Early Thursday morning, Martin drove his old Ford to the Midtown Arts Theatre.
On the plaza adjacent to Peachtree Street, a crowd of over a hundred had already gathered.
This was the gathering ground for Atlanta’s extras.
In essence, it was a labor market for temporary workers.
Martin had come here yesterday morning, even encountering a TBS show selecting audience extras, but he hadn’t been chosen.
Whether in Los Angeles or Atlanta, the supply of struggling actors far exceeded demand.
Lacking connections or belonging to any organized group, even landing a simple background role required a stroke of luck.
After parking his car, Martin spotted Robert’s familiar big head almost immediately as he entered the plaza.
Robert, hair neatly combed and dressed in an old-fashioned suit, remarked, "We’ll have to wait a bit longer; the director hasn’t arrived yet."
Martin gave him a quick once-over. "All dressed up for the occasion?"
Robert replied, "It increases my chances of being picked. Honestly, I’d settle for just one line."
It was mostly a matter of luck. Martin offered, "Good luck to you, mate."
As members of the Marietta Theatre Company gradually arrived, it became apparent that, like Martin, they were all temporary workers and broke.
The director, Jerome, eventually pulled up in his Lexus. He instructed everyone to wait at the edge of the plaza, made a call, and once a bus pulled up on Peachtree Street, he shook hands with the chubby man who stepped out. After a brief exchange, Jerome waved at the crowd, “Get on the bus.”
The chubby man glanced around to ensure there were no particularly odd or grotesque-looking individuals before turning back to Jerome with a nod, allowing him to pick the extras.
Martin moved quickly, securing a seat at the front of the bus. On the inside seat, he noticed a folder resting by the door.
He chose a seat on the opposite side, with Robert sitting beside him.
As Martin took his seat by the window, he watched as the chubby man picked people from the plaza with a simple method: choosing whomever caught his eye.
Based on recent observations, it wasn’t difficult for Martin to surmise that Atlanta, far from the entertainment hubs of New York and Los Angeles, was still in its infancy when it came to a fully established extras market and the corresponding agent network.
In a way, Jerome was acting as a de facto agent.
Neither California nor New York’s stringent regulations reached here.
The bus soon filled up, leaving Martin only a narrow aisle away from the chubby man.
Martin refrained from striking up a conversation just yet.
As the bus drove down Peachtree Street, it suddenly slowed down.
Up ahead, near the state capitol building, a procession was in progress.
Journalists from television and print media followed closely behind.
The chubby man craned his neck to observe the crowd, not cursing the delay but instead saying, "Give them some space. We’ll take a detour once they pass the next intersection."
The protestors wore vests bearing the name "ATL Freedom Association." Guessing the man’s stance, Martin muttered as if to himself, “Fighting for their legal rights?”
Though softly spoken, the chubby man overheard and casually responded, “That’s Atlanta’s most renowned progressive organization. They’ve done some remarkable work.”
Realizing his position aligned with the demonstrators, Martin quickly adjusted his posture. “Are they doing something equally remarkable this time?”
The chubby man knew all about it: "Several conservative leaders from the Georgia Methodist Association declared that women should be subordinates within the family, bound to its will, which sparked this protest."
Martin replied, “It’s a commendable cause.”
Proudly, the man added, "One of the organizers of this protest is none other than our company’s boss, Kelly Gray."
To Martin’s surprise, the chubby man turned out to be a dedicated employee, deeply invested in his employer’s concerns. Seizing the opportunity, Martin continued, "My friend, and many of her friends, have long wanted to join the Freedom Association and contribute to the fight for equal rights. They’d love to participate in meaningful actions like this, but sadly, they haven’t found the right person to introduce them."
If there was free food involved, Elena could easily round up hundreds of people from Clayton, not just dozens.
As for Elena working as a volunteer for the conservative Methodist Association?
That’s beside the point. Elena had always said, as long as the pay was right, she didn’t care who she believed in.
"I know many distinguished members of the Association," the chubby man boasted, clearly seeing a bright future for himself at Gray Company. He handed Martin his business card, "I’m Andrew. If your friend wants to join, give me a call anytime."
Martin took the card, carefully tucking it away before offering his own in return, "Martin Davis."
As the bus was about to turn off Peachtree, another protest group entered the street, bearing the Methodist Association’s banner.
The two sides exchanged insults from a distance, and the whole area erupted in chaos.
The media was thrilled.
…
After a half-hour drive, the bus arrived at a farm in northern Atlanta.
The film crew had rented the farm, setting up some temporary 19th-century plantation-style sets. Beside a wooden house serving as a makeshift dressing room, actors already in period costumes were finishing their makeup.
Martin disembarked and found Jerome waiting at the entrance of the farm.
Andrew approached Jerome directly, "We’ve got two special roles today, paid by the day. $100 for the day, with work hours until 4:30 p.m. If we go overtime, we’ll add $10 per hour. Get me your best actors."
For regular extras, the hourly rate was only $5.15.
Jerome immediately thought of Martin, who still owed him membership dues. "Martin, come over here!" he shouted, then called out a few others: "Coller, Robert, Jones."
Nobody owes me money! Jerome thought, and turned to Andrew: "Martin’s good; give him priority."
Andrew recognized the name, and as soon as Martin stepped forward, he pointed at him, "Martin Davis. You too, come with me."
Robert, following closely behind Martin, became the other lucky pick.
Jerome led them toward the wooden house while the remaining extras followed the crew to an outdoor makeup station.
Robert nudged Martin, but Martin signaled with a glance for him to stay quiet.
After a brief wait, someone called them in for makeup.
While getting dressed and made up, a production assistant explained the scene.
Though they had no lines, their roles required significant movement.
Both were cast as assassins sent to kill the heroine. They’d rush into a garden, get shot by the hero, and then lie dead while the hero rescued the heroine, leading to their eventual love scene.
In other words, for this shoot, Martin and Robert would be playing corpses.
Lying on the ground as dead bodies paid better than standing as background extras.
Robert was an experienced extra, and Martin knew how things worked as well.
There was nothing challenging about the scene. They followed the blocking instructions, and after just two takes, they were done—the only retake happened because the male lead dropped his gun.
Then came the main event: they had to lie perfectly still.
The hero and heroine embraced passionately…
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