I had wanted to get on television since I'd become an actor. Sometime after doing a film/TV showcase and sending out a million postcards, I finally managed to book a day of extra work on the soap opera All My Children. And here's the way it went.
Apparently, ABC Television shoots not one, but two shows in the same building on West 66th St., way out by the water. According to my instructions, my call time was 9 a.m. When I arrived, there was a line outside the studio. I assumed it was for the extras for AMC, so I quickly got in line.
After a few minutes, however, I noticed that an unusually high number of the people on line were middle-aged women. Something seemed off, so I asked someone.
"They're taping The View!" she replied excitedly. Not wishing to hear Star Jones deny her surgically-enhanced weight loss, I dashed away and found the correct entrance, showed my ID, checked in, and was directed to the 2nd floor, where the dressing rooms are for AMC.
I peeked into a few. Not to dispel anyone's mythical, glamorous vision of show business, but these dressing rooms are small, and not very glitzy. I quickly realized that even when you "make it," you're still not royalty — you're just an actor going to work. The only room that looked like it might be somewhat lavish was marked "Miss Lucci" — and "Do Not Disturb." Oh well.
The extras dressing room is really not a dressing room at all — it's a lounge with coffee, bagels, etc. where the stars come in and out to nosh. The extras were allowed to eat as well, but few did; nobody wanted to look fat on TV. (I, of course, helped myself.)
First-timers like me needed to fill out several forms before starting ("I hereby sign away all rights to my image, name, soul, etc...."). Then my clothes were evaluated by the wardrobe people.
In general, extras are told what to wear so that the network doesn't have to costume everyone. The day before, I was told to call this certain number to hear what I was to bring. The recorded message said, "Sleek, chic, downtown arty clothes."
Well, just what did that mean?! I am not quite sleek or chic. To me, downtown means jeans and a T-shirt. So, not knowing, I wore black slacks and a button-down shirt, and brought an extra pair of Dockers and several shirts with me.
The wardrobe man took one look, clucked his tongue a few times, and said, "I'd better get some clothes for you." Which made me feel about as unhip as you can get.
He returned with a long-sleeve gray T-shirt and a smallish suede jacket. I have to say, combined with my black pants, I looked pretty good! And not‌ straight.
Even though our call time was 9 a.m., it became pretty clear that many scenes, or 'sets,' were shooting before mine. So the people in my set, which was called "Stuart's Gallery" (who was Stuart? I still have no clue, I don't watch these shows) just kicked back and relaxed, chatting, reading, or watching the show taping on the monitors.
Every few minutes, actors would pop into the lounge and get a drink or something. I didn't recognize them, but moments later they'd appear on the screen, and I'd realize they were "famous." It made me feel kind of cool and insider-y. When one came in, an extra said to him, "Good scene." The actor smiled condescendingly, turned and left. Nice.
I did meet a friendly fellow named Nick. It was his tenth time as an extra on AMC, and I learned that on his first day he was told the exact same thing I was: "This is just to get you on the set, and used to how we work. Then there'll be more work for you." That was two years ago, and he had yet to speak a line on camera. I decided not to hold my breath.
Susan Lucci's scenes were shot first, for reasons that quickly became obvious: She's the star. She gets her stuff done early, and then leaves for the day. (Miss Lucci waits for no one!) I was thrilled to see that the actress playing opposite her that day was Eve Plumb — Jan Brady from The Brady Bunch. Wow, a real celebrity!
The way filming worked was interesting. Every time a scene was interrupted — an actor dropped a line, the camera wasn't right, there was a noise, etc. — they'd go back to the beginning of the scene ("back to one," in soap parlance) and start again.
But while the crew set up each time, I noticed that Susan Lucci and Eve Plumb did not speak to each other. Or look at each other. Or smile. Or anything! It became clear they despised each other, and to me their real-life feud seemed far more interesting than anything they were saying on camera.
Additionally, I discovered that soap actors curse — a lot. Every time a scene went wrong, the air was thick with profanity, all of which we saw and heard in the lounge. Unfortunately, the viewing public never gets treated to that footage. Too bad. Watching Susan Lucci say "Shit!" was very funny.
The morning dragged on, and at one point, I went to use the men's room. In the hallway I bumped into Jan Brady. (I mean, Eve Plumb!) She was shorter than she looks on TV, and older, but she walked right by me! I said hello, and she said hello, and that was that. (But there was clearly a connection...)
Eventually the crew broke for lunch, and we were told our scenes would be shot immediately afterwards. So I and a few other extras ran to get sandwiches, then hurried back to watch that day's episode of the show, which conveniently came on during lunch hour.
At 2 p.m. we got into costume, and were ushered upstairs to set on the third floor.
The shooting area is in one enormous room with 30-40 foot ceilings. There's a wide walking space down the middle, and individual sets are on the left and right. For example, one is an E.R., one is a mansion, one is a wharf, etc. Lights dangle from everywhere, and cable-strewn cameras are dragged back and forth. On each set, the walls go about three-quarters of the way up to the ceiling.
In real life, the sets look tiny and impossibly fake, but work somehow on camera. (Next time you watch a soap, notice how little the characters actually move left and right.)
And if there's a stairwell, it doesn't actually lead anywhere.
We were in an art gallery set. A 19-year-old girl stood next to me. We were given specific positions to stand in, and pieces of art to admire. While waiting, we talked. She told me she was a day player — basically, an extra who's been elevated to have actual lines to say. (I had none.) For that, she gets paid more, and there's the chance they'll bring her back.
Plus, she told me she was currently a student at Juilliard. "So how did you get this gig?" I asked, thinking of the million postcards I'd sent. "My agent," she said casually. Now I felt really low.
Shooting started for the afternoon. They blocked each scene, did a quick run-through, then taped it. Let me repeat: They block, they run-through, they tape. All this happens within minutes. There are no discussions of "Why is my character doing this?" or "What does my character want here?" None.
Acting is the absolute last concern of the soap opera actor. All they need do is stand where they're told, move as directed, and say their lines. (Just like the extras, really, except we have no lines.)
Filming took several hours. With so many extras in the art gallery, figuring out where everyone would go took time. Extras are given a surprising amount of crosses in any given scene. I guess people moving about adds to the verisimilitude of the set.
Everyone got to move back and forth — except me. I was somehow rooted to one spot. But I eventually created my own movement, by turning around in a little circle.
To film scenes as quickly as possible, six cameras shoot at the same time. The director looks at a little monitor that shows all six angles. She hits a button to choose which camera's angle she wants to focus on. If a camera is selected, a red light on top turns on. This way, everyone constantly knows which the "lead" camera is.
The actors are well aware of this fact, so quite a bit of reshuffling and jockeying for better position occurs. Happily, I realized I would definitely appear on camera because once or twice the lead camera panned right by me. Once, it even seemed to stop on me when I picked up a drink from the waiter's tray.
Oh, did I mention the food? There were trays of vegetables being served by the "waiters" in the scene, as well as "champagne" (ginger ale, actually). Again, few actors/actresses actually ate the stuff, but I felt it would be rude to not accept what was offered me. This desire to be polite helped, I think, because in the scene I looked very busy.
Now, everyone knows soap opera actresses are skinny. But let me be clear, they are not skinny — they're inhuman. The two young women in our scene were about four feet tall, and weighed no more than 70 pounds. Ok, I'm exaggerating. Maybe 75. These women are just ridiculously thin. Fifty years ago, they would have joined the freak show at the circus. Today, they're TV stars. Who knew?
During a break, I chatted with one woman who I vaguely recognized. She said she'd been on AMC for six years, and was on Santa Barbara for a dozen years before that. She was extremely nice and down-to-earth. She gave me two bits of advice on getting work on soaps: "Make sure you read your contract" and "Wear lots of makeup." Not having any contract to read, and being male, the advice wasn't particularly helpful, but was appreciated nonetheless.
Finally, around 4 p.m., the stage manager yelled, "We're clear." That meant our scenes were done, and we could all leave the set. I thanked him and the assistant director — it never hurts to schmooze — and went back to the extras dressing room to change back into my own clothes.
On the way out, I made a quick stop on the administrative level to sign some W-2 forms — yes, like any other job, I had to pay taxes on the $108 I was paid for the day — and to suck up a little more to the casting director.
He assured me that he had watched the taping, and that he would have me back on the set "real soon." However, it's been quite some time since then, and I have yet to receive a call. Perhaps this column might jar his memory?
In the end, I learned that being an extra is really not much fun, but certainly educational. I look forward to watching the finished product, and seeing how it looks from the other side.
And, of course, how I look in that suede jacket.