Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

Back when txrad and I first moved into our first apartment together in Los Angeles, I was working and he wasn't. (Gee, kind of like now!) Our apartment manager must have had some connections to the film industry because she got him involved as an extra in an Ice-T music video shoot. He ended up on the cutting room floor.

In the late 1980s when Mike Nichols was shooting Biloxi Blues in Fort Smith, Arkansas I went to a casting call for extras and got selected. I was living in Little Rock at the time so it was a long haul over to the site of the shoot. I may have stayed at a Motel 6 for a day or two. I can't even remember.

My biggest moment in the film was during the theater scene. I was running late that day. When I showed up, all the other extras had already been transported by bus to the site where filming was taking place at Fort Chaffee, a military training facility just outside Ft. Smith.

I was kicking myself for lack of punctuality and thinking I'd really blown it. But I did have full unrestricted access to the snack table of various fruits and other goodies, and I suspect that was for the principals, not the extras.

Soon I was escorted to a room to have my hair buzzed again. This happened a week or two earlier when I was selected to be an extra in the film, but apparently my hair had grown enough to require re-militarization. There were only three other people in the room besides me: my groomer, and another groomer who was working on the actor seated behind me, and that actor happened to be Matthew Broderick. I was about to shit myself. He was having fake five o'clock shadow applied to his face.

After this we were both transported to the room where the theater scene was being shot. As we arrived, all the other extras were present and seated. It was a big room filled with extras. I expected, being late, that I'd be in a back row. Instead I was escorted down to an empty seat near the front about 2 or 3 rows behind where Broderick was placed. I've always wondered how the hell that happened.

In the film, I am clearly visible for several seconds as the camera pans back and forth in the theater scene. I am munching on popcorn.

Anyway, what brought all this up was that I just asked txrad about his experience as an extra. He thought the Ice-T video was low-budget and not very well coordinated. They didn't give them any detailed instructions on what to wear or anything. And I said, "Oh, you should have been an extra in a decent budget film like I was."

Upon selection as extras, we were taken to a big old army barracks building where we had to dig through boxes of military attire -- and I'm specifically referring to garments that would not even be seen on camera. Like....underwear. Yes, I had to pick out an army green wife-beater to wear under the shirt I was given to wear. Can't remember the socks but I'm sure those were in character as well. Crazy.

It's kind of weird knowing that you are out there, and a few million people have probably seen you, and will continue (in decreasing numbers) long after you are gone. When I'm watching any film, I tend to notice extras because of my experience, and wonder why they got involved, how they got involved, whether they did anything else film-related, or just went on with their lives?

Which leads me to a Question of the Day. Who saw Biloxi Blues and did you have any idea you were having a konagod moment? :-)

I probably would have been given a speaking part in the film, if only I'd been fluent in Italian Spanish. (Yeah, Litbrit, I studied both, but you'd never know, would you?)

I'm Gay. Can I Decide What Offends Me? Please?

Here we go again. Melissa at Shakesville has her stinger out for Sacha Baron-Cohen's upcoming "trainwreck" movie Brüno.

It would rock my world if, on July 10, the day Brüno was scheduled to open, Sacha Baron-Cohen instead announced that the entire thing was a scam, designed to reveal the depth of the American media's hostility toward real, ordinary gay people, and every scheduled showing of Brüno would actually be a screening of The Celluloid Closet.

[...]

Instead, it will just be another straight dude being a hugely offensive wanker and calling it edgy, dismissing his critics as humorless losers.

The comment thread is already chock-full of hostility to his prior film, Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, which I enjoyed immensely despite instincts to the contrary before I actually watched it. I hadn't planned to even watch it until it was highly recommended to me by a friend -- a Jewish woman in New York.



Favorite quote from the comment thread at Shakesville thus far:

Nothing about the "Borat" movie was funny to me. Plus, I was triggered during several scenes.

No doubt! Those fucking triggers are everywhere these days.

You see, I wasn't much of a fan of Sacha Baron-Cohen's work prior to Borat. Those interviews of politicians while he was in character, unknown to those being interviewed, made me a tad uncomfortable. I guess I have empathy. Even if the person being interviewed was a politician whose views I absolutely despise. I suppose I prefer my comedians to be more up-front about their work, without the deceit. It's much more funny to me when it is bold, brazen, and open, and clearly a character, however flamboyant he or she might be.

And this is precisely (well, one reason) I enjoyed Borat so much more than I expected. (That, and the pot.)

I will withhold judgment until I see the film. Unfortunately, that may be awhile since I don't go to to the cinema. I'll catch the DVD, which means 2010 or 2011. It may be the unfunniest thing I've ever seen. It may well be complete and total homophobic rubbish. I'll decide. But the fireworks from Shakesville when the film is released will surely entertain me in the meantime.

I do hope the film is "edgy."

And as for Melissa's criticism of GQ? I don't buy or read the shit. This is marketing and advertising. This is how they do things, not just with this film; with any film. That's how it works. When you buy a magazine, you are buying advertising.

Jailbait

This is advertising desperation which I captured on photobucket tonight.

I'd squeal like a 13-year-old girl also but only if he'd ditch these sappy movies and do some decent upstanding porn.

This is so fucking stupid. Who comes up with this shit? And why does that asshole voice-over guy keep doing this asinine bullshit?

God, no fucking wonder I haven't set foot in a movie theater in like 10 years.

Sweet Lime?

Just in case you were curious.

Just enjoying the solstice here. Just enjoying the solstice.

A Bit Like Alice

When I am in the voting booth on Tuesday, it is between me and my touch-screen.

I Need to Read the Turn of the Screw

I'm thinking it might be time for me to pop Annie Hall into the DVD player again.

Annie: You know, you're so ego-centric that if I miss my therapy, you can only think of it in terms of how it affects you!...

Alvy: (sighing and turning to Annie after a digression) What do you mean, our sexual problem? I mean, I'm comparatively normal for a guy raised in Brooklyn.

Annie: OK, I'm very sorry. My sexual problem, OK? My sexual problem. Huh? (A man in front of them in line turns back to look at them, and then turns away.)

Alvy: (embarrassed) I never read that. That was, that was Henry James, right? Novel, huh, the sequel to The Turn of the Screw, 'My Sexual Problem'?

My Brain Annoys Me

While waiting on our lunch order at Flores today I kept noticing a guy whose profile bore a stunning resemblance to Kyle MacLachlan from about 20 years ago. Instead of just letting it go at that, my mind then wanders into this film. And lingers... and lingers.

Suave. God DAMN you're one suave fuck!

Blister in the Sun

True change begins when we can reshape the horrendous attitudes possessed by some of our youth, and of course that's a direct reflection of the parents in most cases.

I caught a few minutes of Bridge to Terabithia tonight and I can honestly say it reminded me of the attitudes of many Americans, especially voters.

In other words, one particular kid in the classroom annoyed the hell out of me.

Leslie Burke: What if you don't have a TV?

All: [laughing]

Leslie Burke: My dad says that TV destroys brain cells.

Scott Hoager: Your dad doesn't know anything. We watch TV like every day!

Leslie Burke: I rest my case.

Mrs. Myers: Well then Leslie, you could write a report on something else.

Scott Hoager: Yeah, like how to live in a cave!

Some people just never grow up after adolescence. That was but one example. There was another annoying little red-headed brat that needed a good thumping.

txrad and I started talking about school and he mentioned that study hall in his school was a reward you had to earn. Wow. What a contrast to the pathetic little all-white Christian academy I attended.

Study Hall: It's what you do to the kids when you don't have time or resources to teach them.

Then I brought up university life. Not all colleges are equal; that's for certain. I spent a bit of time bouncing back and forth between the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville and Little Rock trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with myself. College was a bit of a jolt for me. With each campus having well over 10,000 students, life was different. The adolescent behavior which was present throughout high school did not exist here. (Well, not in the classroom; dorm life and frat houses were another matter!) Suddenly I bore responsibility for my life. Everyone, including myself, had to make new friends.

What I really wanted was to experience some life outside of Arkansas for a change. So one semester I had applied and was accepted at the University of Denver. What a colossal mistake. I'm not saying it's a bad school but dorm life was a big contrast to my previous experience. My roommate was this New Yorker, the son of a cop if I recall, and he had a bad-ass attitude. And he smoked pot.

If you are wondering why I'm complaining about that, keep in mind that I was still emerging from a very conservative upbringing and I was still trying to make of myself what I thought other people expected of me. I had no clear directives and felt adrift. I realize now what I was looking for was less responsibility; I wanted to be guided and I wanted a strict environment that would not allow me to deviate. I had also dragged along some conservative emotional baggage from home and I wrongly assumed that since the University of Denver was affiliated with the Methodist Church, it would be a place far from home yet familiar.

Not only was I unpleasantly surprised by my first impression of the students I met upon my arrival, but the cafeteria food sucked. And that was the last straw. I called my parents and told them I had to leave, and I painted a rather unflattering portrait of the school in an effort to diminish any resistance I might face from my parents. I can't imagine how many thousands of dollars they had to scrape together to get me enrolled.

I packed my stuff, got in the car and headed back to southeast Arkansas. I will never forget the sense of relief I felt as the Denver skyline faded from my rear view mirror, and later, the front range of the Rockies would fade, leaving me in the barren rolling plains of eastern Colorado and a whole lot of Kansas ahead of me.

When I arrived back at home with my parents I felt lost and faced a lot of uncertainty. It was late in the first week of January and the prospect of a wasted semester fueled my anxiety. As luck would have it, and I use the word luck very loosely here, the University of Arkansas at Monticello wasn't starting their spring semester until the following week and getting admitted there was pretty easy. Best of all, the campus was only 30 miles from where I lived with my parents, so I could commute each day and save money on housing costs.

I was not thrilled with this outcome because this was not a large school -- probably about 2,000 students -- and the majors offered were very limited. But since I was still a sophomore and taking only basic required classes, it didn't matter.

My first week of classes was an eye-opener. Talk about a contrast! If what I wanted to find was the familiarity of high school, I hit the jackpot. The students here all seemed to know each other and many of them didn't seem that serious about college. The professors were also noticeably more like the high school teachers I'd known.

It became clear to me that one semester of this was going to be quite enough, and in the summer or fall I'd return to either Little Rock or Fayetteville and try to get serious again. I don't remember which campus I went to first, but as before, I bounced between the two of them before finally getting the easiest possible degree in Liberal Arts, with the least amount of effort, and after nine years of being in and out of colleges. My parents must have been proud of me after squandering so much money on a degree which was worth about as much as the parchment on which it was printed. (It's in a drawer around here somewhere.)

To cut a long story short, all of this was flashing through my brain last night after catching a few minutes of the aforementioned film which, ironically, we shut off in order to watch another high-school themed film, Rocket Science.

It was just last week that I mentioned having seen The History Boys and loved it. In the comments, Minstrel Boy recommended Rocket Science.

There's nothing like the feeling of seeing a film and immediately looking forward to a 2nd viewing. As one who was definitely an outsider in both high school and college, I could relate to this film on so many levels.

It's also just quirky and offbeat enough to score valuable bonus points which will rank it pretty high in my list of memorable independent films. And the use of music was brilliant. If you have seen the film, I'm sure you'll understand why I selected the title of this post, even if it took me a while to get to the point.

Echo and the Bunnymen

We seem to be on a roll this week with premium flicks.

The History Boys.

History is one fucking thing after another. Put this in your queue.



Mrs. Lintott: Can you, for a moment, imagine how depressing it is to teach five centuries of masculine ineptitude?

You Are Talking To The King Of Uncomfort

txrad selected a film tonight.

Stranger Than Fiction

Will Ferrell is the Owen Wilson of The Darjeeling Limited in this film. The Bill Murray of Lost in Translation.

It is Will's opus. And the story of my recent life. I am amazed.

Those voices in my head need to stop though.

Movie Review Quote of the Day

Jeannette Catsoulis, reviewing Nim's Island for the New York Times, had this to say:

If “Nim’s Island” were anything but a children’s movie, the casting genius who suggested Jodie Foster as a potential love interest for Gerard Butler would be looking for a new occupation.

That right there is worth the $1.25 for the paper. And one laugh is about all I can expect these days, if I'm extraordinarily lucky.

I Have Flair

I've been thinking of doing this post for awhile and it crossed my mind again this morning. Then after checking out Jennifer’s post today I decided we should start a trend. (You can click to embiggen.)

Show Me Your Flair!

I only have 13 pieces. Clearly I am lacking.

Do you have more than 15 pieces of flair? You do want to express yourself, don't you?

Marijuana: It Stinks and It Gets Everyone Wound Up

And that's about all it does.

Blog about the black man on the keyboard in the 1920s banging on the black and whites smoking a joint, and the daughter saying something like, "put that out dad, it's not like it's medicine or nuthin." And the mother rounding up her unruly daughter to pacify the times.

Shoot this shit in black and white.

You've got to admit, this shit does excite you.

Shut Up!

"I'm having a rhetorical conversation."

My God, Mel Brooks is indeed a fucking genius.

Courtesy of The Producers

Purlie Victorious

1961. Correction: 1963

Them damn niggers. Makin' us white folk look bad all the time. Them folks oughta be ashamed of themselves. ASHAMED!

I need to think about this and consult with txrad.

He said he needs to sing.

I asked, "are you going to sing about what I need to write about?"

He waffled.

Do YOU know what's going on?