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I Was an Extra in Casino Royale
Part 3
Written by Guest Writer on 10 Sep, 2006
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Part 3
The next week (ten days, to be exact) passed quickly. A friend flew in from the US, and we spent the time traveling, hanging out in Prague, Bratislava, Budapest, and Vienna.
There was even an odd portent—a favorable sign, perhaps? In Prague, my buddy and I (we’re both poker players) played in a Texas Hold ‘Em tournament at the Banco Casino near Wenceslas Square. Thirty-two players and four hours later, I flipped over a pocket pair of kings to win the pot and the tournament! First prize was a thousand dollars US. I was starting to feel like James Bond!
Unfortunately, I gave back about half of it in a cash game later on. Sigh…this never happened to the other fellow…
Finally, the day arrived to show up for the first day of shooting. I’d toyed with taking a thirty-dollar cab ride to ensure that I’d make it on time, but finally settled for calling the extra agency in Prague and asking if showing up half an hour late would matter. I was assured that it wouldn’t. This turned out to be true in spades, for when I showed up at 6:30, the line of extras still waiting to sign in was stretched outside for thirty yards!
It was 7:15 before I made it to the head of the line, where two Czech production assistants were ticking off names on a sheet, and handing out vouchers for the extras. There was a bad moment when they couldn’t find my name, but it was quickly sorted by the ever-present Jiri, who happened by, recognized me (being the only American in a crowd is sometimes an advantage!) and showed the list checkers where I was listed. Whew!
I was given my voucher, and joined the crowd lined up for breakfast. Ten minutes later, I’d demolished a plate of eggs, sausage and bread and downed two cups of coffee, and was feeling quite sanguine.
A word about the vouchers—each day, we were given a small form on which we filled out our names, call times and signature. We’d give half of it to a production assistant, then keep the other half. When we were wrapped at the end of the day’s shooting, we’d have Jiri or a co-worker sign our half to verify our hours, then be told to hang onto it until the end of the shoot when they would all be compiled and used to calculate our pay. Also, at the bottom of each was a set of coupons for Snidane, Obed and Vecere—Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner. When we had our meal breaks, we turned in the appropriate coupon and were fed. In case you’re wondering, the food was always good in a solid meat-and-potatoes kind of way, and sometimes bordered on outstanding.
After breakfast we were told to change into our “daytime” costumes, and check in with the makeup department.
Makeup? I laughed to myself. There isn’t enough makeup in the world to make this face camera-ready, but what the hell.
When I was dressed, I took my place in line and was waved to a seat by a pretty blond Czech girl. As I looked at my reflection in the light-ringed mirror, she studied me for a moment, then rubbed some gel into my hair and gently tousled it. The sensation was not unpleasant…
The whole operation was finished in a couple of minutes, I was deemed presentable, and went outside for a smoke.
As I mentioned before, I’d done some extra work in Los Angeles, and noticed an interesting phenomenon there that was repeated here. On film sets, the extras tend to group by role. Strange but true. After a day or two on this set, all of the Gangsters and their Bodyguards were hanging out together. The Gangster’s girlfriends formed a clique (more on the girlfriends later), the Casino Security Guards sat together in a corner, and the Uniformed Cops hung out at another table, looking menacing in their boots and berets, with their non-firing AK-47s slung over their shoulders or draped on the back of their chairs.
It’s kind of like high school, where the jocks hang together, the drama folks do their thing, etc. Interesting.
My lack of Czech language skills posed a bit of an obstacle early on, as most of the Gangsters had almost no English. My Czech vocabulary was maybe three hundred words by that point, but if I’ve learned one thing in my past four years of traveling, it’s that people are the same everywhere, and language is but a small barrier to having a good time. By the end of the week I was a regular at the Gangster table, had swapped several email addresses, and made some good friends.
At about 8:30, the production assistants came through the area shouting instructions in Czech. Everyone got up and started moving down the stairs and out. I collared one of the P.A.s and said, “Prominte…Anglicky prosim?” Sorry, English please?
His English wasn’t great, but it was a hell of a lot better than my Czech.
“Everyone please go now,” he said. “We will filming outside.”
“Diky,” I said. Thanks.
I followed the masses outside, and we all shuffled down the street to the Colonnade, a long covered walkway near the center of town. This is where the recently posted photos of Daniel Craig and Eva Green were taken (the ones with a “noir” look.)
Martin Cambell and his D.P. were there squinting at the sky and talking about cloud cover (or the lack of it). Surrounding them was an army of crew, setting up reflectors, laying dolly tracks, and wheeling equipment around. The crew had placed timetables and other accoutrements around on the walls, and were giving half of the people suitcases for them to carry or wheel behind them. There were also extras in gray coveralls wheeling luggage dollies around. With my razor-sharp mind, I figured out that this must be a scene at a train station.
An assistant director named Tom came over to where the other Gangsters and I were standing and pulled a guy out of our group, pointed to several absolutely stunning women and said, “Pick a wife.”
The Gangster apparently had enough English to understand him, because he broke into a grin and made a show of scrutinizing each girl as thought he were at a horse auction. We all broke up, and the girls rolled their eyes and made snide comments, trying to hide their smiles.
After he made his choice, Tom placed them off to the side, on some steps leading into the colonnade. He continued to pair us off as I reflected on my luck.
I’m in a Bond movie.
I’m a recurring extra, not just a guy with a suitcase walking by (although I’d have happily settled for anything).
I’m a Gangster, not merely a Bodyguard, so I’ll get a Girlfriend.
Tom brought over a tall brunette and positioned her next to me. I tried to control my breathing.
She’s a knockout!
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Thank God,” I said.
Having temporarily exhausted my witty repartee, I was silent for a moment.
“What’s your name?” I ventured. I figured if we were boyfriend/girlfriend, I should know.
“Lenka.”
I held out my hand. “Grant. Nice to meet you.”
She shook my hand, smiling.
We chatted for a while as the crew continued placing the extras and giving us our instructions. The Girlfriends were all models with an agency in Prague, and had been hired for the same ten days I had, with a major difference—they, being higher on the extra food chain, were being put up in a hotel in Karlovy Vary, courtesy of the Casino Royale production budget. I wondered enviously if I should have told the casting guy that I lived in Prague, instead of 30 kilometers away.
After a while, a prop guy came by with a briefcase and handed it to me. He too, was English.
“Here,” he said. “Hang onto this.”
“Okay. What’s in it?”
“Drugs. Money. Guns,” he said with a tight smile. “Take your pick.” He headed off to the prop cart.
I raised an eyebrow at Lenka and hefted the briefcase.
“I think it’s money,” I said. “Where shall we spend it?”
“On me, of course,” she replied with a grin.
“Don’t be too sure,” I said. “Maybe I’m getting bored with my current girlfriend, and I’m looking to trade her in for a new model. We Gangsters are notoriously fickle.”
Her retort was interrupted by Tom, who had acquired a bullhorn and was shouting into it.
“Okay, everybody! Let’s rehearse this! When you hear ‘Background!’, do what you’ve been told to do!” A Czech assistant next to him raised a similar bullhorn and shouted a translation.
Lenka and I were supposed to stand and chat, while I looked around impatiently for whomever a Gangster with a briefcase full of money is supposed to meet.
A pause, and then Martin Cambell shouted, “Background!”
Lenka and I chatted in pantomime, while I surveyed the moving throng around me. After a moment, Cambell shouted “Cut!”
“Everybody back to their first positions,” Tom shouted, echoed by the Czech assistant.
We repeated this half a dozen times, until Martin was satisfied with the flow of movement. I was near enough to overhear him conferring with his DP.
“Let’s get her out of there quicker.”
“These two need to cross more quickly.”
“Give him a smaller suitcase, he looks like he’s hauling a piano.”
And so on.
After a few more rehearsals, there was a ripple of noise in the crowd. I noticed someone new in the circle of people talking to Campbell. The newcomer was wearing a dark blue topcoat over a lighter blue suit, and his black shoes gleamed with polish. His attire caused him to stand out among everyone else, who wore much more casual clothes. His back was to me, and as I wondered if this was a producer or local bigwig, he turned.
Daniel Craig had arrived.
