My 1st day as a Movie Extra (and last)

Today was my 1st ever day as a movie extra. I joined a casting agency a few weeks ago with the sole intention of topping up my income. I just had to note down my experience and share it with you.

I'd just like to point out at this stage I have no delusions of grandeur. I am not a wannabe, trained actor or 'In the business'. I am not star struck or so obsessed with movies that I want to be part of them. I am a normal, plain, bog standard raging ego maniac sober alcoholic lunatic trying to start a new business who needs a little extra income to ease the load. I've never watched Ricky Gervais' 'Extras', though I'm told it's superb, so I'm not borrowing any material. This is purely my experience as a Movie Extra.

By means of background and setting the scene the first problem I encountered was my ego. It's out of control. It tells me I'm destined for greatness and displays an enormous amount of arrogance even though my real life facts do not back up this information. It's hilarious to observe, which I do every day. So I entered into the world of Movie extra work armed with nothing more than a 2 second appearance in a Tesco advert last summer and a physical appearance that apparently resembles 'David Beckham's uncle'. As told to me several times on set today (Bit of a blow as he's 38 and I'm only 3 years older, then again he wasn't a raging alcoholic for 15 years & a hard core smoker for 20)

I should have predicted trouble when I registered a few weeks ago. We were told to turn up at 11am somewhere in London and a strange mix of retired folk, young wannabees and trained actors turned up to have their photo taken and get on the books of this well known TV Extra casting agency, or to give it the correct title 'Supporting artiste' Agency.

I did as everyone else and felt thoroughly miserable. That's when the ego started. 'You're better than this shit'. It went into overdrive and I should have predicted the outcome there and then. Still on I went, registered and resulting my 1st job was today.

It was on a movie adaptation of a very successful novel, starring a Hollywood A-Lister (Mr X) - for legal reasons I am unable to name the film or the Hollywood A-Lister. The most I can say is that the novel is superb, very funny, dark, clever. The writer once described most British folk as 'dressed for the track but built for the pub'. Make your own guesses.

Now before I tell about you about the day. It's important to know how this casting agency works. As an Extra, sorry 'Supporting Artiste', you are effectively scum. A peasant. 3 Dimensional meat that moves. You are a walking prop so it's important not to feel too grand, smug or pleased with yourself.

I'm not too familiar with the industry but this company seems pretty full on. You get an email about the job. Then another email confirming if you're available. Then you get a questionnaire asking you to confirm 'Yes or 'No' if you can do the job. The small print states that 'YOU MUST BE FREE FOR THE AGREED DATES'. If you consistently turn down jobs or if you press yes and don't turn up, they operate what they call a 'ONE STRIKE AND YOUR OUT' rule.

They text this to you several times to remind you the week before & then the day before and to make you totally aware they are on your case, they text you the night before to remind you, 'IF YOU DON'T TURN UP WE WILL TAKE YOUR KIDNEYS, YOUR KIDS, YOUR HOME & SET LIAM NEESON ON YOU WHO WILL FIND YOU, TAKE YOU & KILL YOU'. As I said they are a harsh outfit.

They make you know in no uncertain terms you are movie scum and lucky to even have a sniff of waiting around bored shit less on a set all day for £100.

It was a 7am call on set at a grand old London location, an hour's drive from my home. I woke at 5am, was on the road at 6 and arrived at the venue at the right time. I thought of bailing and going home (or to work) several times but somehow kept going. All the time my ego was saying 'I bet Mr X Hollywood A-Lister doesn't have to fucking drive in does he?'. The Ego had started early, actually before I got up, as it was now comparing a 41 year old sales manager and part time MC/comedian to a Hollywood A-Lister. Good work Ego. It was clearly going to have a field day today.

I reached the meeting point at the catering trucks in one of the car parks and waited around with about 100 other people trying not to get in my car and head home. People were greeting each other like long lost friends (these as I later learnt were the professional extras who all do the same jobs) or standing around looking lost and lonely (me) or running around looking stressed (crew)

We were herded like Sheep into mini buses and taken to the set. It was on the mini bus that I experienced my 1st professional extra. It was an old boy who clearly knew the score and took great delight in telling me what films he had worked on, the actors he had met and a lovely tale about how he bumped into 'Rupert' (I'm thinking Everett not The Bear) in Covent Garden yesterday. He dropped in loads of slang when mentioning film. At one point he said so and so was an expert at DP. I stirred at this point as DP in my language is porn for Double Penetration. I was saddened to hear he was talking about Digital Photographer. He was a Movie Extra bore who borrowed other people's talent as his own and had been doing it so long had woven his life into being 'in the business', even though he was as much on the fringes as Norfolk is to Britain. He was effectively the human equivalent of Norwich.

Then it was straight into the glamour & excitement of being on a movie set. Plastic chairs, long tables, freezing cold and Waiting, lots of waiting, waiting and more waiting. All the Extras were herded into their pen (we had a separate area) but my hopes were raised at registration when they put me down as a 'featured part'. A named part where I would wear a costume, have different direction, maybe a speaking part and more money. Yes!!!! An upgrade to a bigger part, recognition and an invite into Mr X Hollywood A-Lister's inner circle. I'd be snorting coke from a hookers arse and playing cards with the jet set before dusk. I had made it. Something every Extra holds out in hope. To get spotted. To be hand picked and catapulted into Super Stardom

A quick trip to wardrobe department put a kibosh to all that when they looked at my name and said, "We've already got 3 of you in the featured part. There's been a mistake. Go back over there with the 'Supporting artistes'. Nuts my moment of glory shot down. It was back to the plankton and mass of nomad Extras. I was a nobody once again. My ego laughed. Get back to your pen.

It's a blow to the ego when you realise the chemical toilet is actually more important than you on set. You simply don't matter. Extras are lower than catering. You have to know your place and there's only one thing worse than an extra. An Extra who thinks they're above everyone and deserve a role in the movie. That's exactly where my ego sits. Harsh.

We were lined up and I was picked to partner a very glamorous woman as my date in the crowd scene of a glam darts match from the 80's. We were placed on a side table and told to cheer when the darts caller (delivered not as well as I would have) shouted 180!!! Our table wasn't even in shot so we all faked enthusiasm and I called on all of my 6th form drama lessons and threw false beer in the air and clenched my fist as a pretend darts player pretended to throw darts into a board at a pretend darts tournament with a pretend darts caller calling out 180 which didn't really happen (he got 45) to a bunch of people pretending to look interested and pretending to cheer. It was an odd start to the day,

They fucked around with our positions. 5 people were taken from our table and put closer to the action. The runner or 5th hand to the director twice removed (Essentially the equivalent of Princess Beatrice of importance) shouted over our table to someone who looked slightly more important and said "Don't worry about this table. These are Overspill"

Great. Demoted from the lowest possible position on set (Extra) to something lower, termed as 'overspill'. We didn't quite know what it meant but I figure it was the film set equivalent of Nick Clegg. We had hit rock bottom. To be fair to my Ego. It laughed hard at Overspill and managed to take it in good humour. Cracking jokes to anyone who would listen and received vacant looks. It made me laugh though.

The morning passed with exceptional dullness at this charade. 100's of people seemed to be employed as crew. Most holding ear pieces and running around like they were on The Cube. I'm not in the business so I don't know all the correct positions on set. But from what I could tell. The main dude was the Director (Dude 1). He had another dude (Dude 2) who shouted at everyone telling them what to do all the time. Then when Dude 2 stopped shouting, Dude 3 would come in and check the shot. This would then involve a team of Dudes (4,5 and 6) to debate the scene forcing a load of other technical Dudes to redo everything and shoot it again. My favourite was 'White board dude' and 'track' dude. Their job was solely to hold stuff up or lay down track.

Then you had the actors. These were looked after by make up and a team of lighting and other 'dudes' who gave them direction, encouragement and tea. Within these actors we of course observed Mr X, Hollywood A-Lister. THE DUDE, who remained stoically still, vague and slightly above everyone else throughout. However it was comforting to see the star of the film also looking like he wanted to end his own life after 3 hours of the same scene. We were not alone.

We broke for lunch. Crew and cast had a great spread, 5 choices of lunch, salads, meats, cheeses, tea, coffee and their own catering area. We had a take away catering truck which looked like a Kebab van from the 80's. I didn't fancy any of the shit unhealthy food on offer for us Plankton and helped myself to the only healthy thing on set from the Crews spread. A bit of salad and Mackerel.

This is when one of the White board holder upper spotted me and the following conversation took place; I've renamed him Mackerel Wanker

Mackerel Wanker - '"Oi that's for crew that is - your truck is outside"
Me - "There's no food left "
Mackerel Wanker - "That's not my problem put it down"
Me - "Calm down mate it's only a bit of fish"

I anticipated a stand off over the mackerel. I was actually munching on it and tensed, ready for him to try and grab it out of my mouth. Maybe this bit will get written into the film. Me and the Mackerel Wanker fight scene. Mackerel wanker standing for all those self style jobs Worth's who think they are better than who they are and only feel good about themselves by putting others down.

In the end nothing happened. he carried on being overtly sexist to the catering girls and I retreated back to the Supporting Artiste Pen. perhaps they should have given us a cage and just thrown in food at feeding time.

In the afternoon we shot the scene again this time from a different angle and this is where me and my new mate. Matthew the Punk & I hit the big time. The table next to us was one away from Mr X Hollywood A-Lister, in the back ground. Dude 1 brutally removed all the ugly fat girls from the table and replaced them with stunners. A simple 'can you lot stand over there and these girls stand in your place' was used. It was brutal and quick. There was no room for molly coddling on this set. He may aswell have said. 'Can all the Ugly ones please move to the side and let the better looking ones into the background shot please'.

We marvelled at the brutality and acceptance of this cull. We noted the remaining blokes just didn't match the newly brought in tottie. They were more Kwik Fit advert and punching well above their weight. Then Dude 2 (Sergeant major) shouted 'Can those two guys in the back come and replace these two here'. We looked behind us but he was talking to us. 'YESSSSSS. We had been upgraded from overspill to the big time. One table away from Hollywood. We were in the big time here. Prime location in the background of the camera shot straight at Mr X. A luxury upgrade

Fuck you overspill. No longer would I have to bore my future grandchildren and replay them the scene and say 'can you see me? Look at Mr X, then behind him. The bloke behind him, Well if you look past him you can see Grandad's right ear. That's me. Overspill"

No instead I will be able to show my future off spring (I know that's a projection as I'm not even married yet) the scene and Grandad will be there. Right behind a Hollywood A-Lister. Fucking Yes. The big time. That's got to be worth at least another tenner on my Extra contract. One table away. I could almost smell the glue on his wig. It was exhilarating.

I have to say I found the whole acting a silent exciting conversation difficult. Especially when my alter ego was shouting 'prick!!!!' in my ear. The self consciousness of a self centred fear based alcoholic ego maniac can be overwhelming at times.

I had to mime a conversation with a girl opposite me. I can't lip read & couldn't make out what she was mouthing to me so I had an awful moment of self consciousness, panicked & mouthed back the first thing that came into my mind. Unfortunately it was the word that is on my Fridge from Fridge scrabble which I looked at this morning before I left. The word was 'CockSpill'. My mind must have made the connection from 'Overspill'. The poor girl clearly lip read and instead of looking like she was enjoying herself, she looked like she'd been told her Family had been killed. It was a look of genuine shock. Or was it confused? Perhaps even appalled? I really hope that makes it in. She didn't really look at me again. Mind you I don't blame here. If any stranger mouthed the word 'Cockspill' to me I reckon I would throw them a swerve too. Maybe acting's not for me?

We were excused again. Then recalled. Unfortunately Matthew the Punk and I were relegated back to our original positions. The heady heights of Hollywood greatness were taken from us. Back to overspill. We had our day in the sun. The big time was so fleeting but we will always be left with our memories.

We were out of shot. Out of luck and out of energy. It rolled on and on with all the Dudes fussing endlessly. At one point I asked my table 'Is anyone else losing the will to live?' but was met with blank looks. Just me then. What's wrong with these people? Are they actually enjoying this? Luckily a couple of girls who had been dolled up all day agreed with me, making me feel better. Solidarity.

My mind was gone by now. I had had enough. 12 hours on set. Very little sleep. Tired. Bored. Grumpy. It was interesting to observe the more tired I got, the more my Ego shifted from ironic sardonic detached humour into downright hostility, shouting 'You should be in this fucking movie' on constant loop. Hate it when that happens as it takes over and I become a genuine miserable horrible bastard.

Did anyone else have this inner monologue? Did the 150 other extras go through such mental torture? I figured it was the alcoholic ego so I told it fuck off and everything was cool again. After all I actually chose to do this. My bad. Not theirs. Always easier to apportion blame elsewhere isn't it Nicholas?

We finally finished at around 7pm. As the professional Extra reminded me, "That's a wrap" (cheers for that cock head) and we were treated to a 45 minute queue to get our days timesheets filled in. The final humiliation. Mr X, Hollywood A-Lister was half way to Park Royal Travelodge by now sniffing coke from 4 hookers arses in his Blacked out Bentley. Instead we had to Queue like Teenagers waiting to French kiss Angela Eagling before we could even begin to fight our way home through the traffic.

The final nail in the coffin was being reminded we had agreed to a 2 day job and we were to be on set in exactly the same clothing as yesterday at 6am tomorrow. Fuck me!!! 3 hours kip and another 12 hours of hanging around as Cockspill for £100. Desperate.

I considered not going but the agency will just take my Kidney's and kill my family so I guess I should turn up. Plus the lovely woman I was paired with through out the day (Lead singer of Bony M as It turned out) taught me an invaluable lesson. 'If you make a commitment you stick to it no matter what'. Good advice I think I should heed. So I guess despite everything I did actually learn something today. It was worthwhile, plus I got a good blog material out of it.

Lets hope that Mr X will invite me into the inner circle tomorrow. If I was a betting man I would say this won't happen. Nor will I get upgraded to supporting actor. Nor will that poor young actress stand opposite 'Cockspill' guy. But I'd be well happy to wager that it will be my last experience of being an Movie Extra. The Nick Evans is better than that. I'm going to college to learn how to hold a white board. Even Mackerel Wanker was better paid than me today and he got a better lunch.

Never Again

The Nick Evans

PS - Yes I did go back and no I didn't get upgraded. All day as overspill. Serves me right right huh Ego?

xx

An Unfashionable Fashionable Holiday in the UK

When I think of holidays, I've become used to thinking of golden beaches, tropical scenes, long haul flights. Generally I think of abroad. We all think of different things when it comes to holidays, that's just the 1st thing that comes to my mind. What do you think of?

 

What is a holiday though? It's an escape right? A get away from every day life and all the stresses and strains we accumulate. It's a mental and physical break from our routine that's supposed to refresh & and bring a spring to our step. God knows I needed it.

 

Faced with the prospect of a long winter, with my mind busy from ideas, projects & must to do lists I was feeling slightly burnt out. I needed a break. Information overload. Emails, Texts, Whats App, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Blogs, Apps, work, life, congestion charge. No wonder we get frazzled.

 

So where to go? A week in the sun? North Africa? Turkey? I heard there are some amazing deals in Egypt this time of year if you don't mind the occasional Civil War riots.

 

In the end a new fiscal reality in my life (trying to start a new business) meant that it was holiday on a budget. A simple affair. Easy, affordable and one preferably to take an adorable 5 year old British Bulldog & a new girlfriend (not necessarily adorable in that order) . I knew just the place. It had to be the UK.

 

It's become fashionable again to holiday in the UK. The recession has forced many of us to reconsider. We live here and sometimes you forget just what it is that's so great about your own country. What makes people from abroad travel half way round the world to come & visit. Sometimes it's easy to take for granted what's on your own doorstep.

 

It's certainly become more difficult to find unspoilt and natural places in the UK to go to. Invariably the best spots have become 'Bankified' - where people with money have bought holiday homes and pushed up the price. Parts of Cornwall, Devon, Norfolk, Kent & Wales have become trendy DFL zones (Down From London) - but that's just part of modern society. No dramas.

 

The price is also quite an issue in some places. UK is expensive. Cottages, holiday lets, guest houses. Even static caravans are pretty pricey in high season. You have to shop around to get a good deal - hence why camping has made a welcome return to the UK's holiday psyche. Getting back to our roots as a nation is a good thing in my book. Anyway I digress there, those bits where I verge onto social commentary are always a little boring aren't they? Still It makes me feel better.

 

Anyway - back to where to go. As a kid, because I was born in Llanelli I used to be delivered to my Nan's for a month in the school holiday. I loved it. Truly exciting for an 10 year old, going on the train from London with a summer special copy of Roy of the Rovers to spend a month by the sea.

 

Llanelli is a town. An old working class industrial port so it's not a tourist place. More headquarters for Disability Living Allowance & Mobility scooters these days although it's not without it's beauty. The Welsh coastline is stunning and Llanelli Beach I consider my spiritual home.

 

 

 

As a kid we used to be taken to Pembrokshire to stay at my Uncle's caravan. Wisemans Bridge, Saundersfoot and Tenby were magical, sweeping bays and beaches of unspoilt and gorgeous coastline with golden beaches, rockpools, slot machines and endless days of fun and adventure. It left a positive stain on my brain of good times and I knew it was the place to go for a week to clear the brain, enjoy some stunning coastline and get some space and perspective to my cluttered mind.

 

If in doubt always return to your spiritual home and nourish the soul.

 

Rhod Gilbert did a big advertising campaign for Visit Wales but I didn't need his ugly mush to know where to go. Pembrokshire coastline for me boyo. South Wales here we come. Tenby all the way.

 

A quick scoot on Google and a midweek break in a cottage was found just outside Tenby. Dog friendly and right on the beach. Cheap break as the kids are back at school and we were away. A week's holiday in the Pembrokshire Coastline - as my Nan would say, therewearethen.

 

This is my 3rd day and I'm loving it. The cottage is cool, the place is adorable. I can see the sea and the coastline is stunning. Bentley the bulldog keeps smiling and we're all very happy. I can feel the layers of London stress shedding from my soul. I like it.

 

Yesterday was our first full day. Here is a brief outline of what happens on a British Holiday;

 

Up at 9ish, dog on a lead and walk out to Lydstep beach. I have never been here. It is small, cute and desperately stunning. A small cove in the Pembrokshire coastline and it is beautiful.

 

 

Not a bad start to the day/holiday. You can feel the space and open expanse start to melt your stress. How can you be worried, fearful or stressed when you are confronted with these views? The dog loved it and it gave us a perfect opportunity to capture one of those cute dog shots that everyone loves. Here's our attempt;

 

 

Next it was time for a run whilst my girlfriend hit the gym. I went out on the coastal path to do my favourite thing in the whole world. Run across cliffs and deserted coves and bays. I find it thrilling, exhilarating, beautiful, peaceful and so so pleasing. I'm at my happiest doing this. Hundreds of feet drops to deserted coves. You pass a few dog walkers, ramblers and retired locals all doing the same thing - looking out to sea looking at the expanse. You feel a kinship and shared appreciation of mother nature. It is stunning and I love it.

 

I did a good hour's run/walk/look along the coastal path which was enough to charge my spiritual tank and it's back to the cottage for a lazy breakfast.

 

Next it's time to go into Tenby for a few errands and mooch about. The Bulldog is of course kept in tow. He's like a celebrity. People stopping everywhere to pat him, touch him, pose for photos. I wish I got that much attention but even I'm not that sick that I get jealous of a bulldog. He's a proper beauty.

 

Tenby is a strange place. The real Welsh don't call it Wales. It's a cute little fishing village that has become a trendy fashionable tourist destination. It's pricey and full of tourists (like me) but it's stunning and pleasing on the eye. Mind you it's still South Wales though so it has it's smattering of exceptionally funny characters (who of course don't realise how funny they are) and we met a few during our stay.

 

As soon as we parked in the £5 car park. We met Dave and Ron. Dave was an old welsh boy in shorts minding the car park and his mate Ron was a northerner carrying an Onion. When we remarked it looked like he was going to take a bite. He informed us, he was just off upstairs to have a meat and Raw onion sandwich.

 

"What meat Ron?" I asked

"I've got corned beef, Ham and tongue. Put it with a bit of raw onion. Lovely"

Sounds Interesting - we remarked. He became almost evangelical on the pluses of raw onion at our interest.

"I just love raw onion, it's so nice. Especially with apple. Give me an apple, onion and knife and i'm happy"

 

See - you don't get kind of character in St Lucia do you? We wished him and his meat & Onion sandwich well and moved on.

 

Within 5 minutes we had seen 3 mobility scooters. As regular readers will know I am from South Wales and South Wales is the home of the mobility scooter. We spotted one spare outside a local working mens club and couldn't resist the classic holiday shot;

 

 

 

Next it was into the small centre where all the shops are. Here I met 29 old girls on a day trip out from Swansea. They all commented on the dog and when I said he likes his tummy tickled just like his owner - I had a choir of 29 old welsh girls going ''OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH, naughty". Very funny. We had a nice chat and I learnt they were from an OAP's home and it was their 3rd day trip this year and they had been around town on a horse & carriage, had a pub lunch and were now heading to the beach. Typical Welsh women - they would have talked for hours. That's the other thing about here - people are so very chatty, friendly and happy. It's weird coming from London and takes some getting used to, being open and happy and communicative.

 

Bentley the Bulldog had a photo for an American tourist (should I have charged?) then we went shopping in my favourite shop in the world.

 

 

Everything for a pound + VAT. I love it and it always makes me smile. That's how switched on for the tourists they are here.

 

Next we had a cup of tea on the windswept harbour. Shivering into our steaming mugs as the wind whipped through our insufficient clothing. We laughed how lightweight us Down From Londoners are at such fresh September weather as locals walked their dogs in board shorts and t-shirts. I so need to toughen up. My Grandfather, a former steeplejack would not approve.

 

We hit the beach as the sun came out and Bentley had his first chance to gallop (if indeed a short stumpy bulldog can gallop) on the sand and swim in the sea. This is one of life's pure comedy moments. Bulldogs cannot swim and seeing him attempt to surf was genuinely comedy gold. Still he's better than me so I shouldn't take the piss.

 

It was a joy to see my girlfriend struck by the awesome beauty of the beach and coastline. The sun shone, the cloud formation was awesome, the tide was out and Tenby really came out in it's full splendour. It was breath taking in it's beauty and confirmed why Pembrokshire is one of the most stunning places in the world for me

 

 

We settled against the cliff, laying on the sand with the sun warming our faces. No words were needed. No Facebook updates or tweets required. We sat, we relaxed. We appreciated. It was one of those moments you treasure. Pure holiday gold

 

 

We found a beachside café, ate some seafood, the dog got more attention and then we drove along the coast to some more deserted bays. Parking alongside old couples staring out to sea, appreciating the beauty. catching a glimpse of our future in the rear view mirror.

 

And then it was home. Back to the cottage. Exhausted but content. Peaceful and happy. My girlfriend so tired, she's a London town girl and commented she'd had 'too much fresh air' - why she was so tired which is a phrase I adore. Very funny, so odd, yet so strangely true.

 

It was early to bed. Both sleeping early. Peacefully. Happy. A perfect day.

 

It's Not very rock and roll. Not very headline grabbing. Not the kind of holiday day I would have imagined a little while a go. But you know what? You don't need 5 star hotels. Grand gestures. Over the top activities. You don't need tropical climbs. You don't need to spend £10k to get those post card moments. We got that for free today on Tenby beach. On Pembroke coastline.

 

We got that peace. That joy, that contentment. The sun on our face with our backs against a cliff with the view of the coast. Such space, such expanse. You could almost feel that pressure valve, that knot, that ball of stress in your head letting go. Easing off. Calming down. You can feel the air. hear the gulls, the bells on the boats. the wind whistling against the cliff.

 

It was a beautiful day. A real day. A holiday. Right here in the UK. And that ladies & gentlemen is real life that I so often miss. I'm pleased to have seen it yesterday

 

The Nick Evans

Tenby

Weds 11th September 2013