My life has been one big fantasy as of late. One long string of wish-fulfillment. Goal-setting is a helluva drug.
So about a month back I got a call from Nancy Mosser to come be an extra on the film OUT OF THE FURNACE. An actual phone call, while I was reading the e-mail they sent in tandem. Usually, when you sign up with Nancy Mosser, you'll get notifications about what's available and then you call them. Well, this time, they called me. From about that moment forward I've been giddy as a schoolchild and for good reason.
Looked up the movie for that link above and now I'm distracted reading about all the other people that worked on it. And now I am editing my own IMDB page instead of finishing this entry...
Anyhoo...
Day 1
Arrive on set.
Within 10 minutes all my dreams begin coming true. Exactly like how they occur in movies and fantasies the globe over.
I can plainly see a line, so like a good little sheep I walk over and insert myself in it. A crew member asks me if I've signed in yet and when I respond that I have not, he tells me to go to another line. I was in line for wardrobe. I go over to the sign-in line which is about 20-30 people long and before I've settled into my spot, another crew member asks "Has he seen wardrobe?" and pulls me out of the line. I politely inform that I've yet to sign in and am quickly poo-poo'd off. They pull me out of the line and bring me back over to wardrobe. I'm wearing a wifebeater and the boys and girls of the wardrobe department are making no attempts at subtlety. Within seconds they begin undressing me. A gentlemen that I'm going to assume was gay, asks me with a signature slight lisp "Can we use these muscles?" Nodding and pulling my shirt off of me before I've had time to respond. Certainly, I say. That's what they're there for. They hand me another wifebeater and after I've put it and the other items handed to me on, two of them (a male and a female, both seemingly quite eager for this part of the process) begin "juicing" me up. A process involving rubbing me down with dirty rags.
Inside of a minute I am wearing different clothes and there is a woman purposefully applying product to my beard and twisting it into fours. I stare back over at the other extras, who are all staring at me like a hungry puppy stares up at the dinner table.
As I'm whisked away to go sign in, I can hear my fellows complaining. "But it's so hot! That guy gets to wear a wifebeater!" The scene we're were there for is set in November, so everyone else is wearing long-sleeves and pants, regardless of it being 70/80 degrees out.
I get signed in and go back over to the extras line.
"Sweet beard, dude."
"You're ripped, dude."
Thank you, thank you.
Not even a half an hour on site and already I feel like a doted-on celebrity.
After more beard/muscle praise we're all corralled to a school bus that will take us to the actual location that we're shooting at.
Sometime around there we're informed of the rules. We were literally told not to address celebrities. "Don't ask for pictures, don't ask for autographs." The caste system began asserting itself.
I would detail the place we went to, but as the movie has yet to come out, I don't want to ruin anything for you, so instead, I'll speak generally.
We were there to be spectators for two underground fights. One between two actors I'd not heard of prior. And another between Casey Affleck and one of the guys from the previous fight.
The two stunt guys were cool as fuck and keen to eye me up as I mirrored their stretching routine. This was the beginning of the shoot and therefore the beginning of 15 hours days and balancing shooting with my day job. My fitness was beginning its decline. Regardless, I was still decently jacked and receiving no shortage of confirmation of that. "Haha, so are you one of the fighters?" and many variations of that contributed to what was one of the longest Ego-stroking sessions of my life. In between takes my fellow extras would ask for fitness tips or forcefully tell me of their routines/diets. Shortly thereafter, the crew began joining in. Crew would walk me away and introduce me to other crew. Everyone shook my hand, looked me in the eye, told me their name and asked me for mine. Handshakes were firm and compliments were flowing like water.
Now despite our stark direction from the crew earlier, one of the ADs granted me exception. Everyone was told not to touch the actors, or to get too close or to do anything like Mary Tyler Moore tugging on her ear. "If we see you doing something to stand out on camera, you will be asked to leave." Regardless, T.Coe, whom I later came to affectionately refer to as "Coach" (the moniker bestowed upon him by the crew), leaned in and gave me special direction.
"Hey. You're doing great. Have you acted before?"
Indeed."It shows."
Thanks.
"Hey, don't be afraid to get in there. Don't be afraid to touch them. Get a lil crazy."
Again, I'd detail how I went crazy, but I'd rather you wait and see on the big screen. This is, after all, how we get paid and how I hope to be paid in the future.
Well after the first take wherein I "got crazy" the extras near me started doing the same. After cut was called, Coach came over and bluntly scolded "NOT you guys, okay? Him." Boy I was starting to feel like a snotty little shit at this point, and indeed I could feel a disconnect forming between me and my fellow extras.
I was the privileged guy. The special case. The exception. They were the faceless horde.
Sorry my friends, but we all get our due and this one was mine.
After a few takes, the energy was beginning to wear off of everyone whereas I kept resetting and giving 100%. It did not go unnoticed. After this first day, we switched around a bit. People that were across the way on day one eagerly offered, "Great energy, man." "Yeah, you really set the bar."
NOW THAT IS SOME PRAISE I CAN HANDLE.
Beard/muscles praise is nice, but.... it's just a beard, you know? This, this was something I was doing.
After that "Great energy." became the new go-to compliment that I'd receive and eventually lose feeling for due to semantic saturation.
We took breaks to eat and there the hierarchy became even more evident.
Now, I can't remember if it was that first day or the next as all the days blended together, running on 4 hours of sleep or less, but at some point, again when energy was waning, people were settling into modes of psyching themselves up between takes.
In between one take, Casey dropped to the ground and pounded out a couple of grueling pushups. Obviously to give himself a little pump and get his head in the game. Well when it looked like he wasn't even gonna reach ten before standing back up I dropped to the dirt and started bangin' some out myself. Heads snapped toward me. I had crested ten and was onto twenty in under a few seconds. My form was borderline plyometric as I was coming several inches up off the ground each time. The moment got the better of me and I screamed (what is fast becoming a signature move of mine) a fratboy "Woooo!" and followed with "Let's go Affleck! Don't quit!"
Literally the entire group turned their heads my way.
I stood back up and bounced in place a bit. I was pumped. Fired up. Lovin' and livin' life. My actions had not yet fully registered with me. I could see something moving through the crowd like a wave does at a stadium. Unrest. When it made it's way to me it was the extras flanking me on either side.
"Yer fucked man."
What?
"Yeah they're gonna kick you off set. Everyone was watching you."
But it was in between takes!
"Yeah but that guy *gesticulates toward fight choreographer* looked over here and he HATED it."
Oh?
"Yeah and Casey looked perturbed too."Really?
So I waited a few takes and then walked over to Casey and the Fight Choreographer. As I was approaching, the looks on the faces of the crew said "What the fuck? First you screamed at him, now you're walking toward him? Do you have a death wish, kid?"
I poke Affleck. He turns around.
Hey dude, did I fuck with your concentration or anything?
"Not at all man, I really appreciate the energy."
See! That's what I thought! We're here, we're supposed to full of testosterone and meth and I know everyone's tired. I was just tryin to keep morale up.
The Fight Choreographer chimes in... "Yeah, yer fine, man."
I walk back over to my spot, Big Dick Swingin'.
Balls just draggin' on the floor.Yeah, that's what I thought.
We do some more takes and we wrap for the night, 15 hours later. I sleep for like 6 minutes and then head back out.
The next day is when things intensified.
Day 2
The wedge between me and my fellows was becoming more and more apparent.
Lots more praise was received and people were still pulling me away to introduce me to people. People knew my name before I knew their's. The crew and the stand-ins had taken a liking to me and would sneak me food and or grant me access to the swanky bathrooms. The jealously was plain on the other extra's faces. But fuck 'em, you know? Be happy for me you jealous little shit. Snot my fault you never lifted weights. Not my fault you still insist on bringin a thin strip of metal to your face daily. This is my time to shine, let me have it.
And a good group of them did. Indeed we all added each other on facebook and would talk and chat in between takes and at meals.
One of my favorite memories of this day (and it was filled with many) was when one of the men cast as one of the Slavics came up to me, shook my hand and told me I was his hero.
For what?
"Dude, you were in a push-up contest with Casey Affleck. Yer the man. We're supposed to be looking certain ways, but every take I can't take my eyes off of you. I kept looking over to see what you'd do. Yer an animal, man."
Wow. Set filled with celebs and I'm your hero? Thanks, guy.
So we got to talking about how we regarded the celebs and such and then the topic of Willem Dafoe came up..
Willem Dafoe is a goddamned force to be reckoned with. A sight to behold. The man is a samurai. Intense, focused and unfaltering. When crew would be scrambling to remember marks or subtle wardrobe changes Willem would always speak up, and from one fellow observer to another, he was always right. The man was the only other person on set besides me that was soaking in as much as I was. He was completely aware, completely present. I started this project expecting to meet Christian Bale, and wondering how starstruck I'd be, I left it with an immense and newfound respect for Willem Dafoe. The man was truly an inspiration. And from the way he creepily (Willem Dafoe is creepy as fuck. Nice guy, but gives me the willies) stared at me between takes he could sense my energy too. At first I thought he was gay and maybe just into me, but as the day wore on I realized something we all realize in middle school or sooner. You can't see that someone is staring at you unless you are staring back at them, too. He was essentially acknowledging my presence and keeping watch on me. As I was doing to him. It was a powerful moment in my life. I could notice him looking my way whenever he and I would reset. Everyone else kinda never hit the highs we did and also sorta stayed zazzed up in between takes. Willem and I, samurais that we are, hit our marks and then returned to our spots to await the call of action again. The more I watched him watching me, the more respect I gained for him and myself.
The dude that told me I was his hero, claimed Willem was an asshole.
"He's an asshole. They'd already called cut and he still looked us in the eye and yelled at us."
What'd he yell?
"Get out of the way, you fucking zombies!"
Hmm. Weird. Is he method?"Method?"
How are you supposed to feel towards his character on camera?
"We're not supposed to like him."So you're supposed to regard him with disgust and scorn, right?
"Yeah."And now that he said that to you, how do you feel about him?
"..."
Which means now, when you're on camera your genuine looks of disdain will shine through. No acting necessary.
"..."Willem Dafoe just got inside your head. He did your job for you. You're a fucking pawn to him.
My broner raged on.
We eventually wrapped for lunch and what happened then is the only time I'm really comfortable name-dropping.
I FUCKING PLAYED SOCCER WITH WOODY FUCKING HARRELSON. FUTBOL WITH A MAN THAT PLANTED CANNABIS ON THE WHITE HOUSE LAWN.
We'd just finished eating, when I noticed a pink ball being tossed around in the distance, giant manpuppy that I am, I jogged toward it. "What are they playing?", I inquired as I passed staggered groups.
"Kickball."
KICKBALL?! I increased my pace, I was now at an 85% sprint.
KICKBALL FUCK YEAH.
As I drew closer I could see that it was a soccer ball, not a dodgeball. I peeled off my shirt and shoes and began rolling up my jeans on the sidelines.
"That's Woody Harrelson out there. You can't go out there." A spectating extra offered.
Watch me.
I get out there, and I'm stuffed from lunch, tired from the long days/no sleep but something deeper and greater than my flesh keeps propelling me forward. When will I ever have this opportunity again? The super cute Brenna Lee Roth, cheered me on from the sidelines. This was real life. This was my real life.
"Let's go, beard!" she called after me as I chased the ball as if my life depended on it. I haven't played footy in years and barely knew what teams were, but we had a fucking blast. At one point the ball wooshed past Woody and I came in hot chasing it,
BOOM
I slam in to his shoulder. Reality turns to bullet-time. We're both shirtless and slightly sweaty and as parts of his skin stickily pull away from mine and other parts effortlessly slide past, I look him right in the eye, and what I saw there very well may be my favorite memory from the entire shoot. The look on his face was one of shock mixed with boyish pleasure. Pleasantly surprised. His face said "Thank you. Fucking thank you for not treating me like a little prissy pansy like everyone else on set does." At least that was my interpretation. He coulda been thinking, "YOU DARE SHOULDER WOODY HARRELSON?!" either way, next play he made a bee-line for me and shouldered into me. Wow. Either Woody Harrelson is playing with me or mad at me. Either way, WHO CARES, I AM PLAYING A GAME WITH AN A-LIST CELEB.
We got called back to set and as I'm unrolling my jeans and putting back on my shoes, someone addresses me,
"The balls on you, sir. I wish I coulda just ran out there like that. Weren't you scared?"
No. What's the worst that could happen? He'd just point and shake his head and I would've obediently turned around. "Any shot not taken is a goal not scored."I've always taken that saying to heart.
Once we got back to set, the buzz of my actions made its way back to me a couple of times and sustained the high I'd had from the very moment they pulled me out of line.
I was standing next to a dude named Eliot and he totally ruined my attempts at staying calm in between takes. He and I were cracking each other up left and right and even some of the people around us. Funny dude and we both hope to work together in the future.
During a meal break I also accomplished something nearly as memorable as pushups with Affleck and soccer with Woody. The moment I perceived the hierarchical breakdown I desired to shatter it. And shatter it I did. I did exactly what I wanted. It was literally like a scene out of a movie. Extras on one side of the tent, crew/celebs on the other. Middle table vacant. You know exactly where I set my tray. Right at the head of that middle table. And just like I wanted and just like you'd want, representatives from each group began congregating on me. "You played soccer with Woody Harrelson!" I know man, I know. We sat and ate and chatted until it was time to shoot again.
Toward the end of one of my other personal favorite highlights began occurring. The crew and specific members of the crew at that, began shaking my hand and complimenting my work. I'd died and gone to heaven. "Great energy." "Pleasure working with you." Glad-handing and dick-sucking were in no short supply.
I fully expected that to be the last day of shooting, but instead in keeping with it being a fantasy experience, I was asked to come back the next day.
In between takes I continued to joke with Eliot and in between scenes I continued to flirt with Brenna. Interesting girl. Little troublemaker. A real firecracker. Hung out in the extras tent, encouraged bad behavior. My kinda gal.
Days 3 and 4
The beginning of day 3 we shot some scenes in a Buick and I became infamous for my Jamie impression. Jamie was the AD and the most stereotypical British AD ever. He spoke in an even disaffected tone but peppered everything with properly pronounced swearwords that seemed somehow simultaneously elegant yet extra laughable in his accent. So most of this day was driving back and forth and slaying my fellow extras with my impression. Twice, not once, but TWICE I'd accidentally fooled a crew girl. "Wait, when did he say that?" He didn't, that was Josh. "He literally sounds exactly like him." If I ever work with him again, I'll be sure to zing 'im.
After we wrapped the Buick scene, they walked us way the fuck back in the cut and left us there. Informing us that they'd call us when they needed us. So after about 2 hours in the COMPLETELY dark woods, alone, we began growing restless. Somebody played some tunes with their phone and eventually a pipe was lit and passed around. Most stuff was done, and besides I wanted the memory for posterity. I took as many hits as the circle allowed and got nice and high realizing the beauty of being paid to hang out on quads and smoke weed in the woods. There will be few moments in my life that simplistically beautiful. Life was literally perfect at that point. The perfect end to a perfect experience. I also got smacked with an unexpected life lesson. The dude that was passing around the weed was a longhaired, tattooed, sunburned ginger answering to the name of "Red". I'd written Red off as a good ol' boy and largely resolved myself to treat him with professional courtesy, nothing more. Well after he pulled out ganja he skyrocketed up in my book and then after we were high and got into talking, he brought up ancient aliens and lost civilizations and such. Here is this guy that I wrote off as some dumb hick and now here I am smoking his herbs and engaged in interesting conversation with him. Boy was my face....... red. That'll show you, Vish, you cocky, elitist sunuvvabitch. You looked down on him and now you realize he's into all the same shit as you. I felt bad, as I rightfully should, but still very thankful for the harsh lesson. It's one I won't soon forget.
So essentially at the end of Day 3 and then all of Day 4, I/we got paid to have a sleepover in the woods. We got paid to smoke tree and drive quads. For 2 days, that was my life. Get a ride with Jeff to Raccoon State Park and then sit in the dark puffing flowers, talking about shit and occasionally riding quads. Unbelievable.
Thank you Life. Thank you Universe. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Allah. Thank you Tom Cruise. Thank you Mom. Thank you Dad. Thank you Me.
Also, in addition to getting paid to poke smot and hang out in the woods, Days 3 and 4 consisted of getting paid to eat things like this:
On day 3 before shooting the buick scene I gave my phone to a crew girl and she snapped some pics for me. If anyone from the production is reading this and has a problem with these, please, let me know right away, I'll take them right down. As they don't give anything about the plot away, I see no harm in sharing.
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| My butts was a dirty butts. |
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| Each of those lights was about the size of a recliner. |
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| I loved the juxtaposition of the new equipment and old building/nature. |
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| White tent to the right in the background is where the extras were held. |
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| This pic makes it look like these guys were just sitting around, but truth is the crew hummed around set like bees or ants. |
In between Days 3 and 4, a buddy of mine came into some quality cannabis and was kind enough it to deliver to me at work. I gave him my card and permission to go into my place and he rounded up the cash and made the purchase for me. I'd somehow already just come into free pizza and my buddy Joe had just purchased a six-pack to enjoy out front. So after a text to a fellow stoner, I smoked in the basement, drank a few beers and finished my shift the happiest and most efficient any one has ever finished a shift ever.
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| Beer was free, pizza was free. Herb was dank and reasonably priced. All brought to me whilst on the clock. That's right, I got paid to drink pizza and eat beer. #Vishlife |
And to think, none of this would've been possible without that cowboy-hat-n-chux clad friend of mine (and favorite Betten): Jeff.
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| Me and Jeff |
On a completely unrelated note:
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| This was Uncle Phil's face when I told him that he was Shredder. |
