NEXT ACTION HERO BY STEVE STIEFEL "I want my star on the Walk of Fame," says Kevin Levrone. "I didn't get my Sandow, so a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame will be my Sandow." Although Kevin is a long way from his dream — he's sitting in a bar in a sparsely populated part of the Caribbean island of Trinidad, drinking raspberry vodka and "Coke Light" over melting ice — he may be much closer to realising that dream than geography would predict. KEVIN LEVRONE BIRTHDATE: July 16, 1966 BIRTHPLACE: Baltimore RESIDENCE: Southern California BODYBUILDING HIGHLIGHTS: Night of Champions winner, 1992; Arnold Classic winner, 1994 & 1996 The bartender of De Monkey Bar is a pudgy guy of Hindu origins, and Kevin calls him Rambo — it's the sort of non sequitur that makes enough sense in these unfamiliar surroundings that you just don't question it. If De Monkey Bar had any other patron, you'd expect it to be Ernest Hemingway, slurring stories of how the big one got away. Kevin has come to Trinidad to film a substantial role in the action thriller Backlash from Triton Northstar Entertainment. "When I first landed the role, I called Arnold to ask him how much I should get paid. He told me, ‘Do it for the publicity and for your career.' I said, ‘Yeah. But how much should I get paid?'" Kevin Levrone thinks in these sweeping swaths rather than increments. Maybe that's why — less than a year after moving to Hollywood — he has already found success in the film industry. CHARACTER ASSASSINATION His character in Backlash is killer-for-hire Gunner "Turk" Tester, an ex-CIA agent. "The character is on the page, but I feel like I found him," Kevin says, tugging at the hand towel around his neck; all he's wearing is a baggy pair of shorts and the towel. "That's what I love about acting. I listen to opera. I'm a CIA operative. I wear a suit — all black — but when the fighting starts, I take it off and fold it neatly." Kevin doesn't even notice he has blurred the line between self and character: he could be a Caribbean killer, sitting at a rattan table in Trinidad, contemplating the assassination of the journalist across from him. But then the real Levrone calls, "Hey, Rambo. Bring us another round." Kevin is now a toned-down 210 pounds, the right size for a muscle screen star. Any more and he might look comical onscreen, cartoonish rather than frightening or impressive. While he might not place as well on the Olympia stage, he looks better — more handsome — than he ever has. "I can have any look I want to have," he says. "Do you want me to weigh 240 to play the next Terminator? Give me six weeks. Do you want me to slim down to 200? Give me a few days." Kevin's penchant for quickly transforming his physique before bodybuilding shows indicates that this is not an exaggeration. There's method acting and there's muscle memory. Kevin has welded the two together: call it Method Muscle. THE SECRET SHARER Joseph Conrad wrote about imperialism in remote corners of the world, and in some ways, that echoes Kevin's new goal: conquer the world of Hollywood through this foray into the tropics. In one of Conrad's works, The Secret Sharer, a young ship's captain secretly allows an interloper aboard his ship. As the story progresses, the question arises: is the stowaway a separate person or just the dark nature of the captain? It's interesting how Conrad's story mirrors the themes of Kevin's life. Around the Weider office, he has been known for years as the Jekyll and Hyde of bodybuilding. The good Kevin calls up for no reason, just to chat. The bad Kevin doesn't call back. Or worse, picks up the phone in a surly mood, "Yeah?" and barely knows who you are. But, now, here he is assuming yet another persona, sitting in a backwater bar in Trinidad, hired by Hollywood to be an assassin. Kevin's own history is rife with these Conradian dichotomies and dualities. "Villains are very interesting. What are they thinking about when they kill someone? I want to be an actor because I want to explore the range of emotions. Don't get me wrong, though, I love recognition. I loved being on a bodybuilding stage, not just for the attention but also for the reward. In one moment, you get your reward, and then you walk away and it's done. I'm finished competing. I've reached the top. And I want another challenge." LOCAL COLOUR Backlash is shooting at various locations throughout Trinidad. One day, the production shoots near The Savannah, the Central Park of Trinidad. To an outsider it looks like a vast and patchy football pitch, bordered by stockyards, grain silos and the clanging docks of Port au Spain. The locals are very proud of The Savannah, and the decaying Colonial mansions that flank one side are simultaneously a source of nationalism and a middle finger to the oppression of the past. Crowds gather to watch the film shoot, and the hometown press has collectively interviewed all the stars in an early production blitz. Seemingly, everyone on the island knows about Backlash. At each location, groups form that look like dress-down Friday at the U.N. Trinidad is sultry but not unpleasant, and its racial diversity dates back to the days of the slave trade, followed by an influx of Chinese, Hindus and the imperialists from Europe. Today, all these groups are represented on the streets of Port au Spain. This is the rainy season – it runs from June to December – and at least once a day a deluge brings production to an abrupt halt. Rain falls for 15–20 minutes, then the skies clear and production resumes with the pavement still steaming. The locals are friendly and offer an idyllic but cautionary version of their part of the world. "On a clear day, you can see Venezuela," a cab driver says en route from the airport, pointing at the horizon. The oil-rich nation lies through the haze, 7 miles beyond his fingertip. "What's it like?" "It's beautiful. Don't go." The cab driver keeps up his litany of the temptations and horrors of paradise. "If a girl wants to go with you, don't go. If you go, take only some money. Leave your wallet. If you go, wear a glove." To further explain, he sheaths his whole forearm in imaginary latex — an ominous and impressive gesture. HEART OF DARKNESS Conrad's best-known work, Heart of Darkness — the story on which the film Apocalypse Now is based — is about travelling into the deepest part of the jungle to face your darkest nature, to see if your sense of self is worth maintaining in the onslaught of extremes. It's no small irony that this is how Kevin has chosen to transform himself — and reaquaint himself with the demons of his past. "Feel that, bro," he says, handing over a tautly wrapped cigar. "That's nice and tight." Kevin gives the cigar to Rambo, who places it in his mouth and lights it, then hands it back to Kevin. He puffs on it intermittently. "My father died of leukaemia two weeks before Christmas when I was 7 years old," he says with a rawness that makes this past grief palpable and indicates it's connected to this particular journey. "I was mad at God. I didn't understand it. I can take that emotion and apply it to Turk. What made him become an assassin? I needed answers, and I think Turk is looking for answers. With acting, I can go back to things that happened to me in my life. It's like therapy. I can spend some time alone, thinking about things. I like being alone. That's where your heart lives." On this trip, though, Kevin is not alone. He hasn't yet assembled a full entourage, but he has started, bringing his Los Angeles roommate, Pastor Mike, with him. "Part of why I'm doing this is to bring a little Christianity into Hollywood," Kevin says, a stream of his cigar smoke breezing across the bar. Each day, Pastor Mike accompanies Kevin to the set, and often stays after Kevin's scenes have wrapped. "I'm here to be with Kevin, to see the movie, to see Trinidad, and to pray if someone needs a prayer," Pastor Mike says. He's a young guy from Indiana who looks more like a dude you'd find at an X Games event than behind a pulpit. But his presence is easy enough to explain: no spiritual pilgrimage or imperial excursion to a distant land is complete without a missionary man. So Kevin has launched a movie career and he's no longer a competitive bodybuilder in the pro ranks. "I never announced my retirement because I never felt a need to," he says. Maybe he's right. Maybe retirement isn't an event; maybe it's a process, and it can't be pinpointed until it's definitively in the past. "I have the best track record in the history of bodybuilding — more wins, more seconds." Then he pauses uncertainly. "Right?" he asks for verification. Yes, he's right. Twenty wins and 18 second places. The minutiae of his successes don't mean that much to Kevin. He can't tell you his Olympia placing in 1994 or 1995. "I think I was third or fourth." (Actually third, then second.) "But I should've won the Olympia in 2000." His disappointments register with far more specificity than his triumphs. CAREER BACKLASH This project is not some one-off, straight-to-video film that will be both the start and finish of Kevin's Hollywood career, according to all those with whom he's working. The producer and director of Backlash are equally effusive in praising Kevin and his potential — they didn't cast him because his was the scariest headshot in the submissions pile. "His picture got my attention," says producer G. Anthony Joseph. "Then I saw his reel. His performances were more than acting — they had star quality, charisma. Really, I was shocked." G — as everyone on set genially calls him — has produced four other films, including The Eliminator and The Vault for his company, Triton Northstar Entertainment. He's a native of Trinidad, currently living in Los Angeles. G is coy and deprecating about his successes and budgets, as independent film makers tend to be: "We make movies in the $400,000 to $3 million range," he says when asked how much Backlash will cost to make. First-time feature director Dave Chameides (ER, Third Watch) echoes G's praise of Kevin's talents. "There were one or two other guys who I would have been happy casting before I saw Kevin. But we started talking about the character, and I was very pleasantly surprised by what Kevin brought to the role. He has a great look. A great presence. I'd like to see him break out and play a dramatic role against type. He's a total professional. Everyone's been saying, ‘Arnold, Arnold, Arnold'." To launch his acting career, Kevin studied (and continues to study) at the highly regarded Beverly Hills Playhouse. After testing the waters, he moved to Hollywood and signed with Lee Solters, who was publicist for Michael Jackson and Frank Sinatra. "When I met Lee, I knew I wanted him to represent me," Kevin remarks. "He's about 80 years old and very enlightened. He has a wisdom and passion like Joe Weider. I told him he reminds me of Joe." Is Kevin's new career for real? It's easy to laugh it off, but don't forget his foray into music with his band Fulblown. They were good. And Kevin continues to chase this dream, too. "It was too hard to do music and bodybuilding at the same time. The synergy wasn't there. But now I can pursue both music and acting — they go together well." In Trinidad, no one involved in Backlash mentions Kevin's worldwide fan base. All their kudos is reserved for his neophyte acting talent. But it's possible they still underestimate him. "I can walk into almost any restaurant in the world and someone will recognise me," Kevin says, placing the cigar between his teeth. It's a strange kind of fame his bodybuilding career has granted him, and it begs the question: will Kevin become even more famous for his acting? That can't be answered, yet. But keep this in mind: Kevin Levrone, viewed from certain angles, cigar casually placed at the side of his mouth, with his impassive expression and prominent forehead, bears a striking resemblance to Arnold Schwarzenegger. If you haven't noticed that yet, you soon will. M&F