They're Gonna Put Me in the Movies. . .
September 2011
© Adam Granger
In 2006, I was cast as an extra in the Robert Altman movie A Prairie Home Companion, Garrison Keillor's stylized eponymous nod to his radio show. I was one of the dozen so-called “GK Extras” (officially, Musician Extras) brought in at Keillor's suggestion, all of us regulars on the show. Human verisimilitude. There was no speaking or playing involved. Among us, we had four hundred years' experience doing what we were on the movie set to do: stand around backstage and onstage, instruments in hands, “waiting to go on.” (Other GK extras were John Koerner, Dan “Daddy Squeeze” Newton, Bill Hinkley, Judy Larsen, Jon Pankake, Becky Schlegel, Peter Ostroushko, Prudence Johnson, Bob Douglas, Butch Thompson and Dick Rees.)
As I am completely uncredentialed and unambitious regarding the movie biz, it's safe to say that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me, and what an experience it was. It was tacitly understood that this would be the ailing Altman's last film and, as he was a director universally loved and respected by actors, major stars flocked to the set like Amish to a barn raising: Meryl Streep, Lily Tomlin, Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly, Lindsay Lohan, Tommy Lee Jones, Kevin Kline, Virginia Madsen, and, of course, Garrison (as himself).
I was told to wear what I would wear when I'm on the radio show, so I wore a pale print cream-colored shirt and black pants (which look great on the radio). As a result of my nondescript appearance, I ended up in fourteen scenes. Watching the movie, then, becomes a sort of Where's Waldo experience for my friends and family.
We were paid $275 a day, and I was on the set eleven days; filming propitiously occurred between gigs on the East Coast and in Texas. Every day, we filled out pay forms, and I remember that they had little boxes to check marked “smoke pay” and “wet pay”: one got more for working under those inclemencies. As it turned out, our environment was ideal: the movie was filmed almost entirely in the air-conditioned comfort of the Fitzgerald Theater. Also, because Altman was not well, workdays were a civilized eight hours or so instead of the twelve to fourteen common for movie production. Paul Thomas Anderson was on hand as insurance against Altman's being unable to complete the film.
I would arrive early and get breakfast at the food trailer parked in front of the old Science Museum. The company was called “Extreme Movie Catering;” their van had been driven from Los Angeles to provide food for the company, and good grub it was.
The theater looked essentially the same as normal, except for the lobby and backstage areas, which had been stylized in a vaguely 40s-50s motif. The PHC crew and the Fitz staff were on hand to oversee technical issues and to act as extras. Over time, I came to understand why each of the other eighty or so people scurrying around the place was there: Meryl Streep's hairdresser, the script girl, six production assistants, three four-person camera crews, assistant director Vebe (Victor Borge's son), Altman's personal assistant, Lohan's manager (dapper in a three-piece suit). . . .
Altman sat in the right rear of the theater, watching three large monitors (the film was shot in high-definition video) and communicating his wishes over an intercom. If one behaved, one could stand eight feet behind him and watch him work. For closeups, he would make his way down to the action and direct from there. His catchphrase—the one which let people know they'd done a good job—was, “That was adequate.”
Particularly fascinating were the conferences between Keillor, whose show and script it was, and Altman, the supreme commander of the ship. Garrison, true to his style, was changing the script at the last minute, on a laptop on the set. (Tomlin and Streep were given new scripts for one of their big scenes fifteen minutes before it was shot.)
One fun film flub: The movie is about a show broadcasting over the fictional radio station WLT, but the band's music stands have “MPR” on them.
The several hundred unpaid extras who served as the audience were housed in the old Science Museum when not needed and trooped across the street when their scenes came up. They brought bag lunches, and seemed delighted to be there and in the movie.
Lindsay Lohan always had a few fans waiting outside the makeup trailer, holding teen magazines and wanting autographs, and, by the way, her comportment and professionalism were beyond reproach. John C. Reilly took advantage of his down time on the set to learn to spin lariats from Pop Wagner. He worked on this several hours a day, and, by the time the movie wrapped, he could spin two at once. For his generous efforts, instructor Wagner earned a movie credit as “Lasso Trainer.”
The big surprise for me was what good musical performers the actors were, and this sometimes under duress: Lily Tomlin took two days off to bury her mother in Kansas, and, upon her return, filmed “Goodbye to My Mama” with Streep, a sweet, sad Keillor composition made triply so by her loss. You can see her struggling to maintain her composure as she sings, ever the professional.
Kevin Kline had a scene in which, as house detective Guy Noir, he prowls around backstage during the broadcast, searching for the only-sometimes-visible Dangerous Woman (Madsen). The take was typical Altman, meaning it was a long one, with cameras following Kline across the backstage area. When they were finished, Altman, over the intercom, asked, “Kevin, do you want to do another one?” Kline thought a minute, brow furrowed, and said yes. They re-shot the scene, with Kline hitting all of his marks at exactly the same times as before (for the cameras), but with completely different comedic business (e.g., opening the screen door on the house set and getting his thumb stuck in it). It was an amazing thing to witness, and Altman's leaving the decision to Kline was an exemplar of why he was so loved by the cast: he was an actors' director. After that second take, Altman's voice came booming through the theater: “Kevin, that was extremely adequate.”
As was my experience.
As I am completely uncredentialed and unambitious regarding the movie biz, it's safe to say that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me, and what an experience it was. It was tacitly understood that this would be the ailing Altman's last film and, as he was a director universally loved and respected by actors, major stars flocked to the set like Amish to a barn raising: Meryl Streep, Lily Tomlin, Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly, Lindsay Lohan, Tommy Lee Jones, Kevin Kline, Virginia Madsen, and, of course, Garrison (as himself).
I was told to wear what I would wear when I'm on the radio show, so I wore a pale print cream-colored shirt and black pants (which look great on the radio). As a result of my nondescript appearance, I ended up in fourteen scenes. Watching the movie, then, becomes a sort of Where's Waldo experience for my friends and family.
We were paid $275 a day, and I was on the set eleven days; filming propitiously occurred between gigs on the East Coast and in Texas. Every day, we filled out pay forms, and I remember that they had little boxes to check marked “smoke pay” and “wet pay”: one got more for working under those inclemencies. As it turned out, our environment was ideal: the movie was filmed almost entirely in the air-conditioned comfort of the Fitzgerald Theater. Also, because Altman was not well, workdays were a civilized eight hours or so instead of the twelve to fourteen common for movie production. Paul Thomas Anderson was on hand as insurance against Altman's being unable to complete the film.
I would arrive early and get breakfast at the food trailer parked in front of the old Science Museum. The company was called “Extreme Movie Catering;” their van had been driven from Los Angeles to provide food for the company, and good grub it was.
The theater looked essentially the same as normal, except for the lobby and backstage areas, which had been stylized in a vaguely 40s-50s motif. The PHC crew and the Fitz staff were on hand to oversee technical issues and to act as extras. Over time, I came to understand why each of the other eighty or so people scurrying around the place was there: Meryl Streep's hairdresser, the script girl, six production assistants, three four-person camera crews, assistant director Vebe (Victor Borge's son), Altman's personal assistant, Lohan's manager (dapper in a three-piece suit). . . .
Altman sat in the right rear of the theater, watching three large monitors (the film was shot in high-definition video) and communicating his wishes over an intercom. If one behaved, one could stand eight feet behind him and watch him work. For closeups, he would make his way down to the action and direct from there. His catchphrase—the one which let people know they'd done a good job—was, “That was adequate.”
Particularly fascinating were the conferences between Keillor, whose show and script it was, and Altman, the supreme commander of the ship. Garrison, true to his style, was changing the script at the last minute, on a laptop on the set. (Tomlin and Streep were given new scripts for one of their big scenes fifteen minutes before it was shot.)
One fun film flub: The movie is about a show broadcasting over the fictional radio station WLT, but the band's music stands have “MPR” on them.
The several hundred unpaid extras who served as the audience were housed in the old Science Museum when not needed and trooped across the street when their scenes came up. They brought bag lunches, and seemed delighted to be there and in the movie.
Lindsay Lohan always had a few fans waiting outside the makeup trailer, holding teen magazines and wanting autographs, and, by the way, her comportment and professionalism were beyond reproach. John C. Reilly took advantage of his down time on the set to learn to spin lariats from Pop Wagner. He worked on this several hours a day, and, by the time the movie wrapped, he could spin two at once. For his generous efforts, instructor Wagner earned a movie credit as “Lasso Trainer.”
The big surprise for me was what good musical performers the actors were, and this sometimes under duress: Lily Tomlin took two days off to bury her mother in Kansas, and, upon her return, filmed “Goodbye to My Mama” with Streep, a sweet, sad Keillor composition made triply so by her loss. You can see her struggling to maintain her composure as she sings, ever the professional.
Kevin Kline had a scene in which, as house detective Guy Noir, he prowls around backstage during the broadcast, searching for the only-sometimes-visible Dangerous Woman (Madsen). The take was typical Altman, meaning it was a long one, with cameras following Kline across the backstage area. When they were finished, Altman, over the intercom, asked, “Kevin, do you want to do another one?” Kline thought a minute, brow furrowed, and said yes. They re-shot the scene, with Kline hitting all of his marks at exactly the same times as before (for the cameras), but with completely different comedic business (e.g., opening the screen door on the house set and getting his thumb stuck in it). It was an amazing thing to witness, and Altman's leaving the decision to Kline was an exemplar of why he was so loved by the cast: he was an actors' director. After that second take, Altman's voice came booming through the theater: “Kevin, that was extremely adequate.”
As was my experience.
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For screen grabs of Adam in the movie, click the button at right |
