David Carradine

David Carradine - The Official Website

Biography

Smoke Magazine Cover Story:
Still Kicking Ass
Fall 2003
By Michael J. Levine
As the title character in Kill Bill, the latest blockbuster film from director Quentin Tarantino, David Carradine shows he still knows how to inflict some damage.
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Meet Cowboy Bob

Aug. 5, 2006.
By Christian Controneo

David Carradine walked by our table the other night.

On the hottest night of the year, when even the waiters were mopping sweat from their brows, he appeared in a Yorkville alley and steered straight into Michelle's Brasserie.

"Kung Fu!" I blurted out as he stepped past. I'm not sure if he heard me because he silently zipped inside and took up a seat at the bar.

Sure, he's made a lot of movies and appeared in a battery of TV shows since that mid-'70s TV show came and went, but I tend to be able to name a movie or show before I actually identify the actor.

For Carradine, it's Kung Fu.

It's kind of like the time I found myself urinating at a Four Seasons washroom and lo and behold, Harvey Keitel was at the urinal right next to mine.

"Bad Lieutenant!" I declared, as he zipped, mumbled and fled.

But this time, my dining companion was a step ahead of me. After a few minutes, she stepped inside the restaurant, cornered Carradine and asked him if he would mind coming outside to meet a "huge" fan.

"How much money are we talking?" he calmly asked.

Sure enough, about half an hour later, he appeared in all his grey-haired, drawling glory.

"They make the best steak tartare here," he said, pulling up a chair.

Would he like a drink?

"The girl with the dark hair knows how to make it," he told the server.

It turned out to be a small glass of plain old absinthe.

Carradine offered me a sip. No sugar. No chaser. Just ARRRGH!

"Tasty!" I declared to an all-knowing Carradine.

So. Umm ... what are you doing in town?

Well, he began, he's shooting a movie called Camille.

"It's a comedy," he offered, with a wry grin. "About a dead girl. But she just keeps coming back.

"I'm Cowboy Bob."

That's his character, of course. And there was something of a cowboy in Carradine - a slow syrupy drawl. He smoked aplenty, during our conversation, plucking cigarettes from a little tin case with a devil emblazoned on top. He showed us his rings - twins bands on left hand and a couple of heavier models on his right.

His wife chooses a design, a jeweller creates, and Carradine wears.

He studied my ring for a moment, as I uselessly apologized for its sheer crumminess.

"What kind of stone is it?" he asked.

It's been on my finger for more than 10 years and I still didn't know the answer. Neither did he.

Carradine went on to regale us with tales from his upcoming book - a sort of diary from the production of Kill Bill - and the battle he waged with an editor at Harper Collins. He agreed with the editor that maybe he used the word f--- too much.

In the end, he kept at least 85 per cent of what he wanted to keep in the book.

It's the same as newspapers, really, he said. Editors, especially the visionary types, can suck the life out of you. Plus, they have to keep the facts of the story, so when there's a space crunch, the first casualty is the human details. The colour.

"Like a movie. They can't cut out the plot, so they cut out the good stuff."

Finishing his absinthe, Carradine abruptly got to his feet, shook hands and ambled back toward the nearby Park Hyatt.

"I wish I had a business card," I said.

"You know where to find me," he replied.

I could just see myself at the front desk at the Park Hyatt, convincing the clerk that yes, I'm a friend of his. My name? Well, he wouldn't remember it.

Never mind then. So David Carradine and I aren't going to be best buddies.

But this is Toronto, a city of serendipity. You never know who you'll end up sharing a smoke with.

And, if I should bump into Carradine again, I'll call him by name.

"Cowboy Bob!"

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