| If you liked me in The Sheldon Kennedy Story as Cheering Guy in Stands, you’ll love me in Going Down: The Rise and Fall of Heidi Fleiss as Dancing Guy in Nightclub. I even do my own "stunt work" in this one. I’ll get to that later.
In late November the call goes out: extras needed for TV movie. With a couple of changes of ’80s-appropriate wardrobe, my friends and I obligingly wander downtown to The Whiskey Nightclub for the shooting of selected scenes for a forthcoming TV bio on the abovementioned infamous Hollywood madam.
"That shirt is maybe too funky," the wardrobe lady says, pointing my way. I put on a clean one, giving it a quick sniff to be sure. Then I realize she means it’s too colourful.
"I don’t know about these two funky shirts," she says to a pair of Don Johnsons in blazers and pastel T’s. This time I’m certain she means stinky.
Packing the dance floor, my fellow extras and myself get ready to shake it, on cue, á la 1986. Just then the star of the show, Jamie-Lynn Sigler (Meadow on The Sopranos), takes her place on a small second-floor balcony. Her hair is swept back and she’s wearing a long, slinky dress.
"Sopranos girl!" blurts an extra.
"When I first saw that show on cable – wow!" exclaims Troy, a burly engineer. "The greatest fucking show on earth!"
"Oh," replies an attractive young teacher from Antigonish, "some of the things they show on TV now – it’s pretty shocking!" She’s still wondering just how the gardening fits into this movie. In fact, she’s positive someone mentioned there being plenty of hos in this thing.
Upstairs for a new scene, a "professional extra" in a red bustier tells anyone who’ll listen, "Are you getting paid for this? I so wouldn’t be here otherwise." What a gardening implement!
"That girl in the black dress," she says, motioning at Sigler with her chin, "I hate her. She makes $700,000 a year."
Listen Miss Manners, "that girl" has a name. It’s Sopranos Girl, thank-you very much.
In each scene, we, the extras, carry on a silent mime party. The actor-musicians impersonating Fine Young Cannibals perform an air-band version of "Good Thing." They then perform a silent mime of the song. Fans of the real band will recall that this version was No. 1 with the deaf for a full 10 weeks during the mid-’80s.
As the day wears on and the scenes are rearranged, I wind up at a table with Troy and a loud, buxom brunette named Tina. "He’s totally checking out her boobs," she says, pointing to a crew member assisting a wardrobe woman in pinning Sigler’s blouse.
Yeah!" guffaws Troy, mugging a stare at Tina’s own ampleness.
"That’s Heidi Fleiss," she mouths silently, as the star and her movie entourage parade past us, performing take after take. Sigler as Fleiss struts and schmoozes with her satin-clad Heidi girls. Word on the set is, "she seems real nice."
Tina and I are asked to stand along the side of the stage. The next take begins. For the umpteenth time today the Faux Young Cannibals launch into "She Drives Me Crazy." A waitress-actress brings a tray of shooters. We each take one. Without missing a beat, Tina downs hers and sets the empty glass on the stage in front of me. With the hot glare of lights and camera on me, I’m obliged, I feel, to do likewise. For a split second I’m frozen. Here’s the dilemma: a movie drink is like a stand-in. Some liquid that looks like alcohol is hired to play actual alcohol. That, and a crew member told us earlier, "Don’t drink these."
Like Harrison Ford in Raiders of the Lost Ark, I decide to do my own stunt work.
When the take is over, the waitress asks Tina, "You didn’t drink that?"
"I didn’t drink it alone," she pleads. "He drank it, too." Onstage we’re being pointed at and whispered about. "I didn’t drink it alone," Tina repeats. Now I’m more like the Harrison Ford dummy that gets chucked off the dam in The Fugitive.
My 15 minutes of fame ends in shame. Just like Heidi. Wait a sec. I smell a TV movie coming on. Silently miming a dignified departure, I’m off to work on the script. |
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