wendellio - adventures in film

Mincing? no problem...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Mon, 01 Oct 2007 15:33:00 +0000

If I could just start with a little rant about, er, what are they called these days? One Railways, that's it. My call time on Friday was 7.00am in East London, so I booked a ticket on the first train to go from Ipswich - the 5.23am. Regular readers will be aware of my questioning of odd train times, but this is much weirder. And so very British. The 5.23am is not an empty train. I imagine the vast majority of people getting this train are regulars, and by the time we'd left Colchester there was standing room only. I only mention this to show that I was not the only one at the station at 5.15am wanting a cup of coffee. Guess what time the buffet on the station opens. Yup, 5.30am. Now, if a train leaves your station, every day, at 5.23am, would it not be worth opening half an hour earlier? It's just me, isn't it...

I arrive at 5 past 7, and 3rd AD Lucy takes me straight to wardrobe. The crew have set up base in the car park of a retail centre in East London, you know - Halfords, Aldi etc - and, compared with previous set-ups, this seems very calm. There are only three extras on this days shoot, and one of them, 'Boz' is already in the wardrobe vehicle. I'm given a peach coloured frilly shirt, bow tie, cuban heel boots and some very tight (well, at the top anyways) black trousers. Did I mention this shoot is for a TV show set in 1976? The trousers are so tight that breakfast doesn't seem to be an option, so Boz and I get coffee and wait to be called to make up. The third extra, Tom, shows up and joins us in the catering bus, and one by one we're called into the make-up truck. When it's my turn I get my hair curled and parted on the side. I had no idea how '70's' I could look. I get praise for the sideburns I had grown for the National Treasure shoot and kept, and while in make-up I meet one of the leads for this show, Patrick Baladi - the nice bloke out of 'The Office'. He's very chatty and offers the make-up ladies and I a cup of tea.

Once we have all been 1970'd, we wait for the call. Quite soon we're in a lovely big Merc being driven to the set, which is in a massive house just down the road. We're left outside while the crew re-set, and in no time we're ushered upstairs into a large dining room for rehearsal. We meet the leading lady, Tamsin, who is a stunningly beautiful, tall and willowy woman, and the director tells us what we have to do. As I am the first one in the room I get given the task of leading the waiters (for that is what we are) into the room, arranging food boxes on the table and taking the money from Tamsin. The director gets us to 'mince' into the room, and asks us to 'camp it up a bit'. It seems that all three of us are naturals in the mincing department.

A couple of rehearsals are followed with being lead down to the kitchen of this house, to wait for the crew to set up the lighting and all that gubbins. We chat with Tamsin and the make-up lady about long hair, wildebeests, Burma and Colin MacRae, before being called back to shoot the scene. We run through 5 or 6 times before the director is happy, and then the camera is re-set and we do the whole thing a few more times for cut aways.

We'd been on set for maybe an hour, and I was done. The other two were scheduled to be removal men later on in the day, but because I had been in shot I wasn't needed anymore. Back at base I change and the make-up lady sorts my hair out so I don't look too 1970s anymore. I see Patrick coming out of his trailer in full 70s gear and don't recognise him at first - thanks to the wig and Elvis sideburns he now sports - before he asks if I'm "all done" and "it's alright for some, eh!" According to the one of the crew, it had been a bit fraught earlier in the week, but in general they were on time and on budget. And it was such a change from the last two shoots I'd been on, where there were upwards of 300 extras on each.

I wander off towards the nearest tube station and wonder what to do next. My non-refundable non-changable set-in-stone return train ticket is for the 9.30pm. It's just gone 10.45am. Still, there's galleries to visit, guitar and book stores to browse in and there is that movie that my wife didn't want to go see...

Holy Bad Timing 2 - this time, it's personable...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 10:54:00 +0000

Having turned down the chance to do a day on the new Batman movie a couple of weeks ago, I thought I'd blown my chances, and then I got another call late last week. Could I make it to a fitting the next day, and three days filming next week? I checked my diary for the next day - like I didn't already know I was free - and confirmed I could make the fitting. Then I asked which three days the shoot was. You're ahead of me now, right? Of course, one of the days is when I've agreed to do this TV shoot, so I had to turn down three days on Batman.

I really hope the TV job doesn't get cancelled.

It's the first time I've had a scheduling conflict, and I feel bad about it. Of course, the agencies don't mind - I'm sure I'd been forgotten as soon as the phone went down and they moved on to the next of the 3500 people on their books - but I hate saying no to anything.

Garcon?

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Tue, 18 Sep 2007 09:17:00 +0000

Ages ago I had applied for an extras job which asked for men with longish hair (the hair! the hair!), and not heard anything back. Until yesterday. A new agency has booked me for a TV shoot next week set in the summer of 1976, and has cast me as a waiter. After doing the last three or four jobs surrounded by hundreds of other extras, this one will only involve three of us, and sounds like it will be a busy day. I'll let you know.

Holy Bad Timing...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Wed, 12 Sep 2007 21:57:00 +0000

Nothing doing on the extras front since poor old Abe got shot, apart from another period drama that I was penciled in for and never heard back. I'd kind of resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't be doing any more before I went away (have I mentioned that yet? no? ah...*) And then today I got a call from the agency asking if I was available to do the new Batman movie. At Pinewood. Tomorrow.

For once I had to say no, because I had proper work to do, and I also have a gig with my covers band in the evening. But it still felt bad to say no.

*At the end of November, myself and my wife are going off travelling for four months. No trekking across treacherous mountains, or kayaking down South American rivers. Just driving around Australia and New Zealand, visiting friends and avoiding winter in the UK. No, don't feel bad for us, we'll be terribly homesick for wind, rain and snow - and we will miss all that festive business...shame!

There you are!

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Wed, 12 Sep 2007 21:44:00 +0000

We went to see The Bourne Ultimatum, mainly because it had lots of good reviews and I'd loved the first two Bourne films, but also because I might see myself on the big screen. There's no need to be cagey about it, is there?

The big scene in Waterloo Station comes about 15 minutes into the film (don't worry if you've not seen it, no spoilers I promise!) and I reckon they used about 15 seconds of the stuff they shot over the two days I was on set. My wife reckons she saw my coat, but I missed it, having become so engrossed in the movie, I'd just about forgotten that I was in it.

It's an excellent film, and I urge you to go and see it. And watch out for a green coat, bottom left as Bourne runs away from the station...

There's little tricycles under there...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Sat, 11 Aug 2007 13:48:00 +0000

The agency calls and asks if I can get to Pinewood, on the other side of London, the day before filming to have a hair and make-up session, which will only take half an hour or so. I explain that this would involve a two hour drive each way, and although I don't want to be awkward could we not do the hair and make-up on the actual day, and I'd be quite happy to get there half an hour early. The agent says she's sure that'll be fine, and then tells me what time the call is for filming.

I need to be in Richmond, the other side of London, at 4.00am Friday. In the morning. She says there is a coach going from central London at 2.45am, and I tell her it's ok, I'll be driving. Then it occurs to me that I'm not going to get much sleep the night before, so I might as well get the last train into London, find somewhere to drink coffee and read my book for a couple of hours and take advantage of the coach. Then I wouldn't be driving back from Richmond, after little or no sleep and a full day's filming, on a Friday evening. It will also be cheaper than paying for the petrol. Sorted.

I have a bit of a nap on the Thursday afternoon, Mrs Wendell drops me off at the station (for a change) at 10.30pm and by midnight I'm walking through Soho towards Bar Italia. There's no danger of boredom here - it seems to be the busiest place on earth! After 20 minutes of standing I finally spot a stool by the wall and lunge for it. I daren't move for the next couple of hours in case I lose my comfy place, and I read, drink coffee and watch the people. It's mostly full of painfully trendy people - you know, carefully distressed jeans, tight shirts, nicely trimmed stubble and expensively messed-up hair. And that's just the women - boom, and indeed, boom. I'm pleased to be here, and wish that my hometown would be able to support a late night coffee house like this, but sadly the majority of my fellow hometowners are more interested in cheap lager and having a fight than drinking coffee and having a conversation. Rant over, back to the plot.

At 2.15 I wander down to Charring Cross to meet the coach, and get on the second one. Most people are quite sleepy, but my caffeine intake means that I can't nap during the 25 minute drive to Richmond, and I look out of the window as West London goes by. We get dropped off at the Adult Education Centre in the middle of town and join the queue for breakfast. At 3.30am.

I've just finished my scrambled eggs and more coffee when one of the ADs calls my name and I have to go and have my haircut. According to his list, I'm a priority because I couldn't make it the previous day. The hair department is upstairs, and after trying two others we find the right staircase. Johnny is my hairdresser, and we chat as he expertly clips away at the back of my head while referencing some notes in front of him - presumably written by the woman I met at the costume fitting 6 weeks previous. I joke about leaving a tip, and he tells me that normally he charges upwards of £100 for a haircut. But he isn't joking. I ask for a bit more off the back to get the production company's money's worth, and then head off to the costume department downstairs.

After getting changed (I'm sure the trousers are different to the ones I fitted in North London - these ones are much tighter round the waist...) it's upstairs again to make up, where Mandy colours my newly grown side-burns a bit darker, and makes my hands look grubby with a dark liquid that looks like fake tan. Turns out that it is. I look at Mandy's notes and read that I don't get to have a fake beard. Again! All around me the other extras are getting outrageous facial hair applied to their faces, but they are all part of the crowd in this theatre scene set in 1865, and I am a stagehand. Stagehands wouldn't have had fancy beards, disappointingly.

Once I'm done I go downstairs and sit down in one of the classrooms that for now are acting as holding areas for us extras. It's still only 5.30 in the morning. I chat with others, read a bit more and try not to sleep. With my contact lenses in, sleeping would be a very bad thing. There are a few guys appearing who seem to be dressed in similar gear to me, and we naturally gravitate towards each other. One of the crew comes in and explains that she will be taking us stagehands over to the set at about 9.00am - and apologizes for the early call. Still, we all get an allowance in our wages for that, so we settle down to chat. It appears that there are six stagehands for this shoot; myself, an actor who has been in 'We Will Rock You', a prog-rocker nurse, a student film maker, a second-hand book dealer, and an agriculturalist. We discuss our various day jobs, our outfits, and how difficult it is to wash your hands after visiting the toilet when you have make-up all over them.

When we finally get called, the six of us are joined by another guy who is to be the stage manager. The seven of us are shown into the building, where the crew have built an approximation of the Ford Theatre, Washington DC, 1865. We're here to recreate the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, which will be a flashback at the start of this movie, and, as these things often are in the movie world, this is the very last day of shooting. There are hundreds of people rushing around, all seemingly doing something, and the overall impression is one of a very well oiled machine. I recognise a few of the people from previous shoots, but there are an awful lot of American accents peppered about. The 1st Assistant Director comes over to say hello, and he reminds me of a much tidier and slightly slimmer Michael Moore. He tells us that we will need to be a little patient today, as they have a lot of re-sets (moving things around) and we'll be needed soon. We're moved over to the seats at the edge of the room.

An hour later, following a briefing from the fire officer and a visit from the costume designer, the rest of the 200+ extras begin filing into the theatre and sitting in the main block of seats. As this is happening, another AD takes all seven of us backstage and shows us where we will be standing and what we will be doing. Having been told that the set guys aren't ready for us yet, he takes us outside through the backstage door and a few of us take this chance to have a quick smoke.

When, 45 minutes later, he comes and gets us, everything has changed. We are all stood in different places and given different tasks, the actor playing the assassin is wandering around watching his stand-in go through his marks (where he stands at given times). These marks are important. The cameras are focused to these points, and if the actor isn't on his mark at the right time, he'll be out of focus.

My job is to be chatting with another stagehand, notice the assassin walk past, comment on it to my colleague and carry on chatting. We have a couple of rehearsals, the 1st AD comes over and says we are doing a great job, and they do four takes before we are sent back to sit down. We mainly talk about what we think we would be talking about if this was 1865. We agree that stagehands on 1865 would have been discussing what time lunch was due, who to go for in the Kentucky Derby and probably not about Big Brother.

For the next three hours we watch as they shoot more stuff with the huge crowd, and eventually find ourselves siting outside the theatre, smiling at the passers-by and wondering when we'll get some lunch - bearing in mind that we had breakfast at 3.30am, and it was now aproaching 12.30pm. At 1.30pm we are sent back to the base to have lunch, and we stagehands are sent off first. Just as we get to the lunch van a crew guy stops us and says that the 1stAD wants some of the crowd back quickly, so they must eat first. We wait. Eventually we get to eat (penne arabiatta with brocolli) and in no time are back at the theatre, wondering if they actually need us any more.

During the walk back up the road, we watch some of the ladies, whose costumes are fantastically detailed ball gowns, and make them look a little like those dolls your auntie used to have to put over those unsightly spare toilet rolls. We decide that it would be cool if each of the ladies had a little tricycle under their dress.

More crowd stuff is shot, as we swap between sitting outside in the sun and inside watching the filming. Lincoln gets shot at least 15 times during the afternoon, there's a cool stunt involving a bloke jumping down from the balcony, and the crew slots together like so many cogs. While we've been sitting around I've been chatting with the Agiculturalist, who, when I ask him how he got involved in doing this kind of thing, tells me that he is a transvestite, and along with a bunch of his fellow TVs, appeared in a british movie called Kinky Boots. I forget to ask him whether he tells the farmers that he visits.

Eventually, the crowd are sent off. I find out it's 6.15pm, and our AD comes over and asks us stagehands to stay. He comes back ten minutes later and gets the stage manager, taking him backstage and we hear "rolling" "background" "action" and "cut" a few times before they return. He takes me and two others back and we are positioned and given our actions. The assassin is wandering around the labyrinth of corridors backstage, and we do 5 or 6 takes with different camera positions. Then we are released, with the 1st AD anouncing "That's a wrap, everyone!". It's 7.15pm.

We race back and change into civvies. Getting my lenses out is a blessed relief, and three of us head off to the train station for the 30 minute ride back into London, and by the time the train gets to Waterloo I am on my own again. I race to get the tube back to Liverpool Street, and get on the 8.30, but I miss it by 3 minutes, and must wait for an hour before the next train. I buy a large Vanilla Latte and, for the umpteenth time today, head out of the station for a smoke and a wait.

A beard? In four weeks? Are you crazy?

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 07:24:00 +0000

Being an extra, as I think I've mentioned before, means having patience, having the ability to follow simple directions and being able to be on time. Those that know me will be able to confirm that these are not traits that lend themselves to me easily.

Patience is a virtue, apparently, and one that I struggle with from time to time. In the case of being on set, patience is needed because most of your time is spent sitting around reading or chatting. That kind of patience I can do. Very well. It's the other kind I struggle with; the stupidity of others, other people being stupid, that sort of thing.

The simple directions problem is not that I struggle to understand them. I just don't like being told what to do. If I'm thinking I might fancy, say, some pasta for tea, and just as I'm about to start someone says "why don't you have some pasta for tea?" my natural reaction would be to have some rice. I'm not saying it's a good thing, or that it's something I wouldn't change if I could, but I it is true.

Now, bad timekeeping. Mostly I get away with it, which is lucky. It's not that I'm purposely being rude, and these days I do make a supreme effort to be on time - especially if it involves some other people and an immovable event (such as a football match or picking up my wife from the station), but my inherent laziness still plays havoc with my time keeping.

And so it proved a couple of weeks ago when I got the standard call from the agency ("Have you had a haircut?" "No" "Great, can you...") and had a costume fitting booked later that week in that London.

Having managed to book cheap train tickets the day before, I knew I had to be at the station for the 10.30am train. I'd already dropped Mrs Wendell at the station at 7.00am that morning, and returned home to do a bit of work. However, what I actually did was sit down with my breakfast in front of the BBC news and fall asleep. I woke at 10.00am, wasted a few seconds wondering where I was and then reality hit. As I showered, dressed and panicked, all seemingly at the same time, I was also muttering about having to spend another £30 quid to buy tickets, as the cheap ones are, of course, non-refundable. It's a good 25 minute walk to the station, and with the time at 10.15, it wasn't looking good. So, instead of running and getting all hot and testy, I walked, reasoning that as I just wasn't going to get the 10.30, there was no need to rush. As I sauntered into the station at 10.38, I looked up at the screen to see the word 'delayed' next to each and every train, and upon reaching the platform, stepped onto the waiting 10.30 - which promptly pulled away about 30 seconds later.

Of course, the fact that the train is leaving late means that it will arrive late. It cuts my time the other end, and I need to find the appointed building in North London by 12.30. I emerge from the tube station onto the Hollaway Road, establish which direction I need to be walking (by, of course, walking the wrong way initially) and having found the building I walk through the door at 12.25.

The lady behind the reception looks up and says "Ah, you must be Stephen. Just go through and see Lee." As an extra you get used to people not knowing your name, which is totally understandable when there are 300 extras on one set, so when someone knows who you are, it's quite nice. I'm ushered through to a dressing room and two guys are there handing me various bits of clothing to try on. Two ladies come through to check the costume. A discussion ensues about whether the corduroy jacket is in keeping with the period, and after a few different jackets are tried the lady with the American accent declares that she is happy and I'm led through to another room to have pictures taken. While this is happening, another person has a good look at my hair, and says it might need to be trimmed a little bit at the back - is that alright? - and can I grow a beard in four weeks? I tell her I haven't managed to grow a beard in 40 years, and she laughs. She takes a cutting of my hair so they can make my beard to match, telling me that I have 10% gray...

After about 45 minutes Lee tells me I'm all done and I can go and get changed. Yet another person gathers together the costumes bits and hangs them all on a couple of hangers, pinning them with a label which has my name written on it. He puts them on a hanger across the room, next to other costumes with similar labels, some of which have names I recognise.

Having signed and countersigned some forms which tell the agency how much to pay me, I'm outside, following a cheery goodbye from the lady at reception, and walking (the wrong way initially) back to the tube station. Just as I get to the station, my phone rings and it's the agency, telling me that there is now an additional day's shooting on this job, four days after the one I already know about. I tell them that's fine, and head down into the tube station and towards my usual destination when I'm at a loose end in London, The Tate Modern.

When I get home, I decide to google the name of the American Lady who seemed to make the final decisions at my fitting. I remember her name because it is unusual, the kind of name that means she either grew up in a commune, or at least wished she had. When her name comes up on the international movie database, I find out that she has three oscars for costume design.

Three days later the initial day's shoot is cancelled, and a different date is added. I decide not to worry about booking tickets just yet...

He looks more like him than he does himself...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 15:22:00 +0000

It wasn't a call this time. The email came in at about 3.00pm on Monday, and it said to be on set, at Waterloo Station in London, for 8.30am on Tuesday morning. I had to go and pick up my wife at the train station, so figured I'd get my tickets then. The man at the counter asked if he could help me, and I wish I'd said (you know, in that jocular fashion) "Well, we'll find out soon, won't we!" because it would have been fun trying to make him laugh, Or smile. Or breathe. Anything, really. Having explained where I needed to be the next morning, at what time, and what time I expected to come back, he told me I needed an open ticket, costing £51. I asked him if there was a cheaper alternative, as that seemed a little steep. After another five minutes of too-ing and fro-ing, then, and only then, did he offer two single tickets, one at £18, and one at £11. The answer to his first question was becoming painfully clear. Why didn't he tell me that in the first place? I assume a number of people just buy the first thing proffered without asking for other options. My advice? Haggle. Shamelessly. And then apologise for having to use a cheque because you messed up your new pin number for your new card for your new bank account.

The drawback of this haggling was that the cheaper single ticket for the morning left the station at 5.53. In the morning. (Why do trains, and buses come to that, leave at such odd times? why not 5.50, or 5.55?) which meant that I had to get up at 5.00. It also meant that I got to Waterloo at 7.20, an hour and ten minutes before the call. Which at least gave me some time to buy a coffee before heading to the bar which was doubling as an office for the production crew.

At this point I hadn't really planned on being available for the second day. The cost of tickets, the fact that I had some proper work to do and the lack of somewhere to stay for the night all pointed to this conclusion, but I decided to keep that to myself for a while when I turned the corner and saw the number of people gathering outside the bar. The first person I saw was Chris. Chris had been on my first ever shoot nearly a year ago, where we had chatted amiably, I'd sent him some pictures we had taken of us in our victorian costumes, and we hadn't been in touch since.

Having signed in, we started catching up. One of the things you need to be good at when doing this type of work is chatting. Either that or bring a couple of books with you, because you'll be sitting around a lot. This shoot in particular turned into a marathon sitting around session. There were about 350 extras on the first day, and half of us were moved to a 'holding area' - one of the bars on the main concourse at Waterloo. Unfortunately the bar itself was closed, but Waterloo has a wide selection of beverages available, so everybody arrived with coffees, teas, smoothies and water, took a seat and waited. Chris and I were one of the first into the bar (natch!) and secured a comfy sofa. books were fetched from bags, drinks were drunk, and we waited. And waited. And waited. We arrived at the 'holding area' at about 9.30am, and at 2.00pm, having read a few hundred pages and chatted ourselves nearly to death, an Assistant Director (AD - normally there are three or four ADs on a shoot - thier job is to interpret what the Director wants from the extras and get them/us o do it) came in and started weeding people out.

Apparently, a film crew cannot close down a major international railway station, even in the middle of the week, and so as we were positioned around the concourse and given our direction (mostly "just look up at the screens"), we mingled with the general public. Every so often one of the crew would shout out for us to raise our hands. That must have looked odd. When I'd arrived that morning, one of the ADs had recognized me from a previous shoot, and said hello. He came over to where I was standing and asked me and John, the guy standing next to me, to go further up the station and, on his signal, start walking up the concourse. Then he said "Matt will run out of that door, snake through the crowd, and push in between you guys. Just react like it's someone who is running for a train. OK?"

We waited another half an hour before the crew were ready to shoot, getting quite hot in our winter gear (the scenes are set in winter) and finally the familiar cry of "camera's rolling!" rang across Waterloo. Sure enough, Matt Damon ran out of the door, snaked through the crowd, and pushed past by colleague and I. We did this six or seven times, with Matt asking if we were ok each time we walked back to re-set, before the Director came over and spoke to the AD. The AD came over and tells us that they are going to re-set again, but with some different people. Shorter people. We didn't look right. Damn!

The rest of the afternoon is taken up with lots of standing, lot's of looking at screens, and some walking from A to B, and then back to A. The crew have to clear the concourse by 4.00pm, to allow for rush hour, so all the extras are told that's a wrap. During the walk back to the crew's HQ, I catch up with Chris, who has been standing elsewhere on the station all day, and he asks if I'm going to be back the next day. I explain that the train tickets are expensive, and that I have proper work to do so will probably head home that night. "I said you could stay at mine if you ever needed to - don't you remember?" I'd assumed it was one of those polite things that us english people say to each other, but he'd clearly meant it. As I was deciding what to do, the AD walks over and asks if we'll stay late for a shoot at a different location. I decide to stay after all, and we say yes.

The holding area for the second location is also a pub. This time, the bar is open. After waiting for half an hour, Chris suggests a drink. I suggest a half, and so we do. after another hour, we have another one. Then another. Thankfully, an AD comes over to tell us they won't be needing us, and we can go. So we have another, and head for the bus stop. I reckon we've done two hours of actual being on set work today, and it's about 8.00pm.

Chris lives in Stoke Newington, and we call at the off-licence on the way to his house. His wife and thier lodger are both in, watching football, so we join them and enjoy a pleasant evening. Knowing that I like my music, Chris shows me a selection of vinyl LPs a friend of thiers gave him. I'm astounded. There are white label Elton John LPs, American Mono Beatle LPs, The Stones Satanic Majesties with the gatefold 3D sleeve amongst many others. Before retiring to sleep we listen to a Todd Rundgren LP, chosen at random, and we agree to be up and out to the local caff for breakfast by 8 the next morning, as our call is for 9.30am.

The second day of shooting starts, following scrambled eggs at the caff of course, with an hour and ten minutes bus journey from Stoke Newington to Waterloo. Exactly the same time it takes on the train from Ipswich to London. Hmmmm. But the bus is a lot cheaper...

Today we're hard at work on the set (or Waterloo Station Concourse) by 12.30, which means we only had three hours to read and chat. I'm again stood next to John, but this time the crew are shooting close ups, so we are employed to walk across the background of the shot, creating that bleary look we all know and love. Today there is a stand in for Matt Damon, and I overhear a lady behind me exclaim "He looks more like him than he does himself..." This keeps us amused for ages.

We break for lunch - a cream cheese bagel - and back on set we are doing the final scenes which are lots of general hub bub shots of the station. I'm paired off with Micky, a girl from Taiwan whose English is a little ropey, and we have a faltering, but entertaining conversation while strolling around the station with the other 300 or so extras. As we approach my friendly AD, he tells us to go and stand right infront of the camera, look up at the screen, count to ten and then walk off to the left towards our chosen platform. As we walk past the camera, the director calls "Cut. It's a wrap!" and all of a sudden the station looks empty as 300 people all head off to get forms signed and head home. As I'm queueing, the agency calls and asks if I'm free to do some filming on Friday, in another period drama. I, of course, say yes.

Having thanked Chris for his hospitality, I head off across the river to met an old friend who's visiting from Australia, via LA, and eventually home. As I change my ticket at the booth in Liverpool Street, the guy behind the counter points out that my cheque book has '19__' in the date (yes, it's an old cheque book!) and my new card isn't a cheque guarantee card. I plead a little bit, explaining that I haven't got my pin number yet, so I can't use the card, I can't get any cash because, well, I don't have my pin number, and I do have my driving licence, and he says OK.

As the train pulls into Ipswich, It feels like two days has stretched into a week, and I'm glad to get home. Where I get a message telling me that the shoot on Friday is cancelled.

we'll have no zombies here...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Fri, 13 Apr 2007 14:02:00 +0000

I didn't do the zombie shoot. I had proper work to do, two gigs with my covers band, and as I generally don't get to bed before 3am after a gig, getting on set by 6.30am two mornings on the trot seemed unlikely. That's the trouble with being old. You come over all sensible and swap running around as a zombie in a field near Woodbridge for finishing off a bunch of visuals for a crisp company's website and visiting your family.

I'm sure they didn't mind too much, and had engaged plenty of extras to cover such a thing and I'm sure a few others did the same too. I emailed the guy to tell him, so it's not like I was rude.

I assumed that I had lost the bug. Having thought about this sensibly, I was considering letting the agency know that they should take me off the books. And then they rang. Right there and then.

Agent; "Hi Stephen, how are you set for Tuesday and Wednesday next week? We need you for a shoot in London."

Me; "Oh, yeah, I can do that! Thanks!"

Agent; "OK, you're booked on that. call me late Monday to get call times."

So now I have to get to London - but I don't know what time the Tuesday call is for until late on Monday, whether I need to stay in London on Monday night as well as Tuesday, I can't book train tickets, and yet I'm really looking forward to doing it. The two things I do know are that it's for a major movie (my first movie job) and where the shoot will take place.

But that's how it works. No-one knows what time the call will be until Monday night, because that's when the production crew decide - based on all sorts of factors. Plus, this one involves some big foreign stars. Up to now, I've been lucky enough to be on BBC and Channel 4 dramas which starred proper actors, but not 'stars', and the productions have involved a fairly laid back, although professional, air about them.

I've rearranged my working week to accommodate these two days as best I can. Clearly I haven't lost the bug just yet. I must have just mislaid it, under that pile of paperwork on my desk...

The disappointment of it all!

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Mon, 02 Apr 2007 13:56:00 +0000

I’m beginning to think that I’m not cut out for this extras-ing lark. Having missed out on a part in Daniel Craig’s new movie (see previous post), I have now missed out on the part of ‘gamekeeper’ in the TV adaptation of ‘Sense and Sensibility’.

I’m also beginning to suspect that it’s not my ability to take direction at the drop of a hat, my reliability or the fact that I know my left from my right (you’d be surprised how many extras don’t) that gets me the phone call. I might be paranoid about this, but when the agency calls you and the first thing they say is “have you had a haircut? Is it still long?”, you begin to suspect that your dashing good looks might be a secondary consideration (or even lower down the list!).

I got the call on Thursday, got told to pencil in the following Monday and that I would get a call the next day. It sounded great – only a couple of actors, a scene out in a field – in theory I might actually get on screen.

The agencies don’t like you to chase them, so I waited until about three on the Friday afternoon, and having just been offered some proper work for the same day, called in. It was then I was told that the person who’d called me wasn’t in, and to assume that I wasn’t needed. Despite the fact that I had something else to do, the shoot would have started at 7 in the morning meaning a 4.30am start from my house, and would have involved a long day in a field, I was still really disappointed.

Still, the zombie movie starts on Friday. I’d better get some practise in…

Shuffle...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Wed, 14 Mar 2007 13:22:00 +0000

I've finally pulled my finger out and got a bit more xtras work - as a zombie.

It was hard to resist, really. The filming is happening close to where I live, at a weekend, and sounds like a laugh. Unfortunately it's one of those 'unpaid-but-you-get-a-credit-on-the-dvd' jobs, the ones you can find on www.starnow.co.uk, or www.tobeseen.co.uk which are mostly student shorts. This, though, is a full length feature, if a little in the low budget catagory.

We - that is the zombies - got an email from the producers this week giving us some tips on being a zombie, which I enjoyed so much I'm reproducing here for you. Hope they don't mind;

"Zombies, as far as flying, running and aerobics are concerned, are crap… After all, from the moment that you have croaked it, your body begins to break down, muscles waste away, injuries do not heal and apart from an unearthly ignorance of pain, things do not go well in the motor function department. You fall down, bang into things and get caught on obstructions that most earthworms would be smart enough to avoid. Some basic hints can help you to master zombie movement and become one of the undead…
1) Move slowly… Your muscles have wasted... Shuffle...
2) Your neck is broken, so let your head loll from side to side with your movements, looking ahead of you with just one eye, this not only adds character to the zombie, but also gives you nicely bloodshot eyes and an inhuman gaze…
3) Let your hands and arms hang loosely from your sides, only begin to raise them to grab your prey or open doors, if you are tempted to have them stuck out in front of you, then all you will do is make yourself look like the love-child of the Bride of Frankenstein and a Scooby Doo villain!
Of course there are loads of other ways in which a zombie can move and interact, the sky is your limit. As traditionalists, we fall into the slow and shuffling zombie camp, rather than the remake of ‘Dawn of the Dead,’ and the ultra fast and deadly flesh seeking missiles the zombies seemed to become.

How excellent is that! I'm really looking forward to this one, as long as it's not raining...

I'm sorry, he's in a meeting...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Mon, 08 Jan 2007 14:45:00 +0000

Proper jobs do get in the way of doing fun stuff eh, readers. Having spent a day up that London filling in forms and having my photo taken for the new casting book at the agency I'm with, I have a renewed vigour with which to start chasing those extras roles following a fallow three month period in which I had to turn down two offers (because of proper work, godamit) and actually did no extras-ing at all.

Anyway, back to November; with this being my first time proper on an agency's books, I'm not sure what to wear for the photoshoot, so I take a selection of clothes with the intention of being able to discuss my 'look' at the shoot. Well, I want to maximise my chances of getting some work, and also try and got something other than Victorian dramas. Having been told that my appointment was at 3.00pm, and that I should allow an hour at least, I assume that this will be a particularly thorough interview and question session to assess my suitability for a number of roles in the near future. Er, no.

I arrive at ten to three, get buzzed in to the corridor, and join the queue of at least twenty people who, it also seems, have three o'clock appointments. I'm given a clipboard with a three page form on it, in which I get the chance to expand on my experience, appearance, skills and which costumes I have at home. How many of you have a paramedics outfit at home? no? A greek orthadox priest's robes? A clown outfit? hmmm? I manage to tick about three of the boxes (I do happen to have a crash helmet and bike leathers, a business suit and, at a stretch, a gym kit. well, some shorts, anyway) and fill in some skills, hair colour and feel pleased with my 'work-to-date' list - until I glance over at the girl sitting next to me, who seems to be filling in a lot me boxes than I am. A bloke comes and sits next to me and says hello. After a moment of flicking through my brain to place him, I realise that he was on the last set that I'd been on, and we'd chatted amiably about American Politics, music and how fit all the ladies had looked in thier outfits. We joked about not recognising each other out of costume, and then he filled in his form, again ticking a lot more boxes than I had.

Finally, I got called through to the second room. Dotted around the parimeter of the room are a number of skinny and trendy young people, sitting in front of iMacs and brandishing measuring tapes. I get called over by a young lady who checks my form, inputs it all into a form and then takes all my measurements - asking me my waist size, and getting me to do my own inside leg. We check boxes, discuss my skills (the order in which they appear on the form is important, apparently) and then she gives me a strip of paper with a number on it and tells me to go through to the next room.

It's the photography room. The guy with the camera tells me to put my bag over there, stand on the X on the floor, and hold my number up. He takes a couple of pics, tells me that's good and I can put the paper down now. Just as I'm about to ask him which outfit I should consider, he's pointing the camera at me again and tells me to turn slightly to the left. He takes about six shots, tells me that's great and could I leave by that door over there. As I leave the building, I look at my watch. It's five past four. A couple of days later I get an email telling me I have been accepted, and my profile will appear in the 2007 book. I can't wait to see the picture...

A few weeks later, getting near christmas, I get back to my desk having been in a meeting for two hours to see that I have a missed call on my mobile. I check the answerphone to find a message from the agency asking if I'm available for two days the week inbetween christmas and new year. I call back to say yes, feeling quite excited about getting back on a set again, but alas, I'm too late and they've found someone else. I ask what I've missed out on, and the agent tells me that it's a movie set in Victorian London and the part is a 'walk on' (meaning that you're not just part of a crowd in the background). She tells me the name of the movie and I look it up online. The star of the movie? Only Daniel Craig.

I must take my phone to meetings from now on.

C'est la Vie

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Tue, 08 Aug 2006 13:08:00 +0000

Had a phone call from the agency, and they tell me that this thursday's job has been cancelled. They've re-written the scripts, and the 'character' I was scheduled to play is no longer required. I ask if it was something I said, half jokingly (well, you never know!) and the agent tells me no, the're just simplifying a lot of the scenes and cutting some of the parts.

She tells me that there is loads coming up, and she'll try and get me in some of these, I tell her thankyou.

On the same day this all happened, I saw the ad on TV that I auditioned for in London. It's the Orange one, with all the people in the desert building a frame for the blow up animals which represent the packages they are now offering. It's difficult to remember sometimes that unlike 'proper' job interviews, mostly it really is all about the way you look, and if you're not right for it, you're just not right. Being an actor must be really tough on that front. I was watching a programme on one of the freeview channels just recently, about a few acting hopefuls in Hollywood. One had auditioned, along with 249 other guys, for a small part in a movie, and had been told he was down to the last two. This was his big break, his first chance. Imagine being told you'd lost out at the last hurdle. I think I'd rather not know I came that close, but, as my wife pointed out, getting to the last two would spur you on for the next audition more than knowing you were within 250 of getting it. He got it, by the way.

Sometimes, as my friend would say, you eat the bear, and sometimes the bear eats you.

Doctor Mac, I presume!

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Tue, 01 Aug 2006 08:29:00 +0000

After a long drawn out process of deciding how to get to the centre of London on a Sunday, and more importantly how to get home again, I set off in the car at 9.15am. As today's call was for 11.30am to midnight, trains were out as the last train back to my home town is at 11.30pm, so I decided to park somewhere near and tube in. Except there are maintenance works at Newbury Park and Leyton. And the last tube is at 12.00. I finally decide to park at Stratford, so if necessary I can get a night bus back from central London to the car. Parking in Stratford proves a little tricky too, as all the car parks close early in Sundays, but eventually I find a place on a street, abandon the car and walk to Stratford station. So much for '24 hour Britain' I think, as all this messing around means I get to the set just in time to grab a green tea and head up to costume.

There are a few other extras around and we all get our gear on. It's another Victorian Drama today, and the attention to detail is admirable. My outfit today is a black morning suit, braces, long jacket, black waistcoat, white shirt with stiff attached collar and a black tie, which the costume guy struggles with before he's finally happy. It fits really well, but I can feel that this collar is going to be irritating after a few hours. How the hell did the Victorians cope with dressing like this all the time? One bloke suggests that we might be funeral directors, as his outfit is similar. To finish it all off, I get a (yes, black) top hat. Everyone else seems to be in much more colourful garb, and we all chat amiably as we set off to make-up. The make-up lady fluffs up my hair a little bit, darkens my sideburns, and tells me I'm ready. blimey. I really do have good Victorian hair, and according to the make-up lady, a good 'period' look. I decide against the obvious joke, thank her and set off for breakfast.

From the widest choice of breakfast stuff you can imagine, I choose a veggie sausage sandwich, some fruit and some water - a strong feature of today. After driving through some rain earlier on, the weather in London is sunny and hot, and, along with everyone else, I'm sweating cobbs in this costume. Water, water everywhere...

After a chat on the 'crowd' bus and a flick through the sunday papers we are taken over, en mass, to a leafy and (thankfully) quite shaded grassy area which for this scene will act as Hyde Park. After the crew have positioned everyone around the park and given them fairly strict directions in which to move, I'm taken out of the scene, along with the similarly dressed bloke whose name is Dale, and told that we will be appearing in a later scene as staff. 5 minutes later we're back in the scene, walking away from camera. This one involves horse drawn carriages, and is fairly long, so every re-set takes a long time. They get about 5 takes before setting up to shoot from different angles, which means that we get to go and sit down in the shade. And drink water.

Those of us not involved anymore chat quietly about music, films, books and american politics, as well as which of the women extras are the most attractive. Well, you can take the boy out of the gutter etc etc, and all the ladies do look fantastic in the period costumes.

Once the director is happy and this scene is wrapped, Dale and I are taken over to a different street to rehearse our next scene while all the others go off for lunch. As the 'day' started with breakfast at midday, lunch is taken at 6.00ish, while Dale and I, a few crew members, a leading lady (Gemma, I think) and two main male characters are talked through the action. Dale is to shut the door of the carriage after Gemma has got in, while I am to be checking the luggage is secure at the back of the carriage before turning and walking up some steps and standing by a doorway. I recognise one of the main male actors as Julian Rhind-Tutt, or Doctor 'Mac' MacCartney out of "Green Wing". We run through the scene a few times before the crew are happy, and we set off for lunch.

The lunch queue is huge, and as this costume is resonably tight I decide to just have some fruit with cheese and biscuits. I take this opportunity to call my wife while wandering around the street, and become aware of a steady precession of tourists taking pictures of me. Wierd. I chat with a Tibetan ex-monk, a guy from a band with 20 members, a stand-up comedian, and a girl who has been a nurse on 'Holby' 20 times. Just like a normal night out for me then...

At 7.15 we're back on the set shooting the carriage scene. All the other extras are lined up, and two are picked out to walk past during the scene. The others are told they can go, and they all wander off to get out of those costumes. Dale and I are given white gloves to wear, and I feel like a snooker referee. We do 4 or 5 takes and a couple of close-ups, Julian is very funny trying to make everyone laugh - usually just after the director calls 'action!' - and asks if I could be his brother, as our hair looks similar.

Dale, the two lady extras and I are released, and we wander over to the costume rooms to get changed. The rooms are full of new extras getting changed for a ballroom scene being shot that evening, I get changed, thank the costume guy and go off to find the guy who has the sheets for us to sign. Without these, we don't get paid.

It's just past 8 in the evening when I leave the set, so it turns out I could have got the train after all. As it is, I tube it back to Stratford, find the car and I'm home by 10.15pm, to find my wife sitting in the garden with the neighbours, so I pour a glass of wine and join them. I have a call for the same project on Thursday week, in Buckinghamshire. I'd better not have that haircut then...

it's been a while...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Wed, 26 Jul 2006 14:33:00 +0000

So now I realise what it's really like in the extras business. Two jobs in two weeks, and then nothing for two months! It seems that the initial rush of signing up for a couple of agencies means that you're at the top of the pile, and once the early rush is over, you're filed away. To combat this I decided to be agressive again, and applied for about five things on a new (to me) site called 'tobeseen.co.uk'. To my considerable surprise, I got a phone call a couple of hours latter asking me to go to an audition in London for an advert to be shot the next week - in Spain! The audition is the next day, so I rearrange a couple of things and head up to 'the smoke' for a 3.00pm call. The office is near Soho Square, it's a scorching day and everyone is sitting in the little square reading, chatting and eating, so i decide to sit in the shade with my water until it's time.

The office seems, and bare in mind that I've only been to one audition / casting call before, temporary - but there is a whole bunch of people sitting on the hastily arranged chairs, moving nearer the big electric fan as people are called upstairs. I am given a form (height, shoe size etc) and pose for a poloroid which is stapled to the form. I am also given a sheet describing four different demographics with animal names, and told to read this and decide which of these resembles me the most.

After about 20 minutes I get my call. Upstairs there is a large room, a blue backdrop, a camera and cameraman and two women, one of which introduces herself as the one that called me the day before. I'm asked to stand on a cross on the floor, and then asked a whole bunch of questions, starting with "have you worked on any adverts for any of this company's competitors?".

The questions are all fine, and I think I'm doing OK, when the question comes about the demographic groups. In the previous 20 minutes I had struggled to catagorize myself, and felt that I could fit into elements of all four groups. So, I gave a flowery answer based on that, they said thankyou for coming, told me the shoot was the next week which meant leaving on Sunday, and off I went.

I didn't get it. Which is a shame, because I wanted to do this one. Maybe I should have plumped for one or other of the catagories...

The next day I get an e-mail asking me to attend an audition for a pilot TV show. I decide that as it is unpaid, will take up at least 5 days and because I am quite poor at the moment, to turn this one down and concentrate on proper work that I can get paid for.

Yesterday, I was walking back to my house from town, and walked passed my usual barbershop. Well, it's really hot, my hair's geting a bit long, I have a couple of meetings coming up for freelance work...I should get it all cut off. Just as I get to the shop I remember I don't have any cash on me and carry on walking. Which brings me to today. 11.30 in the morning, I am preparing for a meeting the next day and I get a call from the agency that got me the victorian shoot. Have I still got long hair, she asks. I'm offered two days (paid, BBC rates) work, again on a period drama, based on the fact that I still have longish curly hair.

That's karma, my friends...

"Just go f***ing mental!"

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Sun, 30 Apr 2006 14:48:00 +0000

And so I get a phone call to go in for the last day of filming, which I'm pleased about. It means I did a good enough job to get the call back, I get to meet up with the good bunch of extras and crew with whom I've got on very well, and it means I don't have to cut the grass...

It's a 10.00am call, and I can't quite work out why but it seems much earlier. The base office is very calm, considering it's the last day, and there is a lot to get through. As with every other day, it starts with gathering around the catering truck drinking tea and chatting amiably, before getting costumed up (the dreadful jogging trousers again!) and make-up. There's about 15 extras today, and we get made up with dust and bruises before heading over to the set, where the crew and some of the main characters are already busy filming. Various combinations of extras are called in, and just before I get a call there is more debate about whether I would have survived being shot earlier in the week, and therefore would be around. In the end I get a different jacket (which makes me look like an east-european drug dealer) and my one scene for the morning sees me helping a line of women and children over some bales of hay in a corridor and then looking worried as I carry on guarding the corridor.

A late lunch is followed by the producer gathering eight of the men together, walking us over to a field and handing us over to two gun experts for weapons training! I, along with most of the others, have never shot a proper gun before, and we get given safety tips before shooting a Baretta hand gun, an M16 rifle and a semi automatic AK47. The guns don't 'kick' as much as you expect, and the blank cartridges really do fly all over the place - like in the movies! The guy instructing me says it's OK to use the guns left-handed, I just have to be more careful of the flying cartridges. Even though the guns are loaded with blanks, the barrels produce a flame-like flash, produced from the compressed gas in the chamber, which would blow a hole in your hand if you were stupid enough to put it over the barrel. It's all a bit scary, but exhilerating all the same and after 20 minutes we're driven over to the set where, three of us get called up and told we're shooting guns. The 1st AD takes the first two and positions them before grabbing me and taking me to the end of a corridor, and along with my designated gun expert, tells me that this is going to be a long shot down the corridor, with lots of stuff going on while I stand at the end firing an AK47 out of the window. The gun expert says that one magazine wouldn't last long enough, so they agree that I should have two guns! The camera man comes over and tells me I'm in shot for the whole of this sequence, and to make sure I'm really going for it. Then the Director comes over and says "Just go f***ing mental! OK?" The props guy tells me that the hot cartridges from the gun shouldn't sert fire to the hay bales around me, but if they do just get out of there. OK!

Deciding this is my big scene, I get ready with the gun expert loading the guns, and just before the shoot starts, the 1st AD comes over and says, "Oh yeah, can you shoot right handed - can you wear this too" before handing me a gas mask. So, I get my big scene, going 'f***ing' mental with an AK47, and I'm shooting right-handed (imagine playing snooker, or eating with the wrong hand) and wearing a gas mask!!! We do the scene three times, it's an absolute blast and the others seem to be having as much fun as I am. The camera man grins and says "boys with toys, eh!" and I just have to agree.

We all go back down to the green room and talk about the guns a lot, deciding that being a lefty liberal guardian reader isn't half as much fun as shooting randomly with an AK47, but decidedly safer. An hour later we're told that we are done for the day, and the whole shoot, and we can go home.

It's been a mixed bag of a week - the waiting around is very trying, although certainly made easier by the company of all the other extras and the excellent crew. The short bursts of activity are fun, I think I did a good job (well, I didn't get kicked off set!) and I can't wait to see the results, which I believe won't be on telly till much later in the year. Thanks to everyone involved - and see you all soon.

"have you been shot yet?"

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Fri, 28 Apr 2006 10:15:00 +0000

Back to the set for a 9.30am call, and a third day. There's a gaggle of people from the last two days gathered outside and we drink tea and chat before being dragged off and costumed for a 10.00am start. Now the previous days we've been all ready and then waited for our bit - today we're straight on set, and marching up and down corridors with guns, and I almost get a line to say, and then the director decides to not to go with it, so my chance is gone.

One of the things i've learnt on this job is that it matters where you stand. It's not like picking teams at five-a-side, it's generally if you're at the front or back, left or right - whichever is nearest the bit of action required. The only reason I nearly get the line is that I'm at the back of a crowd, and the 1st AD knows my name now, and not a reflection of any recognised ability. However, the exception is one of the guys that the director has taken a liking to, who later on does get a line, does a great job, and gets a call back to do some more.

It's lovely and sunny outside, and in between takes we take advantage and sit outside. Just before lunch, and it's my big moment. After a short debate, the continuity people decide that, although I appear in some scenes (already in the can) that are sequenced later than this one, it's OK for me to be shot, but maybe not dead. Which is kind of reassuring.

So I'm positioned on the floor, and the make-up people go to work. I have a bullet hole in my stomach, with copious amounts of fake blood applied to both my sweat shirt and my hands, and my face is greyed up and some sweat applied. just before 'action' is called, some more blood is applied and I'm told to grimace and act hurt. The guy opposite me has a bullet wound in the head, with blood pouring down his face and shirt. I think he's dead. When the camera rolls, people run all over the place, someone is shouting "get down!", kids are hiding under tables and screaming (with the 1st AD encouraging them) while a main character walks past the mayhem. I can't see very much of what's going on, and only later find out that behind my position there is (polystyrene) bits of building flying around, and my fellow extras are positioned at windows pretending to fire thier guns. Everyone seems very happy once it's been run a few times, and I'm told to try and keep my make up intact as they might need me in later scenes.

The guy who was sent home a few days ago without doing anything is back, and gets to do his big scene. he has his bullet wound in the neck, and gets to lay in a pool of blood. He's all done quickly, and after lunch goes home.

We have a late lunch, and the kids are fascinated by my bullet wound. "Does it hurt?" asks one of them. It's quite difficult to eat lunch with blood all over your shirt, but i am allowed to wash my hands. After lunch we all wait at base while the crew do some other scenes, and after a bit of a nap in the sun we get driven back to set. And sit around in the sun again, until every so often a runner appears and asks one of the others "Have you been shot yet? okay, we need you...".

It's late in the day when I and the two others who have been sitting around all afternoon get taken to set, and the director decides it's not worth me changing for this, so I get to clean up and watch the last couple of scenes get shot on the monitor. It really does look completely different on the monitor once framed properly, and fascinating to watch.

One more day to go, which is good because I only have a couple of chapters left in my book that I started at the beginning of the shoot...

Rotation, location and expectation

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Wed, 26 Apr 2006 08:53:00 +0000

Day 2 for me, and the crew has had a day off, most of them heading back to London for some capital air. The shoot is scheduled to start at 1.00 lunchtime, so my call is for 12.30 to have some lunch and get costumed, and a couple of the other extras from my day 1 are here too. There's a new guy too, but in total there is only four of us after the madness of the previous days shoot.

It's good to walk in from the car saying hello to everyone, a bit like the second day at your new job - you're more comfortable because you know what to expect, you've met all the people, and you know what they expect from you. We eat and get dressed before we are wisked off to the set. All the shots today are in one building, so a 'green room' - a room for the crew and cast to sit and drink coffee, tea or soft drinks and eat chocolate in between takes - has been set up in the same building. The days papers are delivered and scoured through, we chat and keep ourselves amused while discovering more about each other, mutual likes and experiences.

It's an ambitious schedule today, with the crew switching between days, the cast switching between costumes and one cast member swapping between hair styles! I get to be in a few scenes holding an AK47 rifle - a first for me - and again, the main actors and the crew are all incredibly professional and efficient. Each scene is shot from a number of different angles to give the director a good choice of cuts, and the continuity people are kept busy with the flitting time zones. Only by being involved in something like this can you realise how difficult it is for actors to do thier job when, if the scene calls for them to be alone and contemplative, for example, they are surrounded by 20 crew members, and every nook and crany just out of shoot contains lights, cameras or people.

By 7.00 in the evening it's time to break for tea, and we are all driven back to base for another excellent meal and a chance to check phone calls and grab all the stuff we'd left, like books. When we get back to the other green room, the crew have managed to rig up a TV to watch the football, and there is a steady stream of people coming in and checking the score over the next hour and a half. By 11.00, the schedule is behind, and one of the runners turns up with more food, a finger buffet as I believe it's known, and the four extras are being utilised in each scene using a rotation system similar to Chelsea's.

At 12.45 the director shouts 'cut' for the last time this evening, everyone piles into cars and vans and within ten minutes a convoy of cars is finding it's way through the mist of the airfield towards home for some of us, and hotels for the others. I get home at 1.15

I have a day off to try and find some proper, and paying, work in the real world and could be back on set tomorrow, depending on whether they need me. It's exhausting, all this sitting and waiting, then standing holding a gun. But also a great experience.

"We are? we are!"

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Mon, 24 Apr 2006 13:52:00 +0000

Getting out of bed at 6.00am seems a little alien, but I have a call to be on set at 7.00am, about half an hours drive from my home, and I mustn't be late. getting close to the set, and there is a bit of a convoy forming - well, at this time of the morning the only people out seem to be heading in the same direction as me, including the blue fiesta which insists on sticking rigidly to the speed limits.

The set is on an old air base, which still has a gatehouse. the first car in the line of about seven stops and speaks to the guard, who operates the barrier and lets all of us through. As i suspect all airfields look the same, it's a bit like the TopGear test track, and there is a temptation to do a few laps, but it's nearly 7.00am so I head towards the cluster of cars outside a building in the distance.

The smell of bacon wafts across from the catering truck which is set up outside the building, people are drinking tea and smoking, trying to keep out of the drizzle, while others come in and out of the doors looking busy, or important, or both. There are two guys standing there talking in american accents - I assume they must be main cast. I spot the production assistant from the audition, just as she spots me. she shouts hello, invites me in and gets me to sign the standard release form before taking me and three others through to costume. The week before, all the extras had been sent out a mail asking us to bring specific clothes with us, so everyone, including me, had big sports bags full of cloths. But each of us has a hanger ready with a costume, and a name tag attached. I learn that I have two costumes - one general, and another that I'll be shot (with a bullet, not a camera) in. the second has two of everything, because it's likely that the being shot scene will be, er, shot before the preceding, er event. I think that makes sense. In any case and as with most TV and FIlm, the action is shot in a different order to the sequence that appears in the final edit. This makes it easier for the crew to set up and shot all the necessary scenes at one location before moving on to the next. The Director and Editor then piece it all together in the editing suite.

I get a nice suede jacket (the material, not the band) and a not so nice eighties jumper, both of which still have the charity shop price tags in them. £10 for the jacket, £3.50 for the jumper, if you must know. I had found some straight jeans in my cupboard, and was allowed to keep these, and to finish the look I was given some deck shoes. Everyone else is getting togged up, there's clothes all over the floor, people standing around half naked. This is no place to be shy. I reckon there must be about 30 extras here today, and as I sit down in the 'extra's greenroom' with my first cup of tea I start chatting with a couple of guys who had been on set yesterday. It's all very amiable with everyone comparing costumes, and my jacket seems to be a popular item, before the wordrobe team gather everyone together, change one or two tee-shirts and send us off to the mini bus which in turn will take us to the set.

More standing around in a much colder building, with a photographer taking lots of snaps is followed by being shepherded into the set, and arranged on a small terrace affair which is facing a stage with a drum-kit, bass guitar and bass amp, guitar and marshall stack, a micstand with microphone and an acoustic guitar. My mind races ahead and i'm thinking hey, I wonder how many other people in here can play, before the guy arranging everyone gets me to move, because the camera has to go there. I'm stuck on the end of a row, meaning that I more than likely won't be on camera.

The main cast arrive and are placed strategically throughout the crowd, including the 1st Assitant Director, who also has a role in the production. The lead actor comes in and is very friendly and chatty with everyone. This scene involves him performing a long speech and ends with a song, with him on the acoustic guitar. At two points in the speech, the crowd have to repond to a question with "We Are!" The first time it sounds like a question - We Are? - but we get the hang of it. The first run through goes so smoothly I suspect the director wishes he'd filmed it, however the scene is run a number of times with the camera in different positions. The lead actor is great, delivers pretty much every time and fits the part really well, and by the time the crew are happy it's 11.00am and time to move on to the next one. All the extras are ferried back to the green room, tea is drunk, biscuits are eaten, and a bunch of women and children are taken off to the next scene.

All of a sudden it's 1.00 o'clock, and we're told to go and get some lunch and be out of the way before the crew get back. Even when you see your name on a costume, or someone tells you you did well, you have to remember that essentially, extras are part of the scenery and although important as a whole, individually you are not. Even so, myself and the others jump up and, pleased for something to do, go and fill our plates with a very good selection of food from a full roast to salad and vegetarian options. After some apple crumble and another cup of tea, wordrobe want me and a couple of others to change to our secondary costumes. Unfortunately for me, after having the coolest jacket for the morning (and not getting on camera), I now get the un-coolest get up of big baggy black jogging bottoms and a pale blue sweatshirt in which to get shot. We go back and sit in the green room, where people are now napping, the papers are strewn across the room, and conversation is getting more strung out.

Some people go as thier day is over, and others are taken to the next set leaving me and five others sitting around until 4.30 when we are all piled into the mini-bus. we get to watch a scene being finished off with a bunch of extras running around in a corridor brandishing guns, and at one point the 1st AD shouts that he needs one more, and I'm too slow to say yes so another guy gets to join in the fun. I don't reckon the costume was right anyway! One of the other extras who has been sitting around with me waiting to get shot is suddenly told that his scene won't be 'till thursday, so he can go. He'd driven 4 hours to be in the first scene, and now, having sat around for another 6 hours, had another 4 hour drive ahead of him. Such is the life of an extra.

The crew move to another part of the same building to get the last scene of the day. My shooting scene has also been moved, and I'm not in this last one but they might want me to be - so I stay around. Besides, it's a long walk back to the headquarters. The room we're sat in is right next door to the room in which the scene is being shot, so we have to be quiet a lot more. I get to stand a watch a lot of this scene being shot with the Producer, in which a major plot line is revealed, and finally, at 7.45 the scene is wrapped and we all get to go back to base. I've never seen so many people pack up, change and get out so quickly! by 8.00 I'm on the road back home, reflecting that I'll still be home before the guy with four hours to drive. This time!

So not quite as busy as I would have hoped, I have a call back tomorrow for lunchtime, and have been told that although it's a late day (till midnight) my scenes should be over earlier than that. I will, of course, let you know.

Can you walk a bit more aggressively?

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Fri, 07 Apr 2006 13:53:00 +0000

Having flown through the traffic to get to junction 10 on the M1 2 hours early, I stopped at a service station (Toddington, if you must know) and had a calming coffee and a bit of a read. The shoot was taking place at Luton Hoo Farm, and following the signs to the location made me feel like I was 'in the know', as all the signs said was "gold". I still have no idea why, but if you notice some signs tied to lamp-posts or trees which seem a little cryptic, it just might be a TV / Film shoot.

The site seemed deserted when I got there - just the expected trailers, loads of cars and the catering bus. Having watched "Extras" on TV, I expected the bus, and wasn't disappointed. As I parked, I noticed a bloke sitting in his car, and ambled over to check that I was in the right place. His name was Peter, and yes, he was to play a Victorian drunk, too. We wondered how many drunks there was going to be.

Pleased that I'd found another extra, I followed him over to the bus, where we found the Assistant Director, Bart, to whom we were to report. On the bus was one guy, called Chris, also an extra, whose role tonight was that of a chestnut seller. We were shown to our trailer, a little cramped for three of us, but we were getting on fine and we were joined by two wardrobe ladies. Much discussion of sizes results in the ladies returning with three outfits, all of which fit perfectly, apart from my frock coat, which I nearly destroy trying to get on. They come back with a huge overcoat, which fits, and of which I will be very grateful for later on.

As this is a night shoot, obviously the crew need to wait for it to be dark. So next is lunch (The day officially started at 2pm, so in effect it IS lunchtime). A Catering truck is set up near the bus, and we queue up (in full costume) to get some hot food. I plump for the stuffed tomatoes, brocolli and mash, and sit with Chris and Peter. We notice that there are no other costumed people around, and are then shunted off to the make-up truck. Chris, a white haired gent with a goatee, gets a full beard, and his long hair teased under his floppy hat, Peter gets some great big bushy side burns stuck on, and I get - nothing. Apparently my hair is 'fantastically' Victorian, my side burns are fine, and all I need is some make up to make me look a little older, and drunker. The make-up girl is new to the job too, but does a great job, and we are sent back to the trailer to wait for our call.

So far, so good. I've been dressed, made up, eaten some good food, and spent a couple of hours chatting to two very interesting people. Chris, it turns out, has only been in this game for a year or so, following a previous life as a Creative Direc tor, and has roots in Melton - a village not far from my hometown. He has appeared in a few things, including The Da Vinci Code, and in the next couple of weeks has a role in the new Harry Potter film - which, in my short career so far, seems to be a bit of a peak in the extras world. Peter, on the other hand, has been an actor for nearly 50 years, starting in the theatre, and has a resume which reads like the A - Z of British Film and TV. Star Wars? did the first three. Carry On films? was in every one. Bond Films? yup. played 006 in one, doubled for George Lazenby in another. Hugh Grant's dad in 'About A Boy'? oh, yes. Porridge? Dr Who? Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em? yes, yes and yes. This man gets invited to fan conventions, and seems genuinely concerned about the sanity of the attendees, and wonders if people really have nothing better to do that create websites listing his work. He makes a living from royalties, but hardly ever watches TV. Or Films. A real old school gent.

We chat for a while before Bart comes and gets Peter and Myself - it's time to go on set. The set is left over from the making of Bleak House, and it's a dingy filthy Victorian street set. You half expect Jack the Ripper's carriage to appear round the corner. The crew are all busy doing, er, something. It seems like a well oiled machine, everyone doing thier job. There's a guy spreading rotten veg around, lights are being positioned, carpenters are finishing off doors, a bloke is hosing down the street and the 3rd Assistant Director, who's job it is to tell us what to do, comes over and introduces himself as Paul. The whole crew seem to be dressed in Skiing gear. Paul tells us that he wants us to walk out of some doors (inside of which the carpentery dept. are set up), stagger up the street and turn right into an alley way. We've had a skinfull, and we're having trouble walking. The main actress will be playing a lady venturing into the dark alleyways of the working class, and I ask if two drunks would look at her. Apparently not, and Peter whispers to me that that would constitute interaction, and we'd get more money. I decide not to ask any more questions. We rehearse a couple of times, so the crew can get the lights and camera positions sorted, and the director walks over, says hello to Peter (everyone seems to know him) and asks us to walk more aggresively. She says that the lady needs to be scared of us, and frankly she's more likely to laugh at us staggering around. After a few more run throughs, we end up just walking normally. In the other direction. I guess we're not drunks anymore!

It's also strange that, considering I've been walking quite happily for near on 40 years without thinking about it too much, as soon as someone tells you to walk from here to there in a certain time and you know it's being filmed, you become obsessively aware of how you walk.

We do our bit to film 3 or 4 times, and after standing around getting very cold for about 30 minutes (at which point I am glad to be wearing the big overcoat), we get sent back to the trailer. Peter says that's it, our bit is done now, but Paul tells us not to get changed. It's Chris's turn as we get back to the trailer, and Peter and I sit and chat for another ten minutes, before Bart knocks on the door and tells us we're needed again. We walk back to the set, which is a good 5 minute walk, in the pitch black, and when we get there, Paul tells Peter he doesn't need him, just me, and sends him back. This time, I have to wait for a cue, and walk across the street, and down another alley. I have one of the runners, Jody, standing behind me and tapping me on the shoulder when it's time to walk. Chris seems to no longer be a chestnut seller, but just a bloke on the street walking in a different direction to me. There are now two proper actors on set, and this is part of a fairly long sequence in which the lady speaks to camera while walking and then meets the other character. We do this 12 times before the director is happy, and Chris and I are then photographed on the set by loads of the crew, and finally, just as frostbite is setting in, we are sent back to the trailer. Peter has had a nice nap, and eventually Bart comes and tells us we can get changed and go. It's ten to one in the morning.

Three or four poeple come up and say "Good job, see you soon" as I leave, I exchange details with Peter and Chris, and head to the car for the long drive home. I'm sure that after 40 or 50 of these it gets quite dull, but for my first experience I found it all very exciting, and frankly for sitting around chatting, doing a bit of walking from here to there, being fed, and getting to see a bit of TV being made, it seems good fun. We'll see how I feel after the next one!

Left turn...

noreply@blogger.com (Wendell) — Thu, 06 Apr 2006 11:13:00 +0000

Well, as a bit of a left turn in my career, today sees my debut appearance as a walk on background artist. I'm driving to glamourous Luton this afternoon for a night shoot for the BBC, to appear as a drunk in a Victorian drama. This all started when a friend and I were discussing getting involved in the world of voice-overs, having both done one or two radio adverts and enjoyed the experience. I started searching online, as you do, and found a site which listed loads of adverts from production companies and extras casting agencies. Why not, I thought. SO, for £15, I signed up for three months, selected four pictures of me from previous holidays where i didn't look to fat, and then applied for four ads. Within 2 hours I'd got two replies, one of which invited me for a casting call in London, and the other for a casting in my hometown.

I went to the one in London which turned out to be a bit of a cattle call. You line up in a corridor, sign a form saying you'll hand over 15% of your earnings, get called in to answer a bunch of questions (have you ridden a horse? do you have a driving licence?) and get measured. Then you have a picture taken, and you can go. This particular call was for an Elizabethan movie being shot in Shepperton in June, and I decided I wouldn't be in luck, having sat with a whole bunch of younger, more handsome and slimmer blokes in the casting call.

However, yesterday, I got a call from the casting agency asking if I was free the next day to go to Luton and play a drunk, to which I of course answered yes!

The week before I had been to the completely different call for a documentary being shot near my hometown, and having signed the obligatory form, I was ushered into a room to meet the producer and director of the programme. It was fun! we chatted about the subject matter (of course I'd read up on the subject the night before), I told them I'd done no acting before, and then they got me to sit and act like I was being preached at, I was interested in what was being said, and they filmed it. Then they asked if I'd ever held a gun. They asked to pretend I was holding a gun, and someone had just shouted "they're coming in!" and I was to act scared but ready to defend my position. All that went through my head was the opening to 'Dad's Army', when the home guard are walking through the fields with thier weapons brandished... They said thankyou, they thought they could use me, and the'd let me know.

So, an hour after getting the call about the Luton shoot, I got an e-mail telling me I was in on the documentary shoot too!

I hopw can do as I'm told...