SECRET OF SOAP

The secrecy of any information regarding any shoot is practiced only on extras.

It is understandable that no production manager, director or cast want future

story lines costumes or scenes shared with the world on social media.

However the level of security does not extend to the many technical, costume,

makeup or other personal who all get a daily call sheet.

This is a document that plans the whole day ahead saying who does what and how

each might be contacted.

It also contains the magic words, Estimated Wrap Time.

In the hands of extras this document would elevate the extra who holds it to the

level of The Oracle and whilst it would cut conversation on potential overtime,

lunch time and the magic finish time, so popular with supporting actors, the

oracle would sit in the bus winning all and any popularity whilst answering

questions.

The Holy Grail of the shoot is ironically easy to obtain. Most of the techs are

only too happy to provide a copy on request or a short detour into their area

will yield a discarded copy. Few, however, would dare to break down the class

wall that separates the extras from the superior crew and the Grail normally

remains hidden by etiquette.

 'Good Afternoon' I venture to a spotty little young man with a belt with tools

hanging from it and which seems to tie his top half to his bottom half 

'have you got a copy of the call sheet'

'Sure mate' he happily replies handing me an ear marked tatty little A4 booklet which contains the secret of life for the day

By the time I get to the sanctuary of the supporting actors rest/eating/waiting bus I know we will work until 10 pm, that there are only six of us, and I will be a street cleaner whilst the action takes place on the street in front of me. 

Just one scene

This is a soap and I read the script. It is not Hamlet and I wonder at the 

imagination of the writer who has put together this masterpiece in pre-secondary school English?

I am the fourth of the extras to arrive and I take my place next to the young budding actress who is carefully putting her own make up on to play 'woman walking on the pavement'. 

It is unlikely this will be the day that a watching casting  director will discover her but I will not disillusion her with news of the role she will play.

I feel powerful over my peer group with my superior prophetic knowledge when the 

fifth man ( man cutting hedge ) arrives and immediately hugs the pavement woman 

as they remember the toothpaste advert they did together some weeks ago with true affection.

Conversation of what might lie ahead is made whilst tea is drunk and cakes are 

eaten as we wait the late arrival of our last colleague (boy in hoody) and the 

third assistant director (a posh young intern making less than us) checks him in 

making a mental note to tell the casting agent he was late and condemn him to 

several months of  no work offered until his transgression is forgotten ) and we 

are all put into a bus to be transported to a street that a location manager has 

decided is more appropriate for the scene than all the other like streets.

We all stand around whilst cameras, cables and equipment are carried around us.  

A table is set and a tea urn appears by magic on a table where more cakes and 

sandwiches appear under cling film. 

Extras may not remove the film and must wait for crew to take the first pickings before devouring what is left.

After rehearsals without the stars a Lexus pulls up and two actresses emerge from it who boy in hoody excitedly recognises (one was apparently in a film called Zombies can be Kind)

What will these mega gods (who must not speak to or even acknowledge the extras 

and minor crew on their way to earning wages which will top all of theirs put 

together) make of this masterpiece of a script

Three hours and eight takes later we realise that they are indeed human 

with limited talent.

Then after the eighth take the director  shouts 'that's a wrap' and we all buzz 

to our respective transport. Extras to be the last to leave of course

I look at my watch 

It is five to ten.

They are filming in a big Park. There are almost 200 supporting artists who were called extras before Ricky Gervais ruined the name forever with his comedy series. Sometimes the workers are now called background artists as if that is a grander name!

Today they have to form a crowd being entertained by a horse tournament

They gather in a huge tent at 6 30 am and help themselves to a Savoy type breakfast with every cooked and cold breakfast fare ever known to man presented in huge quantities

Full up and already knackered they spend the next hour in a long Que for makeup and then costume ( some are in their own clothes) and having been complimented by those tasked with making them beautiful one by one the girls come out looking as well as possible at this ungodly hour whilst the men are camped up to look like a bunch of stereo-typed hooray Henries.

In and out the tent the go for photographs assessment and inspection by various assistants to assistant directors who take their authority from some unseen person barking down a two way radio and hiding behind some hidden camera

Then en-mass they leave for the tournament and peace descends at least until three crew who believe they are much higher up the food chain (they have raidios and have loads of stuff hanging on belts and if it's cold north face jackets) have to clean up the array of empty water bottles and half eaten breakfasts left by those with bigger eyes than stomachs.

'Dirty bastards' says one as he clears away the mess 'this is not my job' after five minutes he goes off to have something to eat at the cast and crew Wagon which serves superior food in this politically incorrect elitist arena.

However, their criticism is gentle to that of the makeup and costume crew who have dropped their smiles to discuss what thy really think of the ladies on the other side of the camera. They forget the walls of their arena are made of canvas.

After an hour all 170 return to rest then have a four coarse lunch before heads go down and sleep is sought by the quiet ones whilst the others share stories of past gigs or absent families.

After another attempt at filming for an hour 4-00pm comes around and no one has done much work. But the food weary folk trudge in again for crisps and  sandwiches on this never ending battle against hunger.

And so to the wonderful wrap. Another hour venture before the cameras and

the day is done.

Well not quite. There is a scramble to get chits signed and time to squeeze as much money as possible. Overtime broken lunch travel expenses holiday pay are just some of the areas claimed.

It has been a long day lasting 14 hours. For almost four of these some people had to do some work.

And others have to get home for dinner.

extras, backgroand and SA's

Everyone seems to be blogging

Until recently I would have rather put tooth picks down my finger nails than blog as I have always viewed the activity as either a poor substitute for conversation or a bit self indulgent where bloggers present their views to uninspired readers.

However, in becoming a journalist the importance of the new (to me) technology is constantly made apparent and the professional course I have filled part time hours with this year have yielded teachers who insist that all journalist blog.

Except they don't…… The two established journalist I know not only don't blog but carry around a tube of tooth picks in case they need an alternative

to the lonely acct of expressing self opinion.

However, encouraged by my fellow students I have persevered. I have set up the google account (which seems to be a requirement for blogging unless wikkileaks can tell me there is some more sinister reason)and listened

whilst the instructions on what to do have soared over my head into hyper space.

Having chosen a blog name it was now open for me to chose a subject

'Do a football blog about West ham,' suggested my nearest and dearest showing an insight into what she knows is important to me and a poor assessment of my writng capabilities.

'Or you could write about politics' which suggests an equally riveting platform for others to find their cure for insomnia.

After some thought I decided I would write about other people I know but then I realised I would only be able to tell you about them through my eyes so this would still be an outlet for my ego which needs no further encouragement.

So this is my first blog and as you can see it's about.........we'll nothing really.

I have become a real blogger overnight outing out information for others which they don't need and probably don't want.

Welcome to the Old Fox Blog which will at least try to entertain with stories that become me as I continue my stumble through life

Today I am on set for a television series. There are nearly 200 background cast sitting in a marquee waiting to sit in a stand and watch a pretend horse show.

Surely I can find some interesting stories from them and for my next blog.

So that it!  Welcome to the adventures of a supporting artist, background ARTIST or an extra  ...... Or someone who is just part of the crowd.