Volume 1 Edition 8
A Publication of Stories and Information from the Caribbean
ManPot's
"Tales of the Tropics"
Chapter One
The British Virgin Islands
Michael Joseph Jackson
RIP
August 29, 1958 - June 25, 2009
Manpot and Lilly
Brandywine Restaurant
Shadow Massive, Brenda, Shonda
Sandman and Brenda
Char "Sweet Lassie" and Manpot
(above photos courtesy of Shonda and Sweet Lassie)
Photo courtesy of Walker Mangum
(c)2005 DewWest Productions LLC
I guess working in Hollywood prepared me for the truly colourful, sometimes crazy but always amusing characters I've been so lucky to meet over the years in the Caribbean. I mean..after spending ninety minutes in a private meeting with Michael Jackson and Marlon Brando in the VIP room of "The Record Plant" recording studio, just about anything else would seem normal.
So how does a former tabloid journalist who's relelentlessly reported on the exploits and dire scandals involving both these showbusiness superstars end up in a one on one with them???
Well it started through a truly sleazy contact in the "adult" movie world who ingratiated himself to Michael and suddenly found he was part of Michael's inner circle. Seems the former gloved one ain't too smart when it comes to checking out who he allows into that "inner circle".
I'm a prime example of that.
Well this "gentleman" told Michael he was a "producer"..but failed to mention his speciality was young men engaged in..well you get the picture. It was at this time that Michael's friendship with Marlon Brando flourished.
Marlon's son Miko had been a longtime bodyguard of Michael's ..next thing you know Wacko Jacko and The Oddfather are best buds..and Michael's saying he wants to shoot a documentary about Marlon. Of course he turns to his in-house "producer" for ideas. The man who's idea of plotline and dialogue is grunts and a few four letter words was stymied. There was no way he could come up with just what Michael needed..and that could bust him.
He called me.
Now when
a gay porn producer tells you he wants to involve you in a show about
Marlon Brando..with Michael Jackson.. you have one reaction.
"You're full of shit," I told him,
Next day I left for London.
A few days later I was having dinner at my sister's house outside England's capital city when the phone rang.
" It's for you," said my sister. On the line from Miami, Florida was our "producer".
" Michael wants to talk to you about the Marlon project," he said.
Before I could utter " Yeah, right" there was the unmistakle voice of the man who changed the face of music with " Billy Jean" and the moonwalk at Motown 25.
We sat in the second row that night and it's an event I'll never forget.
Now here was Michael Jackson..on the phone..with me..at my sister's house in England.
Bizarre.
Michael hardly let me get a word in as he explained what a genius Marlon was and how his talent should forever be caught on tape.I suggested we shoot on location on Marlon's private island in the South Pacific and then I got bolder.
" Maybe you could teach Marlon to moonwalk," I said..
Michael giggled.
"Maybe Marlon could teach you to talk like the Godafther," I said..
Michael giggled..
All this time my sister, Marian, had been standing by the phone mouthing " Who is it?"
" Michael Jackson" I mouthed back.
"Yeah right", she mouthed.
"Just a second Michael," I said, " would you speak to my sister for a moment?"
The look on her face was priceless and the next thing I knew my sister and Michael were involved in a long conversation about lost love and broken hearts.
Bizarre.
On my
return to the States I put together the proposal for the show, outlining
the way it would evolve on camera. It seemed to me no matter what we did
we'd have a "must see freak show". Through the
"producer" the proposal was passed along to Michael who
"loved it"..I was assured. And so it came time for the meeting.
On the set date I had to meet in the parking lot of a Hollywood liquor store. At the appointed time a green Bentley sedan swung into the lot with our "producer" behind the wheel. The car was supposed to be auctioned for charity and Beyonce had signed the headliner..
Bizarre,
We drove
a short distance to the "Record Plant" and I was ushered into a
front office with my buddy Dewey who'd come along for this strange trip. A
black curtain was erected blocking off the hallway and, within minutes, we
could see some movement behind it.
" Follow me", said the producer. Dewey and I followed through the curtain and there was Michael's oh-so-blonde son Prince playing with the bodyguard. Dewey was asked to wait there while I was led upstairs.
Sitting on the sofa , barefoot and at least one hundred pounds overweight was the legendary Marlon Brando.
On the other side of the room Michael immediately bounced out his seat with his hand extended. He wore a long sleeve red shirt and maroon pants with gold braid down the side. They looked like he'd slept in them.
But it was the face smiling sincerely at me just inches away that made me stare. His hair was greasy and straggly, his forehead was bumpy..as though someone had laid a bad coat of putty over it. And then there was his nose..or the remains of it.
From the bridge of his nose to the tip was badly covered with flesh coloured Band Aids. It was as though he'd rushed the whole makeup job himself. At the top of his nose you could actually see tiny holes.
I must have stared intently but Michael didn’t seem to notice.
"Meet Mr Brando", he said in the most childlike voice I have ever heard come out of a man in his mid 40's...
The mountain of a man un-propped his bare feet from the coffee table and shook my hand. His son Miko sat beside him..
I handed
Marlon the proposal, although I'd been assured he'd read it and approved
it. Marlon read to first page, threw it on the ground and announced:
"I don’t' do this f****** sh**. I don’t give a f*** about my
innner most thoughts or what people think of me," he raged.
I looked at Michael for backup..surely he'd jump in and say " But Marlon you said you loved this."
Instead Michael covered his face and giggled like a five year old.
From there the meeting took a rocket ride straight into the Twilight Zone.
Marlon pranced around the room saying he wanted to play congas (not bongos he insisted) in an African band.
Then he came up with his own proposal
" I want to do a five hour acting session that will involve actors and criminals. I would dress up as a Scottish women with massive t**** ," he said as he danced round the room doing his best imitation of the very person he'd just described.
I didn’t know whether to laugh..scream or run for the door.
Marlon then informed me that acting goes back to the cavemen and then impersonated a prehistoric caveman who'd thrown a spear at a mammoth and scared his buddy!
I could not make this stuff up.
This went on for at least fifteen minutes and all Michael did was giggle as though I was part of the biggest joke he'd ever seen.
Suddenly in the middle of one of his diatribes Marlon yelled " Bang!!"
" See I made you jump," he said laughing hysterically at me.
It was around this time I knew I had to get out of there before my brain exploded . If only I could have had a hidden camera..but I was certain I'd be patted down. That footage would be better than anything anyone has ever seen on late night TV.
" I've got to go," said I after ninety minutes of relentless
madness..
"We'll talk again about the project," said Michael, as though this had been a perfectly normal business meeting.
Marlon shook my hand and then wrapped a fatherly arm around me. I have no idea what that meant.
I scooted for the door desperate to get home and write down everything that had just happened..And that is what happened..and even writing it , it does not seem possible.
Of course I never heard from Michael again. The "Producer" fell out with Michael after the gloved one discovered the truth. Now, like a legion of other folks, he's lining up to sue Michael.
So…when I think about my island buddies..Quito, Kareem, Shadow, Bomba, Boots Fitzroy and a slew of others and then I think about that meeting..well life in the islands just seems ridiculously normal..
Malcolm Boyes can be reached by e-mail at manpot@britishvirginbeer.com
d by
Photo Courtesy of Walker Mangum
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