Another rush call... where you never know what you’re in for! One day you're an orthodox hassid -the next day you're a mysterious monk. That's showbiz.
The casting agency called me to be available for a 5:30 PM
call at St. Josephat Monastery in Glen Cove on Long Island. My instructions were to wear a black shirt,
socks, shoes, pants, belt… simply black!
That was simple enough –extras are always prepared for black… it’s the blend-in-the-background
de facto national color for us extras.
The location was quite remote but my trusty GPS got me in
front of the gates. Unfortunately the
gates had unclear signs on it and I bypassed it the first time, winding up on a
foggy beach parking lot a mile down the road.
But the beach parking lot was loaded with the huge Haddad trucks so I
felt reassured. When I asked where I
should park, the workers there were ambiguous and didn’t know. So I trekked back to the monastery gates and
entered. The path took me up a narrow
winding road with no visible signs of civilization –until I got to the
top. There, I saw the bright studio
lights and people! I also saw a row of cars
parked off the road and figured I’d pull in behind one of them.
BAD MOVE! I was stuck
in mud.
I felt my front wheel-drive wheels slipping and the car
sliding. Repeated maneuvers to get back
on the paved road, just inches away were futile. Two guys came along to try to direct me but
their savvy was not up to the challenges of the muddy mush and I just got dangerously
closer and closer to another vehicle. At
that point the two guys bailed. Since
my driver’s side door was too close to the adjacent vehicle, I had to clamber
out of the car through the passenger side.
SLURP! Stepping into the
unavoidable mud I realized that part of my black shoes were now brown. As I walked away from my precariously
positioned car, I knew I’d have to call for help… eventually.
Walking up the stone path and into the monastery’s front
yard, I asked where holding was from the workers. No one knew!?
I had studied up on the location and was familiar with the exterior so I
decided to go to where the most lights were (near the front door) and went
in. Again asking where the extras are
being held again brought no result. But
this was the film crew… with 2-way radios in their ears… couldn’t they ask “someone”?! No one knew where holding was?? Amazing chaos.
I went exploring around the busy-crewed house,
noticing the neat architecture (circa 1910) and the iconic decorations (occupied by Basilian monks since the early 1940's) which I had studied from
the website's information. At the moment nothing was neat. The icons, statues, candle holders, were shoved all
over the place and there were cardboard mats and cable taped to the floors. Complicated technology meets monastic
simplicity.
Eventually I came upon a separate room with a fireplace
where there were seats arranged with the sign “Solutions” on the back of
them. I wished they had the word “Extras”
instead. One silver-haired man was
sitting in a wooden pew. I asked him if
this was holding. He immediately
acknowledged that it was and became very enthused to have company. As we chatted, it turned out that we had worked together on "The Men Who Built America" a few months ago. He told me that he lived in
this neighborhood and had once worked with his father at this monastery as
carpenters. He explained that the
monastery was almost closed up now. Only two
people were running it and very few monks were joining up. He lamented that young people are not very
religious anymore. That they only turn
to God when they have one foot in the grave.
The PA entered and we asked him if we could check in but he
was vague about it and rushed out of the room.
Another extra had found our holding area and sat down. More chatting ensued and after a long wait we
decided to wander toward the absent PA’s area.
While there were vouchers there, it was only for union people. We assumed the PA went out to get the non-union
vouchers. Soon another dozen extras
entered –they were bussed in and had just arrived. I started to wish that I’d taken the buss too…
reflecting on my stuck-in-the-mud situation. Two PA’s also arrived with more vouchers. I filled mine out and informed the PA about
needing help with my car. He said he’d
look into it. I’ve heard that response
before, it usually meant that it would be forgotten. I started to worry more about my debilitated
transportation at the end of the night. Soon after the check in fiasco, we were led out into the courtyard for a short break under the tent where the snacks were set up –and it began to
rain. Great… more mud under my car.
Later, back in holding, two wardrobe women showed up with a
batch of long red robes. We were finally
told that we would be “monks” of some mysterious order. We put on the robes and immediately the
photo-frenzy started. Each of us were
taking iPhone pictures of ourselves since it was great resume-type material. An elderly man and a young “apprentice”
priest entered our area and greeted us with handshakes. They were the only real “monks” of the place. But they were enthused, and later took photos
of us in a group shot.
After we all calmed down into our seats, a short time passed
by and the PA announced that we were all dismissed –the director had decided
not to do our scene tonight… putting it off until the end of the week. BUT… we would all get paid for the day! Wow… here I was worried that we’d be here
past midnight but with this “unexpected turn of events” we were checked out at
8:00 PM. I was second on line and would
have been on my way home were it not for my car’s predicament. I asked the PA again if anyone was going to help me
out but the same reply was mantracized: “Hang
tight. I’ll look into it.”
OK… so no one was going to help anytime soon –and I’ll have
to spend the night here with the real monks.
And then I remembered my seldom-used AAA card hiding in my wallet. As I began to make my call, the PA kept
Shhhh-shing us because we were too loud and the filming (somewhere in the monastery)
was picking up all the sounds. Later on, after
we did our bathroom break, an “announcement” came from one of the directors below
our floor: “Stop flushing the fucking
toilet! The sound is being picked up
every fucking time the fucking toilet is being fucking flushed!!!”
So I ventured around to another room, the kitchen, where I
saw an elderly woman doing her chores while a small TV was blaring away. I figured I’d be “safe” making noise
here. I called the AAA people who said
they would be sending someone in 20 minutes.
I wanted to believe that, but knowing the difficulties in finding this
place, I had my doubts. So I began to
chat with the “kitcheness”in anticipation of a long wait.
She had a striking resemblance to Charlotte Rae from the old
Different Strokes TV series and a friendly demeanor. She had overheard my plaints on the phone and
was sympathetic to my predicament. We also
chatted about the history of this place. Mostly she was very excited about the TV
scenes they’d done outside her kitchen window.
She described a scene earlier in the day where a lot of characters were
shooting each other “by the gazebo”… and how a helicopter came down and women
in white robes rushed to “escape in it”.
I listened intently and wished that my rush call would have been earlier
so I could have witnessed these scenes also.
DAMN!
Twenty minutes later the AAA guys arrived! It was still drizzling when the two Russians
expertly figured out the precise pulls and pushes that had to be made in order
to extract my slip-sliding car from the pitch-black night’s mire. After 30 minutes my two front wheels were on
the road and I was able to be on my way… but not before tipping them. They were REALLY GOOD at their job and I made
sure to mention it to their boss.
Of course the three-minute trip down the “mountain” was now rainy and foggy… not unlike in the “Rocky Horror Picture Show”. And at one point I almost made the wrong turn
–no Dr. Frankenfurter on this trip!
Finally the mist cleared and I saw the front gates (it gave new meaning to the thrill of “checking
the gates”) and I was back on the civilized road to home again.
I never got to be in a scene... I never got to see the set where they were actually filming... never got to see who the director was on this episode (last of the season) -much less any of the celebrities. Oh well, such are the adventures of a paid extra when acting strange is not an option.
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