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I Was an Extra in Casino Royale
Part 7
Written by Guest Writer on 10 Sep, 2006
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Part 7
Not many people know this, but the bow tie was invented by a woman, as a way to remind men that there are some things they will always do better.
At least those were my thoughts after trying to correctly tie the damned thing for fifteen minutes, and ending up with what looked like a dead octopus hanging around my neck. I repeated this every day for the rest of the shoot, and I never came close to getting it right. I’d always have to give up, slink over to an amused wardrobe assistant, then stoop in front of her so she could reach my neck to tie it for me.
It would usually take her all of thirty seconds.
I bring this up because my borrowed bowtie became an issue on Day 4, when we began night shooting. Thank God, no more getting up at 4:15 a.m. From now on, I’d be getting home at 4:15 a.m., a condition I’m much more used to.
I retired my “Day” wardrobe, and slipped on my old tuxedo. It’s funny—a tuxedo (or a “smoking” as the Czechs called it) makes any man in the world look good. Well, feel good, at least.
As I emerged from the dressing area in my penguin suit, I saw Pat, another PA on the crew. He feigned shock.
“Bloody hell, mate. You clean up well!”
I arched an eyebrow. “The name’s Bond. James Bond.” Then I lit my cigarette.
He grinned and headed off on another errand.
Pat’s an interesting guy. About thirty, good-looking with a slight resemblance to a young Tony Perkins, he was born in England—but his mother is Czech, so he was raised fully bilingual. This led to some confusion for me when I’d see him early on, as I was trying to figure out who spoke English on the crew. I’d see him talking to someone in English, then overhear him later rattling on in Czech. I’d do a double take, figure that I was losing my mind, and see him back speaking in English ten minutes later. I finally cornered him and got his story before I went crazy…
He was living in Prague when the movie came along, and was lucky enough to sign on as a PA. On the other hand, it probably didn’t have much to do with luck. He was a hard worker, always pleasant, and always had time for a stupid question from the Yank.
A funny story: We were shooting a scene where 007 dashes to his car in the parking lot of the Hotel Splendide (if I recall correctly, I think you can see part of it on the website videos). During shooting as Daniel is running back and forth, I noticed several people looking up at the windows in the hotel above us. The filming ground to a halt, and then we heard it—the sound of extremely um,—enthusiastic lovemaking emanating from one of the rooms. After a few minutes of fascinated eavesdropping (and speculation as to the nature of the events), reality (the thought of wasted time and money) overruled amusement, and Pat was dispatched to tell the screamers to tone it down.
Turned out, the lucky devil upstairs had not one, but two willing accomplices of the female persuasion. Maybe all the yelling was him begging for mercy, or simply thanking heaven. Anyway, Pat came back looking bit discomfited and gave me the scoop.
“You know,” I said, “working in the movies really is as glamorous on the inside as it seems from the outside.”
He just snorted.
As I mentioned, this night’s shooting was divided into two parts. First, we’d do a restaurant scene, and then the aforementioned scene of Daniel running for the Aston Martin, and then getting in. Tom, the “Pick A Wife” PA (whom I now realized had some clout—I think he was the senior PA, or 1st AD or something) came over and selected about a dozen of us to be in the restaurant scene. Some of the extras were Guests, some were Gangsters.
For the scene, I was given a new girlfriend and placed with another gangster couple at a table about six feet away from Daniel and Eva’s table. Tom had placed me in the best possible place—with the highest likelihood of being seen. I’d gotten very lucky!
Daniel and Eva were chatting and joking, and practicing their lines. The crew had placed a microphone in the table’s tiny centerpiece, and Mac, the assistant prop guy, had installed a new champagne bottle in the ice bucket next to the table. Another prop guy came by and gave us all plates of food prepared in the nouvelle cuisine manner: A fragment of meat, a sprig of green, some sauce drizzled on the plate, and Voila!
I looked down at the lonely little shrimp in front of me and sneered. My inner gangster cried out for meat, red meat—not this anemic crayfish… The rest of the extras were positioned; waiters, passersby outside, etc. We were ready to shoot…
Stop.
Remember when I said Daniel Craig brought intensity and focus to the role? When I said he took it seriously? Well, that evening that very seriousness threw a wrench in my attempts to get into a James Bond movie.
Just as we were about to start, Daniel called Martin over and began a low-voiced conversation with him. I was close enough to hear most of it.
“I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense,” Daniel was saying. “This is supposed to be at four in the morning, an intimate dinner. There shouldn’t be as many people in here.”
And just like that, I knew with a sinking feeling that I wasn’t going to be in this scene either.
Daniel and Martin conferred for a few more minutes, and then Martin stood up and delivered the word—all but a couple of the extras were to head back to the waiting area. Our services would not be needed for this scene.
I tried to be annoyed at Daniel, but one thought made it impossible:
He was right.
And not only that, but I’d rather have an actor playing Bond who cares about the little things like that, because I truly think it shows up in a hundred different ways when you see the movie.
But at that actual moment, I could have used a little less of his commitment to the role!
We spent another few hours waiting around. I’d started to hang out with three other Gangsters. Petr, Marek and Jarda, and despite the fact that my Czech was very bad and their English non-existent, we became friends. I’d finished my book, and had brought a deck of cards. After a few false starts, I taught them how to play hearts, and we spent many an hour talking, laughing and playing cards.
Petr and Marek worked for offices in Karlovy Vary, and Jarda was a police detective in a small town nearby. All three were very friendly, and we’d have meals and share a smoke together (except for Petr, the smart one of the bunch, who doesn’t smoke).
I taught them a card trick once. You need an accomplice, and it’s a “mind reading” trick. After a brief instruction period, we spent the rest of the evening dazzling a series of beautiful Czech extras.
(There’s your humble author with a friend from Sokolov. The guy behind me is Honza, whom you’ll meet tomorrow.)
I walked around for a while, and found myself standing in the lobby of the hotel. They were setting up a shot where 007 comes dashing out of the doors, past several startled guests, and down the steps. This was being shot from inside, as we see Bond’s back as he runs out. I found myself a couple of feet from Daniel Craig, and turned to say something…
It wasn’t him.
For this shot, they were using a stuntman. I was puzzled at first, because it seemed so innocuous. (Then I figured, well, it makes sense, because the shot is from behind, will last maybe a second or two, and if Daniel were to turn his ankle on the steps outside, it would cost the production thousands in delays). The interesting thing to me was the amazing similarity between the two men, even at short distance. The hair, height, build—identical. Only when I saw the stuntman’s face did I realize it wasn’t Daniel.
I watched them shoot it several times, then I was gently shooed out by a PA. I went back to have my six-hundredth cup of coffee and check on the card game.
Finally, at a little after midnight, we got another call. They were shooting Bond getting into (or out of) the Aston, and we were to be walking around in the background. I was placed with another guy near the front of the hotel, and we walked slowly past, chatting as we escorted our girlfriends. The night was quite cool, and the girls were wrapped in the ever-present pink blankets between takes.
I was kidding around with one of them, and “borrowed” her blanket for a minute. Bad idea. If I am visible in the scene, it’ll be easy to pick me out: I’m the Gangster in the tuxedo covered with pink fuzz.
They cut us loose at about four in the morning. The buses to Sokolov didn’t start running until 6:00, so I asked Jiri if anyone else working on the film could give me a ride. A minute later he came back with my old friend, the “uptight” cop!
We spent the forty-minute drive talking. He’s a student at university, and for him (like many people in the Czech Republic), this was a fun chance to make some decent money. The average monthly wage before taxes in the Czech Republic is around 18,000 crowns, or about 800 dollars. When you figure that we were making 1,000 crowns a day as extras, you can understand that many people were there for the money.
Before I dropped off to sleep that morning, I reflected on what Tom had told me earlier. The next day we’d begin shooting at the casino itself.
Casino Royale, here I come!
