8/19/22
Newsletter77
The Crack of Dawn
It’s night out there.
The dream of most extras in Hollywood is to get an “upgrade” and a “bump.” This means that they are given a “bit” – a specific action to perform – or, hope upon hope, they are given a line of dialogue. Either of these things gives you a bump in pay. Since I never wanted to be an actor, and really didn’t want a bit or a line, I’d hide behind the other extras hoping to not be noticed. Invariably, the AD would scan the fifty (or whatever) extras, see me hiding, point at me and say, “You.” In an episode of Beverly Hills 90210 set in a pool hall with perhaps thirty extras, the first thing they do is point at me and bring me up to the camera. They’re doing a big shot that goes all the way around the pool hall and ends on Luke Perry, but it begins with me shooting a ball into a pocket, then handing the chalk to the other extra. This being TV we all know they don’t want to do this twice. Everything is set. “Action.” The camera is on me, I shoot the ball and miss the shot, then hand the other guy the chalk and drop it. Well, I fucked that one up. The camera goes all the way around the room, ends on Luke, and the director calls, “Cut. Print it.” Since I handled that first bit so well, there’s now a bit and a line with Luke Perry, and who do they choose? Me. Luke makes a shot, I slap him five and say, “Good shot, man.” I was scared shitless, but it went fine.
I’m on The Hogan Family with Sandy Duncan, in an episode at a carnival set up at Culver City Studio. There are about a hundred extras, and I’m hiding behind them. They need an extra for a bit and a line, the most that any extra (except me) can hope for. The AD scans the hundred extras, points to me at the back, and says, “You.” There’s a potato sack race. I’m given a red and white striped vest, a straw hat and a starting pistol. My bit is to say, “On your mark, get set, go,” and fire the gun. They set up a shot of me and I raise the pistol above my head and aim up in the air. The cameraman says, “The pistol is out of frame, bring it down.” I do. He says, “More.” I bring it down more. The cameraman says, “More.” I bring it down more, and now it’s directly next to my ear. “Perfect, don’t move.” The director says action, I say, “On your mark, get set, go,” and fire the gun one inch from my ear, which causes me to proclaim, “Oh, fuck!” I then had to do it five more times.
The brothers Max and Dave Fleischer made the cartoons: Popeye, Betty Boop, and Superman, among others. Dave’s son, Richard Fleischer, became a pretty good director and made such films as: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Fantastic Voyage. He got his first film as director in 1946. It was an extremely low-budget film called Child of Divorce, but he was now a director and ecstatic. The night of the premiere – his film was second on a double-bill – he and his wife got all dressed up and went to Musso & Frank Grill. As they sat at the bar waiting for their table, there was a drunk old man sitting there by himself. Fleischer was so excited he bought the old man a drink and told him he was making his debut as a film director that night. The old man congratulated him and bought him and wife a drink. They toasted to his new career. Richard and his wife were told their table was ready. As they stood, Richard reached out, shook the old man’s hand, and said, “Nice to meet you. What’s your name?” The old man said, “I’m D.W. Griffith,” and he really was D. W. Griffith. Griffith died two years later.
And the sun also rises.