Once again, the king was unable to attend my shows in 2009. This time, he couldn’t make it because he’d dissolved Parliament that day and was busy—okay, fine! However, he did have us—me, my brother, and comedian Gabriel Iglesias—over to the palace for a formal reception the morning of the show. That in itself was pretty cool, and so was the king. I gave him a set of Star Trek cuff links as a small gift. I said, “I hear you’re a Trekkie.”
“I used to be a Trekkie,” he answered. I think he stopped once he became king.
This man wasn’t at all what I was expecting. He is low key, charming and has a good sense of humour. He went to school in the States and the UK, so he has sort of an American/English accent. We chatted for a while in his formal reception room and he told us how sorry he was that he couldn’t come to the show but asked if we’d like to come back to the palace afterwards for dinner. We all looked at each other and said, “Sure!” Once we left, we pretty much figured it wouldn’t happen. I mean, he’s the king, and we’re a bunch of comics who got into comedy so that we wouldn’t have to get real jobs! We thought he was just being polite and that “king stuff” would come up and that would be that. It was nice just to have been invited and to have met the guy.
Late that afternoon, we got word that we would actually be going to the palace after the show. My good friend, comedian Angelo Tsarouchas, was performing at the festival as well, and when my brother told him he’d be meeting the king later that night, Angelo said, “You know who I’d really like to meet? Pamela Anderson.”
“What are you talking about?” my brother asked him.
“Yeah. Pamela Anderson is who I’d like to meet.” Ang didn’t believe that we were going to the palace after the show and was pretty stunned when we pulled up in front of it.
At some point while we were talking, I decided to tell the king he had really nice eyes. I don’t know why.
We arrived at the palace at around eleven-thirty, and King Abdullah and Queen Rania met us at the door. My sister-in-law, Emma, was with us and she didn’t realize it was the king and queen greeting us until we got to their family room. She was so stunned that she didn’t even speak for the first fifteen minutes. Queen Rania had just returned from Paris, where she had given a speech that day. The king’s brother and a few of his friends were there as well. Everyone was very nice and relaxed. The king was behind the grill and actually made us Kobe steaks and chicken for dinner!
At some point while we were talking, I decided to tell the king he had really nice eyes. I don’t know why. Gabriel was like, “What, are you hitting on him or something?” I wasn’t, but I happened to notice his blue eyes and couldn’t help saying so. Awkward …
Then the king asked me what time my flight was leaving the next morning. I said, “Ten-thirty. I’m leaving the hotel at seven-thirty.”
“No. That’s too early. I’ll call the airport. You’ll leave the hotel at nine.”
That’s when I realized: He’s the king. He can do what he wants! We were having a great time hanging out with him and his friends. Everyone was really nice and down to earth. We talked about politics. The queen is really passionate about her charities and all of the problems in the region. We also talked about movies and life in L.A. The king asked what Toronto was like, since he’d never been. It was getting late, almost 3 A.M., and we didn’t want to overstay our welcome. The get-together wasn’t showing signs of slowing down, but my brother and I wanted to be polite and excuse ourselves at a reasonable time.
The next morning, all of us got to the airport at nine-thirty for our ten-thirty flight. There were these guys on the curb waiting for us; they took our passports and our luggage and sent us up to a VIP room. We were all chilling in this VIP room, still totally in awe that we’d had dinner with the king the night before.
At about ten to ten, an angry Arab dude walked into the room holding a passport and saying, in his angry voice, “Russell Beters!” (There’s no p sound in Arabic, so p’s become b’s.)
I said, “That’s me.”
“Come with me,” the Arab dude said.
I said, “No …” I was feeling cocky as hell at the time because I’d spent the previous night hanging out with the king.
Arab Dude said again: “Come. With. Me.”
So I said, “Okay. You don’t have to get all uppity.”
Then he asked, “Where’s your bag?”
I said, “Right here.”
He said, “You have two phones.” And I’m thinking, How does this guy know how many phones I have?
Next thing I know, he’d snatched one of my phones right out of my hand. I looked around the room at everyone, and clearly none of us knew what the hell was happening. He told me to go with him, so we left the room. Once outside, he asked me, “Do you speak Arabic?”
I said, “No.”
“Huh.”
Then he led me down these stairs, and I remember thinking, Here’s where I should trip him down the stairs, choke him and then run away. But I didn’t do that—where was I going to run? We got to the bottom of the stairs, and I could see these two military guys in full gear—helmets, vests, elbow pads, gloves—standing there with machine guns, pointing them right at me. At this point, my ego kicked in, and I thought, Oh …Now I get it. The king must have come to the airport to say goodbye. Cool! So I said to the guys with the machine guns, “Hey guys, don’t worry. It’s just me. I know the king.” But these dudes were totally serious and staring me down with their guns ready to go.
Then Arab Dude led me down a hall and sat me in a room. The military guys were right behind me and followed me in. One stood behind me with his gun pointed at my head. The other stood in the doorway, pointing his weapon down the hallway. Now I was thinking, What the hell is going on? I looked beside me and saw a camcorder with a blanket over it. At that point, I figured out I was in an interrogation room. But just then, my Indian side kicked in, and instead of worrying about the guys with the guns, I remember thinking, Hmm … that’s a really old camcorder. They really need to get some new product in here.
Then Arab Dude started to interrogate me. “Where were you last night?”
“Well, I did a show.”
“And then where did you go?”
“Then I went to the palace.”
“What palace?”
“What do you mean, ‘What palace?!’ The king’s palace.”
“Which king?”
I’m like, “The one behind you,” and I pointed to the portrait of the king right behind him. There are portraits of the king and his father, King Abdullah I, everywhere in Jordan.
“Oh, you mean my king.”
“Yeah, your king.”
“Why you went?”
“Because he invited me.”
“Huh,” he said. Then he lit up a cigarette, and every time he wasn’t looking, I was peering into the lens of the camcorder and making faces. I honestly thought the homeboy with the gun was going to shoot me in the back of the head, and if I was about to die, I at least wanted my last video to be funny.
So at this point, I started sweating—right underneath my man boobs. I was getting nervous, and it was really silent. Then all of a sudden, from the hallway, I heard a whole bunch of Arabic being yelled back and forth, and then the Arab dude interrogating me started yelling back in Arabic, and I was like, “ARGGHH!! What’s happening?” The guy who had the machine gun pointed at me now pointed it towards the door, and then I heard, “Don’t point the gun at me, fool!”
It was Gabriel Iglesias. He came into the room with a phone and passed it to me, all nervous, and I picked it up and said, “Hello? Who’s this?”
That’s when I heard King Abdullah’s voice, saying, “Never be the first to leave a party again. You just got punk’d, Beeatch.”
Even more unexpected than meeting the king and then having dinner with him and Her Majesty was finding out that he’s a practical joker and a regular guy. I never saw it coming.
Me and King Abdullah, at 2:
30 A.M., in the palace.
WELL, that’s my time, folks. I hope you enjoyed the show.
I never expected to be where I am, and I still have a long way to go. As I write this, I’m once again pursuing the development of three new possible TV opportunities in L.A. and just wrapped up shooting a movie with Jake Gyllenhaal called Source Code. I start a new movie in the fall and I’m still going out on annoying auditions, but I’d like to think I’m getting better at them. I have a fiancée and am getting ready to record my next DVD in London this fall.
I know it may sound strange, but I still see myself as the underdog. It must be a comic thing. Comedy is a solo sport and you always feel that your best is never enough—I should have put this bit first; forgot to say this word; should have checked my set list; this bit could be stronger; still not happy with that callback; the tag line’s weak; the premise is lame … I have to admit that I’m pretty lazy, but the knowledge that I can always be better at my craft and that I still haven’t cracked film and television the way I want to keeps me motivated.
I’d like to take some time off from the road, get married, have a kid. Who knows? I didn’t have a master plan when I set out, and I still don’t. I’m in a fickle business, and I am where I am through no fault of my own. The stars aligned: Anglo-Indian parents from India, born in Toronto, raised in Brampton, ADD, hip-hop, amateur night, global multiculturalism, YouTube, the Internet, my brother, my mom and, of course, my dad.
ABOUT THE CO-AUTHORS
CLAYTON PETERS is Russell’s brother and manager. He lives in Oakville, Ontario with his wife Emma and their dog, Zoe. He commutes between Russell’s live dates globally and Los Angeles, and oversees all aspects of his brother’s career.
DANNIS KOROMILAS is an acclaimed screenwriter and co-creator/ producer of the police drama The Bridge. He is presently developing the Cold War television series REVOLUTION ’68. He lives in Toronto with his wife and two sons.
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