Riddick Rules E3
Or: How I almost met Vin Diesel, but busted my knee instead.

    May 14, 2004 - If you've never been to E3 (Electronic Entertainment Expo, for the unenlightened) it's a veritable madhouse. We're talking three straight days in May when every videogame geek you could possibly imagine (from the openly geeky to the closeted geeky) converges on the Staples Center in downtown Los Angeles to schmooze with one another and to gawk at the latest innovations in gaming. Developers, programmers, PR flacks, celebrities both minor and major, journalists, sales reps, and CEOs all cram into the vast convention center, sweaty palms sliding against one another in professional recognition and sweaty bodies rubbing against one another as they try to position themselves for the best views of the giant video monitors showcasing the hottest games.

    As can be expected, each company on the showcase floor tries to outdo the next in terms of lavish displays, many of which involve copious amounts of scantily clad hotties dressed as videogame characters (or not) in an attempt to lure the young and horny into their specific company's booth. And of course there's the ever popular celebrity appearance, something no convention of this magnitude can be without.

    Past E3's have drawn the likes of Paula Abdul, Elijah Wood, Gary Busey, Christina Aguilera, Bruce Boxleitner, Glenn Plummer. This year, if you were in the right place at the right time, you might have brushed shoulders with Jon Favreau, Peter Billingsly, Glen Grunberg, Kanye West, Insane Clown Posse, Muhammad Ali, and others. But perhaps the granddaddy of celebrity appearances at E3 2004 was Riddick himself: Vin Diesel.

    Diesel, who was scheduled to appear at the Vivendi/Universal booth on Thursday May 13th, 2004 between the hours of 3 PM and 4 PM, was on hand to promote both The Chronicles of Riddick (his new summer blockbuster) and Chronicles of Riddick: Escape from Butcher Bay. Let's just say that all manner of attendees were swamping the V/U booth hours before he would walk down a makeshift red carpet runway and sign posters for a lucky few fans. People were crammed in front of the stage they had set up for the event, while others were strewn about the booth in a serpentine fashion, squatting on the floor and pressed up against roped off areas with digital cameras at the ready.

    As the 3 o'clock hour came and went, the jumbotrons hung above the booth blasted a continuous trailer loop that showed game play and then segued into the preview for the film. More people showed up, creating an unwieldy, sweaty mass of celebrity-starved gamers. The Vivendi/Universal staff were in pre-event frenzy, running around and erecting last minute barricades (if you can call thin, plastic chains attached to thin, plastic poles, thus creating a flimsy "velvet rope," barricades) and pushing the crowd even further back from the red carpet path.

    At approximately 3:15 a haze of flashes pulsed through the booth signaling that Diesel had indeed begun his strut to the autograph table. An attractive woman next to me stated "I just wanted to see if he's short or not. You know, most of these action stars are really short." As the flashes strobed closer and closer, I began to make out Diesel's trademark shaved dome. And believe it or not (keeping in mind that I couldn't see what kind of shoes he was wearing) the man didn't appear to be that short after all. I myself clock in at 5' 11" and he looked to be within that height range, give or take an inch either way (according to IMDb, Diesel is a nice 6' 1"), which is refreshing for a man destined to give The Rock a run for the "Celluloidal Action Hero of the New Millennium" title.

    Diesel worked the crowd, flashing that Cheshire grin of his, but he didn't really step out and shake anybody's hands, instead he just strolled down the runway surrounded by a few "handlers" and security. The attractive girl next to me sighed and commented on how he was definitely taller than she expected. Then she left, as there really wasn't anything left to see from our vantage point, which had quickly shifted from the place to be to the neglected rear flank (I couldn't understand why Vivendi didn't have a camera on Diesel and why they weren't broadcasting the event over their jumbotrons).

    Being the intrepid journalist that I am, not to mention that my sole reason for being at E3 was to snag "celebrity interviews," Vin Diesel in particular – yes, we made every professional attempt to set up a legitimate interview, but were denied on each and every request. (Editor's Note: The world's largest videogame site can't get an interview with Vin? Next time Spence, don't ask nicely ... be an ass and wave your ID around and stomp and roar. This is bricky Los Angeles, not cuddly San Francisco.) I pushed, shoved, inched, and groped my way from inside the Vivendi booth out and around to in front of the stage/autograph table. I was literally ensconced in a sea of sweaty, panting, celebrity-starved chaos, as swarthy men elbowed and kneed me trying to get a clear picture and young ladies almost fainted. After several minutes percolating in the hot, sticky mass, I found myself close enough to get one of those pray-that-it-comes-out-in-focus types of shots. You know the one where you stick your camera up over your head, aim it in the general direction of your subject and click the shutter button. I snapped off three shots (Diesel was constantly being obstructed by the ever-flowing stream of fans who had been waiting patiently in line to get his autograph and who were being quickly herded across the stage, allowed to shake his hand, and then ushered off in assembly line proficiency) and then attempted to extract myself from the pulsing mass.

    Now I'm not generally claustrophobic, but the combination of pungent body odor, sweaty arms, and hyperventilating females was starting to make me dizzy. Never mind that the whole concept of a mass of hundred of people clamoring for even the smallest glimpse of Diesel in and of itself was a twisted commentary on how the American public places so much importance on celebrity. All of this was racing through my addled brain as I finally found myself free from the globular mass and headed toward the nearest exit. I was no more than 5 paces from the door and freedom from the sweltering masses when I literally hit a brick barricade and found myself falling toward the concrete floor with rapid succession. SMACK! was the sound of my tape recorder (I'd had it out in the event that I was able to get close enough to Diesel to fire off a few quick questions) hitting the ground. CRACK! was the sound of the digital camera in my pocket smacking against the very same concrete floor. SNAP! was the sound of my right pinky finger bending back in excruciating pain against, yep, you guessed it, the cold, hard, concrete floor. And a sound that I can't even begin to figure out how to spell signaled that my left knee had just entered a realm of pain that could only come from direct and forceful contact with an object as solid as a concrete floor.

    I was dazed, slightly confused, and in considerable amounts of pain. But what was most perplexing is that there was nothing underneath my feet, nothing that should have tripped me up so badly. That is until I heard a muffled voice ask "Are you okay?" and as I turned around I saw some idiot in a 3-piece suit dragging a huge airline suitcase behind him. You know, the kind with the extendable handle and the wheels on the bottom. "What, pray tell was this guy doing dragging a suitcase through a crowded convention hall?" was the only intelligible thought racing through my mind as he disappeared into the crowd, most likely to trip up some other poor, unsuspecting individual still reeling from their encounter (or lack thereof) with Vin Diesel.

And that, my friends, is how I almost met Vin Diesel, but busted my knee instead. True story. For real.
-- Spence D.

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