Extra Ordinary Bites.

"Whoops, we didn't organise enough food, umm..."

Maybe he was going to declare that he'd take us all to a nearby pub and pay the tab in apology for not catering for us properly. We could have chips and pies and dips. Mmmm... dips.

"...Take half of what you'd usually eat."

That was the organisational and problem solving skills of the Assistant Extras Coordinator from a filmset I was on recently.

To be fair, he was just the spokesperson, but I feel like shooting the messenger.

I already don't like being an extra. There I said it. My problems with it are as follows:

1. I'm not the main character.
This is challenging. I want people to notice me and preferably to adore me. If I'm just one of a crowd the chances of this are significantly reduced.

2. I'm not acting.
I want to be acting. I don't understand how texturing a background is required anywhere in an actor's apprenticeship. All it proves is they can stay positive in the face of absolutely demeaning treatment. (And I failed at this aspect, just ask the Extras Coordinators that have worked with me. I feel genuine pity for them by the five hour mark- that is five hours of being onset, ready to shoot, without having a camera pointed at me yet.)

3. I don't get anything out of it.
Oh, the networking, the new friendships, the experience. Those are great. I love those aspects of production, whatever sort of production I get them from. However, if I don't have at least thirty seconds of material to choose from for my showreel, I get kind of resentful. That resentment increases if I can't even promote my involvement in the production because anyone watching wouldn't have seen me at all. Why did I spend twenty hours on your set if no one was ever going to see me there?

So it's established. I don't like being an extra. Okay, sometimes I like being an extra. If you have me on set, working, straight away then I'm just happy to get to practice my craft. Also, if I get to wear cool make-up or costumes then you've probably bought yourself another two hours of contentment from me.

Though, I must be specific, this is only relevant for those unpaid extra roles. If you're paying me to be there, I'll pack you a lunch, if you like.

For unpaid work as an extra, I usually want to convert to Christianity so I can curse God to his face. But for whatever reason, up until recently, I've been under the impression that I need the experience of being an extra to improve my craft and the networking aspect to further my career. Even knowing that I would probably be invisible in the finished product, I've tried hard to get what I can out of the immediate experience.

One of the things I got out of the experience was FOOD!

Extra: will work for food!

It's really a very simple policy: feed me well on set.

Here are three hard and fast rules to go by if you're planning on having extras on your set. Unpaid extras, remember. If you're paying them then see what the union says. They're not my problem.

1. Any shoot under three hours- you can get away without feeding us so much as a breadcrumb. Any shoot three to five hours- please provide some refreshments. Any shoot between six and eight hours- you really must provide a substantial meal. Any shoot over eight hours- you really should provide a substantial meal and refreshments throughout. At all times provide water. And for goodness' sake, cater to vegetarians!

2. If for whatever reason you have failed to organise yourself properly and catering has failed to satisfy the hunger of your dedicated team of background texturers, DO NOT DISMISS THIS PROBLEM! You deserve to be mobbed and have a full-blown riot on your hands if you think that is an acceptable managing of affairs. Call the pizza place. Call the sandwich place. Call your mum. Call anybody! Put it on Tony Abbott's tab. Tell the director it was a magwie attack! Do anything. But don't leave your extras hungry, man. That's not on.

3. If for whatever reason you suck and are NOT catering, you MUST tell the extras when they are signing up. Don't let them come unprepared. The day before the shoot you should remind them so they can get their mum or boyfriend or trained platypus to pack them the meals you should have been providing. If you aren't providing water, let them know this, too. You may have fewer extras for your honesty, sure, but on the other hand, people that volunteer to be extras are often in it out of a sense of altruism or a misguided idea that it might be fun or beneficial to them (admittedly, most of the extras I've come across have seemed happy just to be there. It kind of makes me feel bad for being such a misery guts but the chip on my shoulder is there for a reason). Exploit these characteristics to your benefit and the fact that you aren't feeding them could become a real gimmick to attract their attendance.

So that's it. You've learnt that I'm not in the slightest bit altruistic and that I like to eat. Maybe I should censor myself a bit more effectively?

Catering suggestion for your next production.

Crying On Camera

Other than aesthetically, I don't see the point of crying on camera.

I mean, good for you if you can, but crying isn't the point, surely?

A few months ago I filmed a sort of stand-alone scene of a monologue I had written along the lines that the director and editor had prescribed. It was very clear to me that my character would be hysterical under these circumstances. It was equally clear to me that they would cry.

I have never, ever cried on cue before.

I cry all the time when I'm trying not to. I am a huge cry baby. My mum would call me Ophelia when I was growing up!

For a particular theatre production early last year, I spent the whole rehearsal period desperately trying to cry on stage, on cue. I was so frustrated and disappointed in myself when I had to resort to sort-of-sobbing to convey the emotion. I would have preferred to avoid that altogether but it was the director's direction that I break down at that point, regardless of my ability or lack thereof.

For this film, I spent the entire rehearsal period refining the monologue and making character choices. I made the mistake of being a bit precious about my monologue and I think I would have it edited ruthlessly by a third party if I were going to do it again. But that's beside the point. The point is: I didn't practice crying. I tried. I would get the moist eyes and I'd squeeze out the cloud of a tear and then I'd be dry as a cat's tongue. I just couldn't inspire myself in any way to wetly manifest the sense of hysteria, shame and anguish that my character would experience in this scene.

This Magic Troll has more emotional depth than I do!

I drove to the shoot, which was in Mandurah. I spent the entire drive running my lines, even though I got to read half of them off the page as I was performing (makes sense in context). And I screamed. I howled. I sobbed. I thought of every sad thing, every heartbreak, every misery that I could remember (I have quite the store) and when I started to feel sensible again, I would smack myself in the face.

Yes! Extreme, but I was a character performing a heinous task under duress. I think a smack in the face is the least I could do to inform my performance.

I listened to melancholy or angry music and then I pulled up at the hotel and parked. I had to ask the hotel staff where to go for the shoot and I must've looked a right mess!

I felt fragile, I felt broken, I felt goddamned annoyed that I couldn't find a place of solitude to maintain my sense of loss and isolation. Instead, I had to snap out of it as I asked about costume choices and make-up. I talked to the crew in a sort of bad tempered way which made everyone skittish or grumpy around me, because I started to get into the zone again. I started to shake. I couldn't manage a smile. I felt thoroughly and genuinely depressed. And my throat hurt from all the emo singing (and the flu I'd caught that day that was incubating in my glands). I sat down to perform, not sure if I could quite manage the hysteria and suffering I'd summoned on my trip down to the shoot.

Then as I delivered my monologue, I cried. Actual, wet tears fell from my eyes and I blubbered like a woman condemned to die. I couldn't quite believe it. I had done it. I cried on cue. Right when I wanted to cry, I did.

I couldn't help but be pleased with myself for accomplishing something I never thought would be personally possible. I was immediately a lot friendlier to the crew upon the director calling 'cut!' They were a nice crew, too.

It doesn't matter that you can't tell that I was actually crying in the scene and it seems like I'm fake crying. Okay, it matters a little. But only aesthetically, for future reference. So I can figure out how to approach the camera and adapt my performance to suit it. It doesn't matter because in the process of trying to cry on cue I actually learnt a lot more about how to access emotions, that for reasons I don't understand yet, are very heavily protected when I'm on stage or screen.

Here I am. Willing to look silly for my craft. 

I have such incredible armour when I'm performing that I find it hard to recall genuine emotions. I'm always at risk of indicating or having a rather limited range, because I can't remember how I feel when I'm sad. My imagination, which works overtime when I'm anxious or excited, becomes utterly remote from me when I am acting. Until that shoot. The preparation I did for that shoot somehow damaged that armour so badly that now I can access my genuine emotions, connected to my imagination, very easily. (There is still arduous preparation and psychic skinning before filming but I feel relaxed and I'm not result oriented.) I can cry on cue, but I don't have to. The crying isn't important. If I can't cry, that's okay, because I have found a way to express deep emotional experiences to my other actors and to the audience, anyway. I am not seeking a particular result anymore, which inexplicably makes it easier to follow my whims, and cry.

Whether or not I have tears, I have organic emotion.

Nonetheless, how great is it that I can cry on cue now, huh?