Working on Back in Action was incredibly intense. You have to understand, the director, Steve Di Marco—may he rest in peace—was a character. A real character. His tendency was to go against the grain. He had this energy, this aura of someone who defied even gravity. He could bulldoze through chaos and somehow make it work. Most of the time. On this movie set though, he clashed spectacularly with the executive producer—and honestly, it was bullshit. It was kind of reverse sexism, because the producer was a woman who thought the way he dressed was improper. A film set is not IBM or a bank—it’s not a corporate environment. Steve liked to wear see-through shirts and laced-up leather pants. She was an oddball, really.
Back in Action is an action film starring Rowdy Roddy Piper and Billy Blanks. Piper plays a drunken police officer who teams up with Blanks, a former soldier, to take on a dangerous mobster who has taken their loved ones captive. “Rowdy” Roddy Piper was a Canadian professional wrestler and actor. Billy Blanks is an American actor, martial artist, and fitness personality. He was a nationally ranked competitor in semi-contact and point karate during the 1980s. That’s a Polaroid of me on day 3 of shooting.
Working with Rowdy Roddy Piper and Billy Blanks, I found myself in a strange, slightly hilarious position: These two guys couldn’t utter a sentence without dropping “fuck” three or four times per sentence, as a noun, a verb, an adjective, or an adverb. I had been instructed by the producers to keep it somewhat contained. I became the “fuck police.”So, before the camera rolled, I would tell them, “Guys, there’s only a limited number of fucks—don’t use them all up in this shot.” The response was often more fucks, of course, because that was kind of the point.
In between setups, I’d stretch and practice kicks with Billy Blanks—because at the time I was neck-deep in Shotokan karate practice. Here I was, a karate nerd, working out with a martial arts powerhouse in a sweaty studio. Unusual? Absolutely. Fun? Totally.
Then there was the heat. Toronto summer heat waves, indoor locations, intense lights, fight scenes, giant muscle-bound men, punching, kicking, and hurling each other around like ragdolls. Sweat everywhere—the camera operators, director, and entire crew were drenched. We couldn’t keep fans on when we were rolling due to the noise. It was like an adrenaline-charged communal bath. You didn’t just work on set—you survived it. And somehow, amidst all the sweat, chaos, laughter, and flying limbs, we got the job done.
I still think about that set sometimes. About the sheer madness of it. About the endless fucks, the sweat, the fights, and car chases, the stretching, the adrenaline, and the director’s leopard-spotted, see-through shirts. And, honestly? I wouldn’t have traded a single second of it.
Words Have Power 