Damn. Ice cold. But also, damn did I appreciate his honesty. I laughed about the twisted logic of it all the way home—just as with a car, if the actor burns, you replace the actor.
* * *
After Van Wilder wrapped, my agent suggested I might want to hire a manager to help with career development, so she introduced me to a tall, fast-talking, quirky guy named Dan Spilo. Spilo had graduated from Columbia University Law School before deciding that he’d rather pursue his passion on the business side of the arts world. Talent managers are different from agents in that they help artists develop over the lives of their broader careers, and eventually produce projects. They also serve a more basic function as an extra person trying to get the artist a job—and if you’re a performer of color you need all the extra pushes you can get.
Dan took a look at a few advance, rough-cut scenes the Van Wilder producers were nice enough to give me on VHS, and he burst out laughing. “I can see why you don’t want to play characters like this, but I have to tell you, you’re really funny, dude. Holy shit! I want to help make sure you really break out from this. I’m confident you can. You just need someone in your corner who can push for you.” This was such a contrast to what my friend Jenna’s manager had said, about an Indian actor not working enough to make it worth a manager’s while. If this guy believed in me and was hungry enough to put in the extra work, it was worth a shot. Without meeting anyone else, I hired Spilo to be my manager.
Before Van Wilder finally came out, the cast participated in a bunch of promotional tours and interviews called junkets, the first of which was at a hotel in Los Angeles that was so fancy, they had printed up personalized labels for glass bottles of mineral water.9 I was excited to be included in this junket—eager that maybe positive reviews and articles could lead to more work opportunities. Before I left the greenroom for my first interview, Sassy Producer pulled me aside and put his arm around my shoulder. “I just want to say how glad I am that the movie turned out the way it did. You’re so good in it.”
“Thanks, Sassy! Thank you for the opportunity.”
“I know this is your first time answering questions with the press, and I just want to make sure you’re happy.”
“Of course! I’m really excited, it’s my first studio comedy!”
“Good. You know, if they ask about what it was like making this movie, you were always very excited…”
At this point he started pressing down on my shoulder.
“… We never had any disagreements about the character, or his name…”
He pressed down harder.
“… or his clothes or anything like that…”
Now he was pressing down really hard.
“… Right?”
“Right!”
“Great.” He offered what seemed like a genuine, wide smile. “It’ll be a good junket. The spicy tuna salad at lunch is really delicious. Have fun!”
It was so gangster. I’ve told this story to a few friends, and they’ve been furious on my behalf. “That dude was trying to emasculate you! He was bullying you!” To be honest, I was more impressed than intimidated, realizing that this isn’t actually the ignorant behavior it’s often excused as. It’s purposeful. It’s planned. Anyway, I got his message loud and clear. Don’t rock the boat. Know your place. Don’t bring up our internal conversations about race and stereotyping. Only say positive things.
That had been my intention anyway. I was excited to promote my first film.
* * *
Welcome to Hollywood, on all counts. It’s a town that might have a reputation for dishonesty, and yet that first experience taught me the opposite: It can be brutally sincere. From the truths my agent told in breaking down why I should audition, to the systemic “business” considerations, and the frankness about why I was being lit on fire first, nobody was sugarcoating anything. They were all being as truthful as they could about the things they needed for the project at the time—sometimes bluntly and brashly, and other times with incredible nuance and kindness. （Thanks again, Ryan.）
I felt a step closer to one day beating the Brown Catch-22, hanging in the big leagues, and realizing my dream of having a fulfilling artistic career. Heck, this is probably a good time to mention that I eventually even starred in a movie called Van Wilder 2: The Rise of Taj. Hollywood, like all of us, has continued to change and evolve. I’m thankful for that. And hey, I’m thankful you kept me safe, Scarface Rod.
Even today, I do my own stunts.
1?Barbara was nothing but wonderful as an agent and friend. And not a Xanax pusher. Even though there were plenty of times I probably wished I could get some Xanax.
2?Ayyyy, let’s hear it for all kinds of heteronormative gender identity stereotypes!
3?Actor-speak for memorizing your lines. （“That’s the easiest part of the job!” Kaz would say. Kaz was right.）
4?Thank you, Uncle!
5?You’ve probably heard of “blackface”—the practice of white actors in black makeup doing horribly racist portrayals of Black folks, which was common “entertainment” well into the twentieth century. （If you haven’t already, watch Spike Lee’s Bamboozled.） We rightfully shame people who do that sort of thing nowadays, treating it like the awful historical artifact it should be. And yet, there I stood, in the year 2000, staring at a white actor who had covered himself in brown makeup to audition for the role of Taj Mahal in a major Hollywood movie.
6?In reality, obviously this made no sense. The cinematographer also told the standin to do this to avoid a situation in which a brown standin （who wouldn’t have to paint his face） could replace him. Nobody would ever ask a black or brown person to lighten their face as a qualification to stand in for a white actor. I should also note that the producers at the top didn’t know it was happening. I share this to illustrate how systemic this stuff is. It was still early enough in my career—in an industry that saw nothing wrong with this—that I didn’t even know how to have a conversation about it with anyone to begin with.
7?I look back at that time using today’s metrics and think to myself, It would have been amazing to get the part, turn it down, and then have the studio explain why they hired a white actor in brownface to play the role. But today is not the year 2000. It wouldn’t have mattered, and that dude would have gotten a credit on his résumé.
8?I couldn’t resist.
9?The ones that look like tubes, not even the ones that look like normal bottles!
CHAPTER NINE OF SALINGER AND STRIP CLUBS
It was at least 3 o’clock on a Sunday morning when we stumbled into the Crazy Horse Too for Kenny Burton’s Vegas bachelor party.
Ken was the first in our group of UCLA buddies to get married—he wed his wonderful college girlfriend, Stacy, a few years after graduation. After two solid nights of drinks, gambling, and roller coasters, Kenny wanted to hit a strip club. Our job was to take him to one.
At twenty-five years old, none of us were from the area, and most of us knew nothing about Las Vegas strip clubs. This was the same bunch of guys who stayed up all night cramming for sciency university exams. Someone decided to ask a cabdriver, and on the second of Kenny’s four-night extravaganza, eighteen hammered dudes descended on the Crazy Horse Too in a caravan of taxis. It was festive, if that’s an appropriate way to describe such an establishment being invaded by a group of nerds like us.