One of the reasons I prefer working in New York is that real actors work as extras.  They are members of the Screen Actors Guild, and many appear regularly on and off Broadway.  Many have worked their way into speaking parts.

Sidney Lumet, Director

THERE ARE NO SMALL PARTS

Sitting on my bed staring into the abyss of what my life has become, I surmise, “There’s got to be a way.  Other people do it.”  And like Scarlet O’Hara, I rail at the heavens, “As God is my witness I will be an actor.”  And then out of desperation I actually get down on my knees, take a deep breath, sigh, and say, 

“God, you probably don’t remember me, it’s been a while, but you got to help me.  I give up.  I have no idea what to do anymore.  Please, what should I do?  Just tell me and I’ll do it.”  And the answer came back, 

“Exxxxxtraaa woooork.”  

“Extra work???  Wait . . . what?”

 “Exxxxxxxxxtraaaaaaa woooooooork!”

“Seriously?  That’s not exactly what I had in mind, God.”  

In my twenties, I attended an open call for Sylvia Fay Casting and she told me in her raspy voice that sounded shredded from years of nicotine abuse, “If you want to do extra work I can have you working five days a week,” and I said, “Thanks so much.  I’ll keep that in mind.”  But the thought of that was truly horrifying.  But now almost twenty years later and after doing stand-up comedy for 4 ½ years I find myself broke and miserable.  And turns out being heckled, hit on, almost dying at the hands of a drunk headliner driving back from a gig, or riding the D train home alone at three in the morning with the homeless guys, crack dealers, and ex-cons just isn’t for me.  

So, at forty-five years old with no other prospects on the horizon, I ponder.  To do, or not to do extra work?  That is the question.  Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer typing memos, and serving canapés or to take up arms against a sea of troubles, and work on sound stages, and movie sets throughout the five boroughs.   So in the winter of 1996, I swallow my pride and send my photo/resume to every background-casting agency in the city.  I attend every open call, and faithfully send out postcards once a week, and sure enough, my phone starts to ring.

One of my first background jobs is a particularly early morning call in the dead of winter for the Mel Gibson film, Conspiracy Theory.  Still pitch black dark outside I sit shivering in holding, which is where they house the background actors when they’re not being used on set, still in my coat and gloves.  And since I know absolutely no one I’m eavesdropping on a conversation between two actors discussing their SAG insurance benefits.  

“Excuse me,” I interrupt, “You can’t get your insurance from doing extra work can you?”  

“Yes, you can.  We do,” they reply.  

At that moment I decide to do extra work whenever, wherever, whatever it takes.  If a job comes in and I have plans I cancel them and, sure enough, I begin booking lots of jobs. 

“In & Out” c. 1998 (I’m on the right.)

In 1996 I worked for several weeks, as a core townsperson on the film, In & Out, starring Kevin Klein, Joan Cusack, and Tom Selleck.  On this particular day, we’re shooting in upstate New York somewhere.  And we’re coming up on golden time.  Golden time is every extra’s wet dream.  After 16 hours of work, you receive a day’s pay for each additional hour worked.  So we’re upstate, and it’s getting really late, and production realizes they need to get us out of here, and back to the city ASAP or we’ll hit golden.  They immediately wrap us and start frantically yelling, “Let’s go.  Let’s go.  Move it.  Move it.  Get changed.  Get on the bus.  Move it.  Move it.”  We’re all moving as slowly as possible, as we leisurely change out of wardrobe and back into our street clothes.

Finally, we’re all on the bus, and our driver, who I’m sure, was told to, is driving like he’s Richard Petty on the speedway.  And it’s snowing, and we’ll all checking our watches, and it’s a race to see if they can get us back to the city without killing us before we go into golden time.  It looks like they will, but then miracle of miracles, there’s a traffic jam, and now the bus is stuck behind these cars.  As the clock nears our golden hour, like it’s New Year’s Eve, the actors begin counting down, “3, 2, 1, golden!” All the extras cheer, whistle, and applaud.  The stressed out to the max production assistant, whose job it is to make sure we don’t get golden, is so upset she yells,  “No way.  I don’t care.  You’re not getting golden.”  In my delirium, I yell back, “Too late.  Time doesn’t go backward.  It only goes forward.”  Once again the extras erupt into cheers and applause.  We got it.

The Talented Mr. Ripley c. 1998

Turns out extra work is not for the faint of heart.  I learned the hard way not to work outside in the freezing cold or pouring rain or the dog days of summer because no one will take care of you, but you.  Animals have more rights than extras on sets. I learned you need to ask casting very specific questions before accepting a job.  Because it’s not that they lie, well sometimes they do, but many times they withhold information so you’ll accept the job.  For example, I receive a call from casting asking me, “Jill, you have expensive cocktail wear, right?”  

“Yes.”

“Great.  You’ll need a very upscale cocktail dress with heels, jewelry, evening bag, and wrap.”

“I have that,” I reply.

“Okay.  We’d like to book you on a film this Friday.”  On the surface, this seems like an okay job.  You think cocktail party.  This usually means you’ll be working in some plush place inside.  However, I’ve learned to take nothing at face value.  Plus he said, “Friday.”

Now here’s the deal with Fridays.  Fridays are notoriously late, as TV, and film shoots begin their Monday workday at 6 or 7 a.m. or even earlier so by the time Friday rolls around the call time could be as late as 6 p.m.  This means most likely you’ll find yourself working all night.  They’re referred to as Fraterdays or F*#k You Fridays.  So I ask the casting director,

“Is this a night shoot?”  

To which he replies, “No, they’re starting at 6 p.m.”

I follow up my question with, “Is this interior or exterior?”

And he replies, “You’ll be running from a burning building.”

Now, I have this image of me running all night long, over and over again, “back to one, back to one,” from a burning building in my once upscale cocktail dress and high heels now tattered and torn.  And in the mayhem being pushed and shoved, stampeded and trampled by non-union folks wanting to get on camera or hoping for stardom, then finding myself with a broken extremity or two, being laid up in the hospital in traction for several months, so I reply, “Thank you so much for thinking of me, but I’m going to have to pass.”

“Primary Colors” c. 1997

But no matter what when I accept a job I never show up on set as an extra.  I always show up as a professional actor and leave my ego at home.  Unlike some actors I know, I’m not there to be discovered, cause trouble, eat crafty out of house and home, or be a drama queen.  I’m there to do my job, which is to serve the production in the capacity for which I’ve been hired.  

I’ve played: doctors, lawyers, detectives, police officers, undercover cops, society ladies, ladies who lunch, lesbians, flight attendants, reservation clerks, rich Republicans, Wall Street broker, Wall Street lawyer, wives, mothers, models, manic depressives, mental patient, rape survivor, pedestrians, nurses, upscale restaurant patrons, art dealer, flower shop owner, fashion designer, dead body, stenographer, pornographer, photographer, non-descript passers-by, reporters, and secretaries to name a few.  

Also, TV and film sets are a class system.  The director is God unless there’s a megastar attached to the project, and then they’re God.  The stars, for the most part, are pampered and protected.  The crew is there to serve the director.  And background is the rank and file.  Background actors are basically foot soldiers.  They’re expendable and are usually replaced daily.  Production’s job is to save money, and many times they do it by cutting corners with background. 

“The Bone Collector” c. 1998

However, being on sets 3-5 times a week made me a better actor.  It gave me practical experience and certainly took the mystery away.  Film and TV sets can be very high-pressure places and as a principal actor most times you get little to no rehearsal or direction.  Time is money, and you need to come in totally prepared.  And because I feel comfortable on sets when I work as a principal actor I’m relaxed enough to do a decent job. 

So from 1996-2010 not only do I qualify for my SAG insurance, but I also receive vesting points towards my SAG pension.  I ended up with sixteen years vested in SAG, which qualified me for a pension when I reached retirement age, which by the way, came faster than I anticipated.  

“Mona Lisa Smith” with Jack McCullough c. 2003

I’m not saying you should do extra or stand-in work but if you want to understand how the movie business operates it’s a great way to see it up close and personal.  My motto:  work is work.  And remember, 

There are no small parts, only small paychecks.

Jill Dalton

Standing in for Hope Davis on “Deadline” 200-2001

Saturday Night Live c. 1998

“Blind Justice” 2004

Commercial shoot. c. 2000

“L&O: Criminal Intent”. I was a regular in the Squad Room from 2001-2007.

Commercial shoot, NYC.

I began working on “Law & Order” as an extra, then stood in for Leslie Hendrix, the Medical Examiner, for many, many years.  Eventually, I booked two principal roles on “Law & Order.”  It was the gift that kept on giving.

Commercial shoot on location in upstate New York. c. 2003ish

“Cradle Will Rock” c. 1998 I’m on the far right.