THE FILM EXTRA
Richard was at the Oval cricket ground in south London on a fine summer’s evening in 2014 when the call came through. He had travelled up from Brighton with his friend Philip to support Sussex in their match against Surrey. They were sitting in the Peter May Stand, named after Surrey and England’s premier post-war batsman, amongst the small crowd that was thinly scattered around the vast arena. The enormous green gas-holders that overlook the ground were just behind them.
As Richard glanced across to the Houses of Parliament on the other side of the River Thames, a jumbo jet roared overhead on its way to returning another group of holidaymakers to Heathrow airport from the Canaries, Majorca, Spain, the Greek Islands, Turkey or any one of the other popular holiday destinations. Or was it a long haul flight from a place such as Singapore? He would never know, but always liked to speculate in his mind as to where the plane had travelled from.
They were absorbed in the entertaining match, talking about the chances of another win for Sussex, when the white ball thudded into the boundary board in front of them, after an unsuccessful chase by a Surrey fielder. Suddenly they were startled by the sound of the traditional tune of ‘Greensleeves’ coming from somewhere nearby. After a moment’s hesitation, Richard remembered it was the ring-tone for his mobile phone, and immediately started to fumble around for it in his ruck-sack, conscious of the possible annoyance to other spectators.
He was not familiar with the number for the incoming call but for some unknown reason decided to answer it, even though it was interrupting his idyllic evening at the cricket.
‘Is that Richard?’
It was the voice of a well-spoken young woman.
‘Yes it is, who am I speaking to?’, he said, half expecting it to be someone trying to interest him in whatever goods and services they had been trained to sell. Sitting watching a game of cricket would have been a most inconvenient time for such a conversation, and he would have to think of a polite way to say that he wasn’t interested. He hated being rude to these young people who were, after all, only doing their job but unfortunately it was sometimes necessary to put an early end to unwanted calls.
‘Good afternoon Richard, I hope you are well today. My name is Amanda and I work for the New Horizons film company. We are making a short film to promote ticket sales for the Rugby World Cup in England next year and wondered if you would be interested in taking part. We were given your name by the organisers of the Rugby World Cup volunteers, ‘The Pack’, who said you would be suitable. If so, are you free tomorrow?’
Richard was flabbergasted and it must have shown in his face as Philip looked at him, wondering what the call could possibly be about. Then Philip suddenly shouted. ‘Look out, the ball is coming our way!’
Richard looked up to see the small white cricket ball sailing through the air in their direction, having been given a mighty hit by one of the Sussex batsman. As it flew nearer he instinctively stood up and stuck out his free hand, ready for the catch. The ball just eluded him, however. Richard and Philip turned round as it was safely pouched by a middle aged man about five rows behind them. Unfortunately, in his panic to catch the ball, he had dropped his half full plastic cup of beer which had sprayed all over the seats in front of him.
‘Well held mate!’ said several of the spectators sitting nearby. ‘I hope you win a prize for that.’ Sadly it wasn’t to be as the match wasn’t being televised by Sky TV who generally offered a cash prize to any of the spectators who successfully managed to catch the ball.
‘Hello, are you still there?’, came the voice on the other end of the phone.
‘Sorry about that Amanda. I’m at a cricket match in London and just had to take evasive action from a dangerous flying cricket ball. Anyway, back to what you were saying, I do happen to be free tomorrow, what exactly would you like me to do?’
‘Well first of all Richard, can I ask you a personal question?’
Richard, still feeling quite uneasy yet excited about the prospect of doing something he had never done before and, yes, with a little bit of vanity that he knew that this quite forward young woman was probably exploiting to the full, wondered what was coming next.
‘Depends what it is,’ he said.
‘Are you bald?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well we’re looking for someone to act as a Scotland fan with the blue and white Scottish flag painted on the top of his head.’
‘Well sorry to disappoint you Amanda but I do have hair, not very much, but its hair all the same.’
‘Well that’s OK,’ said Amanda, ‘we can still paint your face and dress you in a rugby shirt. Do bring along any rugby kit that you have.’
‘Well I’m game for a laugh,’ said Richard. ‘Where is all this happening?’
‘It’s at Twickenham stadium. Can you get there for nine thirty tomorrow morning Richard, its entrance C? You’ll also need to sign a contract and there will be a small acting fee. I’ll send the details through in an e mail.’
‘I’ll try,’ he said. ‘It’s easy enough to take the train from where I live in Sussex.’
‘Well thanks Richard. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning.’
Richard turned to Philip. ‘You’re not going to believe this but I think I’m going to be a film star.’
***
Richard arrived home just after eleven thirty to an empty house. It had been a day/night game, with the second half played under floodlights. Sussex had won in a thrilling finish, with their leg spinner hitting the last ball for six over their heads into the back row of the Peter May stand.
He looked around for some rugby kit, and found shorts, shirt and socks from his playing days, which he managed to squeeze into. Many years ago he’d played for his local club side but had to give up rugby due to a head injury that had left him concussed. Some said that he’d never been the same since!
The next morning he caught the seven thirty train and joined all the expressionless commuters for the trip to Clapham Junction from where he would catch the connection to Twickenham. He had to stand as all the seats were taken.
Whenever he passed through this self-styled ‘busiest station in the country’, he felt relieved that he’d managed to avoid commuting to London every day. It would have been a living nightmare, and so stressful before a hard day’s work in the office.
The train from Clapham Junction to Twickenham was a pleasure by comparison, and at last he was able to read his paper. Groups of schoolchildren in their smart uniforms entered the carriage, and their bubbly chatter was a welcome relief from the deadpan misery of the robot like commuters.
On leaving Twickenham station the streets were fairly quiet. Just ahead of him were a young man and woman walking in the direction of the stadium, which was clearly signposted. He wondered if they were taking part in the film too, but they soon turned left to walk down one of the side streets.
It was a fine sunny morning with the temperature predicted to be in the high twenties centigrade later in the day. He turned the corner and had his first sight of the imposing concrete stadium that is Twickenham, the home of English rugby.
It’s come on a bit since I was last here, he thought. Could it really be forty-five years since I was here on a school trip, one freezing December afternoon, to watch the annual varsity match between Oxford and Cambridge?
Looking up to the top of the immense stadium was like standing on the beach at Seven Sisters in Sussex, gazing at the precipitous cliff of Beachy Head.
In front of the main entrance was a statue of a rugby line-out, with three players lifting two other players who were competing to catch the ball. Lifting was a development of the game that would not have been permitted in his playing days, but that was a long time ago.
He looked for a sign to entrance C but couldn’t see it so decided to walk around the stadium. There was much building work in progress, in preparation for the World Cup in just over a year’s time. As he turned the corner he saw entrance C but no sign of life. Then he noticed that, under his feet and embedded in the ground, were the names of England rugby heroes from the past, David Duckham, Rory Underwood and Bill Beaumont, amongst others. For a rugby fan it was quite difficult to force himself away from viewing them all.
He eventually tore himself away from thinking about the legends of the game and, with some trepidation, headed towards the entrance, wondering if this had been some kind of hoax as no-one apart from the builders seemed to be there. He hoped it was for real as he wanted to step out onto the hallowed turf, where he was sure the filming would be taking place, and so be able to tell his family and friends that he was appearing in a film.
As he approached, a woman emerged from the doorway and looked at him expectantly.
‘I’m here to appear in the Rugby World Cup film,’ he said, his chest almost swelling with pride.’
‘Well if you’d like to go up to the first floor, there’s some breakfast waiting for you,’ said the woman. ‘You’ll be called to the studio when they are ready for you.’
Studio, he thought, this might actually happen, I’m going to be famous at last.
Walking up the stairs he entered a large, fairly unimpressive, windowless room. He thought he recognised two men who were standing chatting at the far end of the room, but before making any introductions, he decided to investigate the free breakfast on offer. It was only cereal, toast, tea and coffee, but it was nice that the organisers had provided it.
Entering a room full of people he had never met before was difficult for him. He’d gradually learnt the art of engaging in conversation with total strangers, although he had lost confidence since becoming a ‘free agent’ once again. The grief of losing his wife Patricia to breast cancer, the year before, was still quite raw.
Just ahead of him in the queue was a young man, probably in his mid to late twenties, who made eye contact. They started to engage in a conversation about what would happen that day and so it was natural that they should sit at the same table. They were soon joined by a young girl with masses of hair that had been carefully braided with beads in the green and gold colour of the South African team.
As he tucked into his cornflakes, Richard started chatting to the young man, whose name was Jack. Jack turned out to be a professional actor who had graduated from drama school a few years earlier. He had recently returned from taking part in a play in Japan for which he had to spend three hours each day getting made up for the role, and a further hour at the end of the day having all the make-up and prosthetics removed. This had continued for six days a week for three months. For the first time in his life Richard had an inkling of the extreme discomforts that actors must go through for the sake of their art. It wasn’t all glamour.
Then, looking up, he saw the two men he had noticed earlier walking towards their table from the other end of the room. Close up, he could now appreciate their size, they were huge. He could hardly believe his eyes. They were two of the World Cup winners for England in 2003.
‘Thanks for coming, it’s nice to see you,’ said one of them, who Richard recalled was known for always having a cheery word with anyone, especially the referee!
The other man, famously taciturn, mumbled something and Richard couldn’t tell what he’d said. The two heroes of ’03 then strode out of the room, presumably to the studio for the filming, thought Richard.
They barely had time to finish their breakfast before a young man asked them all to make their way to the studio, but gave no idea as to what the format of the day would be. Richard expressed surprise but Jack, who was experienced in these matters, explained: ‘This is normal, a lot of it is very much made up on the spur of the moment.’
At least we’ll be out on the pitch soon in the sunlight, thought Richard. Why else would they have brought us to Twickenham, the inside of the stadium is certainly nothing to write home about.
All the budding film stars were led along drab, characterless corridors until they arrived at a separate area with another corridor, about fifty metres long, with eight or ten rooms off to the left and right. The first room was lined with racks of rugby shirts of some of the nations taking part. Richard immediately noticed the distinctive ‘All Black’ shirts of New Zealand, the green and gold of South Africa, the white of England, the light blue of France and the red, green and navy blue of Wales, Ireland and Scotland respectively. Three women and two men were hovering just outside the wide doorway. One of the women was carrying a red Welsh shirt for a man who’d arrived just before them.
The taller of the two men from the wardrobe department was clutching a clipboard. He asked the new arrivals their names and then ticked them off one by one before collecting all the signed contracts. Richard had earlier learned that Jack, a trained actor, would receive eighty pounds for his day’s work, whereas as a complete novice to the world of the glittering screen he would receive a nominal sum of only twenty five pounds, the bare minimum, not even enough to cover his train fare. He would also have to register as self-employed for tax purposes. Still, it was not about the money, thought Richard, it was about experiencing something new and exciting. His philosophy on life was: We’re only on this planet for a relatively short period of time and these opportunities to do something out of the ordinary must be taken.
‘Can you try this one on please Richard,’ said one of the wardrobe ladies, handing him a black shirt with the white fern of the New Zealand All Blacks emblazoned on it. It was a perfect fit and, for just a moment, Richard fantasised that he was about to run onto the famous Twickenham pitch to play for the best team in the world.
His new friend Jack was given a light blue French shirt and they were directed to one of the small rooms leading from the corridor. The room was hardly luxurious, or even remotely comfortable. Richard quickly realised that it was…a changing room, windowless, stuffy, but at least with en-suite showers and wash basins! Richard and Jack each sat down on moulded plastic chairs, there were five other people in the room.
They said ‘hi’ to everyone and, looking round, they saw the girl with the big hair, Natasha, who unsurprisingly was a model with an ambition to be an actress. She was talking to a loud cockney girl, Tracy, who was wearing an England shirt and shorts. It turned out that she was doing this for a laugh, with no serious ambition to be a model or an actress. Also with them was an attractive dark haired lady in her forties, Jo, who was a ‘serial volunteer’ having been a ‘Gamesmaker’ at the Olympic Games in London, a volunteer at the winter Olympics in Russia and shortly about to be a ‘Clydesider’ at the Commonwealth Games in Glasgow, Scotland.
In another corner of the room were two men, both reading newspapers. They looked up when Richard and Jack walked into the room and smiled before going back to their reading.
Tom was a veteran of the film world. Amongst other parts, he had appeared in the film ‘Shakespeare in Love’ where he had to dress up in Tudor costume and be served ale in an inn, indulging in ribald laughter with others when William Shakespeare arrived. Other brief appearances included hanging around outside Hugh Grant’s character’s house in ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’, and getting ‘shot to pieces’ on Omaha beach on D-Day in ‘Saving Private Ryan’. He had also appeared in numerous advertisements, promotional films and corporate training films, always for only a few fleeting seconds. He explained to Richard that it was possible to make a living out of being a ‘support actor’ because a daily rate in the region of one hundred pounds was paid even if you didn’t actually appear, which was fine if you didn’t mind hanging around all day in a variety of settings. Sounds like quite gruelling work, thought Richard.
The other man was Paul, who had a background in the theatre but had apparently fallen on hard times. He had written and directed several plays, and had also acted in theatres in the West End, but had fallen out of favour. He was a good talker and when Jack asked him a question, he wouldn’t hesitate to use a hundred words when ten would have been quite sufficient.
The time went slowly as they hadn’t been given any indication as to when they would be needed. At about eleven o’clock another man with a clipboard entered the room.
‘Natasha, Jo and Paul, could you please come with me now, I’ll come back for the rest of you a bit later.’
‘At least that’s progress,’ thought Richard, as the chosen ones left the room with rueful smiles for the others.
‘Good luck you guys,’ said Tom. ‘Don’t take all the best parts, save some for us!’
That left Richard, Jack, Tom and Tracy in the room. Tracy proceeded to entertain the men with tales of the East End, her tough upbringing, and how her grandparents had been friends of Ronnie and Reggie Kray. She had applied to London Metropolitan University to study sociology, with a view to becoming a social worker. Richard almost felt guilty when telling her about his upbringing in leafy Sussex. At times like this he realised how lucky he had been, and why he was now keen to find out how other people lived.
Just as Jack was starting to talk about his experiences at drama school, the man with the clipboard appeared once again.
‘O.K., would the rest of you like to come through now?’
Richard’s heart almost leapt a beat. Could this be the big time for me at last, he thought. Even Sean Connery had to start somewhere.
Rather than being led out onto the Twickenham pitch as Richard had hoped, they were, instead, led into a holding room which resembled a store cupboard. As they entered they heard the voice of a ‘proper actor’, who turned out to be Charles Davis, and dramatic music. The words uttered by Davis were trying to draw on the macho image of rugby.
It was coming from the ‘studio’ next door, in reality another windowless store room. So much for glamour, thought Richard. It really is the world of make believe, nothing is as it seems. Peering through a crack in the partially open door between the two rooms, he could just about make out Natasha’s abundant hair, she was just standing there and didn’t appear to be doing anything.
They were joined by a young girl called Samantha who had just finished her ‘A’ levels and was hoping to go to university to study drama. She was spending the summer undertaking various acting assignments, having registered with an agency. This was just another day for her whereas for Richard it was becoming quite extraordinary.
After sitting in the room for about half an hour, listening to the same words being repeated over and over again, the producer’s assistant passed on the news that they wouldn’t be needed for now, and that it was time for lunch.
Over sandwiches, crisps, biscuits and cake, Samantha told them that this was the third day of filming, and the end result would be a two minute promotional film. The script recited by Charles Davis and the ‘standing around choreography’ had been written by one of the top screenwriters, no doubt for an enormous fee.
After lunch they went back to their changing room where they were re-joined by Natasha, Paul and Jo.
‘What did you have to do?’ asked Tom, the veteran ‘bit player’.
‘Basically we had to stand around for two hours in a stuffy little room with these massive rugby players, while the director fiddled around with cameras, lighting and sound. It was all completely pointless, my legs are aching, and I’ve got a headache from standing around in that airless room,’ said Natasha.
‘Did they do any actual filming?’ asked Tracy.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Jo. ‘I think they were just trying to set everything up for this afternoon. I’ve no idea why it took so long though. They didn’t seem to care about anyone’s discomfort, but I guess that’s show business!’
Richard was beginning to understand what actors had to go through, especially after hearing about Jack’s experiences with make-up. All that mattered was the end result.
After lunch, all seven were back in the changing room awaiting developments. It was almost three o’clock when the producer’s assistant returned to their stuffy little room.
‘Right, you’re all needed now in the studio for the next stage of the filming.’
They all gave each other a knowing look and trooped down to the converted store room studio. As they approached, they could clearly hear the strident tones of the famous actor Charles Davis.
‘THIS IS YOUR MOMENT, YOUR CHANCE FOR GLORY, I KNOW YOU WANT TO BE PART OF THE GREATEST EVENT THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN…’
They entered the room. Richard saw the digital machine that was mixing Davis' voice with the video. There were twelve rugby players in the room, all dressed in their full international kit. Originally Richard thought they must be stand-ins but he then recognised a huge fair haired man wearing the Scotland kit. He had seen this player on TV a number of times but on the small screen there was no way of forming a correct impression of how huge he was. Richard thought he might be one of the brothers who played in the second row of the scrum or the ‘number eight’. There were two other players in Scotland shirts, three in Italy shirts, three in Welsh shirts and three in England shirts. They made the room look even smaller than it actually was.
The players made no attempt to make eye contact with the bit part actors who had just walked in. They were there to do a job and that was it.
Richard and the others were directed to sit on the bench at the other side of the room while the director selected who would be in the shot. Richard realised that it was purely on the whim of the director who appeared, either he liked the look of you and thought that your face would fit, or he didn’t.
The Italian rugby players were directed to stand on their bench and were filmed. Then all the players were told to stand in the middle of the room with the ‘extras’. Richard, Jack, Tom and Paul tucked in at the back. Tracy, Jo and Natasha were at the front. The short, bald man Richard had seen at breakfast was there too, he had the Scottish saltire painted on the top of his head and on his cheeks.
They stood there for what seemed like hours while the director filmed from every conceivable angle, and kept making minor adjustments to their positioning. Richard realised that all this effort had been to film a group of people standing in a small windowless room, with dramatic music and Charles Davis’ booming tones overlaid on the image. His visions of running on the Twickenham pitch throwing rugby balls had been far from the director’s mind. The rugby content was limited to actual players being present, with the possibility of match footage being added to the final cut.
They all had to hang around until six o’clock that evening, although a good tea was provided. They were thanked by the crew and told to look out for the film when it was released in a few months’ time to promote sales of tickets for the Rugby World Cup.
***
When the film came out the following October, Richard watched it with bated breath. Would he be making an appearance or would he be left on the digital cutting room floor? He could clearly see Natasha, Tracy, Jo, Jack and Paul, but there was no sign of him or Tom.
He watched it again in slow motion. Even slowed down to a quarter of the normal speed, he nearly missed the fleeting glimpse of the back of his head, and only recognised himself because of the All Blacks shirt.
Not even famous for fifteen minutes, he thought.
More like famous for fifteen milliseconds!
The next day, however, he received a message on Facebook from Jo, the serial volunteer. She, too, had just seen the video and found the brief glimpse of Richard hilarious, knowing that he had been there all day.
They exchanged messages and then, much to his surprise, she asked if he would like to meet for coffee at a restaurant in Covent Garden. She had overheard him telling Jack about the loss of his wife.
Richard liked the look of Jo but assumed she was married. In fact her husband had been tragically killed in a car accident, which she only just survived. They agreed to meet, and it went so well that they decided to buy tickets to see a West End musical.
So even though the day’s filming hadn’t turned out as expected, Richard was excited about his new relationship with Jo. It was still early days but, so far, it was looking quite promising!
THE END