Las Vegas stagehand had his moment — as a corpse

Say Tim Redsull’s acting career is as dead as the day it was born. He won’t disagree.

Call him a one-hit wonder. He doesn’t mind.

But what a hit it was.

As he greeted curious visitors during the recent Mob-Con 2014 at Palace Station, the 63-year-old Redsull looked to be in the picture of health. The photos he autographed for fans at the mobster convention told another story entirely.

In those glossies, the guy’s face was a bloody pulp. He appeared to be deceased, which under the circumstances was a good thing.

The pleasant and unassuming Redsull, a union stagehand by trade, was depicted playing the most notorious corpse in Las Vegas mob history on the set of Martin Scorsese’s gangster epic “Casino.” He was a stand-in — or a lay-down to be more precise — for Joe Pesci’s “Nicky Santoro” character in the movie based on the rise and fall of the Stardust casino during the reign of Frank Rosenthal and Tony Spilotro. Santoro was based on the violent life and death of Spilotro, the Chicago Outfit’s chief enforcer in Las Vegas during what has become known as the end of the traditional mob’s influence in the casino industry.

Spilotro was murdered in June 1986 by his old allies from Chicago. The bodies of Spilotro and younger brother Michael Spilotro were unearthed from an Indiana cornfield, a scene depicted as a violent demise brought on by baseball bat-wielding thugs who hit for a higher average than the White Sox.

As a member of the stagehands union, Redsull worked for weeks as a lighting technician on the set of “Casino” and at one point was dispatched to assist with the prop artists to keep the production supplied with bloody Louisville Sluggers during the fateful cornfield scene.

“They couldn’t keep up with the bats they used,” he recalls.

Corn wasn’t easy to come by, either. As such farms are scarce in Southern Nevada, Scorsese had one created at a local ranch.

As the day wore on, the perfectionist Scorsese became dissatisfied with the stunt man hired to portray the part of the deceased mobster. Redsull recalls hearing, “Doesn’t this guy look a little skinny for Pesci?” on the set’s radio system. After several hours of shooting the scene, it was decided the stunt corpse wasn’t right to play a dead Pesci.

With daylight running out, the production’s cornfield caper was in trouble.

That’s when Redsull was approached by the film’s director of photography, Bob Richardson.

“Marty finally figured out that the stunt guy’s a little skinny for Pesci,” Richardson said. “He’s wondering if you would go in the hole.”

Well aware of Richardson’s reputation for practical jokes, Redsull thought he was being kidded.

“Bob, I’m a little busy,” he replied.

But Richardson wasn’t joking. He repeated his request.

“If Marty wants me so bad, tell him to come and ask me,” Redsull replied.

Scorsese, arguably the greatest living movie director, walked up to the stagehand five minutes later.

“I could almost see the steam coming out of his ears,” Redsull recalls. “He said, ‘Really, you gotta hear it from me?’ That’s when I knew Richardson hadn’t been joking.”

The daylight was fading — and with it Redsull’s acting career.

“In a matter of minutes they threw me in a makeup chair and bloodied me up,” he recalls. “I went in the hole. It was over in less than five minutes. I never in a million years thought I’d end up on the screen.”

Although he wasn’t credited for lying down on the job, he secured the rights to sell the photos of himself in the hole.

“I knew that nobody would believe me,” he says, adding that he also was paid the same as the stunt guy he replaced.

In case you’re wondering, playing a dead guy — even in a blockbuster movie — didn’t turn into a new career. He cleaned himself up and returned to work as a stagehand. “I’ve worked on a few films since then,” he says, “but I’ve never acted in anything else. I’m definitely a behind-the-scenes guy.”

But there’s a twist in the plot. A 35-year resident, Redsull actually worked as a stagehand on “The Frank Rosenthal Show” during the hatted hoodlum’s heyday. He’d once visited Spilotro’s home as a guest of a relative, ate fairly regularly at the mobbed-up Food Factory, and even caught the loanshark action at Jasper Speciale’s Tower of Pizza restaurant.

They’re all gone now, but fans of the era can catch “Casino” on cable TV throughout the year.

Look closely and you’ll see one-hit wonder Tim Redsull: not exactly alive, but definitely in living color.

John L. Smith’s column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Email him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 702-383-0295. Follow him on Twitter @jlnevadasmith.