Max Cantor

Max Cantor Bilder von Max Cantor

Max Cantor war ein US-amerikanischer Schauspieler und Journalist. Max Cantor (* Mai ; † 3. Oktober in New York City, New York) war ein US-amerikanischer Schauspieler und Journalist. Max Cantor Kellner Robbie Gould ist der Bösewicht in «Dirty Dancing». Im echten Leben ist er Schauspieler und Journalist. Als er im Drogen-Milieu. Interview, Porträt, Filmografie, Bilder und Videos zum Star Max Cantor | cinema.​de. Serien und Filme mit Max Cantor: Dirty Dancing.

Max Cantor

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Then he said he was. Then he said he wasn't. I'm extremely aggressive and I can be very annoying and very persistent and it's not exactly the safest story in the world to investigate.

There are other areas of journalism which are not so risky as this. I believe this story might be dangerous for me. I really think I know what I'm talking about and I really don't want to sound an alarm for these guys.

No, I'm not nervous, but I could get more nervous than I am right now. Max didn't, for instance, want me to characterize him as fearing that the Lunatic Lower East Side's ruling freakatollahs would turn him into another Salmon Rushdie by putting a price on his head or any other of his body parts.

He didn't want me to joke that he claimed not to know which body parts these loonies liked the best even though he does know too many details about the alphabet city chefs who had their hands in the stew pot when a year-old topless dancer was chopped up, cooked and served as an entree at a free banquet for Thompkins Square Park's homeless.

You're going to get me killed! Already, Max has received a couple of phone calls intimidating enough to make him start looking over his shoulder.

Whoever made the phone call is obviously not a good fan of mine. The second time, he called me to ask did I think it over.

But Max, who has written about the murder for the Village Voice and who is now writing a book about the crime, said he is burdened with too many prior emotional problems to need this kind of worry added to his shrink bills.

Then, afterwards, he told me that the murder in Ohio had nothing to do with the book he was writing.

Max's saga originated when the dancer, a Swiss native named Monika Beerle, made the mistake of bedding down with a year-old screwball named Daniel Rakowitz in his East Ninth Street apartment.

Then, after she succeeded in getting her own name on the lease, she compounded her mistake by trying to kick this sickoid out of his pad and out of her life.

This was in August of and Rakowitz took great offense, to say the least. A mental case who already had served four hitches in psycho wards, Rakowitz believed himself some kind of supernatural divinity andabracadabra!

Rakowitz is now day-dreaming about receiving an early release from the loony bin after a jury found him too nutty to be squirreled away in the clink.

An actor-turned-journalist, the handsome, dark-haired Max was on the case even before Monika showed up for dinner. The year-old Max had fallen in love with the Lower East Side's loonies and had zeroed in on weirdo Rakowitz as one of the most colorful characters Max had met down there where the avenues are too poor to afford being called by more than a single letter and where brains often are cooked while still in their owners' skulls.

Rakowitz wore a long, shaggy beard, always walked with his pet rooster cockadoodle-doo-dooing in his knapsack and smoked and sold marijuana out in the open for everyone to see.

Pot, in fact, was usually Daniel's only topic of conversation. Then, three months after interviewing Daniel, Max sat down for breakfast, opened his Daily News and saw headlines that told of the mystery of a severed head found in a bucket.

When he read that police had arrested Rakowitz, Max practically spit his scrambled eggs across the room as he exclaimed:.

Holy fuck! Months later, Max, who has never stopped researching the story, keeps turning up evidence indicating that Monika's blood also drips from other freaky fingers and not just from Daniel's kooky claws alone.

Eventually, there were more arrests. I had nothing to do with this woman's death and the real killers are still out there and you portrayed me in your Village Voice article as some kind of dangerous lunatic.

You did me wrong and if you just investigate this, you'll see that I'm telling the truth. And what I discovered was shocking.

I mean, I don't believe Daniel. I believe that Daniel. Geeziz, this is real tricky territory for me, but I don't believe what Daniel told me over the phone.

Daniel insists that he's innocent of the crime, and I don't believe him. But the crime and the circumstances surrounding the crime are far more complicated.

And then he added slowly as he groped for words:. I'm not. In fact, they're chasing a couple of people.

Again Max answered in a voice that was barely audible. And then he added:. This story reads like the most unbelievable work of fiction that you could ever.

Max was vague and dark about the details, but he left me with the picture of a satanic ritual slaughter executed before an audience that watched as if the killing were some kind of performance art.

Not only did the audience watch, but the spectators then helped dismember Monika, cook her and serve her to themselves as well as to the derelicts in Thompkins Square Park.

At Rakowitz's trial afterwards, a witness testified that one of the homeless found a finger in his soup. I first met Max through a mutual friend at whose home Max kept me spellbound as he read aloud from a passage that he had just written for his book:.

The Smoke-In was scheduled for August 26, Several hundred freaks planned to gather in Washington Square Park.

Organizers promised live music, free pot. Daniel had a stack of flyers advertising the event. He and Liz distributed them in the Wall Street area one day.

She accompanied him that morning to Manhattan District Court. He was charged with criminal mischief, accused of trying to steal an American flag on July Fourth.

Together, they got stoned before the session. Afterwards, they wandered the financial district passing out the flyers to Yuppies and businessmen.

One who dressed as if he might have been a lawyer, said, "This looks interesting. Can I have a few more? A clenched fist framed by an iridescent green marijuana leaf, was depicted in the act of shattering a syringe.

The campaign made perfect sense to Daniel. He was strongly opposed to narcotics. In fact, I'm organizing people to rob and murder and make disappearing persons out of heroin and cocaine dealers forever more.

He appeared ecstatic. A son of theatrical producer Arthur Cantor, the six-foot-one Max was graduated as an English major from Harvard in and immediately decided to become.

Max eventually won the film role of Robbie, the creepy med student who works as a waiter in a Catskill Mountain resort hotel, where he succeeds in impregnating Cynthia Rhodes.

The film was a hit called Dirty Dancing , and Max's creepy med student character set the movie's plot in motion.

I think I'm a very talented guy but I'm also self-destructive. I get in my own way. I alienate people. I'm extremely loud and noisy and I push too hard.

I got a role in a TV pilot called Diner , which was written and directed by Barry Levinson, and I wasn't very happy with my work. I have great ability and natural talent but I gave a poor account of myself.

Levinson was displeased, too. Levinson thought I could have done a lot better. And what did Levinson have to say about Max's performance?

It was after striking out in Diner that Max, beset with anxiety and depression, turned his talents toward writing, started identifying with East Village types, fell in love with the Lower East Side and never looked back.

It was July Fourth, ' We went down to the Lower East Side, a couple in their twenties walking along and asking strangers if they knew of any apartments up for grabs.

All the supers were hanging out on their stoops. And somehow we wound up on Rivington Street at the Nada Gallery, this crazy place where all these people were doing this performance art thing, with everybody banging as hard as they could on tin drums with pipes and scrap metal.

It was deafening. You could hear it from blocks around, this tremendous, fucking noise, and I said 'What the hell is that?

It's called 'School' sarcastically. Those who don't like it would argue that it's a giant tower of garbage, basically. A lot of people look at it and they go, 'What a fucking monstrosity that thing is!

It borders on what used to be Adam Purple's Garden of Eden. Purple footsteps on the sidewalk also are what led Max to the Lower East Side.

We were walking away from the garden and we followed them backwards until they disappeared into the subway entrance at Broadway and Prince.

I thought, 'Geeziz, isn't that the weirdest thing! Why the fuck would somebody put purple footsteps going from the subway entrance to so-and-so?

By the time Max figured out why, it was approximately a year and a half later and purple footsteps started turning up all over Manhattan.

These were really nice ones, clean ones, with no drips. And they were obviously made by a machine. By a guy named George Bliss, a friend of Adam Purple.

This was after Adam Purple's Garden of Eden had been destroyed, bulldozed by a contractor hired by the city or by some Council group to erect a housing project.

George wanted to hide his identity. He didn't want to be known as a huge vandal. He's a cool guy. He's an artist.

He's been involved with the Green Movement, the Bicycle Movement. He just made the footsteps and if you followed them, this path of steps would take you to the site of what used to be Adam Purple's Garden of Eden.

And I decided to find this guy and I tracked him down. I investigated it. The Voice bought the story but the Voice never published it.

Subsequently, Max found himself walking through Sheep Meadow where he "bumped into this march, where all these kids were banging on drums and tooting whistles and waving banners and there was a squadron of police accompanying them and they went into Sheep Meadow and somebody threw a handful of marijuana cigarettes into the air and everybody started to dive for them.

And I said, 'What the hell is this? And it was just a great number of people sitting in Sheep Meadow and getting toasted. And this guy, Mickey Cezar, who called himself the Pope of Dope, was among them and he was wearing a bishop's mitre, a papal thing, and he was very colorful and the whole thing was just amazing.

Cezar at the time, was operating a profitable "Dial-a-Joint" service, selling marijuana over the telephone and making deliveries via a fleet of bicycle messengers.

At this time, he was very well known among people who used his dial-a-joint services, but among the great majority of New Yorkers, he was a complete unknown.

Max Cantor Video

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This was like my very first interview. I wasn't even really sure of how the tape recorder worked. I kept picking it up to make sure the wheels were turning.

I forgot to slate it so I don't know exactly what date it was. Though I know it was the first week of June in ' He was talking about killing the cops.

I asked, 'Do you sell anything else besides pot? I laughed. I said, 'That's some pretty explosive shit there that you're saying, some pretty inflammatory shit.

They taped me November 7,' and he had all the dates and figures and he had this very complicated numerological explication of his birth date which, when he added the numbers together, added up to a certain number which he used to justify the fact that he was in fact some divine figure and he had the evidence of the supernatural of his divinity facing page in a German language edition of Adolf Hitler's Mein Kampf, which he kept in his knapsack at all times, next to his rooster.

I wanna get a look at that. Let me check this out. Can any schmuck see it? But if you concentrate really closely, you can in fact see it.

And it is evidence of the supernatural. Other people have told me. I'm not the only one who can see it. Then I don't wanna see it! Get it outta here!

This guy is crazy! And I said, 'Well, fold it up then and put it away, put it away, put it away, put it away, just put it away!

Just don't harm it. Suppose I spill this coke I'm drinking on it? Suppose I accidentally spill this glass and it gets all over the picture?

But if ya did try and like harm it purposely in any way, I would have t'kill ya. Just look at it! And I said, 'Well, thanks a lot, that's great, see ya later, Daniel,' and I sort of packed him out of my house.

Max lived in a clean, neat and compact studio apartment not far from the Chelsea. When I was there, I found a well-chewed plastic pen top lying on his bed.

And there came a time when they had another one of these giant pot marches. They had them periodically. And there was one that year on August 26 and it was in Washington Square Park and bands were playing.

It was a very sunny day and I wondered where Daniel was. Why wasn't Daniel here? All these bearded hippies were hanging around and passing out these joints, huge, fat doobies, and I was thinking, 'Where's Daniel?

Why is he not partaking of this thing? That's all he ever talked about. He sold it quite openly. Less than a month later is when Max opened up his Daily News in his breakfast nook and spat his scrambled eggs across the room.

He went back outside to buy the Post and found Daniel was on the front page of the Post , too. Because his interview that I got with him was so outlandish, describing these visions that he had at the age of six, these incredible things that were happening to him and how he was going to take me under the wall and the experiences he had at the Psychedelic Temple.

They were so outlandish that I would play them to people. He just fits in down in the Lower East Side. That sounds like a loaded comment, but individuality counts for so much there that no one would even notice that he was a raving lunatic.

Like me, they just thought, 'Well, he's a raving lunatic, well, so what? Where else is he gonna go? This place was such a conglomeration of Dickensian types, that was why I was drawn to it.

But now it was all over the tabloids: Drugs! A Manhattan location! Tripped out Bohemianism! A Manson look-alike! A foreign girl!

Tabloid city! The tabs, dubbing Rakowitz as "The Monster of Thompkins Square Park," couldn't seem to decide whether he was employed as a dishwasher or a short-order cook.

As for Monika, they classified her as a "go-go dancer" who considered her body parts tasty enough to show them off at "a host of Midtown topless bars.

According to Max, Monika, like himself, was a person who couldn't get out of her own way, but she was also a very formidable personality with a strong spirit and powerful karma.

It was a horrible story, but I believed it. It added up. It made sense to me. It wasn't just like I was just pulling your leg.

People were making jokes about it. It definitely happened. And there was not one word about it in the media. This murder had been committed and no one was apprehended for the crime until a month later.

He cut her up and fed her to us in the park! These were not rumors coming up after the fact but before the fact! During his trial, Rakowitz complained that his prison guards played a cruel joke on him by serving him a platter of bones for dinner.

In court, he threatened to squirt stagnant urine on the prosecutor, an attorney named Maurice Mathis. Rakowitz kept interrupting the trial with what the New York Times described as "bizarre outbursts.

I won't find fault with your verdict. The prosecution has an overwhelming case against me. But I'll be getting out soon and I'll sell a lot of marijuana so I can bring to justice the people who actually committed this crime.

Smiling at Justice Robert M. Haft, Daniel offered to smoke a joint with the judge, too, but the judge waved him off with an embarrassed smile.

After the trial, the Post headlined the story:. In its encapsulization of what happened, the Daily News reported that Rakowitz was nabbed a month following the killing "after bragging of the kill and leading cops to a five-gallon bucket of Beerle's bones in a Port Authority baggage room.

A holdout app arently wanted to keep the case deadlocked because he needed the money. The Times told of Rakowitz testifying that he did not kill Monika but admitted that he "dismembered her, bleached and boiled the bones 'to disinfect them,' and hid them.

After rumors that a body had been boiled reached local detectives, he was questioned, and led them to the bus terminal baggage room, where he had left her skull.

According to the newspapers, Justice Haft afterwards told the seven women and five men on the jury panel:. I'm sure you didn't know what you were getting into.

I didn't know what I was getting into," he added, shaking his head. In the tabloids, Juror Valerie Holmes later was quoted as saying of the lone juror who tried to keep the panel deadlocked by holding out for the acquittal:.

Max, now writing his carefully documented and extensively detailed book, wanted me to be careful not to endanger him or any of his sources.

The entire piece was written from Daniel Rakowitz's point of view. And then I got letters accusing me of being a prostitute, a sonofabitch trying to make a buck out of the death of this young woman.

It was very upsetting. When it was all said and done and I sat back, I really began to see more aspects to it in my head.

I know they're not happy about this. Monika's mother is in Switzerland and her father is dead. This was a very conflicted woman who had unbelievable power that still reigns.

When you talk about what power she had when she was alive, what I'm referring to is emotional power. People who are creative are very troubled and very troubled creative people have a great deal of emotional power.

I don't know if she was a particularly good dancer. Some people say, 'Oh, she was! But most people seemed to agree she was emotionally troubled.

I know she had a need to dance. Like I say, I don't know if she was a very good or a very successful artist but I think she probably did have a potential for being a very good and successful one, if she could overcome her emotional problems.

How does it manifest itself? I don't know. Let's put it this way: I believe that"again he groped for words"that somehow an effort was made to expunge her from the universe entirely, not just her body, but the whole fucking thing.

And it didn't work. Max seemed to talk in circles trying to explain what he meant. By the government. By God knows who!

Everybody fantasizes about murdering somebody who is trying to screw you. Somehow, you gotta fucking blow 'em away! Why not?

That's just the way the world is. There is no higher law. There is no great authority. I'm living on this planet.

So are they. They're in my way. Fuck them! People have codes of ethics that are completely internal. But, after someone dies, I think some people believe in going further.

After you die, there's a question of what happens to your spirit? I don't believe it's an accident"and Max groped for words again"I don't believe that what happened to Monika was aimless and the work of a person or a group of people who did not believe that they were trying to do something.

At least, that's what the doctors claimed. She had a lack of ability to see other people's points of view. I think she got herself involved in a very dangerous situation.

She moved into an apartment and she took this guy on. There are many people around who think that what happened to her is utterly justified by the circumstances.

I'm not one of them. So that nobody can ever know what happened to them after they died. Perhaps they can put your spirit out of existence, but my guess is that your spirit goes to become part of everything.

There are whole religious groups who believe that your spirit comes back. I believe that it was witchy. I think that there was something witchy about this killing.

I think that something witchy happened and I think that what that, that, that,"and he groped for words again"and I think it's a miracle that this guy got caught.

People were talking about it all over town. At every step of the way, this guy had every"and again Max groped for words"The man who is now in a mental institution for committing this act had an opportunity to get away basically with this crime at every step of the way, at every step of the way, at every step of the way.

At every step of the fucking way! The reason one would do that, one would presume, was so that the dental records"and he groped for words again"there's no teeth, so that if you take the teeth out of the skull, the skull can't be identified.

And then you can't charge someone with murder if you can't identify the skull. So when they found these bones, they were able to rearticulate the teeth into the dental arcades and establish whose skull it was.

Now that's not a smart thing to do. He might have gotten off on that very simple thing. But, no! He wanted to save them. I don't know why.

I suspect I know why. I suspect he wanted to save them because he believed they had some magical or totemic power.

But the very fact that he saved them, that's what got him caught! It's a miracle that he was stupid enough to want to save those bones. He could have walked into the Ninth Precinct and basically said, 'A murder was committed and I might have had something to do with it,' but if they hadn't found any bones, they would not have been able to charge him with anything.

In addition to which, at the final minute, he actually led the detectives to where the bones were.

And this is something that the chief detective on the case has reminded me on more than one occasion. I don't know how in hell they managed to convince Daniel to take them to where the bones were.

And even if they had found them, they never would have been able to trace them to him. It's a miracle that this guy was caught and I believe the fact that he was caught indicates that his efforts to expunge this woman's soul from the universe was unsuccessful.

That's what I mean when I say her spirit is very strong. I believe in karma. And I believe that Monika's karma is yet to be fulfilled. To Max, Monika's murder had been an act of great rage, vengeance, hate and spite.

Alive, she had been powerful enough to provoke those extreme emotions and, dead, her energy remained powerful enough not only to survive the attempts to obliterate it but also to avenge her killing.

In other words, Max believes that Monika Beerle's spirit is not only powerful enough to haunt those who killed her, chopped her up, cooked her and ate her, but also powerful enough to haunt them into doing themselves in, in some witchy way.

In other words Monika's ghost got her revenge. After portions of the foregoing article appeared in the New York Press , Max Cantor was found dead with a hypodermic needle still stuck in his arm.

To me, the death of such a vibrant, brilliant, talented young man was as incomprehensible as it was puzzling. Apparently still susceptible to the pangs of paranoia that can afflict recovering freebase-smoking cocaine addicts, I immediately feared murder.

Hadn't Max expressed such a fear? As a one-time police reporter I knew that a so-called "hot shot?

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