I'm only with my new agent a couple of weeks when I get an audition for a popular TV soapie. She emails me the script and I set about practising my lines in the bathroom mirror in between teeth cleaning and face washing.
Two days later I’m at an audition in the suburban Melbourne studios. The building looks decidedly unglamorous but I know I'm in the right place when a Neighbours tour bus drives in through the boom gates and rolls slowly past the foyer, the occupants undoubtedly seeking a glimpse of a soapie star. Alas, tis only I.
The audition is over in a flash and I'm on my way home again, wishing I had said my lines differently. No need though, because a few days later my agent calls me to tell me I have the part!
First up is a wardrobe call. My man swans around me, saying he can ‘do magic’. He gives me a handbag and tells me to ‘own it’ then demonstrates how to carry it on my arm. I drink it all in because without question, he does it better than I do. In an effort to find an outfit suitable for my character, a ‘stylish and sophisticated semi retired naturopath with a penchant for diamonds', they bring me a skirt and some shoes that belong to the longest running female character in the show’s history!
On the shoot day I arrive early and after donning my ensemble, I’m taken to hair and make-up only to find the actress who plays the longest running female character in the show’s history having her hair done. I slink into the chair, hoping she doesn’t notice that I am wearing her clothes!
Back in the green room I act like I’m part of the furniture. Okay, maybe that’s not such a good idea as the couches have seen better days. But I almost manage to work the coffee machine (lukewarm's fine-really) and I mingle with the cast like I'm a regular and a couple of them even talk to me!
As I’m escorted by one of the ADs to the location next door I pass by some forlorn looking extras. I glance at them with sympathy. They gaze at me with envy. Ah, it does not seem that long ago that I was one of them. But now I am an actor in Australia's longest running TV soap.
With three lines.
I have made it.
PS
Seriously, though, it was a great experience. There wasn't any direction to speak of, apart from blocking but they clearly assume you know what you are doing (I sort of did!) and the crew was highly professional. Pretty impressive really when you consider how much pressure they are under to produce five episodes every week.
Anyway, I had fun and my episode screens 9th August! (UK 6th September) Yay!
Next up, an audition for a Coles ad!
Showing posts with label AD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label AD. Show all posts
Friday, May 17, 2013
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Scrubbing Up Again
Date: August 2010
Job: Offspring
Location: Preston
Okay! Back in scrubs. I got my fix. I walked the hospital corridor. I feel better now.
This week I was on set again with Dishy Dr Don. I got to walk past him. No saving babies' lives together today (see The Mouths of Babes, June) but that's okay. Such is the unpredictable life of a professional extra.
There are seven of us 'background artistes' playing hospital staff and patients. There's a young man taking photos of himself in scrubs who tells me everything he's been up to lately and shows me a photo of his baby nephew, who is apparently a lady killer, in the first five minutes of meeting him and without invitation.
Anyway, I'm eventually summoned and told to wait three beats then walk down the hallway with the orderly, past Dr Proudman (Asher Keddie). Wait so many beats then return with the nurse. I have to mime chatting, walk more slowly, act natural, stop at the water cooler, stop at the door, walk off when the lead says 'two minutes', be more animated. 'Don't just stand there like an ironing board,' says the AD. Okay, but you just told me to be natural and I'm remembering the time I got told to 'tone it down' (Surviving Amateurs, June). I ain't arguing with her, though. Earlier, when she was giving us our places, one extra asked if he could go to the toilet. She kicked him off the set! (Well, he was warned!) But now I'm worried she thinks I'm stupid. I am so busy concentrating on being animated I forget the instructions.
I'm 'wrapped' but get to have lunch before I leave. Most of the other extras get to stay on for another four hours. Not to worry. I got my fix.
Trouble is, how long can I last before I give in again, say yes to the call from the agent (whenever that might be) and, throwing caution to the wind, take another day off work? How long before the lure of being seen on the screen theatens my wellbeing, my job, my very soul?
For now I resolve to stay strong. I will only take jobs on my days off. I will focus on the roles I have in two student films. But like a true addict I'm probably kidding myself.
Job: Offspring
Location: Preston
Okay! Back in scrubs. I got my fix. I walked the hospital corridor. I feel better now.
This week I was on set again with Dishy Dr Don. I got to walk past him. No saving babies' lives together today (see The Mouths of Babes, June) but that's okay. Such is the unpredictable life of a professional extra.
There are seven of us 'background artistes' playing hospital staff and patients. There's a young man taking photos of himself in scrubs who tells me everything he's been up to lately and shows me a photo of his baby nephew, who is apparently a lady killer, in the first five minutes of meeting him and without invitation.
Anyway, I'm eventually summoned and told to wait three beats then walk down the hallway with the orderly, past Dr Proudman (Asher Keddie). Wait so many beats then return with the nurse. I have to mime chatting, walk more slowly, act natural, stop at the water cooler, stop at the door, walk off when the lead says 'two minutes', be more animated. 'Don't just stand there like an ironing board,' says the AD. Okay, but you just told me to be natural and I'm remembering the time I got told to 'tone it down' (Surviving Amateurs, June). I ain't arguing with her, though. Earlier, when she was giving us our places, one extra asked if he could go to the toilet. She kicked him off the set! (Well, he was warned!) But now I'm worried she thinks I'm stupid. I am so busy concentrating on being animated I forget the instructions.
I'm 'wrapped' but get to have lunch before I leave. Most of the other extras get to stay on for another four hours. Not to worry. I got my fix.
Trouble is, how long can I last before I give in again, say yes to the call from the agent (whenever that might be) and, throwing caution to the wind, take another day off work? How long before the lure of being seen on the screen theatens my wellbeing, my job, my very soul?
For now I resolve to stay strong. I will only take jobs on my days off. I will focus on the roles I have in two student films. But like a true addict I'm probably kidding myself.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Swinging in the 70's
Date: May 2010
Job: Eye of the Storm
Location: City
Seven weeks after the ad I do a film set in the 1970s so costume and make-up are provided, which is kind of fun. At the unit base I dress in a tent (no, I don’t wear a tent, that was late 70s, this is early 70s) and later I’m called into another tent to have my hair and make-up done. Of course the stars, like Geoffrey Rush, have a caravan. Sigh. One day.
Eventually a mini bus ferries us to the location, a posh Italian restaurant a few blocks away. We extras sit out on the street chatting, a habit we've all developed to pass the time. Should I be offended that they’ve married me to a grey-haired man in his late 50s when I’m… much younger? Not to worry, he’s a handsome, articulate man, and a good conversationalist. Once inside I am a little disappointed to find we are placed in a booth right at the back of the restaurant. Then they have the audacity to take my husband away and give me another! We find out later my second husband’s modern crew cut is the reason for his demotion from a table near the leads to one right up the back with me. There are lots of riotous jokes about wife swapping. Hubby #2 and I are left to our own devices as we realise, despite what the agitated AD tells us, we are not even in shot. The huge, and I mean huge, vase of flowers between us and the camera is a dead give away. So much for ‘being seen.’ And the trouble they went to dress me in this lovely orange knitted suit with gold trim and matching gold handbag and shoes and jewellery, not to mention my flicked back hair! So we sit there with our plates of cold pasta and glasses of grape juice playing ‘Pass the pepper. Which pepper? Oh, that pepper.’ (I’ll have to show you one day. Hours of fun.) and exchanging personal trivia in hushed tones.
Later I am given some herb cigarettes to smoke and my spouse and I work out a routine involving lighting my smoke with a candle, as we are thrilled to find his face and the back of my head will be blurs in the distance! Moving up in the world. The trouble is the cigarettes will not butt out and I have to keep replacing them and after several takes I realise I’ve smoked a whole pack. And I don’t even smoke! I try to hold the cigarette elegantly like I’ve seen in movies when it was considered cool, but I end up spilling ash everywhere. By the time we are finished there is a plate of pasta smothered in pepper, a mountain of cigarette butts in the ash tray and a table cloth mysteriously littered with grey filth and candle wax.
At lunch the extras are the last to eat, as industry propriety decrees, and I struggle to find things that satisfy. Against my better judgement, I eat a corn cob and have bits stuck in my teeth for the rest of the afternoon. Not that it matters. I could smear tomato sauce all over my face and it wouldn’t be seen.
During an afternoon break I see ‘The Rush’ sitting alone and decide to say hello. After all, we met just a few weeks before, at which time he chatted amiably with my daughter. I ask whether he remembers. He does. Then I stupidly tell him he looks tired. ‘Oh, we’ve been filming here today.’ ‘I know,’ I answer, ‘I’m one of the extras.’ I don't usually dress like this, you know.
The wardrobe people arrive and give us new outfits. We are re-arranged at the other end of the restaurant so that the camera can film the same scene from a different angle. I end up with an elderly gentleman. This time I’m facing the camera and actually within view of the leads! (Glad I didn’t go with the tomato sauce idea after all.) An AD tells me I’m a PA out to lunch with my boss. His ‘wife’ is now sitting at another table. More jokes about naughty goings on. ‘The boss’ and I chat between takes but when they yell ‘background!’ he will not make eye contact and, given we are miming, it’s impossible to co-ordinate our ‘talking’ and ‘listening’. So I give up and do my own thing.
It’s well after 7 pm by the time we get out of there. I whip off my costume and head off to a private screening of the docudrama I was in (see The Trial and Error, June), which is coincidentally showing at a nearby restaurant. I am wearing my 70s hair and make up but it’s not til much later that I realise I am also wearing a gold necklace that I have inadvertently stolen from wardrobe. Pity it wasn't the suit. That would have been something.
Job: Eye of the Storm
Location: City
Seven weeks after the ad I do a film set in the 1970s so costume and make-up are provided, which is kind of fun. At the unit base I dress in a tent (no, I don’t wear a tent, that was late 70s, this is early 70s) and later I’m called into another tent to have my hair and make-up done. Of course the stars, like Geoffrey Rush, have a caravan. Sigh. One day.
Eventually a mini bus ferries us to the location, a posh Italian restaurant a few blocks away. We extras sit out on the street chatting, a habit we've all developed to pass the time. Should I be offended that they’ve married me to a grey-haired man in his late 50s when I’m… much younger? Not to worry, he’s a handsome, articulate man, and a good conversationalist. Once inside I am a little disappointed to find we are placed in a booth right at the back of the restaurant. Then they have the audacity to take my husband away and give me another! We find out later my second husband’s modern crew cut is the reason for his demotion from a table near the leads to one right up the back with me. There are lots of riotous jokes about wife swapping. Hubby #2 and I are left to our own devices as we realise, despite what the agitated AD tells us, we are not even in shot. The huge, and I mean huge, vase of flowers between us and the camera is a dead give away. So much for ‘being seen.’ And the trouble they went to dress me in this lovely orange knitted suit with gold trim and matching gold handbag and shoes and jewellery, not to mention my flicked back hair! So we sit there with our plates of cold pasta and glasses of grape juice playing ‘Pass the pepper. Which pepper? Oh, that pepper.’ (I’ll have to show you one day. Hours of fun.) and exchanging personal trivia in hushed tones.
Later I am given some herb cigarettes to smoke and my spouse and I work out a routine involving lighting my smoke with a candle, as we are thrilled to find his face and the back of my head will be blurs in the distance! Moving up in the world. The trouble is the cigarettes will not butt out and I have to keep replacing them and after several takes I realise I’ve smoked a whole pack. And I don’t even smoke! I try to hold the cigarette elegantly like I’ve seen in movies when it was considered cool, but I end up spilling ash everywhere. By the time we are finished there is a plate of pasta smothered in pepper, a mountain of cigarette butts in the ash tray and a table cloth mysteriously littered with grey filth and candle wax.
At lunch the extras are the last to eat, as industry propriety decrees, and I struggle to find things that satisfy. Against my better judgement, I eat a corn cob and have bits stuck in my teeth for the rest of the afternoon. Not that it matters. I could smear tomato sauce all over my face and it wouldn’t be seen.
During an afternoon break I see ‘The Rush’ sitting alone and decide to say hello. After all, we met just a few weeks before, at which time he chatted amiably with my daughter. I ask whether he remembers. He does. Then I stupidly tell him he looks tired. ‘Oh, we’ve been filming here today.’ ‘I know,’ I answer, ‘I’m one of the extras.’ I don't usually dress like this, you know.
The wardrobe people arrive and give us new outfits. We are re-arranged at the other end of the restaurant so that the camera can film the same scene from a different angle. I end up with an elderly gentleman. This time I’m facing the camera and actually within view of the leads! (Glad I didn’t go with the tomato sauce idea after all.) An AD tells me I’m a PA out to lunch with my boss. His ‘wife’ is now sitting at another table. More jokes about naughty goings on. ‘The boss’ and I chat between takes but when they yell ‘background!’ he will not make eye contact and, given we are miming, it’s impossible to co-ordinate our ‘talking’ and ‘listening’. So I give up and do my own thing.
It’s well after 7 pm by the time we get out of there. I whip off my costume and head off to a private screening of the docudrama I was in (see The Trial and Error, June), which is coincidentally showing at a nearby restaurant. I am wearing my 70s hair and make up but it’s not til much later that I realise I am also wearing a gold necklace that I have inadvertently stolen from wardrobe. Pity it wasn't the suit. That would have been something.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Surviving Amateurs
Date: December 2009.
Job: Surviving Georgia
Location: Warburton
An independent feature film called Surviving Georgia is being made in our area and they're looking for local extras who are prepared to offer their services for free. My daughter and I volunteer by email and I make sure they know I have 'experience'. We turn up at the golf club for a wedding reception scene along with a heap of locals, mostly retired people because it's a week day. The young man we've brought with us is selected to be the groom because the suit doesn't fit the person they had in mind! He has to come back for another day and do the ceremony. All unpaid. Anyway, after hours of waiting around on this cold morning, a small group of us is selected to do an outdoor scene. We are told to mingle, sip wine (apple juice) and mime conversing with one another. So I 'chat' brightly with my co-extras and act like I'm the queen of the party, while Holly Valance and Shane Jacobson do their scene. We mime saying 'peas and carrots' and 'Auntie Mable's got cancer'. An old lady that I've never met and I kiss each other and act like we've known each other for years. They yell 'cut' and the DA comes over and tells me to 'tone it down a bit'! I realise I've been overacting, as if I'm on stage, and probably compensating for the fact that I can't talk. I feel a bit stupid. But fortunately I get a chance to redeem myself.
I come back to do a hospital scene. A baby is being delivered. The scrubs don't fit the person who's supposed to be the doctor so I get the part. Cool! But all I have to do, after waiting for a while trying to make conversation with extras who seem to think they know more than me, even though they are amateurs, and hearing a crew member rave on about the plight of Australian movies, is walk down a corridor, away from the camera, as Pia Miranda walks past. Hope my bum looks good in scrubs. We do a take. I've been told to walk with purpose. So I walk like I'm at work. (I'm a teacher and always in a hurry. Except when I'm on yard duty.) For the next take I'm told to start further back and walk more slowly. More slowly? This is hard to do, to find the balance between purpose and casual self assurance. This is not walking with purpose as I know it. I have to really concentrate. I think of Stanislavski and muster my acting skills.
Somehow, I manage.
Job: Surviving Georgia
Location: Warburton
An independent feature film called Surviving Georgia is being made in our area and they're looking for local extras who are prepared to offer their services for free. My daughter and I volunteer by email and I make sure they know I have 'experience'. We turn up at the golf club for a wedding reception scene along with a heap of locals, mostly retired people because it's a week day. The young man we've brought with us is selected to be the groom because the suit doesn't fit the person they had in mind! He has to come back for another day and do the ceremony. All unpaid. Anyway, after hours of waiting around on this cold morning, a small group of us is selected to do an outdoor scene. We are told to mingle, sip wine (apple juice) and mime conversing with one another. So I 'chat' brightly with my co-extras and act like I'm the queen of the party, while Holly Valance and Shane Jacobson do their scene. We mime saying 'peas and carrots' and 'Auntie Mable's got cancer'. An old lady that I've never met and I kiss each other and act like we've known each other for years. They yell 'cut' and the DA comes over and tells me to 'tone it down a bit'! I realise I've been overacting, as if I'm on stage, and probably compensating for the fact that I can't talk. I feel a bit stupid. But fortunately I get a chance to redeem myself.
I come back to do a hospital scene. A baby is being delivered. The scrubs don't fit the person who's supposed to be the doctor so I get the part. Cool! But all I have to do, after waiting for a while trying to make conversation with extras who seem to think they know more than me, even though they are amateurs, and hearing a crew member rave on about the plight of Australian movies, is walk down a corridor, away from the camera, as Pia Miranda walks past. Hope my bum looks good in scrubs. We do a take. I've been told to walk with purpose. So I walk like I'm at work. (I'm a teacher and always in a hurry. Except when I'm on yard duty.) For the next take I'm told to start further back and walk more slowly. More slowly? This is hard to do, to find the balance between purpose and casual self assurance. This is not walking with purpose as I know it. I have to really concentrate. I think of Stanislavski and muster my acting skills.
Somehow, I manage.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Copping It
Date: August 2009
Job: Rush
Location: Moorabbin
It's my second 'acting' job, my first as an 'extra', and it's a top quality cop show that I'm a fan of. Anyway, I've been told to ‘wait here’ but that was ages ago and it’s getting boring and it’s cold and if I step a few metres away from the crowd of crew and extras I can not only see Rodger Corser filming his scene but I'm in the sunshine which is so lovely and warm on this cold winter’s morning. But then the AD (Assistant Director to the unitiated) waves at me madly to get back! I could accidentally be in the shot! Oops!
We film several takes and I’m in two shots. I'm wearing my new suit (no black allowed so I just had to go shopping) and carrying a brief case and I think I look pretty good. I'm paired up with a guy who's also wearing a suit to make a corporate couple. At first we're onlookers in the background and then we move into a station arcade. The bad guy-a greasy haired drug dealer- runs right past us, chased by actors Nicole Da Silva and Josef Ber. Can’t wait to see it! You'll see me for sure! In between takes, a bogan on a bike stops and asks the two 'cops' if they caught him. Ms Da Silva tells him it's all pretend, that they're filming a TV show, but he refuses to believe her.
Anyway, weeks later, when I finally get to see the episode on TV, I’m just a dark reflection in a shop window and a momentary figure in the distance.
I tell myself they couldn’t have done it without me.
Job: Rush
Location: Moorabbin
It's my second 'acting' job, my first as an 'extra', and it's a top quality cop show that I'm a fan of. Anyway, I've been told to ‘wait here’ but that was ages ago and it’s getting boring and it’s cold and if I step a few metres away from the crowd of crew and extras I can not only see Rodger Corser filming his scene but I'm in the sunshine which is so lovely and warm on this cold winter’s morning. But then the AD (Assistant Director to the unitiated) waves at me madly to get back! I could accidentally be in the shot! Oops!
We film several takes and I’m in two shots. I'm wearing my new suit (no black allowed so I just had to go shopping) and carrying a brief case and I think I look pretty good. I'm paired up with a guy who's also wearing a suit to make a corporate couple. At first we're onlookers in the background and then we move into a station arcade. The bad guy-a greasy haired drug dealer- runs right past us, chased by actors Nicole Da Silva and Josef Ber. Can’t wait to see it! You'll see me for sure! In between takes, a bogan on a bike stops and asks the two 'cops' if they caught him. Ms Da Silva tells him it's all pretend, that they're filming a TV show, but he refuses to believe her.
Anyway, weeks later, when I finally get to see the episode on TV, I’m just a dark reflection in a shop window and a momentary figure in the distance.
I tell myself they couldn’t have done it without me.
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