The stand-ins are in place, with the names of actors and actresses they represent taped across their chests. It's a strange picture - people that aren't "Erik," (vonDetten, the show's lead) "Markie," (Post, 'Odd Man' matriarch) "Jessica," (Capshaw, playing Jordan) "Natalia" (Cigliuti, as Paige) "Trevor," (Fehrman, as Keith) "Vicki" (Davis, as Val) and "Marina" (Malota, as little Elizabeth) loudly labeled as such. But it's easier on everybody if there's only one set of names.
It is the day after Halloween, and the air on the set of "Odd Man Out" is business as usual. Director David Kendall speaks to his standins, actors, and camera coordinator John Yant without ever tearing his eyes away from his monitor. 1st AD Robert Countryman motors about the set with a calm yet driven air, 2nd AD Margie Sperling takes care of business elsewhere, and the 2nd 2nd AD, Danny Filous, wrangles the extras - that's us - in the bleachers where the live audience will sit. Today's a Monday, which is devoted to camera rehearsal. Tomorrow evening they'll shoot before an audience, and Wednesday morning the whole process starts over again with a read through of a new episode.
The stage where "Odd Man Out" shoots is the size of a small airplane hangar, housing the life-size dollhouse that serves as von Detten's South Beach, Florida home. Four cameras, each the size of a doberman, point at the set from various directions. Tape measures fly from lenses to noses as Kendall and Yant work off of their rolling podiums. The crew uniform seems to be polo shirt, Dockers-like shorts, and fancy tennis shoes. Meanwhile, monitors in front of the bleachers spit out the raw images each of the cameras are getting - the screen split in four, showing a close up, a couple two-shots, and a master. Us extras are told to wait. I'll soon discover that this is the chief job of an extra. The experienced come prepared for downtime, reading, chatting on cell phones, or doing crosswords.
In a while, the standins - the "2nd Team" - is replaced by the principals. Capshaw wanders around the set, smiling at Malota, who uses the kitchen island to execute a split leap. Post uses an overturned bowl for the cake she is supposed to be frosting in this scene.
As if by magic, the principals naturally execute all of the blocking originally assigned to each standin, though they check their marks (the Xs taped to the floor denoting stopping points) blatantly as they walk through the scene. Post adds a move of her own, calling "I'm supposed to be giving a party," into the ether. The move is incorporated. As Post rehearses frosting the cake with the plastic bowl, she absent mindedly licks her finger on her move to the counter. Now that's an actress.
When Markie calls "line," no one answers. She stomps a leopard print mule into the floor, and says, "crap," before remembering it on her own. When the scene is finished, there is sparse clapping. Capshaw and Fehrman embrace easily. "How's my hair," she says over his shoulder.
At the craft service table, there are 20 different kinds of cereal lined up for the choosing. A couple of girls in bikinis stand around the wardrobe room, chilly and uncertain. They're waiting to do a scene featuring "Boy Meets World" actor Will Friedle playing a sketchy photographer in a modeling agency - fuel for Erik's protective brotherly instincts. Unwanted bedroomy props sit on a nearby prop table - including a pair of bronzed baby shoes, and a framed picture of a young boy that looks like Erik, but isn't. An extra tells another extra that the color she is wearing "really pops you."
The wardrobe woman lines up the extras outside, single file, the better to systematically look into our bags of clothing. Each extra must bring a few changes of clothing - and they are awarded a little extra pay for the first change. When you're asked to bring your own wardrobe you suddenly realize how much you hate everything you own, much less want to be seen on national television in it. The wardrobe person gives you a combination of items you'd never choose for yourself. When my turn comes, the woman's a bit notices I've crammed a million items into my duffle. "You've brought so much I couldn't possibly -" her voice trails off as she decides against the waste of breath. Finally, she chooses a dress I bought for a sexy weekend romp in Vegas, the shirt my ex-boyfriend brought back from Paris, and a pair of pants the shoes I'm wearing are completely wrong for. Then it's off to the bathroom to get suited and freshened up - as an extra, you do your own makeup. My hair has long since fallen out of the waves it formed cooperatively this morning.
The career extras call it "getting paid to sit around." Which gives these aspiring stars plenty of time to figure out how to get from bit player personal trailer land. They talk of SAG cards, agents, and extra war stories. All the while, the beautiful, early afternoon light streaming into the living room from the adjoining "patio" never changes. I feel like the only person on the whole set who hasn't checked her messages today.
Asian-style stirfry with white rice. Food is how extras rate their gigs - "We got really good food on that," or, "They threw sandwiches at us from the truck at three in the morning." Erik and Trevor play gameboys as they lounge on the living room sofa as if it were their own home.
Filous composes a landscape of extras to fill the coffee: "You, sitting down. You, looking at these magazines." He gives me and another extra an entrance. We have to hold hands, walk into the coffee shop, hit a mark, and part ways - he, to peruse a bookshelf, me, to hit the magazine rack. Trevor and a coffee shop employee have about four lines of dialogue. The rest of the shooting experience goes by in a wild panic.
As we rehearse, Kendall and exec producer Ed Decter beat speedy paths between the outer circle and Trevor. It's the first time I notice an actor getting direction, much less eye contact from a non-actor.
After each rehearsal, we scamper back into our beginning spots when the director says "Reset for top." The extras, dazed from so much down time, can't seem to reset fast enough for the crew. Four or five rehearsals later, we've been whipped into shape.
With each rehearsal my hand-holding cohort gets more consistent about giving me a specific look and hand gesture - international sign language for "I'm going over here now," - and I sort of nod and navigate around the table. But what's really going on in the scene? How long have we been together? Is it a bad thing that he wants to go look at the bookshelf? Am I covering my secret pain by going to the magazine rack in response?
The director's cue - "Okay, here we go" - cuts through my actorly muddle like Dawn on a greasy plate. To heck with motivation, my brain says. Just make sure you get the timing. In the moment between the loud gameshow "wrong answer" sound - the buzzer that signals the camera and sound equipment's rolling - and the yelled "action," I focus on the paper lantern above the coffee shop spinning lazy circles in the air conditioning blast. It steadies me.
I must be a pro, because Filious tells me I should do this more often. We finish the scene in about six takes, my "boyfriend" executing his perfectly mimed gesture every time, and it's all over.
Friedle's physical reactions to von Detten's fake punches are amazing, and the scantily clad ladies look good. Meanwhile, set dressers prepare the living room for the upcoming party scene. It may be the only time you'll ever catch a big burly guy in a Harley Davidson T-Shirt carefully taping pink and blue crepe paper streamers to a bannister.
This is Paige's "surprise party." She already knows about it. But Post, von Detten, and the rest of the girls don't know that Paige knows. Erik and Trevor are playing the party - as "Bone Crushers" or "Exhaust Pipe," they can't decide on the name of their band - with their much-touted new amplifier.
I am placed in the foreground of the scene, perched on the arm of a sofa. My back is to the camera, but when I turn, you can see me in profile. And I am within breathing distance of the key ladies: Post, Capshaw, Davis, and Malota. Other extras dot the living room in a lifelike configuration. Cigliuti joins the ladies, waiting to be placed for her entrance, as they mill about one another with late-day antsiness. The carefree, casual conversations of the principals stands out in wild contrast to the silent watchfulness of the three extras placed on the staircase, all six eyes glued on the actresses. Of course, I am one more pair of eyes, but at least I am trying to be subtle. The weird part is nobody seems to mind. Post - Calista Flockhart-thin in skintight, snakeskin pants - and the girls laugh and joke, knowing they are being watched, without a care in the world. Two crew members watch, spellbound, as another guy adjusts a light.
The principals are soon joined by Rider Strong, (Shawn Hunter, "Boy Meets World") who happens to be hanging out with buddy Friedle that day. It is strange to see him jump in as an extra like the rest of us, but he jumps in graciously. Friedle keeps popping into the fray, offering comments like "They have to reload. Isn't that weird?" ('Odd Man' shoots on film, where "Boy Meets World" uses video.)
The extras are stoked, because we all have a line: "Surprise!" Usually, if you have a line, you are by definition not an extra, but an "under 5" and you get paid more. Since we all shout it together, I guess it doesn't really count, but the excitement is palpable. Our cue: when Malota signals that Paige is coming, everybody hushes and readies themselves to yell. "Surprise," we say in chorus, and Paige weakly feigns surprise. All eyes then turn to the band. "We're Bone Crushers," Fehrman says. "We're Exhause Pipe," corrects von Detten. Fehrman shoots back, "We're Bone Pipes! One Two Three Four!"
"Boom!" says Countryman. Everyone stops. What's supposed to happen is that the amp blows. We rehearse the scene a few more times without the special effect, but they shut off the lights when it's supposed to blow. Once the actors and extras are up to speed, they introduce the big guns. "One Two Three Four!" Trevor shouts, and a tiny firework blows from the back of the amp, filling the room with smoke. "Goodnight, everybody" says Fehrman with zest, as if the band's just given a great show.
The extras get their timesheets filled out and initialed by Filous. Now the big question in Extra Land is, will they still need me tomorrow? Some have better gigs to go to, others are chomping at the bit for more. After all, the food was passable.