62 Days In - Living the Silver-Screen Dream

Dummy Days

In order to live in the USA I had to get a visa (that took me eight-odd months), and once I made it here I had to wait twenty one days followed by another ten days for my Social Security Number. With passport and social security card in sweaty palm I applied for various jobs. It seems though that my training and skills cannot be used due to recession-related issues, and the one job that LA has plenty of spaces for and that you need no training for, tells me I cannot sign up until I have my Permanent Resident Card (the sacred “Green Card”).

This is a job (I am later told) that parole officers advise ex-cons do, as there is no background check required…and (I find out on-the-job) requires no skill.

Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of last week, Chris and I did our first few days of proper paid work since getting here; but the giddy excitement of being a part of Hollywood stardom is short lived when we realise that we have to be up at 5am.

We are called “background artists”, which I suppose is to try and make us feel better about ourselves - most people know us a “extras” which is a truer, and slightly less patronising way of putting it.

Day 1 is a bad day for me. Chris dresses up in his snappy suit, bought for our wedding, and not worn since; I scan my wardrobe for a smart blouse in sanctioned navy, grey, dark teal, olive, maroon, rust or forest green. I pull out a turquoise top and hope it passes for dark teal - but we have been asked to bring extra clothes in-case our choice won’t do, and so I spend half the evening ironing skirts and tops.

Upon arrival at the studios, it is obvious than no-one else has spent as much time or concern over their choice of clothing. After all we will only be blurs in the background. The wardrobe lady says Chris looks “cute”, and makes him a VIP character - I am secretly proud, until I see what he gets out of this, and then I start wishing I too had got married in a suit.

Complete with badges, Chris and his fellow important people go early to be put in squishy, velvety seats. The rest of us are herded in to rows of plastic chairs and I sit between two friendly blokes who chat about travelling. Upon sitting, I take note of Chris, front central, literally spitting distance from the stars who will appear soon. I get something of a shock from the blow up dummies, with masks, wigs and costume (but no arms or legs) that are scattered through the rows behind me. Being close to the dummies does not bode well for your chances of being seen in the final cut of the film.

So, of course, this is where I am later moved to. With an inanimate person on either side, severely intruding on my personal space, I have nothing to do but spy on Chris, and begin to seethe.

The day continues in this way: Chris becomes friends with two lovely ladies sitting beside him, I wriggle between my dummies; Chris laughs and sinks lower into his luxury seat, I feel my bottom go numb as a Dummy is placed in my original seat; in a break, Chris says casually “oh, aren’t you in a comfy seat?”, and when back on set I find another dummy has taken my new seat. Obviously they are as talented background artists as I am. So I sit in the back row.

On day 2 Chris is upgraded to “The Mill” as his waiting area, with all the other extras that have more specific roles. It is rumoured that the food is better and the air sweeter. But this new setback gives me defiance, and I am determined not to sit next to dummies for the rest of my time on set; quite apart from the fact that they have no conversational skill, I am offended that they get to wear hoodies and I don’t. Moving sneakily to a spare seat near the front I realise that I am arguably within possible shot when the principal roles are filmed having a conversation - this means that I can go to hair and make-up and be properly pampered.

After the first day I was ready to pack in my new career - it is 16hour days of sitting around, then doing the same thing over and over and over - but (and here comes the sickening Hollywood ending) it ended up being pretty fun: everyone else there was just like us, trying to get some money together and hoping to have a laugh at the same time.