Lone Ranger

John Novak, the actor who plays Kokanee’s ranger character, turns out to be quite a character himself

By Rosemary Poole

IT'S EARLY OCTOBER and the morning is crisp, cold and refreshing—perfect for shooting a beer commercial. The crew has set up a green screen in North Vancouver’s Murdo Frazer park, where Kokanee’s befuddled rangers will continue their pursuit of the sasquatch who steals Kokanee beer out of the glaciers they’re sworn to protect. This installment begins with a barbecue: the sasquatch crashes the party on a dirtsurfer; the glacier girls give chase on mountain bikes (dyed Kokanee-blue), while the rangers follow on a lame tandem bike, pedalling frantically as they approach a precipice. Arnold, the sidekick, bails at the last second as the lead ranger (who has no name in the spot) goes over the cliff, letting out a blood-curdling scream. “Can you believe this is my profession?” says John Novak, who plays the ranger, between takes. “I’m a trained Shakespearean actor!”

Indeed, Kokanee was the first TV commercial Novak, 51, had auditioned for in well over a decade. Five years ago, he’d just returned to Vancouver from L.A., where he’d appeared in such films as Wishmaster 4 and Dennis Hopper’s ill-advised L.A.P.D. Today, 13 Kokanee commercials later, he has only himself to blame for the campaign’s popularity—and the bump in sales it’s credited with. Kokanee is now the fifth best-selling beer in Canada (up from eighth five years ago), the brewery in Creston has upped production by some 150,000 hectolitres annually, and the company’s research indicates that Kokanee is the “favourite beer” of more Western Canadian beer drinkers than any other brand.

“John certainly embodies the ranger character,” says David Chiavegato, co-creator and writer of the campaign. Like most everyone I ask about Novak, Chiavegato chooses his words carefully. “The first year, we shot in Manning Park for four days and he didn’t come out of character until the wrap party. It was...completely bizarre.”

Here at Murdo Frazer, during the set change, still wearing his ranger get-up, Novak uses the ranger’s authoritative, Troy McClure-like voice to, oddly, try to distance himself from the character. “I’ve had a thirty-year career and worked with Tony Hopkins, Brad Pitt, Aidan Quinn…” He’s referring to his supporting role in Legends of the Fall, where he played the Irish bootlegger who ends up getting shot at the end of the film. He was also district attorney Keith Timmons on Santa Barbara, the 1980s soap opera, and had a role on the series Born Free, which he describes as Little House on the Prairie set in Africa. “There’s still a huge fan base in Jamaica,” he adds, in his ranger voice.

Where is he from originally?

“Caracas, Venezuela. My genetics: Polack. My heart: Latin. I was married for three months, not two years ago. Want her name? She’d love it.” A moment later he’s talking about his new fitness regimen. “I used to have to work out to get results. Now I just look at weights and it starts to happen. It’s quite remarkable.

“You’re interviewing the ranger,” he adds. “If you want to interview John Novak, I’d have to take this off”—he gestures at the moustache and aviator glasses—“’cause when I have it on, I can’t do me. It just won’t happen.”

The set’s ready. Time for another scene.

“I own a loft near Main and Second,” he says. “You should come over some time. I’ll show you my paper mâché. I’m a very serious paper mâchér. I currently have a seven-foot-tall paper mâché project that’s three-quarters finished.”

A couple of weeks later, Novak answers his door wearing the ranger’s moustache and blue ballcap—“You wouldn’t recognize me without them.” He takes them off for the big reveal: sure enough, he looks younger and leaner, and the ranger persona is magically gone. He still has the deep, rich voice, but the intonation is different.

The paper mâché project turns out to be a massive stork, framed with chicken wire. On the floor beside it is a stockpot and a stack of Georgia Straights (“They pile up all over the goddamn place and I turn them into art”). A pine shelving unit is crammed with computers, peripherals, DVDs, demo tapes and a large jug filled with coins, mostly pennies. In the living area of the one-room space is more paper mâché: a two-foot-tall stork, smaller bird figurines and two sunbursts on the wall—one with his face in the centre, the other with his estranged 20-year-old son’s.

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