Feast of Blog

I got to be an extra on the movie yesterday. Heading back today for more.

Honestly, it's not that big a deal. It was a big outdoor scene that needed a lot of people shuffling around in the background. Extras Only was practically begging for anybody to come down who could promise availability for these days as well as one next week.

But, still. I got to be in a movie!

The funny and frustrating thing on set is actually the other extras themselves. We are peasants. Pawns meant to be shuffled around at will repeating mundane tasks and walking predetermined paths to and fro. By our very being there, we know this. Yet, to bolster our small Portland egos against the Hollywoodism, we must poke fun. We must act entitled. We must say things like "Oh, well, you know this is my scene and you're blocking my light." We must feign complaint when a scene must be repeated even though we nailed our performances. For my part, I laid claim to an upshot weed between two slabs of sidewalk as my "mark" and took sophomoric joy in telling people to "get off my weed" or asking "where's my weed at?"

Not my strongest moment, but I was there for over 14 hours. Cut me some slack.

There are temporary bonds of friendship and convenience that happen, but they are more impactful than most such attachments because A) 14 hours and B) Most of the same people will be back the next day. I was stuck in a walking pack with two 19-year-old fellows who were fine for the first few hours, but their continual bickering and bantering found me trying to put more and more distance between us. Thankfully, I succeeded.

It was something of a surprise to me that there were not many attractive girls in the extra pool. Hollywood being as beauty obsessed as it is, I expected they would want even their backdrops to be pretty. That's how it is on The O.C. There were a few girls who were passingly attractive. You know the type: Nice form, decent hair. Enough to warrant a second glance - and probably a third and fourth. But the closer you scrutinize, the less the appeal. Too much makeup. Bad hair dye. Something in the posture that says "shallow personality" or "low self esteem" or "thinks too highly of herself" or "If I couldn't use my cell phone for an hour, I would just die. I'm adding a new category to these women: "I don't look like it, but I've got kids and a broken home."

TWO of the girls I met and chatted with had kids. One of them, to be specific, had FOUR kids. She is 30. With four kids. Jesus.

Four kids and I talked for a good while when I was reassigned to sit as a passenger in her car. The scene required cars in the background as well as people. The main action was for someone to be loaded from a field to a car, which then drives through a mass of people and cuts off other cars while getting back on the road. The lucky reward of my day was that the car I was positioned in happened to be right where the Star Car was cutting in traffic. So for the last two hours of my day, I had to "act" surprised as this Volvo come hurdling off the grass and nearly into my passenger door. I have no shame in admitting that didn't take much acting. Good stunt drivers these days.

And that really amazed me: The other two cars that were integral parts of this scene were taken over by other stunt drivers, and their actual owners turned into passengers. How they decided to let F.K. remain at the wheel... I don't know. But she performed admirably and I felt priviledged to put my life in her hands. I mean, she's already caring for four other ones. Must know what she's doing.

So, I figure that will be my best chance of having a passing second of celluloid go in my favor. When we all go see the movie, I will likely scream. God. Portland is going to go APEshit when this movie comes out. I mean, they've filmed at the Mississippi Fresh Pot, Hawthorne Lucky Lab, Reed College... it's a Portland wank fest.

Awesome.

-Thank you for reading.