Fight Card
Writing under the pen-name, Jack Tunney, I wrote three novels in the Fight Card series between 2012 and 2014. The series, which was created by Paul Bishop and Mel Odom, was a homage to the old-time boxing pulps of the 1940s and 50s.
I also wrote several short stories for the series. Bushwhacked appeared in Iron Head and Other Stories, and Abbott & Costello meet the Brown Bomber was in Battling Mahoney and Other Stories—both books were charity anthologies.
But there were several other stories that slipped through the cracks, one of them being The Understudy—featuring Marlon Brando. Here it is for your enjoyment.
“Never confuse the size of your paycheck with the size of your talent.”
~ Marlon Brando
The Understudy
Marlon was tired, angry, and frustrated. He’d been rehearsing the play for over a month now and knew the part of Stanley Kowalski backward. He had even visited the writer, Tennessee Williams, at his home in Massachusetts to convince him he was right for the role. Not that he was complacent. He knew this part could make or break his career as an actor. Kowalski was a hard role to play, a seething cauldron of pent up aggression and sexual energy. But Marlon had the character down pat now. He just wanted the show to open.
“Let’s take a break for an hour,” Elia Kazan, the director, called.
Marlon grunted and stepped out of the lights. A break was the last thing he needed. Waiting around made it worse. Marlon made his way to his dressing room and stripped off his white t-shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. He was in the best shape of his life but still he didn’t like what he saw. Filled with self-loathing he wanted to hit the mirror.
He shook his head and grunted. Then he saw the two sets of battered leather boxing gloves on his dresser. In his down time, he’d taken to sparring with some of the other cast members and support staff at the theater. Marlon was a fan of the ‘sweet science’ and had enjoyed the spirited contests behind the curtain, even if, on occasion he’d taken the sessions too far. Once or twice in his sparring sessions he had thrown full blooded punches, knowing full well as the star of the production, those that he fought against would never hit back hard. But now—especially now—he needed to let off a little steam.
Marlon picked up both sets of boxing gloves and went searching for an opponent. As he stomped around backstage, he sought out his friend Karl Malden? He knew Karl could take a punch, but alas, his friend was nowhere to be found. He would have to find someone else.
Seated in a folding chair in the wings on the opposite side of the stage was Marlon’s understudy for the role of Kowalski. Marlon looked him up and down. He was a big man, 6’4” and around 200 pounds. And although youthful, his face had a strange leathery quality about it. He couldn’t remember the actor’s name, but now was as good a time to get to know him as any. Marlon sauntered over to him and threw the extra set of gloves into the big man’s lap.
“Hey, Understudy, do you want to spar a little?” Marlon asked.
The understudy shook his head. “I’ll pass,” he said quietly. He picked up the gloves and held them out for Marlon to take.
Marlon wasn’t going to give up that easy. He pushed the gloves back toward the understudy.
“Come on, it’s just a bit of fun. It don’t mean nothing.” Marlon kept in character as he spoke. It was all part of his method training.
“I’d rather not.”
“You scared?” Marlon teased. “You’re my understudy. If you want to be Kowalski, you’ve got to get inside his skin, live the role. Kowalski is a pure animal. If you’re going to succeed in the acting business you’ve got to let go and give in to your inner animal. Don’t be afraid to release the beast inside. Please put on the gloves.”
Marlon let his words hang, knowing that they would eat at the big man’s professional pride.
The understudy shook his head, but reluctantly agreed. “Okay, this once,” he said.
“That’s the spirit,” Marlon replied, trying to suppress a grin.
The understudy slowly got to his feet and slipped on the old battered boxing gloves, fastening the laces on the second glove with his teeth. Marlon did the same.
“Where do you want to do this?” the understudy asked.
“Plenty of room center stage,” Marlon replied.
Both men moved through the backdrops to the stage and faced each other. Marlon was the first to move, weaving from side to side. He fired out a series of sharp fast jabs. The understudy took them on the gloves and forearms.
“You’ve got good defense,” Marlon said as he bobbed and weaved some more. “But show me what you got. Come on, remember, unleash the inner beast.” The understudy pushed out a pitiful soft left jab. Marlon swatted it away angrily. How could he work out his frustration if the understudy wouldn’t fight back. “Come on, fight me,” Marlon bellowed.
The understudy fired out another jab. It had a little more venom, but not much. Marlon deflected the blow. He figured if he wanted some fight from the understudy he’d have to shake him up a little. Marlon took a big step forward and threw a round arm right which plowed into the understudy’s belly. The big man barely flinched. Marlon followed it up with another body shot, and then tagged his fellow actor right on the jaw. The punch would have laid most men low, however the understudy’s head barely moved an inch. The big man grinned. There was almost something sinister about the smile.
“Okay,” the understudy said, his voice a low rasp. “Inner beast.”
Marlon was pleased with himself. He had finally badgered the understudy into action. Now he’d get the fight he’d been craving.
Marlon moved in again and shot out two quick jabs and a wild right cross. The understudy blocked the blows with ease, moved inside and unloaded his own right cross. He didn’t miss. Marlon barely saw the punch, but he felt it as it connected with his jaw. He was thrown backward as his legs gave way. Darkness washed over him.
Marlon Awoke with a jolt, still on his back, center stage. The understudy hovered above him with smelling salts in his hand. Marlon pushed his hand away.
“What happened?” Marlon asked, rubbing his aching jaw.
“You went down.”
“Lucky punch,” Marlon said, trying to conceal his damaged pride.
The understudy laughed. It was a dry unsettling laugh. Almost Cruel. “No, poor defense,” he said, his low rasp now sounding rather menacing.
Marlon recognized the truth of the comment. Yes, he wasn’t a boxer. He was an actor, and he’d been found wanting.
He sat up and nodded. “I was wrong about you,” Marlon said. “You don’t need to unleash your inner beast. I think it is best for everyone if you keep that thing locked away.”
The understudy laughed once more. “Maybe you’re right.”
He offered his hand to help Marlon to his feet. Marlon took it and was hauled up.
Still on rubbery legs, Marlon steadied himself and then said, “Hey, I forgot to ask your name.”
“Call me Jack,” the understudy said. “Jack Palance.”
Although this story is purely a work of fiction, legend has it that Marlon Brando liked to spar with the cast and crew during the rehearsal breaks for A Streetcar Named Desire. Jack Palance was his understudy at the time, and the rumor is that Brando was promptly flattened with one punch by Palance. Brando was unaware of Palance's previous career as a professional boxer in the 1930s. Palance fought under the name of Jack Brazzo, and depending on the source, he fought either nine or twelve bouts. His only loss appears to be to respected heavyweight contender, Joe Baski.
Yours in the Spirit of Adventure
That’s the end of this week’s newsletter. I hope you’ll consider subscribing, and I’ll be back soon with more nonsense from inside the walls of Pentridge Prison. Until then, take care, David.
Australian adventure author, David Foster, writes under the pen names James Hopwood, A.W. Hart, and Jack Tunney. He has written seven novels, and his short fiction has been published in over 50 publications around the world.
David’s artwork has appeared in group exhibitions in Echuca, Shepparton and Bendigo. His one act play, Future Shock, was performed at Echuca Arts Centre in 1984.
