“Coyle and Baxley,” or Baxley and Coyle? We just might have to shoot each other before we figure this out…


Thought I’d take a few minutes of precious life to offer up, to you, a personally curated, guided tour of what a typical day shooting the new PREDATOR looked like. Buckle up, Yautja fans…



The day started at about 5 pm. We piled into the transpo vans and headed for the black hills, watching the sunset, usually arguing along the way about who was going to get killed that day. (“Me, me!”) We hit base camp around an hour later, grabbed some grub and coffee and then pile into the trailers to don our gear. Our Predator gear.

Here we have Baxley’s necklace, (no, he’s not into the Skydaddy, but a woman he had a very brief affair with put it on him one day and the twitching stopped, if only for a moment. Baxley thinks it was just a coincidence, but the sex was pretty good, so he leaves it on. How’s that for backstory?), some kneepads, boots and socks.


The red doohicky keeps appearing in my boots at the beginning of each day. I’m not sure why. Whatever it is, it looks state of the art.


After a brief but tortuous ordeal with the lady with the scissors and the man with the brush, powder and paint, we assemble outside our trailers and begin the long journey to set. Everyone has to stick together because some of us have a tremendous knack for getting lost (ok no names, no names Olivia).

The path is serpentine. The air is misty and cold. Hooded figures wave red lanterns and chant under their breath. I’m not sure but it sounds a lot like, “Madness… madness….”


Soon we approach the gate. It is littered with the detritus of those who have tried and failed to enter here.  Woe to thee.


Lone figures wander through the mists and then disappear. Moaning is heard, but faintly. Just the wind… The long walk leads deeper into we know not where.

“That’s because we are lost,” whispers Trey. “Again.” This from Sterling. We ask our handler how much longer. Silence.


Finally, a clearing. The woods. Ah yes, the woods: this is where we will make our final stand. For weeks. Or was it months? In the cold and dark… stark staring eyes frozen with confusion, tinged with rage; this is what I see in my fellow thespians (rhymes with lesbians) faces.

Now I know why they keep putting those red things in my boots. To keep me from going insane.


Roll call. Yes, someone is missing. You know who. We are all hoping our handlers won’t notice.

They don’t.

After briefly considering sacrificing Jacob (the little stripling in the middle) to Nephthys, goddess of death, we continue on, into the woods.


Here’s a tree. Boyd says he’s pretty sure we passed this one before. I say that was yesterday. I take a snapshot to be sure. I’ll check it with the others later.


These people have nothing to do with us. Backpackers from Sweden, it turns out. They’ve been lost in the woods for several years. Augusto offers to lead the Swedes back to chocolate, watches, the first hardcore porn film and ABBA. They refuse.


“Now this one I know I’ve seen before.”


Larry Fong. Master of Light. Larry has asked me, yes me, to take his portrait today. I told Larry he would look much cooler if he raised his arm like that.

Obviously, I was right.


This guy is making airplane noises as he glides along (you can kinda tell, right?) all the while barking out complicated instructions. But no one else is around but me. He looks at me. I look at him. Suddenly it dawns on me: it took me eight weeks, but I finally figgered it out. Funny noises, barking orders, sometimes just barking? This guy…

This guy is our director.

(How we see Shane:)


(How Shane sees himself:)


Now, honestly, I’m not sure what’s going on here. No, it’s not that it was too long ago and I can’t remember. It’s not that it’s a very complicated technical piece of equipment requiring years of patient training and great skill. It’s not that I’ve never seen one before, I have. Lots of times. It’s that one dude down at the end there. What the fuck is he touching?


Finally, daybreak. I haven’t done a damn thing except wander around, get lost, find my way back to set, finally find the latrine, (the outhouse, the head, the Taj Mahal), get lost, hope no one finds me, they find me, stumble into the cast tent, (the palace, the mansion, the Taj Mahal) listen to Keegan tell that fucking joke again, try to convince Shane that maybe Baxley should die in this scene, and wonder, as a philosophical question, exactly how deep into the woods I’d have to go in order to jerk off without being seen.

It’s time for me to get angry. Really angry. So angry that I forget exactly why I am angry. But I am.


And then this happens.


End of day. We stumble back at dawn, exhausted and not really sure why. This is when the thoughts come, racing through my addled brain: What is becoming of the human race? We make movies about aliens invading our planet to hunt us for sport and steal our precious women – women who now demand equal pay, women who won’t stand for the abuse any longer, women who refuse to stay at home and make that baloney sandwich with mustard, hold the crust (good on ya, women!) – but while we fight the freaking aliens, and the religious fundamentalists, and the terrorists, the immigrants, the minorities, the Other, along with D. John Trump (and goddang it ‘mericans, we gonna have fun doin’ it, too!) – while we save the world from various invaders both foreign and domestic, perhaps we should be beginning to wonder: who is going to save us from ourselves?

Probably not this guy. Another day in movieland concludes with a goddamn selfie. Really, Jane?

I’m not even sure where that blood comes from, but it isn’t mine. This time. And that is good.


So shut up and dance. If we didn’t have rockin good movies to blow off some steam, to ease some of the pain, to blow some shit up, kill some freakin bad guys and win one for the Gipper every now and again, we’d have blown up ourselves a long time ago.

That’s right, I just said that movies have saved the world. And I meant it.


Meanwhile… a lone figure mutters instructions to himself. The crew is long gone; the bone-shattering explosions, just a distant memory. He thinks about what he has done. And he is proud.





Vitalii Smyk

Admira Wijaya





Been a while but i think i remem’r how dis thang works. Bear with me.


okey.   1922!

ye olde Netflix sent me some promo materials an’ I thought I’d share em witcha. Not sure if that’s kosher, but then again, i’m not Jewish.


We had a kick ass set photog – Jeff Topham. You can check him out at

he sent me some stills way back and I happen to hang on to ’em.



Now this was a quick shoot – 5 weeks i think it was, up ol’ Canadia, an actors home away from home. Little did I know that I would be back at that country barn that we used for – wait for it – the barn scenes in 1922; they would become a scene of high cinematic misery just a few short months later, when I was back to shoot Shane Black’s PREDATOR.

Here’s a piece of the darn barn. I’m pretty sure we lost a couple rats shooting 1922 in here.

On Predator, I got caught smoking a stogie in the barn by the owner, who gave me hell because he didn’t want his barn catching on fire. Thing was, it was raining – and I was jus trying to keep the head dry. You know, not mess up the hair, cause what happens is you get a whole bevy of ladies chasin’ after ya with blowdryers and brushes and pomade and the like. Anyway I tol the farmer i was jus lookin’ for the rats we’d lost on the last pitcher i shot up here, an then he recognized me, he said oh, yore that rat fella. Still he kicked me out anyway, an I had to git back into that rain.

But this weren’t jus any ol’ rain, this was a torrential, Biblical downpour of hellish, Vancouver, kiss-my-grits-it’s fuckin’-climate-change-bitches superstorm. It was so bad, the movie trucks was getting stuck in the muddy road and tearing up the grounds something fierce, so in the end, I was the least of that poor farmer’s worries.

Actually, predator is the last film that you’ll see that ol’ barn in for a good long while, because after us, the farmer said no f’in way will I ever rent my barn out to a bunch of Hollywood reprobates ever again.

Smart man, he jus caught on a little too late.

Ya’ll can see that barn right now, on Netflix. I’d love to know what ya’ll think.   Of the movie, not the barn.

1922 is a terrific novella by Steve King – it’s in a purty fine collection called Full Dark, No Stars. And boys and girls, it’s dark. The script was a doozy. I wouldn’t call it a horror show, not really, although there’s some fairly horrific things people got up to out there in what Wilf called, ‘The Middle’ — that long stretch of lonely out in the deep MidWest. I guess I’d call it American Gothic. Whatever it is, I had a blast bringin ol’ Wilf to life, but now it’s all over I can’t seem to shake him. That dern Steve King’ll do that to ya. Gets in the bones, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, I suspect there’s a lil Wilfred James lurking in all of us. He calls it the Conniving Man.

I jus call it bein’ American.



as promised, here is a few BTS shots from II. i am probably breaking some rule here, so look while you can. i won’t show sets, scenes, other actors. i’ve made these shots hard so you can’t grab them. don’t share! don’t tell your friends. just don’t even look, okay?

i’m pretty sure this sign got messed up. I think it should read, ‘can’t remember shit’ but obviously the sign maker got confused.  long hours will do that.





here’s a piece of our glorious sound stage (one of them. i think we have four or five this year).















sleeping quarters. they don’t actually let us leave set at night, except to pee, which is outside. thankfully, there is a ditch and a shovel for other biz. the guy at the end hasn’t been outside for at least a month, which has some of us sniffing the corners.












no. this is not Expanse – it’s just Toronto. pretty sure there is no McD’s on Tycho.

for the record, i was just walking by. i don’t do the salted cardboard. unless it has hot sauce.













here’s our director, Breck Eisner, just before we begin. Breck is the guy with the thumb. he’s happy to see me. Breck doesn’t yet realize that i’ve decided Miller is a deaf-mute this year.

also, he’s looking at me. that’s a no-no.












these folks are not happy. they are pretending, like they’re supposed to do.   those suits are hot. and, there’s no zipper down there. no joy.









being in space makes you feel cool. as in groovy. this guy’s feeling it, even tho he’s really f’in hot.  (as in uncomfortably warm, dodo.)

but he’s lit like a sonofabitch, thanks to jeremy benning, our cinematographer.  who is a god.







this guy doesn’t know that i’m stealing his helmet, because it’s cooler than mine.      as in way-cool.   wally wood is sportin’ wood right now.








Belter pride.











getting ready to make believe like i’m not really f’n hot. (extra-warm, genius.)












this is our director, after the scene is in the can. i think he likes me.

the finger is for some other guy, whom I’m guessing he doesn’t like so much.







gotta go pee in a ditch. more later.  T

Back to the Future

I’m packing my bag, they’re calling me back to deep space. Expanse starts shooting again later this month. read the script for episode 201, (season 2, ep 1) – loved it. looks like we’re starting off with a bang this year. those expanse boys sure can turn a screw. meaning they’re good with a twist. looks like a fun summer up in canadia.

i’m gonna talk to the boys and hopefully be posting some pics right here towards the end of the month. some non-spoilery type photos of regular-type stuff we do up there, like like fire off our blaster-type electric bullets, get funny haircuts, learn how to act in zero g. wait, was that a spoiler?

nah. it’s space, fer chrissakes. anyway i’ll post what i can while we’re acting all nonchalant about riding around in a spaceship, like we do it everyday.

i want everyone to know that, as requested, i did ask for my own sexbot this season. i got a lot of requests for the sexpot, er bot, and let me tell you i thought it was a grand idear. i’ve already got a name picked out: Calamity. Calamity the sexbot. got a ring to it, yeah?

hopefully, there will be some sexbot training, so me and the sexbot will look natural – like we do it everyday. okay? we’ll see how it goes. i’ll get pics.


Why there still may be hope for mankind

Mural of Strother Martin by Kent Twitchell –  Fountain and Kingsley, East Hollywood.

Yes, even little things like this count. Every time I begin to lose hope in my fellow man, something like this finds it’s way through the crumbling wasteland and blooms. Strother Douglas Martin was one of the great character actors of his generation. He was one of those one-of-a-kind individuals who project a singular quality. Y’know . . . those actors and actresses that once seen, you just can’t forget ’em. I mean, who paints a giant mural of an obscure character actor who has zero meaning to over half of America’s population? To the few, it is only just, that the late Mr. Martin is still held in such high regard today, 36 years after he took his final bow. An excellent tribute to be sure. Anyway, no need for school and soapbox. I wouldn’t even attempt to turn the younger generation of video-files and genre-junkies on to a cat like Strother Martin; for the righteous will discover him and his like in due time. As for the uninitiated? As Billy Shakespeare once intoned, “delays have dangerous ends.”

Wrightson, Bradstreet, O’Barr, and Locke, Collide in Sacramento this weekend!!

What?- Sac Con – Official Website

When? – This Saturday and Sunday – March 12th and 13th, 2016 – 

Who’s on the guest list? – Only, The Master of the Macabre – Bernie Wrightson!! Bradstreet will appear sans Mister Thomas Jane, his usual partner in ‘certain, mmmm dubious . . . activities’. Then there’s creator of The Crow James O’Barr! Also appearing, you know him, you love him (cause he scares the crap out of you), you can’t sleep at night once you’ve met him, Vince Locke! – known for his work on Deadworld and A History of Violence and for his ultraviolent album covers for death metal band Cannibal Corpse. Hmmmm, who else . . . Oh yeah, RAW brother and AMazing artist/painter, five time Eisner Award nominee – Dan Brereton! Also – From the land of, ‘Are you friggin’ kidding me?’ comes a fistful of Mike, a double dose of BADASS in the form of Michael Golden and Mike Zeck!!! That’s right. It’s a hitter’s line-up in the River City this weekend for sure!

Sac-Con exclusive – Master Chief by Timothy Bradstreet!

In addition to all the above hulabaloo (and with no expense spared by Sac-Con), Sac-Con is giving away an exclusive Master Chief poster created by cover artist Tim Bradstreet. Get it signed by Timmy, and Steve Downes, the voice of Master Chief!! While supplies last.



Courtesy of The Boston Examiner: Middlesex – Local NSA Field Officers stormed a live performance at a club in Dedham to apprehend a man wanted in connection with a possible ‘mass hallucination’ last week in Bridgton. On stage was local street legend, Rusty Blades. Blades says, “I’m just beginning the second set when the dudes just come outta the woodwork all around us. It was like, flash! And I’m back in Quang Tri.” –  Officers rushed the stage and apprehended the as yet unidentified man without incident. Officials later released the man following an intense 7 hour interrogation. A second assailant wanted in connection with the incident in Bridgton was taken into custody yesterday. Officials held the man overnight before releasing him without charges early this morning.

The identities of the two men have so far been withheld.

Photo by Sir Patrick Kennedy


AP: Derry – Officials across the state are baffled at the loss of communication with the outlying North Eastern counties. Scientists at the weather center at Little Toll Island posit, “a massive marine layer has descended inland and blanketed the region with dense fog”. Driving conditions are critically hazardous, and the State Highway Patrol has issued a rushed statement that reads simply, “Stay in your homes”. The Governor has called the National Guard to active alert duty. All personnel are instructed to rally to their situ points without further delay. Federal law is in effect.

The State Highway Patrol has also issued a state-wide alert to be on the lookout for THIS MAN (at right). Wanted for questioning after surviving a massive explosion that rocked a fuel station in Bridgton early Wednesday morning. Witnesses report that he and another man fled the scene in a dark blue late model sports car. Further details were not immediately released. A second survivor is in custody, police said in a brief statement. The survivor was not identified. The nearest FBI field office in Boston has been mobilized after a State of Emergency was declared. Please stand by for further developments . . . <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Birthday celebration ends in calamity amidst widespread attacks

AP: Castle Rock – The town of Bridgton Maine was rocked this morning by what witnesses refer to as “wild attacks by creatures coming out of the mist”. Several fatalities have already been reported. Unconfirmed reports of tentacled monsters, giant swarming insects, and horribly loud moaning sounds issuing forth from this morning’s post-storm fog have been clogging local radio stations. While it’s not known if there could be a possible connection, a birthday celebration ended in tragedy when an out-of-control vehicle slammed into Frank’s Pump and Pay, a service station in the King’s Crossing section of downtown Bridgton. The unidentified party goers were walking through the Pump and Pay parking lot when the speeding vehicle struck a row of pumps which then exploded in a rain of fuel and fire. The death toll is unconfirmed. Witnesses report at least two survivors who stopped, dropped, and rolled to safety before climbing into a late model sports car and speeding off. If you have any information regarding the identities of the two survivors, please call Bridgton Emergency Dispatch – 1-800-663-2657

There are widespread accusations that the local US Military installment’s top secret, “Arrowhead Project” is to blame.

Across the street there was another crowd forming in a local supermarket watching the fire burn out of control. By 9:30 AM the fire had not decreased in the least. The police were holding it back to the fire lines, and discussing the tragedy in a tone which those seasoned witnesses of death seldom use.

“It’s the worst thing I ever saw,” said one old policeman.

At 9:35 AM, authorities in Castle Rock lost communication with Bridgton’s local Sheriff’s Department. Police ask that people remain in their homes until the fire is under control.


Please keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times . . .

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