Hey:

Continuing on with some Steve Bacic stylings, the guy wrote a film and asked me to be in it. So many people have seen what I do and ask me how they, too, can get into film and television acting. I always tell them to start at the bottom and do student films and pay your dues and blah, blah, blah. What I never include in the speech is, buy a house on the same street as Steve Bacic and wait for him to stroll shirtless up to your house and ask you to be in his film.
The day Steve asked me, there was tons going on at my place and I was busy herding kids or putting out a garage fire or something and Steve said, "So, Jonesy, I wrote this film and there's this part and I was wondering--"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll do it," I barked. I'm not sure if I even made eye contact. I just figured that I know how hard it is to make a film and when you do you call all your friends and they do it for free because there's no money. Plus I was busy trying to find the fire extinguisher.
"There's--" Steve said.
"No money," I finished.
"You cool with that?" Steve said.
"Sure. Just tell me where and when," I said.
"Great. My production manager will be in touch," said Steve walking away. "Oh," he turned, "you wanna know what the part is?"
"Whatever," I said, "I'll still do it."
"Okay, it's the part of the gay acting teacher, Mr. So and so, who puts a gun in his mouth and blows his head off," said Steve.

Pause.

Mr. So and so? Gay? Gun in my mouth?

I mean, what are you gonna do? I couldn't back out after being so cavelier. And really, when else am I going to see what a gun in my mouth feels like? Certainly not at a gun store. I was in.

The call came later. On the day, I arrived downtown at the public parking lot that I'd been told to show up at. Now bear in mind that Steve had told me that no actors were getting paid, all camera equipment and crew gak was either donated or on a greatly reduced daily rate. He spoke of how this film was pretty much out of his own pocket and that's why I agreed to do it for free.

So, you'll understand then, my confusion at arriving at the parking lot to discover a herd of massive star wagons taking up half the place. I saw them from a block and a half away and I'm like, "How the hell did Bacic manage to score these mega-trailers?" It had the look of a multi-million dollar-budgeted feature film, not something that Steve Bacic had bank-rolled with the coins from under the floormats of his mini-van.
I walked into the crew parking lot with conflicted thoughts. "I can't believe he's rented these monster star-wagons," was doing battle with, "I can't wait to see the size of my own personal monster star-wagon." Guess which one won?

Right.

So the first thing I do is go up to the catering truck and order me a monster, star-wagon breakfast. Fresh squeezed O.J., a fruit smoothie, a breakfast burrito with the works and a bucket of mocha java. I figured that if Steve was bank-rolling this, it could all evaporate at any second so the least I can do is cram about 19 pounds of brekkie into me before it all gets snatched away.

Usually, when I work on a film, I get a call sheet ahead of time but I didn't get one on Steve's film because when money's tight, call sheets are suddenly considered a luxury. I didn't even know who else was in the film I'd agreed to do script unseen. But you have to know I was mighty impressed with whatever mojo, cash or not, that Steve Bacic had going on to bring in star wagons and uber-catering. I was figuring to change in a bathroom somewhere and share in a box of donuts so this was fantastic.

So, anyway, there I was taking my time garfing down this breakfast and watching all the crew and teamsters running around. Well, okay, the teamsters weren't running around. I think they were driving around on golf carts or something. Something motorized, anyway. Finally, I decide to go get changed in my luxury suite so I spot someone with a headset on and flag him down.

In between mouthfuls of breakfast burrito I go, "Hi, I'm Gary Jones, one of the actors and I'm working today." Ever friendly, as they always are, he goes, "Okay, Mr. Gary Jones, let's see here." He pulls out his call sheet and scans it. "Huh," he says, "Don't see your name here. You sure you're working today?" I assured him that I was, that I'd gotten a call and it was definitely today. So he checks the call sheet again and still can't find my name. Then he says, "What character are you playing?"

"Mr. So and so."

"You'll have to give me more than that."

"No, the character's name is Mr. So and so."

Blank look.

"You know, the gay acting teacher who sticks a gun in his mouth and blows his head off."

Blank look.

Finally, I say, "Can I have a look at that call sheet?"

I was on the wrong movie set. I had been mooching food off the wrong movie set. I knew that when I saw either "Ice Cube" or "Ice T" on the list of actors in this multi-million dollar-budgeted film. It was Ice somebody. Could've been Ice Cream or Ice Tray or that Jewish rapper Ice Berg. The point was, I wasn't in this film.

I then did the only thing any actor in my position would've done. I whispered to the guy with the headset, "Can I keep the burrito?"

His reply of, "Knock yourself out," did nothing to prop up my flagging dignity at that point.

Minutes later I was happily changing in a cramped bathroom stall while munching on a jelly donut supplied by actor/writer/producer Steve Bacic.

Hands up, who wants acting lessons?
Cheers,
Jonesy

Hey:
What are the odds of having two of Vancouver's sci-fi actors living down the street from each other? Pretty good if you've ever seen me have to wait to pass in my car while a shirtless Steve Bacic shows his four year old boy how to do a proper slam dunk into the molded plastic, Fisher Price, "L'il Shaq" basketball hoop that's parked on our road in the summer.
Steve Bacic, (pr: Basic) as you sci-fi die-hards will remember, played the character, "Telemachus Rhade," on the hit, Kevin Sorbo vehicle, "Hercules in Space." I mean, "Andromeda."
Steve is a really sweet guy and he and I have a couple of things in common, starting with the obvious, that being that the circumference of his bicep is the exact same as that of my waist: 33".
Steve also was a regularly recurring character on Andromeda. I am a regularly recurring character on Stargate SG:1. Steve has guest-starred on Stargate SG:1. I've guest-starred on Andromeda.
Steve and I have bumped into each other 3 times at the airport catching the dawn shuttle bus from the long-term parking lot to catch flights to different sci-fi conventions.
And, after reading Steve's filmography on IMDB, I see that the most important similarity that we share is that we've both experienced name changes on our respective shows.
I, as you all know, started out as, "Technician," on SG:1. And since I had to wear an Air Force name tag, eagle-eyed fans, while referring to me as, "Chevron Guy," saw that I was, "Davis." I asked if I the producers if had a first name and was told, "Uh, how 'bout Norman?"
Okay. Norman Davis I was.
That all changed in episode "2010," when Richard Dean went off-script and named me, "Walter." So then I was Norman Walter Davis. But, in the scripts I was still, "Technician."
Then, in one episode, General Hammond referred to me as, "airman." After that scene was shot, people were asking, "Did he say "airman" or "Harriman?" It sounded like he said, "Harriman."" So, somehow that morphed into me being called, "Walter Harriman."
And while that was happening, I was also getting promotions every time I showed up for a new season. I went from "Technical Sergeant," to "Master Sergeant," to finally, "Chief Master Sergeant." I have no idea what the new ribbons on my uniform were in honor of. Since I hardly ever leave the base, I can only assume that I got medalled for things like, "Typing Under Fire," "Volunteering to File After-Shift," or "Five Years of Car-pooling from Parking Lot K."
Fans ask me all the time about the name change and I always defer to "the greater good of the show." The writers, from Brad and Robert on down, all are working for the "greater good of the show." If I get 16 name changes, then that means they have a plan and it falls under the greater good of the show.
On a side note though, I did do a cross-over episode on Stargate: Atlantis and showed up to my change room where I saw on my trailer door, "Chief Master sergeant Walter Harriman." and underneath it in brackets: (formerly HOOPER)
Hooper?
When in hell's britches was I Hooper?
I guess I could've been Hooper. Again, "the greater good of the show." (Although, don't think for once second I'm thinking that my character's constant name change has been what's kept the show on the air for 10 years. Maybe 6. But for sure not 10).
But then I see that, in Andromeda, Steve's character of, "Telemachus Rhade," also appeared earlier as, "Gaheris Rhade." I'd love to know where that name change came from. Did Steve suggest to the producers that his character has always hated the name Gaheris and that he grew up on his planet being taunted and beaten up over such a geeky alien name and that his character always thought that the name Telemachus was a way cooler name much the same way that I, Gary Jones, grew up wishing that my name was Paul McCartney?
Or maybe, unbeknownst to me, Richard Dean Anderson, did a guest-star spot on Andromeda and went off script and called Gaheris Rhade, Telemachus. And you know, Richard had huge clout in the sci-fi world so who's gonna tell him that Telemachus is a pretty weird name? I'll tell you who?
No-one.
It's theory, anyway.
It also begs the thought that, if that were the case, then how close could I have been to being called, Chief Master Sergeant Telemachus Harriman?
But I digress.
The thing is, Steve appeared for a few eps in Stargate SG:1 and even then he had a name change. In fact, I believe he had more than a name change, I believe he had an entire character change. He went from being some dude named "Major Coburn," to some alien dude named "Camulus." I don't remember him as Major Coburn but I sure remember him strutting down the gate ramp as Camulus, shirtless and swinging those Gary Jones', waist-sized biceps.
Next time he comes through the gate I think I'll have a little homecoming gift for him waiting at the end of the ramp: a "L'il Shaq" Fisher price molded plastic hoop and nerf basketball.
Hope that clears up the name thing for you all.
Cheers,
Jonesy

Dearests:
I once got a job on a film called, "Trixie." It was written and directed by a guy named Alan Rudolph, who happens to be a producing partner of Robert Altman's. I drag in Robert Altman's name because I'd never heard of this Alan Rudolph dude but I sure know Robert Altman. Well, make that know of him. Anyway, Robert Altman's friend, Alan Rudolph, sweet, sweet guy, has an audition process that is unheard of up here in Vancouver. He hires a casting agent, tells the casting agent what kind of character he's looking for, then instead of bringing in the actors to read for the part, he tells the casting agent to just ship over the actors 8 x 10's. That's it. No live actor. Just promo shots. And Alan Rudolph, Robert Altman's bestest friend, sifts through the photos and picks out 8 x 10's of actors that he thinks look interesting.
Apparently I looked "interesting" to him. (Not quite the "pretty and such" that a blogging fan recently remarked that I was to her.)
So I got the part of a man who lobbies the government on behalf of the ski-doo industry. And you guys all thought I never left the Stargate control room.
Once I got the part, then it was the obvious question: "Who else is in this pig?"
Well.
Let's just say a certain Miss EMILY WATSON, a certain Miss BRITTANY MURPHY and a certain Mr. NICK NOLTE.
NICK NOLTE??!!
Yeah. Nick Nolte.
And I know what you're all thinking. You're all thinking, "Holy shit. Nick Nolte." And believe me, so was I.

Until I met him.

And that, folks, is the rub. That's where the fame/reality walls come tumbling down.
My scene was with Nick and Brittany Murphy and it took all day to shoot. So I sat at a table staring into Nick's pinprick eyes for eight hours and listened to him ramble on like he was strapped to a cot in a methadone clinic. The guy will say anything. Why? Because he's a movie star and so they let him. Most of what he said I've forgotten but there were a couple of key things that have been seared into my brain that I'll share with you.

First, the testicle tuck.

Yeah, read that line again and know that we've gone from 0 to 60 in under 3 seconds. This is a man who has had the word, "segue," surgically removed from his mind. Or what's left smouldering of it. Topics come flying in out of nowhere and leave just as fast. He's like a magpie on a shiny subject. Whatever comes into his brain comes out of his mouth. Oh, yeah, and let's not forget that he sounds like he's gargling oysters. Still in the shell.

So he's sitting there holding court while Brittany, myself and another Vancouver actress, Delores Drake, look on. Nick starts in on this story wherein he was interviewed, live, on "Good Morning, America" by Bryant Gumble. Bryant's in the New York studio and Nick's on location somewhere in the Nebraska, I think. But bear in mind that this is live. So, anyway,
Bryant says, "Good morning, Nick. How are you?"
Nick says, "Bryant. I'm well."
Bryant says, "You look well. In fact, you look great. Are you sure you haven't had any work done?"
Nick says, "Work done? You mean, plastic surgery?"
Bryant says, "Yeah. Are you sure?"
Nick says, "No way. Not a thing. Haven't touched the face. Although...I did have that testicle tuck."
Bryant says, "See you later, Nick."
Nick says, "Bye, Bryant."

And that was it. The interview was over. Bryant pulled the live feed plug. Nick told us that he could still hear the camera guys and crew guys in New York laughing through his ear plug.
Then as Nick's telling us this, he pauses and says to Brittany and us, "Oh, maybe that's where the rumour of me having a testicle tuck got started."

You mean, WHEN YOU TOLD PEOPLE ON LIVE NATIONAL TV THAT YOU GOT A TESTICLE TUCK, NICK? YOU MEAN THEN?

You think?

Then it was time to do some good ol' fashioned actin'. You know, just like we'd been paid to do. So it was Brittany's turn to once again to bring the script to life and act like she was a whore and for Nick to pretend that he was a crooked politician being masturbated under the table by Brittany the whore.

Okay, hands up how many people have ever seen Nick Nolte masturbated under a table? Oh, I guess that's just me and Delores Drake with our hands up. Well, let me tell you, it's a sight to behold. Nick's already heading into shrunken applehead doll territory thanks to his 8,000 lost weekends that have added up to most of his life. Let's just say that alcohol doesn't make the best skin moisturizer. And then, of course, Nickhad to look like he orgasmed. It was simply astonishing to watch. Especially, around "take eight." You know, the veins in Nick's head were starting to smoke and come away from his face. But, to his credit, he did it and carried on like anybody would who'd just been masturbated eight times under a table by a whore who looked exactly like Brittany Murphy.

Then it was time for the next part of the scene which I don't quite remember. But what I do remember is Nick farting.

Yeah, read that line again and think of Nick Nolte, movie star and colon blaster. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard it. Wait, I mean, when I heard the first one.

Like I said, Nick was playing the part of a crooked politician and the scene took place in one of those high-end, cigar-riddled clubs with the wing-back leather chairs and cut-glass, brandy snifters the size of volleyballs and paintings of old politicians with a musket in one hand and a foot on a dead stag. The clientelle being old and rich. So all the background extras were like, 60 and up. And they all kept glancing at Nick Nolte because hey, man, he's NICK NOLTE.

And between takes, Nick would ramble on and the extras would lean in to try and hear what our man Nick was espousing and what do they get?

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!

Followed by, "Whoa, sorry folks, that one's gonna be a stinker!" Quote unquote.
And this would be right before the next take so that if indeed, it was a stinker, no-one could get up and leave the napalmed area. I felt sooooooooooo bad for the extras who were vibrating with excitement just to be near a movie star. The look on their faces was just so sad. After about loud fart number 5 and Nick again warning them that it was "gonna be another stinker!" their looks turned to disgust and they settled into their leather wingbacks and knocked back another snifter of applejuice.

But Nick wasn't done yet.

No, before the flame on the candle of Nick's dignity sputtered out completely, the star of "Rich Man, Poor Man," "48 Hours" and..."Another 48 Hours," turns to Brittany Murphy, holds out his hand and loudly gargles:

"Hey, sweetheart, pull my finger."

Until next time, muchachos!
jonesy

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