Where Everyone’s a Star

Lights, camera, action?

When film crews show up in Grand Rapids to make a general audience film like “The Genesis Code,” it’s only natural for anyone to start fantasizing about he or she can be a star on the silver screen for a fleeting second as a movie extra. But as my husband, Mike Hale, and I discovered this past weekend, it isn’t all glamour — and it is about waiting hours and possibly going home empty-handed.

But the weirdest thing is I would do it again, spend hours clinging to the slim hope that a casting director would nod my way, and I would become part of cinematic history.

You could be in pictures
Certainly hundreds of people in metro Grand Rapids have a shot at making it past the cutting room floor of “The Genesis Code” as it wound up its final scenes at the Patterson Ice Center last week.

Jeff Schwartz, 22, had been part of the face-painted extras on Thursday night who played the parts of college hockey fans in the film. He had so much fun, there was no hesitation to come back for another 12 hours on Friday night from 5 p.m. to 5 a.m. He learned of the casting call on a Web site called nextcat.com. All kinds of theatrical and movie jobs and auditions are listed there.

“I’m taking classes at Civic (Grand Rapids Civic Theatre) and I want to get into acting,” Jeff told me. “I lost my voice last night, but this is so cool. I hope I’m prominent in the film.”

Produced by American Epic Productions with a budget of $5.2 million, “The Genesis Code” is an independent film that needed loads of unpaid extras. Mike and I sent in the required e-mail with some credentials – both of us have acting experience – and immediately got a response stating “we are very much in need of a large number of people for our hockey crowd scene” on Friday.  After we called for registration purposes, a member of the production crew even called us back. Wow!

The movie, featuring veteran actors,  Ernest Borgnine, Fred Thompson and Louise Fletcher began filming around the area last month. While they had shot their scenes earlier and left town, we still could be in scenes with the young stars of the movie, Logan Bartholomew, who plays a college hockey player, and Kelsey Sanders, a reporter for the school’s paper. Maybe we could snag an autograph?

Besides, they would feed us with snacks throughout the night, provide a box lunch and a one-hour break before midnight. Even door prizes would be awarded.  Just bring clothing that was paired cherry red and gray, and maroon and gold needed to represent the two opposing hockey teams in the movie.

Reality sets in
By 4:20 p.m. that evening, we were in the parking lot of the Patterson Ice Center, our car filled with an assortment of shirts and jackets appropriate for a typical hockey game — some clothing purchased that day for the occasion. We also brought pillows, seat cushions, fanny packs, folding camp chairs, make-up, a small camera and reading material. A large cloth bag contained mouth wash, wet wash cloths, small towels, baby powder and deodorant – hey, we’re talking about 12 hours here.

Other early arrivals learned from their experience the night before: They came with heavy coats, blankets and gloves to ward off the chill of the ice rink. One woman said she was so cold, her husband had rushed home during the break to grab some heavy socks. This night they both wore long underwear. Mike ran back to the car for a blanket.

We got in line to register and sign waivers. The list was checked and we became “add-on spectators”.  Did that mean we were considered flexible enough to handle any designated scene? Cool. Others also were moved into that group. There was no explanation. Little did we know a lot of us would be standing outside for over two hours, as designated groups were called in for wardrobe, makeup and scene assignments.

Some extras were designated to the “wild fan” group, where yelling and screaming during the heat of the game was required. They were hoping to get their faces and hair painted to represent the movie’s “Madison College” and the “Monarch” hockey team. There even was a small group of attractive, young women  representing the “Madison Puckers” cheerleading team. Hmmm.

Slowly these designated groups were led into the building. Not us. I was getting tired of standing on cement, while Mike’s load of clothing started to weigh him down. We were starving, and I had to go to the bathroom. There were moans about hunger and coffee withdrawal.

Making a break for it
In desperation, I worked my way to the front door and went in to find a restroom. Past crew members, actors and extras . Past a room full of hot food just for the film crew, according to the sign on the door. Past people playing cards, snacking and sitting in old plastic chairs that by this time looked like La-Z-Boy recliners to me.

Back outside, I met Eva Curtis, 40, and the mother of seven children, who was a real die-hard, cheerful participant. This was her third time that week to show up as a movie extra. She didn’t wear any makeup this night in hopes she’d get selected as a wild fan and face paint. But, here she was, still standing outside with us.

Finally, at 6:40 p.m., we were ushered  through the doors. “Follow me into the ice rink, quietly” said the somber-faced crew member. Loaded with our various rolling suitcases, backpacks, laptops, bags and armloads of clothing, we all looked like refugees on our last journey. But, we were in!

Moving further into the arena, we spied some extras in official “Madison College” sweatshirts, along with silver crowns on their heads. Someone said the crowns represented the college’s monarch logo. A couple of them were supposed to be “monarchs,” complete with purposely kitschy red velvet capes and royal crowns. Other extras sported the opposing team’s colors of gold and maroon. Everyone was very patient, but what was to be our roles?

Still waiting for instructions, I started looking for the promised food and found a table full of popcorn, candy, and salty snacks.  My reach was stopped by the sudden realization these were the food props. Yikes!  A cardinal rule had almost been breached, with grounds for expulsion. You NEVER touch the props.

On a mission
Leaving Mike to guard our chairs, I foraged further for food. A very nice crew member saw the desperate look on my face and steered me toward the crew’s lounge and its hot buffet. “Here, take whatever you want,” he told me but asked that I eat there so as not to start a riot in the lounge. I smuggled Mike a cherry Danish.

Eventually, the catering crew tried to keep up with the hungry extras by bringing out muffins, snacks, coffee and juice. One of them told Mike there were far more people on the site than expected. There may not be enough food for everyone.

 Too many people?  Were we getting shuffled around because they didn’t know what to do with our group? Were we “extra” extras? This was not good.

 At 8:20 p.m., our group was told to move into wardrobe. Production assistant Josh Ensink was counting heads and a female casting member started looking us over. “We’re so sorry”, Josh said, but too many people had answered the call, a rewrite was underway and cuts were being made. They no longer needed our services. What?

But you called us, Mike and I retorted. “Yes, yes, we did and we’re so sorry, but we only need 70 people and we’ve got 140,” Josh said. “The good news is, there may be more work tomorrow.”

Yes, but only college students were needed for one scene, and adults between 45 and 55 for something else. The casting crew kept whispering to each other, while those of us available for another 12-hour shift were hustled into a corner, waiting for our second try at stardom. Silly us. Only one couple was selected. The rest of us were told to go home with the promise that our names were safe in their hands for the next movie. Geez.

As we walked out the door, Eva Curtis said it best: “I don’t like being released, but it’s to be expected. That’s what happens in Hollywood.” Apparently in Grand Rapids, too.

Disappointed, tired and still hungry, Mike and I gathered up our load and went to a Big Boy restaurant. We never got the promised box lunch at the rink and we’ll never know if our names were drawn in the prize giveaway.

Would we do it again? Sure. Do we believe the casting woman when she says we are in a permanent “extras” data base for upcoming movies?  Maybe.  Or that our names are “starred” at the top of the list as the first to be called? Yeah, right.

But, all was not lost. We found the receipts for our unworn shirts, jumped in the car the next day and went back to the store for refunds. We were able to get a good night’s sleep and I got to write this story.

So there, Hollywood.

---

A veteran journalist formerly of The Grand Rapids Press, Mary Radigan is a freelance writer based in Grand Rapids.