The Time I Blew It With Sigourney Weaver at Radost

The Time I Blew It With Sigourney Weaver at Radost

Prague 1995

It was back in the jocund days of living in Prague in my early 20s that I began to realize that life offers only as much as one demands from it.  This epiphany was inspired from witnessing the evident joy of having inalienable freedoms that the Czechs were experiencing for the first time in half a century and it had a poignant affect on what kind of person I would become in life.  I had started finding true self confidence in college, so by the time I arrived in a country that was experiencing such a profound cultural awakening, following a revolution which overthrew Soviet occupation, I was in a good place to embrace what I was witnessing unfold all around and I allowed it to push away my own mind forged manacles. 

This stage started because I was on a three-month backpacking tour of Europe.  I was only supposed to stay in Prague for a few days, but literally, after only a few minutes off the train at 5:45am, it was clear that I had stumbled upon something quite different from any other place I’d ever seen before.  This was my first taste of Eastern Europe post the fall of the Iron Curtain.  After a few days exploring the city, I decided to stay for a week, maybe two.  After a couple weeks, I decided to abandon my entire tour and stay for a while longer.  After two months, I called my mother and told her not to pick me up from the airport in a few days, as I would not be on my flight home.  She wasn’t happy, but she really didn’t have any say in the matter. 

A couple months later, after my money ran out, I found a job cooking at a place I’d been hanging out at.  It was a vegetarian cafe that also housed a funky lounge, an art gallery and a popular disco downstairs.  The job didn’t pay much, only $1.50 an hour, which translated to approximately $150-200 a month, but it was enough to pay my rent and support a high quality of life at the time.  I couldn’t really afford to eat anywhere outside of the place I worked, or buy clothes or anything, but I did have enough money to live, drink and party.  I was also lucky in that the owners of the place had taken a liking to me.  Having them on my side provided certain privileges: I got good shifts and I often came in late and stayed after my shifts in the disco drinking discounted drinks without any real repercussions.  Also, in addition to all that, one of best perks was being able to attend the high-end private parties that the club downstairs often hosted for movie crews that were filming in the Czech Republic.  

Even throughout Soviet times, Prague maintained a strong film industry and, now post Velvet Revolution, it offered Hollywood studios some of the lowest costs in Europe to make films.  Many films were made in the Czech Republic during these years and once filming was finished, my place of employment- being one of the most trendy places in Prague at the time- often hosted the wrap parties for the actors and crew. 

I have to say that none of my other colleagues were allowed at these parties, but the owners always let me, or it might more accurately be said, they didn’t kick me out when they saw me hanging about and enjoying the free drinks and food.  One night however, the owner, Rebecca, actually invited me to one.  She came into the kitchen after she had eaten dinner. 

“That was a delicious pasta Mike, what did you do to it?”

“Thanks, I’m glad you liked it.  I added a little fresh basil, garlic and spices to the sauce.  That’s how I make it for myself.”

“It’s really good.  I think I’ll bring it up when we discuss the menu next month.”

“Really?  That’s awesome- thanks.”

“Did you hear that we’re hosting a Hollywood party downstairs tonight?”

“I heard the club would be closed for a private event, but no one told me why.”

“We have a big one tonight. Two movies for a combined party.  Come on down for a drink after your shift.  It should be fun.”

“That sounds great, I’ll see you down there.”  I said as she left the kitchen and I got back to cooking an eggplant parmesan and a spinach pesto pasta. 

After my shift ended, I cleaned myself up, changed back into my regular clothes and went downstairs to the disco.  The place was stuffed with all these beautiful and trendy people.  It was an open bar, so I downed a couple shots of vodka while catching up with the bartender and then grabbed a beer and went to peruse the scene. 

When I got to the landing in front of the dance floor I saw Rebecca. 

“You made it!”  She was happy to see me.

“What a party!  This place is totally packed.”

“Did you see Anthony Hopkins over there?”  She motioned toward the bar.

“Anthony Hopkins?  He’s here?  No, I didn’t.”

“He’s really tying one on and being quite rude about it.  Hollywood!  Chris Rock is supposed to stop by...Oh, and look over there.”  I looked where she was indicating, the far left corner of the dance floor. 

“Oh my god- is that Sigourney Weaver?”  Even though I asked this, it was more out of shock than uncertainty- it was clearly Sigourney.  She was at the far end of the floor dancing to the house music like one of those inflatable tube people you see bouncing around in front of a used car dealership.  She was really living it up and having a wild time.  She also looked like a total babe despite being roughly the age of my mother.  After watching her in a starstruck trance for a minute, I said to Rebecca, “I should go dance with her.”

“You’ll never make it.  She’s surrounded by security.  They’re not letting any outsiders through.  Look-”  I then noticed that there was a team of at least four bodyguards maintaining a perimeter around her and her clan.

She was getting into the music like a hoppity spider -jumping around, hooting and hollering while laughing and smiling.  “When am I ever going to have a chance to dance with her again?  I got to try.  Watch this.”  She really was dancing in a very strange and mesmerizing fashion...I’d never seen anything like it- before or since.   

  

I slammed the rest of my beer, threw out the bottle and made my way down the handful of steps to the dance floor.

I had a plan.  Sigourney was dancing at the far left hand side of the dance floor, so I started at the back right hand side.  It was the place with the most distance from her and her group.  From the moment I hit the floor, I didn’t look at her or even in her direction.  For the first few minutes, I just stayed in my place and danced, feeling out the music.  House music is a beautiful, but aggressive beast.  I love it, but to dance to it, one needs some time to absorb where the music is taking you.  I just danced, not looking at anything in particular, often with my eyes closed, and found the groove. 

Once I acquired the rhythm, I started the migration.  The pace of which would rival an injured mollusk.  The DJ was killing it and after the long shift in the kitchen, letting go to the music was recharging my soul.  Despite this, I didn’t lose sight of the prize (even though I still wasn’t looking at her).  I slowly danced my way across the floor.  I moved totally engrossed in the music, so that no around even realized I was on a trajectory.  First, I made my way to the center of the floor, stopping often along the way.  After a few more minutes, I started moving into the Red Zone.  It literally took me a good ten minutes to move thirty feet.

When I arrived at the perimeter of her security team; I stopped and just focused on dancing.  I had already spent many nights partying and dancing in clubs around Prague, so I had some moves to utilize.  I lifted my arms above my head and was bouncing up and down to the beat while jutting around in a haphazard, yet controlled fashion.  Importantly, I still hadn’t made any lasting eye contact with Weaver, though I was only about seven feet from her now.  Two of her bodyguards were about three or four feet in front of me, between us.  I never looked at them either.  I appeared oblivious to the whole group and just kept dancing.  Then the music picked up and the bubble machine was triggered.  Soap bubbles started raining down upon all of us on the dance floor.  I had my eyes closed when I heard someone barking like a dog.  I opened them to find it was Sigourney.  She had her hands behind her back and was jumping up and down, barking, and eating the bubbles.  Despite these mad antics, she still looked good- real good.    

After the bubble downpour passed, she noticed me dancing.  I let go to the music.  She dug my moves and danced a few steps in my direction closing our distance by half.  Her bodyguards moved to the side.  Within a few minutes, she was right in front of me.  We were dancing together.  When you dance to house music, it’s kind of ritualistic and independent, but we meshed nicely and danced around each other going in circles for a bit.  I was soon behind the security cordon and within the inner circle.  A few minutes passed and the strobe light started its manic blink again while the fog machine kicked in.  Soon, the music was reaching a crescendo and I couldn’t resist any longer.  I took Sigourney’s hand in mine and danced a bit closer.  Then, within only a few seconds of first contact, one bodyguard grabbed me by my neck and shoulder while the other got between me and Sigourney and I was forcibly ejected from the zone.  I initially played the fool to save face, but then, after it was clear that I was 86’d and Sigourney wouldn’t rescue me; I slowly danced my way off the floor and back to Rebecca. 

Once there, she started laughing.

“That was fun to watch.  I love the patience you showed in getting across the dance floor so causally and unnoticed, especially when you danced through the security unfazed.  But you really should’ve waited for her to touch you first.  It would’ve happened- she was digging you!”

“Yeah, you might be right.  I blew it, but I did dance with Sigourney Weaver for what- ten minutes?”  I beamed, “Her jumping up and down and eating the bubbles like that while barking will stay with me as long as I walk this earth.  That’s what inspired the hand grab…next time, please inform the DJ “no bubbles” when I’m trying to immortalize myself with a Hollywood movie star.”  

We both laughed and I went to get another shot and beer.  It was time to bother Anthony Hopkins now. 

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