BACKGROUND BACK STORY or TWO EARLY WALLOPS, Part 2
Shortly after my having moved into my first Manhattan apartment, I was presented with two enticing bits of information by my building’s superintendent, Pete. Firstly, folk singer, Phil Ochs had both lived and taken his life in his apartment just two floors below mine. Already a strange and haunting vibe to deal with. Anyway, he’d planned a big Presidential win party in 1972 for McGovern that turned into a pretty morose evening for everyone involved—including a very, very sullen John Lennon. The story went that Abby Hoffman had Lennon tag along with him to Prince Street if only to have a partner to weep over a glass or two of whatever brew Mr. Ochs had on hand. What happened was—Lennon ended up in Phil’s bedroom where—a little later that night—Yoko Ono found him in flagrante delicto with another woman, thus beginning their long separation. Pete’s second tempting tidbit was that Meryl Streep was seen, on occasion, buying oranges at the Korean Market practically next door to us. He was pretty sure she had some kind of pied-a-terre in our Soho neighborhood. My palate had yet to meet the heat that comes with digesting Korean cuisine. Thus began my life long love affair with kimchi and other things Asian.
Back then in 1981, country mouse me was fastly adjusting to city life like I’d never experienced it before. I was close to being deafened by the ringing of the rube bell inside my head as I chartered territory that some would have considered no man’s land back then. Prior to my landing this apartment, I had no idea where or what Soho was. Taking my first taxi from Penn Station, the cabbie told me it meant nothing more than South of Houston Street. What lay before me was anything but ‘just’. I sewed seeds like breadcrumbs leading me to all places east, west and central in Manhattan. Soho was a downtown gateway to pretty much everything that the borough had to offer me. As I’d been a dedicated Beantown pedestrian for the past six years, my strolling uptown to 100th Street became a common thing and a great way to save on train fare. The calm that came with returning to nest inside of my quiet, affordable studio apartment wedded nicely to the stomach steel I was developing. That’s what comes from making too frequent Meryl might be in the Korean Market treks. All in all it was the start of a great fourteen years of Yin and Yang’ing in my new Manhattan home.
But, I digress...
So, let me briefly recap last week’s post. I’d been hired for my first three day gig as a background extra—and shortly after I reported for the first day’s night shoot at Grand Central Station, I was parted from our rank and file and told to sit solo inside of an empty commuter car. I thought I was being punished for a crime I was totally unaware of having committed—and after what seemed a too long stretch inside of my void—there was a sudden flush of activity filling the car to capacity. But—the cheese that was I—still stood alone…Or rather, remained obediently seated alone—and ignored. Shortly after landing even deeper inside my pit of woe, a busy little entourage—a gaggle of hair and makeup women made their way into the car and began advancing in my direction. Another woman followed in their wake. The sea of hair and makeup parted and lo and behold—this woman—my Lady of the Oranges—sat confidently beside me in our quiet row for two.
Meryl Streep was sitting next to me.
I remember a pair of hands fiddling with her hair while she remained patient and focused. And, as soon as these women left the car—she bowed her head low and proceeded to shake away all of what they’d fussed over. What a woman! She leaned back—and I just breathed the whole thing in. Jesus—Meryl Streep is really sitting next to me! What happened next was fast and furious. I was given only a modicum of direction involving her exit and my having to follow behind her immediately—further thwarting Robert DeNiro’s attempt to make contact with her after having pushed his way through a sea of exiting train passengers.
By the way, this was the movie that reunited both actors after their DEER HUNTER success. FALLING IN LOVE is an underrated/polar opposite of a film. Beautifully photographed, wistful and poignant. You should try to see it sometime.
Well, needless to say by the time we were wrapped, I was spinning. Little did I know how hard I’d hit the floor later that next shooting day once the dizzy spell had passed.
Turning the page to that long ago and never forgotten tomorrow of yesteryear…
We were at a different location that following day, and we were told that our originally promised day three of employment was now only a possibility—not an actuality. So, as our day ended early—and as we hadn’t been told to hold, I had just time enough to find another booking with another casting director to make up for my loss of work. I mean—wasn’t this the way to operate if nothing was etched in stone? Guess again. Right on the heels of my having accepted the new gig, a call came in from Sylvia Fay herself giving me the third and final day’s reporting time. Hmmm…
I explained my situation thinking she would surely understand my predicament. She did not. I was instead read the riot act by a woman who was terrifying at her most soft spoken. It was at least comforting to know that I’d not wasted the sturm and drang of the night before. I could now relax in the embrace of my Roman/Irish Catholic guilt knowing that I was guilty of committing the biggest sin a background extra could commit—one that flew way beyond the gravitas of Mortal Sinning.
If you’re hired for three days…Hold for three days. If you make the decision to run with the rules of Background, you’ll have to hold and hold and hold. Six times out of ten, the days you’ve been promised will materialize. And, if they don’t—there’s rarely any recourse. You just learn to eat the loss.
Sylvia told me in no uncertain terms that I would NEVER work for her again. And so, my first experience of the industry’s hard knock pattern of dispensability was painfully learned. In actuality, I did work for Sylvia many times after many years following those two days. But after that first time at the rodeo, I decided to put the SAG Union rate behind me, stick to theatre and return to the temp pool. Background had left a complex taste in my mouth—a tantalizing mix of things sweet and bitter, and not unlike my recent Korean acquaintance. Both had thankfully thickened my skin a bit. Over the next fifteen years—with the exception of an occasional gig here and there—I put all Background work behind me. I had new and richer rejections to entertain.
But…That complex EXTRA taste was warmly welcomed back again in 2009. Much richer flavors and cumulatively easier to digest situations were to follow. All of them shared with a new found coterie of BPCs (Background Platoon Compatriots). In time, and more than 600 sets later…I became very grateful for the experience.
But, I digress...--
