Against All Odds: My Story (20 page)

Fortunately, another film company, Avco Embassy, immediately offered me a movie called
An Eye for an Eye
. That film led to
Silent Rage
with Columbia Studios and
Forced Vengeance
for MGM. My career shifted into high gear with the successes of
Lone Wolf McQuade
,
Code of Silence
,
Delta Force
, and my three blockbuster
Missing in Action
films.

In 1989,
Delta Force 2
was screened at the Senate theater in Washington D.C. with about eight hundred people, including many members of Congress and their families, in the audience. Aaron and I were sitting in the front row next to Senators Pete Wilson and Bob Dole. Midway through the screening, Senator Dole whispered to me that he and Pete Wilson wouldn't be able to stay for the entire movie because they had to attend a vote in the Senate. “Fine,” I said. “Thanks so much for coming. I really appreciate it.”

Toward the end of the film, they got up to leave as did all of the other senators. A few minutes later I turned around in my seat and saw Senators Dole and Wilson near the exit still watching the movie. And that's where they remained until the end of the film.

They were late for the vote, and it was put in the Congressional Record that the vote was delayed seven minutes until Senators Dole and Wilson arrived. Now you know why!

CHAPTER 16

CLOSE CALLS

O
ne of the secret dreams that I held close to my heart for many years was the desire to do something in honor of my brother Wieland's death in Vietnam. When film director Lance Hool showed me a screenplay about American prisoners of war in Vietnam, I felt strongly that this was the vehicle through which I could not only honor Wieland but also the more than two thousand other American soldiers who had not been accounted for in that horrific war.

Unfortunately, although Lance and I were passionate about the project, nobody else in Hollywood seemed interested. It was the early 1980s, and our country was still smarting from the embarrassment at the hands of the Ayatollah Khomeini, who had held American citizens hostage in Iran for more than a year. With the inauguration of Ronald Reagan as president and the release of the hostages, the country's mood had improved. Few people wanted to relive seeing American soldiers held captive. At least that was the prevailing opinion in Hollywood.

I went from one production company to another, trying to convince them that doing a movie about MIAs would be both honoring to Vietnam veterans and financially rewarding at the box office. Finally Cannon Films agreed to produce the movie we titled
Missing in Action
, the story of Colonel James Braddock's return to Vietnam to rescue soldiers that politicians and others said had long since been released.

In the climax of the film, my character, James Braddock, barges into a courtroom in Saigon where a hearing is taking place on the subject of American soldiers still trapped in Southeast Asia. The men and women attending the hearing are about to reach the politically correct conclusion that no more Americans are being held captive in Vietnam, when Braddock bursts their bubbles by bringing with him into the hearing room a band of prisoners he has just freed from a Vietcong slave camp.

When the film first opened, I went to see it in a public theater, which I prefer over Hollywood premiers, because I've always been much more interested in the ticket-buyers' opinions of my movies than the professional critics. One of the biggest thrills of my life came at an opening of
Missing in Action
that I attended in Westwood, California, when the audience literally stood to their feet in a standing ovation following the climactic scene in which Braddock proved that MIAs were still being held against their will in Vietnam.

That ovation validated all the hard work I had put into the film. Indeed, the
Missing in Action
films (we did three) were taxing to make, physically and emotionally. The movies were made in the Philippines on a difficult and hazardous location, and many of the action scenes were extremely dangerous. One scene I vividly recall required me to lead four MIAs into the ocean where we were to be rescued by a helicopter. The plan was for us to be chest deep in the water when the chopper would fly over and drop us a ladder. I was supposed to hold the ladder while the MIAs climbed aboard to safety. Then at the end of the scene, the helicopter was to come under attack and fly off with me still holding onto the ladder, dangling above the water.

The shot was difficult and dangerous, even for a professional stunt double, whom we had planned to replace me on the ladder just before the helicopter flew off over the ocean. When we went to do the shot, however, the wind was whipping too hard, and my brother Aaron, who was the stunt coordinator, feared that the strong winds might blow the stunt double up into the helicopter blades. To prevent an accident, we decided that I'd simply hang onto the ladder a little longer, allow the chopper to pull me out of the water, and then lower me back down.

We began shooting the scene, and everything went as planned. The helicopter hovered perfectly while I held the ladder taut and the MIAs climbed aboard. I was up to my neck in the ocean, with an M-16 rifle across my shoulder. The chopper started to pull me up out of the water as planned, but then, instead of hovering for a moment or two and then lowering me back into the water, the helicopter took off! The next thing I knew, I was three hundred feet in the air, blowing in the wind, hanging onto the ladder for dear life! I felt as though my arms were going to rip right out of my shoulder sockets! When I looked down, I saw the film crew staring up at me, their mouths wide open in horror.

Aaron jumped into a boat and started chasing after us as the helicopter swooped out over the ocean. Meanwhile, the assistant director radioed the pilot, who had no idea that I was still hanging on. He swung the bird around and lowered me onto the beach. The guys on the ground had to pry my fingers off the ladder.

When we all calmed down, I asked Aaron, “If I had let go of the ladder and just fallen into the water when we were flying out over the ocean, do you think the impact would have killed me?”

“Carlos, you were three hundred feet in the air,” Aaron said, rolling his eyes. “You'd have been deader than a doornail!”

One of the most emotionally wrenching scenes I've played in my movie career was in
Missing in Action 2: The Beginning
. Braddock is again attempting to save MIAs that supposedly don't exist, when he is captured and tortured himself. When a fellow prisoner is dying of malaria, Braddock finally agrees to sign a phony confession of crimes against the Vietnamese people that his torturer holds over his head, if his captor will give the sick man a shot that could save his life. The torturer dupes Braddock into signing the confession, then instead of helping the MIA, he has him dragged in front of Braddock and burned alive while Braddock is forced to watch.

It was one of the most difficult scenes I've ever done as an actor, and it had to be done on two successive days. The first day we shot the footage of the burning soldier; the second day my reaction to the sadistic act was to be filmed. That meant I had to draw the emotion from within rather than in response to the scene. There was only one way to pull that much emotion out of me. I told the crew, “This is going to be a one-shot deal, so be sure to get it in one take.”

When we filmed the shot, I pictured my brother Wieland there in Vietnam, leading his troops, warning his soldiers of a trap, and then being cut down by the Vietcong. Then I saw Wieland in the funeral home, the day we buried him.

We got the emotion on film that we needed, but I was never willing to do it again. It was the best I could do to honor my fallen brother and the thousands of other fallen brothers who died in Vietnam. When
Missing in Action
came out, it earned more than six million dollars at the box office during its first weekend, a phenomenal success at that time. It also received some good reviews, a pleasant change from some of my earlier films. But the best praise of all came from a young woman who told me she had taken her father, a Vietnam vet, to see the film. “It was the first time I've ever seen him cry,” she told me.

Shortly after I had done the
Missing in Action
movies, and at the height of Phil Donahue's popularity as a controversial television talk-show host, I received an invitation from the producers of Phil's show to appear on
Donahue.
“We'd like you to come on the show and talk about the Western movies today, as compared to the old Westerns, starring John Wayne, Gary Cooper, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, and other old-time Western movie stars.”

“Hey, that sounds great,” I said. “Yeah, I guess I could do that.” I thought it was such an intriguing topic, I even took my mom and brother with me to the studio in Chicago, although the producer emphasized to them that, since they were family members, they were to be spectators only. They could stay along the side of the audience but were not permitted to participate in the discussion.

That should have been a clue to me.

The celebrity panel that day included film critic Janet Maslin as well as a psychologist and a comedian, all of whom were extremely liberal in their political persuasions. Phil Donahue opened the show by coming on the set wearing a headband and brandishing a tommy gun. “Is this the kind of movies you want your children to see?” Donahue asked, waving his gun at the audience.

As soon as I saw Phil's outfit, I knew that I'd been had.
Ohhhh, no!
I said to myself. I realized too late that I had walked right into a trap.
I'm in trouble here.

Sure enough, Donahue started blasting me. “Your violent movies are destroying our kids!” he accused.

“Wait a minute,” I protested. “There's a big difference between violence and action. If you noticed, my movies are always a good guy fighting the bad guy; they're stories about good versus evil.” I went on, trying to explain what my movies were all about.

Donahue didn't want to hear it. He kept right on verbally lambasting me. Soon Janet Maslin was blasting me, too. Then the psychologist chimed in: “Psychologically, the kids who are going to your films are more likely to become criminals.” The comedian jumped in, as well, poking fun at the characters in my movies.

The audience—mostly women—was getting more riled with each passing statement. Donahue was roving through the audience, sticking his microphone under the nose of anyone who looked like they might agree with him. Finally, one young woman stood to her feet, and said, “Personally, I like Chuck's movies. And if you don't like them, don't go see them!”

The other women in the audience soundly booed her. Donahue and the other panel members jumped all over her, as well. She sat down and didn't say another word for the remainder of the hour-long show.

During one of the commercial breaks, Janet Maslin leaned over to me and said, “Chuck, I feel sorry for you.”

I looked back and said, “Hey, I feel sorry for myself!”

For the entire hour I was bombarded with incendiary questions, many of which had little to do with my movies or motives and absolutely nothing to do with the careers of John Wayne, Gary Cooper, Gene Autry, or Roy Rogers.