Movie Extras

From email sent April 10, 2000

A movie loosely based on a Hemingway story, After The Storm, is being filmed in Belize. I was asked to be an extra, one of a group of “wealthy ladies” on a yacht. When I stopped laughing, I agreed. How often does adventure come one’s way at my age?

I was dubious about it because it was not long after back surgery and I tired easily. I was assured that I would be needed for only five or six hours. Try twelve.

I arose at 4:00 am so that I would have time for coffee, newspaper, and feeding the dogs before arriving at the production headquarters at 6:30. Fortunately, the set was aboard a yacht moored at the Fort George pier, and production headquarters were in a house facing Memorial Park, a block from my home. I joined a gathering group of extras. We all signed contracts giving away all rights to any present or future use of the film, including viewing on some planet in the future. I had been told that I would earn the vast sum of bz$35.00 (us$17.50) for my efforts.

At 8:00, we were led to the end of the park where a buffet, long tables, and chairs had been set up. The food was lavish, with chafing dishes of “fry jacks” (triangular pieces of deep-fried dough), bacon, sausages, red beans, and scrambled eggs. Platters of fruit, Gatorade, and coffee were available.

 

After breakfast, we were taken to the Hotel Chateau Caribbean just across the side street, where a ground-floor hallway and adjacent rooms had been taken over for costumes and make-up. One by one, we were called back for our makeovers.

The movie is set in Bimini in the Thirties. We ladies all wore evening dress, long, flowing numbers in soft colors, and wigs with finger waves in front and curls low in the back. The “Yachtsmen” wore white tuxedos or white dinner jackets over pleated shirts with high winged collars. The “Card Players” wore bright suspenders that would show later when they draped jackets over the backs of their chairs. The only crewman in our group wore a high-necked white uniform with gold buttons.

Eventually, it was my turn to be fitted. The king-size bed in the make-up room was adrift with wigs of all colors. More were in a box, and two wigs were on stands on the dresser. The two women in attendance were in scruffy shorts and tee shirts and wore, strapped around their waists, tool kits with pockets bulging with a variety of equipment.

I asked for the rich red wig, but was told it was for the heroine. A black wig was held up against my face. I suggested that a softer shade was better at my age. I ended with a brown wig a little darker than my own hair, styled with a deep wave, curls at the back, and a heavy spit curl balanced on my left eyebrow. I had put on my usual makeup that morning, and they said I was all right without further attention. I noticed later that very little makeup was used on any of us.

A sturdy young woman with short black hair and enormous snakes tattooed over both arms, shoulders, and back led me to the costume room, where several long, elaborate gowns hung. The wardrobe mistress was lacing a buxom young lady into a corset of the kind my mother and grandmother wore. When her pale rose chiffon dress was eased over it, she looked a perfect Thirties. That was the only corset used for any of us. The first dress tried on me was approximately a foot too long. Next I was given a lovely pale tan chiffon gown with an elaborate, soft collar wide enough to reach down past my shoulders, delicately embroidered. The dress fitted firmly through the body then flared out into a full skirt. I was delighted with it.

I went next to get my jewelry. Arrayed on the bed of another room was what would have ransomed a king, had the gems been real—lines of bracelets, necklaces, earrings, men’s and women’s rings, non-working Thirties wrist watches for the men. In the plot, the yacht sinks in a hurricane. The hero, having seen all the expensive jewelry the “Ladies,” wives and companions of some shady characters, wore aboard, plans to salvage the gems. The ups and downs of retrieving the jewels is the main plot line.

I suggested a “dog collar” for myself, and the costume mistress said she had three. She held each up, and we agreed on the third, a two-inch wide lattice studded with “diamonds.” I also was given a “diamond” bracelet. My own rings were considered perfect, though I wished I had also worn my blue topaz, as I considered doing.

I was told to go to the shoe truck outside to get my footwear. A giant bus with darkened windows stood by the curb. I walked around it until I found an open door. The interior looked like a tiny Belize or Mexican shop, festooned with belts, suspenders, and a mass of miscellaneous accessories. I ducked under hanging items toward the end of the bus where Caroline, engaged to Emilie Bowen’s grandson Kevin, was lacing up a pair of pointed-toe ivory boots. One of the wardrobe girls crouched beyond her. Together we rummaged through boxes of the most beat-up shoes I ever have seen. I specified low heels, so we finally found heavy sandals with off-white toes and tan straps—absolute horrors, but they were comfortable and probably did not show under my long skirt.

 

I returned to the lounge adjacent to the hotel lobby to join other costumed members of the group. I knew Caroline and was introduced to a second American Caroline, who is here with Bruce Bowen’s oldest son, Chris. Paul Hunt, one of the Card Players, is an old friend. I was seated next to Skippy Fuller’s daughter and her delightful husband, one of the Yachtsmen. Laura and Steve Thompson from next door were in the group. Steve had agreed to let the film crew use his house for the bar scenes, so he and Laura were in the process of moving, with their two daughters, to the Fort George Hotel for the duration.

One of the group looked familiar, but I did not know him. He was an attractive, affable man of about fifty. I finally learned from his conversation that he was one of the actors in the company. His name is Arthur Nogrilla, or something similar. He has small parts regularly, usually in gangster films, for which he is ideal with his strong New York accent. I learned later in the day (from Emory King, of course) that Arthur was a New York detective for twenty years. When he retired, he went into the movies and has worked there for nine years. He is a charming man and was especially protective of me.

The wardrobe mistress appeared with a man I had not seen. He walked by each of the Ladies, studying them, then pointed at me. I was told that I would have to give up my dog collar to someone else because she had worn it in a scene shot earlier. Back in the jewelry room I met a large actress of gracious age who apologized for the switch. She explained that the dog collar had to be taken off her dead body and assured me that I wouldn’t enjoy that anyway. A lovely, delicate “diamond” necklace was found for me. It probably set off my costume better than the dog collar anyway.

 

There we all sat, wondering when we would be called. The man in charge, draped with earphones and walkie-talkie, stalked back and forth, looked worried, and assured us it would be another ten minutes. He explained that the scene being shot was running longer than expected. Finally, he called the Bartender, one of the Yachtsmen, and one of the Ladies, and led them off to the yacht. The rest of us continued desultory conversation that deteriorated into a series of more-or-less permissible jokes.

One of the catering crew came through with a large platter of fruit slices, artistically arranged. We all took advantage of it. Back came the three extras. They had been posed at the rail of the yacht’s afterdeck watching its alleged mooring as a tackied-up local boat came alongside. The little launch had a flimsy superstructure from which was suspended an array of pots and pans. Suddenly the top bar broke, tossing the pans into the water. Prop men swarmed onto the little launch trying to rescue what they could. The director called for the crew to shut down for lunch.

The wardrobe mistress was not happy about our flouncing over to the park for lunch in our flimsy gowns. Those of us who had long-sleeved cotton shirts were told to put them on. Shirts were issued to the others. Off we trudged, a charming group with chiffon skirts billowing from under our shirttails. The lunch buffet was as nice as the breakfast one—rice, oven-roasted potatoes, grilled chicken, fish, mixed vegetables, and two salads. Chocolate cake for dessert. By this time, the overdue tent had been erected over the buffet and dining area to protect people from the brilliant sun.

As soon as we regathered in the hotel, one of the crew members, a pleasant black girl with shaved head and tattoos encircling both arms, came to collect shirts. She looked sternly at me and repeated her request until I thought to tell her that I was wearing my own shirt. By the time I had replaced it with my things in the locked room where we all had left shoes and bags, we were called to the set.

 

We walked a block, past some half-dozen giant trucks belonging to the film company, to the Fort George pier. We paraded out its length, chiffon swirling in the strong wind. The end of the dock near where the yacht was moored was a maze of cables. Sound equipment and cameras were set up there. We picked our careful way past equipment, over lines, and around crew, most of them stripped to the waist in the heat.

The yacht, Mariner III, is a lovely old girl, more than 100 feet in length. When Mosquito Coast was being filmed in Belize many years ago, Harrison Ford chartered her to live on during the filming because he was not happy with local facilities. Paint is fresh, mahogany gleams with new varnish, posts and fittings shine as brass can do only when polished daily.

All we saw of the ship was the large covered afterdeck. Equipment was set up aft. A beautiful large table was in the center of the area, with chairs around it for the Card Players. Hands already were dealt. Ashtrays and stubby glasses half-full of ginger ale were in place in front of the men. They took their seats and draped their white jackets over the backs of their chairs.

I had been told by Wardrobe to be sure to remove my glasses for the shoot. I asked one of the film-crew girls who was passing where I could leave my glasses safely. She suggested I put them in her bag. I spent the rest of the afternoon seeing “through a glass darkly.”

The Bartender took his position near the small bar at the forward end of the afterdeck. Yachtsmen and Ladies were positioned in groups along the rails. I ended up “talking with” Caroline, a lovely blond who had been transformed unsettlingly into a black-haired brunette. The director told us that I was married to the nearest Card Player (Paul Hunt), and that I was annoyed because he had been losing heavily and I wanted to go back to our cabin. Caroline was to be annoyed with the “Sexy Blond” seated on the arm of the Gambler’s chair (Arthur) because she had been his earlier girlfriend. As a group we were given instructions:

• All is pantomime. Pretend to talk to each other, but do not say a word. The cast will have all the dialogue.

• Do Not Nod Your Head. The cameraman hates to see a lot of heads nodding in the background.

• Plan any action in the first run-through and never change it thereafter. Continuity demands that everything be done exactly the same, take after take.

 

“Sound—Background.” (our cue to begin our pantomime)

“Action.” (cue for the actors)

The Bartender starts with the group farther up the rail from us, all of whom accept drinks. He comes to us and Caroline and I mouth “No, thank you” as the director instructed us. The card game begins with bits of dialogue. The Captain enters from the starboard walkway along the side of the vessel. The Large Actress staggers up to him, making a (to us) inaudible request. He listens politely then tells her he will attend to it later. She exits. The hero, Benjamin Bratt, the young detective in Law and Order, enters from the starboard passageway. Dialogue and business with The Gambler. Bratt exits.

It was fascinating to see how the director fine-tuned the action of the Gambler’s flipping an envelope to Bratt, handing him some cash, and Bratt’s exiting. We did the scene over and over until movement and timing were perfect.

As for this extra, I am not sure that anything but my behind will show up in the final cut. Instructions to Caroline and me were changed during revisions. Another Lady crossed from the far rail to join us, and we all turned our backs on the action to look out to sea over the rail (at a cruise ship we were agents for, which docked that day!).

 

We extras all trooped off the yacht and found plastic chairs on the dock to wait while the crew set up for another scene. And there we sat for a couple of hours as the sun got lower behind us, and the breeze, chillier. Arthur asked if I would like coffee, then went off to look for it. He returned to say there was none available on the dock, but that he had sent for some. During our long wait, catering crew had passed delicious cookies, another beautiful platter of fruit, and finally, platters of sandwiches.

Arthur was called aboard for a scene. He returned as the boy arrived from the park with our coffee. I thanked him with feeling, then drank mine rapidly before the last calorie of heat vanished from it. Arthur could see that I was chilly and insisted that I take his jacket, which he was not wearing at the time. It was a blessed relief.

Four of our group of extras were called for another scene. When they emerged as light was failing, the director thanked all of us and said they were shutting down for the night. I spent an anxious several minutes searching unsuccessfully for the girl who had my glasses. Finally I cornered the camera man and asked for help. A moment later one of those shirtless young men wearing earphones located her, located her bag, and handed me my glasses. By the time I made the long and careful trip back down the pier and to the hotel, Arthur was awaiting me worriedly, hoping his jacket had not disappeared forever.

We all changed rapidly out of wigs and gowns. Have you any idea what hair looks like after having been held back by a wide elastic band, crimped into large pin curls, and crowned by a wig for most of a day? I had forgotten to bring a brush so I combed my hair as best I could with my fingers. The result looked as if it should be colored green to be in perfect style with a juvenile group of which I have no interest in being a part. I walked back past security guards and a police blockade to find my car, grateful for the growing dark.

I did not reach home until 8:30 that night. I was tired but energized. It had been a long, often boring, but fascinating day. I do not need to go that way again.

 

From email sent April 15, 2000

Alex and María were asked to be extras in the bar scene of the movie After The Storm. Our neighbor Steve Thompson had agreed to vacate his old Colonial-style house so the film crew could set up the living-dining room as a Bimini bar.

To Alex and María’s dismay, they were told to show up at 9:30 pm on Thursday evening. They were among a group of some sixty extras. They had been told to wear their own shoes, dark pumps for the women and brown or black lace-up shoes for the men. Costumes were hung on long racks in the production center, where the extras could find something that fitted. The men had simple shirts and slacks. Women had Thirties cotton dresses, most of them in geometric or floral patterns. María was one of the last to get a wig. She said it was about the color of her own hair but was utterly unkempt. It did not matter. About time for the filming to start, a cold front swept through Belize City with heavy lightening and thunder and torrential rain. Filming was postponed hour after hour until 3:30 am, when everyone was told to go home and to meet again Friday afternoon.

The call was given for 2:30 pm. Alex and María asked to arrive later, since they lived so close to the center of activity. They arrived for costumes and wig at about 5:30 pm. This time María got a much prettier dress and a pretty wig in a strange blond shade. No matter. Like many of their friends, María never was called for one of the bar scenes. She sat patiently waiting until dawn.

 

Alex was called twice. He says that he thinks his back will show in one scene. The other was more dramatic. He was seated at a table off to one side with a girl. The director asked if they would like to dance. The girl agreed happily. Alex bellowed, “No way!” The director laughed at him and told him just to get out on the floor and move. Alex says that the music came from a cheap cassette player, only a few bars to get them started. Then the music was turned off, and they kept on dancing. In the background, the musicians of the band pretended to play their instruments without making a sound.

Action involved a fight that ended with one of the characters dead on the floor. Alex described the fight, the pause for “blood” to be applied to the injured man, and for a trick knife to be fastened protruding from his chest. Alex and his partner ended up inches from the “corpse.” Alex is sure his black wing-tips will be in the movie.

Through it all, a fire engine was stationed in the street in front of the house, ready to turn hoses on the house to simulate a hurricane. Alex said Steve was lucky that the director decided against it because the force of the water would have taken out all the windows in the house. Both María and Alex said they should have taken advantage of the storm the night before to shoot the hurricane scenes.

Alex had a long time to observe the lead actor, Benjamin Bratt, and he commented on his professionalism. Several times Bratt suggested small movements “to fill dead time” or worked with other actors to smooth out complicated action or timing.

 

Alex and María got home at 5:30 am Saturday morning. Alex realized that he had left their pay—$50 per night for two nights for each of them—in the pocket of the pants he had worn in the movie. He walked back to the production office and went through the pockets of half of the pants on a long rack before finding the ones he had worn and retrieving their hard-earned wages.

Epilogue

In July of 2003, the movie showed on television. Alex was visible dancing in the rear of the barroom scene. As for me, only my elbow made it to the screen. I recognized it by the soft, beige drape of my collar.