Published: July 01, 2009 11:08 pm         

Chronicles of an extra: “My Feet are Killing Me"

It was a setup. The whole thing.

Let me start form the beginning. On June 15, I showed up at my job, cheerful as always, anticipating the day’s events. The newsroom talk for the day was about extras for the movie “The Killer Inside Me,” to be filmed in Enid Tuesday and Wednesday.

My boss, Managing Editor Cindy Allen, said to me, “Patsy, you need to be an extra in this movie. I think they would pick you.”

I laughed and filed it away with a lot of other ideas that were a no-go. Long story short, Cindy and Violet Hassler, special projects editor, put their heads together, sent in my picture and filled in all the information they knew before calling me over to complete the task at hand. I made light of it all and said, “OK, but I doubt they call.”

Note to self: Never underestimate the powers that be when it comes to your boss.

On June 19, my cell phone rang about 3:30 p.m. The young woman said, “Hi Patsy, my name is Kendall Haney, and I’m calling you about being an extra in the movie ‘The Killer Inside Me.’” And the newsroom roared ...

Now it began: an account in the life of a movie extra.



Day one

• 10:20 a.m. June 24, wardrobe fitting at First Baptist Church, 401 W. Maine. I leave the office at 10:10, not wanting to be late. A big sign on the fitting room door reads, “Hello extras, so sorry, we are running an hour and a half late. Have a seat or come back in a bit. Thank you.”

• 11:30 a.m., return to the church. Staff writer Bridget Nash and head photographer Billy Hefton accompany me to my fitting.

Enid Woman No. 1, Jonella Schuermann, has arrived and is being fitted by costume supervisor Robin Bush. I am Enid Woman No. 2 and about to be measured in front of God and everybody. Billy lifts his camera. I yell “Cut!”

Once I’m measured, Robin leads me to a back room where several 1950s dresses are brought in for me to try on.

“Nope, not that one! Not that one either!”

We finally settled on a light, cotton print with tan swirls and a gathered pearly neckline, pearl earbobs, elbow-length gloves and a pocketbook of the same color. She recommends a ‘light’ girdle and heads for the wardrobe rack.

“Here, put this on,” she said. It’s a 1950s corset that hooks in the front, but only the top two hook and one bottom hook hinge. (You had to be there, not a pretty site) “Leave it on for now,” she says, while handing me a full slip to cover all this mess. Now I’m taken back out front where Billy waits ... camera, action!

Robin makes a few adjustments on my sleeve, requesting a tuck here, a top-stitch there, a zipper on the side, etc., etc. Now, I am ready for my finished picture to be taken by wardrobe consultant Bridg-itte Serry, while I hold the “Enid Wo-man No. 2, Patsy Sorrels” tag in my left hand. Fitting time is approximately 21⁄2 hours. Now it’s time to get out of the corset. Well, let’s just say, I still bear the marks.

“That’s a wrap Patsy, we’ll call you with the time and place of your shooting on Tuesday, June 30,” Bush said as she headed for Enid Man No. 1.

Meanwhile, back at the newsroom, I’m now most affectionately referred to as “Hollywood,” “Diva,” etc., ... and the newsroom roared.



Day two

• Monday is pretty reserved.

I wait expectantly for the call telling me where and when my shoot is to be Tuesday. The day ends and I head for home. Still, no call. I go about getting all my little ducks in a row for the next day, rehearsing every detail and “what if” that could possibly happen. Finally, 9:30 p.m., Kendall calls to say I am to be at what I thought she said was the monastery at 419 W. Maple. The monastery? I didn’t know Enid had a monastery. About an hour later, she called to say the shoot had been relocated to 118 S. Independence, 1 p.m. sharp. “Please, no makeup or fingernail polish. Come with your hair in rollers. It’s a closed set, so no family or friends,” she reminded me.



Day three

• Tuesday, day of the shooting. I awoke at 6 a.m., excited and eager to be an extra in a movie. After a few cups of coffee and reading the morning paper, I put my hair up in rollers, something I haven’t done since high school. I had forgotten how tedious and tiresome it was. How did I do that on a daily basis, sleeping all night in those prickly, tight rollers? Glad that era is over.

• 10:30 a.m., no makeup, hair up in rollers, I suffered for the cause and headed for the office. My shoot wasn’t until 1 p.m. and I had some deadlines to meet, so I covered my head with a colorful scarf, put my sunglasses on and cast myself on the mercy of newsroom paparazzi ... and the newsroom roared.

• 1 p.m., I make my way through the doors of the old Burchardt Furniture store, where approximately 35 extras sat waiting for instruction and wardrobe, hair and makeup. Well, not so much makeup. One by one, they called our number, gave us our little tags and bags, suits and dresses and pointed us in the direction of a door with either men or women taped to it. There was one unisex bathroom, of which the lock didn’t latch at times. I said, “Excuse me,” and he said, “Latch the door!” There again, not a pretty sight.

Once dressed, we were taken out back to the hair and makeup trailer (not so much makeup). Taking all those roll-ers out of my hair was like pulling stickers out of your socks. She placed the little pill-box hat meticulously on the top of my head and began to comb my hair June Allyson-style all around my little hat. That done, I asked where we went for makeup and she informed me there was no makeup, only a little lipstick. Visions of fear-filled faces, screaming with terror, begin to dance in my head. Then, I remembered Charlize Theron and her role in “Monster.” I can do this!

By this time it’s 2:30 p.m. and we’re taken down the alley and around to Independence, where I was paired with Breckinridge resident Michael S. James and told to walk leisurely down the street. At first, the 99-degree heat was tolerable and the walk pleasant. But, that didn’t last very long. We strolled until instruction came to go back to holding and wait for the next scene. Ah ... off with the shoes, water and a cool place to sit.

Next scene, 4:30 p.m., over to Grand, where a fellow extra and I walk casually down the street, window shopping. Casey Affleck, the town sheriff in the movie, is headed straight for us. He tipped his hat as he passed. (Be still, my heart)! Take 1, reset (go back to where you started) ... background action (extras walk). Take 2, reset ... background action. Take 3 and Take 4.

• 8 p.m., everyone back to holding and lunch at First Baptist Church. A catering company out of Austin, Texas, used strictly for movie sets, has set up a feast fit for a king. First up, rice with pecans and red beans, green beans and red potatoes, red snapper fish, summer squash, scalloped potatoes, pork steak, ribeye steak, huge shrimp with sauce, salads, desserts, peach ice cream and chocolate chip cookies. What a feast!

By now it’s around 9 p.m. and I’ve walked the streets of Enid for seven hours. There isn’t a place on my body that doesn’t hurt somewhere. Each step got weightier and more difficult. My feet were screaming in tune with my back. I can do this!

Everyone is back in holding getting changed for the train scene, which was the highlight of my day. It was the scene worth walking for.

We loaded up in a van for Splash Zone, where this old train was sitting on the tracks. It was dark. The lights were on in the train. We could see the cameramen and crew mingling around inside, getting everything ready for the train scene. As we made our way through the car, we were told where to sit. I would travel in the second row of seats, near the front of the train, with a gentleman by the name of Maj. Dave Chael, an instructor pilot at Vance Air Force Base. We also had walked the same streets earlier in the day, so we were acquainted. But, now we act ... now, the fun began. They gave us props. I was given a glass of gin (water) to hold and Dave a bottle of beer. They handed him a Fort Worth newspaper dating back to 1957. The camera was positioned about 5 feet from us as train conductor Donald Marquardt strolled down the aisle saying “Tickets please, tickets.” He punched a hole in our tickets as we continued to converse.

Casey is about five seats behind us with his co-star, getting ready to shoot their scene. All extras are instructed to converse, sleep, make it real. The train began to move. It rocked back and forth, the whistle blew. Action! Dave told me about his job at Vance and how he has been flying since 1981, with more than 8,000 flying hours. “I could never keep a real job,” he said. “I really love what I do.” ... Stop train, reset.

We traveled west, past Ames. Each time they yelled “stop train, reset,” we would back up and do it again. There were times we were told to mouth words, so as not to be heard, yet appear to be talking. So, Dave would say, “Watermelon, watermelon,” and I would reply, “Yes, watermelon.” It was so much fun. Then, there were the times we were told to speak and converse for the scene. At one point, the camera was right on both of us. Dave noticed a story in the Fort Worth paper about an art exhibit and asked me if I would like to attend. He showed me the story. We began to laugh as we realized under each headline is all about some kind of food.

The camera moved up closer to Casey. Smokers lit up, drinkers drank up. They turned on the smoke machine and the sound lady held a long pole with a mike on the end of it over the face of Casey’s sleeping co-star, who is snoring. Quiet on the set! Now we mouth “watermelon, watermelon.” Dave and I turned around in our seats like a couple of kids hanging over the balcony of a movie theater, watching, in person, the actual filming of an actual movie, and we did a little acting ourselves. I just hope we don’t wind up on the cutting room floor.

After about an hour and 45 minutes on this wonderful old car, we heard, “It’s a picture, folks. Job well done” ... and the train roars.

So much I didn’t tell, too much to take in. An experience of a lifetime. Thank you extras, thank you Dave, thank you Cindy. That’s a wrap. It’s a picture!



Sorrels is editorial assistant for the News & Eagle.