Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Misadventure #1 -- Artistic Expression (Part II)

Acting Part II -- The Acting

When we last saw our hero, he was waiting to shoot a scene from the NBC pilot Hatfields & McCoys

The scene was shot in one of the museums' exhibit rooms dressed up to look like a ballroom.  The rumor about how small the room was turned out to be true. It was not nearly the size of a typical ballroom and half of the floor space was occupied by the camera on a large, semicircular trolley.  There was a bar set up on the main interior wall and the windowed exterior walls overlooking Boston Harbor were lined with cocktail tables draped in white tablecloths. A stage occupied the fourth wall and on it stood a jazz band, instruments at the ready.

We (the "background") filed in and stood in a group while the Assistant Director (AD) placed us around the room.  I was paired with another guy, Larry, and we were ordered to walk across the dance floor to the other side of the room when the Director yelled "action." Cool, I thought, we'll walk right through the shot.  We were also instructed to look like we were chatting without making any noise.  This, as it turns out, is not easy as it sounds.  Then it dawned on me -- holy shit, I wouldn't just be standing in the background, they expected me to do something!

Eventually everyone was placed.  Someone came from behind me toward the center of the dance floor.  Rebecca DeMornay.  Ms. DeMornay was dressed in a gold ball gown and wearing slippers.  She was followed closely by a young woman carrying a pair of high heeled shoes.  It was at this point that I noticed a good looking younger man in a peculiarly purplish suit waiting for her to arrive.  This turned out to be Patrick John Flueger, the male lead.  I'd never heard of him but apparently he's known for his role in The 4400.  Whatever, I wasn't here to look at him I was here to look at Rebecca. 

As I was processing this, the AD yelled 'Places!"  Everyone hurried to their spots.  "Rolling!" At this point Ms. DeMornay stepped out of her slippers and the woman holding her shoes knelt down, helped her into them and sprinted off camera.  This ritual was repeated after every take.  "Background!"  The extras begin acting like they're at a ball, mingling, holding champagne glasses filled with sparkling cider, chatting without making noise, waitresses offering fake hors d'oeuvres, the band silently miming to a recording, couples dancing.  "Action!"  The camera begins to move on the trolley.  Larry and I slowly make our way to the other side of the room, greet other guests and turn back toward the dance floor and the camera.  I expected to hear the Director yell "cut!" at this point, either because the take was over or I had screwed up the walking part.  It didn't happen.  Instead, the dancers parted like the Red Sea and a woman came walking off the dance floor as if storming away from an argument.  She stood next to me.  Literally at my elbow.  She wore a gold ball gown.  Rebecca DeMornay.  Larry and I tried to react as anyone would in that situation.  I looked at her, curious why she had left her dance partner.  I briefly thought about saying something like "loved you in Risky Business" but the impact of a restraining order on my acting career once again held me back.

We did a few more takes, then the camera was moved to the opposite side of the room.  This time Larry and I were directed to walk across the dance floor to the bar, get drinks and return to our original places.  Again, we walked through the shot every time.  We did at least 50 takes, to the point where even the first-timers could detect when things didn't go quite right and the Director would yell "cut!"  The camera was repositioned several more times and Larry and I continued to walk to the bar and back.  At one point, when I approached the bar, another extra complained that I was "in her shot."  After a few takes, Larry and I established a pattern with the rest of the extras at the bar to avoid her wrath.  A "couple" at the bar would get their drinks, then step away so Larry and I could belly up without ruffling feathers.

Finally, the Director switched to a handheld camera for closeups of the stars dancing.  We continued our routine, getting drinks.  A problem began to surface on the dance floor.  The handheld camera requires a crew of several people including the operator and several crew members who manage cables and hold lights and microphones mounted on booms.  Consequently, as the camera moved with the dancers, large swaths of space was swept open around itto accomodate the crew.  The Director's plan was for the dancers to fill in the open spaces as the camera moved around but it wasn't working.  They kept dancing behind the camera leaving big holes in the shot. During one take the dancers failed to fill in the space in front of the camera and the exasperated Director reached out and grabbed an extra -- me -- by the shoulder, pointed to the open space and commanded "walk through!"  So I did, right past Rebecca DeMornay's head as she was dipped by her partner.  I walked to the opposite side of the room, pretended to greet someone and turned to face the dance floor.  "Cut!" The Director then said "this is a pilot wrap for Ms. Rebecca DeMornay."  Everyone clapped as Charlize Theron reappeared and gave her a hug.  The "talent" exited and body doubles, who were actually ballroom dancers, came on for the close up body shots.  We did a few more takes and the Director called it a wrap.  The background was weary.  It was now 1:30 AM, twelve hours since I'd arrived and six hours since we began shooting.  I felt like I’d walked 20 miles.  My feet were stumps, I could only imagine how the women in heels felt. 

I limped my way back to the tent and said goodbye to my new friends.  It was then that the Production Assistant yelled "everyone line up to get your pay vouchers signed, union people first!"  Shit.  I couldn't imagine standing any longer, but I had no choice and I wasn't in the union.  After an hour of waiting I hobbled up to the table, showed my identification and got my voucher signed.  Then, the quarter-mile walk back to the shuttle stop.  The wind had shifted and was in my face again.  I got home at 3AM.  A 13.5 hour day.  A week or so later I received my check for $87.54. 
 
Next time:  Acting Part III -- The Aftermath

 

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