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I Was an Extra in Casino Royale
Part 8
Written by Guest Writer on 10 Sep, 2006
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Part 8
As I sat with the other extras waiting for the call, I looked around and smiled to myself. The incongruity of the scene made everything a bit surreal.
Beat up folding tables in an elegant baroque-style hotel ballroom. Men and women dressed to kill, playing cards or lying on benches, napping. And an American with a slight case of arrested development, sitting in the midst of it all, eight thousand miles from home.
Surrreal.
The crew was outside putting the final touches on the lighting for the casino, getting ready for the night’s shooting. From the outside, it was dazzling. A red carpet ran up the front steps to the huge revolving door, and the rain-soaked driveway was host to a Bentley limousine, a Mercedes sedan, a Lincoln limousine, and a matching black and red pair of Maserati GTs. Their running lights reflected from the damp macadam like an impressionist painting, and the lush grass of the landscaping glittered wetly. Even someone completely devoid of imagination could believe in the world of James Bond on this night…
Our first call came shortly after eight. We walked in groups over to the casino’s driveway, where we waited to be placed in our positions. A funny moment occurred on the way—I mentioned earlier that the hotel was open for business during the duration of the shoot, and on this night as I walked to the casino, I saw a gaggle of Japanese tourists talking excitedly and snapping photos of each other in front of the casino.
As I approached, two women handed their camera to a friend and linked arms, smiling happily.
I couldn’t resist.
I quickly crossed to them and stood behind them, draping my arms over their shoulders and grinning like an idiot. They gasped, and then exploded into giggles as the camera flashed—and flashed, and flashed. They couldn’t have been more excited, and clapped their hands delightedly. As I sauntered off, I could hear them saying, “James Bond! James Bond!” over and over again. Nothing like a tuxedo to impress the ladies!
I smile thinking about that photo in someone’s vacation scrapbook in a little suburb of Kyoto…
I didn’t see Daniel or Eva, so I assumed this was an establishing shot, with Guests and Gangsters arriving in all their finery for a night of high stakes gambling and socializing. I was paired with a Guest, and we were escorting two new women—apparently, my gangster is quite lucky with the gentle sex, or quite fickle. Or maybe no woman will stay with him longer than a few scenes!
Nevertheless, within a few minutes I realized I’d made a terrible mistake—I’d neglected to bring my leather overcoat.
The air temperature was about 45 degrees Fahrenheit, and the damp chill was slowly working its way into my bones. In my thin cotton shirt and lightweight tuxedo jacket, I was freezing. The ladies, too, were chilly but had the benefit of the infamous pink blankets. The other guy in our group was also cold, but at least he had a topcoat.
Ironically, I’d first been happy at not being stuck into one of the limos—I figured there was a better chance of being seen on film as we walked the twenty or thirty yards to the steps, then inside. It didn’t take long for me to see the error in my thinking.
“Background!”
We traipsed up to the door and inside, “conversing” gaily all the while. I tried to look happy and animated as instructed, but it’s difficult when your teeth are chattering!
We did this another seventeen times, as the limousines let out their passengers, guests left and entered the casino, and a good time was had by all. I have to admit my favorite part of this scene was the ten seconds we got to spend inside the warm casino lobby…
When Martin would yell “cut,” we’d go stand in our original spots again, and literally huddle together for warmth. I’d started it by leaning against the woman I was walking with, who had a short but beautiful fur jacket. She laughed, and thus emboldened, I reached over and pulled the other girl closer. Our fourth, who knew a good thing when he saw it, joined the scrum and the four of us stood there shivering, but slightly warmer.
Sometimes I’d go over to the idling Bentley and talk to the driver. He was a Brit, with a brutal sense of humor. Our exchanges went something like this:
“God, it’s cold out here!”
“Really?” He’d casually look at the dashboard thermometer and shrug. “It’s twenty-five degrees (centigrade) in here, mate.”
“Poor you. Let me in there.”
“Can’t do it, mate. But I’ll tell you what. If you promise not to smudge the paintwork, I’ll let you lean on the hood.”
I’ll admit it here: I have no shame. I actually tried it, but all the soundproofing around the engine compartment kept the hood from getting warm enough. Damn Bentley and their excellent construction!
“How about I just stand next to the window and let the hot air keep me from freezing to death?” I asked.
He smiled, and slowly buzzed the window closed. Through the glass, I could faintly hear his passengers laughing.
Finally we stopped for a break, but instead of taking us back to the hotel, they’d set up a new waiting area for us in the basement of the casino. Actually, “casino” is not correct: the building was originally a spa. When you enter the lobby, there is a large staircase in front of you, which splits to the right and left, both up and down. Upstairs is the gaming room of the casino, and downstairs is the basement, with the ever present folding tables and heaters set up. Our food was also served here. Due to the tight quarters, mealtimes were brutal!
It’s difficult to see in photos, but there’s a huge circular room the same height as the rest of the building, connected to and behind the rectangular front portion. Apparently, this was where the main spa facilities had been, but it was now completely gutted, and currently housed the crew’s meal facilities and tables. There are no intermediate floors now, so the whole thing has the feeling of an atrium, or a concert hall. I’d bet a savvy developer could make a fortune leaving the casino intact, and turning that huge room into a dance club/concert venue.
Besides the stairway and casino proper, the rest of the building was in a serious state of disrepair. But the areas they’d refurbished, well, they were stunning. If my Czech friend ever sends me his interior shots, I’ll pass them along. If not, you’ll have to wait for November! He’s sent me a low-res “proof” of them, but they’re all about an inch square and only 72 dpi. I’ll pull this one out and see if I can sharpen it up in Photoshop. This is the crew eating area in the old spa area.
It’s not much, but if I can’t get better photos, I suppose it’s better than nothing.
After “lunch,” many extras were called upstairs to shoot scenes on the stairs; walking up and down past Daniel as he came in (or left). I wasn’t one of the extras called, so I can’t really say much about what happened.
These shots lasted a few more hours, and then we were told we could all head back to the hotel to wait, as they weren’t sure we’d be used again that night. I think part of this was because the noise made by the extras in the basement was easily heard on the stairwell, and we were constantly being silenced during the filming. A PA would appear, call for attention, then hold his fingers to his lips and shush us. We’d faintly hear Martin yell, “Action,” then wait for thirty or forty seconds. Then the PA would say, “Okay,” and we’d all start talking again.
At times it was funny—like an old war movie set on a submarine, where everyone had to be quiet so the enemy destroyer above couldn’t find them. And just like in that old movie, there was always someone who would drop something, or bump a table. Everyone would jerk around and spot the offender, then be overcome by a fit of the giggles.
Speaking of Martin, watching him was like watching a general in the midst of a battle (I know that’s a cliche, but it’s so apt I can’t not use it). Like Daniel, he was intensely focused, and there were times you could tell he wasn’t pleased with what was going on. God help the crew member talking on his cell phone when the cameras were ready to roll.
“You there! Hang up! Hang up now!”
Or when the Girlfriends, standing in a group to the side between takes were giggling and chatting loud enough to break his concentration: “Be quiet! QUIET!”
But don’t let me give you the wrong impression. There were plenty of laughs, and when the shot went well, he was sincere and vocal in his praise.
“Cut! Excellent, that was perfect! Thanks, everyone.”
Frankly, I can’t imagine the kind of stress the guy was under. And when you consider that this is the second time he’s been given the responsibility of rejuvenating the oldest continuous film franchise in history, well, if there were a James Bond Hall of Fame, he deserves to make it in on the first ballot.
One last thing—I never caught the faintest whiff of “prima donna” from him. I mentioned joking with him at the train station, and on another occasion, we were ready to shoot and I said, “Excuse me—I had a drink in my hand in the last shot—do I need it in this one for continuity?”
He paused for a second and said, “No, thanks—I think we’re alright at this angle.” In a business filled with large and fragile egos, it says a lot about a director when he treats an extra with the same courtesy as the leading man.
In fact, I can say that about absolutely everyone on the crew. To be honest, I hadn’t known what to expect on the set—but I remember wondering if everyone would be just a tad self-absorbed—as the wardrobe assistant Joe had said, “It’s a Bond film, innit?” But I can happily (and truthfully) say that the opposite was true, from the director, to the actors, to the PAs—everyone was highly professional, yet friendly and accessible.
Anyway, we finally moved back to the hotel, and I vowed I’d never forget my coat again! Jiri stopped by a couple of hours later and cut us loose, and stopped me to tell me that another extra had told him he could drive me home. Apparently, this was my “cop” friend’s last day on the set, and Jiri had taken the trouble to track down someone else who lived near me.
My new “driver” was another Gangster. His name was Honza—the Czech equivalent of “Johnny.” Boisterous and extroverted, he was mad for card games, and soon became a regular at our table. His English wasn’t bad, and we spent the drive home chatting about his life and job working for the local electric utility. To cap it off, even though I lived a few miles out of the way, he refused to accept any gas money from me, and also insisted on picking me up every afternoon for the drive to the set, even though I had no transportation issues getting to the set. A genuinely nice guy, we’re still in touch today—as a matter of fact, he’s just sent me an email with no text, just a rude photograph! A good guy.
I still had a few concerns about whether I’d make it into the finished film, but at least I was having a good time and I’d begun to settle into the routine.
That routine was soon to change.
