When you’re seven-feet plus of walking, talking stone, you’re bound to draw the media spotlight, especially when you live in Tinseltown. Concrete’s celebrity status is sometimes a pain in the buttress . . . but it does bring the occasional paycheck gig. When the producer of a low-budget science-fiction film approaches Concrete to use his prodigious strength to help save money on the film’s FX budget, the siren call of Hollywood draws Concrete like a moth to a flame . . . a seven-thousand-dollar-a-week flame, that is.