"We all agreed that the Victorian-era British Empire was the proper historical milieu for our personalities--one-third of the world's population dominated by a tiny number of idiotically brave eccentrics who seem to have derived their power from their unquestioned belief that God completely approved of the situation. "

The fact that at least half of the most famous Imperial paladins were gin-addled racist nincompoops and military incompetents only added to the appeal. The last of the breed, I suppose, was Orde Wingate – half genius, half madman (in hot climates, which is where he usually found himself posted, he routinely held staff conferences stark naked, much to the discomfiture of his Sandhurst-trained subordinates.) "

"The New River Partisans continued to play soldier every year until about 1964, when the situation in Vietnam made us all start to feel that the innocence had gone out of it, along with the fun. Here are four core members of this erstwhile guerrilla band: (WRT second from the left) on “maneuvers” in the N.C. mountains. Our “mechanized” element was a Land Rover with armored sheets welded to the underside, and there wasn’t much that could stop it, including this 100-foot-deep abandoned rock quarry. (The “guerrilla” on my left, Bill Guerrant, later served as a combat photographer in ‘Nam and subsequently became P.R. Director for the city of Charlotte, a position he held with great distinction until his retirement, four years ago. He is now an international consultant whose clients include many former Communist satellite nations, such as Romania, Slovakia, and Poland. Bill was in Beijing during the Tiananmen Square uprising and was responsible for smuggling out several roles of film containing images that would later become famous. He did this at no small personal risk; had the films been discovered, he would have been thrown into a Chinese prison, at the very least…)"

Skirmish time! One of my favorite weapons was the Mark III Enfield (loud, heavy, and slow-firing, but remarkably accurate at long ranges and absolutely immune to dust, rain, mud, and mechanical failure. These things were built like the proverbial brick shit-house, even though the bolt action had all the grace and fluidity of a jack-hammer.

On the other hand, the most sheer fun-to-shoot  weapon in my personal arsenal was this Korean-war-era M1 carbine, which I modified to shoot selectively in full-auto mode by filing down the sear and mounting a modified magazine-holder, so it would accept these long banana-clips. Nothing more cathartic than ripping-off 30-rounds in one sustained burst! I still have the gun – there’s just no place to shoot it any more without risking trouble. All the wilderness areas we used to roam around freely have become yuppified ski-resort properties or restricted developments, primarily owned by “Snow Bird” vacationers from Florida – sneeringly referred to by the local population as “Florons”.

The New River Partisans documented their macho adventures with lots of movies and stills. Here, I’ve just finished filming the remains of an “enemy supply truck” we bushwhacked somewhere near Waynesville. Of course, it helped that the vehicle was undefended, immobile, and had been left for junk in the played-out rock quarry that was our favorite shooting location.

On assignment for PC Gamer, 1995. It was a delight and privilege to interview Kevin McCarthy (star of the great Invasion of the Body Snatchers). The occasion was the filming of the second Tex Murphy interactive adventure. Sure, they were corny as hell, but some day they’ll be recognized as the landmark products they truly were.

My one speaking role in a film, a 1967 soft-core porn movie entitled “Until She Screams…”. Shot in four days, on a budget of $10,000, this one fell below the category of “low-budget”. The script – largely improvised under the influence of vast amounts of illicit substances -- called for me to play the part of Bastinado, an Existentialist Times Square pimp. You could always tell with “Mister B.” was about to lose his cool and bitch-slap one of his Ho’s – he would invariably start mumbling quotations from Sartre and Kierkegaard. 

No, you can't rent it on DVD; the producers (reportedly a consortium of Wise Guys connected with the Gambiuno Family) took one look at the rushes and beat the crap out of the director. All that survives is the bunch stills I managed to acquire later. But, boy-howdy!, was it fun while it lasted!

What the critics said:
“Really captures the spirit of low-budget underground film-making! And it’s a remarkably faithful parody of Eisenstein’s original masterpiece. Bravo, Bill Trotter!”
Jonas Mekas, guru of the Underground Cinema movement.

“I dug the barroom brawl craziness of the battle scenes and the shamelessly excessive fake blood – especially the scene where the cameraman catches Trotter’s hands in the corner of the frame, sloshing red glop from a five-gallon plastic can! Wish I’d been there to join in the fun!”
Ed Saunders, founder and lead guitarist of The Fugs.

“It was too icky for me! Good thing it’s so short…”
Andy Warhol