Many years ago, I worked as a film and television extra for a few months. Interspersed with temporary jobs at insurance companies and accounting firms, the onscreen background work paid no more than short-term office stints, but provided welcome breaks of a day or two from hours of transcription and filing.
When the cameras start rolling, extras dine in cafes, walk down streets, or sit in airplane seats while the main characters live out their story arcs in the spotlight. Viewers scarcely notice the additional faces, but on-screen worlds would appear strangely empty—like the day after the apocalypse—without extras wandering the scene.
Even so, no matter how essential, extras stand squarely on the bottom rung of the film industry's cast and crew hierarchy, maybe one step above props. We eat last at mealtimes, speak to no one but the assistant director wrangling us, and cluster in herds on the sidelines when not needed in a shot. On the plus side, I once found the time to read the very long book Anna Karenina from cover to cover over a few days on a set!
A week before Christmas, the casting agency offered me work in a TV movie about Errol Flynn, a period piece where even the extras wore costumes and had their hair and make-up done by a professional. I usually brought my own clothes for contemporary films, so I was delighted to don vintage outfits and sit in the make-up trailer.
The wardrobe supervisor who dressed all of the extras had a tremendous workload outfitting a few dozen men and women each day. She sized up every extra in an instant before pulling a 1930s or 40s era outfit from racks crammed into the back of a truck. If it fit, we wore it. Her brusqueness brooked no discussion.
Day #1, I disliked the orange and dark blue suit she handed me, colors popularized by the 1939 New York World's Fair and probably ignored by fashion as a color combo ever since.
Day #2, the burgundy knit dress looked fine on the hanger, but not on me. It bunched and sagged in all the wrong places. Plus, the vintage fabric began to itch after I had walked up and down a sidewalk on a warm December afternoon for multiple takes.
Despite the less than flattering costumes, the job immersed me in sets that mimicked the black and white movies I remembered watching with my mother on TV as a child. I had stepped into Hollywood's Golden Era brought to life, and I relished my brief immersion on sets filled with classic cars and antique movie equipment.
Productions usually did not assign extras to work a Day #3. Our job depended on anonymity, so most films and series offered two days at most.
On my second, and what I expected to be my last, day on the set, the director promised steak and lobster at lunch for everyone working that day. I stood at the back of the queue with my fellow extras so crew could be served first. By the time all of us reached the catering window, ready for plates full of surf and turf, the servers had run out of the popular entree. They disappointed us with more mundane fare.
By way of apology for missing the steak and lobster holiday bonus, the director offered a third day of work to any extra who wanted it. Other temporary jobs seemed unlikely that close to Christmas, so I quickly said yes.
At home that night, I decided to bring some of the chocolate rum balls I had been making for the holidays. The group of extras I sat with each day would enjoy snacking on them when we sat off camera. I also packed a few more in a small box for the sharp-tongued wardrobe supervisor. Maybe something sweet would mellow her mood while doling out costumes.
The next day, I waited in line for my outfit and handed her the box of homemade sweets when my turn came.
"Rum balls," I told her. "I make them every Christmas. But be careful; they contain real rum."
She looked astonished that someone had brought her a gift. Demands, yes. Complaints, many. But a gift?
She thanked me in a bemused manner, then waved her hand towards the racks behind her.
"Pick out whatever you want to wear," she told me.
Had the Wicked Witch just transformed into my Fairy Godmother? I did not question her new found flexibility, but climbed quickly into the truck before she changed her mind. A dramatic black and white dress caught my eye, and I matched it with an elegant wide-brimmed hat.
Female extras dressed in a single crowded trailer, but I snatched a few moments of mirror time to admire how the dress flattered my figure so much more than the costumes worn on the previous two days. The dress was pretty, and I loved wearing it.
What began as a holiday impulse, to give someone a small treat, became one of my most memorable gift exchanges. I gave a harried woman homemade rum balls to lift her mood during a long workday, and she gifted me the chance to feel like a star, even if doing my job meant no one noticed me sitting in the background.