Blending into the Background: How I support my writing life as a film extra … and you can too
We invite you to submit your short essays (1200 words max.) about the realities and oddities of living the writing life. In our first essay, Leigh Wallace shares their experience working on film sets as a background artist.
How I Support My Writing Life as a Film Extra
by Leigh Wallace
Years ago, I was booked to take part in the filming of a period drama called The Golden Bowl with Uma Thurman and Jeremy Thornton, which was filming in the stately home near where I was living at the time, Burghley House in Stamford. I was over the moon. There I was, all set for fame and fortune ... or so I thought. I was cut at the last minute. The rejection this news engendered, coming as it did after I’d shared the news with friends and family, a feeling of personal failure. However, as testament to my having an eye for a story, I still made something of it, appearing in the local newspaper as a disgruntled movie buff.
Thirty years on, my perseverance and creativity was rewarded when I find myself on the set of a feature film for Apple TV. Only the night before filming, when I receive guidelines on speaking in a Cockney dialect, does it start to feel like it might really happen. Excited that there might be some Eliza Dolittle moments, I practise in my lodgings that night and am amazed at how my accent transforms. There’s filmmaking jargon to decipher too, like ‘rolling’, ‘costume call’, ‘working title’, ‘background’ and of course ‘action’.
I roll up on time and enter the holding area where, cattle-like, we’re kept waiting for hours on end, especially frustrating after the faffing about that goes on beforehand in hair, makeup and costume, after which we’re still ‘checked’ about every 10 minutes. I eventually realise that this checking is more about the stylists looking busy than anything. There’s a lot of anxiety flying around. Many of the crew members, I discover, are freelance. Even the great John Hurt, I’m told, still wakes up in the morning and doesn’t know whether he’ll work again.
With phones confined to the holding area for the duration of filming, we’re freed up to read, chat, network or nap. I have a sketch book, MP3 player, and crayons for distraction, but the irony of being dressed as a woman isn’t lost on me being that I’m autistic and transgender.
What I hadn’t bargained for were the other extras. Omg – what a bunch of prima donnas! Having worked in the fashion industry for a good few years, I’m used to being looked up and down, but it’s still a little intimidating. Our uniform costumes do level the playing field somewhat, for which I’m super grateful, but those with big personalities are hamming it up from the get go. Others are friendly and kind. Others, especially older extras, admit to feeling exposed without their usual garb. I’m too busy calming my inner imposter and hobbling about in shoes with absolutely no give whatsoever to get in on the first morning’s filming. It’s also cold, but blankets and dressing gowns are handed out by willing runners and care is taken to feed all 200 of us well, albeit in plastic boxes with plastic cutlery. At least the cups are paper.
My first time on set my head’s buzzing with performance ideas. I have an old-style hankie for example, to dab my nose during a poignant scene as I lose myself in the song being performed by the star I’ve admired since she first appeared on our screens aged about 12. I find myself swaying along, only to be reprimanded by someone in purple joggers with an ill-fitting black beanie perched on his head. “This is a joyful event,” he shouts, “so there’s no need for swaying.” I’m later informed that he’s the director, but with about five other people shouting instructions, you’d never know unless you were a film aficionado.
A film set is a great place for gossip. Some surreptitious over-the-shoulder glances at a lead technician’s texts reveals that, after a vindaloo the night before, he has ‘farted and it stinks.’ He also discloses some secret information about a set he’s helped design at the Warner Bros studios in London, which piques my interest. Another background artist tells us about his Great Aunt Madge who, back in the day, had actually done the job we’re pretending to do on set and had been killed for her pains; it is a hard tale to digest. Hearing a difficult birthing story seems par for the course whilst captive in heated curlers, but I also meet a blacksmith, a piano player and an army band. Mostly though, it seems you just have to be reliable and willing.
That the filming is done in the wrong chronological order creates some confusion. Despite not having been there for the rehearsal, I tag along for the follow-up scene, hoping that the continuity department is on a break! They can airbrush me out, I rationalise, if needs be. But apart from a slightly frosty reception from some of the other ‘props on legs’, I’m left alone to make it up, hoping my relative passivity will add to the hubbub of the unfolding drama.
‘It’s a wrap’, we’re informed at 6:00 p.m. Despite only working two out of the four days I was initially ‘definitely’ promised, I refrain from suggesting the booking agents check out the dictionary definition of ‘definitely’ without further ado.
Since writing the above, I’ve been called back in, provisionally, for another day. Having to drive to Manchester for a pre-shoot Covid test is a right pain in the bum, but the fee and Google maps takes the edge off. It’ll be the same female role, same historical period, but I’ll be better prepared this time. On eBay last night, the first item up when I typed in 1940s women’s shoes were not only from Next but were under a tenner and my size. It seems I shall go to the ball.
If you’re interested in becoming a background artist, check out the following links.
http://mintcasting.tv/category.tv-extras/tv-extras
http://maddog2020casting.com/en/
http://www.castingcollective.co.uk/
http://universalextras.co.uk/extras/extras-blog/all-eyes-wales/