Each holiday season brings a rhetorical debate about whether the 1988 movie Die Hard, starring Bruce Willis, is suitably categorized as a “Christmas” movie. The proponents’ main argument is that the plot unfolds on Christmas Eve during a company office party.

Putting aside the implausibility of an office party on Christmas Eve, the argument is unconvincing. Otherwise, there are many other films that would also deserve inclusion. Lethal Weapon and Eyes Wide Shut would qualify. So would Rocky IV, in which the grief-stricken protagonist Rocky Balboa beats his bio-chemically superior Soviet adversary Ivan Drago on Christmas Day in Moscow.

The latter’s details are crystal-clear to me because I participated in the filming. These days it’s common to see film locations set up around Vancouver, but in 1985 it was still novel. There was a call for background “talent,” and I was determined to participate. The only problem was that I was in Grade 11. Thankfully I had the kind of parents who recognized that education could be found in a range of experiences, so they encouraged my truancy.

Filming the fight action took eight days in early May. The setting was PNE’s Agrodome, a 3,000-seat arena-style building in East Van used mainly for livestock shows in the summer and hockey in the winter. My youthfulness and slim build made me an immediate target for production staff, so they pulled me from the large, nondescript, mostly older crowd: I was to be a conscript in the Red Army. I was handed a soldier’s uniform and, after changing into it, told to stand next to the boxing ring. It was my first real job, and I eagerly complied.

Optimistically, I brought the camera I used in my school photography class. I wore it around my neck and took photos nonstop. There were others with prop cameras around me; nobody noticed or cared to say anything about it. Also lasting are the memories of what I witnessed during those days—and the lessons they taught me.

I recall that Sylvester Stallone was modest, self-deprecating, and funny. He directed the film and spent a lot of time on set, primarily working from inside the ring. Most of the extras were there for the experience and were unpaid. He used the PA system to explain to us what was happening. We didn’t need to know, but he understood that we were curious, so he obliged. He was excited about the release of Rambo: First Blood Part II later that month. His direction to the crew was succinct but polite. “More smoke, please,” I recall him saying.

When Talia Shire first came on set, I got excited. I whipped around to take her photo. She recognized that I didn’t have a flash, so she stopped and posed. I took the picture (later revealed as blurry). Then she approached 17-year-old me. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Hold please,’” she said. I smiled, nodded, and thanked her. She nodded when I caught her gaze for the remainder of that day and the next. “She’s so nice,” I remember telling my mom. 

The lesson: successful people—those with peer respect and professional standing—have a sense of grace and are generally kind.

Like in all workplaces, you become chummy with some people on film sets. Although it was just eight days, Rocky IV was no different. One of the people who I immediately liked was David Lloyd Austin, the professional actor from Port Hardy who played Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. After filming wrapped, he invited me to see a play he was doing at the Metro Theatre in Marpole. I arrived hours early and took photos of him on stage with the set, which I subsequently sent him. I last saw him a decade ago, shortly before he passed away. We met in a restaurant. He told me about spending winters in Mexico doing plays for the snowbirds. I introduced him to my young daughters, and he told me how happy he was for me.

The lesson: if you’re lucky, sometimes your coworkers become your friends.

Of course, often the opposite is true, too: your coworkers can be difficult. Close to me throughout the filming was an older man in a black uniform (a Soviet naval uniform, I learned later). If you study the movie carefully, you may notice that the black naval costumes were less common than the Red Army green ones, which caused the former to be construed by many extras as somehow more prestigious. 

Almost immediately, this person started ordering me and my olive-clad comrades around. We reflexively complied. But his direction was putting us further out of the shot. Then an epiphany happened: he ate the same cold KFC for lunch as we did. He was going home on public transport, too. We were the same. After lunch, a Red Army “mutiny” ensued, sinking his ego.

The lesson: stand your ground. You might lose, but you’ll preserve your self-respect.

A genuine crisis happened on the third day. Movies are shot out of sequence, which creates all sorts of challenges for the props and wardrobe departments. On this day, the script supervisor pointed out a continuity problem with Rocky’s boxing trunks: the pair used for the morning’s filming was meant for earlier rounds, meaning they had fewer blood stains. After reshooting and discussing other options, Stallone shrugged in resignation. “What can we do about it?” he concluded. If you look closely, you can see the errors in the final cut.

The lesson: perfection is complex, often impractical, and in the end, it frequently doesn’t matter.

On the second-to-last day, the fight’s ending was filmed. The crowd “crashing” the ring was rehearsed several times, and extras were organized based on each person’s birth month. January birthdays went first, followed by February birthdays, and so on. The goal was a steady stream of people coming into the ring. Visually it looked natural, and it was safer for everyone, too. 

I was selected to start the scene in the ring—a plum assignment. But moviemaking is tedious, and I spent hours standing in the ring watching the rehearsals. Finally, I took a prop water bottle from the corner of the ring and started taking drinks from it.

“Can I have some water?” I heard from behind me. I turned around. It was Stallone.

I clumsily extended the water bottle, but he had boxing gloves on. He shrugged and looked at his hands, at which point I understood what he wanted. I turned the spout around and fired a stream of water into his mouth. “Thanks,” he said in a Balboa-esque way before continuing to work.

The lesson: sometimes the silliest happenings will result in joy.

I saw the movie on opening day just before Christmas 1985. There was little drama. I knew who won the fight, how it would end, and the appeal for world peace that Rocky would make after emerging victorious. But I wanted to see how everything looked on the screen and whether I had made it into any scenes. It was hard to be sure, but my initial reaction was that I didn’t. 

Decades later, I bought the DVD and watched it repeatedly, slowing it down to inspect each frame at critical moments. I saw all the folks I rubbed shoulders with, but not even my shirtsleeve appeared. Disappointed? Of course.

The lesson: few jobs hold the promise of trophies and ticker-tape parades. Fond memories are a grand consolation prize.

In the four decades following the film’s release, Rocky Balboa has become one of the most loved fictional characters in popular culture, and Rocky IV is frequently cited as one of the most popular films of the franchise. 

It further illustrates the pinnacle of Reagan-era tension with the Soviet Union. Of course, none of that was foreseeable to me in May 1985. So how do we know when we’re part of such things?

Recently, I have been taking my oldest daughter to the film site for her hockey games. I scour concrete surfaces I know were painted in communist red, but even the smallest pores reveal repainted grayness. My memories are vivid, but time tests my recollection.

My only memento other than my photos is the wardrobe ticket I used to pick up my costume. It’s framed on my desk at work. Sometimes coworkers point to it and ask me what it is. I’ve struggled to succinctly explain what it is and what it means to me. Finally, this year, I resolved to describe it as my ringside ticket for a tremendous non-Christmas movie.