Hey:
You know, in the last blog about Jeff Fahey, I talked about background artists and what they have to endure. Well, I've done some background artisting myself, the last time being in 1989 on a film called, "The Lady Forgets." It starred an actress named Donna Mills. I always get her mixed up with Morgan Fairchild. And I always get Morgan Fairchild mixed up with Morgan Freeman. So, at some point whenever somebody mentions Donna Mills, I go, "Oh, you mean that craggy old black actor? I love that guy!" Then they have to remind me that it's the doe-eyed chick from "Knot's Landing." I wanted to re-aquaint myself with the film so I checked it out on the IMDB and I just about fell out of my chair. Guess who else is in this thing? None other than Don S. Davis and Bill Dow. Fans of Stargate SG:1 will know these guys as General Hammond and Professor Lee. Of course, I never set eyes on these guys during shooting because I was a background artist and they were, "acting."
And when I say, "acting," I mean, "acting like they didn't know me," more like it.
Bastards.

But, bitterly I digress.
The other person in the film was Greg Evigan, he of, "BJ and the Bear," infamy. I've actually gotten to know Greg over the years and he's a great guy. He starred in a show that I was a staff writer on up here in Canada, called, "Big Sound." It was about a music management company and Greg played an agent. We constantly tried to pitch Greg storylines in which his agent character, Bill Sutton, discovers a musically talented chimp and they go on the road together because if Bill wasn't with the chimp, the chimp would trash every motel room he was booked into. Greg patiently explained to us, "Guys, I told you, I've done the chimp thing."

Geez, now that I think of it, one of the other actors on "Big Sound" was JR Bourne, you know the guy from SG:1 who played whatsisname.... Martouf...Tartouf...Souffle. Something like that. Anyway, the guy who's been killed about 20 times and still lives large on the sci-fi convention circuit. Well, JR's rockstar character, Bobby, didn't die even once on, "Big Sound." In fact, he was alive and well and repped by an agent played by none other than Colin Cunningham, or as Stargate fans know him, "Major Davis."
As a side note, Colin used to come up to the writers' room every other day and ask for more funny lines. We used to ignore him until he started bringing us gifts. One time he made a hat out of astroturf with a doll's head sticking out the top which could light up if you flicked a switch on a hidden battery pack. There were eight writers but he only made one astroturf hat. It didn't matter because there wasn't exactly a stampede to wear it. The point is, Colin is a calculating actor. Or as we liked to call him, "Colin the Cunning Ham."

Okay, now I'm just getting farther and farther away from Morgan Freeman. I mean...Donna Mills. I don't know why I decided to do extra work. I was living on my own and I guess I thought I never knew when work would dry up. I didn't realize then that I took that job in 1989 just so I could give you guys something to read about in 2006. How could I have been so short-sighted?
The scene that I was hired for was a night shoot. I, along with a handful of others, were to play New York City commuters. We had to be there at 11 p.m. so somehow, the middle of the night was to be dressed as early morning. In Vancouver we have a light rail transit system called, "The SkyTrain." It runs on one of those elevated tracks and the cars are quite small. I guess the reason they had to shoot at night was because the SkyTrain doesn't run at night and so we had the run of the tracks.
I was told to bring a change of clothes and look like a commuting businessman. That's one of the other differences between "actor" and "extra": their clothes versus your own. Anyway, I get there in my Ford Escort and see the huge tent set up for all the other milling extras. An A.D. welcomes us, shows us where the coffee and donuts are, as well as the reeking porta-potties, then vanishes.

The tent was the kind that had four legs, a canvas ceiling and no walls, very "Rommel-esque." The tables were long, bare cafeteria-style and the chairs, the rickety plastic folding type. There was also a massive portable heater that was cranked, red and glowing enough to be seen from outer space. In fact, it was so hot that it rendered an entire corner of the tent uninhabitable unless you wore an asbestos suit.
Everyone settled in with magazines and card games and waited for the A.D. to come and get us for our scene.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, around 1 a.m. he showed up to tell us that they didn't need us yet but not to leave because they would definitely be getting to us.
And waited.
And waited.
At around 4 a.m., a flatbed truck shows up. It backs up and two scruffy thugs get out and silently begin dismantling the tent. At first we weren't sure what was happening but then it became clear that whatever rental deal had been signed by the producers of, "The Lady Forgets," it effectively ended at 4 a.m. We all knew what was coming next as was evidenced by the mad dash for the coffee urn. While we were jockeying for position like heroin junkies at a methodone clinic, the two thugs quietly folded up the tables and chairs and threw them onto the flatbed. So, now, holding onto our lame paper cups that held warm, five hour old coffee, we had nowhere to sit. Finally, we watched them unplug the heater, dismantle the tent, place them on the truck and drive away.

Leaving behind the reeking porta-potties, of course.

Bleary-eyed but still wired from the ancient java, we stood around shivering. At about 5 a.m. I was so exhausted that I decided to sleep in my car. As sad as that decision was, it got sadder when one of the women, who had taken a cab to the location, asked me if she could sleep in my car with me. So, there I was, in my New York businessman attire sleeping in my Ford Escort next to a strange woman, also in businesswoman attire. We looked like a couple of well-heeled hobos who'd come across an unlocked car for the night.
At around 6 a.m., the A.D. rapped on my window and said that they were now ready for us. This was not going well. I sat up and immediately felt the screaming pain of a neck cramp from sleeping against the headrest for one freezing hour. The woman woke up and we shared an awkward moment that had a very, "one night stand" feel to it, even though no sex had taken place.

All the other extras were getting out of their cars and making their way to the set. Everyone was stiff from sleeping sitting up which made us all stagger like zombies from, "Night of the Living Dead." We were playing early morning commuters and guess what? It was early morning! It was practically cinema verite!
At this point, the money means nothing. Sleep means everything. We'd have been happy if they'd paid us in sleep but of course, that would be impossible. Mostly because the union couldn't figure out a way of getting their commission. What, you get a long sleep and somebody at the union gets paid with a short nap? Doesn't work.
Anyway, we arrive at the set and I immediately spot Donna Fairchild. I mean, Morgan Mills. I mean, Donna Freeman. I mean, Donna Mills. She was wearing a massive parka and at first I thought the parka was standing up on its own but then I noticed the spindly legs sticking out the bottom and the huge doe eyes poking out from the hood.

I was handed a copy of the New York Times by someone from the props department. I was supposed to be reading this as the train whipped into the station, past the camera set up on the platform. If you've ever looked closely at a copy of the New York Times, you'll know that the paper is so crammed full of fine print on the front page that it's hard to even read the thing with a magnifying glass. I could not imagine for a second that viewers would spot the realism of the New York Times as it washed across the screen in a newsprinty blur. I swear I could've been reading a box of Shreddies and it would've had the same effect.

In this film, my girl Donna is a woman who bonks her head and wakes up two years later. It's a thriller in which she gets hunted down by some creeps. When I and all the exhausted extras heard the storyline, all we could think of was how lucky her character was to sleep for two years.

In the scene, Donna had to board the railcar amidst the crush of commuters and then come to some horrible realization (I don't know what) and then get up and get off at the next stop. Easy peasy, right? Uh, not quite. I don't know how many times we did the take but I'm thinking we wore some steel off that section of track that we ran up and down. The director, Bradford May, was not getting what he wanted from Donna. Take from that what you will, people. The point being, what happened next, I have never seen before or since.

Bradford May got dressed up as one of the commuters, got on board the train and talked Donna Mills through her scene, frame by frame. He spoke out of the side of his mouth while trying to watch her but not be seen himself. He'd say things like, "Action! Okay, you sit down. Now, you look around. Look around more. More! You start to get scared. More scared. More scared! Good. Now, you decide to get up. Not yet! Okay, now. Great. Now, the horrible realization dawns on you. You're eyes go wide with fear. Good. Good. Then, you leave the train. And...cut!"

And here was me throwing money at on-camera workshops to try and act and all I needed was the director in the scene with me, in disguise, talking me through every emotional beat required.
It was an amazing sight and thanks to that, I've since renamed the movie, "The Lady Forgets...How to Act."

Cheers,
jonesy

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