BECOMING BACKGROUND by Maria Heng
My neighbor, Amy, is a casting director.
“I want to make you a movie star,” she said one day, not long after we first met.
I took it as a compliment rather than as a career plan. But about two years after making that casual remark that had me laughing, she actually found me a potential role; a zombie.
The invitation was followed by hesitation in her voice. I presumed, right after she’d heard herself, she worried I’d presume it was my body full of burn scars that qualified me for the role.
The fact is I did. I presumed my scars made me supremely suitable for the role, and considered the cost-effectiveness to the production team of hiring me.
“I won’t need body make-up,” I joked on the casting reply to the film’s hire team, “and my left hand comes conveniently amputated.”
I didn’t hear back. They may not have shared my sense of humor.
In truth, Amy saved me from that role when she realized the film conditions would torture me; hours of body make-up application on sensitive skin followed by long hours of running around in that make-up on hot summer days. Even at Zombie speeds it would have been too much. I agreed it wasn’t for me.
Then, this May, she found the perfect role for me; all that was required was real life meditation experience for a Miramax movie set in a silent retreat to be shot locally. I didn’t need to speak to reveal my unusual accent, or smile which would reveal my on-going dental work, or run, I presumed, being a movie plot revolving around silent meditation, or even drive a distance over my threshold of half an hour to reach the film site. It was as perfect for me as could possibly be. I was learning to “Yes” to new experiences and this was a new experience that was easy to say “YES” to.
Then my hesitation set in. Meditation isn’t a performance art but show-biz is. Wouldn’t the movie require its meditators to do the one thing that “shows” the act of meditation — that cross-legged, straight-spined posture well-seasoned meditators are capable of maintaining in stillness, on the floor, for hours? My injuries made sitting on the floor impossible. Forget about trying to sit on the floor cross-legged with a straight spine. I wasn’t even capable of sitting straight-spined on a chair without a fat cushion to prop me forward. Even with a cushion and a chair I wasn’t capable of sitting for long. I began to wonder if the one thing that might qualify me for the role didn’t measure up. My enthusiastic “yes” may have been premature.
I emailed Amy the fine print that came with me, in bold.
She reassured me; “They want it to look like a real meditation retreat so there will be some chairs for those who can’t sit on the floor. Just tell Todd what you can and can’t do when you meet him.”
Turns out I had been shortlisted for an audition with the director, Todd Strauss-Schulson.
Being new to the whole experience I didn’t know that it was unheard of for directors to audition Extras, otherwise known as “Background”. Afterall background is just that; the blurred shape behind the action or that anonymous crowd on a busy street, their sole purpose to lend authenticity to a scene focused on anything but them as individuals. Background isn’t even significant enough to qualify for the category of cast and crew. I think a more accurate description for Background would be prop furniture with rights, but individually much less important than significant props. Directors don’t take time from the million significant decisions they must make to deal with Extras.
But Todd was an unusual director. In his previous movie, the rom-com Isn’t it Romantic, he was reported as saying he wanted to create a goofy, fun, and loving environment for everyone on set and one of the ways he accomplished that was to include real-life couples as extras, including the couple that had introduced his parents to each other. As testimony to the success of Todd’s strategy, three couples in the crew of the movie, Isn’t it Romantic, fell in love on set, and two of his starring actors married after the wrap. I deduced he was repeating this strategy for the movie Silent Retreat, glad it wasn’t a gruesome murder movie.
And so I arrived at my five minute allotment with the good-looking, curly haired, nearly forty years young Todd Strauss-Schulson. It was past 6pm and he’d been working all day. I’d never have guessed I was about the twentieth extra in to see him by the warm enthusiasm with which he greeted me, as if I were an old friend or a movie star.
Then he made the mistake of asking me an open-ended question, “How did you become a meditator?”
Despite answering with close to the speed of a disclaimer in a pharmaceutical ad and with the animation of a QVC host, fifteen minutes was no where close to enough to answer his question. Anyone who knows me knows my love for backstory, something you may have deduced by now. Unlike my family inclined to race me to the point, Todd listened with obvious interest, his face as animated as mine, his questions as rapid-fire as my speech, waving away the interruptions of his assistant’s time-up alerts. By the third interruption I made myself stop and stood up to go, in apparent fairness to everyone still waiting their turn, but also thinking it best to leave while the going was good. I squeezed in the fine print of my limitations, and made sure Todd knew my arms were scarred in case he wanted us to wear short sleeves. He waved away my concerns with a “pfff”.
“Can you do walking meditation?” he asked.
“It’s not part of my tradition but my husband complains I walk too slowly, does that count?” I asked in reply, and began demonstrating how slowly I can walk, nearly tripping in my clogs.
“Think of kissing the ground with the soles of your feet,” he suggested.
“I’ll practice,” I promised, as he hugged me goodbye, not expecting to get the part. I was quite happy to have had the pleasure of meeting Todd. This was as close to getting a real job as I’d come since my accident fifteen years ago. Work I do with and for my husband, not being based on fair hiring practices, and coming with no fixed schedule, work of interest or even an official paycheck, never felt like it counted. I was genuinely thrilled to get this close to what was an exciting possibility for me, a sign I really needed to get out of the house more.
The next day Amy told me I was Todd’s first choice. I didn’t care if Amy told every selected candidate that. I was thrilled to believe I was special enough to have been selected to play a role that required complete anonymity.
I was thrilled I was actually going to get paid for something I didn’t mind doing, a role that couldn’t possibly come with less performance pressure. Being thrilled, for however long or short, is a wonderful thing. In two weeks I would find out exactly what I’d signed up for.
END OF PART 1 of BECOMING BACKGROUND by Maria Heng.
For more info regarding Ms. Heng, please contact gekcho@gmail.com