For Brampton actor Rob Stewart, the chance at redemption arrived unexpectedly, and at a time when he needed it most.

It was early 2009, several years after Stewart’s sputtering career forced him to move back in with his parents, teenage son in tow. Out of curiosity, he searched Facebook one evening for the early-’90s Canadian TV show Tropical Heat (a.k.a. Sweating Bullets), in which he’d starred as lothario detective Nick Slaughter.

To his amazement, he discovered a fan page dedicated to Slaughter, with thousands of members based in Serbia.

“I was astounded — a bit shocked,” said Stewart, 52.

To Stewart, his role as the ponytailed, Miami Vice-like womanizer had become a source of embarrassment, an example of the disappointing trajectory of his career. But as he would soon learn, in Serbia, under the thumb of former dictator Slobodan Milosevic, Slaughter was upheld as a symbol of freedom and hope.

The crime-fighter with a hairy chest was the hero for a generation.





“We believed that he was superhuman and he could do anything,” said Damir Geljo, 33, who grew up watching Tropical Heat in the Serbian capital of Belgrade before immigrating to Canada in 1994. “It was a very tough time … He was a beacon of light.”

Stewart’s journey to Serbia to understand the unlikely part he played in a revolution an ocean away — and the fame he had for more than a decade before realizing it — is chronicled in the documentary, Slaughter Nick For President.

After premiering at Toronto’s North by Northeast festival last year and receiving accolades at film festivals in Serbia, Croatia and Chicago, the movie is in the midst of its first theatrical run.

With the backing of distributor IndieCan Entertainment, co-directors Stewart and siblings Mark Vespi and Liza Vespi brought it to Toronto again this month. Next stop is Regina, with more Canadian cities to come. Geljo, meanwhile, is trying to secure a theatrical realease in Serbia.

“We had a lot of people coming out [in Toronto], and that’s all in support of eventually getting a broadcast deal, and international sales,” said Liza Vespi. “It’s a very long process.”

The film, which is named after a slogan used by anti-Milosevic student protesters in the ’90s, is centred on Stewart’s trip to Serbia in 2009.

The two-week-long adventure, during which Stewart was revered by autograph-seeking admirers, was dubbed “Slaughtermania” by the local press. But he said it was about more than an opportunity to bask in previously unknown fame.

“There was sort of an absolution of the meaninglessness of my so-called career,” said Stewart, who used to lie about his profession to avoid being asked to rattle off his meager credits.

Everywhere he went, grown men would tear up when they recalled how Tropical Heat was an escape from the devastating news and state propaganda that dominated broadcasts in the war-torn country.

“It’s not that we think it’s any better of a show, and it’s not like the Serbians think it’s a good show,” he said. “It’s just their comfort blanket — it’s what they had at the time to get them through.”

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In the years since, Stewart has continued to piece together acting gigs. A few years ago, he rented a house down the street from his parents, where any illusions of fame on this side of the Atlantic are kept in check.

As he stood on his front lawn on Thursday, a childhood friend drove by in a pickup truck, rolled down the window, and yelled, “Slaughter Nick for President!”

Stewart pumped his fists in the air, and laughed.