cursing my stupidity, I lamely replied, “Uh...well...I’ve been s-sort of hanging out.”

     “Get your butt over on the freighter!” he bellowed again.  “MOVE!”

     The next thing I knew, I was chasing a Thai gentleman across the deck of the freighter, leaping onto the deck of the junk, terminating the pursuit in the wheelhouse and beating the poor fellow up with a rubber club.

The big brawl scene.

     The leap between vessels I found a bit worrisome.  Wardrobe had issued me new leather boots, and their slippery soles provided insufficient purchase for the leap.  Looking straight down into the chasm between the vessels, I noted rubber tires being flattened each time the hulls met in a swell, resembling skimpy meat patties in a McDonald’s hamburger.  If I fell between them as a swell closed the vessels’ gap, they’d be able to scoop me out of there with soup spoons.

     Once again, dear reader, even despite not being hired as a “stuntman“; I’m just certain the movie company carries insurance for this and will take care of my hospitalization.  Oh, yeah, and next week I’m going to fly my Honda 125 CC to the moon.

     Nevertheless, pride dictated I go ahead with the stunt.

     After all, dear reader, surely I can pull this off once.

     In the end, much to my horror, I ended up doing five takes!

     My last day on the shoot proved to be a bit more relaxed.  Roger Moore and his “cutthroats” were scheduled to sail away on the pirate junk, with their booty and the rescued Van Damme.

     After dropping all of us off on the junk, once again the catamaran sailed off out of sight.  The assistant director placed me on a railing of the junk, in deep conversation with another pirate, as Roger Moore walked past us, towards the bow, for his big scene with Van Damme.  This took hours to film, as they employed a camera crew on the junk’s deck, and also a camera crew in a helicopter, which circled the junk endlessly.  After an hour or so the helicopter departed, and the junk’s camera crew spent the next few hours finishing the close-up shots.

     The colossal amount of money this cost to shoot, dear reader, especially employing a helicopter, was mind blowing. However, in due course, for an unfathomable reason, they scrapped this scene and re-shot it in a jail cell.  Totally ignoring the exotic scenery the helicopter, and the junk, was recording during the first shoot.  No wonder the movie “bombed” at the box office.  I’ve said it once...and I’ll say it again, “Movie people are nuts.” 

     While this was occurring, I noticed we kept sailing back and forth across the same portion of the bay; which disturbed me.  As this bit of water contained a number of the biggest jellyfish I’ve ever encountered, easily a foot and a half to two feet across, and the lot of them extended as far as the eye could see.

     The thought of having to abandon ship in this field of jellyfish, prompted a cold shiver to climb my spine.

     Then I laughed at myself, dear reader, shrugging it off to paranoid old age.

     Later, we extras were herded into the wheelhouse, and I happened to sidle up to the junk’s real captain, an old-salt Kiwi.  Glancing over my shoulder, I spied four large, empty Zodiacs shadowing us off our stern.  Casually, I asked Captain Harry what the guys in the rubber boats were doing behind us. He shot me an incredulous look, and asked if I knew the condition of this junk.  I admitted my ignorance.  The skipper proceeded to enlighten me, informing me of places where I could literally put my fist through rotting bulkheads and hull.  Since we had neither life rafts nor life preservers on board, the skipper felt it might be a good idea to keep the Zodiacs handy.  Suddenly, cavorting with giant jellyfish in Phang Nga Bay had become a distinct possibility.

     The other thing I discovered challenging concerning this rotting junk, were the toilet facilities, consisting of a single, wooden, nasty-smelling commode.  This “throne” was mounted on a platform attached to the inside of the junk’s hull; the journey of which to reach it was quite daunting. First one went below decks to the hull’s bottom under the waterline, and entered a wooden door.  At which point one was presented with a single flight of stairs, running at a 45-degree angle, 25 feet up the inside of the hull to the commode above the waterline.  A single, small porthole provided insufficient light and ventilation, requiring one to ascend these stairs in the dark without any handrails.

     The first time I went to use the commode; I came face-to-face with “James Bond” (Roger Moore in his white captain’s costume).  

     He was leaving the toilet facility, and, when he met me, Moore wiped his brow, heaved a sigh, looked at me, smiled crookedly and said, “That was tricky,” then winked.

     I love the Brits’ ability at understatement, dear reader. 

     In addition, on this day I had the pleasure of meeting Roger Moore’s sidekick, American actor Jack McGee, who turned out be an honestly pleasant gentleman.  In all of this tropical heat and filth, onboard a dangerous vessel about to sink, never once did he bitch regarding the deplorable conditions surrounding him.  Over the years I’ve enjoyed following his amazing acting career with interest.

Jack McGee taking all these deplorable conditions in stride.

     After what seemed to be the longest afternoon of my life, my prayers were finally answered when the catamaran pulled up alongside at 6 P.M.

     You’d better believe, dear reader, that I was the first one off the rotting, sinking junk!

     That night, lying on my back on the top deck of the catamaran while it motored back to port, I observed ginormous fruit bats passing silently overhead in moonlit formations.  

     Engaged in this lack of activity, gave me the chance to ponder the foolish physical risks I had taken over the last few days.

     Had it truly been worth risking life and limb to witness the making of a movie, dear reader?  “Hell no!” was the rational response.  Would I ever volunteer as an extra again?

Oh, shit...who am I kidding?  Well...maybe.

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