It was late ’97 and I was on top of the world. Hollywood’s new hard on. Mike Madsen had gotten a hold of Boondock and wanted in. I was a HUGE fan of his and very excited to meet him. If I’m being honest, I didn’t really see a role for him in Saints 1 but Madsen’s “Cool Level” was off the charts and I wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to meet the man himself.
After days of agent back-n-forths, it was finally arranged. At about 10 a.m. I was to meet Mike at the bungalow he was renting at the famed Chateaux Marmont. I had driven by the iconic hotel a thousand times but never had occasion to go inside.
At the agreed time, I entered and approached the front desk. They knew of the meeting and a cool host led me to the ornate front door of Mike’s Bungalow. I knocked and there he stood. He was 6 ft tall in black skinny jeans, a plain white t-shirt and hognail boots. But the curious thing was he wore a loud, day-glow pink bandana on his head. Soon, I inquired about the strange headgear and Mike said, “Smecker’s gay, right? You think he’d wear one of these?”
We hit it off right away and talked about EVERYTHING. The first topic came when Mike pointed to a Persian rug on the floor and said, “John Belushi died right there on that rug.” I crinkled a brow and said, “How do you know it’s the same rug? I mean, wouldn’t they have taken that?” Mike retorted, “What, like roll him up in it to sneak him out the back?” And we were off…
Madsen had stories for days about fighting, fucking, the industry and the many, many children he had created along the way. He gave me two books of his own poetry he had written. I later read them and his ferocious, intuitive writing style seemed to lay his heart bare for all to see. I knew right away that there was much more to Mike Madsen than met the eye.
Meanwhile, back at the Marmont! After about 30-40 minutes of shooting the shit, the meeting should have been over. But we were just having too good a time and neither of us wanted it to end just yet. Mike turned to me with that conspiratorial grin of his, “You wanna get drunk?” I thought about it and… “Yes. Yes, I do.” Mike called the front desk and ordered his favorite, which I was obliged to drink as well and in minutes, a fresh bottle of Patron Silver Tequila arrived at the door. I’m a whiskey guy and tequila doesn’t necessarily agree with me but when in fucking Rome!
After a few good belts, the warm and fuzzies started setting in. I made the mistake of calling him Mikey and Madsen turned to me, “Don’t call me that! It reminds me of that Wheaties commercial with that stupid looking, fat headed kid. Hey Mikey! He likes it!” I grimaced, “That wasn’t Wheaties. It was Life Cereal.” Mike deadpanned, “It was fucking Wheaties!” I raised the ante, “It was fucking Life!” WHEATIES!” “LIFE FUCKING CEREAL!”
And now we were at Tequila window #1 where you start doing stupid shit. Our stupid shit? We started wrestling on the Belushi rug to see who was right. It was a display of feckless and futile rolling around, ultimately ending with both of us collapsing into a drunken pile of laughter.
I’ll never forget meeting Mike but the kicker was our reunion many years later. Turns out a few mutual friends had an idea for a Mafia movie. They wanted Mike to star in it and asked if I’d direct a sizzle reel for them which Madsen had agreed to. So we did it one night right in my backyard at Ironsides. Mike didn’t recognize me right away, so I regaled him with a few highlights of our first meeting and soon he was laughing his ass off, “The fucking pink bandana! I can’t believe I thought that would work!”
As I’m sure you know, we lost Mike last July. That hit me pretty hard, so I’ve been thinking of him a lot. I’m betting that sly grin probably got him through the front door, upstairs. Even Saint Peter was like, “Hey, man. It’s Mike fucking Madsen.” We lost a big one but he’s drinking Patron up there and wrestling with John Belushi right now. Miss ya Mike!
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