Inside Trailer Park Boys

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Here's a great little article that was in the Ottawa Citizen last month. Sorry for the poor formatting.

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Our walk in the Trailer Park

or, how we learned to shoot Uzis and cuss with the Trailer Park Boys

Nobu Adilman

The Ottawa Citizen

Saturday, April 09, 2005

On June 1, 2004, I got an e-mail from Mike Clattenburg, director of the TV hit Trailer Park Boys.

"Man, I been seriously thinking about writing you and Mio" -- Mio's my brother -- "into a few eps of TPB. If you're in P.E.I. this summer it could be cool, how bout Mio? Role: Drug dealers, armed, somewhat f**ked up.

The Very Best,Mike Clattenburg, Dartmouth"

I met Clattenberg through friends when I lived in Halifax. Foreshadowing the Trailer Park Boys character J- Roc, Clattenburg and Jonathan Torrens taught me the finer points of inserting a certain four-syllable swear word between other words as to elude detection -- for example, "Hey, nurse, would you please bring me a box of ma'f'k'n Kleenex?" Clattenburg was always on the job.

I returned to Toronto in 2000. Mio and I started making short films, which led to guest-hosting spots on the CBC late night arts show ZeD. Then came a gig as hosts of the CBC game show Smart Ask! and sporadic work as pop culture reporters on >Play. In the meantime, Clattenburg had built his trailer park TV empire to dizzying heights. He saw Mio and me on the tube, and got the perverted idea to include us on the show.

Last August, Mio and I left the cottage in P.E.I. and spent seven days near Halifax on the set of Trailer Park Boys, playing Terry and Denis, two drug-dealing brothers who are armed and, yes, somewhat messed up. But who were they, we asked Clattenburg?

As the story goes: Terry and Denis befriended Ricky -- a key, if hapless, figure in the trailer park -- when they were kids, and were always above-average bad-asses. As their illicit drug operation grew, they avoided jail time by using their doting and docile elderly non-English speaking Japanese grandmother, Saito-san, and her house as a cover. Julian, Ricky's friend, despises Terry and Denis, partly because of their use of the old lady, and partly because he's jealous of their successful mini-cartel. Julian's disdain has always been returned in kind.

To get us thinking about our characters, Clattenburg told us to go shopping and establish our looks. Everything else, he said, would fall into place.

As we went searching for clothes in Toronto's Chinatown and Kensington Market, we spoke at great length about the challenges. Mio's only acting credits were in the short films we had made, with no dialogue. We weren't sure about the nature of improvisation on the show. How much input were the actors allowed? I was on edge, hoping we would pull off the gig with trailer park panache. The date loomed, and suddenly we were there.

- - -

Day 1, very early in the a.m. As we pull out of Halifax en route to the set, we're introduced to Bernie Robichaud, who plays Cyrus, the nemesis of Julian and Ricky. Robichaud, up since 5 a.m. working out in the hotel gym, is pumped and ready to act. Once a cab driver in Halifax, he knows Clattenberg and producer/actor Barrie Dunn from the time they made a documentary, Bernie Goes to Hollywood, about his attempts to make it big in L.A. Now he sells fine Italian haberdashery in Moncton, where he is constantly, and proudly, recognized as Cyrus. He'll also play Phil Esposito in a TV movie Dunn is producing about the 1972 Summit Series between Canada and the Soviets, and he bombastically starts reciting Esposito dialogue. He has a golf coach, and plans to turn pro on the seniors tour in 25 years. As we turn down a country road to the set -- revealing an incredible vista of the ocean -- Bernie offers to mentor us. I'm so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.

We're among the first on set. Fred, the production assistant, leads us to an old trailer usually reserved for "Trevor" and "Cory" (aka Mike Jackson and Cory Bowles), the affable, clueless kicking posts to Ricky and Julian. A powerful, unfriendly stench hangs in the air. We can't stay there. When Jackson and Cory show up hours later, they admit the smell is too much for them, so the four of us hole up in a smaller, more modern trailer outfitted with a DVD player and a couch.

We're taken to Anne-Marie, the hair/make-up doyenne and wife of Clattenburg, and Nicole, the key wardrobe woman. Mio straightens his hair. I get my beard trimmed, slip on some jewelry and my white mesh loafers (a la Don Johnson). Clattenburg pokes his head through the window and says, "Yo, wassup?"

Looking remarkably relaxed for someone who hasn't taken a break in a long time, Clattenburg introduces Mio and me to Robb Wells (Ricky) and John Paul Tremblay (Julian). Besides being soft-spoken and really friendly, one initial observation stands out: They have pimpin' rides. Robb is rocking a red Corvette while John Paul has pulled up in a black Porsche. When Mike Smith (Bubbles) shows up in a vintage Datsun sports car, I'm not surprised. On our last day when John Paul shows up with a new black Jaguar, I am even less surprised. The show is generously rewarding the stars -- and neighbourhood car dealers.

John Dunsworth (Mr. Lahey, the trailer park supervisor) shows up in a well-used Volvo and, to my surprise, gives me a big hug. Dunsworth has been a casting director for ages, and years ago I auditioned for him. He launches into a rapid-fire series of jokes -- none of which I remember. His energy never wavers. Mio and I are led to a trailer with a stockpile of guns on display. It all feels very illicit, and a collective giddiness erupts as the boys grab their toys.

I am handed a fully loaded Israeli Uzi. It's heavy and cold in my hands. We are directed outside to a remote area to test them out. Even before my finger pulls the trigger my body tenses up. I can feel myself losing my footing. My eyes flicker, my mind goes blank, my body flinches as the bullets tear out. This is not the mark of a badass. Mio has already blasted a round from an even larger automatic -- a little too confidently, if you ask me. Has he done this before and neglected to mention it?

Keith, the weapons co-ordinator, doesn't quell my hesitation with the warning that even though we're using blanks, if someone gets hit within 20 metres the result could be fatal. I can't help thinking of Brandon Lee, the Asian actor who was killed on a film set by a gun firing blanks.

Preston, the set PA, tells us that if anything goes wrong while shooting the magic word to stop all action is "Kojak." I file it in the back of my mind. Clattenburg and the writers (who are also the stars) gather everyone around and announce they have made extensive last-minute changes affecting most scenes. Nobody flinches. Everyone is told to be careful not to improvise anything that doesn't confer with the changes. We set out to shoot the first scene. Typically, Clattenburg gathers the cast and crew, explains what has to happen, then invites everyone to weigh in on the script. I have a hard time concentrating. All I can do is stare at Julian, Ricky and Bubbles. It's strange to see them in person. Julian looks like he could squash squirrels with his biceps. Ricky's pompadour is freestanding. And Bubbles is half-man, half-bifocals. My lapse of focus passes and it's time to shoot the scene, guns blazing. I do my best to avoid shooting my brother.

My nervousness dissipates. Everyone is friendly and supportive, and too many practical details are occupying my mind. Like, for instance, speaking Japanese. My Japanese is OK at best, but injected with Clattenburgisms I turn into a Japanese gangster. He suggests I say a line in Japanese and drop in a "ma'f'k'n" to spice it up. It's just ridiculous enough to work.

As I prep for another scene, I hear a high-pitched voice say "Nobu f**king Adilman." I turn to see a bleached blonde in slutty glass high-heels and a miniskirt about as big as a J-Cloth. It's Lucy DeCoutere -- whose character is also named Lucy -- and I've known her since university. But Lucy never dressed like that.

She launches into a litany of verbal filth: "Holy s---, it's awesome you're here. We gonna f--k or what?" The crew don't even blink.

The set is an alternate reality. We wonder if the neighbours mind the frequent gunshots. The RCMP drop by from time to time to make sure nobody is getting hurt. A very large actor whose character is "Phil Collins" walks around in a tiny T-shirt revealing most of his bulging belly. Not to mention Pat Roach -- "Randy" --who walks around with no shirt and finely pressed cream pants. Then there's Michael Jackson.

After being on the show for five years, Jackson now refers to himself in the third person as "Television's Trevor." He is a self-proclaimed "shitty" actor who refuses to audition for anything. His true love is playing hockey. The only thing he cares about more is watching it. He has two seasons tickets for the Halifax Mooseheads -- one for him, and one to ensure nobody sits next to him.

Throughout my stay, Jackson counsels me on the set's do's and don'ts. Napping during lunch is a don't: actors don't get paid on their lunch, so only sleep when the meter is on, he advises.

Don't bother walking the long way to the port-o-potty. Just duck out behind the trailer.

Don't prepare for a scene, just go on set and see what happens.

We spend a lot of time drinking tea together, watching bad DVDs in our little trailer and listening to music with Cory. Being on set is all about waiting. It's slow until we're summoned to action.

And action it is. We're shooting guns and running throughout the park. I fall down so many times my knees are scuffed, and my nice white loafers are getting ripped and muddied. (Later, Nicole appears with white spray paint to make them new again.) My new dress shirt is so stressed it needs to be taped together after coming back from the laundry in pieces. My pants are ripping.

I have a potential "Kojak" moment. When I read in one script that "Sarah" (played by Sarah Dunsworth) and Lucy will be throwing bottles at us,

I get excited. On the day, Mio, Cyrus and I take turns firing our weapons from behind a barbecue. Then the bottles start flying. Because the camera is focused on us, everyone off-camera throws bottles. Because candy glass bottles are much lighter than real glass, most overestimate their weight and throw them too hard, knocking me in the head and shattering. I could yell "Kojak," but I'm in heaven with every smack of glass. Hours later, back in my hotel, I'm still cleaning pieces of glass out of my hair.

Clattenburg frequently gathers the actors inside a trailer to figure out a scene. This time it devolves into figuring out the perfect dis Cyrus can deliver to the boys. It's seven guys in a trailer going around in a circle using the "f-word" in every way you can imagine. The word is batted around so many times it loses its meaning, as if we're talking about the weather.

The assumption that most of the show is improvised is false. Dialogue can change on the fly, but strong structure holds everything together. Everyone comes prepared.

There are a couple of schools of acting on the set. On one end of the spectrum is Dunsworth, who will do scene work with any actor he can enlist. Others, such as Cory and Jackson, wouldn't be caught dead rehearsing. They routinely hide in our trailer to avoid John Dunsworth.

I have an odd improv moment with Dunsworth. During an extended fracas we are face-to-face, well away from the main action, with a camera hovering. I'm yelling at him when I clear my throat as if gathering spit. His eyes light up and he whispers, "Go on, spit on me, spit on me." I'm taken aback, and by the time I muster up the nerve to spit in his face, the cameraman has stopped filming. I still wish I had delivered a gob into his eye.

- - -

Our "grandmother," Saito-san, a darling 80-year-old Japanese woman, arrives. There is some bowing. There are some hitches. Saito-san has never been on a set. She can barely speak English, and there's no interpreter. I do my best to interpret Clattenburg's directions. There are times I am thankful she doesn't understand English, specifically in the scenes when she's surrounded by men screaming nasty idioms at the top of their lungs. Other times, I am challenged to find the Japanese words to describe an action. One day I have to explain to her how to give a homie hug, the ubiquitous hip-hop embrace that begins with a handshake and ends with a half hug. She gets the technique and gives Ricky one of the finest homie hugs ever.

It would be busy for hours until we'd finish a scene, then we'd have to wait for hours until being asked to return to the set. I didn't mind. It was hot in August. We were nestled in the Nova Scotian countryside and surrounded by cool folk. I would wait in the craft trailer, nap, eat or chat with folks. "Phil Collins" turned out to be a well-read academic. I practiced my Japanese with Saito-san. Robb told Mio and me funny stories about going to Toronto and meeting ego-obsessed actors. Or about the time he and John Paul were suspected by the police as being real drug dealers. One day Jonathan Torrens rapped a nice little ditty he had written, Titties.

The waiting turned out to be as much fun as the acting, especially after Clattenburg reassured me that Mio and I weren't ruining the show.

- - -

After seven days our time came to an end, and we made our way back to Toronto. We've heard from Clattenburg and the producers that season 5 looks great. They're all excited about a feature film of Trailer Park Boys being produced by Canadian comedy legend Ivan Reitman. Mio and I are a little nervous again, waiting to see how the new season comes together.

The success of Trailer Park Boys show was something Mio and I had underestimated. Every day on the set we would see cars filled with fans, eager to see the set and the stars, being politely ejected from the compound. One day we shot at a house in Halifax, rented for the day from the university-aged residents. From early in the morning they sat outside the house in lawn chairs, chugging beers and talking to friends on the phone. The allure of being close to the Trailer Park Boys was enough to keep them there all day.

Months later, Mio and I went to a panel discussion at the Bloor Cinema in Toronto where Clattenburg, the producers and the stars, in character, spoke about the show. The 800-seat theatre was sold out. It was then we finally realized what we had gotten ourselves into.

I've even heard the academic world will be weighing in on the cultural significance of the show with a book of essays due out in the next year.

It was only a matter of time.

Nobu Adilman is an actor/writer/musician and gunslinger in Toronto.

© The Ottawa Citizen 2005