NewEnglandFilm.com

Slowly, the customer service business had been draining my personality. I was no longer "Mike Messier, lovable unemployed eccentric." I was Mike Messier, a five-day-a-week laborer, a stooge under training — in a night training class at MetLife insurance. With a real job, I would no longer have countless hours to stalk coffee waitresses and bookstore clerks.

Of course, with a job, I could also get off Social Security benefits and food stamps. Somehow, I don’t feel like this admittance compromises my pride. Why shouldn’t a white male in his 30s take advantage of the system? It’s kind of ironic and humorous isn’t it? Or it is just sad? You be the judge.

I digress.

One Tuesday in November, I checked my phone messages, and the frenzied voice of Annie from LDI Casting in Warwick informed me that she had a part she wanted me to audition for that afternoon — for a Wesley Snipes movie.

I’ve known Annie for a long time, and although we were on good terms, I hadn’t heard from her in a couple of years. She runs a casting company, more or less on her own, that casts extras for big movies and big parts for smaller movies. The last work she got me was as an extra for a Mohegan Sun commercial that I don’t think ever aired. At least I never saw it. Anyway, I quickly called Annie back, got directions to her audition space in East Providence, and headed over.

When I arrived, she gave me a "side," which is one page of the script used for an audition. In the waiting room of the sparse rented office, I ran into Tony Estrella, artistic director of Sandra Feinstein-Gamm Theatre, and a guy about my age. Tony was also reading for a small part and I found it somewhat absurd that a guy with Tony’s talent was in more or less the same position as I was: trying to get a break. My talent is cramming myself down people’s throats; Tony’s a little more subtle than that.

I read my side, and Annie explained to me that the character was supposed to be the mentally retarded son of Cybill Shepherd’s character "Cass." "Eugene" would be fed a can of Mr. Pibb soda and chug down the beverage in one swoop while taking his medication.

I asked Annie if it was OK for me to get a bottle of water from my car to substitute for the can of soda. She said, "Why not?" This attention to detail is what you call "ACTING!" — to quote John Lovitz’s dramatic thespian from Saturday Night Live. It was a very comfortable audition.

In the scene for the audition "Cass" and her lover "Chang" are torturing a kidnappee in the basement when they hear groaning coming from Eugene’s bedroom. Momma "Cass" goes to her son and finds him enthralled with a slightly erotic exercise video. My lines were basically: "Are, are we going to Disney World?" and, after being told by momma that "Disney World’s in Florida," I retorted "Spiderman’s in Florida." My big improv was to actually swig down the whole bottle of water.

As I left the audition, I noticed that boxer and Cranston legend Vinny Paz was parking in the parking lot. I had met him a few times in the past and had invited him to be on my TV show, but his agent hadn’t gone for it. We exchanged pleasantries, and I was happy he remembered me. I thought of his recent financial troubles and wondered if it was better to be rich or famous.

About four days later, I got a call back from Annie asking me to come in for another audition. By this time, I had gathered, that the "Wesley Snipes movie" was actually being directed by Mario Van Peebles, who directed New Jack City, Baadasssss! and a handful of straight-to-cable and video fare featuring Ice-T.

The character I was up for would share a fight scene with Snipes and the aforementioned medication scene with Shepherd. One drawback to all of this would be shaving my head to get into character.

For the second audition, I brought some wrestling action figures with me and improvised that Eugene was getting "new wrestle-er-ers" from momma.

A few days later, I got a call for a third audition, strictly to test my height. So I stood next to the petite and adorable Annie on camera, who wisely took off her shoes. Apparently my main competition for the part was from a 6’10" actor from New York.

A few days later, I heard from Annie that they were talking about a possible stunt double for the giant from New York. It looked bleak, but I wasn’t out of the competition. Then, just a few hours after that phone call, she told me that Mario was upset that he hadn’t been given a tape of me with my shirt off, so I went to Warwick, to another audition space, to take off my shirt for Annie and her camera. I thought, "Now this is where being one of those Providence people with a bunch of tattoos can bite me in the ass."

Fortunately, I had done some homework between auditions. My friend Jason from Virginia works with some developmentally challenged kids and he told me to really stress uncommon syllables in my words to create a believable retarded character. "I have a si-IZE fourteen sh-EW," Jason coached. And we went back and forth over the phone like two idiots for hours doing this. That’s how you get a leg up on a 6’10’ actor in New York.

One day passed. I got the phone call while hanging out with my new platonic girlfriend — the type I’m good at collecting and losing like a new pair of sunglasses. Annie pulled the old "use a somber voice to tell him good news" trick. It worked in heightening the drama of the news she was to tell me: I got the role!

The next step was for me to introduce myself to the set. I wasn’t scheduled to shoot until December 9, but a few weeks ahead I went to the URI campus in North Kingstown where Hard Luck was being filmed. I stumbled into the food tent at 5 pm. and sheepishly introduced myself to a few people as "Mike Messier, the guy playing Eugene." The second unit director, a friendly guy named Big Mike, probably 340 pounds, directed me towards the food line. "OK, Eugene, get something to eat." He also had one important question: "Have you met Mario?"

With that, I was greeted by Mr. MVP himself: Mario Van Peebles. Granted, he’s an A- or B-plus celebrity to you if you’re being kind, but the fucking savior to me.

Is that my Eugene?" Mario asked in the same tone of voice that Larry David had asked Crazy Eyes Killa, "Are you my Caucasian?" But Mario was serious.

"Yes, I’m your Eugene," I said.

I wasn’t done kissing Mario’s lightly toned black ass. "Check this out," I said, unzipping my jacket to reveal my Al Pacino Scarface T-shirt — a movie that Mario idolized as witnessed by its obvious influence on New Jack City. Mario smiled. Nobody kisses ass like Mike Messier. Nobody!

A few weeks later, I quit my job at MetLife — not all due to being cast in the Hard Luck, but having the assurance that I would soon be a movie star didn’t hurt either. My job now was to stay alive, avoid crippling car accidents and learn my lines. I had three fucking lines!

One thing I noticed was that the joy and happiness that my friends had for me in getting this part was bigger than my own happiness. In my own fragile mind, I’d felt overdue for this big break. I was somewhat humbled as well after reading the script. No offense to Mario, but this was not the greatest movie of all time. I would classify it as "John Waters does Pulp Fiction."

I showed up at The Stage, a remote warehouse serving as a set location near Rhode Island Hospital. This the same Rhode Island Hospital that once housed me after a bout with bipolar disorder. The same Rhode Island Hospital where I see my shrink and my therapist and tell them about my angst-ridden life.

I’ve come so far, but I haven’t really gone anywhere, I thought as I parked my car in the surrounding neighborhood and walked through snow and ice towards the set, where I was greeted by an earthy yet cute production assistant, whose winter clothing couldn’t hide her charms. Then I was brought to my trailer — which was actually a division of a trailer — where I got situated.

I signed a contract, which said something like $716 daily rate. I didn’t understand if this was my daily pay, or my pay for the whole movie. I suppose I could have asked, but I didn’t. I would have done it for free.

The wardrobe guy knocked on the door and came in to give me my outfit: a wife beater shirt, flannel, and grey sweatpants. The wife beater was two sizes two small, showing off my prominent belly like a Butterball turkey in one of those nice mesh wraps.

The friendly and cute production assistant, who I had a crush on for those few days of shooting, but whose name I’ve now forgotten, brought me to the hair and makeup ladies. They were loud and crazy, full of fun and gossip. Mary and Diane, hair and makeup respectively, at times seemed to be the only people who liked talking. The rest of the crew was tired. Very tired. I was working in the fifth and sixth week of a six week shoot.

My first day on the set, I met Cybill Shepherd. She was headed into the hair and makeup trailer at the same time I was headed out of it.

"Momma?" I said. She looked up. "Hi, I’m Mike Messier and I’m playing your son."

She smiled. "Oh yes, I watched your tape. You were great."

This was Cybill Shepherd, whom I’ve masturbated to in The Last Picture Show, telling me I was great. Ms. Moonlighting herself.

I got my hair done. Mary chopped it down to a crew cut and then took me to Mario for inspection. This is when I started to realize Mario didn’t know my name. "Hey, Big Man," he called me, "you’re gonna look crazy but you’re gonna be a movie star."

"Cut his eyebrows off," Mario said. "The Hills Have Eyes! Tank Abbott on crack!"

I got the fake ringworm put on my head and went to dinner. Nobody talked to me. I later found out that they thought I was a new production assistant who really had ringworm.

That first day, hours after dinner, I was scheduled to have my fight scene with Wesley Snipes. Certainly, I was nervous. But I felt like I belonged — like all the rushing I’ve done over the last 10 years, as a struggling whatever, had finally come to this. This is as good as it’s gonna get. And that was fine. I was fine with this.

I rehearsed the fight scene with Chuck, who I believe was one of Wesley’s personal assistants. We went over it a few times and I felt very comfortable, but I had this strange feeling that Wesley would actually punch me for real. I was fine with that. Whatever it takes, I thought.

The cute production assistant — I believe her name was actually Kerry — came over to me: "Guess what? You’re being released for the day."

I was fine with that too. You can’t rush greatness.

The next day I came back to set ready to rock. Bring on Snipes. Bring on my career.

I learned that even on a real movie set, there are problems with timing. No different from the obscure no-budget movies I’ve directed. Basically, with only two stylists — one for hair and one for makeup — a line forms for the actors to get prepared for their scenes. On the second day of my shoot, I was scheduled to shoot first thing after dinner. But I still hadn’t gotten my ringworm yet.

I learned a major difference between my movies and this "low budget" (a reported 15.5 million dollar) movie. On my movies, I like to blame actors when they’ve made a mistake, cost me valuable time, or haven’t performed up to task. On a real movie set, it’s never the actor’s fault.

Here’s a bad thing to do: leave your cell phone on while in a movie theatre. Here’s an even worse thing to do: leave your cell phone on while on a movie set. A really, "My God, how stupid are you?" thing to do: have your cell phone go off on the movie set while seated next to Wesley Snipes.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I really fucked up and we both knew it.

Mario Van Peebles had me sit next to him, while he was shooting some of the fight scenes. I felt as if he had taken me under his wing. He was making me feel comfortable, doing what a good director does. "How big are you?" he asked. "275," I said. "About 6’2." He smiled, hopefully forever forgetting about the New York giant, the other choice for Eugene. The poor sap who was somewhere, wishing he were me.

It was time to shoot my fight scene. Wesley and Mario had a difference of opinion. My fight scene with Snipes was disappearing from my eyes. Wesley didn’t understand his character’s motivation to help Mario’s character, and therefore have the fight scene with my character. For some reason, I avoided eye contact with Wesley.

I was sent back to my trailer and told by Kerry, the cute PA, that they were rewriting the scene.

I was brought back out, and on my second day on the set I was captured for the first time on 35mm film. My first shot was holding a shovel over my head, about to pummel Mario Van Peebles. Wesley Snipes runs behind me and conks me over the head with a saw handle.

I got into pro-wrestler mode and made my eyes crazy, my stare intense. It was the best that I could do.

When this scene wrapped, Mario had his picture taken with Wesley. I tried to get a moment with Mario to thank him for the experience, but he was on the phone. It seemed to me that he was talking to one of the producers. Everybody told me I did a good job and I went home.

The next day, day three for me, I reported to the suburbs in Cumberland. I was brought to my trailer, which was becoming like a little second home to me. Outside my door, I heard somebody say, "That’s Eugene’s trailer." Anxious to talk to somebody, anybody, I opened the door and said, "Yes?" It was just the locals, reading my trailer door. They had a couple of hot girls with them, but I was cock-blocked by the old timer of the bunch, who kept talking about Cybill Shepherd.

For hours I waited, and kept myself busy with a conversation with a woman who came out "to see them make a movie." She was impressed that I, a native Rhode Island boy, was in this Hollywood film. Screw Peter Manfredo, I’m the pride of Providence.

I went to the honey wagon (catering truck) to kill some time. As I walked back to my trailer, I heard, "Eugene!" It was Mario. It occurred to me that Mario was in need of a friend just as badly as I was. Like a true friend, I had a special gift for Mario. "Give it to me on the set," he said. "You been on set, yet?" "No," I said. "Why not?" he asked. He smiled. Mario smiles a lot.

I walked through the snow and into the house that we were shooting in. On the staircase wall were framed pictures of me from my real childhood interwoven with pictures from Cybill Shepherd’s life. I knew these pictures would be there because my mother and I had given the art department the pictures a few weeks earlier, but it was still shocking to see them.

I’m living in a movie.

I walked by the Production Assistant named Boogey and into the bedroom. It wasn’t too unfamiliar. There were cheap little plastic wrestling dolls from Mexico on a table next to the bed. My real-life sister had once bought me the same dolls as a gag Christmas gift. I lay on the bed, the bed that was made for Eugene. Hours passed.

I could overhear Boogey talking on his walkie-talkie. "Eugene is in his room," he said once or twice.

Eugene is in his room.

Being on the movie set is very similar to being in the psychiatric hospital. You are being watched, but not too closely. You are told what to do. You do it and you’re a good boy. Everybody’s happy.

The best part, the communal part, is the eating. It’s heaven and hell. In hell, everyone is shackled at the hands and feet and nobody can eat. In heaven, everyone is still shackled but hands are feeding each other.

Mario came into my room. I was very calm and told him thanks for casting me in the movie. He seemed somewhat surprised by my genuine good humor. I told him I had that present for him: a King Kong Bundy Pro Wrestling Action figure made by a small company from Johnston, Rhode Island. The action figure, complete with painted-on blood, looked somewhat like my character Eugene. I also gave him a copy of "Watch More Television! — The Best of the Mike Messier Show," which you can see yourself at www.mikemessier.com.  

Kiss that ass. Who gives a fuck?

An hour later, I was to rehearse with Cybill’s stand-in, and then Cybill. Mario told me, "I like to do things in movies that nobody’s ever seen before." In this case, he meant showing Eugene on the toilet with Momma Cass wiping his overgrown ass.

My question to myself: Are they going to show my penis? My second question: If so, how do I get my penis bigger?

Cybill Shepherd was a real Southern belle, a sweetheart, and I felt very comfortable acting with her. I told myself I was acting with my muse, Darya Zabinski, a local actress whom I’ve cast many times. Darya has overpowering good looks and I’ve held my own with her, so I could hold my own with Cybill Shepherd. The Jedi mind trick worked.

We did the scene where Cybill’s Cass puts Messier’s Eugene to bed. Eugene begs to go trick or treating for Halloween. Cass says, "No, baby, it’s not safe out there." Then she rocks Eugene to bed.

At one point, three people were in my room. Mario, Cybill, and myself. "And I want you to know," said Mario, "She’s the reason why you got this part."

Apparently, Mario couldn’t decide between me and the six-foot-ten giant. He deferred to the opinion of Cybill and the actor who played her lover in the film, a very nice Asian actor named James. They rallied for me.

I rewarded Cybill with a handshake and a copy of "Watch More Television! — The Best of the Mike Messier Show," which is, after all, currently the number one rated short on