A Little "Extra" on the Side
Dabbling Across Disciplines
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Dear Reader,
Moving to a new city requires certain adjustments in finances. Seeking to balance my budget through entertainment industry work, I decided to investigate Extras Work in Los Angeles. Not only would it be a good way to make money and keep a flexible schedule, but it would get me on a film set.
Extras are background actors, people who help fill the setting and make it feel lived-in. “Producer to Producer,” by Maureen A. Ryan, notes that the lack of extras in a scene marks a movie as obviously low budget. Thus, even though extras are really nothing more than living furniture on set, they are crucial to production value.
Extras are also called “background talent” and “atmosphere” because they don’t say anything. They are paid for their presence. Thankfully, extras are also fed if they work on set for at least six hours. Some people make a living working as an extra. I was warned I would be “type-casted,” meaning I would be assigned roles based on my appearance because audiences like to see certain people playing certain roles.
Equal amounts trepidation and excitement, I signed up for an extras casting management service. These services make their money by charging a subscription fee to be featured on their platform. This is a little bit of a shell game: how much money will you make in a month? Will it cover the cost of the subscription and then earn you enough to be worth the time spent? Do enough productions request the honor of your presence on set to be… atmosphere?
As with anything, you don’t know until you try, so I bit the bullet, paid the $70 fee for the month, and waited…
… and waited.
A couple of weeks went by, and nothing. Because the WGA strike was right around the corner, not many people were looking for extras. I chalked it up to a swing and a miss until I received a strange email.
A reality show was looking for extras, but not just any reality show, and not just any extras. Reality courtroom dramas needed actors to play the court litigants. I stared at the email in confusion and reread it. Then reread it again. I had two questions:
Those courtroom dramas aren’t real???
As a kid, I watched people sue each other on TV and always wondered why they were willing to air their dirty laundry so publicly. (I also decided, smart kid that I was, that if people just kept their mouths shut, the judge would have ruled in their favor.) In my defense, when I tell people about scripted reality-TV court dramas, about half of them react the same way I did: Wait, those are scripted?!? Apparently, yes.Why would they choose me?
There are literally thousands of people (probably more) who moved to LA and risked it all to become an actor. I, meanwhile, did a couple of improv workshops in college. I had a blast, yes, but this seemed like a golden opportunity for someone with no training. I wondered briefly if I was honored bound to not pursue this… but I am an emotionally healthy individual and thus said:
Forget that — I’m doing it! If they don’t want me, they don’t have to hire me.
I signed up for the Zoom interview/audition (you can bet I did my hair and makeup, and sat somewhere with a nice background). There were about 30 people in the Zoom meeting. The organizers interview each of us one by one, asking us a few questions to gauge our ability to hold a conversation, general personality, and demeanor. The first few people were trained actors, or experienced improvers who had done seasons at “The Groundlings.”
Gulp.
I was very out of my league. Major imposter syndrome. Surely they would sniff me out: the non-actor. I talked myself down:
No, you know how to have a conversation. Hang in there. Why is this so freaking stressful? Don’t be pompous, just be yourself.
My social experiment — what is it like to be an actor? — was well underway.
The interviewer called my name: “Where do you live? Are you available this week? Next week? Why do you want to be an extra?”
My answers: “LA. Yes. Yes. I’m actually a screenwriter. I’m curious about the actor’s experience: what it’s like on the other side of the camera. I’m hoping this will help make me a better writer to understand their side of the craft.”
Silence….
I knew it. Too full of myself.
Then…
“Wow, that’s really cool… I’ve actually never heard that answer before. Okay, thank you, that’s all. We’ll let you know if we need your help.”
Anti-climactic, but it seemed to go well. I did not get a call that day. I did not get a call later that week. Oh well, I thought. There were a lot of people in that Zoom room. I guess they found everyone they needed.
One week later, I got the call: “Are you available tomorrow?”
Now it was my turn for stunned silence. “Yes… I am.”
They sent me an email with all the information. I was the plaintiff, suing my former friend. My character type (deep breath): educated and compassionate. (Oh, thank God.)
I received my court “statement,” as well as all the evidence I needed to submit to the judge. I have never even done jury duty, so my first time in a courtroom was going to be in a studio with a camera pointed at me…
I read and reread all the material, practiced explaining it without the script, and tried to get over the notion that not only would my first gig as an extra have “lines,” but they weren’t even scripted. I was expected to sell this character on the strength of my personality. Who knew a couple of improv workshops in college would be so vital to my career choices?
I assembled wardrobe options, packed them in a suitcase (as suggested by the many online videos explaining how to be an extra), and the next day showed up on a studio lot in Culver City. I took the COVID test, sat under a tent in the rain waiting for my results, and wheeled my suitcase into the processing area to fill out more forms. Once that was completed, they sent me off to hair and makeup.
After a nice conversation with the cosmetician, who transformed my appearance in about 15 minutes, the wardrobe department selected my “look” from among the options I brought and steamed my clothes. I then met my scene partner, an absolutely lovely woman who does stand-up comedy on the side.
We were told to call each other by our character names to avoid confusion later. We rehearsed our story and practiced being difficult with each other. As an empathetic person who generally dislikes making other people uncomfortable, I admit this was my weakest area. I could definitely stand to take a few acting classes and learn to better inhabit a character.
We were passed up the line, and each successive level was satisfied with how well we knew the facts, and our ability to sell the story and make up new information as needed. We were coached on how the judge typically handled people, and how to recover if we stuttered, forgot our story, or swore (“I apologize, your honor, I’m a bit nervous today.”) We were miked and waited to go on set.
My first time as an extra, and I was not “atmosphere.” I worked hard to sell my case to the judge, and my scene partner thoroughly inhabited her role. The episode has not aired yet, but if you ever watch “Justice for All with Judge Christina Perez,” keep an eye out for me.
After 15 minutes of filming, now de-miked, with my suitcase in hand, I exited the studio to find the rain had stopped and the was sun out, shining cheerfully.
Emotionally thrilled and exhausted, I decided to take myself out for a celebratory burger… and a drink. I made $100 for 5 hours of work. After the $35 bill for lunch (it’s LA, and the burger was phenomenal) and my $70 extras casting subscription, I now owe my acting career $5.
Worth it.
Adventure Awaits!
~ S. C. Durbois
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That is a great story. I want to see the episode! You look great sweetheart! What cool adventures you are having. Go girl!
Can't wait to see it!!