Jarad “Meathead” Mann, Rusty Rhodes, and Yoda’s big theory - By N.L. Belardes

Did he used to make porn? Cars zipped past as I turned the corner and continued to think, He couldn’t have made porn. It’s just a coincidence and a freaky search result. Surely he knows that when you search his name on Google, a porn director’s name comes up first? Yes, definitely a coincidence that there’s a Christian director and a porn king director with the same name. And don’t ask that of a Christian man, especially when driving to a church that he considers his home office.

And yet I couldn’t help but entertain the idea: But then, what if he’s a reformed porn director suddenly making Christian films? What a story that would make…

Now this wasn’t just any church I was headed to. This church was a multi-purpose room: a huge gymnasium with shiny wood floors surrounded by upper tiers adorned with tables, a coffee house bar, and a grand piano. Yes, in Bakersfield, church could mean sports, a coffee, some Tinseltown klink-a-dink with Harry Connick praise songs, and a serious talk about abstinence.

Zooming among cars I continued to think, If he’s got a Hollywood film crew, then he has some mighty connections in the industry just for making Christian films. Why Christian films? Who is funding this guy? Is it the church where he has an office? Is it some rich Hollywoodster who wants to capitalize on the Christian need to see high quality ‘Passion of the Christ’ styled films? Just who is Rusty Rhodes connected to…?

I stepped on the gas and got the car to about 50mph. As I entertained such strange questions, I didn’t ignore the fact that I needed to get to this lunchtime interview. I imagined Rusty Rhodes, a busy guy, a bit full of himself because he was making me come to him instead of offering to meet in a mutually accessible location—the sure sign of a bigshot—someone who perhaps thinks he’s a lot more important than the schmuck doing the interviewing. Doesn’t matter if someone is Christian or not. The world is filled with attitudes. But then, I might have him all wrong anyways. Maybe he’s the All-American nice guy.

I began to entertain more questions, wondering about the exact subject matter of the film he was working on, perhaps there was a parallel to the multi-billion dollar porn industry…

Suddenly I slipped into a driver’s nightmare. A blue car crossed into an intersection from the left and I had no time to slow down. I was running a red light. I turned sharply to the right—tires squealed. Luckily the car in the intersection braked just enough as I skidded then whipped the steering wheel back to the left so the rear end of the car would slip past. But then I careened towards a car entering the intersection from the right. I whipped the steering wheel to the right again, tires on fire, skidding in another direction now, and then once more to the left again to keep from flying into oncoming traffic. And then, just as suddenly as the car had entered a vortex of street and metal, the car miraculously straightened out—not even a scratch. I had somehow threaded a needle with what seemed like a jet aircraft.

White-knuckled, I drove forward just a little after the intersection, pulled into a parking lot, stopped, and said, “Fuck. Is that how Mario Andretti used to do it?”

How many people just had heart attacks? How many children and mothers and drivers just minding their own business did I terrify—or remind of their own mortality? And so maybe they hugged a loved one, said, “I love you” (and a lot of “Fuck you, asshole!” to me—probably from their kids too).

After a chuckle, which meant that I was glad to be alive more than anything, I drove back out of the lot and toward the mysterious lair of Rusty Rhodes. The adrenaline rush pretty much had my eyeballs more than glued to the road—I think they were now hanging outside of my head and bouncing along outside the window—that way I could see every piece of gravel.

I continued to the interview and entered a big church lot. I parked and rushed out only to find the doors to the church were locked. Great, my dying thoughts were almost about a director who I would have never known was inside a building I couldn’t get in. What a way to go.

You know I don’t give up that easily.

Just then I saw a man in a baseball cap saying goodbye to a young lady. I stepped up to him. “Hi sir. I have to get inside so I can talk to Rusty Rhodes. Is there another entrance?”

He was kind enough to take me in through the kitchen area. I looked strangely rattled as we passed through a few smiles and odd stares. “Nice building,” I said. “I never knew this church was even here, let alone how big.”

He insisted on telling me all about Olive Knolls and even gave a brief tour. I felt a little more at ease while he spoke. Sure, it was just friendly conversation, but it was nice to refocus after nearly dying in an intersection pile-up that would have been my fault. I soon politely ended our conversation and headed upstairs, where I found a young guy pacing a room and talking loudly. He held a cell phone that seemed stuck to his ear as if he should have had one on the other side just to keep his ears equally red.

I walked out of the room and waited, pretty much figuring the director wasn’t around. Yet I wanted to see what this kid had to say—if he ever finished pacing and talking.

He stayed on the phone for some time and eventually found me staring down at a big basketball court where church chairs are set up a few times a week. “You with the film crew?”

“No. I’m here to interview Rusty Rhodes.”

“He’s not here.”

“I see…”

“Hold on.” He began dialing.

I waited while he walked away and called Rusty Rhodes, who for a few moments I pondered again, might be an ex-porn director. But such thoughts quickly left as I figured he couldn’t possibly be one since God nearly took my life for thinking such sinful thoughts, No, he couldn’t possibly be a reformed porn king now making films of goodness and moral servitude. Sorry God. I could see the headlines: N.L. exterminated by God. Strangely, I guess it wasn’t my time. Yet that didn’t keep me from thinking: Great, my dying thoughts were almost about a director who would have never known I hadn’t shown up. Why? Because he was standing me up before I could stand him up—not on purpose though, I wasn’t trying to die… (Which suddenly reminds me of almost forgetting a meeting with Rod Lester of “Fresh Fish” recently. Talk about a wild goose chase trying to find each other downtown. Only took 45 minutes of Keystone Cops antics).

The kid came back out. “Rusty is very busy and apologizes. He would like to make it up to you by buying you breakfast right now over at Hodels.”

So the bigshot was never planning on showing up for the interview. “No thanks. I don’t have that kind of time.”

Breakfast sounded good. But now there was also a matter of principle and stubbornness. Was he that good of a man, or was he just covering his ass? And I really didn’t have that kind of time. I had already wasted half of my lunch lurking about a big revival tent disguised as a gymnasium and nearly killed myself and innocent people in a black hole intersection.

Suddenly the world seemed shorter, as if I had just lived a big chunk of life prior to that intersection. Halfway through life and barely spit past the midpoint, I surprisingly found myself into bonus game time after my pole position video game ‘right of passage’ through the intersection. And it didn’t lessen the fact that I wouldn’t have almost died if I had known the director was going to blow me off in the first place.

Well I did suggest he was All-American.

******************


Jarad “Meathead” Mann drove up 178 toward the outskirts of Bakersfield. He looked like a monstrosity in his slightly unkempt car, his bald head nearly touching the roof. A Yoda coin from a liquor store sat in an ashtray. Its eye poked from behind a napkin, stared back up to Jarad as if to say, “The meaning of life is a strong force, young Meathead. It binds us, it…” and then the eye saw Jarad’s new tattoo, a spitting image of the Man of Steel from DC issue #224. Suddenly the voice went silent. Maybe Yoda was supposed to be talking to me.

I’m in the car with the mighty Meathead and so is my kid, Jordan, a violinist and good ice skater on hockey blades. Jordan wears a white T-Shirt while I’m dressed in black—a look that makes my grey hair look more professor-like than usual.

Meathead looks comfortable. He wears shorts and an Oakland Athletics T-shirt. He’s got a grubby beard surrounding a goatee that is enough to scare most bikers, and his head is shaved. Attached to a fine set of ears hangs two big hooped earrings. Oh he’s got other tattoos besides the giant Superman on his forearm; I don’t know their significance, and I don’t dare to ask, though we do talk about film projects as we head to Breckenridge Road. Yes, Jarad “Meathead” Mann is a filmmaker, and we’re off to do some work.

Breckenridge is one of those mythical roads outside of Bakersfield that pours through the Southern Central Valley hills, through grazing lands, farms, dry creek beds, and rocky rattle snake havens. Depending on where you’re headed, the road climbs upwards and winds into mystery, or downwards, towards farmland and the urban landscapes of an expanding Bakersfield.

We drove into the hills and eventually stopped in a small valley, complete with a vista of lone oaks and grazing cattle. Here Jarad would capture footage for a short film promoting the Cinema of the Lords short film contest. My antics about Meathead and his story of green dollar bill poop and the Bakersfield Independent Film Festival didn’t lessen his interest in wanting to film a creepy promotional video for the contest. Or prevent him from wanting to create his own entry. He won’t tell me much about either, and Noveltown has granted him total creative carte blanche for both. So I didn’t ask. He wanted me to be in the film and that was enough for me. I was in it for the adventure.

As soon as we got out of the car, we all poured from the excessive San Joaquin heat. Jarad pulled a camera from the trunk while Jordan explored.





Soon Jarad had me stand up on a ledge overlooking a small snake infested valley—snake infested because a rancher soon pulled up and said, “You watch out for rattle snakes in there. This place is infested with ‘em.” It didn’t help that branches littered the creek bed, all snake-like shadows under the sweltering midday. And the rancher thought we were shooting. When Meathead said, “Yes,” the rancher kindly asked us to leave. He thought we meant guns.

Soon Jordan played some creepy melodies on his violin, and I rattled off a few lines, attempting to be snake-like myself, asking, “Are you a Lord of the Cinema?” and “I am Belar-r-rdessss,” in a strange hiss.





After melting in the sun we piled back into Meathead’s car, stopped at a local market for water and Gatorade, then headed to a mortuary for more filming. On the way, Jarad and I talked about filmmaking and promotions. He mentioned the next day he was going to have a part in a local film being shot in downtown Bakersfield. “They’re using a crew from Hollywood. I saw their big lighting system and cameras. If I could just have one of those cameras…”

“What’s your part?”

“I gotta ride a motorcycle… I’m a biker on the verge of being reformed. Only, N.L., I don’t know how to ride.”

“What?” I was suddenly proud of my ability to have gone through life without sitting on the back of a hog. I gave him a high five.

Soon enough we were at Mission Family Mortuary to film some more scenes. Kenny ‘Mortician’ Mount greeted us at the door like a punk rock Munster and let us in to do some creepy filming.

We steered away from the dead and set up in a sunken office that had some very macabre lighting.

Kenny Mount is the local Six Feet Under star of his own non-existent reality show that should be called “Punk Munster”. He sings in the Filthies and tends to the shells of humanity as souls zoom into the afterlife. He’s not a vegetarian, but he does show his fellow humans the ultimate in respect and kindness (I know, what do veggies have to do with anything?) I didn’t have the guts to tell him he nearly had to embalm my own hunk of cheap flesh. Talk about a story for nlbelardes.com. But who would have written it? Punk Munster himself for sure…





And luckily he has a few motorcycles. Though he didn’t bring the keys. So after filming, Kenny kissed Meathead’s Superman for good luck (because he’s also a strange Irish Kilt-wearing pirate and Meathead is kind of like Bakersfield’s version of the Blarney stone—no one pisses on him, but he’s like a massive good luck talisman), and then let Meathead sit on his big blue Honda…





******************


At night, downtown Bakersfield in the summer can be as creepy as the winter Tule fog. Sure, for once it hadn’t been 109 degrees on the 4th of July. But a few days had passed and the nights had grown muggy, stuffy, and dripped with smog rather than fog. Near Henley’s photos, big lights had been set up by a Hollywood team. Camera crews filmed several scenes near an alley while passersby wondered why all the cameras, and a big truck that they could peer into, sat full of lights and gear.

Jarad ‘Meathead’ Mann stood nearby. Across ‘H’ Street, the neon marquee of the Fox Theatre flashed. People exited the theatre from a show and someone put up lettering that was to be taken down the next day that had to do with the souls of man and bible verses.





In the lot several people passed. One lady recognized me from the Bakersfield Independent Film Festival. “My husband is the director,” she said. “Thank you for coming out.” I wondered why she thanked me. No one from the movie staff had asked me to come out. Did she think I was here for…?

Meathead stood by a giant motorcycle that must have weighed between 600-800 pounds. He sweat more than he did in the sun-burnt Bakersfield hills. “I practiced on a smaller bike earlier today for three hours. I’ve never been on anything like this. Now I have to learn and then act like I know what I’m doing while on camera.”



Sounded easy enough. And he still had to coordinate his lines with other actors and the director.

One actor walked up to him. “You’re supposed to rattle me around. But be careful. You’re a big guy.”

I snapped photos and listened in. They were both big guys, and both scary looking in an over-sized Teddy Bear kind of way.

Meathead paced. He walked around, then got on the motorcycle and circled the lot. Sure, he was shaky. Going a few miles an hour has got to be harder and more difficult to balance than when going 20mph. The bike shook, Meathead’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t crash. And soon enough he even had some confidence.



In a few moments Meathead got off the bike again. He stood and talked about motorcycles until the director suddenly called him over to check out some storyboards set up in the parking lot.

I took more photos.





As I took pictures, the same kid from Olive Knolls church saw me and stopped. His cell phone seemed like it was about to ring any moment. “You talk to the director yet?” he asked.

Right before I brought the camera up for another shot I said, “No. I came here to cover a story on one of the actors.” As his jaw dropped, shocked that I hadn’t arrived to talk to the bigshot, I added, “He’s also a filmmaker.”



You can hear filmmaker/actor/DJ Jarad “Meathead” Mann on KRAB Radio 106.1 on weekdays from 7-10am, and on Brighthouse for episodes of “Damaged TV” which has filmed two seasons. Jarad edits and writes much of the script for each episode of "Damaged TV". He also makes music videos and short films. He promotional short for Noveltown’s Cinema of the Lords is coming soon.

This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on Thursday, July 13, 2006. You can leave your response.